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justarkive · 4 months ago

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TABLE 3 | JJK ch10

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

warnings: SMUT, super emotion heavy chapter, Jungkook is selfish as hell. oc starts getting sus, super domestic shit, field date, profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol! , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity, alc consumption, jk cant stop thinking of his enlistment :((

smut warnings: THEY FINALLY FUCK!! protected sex, dry humping, nipple play, deepthroating, oral f + m receiving, missionary, doggy, reverse cowgirl but like her back is on his chest??, spanking, clit rubbing, clit spanking, idk guys its kinda nasty. BIG DICK JUNGKOOK DUH, oc cries during sex, its too big </3 oc is slightly tipsy but not enough to cloud her judgement.

wc: long.

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92

a/n: it took me a little while to get this chapter out so i apologise but its here!! they finally fuck. jungkook is honestly a dick for what hes doing atm but they are so so sosisisoss cuteeeee aaaa!! im not the best at writing smut as you can tell from this probably and my other chapters, but enjoy ;) and as always thank you for reading and lmk what u think!

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You wake up feeling wrecked.

Like, full-on regretting every life decision that led you to staying on the phone with Jeon Jungkook until 5 a.m. Your eyelids feel like they’re weighted blankets on your eyes, your body refuses to cooperate, and your brain is running on fumes.

Still, you blindly reach for your phone, squinting at the screen. There’s a text waiting for you.

Jungkook: good morning:)

Jungkook: don’t even argue. im picking u up at 8 tonight.

You blink. Once. Twice. But the messages stays the exact same.

You: ??

You: good morning

You: Where are we going??

You: jungkooookkk

You: Hello????

Nothing. No reply.

This man is actually impossible.

You groan, dragging yourself out of bed, already knowing today is going to be a struggle. After a quick omw text to Nari, you somehow get to work. The usual chaos, the usual weird customers, the usual banter with Nari. Nothing out of the ordinary—except for the fact that the hours feel endless.

By the time you finally get home, you’re exhausted, but there’s no time to rest.

Because, of course, Nari is already on your ass.

“Oh my god, why the hell are you moving like a grandma?” she yells, yanking you into the bathroom. “You need to shower, like, now.”

“I just got home—”

“And Jungkook is going to be here in an hour, meaning you have maybe 30 minutes to get ready before the inevitable breakdown over what to wear. Go.”

You grumble but obey, stepping into the shower. The warm water is a blessing, and you end up standing under the spray for way too long, completely losing track of time.

Bad move.

Because when you finally step out, towel wrapped around you, you’re met with Nari’s wild eyes and a frantic, “You have five minutes before Jungkook gets here—”

Cue full-on chaos.

Nari is aggressively blow-drying your hair while you rush through your makeup, both of you talking over each other.

“Why are you taking so long—”

“I lost track of time—”

“You literally always do this—”

“Okay, but you’re not helping—”

The real panic sets in when it’s time to pick an outfit.

“What is he wearing?” you demand, rifling through your closet.

“I don’t know,” Nari replies. “How am i supposed to know?”

You pull out a dress. “This?”

“Too fancy.”

A hoodie. “This?”

“Too casual.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to wear?”

Just as you’re debating throwing on pajamas and giving up entirely, theres a soft knock on the door which you dont particularly notice, too busy rummaging through your closet.

“NO!” Nari practically lunges out of your room for the door, blocking you from going anywhere near it. Opening it unimpressed, seeing Jungkook smug as ever.

“Do not let her know you’re here,” she hisses. “She will lose her shit. Be a gentleman, Jungkook. Wait.”

You frown, shouting from the bedroom. “Who are you talking to?!”

“Um. Myself!”

Suspicious. But you’re too distracted to question it.

Finally, you throw on something casual but cute—jeans and a sweater, safe and simple.

Nari peeks back to where your room is, then finally lets Jungkook in. “Okay, you’re good.”

You turn and leave your room, expecting him to have just arrived—only to find him standing there, looking way too nice. You freeze.

He’s in a button-up.

A fitted one. With nice pants. And his hair is styled in that annoyingly perfect way that makes him look effortlessly cool.

“…Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you dressed like that?”

His brows furrow. “Like what?”

“Like—like we’re going to a five-star restaurant.”

Jungkook blinks. Then shrugs, completely unfazed. “Didn’t know what you’d wear, so I played it safe.”

Panic sets in all over again.

“I need to change—”

“You look beautiful.”

“No, no, no, I can��t be underdressed while you look like that.”

Jungkook sighs. “You’re really gonna—”

“Yes.” You’re already bolting to your room. “Give me two minutes.”

Nari watches the scene unfold like it’s her favorite reality show. As soon as you disappear, she turns to Jungkook, arms crossed.

“By the way. Where are you actually taking her?”

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck. “A field.”

Nari stares. Confused, but trusts him anyway.

“A field.”

“…Yeah.”

“Jungkook, you dressed up this much to take her to a field?”

He shrugs again, completely unbothered. “Didn’t want to give it away. And it’s special, promise.”

Nari presses her fingers to her temples. “You realize she’s about to come out looking way too nice for a field, right?”

Jungkook’s expression doesn’t change. “Yeah.”

“…And you’re not gonna warn her?”

“Nope. It’ll be fitting.”

Nari groans, but ultimately just sighs. “Fine. But at least tell her to change out of her heels before you leave, or I’m gonna feel guilty.”

Jungkook smirks. “Deal.”

Two minutes later, you finally emerge, having swapped your casual outfit for something much dressier. Jungkook just smiles, saying nothing.

And as he leads you out the door, you have no idea you’re about to be wildly overdressed for a field.

You give Nari a kiss on the cheek goodbye, her giving you the usual playful warning of not doing anything stupid before you lock the door behind you and let Jungkook lead you to the car.

The warmth of Jungkook’s hand around yours startles you at first. Not because it’s unfamiliar, but because of how effortless it feels. There’s no hesitation in the way he intertwines your fingers with his, no anxious glances over his shoulder like he’s worried about being seen. It’s easy—too easy—and you’re not sure what to make of it. Something’s changed. Something’s made him suddenly not care.

Still, you don’t say anything.

He leads you toward the car, your steps falling in sync with his, and even as he lets go to open the passenger door for you, the absence of his touch lingers. You slip inside, settling into the seat as he rounds the front and slides in beside you.

“Where are we going?” you ask immediately, twisting to face him.

Jungkook merely smirks, hands steady on the wheel as he starts the engine. “Not telling.”

You huff. “Why not?”

“Because,” he hums, shifting gears before pulling out onto the road, “it’s a surprise.”

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “I hate surprises.”

“No, you don’t.” He grins, eyes flickering to yours briefly before returning to the road. “Patience, baby.”

The word slips from his lips so naturally, so effortlessly, that it catches you off guard. Your heart skips, but you force yourself to ignore it, focusing instead on the scenery passing outside the window.

The drive is quiet, but comfortable. Every now and then, you steal a glance at him—the way his hands grip the wheel, the sharp cut of his jawline, the soft curve of his lips as he hums under his breath.

It’s when you’re stopped at a red light that he catches you staring. Again.

His head turns slightly, and your eyes meet, his gaze dark and knowing. The corner of his mouth tugs up in amusement, but he doesn’t say anything—just watches you, lets the moment stretch between you until the light changes and he’s forced to look away.

Your face burns as you quickly avert your gaze, clearing your throat.

You swear you hear him chuckle.

By the time you finally arrive, you’re still mildly flustered. But the confusion quickly overtakes that feeling when you see the sign for the park, the open field stretching ahead.

You blink. “Wait—why are we at a park?”

Jungkook cuts the engine, then turns to you with a soft smile. “Trust me.”

You stare at him for a second longer before sighing. “Fine.”

Again, he reaches for your hand, pulling you along with ease as you step out of the car and onto the grassy path. The air is warm, tinged with the soft scent of wildflowers, and the sky is painted in hues of pink and gold, the sun dipping just below the horizon.

It’s beautiful.

And then you see it.

A blanket spread neatly across the grass, fairy lights strung up in the nearby trees, twinkling just faintly against the evening light. There’s a small picnic set up, a couple of bottles of wine and an array of food that—upon closer inspection—looks like it was ordered from a high-end restaurant.

You turn to Jungkook, raising an eyebrow. “You seriously made me dress up for a field?”

He chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “Would you rather I took you to a fancy restaurant?”

You pause, glancing back at the setup. “No… This is perfect.”

And it is. It’s simple and intimate and feels like something entirely Jungkook—something that’s just for the two of you.

You settle down onto the blanket beside him, letting yourself take it all in. The quiet hum of crickets in the distance, the soft glow of the fairy lights, the way Jungkook sits beside you, one leg bent, the other stretched out, his gaze set on the sky.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then, finally, he does.

“The reason I brought you here,” he starts, voice quiet, “is because nobody really knows about this spot.” He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “It’s where I’ve always gone to calm down. After work, practice, tours—whenever things got too much.”

You turn to look at him, his features bathed in soft orange light.

“And I felt like you belonged in it,” he continues, finally meeting your gaze. “With me.”

Your breath catches.

And just like that, it’s no longer just a field. It’s his safe place. And now, it’s yours too.

The warm hues of the sunset had long faded into deeper shades of indigo, the sky now dotted with the first few stars peeking through the velvety dusk. The fairy lights strung up around the backyard glowed softly, casting a golden shimmer over the remnants of dinner. Plates pushed aside, your wine glass half-full, and the gentle hum of night settled around the two of you like a comforting embrace. The food is long gone, but the night is still young.

Jungkook, who had spent the last few minutes idly running his fingers along the rim of his water bottle, suddenly cleared his throat. “Okay, don’t laugh,” he started, reaching down beside his chair, “but I saw this thing online, and I thought it might be fun.”

You raised a curious brow as he pulled out a canvas, still blank, resting it carefully on the blanket between you. “Painting?” you mused, tilting your head.

“Not just painting,” he corrected, shifting in his place as if suddenly second-guessing himself. “It’s this thing where, like, one person starts a painting, then passes it to their partner, and they add something to it. And you just keep passing it back and forth until it’s finished. Thought it’d be nice if we tried it.”

The idea was so… him. Thoughtful, sentimental. Something that would leave behind a memory you could actually see, touch. Your heart swelled at the simplicity of it, the sweetness.

“You think of everything, don’t you?” you murmured, reaching over to take his hand, squeezing it softly.

His ears pinked, but he tried to brush it off with a casual shrug. “I just—thought it’d be nice. To make something together.”

You traced your fingers over the smooth surface of the canvas, something bubbling inside you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. A nostalgia, a fondness for something you’d once loved.

“I used to paint a lot,” you admitted, eyes flickering up to him. “When I was younger. But life got busy, and I kind of just… stopped.”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up. “No way. You never told me that.”

You smiled, a little wistfully. “I guess I forgot. Or maybe I just didn’t think about it much anymore.”

He hummed, thoughtful. “I get that,” he admitted, glancing down at the canvas. “Sometimes I wonder if—” He hesitated, lips quirking in a wry smile. “If I wasn’t, you know, in one of the biggest bands in the world, maybe I’d dabble in art a little more. I love painting from time to time.”

You laughed softly. “Jungkook, you are an artist. Your art just exists in a different form.”

His gaze flickered to yours, something tender settling in his features. He didn’t say anything, just smiled, that small, knowing smile that always made your chest tighten.

A quiet moment passed between you before he reached for the paintbrush, dipping it into the paint and pressing the first stroke onto the canvas. A soft, curved line.

Then, he turned it toward you.

“Your turn,” he murmured.

The canvas starts out blank with Jungkook’s random green curved line, a fresh slate for the both of you to bring something beautiful to life. You sit cross-legged on the grass, the cool night air brushing against your skin, while Jungkook kneels beside you, sleeves rolled up, eyes alight with quiet amusement. His brush strokes are careful at first, blending soft pastels into delicate swirls. You mirror him, dipping your brush into a gentle shade of yellow, filling in the spaces between his colors, and for a while, it’s peaceful—just the two of you, creating something together.

Until Jungkook, the menace that he is, drags his brush across the page and suddenly there’s a cartoonish face staring back at you. A dumb little smiley face, right in the middle of your work.

You gasp, scandalized. “Jungkook!”

“What?” He grins, clearly unrepentant. “I think it adds character.”

“You just ruined it,” you huff, grabbing your brush and scribbling wildly over his addition, turning the face into an abstract mess of color.

“Oh, we’re doing that now?” He challenges, eyes gleaming, before he swipes his brush across the canvas again, this time completely disregarding any previous attempt at an actual painting. You do the same, jabbing color after color onto the canvas until it’s an explosion of chaos—brilliant, vibrant, utterly nonsensical. You’re both laughing now, breathless with amusement, hands stained with paint.

“Okay, fine,” Jungkook leans back, dramatically sighing. “You can have it.”

“Really?” You brighten, reaching for the canvas.

“You thought you could get away with it so easily?” His tone is teasing, and before you can react, he swipes his paint-covered fingers across your cheek, smearing blue and red onto your skin.

Your jaw drops.

You’re too whipped- more than you’d like to admit- to care that Jungkook has just ruined the full face of makeup you’d rushed through.

“Jungkook.”

He just grins. “What?”

“You’re dead.”

The next few seconds are a blur. You launch at him with your own paint-covered hands, swiping green onto his nose, red across his jawline. He yelps, scrambling up onto his feet, and then you’re chasing each other across the field, laughing so hard your sides ache. Jungkook catches you by the waist at one point, spinning you around, making you shriek before you retaliate by dragging your paint-slicked fingers through his hair.

“Okay, okay, truce!” He gasps out between laughs, both of you collapsing onto the grass, completely out of breath.

The world is quiet now, the night sky stretching above you in endless black, stars twinkling like distant dreams. Jungkook’s hand finds yours in the grass, fingers lacing together with ease. Neither of you say anything for a while—just lying there, hearts still racing, skin covered in smudges of color, the remnants of your laughter still lingering in the air.

And somehow, it’s perfect.

Lying on the grass, still out of breath, you soak in the quiet hum of the world around you. The night air is cool against your sweat-slick skin, but the warmth of Jungkook’s body beside you keeps you from shivering. The only sound between you is the occasional rustling of the grass and the distant chirp of crickets. It’s comfortable—so comfortable that you could almost forget that moments like this don’t last forever.

Jungkook, however, is still stuck in his head.

He shifts slightly beside you, staring up at the sky, his fingers absentmindedly playing with a loose thread on his sleeve. You feel it before he even speaks—the way his energy shifts, his body tensing ever so slightly as if he’s about to break the silence.

And then he does.

“Hey…”

His voice is quiet, thoughtful. You turn your head, looking at him, waiting for whatever is on his mind. He hesitates, lips parting just enough, but no words come out at first. There’s something there—something heavy, weighing down his chest.

You don’t rush him. You just wait.

Jungkook swallows, gripping at the fabric of his hoodie, his heartbeat thrumming against his ribs. Tell her. Namjoon’s voice echoes in his mind. You have to tell her.

But he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to break this. Doesn’t want to watch the light dim in your eyes. Doesn’t want to see the shift in your body language when you realize he’s leaving. Not yet. Not when he still has this—still has you.

So instead, he blurts out, “You should come to my tour next week.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“My show. You should come.” He turns his head to look at you now, his eyes searching yours, like he’s hoping you won’t catch onto whatever he was originally going to say. “You’d like it. You’d get to see me perform properly, you know, instead of just messing around.” He flashes you a smile, playful, teasing, but there’s a flicker of something deeper beneath it.

Your lips curve up. “You mean instead of hearing you hum while you burn eggs on my stove?”

“Exactly,” he breathes out, relieved that you’re going along with it. “Totally different experience.”

You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Well… yeah, of course, I’ll come.”

Something in Jungkook’s chest tightens. You don’t hesitate—not even for a second. He doesn’t know why, but that makes it worse.

“Good,” he murmurs, looking back up at the sky. His heart is still racing, but not from the run earlier.

He knows he’s being selfish.

But he can’t bring himself to say it. Not tonight. Not yet.

The walk back to his car is slower than it needs to be. Neither of you say it out loud, but you’re both dragging out the moment, reluctant for the night to end. The streets are quieter now, the city winding down, but the tension between you is anything but.

Jungkook’s hand brushes against yours for the third time, but he doesn’t take it. You don’t know if you’re disappointed or relieved.

When you finally reach his car, he hesitates before unlocking it, turning to face you instead. His eyes roam over your face, like he’s trying to memorize the night through you.

“You have work tomorrow?” he asks, voice softer now.

You shake your head. “No.”

He exhales, like that was the answer he was hoping for. “Do you wanna come to my place?”

The words settle between you, heavy with meaning. His fingers drum lightly against his car door as he watches for your reaction. There’s no pressure in his voice, no expectation. Just quiet hope.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, but your lips part before your brain catches up. “Yeah,” you say, barely above a whisper.

His lips twitch into a small smile, and he unlocks the car. The drive to his apartment is quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable. The air is thick with unspoken words, anticipation weaving through every glance he steals in your direction.

When he pulls up to his building and kills the engine, he turns to look at you properly. “We don’t have to if—”

“I want to,” you interrupt, already reaching for the door handle.

His brows lift in surprise before he lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he follows you out. You don’t know what’s going to happen next, but as you step into the elevator beside him, feeling the weight of his gaze on you, you know one thing for sure—tonight isn’t over yet.

You step into Jungkook’s apartment, the soft creak of the door marking the start of another quiet evening together. The place is… neat. Too neat. There are no plushies, no bright colors, just the quiet calm of minimalism. A stark contrast to your pastel-yellow chaos at home.

Jungkook is still holding the canvas you brought in from the field, walking in front of you. Your feet are sore—aching from running around the field, being on your feet for hours. You don’t say anything, though. There’s no need to complain. But Jungkook notices immediately, like he always does, his sharp eyes catching every detail, even the smallest of ones. You feel his gaze on you, and when you look up, he’s already sitting down next to you on the couch, inspecting your feet.

“Let me help,” he murmurs, gently tugging your feet onto his lap.

You blink in surprise. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he gently removes your sneakers, revealing blisters that have formed at the top of your heels. The sight makes him frown, and you can’t help but feel a little embarrassed, even though it’s nothing new to you.

“They’re nothing,” you protest, but he’s already examining your feet, looking concerned.

“Don’t act tough. This looks like it hurts,” he says softly, his voice gentle but serious. He disappears into his bathroom for a moment, coming back with a small tube of ointment.

You tilt your head in confusion. “I’m fine, Jungkook. Really.”

But he doesn’t listen. He’s determined. He squeezes some ointment onto his finger and carefully starts rubbing it on your blisters. His touch is soft, careful, like he’s trying to heal more than just your feet. And there’s something so intimate about the way he’s doing it—like this simple act of care is his way of showing affection.

The quiet in the room feels warmer now, as he focuses on tending to your blisters, his brow furrowed in concentration. You lean back against the couch, feeling the warmth of his hands and the soft hum of the apartment. It’s almost… domestic. The sound of the soft swish of ointment being applied, the quiet hum of his voice as he checks if you’re okay.

“You’re stubborn,” he murmurs, focusing on each blister with an intensity you didn’t expect from such a simple task. “Let me take care of you.” His voice is low, almost soft. It’s the kind of tone that makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters in that moment.

You can’t help but smile, just a little. “I get these all the time at work,” you say, trying to brush it off. But it’s clear from the way he’s treating you that it’s not just about the blisters. It’s about something deeper—something you can’t quite explain. But he knows what it is.

“That’s the problem,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of your ankle. “You don’t take care of yourself enough.”

You chuckle lightly, half-drunk from the wine earlier. “What do you mean? I’m fine. You’re acting like I’m falling apart.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch into a smile, but he says nothing. Instead, he finishes rubbing in the ointment, his eyes still soft as they meet yours. “You should let me take care of you more,” he adds, his words careful but intentional.

There’s a brief moment of silence, and you finally pull your feet back from his lap, sitting up. You glance around his apartment again, the stark, clean surfaces, the minimalist furniture that looks like it could belong to anyone but him. It’s… boring. Everything looks so empty. So… plain.

You smirk, teasing him. “This place is so boring, Jungkook. You need some color. And, like, a few toys… maybe a stuffed animal or two.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You think I need stuffed animals?”

You nod. “A hundred percent. Your apartment is practically a morgue without them.”

Jungkook chuckles, but there’s a soft blush creeping onto his cheeks. He runs a hand through his hair, looking a little flustered. “What do you mean? It’s—”

“You need some of my energy in here,” you continue, tipsy confidence taking over. You look around the room again and immediately start pointing out places where you’d put everything. “That shelf would be perfect for a few extra plushies, maybe a little neon light over there,” you gesture towards the corner of the room. “The couch could use a yellow throw. Maybe… a pillow? Or ten?”

Jungkook laughs, but there’s a nervous edge to it. “Maybe you should just do it, then,” he says. You can see the shy glint in his eyes, as if the idea is both absurd and exactly what he needs.

And you’re already nodding, a little too tipsy to be subtle. “I will,” you say with a grin, “It’s all part of my master plan. You’ll love it.”

The alcohol buzz makes you bold, and you’re already imagining what his place would look like, completely transformed into something warmer. More you. Maybe a little chaotic, but at least it would have personality.

Jungkook watches you, still a little flustered but clearly enjoying the way you’re taking charge. You feel a sudden warmth in your chest as you realize that maybe… maybe it’s just the beginning. This apartment. This moment. The way he’s looking at you.

Maybe you’re already home.

You’re curled up on the couch again with Jungkook, the TV playing something in the background, though neither of you are really paying attention. You’re lost in your own thoughts, flicking through your phone, when suddenly Jungkook shifts beside you.

“About these plushies,” he says, voice a little too casual, like he’s trying to hide the excitement. He disappears into his room for a second, and when he comes back, he’s holding something big, something fluffy.

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Wait, no way…” you murmur, eyes fixed on the plushie he’s holding. It’s huge, like, absurdly huge for something meant to be hugged, and when you finally realize what it is, you burst out laughing.

“Seriously? How have you not had this on display?” you say, reaching out to touch it. “This is adorable.”

He grins sheepishly. “I’ve had it for years. Won it at an arcade, I don’t know, just never thought it was something I should show to someone.”

It’s a Hello Kitty plushie, and it’s wearing a purple onesie. Not just any onesie, though – it’s soft purple with a rainbow fade, almost like cotton candy. The plushie’s face is as sweet as ever, but the oversized onesie adds this adorable charm to it. Jungkook’s expression as you ogle it is almost funny in how genuinely embarrassed he looks, though you can tell there’s a soft, endearing pride hiding behind it.

You’re trying not to laugh too loudly, but it’s hard when you’re holding it in your arms like it’s the greatest thing ever. “Jungkook, this is too cute, I have something exactly like this from when i was young” you say, squeezing it to your chest. “How have you not shown this to me before? This is, like, peak childhood nostalgia.”

Before you know it, you’re tugging at the plushie, not letting go. “No, this is mine now,” you tease, pulling it away from him. Jungkook grins, and the next thing you know, you’re both in a tug-of-war, both unwilling to admit that you secretly want to keep the thing for yourself.

The fight only lasts a few seconds, though, and you find yourself tumbling into his lap (On accident… obviously.) the plushie now caught between you both. You’re laughing, but it’s a different kind of laugh – one that feels deeper, more genuine, like you’re both letting go of everything and just enjoying the moment.

For a second, you stop pulling at the plushie, both of you just breathing and looking at each other.

Jungkook’s hand is on your waist, his touch warm and steady. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and the energy between you two shifts.

The playful moment is still there, but it’s mixed with something else now—something more intimate, something that’s been building between you two for a while now. You can feel the tension rising as his hand brushes against your skin, and his breath becomes heavier. You’re so close now, you can feel his heartbeat in his chest as your body presses against his.

You both know what’s about to happen, but for a moment, neither of you move. It’s a moment suspended in time, the world outside of the two of you disappearing.

