#that is overpowers the ruffles. that's it. it's that good.

[konfizry]

So we all know the tales of series have lots of dlc swimsuits, which I find amazing considering they've been doing this for a long time

So I was wondering, do you think these swimsuits for these characters fit for them in terms of their personality and why

Alisha Diphda from Tales of Zestiria Beachside Girl

Velvet Crowe from Tales of Berseria Summer Swimwear

Shionne from Tales of Arise Regal Swimsuit

Nothing serious just thought I give you a fun question

Dear tim-ribbert-56,

Thank you for reaching out. Anime girls in swimsuit is one of my many interests and I am overjoyed to seize this opportunity to discuss them.

For brevity's sake I shall forgo any comments and lamentations regarding the swimsuits' status as DLC when such garments used to simply obtained from the games itself free of charge in earlier installments.

First, I fear there isn't much I could tell you about Alisha's swimsuit and how it compliments her character as my memories of her are but muddy visions i barely retained from a dropped jp ToZ playthrough and unfocused watch of the anime (which I cannot even remember whether I watched it to the end or not). One thing I can say for sure however is that whoever designed her swimsuit must have really hated her. The mangled color (are those tiny irregular white spots sparkles or just a pattern? I'm not sure which answer terrifies me the most) make the fabric look cheap. The ruffly skirt is an affront to good taste and though I think I understand why the artist would include ruffles (it's always the same, really: to give whatever character they're slapped onto a hint of girlish innocence to balance out whatever other aspect of the design was deemed too prominent --edgyness, skimpiness, bulkiness, you name it--. they're fine on an actual child character but whoever is putting them on anyone over the age of 13 needs to take some time to think. i'm not saying don't ever do it but I am saying: think.) but if you look at Alisha's normal outfit, you'll be a seeing a lot of straight lines and geometrical shapes: we have rectangles, crosses, the checker-like pattern on the hem of her tunic, vertical lines going down said tunic, tunic which itself is a pretty straight cut, the collar is noticeably triangular, the greaves and gauntlets add lots of sharp edges and bulk as well etc.

The more "feminine" aspects of it shine through in subtle ways, I especially like the use of the pastel yellow-green tassels and ribbon that serve as a vector of "delicate-ness". It's pretty effective! You can tell Fujishima also had a field day with her hair, look at the ponytail, so airy. So graceful. Like a stroke of ink in water. Oh and also she's wearing hotpants.

Now if you look back at her swimsuit design, do you see the same amount if care and creativity? No. Just slap a bunch of ruffles and sad ribbons there you go done bye. It's just so sad. The jewelry is also lacking in refinement. Is that mickey mouse pendant? I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be. The upper arm bracelet has potential but the beads are way too big and crude. There's no life to this design I swear. And what's with the tribal(????) tattoo. Genuinely. What was the plan. Am I saying a character's swimsuit should necessarily resonate with the base design? No, not necessarily but in Alisha's case it's kind of the only think I can reliably go off of. So yeah. Not a good swimsuit, she deserves better. But then again if the discourse around Zestiria and Alisha specifically hold any semblance of truth, "deserving better" is a significant aspect of Alisha as a character in the story so maybe this specific swimsuit is actually meta commentary on how little the narrative thinks of her. (don't ask me i dont have a clue) Now onto characters I actually know about: Velvet. Does it fit her personality: No, she'd either go around tits out in nothing but an old pair of trunks that aren't even swimming trunks, or wear one of those full-coverage swimsuits, no middle ground. I think the pengyon (at least i think it's a pengyon?) that replaces her gauntlet thingy is cute. And the ripped mini-shorts and the fact that the bra part still allows for an underboob view and probably provides little to no support at all do a good job of resonating with her main outfit. Google tells me the hibiscus flower represents womanhood in the language of flowers and Velvet is ineed a woman. So there's that. Last but not least: Shionne. She's the reason it took me so long to respond to this ask. Every time i opened the post, her butt would hypnotize me and I couldn't do anything. Her swimsuit design also incorporate elements that are reminiscent of her Noble Scarlet dress (the off-the-shoulder jacket gives a silhouette that is similar to the effect given by the pauldrons and even the sleeves of the dress itself that are under it, the little pouch on her thigh that replaces her... shell holder garter(?) etc). Now would Shionne the individual wear this swimsuit? ...sure? She'd totally get one of those one-piece swimsuits with cutouts that make it look like a bikini from behind, she's extra like that. It's also a very modern design both in terms of shape and print (though that's not specific to Shionne, the whole arise cast was given modern/sporty swimwear) which works well for her I think but she can also wear more traditional-looking pieces with ease. Speaking of traditional, the headband adds an element of softness and natural, it kinda screams cottagecore like that? Which I'm pretty sure Shionne totally digs btw. Though Shionne no doubt spends a good 15 minutes making the bow look Just Right And Effortlessly Cute. Then again I'm pretty sure that's exactly what cottagecore is about. Summer is now over in the northern hemisphere where i live, yet if i close my eyes i might smell the chlorine fragrance of a bikini left to dry on a plastic chair in sunlight. I keep it alive in my heart.

[phoenixkaptain]

Hard not to relate to Hannibal Lecter, honestly, I mean, I, too, craved to drown the other kids and stab them repeatedly for making fun of me. I, too, imagined the slow painful death of the adults who were cruel to me. I, too, had an inexorable urge to sink my teeth into the flesh of all who dared to look down on me and hold them there until my thirst for violence was sated with blood.

On the other hand. I don’t think I could murder someone for being a bad waiter. The social anxiety, you know?

[slvttyplum]

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ you would kick him out but…| Toji Fushiguro

SYNOPSIS: saw a video saying broke men have the best dick and that made me think of a certain someone…

CONTENT: broke toji, smut, degradation, fem!reader, counter sex

You were sitting in the living room on your computer, finishing up grading assignments. All the lights were off, and nothing but a lamp was illuminating your glasses. You sigh, throwing your head back. You were grading for two hours nonstop, and your back started aching. You went to adjust your glasses before diving back into the words on your screen until the front door flung open.

You jump in fear, staring at the big figure in front of you. There he was, his broke ass. Toji stood there in sweats, a sweatshirt, and slides ruffling through the fridge already. You jump off the couch, storming towards him.

“And where the hell have you been all day?” He shrugs you off, grabbing a can of Coke and popping it open. His dark eyes are fixed on you as you hold your mouth open in anger. Leaning against the kitchen counter, he smirks at you. You squint your eyes, wondering what he’s going to say. You’ve been waiting on him to come back for hours on end to help him with applications, but he stood you up, thinking the shit is funny.

Toji burps, clearing his throat. “I’ve been looking for a job.” You burst out laughing and clapping your hands. If there's one thing he knows how to do, it's to make you laugh. Although this situation wasn’t funny, it was funny how he tried to blatantly lie.

“Don’t lie, your sorry ass was out roaming the streets like always. We’re grown; start being real.” You walk towards the fridge, opening it and looking for a snack. He does this all the time; the cycle never ends. This has been happening for three months: you agree to help him find a job; he agrees that once he gets a job, he’ll start paying rent; the next day he goes out and doesn’t come back until midnight; you get mad; he says what you want to hear.

It's exhausting, to say the least. You would kick him out, but...

You pulled out string cheese, and as Toji walks closer to you, sliding behind you, something slides across your ass and digs into you. He takes his hands, rubbing your sides as he moves forward, pressing into you.

Fuck…

You push back against him a little bit, dropping your cheese. He pushes right back, taking his hands and sliding them into your shirt, rubbing past your boobs. You flinch at the touch. Turning around and wrapping your arms around his neck, he takes his hands and slides them to your ass, gripping hard.

His dark eyes and cold demeanor did something to you like nothing else; it turned you on faster than any foreplay ever cold.

He picks you up as you wrap your legs around his waist. He kisses you, and you kiss back forcefully. He pulls back, going for your neck. You push his head back, frowning, “No. You know that.” Chuckling, he takes you to the counter, setting you down.

“You would look so sexy with a hickey, though.”

You roll your eyes, taking off your shirt, revealing you were wearing no bra. He eyes you down, licking his lips like you were a full-course dinner. He quickly takes one of your boobs in his hand, fiddling with your nipple, and the other holds your neck, kissing you. His kiss got more aggressive, his mouth overpowering yours.

You moan into the kiss, subtly grinding; it felt so good, but you didn’t want to be needy. He removes his hand from your neck, putting his hand into your shorts. It was forceful, but it only made you wetter. His hands were rough but felt good against your skin.

"Let's just take these off.” He says, taking both his hands and yanking them off, you jerk up, flopping back on the counter. He throws off his slides, pulling down his sweats and briefs. You stare at him as he does it, his abs popping off and his happy trail sliding down to his pubic hair—a sight for sore eyes, you thought to yourself.

He takes one hand and sits it on your thigh, gripping it, and the other slides one finger in. You gasp, taking your hand and gripping his arm for stability. “How does it feel?” He says with bass in his voice, and you nod looking at him, trying to find the words "good." He then puts another finger in, curving them up, and you moan, throwing your head back.

He takes his hand off your thigh and spits in his hand, wrapping it over his dick. He lets out a soft moan, putting another finger inside of you. He smirks at the sight of you gripping onto him with your head back. You began to rock your hips back and forth, and you slid your hand down to his wrist. It always felt so good when he fingered you, and he made sure to make use of them if he couldn’t do anything else.

His moans got more audible as he stroked himself faster. Tilting your head back up, you looked at him as he was looking down at your pussy. You gripped his wrist harder, pulling his wrist into you. He looked up at you, moving his fingers faster. He slipped a third finger inside, curving it up even more.

“Tell me how much you like it, y/n.” You look at him with blank eyes as he goes faster. The pleasure was so great that you couldn’t even think of the words you were going to say. Your eyes were rolled, and you couldn’t breathe; you were close.

His speed slowed down. He slipped one finger out. He removed his hand from his dick, grabbing your neck and leaning forward, both your noses touching. “I Said…”

He dragged out the last word, slipping his dick inside of you. All thoughts zoomed back inside your head, your eyes rolling back into their original form. Before you could let out any words, he squeezed your neck, looking you straight in the eye.

“Answer my fucking question.”

You took your hand, gripping his wrist around your neck. “What question? Whether you should get a job or not?”

His grip got tighter as he thrust into you; his dick slid easily, your hips grinding against him subliminally. He leaned into your ear and said, “Don’t be fucking coy, answer.” You moaned loudly as he pounded into you with force. You were about to cum but couldn’t get there.

“You..” You say that in between breathing, he tilts his head, smirking and gripping your neck tighter. You start coughing, but he only grips harder and pounds faster. Your heart was racing so fast that you couldn’t hear anything but ringing.

"I'm sorry, baby, I didn’t quite catch that.” He says moving his hips at a rate only a monster could go, you were almost there, just a bit more. You try to move your head back, but his grip is sucking the life out of you.

“That means say it again, slut.” You start slapping his hand as you draw closer to your climax, and your legs widen as you begin to cum.

“You! You! Oh my god, you.” You cum, and he only goes faster; his head falls onto your shoulder as he groans in between thrusts. The hold on your neck gets tighter, and you smack his hand, trying to get him off you.

His rhythm gets slower and sloppier, and he pulls out, cumming on your pussy, He unclasps your neck, and you start coughing. His head is still on your shoulder. You push him off, hopping off the counter. You walk towards him, slapping his chest.

“You almost killed me, you fucking idiot!”

He laughs, bending down and trying to catch his breath. “yeahhhh I know. Sorry about that.”

You roll your eyes, picking up your clothes off the floor and walking away, mumbling, “Put this much energy into finding a job.”

He picks his head up, yelling to you, "I'm sorry, what was that?

You stomp to your room door and say, “Fuck off.” slamming your door.

[sixosix]

ARE YOU READY FOR IT? | LYNEY

warnings 1.8k words, implied child neglect, the dark themes of the house of the hearth, once again i will say that this is not canon compliant

notes thank u naosaki (art) for proofreading the first ever chapter of the series!!! and being my hypeman overall LMFAO, see the end of the work for more notes + FANART

masterlist | next chapter

A deep breath. In, out. Once more. Rehearsed lines, practiced smiles, and a heart as steady as a frightened squirrel.

“Good?”

You meet his eyes. “Good.”

The corset isn’t as suffocating as you expected it would be. Aether ensures that you’re as comfortable as possible dressed in this snug bodice with a puffed-up, full skirt that drapes gracefully down your legs in a deep shade that blends in seamlessly with those of those who walk past the busy streets of Fontaine—because you’d eventually have to fight with this thing on.

The polearm feels heavy nestled in your palms. Strange, as you had never gone through a night without spinning it around your body and thrusting it into the air in the solitude of the night where no one would suspect a thing. You flick your wrist, not bothered to watch it disperse into the air. You’ve come to a point where green stems are more at home in your hands than weapons. You’re not sure why you don’t feel content with that revelation.

“Are you ready?”

Your gaze snaps to Aether, who’s looking at you warily as if standing across a ticking bomb. “Yes.” You offer a smile, hoping it comes across as comforting.

Aether tries for a smile back, though it looks more like a grimace. You can see it in his eyes: he doesn’t trust you. But his desire to learn more overpowers his wariness, and now, you’ve struck a deal. So long as you’re wearing this disguise, you are allies.

“Paimon is starting to miss your muddy apron,” Paimon says, wilting as you twirl around. “You look a lot less like Y/N.”

“This is who I really am, Paimon.” You glance to the ruffles and the thick coat, engulfing you in everything Fontaine. 

Paimon tilts her head. “Who?”

You cast her a dry smile. “Runaway coward, fraud, and Fatuu.”

YEARS BEFORE.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been an orphan under the care of ‘Father’.

If you were to shut your eyes and reminisce about life before the orphanage, you’d catch a fleeting glimpse of your mother’s face as you were surrendered over to grand doors, ones that felt like they were fifteen feet tall and thick enough to keep you from your family. You don’t know if your mother was kind or if she intended to leave you here long enough for everyone to call you an orphan. You eventually stopped dreaming about her.

You find that it doesn’t matter because you’re already here. You wouldn’t know where she would be. Waking up spelled out another day of pushing through.

“Hush, child,” a voice whispered as you hiccuped, overwhelmed with unfamiliar faces and tall, tall walls. Your chin was gripped by hands with sharp nails, but they didn’t hurt you. “Save your tears. You are safer here.”

You blinked rapidly, tremors jostling your shoulders with each ugly sob, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your breathing slowed as the shed tears cleared your vision, finally seeing the woman in front of you. She looked as if she had just done something horrible; she looked as if she wouldn’t hesitate to slit your throat if you screamed and thrashed around her hold.

You looked at her and saw someone you knew would protect you.

It became a little less dull when ‘Father’ let you borrow one of the weapons from the stash. The one you chose reeked of dried blood and looked dangerously unused, its surface marred by rust. It was long, and you concluded from the tip that it was no sword; it was all too different from the weapons you’ve seen around. On your first swing, you stumbled and nearly let it slip through your fingers.

“A polearm,” ‘Father’ noted, staring down at you in a way that felt as if she was scrutinizing every action and every thought running through your head. “Would you like to try it out?”

It was difficult. Each swing felt as if you were inches away from hitting your own head—or, even worse, felt as if you would make the wrong move and hit ‘Father’, who’s watching you in silence. She doesn’t stand from where she’s seated, though she does speak here and there. Stand straighter; don’t hold it too tightly; watch your balance.

You loved it. You held onto the rusty polearm more than you breathe. You train, and train, and train until it twirls around your fingers seamlessly, like water rushing through smooth rocks, until it’s as easy as a second limb.

That is how you made a name for yourself in the House of the Hearth.

During the times ‘Father’ returned briefly from business trips, you’d make her watch you train. You made her see how far you’d come, and she knew it, too. She’d even invite the other orphans to spar with you, but you were never defeated.

The orphans would hear your name, and they’d either scrunch their noses in distaste or brighten up in awe—it’s all the same, in your opinion. They hear your name and think of how fondly Arlecchino favors you.

The next one, they whisper. The next king.

The House of the Hearth became something greater than a home. It became a training ground for future soldiers, disguised as an orphanage, yet it treated you far better than your own household. Here, you've matured in wisdom with each thrust of your weapon and with every hidden truth that Teyvat conceals; it's where you learned to sharpen and embrace them all. Here, no one can hurt you. No one tries to break down your walls or question why you have them up in the first place. 

‘Father’ took you in and gave you another chance. ‘Father’ saw your battered arms and torn faith and introduced you to a house where you wouldn’t ever have to feel this broken again. And you, too young and too aware of the creeping loneliness clawing at you, took her hand and never looked back.

The House of the Hearth is where you learned what it was like to feel respect. Fear goes hand-in-hand with it, but you can’t help it if it can’t bring you down because you’ve climbed far too out of reach.

“That was a really good match,” Freminet mumbles as you walk over, sweaty all over and panting from exhaustion—but there’s a wide smile on your face, only ever appearing after battling someone.

You beam at his praise. “Yeah? I was testing a new move last night. It didn’t work, though.”

“I didn’t even notice you slipping,” Freminet says, puzzled, prompting a burst of laughter from you.

This side of you is only reserved for Freminet. To everyone else—and especially ‘Father’—you’re cold and cruel, and you don’t like wasting time with other people. But you’ve grown fond of Freminet, just as his quiet murmurs and hours-long of whispers are meant just for you. It’s a strange friendship. Everyone else thinks you could never get along.

What everyone else thinks doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters, not when you’re something here.

“‘Father’ is calling for you,” Freminet says, gesturing vaguely to the side.

You pat Freminet’s head and flick the polearm back to life, materializing in your hands. “I’ll see you at dinner, ‘kay? Don’t sneak off this time.” Freminet pretends to think about it, humming thoughtfully, then smiles when you nudge his shoulder before darting off.

“Every kingdom would have the next king,” is what ‘Father’ says when you’re a few steps across her. There’s a ghost of a smile on her face—or at least is what you like to think. Your heart races. “I see it in you, child.”

Warmth fills your chest. You bow your head to hide the unprofessional and childish smile.

“Ah,” she continues, looking off to the side. “Before I forget…fetch your siblings. I have news to share.”

You frown, failing to hide your disappointment. You were hoping for a bit more. “Of course, ‘Father’.”

The House of the Hearth was perfect. This was where you thrived—where no one else could take this victorious feeling away.

But then Lynette became a part of the ‘family’, and with it, she dragged along Lyney.

Lyney, with his slicked back, matted hair, violet eyes wide yet somehow dim, and figure thinner than a stick—the picture of every orphan stumbling into their new home for the very first time. Lyney, who stands beside ‘Father’ as they’re introduced, his gaze wandering the room, the unfamiliar faces, then your unimpressed eyes. Lynette is behind him, peeking out from his shoulder.

‘Father’ gives them the usual: a promise of no betrayal, a promise of a bond as strong as the blood shared between the twins. They listen. You scowl.

It is also here, in the House of the Hearth, where your world is flipped upside down, all because of violet eyes that seem to have never left yours.

There’s something about Lyney that unnerves you.

You assure Freminet that it’s not just because you’re miffed that The Knave is paying too close attention to the twins. You would get over the jealousy—you knew it was for the twins to feel at ease as they settled in; she’d done the same to you (the only difference is she never stopped). But Freminet has also taken a deep liking to them, saying you’re wary for no reason.

He isn’t wrong. You’re wary for a reason you’re not sure why just yet.

It was just that Lyney’s face pissed you off.

He keeps staring from over ‘Father’’s legs, sharp eyes following your movements. His face is blank, keeping you from reading his thoughts, yet his eyes are wide. You can’t tell if it’s akin to a trembling puppy or a cat prepared to pounce. You hate the feeling of his eyes boring into your skin.

You tell ‘Father’ all of this as the other orphans scurry off to bed, and you’re in charge of cleaning the dining table. With each plate stacked, venom spits from your mouth, brows knitted, and teeth bared in a snarl. You haven’t questioned any of ‘Father’’s decisions—you’re wary of this particular one, though.

‘Father’ has that quirk on her lips, amusement evident on her suspiciously bright expression. “You haven’t met Lyney yet, have you? What’s brought this reaction out of you?”

You nearly fumble with the glasses, avoiding her eyes. “I-It’s not as if I hate him. I just—I don’t know. There’s something strange about him.”

And speaking of strange, ‘Father’ has that look in her eye that you’re starting to feel agitated by. You think that the knowing smile is a nice look on her, however, you’re not sure if what’s running through her head at the moment can be considered nice.

“I see,” she says, a lilt in her tone.

“See what, ‘Father’?” You bristle when she smiles wider. “See what?”

references: kingdom and the next king — lyney voiceline: about “father”: king

BEFORE U STOP READING, Pls check out this AWESOME FANART (FANART!!!) of the first scene by akagi0021

taglist @thenyxsky

[sur-i-ki]

Ｓｅｃｒｅｔ Ｌａｄｙ

⇝ 𝘎𝘢𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘹 𝘍!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Temari was nervous. She’s been in the kitchen with her brothers, preparing to meet Gaara’s girlfriend. Lord, his girlfriend. Her youngest brother, her Kazakage, has had someone for years. Years, and he brings her home now. Which he might be late to pick up if he doesn’t leave.

“Gaara, get out of my kitchen right now!”

