#I should probably write something soft to balance out all this dark shit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ten-thousand-paper-wasps · 4 years

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They were going to rob Duke Enerwaeir blind.

Or, at least, he and Falk were. Morrin was becoming increasingly suspicious of their absences and subsequent newfound wealth, and she couldn't keep a secret, so of course Nells wasn't going to tell her. They all had their roles to play in this gambit. She just happened to be at her most convincing when she wasn't aware she needed to lie.

It was a dress ball, so there was plenty of money to be had, if their hands were quick enough. Naturally, that meant spending an evening looking absolutely delicious.

His immensely gorgeous hunk of Husband was completely slaying it. Zakurr's lustrous, glossy braids were now adorned with tiny, delicate chains. Each of his four horns was buffed to perfection. The length of fur about his waist was shining and soft and it smelled like apples, sweet and spiced.

That wasn’t all, though. Zakurr had put on the boots Nells was ever so fond of. They went all the way up his legs, ending nearly at the top of his thighs. Nells was almost drooling, just thinking about him. Why did he have to go and be all scrumptious?

Nells himself wore a long dress, all dazzling greens and blues. The material shimmered as he moved, with a slit up the side to expose his long, shapely legs. His hair was painstakingly combed out and pinned in place, an elegant waterfall of soft mahogany. He even put on heels.

Falk looked nearly as delectable as Nells did. They wore a tightly fitted top that bared the entirety of their midriff. The center of the chest was cut out, as well, showing off their shape. They also had a pair of expensive burgundy pants that were loose about the hips and tight below the knees. Falk had chosen to keep their regular boots, seeing no reason to forego sensible footwear, opting instead for heavy gold jewelry.

And Morrin! Oh, his beautiful Morrin. She'd granted him a boon, permitted him to fuss over her for an evening. Her fiery, red-gold mane billowed about her like a cloud, sparkling with tiny jewels. Her hands, wide and rough and ravishing, fluttered uncertainly at the hem of her vest, a stately forest green piece of silk and silver. She was dazzling, a diamond in her own right, but ill at ease amongst the upper echelons of nobility.

It made a certain amount of sense, he supposed. Masonaile, where she'd lived all her life, hadn't had much in the way of wealth. Of course she felt out of place here. But, he was pleased to note, she was handling it admirably.

Morrin was shaking hands and trying to dance and blushing up a storm whenever she was complimented. There were pretty people all around her, giving her their attention. He spies Falk moving among them, hands quick and dainty and pockets charmed to be impossibly deep.

Zakurr looks on, using his immense height to keep watch. People buzz around him like mayflies. Two men knock into him on purpose, but one look sends them scrambling.

Then, Falk waltzes, moving from dancer to dancer, to Nells, flushed and panicked. "It's Morrin," they pant. "She's with some ashing young Earl, he's trying to get her alone."

It takes him a moment to process why this is horrible. Ordinarily, Morrin was devastatingly capable. She would have killed him and been done with it. But they were at a ball, and she'd been thoroughly disarmed, spending nearly half an hour pulling out weapon after weapon. There was an entire table just for her things.

She had nothing on her person with which to kill the Earl. Additionally, she was under the impression she mustn't, for reasons of diplomacy. So, he supposed, it was up to their little family to rescue her.

First, Zakurr had to be told.

"Honeybear," Nells commanded. "Get ready crush some skulls. Morrin's got a boy problem."

Smoke on the wind, but she'd let him, too. She would let the Earl do whatever he wanted. Why had they told her they wanted to win favor from the Duke? "Just don’t cause a scene and it'll be fine." She would be terrified of letting them down. She would call it duty.

Harkenship had been a bitter lesson. He could not let her be hurt like that again.

Falk moved the quickest, palming a knife from a serving tray and plunging it into the Earl's kidney, soft and silent. The Earl let out a low gasp and dropped. Morrin's face was a mix of relief and horror.

It was chaos after that. Morrin stomped on the Earl's neck, killing him. His friends moved to kill her, but Nells was faster. His long legs were wrapped around the neck of the biggest one, choking him, while Morrin threw punches hard enough to crack stone and Falk smashed kneecaps with impunity.

The other guests were screaming in terror and outrage, crowding eachother like a swarm of rats. Zakurr took one step toward the fight and they parted before him like a desperate tide.

When he got there, he kicked a Baron to the floor and Falk leapt up for a kiss, drawing Zakurr's strength into themselves and pressing their bag to his bare chest. "Grab our things. I love you."

And Zakurr was off, charging to the low tables to retrieve their weapons. Falk's bag never filled, no matter what he put in it, so he emptied every table in the room before moving on to the Duke's personal valuables. With everyone distracted by the fight, he had plenty of time.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"Grab our things," Falk told him, already feeling Zakurr's power roiling in their chest. "I love you."

They slammed a palm to the floor and the ground quaked beneath them. Stone erupted through the floor in angry spikes. How dare he. How dare a mortal Earl try to dishonor Falk's oldest friend? For Morrin, Falk would do anything.

Right now, it meant killing a dozen people they'd only intended to steal from for doing her the supreme insult of defending the Earl. He earned his death. He earned it the second he laid eyes on her and made his move.

Falk was angry, and Nells had a feral smile, and Morrin was going to go home after only bloodying her perfect knuckles. She was too precious to them to be hurt.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Owlsby was disguised as an unfortunately deformed carriage horse. He was getting to be too big to hide, so it only made sense to find new ways to take him into town. The extra legs were hidden under a blanket and tucked up out of sight. Nells convinced him to allow Zakurr to hitch him to a stolen cart. In the right lighting, like now, under the half moon, it was very nearly convincing.

Zakurr tossed Falk's bag in the back and hopped into the seat, letting out a sharp whistle. Owlsby roused himself from his nap as Nells came sprinting out of the building, Morrin tucked under one arm and protesting. As soon as they were safely at his side, Zakurr whistled again, louder and sharper. The building caught fire.

Falk appears in his lap with a soft pop, makeup smeared, with a very unsettled lizardfolk in their arms. Her dress was lovely, if shredded and burnt.

"Falk," he warns, "Did you kidnap her? You know we can't take her with us if she doesn't want to come."

The lizardfolk in question blushes and mumbles that she'd love to come, anywhere in the world as long as it isn't here. Zakurr resolves to ignore it for now and question her in the morning, if she's still around. He slaps the reigns gently and Owlsby takes off for the inn. They can pay the fee and collect their packs, but it isn't wise to stay in town. Not after that.

It would be nice, he muses, really nice, if this could just stop happening. Theft was all well and dandy if it kept them fed, and it did, so Zakurr wasn't about to complain. But he would love it if he didn't have to strike entire towns off of their map when Falk and that idiot elf got a little too greedy.

There was no need to rob every noble at the ball. No reason. And then one little human man gets too handsy when Falk can see him, and now he's dead for it.

True, the Earl had definitely been in the wrong, and sure, he could believe Morrin was glad of his death. But it was something that could easily have been resolved without any blood, had Zakurr been the one to reach him first, and Falk's increasing bloodlust as of late concerned him.

That amulet stank of evil and death, but they refused to take it off for any length of time. Zakurr was willing to bet his fifth kidney that it was to blame. Power was a lure Falk had never been able to resist.

He only prayed his dearest Nells did not become so foolish.

#the wasp writes #my writing #the beastmaster series #Nells #Zakurr #Morrin #Falk #Owlsby #this one doesn't really feel done but there's a length limit so the next bit is going to have to be a separate post #this is when the demon in the amulet starts to hold more and more sway over Falk #and it really rockets downhill from here #I should probably write something soft to balance out all this dark shit

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yeojaa · 4 years

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( VELVETEEN RABBIT. )

What do you get when you mix Thumper and Bambi? Answer: Jeon Jungkook.

pairing. french lop bunny!jjk x ragdoll cat f!reader.

genre + rating. hybrid!au set in college. super fluffy, a little angsty, with a dash of smut to balance it all out. explicit towards the end because i just can’t help myself. oops.

tags / warnings. honestly, this jungkook should just come with his own warning. but more realistically, mentions of kook using a scrunchie, kook being cute, kook railing his date after using the world’s worst puns... the usual.

wc. 4.4k

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif as always become, c’mon. i’m me. she’s her.

author note. this was written as part of @thebtswritersclub‘s a hybrid fest and is gloriously late (i’m so sorry @ditttiii). i’ve never written anything hybrid-related before so hopefully you enjoy. feedback goes a long way! xoxo

He orders the same thing every time he’s in. Iced Americano, no room for cream, and a single almond croissant. (Every once in a while, he switches it up for matcha but that’s exceedingly rare.) He always pays with a tap of his wrist - a sleek black AppleWatch with rubber band - and flashes his trademark slightly too-big smile. All the girls swoon. So do the guys. Everyone except for you.

He’s unnervingly handsome, with long dark ears that sometimes hang in front of his eyes. You’ve caught him with them pulled back Lola Bunny-style, knotted with a loose silk scrunchie that looks nearly as soft as his fur. His hair’s usually unkempt, tossed into a little sprout of a bun, overly long fringe falling all over his big round eyes. He wears butterfly clips sometimes, though that’s usually on days where he isn’t freshly sweaty and carrying his gym bag. They appear in his hair when it’s damp from a shower, the smell of papaya and honey clinging to every inch of him. You know, because you have a great nose - one that’s sensitive to every smell under the sun but especially his. (You try not to think about it much.)

It’s a Wednesday morning when you notice the change. It doesn’t register at first, acknowledgement coming in a curious sniff at the air. Weird.

“Thanks,” he says like clockwork, a well-oiled polite machine, deceptively slender hands receiving the exceedingly hot cup without a care in the world. He’s got his usual bag over his shoulder - overly big, black, almost tactical - and a pair of comfortable looking pants on that seem more like they belong on your beloved grandmother. Somehow, he rocks it (but he always does). “Have a nice day.”

Because of course he says that. Of course he steals the words right out of your mouth, turns them back on you as easy as he makes your heart rattle around in your chest like it’s a Friday night bingo ball.

He moves toward the bar - he only ever grabs three napkins, tucks them into the slot on the left side of his bag - but pauses halfway there. Rooted to the same spot as always, sleek ears following the imposing line of his shoulders.

One, two—

The thumping starts, so quiet it’s almost negligible. But you catch it, because you always do and because you’re the reason for it.

He turns then, levels you with a look from the corner of those pretty, pretty eyes and you can’t help but laugh, openly, unashamedly, with the back of your hand plastered to your mouth. A true ojou-sama.

His mouth quirks - does that funny thing where he sucks in his cheek then rolls it back out with his tongue - and you think he might finally say something. Call you out for writing his name wrong for the past five weeks, finding more and more creative ways to do so every time. Even occasionally using nicknames - silly things you’d come up with while on the walk home, or during lunch, or in bed.

“Good one,” he states, laugh lines threading over his face, prominent around his eyes. His nose wiggles with the sound - another of his traits that comes out to play often. Your favourite of them all, if you’re being honest.

“Anytime.”

You don’t realise it’s him until it’s too late, until you’re practically running into him, bouncing off the broad expanse of his back with a startled squeak. Lucky for you, you’re quick on your feet, catching yourself before your skull can become too well-acquainted with the red brick wall to your right.

“You okay?” Though he asks, you have a sneaking suspicion he knows you’re not and an even stronger suspicion that he’d been waiting for you, hovering past the entrance of the cafe with his big university hoodie on.

“Barely,” you manage around a laugh, straightening the backpack slung over your shoulders, packed to the brim with goodies you got to bring home at the end of the night and two of your textbooks.

“Should watch where you’re going.”

This is the most conversation you’ve had - ever. But it’s fun, easy, organic and natural. You wonder why that is.

“You should watch where you’re standing, actually.”

He’s so much bigger than you, imposingly tall (especially being part of the Leporidae family) and wide in the chest. Not bulky by any means, but big. Strong. Threaded with a strength you don’t normally see in hybrids of his kind. It probably has to do with how often you see him covered in sweat and panting, basketball hooked under his arm, soccer cleats tied to his bag.

When he speaks again, it’s full of mirth, squeezing his round eyes near shut. “Got a problem with me standing here?”

You nod, solemn as ever (which is really never, but that’s besides the point). “It’s dangerous to block entryways, didn’t you know?” You’re gesturing to the awning, the dark interior just past the window of the shop. “You’re loitering, Jungkook.”

“So you do know my name.” You can tell he’s not surprised - that he’s hamming it up for dramatics, softly pink lips rounded in a little ‘O’. He’s cute like this, you think. Playful in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I do?”

There’s that cheek thing again. It’s even more attractive up close, the shape of his jaw thrown into prominent relief when he sucks in a breath.

“You just said it.”

You nod, thoughtful, finger tapping upon your chin. “I guess I did.”

“Say it again,” he states, expression inscrutable, eyes bright. They’re so glossy even under the dimmed streetlights, impossibly big and undeniable. So easy to get lost in - if your attention weren’t caught by something else.

“What is that?”

You’d noticed it earlier in the day, caught the scent in passing sometime during the early hours. You’d been unable to place it then, too distracted by freshly ground coffee, a girl’s three too many spritzes of Daisy by Marc Jacobs, and baking banana loaves.

It’s heady, masculine. A strong musk that sinks into your nose and makes it twitch, ears rotating as if that’ll help pin the smell down.

“What’s what?” You hadn’t realised how close you’d become, your face five seconds from planting directly into his chest. (It’d probably be nice - you know how soft your school’s merchandise is.) “Are you okay?” He asks because you’re now, actually, planting your face right against the worn navy cotton. It’s terribly nice, silk upon your cheek.

You answer more to his clothes than to him, nosing into the fabric. “You smell different.”

You feel more than hear his laughter, the sound barreling past his teeth seconds later. The vibrations running along his spine jostle you from your position face first upon him but you don’t mind. It doesn’t send you far, dark eyes peering up into the face of the bunny hybrid. True to his kind, his nose is twitching, puffs of laughter expanding his cheeks when he meets your stare.

“No I don’t.”

“You do.” Tone firm, a finger lands upon the neatly embroidered N on his hoodie. The white stitching stands in stark contrast to your baby blue nails. “You smell… off.”

Whether Jungkook’s offended or not, you can’t tell. He’s got that same strange expression on his face - the one from this morning when he’d received his coffee. It’s made up of too many moving parts: the flutter of his lashes, the coil of his jaw, the minute tick of the corner of his mouth. You can’t read him for shit, somehow more confused now than in your 300-level art history class. (You’d taken it as one of your optional electives assuming it’d be an easy A. You were wrong.)

“Sorry you think so,” he hums, looking down at you. You’ve seemed to fully forget the meaning of personal space, edged up beside him as if you’re best friends and not just two ships passing in the night.

“It’s not bad.” Really, it isn’t. It’s strong and sensual, vegetal in a way, calming in another. But it isn’t unwelcome.

In fact, you think you might like this scent a little more - less sweet than what normally clings to his skin, natural honeycomb rather than processed sugar. It zings across your teeth, pieces broken up and scattered behind your molars. You can practically taste it. Him.

“Is that so?”

“Yep.”

You share a look - one that says more than all the words you’ve ever spoken, that threads together all the silly laughter, narrowed stares, (written) flirtations. It settles between the two of you, filling the spaces with something akin to cotton, light and airy and soft.

The desire to speak lingers, hidden just beyond the cotton candy dusting. Should you? Shouldn’t you? You still have no idea what he’s doing here, a street urchin making his rounds on the campus village.

He beats you to it. “Can I walk you back to your dorm?”

You don’t think you could want anything more. “Sure.”

Silence falls again but it’s comfortable, a caress rather than a crutch. The grounds are surprisingly quiet - wayward students on their way to the library or heading home from lectures. There are no picnic blankets spread across the grass, no gaggles of girls dressed in school colours. It feels like the first day of fall, change sitting heavy in the air.

“So—” You start.

He finishes, “do you wanna go on a date with me?”

That’s surprising. (Or is it? You’re not really sure.) You nearly trip over your own two feet in your haste to look at him, entire body swivelling on the spot because apparently you can’t just turn your head like a normal person. Something something all or nothing.

“What?”

“Do. You. Want. To—” He’s being insufferable for the hell of it. You can see it in his eyes, glossy things shining down at you like he’s got the entire fucking nightsky hung in them.

“Not if you keep that up,” you retort, though you both know you’re lying. You’ve been waiting - wishing, wanting - for this moment since the day you laid eyes on him. Since Yuri had elbowed you so hard in the ribs you’d thought you’d be bruised for days, since Jae had rambled on and on for his entire shift about the cute new bunny who’d come in that morning. Since that very first wrongly spelt name on his plastic cup and every visit since.

“Is that a challenge?”

“You won’t get it in.”

He scoffs, loud and drawn out, cheek rounding with disbelief at your disbelief. How can you possibly doubt him - school basketball star and all-around athletic freak of nature?

“What do I get if I do?” The ball rests in his palm, poised to be shot through the hoop, sunk without making contact with the rim. He’s confident - he’s done it a million times.

“A pat on the back?” As much as you tease him - loop mockery around nearly every syllable you speak, you’re endlessly supportive, already carrying the fruits of his labour under your arms. A Pikachu shoved haphazardly into the purse slung across your body, a Snorlax tucked under your arm at an awkward angle that crushes his poor head, a Sylveon tucked into the side pocket of his joggers. (The arcade was really into Pokemon, apparently.) “Me saying thank you?”

“Not good enough.” He leans in close - those big galaxy eyes practically swallowing you whole - and taps a single finger upon your nose. It makes your nostrils flare, an itch blooming under his touch. “Gotta sweeten the deal.”

You must look hilarious because Jungkook’s biting back a smile, smirking down at you. Then, all at once, without breaking eye contact, he’s extending his arm, flicking his wrist, and— swish!

In goes the ball, leaving him with a perfect score.

“I want you to stay the night.”

You think he’s joking. He must be joking. This is your third date.

But he’s staring at you like he’s completely serious, gaze expectant, lips pursed around something that reads like a smile but has your heart doing a strange little one-two step in your chest. It soars for a moment, high above the clouds like the string orchestra of a choral work - Beethoven’s Ninth in D minor.

“Are you propositioning me, Jeon Jungkook?” It’s the same reaction he always has when you say his name: a twitch of his ear, the corner of his bottom lip quirking and then resetting, eyes so sparkly it’s almost absurd.

“No. I’m just telling you what I want.”

“Huh.” You should say no. Guys like him - with charm that oozes out of every pore, whose offhanded smiles break more hearts than you ever have - are almost always bad news. Too sweet, too funny, simply too much for your feeble heart to take.

“Is that a yes?” He’s got you in his clutches - a viper rather than a hare, with a smile so dangerous you’re paralysed by just the sight of it. (Who needs venom?)

Your words catch in your throat, stick to one another like the deformed gummies at the bottom of the movie theatre bag. What comes out isn’t what you expect. “Okay.”

Damn you. Damn him. Damn how good he smells and the big dumb grin that spreads over his lips, sunshine in human form, undeniable and warm and cute enough to start a war over. (That’s probably what’s happening - a vicious battle between your head and your heart.)

Damn his stupid thumping foot that you can make out over the sound of the video games, the boisterous din. It’s so cute you can’t help yourself from smiling, mouth pulling and pursing around the delight that begs to be freed.

“Cool,” he says, and you almost think that’s not very cool. He’s so nonchalant, cavalier about it as if it means nothing. You’d be bothered if you felt like you didn’t know him so well - hadn’t learnt his idiosyncrasies over the last two months.

How he looks when he laughs really hard, his slightly too-big front teeth taking up all the real estate in his mouth. How he sounds when he’s tired (groggy, with a lisp that rarely sees the light of day otherwise) or when he’s told he’s wrong (pouty, with his bottom lip jutted out so cutely you want to scream). How he runs every morning, hits the gym every night, and eats double your protein because fitness, bro! How his cheat meal of choice is soy garlic fried chicken from the place off-campus and he hates tangy, tart desserts (your lemonade lip gloss not included, he insists). How he can’t sleep if he’s too hot - which he often is - and he spends way too long combing through his ears with a specialty brush he doesn’t let anyone touch. How he’s secretly raindrops and gummy bears and hand holding in the car, so much more than his high school superlative of most likely to grace the cover of GQ.

You wonder, because you know those things, does that make you special? Does it make you immune to the heartbreak that you swear you imagine whenever your mood drops (not often, but often enough)?

You hope so.

“Let’s go shoot guns?” He’s tearing you from your reverie, planting an open-mouthed kiss to your temple. It’s sloppy and not very refined, much less suave than what you’d expect from your school’s soccer captain (and basketball small forward and swim team stand-in). You suppose that’s why you like him so much - because he’s always surprising you, keeping you on your toes.

“Let’s.” You agree, letting your date drag you toward the Time Crisis machine. It’s blissfully unoccupied, allowing the two of you to slide into place. He takes the blue gun, you the red.

He squeezes your hip when you take up position, one eye squeezed shut as you look down the barrel of the plastic weapon. “Better not let me die.”

“Better not get shot,” you return.

He doesn’t listen - failing halfway through the helicopter scene, his shot missing and resulting in some sad miserable death in the form of Continue? blinking across the screen. Neither of you mind that much though. He occupies himself on his phone, free hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. You play better when he’s not shouting terrible call-outs, nearly crashing into you because he gets so into it.

(How he’s never got a concussion on the basketball/soccer/etc. field before, you’re not sure.)

By the time you’re done - a good five minutes later, you think - Jungkook’s growing restless, tugging at your belt loops enough that you stumble with every shot, nearly knocking yourself out when you have to steady yourself on the centre console.

“Kook!” Your glare is barely that, too affectionate to dissuade him from his childish antics.

He pulls you forward, traps you between his thick thighs, tattooed hands settling comfortably on your hips. “Let’s go home.”

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

Of course, he doesn’t deny that.

It’s not the first time you’ve been over. Not even your second or third. You’ve met up with him before his games, thrown his jersey overtop and helped him wrap his fingers before hitting the court. You’d even had to grab his cleats for him once, running across campus as he did drills in his socks as punishment.

This time feels different. You know why but it doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow. It lodges somewhere in your throat, makes it hard to breathe when you kick off your shoes and tuck them neatly beside Jungkook’s.

“Are you hungry?” He’s already in the small kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at you as you linger in the adjoining hallway, bag halfway over your head.

“I’m good.” You are, really. You’d eaten one donut too many at the arcade, indulged in a little too much disgusting nacho cheese goodness. You don’t really understand how your date’s still hungry, a cucumber crunching between his teeth when he turns back to you.

Standing there, vegetable devoured in quick, decisive bites, he looks every inch the French lop bunny he is.

You reach him in the same instant he finishes his midnight snack. Arms fold around you like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, head dropping to rest comfortably upon yours. Like this, his ears tickle your cheek - velveteen fur lost to the silk of your hair. “Are you tired?”

Another no comes - spoken into the fuzzy fabric of his sweater - and he hums above you, whole frame rattling with the noise.

“No bed then?”

At least he’s transparent, you think.

“One track mind much?” You’re only teasing. A part of you looks forward to… whatever it is that sits over the horizon, lost past the creaky bedroom door and somewhere beneath his surprisingly soft sheets. (You’d asked about them once - he’d told you his mother liked to send him housewares to remind him of home. He was a real mama’s boy that way.)

The monster only laughs, snuggles into your hair like it’s home. “Can you blame me?”

You can’t do much of anything when he’s like this - so utterly adorable and enticing and good for your heart that it feels as if you’ve taken a straight dose of morphine.

“Let’s go to bed, Wookie.” Another nickname, recently coined after you’d spent an evening watching Star Wars for the first time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You whack him on the way to his bedroom, smack a hand over the arm curled around your shoulders. He pretends like it hurts, howls in a way he he thinks resembles a wounded animal but really just sounds stupid. “Not a ma’am.”

“Sir?” He asks, just to make you laugh.

“If you don’t shut up—”

He pushes you through the door of his bedroom while giggling to himself, sound puffing out of his cheeks. “Don’t be mad, kitten.” The two of you drop to the bed, a tangle of limbs and silken fur and squeaking laughter. “You’re so purr-ty when you’re annoyed.”

He’s doing it again. Dropping those stupid cat puns that make your nose wrinkle, ink-tipped ears folding back against your head.

“I think I’m hiss-terical, don’t you?”

Face adamantly buried into his sheets, you don’t give him the time of day. You don’t even care that your mascara is probably rubbing off against the charcoal fabric, lipstick tint doing potentially irreversible damage. He knows how unfunny you find these jokes, how you’ve heard them your whole life and roll your eyes so hard your optic nerve might sever every time you face another.

What’s the point of sharing your pet peeves with him when all he does is lean into them? Use them against you like it’s the cool thing to do. Make you wonder what you’d seen in him when he was just another customer, another boy in Seoul National indigo and bedhead so dishevelled it begged to be managed.