That’s when you feel it. You feel the hard evidence of his desire pressing against you. Jungkook’s hands immediately gripping your waist harder, stronger. This time- he’s not scared, he’s not hesitating. As if he’s been waiting for this as much as you have.

He pulls you closer, his smirk mischievous as he ground up into you. You haven’t even got started and you’re already fucking drenched. “Feel that?” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “Feel how much I want you?”

You moan softly, body arching into his, your hands tangling in his hair. “Shut up, kiss me,” you demand, pulling his lips to yours.

The kiss was hungry, carnal, nothing at all like the previous pecks or quick kisses you’ve exchanged. Your lips finally meet, and he wastes no time. His tongue invades your mouth as his hips move against yours in a rhythm that was both teasing and relentless.

Dry humping jungkook was… electric in a way, you could do it for hours, the friction between your bodies sending waves of heat straight to your pussy. Like seriously. There was something different about doing it with him, like you could probably do this rather than fuck-

A lie. But pretty close to the truth.

You feel your panties growing damp, clinging to you like it’s second skin, and you knew he could feel it too. You will yourself to push away the icky feeling and focus on the pleasure instead.

“You’re so wet,” He murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “You like this?”

You bite your lip, biting back a smile, nodding as he stood up suddenly. Your about to protest until he lifts you so… effortlessly and it has your panties absolutely drenched.

His strength was intoxicating. And you wrap your legs around his dainty, tiny waist, hands gripping his shoulders. He’s kicking the door open, rushing to what you can only guess is his bedroom, and you have no time to even process your surroundings, not like you’re expecting anything different than a bed and some boring white walls, maybe a desk, until his mouth is back on yours.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, his lips brushing your neck as he carries you to the bed. Compared to his particularly rough way of handling you previously, he sets you down gently, just long enough to rip off his shirt, revealing his tatted arms and muscular chest. But after that, his hands are immediately back at your skin. You swear you see them itching to touch your skin while he took off his shirt as if removing his fingers from your warmth electrocuted the poor man-

The soft glow of his lamp casts golden hues across his skin, tracing every ridge and contour like a painter’s careful brushstrokes. And now you really take him in, hands running down the expanse of his chest and his abs. And he lets you.

His tattoos on his arm shift with every slow breath, the inked designs stretching over taut muscle, telling stories in a language only his body knows. Shadows dip between the carved lines of his abs, the definition sharp yet effortless, a testament to years of quiet discipline.

His collarbones catch the light just right, leading your gaze lower, where the steady rise and fall of his chest keeps time with the quiet space between you. He’s beautiful—undeniably so—but it’s not just the way he looks. It’s the way he holds himself, the quiet confidence in his stance above you, the warmth of his gaze when he catches you staring.

“Like what you see?,” he smirks, his tone low and teasing. Like always.

Without hesitation, you get up to your knees, ignoring him. Jungkook’s clearly taken a back when you start fiddling with his dress pants. Whimpering like a fucking dog. Mentally thanking yourself for drinking some wine cause you probably would faint doing this sober.

You aren’t waiting any longer. The sexual tension between you both has become unbearable recently and if today is another test to your patience…you’re definitely failing.

“Please-“ Your fingers trembling slightly as you unzip his pants, pulling them down to reveal the print in his black calvins.Pawing at his boxers. He helps you a bit, pulling them down and cradling your cheek with the other hand, almost as if he’s keeping you and himself grounded.

His cock springs free, and you shamelessly ogle at it. Thick and throbbing, he’s big. You knew he’d be big. There was always something about Jeon Jungkook that screamed ‘big dick energy’ - Like Nari would say.

A singular vein starts up from the bottom, leading all the way up to his engorged, pink, wet tip. His dick is clean of pubes around the base, but he has one thing that has always had you absolutely weak in the knees. A happy trail. Faintly trailing up just underneath where his abs start, and you genuinely don’t know how you’re still steady on your knees.

You aren’t really. His mattress is far too soft to kneel comfortably, but you don’t really care about it.

You waste no time when Jungkook’s patience has ran thin and he’s suddenly wrapping his tattooed hand around the base of his cock, filling the room with nasty, lewd, wet noises as he strokes it, and before you know it, he’s swinging it across your cheek with a soft smack before finally you wrap your needy lips around his head.

You tease him first, yet you don’t know if you’re teasing him or yourself- You tease him with slow, deliberate licks, savoring the slightly salty taste of his precum as his groans fill the space around you. “Fuckk-“ he moans out loud, and you’re taken aback by how vocal he is, yet you dont let it distract you from the real mission at hand… or mouth.

He threads his fingers through your hair, and it feels so fucking intentional and intimate you cant help but break the eye contact. His thrusts at first into your mouth start shallow- as if he’s hesitating. Testing the waters. But once your soft sucking turn into full on gagging around his cock, he’s gripping your hair tighter, guiding you deeper.

You don’t even know why. Usually you aren’t the one for deepthroating, in fact you absolutely detest it. But it’s different when it’s him, and you think you know why.

You moan around him, impossible not to. The vibrations sending him closer over the edge already, but he holds back. “Take it,” he instructs. You look up again, and he looks like he’s in a different world. You aren’t surprised when you see him staring right back at you, and you abide, hollowing your cheeks as much as you possibly can for him as he starts to fuck your throat, his hips snapping forward in a rhythm that was both rough and desperate.

The room is full. Full. Of obscene noises. Some you are sure you’ve definetly never heard before in your life. And you didn’t even know you could make them. They’re mixing with his own moans, and for the weirdest reason- your mind slips to the fact he has a dog- Bam infact, who’s probably somewhere waddling around in Jungkook’s apartment waiting to be put to sleep. You completely forgot to meet him. Oh dear. That poor dog…

Anyways.

You pull off with a pop, licking your lips and grinning up at him. He looks down at you, carefully removing the sweaty stray hairs rhat have stuck to your forehead and you can’t help but nuzzle slightly into his hands. You can’t help but think when you look back up that there’s something different about the way he looks at you.

Recently, you’ve gotten used to it. Since the first night you slept over, and Jungkook tasted you as if he was eating dessert for the first time ever. When he woke you up with breakfast. That specific way he looked at you and made you feel so… loved? you couldn’t handle it.

But this time, it’s different. It feels more intense, more intimate. You don’t dwell on it too long, fearing the outcome of it.

Your lips are swollen and shiny when you finally break the silence, it getting far too heavy than what this was- “Your turn,” You tease, breaking the tension, pushing him back onto the couch. You straddle him after ripping off your soiled panties and your sad excuse of a dress, which has now became a bundle of fabric resting above your waist. Thighs brushing against his, your poor little clit is throbbing as you feel his cock pressing against her.

You sit up for a minute, looking around the room and as if Jungkook can read your mind, you’ve noticed that he basically can, he’s reaching over to the nightstand, pulling out a packet of condoms.

You roll it on after ripping it open with deliberate slowness, giving a few languid strokes to his cock, which was now as hard as ever, and it’s shining a deep red in the light of his lamp, before you straddle his meaty thighs again, you’re sure you’ve leaked all over them- but you can’t bring yourself to care anymore.

Your eyes lock on his, and you will yourself not to look away. “Impatient?” he smirks, but you just smile and nod, positioning his cock at your entrance, nudging your folds slightly.

The moment you sink down on him for the first time it’s… euphoric. It feels like it goes on forever, stretching out as long as possible. It’s different to anything you’ve ever felt before, and you’re sure it has nothing to do with the sheer size of his dick- no. It’s because it’s simply him. And you know it. His cock fills you in ways that you could never imagine at home when you felt particularly lonely and needed some quick satisfaction from your fingers.

You look down at him, seeing that this position was probably not the best choice for the first time a dick this size is entering you, a pained expression on your face. Earlier, the slight buzz of wine had you particularly cocky and to be honest- you weren’t expecting Jungkook to be this… big. He notices your discomfort, his hands finding your waist like it’s second nature.

“Slow, don’t rush.” You nod, trying your hardest to settle the ache in your walls, trying your hardest to force your expression to be neutral, but it’s the hardest part now, his base- which is noticeably thicker than the rest of his length.

Frustration slowly builds up in you, your eagerness to please and also your eagerness to chase your own pleasure and release eating you up, but when Jungkook notices- because of course he does- he immediately stops you by tightening his hold on your waist and he holds you there.

“Too big?” He smirks, but his usual cocky remarks do nothing to help your frustration like it usually does, and he notices immediately. The furrow of his concentrated brows softening as you slip off of his dick and sit on his thighs with a huff.

He’s leaning up to cradle your face, kissing the corner of your lips with a sweet peck. Your own embarrassment creeping up, evident of the slight red blush on your neck. “Hey.”

You feel your own tears creeping up and betraying your attempted facade of being well… tough. It’s clear however, Jungkook isn’t convinced, he’s sitting up now. The ache in his cock suddenly not so overwhelming as he watches your tears get the best of you. “God this is so stupid- I don’t know why i’m crying-“

He shushes you. Simply hugs you, and suddenly the need to please- the need to clear your own pleasure- it’s gone as fast as it came. Jungkook’s arms ground you, you’re still slightly buzzing from the wine, and for a bit, you just lay there. The tears have somehow come to a stop, and you just breathe. For once tonight you finally breathe. Bare chest pressed against his, and despite how sexual it all sounds, its everything but.

Its been a while- A few minutes maybe, but the silence has slowly become deafening and the twitching of Jungkooks still-hard cock beneath your stomach has definitely not gone unnoticed. And moreso the ache in your lower abdomen. He notices the shift- how suddenly you brush off your discomfort. And like the gentleman that he’s always been, has none of it.

“Hey- Stop-“ You’re scrambling around in his arms, trying to shift your position. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable okay? Relax, i’m not going anywhere.”

“Please-“ You’re grinding up on his cock now, folds melting around his base like butter- moulding to the shape of it, as if you’re pussy’s never getting a taste of it again, trying to remember it. Above you, Jungkook’s gritting his teeth, his own pleasure being satisfied by you simply grinding on his dick, but the guilt from before eats at him, and he can’t focus.

He’s opening his mouth to say something before you get up, repositioning his cock at your entrance. You’ve had enough. Deciding to get over it. Get over the pain and ride his dick like you fucking need it to breathe oxygen. You don’t care, it’s happening.

Jungkook sees your determination, he is however, hesitant. The second his tip is swallowed by your lips, hes groaning, using every bit of composure to not thrust his whole cock into you and fuck you dumb. “Slow.”

It’s simple, his words, but they help. Tremendously. You slowly start sinking down, the easy part being a breeze, until you reach the familiar barrier and stretch of his base. He’s gripping your waist tighter than ever now, and you focus on his nails that dig into your skin as you lean down and capture his lips in a kiss.

Just to distract you.

You moan into his mouth when you finally get past it, smiling on his own lips.

Encouragement, thats all you needed. And despite the pain of the stretch, Jungkook’s own moans that spill into your throat distract you enough to start moving. “You’re doing so good. Im so proud-“

Your walls clench around him, as you gasp, head falling back when you sit up and detach from his lips as he fills you up completely.

“You’re so tight,” he murmurs, hands gripping your thighs. You finally pick up the pace, the ache from earlier soothing down a bit until its finally gone. And you laugh. You probably look so fucking stupid, but you laugh. Bouncing on his cock, the friction finally sending waves of pleasure through you.

Jungkook’s always been fiddly. Being unable to keep his hands at one task for maybe no longer than five minutes. He decides his hands get bored of gripping your thighs, though they were really there so he kept his composure. Now they grab at your breasts, squeezing them softly, leaning up to lick the little nubs that erupt from between his fingers. And “Ffuck-“ It’s great. It’s fucking great. Because now you’re gaining confidence, his tongue just laps at them the same way he did with your pussy, and you gain speed. Satiating both of your pleasures.

Your plump ass bounces with each movement, soft slaps filling the otherwise quiet room. Jungkook of course, moves on from your tits to grab and squeeze at your ass. Perky breasts freeing from his hold and jiggling as you moved. He watches intently, letting you go at your own pace, and your heart just fucking clenches at it, he cares about you so much. Eyes dark with desire. “Yeah, babe.”

You go at it for a while, a mix of bouncing on his cock and grinding your little clit down on his stomach, before the pace suddenly is doing nothing to stimulate the throbbing in your core and before you know it he pulls out briefly, the loss making you whimper. And he redeems himself cause hes such a good boy. Gently flipping you around, helping you position on your hands and knees, pushing your back down into his sheets, which you also make a mental note of asking him what fabric softener he uses, and smoothing his hands down the expanse of your spine. He rubs the tip of your cock against your folds, fucking his cock there briefly before shoving it back into you in one quick move from behind.

“That’s it,,” he growls, his thrusts deep and relentless.

There’s something different about his movement now. It’s no longer slow. Calculated. It’s rather needy and rough, and you’re moaning obnoxiously, sure the neighbours are probably screaming into their pillows due to all the racket you two have made, but you dont care. Not anymore.

“Jungkook-“ He’s leaning down, hard chest pressed to your back. The proximity makes you blush, and the heat of his body envelopes your own, quickly making you realise how cold his room is.

His lips press against your ears, “Ugh, fuck” Deep, raspy moans travelling down them, and his thrusts dont lose rhythm. Not once.At all. His needy hands grab at whatever he can, your waist, your tits, briefly pulling on your nipples before he’s leaning back up and delivering a sharp smack to your ass. It’s light, though, as if he’s worried if you wont like it.

And you’re quick to show him you very much do.

“Jungkook!” His head is tucked into your neck against, lips lapping up at the sensitive skin there, your manicured fingers grab at his hair, pulling him closer, trying your hardest to balance on one hand, your body being thrown forward with every single thrust.

And of course, he’s teasing you again. Giving you a fat, wet kiss on your cheek before ripping away from your hold on his hair and slowing his thrusts down.

He watches your pussy just swallow up his cock up in awe, slowing down his thrusts. Slow enough to make you scramble around, thrusting your ass back against his hips. And he stops you. Because he likes to torture himself, but he also wants to hold himself back. Cause he knows he’ll regret coming now.

He switches it up after trailing kisses along your back, soothing your whines with them. Gently. His ever so gentle hands pull your little body up and rest your back against the mattress. Cock still tucked inside you. And he realises that moment on, that hes so fucking whipped for you. And it’s dangerous.

Not like he hasn’t been since the start, but still.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, spitting down at your pussy, just because, pulling out again. Chuckles at the whines of protest from you. Slaps the tip of his cock against your pussy until he cant physically handle it and then he’s leaning down to kiss you. You open your mouth, ready to protest until he pushes your back onto the pillows.

“Spread,” he commands, his voice firm but laced with desire. And you obey. Like a “Good fucking girl.” Your breath hitching. Confused when he retracts completely, only to widen your eyes when he’s arching his body down and getting so close to your pussy until-

“Fuck!” His tongue comes out, licking at your folds, lapping at your hole, his fingers join in to rub your clit in slow, torturous circles. It’s nothing different to the first time he ate you out, but theres something different in the way it feels. And you can’t quite pinpoint exactly what it is, but decide you won’t dwell on it further when a particularly harsh suck is delivered to your clit. “Mmmhhgh-“ He’s moaning. Full on fucking moaning into your pussy, and you’re not sure you can handle tonight any longer.

You were close, so close, hips bucking against his mouth as you whimper his name. Grabbing at his locks, frantically tugging. You’re probably hurting his poor scalp, but you don’t care. And Jungkook? He looks like he’s absolutely loving it. Theres some movement on the bed, and surprisingly it’s not from your insistent squirming around, instead, Jungkook is grinding his cock into the duvet.

He goes at it for a bit longer. And for a millionth time tonight, you whine at his audacity to edge you…again! He presses one little kiss to your clit, and it makes the pink on your cheeks turn a darker red.

“Patience,” He pulls away before you can cum. You’re whining once again, at this point it’s all you can fucking do, but he’s quick to shush you. Moving you again with that same gentleness he’s had for half the night.

You’re now sat on his lap, except this time reverse cowgirl style. Now feeling extra confident, you slip his fat cock in your walls, moaning louder than ever tonight. Your close, He is too. You can tell by the way his cock slightly twitches inside of you. “So b-big.”

“Babe, fuck-“ Jungkook manages to get out. You don’t see the tortured expression on his face from how he’s been holding back this entire night, but you can hear it in his voice. And you start bouncing on his cock with a speed that you weren’t even sure was possible.

“Shit! Shit! Shit-“ Your hips are moving up and down with his now, and he can’t even keep up with the immense speed of your thighs clapping down on his. You bend down, grabbing on his knees for support, drooling onto them. You can practically see him smirking behind you ass he grabs at your ass cheeks like they’re fucking stressballs, watching them clap in his hands in absolute awe. A ring of white has accumulated under the condom, and the sight of your other hole just winking at him has him so tempted to just-

“Ah!” His calloused thumb starts rubbing at it, slow at first, but when your pussy clenches around his cock, he rubs at it rampant.

God this is so embarrassing.

You’re so fucking close. And at the worst timing ever, your knees start giving out, but Jungkook notices, and is also chasing his own release he’s been edging against the whole night, and he cant help it when he’s frantically grabbing your waist and pulling you back, your back now meeting his sweaty chest.

“Harder! Harder!” You chant between your gargled moans, he takes over, the speed of how you rode his cock just a few seconds is nothing to how fast he’s just jackhammering up into you now. “Fuck Jungkook!”

Wrapping his tatted arm around you tightly, his other hand is around your breasts, forearm pushing them up. You feel his frantic breaths and moans against the skin of your back, shifting slightly so your heads are next to eachother.

Jungkook genuinely has no fucking idea how he hasn’t cum. Especially when you turn his head to kiss him, even though you’re both practically moaning incoherent sentences that just sound like begs and pleas into eachothers mouths rather than actually kissing him. His arm moves down, rubbing at your little clit in fast circles, ignoring how his hand slips around occasionally cause of how wet you are.

You kiss him, shoving your tongue around his mouth, moaning into it. “Mmm, fuck Kook-“

The nickname slips from your mouth. And it seems to set him off, cause he’s looking at you properly now. Looking so deep into your eyes that you have to shift your gaze elsewhere. And before you know it.

He’s literally fucking drilling into your pussy.

“Say it again.” A spank to your clit.

“Kook!-“ Hands grab at your face again, holding your chin. Way harder compared to the gentle touch hes gotten you used to. Forcing you to look him in the eyes, making your lips pucker up in front of his as he pecks them.

“Cum on my cock like you were fucking born for it-“ He forces your gaze to your pussy, and that’s what does it, cause it finally comes crashing down on you.

“Nggghhgg! FUCK JUNGKOOK-“ He rubs at your clit even faster now, prolonging the orgasm that just rips through your whole body. His thrusts are relentless and he dosent stop, until he’s moving his face back to yours, moaning into your mouth as his cum spills in the condom.

He doesn’t slow down until you beg. Until you swear you see stars. But he keeps his cock tucked into you, practically eating your face at this point with short, little thrusts into your pussy. “Fuck.”

——

You’re lying on the couch in his shirt, the heat in his room finally starting to get far too uncomfortable, leading to Jungkook carrying you to the sofa. Not after cleaning the bed up by himself, insisting you sat awkwardly on his desk and watch. Not after he’d cleaned you up and hugged you obnoxiously tight until you had to tickle him for him to loosen his grip. Not until he calms you down with his lips against your scalp, leg tucked around his waist as if this was a regular thing between you.

And it probably is at this point.

The fabric swallows you up as you relax into the soft cushions. Jungkook’s in his own shirt, and his boxers, which—of course—look way too good on him, as usual. You feel like a kid playing dress-up in his oversized shirt and your own pair of his boxers that you borrowed. Your ruined underwear probably tucked somewhere between the mattress and his unsurprisingly boring headboard. You know it’s ridiculous, but you’re too comfortable to care.

The air is warm from the low hum of the AC, and the quiet around you is peaceful. Maybe too peaceful. It feels a little too… perfect. The kind of perfect that makes you want to take a deep breath, but you’re scared it might slip away if you do.

Jungkook’s lounging next to you, his arm casually draped behind your waist, his eyes half-lidded in that way he gets when he’s content. But you can’t help feeling like this is too much. Too close. Too perfect. Too… romantic. You start fidgeting a bit, your mind beginning to spiral, the weight of everything pressing in on you.

Your hand brushes against his chest, but your breath hitches for a second, and then you start pulling away, barely catching yourself before he notices. You feel stupid, but you can’t shake the feeling that something’s off.

Jungkook, of course, notices anyway. His arm tightens around you, drawing you back in with that magnetic pull of his, but this time you don’t resist.

“Everything okay?” His voice is soft, but there’s that tone underneath—concern and attention.

You avoid his gaze, your fingers picking at the hem of his shirt, like that might somehow make things feel less intimate. “Yeah, just… I dunno. It just feels… like everything’s happening too fast, you know?”

He doesn’t let you pull away. Instead, he leans in a little closer, like he’s trying to read you, then grins that lazy grin of his. “You don’t have to worry about everything. Just be here. With me.”

You sigh, trying to hold onto the lingering unease, but it’s hard when he’s pulling you back so easily. You roll your eyes, trying to joke, “Okay, Mr. Perfect.”

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m not perfect, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re close enough.”

You feel yourself relax against him again, but the uncertainty still nags at the back of your mind. And, just like that, he gets up with a small grunt, his muscles flexing as he stretches.

“Stand?,” he says suddenly, his tone commanding but playful.

“What?” You blink at him.

He doesn’t let you finish, hoisting you into his arms with a grin. You’re too caught off guard to protest, but the laugh that bubbles up from your throat is a mix of surprise and amusement.

“Jungkook, are you seriously carrying me right now?”

He just shrugs, his grin widening. “Yeah. You’re too cute to just leave on the couch.”

“Please. You’re just showing off,” you mutter, but you can’t help the smile that sneaks its way onto your face. It’s ridiculous, and you’re not sure why he does it, but there’s something so undeniably charming about it.

“I could carry you anywhere.” He winks as if it’s just a fact. “And I will, if you want.”

You roll your eyes, though a soft laugh escapes your lips. He’s impossible.

He carries you into the bathroom and sets you gently on the counter. His hands linger on your hips as he lets you settle, and you don’t even realize you’re already relaxing again until he turns around to grab his toothbrush.

“Hang on, I’ll get something for your makeup, and the paint.” he says, rummaging through the drawer. His eyes light up as he pulls out a tissue and water. “This work?”

You stare at him, trying to keep a straight face. “Water and a tissue?” You can’t even hide the laughter that bubbles up. “Are you seriously offering me that?”

Jungkook looks sheepish, but there’s a spark of humor in his eyes. “What? I tried.”

You roll your eyes again, but it’s soft this time, affectionate. “Seriously, though, you don’t have any makeup wipes, or… I don’t know, a proper remover?”

He freezes, his face contorting slightly as he remembers something. “Wait.” He digs around in the cabinet and finally pulls out a bottle of micellar water. “I forgot I had this. Don’t judge me.”

“Are you serious?” You laugh. “You’ve got a skincare collection, but not makeup remover?”

He shrugs with a grin, still not admitting he’s been slacking on the basics. “I take care of myself. Just didn’t think to get wipes.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, your tone dripping with sarcasm, “Sure, because micellar water is so much better.”

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls the bottle open and starts using it on a cotton pad. “Fine, laugh it up. But It’ll still make sure your skin’s clean.”

You watch him, the familiarity of the moment bringing warmth to your chest. It’s domestic, sweet. In a way, you don’t even realize you’ve fallen into this routine with him. It’s easy, natural.

“I’m gonna steal your skincare someday,” you say, the words light but carrying a promise.

“Not unless you want to use my stuff forever.” His eyes are playful, though, as he pulls his shirt off and starts getting ready for bed. “I’ll keep you stocked.”

You stand in front of the mirror now, legs still wobbly, cotton pad in hand, gently wiping away the last traces of your makeup and the paint from earlier, The micellar water is cool against your skin, a grounding sensation, but there’s still an unshakable hum beneath your skin, a leftover buzz of adrenaline, of him.

