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bratkook · 9 months

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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.

#jungkook smut #new

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peachsukii · 4 months

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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

#kiribaku x reader #poly kiribaku #KiriBaku #bakushima #bakugo x kirishima #kiribaku x reader fluff #kiribaku x y/n #bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader #Eijiro Kirishima #Katsuki Bakugo #bakugo fluff #kirishima fluff #my hero academia #☆.rei writes #☆.tangledhearts

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munson-blurbs · 9 months

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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.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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jareckiworld · 10 months

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

#Judy Chicago #american art #feminist art #feminist artist

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kk-k-kk · 4 months

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GODLESS (18+ MDNI)

Chapter 1: The Diner Story

Summary: The thriving streets with booming businesses have come to a stand still. Curfews and police raids every few hours to seize any whiff of narcotics terrorised every person, regardless of involvement. The Upper Side lies unfaltering in their picket fences. In this induced borderline dystopia, in your cardboard box apartment you have found a strange joy in watching the actions of a tangerine-stealing thug.

Part Warnings: murder, gore, indulgence of illegal activities, violence

Pairing: suga/yoongi/agust d x fem!reader

May'27

"But I have two degrees!"

You rushed to take the files out of your bags to shove it into his face because clearly he missed it. You pulled at the zipper of your faded grey tote and the zip came right off.

"Hah! So what? I have two as well and I also have three diplomas. So what?"

Broken zip in hand, you stared blankly as the grocery store clerk shouted at you. He held a shiny duster in front of him as if he would dust you off in case you stepped closer.

"But-"

"No buts, madam. You didn't get the job. That is it. If you continue creating a ruckus like this, you will be forcibly removed and your chance, if any, of being possibly recruited in the future, will also be crossed."

"Why the fuck would I wait for the future to get a job in a grocery store?"

The man sighed. He was frustrated and you were numb. The heat outside was spilling through the glass windows of the store. You couldn't believe that you were being rejected from working part time at a grocery store. You had two degrees!

"Look around you," you did, "half of the crowd here is of workers themselves. We are already exceeding employee capacity. Half of these employees are with degrees, diplomas and what nots, moreover they have experience too. Maybe you should try in a few years."

"But, this is just a grocery store," the broken zip in your hand felt very heavy.

"Yes. And it's 2027," the man pushed the glass door open for you. You couldn't argue your case anymore.

—

"And they rejected me! Like I care! It's just a useless grocery store," the melting popsicle was posing a problem to your venting so you rushed to finish it in one go.

"Maybe you should open an ice cream store?" the old ice cream seller was indulging in a popsicle too. You eyed him, wondering if his eyes showed mirth behind those sunglasses.

You lived a funny life. A big room with a three by two bathroom is what you called your home. You slept every night smelling the onions and garlic peels left in the kitchen sink which was a 10 feet distance from your bed, no wall in between. Apparently the builder was very focused on open spaces. You would really like to meet the man someday. The only good thing about it was the tiny balcony, big enough to have no space for a third adult to stand. Watching the night market with something to drink made your terrible days, a little better.

You worked as a babysitter for a decently rich family but you caught the rich housewife fucking the househelp. You were fired for neglecting the child on the same day. Ever since, unemployed and exhausted you have walked shop to shop in hope for even a part time job. Your two degrees were just laminated tissue papers, you were sure, or something of the same cost.

"I'll just sleep it off, I guess, again."

"Yes. Do that. Again," the old man tapped the price card and you sighed, taking out the loose change in your pockets. What was so cool about money anyway?

—

You felt like you would faint if you took another step so you leaned against the alley wall, basking in the shadows of the shabby looking diners and bars. Another block down and you would be home. The disgustingly small and dilapidated room was all that you needed after a horrible day. So you mentally made a count, deciding that you would start walking right after.

1… A deep inhale.

2… Holding your breath.

3… A deep exhale that poured out not only carbon dioxide but a bit of your exhaustion and sorrow too.

4… Another deep inhale.

5… Holding your breath again.

6… A deep exhale-

A shriek of terror rang in your ears that got immediately muffled with the sound of something heavy dropping to the ground. You couldn't recall at what point your eyes shot open and you were sprinting to help the man who was slowly beginning to get drenched, lying in a pool of blood.

The man was fairly large and well built but his eyes faded in and out of focus as he coughed out more blood. Your hands frantically searched for your phone in your bag as you kneeled on the ground next to him. You only realised you were screaming for help when you heard the emergency services on the other side of the call.

You had just told them the location and hung up when you finally noticed the knife stabbed into his stomach. It didn't go in very deep but the wound was bleeding profusely. The man groaned in pain and reached towards the wound.

"Wait, don't touch it," you looked around for anything that you could help him with but there was nothing and no one.

You stumbled back on your feet and ran towards the end of the alley to ask for help. It looked like the man would bleed out before help got there. You sprinted ahead but before you could exit the alley, you heard sirens blare. With a sigh of relief, you turned towards the siren only to be met with a gun to your head.

"Don't move. Get in the car."

"What? What is going on-"

"You are under arrest on the suspicion of murder or bodily harm. You have the right to remain-"

"Remain exactly the fuck where I am. What are you doing? I called you people. What insanity is this?"

—

"Look. I called you guys. I was the one who called for help. I found him in the alley bleeding."

The inspector scrolled his screen and you weren't sure if he was listening to you at all.

"Excuse me-"

"Shut up."

