#oxygen studios

[igquelysobad]

starring Quely,Writing By Quely,Directed by Quely. #ENJOY #THEMOViE #Being .

BEING✊🏿

🌩️ the Lion's have come to be more appealing this is the strangest thing we have yet to come.

I'm building a large Building amongst the Dark🌩️ 🌩️ they could understand some couldn't.

*walks away*

[illyrianbitch]

Lights, Camera, Love!

Pairing: Reader x Rhysand

Summary: Rhysand, Hollywood's hottest heartthrob, has everyone smitten—everyone except you, his co-star. But when rumors of your feud begin to affect the show's ratings, your producers propose a last-ditch solution: a fake romance to salvage your public image and reignite fan interest.

Warnings: cocky Rhysand, just two snippy co-stars, ianthe, co-parent feysand, helion and amren as big hollywood peeps

Word Count: 4.7k

a/n: this is a lil series ive had tucked away with some inspo....lets see if ayll fw it enough hehehe. dedicated to @milswrites and @daycourtofficial bc their love for this pushed me to pick it up again

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was unprofessional, truly. 

You wanted to roll your eyes, to scoff and walk off set. 

But instead, you simply shifted uncomfortably in your seat, adjusting the hem of your dress as Ianthe, your overly enthusiastic interviewer, fluttered around Rhysand like a lovesick butterfly. Her giggles grated on your nerves as she leaned in a little too close, her hand lingering on his arm just a second too long.

Ianthe was known for her probing questions and flirtatious demeanor— it’s what made her such a popular source for exclusive interviews. Not only did she know the right questions to ask, but she knew exactly how to ask them in order to get what she wanted: juicy gossip, something she could feed on. It wasn’t a coincidence that her last name held such a resemblance to the word parasite. She was one. 

You didn’t want to do the interview to begin with. The upcoming release of your newest season meant various events and panels that left you unsettled and anxious. You loved your job— loved your character even more. But being in the public eye alongside Rhysand was hard. Suffocating, really. 

It felt like hours that you sat there with a practiced smile, waiting as she conversed with Rhysand. The studio lights were warm, and the backdrop behind you— a cover of the show's logo— made you feel a bit more comfortable. But still, the unease persisted, and you counted down the seconds until this interview was over and you could return home. 

"So, Rhysand," Ianthe said, her voice silky smooth. "You've become quite the heartthrob lately. How do you handle all the attention from your adoring fans?"

Your first instinct was to laugh. Your second was to roll your eyes. The third was to vomit in your mouth. You somehow resisted the urge to do all of the above, settling for biting back the rising nausea at the shameless flirting. 

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, a charming smile spreading across his face. "It's all part of the job, I suppose. Though, I must say, the fans are incredibly supportive. It's their enthusiasm that keeps us going."

Us. This time it physically burned you to not roll your eyes, even subtly. Your lips curled into a pained smile. Ianthe didn’t seem to notice the forced gesture, her gaze locked onto Rhysand as if you weren’t even in the room. 

You looked down, absently playing with a ring on your index finger. The metal felt cool and familiar, and you smiled faintly at it, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. It seemed to fill your lungs with a steadying breath, one that was enough to gather yourself, to steel your resolve and endure sitting beside someone who sucked up all the oxygen in the room without even trying.

It took a few more minutes before Ianthe was turning to you with an expectant smile— perfect white teeth. Veneers, most likely. The smile was strange up close and you resisted the urge to lean in and expect them further, to search for any signs of hidden pointed teeth, sharpened to resemble that of a predator. 

You blinked, tilting your head and welcoming her attention with a large smile of your own. Certainly not as perfect, but a lot less unnerving, you hoped. 

 “Y/n,�� She started, readjusting herself in her seat. “You look beautiful. It’s always nice to see you.”

You gave a small nod in acknowledgement. You’d talked to Ianthe a few times, mostly on red carpets and press events. Never longer than a minute, never past fake pleasantries and a kiss on the cheek—- from her end. 

“Thanks Ianthe,” you said, smile still plastered on your cheeks like glue. “It’s always a pleasure talking with you.”

There was a glint in her eye that told you she didn’t believe a word you said. At least you both had that in common, perhaps you could bond on your shared love of bullshit. 

 “Tell me, what's it like working alongside Rhysand? He seems to have quite the presence on set."

You paused for a moment, considering your response carefully before delivering it with a smile. 

“Rhysand is an experience. Even after years, he still manages to keep me on my toes.”

What your statement really translated to was: Rhysand was a cocky asshole. Everything was about him. All. The. Damn. Time.

"It's truly remarkable how he commands the attention of everyone in the room. It's as if the rest of us simply fade into the background when he's around.” 

Because he’s an attention whore. 

You didn’t say the last thought— as much as your body screamed at you to. 

Rhysand's smile tightened imperceptibly, a flicker of irritation dancing in his eyes before he masked it with practiced ease. "Well, thank you," he replied smoothly,  "I suppose it's just the natural magnetism of a true star."

He delivered his words as a joke, as if you both shared a similar, endearing humor regarding one another. You fought to conceal a satisfied smirk, knowing that your veiled dig had hit its mark. 

Ianthe continued to prattle on, her questions growing increasingly mundane as the minutes ticked by. There was a lull—a brief moment of respite where Ianthe paused to collect her thoughts. 

It was Rhysand who broke the silence, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. "I must admit, I've always admired Y/n’s dedication to her craft," he said, his tone almost earnest. "It's not easy to disappear into a role the way she does."

You bristled at the backhanded compliment, knowing all too well that beneath his seemingly benign words lay a razor-sharp edge. It was a surprise to you that Ianthe didn’t pick up on it, her dull eyes and bright smile still worn on her nauseatingly beautiful face. 

"Well, Rhysand," you replied, forcing a tight smile, "I suppose we all have our strengths. I can’t coast on charisma alone.”

His smirk returned in full force, a wolfish gleam in his eyes. "Ah, but isn't that what makes us such a dynamic duo, sweetheart?" he said, "The perfect balance of substance and style."

You fought to conceal a frustrated sigh, to bite back the snarl you wanted to make at the annoying nickname he’d adopted for you recently. He knew it drove you nuts, knew it made you want to call him something less sweet. 

As much as you wished to continue the conversation, to match his veiled insults with ones of your own— that were sure to be far more clever, you knew that this verbal sparring match would only serve to prolong your agony. Instead, you plastered on a diplomatic smile, nodding in agreement as Ianthe launched into yet another round of inane questions.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It felt like an eternity before you were freed from the clutches of the interview. 

Ianthe stood, flashing you a smile that felt more condescending than friendly. "Thank you both for coming," she said, her eyes lingering on Rhysand. You watched as she scanned him one last time, eyes drinking him in like a fresh glass of wine. 

You forced a polite nod. "Thank you, Ianthe. Always a pleasure."

She gave you a look that made you feel small, but you quickly swallowed it and turned away, heading toward the exit. As much as a nice, warm bath was calling to you, you had lunch plans with Lucien and were itching to be in the presence of someone you actually liked. 

"Well, that was entertaining," Rhysand commented, a smirk playing on his lips as he caught up to you. 

You glanced at him, trying to keep your irritation in check as you quickened your pace, offering a few spare smiles to the employees you passed. "If by entertaining, you mean tacky, then sure."

His smirk faded slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He raised a brow.  "Tacky? I was just keeping things lively."

"Lively," you repeated with a laugh. You stopped, the movement so abrupt that Rhysand almost bumped into you. You turned to face him with a flat look. “You’re a shameless flirt."

His eyes narrowed at you— a deep blue that you swore at times was almost violet. His head cocked to the side and you shrank deeper into yourself, feeling somewhat at odds and uncomfortable in his burning gaze. The smirk tugged harder at the corner of his lips.

“Well, isn’t that the whole point?”

You scowled, opening your mouth to respond. But before any words could leave your mouth, a familiar voice filled the air. “Rhys!”

A head turn led you to catch Feyre’s eye as she walked towards you, a bright smile on her face. Her eyes lit up as her gaze landed on you and Rhys, one hand holding onto the smaller one of her son. 

You watched as Nyx, quite possibly one of the prettiest kids you'd ever seen, ran up to Rhysand with a joyous laugh, opening his arms up, wide and expecting. In one swift and natural movement, Rhysand scooped him up effortlessly, his earlier annoyance instantly dissipating from his features. 

“Hey, buddy,” Rhysand said, his voice softening as he kissed Nyx’s temple.

Against your better judgment, a smile tugged at your cheeks at how brightly Rhysand’s face lit up. He pulled Feyre into a quick, sweet embrace, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.

If there was one thing you were willing to give Rhysand credit for, it was this.

His breakup with Feyre had been incredibly public. The divorce, the fallout—both of their reputations took a hit when it came out that she had initiated the divorce, later compounded by her being outed on a date with a woman from her past. Yet, despite everything, they both managed it with such grace.

Feyre was incredibly sweet. You never truly understood how Rhysand landed her in the first place, how they had been married for over five years, so deeply in love that they started a family. You thoroughly enjoyed her company, even though it wasn’t as often as you would’ve liked. She was still Rhysand’s family, after all, and you took every chance you could to avoid being around him when it wasn’t necessary. 

But Feyre was a large reason you enjoyed your job. She eased the anxiety that came with joining a cast that was already so close, essentially taking a role that had belonged to her— even though your character was introduced after hers was written off. 

It was clear that despite everything, Rhysand and Feyre had managed to maintain a bond, not just for their sake, but for Nyx’s. The love they still shared, the ease with which they navigated this new chapter of their lives—it was something you respected, even envied a little.

You averted your gaze, fingers running over the cool metal of your ring as you turned to leave, but Feyre called your name, her voice as kind as usual. 

You paused, looking back at her. “Yeah?”

Feyre’s smile was warm. You took her in for a moment, how naturally beautiful she was— how she exuded a certain energy that you could only describe as regal. A smile fit for a queen.  “How was the interview?” 

You shrugged, giving a small smile. “The usual. Ianthe was...”

You pursed your lips as your voice trailed off. There were many ways you could finish off your sentence but you weren’t sure how diplomatic you could be anymore or if Feyre would be bothered by an honest review of your interviewer. 

Feyre leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “A bitch?”

You laughed, catching Rhysand’s glance as he looked over for a moment. His attention quickly returned to Nyx and you turned back to meet Feyre’s beautiful blue eyes. “Exactly.”

Feyre shook her head, a sympathetic look on her face. “She was always so condescending with me, too. It’s because she’s desperate to sleep with that loser.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder, jokingly but lovingly casting a glance back at Rhysand. She clicked her tongue. “Poor delusions.”

Another laugh left your lips and you nodded, suppressing a grin. “Yeah,” you drawled, “She wasn’t very subtle.”

Feyre raised a brow. “I don’t think subtly is in that limited vocabulary of hers.”

Your eyes drifted to the small interview set, where Ianthe was still standing, talking to someone and sparing regular glances over at Rhysand—a predator about to make her move. It was best for you to leave now, you thought, to avoid watching the inevitable hunt. 

“I should get going,” you said, turning back to Feyre. “I have plans. But, it was so nice seeing you.”

Feyre beamed, putting a hand on your arm. You briefly took in the ink that covered her forearm, the delicate, beautiful tattoos that you always wanted to admire further.  “You too,” she said, “Let’s have lunch soon.”

You nodded, a genuine and pleased motion. Your conversation with Feyre was the first one today that you didn’t have to fake any polite mannerisms. “I’d love to.”

Casting one last glance at Rhysand, you watched as Feyre approached him and put a hand out to Nyx. Rhysand smiled down at her, a soft, familiar look that made your chest tighten with an emotion you didn’t care to examine.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was 10:00 am when you were called into the production office, a room nestled in a quiet corner of the studio lot. You were tired, having only slept a few hours the night prior, and you could feel life slowly dripping back into you with each sip of coffee. The area was relatively private, shielded from the prying eyes of paparazzi, so you opted for comfort over glamor, dressed in jeans and a simple hoodie—nice, big, and comfortable.

Helion was usually meticulous about these meetings, ensuring both you and Rhysand were well-prepared and informed ahead of time. This sudden summons felt off. You didn’t know what to expect, and that uncertainty weighed heavily on your mind as you pushed open the door to the conference room.

Rhysand was already in the room when you arrived, effortlessly lounging in a chair with the kind of put-together look that only seemed to accentuate your own disheveled state. It made you hate him even more. You didn’t attempt to hide your scowl. He glanced up as you entered, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Phew, you'd think it was a Sunday and you were hungover," he remarked casually, a small smile playing on his lips. 

You shot him a pointed glare, resisting the urge to snap back and opting to take the open seat next to him, sitting back to take a sip of your coffee. 

Rhysand leaned over into your space, reaching a hand to tug at the strings of your hoodie with a grin on his lips. You swatted his hand away with a deepening scowl. "Cut it out."

He chuckled lightly, settling back into his chair. "So, what do you think this is about?" 

“No idea,” you sighed, crossing your arms defensively. You gave him a pointed glare. “What did you do?”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. “And why are we automatically assuming I did something?”

“Well when are you not?” You titled your head. “Doing something, I mean.”

Rhysand caught onto the meaning of your words instantly. He narrowed his eyes at you before something crossed his features. Then, he was leaning in again, a smirk on his face as he scanned your own. “Are you feeling a bit left out? You’re always welcome to join.”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a scoff of disgust as you maneuvered yourself to lean farther away from him. “You’re shameless.”

The door clicked open, and your attention snapped over as Helion entered the room. You began to offer him a smile, but the motion died on your lips as you met his gaze. 

You loved Helion— as an executive producer, and the main man regarding your public relations, you’d formed a great relationship with him. It helped that you were best friends with his son, too. But today his typically buoyant air was clouded, his expression wearing the weight of serious deliberation. It was one you could only compare to that of a disappointed father about to deliver bad news. Beside him, Amren followed like a silent storm cloud. 

Amren, on the other hand, was someone you didn’t have a favorable relationship with. She was Rhysand’s personal agent and she excluded the same energy he did— something that tasted a lot like pretentiousness.  Her sharp gaze swept the room, and you instinctively avoided meeting it.

If Amren was here, and Helion was wearing that stern expression, it could only mean trouble. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, a knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach.

You and Rhysand shared a quick, knowing glance, a similar confusion mirrored on both your faces. You straightened yourself as Rhysand offered a disarmingly charming smile. 

"What's going on?" he asked.

Helion exchanged a glance with Amren before sighing heavily. He leaned forward, slapping a piece of paper onto the table and pushing it toward both of you. 

The first thing that caught your eye was the TMZ logo— something that made your stomach drop instinctively. You bit at the inside of your cheek, your eyes repeatedly running over the headline. You looked up through your lashes to meet Helion’s expecting gaze. 

Rhysand's voice was incredulous as he spoke. "Did you... print these out?" 

You casted a quick glance of disbelief at him. Idiot. He paid no mind. 

Helion ignored the comment, taking a seat across from you as he leaned back, crossing his arms. He gave a nod towards the two copies before you. “Go ahead. Read," he instructed calmly, his expression grave. The tone alone made you shiver from its unfamiliarity. 

You picked up your copy, scanning the bolded headline and the accompanying pictures. 

FAILURE ON SET: HOW AN OVERBEARING CO-STAR FUED IS THREATENING THE VIEWER EXPERIENCE

Ianthe Parcite weighs in on the rumored feud between co-stars Y/N and Rhysand after exclusive interview.

As expected, the large printed image was a glamor shot of Rhysand and one of the interview set. You were nowhere to be found. Your grip on the edges of the paper tightened as you began to read the article.

In an exclusive interview with TMZ, Ianthe Parcite, known for her candid critiques, has taken a stark stance on the alleged feud between Hollywood’s famed co-stars, Y/N L/N and Rhysand Darling. Contrary to initial impressions, Ianthe now reveals that behind the scenes, tensions ran high and professionalism faltered. “I sensed an atmosphere of unease and discontent,” Ianthe remarked, reflecting on her recent encounter with the co-stars. “Y/N appeared dismissive and disengaged during our interview, which is concerning for the show’s dynamics.” Ianthe didn’t hold back in her assessment of Rhysand either, noting his apparent lack of receptiveness to her questions. “Rhysand’s demeanor was noticeably distant, almost unreceptive to any meaningful dialogue,” she disclosed. “It’s unfortunate when personal dynamics overshadow the professionalism required on set.” The revelations have sent shockwaves through the fanbase, with many expressing disappointment over the potential impact on their favorite series. As speculation swirls around the future of the show, fans are left wondering if the rift between Y/N and Rhysand will escalate and if it's worth watching a show doomed for failure. 

You scoffed incredulously, pushing the paper further away from you as if its distance would minimize the anger that simmered underneath your skin. You deeply regretted holding back in the interview— regretted not tearing that pompous bitch into two.

"So she doesn't even include a picture of me and yet I'm the main one she rips into?" 

You found the courage to look around the room, your gaze landing on Helion with pleading eyes. His response was a noncommittal shrug, accompanied by a slight raise of his eyebrows. It was clear he didn't have an easy answer, either.

Running your tongue along your teeth, you shifted your gaze to Rhysand. His jaw clenched as he laid the paper on the table. "It's not even a great photo of me," he remarked dryly, "I'm too pale in it."

Your mouth fell open in exasperation. "Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath.

Rhysand shot you a glare that lingered for a few tense seconds. You matched his gaze evenly before he redirected his attention to Helion and Amren. "This is ridiculous," he asserted, "Did they seriously publish this?

A moment passed. Helion sighed heavily, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Yes. Every tabloid is eating it up.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling every muscle in your body tense with the frustration prickling at your skin. “It wasn't our best interview, sure, but it definitely wasn't that bad," you insisted, tapping a finger down on the offending article.

Amren's gaze flickered toward Rhysand, and you followed it. Rhysand shifted uncomfortably, his expression briefly sheepish before he turned to you with a defensive edge. You narrowed your eyes, tuning to face him properly.

“Did you do something?”

Rhysand rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous.” 

Your mouth fell agape and you let out a deep, angry breath through your nose. “Don’t use that word about me,” you hissed at him.  You pointed emphatically at the paper. "That is ridiculous. And you look like a guilty dog. What did you do?"

"Nothing," he finally muttered, his eyes narrowing in irritation. He shifted in his seat, pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves. 

It was Amren's voice that cut through the tension, her tone cool and calculating. "It's what he didn't do, really," she remarked cryptically, her gaze still lingering on Rhysand.

He shot her a pointed glare and you frowned, your brows furrowing to a tight knit. A faint headache throbbed at your temples. Turning to Helion for clarification, you found him leaning forward, lips pursed in thought. 

"It appears Ianthe was a bit... offended that Rhysand turned down her advances," Helion explained carefully, his words laden with implication.

Your eyes widened in surprise, disbelief coloring your features. "Seriously?" you blurted out, your head twisting to face Rhysand once more, moving with such swiftness that an ache pulled at the muscles of your neck. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Rhysand's eyes widened in response, his expression a mix of offense and confusion. "Excuse me?" he retorted, a hint of incredulity in his voice. "So you have a problem with me when I sleep with people and when I don't?"

Annoyance flared within you. "You flirted with her the entire interview," you accused, your voice raising slightly in pitch. "The one time you decide to take a vow of celibacy and it's with the one name that can tarnish my reputation?”

Rhysand scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Your reputation, of course," he muttered sarcastically. "You're such a hypocrite."

"Your actions reflect on me too, Rhysand," you shot back, "Do you ever think about that?"

He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with a pinched expression. "Oh, please," he countered, "If you hadn't been sulking and throwing daggers at me the entire interview, I wouldn't have had to flirt with her to salvage it. You should be thanking me."

Your jaw tightened at his words. "Thanking you? Look what happened—"

Before you could finish your retort, Helion slammed his palm down on the table with a sharp crack. You and Rhysand both jumped at the sudden interruption, turning to face him with wide eyes.

"Enough," Helion declared firmly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Stop bickering like children."

You and Rhysand exchanged a reluctant glance and with a sigh, you sank back into your seat, folding your arms defensively. 

"It'll blow over in a week, right? No big deal," Rhysand said casually, his tone attempting to downplay the severity of the situation. You raised your eyebrows at the suggestion, but as hopeful as it sounded, part of you knew that this was a bigger deal than you both cared to admit.

Helion regarded him with a critical eye, his lips pressed into a thin line. Feeling an itch at your skin, you unfolded your arms. 

"He’s right," you said hopefully, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, rumors of us not being... the best of friends isn't something new. People know this."

Rhysand offered a nod of agreement. “Exactly. It's just tabloid fodder," he said, his gaze shifting between Amren and Helion with a hint of concern.

Leaning slightly on the table, Amren shook her head slightly, her eyes– a color so light they were almost silver— glowed with intensity as they swept over Rhysand and then fixed on you. The heat of her gaze made you swallow and you found yourself tempted to apologize for things you’d never done— confess for crimes you hadn’t committed. But against your instincts, you held her gaze for another lasting moment. Amren seemed to appreciate the stare and she raised an eyebrow of approval before she spoke. 

“It's more than that now," she stated firmly, her voice cutting through the air like a finely sharpened knife. "This isn't just idle gossip anymore. It's becoming off-putting. A few small rumors are funny at first, but now people don't want to watch. It's affecting our ratings."

"We can't afford to lose viewers over this," Helion added, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency you’d never heard. He was stressed— extremely so. He picked at the gold rings that adorned his hands. "The show needs a strong, united front, not two leads sniping at each other in public."

You exchanged a glance with Rhysand. Your mind raced and you settled your gaze on Helion. 

You trusted him. He always had your best interests in mind, and navigating public fallout wasn’t unfamiliar territory for you. This was fine, this was manageable. 

“Okay,” you said, the words directly intended for him.  “What do you want me to do?”

He threw a glance at Amren. 

“Well,” he started, “We need to manage the narrative. The tension between you two is too obvious. Starting with the press tour, we'll need you both to project a good connection. No more sniping or tension in public—it needs to be all smiles and cooperation."

You nodded slowly, digesting his words. Next to you, Rhysand sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. "Are you saying we need to fake being friends?"

The two agents before you shared another glance. You frowned at the exchange, an unsettled feeling brewing in your gut. Helion’s face slowly shifted into one more amused— and you watched as a grin grew on his lips, something suspicious, mischievous even. His eyes gleamed.

“Not just friends," he said, his gaze shifting between you and Rhysand. He looked to Amren one last time, who gave a small nod of approval before he continued, 

"We need you to fake a romance."

You choked on the air in your throat, your heart skipping a beat at his words. You blinked rapidly, gaze darting between Helion and Amren, seeking any sign that this was a joke or a misinterpretation. 

They were messing with you both, surely. This was some joke to make you both apologize, some horrendously unrealistic suggestion that made the idea of you two being simply friends something straight out of paradise.

But their faces were deadly serious— set with a purposeful intent etched into their features. Helion’s grin ate at you. 