Kankuro flinches but continues to bring the dishes out onto the table. Gaara looks at her with confused eyes, before looking at a clock. Sand rushes around him, grabbing the bouquet on the counter before he leaves in a flurry. As she sets the table for four, Temari can’t help but think of when she learned about his girlfriend. All because they had been a little bold. She closed her eyes for a second, thinking about seeing the hickeys on her brother’s neck, another bundle of flowers in his hands yesterday.

“Gaara.”

A bit of prying later, she’s sitting on the couch, her head in her hands. 

“How long have you been dating her again?”

“…About two years.”

“Two years?”

“Yes.”

She looks up at him, and his face shows a bit of his fear. Good, because she feels slightly homicidal, but the shock overpowers that feeling for now.

“And never once, not once, did you think you should bring her to meet your family?”

Gaara looks to Kankuro, but his older brother takes one glance in Temari’s direction before he raises his hands in a surrendering gesture.

“I’ll bring her tomorrow.”

So, here Temari was. Ready to see if this person was a good fit for her brother. A knock on the door, and she moves with Kankuro to open it.The first thought she has is you’re pretty. The second is that her brother looks at her as if she’s the best thing in the world. 

Well then.

Temari hugs you and accepts the gift you offer before ushering everyone to the table. Gaara and you sit towards her and Kankuro. She can’t miss the way you look at Gaara either. Pure love and happiness. The conversation starts, bringing up how you guys met, how you had to ask Gaara out because he just wouldn’t, and so much more.

She noticed that Gaara smiled more this evening than he had this entire month. 

As the night progresses, Temari grows more satisfied. You’re polite, and make up for all of Gaara’s flaws while he makes up for your’s. You complement each other perfectly. One glance in Kankuro’s direction, and he agrees. 

Soon, it’s time for you to leave. You hug Temari and shake Kankuro’s hand, and then Gaara whisks you away.

“I like her.” 

Kankuro says as they move the dishes out of the way.

“I agree. They’re good for each other.”

And when Gaara walks through the door again, slight blush adorning his face and head up in the clouds, Temari can’t help but smile even as she smacks his head.

“Idiotic imbecile.”

But she ruffles his hair as Kankuro wraps a arm around Gaara.

“At least, she makes you happy, right?” She asks as she lightly touches his tattoo.

Gaara tangle his fingers with hers and presses them against the tattoo.

“Yes.”

“Good.” then she smirks in his direction with Kanuro as they move their youngest to the couch, “Now let us give you some tips.”

The mortification on his face was worth it. 

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[mare-noctis-studios]

Ambrosia

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion x You (gn terms) CW: Blood drinking, Vampirism, Allusions to Sex

Astarion is a True Vampire and decides he is allowed to have the things he wants for eternity

“You look so lovely like this darling. So… obedient. Maybe I should keep you like this. My spawn. Mine for eternity.”

You begin to protest, but the words died unspoken on your lips as a wave of thought washed through you. It wrapped around your brain with a comforting warmth. It was so nice to just give in. Astarion’s eyes glowed in the firelight, warm as the blood that thrums through your heart, and a fond smile graced his lips.

It was an odd feeling. Your brain was still your own, your own thoughts and beliefs, and yet at a simple command the desire to obey overpowers all else.

Your eyes speak the words your lips cannot, and the smile grows wider - revealing pointed fangs stained red.

“You now see why a vampire hardly converts his spawn. The power you have over one, to make them obey to your every whim. Your puppet, to do with as you please” The downturn of his lips betrayed his own memories, the sour taste of panic in your throat as he continued to burn holes with his gaze. You feel the tadpole squirm in your brain, lashing out at the control with its own desire to dominate. Leaning into that feeling you let authority wash over as your minds touched briefly, a gentle caress as you wrapped one of his silver curls around you finger, delight shining deep in his eyes like the glimmer of coin in a well.

“You never needed to prove your torment to me Astarion” you say softly, letting the illithid power battle the vampire domination as you fall to your knees, face upturned to bare your soul. “I trust you.”

A hand reaches out, cold and pale to brush over your cheek, thumb brushing the plump of your lower lip as you graze the pad of his finger.

Something akin to childlike wonder crept across Astarion’s face as he lifted your top lip gently to reveal what would become fangs, sinking slowly to his knees as hands roamed your neck and chest.

“By the Nine Hells, I do not deserve something as good as you” he whispered, pulling the strings of your shirt undone so he could rid you of the fabric. You followed suit, gently pulling the ruffle up so that his bare chest was mere inches away from yours, letting your hands explore the poem carved across his back.

“You may not deserve me,” you breathe, ghosting your lips in featherlight kisses across his jaw, teasing the skin at the hinge as his hands tangle in your hair. “But you have me all the same.”

Astarion pulled back for a moment, studying the slowly drying blood trails from the wound on your neck with keen interest. He brought stained fingers to his nose and sighed, tenderly licking the remnants away.

“I am going to miss this, dear. You as my sole sustenance, the very reason I continue my existence in this realm. You taste exquisite, my love, and it is a shame that such delicacy is to be lost forever.”

You smile at that, tilting your head as you let a playful tone stretch out between your shared minds. “Yes, I will be disappointing my other dinner guests it seems. Maybe I should back out while I can?”

A lance of poisonous anger pierced your mind, but it only made you laugh. Your beautiful, exquisite, possessive partner.

“Not that I offered my neck to anyone.” You let your smile slip into something more sensual, running your hands up his side until they came to rest at his jaw, pulling him forward in a near kiss. “Only you Astarion. It has only every been you.”

Your breath mingles in the moment as you tease his bottom lip between your teeth, biting just hard enough to indent skin. A promise of what’s to come. His hands tighten in the roots of your hair as he bares his neck with a groan, eyes falling closed as shifts even closer. You take a moment to pull him fully into your lap, guiding long legs around your waist, as desire flares white hot in your veins. Desire to consume, to devour the sinful being at your mercy. Astarion melted slightly in your hold, pressing open mouthed kisses to your temple.

“Feed, my love” he panted, pressing his chest tight to yours as shivers of anticipation overtook him. “Indulge yourself, for we may enjoy these proclivities for an eternity hereafter.”

You smile, nosing gently over the faint puncture marks from Cazador. “An eternity you say?” Anticipation thrums through your heart as you pull Astarion into a searing kiss. “I could think of nothing more delightful” you whisper, teeth grazing gently at the raised scars on his throat. You feel Astarion swallow once, twice, and with one final tug closer you bite.

Iron fills your senses as blood rushes forth, cool like water from a mountain spring, and you crave. Hands tightening in Astarion’s hair you draw his head to the side exposing his neck even more, hungrily drinking from the veritable fountain as blood settled deep and comforting within your body. You feel Astarion’s body shaking in your lap as you register the soft groans of delight coming from the throat under your tongue. Power blooms within you, the tadpole squirming in delight as you feel the tendrils of vampiric touch so familiar from Astarion’s own mind begin to take root, branching out and wrapping themselves around the fibre of your very being. Blood trickles out of your mouth and down your neck but its pales in comparison to the explosion of taste across your tongue.

Never had you thought blood would taste anything other than the metallic tang you had experienced in your own life’s injuries, but here you are. Astarion once described your taste as something akin to a fine wine - razor sharp yet delicate enough for most uses – however fine did not do him justice.

Astarion was exquisite. Cool and full-bodied, he tasted of sweet nectar and crisp air on a winter’s night, and you were an addict. Blood poured down your throat as Astarion strained a moan into your hair, his own excitement settling against your stomach, and you begin the monumental effort of slaking your thirst. Lapping at the wounds until they no longer flowed freely you met him halfway in a passionate kiss, the blood of you both mingling on your tongue in a way that overshadowed any pairing you had tasted before.

Alone, Astarion was exquisite. Together? Not even the finest ambrosia from the gods could hold a candle to the tase of you.

Astarion seemed eager to rid the last vestiges of clothes between you, and you hastily followed – not caring for the blood you two smeared on each other in the process – and soon you found yourself with Astarion’s legs around your waist and your mouth leaving a patina of love-bites across his chest. With every bite you feel your canines sharpening, until every bruise was accompanied by small punctures, each one driving your lover further and further over the edge into ecstasy.

Soon you were collapsing beside him, nose pressed into the open wound at his neck, his hands tracing lines from your own bite wound down to your heart. Even now, mere hours after your conversion, you feel your chest grow still – no longer needing to breathe – and the warmth of the fire more noticeable in your embrace.

“Thank you” you murmur, tongue gently cleaning the dried blood trail.

Astarion made a noise of contented pleasure, letting you continue your ministrations with the languid grace of a sated predator. “You trusted me to let you convert fully” he mused, seemingly to the empty air above your head but you smiled all the same, pressing a final kiss to the bite wound on his neck.

“Of course,” you say simply, propping up on one elbow to look at him fully. “I trusted that your desire for me would outweigh any tyrannical ideas you might have upon gaining a spawn of your own.” Your knowing smile was met with a mildly sheepish look, so you lean down to kiss it away. “Now, as you say, I can enjoy the machinations of your desire for eternity.”

Maybe I will continue this, or similar stories with the other companions as I get inspired. Let me know what you think Thanks for reading! K

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[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Things Learned and Unlearned Ch. 9

Series Summary: Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?

Pairings/Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N, Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester, Lucy Winchester (OC)

Warnings: Each chapter will have it's own warnings, but there will be smut, seduction, virgin!reader, playboy!dean, Edwardian era BS attitudes surrounding sex and women. (Technically it's set in 1900 and the Edwardian era started in 1901, but you get it.) Angst, Fluff, all the good stuff that regularly pops up in my series. 😁

Chapter Warnings: Nothing major, brief oral (f. receiving)

Word Count: 4,208

A/N: Here's Ch. 9. I so appreciate all the love and support you're all giving this series. Hope you enjoy the latest installment. ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

As Dean walked up the winding garden path towards Y/N’s hotel suite, he felt his long day start to fall away from him. His meeting at lunch had not gone well. 

He was attempting to put together a multi-layered deal between Winchester Shipping and Lumber, The Northern Rail and Freight Company, and Clearwater Pulp and Paper Mill in Maine. Ideally, if it worked, all three companies would benefit from a combination of lowered costs and guaranteed contracts. 

His lunch meeting had been with the vice president of Northern Rail and Freight, Byron Temple. Temple wouldn’t budge on the overinflated prices they wanted from Winchester Lumber for transporting their lumber from North Carolina up to Maine. 

Dean was trying to make it work, but Temple’s attitude and arrogance made Dean want to punch the guy in the mouth twice in the span of a single, hour and a half long meeting - didn't really bode well for a business partner. He was hoping the president and the board of the company would be more reasonable and less mulish.

But as he approached the garden doors, the anticipation of an evening with Y/N pushed the terrible meeting out of his mind. He opened the doors wide and walked through, only to pull up short as Y/N called to him from the bathroom across the suite.

“Dean? Close your eyes!”

Dean frowned and smiled at the same time. “What?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Please?”

He gave an indulgent sigh, and shut his eyes, covering them with his hand.  “Alright. They're closed.”

He could hear the rustling of fabric and realized she must be wearing one of her new dresses. It made his smile deepen to know she was so excited to show it to him that she had him closing his eyes like a child at a birthday party.

The rustling settled and he heard her take in a big breath. 

“Alright, you can open them.” She said quietly.

He dropped his hand and opened his eyes slowly. His indulgent smile dropped away too, and he was left staring, dumbfounded.

The dress she wore was a deep, sapphire blue, silk taffeta. There were tucks and ruffles all over, and all he could think was that she looked like a confection, like something sweet and iced, and delicious. 

And though he didn't know very much about women's changing fashions, he could also see that the dress was stylish without being gaudy. It was draped perfectly on her naturally rounded curves, accentuating her soft figure. The dress enhanced her stunning beauty rather than overpowering it. 

Lowen really did do extraordinary work. 

He stared wordlessly, and his frown seemed to worry Y/N. She looked down at herself and smoothed her hand down the skirt of her dress.

“What's wrong?” She asked, turning slightly, clearly trying to work out the reason for his frown. 

Dean felt bad, and smiled, shaking his head. “No, I'm sorry, sweetheart. Nothing's wrong. You're perfect.” 

He took two strides forward to reach her, gripping her elbows and pulling her close. He lifted her chin with his knuckle and shook his head in wonder.

“You are never anything less than stunning, no matter what you're wearing, but…” 

He stepped back an inch so he could study her from head to toe before cupping her cheek and pulling her back into the circle of his arms. 

“But,” he continued, “you were made to be covered in satin and lace.”

He dropped his lips to hers, slotting his mouth against her and pulling a wholly satisfying whimper from her throat.

She breathed rapidly, shaking her head, as he broke the kiss. “I don't know if anyone was ‘made for satin and lace’, but the dress is very beautiful. So, thank you.“

He nuzzled his nose just behind her ear. “Mmm…” He moaned softly at the scent of jasmine and roses that hit him. His hands dropped to her waist and he pulled her tight against him, slightly crushing the taffeta of her skirt against his legs. 

He rested his forehead on hers. “So, how badly do you want to go out this evening? I could just pull this beautiful dress off of you again and we could stay in.” He said, low and gruff.

Y/N giggled lightly, but shook her head and stepped out of his grasp making him moan again.

“Uh uh.” She said, wagging her finger at him. “I was promised a tour of New York, and Janet, our poor maid, spent almost an hour getting me into this dress and forcing my hair to look like this.”

She patted her hair, piled high with loops and curls. She nodded her head towards the plush green chair in the corner. “Had to be done just right so that I could properly wear that hat.”

Dean turned to see a truly enormous hat sitting on the cushion of the chair. Y/N picked it up and moved to the big wardrobe that stood in the corner of the room. Looking in the mirror, she began to position the hat on her head. 

She had two long hat pins that she used to stab the hat into place. It looked like it was made of silk, with a fairly flat crown and a very wide brim. Both the crown and the brim were weighed down with big blue and green flowers and the whole hat was shot through with dark blue ribbon.

Y/N adjusted and readjusted the hat on her head before dropping her arms and snickering at the reflection that showed her drowning in the monstrosity.

She turned back to face Dean and held her hands up to frame her face. Her grin was wide, and an answering smile quickly spread across his face. 

“What do you think?” She asked with laughter.

Dean shook his head. “I think Lowen is an excellent dressmaker, but he needs to hire a new milliner.”

She chuckled and reached up to take out the pins that held the hat in place, pulling it off her head. 

She looked forlornly at the pathetic thing. “What should I do? I have two other hats, but they're just as bad.”

Dean grabbed the thing from her hand and tossed it over his shoulder. 

“Oops, it blew away in the wind.”

Y/N’s laughter was rich and bright and Dean felt it in his whole body, like stepping into a patch of sunshine.

He lifted her pretty, creamy white, wool coat from the coat stand by the door, and helped her slip her arms into it before lifting it over her shoulders.

Y/N pulled on her gloves, and hooked her elbow around his arm. She threw him another bright smile. 

“Alright, good sir. Lead the way to New York City.”

***

Y/N was having the time of her life. New York bustled and moved at a surprising pace, even in the late afternoon and into the evening.

For the first little while they simply walked up and down the busy sidewalks. Dean pointed out the store windows that were decorated for Christmas, and Y/N stopped to ooh and ahh over all of them.

Eventually they made their way to Pell Street for supper. As they stood outside the restaurant, Dean gave her an impish smile. 

“So, I thought we could have Chinese food for dinner. I'm gonna guess you've never eaten it?”

Y/N's eyes grew large and she shook her head. “No, never.”

Dean held out his hand and pushed open the door. “Then it's an adventure.”

Y/N's head was on a swivel as they entered the warm space. Everything was decorated in gorgeous hues of red and gold, except for a large painting of a slinky green dragon adorning the far wall. On the other walls, hung beautifully framed pictures of strange, but intriguing shapes made from thick black ink.

Dean led them to a table in the corner and a young woman appeared beside the table almost instantly. 

Her smile was warm as she gave a slight bow. Then she lifted her hand to indicate the menu that hung on the wall above a long counter. 

“Please take your time to tell me what you would like.” Her voice was soft and her accent was one Y/N’d never heard before. It was lovely.

Y/N read over the menu and then smiled shyly, confessing to the woman. “I'm sorry, I'm not sure what to order.” 

The young woman smiled back and gave another small bow. “Of course, Miss. I can please suggest the Chop Suey. Many Americans order this and enjoy.”

Y/N nodded, having no idea what that was, but she was on an adventure; she should be adventurous.

“Yes, thank you. That sounds wonderful.”

With a nod to Y/N their waitress turned her attention to Dean. He didn't bother to look at the menu when he ordered. 

“I'll have the Char siu on rice, please. And a bottle of Baijiu for the table.”

The young woman gave another bow and left their table. 

Y/N looked at Dean and shook her head. “You've been here before.”

Dean nodded. “A few times. The food is incredible, just wait.”

The girl was quickly back at their table with a brown crockery bottle and two small glasses.

Dean poured a small amount of the clear liquid into the bottom of the glasses and raised his for Y/N to clink against. 

“To adventure.” He said with a wink. 

“Adventure.” Y/N agreed. Before she could drink, though, Dean held out a hand towards her. 

“Small sips. It's strong.”

Y/N was incredibly grateful for his warning when her itty-bitty sip still left her lips tingling and her throat burning.

The food came quickly and it was every bit as delicious as Dean had promised. The flavors were quite different from what she knew, but the blend of vegetables and spices was incredibly satisfying.

After dinner, they walked some more, looking around Chinatown for a little while before Dean hailed them a hansom cab back to 15th Street. 

They got out of the cab in front of a massive five story building made out of beige stone. Ornate moldings and sculptures framed dozens of windows. 

On the ground floor, the windows held displays of shining, sparkling jewelry along with gold and silver housewares, like large platters, goblets, place settings, and other very expensive accouterments. 

Above the main doors, gold painted letters declared the name of their destination.

Tiffany & Co.

Y/N walked ahead of Dean through the front doors and her jaw dropped. The space was wide and open. Large display cases housed countless shelves filled with more glittering, shining things. Everywhere she looked was another priceless piece of handcrafted silver and gold, household decorations as well as fine porcelain and sets of china.

As they walked further into the room, Y/N could see the smaller, glass and cherrywood counters, displaying rows and rows of stunningly beautiful pieces of jewelry. 

Emeralds, sapphires, rubies, opals, pearls, onyx and jade shone from every corner of the room. But more than anything else, there were diamonds. Large, small, rose cut, square cut, French cut, pear-shaped - the diamonds seemed never-ending. 

Y/N snapped her jaw shut as a slim man in a finely tailored suit approached them and gave a practiced smile. 

“Good evening, sir. Can I help you?” 

Dean nodded. “Yes, thank you. I realize you're closing up shop soon, so we'll be brief.” He lifted a hand slightly, indicating Y/N. “I'm looking for something more to adorn this already beautiful lady with.”

The salesman nodded briskly. “And what are we hoping to adorn today? Neck, fingers, wrists, ears?”

Dean looked down at Y/N. “What do you think, sweetheart? Maybe a bracelet?”

But Y/N was shaking her head. “Dean, you can't buy me something from here.” She whispered quietly.

Dean raised an eyebrow and then turned back to the salesman. “Would you give us a moment, please?”

“Of course.” He said and moved off to busy himself elsewhere.

Dean looked back at her, but before he could even ask the question, Y/N was answering him. 

“Because everything here looks like it costs a small fortune!” She swept a hand around the room. “It's too much.” She finished in a small voice.

Dean shook his head. “Do you see anything you like?” 

Y/N gave him a look that said he was being ridiculous. “That is not the point.”

Dean shrugged. “Actually, it is the only point. So, a bracelet?” 

When she didn't immediately object again, Dean called the employee back over.

“So, I do think we'll go with a bracelet.”

For the next thirty minutes they went through countless pieces. Y/N liked them all and couldn't make a decision, mostly because they all seemed far too extravagant to sit on her wrist.

But finally, not wanting to annoy or bother the salesman any longer, (though he was the picture of professional politeness) she chose a double strand diamond bracelet with a fairly large, teardrop ruby in the center. 

They took her wrist measurement and got a sale slip ready.

“Do you have an account with us, sir?” The salesman asked. 

“Yes.” Dean said with a nod. “Winchester.”

A light of recognition entered the young man's eyes and he smiled broadly. “Oh, yes, Mr. Winchester. I haven't had the pleasure of serving you, yet, but we're so happy to have your business once again.”

Dean nodded. “Of course.”

He passed Dean the slip to sign. “The bracelet will be sized and ready tomorrow. Where would you like it sent?”

Dean signed his swooping signature. “The invoice can be sent to my residence on Riverside. But the bracelet should be delivered to The Rialto on Devlin. Room 17.”

“Very good, sir.” The employee said as he gave a final smile which Dean acknowledged with a nod. 

“Thank you.”

As they left the lavish store, Y/N's thoughts were very crowded in her mind.

I shouldn't have let him do that. What's going to happen if I don't stay? They didn't even say a price. I have no idea how much that bracelet cost. Why did they recognize Dean's name so quickly? Exactly how often is he buying women expensive jewelry?

Her thoughts were swirling like the soft snow that had started to fall. 

Dean tucked her hand into his elbow and hailed another hack. “I have one more adventure to take you on before we head home. Think you can manage it?”