(You’re not sure why you’re so irritated suddenly, caught in the clutches of a moodswing as you curl into your side and ignore his bad jokes.)

Stupid Jeon Jungkook. Annoying, silly, too-cool-for-his-own-good Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook who makes you second guess your choices, leaves you breathless and confused with just one dumb look. Who has convinced you into his bed and teases you mercilessly, snickering to himself as his foot bounces against the floorboards because he finds himself that funny.

“Baby?” The pet name comes, presses itself past your curtain of hair and invades your thoughts.

You say nothing, adamantly faced away.

He doesn’t like that, sneaking his hands around you and cradling you into his chest as if that’ll lighten the mood. (It does, a little bit, but you don’t tell him that.) “Don’t ignore me,” he mumbles, warmth breath tickling your ears, fingers dancing over the rungs of your ribs as if they’re ivory and not bone, playing a tune only he can hear.

“Stop with the shitty jokes,” you retort. You’re being difficult - can feel the vinegar turning your blood even as he tries to will it all away.

You feel the intake, the rise and fall of his broad chest. You can only imagine how hard he’s biting his tongue, careful to keep his next errant pun at bay. People don’t tell him no - only you. Maybe that’s why you do it, to remind him you’re not just like everyone else.

“Sorry.”

You don’t tell him to show you how sorry— but he does anyway.

You’re astounded by him, utterly entranced by the way he moves. How power runs the length of his frame, manoeuvres each of his limbs and turns your own to jelly.

He’s got you face down, ass up, hands cradling your hips like they’re his home and he can’t bear to let go. Every upward stroke feels like heaven - feels like a million lifetimes of pleasure you can barely wrap your thoughts around. He’s impossibly big, thick and long. The first thought you’d had when he’d stripped his black Calvin Kleins was pretty.

You realise now there’s nothing pretty about him. He’s filthy - the devil come to collect as he fucks you across his bed, nearly loses you to the pillows at the head with each snap of his hips. (What they said about rabbits was true, you think.)

“B-Bunny,” you sob, scratch over cotton that’s worn soft and smells exactly like your favourite sweater of his. The linens are defenseless, tangled up and wrinkled with each flex of your fingers, bunched up within your palms every time he buries himself like he’s looking for the answer to life, thinks he might find it within the fluttering walls of your pussy.

“Not my name.” When he sounds like this, he’s more predator than prey, a thousand volts of electricity shooting up your spine. He’s demanding and unrelenting. It makes your head spin.

“Wook—”

“Not.” Bunny teeth are just as painful as a feline’s, doing their job as they dig into the flushed skin over your back, marking his territory with two prominent indents right between your neck and shoulder. “A.” He ruts into you as if he’s got something to prove, snaps his hips to a beat you can’t keep up with. “Wookie.” Grips you so tight you might snap, red blooming beneath his hands.

You sob under him, drool against the pillows because you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut. (You feel like Jungkook post-win, spewing nonsense as he prattles on about game winning plays with his teammates.)

“K-Kookie.” It’s what he wants to hear - hits him right in the chest, a bull’s eye to the thing that beats wildly and in tandem with your own.

His rhythm stutters. The bed is shaking and not because he’s practically breaking the weak wooden frame. No, his foot’s thumping, bouncing across the sheets even as he tries to regulate the roll of his hips, return it to the assured, teeth-numbingly good tempo it’d been at.

It doesn’t work. You love it anyway. Like it more, because it means he’s just as affected by you as you are him. Your heart sings, leaps out of your chest on hummingbird wings, and dances around your head. You’re a goddamn cartoon - Pepé Le Pew in ragdoll form - animated pink shapes circling like a crown.

You don’t care. You can’t. Not when he plasters himself to your back and asks you to say it again, begs you to tell him how good he is, tells you how he wants to make you his.

Who cares if it’s three dates in, if your meeting was cliched and silly and he’s the campus heartthrob?

You don’t - because he’s yours and when he flips you onto your back and you curl your fingers into his hair, it’s your name he stutters out. It’s you who has him coming apart beneath your hands, the feel of his ears like velvet, the little whines he huffs growing louder each time you tug at the base. It’s you who knows what he sounds like as he falls to pieces, throws himself against you as if gravity demands it. It’s you who holds him to sleep, whose skin acts as a canvas for the doodles he traces as he drifts off.

It’s you and it’s him and that’s enough.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Could you maybe write a “73 questions with Sirius Black” Vogue one? Or something like that.

Yes! I had never seen these videos before and it was a fun challenge to write. Hope you enjoy! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

The house is large, two stories tall and painted a soft gray with white trim around the windows. Holiday lights have yet to be taken down and shine in all colors of the rainbow from the eaves as the camera crew walks up the front steps. The curtains in the window tremble for a moment, then a dog pokes her head through—she is all-black and curious, and looks quite large.

Dorcas Meadowes knocks on the front door; a moment later, it swings open and reveals Sirius Black. “Hey, guys, come on in! You can leave your shoes by the door inside.”

“Thanks, Sirius.” Dorcas kicks off her flats and follows him inside as he sets a dish towel on the end table and leans against it. “How are you today?”

“I’m doing pretty well. Morning practice was productive and I’m feeling good about our upcoming game.”

“We’re here today to ask you 73 rapid-fire questions while you lead us around. Sound good?”

“Sounds good. You can all come inside instead of freezing on the porch,” he laughs, waving them closer. The door shuts with a gentle click.

“First question: on a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?”

“Hmmm. A solid seven.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“I do!” Sirius leads them into the other room, where the dog is curled up on the couch below the window; he picks her up and gives her a kiss on the head. “This is Hattie and I love her very much.”

“Cute! If you could do a dramatic love scene in a movie with anyone, who would it be?”

Sirius sets the dog down and thinks for a second. “Aside from my fiancé, I’m going to say James Potter. We would kill it and I don’t think it would be that awkward.”

“What’s the origin of your name?”

“Pretty much my whole family has star-themed names. Sirius is the dog star from Canis Major.”

“Brightest star in the sky, too. What’s one thing people don’t know about you?”

“I’m an introvert. Lots of people assume that I’m super social because of my job, but I’m very quiet in real life.” He walks back out to the entrance and takes the towel off the table, then moves into the kitchen. It’s well-lit and painted a deep, warm red. The countertop is scattered with knickknacks and picture frames—clearly, this is a place people spend a lot of time. Hattie, who followed them in, lays down by the oven with a heavy sigh.

“What’s your wakeup ritual?”

Sirius reaches up and pulls two mugs out of the cupboard. “I wake up around seven am and make coffee while Re is in the shower, then rinse off and get dressed while he makes breakfast. It’s a good system. Want some tea?”

“Sure. What’s your bedtime ritual?”

“I don’t think I have one,” he says as he puts the kettle on and ignites a burner on the stove. “Usually we read or watch a movie, then go up to bed and talk for a while. There’s not a big routine or anything.”

“Sounds nice. What’s your favorite time of day?” Dorcas sits on the other side of the kitchen island while he takes a box of peppermint tea down.

“That’s a tough one. I like the in-between spots, like just after sunrise or dusk. Three in the afternoon is usually pretty chill as well. Does anyone else want a cup?”

There are a few murmurs behind the camera and he takes two more down. “What is one thing no one knows about you?” Dorcas asks.

He raises an eyebrow. “If I told you, everyone would know, and it wouldn’t count.”

“Fair enough. Dream country to visit?”

“Anywhere. I think I want to go to Ireland first, though.” Small wisps of steam begin curling out of the kettle, but it doesn’t whistle.

“Do you ever feel pressure to post things on social media?”

Sirius makes a face. “I used to. Eventually I just got tired of it, you know? The whole point of social media is sharing bits of your life with people and it makes me happy to show off my dog, or Re, or my friends. I post things just for fun now.”

The kettle begins to hiss and he reaches back to turn it off. “Sneakers or skates?”

“Skates.”

“Vintage or new?

“Vintage, especially for t-shirts and sweaters.”

“Who is your biggest role model?”

“Pascal Dumais.” Sirius stops pouring for a moment to look up at the camera. “If you ever get a chance to meet him, listen to what he has to say. You’ll be better for it.”

“Wise words. How do you deal with negativity? Oh, thank you.” Dorcas wraps her hands around the mug and takes a small sip while Sirius passes the other ones to the crew.

“Honestly? I don’t give a shit. It used to really bother me, but I’m happy, I have a job I love, and my family cares about me. Why should I care what people I’ve never met think of me?” He sits on the counter and rests his elbows on his knees, blowing on the hot water.

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

“My dog, Remus, and my family.” There is no hesitation in his voice.

“Not hockey?”

“I’d be devastated if I couldn’t play, sure, but it’s not the central focus of my life anymore.”

“What’s one ingredient you put in everything?”

“Does salt count?” He winces as he takes a drink. “Ugh, burned my tongue. I put salt on a lot of things because I drink so much water that it throws my balance off.”

“What is something you’re completely bored of right now?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Gossip columns and tabloids in general.”

Dorcas hums in agreement. “What’s your biggest fear in life?”

“Losing my loved ones.”

“Window or aisle seat?”

“Window. Anyone walking by always steps on my foot or hits my elbow if I’m in the aisle. Plus, I get a good view and an easy nap spot.”

“What’s your current TV obsession?”

“Avatar: The Last Airbender, which I’m watching for the third time already.” He shakes his head. “It’s just so good.”

“Favorite app?”

He takes a second to think. “Spotify.”

“Secret talent?”

Sirius looks at her over the rim over his cup. “This is going to shock you. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Hockey.”

“You’re the worst.” Despite her words, Dorcas smiles. “What the most adventurous thing you’ve done in your life?”

“Uh, probably going to Europe with some of the guys last year. We had a lot of fun, but it was crazy.”

“I can imagine it was. How would you define yourself in three words?”

“Tall, dark, and handsome.”

“And apparently not humble,” Dorcas teases. “Favorite piece of clothing?”

“Hoodies.”

“Clothing item everyone should have?”

“Hoodies.”

A door opens behind them and the camera turns; Remus walks out of the basement, covered in sweat as he wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt and holds his skates in his other hand. “Baby, have you seen…” he trails off when he sees the group of people in the kitchen. Hattie’s tail thumps on the floor. “Um. Hello.”

“Hey, Remus, how are you doing?” Dorcas asks mildly.

The camera pans out to catch both Sirius, who is laughing quietly, and Remus, who flushes pink. “I’m good. I thought you were coming at ten?”

“It’s ten-thirty, sweetheart,” Sirius says, hiding his smile in his tea.

Remus glances at the clock before giving an awkward nod and walking toward the stairs. “I guess I’ll take a shower, then. Sorry about that. Uh, carry on.”

“What’s a superpower you would want?” Dorcas asks as soon as he disappears.

Sirius shakes his head with a grin. “Uh, teleportation. That would be really cool.”

“What’s inspiring you in life right now?”

“Ah, une grande question.” He thinks, then tilts his head toward the staircase. “Moments like that. And the Stanley Cup, of course.” He reaches back and knocks on the wooden cupboard.

“What cause is closest to your heart?”

“LGBT+ rights, especially trans rights. I’m privileged enough to have a platform and I intend to be loud as hell about that.”

“Good.” Dorcas sets her almost-empty mug on the table. “What’s one thing you’d say to your teenage self?”

Sirius lets out a long breath and drums his hands on the light blue ceramic of his cup. “I would say…it gets better. It really, really does. You’re going to feel super shitty for just a little bit longer, but then I promise you will be so incredibly happy that you wake up every morning and it hits you all over again.”

Dorcas nods, and the kitchen is quiet for a moment. “What’s a book that everyone should read?”

“The Hobbit, by J.R.R Tolkien.”

“What would you like to be remembered for?”

“This is going to sound so corny, but I want to be remembered for just being a good person.”

“That’s not corny. How do you define beauty?”

“Remus Lupin.”

“That’s corny,” she laughs, making him smile. “What do you love most about your body?”

“I’m a big guy, which can be a little bit intimidating, but it means I give really great hugs. I’m sure everyone saw the video that went around a while ago.”

“Cap Cuddles?”

He snorts. “Right. You’ve got Finn O’Hara to thank for that.”

“In your opinion, what’s the best way to take a rest or decompress?”

“Being alone,” Sirius says. “There is literally nothing better than getting home and sitting down with a book or something while I can hear Re doing his own thing and Hattie’s napping. It’s one of my favorite parts of the afternoon.”

“That’s the most introverted thing you’ve ever said.” Dorcas grins and finishes her tea just as a faint beeping noise begins in another room. “What’s your favorite way to experience art?”

“Through music, for sure.” He slides off the counter and walks down the hall, leading them toward the laundry room. He gives the camera crew a look as he pulls dry clothes out of the machine and heads back to the living room. “What? Did you think I didn’t do my own laundry?”

“You lost a sock,” Dorcas informs him, picking it off the ground and laying it on top of his head.

“Thanks, D.”

“What question do people ask that you wish they wouldn’t?”

“Lots of people have asked me when I decided to be gay, which is wrong on so many levels.”

“If you could master one instrument, what would it be?”

“Guitar or piano.” He dumps the load of laundry on the couch and opens the back door, holding it for the crew as they walk out into the sunshine. Hattie weaves through their legs and disappears into the bushes along the back.

“I might have to take your dog home with me. If you had a tattoo, where would it be?”

Sirius mock-glares at her. “Let me have my girl! Um, I would love to have a tattoo somewhere on my arm.”

“This might be a hard one. Dolphins or koalas?”

“Oh, that is hard. Probably dolphins. The ocean is terrifying but those little guys are just having a blast.”

“What’s the best gift you’ve ever received?” Dorcas asks as he picks up a tennis ball and throws it across the yard. Hattie emerges from the bushes and races after it in a blur of black fur.

“An engagement ring.”

“Yeah, it was.” Remus walks into the backyard and kisses Sirius’ cheek before bending down to catch Hattie in his arms. His hair is still damp from the shower. “Hello, sweet girl!”

“Who’s your favorite musician?”

“Queen.” Sirius laughs at her surprised look. “I’m gay, what did you expect?”

“True. What’s your favorite board game?”

“Monopoly.” Remus and Hattie disappear from the frame, but the bouncing sound of the tennis ball creates some background noise and Sirius watches them for a moment with pure affection.

“Favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Least favorite color?”

“Orange.”

“Bowties or knot ties?”

He frowns. “Don’t they all have knots?”

“Smartass.”

“Yep! Uh, regular ties.”

“Bowties are superior!” Remus calls.

“Get your own questions!” Sirius laughs.

“Going off your music answers: records or CDs?”

“I don’t own a lot of records, so I’m going to have to go with CDs. I love the way vinyl sounds, though.” His eyes widen as he looks to the side. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Remus wheezes. “I didn’t need those ribs anyway.”

“For the viewers, the dog just football-tackled him into the grass,” Sirius says, and Dorcas snorts.

“Your hair is famously luscious. Blow-dry or air-dry?”

“Air dry.”

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, but tea is nice in the evenings.”

“What’s the weirdest word in the English language?”

Sirius laughs. “There are so many. Uh, ‘jeez’ is the one that comes to mind first.”

“What about the French language?”

“Oiseaux,” he says in a crisp accent. “It means ‘birds’, and you pronounce about three of the actual letters.”

“Good to know. Do you prefer dark chocolate or milk chocolate?”

“Dark chocolate.”

“Stairs or elevators?”

“Elevators. I don’t want to walk up three floors after playing hockey for two and a half hours.”

“Summer or winter?”

Sirius bites his lip in thought as they walk around the yard, where small flowers line the fence in beds and colorful pots. “I love summer because I have actual free time to be with my friends, but winter is hockey season. I don’t know, next question.”

“What’s a dessert you don’t like?”

“I’m not a huge fan of caramel. It’s too sticky.”

“A skill you’re working on mastering?”

“Will you ban me from more interviews if I say hockey?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, I’m working on keeping plants alive, as you can probably see.” He taps the nearest flowerpot gently with his foot; it has ‘Harry’ painted across it in sloppy blue letters. “My godson made that for my birthday.”

“What’s the best thing to happen to you today?”

“This, for sure,” he says with a smile. “I haven’t seen you and Marley in ages.”

“We missed you, too. What’s the worst thing that happened to you today?”

He pouts slightly. “Burning my tongue on tea.”

“Hugs or kisses?”

“Hugs! Though I’ll accept kisses from a few very specific people.”

“Do you have a favorite smell?”

He pauses and cranes his neck to look behind the cameras. “Re?”

“Yeah?”

“What shampoo do you use?”

“Uhhh…” There’s a moment of quiet. “It’s something with lavender, I think.”

Sirius turns back to Dorcas. “Something with lavender.”

“How specific,” she laughs. “What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?”

He smiles to himself. “There was a young woman, maybe sixteen or seventeen, that came to one of the games earlier this season. I saw her standing with a puck and went over, and while I was signing it she looks at me and says, ‘you are exactly what I wish my older brother was like’. Turns out, she was bisexual and her brother wasn’t super accepting of her. That was…” He shakes his head. “That meant the world to me. I’ll never forget it.”

“You’ve definitely made a big impact on the community,” Dorcas agrees. “What’s the last piece of content you consumed that made you cry?”

“I watched ‘Soul’ the other night and almost had to pause it at one point to pull myself together.”

“Do you prefer animated movies or live-action?”

“Animated, mostly because I wasn’t allowed to watch Disney movies as a kid, so I’ve been catching up as an adult and they rock.”

“What’s your nerdiest quality?

“I love watching documentaries.”

“Sweet or savory?” The back door creaks a bit as they walk back inside and the camera catches a few frames of Hattie and Remus running around the yard together.

“Sweet.”

“In ten years, you have a daughter. What age do you let her date?”

Sirius gives Dorcas a look. “Whenever she wants to. I’m going to impose curfews and stuff, but I’m the last person on the planet to police her love life.”

“Good answer. What’s a song you can listen to on repeat?”

“Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen. Absolute banger.”

“If you could switch lives with someone for a day, who would it be?”

“Arthur Weasley,” he says after a moment. “I would love to know what it feels like to get up in the morning and know you’re about to spend another day wrangling our team. It’s a miracle he hasn’t killed us all with his clipboard.”

“How do you know you’re in love?”

“Oh.” Sirius blinks at her in surprise at the sudden topic change. “Well, for me, I think it’s just…being comfortable around someone. Being able to spend time with them without saying anything and knowing you’re safe, no matter what. It’s the best feeling in the world.”

“What are you most excited about at this time in your life?”

A slight smile crinkles his eyes. “Getting married. That’s going to be awesome.”

“Who is your go-to for having a good laugh?”

“James Potter. He’s the best, and I love him.”

“Last question,” Dorcas says, sliding her list into her pocket. “Many LGBT+ people, especially teenagers, have spoken about how you’re an inspiration. Any words for them?”

Sirius hums in thought. “First of all, thank you for being so open and welcoming. I would never have expected the sheer force of people’s love to come through like that when so many people were saying horrible things. Second, to any kids out there who need to hear it: I’m proud of you. It takes a lot to be true to yourself and even if you’re still in the closet, you’re just as valid as the rest of us. Stay proud.”

“That’s a wrap.” Dorcas gives him a quick hug that he happily returns. “Thanks for letting us crash your morning, Cap.”

“Any time. Thanks for tuning in to Lion Pride, everyone!”

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Nice to Meet You

For @boxboysandotherwhump - Theo chose soft!Jameson, so here he is! @wildfaewhump gave me the three-word prompt “Space, shell, fair” for Jameson.

CW: Recovering pet whumpees, referenced past torture, scars, referenced dubcon/noncon, briefly referenced past dehumanization, consensual angst, fluff

When he opens the closet door, intending to press himself into his safe spot with his back to the corner, blocked by the boxes, he discovers Allyn is already there.

For a moment, his mind goes blank.

They look up at him and wince as the light cuts into the warm, velvet dark they were hiding in. Their long wavy hair hangs over their eyes, impossibly long legs bent until their knees are under their chin in the oversized sweatpants, gray eyes looking up at him, startled.

They’re more afraid of you than you are of them, whispers Nanda’s voice in his mind, soft and sweet as custard, the first owner, the one who took him on hunting trips where he had him sleep with the dogs and cut a line into the back of his thigh for every animal he slaughtered. All his memories of Nanda are grays tinged in blood - the gray of the sky, of Nanda’s eyes, the red of the bloodhounds, the drips that followed him across the floor.

Nanda also taught him about bears, while they moved through the woods. They’re more afraid of you than you are of them, boy. Vanilla custard, but held on the edge of a sharp knife, metallic under pillowy cloying sweetness. Nanda’s words always felt like blood in his mouth, spoonfed.

Allyn isn’t a bear - but they are definitely afraid.

“Why-” His voice cracks, shock of earthquake through ice on his tongue, and he considers simply closing the door and walking away. Allyn is his roommate, not his friend. He doesn’t have friends, none of them have real friends. Just other people also suffering nearby. Finally, though, he opens the door just a little wider. “Why are you in here?”

Allyn shakes their head, and it’s only then Jameson realizes their hair is uncombed, hanging lank and limp and lifeless, which Allyn’s hair never does. Their lips tremble, no perfect fucking party smile in place like usual, as they cringe back from him. No pretty blouse, no pretty anything. Just pale and shadowed, freckles standing out like someone stuck them on. “I-I’m sorry, I just… just needed-... a, a minute t-to breathe, I’m sorry-”

“This is my fucking space, Allyn. Yours is under the bed, so… go be under the bed.” His voice isn’t as rough and mean as he wants it to be, but it’s maybe mean enough - they sniff, and he sees their eyes glitter with tears.

His anger melts under something he tells himself isn’t guilt, and he exhales, slowly, before he moves to a crouch. He doesn’t like being loomed over, so they probably hate it, too, right? He’s had too many motherfuckers stare down at him in his cages. He stays that way in silence, right at their eye level, cocking his head as they breathe, wondering what color their eyes really are.

“I’m sorry,” They whisper, and he can see the shift of their oversized sweatshirt, three days past needing a wash. This isn’t like Allyn at all. Have they been like this for days, and he didn’t notice?

Well, why he fuck should he notice, they’re not friends, and Allyn is in his space, the only space in his entire life that’s all his and isn’t ringed in bars to put him on display-

No.

It’s not their fault, they’re upset, and the darkness of the closet is safer than anywhere else. You can hide in closets, he understands why they’re here. He forces down his irritation, and takes in the miserable worry in their eyes.

“Shit. Allyn, it’s... I don’t mean to be an ass, I just-... uh, what made you… need a minute? Exactly?” He should call for the big guy who runs this place, it’s his whole job to handle moments like this, but he can’t quite make it happen. Instead, he finds the voice he wants to be sharp is softer, his words feel like the heat of a kiss he actually wants, taste sweeter than any kiss he’s ever actually had.

They’re more scared of you than you are of them.

“Um, I-I was-... I was thinking… about… him.” The poison in the love in their voice is all in Jameson’s head, but he feels it seep into all his scars anyway. Acid, that him. Too much pineapple burning his tongue. They’re lucky to have had an owner they could love. Luckier still, to have one who loved them back.

Luckiest of all, to have an owner who wanted them to be happy.

Unluckiest, though, to get chucked out with the fucking garbage when the asshole died and they weren’t in his will. It’s not fair, but it’s fucking life, isn’t it? And in the end, which one of them is luckier? Him, for knowing it was suffering the whole time - or them, for having the chance to believe it was anything else?

“You miss him.” Flat, crash of knives on the ground, the clink and rattle and smack of their handles. Allyn only hears the words. He is starting to realize words feel inside him differently than they do to others.

Allyn nods, and the glitter of tears spills finally out.

He wants to touch their face - he doesn’t.

“I-I do,” They whisper. “I know I sh-sh-shouldn’t, but I… I do. I’m sorry, I know that you don’t-... that you weren’t-”

“Yeah, well.” He waves a hand, dismissive. The scars on his back and legs feel stretched, when he crouches like this, balances on the balls of his feet. He can feel the skin pull at itself, numbed but still here. Couldn’t kill me, motherfuckers, how about that? I’m still here, and three of you are gone. You’re just fucking corpses and your little blow-up doll with a heartbeat is still here. “You’re hurting worse than I am now, so I guess we’re sort of even.”

“I just… I can’t-...” Allyn’s voice buckles under the weight of their emotions, it shatters. Jameson tastes blood from the glass and watches Allyn lift their hands to hide behind them. Long fingers, delicate and graceful, even in this. Nails filed to perfect roundness. His own fingers are nothing special, two of them on his right hand broken until they don’t bend quite right anymore. He didn’t have to have perfect hands. He barely escaped Robert getting to keep his hands at all, and that was only because he was pretty fucking good at using them.

“I can’t live without him,” Allyn whimpers, muffled and thick. “I feel like… like I was made empty for him to fill up, and h-he’s gone, I can’t-... live without him, I can’t-”

He swallows the glass of their grief, buries it inside him. Wonders if he’ll ever know how it feels to give a shit what happened to the assholes who hurt him. What would it be like, to actually feel bad about the deaths?

