#you have to grip him by the shoulders and spit in his fave and use all the things he trusted you with against him and you have to make him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

1kook · 4 years ago

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youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3 word count: 8.7k

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him.

And then winter comes.

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years.

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household.

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute.

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets.

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick.

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house.

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable.

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold.

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him.

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional.

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.”

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before.

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again.

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty.

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house.

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions.

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever.

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through.

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times.

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner.

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong.

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor

You blink.

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago.

Oh, so this was new.

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on.

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again.

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy.

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning.

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest.

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you.

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck.

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss.

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?”

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck.

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest.

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck.

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds.

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy.

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side.

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again.

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip.

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers.

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct.

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip.

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt.

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery.

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again.

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him.

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored.

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately.

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth.

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again.

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate.

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear.

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum.

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad.

So you do.

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.”

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm.

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes.

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth.

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet.

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves.

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that.

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t.

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him.

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully.

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed.

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight.

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off.

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly.

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you.

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face.

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch.

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble.

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?”

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls.

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy.

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully.

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip.

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite.

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely.

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why.

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now.

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months.

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—”

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions.

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing.

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss.

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat.

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss.

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty.

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off.

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up.

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good.

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading.

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds.

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it.

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan.

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...”

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick.

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you.

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you.

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his.

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.”

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt.

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips.

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.”

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin.

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm.

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you.

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success.

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself.

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell.

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle.

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, ��underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out.

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart.

To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death.

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying.

It fits perfectly.

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #goldenclosetnet #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jjk♡#jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #mine

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dameronology · 4 years ago

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pancakes & promises {finnick odair}

ok i don’t normally write for the hunger games but here is some morning fluff for 2 of my faves, @karasong & @megmeg-chan (based on meg’s request). i hope you enjoy💕

warnings: none...except swearing

The mornings were always one of Finnick’s favourite times.

Things were quiet; calm and quell, worlds away from his hectic past and tainted memories. Finnick was never without a charming smile or flirty comment but behind his endearing exterior, there was a vortex of dark memories. The warm blue eyes you often caught staring at you had seen worlds of pain. The large hands that were the source of half his affection had once wielded weapons. He’d become so used to the noise - of the arena, of the war, of his own thoughts - that the silence was almost strange. He’d spent years trying to escape it, trying to fill it with the sound of gentle music and white noise and the low fuzz of the radio but nothing had worked.

Then there was you. Between his arms underneath cover of the darks, head buried in his neck as you gently snored. The tickle of your breath against his bare skin and hands softly gripping onto his arms was an anchor. With your legs tangled underneath the sheets with his and your warmth beside him, he wasn’t afraid of the silence anymore. If anything, it was something he began to appreciate. It was a sign of change - change for the better. Most of which had been brought on your presence in his life. You were a barrier to the past, really. A definitive and constant existence intertwined with his that protected him from the bad parts of history. It was contained nicely in two parts: before you and after you. It was the latter he was so desperately holding onto, more than willing to throw the other into the abyss.

Finnick had woken that morning as usual; naturally, thanks to the sunlight leaking through the blinds. If you weren’t wrapped up in his arms, usually thanks to your tendency to roll away in the night, he’d reach out for you without thinking. Instead of being met with your warm skin, his fingers came into contact with the sheets. They were cold - you must have been gone a while. He immediately sat up, a frown etched on his features. You were never gone. Why were you gone?

Then he heard you - in the kitchen, kettle going and singing quietly. That was another thing he wasn’t used to: domesticity. Someone to look after him, instead of it constantly being the other way around. Finnick made a point to care for you and look out for you, and he would have done it even if you’d completely denied him of love, but you didn’t. It was a relationship of equals. And equals didn’t often come along in these times.

Wrapping the sheet around his waist, he slipped out of bed and padded through to the kitchen. You were stood by the cooker, his shirt hanging off of your shoulders and a song playing quietly on the radio.

It was one of those moments he couldn’t really explain; it was so simple, so domestic and sweet, but one he was happy to stay in forever. He’d experienced everything else in life - moments of heroic grandeur, moments of great loss - but somehow, it was the little things he wanted to hold onto. The sight of you in the morning; the smell of your body wash on your skin after a shower; the feeling of your soft hands tracing the scars that littered his skin. It was normal to remember all the big flashpoint moments, but what about all the tiny ones in between? The things that interconnected all the different eras of his life? Ones like this, where nothing in particular was happening, but that were so worth holding onto.

He leant against the door frame, watching you for a moment. Finnick didn’t want to disturb you - or maybe he wanted to savour the moment. He woke up to you every morning but he wanted to remember each and individual single day. That was something he’d come to learn, having been reminded of his mortality so many times. He’d be damned if he was going to hold onto the moments that made him stare death in the face and tell it to back the fuck down so many times.

The floor-boards beneath creaked slightly as he re-adjusted himself, causing you to jump slightly. You glanced over your shoulder at him, a smile playing on your lips as your eyes caught his. The morning sun was coming from through the kitchen window, pouring over you in a way that you made you seem almost other worldy. It was fitting, really.

‘G’morning.’ You greeted him through a mouthful of pancakes. ‘I made pancakes. Or I tried to make pancakes.’

His eyes followed your hand as you gestured up to the ceiling. There two or three half cooked pancakes stuck up there, clearly hanging on with all their might.

‘What’s with the splatters on the wall?’ Finnick raised an eyebrow at you.

‘Oh, those ones hit the ceiling fan.’ You bit your lip to suppress a laugh, eyes falling to the floor. You could feel your cheeks heating up his intense gaze, even as a grin broke across his face.

‘You never cook.’ Finnick said. He made his way over towards you, broad arms snaking around your waist as he pulled you into him. ‘The oven in this house is purely for decoration.’

‘I wanted to surprise you.’ You admitted. ‘I know you love pancakes and it’s been a while since we’d had them. Thought it might be a nice thing to wake up to.’

He could have sworn that his heart stopped at that. Finnick had spent so much of his life running from people, watching his own back and constantly looking over his shoulder. To have someone to actually do things for him, to (try and) cook for him with his favourite food in mind? The feeling was still entirely new to him. You were still entirely new to him. You did things for him without even thinking about just...because. Your love for him was reason enough.

A silence fell over you for a moment as he just stared at you, intense blue gaze holding your own. He still couldn’t believe that you were real, even with your hands resting on his shoulders and your presence right before his eyes. The funny thing was that it wasn’t like the moment was particularly special, or big, or even interesting. It was just you and him in the kitchen, something which was quite mundane, truth be told. But maybe that was it: the fact it was mundane. His entire life had been so fucking crazy, so filled with panic and blunder and change, that to have something constant enough to even be considered mundane? That in itself was extraordinary. You were extraordinary.

‘Hey.’ You gently brushed your hand over his cheek. ‘You’re staring.’

‘Yeah, I know. At you.’ He replied.

‘Okay, maybe let me rephrase that.’ You softly laughed. ‘Why are you staring?’

‘I just...’ he trailed off, biting his lip for a moment. ‘I just really love you.’

‘I love you too, Fin.’ You leant forwards, brushing your lips against his.

Finnick was a good kisser; you knew that better than anyone. Somehow, every kiss felt like your first. His lips were always soft, always warm and welcoming. That, paired with his hands on your hips and the way he ran them up and down your sides, was enough to make you forget the entire world around you. He was enough to make you forget the entire world around you. As far as you cared - and as far as you wanted to care - it was just you and him, and nobody else. You were the center of his universe and he wasn’t willing to let anybody else in.

‘Oh, shit.’ You suddenly pulled away when the pancake on the stove started to spit smoke. ‘This one was gonna be good! And you distracted me!’

‘Darling, I always distract you.’ His cocky grin returned as he leant against the counter beside you.

‘You were being so soft a minute ago.’ You quipped, jokingly rolling your eyes.

‘I can be both.’ He grabbed your arm, yanking you back towards him. He wrapped his arms around your waist,

‘I liked it when you were confessing your love for me.’ You softly murmured, pressing your forehead to his.

‘Want me to do it again?’

‘I certainly won’t complain.’

‘Okay.’ His grin faded to a thoughtful smile. ‘I love you so much that it’s almost overwhelming. In fact, it might be completely overwhelming but I don’t even mind.’

‘That’s better.’ You pressed another kiss to his lips. ‘And I love you too, so much that it is also almost overwhelming.’

‘Almost?’ Finnick quipped. ‘I’d argue I’m entirely overwhelming-’

‘- I also fell in love with your humbleness.’ You shot back.

‘I will accept your declaration of almost overwhelming love so long as you promise it’s forever.’ He replied. He knew how cheesy he was being, but it was one of the things he was good at.

‘Of course.’ You grinned. ‘Forever?’

‘Forever.’

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fluff #finn odair imagines #finn odair x you #hunger games imagines #hunger games x reader

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romantic-barnes · 5 years ago

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strawberry & tape | part one

| part one - the beginning or the end? |

Pairings: dark!biker!bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes has the town in his hands and a lot of blood. All you have is a cafe your mother left you after her passing. But as Bucky’s attention moves to you, do you have the strength to pay revenge for his wrongdoings? Does your push into the dark paradise end in love or blood?

Warnings: mention of non-con, possessiveness, mention of suicide, humiliation, animal cruelty. This is dark bucky! please don’t read if you are uncomfortable with any of the topics mentioned above!

A/N: Please don’t read if you are under 18! This series is inspired by This Is What Makes Us Girls by Lana Del Rey. Or just the whole album let’s be honest here. This is my first time uploading my dark fics so yeah, I love this, I loved writing this.

I’m just gonna tag some of my faves, you are under no obligation to read this! @imanuglywombat @mariessecretfantasies @sinner-as-saint @nsfwsebbie

There she stood, your best friend. A light Autumn breeze waving through the early spring trees, shivering the grass alive with it. Her shoulders shaking with the leaves, mumbling through her pink painted lips, whimpering and sobbing between words.

There wasn’t a word needed to express what happened, the petite girls’ tears flowing down her pretty face, carrying all the information with them.

She bunched up the skirt of her dress, fumbling with the seam before lifting it slowly and carefully. Her blood shot eyes watching you carefully as her lip trembles, fresh tears flowing.

Your eyes wandered down to the seam of her dress, slowly revealing the bruises on both her thighs. A hand covering your mouth, careful to not upset her, shake her, make her run. But there was little to hide, the agonising and painful pull at your heart.

She let the skirt fall, covering her thighs.

There was something you wanted to say, something reassuring, but the words could not slip past your lips. A simple ‘what happened’, a question reasonable.

“He- he touched me, and I said- I said n-no.” A string of sobs left her lips, closing her eyes. “He didn’t s-stop.”

You reached out to her, laying your hand on her shoulder, a light and careful pull. She stumbled towards you, laying her head on your shoulder. A thousand thoughts, but none delicate enough to say. You knew what happened as soon as she came walking up the street. A bittersweet romance turned poisonous. A possibility you saw coming.

The town doesn’t have a lot left for girls falling for the leather clothed men chasing them all over town. They turn their face away from them, whispering profanities. A lot of ‘told you so’, a lot of hot air from the people living in Dawn.

A lot of people think the town is possessed, cursed by witches from medieval times.

The smell of blood always wavers through the air as soon as you enter Dawn. Scientists say it’s chemicals, but none of that stays in the heads of the residents.

The old tale says that women used their period blood to seduce men, covering their desired man’s house in symbols to pull them into an everlasting love.

The town is built like a circle, a church in the middle, a poor attempt to rid Dawn of it’s evil. Before the church there was a town house, owned by the wealthiest man there was. Red scull, they called him, the origin story of the men in leather.

After him, the townhouse was torn down and a church was built, but not long after not even god was safe from Red Sculls son. The offspring who would bring the gang back to life.

They showed everyone who was in charge, blood was shed from anyone daring to refuse their power, deny them of what is theirs and so, the smell of blood never left. Always lingering in the air.

Generation after generation attracting folks who were looking for more control, but end up with blood on their hands, guilt on their faces. Only a few make it, with promises they couldn’t keep.

A town build on tales and make-believe.

You sat across the table from Lana, the girls’ hands wrapped around a mug, tears staining her pale complexion. He bottom lip trembled as she raised the mug to her lips.

“He needs to pay for this.” You said confidently.

Lana shook her head, her Bambi eyes wide with terror. “You’ll get yourself in trouble, you know what they can do, what they’re capable of. I shouldn’t have gotten involved with them.” A whimper escaped her lips.

You hung your head, defeated. There is truth to her words, but someone has to put an end to this. Another girl left on the curb, used and abused by the head of the clan. Another girls’ innocence stolen by force, without so much as a glance from the townsfolk.

An eerie silence fell, the presence of someone evil lingered around her.

Barnes.

A name no one who isn’t looking for trouble ever dared speak. Afraid it would somehow summon him, like a spell. A man as dangerous as his name, but just as beautiful as the devil created him. A curse not meant for the faint hearted.

His words are the national anthem here.

No matter if it’s a curse, spell or an enchantment, you’re not falling for it. Determined to defy the cliché of the weak woman falling for the devil’s son. A cliché in itself. A dangerous game to play, but a game, nonetheless.

You weren’t scared of a man trying to find a moment of thrill from an innocent soul.

The small cafe was empty, like every day it dawned on you day after day. Maybe that’s why your mother did what she did. A failure of a dream she had. Turn the family business into a cosy place, but the money stopped flowing slowly and steadily.

Standing at the counter with your apron, sundress adding to the sweetness of the aura your mother created. A place for the people who didn’t know of the more popular diner in the centre of town.

Your life threatened to become just like your mothers. No steady relationship, money slipping through your fingers, mundane days dripping with boredom. Your end was destined to end like your mothers, a sting of rope, swinging without life.

The pastries fresh from the oven, buttered and sprinkled with powdered sugar. A recipe your mother created. You set one down in front of you, a cup of coffee in your hand.

A break you didn’t really need, but took advantage of, nonetheless.

The bell above the door chimed, surprise overtaking you, but a look over your shoulder killed it instantly. Lana entered the cafe, still pale as ever. Her eyes shallow since that fateful day.

She sat across from you and you slid the plate over to her. Her small hands took the pastry, taking a bite. She loves your mom’s baking. “Can you pack up some of the strawberry ones for me?” A smile that didn’t reach her eyes stretched her lips.

A simple nod and you were about to stand when the bell over the door chimed once more and the look on Lana haltered you. The sound of heavy boots on the tiled floor.

The air filled with fuel and leather. You didn’t dare to look, in fact, you’ve never seen them other than when they rode their bikes through the streets, passing you.

“I think you forgot this.” One of them said, undoubtedly Barnes. A low and dangerous laugh echoed through the room, cutting through the tension.

A pair of panties hit Lana right on her chest, short breaths escaped her lips and you knew what this meant. Not much longer and the faucet would be running.

Anger bubbled inside you at the sight of her clutching the pair of pink lace panties. No matter how much danger radiated off from the man behind you, everything you knew about him was thrown out of the window.

You gripped the cup with your hand, an electricity searching its way through your veins. With the turn of your torso, not even sitting up from the chair you aimed the brown, hot liquid in his direction.

The cafe fell silent, all tension hit the floor as you met the eyes of the man stood in the middle of the room. Rage, that’s all you could read in his blue eyes. The two men standing behind him tightened their fists.

Time stood still, all eyes on you.

The only pair of eyes that you could focus on were the ocean blue ones staring right into yours. A death threat. Nothing but crime in his eyes and you right in his point of view. The shiver running down your spine left you cold. A single breath felt like a thousand daggers through your chest.

He moved, slow. Without a single second to react, his hand wrapped around your throat. “You little bitch.” He spat.

His voice ringed in your ears, but the rage bubbled back up, a stern look on your face. “How could you mock her after what you’ve done?”

You expected a lot of things. Maybe his hand tightening around your throat, or spitting on your face, but he retracted his hand.

A low chuckle from his lips and your face dropped, unconsciously softening. He studied you. Eyes moving from yours, to your cheeks, lips and raked over your body, stopping right on your cleavage.

“You’re going to pay for this, dollface.” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re gonna wish you stayed in the shadows.” His smirk made you feel smaller than you wished it did.

Barnes and his entourage walked through the door, but he turned once more. “See you, y/n.”

It was difficult to decide whether the spotlight drawn to you by Barnes was worse than the fact that he already knew who you are. You relished in the fact that you never made direct contact with the Howling Commandos.

