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hanlimz · 2 months

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[midnight thoughts: jungwon + bad habits]

pairing: yang jungwon x gn!reader (reader is jake's sibling) genre/warnings: angsty fluff (happy ending) / mentions of alcohol, vomit, some blood / idk it could potentially be a bit suggestive but i don't rly think so? wc: ~2.1k a/n: LOL cass write abt someone other than won challenge pt.2: FAILED!!!! / whtv! this had been in my drafts n then i reworked the idea into that jay drabble i posted but i still rly wanted to write abt motorcycle jungwon so here you go.. (it turns rly soft at the end bc i am incapable of writing hurt without comfort LMAOOO)

as you climb out your window to perch atop your shingled roof, a wave of cold surges up your spine, taking care to freeze each and every vertebrae on its way. your breath billows before you, the white cloud contrasting the pitch black of night. from this vantage point, you can watch all the bodies as they move in tandem, warm from the alcohol and the dancing. it's mesmerizing, the rhythmic swaying lulls you into a state of peace, a state of tranquility. paying no mind to the booming party music or the numbness blooming at the tips of your fingers, you let your eyelids flutter closed. comforted by the nothingness, you take in the scent of wet earth mingling with the air freshener you have in your room as it permeates the air. with chilled bones and a clear mind, you remain a passerby, a shadow, a ghost.

that is, until an unceremonious rumbling breeches the music blasting from your brother's speakers. the people below begin to whoop and cheer as the manmade thunder grows quiet; your brother shouts a greeting, and you're all too familiar with the person who manages to turn heads merely upon arrival. a rush of nerves tingles through your body, and you run over a checklist. heeseung, jay, and sunghoon are all presently dancing, sunoo is watching over the kitchen, and riki has been relegated to the dj booth for the night. with all other options exhausted, you know it has to be him.

craning your neck, you catch a glimpse of his crimson steed. it glints, almost menacingly, in the light of the moon. the chrome accents are like liquid silver as he dismounts and casts a myriad of shadows over his bike. jake claps him on the shoulder as he removes his matching helmet. his hair falls out—deliciously messy, perfectly tousled; it's a waterfall of silky, black strands that somehow look windblown and gelled back simultaneously. save for everyone that has continued to dance, girls and guys alike are crowding around the boy and his bike.

a cursory smile is offered to all of the faces in the crowd, but it becomes real as he turns to look at your brother. friends since they met through soccer practice years ago, friends despite their differing social circles, friends through the thick of it all. they push through the throng of classmates, acquaintances, and strangers—closer to the house, closer to you.

before they disappear beneath the awning, jake pulls him into a hug, and you can see him dig his fingers into the boy's leather jacket. "it's good to see you, man," jake says, just loud enough for you to make out. "drinks are in the kitchen with sun, i'm sure he'll be surprised to see you make an appearance."

and, just like that, the party resumes. you watch as the horde of people assembled around the motorcycle gradually disperses, and they begin to partner up again. despite not offering any physical warmth, a fire builds inside of you; small embers of memory are ignited by the nervousness that rips at your stomach. reliving each one is painful—the images that flash behind your eyes are hot, burning themselves into your mind once more. you guess that there are mere seconds left until he comes to see you, and you are proven correct when a measured knock sounds against your door. it confirms any suspicions and lays any doubt you might've had to rest.

you know all too well who this is.

the slab of wood creaks open, groaning as if aged by the cold. gazing back at him, you notice how young he looks when bathed in the warm, yellow light emanating from your desk lamp. he seems to glow, crowned with a halo of innocence, overflowing with something you can't place. this angelic countenance distracts you from the red solo cup sitting in grasp, distracts you from the fact that he is inching forward, distracts you from the movement of his lips. and, after a few moments, he is settling next to you and fidgeting in an attempt to get used to the frigid air. suddenly, you are stripped of your alien status because he is looking at you, seeing you—just as he always does.

ghosts notice ghosts, you think, daring to steal a glance in his direction. he catches you, ensnaring you with those deep, brown eyes, but he doesn't say a word. it isn't like him, really. he's an obligatory people person, a fan favorite, a crowd worker; he can have you doubled over with laughter one minute and crying the next. this irregularity is not lost on you as he continues to stare. you can almost feel the words waltzing on the tip of his tongue, and it kills you—the waiting game. it's one you always manage to lose.

"thought we agreed to take a break from each other ..." you hum, breaking the silence and turning your head away. "hm, jungwon?"

he mirrors you, and takes a sip from the cup. his impenetrable pokerface doesn't give you any hints as to what he's drinking. peeking over, you watch as jungwon answers with a nod and a sharp clench of his jaw.

