#slinging a towel over my shoulder

[cult-of-the-eye]

I care for my younger sibling and it's difficult, there's a lot of emotional time and effort put into it alongside the chores (and my own mental health issues and general life stuff) but honestly when it all feels too much I just imagine I'm the cool single parent from all those early 2000s movies who has absolutely nothing together but in a respectable way. I'm "hey kiddo"-ing my way out of a mental breakdown.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Roads Untraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is. 

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

‘When he went away  The blues walked in and met me  Oh, yeah if he stays away  Old rocking chair’s gonna get me  All I do is pray...’ 

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you. 

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones. 

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent. 

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue. 

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight. 

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line. 

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.  

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized. 

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides. 

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive. 

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang. 

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness. 

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here. 

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward. 

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?” 

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again. 

“Hello? Are you okay?” 

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily. 

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top. 

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America. 

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses. 

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly. 

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm. 

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.” 

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place. 

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right? 

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs. 

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?” 

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.” 

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow. 

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?” 

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.” 

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint. 

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?” 

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek. 

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl. 

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.” 

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?” 

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction. 

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.” 

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him. 

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.” 

“What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers. 

“Sure, it’s three.” 

“Number?” 

“310.” 

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign. 

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him. 

“It’s unlocked,” you say. 

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table. 

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly. 

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through. 

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.” 

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.” 

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you. 

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.  

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath. 

“You okay?” He turns the question on you. 

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile. 

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance. 

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...” 

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.” 

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.” 

“Right,” you work more diligently. 

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?” 

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are. 

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial. 

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?” 

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach. 

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut. 

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.” 

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand. 

“You must be pretty far along,” he says. 

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.” 

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?” 

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.” 

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack. 

“So, you want some?” You ask. 

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.” 

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.” 

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--” 

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say. 

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.” 

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.” 

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...” 

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods. 

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.” 

[lizleeships]

C a s u a l  I n t i m a c y  is my jam, I have no excuse

(Don’t repost)

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Teeny contextual ficlet below the cut: 

“Cas, lay off already,” Dean huffs from the motel bed. 

He crosses his bruised arms behind his head and tries to force back a wince of pain as he slings a casual grin. 

“We’re in one piece, aren’t we?” 

The angel seems dangerously ruffled, and Dean really wants to focus on that like the awesome boyfriend he’s learned to be. The thing is though, Cas is stripped down to his boxers and an old black undershirt in preparation for his shower and it’s more distracting than a train crash. A sexy, sexy train crash. 

Okay yeah, he’s probably a bit concussed; maybe Cas is right for chewing him out. 

“You have to be more careful,” Cas insists, his voice doing that deliciously growly thing it does (which, again: not the time, Winchester), “I’m not what I used to be, and neither are you.”

“Wow, okay-”

“Whether you like it or not, you’re not getting any younger, and I’m not getting any more useful. On most days I barely have enough Grace to heal your razor nicks.”

A pang of irritation surges at that - because Dean is excellent at grooming, thank you- but instead of clapping back, Dean opts for a far more entertaining option. He reels the angel in by the towel ends draped around his shoulders, and plants a kiss right between his severely pinched eyebrows. 

“I’ll be more careful, okay?” is his murmured promise, “I swear on my Old Guy honour.”

“That’s not fair,” Cas complains, though he doesn’t move an inch. 

“What?” 

“You can’t just distract me when I’m trying to make a point. It’s extremely patronizing.” 

Dean chuckles and kisses the wrinkles which pleasantly frame Cas’ eyes, then the speckles of grey at his temples. 

“Yeah? Does that mean it’s working?” 

“Dean, this is serious.” 

The consternation on Cas’ face has only mildly ebbed through the affection, so Dean frames his features with his hands, bumps their foreheads together. 

“I know, sweetheart. I hear you.” 

Cas nods against him as he stands down, shoulders sinking on a deep exhalation. 

“Really. I didn’t mean to worry you.” 

“Alright.” 

“But next time, maybe try making your point when you’re not half-naked, speaking of distractions. That’s playing dirty and you know it.”

Finally, Cas’ grave  expression breaks into a grin while Dean pulls him all the way down onto the bed.

“You’re ridiculous; I’m wearing clothes,” Cas objects. 

He makes himself at home in Dean’s lap, his fingers trailing absently over warm freckled skin. Dean looks up at him with a smirk.

“Yeah well, we’ll see about that.”

[xiaowhore]

you're a pain in the neck. (literally.)

premise. in which you make a nuisance of yourself in every train ride you share with scaramouche. (inexplicably, he doesn't stop sitting next to you anyway.)

note. we pretend i didn't disappear for months :D enjoy

Neck pain has been increasingly common in Scaramouche's life these days.

The cause of which is sleeping peacefully on his shoulder, snoring softly as the train rattles past. The way you remain deep in slumber despite the constant lurching is impressive, but your knack for unwittingly making yourself a menace to society is even more spectacular.

Scaramouche takes a deep breath—Kazuha always did advise him to be more patient—yet the moment he does, tufts of your hair curl against his skin. A flush rises to his cheeks, body caught between freezing in place and jolting out of his seat, but he digs his fingers to his thighs and wills himself to dispel the urge to shoot upright, in fear of...

In fear of what? Shocking you awake?

Nonsense. He's never been that considerate.

(Still, once the tension bleeds from his body, he lets his shoulders drop, fitting your head snugly against the crook of his neck. He grabs your phone from your loose grip, tucks it securely in your pocket, and allows himself to stare at the dark circles beneath your eyes.

He can let himself worry for a bit.)

--

“What's wrong with you?” Kazuha's concerned gaze settles over Scaramouche's hunched figure, slumped miserably on the desk. His head is craned in a particular angle, and Childe, obnoxious as he is, had erupted in boisterous laughter when Scaramouche entered the lecture hall tilted the very same way. Unfortunately, Scaramouche had been too sore to swat away Childe's phone as he took a picture of him in a zombie filter.

“Got a crick in my neck.”

Kazuha frowns. “Did you sleep badly again?”

Scaramouche scoffs in defeat. “You could say that.”

The next time he sees you enter the train, you're drenched.

You make an effort to dry yourself, wiping rainwater out of your hair with a handkerchief and packing your wet jacket in your bag, but you're still undeniably soaked. Some passengers don't bother to hide their distaste, scooting away to other vacant seats as they shoot you a scornful look. Others aren't so cruel, offering packets of tissues and initiating small talk over the worsening weather. Scaramouche watches as your apologetic expression turns into one of gratitude, sheepishly admitting to the nice aunties you forgot to check the forecast.

Scaramouche doesn't quite give you a spare towel or send you a reassuring smile, but he broods silently from where he sits beside you, scowling at the impudent lot now sitting far, far away. Insolent fools, tactless jerks, ill-mannered garbage—a barrage of insults fly in his head, ones he has learned not to verbalize lest he gets in trouble for his crass mouth again.

When the train pauses to his stop, he pulls out a foldable umbrella from his bag, still seething. He hands it out to you, not making eye contact as he's still glaring at the woman giving you a side-eye. “Take this.”

“Uh...?” Perplexed, you hesitantly accept it. “But...”

“It's fine.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder, walking toward the sliding doors. “So don't come here drenched in the rain next time.”

He doesn't get to hear your response as he speeds off.

--

“I'm an asshole.”

“Is this your moment of self-discovery?”

“Congratulations.”

Scaramouche's eyebrow twitches, but he's much too panicked to make a snarky quip to fire back. It's his fault for picking the wrong people to talk to, anyway—Heizou is a smartass and Xiao has a perpetual stick up his ass. He should've confided to the empathetic Aether instead, or to Venti who gives surprisingly good advice when you least expect it.

“So what made you realize it?” Heizou bites down on a pork cutlet, apparently finished with his daily quota for pissing him off and now fulfilling his obligations as a friend. “Did something happen?”

“Does it have anything to do with how you arrived soaking wet to class?” Xiao adds, poking the tofu on his plate.

“Perhaps you tried stealing an umbrella on your way here?”

“You got it backwards, dumbass. I gave away mine,” Scaramouche scowls.

“That sounds like you did a good thing, then. What's wrong?”

The way he gave it away so roughly. The way he said you could use it so condescendingly. How he'd forgotten to offer words of comfort, no matter how painful or awkward for him, because he'd been so absorbed in pointless matters. How he'd completely ruined his chances of being friends with you by acting like an indifferent jerk.

All because he was too embarrassed to say he's worried you'll catch a cold from the rain.

--

When Scaramouche takes the train the way home, it's him who's dripping rainwater everywhere.

Karma had gotten his new umbrella stolen from the rack, it seems. He just bought it from the convenience store, damn it.

So now he stands by the doors, too reluctant to go any further inside the train. His wet sneakers squeak beneath his feet, hair sticking uncomfortably on his forehead. His shirt clings to him like second skin, and the only thing retaining his modesty (because of course he falls prey to downpour the one time he wears a white button-up) is a heavy sweater vest soaked in water.

“So much for telling me not to come here when I'm drenched.”

A small towel drapes itself over his head, and Scaramouche quickly turns on his feet. Your mouth is curled into a grin when you step to the spot by his side, but not unkindly—you aren't here to mock him or return his cruel words.

Scaramouche grabs the towel sitting atop his head, drying his hair with it. As he does so, you make no move to leave even with plenty of vacant seats remaining unoccupied.

“... Aren't you going to sit?”

“Hm? No.” You're already holding onto a handrail, staring ahead.

“...Why not?”

“I'm keeping you company.”

???

“Oh, and your umbrella.” You fish it from your bag, holding it out for him to take. “Cute pattern, by the way.”

“Wha-” he's about to say ‘what are you talking about,’ but then he sees the cute star print, the gold sparkles bright against navy blue, and his hair rises on end, face flushing a deep red. Nahida was the one who packed it for me...!

“...Cute.”

“I heard you the first time,” he grumbles under his breath, accepting it from your hand.

An endeared smile crosses your face, one that he doesn't see as he stuffs the umbrella into his backpack.

I wasn't talking about the umbrella.

Scaramouche has always made it a habit to take the train before rush hour, but his report is due today, and so he slept for a grand total of two hours last night just to finish it. It wouldn't even be two hours if he hadn't slept through his alarm, but he wishes he'd woken up earlier; if it meant he could've avoided a crowded train, he could stand to lose some minutes of sleep.

“Can you move a bit?”

“Ow, ow...”

“Sorry, I stepped on your foot!”

“I hope nobody comes in at the next stop...”

Scaramouche empathizes with the last remark in particular, because he really couldn't handle it any more.

Presently, he's staring at the ceiling, praying for divine intervention. His neck is starting to hurt but he forces himself to face upwards, otherwise he would...

“This is tough, isn't it?” You laugh awkwardly, your chuckle turning into a wince when an elbow digs to your side. The train car is packed at full capacity, and you wouldn't be exaggerating if you were to say you felt like you were drowning in a sea of people.

“That's a massive understatement,” Scaramouche replies, wishing for death.

“Sorry. I can't go any farther than this.”

“It's fine.”

Actually, nothing is fine.

Scaramouche is trapped against the wall in the farthest location from the exit, surrounded by people from all sides, his stop is two stations away, and he has no idea how he's going to swim all the way through the doors.

Oh, and he's caged between your arms, pressed against your body, and feeling very much like a pervert for sniffing your scent, but it's simply impossible not to smell you at this close proximity (however, it's entirely his fault for thinking you smell good and trying to pinpoint what cologne you use).

Your head is resting on his shoulder, and Scaramouche learns quickly this position is a lot more embarrassing when you're conscious. And fuck, this time he can feel you breathe directly against his neck, puffs of hot air blowing on his reddened skin, and he can only hope for the best you can't sense his racing heartbeat.

You're too goddamn close, even though he can tell you're exerting your utmost effort to create some distance between your bodies. Your arms are straining pushing on the wall just so you wouldn't crush him under your weight, and as much as he should appreciate it, he can hardly think straight over the sound of his pulse in his ears. He's hanging precariously over the edge, and if he crosses his limit, he might just pass away on the spot.

Hell, if he so as much looks down, he's close enough to kiss your forehead, and-

He really shouldn't be thinking about that right now.

So yeah. Scaramouche may look like an idiot facing the ceiling, but at least he isn't at risk of cardiac arrest.

It's fine. This is fine. I'm one stop away. I can survive this. Just a little more.

But the gods above must hate his guts or something because the train screeches to a rough halt at the station, the car rattles violently, and you're squirming underneath him, his hands instinctively wrapping around your waist to steady you, but your head moves to look up at him and-

Scaramouche very nearly astral projects to another plane when he feels your lips graze against his chin.

“Hey, you okay?! Did you hit your head on the wall or something?”

He feels like he did. He's so dizzy and the world is spinning around him, but at the same time you're the only one he can see. This must be unhealthy, Scaramouche thinks, and he wonders how much blood has rushed to his head, coloring his cheeks bright pink, and if he can die from losing too much blood this way.

“Kuni?”

How do you know my name, Scaramouche isn't sure if he really says it, mind still whirring with thoughts, and oh god his hands are still on your waist-

“Your umbrella had a name tag...” You squint at the neon letters displaying the current station, “Hey, your stop is here, isn't it? Excuse me! Coming thro....”

He vaguely remembers your hands pushing him forward and the crowd parting obediently to make way for him when they see his face becoming visibly ill. The rest passes in a blur, and when Scaramouche finally comes to, he's already outside the train station.

For a brief moment, he stays frozen. Then by the corner of his eye, he notices the shopping center.

He stares at the pastel decor from the cosmetic store, approaches the vanity mirror, and if possible, his mind turns even more blank.

A faint kiss mark is stark against his chin, the same color as the lip tint you wear everyday.

“I'm not going.”

Venti sighs, disappointed but not surprised. “You never go to drinking parties with me. Why do you always head straight home after class?”

“Reasons.” Scaramouche closes his laptop and slides it inside his bag, making quick work of packing his things. “In your case, I'd advise you to go less. Being an alcoholic isn't a good look.”

“My liver is strong,” Venti insists, a cheeky grin dancing on his lips. “But seriously, what's up? Don't tell me you have a secret girlfriend you meet up with after class?”