But now that comfort was stolen from you and you wondered what exactly they knew about you. It makes sense to you that they know the residents of their town.

A week passed. A week of anxiety. You tried to push away the thought of him, but each day you set foot into the cafe a flash of what happened passed before your eyes. Another memory added to the dread of this place, another one added to the one of your mother lifeless, swinging side to side.

Your fate isn’t as unusual as it may seem. No one truly gets out of Dawn, always bound to come back to take over the family business. Anyone stupid enough to move here sees the horror not long after, but it’s too late. Bound to the town and the town bound to them.

You breathed in and out, but the sound of motorcycles couldn’t find their way out of your ears. Was is a coincident that you heard the roar of their bikes more often this past week, or just your imagination.

Along with fear, a sense of responsibility and purpose raged within you. Somewhere in you. A purpose to teach him just how cruel the devil can be. What you have can be taken away from you.

Revenge is as sweet as strawberry jam.

Fun isn’t written very big in Dawn and unfortunately the only place to get wasted is the club house on the outskirts of town. A place full of the Howling Commandos, their wife’s, claimed women and men with a death wish written on their throat.

You let Lana in, leading her to the living room. A modest house, but a house, nonetheless. She sat next to you; her legs crossed. Two glasses were filled with red wine.

You handed Lana a glass, taking a big gulp of your own, eyes studying your friend with caution. It became harder to read her emotion, her face tainted by the horrors pushed upon her.

“How’s peter?” You asked between sips. A question to steer away from the million questions you had in your head instead.

“Oh, yeah he’s doing ok. He’s finally learned how to make a Bouquet.”

Peter started working at the flower shop a few weeks ago, revealing himself to be skilled in the field, a true eye for the delicate petals. A young man you wished she would’ve caught an interest in.

“But he’s been getting a little too nosy about the bikers,” her eyes watered, a sigh escaping your lungs. “he asked about him today.”

“Oh, Lana.” You pulled her side towards you, encasing her with your arms.

A knock on the door interrupted her quiet sobs, her big brown eyes staring into yours, a glimmer of fear hidden behind the glassy tears. Your feet carried you towards the door, hands shaking slightly as you turned the doorknob.

A man you recognise only by the patch on the shoulder of his leather jacket. A stern look mixed with boredom. A glance down to his hand and you saw the small brown package.

“For you.” A wicked smile spread on his grey bearded face.

You slowly reached your hand out to take the package away from him. The small bundle of brown paper rested in your hands. The man turned his back to you waling off to his motorcycle.

You stared at the package, backing away from the door after closing it. A twist in your stomach and you knew this wasn’t good, not in the slightest.

Lana walked over to you; questions written on her face.

Your senses kicked in, only now realising that the package is warm. A warmth spreading over your hands, but a cold shiver running down your spine.

You set the package down on the counter of the small kitchen. A look over to Lana and you untied the bow with caution. The brown paper loosened itself and from it oozed a stench of blood. As the layers were pulled away from the mysterious item, the brown turned red.

A gag from Lana and a shrill scream from you as the paper was pushed away. A heart revealed itself, bloody and fresh.

Lana looked to you teary eyed, a hand covering her mouth. You swallowed stepping away from the heart.

“You know what this means, right?” Lana whispered, barely audible enough to bounce off the walls. A shake from your head and Lana removed her hand from her face. “When one of- one of them sends you the heart of a deer- it uh- it’s kind of like a claim of the woman’s heart.”

If you weren’t so disgusted by the sight of the object and the stench of blood filling up the kitchen, you would have laughed at the ridiculousness. You lifted the corners of the paper, heart pounding, hoping to find the name.

Bucky Barnes.

There it stood in tar black ink. You didn’t know what you expected, but you hoped it would be any other name. But the gift is his’, a claim on your heart and your name.

[ part two ]

[ taglist open ]

#dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky #biker!bucky #biker!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x you #biker!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x y/n #dark!bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky x you #bucky x reader #strawberry & tape #clair writes

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theyanderespecialist · 4 years ago

Text

Outlast Gang Bang 1 (One Shot) Various X OC Sissy Mark

(marks pov)

I cover my ears the sirens blaring as the lights flash.. patients ran around as I try to find someone I knew. The priest most likely, Dr. tragger. maybe Christ. He must be scared. Then the twins, then..then Frank and then Eddie.

I walk through the halls calling their names, desperate to find them as I continue to call out for them, going into room after room as I see the priest as I ran over. "father, father your okay!"

"Mark, Mark come with me. It's dangerous."

"No I have to find the others, my patients and Dr. Tragger. I cannot and will not leave them to suffer." I say. "Do you know where they are? I need to make sure they are all okay."

(Ooofff poor mark has no idea what is about to happen XD)

"come, they are in the chapel." He said as he lead me to it, and he was telling the truth they were all there, however he shut the door suddenly

"What are you doing?" I ask confused as he locked the chapel doors.

He didn't speak as tragger suddenly walked up and grabbed me. His one hand on my waist...the other one on my legs.

"He's just ensuring you can't run anymore buddy." He said, a smirk on his face

"Run? Why would I run? I am just helping patients." I say confused.

However his hands suddenly trailed up. "You've been running away from us since the start buddy, you think I didn't notice that you'd ask to change shifts?"

"That was so I could sleep in." I say. "Why does it matter?"

I suddenly jerk as his hand went down my shrubs pants

"Wh-What are you doing!?!" I demand to know scared as he jerks my cock making it stir.

I felt odd, I was scared as I tried to back away but Father Martin held me steady.

(Man he's not beating around the bush ..but he is beating marks Meat)

(XD)

I groaned and felt him jerk me off to full hardness. I still tried to get away but their grips only tightened more when I did that. I groaned and then he moved his hand down and slip a finger over my clit. I groaned and shudder.

"So your file was right you have a cunt to~" He says grinning.

My eyes widen. "Please--" I was cut off when he pushed a finger between my lips, not deep but still was uncomfortable.

I whine softly and tried to pull away

He didn't enter any further as he pulled away, but his hands suddenly move to my chest.

"I wonder, are you more feminine or masculine under here?" He said.

"G-Guys.." I moan out.

"Tragger stop hogging her." I hear Chris say and I look at him shocked

He... wasn't going to try and save me?

"I'm not just.. examining her~" he said as he pulled my scrub shirt off as I went red in the face.

For a girl I was small.. but I'm not a girl, I'm a boy, and yes, I grew some breast tissue. Maybe a small B cup..

"Nice cut little breasts~" He says and leans down taking off the wrapping I had on them.

The wrapping fell to the ground as I blushed darkly only to cry out as he pinched the nipple. I cried out as my chest was always sensitive.

"don't you think her chest is nice...Eddie~?" Trager asked as I tried to get out of their grips as Eddie walked up.

"A bit small, but nice and perky~" He says and licks my other nipple. "They will get bigger when she is filled with my seed~"

I shudder at that knowing this was wrong and yet..

"Well don't worry Eddie buddy, her toys were an a when she came last year, and I've got some special medications of course." Tragger asaod as Eddie smirked.

"T-They aren't small.." I mutter, why that was the point that annoyed me, I don't know. A b cup isn't that small..

"They are adorable though just like my darling~" he says smiling at me it made me feel warm

However I tried to cut that thought out of my head as his hands grazed against the nipple causing me to let out a surprised jerk

"And oh so sensitive~" He purrs twisting it gently.

I let out another jerky spasm as he pulled down my pants, completely ignoring my cock as he rubbed my lips, his lips biting on my nipples. "Perhaps one day we can experiment with some nipple rings for you~" he said as I feel Mattson let go of me. I could run..but I didn't..as Christ came up behind me, I feel his large hands suddenly grasp my ass. They weren't fucking me...they were just teasing me both with their grasps and their words.

(Because you're a slut that gets off being talked dirty to and told your a whore, and that's what they are gonna do, Gott loosen you ;))

(XD Mark is a sissy slut XD)

Chris gripped my ass with one hand and my chest with the other massaging both. I couldn't help it the loan I tried to desperately to hold back came out, I've never felt more powerless..or this good. He smirked and started to kiss down my neck and bit my shoulder. I cried out and with Eddie fingering came hard from both my cock and woman hood.

He pulled away slow looking at his hands. "I'm not one for men." He said. "But I am one for making you cum~" he said as suddenly the others walked over.

"Alright alright two to start to not overwhelm him." Trager said. They weren't serious..

"We need our turn first." One twin said. Tom the one with the hair says.

"Yes we do." Tim adds

"the others don't know him as well as we do."

"Yes." Tim agree. "We known him the most and longest

They suddenly move forward as I they smirked at me. Tom bent me on my hands and knees and Tim kisses me my first kiss. I feel him grip the side of my face. The kiss was hot, passionate, and messy as he looked at me as I panted, drool still connecting our mouths.

"Mm... think I know.how to make this better." He said as he grabbed my bag as I was confused, his brother just smirking as he walked over.. with my makeup bag, roughly grabbing my face as he took out my lipsticks he seemed to be stuck between the hot pink and bright red.

They went with the bright red and he had me put it on as well as my mascare and eyeliner. After that was done I see Tim had removed his pants and tom stuck his tongue in my ass.

I let out a shocked cry as my legs try to kick him away. "g-get off!"

Tim looked at me and smirked. "Why don't you put on a show for us~? And them? If you do, we'll go as easy on you as you need." (Don't trust him) he whispered in my ear.

"L-Like what?" I moaned. back as he placed a finger on my bottom lip.

"Oh..a sultry, sexy professional who is a total sissy slut but poorly hides it." He whispered as I looked confused but I already had agreed when I humored the idea.

"O-ok--oh! N-No stop! T-That's the wr-oo~" A genuine moan slipped out as I gather my nerves once more."th-the wrong hole! T-This is unacceptable behavior towards your h-head nurse!" I snap. And part of it was how I truly felt but something in me..felt excited.

"We do what we want with sissy sluts like you~" Tim says and rubs his cock against my lips I could tell he was going to take it slow. "Now lick my cock like a lollipop head nurse~"

I almost did.. bit I stop myself.

"T-There's no way I'd lick that.. that thing." I said and I wasn't lying. "I wouldn't ever want to lick that dirty, disgusting ..huge.. thick ..cock.."

"Then we will just have to punish you~" Tom says and bites my ass and I yelp.

Tim starts to jerk off his cock occasionally smacking it against my cheeks and I moaned as he did and soon he came thick ropes of cum on my face and smearing it into my cheeks.

I let out a moan as he suddenly pushed it against my face once more.

"Come on you sissy, look at it. This is what a real man's cock is like. get a good look,because your cock will never be like this." He said smearing it against my cheek as my body suddenly shuddered, my cock and womanhood feeling weird..

"T-That's s-so cruel to say to your superior.." I said trying to not let my voice change.

(Oof mark being a superior. The only thing he's superior at is being a masochist who can cum while only sucking a cock)

(AMEN XD)

"You better star licking it or my brother here will fuck you senseless without any lube~" He orders and that made me shudder more.

"F-Fine you disgusting man~!" I say.

I look at the cock as I give a kiss to the head before licking up the shaft as I let out a moan when he brother would roll his tongue inside of mebefore he suddenly retracted as I ha e a confused look.

"Look at you, being a good slut." "You call yourself our superior, you're supposed to watch us and make sure we are safe, and here you are, taking orders from us. It's rather pathetic isn't it Tim? No wonder she dresses like a girl, she's not a man at all" he states as I kept licking the shaft as I actually shudder at the insult.

It was turning me on so damn much and I could feel my cock ache. "Her big cock is a lie to what she really is a sissy slut begging to be teased." Tom says.

I moaned as I was closer than ever.

However I tried to keep in the role but it was so hard..

"I think she's actually getting off to it and she hasn't even put your cock in her mouth."

I glared at him. "That is enough Ti-"

He cuts me off shoving his cock in my mouth. I let out a choked gag as he gripped my hair.

"sissy sex toys don't speak." He said.

"I think underneath all this is a whore who can't wait to be fucked up the ass, in nice frilly outfits, we'll even set some new rules what do you think Tom?"

"Oh I know she was born an anal slut. I agree though Tim. No standing to pee being one of them, with supervised bathroom trips just to make sure." He said as my fave burned red as I let out a whine. To have no control of how I went to the bathroom..to be told that they'd be making sure, taking any masculinity I had from me..it somehow aroused me as I only realized I was bucking my hips forward

"I think he finally wants something in her slutty ass~" Tim says.

"I agree~" Tom says with a smirk. "Ready for my cock you nasty slut~"

I look back at Tom as I couldn't help but pull from Tim's cock, giving a lick to it before answering.

"G-Give it to.me~.dont hold back~" I moan

He smirked and thrust in hard I cried out and Tim thrusts in my mouth again. They were now spit roasting me. I let out a loud moan into their crotch. Spit hung out the corners of my mouth as he would thrust in when Tim would thrust out, never lea I g me empty.

"Look at her, she's a total natural~"

"what about her sweet little bussy."

"Mmmphh,", I try to tell them no but it just came as a moan

"Nice a tight~ fits like a damn glove two sizes to small~" he moans. "Can't wait to fill it up~"

I felt so full..and it was just two fingers inside of me. I let out a loud moan pulling away from his cock as I rub my cheek against the dripping, slimey member, moaning at the feeling of being less than.

I almost could take it I needed to cum so bad~! It was all I wanted right now~

"Hm? What's this?" He asked a smirk on his face as I moan.

"I-I-I love your cock." I said as I kissed it as he smirked.

"do you think a sissy like you deserves to have such a nice cock ramming into her nasty slutty mouth?" He asked his tone making me shudder and clench around Tom.

"No but please! Give it to me! So me how much of a cock sleeve I am~!" I beg

He looked at me for a moment as he kissed me again. And although it seemed rough..it was so gentle. . Like he was making sure I didn't actually think that low of my self. He slowly pulled away only to lay his heavy, hot, twitching cock on my forehead.

"Well get to making yourself worthy." He said as I knew what he was implying he wanted me to do. "And don't forget to worship them, letting everyone hear how much you love them."

(Gag)

(Gags)

I started to lick his balls and mentally gaged I did not even kick my own balls. Why would I want to suck his but that is exactly what I did taking both into my mouth. I suck on him, feeling Tim's hand push against my clit as I moaned as I kiss and lick him before pulling up to the base, kissing, licking, biting at the shaft, smearing my lipstick.

He groaned and Then pulled back cumming on my face and I feel Tom cum on my ass I was drench in cum. "Who is next?" Tim asks and I fall to the floor they could not be serious.

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legumelupin · 4 years ago

Text

FINE

So with the el*ct*on happening today and the impending doom I feel, I’ve been listening to fine by Mike Shinoda (highly recommend the song and the artist, he’s my fave) on repeat and most of the words are the same verse to verse and chorus to chorus so I wrote this quick little fic to deter my attention and channel my energy into something that wasn’t news media. It’s kind of angsty but it’s a bit hopeful at the end. and everything will be fine for Harry Sirius and Remus. At least in my book it will be canon can suck it.

There’s some mentions of dying but nothing explicit, everyone lives bc no one dies in my book. There’s also some questioning of reality so you have been warned!

Not edited or proofread!!! Please enjoy!!

Tell all the children to lock those doors

I've seen the smoke in the sky before

Gotta be up on my feet when the morning comes

‘Cause this fight we can't ignore

“No, they’re too young to be inducted into the Order, they’re not of age!” Molly Weasley shrieked. “They’re children, this doesn’t concern them!”

“I very much have to disagree with you there, Molly,” Sirius bit out harshly and the woman had the grace to look affronted. Anyone who said that the warning signs of war weren’t there was stupid beyond comprehension. But anyone who said that it didn’t concern the kids was even stupider, especially when it came to Harry Potter.

“Well, they still don’t have to be present for meetings! They have school to worry about!” she retorted and Sirius rolled his eyes, his expression grim and annoyed.

“I remember being in school and worrying that my best friends would be murdered over the summer. I remember being in school and hearing the cries of war and reading about the tragedies in the Prophet so pardon me if I think it’s a load of bollocks to think they aren’t thinking about what’s happening out there. Especially not the kids living here right now,” Sirius shot back, just barely holding in his snarl.

The kitchen fell silent at that. The meeting for the Order had ended some time before leaving Sirius, Remus, Molly and Arthur Weasley, and Tonks for the night. It was a tense meeting to begin with seeing as Snape had shown up for his biweekly report. It was always tense when he came, knowing he was working for the other side and the unending feud between him and Sirius was enough to keep everyone on edge.