Jungkook has discarded his shirt in the laundry basket, leaving him in just his boxers, and yet, somehow, he still looks so put together—so effortlessly beautiful. His bare chest is still slightly pink, flushed over from exertion, from being pressed against you for so long, and his damp hair falls over his forehead in soft waves. You can feel him staring before you even lift your eyes to the mirror, and when you do, his gaze is heavy, unreadable.

It’s not like he hasn’t looked at you before. He does it all the time, with that same quiet awe, like you’re something rare, something he can’t quite believe is real. But there’s something different about it this time. The way his brows twitch ever so slightly, the way his lips part like he’s about to speak, like he has something to say but doesn’t know if he should. There’s something behind his eyes, something dark and guilty, and for a second, you think he might actually say it. That thing, whatever it is, that he’s holding back.

“What?” you ask, voice quiet in the stillness.

“Nothing,” he says, smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Then, before you can question it further, he reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His touch is warm, grounding, and he holds your hand like you’re something delicate, something precious, something he doesn’t want to let go of. He leads you out of the bathroom, walking you towards the bed in comfortable silence, and when you reach it, he tucks you in as if you’re a child, pulling the covers up over you with such gentle care that your heart clenches painfully in your chest.

And then, he’s slipping in next to you, immediately wrapping himself around you, pressing his body close, his arms caging you in. His nose nudges against your temple, his breath warm against your skin, and you don’t even think to resist. You just let it happen, let yourself melt into him, let him pull you in like you belong there.

There’s something about the way he’s holding you tonight. It’s different. He’s always touched you like he wants to, like he enjoys it, but this—this feels like something else entirely. It feels desperate, like he’s trying to commit the feeling of you to memory, like he’s afraid he’ll never get to do this again. His hold is just a little tighter, his touch lingering a little longer, his fingers brushing against your forehead in slow, absentminded strokes. And then there’s the way his lips hover over your skin, like he can’t help himself, like it’s in his nature to always be kissing you.

Your heart stutters.

Jungkook’s is racing.

The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest is steady against your palm, but underneath it, his heartbeat is erratic, fast, too fast for someone who should be relaxed.

Jungkook can feel everything. The warmth of your palm against his chest, the soft, absentminded way your fingertips trace over his skin like you’re trying to understand the way his heart beats. It’s fast—too fast—and he knows you can feel it.

And then there’s you. The way you’re looking at him, brows slightly furrowed, eyes searching his face with something gentle, something questioning. Concern. It makes his stomach twist, makes his throat tighten, because you don’t even realize what you’re doing to him.

He shouldn’t be selfish.

He shouldn’t be holding you like this, keeping you this close, memorizing the weight of you against him like it’s something he’ll have to remember later. But he is. And when your fingers press a little more firmly against his chest, when you whisper, “Why is your heart beating so fast?” he nearly tells you.

Nearly.

He bites down on it, swallows back the words that threaten to spill, the truth that sits heavy on his tongue. Because if he tells you now—if he tells you that time is slipping through his fingers, that he doesn’t know how many more times he’ll get to have you like this—you’ll look at him differently. You’ll ask questions he’s not ready to answer.

So instead, he exhales slowly, forcing his body to relax beneath your touch. And then, finally, he settles on something—something softer, something safe.

“Guess I’m just trying to hold onto this.”

The words are quiet, slipping into the space between you like a secret, like something unspoken that neither of you are ready to pick apart.

Your fingers still against his chest. There’s a pause, just long enough for him to know you’re thinking about it, that you’re trying to make sense of what he means. But then you blink up at him, and whatever question was about to form in your mind, it passes.

“Dramatic much?” you mumble, rolling your eyes.

Jungkook lets out a breathy chuckle, something light, something easy—something to make sure you don’t linger on it for too long. “You love it,” he murmurs, nudging his nose against your temple before pulling you closer.

And just like that, you let it go.

You don’t think about the way he looked at you in the bathroom, or the way his fingers linger a little too long against your skin, or the way his voice sounds just a little sad, a little wistful. You don’t think about any of it. You just let your eyes flutter shut, let yourself sink into the warmth of him, let yourself drift off with his heartbeat echoing against your palm.

Just like that, you press yourself against him, letting his warmth lull you to sleep, unaware of the way Jungkook keeps his eyes open just a little longer, staring at the ceiling—holding onto this, just like he said.

And neither of you say anything else.

Because in this moment, in this quiet, tangled-up mess of limbs and longing, the silence is enough.

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justwonder113 · 5 months ago

Text

Sharing a bed with Felix

Part two here

Chan; Lee Know ; Changbin; Hyunjin; Han; Felix; Seungmin; IN;

My Masterlist

Summary: What happens when you're having a panic attack in the middle of the library and the one to reach out for you and help you is actually a someone you kind of hate?

Warning: NOT PROOFREAD! (literally I can not stress this enough); cursing as always. The reader is gender neutral. The reader thinks Felix is fake and doesn't trust them. GRAPHIC DESCRIBTIONS OF A PANIC ATTACK AND SELFHATE. Reader struggles with procrastination.

A/N- this is more platonic fic than romantic, but I will write a part two of this which will actually be romantic and more appropriate for the series name. I hope you'll like it. Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated^^

Word count- 3.9k

If you like my work you can buy me coffee🩷

You hated this. You hated how you had no control. You hated how everything slipped through your fingers. You hated how you always knew better but still always ended up making the same damn mistake. God you hated how you were stuck in this damn loop. How you had to deal with the same shit over and over again. You hated how only you were the to blame for it. You hated how you were having one of the most horrible mental breakdowns you have ever had now when you should be studying! You hated how you had almost no time to study. You hated how it was all your fault. You hated how you procrastinated doing your damn job till last minute as always. You hated how even your laptop stared at you, mocking you, reminding you how imperfect you were. God you really hated this.

Angrily wiping your tears, you tried to resume reading with keyword being trying. Your vision was so blurry you couldn’t even decipher a word, which frustrated you even further. You should have started studying earlier! Not just cram everything into your brain when the exam was literally two days away.

Why did you have to be this way? Why couldn’t you just be normal? Why did you always have to learn the hard way? Why couldn’t you learn from your mistakes? You knew you were better than that. You knew that you could be so much more. Why were you the one holding you back? Why couldn’t you get over yourself? Why couldn’t you just learn your lesson?

Taking a deep breath you started to read the sentence again. You have probably read this damn paragraph 15 times already, still you had no clue what was written there. Why couldn’t you just focus? You didn’t have time to waste damn it!

God this was so frustrating. You could hate yourself and how you functioned any time later, you would have all the time for it. Not now! This was just not the time!

Why was the screen so damn blurry! You couldn’t see shit like this! It was as if your vision line was getting narrower and narrower. Your heart clenched in pain as you took shallow breaths. You looked at your empty water bottle. You needed some water. Surely it would help you.

Standing up, your legs felt a little wobbly but you decided to push through it.

You needed to drink some water.

You were just panicking before an exam.

Nothing special.

Nothing to fret about.

You just needed to calm down.

Yes.

You just needed to drink some water.

Unable to walk more than two steps you crouched down. Your whole body felt like it was being crushed by something unimaginably heavy from every side. Like the room itself was closing in on you. You could hear muffled sounds coming from all around you but it was like you were in whole another universe.

You clutched your chest, your heart felt like it would burst any second now, you felt your own heartbeat in every part of your body beating so rapidly, you felt like giant drums were beating in your temples.

You didn’t know how to describe this but it was almost like your life was flashing before your eyes. If it was actually so, weren’t you supposed to see the best parts of your life? Some good memories, you would gladly relive again and again. Why were you seeing every moment of your life where you felt like an absolute failure. All the moments where you just simply hated yourself and your ways. And to make it worse every memory, every flashback felt like a stab to your heart. Like it was a physical reminder of how much you had failed in your life, how much of a failure you were.

Tears burned your eyes as you tried your best to hold them in, but quickly enough one of them escaped, quickly followed by another and soon enough you were crying uncontrollably. Your body trembling uncontrollably.

You hated this. You wanted this to stop. You needed to control yourself. This was no time and place to have a breakdown like this. You were afraid. You were terrified. You needed this to stop. You needed something to hold on to. Someone to hold you. You wanted to feel like you were not alone. Something, just something to gasp on to. You were afraid. So afraid…

“Here drink this.” You heard soft but deep voice and a gentle touch on your shoulder. You knew this voice.

Felix looked at you with furrowed eyebrows as he held in a water bottle for you as he kneeled down next to you.

Not feeling like the protesting you accepted it. Forcing yourself you took a few gulps. The cool water was refreshing.

“Drink some more, you will feel better.” Felix gently encouraged you.

You took few more gulps. You felt like throwing up but still forced yourself to drink it. Coldness of the water was actually somewhat helping you.

“That’s it, good job. You will be fine okay?” You heard Felix say. “You will get through this okay? I’m with you.” His voice was so kind, so gentle.

Wanting, no, needing something to anchor you down you grabbed onto his hand that he had on his knee. Without saying anything Felix interwened your fingers and held you just as tight as you were holding onto him.

“Breathe with me okay?” Felix encouraged you and started breathing deeply as if to guide you. Why was he even kind to you? You always made sure to avoid him and to just treat him coldly whenever you interreacted. He had no reason to help you.

As you tried to mirror him and take deep breaths memories of how coldly you treated him coldly flashed before you. As if you weren’t already feeling shitty enough you got hit by a wave of shame. Your inability to trust people had nothing to do with him. Whole reason you didn’t vibe with him and brushed him off whenever he tried to talk to you and get closer to you was because you just couldn’y believe a person could be this warm and kind. It just looked impossible to you. You always thought he was hiding something, that this was all just an act, that he was just deceiving everyone, so you kept your distance. And here you were now accepting help from him, clinging to him all pathetically. You just couldn’t control yourself, the only anchor for you right now was Felix. You actually felt like you could die if you let go of him.

Another wave of fresh tears covered your face, god you felt so bad that you were mean to him. “I’m sorry, I am so sorry!” You could hear yourself vail, but it was as if your own voice didn’t belong to you, it was as if it belong to someone else entirely.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about okay? This happens sometimes, I got you, you will get through it okay?” He gave you such a kind smile. You never really had noticed how beautiful he actually looked. Looking him like this, you could swear you could see a halo around him. God you had been so blind.

“No, no. I am sorry!” You took a deep breath. “I’ve been such a dick to you, you didn’t deserve that.” You sobbed out finally, clutching tightly onto him.

Felix looked at you for a second. “Okay I know now is not the time but since you’re the one who started talking about it…” Felix paused for a second looking unsure. “Why do you hate me?”

Hate him? No you could never hate him. He had nothing for you to hate him.

“I don’t hate you.”- you shook your head.

“Then why are you cold towards me? You’re so kind with everyone else.” Felix looked genuinely curious.

You shook your head again. You were feeling a bit more calm now but the fresh wave of embarrassment made you take a few steps back. You covered your face with your hands. “This is embarrassing.”

You felt Felix gently pat your shoulder. “Hey, you don’t have to tell me.”

You sat in the silence for a minute or two. Felix never stopped patting your back gently, he also didn’t let go of your hand. You felt at peace with him, which is why it made you feel even more bad to hide the truth from him.

God you were acting so immature. You took a deep breath to give yourself more courage. “No, you deserve an explanation.” Pausing for a second you took another deep breath. “It’s just I have hard time trusting people. And seeing how you were always this ball of sunshine, how no one had anything bad to say about you and how everyone just loved you I thought that you were not a genuine person. I thougth that you were fake acting all sweet and kind. I just, I don’t know, I tend to avoid people I don’t or can’t trust. I should have been more civil about it though, or at least I should have given you a chance. I regret my decisions now, so I am sorry.”

The silence fell. God he must have thought you were dumb for hating him for such idiotic reason. It was quite ridiculous though, you realized that once you said it out loud.

The silence was soon overtaken by booming sound of his laughter. His whole body was shaking as he laughed wholeheartedly.

“Wait you’re telling me that you acted this way because you thought that I couldn’t just be kind and sweet so I had to be faking it?” He sounded like he couldn’t believe his ears. You didn’t expect this type of reaction but as long as he wasn’t mad or sad or anything similar?

“I know it’s ridiculous!” God you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Felix wiped his tear, his eyes shining on the dim light of the library. “It is. This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.” He looked at you for a second, his eyes full of mischief. ”It is quite cute though.” Seeing your head whip at him in shock Felix chuckled again. “I thought all this time that I made you upset about something! You know what I’m glad this is just a misunderstanding.”

“I feel embarrassed. This is so stupid!” You hid your face again.

“I mean it is silly but this could have happened to anyone. It’s no big deal really. Tell you this!” Felix let go of your hand and stood up. He held in his hand in front of you smiling sweetly. “Hey my name is Lee Yongbok Felix, I think you’re really cool want to be friends?”

You couldn’t really believe your ears. “Are you for real?”

“Oh definetly! I have had a friend crush on you since forever!”

“What’s a friend crush?”

“Oh you know like when you have a crush on someone you’re like want them to be your partner right? Well when you have a friend crush you’re like damn I want to be that person’s friend so bad!”

“So you’re saying you looked at me and thought damn I want to be that person’s friend so bad?”

“Yes.Pretty much so.”

“Damn I was right you’re not all that perfect! You’re actually quite crazy.”

“Meh who isn’t a bit mental. You were just having a panic attack for starters. By the way I’m glad you’re back to your senses.”

“Oh yeah, thanks. Also, foul joke.” To make your point across you glared at him

Felix grinned. “Get used to it, some say I’m quite a menace. So do you wanna be my friend?” He asked as if he didn’t just admit he was annoying.

God this was so unserious. “Yeah sure. I do!”

“Great! Now get up, let’s eat something. I’m starving!” Was he actually shining? The dude was maybe literal walking sunshine.

“You are quite straightforward.”

“You should also get used to that. Also the fact that I’m amazing! I just happened to order some takeout! I was about to tell you when I saw you on the floor.” God You couldn’t believe you just had a panic attack in the middle of library.

“Are we even allowed to eat in library?” You asked once you actually realized Felix said he had takeout.

Felix’s laugh was something of gremlins. “No, but lucky for us there’s no one to tell us anything.” – He sounded so proud it actually made you smile. But something was off what did he mean there was no one to tell you anything.

“Wait what do you mean?” What time even was it?

“It’s almost twelve. The library is closed.” You looked around, you two really were only ones around. You really outdid yourself huh.

“Wait we’re stuck here?” That was quite something to manage to do.

“Well no, because I have a key of this place.” Felix took them out of his hoodie pocket to show you large set of keys.

“How do you have a key to this place?”

“My friend works here, he was about to close up and wanted to let you know that you should go but you seemed so immersed in your work I told him that he should let you be. He gave me the key to close up. He lives nearby so I can give him keys later.”

“Why did you wait for me? Don’t you have to go home? You should have told me to wrap my shit up and go.” You really wondered what was reasoning behind his action.

“Now this is embarrassing.” Felix muttered, looking shy all of a sudden. He couldn’t even hold your gaze.

“Felix?”

“I got here because I love how quiet and peaceful it is here, Seungmin had been yapping about this book and I finally had the time to read it. I saw that you were here. I even thought I would come to say hi but you seemed immersed in your study. Then hours passed and you didn’t even get up and I got worried. My friend told me that he had to close up soon and before I even knew it I was asking him for his keys and promising I would lock up. I then ordered some takeout because you hadn’t eaten anything and I remembered how you were recommending this place to Minho earlier. So the food got here I got it, I was about to tell you to stop eating and then I saw that you were crying and well here we are now. I am yapping aren’t I? Does this make me sound like a stalker? I just wanted to do something nice.” Felix talked so fast you were amazed how he even managed to breathe between the words.

Trying to calm him down you placed your hands on Felix’s shoulder. “Thank you, for thinking about me. I don’t think you’re a stalker. I won’t say anything like that while you have the keys to this place and food! I have to be on your good side now more than ever don’t I?”

“You’re quite something huh.” - Felix groaned out, but he looked amused.

“Hey you’re the one crushing on me.” You couldn’t help yourself but tease.

“Okay I said friend crush!” Felix tried to defend himself but you didn’t let him.

“Tomato tomato, same shit.” It somewhat weirded you out for a second how comfortable you got with him this quickly but somehow you didn’t really mind.

“It’s not!” Felix pouted. Damn you sure like to tease.”

“You should get used to it. Also to the fact that I’m freaking awesome.” Before you could even realize you were smiling, without a care in the world. Like minutes ago you weren’t feeling like you were at your all time lowest.

“Come on oh the awesome one, let’s eat before the food get’s cold.”

The food was actually just what you needed. It immediately brough you sense of comfort. It was kind of funny, both of you were so hungry apparently that none of you said a word as you ate. The silence was comforting. It wasn’t the kind where one of you had to force yourselves to talk. It wasn’t suffocating. It felt just right.

“Are you feeling better?” Felix asked after a while.

Taking a deep breath you nodded. You should have known he would ask something eventually. “I am feeling better. I don’t know what came over me earlier.” God you felt embarrassed talking and overall recalling how you had a panic attack in the library. Thank god it was only you and Felix here and no one else saw this whole shitshow.

“You don’t have to talk about it, but I want you to know I’m here if you need someone to talk to okay?” Felix sounded so sincere, it really tugged on your heartstrings.

“I appreciate it.” – you said it and you actually meant it. It was good to hear that there was someone rooting for you and telling you could lean on them. But you still felt bad. “Sorry for misjudging you.”

“We’re good.” Felix smiled gently and turned towards you. “What do you think about getting something tasty later?” -His voice was cheerful and kind. How did he even manage to be so outgoing and welcoming? It was really beyond you. It did intrigue you. You were sure you could learn much from him.

“We just ate though, are you still hungry?” He sure had an appetite huh.

Felix chuckled and shook his head. “No no, I’m not hungry. I am suggesting you pick somewhere you want to go, or something specific you want to eat, so when you nail your exam we will have plans for our friend date along with a cause.” God he was ridiculous. He said it like it was such a matter of fact you couldn’t help but mirror his smile. But it still stung inside. Would you nail that exam though? You would be lucky if you didn’t fail.

“Hey stop that!” Felix’s voice brought you back to reality. Felix looked at you sternly. “You will do great on that exam. I am sure of it. Even if you don’t that’s not an end of the world. You can always retake it. BUT I am hundred percent sure you will do great.”

“I’m not sure Felix. I really slacked off. I should have started studying earlier. I don’t know if I will manage to go over all of the material in time. God it is stressing me so much! I really should get back to studying!” God you wasted so much time. How could you be reckless. You didn’t have time to waste. Every minute counted.

“No way! You need to rest!” Felix protested but you shook your head.

“I don’t have time to rest Felix.”

“Listen, there’s no way you can efficiently study without letting your brain rest once in a while. You spent hours studying. And I got here late, god knows how much time you spent with your laptop before I got here. You should get some sleep.” You hated how he was right. But even if you went to rest you weren’t sure if it even would you sleep.

You tried to say something but Felix didn’t let you. “No! You’re going home. I have to close up the library anyways!”

“Oh now you have to close up.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

Felix grinned triumphantly. “Convenient isn’t it?”

“Look at him having power of having library keys go up his head! You’re blinded by power Felix!” You grumbled as you walked towards your stuff. You could hear Felix laugh as he also gathered everything.

“More so, you should come with so I won’t do something drastic. You should control me.” Felix yelled over from over the other side of the room.

“Now that power will surely go over my head but since you’re asking me so nicely…”

“You’re a menace you know that right?”

“Proud one too.” Maybe you really should get some rest and resume in the morning.

***

You were woken up by a sound of buzzing. When did you even fall asleep? God you didn’t want to get up you felt so cozy. Why was waking up especially hard when you had to get up! Damn life was unfair sometimes.

You didn’t even remember how you got home. Or how you got to sleep.

Felix insisted to walk you home, because it was late. You invited him inside for a drink. You talked for a while. And then… That was blank.

Another buzz from a phone and your pillow shifted.

Well that was weird. Why did your pillow move? You sure as hell didn’t. Not to be dramatic but you would rather die right now than move.

“God, what time is it?” Sound of a groggy male voice sent shivers down your spine and not the good kind.

What the fuck?

You quickly got up to see that your pillow was actually Felix’s thigh. Felix looked just as confused as you were. You two were in your house, laying on your sofa. You were whining how you weren’t sure you would even be able to rest and you fell asleep on top of Felix? Damn you sure were something else.

“Felix?”

“That’s me?”

An awkward silence fell. You felt awkward, you had actually no idea what to do or to say.

“I guess we fell asleep.” Felix awkwardly chuckled. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy like this. I should have left the moment I made sure you got home safe.” Felix muttered sheepishly. He looked kind of cute with his hair sticking around in every direction, and him looking a bit dazed. You weren’t even going to talk about how hot his voice sounded. Was it weird to feel attracted to a friend you technically just made? He was objectively beautiful though, so maybe you weren’t in the wrong to appreciate his beauty. And your mind was spiraling again.

“No!” You quickly gathered yourself. “No, no. You did nothing wrong. I was the one who literally slept on you so I should be saying sorry.”

Felix quickly shook his head, looking defensive. “No, you don’t have to say sorry. I don’t mind physical touch. I’m quite clingy with my friends and since I consider you my friend I don’t mind it at all! I don’t want YOU to be uncomfortable.” God he was cute. You could barely restrain yourself from smiling.

“Actually, it was one of the few times I actually slept like a baby so maybe I should thank you instead. I really needed that rest, I feel refreshed.”

Felix grinned and for a second he really looked like a cat.“Told ya so.”

“Okay don’t get ahead of yourself now!” You scolded as you watched him chuckle. He was quite ridiculous and somewhat even weird but you actually looked quite forward to being friends with him.

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated ❤️

If you like my work you can buy me coffee🩷

Taglist (comment if you want to be added^^): @velvetmoonlght @notastraykid @annie-boleyn

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revelboo · 9 months ago

Note

Do you have any thoughts on Cliff jumper? I think he's neat in a totally healthy way 🫣

Never tried to write for him…

TKO

Cliffjumper x Reader-accident

18+ 🌶️

• “No,” Cliffjumper growls, servos flexing against the urge to snatch the weapon back from the engineer, who’s not even listening to him. Hasn’t been listening this whole time. “I don’t want it improved. I just want it to stop overheating. That’s it.” From the corner of his optic, he spots the human. Wheeljack’s little…pet? Friend? He has no idea. It’s staring at him, though, that scrutiny unsettling. Why anyone wants something so squishy and just weird around is beyond him.

• “Sure. Right,” Wheeljack murmurs in that tone he knows too well. The engineer’s lost in his own world and is not only going to frag up his gun, he’s probably going to completely destroy it. “I’ve got this.” Sure. Swallowing a growl as he gives up and stalks out of the lab, he’s aware of the human watching and just can’t get why it’s kept around, allowed to roam the halls like it belongs. It’s just a weak, little organic from this miserable mudball they’re all trapped on.

• There is one thing he enjoys about this world. Leaning into a curve in the road later that day, he soaks in the quiet. Sometimes he just needs to get away from the noise of the Ark, let the solitude of this world sink into him. Prowl and Red Alert still insist on patrols even though he’s never seen any sign of the Decepticons this close to base, but he’s not complaining. It wouldn’t matter if he did. There’s so many Autobots stranded and he’s never been the biggest or strongest. Always there, always overlooked no matter how hard he works.

• He sees the truck on the side of the road ahead, the two humans standing outside it. The bigger one throwing his arms up as the smaller one walks away. Some petty human argument. He’s almost to them when the bigger one grabs the smaller human’s arm, wrenching on it as the smaller one struggles, longer hair catching the sun. Yanking loose as the other lifts its free hand in a fist and stumbling back. Falling into the road in his path.

• He transforms without thinking, peds leaving the road as he throws himself over that little body and slams into the dirt, rolling and swearing. When he lifts his helm, the bigger human is gone, that truck speeding away. The other one is still sprawled in the road staring at him with wide eyes and frag, he remembers Optimus’s decree that if they’re seen, reveal themselves to a human, they can’t let them escape. Can’t hurt them either. One of them is long gone, growing ever smaller in the distance. But the other? Frag him. One is bad enough, but he can’t let two of them see him and get away.

