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lizzygrantarchives · 13 years ago

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MTV Hive, January 13, 2012

Lana Del Rey’s a torch singer for the internet era, splicing found footage for her early videos and nudging pop culture references in pastoral come-hither melodies. So it’s no surprise that she’s been both a smash hit and a lightning rod on the web—the former for her billowing voice, the latter because of her seemingly out-of-nowhere rise to stardom (and allegedly collagen-injected lips). Del Rey is the subject of much vitriol on blogs and websites, and rarely does that vitriol have anything to do with her actual music.

Part of what seems to rankle her detractors is that she peels the mystery from pop process: she is the anti-Gaga, transparent about her transformation from normie to performer. Her costumes in videos and photo shoots include elaborate floral crowns and gauzy gowns, but candids show a very pretty -- but average -- woman who looks very comfortable in distressed skinny jeans and ballet flats, quite like, well, a student at Fordham (her alma mater). She’s not trying to go to the grocery store in McQueen. Most remarkable about Del Rey’s seemingly surefire rise to stardom is that her narrative is largely un-spectacular: a classic smalltown girl from Lake Placid, whose formative exposure to the pop cultural keys and codes that turn people “cool” was limited, but whose smarts and savvy -- and yes, perhaps calculation, but so what? -- propelled her to this point. So when her next album, Born to Die, drops on January 31, with honey-dipped vocals and searing narratives, it will be fascinating to see whether Del Rey gets a Taylor Swift pass and is accepted as America’s moonstruck version of an everygirl.

Interviewing her at MTV’s studios this week, she seemed more like a chill study partner than a woman whose US television debut will be SNL (this Saturday, January 14, on NBC, after which she’ll hit Letterman February 2 and Ellen later that month). Her mild accent is naturally breathy -- without trying, her twang’s a bit like a mafia moll or, more specifically, a forlorn Jackie Kennedy. But that’s the closest she got to the myths in her meme. Online, there are many blog posts devoted to the lack of photographs in which she is smiling, and people seem to expect her to be pouty and haughty based on her model-looking press pics. In person, though, she comes off as sweet and well-spoken, and doesn’t hesitate to crack a smile (or, oh my god, laugh). There’s a dreamer aspect to her demeanor, but it’s tempered by how thoughtfully she seems to choose her words. Hive spoke with her about true love, rap music, metaphysics (as one does) and social activism.

How did you start getting into music?

When I was really little, I liked to sing, just with my mom. I would sing in school, I sang in church, because that’s just what we did. I sang in high school, in choir, a little a cappella group. I didn’t think I’d be a real singer, but I did like to do it. But then I got to New York when I was 18, and I decided that it would be really nice for me if I could be a singer. So I moved to Brooklyn with my boyfriend, and just started singing and playing there.

Did your parents have music around?

They didn’t have too much music around, but they actually both had really nice voices. My dad wrote country songs for fun, and my mom sang for fun. My dad liked the Beach Boys, my mom liked Carly Simon, but we didn’t really listen to them; we just put the radio on -- whatever would be on the radio. Growing up, I didn’t really listen to that much music. My friends and I listened to rap -- to like Eminem or like, god, whatever was going on then -- dance music, electronic stuff. Other than that, we were not that enlightened about all things “cool,” musically. We got there eventually!

When did you start writing songs?

I didn’t write anything that I loved until I was 18, so it was later. When I was younger, I always loved to write -- that was one thing I really liked to do.

"When you lead a different lifestyle from a lot of other people — like you don’t do drugs, you don’t drink, you try and stay above the dark side of things -- it’s just, that was maybe a position I was trying to embody just to stay calm."

I would write fiction on my own time, and I liked writing in school. I thought that was one of the less offensive school subjects, so that was fun for me. I transitioned to singing when I picked up the guitar. I’ve never been good at the guitar -- always been bad -- but it did help me write for the first four years.

I wondered if you wrote -- your lyrics are so narrative.

They sound like stories. I’ve been in New York now seven years, and it’s been a really long road, so the parts of my life that I draw from lyrically are maybe the more dramatic segments of the time that I’ve been here. But they are all true.

Do you feel like you struggled when you moved to New York?

Yeah, it was difficult, as it is for everyone. Maybe myself a little bit more, but that was my own fault.

Some of your lyrics, particularly in “Born to Die,” are incredibly sad. Are you a sad person?

I’m not sad, I’m happy. I feel like I’m happy because I’m at peace with the way that things are. It was difficult for me when I was, I don’t know … for a long time I was lodged in my head, wondering how things were gonna turn out, if things were going to be hard forever. And on a philosophical level, I was consumed with the idea that … what happens? Why are we here, What happens to us after we die? I did have a darker filter on sometimes, but that slowly lifted through doing a lot of different things. And finding true love is something that really did inspire me, lyrically. Because I felt so much the same for so much of my life and then when you find someone exciting, you don’t know that you could actually feel differently than you did before. I was inspired.

Is that how you knew that you found true love?

Well, I know now that it’s different for everyone. For some people, true love is complete serenity and feeling at peace and at home and having a life with someone else. For me, it was true love just because my own version of true love was feeling electric and excited. It really just depends on what you feel like you need, but for me, I had never really felt excited about things before.

You’d never felt excited about things before?

Not that I remember.

Just in love, or everything?

Just like, life. I mean you go to school every day and it’s hard … I lived in a small town and I just thought it was gonna be a long life.

Did you think you’d stay there your whole life?

I did for awhile, but I left when I was 14. I mean, I could have gone back -- well, I did go back. I was a waitress in town because I didn’t go to school right away, but then I decided to go to college in the Bronx.

Waitressing!

Yeah! I loved it! Everyone always told me I was a great waitress.

You get a lot of stories that way, too. What do you like to do in your free time?

I like to read, write, I like to dance. I’ve been really involved in my community for the last seven years that I’ve been here, in lots of different ways. I’ve been involved in homeless outreach for the last seven years. Drug and alcohol awareness -- I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs anymore. When things aren’t going that well musically, you know … I stopped focusing on music for a long time so I started focusing on other things that I knew more about.

Volunteerism?

Some volunteering. I have a group of friends who work individually with different affiliations, but basically, yes. It’s been good. I consider being able to pursue music a luxury, but it’s not the most important thing in my life. It’s just something that’s really nice that ended up working for me for right now.

Where are you involved?

Just in New York, just in the last seven years. When I realized that maybe singing wasn’t going to be so easy I went back to what I knew how to do, what I was also really passionate about. There’s not many things, but …

What about your videos?

Yeah, for “Video Games” and “Blue Jeans,” I edited. I only work on YouTube cause that’s the only medium I know, but I knew what I was looking for -- the clips I wanted to splice into them. And for “Born to Die,” I wrote a treatment for it called “The Lonely Queen,” so that I would be in a setting that represented Heaven, sort of in like a remote castle in Romania. [Laughs] Walking through the halls flanked by tigers. And then she’d be flashing back to happier times in the arms of her love. And then Yoann Lemoine adapted that treatment and made it more doable. But I love that video. I really do. I can’t believe it turned out so beautifully. I spent a lot of time thinking about where I wanted it to go.

Also the whole concept of a lonely queen. Is that a narrative that ...

Something I relate to? Yeah. I mean, I do feel alone in the things that I do sometimes ... sometimes I feel that I’m walking my own path. I’m not anymore actually, but I think that I did. When you lead a different lifestyle from a lot of other people -- like you don’t do drugs, you don’t drink, you try and stay above the dark side of things -- it’s just, that was maybe a position I was trying to embody just to stay calm. But I’m always thinking back to the way that things were, especially in terms of a particular relationship that was tumultuous. And Brad, the guy in the video, he’s in the video because he kinda reminds me of that guy. So yeah, it was really perfect, because everything came together.

What do you like to read?

I really like to read biographies, just like I like to watch documentaries; I like to figure out how people did what they did, why they ended up where they were. Mainly I like singer’s biographies. And two years ago, my favorite was Elizabeth Taylor’s biography, which was by her biggest fan who’s also written a lot of books on her, like all her romances. Also, Anthony Scaduto’s book on Bob Dylan was really good. And you know, I studied metaphysics in college so I’m always kind of reading on the side for fun.

What does metaphysics entail?

It’s not as complicated as it sounds. There’s different branches so it depends on which branch you’re studying. If you’re studying something like cosmogony, you’re studying about the origins of the universe, and how reality came to be reality. Like this space that we’re sitting in now -- how did we come to inhabit this place? And why this reality strikes us as it is. I studied that up in the Bronx.

Do you still live there?

I just moved back in with my friend in Brooklyn actually, because I’m never really here now and I wanted to be with a friend again.

So have you been practicing all week for SNL?

Well, no, I haven’t because I’ve been working. I don’t even know what I’m singing! I know it’s “Video Games” and I think “Blue Jeans,” but I thought it was supposed to be “Born to Die,” so I have to go figure that out. I better fucking figure that out! [Laughs] There’s a lot going on so there’s a lot of catching up to do.

Are you excited?

Yeah ... I’m excited if it goes well. If it doesn’t, I’m gonna kill myself! But yeah, what an honor. And who knows why, but it’s really nice for me.

What do you hope for your record?

You know, I say this and I really, really mean it: Everything I hoped for, I got it. It is just beautiful. My main hopes for the record were just in terms of what it sounded like and who worked on it. And now I have this crew who I’ll just work with forever. It’s amazing. This kid Justin Parker, and my producer Emile Hayne, the Philadelphia Orchestra ... my main hopes were just that it sounded gorgeous, and it does. And the rest? You know, whether it’s received well or not, I did a good job. So I’m not too worried about it. Because you can’t say it’s bad, because it’s just beautiful -- it’s just strings and beats.

Do you hope to tour the world?

No, what I’d honestly like to do is just stay here in New York. I’ve been here for seven years and I just love it here. I’ve been to almost every country and really, for me, nothing compares to New York. I’m just obsessed -- I’m in love. Every day in New York is a good day. I mean, here’s my ambitions: my big plan is to get residency back down in the West Village. When everything is said and done, I’ll do my tour, I’m gonna do my live television, but what I’d like to do is have residency in the West Village and do my other work that’s important to me on the side. And that would be a better life than most because I’d be doing what I wanted.

That’s on some Bob Dylan shit.

Bob wanted to tour the world! He was like … he really fucking wanted that. He started in the West Village, but he had visions of extreme stardom. He complains about it now, but he really wanted it! Do you live in the city?

I live in Brooklyn, close-ish to you. I was at Glasslands last night.

What did you see?

Some friends who are rappers!

Oh, do you know this band called Flatbush Zombies?

OH MY GOD, YO!

SHUT! UP! JUST SHUT UP! [Laughs] So me and my friend had this marathon the other night and he showed me that, I was just like … It’s just really weird -- Flatbush Zombies, A$AP Rocky, Azealia Banks, it’s something glossy, some of it’s weed rap but it’s all do-it-yourself videos. It’s really great! The whole time I lived in Brooklyn, I never felt like there was really a scene emerging, but now there is.

Brooklyn and Harlem rap right now is so ill. It’s a real New York scene forming.

Yes, that’s what it is! When I was here, MGMT was blowing up, but after that it was like, nothing. But that’s what’s happening right now.

Originally published on mtvhive.com with the headline Lana Del Rey Will Kill Herself If SNL Bombs, Loves Weed Rap.

#2012 #Born to Die #MTV Hive #Julianne Escobedo Shepherd

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overgrowth-wc · 2 years ago

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Our four intrepid heroes have done their part, but there's still a few loose ends. Now, it's time for some familiar faces to pick up where they left off.

THUNDERCLAN: round two, start

Turtlepaw could not ever remember a time she had been this tired. Her paws hurt. Her eyes hurt. Hell, her whiskers hurt. Slumped besides her brothers, Rainpaw snoring softly, Owlpaw sprawled next to her, the morning sun warming her fur, she felt like she’d never move again.

“Turtle,” Owlpaw whined, flopping onto his back, “do you think we’ll get a retirement ceremony instead of a warrior’s ceremony? I feel old Adderstripe has more moxie than me.” At least I’m not suffering alone.

“Maybe we can have our retirement ceremony the same time as dad’s,” she mused, then flinched. Great, Turtlepaw, way to be insensitive. Owlpaw was impossible to offend, though, so he just hummed thoughtfully.

“That’d be neat. Maybe Mintfrost will change our names to something cool too. Isn’t Dad thinking about changing his?” Badgerstripe’s injuries were bad enough to warrant a name change, and for someone like their dad, that was a mark of honor.

“Yeah, you know how he is. He thinks that kind of stuff is really cool.” It’d have to be something like Tornpelt or Raggedfur, which Turtlepaw didn’t find appealing at all, but it wasn’t her name, so she didn’t have much say in it. Aspenwing wasn’t thrilled either, but she usually seemed unimpressed by her mate’s antics, so that wasn’t surprising to anyone. I wonder how Mintfrost is doing. Or is she Mintstar now? Probably, they’ve been gone for a while… Turtlepaw’s mind wandered as she slowly started to drift off, only to be disturbed by a rustling at the entrance. Snowdrift emerged into the clearing, looking asleep on his paws, and behind him came her mentor, stoic as usual. That was no indication of how she might really feel, though, so Turtlepaw shot to her feet, bounding over to her new leader with renewed energy.

“Are you alright?” She blurted, trying to assess if she’d pushed herself too hard. “How’s your hip? Do you need me to get some snow? Fernfire showed me how, you know, it’s pretty clever.” Mintfrost- Mintstar?- waited patiently until Turtlepaw finished, giving her an affectionate blink.

“I’m fine for the moment, but maybe later we could get some snow together. I need to make an announcement, now, but we’ll talk more after. Do you know if everyone is back in camp? Has there been any runners yet?” “No runners, everyone’s probably still bone tired,” Turtlepaw said quickly, walking beside her mentor as she started making her way to the Meeting Stump. “And everyone should be back by now, but I think most cats are asleep- do you want me to wake them up?” The little calico was still holding out hope for a growth spurt, irritated by the fact that she had to take two steps for everyone one her mentor took, especially the way her paws were aching right now. They arrived at the Stump, Turtlepaw looking around the camp, trying to plan who she would go wake up first.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call whoever is awake, but I’m just letting everyone know I’ve returned and that I’ve successfully received my lives and name. I won’t be announcing my chosen deputy until later. And, well, telling the story of the past few moons.” Turtlepaw blinked.

“Who’d you pick?” Mintstar hummed, shooting her a mischievous grin.

“Oh? Do you get to know before everyone else?”

“Well, not everyone else,” the apprentice muttered, gaze on her feet before focusing on Mintstar’s nose. “Just, you know, I figured being the leader’s apprentice entitled me to some… insider knowledge.”

“Ah, I suppose it does. Well, you can keep a secret- I will be asking Whitefoot upon her return to camp later today to accept the position.” Turtlepaw nodded happily. Whitefoot is kind, and smart, and her and Mintstar are really good friends. That will work well.

“Good idea! I really like Whitefoot.” Mintstar laughed, Snowdrift giving the apprentice a tired grin.

“I’m glad you approve. Now, let’s get this over with- I want to talk to you about hunting more here in a little bit. You’re a huge help to us right now, Turtlepaw. Thunderclan is lucky to have you.” The calico couldn’t help the way she puffed up in pride at the compliment. Yeah, she was bone tired, but she wanted to help, and if Mintstar needed her to hunt to feed her friends and family, then, well, she’d hunt until her paws fell off. Hopefully not literally.

True to her word, Mintstar only gave a brief announcement. The clan was relieved to hear of her acceptance by the ancestors and reception of her nine lives, and took the news that the deputy was yet to be announced with minimal grumbling and disappointment. And everyone was still much too tired to discuss… current events. Turtlepaw couldn’t help but notice that Snowdrift looked distracted and a little upset, however. When Mintstar slid down from the Stump, the apprentice hurried back over to them.

“You okay, Snowdrift?” She pressed, eyes flicking from his nose to his ears to his feet and back to his nose, feeling uncomfortable and antsy for some reason. Something feels wrong. The medicine cat sighed, giving Mintstar an unreadable look. At the leader’s nod, he returned his tired gaze to Turtlepaw.

“I received word from the ancestor’s at the Moonstone… Poppypaw has yet to be seen in Starclan. The other cat’s spirits have found their way home, but she- she hasn’t.” Turtlepaw felt distinctly ill. Oh no, oh no no no. So Stonestar was right? Poppypaw hadn’t been put to rest because Featherfall hadn’t been put on trial, and now, they couldn’t find Featherfall anywhere-

“We need to find her,” Turtlepaw stressed, “I mean, we need to find Featherfall, we can’t- that’s not-” Mintstar pressed her nose to the tip of the apprentice’s ear, halting her desperate ramble. Poppypaw was my age when she died. I don’t know what I’d do if I were a ghost, especially a ghost forever.

“We’re going to work on a plan for finding Featherfall as soon as possible, but it will be a massive undertaking. Would you like to help us?” Turtlepaw nodded jerkily.

“It’s not right. I- I didn’t know Poppypaw, you know, but I don’t want that for any cat.” That being eternal wandering. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.” Both Mintstar and Snowdrift let out rumbling purrs.

“I’ll hold you to it.” Mintstar mewed. Just then, there was another rustle at the camp entrance, and a Windclanner slipped into the clearing, holding a bundle of herbs in her mouth. As Mintstar and Snowdrift went to greet her, Turtlepaw stared after them, mind spinning. I promise you Poppypaw-

We’ll get you home.

WINDCLAN: those left behind

Gorsestorm was- well, not in a great mood, but much better off than he had been the past two weeks or so. Things were slowly returning back to normal after the battle, most of the warriors healed and even Daisypetal back home, on the mend. She’d gotten an eye clawed terribly in the battle- thankfully, she hadn’t lost it, but Teaselpaw doubted she’d ever get her vision back. She was in good cheer despite it. Hell, everyone was. The clan morale was higher than it had been in moons, happy to know that justice had finally been secured and their ghosts put to rest.

They were mostly correct.

It seems that Poppypaw, little Poppypaw, his friend, the cat he thought he would one day guide his clan alongside, was still lost to the ancestors. Teaselpaw had returned from the halfmoon last night with the devastating news- Shalestar elected to keep it quiet until they could meet with the others and determine a course of action. It seemed like it would take finding Featherfall to rectify the situation, which was seriously bothering him, because how the hell were they supposed to find her? Yeah, he’d volunteered to help search the Town, back when they first were talking about bringing the murderers to justice, but he hadn’t actually believed they would need to. He’d banked on Featherfall’s arrogance and need to see things through driving the queen to being there at the final confrontation, but maybe he had underestimated her cunning. A good leader always has a backup plan for a backup plan, his father had told him once, and while Featherfall might not be a good cat, he couldn’t deny that she knew how to lead. It seems she had kept many things from him when he thought he was in her confidences. Of course she wouldn’t have trusted me, Gorsestorm thought bitterly, she wouldn’t have gotten so far with her plans if she took such foolish risks. Featherfall must have had multiple groups of rogues at her beck and call to get away with what she did.

There was one thing Gorsestorm was certain of though. Featherfall wasn’t done with the clans yet. It had almost scared him, the single-minded focus the queen had on eradicating the medicine cats. He feared for the clans as a whole, now- if she’d had such a strong drive for revenge against a whole class of cats for losing her leg, how terrible would be her retribution be against those who killed her mate? Whatever it was, they needed to be careful. It seems we might not have our peace just yet.

How bothersome.

Gorsestorm sighed. He was sitting in front of Falconstar and Poppypaw’s graves. The mint that had been growing at his father’s grave was gone now, shriveled away, but a few tendrils still clung stubbornly to Poppypaw’s. A part of him wanted to claw it away, thought maybe that would set her spirit free, but, well, he’d tried that a few days ago. And now, the plant was back, it’s sharp scent and bright green leaves almost mocking. He let out another heavy sigh, this one more frustrated. There was a slight crunch in the snow behind him, and he felt a warm presence.

“I’m alright, Teaselpaw. You should spend your time worrying about more important things than babysitting me.” Silence. “I mean it, shouldn’t you-” Gorsestorm turned to look at his former apprentice, halting mid word when he saw nobody there. His brow furrowed. Odd. Maybe I just imagined it. He let out a mighty yawn. I am exhausted. Stretching, he turned to amble his way back home. It was about evening, the sky a wonderful array of colors. He managed to snatch a rabbit on the way back, proud of the unexpected catch. It would be good for Littlestream and her kits to get more than the bare minimum to eat- plus, it would give him a chance to see Nightkit. He hoped that Shalestar would apprentice the little tom to him when he was old enough. Quiet as he was, Gorsestorm could already see the beginnings of a sharp mind in the kit, and was confident he could help build that up. Mom always did say one of the only things I had going for me was my brain. He snorted. He could picture her now- whiskers twitching, eyes fond. Well, you certainly can’t count on your personality, my little burr.

Upon reentering camp, he was greeted by Teaselpaw and Dipperwing, the two working their way around the edges of camp, the medicine cat a few steps away from the warrior to allow him the chance to navigate on his own. Dipperwing’s confidence had taken a blow after the battle. Gorsestorm couldn’t blame him- it’d been frightening enough, that terrible night, being able to see and defend himself. Not sure if I could’ve handled the situation like he did, given the opportunity. Teaselpaw had an endless well of patience and was happy to help the tom recover some security, thank the stars, and they now spent a considerable amount of time each day reacclimating Dipperwing to moving around on his own. Gorsestorm padded over to greet them, mildly surprised when Dipperwing nearly cracked his neck whipping around to face him, muscles taut.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he mewed around the rabbit in his mouth. The other tom stood still for a moment, brow furrowed in confusion, before giving a small shake of his head.