You gaped at the man who just asked you to shut up. It wasn't the inspector, no. It was the guy who was handcuffed to the next chair. His eyes were closed as he relaxed on the chair. It didn't really look like he was bothered about being handcuffed and possibly being thrown in jail. But all thoughts aside, all your senses came to one agreement: he was unarguably a sight for sore eyes.

Nonetheless, a pretty face couldn't be excused for being disrespectful to you. So you cleared your throat and turned properly to face him, "Excuse me?"

"Stop whining. They can't hold you here for long without evidence, anyway," his voice was gravelly like he just woke up from a nap.

"They shouldn't hold me here at all because I didn't do anything," you glared at the inspector as you spoke, taking care to be extra loud during the latter part.

The man chuckled under his breath and you could feel something turn in your stomach. The laughter felt condescending and it made the flutter in your stomach turn into annoyance.

"What? What's so funny?"

You watched him raise his cuffed hands as much as he could and stretch with a yawn. It was very disappointing that such a sight turned out to be an asshole. You waited for him to put words to his condescension so you could do something about the growing anger in you.

But when he finally opened his eyes, he didn't spare you a glance. He tapped on the desk before him and the inspector on the other side sighed and gave him a look. You almost screamed out loud when the man was uncuffed with a nod and a grim, "Don't get caught again."

"Wait what? Excuse me? Hello?"

You tapped on the desk before you too. It has to be a magic key or something to be let go because how was the man just uncuffed without any exchanges?

The old inspector before you sighed and finally looked at you with a sudden urgency. You took it as your chance and began explaining, "Sir, I was just on the scene and I saw the guy bloodied and-"

"Do you know how to open an Instagram account?"

—

You have lived in the LBs since forever. When your parents were alive it was the upper LBs. After their passing, working all these part time jobs, your residence changed to worse. But never have you ever been handcuffed with a criminal charge. You had no idea how people got out of situations like this but from the movies and the dramas, it had to be networking. But you had no networks. You knew no one. Even then, you had just walked out of a police station as a free woman after you opened a fake Instagram account for the investigator.

"Are you sure?" You had asked.

"Go on," the investigator nodded, going back to scrolling reels on his phone in an obnoxiously loud volume.

You had thought for a minute that maybe this would come back to bite you in the ass later but then you remembered how that man had walked free just like that.

So there you were, exiting the damp air of the police station, with an ominous feeling lingering in your guts.

"Gave him a blowjob?"

It was the same guy who had walked out a while before you. His wavy hair fell on his face as he leaned against the wall. They looked so soft and luminous and for a moment, you even thought he almost looked familiar. But your thoughts abruptly halted when you finally processed what he just said to you.

"Why? Is that what you do to get out?"

He laughed. He laughed so hard that his whole body shook with each fit of it. You had no idea why it made you feel proud of your comeback. Your smugness urged a smirk on your lips too.

"You win this time," his laughter slowly came reduced to a smile that felt awfully gentle. It made you feel weird so you begged your head to focus on something else.

"I always do," you almost never but he doesn't need to know that.

He nodded, finally standing up to his full height to face you. He was taller, you noticed, only slightly though. You didn't like the way he looked at you. It wasn't condescension. It wasn't violating. It just felt like he was looking at you, really looking. It had been ages since you felt seen and not an unnoticed spec of dust in the grand scheme of things.

So when he extended a hand filled with bruises and busted knuckles, you took it. That's how you came to know him although that exhausting afternoon, you had no idea what was to come.

—

August '27

Although you walked out of the police station together, cursed the government together and parted ways abruptly when you couldn't find your phone, you regretted not getting his name. You had sprinted back to the police station and he said you'd probably see him around. Since that day, you neither found your phone nor him in the streets.

In the days after, your life remained exactly the same. Till evenings you'd toil the market in front of your building. On some days, you worked in the diner beside your building and on others, as assistants to the vendors in front of it. It was enough to barely get by. It was enough.

"Sang-ho has brought in so many men today. Are you sure you want to be here today?"

You shrugged at Hee-jin. She permanently worked at the diner and didn't find your existence disgusting. You weren't friends, you supposed, both of you tolerated each other.

"Rumor has it that he has brought in billions. He probably got a new deal. But with all the men he has called, there might be problems. I hope we don't get raided," Hee-jin placed the last dish in the sink just as you finished tying your apron.

But your interest was caught. Sang-ho was a regular at the diner but Hee-jin insisted that he was only regular on the day that you were working. He didn't bother you nor did he ever speak to you. You couldn't say the same about his men. You almost stopped coming to the diner after one of them had been extra touchy-feely while asking for chopsticks. But the pay was good and beggars couldn''t be choosers.

"Even if they get raided, what is it to us? With all that money, I doubt they pay rent every month," sharing a laugh with Hee-jin, you stretched your shoulders. You had a feeling that it was going to be a long day.

The day turned out to be slower than usual. Sang-ho's men occasionally went up and down the stairs but they didn't stop to eat. It was exceptionally hot for a day in August. Once in a while you'd spot Hee-jin standing in front of the fan and scurry when your eyes awkwardly met. You wouldn't tell on her. She wouldn't trust you and well, neither would you.

Once there were enough dishes that you could see the pile from the counters, you'd start washing again, you decided. It wouldn't hurt to sit near the cool air once in a while. The kitchen was so humid that you could feel sweat trickling inside your bra and as much as you wanted to scratch the itch, you stayed still.

There was a couple sitting exactly in your line of vision. They were talking softly, giggling periodically. It was annoying how long the guy was stirring the soup with his chopsticks. The red of the chopsticks went round and round. You realised you were zoned out staring at someone's food but you didn't have it in yourself to care about it.