• Laying sprawled in the road in frozen horror, your brain just keeps bouncing from the fact that your boyfriend just left you to the giant, metal monster slowly regaining its huge feet. And you can’t move, can barely breathe. The sound of those heavy feet approaching finally breaks through your shock. Because a huge hand is reaching for you and nope. Not happening. Rolling, you’re scrambling to your feet, lunging to avoid those huge fingers swiping at you with a frustrated snarl. Then you’re running flat out in a blind terror, because that thing is chasing after you.

• Primus, it’s fast for such a tiny thing. Screeching nonstop as it races off into the desert. And oh, it’s tempting to just let it go. The sun’s baking him, surely a fragile, little organic wouldn’t last long out there. Problem solved and he wouldn’t be saddled with the thing. It’d get lost out there and probably never be seen or heard from again. Not his problem to deal with.

• He keeps chasing after it, anyway. Guilt spurring him on. He doesn’t want a human to look after. Doesn’t need this mess to deal with. Ahead, it stumbles and this time he manages to get a grip on it, almost dropping it again in surprise at how disturbingly soft that little body is in his servos. It screams out again, thrashing like a mad thing even though it must know it can’t win. That doomed, desperate struggling is impressive in a way. Refusing to give up. Wild eyes stare up at him as he adjusts his grip on it to make sure it can’t wriggle free and get accidentally dropped to its death. He can feel that little heart pounding so quickly against his servos as it keeps fighting, screaming out for help that’s not coming. “Sorry, but you’re not going anywhere,” he sighs. You’re both fragged.

#transformers x reader #cliffjumper x reader #IDW cliffjumper

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werezmastarbucks · 10 days ago

Text

U N18

U N7 masterlist 13/14 + 2 extra chapters

word count: 7420

music: fall in love again by aleph, then by gaho and villain, i swear i'll never leave again by keshi, truth untold by bts

when he tells you that you need to come to Seoul with him, he is ready to fence off your immediate reaction.

"why?"

"to keep an eye on you, nothing more".

he thinks a little, his serious, heavy-lidded stare examining your face.

"how many friends do you have in Busan?"

"i have my neighbour".

"isn't she around eighty though? she will feed Komangi while you're gone".

you flare your nostrils. don't look at his hands held out, offering you rice. his heart-shaped lips show you how you need to open your mouth, but you refuse to.

"i mean actual friends?"

"i don't need friends".

he's feeding you carefully; in the morning you found one hand is not good for opening palm because of the abrasion, and the other hurts after falling.

"i have my Seoul friends".

"nobody to come over if something happens?" he presses. "from university? no one?"

"why are you rubbing it in, man? i am too old to make new friends".

he backs off, a :] on his face. looks like an axolotl. he spoons more rice and puts a piece of kimchi on.

"you came over when something happened", you admit, displeased.

he shrugs with unease.

"it was so lucky".

he shakes the hair off his face and looks up, keeping in the sunlight from the window. he said he got cold at night.

you look around the kitchen to see if your perception of the world changed after last night. you got a little more jumpy, if anything. head hums, you can feel the cut up there, and the big, round bandaid on the knee makes it impossible to bend or unbend it. you sigh shakily, tired again. you'd rather sleep a little more.

"what about Holly?"

"he'll live".

"duh, but what was up with him?"

he looks at you curiously, chewing. the sun is warming up his broad shoulders, and golden dust floats around him like it's his fairy powder. atrociously soft sight.

"well, he's almost blind now and his hip is bad".

"sounds salvageable. but you still came to Daegu?"

"my..." he pauses, frowns, calculating. his brows go - one up, the other down, "first cousin once removed died, as well".

your brain pretends to compute.

"i saw him once, maybe twice in all my life".

"wow. i would be pissed if i was him".

you scratch behind your ear. can't believe it's been twelve hours and you resorted to these well-hidden, dry compliments, again.

"why isn't the police calling?"

"they're calling. me".

silence is only broken by Komangi noisily drinking his water next to the window.

you measure your breathing, keeping your face expression in check.

"a bit yandere of you, no?"

Yoongi punches his cheek with his tongue, pretends to be chill.

"when i google what it is, i can tell you yes or no".

"aren't you learning Japanese?"

"not anymore".

he adds,

"i'll handle it. you won't see him again".

"i don't feel comfortable about it".

it's clear that he's also treading carefully not to snap.

"you could simply say thanks".

another pause.

"you never thank me for anything".

you go back in your head, trying to remember instances when you didn't thank him. it's no use. your brain is currently an egg on a pan, sizzling when poked to work.

"thanks, oppa", you blurt under your breath, mouth curling in disgust.

he nods. it never occurred to you that maybe he doesn't see himself as this impending cloud of eternal happiness and eternal doom as you do. probably not... saying things like please and thank you is one of those gestures you generally struggle with. you prefer to repay in services. you sometimes even forget to pass him things with both hands, and he never mentions it.

"for a week", he says, "to see if you feel worse all of a sudden".

you agree. even the home doesn't feel safe for now. the aftershock still vibrating somewhere deep. you know you will pay for this peace later, when Yoongi is not around.

after unhurried preparations, you knock on eoreusin's door and explain to her the state of your face and the need to take Komangi under her care. she quite likes the little cat; he's well-behaved, doesn't steal anything from her garden and looks cute. you wish you could take him with you, and Yoongi asks if he has papers to travel by plane. you give him a look in lieu of an explanation.

you drive to Daegu to return the father's car. his Santa Fe is heavier looking and grumbles louder, with a forgotten drinking tumbler in between front seats. Yoongi's parents are intense people; you spend your time bowing to them even though it hurts your head, wonder if they have any idea of your existence at all; you prefer to spend time with his brother in the garden, saying that you don't feel well inside the house. now you have the injury card to get out of conversations even if politeness calls for them. can't stand being surrounded by his family, it's like he's doing it on purpose even though it's unlikely. you used to try to imagine what it would be like to be introduced to them, and it always horrified you. the Min clan, even in pictures, has the energy of royals who are going to spare you one indifferent look and pass you by. the old self-esteem problem.

his father takes you and your bag sitting on Yoongi's lap to the airport, and you suffer with your head for an hour, groggy and weak with painkillers. flying further away from home; and the only thing keeping you happy is the thought of his big, light house with dark green plants and the nice thick garden in the yard.

"you know how, Tae, stop, you know how... ahhh... Tae here's your spoon, don't bite my hand. you know..." Jungkook winces, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"i forgot what i wanted to say".

the intensity with which you sometimes have to listen to him is torturous. Jungkook's hyperactive, easily shattered speech is gasoline to the fire of your adhd. sometimes you want to knock his teeth in for dragging thoughts like that, never delivering. you feel your blood boil.

"remember".

"i can't".

"it's something about Istanbul", Yuri helps. it's no use: the idea skipped his mind like a calibri. you put the hand to your face, and Taeyang starts crying upon seeing your bloody flesh.

"why aren't you wearing a bandaid?" Yuri exclaims, not out of concern for you. Yoongi's hands place a new bowl on the table. he's waiting on people who visit his house, sparing you of his company.

"they need to breathe..."

"are you very hurt?" she asks finally, handling her son. Jungkook wiggles his tattoed fingers in front of his face, and the boy forgets the horror. he is two years old, and he already jumps. crawling from Yuri's lap, he walks over to Yoongi who senses him like a cat. he lifts the boy to his shoulder and shows him the inside of the dishes rack, asking which plates he wants to put next.

"green. white. yellow. grey. white", Taeyang replies clearly.

"he already knows so many colours?" you whisper over the table. Jungkook nods,

"Namjoon reads to him a lot. it's scary".

your brows shoot up. then there's pressure behind your eyes: angsty, heavy heat travels to your nose. you put a fist to your mouth and pout with sobbing. they exchange glances. you recall Taehyung's sore messages when Jungkook says,

"job still good in Busan?"

you nod. job still good. weather, too. house pretty. people nice. Seoul is moving while Busan is frozen in time, beautiful like a postcard. Jungkook lets it be, tucking his curiosity away. you turn your head to look at Taeyang.

"isn't he a bit too tall, as well?" you ask, slightly choking. finally, the real horror strikes. Tae is growing at an alarming rate. you're missing it. Yoongi turns to you.

"he'll be taller than you in no time", Jungkook handles everything that revolves around his son. "Tae, come here".

Yoongi lets him down and Taeyang's hand unclutches his hair. it's growing out pretty long again, soon to ask for a wolf cut. the boy now runs towards you, forgotten all about your scary hands.

"how tall are you, Tae?"

he looks at his parents for aid.

"almost ninety centimeters", Yuri helps.

"that can't be right", you crawl down on one knee that doesn't hurt, carefully put the other on the floor. "you're a big guy, huh?"

"i am big like tree", Taeyang says. you point out the glass wall into the garden:

"that tree?"

"yes".

"or that one? or the plum tree?"

he bites his plump, shiny lower lip. Jungkook's tapioca eyes are staring outside with concentration his father rarely masters. you can feel your heart shatter in a thousand pieces.

after they leave, Yoongi finds you by the wall between the living room and the guest room. you're staring at the divider, measuring ninety centimeters with your finger. crying is bad for your head now, even the light sobbing makes it hum and puts pressure inside, like your brain inflates inside your skull.

"when i was little, my mom used to mark my height every year on the wall, like this", you whisper. his hand lies carefully in between your shoulder blades like he is afraid you'd push him away.

"mine did, too".

he takes your hand and adjusts it a little higher, showing you the ninety one centimeter that Tae has grown to.

you switch feet, relieving your injured knee. Yoongi's house fucking rocks. you entertain yourself by imagining outworldly scenarios on how to steal it from him or at least stay here forever. you could die and become a ghost and haunt this dwelling like in the movie about the ghost. when the evening comes, the whole space of the first floor is woven with the golden sunlight. it crawls off the light walls, turns them golden and beige, lights up the cosy furniture pieces, brings out the shine of the wooden floors, makes the succulents glow in emerald. it's beautiful like home that you never knew. once the darkness falls, the small lights in the kitchen ceiling are lit, and in the depths of living room, the floor lamps give the perfect golden-beige shine. you can tell Yoongi took the interior design of this place very personally. the house insides are as gentle, smart and relaxing as he is. that's what he is, that's his shade, you think. he used to be pink and white to you, like the moon and the cherry blossoms. but inside, he is really amber sand of the safe touch.

you cut the vegetables, holding the knife only with your fingers to engage the injured half of the palm as little as possible. the technique is not perfect. by the evening head booms and aches, especially because you made attempts at reading in the afternoon. this is what you do here: read, lie in bed, look out the windows and waddle.

the door beeps and clicks, and you hear his steps in the other side of the house in the corridor. he must hear the music immediately. kicks off his shoes. something's rustling gently. he turns up in the kitchen without a hurry, a plastic bag in his hand. cheap package, clutched by the hand wearing a silver Rolex. his hair is ruffled, he's been raking his hand through it a second ago. he's full basketball today, team bomber thrown onto a stool at the invisible line signifying the beginning of kitchen. there's fear in his eyes.

"what are you doing?"

"salad".

Yoongi exhales a little. your cooking is not that atrocious, he is being dramatic.

"you want sushi?" he raises the bag a little. you're quiet, so he shakes it again.

"yeah".

he's pretty good at making simple sushi. you know that because he has made them for you eight years ago one morning, at the countryside getaway house, when he got up earlier than everybody and found you in the kitchen. probably recalled seeing you cry on the lake the night before (everybody did). you sat at the counter staring into the white body of the fridge as if it could start cooking for you. well, instead you summoned Yoongi. he had shorter hair back then. just a day earlier he has devastated your whole soul by casually, politely mentioning his new girlfriend. recently started going out. yeah, she is Japanese. also an idol.

then, clueless, he silently started cooking upon seeing you. only said 'good morning' in the rusty, sleepy voice. that was such a long time ago. his quiet presence soothing the wound that he himself inflicted was like a loop of a trauma. you watched him neatly cut the fish, plop the small balls out of rice and shuffle with the nori with bangs covering his eyes. he also made you tea. it put him firmly into the category of good people, that morning. the silent caregiver. the friend whose existence near you puts literally no pressure, he has that rare aura. the sushi were good, and you said you needed soy sauce with them, and he crunched his nose but complied. back then you were going through a surgery, your heart tearing itself into pieces.

tonight he rests the bag at the end of the counter and goes to wash his hands. soon you are quietly chopping next to each other, without speaking. sex is almost completely off the table, and he hasn't asked for it. at nights, he only helps you adjust the broken knee onto his hip because that way it doesn't rub against the mattress.

it's late, but Yoongi has never been an early sleeper, always in a habit of spontaneously starting to work at one in the morning. the dinner comes in the dead of night, with summer salad and sushi. you drop a chrysanthemum flower bud into the teapot to let it bloom yellow.

"remember when Taehyung kept complaining how you put too much parsley in it?" he asks, grinning. chuckle comes out of him in chunks. he swirls the chopsticks above the bowl. you nod.

"it irritates his gut".

"i never got why he was so mad at you".

you nearly ended each other that day, shouting over the table, which led Namjoon to be very upset.

"he also said i didn't chop it properly. you're not supposed to chop herbs at all. just open your freaking mouth".

he chews with a smile. shoulders hunched over the table out of habit.

"Taehyung's often mad at me".

"i know. but why?"

"cause i left. cause i breathe and walk wrong. cause i taught Jimin wrong English", you rub your chin, smirking. because he was projecting his own failures onto you, becoming desperate that you wouldn't make your move on Yoongi. he always wanted at least one of you two to have the person that you yearned for.

"we kissed once, did they tell you?"

Yoongi pauses for a moment, his face elongating.

"how's that work?"

"we were immensely drunk at the club. i am surprised i remembered it at all".

someone's expensive car bangs with exhaustion outside, beyond the fence. there, covered by the wall, street is quieter, but it's still an audible pop, and you suddenly jump, surprised by your reaction. oh, there. ptsd kicks in. Yoongi's eyes stay calm, his reactions are generally slower in daily life and startling him is almost impossible. he sips tea. he also has an invaluable quality of keeping the peace when there's chaos around him. he is the shelter.

"you think you'll need to talk to somebody?"

"nah", you adjust the strap on your top, a little humiliated. "i only have one regret, that i didn't square him in the face".

you sincerely believe you could've handled the situation better. suddenly, a picture of the top of Yoongi's head on your knees makes you want to bring your knees up to your chin.

"i saw you did kick him".

"that was weak".

"that was weak, man", he parodies in English. probably a line he heard in a movie. reaction immediate, a tagline his brain brings up for the occasion. you snort quietly.

"your pronunciation is further improving. are you studying now?"

he shakes his head. there was a time Yoongi hated word endings. they simply didn't exist for him in English. yes, i like it a lo-; you don't wanna see thi-; they are barber-.

now you hear all three of your former students speak fluently and want to attribute it all to yourself but you're also aware of other tutors and their own natural, inevitable improvements.

after dinner and tea are over, Yoongi takes the salad bowl off the table and goes to wrap the leftovers in the film to put them in the fridge. he opens the door and you relax on the chair a little, thinking about which shower to take: the first or the second floor. the second floor bathroom is bigger, but the one here is cooler, has a jungle vibe with grey stone walls and that window.

"what's that?" he calls from the fridge.

"i made you skewers. for breakfast", you say.

"you can cook?" he is horrified, impressed. you don't look at him but hope he's not too disgusted at their sight. actually, they turned out okay. visually the same as the pictures on the internet.

head aches. you need to take painkillers and go to sleep. today you already have dark circles under the eyes, a sign of concussion. but it's surely light; the world doesn't spin and there's no sickness.

"what are you doing tomorrow?"

your stomach drops a little.

"i don't know? Hobi's not in town yet, Jimin is the day after tomorrow".

"will he come over?"

"can he?"

"sure. i'm asking because tomorrow i need to play video games".

you turn around, surprised and amused. Yoongi moves things around on the counter to put away the dirty dishes.

"huh?"

"i need to write a song for Dark Pictures. but i have no idea what the game is about".

"i was planning on lying down all day. i cooked today and feel too tired".

he nods into the fridge. you take the shower upstairs because fatigue takes over, and slip into bed, neglecting the night routine.

Yoongi says the next day that you cried in your sleep. you brace for the onset of consequences of your little adventure. you wonder how you'd feel without his shoulder to lean on at night, so soon after the attack. you hear (from the yandere) that Kim Seongjun has been transported to Seoul and there's a chance you will be called to court to testify. he had been fired from Hybe last month for coming to work drunk.

the timeline is this: he had let you go when you left to Busan, clocking other women in the company. but when you came back in May and didn't recognise him, Seongjun felt the old flame rekindled. started spiralling. felt like it was his unfinished business. got kicked out. followed you, angry.

that's what you theorize at least.

Yoongi sleeps until almost one in the afternoon and you do, as well. tiredness, stress coiling in your body in the head, belly and limbs, keep you in bed, a pillow between your bodies pressing into his side. when you finally get up, the sun is high, and he's hungry like the wolf. the fabric of his home pants stretched with morning erection, he groans sleepily and retreats into the bathroom and you fall back asleep, feeling guilty for some reason. you're also falling, period. balancing in between, and refusing to think about it even. never thought the comfort, the tenderness, peace, could be so devastating. in the past, Yoongi's disarming and indifferent friendliness was the blunt weapon. his current gentle non-invasiveness, quiet care, the overwhelming, muted love is akin to that now. it's like that invisible maze from one Lovecraft story where the astronaut got lost, bumping into transparent walls.

inescapability.

you meet on the couch in the living room where Yoongi is playing the buggy test version of the new game and you read while the eyes are still fresh. Yoongi likes sitting on the couch monkey style, feet up, with his knees below chin, wiggling his toes to help himself. he doesn't curse as he plays, but instead whimpers a little, like he's begging the game to comply. hair gets in his face too often and you sigh, biting your suggestion to get a haircut before it leaves your mouth. back in winter, you had no problem commenting on his appearance, talking about his body, because it didn't matter. now this again: should i say something, or will he think something. you keep chewing on your cheek, biting dry, tortured lips. this whole arrangement was a trap, of course, but of what nature, and what you should've done instead, you don't know.

the day is short and painfully pleasant. you don't get into each other's faces instead just moving around the couch, touching only accidentally. a foot to a hip, shoulders, a hand to a butt. the last couple of hours you feel too tired to read so you watch him play. he's surprisingly bad at this, although you're sure you'd be even worse. it takes him a whole day to finish a six-hour game. he keeps his little notebook on the coffee table and sometimes writes something down if it catches his attention.

you realise it has been a glimpse into the alternative life you could've had if you had been normal and he, ordinary. Yoongi stands up from the couch and stretches his back, moaning like a big cat. he walks slowly across the living room with his old man walk, to the shower, and in a minute calls out your name. it always sounds like rain when he says it.

"y/n!"

you heave yourself up. had been lying great, in the shape of a shrimp, big cushion propping your back, about to doze off. you come to the bathroom to find him standing at the mirror with a bottle in his hand.

"you know oils?"

"cooking oils?"

"no. my hairdresser told me to use rosemary and coconut oils but i don't know the proportions. and what's a carrier oil?"

he looks up at you simply.

"you don't know what a carrier oil is?"

he shakes his head. unreadable.

"rosemary is too concentrated, it should be used in drops and mixed with a fat carrier oil like coconut or almond".

"how much do i need?"

he looks quite helpless. his hair is fine, though. thick, dark, two silver strands on top.

you take over the bottles, heat up the coconut oil and mix them together, explaining it to him, slightly surprised he'd never had run ins with this thing. Yoongi sits down in the kitchen as you sink your fingers in the bowl and put the warm concoction onto his scalp. you think that people generally have no idea about the true shape of each other's heads. it's all mystery covered by the hair. you massage him gently, adding the oils, rub them in, then go for the hair.

"i need to cut half of it off", he murmurs as your hand keeps sliding down to reach the ends. it's easily spreadable, not like your constantly tangled long hair. you find the spot at the base of his skull where the hard turns softer and the muscles begin, and press on the depression between. Yoongi hums, too eager to tilt his head forward, used to the quick massages to relax the neck. you find a birthmark on the back of it that you've never seen before, and frown. one little renegade, trying to hide from you, but you eventually got it. the abrasion on your palm pulls painfully. you brush over the birthmark with your finger on your way to rub his neck lightly. then return to the hair and what's beneath it. hands hurt. wrap him in the food film and let him go for thirty minutes. the book has put you in a cranky, tired state, so you retreat to the bathroom upstairs, take the shower and go straight to bed before nine in the evening. Yoongi warns that he's going to work in his music room until night. it doesn't matter. his presence in the house is enough.

Seongjun finally catches up with you. it's a shaky, quick, violent dream in which he slams you onto the ground. you've never been attacked before so you had no idea ptsd dreams are just reenactments of what happened, but at x2 speed. Yoongi has to pull you out of it by the shoulder and you come back to the dark bedroom, feeling the cry still hanging on your lips like saliva. you woke him up with a sob probably, and he woke you up in turn. his hand pulls on you from across the bed, his body turning, and you don't think, you race to him, press yourself into his broad body, burying the face in his neck. he smells like shampoo, rosemary and home. your lips stick to his skin as you place a small kiss of gratitude for being Min Yoongi. and he decides against something. his knee kicks the blanket away and his arm tightens around you, and his mouth searches for yours.

the kiss is slow, as usual, but less hungry, which is atypical. it's tender, it takes a while to gain the heat like there's introduction first, with the words you need to decipher. you have never misread each other's silent cues, even when your acquaintance was relatively new. it's hard with Yoongi as he has all these trenches, booby traps and walls around him that one needs to cross before he lets someone in. but you always managed to read each other pretty well from a distance. you just decided to be steady with him from the very beginning, sensing his natural calm. with others, you have always been louder, more energetic. you are the peaceful twins. doodling three chairs away from each other, sharing one couch in harmony, driving home listening to music, without the awkward silence ever disrupting the moment.

you pull down your pants a little, hate sleeping in them because as soon as there's some action in between your legs, it all gets onto fabric and bothers you. Yoongi doesn't mistakingly take it as a call to undress you, but instead makes his way down slowly, fingers tracing the line of your stomach, warm palm on top of your belly button in a weirdly protective gesture. for once, the tips of his fingers are soft. no blisters.

only after does his hand slip inside, plunging them in your wetness. this is the first time he doesn't get possessive or kinky but instead just loves you silently. it cracks the night. feels like there's someone else in the house for whom you have to be really quiet, and this play pretend keeps you right at the center of the bed, under him, engulfed in the rosemary smell. you touch the side of his face, your hand small against it, and he closes his eyes and leans into. there's still ample chance to ruin everything, you think. you don't know what this everything is, either.

you stand against the glass wall and look at green trees plaguing his garden, and ponder whether it's possible to fall in love with someone because of their house. when the dwelling is so expressive and hypnotizing that it gives away the owner's character. especially these trees, small, underdeveloped baby fruits spotting the thickets of the leaves. there's still two days to go because you have a week's worth of sick leave. don't think concussion will cease by then, but it's still better than nothing. Hoba comes over, and you dance together for hours, as you try not to shake your head too much; he shows you the moves that only employ the lower part of your body, and he's burning to record another short video, a recreation of the old one. you think it's sweet, nostalgic. Hobi has that easy agender elegance about him, he always dances in and out of your day, calling you that bitch, grabbing your waist and leaving you better than he found you. the old you it trying to crack her way with a stick out of this hard egg shell, you can feel it. the overenergetic you, the loud you, the y/n that laughed too noisily and kept her eyes too open, and ached too sharply. the y/n that had fun instead of peace.

it's been a great while since your last getaway with the Bangtan boys, and you heard they didn't stop renting houses when you left. out of courtesy they admit that yes, without you the weekends seem quieter (more peaceful, big Tae adds), with fewer bursts of laughter (and the number of bloody accidents dropped to zero).

it feels immensely nostalgic to be in front of a rental, knowing how little time you have before you need to fly back to Busan, and seeing how, as the family grows, the houses become bigger. now there are more people than you can count on the fingers of both hands; everybody makes it. Jin takes a day off to ride with you, and Hobi extends his stay because suddenly they all feel the forties approaching and say, oh, yeah, we actually haven't spent time together in months. the seven of them are big men who can barely fit in one elevator anymore; plus there are three women: Nari, Yuri and Yuna, and even a child. Nari's belly is still too small to tell anything but Jimin touches it like he alone can hear what's going on inside.

you sit with your injured knee bent a little and the toes of the other foot grabbing at the long grass, in a garden chair. and watch not one, but two pregnant women chat, flipping bread on the grill. they both have cravings, Yuna and Nari. they both have vanilla ones. bread on fire. fat sausages. coconuts.

you still reel from the news.