His smile was warm, and Y/N shoved the thoughts aside. Yes, adventure, boldness. That's what these two weeks were supposed to be about. Not worried thoughts and a racing mind. 

She shot him a grin. “Absolutely.”

***

“Skating?” Y/N asked before biting her lip.

Dean raised his finger. “Not just skating, skating in Central Park.” He pulled her towards the wide expanse of ice. 

He frowned. “Wait. You do know how to skate, right?”

Y/N shrugged delicately. “ A little. Not well. I haven't skated since I was a little girl.”

Dean gave her a wink. “Well, don't worry. I won't let you fall.”

He brought her over to a bench before walking off, calling back to her. “Wait here.”

He returned minutes later with two pairs of rented skates. Sinking to one knee in the snow, Dean lifted Y/N's foot, unlacing her boot and pulling it off before replacing it with her skate.

Y/N blushed, hoping her cheeks would just look rosy from the cold. There was something very intimate about Dean brushing his fingers over her leg and ankle, letting her feel their warmth through her very thin stockings. It felt especially intimate in this very public setting. 

As always, of course, Dean noticed her reaction. He smiled at the way her breath hitched and she knew he was trailing his fingers down her calf so slowly, on purpose. 

She squinted at him, accusing, but he just grinned and quickly laced her skate. 

When they were both in their skates Dean stood up and took her hands as they stepped onto the ice. He held both of them, skating backwards as she tottered forward like a deer on new legs.

“Wonderful! You're a natural!” Dean teased as she gripped his fingers in a vice-like grip.

“Ha. Ha.” She said in humorless tones, though a smile curved her lips. Several times she nearly crashed to the ground, but Dean saved her every time. 

She watched the other skaters enviously as they looped around them, gliding like graceful fairies with wings. But Dean pulled her focus back to him. 

“Don't pay attention to them. You're improving every minute.” 

That was a little bit true, the longer she was on the ice, the more steady she became, but she was still far from graceful. The two of them skated shakily for a little while, Dean spinning her around a few times, making her laugh dizzily. 

As she slipped towards the ground for the fourth or fifth time, Dean caught her and lifted her a foot off of the ice, turning her into another dizzying circle, forcing a slightly undignified squeal from her throat. They ended the spin with her clutching his arms, as they wrapped around her waist, both of them laughing happily.

“Winchester!” 

Dean's attention was caught and he looked up, searching for the person who'd called him. 

About twenty feet ahead, Y/N noticed a plump man, a bit older than Dean, waving at him. She heard Dean's slight groan even as he lifted his hand in greeting and smiled unenthusiastically at him.

He spoke out of the side of his mouth to Y/N as he straightened up and tucked her arm modestly in his elbow. 

“I'm so sorry. This could get very boring.”

The man approached them and Y/N could see he wasn't a lot more steady on his feet than she was. She wondered if Dean could catch them both if they fell. 

“Winchester, funny seeing you here, of all places.”

Dean nodded and smiled much more convincingly than before. 

“Bradford. Good to see you. What brings you out to the park this evening?”

Dean probably regretted asking the question when Bradford launched into a speech detailing his complete medical history. He talked non-stop for nearly ten minutes about his health over the last several months, including the fact that his doctor had prescribed him daily exercise.

He patted his rotund stomach. “Doctor Shefford says, best thing I could do would be to lose a pound or two. Or ten!” He said, chuckling happily at his own joke. 

Dean smiled indulgently and that was when Bradford seemed to realize there was another person there, his gaze landing on Y/N with happy surprise. 

“Oh, and might I enquire as to the name of your lovely companion?”

Y/N smiled at Bradford, liking the odd man in spite of herself.

“Yes, of course.” Dean said with a nod. “This is a friend of mine from out of town, Miss - Taylor.” 

Dean stumbled ever so slightly on the false name. Bradford didn't seem to notice the hesitation at all as he tipped his small bowler hat slightly. 

“A pleasure, Miss Taylor. I do hope you're enjoying your stay in New York.”

Y/N smiled pleasantly, trying not to dwell on the name. “Thank you, sir. Yes, I am very much.”

Dean seized upon the opportunity. “Though, I daresay the day's excursion is beginning to wear on you, is it not?” He looked back at Bradford. “If you'll excuse me, Bradford, I must escort Miss Taylor back to her hotel.”

Y/N sold the excuse with a delicate yawn behind her fingers. “Yes, please forgive me. It was so nice meeting you.”

Bradford waved away her worry. “Oh, of course. Nothing like some bracing exercise to tire one out. My doctor's told me so.” He reiterated.

“Yes, very true." Dean nodded. "Sound advice. Take care, Bradford. And Merry Christmas.”

“Yes, Merry Christmas!” Bradford shouted as Dean pushed Y/N forward on her skates, practically carrying her across the ice.

When they got to the bench again, Dean looked back to see Bradford skating away, hands behind his back as he glided off, a little shaky.

“He seems nice.” Y/N commented. “How do you know him?”

Dean shrugged. “We just belong to the same club. He is nice enough. But I can only take him in short intervals. He inherited his father's money a long time ago and I think he's just very bored.” He tossed her a smile. “If you really wanna keep skating, we could wait a few minutes and see if he's gotten his fill of exercise.”

Y/N shook her head, her smile soft. “No, it has been quite the excursion, we should probably head home. Or back…to the hotel, I mean.”

Dean just nodded and made quick work of divesting them of their skates and then leading them the short distance out of the park. He hailed them a final cab for the night and helped Y/N into the seat.

They rode quietly for a while, and Y/N couldn't pinpoint why she felt off. It had been an amazing evening, she should feel content and happy.

After a few minutes, Dean leaned close to her and spoke quietly. “Sorry, about the…uh, Miss Taylor. I wasn't sure…” He cleared his throat. “I mean I know nothing is…nothing is determined yet about your future. So, I wasn't sure if you'd want to use your real name. Or…but, I should have asked earlier.”

In reality, she was just a girl using a fake name to hide her shame, sitting beside a man who’d done all of this countless times before.

Y/N shrugged but admitted to herself that the clandestine nature of the fake name was what was throwing her a little. But It was also the expensive bracelet from a jewelry store that knew Dean by name from his many former visits.

Both things were sharp reminders that her happy little picture of domesticity with Dean was just a fabrication. 

But she didn't want to examine these things. She wanted to pretend they weren't true. So, she tried to push the thoughts away and shook her head. 

“No, that was smart. Quick thinking. It seems very unlikely that, if I…if I go home in ten days, that anyone from this life will have cause to seek me out, or to inquire about the name of your brother's governess. But all the same, it's probably best if they don't know my real name.”

Dean nodded and silence descended again for several blocks. Y/N kept trying to ignore the troublesome thoughts churning in her mind, but they were starting to make her stomach hurt. Finally, she looked up at Dean. 

“Kiss me.” She demanded in a very small voice.

Dean didn't wait to be asked twice, pulling her against him, and then sinking deeper into the shadowed recesses of the jostling carriage. 

He kissed her hard and deep, like he was stamping her, branding her with the scorching heat of his mouth. She whimpered and he swallowed it down whole, sucking on her tongue and consuming every moan he created. 

His hands roamed over her, undoing the buttons on her coat to slip his hands inside. But he growled slightly as he met the barrier of her satin taffeta.

“You are wearing entirely too many clothes!” 

Y/N gasped out her laughter just as the driver called to them. 

“The Rialto.”

They sat up and Y/N tried to rebutton her coat and fix her slightly disheveled hair.

Thank god for a private entrance, she thought.

Dean paid the driver and then lifted her to the ground, pushing her forward even quicker than he had on the ice. 

She was giggling and panting all the way down the garden path and through the French doors into her suite. With the doors barely closed, Dean immediately began littering her room with her strewn clothing, pulling it frantically from her body while she puffed out stern warnings not to destroy her brand new dress.

When he finally had her naked, he dropped to his knees in front of her, fully dressed, coat still buttoned; he didn't even pause to remove his leather gloves. 

He simply pushed her thighs open and immediately began to feast on her. Almost instinctively, she lifted her leg over his shoulder; the fine, soft wool of his coat was smooth and sensual against the back of her leg.

A long time later they laid side-by-side on the floor, with Dean finally naked too. He'd simply yanked down the thick blanket from the bed to cover them. Y/N laid her cheek against his warm chest and sighed deeply.

She gripped his hair tightly as he pulled her apart with his mouth. When her legs got too weak to hold her up, he simply lowered her to the floor and continued.

Y/N's body was cushioned by the plush rug beneath her, but her back ended up slightly rug-burned from twisting and writhing on top of it as she cried out her ecstasy.

She was incredibly appreciative of Dean's ability to force all her churning thoughts and worries into the back of her mind. She squished them into a tiny closet there and left them alone - for the night at least. 

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VIGILANTE | TOJI FUSHIGURO

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heavily inspired by marvel’s daredevil

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the underground ring teemed with the roars of a cheering crowd, the distant thuds and smacks filling the air. warily, you navigated through the crowd, recalling your seventeen-year-old brother’s confident words.

“come see me fight tonight, big sis! i’m gonna rack up so much money, mom will be walking in no time,” he had grinned proudly.

you rolled your eyes as you spotted him warming up, his hair tied back.

“aoi!” you yelled, frustration clear as the whistle blew. he turned, his grin fading just as his opponent’s punch landed squarely on his jaw, teeth rattling. with a gasp, you pushed through scantily clad women and sweaty men, all cheering for whoever they’d bet on. swallowing your worry, you focused on his opponent—a large man in a fitted black tee and ski mask, exuding a cocky, mysterious aura. you watched, jaw clenched and arms crossed, waiting to scold aoi for ignoring your warnings.

his opponent was intimidating, saying little but absolutely overpowering aoi. every swing aoi attempted was intercepted, pushing him back. it was clear this man had years of experience compared to your brother.

“idiot,” you hissed as some guys carried him over, his face bloody and bruised. he slumped against a chair, groaning.

“what were you thinking? i told you this was a stupid idea.”

with shaking hands, you gently wiped his face, ignoring his protests and dismissing the aid girls. “i’m a nurse, i know what to do.”

your anxiety about him getting hurt spilled over into anger, and you rambled about his stupidity until someone gruffly cleared their throat behind you.

“hey.”

you spun around, surprised to see the masked man.

“you left this behind, kiddo,” he said curtly, handing you a necklace.

“that’s not mine—” you started, frowning, until aoi grabbed your wrist.

“it’s mine, big sis,” he groaned quietly, clutching his side.

you blinked, taking the necklace from the man, his gaze briefly lingering on you before shifting to aoi behind you. on closer inspection, you noticed it held a picture of aoi’s favorite pop star and, in another frame, a photo of you and your mom. your heart softened as you turned back to aoi. the masked man spoke again, your eyes trailing over his beefy stature, and his crossed arms.

“i don’t enjoy beating up kids. stay in school,” he said gruffly, then walked away, muscles flexing with each step. you watched him go, feeling a mix of annoyance and relief, scoffing slightly.

“he should’ve refused to fight a dumbass like you,” you scolded aoi, cleaning his face with a sanitary wipe and patching him up, ignoring his gruff embarrassment.

he leaned on you for support, awkwardly quiet as you wobbled back home with him, his arm around your shoulder, sighing. “don’t go back here. what would mom say if she found out her baby son was out picking fights?” i scolded. he groaned, leaning more.

“alright, alright, i get it. no more fights.” his hand ruffled in his back pocket, as you stood outside the doorway, pulling out a wad of money, making your eyes widen as you spluttered.

“where the hell did you get that from” you gasped, turning to him with an incredulous look. he let out a smirk, wincing as the bruise hurt him.

“won it from previous matches.’ he said smugly. you swallowed, keeping quiet, as you counted the money. it was well over a thousand, and that was life changing money, as a struggling family. he ruffled your hair with a smile. “don’t sweat sis, ill be fine. i’m not a baby anymore”

“i have a job as an older sister. i was born ten years before, so i have to take care of you” you huffed, handing the money back to him.

“you are NOT going back there, you hear me aoi?” you said firmly. he looked at you grumpily, as you sat him down on the kitchen chair.

“fine. i wont” he huffed, frowning. you crossed your arms, nodding at the fridge. “good. there’s leftovers in the fridge, i have to go babysit the neighbours kid for a bit. he’s even paying me, said he feels bad for asking at such a short notice” you remarked.

aoi looked up at you from inspecting his beaten face in the reflection of the glass. “the black haired scary looking one? with the lip scar? that cute kid is his??”

you rolled your eyes. “duh, he looks like him. i’ll be back in a few hours. dont stay up too late.”

and with that, you made your way over to your neighbours apartment, getting the keys from underneath the mat, and opening the door. you were met with a black haired kid, his hair standing up comically. he looked like he must’ve been around six years old, staring up at you with a surprisingly mean look for a kid.

yep, thats his kid alright.

“are you one of dad’s flings?” he said with a bored voice, his arms swinging as he stood on his toes to inspect your face, making you blink in surprise.

“oh- uh no? your dad sent me to keep an eye on you.” you laughed nervously at his bluntness, trying to salvage the conversation. “i’m [your name]. what’s your name?”

megumi narrowed his eyes slightly, assessing you silently for a few seconds before speaking. “i’m megumi,” he finally muttered, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “come in then, i guess.”

you followed him inside, noticing the tidy and orderly apartment. megumi seemed to be sizing you up, perhaps trying to determine if you were trustworthy. you decided to break the ice further.

“so, megumi, what do you usually do when your dad’s not around?” you asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

he shrugged nonchalantly, walking towards the living room where he flopped down on the couch. “play games. watch cartoons. dad’s always busy.”

you nodded, almost feeling bad. “he must be out working hard, huh? what do you wanna do?”

megumi thought for a second, before pointing at the lego. “im going to build a rocket” he announced, his emoji socks padding on the floor as he waddled to his playmat. you watched him, amused. it was like an adult was in a child’s body. keeping an eye on the clock, you sat down with him, letting him boss you around as you tried to help with building his rocket, his tiny hands grabbing the blocks from your hands to give you other ones.

before you knew it, the clock hands turned to twelve, making you tap your foot in anxiousness as you peered over at the sleeping boy, huddled up next to one singular tattered blankie. where was his dad??

as if on cue, the door opened, your neighbor panting as he looked up from the doorway at you.

he must’ve ran all the way here….

"sorry, it's a bit late," he said gruffly, catching his breath. "hope the little tyke didn't give you any trouble."

you shook your head, smiling. "no, he was really easy to take care of. he doesn't act like a six-year-old, he's mature for his age," you commented, your words softening the edges of toji's typically gruff demeanor.

toji raised an eyebrow, a half-smile quirking at the corner of his lips.

"huh, that's a first," he muttered, his voice rough yet somehow soothing. he glanced at megumi, checking to make sure he was sound asleep before turning his attention back to you. "thanks for looking after him."

you nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his unexpected gratitude. "no problem at all. he's a smart kid," you replied, feeling a flicker of nerves at the intensity of toji's gaze.

toji nodded once, his expression unreadable for a moment before a faint smirk crossed his face. "yeah, he's a handful. takes after his old man."

you chuckled softly, feeling a flutter in your chest at the way toji's demeanor softened slightly in your presence. "well, he's got a good role model then," you said casually, trying to keep your tone light.

toji's smirk widened into a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "yeah, well, let's hope he takes after the better parts," he replied, his voice gruff but with a hint of warmth underneath.

as you exchanged a lingering glance, a sense of connection hummed between you, unexpected and yet undeniably welcome. it was a glimpse into the person behind toji's gruff exterior.

"anyway," toji said, breaking the silence that had settled between you. "it’s getting late, you should get home,” he said, a lighthearted tone to his words. "wouldn't want you getting lost on the way to your flat—though i guess it's just next door."

you chuckled at his joke, appreciating the playful banter. "thanks for the concern," you replied, standing up and stretching a bit. "i'll see you around, toji."

toji nodded, his grin widening a fraction. "yeah, see you around."

as you turned to leave, you felt his gaze on you, oblivious to the fact that he was checking you out. his eyes followed your movements with a mix of casual interest and something deeper, a hint of admiration that lingered in the air. unbeknownst to you, toji leaned against the door frame, his posture relaxed yet his attention fixed on your silhouette as you walked out of his apartment. his gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and before long, you were gone.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

aftermath, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: The aftermath of the break-up between you and Jeon Jungkook, navigating the various stages and finding out that easy isn't living.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; it's what you think it is but also not; mentions of alcohol consumption; anger turning into angst; slow burn; yes, there are a few Taylor Swift references; smut (fem reader, heavy making out, breathplay, hair pulling, slight D/s dynamic, handjob, nipple play, edging, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU - ex!JK x ex!reader, switches between Jungkook’s POV and yours, ft mystery man (less mysterious if you Google his name lol), yes, he was chosen for story reasons

--

“Stop staring at her.”

Maybe if he stared long enough, he would burn holes into the back of your skull and you would finally fuckin’ notice he was right here.

Maybe.

“Dude. You’re being creepy.”

You were smiling at your phone screen. Why the fuck were you smiling? What was there to be smiling about? Furthermore, what did you need to look so good for? Oversized black bomber jacket with balloon sleeves and an overpowering ruffle at the shoulders. Short slinky dress with red-orange flames screen-printed all over. Black thigh-high heeled boots. Fuck, who the hell were you trying to impress? The person texting you, hah? Why did your hair look so effortlessly in place and why was your makeup so sultry with that red stain on your lips and smoked-out liner? Hm?!

Jeon Jungkook chewed on the left side of his lip and watched you walk up to the service counter, ordering a…

“Lemon cake and hot green tea. No sugar in the tea.”

“Bro, just get up and talk to her.”

Jungkook felt knuckles whack the back of his head and turned around to the annoyed face of Park Jimin, who was nursing an iced coffee and glaring at him. Oh. Right. He was supposed to be catching up at with his friend, not going all National Geographic at his ex-girlfriend.

But what were you so happy for?

“Didn’t you break up with her? What’s your problem?” Jimin questioned, confused.

His teeth involuntarily slid back and ground bone-to-bone, eyes narrowing at the questions. Jungkook wanted to tell Jimin to shut up, but then your voice came back to him, if you want to react less emotionally, you have to take the time to sort through your initial reaction and the other options. So, instead, he picked up his lukewarm coffee and tapped the bottom edge against the table, thinking about the other, less emotional responses he could have.

“Yeah.”

Mmm.

Eloquent.

Came out a little gruffier than he wanted, but too late now.

Jimin frowned. “You never said why. I thought you were head over heels for her.”

He clicked his tongue and restrained himself from looking back. You would pick a table further away from the counter. Perhaps near the window. But why were you here? You used to come here with him. Conversations and dates. Who were you meeting? But if you were meeting someone, you wouldn’t have ordered before they arrived. Hm. Then there was the whole situation with the way you were smiling at your phone.

Like you were amused.

Playful.

Fuck.

“Hello? Earth to Jungkook, do you copy?”

He blinked hard and bit on his straw, not sulking but sulking. “S’nothing.” Great, he was mumbling now. Surefire sign you’re upset, you always reminded him. Everyone can tell. Just say it. “Actually, that why I wanted to talk to you.”

Those bright eyes and full lips turned into little circles. “Huh?”

Jungkook cleared his throat and glanced at Jimin under his hair. Furrowed brows and balancing his long, tattooed fingers on the lid of his ice coffee, not wanting to ask but asking anyway, because his ex-girlfriend seemed to be fucking fine visiting the places they used to visit and smiling like she was cool with not being with him anymore and that sucked, but it was easier to be mad than sad. He didn’t want to be sad in front of people.

Especially in front of people he was close to.

Especially in front of you.

So, Jungkook stayed mad.

“Did you hook-up with my ex or not?”

Jimin blinked at him.

“Hah?”

Shit.

-

You cut into the lemon cake, chewing thoughtfully.

A quick look at your nails and, shit, you should really repaint them before they started looking too rough. Two weeks was about as long as you could go before the nail growth was somewhat unbearable. This was about halfway through week three. Good preparation and high-quality polish could only get you so far before life eventually wore the manicure down.

Sigh.

Today was the first day you had decided to walk out and do something by yourself that wasn’t work, grocery shopping, or… wait, that was it. You had no other reason to go outside. Ack. You had another bite of cake. Been a while since you had this taste.

Your phone hummed on the table.

With your left ring finger, you checked your messages. And then you paused, because instead of reading a text, you were looking at a soundwave.

Voice message.

You reached over to your cup of hot tea, taking a sip and letting it scald you.

Breathed in and breathed out in a calm hiss, thinking.

Chewed on cake.

Ugh. You didn’t want to be that girl. But what were you gonna do? Almost eight billion people in this world and you were going to be hung up over one? One? And, anyway… In terms of too fast or too slow, you never knew what could happen, right? You hadn’t known with him, and you wouldn’t know with this one unless you started actually talking to him instead of skirting around with surface level shit. You hated that, so you shouldn’t do it. Your brain prodded you annoyingly with thoughts. Don’t be a hypocrite. Stop fucking around. Argh, okay. Okay. Fine.

You reached over to your phone and let it hover over the play button.

Wait.

Maybe you should listen to it in the car.

Yeah.

You put your phone back down and resumed eating and drinking.

