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wearywinchester · 3 years

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Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a hunt has an unexpected surprise and your need to be tough is quickly outshined by an injury, Dean makes it better.

Requested by Anonymous: “i would looooooooove to see (yet another) protective soft dean fic where reader gets injured during a hunt and he's patching her up after, can tell she's hiding just how bad it hurts and feels awful, fluffy fluff to the MAX :)”

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, swearing, fluff, kissing

The lifestyle of a hunter is one that never leaves you wondering what to do with yourself. Not even in the slightest. You probably experience more crazy things in a couple of years than the average person does in their lifetime. You certainly bring yourself closer to death more often than anybody else would.

This time was no different, though it’s safe to say you’d never imagined you’d be spending a hunt like this.

It was a spirit hunt, one of many that you’ve done before this but Dean Winchester never fails to surprise you. He even surprised Sam with his grand plan to get thrown behind bars all for the sake of the job. It’s not something you’d ever think to do, but Dean’s got a determination for hunting that outshines both you and the older Winchester with ease. He’s always been like that and he always will be.

They were in pretty hot water with the charges against them, and an angry special agent putting the heat on them who’s been on your tails for quite some time. Nobody would understand the life of hunting monsters and the real reason those charges came about, and he absolutely wouldn’t believe they were doing more good than bad for people.

Despite that, they landed themselves in Green River County Detention Center with some pretty hefty charges stacked up, and Dean swears it’s all going to plan. You, of course, weren’t about to fall into said plan because someone’s got to be on the outside.

But things didn’t go quite how they should have, not when the second most stubborn hunter of the three is still out and about with no one to stop you from doing things on your own.

The plan was simple, as simple as it could be. They find a way to get on the inside, which has successfully been done. They track down the ghost, which wasn’t as hard as they would have thought. And the most important part, the most important part to Dean, was for you to wait for him to salt and burn those bones. It seemed like a pretty simple plan when you put it that way, but it was wishful thinking for him to think you’d actually follow it.

You didn’t, and that much was clear.

He figured that one out pretty quickly when didn’t show up for that scheduled talk behind that glass divider. It became especially obvious when the spirit that had Sammy by the throat went up in flames on Dean’s way to jailbreak. That certainly quickened his stride on top of the alarms that’d been blaring as a painful reminder they’ve got detectives on their tail.

But you didn’t know that, you didn’t know Dean was on his way or that they even got out yet. What you did know was that you were worse for wear. You were tired from trying to find that spirit’s bones, tired from digging them up. But that was the easy part. Salting and burning them was the easy part.

Things get a little more difficult when a demon shows up with nothing but trouble.

They knew you’d be by yourself, of course they did. They’d caught wind of the older Winchester plans on this hunt because they’ve been keeping tabs on the green eyed hunter. He’s always been on their radar for a good long while and they knew you were his sweet spot. No matter how hard he tried to keep that fact to himself, no matter how hard he tried, it’s only hidden so much when he spends every hunt being protective over you. When he gives you his jacket or holds your hand on hunts in the woods to steady you on the less than ideal terrain.

It’s obvious in the way he’d take a bullet for you, or the way he’d trade his own life for yours on a hunt without second thought when you find yourself captured by a spirit, a werewolf, or even a damn rugaru.

They knew how to twist the knife and dig deep to hurt the older Winchester, and they knew it was you.

The moment they caught wind of that grand plan the three of you had, they got to it and sniffed you out, pin pointing that cemetery. They knew Sam and Dean were far enough away, too caught up in being inmates to come to the rescue. Perhaps they weren’t there to kill you, that’d ruin their fun and eliminate their best way at getting to the green eyed hunter. They weren’t going to do that, but they were surely going to cause a little chaos all for the sake of making their presence known.

You put up a fight, you put up your very best fight against two demons who were determined to go down swinging. If you were being honest with yourself, you shouldn’t have survived that, not on your own. If you were honest with yourself, you’d admit that your heart was still pounding right out of your chest, your hands trembling.

You’d been on loads of hunts in your twenty-seven years of being around amongst it all. Your very first hunt scared you half to death. Over time you’d worked up the nerve to get past letting facing a monster get to you, but this, this one was different. You were scared, you were all by yourself without your green eyed beau to jump in and give you a life line. But you handled it on your own, you could keep that to yourself.

Though you don’t know how easy it’d be, not with the way you felt. If that was any indication, if the crimson smeared across your hand was any indication, it wouldn’t be that easy to hide.

To say you dreaded that phone call was an understatement.

“Where the hell are you?” He asks, worry woven in his tone.

“Where do you think I am, Dean?” You ask, swiping your thumb along the bridge of your nose, a smudge of crimson on your skin when you pull it back and it has you pursing your lips.

“Y/n,” he says, his tone the farthest thing from amused. “I told you to wait for me.”

“Well, I didn’t. I got the job done,” you say, and you didn’t need to see him to know he’s got that tension in his jaw, to know he’s got that crease between his brows. “I didn’t need help.”

“It’s not about whether or not you need help, it’s about—”

“Sticking to the plan. I know, Dean,” you sigh.

He very much did have that tension in his jaw, and he very much did have that crease between his brows, one that deepened at your words. He was trying not to get so worked up in that moment, not at the fact that he and Sam just broke out of prison, but at the fact that you’d gone out by yourself to take care of a job he didn’t want you to do by yourself.

He knew you could do it, you could do a whole lot on your own and do a damn good job but that wasn’t the point. The point was you put yourself in a vulnerable situation when he wasn’t able to help you if you needed it. He didn’t know about the demons, didn’t know about their surprise drop in and just how badly you were feeling.

He was already practically going crazy.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his tone much softer than before, though that anger was still there, that worried frustration was still there but he cared about you too much to let that get to him.

You sighed quietly, quiet enough that he couldn’t hear it and you hiked your bag up on your shoulder as you walked along the pathway of the cemetery. You were absolutely the farthest thing from okay in that moment. Your nose was throbbing and so was your fist, your shoulder was searing with pain not to mention the way the entire left side of your body was hurting from having been shoved against an unforgiving head stone with the simple twitch of a finger.

The part that was getting to you the most was the cut running along the outer edge of your hand, one that burned with dirt and debris, one that trembled as you held the phone to your ear.

You were not okay as you walked along, unsure if that’d been the last demon to seek you out for the night. You weren’t ready for more if that was the case. You were teary eyed with a quivering lip as you pulled the phone away to sniff into your sleeve.

“I’m okay,” you say, trying your best to take that vulnerability from your tone.

You can hear his sigh, and you know he’s got those dimples by his mouth on full display and he does. You get quiet when you’re lying, doesn’t matter what it is, you get quiet and considering your temper had made you a little louder not more than a minute or two ago it made it all the more obvious.

But he lets it go for the time being.

It’d been a few minutes, a few minutes of walking and a few minutes of quiet as you made it to the entrance. You knew it’d be something entirely different the moment you saw those headlights. You knew it’d be different when that door opened and you met his gaze. You saw the way his expression changed when he saw you, the way that crease between his brows was very much there and that anger in his tone earlier was shown on his face.

You knew it and you saw it all.

“You said you were okay, Y/n,” he says, his voice a little louder than before.

“I am, Dean,” you argue, your stare matching your tone.

“Bull,” he says.

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him to get to the trunk and dump your duffel bag down next to theirs, but you knew he was hot on your tail. He hates the way you brush things off so easily because he knows it hurts a little more than you’re letting on. He doesn’t know what happened and that’s what’s bothering him, that’s what’s scaring him right now.

“Y/n, I know you didn’t just duke it out with Casper the freakin’ ghost because she was busy tryin’ to kill me back there,” he says, that anger, that persistence heightening as he watches you carefully.

“I handled it, Dean,” you grit out, trying your hardest to swallow down the lump in your throat as much as it tried to have you shedding those tears.

“Handled? You were supposed to wait for me and now somehow you look like you got into a freakin’ bar fight,” he says, voice louder to match your frustration.

“From the looks of it, it sounds like it’s a good thing I didn’t listen to you, Dean,” you say, avoiding his words.

He notices, of course he notices it and he feels like his heart just might explode with all the emotions he’s gotten bubbling up inside. You’re too stubborn for your own good and it’s something he knows very well because he knows a thing or two about being stubborn. He practically defined the word.

“Y/n—”

“You got special agents after you, Dean, I don’t think standing here arguing is doing us any good.”

His jaw tenses as you close the trunk and brush past him to get in the backseat, his gaze lingering as you close the door, his fists clenching and unclenching before he gets in without another word, speeding off down the road.

The ride back is quiet as ever as you sit back there, his gaze flickering back in the rear view every few minutes in a habit he’s got that he’ll never get rid of. You let yourself crack a little as you sat in the dark of the car, letting some of those tears fall down heated cheeks and roll till they dripped on your collar. You wiped them dry with a shaky hand, muffled your sniff in your sleeve.

He saw the glimmer of those tears under the passing street lamps, he caught a glimpse and it had him clenching his jaw tighter than ever because whatever happened to you that night was bothering you, it was bad enough to have you crying and you still won’t admit it. It was getting to you more than ever the more you sat there and felt the mere pain of your injuries wear away at you.

But you toughened up, kept your attention elsewhere as you tried your best to reign it in. Like those orange jumpsuits and prison coats that sat in a crumpled pile next to you, or the shadows and contours of Dean’s jaw as he held a steady pattern of clenching his jaw so tight it looked like it hurt.

Dean found a motel, one on the outskirts of a town plenty of miles away to hunker down at for the night. He rented two rooms, one of which you were quick to grab your stuff and run off into without so much as a second glance at Dean when you’re all he can look at.

He watched as you rifled through your bag, snagging a change of clothes and he wasn’t blind to the way you grabbed your first aid kit and tucked it within the shirt you held.

“Y/n,” he says, softer than before as he looks at you.

You lift your gaze, sighing softly. He opens his mouth to speak, his eyes bouncing over the cut on your nose and the way your eyes glossed over just a little bit, your lip still wobbly too.

You let your gaze stay on him for a few seconds longer, a few quiet moments more before you’re turning on your heel.

“Let me patch you up,” he says, his words having you pause. “Please.”

You swallow thickly, looking back over your shoulder at him to see those furrowed brows, those worried green eyes. You look at him and you think it over, you think it over until you find yourself giving into the way you knew you wanted the comfort of having him take care of you when you didn’t want to do it yourself.

You nod softly, the need to argue and fight his every word dissolving more and more.

You hear his footsteps behind you as you walk into the small motel bathroom, the light humming when you turn it on. You set down your clothes and pulled out the kit that was tucked within them, brushing against Dean in the narrow space before you hopped up on the counter. The action had you wincing as your sore muscles tensed to do so, putting pressure on them until you sat down.

You saw him a little clearer now that you weren’t looking at him in the dark of the night sky and the dim lighting of the Impala every time you passed under a street light. It was bright enough to see the bruise on his cheek that curved on his skin around his eye, red and purple. Or the small cut in the very center of it.

It had you sighing softly, had you lifting your hand brush the pad of your thumb over it gently. Those dimples by the corners of his mouth reappear, but you can feel the way he leans into your touch.

He couldn’t care less about the bumps and bruises he’s got, he never did. All he ever cared about was the ones you got no matter how unimportant you thought they were. He’ll fuss over you till the day he dies and he can guarantee that.

He can see the way you’re still holding onto that strength, the way you still won’t let yourself be vulnerable and he knows you’re trying to distract yourself, to keep your attention on anything but yourself and he can see it. You’re not so hard to read, maybe you are to someone else but not to him.

You were shutting down, it wasn’t so hard to tell. Not with the way you looked at your lap when he grasped your hand, running his thumb along your knuckles that’d been bruised and irritated. He doesn’t know what happened that night, but he knew it wasn’t good, it couldn’t have been.

You were stubborn as ever, he knew you’d keep this to yourself forever if he let you. You’d stuff it down and say you’re over it even if you’re really not because that’s what you always do. But you only ever get like this when something’s really wrong, when you’re truly hurt.

“Who did this to you?” He asks, his voice quiet but his tone still holding that anger at whatever monster out there picked a fight with you. But you were quiet, brushing your fingers over your hand. “Hey, look at me. Look at me, sweetheart. Who did this to you?”

You looked up at him, eyes a little more glossy at the question as you bit the inside of your cheek in an attempt to keep those tears at bay. You look up at him and you swallow thickly, a certain softness in his gaze that has you more at ease with the way he looks at you. At the way he waits.

The beat of your heart quickens a little more as the words sit on the tip of your tongue.

“A couple of demons found me,” you mumble, your cheeks burning.

It took him a few seconds to process it, to let that nightmare sink in. His worst nightmare. He knew it was his fault, there was no way it wasn’t. It was absolutely his fault because no demon, no monster would seek you out and pick a fight with you just for the heck of it. They wouldn’t do that if they didn’t have any plans on getting to him.

You knew he’d place that blame on himself the second the words left your mouth, he was predictable, at least to you he was. You can see the way his expression changes with the emotions that flicker through him. He’s got the crease deepening between his brows, his eyes bouncing between yours as his jaw tightens. His gaze lingers on you for a few fleeting moments before he swallows down his anger.

It didn’t help.

“I’m fine, Dean,” you say, trying to ease his anger, to lighten the tension.

“Don’t say that,” he says, chuckling bitterly to try and hide what he’s feeling as he shakes his head. “Please don’t say that.”

He busies himself with cleaning your knuckles, wiping away the dirt with a gentle hand as he lets the thought run wild in his mind. That part was the easiest, a simple task as he moved onto your nose. The very top of it had a cut, a split from where you’d been hit that bled a little more since the last time you had wiped it.

He took another antiseptic pad and cleaned away the crimson smudges from your skin, the area a little swollen but he could see it wasn’t broken. That part was easier too, didn’t hurt quite so much. Not nearly as much as the pain in your hand from that jagged cut that ran along your hand, tapering off into a scratch and a scrape. The pain screamed for you to lay attention to it and it was working.

You tried to hide it, tried to tuck your hand away so that maybe he wouldn’t notice. So that he could finish up and you’d clean your hand up on your own, he wouldn’t see it and he wouldn’t worry. He wouldn’t beat himself up about it and wouldn’t blame himself.

But you knew better than to believe that.

He went and grasped that very hand, his gaze on you cautious as he read your expression. He saw the way your jaw tensed, the way you looked away from him for a moment before you caught his gaze.

“Really got you good,” he murmurs, that frustration filling the softness of his tone.

“‘S not that bad,” you mumble, and you knew if you spoke louder than that your voice would fail you.

He didn’t believe that, not even for a second did he believe that. Not with how your lip wobbled and the way you cleared your throat, or the way your hand trembled in his palm.

He pushed your dirtied sleeve up, the fabric stained with splotches of crimson and frayed where it’d been torn. He was careful as ever as he worked to clean it up, his glances at you more and more frequently to see your expression and the way it changed.

He knew it hurt, he knew it hurt real bad just by the way it looked, just by the way you stifled your tears in a way that tore him apart.

He worked carefully but quickly, grateful it didn’t need stitches because the thought of causing you any more pain than you had, any more pain than he felt was already his fault, he couldn’t do that to you. He knew it was bad when you would barely let him wrap it, on the brink of tugging your hand away with each brush of the material over your wrist and up to your hand.

But that’s when you lost it, that’s when you cracked.

The first tear rolled and then the second, that wall you’d tried to keep beginning to crumble more and more as he went as wrapped you up in his arms. He knew you weren’t handling it as well as you tried to make it seem. He knew you better than you thought.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I promise it’s okay,” he murmured against your hair, kissing your forehead as he swallows.

It’s harder than ever for him not to blame himself.

“It’s fine, I’m fine, Dean,” you murmur, bringing your other hand up to wipe the tear that rolled. “Just had a long day.”

He knew you were still trying to maintain that front, that tough guy act that you always put on. It was obvious as ever when you let him go a mere moment later in favor of wiping your tears. But he knew better than to take your word for it as he tugged you closer once more, feeling the way your arms wrapped around him without hesitation.

He’s got that down about you, to never take your word for it the first time around. It’s almost always a lie, a bluff to see if he’d buy it and let it go. Nine times out of ten it was. But he’s come to realize you’re not as tough as you try and make yourself out to be and there’s nothing wrong with that.

“I know it hurts,” he murmurs, voice much softer. “But I also know you kicked some demon ass.”

“I told you I’m okay, Dean,” you say, sniffing as you wiped your cheek with the back of your hand.

He sighs quietly.

“Sweetheart, you gotta quit it with the tough guy act,” he says, brushing his thumb along your cheek to swipe away another tear. “Might do you some good.”

“Could say the same about you.”

There’s still an edge to your tone, a bite to your words, but that defensiveness is rapidly beginning to dwindle. The more and more he looks at you like that, the more and more his thumb brushes along your cheek, it dwindles.

He was still fiercely angry, still beyond that at the thought of any demon, any monster laying a finger on his sweetheart. But you don’t need that right now.

“I know you could,” he says, a soft amusement in his tone that you pick up on.

He’s got the softest smile as his hand settles on your cheek, those dimples returning without so much displeasure behind them as he looks at you. It’s sweeter and it’s softer as he tries his very best to get you to smile. It works.

You shake your head and laugh softly and wipe a stray tear, your gaze flickering down as you fumbled with your fingers. That laugh of yours continues when you look back up at him, his brow raising.

“What?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, watching as he looks at you with amused curiosity.

“You still got those damn shoes on,” you say, and he looks down, eyeing those navy blue sneakers that really belong with that orange jumpsuit.

He sees them and he chuckles, his gaze flickering back to you.

“Oh, shut it, sweetheart,” he says, his tongue swiping over his lips before he purses them with a smile.

He knows you’re still upset and he knows that pain hasn’t gone away, but it’s lessened some. It’s gotten a little more bearable all because of the green eyed hunter that stood before you. And he’s not over it, he’s not over the fact that you’ve got a target on your back whenever you’re not with him and that’ll worry him till the end of time.

“I think you should keep ‘em. You know, for memory’s sake,” you say, looking up at him as you sniff, the softest smile gracing your lips.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you do,” he says, pressing his lips to yours in the sweetest kiss, his smile mingling with your own.

You might not have been okay, not as much as you insisted, and you were still hurting. You knew that pain in your hand would be there for a while whether you kept it hidden or not. You might still cry a little more because damn did it hurt and you might stuff it down. No tough guy act would change that.

But Dean Winchester made everything bearable, he always did.

—

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#dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester imagine

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

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Lost Time (The Ashes of Yourself Part 2)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: mentions of suicide attempts/ideation, swearing, daddy/abandonment issues

Word count: 3,879

You and Techno stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, both of you not knowing what to say to each other. So much was left unsaid between you two throughout your childhoods and the past four years that you didn’t know where to even start. You supposed a simple ‘how are you?’ would suffice, but that’d be too simple, far too simple for not talking to each other in literal years. But you couldn’t just say ‘hey, I’m incredibly jealous that you are Dad’s favorite and I totally didn’t send you my suicide note that you may or may not have seen’, that’d be way too much trauma dumping for your taste. You couldn’t think of anything else to say, so you chose to sheepishly grin at him and awkwardly wave.

“Heh uh, how’re you…?” Smooth, (y/n). Real smooth.

You watched as he furrowed his brows slightly before he hesitantly gave you a small wave with his gargantuan pink hand. “...I’m doin alright. You?”

“I’ve seen better days.”

“Right…”

An awkward silence fell over you two as you glanced down at your bloodied hands. “Sorry bout the blood. It won’t really stop until I stop moving.”

He shrugged, “that’s fine. I’ve bled everywhere in this house. Nothing that won’t come out.”

“Alright then.”

You wanted to crawl into a pit and just let yourself die, you hated this awkward atmosphere you created. Your mind scrambled to find something to say to the man other than a stupid ‘alright then’. You haven’t even seen him in four years, surely you would be able to find something to talk about. You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard him clear his throat.

“I uh got some clothes for you. They’re Tommy’s old clothes from when he stayed with me during his exile. I don’t know if they’ll fit, but I’m guessing that they’re better than the wet ones you’re wearing.”

When he saw you wince when you tried to stand up, he rushed to your side and helped you stand up. You could feel the backs of your knees start to drip blood. “Do you have any spare lava?”

His hands paused on your upper arms, “yes, but why would you need it?”

“It kinda heals me. I mean, just enough that my skin stops cracking open and bleeding everywhere.”

“Why don’t we just take you to a lava lake in the Nether?”

You glanced out the window at the flurry of snowflakes falling to the ground and being whisked off to other places by the harsh wind. You shuttered, remembering what it felt like to be fully engulfed in water. “Water hurts. I don’t want to get burnt out again.”

“Right, I’ll go get a few buckets full. Stay here,” with that, he ushered you to sit in front of the fire once again and draped the large blanket over your shoulders again. You could hear him move to another room and rustle around what you presumed was a chest before you heard his heavy footsteps walking behind the couch. You could hear the billowing of the wind when he opened the door before it was cut off by the door closing.

You leaned forward and put your hands in the fire, relishing in the feeling of the flames melting away the charred skin slightly. The flames licked and caressed your dark skin slowly giving you more feeling back in the damaged tissue. As you were turning your hands over the flames, you thought about your voluntary near death experience just about an hour before.

The thought of the ocean finally taking you and dragging your charcoaled corpse into its depths never to be seen again was alluring. After feeling the intense pain and the suffocation that came with chucking yourself into the ocean when you’re part blaze was definitely a deterrent, but you just had to push through the pain. This was something you’d dreamt of doing since you were fifteen and you’d be damned if you were going to let pain stop you.

You know you felt sort of… grateful that Philza saved you when you were laying on that beach, but now that you had time to reflect on what happened, you felt resentful that he did. Of course he’d take away the only good thing you had going on in your life, he was full of audacity and impudence when you were a kid. He hasn’t changed at all much to your disappointment. You shouldn’t have expected him to change in the first place, that was just something that you knew in the back of your mind would never happen. A large part of you craved his approval and affection, but you knew that wouldn’t happen.

Your thoughts were cut off by someone pulling you back gently from the fire. “I got the lava. Uh, I can set up an area for you downstairs with netherrack.”

“No, you don’t have to, I just have to put it on my joints for a few minutes.”

“Don’t you want to, uh, fully cover yourself?”

“I can hold off until the snowstorm dies down. It’s nothing too major.” You dipped your hands into the large bucket of lava and sighed in relief, “that’s much better, thank you Technoblade.”

“It’s no problem, but you literally just almost died. How is that something that’s ‘not major’?”

“I’m used to… well, this,” you took a hand out of the lava and gestured to your stone covered arm. “It’s just more than I’m used to. Kinda uncomfortable, but I’ll live.”

“What do you mean you’re used to it? You don’t live by water do you?”

“Yeah, I live by the ocean so I’m bound to get a little charred. No big deal,” you took your hands out of the bucket, shook the excess lava off, and stuck your elbows in. You looked at your now dully glowing hand and wiggled your fingers. There were more blackened scars etched into your skin on your joints, but you didn’t care.

“Heh? Why the hell would you live by an ocean?”

You wove your hands nonchalantly in the air, “I always liked how the water looked when the sun set. The way that the pinks and yellows would reflect and bounce off the waves? Breathtaking.” You also lived by the ocean so that you had an easy way out of living, but you weren’t about to tell him that. Too much trauma dumping.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Have you ever seen the sun setting over the ocean?” You rose a brow at the piglin hybrid sitting on the couch.

“Well, no but-”

“Then you can’t knock it till you try it. I’ll take you to my old place after I can take a proper lava bath. You won’t regret it, promise.”

“Still, you’re literally made of fire. Look what happened to you… Er, speaking of, how’d this happen?” He looked you up and down inquisitively with his red eyes.

You sighed as you took your elbows out of the lava and dipped your feet into the buckets. “...Do you still have your communicator?”

You watched as his floppy ear flicked and his eyebrow rose at you, “...Yes, but I only talk to Dad. Why, did you leave me a message?” Before he could stand up to grab his communicator, you stopped him with a hand on his shin. “No, I didn’t. I was just wondering.”

He didn’t look convinced, “...tell me what happened. Were you pushed?”

Your shoulders tensed up against your will before you forced them to relax. “I fell in, got too close to the edge.”

“You’re so lucky Dad was already at your house, you could’ve died. How could you be so careless?”

You only responded with a blaze-like frustrated grunt that rumbled in the back of your throat and removed your feet from the buckets. Picking up one of the buckets, you took a swig of the lava. The viscous liquid crawled slowly down your throat and soothed your burned esophagus and stomach. Clearing your throat, you looked over to your estranged brother. He was looking at you with disgust, his snout scrunched up slightly and his mouth twisted into a grimace.

“What?” Your voice sounded less strained and scratchy. Overall, it felt better to speak.

“Your- your feet were just in there. That’s disgusting.”

You blew out a puff of smoke and watched as it drifted to the ceiling, “my feet were just in water, remember? They’re clean. And besides, I swallowed and inhaled a lot of water so I needed it. I mean, my lungs are still stone, but there’s nothing I can do about it except wait it out.”

“That’s still gross. Wait, can you not drink water?”

“No- well technically I can, but it hurts. Gimme one sec.”

He was quiet as he watched you take a deep breath and dunk your entire head into the lava bucket you weren’t drinking from. His youngest sibling was… strange, but he found that he enjoyed your company so far. The only company he’s had at his cabin recently was his brothers and dad, which burned him out slightly with their big personalities. You were as awkward as he was and that was refreshing. But he couldn’t help but feel guilty after hearing the majority of yours and Philza’s argument. Now that he thought back on his childhood, the majority of his memories were of him and Philza. He didn’t have many negative memories past his adoption, and that was because he spent all of his time adventuring with Philza. He did everything with his adoptive father and absolutely nothing with his siblings. He knew nothing about Wilbur, well Ghostbur now, or Tommy until they stayed with him during Tommy’s exile. He’s never talked to you or spent any time with you before, and he wanted to get to know who you were. He wanted to make up for lost time.

After you were under for a while, he started to worry that you drowned yourself. Just as he was about to pull your head out of the bucket with a hand close to your forehead, you slowly removed your head from the lava and held it over the bucket so that the excess would drip off from you. Panting slightly, you sat up fully and wiped your eyes clean of the lava. You could hear some rustling in front of you so you opened your eyes to see your brother holding out clothes to you.

“Go change, I’ll make dinner. There’s a spare room upstairs, second door on the left. You can stay there for now.”

You hesitated before you took the clothes from him, “I… Thank you Techno.” You weren’t expecting him to be so kind to you, he was known as the blood god after all. He was ruthless when he battled, leaving thousands without families. You saw him a couple of times when you were younger coming home with Philza covered in blood with a malicious expression on his face. That always made you try to avoid him; not that you had any difficulty doing that, he was never home.