“No, don’t worry, you didn’t, I just- thought I smelled something strange, is all.” It was a little hard to tell what Dipperwing was thinking, these days. His eyes had always reflected his emotions like a puddle reflected the sky. Now, it looked like he had his eyes always closed, only the slightly sunken eyelids and thin scars across his face hinting at anything amiss. Gorsestorm paused for a minute, confused, but decided he didn’t have the energy to deal with it right now.

“Alright then, I’m off to the nursery to drop this off. Have fun, you two.” Dipperwing nodded, flicking an ear at Teaselpaw.

“I… actually think I’m going to go lay down for a minute, Teasel. I’m not feeling great all of a sudden.” The medicine cat looked concerned but let him go, coming over to stand with her former mentor.

“Guess I’ll accompany you to the nursery, then. Not much else to do.” Gorsestorm rolled his eyes, about to make a comment about second choices and priorities, when he noticed Teaselpaw’s expression. The molly was suddenly frozen, eyes fixed on something to the left of him. He glanced over to see what could have garnered such a reaction, but there was nothing there. He pinned her with an unimpressed look.

“What? What are you looking at?” Teaselpaw’s wide eyes snapped to him, then back to the spot.

“You mean you can’t see her?”

“See who?”

“Poppypaw. She’s right there.”

RIVERCLAN: wander back home

“Then by the powers given to me, I give you your warrior name. Littlepaw, from this moment on, you will be known as Littlesong. Starclan honors your kind heart and intelligence, and we welcome you as a full warrior of Riverclan.” His clanmates cheered his name, Goldenthorn sitting tall besides him, and Littlesong couldn’t help the way he swelled with pride as his new name echoed around the camp.

“Littlesong! Littlesong! Littlesong! Hey, come on now, wake up!”

The golden tabby started awake, blinking blearily up at an unimpressed Goldenthorn.

“Up you get, lazy bones,” she mewed, tone absent of her usual bite. “Don’t you have one last practice before tonight?” Ah crap, Littlesong thought as he scrambled to his feet. Is it already that late? Golden light was peeking through the woven reeds of the warrior’s den, signaling that it was in fact closer to evening than afternoon. So much for a quick nap. He thanked his sister hastily before hurrying out of the den, loping out of camp and towards the practice clearing without even bothering to fix his pelt.

Technically, the night of the battle had been the Long Night Gathering. It was typically a celebratory Gathering, marking the middle of the winter season and the turning point towards spring. Apprentices usually competed in various activities for the entertainment of the clans, from spars to memory games to silly things like who had the longest tail, or the pinkest nose. It was a fun night, as many warriors as possible usually in attendance, but the biggest event was the performance Riverclan would put on at moonhigh. The specific story changed each year, but typically revolved around the different myths and legends each clan told. This year, they would be telling an old Riverclan legend about a queen whose kittens were turned into river stones by a water spirit, and the different trials she had to overcome to change them back. Littlesong had a minor role, playing a wood sprite who guided the queen to some herbs she needed through a series of riddles. It was all good fun though, and he had worked hard to memorize the tricky tongue twisters the sprite used to try and befuddle the queen. Larkwing would be playing the main role, Ripplepaw the water spirit, with Berrybush, Hollyclaw, and Stormfang playing the other challenge givers. The elders would be playing the three kittens, a comical work around to the fact Riverclan had no young apprentices now to play the roles. The troupe was meeting one last time to practice before tonight, and Littlesong was officially running late.

His sheepish apologies were dismissed in good humor, most warriors too excited about the newfound peace and the celebrations tonight to let something so small annoy them. They passed the evening together pleasantly, Littlesong successfully performing his lines without a hitch, and trooped back to camp for a bite to eat before they needed to head out, laughing with each other as they went. The golden warrior sobered as they made it to the camp entrance, bidding goodbye to the others so he could go find Piketail, a weight in his gut that he tried to ignore. Tonight will most likely be the last time we eat together- at least, the last time for a long time.

Piketail was joining Shadowclan tonight.

It had been decided a couple weeks ago, after things had really settled following the battle. Piketail had gone to Oakstar, explaining his heritage and desire to join his father’s clan, as well as relaying that Rosestar had agreed to allow the transfer, provided Oakstar had no problem with it. The old tom had thought it over for a nerve-wracking day, Piketail spending most of it a ball of nerves. Littlesong had finally insisted on taking his old mentor out hunting, declaring that all that anxious energy should be put to good use. Together they had managed a decent haul, and upon their return to camp that evening Oakstar had given Piketail his reluctant permission. It pains me that we couldn’t make a good home for you here, but I understand your desire. I hope you are blessed with much happiness with your family. Littlesong was… mostly okay with it. He was happy for Piketail, he really was, but he also couldn’t deny that he would be devastated to see his mentor go. I just have to trust in his promise. And besides, it’s not like we’ll never see each other again. Anyway, Piketail was still here now, and he would enjoy what time they had left together.

His old mentor was sitting outside the medicine den with Squirrelnose, seeming to have just finished talking to the ginger tom when Littlesong padded up. He was glad to see that the two of them were at least civil now. It had been awkward when his and his sister’s mentors couldn’t even be around each other for more than ten minutes at a time.

“Hey Piketail, want to grab something to eat? Ripplepaw said she caught a carp earlier.” Piketail nodded, bidding a polite goodbye to the ginger tom before padding off with Littlesong. They found the carp in question, settling down together near the medicine den. They could hear Ripplepaw’s excited chatter and Splashpaw’s quips and comments, the siblings’ conversation a pleasant backdrop to the meal. The two warriors ate in a comfortable silence, Piketail letting out a sigh as they finished. “How are you feeling about tonight?" Littlesong asked.

“Nervous, and very happy, and very sad.” Piketail replied quietly, looking down at his paws. “I’m excited to, well, start over, and grateful to get to know my family, but… I’ll miss this place. I may not have the fondest memories for most of it, but Riverclan has been my home for most of my life. Nothing will ever change that.” Littlesong nodded, ears drooping.

“Well, you can always come back,” he mewed, and it was only slightly a joke. Piketail smiled, eye creasing in genuine mirth.

“Thank the stars for that. We’ll see if I can survive with the bog rats, hm? I have to tell you now though, if I ever start saying that I enjoy eating frogs, you need to drag me back here.” Littlesong laughed a bit, trying to force away the sadness that was already welling up. Piketail noticed, because of course he did, and leaned over to give Littlesong a supportive nudge.

“Remember what I told you. And besides, I have a feeling that you’ll still be seeing more of me than you would probably like.”

Stars, I hope so.

SHADOWCLAN: the spark

“Come on dad, please?” Emberkit begged, pinning her ears back and opening her eyes super wide in a pleading look. Usually it worked, Rosestar letting out a huff before reluctantly acquiescing, but now he just refused to look at her. Cheater.

“No. You’re only five moons old-“

“Five and a half, and, and, that’s just a guess, we could be six moons old-“ Sparkkit piped up, but their father kept going.

“And there are rules. In the Code. That specifically bar this sort of thing from happening, and I’m not risking my eternal reward just because you three want me to bend things to your advantage. Sorry, froglets, but there’s always next year.” Emberkit and her brothers were desperately trying to convince their father to make them apprentices so they could attend the Long Night Gathering. It was evening now, the stars just starting to twinkle, and they were growing desperate. Days they had been pestering him with no success, and now, in the final hour, it seemed they would fail. “Besides, your mother would claw my ears off.”

“But you’re the leader!” Sunkit said, a similar pathetic look on his face. “Isn’t the leader’s word law? That’s what the Code says!” Rosestar shot him an unimpressed look.

“My word is law for Shadowclan, yes, but your mother’s word is law for me. And if my word is law, why do you keep pestering me about it? Again, I’m sorry kittens, but it’s not allowed. There’s always the Midsummer Gathering- you’ll all be apprentices then.” Crushing disappointment. Emberkit didn’t stomp her foot, because that would just prove his point about them being too young, but she couldn’t help the frustrated tears that welled up. Who cared about the Midsummer Gathering? That was moons away! The Long Gathering was tonight!

“You’re asking the wrong questions, kits.” Came a voice, and hope welled up in Emberkit’s chest. The little tortoiseshell turned her pleading gaze to Auntie Briar, who always knew what to do. Crowcall, or was it Uncle Crowcall now? Was standing beside her, the two wearing matching grins. Rosestar eyed them warily.

“They are, are they?” He asked, and there was a warning in his tone that Briarmask gleefully ignored.

“What you should be asking is if you can just go to the Gathering as you are. The only rule about kittens outside of camp is that they have to be accompanied, correct? And if you had cats willing to chaperone you…” She trailed off, and now all three kits whipped around, hopeful eyes pinning Rosestar in place.

“I should put you on tick duty,” he grumbled, but he seemed to be crumbling under the weight of their expectant gazes. A heavy, familiar, conceding sigh. “Ask your mother. If she’s ok with it, and if Briarmask and Crowcall promise to be your chaperones for the whole night, then you can go.” Emberkit leapt to her feet with a triumphant yowl, taking off towards the nursery where Pinenose was. Sparkkit and Sunkit stayed behind, Sunkit dancing around their aunt’s paws and Sparkkit tugging on Rosestar’s ears, but Emberkit was on a mission.

A few minutes and minimal pleading later, Pinenose had agreed to the conditions Rosestar set forth, and the three kittens deigned to let her groom them until their coats were neat and gleaming. The siblings sat sandwiched between Briarmask and Crowcall, waiting for their father to say it was time to leave. Their nursery friends were only a little disappointed they weren’t allowed to go, but honestly, the six of them were still afraid of going outside the camp, so this was better anyway. And Brooksong’s babies had only just opened their eyes, so they didn’t count. After an eternity Rosestar appeared, stopping before his children to fix them with a firm look.

“You do exactly what your Auntie tells you or your apprentice ceremonies will be delayed. Deal?” They nodded excitedly, used to his empty threats, and he let out a huff before calling for the departure. Now, Emberkit couldn’t lie- she was exhausted by the time they made it to the hollow. But actually seeing the Four Oaks and all the other cats washed that all away in an instant, and she barely could restrain herself from leaping forward and diving into the crowd of cats.

“Alright kittens,” Briarmask announced, “this is what we’re going to do. There’re a couple different events that will start soon, but before then, there’s some cats I need to talk to. You can either come with me or wait here with Crowcall. What do you say?” Emberkit elected to go with Briar, but her brothers decided to stay with Crowcall, wanting to make sure they got good spots to see the spars. Emberkit was much more interested in meeting other warriors, especially the ones her aunt was friends with. They had saved the territories after all. Much cooler than watching some apprentices tumble around. The group her aunt led her to was made up of an assortment of warriors, all of whom seemed noble and majestic and awesome- she must have look star struck, as Briarmask took one look at her and snorted.

“You think they’re impressive now, but wait until they open their mouths.” She murmured. They arrived at the group then, a fluffy white tom and a scarred gray warrior shuffling apart so Emberkit and Briarmask could sit with them. “Alright, you lot, this is my niece, Emberkit. Rosestar made an exception that she and her littermates could come tonight since they’re so close to their apprentice ceremonies and, well, he’s an indulgent father.” They went around introducing themselves- Snowdrift, Turtlepaw, Piketail, Teaselpaw, Gorsestorm… the tortoiseshell next to the Windclanner’s didn’t introduce herself, which Emberkit thought was weird and maybe even a little rude, but nobody else said anything so she stayed quiet too. I don’t want them to think I’m a nosy kit! And the tortoiseshell winked then, giving her a smile, so maybe she wasn’t too bad. Maybe she’s like Spiderpaw. “Emberkit, Piketail is actually the one joining our clan tonight. He’s Marshfoot and Frogthroat’s brother, remember?”

“Wow! So you’re the babies’ uncle?” Emberkit chirped, looking up at him more closely. “Well, I guess you look like Graykit at least.” The tom froze, Briarmask rolling her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

“… Graykit?” Piketail mewed hesitantly, single eye darting to her aunt.

“Frogthroat was going to ask your permission, but they’re a moon old now and need to be called something. Sorry for the abrupt reveal.”

“Oh, sorry, are their names a surprise?” Emberkit whispered, ears drooping, but Piketail looked back at her kindly.

“Ah, no worries guppy. I’m happy to know. What are the other two named?” Emberkit was all too happy to tell him about Newtkit and Fernkit as well, and how she and Beekit were happy to have other mollies in the den, because oh boy their brothers could be so annoying…

The leader’s called for attention a short time later, Emberkit happy enough talking to Piketail as the other’s chatted around her, and the Gathering commenced. Emberkit cheered loudly for Spiderpaw when he won his spar, booed when a Thunderclan apprentice won longest tail against Loudpaw, and laughed at a joke contest between warriors from each clan. Crowcall won, a proud Sunkit and Sparkkit trailing after him, Briarmask rolling her eyes. He’ll be insufferable now! As the night wore on, Emberkit found herself yawning, slumped beside her aunt as she spoke quietly to her friends. She almost fell asleep when she felt someone sit down beside her, and looked up to see the tortoiseshell from earlier.

“Oh, hello,” she yawned again. “I didn’t get your name earlier. My name is Emberkit.” The molly smiled down at her.

“My name is Poppypaw,” she said kindly, and Emberkit gave her a friendly nod. Have I heard that name before? “I need to ask you something, Emberkit.”

“Uh, sure. Can I help you with something?”

“Yes, or rather, you will. When spring comes, and the first flowers bloom, look for me in the pines. Can you do that?” Emberkit narrowed her eyes.

“How are you gonna be in the pines if you’re not from Shadowclan? We’re not supposed to be on other cat’s territory.” Poppypaw laughed.

“Right you are, but I’m a medicine cat, and we can travel when we need to. So, do you promise?” Well, Emberkit didn’t know if the molly was telling the truth or not, since she didn’t remember Fernfire or anyone mention her, but it seemed harmless enough. She could always ask her parents or her aunt about it later.

“Alright, I promise.” Another yawn, and she was so sleepy now…

“Thank you, little ember. I have one piece of advice for you before I go. Can you stay awake to hear it? It’s important.” Medicine cats deserve your respect, so do what they ask you, ok? Her mother’s voice rang in her head, so Emberkit forced herself to sit up, blinking sleepily up at her fellow tortoiseshell. “There will be times ahead, very difficult times, and you might feel defeated and want to give up. When that happens, remember this- some things need fire to grow. You will endure any flames that seek to consume you, and come out stronger for it. Never forget that.” What? Now Emberkit was confused and a little alarmed, but she blinked and all of a sudden Poppypaw was just… gone. Am I dreaming? She tried to look around for the medicine cat but then Briarmask was nudging at her, telling her it was time to go home, so she obediently trailed after her, mind spinning. Difficult times? Consuming flames? Did Poppypaw mean that literally?

How can any cat survive burning up?

First / Prev

#warrior cats fanfic #warrior cats #warriors ocs #warrior cats ocs #my writing #wc overgrowth

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myherowritings · 4 years ago

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PART 5. THE INHERENT EROTICISM OF BUTTONING SOMEONE’S CLOTHES

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 3.0k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. sexual tension !! and umm sexual frustration ;p, not explicit but prob rated 16+, just read the title of this chapter BAHAHA

A/N. sorry this is coming a little later than planned ! :( but i hope the dressing room scene can make up for it u.u tysm for reading and for all the feedback! enjoy :3 xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

What were you supposed to wear to a shopping date? you asked yourself. Not that today was a date or anything. Though maybe you sort of wished it were…

The Naruhata Charity Gala was in a little over a week and Shouto would be coming over to pick you up in less than one hour and you still sat in your room with nothing but a towel on feeling more and more hopeless.

It was a strange dilemma. He met you in your work apron wearing an unflattering work shirt and work pants. And when you met up over the weekend previously, you never paid too much mind on what you would wear. In fact, you were positive he wouldn’t even care how you looked. So why was it such a big deal to you now?

Probably because of your recent admission of your growing feelings towards him, you thought crossly.

In your defense, it wasn’t like it was your fault! Right? Seeing someone everyday… Wanting to see someone everyday… Texting regularly about the most random things, having the most banal objects you saw throughout the day remind you of something Shouto did or said… With all those occurrences it would’ve been practically impossible to not start crushing on him!

Time passed as you stared at your ceiling blankly. If you kept this up, he was bound to show up in your house and find you half-naked. (Now that you mentioned it, that didn’t sound like the worst idea. But it wasn’t something you’d randomly spring upon someone.)

“Get up, Y/N!” you scolded yourself, rolling off your bed and heading towards your closet.

In the end, you ended up settling for another variation of your usual go-to outfit and called it a day. It happened to be perfect timing since, by the time you finished getting ready, you got a new message on your phone.

Shouto: Parked in front of your place

Shouto: Sorry I’m a little early. You can take your time getting ready :)

Y/N: it’s okay i’m ready now!!

After hitting send, you put your shoes on, gathering your belongings you wanted to bring with you, and headed out the door. Excited to hang out with Shouto again, you walked with a skip in your step down the path until you reached his car.

“Hi!” You waved through his half-opened, tinted window. To no one’s surprise, his car was a sleek black color with dark, tinted windows, and gold details along the sides. If it didn’t look so oddly sexy you would’ve laughed at how cutely dorky he was for matching his car with his credit card. “This is one hot car.”

He turned his head to the side when you entered the passenger’s seat. “Should I turn the AC higher?”

“Huh— Oh!” You stifled a giggle when you processed the pun he made. “You’re funny, Shouto.”

He only looked a little confused. “Thank you.”

The interior of his car was no less—for lack of better term—sexy than the outside. Leather seats, a large screen for the radio and carplay, and the dashboard and side doors lit up a nice blue color.

“Pretty!” you complimented, poking at the colorful light.

“Want to pick a color?”

Your eyes widened. “It can change colors?!”

Shouto nodded.

“Can it be pink?” you asked intently.

“Light pink or hot pink?”

“Light.”

He swiftly obliged and with a hit of a touchscreen button, the interior lighting changed from blue to pastel pink.

“Green!”

It turned green.

“Orange!”

Cue the orange.

“Purple?”

Purple.

Once you were thoroughly satisfied with Shouto showing you the whole color selection (you were almost embarrassed to admit it kept you entertained for a good ten minutes), you settled on a bright turquoise that reminded you of the color of his left eye.

“Ooh, this color! My favorite,” you said simply, giving him a wide smile.

A faint blush dusted his cheeks as he developed a sudden interest in adjusting his rearview mirror. “Hm.”

Shouto drove the rest of the way in a comfortable silence, occasionally asking how your week was outside of work and what type of outfit you wanted to wear so he could have a better idea on where to take you.

“Did you eat?” he suddenly asked when he hit the next stoplight, one hand holding the wheel and the other resting comfortably on the gear shift.

His hands looked nice and slender and soft to the touch. Pretty hands, you thought but shook yourself out of it because you could go down a rabbit hole of examining his hands and going into detail about them.

You remembered the single, measly granola bar you had due to your rush getting ready. “I didn’t really eat yet, no. Did you?”

He shook his head and pulled into a food plaza with lots of stores to choose from. The two of you agreed on a noodle restaurant that apparently had some of the best cold soba (once you learned it was his favorite food, you wanted to be able to have some with him and today was the perfect opportunity to do just that) and promptly headed to the location.

In the shop, a waiter sat the two of you down at a dimly lit booth with the perfect amount of ambience that if someone were to casually look over, they might even mistake this outing as a date.

You grinned at the thought.

“Excited for the soba?” asked Shouto, examining the smile on your face thoughtfully.

That’s not why you were smiling, but it was close enough. “Mhm. And the udon. You can never go wrong with noodles!”

Yes, you got both udon and soba. But in your defense, where else would the fun in life be if not in sugary sweets and carbs?

As the two of you waited for your main dishes, you ate some fish cakes and edamame while talking about the ways in which capitalism could be dismantled. Rather sexy of him, if you did say so yourself.

Before you knew it, you were done with your meal and headed back into his car to go fancy-people shopping. On the remainder of the ride, you asked yourself what color you should pick that would match well with both you and Shouto. After all, nothing said a cute couple who totally liked each other going on a totally real date to a gala like color-coordinated outfits, right?

He parked in front of a street of buildings with a dark glass reaching from ceiling to floor with security guards at the door. Just standing near it made you feel fancy.

“This is a place my sister told me she liked,” he said, leading you to the store front with his hand on the small of your back to guide you. “I hope you’ll find something to your liking.”

You tried your best not to pay too much attention to the warmth you felt both on your back and your stomach from the fuzzy feelings that spread.

“Hello, welcome!” the both of you were greeted as you walked through the doors. The interior of the store was lined with designer dresses, some long, some short, and all incredibly stunning. There were only a few other patrons in the store, but all of them looked so elegant as they tried on their dresses. “It’s so lovely to see you again Mr. Todoroki.”

Shouto nodded subtly. “Hello. This is Y/N, my date to the gala who’ll need your assistance today.”

“Hi!” you chimed in at his cue. “Nice to meet you.”

The worker smiled and made her way over to you. “And you as well. I’m Masuda and I’ll do my best to make sure you leave the store satisfied with your purchase! Did you have a particular style or perhaps color in mind?”

“Umm,” you said sheepishly, looking around the wide variety of clothings and unsure where to start. “I’m not too sure. It’s my first time going to one of these things so maybe something comfortable, but also still...fancy?” You scratched the back of your neck. “Does that even exist?”

“Of course— Just have to find something that feels comfortable to you.” She told you to hold on one moment as she disappear into the rows of fabric.

