#pain(t) 3d | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoseoksluna · 8 months ago

Text

LIQUID STARS | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting

note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ

side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!

Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for.

It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift.

Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too.

While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?

You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?

He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed.

How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—

Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight.

You couldn’t.

Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair.

His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words.

“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”

You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely.

“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”

Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis.

You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed.

“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.”

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it.

He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—

“Let me kiss you, please.”

You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable.

Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?”

You exhaled, he inhaled.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek.

He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in.

“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.”

Your body panics, but you will it to relax.

“Does that come with the premium subscription?”

Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps.

“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms.

“I get to take Bam?”

Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?”

Probably not. Definitely not.

“But what about Bam?”

He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words.

“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.”

You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell.

Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it.

It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—

“Deal.”

Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly.

“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows.

He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead.

You make a face as if you’re thinking about it.

Jungkook groans.

It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity.

You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back.

He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body.

You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers.

You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline.

And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it.

You want him.

It began with a ring and ended right here.

And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled.

The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss.

Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t.

And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago.

Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you.

“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper.

Jungkook grips your waist hard.

“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy.

“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples.

“Kiss me, then.”

You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—

When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth.

The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission.

You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step.

“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.”

He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles.

“Bam, house.”

The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that.

“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him.

He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.”

You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him.

“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists.

He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.”

A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?”

He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them.

You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list.

His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course.

You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.”

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.”

Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting.

“You wanna know what made me hard for you?”

You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact.

“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?”

You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties.

“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.”

A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.”

He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.”

You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself.

The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him.

You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears.

No attachment, no liking.

Just sex.

There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm.

“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.”

You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted.

You broke him.

And now you have to face the repercussions.

Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal.

You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all.

There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.”

You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have.

Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it.

Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break.

The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in.

He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm.

No strings, no pain.

But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is.

“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid.

You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening.

He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning.

A lump forms in your throat.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.

You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.

You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship.

Flowery or deceitful?

A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out.

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.”

Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”

He blames himself, not you.

You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps.

“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.”

He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.”

His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened.

Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum.

He said it, so it must be so. You trust him.

The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun.

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin.

The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing.

You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself.

“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long.

“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?”

He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice.

“Of course I trust you.”

“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.”

Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline.

“Are you scared?”

You’re an empty canvas.

“Not anymore.”

Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?”

“Okay.”

He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?”

The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.”

You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt.

Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set.

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy.

Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks.

“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.”

Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie.

Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?”

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?”

You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod.

Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child.

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs.

Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red.

Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them.

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach.

“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?”

Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.”

“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?”

You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy.

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features.

You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good.

“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.”

Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens.

He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs.

There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you.

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear. “How do you touch yourself?”

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat.

Jungkook sees you.

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer.

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind.

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax.

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side.

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise.

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

He stills the buck of your hips.

You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you.

“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”

You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.”

He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.

Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you.

Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around.

“Feels good, baby?”

His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.

“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.”

It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.

You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.”

His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring.

Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.

“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”

“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?”

You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted.

Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff.

“Did so well for me.”

The whisper takes you back and you awake.

You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good.

He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.

You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.

Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.

You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.

“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?”

You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change.

“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.”

For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.

Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.

And then he sinks them into your mouth.

His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy.

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks.

He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration.

Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.”

You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is.

Musk, vanilla, wood.

The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout.

“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew.

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.”

A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?”

You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do.

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.

“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos.

You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts.

It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully.

He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?”

You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.”

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.”

You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number.

He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?”

You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.”

Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare.

He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him.

He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?”

You nod. “So bad.”

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough.

“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?”

You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.

“I’ve never let anyone get this close.”

Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?”

Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.

“I watch a lot of porn.”

Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance.

You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth.

“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him.

He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again.

Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go.

The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge.

He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore.

Neither, evidently, can he.

“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands.

So vulnerable.

You ache.

You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head.

When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth.

You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets.

But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny.

He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—

Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head.

“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.”

Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan.

He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.

Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind.

And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin.

“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?”

With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it.

Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans.

“Talk to me.”

You can’t. You don’t know how to talk.

He stares you down.

No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling.

“I won’t play with you, then.”

Panic. “No.”

He cocks a brow at you. “No?”

Silence.

He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm.

“Jungkook.”

Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs.

“Beg.”

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you.

Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You groan in frustration.

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.”

That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it.

“Where?”

A challenge. Your throat dries up.

“There.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that.

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.”

The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone.

And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that.

“Lick my clit, please.”

A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.

“Like this?”

You choke out a moan.

“Yes, please.”

“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”

He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—

“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?”

Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.

Your Daddy.

You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.”

The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you.

And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens.

You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you.

Daddy and little girl.

Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.

Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls.

And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror.

You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat.

“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.”

He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell.

“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?”

Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin.

“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed.

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.

Your frown deepens.

“But what if it doesn’t fit?”

You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake.

“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.”

It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected.

Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him.

He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow.

There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head.

Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.

“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him.

“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.”

You nod, trusting him.

He pecks you. Smiles.

“How many orgasms are we at?”

You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”

Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.

A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?”

“You obliterated my expectations.”

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.”

You blush, eyes twinkling.

“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.”

Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad.

“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness.

But Jungkook grows solemn.

“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss.

Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.

“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”

Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.

“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel.

“I don’t stop coming.”

Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.

“And you finger yourself?”

You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.

“How many fingers?”

You scoff. “Just one.”

“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?”

You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently.

He didn’t break his promise.

Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides.

And there you feel it.

The sensation unlike any other.

He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?”

Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.

You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms.

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.”

He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—

Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come.

You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you.

“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?”

“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep.

“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth.

Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much.

“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.”

Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam.

“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.”

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.”

White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak.

“Please, come for me.”

Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?”

The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.

“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.”

And it’s the truth.

Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat.

Jungkook grunts.

“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.”

He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length.

And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.

And you swallow it all.

Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way.

He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all.

“Good girl. Good little princess.”

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?”

You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.

The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes.

And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot

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jeonful · 1 month ago

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TATTOO!

summary: you get a new tattoo and jungkook makes sure you know how much he loves it.

pairings: bf!jungkook x fem!reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut

word count: 1.1k

warnings/includes: nsfw, smut, pwp, swearing, oc gets a new spine tattoo, pet names, teasing, unprotected sex, rough sex, penetrative sex, d/s dynamic, bigdick!jk, 3D!jk, softdom!jk, doggy style, spanking, praise kink, oral sex (f. receiving), cum eating, f!ngering, overstimulation, cream pie, cumming inside

back to library

"fuck."

he stared in awe at the new ink that ran down your back. it's intricate details starting at the top and ending at the bottom of your spine.

you were holding your t-shirt up so he could see you're new tattoo.

his fingers delicately traced around the artwork on your back,

"you like it?"

you asked, glancing back at him,

"no baby, i fucking love it."

you grin and then pull your t-shirt down.

"i'm sorry i didn't tell you babe. i was planning on surprising you."

"don't apologise baby. i'm glad you surprised me."

he rubbed his thumbs in circles, massaging your hips, each movement causing you to almost moan out his name.

he knew what he was doing.

"did it hurt?"

he asked,

"not really. it wasn't as bad as i thought it would be."

he smiled and you turned round.

you put your arms round his neck and he hugged you, wrapping his arms tightly around your lower back which caused you to wince,

"ow,"

he quickly realised his mistake,

"shit. baby m'sorry."

he put his hands on your hips instead.

you shook your head,

"no, it's okay kook."

he planted a soft, slow kiss onto your delicate lips,

"the worst part of having a tattoo is the healing."

he was, of course, speaking from experience.

"yeah."

you mumbled,

"aw baby..."

he held your face in his hands and leaned down to kiss you again, but harder this time. then again but this time, adding his tongue.

he pulled back and gazed at you,

"m'gonna fuck you now. wanna see your back on full display in front of me."

your pussy throbbed for him.

you were so wet already.

you grinned at him,

"just be careful babe."

you told him.

you didn't want the beautiful, fresh wound on your spine to endure anymore pain today.

he brushed his thumb across your bottom lip,

"i'll be gentle. i promise."

you smiled.

not because of the sweet words that had fallen from his lips but because of how he had made a promise that he absolutely could not keep.

in no time at all, jungkook had you on the bed, on all fours and was ramming his thick dick into your hungry pussy.

"fuck -ngh, you feel so good baby,"

his hands were firmly holding your hips, his eyes were fixated on both the beauty of your spine and ass,

"so. fucking. tight,"

he groaned with each thrust. his hand gripped the headboard, causing him to lean over you, driving his cock deeper inside of you,

"good girl,"

he breathed, and you moaned and arched your back, causing his dick to twitch inside of you.

"koo, please, i'm so close..."

you whined and he smirked and that's when you felt a short, sharp pain across your ass,

"cum baby,"

his hand came to stroke your clit,

"can you do that f'me?"

that was it.

your moans became louder as you reached your peak, you moved forwards and back, clenching around jungkook's hard length,

"kook..."

you say, your eyes started to blur as tears formed, you couldn’t take his words combined with the amount of pleasure he was giving you, it was too much.

jungkook groaned at the feeling of how easy it was to slide through your soaked walls, even though they were wrapped around him.

the knot that had formed long ago in your stomach had snapped, the feeling in your pussy flushed through you and you released all of your juices onto him, coating his pulsing cock.