He curtly nodded before he turned to walk into where you assumed was the kitchen. You trudged up the stairs and tiredly drug your feet down the hallway towards the second door on the left. When you opened the door, you were pleasantly surprised. You didn’t know what you were expecting to see, but it certainly wasn’t this. It was simplistic, yet it looked like a professional decorated it.

The bed looked incredibly comfortable and soft with a large white comforter draped over the top. At both sides of the headboard, twin chests sat underneath double hung windows with wooden frames that matched the spruce planks that made up the walls. You were sure that once the relentless snowstorm stopped you would be able to see a spruce forest in the distance. Lanterns hung at the far corners of the room opposite of where the bed sat. Glancing at the opposite wall, you saw a framed portrait of a nether fortress. You assumed that it was the nether fortress on the other side of his portal. If you squinted, you could see orange specks that you assumed were blazes.

After you got dressed, you were pleasantly surprised to see that Tommy’s clothes fit you. Despite the slight bagginess of the pants and the sleeves of the jumper hanging halfway past your hands, they fit relatively well. Humming in satisfaction, you hung up your wet clothes to dry and made your way downstairs following the savory smell of cooking meat and potatoes. Your mouth watered at the smell, it’s been a while since you’ve eaten an actual meal. You’d just been surviving on an apple a day with the occasional potato when you had some leftover from making homemade vodka.

You walked into the kitchen and looked at your brother standing at the stove, the stove looked miniscule compared to his seven and a half foot tall form. That man was a giant and you wouldn’t be lying if his height alone didn’t intimidate you slightly. If he wanted, he could grab your entire face with his hand. Various light pink scars decorated his muscular arms that poked out from the rolled up sleeves of his blouse. He wasn’t wearing his huge fluffy cloak, instead it was draped over the back of one of the chairs at the large wooden dining table. Every part of your body wanted to take it, wrap yourself up into a blaze hybrid burrito, and take the best nap you’ve ever had. His corseted form moved gracefully around the kitchen grabbing various spices and herbs.

You saw his ears twitch before he moved his massive head to look back at you, you could see the corners of his mouth quirk up ever so slightly. “They fit you, that’s good. Take a seat, dinner's almost ready.” With that, you took a seat at the table. You felt like a child again, the table was huge, the tabletop coming up to your lower chest. The table and chairs were made of what looked like dark oak wood. The wood was carved intricately with complex patterns etched into the frame and the back of the chairs.

You eyed the cape draped over the chair next to you. It was a deep royal red with black speckled white fur lining the border of the fabric. If you looked closely, you could see that the pendant that connected the two ends was made of gold and had a diamond encrusted center. It looked incredibly soft, it would be so easy to just reach out with a finger to pet it. Your brother wouldn’t notice if you did it quick enough so that you could touch it before he turned around. When you gathered the courage to touch the cloak, you reached out with a slightly shaking hand to pet the fur, watching Technoblade the entire time.

Everytime he would move to grab a spice, you would quickly retract your hand and try to act as innocent as possible only to try again after he didn’t turn around again. Just as you finally touched the fabric, you were in awe with how soft it was. It was like petting a newborn puppy but better. You truly couldn’t put into words how soft it was.

You were snapped out of your trance by a small chuckle, “soft isn’t it?” You jumped, quickly retracting your hand and smacking your head against the back of your chair in the process. You could feel your cheeks heat up more than they usually did, you could see the glow of orange intensify at the bottom of your vision. Your brother was staring at you with amusement, his mouth quirked up in a small smile. He was carrying two plates full of steak and potatoes, putting one in front of you before walking to sit opposite of you.

“Uh, yeah. It- it’s really soft.”

“I got it from a nation thousands of blocks from here, it wasn’t easy to get. Those guards were not happy to see me stealing from their king.” He chuckled before he started to eat his food.

“Is that where you got the crown too?”

“No, Dad got it for me as a going away present when I moved out… You’ve grown up so much since I’ve last seen you. I remember when you barely reached my waist and now you’re only about a foot and a half shorter than me.”

“You’ve gotten taller also, more scars too.”

“You as well. Are all those from water?”

“Yeah, it only scars when I crack the stone on my skin though.”

“Ouch. So like you get scars whenever you move?”

You shrugged, “basically.” Turning to your plate, you struggled with not wolfing down the entire thing in one go. You didn’t want to have your brother get the impression you had bad table manners. Wilbur raised you better than that. When you took a bite of the stake, you moaned slightly at the taste. Quickly swallowing your mouthful, you looked at your brother with wide eyes. “Ender Tech, where’d you learn to cook? It’s delicious.”

He gave you a small bashful smile and shrugged, “when you’ve been living alone for this long you pick up on a few things.”

“I’ve been living alone for about a year now and I still can’t cook.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “well what do you eat then?”

“Just an apple a day, maybe a potato too if I have any to spare.”

He narrowed his eyes, “how the hell are you still alive? That’s hardly enough.”

You blankly stared at your plate, “I’ve been asking myself that everyday, things aren’t… amazing living alone. Uh, let’s talk about happier things. I wanna get to know you.”

He stared at you for a while before he sighed, “fine, but we’re talking about this later. How do you wanna go about getting to know each other?”

“It’s gonna be hard cuz we have like seventeen years to catch up on, but I think we can do it. Let’s… let’s play the favorites game. We take turns naming a category and we both say what our favorite thing in that is. I’ll start, what’s your favorite type of mythology? Like Greek, Egyptian, Norse…”

His eyes lit up at the mention of mythology, “I like Greek mythology. I can talk for hours about it.”

“Nice! I personally like Norse mythology better, we have to exchange myths sometime.”

“My turn, what’s your favorite myth?”

You matched his excitement, “I really like the Ragnarok myth. The fact that the gods know of their impending doom and destruction and are actively working towards it is- is just really intriguing. What’s yours?”

You both abandoned your meals as your conversation diverged into telling each other various myths from your respective favorite mythologies. Your favorite ones he told you were the tales of Orpheus and Eurydice, Persephone and Hades, and Psyche and Eros. You were a sucker for romance even if the thought of you being in a relationship was something you were uncomfortable thinking about. Romance stories just made you happy to see people finding comfort and fulfillment in each other. You told him more about Ragnarok, the creation of Mjolnir, and the murder of Baldur.

Before you two knew it, hours passed by. Your untouched dinners grew cold and the clock struck midnight startling both of you out of your story telling. You both looked at the grandfather clock then back at each other in shock, “we’ve been talking for four hours Tech.”

“Yeah, we did. It- it was nice talking about mythology. Usually people get bored when I talk about it.”

You rolled your eyes, “Ender, I know. Why don’t they find it as interesting as we do? It’s been a while since I’ve had someone to talk to, it’s nice.”

“We better go to bed, we can just eat a bigger breakfast tomorrow before we take you to the Nether and your house. You probably want to sleep in your own bed.”

You laughed nervously, “yeah about that… I don’t really have a bed anymore. Or an actual house for that matter.”

“The fuck happened?”

“I may have burnt it down accidentally.”

He was silent for a bit before he looked at you suspiciously. “Are you gonna burn my house down?” And there’s the thing you hated most when you told people of your lineage and abilities. They always believe that you’re a being of destruction and inferno. They always grow to not trust you around them or their possessions fearing you would burn them to a crisp. You cursed your biological parents daily for giving you these genes.

You shrunk in on yourself slightly, “no, I’d never do that to you. I’m in control as long as I keep my emotions in check. Can’t get too excited, scared, or happy. I just can’t do anything extreme and my temperature stays low.”

He grunted, nodding in satisfaction. “We probably should get to sleep soon if we wanna get stuff done before the family reunion.”

“I forgot about that… Have you met the kid Phil’s gonna adopt?”

He drew in a long breath into his nose and huffed it out of his mouth. “Yeah, his name’s Ranboo. And he’s actually only about half a year younger than you are. I don’t know how to feel about him yet, but he seems like he has good intentions.”

You drug a hand through the flames idly flickering on your head, “is Phil seriously gonna adopt another kid? I don’t think it’s a good idea for him.”

“That’s what I thought, I don’t need any more orphans running around here. You, Tommy, and Wilbur are more than enough. We can talk more about this in the morning.”

With that, you picked up your plates and took them to the kitchen. Before you could turn on the water faucet, a hand on your shoulder stopped you. “I’ll get it. You can’t be around this stuff.”

“A little water won’t hurt me. It’s the least I could do, you made dinner.”

“A little water will hurt you. Go to bed, I’ll handle this. It’s only two dishes.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him, but it snapped shut as soon as he gave you a warning look. “Go to bed (y/n).”

“...Aright, thank you for doing that. I’ll see ya in the morning.”

He grunted as you walked out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the guest room. You walked straight to the bed and plopped down onto the surface. You felt sort of bad that you were rubbing soot off onto the white comforter from your still charcoaled skin, but it was nothing that you couldn’t clean in the morning. The bed was extremely comfortable, a stark contrast to your old one. Your old one had lumps and some exposed bedsprings sticking out of the fabric. With the weight of the heavy comforter and the plush mattress, you were out like a light.

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@crybabyjabby @izzybobizzy13 @goldenstarofthunderclan @bunnyz-pxstel @averytiredfanfictionwriter @dcml04 @sparkling-gayyyy @bbigbbrainn @thaticecreambish @kiinokochii

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@appetiteofapeoplepleaser @misfortunatem00n @hee-hee-haw @bi-narystars @akikko-yataro @snapple311 @jo171718 @alex--awesome--22 @cinnamonmochi @waterstrawberry @jefferyepsteindidntkillhimself @imamusicalnerd @fo-love @sylumarts @theshitinmytrunk @rinzyx05 @wasteofspacze @bands-are-amazingly-addicting @im-a-depressed-gay @charlotte-is-missing @s-n1428 @lifestylesleep @dame-sunflowers @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @aestheticpkmntrainer @emma-the-duck17 @pek0ra @wreny24 @willow404 @shiningsunrises @vanhakirja @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander @soulless42 @giavanna

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #ghostbur x reader #tommyinnit x reader #mcyt #mcyt x reader #sibling reader #platonic #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: suicide attempt #tw: swearing #tw: abandonment issues #tw: daddy issues #tw: depression #tw: blood

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elias-code · 3 years

Text

Prisoner 0.5 - Part I

a classic c!Technoblade x gn!reader

c!Techno/reader/c!awesam/c!Dream

Link to part 2 (NSFW, 18+)

Warnings: Significant blood, death, gore

Summary: You're here to break Techno out, but aren't super bothered bringing Dream along if Techno insisted. You and Sam fight, he's desperate to lock you in there with them but you're more desperate to get Techno out. SFW, lots of gore though! It's fluff, Dream mainly being confused and there because he has to be (lmao nothing against you big-man)

------------ ENJOY!!!!! Thank you for the notes :))))-----------

A growl rose in your throat, “Technoblade,” is the snarl that rang in the hall.

Your hands and arms were covered in nicks, cuts, and blood. The blood was not all your own.

“Ah, he’s why you’re here. I’ll tell you once again,” He panted, “Pandora’s Vault will not be having visitors,” Sam sneered at you, clutching his side where your blade had just met flesh.

Instead of slowing, you doubled down on your onslaught, intent on taking at least one of the Warden’s canon lives whether he let you into the prison or not. He’d let you come in, through the portals, before shutting them behind you and trying to pull one over on you. As soon as you’d come through the portal, you could see his sweat on his brow, holding eye contact as he had you read aloud and sign the contracts.

You knew he wasn’t going to make this easy. He’s the man holding the two strongest people in a cell together right now. He’s the one who locked your lover away.

“Look, I gave Phil my Will because I know you’re going to come looking for me,” Technoblade explained.

You furrowed your brow, fully knowing he was right. It didn’t ease the void forming in your stomach, already aching from his departure. “Why would I need to come looking?” He’s going to die.

“Because you worry too much,”

“Do not.” You retort. The banter was much needed. As soon as his party was over and the rest of the Syndicate took their leave, he’d told you all about his encounter with Quackity on the mountain. Both of you knew it was fishy, so you begged him not to go. If Quackity was telling the truth, he explained, and I abandoned Dream-

Secretly, you’d been worrying, planning this out. You made sure not to tell Phil, Niki, or Ranboo about it, to keep the worry to yourself. They were part of the plan to get him free in case of an emergency, but they didn’t need to know about it until he needed help.

As your sword met his, easily blocking a weak blow from the creeper, and you leaned into his face, “I’m not here for Dream, I’m here for Techno. Let me go and I’ll leave your other two canon lives intact.”

He grit his teeth and pushed you away, blood trails leading from his mouth down his neck. “As if I’d let you do that! I put him in here for a reason, and I intend to do the same to you.”

The fight worsened, you almost felt bad for the warden, but you had something he did not: Love. You fought because you needed him back. You weren’t lying, you really weren’t there for Dream. If Dream came with, you wouldn’t have an issue, but as far as you were concerned he deserved to be in there.

Sam, on the other hand, deserved a worse punishment. He claimed to be untainted, a strict rule follower, but he and Quackity went behind everyone’s backs to lock Techno, your boyfriend, in prison. He was a hypocrite. Not to mention, he let Ghostbur die, who you were quite fond of, and he let Tommy die and then be revived by Dream. It left the poor boy scarred, and no matter how annoying you found him, you weren’t gun-ho on the traumatizing children part of the deal.

As you parried his hits, less than flawlessly, but well enough, you pondered this. The voices in your head, as well as Techno’s were frantic. Sam set the alarm, so Techno must have known you were there for him. They screamed, SLIT HIS THROAT, RIP SAM, LET HIM KNOW WHO HE’S MESSING WITH, BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD.

Sam stumbled backwards from a particularly harsh blow, slamming into the lectern he kept the guest list on. You took your shot, aiming for the heart, you plunged your sword into his chest and through the pages behind.

“See you on the other side, Sam,” You said, almost cheerfully. He slipped from the lectern when you pulled your blade out. There was no doubt in your mind that he would be back shortly with Ant and probably some others, so you quickened your pace.

You learned from Tommy how the warden got through all of the contraptions. He’d nervously watched Sam go through those multiple times. Even though his knowledge was spotty, you were managing.

Door after door, you could hear your heart beat harder. “I’m almost there, Tech, hold on…”

Technoblade, staring through the lava, was thrilled to read Sam’s death message in the chat, but less thrilled that it was your sword that ended his life. It confirmed that you were here for him, and he never wanted to see you hurt. As much as he made fun of you for it, he was worried.

Techno’s eyes met yours as the lava receded, gazes piercing, almost as if you were trying to burn a hole in his soul. They stung with tears and felt close to melting due to the sudden lava proximity. You didn’t think about it. You had more important fish to fry.

Once you got to the other side, you ran to him, the Netherite blocks descending into the floor. Dream was cowering in the corner, thinking you were either here to come kill him or Techno. Instead, you flew into Techno’s arms, being crushed into a hug by a man who you’d just seen a couple of days prior, although it felt like an eternity.

Dream was confused, to say the least. His inventory was full of scribbles about the prison, its layout, everything Sam did, and whatever he could think of. He was taking in the sight, someone he’d never met being kissed by the only man he’d ever met that’d be able to rival him. Techno was not one to share his love story with other people, and so he failed to mention your name to Dream.

“Wh- what the fuck?” He sputtered.

“Can you get the netherite? Those are netherite blocks!” Techno pointed, you feigned interest as you swiftly mined them. You didn’t have the time but you didn’t have the heart to say no.

“Dream, nice to meet you. I’m here to get you two out. I’m Techno’s partner.”

“I didn’t know he had-“

“Do we have to bring him?” You gestured to Dream, “No offense, Mr. Dream but you seem like an asshole.” Techno chuckled.

“Dream, you ready to call in that favor?”

#dsmp x reader #dsmp #technoblade #c!technoblade #c!technoblade x reader #c!techo x reader #dreamsmp #dreamwastaken #dream #mcyt #mcyt x reader #awesamdude #sfw #techno x reader #eli prisoner #Elias original

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

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

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

pairing. tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

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

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

wc. 7.6k.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you take walk-ins?”

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

Still, it never hurt to try, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.”

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

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

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

“You like cats?”

You do. “She looks like mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

One breath. Two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is it. Right here.”

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

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

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

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?” You’d misheard that, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was that weird? I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.”

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

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

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

“I think so too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like?”

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

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

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

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

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

“So, what’re you thinking?”

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

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

“I think so.”

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

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

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

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

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(You’d been mistaken.)

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

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

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t I? I’m leaving anyway.”

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

“Leaving?”

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

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

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

“Gonna miss me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

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

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

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

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

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

“Dibs on what? Tattooing me?”

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

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

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

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”

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

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

“That’s what I said!”

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

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

“Don’t be rude!”

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

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

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

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

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

Were you? You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

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

“Should I have expected it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same difference.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, so?”

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

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

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose.

“Do it again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

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

You can do this.

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You say yes anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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itgirlification · 3 years

Text

supermodel (2) | jjk

your story with jungkook never seems to end, yet you’re still worried about how it’s gonna end.

pairing: ex-bf!jk x thick!reader

warnings: TOXIC (i cannot stress this enough shit is hella toxic), yn is kinda (very) dumb, jungkook is an actual asshole, borderline mental abuse, infidelity, more insecuritiiiies, mentions/hints of sex, etc.

part one part three

There you were in his arms again, with only your panties and his shirt on.

At this point, you couldn’t even explain yourself. You were guilty, but you know what they say; love hurts.

With his arms wrapped around you and you clinging to him like that, you couldn’t care less about what was gonna happen next. You knew you were probably gonna have a mental breakdown when you go back to the dorms but for now, you were okay.

After he came over that night, he contacted you again. He said he didn’t want this to be serious, he wanted it to be a solely sexual relationship.

“You know, you’re the first girl I’ve been with, who seems to like getting hurt and degraded”, he sighs against your hair. “Sometimes I feel like you can’t get enough of it.”

You stayed silent. What were you supposed to do anyway? Tell him he’s right and stay like this for a while or react defensively and start an endless argument? You chose the first one.

“You’re the only woman that’d let me do all this stuff and still love me. Maybe that’s why I came back to you.”

Holding back the tears, you cling closer to his larger body, as if you were using him as some kind of shield. He thought you were an easy target and forgiving. What else would a man want from a woman he was only interested in fucking, a side piece? Even if she’s in love with him, she was gonna ignore that just to spend as much time with him as possible.

“It’s not like you actually came back.”, you responded, keeping your voice as stable as you could. “We’re just fucking.”

Jungkook sighed deeply, most likely noticing your petty undertone. “Don’t be like that. We aren’t fucking right now.”

You weren’t sure what point exactly he was trying to prove, you agreed to be his side chick. Did he think you didn’t know what a side chick was supposed to do? Because you did know, you just secretly thought you guys were meant to be, you weren’t just some side piece.

Looking around the motel room, your stomach began feeling weird. He wasn’t usually cheap, but you guessed he thought a side chick didn’t deserve a better environment than a cheap motel room rent for a night.

“Because we literally just did.”, you calmly said. You weren’t trying to piss him off.

But Jungkook wasn’t having it. Out of nowhere, he shoved you aside and put his hands over his face, noticeably frustrated.

“What happened?”, you weren't sure if asking that was the best option.

Jungkook turns his body to you. “What happened?? You keep on fucking me up and being a bitch about all this and you ask me what happened?”

He was so furious, his eyes were dark and his face was screwed up. You were now both standing, his tall figure towering over yours.

You saw his hand forming a fist and it would’ve been a lie if you said you weren’t terrified. He hasn’t touched you once throughout your relationship, but you never know.

“I didn’t even say anything. Maybe you’re just a little too sensitive.”, you were pouring salt on a wound at this point, but you didn’t want to be weak and let him talk to you like that.

“Me, sensitive?”, his tone was dangerously serene, as he leaned closer to your face. “If I wasn’t here with you, you'd probably still be crying over me. And you know where I’d be? Laying in bed with the beautiful model I have the privilege to call my girlfriend. Yn, I don’t need you. Don’t get bold with me, ‘cause we both know who’s gonna be heartbroken in the end.”

You couldn’t look him in the eyes, what did you get yourself into again? This wasn’t Jungkook’s fault, this wasn’t anybody’s fault but yours. You should’ve never opened up, you should’ve never said yes to being his side piece, you should’ve never been his girlfriend, to begin with. You stayed silent, but your loud sniffs and your uneven breathing said more than you could at the moment.

“I’m leaving.”, he announced coldly before throwing his black leather jacket over his broad shoulders, leaving you half-naked, crying on the poor-quality motel bed you just had sex on. When he got out of the motel room, you looked outside of the small window, watching him leave in the car he drove you here with.

Now, you had no other option than to call Jane to pick you up since your dorm was a half an hour walk away from the motel and you didn’t have the energy to walk for even a minute.

You weren’t sure if you had the energy for all the questions Jane was gonna ask you when she sees your mascara smeared face and your messy hair. Not to mention the motel. You weren’t a motel type of girl and she knew that.

Still, you called her and she answered almost immediately. “Yn? What happened? I thought you were gonna sleepover at your parents’?”

Sleepover at your parents’ house? You had almost forgotten the bad lie you told Jane just to have sex with Jungkook in this cheap-ass motel. And to think you were convinced you two were gonna stay the whole night.

“Uh”, you quickly coughed to cover up the voice cracks you got from crying. “Yeah, it’s a long story, please pick me up. I’ll text you the address.”

About 10 minutes later, Jane arrived and looked at you like you were out of your mind when you got into the car. “Yn, what the fuck? I was so worried about you. And this isn’t your parents’ house, this is a fucking motel. Did you meet a guy? Did he do something to you? Should I call the cops?”

“No, no, no, oh my god, please don’t”, you knew she was gonna ask a lot of questions. “I lied to you. So what actually happened was me and Jungkook reconnected an-“

She rolled her eyes. “Of course it was Jungkook. So I’m guessing he left you here?”

You hesitantly nodded.

“So when were you gonna tell me you ‘reconnected’ with him? When did you even ‘reconnect’ with him?”, she mockingly asked you. You weren’t blaming her for being pissed off, you’d have been too in this situation.

“A month ago? I think..”, you muttered.

“Hm”, Jane nodded, sighing at your naivety. “And when did he even break up with his model chick?”

You awkwardly looked away and Jane was hoping it wasn’t because of what she thought.

“He didn’t break up with her??”, Jane was beyond frustrated. “So.. you’re like his side chick now? Are we gonna stoop that low for men, yn?”

Jane always wanted the best for you and you knew she knew what was the best for you too, you were just too foolish. And too in love with a man you can’t force into loving you again.

“I know but please can we not talk about this right now? I just don’t feel like it.”, you asked, looking down on your fingers, ashamed of yourself.

“Alright, I’m sorry, babe.”, Jane hugged your side quickly, before starting the engine and heading back to the dorm. “You know I just want what’s best for you.”

You nodded, looking out of the window with your head full.

“Bella just texted me and said her birthday party will be 90s themed? Can’t she be a little more specific?”, Jane barged into the room, looking down on her phone in disbelief.

Bella was a person you two met at college in one of your shared classes. She was a sweetheart, but she was a little spoiled too. The only reason why she got into the college was that her rich daddy bribed them, but you couldn’t be mad, your parents would’ve done the same if they had the money.

She was extremely extroverted, a people person. She probably never had a boring day in her life with all the parties she threw whenever her dad and his 20 something-year-old girlfriend were on vacation or business trips. She even had some celebrity friends and would just casually post selfies with them on her Instagram story like it was a normal thing to do. She was basically living the dream, clueless about what real life for others really was about.

Jane had a love-hate relationship with Bella ever since they met. She thought Bella was a nice girl, but it was ‘unbearable’ to have a conversation with her because she was too self-centered to talk about anything else than herself.

You shrugged. “Just wear something Aaliyah would’ve worn.”

“Hm. Fair enough. It’s really not all that deep, actually.”, She said. “So what are you gonna wear?”

“I don’t even know if I’m going, Bella’s parties are boring.”, you answered honestly.

You really weren’t sure if you’d go. You did feel like seeing people and having a little fun but it wasn’t like you ever had fun at any of Bella’s parties. One time, a guy puked all over a new dress you bought just for the party, and another time, you were forced to drink 4 beer bottles. You hated beer.

“Why not? It’s gonna be fun and you’re coming.”, she decided for you, making you playfully roll your eyes. “And wear that black latex dress, I haven’t seen it on you in forever.”

To say that Jane was a fashionista would be an understatement. She was too invested in fashion to be bothered with anything else.

“Alright, but only if we don’t stay for long.”, you tried to compromise with her.

She nodded. “We gotta buy her presents though. Is there even anything she doesn’t have?”

You sighed, annoyed. “C’mon, there’s gonna be at least 200 people at that party, it’s not like she’ll notice if we just don’t get her anything. Besides, she’s rich as fuck.”

Jane snickered at your comment. “Girl, you must not know her, she checks every damn person and probably throws them out if they don’t buy her a Chanel bag or something. Bitch is a little crazy.”

It was amusing because you both knew that was exaggerated. Bella wasn't that serious about gifts. But let’s just say, for the money that her dad had, she was a little too greedy.

But you were too bothered with your own life than to worry about other's.

As soon as you arrived at Bella’s mansion, two security guards were standing in front of the door. They let you in as you showed them your invitations. It was a little bit extra, but that’s just how Bella was.

The first thing you noticed when you entered the house was the smell of sweat and weed. Already? You weren’t really surprised though.

Bella was standing there, wearing a skintight red dress that, ironically, didn’t really fit her own party’s theme. But she did look absolutely beautiful greeting her guests with the biggest smile on her glowing face. She had her strawberry blonde hair down in elegant beach curls and there were some cute butterfly clips placed in them.

You could recognize that it was her birthday from miles away. She was basically shining.

“Oh my god, Jane, Yn!! I’m so happy to see you guys!”, an overly keen Bella came, hugging you both with strength. “Oh, I see you got me something, girls you know you shouldn’t have!”

She tried hiding her smile at the bags in your hands, freeing the two of you from them immediately.

“It’s your birthday, Bella. We can’t just come here without any gifts, girl.”, Jane smiled. “Happy birthday.”

You looked to your side, admiring Jane’s acting skills. “Happy birthday, Bella! I can’t believe you’re 23 now.”

“I know right, if you were a year younger, you’d be as old as your dad’s girlfriend.”, Jane joked around, making Bella hysterically laugh.

“C’mon, almost everybody’s here already”, Bella excitedly pushed you towards the living room.

The room’s stench was even more unbearable than the one at the entrance, leaving you covering your nose for a second leaving out an ‘oof’.