As Masuda collected some starter dresses for you to try on, a customer walked by with bags of clothes in her hands, her gaze lingering on Shouto, though neither of you paid her much mind.

“In this setting, you look almost fit to be a sugar daddy,” you said jokingly, looking around in awe at the sophisticated yet lavish dresses. “You take all your sugar babies here?”

“Only the ones I really like,” he teased back. His voice was deadpan but there was the telltale hints of a smirk on his face to let you know he was only messing with you.

The door chimed to signal that a customer left and by then Masuda had returned with bundles of fabric draped on her arm. She led you away in a hurry and you hesitantly looked back at Shouto who followed in a safe distance. Seeing your moment of panic, he gave you an encouraging smile that somehow was enough to ease a significant fraction of your nerves. This may be new and confusing territory, but at least he was here to help you through it.

Masuda set a dressing room up for you—it was one of those rooms in the middle of the store with curtains that reached the ceiling and mirrors all around—and placed a bunch of outfits she thought would suit your taste. It reminded you of when a bride would go wedding dress shopping with their family. When you had enough outfits for the first round, she told Shouto to sit down on a leather seat in front of your dressing room while he waited for you to try the different dresses on.

In a way, it felt oddly intimate: Shouto sitting just a few feet in front of you as you undressed, only separated by the veil of a curtain. Would he offer to help button the back of your dress up, fingers brushing against your bare skin? The thought made you feel almost hot inside as you changed out of your street clothes and into the first dress.

Unfortunately for you, this dress had no such difficult buttons to reach.

“How’s it look?” you asked shyly as you emerged from the dressing room.

The dress was pretty and didn’t feel uncomfortable to walk in, but there wasn’t any sort of attachment you felt towards it. In other words, it was simply...meh.

Shouto looked up from his phone to take in the sight of you. He smiled. “You look amazing as always.”

“You think so?” You spun around and curtseyed jokingly and he chuckled. “I don’t think it’s bad, but I’m not sure if it’s the right one.”

“We’ll be here until you find the right one you want, then. Take your time, Y/N.”

His voice was normally on the deeper side, but it sounded even more sensual and gravelly at this very moment. You felt goosebumps on your arms and it wasn’t just because of the sleeveless dress you currently had on.

“T-Thanks, Shouto,” you murmured, turning around and walking back into the changing room to hide the look on your face. You didn’t even know what kind of look you had on your face, but you knew it was one that might give too much away.

It wasn’t fair that he had to be so sweet and caring and thoughtful and handsome and rich… Most guys you met barely fit into one of those criteria, let alone all five. (Sure, the last two weren’t necessary in your opinion, but you couldn’t deny they were a nice bonus.) It was too bad you had no clue how he felt about you.

There were moments where he felt flirty and teasing, like maybe he viewed you in a more-than-friends way. But other times he was so polite and proper and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just being nice because that’s simply the sort of person he was to everyone.

While you were trying to sort through all your thoughts, you completely forgot to change into a new dress the whole time you were in here.

You saw a shadow at the floor of the curtain before a voice said, “Y/N? Are you okay in there?”

Jumping at the sound, you scurried to put the next dress on, a blue one with almost translucent fabric and a delicate neckline. Judging from the proximity of Shouto’s voice and the shadow of his shoes, he was right next to you as you changed.

“I’m okay!” you managed, hoping you didn’t sound as wobbly as you felt. You held the dress closed at the back, fumbling with the fastens. “I just, ah, needed help buttoning this one up.”

A light ruffle on the curtain then a pause. “Should I...come in and help?”

Your eyes widened, not expecting him to actually offer to button it up like you fantasized earlier. You fully thought he might called the worker to aide you just so he wouldn’t risk making you uncomfortable. (Not that he would’ve. At all.)

“I apologize,” he said somewhat tensely after you didn’t respond. “That was indecent of me—”

“No, no!” you said profusely, poking your head out of the curtain while holding the fabric at the front of your dress to your chest. You tilted your chin to meet his gaze with a determined one of your own. “I’d love your help, Shouto.”

With a dusting of pink coloring his cheeks, he nodded and entered your dressing room. “This dress is a nice color on you.” His voice was loud against the silence.

Shouto ran his hand down the length of your spine and then up to unfold the column of buttons on your dress that curved inwards at your movement, his knuckles grazing against your skin like lightning striking water. You jolted at the sudden feeling but he didn’t remove his touch when he felt it.

“Sorry.” His voice was low, almost like a whisper. “Was just getting the buttons out.”

“N-No worries!”

His fingers began working on the bottom-most button at your lower back as he applied a steady pressure on the base of your spine to control the motion. Shouto slowly began his way up, fingertips cold to the touch. But you knew that wasn’t the only reason you felt yourself shiver. As he fastened the dainty buttons with immense concentration (much more concentration than was actually needed to fasten buttons, you were sure), you felt the heat of his breath tickling the back of your neck. You almost couldn’t keep yourself from arching your back in a mixture of anticipation and delight at his constant touch.

When he finished the last button, Shouto let one hand rest on your hip, grasping the fabric between his fingertips to examine its silken texture. Your breath caught in your throat as you stepped back and bumped into his chest, but he was already there to steady you.

With his arm on your waist and your back leaning against his chest, you made eye contact through the mirror in front of you. You weren’t sure if the pounding you felt was from your heart or his or a combination of both.

There was something almost erotic about holding each others’ gaze in the mirror after Shouto just helped you dress, the two of you still not letting the other go despite the task being complete.

“The dress… You look gorgeous,” he said, not taking his eyes off you for one moment.

You nodded slowly. It did look amazing on you. And it was breathable and soft. (Plus, Shouto liked it, which made you happier than you’d care to admit.) “The only downside would be I need help getting into it.”

“We could get ready together so it’s no issue.”

“I’d...also need help getting out of it.”

You held your breath as his eyes darkened, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly in a way that made you curve your back before you remembered you were flush against Shouto and he could feel even the most subtle of movements coming from your body. But by the time you stopped yourself, it was too late. He already felt it and you wanted more.

His voice was hoarse. “I could help you with that too.”

Instead of beginning to unbutton the dress like part of you thought he would, he surprised you by spinning you around to face him, your shoulder blades pressed against the cool glass of the mirror and your palms lingering on the muscles of his warm chest. The contrast of the cold glass and Shouto’s body heat left a shiver down your spine.

“And how do you plan to help take off my dress when you can’t even see the buttons?” you said challengingly, a smirk on your face despite knowing full well your body was showcasing just how affected you were by this situation. By Shouto.

He tilted his head to the side in response to your daring tone, hands swiftly finding their way to your back and unbuttoning the top five buttons. It wasn’t enough to completely expose your breasts, but it was enough to loosen the fabric at the neckline in a way that made you gasp.

“Seems doable to me,” he commented.

You tugged him down slightly by the collar of his shirt. “I don’t quite believe you. Maybe you should prove it.”

A guttural noise sounded from the back of his throat as he cupped your jaw and leaned in closer. You inched forward, eager to meet his lips. But before they could touch, a knock came from the wall next to the curtain, causing the two of you to freeze in your spots, bodies pressed against each other in an intimate flush.

“Hello, Y/N?” said Masuda cheerfully, blissfully ignorant about what was about to happen in a public dressing room in the middle of the store. “How are the dresses coming along? Did you like any?”

“Ah, actually…” you trailed off, exchanging frustrated but amused glances with Shouto. “I think we’ll take this one.”

a/n: so...mirror sex/sex in a dressing room as a bonus chapter? u.u why yes of course. i’m one step ahead; did u even have to ask? LMAO and hm i wonder if y/n’s fEeLiNGs~ are reciprocated skfkfkdg ALSO THEY WERE SO CLOSE TO KISSING BUT DIDN’T I CRY hopefully the wait will be worth it ;3

what to expect in the next part:

GALA TIMEEEE

yes y/n finally gets the fancy candy they so desired

we get to see shouto’s sexy penthouse

shouto says eat the rich >:c

2K notes · View notes

yeojaa · 4 years ago

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( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or: Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing. tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life fluff, light smut. explicit (but only at the end).

tags / warnings. mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc. 7.6k.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif, @papillonsgf, and @yeoldontknow 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note. i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this. it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless. as always, feedback means a lot!

You and forethought aren’t close friends. You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree. You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is. Careful consideration? Thoughtful patience? None of that exists for you. At least, not when you really, really want something.

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this. Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid. By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment. Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to. When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed. (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right?

“Everyone’s fully booked.” The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial. (You don’t blame her.) By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal. You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue. “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice? Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable. Well-known. Considered one of the best in the city. Surely their apprentice would be fine. Just less seasoned, not as experienced.

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter. “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall. “Last room on the left. His name’s Jungkook. His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.” It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves. Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told.

“Jungkook?” There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight. (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.) It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else.

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting: one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits. Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine. A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall; one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it. There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath. All in all, very homey. Reminiscent of your own apartment.)

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space. “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples.

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for. Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe. It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin. “Are you okay?” He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way. Good for him, but worse for you.

He’s so cute. Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.” You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete. “Um— I was told you might have some time? For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering? You’re never shy. Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess. People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!” Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder. He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway. “Yeah, I’ve got time. Come in.” Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek; the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip; each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks. “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no. You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook? He was that. In spades.

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table. It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display. “I’ve got a pretty big selection.”

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him. This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation.

“So—” He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen. You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt. It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion; it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles. He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling. The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity. “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.” It really is. You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink. “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question. Of course it did. It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally. “Like crazy, but it was worth it. This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—” He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.

“A piece of cake?” You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you. (It doesn’t. You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap. “Do any of these interest you?” He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash. There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf). They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.” It catches your eye more than the others have. Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines. A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do. “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.” He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled; you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion. A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen. “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy. Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no. You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though. You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it. You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life. There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,” you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.

“Do you have your ID?” You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form. “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come.

Alone, the nerves set in. You’re actually doing this. Getting a tattoo. Putting something permanent on your body. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap. Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come. (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.)

(But had you really made up your mind? Was this going to be it? It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise. It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!” Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope. You eye it curiously. “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”

He’s really thought of everything. Or the shop has. Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?” It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand. (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.)

You hadn’t thought about that. You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away. “My arm?”

“Upper? Forearm?” There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative. He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you.

“Tricep area, I think? Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.” Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same. “I’m kidding. That was cheesy. But I’m sure it’ll look fine. We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?”

“That sounds good.” A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement.

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake: wearing a turtleneck. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like. Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon? Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)?

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule. Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside. Whatever you’d prefer.”

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill. You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way? He was probably desensitized.)

“It’s fine.” You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly. Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though. Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater. It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath. Two.

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“So, which arm?” He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello.

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers. You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.” It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror. “It’s so pretty.”

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face. “Thanks.” He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful. “What do you think?”

“This is it. Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool. As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee.

“All right. We’ll shave you down and get started. You like the colours, right?” Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart. It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes. (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.) He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him. “Hop on up. Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace. It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?” You’d misheard that, right?

“Your skin. You’re sparkling.” He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.

“Oh.” Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly. “It’s my soap.”

“Sparkle soap?” Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure. He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before. (Which, fair.)

“It’s this specialty holiday soap. It has pigment in it.”

“That’s cool.” He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm. “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree. It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does. Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot. “Thanks.”

“Was that weird? I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.”

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle. “Ready?”

Honestly, you’re not sure. Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog. Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue. “I think so.”

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee.

“All right—”“ The incessant buzzing stops. Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel. “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you. Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.)

“Can I see?” You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right. You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet. It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you.

“Careful!” It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.

“Sorry, sorry.” You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede. Everything straightens out quickly enough. “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?” He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall. “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art. “I’m fine.” That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.” The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open. Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words, “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention. It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours. It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.

“You like?”

“I love.” You’d stare at it for hours, if you could. Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie. “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head. Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose. Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into. “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one. It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink. (You half expect him not to answer; you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.)

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.

“So, what’re you thinking?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking. Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history. You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece. “A sleeve?”

That surprises him. His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously. “Like, a full sleeve?” It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable. “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high. “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,” he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea. “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.” He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up. For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing. (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.) “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan. It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there. He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions. It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin. A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep. Another takes up the entirety of your forearm. There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi. It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch. You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.” Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap. “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers. Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat. He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up. Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.

“You mean we did it,” you return, giddy like a child.

“Ah, right.” The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled. “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey! Screw you!” You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more. It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head. Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow. You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm. That in itself had hurt like a biiitch; you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?” He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to. It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.

“Yes, you are.” You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares. This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together. (Not that you’d complain. You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful. “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration. “You wouldn’t dare.” You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.

“Wouldn’t I? I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed? You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation. Had he mentioned it previously? Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain? No, you would’ve remembered that. You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.” How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea. You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway. Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago. (God, your memory is good. If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.) “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.

“Gonna miss me?”

Would it be inappropriate to say yes? Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question. You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,” he answers, offering honesty to your reticence. “You can still send me funny photos though.”

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile. “I guess you’re right. Will you still be tattooing?” It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know. You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.” Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin. “Actually, where I got most of mine done.” You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith. He’s finally come full circle. You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise. “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,” he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair. It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn. “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,” you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder. You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go. It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk. “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you. It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available. (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.) “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black. You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?” He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to. (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?) “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended. “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you. “Hey, I don’t judge. You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there. Used your own impulsive history against you. “I would never.”

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what? Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him. “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth. There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up. You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”

“Really?” You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face. “Then why don’t you have one?” He has a million others as it is: a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs. (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)

“And hide all this?” One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home. “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual. “But I’m cuter. It’d be a shame if it were me. You…” The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean. (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.) “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him.

“I’m kidding.” You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries. A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke. “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them? Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was. Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met. It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?” The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.

Were you? You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? You can’t?” You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it. But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously. It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears. “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”

Had he? Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall. Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of; accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff). Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought. You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,” you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.

“I think you’re cute,” he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff. The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week. The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb. (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer. “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” Where the confidence comes from, who knows. You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering. It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits.

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go.

Then he does the last thing you expect: shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.

(His lips are so soft. A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate. Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him. French fries and beer and his Chapstick.)

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.)

“You just kissed me.” It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.” Speaking the words into existence feels bad; you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.

“I am.” At least he’s realistic. It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay.

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose.

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next. (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass. Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers. An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,” the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials. You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation.

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof. The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin. You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous. It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left.

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed. He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders. You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,” he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity. It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,” you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped. You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was. As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though. You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow. He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?” You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder. Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again. (You’re proud of that. It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine. You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness. Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad. Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around. It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper. He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror. “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals. Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care. Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre. You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life. It means so much - like progressing to the next level.

Which, you suppose it is. This is a fresh start for you. A new beginning in a new city.

“Proud of you,” he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips. He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago. A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,” you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual. “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that. You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome. From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this: a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had; to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that. Made it worth it in ways you had never considered. Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?” He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself. It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.” The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?” You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets. It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that. He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?” Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job?

(It truthfully could be. You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.” All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine. “You don’t like when I admire my own work?” Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit. The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need. (Because you really do need it. You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.) It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once.

“Kook,” you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.” He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin. They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas. A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care. Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits. When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt. “I’ve missed this,” he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.

“Missed you too,” you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @xjoonchildx

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dhwty-writes · 3 years ago

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A Wizard’s Spellbook

I honestly don't know what this is. This whole thing was just born from the "a wizards spellbook" prompt for Shadowgastober and the missing apostrophe that got me wondering... Because it makes a pretty big difference where you place that.

There’s not a lot of shadowgast in this, I still hope you’ll have fun reading this!

Summary: Why, you will ask yourself, does your professor leave his book on his desk during his lessons? Why then, does he keep it open, why does he invite you to look at it, why is he so careless? Doesn't he know that only the wizard who works alone will succeed? Doesn't he know that solitude mitigates risks? Doesn't he know that that's the thing about wizards? Eventually there is only one left.

Professor Widogast, his wizard's spellbook, and the many lessons he learned from his friends.

Warnings: light lifespan angst

Read on AO3

A wizard's spellbook, they will tell you when you start to study magic, is their most prized possession. They will not share it. They will not lend it. They will not leave it unsupervised.

Guard your spells and guard your knowledge, they will say, lest they be perverted, perfected, poached. Write in a cypher no-one knows, they will teach you, that you have created yourself. As a dragon hoards its gold, a wizard hoards their magic.

If you are offered a spell, grab it and take it, you likely won't get another chance. If you can find a wizard's spellbook, grab it and take it, you likely won't get another chance. If you are offered friendship, don't take it, you likely will end up with a knife in your back.

Be selfish. Be cruel. Be stronger, better, mightier than anyone else.

So why then, you will ask yourself, does your professor leave his book on his desk during his lessons? Why then, does he keep it open, why does he invite you to look at it, why is he so careless? Doesn't he know that only the wizard who works alone will succeed? Doesn't he know that solitude mitigates risks? Doesn't he know that that's the thing about wizards? Eventually there is only one left.

"Professor Widogast," you will say, "should you not keep your spells secret?"

He will laugh and say: "That is the way of wizards of ages past. I learned from my friend at the Cobalt Soul that all knowledge must be shared."

Your professor will have many stories like that, learned from many friends. The first time he shows you a page in his spellbook you will balk at the obscene drawings in the margins. Again, his eyes will crinkle and he'll say: "I learned from my friend, who gave powers to her god, that the world always needs a little more chaos."

You professor is a strange man with strange antics, as old men are wont to be. But he just might be the strangest of them all. He will laugh and joke, he will ask you to give your opinions, to think for yourself, quiz you on the ethics of wizardry (which is the test most of his students fail, even more than their dreaded final thesis). He will drink dead-people-tea and occasionally talk about a traveller named Artie, who apparently stops by from time to time. He's voyaged aboard legendary ships such as the Nein Heroez and was close friends with Archmage Beck, a Shadowhand, as well as a Plank King. You will be convinced that not even half of his stories are true—there can't be a weasel inhabited by an archfey pretending to be a god, surely not—but then he returns with proof and you will have to reconsider your entire worldview.

Once he will walk around and gesticulate with his spellbook and a pressed flower will float out. When they ask about it, he will reply: "This is a lesson I learned from my gentlest friend: it is important to remember those you love; and it is important to learn how to move on."

Once you realise his offers are genuine, you will stay longer after class and ask if you might see his spellbook. When you look at the first page and ask about the dozens of names and titles that are all attributed to him, he will nod solemnly and say: "If you are in a relationship that does not suit your needs, it is never too late to change your allegiances. This I was taught by my friend who challenged, threatened, and denied a demigod and lived to tell the tale."

You will be taught that wizards do not share, yet that is exactly what your professor asks you to do. So eventually, you have two options. Eventually, you will drop out of his class—his school is not the one you're interested in anyways, you want to learn Evocation which is his third-favourite school. Or, eventually, you will learn to speak up when your professor asks for your opinions. Eventually, you will learn to challenge his. And eventually, you will learn that he will just listen and nod along. In the end, he will praise you for your thoughts and say: "This is what I learned from my considerate friend, who almost let another live his life, because he thought it was the right thing to do: solitude might be safe, but it's not fulfilling. You need to share with others who have the same powers as you do and might just find out that what they do is way cooler." You are not quite sure what that statement has to do with a spectral lollipop.

When you will ask about a spell you try to remake, your professor will smile and offer his help. You had just hoped for advice, maybe, and do not know how to deal with that offer. At your confusion he replies: "I learned from my friend who's an alchemist and detective, that when you work together you just might make the impossible possible. And you just might become who you're meant to be."

You learn how to work with your professor and learn more about his wizard's spellbook. You learn that it is so heavy he cannot lift it without adjusting its gravity. You learn that this is not his first spellbook, that he began creating it with his husband. You learn that there are some pages that are so covered with annotations and corrections, that they are barely legible; some are annotated with glued-in papers that together could cover the entire Academy. You will whisper to your friends about this and he'll hear you and chime in: "This is a lesson I had to learn myself. You will make mistakes and you may regret them. But you cannot erase them, so you will just learn how to live with them, learn from them, and do better in the future."

At some point, when you are working on your third or fifth or tenth spell, you will reach the part where you are stuck. Where none of the knowledge either of you have amassed, none of the rules and guidelines can help you. Then, your professor will sweep his age-white hair out of his eyes and sigh: "I have almost no lessons left to share with you, but this is what my friend, the pirate, taught me: fuck the rules." Surprisingly to both of you, that will work. Surprisingly to one of you what will solve the problem is a combination of Transmutation and Dunamancy—an idea your professor will not tell you where it originated.

When you finish that spell, your professor will laugh and hug you and do a little dance. After, you will finally ask him about his strange wizard's spellbook. Your professor will sigh and deflate and suddenly you will realise just how much time he must have spent on this earth (how long does it take for an elf to even show a single wrinkle? How long until they are looking as ancient as him?)

"It's easy," he will reply, "for this is no wizard's spellbook. This I learned from my husband, who taught young mages like you before me: this is a wizards' spellbook. Every student I ever taught, every friend I ever made, every soul I cared for, I ask to add to this tome." He will smile thoughtfully, tears glimmering in the corner of his eyes." Look," he will say, "it's almost full. Hopefully, in time I may pass it on."

And hopefully, in time you may find that what they tell you is wrong. Hopefully, in time you may find that Professor Essek Widogast and his many lessons from his many friends are right. Hopefully, in time you may pass them on and leave the world better than you found it.

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yee-fxcking-haw · 4 years ago

Text

•Love Me Tender•

Summary: After waiting, watching, and wanting, Tamaki finally has a way to get to you. He's willing to do use some questionable methods, make deals with shifty friends, whatever it takes. He'll have you.