"fuck, that's it baby,"

he whispered,

"such a good girl f'me..."

you rocked your hips in time with his, you were absolutely soaked.

"mmh-"

jungkook moaned, fucking you harder, deeper, trying to feel as much as you as he possibly could.

his breathing increased rapidly, his jaw clenched and his movements became sloppy, his moans became whiny, desperate whimpers,

"fuck baby, m'gonna cum-"

he didn't bother trying to hold on any longer, he was at his limit.

heaps of his warm milky cum spilled deep inside of you, filling you up to the brim.

he watched as it flowed out.

he couldn't think of anything more beautiful than his cum dripping out of you.

jungkook didn't hesitate and flipped you onto your back.

he put your legs over his shoulders, and instantly latching his mouth onto your swollen cunt.

"fuck!"

you whined, your head dropping down onto the mattress and your hand tugging at his hair.

his hands ran up and down your thighs, his moans vibrated through your body, making your legs clamp around him.

he gripped your thighs and licked a broad stripe from your slit to your nub then down again.

his tongue swirled around your wet hole, hungrily lapping up the mixture of your cum combined with his.

he couldn’t get enough of you,

"kook..."

your eyes rolled back,

"fuck,"

your hips rolled against his mouth, wanting and needing to feel more of him.

he didn't care if he suffocated, this was heaven for him.

he slipped one finger inside of you that you knew you couldn't take anymore.

"koo-"

you didn't even get to finish your sentence.

you came for the second time, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. your cum gushing into his mouth.

he moaned softly, his eyebrows knitted together,

"good girl,"

he repeated again and again.

his tongue moving faster, swallowing every single drop of your sweet cum.

he sucked hard on your clit before reluctantly removing his mouth from in between your legs.

you were weak. unable to move. unable to think. unable to process anything.

you felt so fucked out right now.

"you okay baby?"

he mumbled against you,

leaving a trail of sloppy kisses up from your collar bone to your lips.

he kissed you softly. slowly. savoring every second of it.

his hand ran down to your body to your slit.

he ran two fingers through your wet folds and couldn't stop himself from moaning.

"fuck."

he whispered.

your eyes slowly shut, you felt like you could fall asleep at any moment.

the state that jungkook would leave you in whenever he fucked you like this was beyond unexplainable.

and jungkook could say the exact same thing about you.

he saw you lying there, under him.

completely overwhelmed with pleasure.

he chuckled, glad to know that it was all because of him.

he nudged your side gently,

"feeling satisfied baby?"

you only managed a weak nod.

he smiled and buried his face in your neck,

"i fucking love you."

he breathed, tracing his finger up and down your cheek.

"and i fucking love that tattoo."

a/n: requested

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mooniladragon · 2 years ago

Text

ms paint is better than paint 3d

#pain(t) 3d #ms paint is good #true #ramblings

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millenianthemums · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 2 of Mabel’s Guide to the Power of Friendship is here!!! CW for bugs, injuries and a dog attack. and for Bill being miserable. i might be having too much fun bullying him

Ao3 link here

Previous chapter

When Bill’s senses returned, it was like being knocked over by a tsunami. A thousand physical sensations slammed into his brain all at once. Way too much information for his mind to process. For a moment his awareness was totally blank as his frantic synapses tried to sort through all the new stimuli they were being hit with. When his mind returned, he realized he was kneeling on dry grass, gasping for air like he’d just been drowning.

He squeezed his eye shut, already overwhelmed by the sudden brightness. Everything hurt. Every joint and muscle creaked like a rusty hinge when he tried to move. It was like he’d been holding one stiff pose for ages. There was a sharp spike of a headache growing behind his eye, and a nauseating pain deep inside the core of his body. A churning emptiness. It took him a moment to recognize it, and another to push through the denial and accept that he knew what it was. Hunger. He was deeply, painfully hungry.

He opened his eye, trying to tamp down the sudden rush of horror. It had been a trillion years since the last time he’d been this kind of hungry. Not hungry in an “I could go for a snack” way; hungry in an “if I don’t eat something I will actually die” way. He’d been right to find the Axolotl’s wording suspicious. He’d been too eager to make the deal and leave that dark place; he didn’t read between the lines. And now he had his body back… but that was just it. He had his body, his weak, fleshy physical form he’d started his life with, and everything that came with it.

Very slowly, he raised up a hand. The joints inside it creaked painfully as he bent the fingers one by one, then pressed the thumb and pointer together. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to know for sure, but he didn’t have a choice. Fire, he thought, focusing as hard as he could. Make fire.

He snapped.

Nothing.

“GOD DAMN IT,” he said. The voice that struggled out of his throat was downright embarrassing to hear. It was a weak, crackling groan, the sound of vocal cords that had long since gotten used to never moving, and now suddenly had to function again.

Reluctantly, he looked himself over, examining his hands and the small bit of his front that he could see. He didn’t look that different than he’d made himself look during Weirdmaggeddon, but there were differences. His gold bricks had a bit less luster, for one. The leathery skin on his hands and arms was less soft, the small sharp claws less well-maintained. And, of course, he was basically flat. This body had been adjusted to be able to exist in a 3D space, but it hadn’t been upgraded at all. It was every bit as underwhelming as his vague memories of it suggested. His hat and bow tie remained, at least, reduced to plain black cloth again.

A sudden memory shot through his head. He grabbed his hat and turned it over frantically, looking inside, rifling a hand through the inner lining. Panic tugged at his chest, growing stronger and stronger as his fingers met with nothing, until finally he felt it. With a shaking hand, he retrieved the object, holding it carefully over the brim of the hat, unwilling to risk it falling into the grass. The tiny round speck was barely even visible in his hand, and he couldn’t make it levitate to get a better look. He risked holding it just a tiny bit higher above the hat to let the light catch it. A beam of sun danced through its surface and it gleamed just the way he remembered. Still there. It’s still there.

He let out a long, heavy sigh of relief as he returned the speck to its hiding place in the lining of his hat. Then he coughed. His throat was unbearably dry. He needed to drink something soon, or this whole situation would be over before it started. He definitely didn’t remember how long it took a shape to die of thirst, but he didn’t have any desire to learn through experience. And he shuddered to imagine the embarrassment of ending up back in that blank void so soon. The Axolotl waiting with that smug little smile on their face. “So? How’d it go?”

Or worse, no one waiting at all. Just him alone in the void, no more chances left.

He placed his hat back securely on his head and staggered to his feet. What would be around here to drink? Water? Sap? Squirrel blood? Water should be easy. He just had to find some water.

It took a while to get a handle on walking again. After countless eons spent floating around weightlessly, he’d often forget he even had legs, much less how to use them. Once he could keep a steady rhythm without wobbling too much, he allowed himself a closer look at his surroundings. Pine and birch trees towered around the forest clearing, blotting out all but a few narrow rays of golden light. It looked like the sun was low in the sky. That was probably bad news, but at least it wasn’t as bright as it could be; his eye was already aching bad enough. Through a gap in the canopy, he caught a glimpse of heavy clouds hanging overhead, all lit up orange and purple. This hopelessly boring planet’s sad attempt at putting on a show.

He sighed. He could do so much better than this. If he was still in charge, those clouds would be writhing tumorous blobs strobing in every color on the visible light spectrum, with a few of those imperceptible ones that cause mania thrown in for flavor. Hell, make ‘em rain wasps while we’re at it. He could go on and on… his creative vision was wasted on this world.

He was getting sidetracked. He tore his eye away from the sky and returned to scanning his surroundings. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was, but unfortunately, he had a pretty good guess. All these trees looked irritatingly familiar.

His hunch only grew stronger as he headed deeper into the woods. Catching sight of a particularly large birch tree in his path, he instinctively tried to look through one of its eye-shaped markings for a glimpse above the canopy. All he got for the effort was a stab of pain in his head and a sinking feeling in his gut. He’d forgotten for a second. He just had the one eye now.

Bill tried to stamp out the twinge of fear that tugged at his brain with that thought. Everything was fine. This “no powers” thing was a roadblock, a deeply annoying, humiliating setback and a very dirty trick from the Axolotl’s side of things, but it wasn’t the end of the world. He could live with it. In a very literal sense, it was why he was alive right now. And it wouldn’t be forever. The source of his powers resided in the Nightmare Realm; once he got back there, this whole mess would be a funny memory. So he wasn’t going to freak out about it.

He kept trudging down the narrow, overgrown path between the trees. He tried not to think about how his legs were already starting to hurt. Between this and the dual aches in his head and stomach, he was quickly realizing that pain was a lot less funny when it was happening to a body he lived in.

It was fine. It would just take some adjusting, that’s all. Sure, he’d spent a trillion years using his innate magic for literally everything, but he’d been mortal once before, and he’d spent plenty of time possessing mortal bodies. He just had to relearn some habits, and soon he’d be used to this. It would be like riding a bike. Nonstop. Forever.

He walked faster, trying to ignore his screaming muscles. Every part of this body seemed to be screaming, in fact, for some kind of fuel or maintenance he couldn’t provide right now. He didn’t think about it, though. He didn’t think about how he didn’t actually know where he was going, or how long he had until this body gave out, or if there was actually any water around that he stood a snowball’s chance in Hell at finding before he died again and ended up stuck in that void forever…

He slapped both hands across his face. “STOP IT,” he snarled. “STOP FREAKING OUT. IT’S A FOREST. THERE’S BIRDS AND SQUIRRELS AND ORANGUTANS OR WHATEVER OREGON HAS. THERE HAS TO BE WATER SOMEWHERE, OR ALL THE ORANGUTANS WOULD BE DEAD. YOU JUST NEED TO FIND IT. YOU’RE NOT GONNA FIND IT IF YOU JUST STAND HERE PANICKING AND TALKING TO YOURSELF, SO JUST SHUT UP AND WALK.” Chastised, he sighed roughly and started walking again.