The 90s trap music was heard extremely loudly through the whole house and there were people dancing and grinding. There were some couples that sat on one of the many couches, acting like they were in their own little world. It wasn’t very pleasant to watch, but you just chose to ignore it. The stench was something you couldn’t ignore though.

You were already bored out of your mind.

A few minutes of pure boredom and dry conversations passed then the music stopped playing and you could hear Bella’s voice calling for everybody’s attention. “I’m gonna open the presents now, so everybody come here and Daphne, please bring the gifts here so I can open them.”

Daphne was Bella’s personal maid. She never really talked, but she did everything she needed to. She brought all the bags to Bella one by one and you could’ve sworn she was trying not to cry out of happiness.

“Oh my god, Jackson”, She cried out as she pulled a pair of Saint Laurent shoes out of a box. “These are so beautiful. You even got the right size. Thank you so mu-“

“Bella, I’m so sorry we’re late, we had to run some errands”, a soft-spoken voice interrupted, making everybody in the room turn her way, just to see the charming model with none other than Jeon Jungkook by her side. Wow.

As soon as you turned your head to see who it was, you turned back around, looking at Jane to make sure she saw what you saw. You sent her a questioning, almost panicking look just for her to shrug.

“Yuki! It’s fine, girl. Come here, I’m opening my presents right now.”, The birthday girl exclaimed, making Yuki immediately hand her her gift.

Jungkook was just walking behind his girlfriend, making no type of noise whatsoever and you prayed he wouldn’t see you.

They sat down at an angle where you couldn’t help but look at them though and you were sure he looked at you for a split second as well. They looked beautiful together.

Bella just continued opening gifts and thanking everybody dearly, but you weren’t paying attention to that. You just zoned out for most of it. Those were a lot of gifts she got.

You couldn’t help but steal another glance at your ex-boyfriend and the girl besides him.

She looked even cuter in real life. Her cheeks had a natural blush to them and her hair was long and healthy. She was thin and her skin tone was warm and even.

You’ve always been insecure about your hyperpigmentation, but she didn’t seem to have any problems with how she looked. She was near damn perfect. Perfect wasn’t real, but if it was, it’d be her.

Jungkook probably never had a problem introducing her to his parents or his friends. You always felt like he had difficulties with that while he was dating you. He just wasn’t confrontational enough to tell you he was ashamed to have you as his girlfriend.

You seemed to be stuck in your place while everybody else was either dancing or making conversation.

Jane was sitting next to you, talking to a girl with blond box braids about a new movie that recently came out. You heard what they were saying, but it sounded like a foreign language to you since you weren’t focused.

“Yn? Are you okay?”, Jane whispered in your ear, hugging your shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were invited.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine, Jane. It’s not your fault, I just kind of wanna go home.”

She looked at you apologetically. “Can’t we stay for a little while? I promise it won’t take long, I’m just actually having fun here.”

You had to admit you were being selfish, not just in that moment, but whenever it came to Jungkook. You’ve dragged Jane through all of your shit and never really thought about how she must feel like.

Nodding in response to her. “I’m gonna get myself something to drink.”

You finally stood up from your place, looking around unsure, feeling like you’re taking up so much space wherever you go, even when you were doing absolutely nothing.

You wore the latex dress, but only because Jane insisted and made sure you knew you looked good. She convinced you for maybe a second, but all those insecurities were coming back. You tried sucking in your stomach the whole night, but it just wasn’t enough.

You were asking yourself all kinds of questions. If your arms looked too fat and if your cellulite was visible, if your hip-dips were as noticeable to others as they were to you. You felt like everybody was looking and they were judging really hard.

All you wanted was to fade into oblivion.

You were feeling his eyes on your back and god, you wanted to look too but you fought the urge, just continued walking to the bathroom. You weren’t in the mood to drink after all.

Your gut feeling was telling you he was following, but you ignored it.

Until you were about to close the bathroom door and you saw black timberlands stepping between the door and the doorframe to stop you from closing it.

You sighed, opening the door, resulting in him getting in the bathroom with you.

“Why are you avoiding me?”, the handsome man facing you asked, brown eyes looking deep inside of yours.

“How can I avoid you when you didn’t even try talking to me?”, you asked back, looking away immediately.

You hated how your relationship was just a cycle of him hurting you and coming back, acting like he hadn’t done anything wrong. And he was so good at it too.

He chuckled darkly, letting his eyes glide down your body for a second just to look back into your eyes. “You know exactly what I mean, yn. Don’t play dumb.”

You did know what he meant.

“And? It’s not like I have anything to say to you.”

Jungkook came closer to you, softly wrapping one arm around your waist, whispering in your ear. “You don’t?”

You couldn’t believe how shameless he was, being so close to you while his girlfriend was a few meters away, outside of this door, probably thinking he’s getting her a drink or something. You wondered if he did the same thing to you when you were dating.

“Jungkook, stop. Your girlfriend is here.”, you tried to convince yourself you didn’t want it. “How can you even do this?”

“It’s nothing we haven’t done before, princess.”, He kissed your earlobe. “You can’t possibly think it’s okay when she’s not around, but not okay when she is. It’s the same thing.”

You knew he was right, besides, you were just as guilty as he was. You were messing around with a taken guy and the worst part was, you knew he was taken and you still did it.

“I know, but I wanna end whatever this is”, you hesitated to say. “It’s unhealthy and you already have a girlfriend, why don’t you go and kiss her, why me?”

You were avoiding this conversation ever since this started. Sometimes it’s hard talking about things you don’t actually want to hear about.

“What do you mean?”, Jungkook feigned confusion, but you knew better than to believe him. “It’s easier said than done, yn. We have a history together, you know that.”

“I do, but that’s all we are. History. And we should both get over it.”, you responded.

“But what if I don’t want to?”, it was more of a statement than a question, really. “What if I told you, you’re special to me?”

You were gonna have a meltdown if he continued with this. Why was he so fucking complicated? You knew he didn’t love you so what was it?

“But I’m not. The only reason why you come back is because you think I’m easy material. It’s because you were my first everything and it’s because you know exactly how much you mean to me.”, you cry out, tears coming up to ruin your makeup again. You wished you wouldn’t cry as much as you did. “You know I’ll always let you in, no matter what. I know I’m at fault too here and I’m not blaming you, but please for god’s sake, don’t make it worse on me.”

You looked in the mirror, almost not recognizing yourself. You felt detached from reality, but not in a good way at all.

Jungkook scoffed, looking down at you. “I know I shouldn’t have tried talking to you. It’s like you can’t even appreciate anybody showing you affection. I’m trying to prove to you, that you aren’t nothing to me and that’s the response that I get. Not everybody’s against you, yn, you’re just too insecure to notice. That’s why you haven’t ever had anybody showing you interest. It’s because you lack confidence and think the world revolves around you. But I did show you interest. In the past and now. But look at you. You haven’t changed at all, still the little yn who compares herself to other girls and thrives off of male attention, because you can’t believe that somebody could love you just for you when there’s skinnier, prettier girls walking around. So what if there are skinnier, prettier girls around? That’s reality, yn.”

You didn’t know what exactly you expected him to say, but that wasn’t it. Looking at him with big, teary eyes, is that really what he thought of you? Of course, it was. Because it was the truth. The cold, hard truth. Not sugarcoated. He knew you better than you wanted him to.

Without a single word leaving your dry lips, you open the door and run out, ignoring him calling your name and the weird stares people were giving you. You needed to find Jane.

Once you found her joking around with a bunch of random people, you go up to her. You most likely looked like you came out of a horror movie.

“Yn? What the fuck happened?”, she lightly took your face in her warm hands and caressed your cheek worriedly.

“Pl- please, can we just go home?”, you whimpered, thankful that everybody was respectful enough to turn around and focus on their stuff instead of ogling at you.

“Sure, sure. Come here”, she took you in her arms and walked you out of the mansion, not caring to say goodbye to anybody.

people who wanted to get tagged in pt. 2:

@1-in-abillion @sarcasmflowsinmyveins @chieftoadturkeynickel @madygswich @kb-bangtanenthusiast

thank you for the support love yall!! 💗

a/n: so i know most of yall probably wanted a happy ending but first of all this probably isn’t the ending:) and i wanted to portray it as realistically as possible. It’s really hard to get out of a toxic relationship especially when you’re so in love with them but i’ll see what i can do to make yn happy cuz girly’s going thru it. Btw this wasn’t proofread so there’s probably so many mistakes and i thought this was very underwhelming but i hope you guys like it thank you!

459 notes · View notes

looooooooomis · 4 years

Text

F I N A L G I R L | F O U R

You were his final girl. And there was no chance in hell that anyone or anything was going to mess that up.

p a r t f o u r | k e y s

masterlist here

pairing: Billy Loomis x f!reader word count: 4.4k warnings: angst, s m u t, some more s m u t, teasing, finger-licking good billy boy, implied/referenced cheating, def not a healthy, functioning relationship (but like eh we persevere), some more s m u t.

Despite your best efforts, the last few days had been miserable without Billy.

You hadn’t realized just how much of a routine he’d become over the last seven months, how much you’d both come to rely on each other and, fuck, did you miss him. You missed his smell, you missed that small little cheeky grin of his, you missed curling up beside him and feeling him over every inch of your skin. Your body craved for him in an almost primal way but, while you could live with denying your body its needs, it was your heart that hurt the most.

What was supposed to be a quick release for the two of you had never been that easy. You’d been in love with the idiot since freshman year, seen him through his various ups and downs and he’d seen yours, too. Which was precisely what made this entire situation that much harder. Not only were you dealing with your own heartache, but you were witnessing his, too.

Billy’s grief was more or less a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of thing. Ever the stoic silent type, you hadn’t expected to see much of what he was feeling splayed out on that handsome face of his, but shocking even you, his regret was palpable. And each and every time those brown eyes met yours, that grief that was as clear as day struck you blind.

You’d tried telling yourself that it was for the best because, in all honesty, it was but that didn’t make the pain go away. Nor did it make you miss him any less. You were trapped in a vicious cycle of missing Billy, sticking to your guns, and worrying about him all at once.

God, you’d really fucked up with this one.

“You sure you’re okay?” Tatum asked, narrowing her eyes at you as you shoved a handful of books into your locker. “You’ve been scatterbrained all week.”

“I’m fine,” you shrugged, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me,” she leaned her hip against the locker. “Is this about Steve?”

You blinked as the question played on loop in your head. “Steve?” You asked, giving the strawberry blonde your full attention. “First of all, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart: ew. Secondly, huh?”

Tatum smirked. “Don’t play dumb, you’ve been acting all weird since Billy went psycho on his ass last week.”

“No, I haven’t,” you hoped your laugh didn’t sound as fake as it felt. “Also, Steve’s an asshole. If the day ever comes when I am interested in that big oaf, feel free to euthanize me.”

“Promise,” she made a motion of crossing her heart, “but in the meantime, you swear nothing is up?”

“Cross my heart,” you mimicked the gesture and shut your locker. “What are you up to after practice tonight? Want to go see that new Brad Pitt movie?”

Her shoulders fell. “Can’t, Stu’s coming over,” she unwrapped a lollipop and shoved it in her mouth. “I’d say ask Sid, but she got into it with Billy last night so she’s in a mood.”

You tried not to care, you really did, but her words hit you like a freight train. “They did?” You asked, hoping beyond hope that your voice didn’t sound quite as high pitched as it sounded in your head. “What happened?”

“Who knows,” Tatum shrugged, “Billy’s always been a little intense and Sid’s been a little cagey since…well, you know – so, it’s bound to happen.”

You swallowed hard and continued to nod along to Tatum’s words. Were you nodding too frequently? Did you appear too interested all of the sudden? Catching yourself, you focused on the leftover gum on the locker just behind your friend’s head and cleared your throat. “That’s shitty.”

“Relationships,” Tatum waved off, “they’re all pretty shitty sometimes.”

Before you could finish putting your foot in your mouth any further, the third bell rang out signaling your next class. Your most dreaded class: Biology. With a groan you tossed your bag over your shoulder and frowned across at Tatum. “See you at practice?”

With a nod, Tatum took off towards her class as you slowly sauntered towards your own. You were halfway down the hall when you heard a set of heavy footfalls running towards you from behind. Glancing over your shoulder, you barely had time to register Stu’s smiling face before he threw an arm around your shoulders. “How ya doing, pal?”

“Peachy,” you scraped your eyes along his profile and blinked. “If you’re about to play the rule of dutiful henchman for you know who, I’ve got a class to flunk.”

“Harsh,” Stu beamed, “I see why our boy’s so smitten.”

With a roll of your eyes, you glanced around at the people around you and glowered up at him. “Stu,” you warned, “I’m not in the mood for this.”

“For what?” He feigned innocence. “I haven’t said a word.”

“But you want to,” you mused. “And I don’t want to hear it.”

Stu chuckled. “All I was going to say is, like, I get it.”

You shouldn’t have taken his bait. What you should have done was push him off of you and continue on your merry way to class. That would have been the smart thing to do, the responsible thing to do.

Too bad you were neither of those two things.

Roped in, you sighed in defeat. “Get what?”

“I’ll be the first to admit,” he began, “when Bill told me that you and him were…you know, I laughed. I mean, two broads, man? I can barely handle the one how’s he going to deal with two of you?”

“I’m hoping there’s a point coming,” you groused.

“Right,” he laughed again, “my point is that I get it. I get why you two work. Why he’s knee deep in this big fucking mess because of it. You two work.”

“Stu,” you threw your head back and glared at the ceiling. “Stop.”

“What?” He asked. “Am I wrong?”

You gently pushed him away from you and dropped your voice into a whisper. “That’s not the point. He’s with Sid.”

“So?” Stu made a face. “Her mom just died, what do you want him to do? Dump her and break her heart? Her mom just died, that’d callous, man.”

“We’re breaking her heart either way, whether she knows it or not.”

Stu stopped walking and there was a compassion in his stare that left you reeling. For as long as you’d known him, Stu Macher had always been the goof. The reckless, chaotic idiot that seemed to fit just perfectly into your little mish mash of a group. But the sincerity in his blue eyes as the two of you stood in the emptying hallway was a look you’d never seen before.

“And by doing this, you’re breaking yours.” He limply shrugged. “Billy’s, too.”

Your shoulders fell as the weight of Stu’s words sank in. You couldn’t exactly say much in terms of a rebuttal, naturally, because he was right. There were no happy endings for either of you at this point in the charade. Sid had still been lied to and cheated on, Billy was still trapped in a relationship he no longer wished to be in in fear of hurting the girl he once loved and you were stuck in the middle, watching two people you cared for fall to bits while having to remain stoic in fear of showing your hand.

What a fucking mess.

After another minute of silence, Stu wriggled his eyebrows and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly. “Just something to think about.”

Taking off down the hall, Stu left you to your own devices as you stood in the middle of an empty hallway with far too much on your mind. In an almost zombie-like trance, you took off in the direction of your biology class, not quite caring that you were about to be marked as tardy for the third time that week. But, before you got to that god-forsaken class, you heard the click of a door not far off before a pair of arms encircled around your middle, yanking you into the nearest classroom. A surprise yelp tore out of your mouth, but the full-fledged scream died in your throat as soon as you realized just who it was who had grabbed you.

“Jesus, Billy, you scared the hell out of me.” You grasped your chest and took in the dark, empty classroom around you. He was still holding you against the nearest wall, you could feel the heat of those large hands through your thin shirt. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Sorry,” despite the desperation in those brown eyes, his voice never wavered. It was still as calm and collected as ever. “I’d go to your house, but it’s been like Fort Knox for the last week or so.”

You chewed on your lip for a moment before averting your eyes to the ground, not quite being able to stomach the weight of his stare just yet. “Billy, unless anything’s changed, I—”

“In case anything’s changed?” He reiterated with raised brows. “Everything’s changed. I miss you, Y/N, more than you can even comprehend. I know I’ve fucked up, I know that, but I need you. The last nine days without being able to really see you or feel you or kiss you or—”

“I get it,” you held your hands up and gently pushed him away. “And it’s been hard on me, too, Billy. But it doesn’t change anything.”

For a few, long, agonizing moments, Billy remained still as a thousand different emotions splayed out across his face. There was anger and grief, sadness and desperation. But the look you got as he dropped to his knees in front of you was pure, unadulterated fear. “I promise you, Y/N, the second I can, when the time is right, Sid and I will be no more. But me and you are it, sweetheart,” his hands gently circled around your hips before embracing you around your middle. “I’m so fucking sorry that this is how it has to be right now. And I’m sorry that I’m too fucking selfish to let this go, but I can’t. I need you. I need us. You’re everything good in my life and I know I need to start proving that to you.”

Still, you remained quiet. Your fingers itched to reach out and run your fingers through that slightly greasy, unruly mop of hair, but instead you kept them pinned down at your side as you considered his words. There was no doubt in your mind that he meant them, the desperation on his face said as much, but you had your reservations. Taking your silence in stride, however, Billy simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Oh, jesus,” you grumbled, burying your head in your hands. “You better not be doing what I think you’re fucking doing.”

“Open the box, Y/N.”

“No,” you held your hands up. “Not if it’s…that.”

Billy sighed. The muscle in his cheek twitched. “It’s not a fucking engagement ring.”

Somewhat relieved, you continued to stare down at the box in slight disdain. “So, what is it?”

Billy sighed. “Fucking open it and you’ll see.”

“Buying the ‘other woman’ jewelry, Billy?” You shook your head. “You’re like a walking cliché at this point.”

“Shut-up and open the goddamn box.” Standing up to his full height, he continued to hold the box out towards you and breathed out a quiet laugh when you remained unwavering. “It’s not a fucking bomb, Y/N, open it.”

With a sigh, you snatched the box out of his hand and, rather unceremoniously, opened it up to reveal a key. Not a fancy skeleton key or a charm in the shape of a key but a regular, run of the mill house key. You blinked, mildly surprised. “Okay, I’ll give you a point for creativity with the box,” you pulled the key out and observed it. “But what is it?”

“It’s a key,” Billy said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“I see that,” a small smile pulled at your lips as you looked across at him. “What’s it for?”

“It’s a key to my parents’ cabin.”

If you were meant to understand the significance, the story was lost on you. Looking back down at the key, you surveyed its tiny ridges briefly before nodding. “And what’s that have to do with me?”

He took a step towards you and grabbed the hand still clutching onto the key. “My dad doesn’t go up there much ever since my mother left and I figure we could both use a place where we can just…be.” His raked his thumbnail along your knuckles. “No Sid, no anyone. Just you and me.”

You were trying to remain unfazed by the sentiment, to remain icy and cool to the man you were supposed to be pulling away from, but between the softness in those warm brown eyes and the weight of the key still clutched in your hand, you could feel your defenses waning. “You expect Sid to just not care that you’re disappearing up north every once in a while?”

“I’ll make it work,” he shrugged it off. “And, to be honest, I don’t care what she thinks.”

Your answer came in the form of a long, drawn out sigh. “Billy,” you began, but before you could dive into the rest of your speech, his large hands slid up your arms and neck to cradle your face.

Slowly, he backed you into a nearby desk and traced the apple of your cheek with his thumb. “We can sneak up there whenever we want. Spend a whole weekend up there, just the two of us. I can worship this fucking body of yours in every square inch of that cabin. I can go into town and hold your fucking hand in public. We can do whatever the hell it is we want to do up there, whenever we want, without worrying about any of our idiot friends seeing us.”

Your pulse quickened at the thought of being able to parade around like a normal couple in a town where not a single soul knew who you were. You swallowed, trying to steady your excitement with a dose of realism. “It’s still not fair to Sidney.”

“Fuck Sidney!” Billy’s voice echoed out around the vast, empty classroom, alarming you with just how angry he sounded. His chest heaved with a white-hot rage that you couldn’t fully comprehend, and his jaw was wound shut as his nostrils flared with each and every heavy, uneven breath he took. You swallowed hard and watched the man steady his nerves, unsure of your next move. You’d seen Billy angry before, but that level of emotion was definitely new.

You weren’t sure whether to be terrified or turned on by the sudden outburst.

But, just as quickly as it happened, Billy’s eyes slowly opened to reveal those molasses coloured eyes again. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he appeased. “But I can’t have her stand in the way of this. I won’t.”

You remained silent as you shimmied on top of the desk that had been poking into your ass for the last few seconds and tried not to focus on the way your body seemed to melt into Billy’s as he stepped in between your legs, still looking at you with all the intensity of the world.

“If we do this,” you found yourself muttering, “there’s going to be some ground rules.”

A sense of hope blossomed in Billy’s chest as he vigorously nodded his head. “Anything you want,” sliding his hands up the sides your stomach, he gently held your waist and gave it a small squeeze. “You name it.”

“When we go up to the aforementioned cabin, we go out.” You told him. “While I’m more than happy to blow you in the living room without worrying about your dad walking in, it would be nice to go on an actual fucking date.”

Billy nodded and, with his hands still on your waist, he tried not to focus on the thin cotton of your shirt bunching between his fingers as his thumb danced along your ribcage. There was so little between you in the empty classroom, barely any space as the two of you were practically nose to nose. And between that short little skirt you had on and your pert nipples beneath your thin tank top, it was enough to make his cock twitch inside of his pants. “Anything else?” He asked, his voice husky as he nudged his nose against yours.

“Yeah,” you ran your tongue along your now parched lips as you sat with Billy standing between your thighs, holding you in place as his thumb traced agonizingly close to your tit. Were you even breathing? It didn’t feel like it. You were wet, too, which made his inhumanly close proximity almost too much to bear. “Lock the fucking door this time.”

A roguish grin enveloped his features as he stepped out from between your legs. Crossing the threshold of the classroom in two seconds flat, Billy locked the door and made his way back to you with that same mischievous glimmer in his eye. His eyes were hungry and, as his hands shifted down to your ass, he tugged you even closer to the edge of the desk. Closer to him. With your legs still open and on either side of his hips, you just about died when your clit managed to rub against the zipper of his jeans.

A quiet, low moan tore out of your throat from the sensation.

“Anything else?” He asked, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Yeah,” your breathing was ragged as Billy’s slow, methodical fingers, trailed up the side of your stomach. He was being extraordinarily temperate and slow to further tease you but, despite knowing how risky this was, you were putty in his hands. “Touch me.”

His nose brushed against yours again as he shifted his hips just enough for the zipper of his jeans to rub against your clit again. The bastard knew what he was doing.

“This feel good?” He asked as his hips toiled into you again.

You were practically dry fucking against the desk, you could have been caught any second. But, fuck, when he pulled you in a little more and slowly gyrated his jean-clad pelvis against your clit again, you couldn’t care less. “Mhmm,” you hummed.

Slowly, Billy’s dept fingers slid up from your waist towards your breasts. Raking his thumb against the swollen bud, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the side of your neck.

He knew his jeans were rubbing against your clit and, as he looked down and saw the visible wet patch on your blue thong, he wanted nothing more than to rip them off of you and bury his face in between your legs. “God, I’ve fucking missed you.”

When his hand squeezed your breast, you arched into his grasp. “I bet you did.”

Billy smirked and rolled your nipples between his fingers through the fabric of your shirt. With every roll of your hips, the strap of your shirt slipped down just enough to expose your breast. Without missing a beat, Billy leaned into your chest and allowed his mouth to consume your nipple, swirling his tongue around it expertly before biting down. You hissed as a combination of both pain and pleasure ripped through your body.

Your fingers curled around the hair along the nape of his neck and gave it a firm tug as is hands held you firmly in place. “Fuck, Billy” you moaned, breathless.

He released your nipple slowly, nipping at it one final time before leaning his forehead against yours again. You wanted like hell to close the distance between you. You wanted to feel his lips on yours. Feel the tickle of his stubble along your upper lip and have that expert tongue brush against yours.

But you also wanted to make him sweat a little.

You weren’t sure what had come over you as you slid your hand down your torso. Maybe it was adrenaline of being caught or the relief of having Billy in your arms again but as you allowed your fingers to dip beneath the hem of your exposed thong, the look on Billy’s face made it all worth it.

“What are you doing?” His Adams apple bobbed up and down as he watched you touch yourself. You were in an awkward angle, but as your finger circled your clit and you watched the bulge in his pants grow, you were coasting high.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” You hummed, feigning innocence. “When I say touch me, I mean it, Billy. I’m taking matters into my own hands.” You pinched your clit and arched your naked chest into him. “Fuck.”

You heard him swear under his breath as his lips ghosted over yours. “You’re doing my head in, woman,” he growled, sliding his fingers beneath your panties. You gasped when his thumb began to circle your clit. And when he slid two fingers inside of you, you nearly saw stars.

His mouth found yours, mid-moan. Reaching the hand that had just been down the waistband of your shorts, you ran your fingers through his hair as his tongue coaxed yours. Everything about this man was electric. His fingers quickened their pace and before you knew it, you were thrusting into his hand. Placing sloppy kisses down from your mouth and along your jaw, Billy nipped at your ear. “How’s this for touching you, sweetheart?” He hissed, licking and biting his way across your neck.

Your breathing was rampant as you felt yourself edging closer and closer. “It’s alright,” you teased with a cloudy grin.

“So stubborn,” he laughed into your neck and curled his fingers so that he hit an area inside you that felt almost primal. The moan he got in return made him bite down on your collarbone. He curled his fingers again and you nearly choked. “You sure?”

Pulling his hair, you steered his face back to yours and crashed your lips against his. “Fuck me.” You mumbled into his mouth.

He applied the smallest bit of pressure to your clit and flicked his fingers one final time, sending you over the cliff. With a long, shaky moan, you bucked your hips uncontrollably as you came into his hand. Every inch of you felt as though it was on fire as Billy made you ride out your orgasm, not for a second easing up on your clit as you writhed beneath him.

“Play with your tits,” he barked out through hooded eyes.

“You play with them,” you argued, but the resolve in your voice was gone. You weren’t entirely sure if you knew your name at that point. All you could focus on was the feeling of his finger pinching your highly sensitive clit and that was it. Everything else was a blur.

“God, you’re so fucking stubborn.”

You were so wet and so turned on you could barely think straight. “Billy,” you pleaded, your entire body heating up almost unbearably so. When he ignored you and instead continued his attack on your clit, you whimpered. “I need you to fuck me.”

With a bruising kiss, Billy released your clit and, in seconds flat, tugged his jeans far enough down his hips before slipping inside of you. The moan that escaped your lips was undeniable as he pumped into you. Reaching up, he grabbed your tit and squeezed as he bit down on your exposed neck. It was a sensory overload coming from all angles.

“Fuck,” Billy’s hoarse voice was in your ear as he pumped into you. “You feel so fucking good, Y/N.” He reached for your face and tilted your chin up towards him, meeting you halfway with a sloppy kiss. Moaning into his mouth, you managed lose yourself in that instance.

Gone was the room around you.