“You can,” He says, low-voiced, and shifts forward into the closet, settling himself down and closing the door until only the thinnest crack of light can break up their safer darkness. Barely the width of a wire, the light illuminates nothing, only reminds them it’s there. He listens to the soft inhale, slower exhale, of the person beside him. Their presence is a weight, in his safest places, and his nerves are alight with how fragile it is, to have anywhere at all, how easily ruined by someone intruding. He clears his throat, uncertain, unused to being one to give comfort. More used to ignoring its existence. “You, um. You can live without them, I fucking swear it, Allyn. I lived without all of mine, for a while, ‘fore the next one caught me, or bought me.”

He hears rustling, and tilts his head just slightly to see them looking at him. They’re pale, but he is, too, a duller washed-out color from lack of sunlight for so long. Their freckles look like constellations, the stars he would stare at through Robert’s window in the dark. He notes, absently, that they damn near have a Little Dipper along their left cheekbone. “But-... but you didn’t love them… did you?”

He decides he sort of likes their voice. It slips into his mind, subtle sweetness, maple syrup but thinner. Weaker, but maybe it could be strong.

With time.

He swallows, speaking gruffly to cover up the strange twist of emotion. “No, I-... no. I didn’t love ‘em, but… but you keep going, you know? You’ll do it, too. I’m not… fuck, I’m not good for this. I wasn’t ever supposed to talk, so I’m not… super good at it now. Being, um. Like, helping… with words.” His voice is thick tar on his tongue, colored by his embarrassment.

But he tries.

There’s a silence, and he leans over, until his shoulder just touches theirs. Allyn tenses and then relaxes, and they sit like that for a while, listening to each other breathe.

Allyn’s head comes to rest on his shoulder, and he finds he doesn’t mind the weight.

“I’m so tired of being sad,” They whisper.

“Yeah, I’m-... sorta tired of being pissed off, myself.” He huffs a laugh. Then he feels Allyn’s hand - cold, slender, long-fingered - find his own, warmer and scarred. “Feels like we’re just empty seashells that get filled up with whatever the water brings, huh?”

“That… that sounds really pretty,” Allyn says softly. “Do you think pretty things a lot?”

“No. Most of my thoughts are really fucking ugly.” He manages another humorless laugh. “I guess I can surprise you, huh.”

“In more ways than one.”

“What?”

“I saw what you wrote on the wall,” Allyn murmurs, and they shift their head, breath warm on the side of his neck, where his collar is. Or isn’t. For a second, he can’t remember if he’s wearing it or not. He takes his off, sometimes. When he can. More and more often, as the days turns into weeks here.

“You did?” He closes his eyes, not that it makes much difference. They don’t let go of his hand. There is movement, out in the hall, in the rest of the house, but for the second, he and Allyn are alone.

“Mmhmm. You can read and write? Did your owner let you?”

It’s a secret he’s kept inside him for so long. It’s so hard to give it away, now. “I… no, none of them knew I could. When they took it from me, it… didn’t work. I never lost it.”

“Oh.” They’re silent for a moment. Their breath is warm, and despite himself, he feels a nervous flip of his stomach, his hair standing on end. It’s something trapped between fear and want, and it’s unlike any fear or want he’s ever felt before. “What did you write, on the wall?”

He could tell them anything. He could lie.

He tells the truth. “I wrote out our names. All of us. Um. The, Jake, and… his people. Eli, Nova, Sarita, um, Allyn…”

“Did you write yours?”

He lets his head gently fall back to rest against the wall. His heart might break out of him, bleed all over the floor. A different kind of bleeding, a kind that he sort of wants, even though he doesn’t. “Um. Yeah, I… yeah.”

“What is it?” They don’t move their head, they don’t let go of his hand. “What’s your name?”

He shouldn��t tell them.

It’s been his secret for so, so long. But… fuck, he’s so tired of secrets.

“Jameson,” He says, and it’s the taste of air just before rain, a chill breeze on a blistering day. His name, the one he gave himself. “I’m-... my name is Jameson.”

They’re quiet for a second, and then say, softly, “Nice to meet you, Jameson.”

It sounds better, in Allyn’s voice.

Everything does.

---

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @astrobly @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump

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bitch-butter · 3 years

Note

hello! can i request "You didn't do anything wrong, there's nothing to apologize for" for any ship of your choosing? or any AU you want? i just really love how your writing flows, it's so cohesive-- don't take this the wrong way but like. i adore sitting down and actually analyzing your stuff structurally? seeing how it works and weaves together to make a whole just makes the shriveled up eng lit major inside me really happy.

w o o f this one ran away from me a little bit, it incorporates some Things I was thinking of re: forgiveness/webgott last month, and it's bit different than pure H/C but I hope you find something to like in it! Thank you for your lovely compliment~

Yes, it's webgott bc i am chained to The Rhythm

4. "You didn't do anything wrong. There's nothing to apologize for."

He cleared the drawer once more, eyes scanning into its dark corners for any sign of a missed sock, undershirt, some hidden treasure that he had many years ago deemed worthy of being put in the back of the underwear drawer. Raising his brows, Joe shook his head at himself as he closed it resolutely, tossing his bounty into his pack and stuffing the top with the sack that contained his bathroom shit.

Even remembering the days he used to be able to leave the house with just his keys made him want to sigh like a goddamn cow in the summertime. Now he needs the bag, the car, and Web just to go across the bay.

Speak of the devil, Web padded into the bedroom with his usual September expression: weary, exhilarated, slightly frustrated. Wordlessly, he crossed past Joe to the bed and slumped face-first onto it with a groan.

“Done?” Joe questioned, zipping up the bag.

Making a soft grunt of a sound, Web curled his arms around his head. “Done,” he said, face mashed against the bed.

“Well, get to it,” Joe said, stepping over to land a light smack against Web’s ass and grinning at the outraged whine he got in response. “Don’t want to be late,” he tossed over his shoulder as he stepped back out to the hall, making for the kitchen.

Even out here he can hear the sound Web makes, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “I’ve changed my mind!”

“No you didn’t!” Joe called back, grabbing the butter left on the counter and shoving it in the fridge, letting his eyes make one final sweep around the kitchen. “If you don’t show your reputation won’t ever recover.”

“Your mother loves me,” Web toned, and Joe couldn’t help a snicker as he moved through the hall back to the bedroom, where Web had at least moved to lay on his back, knees up. “She wouldn’t care, she’d probably let me move in with her if you ever kicked me out.”

Rolling his eyes, Joe stood at the food of the bed, arms folded. “Not with Yom Kippur, you’re not allowed to fuck around. She was happy you said you wanted to come, you don’t want to disappoint her.”

Heaving out a long breath, Web folded his hands behind his head, eyes lowered as he peered down at Joe. His knees tilted just so, his lips quirking, and Joe could see the fucking thought forming in his head before he had a chance to open his mouth.

“No.”

“We have time,” Web said, extending one leg to poke his toes into the left side of Joe’s stomach.

Clicking his tongue, he took hold of the other man’s ankle, giving it a soft pull and smiling in satisfaction as Web tried to pull it back to no avail. “If you think I’m going to miss my last fucking meal just to fuck you then you have another thing coming, alright?”

With a disgruntled twist of his lips Web pulled his leg in again, a little jerk that ushered Joe down onto the mattress as well. “You weren’t this dedicated last year,” he noted lightly, free of the reproach that might have accompanied the words if his family had said them.

Shaking his head, Joe decided to throw Web a bone and settled beside him, at least staying up on his elbows. “Different places,” he said simply.

Web looked up at him fondly, hand coming up to smooth over Joe’s hairline, sweeping it back and trailing behind his ear. “So, how will we spend tonight, then?” he asked quietly, eyes still following along where his hand moved. “If not in bed.”

Breath going slow with the contact, he tilted his head into the touch contentedly. “Well, tonight we’re going to eat like kings, Rach will probably be trying to get drunk in the pantry and hoping nobody notices, we’ll sleep in the attic, then tomorrow we spend a lot of fucking time at the synagogue.”

“And we don’t eat,” Web stated, assured.

“No eating, no drinking,” Joe nodded, brow furrowing at the sight of an eyelash on the other man’s cheek, reaching for it mindlessly.

Humming, Web closed his eyes to accommodate him. “Does this have a corresponding Catholic holiday I can retrofit in my mind?”

“I don’t know, you guys got a day where you feel really guilty about everything?” he asked, presenting the lash to Web balanced on the tip of his finger.

Blinking, Web frowned thoughtfully. “Birthdays.”

“Make your wish, you prick,” Joe grumbled, holding back his smile as Web grinned up at him, pausing momentarily before blowing the lash away into the room. Indulgently, he moved in closer, cupping the warmth of Web’s face in his palm and looking down on him with a feeling as close to serenity as he ever has here, in their bed, the sunlight coming in through their window.

Web returned his gaze, his own hand tracing along the back of Joe’s neck. “Do you confess?”

“Sure.”

“Alone?”

“All together,” he corrected, absently rubbing at the spot on Web’s cheek where he had plucked the lash. “You recite it, while you do this,” he said, shifting gently to bring his hand down to Web’s chest, knocking gently against him, just above his heart, with a loose fist.

Web watched his fist, a bemused smile growing over his lips. “Why?”

Settling his hand over the spot, Joe rubbed gently at him. “To punish your heart.”

Smile stilling over his face, Web absorbed his words with quiet interest, eyes floating down along Joe’s neck to the dark burrow of his chest where it pressed against the bed. “Isn’t the sinning hurt enough?”

Trust Web to try to loop him into a conversation about semantics of all fucking things. He must be more anxious to start his classes than Joe thought. “I don’t know,” he half-shrugged, eyes on his own hand over Web’s heart. “If you’re the sort who doesn’t like hurting people, maybe.”

Web nodded, accepting, smile turning more wistful, thoughtful “That’s nice, to be able to get it all out of the way at once.”

“What, you turned in a paper late?” Joe teased.

Flicking behind Joe's ear, Web looked up at him balefully, just a touch of that familiar humor at the edge of his mouth, like a dimple made of light. “I’d apologize to you, obviously.”

Huffing out a surprised laugh, Joe looked discerningly down at him. “You got something you want to tell me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Web shook his head softly, hand curling around his neck once more and seeming to anchor him down even further, their faces close enough to see the earnest upset around the angles of the other man’s eyes. “You know.”

Web does this. Likes to see monsters where there are none, invent storm clouds heading for them, and it makes him behave like a child sometimes and a man others. He’s a contrarian, down even past his bones and into the dust of the universe that lived in his being, it is an unchangeable fact. Telling him that there’s nothing to worry about accomplished nothing at the best of times.

Not that it’s ever stopped him trying.

“You don’t have to apologize to me for a fucking thing,” Joe rebuked solidly, hand moving from Web’s heart to his head, fingers resting just north of the delicate point of his hairline. “Sincerely.”

“I do, I…” Web parried, eyes unyielding where they looked up into Joe’s, somehow free of the sort of conflict he contained when he started thinking he and Joe had different opinions. “I know that this isn’t easy, dealing with me. And you do,” he continued, and this close he can see the way his eyes are stuck on his lips, the thought filling him with affection. “And you’re amazing.”

Giving in, chest bowing in like the hull of a sinking ship, he caught Web’s lips with his own, a hot smack of a thing that stole his breath, gave it to Web, who in turn gave it back to him better, better. “You don’t have to apologize for living, doll,” he shook his head, their nose practically knocking. “That’s not the point.”

Web didn’t seem soothed by the kiss, still appearing occupied with some train of thought that sought to carry him off and away from Joe’s eyes. “I still think of it sometimes, you know.”

Joe frowned. “What?”

“That day,” Web said, as though it should be evident.

He has to pause and think. They’ve lived a lot of days together, not just these ones that they’ve spent in this apartment, but the ones they spent as voices over the phone, words on a page, men in uniforms hiding from each other like chameleons. How is he meant to know which day Web means from the thousands they’ve had?

Looking down, the blue of Web’s eyes reminds him absently of Austrian skies. Mountains.

Yes. He knows.

“I think sometimes I should apologize to you and never stop,” Web said gently, managing to keep hold of Joe’s eyes as they blinked back and forth and back and forth into the memory.

He hadn’t thought about that day in a long time. Which isn’t to say he never does, but it’s been a time. If he concentrates he can still feel the sun on his neck, the unnatural sweatiness of his palms, how his face had somehow felt cold, waxy. Picturing the house, the dark guts of it with the man inside squirming like half-digested meat, still fills him with the primal sort of rage that only visits him in his dreams. All around the periphery of the memory is Web, that day he had decided that whoever David Webster was he wanted no part of it.

“It’s in the past,” he excused weakly.

Web pulled in a short breath, face carefully open. “I know it is.”

“So let it be.”

Frown deepening, Web’s brought his eyes back down, and even this small departure felt like shrapnel. Joe combed through his hair, rubbing at his scalp, jostling him enough to win his eyes back. Web opened his mouth, struggling, before settling into the intention. “Do you still think about it?”

“Of course,” he said dully, voice still caught somewhere in his memory.

“Do you ever think I owe you an apology?” Web asked, voice quiet and eyes steady.

The question drops through him like rain. He’s thought of that day hundreds of times, thousands. When he lets his mind walk back up that hill, shining in the sun like the cover of the storybooks his mother would read to him, it isn’t Web he’s thinking of. He thinks of a forest of trees, of the way that one can become millions, and those millions become legion. That day had been about a lot of things, he hadn’t ever intended for Web to be one of them.

Web has apologized to him in too many ways to count. But this memory is deeper than they are, the kind of wound that might close over but will still carry a piece of metal, even smaller than a sliver, nestled inside of them both.

Web gives him grief, for better and for worse. But he gives him peace, too. That’s all the apology he wants.

His silence has drifted over the room like fog, but Web looks at him with the sort of clarity that only a few years ago made him feel like a bug on a pin, but now simply makes him feel known.

“I’ll punish my heart for forgiveness tomorrow,” Web said softly, smile turning up his lips, hand against Joe’s neck.

Huffing, Joe shook his head, taking up Web’s mouth once more, briefly. “You have it,” he rasped, kissing just the corner of his lips, and then the soft heat of his cheek. “You’ve had it.”

Web smiled into the kiss, leaning up to press a matching one to Joe’s own cheek. “Good.”

Swallowing, he followed Web back down, their faces close. “Will you accept mine?”

A disbelieving laugh rumbled up Web’s throat, his head giving a dismissive shake as he gave Joe’s neck a hard rub. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he criticized, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

But they haven’t always been that lucky. This sort of luck isn’t a permanent state of being.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, before pausing momentarily. “Let’s say you forgive me for the first sin I haven’t committed yet.”

Laughing, Web took his hand from Joe’s skin, holding it up beside them in some offering. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Joe confirmed, taking his hand, giving it one firm shake, enough to gather up Web’s laugh, before bringing it to his lips and laying a kiss across its back. “Now come on, let’s go.”

#technically ~rivers~#prompt #ask #webgott

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kpophours · 4 years

Text

Sweet Night (M)

➵ Stray Kids: Bang Chan x fem. reader / one shot, college AU, camping trip AU / fluff, smut / REQUESTED

➵ warnings: slight cursing, explicit mentions of sex (slight public teasing, orgasm denial, oral: receiving, slight choking)

➵ word count: 6k (lol oops)

a/n: after a few anon requests/inquiries, I decided to write this one shot as the second part to Way to You - you can absolutely read this on its own though.

I’M WALKING ON SUNSHINE, OOOOOOH! I’M WALKING ON-

Your eyes fly open as soon as the song starts blaring from somewhere beside you, and you blindly fumble for the alarm clock, thankfully managing to find the off-switch quite quickly. This very annoying clock was a horrible yet also kinda thoughtful birthday gift from Chan’s roommates, as it’s quite possibly the loudest one on the market, meaning it is able to wake literally anyone. It could probably even wake Dracula from his deep slumber in the depths of his castle somewhere in Romania. And while Chan might not be a vampire, he isn’t one to wake easily either, so this extremely loud alarm clock was the only solution your friends had been able to come up with. Which sadly means you experience something close to a heart attack every morning - or well, at least a few times a week, as you do still spend some nights at the apartment you share with Jisung.

You fall back into the pillows, heart still racing from the sudden noise. Pale sunlight filters through the curtains and into the otherwise dark room. You groan, blinking against the rays of light hitting you straight in the face, and turn around to cuddle into your boyfriend’s broad back. He hums, only half-awake himself, and turns around to wrap both arms around you, leaving a lazy kiss on your forehead.

Suddenly, there’s a crash from somewhere in the house, and you jump. Chan sighs deeply, and murmurs “Hyunjin, probably.” under his breath - it’s no secret that his roommate is a walking disaster. You don’t answer, only pressing a soft kiss on his naked chest. “How’d you sleep?”, he asks, one hand beginning to trace gentle patterns on your bare back. “Like a rock - which was exactly what I needed after my midterms.”, you answer, and he nods. “You more than deserved that, babe. I’m really proud of you, by the way. I’m sure you aced all your exams.”, he says, and you can’t help but smile at his sweet words. You look up at him, gently cupping his cheek, and kiss him. He basically melts against you, pulling you even closer towards him, and bites down on your lower lip to slide his tongue into your mouth. Before this can end in a steamy morning make-out session, there’s a knock on Chan’s door. He groans and draws back from you, expression grumpy. “What?”, he then yells, shooting daggers towards his door. “Just wanted to make sure you’re up, we’re supposed to be leaving in an hour!”, Felix answers, sounding way too cheerful so early in the morning. “Ugh, I hate morning people. Just once I want to get up in the morning without having to go through the seven stages of grief first.”, you mumble, your warm breath tickling Chan’s neck and making him giggle and wiggle away from you. “Yeah, we’re up!”, he quickly answers Felix, who shuffles away from the door, before turning towards you again, “Wait, aren’t there only five stages of grief? What are your extra two?” “Denial part two and astral projection.”, you answer, and Chan laughs before giving you a soft smile, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

“Breakfast?”, he then asks, and you nod. “Absolutely. I need coffee, and lots of it.”, you agree, and he rolls his eyes. “I swear, by now there’s definitely coffee running through your veins instead of blood.”, Chan mumbles, before jumping out of bed to grab his underwear from the floor. You just chuckle and follow him, but can’t seem to find your bra anywhere. “What the Hell…”, you mumble under your breath, twirling around once in a desperate attempt to locate it. “Uh. Looking for this?”, Chan asks and you follow his gaze. You both burst into loud laughter when you spot your bra happily dangling from the ceiling light. “Well, we had to be very fast yesterday evening. Clothes went flying, and quite literally it seems.”, you say, lips twitching while you stand on your tiptoes to get your bra, and Chan nods in agreement. “Very fast indeed - but we couldn’t let the others begin the movie night without us! We had valid reasons.” He grins and wraps both arms around your waist to pull you close to him again, giving you a quick peck on the lips. When you want to deepen the kiss, he draws back again, expression stern. “No time for that, we have to get ready, eat breakfast and you still need to pack some of your stuff before we can leave. And we don’t want to let the others wait, right?” You sigh and pout. “No, we don’t, apparently.”, you just answer, and wiggle into your jeans and turtleneck, finally ready to leave the privacy of Chan’s room and get something to eat.

The scent of fresh coffee and pancakes greets you when you arrive downstairs, and you inhale deeply. Felix is standing in front of the stove, humming a soft tune under his breath while working on making the tower of pancakes beside him even taller. He turns around when you enter the kitchen, giving you his signature sunshine smile. “Morning, Y/N.”, he greets you, “Slept well?” You nod and peek over his shoulder. “Yup. And have I ever told you how much I love you?”, you ask, stealing a piece of pancake directly out of the pan, and Felix tries to swat your hand away before he chuckles. “Shouldn’t you say that to Chan, not to me?”, he replies, and your boyfriend, just entering the kitchen behind you, sighs deeply. “She’s an opportunist, meaning she’ll tell anyone she loves them if it means she gets what she wants, so beware. I actually rarely hear her say it to me.”, Chan says warningly, and you shoot him a dark look. “Oh shut up, that’s so not true. I tell you I love you at least once or twice a day, you needy baby.”, you grumble, and just then, Minho joins the small kitchen party. “Needy baby? You’re not talking about Hyunjin, are you?”, he asks, ruffling his crazy bed hair while filling a mug with coffee, sighing contently when he takes the first sip. You grin and shake your head, before taking a mug out of the cabinet yourself.

Said roommate also enters the kitchen just then, face looking quite puffy. You raise both eyebrows. “Did you cry yourself to sleep last night?”, you ask, and take a sip of coffee to hide your shit-eating grin. Hyunjin throws you a dark glare, and crosses both arms in front of his chest. “No. But I did have a slight mental breakdown after realizing I probably failed my last exam yesterday, so I decided to treat myself to some late-night-ramen, and now I look like this.”, he points at his face, beginning to pout, “God just hates pretty people, he’s clearly punishing me for my dashing looks.” “Or maybe he just doesn’t like narcissists.”, Jeongin offers when he enters the kitchen, shoving Minho out of the way to get to the kitchen cabinet almost overflowing with mugs. You decide it’s finally getting too crowded in the kitchen, and leave it again. You’re absolutely not a morning person, and can’t deal with the boys’ constant bickering without having experienced the positive effect of the caffeine you’re currently consuming.

Seungmin is sitting on one of the sofas, currently scrolling through Instagram and apparently trying to like every cute puppy pic in existence. “Morning.”, you greet him and take a seat beside him, peeking over his shoulder and cooing at an extremely cute baby golden retriever. Seungmin just greets you with a curt nod of his head, not being a morning person either, and keeps scrolling. Minutes later, Felix enters the living room, balancing a giant plate of fresh pancakes in front of him while all the other boys follow him like stray dogs. “What would you guys even do without Felix cooking for you all the time?”, you ask, mouth watering when you inhale the delicious smell. “Starve and die.”, Seungmin deadpans, while Jeongin answers: “We’d have to look at Hyunjin’s ugly bloated face every day because we’d solely live off ramen.” Hyunjin hits the back of his head for that, but the younger boy just shoots him his cheshire cat grin. “I mean, I could cook too, I guess.”, Chan says, frowning, and everyone bursts into loud laughter. “Wow okay, I’ll try not to take this personally…”, your boyfriend grumbles, and sits down at the dining table. You slide onto the chair next to him, and pat his thigh affectionately. “I love you, babe, but you literally didn’t know how to whisk eggs when we wanted to bake cookies last week.”, you say, and Chan sighs. “That’s... sadly fair. But I could learn!”

“No offense, but we actually like our kitchen intact - thanks for your humble offering though. If Felix should die unexpectedly, we might get back to you.”, Minho answers, and before the situation can escalate into a playful bickering battle, Felix yells “SO, WHO WANTS PANCAKES?!”, successfully managing to distract everyone.

One and a half hours later, everyone is packed and ready to go - you’ve planned this little getaway for almost two months now, everyone having finished their first round of exams at this time of year and being able to just relax for a bit. For some reason, the boys had wanted to go camping, and as you, Jisung’s girlfriend Lina and Hyunjin’s girlfriend Marie were clearly outnumbered by the boys, you hadn’t really had the chance to disagree with them. But you honestly don’t even mind, having gone camping lots of times already and just being happy to enjoy some time with your closest friends. Only Changbin won’t be able to join you guys, as he’s currently doing an internship and wasn’t able to request some time off.

Chan is just about to lock the front door to the frat house, when Jeongin zooms past you, yelling for his older roommate to wait. “I forgot something extremely important!”, he explains, almost breathless, and disappears into the house again. “What’s he getting now?”, your boyfriend wonders, and shoots you a questioning gaze. You just shrug, and let your bag fall to the ground, too lazy to hold onto it while waiting for the youngest of your group. A few minutes later, Jeongin comes back, a huge grin on his face and a giant stuffed animal in his arms. Chan blinks a few times, and opens his mouth to say something, but he gets cut off by the younger boy: “You guys can cuddle with each other, but I’d rather throw myself off a cliff than cuddle with Minho, Felix or Seungmin, whoever I’ll end up sharing a tent with. But I do wanna cuddle with someone, so Mr. Sunshine it is.”, he explains stoically, and you just nod in support. “I totally get that, plus I wouldn’t be too sure that Minho doesn’t just turn into a bat or something like that during the night. He’s at least part demon, we all know that.”, you say, and Jeongin giggles.

You’re truly prepared to give him anything whenever he smiles at you like this, his eyes almost disappearing, teeth almost blindingly bright. While you detain from squishing his cheeks, you do poke the dimple on his left one, being too endeared by him. He swats your hand away, of course he does, but you still bask in the victory of having poked his cheek. One thing to cross off your to-do-list for today.