“I was starting to think the same thing,” Aether pipes up, matching curious looks with Venti. “Or maybe you have a boyfriend? Either way, what are they like?”

“I have neither,” Scaramouche grumbles, coming off more pitiful than spiteful. “And I'm coming home early today because Nahida wanted me to get something for dinner.”

“Ehh, that's boring.”

“You're the ones making assumptions by yourselves!” Scaramouche snaps, treading towards the door. “I'm leaving. Don't call me to pick you up when you're wasted, it's Xiao's turn this week.”

“Okay, enjoy your date~”

Scaramouche doesn't even bother replying.

--

You get on the train scheduled for 4:15 everyday.

It's not that Scaramouche deliberately researched this information; he really did just catch the same train rides by chance. Over time, he began to recognize you as a familiar face, and eventually, he even became your headrest.

Not by choice, but he supposes he just has to live with it.

It's not that Scaramouche intentionally takes the same train so he could see your face. At least, that's what he tells himself as he silently pressures the retail cashier to scan his items faster and practically flies out the convenience store to rush for the train.

He glances at his wristwatch. 4:11. I'll make it. He breathes a sigh of relief, and checks the shopping list Nahida texted for good measure. Curry mix, milk, a carton of eggs...

A notification sound rings from his phone.

‘Sorry for the late notice, could you get pudding for dessert too?’

Shit.

Panic flares in his eyes and he spins on his heel, returning to the convenience store. Do I sprint? No, it's still not humanly possible to buy pudding and go back in four minutes... But I could try. Wait, wasn't there a line of customers behind me earlier? I'd still have to wait in line.

Finally, he stops running. This is stupid. Why am I working so hard just to catch this train, anyway?

Before he could even properly sulk about it, Scaramouche bumps into someone hurrying for the train. “Oh, sorry! I wasn't looking-”

Much to his surprise, your face comes into view when he looks, chest heaving for breath. You look like you've been running for a good while, hair in disarray from the wind, the reading glasses perched on your nose askew. And that's how Scaramouche knows you're in a real hurry, if you didn't even have the time to put on your contacts.

“It's okay,” Scaramouche quickly replies, stepping aside out of your path. “The train is still there, don't sweat it.”

He turns to the convenience store, mood lifted. I got to see them, so I guess this way is fine, too.

--

When Scaramouche returns from shopping, he comes back to a strange sight.

“Huh?”

“What are you looking at?”

Good question.

Why was he looking at your figure, still waiting for the next train to come by?

“No, well...” The plastic bags in his hand crinkle when he tightens his grip on them. Scaramouche blinks repeatedly, trying to see if you'll somehow fizzle out of existence if he closes his eyes enough. “You definitely could've made it in time for the train, so why are you still...”

Your lips stretch to a small smile. “I didn't.”

No. You definitely did.

You were at a distance where it'll only take three minutes max to reach the train even if you walked the same pace as a turtle. So why...

“Your face can be surprisingly expressive sometimes, Kuni. You're practically a walking question mark right now.”

“Ku-” He stops himself from speaking before his voice could crack.

“Sorry, you don't like me calling you that?” You're tilting your head at him, putting on puppy eyes. Oh no.

“...No. It's fine.” Damn it. Aether was right—he really is a softie.

However, he's still busy pondering. Sure, it's a stroke of luck and Scaramouche won't look a gift horse in the mouth, but why didn't you take your usual train? You were even running towards the station, arriving with wind-tousled hair and disheveled clothes.

“I was waiting.”

Scaramouche blinks. “For what?”

You stare at him in disbelief, like you seriously can't believe he doesn't know. That's when Scaramouche notices some things about you are a little different from earlier.

Your hair is fixed now, no strands randomly sticking up in the air. Your clothes are neat and tidy too, creases patted down. Your glasses are gone, and Scaramouche isn't sure if it's just his mind playing tricks on him or the color of your lips appears more vibrant from earlier.

He flinches when a sigh escapes you. But then the frown on your face is replaced with a dazzling smile, exasperated but fond.

“Who do you think I'm waiting for, dummy?”

BONUS: A look into the future.

“Has anyone ever told you your chin is really sharp?” Scaramouche grumbles under his breath, movements heavily restricted when your arms are wrapped tightly around his torso and the edge of your chin is stabbing his neck. Cooking breakfast proves to be a lot more of a challenge when a koala is clinging on his back.

“No,” you chirp, grinning ear to ear as you watch him stir the pancake batter over his shoulder. “Has anyone ever told you how cute you look in an apron?”

Scaramouche glowers. “No.” If a living person actually did, they wouldn't be for long.

“That's good.” If possible, you squeeze him even tighter, nuzzling against his face. “I want to keep the adorable Kuni to myself.”

“Disgusting.”

So he says as he leans his head closer when you peck him on the cheek.

Some things just never change, he guesses.

[puckinghischier]

omg wow i need more of whiny injured luke i love it

he would try so hard to not be needy and whiny but even when he’s trying not to, his inner whiner comes out. like, obviously you’re more than happy to help him in any way you can, but he’s just extra pouty and clingy.

you would be trying to get some work done, having arranged to work from home for the next few weeks incase he needs help with anything, but also because you don’t know when you’ll get to spend this much time with him again. you’d be in your make-shift office, busy on whatever tasks you had to get completed for that day, and he’d constantly be peeking in, pacing around for a few minutes “just to see what you’re up to. got a little bored.”

around time for you to take your lunch break you’d feel him hovering, turning to find him standing in the doorway like a toddler sneaking into their parents bedroom.

“do you need something?” you would ask him, trying to get your last little bit of morning work and find a good stopping point. “just wondering what your plan is for lunch. didn’t know if you wanted to order something or make something here. i’d go ahead and start lunch, if i could,” he’d motion to the black sling on his arm, shrugging in slow motion with a sad, exaggerated eye roll

or when you’re trying to get some laundry done after finishing work, hauling the towering basket over to couch so you could fold clothes while watching a movie. luke’s lounged in the recliner, immediately sitting up when he sees you set the mound of laundry down, picking up whatever was on top. “i wish i could help you, honeybee, i really do. maybe i could try to fold a couple towels?” he would offer, taking a couple of hand towels and slowly folding them for you.

after he finished his small pile he grabbed a pair of socks, trying to fold them into one another so they formed a small ball, but he couldn’t get the job done one handed, huffing in frustration and looking over at you for help. “i think i need some help, honeybee,” he would say dejectedly, giving you a pouty, puppy dog look.

“luke, i said i’d get it. you don’t have to help me. i’m almost done anyways. just sit back and watch the movie,” you would tell him, walking over to grab the socks from him.

“but, if i help you get done faster you can come cuddle with me in the recliner sooner,” was his response, lip jutting out even further to make his pout deeper.

“lu, i still have a lot of stuff to get done. i don’t think cuddling is on the table just yet. you’ll survive until i can put all the clothes away and clean up the kitchen a little bit.”

he would huff in response, grabbing his bad arm with his good one, pouting like a child with furrowed brows and his chin pressed to his chest.

“but my shoulder hurts, and the only thing that’ll make it feel better is if you come lay here with me while i put the heating pad on it.”

you roll your eyes, knowing he won’t quit whining until you give in, so you place the now folded clothes in your bedroom, still in the laundry basket before doing a quick spot clean of the kitchen, making your way back to luke with a pint of ice cream in hand.

“now, will you stop being such a baby and just eat ice cream with me while we watch this movie? will that make you feel better?” you ask him as you crawl onto the recliner with him, laying your body between his legs with your back against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder.

“it’s like my shoulder is good as new, might even try out a couple slap shots tomorrow,” luke says with a smirk, shoveling a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.

you bring your hand up to lightly smack his good shoulder, shaking your head at his antics, knowing it’s going to be a long six weeks

[ghost-in-the-hall]

Distract Me (Vessel x Fem! Reader) FLUFF

Hello hello! I finally managed to finish this request, even with a name change at that, thank you so much for your patience @theriseofshin ! We have some sweet and fluffy Vessel this chapter. Our reader is a little scared of storms and Vessel can't help but do everything in his power to try and comfort her. Lots of soft touches, awkward flirting, and Ves just being big and cuddly and sweet because I'm so soft for that man. I hope you enjoy! If you'd like to be added or removed from the tag list please let me know!

WARNINGS: None

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link! ~ Tip Jar!

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The afternoon sun was warm on your face, the faint scent of lavender drifting through the open window as you stood at your sink finishing some dishes. The TV played softly in the living room, the pretty blonde meteorologist tracing along the edge of a massive storm cell that was rolling your way. You sighed, drying your hands as you leaned against the counter; it looked like you were in for a long night. A gentle knock on your door drew your attention away from the screen. Your bare feet padded across the dark hardwood floor, slinging your dish towel over your shoulder. You stood on your toes to peer outside, the frosted, textured glass above your door muddling your visitors' form. You can't help but smile as you recognize Vessel’s tall, broad frame. “Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise?” You greet him sweetly as you open the door; your heart begins to pound in your chest as you feel him study you.

“IV picked a bunch of fresh fruit today. I wanted to stop by and bring you some.” He holds out the large container that was practically overflowing with various berries. You accept it with a soft ‘thank you,’ your fingers brushing over his during the exchange.

“Would you like to come in?”

“I would love to.” He responds a little too quickly; you hold back a laugh as you watch him cringe slightly at his actions. “I mean, if it wouldn't be too much trouble.” He adds on with a bashful chuckle.

“No trouble at all; I was just about to make some tea.” You nod for him to follow you inside. He ducks through your doorway, shoving his hands in his pockets as he curiously looks around your house. You couldn't help but watch him from the kitchen, smiling softly as you saw him delicately pick up whatever knick-knack had caught his attention, being as careful as possible with the fragile object before setting it back perfectly in place. Ever since the two of you met, Vessel had always held a special sense of caution around you, knowing how intimidating his massive stature could come off; everything he did was settled with a particular degree of care. You're snapped from your thoughts by your kettle beginning to sing.

You sat side by side on your couch, the breeze through the open windows sending a chill through your apartment. The trees danced in the wind, welcoming in the oncoming storm with open arms as dark clouds began to roll in from the distance. Your mug of tea warmed your hands, and a bowl of freshly washed fruit was set between you as you asked Vessel how things were back at the camp. “You should come back with me; I'm sure everyone would love to see you.” He offers with a soft smile.

“I would–” you were cut off by the sound of thunder rumbling, “love… to…” You couldn't help but let your gaze trail to the window, finally noticing that the storm was moving in much quicker than you or the weather channel could have predicted. You swallow thickly before turning your attention back to Vessel, you didn't have a lot of time left. “Um, but it'll have to be some other time.”

“Love, what's wrong?” He sits up from his reclined position, moving closer to you subconsciously when he realizes your nervous state.

“It’s stupid, Ves, promise.” You chuckle, your hands squeezing into fists at another growl of thunder. A warm hand comes to rest on your cheek, your eyes meeting the slits of his mask. His thumb trails across your skin, “storms just make me a little nervous, that’s all.”

You see him start to speak, but he quickly pauses, contemplating whether or not to say whatever has crossed his mind. “If you like,” he begins slowly, “I could always stay until it passes.” He offers, and you feel your pulse begin to race.

“I'd really like that, Ves.” You respond softly. You exchange a coy smile.

“I’ll keep you nice and safe, love, don't worry.” He teases with a soft chuckle, making your cheeks grow warm.

“Trust me, I didn't have any doubts in the first place.” He stands holding out his hand for you to take. He helped you shut all your windows, allowing you to collect your emergency candles and flashlights in case the power went out. You can't help but smile as you watch him organize what you had handed him neatly on your coffee table. “You’re sure you don't mind staying? This could go on all night; I wouldn't want to keep you.”

He hums, slowly striding over to you. “Let me think, go back to camp to spend the night alone in my cabin or to be curled up here with you?” He pretends to ponder over his options for a moment. “I think the latter sounds a little better, don't you?” He glances down at you with a playful smirk.

“You're sweet.” You respond shyly. Over the time you had known Vessel, the two of you had grown rather close; you were someone who he found himself slowly deconstructing the walls he had built up around himself for, and he was someone who you felt effortlessly connected to from the moment you met him. Although neither of you would admit it, through your growing friendship, something else began to grow out of it as well. After breaking through his cold, rigid exterior, you discovered that Vessel was quite sweet. It was in the little things you noticed: how he would always make sure to hold doors open for you, offering you his arm through rockier parts of trails on hikes, how he would absentmindedly comb his fingers through your hair as you lay together, reading outside. Everything about being with him just felt so right.

The two of you quietly prepared dinner together, Vessel humming along with the radio as he finished up the last few dishes. A smile spreads across his face as he catches your gaze lingering on him. You quickly dart your eyes back to the pan on the stove, your cheeks growing warm at the realization you had been caught. You jump slightly as you feel a pair of large, warm hands settle on your waist. “Smells good,” he remarks simply.

“Let's just hope it tastes good, too.” You giggle.

By the time you sat down to eat, the rain was pelting against the windows. As you look outside, you twirl your fork nervously between your fingers, the trees blowing violently in the wind. A bright flash of lightning exploded across the sky; you jumped at the sudden boom of thunder that shook the room. Vessel took your hand, his thumb soothingly running over your knuckles. “If it makes you feel any better, I'm not the biggest fan of storms myself.” You shoot him a playful, skeptical look. “I'm serious!” He exclaims with a chuckle.

“Sorry,” you respond with a giggle of your own, “I'm just surprised. I feel pretty silly about the fact I'm scared of thunderstorms-”

“You shouldn't be; it's cute.” He pauses as the compliment tumbles from his lips. You can't stop the bashful smile that immediately spreads across your features. Vessel tries to speak, but no words manage to find their way out. “I'm sorry.” He finally manages after a moment.

“Don't be.” You glance up at him, his shoulders visibly relaxing as your eyes land on the slits of his mask. You gently squeeze his hand, “I'm really happy you're here, Ves.” You admit softly. He studies you momentarily, noticing how you seemed to lean into him for comfort when the storm outside became too loud for you to ignore.