Hell, gone was everything up until this point.

All you could focus on was the feeling of Billy inside of you. Biting down on his lip, you tugged it back as he rolled his hips in a way that made you quiver. He was thrusting, hard, in an almost animalistic that made your entire body shake with the velocity of every desperate push. He moved between kissing your lips, to biting them to suckling your neck as he continued to rail into you with all of passion in the world. He was a man, unhinged, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever seen him so sexy.

Not surprising in the least, it didn’t take him long to come. You’d riled him up to the point of no return and, as you felt him come inside of you, you all but laughed when his forehead dramatically fell against your own.

For a few minutes, neither of you moved, simply just remained still and firmly pressed against one another. But, as the weight of your current whereabouts slowly dawned on either of you, you both slowly pulled away from each other, both wearing a small smile as you re-dressed yourselves.

Once his pants were done up, Billy stepped into you once again and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Cabin this weekend, okay?”

You nodded and hopped down from the desk. “Yeah, maybe,” you teased, fixing your skirt.

Billy’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, maybe, eh?”

“Yeah,” you winked, “I’ll think about it.”

“Smart ass,” Billy smirked. “That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days.”

“I’m counting on it.” Once you were both fixed up, you nodded towards his hand which was still slicked with your juices. You laughed. “Oops.”

But Billy didn’t seem fazed. Instead, your breath hitched in your throat when he raised his hand to his lips and licked your slick clear off, relishing in the taste of it with a knowing smirk on his face. “This weekend.” He reiterated, driving the point home.

“This weekend,” you agreed, walking towards the door. Ensuring nobody saw the two of you leave an empty classroom together, you unlocked the door and gave Billy a small, knowing smile. “See you at lunch, lover boy.”

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moonbeamwritings · 3 years

Text

of salt water and loving gazes

a sequel to “of salt water and curious gazes”

Summary: Making new friends wasn’t necessarily odd, not by any stretch, but making friends with the merman living off the coast by your new home was markedly more so. As you stared at Jotaro beneath the light of the moon, rocking along the surface of the sea, you realized your feelings for your new companion were far beyond friendship.

A/N: Thank you for all of the kind words on the other part and happy Mermay everybody! ⭐

Your meetings with the mysterious merman quickly became a permanent fixture in your routine. Almost every night, with your belly full of whatever you’d scarfed down for dinner, you would tuck yourself into warm, soft clothes and slip on your sandals to begin the trek down to the beach, guided only by the light of the moon.

It was all so weird - befriending a merman was a difficult thing to process after all, but it hadn’t been entirely unpleasant. You’d touched his tail and he hadn’t tried to drown you, or at least not yet. He was much larger than you were and if he’d wanted to kill you with those sharp teeth or drag you to the murky depths below, he would’ve done it already, you rationalized one evening as you shook the sand from your shoes. Despite his hulking, intimidating form, you felt safe by Jotaro’s side, like he was picked out by some higher power to be your welcomed, albeit unlikely, companion.

And you certainly weren’t falling for the beautiful blue of his eyes or the tiny quirk of his lips when you complained about touching squishy seaweed with your toes. Nope, definitely not.

“Come on,” he coaxed gently, holding two webbed hands out to you with an impassive look, “It’ll be fun.”

“How do I know this isn’t some ploy for you to finally drown me? Send me down to the bottom of the ocean to rot?” You asked jokingly, eyeing him with suspicion.

For some reason, it seemed that Jotaro had deemed this evening to be the perfect time to take you swimming, claiming that the moon was in just the right spot, illuminating the water just enough that it wasn’t entirely black. He knew you hated that.

Your questions sent a laugh bubbling from his chest, dipping his body back below the surface as if to highlight just how harmless he was, to hide his massive shoulders beneath the waves, “If I really wanted to drown you, don’t you think I would’ve done it by now?”

He had a good point, but you weren’t about to let this joke die.

“Mmm,” you feigned thought, tapping a finger against your chin, “I don’t know, Jotaro. Maybe you’ve lulled me into a false sense of security. For all I know, you could’ve tricked me into being your friend precisely to find a new victim.”

A look you’d never seen before crossed his face, his eyebrows scrunching in concern and his lips frowning for a fraction of a second before returning to his usual indifference. You hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. He had to know that you were only teasing, right? Maybe you’d taken it just a step too far.

“I wouldn’t do that to you. You know that.” His response was short, resolute as he raised his arms from the water, holding his hands out once again.

You sighed, regret bubbling in your stomach. What a stupid comment to make to a new friend. “I know.”

A beat of silence.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook some of the water from his hands, seemingly impatient as he waited for you to decide what to do. “It’s alright, I know you didn’t mean it like that. You know, you don’t actually have to come out here if you don’t want to.”

You looked between him and the moon, admiring the way he seemed to glow where he swam. The water did look inviting and Jotaro even more so, lingering there with his arms outstretched. Clothes could always be washed, you thought.

Stripping off your sweater to reveal your t-shirt and shorts, you nodded. “I want to.”

“You sure?”

Without a second thought, you agreed, reaching your hands out to grip at his shoulders before you slipped into the water. He kept his own securely at your waist, ensuring that you wouldn’t drift off.

“Not so bad, right?” He asked, chuckling a bit before using his tail to guide you both through the water, setting a leisurely place over the waves.

“It’s freezing.” Came your immediate, disgruntled response, marked by slight tremors in your tone as your teeth chattered. You kicked your own feet in an attempt to warm your body, but it was as if your bones had already frozen solid.

“Just stay close to me,” Jotaro assured. “Or,” he continued, beginning a half-hearted descent beneath the waves, “I could dunk you? That’d warm you up pretty quick.”

You clung to him even tighter, scrambling to move up his body as he shifted, “Don’t you dare.”

You felt his chest rumble with a laugh, adjusting your position so more of your body was above the surface again and as it continued, you couldn’t help but join him, falling into your own laugh as you swam. He really did have a cute laugh, you thought, and it was nice to see him smile so openly. Damn him and his perfect, well, everything.

Perfection aside, being able to spend time with him in his element, drifting in the sea as the smell of salt invaded your nose, was something you wouldn’t trade for anything. There was a quiet intimacy to the moment that you couldn’t quite place, but you allowed it to settle, warming your heart and cheeks in the process.

As silence fell between the two of you, you felt your bones begin to loosen, skin warming thanks to his body heat. You continued to warm up as you felt his chest press flush against yours, so close that the two of you were nearly nose to nose. Lost in his eyes, you watched as his gaze flickered from yours to your lips and back again as he leaned just a fraction of an inch closer. It was as if you were both teetering on the edge of a cliff, waiting with bated breath for something to just... happen. The moment was broken by the sound of him clearing his throat, pulling away from you as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Had you been imagining it or had he almost kissed you? Why hadn’t he?

Heat rushed to your face as questions swirled in your mind, a wild storm of what-ifs and missed chances. An arm’s length away, you began to tread water on your own, needing a minute to just breathe.

The strange new energy dissipated quickly, Jotaro diving into a story about the adventure he and his friends had gone on in your absence during the day to distract you, or maybe himself - you couldn’t tell.

The merperson lifestyle always a little lost on you, but you did your best to follow along. Surely, he had no idea what you meant by a cell phone or what grocery stores were really like, so you could cut him some slack as he went into detail about stands - whatever those were - and the intricacies of sea urchin collecting.

You wondered what he was really like beneath the waves as he traveled with his friends. Was he less talkative? Or more? What did his language sound like to those who were fluent in it? Did they think he was crazy for speaking to you? Did they even know?

A splash of water landed right against your face, salt water burning your eyes as it hit you.

Bastard.

“Hey, are you even listening?” He accused, teasing smile resting just about the water’s surface.

“Of course, I am,” you fired back with a smile of your own. “Now tell me everything.”

You and Jotaro continued to talk and idly swim as the moon rose higher in the sky, cold limbs long since forgotten in favor of floating your way along the waves as you chatted with him. It was as easy as breathing, being beside him and feeling the sloshing of the sea beneath your shoulders.

Moments like these reminded you of your grandmother and the gentle words that lingered in your head whenever you took your seat at the end of the jetty. Jotaro, and the great expanse of the ocean itself, left you feeling lighter with each visit, like your problems were just a single drop and nothing more. Spending time with Jotaro was easy and you weren’t sure if you could ever find the words to tell him.

“This is nice.” You spoke, tipping back to allow the water to lap at your hair as you took in the pale light of the moon.

Jotaro’s eyes hadn’t left your form for what felt like an eternity, hypnotized by the way you moved, by the goosebumps across the expanse of your skin - by you. With the near-kiss weighing heavily on his mind, he finally turned away, dipping below the surface of the water to collect his thoughts.

You had accepted him, so wholeheartedly that it nearly made him dizzy. With a single, tentative smile and a brush of your fingers against his fluke on that first fateful night, you’d hooked him in and he knew he’d ever be able to stop coming back. Jotaro also knew though, just how dangerous it was to spend so much time around humans, but he simply couldn’t help it. You were like a shimmering pearl, a precious gem that he couldn’t bear to lose.

And now, with your body closer to his than it had ever been before, a realization came racing to the forefront of his mind. His feelings for you went beyond friendship, beyond harmless nights spent splashing water or trading seashells.

Jotaro loved you.

Righting yourself to turn back towards Jotaro, you panicked. The horizon around you was empty, save for docked boats and a lighthouse far off in the distance.

“Jotaro?” You called frantically, spinning around in the water in a desperate search for the dark-haired merman, “Jotaro!?”

Your muffled calls sent him reeling back to the surface, pulling one of your hands into his own. He watched as you jumped about a mile in the air before you sprung at him, latching your arms around his neck. “I’m right here.”

“God,” you huffed, breath ghosting over his ear, “Don’t do that. Leaving me out here all alone like a worm on a hook, flailing around like an idiot.”

“Sorry.”

Without thinking, his arms wrapped around your waist, rubbing a reassuring hand along the small of your back. You relished in the feeling for a few moments before leaning back, face mere inches from his own, noses and lips nearly touching.

He was breathtaking like this; hair dripping with water that caught the light of the stars just so, body covered in droplets that shone like crystals. His eyes were rendered even more beautiful with your proximity, a deep turquoise littered with little flecks of blue.

You could just lean in and-

His lips crossed the distance with ease, pressing up against yours as if he had been reading your mind. The kiss was sweet, clumsy and a little too salty, but still managing to send your heart stuttering in your chest all the same. Jotaro supported you both, keeping you afloat with his tail as your arms trailed back around his neck, fingers threading in his wet hair. He kept his hands on your back, clutching your shirt in each fist.

Feeling breathless, you pulled away to rest your forehead against his, a grin beginning to spread across your face. Jotaro swore he’d never seen you so happy. The twinkle in your eyes had him tugging at your waist, twirling you around in the water before pulling you in for another kiss. This one was just as clumsy as the first, a goofy mess of teeth and lips as you struggled to suppress your smiles.

With one final peck, Jotaro pulled away to take a breath, revealing one of the cutest blushes you’ve ever seen. You rushed to bring your hands to his face, cradling his cheeks in your palms as if to savor the moment, to make his flush last that much longer.

“I’m in love with you.” His words came out in a flurry, a sharp contrast to his low, unwavering tone. He was nervous. As if now, after everything, his admission would scare you away.

“I’m in love with you too.” You replied, rubbing a thumb along his smooth, wet cheekbone.

“This doesn’t...” he cut himself off to gesture vaguely at his tail with his eyes, “it doesn’t bother you?”

“I wouldn’t be here right now if it did, right?”

He smiled at that, bringing his lips down to connect with your hairline. “Mm, I guess not. Still think I’m gonna drown you?”

The question caught you off guard, a light giggle escaping your throat as you pressed even closer to his chest. You could feel his heartbeat.

“At this point,” you began, running your hands down to hold his shoulders as your eyes met his own, “I wouldn’t really mind if you did.”

Jotaro started to move with the waves again, casually floating on his back with you clinging onto him. “You have to be careful, you know. I am a vicious beast after all.”

You thought about the kisses you’d just shared, about the way he’d held you as if you would break, about his bashful smile and beautiful laugh and that adorable blush.

“Yeah, sure thing, tough guy.”

Your grandmother had always told you that the ocean soothed the soul, acting as a quiet reprieve from the hustle and bustle of your daily life - an escape. Here, in the arms of one of the ocean’s most beautiful creations, you were certain she was right.

#jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro kujo imagine #jotaro x reader #jotaro imagine #jjba x reader #jjba imagine #merperson au #mermaid au #mermay 2021

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shorkbrian · 3 years

Text

(Needles (aphrodisiacs!), blood, and medical paraphernalia ahead. No outright NSFW, but implied at the end)

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Latex gloves snapped as they stretched over the man’s hands.

You were nervous.

“Sign here. It’s a consent form for the vaccines you’re receiving today.” His voice was level, almost monotone as he placed a clipboard and pen onto the counter next to your chair.

Three vaccines, routine injections.

You’d been putting them off, wary of needles, wary of people having to touch your body. You knew it would be an all-around unpleasant experience, but you had to get it done sometime, no matter how much you tried to avoid it.

Originally it had just been two shots, but the Doctor, Chisaki Kai, had called back informing you that a third injection would be necessary.

A quick scribble with the pen before the masked man was whisking the clipboard away, confirming you’d signed the papers with a quick glance. He had pretty eyes, you noted - golden iris’s visible above the surgical face mask covering his mouth and nose.

Those pretty eyes snapped to yours, the man looking significantly bored. “All’s in order.” You watched him begin assembling the injections on the counter, needles by bottles, alcohol wipes and bandaids nearby.

“The first will go in your left arm, the second in your right, and the third in your left again. It will hurt.” His bedside manner left something to be desired.

He worked quickly and efficiently, plunging the first needle into a bottle, drawing back the plunger to fill it full of liquid before removing it from the bottle. “Please roll up your sleeves.”

Then he was stepping close, needle in one gloved hand, sterile alcohol swab in the other. You were watching him like a hawk, trying your best not to flinch when the cold wipe came into contact with your exposed upper arm.

A quick glance at your flinch, the slight bit of air hissing through your teeth at nothing but the coldness of the wipe had the man cocking his head, but he said nothing.

“Uhm, can you please-uhm, tell me when you’re about to do it?” You gulp, wide eyes trained on the far wall. Just don’t look at the needle, you’ll be fine.

“You prefer to know when to expect the pain?” It was less a question, more a statement, but you nodded nonetheless. “I’ll count to three.”

“One.” A gloved hand lightly touched your arm.

“Two.” Pointer finger and thumb smoothed over your skin, keeping it taut.

“Three.” There was a pinch, immediately followed by deep burning, stinging pain that had you gritting your teeth and wincing.

-----

The scent of bitter, sterile alcohol filled your nose, harshly jerking you to consciousness. Everything smelled like chemicals, latex and bleach and ammonia - not the most pleasant thing to wake up to.

Opening your eyes was easy, lifting your head not so much. You were slumped in your seat, head resting against the counter at your side, feet planted on the ground.

The doctor was crouched in front of you, a small wipe pinched between his fingers, held up to your nose. Golden eyes studied you closely, and upon seeing your eyes open, lashes fluttering, the doctor withdrew the wipe, subsequently taking away the chemical smell.

“You fainted.”

A blink as you gained your bearings, feeling disoriented and weak. You were still in the exam room, a tiny cramped space with barely enough room for a chair beside the exam table.

You swallowed, throat feeling dry, head fuzzy. God, did you hate needles.

“Have you had this reaction to injections before? It’s not uncommon in patients.”

“I.....no? I don’t-uhm-don’t think so...” It felt funny talking, as if you weren’t inside your body.

The doctor stood abruptly, quickly discarding the ammonia wipe into the trash, stripping his gloves off as well before donning a new pair.

“Stay there while you recover. Are you up for the other two shots today, or would you like to schedule an appointment for them at a different time?”

Why the hell didn’t he just give you the shots while you were unconscious?

“I wanna do it today please.” You sighed, reaching to feel the bandaid on your left arm. “I would hate to have to come back and do this again, know what I mean?”

Nothing else was said, just a brief nod from the man before he disappeared from the room. You shuffled your feet, closing your eyes as you leaned back in the chair.

“(Y/N)? Do you feel ready to stand?” He was back, standing in the doorway and looking at you.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” You rocked up to your feet, rolling down your sleeve as the doctor stepped froward towards the counter. He gathered up the remaining syringes, bottles, and other supplies before stepping around you and back towards the door.

Again, you did your best to not shy away when he passed you, not wanting to make contact. Your skin was so sensitive, you hated touching people, or feeling their clothes brush against your skin. The man didn’t seem to notice, but that was alright. You were used to dodging threatening sensations in your life.

He guided you through the clinic, towards the back where a small office was situated, a comfortable-looking couch against one of the walls. His name wasn’t on the door - you remember now, Doctor Chisaki.

Or was he a nurse? You didn’t know.

But his name wasn’t on the door. Was it okay to be in this office? Don’t they usually make you wait in the exam room?

“Have a seat, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back shortly.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Today was your day off, the entire day devoted to getting your shots done, to overcoming this obstacle, handling the immense stress that came with it. It didn’t bother you to spend it sitting down and playing word searches on your phone.

But still....

“Don’t patients usually wait in the exam room? Or in the waiting room?” You asked the man as soon as he re-entered the room, stack of paperwork in one hand as he shut the door with the other.

He gave you a once-over, body tucked into the corner of the couch, before he spoke. “Usually, but I want to make sure you don’t pass out where I can’t see you. That’d make me a bad doctor. This isn’t common procedure, sure, but I didn’t expect your body to be so-” weak “-easily indisposed.”

The tone of his voice kept completely level, hardly any emotions showing on his face, but still you felt... chilled by this man. There was no reassurance from him, no compassion or empathy.

“I’ll administer your remaining shots in 45 minute increments, that should give you enough time to recover between each one. You’ll have to lay down for them though, that’s why you’re sitting on that couch.”

Polite, but it still felt like you were getting talked-down-to. He was patronizing you.

You gave him a curt nod to show you understood, before fumbling your phone out of your pocket to begin passing the time.

Doctor Chisaki sat down behind the empty desk, neatly placing his stack of papers on the wood before taking a sheet off the top and clicking his pen. From where he was sitting, you were in his direct line of sight, and you could feel him glancing at you occasionally as the scribble of his pen and the tapping of your fingers filled the silence.

45 minutes passed quickly, too quickly for your liking. You weren’t looking forward to the next shot.

Same instructions as before - roll up your sleeve, he’d count to three.

But the doctor paused after swabbing your arm clean. “You keep flinching. Am I hurting you?”

“No, I mean, not really.” You shrugged. “I don’t like it when people touch me I guess, feels funny.”

“Well, try to relax.”

Easy for him to say, hard for you to do.

This time, with you laying down, the shot went much smoother. The doctor counted the three, you hissed in pain at the burning slice of the needle, but retained consciousness. Which frankly, was a success.

“That really hurts.” You breathed as soon as the needle slipped free from your arm. Even thinking about the thin point being in your muscles made you feel queasy. At least you didn’t have to look at it.

“That’s a common side effect. Muscle soreness because the needle is essentially causing a small injury to the fibers, and there are other reasons, but they're more complicated. You want ice?”

“Nah, it’ll be fine. I’ll just deal with it.”

The man blinked. “You have an interesting reaction to pain.”

“Uhhh...” You scrunched up your eyebrows as you glanced up at him, sitting up as you did so. “Thanks?”

“You’re extremely sensitive to tactile stimulation, like to know when you’ll be experiencing pain, but you don’t particularly care about relieving it. Have you ever given blood?”

The question caught you off guard, especially after realizing the man had been analyzing you more closely than you had expected.

“Nah. Does that matter?”

“Not particularly, I’m just curious I guess.” Doctor Chisaki admitted, once again stripping off his gloves and disposing of them before sliding on another pair.

He went back to his paperwork, and you to your phone, but his frequent glances weighed you down. Did you have something on your face? Was your hair messy?

“Could you point me to the bathroom please?” You rose to your feet slowly, making sure you weren’t going to faint as you stood up.

“It’d be better if you stayed seated.” Was his curt reply.

With a frown, you sat back down. Why couldn’t you use the bathroom? Maybe it affected..... something? With the vaccines? You didn’t know enough about how these things worked to really question it. Doctors were professionals, and they had their reasons.

Still, you’d feel a bit more comfortable if the man wasn’t watching you so closely.

45 more minutes of squirming until your next shot.

-----

Lay down.

Roll up your sleeve.

Try to relax.

Deep breathe.

“You smell.”

“What?” Your head snapped to the side, confused. You smelled?

“It’s not bad. What scent is it?”

Blinking back surprise, you relayed the scent on your shampoo and conditioner. This doctor was a bit... unconventional. But his sudden question did take your mind off of the countdown, off of the pain. Smart.

“My nose is sensitive, most scents are overwhelming and while I like cleanliness I cannot stand the smell of bleach or most cleaning products. I chose the wrong profession for that, didn’t I?”

His version of a joke made you almost chuckle, a lazy grin stretching across your face instead. “You certainly did. You ever try Pine Sol though? That’s what I use for like, everything.”

The doctor shook his head, and you chattered on about the unoffensive-smelling cleaner, where you bought the bottle you have under your sink, how you use it. He listened intently as he plastered another bandaid over your arm.

“Alright, I can go now?” You asked, sitting up for the last time.

“No.”

“No?”

“Vasovagal syncope can still occur, I’d prefer you not faint and bash your head open on the ground. There’d be such a mess.”

Mouth snapping shut at the fancy medical term, you couldn’t help but sigh as you slumped back against the couch.

“Bored?”

“I’ve been here for almost four hours. You don’t have other patients to get to?” You didn’t think to check the accusatory tone in your voice.

The doctor put aside his pen, folding his hands on the desk as he stared at you with golden eyes. “They’ve been transferred to different doctors. My current patient has taken precedence. I don’t half-ass things like some people, I see my projects to completion.”

You were a bit taken aback at the vehemence in his voice, the way his eyes dropped to slits, narrowing fiercely at you.

“That’s what it means to be in this profession. I’m here to cure people. I make sure that sickness doesn’t spread between humans like fire in a barn full of hay. What I do is important and deserving of respect, I’m ensuring the survival of humanity, am I not?”

The intense tension in the air built, the doctor staring you down. “I’m close to becoming a renowned doctor. Just one, one breakthrough will finally get the world to see me. ”

He cocked his head, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled beneath the mask. “I thank your efforts in being a volunteer towards my latest project. It’s been a bit difficult to find someone who readily accepted an unknown injection.”

Unknown.. injection?

“What are you talking about?”

“The second injection isn’t a vaccine, more like a... pet project of mine. I can’t wait to see what it does.”

“You can’t-this is malpractice, I didn’t consent to this-” Your fists clenched as you stood.

“You signed the consent papers. They’ll hold up in court. Most people receive the vaccines you got today when they’re still teenagers, and under their parents care. Lucky for me, you’re afraid of needles it seems, so you’ve been a bit neglectful. Hard to get a parent to sign over their child as a test subject, easy to get a fearful individual to listen to their doctor.”

A twinkle in his eye made you want to punch his lights out. “What the hell dude, you call yourself a doctor? What did you inject me with?”

The man rose from behind the desk, moving until he stood in front of you. “You’ll see soon enough. I’m pleased that you’re so concerned with hygiene, that makes this easier for both of us.”

“What??”

“And you can forget about calling for help, not that you’ll want to. But everyone’s left for the day-” He checked his wrist, where a nice watch gleamed at you mockingly. “45 minutes ago. So feel free to disclose your symptoms as they pop up as loud as you’d like.”

The man sat down on the couch, easily sinking into the plush material looking up at you with a malicious gleam in his eyes. He had been playing you since you’d walked into the clinic. Was this some sort of prank?

“You’re messing with me.”

“I’ve told you, I see my projects to completion. This is the testing stage, and it might be a while before it’s over. Why would I waste time messing with someone else’s dumb little life?’

Your mouth felt dry, face warm. Why did your legs feel all pleasantly tingly? There was a slowly-building heat simmering low in your core, and if you weren’t standing directly in front of Chisaki, you’d rub your legs together. What did he do to you?

“Now, sit down, and tell your doctor what's bothering you.”

#kai #kai chisaki #chisaki #bnha #yandere #Yandere bnha #Yandere chisaki #Yandere kai #Yandere kai chisaki #Chisaki kai #overhaul #overhaul Chisaki kai #medical au #quirkless au #dark chisaki #tw.dubcon #tw.needles #tw.medical issues #tw.vaccines

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nurseofren · 3 years

Text

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 30 (NSFW)

Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Read chapter twenty-nine (NSFW-lite)

Title: Not a Fascination

Words: 14.1k (Um... don't look at me lmfao)

Summary: The other side of tragedy.

Warnings: vaginal fisting, needles, inappropriate use of medical equipment

ST Rambles: Here to drop this absolute MONSTROSITY of a 14.1k word chapter. But boy howdy was this thing a long time coming. Thigh riding, fisting, vein kink -- OH MY. To be honest, this thing was not supposed to be what it is, but I went with it and like how it turned out and how it will help the story along.

I take my NCLEX on July 7th and start my orientation on the 19th. Life is crazy y'all. Enjoy this.

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER // @elmidol

Bloodied faces, jagged flesh, the smell of iron scorching your nose, screams scraping against your ears and never ending, never faltering no matter how much you did.

All these things, these horrid thoughts, crowded your mind, and all you could do was keep running, keep tumbling through the unfamiliar halls of this place and hope you could get to him in time. Get to Kylo in time.

Because how many chances could the galaxy or the stars or the gods offer you? It felt like you’d used those chances up, maxed them out between Robbie and Snoke and Starkiller.

But you could not think like that, or at least you didn’t want to. It was useless, none of those gut-wrenching thoughts could help you or Kylo, and all of them just made you want to crumple to the floor and give up.

If he wasn’t okay, if he was dying…

The thought made you stumble forward, your fingers clamping onto a doorframe as you made another tight turn into the next hallway that looked like all the previous. You shot past couplets of workers, their shocked gasps dwindling behind as you raced away from them to wherever your watch was leading you.

CB-7070 raced just behind you, and maybe it appeared as if you were being chased by security, but you couldn’t care less, not as you felt the phantom flood of crimson slither along your leg, its ghost a cold, wicked reminder of how bad things could be again. The stormtrooper didn’t stop you, though, and you wondered briefly if she had been alerted to Kylo’s emergency as well. But it was a fleeting thought, and all you could think of was getting to him and being with him and not letting him go ever again.

Your heart burned in your chest and your legs flew faster than you ever knew they could, fast like your sprint toward the Command Shuttle when the planet was exploding alongside your life. This was all too familiar, too chaotic. You couldn’t do this again.