Rhysand's laughter broke the tense silence, though it lacked humor as he shook his head in disbelief. His wide eyes met yours, a silent exchange of incredulity passing between you before both of you turned to Helion simultaneously. When no other words were offered to you both, the reality of the suggestion seeped in. 

As if you both registered it at the same time, both you and Rhysand rose swiftly. 

"Absolutely fucking not—" 

"—There is no way in hell I'm—"

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

GUYS IM OBSESSED IM SORRY I CANT. reader is such a hater and i think its so funny, whatever rhys does its just *eye roll* booo he sucks

i loveee them ur honor

if youd like to be added to the LCL! taglist, lmk!! <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124

Rhysand tag list 🫶🏻:

@serrendiipty

[beenbaanbuun]

first kiss with ateez

park seonghwa

i’m of the belief that seonghwa is a gentleman through and through

unfortunately that means no kiss until at least the third date, and even then your lips would have to look particularly plush and tempting for him to even dare

a bit of pink lip gloss does the trick, drawing his gaze to your lips more than once during the restaurant date that you find yourself on

he studies them when you talk about what’s going on in your life, watching your pretty teeth peeking out from beneath them

in fact, the more you talk, the harder it gets to pull his gaze away to look you in the eyes

how can he when your lips look so, what’s the word, kissable…

and before he can even stop himself, he’s leaning across the table and is oh-so-gently holding your face in place with a hand on your cheek

your words stop in your throat as he breathes against your lips and perhaps you can’t help but find his lips a little tempting too

you close the gap, pushing your lips against his own soft pair and holding yourself in place for just a moment or two

neither of you forget that you’re in the centre of a restaurant so you pull away, sharing a silent promise that it would be the first of many

kim hongjoong

hongjoong didn’t quite know why he felt so compelled to show you his studio so early in the relationship

it was his safe space away from the rest of the world, and yet there you were, stood right in the centre of it looking like you belonged there

and he believed that you did because why else would you look so pretty under the dim lights that shone from the ceiling?

why else would he be so tempted to pull you over to his desk chair and have a long, passionate make out session with you?

he tries to shake the dirty thoughts away, but a few linger on for longer than he’d like

and as you look around the space, he can’t quite help but imagine what it would feel like to hold his lips to yours

feeling braver than usual, he struts up to you and leans into your personal space, mouth barely an inch from your own

“can i?” he whispers, eyes flickering down to watch your lips part and your tongue dart out to wet them, “want to feel your pretty mouth on mine…”

you nod and before you know it, he has a hand on your shoulder, pulling you close and his lips on yours, drinking you in

he doesn’t pull away until you’re both dizzy from a lack of oxygen, but before you can even fully catch your breath, he’s delving in for more

jeong yunho

another gentleman except he is more than happy to kiss you on the first date as long as you’re as willing as he is

because he never really believed in love as first sight, but when he sees you for the first time, kissing you is all he can thing about

spends half of his time staring at your lips, and half of his time staring at your eyes wondering how pretty it would be to watch them flicker closed as he kisses you

tries his hardest to listen to you as you talk but how is he supposed to concentrate when all he wants to do is lean in and press his own lips against yours

ends up asking you to repeat yourself pretty much every sentence but you don’t really mind because you like the way he pouts when he asks…

both of you so desperately want to kiss the other and yet neither of you say anything, until…

“is that lipstick on your teeth?” yunho asks. you try to rub it off but you’re rubbing at the wrong tooth and yunho is just giggling to himself

you ask him to get it for you, and he freezes up because he’s unsure as to whether you’re genuinely asking him or whether it’s some sort of weird way of you asking for a kiss

he plays dumb and hopes it’s the latter, leaning in a little and extending the invitation for you to close the gap, which of course, you do

you giggle against his lips as he pushes the tip of his tongue into your mouth to wipe away the lipstick

kang yeosang

you’ve been dating for a while and you both desperately want to kiss the other but you’re shy and yeosang is clueless

the two of you are trapped in a weird sort of tango where one of you will get just about brave enough to lean in for a kiss before uncertainty kicks in and you take it back

your friends can’t be around you two anymore because it’s genuinely annoying to watch you two perform this weird ritual

they’re all silently begging for the two of you to just quit the bullshit and make out (preferably not in front of them)

but even with the hints the guys drop to yeosang, he still doesn’t seem to understand that of course you want to kiss him as badly as he wants to kiss you

until one night, you’re at his dorm for a movie night that yunho invited you over for

eventually, though, he gets fed up of watching you two love sick idiots watch one another instead of the movie and he stands up with his popcorn bowl and his blanket

“i’m going to bed,” he grumbles, shooting the two of you a frustrated look, “you two need to get a grip and make out already…”

it’s the most direct hint any of the members have given to yeosang, and finally it sinks in that holy shit! maybe you want to kiss him too???

your lips are already on his the second yunho is out of the room and he can’t help but squeak in surprise before fully leaning into the kiss

it’s unsure to start with, but the two of you soon find your feet and as per yunho’s instructions, you do in fact ‘get a grip and make out’

choi san

another gentleman but only in the sense that he likes to get verbal consent before kissing you

and he’s been waiting so patiently to ask you all night but he can’t quite bring himself to interrupt you as you very cutely ramble on about some random topic

but as much as he could sit and listen to you talk about anything with your angelic voice, he just wants to lean over to where you’re sat on his bed and kiss you

you notice him zoning out after a while and your sentences trail off

“sorry, was i rambling?” you ask, growing shy

“huh?” he shakes himself out of his trance and pouts at you, “aw, you could never ramble, babe…”

while you’re grateful that he’s so quick to squash any insecurities you might have about talking too much, you can’t help but wonder what had him so deep in thought

but before you can ask, san gets there first

“can i kiss you?” you nod, but san doesn’t do anything until you actually say it

when you finally get the word out, he smiles and lunges forwards to let his lips crash against yours

it’s not a gentle kiss, but it’s not an aggressive one either

it’s more like a long awaited one, switching from slow and sensual to desperate and depraved, before going back to the former in mere seconds!

song mingi

this man can and will kiss you whenever he feels like it

don’t get me wrong, he gets so incredibly shy around you, but he is also so incredibly impulsive that the moment he gets the idea to kiss you in his head, he can’t shake it out until he’s done it

it’s only your second date, but the two of you click so well that mingi thinks he might already be in love with you

and then he says something jokingly mean, purposefully to make you pout, and he just freezes

have your lips always looked that kissable? because right now, that’s the only thing he can think about

they look so soft and pliant and pink and before he knows it, mingi is leaning down to your height, his own lips just a breath away from yours

“do you want to kiss me?” he asks with a dopey smile, “i want to kiss you…”

you nod with a dazed expression and he closes the gap, wasting no time in deepening the kiss

he puts his huge hands on your waist and holds you flush against him as he explores your mouth

after what feels like a blissful eternity, he pulls away, panting deeply as he licks at his own lips that are covered in your spit

jung wooyoung

this little shit wants to kiss you soooo bad and unfortunately for you, he can tell that you want to kiss him too

with anyone else, that wouldn’t be a problem, but wooyoung is evil and is absolutely determined to make sure the only thing you can think of all day is his lips

he spends all day biting at his lips and flicking his pretty pink tongue over them the make them glisten in the sun light

acts extra pouty just in case he didn’t already have your full attention on his lips

he can tell by the way you zone out mid sentence to stare at his mouth that he does in fact have your full attention but that doesn’t stop him

oh no, it only drives him to be oven more of a little demon

he decides he wants to get ice cream with you despite it being the middle of winter, and for some reason you agree

he eats it in such a way that gets it smothered on his lips, but with the smirk on his face you can tell it’s intentional

you try and dab it away with a napkin but he just pouts and leans in close

with a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you take the hint and press your barely concealed smile to his own lips

he transfers the ice cream to your own lips before letting his tongue dart out to lick it up

you pull away with a grossed out whine, but he pulls you back in immediately for more

choi jongho

for jongho, the urge to kiss you built up over time

like sure, on the first date he notices how pretty your lips look but all of you is pretty and that doesn’t necessarily mean he wants to kiss you

but then on the second date, he can’t help but notice that you like to chew on your lips and somewhere in the back of his mind is a thought that has him shocked at himself

like, he’s known you for a little over a week, why is he daydreaming about tugging your bottom lip between his teeth before diving in for a kiss

and then suddenly, it’s the fifth date and you’re sat on his sofa curled into his side and he just can’t stop staring as you nibble on your bottom lip

there’s a deep internal conflict about what he should do because he just can’t sit and watch you unintentionally tease him anymore!

decides to be a little bold and takes a deep breath before using his thumb to tug your bottom lip free of your teeth

you look at him in surprise, but you have barely enough time to be shocked before his lips are descending on your own and you’re leaning into the best kiss of your life

it’s slow and passionate and jongho is holding onto you like your made of glass with his hands splayed across your lower back

you pull away before delving back for more immediately, gasping when you’d feel jongho’s teeth scrape against your bottom lip…

[moonstruck-muses]

TASTE OF HEAVEN | nsfw

SUMMARY: You're head over heels for your boyfriend, if only you could realize the truth he's been hiding from you about his true nature. (Minimal plot)

Pairing: vampire!jake x afab reader

minors dni!

notes: this is, without a doubt, the most self indulgent thing I've ever written. I also can't remember if/when the last time I wrote something so explicit was. You can thank Josie (@pprodsuga) for that.

word count: 6.1k

content descriptions under cut

would love a reblog and comment <3

content warnings: fingering, oral sex (receiving), descriptions of blood, hypnotism/minor gaslighting, unprotected sex/creampie

<3 <3 <3 <3

He sits by the window, still in his suit from earlier. One long leg is crossed over the other as he swirls a dark liquid around in a whisky glass. He’s pensive, and the moonlight and city lights streaming in from the floor to ceiling panes cuts across him like he’s in a photographer’s studio, waiting to be captured in time. He’s distant from everyone and everything, lost in another planet. But every time you see him, you swear he was taken out of a painting, his beauty breathtaking. It’s a mesmerizing spell you can never quite seem to break.

Every time you’re alone with Jake, you feel like you’re dancing around something untouchable. It’s just hard to pinpoint what exactly. After all, for all intents and purposes Jake’s the perfect boyfriend. He always listens to you intently, cocking his head to one side with a grin. He’ll wrap you in his arms and won’t let you go the whole night while you sleep, and sometimes when you’ve been texting him all day complaining about work, you come home to a delivery order from your favorite restaurant at your door. But sometimes, it feels like he’s unreachable. His gaze will wander off, or he’ll look like there’s something weighing on him—deep and pressing. But you’ll ask about it and he’ll perk up, waving it off as just being tired. Just like now. 

You hadn’t even realized you were just standing there staring, but Jake Sim’s preternaturally keen senses already pick you up at the edge of the room. He looks away from the cityscape, and immediately, his gaze softens when he catches a glimpse of you. You decided to surprise him earlier, when you couldn’t resist the soft pink lace and silk of the slip you saw at the store. Your cheeks go pink when you see the way his gaze practically devours you, as he so lovingly takes in every curve and detail of your body. 

“Is it too much?” You ask shyly.

“Too much?” He responds a little breathlessly. “Baby, no, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He sets down his glass as  you pad over to him. He pulls you onto his lap, nuzzling your neck. You smile, relaxing into the familiar warmth of his embrace. 

“What were you thinking about?” You ask playfully, gently placing your arms over his shoulders. His signature mischievous smirk spreads across his face and he squeezes your sides. 

“You, of course. I’m always thinking about you.” He responds in between soft kisses at your neck, and although you’re not quite sure if that’s the truth, tonight, you’ll take the affection. You gently cup his cheeks and lift his head so your eyes meet. You think you might drown in the chocolate pool of his gaze. A smile has replaced the the distant look from his earlier state, like the sun pouring light out after a heavy rain, the sight of you enrapturing him. It’s your favorite part of him, the pure warmth that always seems to radiate from him and all the love he has to give.

“Isn’t that so sweet,” you purr, and you slip a hand down the front of his chest, and start to twirl his tie around your hand, before pulling it taut and leaning into to press your lips to his. Jake groans, low and hungry as you slip your tongue into his mouth, and he grips you tight against him, kissing you hard enough that you forget what oxygen feels like. When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless, lips wet from each other. You can already feel the wetness pooling at your core, and you’re still clinging to Jake’s tie like it’s your lifeline. 

“I think you’re made of sugar, spice, and everything nice,” You tease in a low voice, before pressing a kiss to his nose. 

“Y/N” he whispers. The desire dripping from his voice, like a wine glass overfilled, threatens to undo you then and there. Before you can speak, Jake stands, still carrying you in his arms and you let out a small “Oh!” Of surprise. He looks down at you with a grin. He’s always enjoyed catching you off guard, and you’ve seen the way he lights up at everyone of your smallest joys. It makes you tumble off the cliff a little more every time you see him, and you’ve realized at this point, you’re so deep in the haze of love, you don’t think you could ever come out of it. 

He sets you down on his bed, the soft cotton of the sheets enveloping you, and you reach for him again by the tie, pulling him down, hungry for his kisses. He cups the back of your head to steady himself, smiling into the kiss before he pulls back. “You seem to be so fascinated by this, I’ll give it to you.” And in one graceful motion, he’s tying your hands above your head to the headboard with the tie, and you’re pretty sure there’s already a stain  underneath you just from that. He throws off his blaze and undoes his shirt, button by button, and you gaze over him hungrily, obsessively. You remember the first time you slept together, and how gentle he was as he took his time learning your body.  Now he knows the tricks, he knows what makes you tick, and he’ll take his sweet time, no matter how torturous it is to you. 

You groan when you see his bare torso and he licks his lips. 

“How and why are you so perfect?” You whine, ready to skip the foreplay and get straight to the point. 

“Now you know how I feel princess, when I look at you.” And he climbs on top of you, one hand grabbing your wrists, and the other slipping underneath your nightgown, gripping the skin of your waist as he goes in for a kiss. Your knees come up and you grip his sides, and you can feel his smile even though the kiss. He drags his lips down your jawline to your neck, and he sucks and nips at the soft skin, causing you to gasp from the sensation. 

“Hold still for me, okay?” 

“Okay,” you squeak out, holding your breath in anticipation. Your train of thought abruptly breaks off as searing pain tears its way through your neck. You can’t help the scream that rips its way out of you, and Jake’s hands tighten around your wrist in comfort. Moments later the hot pain ripples off into sweet ecstasy, his venom flooding through your veins, leaving you dazed and on cloud nine. He finally pulls himself off your neck, and with your hazy eyes you see his satisfied grin as his fangs flash, covered in blood. 

Your head spins in confusion as you try to piece together what's happening, but primal desire wars itself against the fear trying to clock itself in your head. Jake just smiles down at you, raking his gaze over your body, drunk on the first taste of his indiscretion. 

“You’re so fucking sweet, it’s taking everything in me not to drain you.” He gives you another gentle kiss, and every time the heat of his touch dances across your skin, you see stars behind your eyes. His fingers press into your soaked panties, eliciting a loud moan from you as he rubs the thin fabric, friction rubbing against your most sensitive spots. The blood loss and the venom from his fangs make everything feel loose, like a dream that will shatter with one tap of the glass. Jake loves seeing you this disarmed, knowing how easily you catch him off guard on the daily. It was a dance he’d done with you so many times before—even if you didn’t know it. He could always pick you up at the corners of his periphery, trying to analyze him, break him down, see past the curtain when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, but he always was. He could just never let you in. Truth be told, he had been wanting to come clean about his secret for a while, he just didn’t know how to approach it. He had wondered if you would be scared, if you would leave and call him a liar. Earlier he had been building up the courage to stick to his guns, that this time, he’d let you stay with the truth in the morning light. In this moment, though, he wanted to keep you by his side forever. 

He sits back on his thighs and gently removes the soaked fabric of your panties. His fingers easily slip across your soaked folds, your arousal already trickling down your thighs. He leans down to give you a quick kiss, clearly already pleased with himself. He catches your whine in his mouth, the heat and tightness in your stomach and between your legs rising. He gently soothes you with two of his fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, the sound of the wet squelches filling the room as you’re practically spilling over with arousal, so wet your entire pussy is absolutely slicked in it.

“It’s too much, it’s too much!” You whimper, feeling dangerous close to tipping over the ledge.

“It’s okay pretty girl, you’re doing so good for me. Just let yourself feel good.” He works his fingers harder and faster, pressing into the sweet spot deep within you as he hovers over you. You start to shake, labored pants escaping you, and it only urges him along faster as he rubs your clit with his thumb. You feel the heat rise between your legs, the tightness in your stomach hitting a breaking point in its tension. Your hands yank against the hold of the tie and you cry out “J-Jayeun!” as you cum all over his hand, eyes rolling back as adrenaline rushes through your body. 

Jake can’t help the breathy, flustered, laugh that escapes his mouth as you use his other name, and he keeps rubbing even as you cum, making your hips buck as the pleasure rises, the first tide of it dragging you under.

“That’s right, ride it out my love, ride it out baby girl,” he coos at you, until you’ve collapsed down into the sheets. He pulls his hands away finally and then sucks on his fingers, lapping up every last drop of you, mixing your cum and blood in his mouth, making more of a mess of himself.

“Shit. Every part of you is just a delicacy,” he whispers as he goes in again at your neck. Just one taste isn’t enough for him, he wants all of you—every last drop, every last vein. He wants to taste you from your neck down to your thighs, to rip through muscle and bone, and if he could consume your soul, he’d be hungry for it too. 

You’re already wiped from the first orgasm, that when his fangs sink into the bruised flesh of your neck, it takes a moment to register the pain. You cry out again, and he holds you tight to his body, even as your hands flex and writhe trying to get free. But again, the familiar heat of the venom easing its way into pleasure starts to override you, and you lose your struggle. Jake sinks his fangs in a bit deeper, and you feel him breathing heavily against you. His erection presses against you, digging into you through the fabric of his slacks. You let out a soft pained moan and he quickly rips himself off. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, you’re just— oh shit.” He presses a gentle kiss to the wound, where blood trickles down the side of your neck. “Are you okay, Y/N?” He asks frantically. Your eyes flutter and you look at him through your droopy lids. 

“Mmhm…want more..want you,” you mumble. He stare at you a bit bewildered, before breaking off into a relieved laugh. “You want more?” 

You nod, each movement making you dizzy. “I want you,” you say again. 

“Me?” He pretends to be shocked, but he’s already undoing his pants. His boxers are already stained with his precum and he wastes no time in getting them off his body, discarding them to some corner of the room, before leaning down over you and peppering your face with kisses. 

“I promise, I’ll take such good care of you,” he whispers into your ear before nipping at the lobe.

His mind flashes back to when you two had first met. It had been through a mutual friend, and at first he had been uncertain. Of course loneliness had pervaded every corner of his existence, the kind of partnership he sought was just a phantom of a memory. He had always blurred the lines of love and desire, lust and romance. It always ended catastrophically-pitchfork and curses and stakes, and his own broken heart to mend over and over again. Jake knew that getting his hopes up like that would just end in crushed desires, fantasies desecrated to ash. And then you came along. You with your perfect hair, and your perfect smile, and your perfect laugh. You would make a witty comment, the kind of snark that cuts through stone, followed with a blush and a shy smile because you always worried you took it too far when you blurted out something before you could reel it in. You, who despite your tough girl act, was the softest soul he had met, always making room in her heart for another person in need of a friend. You who took his own battered heart into her hands, and grew a home with him. You with never evening passion and life. You, who, when he asked about your past loves, had said you didn’t know if you had ever felt true love before. And you, who when he had asked what you wanted in a relationship, gave him a wry smile and a kiss before whispering into his ear “Obsession.” And so obsession he had given you, obsession that had fostered itself as a spark in him and blossomed into a raging fire that consumed him day and night. Obsession that he had planted in you with every kiss and every bite.

Jake leans up and slowly, luxuriating the taste, he sings his fangs into your wrist. You buck underneath him and he squeezes his legs against you, his veiny cock pressing hard against your abdomen, leaking precum all over your bare skin. He drops down and presses a kiss to your forehead, your nose, and a soft one to your lips, your chin, and the center of your throat, before he drags his tongue down the base of your throat. He keeps going, across your chest, and circles your nipples, nipping and sucking at them until they’re peaked and you think you’ll orgasm right there. But each wave of pleasure is cut through with the searing fire as he sinks his fangs into the side side of each breast. He goes lower, placing his hands under your lower back as he grips you tight and slides his lips down your stomach, and down to the wet and heated mess between your legs. His tongue slides just past where you want relief the most, and it stops at the most sensitive part of your thigh, exactly where it meets your hip. He presses soft kisses to your skin, his strong hands coming down to keep your legs spread as he so sweetly licks the left one, priming it before he bites at it. You wail out his name, and the sounds of agony only make him harder. He does the same to your right leg, holding the other leg tightly so you don’t try to shut them. He doesn’t stop until the intoxicating scent of your blood, rust to you, and like golden nectar to him, has engulfed him entirely. The dark red streams of it run freely from every one of the punctures down your body, like you’re a sacrificial lamb left at his altar. Jake looks up at you and a primal growl escapes him. He can’t help but be turned on by the way you shake and tremble, arousal, pain, fear, desperation all mingling in a sweet scent that makes him want to lose control. Your blood pumps strong and hard through his veins, he’s drank enough of it that it’s more human blood than he’s had all year. His humanity starts to crumble to the predator that lies in slumber deep within him. He needs you, to own you, to make sure you are his, and the only thought in your brain, the only words on your tongue, morning, noon, and night are Jake Sim. 

Tears stream down your face, and in comfort, he kisses your clit, licking and sucking your core, while his hands gently massage your breasts pausing as he roughly pinches and grabs at your nipples. You moan and throw your head back, body aching for Jake to be on every single cell of your skin. His tongue slips inside you, sliding around the warm walls of your center, and your legs lock around his head, the frame of the bed creaking as you pull at your bonds. Jake takes his time, even though he wants to see the instant gratification of you orgasming now. Every sound from you is music, and every drop of your arousal hitting his tongue as he moves his mouth around your slit nearly spurs him into a frenzy. His fingers start to work slow, sadistic circles at your clit while he snakes his tongue in around your slit. Jake lets out a feral groan as he works his way through you and is met with you grinding his hips against his lips and tongue, trying to get him deeper in you. He can’t stop, wanting all of you and as you lean into him it makes him want to go insane. Jake’s hands snake under your thighs, forcing you open wider as he laps at you harder, angling his head so his tongue can hit the golden spot deep within you.  You jerk under his touch, unable to reach for him as your wrists are still firmly tied about you. He’s so fucking hard he can’t take it. He ruts into the bed, desperate for pleasure, but trying to hold out for you as long as he can. He wants to feel your pussy closing down around his cock, tight and warm. He wants to pound into you so hard you can’t make any noise except those desperate little mewls completely submitted to him.He’s been too greedy tonight and already taken more than his fair share of your blood, but he wants to draw this out of you for as long as possible, to coax out orgasm after orgasm, until you’re nothing but a fucked out, droopy mess. 