He states your name gently, tugging you closer by your hand as he straightens up from his reclined position on the couch. Your heart pounded in your chest as his lips hovered just a little too close to yours. “It's alright, I've got you, love.” He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest as he shoots you a sharp smile. Your cheeks burned, and you were sure your heart was pounding loud enough he could hear it. You relaxed into his embrace, allowing your body to mold against his. Vessel’s thumb languidly rubbed over your waist, making electricity danced across your skin where your shirt had lifted up. “Did I ever tell you about the time III managed to get both of his boots stuck in the mud, so he had to walk back to camp barefoot?” You shoot him a confused look, laughter slowly bubbling up in your chest as you thought about how mad III must have been.

“No, I don't think you have.” Vessel holds you close as he does his best to distract you from the weather outside. Telling you whatever story he could think of that would make you laugh. IV dropping an entire pot of pasta on the floor, a bear making off with a basket of II’s laundry, the countless numbers of times Ves has smacked his head in a doorframe or a hanging light, anything to keep a smile on your face. “You need to be careful; you're going to end up hurting yourself one of these days.” You giggle.

“That won't be such a bad thing if I have a pretty little thing like you to nurse me back to health.” You playfully swat at his shoulder, making him chuckle. You hide your face against him, his hand gently cradling the back of your head. “I’m sorry, I can't help myself. You're absolutely adorable when you get all flustered.”

“Well, you definitely don't have any trouble accomplishing that, do you?” You glance back up at him through your lashes, a nervous yet coy smile reaching your lips. 

“What can I say?” He starts, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to make sure you feel special.” Vessel swallows thickly, his hand brushing over your cheek as his fingers slide into your hair. You let out a small startled sound as you’re suddenly plunged into darkness. Panic immediately begins to bubble up in your throat as it becomes apparent just how bad the storm had gotten; the wind rattled the glass panels of your windows, the rain pelting against your roof made the room entirely too loud yet somehow impossibly quiet as the background humming of all your appliances had been cut. “I'm right here, lovey; I got you.” You're snapped from your thoughts by Vessel’s deep voice rumbling close to your ear.

“I'm sorry,” you apologize with a soft chuckle, your voice trembling slightly as you speak, “I feel silly–”

“There's no need to, sweetheart.” He reassures you, carefully cradling you against his chest. “It's a bad storm; there's nothing wrong with getting a little anxious.” He presses a finger below your chin, angling you to look up at him. “I guess I just need to do a better job of distracting you, hm?” His knuckle trails along your jaw, your hand fists into the soft material of his sweatshirt at another loud crack of thunder.

“Ves?” you state his name softly, you feel his lips ghost over yours.

“Yes, love?” He responds in a similar tone.

“Distract me.” He tips you back into the plush couch cushions, allowing a growl to slip past his lips. In an instant, Vessel ensnared every one of your senses; his large hands were warm as they gripped desperately at your waist, fingers skimming bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. His weight blanketed you, firm muscles pressing into the plushness of your body. The taste of sweet, herbal tea mixed with the slight bitterness of the paint that adorned his lips. You could feel the edge of his mask dig into your skin, your mind numb to the sensation as you found yourself unable to focus on anything besides the feeling of Vessel’s lips on yours. A flash of lightning lit up the room, glowing orange through your eyelids; a loud boom of thunder followed it. Vessel feels your grip on him tighten at the sound; he breaks away from you for just a moment to whisper sweet words of reassurance against your lips. “You're alright, sweetheart; I'm right here; I got you.” He keeps your focus on him, your lips buzzing as the two of you finally break apart for longer than a few seconds. Vessel chuckles, running a thumb over your tender bottom lip. “Sorry if I was too rough, I've been waiting a long time to be able to do that.”

“Same here.” You giggle bashfully. “And you weren't, I really like… I really like the way it feels when you kiss me.” You admit breathlessly. He continues to hold you close for the rest of the night, pulling your lips to his as a distraction whenever the weather picked up again. After a while, you struggled to suppress your yawns, the warmth of Vessel’s arms making your whole body melt into his touch.

“Let’s get you to bed, lovey.” He whispers, slipping an arm behind your knees to lift you from the couch effortlessly. You wrap your arms around his neck, sleepily pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you for staying with me, Ves.” He can't help but smile, turning to press a kiss to your forehead. He lays you in bed, carefully situating you under the covers. Your hand slips into his; he brushes some hair out of your face as he studies you with a gaze of pure admiration. “Do you have to go?” You ask quietly as if speaking too loud would somehow break your perfect evening.

“Not if you don't want me to.” You slide back across the mattress, gently tugging him into the bed beside you. He hesitates at first, thrown off by eagerness to have him beside you. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your much smaller form on top of him. You tense slightly as a boom of thunder erupts from outside, the storm finally on its way out. You glance up at Vessel only to be met with a soft smile as he gently caresses your cheek. Without a word, he pulled your lips back to his, and suddenly, the storm outside didn’t seem quite as scary anymore.

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Tag List is in the comments below!

[the-kr8tor]

Hobie catches you wearing his mask

Pairing: Hobie Brown x GN! reader/ Spider-Punk x GN! Reader

Word count: 1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader (reader is mentioned to be smaller than Hobie though). Fluff, established relationship. Smut Implied

* I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

Hobie just got home from patrolling around the city, thankfully it was an easy day compared to the other days where he comes home beaten and injured. A few robberies here and there. A small-time villain tried going toe to toe with Hobie, the fight didn't even last five minutes.

It was truly an easy day for Spider-Punk.

Even though the day was fairly laid back, no one can deny that web-slinging and crime fighting all over the city is quite tiring.

You know immediately when Hobie comes home, with the sound of the window sliding open, followed by the thunk of his heavy boots against wooden floors, the sound basically trained you to go towards him with a first aid kit and a greeting.

With a quick kiss and a tired "m' okay, love" Hobie heads towards the bathroom, shedding parts of his suit on the way.

With a concerned look towards the bathroom door, you sigh and wish that you could take some of his responsibilities. You hate seeing him so tired. With an entire city to look out for, he's stretched himself too thin.

As much as you love him being Spider-Punk, you miss your Hobie.

You head towards the bathroom door, almost tripping over his large combat boots. Bending down to grab the shoes off the floor, you follow a trail of clothing heading towards the bathroom like breadcrumbs.

You grab each piece with care, knowing that his suit and other pieces of it, means a lot to him. You fold it and place them on top of the bed, but it looks like there's a piece missing, you look down to look for it.

Behind your dresser, you see one of the spikes poking out.

Grabbing the mask off the floor, you admire its craftsmanship - every stitch he made, the eyes of the mask with its painted drooping 'eyeliner' painted with such care.

He truly made the suit uniquely him.

Hearing the sound of the shower still running, you admire the roughness of the cloth, asking yourself how can he even properly breathe in it while fighting? Can he see fine while wearing it? So curiosity got the best of you, before you could change your mind, you carefully put it on.

"Woah" you laugh with how comfortable the mask is, "it's like a second skin" you run towards the mirror to check yourself out.

Giddy with excitement you move side to side watching the spikes on top move with you. "So cool," you whisper.

In your excitement you didn't notice him watching you.

"Right, what's all this then?" Hobie raises a pierced brow, a sneaking smile on his lips. The scene in front of him helps in grounding him back to the present.

Startled, you turn away from the mirror. "Nothing!" quickly taking the mask off, you hide the cloth behind you.

"Nothing huh, What's in your hand then?" Hobie struts towards you, a towel wrapped on his hips. " Y'know, I can see it in the mirror" he points out.

You shyly look at his still glistening torso, avoiding his eyes, quickly turning away, you slowly hand him the mask. "Sorry, just wanted to see if you can actually fight in it" embarrassment prominent on your face.

"No apologies necessary, love. Just teasin' you" Hobie lifts your downturned head to face him.

"You look better in it anyway" he swiftly puts the mask back on you. Hobie grabs your shoulders and turns you back around in front of the mirror.

"Fuckin' adorable" Hugging your neck, he says with his head fitting perfectly on your shoulder.

The whites of his mask turn into slits, "m' not adorable, Hobart" you tilt your head to the side feigning annoyance.

"Right, sorry you look very punk rock, sweets" he kisses the side of your head.

"You're missing something though" he pushes off you. You miss his warmth, albeit your neck is now slightly damp.

"You're still wet" you turn behind you, rubbing your neck dry as you watch him grab something from the pile on the bed.

"Only for you, lovey" he teasingly said with a wink. Hobie walks back to you.

"Hobie!" You let out a small screech, "that's not- Hobie!" You fumble your words.

He laughs at your embarrassment. "Arms up" Hobie instructs while holding a dark piece of clothing.

You huff, but obey nonetheless. Hobie puts the leather vest on you, the spiked clothing looks big on your form. Hobie whistles, he turns you back in front of the mirror.

"Look at you" fondness dripping from Hobie's lips. "I've got my very own spider-person, huh"

You admire your appearance as Hobie tiredly rubs his face on your neck. You hold his neck in place, massaging the tense muscle.

"I wish I could help you" you whisper, he peeks at your face in the mirror.

"You are," he hugs you tightly, "as long as you're by my side. You're helping me. Never think for a second that you aren't"

Hobie turns you towards him, his own mask facing him.

He carefully tugs the mask up to see your face, cupping your face lovingly, "Coming home to you, makes everything I do worth it"

You stand on your tippy-toes to kiss him. "I love you too" you whisper on his lips.

You reluctantly pull away "You're tired, let's go to bed, yeah?"

Hobie still holding on to your leather clad waist. In one swift movement he grabs your thighs and lifts you up. Gasping at the sudden movement, You instinctively wrap your legs on his waist, the towel threateningly low on his hips.

"Look what you've made me into, I've gone soft. I have a reputation to uphold y'know" he carries you to the bed.

You giggle knowing what he's planning. Before he could throw you down on the bed, like he always does, you cling on to his neck, a pensive look on your face. He raises his brow in a question.

"One question though, how in the world can you fit your hair in the mask?" You ask.

"Spidey powers" He says with a straight face and a shrug of his shoulders.

"What? Are you – mmph!" Hobie cuts you off by kissing you abruptly. Preventing you from asking more questions.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed reading! Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ❤️

*image above is from pinterest*

[chris-slut]

𓈒𓏸 𖦹 heartbeat ⸝⸝ 👙 .ᐟ ׄ ׅ ྀ

pairing; dom!bestfriend!chris x sub!reader

summary; you and your friends planned a day to the beach. knowing chris was going, you put on an orange bikini. his favorite color. chris has always been your bestfriend, but you need him in ways you can even explain. you wore that specific color to tease him and try to get him.

! 3rd person p.o.v !

warnings; SMUT, oral (m!receiving), bathroom sex, pet names (princess, baby.)

authors note; hope you like this 😊😊🤍 also all my stories are poc friendly cause i’ve had someone ask me if they are ! AND BTW THIS IS VERY BADLY WRITTEN.

chris : orange

maia : pink

nick : purple

matt : blue

friends : green

“okay guys, are we all packed up?” nick says, slinging his bag over his shoulder with all the towels and packs of chips in it. matt looks over and gives him a thumbs up as he grabs the beach chairs and walks out the front door, nick following.

maia and chris follow behind the pair with bags in their hands and a cooler in chris’s hand. “need help there?” maia asks chris, “nope, thanks tho mai,” chris says as he smiles at the girl. the smile she’s always loved and known.

as they walk out the front door, maia notices matt looking in the car as if he was trying to think of a plan. she quickly walks over and looks over matt’s shoulder. there wasn’t enough room in the back of the van for everybody to be seated since the beach equipment took up most of the room, so there was only 1 seat in the back and 4 people.

“uhm— i can just sit on someone’s lap,” maia says as she looks at the one seat available. “yeah, she can sit on my lap i don’t care,” chris says as he walks just behind them. maia feel’s her cheeks heat up a bit at that scentence. maia and chris have been best friends since forever, so nothing was really crazy about it. she knew it was just chris being helpful.

“alright, is that fine with you mai?” matt asks as he opens up the drivers door. she just nods and waits for chris to get in so she can follow behind him. chris sits down in the seat behind matt as he manspreads for the girl. she quickly plops down between his legs as she faces forward.

“you comfy?” chris asks as his hands slither to her thighs, rubbing his hand’s up and down. “mhm, ‘m comfy.”

the car ride to the beach was fine. every time there was a speed bump and maia would move on him, and chris couldn’t help but let out a low whimper, praying no one heard it every time it happened.

“alright, we’re hereee bitches!” nick says as he grabs his sunglasses and bag, getting out of the car. maia giggles at this which makes chris smile.

as maia slowly gets off of chris’s lap, he manspreads slightly and leans back to let her get out the car. the sight of him manspreading made maia wet, let alone the fact he was leaned back and his neck was on full display.

she quickly shakes the thoughts out of her head as she gets out and grabs her bag from the trunk of their minivan.

closing the trunk, maia hears chris start to speak up. “are we going or what? y’all taking ages,” he says which makes nick and the girl roll their eyes.

the pair walk in front of matt and chris, and chris can’t help but steal quick glances and her ass through the tiny jean shorts she has on. matt noticed it but she wasn’t in shock, chris has always been like this around the girl.

and after what seems like forever of walking, they finally make it to the beach. they place their stuff down not to far from the water and start getting ready.

maia slowly takes her tiny crop top off, an orange bikini top that shows the perfect amount of cleavage showing. chris, who of course isn’t thinking, looks over at the girl as she’s taking her jean shorts down.

and fuck should he have not done that.

he can’t control the feeling growing in him bathing suit bottoms, the way she slowly slid the shorts down to reveal matching orange bottoms drove him insane. he swore she wore them just to tease him.

“ready to go in nick?” maia asks him, a soft smile on her face. nick nods, running to the water leaving maia jogging behind him.

chris watches her every move, the way her hair blows and the way even when she’s running the looks perfect is driving him insane.

“chris,” matt says as he looks at his brother standing there, “might wanna fix ur little issue before you freak the people out on the beach,” he finishes.

chris looks down in embarrassment and sits down, placing his hands on his crotch to try and cover it up best to his ability. “sorry,” he mumbles.

after 10 minutes maia and nick come back, water dropping down their bodies. the sight of maia in front of chris wasn’t helping with any issues going on.