“Well, I think I’ll turn in for the night,” Tonks’s voice sliced through silence and Sirius’s expression turned from glaring to slightly less glaring. “Gotta be up early for work and then I have some Order work in the evening so I want to be well-rested, you know?” she continued, sensing the easing tension.

“I think I’ll turn in too,” Sirius grumbled, abruptly standing and pushing past Remus and Molly on his way out. Remus only watched him go, sighing as he heard the pounding of steps and the beginnings of Walburga Black’s screams before her son silenced them with ease.

I feel a chill building up inside

Seeing the sweat filling up my eyes

Tell every friend, enemy in flesh and blood

To send out the battle cry

Sirius woke up the next morning colder than usual which was saying something considering it still felt like he’d never be warm again after escaping Azkaban. He groaned and reached his arm out, expecting to feel the warmth of Remus Lupin but finding the bed to be as cold and empty as he felt.

Panic coursed through him. Where the fuck was Remus? Sirius didn’t remember him coming to bed the night before but he thought that perhaps he was just cleaning up Sirius’s mess (What else is new? he thought bitterly.) and had come up after he’d fallen asleep. But he wasn’t there. And Sirius was cold, no, he was freezing. His throat felt tight and his bed felt too hard. He couldn’t hear Buckbeak’s squawks or chirps and Remus wasn’t there.

He tore off the blanket that was doing nothing and sprinted from the room, as far away as he could and down the stairs. He was expecting his mother to come out of the woodwork and smack him across the head for running in the house. He thought Regulus would be just around the corner waiting to spit at his feet and call him a blood traitor. He thought his father would be standing at the bottom of the steps, wand in hand and ready to cast the Cruciatius.

But none of them came and Sirius was still running through the house and down the stairs. He no longer felt cold because he was sweating and he couldn’t catch his breath.

He was running from Death Eaters and from Inferi. He was running for his life and he didn’t have his wand to defend himself. All he could think was Remus, James, Lily, Harry over and over again. He could’ve sworn he heard someone screaming his name and he knew he’d been found so it was only a matter of time before he was cornered and captured or killed. He had to run.

“SIRIUS!”

Remus’s voice broke through the haze and he skidded to a stop, the cold of the marble seeping back into his marbled feet. He was hot and cold all at the same time and he felt like he was in fifty different places at once all because Remus wasn’t there. But now he’s here and he’s holding onto Sirius and squeezing him tight and putting pressure on his over-sensitized body.

“We have to-! We have- We have to go Moony! James and Lily!” he shouted, starting to struggle against Remus.

“Sirius, stop moving! It’s 1995 and James and Lily are dead! We have to be worried about Harry! Sirius, Padfoot, my love, calm down please!” Remus’s voice pleaded, and what he was saying made perfect sense. He remembers breaking out of Azkaban and he remembers living in Grimmauld Place after giving it to Dumbledore to use for headquarters. Sirius stopped squirming and the pressure of Remus’s hold on him started to unravel the tension and the nerves he’d woken up with.

Twenty minutes later and Remus had yet to let go but Sirius had turned and folded his arm around his Moony and gripped tightly as he sobbed. Remus didn’t have the heart to tell him it hadn’t even crossed midnight yet and he’d only just gone to bed a mere two hours ago. But Sirius was sobbing and mumbling about Harry and how they had to be ready and he how he felt useless and insane. Remus held him tighter.

Fingers stretching out from nowhere

Reaching for my throat

They're hungry for my skin

Teeth wide smiling that they found me

Circling around me

Slowly closing in while you sing

Harry woke up frantically. He was gasping for breath because it felt like someone was squeezing his throat and there was cotton in his mouth. His skin was burning and he felt like there was someone in his room that wasn’t Ron. He knows he’s awake. He knows that’s not possible but he remembered the eerie portrait that stood tall in the room and he remembered hearing it snicker. Irrationally, he thought, Voldemort and his followers had found him finally.

If he moved, they would see him. If he stayed still, he had no way of defending himself or getting away. And there was Ron still. He closed his eyes shut tight and tried to think through the situation rationally, the voice in the back of his head begging him to understand that no one besides Ron and him were in the room. No one else.

He heard the high-pitched laughter that made his skin crawl and those grotesque white hands holding the yew wand, reaching out to touch him. He felt the touch everywhere, on his scar, on his throat, and the gash on his hand. Everything was burning. The jeers of the Death Eaters filled his ears and he sees their masks as they stood around him in a circle in the graveyard. They were all around him, waiting for him to move, waiting for their Master to do something to kill him.

Harry bolted from his bed.

The jeers sounded like they were following him and the laughter was too close to him for it to be comfortable. He left his wand by his bed and out of sight because he didn’t even want to look at it anymore with the looming hearing. But it wouldn’t matter anymore if he was dead.

The jeers turned into shrieks that echoed throughout the house but he didn’t care as long as they were following him and everyone else was safe. He just wanted to be safe too.

“It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real,” the rational part of his brain chanted and Harry didn’t even realize till that moment that he was crying. He slowed down a bit and threw caution to the wind to glance over his shoulder and see who was following him.

No one was there.

His hearing stopped ringing and became sharper and he realized that the shrieks were actually Sirius’s mother and everything he thought he was feeling and seeing was not real. It was all because of that dream but it was the same dream he had almost every night in some variation. He never freaked out like that before.

“Harry?”

He looked towards the voice who called his name, his nerves flaring and he prepared himself to run again because he just couldn’t be sure at this point anymore. But it was just Professor Lupin.

“I’m sorry!” he gasped and the werewolf gave him a concerned looked as he wordless flicked his wand towards the portrait and the shrieks were silenced.

“Sorry about what?” Lupin asked kindly and Harry gulped. He was drenched in sweat.

“Waking you,” he said before his brain even processed it. He was sorry for that sure, but he was also sorry about the portrait and about letting his old professor see him like this.

Lupin waved him off.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” he said before turning on his heel and gesturing for Harry to follow him. “Come with him,” he instructed and Harry obliged, wishing desperately to leave the laughter and white hands behind him.

Everything is gonna be fine, fine

Everything is gonna be fine, fine, fine

Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine

Everything will be just fine

Sirius was not eager to let Remus out of his sight but the pounding of feet and the reckless encouragement of his mother’s rage had him concerned as well. The cup of tea steaming in his hands kept him from feeling too cold and his bare feet resting on the old carpet kept from becoming too cold. Remus returned after only a minute or two.

Harry was behind him.

Remus steered the boy to sit next to his godfather and Sirius suddenly started to feel uncomfortable. He was supposed to be stronger than this and not let Harry know that he was weak and broken. It wasn’t supposed to be this way but yet Harry felt no qualms about it apparently as he insistently shifted closer to the Animagus. They weren’t exactly touching and Sirius could feel the kid’s apprehension about touching him so Sirius initiated it, hoping he wasn’t overstepping.

He shifted his cup to one hand and threw an arm across Harry’s shoulders while pulling him closer to his side. He felt the tension start to ease out the boy’s body. Sirius felt a bit more relaxed as well.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he murmured, pressing his face gently into the chaos that was Harry’s hair and tried not to think of James and what he’s lost.

Harry shuddered slightly but reveled in the comforting touch of his godfather and focused on the feeling. He left behind the remnants of his dream and leaned further into Sirius’s side, repeating quietly, “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Remus sat on the other side of Sirius placed a firm hand on his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his lover’s cheek softly.

“Everything will be just fine,” he echoed.

Neither of them felt any sort of sleepiness but everything was fine then and everything was going to be fine.

Fine.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #angst #order of the phoenix #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #tw reality questioning

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italiansteebie · 4 years ago

Note

Ooooh prompt again (sorry to bombard!) but enemies to lovers (or more like rivals to lovers) where Billy makes fun of Steve, calls him dumb or mocks his lack of ambition or does the whole ‘at least you’re pretty’ thing and it cuts Steve deep because yeah he’s struggling at school, and Billy realises he’s gone too far? (All of your prompt interests are like my super fave Harringrove tropes!!)

Under the cut for talks of abuse!

“Fuck.” Steve sighs and drags a hand over his face, as he grabs the test back from his teacher. He hopes the multitude of tiny red x’s weren’t visible to any of his classmates. The teacher looks at him and sighs, shaking his head, “I thought you were going to work harder, Steven,” his voice drops into a whisper, “You’re running the risk of not graduating.” Steve shakes his head and tries to keep his eyes from watering. As he walks out of the classroom he hears the teacher mutter something like, “All that boys good for is a hair model.” And with that one tear slides down his face, he wipes It away before it leaves streaks. He doesn’t need anyone, especially Billy Hargrove, seeing him crying in school. He’d never hear the end of it, and word would probably get back to his dad, who would call him a “pussy” first, and then a “fuckin’ idiot” when he finds out about the test grade.

He trudges his way to P.E., hoping to let out some steam playing basketball, “That’s one thing I know I’m good at, or, at least I was before Billy,” he thinks to himself. In the locker room he gets by Tommy H. and Brad R. without any comments made and he allows himself to calm down at that. Unfortunately for Steve, Billy had seen the bad test grade, and is now preparing to use that on court to get under Steve’s skin.

Billy saunters in, throwing a look at Tommy and shoving his thumb in Steve’s direction. He makes a “crybaby” face which causes Tommy to burst out laughing, his chortle catching the attention of the other boys in the room, including Steve. He catches the end of Billy mocking his face, he shoves his gym shirt on the rest of the way and moves out to go warm up on the court. he try nots to think anything of the face but he can’t help but think that Billy saw his grade, which means he’s probably seen the other bad grades he gets in their shared class. He shakes his head and pushes the thought away while grabbing a ball and throwing some casual free throws.

Basketball goes surprisingly okay, Steve really thought Billy was going to try something and when he didn’t, Steve forgot all about the grade. Billy snickers as Steve walks out of the locker room, getting ready to go home, “Have a fun night, Pretty Boy!” he calls over his shoulder. As Steve walks further away he can hear the roaring laughter of his teammates, “That was weird,” he thought. He shook his head and continued walking to his car. On the drive home he kept thinking about the last comment Billy made, “Have a fun night? What is the even supposed to mean?” he says out loud to himself. He drives home with the thought that he could be in his room alone and curl up, not even bothering about dinner. Those plans are ruined when he sees his father waiting for him on the front porch.

“Hurry up and get your ass in here Steven. I need to discuss some things with you,” his father said in an almost menacing tone. The color drains out of Steve’s face, and he quickly grabs his backpack and rushes out of the car. Once in the house he looks at his dad who has a weird look on his face, different from his usual hardened disappointed one, almost furious. His dad turns to him, “I got a call from your coach Steven.” Steve takes a sharp breath in through his nose, “What did the coach say dad?” he asks in a shaking voice. “Your coach. Steven. Said that he was notified by one of your friends, Billy, who is deeply concerned about your grades.” His father said sharply. Steve’s shoulders sag and he knows what's coming next. “Tell me Steven. Did you and I not have an agreement that you would work harder?” Steve nods his head in agreement, knowing a verbal answer would be disrespectful in his father’s eyes. “Yes? So why is it, that I get a call about you failing multiple classes, risking getting benched in basketball, risking graduating high school? Do you do these thing on purpose, Steven? Or are you really that stupid? Hmmm?” His father spits, grabbing Steve’s wrist.

Steve flinches involuntarily, “Answer me, boy! Are. You. Stupid?” his father rages each shout reacting in a tighter grip on his wrist, Steve whimpers, “Yes sir. I am stupid.” His father shakes his head, “What are you good for Steven?” he asks in a mocking sweet voice, “Nothing Sir. I am nothing without my looks,” Steve whispers, the tears threatening to leave his eyes. His father shakes his head in approval, “Good job, Steven. At least we know you can learn so long as it’s drilled into your stupid. Little. Head.” His father lets go of his wrist and Steve walk up the stair to his room. As soon as he clicks the door shut, he lets the tears fall freely. Not much later after that he falls into a fitful slumber.

The next day at school Billy anxiously waits for his and Steve’s history class. He can’t wait to see the look on Steve’s face. The bell rings signaling that it’s time for the class. Billy is absolutely giddy as he walks in looking for Steve and his stupid, sad, face. His eyes search the classroom, and Steve’s not there? “What?” he thinks, “Steve always gets to class before me.” he finishes the thought. “Whatever,” he mutters and shuffles over to his desk. Time ticks by and right before the bell rings Steve walks in, Billy searches his face for sadness, or anger, but it’s just blank. He watches Steve sit down at his desk and pull out papers for class, Billy shakes his head, “Can’t even acknowledge what I did to him, what a loser,” he thinks.

During P.E. Billy is antsy to get a rise out of Steve, on the court he calls over to him, “How was your night, Pretty Boy? Get in some trouble with Daddy?” Steve shakes his head and tries to focus on playing, he’s too tried and drained for this right now. “Whats wrong, didn't get your beauty sleep, princess?” Billy sneers. His attempts to ignore aren't going very well. As the game continues on, Billy is all over him, trying to get a reaction, but he’s not allowed. His father came into his room at 2:00 am to make sure the rules were going to be followed. And Steve knows better than to break the rules. Billy keeps pushing him though, and it’s relentless. He keeps calling nasty thing out at Steve and doesn't hold back. He smirks when he notices Steve’s walls deteriorating, and he hits him with the final blow, “Ain’t even good at basketball anymore, all you’re good for is being pretty, huh princess?” And Billy watches as the walls fall down, and he stances, waiting for Steve to tackle him. But it never happens, he watches the color drain out of Steve’s face and keeps his eyes on him as he runs to the bathroom looking like he’s going to throw up.

“Someone go check on Harrington!” Coach calls, and Billy’s up to the chase, needing to find out why Steve didn’t try and deck him. When he get into the bathroom Steve’s sitting on the floor in the stall, “What the hell, man?” Billy asks. Steve just looks at him, “Can’t break the rules, no fighting allowed. Too “pretty” for it. If I’m going to be stupid I have to be stupid and pretty and good.” Steve sighs tearfully. Billy just watches him in confusion. “You aren't the only one with a shitty dad, Billy,” he sighs and Billy tries to protest, “We’ve all seen the bruises, man, Don’t even try it.” Steve finishes. Billy sit down beside him, “So your dad... What does he do to you?” Steve sighs, “It’s not like abuse, or anything. He just rags on me all the time. Making sure I know my place, y’know.” he bring a hand up tp wipe at his face.

“what does he say?”

“Just the usual, ‘you’re stupid, not good for anything,’ yadda yadda...”

“Steve, that is abuse.”

“No, he never hits me. Not like your dad.”

Billy sighs, “Who woulda thought, me and pretty boy have something in common.” he laughs, and Steve joins in, almost hysterical. “Hey, Harrington. Steve, I’m sorry I did that to you man, I didn't think your dad was like mine.” He says in a soft voice. “It’s okay, Billy.” Steve hums.

They sit in the bathroom for hours after the last bell rings, a new friendship blossoming, bonding over shitty dads and basketball.

#harringrove #billy/steve #my writing #text post #anon ask #prompt fill

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for-a-muse-of-fire · 5 years ago

Text

in the woods somewhere

the wench and the witcher

“in the woods somewhere”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader.

Summary: Reader is foolhardy, and finds herself hunted. Geralt comes to the rescue and reader gets to see why they call him the White Wolf.

Warnings: NSFW/18+ ONLY. Rough sex, mention of blood and violence.

A/N: I wrote this while listening to that damned song on repeat with some eerie-ass haunted forest ambience going on YouTube. It was RAD. Title and lyrics below are very obviously borrowed from Hozier’s “In The Woods Somewhere” and honestly, it’s the creepiest, sexiest thing in the world. Easily in the top 10 of fave Hozier songs.

@coconutxraikage; @onyour-right; @kingniazx; @c-s-stars; @pantrashtic; @gczanetti1; @alwaysnatz; @kianya-loves; @ly--canthrope

I clutched my life And wished it kept My dearest love I'm not done yet

Honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever done anything so stupid.

And you’ve done a lot of stupid things.

You swear under your breath as you stumble over a rough patch in the road. The full moon offers enough light to keep you from breaking your damned neck, but so far the slog from the Aedirn border back to your small town has been arduous and fucking irritating. You’d meant to leave before sundown, safely partied with the train of journeyfolk as they made the way home, but that sure as fuck hadn’t happened. It was your own fault, and now here you were, tripping on rocks and roots and praying that you don’t end up getting eaten.

As if on cue, something howls deep within the tree line. You swear again, pick up your skirts and your pace.

Geralt will actively kill you if you get eaten.