Pairing: Pro Hero Tamaki Amajiki x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, coercion, sabotage, manipulation, hard dom Tamaki, slight brat reader, mostly sub reader, unprotected sex, virginity loss, oral sex (female receiving), tentacle play (oral, vaginal, anal, gagging), bondage (with tentacles), mild dumbification, degradation, spit play, cum play, wittle bit of bloodplay, creampie, marking, possession kink, collaring. Kinda-sorta dub-con (not really imo but warning just in case)

Word Count: 11,576

A/N: Jesus fucking christ I did it.

Part One: Porcelain Obsession

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tamaki awoke painfully this morning, body aching and covered in dried sweat. It wasn't a feeling to be proud of, but it was a feeling he cherished.

Your stolen underwear is clutched in his hand still, like a lifeline. It still smells just a little bit like you… but not enough. He couldn't feel you or taste you or hold you. He had to figure something out, quickly. He had to find a way to make you his.

Luckily, Tamaki knows exactly how to make that happen…

***

You hang up your apron with a deep sigh, wiping sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Thank god it's only a half day, you finally have an afternoon off, a day to spend by yourself.

You bid your coworkers farewell and head out of the shop. You wander home, earbuds in as you try to drown out the noise of the city. Once you're home, you notice a small box on your doorstep.

It's a pretty little gold box with purple ribbon, a tiny note is attached to the top. The scribbled writing reads,

"I thought this would look pretty on you, I'm sorry about the weird exit last night. I'd like to take you to get some coffee to make up for it, if you'll let me." - Tamaki

Your heart flutters a bit at the note, you had deduced you were nothing more than a charity case. Him walking you home was just what he felt was fair in exchange for the use of your phone, he didn't really… like you? Did he?

His exit was just a little bit strange, he seemed almost panicked. You wanted to ask if everything was ok, but figure it best to stay out of a hero's business. Who knows what door you'd be opening if you started to ask too many questions.

Beneath his note is a phone number, obviously his. You can't call him right away, it might seem desperate, but you can open the box.

When the lid comes off, you gasp quietly at what's hidden inside. On a delicate silver chain sits one lovely little pearl. You stand there, amazed and confused. Wondering why on earth somebody like Suneater would leave such a precious little gift for you.

***

You called the number left on the note about an hour after receiving it. As soon as Tamaki picks up the phone your heart leaps into your throat.

"I didn't think y-you'd call." He laughs afterwards, but you can hear traces of genuine anxiety underneath.

"Well, what kind of an asshole would I be if I didn't call back the hero that saved me from a lonely walk home?" Your face crinkles up at your horrid attempt at flirting.

He doesn't seem to mind, though. He gives you a sweet laugh, putting some of your nerves at ease.

"So, uh- coffee?" He wonders.

"I'd love to, I just got off work, but I imagine you're busy doing hero stuff. We can-"

"No I'm not busy." He says quickly, his urgency makes you smile. He's almost boyish in his approach, and it's very charming.

Somehow, between the two of you suffering your way through the conversation, you set a time for coffee.

***

Tamaki makes a quick stop before meeting you, visiting a horrid friend of his in an alleyway a hero should never be unless he's kicking someone's ass.

His "friend" turns out to be a little more than your average criminal. He's a wicked looking man, with a mess of black hair and an abundance of scarring littering his body.

They call him Dabi.

"So what's the plan here? Am I just scarin' the poor girl or do I get to have some real fun?" His smile is devilish, and his eyes are telling.

It makes Tamaki's skin crawl, he stares daggers at the man leaning against the brick of the alleyway.

"If you touch her, I will gut you like a fucking fish." Tamaki says, he's full of rage, but he says it so calmly, so matter of fact.

"You can try." Dabi laughs, "You forget how easy it is to cook seafood."

Tamaki stands there for a brief second, watching the villain, weighing his options.

"I'm not here for banter, can you do the job or not?" His words are clipped, strangely articulate compared to his usual stutter.

"Yeah whatever, I got nothin' planned for tonight, and I do love making little girls scream." He tilts his head back against the wall as Tamaki turns to stalk away.

"Hey, Suneater." Dabi calls out with a lazy voice.

Tamaki freezes and keeps his back to Dabi. He turns his head to the side and waits for him to speak.

"Send her my way when you're done with her." If Tamaki had less of the public eye on him, he would have slit Dabi's throat then and there.

Instead, he swallows his rage as he tosses a hefty wad of cash over his shoulder.

"Don't be late."

***

"You always just drink it black? Not even a little bit of sugar?' You ask, astounded by Tamaki's ability to drink the bitter liquid without any sweetener.

"Sugar is kind of useless for me, I try to eat things that'll help me with m-my quirk." He explains, his deep eyes wander while he talks, like he's watching for something.

That must come with being a hero.

"Does coffee help your quirk?" You ask, a smile playing at your lips when you see him frown at his drink.

"No, but it helps me focus."

You nod playfully before taking a sip, the cafe he's brought you to is incredibly charming. It's not an overly hip establishment, it's just a sweet little hidden gem. Tucked away into a forgotten street, it gives the impression that it's a well kept secret between two best friends.

"Do you feel like people ask too much of you?" You question. It slips out so quickly, running away from you after launching out of your lips.

Your hatred for small talk gets the best of you and you jump the gun, as always. You want to hide, but not before you apologise a thousand times for being too straightforward.

Tamaki looks at you thoughtfully, his eyes show that he's shocked, but not offended.

"Sometimes. It can feel like people expect me t-to be the…" He pauses for a moment, mentally grasping for the right word.

"It feels like people expect Heroes to be this ultimate, universal band-aid. In a lot of ways, we are, but we're still h-human… I-I'm still human…" His voice slows down by the end of his sentence, like he's realized he might be over sharing.

But, you asked him, you wanted to know. You actually care about him? Every bone in his body is screaming at him to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and run away. He feels some carnal desire to just keep you. Hide you from every selfish asshole that would take advantage of the starstruck look in your beautiful eyes.

He can't, though… not yet.

"S-sorry…" He whispers.

And then, you reach across the table to take his hand in yours. He feels the contact all the up his arm, into his chest, into his heart.

So you do want him too.

"Please don't be sorry, I liked listening to you talk." You say quietly.

You did love it, you loved it because you've felt so unheard, so unseen. Being able to provide somebody else with a pair of listening ears serves as a kind of relief for those feelings.

"Can you tell me more?" You test, hand squeezing his own a little more.

He looks almost elated, thrilled to be seen, excited to be heard. Most of all, he's itching to finally have you.

***

The date was nothing short of wonderful, filled with cute little fumblings of words, hands brushing but never holding, and sharing bits and pieces of yourselves with each other.

You flop onto your bed, reminiscent of a teenager who's just had their first kiss. You didn't kiss him goodnight, you chickened out of that. But you did press your lips against his cheek for a brief moment, which seemed to have quite the effect on him.

His breath hitched, his fists balled at his sides, acting like he'd never been touched so tenderly. It made you wonder, is the Hero as lonely as you are?

You glance over at your night stand, seeing the pretty little necklace sitting in its box. You're washed with guilt as you realize you forgot to wear it to coffee, knowing he must have wanted you to. You take it out of the box carefully before pulling it around your neck and hooking it into place. It fits like a choker, snug against your skin, but it feels good to have it so close.

You're ripped from your musing when you hear the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.

Inside your house.

Your blood chills, hair stands up on the back of your neck and you rise from your bed slowly. You try to talk yourself down, kill the first nerves that consume your chest. It was probably a poorly balanced vase… except, you don't own any vases. It could have been a picture? Nope, not a picture, it was just glass… like a window breaking.

There's a gun in your office, but you're in the bedroom. You scan the room for something, anything that could be used for defense. Of course, nothing but a damn notebook.

The police, you should call the police. Your heart clenches when you hear the threatening sound of heavy footsteps falling down your hallway.

They're heading straight for your bedroom.

You lunge at the door, hand landing on the doorknob just as it begins to turn. Desperately, uselessly, you try to lock it. It's too late, though, it's already opening by the time your thumb lands on the lock.

You can hear your blood rushing when the door swings towards you, a large black boot planted on the other side to force it open.

"Sorry 'bout the window, sweetheart. I tried the front door, but it was locked." The intruder chuckles as he invades your bedroom.

You stumble back as you take in his sewn together form, a mess of black leather and scars. Wild, electric blue eyes devour your trembling form as you press yourself back into the wall.

"Oh, hon, you're shakin' like you're in danger. I ain't gonna hurt you, I'm gonna do the opposite." He stalks towards you, somehow moving in slow motion but with incredible speed all at the same time.

Your phone sits on your night stand, only feet away but all too unreachable. You're caged in by his arms as he towers over you, filling your nose with some horrid, smokey smell.

"P-please, you can have anything, j-just don't-"

Your words halt when a long, pale finger traces over your collar bone.

"Don't what? 'J-just don't' what?" He mocks you, eyes lit with a sadistic amusement.

Your heart rattles in your chest as tears prick your eyes, you can't fight him, he's huge. You don't have your gun. You don't have your phone. You're fucked.

"Cryin' already? What's the matter, doll?-" The hand traces your collar bone moves up to wrap around your throat, "Not a fan of villains?"

Your hands paw at his wrist, you will yourself to sputter something out, any kind of objection to whatever he has planned. You try to whimper out a 'stop', but when your mouth finally forms the word, the voice isn't yours, but it's familiar.

It's low, clipped and dangerous as it barks out the warning.

Suneater.

Suddenly, as if he's being yanked to the heavens by the Gods, your assailant is torn away from you. A large, red tentacle captures him by the waist and throws him across the room. You collapse to the ground instantly, curling around your legs as you hear the muffled sounds of a violent fight.

You hide in your own little world, trembling and clenching yourself. You take one peak from between your arms, just to see Tamaki place the intruder in a chokehold before barking some profane threat at him.

The villain is smiling the whole time, he even winks at you.

"If I ever see you near her again, you won't walk away with your life." Tamaki snarls as the stranger breaks away from his hold.

"She's not worth the trouble." He laughs, raising one hand before sending brilliant blue flames blasting towards Tamaki.

You scream involuntarily, reaching out for the Hero as he jumps away from the flames. Once they're gone, the villain is gone as well. Like some cheap magician disappearing off stage. The room is almost entirely untouched by the burst of fire, at most, the tip of your comforter is singed.

The second the fire is gone, Tamaki is walking towards you urgently, pulling you to your feet so he can cradle your face.

"Are you ok? Did he touch you? What happened?" His inky eyes search your face frantically.

You don't answer, you just stutter, clinging to his hands until you can finally squeak out, "I'm ok."

His shoulders drop as he sighs, hands loosening their grip. His eyes flicker down to the necklace, his gaze softens when he sees how pretty it looks on you.

"Y-you… Do you like it?" He asks timidly, glancing up at you.

You breathe for a moment, slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in attention.

"I love it." You say quietly, still trembling.

He just saved you, really saved you from a real villain who was planning God knows what, and he's worried about your necklace?

"It's so pr-pretty on you…" He reaches down to touch it, leaving one hand on your cheek.

You take the moment to breathe, remind yourself that you're safe, that you're with a hero now. You observe Tamaki's almost casual appearance, a dry fit shirt and simple tactical pants. It almost helps you relax, seeing him like so… at ease?

His fingers play with the pearl, deep eyes transfixed. Something nearly uncontrollable swells within his chest. It burns and aches and eats at him. You're so close, you're so warm, so soft. He could have you, he could just take you.

"Tamaki?" You prod gently, your own chest stirs, and something pulls you towards him.

His eyes snap up to yours, and something shifts in the air. It feels sticky, heavy, too hard to breathe. His gorgeous form towers over you, pressing you back up against the wall as his eyes devour your trembling body.

"Thank you f-for saving me." You whisper.

He nods earnestly, his breathing is shaking, his hands feel like they're holding back.

"Anything. Anything for you."

That line, that makes you ache.

How long have you felt so lukewarm, so overlooked and forgotten? Too long, far too long. Now, with Tamaki looking down at you like you're priceless, you feel fiery, you feel seen and remembered.

Your hands grasp at his wrists, your eyes flick down to his parted lips. You're not sure what you want to happen next, but you want him as close as you can get him.

"If you let me start, I will not stop." His voice drops and it makes your breath catch.

He feels it too, then.

Is it the high of what you've just gone through? Is it just your body trauma bonding with the man that just saved you? Or do you really, really want him so bad it hurts?

His tone is warning and his eyes are frantic.

"Please." Is the only thing that falls from your quivering lips.

Consequences be damned, motives especially be damned. You need him, and he needs you. That's enough explanation for tonight.

He consumes you much like the villains flames, his lips are on yours almost too fast, his hands are greedy as they hold your face to his.

While you feel similar to a lovesick girl getting kissed for the first time, Tamaki feels like a prisoner finally set free. He feels like a lion that was held in a cage and taunted with a piece of meat. He feels like the door has finally been opened, and he can finally sink his teeth in.

"I wanna feel you." He brings his mouth away from yours with much reluctance, leaving his forehead pressed against yours.

You flounder for a moment, with your mouth feeling dry and your limbs feeling heavy.

"Where?" You choke out, searching his face for any tell.

"God, everywhere." It's a broken request, said like a secret.

"Take it. Whatever you want." Your boldness surprises you both.

You're hooked on the exhilaration, you're craving more, you want to feel something. Even after just a walk home and a coffee date, you want to feel it with Tamaki.

"Don't give me that…" He shivers as he presses his body against yours, making it very evident how much of an affect you're having on him.

"I'll ruin you." He whimpers when you grind back against him, your hands tug at his shirt and you look up at him with wide eyes.

"Who said I don't want that?"

You both stand there frozen, waiting for the other to move, to prove that this isn't a dream.

"Fuck."

His hands descend from cradling your face so they can wrap around your neck with the most gentle grip.

He watches you intently, feels your breath quicken, cherishing the way you bite your lip when his fingers tighten slightly.

Internally, Tamaki is fighting the most challenging battle he's ever had to face. He's had to take on a wide variety of formidable enemies, but right now, nothing seems more formidable than having to hold himself back when he finally has you in his arms.

He wants to take and take and take, for as long as you'll let him… maybe even longer.

She's mine now.

Something shifts in his gaze just then, making him look almost primal. It makes your chest feel frozen, makes it difficult to breathe or focus.

His hands shift around your neck, they feel almost… slippery? Their texture is different, their movement is more fluid. Then, you feel it, the distinct sensation of a suction cup latching against your skin.

Tentacles. He's made each of his fingers a tentacle.

Your eyes stay locked on his, both of you in a heated trance as you watch how the other responds.

One slick tendril crawls up to latch onto your chin, he turns your head upwards and to the side with a thoughtful look. It's almost like he's sizing you up, appraising you.

After a thick moment of silence, he finally speaks.

"I'm going to make you cry." It's a depraved promise, beautifully whispered with no shame.

You stand there, held by him, captured by him. You're helplessly entranced, all rational thought is long gone as you reel over the implications of his statement. All you can know for sure, is you want more.

Despite every red flag, regardless of any common sense, you want more.

"I dare you." You say back to him, the desperation to feel anything other than mundane spurs you onward.

He receives the words like it's a smack to the face, some shock evident in his eyes. He didn't take you for a brat, but he can certainly roll with it.

"You're gonna make this fun for me, aren't you?" He questions, his tentacles grip you tighter now, reminding you who has the high ground.

Mine.

The air shifts, something heavier takes over the mood, it settles in your ribs and wraps around your heart.

He guides you away from the wall, shepherding you around until your back is towards your bed. He starts walking you backwards until your knees buckle once they hit the mattress.

You sit there, gazing up at him, held still by his quirk, transfixed by the power he exudes as he towers over you.

"Has anyone ever had you before?" He asks, finally returning his hand to normal so he can cradle your cheek.

The question has your stomach burning with nerves.

No, nobody ever has.

You shake your head, looking down, cheeks burning as you try to hide your embarrassment.

His reaction shocks you immensely, his whole body shutters and he drops to his knees. His hands settle on your waist as he moves between your legs.

"Th-this is… all mine then?" He asks, he rubs his thumbs over the bottoms of your ribs affectionately.

His eyes are wide and reverent as he waits for your answer, looking like you're some anointed goddess. His eyes skate over every feature he can, and he cherishes each one.

Your confession nearly knocks the wind out of him, especially with how sweet you look, all blushing and embarrassed. It makes his need to rip you apart even stronger.

"Please...let me give you everything…" His hands tighten on you and you feel them shaking.

You study him for a second, at a complete loss for words, he seems so… devoted. It pulls on your heart, clouds your mind and lights your body up. How could you possibly say no to him? How on earth could you turn someone away when they’re looking at you like you’re placed on an altar ready to be worshiped.

Carefully, like you’re trying not to frighten a beast, you reach out and touch his face. He moves into your touch like a lonely cat, desperate for affection and recognition.

“Please…” You breathe.

And that’s all it takes.

His breath leaves his lungs in a harsh rush as he moves forward like a leopard, lean and precise as he forces you onto your back.

Your blood rushes so quickly you swear you can hear it, your mouth goes dry as he stares you down. He’s suddenly less reverent, now he’s ravenous. A dangerous, carnivorous look dances in his dark eyes. His judgement is clouded just like yours, only it fuels him, while your state is much more terrified. Any spunk you had in you is thrown out the window as he leers over you.

You shrink into the mattress as he hovers above you on all fours, heavy eyelids and parted lips giving him a nearly drugged look.

“When you say everything-” He whispers, moving so he can settle on his knees between your open legs, “Do you mean this too?” He drops his hips as he questions you, pressing something very hard into your thigh, something very intimidating.

He watches your eyes go wide, a wicked grin spreading across his face when you gasp after he rolls his hips. His arms cage you, a strong hand placed on either side of your head, the position makes you feel so pathetic, so helpless, but it gives you an incredible rush.

“Don’t look so scared, it won’t hurt.” He dips down to press his hot, open mouth against your neck, tongue lapping at your pulse. A dark chuckle leaves his chest, “Not much, at least.”

Then he’s definitely less reverent, he’s no longer worshipful, he’s a wicked, unleashed best. His hands are selfish as they remove your clothes, his mouth is voracious against your skin. He has you panting and twitching in seconds, musing at you when your reactions are particularly strong.

It’s when he snakes down your body, wetting your skin with his tongue, settling between your breasts so he can suck harshly at the heated skin, that you finally feel something break within you. You arch into his touch, fisting your hands in his raven hair, whimpering so beautifully for him as he works you up.

He knows what he’s doing, he’s skilled, well equipped for pulling you apart. He’s already descended into some debauched state of being, and he’s pulling you down with him.

“Nobody’s ever tasted this sweet little cunt before, have they?” He asks against your skin, latching his mouth back to the spot he’s focused on marking, but looking up at you with inquiring eyes.

You try to swallow, shake your head, do something, but all you can do is lay there naked and gasping.

He laughs again, a wicked thing that leaves his chest like a wisp of wind. He slides a hand up your body, he flicks over your nipple with his thumb on the way up, pulling another whimper out of you.

His hand latches onto your jaw, then he shakes your head for you, doing what he knows you can’t.

“Oh baby…” He sighs, “You saved it for me?” He teases, hips grinding against you, the cloth of his pants creates a strange kind of friction against your clit, not unpleasant, but not pleasurable. Where the hell did the sweet, stuttering hero go? If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks deviant… almost villainous.

“Tama- please.” You shiver, not sure what you’re asking for, but certain that you need more.

“Good girl, talk to me.” His hand slinks down your throat before he rises to his knees.

Your eyes lock on the tightness of his pants, trying not to panic at the sheer size of the imprint he’s making on them.

His shirt is pulled over his head, messing his hair in the most handsome way, and the breath is ripped from your lungs.

He’s stunning, broad and strong looking. He’s all porcelain skin over well trained muscle. Built perfectly for the work he does. Built perfectly for ripping apart poor little girls like you.

“I liked the look you got when I had my tentacles on you.” He sighs, letting a hand fall to your bare stomach so he can trace lazy circles against you.

“Did you like that? Do you want me to use my tentacles to play with you?” He questions.

His voice is low, it’s rich and warm and dripping with seduction. Nothing like the tentative, wobbly tone he usually has. It rips the ground out from underneath you, leaves you panting and blinking like a brain dead fool as you gawk up at his prowling form.

“Just a yes or no, if you can manage it.” He smiles sweetly up at you, splaying his hand across your quaking abdomen.

You breathe deeply, trying to steady yourself, trying to catch up with what he’s said.

“Y-yes.” You whisper, barely audible, hardly heard over your labored breathing.

His other hand mirrors the one he has on you, sliding around to hold you by the waist, a gentle cage meant to establish dominance.

“Yes… what?” He prompts, pressing his thumbs down.

You falter then, your tongue feels heavy, your mind slows and you’re suddenly void of all vocabulary. Were you really really about to let one of the most well known pros wreck your body with his quirk? Were you actually laid out for him like this? You know so little of him, your only information gathered from small talk, but something about that had you buzzing.

You could be whoever you want to be, you don’t have to be the floundering virgin. You don’t have to be so damn shell shocked.

“Yes, D-daddy.” You test, hoping to God or whoever is listening that you got the right name.

By the way his eyes flutter closed, the way his grip tightens, the way his body tenses, you sure as hell did.

“That’s it.” He sighs, “-and what about you?” He wonders, his hold going gentle again.

You? What about you?