The sound of murmuring and hustle bustle from the market was growing louder, you observed at one point, until all of a sudden it went quiet. That's when your eyes returned to focus, falling on the familiar figure that was now entering the diner like he owned the place. His eyes met yours once, not even wandering, like he knew exactly where you would be. Before you could react, he was taking the red chopsticks you were staring so keenly at and running up the stairs.

Havoc was being wrecked upstairs while people downstairs pretended that it was alright. You would too, generally. Turf wars have grown to be a frequent sight and even if Sang-ho was being raided upstairs, you never cared. But it was different the moment he entered. It was different that out of all those shouts and groans upstairs, one voice could be his.

You despised people in horror movies who would venture into the darkness just to feed their curiosity but there you were, ignoring Hee-jin's wide eyed glare and the silence of the stilled cutleries as you walked up the stairs.

There were men still fighting when you reached the top stair. The first body lying still in the corridor was that of a man; chopsticks sticking out of his eyes and you almost threw up right there. But the man was familiar and so were the chopsticks, both of the two that had once made you want to quit. You didn't like the blooming feeling of victory you could feel in yourself. So you gulped it down.

As you looked forward, you could see that familiar figure sift through the bulky men trying to plough each other. Narrowly avoiding being thrown or punched, you stayed by the wall flinching when a broken glass somehow scraped past your arm. You almost missed the mop of black hair disappear into a room and sprinted to follow it except just when you were about to touch the door, a hand pulled you back by the shoulders, twisting you around and pushing you up against the wall.

Staring you down was the man himself, breathing heavily with blood splattered on his face. He had a smile adorning his lips as he stepped closer crowding your bubble until all your eyes could see were his dark ones. You didn't even know that you wanted to see them up close this bad. His breath was mingling with yours, mixing with the stench of blood. You could smell the nicotine and something more musky you couldn't quite put a finger on.

A cold hand gripped the base of your throat and you could feel your heart dropping at the way he lowered his face to your level. You held your breath as he stayed like that, teasingly running his eyes up and down your features before returning to your face, "You, again?"

His hand didn't move from your throat, his digits began pressing deeper to the point where your gulping made him follow the column of your throat again with his dark eyes as his smile widened. What could you say? Would he understand if you told him that your feet just brought you here, to him and now your hands wanted to reach up and your fingers wanted to entangle in his curls and- No. You probably couldn't tell him that. So you did what you did best. You lied.

You spoke with a steady voice, "Someone called the cops, you should get what you need and escape."

"What makes you think I need something? Maybe I just came here to get in trouble, what do you know?"

His voice was deeper than you remembered consciously and the gravelly vibrations traveled to your core with the way he was pressed against you. You were already breathless with his presence when there was a crash beside your head. It was a man with a knife sticking out of his side. Your vision became blurry for a moment and by the time it returned to normal your view of the bloody man was blocked by the grinning man in front of you. Of course, to block the view like the gentleman that he was, he would have to step even closer.

"You could have just fought with your men there then. I saw you move ahead of them like you had intention-"

Your words stuttered to a stop when he was off you in a second, taking out a small knife from heaven knows where and stabbing a man twice his size some ten times in five seconds. The man fell to the floor and he smiled back at you again, "you were saying?"

Eyes stuck on the man bleeding out on the floor, you pushed your back against the wall to not let your feet give away, "I saw you run forward as if you-"

"Uh huh?"

"As if you-"

He was laughing. You couldn't help but feel a tinge of fear; only a tinge when you should have screamed bloody murder and sprinted miles away. But at the same time you could feel the coils in your stomach tighten and something in you not wanting to leave.

"As if what?"

"As if you need something from here. Get it done and go."

He smiled, sending you a mock salute before pushing open a heavy looking door while you stood against the wall, breathless and panting. You could hear the blood rushing to your head over the sounds of the fighting. Never in your entire life had you felt such a rollercoaster of emotions. There was something strange about him and you knew it, it was as obvious as global warming that you shouldn't play Dora the Explorer with this guy of all people. But you watched as he emerged out of the room, a big leather bag in hand.

The corridor had become more chaotic than before. You assumed that both sides had called in more people. As you stared at the people fighting to death, you tried to process what exactly was happening. But you failed. So when a sticky hand grabbed yours and prompted you to move forward, you let it. His wavy hair bounced as he ducked random blows, spinning you around, moving you back and forth while moving forward and out of the narrow, bloodied corridor. Just before the last step before the stairs, he dropped your hand.

You hadn't realised that you were staring at your joined hands until he let go. When your eyes traveled up to his face, it had more blood than before and his light coloured shirt was barely half of the shade it used to be. He was still smiling at you, you realised.

"I never found you on the streets."

Your lips were moving so you knew it was you talking. But what was that weak, breathless voice?

"Did you want to?"

He asked it so nonchalantly as if he was around and you just hadn't spotted him.

"Yes. I mean-", you barely recognised your voice and your train of thoughts. You wondered where all your years of being tough and tactical went.

"Then you will."

And he was gone.

—

Sirens. Multiple cars. 12 deaths. A huge number of injured people.

The closed diner was dark, lit up by the red and blue and echoing the haunting sirens. The police officers had stopped to ask a few questions and Hee-jin answered them all. You watched her lie through her teeth that you, who stood like a pinned doll, were too shaken up with the incident so you couldn't speak to them at all. They said they understood and gave you a look of pity. You felt nauseous.