“F-Fuck, Jake, please, please, please, please,” you blubber out. You can practically feel the blood pounding through every single one of your veins as you fuck yourself harder against him. 

He pulls back, licking his lips, eyes gleaming. 

“Please what?” He hums knowing how close he is to breaking you and relishing it. He’s dreamt about this moment for so long. About what it would feel like to let go of all faculties and ravish you like the monster he is. 

“Please I want you to fuck me,” you gasp out, trying to suck in air as the dizzying rush of his tongue subsides. You’re drunk on the way he feels against every part of you, and every second he isn’t on you or in you is agony—even though every second he is makes you feel like you’re going to explode. 

“Say my name,” Jake says roughy, going back for a stream of light and soft kisses at your inner thigh that nearly makes your eyes roll back into your head. You try to compose yourself enough to speak, but the words keep dying on your tongue. 

“Say my name and I’ll fuck you,” he teases gently pressing his lips to each of the bite wounds on your thigh. 

“J…Jake please! Jake please I’ll do anything,” you scream. He presses one last rough, messy kiss to your slit, smiling through it with satisfaction as he laps up as much of you as he can.

“Good girl,” he croons before pulling up and pressing a kiss to your lips. He takes his cock in his hand and positions it, although he’s already soaked with precum, he rubs it along your center before sliding in. 

“Shit!” He groans, at the same time as you let out a breathy “Fuck!” His arms come down on either side of your head, as he gasps pathetically. You’re so warm for him, you fit so perfectly around his cock, he could stay like this forever. The rush of it all goes to his head and Jake almost loses it then and there. He starts to move back and forth, gently at first, giving you a moment to adjust, but you start roll your hips against his and the friction makes him let out a guttural sound. 

“You’re desperate aren’t you?” Jake rasps into your ear, burying his face in neck for a few moments, before he needs to pull back. He can't have this over yet. On the way back, he ghosts his lips down your collarbone and chest, before closing his lips on one of your already erect nipples and sucking on it, taking a moment to lap up some of the remaining blood from his previous bite. He sits back up, watching you squirm with the tease, and lifts a leg of yours over his shoulder, and then slides  one of the pillows under your lower back. Jake starts to move faster, harder, deeper. You can feel him bottoming you out, and you swear you’ve never felt this full in your life as your body gets pushed down into the soft comfort of the pillow. He looks down at you, and presses a hand to your stomach, grinning to himself where he can see the bulge of his cock thrusting into you. He speeds up again, entranced by how fully he’s overtaken you.

“Fuck you’re taking this so well, princess” he pants, and you can only manage erratic huffs and whines beneath him, feeling him pressing up and into your center. Every time he rams into you, you feel it in every cell of your body, rattling your brain in your skull, every muscle and bone and sinew practically pulling itself apart. It’s overstimulating, it’s overpowering, and it’s glorious. Jake takes your other leg and puts it over his other shoulder as well, holding your legs in place with a gentle hand around your shins,  and the sound you make as the new angle hits the perfect spot is practically animalistic. A sly smirk splits itself across’s Jakes face as he looks down you, huffing as he doesn’t stop rolling his hips. 

“Oh there it is, isn’t it?” He teases before lowers one of his hands and starting to rub circles on your clit without breaking his pace. 

“It— mmm, fu—ahh!” You try to piece something together, but your eyes have already started to glaze over as you get cock drunk on the sensation. Jake throughs his head back and lets out an airy laugh. He loves nothing more than the sight of your pleasure, and getting you off is a drug to him. 

“D’ya think you can cum? Come on baby girl,” He urges, almost pleading. “Cum for me,” his voice sounds so distant yet like it’s right up beside you at the same time. The second orgasm is slower and deeper, being pulled out of you like a thread unspooling. You feel it in your head first, before it flutters down through you stomach, and you arch your back, mouth open in an “o”, and for a moment you lose all sense of time. As the stars rearranged themselves in your eyes and you felt the euphoric unravel of the knot inside you, you wonder how many times you could relive the first sin, if it meant staying in this heaven forever. Jake’s eyes nearly roll back into his head as he feels you clenching and shuddering around his cock combined with the prettiest face he could ever dream of you making. He throws a hand forward against the headboard to steady himself, breathing heavily as you come down from your high.

“Fuck, Y/N. You don’t eve know what you’re doing to me right now.” He whispers hoarsely, and you’re too fucked out to even process what’s happening, only knowing that your body aches for him, for him to stay near you, on you, in you.

He reaches up and easily undoes your binds, You gasp, too weak to move as your arms collapse beside you, the silk tie fluttering to the side, but you don’t have a moment of reprieve as he flips you over and begins to ruthlessly pound into you from behind. He has an arm wrapped around your front, holding your bloodied neck against his forearm, while the other steadies itself against your lower back. You let out an incoherent cry as you feel the full force of his length deep inside you. Your hands grip the silk of the sheets hard enough that your knuckles are white, and your vision starts to twin and blur at each impact. 

“Jake…Jake…Jake!” You cry out, your body starting to crumple beneath him.  The sound of wet skin slapping into each other fills the room. Jake watches with a hunger as his dick slides in you, savoring every time he sees his length pull out and slam right back into your sopping cunt. It’s so pink and puffy,  just begging to take more and more of him. He moves his arm from your throat, and wraps your silky hair around his fingers, pulling your head back as he tangles his knuckles in your strands. You arch back, looking up at the ceiling, as your body is shoved forward with every single pound of his hips. You can feel him start to get close, that hum of tightening muscles and carnal desires reaching its peak until there is no you and him, just pleasure intertwining you both. 

“Flip—me over—baby,” you manage in between his cock ramming into you. “I wanna look at you when you—“ You don’t get to finish the sentence, as he wastes no time in fulfilling your ask. He’d do anything you say, it didn’t matter how you asked. He pulls out just long enough to flip you over, and that brief moment of separation is agony, right before he inserts himself back in. You reach up, and lace your hands through his hair, pulling him down into a messy kiss, catching each other whimpers and moans in your mouth. You move your body with his, bringing your legs up to lock them around his legs, and you squeeze your knees around his sides. He whimpers, brain short-circuiting as he feels you force yourself even tighter down around him, your cunt practically squeezing around his cock,  not a single inch of your skin not pressed together. It’s the final nudge he needs to let himself go. 

“Oh fuck Y/N, Oh fuck baby, I’m gonna—“ He break off in a shudder, as he finally lets himself have his release. His hands come crashing down on either side of your face as he falls down on you, pressing his face into your chest, as his body shakes and twitches, cum spilling out of your hole as he fills you up. You hold him tight, nails digging into his bag, as you feel inside you the way his body practically vibrates with it. This was the sermon and the worship, and you think that you could love this god of a man forever.

Jake stays there for a minute or two, letting the sound of your rapid heartbeat calm his heavy breathing down. 

“Mmm, fuck,” he whispers. “I’ve made an absolute mess of you. I’m so sorry, I was too rough, wasn’t I? “S’okay,” you mumble back, your words starting to slur together as the exertion of the night is settling into your bones. 

“Let me clean you up,” he says softly, and pulls out. He gently sweeps your hair from your eyes and presses a kiss to your forehead. The high of it all has started to wear down leaving nothing but a buzz in the back of his head. When Jake looks at you, part of him still yearns for more, but he knows it’s the blood talking. 

“Don’t go,” you whisper, still in that post coital haze. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jake reassures as you presses a soft kiss to your lips, and though he knows he’s comforting you in the moment, he’s making a promise to himself. “I’ll be right back okay? Don’t fall asleep.” Jake quietly pads off to the bathroom, where he starts to run the water in the tub until it’s warm enough. He comes back, and scoops you up in his arms. You cling to his neck, resting your head against his chest, until he gently lowers you into tub. The warm soapy water feels heavenly against your aching muscles and bloodied skin, and you let the water soothe your tired body. Jake kneels down next to you, and he takes a wash cloth, gently wiping off the blood from your bruised skin. He looks up at you through his thick lashes, lips pursed together as examine you for any sign of anger or a deeper sign of hurt. 

“You’re lying to me,” You mumble as you slowly come back to yourself. Jakes blood runs cold, as he realizes the ruse is falling through. He swallows, hard. This was the truth he had been promising for weeks—no months now, that he would confess to you. Would you say it? Those damning words? And harder still, would he own up to their truth? 

“Lying?” He asks softly. 

“I don’t feel right, Jake” you whisper, looking up at the lights in the bathroom, focusing on them to keep yourself present.  His stomach sinks. His venom is slowly wearing off at this point, and he knows if he tells you the truth now, you’d remember it in the morning. 

“I was too rough with you, I’m sorry,” he says in a tight voice, the emotions all bubbling up.  

“No that’s not what I meant,” you say slowly. The truth is right there, dancing at the tip of your tongue, you just need to find the right way to piece the puzzle together. 

“No I…I know,” Jake says haltingly. He avoids your gaze, knowing if he meets you eye to eye he won’t be able to swallow the truth. “It’s not what you think though, I just…I can’t lose you, okay Y/N? I don’t think I can do this without you.”  You tilt your head, your stomach starting to knot itself together.

“I won’t be going anywhere,” you gently try to reassure him. “But I just…that didn’t seem like…you.” 

Jake sighs and closing his eyes, setting the washcloth down as he grips the edge of the tub har enough that his knuckles go white. 

“You don’t know that,” he says hoarsely. He’s supposed to be a shell of a human, a monster masquerading as some sentient being, but this love has unravelled him, and without you holding the threads of himself together, he doesn’t know if he can pull himself tight again.  He’s never felt so human as when he’s with you, and after centuries, he forgot the way that love had always consumed him, the way that he sometimes didn’t know how to hold space for himself because he had always filled himself up with love for everyone else. 

“This isn’t the conversation to have right now, but I promise I won’t let anything ever happen to you,” Jake says softly, unable to form the words he needs to say in the moment. He feels your hand sliding under his chin, tipping his head up so he’s forced to look at you. There’s a look he doesn’t recognize in your eyes, one that makes him feel like a stake is being driven through his heart. 

“Jake, baby,” You say your voice cracking. “I can’t keep playing this game with you. Please. I want the truth, so I can work around it with you.” 

Jake closes his eyes, pulling his head away.  It’s hurt in your eyes. It’s hurt and longing and love. The look of somebody who’s asking you to keep them with you, of somebody who realizes that the person they love and trust most in the world doesn’t feel the same for you. He thinks that if he could cry right now he would. What has he done? He’s beyond teetering at the ledge, he’s dived head first off this cliff, and he’s scrambling for a foothold right now. 

“Okay,” Jake promises. “I’ll tell you everything in the morning. I swear it Y/N. Just…give me tonight, yeah? It’s a lot.” You sigh, lowering your head, and the droning in your head starts to overpower the semblance of focus you had pulled together right now. 

“Fine.” You agree, but the anxiety of whatever waters you had waded into had started to rise. Jake finishes washing you up in silence, gently massaging your shoulders and arms, and when he’s done he drains the tub and wraps you up in a clean towel. He disappears for a moment and comes back with clean pajamas, helping you shimmy into them before picking you back up here and gently laying you back down on the bed, wrapping the blanket around you.  He goes around to the other side of the bed and settles himself in, drawing you close to this chest, and setting his chin on your head as he wraps his arms around you, anchoring himself to you. 

“We aren’t done here,” You say with a tired glance up at him. “I won’t let you forget this,” you say trying to muster the most stubborn tone you can. 

“Tomorrow,” he promises with a soft kiss to your forehead. “Just sleep for now.” 

And you’re not sure if you can believe him, or if his words are coated in sugar white lies, but you’re too exhausted to argue, so you let yourself be carried under his warm touch to the comforting folds of sleep. Jake looked down at you, already snoring softly curled up in his arms against his chest. He forced his heart to beat every time you were together like this, forced himself to maintain the illusion that he was alive just like you, no matter how much it exhausted him. You looked so angelic  even if you looked so frail after the night. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, breathing in your familiar scent. He had memorized every line on your face, every place where the corners of your mouth wrinkled when you smiled, and the way your nose scrunched when you laugh. He memorized the map of your veins, the path of your freckles, the secrets you whispered in his ear at night and blurted out in the car, every single way you’ve ever given yourself to him. And he hates himself for not being able to give all of himself to you.  He couldn’t bear to lose this. Not again. So Jake leaned down and whispered in your ear,

“I’m so sorry my love.” 

And bit you ever so gently at your neck. Your squirm in your sleep, but it lasts for a moment as you go still in his arms, the wound closing as he ran his tongue over it. 

“Forget the truth of tonight,” He whispers into your ear, a command spoken somewhere from deeper within him, a darker more ancient place. Immediately, the knot between your brows smooths out, your lips curling up in a peaceful smile as the magic takes hold. 

Tomorrow, Jake promises himself as he rubs a hand over his face. Tomorrow, I’ll tell her the truth. And thus the dance begins again. For tomorrow, and tomorrow’s tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, as many eternities as he could have.

[rroseselavyyy]

unison - myg

pairing: yoongi x female reader

warnings: smut, yoongi is in his late twenties but has mint hair 👁️👄👁️ breedinggggg kink ofcccc, make up s*x? oral s*x (female receiving)

Yoongi was your first in everything. He was your first real boyfriend since he gave you a red tulip with a shy smirk plastered on his face in kindergarten. You shared your first kiss with him when you were about to kiss his cheek and he turned his head slightly to meet your lips with his. You were even confident enough to ask him to take your virginity whereas he asked you for the thousandth time if you were sure.

It all felt like your own personal fairytale until you felt like it was all coming crashing down. You were constantly fighting over irrelevant things, and each time you fought, you ended up sleeping in different rooms.

You didn't let Yoongi sleep in your bed for about three weeks, saying that Holly would catch a cold if he didn't sleep in a warm bed in this cold weather.

To his ears, this sounded like a lame excuse for not letting him into your bed. He was longing for your touch, and your refusal to let him into bed added to his frustration.

One day, Jungkook came to him and told him that you had insecurities about yourself and that you were always thinking that Yoongi was going to leave you.

Yoongi couldn't understand why you would think he would break up with you when you were the most beautiful thing that ever happened to him.

Then it occurred to him that maybe you were just lonely because he spent so much time in his studio. Maybe you felt neglected because he was late coming home.

He didn't want you to feel that way, so he decided to make it up to you the best way he could, by making love to you. He didn't want to let you slip through his fingers.

"Don't expect me to sleep on the couch tonight-" He looked at you with his dark orbs through your reflection in the mirror, making your tired eyes ringed with dark circles met with his. He sat on the edge of the bed with his legs spread wide, his weight resting on his arms. His heated eyes intently watched the movement of your delicate hands rubbing lotion onto your soft legs. "Holly fell asleep on his bed. Plus I was in the studio for about eight hours, I think I hurt my back."

You had finally finished moisturising your skin, got up from your chair and made your way to the spot between Yoongi's legs. He looked shamelessly at your body under the silk robe, the belt of which was loose enough to give him a perfect view of your breasts, and your body trembled like a leaf in the wind under his gaze.

"It's okay, you can have the bed. I'm not tired yet." You ran your fingers through his mint-colored hair, looking down into his lustful eyes as you slowly pulled at his hair to catch a glimpse of his angelic face.

He looked at you under his lashes like someone under a spell, slender fingers found their way around the silk material of your robe and gave a little tug at your belt, causing your robe to fall down your body and pile up around your feet.

You let out a shaky breath and closed your eyes as he planted wet kisses on your inner thighs, kitten eyes never leaving yours as if you were his sun.

Even though your stubborn self kept warning you not to give in, it had been so long since he had touched you like this. Loved you like this. "I'll be in the living room-"

"No-" His whimper was barely audible, muffled by the hungry kisses planted on your hipbone, tracing a path across your skin. He gripped your thighs tightly as if his life depended on it and pulled you impossibly close to his face, letting his tongue savor the sweet peach aroma that lingered on your skin as he sucked on your sensitive skin.

"I've missed you so much. Please- please just let me have you. I'm tired of fighting over nothing."

You had never seen him so helpless, as if you were his only chance to breathe in an oxygen-deprived room.

You wanted to slap yourself in the face for falling for his tricks again and again, but how could you resist when his touch made you feel so good?

"You can have me, baby. Take what is yours." You didn't have to tell him twice when he suddenly wrapped his arm around the curve of your ass and made you sit on his leg, your shocked scream dying in your throat.

He brought his hand adorned with rings to your cheek, stroking the skin ever so gently. You leaned on his hand with your eyes closed as you planted kisses on his palm as you melted in his embrace.

"I love you so much." He whispered above your lips as he wrapped his free hand around your waist, closing the mere distance between you and him. "You annoy me like no one else, but I love you too much to let you go."

"I'm not annoying." You murmured under your breath as he toyed with your nipples, circling them much to his delight.

You desperately rolled your hips against his leg, trying to find some sort of friction as your arousal made a mess of his jeans.

He planted on the column of your throat, exchanging them with love bites that traced a path across your sensitive skin like a field of blood-red poppies.

"Yeah? Who gave me a black eye just for talking to a girl? You are such a pain in the neck, my love."

As his strong arms carried you to the centre of the bed, you felt like your back met with a bed of flowers. He took off his clothes before settling between your legs.

One of your hands brushed his sweaty, mint-coloured bangs from his forehead, and the other tugged at the hair behind his neck to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

"I think they should give me an award for public service." He whispered hotly into your ear as he brought his veiny hand to your throat, squeezing it slowly to give you pleasure rather than suffocate you. Your heart was ready to burst out of its cage as the sensations rushing through every fibre of your being became too much for you to think straight. "It takes a lot of patience to tame a brat like you."

"Yoongi.." You let out a whimper as he taunted you, the blood rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment. Your lips were only inches apart as he pinned you between his naked body and the bed. The sweet scent of lemongrass emanating from his skin was enough to make your head spin as your hips rolled uncontrollably against his thigh. "Patience, love. I'm not going anywhere."

He gave you a final peck on the lips before his lips moved down to your belly, exchanging wet kisses with subtle nibbles. His kisses made you arch your body into his mouth as loud moans and groans came from your mouth. With every kiss he planted, he whispered into your skin that he was yours, as if he wanted to ink that fact into your skin.

He planted wet kisses on your inner thighs as you tugged at his hair. Your mouth was hanging open as his kisses exchanged with long stripes of licking on your thighs. He parted your legs just enough to kiss your already wet pussy.

"You look so good between my thighs baby." Your praise encouraged him to go on, sucking on your sweet nectar mixed with his saliva. You didn't even realise that you were pulling at his mint-coloured hair, that your knuckles were brushing against his scalp as you reached your orgasm.

He rested his head against your thigh to gaze intently at you for a moment, it excited him to see your cheeks flush. You couldn't help but moan at the sight of his chin glistening with your natural essence as you came down from your high, his minty hair wet with sweat making him look even more handsome.

"I haven't touched myself for weeks. I've been saving all my cum for pretty pussy." He crawled on top of you as you tried to regulate your breathing as he stroked his cock to keep himself hard. He grabbed your side with one hand while the other aligned his cock with your pussy lips. "Will you be a good girl and help me give Holly a sibling?"

Without thinking of anything but him inside you, you nodded feverishly. It seemed he wasn't the one who had missed you, the way he had made you dumb.

You were so wet that it was easy for him to bottom out with one thrust. His hips began to speed up to fuck you faster. He held your hand and brought it to where his heart was, as if to prove that your insecurities were wrong. "Yoongi, I'm close-" Your hips began to move in unison as Yoongi growled louder against your skin, fucking you harder when you were a mess under his body. "Me too, babygirl."

All those fights where you broke each other's hearts for nothing meant nothing to you in that moment, you decided you were a match made in heaven, especially when he was fucking you.

One last thrust and he ejaculated into your pussy, almost whimpering at the feel of your tight cunt milking him. You were both panting heavily as you tried to regulate your breathing.

"I love you, please do not think that I will ever leave you again."

[pure-smut]

radioactive.

featuring: Togame Jo x f!reader

contains: angst with comfort, mentions of a fight, blood, oral (male and female receiving)

word count: 2.6k

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

series: 1. off limits | 2. radioactive

masterlist

Your eyes are on the TV but they’re not focussed, your nails chewed down to the quick. You’d gone out to buy yourself a new phone but now you wish you hadn’t because you keep looking at it every two seconds, checking for a message.

Togame Jo had gone to talk to your brother, Choji, about an hour ago. He’d promised to message you when they were done but you haven’t heard anything yet. You’d cleaned your whole studio apartment, went to buy groceries, picked up your new phone, and you still couldn’t stop thinking about him.

You’d wanted to be there while he did it but Togame didn’t think that was a good idea – he didn’t want Choji to feel ambushed. So he’s gone by himself, leaving you to anxiously wait.

Your phone buzzes and you immediately grab it, only to see it’s a message from your phone provider. Grumbling, you throw it back into the couch cushions and turn to the TV, drawing your knees up to your chest.

And then you hear a knock at the door.

You leap off the couch and sprint to the door, flinging it open. Togame stands there and your heart jumps into your throat.

His face is bloody and he’s holding up his phone, the screen smashed.

“Sorry,” he says, his lazy smile still somehow on his face. “Couldn’t message.”

“Oh, Jo,” you sigh, shoulders sagging.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen Togame in this state – he’s second-in-command at Shishitoren after all – but it’s the first time it’s made your heart ache. You usher him in, closing the door behind him as he sits heavily on the sofa.

You wet a cloth and bring it over, kneeling on the sofa next to him. Togame stares straight ahead as you start to gently wipe the blood from his face.

There’s a gash across his nose, he has a split lip, and there’s a fresh bruise blooming under one of his eyes. You cup his face tenderly with one hand while the other cleans him up.

“It didn’t go well, I take it?” you gently probe.

Togame’s green eyes slide over to you. He catches your wrist, pulling your hand away softly.

“I should have challenged him,” Togame says slowly. “When he said no. I was weak.”

You swallow hard, looking at the injuries on his face, pretending it doesn't break your heart. You glance down at his hands and notice his knuckles are clean. He didn’t fight Choji – Choji fought him.

“He would have put you in the hospital,” you say, shaking your head. “You made the right call.”

Even as you say the words, your voice shakes. Togame watches you carefully so you try to smooth your features into something more neutral. You try to pretend you didn’t get your hopes up.

“So, I guess that means…” A lump forms in your throat but you swallow past it. “Friends?”

A notch forms between Togame’s brows. You can see the internal struggle in him. He’s fiercely loyal to Choji, his best and longest friend. But when he locks eyes with you, there’s a flicker of something there. A spark you don’t quite recognise but makes your breath catch.

“I don’t want to make you break your loyalty to my brother,” you eventually say even though it feels like broken glass in your chest. “I won’t make you choose.”