Tamaki watches you carefully, barely containing the raging storm inside him, barely holding back the carnal urge to turn every limb to a pretty purple tentacle and stuff you until you’re crying for mercy.

Not yet, don’t fuck this up.

“Princess? Darling?” He asks, lowering himself back down to kiss down your stomach, looking up at you through his thick lashes.

“Whatever you want.” You answer. Your sweet, sacred submission makes him close his eyes and breathe in.

Hold it. Not. Yet.

“You’re like an angel.” He breathes, making you shiver under the weight of the high praise.

He notices your reaction immediately, smiling to himself.

“So that’s it.” He presses a long kiss just under your belly button, bringing attention to how naked you are, and how naked he is not.

Your thighs squeeze together and your arms come up to cover your chest, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to keep it all out of view.

His hands are on your wrist and his body is crouched over yours again before you can blink. He pins your hands beside your head, looking down at you with some wild, unbridled kind of look in his eyes.

“You do not get to hide from me.” His shoulders flex as he pushes your wrists down into the mattress, earning a whine from you as the pressure starts to ache.

“You’re mine. That means I get all of you.” He bites the words off, but keeps his voice quiet.

You should be scared, crying even, but the only thing you feel is exhilaration, the ache between your legs and the fluttering of your heart as he overpowers you with just the look in his eyes and a few harsh words.

“Do you understand me?” He eases up on your wrists slightly, looking more stern, less unhinged.

“I-I do, I’m sorry.” You whimper out.

He considers you for a brief second, eyes growing softer as he watches the way your pretty lip trembles.

“It’s ok.” He releases your wrists and speaks gently, “You’re ok.”

The reassurances makes you dizzy, especially in contrast with how rough he just was.

"Hold still for me, angel." Then he’s back to mouthing at your skin.

His teeth meet your collarbone and your hands reach for his messy hair.

“There?” He asks against you, a smile in his voice as he lets his teeth gather your skin again. The spot he finds makes you dizzy, you feel the heat spread across your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

Tamaki is still stuck in his own chains, fighting against them as he focuses on the way you twitch for him, the way your body rolls when he bites harder.

So she likes it.

Your body heats up, it's all so overwhelming. It's so different from anything you've ever felt, and you can't believe it's with him.

Then his kisses get more sloppy, his teeth are sharper against you. He leaves you shining with his spit, painted in blooming purple and red bruises as he begins his journey down your body.

"Da-addy." You sniffle when he bites into the underside of your breast.

It doesn't feel loving, it doesn't feel passionate, it just feels rough.

"Hush." He mumbles against you, "If you can't take this I might as well stop now." He looks up at you, challenging you.

"I can t-take it, I can." You breathe, nodding, looking at him with begging eyes, "Please, don't stop."

He honest to god growls against you. You couldn't possibly know what you do to him, how sweet your willingness sounds, how beautiful you look laid out for him. He knows he should take his time, and he resents that fact. He almost resents you for being so sweet and needy. With all the things he wants to do to you, he almost, almost, wishes you had at least some experience. This makes you his completely, though, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

His hot mouth moves lower and lower until he's tonguing at your hip bone, pulling the skin into his mouth so he can work his teeth against it. He will mark you wherever he can, as long as you'll let him.

Your hips roll up against him, making him smirk at how needy you're acting.

"Ask for it." He whispers, hungry hands slide up the outsides of your thighs, "Ask for what you want."

His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, sending the breath from your lungs as he glares up at you. He lets his wet tongue loll out to give a teasing flick against the crux of your thigh.

You take a deep breath in and cling to the sheets for dear life, "Please, use your mouth on me."

He smiles so sweetly then, looking mildly amused.

"Here?" He goes back to that same spot, sucking and teasing, looking all too pleased with himself.

"Be specific, angel, tell me where you need me."

Tamaki knows for a fact that he didn't have to spend his time making you ask for things, he knows what you want, he knows how to give them to you. He could take whatever he needs, probably without much a fight from you, but what fun would that be? He would miss the pretty blush creeping across your skin, and the sweet little tears in your big eyes. No, he wouldn't be missing this, not for the world.

"I wanna feel your tongue, please, use your mouth on m-my cunt." You shiver, timid and uncertain about your phrasing.

It seems to do the trick though, because Tamaki's eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

He answers with a low moan before grabbing you by the insides of your thighs so he can spread you open. Once the air of the room hits you, you're made painfully aware of just how soaked you are.

It makes Tamaki look like a wild man, all blown out pupils blushing cheeks.

Almost in slow motion, he presses his tongue into the spot right above your clit, making you whine and buck against his mouth.

"Needy little thing." He says, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze, "But I suppose I have teased enough."

Then he's on you, and the second his tongue meets your weak spot you know you're ruined. You know that not one person will ever hold a candle to Tamaki Amajiki.

He pulls away for only a second, just to whisper praises up to you, "Your cunt tastes like everything I've ever needed."

You huff at him in disbelief, not knowing what to say or do, heart soaring because of his confession.

Then he dives back in, and he gets sloppy with it, setting a pace that feels so good it aches. The heat spreads through every limb, and settles somewhere deep in your chest. Everything tingles and burns, and breathing seems nearly impossible.

Internally, Tamaki is raging. He’s so close to losing it, he feels himself slipping, your taste spreads across his tongue is the culmination of months of watching and waiting and wanting. He wants to drown in you, he wants to rip you to shreds. No more watching you through windows, no more fucking his fist while he wishes with everything he has that it was your precious little pussy. He has you now, spread open and vulnerable. He knows he could shove your face into the pillows and let loose on you, stuff every hole with an invasive tentacle, the thought makes him even more feral, it makes him work even harder as he eats you.

Every roll of his tongue against your clit makes you throb and buck, which makes him growl and push you down against the mattress. He's loud and messy, slurping and moaning, letting it drip down his chin and his throat, never once letting up.

Your head is thrown back against the pillows, eyes drilled shut. You know damn well if you saw him, you wouldn't last another second. He builds you up until your thighs are trembling and you're a whiny little mess.

Perfect.

Suddenly, the texture of his tongue changes drastically. It's much more slippery, and much thicker. Your head shoots up, and you nearly sob at what you see. Tamaki, with his eyes wild and his jaw dropped, is letting a wicked looking tentacle hang from his mouth.

His quirk.

He smirks up at you as the tip of it writhes against your clit, flicking and circling as he watches the tears start to fall from your face. You can't possibly keep up, you didn't know anything could ever feel this good.

You watch the suction cups ripple as he moves the muscle against you, then he does the unthinkable. He latches one of them onto your clit. Your eyes cross and you bring a fist to your mouth so you can bite on it and muffle your screams.

He hates that.

With another rumbling growl, he lets his hands turn to tentacles as well. You watch helplessly as he snakes them up your arms, ripping your hand away from your mouth so he can pin both limbs to the bed. The tentacles are strong, surprisingly warm, and so damn slippery.

It's hard to tell if you're close to the edge, it's felt that way the whole time, everything feels so hot and tight and good.

He smiles as you cry out and thrash against the bed, full of admiration for the usefulness of his own quirk.

“Too much! D-daddy, it’s too much.” You sniffle out as you feel a stinging feeling in your cunt, it’s not necessarily an unpleasant sting, but it’s too much.

He ignores your objection, choosing to simply suck harder at your overstimulated sweet spot. He revels in your pitifully low threshold, planning to do so much worse to your poor, inexperienced body.

The ache in your cunt continues to push the tears from your eyes, and eventually, drool from your mouth. The suction cup works dutifully against your clit, making you feel so overwhelmed you don't know if you can cum.

Then you feel the prodding at your entrance.

Then you really scream.

Holding that one little suction cup to your clit, he snakes the tip of his tentacle into your dribbling hole. He furrows his dark brows and moans against you when he feels how tight you are, desperate to feel the velvety walls around his cock.

"Holy fucking shit." You gasp.

He watches the dramatic rise and fall of your quaking chest, your baffled eyes trying to keep track of everything happening to your body, and he swears he falls even more in love.

You're so willing, so compliant, so at his mercy.

He crooks the tip of the tentacle towards himself just a bit, and it's like you've been struck by lightning. You cum hard, harder than you ever have. You're a mess of twitching limbs, shivering as your cunt clenches so hard your feel it in your fucking chest. You sob into the air, broken and tearful as he works you through it.

You feel the hold on your arms tighten as your body arches away from the mattress. As you feel every inch of you ignite, you know that you're ruined for everyone else.

As soon as you lower yourself so you're flat to the mattress, the tentacles around your arms slip away and turn back into his hands.

The one between your legs still plays with you a little bit, prodding at your clit, lapping up your mess. Tamaki laughs as you jump and twitch, whimpering and gasping as he milks your body for every after shock you can give him.

You watch him pull the tentacle back into his mouth, flicking it over his lips to gather your release before disappearing into his mouth. You watch his eyes flutter shut, you watch him shiver and you hear the sweetest little moan in the back of his throat.

“You’re pretty when you cry.” He mumbles, looking up at you with the most tender look in his eyes. It’s a harsh contrast with all the cum dripping down his chin.

“You move a lot, too. It’s fun.” He states, almost like some kind of twisted review, “I don’t mind holding you down like that.”

The drop in the tone of his voice makes a chill creep up your spine.

“In fact…” He lifts himself up so he can start to crawl up your body, “I really, really enjoyed it.”

You gasp for words, wind stolen from your lungs as he presses his messy mouth against your sternum.

“Something tells me you did too.” He whispers.

Your voice is finally found, somewhere deep in your chest, hidden and nearly forgotten, “What makes you say that?” You ask timidly.

He pulls his head up to look down at you with a confident smirk, “The mess you made.”

To prove his point, he swipes two fingers through your folds, gathering your creamy release before holding it up to the light. He looks so damn proud, like he’s showing off.

“Messy girl.” He smiles, as you watch him bring his coated fingers to his lips, sucking the sin off with a greedy pop from his lips.

“Oh, how selfish of me.” He sighs before grabbing you by the chin, “I should share.”

He pulls your mouth open then slowly leans over you so he can push the mess back through his lips. You oblige like a robot, stunned by the debauchery, letting him guide you through this act. He lets it fall from his lips slowly, creating a long string from his mouth to yours. The second it hits your tongue, something clicks for you. Something dark and smokey settles in your gut, something all consuming and blinding. It rids you of boundaries and reservations, it fills you with nothing but the man in front of you.

He watches you with a pointed gaze, shutting your jaw for you so you can swallow what he gave you.

“What do you say?” He asks.

You feel the burn in your chest, the embers in your skin, “More, please.”

“Fucking hell," The words tumble out as a breath mostly, "You want more?" He questions, grabbing you by the wrist so he can place your palm just above the waist of his pants.

You nod up at him, vision blurred by the heat of his skin against your palm.

"Then take it." He leans down to say it, biting off the words.

A challenge.

You can't possibly disappoint him, you can't possibly leave him wanting. Take it? How are you supposed to take it?

In a wild moment of confidence, mostly your body moving without the permission of your mind, you wrap your legs around his lean hips so you can flip him onto his back.

Your eyes lock the second you feel him pressing against you, hard and thick, and terribly intimidating in length.

He watches you for a moment, then hastily grabs you by the back of the neck so he can pull you down for another kiss. It's hot and needy, full of wicked want and unabashed selfishness. It tickles your ribs, creeps up your neck, and secures itself greedily around all of your common sense.

Tamaki had no intentions of letting you take anything, it's a game to him. He'll let you have your moment, let you feel like you have the reigns, but he'll take it right back. His has you under control, he vows that he always will.

Your chest flutters with a clawing, aching feeling.

More more more.

"Fuck me." It's a prayer, whimpered against his delicate lips, "Please, fuck me." You dig your hands into his hair, cherishing the sweet noises they leave him as you beg.

Under control.

"Tell me you need it." He sighs, answering your prayer by sending his hands down to work urgently at his belt.

"Tell me you need me."

You bring your face back from his just enough to look into his dark eyes, and you see tears welling in them.

He needs to feel needed.

"Please, I need it, I need you, Suneater."

Everything freezes for a brief second, the air thickens and his eyes darken as you wait with a held breath for his next move.

Then, everything is flying around you. You feel the bite of fingertips against your waist, your stomach hits the mattress, possibly the sound of his pants being taken off. Your senses are dulled by the raging swirl of emotions beating inside you as your hips are lifted up, and a hand shoves your face into the pillow.

"Who's your hero?" His voice is rough, his hand gathers your hair and cranks your head to the side, "Who is your fucking hero?" He's barking the words out now, harsh and demanding.

And holy hell does it get you going.

"You are! You're my hero, Suneater." You cry out, craning your neck to look at him.

You expected furrowed brows, a straight mouth and furious eyes. What you're met with is nothing of the sort. A soft pink blush across his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears, tears wetting his cheek, and a quivering lip.

With your eyes on him, he makes a show of sliding his hand down his front so he can grab at his length. He lets it fall against your ass, heavy and painfully hard.

"Don't forget that." He says simply, sliding his thick head down through your slicked lips.

The contact makes you both shudder deep in your souls.

"Daddy, please." Your voice is pitiful as you fist the sheets and press back against him.

"So slutty." He muses, releasing your hair so he can run his nails down your back, "Poor thing, never been fucked, needs it so bad, doesn't she?"

You nod fervently and fuss as he presses his head against your tight hole. You tense and shiver, not at all prepared for what's to come.

"I need it, I need you, please please please." You have one thought now, no reservations, you need him.

"I'm gonna ruin this little cunt." He says, a warning tone in his voice.

The hand that was tracing your spine suddenly feels very cold and wet.

His damn quirk.

He takes his time, letting the thick tentacle slither around your waist. It wraps around you twice, teasing you with the pops of the suction cups, leaving pretty purple circles all over your abdomen.

He lifts you easily, pulling you up so your back is pressed against his chest.

"Ruin it, please, it's yours, I'm yours." You sniffle, looking down at your trapped position.

With a low, menacing growl, he sinks his teeth into your neck, and his cock into your heat.

Tamaki holds his breath, willing himself not to fill you up right this second. You're too damn tight, so warm and velvety. You're so perfect, and so completely his.

You sob into the air, hands reaching out to hold the headboard as you feel like you're being ripped apart.

"Oh don't scream, Angel, people might think something's wrong." His voice is shaking now, and the hold on your waist tightens.

You focus on relaxing, letting your walls lose their tension, but it's all fruitless. He's too big, he fills you too well, and all you can do is take it.

"Here, let me give that mouth something to do."

His other hand comes around to hold your throat, turning each finger into a tentacle again. It leaves you reeling and gasping as he presses further into you, wrapping what would be his middle finger around your throat. He wraps it around twice, like he did with your waist. The appendage comes up to rest its tip on your bottom lip.

The sensation makes you dizzy, especially when it finally snakes into your panting mouth. It doesn't really taste like anything, it just feels wet and slick, the texture of the suction cups is the strangest thing about it. He rocks his hips so gently, squeezing you tighter everywhere he's holding you.

You don't feel like a moth drawn to a flame, you feel like a moth caught in a spider's web. All tangled up, not willing to fight to escape, not even wanting to.

"You're so damn tight." He stutters out, pressing his hips flush against your own.

You cry out and gag against the tentacle stuffing your mouth, digging your nails into the headboard as he chuckles behind you.

"You're such a pretty little mess for me. Your cunt's already dripping."

You don't doubt it, it has to be with how badly your core aches around him as he stretches you.

Your thighs start to tremble as you wait for him to move, sniffling as the tears fall from your eyes and the drool spills from your lips.

A pretty little mess indeed.

Slowly, he drags his hips back with a hiss before pushing back in. He takes his time with it, building an agonizing pace that offers you no release. There's only the pressure, only your clit screaming for attention, only the maddening tease of his head against your sweet spot with every torturous push in.

"Fuck angel, I gotta break this pussy in, don't I?" His words pull another pitiful moan from you, nodding and whining is all you're capable of.

His picks up speed just enough to make you tense even more, still painful, still mind numbing.

"You look so fucking pretty on the end of my cock."

His words pour over you like hot wax, heating you up, making you drip. The heat seeps deep into your skin, making you squirm and clench.

He speeds his thrusting up slightly, then more, and more, and more, until you’re shrieking and choking against the tentacle stuffing your mouth. Your hands fly up to claw at it, wanting to tell him how it feels, wanting to thank him for the way he’s fucking you.

It’s still painful, each thrust splits you open with a sting, but it’s so damn good. The sharp stretching is absolutely spectacular, and it sends your brain into somewhere dark and smokey, it leaves you with a wide open feeling in your chest. It leaves you wanting more.

“What’s the matter, sweet thing?” He taunts, “Tell me about it, then, how’s Daddy make you feel?” He turns each tentacle back into a finger slowly, pulling out of your mouth, leaving you a gasping mess.

Through spit and tears, you praise him, words spewing out between moans as your body jolts from each punishing snap of his hips.

“So fucking good! You make me feel so good!” You cry, clinging to his forearm as he brings you closer to his chest.

The tentacle around your waist starts to slither down your stomach, “This isn’t even half of what I’m capable of doing to you,” The tip of it gives the hood of your clit a teasing flick, “-and you’re already such a slut for me.” His chuckle is dark and full as the tip of his skilled tentacle zeros in on your sweet spot, rubbing and wriggling against it until you’re screaming.

“Say it. Say you’re my little slut.” His words are a harsh demand against your ear, leaving no room for disobedience.

“I- f-fuck- I can’t! I ca-an’t!” You sob, not able to catch your breath between thrusts.

Tamaki eats that right up, swelling with pride as he fucks you speechless, delirious with the fact that he finally has your cunt gripping his cock.

Before he can bark another order at you, you finally pull the words out of your closing throat, "I'm your slut," You gasp as drool rolls down your chin, "I'm your little slut."

He throws his head back and throws everything he has into every thrust, his moans are obscene, high pitched and broken as he feels how hard you squeeze him when he speeds up the tip of his tentacle against your clit.

"Give it to me, I feel that greedy cunt tryin' to milk me, give me that fuckin cum." He huffs against your ear. Your entire body seizes up, shaking violently as ribbons of pleasure shoot through you. You pulse around Tamaki almost violently, earning some very rough sounding moans from him as he works you through it.

Your orgasm lasts for what feels like an eternity, you shiver with every throb of your walls. It possesses that same almost painful pleasure, and it's everything you've ever wanted. At some point, the tentacle around your waist turns to a hand, still absentmindedly rubbing you as you come down.

He lets your torso fall forward, leaving you bent over and exposed for him. His hands smooth over your ass, and you realize he's still so fucking hard.

"Can you take more, angel?"

You nod against the tear soaked pillow you've pressed your face into, not sure that you even can, but willing to try.

"Good," He bends down to press kisses into your spine as he pulls out, "'Cause you're going to."

He pulls out, almost full of regret, wanting to live the rest of his life buried inside you.

Now he can have some fun, mind cleared slightly by finally feeling you come undone around him. He's still hazy, still slightly frenzied, but less ravenous, less of a starved man waiting for his meal, more of a well fed man waiting for desert.

His hands hold your waist gently so he can guide you onto your back. You oblige, more than willing to let him have his way.

You finally get a good look at him, and you're astounded by just how pretty his dick looks. All pale and pink, swollen and shiny, it makes you dizzy with admiration.

"You're terribly beautiful." He whispers, cradling your waist so he can worship your stomach with soft kisses, "I don't believe you're even real."

Sweetness oozes through your tingling limbs, pouring over you like warm honey. His tender mouth brings you back down, soothes you into a state of catharsis. Your body settles, but your heart picks back up when his lips are on your hips.

Your eyes meet his, and you share the sentiment that he just might not be real. He pears up at you through a mess of indigo hair, eyes full of what you can only describe as devotion.

He explores your body with his hands, dipping his thumbs into every crook he can, palming handfuls of your plush thighs. He seems to have a soft spot for your hips though, pulling at your love handles, letting his breath speed up each time until he's panting against you.

With every pull of his hands, you bend for him, push into him, work with him. You both find a rhythm, falling into an easy dance of grabbing and needing.

"I want to keep you." He breathes, placing a hand on either side of your waist so he can lift himself over you, "I want to have you."

He gathers your legs while he speaks, hooking his hands under your knees so he can fold you up.

"You have me." You whisper, reaching out to lay your fingers on the sides of his ribs.

You watch his skin twitch under your touch, you watch his eyebrows sag into an almost heartbroken look.

He looks down between your bodies, quivering when he sees his heavy cock resting against your stomach. He feels so incredibly proud of you in that moment, for taking him so well, and asking for more.

She's mine. She said I have her.

The concept brings another wave of primal desire crashing down on his self control.

His fingers dig into your skin, biting at the flesh, spreading you open for him as he puts his weight on your legs.

You clench in anticipation, teased by the pressure of his hot length resting against you.

"I can take it." You say quietly, sliding your hands up his lean body so you can lace them into his inky hair.

He melts into your touch, stunned by your gorgeous submission.

"Fuck, angel." His words are shattered as they fall from his lips.

You reach down between your bodies and wrap your hand around his weeping tip. He trembles and hiccups as you push him down so he's lined up with where you need him.

"Please, I want all of it." m.

“Careful.” He pants, looking down at you with a warning in his eyes.

It doesn’t create hesitation in you though, only curiosity.

“We’re being careful now?” You tease, sliding him up and down your slit.

“You little devil.” He hisses, grabbing your wrist harshly, “You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

You freeze and blink up at him, once again shocked by his quick change in temperament.

“You wanna act like a tease now?” He questions, bringing your hand up so he can press it into the mattress with his.

“Did you find yourself a cute little attitude?” His voice drips with venom, it bites at your insides and melts your skin.