When you had walked downstairs and splashed water in your face a good fifteen times, the police were already there. You sent a prayer hoping he was gone far away by then and then to erase the guilt of sending such a prayer, you splashed water in your face again. Hee-jin didn't ask anything. Nobody asked or even glanced at you. It was as if you hadn't just associated yourself with someone who raided one of the biggest turfs of the LBs. Were they ignorant? Were they afraid?

The owner of the diner appeared once in front of you two to mention in a rather bored tone that the diner would be closed the following day and left. Hee-jin looked at you strangely and left. You were thankful that she even looked at you and you left.

When you were home and you could hear the familiar tune of old school kpop playing in the apartment right below yours, you bawled like a baby. You didn't know why. You just cried and cried until the turning of your guts stopped and you were sane enough to question yourself. There were feelings in you that had not been stirred for years and there was a tingling in the back of your heart, a craving almost. But it was a different kind of craving, the ones that made you want to have a pair of strong arms wrapped around you. You wondered where all of this was coming from. But you knew the answer. You just didn't want it to be the answer.

The steaming mug of coffee was grounding you to reality as you looked over at the night market. The night market saw two types of customers, one that bought the usual edibles up front and the other, that bought tightly sealed packets from the shadows. It was almost funny sometimes. The old lady of stall 5 got mad at anyone who tried to bargain. She was just constantly in a bad mood and while you understood and related to her, it was not nice to always hear people being shouted upon. When watching the night market became your muse, it took you all of a week to believe that the same old lady probably sold the most narcotics. Her customers in the shadows even queued to get it.

The coffee had cooled down comparatively when you took your first sip. There was a small commotion in the market but you couldn't see it. The old lady was closed, you realised. That was very strange. It was a clear night and it almost made you forget the kind of day you had. A good night's sleep would prepare you for a tough next day and with the kind of heatwave that was shaking the city, you would need all the preparation.

Your eyes were out of focus and you zoned in and out. The image of an intriguing pair of chocolate brown eyes flashed in the back of your mind. It was so vivid. You could see the smirk that formed on his lips and it subconsciously made you grip the cup tighter. His eyes stared at you unblinking until the smirk got bigger and he sent a wink your way.

That's when you broke out of your trance. Groaning in disbelief, you rubbed your eyes and sighed. But when you opened them, they met the chocolate brown pools again.

"What the-"

There he was. Not in your vision but walking in all glory out of the night market, smiling at you. In a polythene by his side, something orange swung with each step. Tangerines?

As he took a turn and disappeared out of sight, you placed a hand on your heart, which felt like it would pop out of your throat. What had just happened? He was gone as fast as he came. You almost confirmed in your mind that he was not real. You were hallucinating and you'd have to break your savings to go see a doctor.

As if he was hearing your thoughts, the alley where he disappeared, he walked back out of it. This time he walked straight to your building. Stumbling to reach the railings, you peered down at him.

"What are you doing here?"

You wondered if he heard you over the noise of the market. But he was looking straight up at you.

"Tomorrow. Lake Plaza at 5."

And again with a mock salute, he walked off. You fumbled, stuttered and almost bit your tongue in the urgency to reply but by the time you were about to utter, "What?" He was gone.

—

He got a deal. A deal so good he liked to call it a steal deal. Four tangerines for no money. Normally he would celebrate his steal deal with some more steal deals but he was somewhat in a hurry.

The men behind him had knives, he was sure. But he had left his own set of beautiful knives at his home. Now he had a backup tucked in his shoe but he was slightly concerned. Five grown men might pose a little trouble for a pocket knife.

He whistled as he walked, a small smile playing on his busted lips. The way you fumbled every time you saw him but how you were ready with comebacks every time he got too comfortable, it made him curious. It made him wonder what kind of life you had lived, what kind of life you lived. There was a hollow pit in his stomach that was making him question whether you would show up where he asked you. After all, it would be a miracle if you did but for some reason, he thought you were a miracle. Something in him could tell that you were. So he wanted to push his luck.

The men tailing him had stopped being subtle. Their footsteps were closer and peripherally he could see something shiny in the occasional lights from nearby buildings and the rarely unbroken lamp posts.

'No,' he thought. If you were to show up, he would need his face to be unscathed.

"Alright guys," the men abruptly stopped when he turned around to face them, their mouth open in surprise.

He took his time cracking his neck and stretching his arms before finally nodding at them, "Let's get this over with."

#agust d #agust d ff #bts #bts angst #bts army #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts ff #bts fluff #bts smut #suga fanfic #kk k kk: godless #godless: the diner story #suga smut #yoongi ff #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi #yoongi

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bettsfic · 11 months

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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.

#libraries #tw child abuse

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kaya-elements · 1 year

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KayaElements :Podcast

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ss-skyearn · 1 year

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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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ayyy-imma-ninja · 9 months

Note

Everyone freaking out about it being nans house and y/n being a great grandkid or great great grandkid, me thinking about how in the terror comes in twos story lunars around 20 years old so the house has been sitting for about that long if not longer, and then there is no way nan updated anything for a long time, oh god the bathroom ohhh are either blue, pink, or green bathtub and there maybe carpet in there!!!! and the kitchen is more than likely seafoam green, blue, or yellow with laminate flooring oh and there was peeling wallpaper in nan story of the house so y/n are going to have fun ripping the place apart and fixing it. lol

lmao, imagine.

But actually, the Gardener is the third person to ever live in that house.

Also Nan lived throughout most of the 1800s, so those colors would not be used. Nor would there be carpet in the bathroom. Her home was actually consisted of rustic colors. Deep reds and browns.