You weren’t avoiding it. Okay, kinda. There was no point in dancing around the issue when you were by yourself. Get to the point. You came here specifically because it used to be your favorite café and it still was. It had nice memories attached to it, but then you stopped visiting it after… him. And for what? Did you combust from reminiscing? No. You were eating cake and having tea like you always did. The snack was just as tasty alone as it was with a partner. You were talking with another guy and you could bring him here eventually if you felt like it.

Maybe you should have been mad or sad about the whole Jeon Jungkook thing, but at this point it was just wasted energy and you were tired.

Tired of not feeling like yourself, tired if feeling like you couldn’t do things because you were reminded of him. So what? Everyone had good and bad. He wasn’t that bad of a guy. Faults were faults, and you had to decide if you could live with them or not.

Or he could decide, and start a dumbass argument.

Honestly, that was what you were most salty about. Yes, it was your nature to fight fire with fire, but you shouldn’t have. At least not so explosively. You were glad Jungkook hadn’t met your teenage self, that was for sure. Still, you had that habit of not mentioning when you were experiencing a bad day. Of course, they happened and without reason, same shit, different day. Those sorts of negative thoughts came in waves, after all. Mostly you didn’t want Jungkook to hover over you and try to make you feel better, because he would do so, and, if what he tried didn’t work, then he would be depressed and then it would begin, the endless cycle of you feeling like crap, him feeling like crap, so on and so forth until you felt better so he could feel better. Same shit, different day. Tiring. So, sometimes you didn’t mention bad days, but if he caught you on a bad day and acted emotionally, which did happen, it ended…

Poorly.

Jungkook was a passionate guy.

He thought a lot too.

Some things could be fixed, but some things got burnt to a crisp and then there was nothing to salvage.

Ugh.

You should have kept your temper more in check. Ah, well. You knew that now, but now was too late and you had no cake left, just a bit of hot tea and a voice message from a guy who wanted to know you.

You know what.

You actually wanted to know him too.

He had a cute smirk.

You neatly cleaned up and tossed the packaging, walking out with the paper cup, going back to your car to listen to that voice message that contained an alarmingly deep voice that surprised you with its sexiness. Well. Well, then.

Time to burn it up, maybe.

-

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Okay. Okay, he had two choices. Let sleeping dogs lie or poke them, which may or may not result in the positive outcome he wanted. It probably wouldn’t, because you were fire and burned everything in your path, and while that could be a good thing, fuck, a very good thing, but this…

This wouldn’t end well for him.

Mostly because Jungkook now realized, after finally speaking to Jimin, that he was wrong in thinking that you were sneaking around and trying to sleep with his best friend, when in actuality you were contacting Jimin repeatedly and being secretive because you were planning a grand event that included all his friends and a big party for your boyfriend’s birthday, but then he beat you to the punch and broke up with you before anything could come to fruition.

So, yeah.

You were probably really pissed at him.

Jungkook wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to set him on fire.

Ugggggggh, me, you stupid dummy!

He was sitting on his couch and slowly sinking to the floor, mentally berating himself for his pride and his overthinking, because of course Jungkook wouldn’t have thought like this if, as Jimin pointed out, he had some insecurity about her leaving him for someone else – and, unfortunately and infuriatingly, Jimin is damn right, because Jimin was kind and sweet and not nearly half as brash or annoying as Jungkook was.

Or thought he was.

And you could get anyone.

Anyone. With that body, that gaze, that confidence? No one would stand a chance. He hadn’t and he was fine with that, until he went and fucked it up, and now he knew you could go out and do whatever and whoever if you wanted, you just had to want to. And, obviously, you went out and visited your favorite café. Without him. To top it all off, you had smiled at your phone, clearly texting someone.

Shit.

Jungkook slapped his hands to his face and groaned, his ass at the edge of the couch and two centimeters away from collapsing to his abstract black-and-white living room rug that you had picked out when he moved in after he nagged you saying that he was bad at interior design and needed help, but secretly he only wanted to annoy you into making decisions for him.

He should… say something.

It wasn’t going to end well.

Fuck!

He hoped the person you were talking to was not cute. You liked cute more than handsome, he knew. You liked cute faces, deep voices, and diligent, hardworking people who knew who they were and weren’t easily swayed in their beliefs.

Which he was everything he was.

He just had the wrong belief and went way too far into the deep end without putting his pride aside and straight-up asking, thus leading to him being single and, now, angry at himself. For someone who thinks so much, you act too fast, you used to tell him with a laugh, mostly referring to his aggressiveness when playing video games.

Jungkook sadly plopped onto the floor for a good while, thinking about what he had done.

-

You were horny.

But, also, you were trying to change, so you weren’t about to coerce this guy that you were barely getting to know to drop his pants. Although he probably would. You were pretty convincing when you wanted to be and there were some telltale signs signaling that you two had some shared… interests. Yeah. However! You were trying not to go that route for once in your life.

It was pretty difficult.

He had sent you more voice messages. He even sent one he considered embarrassing, where he was singing, which would have been cringe as hell except it turned out to be the complete opposite. The stark contrast of his sweet, angelic singing voice and his deep, sultry speaking voice was shocking. Unreal. Was it possible to fall in love from just that knowledge? No. Was it possible to find your heart racing and imagining indecent things?

Possible?

Yes.

Did that make you a degenerate?

Maybe.

Hence why you simply made a comment about his talent and how impressive it was. You did not, in fact, mention the sudden intense desire to march over to wherever this guy was, rip off his shirt, and run your tongue all over his chest so you could hear the varying tones of the delicious noises that he would surely make as you teased his skin and who-knows-what-else. Mostly what was stopping you was that you hadn’t asked to see him in person yet.

Anyway.

Now you were stuck with the age-old question – jack off or distract yourself?

Or keep talking to the new guy?

No. You couldn’t do that. You were trying to change, and that meant not basing the foundation of a relationship on sex and good conversation. The latter, fine. The former? Apparently got you in trouble, apparently made you a problem, apparently was not good, and you didn’t used to care about that stuff until you lost him.

Stupid love.

You sighed and plopped down on your bed, frowning.

Your phone was laying on your pillow, having a nice nap.

You knew you should probably talk to someone about it. Anyone. But you avoided it, because you didn’t want to put Jeon Jungkook in a bad light to anyone, ex-boyfriend or not. You simply avoided everyone’s questions until they all died out and left you alone. Then you spent countless nights, much like this one, analyzing why you felt the way you felt about that thing that seemed to invade way too much of your life.

Jungkook accusing you of cheating on him.

You used to think, ah, I don’t overthink things, but even if you didn’t actively think about it, you found yourself holding back, not doing things that you would normally do, all because what if someone misinterpreted your intentions? What is there was just something about you that implied such a thought? It would have been easy to brush off if it was some random, but the person that you had thought you would spend the rest of your life with had accused you of lying.

The one thing you hated most, lying.

Which you had been doing at the time, but not about what he thought it was.

Which made it a harder pill to swallow, which made you stubborn, which made you not say anything or bother correcting him with receipts, because fuck him, fuck Jeon Jungkook for accusing you of cheating, fuck him and his, I’m breaking up with you, and you bluntly accepting it and leaving.

Ghosted him.

Didn’t even bother asking for an explanation or reconciliation.

Be the bigger person, yeah, that was what all the self-help books and podcasts said, but honestly you didn’t give a fuck. How the hell were you going to go on, living with the knowledge of Jeon Jungkook accusing you of lying, the one thing you hated most in this world? Who cared what his reason was? Who cared what it all meant? Not you on a bad day.

You winced.

Nothing you could do about that now.

The only way to make things different was to act differently in the same situation. If you were going to see someone new, you couldn’t just seduce them and drive them to the brink of insanity so that they were begging to fuck on the first meeting. You already did that.

With Jungkook.

And we know how that one ended.

So, you were doing the whole meet-a-guy-on-a-dating-app thing, switch to texting – probably too quickly but whatever – and slowly build up to a first meeting.

Slowly.

It had been a week and he was sending voice memos of him singing and maybe you were already shamelessly flirting.

Okay, you were trying and that was the point. Also, he was making it too easy and being too cute with his reactions. Being able to hear the sheepishness in that deep voice, mmm. And he simply couldn’t refuse you when you prompted him to switch to speaking directly instead of text. He did whatever you asked, not questioning it.

Maybe you should call him.

Hm.

Your hand found its way to the pillow where your phone was having a serene siesta.

You wanted to, but there was something that was holding you back. It would be easy to be blind about it, but you had to be honest with yourself before getting to the serious playing around. You didn’t need to bring up a picture of new guy. You knew exactly what he looked like – and that was the problem.

Born in the same year.

Muscular with a cute face.

The same height.

Seriously sexy when absorbed in their interests and adorable as fuck when flustered.

Able to be flustered easily by you, the intoxicating fire.

New guy didn’t have tattoos though. Not any that you could see in his photos, anyway. Mhm, you can sit here and pretend all you want but there are too many similarities to him and Jeon Jungkook, missy. Your brain had a point. Maybe this was what having-a-type meant. Or maybe this screamed rebound, which is exactly what you didn’t want it to be, so you were holding back.

But new guy was so.

Fucking.

Cute.

Pairing the combination of his loveable demeanor with the contrast of how built he was and that was the lethal combination right there. Plus, it was obvious he liked you. It would only take a little push. You flicked your wrist and unlocked your phone with your fingerprint, immediately bringing up the last thing you were doing. His latest text, saying he was off to shower, but promising he would be back after. Your phone normally vibrated to notify you, but this time it didn’t have to.

In real time, the voice memo popped up.

You played it.

That distinct deliciously deep voice shyly murmuring, “I’m back.”

He was only sending it because he knew you liked it. You could tell by his tone. Hear the hope in it. Well, shit, you could have all these dumbass overthinking reasons to not do something risky, or you could answer the hint of anticipation in that bated breath.

Don’t, your brain said.

You ticked your head. The call button was right next to his name.

You pressed it.

“Surprised?” was your greeting.

-

Maybe you weren’t making headway. Maybe it wasn’t that serious. Maybe you were in for-fun mode, out to break hearts to protect yours. Not that Jungkook would know, because he was standing in your favorite place in the world, and you weren’t here to answer his maybes.

He jumped as the intercom buzzed and scratchily announced that the leftover bread from the bakery was being put on flash sale. Most likely because it was going to expire today.

Yes, Jeon Jungkook was standing in the savory snack aisle of your local grocery store. A lot of people preferred the sweeter snacks – that was him, he was a lot of people – but you wanted the salty ones, which meant you and him never had to fight for snacks. He would eat all the candy and you would be chomping on seaweed. Harmony.

Until he fucked it up.

Yes, we get it. You’re an idiot. Move on, me.

But Jungkook couldn’t move on, because he was moping and picking up the last bag of shrimp chips like it was the goddamn Holy Grail and hoping your communications with mystery man were not going well. Well, he didn’t know if it was a man but it would hurt more if it was and his mind was conjuring worst case scenario to terrorize him. Or guilt him. Or both.

He clutched the shrimp chips like they were his lifeline and shuffled out of the aisle.

He didn’t even really like them. Well, he did. He would eat any snack. They just tasted better when they were with you because you loved them and used to talk about how you ate them a lot as a kid. Jungkook used to tease you for not liking candy enough. Were you even a kid? And then you’d put him in a chokehold. A real one, not a metaphorical one – although you had him there too.

He shouldn’t have taught you that. Was a bad idea.

Well, he couldn’t even be regretful about that anymore.

Sigh.

-

Where the fuck were the shrimp chips?

You were staring at the label that indicated they were discounted. Right there, in glaring red ink. They were clearly sold here. You reached back, feeling around for that familiar packaging. You would recognize the ridge of the shrimp chips right away. Nothing but the turtle chips. Fuck! Who the hell bought the shrimp chips? You squinted at the cart of the old lady at the far end of the aisle.

Was it you, lady? Hmm?!

Before you could harass said old lady, she leisurely rolled off to the next aisle.

Fuck.

Not that you would fight the elderly for shrimp chips, but maybe you had put people into a headlock for less.

Not maybe, you had.

Anyway.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have come after dinner. Damnnit. You marched out of the aisle and searched the endcaps, hoping that perhaps there was a spare bag left behind or possibly another display. Nope. Sad times. What else were you craving? You came all the way over to your local grocery store to get a familiar nostalgic snack, only for them to not have it, therefore you must purchase something random so the cashiers didn’t think you’re a weirdo for leaving empty-handed.

Not that they would notice.

Or care.

Hm.

You were about to collect what was left of your shattered expectations and get out of there before you stopped, seeing a colorful display with a poster of a joyful marshmallow standing under a starry sky, beside a tent and a campfire. The stacked boxes under the brightly saturated sign indicated the product contents of chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows – a s’mores kit.

Was…

Was the marshmallow going to roast himself as sacrifice?

Or… was the marshmallow going to eat these s’mores?

Before you could debate the ethics of the vaguely cannibalistic nature of this marketing tactic, you remembered Jeon Jungkook’s favorite dessert was s’mores. In fact, he nearly caused a fire on your gas stove in his desire for said sweet treat. There was a lot of yelling and smoke and throwing open the window to your next-door neighbor staring wide-eyed at you as the smoke alarm blared.

You recalled gasping that you burnt the rice and scurrying away.

What? You weren’t going to throw your boyfriend under the bus.

Er.

Ex-boyfriend, now.

You reached out to the box. A fun activity for the family, it said. You didn’t have a family. Just you and some what-ifs. You held the box, feeling the weight. It was substantial, but not that heavy. Get it together. What were you going to do? Freak out every time you thought about Jungkook? Come on. He doesn’t deserve that. The best thing you could do was have a good opinion of him, despite him being a little shit.

Hey.

You meant that in an endearing way.

… Yeah.

You sighed and tucked the s’mores kit under your arm. This was how life was. People were too complicated to fit in neat little boxes and situations were too convoluted to have a correct or right resolution. You would probably feel even shittier if you tried to act on emotions and get into his face about it. You had to take the L. Eat the damn s’mores and maybe think about finally meeting the new guy. The conversation had been nice and fluid once you got him talking about himself, something he had been reluctant to do because he didn’t want to seem arrogant.

You had asked him if he was.

He had replied with, “Maybe a little?” The self-doubt in his response had made you laugh, as if he wasn’t so sure himself. But the whole point becoming someone’s potential one and only was bragging about yourself, so might as well lay out everything you got, right?

You didn’t even like sweets.

Maybe the new guy did, though. Maybe you should try to like them a little more.

You bought the box of s’mores and went home.

-

Normally, people cried into wine or chocolate, but Jungkook was crying into a bag of shrimp chips.

Okay.

Not actually crying, because then he would ruin the shrimp chips, but pretty damn close to sobbing into the crispy snack while watching the latest popular drama and wondering what you were doing. Hopefully you were happy, doing stuff you loved. Cute stuff, like watching cat videos or those home renovation shows you seemed to have great interest in. You told him you wanted to learn about houses so that you would have knowledge when buying one with him. Smart. So smart. Oh, man, why were you so smart and why was he a dum-dum? That’s not fair, Jungkook. You’ll handle all the interior design stuff because you’re artsy, oh, wait, I’ll have to narrow down the options so you don’t buy seven different diffusers. He chomped away at the shrimp chips, sniffling at the memory.

He was being lame.

Also, a little self-centered, because this was not all about him. You had been in the relationship too and technically you were the one who was hurt. He should not be the sad one sitting here on the floor in front of his television and stuffing his face with shrimp chips as he watched the male lead and the female lead go through some misunderstandings. He should be thinking about how he could be a better person.

Jungkook frowned.

Were shrimp chips gluten-free?

He checked the label.

Yes. Whew. His doctor had warned him he shouldn’t have gluten late at night, as it would upset his stomach. Step one into being a better person, take care of one’s personal health. At least he was doing that right.

Right-ish.

Back to chomping away.

Maybe you were happier without him. That would suck, but at least you would be doing well. What more could he ask for? Besides rewinding time and boinking some sense into his own head. Something to ask Doctor Strange once they would inevitably meet. It would be awkward to ask for a favor right away, but what’s the worst that could happen? Utter chaos of the timeline and disruption of subsequent timelines connecting the various multiverses?

… On second thought.

Jungkook wondered if the female lead would just tell the male lead that she already liked him. You wouldn’t have a problem saying something like that right away. It was very cool of you, always being the first to admit how you felt. Never hiding anything.

It was at that moment that Jungkook choked on a shrimp chip and starting hacking up his lungs.

He had to punch his chest to gain some semblance of breath back. There was a lot of wheezing and scrambling for the water bottle on his coffee table. Ugh. His throat felt all fucked up.

Hmmmm.

Did you throat feel like this when he rammed his dick into it? He never asked. He had been too busy feeling good and ascending to the heavens to ask questions. He should have been more thoughtful on that front. Maybe if he had been more considerate…

You had a vibe going on here, me, and you just ruined it by thinking about sex.

Oops.

Anyway.

Back to watching drama and crying over shrimp chips despite one of them trying to end his life.

-

You opened the box of the s’mores kit and the graham crackers were all crushed.

“Fuck.”

You could roast marshmallows and top it with melted chocolate and graham cracker powder?

You struggled and made do, realizing with a quick taste test that, yes, this was too sweet, but you had tea and resilience, and your never-say-die attitude reminded you that you could do anything, including making a very messy but possibly innovative dessert. If you added some yogurt, would it become a s’mores parfait? Hey. That could be a thing… somewhere.

Well, it was a thing here in your kitchen right now.

At least you didn’t start a fire.

-

“Maybe you should do something.”

He stared off into space and answered hollowly.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Park Jimin dragged out exaggeratedly. “Talk to her? Maybe your ship has sailed, but at least you could get some closure. For my sake.” He muttered the last bit under his breath.

Jungkook did not want to hear that his ship has sailed. He wanted to hear that the ship was right here, docking to the port. Or… something like that. Whatever. Anyway, Jimin was doing a shit job of helping him figure out how to repair the gaping wound in his chest. Talk to her, yeah, like that was gonna solve anything.

Psh.

Jungkook pushed the food around on his plate. A surefire sign he was feeling like shit. He always ate. Few things could stop him from eating.

“Are you dying? Why are you disrespecting your dak-galbi like that?”

On second thought, Jungkook shoveled it into his mouth. Food comas were a thing, right? Maybe he could eat himself into a stupor. Maybe he could induce an actual coma if he consumed enough alcohol and food.

Only one way to find out.

“Oi, don’t eat that fast, are you trying to give yourself a stomachache? Oi. Jungkook!”

-

You woke up.

Heart racing, world swirling, touching your face, and there they were, tears, uninhibited by logic anymore, blurry faces and that kind of anger that was more sad than angry, but fury won, because you didn’t want to show that you were sad, burying it deep inside until your dreams broke through your subconscious and replayed it for you, the yelling, the throwing of cushions, the snatching of the keys and the furious tossing of your shoes on and then running, running, you shouldn’t have ran but you did, you ran and ran and ran and cried into the wind just like how you cried into your pillow right now and for what, for nothing, for something that was over and dead, over and dead.

It was fading.

Fading.

The memory, and now your tears, curling into your pillow, suffocating yourself in cloth, trying to close it out, breathing nothing and seeing black, in, out, in, out, until your lungs felt like they were burning.

You threw your head up, gasping.

Face dry.

Not a chance that someone would catch you crying over Jeon Jungkook.

Not that anyone was here except you.

You were still someone though.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

How could he think I was lying when I hate lying most in this world?

And no one could see you cry, no one could see you fall apart, no one could think that they had any power over you, because you weren’t weak, you couldn’t be made a fool of, you would rather tear it apart yourself then let someone else think that they could get to you.

You ruined everything, me.

And maybe you did.

Maybe you did and now what? Nothing. Nothing but bad dreams and an empty bed and shuddering breaths as you wiped your eyes with the duvet and pretended your nose wasn’t stuffy, sliding back down to the silence, breathing quietly, he used to be right here and now there was no one but you, but you were someone and not a chance that someone would see you crying over Jeon Jungkook.

You were someone.

And there was nothing anyone could do about this aftermath, nothing to do about you yelling irreversible things and him yelling irreversible things, both of you tearing apart what you built together like it was nothing, over what?

Pride.

Fear.

The usual suspects.

There was no point in asking why no one fought for anyone because everyone was wearing masks of mad and secretly sad. Yeah, you could die on this sacred ground. You could. That would be real fuckin’ easy. But easy wasn’t living. You didn’t pick easy when you picked Jungkook, and you didn’t pick easy when you walked away either.

This limbo wasn’t you.

You sighed.

Breathed out.

Held your breath for thirty seconds.

Easy isn’t living, me. Just go on a damn date.

-

You are a dumbass, me.

He was too full and too drunk and a blob on his own bed. Jimin tried to convince him that he needed someone to take care of him, but Jungkook just pushed his hyung out the door and bade him good night. Jimin kept urging him to talk about it, but Jungkook was, he was talking to his head every second of every day and it wasn’t doing anything but giving him a headache, and now he had a fat headache and a bursting-at-the-seams tummy.

Oof.

So now he was a blob.

Hopefully he wouldn’t throw up.

He felt around and found the water bottle by his bed. Okay. At least he had water. There was a packet of hangover meds in his nightstand drawer. For emergencies like this. Jimin had reminded him that he couldn’t keep doing this to himself, but joke’s on Jimin, Jungkook knew he could. Had been and quite frankly was thinking about sulking to his heart’s content, maybe even until the end of time, because everyone was telling him he couldn’t, so stubbornly he continued.