“That’s ok, angel.” He lets your hand go so he can press on the backs of your thighs again, successfully folding you completely in half, “I’ll fuck it out of you.”

Before you can breathe, blink, or respond, he’s splitting you open with a brutal pace. He laughs deep in his chest when you cry out, he mocks you when your hands fly to his abs in an attempt to slow his assault. A wicked smile spreads across his pretty face when tears stain your flushed cheeks once again.

“Cryin’ again so soon? Is it too much, baby? You need Daddy to slow down?” He’s testing you, only thrusting harder as he taunts you for your sobbing and moaning.

“No!” You gasp between tears, “Don’t stop, please, fuck me like that.”

“That’s my girl.”

His thrusts are ruthless, sharp, unforgiving. He rocks your body and the bed with each plunge in, headboard crashing against the wall. Each drive into you is enchanting, it teaches you something new, opens new doors, shows you a new, brilliant world of depravity. The way the pleasure shoots all the way up your spine with every drag of his cock, it’s something you want to feel until you die, you’d even be happy if this is the way you die.

You watch him disappear inside of you over and over, pulling out just as quick, covered in slick and sin. Tamaki is in his own feral world, watching your lovely face crumble and pout as he fills you. His hands are angry against the back of your thighs, nails digging in hard enough to bring little pearls of scarlet to the surface.

When you start to whine from the sting, he flashes you a lazy smile before stuffing his fingers into your mouth. He presses the blood covered fingertips into your tongue just enough to make drool spill from the sides of your mouth.

“Hush, you’ll learn to love it.”

His smile turns wolfish when he watches your eyes roll back. It’s all so black-hearted, it’s everything you’ve kept yourself from, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

You both throb and cry then, your bodies smack as they meet, obscene and wet as you chase your undoing. Tamaki knows he’s not going to last much longer, and he curses himself for it. He doesn’t want to stop, especially when you wince so sweetly when his thrusts are a little too deep. He wants to watch you suck his fingers forever, crying against his palm as he turns you into his perfect little slut.

“You’re gonna give me one more, aren’t you, angel? You owe me that, I saved your life after all.” He slides his fingers from your mouth, dragging your spit down your chin before grabbing you by the throat, “Answer if you can, I know it must be hard to speak when you’re getting fucked this good.”

His words drown you in lust, your hands claw at his back, painting angry red lines down the pretty porcelain canvas, “Take it! Fuck- Take it, Suneater, take it all.”

It’s not a demand, it’s a plea, it’s a craving formed deep within your freshly corrupted heart.

Your begging pulls desperate, whiny sounds from him. With his eyes screwed shut he lets the hand on your thigh manifest the tentacles in place of his fingers. He throws all of his energy into that, trying to stall the twitching of his dick as your hot insides massage him with their relentless pulsing.

“Are you sure about that?” He tests, letting the tentacles snake around your thigh before slithering down to where your bodies meet.

Immediately, one starts flicking at your clit, making your back go rigid as he grins down at his good work.

You wail his name, nails biting at his skin even more but he pays no mind. He has a mission, he’s going to take all of it.

He focuses on making his tentacles grow, two long enough to reach up your body and tug at your nipples, and one other snaking down through the mess you’re making to prod at your asshole. Your eyes widen with shock as your body ignites, it’s too much, it’s all too much. Every sensation is heightened, every poke and flick and thrust sends shards of pleasure flying through you, piercing you from every direction.

You let yourself cry completely then, throwing your head against Tamaki’s collar bone before sobbing into his chest. You know you’re cumming, you can feel it somewhere amongst all the other stimulation, but it’s nearly drowned out, and Tamaki is still fucking you just as hard as he was when this all started.

“More, you have more for me, I fucking know it.” He huffs as he finally pushes into your ass with the tentacle.

The ones on your nipples latch on with their suction cups as he fills you more and more.

“Give it to me, angel, give it all to your hero.”

That’s the final push, the last thing you need to send you into the most frenzied orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Your vision goes white as your body convulses, ripped apart by the flames of euphoria that turn everything you’ve ever known to ash. Somewhere in the distance you hear Tamaki praising you, telling you how tight you feel, how beautiful you look, how good you are for him.

It’s lost in the fray, though, all blurring together as you shake violently around him. The only thing that brings you back slightly, is the break in his voice when he sobs, “I’m gonna stuff that little cunt with my cum, I’m gonna make you mine.”

Your hand is at the back of his neck instantly, pulling him down for a messy, aimless kiss. His moans spill into your mouth as his hips falter, turning to slow, stuttering thrusts as he starts to pump his release deep into you.

“I’m yours - I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours.” You chant it against his lips as his tears fall to your cheeks, mixing with your own as you both shatter for each other.

Coming back down isn't easy at all. It's slow and needy, your hands still pulling at whatever skin they can grab, hips rolling against each other, trying with everything you both have to prolong that rapturous feeling.

Frantically, painfully, he pulls himself out of you. He slides his hot mouth down your body, nipping and sucking as he descends to your messy cunt. He spreads your legs wide so he can bury his face between them. He teases your clit briefly, but moves quickly to press his open mouth against your hole.

Your skin boils as you watch the nasty show. His eyes cross sinfully and flutter shut as he tongue at your well used pussy. When he pulls back, his chin is covered in some wretched mixture of your combined releases. He moves back up your body like an animal stalking its prey.

He grabs your jaw and you open so willingly. His mouth is on yours instantly, pushing the warm liquid onto your tongue with his own. It’s a spunky, intense flavor, almost overwhelming as he spreads it around your mouth. It creates a dark, blurry feeling in your chest, though. It makes you feel alive, it makes you want more.

He pulls back slowly, a thick string of saliva and sin connecting your lips as he pants down at you.

“You’re such a good little girl.”

His lips are everywhere, pressing against your cheekbones, your nose, your forehead. His hands return to normal so he can cradle your face. You both lay there, still joined, catching your breath.

"Angel?"

The tenderness in his voice pulls you back down to earth, and when you open your eyes, you find yourself lost in his. It’s a harsh but marvelous contrast with the sharp edges of his previous behavior.

"Does anything h-hurt?" He asks timidly.

The stutter is back, the anxious look in his eyes, the restlessness in his hands.

You reach out to hold his face like he's holding yours, "Tamaki, no, nothing hurts. You made me feel so good."

You don't ever want to be a source of hesitation for him again. You want to make it better. He's brilliant, he's brave, he saved your damn life. He doesn't need to be so scared around you.

"You're my hero, Suneater." You pull him down for a soft, intimate kiss.

He breathes out against you, more of his tears wet your cheeks but you don't mind.

He's allowed to feel this, he earned this.

When the kiss breaks he searches your face, waiting for you to laugh at him, to push him off, to change your mind.

You don't, though.

You stay there with him, loving him and full of him.

"And you're mine."

You both settle there, kissing skin that hasn't been kissed before, finding ways to make each other fall even more.

Tamaki tells himself he did the right thing. You don't ever have to know why Dabi chose your house to break into. You don't ever need to be told that he spent endless nights watching you from the window, because he has you know.

It would be wrong of him to tell you, you wouldn't understand it. It would break your heart and ruin everything. Then, it would get messy. You might try to run away, and that would mean he'd have to keep you in different ways.

He shakes the thoughts from his head. He can keep you like this, laid out and blushing for him, so soft and beautiful.

You belong to him now, and that's all that there is.

"Can I take care of you?” He asks softly, playing with the necklace he gave you as he gives you a shy glance.

“You just did.” You let yourself laugh a little as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“No, not like that.” He smiles softly, dipping down to kiss your neck so softly you almost can’t feel it, “Like this.”

He presses his lips against a mark you didn’t know he made, lingering for a moment as his eyes flutter shut.

“These say that you’re mine.” His thumb traces over one of the circular bruises on your ribs, “They say you have someone protecting you.”

The prospect makes your heart soar. He’s right, belonging to him means you’ll always be safe, you’ll always have somebody willing to fight for you, maybe even somebody willing to stay with you.

“This says that you belong to me.” He loops a finger around the delicate pearl on your necklace, pulling gently, not enough to make you go anywhere, but enough to make you feel the metal tug against the back of your neck.

‘You do belong to me, don’t you.” He asks, a wild, fearful look in his eyes.

You do, you just told him so, you just cried to him and vowed that you were his just moments ago.

“I do, I belong to you, I swear.” You reassure him, pulling a deep sigh from his chest.

You don’t understand the way he aches for you, the way he’s addicted to you. He was already hooked, from just glances and flighty touches. Now, having felt your soft skin, the tuck of your waist, having seen you cry and heard you call his name, he’s willing to admit his obsession.

He does take care of you, he does it beautifully. He carries you to the bathroom where he sets you on the edge of the tub. He fills it with warm, soapy water before picking you up bridal style so he can settle into the water with you in his lap.

Neither of you bother to turn a light on, content with the glow of the moon shining through the skylight. Tamaki paints your shoulders with soft kisses as he rubs soothing circles into your back. He takes his sweet time, wiping away the sweat and the tears, mindful of the tender spots on the back of your thighs.

“Beautiful, you’re so beautiful.” He sighs, “An angel, nothing less.”

You melt into him, lost in his praise, blinded by his devotion as well as your own.

Tamaki is just as lost, if not more, only becoming more possessive with every gentle touch, with every whispered adoration.

This is how it’s meant to be, and you don’t ever need to know how it all fell into place. He did the right thing, after all. This isn’t a problem, he’s in love. He’s in love and now he has you.

He intends on keeping it that way.

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Magic is legal, Arthur knows The Truth and Merlin is... shit at explaining things:

Arthur demands a trip to visit the Druids, who are far more qualified than Merlin, so they can explain this whole... destiny thing.

I’ve written a lot of angst and Hurt!Merlin recently, so I just wanted to write something short and sweet and fluffy :)

SO.

Magic has been legalised, Merlin is Court Sorcerer, all the knights are alive and happy, Morgana is good, and the only thing Arthur has to worry about right now is what the hell to do about the rapidly growing crush he has on his BestFriend™.

After the dust had settled, Merlin had tried to sit Arthur down and tell him the whole story; all about Emrys, and the prophecies, and destiny. The King already knew about Merlin’s magic, and roughly how powerful he is, but that’s it.

But Merlin went so long barely mentioning it at all, not even to Gaius or Morgana or Lancelot, that he’s still not entirely sure what to say. Years of hiding and lying and trying desperately not to think about it, mean his brain now blanks when he tries to explain it.

After far too long of Arthur looking on confusedly whilst Merlin rambled on about dragons and coins and mental links and names, The Court Sorcerer gave up, and decided to just not bother.

Arthur, of course, decided that giving up was stupid, and made the executive decision that they would just go to the Druids, and someone who actual knew what they were talking about could explain it thoroughly. Maybe even allow Arthur to read the original prophecies.

Plus, it turned out that Initiating a Golden Age took quite a lot of work, so neither of them had had a chance to leave the city for weeks. They could do with the fresh air. And if Arthur saw it as a good chance to be properly alone with Merlin for more than half a candle mark? No one else needed to know, least of all Merlin.

It was a pleasant journey through the woods. The silences comfortable, and the conversations easy and filled with smiles.

Magic had only been legalised for about a fortnight, and after over twenty years of fear, magic users were still understandably cautious, meaning the closest Druid camp was still a two days ride away.

But that wasn’t a problem. With Merlin now able to use his magic openly, and therefor more able to defend his King, he found he was far less anxious about the trip outside the city than he would’ve been before. And if his good mood bled into the environment around them? Well... it was spring... surely no one would notice the extra flowers and abundance of butterflies?

(Arthur definitely noticed. But Merlin was still... wary, of performing sorcery openly, in fear of scaring the people who had been sucked in by two decades of propaganda and fear-mongering. Meaning Arthur sure as shit wasn’t going to point it out, in case Merlin stopped.)

It was around noon, and the sun was shining down on them when Merlin pulled his horse to a stop. He dismounts effortlessly, and hands a confused Arthur his reins. At Arthur’s raised eyebrow, Merlin sighs and speaks quietly:

“The camp is about two minutes further on but... the change in the law was only recent, and...-”

He bites his lip and looks away, worrying Arthur slightly, before continuing:

“-well, chainmail and red capes still make them a little nervous. I’ve already warned their leader that we’re coming-”

He taps his temple briefly:

“-but I should go ahead and explain properly.”

Arthur nods in understanding, and gives Merlin a comforting smile:

“I completely understand, Merlin. How long do you want me to wait, or will you come back to get me?”

Merlin returns his smile, before saying:

“Just wait ten minutes then follow me, straight down the path. Bring the horses, there’ll be somewhere to tie them there. You shouldn’t run into any trouble this close to a camp, but you do have a track-record so-”

Merlin laughs at Arthur’s indignant expression, but continues before he can interrupt him:

“-if you do, just yell. We won’t be too far away, we’ll hear you.”

Arthur rolls his eyes fondly and shoos Merlin away. The Warlock laughs as he turns and continues down the path on foot. Just before he disappears behind a large bush, he turns around again, a slightly concerned expression on his face:

“I might look a bit... different? But don’t mention it, they’re quite fond of me... uh... dressing the part.”

Arthur huffs out a laugh before saying:

“I’m sure I won’t forget what you look like in ten minutes, Merlin. Go.”

Merlin hums thoughtfully, and turns back around, disappearing into the trees and leaving Arthur to his thoughts.

After a few moments, he removes his cloak, tucking it into a saddlebag. He also, after only a little hesitation, removes his sword, strapping it to his saddle. It was still visible and easily within reach, but not so threateningly on display at his hip.

He was entering these people’s home, after personally wielding the sharp edge of their persecution for almost a decade; the least he could do was make them as comfortable as possible.

He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, not even Merlin, but he had a feeling that this meet was going to end up being about more than the prophecies. Peace had been harboured, magic had been legalised, but like Merlin had pointed out, things were still a little tense. This meeting was a way to show the Druids that Arthur meant it, that his whole heart was behind this change. The he was not his father.

Arthur was a little nervous (not that he’d ever admit that), this was important. Not just to him and the kingdom, but to Merlin personally. He had to get this right. One of the only things that Arthur had managed to get out of Merlin, to do with the whole destiny thing, was that it was finished. It was done.

If Arthur messes this up, not only will it ruin the peace they had been working so hard for... then Merlin might leave. He has no reason to stay after-all, he’s done his job. So Arthur has to get this right, has to impress everyone, now more than ever, because if he fails and the Druids all leave Camelot, then Merlin would leave with them.

And that thought was... unbearable.

He counts down the minutes, getting more and more tense. He tried to distract himself by thinking about what Merlin had said, “dressing the part” what does that even mean?

But it doesn’t work. Soon enough his brain is throwing thought after paranoid thought at him, about all the possible ways Merlin could tell Arthur he hated him, and leave forever and ever.

Arthur rubbed his eyes harshly, muttering to himself about how he really should’ve accepted the “relaxing tea” Gaius had offered him before they left. Other than Merlin, the old physician is the only one who ever seems to know what he needs in the moment, Arthur should definitely learn to listen to him more.

He finally reaches zero in his mental countdown, and sighs before standing from where he’d sat on a fallen log. He’d allowed the horses to wander a bit but they were trained to stay close by, so he has no problem gathering their reins again and leading them slowly down the path Merlin had followed.

All Druid camps were different. Some moved around constantly, some stayed fairly still. Some were huge, acres large with hundreds of people, others were small, only ten people or so. Some were occupied by mostly the sick and elderly, others were full of the young and adventurous, and others were family orientated.

And of course it was rare, according to Gaius, that someone would stay in the same camp their whole life. The Druids were a nomadic people, always shifting, drifting, wandering. Following a constantly tugging thread in their hearts, going where nature beckoned them.

According to Merlin, this specific camp was pretty small (around twenty adults) but it was also a fairly familial group, meaning lots of children. And if that didn’t make Arthur nervous (it definitely did) then nothing would.

Arthur didn’t have much experience with children, and definitely had no concept of how to act around them, especially Druid children.

After about a minute of walking, Arthur could hear loud laughter and quiet conversations floating through the trees. He slowed his pace; trying to appear unthreatening and friendly, or to delay the inevitable, he’s not quite sure.

He finally breaks through the treeline to see that... no one is even looking in his direction.

It was the middle of the day, so the camp was busy, people milling about everywhere, most of the tents open, various jobs getting done throughout the clearing.

But what immediately drew Arthur’s eye, was the source of the laughter.

The King looked across the clearing to see Merlin, in a whole new wardrobe, and a whole new light.

The man had changed from his simple travellers clothes (basically the clothes he’d worn as a manservant, just a bit newer and cleaner.) into a loose, white, lace up shirt (sleeves rolled up, which Arthur absolutely did NOT find himself staring at, thank you very much.) paired with slim black trousers.

But what was most striking, was the deep blue cloak billowing behind him, and the silver crown on his head. It was delicate, as if forged with vines and leaves and feathers, but it was oh so Merlin.

Arthur stayed at the edge of the clearing, glad that no one had noticed him; allowing him to stare in reverence at his best friend.

He was surrounded by young children, all laughing joyously as his eyes glowed golden and he waved his hands around. He needn’t mutter spells as he smiled widely, willing butterflies and bees to manifest in the air around him.

One of the younger children held his arms in the air and made grabbing motions with his hands. Merlin bent over and pulled him up into the air without a moment of hesitation, spinning him around on the spot (much to the kid’s enjoyment, who giggled outrageously), before settling him on his hip.

He used one hand to support the kid’s weight (when did Merlin get so strong??), and used the other to summon flowers around the feet of the rest of the children.

A fond smile spread across Arthur’s face as he saw them run around exuberantly, gathering the flowers in chubby hands to present to parents and siblings and friends.

Arthur laughed softly as he saw Merlin reply enthusiastically to something that the boy on his hip had said, and a second later, the child had a butterfly perched on the end of his nose.

Arthur is broken from his concentration, jumping a foot in the air when a soft hand lands on his shoulder from behind.

He whips his head around, just about managing to stop himself from yelping and reaching for where his sword usually is at his hip.

He calms his breathing as his eyes find the friendly face of a Druid, an amused smile on his face. Arthur returns his smile, a tad shakily, suddenly feeling the nerves again, and nods his head respectfully.

The man keeps his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, but looks towards Merlin in the clearing, before softly saying:

“He’s quite something, your Emrys, isn’t he?”

Arthur gulps, also looking back at Merlin as he replies with a chuckle that was only slightly forced:

“He’s more yours than mine, especially like this, but yes, he is something special.”

The Druid laughs disbelievingly, and Arthur turns to look, a confused expression on his face as he listens to his reply:

“Definitely not. He’s always belonged to you more than he’s belonged to us-”

He stops laughing to look at Arthur, eyes sparkling with friendly mirth as he continues:

“-prophecy or no, he had a... well... a pre-carved place among the Druids, but he still chose to carve his own space by your side. I think that speaks volumes about where he truly belongs, or at least where he wants to belong, don’t you?”

Arthur doesn’t really have a response to that as he stares at the man with barely concealed bafflement, but luckily, before the silence stretches too long, the Druid gestures to the clearing:

“Come. Everyone is excited to meet you, though I warn you, the children in this camp can be rather energetic, as you’ve already seen.”

Arthur gulps and nods, following him into the centre of the camp.

Everyone’s attention is quickly caught by The King’s presence, and someone comes over to wordlessly take the horse’s reins from him.

The adults bow their heads slightly in respect, giving him soft smiles, and the children fidget on the spot, wide grins on their faces as they whisper conspiratorially to each other.

The boy in Merlin’s arms wiggles, and he gets put down. He rushes over to Arthur, grabbing his hand with a toothy grin and dragging him over to Merlin and the other children.

Merlin hides a laugh behind his hand as Arthur’s eyes widen, and his face goes pale. He thought this was going to be meetings and serious discussions and apologies, not playing with children!! What do children even like?! Swords?? Can he talk to them about swords??! Druids are pacifists right? So probably not??

He gets pulled down to crouch, and the children crowd him, all babbling at once, wildly showing him flowers and butterflies.

Merlin laughs at his bewildered fear for a few moments, before he crouches next to Arthur and holds his hands up, saying loudly:

“Alright, alright, you lot. Remember what I said?”

The children still, and a chorus of “Yes Lord Emrys” resounds from the group. With that, they stay silent, but still grin widely and bounce on the spot in excitement.

Arthur gives Merlin a stressed, but grateful smile, before looking back to the children. He takes a deep breath, before smiling at them, and saying:

“My name’s Arthur. Thank you for having me, I appreciate your hospitality.”

Merlin snorts at his overly formal tone, and has to stop himself laughing at the shock and fear on Arthur’s face when one of the younger ones loudly asks:

“What’s hosp-ee-tal-it-ee?”

Arthur furrows his brows, but luckily one of the teenagers steps in, quietly saying:

“It’s when someone comes into your home, and you’re nice to them.”

Arthur smiles and nods, and Merlin chuckles in amusement.

Thankfully (for Arthur) Merlin then stands and announces to the children that it’s lunch time, and to get washed up. They all rush off, and Arthur lets out a breath as he stands.

Merlin holds in yet another laugh, but tilts his head in confusion as Arthur’s gaze is once again drawn to the crown that rests on Merlin’s unruly hair.

Merlin flushes slightly when he realises what Arthur is looking at, looking to the floor and mumbling:

“You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to get them to just call me Merlin, but then they presented me with this a few months ago and I could hardly say no, could I?”

Arthur nods as Merlin looks up again, meeting his gaze. There’s a soft smile on his face, one that Merlin isn’t quite sure what to make of as he quietly replies:

“Hmm. Looks good on you.”