“Okay, let’s go to the others.”, Chan finally says after locking the house, and without you having to say anything, he takes his and your bag and walks over to where the others are waiting beside the cars. Chivalry is not dead and you’re ready to swoon over your amazing boyfriend. “Okay, we still have to pick up Jisung, Lina and Marie.”, Chan says after he’s put your bags into the trunk of his car, “So, who’s gonna ride in which car?” “Well I obviously want to ride with Marie.”, Hyunjin says, a goofy smile on his face - they have been together for almost a year now, but he’s still very much extremely whipped for her, but luckily, she seems to feel the exact same way -, and Minho murmurs a sarcastic “Shocking, really.” under his breath. “I want Jisung and Lina in our car.”, you quickly say, and Chan gives you a short nod. Of course you’d say that - Jisung is your best friend after all, and you’ve grown quite close to Lina as well. You’re also good friends with Marie, but Jisung just wins this round - not that you’d ever tell that to his face, he’s too cocky as it is, no need to push his ego even more. “Then Minho, you take Hyunjin, Marie, Felix and Seungmin, and I take Y/N, Jisung, Lina and Jeongin, okay?”, Chan suggests, and everyone agrees. Five minutes later, all the bags are safely stored away and everyone has taken their seats. Being Chan’s girlfriend means you get to ride shotgun, something you’re more than thankful for, knowing how crowded the backseat is going to be once you’ve picked up Jisung and Lina. “See you in a bit!”, Felix yells through his open window, and flashes you his extremely cute gummy smile. You wave at him, immediately returning his smile, and successfully ignore Minho’s mock salute and cocky grin while he backs out of his parking spot, almost cutting Chan off.

Twenty minutes later, Jisung and Lina are squished into the backseat with Jeongin, all three having bright smiles on their faces. “Road trip, whoop!”, Jisung yells and gives you a high five, “Happy to have a few days with y’all before we have to face the sad reality of probably having failed most of our exams!” Lina beside him rolls her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic, I’m sure most of us will have aced everything.”, she says, and Jisung wraps his arm around her and kisses her temple. “Sorry, but I have literally only one functioning brain cell and I use it to overthink.”, he explains, yelping when she playfully tickles his side. You chuckle at their bickering, and hit play on your road trip playlist - a second later, Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody fills the car, all of you immediately beginning to sing along. “LET’S GO!”, Chan yells over the sad attempts of everyone trying to imitate Freddy Mercury, and backs out of the parking lot. You smile and interlace your fingers with his. He cheekily returns your smile, and raises your intertwined hands to his lips to press a soft kiss against your knuckles. Over a year of being with him, but you still swoon over this simple yet sweet gesture. Yes, you’re just that whipped for your boyfriend, and what about it.

It doesn’t take long for you guys to arrive on the interstate, you and Jisung trying to trump each other's impressions of Beyoncé singing Single Ladies (and failing miserably, sorry Queen B). Your belly almost hurts from laughing with your friends, and you can’t wait for the rest of the weekend to begin.

Minho’s car arrives before Chan’s, and of course he’s gloating about it the second you guys join forces again. But you can let him have this small victory, and decide to just ignore him for now, helping Chan get the bags out of his car and to the campsite. It’s quite cold, the air crisp now that the sun is slowly beginning to set again, but you brought lots of blankets and sleeping bags, so you should be fine. And at least the weather means there aren’t any other campers here right now, so you have the whole area, including the washing rooms, to yourselves, which is nice.

Setting up camp takes longer than anticipated, mostly because Jisung somehow manages to crash into his and Lina’s almost finished tent twice, which means they have to start from the very beginning again. She truly has the patience of a saint, simply smacking him over the head rather playfully before picking up the sad remains of their tent to begin the whole building process again. Chan and you, having gone camping lots of times already, are quickest with finishing your tent, so afterwards you offer to help Jisung and Lina with theirs, while Chan does the same for Minho and Jeongin. Marie, an experienced scout, has set up hers and Hyunjin’s tent in record time as well, and takes pity on Felix and Seungmin, quickly building the tent for them. After an hour, your camp has successfully been built, and everyone begins to search for firewood.

Felix decides to make a giant pot of spicy chili sin carne for tonight’s dinner, and as soon as all the plates are filled, your conversations slowly dwindle down, everyone too busy with eating. “Lix, you’re a cooking genius, Gordon Ramsey found jobless.”, Marie says around a mouthful of chili, giving the blonde boy a bright smile and the thumbs up. He waves her compliment aside, blushing profoundly. “Thanks, but it’s honestly not that difficult - you just have to follow the recipe, if you’re too scared to improvise.”, he murmurs, and she throws a small piece of kindling at him. “You should really learn how to take compliments.”, she teases playfully, and he shrugs. “Okay, okay, I’m the best cook ever.”, he says sarcastically, and Minho raises one eyebrow. “Whoa, now don’t get ahead of yourself.”, he replies, and Felix smacks him over the head. “You can’t cook at all, so for once, you should just stay quiet.”, you say, and Minho sighs dramatically. “What can I say… We all have our weaknesses. I, for example, am extremely good-looking and tragically funny.”

You almost choke on your chili because of his audacity, and lift your fork in front of your face, staring through it and at Minho, who just frowns at you. “What are you doing? Why are you looking at me through your fork?”, he asks, obviously confused by your behavior, and you give him a lopsided smile. “I’m pretending you’re in jail, it’s spiritually healing.”, you explain, and Chan beside you bursts into laughter, the others following him quickly. Minho begins to pout and sticks out his tongue at you, always the mature one. “It’s okay if you don’t enjoy my dashing looks and hilarious humor, not everyone has good taste. That’s why you picked Chan over me after all.”, he claims, and you answer by throwing a piece of wood his way, making him squeal and dive for cover. Just then, the flames of your fire flicker and slowly begin to die down. Seungmin, Jeongin and Hyunjin stand up to go get some more firewood, but somehow, the latter one’s shoe gets caught between two logs and with a loud yelp, he tumbles to the ground. “What the Hell is he doing?!”, Chan groans, and Jeongin deadpans “Sadly his best.”, before he begins walking over towards his friend to help him, but Marie is faster, already dragging her boyfriend up from the ground with tears of laughter in her eyes. Hyunjin’s cheeks are red from embarrassment and he murmurs something about nature being out to get him, before he, Marie and the other two boys disappear into the forest to get more firewood.

The rest of the evening is filled with playful banter, soft guitar music from Jisung, and funny childhood stories. Lina soon begins to nod off, her head resting on her boyfriend’s shoulder while he continues to strum a soft tune on his guitar, humming along. When he notices his girlfriend is about to wander into Morpheus’ realm though, he’s quick to place the guitar back into its bag, and wraps both arms around her. “I think it’s time for us to retire, huh?”, he says, leaving a gentle kiss on Lina’s forehead. She blinks sleepily, and smiles up at him. “It’s pretty safe to assume that at any given moment, I want to go back to sleep - so yes, I agree, time to retire.”, she answers, and Jisung chuckles, before standing up to declare: “Well, we’re off to bed now!” Minho and Seungmin boo immediately, while Jeongin murmurs something like “Old people” under his breath - even though he’s literally only one year younger than most of you guys.

“So, as I’m legally required to kiss my homies goodnight, y’all getting some smooches!”, Jisung says, already walking towards where Hyunjin and Marie are sitting, bodies entangled and breaths mingling. Hyunjin looks up and shoots his friend a murderous look. “I swear, if you kiss me, I’m going to dump you into the river.”, he threatens, but Jisung just grins. “How about you dump your girlfriend instead and run away with me? We’d make such a pretty couple.”, he says, making Hyunjin roll his eyes. “Bro, no offense, but I’d be the pretty one in this relationship, and while everyone can clearly see you already have quite the experience being the ugly one in a relationship” with that, Hyunjin first points at Jisung and then at Lina, who bursts out laughing, “I don’t think I’m ready to hear your constant whining about my face being prettier than yours. So thanks, but no thanks, I’ll stay with Marie.” “Wow, I feel so honored and loved right now, babe.”, Marie says sarcastically, “But does this mean you think you’re the pretty one in this relationship as well?” Hyunjin goes into instant panic mode, quickly reassuring his girlfriend that she’s far prettier than him, while she tries to keep a stern expression on her face, but everyone can clearly see the way her lips twitch. She just loves teasing Hyunjin, and you honestly can’t blame her for that, especially not when it’s just so easy.

“Okay, goodnight, then!”, Lina interrupts their playful bickering, and gives everyone a soft smile, before dragging Jisung towards their tent. Everyone wishes them a good night and sweet dreams as well, and then Seungmin clears his throat. “Time for some ghost stories, don’t you think?”, he says, voice low and grin almost evil when his eyes find Hyunjin, who immediately falls silent. Everyone knows he’s a huge scaredy cat, which is quite funny seeing as his own girlfriend is a big fan of horror movies and stories. Truly a match made in Heaven. Seungmin just raises one eyebrow, expression challenging - but when no one contradicts him, he begins to tell his first ghost story.

It doesn’t take long until Hyunjin is pretty much sitting on Marie’s lap, shooting daggers at his friend while his girlfriend is trying very hard not to laugh at him. You yourself cuddle closer to your own boyfriend, smiling when he presses a soft kiss against your temple. Your eyes rest on the big bonfire, following some sparks drifting into the dark night sky from time to time, and you sigh contently. This, right here, is your happy place - in the midst of your friends, just laughing and joking with them, not a care in the world. Midterms lie behind you, and you’re currently not even thinking about your grades for once, your anxiety at rest. This trip was truly a great idea, maybe even Jisung’s best one so far.

“Okay, wanna hear a really creepy one-”, Seungmin begins, and Hyunjin has finally had enough, standing up and taking Marie’s hand into his. “Well, goodnight!”, he says, a determined expression on his face, and pulls his girlfriend towards their tent. Marie suppresses an amused smile at her boyfriend’s dramatics, and waves at everyone, before following him inside the tent. Seungmin just grins evilly and shrugs. “He’s so soft hearted.”, he then says, and leans back, obviously content with his work. “Okay, maybe it’s three demons, not only two.”, you murmur into Chan’s ear, and he chuckles. You’re always joking about Minho and Hyunjin being demons, as they’re constantly testing your nerves by just being themselves, plus they were definitely the main plotters behind the plan to get you and Chan together - not that you’re complaining about it as their plan had worked pretty perfectly and in your favor. “In the end you’ll probably find that I live with six demons.”, your boyfriend murmurs, and begins to play with your fingers. You shake your head. “Oh no, Felix is definitely an angel, not a demon.”, you disagree, and Chan nods. “Okay, that’s true. The others though… Well, time will tell, I guess.” “Or holy water.” He just laughs and gives you a quick peck on the lips. When you want to deepen the kiss, he draws back. “Later.”, he murmurs against your lips, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, and you shiver involuntarily. He grins at your reaction, before turning his attention to Seungmin’s new ghost story again.

You on the other hand feel hot and bothered all of the sudden, and decide to tease your boyfriend a bit. So you place your hand on his thigh, not moving it for some time, until you slowly slide it higher, bit by bit. At first, Chan doesn’t seem to notice or care, until you’re getting dangerously close to his crotch. Then, he quickly leans forward so the others can’t see what you’re doing, and glares at you. “What are you doing?”, he asks, voice low, and you smile innocently. “Nothing.”, you answer, and have finally reached your desired destination, slowly beginning to palm his semi over his jeans. “How about you be a good girl and stop?”, he breathes out, but you know he doesn’t actually want you to stop - you know him well enough for that by now. Still, you decide to play along. “Oh, I’ll gladly be your good girl.”, you whisper, and quickly withdraw your hand. He groans at your words and the sudden lack of contact, and locks eyes with you. “Tent. Now.”, he grits out, and stands up, pulling you with him and hugging you from behind so your body hides his erection from the others. “We’re tired too, so goodnight!”, he says in a fake cheerful voice, and you have to hide your shit-eating grin while innocently waving at the others. “Oh you’re in so much trouble now, babe.”, Chan murmurs into your ear while you walk towards your tent, and bites down on your lobe. You feel arousal gather between your legs, stomach jolting at his words. You and Chan have a very playful relationship, full of bantering and loving jokes, and your dynamic in the bedroom isn’t that different - there’s a lot of bickering too, you being a total brat at times, while he’s more on the dominant side, enjoying making you obedient.

As soon as he closes the tent behind you and turns around to watch you with an almost predatory gaze, you know you might have been a bit too forward at the bonfire. But it’s too late to back down now, so you simply raise both eyebrows, a challenging expression on your face. “So you think touching me like that in front of our friends is okay?”, Chan asks, his voice low and dark. You tilt your head to one side. “I mean, you didn’t seem opposed to it, to be honest.”, you answer, and now he’s the one to lift both eyebrows. “I want you out of your clothes, now.”, your boyfriend orders, and for once, you follow his command immediately, knowing this is for your own good this time. So you quickly wiggle out of your jeans and take off your jumper, shivering in the cold night air. Only left in your panties and bra, Chan smirks to himself, before crawling over your body and beginning to kiss you slowly. You gasp into his mouth when one of his warm hands finds your waist, drawing lazy circles against it, before traveling higher to cup your breast over your bra. His thumb rubs over your clothed nipple before pinching it, hard, and you arch your back, breath hitching.

“So, let’s see how quiet you can stay while I eat you out, hm? Remember, the walls of the tent are too thin to mask any noises.”, Chan whispers against your lips, before he suddenly descends down your body. Oh no, you know you’re screwed. He’ll try to make you scream his name, but while you’re quite open about sex and have no problem talking about it with your friends, you definitely don’t need them to hear you during the actual act. Maybe you shouldn’t have teased your boyfriend after all - but it’s too late now, he’s determined. He spreads your legs, and begins to leave soft love bites on the inside of your thighs. You’re trembling already, and it’s not because of the cold alone. Chan always has this effect on you, no matter how often he touches you - you’ll never get used to it. He plays with the hem of your panties, until he finally drags them down your legs, his warm breath hitting your wet core. You begin to squirm, impatient to have him finally touch you where you need him most. He smacks your thigh, the crack resounding through the tent, and you yelp. “Chan.”, you hiss, and he grins cheekily, before suddenly pressing his thumb to your clit, beginning to draw lazy circles against it. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and you clamp one hand over your mouth to mask any noises.

Chan soon replaces his thumb with his mouth, sucking on your clit like his life depends on it while simultaneously sliding two fingers inside your heat. A loud moan tears from your lips and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to stifle your noises but already failing miserably. You feel Chan smirk against you, and then, he slips a third finger inside you, curling them upwards and picking up the pace. You buck your hips against his gentle ministrations, skin feeling too hot and too tight already, goosebumps rising all over your body. It doesn’t take long until you begin to tremble, your high approaching rather quickly, and you’re this close to finally snapping, when Chan draws back from your core, face glistening with your juices, his smirk almost devilish. “I can’t hear you, babe, are you even enjoying this?”, he murmurs, back to drawing lazy patterns on your clit with his thumb. You feel frustration wash over you, and shoot him a dark glare. His grin gets even wider, before he completely withdraws his hand from your heat to suck on his glistening fingers. You close your eyes for a few seconds, trying to gather your wits, until Chan slaps your thigh again. “Look at me, baby.”, he says, voice dark, and your eyes snap open again. You begin to pout. “Please.”, you mumble, trying your best to appeal to his softer side, “I’m sorry I was a brat earlier. You know I can’t be loud or the others might hear us.” Your boyfriend just hums, hands ghosting over your thighs and leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Too bad, I guess you can’t cum tonight then.” And before you’re able to reply anything, he dives back in-between your folds.

You throw one arm over your mouth, and bite your own soft flesh to suppress any noises. It takes little to no time until you’re close to your orgasm again, but for the second time tonight, Chan draws back in the last possible second. You’re almost ready to cry with frustration now, eyes glistening with unshed tears. When your boyfriend sees this, he softens a bit and leans towards you to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “This is what you get for being a brat.”, he murmurs, and you bite down on his lower lip, making him groan into your mouth. “Please.”, you whisper and try your best puppy eyes on him. He just smirks again, finally ridding himself off his shirt, jeans and underwear. When he’s fully naked in front of you, you sigh, eyes raking his beautiful, defined body. Unlike you, Chan actually enjoys going to the gym - and his effort pays off. “Stop drooling.”, he says, sounding way too pleased and cocky in your opinion. So you quickly sit up, and wrap one hand around his hard cock, already leaking with pre-cum. Good to see you’re not the only one being affected by this, you think and grin. You begin to slowly jerk him off, spreading the pre-cum over the rest of his cock as lube. He groans, lower lip pulled back between his teeth and eyes almost black with desire. Finally, he’s had enough, and pushes you on your back again, hovering over you. “There’s condoms in the bag behind you.”, he murmurs, leaving gentle kisses on your neck until he finds your sweet spot, beginning to suck on it. You moan almost inaudible, fingers fumbling for said bag to retrieve a condom.

Just seconds later, Chan rolls it over his cock, and then, he aligns himself in front of your wet core, teasingly rubbing your clit before you shoot him a pleading look. He finally sheathes himself into you with one swift motion, and you both moan out loud at the feeling. You quickly cough to cover the noise, making Chan chuckle and press a kiss against your forehead. “You’re okay?”, he asks, and you nod, biting down on his neck and leaving a hickey. He groans and finally begins to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into you, immediately hitting that spot. Your fingers wrap around his biceps, needing something to hold onto while he drills into you. Suddenly, he pulls out of you to sit back on his knees, wrapping your legs around his hips, and thrusts back into you at an even deeper angle, simultaneously picking up the pace. One of his hands snakes towards your neck and he wraps his fingers around the base of your throat, using just enough pressure to make breathing harder for you. When his thumb begins to circle your clit again, you close your eyes, clamping one hand over your mouth to mask your almost obscene noises.

“C-Chan, I’m so c-close.”, you say in between two moans, and he grins, murmuring a “That’s my girl” under his breath before deepening the angle even more. He suddenly pinches your clit once, and that’s all it takes for you to finally tumble over the edge, his name leaving your lips maybe a bit too loud this time. He quickly leans forward to seal your mouth with his, chasing his own high while guiding you through yours. Not long after, he groans and presses his forehead against yours, shuddering a bit while releasing into the condom. He stills inside you, both your breaths mingling, hearts beating fast while you try to come down from your high. Chan smiles, brushing some of your hair out of your face, and gives you a soft, sweet kiss. “I love you.”, he murmurs, and you return his smile. “Love you more.”, you whisper back, and he chuckles. “Impossible.”

Before you can begin to playfully argue, Minho’s voice cuts through the night “Next time we’ll build the tents far away from each other, y’all are nasty for doing it with us sitting almost right next you.” Both you and Chan freeze, before you burst out laughing. “WE HAVE ZERO REGRETS.”, you yell back, hearing the others groan. “WELL, YOU REALLY SHOULD THOUGH!”, Jisung complains from somewhere to your left, and you hear Lina starting to giggle. You groan and bury your face into Chan’s neck. “They’ll never let us hear the end of this, will they.”, you murmur against his soft skin, and he shakes his head. “Nope.” You sigh and lean back. “Well, it was still worth it.”, you say, and grin up at him. Your boyfriend just smirks and leans down to kiss you again. “Oh, definitely.”

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saynotoshityouhate · 3 years

Text

Squirt Guns & Switches (Adam Sackler x Reader)

summary: Your childish boyfriend ruined your nephew's birthday gift - but that didn't ruin your evening.

notes: this was my first submission to a fic exchange ( @adcuficexchange ) ever - something that really pushed myself out of my comfort zone but now I’m addicted. I wrote this for the lovely @leatherboundbirate and while it’s not my best work (and I desperately want to try it again now that I know what I’m doing) I still had fun writing it and hope you liked it! 💕

cw: oral (f receiving), PIV, squirt gun play

Summer in NYC was sweltering at best. The air was thick with humidity and sweat. The tall buildings and black asphalt held all of the heat at street level. Your small apartment had one window AC unit that you only turned on to sleep. You and your boyfriend, Adam, were struggling actors and living in NYC was expensive enough without the small comfort of cool air.

It was your nephew’s birthday party tomorrow, and you still needed to wrap his gift. You got out the wrapping paper, tape and scissors from the back corner of your closet, along with the shopping bag that held his gift, and set them at the kitchen table to put the gift together. You poured yourself a tall glass of ice water, attempting to cool your body down more, as wearing only a thin white tank top and gym shorts wasn’t doing the trick.

As you sat down, the front door flew open. Adam, a towering presence, crashed into the living room, kicking off his shoes and tossing his red backpack onto the couch. “Hey kid,” Adam kissed your cheek, “How was your day?” He whipped off his t-shirt, revealing his structured chest that was covered in a sheen of sweat. His skin was adorned with millions of little brown freckles and moles, a walking game of connect the dots - your favorite hobby was to trace them and find new constellations across his back.

“Oooooh shit, I’ve always wanted one of these!” Adam picked up the newest version of the SuperSoaker Squirt Gun - the gift you had purchased for your nephew, before you even had a chance to answer. “Hey put that back, that’s for tomorrow!” The heat had drained the patience from your soul, even if he got cuter when he was excited about something.

Before you knew it, he had ripped the packaging apart, eliciting a groan from you. “Ugh, seriously Adam?” Adam chuckled. “Kids have too many toys these days anyways. I’d be content with a stick…and a magnifying glass.” You rolled your eyes. “You were one of those kids who lit ants on fire, weren’t you.” He stuck his tongue out at you as he turned on the sink to fill up the squirt gun’s large tank.

You stood, hands on your hips, still pissed that you’d have to buy a new gift in the morning. “Adam, don’t you dare.” Adam grinned wide, showing off his goofy smile that made you absolutely melt. You tried to hold firm, but then he fired. “wanna see your tits….” He sprayed the squirt gun across your chest, dampening your white tank top. You squealed, the ice cold water soaking through the thin fabric, quickly revealing the fact that you hadn’t put a bra on this morning. It was too hot!

“Adam!!!” You whined, stomping your feet. “Give me that!” You charged towards him, grabbing at the squirt gun. Adam held the gun above his head and skipped around the apartment chanting “You’re not wearing a bra! You’re not wearing a bra!” He was too tall for you to reach it, but you knew exactly what to do to get him to listen to you.

Taking a deep breath and looking up at him with puppy dog eyes, you grabbed the hem of your tank top. “My shirt is so wet Adam, I should probably take it off.” You lifted the shirt over your head, revealing your breasts. Adam dropped his arms from above his head, and set the squirt gun off to the side. Like two magnets, his large hands latched on, holding their weight and softness. You gasped slightly, knowing this would be his reaction but never fully prepared for how wonderful it felt. He knelt down, bringing your chest to eye level, as he laid gentle kisses on and around your breasts. You brushed your fingers through his mop of dark hair, reveling in the feelings coursing through you.

You hated to interrupt, but this was your one opportunity. You grabbed the squirt gun which was just off to the side and taking a step back, you fired. Adam was knocked off balance, too engrossed in your tits to realize you had bested him. You copied his actions, spraying his chest, until you saw the tent that had formed in his shorts. You laughed, always surprised by the small things about you that turned Adam on - like when you took control.

Adam’s eyes were blown wide, surprised by your actions but also incredibly excited for whatever was going to come next. Your eyes glistened with mischievous excitement. You shot one quick squirt of water just to the side of Adam’s hardening cock. He grunted, his hips thrusting slightly, seeking friction. You laughed again. “You’re a needy little brat, aren’t you? Stealing my gift, holding it out of my grasp, getting my shirt wet…” You sprayed the gun again, this time to the other side. He grunted again. “Kid, come on, gimme a break.” Adam pleaded.

You slowly walked toward Adam, squirt gun pointed at his crotch. “You ruined my gift, Adam.” You sprayed the base of his erection, drawing a groan from your prey. “Now I have to go shopping in the morning.” You sprayed the head of his cock. “Fuhuuck, I’m sorry,” Adam mumbled. “What did you say, babe? I couldn’t hear you.” You stood over him, your legs straddled over his hips, squirt gun pointed straight down.

Adam grabbed your calves, rubbing up and down. “Y/n, I’m…” you sprayed a long stream of icy cold water, slowly, from base to tip. “Hands off, Sackler. Not until I hear an apology.” Adam’s head rolled back, his hands falling to his side and his hips jutting upwards. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” he yelled, bringing his deep golden eyes back to meet yours. You smiled, taking a step forward and lowering yourself down to sit on his stomach. “That wasn’t too difficult, now was it?” You held the squirt gun above your head, resting your other hand on his chest and leaning in, you placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Your breasts fell right in his eye line, taking every ounce of his self control not to open his perfect pink lips and take one into his mouth.