#answered ask #fairy au #dca fairy au #gardener y/n #the gardener #nan #the witch #nan's house

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ssspideysense · 4 months

Text

𝖍𝖎𝖌𝖍 𝖔𝖈𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖊

peter thinks his life is finally turning around after his promotion at stark intel. he's closer than ever to his dream of being a real hero.

you, on the other hand, are crashing and burning. you're closer than ever to losing your shit.

peter parker x f!hero!reader

01: 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔰

4.3k

Two years.

Peter stared down at the little laminated badge in his hands. The ceiling lights above washed out his picture on the top left corner, so he let his gaze roll over his printed name again and again instead.

Peter Parker. Peter Parker.

Peter Parker, Junior Dispatch Agent.

He brushed his thumb over the text, a small smile hanging on his face. It only took roughly 730 days of kissing ass and running himself ragged, but he finally did it.

The promotion of a lifetime.

He wasn’t an assistant anymore, getting stuck with the tedious little tasks others simply didn’t want to deal with. As of eleven o’clock that morning, Peter was an official agent at Stark Intel, one of New York’s leading security and investigation companies.

… a junior agent, but still.

The meeting let out half an hour ago, but Peter still sat at his desk, taking his time cleaning it out. It wasn’t technically his anymore. They were moving him up to the 13th floor, where bigger names with bigger responsibilities gathered to drink coffee and… do much more important things than they did down here, he was sure.

Those guys got to see the action outside. They got to save the day, five days a week. They got insurance.

“Damn, did Parker get fired?”

Peter looked up from his shiny new badge.

He had worked with a handful of other assistants (associates, as they were more tactfully and officially called) for most of his time at Stark Intel, but not many of them lasted past their probationary period. There was a sort of turn-and-burn culture among the lower levels of the building, Peter came to realize early on. It wasn’t hard for anyone to miss the big cardboard box sitting at the edge of his desk, and it wasn’t hard for people to make assumptions, either.

It’s funny how that sort of thing worked.

“Nah, the other thing,” someone else chuckled, “he’s heading up to dispatch.”

Peter slipped the lanyard over his head and started peeling the various sticky notes and pictures off of his divider’s walls. Projects he didn’t need to worry about anymore, schedules, reminders and memos. Little trinkets and knick knacks got tossed into the box on top of them. He tucked the polaroids safely into his back pocket.

It was feeling more real by the moment. With as much time as he spent in that stuffy, fluorescent office, he couldn’t wait to skip over it in the elevator the next day.

“Dispatch? Who’s he working with now?”

“Don’t know. There’s only a few openings, though.”

The chatter from around the room didn’t faze him. Maybe, if anything, the fact that they acted like he wasn’t just ten feet away would’ve irritated him on a normal day, but he couldn’t be bothered at the moment. It actually got him thinking as he cleared out two years of junk from his desk drawers.

As a junior dispatch agent, he’d be partnered alongside one of the public faces for the company, which maybe wasn’t too different from his previous position— except this time, he’d be out on the street with them, doing more than just conducting post-mission interviews and collecting data. He’d actually be helping them, helping people.

There was a limited pool of agents available, since most of them already had a partner. He didn’t have room to be picky though. He kept his opinions and speculations to himself— at least until he could get home and unload them onto his friends.

Packing away his laptop was the sweetest maraschino cherry of all, sitting on the peak of his career history, all wrapped up in one cardboard box. Peter stood from the creaky chair. It didn't groan like that two years ago, and he’d always meant to tighten it up, but it seems he didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

A blanket of quiet fell over the office once he stood tall above the cubicle dividers. Several pairs of eyes shifted onto him. He tucked the box under his arm and shot his smile around the room.

“Have a good day everyone.”

He never felt more weightless than when he stepped into the elevator and pressed the shiny little button labeled 13.

Six months.

You stared down at the printed pink paper in your hands. There was aggressive typeface all over it— at least, it felt a little aggressive to you — listing different “occurrences and events” that had taken place over the past quarter.

Failure to maintain control of a company motor vehicle.

Destruction to public property.

Inciting panic.

“Okay, inciting panic? That’s a little much, don’t you think?” You said, leaning forward in the uncomfortable chair you’d internally dubbed the punishment throne. You never got called into this office and got waved to sit down in that stiff plastic nightmare for any other reason.

Bruce glanced up at you from his desk, a somewhat miffed expression on his tired face. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “Yeah, y’know, I do think that’s a little much. But that’s exactly what happens when you crash a car into a farmer’s market.”

“That makes it sound way worse than what actually happened—“

“No, actually, that’s putting it pretty lightly. You should’ve heard what Tony had to say. I’m surprised you didn’t, with how… opinionated he was.” Bruce made a bridge with his fingers and spoke in that way that made your skin feel tight. Like a disappointed parent. You almost wished he would just yell at you instead.

You flicked your gaze back down to the ticket and shrunk back slightly.

“Stark and I have different opinions on what happened that day,” you mumbled.

“I’m sorry to say it, but your opinion is starting to lose its weight around here. Tony showed me the security footage,” Bruce leaned back in his seat. He looked worn, tired. “I can’t keep defending you like this, kid. You’re running out of chances. I’m sorry. Six months is the best I could do, and I can’t do it again.”

The room suddenly felt very small for being as big as it was. You rubbed a hand over the side of your neck and read the bottom of the paper again.