The noises get closer – the sound of breaking twigs, rustling foliage and low, ominous snarling. Irritation gives way to actual fear, thick and bitter in the back of your throat. Your brisk walk turns to a jog, and then a full-tilt run.

Dammit, this was not how you want to die. It’s undignified, and messy, and about seventy years too soon.

There’s a great and terrible crash as the creature leaps from the trees and onto the road in front of you – you skid to a stop, falling back on your ass with a shout. It’s fucking huge. Taller than anything you’ve ever seen with broad, fur-covered shoulders and a long, canine snout. It stands on two lanky legs, and its arms are disproportionate, dragging the ground with claws that glint in the moonlight.

Its teeth and muzzle are already wet with blood.

You backpedal, rocks scraping your palms as the beast advances. It lifts its great head to release a bone-chilling howl to the night sky, and in the split second it’s coal-bright eyes are torn from you, you bolt.

Branches rip at your skirts, try to catch your loosed curls. Something whips across your face, slicing your cheek and you yelp in pain, but keep running. You can hear the monster behind you crashing through the underbrush and a terrified whimper cracks its way up from your chest. You’re not even sure where you’re running to – all you know is that you had to get away, and get away quickly. The ground is more treacherous here, rocks and roots ready and waiting to throw your balance.

The toe of your boot finds one such root. You give a shriek as you fall, palms smarting with the impact as you try to keep moving, keep crawling before claws slice through the air to cut you to ribbons. There’s a crash as the great canine-like beast bounds through the trees; you spin onto your back, gasping for air with your heart trying to thunder its way up out of your throat. Even as you scramble back, you can’t take your eyes from it. The beast lumbers forward, stepping into a shaft of brilliant moonlight. Its bloodied maw glistens and drops open; its teeth are almost as long as your forearm.

Those terrible glowing eyes pin you in place.

It lunges. You cover your head, screaming, but the impact never comes.

Instead you hear a low, basso roar – almost human – and the dull thud of bodies colliding. Panting like a wounded deer, you muster the courage to uncover your head. What you witness that night, under that brilliant full moon is both disturbing and incredible.

Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf.

You understand now why they call him that.

His already pale skin fairly glows in the moonlight, a stark contrast to the full black armor he’s clad in. By the way the creature is scrambling to stand, you can only surmise that the witcher physically threw himself in the beast’s path, using his own body to propel it away from yours. Wide-eyed, you scrabble away until your back thumps against the gnarled root of the nearest tree. The creature crouches, one clawed hand scraping the dirt before it lets out an ear-splitting howl. Geralt simply bares his teeth – the shining silver sword at his back sings when he pulls it free.

He moves with a grace that you never would have expected in a person his size. Not a single step is superfluous. The whirling, bladed dance is like nothing you’ve ever seen– each movement able to serve as either attack or defense. Geralt takes a blow to the chest, the beast’s claws glancing off his leather armor, but you watch him lunge forward with renewed vigor. He deflects an arching swipe of bloodied claws, ducking and pivoting to counter as the creature lunges at him. Geralt’s face is illuminated by the moon in that moment and your mouth goes bone dry.

You’d heard tell of what a witcher can do with his potions. Never thought you’d see it in your lifetime. Those black, fathomless eyes make something liquid and shivery spark its way down your spine. Adrenaline and fear mingle with the unexpected heat in your belly and gods, you can hardly breathe as you watch the black-eyed mutant swing his blade once over his wrist.

The monster snarls and lunges. Geralt pivots, pirouettes, and strikes home – the monster’s head is removed from its shoulders in one clean swing. Blood shines black over the grass.

Somehow, you manage to wobble to your feet, but your gaze stays trained on the monster-hunter, mesmerized by the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders as he catches his breath. He turns those black eyes to you and you’ve never seen anything so fearsome – you hear your breath catch on a short gasp, feeling your knees quake under your skirts. Geralt gives a dangerous kind of rumble and wipes the blade of his sword clean with a gloved hand. He stalks towards you as he sheaths the weapon, full mouth curled into a snarl; you stumble back against the trunk of the tree behind you and then he has you trapped there.

“Are you hurt?” he growls.

You whimper. He smells of leather, and blood, and his eyes are black, black, black. “No,” you breathe.

“Good.”

It’s more of a bite than a kiss. He crushes his mouth to yours, forcing his tongue past your lips as he grips your jaw with gloved fingers. You whine, finding purchase on the leather strap that crosses his chest. In spite of the chill in the night air, you are on fire – heat sings over your skin before settling between your legs. You can feel your pulse throbbing at the apex of your thighs, so strong that it’s almost painful.

Geralt pushes forward, forcing his leather-clad thigh between yours and you sob at the contact. He keeps his possessive grip on your jaw, pulling back just enough to pin you with those fathomless eyes of his.

“I can fucking smell you,” he snarls. “Smell how fucking wet you are.”

He rips his other glove off with his teeth, spitting the blood-stained leather onto the forest floor. You feel him grope at your skirts, yanking the fabric up and out of his way until he can force his free hand between your legs – two fingers push into the quivering heat there and you mewl as your eyes slam shut. Geralt rattles out a hot, desperate noise against your neck. He works his fingers inside of you, heel of his hand crushed tight against your clit until your legs start to shake.

“Geralt,” you whine. “Please.”

He gives a breathless moan into your skin. When his fingers leave the clutch of your cunt you nearly cry at the loss, but then he’s tearing at the buttons on his trousers and you try to help with your own trembling hands. He shoves the thick leather down his hips just enough to free his cock, and then your knee is hooked over his elbow to spread you open. Geralt slides himself through your slick to ease his passage, lines up, and slams forward.

You shout, blinding pleasure bowing your spine up and away from the rough bark at your back. Your hands grip at Geralt’s hair, clenching into greedy fists. The witcher gives a low, broken groan.

He starts to move. It is not gentle.

Each short, vicious thrust stokes the raging fire in your belly. You cry, and gasp, and swear as you spiral up, up, up – you feel as though you are gripped with fever, delirious as you ride the thin line between pain and pleasure. All you can do is grind down in a desperate attempt to meet the driving push of his hips into yours. Geralt lays biting kisses up your neck, panting in short, hot bursts into your skin. You can feel bruises starting to bloom on your thighs. The witcher’s free hand, still covered in black leather, grips your jaw again; he forces you into another kiss that borders on violent.

The smell of blood floods your senses – coppery and sharp.

When he wrenches his lips from yours, he uses the grip on your chin to keep your gaze locked on him. You can see the whites of his eyes now, the inky color brought on by his potion having receded, only just. He snarls down at you, gloved fingers pushing back to grip hard at your curls. You feel the rasp of stubble against your neck - it makes you shudder. Makes you keen.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he growls. “Come on. Want to feel you come all over my cock.’

His teeth lock on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. The sudden jolt of pain sends you soaring, body alight, before your orgasm tears you to pieces – the scream that rips up from your chest is more animal than human. Your whole body rocks with it and you hear Geralt roar his way through his own release. You suck down ravenous lungfuls of air, heart thundering so hard against the confines of your rib cage that you’re sure it’s going to burst its way free. Your whimper brokenly and let your forehead rest on the studded leather that covers his shoulder.

The witcher’s careful touch on your cheek brings you back down to earth. Your dark gaze finds his, and once again you’re staring into lovely, honey-colored eyes. His breathing is labored. It takes a few moments for the both of you to disentangle yourselves from each other and rearrange your clothing, but Geralt isn’t willing to release you just yet. He keeps you trapped against the tree and the hard set of his jaw makes your already shaky knees turn to water.

“You don’t go walking these woods alone at night,” he rumbles. His tone leaves no room for argument. “You understand me?”

It takes a moment for you to find your voice, but you nod in the meantime. “Yes,” you whisper at last. “I understand.”

He kisses you again. It’s gentle, almost reverent – such a shock from his violent coupling that you feel lightheaded. You’re still trembling when he scoops you up into his arms, keeping you cradled against his chest. Exhaustion sets in, keeps you from arguing when it’s clear he intends to carry you back into town.

You press your face into his neck. The scent of blood lingers in your nostrils.

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt x woc reader #geralt x poc!reader #the witcher netflix #the wench and the witcher #tutu scribbles #fanfic #fanfiction

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theolddarkmachine · 4 years ago

Text

Dead Space - Good, Bad, I’m the Guy With the Gun

It starts the day the hero falls. Crashing in a blaze of glory of twisted metal and burning ozone, he leaves a scar on the Earth that changes everything.

And Keith sees it all.

Chapter 4 of 11

Tags: attempted Horror Elements, Zombies, Violence and Gore, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending i swear

Also on AO3

A/N: Fun fact- This chapter has one of my fave chapter titles in this fic lol

********************************

The world spins violently, making Keith’s stomach pitch fiercely as his eyes shoot open. The only light is from a weak lamp clipped to a high window sill, leaving most of the room still shadowed. Sitting up slowly and swallowing down the sudden urge to upend the few contents in his stomach, he notes the bare walls and dingy tile of the floor, and the torn, ratty sleeping bag serving as a makeshift bed beneath him.

Shifting to get a better look at his surroundings, Keith feels the tight bite of rope at the flesh of his wrists, the sudden burn of it pulling his consciousness back to his present and the circumstance that had landed him here.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps, turning fully in search of the darkened corners. Eyes scanning across the room, his gaze stops on the thin frame of the man from the street. Sitting atop a plain, metallic chair, he keeps his eyes settled on Keith as his mouth twists into a smug grin.

A groan, loud and biting pushes from deep within Keith’s throat as he finally recognizes the man.

Lance McClain. Keith had never truly paid the younger cadet much mind when he was in the Garrison, but that had never seemed to change the competition between them that Lance had crafted in his own head.

While Keith had had his eyes set ahead to where Shiro had been, Lance had had his eyes set on him.

Leaning forward in his chair, Lance pushes his forearms into his thighs as he rolls the rifle between his palms, gaze not once leaving Keith.

The light from the windowsill traces Lance’s face with bright lines. His thin face looks thinner, his boyish looks lost to the test of time and the apocalypse, leaving his cheekbones sharp and his blue eyes marred by dark bags.

Even still, he looks smug enough for Keith to want to punch him in the face.

For old time’s sake.

“Hey, buddy,” Lance says, vestiges of his smarmy tone still clinging stubbornly to his voice as he speaks. Its cadence makes the dull, aching throb at the back of his head pulsate.

“Where’s Shiro?” Keith all but snarls, hands folding into fists as he flexes against the tight binding of the rope. It doesn’t budge, instead biting further into his skin in a way that he’s sure will leave the skin at his wrists torn and raw.

Not that that truly matters, Keith thinks as he shifts slightly, feeling the way his legs move freely.

It was their second mistake.

Their first having been knocking him out.

“No hello? No, wow Lance, I missed you, glad to see you didn’t become zombie chow?” Lance muses, leaning back and slapping a hand over his heart with a loud gasp of faux hurt. “That cuts me deep.”

Ignoring his quips, Keith repositions his legs carefully, moving as if he was just trying to get a bit more comfortable. The change leaves him bracing his weight on one foot with his thigh flush against his chest, with the other leg folded beneath him.

“At least if you were zombie food, you wouldn’t be giving me such a headache,” he bites out, glaring at his old acquaintance as his muscles tense.

“That would be courtesy of Hunk, not me,” Lance shrugs, leaning forward once more as he replaces his hand on his rifle. There’s a sparkle buried deep in his eyes as his hands tighten on the muzzle. It’s a challenge, silent and standing between them, filling the distance with a bright burning tension.

One breath became two, and starts to become a third when Keith launches himself forward, hands held awkwardly in front of him where they’re tied.

A look of shock dances across Lance’s features as Keith swats the rifle out from his grip before twisting to kick at his side, forcing him and his chair sideways. The grating clatter of metal against tile screams through the air as Keith falls on top of him, pushing the flush of his forearm into his throat as he leans in close.

“I won’t ask again. Where’s Shiro?” Keith growls, sneer nothing but teeth.

“Chill, man,” Lance chokes out as he struggles beneath him. He gets a hand fisted in the material of Keith’s shirt and another on his side when there’s a loud knock on the door, effectively freezing them both as the pair turn their gazes toward the offending sound.

“Hey, you good in there?” Another familiar voice calls through the wood, “Allura wanted to see us like, 10 minutes ago.”

Hunk, Keith’s brain supplies, as he remembers the timid engineering student who had seemed attached to Lance’s hip. The moment of pause gives Lance just enough to steady his hold and push Keith off of him. As he falls to the side, Lance quickly rolls in the opposite direction before coming back to a crouch, all the while coughing and rubbing at his throat.

“Yeah, buddy, all good here. Just go ahead without us, we’ll be there in a minute,” he calls out to his companion on the other side of the door as he glares at Keith.

Both men hold stock still as they wait, both relaxing slightly at the small sound of affirmation that makes its way into the room.

“If you’d just given me a minute, you’d know that I was going to take you to see him. Allura wants to see you both,” Lance hisses after hearing the sound of Hunk’s footsteps draw away from the door.

“Who the hell is Allura?” Keith spits, tone untrusting as he pushes himself up onto his feet. Taking several steps away from the brunette, he braces himself with the wall at his back, watchful gaze stuck on Lance.

“The person who is going to get us all out of this apocalyptic bullshit alive,” he remarks with a shrug, as if the sheer impossibility of the statement was simple fact. Giving Keith another hard look, he leans down to pick up his discarded rifle, brushing it off and cooing quietly to it before he uses it to gesture toward the door.

“We’re going to leave, but if you make a run for it, I can’t guarantee you won’t be shot down before you get to the exit.”

It lacks threat, said as nothing but yet another fact. Pausing to allow Keith the chance to say something, Lance shrugs at his silent obstinance.

“Not sure you’ll be much use to Shiro dead.”

It pushes a low grumble of acquiescence between his teeth as he watches Lance move toward the door. Pushing away from the wall, he stretches quickly to loosen his achey joints. Standing behind Lance, he watches over his shoulder as he opens the door.

Scraping along the flooring, the wood opens up into an empty hallway. It’s just barely cleaner than the room, though there’s grime that still clings to the corners where the floor meets the wall and a staleness that hangs in the air. Construction lights line the hallway every few feet, leaving stretches of darkness between the circles of illumination that they cast, leaving the space filled with a sort of eeriness that Keith couldn’t quite place.

There was no telling just how long the building had been abandoned, even before the end of the world.

“This way,” Lance says, motioning for Keith to follow as he turns to the left, not bothering to look back to make sure he follows. Not that he supposes he has much of a choice.

It’s a thought that sends a wave of annoyance pulsing through him in time with the aching throb at the back of his head.

Passing through the hall in tense silence, Keith lets his gaze wander over his surroundings, taking in the boarded windows and stretch of doorways covered with mismatched coverings and torn pieces of fabric.

As they move along, he hears the quiet mutterings of people inside.

It takes several minutes before Lance finally stops at the end of the hallway where two heavy metallic doors stand. Settling his hands over the rusting handles, Keith watches as he takes a breath. The depth of it raises his shoulders before they slow come back down around his exhale.

“I know we never quite got along, but give Allura a chance,” Lance says lowly, throwing a quick look back to him before pushing the doors wide.

Over his shoulder, Keith can see the long stretch of a room with several metal tables. Stepping through the threshold, he makes quick work of counting the tables, and taking in their stock.

Three along the back wall are littered with guns and ammunition. Two, one at the very center and one pushed to the front, support out of date monitors and even older computer towers. The final table that stands alone at the side of the room boasts a coffee machine and a random assortment of snacks.

Atop the table set at the center of the room, the monitors stand like a curved barrier around its occupant. It obscures all but the person’s mess of tawny hair above the top of the smallest monitor.

Beside the hidden stranger, a woman stands tall and lean, with darkly tanned skin, white hair twisted atop her head, and striking eyes.

She looks strong, her obvious authority rolling off of her, even as she offers the person to her side a small, secretive smile.

Even without introduction, Keith knows exactly who she must be.

Allura.

Her gaze finds him then, cutting into his chest, almost as if she could hear his very thoughts.

“Good, you’re finally here,” she says, voice strict and accented as she gestures for Lance to close the door. With a quick nod and a small sound in his throat, he shuts the doors, revealing two figures on the other side.

A rush of relief rolls through Keith as he sees that one of the figures is Shiro.

His silvered gaze finds him easily as Shiro offers him a small, reassuring smile. Offering a small nod in return, Keith traces his form quickly, noting how he stands tall, hands free and untied where they hang at his sides.

With another quick dip of his chin, Keith moves his attention toward the man beside him.