It took about ten minutes for the pep talk to start wearing off. There was still no sign of anything other than trees, and some of them were starting to look distressingly similar. There was no way he was walking in a circle, right? That wasn’t a real thing people did without being ensnared by a fae creature, was it?

He picked up the pace again, eye darting around frantically, Was it getting dark already? It was definitely darker than before. How long did the sun take to set on Earth, again? It took like three days during Weirdmageddon, but he stopped time, didn’t he? He really ought to know this, with how long he’d spent spying on and possessing things on Earth. But throughout all those countless eons, he was always just popping in and out whenever, letting months or years pass in between tiny little check-ins. When was the last time he’d spent a full day on Earth? It had been at least decades, and even when he was sticking around for long stretches, it wasn’t like he was keeping track of the position of the sun all day, he’d had more important stuff on his mind! Maybe he could remember if he tried hard enough… but how trustworthy was his memory now, really? His consciousness, once a font of pure, infinite, unconstrained psychic energy, had all just been stuffed inside an oozing hunk of meat inside his head. Which was something he should definitely not be thinking about right now, he reminded himself. This was no time to panic. He needed to lock in on the present moment, the present task, he needed to focus on his immediate surroundings…

His foot missed the ground.

For the next several seconds, all he could process was a blur of spinning lights, pain, and crashing noises. Then he regained the ability to parse his surroundings, and realized he’d just rolled down a steep hill that had been hidden in shrubs and bramble right up until he’d stepped off it. He had left a trail of torn-up dirt and ruined foliage from where his sharp angles had slammed into the earth. The hill had gotten its payback, though. The few golden scales that hadn’t been caked with dirt were scraped half to hell, along with a million little cuts and scrapes on his arms and legs all leaking silvery blood, and his body hurt worse than ever. All his bones (he gagged at the reminder that he had bones now, and probably not even cool ones, not that he could check) felt like they’d been put through a hydraulic press. How had pain ever been funny? This was a nightmare. He put a hand to his head, trying to prevent a stress headache on top of everything else, and his heart dropped ten feet when he realized his hat was gone.

His vision went black with terror for an instant, then blinked back in when he saw it lying on a patch of gravel ahead of him. He lunged forward, snatched it up, and rooted frantically through the lining again until his fingers brushed the tiny, precious speck still hidden inside. His heart started up again and he slammed the hat back on his head, securing it as tightly as possible. Whatever happened, he wasn’t letting it fall off again.

While he was at it, he brushed himself off a bit and readjusted his bow tie. Sure, things weren’t going great right now, but he still had his dignity, damn it.

Once that was dealt with, he took a second to actually look around. With a start, he realized the gravel his hat had landed on was actually a shore. In the chaos and panic of falling, he hadn’t even noticed the sound of water, but sure enough, he was standing on the edge of a rushing creek. Finally, something was going his way! He wasn’t wild about the idea of drinking creek water, but he’d take it over dying of dehydration.

He scurried forward and dunked his hands into the water, scooping greedy handfuls into his eye/mouth. Soon the rasping pain in his throat had faded. In fact, it was shocking how much better he felt. Even mentally. He was calmer, less panicky, and his train of thought was no longer hitting a penny on the tracks and exploding every few feet. He realized it had been a crazy long time since he’d had water. He drank other things all the time, but almost never water. He’d always been more of a martini guy, and after the fifth time he’d set the bar on fire out of boredom, the Henchmaniacs had stopped asking him to be the designated driver.

Anyway, water was better than he remembered. It was crisp and cool, and it tasted like…

He paused, remembered some of the things that lived in creeks, and decided not to think about what it tasted like. He also decided he was good on water for now.

So that was one problem solved. He was still hungry, but he could hold out a bit longer, and his brain was refueled and running smoothly. It was time for step two: revenge.

First things first: obviously he had to get as far away from Oregon as possible. Those flat-brained yokels in Gravity Falls would definitely not take kindly to seeing him again, and there was no way they’d see a golden one-eyed triangle walking around and not assume it was the same one who turned them into furniture once. They were stupid, but no one was that stupid.

He began trudging along the shore of the creek as he ruminated. He vaguely remembered something about water usually leading to civilization? Maybe? This would definitely lead somewhere, anyway. All paths lead somewhere. He felt his eye start to crinkle with a smile at how charmingly useless that phrase was. Sounded like something humans would print on a cheap t-shirt to fool themselves into thinking they’re insightful.

Anyway. He needed to find a town. A town other than Gravity Falls, where nobody knew him. Surely the Weirdness Barrier that had trapped him before wouldn’t still hold him if he didn’t have his magic. It was worth trying to leave either way. Once he had a new base of operations, he could start making connections, calling in old favors, looking for a portal he could use. He’d be back in business in no time.

Just as that thought was starting to reassure him, one of the rocks on the shore decided it didn’t feel like staying where it was when he stepped on it. Instead it rocked to one side and rolled into the creek, taking Bill with it. He barely managed to keep his hat from flying off again as he was swept downstream, before managing to sit up in a spray of water, sputtering and shouting ancient curses. Not, like, “summoning plagues of locusts” type curses. Just words a few dead civilizations would’ve censored on TV.

He tried to stand up and climb back onto dry land, only to find that the rocks on the bottom of the creek were perfectly flat and covered in slippery algae. This lesson was drilled in by falling hard on his kneecaps and getting swept several more feet downstream as he struggled to right himself. He had to resort to crawling across the creek bed and grasping at sticks and reeds near the shore to pull himself free of the current. The water was too shallow to properly swim, and he doubted his flat, narrow body would be suited for swimming anyway. Or for any water-related activities other than getting swept away by currents and drowning.

He stumbled onto shore through a mess of weeds and mud. Swaying on his feet, he tried to catch his breath and brush himself off a bit, to at least pretend his last shreds of dignity were still intact. Just as he realized the only thing he was accomplishing was smearing more mud across his bricks with his mud-caked hands, he felt a sharp twinge on his arm and flinched as something buzzed right past his eyeball. Looking up to follow it, he realized his disturbance of the plants had stirred up a cloud of mosquitoes. And it seemed like they’d all just discovered the thing full of blood right below them. Like the world’s lamest zombie hive mind, they all swarmed after him at once.

Bill swatted and clawed at the air with a furious snarl, but it was instantly clear that intimidation wouldn’t work. He backed away from the water, slowly at first, then faster once he realized he was their preferred beverage now. Soon he was full-on running in an effort to lose the little creeps, until they finally seemed to decide he wasn’t worth the trouble and fell back one by one. Slowing to a stop, Bill shouted in victory as he managed to smash the last holdout between his palms. The noise died as he looked up and realized he had no idea where he was.

Now he was considering the locust curses. He only held off because more bugs were the last thing he needed right now.

Leaning against a tree stump, he reassessed his options and tried to ignore how horrible his body felt. Had running always sucked that much? He was gasping for air, and the rhythmic pounding of his heart was almost deafening. He could actually feel the blood rushing through his veins, a constant pressure that only increased the more he thought about it, about all the pulsing, oozing, hideous tubes and growths and fluids inside this meat prison he was trapped inside…

Stop. Stop thinking about it. The creek had been flowing north. He could just keep walking that way, and eventually he’d reach… something. If not the next town, then maybe a road. He could hitch a ride with some random sap and end up in some faraway city, someplace he could lay low for awhile and figure out the next step. There was no point getting further ahead of himself than that just yet. Right now, all he could do was keep walking.

He kept walking. This time making sure to keep a close eye on the ground ahead of him. After a little while passed without further disasters, his mood started to improve again. This really wasn’t that big a deal. He was Bill Cipher. He’d seen horrors no creature on Earth could ever imagine. He’d caused horrors even worse than that. Of all the weird, scary, unsettling situations he’d been in, this little forest stroll didn’t even rank. He could get through this. He’d bounce back in no time, and never have to think about any of this ever again. The sun had almost set by now, but he wasn’t worried. He always did his best work at nighttime.

A low rumble from the clouds above caused his eye to drift up. A quick flash of lightning split the sky. Bill stared and watched as the thunder rolled again and another bright splinter cut through the clouds. He squinted a smile. Earth weather was still boring as hell, but he’d always had a fondness for a good thunderstorm. Might not be great to get caught in one, but surely–

His foot missed the ground again. He fell hard, pain biting deep into his ankle.

“AUGH! WHAT THE– ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” he roared, seeing the gopher hole he’d just stepped into. He tried to pull his ankle in close to inspect it, but just moving it caused another burst of pain. Would he even be able to walk on this?