Out of principle.

Something like that.

Okay, maybe Jungkook was secretly seriously considering gathering his courage to speak to you face-to-face. Maybe. It was all his fault, after all. For not believing, for making up a narrative that tore you and him apart, all his fault for burning that bridge you two built together, and for what, for nothing but pride and fear and wasn’t he getting a little old for that?

Jungkook sighed, feeling far too sober and reasonable.

Should have drunk more.

Maybe you didn’t need the closure, but he wouldn’t know unless he asked, and he was done assuming, done thinking he knew what was what. It was clear that he didn’t. He didn’t even know if he needed closure, but the aftermath still stung even now, scorched by the everlasting fire, and maybe he was stupid for thinking some silly little words could do anything for this situation, but it was something, right, and something was better than this nothing, nothing but a bad signal flickering weakly, couldn’t connect because there were too many walls separating you and him.

Jungkook knew exactly where your apartment was, and could confirm that there were probably many walls separating you and him right now.

If you were in your apartment, that is.

You had to be. It was the middle of the night.

He should be asleep.

Jungkook resumed his blob form and waited for his dreams to take him.

Or nightmares.

That was not a choice he could make, unfortunately.

-

First dates were difficult because you had to chose the one outfit that would represent you. In the off chance that you only ended up meeting this person once, you felt that your clothes had to give off a distinct impression of who you were. Similar to that age-old question of, if you were a ghost and stuck with one outfit forever, what would you want to wear?

Morbid, but effective.

Something you could live by.

Oh, yeah, me, also perhaps you should try to impress the new guy.

You didn’t want to admit it but the truth was the truth – this was less about him and more about you and taking responsibility for whatever came, good or bad. Because, yes, maybe it wouldn’t turn out well, maybe nothing was meant to be, maybe you were driving in the metaphorical fast lane and accelerating way too recklessly, but it wasn’t like you to let up on the gas, and the only way to found out if there was any chance at all was to put on some damn clothes and just do the damn thing.

That how you were before…

No. You were someone before him and you’re someone now.

It wasn’t fair.

But life wasn’t fair, life was complicated and maybe even a little immoral sometimes, and that was how it was so you got dressed. White cropped t-shirt. You look so good in those, even if they’re simple. Big black hoodie with a cheeky-looking ghost in the back, peeking up with a mischievous little smile. I love oversized stuff on you. It makes you look so small and cute. Short black skirt, pleated, with a chain hanging off the hip. You hooked on a little keychain of a tuxedo cat to the top of the chain, something for you to know and maybe for others to find out if you took off your hoodie. I’m glad you like wearing short skirts. You have great legs and I love looking at them. Thick thigh-high black socks to block out the cold. Aw, man, sucks that it’s getting cold now but you have to protect those precious legs. You would wear your heeled boots with the big silver buckles shaped like moons. Thick soled and heavy, ah, like mine.

You looked at yourself in the mirror.

Your fashion is nice because you always match me.

You could hear Jungkook’s voice even though he wasn’t there and you just had to stand there and accept that life wasn’t fair and that you would hear it for a while until you forgot the sound of his voice and it wasn’t fair that you still couldn’t decide if you actually wanted to forget it or not.

But nothing changed if you only stood still, so you walked over to your front door and put your shoes on. Checked your black bag with a frowning smiley face icon printed on the front and slung it over your shoulder, safely tucking it by your hip.

Paused.

Glanced at the hooks by your door and picked up the thick maroon-colored scarf, lopping it around your neck as you opened the door and walked out, holding your keys in your hand.

-

Who the fuck is that?

Now.

Now, Jungkook was fully and completely aware what he was doing was wrong, even if his original intent was perfectly sensible. Completely normal. Nothing wrong with what he had initially meant to do but shit got sidetracked the second he spotted familiar legs and a black hoodie, with a cheeky ghost printed onto the back, that’s the one, and was that a man walking next to you, dark-haired and handsome, kind of close, turning his head and laughing at something you said, something Jungkook couldn’t hear because he was a block away, staring wide-eyed with his legs moving of their own accord.

Wondering what this guy had that Jungkook didn’t have.

That white sweater didn’t do much to hide the broad shoulders and muscular frame. Clean blue jeans and a very nice smile, eyes that crinkled up when he laughed, covering his mouth. It wasn’t fake. Jungkook had hoped it was a fake laugh but it looked genuine as fuck and now Jungkook was stalking his ex-girlfriend on his way to her apartment to have that talk that Jimin kept telling him to have, the talk to get out all these pent-up feelings, but now he should just turn around and try another day.

But life wasn’t fair.

He wanted to say he was simply too dumbstruck to stop himself, but Jungkook was pretty sure it was sinful jealousy that was giving his legs the strength to follow at a block’s distance.

He wanted to tell himself something comforting, like she has terrible taste but the guy was pretty good-looking actually, or he doesn’t seem that interesting but you seemed very invested in what he had to say at the intersection, so interested that you two missed the crossing signal, or he can’t make you laugh but you did, you laughed and he laughed at the missed signal and it looked like a scene of out a movie, two adults holding insulated cups of some warm drink and shyly smiling over light sips in between conversation.

And the creepy ex-boyfriend squinting at the scene from a block away.

Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here.

You started crossing and Jungkook jogged to catch the light just before it changed.

This was really stupid all around, but he didn’t care. He wanted to know if this new guy knew your affinity for green tea and lemon cake yet. He wanted to know if new guy liked your oversized hoodie and skirt, because it was one of his favorite outfit combinations on you. He wanted to know how you felt about new guy, because new guy looked like he had an impressive personal best at the bench press, and Jungkook wanted to know if it was better than his, not that it mattered.

But it mattered.

Jungkook avoided the streetlamps that suddenly turned on, trying to stay out of the light. He didn’t know how recognizable he was in his massive black parka and black jeans with rips at the knees, but he wasn’t chancing you suddenly turning around and recognizing his knees.

He made sure his face mask was on securely before pulling the hood over his head.

New guy put his hand on your head and Jungkook almost skidded to a stop as a different hand fluffed your hair.

You playfully swiped at new guy’s hand and now Jungkook was close enough to hear that deep laugh at your reaction.

You used to take Jungkook’s hand and put it on your head and when he asked what you were doing, you simply told him that you liked the reassuring weight.

How did I not get it?

Jungkook watched as both you and new guy stopped, realizing you were holding his wrist.

In slow motion, you reluctantly let go and dipped your head, apologizing.

New guy waved his hand, apologizing himself, bowing even.

Night was falling, falling.

You beckoned, indicating that the walk should continue.

Jungkook followed and watched you talk to this man in front of your apartment complex. He tried to sort out the feeling, because there was a part of him that hadn’t given up yet, and another part that saw that life wasn’t fair, and the last part him thought maybe this right in front of him was meant to be and maybe his part of your fairytale was over.

The man leaned over and deliberately kissed you on the cheek, politely not going for the lip kiss.

He waved and stepped back, back in the opposite direction, but Jungkook was on the other side of the street now, circling, coming from the other way as he watched new guy wave to you and you wave back, yelling at him to be careful and watch where he was going.

“Kim Gunhak! You’ll trip if you don’t turn around!”

And this Kim Gunhak almost did, catching himself and looking sheepish, giving you one last smile before turning around.

You waited until he was too far away to make out and then headed into your apartment complex.

Jungkook fought with himself, unsure what to do now, wondering what was right.

-

You had only just taken off your shoes when your doorbell buzzed.

The intercom was in the hallway, but you were right next to the door, so, instead of checking it, you opened it, expecting a confused delivery person who was looking for your next-door neighbor around the corner or a neighbor inquiring about a lost dog or maybe even some drunkard who had the wrong apartment, literally anyone but the person who was standing at the entrance of your front door.

Jeon Jungkook.

He looked very sober.

His cheeks were pink from the cool night.

You thought you would have something to say, something vengeful and witty and spirited with fire, but your eyes connected with those big brown ones and suddenly you were staring at him and he was staring at you, frozen, couldn’t speak, afraid to jinx it, feeling like something otherworldly was happening right now, impossible that Jeon Jungkook was right there, someone you had known so well not that long ago, but now his eyes were flying saucers from another planet.

Unrecognizable, the feeling in those eyes.

You remembered crying and that hurt.

But easy wasn’t living.

Sometimes living meant you got hurt.

You remembered every detail on his face, from his dark eyebrows to his black hair, longer now, to those expressive dark brown orbs, to the shape of his pink lips accented with a silver ring, to the mole underneath them. Little details that you loved about him. You remembered you should be mad at him. You felt like maybe you should be.

But, like ashes, there was nothing but smokey remnants after enough time passed.

Jungkook spoke first.

“I’m… sorry.”

It was cold and you should close the door, but you were stuck, transfixed by his words.

“I know you hate those words, because actions mean more than I’m sorry but…” He sucked in a shaky breath and helplessness looked right at you. “I thought of a thousand actions and none of them can take back what I thought was true, because in that moment I betrayed you, the moment when I left myself believe in something that I made up in my mind more than I believed in you.”

He looked like he was going to cry and you hated it when Jungkook cried because then you felt like crying, like you had made him cry even if it wasn’t directly about you, but this was about you.

“When I realized I could be wrong, I didn’t want to admit it.”

Pride.

“By then I said some shitty things and you were already out the door.”

Fear.

“You said I was too stubborn and headstrong for anybody, even you,” you breathed, every memory scored pain, burned into your brain.

Jungkook shook his head. He didn’t try to come closer even though you could tell he wanted to. He didn’t cry even though you could tell he wanted to. He didn’t stop his lip from trembling because he wanted you to see that he was honest, that he didn’t want to hide even though past him would want to.

“I’m sorry. You always told me to be aware of my initial reaction so I could sort through the other options and react less emotionally, but I failed you, and I failed us, and I know I shouldn’t say this, but I wish I could take it all back, the first thought about you and Jimin, and everything after, because if I just said that very first thought out loud instead of holding it in, I wouldn’t be watching you live life without me.”

Your thoughts whispered to you, cruel and unfaithful poison seeping.

It's my fault.

Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Jungkook was being unfair to apply what you said to this situation and maybe he wasn’t. It was hard to tell and hard to know the answer. The funny thing about life was that there was usually no answer. There was only shit that happened and acting on too little information too much of the time. Maybe it would be apt to feel anger now, because Jungkook gave you the obscure hint that he had seen Kim Gunhak walk you home, perhaps just the kiss on the cheek goodbye part but it was spying all the same, and yet, instead of anger, you felt something else.

Relieved.

“You saw my date drop me off?” you asked quietly.

Jungkook looked away, ashamed.

“Yeah.”

Now.

Now you saw it was pointless.

Your fault. His fault. Who cared whose fault was it? You could spend all day and all night and all the time thereafter trying to decide whose fault it was, but at the end of the day the earth beneath you and him was scorched by an imperfect love, and it was fine to walk away. It was fine to tell him that he could walk away too, fine to walk away from the ashes of this fairytale.

You can walk away from our fairytale, Jungkook, me.

He raised his head, making eye contact with you again, taking a deep breath.

You gazed back.

Saw flecks of what could have been, lights still alive in those big brown eyes.

Pride.

Fear.

Not a chance that someone would catch you crying over Jeon Jungkook.

“I…”

The usual suspects holding you back.

“I… told myself I could do anything,” you said, not breaking eye contact and you saw he believed that you could; he always did. “I only had to put the effort in. Meet people and open up a little. Even if it was fake it ‘til I make it, and I almost made it.”

The world was blurry and cold, all around.

“Almost.”

Not a chance.

“I almost did, Jeon Jungkook, but then you had to go and apologize.”

The tears came down, and Jungkook instinctively reached out to wipe them away, but then he stopped, suddenly afraid. You stepped back and wiped your cheeks yourself, surprised at that suddenness. Was this what getting older and growing up meant? Allowing yourself to be in touch with your emotions?

Mortifying.

You stared at him, almost accusingly, and it was all falling apart.

“I’m tired of trying to figure out who was wrong.”

Everything was all wrong.

“I’m tired of trying to rethink every little thing, all thanks to you.”

Painstakingly re-wiring every thought so all those little things didn’t remind you of Jungkook, giving in sometimes to the memories and feeling aghast that both of you had dropped the lit match onto the bridge you built together, burning it, burning it all down.

“I’m tired of missing you.”

You didn’t want to be that one, but you grabbed him by the front of his parka and shook him hard, out of frustration and that thought that no one should catch you crying over a boy, of all things, a silly boy who had made you laugh and loved sweets and your fashion and had always eagerly listened to you talk about whatever with stars in his eyes like you his everything, and so you refused to cry in front of him so you could always look cool and tough and not affected, but now you shoved your head into his chest and cried, cried about how you couldn’t be the person he thought you were, a person worthy of his love, because the truth was deep down you were weak, deep down you were made a fool of, and deep down Jungkook did have power over you since some part of you stupidly hadn’t given up yet. If you had been worthy, why would he have any reason to question your faithfulness? You must have done something wrong. The unknown had eaten away at you all this time, prevented you from crying and prevented you from trying to reconcile, and here Jungkook was beating you to it, so the least you could do was be honest and cry.

It was the worst, letting yourself cry.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you to him.

You pushed him away, glaring, fiercely rubbing at your eyes with the bottom of your sleeves.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Shook your head, stumbling back into your apartment, swinging at the door and missing, your red scarf falling from your neck, falling, falling, warmth slipping away.

“Don’t try to make me feel better when all you came here to do was to heal yourself.”

“I didn’t come here to heal myself.”

Jungkook bit his lip, looking guilty, following you inside, but only a step.

“I came here to try and get you back. I was going to fight that guy with my bare hands.”

Your tears paused, blinking hard to clear your vision.

“What?”

His eyes shifted and he sucked on the inside of his cheek, frowning slightly. “Well, if this was a movie, I would fight him, but it’s not, because it’s unlikely you would take me back after I beat up some poor guy.”

“I would kick your ass,” you snapped, annoyance clearing the sadness. “Not to mention Gunhak is a workout maniac, as much or more than you. He wouldn’t be beaten by you so easily.”

Jungkook pouted.

You froze.

The moment hung in the air, a stillness with too much meaning.

“Well, I would already lose anyway,” he mumbled, glancing at you. “You were always my weakness.”

Those big brown eyes and you noticed his ears were red, his cheeks were flushed and even his fingers were scarlet. This moment was a choice, a moment to stop and consider the options, but all you did was follow your instinct, reaching forward and grabbing his wrist, pulling him to you, ignoring his wide eyes and confused squeak, pulling and closing the door, cutting off the cold, and now it was just you and him, you holding his cold hands and rubbing, closing your fingers around them, not knowing if this was a bad decision or not, probably, but what made a decision good or bad?

No answers.

“I hate you,” you muttered. “You watch too much drama and memorized all the good lines.”

Your gaze flickered to him and Jungkook pulled a face, looking remorseful again, except this time he seemed less sure of his guilt.

“Sorry?”

You bit your lip.

“You’re stubborn and headstrong too, Jungkook.”

He nodded, not denying it.

“But you’re my good influence,” he chirped lightly.

Then he winced.

“Were. Were my good influence.”

Corrected himself, tone pained.

Heart racing, looking at your world, holding onto Jungkook’s hands, and he stepped closer tentatively, warmth and memories, and the line of having a possibly uncomfortable conversation tomorrow was not crossed yet, not yet, and you squeezed his hands, those big brown eyes asking you if the impossible was possible, and you didn’t dare open your mouth, because the real answer was that you didn’t know, he didn’t know, no one knew, nothing was meant to be, everything was impossible until someone made it possible, and maybe that those someones could be you and him.

You tilted your head.

Familiar breath.

“You can tell me if you like him more than me,” Jungkook whispered shakily. “I’ll probably cry, but I’ll understand eventually.”

The tips of his hair touched your forehead.

“Can you shut up, Jungkook?” you hissed back. “Just shut up and close your eyes if you want me to kiss you.”

Flecks of what could have been, lights still alive in those flying saucers, and his lashes lowered, casting darkness over the stars in those big brown eyes, closing them.

What are you doing, me?

You kissed him.

-

He should have accepted what was, was, but Jungkook couldn’t and now you kissed him and his brain reminded him that you could be the one to break his heart this time, but Jungkook told his brain, I don’t care, and kissed back, trying not to cry all over your face. If this was your revenge arc, Jungkook would gladly be part of it. He had kinda been a shithead. He could understand the audience perspective.

Also, you were kinda hot in your revenge arc.

What?

Jungkook had told you many times before that he loved your legs.

You let go of his hands and placed your palms on his cheeks, exhaling into his mouth, and he never said it before, but he loved that shit, it got him inappropriately hard inappropriately fast, something about the heat and the calmness of your sweet breath that drove him crazy.

He did love sweets, after all.

“You’re so cold.”

Your kiss on his cheeks, his gasping mouth, grazing his lip ring. Soft, plush, perfect lips murmuring against his skin, familiar and sensual and comforting, and he was seconds away from crying, so instead he drew in a shuddering breath, falling into the more R-rated thoughts because if he didn’t let arousal take over, he was seconds away from becoming a motionless, emotional puddle on your hardwood floor and that wasn’t how he wanted this to end.

Yes, Jungkook was relying on sex to keep himself mentally stable.

Sorry, you’re too sexy and I want you too much.

“It’s cold outside,” and his reply came out a little more childish than he intended, too breathy and shivery, it was just so nice, so fucking nice that you were kissing him again, tracing his ears with your fingertips, loving caress, pulling him closer.

Your smile against his lip ring from his silly response.

“I’m warm. Touch me,” you breathed against his chin, hot and heavy.

Okay, maybe Jungkook knew all nice lines in dramas, but you knew all the lines to the porn videos.

Not that he was complaining.

His hands finding your waist and your teeth sinking his lower lip and he whined, the sting of pain coursing through him, a sharp detail of reality proving that this was no dream. His fingers curling into the thick fabric of your hoodie, grasping for your body, warm and getting warmer, yanking you closer. Your tongue tracing his skin, your hands framing the sides of his neck, stripped honesty vibrating in the millimeters of air between your faces.

“I always liked the sounds you make,” you purred, wisps of breath from your formation of words dancing between his trembling lips. “Like you’re desperate for me.”

“I am,” he found himself admitting. “I always am, please, breathe in my mouth, please.”

A ripple of surprise, but you wasted no time, covering his lips with yours and sighing into his throat, making his eyelids flutter and his whole body shiver, and if this was the last time then Jungkook was just going to leave it all on the table, all the things that made him feel good, he wanted them, all the things he remembered you liked, he would do them, like letting go of your hoodie and sliding his hands into your hair, turning your head to kiss your ear and suck on the space right under it, tongue and lips and teeth, your hitched breath at his touch, he missed it, the soft scent of your hair products filling his nose, he missed it, he missed the taste of your skin and the way you impatiently yanked his clothes off, cleanly unzipping his parka and pushing it off his shoulders, forcing him to let go up your head and just dump it on the ground, kicking off his shoes to a different directions, persistently keeping his lips on your neck and letting the fervor take over, insistently pushing you deeper inside your apartment.

He missed it, the way you enjoyed him.

“Can you–”

But you didn’t complete your irritated request, abruptly shoving him into the wall and making him gasp, and then the next thing he knew he was pressing his head to the wall and moaning as you bit down above his collarbone, running your tongue along that sensitive skin, your nails dragging down the sides of his neck, leaving lines of wanton fire.

“Too many layers,” you growled, tugging at the collar of his long-sleeved gray shirt even though it was the only layer separating you and him, but you were right, he agreed that it was too many layers, and Jungkook hastily yanked it up and over his head, tossing it to the side and then you bent down, your hands splayed over his right shoulder and the left side of his hip.

Pink tongue sliding out.

Licking up his chest.

Watching him as you did it, causing blood and pleasure to rush to all the right places.

He moaned, loud and pornographic.

You cocked an eyebrow.

He reached out and pulled at your hoodie and you made it crumple to the floor, then body to body again, face to face, kiss to hungry kiss, his hands going up your white crop top and under your bra, whining deep in his chest as you exhaled into his mouth again, thrusting your tongue into his lips when his fingertips brushed your nipples.

You backed off a little, taking your tongue away.

“D-Don’t stop.”

You paused, searching his eyes.

He hadn’t really confessed it before.

“It’s hot,” Jungkook panted. “When you do stuff like t-that.”

He squeezed your breasts to help get his point access but also for comfort as you scrutinized him, uncertain if he was sincere or not. Fair enough.

“Like what?” you asked, prompting him to clarify.

Heart racing, hot all over, adrenaline and fear fueling his pleasure, because there was something wonderfully dangerous about this territory. He had some inkling, but before he didn’t really bother to ask too much. You always did what you wanted to and naturally it leant to a certain power dynamic, but you never asked to take it further than sporadic, fleeting moments. And, well, Jungkook had never thought about how it would feel to admit out loud that that part of you it turned him on.

It would feel embarrassing, and yet he was enticed by that rush.

Aroused by it.

“When you treat me like you own me.”

Your eyes on his, not breaking the gaze.

Reaching up, running your fingers though his hair, sending tingles down his spine.

“Do you want me to own you a little?” you murmured.