Hunk looks the same as he had at the Garrison, only harder, as if he was the visage of the boy he had once known but carved of hardened stone. It doesn’t diminish the slight smile that seems to still tug at the corner of his lips, however.

Silence rolls out through the room as Allura steps around the desk, stopping at the end closest to them. Settling her hip against the corner, she crosses her arms and makes a show of analyzing them both slowly.

Quick clicks punch through the deafening quiet as the person behind the monitors continues to type away.

“I’ve heard so much about you both,” Allura finally says, drawing her attention back up to capture Keith’s stare.

“Keith Kogane, rising star of the Galaxy Garrison. Relieved of your position after an assault on a superior officer. Specializations in hand-to-hand combat and flight,” she states, tone bored, as if she reading was his successes and failures off of a memorized checklist.

Aside from the woman herself, he’s certain no one there needed a reminder about his history, half of them having been there for a front seat view of it all. He feels his lips twitch into a sneer as she turns her attention away from him and toward Shiro.

“And Takashi Shirogane, the Garrison’s brightest. Youngest pilot to land the lead pilot position for a major space exploration. Originally pronounced dead after the failure of the mission.”

The way the words fall from her tongue sounds accusatory, even as she continues to stand there at perfect ease with her arms folded across her front and her eyes bright.

“Seems you know enough about us,” Shiro bites out, the snap of his voice turns his word brittle as he tenses under Allura’s scrutiny. “Anything we should know about you?”

There’s a hollow pause as the edges of Allura’s mouth turn upward into a smile. Sharp and bright, its equal parts welcoming as it is dangerous.

“I’m Allura,” she offers before opening her arms wide to gesture all around them, “and this is New Altea.”

Taking a brief moment to look between them both, she continues.

“It isn’t much, but I assure you, it is only a temporary solution.”

“New Altea?” Keith asks, pushing the foreign name through the wall of his indignation as he flexes against the rope. It earns him her attention once more as her gaze cuts back to him, the startling blue of her eyes catching the light like a blade.

“Our colony. When the city was destroyed, I tried to gather as many survivors as I could. Those here now may be the last of us,” Allura says low and matter-of-fact in the very same way as a doctor giving a terminal prognosis. The statement might have cut deeper if he wasn’t already armored by his own pragmatism.

Keith had given up on the rest of humanity the very same night Shiro had fallen from the sky.

“Why were you looking for us?” Shiro asks, cutting through the silent thread of electricity that had built between Keith and Allura. Both turning toward him, Keith doesn’t miss the way her moth turns into a wider smile.

“You knew,” is all she says, admiration apparent in the lightness of her tone. Shiro misses Keith’s questioning look as he keeps his stare resolute and forward on the woman before them.

“Your men weren’t always subtle,” Shiro shrugs, earning a small tinkling laugh.

“No,” Allura replies, voice filled with mirth as her gaze flicks quickly to the man at Keith’s shoulder. “That does seem to be a bit of a problem for them.”

“We’re still here, ‘llura,” Lance mumbles under his breath, shifting on his feet.

“So what do you want from us?” Shiro pushes, the question lighting Keith’s nerves as he watches the exchange between the two. Two behemoth forces coming together in battle, he isn’t sure any of them will make it out alive before Allura finally looks away. Moving away from the desk, Allura slowly walks toward the computer set at the very front of the room.

“I worked for the government, you know,” she starts, not looking back at them as she taps on the space bar, the monitor attached to it flickering to life. “I was never a part of the Garrison, but it was my duty to monitor them. A handler, of sorts. There was nothing they did that I did not know of.”

Fingers flying across the keyboard, file after file pulls up onto the screen.

“At least, that’s how it was supposed to be.”

From where he stands, Keith watches the brief flash of images across the screen. Some are too blurry to make out, some obvious shots of the open desert, others what looked to be microscopic shots of cellular structures.

One, in particular seems to freeze on the screen longer than others, leaving Keith staring into the depths of the very same photo of Shiro that the media had pasted alongside the announcement of the mission’s failure.

“I had begun noticing some strange notations in their ledgers. Ones that made sense when just fed through the system, but a little less so when combed through by human eyes.”

The image is quickly covered by another, and then another, and then another, each coming quicker than the last as Keith schools his breathing, eyes never leaving the screen.

“After some digging, I noticed that no matter how I followed those breadcrumbs, I always came back to you,” at this, she turns over her shoulder to fix her gaze on Shiro once more.

A hush of a sound, low and confused is his only reply as Keith recognizes the scene frozen on the monitor. A science lab, white and sterile, stands as a moment in time, its occupants stuck in varying degrees of movement around a table where a body lay.

Allura’s eyes never leave Shiro as she presses the space bar once more, bringing the scene to life.

Keith watches as the scientists start to shuffle around Shiro’s unmoving body, their hazmat suited forms marking sheets of paper and tapping at tablets. Holding his breath, he lets his lungs burn as he watches one of the forms stop mid step, muscles seemingly locking. It’s a harrowing moment, made more so with the silence of the video, as the scientist’s body twists sharply and unnaturally before crumpling to the ground.

Several seconds pass before any of the other figures seem to notice, the first making quick movement to get across the room, only to freeze and crumple in the exact same manner.

One by one, he watches them fall until none are left standing, their bodies littering the ground.

After several more seconds, another figure enters at the bottom of the frame, coming to a halt just beneath the camera and freezing as Allura taps the space bar once more.

A shudder tickles down the knobs of his spine as he looks at the fuzzy version of himself standing stuck in that moment of time when he had happened on the scene.

Electricity crackles and pops through the room as Allura straightens, rolling her shoulders back and adopting an air of authority once more as she turns back toward them. Her gaze is harder this time, chips of frozen cerulean.

“So, tell me Shiro,” she says, steely toned, “why didn’t you die in that tent?”

Burning unease rockets through Keith, his muscles coiling, ready for a fight.

“What are you trying to accuse him of?” He spits out, pushing himself quickly between Shiro and Allura to covet her stare. Holding it, he feels the quick burn of her apprehension on his skin as he pulls against the rope on his wrists, a deeper burning ache biting deeper in his skin with his futile motions.

A quick coughing sound breaks the moment, shattering it like glass as the person behind the monitors finally stands.

Nothing but wild, tawny hair, and large wired rimmed glasses, Keith feels his breath stall in his throat.

“Matt?” He hears himself whisper, trying to force his gaze away to look at Shiro. Almost as soon as the name drops from his mouth, his vision shifts and his mind catches onto the minute details that separate the person before them from his lost friend.

“Katie,” Shiro hushes, as she pushes her glasses further up her nose with a small smile.

“Hey Shiro,” she whispers, offering him a barely there smile before turning her gaze on Allura. Sharing a silent moment, Allura gives her a quick nod.

“You are both welcome to stay,” she says, almost begrudgingly to Keith before her attention moves behind him, landing on Shiro.

“But on the condition that you’ll let Pidge do some tests.”

The second passes like an eternity as the occupants of the room all seem to suck in a bated breath.

Finally, Shiro answers.

“Alright.”

***************************

#takashi shirogane #keith kogane #sheith #ngl if it wasnt for the fact idk if i can add gifs to the ao3 a/n #i totally woulda just put a gif with the title lol

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kpop---scenarios · 5 years ago

Text

Deception

“Y/N isn’t back from the bathroom yet" Wonho voices his concerns to the men at the table. “We weren’t pay close enough attention last time. Something feels off" he finishes, glancing around the room for you one more time.

“I’m going to look for her" Kihyun pipes up. Hyungwon nods and stands up with Kihyun. The two of them speedily walking up the stairs.

Looking down the hall they see no signs of you, the bathroom door wide open.

“She wouldn’t have left woild she?” Hyungwon asks. Kihyun shakes his head, not even wanting to think in that direction.

The two men were about to walk away to search elsewhere when they heard faint cries and muffled screams coming from the room across from the bathroom. Kihyun wips out his phone calling Shownu to let him know something was happening to you as Hyungwon booted the door in. In a matter of seconds the rest of the men were there and Hyungwon had kicked the door open.

Rage filled their eyes as they saw you laying on your stomach on the bed, hands tied behind your back, you feet bound aswell. Your dress had been torn off and a piece had been shoved on your mouth to keep you quiet.

Jiyong laid on top of you, luckily still dressed. He had been whispering things in your ear.

“Why must you always wreck my fun?” Jiyong pouts, getting off of you to fave the boys. “This was going to be my payback and now I’ll just have to continue getting her while you’re not paying attention" he smirks.

Kihyun doesn’t blink as he stares at the man who had beaten you already and now was going to force himself on you? No. This had to end now.

Kihyun reached behind his jacket, retrieving the gun he tucked in the waist of his pants.

Without a second thought he fires, hitting Jiyong in the leg, causing him to collapse.

“Take him to the warehouse" Shownu spits at Jooheon and Minhyuk. The two men nod befor silently dragging a groaning Jiyong out of the room.

“Shit baby" Hyungwon says running towards you. He quickly unties your hands and your feet before picking you up. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist and cry into his shoulder.

You’re not sure who but someone wraps a jacket around your shivering frame before Hyungwon walks through the party with you attached to his body. You don’t look at anyone ot say anything and neither the do boys. Even when people ask what happened, they walk straight to the car. Hyungwon climbs in with you still wrapped around him.

The entire car ride is silent except for the small whimpers you make into Hyungwon’s shoulder.

Hyungwon sits down on the couch after you all arrive home.

“Baby" he whispers. “Can you tell us what happened?”

You peak your head out from his shoulder revealing a busted lip. Your wrists and feet have rope burn on them. The men all tense up at the sight of you.

“He grabbed me while I was going to walk into the bathroom. Saying something about how you killed a bunch of his men" you whisper. “I talked back to him and he hit me. While I was down he grabbed me and threw me onto the bed and tied me up. He ripped off my dress and shoved some of it in my mouth to shut me up.” You manage to get out befor crying again.

“Did he touch you?” Changkyun asks, body physically shaking.

“He whispered all the things he was going to do to me but they saved me before he could” you finish giving Hyungwon and Kihyun a small smile.

Looking over you see the boys with rage in their eyes.

“I’m going to fucking kill him” Wonho spits, balling his fists.

“Let’s go meet up with Jooheon and Minhyuk" Shownu says.

“Can you stay with me?” you whisper to Hyungwon.

“Of course baby" he says. “You guys go on. Keep me updated” he says, scooping you up to take you upstairs.

The moment your light left the room the men all filed out of the room and into the car. The warehouse luckily not too far. The men don’t speak, as Kihyun drives, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Kihyun barely has time to stop the car before the other men jump out, stalking into the warehouse.

The first thing they see is Jiyong tied to a chair in the middle of the room, his head hanging low. Theirs blood dripping from his face into a puddle on the floor.

“You know there will be a war if you kill me" Jiyong spits.

“We won’t kill you. However maybe this message will get across to you. Stay away from her or next time we will kill you" Shownu says nodding to Jooheon.

Jooheon spreads out a row of tools, each man grabbing their favorite one.

Hyungwon gently lays you on the bed, giving you a soft smile before crawling in next to you. You move closer to him, snuggling yourself into him as he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in closely.

Stretching your neck you place small kisses along Hyungwon’s neck. He lets out a small throaty growl.

“Baby" he warns.

“I just need to forget. I need hands of someone who cares about me instead of a monster. Please daddy" you say, looking up at him with a pout.

Hyungwon let’s out a small chuckle before flipping you over to your back. He leans down, placing his lips on yours. You push yourself up into the kiss, needy for him.

He pushes his hips into your clothed core, grinding himself on you. You let out a small moan at the friction, needing more from him.

“Please" you beg.

“Please what baby? What do you want?” he asks.

“More. I need more. Please touch me” you moan.

“Do you want it rough or soft baby?”

“Rough. Make me forget”

“Your wish is my command” he growls before tearing your underwear off.

《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》

Tag list:

@justdidabadthing @mntax @skittlez-area512 @beaubunny @littlebetafefe @namnessa @kpopstuffs002 @xxkittenbebexx @dreamingwithblues @making-me-blush @im-a-special-bebe @kpopdoyouloveme @vivinae @rowanablair @jaeeyoona @tipsymarklee @meryljill-111192 @spicy-shrek @kweenkammimnida @btstxtstanninprogress @bunnymaknaereacts @jinyoungsir @lovelymultiwrites @violagoth @little-miss-exo

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forever-rogue · 6 years ago

Text

You Belong to Me

A/N: UMM YEAH SO HERE IS THAT HIGHLY REQUEST JEALOUS!JOE SMUT. No plot. Just smutty good of our fave dino boy being all jealous and possessive. Enjoy some filth.

Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: SMUT ;)

PS - I hope this isn’t total trash, and you can enjoy!

DRABBLE 1 THAT INSPIRED THIS

DRABBLE 2 THAT INSPIRED THIS

MASTERLIST

"I will," he almost growled as he leaned down in front of you, touching your lips with a finger, "soon you won't even remember his name, baby girl. I'll show you how a real man fucks a woman."

"Go on then," you raised your eyebrow as he offered you his hand. You bit your lip, a part of you torn as to whether or not to actually go with him. But the pure carnal look in his eyes was enough to convince you otherwise. You took his hand and he helped you up, "you better not make me regret this."

"The only thing you'll regret is us not properly fucking sooner," he winked at you as he laced his fingers through yours and pulled you along with him to the staircase. He stopped and turned around to give Gwil and Ben a cheeky wave, "don't bother waiting up, gents. It'll be a long night."

"Joey!" you shoved him slightly and he just laughed as he bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time, making sure you were following closely.

Once you got into his bedroom, you looked around the familiar space. You had been there a thousand times before but this time was different, very different.

Joe came up behind you and wrapped his around your waist, and started kissing your neck. You pushed back against him as his hands started to wander under your shirt, tracing shapes and figures all over your bare skin.

"Wanted this for so long," he whispered in your ear, his hands traveling up and starting to massage your breasts. You subconsciously ground your hips into his, feeling his already hard cock against your ass, “should have done this sooner. Want those pretty lips around my cock.”

“You could have just asked,” you teased, reaching between the two of you and palming his erection. He reached up and unclasped your bra, letting it slide down your arms, “you gonna use that big mouth and eat my pussy like a real man?”

He whipped you around quickly, and pawed at your shirt, giving you a shirt before he ripped it, quite literally, off your body and discarded it onto the floor, followed by your bra. Joe put his hands on your shoulders and gently pushed you down until you were on your knees, face level with his erection.

“It isn’t gonna suck itself,” he raised as eyebrow as he gestured between your mouth and his cock. You looked at him with wide doe eyes, taking your time to undo his belt, popping the button, and pulling the zipper down. You pulled his pants down and boxers down, which he promptly kicked off and licked your lips at the sight of weeping cock. It was even better than you had remembered, although you had been half drunk then too. He was probably a bit bigger than Ben, although both of them were impressive specimens.

“So hard for me, Joey? Look at your cock, look at how badly you want this,” you giggled at, spitting in your hand and wrapping it around his shaft. You pumped his cock a few times, coating it with this precum and your spit. He watched you with a hungry look in his eyes, bucking his hips so slightly, but he wasn’t ready to relinquish control to you, “so pretty.”

“In your mouth. Now,” he commanded and obliged him, taking him into your mouth, using one hand to massage his balls and the other to pump the bit you couldn’t quite fit in your mouth. You worked slowly at first, making sure to draw it as long as possible to rile him up. Joe wasn’t having it though, taking his hand and forcing your head towards his crotch, making sure you took him in completely. You almost gagged on his cock, making all sorts of obscene noises as tears formed in the corners of your eyes, “fuck. You take my cock so well. Look at that pretty little mouth all filled up.”

He finally gave you some relief, letting you pull off of his cock to get some air. You took a moment to breathe a line of spit connecting your lips and the tip of cock. You looked at him as you licked his tip to collect the saliva and precum, running your tongue along your own lips to swallow it.

“You gonna let me do all the work?” you asked him innocently, “Ben fucked my mouth. Are you gonna show me how a real man does it, Joey? Ben’s just a boy after all.”

“You’re such a dirty little slut, aren’t you?’ he asked and you just nodded, giving him a sweet smile. He reached down and grabbed your face roughly, sending shivers down your spine, “you act all innocent but I know better. I know a slut when I see one. I’ll give you want you, baby girl.”

He grabbed his cock and shoved it roughly in your mouth. You moaned his cock, spurring him on as he kept a hand tightly gripping you hair. You put his hands on thighs to balance yourself as he started to thrust into your mouth. The snap of his snaps was languid at first, the slowly sounds were your light gagging and his soft moans as he took his sweet time. The feeling of your warm mouth around his cock, mixed with the sight if you taking him all in was almost enough to drive him over the edge.