Corrective action taken is as follows:

6 Months Watchful Eye Probation

Approved by Tony Stark

What a hellish day, made worse only by his name signed so flashy on the thick black line with red ink. Your stomach already dropped to your feet earlier. It was probably somewhere under the building at this point.

“I can’t do Watchful Eye, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce let out a terse breath. “I’d say it’s a lot better than being unemployed. Look— you do the six months, you don’t miss any check-ins, you fill out your reports… you’ll be back in good graces.” His tone fell a bit softer. A moment of temporary reprieve for your mounting anxiety. “Six months is nothing.”

You watched him from across the desk for a moment. He’d never led you wrong before, but your gut twisted uncomfortably at the idea.

Six months of giving up sugar was nothing— six months of having Tony Stark and all his tech goonies up your asshole was a lot. Still, you relented with a slow sigh.

“I still have my opinions,” you stood from the punishment throne, certainly feeling punished, and crumpled up the paper, tucking it into your jacket pocket, “but, uh, I’ll save ‘em for you, for another day. Maybe some cookies and coffee next lab day.” Bruce watched you scoot the chair forward with your boot, making a short but loud screech. “Thanks, Dr. Banner.”

Defeated. Your gaze stuck to him for just a moment too long as you took a few steps back, before your body finally caught up and turned.

Bruce sighed and weakly raised two fingers from his desk in farewell. “Good luck.”

Fuck luck. You needed a fucking miracle.

Any agent stuck in the Watchful Eye program was inevitably burned, either by the industry or the public itself. It didn’t matter what Stark or Dr. Banner said. You really couldn’t afford that kind of dent in your already rocky reputation, or your rapidly thinning paychecks.

There had to be something you could do. Working overtime, helping out in the lab, fuck… maybe Stark likes cookies?

Who am I kidding? I’m not baking Tony Stark fucking cookies.

The pink ticket was a boulder in your pocket as you stepped onto the elevator, your finger jabbing into the stupid button 13.

It smelled sharply like chemicals and salt water. A strange combination.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal a custodian on his knees, scrubbing away at a portion of the tile that’d been marked off with tape. Peter met his exhausted gaze almost instantly.

He couldn’t think of much to do other than offer a polite smile and short nod to the man, shifting out of the way to avoid his work area.

It was only as Peter walked past that he noticed the burning, sickly smell coming from the stain on the floor. Whatever the custodian was scrubbing into the thick dark liquid was bubbling up fiercely in reaction.

He held his breath and continued on down the hall, leaving the poor man to his job.

Strange things happen all the time in this industry. That’s simply how it is in such an unpredictable slice of life. He wondered what kind of a budget Stark Intel had for things like that— what he assumed it was, anyways. Superpowered mishaps. He never saw any of that in the lower levels. Anything of that nature was hush-hush, company confidentiality, the whole notarized nine yards.

Peter pulled himself from his thoughts once the sleek hallway spit him out into a large rectangle of a room. Several private cubicles lined the walls, looking like little suites instead of corporate-hacked work spaces. Straight ahead, a giant TV stretched from the dark tile to the ceiling, playing over a newscast on low volume.

Peter watched the woman’s blown up face for a while in awe. She recounted some fiasco at a farmer’s market that happened last weekend. What a mess that had been. Thankfully nobody had gotten hurt— they just couldn’t figure out what had happened. The car that had lost control and crashed into the scene was empty when they got to it.

“Hey, man, are you lost or somethin’?”

Peter snapped his head to the side. His stomach flipped involuntarily as a thick, salty, brine-like stench instantly clutched at his throat.

The man was sitting several feet away, kicked back with his feet up in the second cubicle along the wall.

Peter didn’t recognize him, but then again, he rarely saw the dispatch agents outside of their street uniforms.

He adjusted the box in his hands and cleared his throat. “Uh, sort of. I just got transferred up here,” he turned to face him, then paused, unsure if he should go in for a handshake or not. “I’m Peter Parker.”

The agent raised his brows. The light reflected off his wet skin almost blindingly. He leapt from the chair and joined Peter, taking his beachy odor with him. He reached forward and grabbed the badge around Peter’s neck to look at it more closely.

“No shit, eh? Junior Dispatch Agent Parker. I thought you were, like, a food delivery guy.”

He chuckled and let the badge fall back against Peter’s shirt.

“I’m Darian. Also known as Cascade—“ he paused, taking a breath and setting his hands on his hips, “—the name’s… a work in progress. Riptide was already taken.”

Peter nodded dumbly. He tried to focus on Darian’s words, but his sinuses stung, his throat clenched, his eyes watered. A cough forced its way out of his chest and he took a small step backward.

“Yeah, I, uh… no, I’m supposed to meet Dr. Banner, I believe,” Peter said. “Do you know where I could find him?”

Or is there any other way out of this conversation without being rude?

Darian nodded, but sucked his teeth and blew out a sigh. “Banner’s kind of busy right now,” he replied, vaguely tense, but quickly shifted back to the casual tone from moments ago, “c’mon, I’ll show you your desk while you wait.”

He laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder and guided him toward the far wall, where a row of much smaller cubicles sat lined together like a pack of gum. A warm, wet sensation immediately bled through the fabric and made Peter grimace.

“Whoops. Sorry, that’ll come out in the wash, probably,” Darian chuckled and took his hand back. A perfect wet print sat dark over Peter’s clean linen shirt.

Some old saying May used to feed him about windows and opportunities was just out of reach in his memory, but Peter held onto the sentiment regardless with a vice grip. He reluctantly placed his box on top of the empty desk, grateful that in that moment, some other agent bounded over to distract his self-appointed guide.