“i have to piss so bad, i’ll be right back i’m just gonna walk over to the 7/11,” maia says as she slides her shorts back over her body, grabbing her phone and sliding her flip flops on.

everyone nods as she walks off, chris watching her slowly. “igottagoto,” he quickly says as he stands up and quickly follows after her.

maia doesn’t notice any of this as she walks into the 7/11, walking over to the family bathrooms before she could close the door behind her chris opens it and quickly locks it, turning to face her.

“chri-“ he smacks his lips against hers before she could even her scentence, grabbing her throat and pushing her up against the bathroom door.

“fuck, you have no clue what that orange bikini did to my baby,” chris says against her lips and he leaves on last kiss, slowly peppering kisses down her jawline and throat.

a quiet whimper escapes maia’s lips as she feels the boys cold hands go behind her bikini and undoing the knot, letting it fall to the floor.

as he moves away from her neck, he looks down at her bare chest. “why do you have to be so beautiful,” he whispers as he leaves a sloppy kiss on each of them.

“chris, let me taste you please,” maia says as she looks up into chris’s eyes while getting down on her knees, messing with the waistband of his swim trunks.

“go ahead princess, take them down,” chris whispers as he grabs the girls hair, makeshifting it into a ponytail.

maia quickly pulls them down, chris’s tip leaking in precum. she runs her finger over his slit as chris hisses. “stop bein’ a fuckin tease and just suck it,” chris says as he rubs his tip against her lips.

maia opens her mouth as he slides it in, groans leaving the pairs mouths. her tounge twirls around it, bobbing her head up in down.

“atta girl.”

fuck that scentence drove her crazy. she slowly pulls it out of her mouth, saliva from her mouth attaching to chris’s tip.

chris’s eyes roll as he slides himself back into her mouth, thrusting in and out. a breathy groan leaves his mouth as he sees the girl taking all of him.

“fuck.. wish i was in you,” he whispers as his thrusts become sloppier and sloppier.

“oh- shit! gonna cum baby,” chris says as he feels maias tongue slowly run up and down his length. “cmon, cum,” she says as she looks up at him.

he quickly cums into her mouth as he rests his head back against the door, chest rising up and down.

“i’m not expecting anything back by the way, doing that was all i needed,” maia says as she grabs her bikini top and ties it back to her body.

she opens the door and walks out, leaving the sweaty boy in shock.

best beach day of his life.

[luimagines]

Honestly would be funny to see wind hitting puberty. Voice cracking and that kinda stuff. Scenarios like that would be fun!

Oh dear XD I hope I can come up with something good.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

Wind yawned and stretched, running his hand over his face. While his hands had hardened over the course of his adventures and battles, it still managed to snag on something scratchy coming off of his chin.

A little more awake, he scratched it again. It was thin and pokey. Weird.

He tried to pull it but it seemed to be stuck on his face. the more he scratched and prodded, he could feel more of them at the base of his chin and jaw. They were small enough where they didn't quite bother him, but he could still feel them on his hands.

"Need a shave?" Time muttered from his side. Wind looked over to the man with a tilt to his head. Time had an amused smile on his face as he watched the younger boy fiddle with his new discovery.

Wind, still too tired to catch up to the context, yawned again and rubbed at his eyes. "I don't know how."

Time chuckled and stood up with a pat on his thighs, beckoning the young hero to follow him. "I'll teach you. Come on. I need a shave too."

Wind stood up and followed the man to a smaller clearing where they had put their items. time gathered a short brush, a bowl and what Wind recognized a straight edge blade.

Quietly, the two of them moved around their still waking up team member until Time set the items down. Carefully, he picked up the mirror shield and hung it on a tree. Within moments, Time had picked up the bowl and the brush, put something into the bowl with some water and mixed it all together. He had a nice thick foam afterwards.

Wind watched with great interest.

Time picked up the foam with the brush and put it on his face with practiced ease. He did so slowly, letting Wind watch so that he could do the same.

Time handed him the bowl. "Your turn."

"ThAnks." Wind froze and flushed, taking the bowl with a little more force that strictly necessary. Time snorted but didn't say anything.

Wind felt embarrassed and ashamed. Shouldn't he have more control over his voice? And in front of the Hero of Time of all people!

"Don't worry." Time took the blade and carefully slid it across his skin. "I did the same. Made a fool of myself in front of the love of my life more than once. Figured that I couldn't control it even if I wanted to. On the bright side, my lover laughed and smiled and it was better than any embarrassment that I felt in the moment. Corny, but true."

Wind realized that Time was sharing a bit of his past with him. Something he didn't do often even when the other boys asked. Wind started putting the foam on his face, hoping that it would cover his blush. "...Alright."

Time looked over to him, pointing out the places that he's missed with gentle guidance. "It won't last forever. No matter if it feels like it does."

Wind smiled a little easier.

Time cleaned up his face with the blade, running a hand full over his face and slinging a towel over his shoulder once he was done drying off the last of it. "Alright. Your turn. I'll show you how to hold the blade so you don't cut yourself. Remember to go slow."

Wind nodded and took the place of the older man. Time lowered the shield so Wind could see himself better.

"And remember that you're going to cut yourself at some point as well." Time added teasingly. "It's all part of the learning process."

Wind sighed, beginning to slowly copy the movements like Time did. "The others will make fun of me though if I do."

"I'll handle them if they do." Time winked.

At least Wind thought he did.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Am I Acting Weird?

Walking home, I just can't shake the feeling that something is off, but I can't figure out what! I asked Coach about it before leaving practice, but he just laughed. He said I was weird not to appreciate the effort I've put into football lately.

He's right. I've been busting my ass, but that's exactly what I'm talking about!

I've never given a damn about improving my rank or even showing up to conditioning! I just wanted to hang out with my buds and mess around with the cheerleaders.

But now, it's like none of that matters! I've skipped the last three parties to bulk up at the gym! I haven't been able to drink anything other than protein shakes, and my meals are always loaded with meat. It's like I can't control myself anymore! Why can't I just take a night off and drink beers with the rest of the boys?

I let out a long groan of frustration and trudge upstairs. My younger sibling Max laying on the couch while the TV blares his favorite show.

Max is the weird one! He's like 18, and all he does is play videogames and sit around all day.

I quickly strip off my sweaty football uniform and toss it into the corner of my bedroom. My muscles are already tired and aching from yesterday's practice, so I can't imagine how sore I'll be feeling when I wake up for tomorrow's early morning workout; something I only recently started doing everyday.

Like every other night, I pull my usual at-home clothes on; a stiff white shirt, black apron, and bowtie. This outfit might seem weird, but it feels nice, especially when I tie everything up extra tight. Max showed me how. Sure, it's not comfortable at all, and I look like a waiter more than anything, but that doesn't bother me.

My little brother is annoying as hell, but he's usually right. Me and dad used to tease him all the time, but we've come around since then.

Now that I'm finally at home and suited up, I can feel my shoulders relax. Whatever was bothering me before can wait. I pull some shiny black shoes on, slip a pair of white gloves over my hands, and carefully step back downstairs. It's important that I make as little noise as possible when I'm home. I wouldn't want to disturb anybody.

"Hey, big bro," Max calls from the couch, "Your home."

"Yes, Max," I answer, taking my usual position next to the couch.

This is where I stand when I'm in the living room anymore. It's just where I feel most comfortable, and it's right next to a little cart of useful supplies. I grab a towel and sling it over my shoulder. It's always a good idea to have one on me when I'm at home. Never know when I'm going to need it.

"My shoes could use a polish while we chat," Max adds, flipping through the channels.

"You got it, Max."

See, the towel does come in handy. I quickly fetch a container of shoe polish on my little cart and kneel by his feet. I've been polishing Max's shoes for a few weeks now, so I've gotten pretty good at it. He doesn't really appreciate the art of it, but I guess it's just something that I'm into.

"How's football? You the best player yet?" Max asks nonchalantly from above.

"No, Max. I've gotten a lot bigger lately, but the quarterback is still a lot more muscular and skilled."

He rolls his eyes and adds, "Give it time I guess. You're going to keep at it until your a professional player like the ones on TV."

I stop buffing his sneaker for a second and glance up at him. His attention is now completely fixated on an NFL videogame.

"Max, that's just it," I admit, "Lately I've been working out and bulking up like I'm some pro-athlete, but I'm not. I don't think I even want to be! That life just seems so grueling."

Max pauses his game and looks down at me solemnly.

I avert my gaze and add, "It's just weird that lately I've put so much work into something I don't want."

"You think that's weird?" he dryly raises an eyebrow.

I just shake my head and turn my attention back to my brother's sneaker. It's going to need a lot more polish before it shines.

The door opens and our father arrives home.

"Hey, boy," he dismissively calls when he sees me on the floor. Then he notices my brother lounging on the couch.

"Max," he says with a bit more emphasis, dipping his head a little.

"Dad, I'm really hungry right now, so could you get a move on with dinner?" Max answers.

"Of course, Max."

Our father immediately drops his keys and briefcase and shuffles into the kitchen. I've always admired him. He played football in college too, so we've always bonded over sports.

But lately, he only seems interested in his work. I rarely see him because he always stays late and picks up night shifts at the office. It's done wonders for his career, so I guess that's good. He's been given a few raises recently for all the extra effort he's put in, but I can tell it's taking a bit of a toll on the guy.

"Big bro, just look at Dad," Max explains to me, "He doesn't complain about anything being weird, does he? He just keeps his mouth shut and goes to work. Be more like him."

I don't speak as I switch to shining his other sneaker. Max is probably right. If Dad can power through long hours in the office to bring home a decent salary, then I can surely shut up and dedicate myself to a career in football.

It doesn't take long for our father to return to the living room.

"The food is almost ready, but here are some drinks while you wait, Max," he says.

Our dad seems minorly annoyed by the starched clothing he has on, but that suit is his typical home outfit. It looks even more stiff and uncomfortable than my get up, but I guess he's willing to put up with it.

Max stands before I can finish at his feet and grabs a glass from our father.

"Whoops, here you can finish them," he says after a swig of wine, kicking the shoes off in my direction, "And then take care of the laundry in my room."

"Sure thing, Max," I answer, but he's already turned his attention to dad.

"Is your wallet in your briefcase?" he asks, "I'm taking a few friends out tonight."

"It is, Max, and the car keys are next to it. The car is low on gas. Should I take it to a station before you go out?"

"Yeah," Max adds between sips, "Take care of that while I eat."

"Of course, Max."

"Oh, and Dad."

"Yes, Max?"

"Start making double portions for big bro's meals. He needs to bulk up faster if he's going to usurp the current quarterback."

I pretend not to hear, and finish up my work with Max's shoes. Maybe my new focus on football hasn't been that strange after all. It's not really the life I thought I'd be pursuing, but it's kind of nice being bigger and more athletic than I used to be. It's not really weird if I think about it. Maybe I can even get a few more reps in after I finish Max's laundry.

I hope he has a good time out with his friends tonight. It's weird, but I don't really know what else I'd spend my time doing.

[quirrrky]

—.: ･ﾟ✦ MUTUAL CRUSH

IWAIZUMI, AKAASHI, KUROO

≡ NOTES ⋮ iwa-chan just omyghad! and akaashi you! OFC, kuroo my love, my hope, my ultimate fantasy (can't believe I'm fangirling over my work)

IWAIZUMI 

Who would appear so good-looking just throwing the trash out? Of course, it’s your neighbor, and you couldn't believe the man would come knocking at your door, offering to take out the trash for you.

Iwaizumi would always extend his help in fixing things around your home. You needed to replace the light bulb, he’s one doorbell away. You thought Iwaizumi was simply being kind and you’re blessed to have him around. From repainting your room to moving your furniture around he was there and he’s the one you called. Mainly, because you also wanted to see him, kind of to get close to him. 

It was all just a harmless crush until you called him instead of a plumber.  

His top got drenched from the faulty water works, so he removed his shirt revealing his well-sculpted body. You gulped, throat drying up at the sight of him turning something with a wrench, his biceps bulging as he did so.   

He raked a hand through his hair, and you sure felt the air got stuck in your chest. He was so strong and manly. Swoon-worthy. Totally not the prince charming type. A little rough around the edges, but he’s perfect and he’s making you feel things you never had before. 

Meanwhile, Hajime never felt bothered by a lot of things, until he moved in next to you. He couldn’t help but find you beautiful the moment he laid eyes on you along the hallway. Not to mention, you would wait for him in the elevator and would give him a little something from the grocery store. That’s why he decided to be your go-to guy, of course it’s not because he wanted to impress you or something. Really though he wanted to impress you, pfft.  

“Fixed,” he stood up, and you were just there...speechless, until you regained awareness. 

“Thank you,” you said and extended a towel to him. “Here, use this so you can dry yourself up.” 

He patted the towel along his body, and his eyes never leaving yours. You just watched in awe still trying to remain composed.  

“I’ll just return this to you after laundry,” he informed while slinging the towel over his shoulder. How could a simple act make you feel a little crazy? 

“Y-Yes...” You were almost speechless, and he was quite hesitant to leave either.  

“See you,” he bade as he went past your front door. 

“See you,” you said in response as he closed the door.  

Gosh, you should’ve coked for him as a way of thanking him for everything. You couldn’t believe you let the chance to spend more time with him slip away.  

You sighed when you heard your doorbell ring. Opening the door, you were surprised to find Iwaizumi outside.  

“Are you free tonight?” He asked and you blinked in disbelief. “Can you join me for dinner?” 

AKAASHI  

It all started one morning when he dropped by the coffee shop near his office and you’re the one who handed him his drink.  

“I haven’t seen you here before,” Akaashi said with bewildered eyes. His hand over yours around the cup not moving.  

You blushed equally finding the man in front of you attractive. “I just started today.”’ 

And what started that day was not only your part-time job, but also the unspoken attraction between you and your favorite customer.  

Keiji would always sit on the lounge chair facing the counter. He normally worked at the office, but now he had a new place to get things accomplished. Whenever he’s strained from reviewing different materials, one glance at you and every bit of stress just fades away. He’d sneak a glance at you through the brim of his cup as he sipped. Sometimes he’d subtly chuckle whenever you’d do something clumsy. 

You, on the other hand, would casually look his way whenever there’s no new customer around. Oh, how you resisted the urge to offer him something just so you could talk to him. 