"so, why are you here?" you ask, scoffing and shooting him a forceful glare. "why are you here, sitting with me in weather you hate, not saying a word? what—do you care about me, suddenly? about us?"

he prickles at this particularly harsh jab, rushing to defend himself, "i told you, [y/n]—"

"oh, yeah—you told me, jungwon. you told me about sunghoon, about how protective he is of his sister, about how he broke siwoo's nose after he found out about their relationship. you told me that you didn't want jake to get in our way, that you didn't want things to get ugly if jake didn't like us together," your tone is venomous enough to kill as you berate him. "then, after i called you on your bullshit, you told me that it was for my own good. you didn't want me to get hurt, didn't want me to walk away broken ... you talk such a big game with your motorcycle and your leather jackets, but really, jungwon? all you told me is that you're a coward."

the aftershocks of your explosion are still rocking through jungwon as he tries to process all of your words. absorbing your poison, guilt and realization wash over him; he is a coward. and, a fool for letting you slip through his fingers. his mouth gapes as he searches desperately for the right thing to say. jungwon flounders, and you take perverse delight in his struggle. all of the weight that had been crushing you is now his to bear; it feels good, but only for a minute or two. then, this parasitic love you harbor for him squeezes at your heart. the silence starts to suffocate you, balls of cotton begin to fill your throat, and the cold air is making your lungs burn. you turn to see him already looking at you, and the apology you were about to let free dies away.

his eyes are wild, frenzied almost. not in a way that frightens you, but in one that saddens you. jungwon is frantically hunting for a way to make you see how sorry he is, for a way to make you stay. he reaches out to you but flinches away on his accord, unsure of what your reaction might be. taking a deep breath, all he says is: "you're right."

as the admission of guilt hangs in the air, it is almost underwhelming. you sigh, preparing to push up from your seat and head back inside, but jungwon stops you. he grips your wrist before he is able to stop himself this time and wills you to sit once more. his hands are as warm as you remember, calloused and rough and surprisingly gentle.

"you're right, [y/n]. i'm a coward, and i don't deserve a second chance—i didn't even deserve the first one you gave me. but, god—you have to believe me when i say that i care. i care about you, about us. my stupid, fucking thoughts got in the way, and i was scared," jungwon explains, blinking rapidly to keep his tears at bay. "i used jake to hide from you, to hide from how much i loved you. from how much i've always loved you."

jungwon begins to shake—from the desperation or the cold, you're not sure. but, as the conversation dips into a natural lull, you usher him past the threshold of the window pane and shut it behind the two of you. a quietude settles between your bodies, a static that coaxes you closer while simultaneously pushing you apart. gently, you slip the tingling tips of your fingers beneath the leather of his jacket; it is replaced with a fluffy blanket before he can blink, and he relishes in the silken sensation blooming in his chest. enveloped by this newfound warmth, you ask him the same question from before: "why?"

he answers immediately, ignoring the searing pain as his blood begins to flow again, "because, i'm not good, [y/n]. i'm not good ... and, you're perfect. i'm afraid—if we go any further, i'll turn you into someone else. i'll ruin you."

you exhale sharply out of your nose, "selfish."

yang jungwon is stunned to silence; the remnants of vitriol seep like a toxic sludge into the cracks forming in his heart—a heart that he claimed to never have, a heart that you managed to steal for yourself. selfish. you called him selfish. jungwon wanted to protect you from the person you might become after being with him; he wanted to keep you away from the sight of bloodied knuckles and the putrid scent of vomit and alcohol. "i'm ..." jungwon starts, incredulity ringing clear in his voice, "selfish?"

"beyond belief," you sniff.

"wh—how?!"

"how? jungwon—who are you to decide what's good for me? who are you to tell me that i'm good ... that i'm perfect? what do you know about me that i don't?" inhaling deeply, you inch forward; jungwon unceremoniously plops down onto the pillowy cloud of your bed, and you follow suit. in this light, the halo makes a reappearance, and you swear the entire galaxy twinkles in his wide, blown out eyes. resting mere millimeters away, you whisper, "who are you to try and make me believe we aren't meant to be?"

his facade is crumbling bit by bit; walls upon walls of cold concrete are reduced to dust in the wake of your storm. falling back into the soft down of your comforter, jungwon flings an arm over his eyes. stupid, foolish—distracted by the possibility of losing you, he managed to make one of the biggest mistakes of his life. "i'm sorry," jungwon admits once more. "i was selfish. you deserve better."

"sure, i guess. if you think so ..." you begin, interlacing your fingers with his and taking away his hiding place, "but, i want you."

jungwon feels fragile in your hands. the look in his eyes is tentative, almost as though if he were to move, you would fade into a fine dust. in this moment, he is vulnerable—a turtle without its shell, a knight without his armor. there is a certain frantic hesitance you can feel as his heart beats against yours; the rise and fall of his chest is not so steady, and the rhythm is not so sure. having already done so once, jungwon doesn't want to lose you again.

you sigh, and jungwon takes in the sweet aroma of starlight mints and lemonade. "stop thinking so hard, won," you murmur. "i want you. i deserve you. i love you."

"you do?" he asks, uncertain.