You give him a watery smile.

“It was a long shot anyway.”

You make to stand up but Togame’s hand shoots out to grab your wrist again, this time firmer. Before you realise what’s happening, he pulls you towards him and kisses you.

You gasp with the sudden movement as Togame drags you onto his lap, his lips never leaving yours. He kisses you like he’s suffocating and you’re the only oxygen he has, his hand at the back of your head while the other wraps around your back.

You know it’s a bad idea, you know it’s only going to break your heart, but you can’t help yourself. You open yourself to him, feeling his tongue slide over yours, his lips so soft and familiar even though you only kissed for the first time yesterday.

You taste blood from his split lip, the coppery tang mixing between your mouths. Togame pulls you closer, deeper, his lips flush against yours. You only realise you’re crying when you taste salt.

“T-Togame,” you half-sob against his mouth. “Jo.”

“It’s okay,” Togame says, kissing the tears from your cheeks. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” You sniff and pull away. “We can’t do this.”

“Y/n-”

“I’m off limits,” you say and the words are choked. “No, more than off limits – I’m fucking radioactive. You shouldn’t even be here. If Choji knew-”

“Choji doesn’t have the right,” Togame says and his voice is louder than you expected, cutting you off.

You blink at him and realise his face is different. His easy smile is gone, his jaw is set, and his eyes… they’re sharp enough to slice skin. You’ve never seen Togame in a fight but you get the feeling this is what he looks like.

“He doesn’t get to choose for you,” Togame says. “Or me.”

You go quiet, sagging. Togame sits back, his grip loosening on your waist.

“I’m not giving you up,” he says quietly. “Choji’s been on the wrong path before and I didn’t say anything. I’m not doing that again.”

You sit with his words for a few minutes, silence falling over you both. Fresh blood is smeared across Togame’s face from his split lip so you reach across and gently brush it away, thumbing the corner of his mouth. The first hint of a smile plays on his face.

“Come here,” he says and you do.

You lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you rest your head on his shoulder. Togame envelops you in a bear hug, squeezing tight.

“I’m not giving you up,” he repeats.

“I’m not giving you up either,” you whisper back.

When you draw back, Togame kisses you again but this time softer. The hardness has gone from his eyes, leaving only the sleepy, relaxed Togame you know so well. His kiss is sweet, his tongue dipping into your mouth as his arms stay around you.

You melt into him, your back arching slightly as you press your chest against his. Togame’s hands start to wander, moving lower until he reaches your ass. Still locked in a kiss, he slowly gropes the plush flesh of your cheeks, making warmth pool between your legs.

You haven’t discussed what this means for you, what’s crossing the line and what’s not. But when you pull back slightly to ask Togame, “Can I take care of you?”, he gives you a wide grin and says, “Absolutely.”

You press a few more chaste kisses to his lips before sliding off his lap. You kneel between his legs and when you look up at him from this position, Togame’s semi-hard cock immediately goes full mast.

He reaches down to trail his fingers along your jaw before thumbing your bottom lip. You lightly catch his thumb in your mouth, sucking on the tip, keeping your eyes on Togame.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says, his voice low and throaty.

You smile, his praise making your cheeks tint pink, and run your hand up his inner thigh. You palm his cock through his sweatpants, surprised to feel how hard he is already.

“Is this all for me, Jo?”

“No one else in the world even exists right now, sweetheart.” He grins down at you, resting his arms on the back of the couch.

You try to stem the explosion of butterflies in your stomach to no avail. You tug down the hem of Togame’s sweatpants, watching his cock spring free. It’s as beautiful as the rest of him and your mouth waters at the sight of it.

You lean forward to lick along the fat vein running up the underside of his shaft, feeling his cock twitch as you do so. The tip is shiny with precum so you lick that up too before swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. Togame groans, his hips bucking slightly. When you look up at him, you see him watching you intently.

You lick your lips before wrapping them around the tip, your hand clasping him at the base. Softly sucking, you start to bob your head up and down, slowly taking more of him each time.

“Ah, fuck,” Togame grunts, his hands fisting the top of the couch cushions. “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re so good at that.”

You pull back to dribble more saliva down his shaft before taking him in your mouth again. He feels so hot and hard against your tongue and every throb makes the heat between your legs grow.

You push him deeper in your mouth, splaying your hands on his thighs to angle yourself better. Togame’s groans of pleasure spur you on, encouraging you to go further. When he hits the back of your throat, you gag slightly, your throat constricting around him.

“Shit…” Togame’s hips buck again on instinct.

He reaches forward to tangle his hands in your hair, holding your head in place.

“Stay there for me, baby.” Togame starts to thrust up, sliding his cock past your sweet little lips. “Look at me, angel.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes watering slightly. Togame’s never seen someone as beautiful as you, his eyes locked on yours as he fucks your mouth.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck. Fuck. You ready, baby? You want my cum?”

You moan around his cock in affirmation. Togame’s lips part, his cock throbbing as he unloads his cum down your throat. It’s thick and tangy and you struggle to take it all but you try your best, swallowing his load.

When Togame pulls his softening cock free, some of his cum spills from the corner of your mouth. He grins and swipes it away with his thumb, letting you lick it off him.

“Good girl,” he says and you beam up at him.

You pull Togame’s sweatpants back up and make to climb onto his lap. But before you can, he stands up, picking you up easily.

“Ah!” you squeal at the sudden movement.

Togame crosses the few steps to your bed and throws you onto it.

“Your couch is too small for this,” he says with a lazy grin before climbing on top of you.

“Maybe you’re just too tall,” you giggle before his words catch up to you. “Wait, too small for what?”

Togame says nothing but his eyes glint. He presses soft kisses against your neck, making your eyes flutter closed as you sigh contentedly. His mouth trails down slowly, lazily, taking his time with you.

“I’m gonna take care of you now,” he whispers in your ear.

Your heart sets off at a gallop at his words. You watch him as he kisses his way down your body, hooking his fingers under your pyjama shorts and panties to tug them off. The cool air tickles your bare pussy, your lips glistening with arousal. Sucking Togame off had turned you on more than you expected and as soon as he plants soft kisses against your inner thigh, you find yourself suddenly desperate for his touch.

Togame teases you, kissing you everywhere around where you need him to. You whine and buck your hips as he smirks at you.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he coos. “What d’you need?”

You make another desperate whine.

“Your tongue, Jo, please.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely…”

Togame dips his head, inhaling the intoxicating scent of you. The fact that you got so wet from giving him head is enough for his cock to start hardening again but he’s focused on you right now. You were so good to him, took him so well, he’s more than happy to return the favour. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t going to enjoy himself too.

You’re not surprised that Togame moves slowly. You inhale sharply as he licks a stripe along your glistening lips, parting them with his tongue to gather your slick. He hums happily when he tastes you, wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold you in place before dipping his tongue between your folds once more.

You want to buck your hips again, want more of him, but he holds you tight and you can’t compete with his strength. You fist the bedsheets instead, needing to hold onto something.

Togame moves down to your needy hole, pushing his thick tongue inside you. He flicks it against the sensitive nerves at your entrance, tasting your arousal before pulling back to suck on your puffy lips.

“You taste so fucking good,” Togame mumbles against your pussy before dipping his tongue inside you again.

You struggle against his grip, desperate to grind against his mouth as Togame continues to lazily make out with your pussy. He’s driving you crazy, pushing you to the brink of an orgasm but not letting you tip over.

“Jo…” you beg. “More.”

“What’s the rush?” When he grins up at you, his mouth is shiny with your arousal.

You let your head fall back against the pillow, making a desperate noise from the back of your throat. Togame takes pity on you, wanting to play with your hole a while longer but he can see how needy you are for a release. He licks his way up to your throbbing clit, brushing a few tender strokes over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh, fuck.” It’s just what you need.

Togame laps at your swollen bud, each stroke of his tongue sending a million little sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling it at the root as Togame keeps up a steady, languid pace with his tongue. The moans you make are magical, making his cock stir again. He releases his grip on you slightly, just enough so you can grind against his mouth.

“Ah… Jo, that’s it… that’s it!” Your back arches as Togame swipes his tongue over your clit. “Fuck!”

A tsunami of pleasure crashes over you, almost threatening to drown you, washing through every muscle in your body. Togame doesn’t let up, feeling your thighs tremble as you come undone on his tongue. He licks up your slick, his mouth flush with your pussy as you writhe against him.

He only pulls back when you whimper, pushing his head away from being too sensitive.

Togame watches you collapse against the bed before crawling up to lean over you, an easy smile on his face.

“That was hot,” is all he says.

“Yeah,” you half breathe, half laugh. “It was.”

Togame grins and dips his head to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You snake your hand around to the nape of his neck, scratching your nails over his scalp. When you break the kiss, Togame presses his forehead to yours.

“I’m not giving you up,” he repeats from earlier. “I care about Choji but I care about you too.”

“I care about you,” you say, voice soft.

Togame looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky. You cup his face, looking at the marks and bruises on his face, and your chest aches. You know you’re hurtling head first into something deep, something that you can’t come back from. But when Togame brushes your hair from your face and kisses you again, you know you don’t care.

If it’s Togame, it’s worth it.

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[exhuastedpigeon]

from the ashes Buddie | Teen | 5.6k Post-season 7, Eddie Diaz centric art as therapy, self discovery, Eddie gets into art

“I guess there’s a little bit of irony in that painting being the only one that survived,” One of the two artists who had been in the studio when the fire had started said, appearing out of nowhere, startling Eddie as they did. They had an oxygen mask in hand, it really should have been on their face. Eddie was about to tell them that, but then they spoke again. “But maybe it’s a sign.” “A sign?” “Art is creation and destruction. This is just the destruction part I guess.” Eddie was pretty sure if he was an artist he would have been screaming mad at the fact that all of his work had been destroyed or maybe he would have been wallowing in despair. At the very least he was pretty sure he wouldn't be so accepting. or A call at an art studio inspired Eddie to take an art class, it turns out he kind of loves it.

Read on Ao3

[titan-senpai]

Let me go Valentino..

A Sinner that signed a contract with Valentino to work for him just like Angel.

[Inspired by the song: Valentino, Olly Alexander]

More of my Hazbin/helluva content ? [xxx]

Warning: Cursing, Smoking, toxic relationship, Abuse, NSFW, smut, spitting, chocking [GN Reader]

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Sitting on the soft bed with camera's flashing around me as I was barely naked. crying on the inside as I knew I didn't have a choice. " Places everyone." Valentino said, clapping his hands. As he sat down taking a puff of his cigarette.

"Let's take everything from the top." he exhaled as i stood up entering the scene as the cameras flashed red recording everything i did. Acting a scene. The Shark guy sitting on the bed as I got to my knees and sat between his legs. as he put a collar on me. looking at him forcing a lustful look. " You've been bad haven't you." He pulled the collar making me flinch as he stood up and crawled behind him.

Patting the soft bed as I sat obediently " You're a good boy/girl/Puppy Aren't you." he smiled grimly. as i looked up " Yes.. I am at your command." I looked at him like an obedient dog, he gave me a tooth grin as 3 other guys walked in with Bondage, a mouth gag, leather whips. "Who do you listen to.." he smiled with his friends. " You Sir." I looked at them as one put one mouth gag on me as the other pushed me on the bed trying me down.

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Arching my back on the bed as the last guy finished inside me." That's a wrap." Valentino said as he stood up. The guy pulled out the white liquid dripping out on me as i layed there bare naked. As everyone left the studio my body layed there in the freezing cold. "My Doll.. " He said, exhaling smoke. as I sat up wearing a white robe. "Come.." He curled his fingers, signaling me to follow him to my changing room.

Entering the room as he shut it loudly. his slim body walking behind me as his hands run on my body. " Sit" he said as I sat on the cold concrete floor " Open" He put his fingers between my lips as I opened like he asked as he spat in my mouth on my tongue. as he sat down pulling me with a pink smoke chain around my neck as I tugged at it in pain. " Don't tug at it." he said as i crawled to him between his legs as he opened his fly revealing his purple cock dripping in pre-cum as i swallowed as i never took him in my mouth.

I opened my mouth as he grabbed a fistfull of hair pushing me down to his base. letting out a loud moan as he pulled me back just barely on his cock, quickly pulling me and pushing me down his cock a couple times. as he sped up choking me every time I went down to his base. Finally he let go and pulled me up for air. Now his cock covered in my spit as I caught my breath he stood up choking me against the wall smashing his lips on mine as he took off my robe with his other hands and the other his shirt.

feeling the cold air on my body as he slowly inserted his cock tip in me without a warning he slammed his whole cock to the base in me as the lack of oxygen and his cock in me led me to my orgasm cuming on the spot as he sped up. my eyes rolling back as he let go of my throat kissing me still holding me up against the wall as my hands reach for his back my nails scratching his back as he spun me around pushing my face into the wall as he tugged on my hair as his moves became sloppy, my breath shaky as he pulled me my back on his chest as he grabbed my neck painting my insides white as he buried his head into my neck.

Finally letting go, dropping me on the cold concrete floor now white liquid dripping out. i layed there shaking as he left the room shutting the door. slowly getting up looking at myself in the mirror, my reflection staring back at me. My makeup ruined, Bruises and hickeys on my body. and the worst of all. His hand prints on me.grabbing a robe and tying it around my body. Sitting on the bed i should be used to this but i wasn't, softly sobbing on bed hands on my face as tears fell on my thighs.

When will i be free... let me go Valentino...

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[aseaofyoongi]

just desserts | jjk

jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: one night stand; neighbors; set in the summer cause i miss it dearly.

rating: mature audiences only (strictly 18+)

summary: jungkook is your next door neighbor who you have only crossed a few words with. however one hot summer day theres a city wide blackout and strangely enough, he shows up at your door w brownies. . and other delights.

warnings: crush culture; mentions of lack of confidence; masturbation (f.); foul language; naughty thoughts; penetrative sex; unprotected sex (wrap it up); dry humping; oral (m. receiving); praise; sub-ish jk!; jk has a huge dick;?brief mention of seokjin and joon; oc is very hørny for jk basically; those fucking gifs of jk w his long hair and glasses inspired this so thank you jeon jungkook; edited but excuse any mistakes please.

word count: 6,3 thousand words

posted: monday - january 30, 2023

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A sixth floor walk up in the middle of the scorching month of July was certainly not fitting on your basis of an ideal home. But after your extensive apartment search always ended with high-priced, rodent infested corners New Yorkers often mistook for apartments, you were happy to shake on the deal for this studio apartment with Seokjin without having to break your piggy bank or burn a staggering hole in your pocket.

“When is the elevator going to be fixed, Seokjin,” you fanned yourself as beads of sweat adorned your white tank top.

“That’ll have to be when I finally win the lotto,” he guffawed from behind the plexiglass square standing between you and his office.

“Very funny,” you mumbled, beginning your journey up the stairs. He didn’t hear you though, instead his focus remained on whichever drama he played on the television.

Kim Seokjin, was the name of a superstar—or so he says. He claims to have attended the Juilliard School for about two years, with dreams of becoming the newest face of Hollywood and all of their high-priced productions. When Seokjin’s dad fell ill, he couldn’t keep up with the demands of keeping so many residence buildings open, he had to close more than half his buildings and just like that, financial strains created a hurdle the size of Mt. Everest in the life of Seokjin. He was left without his dreams, without his father and taking care of a building where the rent was too cheap to gain a profit, making just enough to cover the mortgage.

Normally, you weren’t so exposed to details of your landlord’s lives, but Seokjin was different. He was also your friend.

“I put water bottles around the halfway mark. The last thing I need is a lawsuit over a dead body,” he yelled up as you barely made it to floor two.

“How considerate. I’ll try not to die while you’re on the clock,” it was too hot to continue your journey up. . too hot to form coherent sentences. You just wanted to make it to your apartment and sit in front of the fan for the rest of the day.

“That’s all I’m saying,” you heard.

Once your foot met the landing on the third floor, your eyes desperately scanned for the promise of beverages Seokjin had informed you of, but the small table set-up on the other end of the hallway was completely empty. Leaving behind only the particles of dust and pure oxygen to inhale. Fuck—you actually felt like you were going to pass out. Just three more floors.

You wanted to yell down a snarky remark towards Seokjin but you figured that required too much energy you simply did not have.

Moving to New York was a decision you had made impulsively after feeling like you had overstayed your time in your parents house post-high school. You averted college at all costs because it just wasn’t for you. Lectures seemed like a bore and professors were individuals being paid to legally torture their students so you joyfully averted that nightmare all together. Your immediate option was to get a job, but after many places began getting closed down back home, you found yourself job hopping as a means for survival.

It was not convenient, so you boarded a train to the city that never sleeps in hopes of never looking back. . And you haven’t since setting foot here eleven months ago.

“Just one more floor,” you uttered to no one in particular but the patchy silver handrail and the chipped white walls.

Your apartment was now in your line of vision and the only thing standing between you and the black steel door were just ten sets of stairs. Walking into the building your body was glistening with a thin layer of sweat but now you were drenched, your top was sticking to your skin and the thick beads of dampness rolled down your body like the condensation on soft drinks from fast food places.

Heaving with exhaustion you took a seat on the very last step of the sixth floor, finally you made it but you just needed a minute, just a single minute to catch your breath. The fucking heat was unbearable; intolerable; irregular, you could have sworn the sun inched closer and closer to planet earth as the day progressed.

Initially, you hadn’t heard as much as the squeaky hinges on the door frame, you were too divulged in your suffering from the days heat. Not to mention, your eyes were closed and you were too focused in a state of cooling down before hiding behind the thin walls of your apartment.

“Are you ok?” His voice became trapped in the muggy air surrounding the two of you. The bass in his tone never ceased to make your knees turn to jello, to make your toes curl and to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight.

Was the heat not enough suffering for one day?

“Oh,” you cleared your throat, “I’m fine. It’s just the heat.”

“Yeah, it definitely feels like we were shipped straight to hell today.”

“I don’t know, I think hell might be cooler than this,” he chuckled lightly—you’re foolish stammer and poor excuse of words enlightened him. The sun was still beaming brightly but you swore you saw stars after he had serenaded you so sweetly with the sound of his infectious laugh.

“I think you might be right,” he locked his door and walked past you on the stairs, “have a good day neighbor.”

“You too, Jungkook,” you called after him as he began his way down the unfortunate set of stairs.

Sometimes, you felt as if you’d been blessed as the main lead in the plot of a cheesy rom com, but after today the idea was really cemented in your head. Ok, look. . Jungkook was your hot neighbor, like very hot, unearthly hot, like he was handcrafted by God himself, kind of hot. Furthermore, only you and him resided on the sixth floor, living in a pair of tiny apartments right beside one another. Although that was all you had gathered so far, besides his name, it was enough to fill your head with delusions and daydreams of the man your eyes loved to gawk at every chance you got.

You read him very well, like the everlasting pages of your favorite novel. His silky hair was long and inched over the nape of his neck, he wore specs that sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose accentuating his big doe eyes. Though his features seemed soft his aura was borderline the complete opposite—a silver hooped piercing sat in the right side of his rosette lips while tattoos peeked right out of the sleeves of the white button up he usually wore.

You closed the door to your apartment, removed your shoes and hung your keys on the flathead thumbtack pierced into the wall by the front door.

The apartment felt even more scorching than the bustling sidewalks. After opening all three of the windows you were bestowed to have between your room and the living room, you turned on your fan and walked into the bathroom to draw a much needed cool bath. Stripping off your sweaty clothes, you stepped into the tub. For a minute, you were immersed in the utter silence floating around you—all your ears detected was the distanced whirring fan all the way from your room.

Behind the back of your eyelids, the world was dark and your thoughts brought you back to your encounters with Jungkook on the stairs just moments ago. Your interactions with the boy were usually extended to a whispered, ‘hi’ or ‘hello,’ never as prolonged as it played out today.

In your thoughts, Jungkook strolled by day and night, as you embraced every look, every utterance, every single time he brushed his hair back using his slender fingers. He was the cultivation of your desires and the reason why your heart strummed against your chest a bit harder the days you saw him leaving around 12PM every afternoon.

It baffled you how he always managed to look fucking good every single day—even during the hottest days of the summer, while you looked like vile beast he managed to look so perfect.

. . So fucking perfect.

The faint tingles traveling through your body, caused your skin to form goosebumps. The pulsation of your clit is what really began driving you to clouded thoughts to imagine his hands against you. You imagined the pads of his fingers to be soft mimicking a delicate velvet fabric and while you crumbled under his touch, he would murmur the filthiest of words against your ear.

Those ministrations could be enough to have you coming hard—he wouldn’t even have to fuck you. Shit, even looking at him was enough.

Being away from all of the toys you safely stored in your nightstand, you grabbed the detachable shower head and adjusted the water pressure, prepped your feet up on the rim of the tub aiming it in between your legs in an inevitable attack against your clit.

Your head lulled back in sure bliss as you fed your carnal desires, the only thing missing was him.

“Fuck—” How you longed for him to have you in this position, so sensitive to his sinful doings; so aroused for him. It was like a hunger your fingers, toys and this stupid shower head could not satisfy.

The vibration of his name dripped from your lips like a chant and you felt that bubbling fervor form in the pit of your stomach. Spurts of pleasure rushed out of you so intensely you were overwhelmed by the explosions of fireworks as soon as your orgasm erupted.

When your breath had settled and you finally felt like you could stand, you opted for a quick shower, rushing to get into your pajamas and plopped down on your bed right in-front of the fan for a nap, having your dreams quickly invaded by him.

Work sucked on Monday afternoons.

All you ever did was stare out of the ticket booth at the movie theater as the few customers who despised the weekend rush came in. Besides, there was rarely anything to occupy your mind with on slow nights like this. You had already sweeped and your co-worker, Namjoon was surveying the screening rooms for any shenanigans the younger crowds could possibly be rattling up.

You always left that up to him—he was the more intimidating one between the two of you anyway.

“Room 5 is a wreck,” Namjoon announced his entrance into the lobby, “I’m gonna go clean up.”

“Walkie me if you need help,” you tapped the walkie clipped onto your belt buckle and he nodded, grabbing the broom and a few rags.

Your stomach grew irritated as you continued golfing down copious amounts of candies but the truth was you were starving and had no time to eat breakfast this morning; let alone make something to bring to work to eat for lunch.

Namjoon was a film major. He was the spitting image of a cliche by the way—his parents wanted him to become a doctor but that wasn’t his passion so he ran away to the city and began trotting up the golden stairs to his dream. You wished you had even an ounce of his determination, he knew exactly where he wanted to go and how to get there while you still stood at the base of the mountain of your life. . unbeknownst on how to tackle it or which way it was to begin your way up to the summit.

There was nothing you had a passion for and quite frankly sometimes you were utterly clueless as to what your purpose was in life.

Had no dreams and no goals to strive towards; nothing extraordinary you expected to blossom in your future. There was nothing, nothing and more nothingness occupying the hours of your days.