“THIS KINDA THING NEVER HAPPENED WHEN I COULD FLOAT,” he growled to himself, looking around for a stick to balance with. “ALMOST LIKE WALKING IS A COMPLETELY STUPID, INEFFICIENT WAY TO MOVE OR SOMETHING! ALMOST LIKE I WAS RIGHT TO GET RID OF GRAVITY, BUT DID ANYONE THANK ME? OF COURSE NOT!! ‘NOOO, BILL, WE NEED GRAVITY! IT’S THE RULES, WE CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT RULES! HELP, I’M FLOATING INTO THE SUN!’ BUNCHA INGRATES! DON’T KNOW WHY I EVEN TRY…”

By this point he’d found a suitable walking stick and was limping forward again, but he was still too mad to stop ranting. “THEY’VE GOT NO IMAGINATION, THAT’S THE PROBLEM. THEY CAN’T EVEN IMAGINE A WORLD THAT’S NOT THE ONE THEY LIVE IN, WITHOUT ALL THEIR PETTY LITTLE PROBLEMS KEEPING THEM DOWN, SO TRY TO ACTUALLY IMPROVE THINGS AND THEY TREAT YOU LIKE A WHAT WAS THAT”

Something had landed on his arm. At first he thought the bugs were back for him, until he noticed the last bit of sunlight reflecting off a droplet of water.

“COME ON,” he groaned, just as the downpour started.

—

Sheets of rain drove up clouds of dust as they struck the parched earth. Bill had been completely soaked within seconds; by now, he was more rainwater than triangle. He raced around as fast as possible with his injured leg, looking for cover. For a moment he tried to shelter under an oak tree, before another lightning bolt lit up the sky and he remembered trees and lightning storms didn’t mix. Luck was clearly not on his side today, and he was not about to tempt fate.

He needed some actual shelter, he thought as he hobbled through the storm with his stupid stick. Last thing he needed after all this was to die of exposure. Forget hitching a ride far away, he’d take any kind of roof at this point. Anywhere enclosed. He’d had more than enough nature for one day.

As night fell, he noticed what looked like lights gleaming through the rain up ahead. Electric lights. He hadn’t been this excited to see a sign of human civilization since 2600 BC.

He raced toward them, and soon the trees fell away around him to reveal the docks on the shore of Lake Gravity Falls. He might have been furious that he hadn’t even made it past the city limits, if he wasn’t laser-focused on the bait shop at the far end of the beach. The lights were on in the living area upstairs, and he thought he saw movement inside, but it didn’t matter. He’d deal with it. It didn’t matter what he had to do or who he had to kill, he was getting in there. He clutched his walking stick and strode forward.

A massive dark shape lunged out of the rain with an unholy roar. Bill shrieked and fell backwards, yelling more extinct swears and brandishing his stick like a sword. Then his eye focused on the thing and he froze. It was a dog. A big shaggy dog, looming over him with a blank expression.

He laughed, harsh and manic. A dog, of all things. This was Gravity Falls, there could be literally anything wandering around in these woods, and he’d just been scared by a dog. One of the least scary animals on the planet. “YOU’RE LOSING IT, BILLY,” he muttered, trying to walk around the stupid thing. But as soon as he took a step, it jumped in his way and let out a deafening bark. Bill started to realize this might actually be a problem. All the noise might alert what’s-his-name, that guy who lived here. Whoever he was, he’d probably remember Bill just fine and be keen for some payback.

“OKAY, BIG GUY, SIMMER DOWN.” Bill stepped forward and waved his hands broadly, trying to shoo the dog away like a cloud of flies. It didn’t have the effect he wanted; if anything, it simmered up, bristling the hair around its neck and shoulders. Bill didn’t have time to wonder if those were its hackles, if that was what “raised hackles” was supposed to mean, before it was growling and baring its teeth.

For a second, Bill had the good sense to be nervous, but then he shook it off. This wasn’t a mountain lion or Fresno nightcrawler or some other bloodthirsty predator, this was a dog. Everything he’d ever heard about dogs went on and on about how loyal and subservient they were. You just had to be firm with them, right?

“THAT’S ENOUGH. BACK OFF!” He jabbed his stick at the dog reproachfully. It flinched back for half a second. Then it was advancing again, angrier than ever. It was snarling and snapping its teeth at him, ears pinned back against its head and almost all its fur raised up like spikes. As it stalked toward him, Bill made another, sharper jab with the stick. It just barked again, even louder and angrier. This was like throwing water on an oil fire, he thought, but now his hackles were raised too. He’d be damned if this mangy thing was going to out-intimidate him . He stomped closer and raised his stick above his head. “ALRIGHT, I WARNED YOU–!”

In a blur of wet hair and fury, the dog lunged at him. Jagged teeth clamped down hard on his arm. Pain ripped all the way through his skeleton and into his brain, and he forgot his pride instantly. He screamed. It was a scream of confusion, fury and fear as much as pain, and those all tripled when he tried to get away and found his arm wouldn’t budge. The dog jerked its head side to side and yanked Bill right off his feet, dragging him across the wet grass. There was no chance of finding a foothold; even throwing all his weight against the dog didn’t do a thing. It just kept shaking him around like it didn’t even know he was alive. Its jaw might as well have been an iron shackle for all his efforts to free himself were getting him. He had dropped the stick in the chaos and lost track of where it landed. He tried to flail around for it, or anything else he could use as a weapon, but between the darkness, the driving rain, and the racket of his own screaming, he couldn’t focus on anything. He tried clawing and punching, but the dog didn’t care. It felt like he wasn’t even breaching its thick fur.

In a last ditch effort to get away, Bill decided to just pull on his trapped arm until it either broke free of the dog or came off. He managed to get pretty far– turned out his arms were incredibly flexible, even without his powers– but then the dog shook its head again and discovered its new favorite toy had a rope attached now. With a few more shakes, it launched Bill off his feet again and sent him sailing through the air, end over end, and the next thing he knew he was snagged in a low tree branch like a poorly flown kite.

Dignity be damned, Bill was glad to be up there once he realized the dog had lost its grip. It was standing with its paws on the tree trunk, barking up at him and wagging its tail as Bill slowly retracted his stretched, shredded arm. With a surge of fury, he realized this wasn’t about self-defense anymore; the dog thought they were playing. It was literally toying with him.

On impulse, he grabbed a pine cone off the branch and launched it at the dog’s face. It flinched back and started snarling at him again, fury renewed. Bill laughed wildly and snarled back. It didn’t matter how angry it got, it couldn’t climb a tree!

Then a swell of rain sent all the trees quavering in the wind, and Bill stumbled and slipped, and before he knew it that goddamn animal was latched onto his ankle, and then he was flat on his back in the mud just barely holding a pair of snapping jaws away from his eyeball, and then…

And then the dog’s head whipped around to look behind it, and then it was bounding away, out beyond the tree line. Bill leapt to his feet to try and run the other way, but his vision went gray as he stood, and he tumbled forward onto his knees. He sucked in heaving, ragged breaths, blinking rain and dog spit out of his eye. Ahead of him, he heard cheerful yapping and a high, affectionate voice. A familiar voice. His eye shot upward.

A few dozen feet away, that murderous, bloodthirsty sadist of an animal was being petted and hugged by a kid. It kept trying to jump up and put its paws on her shoulders and she kept trying to gently push it back down, probably rightly worried it would knock her over and crush the life out of her. As she rubbed her hands through the thick fur on the dog’s neck and behind its ears, she kept trying to brush its muddy paw prints off her sweater. Her bright pink sweater. With a glittery, colorful shooting star emblem on the front.

Bill stopped being able to see anything but red. He lurched to his feet, and in a voice so packed with rage that it creaked at the seams, he snarled “YOU.”

Her head whipped toward him, and the sheer disbelieving terror on her face almost made him feel like himself again. The dog went stiff and bared its teeth as it stepped in front of the kid, trying to herd her away. Bill didn’t care. Not about the dog, not about the pain searing all through his body, not about the deal or the void or any kind of plan. All he could feel was anger.

He staggered toward her. “YOU DID THIS… YOU AND YOUR FUCKING FAMILY, YOU ALL DID THIS TO ME–” he was pointing at her, aiming a clawed finger at the star on her chest, willing a bolt of fire to punch right through it with every cell in his broken body– “BUT YOU DON’T GET TO WIN. YOU DON’T GET TO KILL ME. NOT THIS TIME. YOU TOOK AWAY EVERYTHING I WAS, BUT YOU WON’T– I WON’T–” his vision was swimming with hate. His arm was shaking, his whole body was shaking. He blinked hard and his vision cleared just enough to see her face. It was pale with fear, but there was something else now. Something that sent fury surging through his head so hard that his vision grayed out again. Pity.

He was done talking. With a primal roar, he charged forward.

His ankle turned under his weight. He started falling.

Everything went dark.

#gravity falls #bill cipher #bill & mabel friendship au #mabel’s guide to the power of friendship #robin writes stuff #milleniart #injuries

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rumisgf · 4 months ago

Text

❝ SPECIAL ❞ ╰┈➤ DENKI KAMINARI X BLACK!READER

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ summary: you and denki have been friends since you were young, and he always held you close. but he’s denki– he likes giving attention to other girls. so, you never thought he look at you than more than a friend. until one day, you can’t hold in your feelings anymore. (this is also like my first time writing a full length fic in a minute wow)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ includes: black!reader ofc, flashback/timeskips, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers, they’re in their third year at UA, cursing, jirou is reader’s best friend in high school, reader has a tendency to self sabotage, self deprecation, jealousy, insecurities, reader listening to songs from ctrl, preteen/teen angst, fluff, impulsive confession, wingman!jirou, reader calls kaminari ‘kam’ for short

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ word count: 4.6k

“kam! kam!”

you boisterously shout your friends name from across the backyard. the little boy jumps off the monkey bars, running over to you with a tooth gapped smile.

you became friends with the boy pretty much the first day of school. he had fallen off the swings after trying to impress his friends, and you had heard somebody yelp in pain. unlike of all his clueless friends who didn’t know what to do, you had ran away from your own friends you were playing with to help the boy out. after all, your parents always taught you to save people– so that’s what you did. you ended up conveniently tripping all falling next to him, face to face with his glossy eyed face and quivering lips. one of his friends nervously said what happened and you look at his knee.

frantically, you called over a teacher. “help! he hurt!” you called out. your homeroom teacher helped him up, and you following the two of them to the classroom inside.