"it's like a crowd effect", Jungkook mutters.

"chain reaction", Jin helps. Namjoon licks his lips, thinking about, well, what can he be thinking about? his big tanned thighs are spread so wide that you had to scoot over towards the eldest.

"sheep phenomenon", Taehyung helps. you wince at that.

"you're calling my wife a sheep, Taehyung?" Namjoon asks calmly but with the hint of exhausted annoyance in his voice.

"i thought we're searching for the term?" Tae makes an innocent face, brows up. his getting-out-of-bottle face. Namjoon glares.

"it's nice", he adds, "they will all be almost the same age. i think it's perfect".

Jungkook sighs. little Tae's shrieks are close by, Yuri is showing him something in the water. if there's a house, there's always a lake. funny how Taeyang, the oldest of Bangtan children, is the son of the youngest of them. this all brings you to tears too easilly now; you know it's just the fragile time. but it twistedly makes you scared you are pregnant, too.

"i don't wanna be the one to bring this back up again", Jungkook begins.

"then don't", Joon chimes in, but the maknae ignores him.

"but you're the only one left without a belly. gotta be careful".

you snort quietly.

"don't specifically have anyone to inseminate me".

Tae winces at the word and puts the ginger beer bottle to his thin, curved lips.

as if to mock you, Yoongi steps out of the house with Bam at his side trotting patiently, dog's eyes fixated on the meat in his hands. he crosses the line between your viewer seats and the girls. he throws you one bored glance and continues towards the grill.

"uh-huh. and what if hyung accidentally does this?"

"there's no way to accidentally do this. if he does, i'll break his jaw".

Taehyung throws his head back, his voice coming out in gulps.

"ha! ha! ha! you?"

you don't let him get to you. should you react to his provocation, you'll end up rolling on the grass, clawing at each other's eyes.

"i am so confused..." Jin is whispering into his rice bowl like he's praying to it. nobody helps him.

"you? break his jaw?"

"he himself taught me how to do it", you grumble.

"why didn't you apply this skill with Kim Seongjun then?" Tae demands, his voice on the verge of shrieking, egging you on.

"he didn't stand stillyouknow", you drop your head to your chest, grumpy.

Jungkook chuckles and tries to hide it, not to make you feel too bad. Yoongi helps the pregnant ones adjust all the food on the grill and Yuna feels sick and steps away. she stopped eating meat, Namjoon explained earlier, as soon as she got pregnant. morning sickness and dizziness came right away and hit her hard. it's a bit worrying, so he's constantly racing from elated to alarmed.

there's nobody to jump on the trampoline anymore; Yuri never liked it, and your head is not healed at all yet. so it's standing on the side of the house, abandoned. Taeyang tried once and fell badly and doesn't approach it anymore. he is sensitive, remembers things. when he saw you today, his eyes darted to your hands, and he visibly braced himself and didn't cry anymore. but his big eyes told you everything. he's only two and he already feels for the others. you wonder what it's like for Namjoon to have raised Jungkook and so seamlessly move on to his son. it brings stinging tears to your eyes. you also want to be the aunt who takes Tae to his classes when he's a bit older. whom he sees hanging out with his mother. you've never been over the moon about kids, but now it hits you like a train, this natural female urge, the feeling of love for a baby. it must be Jungkook's toddler aura magnified tenfold. this baby alone is an argument heavy enough for you to start shyly thinking about Seoul.

Jimin's head pokes out of the window on the first floor.

"rooms distributed? there's fewer rooms than us!"

"Jiminie", Jungkook calls, "those of us who have partners sometimes sleep in the same beds with them".

"oh, right", he gives out a charming giggle.

"including you".

"right".

Hobi's clapping laughter is heard from the kitchen.

they don't say it, but they circle around you when you're in the field of vision. throw glances. Jungkookie offers his hand at the two-step porch of the house as if all your bones are broken, and Taehyung bickers with you with a smile, brings you water and pokes you painfully in the shoulder. Hoseok gives you a long stare and caresses your head like you're a piece of art. Namjoon cranes his neck to speak to you, quietly, like you two are scheming. Jin silently cuts you fruit in cubes. Yoongi is just the same, weightless comfort around. you compartmentalize. you feel happy around them. you have a place at the table and it's been a while since you questioned if you deserve it. you don't feel like an imposter anymore.

now Yoongi takes a chair from the grill side after Yuna and Nari join Yuri and Tae on the shore, and drags it towards all of you idle spectators. he doesn't get in line but instead places it in front, becoming the view.

"what are you talking about?" he puts one foot on his knee.

"hyung's thighs are finally growing", Jungkook says with a laugh. Jin nods absent-mindedly, his eyes on Yoongi's legs. Yoongi winces, dismisses him with a hand.

"i'm on a new course".

"only took you twelve years".

he keeps waving his hand.

"i'm thinking", you say, "once the babies are born, you'll have to rent even bigger houses".

"we should start renting several country houses next to each other", Namjoon says.

"no, hyung, the point is to all live together", Jungkook nags. he finishes his beer and places it on the grass next to himself. Tae kicks it lightly to knock the bottle over.

"haven't you had enough of living together?" Namjoon glares, a little frustrated.

"first rule of a getaway?" he demands.

"no making out", Jin replies. "the only rule".

"can't even do that. so, separate little houses, and one big house to eat together".

"who keeps breaking the rule?" you ask.

three fingers point at Jungkook and Tae.

"him and Yuri".

"we don't anymore".

"and now Taehyung and Haneul".

your eyes grow bigger.

"is that why he hasn't come today? have you banned him?"

they shake their heads.

"he's out of the country", Taehyung explains. he pinches his nose. you're dying to see his boyfriend but of course the mean tiger is going to drag it out until one day you won't be able to wait anymore and break into his apartment.

dinner is loud, long and hot. the days are only getting more humid and unbearable, the weather is raging. all windows in the house are open so that any little of big bug can penetrate it and scare Hoba to death. half of you go dipping in the lake at nightfall to regulate body temperature, the others take cold showers in the house. Yuri and Jungkook with little Tae retreat earlier to put him to bed, and don't come back; it's now their ace plan on just saying, fuck everything, and going to sleep. they do everything together: feed him, walk with him, wash him. they want him to see both of their faces. it's a whole struggle between all of you, to get Taeyang's attention: too many people want to hold him. and everybody has a reason to go first:

Jin is the eldest and he already started his campaign of winning the boy over by buying him presents.

Taehyung demands him because it's his given name right.

Hobi competes for the role of the rich uncle with Jin.

Yoongi says he is the only uncle who hasn't dropped him even once.

Yuna and Nari claim they need to practice for their own children.

Jimin just whines in a tiny voice.

Namjoon claims he spends his time tutoring the boy.

you, you play your victim card that beats everybody else clean tonight. one look at the bruise on your forehead, and everybody feels bad. you even mewl about how distressed you are after the attack, how ptsd is killing you, and a child would de-e-efinitely help elevate the anxiety. Yoongi at least doesn't say anything not to ruin the pretence. as you walk around the house, heavy, 91 centimeters big Taeyang in your arms, Bam is also at your side, and you feel like a princess, the chosen one.

there's nothing to complain about, except the heat, as you lie in bed at night, a phone in your hand, scrolling through the old pictures from years ago. when you compare them like that, you can even see the differences in your own face. the jawline getting more defined as you lose the remaining youth fat. Jin is right on track of turning from the oldest one into the hottest: he now has a face of a fifties' movie star.

the door hisses open, and you turn around and see Yoongi's shoulder in the dark. his hair is in a ponytail on the back of his head.

"no making out rule", you whisper. he frowns.

"maybe i want to watch a movie".

"do you want to watch a movie?"

the mattress caves in under his knee as he slithers into bed quietly, swiftly.

"no".

he lies down on his side, and you watch his face. head empty, no thoughts. just his crescent eyes. this is all that is going on. him in your bed, no past, no future.

"you'll have to be really quiet".

your finger touches his cheek and traces it to the chin.

i will never fully get over you, you think. like you used to confess your love to his back, before. it's so loud he might hear the echo of it. his hand catches your wrist and then finds the other one and pins them above your head. Yoongi is determined to test you, there's a suspicious spark in his eyes that excites you. his free hand crawls down, without a hello, without petting you first, almost aggressive, and your thighs shudder at his touch.

every time you produce a moan, his mouth bares teeth and bites you in the nape of the neck. you have no idea what exactly during the day triggered such a wild response that he is pushing you into submission so harshly; thoughts curl into unrecognizable shapes as he works your body. there's only one place to push your buttons and he has mastered it to the point where he has the full control. by the time he finally decides to pull down his own pants, you are covered in sweat, all but begging, only holding on to the shreds of your pride which he, perhaps, wants to destroy. knowing that even the pain won't shut you up, his hand lies on your mouth to at least make it quieter. you try to cut your voice off; it's sending the chunks of pleasure back down the throat and into the stomach, turning it into a hot ball coursing your body. Yoongi keeps thrusting into you and you finally relax, your wrists released, numb, and itchy to pinch him. abrasion hurts. he slows down as soon as he feels your back arching too much; he is toying with the emotions that drip out of you like tears. rage kicks in and you land your hand on the back of his head, tugging on the hair. he is having quite a trip. thrusting, then stopping with a low hum, the muscles on his back flexing painfully, then fast again, then to a full stop, wearing you thin. it's a power play designed to force you into complete capitulation; he couldn't not have noticed the barriers you still have in your head. even when you're spread underneath him, you still hide your eyes as you call his name. the walls you yourself have raised up against him in the past years are so massive that you can't even be sincere when you're orgasming. the sincerety is like a ghost tail he's chasing, employing various methods of torture. you don't know what he expects from you: to blurt something out when you're completely subjugated? isn't it a bit cruel? it's a bad case of alexithymia where both of you push each other to admit it first but when you start feeling for words, there's nothing there. only doubt. only fear of being now shoved away. so far into obscurity that hope will get evaporated into nothing.

you move your hands lower and grab his hips with all four limbs to keep him from stopping. the abrasion on your knee, the one you'd been so careful with, tears with an almost audible sound. you feel the blood bubbling under the bandaid patch. Yoongi produces a low chuckle; he's stronger than you.

"let me come", you gasp through the gritted teeth.

"what do you say?" the breezy whisper against your chin. taste of cherries, petals, ocean.

"i say let me come".

another chuckle.

"no".

you put your arm around his neck, trying to get him into a chokehold, but your limbs don't really agree with you now. the shock of pleasure travels across every inch and the body actually prefers to betray you. you're layered.

"why are you so stubborn?" his arm hooks up your leg and raises it, and you open your mouth to let the breath out, instead of yelling.

"because i hate you", it takes time to gather all the words together.

"i hate you, too. promise to keep hating you".

you freeze because he starts gaining speed again, and this time the determination is evident. his breath gets shaky, you feel his shoulders tense; when Yoongi is about to cum, he throws his head forward to find a hiding place in your neck. the wet t-shirt sticks to him like second skin.

he hasn't broken you out just yet. you have severe trust issues, mainly with yourself. the heat is making it impossible to sleep pressed into each other, so you grab his fingers and both crawl away from each other, kicking the blanket down.

the knock on the door grows a little more aggressive and turns into a rapid ta-ta-ta-ta-ta, and you dream about Hoba clapping at someone's joke before you wake up completely.

Yoongi slides off the bed like a robot, swaying from side to side, and opens it.

"ah-ha. i knew it", the frustrated grumble. "found your room empty".

"what are you, twelve?" Yoongi mutters, his voice still asleep.

"you got my cleanser".

"i didn't take your cleanser".

"everybody's up, it's almost one".

"Koo, go away".

you sit up slowly, clutching the pillow against yourself. you're wildly hungry and thirsty.

"come, Taeyang is asking for you".

Taeyang is going to reign his ass soon. Jungkook will spoil him to the point that he's going to become a bad person, you think. it's so hard not to spoil adorable children like him.

in the kitchen, there's pleasant smell of cooking. Bam is lying on the floor between the cooking counter and the island and makes everybody watch their step. Taehyung is battling with something in the deep pan with a red apron on.

"were you bothered?" Yoongi punches into the maknae, "did we wake anybody up? what's the problem?"

"there's a baby in the house", he hisses.

"you?"

Taehyung crunches his nose and laughs.

"yeah, you're getting insane, Jungkookie".

Bam raises his head and looks at his father. the father glances back and sighs. you dive into the fridge, waiting for Jungkook's frustration to dissipate. no idea what got him so worked up, you are sure you were quiet.

the day is too short; before the sun starts setting, you need to leave them and ride to the airport to go home. you ask Yoongi to stay behind so that you can think. he understands and settles in, part of the memory, part of the ship. after saying your goodbyes, you take a moment to watch them, wandering around the yard, cooling themselves in water. Jimin lost his slipper, and Jin is walking around white-faced with three layers of spf on. even now, Yoongi doesn't stop you from leaving, you realize he will always give you space if you ask for it. he will never chase you through the airport or follow around, because that's not what he is like.

but he did drive from Daegu in thirty minutes.

before you turn around to get into the taxi, you catch him staring from across the lawn. he waves his hand goodbye.

sweet, beautiful, kind, funny boys. they have no idea that U N7 stands for "you and seven".

you have no idea how much they really love you. that they all stayed up almost all night when they heard about the attack. that every autumn, they are waiting for the pear confiture. that they speak about you casually, like you're a limb. that Jungkook isn't the only one who writes a song about you; that they placed you in their minds in the family category. that there are other songs about you; born out of their observations of you, equipped with advice and consoling word and confessions. wandering thoughts, easy, friendly and loving lyrics. someone will be consoled by looking at your thorns for sure. it's really stupid of you to not know, to have no idea that Yoongi has written a whole album about you. they are musicians after all.

taglist: @ktownshizzle , @benyhime , @ryryvna , @amarawayne , @mar-lo-pap , @lili-spots , @kiki-zb

#bts x reader #yoongi imagine #yoongi x reader

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exhaslo · 1 year ago

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Corruption Ch3

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2

Warning: Minors DNI, smut, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship?

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Four months, twenty days until D-Day

Finally, it took you ten full days to understand your abilities and make your suit. It did feel somewhat shameful by how much of a struggle it was to get everything ready. You had to rely on a close friend to make your suit and beg them to not say anything.

You were finally going to start your life as a super hero. Your secret identity had to be top secret. Mainly, because you were afraid of how Miguel would react if he saw you. You loved the man, but you were terrified of his villainous nature.

"Alright, suit is kind of tight, but it will have to work." You whispered, staring at yourself in the mirror.

The suit was tight against your skin, showing off each of your curves, breasts and ass. It almost felt sexual, but what heroes in the past wore baggy suits? Unsure if you wanted to do that research, you knew that you needed something that won't get your snagged on a flag or something.

Patting down your skirt, you glanced at the zipper you had custom made in case for an emergency bathroom visit. Honestly, it made you chuckle since you thought of such a thing. Miguel would probably laugh at you if he ever found out.

"Alright, now for the scary part." You inhaled deeply.

Opening your window, you took deep breathes. You were terrified, but without this leap of faith, how were you ever going to bring Alchemax to justice? How were you going to show Miguel the light in his heart?

"I can do this." You whispered before shooting your web and swinging into the city.

----------

Miguel hissed lowly as he sat in his apartment. There were a million things going through his head. One of them being how to perfect his spider genetic splicing DNA. He wanted to create the ultimate human. The superior human race.

Unable to think in the comfort of his own home, Miguel decided to take a walk around the city. He did need to buy a few things anyway. As he left his penthouse, Miguel grumbled lowly as he avoided the people around him.

How disgusting. All of these regular humans trying to smile and cozy up to Miguel. None of them had what it takes to be at his level. Unless they were willing to place themselves on his metal table for experimentation.

"Miguel, you won't believe this." Lyla appeared on his watch. Miguel lazily glanced towards his AI,

"Won't know until you say it."

"There are reports of a Spider-woman swinging across the city. People are in shock and whispering that the age of heroes might be making a comeback." She explained. Miguel scoffed,

"I'll believe it when I see it. Don't bother me with such nonsense."

Age of heroes his ass. Miguel knew better than to believe that such a time would revive. As he made his way into his local well-off supermarket, Miguel couldn't help but wonder why such reports would come to be.

A spider-women none the less. Miguel hadn't experimented on any women yet and everyone he did had perished. As he grabbed a cart, Miguel hissed to his ignorant thoughts. He shouldn't allow his genius brain subcome to such foolishness.

"Ah!!!" Someone screamed.

With a heavy roll of his eyes, Miguel glanced behind him. His eyes twitched as he saw a fire break out. Just his luck. Making his way to the checkout, Miguel ignored the people's screams, continuing his purchase.

"Sir! You need to leave! It's dangerous!" One of the workers yelled. Miguel just ignored them,

"Dangerous?" Miguel resisted a chuckle as he finished his purchase.

Right as he left, there was an explosion. His eyes widen as he felt the wind push him down. Surprised, Miguel let out a soft groan as he slowly got up. As he did, Miguel felt another wave push him back down.

"I got you!" A woman yelled out.

Furrowing his brows, Miguel saw someone approach him. He grunted, feeling himself being lifted up. Which was quite a surprise since Miguel was a tall and heavy man. Glancing towards the brave fool who came to his rescue, Miguel's eyes widen in shook.

"Spider-woman?!" He nearly gasped in shock. You smiled softly towards him,

"The one and only!" You chirped.

Miguel felt nearly flabbergasted as he observed you. The one thing he had been trying to recreate was right in front of him. There was a surge of emotions coursing through his body.

"Are you alright?" You asked, patting Miguel off as you escaped the building with him.

"Allow me to have a blood sample," Was the first thing Miguel said. You flinched, taking a step back,

"Haha, that's a....uh, unusual request, but I'll have to decline." You said, trying to hide your nerves. Miguel grabbed your shoulders,

"You don't understand. I've been trying to create someone like you for years. Please, I need to know how-"

"Perhaps if we bump into each other at another time, I can give you an answer, but I really must go. Take care of yourself and don't get hurt, okay?"

Miguel reached out to you once more as you swung away. The look in his eyes were one of desperation and frustration. How were you here? How did he not notice such a fine, perfect specimen in his city? This whole place belonged to him....

Including you.

Grabbing his items, Miguel hurried back to his penthouse. He needed to research on you. Miguel needed to find out more about you. Miguel needed you in his lab!

----------

Finding a good building to land on, you let out a small squeal. You had been swinging around doing little things here and there and finally, finally, you managed to do something heroic. Best of all, you had saved Miguel.

Trying to cover the blush on your cheeks, you recalled the warmth of his body pressed against yours. The look on his face was something else too. You've never seen him so shock, so amazed. If only he looked at you like that and not Spider-Woman.

"Mhm, but he just had to ask for a blood sample. I almost gave in too! I have to be careful!" You whined.

Sitting at the edge of the building, you glanced down at the messy, beautiful city below. You were going to have to get better at Super Hero stuff if you wanted to make any real change.

That, and you would have to control your emotions better if you ever wanted to change and heal Miguel. He was far too talented and smart to fall down the same fate as his father.

"I will save him."

----------

Miguel was on a man hunt. He had gotten Lyla to pull up anything on this new Spider-Woman, despite there not being much. He had to know who you were and where you came from.

Unable to retrieve much, Miguel decided to do things the hard way. He pulled up every single file on women who lived within or near the city. Miguel was determined to know who you were. Even if he had to do things the long and hard way.

"Let's see. Judging by her body, she is defiantly within the age ground of twenties to thirties. Let's start removing everyone else."

"Yes, sir." Lyla replied, shorting the age gap.

Miguel grunted since the list was still quite large. At least, whoever you were, you didn't cover your hair. Just a cute little mask that covered the top half of your face. Narrowing the list shorter, Miguel just inhaled since it was still a hefty list.

"Is speed dating out of the question?" Lyla asked with a grin. Miguel let out a rare laugh,

"Highly."

Wondering how to approach this, Miguel started to pace around his living room. He needed you. He wanted you. You were the key to creating the ultimate human race. If Miguel couldn't find you naturally, then he would have to make you come to him.

"I will make her mine."

----------

It was going to be another rough day at work. You had entered Alchemax with two large coffees in hand. Clocking in, you let out a heavy sigh as you made your way to Miguel's office. He had been blowing up your phone all morning.

"Miguel, could you maybe now tell me what's going on?" You asked softly as you opened his door.

"(Y/N), finally! We have a BIG day ahead of us!"

"We do?" You questioned as Miguel approached you, taking his coffee out of your hand, "Ah-Are we doing the seahorses?" You asked innocently.

"Ha!" Miguel chuckled darkly as he patted your head, "What am I to do without your blissful innocence."

"Awe, are we going back to spiders?"

"Always." Miguel hummed as he drank his coffee, "Have you heard about the new Spider-Woman in town?"

You felt a nervous sweat run down your back.

"I-I have! Was that...not your doing?" You asked, knowing that it sort of was, but Miguel didn't need to know that.

"No, and that's what infuriates me." He spat, placing his drink down, "I need to know how she came to be. I will not be stopping my spider experiments anytime soon. Not until she submits herself to me, or I recreate her very existence."

"Miguel...You can't have someone submit themselves to you like a trophy. You'd have to understand them...and honestly, if she really is a hero...I don't think...she will like...what you're...doing...here." Your voice kept getting lower and lower as Miguel slowly approached you.

"(Y/N), do you think what I'm doing here is wrong? Trying to advance us measly humans into something greater?" Miguel asked, twisting his views into yours. You bit your lower lip, holding your tablet close to your chest,

"N-No...I-I think the idea...is right..."

"Oh, (Y/N), try not to think too much, okay?" Miguel hummed as he casually stroked your cheek, "Remember, our work here will be one for the history books."

You tried your best to calm your racing heart as you leaned into Miguel's touch. How could such cruel words come out through his sexy mouth. His low tone just made your brain fuzzy. And his touch? Oh, you were feeling that down to your panties.

"Okay," You whispered, giving into his demands, "What will we start with today?"

It was going to be a long road, but if you couldn't change Miguel as you, perhaps you had to change him as Spider-Woman. Maybe, just maybe, Miguel will listen to you with the mask on. It was a slim chance, but you wanted to save him so bad.

"While I start collecting more spiders, I want you to find me more willing test subjects."

"B-But Miguel, y-you know...how I feel about going to the prisons." You whimpered, tugging against his sleeve. Miguel just chuckled, lifting your chin and leaned towards you,

"You can do it." He hummed and saw the tears about to spill from yours eyes, "I'll have Lyla accompany you. Does that help?"

"I guess," You whimpered once more. Miguel let out a heavy sigh as he had Lyla downloaded to your watch.

"Off you go. I want you to be back to file down each of my spiders."

"Yes, sir."

Shaking as you hurried out of Miguel's office, you tried to calm down. Miguel was being extra touchy today...and cruel. The only good thing about you leaving was that you could finally see the prisoners in a new light. As a hero, you needed to learn what villains think like...aside from Miguel.

"Are you ready to go, (Y/N)?" Lyla asked, appearing before you. You just smiled towards the AI,

"Yep! Let's go!"