“My child,” Seokjin walked in through the glass door, he looked like he'd been chilling in an oven.

“Seokjin,” you narrowed your eyes in his direction, “what are you doing here? I thought you never left the air conditioner in your office plus don’t you hate the movie theater?”

“You’re absolutely correct. The dimmed lighting here is horrid and I deserve better than that. .”

“Of course, you do.”

“But,” he leaned over the counter, “I saw your little neighbor boyfriend leaving the building today and I was fucking gagged.”

“Trust me, Seokjin. I know how good he fucking looks in that white button up. I’ve lived it.”

“No,” he squealed, “He had a black short sleeve shirt today and—”

“Spit it out, bitch.”

“He has a full fucking sleeve,” he squealed.

“No. Fucking. Way.” The pauses in between your words were not placed for dramatic effect—you were in fact attempting to paint a detailed mental image of that sinful man.

How unfair is it that he gets to walk around us mortals with our average looks while he exudes such grand flawlessness.

“Looks like someone owes me fifty bucks.”

The bet. . you had completely forgotten about that.

“I'll pass it over on Friday once I get paid.”

“I told you,” he began, “once a man gets one tattoo they’re usually covered in them.”

“Yea, but he has this soft look to him, you know?” you shrugged, “I thought he might have had a few. But a whole sleeve?”

“Jungkook is a walking juxtaposition.”

“I suppose he is.”

Seokjin sat on the counter emptying a handful of sweets into his palm, “what are you doing eating all of this candy anyway?”

“Uh,” your thoughts were still filtered towards Jungkook. You wanted to see him so bad, “I’m starving and just waiting on Namjoon to finish cleaning room five so I can go on my lunch break.”

“Namjoon as in the buff hottie with the deep voice?”

“I guess.”

“Room five?” You nodded.

“I’ll take one ticket for whatever the fuck you guys are showing right now.”

“Didn’t you say you hated it here?” You printed a ticket to. . you looked down, to the latest minion movie and ripped off the top half, “you complained about the lights or something.”

“Can you just give me a ticket? I need it to execute my master plan,” he rushed your actions in cutting the ticket you had printed, “besides you owe me for coming all the way down here with vital intel about your secret crush.”

“I owe you nothing. I’ll be paying half a hundred for that by the end of the week, remember?”

“Consider this,” he snatched the ticket from your grasp, holding it beside his toothy grin, “your down payment.”

Before you could form a further argument, Seokjin vanished from in front of you and sprinted down the main hallway to screening room five.

The best thing about your job were the designated days off you had throughout the week. Tuesdays and Fridays were yours to enjoy and while today was Tuesday your schedule was still jam packed with an abundance of errands to complete come the early morning.

You had paid your utility bills, finished your laundry, cleaned your apartment and even set out poultry to defrost by the time you made it back home. It had been a very productive day.

Your last stop was the grocery store.

Oftentimes, you’d wander aimlessly, losing yourself in each aisle wondering about how the better half lives, how much better life would be if you didn’t have to keep incessant reminders of your weekly budgets stamped to the back of your head.

How much easier life would be if money wasn’t such a big determinant in the choices we were forced to make in our day to day lives.

Oh, how much easier life would be.

You only grabbed the essentials for the next couple of weeks including—rice, greens, fruits, water, milk, meat, and a variation of breakfast options.

Temptation roamed in the air as you headed out of the cereal aisle you were face to face with a bakery section where an unhealthy amount of baked goods were sprawled out—practically blaring out your name. All of the delicious delights made your mouth water and you couldn’t help but gravitate deeper and deeper, guided by the aroma of the sweet desserts.

“Neighbor?” It was his earthy voice, the same one you’d only heard vibrate among the walls of the tiny hallway of the sixth floor the two of you shared.

“Jungkook?” You looked up from the brownies and your eyes met his figure, in the same clothes you usually saw him leave his apartment. It was his work uniform, “You work here?”

“Is that judgment in your tone I hear?”

“N-no,” You stammered. Was he fucking with you? He had to be fucking with you. “Of course not. I would never judge—”

“I was just playing, neighbor.” Phew.

“I always come here. How come I haven’t seen you before?”

“I’m usually baking in the back. I was just coming out to set these down,” he held up the dozen cupcakes sitting inside the boxed packaging.

“You bake?” Hopefully, you sounded more stunned than judgemental because you were i. fact stunned.

“I’m an aspiring pastry chef. I go to culinary school,” Jungkook, your beautiful, doe eyed, tattooed, pierced neighbor was also a baker. Ok.

For some reason that made him so much more attractive.

“I would not have been able to guess that even if I tried,” You mentally kicked yourself at the lack of filter in your words. You weren’t trying to offend him and hopefully he does not take it as such.

He chuckled—that’s a good sign, “People tend to simulate that very reaction but you can certainly knock on my door if you’re ever craving something sweet. I promise they are amazing.”

Craving something sweet?

Your thoughts traveled back to the enticing thoughts you possessed a few days ago while you took a bath, the vivid image of the water pressure against your cunt and the pure desire to have him near made you dizzy. And now he was near, just a couple of feet away.

A wave of warmth traveled through your extremities, the pulse on your clit turned to an overbearing throb, you wanted to rub your thighs and alleviate the feeling. But you remembered where you were, in the middle of the grocery store and Jungkook still stood right before you. Nevertheless, you tried to ignore the wetness pooling between your legs; dampening your panties.

“I practically poured out all of the basic details of my boring life. I think you owe me at least something about you.”

“There’s not much to tell,” you shrugged, “but I work at the movie theater down the street if that piques your interest at all.”

“It does. I love movies.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there before.”

“Well, if I’m honest I haven’t gone in a long time but that’s only because work and school keep me pretty busy.”

The lust streaming through your body doubled to make your heart beat with fondness and you grew endeared in the way Jungkook’s eyes lit up when he talked about his aspirations to become a baker.

“You’ll have a free ticket waiting for you whenever your schedule clears up.”

“Promise you’ll join me when I decide to go.” His words carved themselves into your brain like a permanent tattoo, just as those decorating his arm. The fluttering feeling in your abdomen heightened as a result of the dithers, without being aware of it, that is the effect Jungkook had on you.

“As long as it’s on a Tuesday or Friday.”

“Deal.”

“I’ll see you around, Jungkook.”

“See you, neighbor.”

Thursday was the worst day of the week so far.

Technically you were supposed to be at work, it was already 4:00PM, but instead you were still home. Even just sitting down in the muggy atmosphere of your in the miniscule space, you were doused, staining your clothes with sweat.

You were not willingly suffering at the lack of mercy the scorching weather subjected the city and everyone in it to, unfortunately the power had gone out. And while usually you had the luxury of a fan to cool down, today you had nothing.

Your windows and front door were left wide open in an attempt to cool down the place and still you felt as if you were sitting inside a fucking oven set to hightest temperature. There was no use.

“Neighbor.” Jungkook called out lightly knocking on the opened door.

Jungkook? Not Jungkook again when you looked like an absolute wreck.

“Hey Jungkook,” he stood at the door frame, a wide grin painted on his lips—he held a to-go box in his hands, “you can come in.”

“Do you want me to shut the door?”

“Sure,” you gave in, it’s not like it was actually doing anything. Besides, the last thing you needed was one of the crazy residents from the lower floors coming to bug you.

Jungkook took a seat next to you on the couch, he wore a sleeveless top exposing all of the ink embellishing his skin, every line, every curve, every word was so intricate and seemed so unique to him.

“I didn’t know you had these many tattoos,” a small fib was a price to pay to not seem like a weirdo, “did any of them hurt?”

“Some did,” he pointed at his tricep, “mainly these and a few others but I have a high pain tolerance.”

“Well, they’re beautiful,” you scanned his arm some more. It was truly like a mural embodying the beauty of art, “were you a singer?” you signaled at the microphone sitting on his forearm.

“I guess you could say that,” he adjusted himself on the couch, his nylon shorts rode up his thighs and you just hoped he wouldn’t notice the way your eyes glanced down constantly. Jungkook didn’t notice though, he was too busy averting eye contact and scratching the back of his head, “My highschool friends and I used to make music. We recorded a mixtape.”

“I need a link to this mixtape. . like now,” You laughed hysterically.

“Oh no, you don’t.”

“Ok, ok,” Again, another surprise from the man you thought you had all figured out—every single day he surprised you more and more, “were you like a vocalist or a rapper?”

“Vocals mostly. I did try rapping once though but I sucked so badly they scratched it off the track.”

“At least they were honest and didn't let you crash and burn in public.”

“You should’ve seen me though. I thought I was the shit.”

Jungkooks giggles were everlasting as he recounted the many times their parents grew exhausted of kicking them out of their garages for their disturbances in the making of their great musical legacy.. He filled the room with vibrance. The longer you sat in the presence of Jungkook the more you were exposed to the colors that made Jungkook, Jungkook. Of course, you were intrigued by the phosphorescent hues allowing them to inch you closer in his direction. Wanting him to spare no details in the adventure of his life.

“What’s that?” you pointed at the packaging box beside him on the arm rest.

“Brownies,” he handed you the box, “I saw you eyeing them when you were at the bakery but you didn’t buy any. So, I figured I would bring you some.”

In your mind, this was his way of saying he was thinking about you—that’s what you chose to believe anyway.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. Besides, I wanna see what you think of my baking.” Jungkook’s eyes were bigger than usual behind his specs, he fidgeted with the hem of his shorts.

If only he knew, the actual taste of the brownies would hold no significance in your criticism. You would love them anyway simply because they came from him.

“How about we have one together?”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, “let’s go to my room. There’s two windows in there and I’m literally about to pass out from heat stroke out here.”

The two of you sat by each one of the windows, the box of his remaining six hand crafted sweet delicacies sat between the two of you on the nightstand.

“You ready?”

“Yes.”

“1, 2,” the two of you held the chocolaty dessert up to your mouth, “3.”

Even after just one bite your taste buds were enamored.

“What do you think?”

“They’re amazing, Jungkook. You’re an amazing baker.”

“You can call me Kookie, you know.”

You nearly choked after taking another bite, hurdling into a coughing spiral, “that’s so fitting. Kookie the pastry chef.”

“Forget I said it,” he shook his head, laughing.

“Wait, no,” you loved the soft tint of pink dusting his cheeks, “that could be the name of your future shop.”

“Kookie’s Cookies.”

“Kookie’s Cookies,” you confirmed, “and I wanna be credited for the idea too.”

“Better yet, you’ll be my business partner.”

“That’s not a good idea. I’ll eat everything and you’ll just end up bankrupt,” your eyes were set on the congested sidewalks outside your window—everyone was out likely catching a break from their scorching apartments but here you were melting away all at the expense of being in Jungkook’s company just for a bit longer.

“I wouldn’t mind as long as you’re with me.”

Those eight words sent your mind into a spiral, head first into the rabbit hole of your fantasies. You couldn’t really make out if he truly meant what you thought he meant.

“Jungkook. .”

“I mean it.”

“Please don’t make me believe there could actually be something here,” Your voice was low and your thoughts were a scribbled mess. There was not a single coherency in your being at that point in time.

“I’m not lying,” your name tasted saccharine on his tinted lips—much like the brownie he had baked for you, “I like you.”

“Jungkook. .” was all you could muster.

“I’ve liked you from the moment you moved into the building.”

A single strike of thunder traveled down your spinal cord, you felt paralyzed in that moment and his sweet sweet words just continued looping inside the walls of your skull.

You were malfunctioning; shocked.

It’s astonishing how oblivious and just plain stupid human nature can make a person. For the past months, you had concealed the schoolgirl crush you developed on Jungkook and convinced yourself that there was absolutely no way in hell he could like you back.

Your insecurities had deceived you and now you sit here after so long with a thumping beat in your heart, giddy with excitement and lowkey wanting to slap yourself for not having noticed earlier.

“You like me?”

Obviously, he just fucking said that. He nodded.

“I like you, too.” You finally said out loud.

The temperature continued to rise in the small bedroom and between the two of you the heat became unbearable. With each passing second, you could feel the streamline trickles of your sweat cascading down your temples; your entire body matter of fact.

If eyes were the windows to the soul then Jungkook’s chocolate gaze was compelling.

And they were calling out for you so loudly.

“What happens now?” He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

“Can I kiss you, Jungkook?”

You caught on to Jungkook’s mannerisms and body language rather quickly within the past hour. For example, he was pretty straight forward with his words yet whenever he spoke his fingers fidgeted with a random object as a distraction, this time it was the black beaded bracelet sitting on his wrist.

He nodded yet again.

Your heaven resided in the comfort of Jungkook’s thighs. You realized it the moment you straddled him. The rich smell of sandalwood was a scent unique to him, so earthy and rich. It was the only thing you ever wanted to smell for the remainder of your time on earth.

After raking your hands through his soft hair you tugged at it a bit, guiding his face up towards you.

“If you want anything from me. You’re gonna have to use your words, Jungkook.”

“You know what I want,” his eyes traced the corners of your lips down to the intricate details, “just kiss me, please.”

There are an abundance of perfect scenarios in life. For one there was the idyllic scene of snowfall on Christmas day; the legendary creamy combination of cookies and cream; then, there was the way your lips danced against Jungkooks, composing a choreography so intricate and beautiful only the two of you could execute it.

You were in a haze, entirely stupefied and addicted to his soft and warm lips. Then, his hands snaked around your waist as he guided you back and forth on his lap. His covered erection rubbed against your clothed slit in a pace so slow, it was agonizing yet delectable. Jungkook pulled away, continuing to lead your movements against him. Your mouth remained agape and you couldn’t help the sounds escaping your lips.

You wanted to pinch yourself, you’d only ever dreamt of this. Was this all a fabrication of your dreams? You hope it wasn’t, it felt so good.

“God, I’ve always wanted to have you like this.” His voice was husk and he spoke in between grunts.

If today was dictated as your last day on earth, you’d die being the happiest woman.

His warm breath fanned your sweaty neck. A tickle ran down your back but you focused on the knot forming at your abdomen.

“I’m so close.”

“Let go for me.”

His commands were sweet like candy and the utters of his guidance to have you crumble on his lap were all you needed to send you over the edge.

“You were so good for me, darling.”

“Call me that forever.” Your knees were sore, your voice was hoarse and you were sweltered from head to toe but you craved more, you grew wetter just imagining what else could arise from this encounter.

“Darling?” You nodded. “Jungkook?” He hummed lightly, opening his eyes and lifting his head from where it rested on the wall.

“Are you tired?”

“I just had a long day yesterday.”

“Can I help you unwind?” your lower lip now tucked under your teeth, “can I touch you?”

“Please.”

Your hands tucked under the hemline of his shorts and underwear. The way you illustrated Jungkook in your dreams was close to what you would imagine a modern Greek God to look like and you quickly realized that was the case when his shirt lifted revealing that he should be the one on display in museums instead of those silly little statues.

Your chin rested on his shoulder, while your hand moved up and down the length of his cock. You couldn’t see it, not yet. But he felt so big in your palm.

The hushed moans and curses leaving him fueled you to maintain at the same pace. Your lips found themselves leaving wet kisses on his already dampened neck.

“Please—please don’t stop,” He was a stuttering mess, his hand was gripping the window still so tightly his knuckles turned white. Hypnotized by arousal Jungkook began meeting your movements, enraptured by his desire for release.

“You’re not being a very good boy, Jungkook,” you whispered in his ear, “besides I thought you were tired.”

“I’ll—I’ll be so good I promise,” he continued fucking himself into your hand.

Jungkook whined as soon as you released his cock from your grip. Instead you tucked off the pesky fabrics covering his lower half, with his help of course, your theories were proven to be correct. Jungkook, your hot neighbor with piercings and tattoos also had a pussy destroyer in between his legs because of course he did.

“There’s only two rules baby.”

“What are the rules?”

“You have to keep your hands to yourself and no coming until I say so. You got it?”

“Yes, darling.”

Opening the last drawer on your night stand you pulled out one of your vibrators and held it up for him to see, “is it ok if we use this?”

“Mhm.”

You shoved it in your pocket for later.

Taking him into your mouth, you began swirling your tongue in circular motions around the head of his cock. His labored pants were hushed and almost inaudible, you would’ve missed them if the two of you weren’t in complete silence.

Licking up and down his shaft you focused on pressing your tongue on the tip, as your hands began working, pumping him where your mouth couldn’t reach. You bobbed your head up and down occasionally, allowing the head of his cock pop in and out of your mouth. Slurp noises began invading the atmosphere around the two of you along with his whimpers. Your pace was fast and there were traces of your saliva coating his length entirely.

“Fuck darling,” his hands were reaching to grasp anything in his path but instead he ended up knocking everything off your night stand. “Y-Your lips were made to be around my cock. You know that?”

Jungkook’s praises were treats for your ego and you made sure to devour them in their entirety. He was a pleasant mess; his hair stuck out in all directions while his lips were swollen and vibrant with a scarlet hue as he kept biting down on them harshly. His glasses were slightly fogged and there were traces of saliva sitting on the corner of his mouth. All you wanted was to continue seeing him lose himself at your mercy.

You reached into your pocket and turned on the palm sized stimulator—you placed it against his balls before hitting the on button, setting off its vibrations. His head fell back and his hips buckled forward, causing you to gag around the majority of cock.

“I’m gonna come,” he cried out.

If anyone would’ve told you having Jungkook’s dick in your mouth would be this heavenly, you would live on your knees in front of him forever. Pleasuring him at every hour of every day but today you had different plans and once again he let out frustrated whimpers as you removed your mouth from around him.

“No—no, darling you’re fucking killing me. I need to come now,” he sounded desperate, “It hurts so bad. I need to come.”

“Don’t worry baby. We’re getting right to that,” you placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Did you bring any condoms?”

He shook his head, “I wasn’t exactly expecting things to go down this route.”

“Are you. .?”

“I’m clean. Are you?”

“I am.”

There was a timid breeze coming in through the opened window, it was enough to cool you down just a bit, well as cool as you could be without a fan.

Bouncing on Jungkook’s dick was even better than having him in your mouth. Sure, you loved the way he became a stuttering mess with the teasing of your tongue but having him deep inside of you, you felt like you were in your own heaven. On a deserted island somewhere with nothing but the swift breeze coming from the palm trees and his touch on your skin.

“You take me so well,” he whispered in your ear but you were too busy consumed by your own pleasure. Hyper focused on the way his hands dug into your waist; the way he swiftly pushed his cock in and out of you.

The sounds of your skin slapping against his blared through the room, as well as your profanities and his words of praise just as before.

Your nails dug into his shoulder as you felt a build up of tension tightening in the pit of your stomach, causing you to arch your back. Seemingly, the way you clenched around Jungkook he seemed to have noticed you were extremely close.

“Come for me darling,” with each word he buried his dick deeper into you.

It was a blissful paradise painted on the back of your eyelids as Jungkook continued to mold your insides with his dick, he was careful but rammed into you with such force, your voice was strained and you couldn’t hold it any longer. You finally came as sights of the beeming sun behind your closed eyes blinded you entirely.

“Come inside of me,” you managed; even more sweaty than how you began, absolutely tired and completely out of breath.

He chanted strings of your name as finally filled you up.

“Please come over more often and bring all of your brownies with you,” you were pressed up against him as he hugged your waist, placing a soft kiss on your head.

“How about we begin by going to that movie tomorrow?” It was so funny to you how Jungkook had practically just split you in two and now he was back to being soft spoken.

“It’s a date.”

It was now Friday, the power was finally back on around the city and Jungkook followed through on his plans to take you to the movies. The only problem was when you approached the theater you spotted your nosey landlord standing in line right beside Namjoon. “Before you say anything, Seokjin. Please just shut the fuck up.”

“You always think the worse of me,” he placed his hand on his chest, “all I was going to say is my Cupid’s bow is to thank for the two of you finally getting together.”

“In that case, thank you Seokjin,” Jungkook said.

“Don’t thank him.”

“Actually, please do. But the next time yall fuck in my building please keep it down. Just like the walls, the floors are also thin and the fifth floor did not appreciate your day of passion.”

“Seokjin, please go back to your own date,” you hissed, hoping no one else in line heard his little rant, “pretend we’re not here.”

Jungkook’s shame sat in his now red tinted cheeks, you peppered kisses on them to ease him.

“See, they can’t even keep their hands to themselves in public,” you heard Seokjin whisper.

This is going to be an interesting date.

-

-

-

a/n: this was pretty fun to write but supposed to be out on my birthday a couple days ago but i couldn’t meet the deadline sadly but please enjoy and disregard the smut scene if it’s bad. I tried lol my brain just wasn’t working 100%.

thanks for reading. comments, likes, reblogs and messages are always appreciated. let me know what you think ;)

[hatsukeii]

jigsaw falling into place / tsukishima kei x reader

genre(s) - frenemies to lovers if you look at it one way, and soulmates/twin flames if you look at it another, which means it's fully up to whatever you want pookies, also they are both ex dancers which is a fun little thing i had an idea for but i can't tell if it's an au, angst???

warning(s) - injury??? ankles?? yeah, injury and ankles, mentions of blood, iirc there are very slight references of reader being female but it's probably just one or two mentions at most, not a warning but it'll be more fun if you recognise the music references in this, they’re almost exclusively from radiohead because jigsaw falling into place!!!

wc: 7.0k~ (give or take)

tldr; breathe in, and surrender, let the jigsaw fall into place.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

The first time you meet, the two of you are fourteen at De La Soul dance studio. For what reason Tsukishima has ended up in regular hip-hop rehearsals, he has never disclosed to anyone. Perhaps he was coerced into it, or maybe he had time to kill. He sticks out like a sore thumb from his first day onwards, tall and lanky, topped with a glaringly blonde mess of hair, and a pair of clunky, taped up glasses. He always sits at the mirror, his back never further than an inch away from it, wired earphones dangling from his ears down to his pockets. Of all the dancers at the studio, he is the least dancer-like. His gigantic limbs render him nothing short of stiff, and never once has he taken those earphones off during practice. Yet his feet are always quicker to adapt than his arms, and his arms are long enough to lift everybody on the team. One of those days, you sneak a look at his phone while he naps in front of the mirror, a bottle of water hanging from his loosened fingers as his feet tap rhythmically.

“Radiohead?”

His head rises groggily from his arms as he yanks his earphones off. He takes a swig from his bottle, clearing his throat from his rudely interrupted nap 

“You like them too?”

“I’ve heard some.”

“Cool.”

He plugs the earphones in again as his head threatens to lower into his arms for a second nap, and you settle yourself comfortably next to him. Your original plan was to ask him for a spot, but this will suffice for now. Two tired bodies sprawled out against the cold ground, backs pressed up against the mirror. He turns to look at you, you extend a fist to him.

“Y/n.”

“Kei. Tsukishima Kei.”