“t-thank you…” he muttered, embarrassed a girl had to see him like this. he gets sat on a chair and you sit next him, the both of you silent for awhile as you wait for the teacher to find a bandaid. you examine his injuries, looking at the scrape on his knee and the smaller one on his hand. hesitantly, you grab his hand. “…does it hurt?” you shyly ask. he hesitates himself, then slowly shrugs “a little…”

his body freezes when you bring your lips to his hand and give it a quick, small kiss. his eyes widen as his head shoots up at you, and your eyes widen in response. “d-did that help?” he forces a laugh, trying to seem as smooth as his dad seems to be with his mom. “y-yeah! thank you!” he smiles, and your face feels as hot as ever.

the same smile is on his face as he runs over to you, beckoning to your call of his name.

“here!” you shove your 3ds into his hand, showing him a black screen. he curiously presses the power button and is met with the charger symbol blinking with a small red line at the start of the battery-shaped figure. “my 3ds dead again…” you say with a frown.

instantly, he beams up. “no fear, charge boy is here!” he holds his hand out, and you stare for a second. a weird feeling begins to brew up in your tummy and your face feels warm, but you grab it. excitedly, he runs into his house. you reach his living room and he searches through the couch, his small figure climbing onto the cushions. “aha!” he shouts, holding up a charger. you maneuver to sit next to him on the couch, him helping you up. the boy grabs your gaming device and sticks the plug in his mouth like a lollipop. you kick your feet in excitement, waiting for him to put on his greatest magic trick. he places the other end of the charger into the 3ds, and you both wait. then,

‘3%’

“WOAHHHH!” the both scream in unison. you clap your hands together and giggle, the boy blushing in response. a smile is plastered across his face as you praise him. “thas so cool!” you coo. he rubs the back of his neck “oh, it’s nothin!” he replies, handing you back the device. you open the game you were just playing: nintendo cats and dogs. “wait lemme see your dog!” he exclaims.

eagerly, he grabs the controller so you both have it in your hands. you giggle once again, going over to the digital dog you own. “sit!” you shout into the screen. the dog tilts their head, and you groan. “…sit!” kaminari chimes in, shouting at a louder volume. again, the dog whines and tilts its head. you both look at each other in annoyance, then shove the 3ds closer to your faces.

“SIT!” you both shout.

the in-game dog sits, and you squeal in satisfaction, looking back at your friend. he giggles, looking back at you. “our dog now!”

this was a pattern in your friendship. you shared basically everything: games, toys, snacks, damn near houses— you were over his all the time. not that he cared, though. in fact, he encouraged it. your parents loved him so they would let it slide, they even became friends with his parents. you both became inseparable within weeks of first meeting each other in school, so regardless there was no way of separating the two of you.

even if they tried, neither of you would let them.

“y/n!”

eighth grade wasn’t your favorite for many reasons. one of those reasons happened to involved your best friend since tooth fairies: denki kaminari. it’s no doubt he was popular, at least to some degree. he hung out with a lot of popular kids, and even worse, he was one of those boys where every girl had a crush on him at some point…. you included. except your crush festered before middle school— and it still hasn’t gone away. you hated that it never went away. not because you hated him, it was because you felt the exact opposite of that.

it was different from when you were kids. before, it could be written off as simple puppy love. there was no doubt, anxiety, or fear that came with being all giddy around him. but now, you were both older, and you both became two different types of people. it’s not like people didn’t like you, of course. you had your few share of friends and ultimately preferred to stay to yourself, while he otherwise wanted to entertain the whole world. and you never knew how he did it. he made everyone laugh, and brought smiles out of the gloomiest of people. despite all this, he still called you his best friend. he would convince your parents to let you go to arcades or movie theater hangouts with him, and you still would have the same sleepovers you did when you were little. but, he was popular– popular with girls. girls would ask you about him all the time, and you wanted to rip the hair straight out of your scalp. the worst part was always that you had no excuse to feel this way because he’s supposed to be your best friend. you’re supposed to be happy for him, right? does that make you a bad friend? what is this feeling?

you turn your head from your desk, and see the brace faced, bright haired charmer himself walk up to your desk. you fake a smile, wanting to seem cheery despite your anxious thoughts. “hey, kam.”

he smiles at the nickname, leaning against your desk.

“i have a secret.” he says cheekily. you raise your eyebrow, becoming slightly intrigued. “tell me!”

you always find yourself perking up at his voice. it scares you. naturally, people are afraid of the unexplainable. but weirdly, what scares you more is facing a definite reason of why you feel this way. you see it in movies and shows that denki himself has begged you to watch. they were entertaining, yes, but you related in a way you hated. it always made you question your real life. and you hated that more, having to find an explanation for feelings you can’t even describe with real life words. even with all this, you could never hate listening to him talk. your heart jumps at the way he smiles, showing off his teal rubber bands that decorate the brackets of his braces, and his soft lips, that he definitely overdoes the chapstick with, never disappearing even though he always smiles so big. and not to mention, you just love hearing him say your name and tell you all the things he’s excited about, like–

“i just gave hayami a valentine, isn’t that cool?”

your heart sinks, and your mood is instantly ruined.

“i got a bunch of valentines but she was all giddy when i told her i got her one. she’s the only person i gave one too besides you, i think she likes me or something.”

you glance at the faux flower and bag of chocolates he gave you that you sat next your bookbag on your desk and look back at him.

“you should go for it, she’s pretty cute.” you reply. the way you perfectly execute that same line every time he tells you something like this, you’ve convinced yourself you should be an actor.

this exchange snaps you back into the reality you refuse to face: he doesn’t see you like that. you’re his best friend, of course he tells you about girls and waits for your advice each time because– in his words: ‘you’re like, the most truth worthy sources ever!’ so this is basically your friendly duty. you always help him out, even if the payment is another tear stained page in your diary that you would run to the nearest bridge to jump off of if he even knew of it. your head races as he continues to barge with his newest love situation.

“i might, i don’t know! you know popular chicks are kinda boring sometimes man.” he chuckles, slightly rolling his eyes as he slings his bookbag off his shoulder and on his desk that’s next to yours.

you agree, the both of you laughing. your fake laugh harmonizes with his geniune one as class is about to start, the teacher finally walking in. he eventually occupies himself with his many other friends, and you slouch in your chair. again, the valentine on your desk in your peripheral distracts you from listening to anything the teacher is saying. it almost loses it’s meaning— it doesn’t feel special. to him, it’s just another valentine his mom probably gave him the money to buy. you don’t feel special. and you feel stupid for letting yourself think you ever could be. every girl in school was miles prettier than you, you never stood a chance. you stick your earbuds in your ear, ignoring the bitter taste of jealousy stuck in the back of your throat. you hated this. you hated this feelings, you hated all these people, you hated school, you hated valentine’s day, and you hated love. it’s so easy for everybody else but you.

‘now playing- normal girl by SZA’

you wished you were a popular girl.

“literally just tell him!”

you roll your eyes at your best friend, setting your food back down on your lunch tray to look her dead in the eyes.

“kyouka, i’m telling you i would rather shit in my hands and clap.”

she scoffs, shaking her head and looking back at you.

“first off- gross. second off, i can tell you guys are made for each other because you’re both stupid as fuck and delusional. it’s so obvious he likes you back, do you not see how he acts around you? you both flirt so much people literally come up to you guys and ask if you guys are a couple.”

jirou’s right. with the close friendship you and denki have, some people already assume you guys have something going on. but, there’s no way in hell you would risk ruining your friendships over feelings that you’ve forced yourself to shove down your throat long enough. not now, not in your third and last year of high school. you refuse to ruin anything you have going on and you’ve already made it this far. you’d rather not know how he feels than to know that you’re right, and he’d never even think of being more than friends.

“okay, but he flirts with everybody, i mean nothing to h-”

she immediately cuts you off. “y/n l/n you’ve literally sat in his lap before in the common room during move night!”

you sigh, looking down at your lunch tray. there’s no way of getting out of this with her. and deep down, you know her argument makes sense.