You stood up, setting the squirt gun back on the table. “Now, here’s how you’re going to make it up to me. Not only are you going to replace the gift you ruined before I have to leave in the morning, but you’re going to make me feel good. I’ve had a long fucking day. I really just wanted to wrap this gift and spend the evening with my wonderful, caring, doting boyfriend. I wanted to make him feel good.” You shimmied your hips, pushing your shorts and underwear down to your ankles. Kicking them off to the side and taking a large step forward, you looked down at Adam, who was salivating. “Do you think you can make me feel good, baby?” Adam nodded his head, swallowing thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

You smiled down at your large, usually intimidating, boyfriend. Not only was he goofy, and silly, and sweet - but he could be strong, and dominating, and rough around the edges. You loved that about him - never knowing what to expect. It kept you excited - and he felt the same way about you. You slowly lowered yourself, his tentative hands gently guiding you, unsure whether he was allowed to touch you or not. “Please touch me,” you breathed, covering his hands with yours, your warmth easing itself onto his eagerly awaiting face.

Adam knew what he was doing, knowing exactly how to draw reactions from you, whether they were feelings of pleasure, frustration, or pure need. He used his lips and tongue, his breath and the vibrations of his own pleasure to drive you absolutely crazy. From the start, you weren’t sure how long you’d be able to hold out. Your hips moved in slow circles, your heavy head lolled back, and your hands, unable to find a home in one place, moved from Adam’s hair, to reaching behind you, grabbing at his now painfully hard erection through his shorts. “Babe, you make me feel so good, make me cum baby, please,” you whined, quickening the movement of your hips. Adam chuckled, the deep vibrations of his laughter drawing a high pitched squeal from you. He was in charge now.

Adam moved his hands up to your hips, and in one swift motion, he had you on your back. Lifting his head and pushing your legs apart, he settled himself up on his knees between your legs. “I’d be happy to go shopping for you, kid. But I know the best way to make you feel good is my cock in this tight pussy of yours. I was just gettin’ it ready earlier.” Adam pushed his shorts and boxers down just enough to free himself, the tip red and angry and leaking precum. “Please Adam,” you cried, desperately, “I need you.” That was all he needed. In one movement, he entered you, fully and deeply. He was right, his early actions had you more than prepared for his above average size. You had already been so close - it only took a few deep strokes and taps of his finger on your clit for you to lose control. Your orgasm crashed over you, babbling nonsense and soaking Adam’s cock with your arousal.

“Couldn’t even last for me, could you, kid? Now you’ve gotta wait for me, can you do that?” Adam’s thrusts became messy, his hair fell in front of his eyes and stuck to his face where your taste still lingered. You sighed, pushing his hair out of his eyes, reveling in the full, warm feeling that had washed over you. “I can wait for you, please cum for me, Adam. I want you to fill me up, Adam. Please.” That was enough for him, stuttering once more and groaning into his release.

You both laid on the kitchen floor, close...but not too close - the heat of the day and your activities didn’t bode well for post-coital cuddling, the squirt gun still sitting perfectly on it’s perch. Who knew a squirt gun could lead to so much enjoyment?

#adam sackler fanfic #adam sackler smut #adcu fic exchange #adcu summer fic exchange #adcu community #adcu #adam sackler x you #adam sackler x reader #Adam sackler

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themattgirl · 3 years

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Hiii, I was wondering if you could please do another part to breathless? I would like to see where she confronts the friend please?

Hii, I‘m sorry that this came so late. The past year has been shit and I just couldn’t motivate myself to write anything because i knew it’d be something depressing and I didn’t want to do that because that would result in me being even more depressed sooo anyway... I‘m finally back and ready to deliver. Enjoy, my lovelies! ✨

Please read Breathless first to understand this if you haven’t already.

Relentless

Sequel to Breathless

Right in front of the door a white Tesla is waiting for Y/N. The guy sitting behind the steering wheel is looking out of the rolled down window with a cigarette between his index and middle finger, facing the street opposite Y/N’s and her boyfriend’s living place. He jumps in shock when he turns his head to face the person who cleared their throat only to find Harry standing there bent down and looking down at the smoker.

“This spot isn’t for you to park your car in, sorry.” Harry speaks after the boy’s face doesn’t look like he just saw a ghost anymore.

“I was waiting for her actually,” he tells him a little nervous and points to Y/N behind Harry. “We’ll get lost in a sec, c’mon babe, get in.”

Harry turns around and looks at her just so the guy doesn’t see the smirk he can’t keep at bay. Y/N hides hers by licking her lips. Harry faces forward again, but points over his shoulder with his thumb. “Oh, you mean Y/N? Why would she get in your car? How do you know her?” he asks questions he knows the answers well enough to.

“We’ve been friends since forever. We were gonna hang out today, but I don’t understand how that would be any of your business.”

“Ah, sorry, yes. You don’t know me. Let me introduce myself.”

Harry walks around the front of the car to the passenger side, Y/N right on his heels. He opens the car door and slides himself into the seat, not shutting the door yet, but holding his hand out for the boy to shake. “I’m Harry Styles,” he puts on a smile that shows his dimples while Y/N climbs onto his lap, now straddling him.

She cups Harry’s face and turns it so he faces her and leans down to lock their lips. It was just a simple kiss, lips meeting lips.

“I’m Y/N’s boyfriend,” Harry tells him, the smile turning into a mischievous smirk when he feels his girlfriend’s lips on his neck. “Who are you?” he keeps talking as if Y/N isn’t sucking a hickey right below his ear.

“I-I didn’t... uhh. Woah, s-sorry I–” the boy stammers with wide eyes, his cigarette long fallen from between his fingers to the ground out of the window. Y/N doesn’t seem to care about anything he has to say, because after kissing the dark red spot on Harry’s jaw better, she grabs his face and turns his head to her again so she can connect their lips again. This time she uses her tongue, too. It’s not a simple kiss anymore, they are full on making out in the car of someone who only came because he expected to have his dick sucked in the next 20 minutes.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, I was told you give head for free,” the poor boy seems very confused.

Y/N separates herself from Harry and faces the third wheeler, “I do, but that deal only applies to that one here, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” Harry laughs.

“He’s right, I’m really not sorry at all.”

“Wait, so–” The guy starts but cuts himself off to think before deciding to speak again. “So, does that mean I’d have to pay? How much–”

This time it’s Harry who interrupts his talking, “No, you prick. It means the only dick she swallows is mine.”

He has been friendly throughout this whole exchange, but this is the moment he was waiting for so patiently. The moment this scumbag proves he is a scumbag. How dare he assume that precious Y/N would seriously do anything with him, that she would want to do it with him? How does he translate her sitting on Harry Styles’ lap, making out with him, giving him hickeys and even saying she doesn’t do whatever he heard she does into it meaning she’d suck his little thing for a ridiculous amount of money?

His stupid question got Y/N just as mad, he can see it in her face and hear it through the way her breathing changed. And as much as Harry wants to just punch that wanker in the face and cut the top of his head off to check if there’s a brain inside, he promised Y/N he’d let her handle it herself. She didn’t tell him what she was thinking of doing though, so he’s curious to see what her crazy mind came up with this time. He is also kind of apprehensive because he knows when Y/N gets mad, she gets mad mad. And to see the put on guilty look on her face already meant trouble for the tosser in the driver’s seat.

“The only person whose dick I take into my mouth is Harry’s and honestly it’s more than enough for me. He’s quite big, you know? He fills me out completely and not only my mouth, you should see us fuck. Oof. Look, I don’t usually have to gag from anything but sometimes when he’s fucking my mouth it just happens. I gag around him and I can’t help it, it’s just too much sometimes. Do you think your little friend would make me gag?” She speaks lowly, but somehow still sounds innocent in a way. Harry squeezes her hips in question after that last sentence but Y/N rubs his cheek with her thumb as a way of telling him she knows what she’s doing. He trusts her enough to relax again. She continues.

“Hm, we can’t check that obviously. But do you think I’d be overwhelmed if we tried? Imagine my lips wrapped around your cock, my hands gripping your thighs-” she places one hand on his thigh, “-because I can’t keep my balance from how hard you’d fuck my mouth. And tears starting to make my vision swimmy because you keep hitting the back of my throat with the head of your dick. Would I gag? Oh gosh, the imagination is starting to make me wet.” She starts rubbing his thigh, very close to his crotch but not quite where he needs her hand to be.

“I wish I was in a bed right now, getting fucked. Sex with Harry is incredible, he’s very good in bed. Are you? Do you think you’d hit all my right spots? Well, Harry knows everything about me already so I guess it’d be unfair to compare, right? In fact, he knows me so well he can make me cum with his fingers in only fife minutes. Oh and one time – actually, it was more than once – it took him only seven minutes with his tongue on my pussy to get me there. It was phenomenal. God, I remember how hard I came. I doubt you could do that to me but I bet I could bring you to cloud nine really fast.” She hears his breath picking up and getting heavier.

“I won’t do anything with you obviously, but still. I know I could. Oh my God, maybe you could watch? Wouldn’t that be nice too? Me and The Harry Styles getting each other to cum multiple times? Do you like it soft or rough? You look like someone who likes rough sex. Maybe you could watch Harry tie me up and fuck me until I’m screaming. Or would you rather enjoy it if we’d tie you to a chair and make you watch us doing all the things you wish you could do. Yeah, you’d like that, huh?”

Finally, when Y/N looks down on his lap she sees the bulge in his jeans and retrieves her hand from his thigh. She leans more into him and notices his eyes fluttering shut. When her mouth hovers in front of his ear she whispers, “Go get yourself someone else to take care of your little problem here because I surely won’t.”

She pulls back, pecks Harry’s lips once and gets off his lap and out of the car. Harry throws in a quick “It was nice meeting you” and hurries after Y/N who is already walking in the direction of her own car.

Once he catches up to her and they both get in the car, he waits until she drives off before he speaks.

“What the fuck was that?”

Y/N knows he isn’t mad, but she can hear how thrown off he is. He certainly did not expect this.

“Got him hard and left him to go home with blue balls. Good, huh?” she smiles, but doesn’t take her eyes off of the road.

Harry is silent for a few long seconds, which worries her a little, but then he laughs out loud, even throwing his head back and clapping his hands twice. “Amazing!”

Y/N relaxes and chuckles along with him.

“You said you were getting wet, though. Were you?” he asks when the laughter dies down.

“Ew, no. Are you crazy? I probably would have if it wasn’t for him being there and me bringing up his dick throughout the whole... story.”

“Yeah, same.” Harry agrees.

“You would’ve been hard from what I said?” Y/N smirks and glances at him for only a second before watching the road again.

“Shut up,” he laughs. “Where’re we going?”

“Kickin’ ass.”

Once in Y/N’s ex-best-friend’s dorm room, their mood changes completely. The first thing they see is a poster on the wall next to the small single bed with a shirtless Harry Styles on it.

“Oh God,” Harry murmurs behind his girlfriend.

“What are you doing here?” Jade, the owner of the room asks.

“You hang up a poster of my boyfriend right after I move out?” Y/N ignores her question and throws in one of her own instead.

“Not a poster of your boyfriend. A poster of Harry Styles, the singer I have liked ever since I discovered music.” Jade tries to explain.

“The singer who happens to be my boyfriend. And it’s a shirtless picture, for fuck’s sake. If it was anyone else’s room I wouldn’t care to look twice and laugh about it. But the facts it’s you just makes it weird.”

“It’s not weird, it–” Y/N cuts off whatever bullshit Jade was about to say.

“It is weird and you know it. Or else you wouldn’t have waited until I was gone to hang it up.”

“Why are you here anyway?” She asks when she fails to think of something to say to Y/N’s fact.

“Get the rumours out of the world,” Y/N crosses her arms over her chest while demanding it, Harry doing the same behind her.

“Or what?” Jade has the audacity to ask.

“You don’t want to risk finding it out. Do what I said.”

“I’m not scared of you, princess. And how would I even do that anyway?”

“The same way you started it, princess. I don’t care how you do it. Go on, I’ll wait here until it’s done.” she leans back against Harry who is quick to wrap his arms around her from behind.

“If so then you can move back in, ‘cause I won’t be doing shit. It’s your problem, not mine.”

“Oh, is that so?” Y/N smiles devilishly. That’s exactly how she expected this conversation to go. Honestly, she hoped it would.

She walks further into the room and sits down on the chair by the desk, Harry behind her with his hands on her shoulders and Jade’s open laptop in front of her. She closes all the open tabs – and if there was an unsaved 28k word document then oops – before opening Twitter. Luckily Jade was logged in, just like she expected.

“I wanted to give you the chance to choose what you want to say to clear things up, but it looks like I’m gonna have to do it myself. And it’s gonna end up bad. For you, obviously.” she chuckles quietly before she starts typing away on the keyboard of the laptop in front of her and reads word for word out loud for Jade to hear.

“Get your hands off my stuff!” Jade steps forward to try and stop Y/N but Harry quickly gets in the way. He doesn’t even have to touch her, all he does is block her way to Y/N.

Y/N types and reads, “Hello dear twitties.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ridiculous, right? That’s how she starts off every single one of her Tweets,” Y/N laughs with him. “Anyway, how should I start this?”

Jade tries to get a word in but Harry speaks over her. “Make her admit she’s a liar and make her sound like a crazy bitch.”

“Mmh, I like that,” Y/N turns her head and smiles up at him, “Gimme a kiss.”

Harry leans down with a smile and does so.

Y/N faces the laptop again and starts typing, “I’m sure you all remember my post about Y/N giving BJs on campus for free. This is embarrassing to admit, but it was a lie. So I would like to apologise to her and to all of the guys who got turned down by her because of that lie. I have some good news for you, though. I did it because I wanted to see if there would actually be people contacting her and now that I’ve seen it work, I’d like to announce that I’m taking her place. I’ll be the one to suck you off. Please leave her alone and call me instead.”

“Wait, I’ll give you her phone number,” Harry suggests and fishes Y/N’s phone out of her jeans. Once the number is typed beneath the text she clicks the Tweet button so it’s for everyone to see. Then she closes everything again, but before she can shut the laptop, the picture Jade has saved as her screen wallpaper catches her eye. Not only is it a picture of Harry, but one where she herself is edited into it so it looks like he is kissing her cheek.

“Alright, this is getting too weird. C’mon babe, let’s get outta here.” Harry pulls Y/N up off the chair and leads her out of the room.

“This is a joke, right? She can’t be that sick,” Y/N murmurs more to herself than to anyone else.

“Let’s just go get you a new phone number, please.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles request #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabble #harry styles smut #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles filth #harry styles writing #harry chats

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set-phasers-to-whump · 3 years

Text

all this time been burnin’ with a fever

prompt: labor (leftover from day 6, used as an alt)

whumpee: eddie diaz

fandom: 911

heyo! i am gonna be honest i cannot figure out whether this fic sucks or is okay. i straight up have no idea. but oh well. hopefully it’s ok! this fic is pre-buddie but i suppose it doesn’t have to be? idk its a lil different from the usual pre-buddie stuff i write. also i don’t mention it in the fic but i don’t want people to worry about him so chris is like, at a sleepover :) hope you enjoy this! (title from deleter by grouplove)

When Eddie had laid down in the bunk room, he’d felt just a little bit off. He had attributed this to the current heat wave sweeping through Los Angeles, but now, he’s not so sure.

The alarm is going off and around him, his fellow firefighters are climbing out of their bunks to respond to a worker trapped under heavy equipment at a factory. Eddie gets out of bed with the rest of them, trying to pretend like his head isn’t spinning from the movement. He takes the stairs down to the truck, not liking his chances of going down the pole with his weirdly-sweaty hands.

He feels very slightly better when he sits down in the truck across from Buck. Slightly. His head has stopped spinning. Other than that, he still feels like absolute shit. He’s hot, and horribly sweaty (he can feel his hair sticking unpleasantly to his forehead), and his whole body aches like...like something. His head hurts too much to think of an appropriate metaphor.

“You okay?” Buck asks. It takes Eddie a moment to register the fact that anyone has spoken at all, and another moment to figure out a reply. By the time he says, “I’m fine,” he’s pretty sure there’s no way in hell that Buck believes him.

“Are you sure?” Buck asks, immediately after Eddie says he’s fine. Eddie sighs. He really doesn’t have the strength to insist right now.

“Yes,” he says, and hopes that it’s enough.

“Really? Cause, I don’t mean to insult you or anything, but you look kind of terrible.”

I know, Eddie thinks. I feel it, too. He says, “thanks, Buck. You’re so nice,” instead, and Buck just shakes his head.

A few minutes later, they arrive at the factory. Wanting to prove to Buck that he’s okay, Eddie shoots up from his seat as soon as the truck parks and determinedly makes his way outside, fighting through a rush of lightheadedness and forcing himself to keep moving normally.

The team heads into the building, the 911 dispatcher relaying information about their victim’s location.

“First floor, back right corner.”

Bobby leads the way, and Eddie sticks close behind him. The air-conditioning in the building has been turned off, and the atmosphere inside is choking and dry. He feels himself start to sweat even more, and wonders how that’s possible.

“Wow,” is the first thing anyone - Buck - says, when the victim comes into view. Both of his legs are pinned under a very large machine, which appears to have fallen on its side. He’s conscious, but clearly going into shock. Hen and Chim get to work on him right away, as the rest of the team analyzes the machine and waits for the paramedics to give the go-ahead to lift it away.

“You’re good to go, Cap,” Chim says, after a moment. “He’s stable for now.”

“We’re gonna need all available hands on deck for this one,” Bobby says. Hen stands up from next to the patient to join in the effort, while Chim remains with him, monitoring his vitals.

Bobby instructs everyone to different positions around the machine. Eddie is at a corner, and he braces a hand against it as they prepare to lift. He can’t remember a time when he felt this weak, but he knows he has to fight through this, has to give everything he’s got and more, to make sure that they get this man free.

“On the count of three,” Bobby says, and Eddie puts his hands on either side of the corner, pressing his feet firmly into the ground. He can do this. He has to do this. He feels so, so bad.

“Three, two, one!”

They all lift simultaneously. The machine creaks and squeaks and comes up off of the ground, and there’s a dragging sound, and Eddie’s legs are starting to shake, and his vision is going dark around the corners and his head is hurting more and more and -

“He’s out!”

They settle the machine to the floor. The second Eddie’s hands leave the metal, everything goes dark.

Eddie wakes up to the overpowering smell of ammonia. He reaches out a clumsy hand to bat the source of the smell away and hears Buck’s voice.

“He’s awake!” This is not directed at Eddie, but the next thing he says is. “I can’t believe you.”

Eddie opens his eyes and finds himself staring up at Buck’s face, half-illuminated by what he assumes is a flashlight. “What happened?” he asks, trying to sit up.

Buck’s hand presses him back to the ground, which is where he was heading anyway - even moving slightly upwards had made his head start to feel funny, and he really doesn’t want to pass out. Wait -

“You passed out,” Buck says, his voice not quite snapping at Eddie, but getting there. “We set down that machine, and you hit the floor. You wanna explain that?”

Not really, Eddie thinks. “Don’t feel good,” he says, and this time it’s Bobby who speaks to him, stepping into his field of view for the first time and bending to crouch next to him.

“I bet you don’t. You’re dehydrated and running a fever.” Eddie senses that there’s something else Bobby is going to say, but he’s interrupted by Buck.

“Even though you told me you were fine,” Buck says. “You passed out, Eddie. You’re just lucky that the patient was stable enough for Hen and Chim to check you over and make sure you weren’t, you know, dying or anything.” He sounds angry, and Eddie doesn’t blame him. He can’t believe he passed out on the job. He’s stronger than that, better than that.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Save it,” Buck says. “You think you can get up without passing out again? We need to get you back to the station.”

Eddie shrugs against the ground. This must be a good enough answer, though, because the next thing he knows, Buck’s hands are grabbing onto his own, and then Buck’s standing and pulling Eddie to his feet.

Everything starts to spin, but Eddie resolutely does not pass out. He does lean forward until Buck is practically supporting all of his weight. They walk back to the truck, awkwardly, Buck all but carrying Eddie, Bobby walking next to them.

The ride to the station is quiet. Eddie leans his head against the window and wishes that the glass was cool. But it’s warm, just like everything else, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so hot in his life. I want to go home, he thinks, and it’s not until Buck replies that he realizes he’s spoken out loud.

“You’ll go home,” he says. “We’re just going back to the station to get your stuff, and then I’m driving you there.”

Some kind of hopeful feeling rises in Eddie at the thought of Buck bringing him home, caring for him, even, but he squashes it down and protests because he has to. “You don’t have to -”

“I’m doing it. End of story,” Buck says. Eddie flinches a little at the hardness in his voice, but he knows he deserves it.

They arrive back at the station, and Buck tells Eddie to wait in the truck while he gets their stuff. Eddie slumps down in his seat and closes his eyes and tries to tell himself that he’s going to be fine, that it’s just a fever, but he’s aching and sweaty and exhausted and frankly miserable, and having a hard time believing that anything is ever going to be fine again.

“Hey,” Bobby’s voice distracts him from his rapidly darkening thoughts. Eddie opens his eyes and sits up a little on the seat. Bobby sits down across from him and touches a hand to his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

That is...not what Eddie had been expecting him to say. He’d expected a stern talking-to, at the very least. Maybe some yelling. Not concern.

He finds he doesn’t have it in him to lie. “Not really.”

“How long have you been feeling sick?”

Eddie shrugs. “I only felt a little off before going to sleep. I thought it was just the heat. It wasn’t bad until I woke up.”

Bobby nods sympathetically, and Eddie wonders why he’s not mad. Before he can think the better of it, he’s asking.

“I am upset with you,” Bobby says, but his voice is gentle. “Coming to work sick doesn’t just put you in danger. It puts the team and the people we save in danger too. You should have told me how you were feeling before we went out on that call.”

Eddie nods. “I know,” he says, “it was stupid.”

“I won't argue with that,” Bobby replies. “I want you to get home and get some rest and plenty of fluids, and don’t even think about coming back here until you’re feeling a hundred percent.”

“Okay.”

Bobby stands to leave the truck at the same moment that Buck returns, his and Eddie’s duffle bags thrown over his shoulder, keys to his Jeep in hand. “You ready to go?” he asks, voice still distant but slightly less cold.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, carefully making his way out of the truck, bracing his hands against it to keep his balance. Buck steps closer and takes on some of Eddie’s weight without either of them saying a thing, and they walk out into the parking lot.

For the first few minutes of the drive, neither of them says anything. Then, they stop at a red light, and Buck turns to look at Eddie.

“You passed out,” he says, stressing the words.

“I know,” Eddie replies. “Don’t have to remind me.”

“We were on a call, and you just passed out,” Buck continues. “Do you know what that was like? Hearing something fall to the ground and realizing it was you?”

Eddie doesn’t answer. He’s too tired to formulate any kind of response, and anyway, he’s pretty sure that these are rhetorical questions.

The light turns green, and Buck starts driving again. “It was terrifying, Eds,” and a bit of softness creeps back into his voice with the use of the nickname. “We didn’t know why you collapsed. Honestly, you’re lucky that the ambulance already had a passenger, or you’d probably be at the hospital right now.”

“It wasn’t...wasn’t that bad,” Eddie says, suddenly realizing how much worse things could be - he could be in the hospital, for what is nothing more than a fever.

“Yeah, we figured that out pretty quick when Chim started checking you over. Your fever wasn’t dangerously high or anything. You’re just sick. Normal sick, nothing scary. Chim said all you needed was some rest and some water and someone watching over you to make sure you actually got those things.”

Eddie nods, although Buck is looking at the road and can’t see him. “Glad it’s you,” he says.

“What?”

“Glad it’s you,” he repeats. “Watching over me. I didn’t think...I mean...you’re mad at me. But you’re doing it anyway.”

Buck pulls into the driveway. “Of course I am,” he says. “Watching over you. And, I mean, I’m mad at you, too. Do you have any idea how stupid it was to go on a call like this?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I just…”

“I know.”

Buck parks the car and gets out, and he’s opening Eddie’s door for him before Eddie’s hands have even found his seatbelt. Buck reaches across him and undoes it, wincing when his hand touches Eddie’s skin.

“You really are burning up,” he says. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

A few minutes later, Eddie is in bed, dressed in lightweight pajamas and lying on top of the covers because it’s way too hot beneath them. There’s a large glass of water and a bottle of tylenol sitting on the bedside table, and Buck is in his bathroom getting a damp washcloth that Eddie had tried to insist wasn’t necessary.

As soon as the cloth touches his forehead, though, he changes his mind. It feels wonderful against his overheated skin, and he sighs contentedly.

“Told you that would make you feel better,” Buck says, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. “You need anything else?”

You, Eddie thinks, but Buck is already here, taking care of him and worrying over him and making sure he’s comfortable even though he’s also still a little mad at him. It should be enough, Eddie thinks, but all he really wants is for Buck to lie down next to him. He can’t quite bring himself to ask, though. Even in his feverish state his inhibitions haven’t been lowered that much.