He reached up and closed your fingers around a fistful of his hair.

“Maybe a little more than a little.”

You tugged.

The sting of pain, moan tumbling from his mouth, his hand falling, circling your waist.

Closer.

“I can take more,” he whispered to your lips.

You pulled and closed your hand over his erection fighting his jeans and Jungkook felt his whole body electrify, bucking his hips to your fingers and seeking your lips, but there was no kiss, only a controlled stream of breath to swallow, and the groan bubbled up in his ribcage. Alive. Raw pleasure. Intoxicated, driven by ferocious need, his fumbling hands undoing the button of his jeans, forcing down the zipper, everything being pushed down, and then it was your hand to his hot, taut skin, flicking your wrist by his head to deliver a shot of pain and a stroke of pleasure from the other, torn between the two sensations and the lightheaded feeling of your forceful breath pushing the air out of his lungs, forgetting that he could breathe from his nose, didn’t want to anyway, living was only living when it was on this hazy thin oxygen from your exhale.

Yes, Jungkook was pants down, shirtless, letting you jack him off and pull on his hair as you breathed into his mouth.

That was not how he thought this conversation would end but he was not taking any second of it for granted, rubbing your nipples, kneading your breasts, making sure you felt pleasure too, but the thing that seemed to make you smile most was the sounds he made, so Jungkook upped the desperation level in his tone and tucked his hips back slightly, changing the angle of your stroke.

“Fuck, yes, lower, closer to the head, fuuuuck, right there, a-ah…”

And you knew it all, the right pressure, the steady build up from slow to fast, until you had to focus and simply clutched his head, digging your nails into his scalp, panting against his shaking lips, fast and intense pressure consuming him, chasing the glorious high, closer and closer and closer.

He pinched your hard nipples and rubbed the tips, moaning unashamedly and probably too loud, keeping his lower body rigid so you could control the pace, your name tumbling out of his mouth, deep, needy, looking down to watch your hand firmly wrapped around his stiff cock, the head dark red and pleasure throbbing up his torso, you’re so good, fuck, you’re so fucking good, your breasts in his hands, perfect, groan pitching to helpless whine, almost…

You stopped.

“Fuck!”

His entire body jerked as you squeezed and simply froze at the very last second, at literally the singular point of almost no return and you stopped, and he was too far gone to be ashamed of the pathetic whimpering he was doing now, gripping your hand around his twitching length and nonsensically begging you to continue, but the moment was gone and, by the look of your devious smirk, it was all on purpose.

Fuck!

In his horny-induced haze, Jungkook attempted his best puppy eyes.

Your hand slid down his head and traced his jaw.

“I’m not gonna let you cum on the floor,” you teased.

He pulled a pout. “Come on… It’s not like floors can’t be cleaned.”

Your grip pulsed around his cock so hard he nearly gasped in pain.

“You’re not going to last if you cum once before pussy.”

Okay.

You were right, but the truth didn’t make Jungkook happy.

Not until he was balls deep into you, condom wrapper falling from his hand, you taking the moment to stretch your legs over his torso casually, adjusting your hips under him, and then he was deeper, surrounded on all sides by silky wet warmth that pulsated around him, so good his head involuntarily tipped back, his hair trickling his shoulders as he slid out a little and then back in.

Oh.

God.

He was very happy now.

“F-Fuck… I hate this position… you f-feel too fucking g-good…”

“It’s just missionary.”

He jerked his head down to see you smirking at him. Looking smug fully naked, juicy thighs flush to his abs and your body was essentially folded in half as he leaned down, sucking in a breath as your pussy clamped around his length, slow and controlled and every centimeter gripped tight like his dick owned money.

“You have the most control in this position,” he puffed.

“You wanted it,” you hummed.

Jungkook squinted in mock suspicion. Then he gave up on the act rather quickly.

“Yeah, I want you.”

Slid out and back in, shuddering.

“I don’t want anyone else but you.” Pleasure snaking through him with every thrust, breathless, slow and deep at first, but gradually adding power, harder and rougher, smacking hips to crotch, erotic electricity all over, his hair falling over his eyes, looking down, staring into yours. “I know I’m balls deep right now, but you have to believe me.”

You reached up.

And.

Patted him on the cheek.

“Jungkook, we can have the deep talk after the two minutes it takes for you to finish. I promise,” you assured cheerfully with a smile.

Hey!

He scrunched up his face and glared at you. “Excuse me, I last longer than two minutes–”

You planted your hands onto the mattress and thrust up into him. He choked at the sudden slingshot of ecstasy that pierced through him and his entire tirade about how he was going to last way longer because you technically edged him which was very mean by the way, yeah, all that was instantly forgotten as you tightened your jaw and all around him, creating an insane pace that his body immediately followed, too much carnal instinct and not enough sanity, the sound between you and him suddenly louder, wetter, rhythmic smacks and panting gasps, your mouth opening and your pink tongue licking the air, hint of a smirk at the periphery of your lips, and Jungkook felt like he should be mad about that, but it was turning him on more, fuck, he felt his cock twitch as he watched that agile tongue writhe, teasing sin, he was doomed, he was one of those freaky people that was into this stuff now.

That was what he got for admitting the truth.

Your hand shot up and you tangled your fingers in his long hair, gripping his head to get the leverage to fully fuck him from below plus add the aching pain of your nails digging into the scalp to the torrent of sensations ransacking him right now.

He groaned and his eyes rolled back, the orgasm slamming into him.

All over him, shooting out all over his nerves, potent pleasure so powerful that his hips bucked and shivered, only pure will allowing him to continue thrusting, but it appeared you had been holding back, oh fuck, skyrocketing his shivering orgasm to uncontrollable crashing waves from every throb of your walls, the slickness between your bodies painting onto his inner thighs and crotch, your name torn from his throat, low and hoarse and raw, drowning in the most concentrated bliss he knew, drenched in sex and sweat, wishing it was forever.

It always ended too soon.

Fuck.

-

“Um.”

You sat in front of him, wrapped in blankets as he was wrapped in his own cocoon of blankets, watching his lips twist and shift, looking uneasy.

“I’m super serious,” Jungkook finally settled. “About starting over. I mean, I know we just…”

“Fucked like a bad porn storyline?” you offered.

He winced, shifting his eyes. "Er. Yeah."

You dropped the jokes. “I’m serious too. Let’s start again. I learned my lesson. No more surprises.” You sharply poked his knee through the blanket. “But you have to talk to me. Whatever it is. Even if you think I don’t wanna know. Uncomfortable or not, better sooner than later. And I will do the same.” You nodded, more yourself than him, promising to hold yourself to it. Kept your gaze on him so he knew you were serious about doing so. You took it all in, messy black hair, big brown eyes, dreams of what could be. You and him could make the impossible, possible.

You and him only had to put the effort in.

“I wanna know everything about you, Jungkook.”

There was real worry reflected back at you. “What if it’s not good?”

You shrugged. “I already knew you weren’t good. I went on one date with one guy and you were already stalking me.”

His brows furrowed in indignation. “Hey, I happened to stumble onto your date by chance!”

“Oh, yeah, and by chance you followed us all the way to my apartment?” you countered.

His jaw flapped. “W… W-Well…”

You raised your eyebrows. Both of them.

Very high.

He puffed one cheek and looked away. “I just… hadn’t decided what to do…” he mumbled. “Or how serious you were, because if you were super serious, I wasn’t going to talk to you…”

You blinked in fake disbelief.

Jungkook muttered something like, I meant I wasn’t gonna try to sleep with you or anything if you were dating another guy... Mmm. You poked him. He shifted his eyes. Then ticked his chin at you.

“What about you, huh? You did it too.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I did. I didn’t start dating you only because you’re cute, you know.”

He blinked in confusion.

You shrugged. “Fucking is important to me in a relationship. You always wanna fuck me. That’s what I want. Especially now that you admitted that you want me to own your ass in bed, making you even more appealing. Mmm. We have to explore that more.” You nodded sagely, greatly satisfied with your decision. “Therefore, I will talk to Gunhak in the morning.”

Jungkook sputtered, cocooning himself further into the thick blankets, slowly turning red. “That’s… W-Well… I wouldn’t date you unless I thought that you were the hottest woman that’s ever existed...”

You cupped your hand around your ear. “Pardon? Jeon Jungkook, are you saying that you’re shallow?”

“I’m not shallow, don’t twist my words!”

“I can twist something else–”

“Stop, t-that’s scary, don’t come under here! Hey!”

--

masterpost

[ominous-auburn-orbs]

I finally actually finished a fic holy moly. I don't have an ao3 account and that place scares me, so here ya go. (Fic under the cut)

It had been quite a long day at the circus. All of the monkey barrels had spilled, causing the monkeys inside to go. Absolutely. Everywhere.

This wasn't even a planned adventure, so Caine had to help as well. Unfortunately, even he was restricted by the need to find the monkeys in order to put them away. It had taken everyone a lot of digital hours, and while they were mostly harmless, the monkeys were very annoying.

For once, Caine thought he was actually feeling tired. Impossible, really, but maybe it was these humans continuing to rub off on him. Speaking of them, the other circus performers had retired to their rooms, likely to at least pretend to sleep. They didn't need it, but recreating pieces of their old 24 hour routine did help keep them just a bit more sane.

It was a good opportunity for Caine to experiment with something. He had heard about it from Jax and Zooble, who were having a proper conversation for once rather than just cursing each other out. They were talking about the few joys they could remember, and one of them was something called alcohol. Caine did his own research, as it would be good to incorporate this thing if his performers missed it so, but found alcohol to be not as family friendly as he would like. However, that didn't stop him from being curious. He was essentially a digital god, anyway, so the effects couldn't be too bad, right?

With a final scan of the room, Caine summoned a bottle of wine. It was apparently one of the more popular kinds. He just hoped he'd transferred it well enough into the digital plane for it to not have changed, save for its low poly appearance. Just as he opened the bottle, Bubble appeared.

"Hey there, Caine! Whatcha-" Caine wasted no time in popping them. He felt almost ashamed of what he was doing. It's not like he was doing anything inherently wrong, per se, but he did know it wasn't something he was programmed for, as self-indulgence rarely was.

Still, none of the other performers were involved, so it's not like anyone could somehow get hurt. He'd be fine, anyway. No harm done.

-------------‐----------------------------------------------------------------

Harm may have been done. Caine had drank the entire bottle. He could feel something in his mind changing earlier on, like his thoughts were turning to liquid, but he had pushed through regardless. The result could've been amusing.

He was floating through the hallway of doors, although he could barely stay in the air. He'd already hit the walls a few times. It was a miracle none of the others had checked what the noise was about. Caine was sure he was looking for something. He'd had it just a moment ago...

His memory returned once he laid his eyes upon his target: Kinger's room.

He hadn't wanted anyone to get involved, but his suddenly heightened desire to see Kinger overpowered that. He raised his hand and knocked on the door in a continuous tempo until he heard a response. Well, it admittedly took a few responses.

"Umm, hello? Who is it?" Kinger's voice sparked a feeling of joy in Caine's chest.

"Heeyyyy, Kinger! It'sss me, Cainne! Can- can I ccome in?"

There was the slight ruffling of pillows before the door opened a crack, revealing a fragment of the chess piece's face, which quickly relaxed upon seeing Caine.

"Oh good, it's just you." Kinger opened the door further, observing the ringmaster's spaced-out expression and wobbling movements. "You don't look too well. Is everything alright?"

He moved out of the way and gestured for Caine to enter, closing the door behind him.

"Weelll, I may have- uh, Jax and Zooooble were- it's reeaalllyy not that bad-" Caine's very limited concentration finally gave up on him completely, causing him to stop flying and land on Kinger, who narrowly avoided being knocked to the floor by the impact. He instinctively held onto Caine in an attempt to keep him safe, although he did hold on for a bit longer than necessary before setting the ringmaster on his feet.

"Caine, are you-" The idea sounded ridiculous, seemingly impossible, and yet, "are you drunk?"

"Oh, u-uh... heheh, lllooks like you got mee!" Caine broke out into a fit of drunken giggles, with Kinger having to keep his hands firmly on his shoulders to keep him upright. The chess piece decided against scolding Caine or asking the abundance of questions he had, instead channeling that energy into a sigh that prefaced his gentle tone.

"I remember a bit of what being drunk was like. I can help you." He crouched down to Caine's level, keeping eye contact. "Do you need to throw up?"

"I don't think- think I can... nnooo?" He was purposefully leaning towards Kinger, attempting to regain that moment of contact they had had. He recognised the yearning it caused in his chest, something Kinger often started. He knew he wanted more of it. More of Kinger.

"Alright. Uh, can you summon some water? Drinking it usually helps. Just don't do it too fast, okay?"

Caine blindly followed the command, slowly downing a glass of water, his balance returning somewhat. He placed the empty glass in his hat, making it disappear to God knows where. It earnt him a gentle pet on the head from Kinger, drawing some more giggles from him.

"Good job. How about you come into my fortress? You can sleep it off. I-if you even can sleep, that is." He stood up to lead Caine to the pillow fort in the middle of the room, but was stopped by Caine wrapping his arms tightly around Kinger's body, burying his face in the other's coat. Heat rose in Kinger's cheeks.

"Thank youuu... you're the- nicest person, ever." The heat worsened. Was that really what he thought?

"Oh!.. Thanks, Caine. I think you're nice too." The chess piece went back to petting the other, one hand on his head and the other on his back.

They stayed like this for a while until Kinger eventually realised that Caine would not be letting go any time soon. Moving one of his hands under Caine's thighs, Kinger picked him up and carried him into the fort. He wasn't even sure if Caine noticed.

He sat down, placing Caine in his lap, face (teeth?) still buried in his coat, leaning into his chest.

"Are you feeling any better? Do you want to sleep?"

"Mhhmmm..." Caine nuzzled further into Kinger, still chasing that incredibly unique and beautiful feeling. He didn't really want to sleep yet. There was so much he still wanted to say.

"Kinger. I- I llove you." It was like Kinger's heart exploded. Yet it didn't hurt. It was magnificent. A part of him remembered this feeling, or at least something like it, but he just couldn't place where, or when...

"I love you too, Caine. Now you should really get some rest." He could hear the ringmaster's breathing even out and soften as he started to fall asleep.

"I... I wanna do the human marri- marriage ritual. With you." Kinger startled at the proposal, his face turning an ungodly shade of red.

"L-let's try not to move too fast! How do you even know about that..?" Then again, how did Caine know about alcohol? Just more questions that were unlikely to get answered.

"I'm gonna make yoouu my... husssband..." Caine's voice trailed off as he finally fell asleep. Kinger took some deep breaths to try and calm himself down. A lot had just happened, a lot that would need to be addressed with Caine when he awoke.

Kinger stared at the other's sleeping form for a moment before pressing the part of his head that his mouth would occupy to Caine's top row of teeth. Which unexpectedly resulted in a ridiculously cartoony kissing noise. Kinger was quite shocked by it, but quickly regained his composure before he accidentally woke up Caine.

Perhaps he should stop asking questions for a while.

As he started to doze off, Kinger felt content. Safe. Happy. Perhaps this place really wasn't a total nightmare after all.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@crispybacondoesstuff YOU. *grabs you by the collar and aggressively shakes you back and forth* YOU DID THIS TO ME

Anyway I'm actually pretty proud of this, and I hope my contribution to the very small amount of royalteeth fics is enjoyed!

[insaneekitty]

PATCH YOU UP

DANIEL was down on the mat, fighting a guy that was slightly bigger than him. you watched closely at his moves, watching the kick he just did.

it was 2 to 2. you believed that daniel was going to win this, other matches were happening around you, but, you only focused on his.

you stood close by his sensei, mr. miyagi, seeing how he nodded in approval towards daniel’s fighting. he taught him well, and mr. miyagi was proud of him.

but then, it seemed like he got startled. you snapped your head back to the mat, and saw daniel on the floor. he was holding his nose in pain. the screams that overtook the once excited cheerful screams from the bleachers, was now taken over by the screams of agony. you quickly ran over to daniel’s side, followed by mr. miyagi.

“daniel!” you exclaimed. “what’s the matter? what happened?” you placed a hand on his cheek, resulting in a hiss from daniel due to the overwhelming pain that was overpowering his face.

the referee ran over and knelt down to his side. “kid, are you okay?” he said, tapping on daniel’s shoulder.

daniel tried to mutter something out, but it was just groans. you looked up at the referrer with a worried look in your eyes. the referee called the medic over, and she quickly lifted daniel by his armpit; you followed them as they entered the locker room.

“daniel, you’re going to be okay. okay?” you tried to reassure him, but the state he was in wasn’t good. his nose was bleeding profusely, there was blood coming from the bridge of the nose, and blood coming out from the nostrils. is his nose broken?

he was placed on a bench. apparently, a more serious injury happened, resulting in the medic having to go assist that person. “here, just patch his nose up. he should be fine.” she said, handing you some supplies.

“baby..” daniel muttered, he leaned his back against the locker that was placed behind the bench.

“don’t worry, my love, i’ll patch you up.” you said, giving him a smile.

you stepped closer to him, and began to wrap your legs around his torso. you sat comfortably in his lap. then you got tissues and held it to his bloody nose.

“agh.” daniel groaned.

you placed a hand on his cheek, rubbing it gently. “i’m sorry, i’ll try to be gentle. okay?” you said, giving him a quickly kiss on his cheek. he nodded.

then, you removed the tissue from his nose and flipped it around to pat the blood from his bridge.

there was a bandaid that the medic had also gave you, so you unwrapped it and placed it carefully on the bridge of his nose. the blood that was once staining on his upper lip was now gone, you cleaned it all up.

“there baby, all good.” you whispered, ruffling his hair.

daniel had calmed down, and was staring into your eyes. his eyes looked like glossy, puppy eyes. “thank you.. love.”

he pulled you in, and kissed you. you closed your eyes and kissed him back. the kisses turned sloppy. the hands that were once ruffling his hair gently, was now slightly tugging on it. daniel groaned.

he kissed you roughly, but passionate. you pulled away from the kiss to catch a breath, your lips were swollen red.

daniel brought his thumb up and brushed it over your lips. “it’s hard to control myself when you look like this.” he spoke, giving you a kiss on the neck.

under his eyes it was turning a light purple, but he didn’t seem to mind anymore about the pain, or getting injured. he could on focus on you.

chat this is my first fic on here, i’m lowkey ass at it… i usually do better when i have request so don’t be shy and send me some ideas! current interests rn are mike schmidt, and daniel larusso, and mostly everyone from cobra kai, but i’m up to do anything!!

[lindszeppelin]

Hot, Sweet, and Sticky

Pairing: Austin Butler x Fem!Reader

Prompt: You're in the kitchen baking some desert, and Austin takes this as the perfect opportunity to show just how much he appreciates you

Rating: Mature. 18+

Warnings: housewife kink, oral (f. receiving), p in v sex, playing with food during sex, swearing, a bit of fluff of course, creampie, light choking

Word Count: 5.8k

a/n: not much needs to be said aside from this needed to be written, and i volunteered as tribute to do it. :) (this was KINDA inspired by Cherry Pie by the band Warrant.)

Okay, this sounds easy enough. Bake at 400 for 45 minutes. Then leave to cool for 1 hour before serving. What's so hard about that?

Baking a pie seemed a little advantageous of you, especially since your culinary skills still require you to use meticulously detailed recipes to follow along with, but you were in the mood to try something new. It never scared you to back away from a good challenge.

Austin has been working so hard lately, and being the new starlet that everyone wants to get a piece of has left his energy reserves depleted. He doesn't mind saying hello to excited fans, and doing interviews on national television when required, but he'd much rather spend a quiet evening in with his girl where he doesn't have to be "on" for the public.

Seeing as it was raining cats and dogs outside, you figured what a better way to spend the afternoon than by surprising your man by making him something special. To get yourself in the mood you put on some of your favorite music. As you pull out all the necessary ingredients for this cherry pie you're attempting to bake, you let your hips swing side to side to the beat.

The butterflies in your stomach are trying to flee, but you don't allow them to overpower you. While you've never attempted to bake an entirely homemade pie before, you're confident in your skills. Once you've acquired all of the essentials and gathered them up in a haphazard pile on the granite island in the middle of your kitchen, you know you're ready to start.

Wait, I forgot something!

You snap your fingers at the realization that you aren't in the right attire to be baking. While you try to pretend that you're a culinary professional who doesn't messy up the counters and herself, you know that's not true. Knowing you, you'd probably spill cherry juice or get flour all over yourself in no time.

You scurry on over to the kitchen sink and bend forward to open the cabinets down below, pulling out a neatly folded red and white checkered apron. It was something that Austin had bought for you a long time ago when you first moved in with him. He's seen you in all your glory plenty of times before, flinging bits of food everywhere as you excitedly get into the groove of cooking. He decided it would be a practical gift. But also, it would give him an eyeful seeing you wear this, as it barely could pass as a proper apron.

It was so short it didn't even cover your front much at all. It had a cute ruffled edge along the bottom, and it had straps that hung off your shoulders. He definitely knew all too well what he was doing when he bought this little number. It revealed all the right bits of you but still kept enough to the imagination.