"i do," you answer, resolute. "can i show you?"

when he nods, the butterflies flitting in your stomach begin to settle because this is jungwon. pressing into him, the rich taste of butterscotch and tang of beer blooms on your tongue; the sensation of your lips slotting against his is only rivaled by the victorious completion of a huge puzzle. perfect in every way—pieces fall into place, and everything just fits. jungwon is familiar, a home that has returned to you. you make jungwon know your love. so, you kiss his forehead, and you kiss his nose, and you kiss his lips.

i want you. i deserve you. i love you.

#enhypen fluff #enha fluff #jungwon fluff #enhypen reactions #; — cass writes: jungwon #enhypen #enha imagines #enhypen imagines #enhypen headcanons #enha headcanons #enha reactions #jungwon headcanons #jungwon imagines #jungwon x reader

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smeddiemunson · 1 year

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hi! could i request steddie with 56 “shut up and kiss me already” and 149 “since when have we ever been friends?” like hurt/comfort sorta thing? thank you :)

hi @r0binscript hope you like it 🖤 thank you for the prompt!

56: “shut up and kiss me already.”

149: “since when have we ever been friends?”

Steve hadn’t been to a party since Tina’s Halloween extravaganza in high school. He wasn’t traumatised or anything, just ever since he had his heart broken in a bathroom, the smell of teenage vomit and mixed drinks didn’t hold the same appeal as it used to. He wasn’t sure why it ever appealed to him in the first place.

He remembered enjoying the press of bodies against his own, of being faceless in a crowd, and the fuzziness that came with alcohol. He remembered gossiping with girls in his lap, giggling over the things they said, then giggling into one another’s mouths. But now... he wasn’t sure if he could ever feel that again.

But Robin had been invited by Vickie and she’d been too nervous to come by herself. So Steve, as her self-appointed soulmate, had to be there as well.

Robin had found Vickie within about five minutes of walking through the open front door, ignoring Steve’s mumbled gripe about them letting all the cold air in by leaving it open. So Steve had spent most of the night hanging out in the kitchen, refilling his red solo cup with water every so often then nursing it as he people watched. He caught glimpses of Robin every so often, shooting her thumbs up whenever see caught his eye back, looking as panicked as she probably felt. But Vickie hadn’t yet run for the hills so he wasn’t worried about her.

Eventually, the water made its way through his system and he was forced to leave his post in search of the bathroom.

The house wasn’t big, but the amount of people crammed into the hallway made it hard to navigate. He managed to get to the bathroom but on his return to the kitchen, he got swept away by the sea of bodies and ended up in an empty garage.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t King Steve,” A voice said from the darkness.

Steve flipped the light switch on.

“Eddie,” Steve greeted.

Even after their flirt with death and the neighbouring hospital beds that came after, Steve had never quite been able to make it through to Eddie. He kept Steve at arms length, determined to keep their roles the same; Steve the King and Eddie the Freak.

He didn’t know that that wasn’t who Steve was anymore.

“You know this is a high school party, right?” Eddie sneered.

Steve sighed. It was going to be one of those times. Eddie being combative before Steve could even say anything.

“Robin wanted me to come. Vickie invited her.”

The sneer fell off Eddie’s face.

Steve was sure Robin never told him, but he knew anyway and that terrified Steve. Terrified him because it meant that maybe Robin wasn’t being as careful as she thought she was or maybe Eddie wasn’t the only one that had found out. But Eddie had never said anything.

And that counted as something to Steve. It was the sign he needed to keep trying, to keep asking Eddie how Hellfire was when he went to pick up the kids, to offer him an invitation to the Byers-Hopper “we coped with the Upside Down again” barbecue. Eddie hadn’t taken him up on any of it yet. But Steve was determined.

“What are you doing in the garage?” He asked once the silence had stretched on for a second too long.

Eddie chuckled humourlessly. “I can deal but I can’t be seen. It’s social suicide for me to be seen in the house, so I’ve been locked away in here like a fucking dog.” He pushed a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in awkward ways. “But at least I’ve got beer to keep me going.”

He gestured to the dark corner. An empty six pack sat next to a sturdy blue cooler and Eddie’s black metal lunchbox.

Eddie having been drinking suddenly explained why he was so ready to snap at Steve.

“Come on,” Steve said quietly. He crossed the room in four long strides to the door he hoped led to the yard. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What about Robin?” Eddie asked sadly. He was still expecting Steve to be pushed away by his attitude.

But if there was one thing Steve was, it was stubborn. He wasn’t going to give in this easily.

“She’s with Vickie, she’ll be fine.”

He cracked the door open, sending up a silent prayer that it was the door to the yard and waited for Eddie to catch up. He went back to his dark corner to snatch up his lunchbox from the floor then strode past Steve without another word.

Eddie placed his lunchbox on the floor next to his feet and turned back to watch Steve, his arm crossed protectively over his chest.

Steve stepped through the door and leant his back against the wall, trying his best to make sure he looked approachable and open to talking. He wanted Eddie to talk.

But Eddie didn’t seem like he wanted to, which scared Steve because Eddie always seemed like he wanted to talk. Steve remembered him in high school, remembered him running his mouth of at teacher or students any chance he got.