“if i tell him, will you shut the fuck up?”

she sarcastically nods, going back to enjoying her own food. as the day goes on, her words linger in your head. obvious? if it was really that obvious, you wouldn’t feel like this. you would’ve just told him that you liked him years ago and you would be this romantic love-story couple who’s been together since they still had baby teeth. you’d give each other paper rings and candy hearts. instead, you play video games together and you cry in his arms about dudes playing with your feelings, even though you wish you could just have him.

later at your own dorm, you find yourself laying in your bed restless. your music playlist has been on shuffle in your earphones for hours now. you look down,

‘now playing- supermodel by SZA’

you sigh, turning over to lay on your side. you’ve been finding every excuse to still not tell denki anything, but this feeling in your chest is eating you alive. every laugh and brush of arm made it so much worse. even with people like jirou or uraraka-people who you’re friends with, you always find yourself analyzing every girl denki flirts with. you’re nothing like them. you can’t help but still carry the same insecurities you’ve had since you were young. every memory of denki giving attention to girls so much prettier than you runs through your mind, and you become more doubtful as the minutes pass. you were no model, and you weren’t even sure if you were denki’s type. hell, you don’t even know if you’re in his league. even if you told him how you felt, you wouldn’t be able to not think about how he likely could do better than you. it’s not like he doesn’t lift you up— which he does, often. he’s a great friend and he’s always been respectful. but, that’s all he is: your best friend. he doesn’t see you in that way, and you don’t think he could. you’re not some super hot girl he’d text you about, you’re the girl who he texts when he sees some hot chick he wants. you’re the one who listens to him rant about someone he flirted with.

you grabbed your phone and opened your texts. conveniently, he was high up enough to where there was no need to scroll. momentarily pausing, you contemplate all the ways this could go wrong. every sentence he could possibly use to reject you goes through head at once, and every way you could be humiliated by him and his friends sends waves of anxiety through your body. this is a bad idea. you shouldn’t do this. you take the deepest breath of your life, as if you had been deprive of oxygen for days.

….fuck it.

2:15 am

‘i like you’

you send the text, immediately turning your phone off and throwing it on the bed. safe to say, you barely were able to go to sleep.

the next morning, you wake up and go about your usual morning routine. you find every mean to distract yourself until you walk into the classroom, immediately going over to your desk. as usual, jirou starts a conversation with you and you both laugh about nonsense. then,

“hey jirou! hey y/n!” denki walks into the classroom, joyous as ever. your heart drops to the pit of your stomach and you feel a shock flow through your chest, instantly feeling your heart begin to thump. you wave as jirou greets denki with her typical snide remark. he knows you think to yourself. you already prepare yourself for all the embarrassment. but, he comes over to you and hugs you- as normal, slinging his arms over your shoulders. you hesitantly hug back, trying to hide that fuzzy, warm feeling in your stomach. he then does the same to jirou, and your shoulders begin to drop. secretly, you study his every move as you look for signs of him being ready to bring it up. he behaves as he normally does, bothering jirou to no end as everyone waits for class to begin. suddenly, you shoot up as your ears pick up your name.

“we seriously have a test this week? y/n we gotta lock in later, jirou never tells me this stuff!”

you gulp, not even turning your head to respond. “i got you, don’t worry.” you say, forcing a laugh. in your peripheral, you see jirou smirk at you and you get the urge to strangle her at this very moment.

thankfully, aizawa started his morning lesson so you uncharacteristically payed close attention. you continue this concentration until class is over. denki would tap you on the shoulder for the occasional comedic commentary whispered in your ear or question about the assignment that mr. aizawa literally just said. you conversed normally, pretending your heart wasn’t racing rapidly. but, everything seemed completely normal. the day went on and he didn’t mention a word about the text, and weirdly, you were perfectly okay with this. this is exactly what you wanted– for neither of you to mention it and pretend it was never even said. when classes were over, you headed to your dorm and plopped onto your bed. you sat with your phone in hand as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone while listening to your playlist. the day went smoothly despite your anxiety and everything was okay. you look down at your phone,

multiple notification slide down on your phone screen.

‘fuck i’m sorry’

‘istg i’m just now seeing this’

‘i’m coming to your dorm’

instantly, you grow nauseous. your head begins to spin and you bury your face in your hands. you almost got away with it. you almost had nothing to worry about and no emotions to actually confront head on.

before you can even collect yourself, you hear a knock at the door.

“y/n?”

you don’t wanna answer the door, truthfully. but, you grudgingly open your mouth “come in.” you turn down your music, still loud enough to where you can still hear.

in walks kaminari, slowly closing the door and leaning against the wall. he’s playing with his fingers, breathing slightly heavy as if he sprinted to your dorm. the redness of his face is apparent enough for you to notice after a few seconds as you look at him, waiting for him to speak. you can barely focus on the music playing from your phone. he comes and sits in front of you on your bed. he takes a deep breath, then sighs slowly.

“how… long have you felt like this?”

now it’s your turn to practice breathing, since you’ve completely forgotten how. you shrug, despite knowing exactly when. even though you texted him first, you’re so embarrassed that you’re barely able to look at him.

“since we met…. and it never went away. even when you were some popular boy who decided to be friends with me, even though you had all these girls all over you. i know we were young, but i guess i just wanted you to myself. i really liked you, and you were different.”

he pauses “…since we were kids?”

“i know— i know it’s fucking stupid, and i’m sorry if i’m making everything feel weird now. it’s just whenever i look at you i get all nervous and it started building up and jirou told me to stop hiding it and-”

“y/n, i’ve liked you since i was 10.”

your whole entire body pauses. the worlds seems to stop and your whole entire body flushes. if you were at all close to vomiting before, that feeling definitely was worse now. every moment that jirou pointed out to you that you chose to ignore starts racing in your head, it was really that obvious? it was that easy? how long have i not noticed? did i just lose my mind worrying about all this for nothing? wait… is he just saying this because he feels bad? is this even real? is this some type of dare?

you’re barely able to comprehend the words that just came out of his mouth. “…what?”

“i…. didn’t wanna ruin our friendship. i didn’t want you to think i was one of those dudes who become close with girls just to try to get with them, but… i couldn’t help it. there’s just so much to like about you even though i never thought you’d even look at a guy like me…. is this why you’ve been acting kinda off?”

you shrug again. “yeah, kinda… but it’s not your fault.”

he swallows, then continues to speak. “i’m so sorry... i’m an idiot. if i even kind of knew how you felt, i wouldn’t have even looked at another girl. i never wanna make you feel like that, and i don’t wanna make you jealous.”

you laugh. it’s almost funny to you. “well i never thought you’d look in the direction of somebody like me.”

his face drops, now becoming more serious. “…what do you mean?”

“i mean, i don’t know. it’s just that every girl i see you with is just…”

you fight back the lump in your throat. not because said he actually has feelings for you– you genuinely don’t believe it.

“they’re pretty. and i always… get it. i get why you’d want that instead of… this. instead of, y’know, me. you’re probably out of my league– my quirk isn’t all that flashy, i’m not this drop dead gorgeous model type, i’m not super musically talented or academically gifted, and i’m just not all that special. so, i don’t know… i just didn’t think you saw me like that.”

he holds your hands, looking at you as you continue looking down. his heart breaks at your words, wanting to punch himself for not telling you how he felt sooner. he hates that he didn’t tell you, and he hates that you think about yourself in this way. all he wants to do is show you how beautiful you are.

“baby, no, no no- you’re wrong, so wrong.” he almost seems frantic. your heart jumps at the nickname, even though this isn’t the first time you’ve heard it from his mouth. but before, you were sure it was strictly platonic affection….this is different. he rubs his thumb across your hand, causing you to soften up a bit. it pains him to realize that you feel like this– and he’s mad that it’s because of him. even though he didn’t do anything wrong, he wishes so badly you could see yourself how he sees you.

“you…” kaminari pauses. “…you’re perfect. more than perfect. don’t compare yourself to these other girls, they don’t mean anything to me. i know i mess around but it’s only ‘cause…i don’t want you to think i’m some loser.” he takes a deep breath,

“i care about what you think of me.. so much. it drives me crazy. i just didn’t think i had a chance with you, so i was too scared to actually try. but you’re everything i want- i like every single thing about you and i always have. you’re funny, you’re smart, pretty, talented, kind…. you’re everything i dream of. fuck- i dream of you all of time. you’re beautiful to me…okay? so please, don’t say that about yourself.”

you find yourself completely dumbfounded. the boy you’ve been yearning for since you were a kid just called you perfect. your heart is beating a million miles per second and you’re 70% sure you could pass out right now. you try to find the words– something as charming or meaningful to say, but your tongue is almost stuck to the back of your teeth. your head finally tilts up at him, and you’re met with the most loving, concerned eyes you’ve seen.

you finally manage to open your mouth “…really?”

his chest loosens as he lets out a small laugh that comes out as an exhale, breathing out all the fear he had building up inside him. “yes…really.”

you laugh in response, in the same exact manner. he continues to caress the top of your hand and you both begin to smile. your eyes catch his soft lips, and his pretty smile. you become enamored with the sight of him, and can’t help but glue your eyes to his eyes, then back down to his lips— that really do look so soft. you look down again,

“…can i kiss you, kam?”

your voice is small and unsure. he lights up, shoulders straightening up with his posture.

his heart swells at the nickname that you finally called him again after him not hearing it for weeks now. “…o-of course.” he tries to say it with a laugh, hiding his excitement.

he grabs the side of your face and you lean closer, both of you slowly closing your eyes. then, butterflies burst in your stomach as your lips connect. his movements are slow and careful, only pressing his lips against yours and slightly pulling back. but to his surprise, you lean back first without hesitation, locking your lips with his. his other hand slowly moves to your waist and he presses up more against you, deepening the kiss. the movements between the two of you become more frantic, chasing a feeling both of you have deprived yourselves of for way too long. your mind matches the taste of his lips– they’re sweet. not sweet as if he just ate something sugary, it’s more of a natural taste. his lips are warm and comforting, capturing your lips with perfect clarity. he pulls away for a split second, his half lidded eyes looking into your irises. “….you are so fuckin’ beautiful…so beautiful.” he breathes out. before you can respond, he captures your lips back with his, further trapping you in his trance.

he pulls you on his lap and leans back, his back resting on the wall behind your headboard. his hands fully cups the side of your face, pulling you even closer to him if even possible by now. his movements are so sure, and they’re thought out. he pays attention to every squirm and grab to match his movements with yours. kissing him becomes like a slow dance; he moves his lips against yours in a soothing rhythm, washing away any parasitic doubt in your head. you hum against his lips, and you can feel him smile into the kiss. he continues to pull you closer as he eagerly chases the natural warmth of your body against his. it sends him into a fever– the cure being the taste of you.

you both eventually pull away again, catching your breath. you’re then pulled into a hug that you gladly reciprocate. you can hear and feel every breath he takes, his body melding with yours. his heartbeat is like music to your ears, calming you and making you feel safe in his arms. his nose rests on your shoulder as he takes in your scent, becoming more obsessed with it than he already was. in his head, he thanks his lucky stars for being able to have you in his life. he wouldn’t want anybody else.