You both needed divine intervention until that day came. It was when he looked out of his element. He still managed to smile at you though, but worry was evident in his tired eyes, so you braved up and wrote a note on his cup. 

He took his drink as usual and only noticed your note once he settled in his seat.  

A beautiful smile would make a beautiful day.  

A smile spread across his face. He looked at you and you exchanged shy and knowing gazes. Now, he was thinking of a way to return the favor. Knowing that you were the one who always bussed out his table, he left a table napkin with a hand-written note. 

Proof that a beautiful smile could make someone’s day even better. 

You thought he was not able to see your smile when you saw the note he left, but you didn’t know that he waited for you from across the street. He smirked in success as soon as he saw you giggling to yourself.  

It went on for weeks that it became a routine—no, it became something that you both looked forward to everyday, until Keiji showed up at the coffeeshop, but you weren’t the one attending him.  

Maybe you were absent for that day, but it persisted for the following days. It’s silly but Keiji felt a weird kind of panic. What if he won’t see you again? Maybe he should have gotten your number earlier on or befriended you than exchanged silly notes through paper cups and table napkins.  

He exhaled in exasperation. The chimes to the shop’s clank, which made him look and he was beyond relieved to see you.  

You were in casual clothes and didn’t seem to be working for the day. You held each other’s gazes as if you were both about to say something but didn’t know what it was. 

“Y/N, what brings you here?” Your colleague asked. “Have you left something?” 

Your eyes never left Keiji’s as you replied, “Yes, I think I might have.” To be honest, your contract was done. It was just a temporary stint after all, but something inside you was nagging you to come back. “Sir,” you greeted the bespectacled man in front of you.  

“Keiji, it’s Keiji,” he said. 

You smiled, pointing to his drink. “Did they get it right? You want yours with cinnamon.” 

“No, I...” Keiji smiled and shyly rubbed the back of his neck. “I actually want mine made by you.” 

Your cheeks heat up not expecting to hear that from him. He always seemed like a shy type, you thought, but Keiji won’t let this chance slip away.  

“Do you...Do you want anything to drink?” He asked and offered, “It’s on me.”  

You bashfully smiled. Finally, that day, you two shared more than just notes from cups and table napkins.  

KUROO 

Your work life was basically as plain as it could get. Boring same-same eight-to-five thing. You’re basically praying for something magical to happen for once until that very wish was granted.  

Once upon a time, when you were about to go up to your floor, the elevator almost closed in on you. When it reopened again, you were met with the sight of a tall and handsome man looking dapper in a suit. You never believed that time could stop even in a snap, but it did at that moment, and you were looking at each other with such bewilderment.  

You controlled not grinning from ear to ear. You got off before him and you wished you could’ve seen his name on his ID before you left. Maybe you’d see him again. Hopefully, you could. 

Maybe it wasn’t the first time you’d seen each other or came across one another, but there’s something about that day that changed everything. Ever since that chance encounter, you would frequently ride the same elevator.

You would take note of the different patterns of his necktie and the way his suit sets always looked good on him. Add to that, the divine way his perfume complemented his get-up.  

Meanwhile, Kuroo was so lucky he always got to enter first and he could watch you right in front of him, catching a glance of the cute little expression you had before entering the elevator. He couldn’t help but take note of the sweet scent you gave of. Was it your perfume or your shampoo? 

You gave him something to look forward to at work every day and he gave you something to feed your imagination.  

Elevator hottie as you nicknamed him not knowing that he tagged you as Elevator cutie too. 

It almost became a silent agreement between the two of you. Kuroo would always wear that confident smirk and you would bite your cheek attempting not to grin. You didn’t see each other everyday, but you both treasured the opportunity once it was there.  

It went on for a few months now, and the moments you were shoulder to shoulder against each other were the only chance you could get to be closer. You were a little shy and Kuroo couldn’t get a good chance to start a conversation with all the other passengers around, until that one day.  

You got off the elevator while placing your phone inside your bag not noticing that it didn’t slip inside. You walked unaware of what happened. 

”Y/N!” 

Someone called out to you, and you turned towards the direction of your name. You were surprised to see that it was him.  

“Your phone,” he said, giving you the gadget. 

“Oh my god! Thank you! Thank you so much.” You told him and finally placed your phone inside your bag. Wondering how he knew your name, you asked, “Wait...how did you-” 

Coyly biting his lip, he chuckled, “Your ID.” 

Your eyes widened in a delightful surprise.  

He reached out his hand, “I'm Kuroo. Kuroo Tetsurou, by the way.” 

© quirrrky 2023 - All rights reserved. No work shall be reproduced, reposted, modified, translated in any form or by any means.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic june 17 — dust — 1279 words aka soft, mushy, fluffy jegulus on beach vacay<3 (harry is there too and he’s being super stinking cute)

James lifts his head from where he was picking sand out of Harry’s eyelid crease when Regulus turns aggressively on his beach towel for the nth time since Harry and he had come over to get this one’s water bottle.

“You okay there, love?” James asks as Harry gulps away noisily.

“No,” Regulus cries out, sitting up abruptly. “I’m sunburned and dehydrated, my head hurts, I am itching all over because of whatever stupid fucking insects keep biting or stinging me, I can feel sand in my ass crack and,” Regulus heaves a pitiful sigh, “and there’s dust all over my favorite sneakers.”

There’s a vein throbbing in his temple that James itches to smooth out, kiss away.

It’s been a risky step, going on vacation together with Harry and Sirius, the four of them, just a few weeks after Regulus and James had started exploring that little thing of theirs. When longing glances exchanged turned into brushing hands and snuggling closer on the couch turned secret, cautious kisses and whispered confessions.

And now Regulus is flushed and his voice is all whiney and James knows it’s an inappropriate thought right now but he just really wants to help Regulus feel better again. Take his face into careful palms and slowly snog him breathless until he can’t think of anything else but James and feeling good.

James is about to open his mouth when Harry, who has witnessed Regulus’ little outbreak, suddenly dumps his water bottle back into James’ lap and waddles right over to him. James’ toddler reaches for Regulus’ hand, petting it, watching him carefully out of big eyes, “Take a deep breath, Reg’lus.”

James promptly melts into the sand and Regulus’ expression, as well, softens in an instant. A weak chuckle slips out of him and then, following Harry’s advice, he takes a big inhale. His cheeks puff when he blows it back out and James thinks he’s pretty sure Regulus is the most adorable adult person to ever exist. Adult because no one can beat Harry when he gets going.

Harry nods, satisfied, and then runs back to the water where Sirius is waiting on him.

“There you go,” James murmurs, grinning, when Regulus takes another steadying breath.

“You,” the younger man throws him a half hearted glare out of stormy eyes, “piss off.”

James scrambles himself up out of the sand, opening his arms slightly, “C’mere, love.”

Regulus’ eyes soften, get all dewy and needy, but they also keep darting back and forth between James and the others by the water. Like he wants it so badly but won’t let himself have it. He shakes his head feebly, “We can’t.”

James clicks his tongue, opening his arms wider and wiggling his fingers, “Shut up—yes, we can. Come here.”

Regulus pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth, hesitating, “But…”

“I said, shut up and come here, Reg.”

Regulus huffs, like it’s an utter inconvenience to get up and get hugged but he does so anyways. He shuffles the few paces over to James and then lets himself thunk against his chest, weakly slinging his arms around James’ waist.

James can’t help but muffle a snort into the curls behind Regulus’ ear at the dramatics. He closes his arms around this one’s shoulders, softly raking short nails of one hand up and into his dark hair.

“You’re laughing at me,” Regulus grumbles against James’ shoulder, squeezing around his middle in reprimand.

“No, I would never,” James replies immediately. He lets his fingers dance gently over Regulus’ sunburned skin and feels him sink into him even more. James hums happily at that response, kissing the side of his head.

Regulus’ breath hitches and a warm feeling piles up in James’ chest, tingling all the way into his fingertips where he’s still touching the younger man.

“You smell like salt,” Regulus says, his tone accusing, “And you’re all sandy.”

James cups the nape of Regulus’ neck and pulls back to look at him, “That’s what typically happens when you’re on holiday at the beach.”

Regulus’ pout morphs into a sneer and James’ grin widens. “Feeling better?”

“No,” Regulus replies, not missing a beat. His hands are still linked at the small of James’ back. He really thinks he’s so clever, huh?

James raises his eyebrows expectantly.

Regulus’ nose scrunches, “Perhaps a little bit.”

James ducks closer again, pushing a curl that tumbled its way deep into Regulus’ forehead back again, “Let me tell you something—”

Regulus heaves another sigh. “Oh, great.”

James goes on, undeterred, “Why don’t we grant ourselves a little off-day tomorrow? Harry and Sirius can run around the beach all day or visit that reptile house again and we make ourselves all comfortable in the air bnb.”

Regulus blinks at him, that hopeful yet apprehensive look in his eyes. James knows he’ll give in though eventually and he can be so patient for Regulus. He lets his hand slide forward and thumbs at Regulus’ bottom lip.

And then James has to work hard to trap a groan behind his teeth because Regulus parts his lips so pliantly, not moving, just letting James do his thing. It makes James’ blood pump faster, high on all those ecstatic feelings, fondness and desire and something much more deep rooted that James hasn’t let himself think out loud yet.

“All day?” Regulus whispers, lips moving under James’ finger and breaking his train of thought.

“Yeah, love, all day,” James confirms.

Absentmindedly, it seems, Regulus fumbles around with his hands at James’ back.

James purses his lips, “Are you nervous?” Of course he’d love to hang out with Regulus all day but not if that’s something he isn’t comfortable with yet.

“No, no,” Regulus shakes his head, bringing his hands around between them with a frown, “I’m itchy.” He’s scratching at a red spot right below his wrist, one of the many insect bites.

James coos quietly and he gently wraps his palm around it, lifting them. He places a gentle kiss, watching intently as Regulus’ eyelids flutter, frown magically gone. God, how is James supposed to behave around him? It’s a wonder he’s been able to reign himself in for so long in the first place.

“Y’know,” James grins against Regulus’ reddened skin, “They say saliva helps sooth the itchiness of insect bites.”

A small noise slips from Regulus and James’ grin sharpens.

“What?”

“Oh, you heard me, love,” James replies. He gently massages the ball of Regulus’ palm with his own thumb, watching as this one keeps staring back at James stupidly. He’s so cute. “Any objections?”

“James,” Regulus breathes, swallows roughly.

Slowly, James lifts their hands again, peering at Regulus intently in case his breathlessness turns from excited to apprehensive. But it doesn’t. All the way up to James’ mouth and then James is collecting the spit from under his tongue and letting the dollop drop right onto the patch of red skin.

Regulus sucks in a breath upon the landing and James can’t help but hum deep in his throat. It’s like Regulus renders the polite and logical part of his brain completely useless, instead activating a much more different and distinctly primal part. A part that thinks it’s a good idea to do stuff like spit on Regulus and rub it into his skin until it’s spread expertly.

“Okay, yes,” Regulus says suddenly.

James blinks in confusion but Regulus isn’t done yet apparently because he goes on, nodding dazedly, “We’ll have an off-day together. The…two of us.”

A bright smile creeps itself onto James’ face. He steals himself a quick kiss from Regulus’ cheek, watching his blush deepen as James announces, “Happy to hear that.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

So I 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your casual arrangement turns a bit too serious.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A sheen of sweat coats your forehead, beading in the strands of your hair, your teeth gnashing as you strain to lift the bar just a little higher. Use your legs, you remind yourself. You suppress a grunt as your body trembles with the effort. 

“You got it, flex, you can do it,” a voice taunts from behind you. You roll your eyes and push up. Bucky steps closer and tickles along your hips. “Need a spot?” 

You growl and hook the bar in place, letting the weight off your shoulders. You step out of his reach and swipe up your towel. Your wipe your face as he comes around the weight rack and grabs your bottle out of your grasp. You growl as he squirts it into his mouth. 

“Thirsty?” He winks and wiggles the bottle. 

“What are you doing here?” You narrow your eyes and take the bottle from him. 

“Looking for a work out.” He winks. 

“Really? ‘Cause you’re not dressed for it.” You look him up and down. He’s in his usual; dark jeans, grey tee, canvas jacket. 

“Don’t need to dress up for the kinda work out I’m thinking of,” he snickers. 

“How’d you find me?” You challenge as you check your smartwatch. 

“Tuesday’s. You’re always too busy for me.” 

“Uh huh. And it’s a Tuesday. I’m busy.” You retort. 

“Ah, come on. I can help you with your cool down. Get you nice and stretched out.” He rests his hand on the barbells, his other on his hip as he leers at you. 

“You’re gonna need a good dose of protein after that,” he teases. 

“You’re gross.” 

“You love it. Come on. I'll take you by the shake place first. I’m a gentleman, you know?” He laughs and you shake your head. 

“Right. Let me change.” 

“Ah, I like you sweaty. Pheromones or whatever. You know, my sense of smell is enhanced.” He smirks. “I can even smell when you’re horny.” 

“Ew, shut up.” You jab his ribs and push past him. You sling your towel over your shoulder and strut off. He follows you. 

“Doesn’t this remind of old times?” He asks. 

You’re taken back to the day you met. Your first week in the gym. You were lost and you looked it. He helped you figure out the leg machine. He also fixed your form. Strange how time passes. 

“I feel like you were less annoying then.” 

“Really? Cause you were a lot more tense back then. Glad I could loosen you up, although your ass is looking tighter.” 

You stop at the locker room door and face him. “You--” You squirt the water bottle at him. “You’re gonna have to wait out here. Weirdo.” 

You spin and push through the door. You hear him growl as he’s shut out. You continue on to your locker and grab your bag. You unzip it and peel off your tank and leggings. You stretch and look around the empty space. You like to go on Tuesdays when it’s quiet. When you can focus. 

That isn’t easy lately. With work and the Bucky’s inconsistent consistency. Every time you think you have a moment to chill, he’s there to tie you up. You’re going to have to talk about boundaries. You’re going to be too busy to deal with his spontaneous drop-ins. 

You turn to grab your water bottle from inside the locker and as you turn back, you’re shoved against the cold metal. Your yipe is smothered in Bucky’s hands, his metal one around your throat. You wriggle and clutch his wrist. Your eyes round and flick side-to-side. 