So Steve started talking instead. “This fucking sucks, Eddie. You shouldn’t be treated like that, no one should!” Then much quieter, through his teeth, an almost hiss. “You didn’t fucking do anything! You’re a hero!”

Really he didn’t realise just how angry he was until he said it out loud. How dare these people pretend that Eddie wasn’t the best of them, that he wasn’t one of the most special people to ever be in Steve’s life; even though he didn’t know him that well, Steve at least knew that.

Eddie only shrugged. “I’m used to it. Should be lucky I can even sell anymore.”

And that hurt more than anything. The complete resignation to being treated like he wasn’t even human.

“I’m worried about you, man,” Steve confessed quietly, probably not loud enough for Eddie to hear.

But Eddie did. He bristled. “Why?”

“Because we’re friends?” Steve fired back.

Eddie scoffed. “Since when have we ever been friends?”

“Since we went through hell together? We’ve all been trying to tell you this.” Steve sighed, he just didn’t know what more he could do. So he did something he never did. He begged. “I’ve been trying. You just gotta let me. Please.”

Eddie scoffed again, the noise sounding suspiciously wet. “I can’t, man.”

“Why not?”

“Because what if…” Eddie turned away from him, staring out at the yard and only letting Steve see the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, voice thick with emotion when he continued. “What if you get to know me and realise I’m not worth it?”

“Not worth what?”

Eddie threw his hands up, gesturing towards everything as he turned back to face Steve. “This. All of this. The family barbecues, the fucking niceties.” Eddie looked away again. “Your attention.”

Steve pushed off the wall, standing to his full height. He was ready to fight his case. “I think I know who deserves my—“

“I’m gay, Steve,” Eddie hissed, as if were venom, as if it was something that would scare Steve away. He pushed at Steve’s chest, forcing him up against the wall.

It was so similar to their time in the boathouse. Eddie’s wild eyes daring Steve to make a move, only this time he didn’t have a broken bottle against Steve’s throat. He wasn’t scared, could never be scared of Eddie again. In fact, he felt brave.

Steve closed his eyes as he said it.

“I’m bisexual.”

It wasn’t even something he’d told Robin yet. He’d known about himself for a long time but whenever he tried to tell her, the words got stuck in his throat. They burned as they pushed past the barrier now. He squeezed his eyes closed tighter.

Eddie began to pull away but Steve’s hand flew out to grip Eddie’s shirt, holding him close. It wasn’t cold by any means, but he welcomed Eddie’s heat.

He opened his eyes to meet Eddie’s confused ones.

“I promise you, you’re worth all this, Eddie.”

A wounded noise came from the back of Eddie’s throat. But Steve pushed on.

“And I’ll keep telling you until you believe me. Every day, a million times a day if that’s what it takes.”

Eddie inched forward. “Promise me you won’t regret this in the morning?”

“Shut up and kiss me already.” Steve’s chest brushed against Eddie’s as they breathed in tandem. Steve exhaled a breath, Eddie inhaled the same air. His back was slowly growing wet from where it was pushed against the wall, but all he wanted, all he thought he would ever want again, was to know what it felt like to have Eddie kiss him.

Eddie’s eyes darted across his face.

In the morning Steve would feel bad that he pushed this while Eddie was clearly feeling vulnerable. But in that moment all he could do was tighten the hold he had on Eddie’s shirt and tug.

Eddie’s lips crashed into his, hot and wet and insistent.

It was a start.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #r0binscript #ask #prompt fill #i don't think angst writing is my strong suit tbh; always feels like i don't quite have the words to describe the feelings #so this was difficult for me but i'm actually so glad that i managed to do it?? and it's not horrible??#everyone be nice to me even if you hate it please and thank you 🫶🏻

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nectardaddy · 13 days

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Foolish [Jean Kirstein x reader] 4

Tunes: I Kissed A Girl ; First to Eleven Out Of My League ; Fitz and the Tantrums

Scrunching your brows at the pain in your head, you tried to open your eyes but flinched as you were met with light. You let a groan pass your lips as you were greeted with the sunlight that flooded in through the curtains that hung disgracefully from the window. The pounding rhythm in your head only stung more as you closed your eyes once more, trying to get used to such bright surroundings. Feeling yourself become more awake as you laid there, you turned over in the sheets with a sigh. But becoming more awake brought along glimpses of the night prior that made your stomach plummet and your eyes snap open.

You knew Jean's lips met your own as soon as he heard his door click closed and you earnestly allowed him to. Feverishly drinking in every ounce of affection the man gave to you despite your resolve, realizing in the morning you had very little. Moments turned to glimpses as you tried to remember, knowing pieces of clothing were taken off in an effort to get even closer. Glimpses turned to blackness as the memories ceased at the moment you pulled away from him with a drunken smile, only to be pulled back in with a kiss that made you dizzy.

"Oh fuck-" you groaned out loud as you took in your surroundings from the bed. Squinting your eyes from the light and your headache, but dared not close them as you looked around. "Oh my god," you whispered to yourself as your eyes stopped at the man who laid next to you. "Oh my god," you whispered again as you dragged your hands down your face.