“Darian! You hear anything yet?”

“No, but—“

“She’s getting canned. No ways about it.”

Darian shot a glance between Peter and this hulking man stuffed into a button-up. “Maybe we shouldn’t ta—“

“Oh, new guy. What’s your thing?”

And then, both sets of eyes were on Peter. He felt himself shrink a bit despite the fire in his stride just moments ago, before encountering any of these agents.

“Uh, me?” Peter quipped and immediately felt stupid. “Oh, yeah. Well, y’know, I’m… strong,” he cleared his throat and stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to look much more casual than he felt. “And… I can run really fast, and… some other stuff…”

A few beats of quiet sludged by before the big guy snorted loudly. “They’re really scraping the barrel these days huh?”

Peter’s heart sank, heat rising up his neck in embarrassment. Darian must’ve felt a spark of pity because he nudged his fellow agent, leaving a little wet mark in his wake. “C’mon, Vic, don’t be like that. My boy Parker hasn’t even had his physical yet.”

The physical— would that be today? Peter wasn’t exactly in a physical performance type of mindset (or outfit). What would he have to do? Surely it wouldn’t just be a standard medical exam…

Clearly more amused than anything, Vic shrugged and took a sip from the thermos in his baseball-glove sized hand. “I guess we’ll see whenever Banner’s done chewing out the spaz.”

“Hey, that’s not cool, man,” Darian mumbled.

“What? Look, kid,” Vic looked pointedly at Peter, “I’m sorry to say it, but you picked the wrong time to follow your dreams. This place has taken a real shit, and it’s messy, and it stinks. It stinks real bad.”

Peter stiffly glanced at Darian, who matched his gaze, then looked back to Vic.

“In fact, this place is full of little shits. Little shits walking around, doing whatever they want, crashing into farmers markets—“

“Allegedly,” Darian intercepted, “but, continue.”

Vic grumbled. “I hate it when you interrupt me. What was I saying?”

There was a ringing low in Peter’s ears. He was in a vacuum in his own head, idly nodding along to whatever Vic was ranting about.

Maybe he made a mistake. Maybe he should’ve gone to trade school instead, become an electrician, something like that. That was a decent living. Something his aunt May could still humbly brag about to her friends at brunch.

No, he didn’t mean that. He couldn’t, when this had been his vision of his future for so long.

It was just the first day.

He hadn’t even had his physical yet.

It took Peter a moment to realize the conversation before him shifted. Vic and Darian both twisted around toward the elevator hall, so Peter tried to shake the cotton out of his ears and pay attention. He needed an out, somehow. He needed some time to clear his head.

Charlie threw up in the hallway again.

You skirted around the taped off tiles and eyed the suspect chemical burn staining the shiny surface. A putrid sort of burn clung to your sinuses as you passed by, making your eyes water up.

It felt like the universe was telling you off at this point.

And maybe it really was, because your stomach soured on the way to your desk, you scrambled to find your keys, and it seems like someone took your lunch from your cubicle. A scowl sat on your face as you shoved your laptop into your bag. Seconds weren’t quick enough as you gathered your things and made a beeline back to the elevator.

Passing through the heart of the 13th floor, your boots squeaked against the tile. You could smell your coworker Darian somewhere but worse than that, your blood pressure spiked once Vic’s familiar chuckle rang out.

“Looks like Banner’s free now, Parker,” his voice always boomed no matter how ‘quiet’ he was being.

You didn’t look their way, even when a set of rapid footsteps trailed behind you to the elevator.

“Excuse me,” an unfamiliar voice was behind you. Soft, but clear. And glancing up at his face, he seemed maybe just as stressed as you at that moment. Maybe. “Could you tell me how to find Dr. Banner?”

Hearing Dr. Banner’s name again pricked you in the moment, salt in a very fresh wound. You pressed the elevator button and sucked in a breath through your nose. “Floor 15, last door on the right.”

“Got it, thank you.” He paused. “I’m Peter Parker.” He blinked a few times and looked off to the side, an air of awkwardness clinging to him.

You flicked your gaze in his direction, adjusted the bag on your shoulder, and replied quietly with your name. The silver doors before you slid open after what felt like an eternity. You walked in, and a beat later, Peter followed, keeping a polite distance in the small space. A second after you pressed the buttons you both needed and the doors closed you in, Peter let out a breath. He coughed into his fist and tugged a little on his collar.

“Sorry. I’m not sick or anything, it’s just… um, allergies,” he said.

“No, it’s Darian. He smells like Sea World,” you replied.

A look of relief flashed over his face. “Okay, so I’m not the only one who…” he sighed, “I didn’t want to say anything. He seems nice.”

“He is nice. But he reeks. And he leaves little puddles everywhere.”

Mechanical whirring filled the tiny room. Peter scratched his nose and looked down, the ghost of a grin on his face. “Is there, um, anything I should know? Y’know, for onboarding stuff?” He asked like he was unsure of what he was saying the whole time.

Your bad mood hung stubbornly over you like storm clouds, but you answered anyway. “The physical is worse than you think.” The doors slid open to yet another sleek hallway, however, this one was remarkably easier to breathe in. “Also, the baby is the bomb,” you added.

Peter shot you a puzzled look, stilled in his spot. “Huh?”

Your finger hovering over the ‘close doors’ button was enough of a hint that you were ready to end this interaction. “Good luck,” you replied flatly, and watched Peter step out onto the 15th floor, looking more confused than reassured.