He chuckles, “I got tired of waiting.” 

You murmur into his hand and slap his arm. Your heart picks up and a shiver rolls over you. You kick your feet around his. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt this with him. Panic. 

“Hey, just playing,” he drags his hand away and slackens his grip on your neck. “Don’t need be scared.” 

You take a deep breath and step away from the lockers. He stands back and watches you. His eyes rove up and down. He tilts his head. 

“Really, I wasn’t meaning to scare you. I was just...fucking around.” 

“It’s fine,” you shrug and reach for your blouse. “I was just surprised.” 

“Your heart’s still going--” 

“I told you, I hate that,” you hiss. 

“I can’t help it. I can’t not hear it.” He insists. 

“Just... go wait for me outside. I’ll be a minute,” you don’t look at him as you pull the shirt over your head. 

The reminders of how much stronger he is are jarring. At times, it's hot, at others, it's frightening. He's not just a man, he's more than that.

He lingers and sighs. His boot scuffs as he slowly slides it across the tile. He walks off and you listen for the door behind him. You blow out between your lips. 

You definitely need to have a talk. It’s all good and fun until he gets a face full of the mace you keep in your purse. Besides, he’s getting a bit clingy. This isn’t supposed to be that. It’s casual. It’s easy.

Well, it was. 

[drabblesandimagines]

Dove (part eight)

Leon Kennedy x female reader (bodyguard trope, domestic fluff and the slowest, slow burn I swear) Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven.

Leon emerges from the garage, a folding chair tucked under his arm, and locks the door – as always - behind him.

“Success.” He smiles, using his other arm to hold it out in demonstration before carrying it into the bathroom. He unfolds it in a swift motion, placing it right against the sink, with its back to the side. “What else do we need?”

“A jug or something, maybe, to rinse? Probably awkward just with the taps.” As if it’s not already awkward enough that the man assigned for your protection is about to wash your hair.

“Got it.” He strides over to the kitchen to start opening various cupboards in search, whilst you carry the shampoo and conditioner over to the sink counter one by one in preparation, before grabbing a couple of towels. Finally, you shrug off the zip-up you’d thrown over upon leaving the bathroom what must’ve only been five minutes ago, a black tank top underneath. You reason no matter how careful you know Leon will be, it’s going to get damp.

You take the sling and the zip-up and drape them over the back of the couch for later, when Leon pops up from below the kitchen counter, raising his hand to show off the jug as if it was a trophy.

“Got it!”

You smile at his demonstration and head into the bathroom, expecting Leon to follow but his footsteps cease.

“Jeez, Dove.” He sucks in air between his teeth in sympathy, eyes fixed on your back - deep purple and yellow bruises all across your shoulder blades. “No wonder you can’t stretch up – got some nasty bruises back there.”

“What?” You turn your head to the right, but all you get is a twinge of pain for your troubles.

“Looks real tender. A lot worse than the other night.” You open your mouth to question what he means by that, but you remember that he’d seen your back previously when he’d helped you undress.

“Oh…” You’d shrug if you knew it wouldn’t hurt. “Must’ve been from the stairs.”

Or the creature throwing you against the wall.

“Yeah…” He nods before following you into the bathroom and placing the jug down besides the sink. “Right. Take a seat, please.”

You sit down, tentatively, on the folding chair and lean your head back, trying to make it meet the sink. The chair’s a little too low, your head awkwardly on the ledge and you sit back up, panic bubbling in your stomach.

“Actually, this is probably not goi-“

Leon holds out a hand – stopping himself from grabbing you by the shoulders to keep you seated in fear of causing you pain. “Got an idea. Wait a second.”

He turns and leaves the bathroom as you remain sitting awkwardly, before he returns with a throw cushion from the couch. “This’ll boost you up a bit. At least give it a go, hey?”

You stand up whilst he places it down on the seat and, again, you sit down cautiously, adjusting your position. It has helped elevate you, perhaps a tad too much, but Leon is already a step ahead – rolling up one of the hand towels and sliding it between your neck and the sink counter.

“There, balanced out. Comfortable enough?”

“Mm-hm. Thanks.”

He leans over you to turn on the taps, fiddling with the temperature and running his own fingers through it before filling the jug up in preparation.

“Ready?”

“Uh-huh.”

He pours a small splash of pleasantly warm water over your scalp before pausing. “Water temperature okay?”

You can’t help but laugh at the question. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“And what’s so funny?” He looks down at you, his brows quizzical.

“You. I mean…” You bite back another laugh. “You, sounding like a hairstylist.”

“Well,” he tilts his head in thought, “let’s just see how this goes first. Could be something else to add to my ever-expanding resume.”

Leon proceeds to pour the jug of water over your scalp, being mindful of the steristrips still in place on your forehead. You’ve got a good angle as he leans over of his jawline, defined, looks to be freshly shaved but you hadn’t seen any razors on the counter top.

It clicks, then. Of course there wouldn’t be. Protocol – you hear it in Leon’s voice. When this is all over, you hope you never hear that word again.

Next, he opens up the shampoo bottle and squirts out an amount, lathering it up between his palms.

“I’d recommend you close your eyes from here on out – just in case.”

You do so - closing your eyes and taking a deep breath as he begins to lather the shampoo through your hair, methodical in his work, scrunching his fingers into the roots. You thought it’d feel horribly awkward once he’d started this part, the same way you do at the hairdressers if truth be told, staring up awkwardly at the ceiling, but as Leon continues to massage your scalp, you feel more calm and relaxed than you have in not only days, but maybe even weeks. Once satisfied, he begins to rinse it out with the aid of the jug of water, holding one of his palms horizontal against your forehead, acting as a barrier to any water or shampoo that might dare to run down.

“Conditioner too?”

“Please.”

Leon’s never done this for anyone before, but he takes it as seriously as he does when cleaning his weapons – thorough and methodical, wants to do a good job. You look so content as he massages your scalp – a warm feeling in his stomach to know that the blissful smile on your lips is from his touch and attentions alone. A thought bubbles up – positions reversed, wondering what it would feel like to have your fingers massaging into his scalp.

He knows you’re meant to let conditioner sit for a moment, so he keeps running his fingers through your hair whilst he waits - completely entranced by the peaceful look on your face, the subtle smile on your lips. Unfortunately, he can’t hold off forever, no matter how long he wants to stay in that moment – not return to reality with its bioweapons and questions from Hunnigan. It is with reluctance that he fills the jug and begins to rinse your hair a couple of times, making sure it’s completely washed out. “Okay…” He scrunches your hair carefully to try and rid it of the excess water. “I think that’s that step done, so towel or brush next?”

You open your eyes and lift your head, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he waits for your response. “Erm, towel. Would you mind…?”

He’s already reached over for one and drapes it over your head. “I just kinda…” He mimics the action of towel-drying his own hair.

You hold back a laugh. “That’s the one.”

“Right.” He puts his example into practice, a little more cautious than he would be with his own hair. “Then brush?”

“If that’s okay. Hopefully tomorrow it won’t be as sore, so I can do it an-“

“I won’t mind. Just let me know, okay?”

You nod, and he looks so focused as he starts to run the brush through your hair, mindful of pulling at tangles. You’ve seen the same look when he heads out for his perimeter checks – he’s taken this whole thing as seriously as he does his work. You feel like you could cry at how gentle he’s been with you, going above and beyond with everything.

Truth be told, the care Leon had provided you in the last few days has been more than you’d ever received from your jerk of an ex-boyfriend from however long ago it now was. Everything had seemed too much for him, any request met with a sigh or a huff of annoyance.

“Thank you. I know you said I don’t have to thank you but, you know, everything you’ve done for me is just…”

“You’re welcome, Dove.” His smile is bashful, the arm comes up to rub his neck and you can’t help but wonder if you make him feel as nervous as you feel. “Can I help with the sling?”

“That’d be great.” You follow him back out to the living room where he picks it up off the back of the sofa and swiftly gets your arm situated once more, making subtle adjustments with gentle touches until he’s happy with the fit.

“That feel okay?” He asks, a cautious palm hovering over your good shoulder.

“Perfect.” You reply, feeling goosebumps travel up your other arm from his proximity.

Leon seems to notice immediately, picking up on body language cues had been a part of his training after all. “Here,” he picks up the zip-up, helping you thread one arm through before draping the other side over your shoulder. “You looked a little cold.”

There’s a sharp pain in your eye, ruining your train of thought. “Ow.” You wince, ducking your head down in reflex.

“Did I hurt you? Shit.“ Was he too rough with the sling? Maybe you had some sort of head wound that the medic missed? There’s no chance for you to reply, though. “Here, sit down,” there’s a warm palm at the small of your back as he ushers you down to the sofa before he crouches down in front. “What hurts?”

“Nothing, I swear. I…” You rub your eye with your good hand before looking back up, blinking furiously to try and ease the irritation. “I think it’s an eyelash.”

“Can I take a look?”

“Yeah.” You nod, leaning in.

“Look up again for me?” He doesn’t know why he does it – could play it off as keeping your head still so he didn’t poke you in the eye – but he cups your cheek with one hand and gently presses his index finger of his other near your watering eyeline, catching the culprit.

“Got it.” He smiles, before gently wiping the spilt tears with his thumb. “Better?”

“Thanks.” You look back down, meeting his blue eyes, feeling heat prickle over your cheeks. You’re closer than you thought.

You should move back.

Leon knows he should let go.

You lean forward.

Leon’s palm slips from your cheek to caress the back of your head, gently, tangling his fingers in your damp hair.

You place your hand on his thigh then, steadying yourself, and close your eyes.

You can feel Leon’s exhale of breath across your lips, another arm slipping around your waist and…

Beep.

You swear your heart jumps up into your throat as Leon’s pocket begins to beep continuously, a harsh, piercing noise. He jumps up to his feet, one hand digging his cell out of his pocket and the other going for his holster.

“Fuck - perimeter alarm.” He mutters, tapping something on the screen to make the horrendous noise stop, though it continues to echo around your head.

“What does that mean?” Your voice is tight, heart pounding in your ears.

“Something’s tripped it.” He mutters, before catching the look on your face. Good job being reassuring, Kennedy. “I’m sure it’ll be nothing, Dove. Probably an animal or, hell, even a strong gust of wind can do it if the angle’s right.” He’s heading towards the garage door again and you awkwardly turn, following his path, watching as he fishes the keys out of a pocket. “I need you to stay right there whilst I go check it out, okay?”

“Is that safe?”

“You’re safe in here – I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“No, I know.” And you do, you believe it with your whole heart. “But I mean, if it's not an animal or the wind... Will you be safe?”

He can’t help but grin as he withdraws his gun, clicking the safety off. “They won't be.”

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day! Part nine.

[kookslastbutton]

prove it to me ༓ jjk (m)

✑ Summary: "I'm not your baby Jungkook. Remember that." Those are the words you say right before jumping into a one night stand with Jeon Jungkook, the man who's constantly annoying you with his college fling stories. You decide maybe just this once you'll play into his game and prove that he's no more average than the rest.

Pairing: fuckboy!jungkook x fem!reader

AU/genre: PWP, smut, humor, fluff, one-sided e2l, friend of friends, oneshot (for now?)

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 5.3k+

Warnings: arguing, swearing, sexual tension, denial of feelin’s, kook’s kind of an @$$ but he got some truth to him, oc's jaded & not buying into kook's bs, myg being a good friend then ditching lmao, kook likes calling oc petnames, kook is bunny boy

sexually explicit content: dom!jk, switch sub!reader, semi-awkward first kiss, unprotected s*x (pls stay safe everyone!!), teasing, foreplay, dirty talk, some manhandling, rough sex, t*itty suck, f*ngering, penetration, cunnilingus, doggy, multiple orgasms (f. receiving), kooks calls her pretty girl, some degradation/dumbification (sl*t calling) & oc has bit of an actual dumby moment but she's still fairly rigid, but not a full brat? Lmao idk

Now playing: Monster in me, Breakfast, LOUD

A/N: ahdjsj?c it's here! 👉👈 a thousand apologies that this is out way later than planned! Uni getting most of my time 😟 But its here and I'm so pumped to share it with you guys!! Hope you enjoy 😗💕

Taglist:

@marcoazz2 @demiec0re @jcrl99 @muah-minhoe-8 @whoa-jo @jeongukkieeeeeeee @sweet4jenni @chanjwl @kimtaesss @jexizia @vexstrils @notchia @dollypoetry @cherrysoulth @burnahtsw @icantpickabiasugh @megaamonn

Jung freaking kook. Just look at him sitting over there, half-naked and wet. Sure, he’s got a towel thrown over a shoulder but it’s so small it’s doing fuck all to dry him off. Obviously he chose it on purpose. He thinks he’s such hot shit but you think he looks like a drowned rat.

And look! He’s got Namjoon’s apartment floor drenched with the pool water he tracked in! Man, if this was your place you’d be handing him a nice mop and bucket right about now.

"They were begging me to go a fourth round, but I was winding down, y'know?" Jungkook's voice echos obnoxiously off the walls. You mentally roll your eyes. He’s got a big mouth too. This must be your twentieth time hearing the same spiel about his little rendezvous with two chicks during undergrad. News flash Jungkook, you're not a god!

The guys are into it, though. You scan the room. Hoseok's on the verge of drooling, and Jimin can't stop grinning. Namjoon and Seokjin are leaning back in their seats, slight smirks pulling at the corners of their mouths. And Taehyung? Don't even get started on him. The man excused himself for the bathroom about ten minutes ago and is still yet to return.

Men. You decided to spend your one free Saturday with men.

You should have accepted Soyeon's offer to go drinking instead. This was the downside of being one of the only females in this so-called "friend group". None of your girlfriends were here! Sure, other women were around, but they were far too busy slinging themselves all over that perfectly chiseled bod–no.

Don't finish that thought.

Lots of guys go to the gym, __. Jungkook is nothing special. These women are obviously brainwashed; unlike them, you don't have time for his little boy games. It's time to get out of here.

"Okay, well, I'm heading out. Nice seeing everyone," you say, rising from your seat.

Jimin whips his head around. "What, already? We haven't gotten to the good part yet."