You wouldn’t.

The next turn you hurdled past, you promised yourself that you would do everything you could to ensure Kylo would never be helpless like he had been ever again. Trial be damned, license be damned, Snoke be damned! None of it mattered. Nothing mattered. Nothing but him, nothing mattered except him. It was always him.

It would always be him.

The tiny red blip of your radar display became centered, and you looked up just before you met a badge-protected door face first. Before you could process the thought completely, your hand flung to the badge hanging from your collar and slammed it into the scanner on the wall. The door hissed open and you catapulted into whatever room you’d been led to.

And then you connected with a hard wall of heat and muscle. Kylo.

Breath heaved from your lungs as your hands skimmed along his front, assessing for damage and wounds, searching for the sinister slip of blood beneath the tips of your fingers. You were only vaguely aware of the questions fumbling from your trembling lips, your ears ringing and head pounding as your hands took one of his clothed arms and smoothed along its strong length, wandering until they found nothing of concern and shifting to the opposite.

After finding his front and upper half free from injury, you went to spin to his back, but a hand caught your hip – a warm, firm hand that broke through the cloud of panic that’d swallowed you – and kept you from moving. You urged away from it, but it remained and kept you steady, and when you tried a third time, it grasped a little tighter, and you found your way back to the present.

Breath wheezed out of you and you looked up. Kylo was peering down at you, unmasked. It was there again, that odd, unreadable expression from the Command Shuttle that day, the one that looked like awe, but now it was laced with something more. The way he looked at you… Kylo seemed stunned, but there was this strength to it, like he hadn’t been expecting your worry, but that he liked it.

“Kylo,” you whimpered, your fingers reaching up to skim his face, the pad of your left ring finger etching along the black-and-red scar that struck through his face.

His Jaw tightened and your eyes fled to his, the weight of his molten amber gaze making you shiver. Something wet and hot slipped over your top lip, and only then did you realize you’d begun to cry.

“Kylo,” you mouthed, and then you rested your forehead against the broad width of his chest, your hands slipping from his face and reaching around his waist so you could pull him to you.

He seemed to relax slightly with you tight against him, but he was still rigid.

“Leave us,” Kylo stated simply, and your blood ran cold while your face heated.

In your panicked state, you forgot that CB-7070 had followed after you. She’d kept up with you through the halls and was now standing in the same room where you’d just caressed the Commander of the First Order’s face and hugged him. The room where you were still hugging him.

“Commander Ren, I am to remain with your provider during her time away from the Consulate,” CB-7070 said, an uneasiness clear even in her altered voice. “To leave her would go against my assignment.”

“Your assignment is with the General, is it not?” Kylo demanded, the hand on your hip flexing but never releasing.

There was a tense pause, and you heard the stormtrooper at your back shuffle uncomfortably, undoubtedly under the intense glare your master was shooting her right now.

“She is my provider, after all. Report to the General that you left her with me.” His heart was steady and unwavering in his chest, and you knew you should pull away from him, but you were too caught up in the reassurance of his strong form to do so.

Another moment of silence passed, you felt the steady gawk of CB-7070’s face centered on you, and you went to finally let go of Kylo. But he had other plans. Instead of letting you go, Kylo took the hand that wasn’t clasped to your hip and let it trail up your spine, dragging it along your back until it cupped the base of your skull and shifted your head so your cheek lay flat against his chest.

“Tell your general he can come to me if he has an issue with my order. I’ll be interested to hear his… perspective on the matter, if he feels so compelled.”

The lethal confidence that Kylo spoke with seeped into your bones. And though you couldn’t see his face, you heard the slight snarl he’d ended his words with.

A second passed, you took a breath, and the heat of Kylo’s gloved hand atop your nape sent a scalding shiver down your spine. Movement sounded at your back, and you could almost feel CB-7070’s surrender in the way the remaining rigidity left Kylo altogether.

The stormtrooper cleared her throat. “I will report as you’ve advised, Commander Ren.” Out of the corner of your eye, CB-7070 shifted toward you. “Officer,” she said in resignation, wariness tingeing her tone.

You couldn’t look at her. The only thing meeting her mask-hidden eyes would do is solidify that you had an odd, extremely inappropriate relationship with Kylo Ren. Between the trial, the shitty shift, and whatever Kylo called you here for, the last thing you needed was Hux up your ass. Or, further up your ass than he already was.

So you only nodded against Kylo’s chest, attempting to speak but knowing your words would be rasped by how thick your throat had become.

Boots sounded on the tile floor, then a rush of hydraulics, and finally the room settled around you. It was quiet, the only sound that of Kylo’s rhythmic, unfaltering heart and your own pulse finally slowing in your ears. He still held you to him – hand on hip and head – and for however long he did, whether it was minutes or hours, you felt the chaos of Starkiller’s downfall flood away. Kylo held you and you held onto him, and the planet at your feet kept still and steady, so you allowed a second a peace, clinging to every rise and fall of the chest that tided beneath your cheek.

Had you ever held Kylo Ren before? The thought struck through you, and you tightened your hold just a measure more, and you felt your body sigh against his.

Kylo had held you before, held tight your sob-wracked body on that all-too-recent day that seemed to have changed so much. Seemed to have changed everything, really.

“I thought something happened,” you murmured. “I thought you were hurt again like… like last time. And that I’d find you and you wouldn’t…” You swallowed, the grim thought choking you. “And you wouldn’t wake up this time.”

The hand on your hip smoothed over to the small of your back, the breath of his heavy sigh cooling the crown of your head. “I’m not that easy to kill,” Kylo said, blunt yet gentle.

You ran your hands up his back, surreptitiously searching for damage. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” you mumbled.

A gust of amusement left him, and he teasingly said, “I think a lot of people would disagree with that statement.”

He was… joking? “Nothing physically wrong, then. So why are you here, Kylo?”

He hummed, and the feel of his vibrating chest against your ear was chilling. The hand that rested on the back of your neck toyed with the stray hair there, and just as soon as your eyes lulled shut did they fling back open.

The Force returned with unyielding, unforgiving strength. It laved and pushed and whirled through your cunt, and you shuddered against Kylo and he held you to him, trapped you against him while you yipped and squealed and bit back wanton moans.

“I can’t just come see you?” Kylo rumbled, and you could hear the smirk he now wore. “It has been such a long, boring day, what with you ordering me against training for the foreseeable future, so I thought I’d pay a visit to my little nurse.” He sighed a low chuckle. “Thought I’d see how memorable your first day has been.”

Your hands bunched in the material of his outer tunic, your jaw slack and brow pinched, but through the thick pleasure you found yourself annoyed and… angry.

You were angry with him.

He came here with the intent to toy with you, just as he’d done during your entire shift. The same toying – albeit, much more vehement now – that caused you to be publicly reprimanded and shamed not even an hour ago. It made you feel so worthless, so unimportant that he hadn’t considered that you wouldn’t want to do this with him right now. Even worse was the fact you thought he was hurt or so much worse when your watch had alerted.

It felt like he didn’t care how these shifts would affect your trial. It felt like he hadn’t given a second thought to summoning you here, like he didn’t consider that you’d lose your mind at the thought of something worse happening to him as the events of Starkiller occurred not even two weeks ago.

“Kylo,” you warned, but it came out on a lusting breath. “Kylo, stop.”

“Is that another one of your orders you seem to be so keen on today? In that case…”

The Force shifted, and while it kept a masterful pattern on your clit, you now felt it move inside you, pushing into you just as his thick, heavy cock would. But the Force grew, it stretched you and you felt it deep, deepinside. A pitiful wheeze jolted from your lungs, and when your knees quivered, Kylo only pressed you harder into his massive, broad body, the Force filling you with relentless strokes.

“Kylo, stop it. Stop it, now,” you panted, your voice rising a pitch when you felt the frays of pleasure tickle along your nerves. You didn’t want to cum, not for him, not right now when he’d made you so livid.

“You should be begging me to let you cum, not for me to stop” he hummed, a note of uncertainty present in his tone. “Why are you fighting me on this?”

“Because I don’t want to do this with you!”

The exclamation ripped through your throat, your nails nearly shredding through his thick tunic, and as you prepared to be drowned in the ecstasy of orgasm, the Force left you. It all stopped, and all you knew in that moment was that you were relieved he listened to you. Relieved he stopped and recognized that this wasn’t an empty plea born from a pleasure high. Recognized you were serious.

As you calmed, still holding tight to him, you felt the absence of his touch, and the room went completely still around you. It didn’t even seem like Kylo was breathing, or he was and it was disconcertingly quiet and insidious.

You took your hands from him and stepped away, seeing you were in a nondescript assessment room, a simple exam table in its center and a set of windows peering out toward the bay. The sun was slowly sinking toward the water now, casting the cabinet-lined walls with rich orange and purple hues. Only now did you realize the lights weren’t on, the panic you’d entered the room with quick to steal your attention from such details.

As you took another step back, wiping your face with the backs of your hands, you turned your focus back to Kylo. You were mad at him. He didn’t get to throw a fit right now. You did.

But before you could start, Kylo spoke, his voice deathly and haunted as he did. “Then who do you want to do this with?”

“What are you talking about, Kylo?”

“You said you didn’t want to do this with me. That implies there is another who you would rather be doing this with.” His face was forged in impenetrable steel, and yours was warped with exasperated confusion.

“Yeah, I don’t want to do this with you. Fuck, no I don’t want to fuck you right now. I don’t want to be fucked by you right now.”

He was entirely off base, and it sent a wave of quiet outrage through you that he couldn’t see why you were so angry with him.

He ground his teeth together, so hard it seemed likely he would crack a molar. The scarred side of his face hitched in a snarl when he whispered, “The physician, right? That would make the most sense. You wanted to fuck him before.”

“Hey!” you barked, stomping a pace toward him, utterly dumbfounded by how he was missing the point. “You don’t get to call me a slut. You know what? You don’t get to be mad right now. You don’t get to imply that I want to fuck anyone other than you just because your fragile ego can’t take that I don’t want to fuck you right now, that I don’t want you to touch me right now because…”

Thoughts were somehow coming too quickly and leaving too soon as you floundered in front of him. When you didn’t speak, when your hands grasped for the words that you couldn’t find, your eyes settled on the rigid flow of his breathing. And then lower to the fists at his sides, flexing and unflexing as the room settled into silence.

“You don’t get to be mad,” you said, and it was a quiet murmur from your lips but the room around you boomed as they left you. “You don’t get to be mad right now because I…” And it took a final moment, one where his eyes lit at the threat of more silence, but you finally understood what you were feeling. “You don’t get to be mad right now because I am more than your fuck toy.”

“Of course you are—,”

“No!” you interrupted, flinging a hand just inches from his chest. “You talk so much about how I need you and how I need to trust you first, but how can I when you won’t respect… me?”

Kylo’s nostrils flared, and you saw the heave of breath that left him, but he kept quiet. So you continued. “You don’t respect me. Or maybe you do and you just suck at showing it. Because you called me here, you alerted me that there was something wrong and I thought you were dead, alright? I thought you were hurt and that you were bleeding out and that if I didn’t get to you in time that you were going to die and that it would be my fault.”

“I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong,” he said, voice laden with visceral restraint.

“And that’s the whole problem, don’t you see?” You bored one last stabbing glare into his eyes, and then rage clutched at your chest. A whiny, tired roar tore through your throat. “I’m such a joke. I… I can’t do anything. I’ve lost so much time and opportunity being assigned to you that I never learned how to do anything right! And you don’t care! You don’t care that I’m working under a preceptor who graduated the same month I did. You don’t care that I’m here, working unpaid shifts so I can prove to the Board that even if I’m unfit for practice, I am still worthy of life.”

Breath burned your throat, but it never seemed to fill your lungs. Kylo glared at you, a cold, flat expression dulling his features. You didn’t care. He needed to hear this. You needed to say it.

“I sprinted here from the Infirmary, and all I could think about was that I couldn’t lose you. That I wouldn’t live in a world where I wasn’t with you.” His brow narrowed at that, but you couldn’t stop. “And when I got here and you were okay, I felt like I could breathe again. But then you start with your Force-fucking bullshit and made me realize that you will never take me seriously. None of this will ever matter to you – not the fact that I won’t ever practice again, not the fact that you caused me to miss an IV, not the fact that that got me humiliated in front of a whole floor of staff who will forever know me as Kylo Ren’s Provider, the girl with the red embroidery and the too-short uniform.”

You hadn’t noticed, but your hand had gone to trace the embroidery you’d just mentioned, and when you flung your hand away, you saw a flicker of something unfamiliar in Kylo’s eyes.

A bitter, cold laugh croaked out of you. “Do you know who I’m working under? Does the name Calliope Silvren sound familiar to you?” You eyed him, and when he didn’t speak, you nearly barked at him, “Do you know who she is, Kylo?”

“No,” he said, and it sounded like the truth, but it didn’t matter to you if it was or not.

“Calliope Silvren is everything I was supposed to be. She’s everything I’m not, and… and she’s the one you are supposed to be fucking!”

“What are you talking about?” He ended the question with a tense cut of your name.

“Because I was your little fascination, right?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the thought as your vision blurred with tears. “I was nothing more than a game to you, and she was the one who was supposed to be assigned to you.” Gulps of breath hiccupped in your throat. “She wouldn’t have gotten herself into this situation!” The heels of your hands dug into your eyes, and you realized you were trembling. “Calliope fucking Silvren wouldn’t have taken the blood from that fridge, and she wouldn’t have fucked her Commander! Calliope fucking Silvren wouldn’t have named a stormtrooper and she wouldn’t have gotten raped and she wouldn’t have killed anyone!”

Something hard and cold cracked across your knees, and your hands fell out in front of you. The floor. Your legs had given out and you were sobbing uncontrollably on the sterile, frigid floor.

With a stuttering chest, you hugged your knees and cried into them. “I was never supposed to be here, none of this was supposed to happen. I was supposed to graduate and work in the Stormtrooper Hub and live a boring, mundane life.” Crushing pain flooded your chest, and your next words were nastier than you meant them to be. “A boring, mundane life where I fucked the physician until the day I died.” You looked up at him, then, and he was only a blurry outline of black and orange and purple. “Because that’s what I am to you, right? Just some slut who fucks all the men in her life.”

You scraped at your wet, burning eyes and a sob hitched in your throat. Kylo looked down at you, and you could feel the violent emotion that lived in his blackened eyes. But he said nothing, and when the silence pressed into you, the thought that came to mind was too loud to keep inside.

But that riotous thought came out on the meager dying breath of a whisper. “If your biggest concern right now is that I want to fuck Mason, then I have… I have deluded myself into believing that you care for me. That you ever cared for me.” The truth of it burned your tongue, and your chest ached for the death of the future you’d come running for.

Kylo didn’t look away from you for a long moment, and though he remained guarded, you saw something tense in his eyes. It wasn’t anger but sorrow. Sorrow and fear hidden behind a cracked mask. But then the notch in his throat moved and he turned away.

Anticipating his departure, you shut your eyes and braced yourself for the hydraulic hiss. Memories of the past few months flooded your mind’s eye, and you questioned if all this time it had been one-sided and imagined. The idea tore through you, and your chest hollowed when you thought of all the times you’d considered so dear could have only been ploys so he could control you, so he’d have access to his little fascination whenever he wanted.

The storm of thoughts overwhelmed you, but when you heard a drawer-release in the distance, muffled by the blood pounding through your skull, you lifted your head and opened your eyes to find Kylo hadn’t left. He was looking at you from across the room, his face haunted with a stabbing emotion you couldn’t quite place. His hands, glove-free now, held something, and when you caught view of it Kylo started toward you.

He didn’t stop until he stood just a stride in front of you, and when you stared up at him you saw his jaw was set, yet anger remained absent from him, still that sorrowful fear, but now it was softer, yielding. He took a silent breath, his shoulders rising evenly, and then you gasped and jolted upright as he folded himself to the floor before you and sat.

You gulped, gawking at him, noting he held an… IV starter kit?

“What are you doing?” you asked, taking in how awkward his massive form looked as he sat with his legs open and his knees slightly bent.

He said nothing, dropping the IV kit to the floor between his legs and proceeding to unclasp and shrug off the top layers of his uniform. He watched his hands while doing so, allowing you to observe him without the weight of his eyes pressing into you. He kept his eyes away until his chest was bare and you saw his biceps flex and flow as he placed the last of his clothing to the side.

Kylo picked up the sealed kit with one hand and your own in his other. He clasped the kit into your palm and pinned you with his gaze. “You are not a fascination,” he stated, clarity ringing in his voice.

He dropped your hand, only after squeezing it between his own, and then gripped the sides of your thighs and pulled you between his spread legs. You swallowed, heart thumping hard when he positioned your face just a breath from his.

He never looked away from you, and you couldn’t take your eyes from his, so when he next spoke you felt each powerful word kiss your cheeks and sink into your soul. “You are the light that has shown me my way.”

All at once, your heart stopped. Words refused to form. The harsh knit of his brow softened, and he lifted his forearm to rest on his flexed knee. With an unsteady, almost nervous emotion, he said, “You have not deluded yourself,” your name was a faint yearn off his tongue. “I care for you.”

He held his palm open and up, and the tips of his fingers played with the tab of the kit still resting in your hand, slight tremors coursing through your fingers. “Make this even. Use this,” he nudged the plastic container again, “and right the wrong I caused.”

It took a moment for your mouth to catch up with your brain, and when you finally spoke, your voice was small and weak. “I don’t know what you think will be proven by me placing an IV in your arm.”

“Just do it,” he urged, “because this won’t work unless you trust me, and-,”

“I can’t trust you if you don’t tell me what “this” is, Kylo,” you said, and it was louder than you’d meant for it to be. But you peeled open the kit and scooted back from Kylo so you could begin prodding at his arm for a good vein.

As you looked, finding bountiful fat, bouncy, obvious veins poking just under his skin, you felt him watching you. He pumped his hand a few times, and the sight of his veins and muscles swirling and popping dizzied you for a moment, a steady pulse now throbbing between your thighs. When your fingers danced down one particular vein, the one you’d admired while he slept this morning, you pressed against its spongey prominence and trailed it all the way down to his wrist.

“Your veins are literal artwork,” you sighed, but you hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

There was a fragment of amusement in Kylo’s brow, but he brushed over your compliment like you wished he would. “If I tell you what “this” is, “this” won’t work.”

“Then I guess I won’t trust you,” you said, sassy and defiant.

“Mm, that won’t work for either of us,” he rumbled, and you wanted to slap him for his sly tone.

You flicked his vein and reached for the kit, but there were no gloves, and you needed a saline flush. And an alcohol wipe. “You know, it’s a bad look when you come ill-prepared for any procedure,” you said, looking at him before standing and searching for your supplies, “it makes you look like you have no idea what you’re doing.” Once you had what you needed, you gave him a pointed stare as you walked back to him, looking down at him as you said, “It creates a lack of trust between patient and provider.”

There was that whispered amusement in his brow again, the same in the set of his mouth. “What happens if the provider doesn’t trust the patient?”

“Then the patient gets a dose of Ativan and goes to sleep so the provider can do her job effectively.” You knelt within the cradle of his hips again and repositioned his arm so you had better access to it. Using the cleanser provided in the kit, you scrubbed his arm, a bit more forcefully than you needed to, but it wouldn’t hurt him. And if it did… so be it.

You could feel the humor he found in your feisty comments. It irked you. You continued, staring him dead in the eye while you snapped the rubber tourniquet above his elbow. “Or if the chemical restraint isn’t appropriate, there’s always good old-fashioned mechanical ones.”

“Is that what you want to do to me, nurse?” Kylo purred, and even though it was infuriating that he was leaning into your anger, the tone of his voice made your legs quiver. “You want to tie me up and have your way with me?” Kylo hummed and it went straight to your center. “Seems like I’d have to trust my provider for that to occur.”

“You have no reason not to trust your provider,” you said blandly, priming the extension tubing with saline.

“And what do blatant lies do to your all-important patient-provider relationship?”

That stopped you. And what squeezed something deep in your heart were the hard eyes you found when looking back to him. You swallowed a gasp, your throat bobbing harshly. “What are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying.” There was a cautious chill to his tone, like he fully believed what he was alluding to.

It wilted your insides. “You think I lie to you? You think I’ve lied to you?”

“You have. Many times. You’re lying to me even now.” Without taking his eyes from yours, Kylo nudged the open IV kit. “Continue. You’re getting to my favorite part.”

“I’m not going to continue. I can’t. Not after you tell me you… tell me you think I’m lying to you.”

“Continue and I’ll explain.” He was all too casual for what he was saying, and the half-grin he gave you was more alarming than comforting. “A compromise.”

A deep breath did nothing to fill your lungs, but you gave him a small nod and turned back to his arm. The tourniquet had been on for a while, and you’d rather not bruise your pride further from a blown vein so you released the knot.

“I’m letting those veins rest for a few minutes.” You swallowed, tugging at your bottom lip with your teeth. “Explain, I guess.”

Again, he didn’t look angry with you, and you didn’t know what to think of the firm calmness he was exhibiting. But he tightened his jaw for a moment and began.

“To start, the first night you were assigned to me. You weren’t there. And I’m sure you remember the outcome of that.”

Heat rose to your cheeks as you remembered him pulling your head back as water rocketed down your throat, burning your lungs. A shiver slid down your back. “I apologized for that. And it technically wasn’t a lie, as I explained that same night. Your ship got back early.”

“And then the time you stumbled in drunk in the middle of the night.” He went on as if you hadn’t said anything, and you swore there was a faint fond smile tugging at his lips.

“I apologized for both of those occurrences. And, in my defense, you hadn’t shown up for curfew until the night I got home late. You were never there, not when I got home and not when I left for the medbay. I didn’t see you for a week.”

“But I saw you,” he said, and it struck you silent. “My training with Snoke was unpredictable, but I always found myself… checking to see if you were there. It was always in the early hours of the morning when I got back, so you were sleeping.” He swallowed hard before he spoke again, like he didn’t want to admit whatever it was. “I liked seeing you so peaceful. You were never peaceful around me.”

You stared at him in awe, the tourniquet limp in your hand, and no words dared come to mind as he continued.

“So when you weren’t there the night I’d finally made it home before midnight, something in me… I realized that you’d started to mean something more to me. More than the fascination I thought you were.” His eyes were practically burning now, and your heart squeezed tight in your chest. “And then I carried you to your bed and saw you’d kept my cape from the previous week. And I knew if I allowed myself to let you keep it, that I’d be permitting whatever I felt then to give into that more. So I took the cape, and I decided that would be the end of it.” His throat bobbed. “I wanted that to be the end of it.”

Truthfully, your head was swimming in all he was saying. You didn’t know how to deal with it, and you found yourself staring at the floor, thinking back to that night a few months back, thinking about how you’d wanted him to stay. And now it was more haunting, knowing that he’d felt similar to you then, and you’d just accused him of never caring for you.

Kylo’s large hand came into view and tugged gently on the limp tourniquet threaded through your fingers. “My veins have rested long enough. Continue.”

The weight of his eyes was back and it took a moment to take yours away and focus back on his arm. Sitting between his legs was… nice, but it would be awkward angling a needle from this position. So you fixed yourself to straddle his thigh, sitting back on your heels and resting his hand palm-up on your thigh.

“Comfortable?” Kylo asked, and you heard his slight grin in the word.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, extremely aware of the heat of his leg pressing against your sex, against the pair of briefs you took from him this morning.

“I thought you wanted me to explain?”

You sucked your teeth and snapped the tourniquet in place in the same second. A low chuckle rumbled from Kylo, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks, so confused by his casual demeanor.

Gliding a gloved finger along your chosen vein, you whispered, “Continue,” before activating the cleansing sponge and scrubbing along his arm vigorously.

His nails brushed along your inner thigh and you swallowed a gasp, but when you grabbed the needle, he spoke up. “When we got back to Starkiller, and you chose to stay in the medbay after seeing what that stormtrooper had done.” Kylo broke off, deep, seething anger simmering along the mention of Robbie. “The next morning I found you’d slept there, completely open to harm from anyone who wanted to cause it—”

“Those doors are coded to badge access. I was fine.”

“So was your residence, but he found a way, didn’t he?” The harshness of his tone stole your focus, and you found his set jaw and knew that harshness wasn’t for you, but for the one he spoke of. “You weren’t safe and when I found you’d slept there that night, I was…”

Kylo looked at you with hard eyes, and you thought you knew what he wanted to say – or what he couldn’t say, really. “You were… concerned?”

“No,” he said, “I was enraged.” He swallowed. “Not with you, or that stormtrooper. With myself.”

The intensity of his gaze was too much, so you looked down and turned the bevel of the needle upward and began to angle it against his skin. “Why,” you whispered, voice a mere rasp.

“Because I should have killed him the moment we landed back on Starkiller.”

The words boomed through the small room, the rich violet of the sinking sun curling around the chilled tone of Kylo’s voice. A halo of fire lit his folded frame from behind, and you thought it matched that which now lived in the molten amber of his eyes. You realized in that moment that Kylo blamed himself for Robbie, and he’d just told you a truth he’d known for a long time.

You went to speak, but his other hand came to the one you grasped the needle with and pressed so the metal tip advanced beneath his skin. A curse fell from your agape mouth when his touch left and you saw blood return, advancing the IV catheter quickly and watching as crimson threatened to spill out. You released the tourniquet and fumbled with the extension tubing, securing it and flushing the vein with saline, something of pride and relief spreading through your chest as you met no resistance.

The next steps went by quickly – clamping the tubing, placing the transparent dressing over top, securing with extra tape, and slipping off your gloves – but you felt Kylo’s eyes on you the whole time. He was patient, and he shifted his leg and made you wince as it hit just the right spot, so when you finished gathering your trash and looked up again, you didn’t expect to find him with an expression of such… fondness. Still tense, but strong and unyielding, reverent almost.

“What he did to… to me, it is not your fault, Kylo.” You clasped your hand over his that rested on your thigh.

“It’s not your fault,” Kylo corrected, and you knew he meant it. He squeezed your hand and pulled you nearer, his leg pressing into that bundle of nerves and making you shiver. “And maybe it’s not mine either, but that doesn’t change the fact that I wanted to kill him.”

“Why does that matter?”

He took a long pause and sighed, searching your eyes and looking at your lips when he said, “I shouldn’t have cared that he hurt you, or that he took you out in the first place. I shouldn’t have cared that you didn’t consider that I would have kept you safe, or that I would have wanted you with me that night and not alone on a freezing exam table.” He swallowed. “And I should never have cared so much that you went to McCarty the next night, even when you’d agreed to come to me.”

You licked your lips, unsure when you said, “I was scared that the Board would see me on surveillance. You knew that.”