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Next Chapter

@tojishugetiddies @miguelsfavwife @foulsharkheart @club-danger-zone @ivkygirly @jollystrawberrycycle @amber-content @weirdothatwritess @smartyren @mangoslushcrush @nyxzoldyck6 @migueloharastruelove @chaoticlovingdreamer @sukioyakio @killjoy-nightshadow @heyohalie @the-pan-liquid @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @kpopscoups17130000 @pochapo @killerwendigo @barbiecrocs

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel x reader

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aphidclan-clangen · 4 months ago

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Ok, new plan

So the reason why my activity has been dipping in and out for months lately is because social media is a huge drain on my mental health. It exhausts me emotionally and does a number on my motivation. So I’m gonna switch up how I upload my pages to the internet to minimize my interaction with it. I love you guys and my fan base very much, but I was so not built for social media lmao, I don’t even know if the human brain was built to be able to interact with so many people at a time

I think I’m going to try a weekly upload schedule for a while. Can’t promise I’ll be terribly consistent with it, and I’ll likely take breaks every now and then to build up a backlog, but I’ll give it a shot. Normally I don’t have an upload schedule, and I just upload the pages immediately after they’re made so I get a huge boost of instant feedback and interaction with my work for me to take in, but a queued weekly upload would work differently. I’ll probably be asleep when it goes up. I’ll need to make a huge page backlog first, so this wouldn’t be implemented for a while. My other webcomics, Shelter and Stitched Together, will likely do the same.

I’ll also probably be turning off replies and asks for a long time, unless the mood strikes me to open up the ask box every now and then for some character interaction or lore drops, and then I’ll close it up again when I’m done. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, I know first-hand how super fun and amazing the character asks can be, but I gotta put my mental health first

Hopefully that helps things feel a bit less heavy and overwhelming for me, which would then give me more motivation to draw and help me reconnect with truly enjoying drawing AphidClan again. It’s been a struggle to find my spark in it lately, and most of that struggle stems from how stressful and overwhelming it can be to post my art to a crowd. You guys are so sweet, and I appreciate every comment and ask I get, and I’ll never forget that! But the current method isn’t working out too well for me right now, so I’m gonna switch things up till it does. Oh and the turning off comments thing also applies to ComicFury, not just tumblr

Thank you! I’ll see you guys when the backlogs ready to start rolling out!

#webcomics are so fun to make and even more fun to start #but no one tells you how taxing or challenging it can get to run a webcomic long-term #oh well #we learn and grow

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g1rld1ary · 1 year ago

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a little manpower - neighbour!james potter x reader

wc: 1141 cw: none? reader moving into an apartment and meets james me: i wish it was summer here so bad I'm struggling!!! what are 1 degree mornings!!!!

Why did nobody tell you it was so bloody hard to move out? Like, everyone talks about the money and the forms and all the confusing adult things, but why did no one tell you about the actual pain in the arse it would be to have to physically move everything you own into a flat three floors up? You didn't consider yourself the fittest person ever, not by a long shot, but you worked out and you didn't think you were weak. Yet there you were, panting like a dog after carrying another box up to your new home.

And of course, it was just your luck that you'd planned your big move-out during what may be Britain's only hot day in the whole year (only slight exaggeration). Still, you felt bad complaining. Your parents had helped you in the morning, moving in some of the IKEA furniture you'd picked out and had a good go of assembling some of it too, so you did have a bed to sleep on. Plus, a college friend had stopped by for an hour or two to keep you company and lifted some boxes with you.

So you didn't have much of a reason to complain, except that you didn't want to be doing it anymore. You were tired of walking up the bloody stairs and your arms were aching from the over-filled boxes. Plus, you had one armchair you'd found at a vintage store that had been sitting near the entryway all day, waiting for you to develop the motivation to drag it upstairs.

When your full-length mirror (deceptively heavy) had you almost in tears you decided enough was enough and it was time for a break. Not brave enough to sit in the woefully unpacked flat you trudged down the stairs one more time, crumpling on the grass nature strip until you were lying on your back.

Everything seemed a bit calmer like that, grass surprisingly cool on the back of your arms and legs. Your muscles relaxed for the first time in hours and you thought if you were in a cartoon you'd probably start fusing into the earth. The only thing that would make the moment nicer would be the peace of mind of knowing your belongings were all safely away in your new flat. And maybe an ice cream.

"Alright, love?" A male voice came from just beyond your head. You tilted it back to crack one eye open. A man was standing a few metres away, more shadow than human because of the positioning of the sun.

"It's hot," You said, "And I'm tired. And my limbs don't work anymore." You knew you probably sounded a bit like a child, but who were you trying to impress? The man laughed and it didn't quite match his silhouette; carefree and juvenile juxtaposing the muscles he clearly had.

"Understandable." You could kind of see him running a hand through his hair, "You must be the new tenant, right? I heard you were moving in soon. We heard you drop something heavy before... and cry a little." Sensing the conversation probably wasn't going to end with that, you sat up and turned to face him, still squinting from the sun.

"You heard a girl cry and didn't do anything about it? What a gentleman."

"I came out here, didn't I?"

"And you're not on the way out somewhere?"

"Touché." He had the decency to appear a little sheepish, at least from what you could see of him. He held his hand out for you, pulling you to your feet effortlessly. It was easier to see him now, the sun not being at such an uncooperative angle, and you tried not to look so surprised. The man was gorgeous, tall and muscular with dark curls, but his face was so friendly you couldn't help but smile. He was physically intimidating, but in the way that you knew he wasn't trying to specifically gain muscle, it was something he'd gotten through activity, like a sport or trade.

You stood for a minute, face to face but both silent. You wracked your brain for something to say.

"I'm sorry about the big old armchair blocking the entry hall, I can't lift it on my own and I just need a little extra manpower but I couldn't get any friends over to help today. I promise it'll be gone by tomorrow," You said, glad for both something to say and to get the guilty feeling off your chest. The man's face broke out into a wide smile.

"It's no worries," He assured you, "The people here hardly ever leave their apartment, I doubt they'll even notice. Don't you worry about it." Something about the way he spoke calmed your nerves, both about the chair and moving into the building as a whole. It was your first time properly living on your own, and you wanted to find somewhere quiet but welcoming. If this neighbour was anything to go by, you'd made a good choice. You smiled in return, weight lifted off your shoulders.

"Right, thanks. I guess I'll see you around..."

"James," He finished, shaking your hand firmly in a way that you didn't expect. You introduced yourself in return and you both hesitated, unsure of how exactly to end the conversation.

"Right, well, I've got training," James said awkwardly, gesturing to the kit bag around his shoulder. You nodded, starting to step back towards the door to the building.

"Have fun with that," You said, giving him a small wave. You waited until you were safely inside before cringing at your attempts at conversation, sending a bitter glare to the armchair as you passed it.

You didn't leave the apartment until the next morning, opting to peck at whatever you had in the pantry for dinner before passing out on a half-made bed. But you had to pick yourself up and decided you did need to grocery shop and actually fill up the pantry you'd just acquired, so you laced up your Converse and picked the keys up from the temporary table next to the door.

And there, waiting outside your door, was the old green armchair, waiting for you as if it had been there all along. You smiled, rubbing a hand along the velvet slowly. There was only one answer as to who it could have been, and James was clearly honouring whatever higher being gave him all that muscle by using it for good. You decided you'd have to make him cookies to thank him and set off for the shop.

#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀#love #fluff #james potter #james potter x y/n #the marauders #marauders #marauders era #hp marauders #dead gay wizards #james potter fluff #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #harry potter #neighbour!james #neighbour!james potter #neighbour james potter

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robin-the-enby · 10 months ago

Note

Hello!! Could I request some sweeney todd x reader heavy fluff please? thanks!

Marked by an angel

Pairing: Sweeney Todd x gn!reader

Smmary: A chance meeting of two strange people on Fleet street. What started just as part of your job lead you to finding a new friend and perhaps...a lover.

Warnings: hints of murder (it's Sweeney, c'mon), unfair boss/employee dynamic, description of getting robbed and bruises (1 blackeye)

A/N: After what felt like an eternity, I am back! I am so glad I finished this. I was dealing with mental issues, financial struggles, work and uni so I had no time and time or energy to do anything. But I am very happy to post this! Maybe it's not as fluffy as you wanted and for that I am sorry, but I feel like it is as true to the character as possible :) I'll gladly hear your feedback on this piece and all likes, but especially reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! Also, if you'd like to hear some bonus stuff about this oneshot, feel free to shoot me a message!

There are many men in the world. And yet you can't say you've ever met anyone the likes of Mr. Todd.

The quiet barber from Fleet street. With his pale complexion, white streaked hair and dark eyes that held the depths of the ocean that surrounds Britain. He had captured your attention the very first time you made an appointment with him for your boss. The recommendations for his shop floated around your part of town and all the gentlemen could not seem to praise his skills enough.

Your boss had ordered you to find him a new barber, since his old one was ripping him off on money. Not that you blamed the poor bloke, times were tough, prices high and it wasn't like your boss couldn't spare a few pounds, especially since he liked to have his hair and beard trimmed once a month. Luckily, you managed to talk him out of getting the authorities involved, knowing that if the man was to be jailed, it would take a massive toll on his family.

Your job as an errand person, a sort of secretary, was simple enough in theory. You followed your boss around, a businessman dealing in produce from a few farms that he owned in the countryside. All you had to do was carry a notepad and a pencil with you to scribble down tasks that had to be managed and appointments that had to be made or dealt with. But in reality your legs were probably stronger than most people's, with how many steps you walked every day. Even though it wasn't in your job description, you did everything your boss didn't want to, went everywhere he wasn't exactly needed. You swore that the lazy bastard would have you walking to the latrine instead of him, if it were possible.

That was one of the reasons you liked the visits to the barber's, because you got to just sit on a chair by the window for an hour at least, quietly listening to the conversation made between your boss and the man grooming him, only occasionally having to scribble down one thing or another. But ever since your boss started to frequent Mr. Todd's shop, the rest wasn't the only reason accompanying your boss there was enjoyable or you.

Mr. Todd was an enigma. Mostly silent during work and outside of it, you learnt to appreciate the sound of his voice and to study his body language, little quirks that gave off pieces of his personality. The way his eyes flitted around, scanning the face of his customer for any imperfections that needed to be dealt with. His hands were steady, working seemingly without relying on his eyes or even brain, with a level of discipline you haven't seen before in your life. And from time to time, his eyes would flick up to meet yours, for a fraction of a second, before falling back down to your boss, lounging on Mr. Todd's intricate chair. You wondered why it had to be so intricate, compared to other barbers you've seen in your career, but you didn't question it, just as you never questioned the way the man's eyes would inevitably get stuck on your boss' neck every once in a while for some reason that had yet to reveal itself to you.

Maybe it was morbid curiosity or some other strange pull that made you want to find out just what was the cause of the deep emotion swirling behind Sweeney's eyes. The kind of pull that made sure the mysterious barber did not leave your mind for longer than a few hours. So you started to come around to the meat pie shop right under Mr. Todd's. The shop owner, Mrs. Lovett, was a sweet and terribly lonely woman, whose meat pies were, also, quickly gaining popularity around its part of town, and it didn't take long for her to take a shine to you as soon as she recognised you as one of her regulars.

While making a new friend wasn't your primary goal when you started hanging around the pie shop, you didn't mind how Mrs. Lovett warmed up to you. She was a sweet and funny woman, in her own way, and you soon recognised she was also dealing with romantic feelings towards Mr. Todd, as she confided in you one day. These feelings were unreciprocated, as far as you knew, although Sweeney visited the shop every night, coming down to fetch his dinner, for free of course. He usually came around after closing his own shop, sometimes even later, when even Mrs. Lovett closed down for the night. He would walk past you two sharing a glass of wine and exchanged a quiet and smooth, although cold 'good evening', before taking a pie and disappearing upstairs again.

But the longer you kept visiting Mrs. Lovett, the more Sweeney started to notice you. Once in a blue moon he would share a glass of wine with you both as you would more or less listen to Minnie ramble about this and that. After some time, one night, when Sweeney was upstairs and you were spending an evening at the pie shop, Mrs. Lovett told you cheekily that Mr. Todd asked about you, how you and her met and why you were around so much. Despite her mischievous smile you felt as if he was wary of your presence here, which puzzled you, but it did not deter you from wanting to get to know the man more.

In the end, it was him who made the first move, and you didn't even realise until much later. One time, when you were accompanying your boss for his monthly trim, Sweeney suggested that he should come around more often, at least every two weeks, because it would do wonders for his hair and beard health. It was evident your boss had no idea whether that was true or not, so he looked at you for confirmation. You shared a look with the barber, through which you tried to communicate to him that if he was planning to swindle your boss, it would be on your head, but something in those dark eyes of his made you trust him, so you confirmed to your boss that yes, coming to the barber more often would not only be beneficial to his hair, but it would also be good for appearances.

From that point on you got closer with the barber much faster than you could even register. One night, as you were sitting at the table in the pie shop across Minnie, nursing your second glass of wine and venting out frustration from your job, Sweeney came down to get his dinner. Before he left though, he stopped in the door to the kitchen, where the pies were made, and stared at you for a while, gaze calculating, but not as cold as you were used to. With the alcohol flowing through your veins you called him out on it, to which he simply replied "Your hair. It would do good with a trimming." before turning around on his heel and walking out. Mrs. Lovett cursed his lack of etiquette and assured you that you looked fine, although getting a trim wouldn't be a bad idea. She knew that given what your job was, you didn't have much time left to treat yourself.

The next time you accompanied your boss to his barber appointment yet again, Sweeney brought up the subject as your boss left you to pay. "Have you thought about my offer?" You blinked up at him, not knowing for a second what he meant, before his eyes shifted to your hair and you understood what he was implying. Feeling the heat rising to your cheeks, you tried to keep your cool as you asked, just to be sure "You meant that you would trim my hair?" You didn't want your voice to come out as unsure and surprised as it did, but if Sweeney noticed it, and something told you he did, the barber didn't mention it or let it show. He only smirked the slightest bit, making you wonder later if you didn't just imagine it, and replied "Well, at this point I would be offended if the first person you tasked with such a job wasn't me. Or do you deem my skills inadequate?" he raised his brow as he jokingly asked, knowing well what your answer would be. Feeling as hot as a boiled potato, you quickly settled the date of your appointment before you were out the door, so that your boss wouldn't scold you for dilly dallying.

When the day of your appointment came, you felt strangely nervous, your legs slightly shaking as you walked up the stairs to Sweeney's dark shop. For some reason, you couldn't shake the feeling of cattle being herded to a butcher. You chalked it up to your crush making you nervous, but that feeling only intensified when Sweeney positioned the barber chair you had sat on, so that you were half laying down. And yet when he tended to your locks, his touch was soft, quick and precise, never wandering where it didn't need to and leaving as soon as he was done in one area, moving swiftly to another. What came as a surprise to you was that he made small talk with you the entire time you were in that chair. Maybe it was because he sensed your nerves, but maybe not, you really couldn't tell. He asked you where you came from, why were you in London of all places, he even asked about your job and your family. The last topic he brushed upon quickly, which made you suspect it was a tough subject for him, an information you filed away safely in your brain to mull over later.

The last thing he told you when you were done and admiring yourself in the mirror he provided was to not tell Mrs. Lovett who cut your hair. You nodded softly and made your way home, feeling like a brand new person. Although the next time you set foot in the pie shop, Minnie's first question was "Did Mr. Todd cut your hair? It looks wonderful, darling!" You didn't confirm nor deny her rhetoric question, only smiling a bit bashfully before Mrs. Lovett insisted on opening 'the good wine' for the occasion. You didn't mention the fact that he refused to take payment for the service...

And as if that wasn't enough embarrassment in the short amount of time, this night at Minnie's pie shop turned out to have gone on much longer than any other one. Mrs. Lovett insisted you stay a bit longer any time you brought up going home for the night. Her reasoning being that since you finally did something for yourself after what must've been quite a long time in her opinion, you deserved to treat yourself some more, because when would an opportunity like this arise again?

And so you stayed seated in the dimly lit pie shop that smelled of baked meat, the likes of which you have never smelled before, and a mixture of herbs that reminded you of a memory long buried in your mind.

The conversation flowed freely and as the alcohol made its rounds through your bloodstream, your tongue became looser, as well as did Minnie's. She told you how her attempts at wooing Mr. Todd were progressing, or rather, were stagnating, with the man ignoring any and every romantic gesture or hint made towards him by his friend. That brought you to joining her in her admiring words for the handsome barber, leading to many laughs and jokes. Maybe it was because of her tipsy state, but you were surprised Mrs. Lovett took your admission of your crush on her upstairs neighbour better than you expected.

Your conversation then moved elsewhere and you were both so engrossed in it that neither of you heard the quiet footsteps leading to the shop. Sweeney's brows rose a little as he opened the door to a peculiar sight. The two people he had allowed closer to himself than anyone else since his return to London were sitting huddled at a table, which wouldn't have been that unusual, if it wasn't for the nearly empty bottle of old and undoubtedly strong wine. Both of your glasses were somewhat filled, the precious liquid spilled here and there in small amounts on the table. If Sweeney wasn't such a gentleman, despite his cold and often ruthless heart, he would say you were drunk. And not just a little bit.

Announcing his presence with a gruff cough, both your and Mrs. Lovett's heads snapped around to face him and he fought the small smirk that grew on his face at the sight. "Mr. Todd! We haven't even noticed you were here!" Minnie quickly addressed him with her signature friendliness. You stayed silent, instead opting to just admire the way Mr. Todd looked in the dim lighting in the shop. You felt you were seeing him completely differently than the other nights you spent there. His eyes reflected the light, making them look even more mysterious and alluring than usual and his normally pale face seemed more livelier. You would have spoken up, offered him some wine, but suddenly, being brought out so suddenly from your conversation with Minnie, your tongue felt big in your mouth, the weight of lead and you just did not have the energy to move it. Or open your mouth for that matter. Somewhere in the back of your mind crossed a thought that maybe you have had a bit too much to drink.

"It is quite late, I am surprised to catch you awake." Mr. Todd pointed out in a neutral tone, despite the playful mirth he was feeling. "Oh but the same could be said about you, Mr. Todd." Mrs. Lovett retaliated cheekily "Besides, we have a good reason to drink into the night! It is my friend's birthday, after all." she announced with an air of pride. You blinked at her a few times, not knowing where she had gotten that information from, because you were pretty sure today was not your birthday at all. Perhaps Minnie has forgotten the reason you were celebrating altogether and her drunken mind just made up a reason on the spot. As you were pondering when actually was your birthday, Mr. Todd spoke up again "Is that so? Well in that case-" and in a few strides he was at yours and Mrs. Lovett's table. He grabbed her half full glass of wine and before you could start wondering if it wasn't half empty, he raised it, grabbing your hand. "Happy birthday." he smiled slightly while you stood up, because you were being congratulated and you didn't want to appear rude, even though there wasn't actually a reason to congratulate you. Mr. Todd downed his, previously Minnie's, glass in one gulp before setting it down again.

Turning to Mrs. Lovett, he addressed her "I need to discuss something with you." he then turned his attention towards you "But it seems there is a more pressing matter at hand." he smirked as he gave you a once over. You felt your cheeks flush, knowing he was right. Standing up was the last straw before your alcohol fueled downfall. You were barely standing, your body swaying side to side slightly to keep itself balanced. Mrs. Lovett studied you for a while as well, before standing, with only a slightly lesser difficulty than you. "Oh I'm so sorry, dear, it seems that I have gone overboard with the drinks." she apologised and you couldn't help but smile softly at her sad tone. "'S alright, Minnie. 'M not mad." you shook your head with a small smile "I best be off though..." mumbling to yourself, you bid your friend a goodnight, not really paying attention to Sweeney, assuming he was waiting for you to leave so that he could discuss whatever it was with his neighbour.

Stumbling away from the table, you were surprised when a hand gripped your upper arm, supporting your weight and grounding your otherwise spinning world. Tracing the arm the hand was attached to with your eyes, you found Sweeney's already looking at your face. You said nothing, in the case that he only supported you in your struggle to weave through the tables in the shop, but as he continued to lead you out of the old building, Mrs. Lovett having gone in the back already, you were confused by this act of chivalry. Not that you took Mr. Todd for a brute, you just didn't expect such a gesture aimed at...yourself. The fact that this was also the first time he has touched you in any way while not necessarily needing so, unlike when he gave you your haircut, did not help your inebriated mind from running wild with conspiracies.

The crisp night air helped clear your head a little bit and you gulped it greedily with deep breaths when you walked out, arm in hand, with the barber. He stood, patiently, right next to you, his secure, but not tight grip on your arm never faltering. If he noticed how you took your sweet time collecting yourself, he didn't mention it, his eyes instead trained on the silver moon hanging in the sky like a lamp, blurred slightly by the infamous London fog. When he sensed you move more into the street, however, he tugged you back towards him slightly, as if he could not let you stray far.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his tone devoid of emotion and yet his eyes shone in a particular way that you couldn't exactly put a finger on in your state. The smirk that once rested on his handsome face was gone and you were perhaps more confused than before. "Home?" you half answered, half asked, unsure of what was the problem. Mr. Todd shook his head sternly "I cannot send you home alone at this time of day and retain a sound mind." he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You couldn't help but laugh at his statement. Where were you supposed to sleep then? Inside the shop? Sliding your arm out of his grip, you grabbed your stomach, your laughter gaining in volume, making you double over. "Oh, you're funny, Mr. Todd!" you wheezed, not caring the man you were addressing was looking at your drunken self with a completely neutral expression, not understanding in the slightest what was so funny "I have to go home! Where else would you have me spend the night?" you asked when you caught your breath, your laughter simmering down into tired giggles. Drunk laughing was hard, but really fun at the same time, you thought.

Sweeney reached out to take your arm again, turning you around to face the stairs like a puppet and started leading you to his home. "You can spend the night upstairs. If I sent you home, alone, you're sure to get robbed...or worse." his voice was cold and harsh and yet you had the sense this sudden change of tone was not due to anything you said. Not taking any chances, just in case, you kept your mouth shut and let him lead you up the stairs while you could feel your face heat up. It felt awfully wrong to just...invade his space like that. If there's one thing you learned about Sweeney, and let's be honest, there weren't many to choose from, it was that he was a very private person. At the same time, he invited you here. If he didn't want you in his space, he could've just let you stay downstairs with Minnie, she would take good enough care of you without a doubt. But what did all this mean?

You said nothing else as you let the barber move you along, much like a puppet, while trying to focus on every confusing thought and feeling that ran through your head. But your energy was quickly dwindling and you couldn't help but to succumb to sleep as soon as our head hit the pillow.

Regaining consciousness again was...unpleasant, to say the least. The first thing you registered was rain. Not very unusual for London though. The next thing was a piercing headache, that threatened to split your skull in two. Groaning, you flipped over in bed. That's when you noticed the smell. This didn't smell like your sheets... Slowly, but surely, the events of the previous night came back to you, even the less than appropriate ending of it. Blinking open your eyes, you let yourself get adjusted to the lighting of the room, before taking a look around. You were, in fact, in Mr. Todd's small abode and you were very probably in his bed too. You could feel heat creeping up your neck as you registered the all too familiar objects of the barber shop, now from a brand new perspective. There was the barber chair, as ominous as ever, the normal chair to the side, where you usually sat, now occupied by the master of the house.

Polishing and sharpening his blades, Sweeney sat by the window, seemingly uninterested and unbothered by basically a stranger waking up in his bed. His unwavering focus was only on his blades, a focus so intense it would send shivers down your spine, if you weren't so engrossed in your own embarrassment. Only when you began to sit up, your arms threatening to give out underneath you, did the barber tear his gaze away from his tools. You tried to get up to your feet as quickly as you could, manners all but forgotten, your only desire was to get out and never return to Mr. Todd's barber shop or Mrs. Lovett's meat pie establishment ever again. But your knees were wobbly and you felt in your body like a newborn fawn, so your quick escape proved to be harder than you thought.