Not only did you take Jean's invitation to come over - you stayed over; only to find yourself the next day with the very same man laying right next to you. "I've lost my fucking mind," you grumbled. Your mind swam with pain and your stomach churned from a mix of nausea and self depreciation; refusing to get up knowing it would only cause you to vomit. But that was only one reason, the other was you truly didn't want to get up and leave the man. It was strangely inviting how warm he felt next to you, a warmth you craved as you looked over the man once more. Biting your lip, you couldn't help but take in the sight.

Pieces of hair haphazardly fell into his face and he took small breaths as he was still sound asleep. A rare sight to you, but one you could only label as down right cute as you looked at him. A tension rose in your chest as you felt the man stretch, your breath hitching in your throat as his arm wrapped around you almost instinctually. The warmth you craved from him you were now immediately getting, and you weren't too sure what to do with yourself. Deciding since he was already asleep, and the heat of embarrassment hadn't hit you yet, to lean into his embrace.

His skin was hot to the touch, realizing as your eyes traveled across the man that he didn't wear a shirt, as you leaned into him. The man was asleep, had no teasing or sly remarks to give, so you took advantage to indulge yourself on being held. A silly thing, truly; your heart beat quickening at the thought that you really were being cuddled by Jean Kirstein of all people. You let your eyes flicker from him to the room around you. You had never been in his room, though he had been to yours countless - it was quant.

Drawings and sketches littered the walls haphazardly with simple scotch tape and you couldn't help but smile gently. Drawing was a particular hobby he couldn't quite escape and found himself doing often. More often than not, doodling in his notebooks during lectures and sketching when he was stressed just to have his mind in a different place. He didn't need to think to draw, he simply did it to occupy his mind and hands. You asked him on numerous occasions why on earth he pursued history and not art, as the skill he had within a pen were beyond you. A simple reply of 'I'd start to hate it if I majored in it' was all he ever gave.

His room was relatively kept but looked as if he lived in organized chaos, everything on his desk had a pile or stack to which it was housed. But you couldn't help as your mind circled back to your situation at hand though, biting your lip now that you were fully awake but he was not. You didn't want to move, but you were restless in the morning, once you were fully awake there was no counting on going back to bed. And there was no way in hell you would go back to sleep, even if you wanted to, as your headache pulsed your skull.

Body aching from your dancing from the night prior, you stretched for well needed relief. A groan passing your lips as knuckles and joints popped from your action, you gaze returned to the man beside you. Your slow movements being just enough, combined with the sunlight that filtered through the room, to rustle him awake. "Fuck," he groaned lowly, a rough voice from sleep and practically yelling over music the night before. Rubbing his eyes with his hands, reluctantly pulling away from you to do so, he let out a sigh.

You wondered if he would have a similar reaction as to yours when he came to, realizing his drunken actions had led you into his bed. Your mind didn't wait long for an answer, seeing his brown eyes blink open and look over at you. But he didn't look to you as you did to him, brown eyes looked at you fondly as a smile pulled onto his lips. "Good morning," he mused. "I'm, pleasantly, surprised you actually stayed," he tacked on.

You wanted to continue to feel at ease, but the nerves that once were quickly came back full throttle now that he was awake. The way he looked over at you made you want to vomit. Far from disgust, you wholeheartedly enjoyed it, but the emotions that came with it made you sick. "Morning," you spoke, trying to match his level of simplicity. Try as you might, you knew you sounded rather forced than nonchalant. You scrunched your brows in frustration at yourself, internally preparing for a bombardment of teasing.

You heard him chuckle beside you, making you close your eyes as you awaited his smart ass reply so quickly in the morning. "I basically had my tongue down your throat last night y'know?" He began, to which your eyes snapped open and a heat forced itself to your cheeks. "You're, deadass, laying in bed with me but you still want to act like nothing happened?" He asked, a smirk playing at his lips. "No way around it this time."

Flustered was an understatement to what you felt in the moment, his snide remark lighting a fire within your stomach. "You acted like it didn't happen last time either, jackass," you retorted. While you weren't frustrated, the man beside you irked a nerve as he played the argument one sided. "Sasha told me last night you told her about Halloween. You knew full well that we kissed and didn't do a damn thing either."

"In my defense, I thought you didn't even like me. 'Thought it was just a one-off thing because you were drunk." He said with a chuckle, "Sash' had to tell me I was a fucking idiot for thinking that, by the way. But why else do you think I've been practically begging you to hang out with me since?"

Realization hitting you square in the face, you felt rather stupid. Looking at the brunette who admitted to openly trying to further your interactions, you let a groan pass your lips. "I don't know? I thought you were lonely? Or you thought I was lonely?"

He felt a laugh bubble past his lips at your words, quickly realizing neither of you truly knew what the other felt even if it was in plain sight. "Lonely?" He asked rhetorically while laughing. "Are you really this slow? Or am I that fucking bad at flirting?"