As he pulled back to thrust in again, you pulled back and looked at with a mischievous smirk, “is that the best you can do? Fuck my mouth like you mean it.”

He watched you like a hunter stalking his prey as he grabbed your head again, rougher this time, and forced you completely on him. He made you wait a few seconds before pulling you off and repeating the actions several times, “you like it rough, don’t you? Such a pretty little slut. You’re mine now. I’ll make you remember who owns you.”

With those words, you moaned around him, growing wetter at the idea of his possessiveness. He gave you a wink before he bucked his hips and started to fuck your mouth like you had been wanting. It was a brutal pace, and he gave you no mercy as he kept going on, calling you all sorts of filthy things under his breath. Tears were of pain and pleasure were running down your face as he carried on with his ministrations.

After what seemed like a small eternity, his thrusts started to waver slightly, becoming more slow and erratic as you felt his cock twitch in your mouth. You looked at him silently telling to let go and cum. He already had plans for that though, “you’re going to swallow every last bit. And if you don’t, I won’t eat that delicious pussy of yours.”

You squeezed his thigh in reassurance that you would comply, and he gave a few more thrusts before groaning and releasing in your mouth. You kept him in your mouth as you sucked his cock to get out every last bit of hot cum he had to offer.

He slowly let go of your hair, and you pulled back a little, getting go of him with a loud pop. Maintaining eye contact with him, you licked up and down and his shaft, cleaning him off. Opening your mouth, you showed him that you had swallowed everything, “good enough for you?”

He reached down and wiped away a few of your remaining tears, giving you an almost tender look, “such a good girl. You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Mhmm,” you agreed as he pulled up and moved a hand to the waistband of your leggings. They were probably also ruined by now, completely soaked through with your arousal.

“Your turn,” he smirked, “I bet Ben didn’t even use his mouth on you did he?”

“No,” you shook your head as he putting his hand in your leggings and started to run a finger along your soaked folds. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips as you leaned into his touch, “fuck, Joey, just like that.”‘

Joe nudged you in the direction of his bed, gently pushing you down on it. He gave you a searing kiss before working down your body leaving open mouthed kisses all over your exposed skin. He nipped at the delicate skin, making sure to leave marks even more prominent than Ben had. No one would know Ben had even touch you. You were all his now.

He tugged down your leggings, smirking when he saw that you weren’t wearing panties. He threw the clothing to the side and spread your legs gently, kissing and biting at the insides of your thighs. You moaned as he got closer and closer to your soaked core, taking his time as you had with him.

You tried to reach down and guide his head directly where you needed him, but swatted your hand away, “I don’t think so. I’m in charge here, pretty girl.”

“Please,” you almost whimpered at him, and he slowly traced a finger along your folds, soaking up the wetness on his fingers. He stared at you as he put the digit in his mouth and sucked it clean, “need you now.”

“Who do you belong to?” he asked as he started to gently circle over your clit, causing you to arch your back. He used a hand to pin down your hips and keep in place, “tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you moaned as he pushed a finger into you, curling it expertly and almost effortlessly finding your g spot. You didn’t bother to hold back all the whimpers and moans that were spilling out of your mouth, “you, Joey, you. I belong to you.”

“That’s what I thought,” he added another finger, pumping them in and out rapidly as he finally put his mouth on your soaked core. He ran his tongue deftly over your clit, taking time to lick and suck like it was his only job in life. He pulled out his fingers and replaced him with his tongue, and you were soon a writhing mess under him, whimpering and mewling at his actions, “so fucking delicious.”

“I’m so close,” you pouted at the loss of his mouth on your pussy, “please let me cum. I want to know how it feels when a real man makes me cum.”

“You think you’ve been good enough?” he taunted you, kissing your clit and letting his tongue linger there for a few seconds. You wiggled your hips so he would continue, and he decided to oblige and running his tongue along your folds. You looked at him desperately, you orgasm quickly approaching, “cum for me then, baby girl. Cum all over my face.”

“jeezuschristjoeyfuckfuckfuck,” spilled out of your mouth as you saw stars, throwing your head back in pure ecstasy as he worked you through your orgasm. He keep his mouth on you, lapping up every bit of your juices, not stopping until you went limp, chest heaving at from the pure bliss he had just given you.

He watched you as he gave you a few more soft licks before pulling himself up and looming over your body. You bit your lip as you stared at him, his wet glistening with your wetness. There was something so hot and carnal about the way he looked at you, hungry for more.

You grabbed his face and pulled him down to you lips, tasting yourself on him. It started off slow at first, but he soon took over, kissing along your jawline and neck, biting at the skin. His hand wandered down south again as he started to finger you once more, slowly this time as to not overstimulate you all at once.

“Look at you,” he whispered against your skin, “so desperate for my touch. So wet again for me. Who do you belong to?”

“You,” he took a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue over it as it instantly hardened due to his actions, repeating the action on the other one.

“Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You.”

“These tits?”

“You.”

“This ass?”

“You,” you were whimpering under him as he gripped your hips tightly, watching you slowly fall apart underneath him. The smug look on his face suggested he was more proud than he had ever been.

“Nothing for Ben,” he growled, making sure you were positive that you were his. You licked your lips and nodded, watching as he jerked himself a few times before lining up at your entrance. You were trembling with anticipation as he slowly started to push himself in, letting you adjust to his considerable girth, “fuck, you’re so tight. It’s like you were made for my cock.”

“Fuck me, Joe, fuck me please,” you moaned, as he buried himself completely inside you. He let out a heavy breath as he waited a few moments before he started to move.

He went slowly at first, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in to the hilt. It was slow and pleasurable, the familiar tingling started to build up already. But you wanted more and you could tell he was holding back. He removed a hand from your hip, circling over your sensitive clit slowly, the only sounds in the room where your panting and a slew of moans and quiet curses.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he said as leaned down to kiss you, “I’m never going to get tired of this pussy.”

“Then take me,” you begged him, “fuck me and let everyone know I belong to you.”

That was the last bit of encouragement that he needed before he thrust harshly into you, letting himself remain buried inside of you. He readjusted your hips slightly, making sure to get the perfect angle before he started to pound into you.

He was practically fucking you into oblivion as he continued his assault on you, murmuring things that still made you blush into your ear. How you had waited this long to give him another go was beyond you. He knew exactly what he was doing.

The sound of skin slapping on skin echoed through the room as you chanted his name like a prayer, encouraging him to go harder and faster. You probably wouldn’t be able to walk properly for a week at this rate, but you didn’t care. You just wanted another orgasm.

“’m close,” he said through gritted teeth, head thrown back in pure pleasure as his thrusts grew more sloppy. You were right behind him, pleasure slowly sinking in as you felt another orgasm building up, “gonna cum in you.”

“Fill me up with your cum, Joey, give it to your good little slut,” you encouraged him and you could feel his cock start to twitch as he gave you a few more purposeful thrusts. He groaned as his hot cum started to coat your walls, giving your clit a few more gentle touches so you’‘d cum with him. You moan at the stimulation, closing your eyes to ride it out as he collapsed onto of you.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder as you both tried to catch your breath, “you’re amazing.”

“Not so bad yourself,” you let out a small laugh as he slowly pulled out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He went to grab something to clean up but you held onto his wrist and shook her head, “leave it. I love feeling your cum dripping out of me.”

He almost moaned at your words, moving to take a look at his handiwork. A beautiful sight, he decided. He pulled your legs apart and put his mouth near your pussy, giving you a smirk before he ran his tongue along your folds to capture the mixture of his cum and your juices. He came back up to you, swallowing everything before kissing you, giving you a good taste of himself and you. You didn’t think you’d ever seen anything hotter.

“Look at what you’ve done to me, baby girl,” he pointed at his already half hard cock, causing you to giggle, “I hope you’re not tired.”

“Wide awake,” you promised, reaching over and grabbing his cock, starting to jerk him slowly, “you’ve worked so hard, Joey, let me give something to you.”

He looked at you to say something but you put a finger to his lips, and forced him to lie down on the bed. You took your time to kiss him, making him the same as he did to you while jerking him off. You kissed along his collarbones, and neck, finding his sweet spot with almost no effort and he bucked his hips into your hand.

“Who does this cock belong to?” you turned the tables on him, seeing him at your complete mercy.

“You,” he choked out as you kiss down his chest, making sure to press you breasts against him. It wasn’t going to take long for him to cum again, but you had a plan for that, “baby-”

“My turn,” you interrupted him as you straddled his hips and slowly lined him up at your entrance. You slowly sunk down on his cock, moaning at the feeling of him filling you up again. You leaned down and kissed as you started to slowly grind yourself on him, and placing his hands on your breasts, “I’m gonna give the best ride of your life.”

“Shit,” he groaned as you slowly started to bounce on his cock, “why haven’t we done this sooner?”

“I guess I just need to try out a few boys before I got a real man,” you teased, moving in time with the light thrust of his hips, “Ben who? I only know Joe.”

He leaned up and moved his mouth onto your breast, sucking and nipping gently, “who do you belong?”

“You.”

That was all it took before the two of came undone again, repeating each other’s names like it was the only thing either of you knew.

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #jealous!joe #smut #borhap #queen #reader insert #possessive!joe #ben hardy #gwilym lee #rami malek #bohemian rhapsody #requests #holy shit im wet

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1kook · 5 years ago

Text

skirt chasers - drabble i

a skirt chasers drabble bc they are my fave fictional couple to date <333

tags: coupley and domestic, jk’s terrible attempts at seducing via text, making out, dry humping, spitting (ik idk what came over me), too much talking for this to be sexual pero hey here we are wc: like 3k

entirely based off jungkook from bv3 that man had NO right to look that good and the holy jirkenstocks (jungkook birkenstocks). wont lie this has been completely written in my drafts since November (yes 2019) and i hoarded it under the belief i would make this a whole part 2 which i did not

que dios los bendiga <3

Much to everyone’s dismay, Jungkook’s spring break in Vegas with the boys is cut three days short when Jimin’s dog sitter suddenly cancels, citing a case of homesickness as enough cause to abruptly go home. When you first hear news of this, you’re preparing yourself for the return of a mopey, useless Jungkook, too drained from four glorious days in Las Vegas to carry on. What you’re not expecting is the mysterious text he sends you before boarding a five hour flight with no service (he was cheap).

kook still on vegas lockdown. Have that pussy ready when i get home

“The fuck does that mean?” Chaeyoung is the first to see the message, your screen lighting up on the kitchen counter beside you as you scrub through a mountainous pile of dishes. You try to play it off, after all, Chaeyoung had seen parts of you you hadn’t even seen, but there was no worse embarrassment than having your homegirls see your clown of a boyfriend’s ridiculousness. “He’s so romantic,” she swoons, and you shoo her away from the offending device as you wipe your hands down on your t-shirt.

you for what?? One 20 second round 🤥

Chaeyoung suddenly cackles from over your shoulder, and you swear your soul leaves your body.

You don’t get a response until exactly five hours and thirteen minutes later, your phone vibrating like crazy on the edge of your bathtub, and if you hadn’t given it a hearty kick and sent it flying across the room, front screen shattering into the most intricate spider web of glass shards, it would have fallen into the water. The terror.

kook pls pick me up

kook also haha. U r soooo funny 😑

You’re halfway to the airport, idly sitting in traffic and giving the public a free, Beyonce-like experience of The Script’s Breakeven, when you realize you’re not wearing any pants. You’re not exactly sure which part of Jungkook’s long t-shirt had tricked you into believing you were decently dressed, but you’re not too mad. After all, Jungkook’s trip with the boys had been a last minute decision that did not take into consideration your never-ending thirst for your boyfriend, so a little payback never hurt anybody.

He’s sitting on top of his suitcase outside the airport when you get there, cute Birkenstock-clad feet swinging back and forth as he waits for you like the good boy he is. He crouches down by the passenger window, “Uh, yeah, is this the Uber?”

You can’t even bother hiding the smile that consumes your face, and it only grows tenfold when he finally gets in and immediately leans over the center console to kiss you. “Look who’s finally back from their little bachelor party,” you murmur, eyes lidded dangerously low when he breaks away.

“Oh, the party where I accidentally sleep away my life-savings to a stripper named Aries and then have to go home and beg for my wife’s forgiveness?” He responds immediately, devious pink tongue swiping out to lick at your bottom lip.

You snort. “Joke’s on you, because our hot pool boy kept me company and treated me better in four days than my husband had in six years,” you mumble, finger looping into the silver chain around his neck to pull him close again.

“Not our hot pool boy,” he whines, smile pressed adorably to your lips.

You almost retort, but a ten-second horn blast from the car behind you has the two of you jumping three feet from each other, like teenagers caught making out in the school parking lot.

Just as you’d predicted via text, Jungkook barely has the energy to walk up the steps to your apartment, much less fuck you like he’d promised. “Fuck, stop being healthy and let us take the elevator,” he grunts, pushing his suitcase onto the final platform leading to your floor.

“Nope,” you concede. “The stairs give me a good view of your ass going up.”

He shoots you a scandalized look, like you’re an old man who’d just catcalled him on the street. “Pretty sure that’s my line.”

It’s when you’re unlocking the front door, sending out a little prayer to the heavens (Chaeyoung) for the blessing of an empty apartment, that he notices your lack of proper clothing. “Oh, hell no,” he groans, immediately crowding you against the armchair nearest the door.

You laugh, struggling to turn to face him as he nuzzles his face into your neck. “What seems to be the problem?”

He sighs against the shell of your ear, and you’d be a liar to say it didn’t send a gush of wetness to your core. Jesus, just a single puff of air from Jungkook was enough to turn your coochie into a Fruit Gusher. “Not your sexy legs again,” he whines, and you giggle when he presses those pouty lips to yours.

“Thought I was supposed to have this pussy ready for you,” you tease, tilting your head up until your noses brush against each other. Jungkook lets a soft huff of a sigh go, eyes fluttering shut at your close proximity.

There’s a hand that creeps along the back of your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft skin until he finally guides it upwards, hitched over his hip. The new position has your body curving backwards, tilted over the edge of the couch as he continues crowding closer and closer to you. “Baby,” he whines, and the tone and sudden usage of your favorite nickname wipes the teasing smile off your face. “I missed you so much,” he purrs, in that tone that says he knows he has you under his complete control, all he has to do is take care of you.

Still, you try to put up some sort of a fight. “I’m sure your eyes were kept entertained in Vegas,” you retort weakly, not even bothering to hide the jealousy in your tone.

Jungkook laughs, before puckering his lips and smothering you. Instantly, you throw your arms around his broad shoulders to pull him closer. His hair tickles your face from how long it’s gotten, and when you brush it back, collecting it into a makeshift baby ponytail, you can’t even enjoy the sight because Jungkook is pressing his rock hard member against your inner thigh.

“You think I’m a cheater?” He muses when he finally pulls away, a little entranced by the saliva that coats your lips in a thin sheen. “Couldn’t be even if I wanted to.” Before you can ask what that even means, he’s hauling you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his tiny waist, his cock now cradled between your thighs, right where you want him most. You moan immediately, head lolling backwards at the touch you’d craved for days. “Feel that? No one gets my dick hard like you do, baby.”

Even though his adrenaline is on one hundred, and he’s clearly blinded by his lust, Jungkook still sets you down on the bed like you’re made of glass. Any comments you may have made are smothered by his lips on yours, fingers gripping your waist like it’s the first time he’s ever touched you. When he pulls away, his eyes are dark and his breath is a little heavy where it fans against the lower half of your face.

“So pretty,” he huffs, rolling his hips against yours. You groan, eyes rolling back as the familiar feeling of your boyfriend between your legs consumes you. Jungkook presses his mouth against the skin of your neck, where the faintest sheen of sweat had begun to form the moment you unlocked the front door.

If you thought you were loud, the sounds leaving Jungkook’s throat are teetering on the edge between a pornstar and a yodelling-enthusiast. You can’t help the smirk crossing your features. “Are you really gonna come?”

Jungkook was many things, and drama queen was definitely very high on that list. He gives you the most scandalized expression, stopping the movement of his hips to scoff. “As if,” he snorts, but you know that little eyebrow furrow a little too well.

You snort, reaching down to his sides as you try to discreetly urge him to start up again. “Baby, your jaw is twitching,” you point out, a soft whine leaving your lips when he shifts your leg up. It’s this same sound that has him finally moving again.