“Yes,” he said and huffed out something that resembled a tired laugh. “I knew that and yet I still wanted you with me. Because I am selfish and consider you something of an invaluable piece of me.”

A piece of him, you thought, dizzied by the outpouring of truth he was allowing. You skated your thumb along the veins of his hand, heart racing as the sun continued to set behind him. In a whisper, you asked, “But why should you have never cared about… those things? I… I like that you cared about them.”

He leaned into you after a slow second, and his forehead met yours. His breath warmed your face before he said, “I should never have cared about them because it meant that I cared about you. That I care about you.” He said, and when you gasped you felt him shudder. “I care about you, and that makes you a pawn in games you aren’t even aware of. And that isn’t your choice. It is wholly unfair to you for me to make you a target for my enemies.”

“I think I know at least one of the games I’m a pawn in,” you said, voice so shaky you could barely recognize it. He stilled, and you took one hand from his and grasped the back of his neck, threading your fingers through his sun-emblazoned hair. “And Kylo, what if it is my choice?”

“Then I am every bit the monster people know me to be.” Kylo said it more to himself, and you wondered why he sounded so haunted in that moment.

“You’re not a monster, Kylo. At least, you aren’t my monster.”

“No, you killed him.”

“Yes,” you swallowed, and you couldn’t help the hesitance that crept into your voice. “I did.”

Kylo lifted his head from yours then, and you knew he wanted you to keep your eyes on his as he said, “I say that because it’s true and you shouldn’t feel shame for doing so. I told you I wanted to kill him, but I didn’t know how satisfying it would be to hear you say you’d done it yourself.”

“You’re proud that I killed him?”

“I am proud that you did not hesitate.” He swallowed, eyes haunted once more. “I am proud that you recognized your enemy, and you knew what it would take to beat him.”

You didn’t say a word, but you nodded, sliding your hand from his nape to his chest. You searched his eyes as he looked down to where his hand was, and you felt his fingertips find the raised, off-color skin of the initials he’d branded you with. He knit his brow just slightly, and you moved your hand to cup his scarred cheek. He spent several more seconds gazing at the scar he’d given you, but his gaze found yours soon enough.

“I’ll tell you something that I shouldn’t like.” His eyes narrowed a small measure. With the pad of your thumb running along the curve of his healing scar, the black-and-white stitching still there but lesser, you admired him for a long, quiet moment. He continued to trace along your scar, and his leg shifted again, your breath catching before you could stop it.

“You told me you like my scars already.”

A slight smile tilted your lips to the side, but you spoke with little amusement when you whispered, “I like my scar, too.”

Kylo went utterly still, and then he slid his hand up so his heated palm closed over the raised letters on your thigh. “When I did this, I didn’t know…”

“You weren’t supposed to know,” you murmured, and your heart sank to your gut as memories of that horrid day flooded back, images of Snoke’s mangled existence, echoes of Mason’s pained screams ringing through your commlink.

“I could have known.” Again there was no anger in his tone, but something aching, regretful almost.

You brushed a few stray curls back from his face and smoothed a thumb along his temple. “Snoke would have killed Mason. He was monitoring your thoughts that entire day. I had no choice. I told you this yesterday.”

“And as I told you earlier, I am selfish.” He shrugged his shoulders slightly at the same moment you felt his thumb swipe the inside of your thigh. “You could have told me, right after you’d met with him. That’s why you weren’t home when I returned, wasn’t it?” You nodded and he went on. “I should have known something was wrong the second you got back to the Finalizer residence.”

“No you shouldn’t have. That’s the point—”

“No, the point is that you don’t trust me.”

“No, the point is that I couldn’t tell you or imply anything was wrong because Mason—”

“I do not care about McCarty,” Kylo nearly barked, but it was a reined in response by the way his voice lowered at the end. “I don’t care about anyone apart from you, and no matter how duty-bound you felt to protect your friend, you should have come to me.”

“And what would you have done but gotten him killed and risked my life in the process?”

“I will never risk your life,” Kylo seethed, his hand clamping over the scar he’d made. “But that’s the one thing you’re willing to gamble away at any sign of trouble for others, isn’t it?”

“What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, I’m only speaking the truth when I say that you are so focused on trying to save everyone around you, that you fail to see how often you jeopardize yourself.” His nostrils flared, but the grip on your thigh lightened, and you didn’t feel threatened by him at all. “I have to be selfish because you will always be recklessly selfless.”

“And is that such a bad thing? I’ve saved two people, three if you count yourself, while being oh so recklessly selfless.”

Kylo’s face fell into incredulity. “And you now have the sweet promise of three more weeks with a pulse. And the added bonus of a chancefor more, but with the swift revocation of your license for however long you live afterward.”

The truth stung, but not quite so much as it did coming from him. “So, what? I should stop helping people?”

“I will never ask that of you,” he stated. “But I do ask that you not get yourself killed in the process.”

“Like you said, it’s probably too late for that.”

He looked at you hard and long, chewing his tongue. His eyes narrowed and he swallowed, staring at you with a thousand thoughts whirling in his gaze. He cleared his throat and fixed his features so he was no longer studying you so much as he was admiring you. Sultry eyes landed on your lips, and the hand over your thigh tightened, his other coming to mirror over your remaining thigh. He reared his leg upward and you yelped as the sudden friction settled into your clit, your torso slamming into the hard muscle of his chest so your arms were flung around his neck.

Kylo shifted you over his thigh, inching you up and back over the hard, thick muscles. His head turned so you felt his nose trace over the shell of your ear, his lips catching your ear lobe for a moment before you sighed from the pleasure of his movements.

He let you breathe for a moment, your fingers dipping into the curl of hair at his nape, his warm breath heating your neck. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Not entirely,” he rumbled, his thigh inching up another measure, his hands pulling, grinding you against him. A small, contented moan fled your lips when another rush of heat coiled in your belly. “But if I were, I’d say I’m doing a good job of it.”

Your hips shifted of their own volition, a seethe rushed past your teeth, and you felt the day’s torture rush up all at once. Hours and hours of being led and teased with the Force, withstanding Kylo’s earlier intentions to catapult you into ecstasy. Being so close to him now, the heat of his bare chest sinking through the material of your uniform, your thighs straddled against the muscles he’d trained over years and years – you felt yourself giving into his touch.

And maybe it was because of everything he’d just told you, but you felt… better about allowing him to pleasure you now. There was less of an overarching sense that you were nothing but a toy for him. The idea of giving into him now, letting yourself go and enjoying the feel of his massive form under you, it felt good. It felt different from before, and even though you still had questions, mostly pertaining to why he was here in the first place, you knew you wouldn’t deny yourself or him any longer.

As you held onto him, he rocked you back and forth along the length of his thigh, rubbing you just right, keeping a sweet pace and listening as you let out tiny gasps from each synchronized roll of your hips.

“I was angry that I’d allowed myself to feel so much,” he breathed onto your neck as he kept his pace with your hips. “I couldn’t stand the thought that I meant nothing to you, that I was nothing to you.” You felt the flicker of orgasm as your body began to tense, his words an urging caress. “So I marked you as my own, and I watched you bear the pain of it in near silence. I wanted you to react, to scream at me with the shattering rage I knew in that moment. But you didn’t. You were so quiet and still…”

Your arms were going limp around his neck, so you slumped into him. Kylo curled his head further so his lips were pressed against your ear, his voice no louder than the breath of a whisper. “I thought about how just hours before, I’d felt your tears stream down my back, and I couldn’t shake the thought that you’d betrayed me so thoroughly for so long. I was so angry, I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t think of what it meant that you were silent while I cut into you with every ill-intent I felt in that moment. I was blinded by your betrayal, but also my own, because I knew better than to allow myself to get so involved with someone, because I was bested by a weakness that never should have existed. The weakness I created.”

Tendrils of release crept up your chest and you rode the edge of pleasure as your breath panted against his skin and he ground you harder into him. His teeth pulled at your ear lobe and shivers quaked outward along your neck and spine, his touch and words a separate charge toward pleasure.

“You don’t have weaknesses, Kylo,” you panted, barely recognizing your voice. “You are not weak.”

“No, I am not,” he breathed, kissing the hinge of your jaw, “but you are a weakness of mine, a piece of me, and a target because of it.” You whimpered against him as your body sprinted toward sweet release, losing grip on that last fraying string of sanity when Kylo said, his voice ragged and raw, “And I am selfish enough to ask that you trust me. Trust that I will never risk you even though I am a risk to you, because you are an extension of me, and I will defend you as I would my very own flesh and blood.”

In that moment, you felt more than the sexual bliss of orgasm, sinking deeply into the rasped words he’d given life from his tongue, but were born from his heart. His heart that beat so steadily when you lay against it, the heart you’d ran toward so often, even when you hadn’t realized it. Euphoria pulsed through your body as every word and breath he’d just gifted raced around your mind, leaving you to settle into him as you returned to the present.

“Be selfish,” you murmured, breathing heavily. “I will trust you. I do trust you.”

The strength of his arms tight against your back, pulling you into him, was as shocking as it was calming. He was holding onto you, not just holding you, but keeping you to him as tightly and surely as he could.

Through closed eyes you knew the sun would soon be hidden from the sky and taken over by night, but you didn’t care that time was passing. Because as your breath fell into step with Kylo’s own, time might as well have stopped existing.

“Why are you seeing McCarty tomorrow?”

Although the words were quiet, even as he spoke directly against your ear, their sudden presence spread like ice water over your heated skin. It’s not that he spoke with any harsh emotion, just that it shocked the silence you’d been nestled into. The room settled as you took a few more silent moments, but then it occurred to you that you’d never told him that.

“How do you know that I’m seeing him tomorrow?”

Neither of you moved, and you even toyed with a black curl as he said, “I told you I didn’t need to be near you anymore to… sense you.” He sighed, and it melted along the length of your spine. “I heard you at breakfast this morning. Talking to Hux’s provider.”

Swallowing, you braced your hands on his shoulders so you could peel away from him. He didn’t go easily, not tightening his hold but not letting you go either. The palms of your hands pressed gently into the warm skin of his chest, and soon your eyes found his in the faltering light of day. With a kiss of deep purple still hazing through the room, you searched his gaze with your own, and you wondered if the conversation you’d shared with Talia had anything to do with why he was here.

But there was more to that conversation than your plans to see Mason, and you needed to know how much he’d heard. “How does this… sensingthing work? It’s the Force, right?”

Kylo nodded, his hands resting on the curve of your hips. “It’s developed over time. The first time it was like I could hear you speaking right against my ear, but it was like the connection was weak. I could hear you, but it was unclear.”

Slight heat nipped at your cheeks. “It was the morning after I stayed with you on Starkiller, right?” The morning you’d rode your fingers like they were Kylo’s as you wore the briefs he’d put out for you.

“That was a great morning for both of us, I think.”

“I like how easy you’re being right now,” you whispered, and you weren’t sure if you meant to say that aloud.

“I can be hard if you want me to. I am, actually. Very.” A smirk lit his face and he led one of your hands down to the hard press of his prominent erection along the fly of his pants.

“I’m sure we’ll get to that later,” you said, glancing a thumb along his length before placing your hand back on his chest.

“If you’re sure,” he mumbled, and he leaned in to brush his lips against the base of your neck. He pulled away and looked at you, a finger now tracing the length of the “K” etched into your thigh. “Now, though, if I want, I can hear you however far away you are, and it’s like you’re standing next to me.” He cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes, their focus landing on your lips when he said, “I think due to the strengthening of the connection…”

His heart skipped under your palm. It startled you so much you had to stop yourself from flinching. His heart skipped… for me. “Our connection is… stronger now?”

He swallowed, his heart steadied, and he murmured into the dying light, “I want it to be stronger.”

“Why? If you can hear me clearly, why would it need to be strengthened?”

Kylo lifted a hand so it smoothed over one side of your face and found its way to the nape of your neck. “I can hear your words, what you say out loud and to others. But not your thoughts. Never your thoughts.” His expression was far away for a moment, his thumb pressing idle circles along the length of your throat. “Sometimes, though, I feel what you feel. Only recently.”

“What I feel?”

“Strong emotions, mostly.” Kylo continued to stare over your shoulder, and something dark and dangerous settled in his jaw when he paused. “The first time I could recognize it for what it was – recognize it was you– was just before Starkiller fell. It was right after I’d been struck. I remember blinking up, blinking blood out of my eye as I was flat on my back willing myself to get up, and through the pain of my injuries came this surge of…” His nose scrunched, and his lip lifted into something of a snarl. “It felt like I was on fire. Not my face or my side. But like the Force was burning through my whole body. And then I heard you, like you were screaming right next to me, and you were screaming at someone to get off of you.”

Kylo paused, his chest entirely still, like breathing was hard where his mind had taken him. His hand dropped from your nape and absently curled around your wrist, toying with the band of your watch. The pad of your thumb drew slowly along his sternum, and you watched the warm amber of his irises drown in a stark, frigid black.

“And then I wasn’t burning. I felt my own injuries again, and I was no longer trying to move. I was laid out on my back, Starkiller crumbling all around me, and the only thought I had was that…” Kylo shuddered, the hand around your wrist stilled, and his jaw hardened to steel. “I thought you were dead. And I didn’t know why, but that thought stalled me. I should never have cared for you, but especially not then, not when I thought you’d betrayed me.”

Kylo looked at you then, the very last remnants of the sun a muted halo behind him, and whatever breath remaining in your lungs fled under his searing gaze. “I sent a signal to your watch, but that burning didn’t come back.” He swallowed. “You were dead, and I couldn’t… I wouldn’t move. I knew I had to, but all I did was fall into the absence of that burning. The absence of you.”

Once more you thought of how Kylo had looked at you in the dark of the Command Shuttle, remembered how you thought it was wonder or shock. With an ember of breath you croaked, “You thought I was dead.” Such a redundant statement, but you said it and you felt the haunt of that awed expression die away. “You thought I was dead, but then…”

“Then you were there, and I thought I had died.” Kylo slid his hand up your palm and clasped his fingers around yours, squeezing tight and pressing it to the middle of his chest. Just above his heart. “But then I heard your voice again, but it was different. You weren’t in my head, but you were with me. I tried to reach out to you, but I couldn’t. I warred in my mind until I realized you were there, but I wasn’t.”

“The coma.” Kylo had tried to reach out to your voice. You’d thought he hated you then, that he wouldn’t want to be violated by the one who had wounded him so deeply. He told you he’d heard you days ago, but knowing he wantedyou there, even if he never said otherwise – it struck through to your soul.

“I could just barely feel your hands. I heard everything you said and it was agony. To be there, listening to you blame yourself, hearing the guilt and pain in your voice – and not be able to do anything? It felt like I was burning from the inside out.”

Before you could process it, a hand was behind your nape and your mouth was against his. It wasn’t a violent kiss, no thrashing tongues or frantic lips; rather, it was a kiss full of dead regrets and roiling anguish. Kylo claimed your mouth in a slow, steady pace set by a war between pain and need. It was a kiss of mourning and grief.

His lips left yours but only enough so when you breathed, yours would glance off of them. He panted and swallowed, and the hand keeping yours to his chest spread your fingers so you could feel the deep, steady thump of his heart beneath them.

“But that moment, it was me burning, not you. Just before you left, when I felt your lips on mine and pleaded with my body to finally come back to me, your presence was like a salve. It found me through the darkness, and it calmed me, quieted the flames roaring in my mind, and it steadied me.”

As close as he was, he found your eyes, and you felt them sink deeply into your own. “You couldn’t have given me more,” he kissed your name to your lips, “because when I woke up, when I found my body and felt the braids, it was all real to me. You were real to me.” Kylo paused, breathed, and his heart skipped beneath your hand. “You couldn’t have given me more. You were alive. There will never be anything more than that.” He kissed you again, and this time it was hungry, ravenous as he stole your breath and claimed your mouth. “It was everything. It is everything.”

Words were thick in your throat, heavy in your mind, but the whole of what came from your parted lips, between the soft pants of breath that fell from them as he continued to nod his own full mouth into yours, were sighs and gasps of contentedness. In his arms, right now, after all was said and all was done, you thought for a moment that should you have died, you would have gone happily.

It was a feat to pull away from him, but you did, and you watched as the purple and orange of the sun wasted away behind him. “I am seeing Mason tomorrow because he’s letting me grab some clothes for the trial. And he’s been weird since Starkiller. And weirder since getting to Canto Bight. I know you don’t like him much, but he’s important to me, and I need to talk to him.” Kylo’s lashes lowered after his heavy gaze pulled away from you, the hand on your nape going back to trace the scar on your thigh. “Is that why you really came here? Because you overheard me this morning talking about visiting him?”

For a moment he remained quiet, the faintest touch of his fourth finger kissing your skin, but he looked up to you and found your eyes. “I’m here because you were still concerned with the Board, and even Hux, and knew if that was true, that it would also be true that you hadn’t listened to me. That you still didn’t trust me.”

“Kylo—”

“I should never have expected you to trust me so blindly, not after I’ve given you countless reasons not to.” He swallowed then, something of an apology knitting his brows together. “But for your own safety, you cannot know everything—”

“About the elusive “this” you keep referencing?”

“Yes,” he said, and his voice was clear and adamant. “By whatever means, you will survive this trial. Trust in that.”

“Okay,” you said, and you meant it. He’d said a lot today. It was enough. For now, at least. “But may I propose something that maybe you haven’t thought of?”

With a deep, cleansing breath, you took both his hands and dropped them in your lap, dismounting his leg and once more settling in the cradle of his thighs, propped on your knees as you met him with an unfaltering stare. “I will trust you, but you have to trust me back.” You trailed a finger over the secured IV you’d placed. “Trust me with more than your body. Trust me… wholly.”

Kylo seemed off-put by the thought of that, and he studied you for long, seemingly eternal minutes; he looked conflicted, like he was weighing every outcome of what that meant. When you thought he wouldn’t answer, he cleared his throat and said, “I’ve done that before.”

He had, you knew that, but you needed to say something before he decided he wouldn’t do so again. “And the only reason you stopped was because Snoke weaponized me, used me to get to you so he can have you in his arsenal, at his expense whenever he wants. You are more than that, Kylo. More than his or anyone’s to use. Do not let him win. Not again. Not anymore.”

His jaw steeled as each of your hard words met their mark with deadly precision. And when he spoke next, his tongue was a blade, his tone a sharp, unyielding promise. “He’s already lost. He just doesn’t know yet.”

“So it’s settled. I trust you, you trust me.”

There was hesitance, but he gave a single, curt nod. His brows knit for a moment and then his features seemed to soften. “I can get you clothes. Although, I do prefer you without them.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, but you knew what he was doing, and as endearing as it was, you wouldn’t yield to him on this. “I’m seeing Mason tomorrow, and no amount of dirty words or pretty clothes will change my mind.” You notched a brow. “You’ll just have to trust me, I guess.”

“Already abusing your power,” he purred, and he pulled you into him so your legs opened and splayed over his hips and behind him. “Don’t make me regret this decision.” His tongue traced along your carotid, followed by the plush press of his lips. “At least, not so soon.”

He pushed a hand into your hair and turned your neck to the side, sucking the tender skin until he surely left a mark. His teeth skated along the hinge of your jaw, his lips trailing up your chin until his skillful tongue pushed past the seam of your mouth. It found yours and led you into a breathtaking whirl of sensation. You moaned into him, loving his weighted breath, feeling his cock harden beneath, growing as you rolled your hips into him.

He hummed, slipping his tongue away and sucking your bottom lip, your hands leading into his thick, midnight locks as the room settled in the darkness of night. He nudged his nose into you and teased your lips again, chuckling as you leaned into his efforts and chased his toying mouth.

“Tell me one more thing,” he hummed, and his tone was decadent and rich, a pulse of heat lighting between your legs.

“Anything, Kylo,” you sighed, finally catching his mouth and biting his bottom lip.

“Were you going to mention that your friend is pregnant with the General’s illegitimate kid, or were you hoping I didn’t catch onto that part of your talk this morning?”

Well. If anything was going to kill the mood, that was it.

“You know,” you sighed, bracing yourself on his shoulders and pulling out of his embrace, “as much as I dislike General Hux, mentioning him doesn’t count as dirty talk.”

Kylo chuckled deep in his chest, and his mouth was twisted in a lopsided smirk. He insisted again, not a fowl note in his voice, “Were you going to tell me?”

“It wasn’t my news to tell.” You shoved his shoulder. “And it’s not yours either, understand?”

“Really? I was looking forward to congratulating him and sharing a few cigars with the father-to-be.” You shoved him again and he laughed, appearing so young as he put his hand atop yours and traced his thumb over the back of your hand. “I don’t plan on telling him. And I don’t care if your friend—”

“You are allowed to call her Talia. You’re also allowed to call him Mason, if you didn’t know.”

“I’m not very fond of being on a first-name basis with someone I don’t plan on ever knowing. As for the physician,” his brow ticked as you frowned at the title he used so often, “I just don’t like him.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I don’t care if Harper”—you smiled at the compromise—“tells him or not. I’d actually find it quite funny if she kept it from him until the very last second. He could use a good kick in the pants.”

“So, you really won’t tell him, then?” You pushed a lock of hair back from his temple with your free hand.

He sighed exaggeratedly, and the next thing you knew, you were in the air and being lifted to sit on the edge of the exam table, Kylo’s hands resting on the tops of your thighs. “No, I won’t tell the General of his bastard lovechild. Or maybe I will,” he raised a teasing brow, “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, leading the flat of your hand up the rigid muscles of his chest.

“Really,” he breathed in answer, dipping his head and laving his tongue past your lips, stroking it against your own as his hands caught the hem of your uniform and pulled it from the length of your body.

Your hands lifted for him, and soon you were bare – bare to the cool room, bare to the city that sprawled behind you. Bare to him. The only remaining article was his black briefs. His mouth was on your neck, kissing and biting and sucking along your pulse. Large, bold hands slid down the curved lines of your sides, thumbs petting over your belly. Kylo leaned down to your chest, kissing into the tender flesh, mouthing at the swell of your breast until he pulled a nipple into his mouth and tongued over it, around it, until your head fell back and a long, throaty groan left you.

“I need to taste you,” he breathed, taking his mouth from your breast only for a moment.

A needy hand found the back of his neck, and you pulled him closer as you arched into his mouth, into the heat of his tongue trailing to take your other nipple between his plump, scorching lips. He looked up at you, heated amber seeping into your eyes as you saw his mouth move and felt his tongue draw on the tip of your breast.

Kylo smirked when you shuddered against him, and then his hands left you. There was a metallic squeak, and he popped your breast from his mouth. When you looked down at him next, his eyes were full of mischief and a tantalizing glint that made your heart drop.

Kylo had pulled out a set of stirrups that had been locked beneath the table. And by that damn glint in his eye, you knew his every intention. You knew, too, by that very same glint, you wouldn’t need convincing.

“Trust me?” he asked, and the devil lived in the smirk that spread across his face.

“I probably shouldn’t.”

“Much too late for that.”

Kylo leaned forward like a predator readying to strike. First his mouth found yours, kissing you deeply, his hands cupping the back of your neck. Then, he kissed down to your breasts, tonguing a nipple, looking up at you when he bit down. A rumble rolled in the depths of his chest. Large hands smoothed over the curves of your silhouette, gripped your thighs and led you toward the edge of the table.

He stopped for a moment, his chin skimming your soft belly, his gaze a vice grip on your own. And when he had you positioned as he wanted, his thumbs curled into the briefs’ waistline and he pulled them out from under you. Kylo stopped once he uncovered your sex; keeping his eyes on yours, a tether of pure lust between you, he dipped his head and dragged his nose over your mound. His inhale was self-indulgent, slow and torturous, his eyes slipping back before his lids shut, the smell of you seemingly a drug of the highest potency.

Kylo groaned, inhaling a second time, the fog of his exhale flourishing over your tender, slick flesh. He slipped the briefs free from your legs, holding your ankles in one massive, binding hand.

“As much as I enjoy you wearing what’s mine,” he hummed, a hand under each ankle now, and leaned down to join his nose to the supple skin of your inner thigh, dragging ever closer to the pulse now aching to be attended to, “I admit taking it off you is much more satisfying.” His lips pressed into the sensitive flesh, his hot exhale whispering along the top of you slit. “Ask me why that is.”

Heat was enveloping your body, and your breasts heaved as breath came in short, harsh pants, but when you went to speak, Kylo’s tongue distracted you. Just before the question left your lips, he sucked the skin of your inner thigh and bit down. And as you moaned at the heady sensation – that wondrous pleasure pain – his arm encircled the leg already attended to and blindly placed it into the hard cradle of the stirrup. When it was secure, his hand slinked up the length of your body, grasping your breast while he kissed and sucked and nipped at your left thigh.

“Why,” you breathed out, unsure if you said anything, head spinning impossibly.

“Because,” Kylo crooned, muffled against the tissue he mouthed at, “the clothes are mine, but so are you. And I am undone at the sight of what is mine bared and sprawled for my taking.”

Soft, pretty moans slipped from you when he repeated the process of placing your leg in the second stirrup, his words a sweet poison in your thrumming veins. Once you were settled, and after he’d kissed his way up your calf, he stood between your raised legs – the sight of his purely masculine form laving your nerves with anticipation and lust – and watched, perhaps too intently, as he pushed your legs apart until you were sure you’d split in two.

In the light of fresh dusk, the notch in his throat bobbed, the weight of his gaze settled on the sight of your dripping, desperate cunt. Kylo’s tongue dipped into sight momentarily, glinting when it unthinkingly swept over his bottom lip. His eyes remained steady, the flat of his palms lighting sparks along your inner legs, and you watched as he brushed two long fingers down your folds, parting your sex and slipping through the wetness that was welled there.

Finally, his gaze lifted, the scalding, rich amber of his irises melting into you when the thick tips of his fingers prodded your entrance. Kylo watched you, enthralled, as those fingers sunk into you, deeply, wholly, filling you until you writhed around them.

Eager hips lifted from the table, leveraging the stirrups, guiding him that much deeper. He granted your silent wish, grasping one hip and pulling you forward, leading his fingers back and forth, curling them upward and pressing that oh-so-decadent spot in a paced, torturous pattern. You met him with each thrust, slowly rolling your hips, raising your hands to touch and mold your breasts.

A strong thumb found residence over the aching body of your clit, your answering moan unapologetic and entirely too loud. He rolled his hand over and inside you, stroking and filling you so masterfully that you quickly felt the first stirrings of orgasm.

Right when you were poised to cum, you felt it, felt a third finger push into your cunt, the sensation indulgent and overwhelming. It’s like his hand was lodged so full and far in your body that you could feel him in your throat. Kylo continued stroking your nerve as your hands clutched the edges of the exam table, your back arched and head flung back. The room was filled with sounds of sex, the smell of it too, and it all built on what you knew would be a world-shattering release.