“thank you for telling me…”

you smile into the crook of his neck, holding him tighter. “thank you for liking me back.”

he smiles wider as he holds you. you both stay like this for awhile, him rubbing soothing circles on your back as you massage his blonde, soft locks with your fingers. if it was at all possible, he would stay like this forever. no one would be able to pry him off your soft skin and the warmth of you. this- this is what he dreams of.

he finally just gets to hold you. and he’s finally yours.

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korpuskat · 10 months ago

Text

Twines Counterclockwise

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (Gender Neutral) Rating: T WC: 3.6K Warnings: Hanahaki's Diseases, Blood, Injury =

It starts with an itch in your chest. Just the faintest inclination you needed to cough- which would’ve been fine, a normal little human thing that nobody thinks much of. Except that in front of you is a holoscreen, displaying blueprints in glowing 3D, spinning as their creator motions to various features and systems. His fingers are long and shine brilliantly when they cut through white, hovering lines. It’s his updated design of the slicer’s laser, modernized, faster start-up, less heat emission, and-

“Sorry,” You interrupt, turn away, and cough.

He stops long enough to look at you, but with his unemotive faceplate, whatever he’s truly thinking is lost. Probably irritation for impeding his explanation, which makes you resist the urge to duck your head. It’s unprofessional, you tell yourself. Instead you settle for purposefully looking at the design, “Please, go on.”

He waits a moment- perhaps debating how worth it is to snap at a human trying to give him orders. Finally, he continues. If he notices your gaze wandering off the crisp, white lines and back to his hands, he says nothing.

You don’t think much of it, even if you’re having to clear your throat repeatedly just to rid yourself of that itchy feeling. Probably a cold, or perhaps the icy antarctic air has finally started to wear on you. It’s nothing, a quirk of being human in a place so intensely not made for humans, an annoyance- until it isn’t.

And of course, it’s when he’s escorting you through his waiting production lines. Motioning up above to the never-ending converters, arcs of welders and robotic arms, waiting so long to be tasked again. He speaks in that rumbling, low voice of his, explains the modifications he will need to make before mass production can begin. His synth loses its regulation when he gets excited, sounding less deceptively almost-human and more robotic. It’s not a bad sound.

He points overhead towards one line. Even for his size, his movements look graceful, fluid. Each joint is wellkept, oiled, and the gold design on the few scraps of cloth that he wears shimmers in the low lights. He motions again, then turns and looks at you- bright red array, empty black optical slits.

Right. The production line.

You fight to keep the facade of professionalism. He continues. This line needs repairs, did not work with London, couldn’t source the parts for it without raising flags he didn’t have the resources to cover. He would need it to be updated and-

And you’re softly coughing into your fist. Ramattra’s head turns subtly, glancing at you from the corner of his vision. You hold up a hand, one finger in a silent plea for him to wait just a moment. This isn’t a big deal. It isn’t.

But you don’t stop coughing, turning first towards your inner elbow- but it won’t stop. Your throat burns, itches- but each spasm of your diaphragm isn’t doing anything to help. Each cough brings on the next, and the next-

“Are you… alright?” He asks, and oh, you can almost convince yourself there’s actual worry there. It would be a pain if a Talon agent died alone in his omnium, so soon after their tentative agreements. You nod, try to smile between coughs- but it must not work because he follows it up with “Are you sick?”

You don’t get the chance to dissuade him, because you’re doubling over, falling to your knees. Coughs turn to retches, full-body shudders and there’s something in your throat. Tears burn at your eyes, blur your vision, even as three silver claws step in front of you. You can’t stop coughing, can barely breathe between each one and all you can do is flex your throat, hunch over, squeeze your eyes-

Something falls into your hand, still cupped over your mouth.

The itch is gone. Tears cover your face. Finally, you can breathe again, taking in lungfuls of cold, antarctic air- which feel like knives in your irritated throat. With the back of your hand, you wipe at your face, trying to hide the evidence of tears and spittle. You’re so far beyond presentable and the whir of Ramattra’s internals, so close to you now, crouched down to your level, only makes you wish you had declined this promotion entirely.

“Sorry,” You try to force another fake smile, but don’t know if it even really makes it past the intention. “Don’t know what that was.” Ramattra’s head tips, looks you over. He waits there, watching as you struggle to pull yourself together before you finally wave him on, “Give me a minute, please.”

He makes some sort of noncommittal noise before standing up again and wandering down the walkway, giving you some space. He watches, however, keeps you in his field of view.

When you’re sure he can’t see it, you uncurl your clenched hand. Inside, is a pale purple flower bud, just beginning to open.

It doesn’t get easier. A week passes and a small collection of lavender flowers has gathered on your nightstand. Each coughing fit is all-consuming, burns out every other sense until the next part is hacked up. Here, at least, in the privacy of your makeshift quarters you can reach into your mouth and try to grasp at the stem. You touch it- and retch as it twitches deep in your throat, tears springing to your eyes as you reflexively begin to cough again.

On the counter, your phone lights up, buzzes with a call.

You can’t even entertain taking it, no matter who it is. Another failed attempt to catch the stem- which is prodding painfully into the roof of your mouth- launches another round of coughs and tears. The mirror- maybe you can see it? You stumble across the room and switch on the light. Opening your mouth as wide as you can, you still can’t quite make out the shape that’s lodged itself in your windpipe. The flashlight on your phone, however, does help.

And amidst the red, inflamed flesh of your throat is a single, green-brown vine curling against the roof of your mouth. Just beyond your tongue, another purple flower clings to your tonsils, glistening with spit. With the aid of the mirror and light, this time you catch the end of the stem firmly between finger and thumb. You pull--

And pain shoots through you like lightning, sharp and crackling down your throat, across your chest, clawing and twisting into your lungs- and around your hand you cough, eyes pinching shut, dropping your phone as you struggle and yank.

It’s caught somewhere. The vines dig into every crevice they can find, desperately latching onto you. You brace yourself, take as deep a breath as you can and yank again. This time, the stem snaps. A red-dotted string of flowers splatters into your sink.

Your chest clears somewhat, still burning from where you’ve ripped the vine free. Even as you gasp in air, another growth wavers in your chest, dancing with each inhale. Before long, you’ll be back here, pulling another one out.

You really didn’t think it was that bad. Sure, you thought about him often and enjoyed every conversation that managed to veer away from Null Troopers and omniums… but the flowers? How could it have gotten so bad?

You press on one purple petal, swipe away the blood that stains it crimson. The flowers range in ages, a few at the tip not yet opened, tight, darker indigo buds, while the ones at the other end, where the stem is thicker, broken, have popped into lilac blooms. A large flat, open petal atop one tightly still curled.

You love him.

You knew, honestly, but having it be presented to you so blatantly is still… unnerving. And-

bzzt. You startle, drop the flower and look down. On the floor- where your phone had landed- is a face you really do not want to see right now. With a grimace you pick the device up, wipe any blood away from your lip, and answer.

“Hello?”

“You’re lucky I bothered to call twice.” Her voice bites out. You’ve just answered and she’s already bored with this conversation.

“Sorry. What can I do for you, Dr.O’Deorain?”

“Actually,” She almost singsongs, “It’s about what I can do for you. Your gracious host informed me that you are unwell. And while I’m sure he must have bothered to make his workshop more habitable for you, there are several fascinating viruses that live in glaciers.”

Oh.

Ramattra called her.

You grimace, feel another wave of shame that you’ve been sick enough he’s bothered to contact Moira of all people. “It’s not…” You pause- because on one hand, Moira would know how to deal with this. And on the other… even admitting it would show much of a liability you’ve been. Your chest itches already, another creeping vine ready to climb out of your throat. “I know what it is.”

“Oh? I somehow doubt even an omnic would be so concerned about a cold.”

“It’s… Hanahaki.“

She sighs and you can hear her rolling her eyes. “Just because you’re coughing-”

“Full flowers.” You stare down at the purple and red in your sink. “It’s Hanahaki.”

All the frustration leaves her voice in a heartbeat. “Send me a picture.” You do, of the one you just coughed up and the handful of flowers and petals you’ve collected. After a minute, she says something under her breath. “Wonderful.. You, what, had a crush on someone here in Rome and couldn’t confess before you left on a months-long Antarctic tour?”

You bite your tongue. Wouldn’t that be nice? A friendly coworker you could just message about your feelings. As it turns out, you don’t have to say anything at all. She’s too sharp, your silence a little too damning.