Finally alone with your thoughts, the elevator hummed softly as it brought you to the ground level. In this fleeting moment of privacy, you took a puff from the modified inhaler Banner had given you, and tucked it back into your bag.

Time to go home and ruminate.

Peter wondered, briefly, if Tony Stark had ever heard of OSHA.

Sweat ran down his temples, already soaked into his hair. His feet smacked against the treadmill over and over like they had for the past however many miles, and he could barely feel his legs anymore, but they kept moving. He was thankful, at the very least, that he didn’t have to do all this in slacks and a button-up. The Stark Intel athletic shorts and sneakers they’d provided him didn’t fit quite right, but he tried not to get too philosophical about it.

Dr. Banner watched Peter, eyeing the wires and machines attached to him as he ran in place. It’d been a long afternoon of gathering data, trying to cover all the superpowered bases.

The agents that came to work at Stark Intel were all unique, with their own… talents. Strength, agility, endurance, extraordinary ability. The physical was not only designed to take record of Peter’s capabilities, but to iron out specifics like required tech or accommodations for suits.

Also, he needed to settle on a name. And a suit design, or something. But he didn’t have space to think about that at the moment.

“Excellent, Peter,” Dr. Banner spoke into the microphone and scribbled something down on the form before him. “Winding down now. This concludes the endurance portion of the exam.”

Peter huffed out labored breaths as the treadmill steadily slowed to a stop. His muscles ached and his lungs burned and the sweat stung in his eyes, but at least it was over.

Turns out your warning in the elevator was blunt but honest. The exam was definitely worse than he thought it’d be. Peter was strong, and Peter was fast, and he thought proving it would be no big deal — but he completely ate his confidence once the simulations started.

The situations ranged wildly from things like helping a lost child find their caregiver, to finding and defusing a bomb (you were right, again — it was strapped to the bottom of a stroller).

The technology available to Stark Intel was beyond impressive, and undoubtedly more than expensive.

A gush of cool air washed over him as the lab door slid open and Banner strolled inside. He offered Peter a bottle of water, which he gulped down almost instantly. “Very promising results. All that’s left is the ending analysis.” Banner smiled politely and tucked Peter’s file under his arm. “You’re free to use our showers. I’ll be waiting in my office for you when you’re ready.”

Peter nodded and thanked him but he felt like jelly on his way to the locker room. The shower helped, hot water doing what it could to his screaming muscles, but Peter was still looking forward to heading home and flopping onto his bed. He changed back into his original office attire, grimacing at the dried-but-still-very-visible handprint still on his shoulder.

Banner’s office was spacious, with potted plants and large windows but a comically small chair pulled up to the front of his desk, like a child was visiting before he came by.

“Have a seat,” Banner gestured vaguely to the chair, his eyes occupied on all of Peter’s paperwork.

Peter raised his brows but sat in the plastic chair anyway. He shifted around a bit uncomfortably and waited quietly for the older man to start.

Banner pointed to some lines of his own handwriting on the page. “Peter Parker. Twenty-four, graduated from Midtown Technical Highschool. Attended one year at NYU. Computer Science.”

Peter’s leg started bouncing while he listened, despite how fatigued he was. Nerves know no limits.

“Superior strength, agility, endurance, and heightened senses. He can also scale vertical surfaces and completely support himself, even upside down.”

“What, so he’s sticky ?” Tony Stark’s voice nearly made Peter jump as it cut into the room. Banner grinned toward his computer screen before looking back to Peter, waiting for him to answer.

Peter blinked a few times. “Uh, well, not generally, sir.”

“But you stick to walls?”

“I, um, I can. If I wanted to.”

Banner held his hand to his chin, amused in the moment. “Continuing, Tony,” he mused, looking back down at the paper, “strong sense of morality and ambition. Average to above average simulation results. Viable for both offensive and defensive procedures.”

“Sounds green to me.” Tony chuckled through the speaker. “Get it, Bruce?”

Banner shook his head, amusement mostly gone now, as he scribbled some more words onto the page. “Very funny, Tony.”

“Didn’t hear the kid laugh, but we’ll work on it. Anyways, you got a name in mind? Some kinda motif you wanna work with?”

He hadn’t gotten that far yet. Not seriously, anyways. He’d spent a few years doodling out different costume designs that came to him in daydreams, but Peter felt creativity wasn’t usually his strong suit.

“Um, not really, sir,” he replied, shifting in the little chair.

“You have time to work on it,” Banner said, signing his name on the bottom of a few forms. “Your next few shifts will be mostly in the lab while we work on a suit for you. Of course, your input and participation is encouraged and valued.”

With the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted, Banner dismissed Peter for the day and sent him on his way with a laminated information booklet and a brief goodbye from Tony’s disembodied voice.

Peter wasted no time getting home. The moment he was inside his door, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed in the middle of his bed. A good few minutes passed full of nothing – just the gentle tick of his ceiling fan, the faint hum of his refrigerator down the hall, and his good-natured attempts at deep breaths.

Underneath the visceral relief of being home and motionless, he was proud of himself for everything he had made it through earlier. He couldn’t be making a mistake when he felt so accomplished at the end of the day, right? Change is usually rough and uncomfortable at first.

Somehow, his mind wandered back to his interaction with you at the elevator.

Vic mentioned you getting fired (and being Little Shit #1), though you didn’t empty out your desk on your way out. He didn’t exactly seem like a reliable source of information anyway.

Sleep took Peter before he could ruminate any further.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #mcu!peter parker x reader #mcu #spiderman

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