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Bloody fingers, stained finger tape. The webs of his hands are torn, the ball won’t stop for him. He stands small as a giant amongst a court of Gods. Breathe in, breathe out. Let the blood dry as it trickles down to lace his knuckles. It’s not over yet, far from it. 

His hands bleed as the water runs a murky shade of brown beneath his hands. He unravels the soggy, blood-stained tape from his fingers, and flings them into the bin, clicking his tongue when it sticks to the inside of the garbage bag. 

“Get it together, Kei. What the fuck are you doing?”

His reflection does not speak back to him. All it does is stare blankly, stupid thing. He rips his glasses off, pinching his eyes with his dripping hands. Let the water in, let it wash him over. It stings in streaks of red, settles over his irises in a blurry film. The blood has dried around his cuts, clotting around skin and flesh. He cups running water in his wounded palms, and throws his face in. He stays there, unmoving as he stares at his palms. He sees you in the crowd, clear as day in his closed eyes. He sees you watching as Ukai pulls him out of the game, he sees you as he walks off the court, and into the bathrooms. He holds his breath, letting out little bubbles until his lungs become nothing but shriveled pink discs beneath his ribs, before whipping his head out, filling his lungs with oxygen again.

He wraps fresh tape around his fingers, tightening them until his fingers are stiff, and puts his glasses back on. It is far from over.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

“You don’t look like you like Radiohead.”

You kick the back of Tsukishima’s knees, and they buckle slightly beneath his stiff torso.

“Shut up and learn this first.”

Three weeks since joining the studio, and those are the next words he says to you. The other dancers have migrated out of the room, taking the twenty-minute break they were promised an hour ago. You push his torso in, and tiptoe to adjust his arms. Much better.

“Look in the mirror, and remember how this looks. Then do it again, and again, every time.”

You flick the music on, letting it rumble through the dance room. This is the fifth time you have run this sequence with him, yet he just doesn’t seem to understand. He is almost there, and you will not give up on him. As the beats resonate through your skull, and the melody pulls at your ligaments and muscles, you watch Tsukishima through the mirror. He is only mimicking your movements. He is almost there, but it is not right yet.

“You’re off, go again.”

The music rewinds. He hops in place, awaiting for the cue to begin. Shuffle, step, kick ball change. Arms around, and in, fold, up. 

“It’s not right, go again.”

Shuffle, step, kick ball change. Arms around, and in, fold, up-

“Stop it. This isn’t how you dance, Tsukishima.”

He throws his arms down in surrender, crouching down as his knees tremble beneath him. The oxygen in the room is thick, but scarce. Only traces manage to slither their way into his lungs as he breathes in, breathes out. He has done everything right, hit every move, every beat, every lyric. What could be wrong? What could possibly be out of order?

“Stop rushing the moves, and just let yourself go. You need to let it fall into place.”

“Like a jigsaw?”

You grin at his earphone, dangling haphazardly from his right ear. Of course, he loves Radiohead.

“Yeah, like a jigsaw.”

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

It has been ten minutes. Four rounds have passed without his presence. You watch Hinata desperately sprint across the court, dashing across lines of green, white, and red. Daichi has screamed until his throat is hoarse, and wheezes are beginning to form in the back of everyone’s throats. Kageyama’s fingers are beginning to get lousy, his fingertips are flexing more than they should as he sets the ball too far, too short, too high, too low.

They need a wall. Karasuno is a kingdom without a fourth wall, and the volleyball is knocking the other ones down with every spike. Eyes are darting across the court. Feet are squeaking beneath the polished ground. The claps of skin on leather ring prominent with each receive, each hit, each block.

Tsukishima’s shadow emerges from the edge of the court’s entryway, and Ukai calls a timeout.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

His eyes flutter open from beneath his arms. His earphones have fallen off. Is break still going? A pair of feet stomp and squeak beneath the ground, yet no others follow along. He looks up. It is a lonely performance. 

“You need to let it fall into place.”

Arms collapse around your torso, locking and releasing as they travel along your body from your hips, to your chest, to the air. Your arms are vines crawling up a wall, leaping across the border between greying streets and falling into the sanctuary of your garden. The shuffling of your feet guide the vines, the crevices of a brick wall paving the path for them to snake up the wall in a map of green. 

It is unlike anything Tsukishima has seen, or done before. 

Every move falls into place.

You turn, and he rests his head beneath his arms again. He understands now that he is not done yet. He is not even close to being there. His earphones lie pathetically on the ground beside him. Out of place. He shoves them back into his ears, letting the music wash through his head. He etches your every move into his mind, so that maybe one day, his arms may move like vines on a wall too, draping into bushes like roses in a garden.

Falling into place like a jigsaw.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

The fresh tape has begun to rip again, but he must stay. The tape can’t help Tsukishima now, only his eyes can. Target their morale. Build frustration. When the frustration spills over, Shiratorizawa’s walls will falter. The redhead blocker across the net has a manic look in his eyes as the ball approaches him. Creepy. Kageyama freezes in place, as though mesmerised by the toss. Get it together, and move. 

The ball is out of place, the angles are off. It’s a lagged attack, and anyone with half a brain should know. The redhead jumps, and Tsukishima follows suit. Just a bit more, get the hands over the net. Reinforce the barrier, keep it rigid. He cannot, and will not, let the wall collapse again. 

The crowd behind you roars in chants and cheers as the ball is deflected, shooting into Shiratorizawa’s court as their own attack turns its back on them. The redhead clicks his tongue, sneering at Tsukishima, who approaches the net, hands shoved into his pockets. You vaguely make out Tsukishima’s remark, which sends the redhead into a tantrum.

“Hi, I’m the normal guy. Good to meet you."

He is getting cocky again, like he was before, like he always has been.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Four months in, and the team has moved from basics, to breakdancing. Tsukishima operates gracefully now, hands falling into place as pillars for his body while his legs swing in tandem with every switch of his hands.

But he’s been rubbing his elbows for the past minute, and you aren’t sure if this is a good idea anymore.

As his hands settle around your waist, his wrists swell in shades of red and pink, burdened with the role of being residential breakdancer. He has been rubbing his elbows for the past two minutes. You really aren’t sure if this is a good idea anymore. 

“Tsukki, are you sure you can-”

“How many times have I told you already? It’s nothing, I got this.”

He adjusts his wristbands, massages his wrists one last time. He has done this countless of times before, so why are you nagging at him now? He’s perfected the shape of his hands, the way they rest under your arms, and on your waist. He’s done this more times than most dancers in this team have spoken to you. It’s just a lift.

“Three, two, one-”

The weight of your back crumbles beneath his fingers. The dull throb in his wrists extends with a pop, piercing through muscle as it blitzes its way down in pulses from his wrists, to his forearms, to his elbow. 

“Fuck!”

Your body falls with a thud from approximately eight feet above ground, the side of your ankle making first impact with the floor. It does not make way for you, and your foot twists with a shuddering crack. The rest of your body follows suit, knees slamming into wood veneer as your head whips forward into the ground. 

The rest of the team huddles around you, and you almost manage to muster up enough strength to beg them to leave. The oxygen in the room is running out, instead replaced by a thick fog. It rots in your lungs, poisoning your arteries as it makes its way through your bloodstream. Murmurs and shrieks are choked out from the horrified crowd, some frantically scrambling for their phones. 

“...fuck.”

Tsukishima stares in horror, staggering backwards towards the mirror. It was just a lift. A lift he had done hundreds of times before. It was one lift out of hundreds, the only one out of place. His earphones dangle from his pocket, but he does not plug them in. 

He reaches for his bag, and he runs. He runs until he reaches home. He doesn’t go inside, he doesn’t enter the gate, he doesn’t plug his earphones in. He stares at his hands, and his wrists don’t hurt anymore, while the stinging in his elbows is reduced to a dull soreness.

It was just one lift. One lift out of the hundreds he has done before.

He cradles his face in his hands, squeezes his eyes shut, and holds his breath until the air in his lungs goes purple.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

“Touched it!”

Shiratorizawa are tiring out. He can hear it in their huffs of discontent, the curses beneath their breaths at every block, their cries at every missed save. The redhead sneers at Tsukishima with every jump he makes, and each dirty look fuels him with buzzes of adrenaline. Push them a little more. Shiratorizawa’s fortress will crumble, and Karasuno will rise from the rubble.

“I hit it!”

Keep going, do not stop. Pick up the pieces of Shiratorizawa’s wall, and reinforce Karasuno’s defence with them. Deflect their attacks, use their own power against them. Watch the ball, wait for angles to align, and strike. They will falter soon, he can see it in their panicked eyes, feel it in their impatient strategies.

“Touch!”

His calls echo through the court. Your eyes dart between the ball, Tsukishima’s hands, Shiratorizawa, Tsukishima’s hands, then the ball, an unending series of attacks and counterattacks. Your breath hitches with every jump he makes. He moves powerfully, his timing precise on every block. His eyes are attentive, nimble fingers swipe left and right automatically at Shiratorizawa’s feints and tricks. You can almost hear the gears overclocking in his head, stopwatches ticking and springing him off his feet as they ring. 

It is unlike anything you have seen before.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

“Another jigsaw puzzle for me?”

Tsukishima hovers over your bed, a jigsaw set in hand. Your cast pokes out from beneath the blankets, glaringly obvious. Third degree ankle injury, complete tear of the ligament on impact, is what the podiatrist said. 

“Just the sixth one this month, you’ve got another month to go in that cast. It’s a thousand pieces this time.”

His weight sinks the mattress beneath you, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him unbox the jigsaw set. Across your bed, two other assembled puzzles sit atop your dresser, jigsaw albums framed in glass panels. The loose pieces tumble to the ground, and Tsukishima peels the blanket off you, sitting next to the pile of jigsaw pieces on the floor. Lifting your foot up, and off the bed, you settle on the ground across him, the pile sitting between the two of your legs.

“Corners first?”

“Yeah, corners first.”

The pieces fall into place quickly. One tends to become acquainted with the rough edges of jigsaw pieces in times of boredom, especially when their friend brings a new set to their house every week or so. The colour scheme keeps you guessing. What album is it this time? The Bends? Room On Fire? The two of you assemble away quietly, carefully lifting portions of the puzzle into the glass frame. 

“Kei.”

He lifts his head from his work, the centre of the puzzle laid delicately over his palms.

“You know, they told me I probably can’t dance like that again.”

He freezes, the puzzle falling from his hands and shattering on the frame. He sees the vines, but they wither, retreating back into the concrete streets, limping into the road where cars will drive over them without a care. They will never return to the garden again, replaced with thorns on a bush instead. 

He cannot fix this. No amount of forcing the oxygen out of his lungs after every lonely dance practice, or buying puzzles of different albums, or sitting on your bedroom floor for hours every week, building puzzles by your side silently, or reimagining how he should’ve refused to do the lift, how his hand should have cradled your body the same way he had done it hundreds of times before, will ever fix this. 

“And you’re just…okay with that?”

You smile melancholically, tilting your cast-adorned ankle. Picking up the pieces of the centre, you reassemble them quietly, head bowed as your lips quiver and your eyes droop. Tsukishima watches in horror, his hand reaching behind him for his bag. 

“Do I have a choice?”

You place the final piece in place. In Rainbows, classic. 

You look up, and he is not there.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Kageyama turns to glance at Tsukishima. A follow up attack after a net bounce will certainly tire them out. His foot pivots, having just hit the ground from a futile block attempt. The tape is loose on the sides now, peeling off around the edges and the rips. The redhead’s manic glares from across the net have since progressed to tired psychopathy, and he intends to milk every last drop of energy from his mind. May the best mental processor win. 

You watch him sprint, and he leaps, higher than he ever has. Tsukishima is agile, six foot two but light as a feather on his feet. His waist twists with his shoulders, his arms pulled back into a bow, ready to shoot. Yet something is odd. He is holding back. You watch the ball travel away from Tsukishima across the front court, positioning itself right in front of Tanaka’s hand as he strikes. There is a hole in Shiratorizawa’s defence, and the redhead knows it. He sneers, eyes darting wildly across the court as he runs to block, but the ball breaks through their fortress, slamming into the ground. 

Another hole in the wall.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

The next time you and Tsukishima meet, it is your first year in Karasuno. You hadn’t seen, or spoken to him since the night he ran away from your house. Calls were sent straight to voicemail, messages were left on received, before not being sent at all. You waited day and night for his next song recommendation, his next album review, his next puzzle. The In Rainbows puzzle sits amongst the rest atop your dresser, and every time you glance at it from your bed, an unsettling weight settles on your chest.

Was that all you were to him? An ex dance partner? 

To think that all those hours spent with a pair of earphones stretched between your heads as you assembled thousands of puzzle pieces into mosaics of music, tucked away into the corners of your lives, would have amounted to something. All the silent celebrations at each completed set, the late nights that the two of you worked in, gluing each jigsaw piece in place until they fitted together perfectly, all that made you believe the two of you had something special, something that quietly encompassed the space between your working minds and gentle fingers. You did not know him enough to amount to more than friends, but you knew enough about how he thought, moved, felt. You knew enough about the music he liked, his preference of building from corners, the way his palms cushioned your waist as he lifted you into the air. You knew enough for a friendship to have sufficed. Nothing more, nothing less, if he so desired. 

How audacious. How audacious of him to waltz into your life, a perfectly assembled puzzle, and watch it shatter on the ground, all without a single apology.

The first Friday at Karasuno high, you are silent. The limp in your right leg goes unnoticed by most, yet the crowded halls prove a challenge, after-school rush is a true menace. You stay back, waiting for the crowd to die down, as your head turns to the billboard. 

“Hip-hop Wednesdays! See you after school at the gym’s dance hall!”

Your mouth twitches, the unravelling of arms and shuffling of feet rushing into your head again. No, this won’t work. Doctor’s- no, podiatrist’s orders. The poster is alluring, however, and your eyes seem to linger at its warm invitation, until they are rudely knocked away from it. 

“Why are you standing in a crowd rush, idiot?”

You turn to the voice, clear as day amongst the chatter of students and the quickening steps behind you. Amber eyes meet yours, narrow at first, then widening in shock as they register your presence. You bite the inside of your lip, pushing down his name as it claws its way up your throat. He stands taller now, towering over you as his eyes travel between your left and right irises. The wired earphones have been replaced by a shinier pair of headphones, a pair that won't dangle from his ears, or stretch between two heads anymore.

He stares, just long enough for the green-haired boy beside him to notice. Your name threatens to spill out of his mouth, but the letters tangle up in knots, blocking his windpipe. He imagines what it will be like to blurt it out, to let the words ring in your eardrums as he runs towards you. He hears himself in his head, his voice returning to its prepubescent meekness.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, y/n.”

He stares, just long enough to imagine the contempt in your eyes, the disdain in the curl of your lips, your sharp, stinging voice, shattering his final sliver of hope.

“How could you do this to me?”

He stares, just long enough to replay the lift again. The way your ankle twists and pops on impact with the ground, your panicked wheezes, his frantic sprint home at the realisation of what he had done. He has replayed the lift enough times to know where he should put his hands this time, how he should prop your body up against his palms, how he should admit that his elbows hurt- have hurt for weeks, even months. And his wrists, and his fingers, and his chest.

He stares, just long enough to rethink blurting out your name, and running towards you, but not long enough to regret turning away, and blending into the crowd again, speaking of volleyball instead of dance, Lamp instead of Radiohead. 

Yet regret is a wisp of thick fog, trailing him insidiously as he descends the stairs, far away from you, from his guilt, from the mistake that will haunt him for as long as he lives.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

You see yourself in front of the gym anyways on Wednesday. You decide that you will not dance, you are only in your uniform and leather shoes after all. The gym door swings open to the sight of sweaty teenage boys donning sweatshorts and t-shirts, smacking volleyballs left and right, and you wonder how you are supposed to make your way into the dance room, tucked away in the corner of the gymnasium. You step inside, shuffling along the wall as balls shoot over your head, and land next to you, in front of you, behind you.

Yamaguchi nudges at Tsukishima's torso, watching you jog through the chaos of serving drills. He senses something wrong, something horribly out of place.

"Isn't that the girl? From last week?"

Tsukishima's eyes are trained onto the roll of tape, pulling it taught around his fingers. He chucks the roll onto a bench, and bounces the ball in his hand three times exactly, before holding it up with an outstretched arm. He pretends to aim his serve, but his eyes follow you as you scurry your way across the gym, and into the dance room.

"Who?"

Yamaguchi frowns. Tsukishima hits the serve out of bounds.

The dance room is empty, spare of around eight people. Their sneakers squeak against the ground, and you wince at the familiar noise. You set your bag down in front of the mirror, plugging a pair of earphones into your phone as you stick one in your ear, and shove your phone into your pocket. Leaning against the side of the mirror, you watch the members intently. They laugh, sweat dripping from their hair as their feet tangle together in shuffling drills. You wonder how it feels to join them, to loosen up the gears in your system- no, podiatrist's orders.

But they are happy, just as you felt when you once could move your feet as you pleased. They are content as they adjust each other's arms, and roll their hands across their bodies, just as you were when you used to push Tsukishima's torso into the right spot, and guide his arms through from his head, to around his chest- this is not the place for him to be. He ran away from you, left your puzzle pieces shattered and unruly, just to run back and remind you of what could have been. Cruel.

Fuck podiatrist's orders. A bit of light footwork can't hurt.

Music blares from your earphones, and your body moves with it intuitively. Arms first, popping and dragging as your feet glide across the ground with ease, then fingers, curling up and releasing in waves. The beat thunders through your skull, and it is only a matter of time until the others notice you. They cheer, they clap, they holler, and the limp in your leg fades away as the pieces of your puzzle begin to come together again.

A lonely figure watches you, ten feet from the doorway, before being joined by a green-haired boy

"Who is that, Tsukki?"

Yamaguchi doesn't notice how Tsukishima's eyes threaten to brim with tears. The vines have regained their life. They have returned to their rightful garden, receding from the road and into the rose bushes again, where they wrap around thorn-infested stems. He rolls his shoulders, squeezes his elbows, massages his wrists until the knots untangle. You never needed his lift, or his jigsaw puzzles, all you needed was a pair of earphones, music, and the floor was yours again.

"Yeah... yeah, just somebody that I used to know."

He walks back to his side of the gymnasium.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Tsukishima's feet hit the ground, hands unscathed. Ushijima glares at him from across the net, meeting eye to eye without so much of a lift of his head. The twitch of his mouth speaks his mind as he eyes Karasuno's blockers up and down.

Don't fuck with us. Know your place beneath the doves, you scrambling crows.

How despicable.

Letting two clean hits strike their court has knocked down Karasuno's walls, and Tsukishima can feel the foundations beginning to crumble again. Shiratorizawa are reclaiming the rubble that Karasuno has collected, and he is unable to reconstruct the craters that are forming in their defence. He is using his mind, moving as the information wills him to, watching the ball, visualising the parabolic trajectory as the maximum height aligns with the palm of Shiratorizawa's hitters, springing to defend as the stopwatches click and ring in his head.

So why is nothing working?

No, don't let your own tricks fool you, Kei. Target their minds, when their morale crumbles, their walls will follow. Clear your head. Breathe in, breathe out.

His head turns to you, watching from the stands. Your eyes widen, a deer in headlights being caught in its glare. It is a long shot, he knows, but he needs his mind to flood with your words. Something, somewhere in there, must be the answer to his bleeding prayers. He is missing the central jigsaw piece. Think. Remember.

You freeze, his eyes burning holes into your own. You know him well enough to notice his knuckles trembling, and his eyebrows twitching erratically, and the confusion in his eyes, barricaded by the glare in his glasses, but evident nonetheless. You think you are hallucinating. Why is he looking at you? How did he notice you from the stands, amidst the chaos of their battle on the court?

What does he want?

Ukai's whistle blows, and his hands form a T, calling for a timeout. Tsukishima's eyes do not abandon yours. His lips are separated, just a bit more than usual as he drowns in the air around him. Think, Tsukishima. Where is the answer?

Where is the missing piece?

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

It takes you another five months to speak to Tsukishima again. The thought of him has been suppresssed until it is nothing but a snowflake drifting to the ground, the summer of your partnership reduced to nothing but a bleak, inglorious winter. You make friends, more friends than you have ever had. The eight members of the dance club become your new family, the ones who collect your shattered jigsaw pieces, and gently place them back in order, one by one. It is good. You are good.

But why is it that every time his blurry figure passes your eyes as you leave the gymnasium, tall, and lingering, and familiar, a piece falls out again?

Every Wednesday, you wait for the dance room to empty, for the others to pack away their things and make their way home, the sun descending behind the horizon of the school. You wait until they are out of sight, away from the vicinity of the gymnasium, and you stay.

You stay, and watch his figure from behind the door, tall, and lingering, and familiar.

You shouldn't, you know you shouldn't. You know that you didn't deserve it, what Tsukishima had done. He had, for a lack of a better word, crippled you, and you forgave him. He had never apologised, yet you forgave him as if he had anyways. You were never a fan of jigsaw puzzles, yet you amused him as he relentlessly brought them to you, day after day, week after week. The two of you would stretch a singular pair of worn out, flimsy earphones between your heads every night, sprawled across your bedroom floor. His fingers would tap the floorboards beneath him, syncing with the rhythm of the music, and yours would follow.

"Thanks for the puzzle, Tsukki."

"I'll come back with another one next week, okay?"

And he did, he really did, for weeks, until one day he didn't. Until one day, he decided that it was too much, too heavy of a burden, and he ran. And the days became weeks, the weeks months, and the months into an uneventful Friday, when he rudely runs into you amidst the crowded halls of Karasuno High.

And still, somewhere deep in your chest, your heart feels no contempt. Not even a trace of disdain. It has every right to, yet it lets go, and you forgive him silently.

You catch yourself staring now, your eyes refocusing as four eyes meet your own. You have been caught.

"Tsukki, go, now." The green-haired boy speaks imperatively. He can sense it everywhere, from the way Tsukishima freezes, to the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows hard, to the way his hands instinctively massage his wrists for no reason. Something is balanced, but horribly out of place. Something is so fragile that the mumble of a name will shatter its carefully sustained equilibrium.

So you run.

You run until they are out of sight, until all you hear are the confused murmurs of teenage boys, chattering amongst themselves as they stay behind to hone their techniques in the sickly white light of the gymnasium. Heavy steps follow behind yours, equally as desperate.

“y/n, please!”

A hand reaches out for, and just barely misses your wrist, limbs stretched as far as they can to catch up. Moths flutter around a wall mounted moth trap on the school building, aimless, persistent. You wish in that moment that you too can participate in their aimless worship of a buzzing trap, bask in the scathing heat of its radiation, deadly as a running current to your fragile body. Anything to avoid this. You swing around, and he staggers back.

“What do you want from me, Tsukishima?”

The words tangle in this throat again, blocking his windpipes. He is running out of time. He can see the stars on your converses pivoting away, threatening to leave him behind in his own pile of jigsaw pieces. Get it together, Kei. Untangle the words, pick them apart with every finger you have, force the knots through the throat if they won’t come apart. Anything to face this.