“Yeah, well,” he groans, one hand deathly gripping into your hip now, pressing you down onto the bed so hard you feel the comforter will swallow you up any minute now. “I just got my wisdom teeth removed, ‘member?”

Your retort is briefly cut off by the cry you let out when he ducks down to suck a mark beneath your jaw. “M-Months ago,” you weakly respond,

Jungkook ignores you in favor of using his Hulk strength to fold you in half, groans borderline animalistic as he grinds his cock into your soaked panties. His jaw is tight like you’d said, but you can tell he’s holding himself back. He hated coming before you, seldom doing it unless it was one of those rare days where he wanted you to pamper him.

“Fuck,” he grunts, swallowing your pitiful whines before pushing his tongue down your throat. There was something sexy about your boyfriend being so turned on that his saliva production was off the charts. “You’re gonna ask me to do that thing again, aren’t you?” He predicts.

All you can do is nod, and Jungkook smirks. “Ah,” he says, much like a doctor would, and you comply, mouth wide. You see the muscles beneath his jaw twitch, and a moment later he’s leaning over you with puckered lips, a glob of saliva begging to drip down.

The moan that catches in your throat has him smiling, tongue peeking out to cut the bridge of saliva that connected the two of you, and you want to tell him you love him, but then he’s raising his eyebrows at you, motioning for you to swallow, so you do. “Absolutely filthy,” he grins, and then returns to thrusting against you.

As much as you liked to tease him, he’s good at fulfilling the sexual aspects of his boyfriend role, and he guides you to your orgasm moments later. Of course, he does so by toying with your tits just the way you like, lips pressed firmly to yours as you become a boneless heap beneath him. “That’s it, pretty baby,” he murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your lips before he’s shifting back onto his haunches, tugging you closer until the backs of your knees are cradled carefully in his elbows.

Despite your transcended state, you love watching Jungkook get himself off, and your eyes flutter as you watch him thrust sloppily against your soiled panties. They’re soaked by your own arousal, and had Jungkook’s sweats not been as dark as they were, you’re almost certain you’d see how they stained.

He comes a moment later, body twitching and fingers tightening against your skin. His chest heaves, head lolling back as he tries to regain his senses. Silence envelopes the room.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You blurt, no longer able to pretend like something isn’t completely wrong.

Jungkook rolls his neck out, a satisfying crack resounding, as he angles to look at you again. His tongue is poking against his cheek in that cocky way it does sometimes, and he furrows his brows at you. “What?”

You shuffle up onto your elbows, motioning towards him with the vaguest wave possible. He blinks. You groan.

“What did you do?” You question, and immediately his eyes go wide and shiny in that way they do when you’re reprimanding him and he doesn’t see the wrong in his ways.

Cute little lips forming a pout he remains as confused. “Nothing? We really just went to fuck around and get drunk—“

“Kook.”

“You don’t actually think I cheated, I thought we were just joking? Unless…” he trails off, doe eyes suddenly filled with fear. “You weren’t?”

“Jungkook—“

He intercepts you, “did you do something while I was gone? Who was he? Or she? Wow,” he huffs to himself in disbelief. “I don’t even know you well enough to know if you’re into more than just men.” The frown on his face is getting deeper with each word he utters and you almost can’t believe how dumb he could be. “No wonder… am I a terrible boyfriend?” He asks, voice louder and more concerned than it’s been all night.

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” You say, and Jungkook looks just as lost by your response as you are with his. “Because I’m talking about whatever this is,” you explain, reaching up to drag a hand through his dual-colored locks.

They’d been carefully tucked under his bucket hat when you’d picked him up, a tuft of blonde peeking out from in front of his ear. It wasn’t until he’d tipped you over the side of the couch that it had tumbled off. Of course, at the time, there had been other pressing matters at hand than wondering why your Hannah Montana blonde boyfriend had returned as Todoroki, which is why you’d waited until now to revisit the topic.

Jungkook doesn’t move for a solid ten seconds. Then, as if processing the emotional episode he’d just given you, he gives you a sheepish smile. It’s one of those smiles where his lips press together thinly and cutely and the apples of his cheeks seem like the squishiest things in the world. “Oh…” he says, voice soft and nothing like the man that spit in your mouth five minutes ago. “You like it?”

#jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #kpopwonderlandtag #ksmutclub #bts smut #jjk smut #mine #what did i even use to tag with lolol #sc universe #skirtverse #skirtfic

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altviktcrr · 5 years ago

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『MAXENCE DANET-FAUVEL ❙ NONBINARY』 ⟿ looks like VIKTOR SAMUELS is here for HIS/THEIR SENIOR year as a VISUAL ARTS student. HE/THEY are 24 years old & known to be OBSERVANT, INGENIOUS, RETICENT & DEPENDENT. They’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ JAMES. 20. EST. SHE/THEY.

hllo ,,, again ,,, this is my last child i SWEAR ,,, at least fr now ,,, hes also the most problematic one ,,, the most dramatic ,,, one of my absolute faves ,,, pleathe love him. as always if u wish to plot please like this so i can msg u !!!

TW DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS, MENTAL ILLNESS

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basic info.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - jan 2nd

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: rochester, new york

sexuality: pansexual uwu

stats

inspired by: beetlejuice (beetlejuice), sid (toy story), jack sparrow (pirates of the caribbean), francis wilkerson (malcolm in the middle), azula (avatar: the last airbender), vicky (the fairly oddparents), stu macher / billy loomis (scream), marshall lee (adventure time), bojack horseman (bojack horseman), any it’s always sunny character :/

biography.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in rochester, new york - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang.

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like ... sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid ... not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine.

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his Thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like ... just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3D art AP course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to radcliffe but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just ... not to his parents, who don’t really need to know.

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( TW DEATH, GRIEF, OVERDOSE / HOSPITALIZATION BEYOND THIS POINT )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point.

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was ... viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to radcliffe to finish his senior year because ... for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief, especially since the one year anniversary of tatiana’s death was this month (january) - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

personality.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears ... that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just ... love those black & white vertical-striped pants.

can appreciate the lore & cryptids at radcliffe and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just ... a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants.

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like ... sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s ... a Lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it.

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive ... like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all teir money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away HBDSJFNGKH

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe ... yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time ... also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not ... with their body or anything because they’re a TWIG but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like ... partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

a roommate... but it’s an absolute nightmare to live with him.

enemies... because viktor would have a lot of them...

familiar faces... people who knew tatiana or of her / were her friends. maybe even those who dated her, and who viktor would’ve tried to intimidate / scare at any given chance :/

pitiful glances... people who take pity on viktor and he hates it sooo much.

hooligan gremlin kids... just a friend group of grown ass adults who do drugs and fuck shit up around town like they’re edgy teenagers.

high school girlfriend... probably the one he lost his virginity to inside his family church :/

childhood acquaintances... people who knew him from his youth.

exes... good & bad terms, but mostly bad terms because viktor is an actual demon. probably cheated on them.

soft... i don’t know if he’s soft towards anyone and/or is capable of it but we can try. we can try.

unrequited... either viktor just doesn’t like them or he’s holding back because he’s :/ got issues with relationships & is self-sabotaging as one does

enemies with Tension... of the ... spicy kind if you know what i mean. wink.

friends... old friends, new friends, bad friends, good friends, close friends, frenemies, etc. i don’t know how many he had but if your muse likes to cause a ruckus and fuck shit up then viktor’s your man.

hook-ups... current or old. friends with benefits, one night stands, anything and everything because he fucks around a lot.

ride or die... friendship but make it extreme.

bad influence... he’s just toxic to be around and brings out the worst in people :/

bad egg... he’s gotten into a few fights :/ maybe you witnessed it. maybe you were in it.

literally anything i wld love all sorts of plots.

#radintro #death tw #grief tw #overdose tw #addiction tw #hospitalization tw #mental illness tw #hypersexuality tw #religion mention tw

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adscititious-cacoethes · 7 years ago

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Sometimes it’s Confusion (Sometimes it’s Fate)

Pairing: Trevor C./Reader Warnings: Swearing, worry, internal turmoil, fluff, this is mostly cute stuff? (PG-13? There’s too many fuck’s for it to be PG) Word Count: 5,603 A/N: Hello! This is alternatively titled “Soulmate AU where no one fucking knows shit until after they meet them cause I feel like that’s more true to real life.” Thanks @chefgeofframsay for letting me scream at you. The group chat named is one of the ones that I’ve had with my friends because I’m not creative enough to think of a new one. [Y/F/N] = Your friend’s name Please note this fic takes place at RTX. I have never been to RTX. Therefore, I am basing all info off of things Em told me, watching livestreams, and conventions I have been to. I’m sorry if there are any discrepancies. I take prompts/requests now! (see here for details). Feedback is appreciated! Please enjoy!

You hadn’t realized just how big RTX was until you were there (finally!!!) yourself.

As someone who spent more time staying at home than interacting with others, you had foolishly told yourself that RTX couldn’t be that big – you still remembered when they had done that first RTX six years ago, and while aware of the fact that it had grown, you also were, apparently, completely unaware.

But, this was your first (and probably only) RTX, ever, because first college sucked and then after college you realized that you actually had to manage your own money, so you had splurged on that VIP badge and utilized your online and real-life friends’ experiences to masterfully plan your trip for maximum fun without accidentally killing yourself.

Hopefully.

Regardless, as you followed the throngs of people into the convention center, you took a deep breath and reminded yourself that no matter what happened, you were going to roll with the punches, with any luck meet some of the AH crew, and enjoy yourself no matter fucking what.

Because there was, yanno, that other thing that was ever-present in the back of yours and everyone else’s minds. RTX was a big convention – sixty thousand people big – and that meant that there was a significant increase of meeting your soulmate.

You were one of the undoubtedly many people that had that thought on their mind, wondering if you were going to wake up tomorrow with a symbol somewhere on your body. Wondering if today was the day that you would, by chance, meet your soulmate.

You idly wondered how many people you were going to see frantically running around shoving a body part into peoples’ faces tomorrow. How many pictures of soul-marks were going to be posted in the subreddit, tweeted with the hashtag. You knew that a few years back they made their own unique hashtag for twitter just for RTX couples.

You were hoping you wouldn’t be one of them.

(You were so, desperately hoping you would be).

But instead of checking twitter every thirty seconds and saying ‘hi’ to just about everyone you walked past like you saw others doing (like you wanted to do), you forged ahead, determined to see the sights and hear the sounds and smell the smells.

…And you promised some online friends of yours that you’d meet up with them at a certain time and place and you were not one to be late.

As you wandered towards the pre-determined meeting place (or what you thought was the pre-determined meeting place, who knew big convention center buildings had lots of areas that looked very similar?) you idly wondered if any of them were going to be your soulmate. It didn’t work via the internet. It was entirely possible.

You had a strong gut feeling that none of them would be “the one,” though. Each other, yeah, maybe, but you were the one that made your “group” an odd number, the last one to join the friendship Squad, so if everyone was going to be soulmates with someone else except one person, that person was going to be you.

By the time you looked at your watch again (after all the activities and fun and panels and lines and meeting people), it was nearly four in the afternoon and you and your best-internet-friend decided to break off of your little pack and head towards the show floor, content to wander around for an hour or two before going to get ready for the festivities that night. As you were walking past the bathrooms, a shock of white-blond hair caught the corner of your eye and your friend suddenly had a death grip on your arm.

“Trevor!” She half-squealed, half-whispered to you, shaking your forearm vigorously. You loved your friend, but she was definitely not good at the whole ‘they are people, too’ thing.

You patted her shoulder with your free hand placatingly, trying to wrench your arm out of her grasp. This, of course, caused you to fail to notice Trevor stop at the sound of his name and start walking back towards you two, Guardian in tow. The death grip getting impossibly tighter, however, combined with the barely-audible sharp inhale coming from the human being next to you did prompt looking up to find Trevor waving and striding quickly towards the pair of you.

“Hey, there!” He said, coming to more of a pause than a stop in front of you, Guardian looking a little frantic and fiddling with their watch.

You looked to your friend, expecting her to say something, but she just dug her nails into your skin with one hand and waved uncontrollably with the other.

You sighed heavily, “Hi, Trevor. Sorry she’s…being weird.” You gestured vaguely to your friend, feeling bad for about half a second before remembering that there was a possibility she was drawing blood at that moment and feeling very much less bad immediately afterwards.

“It’s fine. I just heard my name so I figured it’d be rude not to say hello. I’m actually about to be late to a panel, but it was nice meeting you both, and hopefully we’ll see each other again sometime this weekend in a less time-sensitive scenario?” Trevor said, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand and already taking a step backwards.

“Yeah, go have fun! See you around!” You said cheerily, waving him away. It wasn’t until he turned the corner that you managed to get your friend’s hand off of you.

“[Y/F/N], you have got to chill. That’s like the sixth time today you’ve done that, my poor arm is going to fall off because of you!” You teased lightly, rubbing the sore spot with your opposite hand. She smiled at you sheepishly.

“Sorry, [Y/N], I’m just so excited! How can you be so cool about it? Isn’t Trevor like, your fave, too?”

She was right, of course. Trevor was your absolute favorite. He was charming and funny and handsome and even with stupid blond hair you couldn’t help but have the tiniest (read: not very tiny) crush on him.

He was also way out of your league, and you were acutely aware of that.

“I mean, yes, but he’s also a human being and should be treated that way? I dunno, my parents just always taught me to treat everyone I meet the same way until they give me reason not to. I guess this applies?” You finally responded, leaning up against the wall while your friend texted the group chat about the Trevor encounter.

“I guess you’re right, [Y/N]. We’re just opposites, I suppose. It’s really hard for me to see past the ‘these people are my idols’ thing. Maybe tomorrow reality will sink in a little bit and I’ll be better about it.” She said as she pocketed her phone and led the way towards the exit of the convention center.

“Regardless, you need to invest in some nail clippers, girl, those babies are fucking sharp.” You said, making both of you laugh as you joined the crowds.

You pushed the thought of Trevor from your mind, and instead looked forward to all the people you were going to meet and fun you were going to have at the party you and your friends were going to be attending in just a couple hours.

You woke up just the tiniest bit hungover, so you fell out of bed and grabbed a water bottle from the mini fridge before you moseyed on into the bathroom. You turned the water on in the shower and took your time, letting the water start to get cold before stepping out and wrapping yourself in a towel. You were halfway through brushing your teeth when you heard your phone ring from the other room.

Brrrrrring! Brrrrring!

You spit and rinsed as quick as you could and rushed out into the bedroom, swiping to answer the call milliseconds before it went to voicemail.

“What?” You grumbled, putting it on speaker and carrying it back to the bathroom with you.

“Woo!!!” Was the collective response – you could pick out at least four distinct voices – and any doubt in your mind about who it was was cleared when one of them continued with “You ready for today, [Y/N]? AH panel!”

“I’d be more ready if you’d let me finish getting dressed and shit.” You responded, making sure to keep your tone light so that they knew you were only joking.

“Alright, we’re down at breakfast, so just hurry up and join us!” One of your friend half-shouted into the phone before you heard the tell-tale beep beep beep of the call ending. Ignoring the fact that [Y/F/N] was probably violating hotel policy by letting people not staying in this hotel eat their complimentary breakfast, you did your best to work quickly, and you felt rather proud of yourself when you’re out the door and heading to the elevator within fifteen minutes of the call.

You were reaching out to press the call elevator button when something caught your eye. Looking down at your arm, you saw the corner of something dark blue on your skin that you hadn’t noticed before.

Huh, don’t remember anyone writing anything on my arm at the party last night. You thought as you turned your arm over so that you could better see the inside of your forearm.

“Holy fuck.” You gasped, stumbling backwards in shock.

There, in the middle of the forearm of your nondominant hand, were a trio of dark blue stars, collectively about as wide and as long as your palm. When you ran your thumb across them, they didn’t smear or smudge, in fact it sort of tingled, just a little bit, and your heart skipped a beat.

At some point the day before, you had met your soulmate.

There wasn’t a doubt in your mind – you weren’t sure how you missed it in the shower (you were absolutely sure, the answer was you had your eyes closed the whole time), but it wasn’t Sharpie, it was real, and you were absolutely, without a doubt, one of those people who met their soulmate at fucking RTX.

You deserted the idea of waiting for the elevator, instead barging into the stairwell and practically flying down the stairs. You sped down the corridor and into the dining area, spied your friends all sitting at one of the tables, and sprinted towards them.

“Hey, [Y/N], what’s the rush? Convention center doesn’t open for another hour and a half, we’ll have to wait regardless of how soon we get there.” One of your friends said, spotting you first, panting and out of breath.