“There’s a good part?" You scoff. “Or, you mean Jungkook making girl number two squirt all over the bed? Heard it before, don't need to hear it again."

"It was girl number one," Jungkook butts in, eager to correct.

Whatever. You swing the apartment door open, phone and keys in hand. "See most of you on work Monday." You allow the door to slam behind you.

"She okay?" Jungkook furrows his eyebrows, wheels turn in his head.

"Don't worry about her. Work's probably got her beat." Namjoon cracks open a can of beer unfazed.

Jungkook nods, chewing on the bottom of his lip. "Does she–"

"The answer's no. __ doesn't need a good fuck, so put those thoughts away."

Shit, Jungkook swears internally.

Monday morning comes like hell on your doorstep. You're groggy when you wake up, barely getting to the shower. You considered skipping the ritual entirely but couldn't, not with how gross you felt. Project deadlines were right on your tail too, so you needed to either slap yourself awake or kiss your precious job promotion goodbye. You choose the later.

"Hey Minji, how are those files coming along?" You round the corner of the small office. It's 10 o'clock now, and everyone is typing, scanning, copying, and making phone calls until steam comes out of their ears.

"Almost finished." Your coworker, only a few years younger, responds. "Just have to tie up some loose ends, and then I'll hand them to you for review."

"Great. Thanks for–" You pause when you catch a slight grin spreading across Minji's face. Despite all the chaos today, Minji's definitely been the most cheerful. "You seem really happy today. Something good happened recently?"

Minji suppresses the grin and squeezes her palms in her lap. “Nothing in particular. Just glad to be a part of the team."

"Yeah, right!" Hoseok sends a knowing smirk, nearing the two of you. "Someone had a busy night last night, huh? It's okay. __ is cool. You can tell her anything." Once close enough, your coworker pulls you into a casual side hug.

You grimace. It feels weird while at the office.

"Do you mind?" You shrug him off. "It's work hours."

"Well, actually," Minji starts, cheeks rising. "It's nothing like that. I'm going on a date tonight. I'm just a little excited."

Hoseok's mouth forms an 'o', eyes widening. "Really? Who is it?"

"Uh, his name's Jeon–"

"Jungkook?” Jimin’s head pokes up from across the cubicle. Eavesdropping as usual.

"No…," Minji replies. "Who's Jungkook?"

"He's just a close friend of ours." Hoseok gestures between the three of you. “He’s Jeon Jungkook.”

"He's only you guy's friend," you say bitterly. Considering that player as a friend is pushing it for you. Really pushing it.

"C'mon, what's with you and Jungkook?" Jimin says, shooting you a borderline glare. "You've had bad blood with the guy since you met him.”

"Oh, don't start with me Park,” you fold your arms. "You know exactly why I feel the way I do."

You think he'll have a comeback, but he doesn't. Jimin simply sighs and returns to his work. Figures he'd be the one to jump to Jungkook's defense. The man practically idolizes him. That, and he's been best friends with him for the past eight years. Loyalty sure has its perks.

"So! If it's not Jungkook, who's the guy?" Hoseok asks, hoping to switch the topic around.

Minji jolts up in her seat. “Wonwoo," she says. “His name’s Wonwoo. We ran into each other at a friend's birthday party last night."

"Well, good luck with him tonight," you reply, returning to your office. "I'm sure it'll go well." Enough small talk. You have a whole seven hours plus of work left.

6:45 p.m.

The clock on your screen blinks at you. Everyone's gone home by now, and so should you. But you're still here, fingers frantically typing on the keyboard.

“__, go home already." Your finance officer, Min Yoongi, stands in the doorway, resting an arm against the frame. He's got his soft, leather briefcase in the other hand; yes, the one you got him for his birthday a couple months ago.

Yoongi was the only person in your department who often stayed as late as you. He looked like he was on his way out, though. Must have gotten what he wanted done. "I'll get there eventually," you say. "Just finishing some reports for our meeting tomorrow."

"What reports? They're all done."

"Well…my reports."

"You mean, the ones that we don't actually need?" He quirks a brow.

"They're extra just in case. There might be something off, and this might help." Yeah maybe you were making shit up to keep yourself busy, so sue you. What else were you going to preoccupy your time with? You already polished off the last pint of cookies and cream ice cream.

"You're cute." Pushing off the doorframe, Yoongi nears your desk. "You know boss doesn't look at them."

"You never kno–"

"Hey." The authority in your co-worker's voice makes you straighten your posture. "Let's cut the bullshit." In a moment of urgency, he leans his body between you and your computer.

"Excuse you?" You shove his shoulder with both hands, but he stands firm until your computer goes pitch black.

"Here's what we're gonna do." You're gently pulled up and out of your seat by the wrist. "I'm gonna get a drink, and you're coming with me."

The man gathers your coat and bag, slinging them over a shoulder. You feel your legs being lifted off the ground soon after. "I can walk, you know." You reflexively kick your feet in protest. It's been a while since he's picked you up like this.

Yoongi switches off the light and makes his way to the elevator at the end of hall. "Not right now, you can't." He pushes the button, calling it up.

"Ah look at you," you purr, locking your arms around his neck. "Someone's been watching k-dramas after hours. Trying to confess or something?"

He enters the elevator for both of you, amused by your playful remark. "I consider you my friend, __. But if I were trying to confess, I'd just come out with it. Subliminal messaging isn't really my thing.”

Understanding his notion, you close your mouth. What were you supposed to say to that?

You aimlessly watch as the woman pours freshly shaken alcohol into a short, round glass. She finishes the concoction by sticking an orange wedge along the rim. A cocktail, a classic but timeless favorite. Yoongi takes a sip of his whiskey and tilts his head towards you. "Whenever you're ready to spill your guts, let me know." 

"Hmm? I don't have anything going on." You down a shot yourself. "Nothing to spill here." 

He gives his glass a gentle swirl, liquid splashes against the sides. 

"Why are you looking at me like that? Nothing's wrong," you say. 

He sets his glass on the bartop, straight-faced. 

"Honestly, I don't know what you're getting at. We just came for a drink." 

"It's him, isn't it? Bunny boy with the six pack."

Your nose scrunches knowing exactly who he's referring to. With little thought you give a short 'no'. 

Yoongi stares at you nonchalantly. "Nice try, but I'm not an idiot, __. I don't know the guy that well, but I know enough that he's been on your mind a lot. You've been real prickly towards him too. Something tells me he's the reason you've been burying yourself in work lately.” 

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm just committed to my work. You know me, Ms. married to her job and all." You feign a chuckle. "I assure you, Ju–he's the furthest thing from my mind." 

“Mhm...right." He hums unconvinced. "Tell me ms. married to her job, why won't you say his name?"

"Because-" You cut shortly. "I'd rather not think of him right now. Can't we talk about something else or drink in peace?" 

He reaches for another taste of his burning liquor. "Alright."

Minutes pass before either of you speaks. You and Yoongi do this often, and you cherish it quite a bit. Sitting in silence after a long day at work soothes both your minds. But the man was right. Your mind isn't settled at all. No. It's buzzing with constant deadlines, family expectations, social commitments–  

"Okay it's him!" you blurt out, earning the attention of a few passing diners and even the bartender herself. Shoulders slouch as you grip the glass in front of you. Your eyes shift to your right, side-eyeing Yoongi, silently staring back at you.

"Jungkook...he’s just frustrating,” you finally say. “Fucking this girl, fucking that girl. Do you think I wanna know how many places he's stuck it in? No, I don't. But does that stop him?“

 You down your second shot. 

"He's been going on about the same lay for three years now. Three years, Yoongi. Honestly, how long's he going to keep it up? ‘They were begging to go again’, like who fucking cares?!” Blood boils through your veins.

A third shot. 

"I mean, how good can he be? If you asked me, he's average! Average Jeon Jungkook with probably an even more average dick!” 

“Damn, you’re pretty feisty angel.” A man slides on the stool to your left. “Calling me average and everything. Kinda hurts my feelings y’know?” 

You nearly choke picking up the man’s voice and scent– fuckin' Jungkook.

You swivel to face him. “Drop the pet names Jeon. I'm not your angel, and I seriously doubt I’m wounding any so called ‘feelings’,” you spit. “Why don’t you take your ego somewhere else…” You nod at the group of women gawking in the corner. Jungkook follows your gaze before meeting your eyes again.

"Not interested," he shrugs his shoulders.

“Oh wow, really?” Maybe sarcasm wasn’t the best way to go but since when did Jungkook start passing up overly eager women…shocker.

"Don't be insulting, __. I probably sleep around a lot more in your head than in real life."

"Please, who are you fooling," you reach for your fourth shot. Jungkook steals it out of your hand, however, shaking his head. 

"No, no, no." He sets the glass on his other side, furthest from your grasp. "Someone might be getting a little ahead of herself." 

Teeth clench. Is he patronising you?

"Do you mind?" The words spit out of your mouth. "I'm trying to sit and have a nice drink with my friend."

"And what friend would that be?" Jungkook leans forward in his seat, sparing a glance past your figure. 

"Yoongi."

"Oh, him…hate to break it to you but he left with some woman earlier.” 

You turn around immediately. He's gotta be messing around but damn– Yoongi really left you. That little snake. He'll be hearing from you tomorrow.

Rising from the barstool, you snatch your belongings and make your way to the exit.

.

"Where are you going, __?” Heavy feet patter after you, following you to the parking lot. "Just 'cause Yoongi's gone doesn't mean you have to leave." 

"I'm going home, Jungkook. 6am comes awfully quick." You want him to take the hint that you don't wanna stay but no such luck. You're instead blocked in your path, Jungkook facing you square on. He's a little close, but it doesn't matter. You'll just push around him.

"Alright, I'm sorry!" He wets his bottom lip. "If I've been too explicit about my private life, I'm sorry.” You watch as he rubs the side of his neck. “I tend-I tend to get carried away, especially around the guys. But after hearing what you said back there, I realize I should chill a little."

"Congratulations, you've figured it out.” You stare blankly at the man. “Can I leave now?" Brushing past him, you open your car door and jump inside. Dumb apology.

Fingers reach to shut the door, but Jungkook grips the rim, propping it open. "That can't be all." He leans down, shaking his head. "You clearly have some kind of vendetta against me and I'd like you to tell me why…please." 

You blink up, patience running thin. You’re wondering what you should say to get him off your tail, but the longer you linger the more it’ll look like you’re staring. And heaven knows Jungkook gets enough eyes on him as is, especially with his biceps bulging from his shirt.

Not that you’re paying attention or anything but take tonight for instance with those women ogling him in the bar. Like, did he have to wear a white tank top tonight? Show off.

“You’re so arrogant,” you say, clenching your fists. "You act like you're the best thing this world's ever gotten."

It’s obvious that your words strike a cord inside Jungkook. His face, riddled with concern and protest. 'Him, arrogant? What on earth is this woman talking about?' his eyes say.

"That's not true. When have I ever acted like that?"

Baffled. That’s what you are. It takes every ounce of gull left in your body to step out and meet the man at eye level.

"You're kidding. What do you call the constant retelling of your college fling then? Because you sure love the pedestal it gives you! Must have heard it fifty fricken times by now."

"Okay, maybe a bit then, but like I said I just get carried away. Lost in the moment if you will. The guys wanna hear it anyway, and it's just one story, __. Hardly enough basis to say I love myself or some shit."

"But that's exactly it, Jeon. You think everyone will worship at your feet just because you have that one story, a bunny like smile, and the body of a–"

"Woah, wait a second. Did you say worship at my feet? I get you're pissed off at me but come on, that's a bit much."

"It's n---shut up Jungkook!" You snarl. How dare he interrupt you after demanding you to tell him what's wrong. "Don't you ever get tired of running your mouth all the time?!"

"Me running my mouth? You're the one yelling sweetheart." His icy tone sets you off.

"Listen asshole, just for once, can't you just listen! You're so average, fuck!"

"Alright babe, I hear you, damn!" His eyebrows knit together. "And stop saying that I'm average! I'm not, okay?"

"There you go again, acting all entitled with that over inflated ego. I said it before and I'll never stop saying it–you're an average fuck! I don't care how many people you get in your bed."

Jungkook paces backwards, fingers laced behind his head. He cranks his neck back and chuckles. "Oh sweetheart, that's where you're so, so wrong."

"No idea what you're talking about," you say, unmoved.

He steps forward, complete disregard for your personal space. His breath heats your skin. "You absolutely care who I'm with...who I'm talking to...and especially who I'm fucking." He places a hand on the roof of your car. "You care so much that it's eating at you, bit by bit."

You do all you can to ignore the way the back of your neck fires up and how your heart picks up as he speaks but–dammit, this isn't the time! He's messing with your sanity. Or maybe, it's the shots kicking in. Both likely. Either way, you’ll be damned if you let him catch on.

"Fuck off Jungkook!" You push against his muscular chest. The force should have sent him stumbling back, but it only makes him slightly jolt. Courtesy of his rock-solid form.

"Why? 'Cause I'm right?" He traces down your figure. “ 'Cause you're scared of what will happen once we get close?”

Palms sweating, you struggle to form a proper response.

Option A: No, you're not scared in which Jungkook will likely challenge you.

Option B: Yes you're scared in which you let Jungkook be right and your efforts will be in vain.

Or Option C, what you've been doing all along: Fuck off!

Lust clouds over Jungkook's eyes as you remain motionless.

"How 'bout you prove it to me." His voice cuts through your contemplation. "That I'm wrong, that you don't want this, and I'll do the same for you."

You know exactly what he's insinuating– a one night stand. You swore you'd never give in to his antics. Then again, you never thought things would escalate this far either.

But if you agree to sleep with him now, you'll look like a hypocrite. And what of the countless speeches you made about not wanting to be another one of his swooning, giddy women? Still… it's not like you want to sleep with him. And if you do sleep with him, and he's average after all, you'll finally have something to testify to.

That'll knock him down a few pegs. 

"So…" You hear Jungkook drawl. "Is that smug expression you got on a yes?" 

"Hurry up and unlock the door,” you snap, manners going awry. “I wanna get this done as soon as possible.”

"Relax will you.” Jungkook fiddles with his keys, nearly dropping them with every shuffle. “So bratty when you’re down to get some.” He ushers you forward once managing to crank the door open.