Sweeney looked at you inquisitively and it seemed like he wanted to say something, but you beat him to it, the thought of anything he could and probably would have said making bile rise in your throat. Fighting the nausea, you pushed yourself off the bed and lightly stumbled before standing in front of the barber. "I am so sorry for what transpired yesterday, Mr. Todd." you apologised first and foremost after clearing your throat "You should not have had to witness any of that." looking awkwardly to the side, you continued "However I am very grateful for everything you have done for me yesterday." And with those last words, you bee lined it for the door, only briefly noticing the 'closed' sign on the door that should have been turned around probably hours ago. It wasn't until you were in the middle of the journey home that you realised you didn't even know what time it was, nor did you at least have the decency to make up the bed after you have slept in it. Which brought forth a question...Where did Mr. Todd sleep? There didn't seem to be another sleeping area nor any kind of furniture suitable for such activity in his living/working quarters. You weren't sure what made you blush more, the possibility that you shared a bed or the possibility that he stayed awake somewhere in the same space as you were the whole night. Both seemed strangely...intimate.

For the next few weeks, you avoided Fleet street like the plague. Luckily for you, your boss wasn't in need of a trim anytime soon, even though you did convince him to visit the barber's more than he did previously. But whenever you thought about the mysterious gentleman residing above the pie shop, hot embarrassment flowed through your body like lightning. And so you didn't remind your boss to upkeep his appearance and as usual, the big oaf wouldn't think of such thing himself. He had money, so what if he looked a bit disheveled? Everybody was saving up on everything they could, the rich and poor alike.

Mrs. Lovett was especially vocal about your absence. She worried that she really did offend you or did you wrong somehow during that a bit too wild night. Whenever Sweeney would appear in the shop to fetch his meal, she would bombard him with questions, if he had any news of you, your whereabouts, your wellbeing, or whether your boss' appointment was coming up anytime soon. She regretted now never asking for your address, with how much she'd come to like you in the time you've spent together. You brought a normalcy to her life that she's dreamed of oh so much.

And while Sweeney wasn't pretty much vocal at all towards your sudden absence, when he closed down for the day and looked out of his window, overlooking the grey London sky and dark and gloomy rooftops, he wondered where you could possibly be. What were you doing? Were you alright?

You had came into the vengeful barber's life unexpectedly and while at first Minnie's obsession with you irritated him, making his goals, his work, that much more dangerous, he couldn't help but notice your good nature. Not only towards his neighbour, even though with how strange the woman could be it was surprising in itself, but towards him, even towards your boss. It wasn't that you were naive, no, he could see in your eyes that you knew exactly how cruel and unjust this world was, and yet you still chose to be kind. Despite all the hardships he knew you were dealt by destiny, no, by other people, the biggest monsters on this earth, you still remained with your heart open to others. And he admired that. Your presence on Fleet street was like a beacon of clean light in the constant grey fog, when he sometimes glanced at the street below him and you happened to be there, he always recognized you, as if you shone more brightly than others.

The lonely man spent many a night pondering on what was it that made you occupy his mind so much, what made you so special. He still loved his wife, and his daughter, wherever she may be, that much he knew. But sometimes...sometimes when he looked at you, your face, as you were laughing with Mrs. Lovett about this or that, he could see her smile. And it was so reassuring, as if Lucy herself was sending her mark upon you, signaling to him that you were someone he needed to protect. And when he came to terms with this revelation, he swore to himself that that was exactly what he was going to do.

So of course it was no problem for him to let you spend a night in his bed. He found your drunken antics and your embarrassment the next morning quite endearing. If you would've paid more attention to him and your surroundings that morning, you would've noticed the small smirk on his face as he watched you clumsily apologize, even though he saw no reason for it. And you would've noticed the two cups of coffee, along with some painkillers standing prepared on the table near the bed. But Sweeney didn't think his actions would've driven you away from him and Mrs. Lovett like that. He knew there was nothing that he could do except wait for you to come back, although he didn't like the idea of something happening to you without him knowing it, being able to prevent it. And he didn't even want to think about the scenario that you would never be back. He saw the way you looked at him, studied him, the confusion in your eyes from the way he behaved so often and now he wanted nothing more than to tell you everything and sort things out. Even if he wasn't sure how exactly to do that. Benjamin was good with words, but Sweeney? Sweeney was all about action, because unlike Benjamin, Sweeney Todd knew just how little weight words could hold in the world.

It didn't take long for you to start missing Fleet street, with your two favourite residents, Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd. You contemplated when should you pay them a visit and how you would explain your avoidance of them, until after one night, when that became irrelevant.

It happened in the evening. You were let go from work for the day and while you were on your way home, thinking mostly about whether you had any leftovers from yesterday or if you had to cook dinner from scratch and not paying much attention to your surroundings, when you were jumped. Two men, none of which you knew, cornered you against a wall of a building along which you were walking, asking for some money. You, not wanting any more trouble than necessary, pulled out your pouch, where you kept all the change you needed, but it wasn't enough for whatever they were planning. With two figures towering at least a good head above from you, demanding you do what they say, you didn't dare look them directly in their faces, so you knew little of what they looked like. But they smelled awful and faintly of fish. When they asked to show them what more you had in your bag, yo asked them to leave you be, that you've already given them everything important you had on you. That proved to be a mistake, since one of them grabbed you roughly by the arms from behind, while the other ripped your bag from your hands and turned it upside down. You struggled to get away from the bastard's bruising grip and started calling out for help, which was another mistake. The guy that was going through your things, most of which were only daily necessities, such as your keys and whatnot, suddenly sprung up and hit you in the face, gruffly telling you to shut up, if you valued your life. It was at that point you noticed his voice was slightly slurred.

Luckily, an officer must've been patrolling nearby, or someone must've taken pity on you and called him over, it wasn't that late in the evening after all, because as soon as you heard the distinct sound of a bobby whistle, the first guy let you go while the second one hastily grabbed your notebook and both of them booked it down the street, weaving through the city's intricate alleyways. The officer quickly asked what happened and told you to stay put while he chased after them. But it wasn't even five minutes before he was back, informing you that he lost them and he asked you to accompany him to the police station to give a statement on what happened and they would see what could be done.

The next day, you showed up to work with a nasty looking black eye, without your notebook or a single penny. The police officers told you that with the limited description you provided they weren't sure how much could be done. After telling your boss what happened, he surprisingly took the matter quite seriously. Not only did you write down ever single appointment he needed to attend to in your notebook, but some quite serious and important information, codes to safes, finance tracking, different information having to do with sales and so on. He asked what police station you went to yesterday and said he would get in touch with the officers, since it wasn't impossible that the attack wasn't planned ahead and the notebook was exactly what someone was after. You didn't need or want to know anything more than that. Your boss also gave you two weeks off, to let your eye heal, commenting how it would seem weird if you accompanied him looking like that and he didn't need any more rumors being spread about him, like physically abusing his personnel. He gave you your money back, saying it was going from your next paycheck until the police got your original money back, plus some more to buy a new notebook. As incompetent as he could sometimes be, he was still a businessman, and even though his motivation for these choices was questionable, you were still glad he made them.

As soon as you were outside again, your legs immediately took you in the direction of Fleet street. Still quite shaken up after the incident, the thing you needed the most at that moment was a friend and something told you Minnie would not turn you down.

And you were not mistaken. As you took a step inside the pie shop, Mrs. Lovett's arms were around you, her worried and apologetic rambling reaching your ears as soon as they got used to the buzz of the busy establishment. As soon as the woman pulled away from you, her relieved expression turned to one of shock as she carefully cradled your cheek where the bruise was, asking "What in god's name happened?" Immediately she brought you to the back of the shop and fetched the cleanest rag, which was then promptly soaked in cold water, so that you could relieve some of the ache of the black eye. And she had you remain there until closing, spending her time between serving customers and preparing pies chatting with you. She informed you that she wasn't mad about your sudden disappearance, that she was just very worried and then she promptly asked you your address "In case you want to pull something on me like that again." she reasoned with a cheeky smile.

After Minnie closed down in the evening, you both could sit uninterrupted in the main area, with the businesswoman cleaning up here and there and re-wetting your rag. Anytime you tried to offer her help as a thank you, she would just sternly order you to sit back down and not even think about work, since you've been given 'a sick leave'. Just as she was done with cleaning and was about to head out to get rid of the dirty water, a person you were still dreading to meet walked into the room. You immediately knew who it was by the way Mrs. Lovett's eyes brightened, her face blooming into one of sweet happiness as she cooed out a greeting "Oh, Mr. Todd! Look who decided to join us today! Poor thing got mugged yesterday, can you believe it?" she shook her head, carrying her bucket out the door "So nice of you to join us, there are some pies hidden in the oven in the back for you!" she called behind her as the door clicked close after her.

There was nothing for you to do but turn around, your face heating up again, only praying Mr. Todd wouldn't pay attention to it. But to your slight surprise, he only stared intently at the black eye adorning your face, like a joke of a monocle the more posh men liked to wear when out and about. With a few quick strides, the barber was next to you, his hand under your chin, tipping your head upwards, so he could assess your wound better under the light. His face was contorted into a frown, but his eyes were nothing but gentle as he murmured "Who did this to you?" His voice was ice cold, but somehow you knew you didn't need to be scared. "I don't know." you whispered "The police are after them now." You both said nothing as you only continued to study each other.

When the sound of a door being opened could be heard, Sweeney gently let go of your chin and took a step back from you, but not quite leaving your side. Mrs. Lovett trotted happily back into the room, taking the seat across from you and looking up at her neighbour, she patted the chair beside hers. Not waiting for him to comply, which was good, because Sweeney did not move an inch from where he stood, she asked you, her expression concerned "Darling, do you think it'll be okay for you to walk home alone at this hour?"

Looking out of the window, you saw the street was getting dark. It would not take much more time for night to completely settle over the city. You felt so safe and comfortable, that you completely forgot about the passage of time. Surely there will be little to no people out at this hour. And those who will be outside roaming the streets are definitely not the kind of people you want to associate yourself with. And while you had no problem walking on the bring of darkness alone before, after yesterday's events, you couldn't help the cold shiver that ran down your back at the thought of the many alleyways you'd have to pass before getting home.

Seeing your hesitance, Mrs. Lovett placed her hand softly on yours "It's alright, love. You can stay here for the night! I'm sure there's plenty of room for one more person in the house." her smile was so reassuring, you couldn't help your own taking over your face. But you shook your head "As much as I appreciate your offer, I have to go home. The officers might need me for more questionings, it's best I don't stay out of the house too long." you explained with a small smile and got up from your chair. Surprisingly, it was Sweeney who spoke next "I'll walk you home. If you wouldn't mind, that is." he offered, his eyes flickering between your face and the table during the latter part. "Oh, Mr. Todd! Such a gentleman!" Minnie squealed adoringly, standing up as well "Trust me, love, with Mr. Todd, you're in good hands." something about the way she looked at the barber when she said that made you feel strange, but you had no reason not to believe her or the quiet man standing beside you. So you nodded and looked towards the window again "Best we head off though, I wouldn't want you to have to return when it's completely dark." you muttered, more to yourself and then looked at your companion for confirmation. The dangerous glint you caught flashing through his eyes made you shiver again, but you ignored it.

After hugging Mrs. Lovett goodbye, you were on your way. The first few minutes passed in complete silence, you had no idea what to say and Mr. Todd wasn't one for many words. Sighing, you decide to be the one to break the ice "I...I'm sorry, once again, Mr. Todd. For running out on you like that. You've done so much for me and I repaid you horribly." your gaze was set on the stone path as you apologised. For a while, the barber said nothing, which did not help your nerves at all. "Sweeney." That was the only thing he said. You whipped your head around to look at him, your mouth hanging agape in confusion. "I'm sorry?" Sweeney then looked at you, a single chuckle escaping his chest through his smirking lips. In the dim night lights of the London street, he looked possibly more attractive than ever before. "My name. I feel like we don't have to keep up such formalities, since you've spent a night in my bed already."

You couldn't look him in the eyes anymore, your face heating up. "You make it sound like something much more serious." you pouted. He chuckled again. This was the most you've heard him talk or just express himself in any way since you've known him. "And it wasn't? I don't let just anyone into my bed, you know." It was clear as day he was enjoying this. But his words held an underlying meaning, one which was much more deeper than the lighthearted teasing. Sweeney slowed into a stop and you followed suit beside him. The last street lamp was now behind him, leaving his face covered mostly in shadows. And yet you could see his eyes, vulnerable in a way he probably hasn't been in a long, long time, you could feel his intense gaze on your face, studying your every small reaction. "What are you saying?" you breathed out, your heart in your throat. Sweeney took a step closer "What I'm saying is that you've grown to be quite important to me. After that night..." he stopped, searching for the right words to continue "I realised many things. And I've realised...that I want to keep you close. To protect you. To know you and to allow myself to be known by you. If you'll let me, that is." and he slowly reached for your hand, holding it in both of his oh so gently. "Do you deem me worthy of knowing your heart? Your soul?"

You could feel your breath hitch in your throat as you were overwhelmed by sudden conflicting emotions. But the one that stood out from all of them was... "As long as you'll deem me worthy of knowing yours." you replied in almost a whisper. And with those words, that one sentence, it was as if the tension in the air disappeared all at once. Sweeney stood beside you once more, this time offering you his arm to take and after you've linked your arm through his, he continued to escort you home. Not just as an acquaintance, not as a friend...but perhaps not yet as a lover. But there was time for all of that. Right now, there was the chilly London night air, you and him. And you could figure out the details, such as breaking the news to Minnie, or discovering why exactly there was a trapdoor behind the barber chair, some other time. Tonight was just for you.

#oneshot #sweeney todd #sweeney todd x reader #sweeney todd the demon barber of fleet street #johnny depp characters #johnny depp #sweeney todd x you #fluff #long fanfic #possibly ooc #hopefully not though

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balkanradfem · 4 months ago

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To make a pond + Earthworks!

I've been enamored by the idea that I could build my own pond in the future, but when I started looking into it (typing 'how to build a pond into youtube'), all people did was put a big plastic tarp into a landscape and add water inside. That wasn't what I wanted. I wasn't about to bring a plastic tarp in my environment, and it was obvious that once the tarp gets damaged and punctured, the water would drain into the soil and the pond would be no more. That's no fun.

Unable to immediately find a better way, I turned to my own brain to figure this out. There were natural ponds in the world, and somehow they didn't need a tarp to hold all that water in. Artificial lakes existed, and for sure there weren't any tarps holding the water in. Rivers don't drain easily, and they usually have a lot of sand on the bottom – but sand is a very drainable material, so that's probably not it.

I stumbled upon an interesting piece of information when I was learning about rocks. By some definitions, ice is also a type of rock, so there was a lesson on icebergs. I found out there that sometimes icebergs split apart and travel in the water, and when a huge chonk ends up in a non-icy landscape, it eventually melts and it turns into a lake. There were pictures of lakes that looked like they had no business being in that landscape, but were there because an iceberg had melted there. The water didn't drain or ran off, why? I assumed it was because the iceberg was so heavy it compacted the soil underneath, and the compacted clay was enough to hold the water in.

So I started playing with the idea that if I locate a soil with high percentage of clay, and then dig a pond, and then line the bottom with the highest-density clay I can find, and then I redirect all water from the landscape to go towards that pond, maybe I could make a little pond in there. Possibly it would dry out during the summer but for the rest of year, having a natural pond would be very nice. I wasn't sure if this logic would hold but then I also couldn't see why not. Clay doesn't drain easily and there's lots of it deep underground. I would grab a shovel and try.

I got an additional piece of information reading a book about collecting and filtering rainwater to make it drinkable; the book recommended before you do anything about this, you need to learn about 'Earthworks', a system of modifying the earth's surface to keep as much water in as possible, and to redirect it to where you want it. I immediately liked this, because I had already planned to do that, but I was interested in tried and true methods. So I looked it up, and one of the first videos I've found, was of people deciding to make a natural pond in the forest. They found the most dense clay-rich ground, dug to see if it was super dense and non-draining deep in. Then they created a dam to stop water from flowing past the pond, and redirected all rainwater that would fall into the forest, towards the pond. And it worked. It filled out within a month or two. It wasn't draining away.

I felt so vindicated, the logic I had put together in my head was real and I could see how other people did it in real life! And I learned about berms and swales; they're methods of making your ground uneven, so it could take in and hold more rainwater. Berms are little hills you make that have good drainage, and swales are shallow canals you make inbetween the hills; they hold the rainwater, stop it from flowing away from your property, and redirect it to where you want it to, for instance to irrigate a garden, fill a pond, or to water a big tree you want to grow.

The methods of keeping rainwater from evaporating are currently relevant, because the climate is getting unstable, and rain is no longer as consistent as it has been in the past. I've noticed that we now get tons of rain in the spring, winter and fall, but next to none in the summer, creating a drought. The forests and the animals feel it too; they struggle to survive the summer, and a lot of plants and animals die from lack of hydration, which they didn't need to deal with beforehand. There's also less ground covered by old resilient trees and foliage that keeps the water in the landscape; clean cutting forests means dry ground, water evaporating, streams and canals drying up, trees drying up because of no water supply.

The people who were building a pond in the forest were not doing it for fun and giggles; they noticed the natural streams of the forests have dried up as a result of cut areas and lack of consistent rain. The forest was in danger of drying up. So by building a system of swales (or trenches) to redirect rainwater, and ponds to store it, they've managed to revitalize parts of the forest. The forest around the pond was visibly greener within months, wildlife was multiplying around the pond where it could get water, new flowers and native plants were flourishing next to the pond.

Slightly modifying the landscape to keep water in is something people do to prevent the spread of deserts; digging half-moon shaped holes in the ground to hold water has enabled trees to grow even in the driest, sun-heated areas. I've been fascinated by the methods of growing trees in the desert! And right now we need to make sure other livable green areas don't start turning into deserts, because the climate is threatening it, and the animals are unlikely to survive it all on their own.

And if you build a little pond, you're gonna have more birds in your backyard. There's gonna be little frogs and turtles and tiny critters coming to drink from your pond. Maybe a little lizard or a snake. You're gonna be able to plant flowers around it, your trees will be happy, and if you want a great big willow, she's going to enjoy that water too, and purify it with her roots. I'm still putting it together in my brain if I could make a little swampy area and plant rice in it, that would be the ultimate success.

#earthworks #permaculture #pond #diy pond making #clay pond #environmental #learning about nature #rainwater #collecting rainwater #rain #preserving rain #making livable landscapes in the time of climate change

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honeykaes · 1 year ago

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dark red

kaveh x reader II 2.0k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, heavy angst, character death, hurt no comfort, implied severe depression and untreated mental illness, face-sitting, cunnilingus, body-worship, praise, masturbation, unhealthy coping mechanism, implied alcohol use, unedited

synopsis: kaveh feels as though his life is completely falling apart when he is greeted to a cold and empty home after work, only for you to appear with a smile.

❝ 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐩, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐩 ❞

Kaveh couldn’t remember the last time he genuinely smiled. His head felt as though it was spinning as he trudged his way back from meeting a client all day; night full present in Sumeru City. His brain pounded against his skull in loud thumbs that matched his heartbeat. He dug through his pockets, fumbling to feel the familiar cool metal of his key before pulling it out.

Tears pricked at his eyes, overwhelmed by everything and everyone at the moment. His shaky hand struggled to put the key into the hold multiple times before it slid. He lifted his arm to wipe the tears that didn’t go away from his brisk blinking. Trying to blink them away as some managed to escape and cascade down his sun-kissed cheeks, he turned the knob and opened the door.

Silence and darkness greeted him. Not a pin-drop, not a footstep, not a breath beside his own.

Who would have guessed that the most famous architect in the region had a soulless home for himself?

Kaveh let out a sigh as he turned to close the door and flick the switch of the room on. With one deep breath, he turned around to see you in front of him, smiling and head tilted to the side in curiosity.

As if it was magic, just seeing your eyes made him feel lighter—your smile like the sun of the desert soothing the darkness that wanted to consume him. His eyes softened, slowly walked up to you before letting his arms wrap themselves around you.

“Archons, I missed you…” he murmured, face pressed against your hair spelling the slightly familiar scent of your hair products. You chuckled, returning the gesture.

“How was your day today sweetheart? You don’t seem like you’re in the best of moods if I’m being honest,” you admitted. Kaveh huffed—letting himself stop holding your body—moving to attention on your hands as he felt them tenderly.

“No, just my client. Rich and egotistical as the last one. Every conversation with them is: ‘give me the most expensive thing’, like that’s the most important thing? Practicality and beauty have to work harmoniously,” he scoffed, eyebrows creasing in annoyance.

“I think they just want to sell it off after I work on this building for probably double the price! I would have dropped this case already but…I need the money,” he groaned—closing his eyes—feeling your hand slipping away from his grip and brush against his cheek. He leaned against the touch, slightly pouting.

“They sorta remind me of someone we know…” he scoffed. You let out a laugh, patting Kaveh’s firm chest at his response.

“Come now, you got to give your old roommate some slack. He moved out and let you have this place to yourself. Alhaitham couldn’t have been a monster if he did that for you,” you reminded. Kaveh pouted and sighed dramatically once more, lifting his hands in defeat.

“Fine, I’m not going to talk about him tonight. I got enough stress as it is,” he muttered. Smiling once more, you leaned over placing a kiss on Kaveh’s cheek as his eyes softened once more at your figure.

“Why don’t you go ahead and eat something? Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten all day again haven’t you—”

Kaveh hummed momentarily pondering your suggestion, letting his hands reach out and travel to your waist, before interrupting you.

“Honestly, I’d rather get my fill from you. Work was…difficult. I could just use you in my arms for a while,” he revealed. He leaned in as your noses brushed against one another, before slowly moving to claim your lips. The sweet bitterness of booze was on his tongue, as your heads tilted to get closer to one another. His hands pinched at your waist, as he felt your lips curl upwards in the kiss.

When you two leaned away, your lips were glossy—a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

“So please…indulge me for a little while…”

The two of you made haste to the bedroom. You sat on the bed, grabbing onto part of his cape to bring him closer quickly. Your hands made their way under his firm, feeling the cool, smooth skin of his body before helping him lift the shirt off of him. Kaveh hummed, feeling your fingers graze from his pectorals down to his abdomen, tracing the defined curves of his V-line.

Kaveh shivered as goosebumps coated his body, cock beginning to brim with life as it pressed against his black slacks. As your hands settled on the waistband of his pants, Kaveh gently grabbed them to stop them from going further.

“Not this time lovely. Like I said, please let me indulge myself,” he cooed. With a gentle touch, Kaveh slowly began to peel the layers of your clothing off of it, letting them fall and adorn the tile floor.

He slowly crawled on top of you, letting his lips brush against the various curves and imperfections of your body. His touch was delicate, tracing around any freckle, any mole, any birthmark as if to say he noticed and loved them too.

“You don’t know how lucky I am to have you in my life. I’m so grateful for every inch of you,” he whispered, lips making their way to your neck. He smiled, feeling your body trembling, as his thumb grazed against your slit. He could feel the wetness beginning to pool from your cunt.

”Think you can do something for me joon-am…” he whispered in their ear. You curiously nodded as he plopped himself on the bed, hand stroking at your thigh.

”I’m going to need you to sit right here for me darling…” gesturing to his smiling face. You snorted, feeling your face as your laughter filled the room. His cheeks reddened, yet he couldn’t bother to focus on his embarrassment when your laughter sang out as a song to him.

”So that’s what you meant by meal…” you replied. Kaveh chuckled, slightly embarrassed as he rubbed the back of his shoulder nervously.

You shifted your body, so your hips hovered above his face. You saw you shiver as his hot breaths stared at your wet puffy folds, begging to be savored and appreciated. His hands snaked up to your waist as he opened his mouth wide before you gently let yourself sit on top of it.

A gasp is ripped from you as Kaveh’s tongue swirls against your drooling slit, lapping up any bit of your slick that managed to fall in his mouth. He flattened his tongue against your clit, swiping the muscle from side to side. You grabbed onto the sheets as your hips shifted and ground on his face, desperate for any more friction.