“I feel so full, Kylo,” you moaned.

Before he answered, heat crowded your torso, and the brand of his lips burned the line of your breastbone, the hand that filled you never stalling. “You can take more, though.” His nose nudged the base of your breast, his teeth glancing off of the tender tissue. “You can, and you will.”

He didn’t know what he was saying, because there was no way—

“Oh, fuck,” you mewled, throaty and deep, when you felt a fourth finger fill your brimming cunt. “Kylo, there’s… oh, I can feel you… everywhere. You’re everywhere.”

It was no lie, the flow of his four thick, long fingers deep inside your soaked pussy engulfed every nerve you had, and the way his thumb continued to stroke your clit made it so you felt like your soul would float from your body.

But then that thumb left, Kylo moved down the length of your abdomen, kissing and claiming, until you felt his tongue draw against that bundle of nerves. The hand that grasped your hip anchored your writhing body to the table, but the press of his fingers suddenly deepened. Then, just as suddenly, occurring in the very same breath, you felt his thumb join those other four fingers.

A guttural, animal cry born from the deepest depths of your lungs filled the room and shattered against the night-peering transparisteel. His whole hand, fisted and tight, moved against you, filled you unthinkably, and snapped the last coil of sanity that bound your body and soul. His mouth sucked your clit, his tongue striking you with tight, paced licks.

It was all too much, he was too much – his hand, his mouth – your body bowing from the table, legs shaking and sweaty. Every sensation drenched your skin, every shared word blared through your mind, and ecstasy rushed you with a force that rivaled that which precipitated the fall of Starkiller.

Luminous, you were a nebula at the mercy of a black hole. Though you knew the deep pull of him left you broken and breathless, you found yourself surrendering to it, and it called to you just the same. He blazed with darkness while you drowned him with light; in this moment, neither of you could tell where one ended and the other began.

Slowly, the world around you reentered your thoughts. The sound of heavy, breathless pants spilled from your parted lips. A branding heat covered your front, and your hand had at some point come to tangle into Kylo’s hair, scratching the back of his head in idle patterns. There was a slight ache coming from the now vacant space of where he’d just had his hand, but it was pleasant in a way. You opened your eyes, and you couldn’t help your gasp.

The stars were out tonight. They looked so different from when you were in space, far away yet crowding every inch of the evening sky. Clusters twinkled on one end, groups seemingly traveling together. Every so often, as you spent minutes on your back admiring the night’s speckled beauty, a hazy cloud would drift in and out of view. Some were a dusky orange, others a lush violet that cast such complementary shadow over the backdrop of the star-brimming sky.

“The stars are out,” you murmured, melting into the feel of his weight covering you.

Kylo didn’t say anything, but you felt the soft press of his lips dip into your belly. Then lower, and lower. His actions carried no sexual intent, and you soon learned why.

A certain reverence lived in the hand that brushed over the scar etched into your left thigh. Kylo’s thumb swept over the raised, healed lines of his initials, circling the area over and over again. Soon, the warm breath of his exhales grazed the exposed skin, and you gasped when you felt the familiar touch of his lips.

He kissed the flesh there, a kiss of longing, a kiss full of silent… apology? No, not apology. Not sorrow or remorse. It was a kiss of gratitude, and you thought you could hear the soft murmurings of words too quiet to comprehend just as he pressed his lips again to those two precise etchings that would live on you forever.

You lifted your left leg from the stirrup and led it down his back, hooking it around his hips before leading the other in the same path. He looked at you then, and you leaned up and cupped his jaw in your hands before pulling him up and kissing him softly. He held your waist and lowered his head as you moved your mouth against his.

When your hands led down the pane of his abdomen, you broke away from him and held his eyes in your own. Even with so little light, there was something bright about them now, like the smoking embers of a long-burned fire. The scar that cut through his features was healing, you regarded, and you made a mental note to have a physician remove the black-and-white stitching that remained nestled across his cheek.

His eyes narrowed for a second, but he turned away before you could question it. Kylo took your discarded clothes from the floor and helped you redress. His touch was achingly gentle, such a contrast to what you knew he could do to people with the strength imbedded in his soul. Soon the hooks of your bra were met and the light caress of his briefs returned to your hips. You held your arms up as he slid your uniform over your head and onto your waiting body.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Kylo nodded and began gathering his clothes. You slid from the exam table and slipped your shoes on, wandering to the wall of windows and peering out over the city. It was truly magnificent, especially now that it surrounded you with all the life of night buzzing down below. It carried this silent threat that it could swallow you whole if you allowed it.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you spotted what Quynnland had been staring at so intently. It was closer now, and you could see that it was a large, hollow structure. It was a racing track, like you’d thought, but it was enormous. There was movement inside of it, but even squinting you couldn’t quite catch any detail of what was going on.

Warm hands met your shoulders, and you knew he wore his gloves now. “Why are you staring at the fathier track?”

“Fathiers?” you wondered aloud, leaning into him and clasping a hand over one of his.

“Racing creatures that serve as entertainment to the corrupt wealth that live in this city. Impressive beings, really.” He leaned down and his lips caressed the shell of your ear. “What’s interested you with them?”

“I had a patient today. He told me his brother is there. His kid brother.” You swallowed, offput by the memory of how helpless Quynnland had sounded, had appeared as he told you this. “He asked me to get him away from there.”

Kylo tensed behind you, and a long push of breath fogged the side of your neck. “Always trying to save everyone.”

“I won’t get myself killed. I promise.” You sighed, running your hand down the length of his arm. “Did you take that IV out? You should have let me help.”

“I’m healing, not incapacitated.” Kylo took a step back from you and you turned, seeing him waiting for you at the door. “We should get back to the Consulate. I’m sure your shadow has given her report by now.” A half-smirk pulled his mouth up.

“Why does it look like you think that’s a good thing?” You walked over to him and he activated the door, the two of you stepping out and meandering through unfamiliar halls.

“If he suspects that there is something going on between you and I, Hux would likely use that information when he testifies next week. But, to claim you had inappropriate relations with me would force him to publicly acknowledge that all similar relations between any provider and their assignment are inherently inappropriate…”

Kylo pulled open a door and let you pass, the two of you walking toward a transport docking bay stationed at the top of the medical structure. When you stood in front of a familiar transport, he stopped next to you and you watched as the entrance descended to let you in.

Kylo stepped forward, his boots heavy on the ramp, and he turned and looked at you with features gilded in prideful victory. “As much as Armitage Hux dislikes you and hates me, he is an intelligent man. He would never make himself appear so weak by publicly contradicting himself by shaming you for fucking your assignment when he is actively doing the same with his provider.”

He spoke so powerfully, it was like the night around you had quieted to hear him. You took a breath, all the air having seeped from your lungs under the weight of his adamant eyes. “And you’re sure of that?”

Kylo held out a gloved hand, offered it to you before he said, his voice the deepest caress, “Do you trust me?”

In that moment, with the night cloaking you from the city, with the words he’d earlier spoken echoing around your mind, and the touch he’d painted your body with that was altogether yearning and claiming at once, you knew you did. Wholly and completely, and perhaps too much, you trusted him.

So you took his hand, and you looked up at him with the same strength that lived in his eyes, and said, without a single doubt in your mind, or your heart, “Yes, Kylo. I trust you.”

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren smut #kylo ren imagine #smut #fluff #angst #st kyp #keeping your promise

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kuroopaisen · 3 years

Text

tiny love || 13

➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime is easy. your feelings aren’t ignored, either. this time, you both decided to tell your brother the truth.

warnings: f!reader

wc: 2.8k

m.list | ch. 12 ↞ ch. 13 ↠ ch. 14

Tooru’s beaming face stared up at you from your phone as you get through to voicemail for the seventh time today.

He smiled at you from the walls, a whole range of Tooru of all different ages – all Tooru’s who hadn’t shouted at you for sleeping with his best friend.

You’d come to your room in the hopes that it might bring you some comfort. Stupid decision, really. There was so much of him here, grinning at you from your walls, from your desk. You hadn’t even realised how many damn photos you had of him until today. And he’s in everything; photos with your friends, photos with your family, nice shots of Miyagi that he’s managed to ruin with half his forehead.

God, if Tooru wouldn’t forgive you for this…

No. He’d have to.

Your brother was going to hear you out, and he wasn’t going to speak over or belittle you. He had to recognise you as an independent adult.

You hadn’t told Iwaizumi you were planning on doing this. He’d bore enough of Tooru’s rage today. And besides, this was a conversation you wanted – no, needed – to have on your own.

If only your stupid brother would answer his damn phone.

What’s the bet he’s practicing his serves with all the aggression he’d cultivated in high school? Or maybe he was just watching his own phone ring, staring at it with derision as your name glowed on his screen. Or maybe he wasn’t doing anything, simply passed out on his bed, tuckered out from all the rage.

You took a deep breath as your thumb hovered over the call button. One last try. Just one.

The phone rung once more. You were starting to get sick of the sound – the same number of trills, the same mechanical rhythm.

One more time. If he didn’t pick up now, then—

“What do you want?” Tooru’s voice was sharp, with far more aggression than necessary.

“I need to speak with you,” you said, as much confidence in your voice as you could muster.

“Go away,” Tooru hissed.

“No!”

You didn’t mean to shout. It just came out of you, as if it had been dog rattling at the gates, begging to be let out for the hunt.

“You’re not going to run away from this, Tooru!” You could already feel the corners of your eyes burning, your throat starting to constrict, that awful knot in your stomach reforming.

You didn’t want to do this. But you had to.

Tooru said nothing in response. But the white noise coming through the receiver let you know that he hadn’t hung up.

“What is your problem?”

It was a plea more than a question.

“My best friend is fooling around with my sister,” he hissed.

“Look,” you breathed, your chest so tight it felt like was going to crack your ribs, “you don’t get to dictate who I do and don’t date.”

“That’s my best friend.” Tooru didn’t miss a beat. But part of you is relieved to hear that he still referred to Hajime that way. Maybe all was not lost.

“I know,” you replied, clenching your fist in your lap. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

Tooru scoffed. Every petty argument you’d had over the years comes back to you – Tooru’s dismissive, obnoxious tone, the ache of not being listened to, the frustration at being treated like a little kid.

“What if you break up?” Tooru said, as condescending as if he was explaining how the sun rose and fell. “What if something goes wrong?”

“We’re adults, Tooru,” you rolled your eyes despite the circumstances. “We’re not going to be petty about it if that happens.”

And we’ve already managed to let you live a cushy life after a breakup, you thought to yourself. Though you knew better than to tell Tooru that.

“An adult wouldn’t go behind her brother’s back,” he seethed.

It was really all about him, huh? Your relationship, how much you and Iwaizumi cared about each other… Tooru wasn’t even thinking about that. It was just his perspective, his wants, his needs.

It’s just like it was back in high school. The only difference is that this time, Tooru was articulating these thoughts. Knowing the assumptions, you made all that time ago, in your hormonal, addled teenage brains…

“Look,” you snapped. “I’m sick of losing to you.” They’re words you should’ve said ages ago. Or maybe you shouldn’t have said them at all.

But they were out now, no longer a dirty little secret held close to your chest for who knew how long.

You weren’t just talking about Iwaizumi, either. You’d always felt second to Tooru – second to his fire, second to his passions. Always second over the finish line. Always second best. Always less important.

Fuck, you’d even moved halfway across the world just to live up to his ‘legacy’. How were you supposed to just go to a Japanese university after Tooru had moved to fucking Argentina? No, you’d wanted to prove yourself. To show that you, too, were worth something.

But even after all of that, you’re still just ‘Tooru’s little sister.’

And poor Iwaizumi was all this converged; poor Iwaizumi, stuck between two hearts and shackled by his sense of propriety.

Iwaizumi, who could easily be part of both of you, weaved through both your souls by calloused hands.

“I’m not losing him again just because you don’t like the idea of us being in a relationship.”

Maybe it was an irresponsible thing to say. There’s too much truth in it, too many years of bitterness stored and cultivated in your gut.

But too much has already been said. Nothing could be taken back. And if life wasn’t going to let you have anything of your own, anything you could be proud of, then you sure as hell weren’t letting it take Iwaizumi away from you, too.

You jerked the phone away from your ear and jabbed the ‘END CALL’ icon with more force than necessary.

That… could’ve gone better. Did you even achieve anything? Or had you just added to the clusterfuck? But there was nothing to be done now.

Hajime said he’d stick by you this time. That meant there was no backing out now. Not that you wanted to – not after all of this.

✧ ✧ ✧

I’ll go for a run, Hajime had thought. It’ll help calm me down.

Wrong.

He’d made the stupid mistake of bringing his phone with him.

Oikawa’s unique ringtone blared in his pocket; a little jingle of Oikawa singing ‘Iwa-chan!’ Oikawa had created it one day in their final year of high school when Iwaizumi was taking a toilet break.

Iwaizumi had never had the heart to change it, irritating as it was.

Slowing to a stop, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and brought it to his ear reluctantly.

But this was a new kind of reticence. This isn’t the everyday annoyance he’d felt in high school whenever Oikawa stroked his own ego, or when Oikawa refused to do the bare minimum of looking after himself.

This was something else entirely. Something Iwaizumi loathed.

“Hello?” He answered gruffly, voice terse with both anxiety and exertion.

“What the fuck is going on, dude?”

Cutting right to the chase, then.

“We told you,” Iwaizumi swallowed. “We’re dating.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Oikawa snapped.

“What do you mean, then?” Iwaizumi bit back his temper.

Shouting at Oikawa wouldn’t get him anywhere. That’d just make everything worse; and he didn’t want to do that to you or your brother.

Oikawa was silent for a moment – quiet enough for Iwaizumi to check the connection.

“She said ‘again,’” Tooru murmured.

Iwaizumi didn’t have the space in his heart to get mad at you. Not after years of keeping your feelings locked in your heart, trying to do the right thing by your brother, trying to make all of this work despite the discomfort it brought you.

He took a deep breath. “This isn’t the first time something’s happened.”

A confession. One he should’ve made years ago.

But God, did his soul feel lighter for it.

“Wait, what?” The tone of Oikawa’s voice was unplaceable.

“I kissed her at the beginning of our third year.” The words were out before he could doubt them. Now wasn’t the time to be delicate, to be cautious. If Oikawa was going to respond like this, then you both have to return in full force.

“What the fuck?” Oikawa’s an emotional guy. But those three words had more rage and vitriol in them than Iwaizumi had ever heard before.

“She wasn’t exactly subtle about the fact something was happening,” Iwaizumi grumbled. Looking back on it, he really had been cold. You’d just been reaching out to him, hoping that he’d give you the affirmation you craved. He’d avoided you in the hopes that you’d forget all about it.

God, it had all been very ‘teenage’. Part of him felt like he couldn’t blame either of you for that – you were teenagers at the time, after all – but another part of his heart couldn’t quite forgive himself for what he did.

To you, and to Tooru.

“Was this before summer break?” Oikawa spoke after a long moment, a quietude in his voice that even Iwaizumi wasn’t familiar with.

Iwaizumi swallowed roughly. “Yeah.”

Another silence. But this time, it’s hostile. It felt like the silence before a huge wave crashed, the air thrumming with the tension of what was about to come. It didn’t feel like Oikawa was about to shout; no, it’d be worse than that.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s hurt in Oikawa’s voice, but not the same kind of before.

“Because I knew you’d be mad,” Iwaizumi admitted. And I was scared.

“That’s no excuse.”

It never was.

“I know,” Iwiazumi sighed. “I was a coward.”

“What, so you decided that you’d just go behind my back now?” Oikawa scoffed.

“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” Iwaizumi said, biting back a snarl.

“This didn’t cross your mind at all when I asked you to live with her?”

Iwaizumi remembered that conversation well. The doubt, the fear, the apprehension. He hadn’t wanted to do it – didn’t want to put himself in that situation again. But Tooru had been persistent; kept talking about how someone needed to keep an eye on you.

“I decided to share an apartment with her for you, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said, voice surprisingly firm and steady. “Because you were the one who wanted me to keep an eye on her.”

“But—”

“I care about her,” Iwaizumi swallowed. “This isn’t all about you.”

“I never said it was ‘all about me,’” Oikawa fumed, “you guys just obviously didn’t think about me at all.”

Iwaizumi took a deep breath, the knot in his forehead getting deeper. Ignorance must be bliss. But Oikawa had no right to think like that, no right to make such accusations.

“We both put you first, you know?” Iwaizumi said, voice tight. “I dumped her in high school because of you. And I bet that she moved in with me because you asked her to.”

“What, so this is my fault?” He sounded bewildered more than anything else.

“Of course not,” Iwaizumi huffed, “but don’t think for a second that nobody in this ever gave a shit about you and your feelings.”

“Well you could’ve asked me—”

“It’s not just about you!”

Iwaizumi didn’t mean to shout. It just came out of you, as if it had been dog rattling at the gates, begging to be let out for the hunt.

He didn’t mean to repeat himself, either. Oh well.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Some sweat still lingered on his forehead – a damp reminder that a few minutes ago, he’d been on a run. To relieve tension.

Funny, that.

“Look, I know I should’ve told you about it in high school,” he mumbled. “And I shouldn’t have kept it a secret for so long. But you don’t have a right to say that we can and can’t be together.”

Their words he didn’t know he had, solid and strong and steady.

“We’re not doing this to spite you, Oikawa,” he said. “I know she’d want your approval more than anything. But your feelings aren’t going to stop any of this from happening.”

Oikawa was silent. Iwaizumi didn’t need to see him to know the look on his face; pouty, with all the air of a petulant child despite his age.

“Why do you even have such a problem with it, anyway?”

It’s the question. The one that all this mess boiled down to. Part of Iwaizumi felt betrayed; did Oikawa not trust him? Did he not deem him ‘worthy’ of his little sister?

But another part of him understood the anxiety. That’s why he asked gently, with as little antagonism as possible.

It was hard. Much harder than he’d anticipated. But it was necessary.

“That’s my little sister. And you’re… you’re my best friend. If you two broke up, where does that leave me? And I’m sure that neither of you would rely on me if you did break up, and—”

“Why are you so certain we’ll break up?” Iwaizumi nearly laughed.

“It could happen!” Oikawa whined. “Nothing’s set in stone!”

“Exactly,” Iwaizumi nodded. “So, there’s no reason for you to be so concerned about whether or not we’ll break up. It’s just as likely that we won’t.”

Another silence.

“What, are you planning to marry her or something?”

Iwaizumi’s cheeks flared and his stomach swelled. “Wh—I—Don’t get ahead of yourself!”

“Oh my God… you’re planning on marrying my sister…”

“I didn’t say that!”

“But you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t!”

Of course Oikawa would jump to conclusions like this. Shittykawa and—

“Do you love her?”

Iwaizumi was struck dumb by the question.

Does he love you? Well, yes. There’s a space in his heart specifically carved out for you, in your shape. Honestly, it’s been there so long he’s not sure if it could ever go away. Not truly.

But he wasn’t sure if that’s what Oikawa was asking. He meant love in a distinctly romantic way; the sort of love they show in movies and play on the radio. The sort of love that specifically drove romantic relationships.

Somehow, that’s what made him nervous. Iwaizumi knew he loved you – saying it out loud, to your brother of all people, was an entirely different ball game. Different meanings, different layers of love, and you intersecting all of them.

God, he’s got it bad.

He swallowed roughly, clenching his fist at his side. “It’s too early to say, but…”

“But?”

“I… I think I could.”

“God, you’re taking this too seriously…”

“I’m taking this too seriously!? You’re the one who—”

“’It’s too early to say but… I think I could,’” Oikawa parroted in his best Iwaizumi impression. Iwaizumi would’ve given it a six out of ten at best; he’s pretty sure his voice wasn’t that deep.

“You’re a piece of shit,” Iwaizumi grumbled.

“As you like to remind me,” Oikawa hummed in a sing-song voice.

It was strange. Talking in those voices. Saying those words.

It was almost like things were normal.

“Anyway,” Oikawa cleared his throat, snapping Iwaizumi out of his disorientation. “I’ve got to get back to practice. So…”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi nodded. “Good luck. But don’t overwork yourself.”

Oikawa chuckled with a tsk. “Now, now, Iwa, I’m not the boy I was in high school.”

Iwaizumi could only hope that was really the case.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Hey.”

You were sprawled out on the couch, staring at the living room ceiling. You’d quickly deemed your bedroom far too precarious of a place to be, but that didn’t leave you with much.

And you couldn’t even call Amaya – she’d be (or, at least, should be) asleep right now.

But Iwaizumi was back, appearing in the front home with his hair all ruffled and his cheeks flushed. Of course he made coming back from a run look good. It’s really not fair.

You sat up, offering him a weak smile.

He returned it gently, making a direct beeline for you.

“Did you have a good run?” You asked.

“Mm.”

You blinked at him.

Iwaizumi looked at you with a certain cautiousness. “He called me.”

Shit.

Tooru must’ve… you must’ve said something that…

“How did it go?” You asked. No point jumping to conclusions.

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It could’ve gone worse?”

You don’t know what to do with that knowledge. “That’s… good?”

Iwaizumi chuckled, shaking his head.

It was nice, seeing him smile. It felt like he hadn’t done that all day.

“Are you okay?” He asked, a big hand coming to caress your cheek.

You leant into it, pouting. “No.”

He sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Anything I could do to make it better?”

You pondered it for a moment. “You could make us lunch?”

He smiled. “If that’s what you want.”

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime scenario #What Are Tags #tiny love #also can you believe i didn't make you guys wait for all eternity for this chapter? exquisite

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lastxviolet · 3 years

Text

Madripoor is for Lovers - Ch. 1

Summary: Y/N is a SWORD agent recruited to help Sam and Bucky track down Karli and the super-soldiers. When Helmut Zemo joins the team, he takes a special interest in her. The friendly union is wrought for disaster, but then things take a turn for the worst when Y/N is taken as collateral. Will Zemo keep her forever? Does she even want to escape? And what happened in Madripoor that made the whole thing so complicated?

Warnings: 18+ / eventual smut / kidnapping

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32878015/chapters/81589774

“Don’t scream,” a voice whispered in your ear, low and slow. “I do not wish to harm you.”

His hand wrapped around your mouth and the other snaked around your waist. The cool metal of a gun pressed into your ribs. He pulled you tight and fast against his body with ease.

You knew who it was, of course. It was the only person in the room not fighting in the pit of madness. The duel between a super soldier, the new Captain America, and the Dora Milaje hadn't been tempting. But it’d been him to grab your arm to pull you away from the fighting when Sam had yelled for help and now you knew why.

“Don’t do this,” you hissed against his hand.

Zemo pulled you backward, inch by agonizing inch.

You clicked your heels against the floor hoping to knock something over along the way. Anything to get Sam and Bucky’s attention. No one even glanced your way.

“None of that, Liebling,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. His grip on your waist tightened as you passed through the bathroom threshold. What was worse, you wondered. Seeing your team; your friends disappear behind the closed double doors. Or the goosebumps from Zemo’s breath hot on your neck.

With his gun aimed at you, he knelt near the bathtub and pushed it aside to reveal an escape hatch in the floor. You watched him unlatch it and then smirk, surprised that his plan was going so well. That smirk made your blood boil.

“I’m more hassle than I’m worth,” you warned, casting a hesitant glance down the manhole.

He motioned for you to jump down first. “But you are excellent collateral.”

The noise of battle continued beyond the doors, much to your disappointment. They weren’t going to notice in time. Sam and Bucky had looked out for you but their alliance superseded any with you. Sam had only known you for a few months, and Bucky even less. You shot a prayer into the ether that they'd think of you if only this one time.

“You overestimate my importance to them,” you hissed.

Zemo looked up with dark and serious eyes. Usually, when aimed at you, they were less so. You wouldn't have considered him a friend, by any means. But in the last few weeks, he'd become a quiet, witty companion, who infuriated you less than most. Especially when Sam and Bucky spent most of the mission bickering about the plans you had made.

“Perhaps you underestimate yourself,” he cooed, shaking his head.

Sewage stink hit your senses immediately. This would not be pleasant. The drop was too short to give you the time to make a run for it. A second after your feet hit the ground, Zemo returned his gun to your head, with a smile.

“This way.”

Fighting was pointless, that much you knew. You hadn’t been recruited by Sam for your fighting abilities, as Zemo hadn’t been recruited for his. You were handy with a gun but tracking and strategy were your specialties. They’d taken you far in the military, and then as an anomaly investigator and agent with SWORD. And now, they’d brought you here, kidnapped, with a gun to your head in the back of Zemo’s car.

The driver was off towards the airstrip without any further commotion. You watched the road behind you, hopeful to see Sam or Bucky run up on the car. You could've even settled for a Dora Milaje with murder in their eyes and Zemo’s name on their tongue but it was empty.

Once on the plane, you sat in the furthest seat towards the back. Angry, hurt, and nervous, because despite all the warning bells, you’d trusted him. There was clear hatred between your teammates and Zemo but it was different between the two of you. You had no past or grudges against one another. It was silly now to think that that made you believe that there was an understanding.

“I hope you don’t think me indecent,” he murmured, gesturing to an opaque scarf in his hands. He avoided your gaze before wrapping it around your face. “But it would be unwise for me to trust you with my location. You are too intelligent for your own good.”

“Is it normal for wardens to flatter their prisoners,” you hissed, hoping to land a blow.

You heard him sit in the seat across from you and felt his foot brush yours as he crossed his legs.

“Prisoner,” he chuckled. “You are my guest Y/N and I hope that in time, you will find that I can be an excellent host.”

“In time,” you repeated, weighing the consequences of not putting up a fight when you could. How long did he plan to keep you?

He was quiet then, and so were you. The choice of words lingering between you. It wasn't until after takeoff that he spoke again. A glimpse of his face would've given you the clues you desired but the tone of his words was enough. His exhaustion from relentless thought weighed his voice to a deep baritone. Sluggish and soft.

“I have no intention of living the rest of my days in a cell,” he whispered finally.

You couldn't feel bad for him, especially when his freedom came at the cost of your own. It was clear then that confidence and swagger were a disguise, for survival. You’d seen glimmers of the real pain lurking beneath the smirks and fur coat but you hadn’t thought that he’d let it win. It wasn't a disappointment but somewhat a relief to go toe to toe with the real man.

“You can’t run forever,” you reminded him in a soft tone, trying to coax the shadow of humanity left in him out further.

“Ah,” he sighed. “It feels nice to know that you can be wrong, Y/N. For a moment, I doubted that you were human.”

The words lit an angry fire inside you. You couldn’t see him but almost heard the cavalier shrug he threw in for effect. The fabric over your eyes covered the tops of your cheeks hiding the angry flush. You hated him for making this complicated. You hated yourself even more, for not screaming when you had the chance.