“I’m sorry."

You stop in your tracks to face him. He can't even look you in the eye. Pathetic.

"I’m so sorry, y/n. I’m sorry I ruined your life, and I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it.”

"What?"

The words rush out of your throat, the force of a million tonnes unable to suppress them any longer. You step up to him, disliking how your closeness makes you want to falter, to openly forgive him, to acknowledge that you need his fingers to put it back, so that the final piece will fall into place permanently.

“Fix it?”

Your finger jabs at his chest with every scathing sentence. He doesn’t retaliate. He stands in place, pitiful, expectant. He is smaller than you, compressed into nothing but a moth attracted to a trap.

“I didn’t need your fixing, Kei! I didn’t ask for you to fix me!”

The air between you is congealed, heavy with your frantic breaths, and the deafening silence from Tsukishima’s pursed lips. A moth touches the light, and falls to the ground, twitching lifelessly as the electricity surges through its fragile body.

“All I wanted was to finish another puzzle with you!”

He grabs your wrist, your finger jabbed into the dip of his ribs, and your fist loosens. What now? Should he pull you towards him, so he can be sure that he knows where to place his hands this time? Should he grab your shoulders, and beg for your hatred, after all that he has failed to do? Should he turn away, shriveled and cowardly, knowing that there is nothing he can do that will ever make amends for what he has done to you?

"I loved watching you dance. All I wanted was to be like you."

He smiles sadly, releasing your wrist from his grasp as it falls to your side. He takes a step back, away from you.

"Don't let me hold you back."

He has never held you back, not his mistake, not his abandonment either. And he will not hold you back now, not like this, even if you want him to.

You turn away, and leave him under the light of the moth trap.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

Ukai's words drone on as Tsukishima shoves the ribbon of limp, ripped up tape from his fingers into his pockets. He wraps a new piece around his palms this time, that is what is holding him back. He is lying to himself.

Don't look up. Don't look at the stands. Keep your head down, and your mind intact. Reinforce Karasuno's walls to break Shiratorizawa's fortress.

"Tsukishima! Are you hearing this?"

He looks up from his hands, yes, yes he is hearing it. He is definitely hearing it.

"Sorry?"

Ukai rubs his temples, and adjusts his hairband.

"Fuck, whatever, stay off for a bit until you're ready. Hinata, take his place. Let's get it going again."

Look up, y/n is right there. They're watching. They have the answer.

His head lifts towards the stands, and you are gone.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

The green-haired boy, who you now know is Yamaguchi, practically begs for you to watch the Shiratorizawa finals. You aren't sure how he finds you, but he does, bumbling and clumsy as he shuts the door to the dance hall behind him, careful not to attract any attention.

"Please, not for Tsukki, but for us. We need him, or this game may as well be over before it even starts."

"He's been doing fine without me there, what makes you think I need to go?"

Yamaguchi has returned to his usual, meek self, rendered speechless by your retort. He doesn't think that you need to go, he knows it. He knows it in the way Tsukishima rubs his elbows before every round, and the way he squeezes his wrists until they are all the shades of pink. He knows it in the noises that plague Tsukishima's mind as he estimates the angles of contact, predicts the trajectory of the ball. He knows it in Tsukishima's movements, the movements of a machine, but not a player.

"Please, I'm begging you, just this once."

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

And that is how you end up here, staring at your own reflection in the Shiratorizawa changing room mirrors.

"Get it together, y/n. What the fuck are you doing?"

Should you go back to the stands? No, he'll find you, and you aren't sure how you will react this time. You haven't rehearsed the clever things that you can say to him, nor the articulation of your rampant, conflicting emotions. Why did he find you? How did he find you, hidden so well amongst the roaring crowd of Karasuno students? You twist the tap open, disgruntled, and shove your face into the running water, letting it roll down your chin, seep into your shirt, enter the canals of your ears. Whipping your head out, you shut the tap, running your dry hands over your face and wiping it down with your arms.

"y/n?"

How?

"I need help."

You shove your hands in your pockets, stepping away from the mirror and turning to face Tsukishima, who stands at the wall outside the doorway. His glasses rest above his head, hair pushed back by the frames. The same look of confusion paints his face pale, and his hands surrender by his sides, fingers twitching erratically.

"I don't know what's wrong. Nothing is working. The angles are right, I know exactly where the ball is going, but I can't stop it. It just keeps coming, and I'm throwing the game away because my body just won't fucking work with me," He collapses to the ground, knees buckling beneath him as his back slides down along the wall. He props his elbows up by his knees, wrists pressed together in frustration.

You know exactly what it is. Fuck it.

You walk up to him, his body hunched in desperation, hopelessness, embarrassment. His eyes dart around, avoiding yours, and he hangs his head low as a last ditch attempt to turn away from you.

No, this won't do. He needs to go back to the summer.

Your crouch to his level, and your hand grabs his chin, fingers pinching it tight as you push his head up to face you. His eyes are teary now, like a dog begging for its owner to come home. You think carefully about your next words. It is now, or nothing.

"Breathe in, and surrender."

You can see the disillusionment in his eyes as his gears turn again, grasping at your words as he tries to decipher them. No, he is still not getting it.

"No, stop it. Stop turning the gears."

You pull his face towards yours, and you can feel his breath hitch, inches away from your own.

"This game, it is all just a dance. An extended routine with a prop that hovers back and forth above the ground. There is no order, so stop turning the gears. Let it go, use your senses."

His eyes widen as you release his chin from your grip. And for the first time in almost a year, you smile in his face. He understands now, you had the answer all along. You stand up, and offer him your hand. Neither of you notice Yamaguchi at the entrance to the hallway, grinning knowingly. He was right to convince you.

"You need to let it fall into place."

That cocky smirk slithers onto his face again, but there is a tinge of something else there. Something that encompasses the inches between the two of you. Something that is rearranging the shattered pile of jigsaw pieces that Tsukishima has been standing in for as long as he has left you. He should have found you sooner, approached you earlier, bought you the next puzzle that you waited for.

"Like a jigsaw?"

"Yeah, like a jigsaw."

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

As he re-enters the court, Tsukishima is a changed man. You watch from the stands, holding your breath as he takes his place in the front. The redhead scoffs at his return, the others roll their eyes, rub their temples, click their tongues. All Tsukishima does is adjust his glasses, hands by his head in anticipation for the first smack of the ball.

They will tire themselves out. Watch the ball, envision its path. Let your body move as it wills.

The ball flies across the net, landing on the platform of Shiratorizawa's fortress. He watches its path. It is in the air. Let it be, it is not in place yet. He can see the frustration in Shiratorizawa's eyes at his return. Push them, just a bit more, until the frustration begins to overflow and spill around the edges of their defences.

The ball approaches the small one on the side, and you watch as it slips from his fingers. They are getting impatient, the toss is too short, too tight to hit perfectly, even with Ushijima's formidable strength. You smirk as the ball curves in its path, ever so slightly out of place for Shiratorizawa, perfectly in place for Karasuno. This is what you have been waiting for.

And it seems that this is what Tsukishima has been waiting for too.

"Let it fall into place."

This is it, this is the place, and the time, and the position, and the angle, and everything in between. He glances at you for a millisecond, and your gaze is clear as day, amongst the hundreds that surround you.

"Like a jigsaw?"

Ever so subtly, you nod. He understands now.

"Yeah, like a jigsaw."

These are the final pieces, falling into place in tandem with each other.

He jumps, and the ball strikes his palm like a canonball, deflecting back into Shiratorizawa's court, too quickly for anybody to save it, too close to Ushijima for anybody to reach. The others stare in shock. His own team, those on the other side of the net, those in the stands. The court is pitch silent, the sound of leather on hardwood reverberating through his skull.

It is only one block. One block out of hundreds he has done before. One point out of twenty five.

Yet as he raises his fist, gripping it hard, your chest swells with pride.

"LET'S GO KEI! LET'S FUCKING GO!"

Your cry leads the crowd behind you as a flurry of cheers and applause commences. Even amongst the roaring cries of excitement from above, from behind, from beside, his mind trains onto your voice, and your voice only.

The lift of the final jigsaw piece that falls into place.

♪〰〰🎧〰〰♪

author's note:

man this was so fun to write, too bad i need to go back to studying for my high school finals after this </3

omg also i need to gush about @starlysama because their sunflower fic fully threw me back into my fanfiction writing frenzy and it was so good and i spent like twenty minutes with my eyes trained to my phone no blinking while i read their work it was INCREDIBLE and i love you

also i really did put my heart and soul and tutoring hours into this so i really hope you guys like it ngl or i will cry please don't get scared at the word count it's not that bad I PROMISE also please feel very very welcome to comment or reblog because i love reading them so much

okay bye bye everyone see you soon

[straylightdream]

what am I missing

act fourteen: “You better think of me.”

feat: bang chan x f.reader, seo changbin x f.reader, han jisung x f.reader

↳ in your mid to late twenties you’re left wondering if you missed your sexual awakening. With a the help of friends you start to really find yourself.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: for the story as a whole angst, a little fluff, body image issues, and self doubt, cussing all smut warnings listed below for what is in this story.

series masterlist

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

Thursday night rolls around and Changbin makes a big deal about taking you out for a fancy date. You probably took too long deciding on what you should wear out. You decided on a dark dress and even wore a small pair of chunky heels.

When Changbin knocked on your door and you found him wearing a dress shirt that hug his muscular arms with a tie and pair of tight dress pants you knew you were fucked in the best way possibly. He looked absolutely mouth watering.

The moment his eyes traveled up and down your curvy body he told you how beautiful he thought you looked.

Arriving at the restaurant he held your hand leading the way to the table. He picked an upscale restaurant downtown.

Sipping on the glass of wine he ordered you both you can’t help but feel happy. He’s been asking you questions about your week and is now telling you about his week at the studio. He lights up when he’s talking about music and you can’t help but be happy for him.

He reaches across the table to take your hand in his. He drags his thumb across the delicate skin on your hand.

This date with Changbin feels like a natural night out for you. Maybe that’s because things with Changbin have always been easy. He’s always made you feel comfortable.

The whole entire dinner Changbin tells you how beautiful he thinks you are and any chance he gets he reaches across the table to grab your hand.

The moment the check arrives he pulls out his credit card before you even have a chance to think. When it’s time to leave he pulls out your chair and takes your hand leading you out of the beautiful restaurant.

Getting into the car you buckle up and fix your dress as Changbin starts the car.

Reaching over the glove compartment you grab his hand. You just want to be able to touch him. One thing that you love about the arrangement that has started with the boys is you’re happy you’re finally able to touch and admire Changbin the way you always wished you could.

“Should I take you home?” He asked.

“To your house or mine?” You don’t want this night to end. “I would prefer to take you to my house.”

“Okay.” He smiles.

The whole drive back to your place his hand rests on your thigh. The moment you arrive at your house Changbin gets out of his car quickly so he can open your door. He takes your hand leading your apartment.

Opening the front door you step inside and remove your shoes. You watch Changbin do the same. He pauses for a moment before he presses you against the front door. He kisses you like he’s been dying to get you alone.

He holds your face with both of his hands as he kisses you over and over again.

“I’m going to worship you,” he murmurs against your lips. Pulling away from you he stares at you with an intense look. All the oxygen feels like it’s been sucked out of the room. Reaching up you touch your lips. You feel drunk on Changbin's presence.

Silently he grabs your hand and leads you off to your. He moves you so you’re standing in front of your bed. His hand rests on your neck and he drags his thumb slowly across your delicate skin. Biting your bottom lip you try not to moan at his actions.

He pulls the thin straps down from your dress. “Take your bra off baby.” You follow his command. Your dress is pushed down leaving you bare from the waist up. He grips your hips pulling you close to him. He crashes his lips into yours for a searing kiss. His lips move across your jaw down the base of your neck.

His strong hands roam your soft body. He takes your breast in his hand gripping it roughly earning a gasp from you.

“How do you want to do it?” He asked.

“I thought you wanted to play with my vibrator?” You want to play along and show him you can be confident.

“Let's get you naked.” He wastes no time stripping away the rest of your clothes and his own.

“Are you sure you’re not using a condom?”

“I trust you.”

With your legs spread wide he sits between your legs. The pink vibrator in his hand has you excited for what to come. He runs his length through your wet folds. “Keep this leg on my shoulder.” He pats your thigh.

His first slow thrust into you leaves you gasping. Your hand grips the sheet below while he stays still.

He rolls his hips a few times slowly before he holds your pink vibrator against your clit. The feeling against your sensitive clit while he slowly stretches you out with each thrust leaves you feeling fuzzy from the inside out.

You can’t help but moan loudly. Your hands grip the sheets below you. You lift your hips meeting each of his thrust.

“Binnie,” you moan.

“Fuck, you’re doing so good,” he moans. He’s moving at a steady yet hard pace.

“Bin-,” your brain feels like mush. The only words you can seem to form is a mixture of swears and his name.

“Every time you play with this you better think of me.”

Your body feels alive as he’s pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

The look on his face as he pushes you over the edge is intoxicating. Your walls pull on his still hard cock as he continues to thrust into you.

He removes the pink vibrator and quickly pulls out. He pumps his length over you. You watch him with a blissed out expression as he paints your mount and stomach with his release. He sits back on his hunches taking slow deep breaths as he comes down from his high.

“I need to clean you up.”

Without saying another word he quickly gets off the bed and walks off into the bathroom. He returns holding a warm rag. He gently removes his release before walking off toward the bathroom still naked.

Silently you watch him as he comes back into the room.

He crawls back into your bed and moves closer to you. He kisses you gently and pulls away smiling.

“You are so special,” he whispers as he lays on his back staring at the ceiling.

Laying in bed you stare at Changbin. You can’t help the feeling in your chest. No matter how badly you wished it wasn’t true you were falling for him.

AN: sorry it’s been so long since I have updated. Life has been hard and I’ve been struggling with writers block.

Please let me know what you guys think is gonna happen and which boy are you rooting for?

[absolutebl]

Pit Babe - it's time for a Trash Watch!

I had to. Well, no I didn't, but COME ON. It's like Thailand is negging me. Let's burn rubber, shall we? Burn rubbers...?

The things I had been told going in about this show:

it's about car racing (this bores me)

it stars Pavel (my BL ult bias, he is my icon for a reason)

it started as an omegaverse y-novel but the A/B/O aspects would be stripped from the BL series

it's high heat

(There some chatter about whether point 3 was a mistranslation of something the author said, but don't bother me with trifles.)

Here's a definition of omegaverse:

Omegaverse, also known as A/B/O (alpha/beta/omega), is a subgenre of speculative erotic fiction, and originally a subgenre of erotic slash fan fiction. Its premise is that a dominance hierarchy exists in humans, which are divided into dominant "alphas", neutral "betas", and submissive "omegas".[1] This hierarchy determines how people interact with one another in romantic, erotic and sexual contexts.[2] (Wikipedia)

In my experience and opinion, omegaverse archetypes and tropes are often used to strip out female characters (and The Feminine) and as a tool to excuse extreme hyper-masculine behaviors without a critical feminist lens (leading to lazy characterization). Just as heat is an excuse to get nkd quickly, A/O/B is often an excuse for taboo and dubious consent actions and behaviors. Do I get why writers/readers enjoy it? Yes I do. Do I personally like it? Not particularly. (Although there are always exceptions.)

Putting all that aside, the above represents my foundational knowledge before Pit Babe started.

Oh and that the familiar BL faces appearing in this show were follows:

Pavel Naret (aka Pavel Phoom) from 2 Moons 2 & Coffee Melody - Pavel is a fluent English speaker, a bit of a drama monger, and a motorcycle rider/car-dude, this role suits him

Nut Supanut from Oxygen & Something in My Room - has an amazing voice, his somewhat wooden acting has improved steadily since Oxygen

Pon Thanapon - one of Star Hunter's stable first seen in the Gen Y series (where he stole the appeal of an intended pair), also v good in Make a Wish, I wish he'd get a lead role as he has a likable screen presence

Pop Pataraphol from La Cuisine - he's playing the Alpha rival and I'm not convinced he's suited to this role

Michael Kiettisak from Love Sick, Oxygen, Call it What You Want, Till the World Ends - playing the comic relief this time rather than his usual tortured stoic... huh

All the rest are either fresh faces or older experienced actors. Interesting mix. They must have some money behind this.

And now, get out your marshmallows! The dumpster is on fire! Let's start the roast.

Episode 1 - Platypus, Pickles, Pavel, & other Smoking Hot Problems

This first segment told with a 4 day retrospect, because I decided to do a trash watch only after @aliceisathome said I should.

My initial reaction:

the sheer audacity of Thailand being like "PitBabe is not omegaverse" and then serving "Alpha" to us on a platter in the first sex scene is

how dare

but also

what the actual fuck is going on? what world are we living in where a/b/o is LIVE ACTION ON OUR SCREENS?

we getting heat, knotting & mpreg next?

apparently this is my reality now

I'm not sure what weird quantum time stream I've jumped into but someone was all,

yes the whole world is hella screwed, but also...

Thailand has decided live action mm fanfic is gonna win it the culture wars

and I'm beginning to think they may be right

BL is now the platypus of the film industry

4 days later:

Considering how much chatter this caused there's a part of me that wondered if it was all intentional and a marketing ploy (to say it wasn't omegaverse when obviously it is). In which case... brilliant Machiavellian tactics, production.

But Thai studios are rarely this calculated in their promo. So I think it's all accidental. But it certainly caused a raucous few days on Tumblr.

On a completely different note, Babe's house looks like it started life as a particularly inventive Olive Garden. Or is that just me?

More random thoughts:

Pavel has had work done, why honey? You were the definition of perfect.

The smell thing is great, I love stuff to do with scent and necks. If omegaverse brings this to the table, fine. But...

Being all Alpha perfect butch manly man = I do not like Babe at all, I kinda want him to be brought down a peg. (Woo... pegging!) I never like narratives that glorify the captain of the football team (side eyes Cdrama CEO romances and Love O2O), Babe better have depth and damage (forget the pegging) of some kind or his behavior will get old FAST, faster than he drives (also, forget the pegging idea)

Nut is ideal in the Beta role. I mean, that's Way's character right? We all can see that. If it's not intentional, it's a miscast. I love how soft he is as as screen presence. He's great in this part.

None of the other characters are sticking out to me yet, but I'm prepared to love the side dishes in this, please make them swoon worthy!

I'm glad they didn't hold the Charlie = trickster reveal off, I like knowing he is a double agent up front.

Finally, with respect to an adequate trash watch, I'm in a pickle.

How am I going to drink for this show when there is so much else airing on Frigay? I can't keep track, if I'm drunk.

I need a strategy for this trash fire if the puns and snark are to spout forth! (HA Fourth!)

Controlled burn?

Anygay, see you all next week.

Episode 2 - Side Dish Addiction + Second Lead Syndrome are both infecting me at once

[FYI I gotta have my backup computer to watch this so that's why Imma sometimes be delayed getting the trash out to the curb.]

3 minutes! 3 minutes in and I needed to pause and wax snarkful. (Ouch, bet that hurts. Is waxing snark similar to a Brazilian but for BL? Is that why they all so hairless in The Sign?... I digress, where was I?)

Okay so the subber said Daddy but I don't think that word means what they think it means. Because Way said simply nong paa.

Usually they'll use the English word Daddy (pronounced Dah-deee) for, ya know, Actual Daddies (tm).

Wait wait:

Calling Daddy Actual

(My dumb sci-fi loving arse will see myself out the back before I start drawing Battlestar Galactica = Pit Babe connections. TOO FAR ABL. Too far.)

Look, I like the tension in this show. It's good to set up an unlikeable Alpha dog and then immediately turn him into an underdog, makes him a bit more likable. I still don't like Babe, but now at least I'm on his side.

Charlie = cute but v sus. Fortunately for him, Babe = cute but v thick.

Everyone calls Charlie Babe's dek. Yes sounds a bit like what you think but also means kid/child and SHOULD be translated as boy in this show. Why doesn't the subber get that? They a sub...ber after all. (I'll see myself out.)

Honestly, the script writers might know what they are doing with abo but our eng sub translator sadly does NOT. I'm so glad this is coming now in my BL watching life. When my ear and knowledge of Thai is so much better than it once was. Others much be SO CONFUSED.

Snicker. They just fucking with us, but it's fun to watch the mpeg speculation abound.

File this one under: Thailand's trouble with ESL plurals and also "you should have Pavel helping with these subs" sweethearts.

Production knows entirely what it's doing with this show and its omegaverse shizz (even if the subber doesn't) and I am very much enjoying the online carnage that results.

This dumpster fire continues off screen into the blogosphere and I continue to roast things over it.

Meanwhile, hi Pon! You so adorable! When you gonna lead out a BL for us?

Is Idol Factory stealing all of Star Hunter's talent? Are they the Red Racers of the BL world? These are the questions I ask myself as I watch this.

Is that AGE GAP I smell before me?

Is the 20 yr old college kid meant for the pit boss? Cause you all know I am a slut for age gaps.

Moment of a/b/o: Jeff's fear of touch/heightened personal space would be a plot marker for "baby doesn't want Alphas close cause he smells like an omega" but of course this show it not omegaverse. Not omegaverse at all.

nuh-uh

Linguistic corner!

Lung (sounds a bit like loo) is uncle(ish) it means basically a male relation older than phi. So Alan is the oldest in the crew.

Alan calls Jeff nu (which the subber translated as boy I would have gone with cutie or little one). Nu is a diminutive affectionate term that's technically gender neutral but is most often used by/on cute girls/women. Jeff did NOT like it. Then Alan sort of dodges through pronouns/particles settling on phi for I, ger for you, and ja for a particle. This is interesting because ger & ja kinda lower his age and status into a casual sphere. Not more intimate more equal to jeff... fascinating.

I love the new "Korean" red racer, he drinks my brand of soy milk. He is now my baby snake in the grass.

Get it? Snake.

He and Babe should end up together.

The fight wasn't bad, do both actors have kickbox training in their backgrounds?

Who am I kidding, I care only about Uncle Alan and Nu Jeff now. All others are irrelevant to me.

Also...

WHERE IS A BOY FOR WAY?!!! Or a Daddy. I do not care. (Methinks nether does he.)

I am now captain of the Way Appreciation Society. Let's all find a way... to get him some dick.

Also the BTS stingers are tons of fun. Looks like the set was a blast.

Finally, and I mean this kindly. Why isn't Noh Phouluang in this? He should have been cast as Winner. Bah. I'm biased.

But one should be with Noh.

Episode 3 - Side Dishes Delux

Gayest bridge n Thailand has made its obligatory appearance.

How much do I love uncle & nu? They are SO damn cute. Also nu flustered is the best kind of nu.

I could not care less about Babe and Charlie. Except I do love the smell thing.