“Look.” You gasped out, shoving your arm over the table and waving it in their faces. They all looked confused for a moment, but soon enough, you could see recognition dawning in their eyes, one at a time.

“Holy fuck – you have to post it to the subreddit! And tweet it! And put it wherever the fuck you’re allowed!” One of your friends shouted, your best friend pulling out her phone as he spoke.

“No, wait, no!” You drew your arm back to your chest so that the tattoo was safely pressed against your chest.

“Why not?” Another one of your friends, offering you some toast as you took the empty seat at the table.

“I don’t know…I feel weird about it. And I don’t want to get my hopes up, if I don’t find them again, or if, you know…there is no match.” You nibbled on your toast and stared down at the table, cheeks heating up. It wasn’t that you weren’t thrilled but you knew that these things sometimes just didn’t work out, ‘missed connections’ and all that jazz.

It was selfish, but you didn’t want that to happen to you.

You were jolted out of your thoughts by a hand landing softly on your shoulder. When you looked up, all four of your friends were smiling at you reassuringly.

“Hey, it’s no big deal. We’ll just be your scout team, instead. No social media about it until after RTX, and then you can reassess and make that call, yeah?” Your best friend said, her thumb rubbing little circles on your shoulder blade.

You nodded, “Yeah. Sounds good.”

“Great! Now give us a good gander so we can keep our eyes peeled today!” She exclaimed, removing her hand from your shoulder in favor of making a grabby-motion at the arm still tucked against your chest. You rolled your eyes and presented her with your soulmark again.

She snapped a quick pic (“For referential purposes only, I swear!”), you finished your toast, and in no time the five of you were out the door and on your way to the convention center.

The day went on, and while you were having almost as much fun as you had the day before, it was overshadowed by the phantom heat of the soulmark on your arm.

It didn’t help that your group chat had devolved into sneaky pictures of arms and a whole bunch of texts that just said “Nope :(“ in various ways.

So it was a very welcome moment when you realized that you were about to file in and sit down for the AH panel, which meant a prolonged period of time where you were not using your phone. You could even turn it off, if you wanted to – all the people who were important would know where you were.

You were fortunate enough to score some seats towards the front (thank fuck for having nothing to do and aching feet – you and your best friend had gotten there uber-early) and the two of you settled in, munching on snacks hidden in your bags and chatting amicably with all the people sitting in your immediate vicinity.

[Y/F/N] had already checked, and none of them had soulmarks that matched yours.

Soon enough, people were walking onstage and everyone was jumping out of their seats and cheering, loud as they could. You were quick to join them, hooting and hollering and only settling back down into your seat once Geoff grabbed a mic and shouted a cracking, “Sit down, dickheads!” into it.

You spent most of the first bit of the panel looking at Trevor – and then telling yourself it was just because he was right in front of you. It didn’t work, but still. You gave it the good old college try. There was just something about him that you were drawn to, like a moth to the flame. Something in his smile, or the sparkle of his eyes.

Just…just something.

It was almost halfway through the panel (you were guessing – your no phone policy was still rigorously in effect), your focus on Ryan down at the end of the table stirring up some sort of argument, when your friend started tugging insistently on your sleeve.

“What – what?” You asked, trying to keep your voice down.

“There’s something on Trevor’s arm! He’s been keeping it under the table the whole time but he just pushed his hair out of his forehead with his hand and there’s something there. Trevor doesn’t have a soulmate yet, [Y/N]. That could be you!” She squealed excitedly in your ear, gesturing wildly.

“Please, [Y/F/N], as if. Even if he did meet them yesterday – good for him, by the way, he deserves to be happy and shit – the probability of it being me is low and the probability of him wanting me is even lower. Being soulmates means nothing but ‘maximum compatibility,’ remember. Doesn’t mean happily ever after.” You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince her or yourself, if you were honest.

Because really, Trevor was cute. And smart. And funny. If his real personality was within throwing distance of being like his internet one, then you knew that the two of you could work out well. But you had read the stories, did your research, you knew as well as everyone else that soulmates – especially when one of the parties involved was in the public eye – could imploded just as well as normal relationships.

You didn’t want to implode. You didn’t want to experience unrequited-ness (or whatever). You just wanted to exist in at the very least ambivalence for the rest of your life, soulmate or no soulmate.

But the thought of Trevor being your soulmate…

Your friend continued to spend the next several minutes craning her neck and trying to get a good look at Trevor’s arm – still curiously hidden under the table. You, on the other hand, were rather deep in thought in a way that you knew you’d regret in retrospect because it meant missing part of the panel but at the time you couldn’t bring yourself to care enough to pull out of it.

Trevor as a soulmate. Would you even want that? Fucking please. You had already started internally waxing poetic about the guy as soon as he sat down at the goddamn table. Of course you’d want that. Would he want you? God, you hoped so. For all of your insecurities, despite all the negative thoughts and opinions you (sometimes more often than not) had about yourself, you would certainly fucking hope that your soulmate would be able to look past those things better than you could; see beauty, something wonderful, where you couldn’t.

It would be hard, being in the public eye. You’d have to move to Austin, most definitely. You’d have to deal more directly with internet trolls. You’d be in a whole different sphere of existence, because even if Trevor kept you mostly private and under wraps, soulmarks are telling and people are insistent and persistent when behind the safety of a screen.

Would you do it? Could you do it?

You knew the answer without really even thinking about it.

“Fuck, [Y/N], [Y/N]!” You arm was suddenly being slapped wildly, and you were roughly pulled out of your thoughts, focusing on the stage in just enough time to see Trevor’s arms spread wide in front of Michael and Gavin, and there was something blue and star-shaped on his forearm and –

Well, his arms went down as soon as they went up, but something in your chest tightened in anticipation. If you and your friend saw it, then most of the rest of the audience probably did, too, so when Q&A time rolled around, undoubtedly someone would come up and ask about it, have him describe it. And if he did, and if it matched yours.

Well, you weren’t sure what the RTX Guardian policy was on it but you’d rather walk up to Trevor and say “Hey dude we met for like sixty seconds yesterday because my friend completely freaked when she saw you and I think we’re soulmates?” after the panel and not in front of who-knows-how-many thousands of your closest friends.

So instead, you just sat and waited.

Surprisingly enough, the question never came. Which fucking sucked because that meant you weren’t sure if it was him. And you weren’t about to do something as public and potentially embarrassing as tweet at him (he didn’t follow you so DMs were off the table) or post on the subreddit or whatever.

So, despite the disappointed glances from your friends, you decided to head off on your own for a while – call it a “hunt for Trevor,” if you will. You weren’t sure departing from your friends was the best thing to do, but once your best friend texted the group chat “I am like, 85% positive that Trevor has a matching mark to [Y/N]!!!” they had been excited, loving, and…insufferable.

Which logically left you little choice except a “hey, guys, I know we’re supposed to go to this panel now but I’m not feeling it so I’m going to go find a quiet corner to hang out in for a while.” Your friends were concerned, but you insisted, which brought you to where you were now – sitting up against a wall down a surprisingly empty hallway, scrolling through your phone for any tweets about Trevor you could find, hopelessly, desperately trying to figure out if he is The One, so to speak, so that you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself for assuming.

For all you knew, the mark on his arm could’ve been residual Sharpie or something.

After an hour of that with no luck (typical), you decided to walk around to see if you could either catch sight of the tall, newly-blond man or catch wind of someone who had seen him at some point today.

You circled the show floor twice. Then you went over to the autograph area (as far in as you could go without a signing ticket thing for that time, anyway), asking the Guardians and Security Officers if anyone had seen Trevor yet that day (spoiler: they hadn’t). You slowly snaked your way around the lines for all kinds of panels, dropped by near the Fake AH escape room – didn’t see Trevor there, but Jeremy was full-on Rimmy Tim-ing it and you were in hysterics about it – and then circled back around to the front of the building. You even sighed and went to the other buildings that were holding panels and things. You scrolled through twitter and discovered a couple of meetups happening nearby so you went and crashed those, too.

Fucking.

Nothing.

No Trevor. You had no idea where he could’ve been, unless he was, like, seventy feet behind you that whole time. You had literally gone everywhere he could’ve been!

Well. Almost everywhere. He could have been hiding out in the Staff Only areas, or he could’ve left to go get some food, or he could’ve went home/to his hotel for the day (you weren’t sure which, nor would you take the time to be creepy enough to figure it out).

Yeah, on second thought, there were a lot of places you couldn’t look that he could’ve been. You were about to accept defeat, go meet up with your friends, and re-assess for the next day, when your phone chiming interrupted your thoughts.

[Chat: #SQüID] [From: [Y/F/N] 5:07:23 PM] [Y/N], check it out!!!! 😊 😊 😊

The text was followed immediately by another, containing a twitter link. You sighed heavily and clicked the link before it could fully load and show you a preview in the chat. Your phone was buzzing with notifications from the rest of your friends (probably yelling about something – you didn’t have previews on for your notifications) and you paused, moving to the wall to wait for twitter to load. Stupid slow phone with the stupid slow internet because of all these people, you grumbled internally, tapping your foot impatiently.

Fuck.

You sucked in a sharp breath, sucking your bottom lip in between your teeth when the tweet finally loaded. The picture attached still was only halfway there, so all you could see was part of Trevor and some random person’s face, but in the meantime, you read the tweet. Again. And again. And again.

@_TrevorC Thanks for taking the time to take a picture with me – hope you find your other half! (Close but no cigar)

You swiped down on the next notification for your group chat, trying to figure out what was going on without risking actually leaving twitter which would mean waiting even longer for it to re-load, but everyone was just incoherently keyboard-smashing and sending excited-looking emojis back and forth.

You cleared out of the chat preview to see that the picture was almost loaded just a little more, fuck slow internet it’s literally been less than a minute but it feels like yeARS –

“Excuse me?”

Your head shot up from your screen. You knew that voice.

Sure enough, Trevor was standing in front of you, a respectable distance away but still rather close, rocking on his toes a little with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Hi, sorry, am I blocking something?” You asked, looking left and right. You were pretty close to a water fountain but you weren’t in the way, necessarily, and the bathrooms you had stopped near were a couple feet away from you, still.

“Uh, no, you’re fine. I just wanted to ask – we met yesterday, right? You had a friend with you who was very excited?” He rocked back on his heels, and you could see out of the corner of your eye that there were a couple of Guardians off to the side, and as Trevor spoke they seemed to be intercepting people and – directing traffic around the two of you? At least, that’s what it looked like.

You were very confused.

“Yeah, that’s a nice way of putting it but that was me. It’s nice running into you again.” You chuckled a little while internally cringing at your word choice.

That sounded a lot better in your head.

“Definitely!” He said, beaming at you, and you watched as he went to do something with one hand, aborted the motion, and then lifted his other hand to push his hair back a bit.

Your phone was buzzing incessantly in your hand, even more so than before, and you went to look down at it to see what the fuck was going on, surely this explosion wasn’t still from that tweet that [Y/F/N] had sent, but as soon as your eyes started to drift to your phone Trevor cleared his throat and you snapped back up to look at him.

“Sorry if this is weird, but I’ve been trying to retrace my steps from yesterday because I didn’t want to be all public about it and then get people like, freaking out and trying to Cinderella this shit but I know we spoke briefly yesterday – in this very spot, ironically – so did you happen to wake up with a mark that looks like this?” Trevor finished his sentence by awkwardly jabbing his arm out, palm up to face you.

There, in the center of the inside of his forearm, about the size of your palm, were three. Blue. Stars.

You gaped like a fish, opening and closing your mouth for a couple of moments, and you knew that Trevor was waiting a response but you couldn’t quite get one to come. Instead, the still-functioning part of you jumped into action, and you took a step forward, holding your own arm out for him to see, lining your forearm up next to his.

They were a perfect match. Same size, same shape, same color, same spot on the same arm – everything. You stared at your arms, reveling in the strangeness of it all, and beyond that, in the warmth that was flooding your chest like you had a campfire burning inside you.

“I’m [Y/N].” You blurted out, finally looking up from your arms to meet Trevor’s eye. He beamed at you, and his soft brown eyes crinkled in the corners, and by damn if you didn’t think that he looked like the sun – all bright and warm and happy.

“Hi [Y/N]. Would you like to, uh, go somewhere that isn’t a hallway and talk, maybe? I’d like to get to know you. If you want that, that is. I just realized that this might be weird for you.” Trevor rambled a bit, gesturing with his other arm and leaving the tattooed one next to yours. It was almost like he was afraid that if he moved it, he would wake up and it would’ve all been a dream.

Hell, you thought that way, too.

“Why would it be weird for me?” You asked, even though you knew the answer – you had been thinking about it all fucking day, of course you knew the answer, but you wanted to know what Trevor thought, first, almost like some kind of test to make sure the two of you were on the same train or whatever.

“I mean, soulmates are kind of scary to begin with, and then I’m in the public eye, and you’re not, so there will always be jealous trolls making shitty comments, and I’m sure you’re not from around here, so that’s another hoop to jump through, and while I could probably, literally squeal with excitement right now because you’re pretty and also my soulmate and if I’m honest all I want to do in this moment is hug you and kiss you and never let you go, you’re also my soulmate and I’ve thought about how I’d deal with a situation like this since I started working here and above all, I just want you to be happy. With or without me.” Trevor grabbed your still-outstretched hand with his free one as he spoke, soft and earnest and as the words came tumbling out of his mouth you could feel yourself tearing up a little.

Because the campfire in your chest was telling you that you, too want to hug and kiss and never let go, but the fact that he had thought about this for literally years and his conclusion was he just wants you to be happy – that made your heart melt a little bit.

As soon as he finished speaking you surged forward, burying your face in his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. His arms went around you without hesitation, and you felt his lips brush against the top of your head and somehow you felt impossibly warmer and sighed into his shirt.

“Is that a ‘yes, Trevor, I’d love to go somewhere more private and get to know you,’ then?” He asked, voice muffled against your hair and you could feel the soft reverb in his chest against your face.

You nodded, at a loss for words, and he pulled away with one more soft kiss to your head, grabbing your hand that wasn’t holding your phone and lacing your fingers together.

“I’m glad I ran into you, [Y/N].” He muttered, and you were suddenly aware of the small crowd of people who had gathered around the two of you (at a respectable distance, which was nice).

“Me, too. I have to admit, when my friends and I caught a glimpse of something on your arm at the AH panel today and I started thinking about it as a possibility I was kind of worried, about the things that you said, but I’d like to at the very least try,” You gestured to your mark, “these things don’t just show up for no reason, after all.”

Trevor nodded and hummed in understanding, “Yeah,” He stared at you for a long moment, “You’re really pretty, and easy to talk to. I like you already.” He told you, smiling cheekily while you hid your now-tomato-colored face with your free hand. He called out someone’s name, and one of the Guardians nearby (who you later would find out that they had been directing traffic around the two of you, and that Trevor had rounded up all the Guardians he could find besides his own to help him retrace his steps throughout the day to find you, which you thought was very romantic and sweet and flattering) turned and led the way through the crowd for the two of you.

Trevor held tight to your one hand, and you unlocked your phone with the other, sending a quick text to your friends as you walked, telling them that you had ran into Trevor and your marks matched and you were going with him to talk and hang out for a little while and that you’d let them know when you were heading back to your hotel so they knew you were safe. You laughed and showed Trevor the slew of emojis and well-wishes they sent in response.

Later, you would find out that while Trevor was not a perfect human being – those didn’t exist – he was pretty fucking close to perfect for you.

Later, you and Trevor would watch a video that someone had tweeted at him of the two of you showing each other your tattoos and discovering that they match. You would blush at the way that Trevor looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world, and Trevor would apologize because there was no way that you could be a secret or keep the situation private for even a little bit due to how publicly he went about it, and you would smile and stretch out your neck to peck a kiss on his cheek – the very first kiss you gave him ever! – and tell him it’s okay, at some point in your relationship it would have to be made public, so why not from the start.

The next day, at a panel, Trevor would get you and your friends in in the front, and someone asked him a question about you because the hashtag and RT subreddit had been flooded with the news overnight, and he would look at you with this soft smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and tell the questioner that My favorite thing in the world right now is every second I get to hold her hand.

And yeah, it will be hard. And yeah, you and Trevor were too busy getting to know each other to talk about logistics and moving and things like that.

But by god, in that moment, listening to Trevor talk about you and smile at you like you were the moon to his sun, you knew in your heart that it would all work out just fine.

#ragehappy #rt reader insert #rt imagine #trevor x reader #trevor c x reader #soulmate au #fluffy soulmate stuff #someone tell me how to tag

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