Except for the occasional page turn, the rest of the ride was silent, which was unusual for the two of you. There’d been an instant dialogue since the very first time you’d met a few weeks ago. Since then, quiet moments had been rare.

________

The Baron’s private plane had landed an hour ago, but no one was on the tarmac yet. It’d taken you, Sam, and Bucky that long to come to terms with the uniforms chosen for the night.

“You know you don’t have to Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes and glared at Sam through the small airplane mirror.

“I’m fine,” you reassured him before going back to gawking at the dress. Tight but not too short, seeing as you were posing as a baroness tonight in the mission to Madripoor. Sheer black fabric slung over one shoulder, sewn onto a bustier underneath. Simple. Elegant. You’d never worn anything like it.

Sam shook his head, mumbling something about this being a bad idea.

“It’s better than the Air Force uniform,” you smiled, knowing full well that that’d get at least a chuckle out of him. It did, earning the both of you a glare from Bucky who was the worst off tonight.

“No time like the present,” Zemo called from the front of the plane. The men left you, bickering about whose outfit was worse. You tried to follow but the only piece of jewelry, a silver charm necklace, put up a fight.

“Allow me?”

Zemo’s voice made you jump. He leaned against the door, with a hand outstretched towards you. Now that half the audience to entertain was gone, he looked more forlorn; less self-assured.

You nodded, moving your hair out of the way before handing the necklace to him. He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.

He did that a lot you had realized. After the fireworks at the beginning of the ride, he’d turned his attention to you. Smile bright, but the eye’s dead. One would think small talk was his forte but you knew better. It is an easy distraction; a way to put your opposition at ease. Regardless, you couldn't blame him for seeking to charm the only one on the flight that did not hate him.

“I don’t think that we met,” he’d stated, settling into the seat across from you. “Last time.”

“Don’t talk to her,” Bucky hissed. You knew he was trying to help but you waved him off, giving him a look that said ‘someone has to talk to him.’

“No, I’m new,” you’d told him, squinting at the artificial grin that didn’t leave his face. You guessed that conversation was difficult to come by in prison. It was a pity that he was an evil mastermind. His ability to fake friendliness rivaled the most talented US agents.

“How new?”

“A few weeks before you.”

His eyes twinkled at your commonality. They bore into yours, trying to decipher what you know of what he'd done. This look was how you knew the stories of his genius, were true. They scanned and shifted, guessing that you knew it all with one look. He was right, of course, and you thought that would be the end of it. Then, he surprised you. He asked about your family, schooling, job, passions, and interests. He spoke about the books he’d had in prison, and you teased him for even reading The Prince.

He smiled wider and wider as you spoke until Sam shot you a glare and you gave the Baron some excuse about sleep. But even when you closed your eyes, and curled up into the seat, you’d felt his eyes remain on your face.

Warm hands against your neck brought you out of the trance and back to the man who you should hate.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, watching his somber expression in the reflection.

“The sigil is — was, my family’s,” he stated, coming around to face you and fiddle with the charm. “You are playing the part of a baroness, after all. We need to make it believable.”

His lips curled into a soft smile at the royal word. A chill ran down your spine. Even though your conversation had been short, you hadn’t meant to enjoy it so much. Conversation was like pulling teeth with most of the people you knew, especially Sam and Bucky. And even when it came, it didn’t flow like this.

“There are worse roles,” you mused, shooting him a soft smile in return. “I could have to play the part of the mind-controlled assassin, or worse, the evil baron.”

He smirked. “Strenuous, yes. I have found that there is nothing more difficult to be, than yourself.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You find it easy, to be yourself?”

“No, I don’t think that you are what you want us to believe.”

The words seemed to catch him off guard and you wondered the last person to show him any kindness was. Not that your words were kind.

Sam yelled some threat from the cabin about Zemo keeping his hands off of you, and you knew that your time was up. You ignored the pang of disappointment and looked up at the Baron's stone eyes.

“I am afraid that I will prove you wrong Y/N.”

You nodded and followed him out into the cold evening.

Low town was the target and as the four of you walked, the air was tense.

You nudged Bucky. “You ok?”

“Never better,” he sighed through gritted teeth.

A car appeared on the fluorescent bridge you were crossing as Zemo took his position next to you. Bucky stood on the other side of him, silent since you’d all marched out of the plane. You couldn't tell if it was memory that hardened his eyes or tonight’s assignment.

“You’re Bucky Barnes, born 1917,” you reminded the sullen soldier. “No more, no less.”

Zemo’s eyes squinted at your words, no doubt in disagreement but you avoided his gaze.

Bucky nodded and gave you a half-smile. It was as much as he could muster, especially when he had to become something he was trying so hard to forget. People have a way of finding their way back to themselves in time and you wondered how long he had left to go. The man who fought in WW2 was different from the man who fought against the Avengers. Both versions of him were different still from the man who'd turned silent in recent years.

“No matter what happens, we have to stay in character,” Zemo instructed as a car appeared on the bridge. “Our lives depend on it. There is no margin for error.”

You prepared yourself for the night ahead where you would look at the Baron with lust. It would feel strange to see him as something other than interesting and distrustful. Attraction to him was not far-fetched. He had a strong face and a sultry accent, but you stood on opposite sides of the moral spectrum in the end. Unfortunately, your realism in love hadn’t left you very open to romantic connections. From the little experience you had, it was clear that couples didn’t work if they didn't have a common goal. Yours was not the destruction of your friends and his was not to make the world a better place.

An arm snaked around your waist, cutting off the train of thought. You jumped and looked wide-eyed at Zemo.

“We are newlyweds, yes?”

His words sounded more like a question but a smile played on his lips. You nodded, unfamiliar with the feel of a confident man at your side.

“Right,” you confirmed, being the first one to break eye contact.

The car doors opened and you knew the driver was the first person to judge the performance. You let Zemo pull you towards the car and then hesitated as he walked to the passenger side. You glanced to the middle seat between Bucky and Sam in the back. Sensing your hesitation, Zemo pulled you close.

“Your performance has begun, Baroness Zemo.”

You smiled like he’d whispered a sweet nothing in your ear and drew close to return the favor.

“I’d keep my last name,” you breathed, earning a soft chuckle.

Despite the nerves, you let him pull you into his lap and tried your best to look lovesick. It wasn’t as difficult as you thought as his large hands held your waist, and one of your legs. He looked ahead, with a smug smile and ran small circles on your bare leg. The rush of goosebumps and the hitch of your breath gave you away within seconds. His smug smile turned devious in the reflection on the window.

“Das hast wunderschöne Augen.”

He whispered into the side of your head. You didn’t speak German, and even if you did, you doubted you'd want to hear something mundane or rude. Yet you could feel the hammering of your heart in each fingertip as he spoke in his native language.

A performance you reminded yourself. Two could play at whatever he was doing. You turned to glare at him before bringing a hand up to caress his cheek. The light scruff tickled your knuckles and you wondered what he’d look like with a beard. His brand of handsome wasn't rugged, even when he'd escaped the prison, he looked neat and clean. You rested your head against his shoulder and continued stroking his rounded cheeks. Being a few inches away from his face gave you a chance to study his features. It’d be good practice if you ever had to pick him out of a fleeing crowd, or a Madripoor police lineup.

Other powerful engines surrounded the car. Motorcycles with nosy drivers appeared in each window. He gripped your thigh harder, warning that the stakes were high, even here and it had to look real. A heat manifested between your legs, followed by a throbbing that you hoped he wouldn’t notice. It didn’t feel so much like an act anymore and in truth when ran your fingers through his hair, you did it out of desire. He sucked in a breath and gripped your waist like iron. The stern man didn't seem so impenetrable anymore, as your lips brushed his ear, following a sloppy pattern along his jaw. You ran your fingers through his hair roughly again and felt a slight gasp leave him. His eyes left the windows and found yours. Serious and challenging. His hand moved up towards the hem of your dress. The fabric put up less of a fight than you as he gripped your bare ass. He felt the heat then, releasing a noise from the back of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed and your kissing became frantic. Your lips buzzed from the pressure and his five o’clock shadow. His lips parted in anticipation but before you could make it, the car stopped.

Zemo released you immediately, nodding an apology to the driver. Pity, you thought, it felt like you were finally making him a little nervous.

Sam and Bucky averted their eyes as the group walked through the streets, trying to look normal. Again, Zemo slung an arm around your waist. You took this as your cue to drape yourself on his shoulder. He stared ahead like this was a death march and that a guillotine stood on the other side of the door with his name on it. He’d been here before, you remembered. The memories couldn’t have been pleasant judging by the way his mouth pressed into a tense line. Empathy came over you and you reached out to slip a hand under his coat to rest on his chest.

This broke the trance and he stared at you for a moment before a smug smile crept across his stone-cold expression. It would've annoyed you but not a second later, he reached up to hold your fingers against him. He pressed you into his sweater, rubbing each finger in an anxious pattern, the only sign of nerves at all. Even the heartbeat beneath his sweater was still steady and calm.

Zemo led you all through a packed crowd to a dim bar. The agent part of you wanted to stray from your role and look around to assess the situation. But your mind went blank as his hand dropped to your hip and guided you up against the bar. You faced a mirrored wall holding more extravagant bottles than you’d ever seen in your life.

Through the reflection, you watched Zemo claim ownership of his Baroness. Each of his hands gripped the railing on either side of you, pressing his chest into your exposed back. His large stature towered over you, but your eyes couldn't tear away from his hands. Their grip around the rounded corners was mesmerizing. In a flash, your brain conjured the image of him holding your legs apart with the same strength. You let out a shaking breath. The fur from his coat tickled your back, and you couldn't focus on his words to Sam as his breath hit your neck.

Disgruntled with the lack of vantage point, you turned in his arms, bringing your face a few inches from his. Intent on taking in the room, you rested your chin on his shoulder. People had noticed your group right away and hadn't stopped looking. You kept eye contact with some, all while kissing the Baron's neck. Only then, did you feel his heart rate quicken.

Zemo spoke to the bartender behind you, but you didn’t hear them. Again, he tested your boundaries by caressing your thigh underneath your short dress.

Newlyweds, you reminded yourself. Very horny, newlyweds.

Mesmerized by the raunchy crowd behind you, and the soft caress of his hand, you gave in again. You peppered wet kisses of longing against his jaw as he spoke to a man who’d come up on the other side of him. He swallowed hard but somehow, you doubted it was out of fear of the man that Bucky had in a chokehold a few moments later.

That was the last moment you remembered feeling calm that night. The moments after put your mission and lives in jeopardy. When the violence and fleeing had played out you'd realized that his hands had never left you. The safety of his grasp was far more dangerous than Madripoor. The feeling of relief when he’d found your waist again at Sharon’s party, had you kicking yourself.

“A very believable performance, Agent Y/N” he purred. “Well done.”

You smiled and glanced down at the few inches between the two of you. Drinking was not the best option tonight but it was too late. Vodka was already coursing through your veins.

“I’d call it compelling,” you smirked. “Not believable.”

He cocked his head to the side, eyeing you with curiosity and something else. Something ferocious that made you wonder why he didn’t have an army of devotees or a cult following. It was that look that made you question your willpower, for the first time ever.

“Why’s that?”

Exactly the question you’d been hoping for. He’d had the upper hand all night but that was going to change.

“Who would believe that I would actually fall for you,” you teased, tossing back the last of your drink.

That would’ve been the end of it for a lesser man but Zemo smiled, showing all his teeth. He was always intrigued by a challenge.

“Tell me, Y/N, who would you fall for?”

Your mouth went dry and although a smirk was still plastered to your lips, nerves rushed back in.

“As if I have time,” you laughed.

He returned the smile. “Gun to your head, then.”

The alcohol in your system whispered different answers. Irresponsible answers. Bringing them to fruition would give you more than you bargained for but you fought against them.

“I like nice men,” you whispered, watching his reaction. “Who don’t use animals for fashion.”

He chuckled and then a dark look passed over his face before he closed the gap between you. A step backward and you found yourself against a wall with nowhere to go. Zemo brought a hand to your neck, caressing the exposed skin and the chain resting there.

“Who says I am not a nice man?”

Now it was your turn to chuckle. “Your body count, history, profession…reputation.”

He nodded. “Ah, you mistake ambition and purpose for — cruelty.”

“I never said you were cruel. I know you don’t crave suffering. I know there was a reason…for what you did.”

He cocked his head again and pursed his lips, looking at you like a puzzle; something not yet solved.

The techno beat dissolved into a slower, bass-heavy, R&B song. The hand on your neck made its way down to your waist once again, pulling you in. You complied without a fight, letting the Baron lead you through a slow dance.

“Even I can be gentle,” he said after a while. “For you — I would even consider being sweet.”

The words sent shockwaves through your body, igniting every inch. He was a master of manipulation and a conniving son of a bitch who wanted your colleagues — friends, dead. And yet, your mind and body betrayed you. You squeezed him a little tighter and pulled in a little closer.

“And what about the fur coat,” you whispered, playing with the fuzzy material against his neck.

He surprised you with his laughter. He threw his head back in a genuine laugh and leaned into your neck to stifle the giggles.

“I have been in a prison jumpsuit for the last eight years, forgive me for my outdated fashion,” he cooed. You could feel the smirk against your skin.

“Is it real,” you asked, holding up the stupid furry flap.

“Of course. I am a Baron,” he responded, pulling you closer, staring at your lips.

#baron zemo #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo x you #the falcon & the winter soldier #baron zemo fic #zemo fic #zemo smut #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x you

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iwaasfairy · 4 years

Text

Immoral

.summary. In where your boyfriend likes watching you get fucked, and you are a bit too late to tell him that maybe it’s a bad idea. .word count. 2.8k .pairing. miya atsumu x fem!reader x sakusa kiyoomi .genre. smut (m), slightly angsty

.warnings. cuckolding, tbh incel!omi, spit play, voyeurism, masturbation, praise vs. degradation, atsumu’s fingers (yes this deserves a warning, i’m obsessed), unprotected sex, possibly cheating-ish?

.author’s note. “I absolutely don’t thirst for Atsumu or Kiyoomi, don’t know what it is but I just don’t,” I say all bright eyed, you know, like a liar. Anyway, I don’t know how this happened either but I hope you enjoy it!

The first time was a once-off, you’d thought. You had been clingy all day, and your boyfriend had been so tired from practice. So he asked someone to help out for you, and that’d been that. No big deal. You’d been a bit surprised that of all people, he’d asked Miya Atsumu to do the job, but considering the setter’s long fingers had soon been stuffed deep into you it didn’t occupy your thoughts much. You’d all be going your separate ways anyways, you and your boyfriend back to your apartment, and Atsumu would stay in his own little world far enough away.

So when not three days later Atsumu was seated on your couch with a brilliant smile on his face, right opposite your significant other, it’d made you a bit cautious. From as soon as he’d gotten comfortable around you, Kiyoomi had liked prodding at your boundaries. Reaching at but never past ‘em. It made intimacy fun, made your heart beat and so you’d always been pretty open with his suggestions. But this had been difficult to grasp. “I want to try something new. I think you should let him fuck you,” he’d said, and you’d been able to close your gaping mouth just long enough to catch the intrigue in Atsumu’s eyes.

“W-What? But what about you, Omi?”

“I want to watch. If you’re comfortable with that. I think you’ll like it.”

Looking back, you had liked it. It made you feel desired, hot and flushed and it didn’t hurt that compared to your boyfriend, the blond loved showering you in endless praise. Telling you how pretty you were, how sexy your sounds and how great your touch. You had liked it once and twice, and with that, had learned to like his attention too. Slight touches brushing past your hand in public just made you feel like you had a secret of you three. But maybe you should’ve talked about it with Kiyoomi more than you did. Atsumu fucked you in front of your boyfriend more than he did himself after a while, and you started missing his touch. Any time you’d initiate something, he’d tell you to shower, and by the time you came out of the hot water Atsumu would be at the door to help you out.

“Yer a bit touch starved, aren’t cha? Pretty girl,” he’d whisper, pressing kisses to your crown when drawing you close. “I’ll make ya feel good, baby.” The more Atsumu came over, the less touchy Kiyoomi grew. But in daily life, he was the same man you’d fallen in love with, which made it so much harder to complain about the strange dynamic. He wasn’t touching you, but he seemed happy to stay on the sidelines and watch. And you were getting all the sex you could ever need, even if it wasn’t with your boyfriend. Maybe you should’ve talked about it more, but you’d been thrown into the dark so suddenly that it felt easy to cling to the strong arms wrapped around you every other day.

“Keep yer eyes right here, baby girl,” the lithe voice calls, fingers under your chin and aiming your face up. Atsumu hovers over you, pressing you back into the plush of the bed with his weight supported on his forearms. He presses a few kisses to your lips, giggling when you whine at his slow movements, before he trails his fingers down your naked chest and over your nipples. He’d been at this for quite a while, and you are definitely growing more impatient by the second. When you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck with another whimper, he tutts his lips. “Shh, pretty thing. Play nice.” He flicks his finger against your pointed bud as a punishment, before continuing his slow, meticulous movements a bit longer.

But you can tell even he’s getting testy. His fingers keep going back and forth between messing with your lips, your tits and your drenched panties, as if he can’t decide which of his toys to play with first. He smacks his lips before dropping his mouth to the swell of your breasts, starting to mark you up in the places the bruises of previous nights aren’t scattered. The warmth of his mouth leaving more obnoxious blots of color. Atsumu lifts his face from your skin for long enough to settle back between your legs, rutting his hardness against you with slow drags of his hips. “Stick yer tongue out for me,” he breathes, and as soon as you do he pinches it between his fingers to tug. “I’ll get ya nice and messy for me, don’tcha worry. Would’ya like that?” With your tongue still held out of your mouth, he peers down at you with those pretty browns for an answer.

Saliva builds up in your mouth as you breathe out, humming in reply. Always concerned about your pleasure first, he rolls his hips into yours harder. “Good.” He leans down to press a kiss on your tip of your tongue, and as messy and overly intimate as it is, you’ve long grown appreciative of all of it. Even if it makes you feel dirty, you savour the feeling. You’re more than happy to take it all if that means you’re being touched. You let your eyes drop closed when he lets go of your tongue, leaving it out still. Spit’s collecting in your mouth and going down your face, and the blond grunts like it’s the best sight he’s had in a while. “Keep it out, good girl.” He leans down to you again to lick up the length of your tongue, before he sucks on the wet muscle, moaning.

While he traces your tongue with his, his hands grab at your ass to drag you into him more, and you grind back on his slow motions to the best of your ability. His hard cock pushing exactly where you need it to, though you’d love it even more if he just gave up and fucked you already. Alas. When he pulls back to let you breathe, you frown at him and try to speak without disobeying his order. You compromise by pulling your tongue back but keeping your mouth mostly open. “You’re so nasty, ‘Tsumu,” you manage to mumble, swallowing some of your spit before you make more of a mess of yourself.

Atsumu just laughs, a soft, breathy one, burying his face into your neck. “Yer one to talk. Droolin’ all over yer own face.” He presses wet kisses to the expanse of your neck in between the words, leaning up to wipe some of the spit on your chin away with a thumb. “But ya look so pretty like that, ya know I can’t help myself.” He slowly pushes your tongue back into your mouth with one finger. Then he slides his hand back down your body to rub over your covered slit and to give a mind-numbing pressure on your clit. You groan at the feeling, both at his calloused fingers being used so well and at the way your wet panties feel on your skin. He’s quick to silence your noises with a proper kiss, lazy pulls of his tongue around yours and his lips melting to you in a perfect rhythm to drive you crazy. It still surprises you, how good his is with that loud mouth of his.

A soft click sounds through the room. You don’t have to look to know that your boyfriend is freshly showered, and will take his seat in the chair positioned right next to the window soon. Atsumu doesn’t allow you to tense up though, pulling back from your body to start shimmying your panties down your thighs. “Finally. Poor thing’s been wet for fifteen minutes.” You would’ve been able to start much sooner if he hadn’t insisted on a rule that you can only have sex from the moment the spiker is in the room, and not a second earlier. Hell, you would’ve been able to start much sooner if he didn’t want to watch you get fucked more than he wants to do it himself.

Kiyoomi gives only a soft sigh in response as he plops down in the chair, springs creaking. You open your eyes and are met with Atsumu’s adoring gaze, one which he keeps as he taps the sides of your hips. “Lift ‘em, please.” He takes off your panties and tosses them at the foot of your bed, before he finally uses those pretty hands on your dripping slit, working you perfectly. He swirls around your clit for a moment, dragging two digits up and down to slick them up and you’re already so worked up from all the teasing that this makes you shudder. He always is a dream when he gets to put his hands on you. His tongue peeks out between his lips when he glances between your bodies, focussing on every twitch and tug. He’s so pretty.

You take a moment to glance away though, meeting Kiyoomi’s calculated expression. His dark hair still damp, shirtless and slouched into the red chair, he regards you. His stare is blank. You can’t remember the last time he looked at you with genuine lust, but then again, you’re not sure he ever actually did. Even so it’s been months, you can barely remember what his touch feels like. The tenseness of dredging through the thick tar of your thoughts must follow through into your body, because Atsumu looks back up at you with a slight frown on his handsome face. “You okay?” You nod right when he slips in a finger and kisses you on the temple. “Yer so tense, baby girl.” The faint kisses down your neck and collarbones feel like heaven.

He rubs his thumb over your sensitive clit as he sucks and bites at both nipples. His long fingers curl inside you just right as soon as he adds a second and a third one, stretching you out. His fingers are so thick and strong, able to hit the right spot inside you every pump. And the added feeling of his breath on your wet chest, the weight of his body on you. You whine out his name, tangling your fingers in his hair as your back curls off the mattress. Atsumu grins, even with shut eyes you can hear it in his voice and you call for him again, the coil in your belly already winding tight. “Feels good?” he asks, giggling when you nod your head up and down without thinking. Yes, yes, he feels so good. He always does.

Your legs are spread wide apart, thighs trembling the longer his brutal pace continues on your body. “Ah— ‘Tsumu, I’m close.” Beads of sweat pool under your breasts, and you open your eyes long enough to catch the look on his face. There’s nothing there but devotion to bringing you pleasure. You couldn’t believe it when he fingered you the first time, and it’s still hard to believe now. Your body shudders at the sight. His thumb gives a particularly hard few circles on your clit, making your head spin. And his other hand is pinching at your tits, using his nail to flick over the peaked knob. It’s rough, but so good. “Uh, oh- p-please Atsumu,” you ramble, “‘Tsumu, wan’ cum. Wanna cum, please. Please.”

The squelching of your sloppy pussy fills the room, as Atsumu groans. “Yeah? Yer gonna cum all over my hand, huh?” The deep tremble of his voice feels deafening, you’re so close it’s almost painful. You pull him closer, wanting to feel him, his warmth, the smoothness of his skin, anything at all—

“Let her cum on your cock,” Kiyoomi orders, drawing your attention over. He has his hand wrapped around his cock, lubed up with lotion and jerking his wrist to slide over the pretty, pink head. The time you were allowed to do it for him seems distant. At the soft moan he lets out you fight the urge to call out his name, because that too isn’t allowed anymore. Something about breaking the immersion. You can’t help but think anyone would be hurt that the sound of your voice bothers him when he’s jacking off. Maybe you just sound gross— no, Atsumu loves hearing you. He could get off on your noises alone. And turning back to find reassurance in the man nestled tight between your legs becomes easier each time it happens.

You hold the immensely frustrated pleads that work up your throat to bite your bottom lip, instead just going along with it. There was a time where you’d have pleaded to let you cum, a time where he’d have his own fingers on and in you, where your begging actually meant something. But you know by now that the more you talk back, the less Kiyoomi allows you to receive. The blond seems almost as angry at the denial of your orgasm as you are, because the slight twitch of his brow stays. But as he stills his fingers, he curls them obscenely once more and presses his lips to yours. “Sorry princess, ya heard the man.” He then pulls the digits out of you to slip them into his own mouth, cleaning your juices from them with a lewd ‘pop’. He shoves his boxers down his thick thighs to expose himself, giving himself a quick few pumps.

“Bend back yer legs for me, pretty girl. I’ll make it up to ya.” He helps you lift your knees to your chest and runs the flushed, leaking head of his cock up your slit until he’s as wet as you are. Then he presses another kiss to your parted lips, and smiles into it. He pulls back with a low whisper, slowly starting to push in as he pushes out the words. “I love stuffing this pretty cunt. It’s mine.” The stretch feels so good, so so good and he’s so warm, you mewl as he sinks into you. And as you reach one hand back up to his shoulders to steady yourself on his big cock, the other searches out his touch. His long fingers tangle easily with yours, slotting perfectly together.

“Ahgh,” you moan at his first thrust, “so full. S’big, ‘Tsumu.” He leaves kisses all over your face as you get used to the overwhelming feeling of his cock, and you glance over for just a moment to the chair. Kiyoomi is dabbing at himself with tissues. You didn’t even notice he already came. You want to feel bad, you should have noticed, you should have— But then Atsumu switches out the slow draw of his hips for a faster rhythm and you’re gone from the world. You babble out his name and cling to him as the orgasm that was so cruelly denied earlier builds back to a peak, the heat in the pit of your stomach overflowing. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, ohfuckohfuckohfuck, Atsumu!” Your legs tremble, your walls squeezing around him so hard he can barely pull himself out enough to thrust. Black and white marks the edges of your vision.

You’re still far off from the world when you feel the setter’s lips on yours, but the vague words from your side filter in not too much later. Your boyfriend clicking his tongue. “You’re such a filthy slut, cumming all over someone who’s not even your boyfriend. You just need any dick to get off, tch.” You come down after that, feeling too hot but slightly cold as well. Atsumu pulls his hips back far enough to allow you a moment more to get back to yourself, before he touches your chin to draw your face back to his.

“Can ya do another, baby? I wanna give ya another.” It’s sweet. He’s sweet. You nod. So ever so slowly he starts back up, giving your sensitive body extra attention. You bury your face into his neck as he hovers himself back over you, his chest heaving up and down from the effort. “Yer so pretty. So good, so tight for me. Always so fucking tight for me.” You plant kisses there until Atsumu starts groaning out his words, your name over and over and you forget about the stinging gaze on the both of you. Maybe you should have talked about this with Kiyoomi more. No, you definitely should have. Then you wouldn’t be falling so hard for the guy your boyfriend brings in to fuck you when he can’t be bothered.

///

in this house we love and adore the miya twins equally and i don’t take criticism. he’s a fucking treasure, i will bop you on the head if you say anything different. anyway, this was my first time writing these boyos so i hope they’re not too ooc! thank you so much for reading, you’re all beautiful humans. (๑◕ㅂ▰)

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