Way will break my heart by getting his broken. He is right tho.

Tra la la. I feel like this is a bit like KP 2.0.

Charlie is a such a princess (and ace manipulator). Good thing Babe clearly likes being buttered up.

Babe's backstory was more interesting than I expected, I didn't think we would go so far into the paranormal side of a/b/o. I like it and I hope they lean into it quite a bit more. Make it part of the plot.

Unlike the kissing thing which seems to have been gotten over rather quickly.

I gotta say I'm enjoying the corporate sponsorship jockeying and tension more than I thought I would. I'm curious as to who Jef and Charlie are working for and what their motivation is. The plot itself is keeping me intrigued and that is rare for me with BL.

So no trash talk this ep, I was largely absorbed and entertained. I didn't event need booze. Shocking behavior on my part.

#giveWayaboy2023

Episode 4 - I (who never ship) am shipping the impossible

Here’s the thing. I just want this to be a better story than it is. Right now it’s kind of like a soap opera. I don’t hate lakorn, I really don't. To Sir With Love is a glorious chewing of the diamanté scenery (completed with death glitter). But...

If this is gonna be a soap opera it needs to lean into the messy side more than the tailored high concept side. Support characters and evil needs more screen time.

Instead, right now, I don’t know where I am with this show because it doesn't know where it wants to be. I’m kind of dangling in the middle of a dirty situation. It’s uncomfortable for me, and the show feels uncomfortable for the performers. 

Also... I have questions.

Yes, of course I want to know what Charlie & Jeff are up to. Why can Jeff see the future?

But more importantly I NEED to know why Babe has a flying saucer bed?

That kind of lighting makes nobody look good, especially not at that angle. It’s very traumatic and I’m not wild about the shag rug either. I have concerns about Babe's taste. I guess is what I am saying. 

On a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT note:

There’s absolutely no chemistry to justify this, but I have decided that I am going to personally advocate for, and ship, Way and the interloping not-really-Korean. They are both sort of own-moral-code types. I have tiny crush on Kim, and Nut is the prettiest, and Way is Best Boy so there it is, I would like them to hook up, please & thank you.

#giveWay2Kim2023

Arrow guy is cute, too. Will we get to see him bone?

Is he going to be another one of the adopted alpha super-kid pets?

What the hell, throw Arrow Boy a bone! All hot boys in BLs deserve bones.

Plot thickens.

Hah.

Thickens.

(I am an immature idiot.)

Episode 5 - wait wait way-t, can arrow boy have Way?

Look, BLabies, I didn’t get any screen caps this episode because frankly there wasn’t anything worth capturing.

I guess Charlie really does love Babe? Very dramatic if idiotic saving from the burning car. But Babe has gone to the broken Alpha place of extremely unlikeablability (frankly he was almost there at the start). If I were Charles B Spectacled I would be OUT by now. 

Is that?

NO.

Don't get the plastic bowl.

No white towel sponge bath. Please kill this trope.  

I mean, it's not as bad as singing, but that's because NOTHING is as bad as singing in a Thai BL.

AND the main boys are back together.

I don’t find their relationship or Babe’s lack of senses a particularly interesting aspect of the plot.

Unless, of course, Babe is pregnant and that's why he lost his Alpha sniffer.

BUT I do love the sides.

Jeff = the introvert precog who can’t/wont do people and Alan = the extrovert people person who WANTS but doesn’t understand him. 

Were Jeff and Charlie ALSO raised by Evil Daddy MacEvilPants? 

I liked the way Arrow CEO & Way looked at each other. Way, hon, give up on Babe (he sucks) and get thyself a billionaire bf with great aim and BDE.

On a completely different note, the best thing about this show is the blooper reel. That thing with the green smoothie going down his pants was hilarious!

In conclusion, this was a green smoothie down the pants episode. I was entertained, and it’s probably gonna be good for the plot in retrospect, but it was kind of squishy and unpleasant at the time.

Episode 6 - Are they actually listening to us now? Is Tumblr bugged?

This was a fun ep full of like actual racing and shizz.

Whatever.

Charlie is on the team now. All the teams, apparently.

Can we talk about Jeff and Alan?

The apology scene! Did you hear that Alan dropped to chan/ger? Eeeee!!! So cute. (He equalized their relationship in a soft way.)

Get it with that language play hottie. Next up: lengua play.

Please & thank you. 

Meanwhile, as all of the Internet knows, they went fully in for omegaverse - no bars.

I have to say, one of the greatest typos (or whatever) in existence is enigma instead of omega.

That's where I personally would rank in the omegaverse.

Hello, my gender is... enigma.

 Apparently it's a/b/o and sometimes e!  Also sometimes switch-ee 

Oh I'm very proud of myself with that one.

Funfunfun

Charlie. Babes. When a man asks to be thrown up against the wall. You throw him against that wall.

OMG is that arrow boy looking at Way in the bar?

3 seconds later.

Noooo.

Wait come back.

Noooooo.

That’s what I actually want to watch! 

OMG. Who said nu was the first step to teelak?

I flipping love Alan. 

Ah the boyfriend ep. Thank you, but I still don't trust Charlie.

Poor Way.

But nice crying jag, and I don’t say that often in Thai BL.

Now let him go, Way.

A boy with his arrows is waiting. 

(source)

Note for the future: tumblr has a bug that stops allowing edits after a certain time/number, thus my full trash often occur in 2 segments as a result. Click on the "abl trash watches bl" tag for the full thing if you're reading this and later episodes are missing.

[weebsinstash]

You know, as a series that keeps popping back up inside of my mind every so often, and a series I hope Studio Orange continues, I think one of the most niche "Reader x yandere/yandere community" ideas I've ever had was the idea of Reader being the very last human on Earth, either through cryogenic freezing or some other sciencey bullshit, and the gems being extraordinarily fascinated by you and everything that you do while trying to take care of you, thinking you're just WAY too fragile and cute to risk getting hurt

And by "the gems" I mean THESE gems

The gems are just very intriguing and entertaining explicitly nonhuman characters, especially if you read the manga (which was still running when I was reading it but I think has since finished, so I still need to finish it myself) where it starts going into deeper themes of the gems wanting to find a purpose and the reason for why they exist, but also the very nature of how they came to be and where the former human civilization has gone and what the formidable Lunarians want by kidnapping them

I always liked the idea of these curious joyful often goober-ish shiny little murder machines running into a human and being oh so curious about you, wanting to play games with you, ask you all sorts of questions, and of course your primary caretaker would be Sensei, who basically won't leave your side since protecting humans is one of his core functions. He would have to make sure none of the gems got too rough with you, since you can't be simply glued back together

Just imagining all of the gems in happy peaceful bliss and then something extremely accidental happens. You fall down a set of stairs and sprain your ankle. You get accidentally pushed down a hill and break your arm. Suddenly all the Lustrous have their little fantasy world shattered as you lay there screaming in pain. None of them know what physical pain is. None of them can understand what you're going through. All they can see is that, it really, REALLY doesn't take that much to... break pieces of you

So long, the days of you being left alone, hello the days of being manually examined for any scratches, bruises, or bumps to make sure you "don't get broken again". God forbid some horrible accident happens where you lose a limb or a finger or something because NOW they know it's not just a matter of how easily you can be broken, but how, you can only heal so much, and some parts of you can break... forever. You'll be under the watchful eye of the Lustrous until you die of old age or natural causes, and that's IF you don't perish in some Lunarian-related disaster first, and even THEY might have a vested interest in taking you to the moon (where you would realistically immediately suffocate, freeze, and die, but like, we can pretend they have oxygen up there or something--)

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Arabesque

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Being a ballerina is everything you've ever wanted and more but after a major injury, you had to stay a step back. Now you're able to get back into it, so you ask the one person on the team who has taken ballet if she can help you.

Squares Filled: “you better have a good excuse for being late again.” (2021) for @blackwidowbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

The mansion is so big that you have to split up from your team in order to cover most of it. You hate being on your own on a mission but this calls for you to be alone. You’re not much for violence but the team needs a sharpshooter, which you are. You’re highly skilled on your feet, very flexible, and light as a feather. You can sneak into a room and not make a sound even if there are fifty people in it.

Someone with that skill is useful on a mission like this one. Someone stole black market weapons that they want to sell to the highest bidder, and you’re here to stop him before they leave. You’re not sure who is behind this but if those weapons get out, a lot of people are going to die.

Your earpiece connects you to Steve, Clint, and Natasha so even though you’re not in the same room as them, you still have them by your side. Your steps are very light as you enter one of the back rooms and there is a man in the back by a table of weapons. It’s the stolen merchandise. If you play your cards right, you can do this without alerting him.

The man takes apart the big guns to be packaged easier in the boxes by his feet. As he is turning to package the guns, you panic thinking he is going to see you and start shooting. You do the first thing you can think of and haul yourself onto a high cabinet soundlessly. The man turns and doesn't see you as he continues to pack the weapons.

You jump from high cabinet to high cabinet as you make your way across the room silently. The space is small and compact but you’re very flexible. You’ve been training all your life to be where you are, and it comes in handy for missions like these. When you get right above the guy, you jump onto his back and tighten your legs around his neck. The man doesn’t have any time to react and begins flailing about trying to get you off him.

You take your knife out of the arm holster and stab his hands that try to pry you off him, and he falls to the ground in a fit of choked gasps. As soon as he is passed out from the lack of oxygen, you step away from him and clean your blade on his jacket.

“I got the weapons. Back room, west wing.”

“On our way,” Natasha says. Your teammates meet you in the back room and see the man sprawled at your feet. “You took him down without alerting the alarms. Impressive.”

One word from her and you’re a blushing mess.

“Thank you,” you smile.

Steve grabs the man while you, Natasha, and Clinbt grab the weapons. SHIELD has been looking for these weapons that will keep them in their inventory while keeping the man hostage to gather more information from him. Everyone wants to celebrate the successful mission but parties were never your thing. Nothing against your friends but you’d rather spend time in the gym than be mingling with all of them.

Tony made a section of the gym to mirror a ballet studio for you to practice in. You’ve taken ballet ever since you could walk since your mother was one. You’re just following in her footsteps, trying to make her proud. The dream is to one day be on stage in front of an audience but you have a long way until you get there. You face the mirror and grab onto the bar so you can do your stretches. You squat down and bend your knees outward for ten seconds before standing up and doing it all over again.

For your next stretch, you turn away from the mirror and bend backward until your head is at the same length as the low bar. You grab onto the bar and lean forward while still holding onto the bar so that your body is in a backward ‘7’ shape. You’re holding this position for thirty seconds when you see Natasha walk into the gym through the mirror. You stand upright and give her a kind smile.

“Nice form. Looks like it feels good.”

“Yeah, especially after a long mission.”

“Little tip? Try using the wall for that stretch and walk your legs down the wall.”

“Have you ever taken ballet?”

“We did it as part of our training.” You open your mouth to ask her something but decide against it. “No, what were you going to say?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to be my teacher. I could use some help with my form even though I’ve been doing this all my life. I took a long break due to an injury and I’m just now getting back into it. I’d like you to teach me only if you’re okay with it. I understand if it’s too painful for you to, though.”

She chuckles. “Had you asked me fifteen years ago, I would have said no but I can be your teacher now.”

“Great,” you grin.

You two meet four times a week, three times if you have a mission to go on. She is teaching you so much, stuff that you didn’t know about or have forgotten about. While this has been helpful for your ballet career, it’s bad for your thoughts and feelings. It’s no secret that you have a thing for Natasha. How can anyone not have a thing for her? She’s gorgeous, has an amazing personality, is sweet and funny, and puts everyone before herself. She might know based on the looks you’ve been giving her but you haven’t outright told her you like her.

“I appreciate everything you’ve been doing for me,” you say to her.

You’ve learned so much in the coming weeks that brought you closer to her, which is why you two are sitting on the roof overlooking the city below. Tony built the Avengers Tower right in the center of Manhattan so on nights like these, you can see the nightlife.

“So, have you always wanted to be a ballerina?” Natasha asks.

“For as long as I could remember. My mother was one. Maybe that’s why I got into ballet classes at such a young age. I was actually really good until I graduated high school. I got injured on stage which left me unable to perform for years. By the time I could do it again, I lost my way. I started to pick it up over the years but it wasn’t the same. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I can’t imagine going through Red Room training was fun, but did you like doing ballet? Can you see yourself doing it again?”

“No,” she shakes her head.

“What did you want to do in life? You know, if you weren't an Avenger?”

“I never thought about it. I was taken at such a young age, that I didn’t think I could know anything outside of that training.”

That hurts your heart. She was taken and forced into a life she never asked for. She better off now but at what cost?

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs.

Moments like these are precious because they don’t last forever. The training sessions after this got better because you two found a way to work well together. She’d help you with your form and you’d try and perform a number for her. It’s working well for you two except your feelings for her are increasing. It’s the way she presses her body against yours to make sure you’re in the right position or her hand on your body guiding you to where you need to be.

It’s driving you insane.

She’s gonna kill me. Fuck.

If you’re late one more time, she is going to kick your ass. You rush down to the gym in hopes she isn’t there. You yank open the door and sigh in relief when you don’t see her in the corner. To make it seem like you’ve been here for at least thirty minutes, you quickly put your shoes on and do some quick stretches.

“You better have a good excuse for being late again.”

You look up and see Natasha by the entrance to the gym.

“Okay, listen, my alarm didn’t wake me up.”

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

“Your point?”

“If you’re late again, I’ll have you on the floor in seconds.”

Damn, why’d that turn you on? Those are delicious yet dangerous thoughts.

“Yes, ma’am,” you nod.

She walks over to you just as you stick your left leg into the air behind you. The only thing you’re balancing on is your right foot on your toes. You arch your back slightly and raise your arms to look like you’re flying. One of the things you’ve had trouble with since getting back into the art is balancing. Natasha puts her right hand underneath your leg to keep it up as soon as she sees you wobbling.

“Don’t think. Clear your mind.” 

She moves her hand from your calf up to your inner thigh, raising your leg as she moves. She grips your hip to get you to stay still, but the only reason why you’re going to crumble to the ground is because her hands are on your body. Her hands are so close to the place where you want her the most even if she doesn’t know it. She must know what she’s doing to you otherwise she wouldn’t do it. You look at her through the mirror and see the slight smirk on her face. That motherfucker. She knows exactly what she is doing.

“Like that?”

“Just like that. Good girl.”

Those two words are what cause you to fall back into her. She catches you in her arms and you put your hands on her shoulders to steady yourself.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s okay,” she whispers back.

Your body acts before your brain can think. You press a kiss upon her lips but quickly pull back in shock that you actually did that.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to do that.”

“Do it again,” she says.

This time, you kiss her confidently. Ballet practice just got a whole lot more interesting.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[savorypink]

hot yoga | drabble

a lil something about alex being your yoga instructor.

smut.

It helps to have someone attractive teach you something. You’re more likely to listen. Thankfully, your yoga instructor, Alex, is that someone. The studio is humid and hot by default, but it’s downright sweltering whenever your instructor saunters around the room. Dressed in a black tank top, every muscle of his upper body is prominent, sweat slicking his solid arms and neck, adding to the definition of his lean build. Baggy sweatpants sit low on his waist, exposing his v-line whenever his shirt rides up during certain poses and stretches. Your legs nearly fail you whenever you get a peek.

Today’s class was no different from previous ones: warm-up, a review of the old poses, and the debut of a new pose. Since Alex is a good teacher (a very sexy one to boot), you have no problem following his instructions, his voice low and soaked in honey. Unfortunately, the message doesn't get across to his other pupils. You watch as he assists the woman across the room, his large hands gripping her waist gently, guiding her to perfect formation. You grow a little envious. You’d like some attention, too.

What if you messed up? Purposefully? It’s a needy schoolgirl tactic, but guaranteed, it’ll get his hands on you. You “fix” your stance, positioning yourself to appear as awkwardly as possible. It eventually becomes uncomfortable, your frustration bubbling when you realize he's still helping the student. You clear your throat obnoxiously loud, earning several eyes on you, heat creeping into your cheeks. When Alex turns around, you’re able to laugh it off.

“I think I’m having some trouble...” 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach as he approaches, his footsteps light and quiet against the hardwood floor. He drinks in your form with his hands on his hips, a smirk painting his handsome face.

 “Looks like you are. Here.”

He comes behind you to help straighten your back, his gentle hands bending your sweaty spine into formation. His hands then find your hips, twisting them into a more comfortable position. His thumbs graze the bones of your hips, his hands lingering a little longer than needed, but you don’t complain. Alex then moves in front of you to adjust your arms, his chest rising and falling underneath his damp t-shirt. His gold chain vibrates with the beating of his heart when his eyes wander to your chest, sweat glistening your cleavage. Your nipples harden under his gaze, your sports bra becoming uncomfortably tight.

You see him snap out of his trance, his hand raising your chin to straighten your head. Your eyes meet his half-lidded ones; his touch and the thick air of the studio make your lungs work harder for oxygen. Sweat drips down his chin, his once-gelled hair falling into his face. You want to pounce on him.

“What are you doing after this?”

You smile, a wetness stirring in your panties. “Taking a shower.”

He lets go of your chin, returning to the lesson. 

“See me after this.”

He walks away uncomfortably, the weight between his legs beginning to feel heavy. Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall as he walks away. Crossing your fingers, you hope the rest of the class won’t be a drag.

Once everyone files out of the studio, Alex wastes no time taking you out of your workout set, carelessly tossing your bra and yoga pants across the room. The set cost you a pretty penny, but he’ll more than make up for it with how good he’ll make you feel. Your panties are last to come off, but instead of tossing them, he tucks them into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Downward dog. Modified.”

You hit the position with ease, your arms stretched out in front of you, your knees on the floor, and your ass in the air. Kneeling behind you, Alex taps his cock against your wet folds before dipping into your aching core, inch by delicious inch. Your moan bounces off the studio walls as your manicured nails scratch at the yoga mat underneath you. You hear him hiss as your walls flutter around him.

“Good form.”

[lihhelsing]

Hate That I Loved You

Now complete on AO3!

Part 1 | Part 2 ↓ | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

On the first day of shoot, Eddie is a nervous wreck. He can't handle it. He won't make it. He stays hidden in his dressing room until Chrissy is pounding at the door and threatening to tear it down if he doesn't come out immediately. 

Eddie doesn't doubt her. 

"It was your idea," Chrissy says as she eyes Eddie and how pale he looks. "Roll a joint, take a fucking shot. I don't care. Just get your ass into the studio because we're filming this today."

Eddie nods but Chrissy is too busy walking away from him to see it. She knows it, though. Eddie wouldn't ignore an order like that. 

The first sequence is with Sean. Sean is taller than him and he used to drive a red convertible that Eddie thought was just the coolest. So that's why he's setting a fucking car on fire for the clip. 

Sean thinks it's hilarious. 

The idea is for them to film the whole song with every one of the exes, so they have options. Because Sean, Pedro and David are all from Los Angeles, they go first. Eddie kept waiting for Lou to show up, but he should know better. Lou always liked to be different, to stand out. He and Steve are pushed to day 2, and for the looks of it, it might be day 3, if they can't speed up David's shoot. Eddie's is breaking a stone wall for him. It's metaphorical and it makes him feel good, actually. 

On day 2, Pedro is the only one around before lunch and Eddie actually have a good time with him. He's funny and sweet, just like Eddie remembered, and he keep calling Eddie 'mi amor' which is endearing in a totally platonic way. For a second, Eddie can't remember why they broke up, but then Pedro gets a call from his mom and everything comes rushing back. 

Pedro was already thinking about marriage and building a family and Eddie wasn't really ready. They are in a backyard with a pretty white picket fence and Eddie throws paint all around. Everything gets stained with black, the color Pedro saw as Eddie's heart color. 

It doesn't hurt as much, but it's harder than the two before him. When Pedro goes back to the dressing rooms to wipe the black paint from him, Eddie's mood had soured considerably.

It gets even worse as Lou walks in, looking like a rockstar. Looking exactly like what he is. 

Lou was Eddie's only famous boyfriend and their relationship had crashed and burned in front of everyone. Eddie feels the tug in his chest as he looks at the scene that's getting built for them. 

It's a stage. The Grammy stage. 

The worst part of it all is that Lou doesn't seem fazed by any of it. It's like he barely remembers breaking Eddie's heart at the Grammy's that year. It's like that was just a day, completely forgotten. 

But Eddie hasn't forgotten about it. He hasn't forgotten how bad he felt that day. How heartbroken. How Lou was trying to make everything be Eddie's fault when he was the one flirting shamelessly with other people in front of him. 

Eddie needs a minute. 

In fact, he feels like he needs a whole year to even be able to do that. What a great fucking idea, put himself through the most traumatic thing in his life for the cameras. No wonder people say he has no self-preservation reflex. 

He just walks away. He knows Chrissy saw him freaking out and he knows she will give him a moment to collect himself so he just keeps on walking past props and music equipment and finally the front door. 

Eddie is out. The cold air hits his face and with trembling hands he reaches inside his pocket just to remeber he doesn't have his joint with him since he's already wearing the outfit for the clip. 

A tux just like the one he wore on the fucking Grammy's. His hands fly to his neck as he pull at the bowtie, trying to get some air into his lungs. His vision gets a little blurry as if there's not enough oxygen in the world for him right now. 

Then big strong hands are pushing his hands aside, circling his neck and unclipping the bow tie. It's a fake one, so Eddie could keep pulling at it and he would get nowhere. 

"Take a deep breath," the voice says and it gives him chills because he knows that voice. He dreams about that voice. 

He does as he's being told because Steve always knew what was best for Eddie. 

"You're ok," Steve says under his breath. His hands fall from Eddie's neck and Eddie wishes they were still there, touching him, grounding him. "Just keep breathing."

Eddie does and things start going back to normal, except there's not a normal scenario where Steve Harrington is just standing there in front of Eddie, looking better than ever, with a frown between his brows because he's worried about Eddie. 

No. That should be impossible with how hard Eddie had fucked things up and still, Steve is really there. 

"I, uh, thought you were only coming in tomorrow," Eddie says when he stops feeling like he's going to die. 

Steve shrugs. "Landed a few hours ago, Chrissy said I could check things out."

After that, Eddie has no clue what to say so he just stares at Steve, dumbly. Much to his relief, Chrissy saves him from looking even more like an idiot by opening the door and calling him back. 

"Uh, thanks for doing that. It really means a lot to me," Eddie says, trying not to sound as pathetic as he feel. Steve smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. 

Eddie wants to say more, he wants to keep talking to Steve. Forget the music video and forget the fact that Lou is standing inside, probably pissed at Eddie, he instantly wants to throw everything away as beg Steve for a second chance. 

By the look on Steve's eyes it's like he can see Eddie's intentions clearly, but then Chrissy is pulling him in and waving at Steve like this is normal. Nothing about this is fucking normal and now Eddie needs to survive Lou if he wants to have a shot at talking to Steve.