Merlin makes a surprised noise and his eyes go wide, the flush on his cheeks deepening as Arthur laughs gently at him.

Arthur puts his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, his thumb brushing against the skin of his neck in a way that was slightly more than friendly, but Merlin doesn’t pull away, so Arthur leaves his hand there as he looks around the bustling camp.

His smile falls into something more sad, and Merlin frowns at him curiously:

“Arthur? What is it?”

Arthur shakes his head slightly, not looking back at Merlin as he replies, almost whispering:

“Nothing. It’s just, last time I was this far into a Druid camp... I did terrible things. Look at this place, how could I ever have believed that magic was evil? It’s beautiful here.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, but before he can reply, a small hand tugs at Arthur’s sleeve, and the two of them look down suddenly to see one of the boys from before. He wore a confused expression, and whispered, as if he knew this was meant to be a secret conversation:

“What terrible things did you do, Mr King Sir?”

Merlin takes in a quiet gasp and widens his eyes, but before he can tell him off or lie, Arthur squeezes his shoulder, and crouches down in front of the child.

Arthur gives the boy a smile, and takes his hands, quietly saying:

“Well. When I was young, I was taught some things that are wrong, I didn’t question them, and because of that I did some really bad things. I thought I was being a good person, but actually I was being a bad person because I didn’t do my own research, and I didn’t know any better. But then I started learning how to be better, and now I do everything in my power to be an actual good person.-”

Arthur looks up at Merlin with a small smile on his face, before looking back down to the boy, who is hanging on to his every word:

“-Your Emrys is helping me with that. You see, he’s the best person I’ve ever met, and he’s helping me be more like him.”

Arthur resists the urge to look back at Merlin as he feels a firm, but shaky hand on his back, and instead looks at the child as he thinks over Arthur’s words. His face breaks into a grin, and Arthur returns the smile as the boy says:

“He’s the best isn’t he? I wanna be like him when I grow up!”

Arthur ruffles his hair, and replies quietly:

“Yeah kid, me too.”

The boy gives him a toothy grin, before running off once again, and Arthur lets out yet another breath he had been holding before standing up.

Merlin’s hand remains on his shoulder, and Arthur regrets meeting his gaze the moment he turns his head. But he also can’t rip his eyes away from the teary expression of awe and bewildered happiness on his face.

Merlin lets out a gentle laugh at Arthur’s apprehensive face before shaking his head, and looking back at him once again, this time amusement on his face:

“The best person you’ve ever met, huh?”

Arthur rolls his eyes and blushes deeply, pushing Merlin’s hand off his shoulder as he mumbles a flustered:

“Shut up, Merlin. I could hardly tell him the truth, could I?”

Merlin hums thoughtfully and replies with laughter in his voice:

“Hmm. That makes more sense, of course.”

Without waiting for Arthur’s reply, he grabs the King’s wrist and drags him towards a large tent in the corner of the clearing. Inside were two tables, one large, and one smaller and lower, both surrounded by benches.

Merlin directed them to bowls in the corner so they could wash their hands, before they sit at the larger of the two tables. Everyone over the ages of about fourteen joins them, the younger ones going to the smaller table.

Food appears, covering the surface, summoned from the cooking pots outside and the various food stores around the camp. Arthur tries to keep the wonderment off his face, but knows he failed miserably when he hears Merlin chuckle beside him. He punches Merlin’s leg under the table playfully, but that only makes him laugh harder.

He quietens when the man sat opposite Arthur stands:

“Today we have two honoured guests, our Lord Emrys, and the Once and Future King Arthur. We share our home, our food, and our welcome, for as long as they wish to stay. We raise our goblets to you, My Lords.”

At that, he raises his cup in the air, everyone else in the tent following him. Merlin smiles and nods at him, raising his own cup, and Arthur nervously copies his movements, comforted by Merlin’s reassuring hand on his knee.

With that, the Druid sits down, and conversation breaks out around the tent as everyone begins to eat.

Merlin handles most of the discussions, talking to everyone as if they were life long friends. Arthur is grateful for that, he answers any questions sent his way, asking a few polite ones in return, but Druid culture is so different to life in the city and Arthur doesn’t really know what he should be talking about.

Thankfully, the meal passes quickly, and after another announcement from the man Arthur now presumed was the leader here, the crowd dispersed, everything being cleared away with magic.

Not every Druid practiced sorcery, but they were clearly in a magic-heavy camp; Arthur could see it plain as day, everywhere he looked.

Merlin once again took Arthur’s wrist, leading him out into the sun. Usually, Arthur hated being led places, especially by the hand, but he found he didn’t quite mind it today. Whether it was because they were in Merlin’s domain, and Merlin was King here, or because of how nervous he was, or because of some other reason entirely, Arthur wasn’t sure, and frankly, he didn’t want to think too deeply about it.

This time, Merlin led them to another, smaller tent.

It had several comfortable looking chairs around a smallish circular table, which was covered in scrolls and parchments and old-looking books.

A few seconds later, they were joined by the Druid leader; he smiled softly at them and gestured for them to sit at the table. Merlin and Arthur sat next to each other, and the Druid kindly pretended not to notice them shuffling the chairs closer together.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, Arthur having lost his nerves fairly early in the conversation. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that official meetings were his specialty, or maybe it was because Merlin’s hand once again found his knee, but stayed there this time. Who knows.

The Druid had introduced himself, and once more welcomed Arthur to the camp, before launching into explanations of the prophecies and destinies, and everyone’s roles in them.

Merlin knew most if it, and looked especially proud of himself when the Druid described in wonder how Merlin had changed the very fates of the Lady Morgana, Sir Mordred, and Arthur himself.

Arthur was definitely taken aback at that. Whilst Merlin had prattled on, making no sense, about his and Arthur’s destinies, he had never mentioned anyone else, and Arthur becomes increasingly glad he came here to sort it all out.

There were some bits that not even Merlin knew though. He wasn’t aware that the other knights, Guinevere, and Gaius featured in a few of the newer prophecies, and the Druid had an amused smile on his face when he admitted that he’d thought Merlin would have figured that out.

Arthur did laugh at him at that, and Merlin flushed before telling him:

“Shut up, or I’ll tell the others you said I was the best person you’ve ever met, and they’ll never let you live it down.”

Arthur narrows his eyes, and the Druid continues look at them in amusement as they bicker.

The meeting comes to an end just before dark, and Arthur thanks the Druid profusely, for welcoming him, and taking the time to go through everything thoroughly.

Another meal is had in the large tent, but when they leave this time, the clearing has been completely emptied. A large bonfire roars in the middle, and logs surround it, providing seating for everyone.

The evening is full of stories and music and magic, and Arthur once again finds himself wondering just how he thought any of this could be evil.

Even Merlin stands to lead a song. He moves around the clearing with yet another child sat sat on his hip, giggling as Merlin spins her around.

Arthur is surprised to learn that Merlin has a good voice, and stares in wonderment as he leads the melody as if it was what he was born to do. The rest of the Druids clap along, joining in loudly and harmonising and playing instruments in time with the tune.

When the song comes to a close, the crowd burst into cheers as Merlin looks back to Arthur, breathing deeply and cheeks flushed. The Warlock smiles widely as he settles the child back in her mother’s lap before walking back over to his seat, next to Arthur.

Arthur returns his wide grin with a soft smile of his own, and as the music continues around them, Merlin tilts his face in happy confusion:

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Arthur just shakes his head slightly, smiling slightly wider as he responds without missing a beat:

“You’re beautiful like this. And you have an exceptional voice.”

Merlin flushes in surprise and looks to his lap, quietly muttering:

“I wouldn’t know about that...”

Arthur doesn’t look away, huffing out a laugh before replying:

“I mean it, Merlin. You just look... happy. Like you belong here.-”

He does look away here, staring into the fire with a thoughtful, but slightly mournful look on his face as Merlin peers up at him, curious. Arthur continues, even quieter, before Merlin can question him:

“-You know, I wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to stay. Here, I mean. I know magic is legal in Camelot now, but you belong somewhere like this. I would never begrudge you a home like this Merlin.”

Merlin laughs quietly, and takes Arthur’s hand, holding it in his lap like it’s something precious (it is, at least it is to Merlin). Arthur looks back at him in surprise, but doesn’t pull away as Merlin replies, still smiling:

“Home isn’t a place, Arthur, and the Druids know that better than anyone. Home is... home is wherever the people you love are. You are my people, Arthur, you and the knights and Gwen and Morgana and Gaius. My home is wherever you are. No matter my magic or title or destiny; my home will always be where you are.”

Arthur doesn’t let the tears in his eyes fall, but he does squeeze Merlin’s hand, giving him a tender smile that's returned without hesitation.

With the exchanging of smiles that any onlooker would describe as loving, the conversation comes to an easy close, and they spend the rest of the evening hand in hand, smiling fondly at the antics around them.

It’s late when the festivities come to an end, and Arthur and Merlin are exhausted, struggling to hold back yawns as they’re shown to a tent that had been set up for them.

Their bags had been removed from the horses and left in there, and the floor was covered in various blankets and pillows. There was a small trunk, for them to store anything they wished to unpack, and a few candles were lit, filling the room with a soft golden light and pleasant smells.

Merlin charms the tent to be soundproof so they don’t have to worry about noise (he may be openly able to use magic, but the idiot was still rather clumsy, and prone to accidental bangs and crashes), before removing his crown carefully. His cloak and boots follow shortly, and they all go neatly into the trunk, before he starts organising a spot to sleep.

After a few minutes, he realises that Arthur hasn’t moved from his space by the entrance, and Merlin turns around to look at him questioningly. Arthur’s eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks deep in thought as he stares at the floor, fiddling with the hem of his tunic.

Merlin walks over, concerned, and takes one of Arthur’s hands into his own. Arthur looks up at him suddenly, broken free of his thoughts, and Merlin raises an eyebrow at him as he strokes his thumb across The King’s knuckles:

“What’s wrong, Arthur?”

Arthur looks into Merlin’s eyes searchingly, but seems to find what he’s looking for after only a moment, and smiles. Merlin tilts his head to prompt him, and Arthur takes his other hand, before softly speaking:

“You know, I used to find the idea of falling in love frightening.-”

Merlin takes in a subtle deep breath, but Arthur doesn’t notice as he shakes his head, huffing out a gentle laugh before continuing, looking somewhere over Merlin’s shoulder:

“-The possibility that someone could have that much control over me; that I would willingly give another person dominion over my heart, my soul, my... everything, was terrifying to me. But I find I’m not scared anymore.-”

He looks back at Merlin’s shocked face. Arthur looks an odd mix of disbelieving, and happy beyond words as he continues, confident that what he’s saying is right, for the first time in a long time:

“-Because it’s you, Merlin. It’s always been you. And how could I possibly find falling in love with you anything other than beautiful?”

Merlin gulps, seemingly searching Arthur’s face for any hint of a lie. When he finds nothing but sincerity, he launches himself forward, almost knocking Arthur to the floor.

He wraps his arms around the blonde’s shoulders tightly, burying a hand in his hair, and his face in the crook of his neck. Arthur huffs out a laugh as he wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist, running a soft hand up and down his back.

At Merlin’s muttered:

“I love you, Arthur, more than anything is this world. My magic, my everything, belongs to you.”

Arthur pulls back, smiling. He leans forward pressing his forehead against Merlin’s, and cups his cheek softly with his hand. They stare into the blue of each other’s eyes for a moment, not in any hurry to move the moment along, Arthur running his thumb over Merlin’s cheekbone, and Merlin carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

Arthur takes a deep breath, before whispering, so quietly it’s a miracle Merlin hears him:

“Can I kiss you?”

Merlin nods infinitesimally, and the two of them lean forward, meeting in the middle in a soft kiss that could only be described as tender, and full of love.

If the stars shine brighter, and the wind blows warmer, and the animals of the dark seem happier that night... well... it was spring... surely no one would notice (Arthur definitely noticed, but he sure as shit wasn’t going to point it out, in case Merlin stopped).

THE END!!

This is the first one I’ve written in aaaaages that didn’t involve a dizzy/exhausted/sick Merlin so... yay me?

I just really wanted to write something fluffy, where there were no high stakes. No huge battles, or angsty confessions or anything like that, just a soft love story.

I genuinely got no clue what I’ll write next. I do have a few drafts and ideas floating around, but let me know if you’re after anything specific, I live to please :)

Like always, you wanna write this up properly with paragraphs and fleshed out stuff, go for it, credit and tag me :)

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clementinecoastline · 3 years ago

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shimizu kouichi <3

we as a fandom have been deprived of trans shimizu headcanons and fan content (which. i have many thoughts on the fandom and narrative’s treatment of kiyoko actually. but that’s for another time). so!!! introducing..... kouichi, ftm icon!!!

tw for!! transphobia, gender dysphoria, sexism, internalized misogyny and sexism... i use he/him pronouns throughout the entire post for even before he comes out to avoid potentially making anyone uncomfortable

shimizu’s always thought that hating being a girl wasn’t strange. didn’t everyone hate it? girls were meant to be quiet and calm and polite, almost like the dolls that he halfheartedly played with. when he complained, he was told that it’s just how it is, being a woman. so when the girl in the mirror didn’t look like him, and the sight of his own body began to make himself feel sick as he grew older, he said nothing.

shimizu is good at being a girl, if that’s something you can be good at. his hair is smooth and his face is pretty (and the mole by his lips is apparently attractive in a way that makes men stare and him squirm in discomfort). he wears soft cardigans and skirts and tights under them, another layer between this body that feels like it isn’t his and the outside world. it helps to have the excuse of the scars from track (both a bitter and a sweet memory, with its revealing uniform that left him feeling far too exposed and foreign), so that’s what he tells others when they ask.

he’s good at being a girl, except that it’s absolutely miserable, and he’s always thought that it was just part of it. the boys at school are touchy and too brazen and they call him pretty too often and try to touch him too often and sometimes it feels like he is a doll more than a girl, really. the boys on the team are well meaning, most of the time, but it’s exhausting putting up with it and their shallow admiration.

when yachi comes along, it’s strange, because she doesn’t seem to feel hollow inside at all. she navigates many of the same troubles that shimizu does, but she doesn’t appear to hate it all like shimizu does. being a girl means there are struggles, but to yachi it is a wonderful thing. shimizu wonders what he is missing.

he graduates, and all of a sudden the feeling is worse than ever. it is so overwhelmingly off and wrong and his skin itches and he hates his reflection and without volleyball and the club as a distraction, it’s overwhelming, something inside him building and building despite him not knowing what it is.

shimizu crashes into kageyama one day, and they are both surprised. they make small talk (as best as kageyama can, with his abrupt answers and awkward silences) and somehow it comes out. he comes out, really. he doesn’t know that’s what he’s doing, yet, but there is something out in the open, decades of suffering he had tucked away neatly in a hollow part of his heart spilling out in words shimizu doesn’t even realize he’s saying.

kageyama’s eyes widen, but not in disgust. he mulls over the new information before he stands and offers shimizu something to do about it. kageyama takes him to an apartment - it must be where he lives - and a young woman opens the door. this is miwa, kageyama tells shimizu, she can cut your hair. he introduces shimizu to miwa as such, and miwa nods thoughtfully, until shimizu is sitting in a chair, hair wet as he stares at a mirror and it feels like a weight he didn’t realize he was carrying has fallen away (both literally, because hair can be quite heavy, and metaphorically).

he cries as he sees himself in the mirror, hair short instead of long and graceful and everything he had ever been told to be, and he smiles, teeth showing and his nose stuffy and it’s perfect.

#part 2 and 3 and so on and so forth coming soon #i have lots of thoughts #this is going to be SOOOO awkward when i inevitably make it a fic and then it's like #half of the same writing i used here #im SOOOO sorry that this is so long but i had to #i care a lot abt these hcs #help he wasnt even referred to as kouichi at all #I SWEAR IT'S COMING SOON #shimizu kiyoko #no!!!!#shimizu KOUICHI #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq #clem's corner #kageyama tobio #kageyama miwa #allies extraordinaires #kouichi

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lubdubsworld · 4 years ago

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Insatiable. ( Jungkook x Oc) Chapter 3

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x OC

Rating 18+

Genre : Vampire Au!!!! , DILF! Jungkook ! Bodyguard AU! Babysitter OC! Age difference!!! [ bet you’ve never seen all of this in one fic before? ]

[ Some notes : Born Vampires stop aging when they turn twenty five. Turned vampires stop aging when they’re turned. ]

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3

“So, you guys looked pretty cozy in the garden.” Somi pursed her lips, disapproval evident on her sharp features as she watched me hop around, trying to pull the pantyhose up over the fleshiest part of my thigh. It was just a little past six thirty and I already wanted the night to end.

“He was telling me how he wanted me to have babies so his son could play with them.” I snapped.

Somi blinked.

“And uh..is he providing the baby batter?” She said drily and I laughed.

“I think..... he’s attracted to me.” I said dreamily, remembering the way he’d definitely gotten hard at breakfast this morning.

“I mean, he’s a straight guy with eyes? Not surprising....” My sister grinned.

“No, I mean... like actually physically attracted. I felt it too. it made me want to do something unholy with him.” I muttered, eyes misting over at the idea of being spread out on his bed. Satin sheets underneath my body, the weight of his body on mine.

“He’s a vampire. Pretty sure anything you do with him is unholy.” She winked. I sighed, running a hand over my face.

“Are you sure this is the way to go? “ I glanced at the robin blue off shoulder gown. I was wary of drawing attention to my neck, especially with a Kim.

“It’s beautiful. Besides, it is your color. I want to see the look on Jungkook’s face when he sees you. Want to see him regret all his life choices.”

“i thought you didn’t approve of him.” i said amused.

“I didn’t at first. But then you told me he rejected you and well, no one does that to my baby sister,” She glared and I hugged her close, placing a kiss on her forehead.

I hesitated.

“Would it be too terrible if I tried to seduce him?” I bit my lips.

Somi’s eyes widened.

“Sera...”

“Just hear me out.” I said urgently.

She sighed.

“Somi, I’ve never been with a man. I just... I can’t get married as a virgin ..I absolutely refuse to. And I sure as hell don’t want to give it up to one of these pompous little brats who act like utter douchebags. So what am I supposed to do? Now, Jungkook ..” I paused, taking a deep breath to steady my pulse which raced every time I thought about him,. “ ...he’s...he’s so gentle. And nice and I just... I think he’ll make it good for me.”

I felt my face flame, half certain there was steam coming out of my ears.

Somi looked slightly slack jawed.

“Oh..um.. okay.” She laughed nervously. “ And how are you goig to get him to agree to this?”

“Beg? .... I don’t know...” I groaned. “ What do you think?”

Somi hesitated.

“I think, for now you should concentrate on showing him that you’re not a child. So , do well tonight. At the dinner. Be polite courteous ... make good conversation... he’s going to be nearby right? Let him see you as an equal... I think he needs to trust that you guys are on equal footing before he will consider anything more ....”

I stared at her, my mind racing.

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” I kissed her again. “i love you. Now get my make up on.” I said excitedly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For all that I wanted Jungkook to be slack jawed when he saw me, it was my own jaw that came unhinged when I opened the door to the hallway at exactly 7.00 PM

I stared, my eyes literally popping out of their sockets when i took in the absolute fucking vision he looked like.

Tight, fitted leather pants that molded to his legs , putting those deliciously muscled thighs on display, so tight on his crotch that my mouth watered . A dark belt, cinched tight around his ridiculously slim waist and he’d paired it with a blue silk shirt , that flowed around his torso like water. A thin black and blue striped tie hung around his neck, knotted loose and the end brushing past his waistline and a small silver earring dangled from his earlobes, catching the light of the lamp in the hallway.

My throat went dry as I stared at him.

And then i squinted.

Oh God, was that a nipple?

Nope. Not doing this today .

“Please excuse me!” I said hoarsely, voice cracking and face flushing red as I turned right back around , wrenched the huge oak door open and all but flew into the safety of my room before slamming the door shut in his face.

I sank to the floor in a heap, pressing a palm to my heart, trying to calm my pulse which had shot up so much. Somi stared at me from where she was putting away her cosmetics, eyebrows raised in surprise,.

“What’s wrong?” She asked worried.

“I think I just came untouched.” I whispered, staring at her with wide eyes.

Her eyes widened and her lips twisted in disgust.

“Oh my god, you horny little pervert!!! Get up from the floor, you’re wrinkling the dress!!”

I breathed rapidly, trying to get my brain to function but the sight of Jeon Jungkook’s nipples covered only by a thin silk shirt was burned into my mind.

i had never wanted to lick something so bad.

The knock on the door made me jump.

“Sera? Are you alright?” Jungkook’s voice called from the corridor and I whimpered.

“I can’t do this... Please... i can’t.... don’t make me..” I begged.

My sister gave me a glare and stalked over grabbing my arm and dragging me up with ease.

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not like you’ve never seen Jungkook before, how hot could-” She pulled the door open and froze in place, her eyes going wide as saucers, lips parting in surprise as she stared at Jungkook.

“ Fuck me ..” She whispered softly, clearly having lost all her senses at the sight of him. I elbowed her hard, trying not to burst into tears. .

Jungkook frowned.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing!! Nothing...she’s just excited that I’m finally dating again!!” I laughed cheerfully.

Jungkook glanced between the pair of us, a small frown on his face but he didn’t question me further.

“Should we go?” He prompted and I smiled, wide.

Just don’t look at him. Don’t look at him and you’ll be fine.

I kept my gaze straight ahead as we walked down the corridor.