So he doesn’t ask Buck to lie down next to him. The extra body heat would probably be unbearable anyway. But that doesn’t mean that Buck doesn’t stay. He does, and doesn’t give Eddie much of a choice in the matter.

“I’m gonna go crash on the couch,” he says. “If you need anything, if you wake up and feel worse, anything, I’m right here, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, and closes his eyes. “Thank you.”

He can hear the soft smile in Buck’s voice when he replies, “always, Eds.”

thanks for reading!!!!! i hope you liked this fic :) i feel like i usually write something that is like a little more hopefully pre-ship but i have become such a slut for pining!eddie so. here.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump6 #i guess since thats the prompt lol #think i tagged the other one i did like this wrong my b #911 #eddie diaz #labor #aka ignoring illness and working anyway #fever #my writing #i say things #oughghh complaining for a sec but work was so much 2day....too many people. idk why we were so much busier today than yesterday like.#its tuesday who tf is checking into a hotel on a monday afternoon?#apparently a Lot of ppl #anyway in other news i am currently listening to a buddie playlist. its so nice but idk how people can make such good and long playlists!#none of mine top like. 15 songs lmao and they all Suck!#ok shuttin up. goodnight!

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whumperscorner · 3 years

Note

"Hand Gagging " for the bthb please :D

Here you go! Sorry it took some time :3 it ended up slightly longer than I had planned eheh

This is the first time I’ve written and posted any ffxv stuff (even though it is one of my longest whump fandoms eheh) so please be kind :>

BTHB#2- Hand Gagging

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Characters: Prompto Argentum, Cor Leonis

Whumpee: Prompto Argentum

Word count: 1950

Warnings: kidnapping

It’s already dark when Prompto steps out into the crisp evening air, waves one last goodbye to his friends and begins on the walk home. Gladio had offered to follow him part of the way, but Prompto had said no. He knows the way well, and it’s not too far. Besides, he really doesn’t mind walking on his own like this. He quietly hums along to a song he doesn’t remember the name of, one Iggy had put on earlier that evening, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He’d better give Cor a head’s up that he’s coming home soon.

*Omw home now.* He sends the message, puts the phone back in his pocket and blows a breath of warm air on his hands before stuffing them too into his pockets. He should’ve brought a pair of gloves, Prompto thinks as he absentmindedly crosses the street by a corner. One lone car passes slowly behind him when the phone buzzes. Prompto takes it out and the screen lights up with the new message from ‘Dad’.

*Fun evening? Eaten anything yet?*

*Yeah! And no, we sort of forgot.* That isn’t entirely true. Ignis had made valiant attempts at getting them to eat something substantial all evening, but he and Noct had been busy with Noct’s new game. Which Prompto had beaten him at fair and square, no matter what the prince would say to that. The two hadn’t really had time to focus on eating.

*There’s leftover thai, want me to heat it up for you?* Comes the answer from Cor, faster now than last time.

*Oh yeah thanks!* Thai sounds delicious right about now, and the thought makes his stomach rumble.

Prompto’s legs have been moving on autopilot up to this point, but now he glances up from the phone at his surroundings. Aside from one lone car at the end of the street, he’s the only one around. Prompto’s eyes land on a familiar old sign shaped like a pretzel and he sends another quick message to his dad.

*I’m by the old baker’s now, so I’ll be home in 10.*

*Great, see you then.*

*Yeah, see you later!*

After the exchange Prompto again stuffs the phone and his hands back in the warm pockets on his jacket. He looks quickly to both sides before crossing the road again, and well over on the other side he turns right. There’s a shortcut a bit further down that he plans on taking. Behind him, a lone car starts moving slowly in the same direction he’s going. But Prompto doesn’t notice it. His head is full of longing thoughts of warm thai food, and the song that he still doesn’t remember the name of.

He keeps walking for another few minutes, where the most interesting thing to happen is a squirrel jump-scaring him by running across the road up ahead. Then, the phone in his pocket buzzes and lights up to show a message from Noct. It’s a shot of the tv screen and the prince’s new game, with a new personal best he’s showing off. Prompto snickers and writes out the reply.

*Oh shit, didn’t know specs knew how to play that. He’s really good!*

*Screw you xD* comes the answer.

The two bicker back and forth for a good while, and Prompto vows to beat him again soon enough, which Noct does not believe he can do. Prompto smiles at the screen, letting his legs carry him absentmindedly along, he knows he can. He beats Noct fairly often, and not that he would brag or anything, but he’s pretty good when it comes to games.

Had Prompto been less distracted he would have no doubt realised something was off. He would have easily noticed the car, which has been following him down two and a half streets already. Never too far behind, but never passing him either. But Prompto hums and types excitedly as he walks along. It doesn’t occur to him to check, and why would it? He walks this way home all the time, and nothing bad has ever happened before.

Reaching the sharp left turn, Prompto begins on the way down the alley he knows will cut at least four minutes off of his normal walk. He gets a glimpse of the car when he rounds the corner, but it’s out of his line of sight soon enough. The alleyway here is narrower than the previous road, and darker too, but that doesn’t scare Prompto. Though something about that car does feel off to him. It feels familiar and gives him the strangest sense of déjà vu. Prompto makes a valiant effort to shake the feelings of unease now creeping up in him, but it doesn’t take long before the sound of tires screeching to a halt stops him in his tracks. He swirls around and scans the entrance to the alley, but no car is visible there. Still, his stomach twists uncomfortably, and he finds himself regretting that he passed up the offer from Gladio to walk with him.

A growing sense of foreboding dread settles in his stomach as Prompto slowly turns back around and keeps walking. He must be imagining things, he’s almost sure of it. Almost. The wind picks up, howling loudly in Prompto’s ears. The sound of it rustling the leaves on the ground could almost be mistaken for light footsteps. A chill runs up Prompto’s spine at the thought, but he doesn’t dare look back, instead upping his pace slightly. There’s probably nothing, says the rational part of his brain, but then again... How many times hasn’t Cor repeated that it’s better to trust your gut, and that if a situation feels off then it’s better to be safe than sorry? Well, it is better to be safe than sorry, Prompto decides and finds his dad’s number in the contact list. His finger is shaking slightly as it hovers over the call button, a combination of the cold and the nerves.

Just then, as he presses down on the button, something heavy collides with him from behind. His eyes widen and his mouth opens in a surprised shriek, but any sound is muffled by the big hand clamping over his mouth. Then he's yanked back, barely having time to register the screen on his phone changing to show the call trying to connect before it clatters down on the ground. Adrenaline and panic rushes in his ears and he struggles, instinctively twisting and squirming and trying to pull the person's arms off of him as he is dragged back. The haze of fear and confusion lifts for just long enough that Prompto's brain can finally catch up to what's actually happening, and it does in no way ease the panic. A muffled, terrified, squeal bubbles up in his throat and his struggling intensifies, limbs flailing as unknown hands grab around his face and chest. As if by a miracle his elbow connects with something soft and a pained groan sounds from behind, but if Prompto had any hope of that making things easier he was soon proven wrong. With a guttural curse the person behind changes direction, manhandling Prompto around so he almost loses his balance and pushing him up against the wall of the alleyway. A low whine, muffled by the hand, escapes as he pushes uselessly against the bricks in an attempt to give himself any leeway.

"Come quietly pretty boy, and you won't have to get hurt." A deep man’s voice hisses. The voice is low and dangerous, and the man’s breath is hot on Prompto's ear. It makes him shiver. He attempts to shake his head, to protest, he wants the man off of him. His fruitless struggling evidently makes the man laugh, a mocking bark of a sound comes from behind and then-

"-Prom? You there kid?" The call on his phone, now on the ground somewhere, has gone through. That’s Cor’s voice. Prompto recognises it instantly and relief floods through him. For a short moment both he and the man holding him stand completely still, then Prompto gathers himself and wrenches free of the grip. He gasps in a breath of fresh air.

"Dad! Da-" and the hand is back, clamping over his mouth again with bruising force and muffling the rest of his yelling.

"Prompto?! What's going on?" Cor's voice is louder as he presses on, more urgent. He can tell something is wrong, it's obvious in his voice, and the man holding Prompto curses loudly. Out of the corner of his eye Prompto sees another silhouetted person approaching. For one wonderful moment he thinks it might be someone coming to help, but it isn't. The other person strides forward, past Prompto and the man, and through Prompto's muffled yelling brings the heel of their boot down on the phone, hard. Once, then twice, until Cor's voice distorts and disappears and the broken screen flickers to black. With his dad's voice gone again Prompto feels more alone and hopeless than at any other point this evening, and fear grips his chest tight.

"Should teach Leonis to watch who he messes with." the silhouetted person turns back, and Prompto can see the sharp features of another man, mouth twisted in distain at Cor's name. He spits on the ground and starts walking again. "Let's move."

The man holding Prompto nods in response, and without warning manoeuvres him around to walk back towards the entrance to the alleyway. The sudden movement wakes Prompto from his petrified state, he stumbles, but is quick to regain his balance and plants his feet firmly on the ground. Cor knows something is going on. That means he'll come look for him, Prompto is sure of it. He can't let the men take him away before his dad comes for him. He bucks and twists in the man's grip with renewed energy, if he can only stall for long enough this will be fine. Cor will come and he will be fine. It's the only thing on Prompto's mind as the man holding him grunts in effort at keeping him subdued. A few feet up ahead, the commotion alerts the second assailant, who wastes no time rushing back towards the two.

"Stop fucking struggling." he almost spits the words as he comes closer, but Prompto meets his eyes defiantly. He doesn't intend on going along quietly, especially not when he knows Cor is coming. "Fine." the second man spits through grit teeth. Then, with no prior warning letting Prompto know to brace himself, a clenched first collides with his stomach. The impact knocks the air out of him, he cries out into the hand, and if it weren't for the man's tight grip he probably would have fallen. For a short dizzying moment he thinks he might puke, he tries to gasp, but with the hand still over his mouth it doesn't work. He's not getting enough air. Then they're on the move again, and Prompto has no choice but to follow suit. He's more carried than walked to the alley's entry, where the black car from before is parked just out of sight behind the corner. Prompto's heart sinks in his chest at the sight of it, and he tries one last time to pull the man's hands off of him. Some small part of him hopes that maybe if he can yell again now someone will hear and come help, but he's tired, and the hand won't budge anymore. He struggles still, of course, but his resisting doesn't help him as the men lock him up in the dark trunk of the car and drive off.

#bad things happen bingo #hand gagging #rasko's bthb #whump #my writing #ffxv #ffxv whump #Prompto Argentum whump #cor leonis #kidnapping #tw kidnapping #manhandling #bthb #hurt Prompto Argentum

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cockasinthebird · 4 years

Note

congratulations on reaching 500 bb, you deserve it!! can i ask for prompts 7 and 115 please?

Dear anon, Thank you!!! And thank you for sending in prompts!!

7. “I want you now.”

and

115. “Come here.”

Not in this particular order, though, but still used quite well, and while I did actually struggle just a tiny bit with deciding which idea I should go for of the numerous ones that came forth, I’m still v satisfied!!! I’ll probably have to write the other ones at some point, but first!

1.8k words, enjoy~

“Harrington!” his voice carries over the roar of a dozen teenagers talking and gossiping throughout the cafeteria.

Everyone goes dead silent, staring at Billy, then they all whip their heads at Steve, who’s frozen with his teeth biting into a piece of meatloaf.

“Come here!” Billy shouts with his eyes burning holes into Steve.

Cautiously he turns to look at Billy, fists tight at his sides, brows pulled strong together in a stern stare.

“What did you do?” Nancy whispers to Steve, leaning across the table.

Jonathan sits next to her, honestly looking more scared than Steve himself. Everyone else looks almost excited, as if they’re waiting for a chance to see blood, the tension palpable in the air, thick and electric like a storm is brewing.

He doesn’t answer, simply drops his food on the tray and stands up, immediately causing a wave of not that hushed whispers.

Steve’s gonna get his ass kicked. Billy boutta tear Harrington a new one! Dead man walking.

It’s kinda hard to ignore. The ocean of students separate before him like he’s Moses as he walks through the crowd. They’re all laughing, snickering, jeering, as the old King Steve approaches the reigning Keg King.

Nice knowing ya, Steve. Good luck. Just give up now, it’ll hurt less. If I were you I’d run away.

But he doesn’t register any of it beyond simple background static, because the way Billy is staring, leering, is setting his soul aflame, triggering his fight or flight instinct, getting him a tad bit too excited.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Billy hisses at him, canines exposed through a scowl.

Steve frowns right back, crosses his arms. “I dunno, you tell me.” They’re standing so close that he can smell Billy’s cologne, feel his harsh breathing against his lips.

Billy looks away from Steve and over his shoulder, going from one peer’s curious gaze to another’s bloodthirsty one, then snarls, “What the FUCK are you all staring at?”

And at that they all scramble around, returning to their places, but it’s painfully obvious that they’re still paying attention, glancing over shoulders with perked ears.

A fist closes around the fabric of Steve’s expensive, short sleeved, open button down.

“Not here,” Billy whispers sharply, nostrils flared, a finger rubbing against the slightly exposed patch of chest hair Steve has to offer.

Steve gets pulled along by the shirt, out of the cafeteria, down the halls of Hawkins High, outside, underneath the bleachers, and isn’t released till Billy shoves him against the chain link fence that spans the outer borders of the football field.

Within a second Billy’s on him, lips meeting roughly with such a deep hunger it leans toward too much, but Steve follows his lead, moving fingers up to pull at the golden mullet, breathing ragged through his nose.

Billy’s thick fingers tear through the buttons of Steve’s shirt. He has been staring at him all day, the pale blue shirt having been opened just enough to expose the top of his chest, a hint of hair, and it is a fair move on Steve’s behalf, considering it’s at the start of summer and sweltering hot, nearing 90 degrees already.

But Billy hates it, in a sense, as he could not focus all day, Steve’s pale skin just teasing him, daring him to stare, inviting him to touch. And perhaps it’s because he’s seen Steve fully naked, flushed, moaning beneath him, marked up in purple and red, that he can’t just go on about his day whenever Steve shows just a bit too much. Short shorts, tight jeans, crop tops, and unbuttoned shirts. It just flicks a switch now.

As he leans away from their brutish kissing, he stares at the patch of hair now fully on display, then catches Steve grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

“You wore this shirt on purpose, didn’t you?” barely an actual question as Billy runs his fingers through Steve’s dark, rather soft, chest hair.

“I did,” he responds, sounding a bit more winded than Billy.

“You know what it does to me,” another clear statement.

“I do-” Steve starts with a sensuous chuckle, but winces an interruption as Billy tugs on a few strands of hair. “Ah-h, asshole.”

But they both laugh at that, humoured by Steve’s obvious teasing and insinuation that follows wearing this shirt, unspoken but still heard. Billy leans in, doesn’t kiss Steve even as he opens up with wanton; his need to taste Billy again palpable.

“God,” Billy growls out hot, and Steve eats it right up, squirms a bit under the hand flat on his pecs. “I want you, now.”

“Hmmm…” Steve hums as if he’s actually contemplating something, as if it wasn’t his plan from the start of his morning to end up like this. “How?”

Billy spreads his legs out on the backseat of the camaro, not that there’s a lot of space to do so, but enough for Steve to kneel there, balanced precariously on the edge of the bench, as he kisses Billy; a bit softer now but no less passionate.

As Steve makes his way down, across the jaw that tastes of aftershave, the neck that smells of cologne, the chest that beats like a drum, Billy thunks his head against the window, gazing at the tree tops surrounding them where they’re parked in the forest.

Wet, eager, pliant lips follow right behind where Steve’s fingers undoes the buttons of Billy’s dark fuchsia shirt, tongue out to taste the summer on his skin. When he reaches the border of jeans and pulls at the belt, Billy looks down at him to run a hand through his hair.

Brown eyes shoot up, dark and amber, filled with lust, desire and a certain tenderness they haven’t addressed yet. Which Billy doesn’t really want to, just in case it would ruin everything, because he doesn’t believe he can trust his own heart with such a delicate matter, with such a pretty boy.

Steve raises himself to kiss Billy, pushing his tongue in to curl them together, sweet and wet and dear, before he pulls off by an inch with a complacent smile.

“You were really convincing back there,” he laughs quietly, unhooking the belt.

“Oh yeah?” Billy chuckles back. He’s got one arm resting across the backseat, the other up to grab at the headrest for the driver's seat.

“Yeah, had me worried for a moment.” A button pops free and the zipper runs loudly.

“Good, ah-” Billy bites back a moan as Steve’s warm and slightly sweaty hand reaches into his trunks. “Wanted to- fuh-ck- wanted to sell it, make it believable.”

He gasps and groans as Steve works his hand along Billy’s full erection, staring down at those soft, pale fingers squeezing around him.

“Shit Stevie…”

Steve chuckles warmly, smiling as wide as he can go, eyes lidded and heavy with a heated gaze at how Billy becomes breathless by his touch. He scoots down the seating, lying down as much as he can, legs bent into the air, as he faces the girthy cock that throbs in his grasp.

Looks up through lashes to watch how Billy bites into his lower lip, brows pinched together with anticipation as Steve pulls his dick free from its reins. Feels a gentle hand petting his hair when he skims his lips across the burning skin, runs his tongue from the base up to just under the head, following the curve of it with the tip of his tongue.

The hand in his hair is heavy, comforting, pleading, and Steve opens his mouth wide, smears the droplet of pre against his flat tongue, then sinks down on Billy’s cock, stretching his lips around the thickness of it.

Instinctively Billy bucks his hips up, making Steve gag loudly - but he doesn’t pull off, just makes a slightly annoyed sound as he adjusts to the intrusion prodding at the back of his throat.

“Fuck! Fuck, sorry Steve, you just- ah- yes-” at least he tries to apologize, but the way Steve has the head of his leaking prick rubbing against the palate of his mouth makes it a real struggle not to thrust into that gorgeous, slippery heat.

“Mmh, arrh, look so pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock like that, baby,” Billy moans out as Steve starts bobbing his head; fingers tugging on his hair to set the right pace.

Steve says something, not meant to be heard, rather for it to vibrate off of his tongue and through Billy’s steely erection, making him leak worse, groan louder, as Steve swallows around the head.

"God, fuck- you suck dick so so good, harrh- ahh-"

With both hands in his hair now, Steve moves faster, rolls and twists his tongue, pressing against the bulging veins, swipes against the weeping slit before daring to push his way down to nuzzle his nose against Billy's crotch.

"F-faster," Billy begs as nicely as he can, voice on edge and rough.

And Steve's happy to oblige; let's himself be controlled by Billy's eager lust, fists lifting him up till only the head of the thick cock is inside of Steve's mouth, then gently but with intent thrusts back in.

It's sloppy and obscene as he fucks into Steve's throat, throbbing erection drenched in spit, drool running down Steve's chin as he relaxes.

"Yeah, fuck, I'm-I'm so-" Billy trails off with a loud groan, thighs tensing, head hitting the window as he throws back, shoving Steve fully onto his dick as he cums, a lot, warm and salty and overflowing almost.

Steve swallows the best he can around Billy's cock, like he's sucking on a lollipop, hollowing his cheeks, working the muscles in his throat to milk Billy dry.

As Billy gasps for air, chest heaving, prick softening up real quick, Steve pulls off and licks his lips all satisfied, earning himself a breathless laugh from the other.

He makes a bit of a show of it, really letting his tongue slide from one corner to another, mouth wide open, crawling further up to then kiss against Billy's lips with an all too happy smile.

"You're incredible," Billy hums with appreciation and something close to adoration, his fingers brushing through Steve's thick hair, caressing him and soothing where he's been yanking and pulling on dark locks.

"I try," Steve chuckles.

"Your turn now." And Billy starts pushing Steve away, looking down at the bulge in his jeans, clear as day.

But Steve shakes his head and catches Billy's hand as it initiates a dive for hard flesh.

"Later. Pick me up after school and I'll let you fuck me blind here in the backseat," Steve purrs directly into Billy's ear, then removes himself entirely to climb back into the passenger seat.

#Harringrove #My Writing #Lemon #Anonymous #Mystery Prompt #500 followers

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tailorvizsla · 3 years

Text

[Disclaimer: I was absolutely fucking wasted when I wrote this. I’ve cleaned up all the typos I could find, but “Drunk Tailor’s Thots” and the meme stay. Enjoy.]

Title: cracks in his armor Pairing: Daddy x Reader, your tongue x his hammer (and other places), your back x his work table lmaoooo [Sadet (OC) x f!Reader] Word Count: too many (~3k ish?) Rating: absolute filth like NC-21 or something like I’d probably throw myself off a cliff if anyone saw this shit irl Warnings: no use of a condom because tailor is a hoe like that just pretend it’s okay, the ol’ in an out, you lick his hammer, stuff, plot what plot this is straight up porn, inappropriate use of a hammer, he is big meat mando we are hiding all 7+ inches of tiingilar-fed Mandalorian sausage in various holes, we’re climbing the Matterhorn and sliding all the way down to base camp coochie first, we are fucking Sadet like it’s the Dicklympics and we’re going for gold in every category Author’s Notes: just pure unadulterated thirst because who doesn��t want to get bent over and absolutely destroyed by a dude with nice shoulders and a huge dick also we’re licking his hammer BUT pretend it’s CLEAN I ain’t got time to write in him cleaning it off, it’s clean, I promise.

[I feel like I need to apologize to @magsgotswags�� for what I’ve done to her boy, but...that would be a huge fucking lie and I am not a liar. That being said...I’ll hose him off, put his hammer through the autoclave, and make sure he eats a well-balanced meal before I send him back. 🤣]

📚 My Master List 📚

You’re not sure how this even started but here you are, bent forward over Sadet’s work table with your pants down around your thighs and his cock buried in you to the hilt. He’s got one hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pressing your cheek into the soft, buttery wood underneath you. The other hand holds your wrists behind your back as he fucks into you, his fingers like iron bands as they dig into the delicate bones in your wrists.

Sadet isn’t big into emotions, but you know for a fact there are at least two things he loves in life – his craft and his big beautiful beskar hammer. Hazily, you wonder if it was the fact that you had cornered him to ask what his line of work entailed that caught his laser-like attention and got you into this situation. A sharp thrust forces a half-sob from your throat as his cock finds the end of you, as if he can sense your distraction from the lesson at hand. He has this thing where he likes to lecture you and test you on what you’ve retained later. It’s not fair – you both know it – but you’re whimpering so much right now you can’t even protest his treatment of you.

Even if you could, you wouldn’t. As emotionally constipated as he is, this is still the best cock you’ve had in your life and you’ve made some headway with getting him to open up a bit. You are not fucking this up. Licking your lips, you let your eyes drift shut as he continues his merciless pace, hips smacking wetly into your ass. You’re virtually helpless to do anything but take his cock. Just the way you like it.

“ – utilizes seven basic techniques [1],” he’s saying, and you feel him look down at you as he squeezes his fingers around your wrists. “Can you name four of them and tell me what each one accomplishes?”

You manage to uncross your eyes as you open them.

“D-drawing,” you gasp out. “Len-lengthens th-the metal.”

“You like length, don’t you,” he murmurs. “Continue.”

A whine pours out of your mouth as he changes his angle just a bit, pressing his cock right into that sweet spot, the one that has you squirming and throbbing.

“B…bending…”

“Mm-hmm,” he responds. “Bent, just like you right now, hmm?”

“…heat,” you manage to get out. “Allows it to b-bend. Ductile. Malleable.”

“Just like the heat of my hands makes your legs spread wide open,” he murmurs. “Bend apart like red hot steel. You feel like it on the inside, too.”

Squirming, you let out a pathetic little mewl as he slows his pace, letting you feel every inch as he draws out until his cock threatens to fall out of you entirely.

“Come on, two more,” he says. “You can do it, little one.”

You wrack your mind, trying to remember what he had been saying earlier. The wretched man stops moving entirely, letting you feel every little twitch of his cock inside you. At least now, the only thing distracting you is the heavy weight of his hands on your body.

“Welding,” you blurt out. “Welding.”

He resumes thrusting slowly, the pressure around your wrists lightening ever so slightly. You don’t need to be prompted to explain it to him.

“Welding…joins two metals,” you stutter. “The same, sometimes dif-different metals.”

“I like joining,” he says, punctuating his sentence with a thrust that forces a noise between a grunt and a scream from between your lips. “Look at us, two different types of metal here. I’d say you were copper. Soft…conductive. All it takes is one little spark and you glow for me. Takes a lot to shatter you…but I think I can make it happen.”

You bite down on your lower lip. He’s broken you before, brought you to the edge until you sobbed for him, begged him for release, promised him the world just to let you finish. He’s a generous lover but when he focuses on the task at hand – whether finishing beskar’gam at the Forge or while fucking you to the brink of tears – there’s very little that will redirect his attention from his work.

“One more,” he coaxes. “You can do it.”