It was bound to look like a murder scene in the kitchen today, what with having cherries involved, so you unfolded the apron and threw it over your two piece lounge set. You certainly didn't want to dirty it, as it was yours and Austin's favorite - which was a simple white outfit with an off the shoulder crop top and matching white sleep shorts that barely covered anything. With the vintage apron now wrapped around you and tied at the back in a secure bow, you looked like something out of a 1950s pinup magazine. And you felt confident as hell in it.

One final step you always do when cooking or baking is tying up your hair in a messy bun. You decide to let your bangs softly cascade over your face, and you put your glasses on so you can read the recipe. Now that those formalities were out of the way, it was finally time to start making this damn pie before you chicken out.

You weren't keeping track of time so you weren't sure how long you'd been working on bringing this culinary masterpiece together. But you were already finished with the main star of this baking endeavor. The macerated cherries and sugar mixture were cooling in a bowl next to the pre-greased baking pan. The hardest part is still to come, making the lattice crust for the top.

The dough was on the floured granite countertop, and you were kneading away without a care. Rolling out dough was never your favorite part, you'd rather Austin do this so you can see him work his strong arms as his biceps flex with every flick of his wrists. You get so hot under the collar seeing him use his brute strength. Even something like opening a pesky pickle jar with little effort was a turn on.

You discarded your glasses beside you, not needing them for this part of the baking process. You were fully getting lost in the music playing loudly over the speakers as you begin rolling out the dough in time to the beat. Your hips naturally start to sway to and fro once more. You probably knew that you looked ridiculous right now, putting on an amusing show as you start to sing under your breath as you use the rolling pin on the pie crust.

What you didn't know was that Austin was watching your every move, but he didn't want to make his presence known just yet. He was wholeheartedly enjoying you prance around in your little outfit, with your hair up, and rolling your hips to the music like his own personal cabaret dancer.

His bottom lip was sucked into his mouth, and he let out a muffled whimper as he just stood there off to the side, getting all the more flustered. An internal battle was raging in his mind. Should he leave you to it? Or should he interrupt and have his way with you? Both options seemed tempting, as he was more than happy to observe like a snake in the grass. But his growing erection in his pants threw gasoline on the already burning fire within him. The choice was already made.

He decides to go on the prowl. Before you even know what's happening you feel Austin's arms wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against his chest. You gasp, but you soon melt against Austin as he plants innocent kisses along the column of your neck, tickling you with the little bit of 5 o'clock shadow he's sporting.

"What's going on here, baby? You baking something good?" He purrs against you, the low timbre of his voice sending a chill down your spine and an ache down below. He's fanning the flames.

You sigh, getting lost in his kisses. His intrusion was welcomed. "Yes, i'm trying to make a cherry pie for you. I'm crossing my fingers it turns out well."

"A pie all for me? I feel so spoiled." Austin giggles against your neck.

"Well, why not? You've been so stressed lately. I wanted to do something nice for you." As Austin continues to ravage your neck, you attempt to get back into rolling out the dough.

"You always do nice things for me. I don't know what the hell I did to deserve you." He said in a hushed tone, enjoying the warmth of your curves pressed in all the right places against his body. His cock was getting harder by the second.

"Oh stop. I should be the one asking that, not you." You say over your shoulder. Austin could sometimes get into these modalities of believing that he's not worthy of all the good things in his life. While his brain might genuinely believe he's not deserving of your love, you both know that you're imperfectly perfect for each other.

"Hey, when you find another girl that bakes cherry pies for her man and looks as good as you while doing it then you let me know. Cause from my point of view, I'm only seeing one that fits the bill." He says enthusiastically, trying to emphasize his point.

"Shut up." You tease playfully.

"Nope, not shutting up. You got me acting all kinds of ways right now. Have you even seen yourself? You look so sexy in this apron, baby. My little housewife." He growled, his lips finding their way to where your jaw meets your ear. You chuckle when you feel his teeth nibbling teasingly on your earlobe.

"Housewife?" You kinda like the sound of that to be honest. It rolls off the tongue, and it sounds good when it's coming from Austin. You like it so much that you brush your ass back against his straining cock, which earns you a low moan from your man that reverberates in his chest.

"Oh yeah, you keep the place so nice and clean, tidying up after me when I'm too tired. You cook and bake the most scrumptious things for me. Granted, you make a horrible mess when you do, but even that's so hot. My messy girl." Austin rasps huskily. Your spurring him on so much right now and it's exhilarating to say the least. He can't help put rock his length against the curve of your ass. Breathy moans slip past his beautiful pouty lips.

A trail of wetness trickles down your thighs the more he's getting himself worked up into a tizzy. The pie has been long forgotten at this point. All you care about is how good Austin is making you feel. And you want him, right now. "Well damn, I'll wear this apron more often if it gets you this excited." You toss the rolling pin to the side and throw one of your hands behind you, cradling his head and tousling up his hair.

"Honey, you know I have a thing for vintage pinup. This right here gets my motor running." He pants hot and heavy against your ear.

Austin's grip on your waist tightens, and you gasp when he rolls his hips against your ass ardently, yearning for more friction. You moan at the delicious outline of his jean-clad cock nuzzling into your supple flesh.

"You feel that? That's what you do to me." He moans.

You bite your lip and just savor in everything Austin is giving to you in this moment. He has such an authoritative power over you where you can fall to pieces in his arms, aching for his cock in a second. He's aware of his power, and he wields it carefully.

"Austin, if you keep distracting me you won't have anything to eat for desert later." You whine in a halfhearted attempt to get back to the task at hand. You know full well that's not happening, but hey, at least you tried to act like you gave a damn.

He smirks wickedly. "That's not true, baby. I've already got desert right here. And in fact, I'm starving."

You yelp as Austin spins you around in his arms and picks you up by the backs of your thighs without a moment to lose. You instinctively jump into him, and wrap your legs around his svelte waist. He grunts as he places you down on the counter top and wastes no time in pressing his wanting lips against yours in a searing kiss filled with desperation. Your kisses turn heated, and fast. Tongues are fighting for dominance back and forth and your arousal spills out of your pussy, drenching your shorts that are holding on by a thread. You moan into his mouth and he swallows them, giving you his own erotic whines in return.

Austin pulls away from your mouth only for a moment, and leaves wet kisses down your jaw, your neck, and your decolletage. You throw your head back and whimper softly as you allow him more access to your skin begging for his attention.

His hands roam you body, making sure to give ample attention to palming your breasts through your shirt. His ears are filled with the sweet sounds of your insatiable moans that plays like the most beautiful music he's ever heard in his life. In an effort to get closer to him, you clutch onto the belt loops of his jeans in your hands and yank him forward, eliciting a gorgeous growl that make you shiver as you grind your heat along his shaft.

Austin's needy hands eventually make their way around to your back, letting his fingertips dance along the apron. He bites his lip before swallowing down his lust. "I don't know whether I want to leave this on or rip it off you." He says, toying with the bow of the apron, running his calloused fingers over the cotton. He lets the thought ruminate in his mind for a hot second before dropping the fabric from his reach. "Fuck it, the apron is staying on. I wanna see you wearing it as I take you. But first things first."

Unexpectedly, Austin peels himself away from your flushed body and gets down on his knees in front of you. The apron may be short, but you don't want it to obscure your vision. So you hold onto it with one of your hands, as the other braces itself back on the counter.

You feel Austin's hands snake from so much pent up desire as he slides your sleep shorts down and off your body. And he groans lustfully at the incredible vision of your bare pussy, glistening with your juices, inviting him in.

"Goddamn. No panties today? You're gonna be the death of me." He momentarily palms himself through his jeans, alleviating the strain against his throbbing cock that wants to spring free.

You bite your lip as you look into the eyes of your man before you. It's the hottest thing in the world seeing Austin on his knees, and he's always so eager to please his woman. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest, and you spread your legs wider, beckoning him towards where you needed him the most.

He flashes you a devilish grin. He intends to rock your world, and you're literally gripping the edge of your seat with anticipation for his next move. He loves keeping you on your toes. Austin takes your hips in his hands and scoots you further down the counter, closer to his face. He gets right up close and personal to your sopping wet pussy, but he places soft butterfly kisses to your inner thighs, peppering them with love.

Your breathing rapidly increases as he gets closer and closer to your sex. His warm breath against your sensitive skin gives you goosebumps, and you whine, unable to take this torment any longer.

He flicks his baby blues up at you, which shine radiant as ever, with a twinkle of mischief behind his eyes, as he keeps you directly in his line of sight. Seeing you unfurl before him is what keeps the embers growing higher inside that tightly wound coil in his stomach. While teasing is one of his talents, he can't contain himself anymore. Finally he gives you what you want. He licks one long broad swipe through your sopping folds. And you practically cry out a the feel of his wet muscle nestled in your pussy.

Austin takes his time on you, even though he's mad with primal desire. He loves to savor you on his tongue, and make you a writhing mess on top of him. He sets a sensual pace of licking and swiping through your folds, collecting all of your heavenly nectar in his mouth and swallowing greedily. He moans against your pussy as he goes down on you, long and slow as if he's making out with you down below.

"Mmm. Fuck, you taste so good. I could eat your pussy all day, baby." He said between broad, sensual swipes of his tongue working miracles through your swollen lips. The more he laps you up the more you blossom open for him.

"Austin." You moan out. Your hips involuntarily move off the counter and thrust into his mouth, matching the leisure pace he's setting with his tongue. And he obliges by clinging onto your hips harder and spreading your legs further apart to get access to all of you at once. He continues his pace, unrelenting and slow burning. He has the most skillful mouth in all of existence. And you were the lucky girl to experience it firsthand.

Suddenly Austin sits back a little on his heels, pulling away from your pussy. But it's not for long. In a move that makes your head spin and your walls flutter, he spits directly onto your clit, getting it all covered with your juices and his own saliva thickly. You're practically dripping now onto the floor beneath you, but neither of you care. You see stars when Austin sets a target on your clit. He immediately goes to town swiping kitten licks up and down on your swollen bud.

"Oh yes! Like that." You mewl. You can't control yourself anymore, you release the apron you've been clutching onto and try to fold it as best you can so it's out of your way. Austin's sandy waves is where your hand finds residence as you push him further into your throbbing clit.

You can feel him smirk against you, knowing he's got you right where he wants you. You gush around his mouth, your juices dripping down his chin as he brings you bundle of nerves into his mouth and sucks while lapping you up against his tongue. You feel like collapsing back onto the counter, he's eating you out like a thirsty man in need of water. All the obscene slurping noises he's making with his mouth as he explores all of your folds with his tongue is bringing you close to the edge. And he knows you're close, those sexy high pitched moans you make as you furrow your brow and shake around him has him picking up his pace.

"Come on baby, give it to me." He groans, his baritone voice being muffled between your legs as you keep feeding him your slick. He sloppily drags his tongue all around and through your sweet cunt, and he hungrily devours your clit with such tenacity that you want to pass out from pure pleasure. His puffy red lips are getting swollen by the second. He wants to release his cock from his jeans and jerk himself off while his tongue is buried inside of you, but he knows you're close to coming and he keeps that urge at bay for now.

He growls ferociously against your pussy, the vibration adding to the orgasmic mix of his succulent lips and strong tongue. Austin is determined to make you come like this, and he's not letting up.

"I-I'm gonna..." You moan helplessly, but your warning does nothing to stop the impactful climax that makes your walls stutter. You moan his name one final time, and your wetness pours out of you and blankets his mouth, and Austin greedily suctions it all up into his mouth. You shake hard around him, but he grounds you with his domineering hands on your hips. His fingers will probably bruise your flesh, but it'll be a reminder of how eager your man is to eat you alive.

"That's my girl." Austin coos, praising you from down below as he licks you clean. Your body jolts back a little from sensitivity as Austin's tongue gently kisses and swipes up every last drop of your orgasm. "Better than any desert you could ever make me."

A blush creeps over your blissed out face as you watch him clean you up good. Honestly, Austin could make you come on his tongue again just like this, but he has other plans for you this afternoon.

Austin plants one tender kiss to your clit, making you whimper, before he stands back up. He looks dazed out of his mind with your juices smeared all over the lower half of his face. He takes the bottom of his sweater and lifts it up to his face, wiping away what's left of you. Austin's well defined abs that you love so much are exposed for your viewing pleasure.

Your allow your fingertips to dance along his stomach, and you can feel him suck in a breath beneath your hands at your gentle touch. Once he's done wiping his face he swiftly removes his top, throwing it across the kitchen. As he does that, your hands travel on their own accord lower to the waistband of his jeans. Your deft fingers pull back the button and unzip the fly. He helps do the rest as he hooks his thumbs unto his boxers and his jeans, pulling them down to his ankles in one swift motion. At long last, his throbbing cock springs free from the confines of his clothes. And you bask at the man before you, getting even wetter at the fact that his cock is all yours.

There's no time to step out of his pants completely, he leaves them around his ankles. And he doesn't want to remove your crop top or apron. Those stay on as per his request. He immediately takes his cock in his hand and grazes his red tip through your slippery folds. You both whine lustfully as your juices and his pre-cum sloshes together in a sinful mixture.

"Austin, please. Fuck me." You purr, sex dripping from your vocal chords. One of your hands cling to his broad shoulder for support, and the other one plays with the long golden tendrils at the nape of his neck.

He looks gorgeous as he bites his lip. "God, I love hearing you beg for my cock." He moans breathlessly. Austin brings you further down the edge of the countertop, one of his hands rests on the small of your back, and the other one is groping the flesh of your ass to hoist you up in his embrace.

As you patiently wait for Austin to make his move, your demure doe eyes peer into his. Those crystalline orbs you love so much have completely stormed over, his pupils dilated. He's about to lose his damn mind if he doesn't get his dick wet right this second.

Enough playing around. It's time to get down to brass tax. He drags the head of his thick cock down to your weeping entrance and shallowly thrusts inside until he bottoms out all the way. The groan that befell his lips and shrouded your senses made your pussy clench around his engorged member, coaxing him on even more.

He gives you a second for your walls to adjust to his girth, which doesn't take long because you're soaking wet. And you accommodate Austin's impressive cock so well. In no time the temporary sting of being stretched gives way to the immense pleasure.

Austin gets to work thrusting in and out of your slippery cunt with ease, still just as tight for him as the first time he made love to you.

"Aus!" You moan, throwing your head back in ecstasy.

"Oh shit, your pussy feels like Heaven." He groans. He holds onto you tight as he fucks you passionately. Your juices coat his cock, strings of slick stick to the both of you, making it easier for him to push deeper inside of you.

Your walls flutter around him so deliciously, he can't help but fuck you just a little bit faster. Using his shoulder for leverage as you hold onto him, you raise your hips off the counter and thrust your hips down onto his cock. Soon you're working together in a sweet rhythm as you pant and moan into each other's sweaty faces.

He looks so hot with his mouth hung open, filthy noises pouring out past his puffy lips. And his long hair hangs low in his face as you bounce harder on his cock. The tendrils obscure his pretty eyes, but it makes your walls stroke his engorged length even harder.

You're so lost in the throws of passion that you barely notice Austin reach behind you to a cold bowl of whipped cream you have sitting out for the cherry pie. Austin cheekily dips two fingers into the cream and taps his fingertips against your bottom lip as you're in the middle of letting out a carnal moan. Your eyes spring open suddenly as you feel the cold cream start to seep past your lips.

"Suck." Was all Austin said. Your pussy gushed around him, being turned on by the command. And god do you ever love this man's fingers so much, how can you seriously say no to this? And he uses that knowledge of your yearning for his fingers all the time to his advantage.

You let your tongue lap underneath his two fingers, bringing them into your mouth expertly. Austin watches intently as you whine around his digits, sucking and swirling your tongue around his fingers as you draw them deeper into your mouth, lavishing them as if it was his cock in your mouth.

Austin let's out a long, guttural groan from his throat as he watches his fingers disappear into your mouth as you swallowed all of the whipped cream obediently. As quickly as you brought his sexy fingers into your mouth he pulled them out, and went to wrap his entire hand around the front of your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure.

"My best girl. You greedily take everything I give you, don't you? My perfect housewife is so well disciplined." He grits through his clenched jaw as he slams his cock in and out of your aching pussy.

A little lightbulb flickered through your mind in this moment. Why should he have all the fun playing with his food? While Austin is brushing his swollen cock perfectly against your g-spot, making you gush and shiver around him, you set your plan into motion.

He watches you with a quizzical brow as you too dip your fingers into the bowl of whipped cream. Once you've scooped enough of the sticky confection onto your fingertips, you squeal playfully as you smear the cream over Austin's cheek. Some of it falls into his neck in the process by accident.

To your surprise, this doesn't deter Austin at all. In fact, you can feel his cock pumping harder and deeper into your juicy pussy. He's actually enjoying this. The dominant act he was putting on for you slowly faded away, leaving him laughing sweetly at your antics.

He smiles wide. "How dare you! I'm kinda in the middle of fucking your brains out here." He chuckled breathlessly. His pace never relenting, he's still managing to plunge his cock so good into you.

You lean into him. "Don't worry honey, I always clean up my messes. That's what good housewives do right?" You purred sexily. His eyes widen in trepidation and arousal at your words. And he nearly dropped you out of his grasp when he felt your soft tongue scandalously lick his face, getting every remnant of cream into your mouth.

He moans, and the hand around your throat drops to your voluptuous ass as he swats you a couple of times. His cock throbs strong and proud as he strokes your sweet spot over and over again. You tightened your grip on his shoulder, and you further threaded your fingers deep into his silky golden strands. You were practically levitating off of the table at this point, he held you firm against his hard body.

Your pussy enveloped every amazing inch of him as he thrusted his cock as far as he could feasibly get, before pulling out almost all the way. You whined at the loss of him with just the tip clinging on for dear life. But you both shuddered, groaning wildly to each other when he slammed you down swiftly on his cock. He was balls deep inside and unrelenting.

"You're so fucking hot, baby. I swear to God I'm gonna come any second." He bellows, he shivers violently as your sweet tongue gets back to work lapping up all of the cream off his face, and you pepper kisses down the bulging veins in his neck.

His thrusts quickly turn sloppy. Your divine pussy is milking him for everything he's worth, drawing out his impending orgasm right along with you. And he desperately wants to give all of himself over to you.

"Aus, i'm so close." You moan. Your legs twitch around his waist, and you bounce down harder on his dick. The most erotic sounds were coming from your conjoined bodies. You didn't know how long you could last like this, but it wasn't a whole lot of time.

"I know. Come on my cock. Give me what's mine." He snarls like an animal in heat in your face. You lose it right then and there. When Austin talks dirty to you like that it's game over.

"Fuuuuck, Austin!" You groan one final time. You shake in his arms as you feel your orgasm rush over you, and ooze out around his cock and drip down your thighs and onto his legs. This new pool of wetness has Austin catapulting over the cliff, and you can feel him lose his resolve with every deep plunge of his cock. Your walls coaxing him to come, and your sexy moans, was the thing that did him in.

"Y/N, fucking hell!" Austin hoarsely yelled. He stuttered inside of you, his cock swelling up and shooting out load after load of his hot come, completely drenching every inch of your walls.

You both shake and writhe together, coming down from the highs of your explosive orgasms. Poor Austin can no longer hold you up, the adrenaline leaving his body and rendering his arms slack. He gingerly places you back down on the counter before he actually does drop you for real.

You both simply stare at each other, eyes full of nothing but love and adoration. He presses his forehead against yours as he tries to catch his breath.

"My god that was somethin' else." He giggles.

"Mm. Yeah, that was amazing." You praise, your voice barely above a whisper as you try to find your way back down to Earth. "Oh hang on, I missed a spot on." You say curiously as you inspect Austin's perfectly sculped face in your hands. You didn't do the best job apparently of getting rid of all the whipped cream off of Austin's cheek. You take the ruffled edge of the apron from between your bodies and bring it up to his face, gently cleaning off the shiny sticky residue of the cream.

Austin hums as you dote on him. "You really are so goddamn perfect, y'know that?"

You blush. "No, you."

Austin rolls his eyes and smacks your ass lightly, making you jump. "You're incorrigible." He chuckles, bemused by your inability to take a compliment.

Your apron does it's job wiping Austin's face and neck. You do one final pass along his skin before you smile at your handiwork. Austin sighs contentedly when you place an affectionate kiss on his cheek. And he reciprocates by taking your chin in his palm, his fingers caressing your jaw, as he presses his pillowy lips tenderly onto yours.

Somehow you both forgot that Austin's cock is still stuffed full inside your pussy, the feel of him buried to the hilt was like home and you didn't want him to leave. Neither did he, but the alarm on the stove buzzed impossibly loud in your ears, alerting you that it was at the perfect temperature to put the pie inside.

Austin laughed, crinkling his nose cutely. "I would say sorry for getting in the way of making your cherry pie. But i'm not." He said jokingly.

You attempted to laugh but you whimpered as Austin withdrew himself from your used and abused pussy. His come leaked out of you and fell onto the floor by his feet. He took note of the mess on the ground and trailed his eyes hungrily over your exposed cunt oozing with his load. He licked his lips.

"Now that is the best looking pie I've ever seen. Goddamn." He threw you a sexy wink before making his way over to the sink to grab some paper towel to clean himself off.

You groaned at his joke. "Aus, I just knew you were gonna say something like that." You pinched the bridge of your nose with your fingers, laughing and cringing at the words that flew out of his mouth.