You ignore his snide remark, taking in the spacious room. “Don't tell me that's your bed,” you say. There, in the middle of the living room was a mattress. It was on the smaller side but not in bad shape. If that’s where Jungkook intends to give it to you though, you’ll gladly walk out.

“Seriously?” You're thrown a slightly pissed expression. “It’s for emergencies, okay? My room's down here." He breezes down the hall adjacent to the living room. You follow.

“Better?” A lamp switches on from the corner of the bedroom. The room’s a little bare but you can’t complain, at least it was clean.

"Yeah, its fine." You flicker your eyes at Jungkook, arms length away. Chest tightens, legs begin to shake.

This isn't a dream. You're fully conscious and you're about to jump in bed with Jeon Jungkook.

Inadvertently, you pause down at his lips–they look soft.

Oh fuck it...you can’t stomach anymore delays.

Feeling the adrenaline, you shake your coat off and toss it on the chair to the side. You march up to Jungkook next, grip the fabric of his shirt, and smash your lips against his.

It's unusual at first, sloppy even. You're moving your lips the best you can but it's a struggle getting into a rhythm. Likely because you've never kissed each other before, let alone made out.

The temptation to snort at how ridiculous the whole thing must look jabs at you. But it's when you feel Jungkook smiling through each kiss that it hits you like a ton of bricks–your lips have been the only ones moving.

"So that's how you kiss huh?" Breaking apart, he stares down at you, tongue in cheek. He's teasing you.

Rather than give an answer you smirk and twist the fabric of his shirt. You press your lips to his again but this time it's with more confidence and determination. A heavy grunt falls from his mouth and rough hands grip your hips as teeth clash against teeth.

"Fuck, slow down baby," Jungkook pants between kisses.

You ignore his plead and card through his hair with both hands, yanking on his soft, black strands. "I'm not your baby, Jungkook. Remember that."

Your back slams against the door instantly, knob rattling at the sudden pressure. With one hand, he anchors your wrists above your head while the tatted one wraps tightly around your waist. Saying this isn't turning you on would be a lie, a big fat lie.

"What do you want me to call you then?" Your thighs squeeze together when you feel his bulge brush against your center. His pecs graze atop your breasts too, causing a shiver down your spine. "Can't call you baby, can't call you angel."

You bite the inside of your cheek and gaze at Jungkook through your lashes. A devilish smirk spreads across his face at your chosen silence.

"Guess I'll have to figure it out along the way."

He inches forward, capturing your lips. His tongue licks the seam before pushing in the crevasse. Though you fight, you can't stop from moaning into his mouth.

You find your thoughts drifting to all the other places you'll feel his tongue tonight. Maybe on your neck, or your breasts, inside your thighs–fuck. You're about to soak your panties to bunny boy.

One by one, you feel the buttons of your silk blouse being pulled apart. The delicate material pools at to your feet in seconds, leaving you in your lacy white bra.

"Pretty," Jungkook plays with a strap before bringing his hands down to cup the swell of your breasts. "Not what I expected though...thought red was more your color." He flashes a cocky smirk.

"Very funny, Jung–"

You gasp when his thumbs start swirling tiny circles around your clothed nipples. "How hard are they?" He says.

"Take it off and find out."

"Fuck.” He squeezes your breasts. "You sure?"

Once giving a nod, you're pulled to the bed. Jungkook guides you on your back before settling himself around your waist in a straddled position. When he leans forward to reach behind your back, you feel his length poke you.

"Mm," you muffle a small moan.

He raises a brow. "What's gonna happen when I'm inside you huh?" The straps of your bra sweep off your shoulders. Cool air hits your breasts, nipples pebbling instantly.

"I can take it," you say.

Jungkook's eyes dilate at your bare breasted state. "Sure you can babe." The tips of his fingers graze along your sides. "Cause I'm just an average fuck yeah?"

His palms cup the underside of your boobs, squeezing lightly. He then lowers his lips to the ridge of your ear.

"Gonna make you come by your tits pretty girl." Your back arches as he digs his fingers into the soft flesh.

"Jungkook-"

"Fuck," he hisses. "Rolls off your tongue just right." He trails from your neck down to your naval, leaving open mouth kisses along the way.

Your core twists at the warm sensation. You wanna tell him not to leave marks but something inside you secretly hopes he does.

Jungkook traces back up your torso, giving your buds a few flicks with his thumbs before taking one between his lips. He sucks firmly, switching between breasts. Occasionally you let out a yelp when his teeth tug at them ever so slightly.

You desperately want to rub your thighs together due to the wetness pooling between them but the weight of Jungkook straddling you doesn't allow for much movement.

“Be a good girl and stay still," he says, cocky grin plastered on his face.

You're not a good girl, you pant back though your nearly frozen body would say otherwise.

A few more flicks of his tongue and you know he's made you come from your tits as promised.

Jungkook leans back on the his knees. "I really wanna fuck them now." He tugs on a nipple playfully but you slap his hand away.

"Don't even think about it," you say. "They're sore enough".

"You liked it though."

"Well no shit, I came didn't I? Can't believe it," you mumble under your breath. "Anyway, it's your turn now. Take your shirt off," you nearly demand."

"Even after coming, you're still a fiesty little kitten." He brings his arms around his waist. Your core tightens as you watch the white tank top lift up his muscular upper body and over his head.

"Satisfied?" He studies your expressions.

Instinctively, you trace down his sweaty build; starting with the collarbone. You work your way over to his shoulders after until his pecs draw your attention. And then his diaphragm, leading to the ‘v’ outlining his pelvis.

"Take them off too."

Jungkook gives you a pleased look. "Wanna see how average my cock is?"

You move to an upright position, face close to his. "More like wanna see what it can do." You snap the band of his sweats. "Hmm, what'd you think about that playboy?"

Jungkook's cock twitches. He needs to be inside you before he blows a load in his pants here and now. He gets up from the bed, hooks his thumbs in his sweats and pulls them down along with his briefs.

Alarms go off in your head as his half-harden cock is yanked out of it's confinement. It slaps against his abdomen, tip glowing with precum.

Swallowing, you fiddle with your own pants. It's huge and it's going inside you.

"What if I told you I wanna taste you first?"

You pause your movements and peer up at the man. "You mean...down there?"

You wanna slap yourself from how naive you sound but the thought of Jungkook's head between your legs was an affair you'd never predict to happen.

"Yeah pretty girl," Jungkook quips. "There."

"Uhm," you breath, stomach doing somersaults. "Okay."

He settles between your legs this time, panties kicked off in some odd corner of the room. He gives your inner thigh a kiss before running a finger up your slit.

A lusty moan leaves your lips.

He pushes in a moment later, making you gasp for air. Another finger pushes along side it and after a few pumps he's perfectly stimulating your g-spot.

"Jung-Jungkook fuck!" You grip the sheets from under you.

He brings his thumb over your clit, toying with the bundle of nerves. "Am I doing it right __?" He's teasing again.

You nod vigorously. "Don't stop...please. Don't you dare stop."

Jungkook hums in approval, low and breathy, but retracts his fingers from your soaking cunt. They're quickly replaced with his tongue however, licking a broad stripe up your folds. The action is repeated over and over until your once again digging your nails into his scalp.

"M' gonna come," you say with a shaky voice.

As if an invitation, he dips in your heat. A string of profanities spill out.

Shit shit shit, you chant as you release on his tongue.

Jungkook lifts his head up from between your legs and wipes his mouth off. "You're fucking sexy." He presses a deep kiss on your lips, long and messy. "And you taste sweet too."

"Fuck me," you nearly beg. "And call me a slut while your at it."

"You su–"

"You don't have to use a condom either. I'm on the pill."

"Real–"

"Yes Jungkook."

He shifts back from your body, chest inflating and deflating. "On your hands and knees then."

As soon as the words leave his mouth you flip over, your full backside in his view. Did you feel exposed? Hell yeah. But that's part of the fun.

You turn your head over a shoulder to see Jungkook inching behind you. From this angle you feel so small. You bite your lip, anticipation driving you wild.

"Don't forget what I asked for earlier playboy."

Hovering over your back, his breath tickling your skin. "And what makes you think I'll listen to you pretty girl?" His length brushes between your asscheeks.

You whine.

"Jungkook–"

All at once he aligns himself with your hole and thrusts himself in. The fullness of the stretch has your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Fuck, you're so big," you moan.

"Yeah? You like this," he grunts, starting off a steady pace. "I knew you would." He nips your ear. "Cute how dumb little sluts like you think they know what they want, but really, they don't have a clue."

Your breathe hitches, squeezing around his length. "What about---fuck---assholes like you who decide what others want before asking?"

The bed jolts forward. You cling to all you can to steady yourself.

"It's not really deciding for others if they already want it, is it?" He snaps his hips. "I'm merely helping them, like an asset."

"Shu---god fuck!"

"Deny it all you want but we both know how hard this little pussy's clenching around my big, fat cock. Been wanting this for a while hasn't it?" Beads of sweat drip from Jungkook's brow. His wavy, black locks dangle in front of his eyes.

Helplessly, you start rocking yourself on him, meeting his thrusts in perfect sync.

"Holy shit–" Jungkook groans. "You get me so fucking turned around. Can't even be in a room with me for five minutes before you're clawing for a way out but here you are, desperate to take my cock."

"What can I say," you barely gasp, beyond wound up. "Can't stand arrogant jerks like you."

He snorts. "But you'll sure fuck 'em won't you? Slut."

Walls tightening, knees shaking, it takes only one last hard thrust and you're spasming around him.

Jungkook coaxes you through your high with broken grunts. "Fuck, you feel so tight and warm around me. Gonna come pretty girl? Gonna come all over my cock aren't you?"

"Jung---Jungkook!"

"It's okay sweetheart, you can do it. Fucking cream it."

And you do.

With his cock coated with your cum, Jungkook fucks through his own high. "Hang in there __, I'm almost there," he says, thrusts sloppy.

Once he releases into you his body grows limp on yours. A small yelp tells him to slide out and off you.

As you lie next to each other, panting heavily, you're the first to break the silence.

"I think I've proven my point. You gonna shut up about your story now?"

"I don't know which point that would be but sure," Jungkook turns his head to the side with a lazy smirk. "I'll shut up about the story. I have a new one on my mind anyway."

God what have you done. Uncaged the beast, that's what.

A/N: thanks for stopping by, happy to hear your thoughts ☺💗

Masterlist

no reposting, copying, or translating my work

© kookslastbutton

[sentientgolfball]

Maybe nr 3 "You look better with my hands around your neck." With mountain/ifrit

Mountain/Ifrit is a pair I think I need more of

send me a prompt and a pair !

Mountain nearly forgets why he came down here when he opens the door. Immediately he gets hit with a wave of heat so intense it has him sweating already. That’s not what makes him freeze though. Ifrit and Alpha are sparring on the mats. Shirtless. Sweaty. Flushed. He likes to believe he’s as unshakable as the earth itself, but every ghoul has their weaknesses. He stays in the doorway, eyes glued to the two ghouls in front of him. He’s sure whatever Zephyr needed Ifrit for can wait just a little bit longer. It would be rude to interrupt them. 

Ifrit gets his legs swept from under him, landing hard on his back. Mountain’s ears perk up at the grunt he lets out. It’s all too familiar. Alpha moves quickly to mount him, straddling his hips to gain the upper hand. He leans over him, wrapping one hand around Ifrit’s wrist and the other around his own. He starts to pull Ifrit’s arm down, but before he can do much, Ifrit bridges his hips and rolls them over. Mountain can hear him panting and the sight of his sweat shiny chest rapidly rising and falling does not help to stop his mind from wandering. He’s almost jealous of the view Alpha has pinned under him. 

Alpha uses it to his advantage though. He bridges his hips just enough to throw Ifrit off balance. He has to slam his hands against the mat to stop himself from completely smothering Alpha. Mountain has to bite his tongue. Ifrit’s chest is so close to Alpha’s face that all he would have to do is turn his head to be buried. Alpha slides up to rest his weight on his palm. He wraps his free arm around the back of Ifrit’s neck, effectively putting him in a headlock. He wraps his legs around Ifrit’s waist, locking his ankles and pulling him flush against him. Mountain can’t take his eyes away from where their hips are pressed together. 

Alpha flexes his arms and legs at the same time. Ifrit chokes out a gasp as his airflow gets cut off. Mountain mirrors him, half hard cock kicking in his pants. He shouldn’t be so affected by this, yet when Ifrit’s eyes roll to the back of his head he can feel himself throb. He palms himself to try to relieve the pressure as he starts to go limp in Alpha’s hold. He really shouldn’t find this as hot as he does. Ifrit could be seriously hurt. The thought only makes the warmth in his stomach worse. Fortunately, Alpha releases him and he lets out a loud gasp as he sucks in air. 

He lets Ifrit lay on top of him, panting as he comes back into himself. Slowly he sits up and Alpha takes that as a sign that he’s alright. Alpha stands and extends his hand out to him. He grins up at him like he didn’t just choke him out and lets Alpha help him to his feet. They clack their horns together before turning their attention to Mountain. 

“Enjoy the show?” Ifrit smiles at him. 

Oh he sure did. Probably more than he should have. He’ll blame the flush of his cheeks on the heat. 

Ifrit and Alpha go about their business, toweling themselves down and packing up their belongings. Mountain shakes his head a little, trying to clear it so he can do what he came here for. He walks over to Ifrit fully intent on letting him know Zephyr is looking for him. Though when those big, bright eyes turn to him all hope is lost.

“What do you need honeysuckle?” 

Mountain’s eyes rake over his body and he wants more than to trace his tongue over the trails of sweat on his throat. He gets in close, slouching so he can whisper in Ifrit’s ear. 

“You looked good out there, but I think you’d look better with my hands around your neck.” He pulls his lobe between his teeth. 

Ifrit gasps, hand coming up to grip Mountain’s shirt. His eyes flick to Alpha. He has finished putting his things away, slinging his bag over his shoulder and making his way towards the door. It only takes a few more moments before he hears it swing open and then closed. He pulls back enough to look at Mountain. 

“If you can pin me then I’m all yours.” He flashes his fangs at him. 

Mountain smiles, a low growl rumbling through his chest. He’s never been one to let prey get away.