"Are you slow?" You countered with a huff, "how the hell do you expect me to know you're hitting on me when you do it to everyone?" You asked, turning your gaze away from the man who made your cheeks feel as if they were burning. But you couldn't escape him, being so close in proximity to him made you lose your breath. Not daring to get up as that would prove to him just how much your head swam with nerves.

The soft snort of air from the man was enough to make you want to pass away right then and there. Were you really too stupid to notice, or were you too blinded by your own thoughts of the man? "You seemed to get what I was doing last night," he spoke with a smirk pulling at his lips. Groaning, you fought the urge to frankly knock some sense into the man. Too cocky for his own good as he felt more secure in his own feelings; knowing you liked him back only bolstering his ego further. "Pretty well actually," he added with a small chuckle.

You became all too aware of your body within that very moment, his sly comment making you hyper aware of what you were wearing - or lack thereof. You had undoubtably seen the clothes that littered the floor as your eyes scanned the room minutes before, but you hadn't the slightest ounce of embarrassment until he opened his stupid mouth. Your legs were bare, being able to feel, all to well, the sweatpants we wore as his legs were tangled with your own. Praising a higher power that you dawned a shirt, you took a small breath. The shirt wasn't yours; however, it was his. A shirt you had seen the man wear many times, a simple black band tee that you now wore instead of he. "Fucking christ Jean-" you groaned. "I was trashed," you began, "all we did was make out- right?"

Letting the elephant in the room now hang in the air, you know noticed just how little you remembered of the night. You remembered his lips on your own, a passion yanking all sense out of you already drunken mind, but not how the night concluded. You didn't remember actually getting in bed and going to sleep, nor the fact that you done so with the man you swore wouldn't let get to you. "Correction," he started with a gentle chuckle, "we were trashed. And yeah, that's all we did," he reassured. "It was the best fucking night of my life, I'll have you know. I've been wanting to do that shit again since the last time you kissed me."

Despite your nerves wracking every fiber of your stomach, you couldn't help as a small laugh bubbled out of your lips. "Really?" You asked, letting a breathy laugh pass, "what kept you from doing it again?"

"I didn't have the balls too," he shrugged with a laugh. "I would've thrown myself into oncoming traffic if you said no, just out of self pity alone."

Your gentle laugh turned louder at his words, putting your hand to your mouth as it was a bit louder than you expected. You felt your mind ease, and your body relax again; upon hearing he was just as anxiety riddled as you about the situation made you feel strangely alright. "I would have never guessed Jean Kirstein was too pussy to kiss a woman," you mused, a teasing nature in your tone as you let your guard down.

"Not anymore I'm not" he mused, watching brown eyes shift to your lips and back to your eyes. The mere look alone gave you a visceral reaction, shuddering as you suddenly felt caged within his gaze. But, dear god, you would be lying if you said it didn't make you excited. Mind still swarming with a hangover, but nonetheless buzzed from the feelings that overtook you as you looked to the man.

You didn't need to say a word to the brunette beside you, your lingering eyes giving him an answer before he leaned forward. An ethereal feeling as his lips captured yours, now sober to feel every touch and breath. It was almost sweet how gentle he was, slowly shifting himself so he could touch his hand to your cheek. But it was a kiss that made you feel drunk all over again, teetering the edge of perfection before slipping completely. It was a slip that made your heart flutter and your mouth dry, blood hammering your chest with every pump until you felt breathless. You almost wanted to whimper as he pulled away, the sensation too good to be true and you earnestly wanted it again. "Kiss me again, or I'll still think you're a pussy."

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #snk #aot #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #snk x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtien

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mad-iska · 1 year

Text

Golden boy

Coco crossover won in the poll even though it was with 0 votes for the first couple of days! you go coco crossover i believe in you!!! also i lied to you 'cause it's happened to be T, not Gen and also they get together in the end. i wrote it a long time ago, sowwy... Pairing: Manny Calavera x Domino Hurley

Crossover with Pixar's "Сосо"

Summary: Somebody always losing, somebody always winnig, but Manny isn't sorrow loser and Domino... Well, yeah, Domino the undisputed winner for life, sue him.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, slight angst, mention of death, skeleton kissing, Domino being smug af, Manny being smitten, opponents to lovers question mark

Word Count: 1,2k

A/N: i wrote this 4 (o my lord 4!!!) years ago in kinda desperate attempt to befriend my now partner 4 life babyyyyy (it's @vschs), BUT also because i really enjoyed the game and this two morons. All this time it was hidden in our DMs, but i finally translated this piece of fiction! so another 3 people can read it! damn, so cool! as always, english is my second language, calamino is my OTP. that’s it, that’s all you need to know. enjoy~

Gold surrounds us all while we are in the world of the dead. It drives someone crazy, someone to the grave, while others can only dream about it. The luckiest ones always carry gold with them all the time - in their hair, eyes or, most importantly, in their hearts. The golden shade is recognized as the embodiment of wealth, elegance and importance.