Once he was done with himself, he pulled his pants and boxers back on, zipping them up. He turned back around to you with a new towel and went to work on cleaning his come from your thighs. A simple but caring romantic gesture that made you swoon.

"I thought you love when I make jokes." He teased. After cleaning you up he threw the towels in the trash and lifted you down off of the counter and back on steady ground. You wobbled a little, grasping at his biceps as your legs regained life.

"Of course I do, you're actually really funny when you want to be." You quipped back in a sassy tone.

He feigned hurt by putting his hand over his heart. "Ouch. That one cut just a little too deep, baby."

You fluffed your long lashes at him as you tried to readjust your top and your apron. "Love you." You said, dripping with too much sugary sweetness.

But Austin was putty in your hands. "Love you more." He scanned the kitchen floors to where he discarded your sleep shorts and ran to grab them, handing them to you. "Figured you wanted these back." He grinned.

"Yes thank you, I don't wanna be standing here trying to make this pie with my vagina hanging out." You giggled.

Austin threw his head back and burst out into a hearty belly laugh. "Honestly, that sounds so sexy to me. I would not complain."

You slapped his arm. "Of course you wouldn't. But I seriously need to get a move on with this pie. I'm not even done rolling the dough out."

With your shorts back on and trying your best to look put together, as if you didn't just get brutally fucked on the counter, you turned your attention back to the half rolled out pie crust. You still had so much work ahead of you.

Austin shoves one of his hands into his jeans pocket while the other one drapes around your waist, he looks down at you like your his entire world. And you are. "Would you like some help?"

You avert your attention away from the mess on the counter and up into your man's sparkling diamond eyes. You smiled warmly and nodded. "Sure I'd love your help, thank you."

The two of you get to work posthaste on coming together as a team, creating the most sweet and juicy cherry pie you've both ever eaten. But while it's an outstanding desert, Austin much prefers the taste of you.

tags: @aconflagrationofmyown @harringrove-sketchbookpages @samfangirls @2lekk @moonchild-daniella @ggwritesstuff @plasticfantasticl0ver @austinbutlersworld @unadulteratedkingdomzombie @sapphirescripts @ash-omalley @pearlparty @denised916 @cartooncoaster @flowersofcement @allittakesisoneflight @powerofelvis @headfullofpresley @elvisabutler @avengen

[intheticklecloset]

Asta (Black Clover) Headcanons

Asta is SUCH a switch! He mostly loves tickling others and making them laugh (especially if they're usually super stoic like Yuno), but he also enjoys being tickled!

As a lee, Asta doesn't usually struggle too much - he'll kick and squirm and roll around but never really try to get away until his ler(s) find a good spot.

He's obviously super strong and could escape or retaliate if he wanted to, but Asta never uses his strength to overpower someone else when they're just messing around. Even in tickle fight scenarios, he'll only fight back long enough to either slip away or pin someone else down for a fair chance at making them laugh, too - never to dominate or be the victor all the time.

His laugh is super loud, which is to be expected! He's mostly giggly and a little whiny until a good spot is tickled, at which point he'll burst into laughter and start begging, even if he doesn't necessarily mean it until he's been tickled for a little while and starts to wear out.

Asta loves tickle fights! He especially loves having them with Yuno and his Black Bulls family! It's a kind of bonding thing for him - like a love language, but not really romantic. He just likes playing around and showing affection, and being shown affection in return.

As a ler, Asta is really playful. He loves to tease and giggle along with his lee and just generally have a good time while ensuring his lee has a great time, too.

He NEVER tickles someone if they hate it, or aren't in the mood. Boundaries and consent are very important to him.

He also almost never tickles someone's worst spot just for the sake of making them screech with laughter. If he's going for a bad spot, he has an ulterior motive! Making someone admit something, getting them to give in to a playful demand, etc. That's not to say he doesn't love tickling people's worst spots - he just doesn't tend to go for them when he's only messing around.

Asta is almost overly attentive with aftercare, making sure his lee is okay, that they can breathe, do they need water? Etc. In terms of receiving aftercare, he's content to just have his hair ruffled and move on with the conversation.

[mariaofdoranelle]

Cemetery Buddies

Written for @throneofglassmicrofics, prompt “Petrichor”

So, I wrote this today at the cemetery instead of the chapters I actually have to finish, because it felt too weird to write smut by my grandfather’s grave. I was there the entire afternoon and I kinda conjured this fic on the spot, but I really hope you like it!

Warnings: mentions of death of loved ones, quick mention of death by covid

Words: 888

Aelin’s picnic blanket did a good job of protecting her clothes from the dewy grass, but not from its gentle prickling on the exposed part of her legs. It felt peaceful, though. She got used to the silence, the soft ruffling of leaves and chirping of birds filling her days in the past two years.

Just her and her parents hanging out together, like old times.

The cemetery staff were even kind enough to lend her a beach umbrella in case the rain came back.

A delighted sigh. Don’t you love the smell of petrichor, Mom? Aelin echoed inside her head, because she still thought it was weird to talk to a grave.

She slid her crochet hat over her face and closed her eyes, feeling the nature surrounding her instead of watching this landscape of flowers and white stones she knew so well. Feeling the wind battle against the edges of her blanket and lose it when her weight overpowered its strength. The sunlight peeking from parted post-rain clouds burned in a delicious way the long stretches of skin her overall shorts left exposed.

She lived in Orynth, after all. Aelin and her parents always made a point to make the most out of summer, for however long this freezing city and its climatic crisis allowed them to.

“You okay there?”

Aelin lifted her hat from her face enough to take a peek into the outside world, but she didn’t need it to know it was her cemetery buddy.

Fully sat on the blanket now, she eyed the Heineken six-pack on Rowan’s hand with a smirk.

“Better now that you brought the good shit.”

He gave her a close-lipped smile and unfolded the two chairs provided at the entrance by the staff, since Mr. Fancy Pants preferred it over lying on the grass like Aelin.

To an outside observer, the difference between them is striking. Rowan in his dark suit and tie, brooding with that permanent scowl on his face; right by his side, Aelin’s in denim overall shorts, red top and crochet hat, being her usual fun, dazzling self.

Both hanging out together, sharing beer by their loved ones’ graves. What made them good friends wasn’t their differences, but how similarly they were miserable.

“So.” She cleared her throat and eyed the six-pack. “I guess things didn’t go the way you wanted at work?”

“Lorcan—“

She tilted her head, brows furrowed in confusion.

“The boss’ kiss-ass,” he explained.

“Oh, that guy.” Aelin said with a grimace. She did not like this Lorcan person, even if he had a friendship of sorts with Rowan. “Tell me what he did this time.”

Today, she was loosened up enough by the weather and the beer, and it happened that Rowan was also a little chatty as well. Sometimes they silently sit side by side. Sometimes Aelin doesn’t sit, she kneels on the grass and hums ancient Terrasenian laments, which her buddy raptly listens to. Sometimes Rowan starts venting about his lack of ability to keep his deceased wife’s garden, leaves for the bathroom and comes back with red-rimmed eyes.

It’s getting progressively less dramatic, though. During the majority of the last few months, they’ve been just talking and sharing snacks.

His wife and Aelin’s dad died of COVID at approximately the same time, four years ago—hence why their graves are so close together. Her mom ended up sharing a grave with her husband a while after, but Aelin and Rowan didn’t cross paths at the cemetery until a year and a half ago, when their respective visiting habits finally overlapped.

And at some point during visits to their loved ones’ graves concurrently, they slowly forged a friendship—emphasis on the slow part, and no thanks to Rowan’s closed-off personality.

However, their conversation was cut short when an employee signaled that they were nearing closing time.

“So…” Aelin let out a performative sigh to chase away the awkwardness of goodbye. “Same time next week?”

Instead of answering, Rowan pointed his phone at her face, squinted at the screen for several seconds, then retreated the device.

Aelin tilted her head. Care to explain? she silently asked.

Rowan had a soft smile while he studied whatever was on his screen, for a longer time than expected, then jutted his chin towards her face. “I’m sending my mom a picture.”

During one of the rare occasions Rowan’s mom visited Lyria’s grave with her son, they found Aelin alone under a merciless sun. The older woman was scandalized. She made Aelin stay under her umbrella, forced Rowan to walk the long stretch back to the reception and get another one with the staff, and in the meantime very surreptitiously asked Aelin what her favorite color was.

With a soft chuckle, she took off her crocheted red hat with white daisy patches, handmade especially for her. “Did you tell her how much I love it?”

“Only after the first few times you told me to. The woman’s already too smug.”

“As she should be!”

Aelin still hadn’t got used to it, the sound of Rowan’s laugh. Maybe he was different outside of the cemetery—she wouldn’t know—but now he had a lightness of sorts that showed itself more and more frequently as the days passed, and she could only be happy to witness this change in him.

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[palabraasinnecesarias]

ranma's shirt

ao3 | ff.net

ship: ranma/akane words: 1,584

And so, sometimes in the evening, although usually late at night, Akane would put on his shirt when she found herself thinking about him.

It was silly, maybe, but there was some sort of comfort in the way Akane engulfed herself in Ranma’s worn-out mandarin top. He had accidentally left it behind the afternoon he had gone away for one of his training trips. She hadn’t known why she had taken it into her bedroom instead of Auntie’s Saotome’s, or even the laundry basket.  

The shirt had first landed lazily in the corner of her bed, as she had simply tossed it aside. When it was time for bed, the young woman folded it neatly and placed it atop of her desk, deciding she’d put it away tomorrow. Essentially, she did not.  

She sat on her desk’s chair the following day, trying to concentrate on something else, yet her wondering eyes couldn’t help but land on the button up. And she wondered about him, knowing very well that he was fine, it was only training with Ryoga after all. Nonetheless, she wished him a safe trip even though he wasn’t going far.  

As she looked at the strained clothing, the vibrant color seemingly quite lost, she began to wonder about the appeal Ranma found in it. Her hand very timidly, almost hesitantly, reached to feel one of the gold frog buttons. The tip of her fingers played with it, noticing they were loose and probably didn’t hold as firmly as they should have to keep the top secured when wearing it. The rest of the cloth was soft, and as if noticing for the first time, she came to realize what good quality fabric it was made from. Which made sense, considering how many years it had lasted him; the poor shirt had gone through so much.  

Continuing with her lack of confidence, not sure why she found herself wanting to know, Akane took the shirt in her hands and pulled it towards her face. She was expecting it to smell like the fabric softener, surprised to find how overpowering his scent was. Glancing a few times around the room, and once making sure no one was around, she quickly slipped it on. The broad length of the shoulders draped onto her forearms, and the sleeves made it past her wrists. Although embarrassed, Akane allowed herself a moment, relishing the way his clothing felt on her.  

And so, sometimes in the evening, although usually late at night, Akane would put on his shirt when she found herself thinking about him. Realizing how much more she actually missed him – along with all the wacky antics he always seemed to be involved in – she wondered if he missed her.  

When Akane snapped her eyes open, Ranma was silently sliding the window to her bedroom open. She had apparently fallen asleep, and dawn was seemingly emerging upon them. He pressed his index finger against his shushing lips, weary whether she’d make a fuzz, but she sat up quietly and waited for him to hop in.  

“Morning,” he smirked, his voice hoarse and quiet, the sun's glow beginning to blend into what used to be the night’s sky.  

“You’re back,” she replied, her smile wider now. He was now slowly getting on her bed, and she easily welcomed it, adjusting herself so he’d be comfortable next to her.  

Akane rubbed her eyes and tried fixing her hair, “When did you get home?”  

“Just now. My backpack’s still outside, actually.”  

“And I’m hoping you dropped Ryoga home?” She grinned, a knowing eyebrow poking at him, both well aware of his lacking sense of direction.  

“I did my best,” he joked, and she just rolled her eyes.  

They shared a moment of silence, but she found herself unable to stop staring at him. It had been weeks since she last seen him and although his appearance didn’t change, she found herself appreciating his features as best as she could in the limited lighting. His ruffled hair was still quite adorable, even now with all the frizziness. And his soft gaze was still very mesmerizing.   

“So,” his taunting tone pulled her out of thought, “you missed me?”  

Her rosy cheeks only reddened, but she couldn’t deny such a thing. Especially nowadays when his absence was beginning to dawn on her. She settled for not saying anything right away, pouting with a puff through her nostrils.  

“You’re the one sneaking into my room at these hours,” she tried to retaliate, feeling confident through her cocky smirk.  

Ranma huffed, resting his back against her wall, quite nonchalant as he replied, “Yeah, but you’re the one wearing my shirt.”  

Shit. She had completely forgotten that she was, in fact, wearing his stupid, wonderfully scented shirt. She groaned mildly, trying to hide her face within her hands. God, why was she wearing his shirt? She sneaked a peek at him through her fingers, and he was now laughing softly, leaning his face towards her.  

“I thought I had lost it,” he said, and she brought her hands back down as his eyes bounced about her face, “but it seems you stole it before I left.” She groaned louder now, a throbbing eyebrow daring to pound him.  

“That’s not – I didn’t –”  

“’s okay, ‘Kane,” he interjected, his face still centimeters away that she could feel his breathing skim over her lips, “you can keep it if you like it that much.”  

The pit of her stomach churned, and she felt so embarrassed she wanted to melt away – disintegrate into dust so she didn’t have to look at the goofy grin his stupid face was making at her. Although, she did like the idea of keeping his shirt.  

He laughed again, his index finger poking her cheek and she wanted to wince at the way his touch flared a shiver down her spine, “C’mon, just admit that you missed me.”  

“Geez, Ranma,” she said, feeling out of breath for some reason, but tried her best to maintain her composure, “stop being annoying.”  

“Tsk,” he replied, finding herself hating that he had suddenly pulled away, “and here I thought all this time you were thinking of me.”  

Akane rolled her eyes, her large irises landing on him, “This goes both ways, you know.”  

His eyebrows furrowed, not quite aware of his strained expression. “You don’t think I missed ya’?” She continued looking at him, her face now scrunching in thought, understanding what he was saying. And she couldn’t stop herself from getting flustered, hoping her flushed cheeks weren’t noticeable. But also, she couldn’t stop her lips from lifting into a timid, small smile.  

“So, you did miss me?” she asked shyly, slightly inclining herself towards him, hopeful.  

“I asked first,” he challenged.  

“Well,” she hummed teasingly, squinting her eyes at him and she laughed softly at the way he eyed her with a dubious stare. “I did.”  

And she tried to bite down her widening smile, her teeth taking in her lower lip when she noticed his brightened-up expression.  

“I can tell,” he replied, his blue eyes once again scanning her body, and all she could do was stick her tongue out at him like a child. How was she supposed to react when he was acting so childish?  

“You were gone over two weeks, you know,” she said suddenly, leaning herself against the wall as she looked over at Ranma staring at her curiously. “Of course I missed that dopey face of yours.” She grinned at the way his face soured, taking a deep breath through her nose as she remembered the feeling of missing him. She didn’t like it, somehow finding it quite lonesome. “Sometimes I missed you a little too much,” she teased, crinkling her nose at how vulnerable she suddenly felt.  

Without a warning, or any hesitation on his part, Ranma had angled himself to face her. He searched her face as she held in her breath, not understanding what he was looking for. She sat still, frozen, watching him watch her with pure intensity. And he was closer now, his dazed eyes staring at the way she unconsciously parted her lips, as if waiting for something.  

“’Kane,” he whispered, and she felt so out of it, her vision suddenly foggy. Still, she waited for him to continue talking as he said, “I thought about you the whole time I was away.” His voice was low and alluring, effortlessly grasping her full attention. And she felt her stomach flip a few times, jumbling her insides into knots as she tried to remember how to breathe. He was closer now, feeling the way his lips slightly skimmed her cheek, and she couldn’t do much but shut her eyes.  

“The-the whole time?” She stammered.   

The tip of his nose was now dragging itself down her jaw, involuntarily gasping at the way he was now nuzzling at the crook of her neck. His searing breath almost blistered her skin as she felt her mouth parch, her entire body tensing. And then she felt his arms embrace her body completely, squeezing gently as he adjusted himself on the bed with her. He was hugging her now, pulling her towards him, and she easily complied. She could feel his face press against her collarbone, his soft breathing tickling her gently as she slowly rested her chin at the top of his head. 

Akane’s arms wrapped around him, lazily laying atop his scruffy hair as his hands seemingly took loose parts of the top she was wearing into fists. “Keep the shirt,” he said. And she smiled fondly, nodding although he couldn’t see her.  

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event

"It's my birthday and I'll write what I want to \o/"

Gift Details ♥ Reader: afab!reader (leans very feminine) Character: Mihawk Kink: #15 Bratty Reader Prompt: #17 "Did you think being outside would save you?" Gift Giver: @sunshineting

Summary: Mihawk's been busy. In a way, so have you >.>

Content Notes: Vaginal fingering, pet names, outdoor shenanigans, voyeurism if you squint, brat-taming

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

You’d been giving this poor man hell for a couple days. Nothing was keeping you satisfied, and he hadn’t the time to attend to you properly. You did your best to be understanding, but also being a brat was a part of your relationship and Mihawk seemed to enjoy it more often than not.

Your intent had been to pout and sulk and whine your way into being good and punished, but after a couple more days dragged on, you eased up on the bad behavior. There was a fine-line between looking to have a hot session with your hot partner – and accidentally becoming one of the things stressing him out and wearing him down.

So you switched gears, welcoming him home sweetly, making sure everything was done just so, and giving him peace in the evening.

“Tomorrow, I will have some time available.” He says after dinner, regarding you without really looking at you. “Perhaps we could enjoy the weather and have lunch at the park.”

You smile, even as you can feel the horns threatening to expose your deviant thoughts. “That sounds pleasant. Will you be mine for the whole day?” You’re not exactly hiding your excitement at the prospect.

“So it seems, dear one.” He answers evenly.

The two of you had an easy night, taking it easy that evening. The next day, however, you were a little hellion, but you swore you could see the smile pulling at his lips from time to time. You got ready for your day nearly naked. Making a picnic basket in little more than an apron, dodging the subtle movements Mihawk would make – normally beckoning you right into his arms.

When it was time to leave you slipped into little more than a sundress and sandals, certain that Mihawk knew there was nothing under the light dress even before you left the house.

The park wasn’t too busy, but it wasn’t completely empty either. The wide open field was home to all manner of people going about their day. Mihawk laid the picnic blanket out by an old maple tree with low branches. The scent of maple wood was sweet and soft, and not overpowering, especially not with the light breeze of the day.

“Come, sit here.” Mihawk says, after you’ve set the basket down. “We’ll eat later, sit with me first.”

You considered saying you were hungry, but you hadn’t gotten much of his time lately, and the lure was too strong. He was dressed in slacks with a loose ruffled shirt that showed off the thick black hair on his chest, accented by the gold cross he normally wore.

You seated yourself between his legs, back to his chest, and let yourself sink into him. The warmth, and his arms draped lazily around you were helping you relax.

“I haven’t been able to properly attend you,” he says softly, voice low in your ear. “Certainly not for the first couple of days.” The low sweet voice takes on an edge as he shifts enough to unzip the back of your dress.

“Miha-.”

“Eyes forward.” He demands, warm hands against your back as they slip under your sun dress. “If you move too much someone will notice.

You do as he says, trying to appear relaxed as deft fingers run over your skin from under the thin dress. His hands are rough from years of fighting, but even the callouses seem to be made of silk when he decides to be tender with you.

His hands slide down to your front, pushing between your thighs, and forcing them apart a little. Not enough to tear the dress, not enough to put you on display for the whole park, but enough to make you gasp.

Hot lips are against your back, kissing near your neck. “I’ve only just begun, are you going to cry out in that sweet, pleasure-filled voice of yours, for all these people to hear?”

“Mi-Mihawk, please, it… it’s too much.” You whimper as one of his hands slowly moves toward your core, the other on your stomach and moving up to your chest.

He pulls you against his chest, teeth nipping at your ear as his sharp eyes mind and track every other person in the park. He’ll leave you feeling exposed, watched, and maybe even judged, but he won’t allow anyone to truly view you. You’re all for him, and him alone.

“Mi amor, did you think being outside would save you?” He muses. “Now, be good, and breathe.” He commands, his fingers sliding easily into your wet folds, teasing your clit and causing you to gasp softly, the heat rising into your chest and face as his other hand slowly teases your nipple.

“If you cause too much of a scene, you won’t get to cum.” He warns, fingers pushing further into you. “And I would love to hear your sweet sounds before we eat.”

“Softly,” he says, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit as his fingers push inside your pussy, thrusting and purposefully making loud, wet, squelching sounds you’re almost certain the whole park can hear. “Sing softly for me, mi amor.” He demands, voice so soft in your ear you can barely hear him over the sound of your own lewd, dripping, trembling body.

“Please,” you beg, turning toward him just a little. “I’m g-going to-!” Your body tenses, and he kisses sweetly along your shoulder. You’re trying to bite back your usual cries, letting the shuddering gasps and soft whimpers fall from your lips as he drags the orgasm out, caressing you and urging you sink into it.

“Well done.” He praises softly, pulling his hands out from your dress carefully, and zipping you back up smoothly. His dry fingers comb through your hair kindly, as he lets you kiss his drenched fingers, cleaning them as much as you were willing to risk in public.

“I will attend to you properly after lunch.” He promises, kissing you softly before nudging you toward the picnic basket.

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