“You look nice.” He commented casually and I swallowed.

“You look.....” decadent...like the kind of dessert I’d be tasting for hours... please let me lick your nipples...”.different.” I squeezed my eyes, willing myself to calm down but it was impossible. I swelled and ached in all the wrong places and my thighs trembled with the effort not to rub them together. My insides clenched, arousal dampening the bikini briefs I had on and i had to bite my lips to resist the urge to climb him like a tree and grind down on his thighs till I came.

fuck.

“ Your father mentioned that it would be better if i blended in with the other patrons. He thinks it would make your date more comfortable if I didn’t hover around in black like a ghoul. “ He laughed.

“ Ahahahahah....” i laughed shrilly, barely listening to a word he said because I was having a mental breakdown.

I glanced to the front of his chest again, a quick sharp glance and yup.....those were certainly a pair of nipples, the nub hard and obvious through the silk of his shirt.

Jungkook left to get the car and i stood at the entrance to the mansion, shivering lightly. The small fur throw i had on my shoulder was more for decoration than to keep warm and the night was chilly.

By the time Jungkook brought the black Bugatti around, I was shaking.

“Ooh... That’s a fancy car.” I commented , heart racing with how handsome he looked, gripping the steering wheel and he smiled.

“It’s Namjoon’s . I thought you’d like to arrive in style today.” He grinned.

I climbed in quickly, eager to get out of the biting wind. The interior was warm and cozy and i moaned, relaxing into the seats.

“You look really good.” He said again, gaze flitting over me with a little more intent and I blushed.

“You mentioned.” I whispered.

“I see you in those godawful t shirts and stained jeans all the time and you’re usually just cleaning spill ups or washing baby bottles at the daycare so i keep forgetting .” He shook his head, thoughtfully, fixing the mirrors and glancing back.

“Forgetting what?” i asked confused.

“That you are literally the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

He said it casually, no fervent ardor behind his words .

Just a matter of fact observation and somehow, the words felt like liquid heat being poured into me.

it stuck me then, that I would give my entire life and soul to be on this date with Jungkook. To have dinner with him, to listen to him talk about himself. To tell him everything about myself. To just sit there, staring into his gorgeous face. Hold his hands over the dinner table and gaze into his eyes.

I’m so in love with you.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” I said softly.

“Yeah? I clean up good, don’t I?” He tilted his head, hair falling into his eye as he winked at me , a small smirk on his cherry red lips.

I glanced away quickly, because staring at Jungkook was like staring into the fucking sun.

staring at him made my eyes hurt.

And it also broke my heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Sera....” Mingyu had a very familiar look on his face. A hungry, lustful , disbelieving look that I was altogether familiar with.

I managed a weak smile in return, letting him hug me , wincing when he buried his nose into my neck, breathing in my scent like he was starving. And the honest truth was, I didn’t even blame him . Control came with age and Mingyu was way too young to have full control over his instincts. And I knew exactly what my scent did to a vampire’s instincts.

But still, the grip on my waist was bruising and I was having a hard time breathing. I tried to push him away , a bit but Mingyu merely moaned, nosing in deeper.

“You smell amazing.” He sounded punch drunk .

Over his shoulders, I caught Jungkook’s gaze as he sat at the table next to us. He was frowning deeply.

“You okay?” He mouthed and I nodded. it was way too early to pull the plug on this. We hadn’t even sat down for dinner yet.

I grabbed the arm around me hard and dug my nails into the skin. That made him recoil, pulling away with a wide eyed look of horror on his face.

“Oh.,..Oh God... I’m so sorry.. I didn’t mean too... I’m so sorry...” he apologized over and over again but I could see the way his eyes flashed red, every few seconds. His hands trembled and shook like he couldn’t wait to get them on me again and my skin crawled at the very prospect of it.

The guy had zero control. He couldn’t keep his shit together for a dinner date in public.

My mind flashed to Jungkook, how he’d barely batted an eyelash even while he was literally drinking from me and by contrast Mingyu looked like a snot faced, sniveling brat , desperate to have something he wasn’t entitled too.

I sighed in defeat, tamping down the urge to cry.

I hated this. Hated men like Mingyu who couldn’t see past what I was. Who couldn’t think past the idea that they would finally be able to drink from me, if they got me on a date.

“It’s alright. Should we order?” I said softly, my voice shaking just a little. i jumped when water spilled over my hands, Mingyu having knocked his glass over while reaching for the menu.

“Oh..Oh no.. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry...” He stood up, trying to grab the glass but the water had already spilled across the table dripping over the edge to my dress.

My brand new, Dior dress.

I turned, letting my horrified, miserable eyes flit to Jungkook.

I blinked, shocked at what I was seeing.

Jungkook was laughing, hard.

I fought the urge to grin myself as he grinned, shaking his head in disbelief, fingers pressed against his lips in sheer disbelief.

Well, I suppose it was a little funny.

Mingyu was on his feet, bowing over an over again muttering about how beautiful I was and how sorry he was and I decided to put him out of his misery.

Standing up, I bowed politely and stepped away.

“Mingyu ssi.... I think we should postpone this to another day.” I said gently.

He glanced at me, his eyes flashing red again and gaze dropping to my neck. Oh, for god’s sake.

“Can I have a taste though?” He said hopefully, holding a hand out to touch me and I flinched when his fingers closed on my wrist. .He yanked hard and I shrieked when his fangs came out, ready to sink into my skin.

Jungkook materialized between us like he’d been conjured out of thin air. He grabbed Mingyu’s wrist, squeezing till the younger boy howled in pain and yanked him back so hard I heard something pop in his shoulder. .

“Hands to yourself, Young Mr. Kim. I believe the lady said she would like to call it a night.” Jungkook growled into his face and Mingyu flushed.

“Yes..Yes of course.. As you wish, Ms. Hwang. Can I have your number? “ He whispered and oh god, this was just so excruciatingly embarrassing for everyone right now..

Jungkook stared down at him like he was an insect he’d accidently stepped on.

“You have to the count of five to get the fuck out of here kid.” He said drily.

Mingyu flushed even redder, bowing to me once more before grabbing his jacket and scarpering away.

I stared after him, completely stunned.

“Can you believe he’s going to be a lawyer?” I whispered.

Jungkook’s eyes met mine.

We both started laughing at the same time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This can’t be real. I refuse to believe, that what I witnessed was real.” Jungkook shook his head in disbelief as we waited for the valet to bring the car around.

I chuckled.

“You know what's actually unbelievable? But true?” I said softly.

Jungkook stared at me, eyebrows raised.

“That is actually, not the worst first date I’ve had.” I admitted , grimacing.

“Oh good god. “ He flinched.

The valet arrived and I watched Jungkook head over to the driver side, before climbing in myself. I scrubbed the water stains on my dress after putting on the seat belt. Jungkook reached over, fixing something on my side of the dashboard and I held my breath as his shoulders brushed my breasts, the scent of his cologne filling my brain and turning it to mush.

“so, what happened?” He asked settling back and I blinked.

“huh?”

“Worst first date?” He prompted , pulling the car out into the driveway.

“Oh... oh yeah. Freshman year of college. Agreed to date one guy...turned up at a hotel, he had three of his friends over.” I swallowed. “ They nearly killed me.”

The car nearly veered off the pathway, Jungkook having gripped the steering wheel too hard and jolted it to the side.

“Sera- what? The sheer horror in his voice was palpable.

“ They wanted a taste and I was an idiot back then I said okay just a taste for each of you...they were young...couldn’t control themselves .... so they just get drinking and well, I can usually let someone drink from me for a long time because my blood it sort of regenerates fast enough but...three people at the same time... I almost got exsanguinated.”

“Jesus fuck.! tell me those bastards are dead...” He snarled.

“My dad got them de-fanged.” I whispered. Jungkook flinched away as well. Being de-fanged was pretty much a death sentence because you couldn’t feed anymore.

“Serves them right. Three of them...what the fuck.” Jungkook shook his head, jaw clenched.

i swallowed.

“It’s kind of why I haven’t been with any Vampires. After that my dad got really protective of me and well, he doesn’t like the idea of me meeting strangers. I was actually pre med back then. I couldn’t handle it. I quit and well, dad hired tutors for me and I got my degree in Childcare. And that’s okay. I love kids..” I laughed.

“You’re amazing with them. I’ve never seen Joowon this happy.” He said gently.

“Its why I prefer staying with the clan. Only my family gets to feed from me occasionally because I don’t trust strangers to bite me, because they could lose control.”

The moment I said it, I regretted it. Jungkook’s eyes bore into me and i knew exactly what he was thinking. I didn’t trust people. Didn’t let anyone drink from me.

And yet, I’d let Jungkook drink from me. He wasn’t family. He wasn’t even a friend.

But he didn’t bring it up. instead he just sighed.

“It’s not an excuse, you know. “ Jungkook said softly.

“Hmm?”

“Being young, its no excuse. I’m not a born vampire which makes my instincts more potent and even dangerous but even in the first few months when I was turned... I never attacked anyone. Self control is a choice. That dude you met today... I doubt he gave a shit about you. Bastard just wanted a taste.... Could fucking see it in his eyes.” Jungkook sounded righteously upset on my behalf.

“Now you know why I’m attracted to you.” I said softly.

Jungkook froze.

“Sera, -”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” I said quickly, hating myself.

Jungkook didn’t reply.

Cursing myself for ruining the mood, I cleared my throat.

“I still don’t have to be home for a couple of hours. We could go somewhere else...” I suggested softly.

Jungkook gave me a small smile.

“I’m your bodyguard, Sera. If you choose to go somewhere , I’m kind of obligated to follow you.” He reminded me.

I flushed.

“Right.....yeah...yeah. of course.” I stumbled over the words, so reminiscent of Mingyu that I felt a little sick.

“So where to, Ms. Hwang?” He said casually.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“People can’t stop staring at us tonight .” Jungkook grumbled, glaring at a couple who had stopped their bicycles, just to gawk at him.

I laughed, tugging on his sleeve to pull him to a more secluded spot of the river bank, both of us looking distinctly out of place in a crowd of people dressed in comfortable clothes.

I hugged myself, watching the waves lap the river bank as I sat on a rickety wooden bench, a few dozen feet away from the water’s edge . The river looked especially picturesque today, reflecting the incandescent lights from Seoul’s skyline.

“It’s because we’re dressed like we’re presenting at the Oscars.” I grinned at him and Jungkook’s lips quirked in a small smile. He stood by, glancing around at the people watching by, occasionally at the river as well.

“This is nice. Do you come here often?” He asked , eyes skimming the city’s skyline , as he stuck his hands into his pockets.

I hummed.

“Sometimes. With Somi or Jimin. They like those ice lollies you get down the road.” I smiled. “ I brought the kids here one weekend and they had a lot of fun.”

Jungkook laughed.

“I bet they did. I should bring Joowon here someday.” He said thoughtfully.

“ I could pack you guys some lunch. Make it a picnic. “ I suggested and his gaze shifted to me thoughtful.

“That won’t be necessary Ms. Hwang. I’m sure one of the cooks will be able to do it.” He said evenly and I tried not to let the words sting.

“Of course.” I turned back to the river.

For a few minutes we didn’t say anything.

“Where were you? Before moving to Seoul?” I asked quietly.

Jungkook hesitated before moving around to settle next to me on the bench.

“Busan.” He said , staring out into the distance. “ I worked for a warlock there . For five decades nearly. His daughter was part vampire , part witch and well... I was lonely. “ His face showed a whole lot of regret, “ She had Joowon five years ago and tried to offer him as a blood sacrifice or something when he was born.” He grimaced.

“She what?” I said stunned.

He ran a palm over his face

"I didn’t want to do it but I had to kill her. Joowon was three months old and well, I had to quit my job soon after. Moved to one of the smaller villages nearby. Your father paid for my food and lodging. He wanted me to come over to the clan at once but I didn’t want to be a freeloader. When your father suggested you needed protecting, i thought it would be a good way to pay him back for everything.” He sighed.

“Did you know who I was?”

He gave me a look.

“Every Vampire with a dick knows who you are.” He said ith a dry smile and I flushed, looking away.

“Jungkook...”

“The most desirable of humans. The perfect mate. The unsullied jewel of the Hwang clan.”

He was laughing now, eyes warm and fond in the fading light of dusk and I found myself completely bewitched.

“Unsullied....” I shook my head. “ I can’t believe people know I’m a virgin.”

Next to me Jungkook went completely still.

I turned to him and there was no mistaking the stunned look on his face.

“What?!” I said feeling like my face was on fire. “ I told you I’ve never been with a Vampire.”

“I didn’t think you meant... “ He stopped, swallowing. “ Anyways its none of my business. Let’s talk about something else.”

Something wicked began to stir inside me.

“I’m saving it for the right man.” I said softly. And then I turned to stare right at him, long enough to get the point across.

He stiffened a bit more.

So i barreled on.

“These bumbling fools who can’t string two words together in my presence....They don’t deserve someone like me, don’t you think?” I prompted.

He swallowed again and I felt a sort of vindictive satisfaction. Just knowing that I affected him possibly just as much as he affected me. It soothed my bruised ego a bit, the way he refused to meet my eyes now, making up for his brutal rejection earlier. .

“I deserve someone amazing, don’t you think Jungkook?” I pressed on and he finally looked at me, eyes blazing.

“Only the best for you, princess.” He muttered holding my gaze. and I tried to ignore the way the nickname made warmth bloom all over my skin.

“Yes. Only the best. I don’t want any of these younglings with their fumbling hands and stammering words. I want a man. Someone who knows how to put me in my place.”

Jungkook gripped the bench hard the old wood splintering under his strength and I bit my lips.

“Someone who can be gentle, show me what I’ve been missing out on. Show me how good it can be with the right person, who can get me wet and wanting without even touching me...”

He exhaled sharply at that

“We should probably get-” he moved to get up but i was quicker. .

Not so fast, Mr. Jeon.

I scrambled over to him, climbing his lap and grinding down on him, before he could fully realize what I was doing. The impact took him by surprise and he grunted, settling back on the neck and hands gripping my thigh to stop me from toppling over.

“Sera-what” he looked furious but i pressed a palm to his mouth.

“Are you going to pretend you don’t understand what I’m asking for?” I demanded, heart pounding against my ribcage as I looped his tie over the wrist of my other hand, once , twice, giving it a yank so he had to bend over, his lips inches away from mine.

“And exactly what are you asking for, princess ?” He whispered, his breath warm against my lips.

“A teacher. Someone who can show me the ropes.”

“Ropes? For your first time....oh baby, you sure?” His eyes danced with mirth.

Not entirely sure what he was implying, I just stared back at him.

“You can do it. You can be my first. “ I brushed my lips against his, softly. it was barely a touch, hardly a kiss.

Jungkook stared at me, his hands lightly squeezing my thighs for one second, before falling to his sides again.

“The only first I’m going to be, is the first man to toss you into a fucking river, if you don’t get off me right now , Princess.” He said casually.

I stared at him, refusing to budge and he stood up anyway

i yelped, nearly landing on my butt before i managed to catch my balance.

He made to walk away but i grabbed his arm, pulling him close. And it was ridiculous, the fact that he came closer, the fact that he let me grab his wrist, bring them up to my waist.

“Please kiss me.” I begged.

“You don’t want this.” He said softly, hands rising up to brush the hair off my forehead and I gripped his shoulders levering myself up to press a kiss to his lips.

It was quick, over before it even began.

“That’s the only kind of kiss I’ve ever had. “ I said desperately “ It was a boy in college. He kissed me like that and then he asked me if he could bite me. I refused and he never talked to me again....”

“Sera...” He looked stricken and miserable and I let my fingers flutter to his collar, gripping it hard and yanking on it, feeling angry and upset and altogether miserable.

How ridiculous...that men all over the country tripped over themselves to be with me and yet here I was, reduced to a pathetic begging mess just for one measly kiss from this man.....

“ I want to be kissed. I don’t know how it feels to be kissed..to be wanted for something other than the blood that flows in my veins.... I just want someone to kiss me because they want to...because I’m beautiful and precious and i deserve to be kissed and -”

Fingers clamped over my arms, gipping me hard and almost lifting me off the ground as Jungkook pulled me up, my eyes fluttering shut just as his lips closed over mine, soft and tender and warm and wet and so delicious I couldn’t stop the moan that slipped out.

I let my hands fall to his chest, the soft smooth silk of his shirt felt like heaven underneath my fingers and through the thin fabric i could feel his heart, pounding against his ribcage. I ran my fingers over his torso, the strong muscles flexing beneath my fingers and my fingers crept up to grip his upper arm, the coiled strength in his bicep making my legs quiver.

He tasted like mint , his tongue licking the seam of my lips and begging entrance and my lips parted in surprise, the sensation so new and electrifying.

I gasped when I felt his tongue tangling with mine as he pressed in closer. I groaned , almost forgetting to breathe when Jungkook’s lower lips brushed mine, his teeth tugging the plump flesh of my lips harshly , biting down gently and my lips parted, giving him better access. He was so warm and strong and big and i couldn’t get enough of him, my body wanting nothing more than to stay pressed against his for the rest of our lives.

He used slow, subtle strokes of his tongue to taste me, gentle licks that made my head swim and it felt like I was drowning, in the heady taste of him . I felt weak as a kitten, my fingers scrambling up to grip his hair, tangling in the silky black locks, gripping to ground myself and i accidentally yanked a little too hard making him pull back, a little.

He laughed gently, right against my lips, the sound sexy and arousing and I groaned, chasing the taste of him and Jungkook obliged, nipping my lips again with his teeth , soft little pin pricks of pain and pleasure, before laving the abused skin with his tongue. His hand came up to cup my cheek, holding me in place as he kissed me deeper .

I could feel myself go weak in the knees, stumbling into him and he wrapped one arm around my waist holding my body up as he nibbled and teased and drove me insane with his touch.

Jungkook’s hand slipped, from my cheek, down to my neck, his fingers brushing back and forth on my bare shoulder before moving down, lightly gently brushing my breast .

I melted, gasping as he shaped the swell of my breast with his hand, thumb rubbing gently against the tip till my nipples pebbled up and I felt a sob build up, pulling away from him to catch my breath, gripping him hard and burying my face in his shoulders, overwhelmed and shaking.

“Darling... you alright?” Jungkook whispered, hands reaching up to stroke the back of my head and i clung to him, wrecked.

“Please don’t let me go.” I panicked when he made to move away and he froze at once, drawing me closer, hugging me tighter.

“I’m right here princess. You’re going to be okay.” His voice rumbled through my body and I willed myself to stop shaking but i couldn’t.

“What did you do to me...?” I asked hoarsely, my body thrumming.

He laughed, voice low and tinkling.

“I kissed you. You begged me to kiss you and I obliged.” He teased.

I shook my head against the fabric of his shirt, clutching his waist harder.

“That was not a kiss.” I snapped. “ That was...That was....attempted murder.”

Jungkook laughed harder at that,

“Take deep breaths, darling. Relax.... You’re going to be okay. Just catch your breath you’ll be fine.” He kissed the top of my head, gentle and fond and I closed my eyes.

“I need a few more minutes.” I said softly.

“ I’m right here. “ He whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook turned the car off and we both sat in the silence, staring straight ahead into the murky waters of the river. I was still in shock, my brain rendered entirely useless from one single kiss.

He had kissed me senseless.

Literally.

“I can’t give you what I want.” He said gently.

I bit my lips.

“I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.” I whispered.

He made a sound, a sharp little exhale.

“Fuck, Sera...you’re killing me.” He swore.

I clenched my fists. I was so scared, that this would be yet another rejection and I just knew that I couldn’t live without his kisses. Not now, when I knew just how amazing they were.

“I’m serious. I... I won’t ask you to court me or do any of that serious stuff. Just.. Just want you to touch me. Keep touching me. And kissing me. ” I finished stupidly.

Jungkook laughed a little.

“God, you’re so young... I feel like the worst kind of man for wanting this so fucking much.”

I felt my heart soar at that. it was the first time he’d acknowledged wanting me and i reveled in it.

“If we’re going to do this, I need you to understand exactly what you’re getting into.” He said softly.

I felt my heart begin to pound, a steady thrum that was so loud in my ears that I couldn’t fathom how he couldn’t hear it.

“This is going to be physical. Only physical. I don’t want you to dream of something that isn't going to happen. “ He said sternly.

I nodded.

It sounded like a recipe for a disastrous heartbreak but if i could get more kisses like the one I’d just had.... well, maybe I could deal with it when it happened.

“I’m the one who gets to decide when , where and how.” He turned to look at me and I met his gaze. “ i won’t have you trying to climb me in the mansion in front of everyone.”

i flushed.

“Fine. “ I snapped.

“You don’t stop meeting your potential suitors. You don’t turn them down without cause.”

I groaned.

“Jungkook...” i began but he held a hand up.

“Not all of them are going to be incompetents fools, Sera. There’s a guy out there good enough for you. “ He insisted , “ I’ll warm your bed till you find him, because you’re beautiful and I’m fucking weak” He shook his head, laughing without mirth, “ but... I won’t have you ruining your chances of making a worthy match. “

I nodded.

“Alright. Anything you say.”

He gave me another long look before starting the car.

“Okay. My room, tomorrow. After 11.00PM. Wear something I can take off easily.” He said drily.

I felt the grin creeping into my face, wide and shameless and he groaned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Jeon Junkook ssi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A chapter inspired entirely by jeon jungkook’s nipple in that blue shirt.

#jungkook fics #jungkook smut #jungkook vampire au #jungkook vampire #bts vampire au #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfics #bts smut #bts au #bts vampire #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #bts angst au

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