But in the world of the dead, this shade can take a completely different meaning for many. Painful and terrifying enough to wish for quick death again. Of course, not for everyone. Even in the afterlife, people continue to be divided into winners and losers. Domino wears gold cufflinks, and Manny trembles at night from the wave of pain and brightly golden light that blinded him in the same moment as he reluctantly opens his eyes.

The pack of cigarettes, which Hurley occasionally hands to his former colleague, also has a golden tint. Although it's just a fake to look richer and to make the buyer feel important - Calavera starts spitting and holding back the urge to vomit, which appeared on the back of his brain (if it's even still in his skull). It seems that if he ever goes crazy, he will only repeat one phrase, like the damned Frankenstein. Only the word "fire" will be replaced by "gold."

But Manny is not afraid of this or of death again. The former employee of the funeral bureau is terrified only at the thought of telling someone about it, that they may think he's weak. It's easier for him to die alone, leaving everyone in ignorance of where this pile of bones went. Although, he doesn't even pull on the heap – may be a small pile can accumulate due to a large skull. Therefore, he endures the daily glimpses of cufflinks and packs of cigarettes, smiling, trying to hide his disgust, diverting his gaze from someone's golden tooth, begin to breathe heavily and too slowly at the sight of a pile of gold coins lying on barrels, while his neighbors play cards on them, and politely refusing the invitation.

Gold causes pain. Remember that, Calavera.

Therefore, Domino, who visits him for hell knows why, causes the pain.

The initial goal is clear - to make fun of the fact that, again, his office is better, life is more fun, and the view from the window is more beautiful. That he's the golden boy again.

But now he calmly sits down next to the small bench near the wooden house, which has its own charm, unlike the neighboring houses. Manuel Calavera still has a sense of dignity, so both inside and outside the house, it looks more presentable than the entire pier put together. His frequent guest hesitated a few times, admitting this, snorting and flicking ashes into the water. Domino always offers him a cigarette or a drink, asks if his favorite scythe is dull, whether Meche has come. And he laughs less and less loudly every time he hears the answer "Of course not. As well as to you. What else did you expect?"

A couple of times, they caught themselves sitting too close, justifying it by coastal breeze. But they can't feel cold, right? At least not physically.

Something strange happens every day near the little house on the pier belonging to a funeral director.

The day comes when the glow catches Manny not in a dream, but quite openly, in front of the crowd. Although, can a couple of card players and, damn it, Domino be called a crowd? The latter frowns for a while, then grimaces with anger and throws an unfinished cigar at the fish feed.

"What jokes are these, Calavera?" he hisses, suddenly grabbing other's shoulder and squeezing it so hard that it could have left a bruise on the bone if it were possible.

"Go away, I'm not obliged to explain anything to you. I need to lie down… " the skeleton tries to stand up, but the stronger hand still holds him sitting on the bench, pressing so hard that it could break.

"No, you'll explain it to me. What the hell are you shining like a damn Christmas tree for?"

"You know what it means. Let me go, or I'll hit you," the tone suddenly changes from neutral to firm. Although, because of this, there is a hoarseness in his voice - being firm is also a difficult task for someone who is exhausted by pain.

"And you didn't need a reason before?" Domino chuckles, but in really strange, more in nervous than in smug way.

"Yes. I'm not you, I have manners" Manny’s shoulder nervously jerks, trying to save himself and his owner, getting out of bone, brightly white chains. It's almost done. But Domino just stands up and continues to follow him, cursing in Spanish.

Manny sits on the bed and sighs heavily, rubbing his eye sockets with his fingers.

"You irritate me. Get lost" he says in his native language, hoping that at least it will work. But this is not quite helping. An ex-enemy's body is still hovering over him.

"Oh, go to hell… You're pathetic and unbearable idiot."

Said without any hatred, rather with… Angry confusion? You’re losing it, Mr. Hurley, losing it.

However, you still know how to slam doors loudly. If there were, Manny would have raised four plates with the number 10. One for each limb. Maybe even took one in his teeth.

Domino doesn't come. Today, tomorrow. In principle, the whole situation seems strange and somehow… wrong. Even when they didn't think about behaving towards each other at least somewhat unfriendly - they had to be together. Or maybe it was a similar excuse to coldness?

But the tall skeleton appears in the same place a week later. They sit silently, not even lighting up cigars. The silence is broken by a firm question.

"How long?"

"I'm not obliged to answe-"

"I'm asking. How long?" Seems like they're going to argue again. Moreover, Manny does not even know why. Why did he ask him about this radiance? Is he afraid to get infected? He should have hammered into his dull head that it's not his business.

But his lips utter incoherent nonsense like "I don't remember, probably three months ago, who cares? Get lost".

White dots hiding in black dark eye sockets run all over the "sick" body from head to toe and unexpectedly approach strangers.

"Clunck".

"What do you allow yourself, damn it! Get out of here, you assh-"

"Clunck".

Sound from bone to bone was already too much to handle.

And then Manny gets punched in the ribs. Not strongly, but makes him grab slightly itchy bones.