Kaveh's hips bucked, as precum began to smear, causing a spot on his pants to darken in color. You guide his hands from your waist to the mounds of your chest. He slightly squeezed them, rolling your pebbling nipples with his thumb as he continued to lap you up.

His lips circled against the sensitive nub, sucking on it while he let his tongue roll fast circles on it. Another loud moan is ripped from your lips—your pitch getting higher and higher. He knew you were getting close.

He sucked, letting the loud noise of slurping your essence to join the sinful harmony of your moans before continuing to suck and toy with your clit. Your thighs pressed against his cheeks, nails raking against the satin sheets of the bed before your back arched.

“Kaveh. Kaveh! ‘aveh. Kav-ah…!” you babbled out, shutting your eyes tight. Your body trembled, finally reaching your high as you continued to squirm on top of his face. He pushed through his jaw hurting to continue to slurp and drink your essence as if he was starved.

As you let out a shaky sigh, recovering from before, you lifted your hips greeted with the dopey smile Kaveh had on his face; the lower half smeared with your slick. You get off of him, allowing him to take a few deep breaths before wiping his face with his hand, and lapping the excess slick clinging onto him with his tongue.

“Satisfied?” you asked him, propping yourself to the side. Kaveh’s scarlet eyes flickered up to you, grinning.

“Of you? Always,” he murmured back. He let his hands run themselves along the curve of your body, pressing kisses against your neck. With his free hand, he slowly removes his soiled pants and underwear, letting them fall to the group. His cock pulsated, twitching on its own, as it leaned against the globe of your ass. It smeared some of his precum budding at his flushed tip.

Kaveh’s thumb pressed against your puffy folds, pressing one to the side to give him better access. He watched as your hole pulsated before moving his tip against it and slipping inside. He groaned deep in your ear, slowly seething his cock inside of you before he bottomed out. He moved his hand away, resting it between the globe of your ass and your waist.

“Archons, I never want to forget this feeling,” Kaveh whined, leaning in closer in a desperate attempt to get even deeper inside of you. He slowly thrusted, as he continued to wander and appreciate your form. He could feel their warmth sucking them up, urging him to plow harder and deeper inside of you.

He grunted, lifting your leg to satiate part of his urges, watching his cock continue to disappear inside of you—glistening in your essence. Your hand dipped down, grazing against your overstimulated clit as you rubbed tight circles against it. Kaveh could feel your body quiver as you leaned your head further against the pillow, beginning to lose yourself.

“More…Kaveh, please!” you begged out. His cock brushed against your walls. Your body jolted as he rocked himself in a certain spot, walls fluttering and tightening against him. He moaned, continuing to fight the urge to thrust faster.

He wanted to make love to you, not just to fuck you.

Your body began to shift once more as Kaveh’s hand pressed you firmly against him. With a cry, your walls caved down, reaching your high once more. As your walls clamped down against him, his pace grew slightly faster before he shoved his face in your nape. With a muffled groan of your name, his hips bucked one final time.

”(Y/n)...(Y/n)....(Y/n)!”

As white-hot pleasure flashed throughout him, snapping his eyes shut, his hips rocked as ropes of cum shot from him. He sighed, staring down at his hand tightly wrapped around his softening cock.

The once euphoria that hit him seemed to be gone in an instant, the familiar cold and dark house back here again.

How long had he been hallucinating you to cope? How many months has it been since you passed?

You would never be there to greet him from work as he complained about clients, his old roommate. You would never be there to motivate him to take better care of himself. Remember to eat, not drink as much, not take life as seriously, and enjoy the moment.

As Kaveh sighed, moving his head to press against your old pillow, tears began to welp in his eyes once more.

Your scent that once kept him okay seemed completely gone now. He tried so hard to mimic your old oils and lotions but it was always off. Why couldn’t you have left him with that at least? At least he could fall asleep better pretending you were sleeping soundly next to him.

It never was that same scent you used when you were alive, lying next to him without a care in the world…

…And a smile on your face.

His bloodshot eyes flickered to a picture. A photo of you and him, smiling brightly underneath the ornate sugar cloth at your wedding.

He couldn’t hold back the tears anymore

Kaveh curled in a ball, tears pouring from his eyes as if it were an endless faucet. His body trembled, hands covering his face—exhausted and incomplete; alone and so lost without you.

After all these years, it seemed he finally understood his mother.

❝ 𝐎𝐧 𝐦𝐞, 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 ❞

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #kaveh x reader #kaveh smut #kaveh angst #genshin angst #kaveh imagines #kaveh scenarios

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hexxedghost · 8 months ago

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Uhh bsky seemed to like this thread when I posted it, so thought I might put it here too.

It's the only smut I've written (and man am I in awe of people who can just write smut all the time, I was in struggle town lads)

Top!Ghost, Bottom!Soap. Little hint of praise kink, I just want Ghost to call Soap a good boy and have Soap's brain melt over it.

Good Boy

In Soap’s defence, it had never happened before. He’d been praised for his work.

A clap on the back and a ‘Good work, son’ from Price.

A cheeky grin and a ‘There’s a good lad.’ from Gaz

It felt good to have his work recognised. It left a warm, comforting sense of pride in his chest.

But when Ghost rested a heavy hand on his shoulder, leaning over with hot breath against his ear to say: “Good boy, Johnny.”

It nearly takes him out at the knees. The blood rushes south so fast, he nearly blacks out. As he walks away he can feel Ghosts eyes on him, face hot as the stumbles the first few steps.

The prick looks amused. Fucker.

It could have been fine, though, a one-off oddity that he can safely ignore until he’s in the privacy of his bunk.

But it wasn’t just once.

He swears Ghost is doing it just to fuck with him now.

He's sly about it, never saying when it's obvious or going to draw attention.

It's almost like he waits until Soap feels like he's back on solid footing before he casually drops it into conversation.

It was a quick murmur as they leave the helo after a mission, the sound of the chopper blades drowning out everything else as the hand on Soap's shoulder sears him like a brand.

Or an offhand comment when they've gone for a smoke, the words cheeky as Soap hands over the rolled cigarette.

The others don’t notice, too used to tuning out their banter by now. The addition of the occassional 'Good Boy' blending in with all the other colourful commentary they normally keep up.

Which is probably why Ghost feels ballsy enough to pull that shit during a mission.

After Soap has a frantic few seconds disarming a tangle of trips rigged to blow the building out from under them.

"Building safe, copy." he radios out, hands still shaking from how close that call had been.

“There’s a good boy, Johnny.” comes the heavy rasp crackling over the speaker.

On comms for fucks sake! Soap wants to fuckin throttle him.

Ghost is doing it just to get a rise out of him. And he hates that it's working.

Even when they’re at mess afterwards, hail and hearty with a successful mission right behind them, he can't seem to help teasing Soap.

“Nice job on that last one, Tav.” Gaz slaps him on the shoulder as he takes his seat.

“Youngest in the SAS for a reason.” Soap says around a mouthful of food, winking as Gaz pulls a face.

“Was well handled, nicely done, Soap." Price murmurs behind his mug.

"Proper good boy aren't you, Johnny?" comes the rumble at the end of the table.

His cheeks burn as Gaz and Price laugh. They don’t mean anything by it, they figure it's just being lads and taking the piss.

Soap risks a glance at Ghost and sees his eyes trained on him, a glint of something burning and dangerous peeking through the mask.

Christ he was so fucked.

It’s later on, past midnight, when he decides that something has to be done about it.

His can't focus when they’re on mission, either fuzzy with lust or trying to walk in a way that doesn't give away he’s hard enough to punch through wood.

He's not putting his squad at risk just because he's tenting his shorts like some hormonal teenager.

The sound of his knuckles rapping against the door feels louder in the late night air. There's no answer at first, and he wonders if he's made a mistake, should just go back to his bunk.

But then the door opens, Ghost blinking languidly at him.

“Took you long enough.” he rasps.

“Piss off, ye feckin reprobate.” Soap shoulders his way past the door into Ghost's room and throws himself into a chair and feeling a little pissy he’ll admit.

Across the room, Ghost leans against the door, arms crossed and looking at Soap expectantly.

This was going to be like pulling teeth, and he can tell the bastard is amused by it all; eyes seeming to brighten under the mask.

“So, what's your reason, then?” he finally gets out.

“For?” Ghost asks, tilting his head.

Of course, the cunt was gonna make him say it. Part of Soap wants to just give up, storm out. Just go to his room, wank himself unconscious to be done with it.

But Ghost was blocking the door. On purpose, Soap would bet.

“Why do ye keep callin' me a fuckin good boy, eh?” he presses

Ghost holds his gaze and blinks slowly, “Morale”

Fuck it, Soap is leaving, he’s not playing this fuckin game. Even if he has to wrestle the man out of the door. He shoves at the big bastard to move.

“Telling me you didn’t like it, Johnny?” Ghost asks, barely moving from the force of the push Soap gave him.

Soap growls, frustrated, “No’ about that, is it? You dinnae call Gaz or feckin Price that. Is only me you do that to.”

“S’right. Only you.” Ghost counters.

He looks up at Ghost to find that gaze burning into him. This feels dangerous.

“Feelin a bit singled out is all, LT.” he mumbles, hand coming up to awkwardly rub at his neck.

He feels like he's on the wrong foot now, not sure where's safe to step in this minefield of a conversation.

Ghost pushes off the door and moves toward him. It feels like being hunted, and Soap is very quickly learning that apparently he likes that.

He stumbles as the back of his knees hit the bunk and suddenly Ghost is looming above him.

His blood feels molten, too close to his skin and rushing through him. There’s a buzz in his ears and his throat clicks when he swallows.

This close, he can feel Ghost chuckle, feel the hot wet breath on his neck when he leans down.

"D'you want this?" he asks, voice low.

Soap's tongue seems to stick to his mouth, unable to form words.

The prospect of finally getting to have the thing he'd been obsessing over for weeks.

The thing he'd spent the dead of night fucking his fist too, face hot with the shame of it.

It left his head spinning.

Eventually he manages to choke out,

"Yes. Fuckin' yes, Ghost, pleas—"

He cuts off as Ghost grabs him by his hair, pulling just enough for his scalp to prickle as he growls in his ear.

"Good boy."

The whine that comes out of Soap should be embarrassing, but he's too gagging for it to care.

Ghost lets go of Soap's hair and stands back, just out of reach.

"Get your kit off then, or do I have to do all the work?"

“Shoulda known you’d be a nasty bastard.” Soap snarks as he pulls his shirt over his head.

“Reckon you like that, Johnny.” comes the smug reply.

Soap ignores him, fumbling for his belt, shoving his pants down to his knees.

His head falls back, groaning lowly as the pressure on his cock finally lets. He goes to take a moment to collect himself. But instead there's rough hands tugging them the rest of the way, boots yanked off and tossed into the corner of the room.

"Impatient aren't we LT?" he jokes weakly, heart hammering in his chest.

The words die out as the bed dips. Ghost straddles him, settling on his chest heavily.

Soap feels like nothing exists beyond him, the way Ghost fills his vision. Calm and collected as he casually unzips and takes himself in hand.

"Done this before, Johnny boy?" he asks lightly, as if he wants to know the weather and not whether Soap's sucked cock before.

"Dinnae flatter yersel' Ghost. No' my first." Soap eventually rasps out, eyeing the thick length in Ghost's hand. "I can take ye."

Ghost chuckles at that, "We'll see about that."

He taps the heavy head of his cock on Soap’s lips.

“Open up.” he orders.

God fuckin help him, Soap does, and tries to ignore the way his blood fucking sings at the single huff of approval out of the man over him

His head swims at the scent of hot skin and musk, mouth flooding with saliva at the taste of salty skin on his tongue as Ghost steadily feeds him his cock.

Part of him wants to drag his teeth against the tender flesh, just to be a brat, but there are strong hands in his hair and his eyes fall half closed.

Ghost hasn’t even taken his gloves off, still practically dressed.

At the realisation, Soap feels himself moan around the length in his mouth, Ghost's hands tightening in his hair.

“Knew you’d be good for me.” Ghost says, his voice is dark, and eyes bright in the dim light of the room

Soap can feel the sticky pool on his stomach from his cock, already angry red and steadily leaking.

“With me, Johnny.” Ghost demands.

Soap tears his eyes back to the man above him, the lighting making it seem like Ghost's eyes are molten gold.

He can tell under the mask he's smiling.

“There you are sweet'eart.”

He can’t stop the groan that comes out of him, stomach clenching at the petname.

Ghost adjusts his grip on Soap's hair, testing how much he can take before adjusting and rocking his hips forward.

“Just take it, there you go. There’s my good boy, eh?”

He relaxes his throat and breathes deep until his eyes start to water and his head swims with it. He’s already so close and he hasn’t even been touched yet, cock twitching each time Ghost bottoms out.

There's a moment, which his nose buried in the coarse hair at the root of Ghost's cock that he looks up and locks eyes with him. It's like staring at glowing coals, flickering embers held in the dark with a smouldering heat that scalds his blood.

Soap's feels his cock twitch in warning, he's so fucking close, he feels his eyes start to roll back.

But then Ghost smoothly pulls out of his mouth, leaving Soap gasping and blinking away the tears. Lightheaded and dizzy from the sudden rush of oxygen into his lungs.

“Not bad. Reckon there's room for improvement.” Ghost says, chuckling at the frustrated sob Soap lets out against his thigh. There's the soft touch of a hand through his hair, before Ghost moves away, sitting at the side of the bed. Soap throws an arm over his eyes, chest heaving with each breath.

There's the feeling of a gloved hand trailing over his stomach, making him jump.

“Nearly made a mess of yourself, though.” he hears Ghost tease.

“Fuck off” Soap's voice cracks, Christ he sounds wrecked

He looks at Ghost from under his arm, seeing his eyes trace the same path as his fingers had.

“Ye could get more comfortable, ye know?” he grumbles, causing Ghost to look over at him. As much as it had been exciting, he's starting to feel awkward completely starkers while Ghost could zip up and be ready for the tarmac.

“I look uncomfortable to you?”

The bastard is grinning, Soap can tell.

“Ye look like yer dressed for a fuckin funeral.” Soap quips, looking at the ceiling, heart still beating too fast.

“Can’t have you dying before I’ve had my fun.” Ghost teases as he gest to his feet and strips off. The pale flesh and scars are devoured by Soap’s hungry gaze as his eyes are drawn back, like a moth to a flame.

As he drops the last piece of clothing to the floor, he looks over to Soap on the bed.

“Mask stays on.” he says, the rest of him bare.

“I dinnae care.” Soap lies.

Both of their eyes tracking how his cock jumped at the idea.

Ghost laughs, not unkindly, “Slag.”

The bed shifts under him as Ghost settles at the end of it. Soap sits up on his elbows, suddenly nervous.

He's no stranger to casual dalliance, to a quick and dirty release stolen in a pub bathroom or if he's lucky someone's flat if they're generous.

But it's Ghost.

It matters. It's not something he leaves in the early hours, hidden in cigarette smoke and strangers mouths. What if it ruins everything?

"Johnny?" Ghost is looking at him, a hand circled around Soap's ankle.

"M'fine," he says without thinking, scrambling for an excuse for his sudden silence, "was jus' wondering how ye want me?"

He goes to roll over, but there's a sudden fierce grip on his hips as Ghost tugs him down the bed, keeping him on his back.

"Wanna see you." is all Ghost says.

Soap feels like his heart is lodged in his throat, as Ghost rummages around in the bedside table.

"You've done this part before, haven't you?" it's a genuine question. But there's that teasing tone to it that has Soap rolling his eyes, falling back into the rhythm of their banter.

"Oh aye, I'm a fuckin blushin virgin." he jokes, kicking out and catching Ghost in the side. "Chaste as a priest, I am."

Ghost glances up at him, the heat still in his eyes.

“Better start praying then Johnny. Won’t be after I’m done with you.“

Soap feels his breath catch at the threat. “That a promise, LT?”

Ghost doesn’t respond, instead just clicks the bottle of lube open, pouring some onto his fingers and pressing two into Soap. There's an intensity to his focus as he presses deeper until they brush against the spot that punches a groan out of Soap.

"There we are."

"Hurry it up will ye?" Soap growls. He'd been trying to ignore the dull ache of being stretched open. But now there was a steady building at the base of his spine, his breath coming in shallow, cock filling out again after flagging.

"Patience is a virtue, Johnny." Ghost murmurs.

Soap winces at the feeling of Ghost removing his fingers, looking down as there’s a pause.

“Ye alright?”

He can't help but ask.

He gets a nod in response.

“Well, come on then. Show me how nasty ye are.” he wiggles his eyebrows and revels in the small huff of a laugh from Ghost as he lines himself up.

“Might regret that, Johnny.” Ghost says, locking eyes with him.

“Regret you takin yer fuckin tim-” he cuts off in a groan as Ghost smoothly presses the head of his cock in, his other hand tightly gripping Soap's waist.

“Fuckin hell, coulda warned me.” he says to Ghost's shoulder.

Ghost hums. "Could’ve.”

“Prick.” Soap lets his head fall back. He relaxes into the feeling, letting his body adjust. Ghost waits until Soap gives him a nod before slowly sheathing himself to the root.

That lightheaded feeling is back as Soap rests his head against Ghost's sternum. That languid bloodwarm feeling of being full trickling up his spine.

“You solid?” he hears from above him.

Soap shifts a bit, feeling the ache of how stretched he was. “Aye.”

“Good.” is all the warning he gets before the first thrust knocks the breath out of Soap’s lungs. His hands come up to grasp at Ghost's biceps, groaning at the drag of skin on skin, wet heat and rushing blood.

It's not gentle, he’s sure he’ll have bruises on his hips to hide for weeks from the whiteknuckle grip Ghost has. But he could tell the bastard was holding back.

“I’m no’ made of glass, Ghost, I can take it.” he bites out.

Ghost laughs in his ear. “Careful Johnny, or I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

The response is automatic.

“Ye already have.”

Ghost stills and Soap feels immediate panic he’d overstepped.

They hadn’t spoken about what this was.

Whether it was just a bit fun to left off steam or something more that they'd been dancing around for years.

Before he can scramble to come up with an apology, a joke to lessen the seriousness of what he’s just let fall out of his mouth, Ghost gives a snarl.

He snaps his hips forwards and Soap can swear he feels it in his throat.

The grip on his hips tightens so hard it nearly hurts as Ghost drives into him. It feels primal and possessive, heady and addicting as he rakes his nails down pale flesh, urging for more.

Ghost grabs the back of his neck, pulls him forward so he can growl in his ear.

“Made for this aren’t you, made for me.”

It isn’t a question, though Soap thinks he’s nodding. He feels dizzy with it, how much he wants this, how much Ghost wants him.

“Gonna be a good boy for me, Johnny?”

Ghost voice sounds raw, eyes burning as the meet Soap's.

“Fuck.” Soap sobs, it sounds more like a plea than an answer.

“There you are, sweet'eart, show me how well you take me.”

Soap falls back on the bed, Ghost's hand drifting from the back of his neck down to his thighs. He can feel the rough calluses on his skin, feel his teeth nearly rattle as Ghost slams into him.

It’s too much, just on this side of painful and he never wants it to end.

There's a dizzying feeling every time he feels Ghosts cock drag against him in just the right way. There's bruises blooming on his hips under the near deathgrip Ghost has on him.

“Thought about this a lot. How good you'd be for me.”

Soap doesn't have it in him to respond, he feels like he’s sinking deeper into a calm. His body goes lax and boneless, mind buzzing at the pleased growl from Ghost when his body just submits.

“Love seeing you like this Johnny, fucked brainless and still fuckin desperate for me.”

That pulls a whine out him, clenching down around the cock still driving deeper into him. He thought Ghost would be quiet, but each word of praise fills him like warm honey, mind swimming.

“Show me you can come like this, sweet'eart.”

Soap can already feel himself hurtling towards the edge, wrapping an arm around the back of Ghost's neck and pulling him close.

"Fuck, Ghost, please." he pleads.

He hears Ghost's voice in his ear, raw and rough, “That's it love, be pretty for me.”

That does it.

Soap's entire body seems to lock up for a moment, pleasure sparking through him and settling into the base of his skull with a blistering heat. His cock pulses, untouched and painting his stomach.

“There’s a good boy.” he hears Ghost murmur. He bites down on the meat of Ghost's shoulder to muffle the whine that threatens to make its way out, hearing those words.

As he comes down, dizzy still, his head lolls forward, like his strings have been cut. He dimly registers the twitch of Ghost’s cock inside him, and softly groans at the feeling of it slipping out of him spent.

Soap slumps on the bed without Ghost’s grip holding him, body heavy and lax after the orgasm that was wrung out of him. He should get up, he knows the routine. He should leave so he isn't intruding.

Instead, his eyelids grow heavy and he drifts into darkness.

When he comes back to himself, he's been cleaned up, blanket pulled over him to keep out the chill. There’s a solid weight beside him.

“Back with me?” Ghost asks.

“Solid.” his words sound slurred, but the laugh from Ghost isn’t cruel. Soap pushes himself up so he's sitting, before Ghost speaks again.

"Didn't hurt you, did I?" There is a weight to his words, even though he's clearly trying to keep the tone light.

"Reckon me hips'll have a few bruises. I dinnae mind that though." he glances down at the purple on his side. It's not quite a handprint but enough of a suggestion of one. Showers were going to be fun.

He jumps as Ghost trails a finger over one, gentle and completely at odds with what had caused them.

"I'll keep that in mind." Ghost says. There's something about his voice that's off, doesn't feel like it's hitting Soap's ears like it normally does. He looks over to ask him if he's alright. It takes Soap a moment to realise what’s different.

“Ye weren’t lyin. Yer a bonnie bastard beneath the mask.”

He gets a smirk in response, and his heart fuckin clenches with it. He still hadn’t asked what this meant, for them. He suddenly feels vulnerable, naked and tucked into the covers of Ghost’s bunk.

"Eh, sorry for passing out on ye at the end there," Soap mumbles, his ears burning.

Ghost shrugs, "S'fine. Don't mind."

Thre's a quiet, but the buzzing unease under Soap's skin doesn't settle. Just like before, he doesn't know where to put his feet, worried he'll detonate whatever this is between them.

"Do ye want me to leave?" he asks like an idiot.

“Got somewhere to be?” Ghost raises an eyebrow.

"You reckon there's somewhere I should be?" he counters with another question. It's the same dance they've done for years, always toeing the line but neither crossing. Strange to have the feeling after they've fucked like they'd die without it.

Ghost sighs after a moment, and Soap readies himself for the pushback. The return to status quo.

Instead, Ghost grabs him by his chin, holding his gaze steady.

"If I wanted a quick fuck I've got more than enough offers, Johnny. Wouldn't have risked this."

He rests his forehead against Soap's.

Their breaths merge in the space between them,

"Fucking said before, didn't I? Only you." he says softer this time, thumb absently running along Soap's jawline.

It feels like the minefields behind them. Throwing caution to the wind, Soap moves forward and kisses him.

Something in him settles when Ghost's hand shifts from his chin to cup his face, a warm feeling in his chest that burns brighter than pride as he drags his teeth and gets a nip back in retaliation.

It feels just like the normal back and forth in a strange way that makes him laugh, Ghost grumbling a bit.

"Was enjoying that." he murmurs into the crook of Soap's neck.

"Was enjoying not doing missions half mast, but ye ruined that ye fuckin bastard," Soap counters, frowning as he feels Ghost smile against his skin. He shoves him.

"Ye can't be calling me fuckin good boy in front of the others." he says seriously. As much as his blood sings with how good this all feels, he doesn't want it to effect the team, or his ability to do his job.

"I won't." Ghost says, and actually sounds like he means it.

He pulls Soap close to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing his face into his neck. Sleep doesn't make them wait long.

#ghostsoap #hexx fics #smut is scary af to write #and i can't write anything below 4K anymore apparently #uhh also this is the first and only smut i've written so theres room for improvement #i was reading one of jack's nikprice ones earlier and i am in fucking awe of how people write good smut #hexx threads

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