Your brain sputters to a halt. No matter how hard you try, you can’t remember the rest of them.

“Can’t remember?” he asks softly, voice faintly mocking. “I’m disappointed you weren’t paying attention.”

He releases your wrists and pulls out, leaving you feeling empty. Effortlessly, he lifts you up, maneuvering you onto your back in the center of the table. Before you can react he grabs either side of the front of your pants and pulls, neatly ripping the fabric apart. Fuck, yet one more thing you’ll need to worry about later. Sadet lets out a dark noise of delight at the sight of your well-fucked cunt, glistening wet and swollen.

“Hands under you,” he orders, and you slide your hands under your lower back, pinning yourself into place. If you obey, there is a chance he will take mercy on you, let you come and forgive you for not paying attention to his lesson. As his fingers dig into your thighs, you know there isn’t a chance he is going to let you off that easy. It was futile to hope otherwise.

“Blacksmithing utilizes seven basic techniques,” he starts. “You got a few of them. Drawing, bending, welding. There’s punching, which is used to create a decorative pattern or to add a hole.”

His fingers trail up your thighs as he holds your legs wide apart.

“Speaking of adding holes…I haven’t fucked your ass yet, have I?” he murmurs. You’re not able to hide your grimace and Sadet laughs at you. “If you’re ever in the mood, I’ll happily wreck your ass the same way I wreck your cunt, little one…now where was I?”

He pauses deliberately, reaching up. The man yanks your shirt open, sending buttons flying in every direction. Your bra follows but you don’t dare protest – he’ll just offer to buy another one for you. There is something about literally ripping the kute off you that turns him into an animal.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “You weren’t paying attention during my lesson. How to punish you…”

You whine and squirm, knowing what’s coming next. With one hand, he places his hammer on the table, all smooth beskar from the head all the way down to the metal shaft. Sadet lifts it and aims the handle right into your cunt, sliding it in slowly. It’s thick and cold and he only uses it on you when you’ve really pissed him off. You deserve it though – he’s given this lecture at least a dozen times, you should know the seven steps. It’s your own fault at this point.

He keeps a tight grip around the shaft to keep it from sliding too far in and hurting you. He’s fond of making you cry but not that way – he doesn’t want to hurt you, he only wants you to cry from pleasure. When you finally relax down onto the surface of the table, he starts to rock it in and out slowly. When you reach up and squeeze his forearm with your fingers, he knows he can use a little more force, and you return your hand under your back.

“There’s upsetting, which thickens metal on one dimension through shortening on another,” he says. “Then there’s also upsetting, which is what your refusal to pay attention does to me.” He sighs exaggeratedly. “You’re a mess in armor, but...a tolerable mess.”

You whine, pussy clenching around the ice cold intrusion inside you, heart racing at the sight of the smooth dark visor floating out of reach above you.

“Can you remember the last one?” he asks, his voice almost taunting. “You can do it.”

“F…finish…finishing,” you pant out, and he tilts his helmet down at you in a Mandalorian smile.

“Good girl,” he rumbles at you. “I may let you finish, little one, if you keep being good for me.”

He turns his attention to his hammer, watching the beskar disappears inside you, only to reappear moments later, wet and drenched in your slick. He stays there until the metal is warm from your cunt before he pulls it out. Lifting the edge of his helmet up, he brings the metal to his lips and the tip of his tongue darts out, lapping up a bit of your mess. You shudder in response.

“Warm, sweet. Soft. Tastes good,” he says. “Tastes like you.”

He gently places the hammer down onto your torso, the heavy head on your belly and the smooth metal shaft pointing toward your face. Without waiting you open your mouth and close your eyes, stretching your lips around the smooth metal handle. It’s a bit awkward like this, bobbing your head while you clean the long streaks of slick off the beskar, but he loves it in a way he can’t really explain.

Once he’s satisfied, he pulls the shaft out of your mouth with a wet pop. Then he deftly turns it around, holding the head just above your lips. Locking eyes with the horizontal bar of his visor, you let your tongue dart out, tracing along the gleaming metal surface. His other hand tightens at your waist.

“I have something else for your mouth, if you’d like,” he murmurs.

You nod once at him, and he offers his hand, pulling you up into a sitting position. Sadet helps you down and you lower yourself onto your knees as you take in the sight of his marvelous cock: thick, long, uncut, and curving slightly up and to the left. Parting your lips, you bob your head, taking him a little further each time. He doesn’t move as you take him in until he brushes up against the back of your throat.

One hand rises to cup his balls – heavy and covered in a fine thatch of curling hair – while the other rests on his thigh to brace yourself. Peeking up at him from under your lashes, you let him sit in your mouth, tasting yourself and the faint bitterness of his cum. Sadet rolls his hips, giving you a few moments to settle in before setting a brisk pace. His fingers dig into your scalp as he tugs on your hair, guiding you on his length, not speaking a word as he simply watches his cock disappear into your mouth.

You sort of give up on controlling the pace then and go slack in his grip, yielding to him entirely. Your jaw starts to ache rapidly, but you keep your eyes on his visor, knowing that your glazed over eyes drive him wild. You can taste hints of bitterness as his precum spreads across your tongue, his pace growing faster and rougher as he chases completion inside your hot, wet mouth. His other hand curls around the back of your head and you know he is getting close to the edge.

“Wanna hear you gag,” he whispers, and you squeeze his thigh it’s okay you tell him with your hand.

Your jaw burns now but you don’t want to tap out, you don’t want to stop, not while he’s so close. Your cunt clenches around nothing, painfully empty after his cock and hammer, aching desperately for him to finish inside you and coat your insides with his seed. As he hits the back of your throat, you gag a bit, and he groans in response. Tears stream down your cheeks as he continues. You can hear the harsh pants from his modulator and thank the gods you think to yourself – you’re not sure how much more your mouth can take right now.

Sadet pulls his cock free and strokes himself to completion on your face. Thick ropey splatters of cum coat your skin and fill your mouth, spilling down onto your breasts as he groans, a growling noise from deep in his chest. He holds you there, his body hunched forward as he pulses the last few drops onto your chest.

With his index finger, he wipes up a bit of cum clinging to the head of his cock. He tilts your head back and wipes It onto your lower lip. You dart your tongue out to lick up the mess, listening as his breath hitches. When he lets go of your hair, you sink onto the ground, body aching and trembling from exhaustion. As goosebumps prickle across your arms, you realize you’re also trembling from how cool it is over here in this corner. He brushes his thumb against your cheek.

“Stay there,” he says quietly and you nod.

You’re not sure you’d be able to move even if you wanted to right now. As Sadet goes to the hook on the wall, you use the remains of your shirt to wipe the mess of your face. He takes down his luxuriously soft fur cape. Instead of wrapping it around you, he spreads it onto the ground next to the Forge and returns to your side. As you get to your feet, he wraps a calloused hand around your elbow and helps you up, guiding you over to his cape. Along the way, you shed the remains of your top and bra.

Sadet joins you on the cape, taking his helmet off last, and setting it down on the floor next to you. Dry heat pours out of the exchange vents, sending another prickle across your skin as he settles between your thighs. His eyes drift shut and you know he’s stopping to enjoy the heat. During the summer, he always pauses when taking that first step outdoors, taking just a moment to tilt his face toward the sun to bask in the harsh light. He opens his eyes and you smile up at him, squeezing your knees around his hips as he settles across your body.

He guides himself inside, pushing in with short, gentle thrusts, sliding in until your bodies meet. Meeting your eyes, he starts a slow, deep pace, hitting every single one of the needy spots inside you that scream for friction. As you trail your hands up his arms and shoulders, fingers cataloguing the knots in his muscles, you sigh with pleasure. You luxuriate in the deliciously soft fur underneath you and the sweat-slick glide of his body above yours, his weight heavy and comforting at the same time. He takes it slow, trying to be considerate of you, considering everything he’s done to you in the past half-hour.

Digging your nails into his back, you feel the thick corded muscle jumping under your fingers, sighing with pleasure. You can’t hold back your inhalation when his lips – soft and slightly chapped – meet your collar bone as he kisses you for the first time. He starts to pull away but you wrap your arms around his neck, pleading with him silently to keep going. And he does, pressing one light kiss to your shoulder after another, trailing his way to your neck. When he bites down, you moan wantonly, cunt and legs tightening around him. Your reaction seems to encourage him and he keeps going, each kiss sending a dizzying arc of pure lightning shooting through your entire body.

By the time he makes it to your jaw, you’re shaking, on the verge of coming, your head swimming dizzyingly from the sheer pleasure of his lips against your skin. His next kiss lands right next to your lips and you desperately want to turn your head to meet his lips but you know it’s not his thing so you let him decide what happens next. He hovers for just a moment as you watch him with half-closed eyes, your pupils surely blown wide open from arousal, and he leans in, his breath fanning across your cheeks.

That’s enough to send you right over the edge and as your back arches, Sadet kisses you on the lips, swallowing your cry of pleasure. He thrusts a few more times, tongue tracing the seam of your lips before you remember to kiss him back. Your hand curls around the back of his head and pulls him in close as you deepen it, mouths open and his tongue hesitant against yours. He thrusts shallowly a few times before drawing to a halt, his lips never leaving yours as he continues the kiss.

He draws back after several more toe-curling kisses and you unlace your legs from around his waist, dropping your feet onto his calves. When he hisses and jerks forward, thrusting his half-hard cock into you, you give him an apologetic grin and remove your feet to the cape underneath your entwined bodies. When the two of you have regained your faculties, he pulls out, and sits back on his heels as you rest your hands on your belly.

He tilts his head slightly as he offers his hand. Once again, he pulls you up. You take in your ruined garments with a wry look on your face.

“I’m going to have to go back to my room in your clothes again,” you quip at him.

“Who said anything about you leaving?” he asks.

Your mouth drops open in a little ‘o’ of surprise, your eyes jumping up to meet his. After all this how can he still want more? He laughs at you as he picks up his helmet and hammer.

“I haven’t gotten to test your knowledge of different fuel sources yet,” he explains. “We have all night, sweet girl. There’s plenty of time for me to breed you.”

With that he marches you toward his sumptuous bedroom.

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[1] Traditional blacksmithing has seven basic techniques used, but can be divided into four rough categories: forging, welding, heat-treating, and finishing.

__________________________________________________________

Data:

Tailor: would 100% let Sadet smash

Kalni:

Figure 1: Meme showing the subject’s thoughts on Sadet the Armorer from the Samaki Tribe. The strong language in this image – “In conclusion, I’m a slut for Sadet” – indicates the subject is willing and able to permit Smashing to occur.

Maggie: Yes

Kata: Yes

Izzy: Yes

Conclusions:

To come to an accurate conclusion, the experiment would need a bigger sample size. However, based on preliminary results, it can be concluded that Sadet is 100% Smashable.

Bibliography:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blacksmith#Smithing_process

The “You Enabled This” Tag List:

@hdlynn @magsgotswags @thecautiousengineer @maybege @nelba

#star wars #the mandalorian #tailor writes #while fucking wasted #romance #oc: sadet #sadet is magsgotswags's OC #my sample size is perfectly fine #my conclusions are perfectly unbiased #this is a scientific study #no beta we die the same way bo-katan did on the inside when din djarin got the darksaber #we were simping for sadet in 2020 #simping for sadet in 2021 #inappropriate use of a hammer #for a mandalorian armorer this is probably considered sacrilege idk

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fablesrose · 3 years

Text

OKAS XXXII

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Warnings: fluff, angst

OKAS Masterlist~Masterlist

A/n: Thank you all for your patience for this chapter. It has been difficult to balance school, life, and writing, but I’m so glad I knew I had something to go back to once I figured it out. Merry Christmas!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And I knew everything was going to be okay.

Until it wasn't.

"And what the hell are you doing?"

I snapped up from the ground to see none other than Nick Fury standing above our rag-tag group lying in the grass.

I swallowed deeply suddenly aware of the bruise on my neck from where nanobots were injected into my body. Nanobots that could probably do a number of unpleasant things to me.

Nick turned to the team who was still lying on the ground, "I thought I told you to get her settled in her room and then get her ready."

"We were getting there eventually." Loki closed his eyes and stayed there with his hands beneath his head.

"I would appreciate it if you did it now so she can get it over with."

"Wait... what's going on?" I was confused since one, Nick wasn't totally fuming, and two, what were they getting me ready for?

"Some evaluations of your condition are needed."

Well if that wasn't the vaguest answer to ever be crafted from a Shield Director I don't know what is.

I stood and brushed my jumpsuit to remove the nonexistent grass sticking on it, "I guess let's get this over with." I started to walk towards the compound when another thought occurred to me, "All my stuff is gone... Isn't it." I turned back towards the group, not expecting anything but a yes.

"Nope."

"What."

Tony leapt to his feet before steadying himself against me, "Well, you know what saps these guys are so they just wouldn't let any of your things go in the trash."

There were some protests from those on the ground, but Tony didn't give them any mind and started to lead me back towards the compound, an arm around my shoulders. He lead me up a couple of floors to a door that looked familiar.

It looked like every other door in the compound.

"Do you remember this?"

"No?"

"Oh. Well, this was the room you used to stay in when you couldn't go back to your apartment."

"Oh," I swung the door inwards to see a fully put together room, "this... This looks exactly like my apartment room." I couldn't help but smile. It felt like home.

"Yeah, Natasha was very precise." Tony stood in the doorway, not wanting to intrude, "So, there's a suit on your bed, you're gonna be doing sparring first. Get changed into that and be back to the common room and we'll head over to the training room." He checked his watch, "you probably have twenty minutes before Fury gets too impatient."

I nodded, but then a problem occurred to me, "uh, how am I gonna get this thing off?" I picked at the sleeve of the metal suit.

"When you're ready just say you want it off and it should relax into a normal suit you can take off." With that, he shut the door behind him and left me to my privacy.

I roamed around the room for a bit, admiring the little things that I had forgotten. There were pictures and little trinkets. I only hoped I could appreciate them like I used to.

The twenty minutes passed by quickly and before I knew it I was in the sparring area in the training room facing someone I had never met.

"Easy there сахарный, I'm not going to hurt you," he said it with a smile, but it only made my frown grow.

"Trust me, that's not what I'm worried about. There's a lot more salt than sugar here."

"Remember, this is just to see your condition Y/n, no powers are allowed, we will go until there is a clear winner," Nick's voice could be heard over the intercom as he sat from the observational area with the rest of the team.

And we were told to begin.

His steps were light, and a little bit quicker than needed, or expected. They were also more sure than mine were. I studied what he was doing as fast as I could, but it wasn't enough. His foot hooked around my knee and brought me to the ground, but I rolled across the mat to his other side. I snapped up to my feet and created some distance between him and myself to buy some time.

We circled for a little bit longer, watching, waiting. He lunged first, aiming for my waist. I twisted out of the way, tripping his feet in one fluid motion making him hit the mat.

The blood was rushing in my ears and everything else fell away.

There was only a young boy in front of me with the same objective as me.

To win.

He didn't even rise all the way off of the floor before he spun to trip me up. I landed hard, making me dizzy. He pinned my arms to the mat, but before he could pin my feet I pulled them up to my chest and kicked him off of me.

He let out a grunt as he flipped over me. I wanted to detain him as he was down, make this as painless as possible, but he was out of my reach too quickly.

Then it was back to circles.

My body was trembling, from adrenaline, strain, or something else, I couldn't tell.

This was the longest match I had been in for a long time. I felt bad for him. He was fighting so hard.

I better not prolong his pain any longer.

I had him in a headlock. I'm not exactly how. His sweaty blond hair was brushing my chin as I slowly cut off his airway. His hand frantically slapped my hand, and then the mat.

"Shhhh, it's okay. It'll be over soon," I swallowed. It was better this way. It was what he wanted.

It was better for everyone this way.

Hands gripped at me and ripped the boy from my grasp. Panic tore through me. I only knew of one person who wasn't allowed to win, it didn't end well for him.

I struggled and shrieked, "No! You sick bastard! I was doing it! You told me to win, I was doing it!" I clawed at the arms surrounding me, trying to hold me still, "Don't you dare take me back there! I did what you asked!"

Someone was trying to speak to me, but I didn't want to know what they were saying.

"You hear me Hen-" I was mid-scream when my world went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Avengers sat in a room surrounded by screens of camera footage. All but one was playing different angles of the nearly deadly sparring match. The other was focused on the motionless form of Y/n on her bed.

They were silent, all too scared of what would come if they broke it. But it had to be broken.

"It seems they trained her, but I'm not sure I've ever seen training like that before." Vision was the only one brave enough to say anything, or it could be he didn't fully understand the gravity in the room.

"That's because it isn't training," that odd statement drew the attention of some of the group to none other than James Buchanan Barnes.

"That's survival." He stood from his seat and walked towards the biggest of the screens. It started from the beginning of the match and he pointed carefully at her feet, "You can tell this is training, but this isn't from Hydra. Her footwork is very similar to Clint's so it must be Shield training." He watched as she adjusted her position on the screen, "That uneasy shifting tells me that she hasn't done any formal training or technical sparring in a very long time, muscle memory is driving most of her motions, but it can only go so far."

No one disagreed with him.

The footage continued, "Right here is where I believe she forgot where she was." Bucky turned to face the group, "You're completely right Vision when you said you haven't seen any training like that before, because that isn't something you do unless you're desperate."

The Avengers could hear themselves in the footage yelling.

"He's tapping out. She's not letting go!"

"Stark! Turn her off!"

"What do you think she is? A damn toy?!"

"I said, turn her off!"

"Loki's down there, she's throwing a fit."

"You told me to win, I was doing it!"

"Hurry up Tony."

"I'm working on it!"

"Do you hear me Hen-"

The footage stopped and they were left in silence.

"That must have been what they told her when they told her to fight. They told her to win."

"Wait, are you telling me that she had to do this while with Hydra?" Bucky spun to Steve in disbelief, "What the hell did you think was going to happen, Fury? That she was just going to go 'ho ho guess we're gonna have friendly sparing match and not kill my opponent!'"

"It was necessary, unfortunately."

"Bullshit!"

"You not only put in jeopardy Y/n's sanity, but also Pietro's life. You're lucky he is only needed for overnight observation, Fury. I believe this meeting is over." Wanda stood from her seat and started towards the door.

"What are we going to do about Y/n?"

"How about I 'turn her back on' and let her figure things out. Locking her in a cage isn't going to do anybody any good." Tony looked pointedly at Nick.

He sighed and nodded, "Okay, do what you have to do."

With that, everyone exited from the room.

Natasha and Loki were next to each other when Bucky approached, "Hey, you two were awfully quiet. Anything I should know about?"

"No, we just figured that if we got involved in the mess, it would become..." Natasha trailed off.

"A whole lot messier," Loki finished.

They both had grim looks on their face, a cover for the frustration and worry boiling inside them both.

"We were planning on being there when Tony wakes her up," Natasha stuffed her hands into her back pockets, looking at her feet.

Bucky nodded and started to turn away with a soft smile.

Loki grabbed his shoulder before he could get too far, "Would you like to join us? I'm sure she would be glad to meet you."

"Not as glad as me for the opportunity."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One moment I was screaming, and the next I was lying on a bed, staring at the ceiling.

"So this is what it's like to have a control button."

"Terribly inconvenient isn't it?"

I didn't even move my gaze from the ceiling, "Like you would know."

"Afraid not, girlie," an unfamiliar voice spoke.

I shifted to lean my back against the headboard, "And I'm afraid that word doesn't apply to me anymore." I looked at Loki and Natasha, "Can you believe that I'm thirty whole years old?" I sighed.

"And life is unfair in that you didn't get to see a more than a few of them."

I reached out and squoze Natasha's hand, "But what do you expect? When has life ever been fair?"

There was a moment of silence before I decided to shake off the self pity.

"Alright, enough of that," I looked at the stranger in the room, "I'm assuming you're friendly since these guys wouldn't have let you in other wise, but I don't believe that I've had the pleasure."

He stood from his seat and stepped closer, offering his hand, "Indeed we have not, though sometimes I think I do know you with how much everyone talks about you. James Buchanan Barnes, miss, but you can call me Bucky."

I took his hand with a small smile, "All good things I hope. I guess I shouldn't be surprised to see you after all the shit I've seen, showing up like a ghost."

He laughed, "Yeah, something like that."

"Okay, sorry to be a party pooper, but how's the kid?" I swallowed deeply, scared of what I would hear.

"He's just fine Lady Y/n. He'll be in the infirmary for observation over night, but he'll be just fine." Loki's voice was overly reassuring.

"You know, I can always tell when you feel bad for me, 'cuz you call me that," I smiled at him, though I'm sure it looked forced. "I guess that's one thing we can bond over, a warm hello from the newcomer." I shot Loki a wink, making him groan.

"You are never going to let that go are you?"

"For as long as I live Princey."

Natasha was laughing with Bucky who was a bit confused, but intrigued all the less, "I don't think I've heard this story."

"Oh you will, but maybe not right now," I sat up straight and stretched, "at this moment, I want pizza, a burger, and french fries." I looked pointedly at Loki, "I don't care about my favorite smoothie anymore, I want solid food."

Natasha pulled me from the bed, "Your wish is my command, I was craving something anyway."

So the two of us dashed down the hall, me letting Natasha lead the way to the kitchen.

Best Buds: @kitkatd7 @snarky--starky @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog @kaogasm

OKAS: @paigelin @ghost-of-the-oldwest @frostedgiant

#OKAS #chapter 32 #Loki Laufeyson #loki #loki x reader #loki fanfic #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #fluff #angst #pietro maximoff #wanda maximoff #Vision #natasharomanoff #natasha #tony stark #Nick Fury

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hecohansen31 · 4 years

Text

Maybe In The Next Lifetime:

Reincarnated! Ivar The Boneless+Reincarnated! Reader (Modern AU)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I have been finally able to pubblish @peaceisadirtyword‘s fic for the Ko-Fi she has been so kind to offer to me, something that has been helping me greatly in supporting me!

So, again thank you for choosing to support my writing and I hope you’ll like this, although it isn’t the most amazing piece, but I have always been very very curious about the reincarnation concept!

As always: don’t forget to give feedback in form of comments and reblogs, because it helps us a lot.

It makes our heart beat stronger and our fingers write faster!

Have a nice reading!

SUMMARY: It isn't a coincidence anymore, when Ivar keeps on seeing your face everywhere and nowhere.

Telling you the story of something that has passed and is going to rehappen int he past.

Maybe Fate might have given him another chance.

And does this mean that he'll be able to catch it, before it is too late?

WORDS: 4 K

WARNINGS: Reincarnation Cycle, Menton of Violence and Blood, Inaccurate Portrayal of Iceland.

Ivar didn’t believe in all the reincarnation cycle shit.

He barely believed in his own gods and his mother.

But then you had happened in his life.

Nothing more than a maid in the hotel he was staying in on his trip to Iceland.

A tourist exactly like him.

It would have been difficult not to notice that accent and its heaviness in your tongue and it had been the first thing that he had seen as you talked outside of the hotel with some fellow maids, probably on a smoke break, since he saw a cigarette being passed around as you mumbled tightly something in your native tongue.

The syllables rolling on your tongue strongly and thickly and for a moment he had caught himself in staring at you.

And you had turned to him, probably not even noticing him in the crowd of tourists coming back from their usual hiking trip, a bare smirk on your lips.

And his mind had broken apart.

He had seen you in the same spot, but in different clothes no maid uniform but a rough fabric dress that certainly didn’t help your elegant figure, as you laughed loudly with other girls, all dressed in the same dreadful rags.

But your beauty shone even through that.

And you turned, smiling uneasily at him, almost as if you weren’t sure whether he’d return it or not.

And he found himself returning it.

And then he bumped into a fellow tourist, ruining his fantasy, as he noticed that you had probably finished your small break, returning inside, rapidly because the spot where you had stood was painfully empty.

He had thought it was just his dehydrated brain, coming back from a hard trekking session, imagining you the way it had happened.

But then it had started happening again.

He saw you at the lunch buffet, although you mostly worked in suites, but probably you had been asked to help out, walking in with plates and tissues, again in that horrendous maid uniform.

But this time he noticed you because a rather enormous man bumped into you, making you lose your balance and although you were able to grab the plates, steadying them, you bumped back in the man.

Who looked unhappy for that gesture.

Although he had been the one starting it.

And suddenly the scene changed and you were splashed with what looked like ale and smelled like it, a beautiful flowery crown on your head, lightly disheveled due to the hit you had received, a man looking at you, as ale also drenched him, probably from the tray you had been holding.

The man started screaming, and you endured it, but fear appeared in his eyes as his hand grabbed your wrist, and again your eyes met Ivar’s dangerously pleading and before he, himself, even knew it, he was up.

And he came to the enormous man, shifting from what looked like a warrior to an annoyed tourist and his sole presence was enough to shoo him away, as you were backed up by a friend of yours, probably having witnessed the scene.