“You’re joking.” She scoffs, “Actually unbelievable.”

The urge to cough settles in your chest. Through the tightness you bite out, “Just… tell me what I can do.”

Moira sighs once more, “I don’t suppose talking it out has already crossed your mind?” You don’t answer her. “Of course. Then the only other option would be major surgery. That has its own assortment of risks, the least of which would be you would feel nothing for him anymore.”

That… should almost be comforting. Tears prick your eyes. He’s about to wage a war on the vast majority of humanity, has lectured at length the atrocities he’s seen your kin commit. There’s no chance. And yet… it hurts. Despite the damage that’s come to your body and the shame that follows: being unfit to continue working, for making things awkward, for having feelings for… him. Despite that, it’s still been nice. The warmth that follows him, that settles inside you when he speaks, the way he tips his head when he’s sketching out a new idea, the way his posture shifts, relaxes, when he must think you aren’t looking. Would that all become nothing to you?

A cough sneaks up your throat. You hold your phone at arm’s length, would mute yourself if you could focus long enough. You can’t; another flower has broken loose, tumbles from your lips into the sink to join its brethren.

On the phone, Moira curses in Gaelic. “I am advising you as a doctor to talk to him. I’m sure you kids will be able to figure it out.” Silence is your only response. After all, what was there to really talk about? You’re human.. She sighs irritably, but slowly perks up as she speaks: “Fine. I have some colleagues in Oasis who should be able to assist. You might be the first case of omnic-borne Hanahaki. Would be a fascinating case study.”

It takes a few hours to work up the courage to message him. Taking medical leave, No more than two weeks. Need transport to Oasis.

His response is almost instantaneous: Understood. Shuttle ready.

You pack lightly. Very little of your clothes are appropriate for the wildly different climate awaiting you after a ten hour flight. It’s mostly your work gear, things you haven’t needed while so firmly stationed away from any wetwork. Regardless, you enter the shuttle bay with a single suitcase, in casual clothes covered by a heavy jacket. As it is, the coldness already seeps through the single outer layer, bringing a chill to your toes- and to your chest.

The itch becomes unbearable as soon as you lay eyes on him. The back of the shuttle is open, waiting for you- but so is he. Why? Why must he see you off now?

Ramattra straightens up, folds his hands behind his back. With how thin his waist is, the action doesn’t hide much of his arms. “Agent,” He greets you stiffly, awkwardly, as you approach. “I assume this is more than a simple cough, then?”

“Afraid so.” The back of your throat burns just from two words and his head shifts, almost bobbing back in surprise. Has your voice gotten so bad?

“I see. It is… serious?”

“Yes.” You clear your throat, hope to shoo away as much hoarseness as you can. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience. I’ll return as soon as I am able.”

Ramattra’s white faceplate tips off to the side, a blatant display of curiosity. In what exactly you don’t know. Probably why Talon isn’t just replacing you, reassigning you after your treatment.

“I hope you…” He pauses, seems to taste the words before he says them, “feel better soon.” It’s awkward in his voice, stilted, a phrase so wildly unused, perhaps he’s never even said it. But he gives you that courtesy, even if only because it’s polite- and it makes your heart ache.

And that makes your lungs itch. You can’t even suppress it down to a small cough into your hand. All at once you’re doubled over, heaving coughs into your elbow. The thick taste of iron coats your tongue, blood spraying from your lips. Then, the smooth, suffocating feeling of the flowers.

Purple follows red- and you quickly fall to your knees, unable to catch a single breath between thundering spasms in your chest. Your ribs creak, strain from each movement, the pain in your lungs radiating out and you pinch your eyes shut, wait for it to be over.

His knee clanks to the floor- you don’t need to open your eyes to see that it’s him. A cold, firm hand touches your back. It’s… skittish, unused to the contact, too light of a touch to be reassuring, but it’s alright because every cough jostles you away, brings waves of pain and nausea as a string of buds clings to your uvula.

Another good cough and the vine breaks, half expels the raceme from your mouth. With the other hand you rip it from your lips, throwing it to the floor while gasping for air. For the moment, your lungs are clear- despite the burning pain of frigid air on the open wounds of your throat, the joy of breathing again overtakes all.

Until you open your eyes- and through tears you see the splatters of red- and the long string of purple. In fear, in shame you snatch the evidence of your illness- but it was hardly just the one raceme. A half dozen little buds and broken flowers dot the floor- and as quickly as you can grab them, you still can’t stop Ramattra from picking one up. He pulls his other hand off you, bringing both up to cup the tiny thing.

It’s paler than the purple enamel coating on his plates, laughably delicate as he prods open the two petals, revealing the pistil inside. He stares at it, then mutters, “Wisteria sinensis .” You fight to read any emotion in it at all- but it doesn’t matter, because his next question drips with confusion. “You have… Hanahaki’s disease?”

You can’t bear to look at him, staring instead at the flower. It’s so small in his hand, more like a stray drip of paint than proof of your traitorous heart. All you can give him is a nod, lips held in a tight line, unwilling to address what feels like the obvious.

“I see.” He says quietly, bringing his palm in closer to his faceplate. “Your trip to Oasis is for treatment?”

You nod again, “Surgery. Have to cut the roots out.”

Ramattra stays quiet, his focus not leaving the purple petals. Even when you find the courage to meet the slits of his optics, he does not return your gaze.

“I am… sorry.” As soon as the words leave his synth you look away. This is what you didn’t want. Fuck, it’s what you’ve been trying to avoid. You don’t need his pity or the undeniable knowledge that you loved someone who would be happy to end your entire species- who must hardly spare you a thought beyond the annoyance of financial oversight. Tears burn at your eyes again, but you blink them away, biting your tongue and willing yourself not to cry in front of him.

But he notices your turmoil, and speaks anyway. Hesitantly, a faltering in his voice you’ve never heard before. “I understand suffering because you care for another, yet human relationships confound me. I hope your treatment lets you find peace…” He trails off, but a low hum of his synthesizer lets you know he’s not done. His tone turns quiet, severe. “Know that they are foolish to reject you.”

In an instant you’re dazed, head swimming as your mind parses his words again and again. It doesn’t make sense. That’s- it’s Impossible. There’s something more there, under his words- more than just an empty placation. Something else builds in your chest and you can barely bring yourself to ask “What?”

Ramattra shifts awkwardly, clarifies: “The object of your affection.” His big fingers smooth out the tiny petals as he thinks, “I scarcely think they will meet another more interesting than you.” He draws your hand open to reveal the half-crushed raceme. The sight darkens his voice, “Do they even know how they’ve hurt you?”

Your chest feels tight- and not, for once, because of the flower’s roots. “Ramattra…”

His gaze lifts from your hand to your face. Unemotive, you can’t even begin to read what he’s thinking, but you stare into the black, angular slits for his optics and hope. Hope that he understands what you want to say, the words that have burned in your mind for days, weeks.

Something changes: the soft purr of his system builds, until he makes a noise like an inhale, his ventilation kicking up hard.

And you laugh, feel the tears gather in your eyes again because how could you be wrong? “It’s you, Ramattra.” You smile and you can breathe.

“You…” He starts, looks at the cluster of flowers again, his voice straining, his synth slipping. “Me? I did this to you? I- I thought-” And before doubt can take your heart, Ramattra’s hands move to you- just barely ghosting your side before you’re all but throwing yourself in his arms. His voice drops, quiet in disbelief. “I thought I was protecting you.”

His cowl is soft, silky on your cheek. It chafes where the tears have begun bubbling over. “From Talon? I don't care.”

“From me,” He murmurs. So close now his voice box buzzes in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I… I couldn’t swear how suitable a partner I would be; a relationship cannot be a priority to me when liberation is so close.”

You sigh, focusing on the feeling of his cold ribs under your palms, on the smell of machine oil and incense. “I wouldn’t ask you to set that aside. It’s just- I thought you wouldn’t…” Your lip wobbles, disappointment or fear fighting its way forward. “Since I’m… human….”

“Believe me, I was as reluctant to accept that as you are.” His hands drift over your back, drawing shapes onto your coat.

As nice as it is, there’s a faint itch in your chest. You need… you need to hear it. You draw back- and Ramattra’s idle shapes still as his hands resettle onto your hips. You look up, stare into the black slits once more. “But you… you do have feelings for me?”

He stiffens, voice turning uncomfortable, reluctant to speak it into existence. “You… were an unexpected complication. I had not planned on… caring for any one in such a way.” His fingertips are cool on your skin, tracing chilled lines along your jaw. “Yes. And I am… so sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s okay,” You murmur back, touching each side of his neck. Wordlessly, you draw him down. His movement stutters, awkward as he follows your lead- pulling him closer until you can lay your lips across the lowest part of his white faceplate. His head is somewhat warmer than his hands, leaving your lips tingling and you laughing softly at the absolute unreality of being able to kiss him.

You almost expect him to be offended. Instead, Ramattra’s hands guide your chin down, tipping your head forward-- and the bright reds of his array press to your forehead. You sigh, and slowly open your eyes to peer into the black void of his optics’ slits. Anything else in the world ceases to exist, all that matters is the slowly building warmth in his head and chest, the hum of his components and fans, and the soft press of his hands to your skin.

#ramattra #ramattra x reader #overwatch #overwatch x reader #reader insert #ramattra x you #overwatch x you #hanahaki #almost typod the title as cockwise lol

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