She steadied you, getting the plates from you, and she muttered she’d cover you, also her face shifting against a more modern version of herself and an older one, with a matching flowery crown.

But you stayed in the past, your dress drenched and your hair disheveled, looking like a princess with your grateful smile as you muttered a ‘thank you’, some trace of warmth on the words, and Ivar was left paralyzed on there.

Hvitserk ushered him back, as slowly the world became of the bright minimalist style the hotel had chosen for its details, and ditched the darkness of a great hall, only lighted up by torches and fires, but he couldn’t push it out of his mind.

He couldn’t push you out of his mind.

Because, as if the daily hallucinations weren’t enough, you tormented his sleep.

You’d appear in your old-fashioned clothes and your sweet smile and you’d meet under a starry sky, as you brushed his hair back and told him things that didn’t seem to have any sense for him.

‘… we shouldn’t be doing this’ you whispered in his ear, as you pushed yourself away, playfully, as he brought you back in his lap with a steady hand, as his eyes shot in your beautiful ones.

Something didn’t change also in dreams.

‘Then why are you here?’ he heard himself ask, as his lips moved on their own, almost as if they had their own script ‘… why are you here, little thrall?’.

Although he understood every word, he couldn’t deny that he knew they weren’t talking in his native tongue, although it looked a distant relative of it.

Almost as an ancient ancestor.

One that spoke of magic and prophecy.

‘… don’t call me “little thrall” ‘the way you said it, made you hiss your breath through his teeth, although you didn’t look as threateningly as he roared under you, pushing himself on top of you, meanwhile he lightly pushed down your dress in his movement ‘… haven’t you promised me to be “your queen” ‘.

He didn’t feel solely your voice, but also his uneasiness at your wicked humor, that hit him somewhere deep.

Somewhere not everybody could reach.

And you noticed it.

‘… you know that I don’t mean anything bad with it’ he replied softly ‘… I just play around, Ivar’.

‘Will you play around with my heart too?’ he said with a sneer as he brought himself away from you, although all his body ached for you again, as he brought you closer to him again ‘… will you be a ruthless queen?’.

‘I’ll be your ruthless lover if you allow me’.

He had then woken up, with the thought of coldness coating his body, although the air in the room was hot and he had blankets all over him.

His hands reached out for you, but found nothing but emptiness.

And he realized that he was slowly going mad.

It didn’t help in the slightest that you were always somehow around him, something that he dreaded, trying to spend as little time in the hotel as he could, even thinking about taking the offer of staying with Floki, who had moved to Iceland since Helga’s death.

He knew the old man wouldn’t have hated him, but he also understood that Floki needed his space.

To distance himself from the painful memories.

He had visited him that one morning after the dreams had become too much for him and he had been barely able to look at you, when you served him his coffee, unable to properly forget the way your body had felt against his.

And the way you looked without clothes.

‘He’ll think that you hate her’ had commented Hvitserk, as the girl skittered off, with Ivar not even thanking you for the service.

‘Good’.

Because he preferred hate to uncertainty.

Mostly when the dreams showed him so much intensity that made him uneasy.

Working with Floki on small projects, starting from his latest boat, did help him get his mind off, but strangely his mouth had voiced a question to the old man, a pagan like him and quite more convinced in signs.

And he didn’t even seem fazed when Ivar told him about the girl of his dreams and hallucinations.

‘… maybe I just got wrong the dosage of the pain medicine’ he had muttered, meanwhile Floki’s face assumed a strange twinkle ‘… but it just… it haunts me in a way that is uncomfortable’.

“Maybe she is your soulmate from a past life” muttered Floki “… or maybe lady Freya, herself, is tempting you…”.

“I don’t know which one is cringier…” replied tightly Ivar, although he had been thinking some pretty similar option, even more since it seemed too much of a coincidence “… old man, you should get your head away from your fables”.

“… then why did you ask me for a suggestion?” shot back annoyedly Floki, although he had a soft smirk on his bearded face “… you know that this isn’t normal Ivar, you just need to believe”.

“I don’t know about you, knock-legged fool, but I find it hard to believe that a girl might be interested in me”.

“On that I agree” Floki replied softly, a reprimand and a laugh in his voice, as Ivar shot him the sponge with which they were cleaning his boat “… but there might be some freaks out there”.

He had come back from Floki’s house a bit more of good humor in his walk, but at the same time he couldn’t help but overthink about whether he was maybe just overthinking this all.

Or maybe if he had a reason to overthink everything.

And maybe he did, since he bumped into you, on the way back home.

You looked quite different in ‘civilian clothes’ probably having just finished a turn at the hotel, and on your way to some party, seeing the jeans miniskirt you were wearing and the glittery top, enhancing your perfect curve, although he had seen you in satin and silk in his dreams.

And you always looked beautiful.

He moved to let you pass, having blocked the exit of the hotel, as he slumped to his side, hoping you wouldn’t notice it, as he kept up on his rude persona.

He might have been considering that you were his soulmate, but this didn’t mean he wanted anything to do with you.

Or better… that you wanted to do anything with him.

But strangely you did.

A light of recognition shone in your eyes and for a moment he thought that maybe you had also been plagued by weird dreams, but then a soft blush, familiar to him, because it always shone under the stars they met in their dreams, appeared in your cheeks.

“Hey, I just… Gosh this is awkward…” even your voice seemed the same, modernized by your lack of knowledge of islandic “… I wanted to thank you for sticking up for me, a few days ago”.

“… you are welcome” he replied in a tight English, something that made her breathe out in relief, again that beautiful smile on your lips, and it shifted slowly from the focus of artificial lights to the one of torches.

“… I just… I just didn’t want to seem rude, but I wanted to make sure that you knew that I truly appreciated it, not many would have done it” you then moved to English, which you handled better, as his eyes stuck onto your eyes, a beautiful color shining in them.

And if they said that eyes were the mirrors of your soul, he saw himself reflected in them.

But it wasn’t him in his lazy pants and Norwegian metal band t-shirt, but it was him in original Viking clothes, staring at you with a harsh smile, hidden behind a good dose of annoyance.

But he knew that he was for sure enjoying whatever you were blabbering about.

You gave him your name, although he had caught it in the tag of your uniform, but he felt well properly introducing to you, a bit less ‘the stalker next door’.

“… I wanted to tell you this morning, but… you seemed a bit… away” you spoke to him, almost at ease although your words raced away from your mouth.

And although he had pushed you away all this time, he didn’t have the heart to tell you that he had tried to avoid you.

He might be a monstrous boy, doing monstrous things.

But he felt like when it came to you, past and present, he couldn’t just be cruel.

“… it was the coffee” he commented, searching the most trivial of excuses “… it fucking sucks”.

You erupted in a laughter after he uttered those words and again you had that crown of sunflowers in your head, a beautiful pair of bloody rubies earrings catching the light as your breath smelled of ale, something hazy and lazy in you

“I can’t say anything about that” you muttered, before leaning conspiratorially in, and Ivar couldn’t help but feel your smell, probably to be fresh and clean at the party, not definitely for him, but something reeked from the angles of his memory.

Spices and fresh flowers.

“… that isn’t coffee… it is dirty water” you commented, showing him your perfect teeth, as he shook his head, unable to withhold a laughter “… but I know a place where it is decent…”.

Was that invite?

Suddenly his mind shifted away, another sneaky proposal, another cheerful smile.

He had been crying over his mother’s death and you had come to him, softly and attentive, careful in your movements almost as if you were approaching a wounded animal.

‘I know a place where you could be alone’.

‘I wouldn’t be alone with you, stupid thrall’.

‘… don’t worry, my king, I’ll leave you alone, I have no intention to stay near somebody who is…’.

He had turned to you, willing to hurt you, just to ease his own hurt, but then he had been taken back by the determination in your face, something wickedly smart shining in your teary eyes.

You were also mourning.

‘… atrociously rude’.

“… so, I could offer you a coffee to thank you more properly…”.

You were tentative, almost as if after gaining the courage of approaching him, you had grown shy, but you were stubborn and wouldn’t have backed down.

He knew it.

Deep in his bones.

And who was he to oppose Fate?

And who was Hvitserk not to meddle in his brother’s love problems?

“Yeah of course, Ivar will join you!” he commented coming from behind with that knowing smirk of his, the one that got easily on Ivar’s nerves and although you seemed a bit shocked, you simply nodded, exchanging mechanically your number with Ivar, something for which he was grateful because the modern thing made him focused on the present.

‘… I can pick you up at the end of my lunch turn, so that I can lead you to the bar, if you won’t think that it is creepy’ you had explained with one last smile.

‘You don’t seem like the ordinary psycho” shot back Ivar, gaining a little giggle from you ‘… and I mean… my brother would come searching from me… I hope’.

Hvitserk didn’t look too convinced, but he nodded, and you speeded off, your phone coming to life, probably some friends asking you why were you late and you excused yourself, meanwhile you pushed between the two brothers, turning one last time to Ivar.

A silly smirk on your lips, as you lightly bit them.

And your past-self looked at him and before he could even blink, you were gone, enough to make him think this was all a dream.

Till Hvitserk sent him a light look and a confused one, eventually settling up for a brotherly hug.

‘… can’t believe that my brother, the rude one, got a date with a pretty girl!’.

‘… it is just coffee’ it would have just you hoping to seem nice to him, because you felt like you owed him ‘… it isn’t anything too much’.

But for a moment he had thought to see a light of understanding in your eyes, as they met his.

But he didn’t want to be mistaken.

He certainly wouldn’t have asked you:

‘Did we meet in a past life?’.

… if you hadn’t already thought, he was a creeper, you’d have thought it for sure if he acted like that.

And yet what he dreamed that night shook him to the very core: for now he had dreamt sweet moments, hot moments and some quite angsty ones, his own personality flaring up and contrasting with your gentle but stubborn one.

But that night… that night ripped his heart apart.

You laid naked, exposing the wound in the middle of your chest.

He had witnessed many death, or at least in the version of his dream he had, since he was somehow an old soul, but yours shook him to his very core, as he ran up to him, although his braces weighted him down extremely, making him trip and fall right on top of you.

And as he raised his head, he was right in front of your face.

You looked terrified.

Death hadn’t caught you prepared.

Death had taken you away from him too early.

And this couldn’t be true.

He had screamed for you, grabbed your head and put it onto his lap, he had tried any way to usher you closer, to bring you home to him again, as he begged Hel not to take you, eventually understanding that whoever had taken you, had taken you meanwhile you were surprised.

And you hadn’t been able to fight back.

And he knew deep down it was his fault.

Deep down his arrogance had made him pay dearly for the crown of thorns on his head.

And you were the price of it.

You, who should have had a matching crown of flowers and a dress of pure golden as you looked out to him and smiled, keeping your promise to be his ruthless lover.

His ruthless queen.

He had cursed the gods.

And promised you that he’d have found you again.

In another life, maybe.

And when he woke up, he finally realized what was happening.

The gods had heard his curses, and they were coming for him in a dreadful way.

He wondered if you knew.

If he had been the only one ‘blessed’ with that memory, although he almost wanted you to be spared from the pain of seeing your own death.

He hadn’t seen you enough to have noticed if you also knew him as well, and again… asking would have made him seem quite crazy, but right now he couldn’t help but feel like there was such a longing in him.

Almost as a possessive wounded animal.

But again… he didn’t want to be a stalker.

He almost wanted not to show up, but he thought that it would have made his staying just awkward and since he had to stay for one more weak.

But at the same time, as he finally seemed to understand what was going on… he didn’t know if he wanted to get further in this or if… he should have just let it go.

He didn’t know which one pained him more.

Although he barely knew you.

Gosh, this entire thing was crazy.

In the end, he decided to go to the ‘date’, but he would have tried his best to keep the entire ‘having vision’ back, alongside the fact that he was quite sure that his ‘charming’ personality wouldn’t have won another date.

But you strangely seemed eager to meet him again, as he met you at the service exit, seeing you in comfortable black shorts, and a small white sleeveless shirt, elegant enough to show that you had put an effort, but casual enough to seem comfortable.

And that damn smell of fresh flowers and spices followed you like a trace.

The trip to the small coffee shop he hadn’t noticed, although Iceland was a second home to him, was filled with you talking, something that he allowed happily, mostly because although he knew flashes of his past and how the stories had started and how it had ended…

… he didn’t know who you were, truly.

But he discovered it quickly.

You were a student of journalism and that year you had decided to work abroad in Iceland, your dream place, although you couldn’t deny that the language was pretty difficult, gaining quite the laugh from Ivar as you mistook in Icelandic ‘cherry’ with ‘donkey’.

‘It’ll get better…’ he had commented before sending you a lightly humorous look ‘… maybe… I mean… Hvitserk learned it so… everybody can do it’.

You had seemed shocked to discover that he had four brothers, one of which was a step-brother from a previous relationship of his father, something that had made him understand that you hadn’t been blessed with visions of your past life together.

‘… yeah we are kind of “The Sound Of Music” but you have to replace the music with stabbing and trying to punch each other when we are all in the same room together’ he had commented, proud of the laugh you had given him for that silly humor.

‘Sisters are worse’ and for a moment your voice was old and young at the same time, and the memory of smaller version of you gossiping with you in barely lighted room made him aware that you had had one sister ‘… they steal your clothes and pull on your hair’.

‘I am not proud of it but… we might have had a pulling hair contest, not too long ago’ he mumbled, trying to shift the attention away from that thought of the past.

He was in the present.

And although he had been given some kind of other opportunity with you…

… it didn’t mean that it would have worked out, also this time.

Gods had the strangest way to work.

He had born with his legs broken, but they had given him a functioning brain, which was much more than abled people had and yet… he was missing on so many things…

‘… you have pretty long hair, I can see that happening’ you teased him.

An immediate and intense comfortableness between you two, heightened by the small coffee place, definitely not crowded with a local aesthectic but a mixture of different locations inside of it, with all the pictures at the walls, lined by postcards.

‘… whenever I feel homesick, I come here’ you had commented, as you settled down by what you called ‘the nicest table’, since it stood right next to the window, giving a view of the small city ‘… and sometimes I like spying from here’.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a spy?” but he knew all too well that you had been one for him, a long time ago.

And it had gotten you killed.

“… just an observer” you commented with a small smirk “… I swear I am not a stalker”.

“I’ll believe you on your word” he shot back, with a wicked smile that made it almost seem as if they understood each other “… and I hope the coffee is good”.

“Don’t worry, I assure you it is the best” the air changed to a less heavy one, for which he was thankful, but your eyes shifted hiding under the men, moving away from you and for a moment he was disappointed.

He thought you were hiding yourself.

And the conversation subsided becoming more chatter.

Soft and sweet chatter, almost as if they had always known each other.

“… are you thinking of celebrating Midsomar, here?” you had asked him, after he had told you that he had been coming to Iceland since he was a child and he worshipped the ways of the old gods, leaving you quite impressed, as you explained your fascination for the Nordic style of life “… the girls… my other friends at my hotel want to go to some party… but…”.

“… but you want the whole experience” finished Ivar, as if the words had always been there for him to say “… flower crown, comprehended”.

“Don’t tell me that you won’t wear it?” you teased him back with an easiness that made him smirk lightly.

“… maybe”.

A blush appeared on your cheeks at his devilish tone.

Then a shade of seriousness passed in your ancient eyes.

“… we might think about passing Midsomar together, if you have an idea on how to spend it that is better than holding back your drunken friend puking in the first bush they find” you suggested, innocence appearing in your eyes as you suddenly almost seemed to hear for the first time the words you had spoken, before mumbling hurriedly “… I mean… it might seem crazy… Gosh we have just known each other”.

“… I don’t mind it” his words were suddenly in that old and the accent of the old language of reeked them, as you met his eyes again “… we should pass Midsomar together”.

Your whole face lighted up as you raised your face to meet his eyes.

“I know this might seem crazy…” your voice seemed almost a prophecy “… but it seems like I have known you all my life”.

---

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mae-gi-writes · 3 years

Text

Une Premiere | Ju Haknyeon (The Boyz Christmas Series)

La Joie De Noel Series.

'Une Premiere' : A First, included in the expression ‘That’s a first’.

In which you and Haknyeon go on a first date on Christmas Eve.

things to know: - moelleux au chocolat : molten chocolate cake. It has a liquidy chocolate sauce inside.

I dedicate this story to: @atbzkingdom , Dee, thank you for always bringing me comfort and for always having my back. Being friends with you on Tumblr has helped me so much this year and I wanted to write this fic for you as a gift. So I hope you like it <3

-♡-

The warmth of Haknyeon’s hand on yours was burning through your palm and making it sweat bullets even though the cold was busy biting at the rest of your body.

You were surprised that he hadn’t pulled away in disgust yet. Your mind was internally screaming at you: you had one job Y/N, and that was not to make a fool of yourself!

You wouldn’t have been in such a state if not for the sudden inclination of such events tumbling one after another so that they left you feeling dizzy with euphoria, in a mess of feelings that made you want to squirm in place.

When Haknyeon had proposed to you that it was about time you’d had a first date with him -- he had confessed his feelings a few weeks ago and ever since there was this unknown, unspoken feeling that teetered between the two of you as though you were constantly balanced on a plate about to crash at any moment -- you had agreed wholeheartedly without thinking twice about the consequences that followed.

Like right now, when you were practically unable to function because he’d intertwined his fingers with yours like it was the most normal thing he could’ve done.

You wondered whether he could hear the way your heart seemed to palpitate within your chest like a ping pong ball.

Y/N you loser. Get a grip.

The Christmas Eve market was bustling with people and shining with lights that were strung, multi-coloured LEDs adorning the pedestrian cobblestone and turning the scene in a fairytale wonderland. You could hear music, Christmas jingles that floated through the air, and managed to somewhat relax despite your initial nervousness around the said young man.

"Oh look, they have Christmas cookies,” Haknyeon tugged you along to one of the stands where a multitudes of red, green and white Christmas cookies were displayed for the occasion.

“Three for five dollars!” The girl beamed while handing out samples.

“Woah it’s good,” your eyes rounded in surprise as you looked at Haknyeon, who chuckled at your expression, “we could buy some for your grandma. She likes Christmas cookies doesn’t she?”

His thoughtfulness for your own grandmother made your heart soften. He was so considerate that you wondered how someone as angelic as Haknyeon could walk this earth.

Precisely one of the reasons why you’d fallen for him so hard.

After thanking the cookie seller and stuffing one of her Christmas cookies boxes in your bag, you followed the string of people down the line of stands filled with various Christmas-themed items; decorations for sale, gift ideas already wrapped up in their respective bags, food items that would make good appetizers for your own family dinner if you hadn’t already prepared anything.

"Oh my gosh they’re all so pretty!” You couldn’t stop yourself from exclaiming as you crouched along the row with barely restrained excitement thrumming through your veins, “what do you think? Look at this one!” you held out a glittering gold angel silhouette, “your sister would love that.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately she’s at that stage where she likes to shove everything in her mouth, edible or not,” Haknyeon grumbled softly, causing you to giggle as you tried to hang it off his ear.

He eyed you with amusement, “Do I look like Christmas tree material?”

"More like boyfriend material,” the words slipped from your mouth before you could stop them, though he just burst out laughing before tugging you closer to drop a kiss at your temple, “you’re so cute.”

Face burning with heat at his bold action, you tried your best not to show your embarrassment, which proved to be useless since he noted the way you ducked your head away and how your hands seemed to pick at your nails in that adorable way of yours whenever you weren’t sure of what you should be doing.

Deciding to warm yourselves up, you decided to stop by one of the cozy coffee shops that sold only Chocolate-themed desserts. Haknyeon’s excitement doubled when you confessed you’d never actually been to this place, quickly whipping the menu from your hands and promising that this was going to change your life forever.

“You’re in for the biggest surprise of your life,” he stated upon spotting the waitress making her way to your table. You had not failed to notice, in all this flurry of excitement, that his hand had entangled once more if yours under the table and was now currently rubbling circles over your palm.

You hoped that your face didn’t betray the way your heart was racing about hundred miles an hour.

“Y/N,” he probably noticed your expressions, “you okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” oh shit. Were you that obvious? “so what’s so special about that place anyway?”

“I’ll tell you later,” and his hand squeezed yours softly, almost making you gasp at his tenderness.

A few minutes later your table was filled with a moelleux au chocolat and a macha-dark chocolate infused crepe garnished with bananas and snow sugar, accompanied by two hot macha lattes decorated with foamy little kittens.

Haknyeon didn’t hesitate to feed you, even folding the crepe nicely so that there was no need for you to open your mouth wide. Though you made a face at being babied (especially in public), he just insistently kept on urging you until you gave in.

“Good?” he tilted his head, watching you with affection practically brimming through the corners of his eyes.

You nodded, taking a quick sip of your latte and sighing in bliss, “okay, you win. This is really good.”

“Told you it would.”

You cut into the moelleux as the chocolate oozed out of the cake, a delicious sight really. You reached over the table, “your turn now.”

Haknyeon accepted your offered fork though from the reddish tips of his ears, he was just as embarrassed as you were. This was the first time you two were out in public, officially anyway. Still, you couldn’t help but coo at how cute he was.

“I’m not cute,” he scowled while unable to keep the grin off his face, “you’re the cute one in the relationship.”

“That’s debatable,” you take another bite of the crepe, “have you seen yourself?”

“Actually I have, and I disagree with you.”

Without warning, he reached over to pinch your cheek, “look at you, so adorable,” he said, laughing as you swatted him away.

It was getting closer to midnight by the time you two hopped off the last night bus to walk towards your house, the streets alight with golden hues cast by the light posts and the snow that bathed the entire scenery in magic. A muffled silence rang through your ears, only interrupted by the soft stomping of your boots up your porch as you looked up and perceived the darkness coming from your humble abode, meaning that everyone was already asleep and no prying eyes would be peeping out at you.

Haknyeon’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly when you finally reached your door. Turning to meet his gaze, a small smile tilted your lips upwards when you are met with his eyes that seem to shine brighter than the snowflakes falling to the earth.

“I had a lot of fun today,” you murmur out, scared that speaking too loudly would break the magical bubble you’ve created with Haknyeon by your side, “thank you.”

"Would you...” he tilted his head to the side, eyes averting for a second before locking with yours once more, “would you be okay to do this again?”

You knew it was eating him up on the inside, but you decide to drag it out of him, pressing your lips and drawing out a hum as if you were thinking it over.

Haknyeon just shuffled uncomfortably, glad that the darkness was hiding the red flush creeping up his neck.

“Sure,” you grinned then, “why not? I quite liked it--”

And that was when you spotted a gleaming sliver of leaf atop Haknyeon’s head. Your mind stuttered to a stop, heart jumping up through your throat.

“What?” Haknyeon frowned at your shocked face, before tilting his head up. You scrambled to stop him, “don’t!--”

Too late. He gaped at the mistletoe hanging atop his head, blinking slowly.

And when his head dipped back down slowly to gaze at you, something in his eyes had shifted. His orbs a darker, glimmering obsidian as he seemed to trace your features for a full minute.

Silence. You wondered whether he could hear how your heart was beating a thousand miles an hour.

“It’s just a petty tradition,” you finally found your voice and hoped you didn’t sound so desperate as you struggled to string a coherent sentence together, “I mean, really. Think about it--”

But he only tugged you closer, causing your words to die in the back of your throat as he leaned down so that his nose brushed yours softly, “should we just...” he gave you a look, hesitantly licking his lips and making you swallow, “humour it?”

It felt like all air had constricted inside your lungs so that no words could make their way out of your mouth. He was so close, chest brushing yours and his hand entangled with your own in a firm grasp that had goosebumps skitter up along your arm.

Your head dipped into a nod.

Haknyeon’s sigh was shaky. His other hand softly skimmed along your waist to pull you closer still, before he tilted his head and softly, tenderly allowed his lips to touch yours.

Your heart skipped a beat. He was so warm. His lips so soft.

It was impossible not to melt slightly.

When it was clear that you had no intentions of pushing him away, Haknyeon proceeded to pull you even closer so that your curves blended into his frame, causing your lips to part with a soft gasp, one that he swallowed as he proceeded to kiss you a little deeper, a little longer. He massaged your lips with his own plush ones, catching your lip, kissing it, before going to your lower lip and letting his teeth nibble on the patch of skin with growing endearment. The sensation had sparks fly through your chest, butterflies practically rocking through your body as your lips gently moved back against his, as shyly as a baby fawn taking its first steps and Haknyeon would be lying to say that his own heart hadn’t leapt in excitement at how innocent you were, at the purity of your kiss, your lips.

When you parted, it was only to come up for air and he took this chance to run his thumb over your lower lip in adoration.

“Merry Christmas Y/N,” he breathed, nuzzling the side of your face before burying his nose into your hair.

Your hands wound around him in a gentle hug and you closed your eyes, allowed yourself to feel his warmth encircle you, “merry christmas Hak.”

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