"Don't get used to it, it's just because you'll die soon. Don't pretend you're doing it right now, I'm gentle. Besides, you have nothing to hurt there."

"Bones can be broken, imagine that! Although, yes, how can your narrow mind understand it" grumbles like an erecting owl undertaker, still suffering, "You bastard," he huffed with an incredibly mixed emotions in his voice.

"See ya tomorrow, Manny. Just try not to die" Domino gets up and is about to leave, but Manny boldly yeels at his back.

"Oh yeah, now I have a motivation!"

"Did you enjoy it that much?" the brows soar up a couple of times, mocking the stunned victim.

"No, so I can beat you with your own jaw" the grumbling becomes quieter, and mockery and playfulness in his voice increase with each word, "And then shame you for not being able to admit your gay nature until you found out that I am dying again" the smirk becomes crooked on both of their mouths.

"Shut up and remember, you answered me rather with enthusiasm for the second time. Also, I knew everything about myself for the long time, closeted bastard."

Brows twitch again, the last time - victorious. And the figure of a tall, towering skeleton moves away from the pier to its own house.

Manny thinks about it for a while, then buries his face in his palms and sighs loudly, trying to come to his senses.

Domino really comes the next day. Without cufflinks. Cigarettes are now in a black-brown package.

It is amazing that his former worst enemy now consciously doesn’t want to bring Manny pain. Almost the only one in this huge city.

Now he brings disgusting embarrassment to his house. And, as it seems, it will haunt Manuel until his second death. But it's better than pain, isn't it? Especially since… It turns out that Domino Hurley has a good taste. In men. And Manny is very happy with this little victory of the former enemy.

#calamino #domino hurley #manny calavera #manuel calavera #grim fandango #mad_iska_writing

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tojisveryown · 3 years

Text

𝙸𝚗 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙴𝚢𝚎𝚜 | 𝟶𝟺

𝙰𝚌: 𝚠𝚃𝟼𝙸𝙳𝟸𝚀𝟺𝙰𝙺𝚄𝟿𝚏𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚠𝚝

𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚑𝚘𝚕, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐 𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟷.𝟾𝚔

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎 𝙰𝚄, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚖𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 | 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟶𝟺 | 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

(𝚄𝚗𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍)

⋆ 💌 ⋆

As the next few days passed you worked alone, Satoru told you he had a family emergency to go to and that he would take you on another date to make up for it. You decided it would be a good time to go to the library and look for books that would be of aid to yours and Satoru’s project.

In the middle of walking to the library you realized the reason why you couldn’t find any material there was because your university had two different libraries, you stopped when you realized that the library was on the other side of campus, you mumbled to yourself how stupid this project was as you made your way to the library’s other half.

On your way there you played with the keychain that Gojo gave to you. You caught yourself smiling, looking back at the day you two spent together you began to think of how much fun the project would be when he got back. Your smile soon wore off when you caught a glimpse of Gojo with Getou. He said he was away because of a family emergency.

You mentally slapped yourself and continued your way to the library. Maybe he came back sooner than expected? It’s not like he would purposely ignore you, right? He couldn’t, especially after all that talk about trust there was just no way that he could ignore you, that would be a sign of breaking ones trust.

Plus maybe he just forgot to let you know he was back in town.

You brushed the thought off and continued going to the library.

⋆ 💌 ⋆

The night passed and morning was on its way as you were heading back to your dorm. You realized how late it got when the sun was beaming on your notes.

“Pulling an all nighter with Gojo would’ve been better.” you mumbled to yourself. “Satoru, the first step to gaining each others trust is by being comfortable with each other, so call me Satoru.”

Oh right he wanted you to call him Satoru.

You rushed into your dorm and changed into the clothes that were closest to you, you were about to be late and you were never late. As soon as you finished dressing you bolted to your first class. Jesus Christ why do classes have to be so early.

You sat down and waited. You wanted to say that you were waiting for your professor but you knew deep in your heart that you were waiting for Gojo to sneak up behind you and mess with your notes like he always does. You put your head down and waited.

Moments later you heard a chair next to you move and your head sprinted up to meet eyes with someone that was in fact not Gojo.

“Oh I’m sorry is someone sitting here?” the tall man asked, “I can go somewhere else.”

“Oh no you’re good I just got startled sorry.” You gave him a good look and realized that the person that sat next to you was one of Gojo’s high school friends.

“Nice to see you again Y/N.” he stated as he pulled his pen and notebook out.

“Oh yeah, it’s good to see you too Nanami.” You silently opened up your notebook and began doodling in the corner waiting for your professor who was always late.

“How are you?” geez can’t this guy just sit there and wait patiently too, why does he have to ask so many questions.

“I could be better.” You rested your head on your hand as your elbow was propped up on the table, you began to stare at Nanami and you realized that he was attractive, under his glasses and stoic personality.

“Why’s that?” he asked returning the gaze to you “Didn’t get enough sleep?”

You nodded, he gave you a sigh and began rummaging in his book bag. He pulled out a glass bottle that contained coffee, he handed it to you along with a bagel. “Here, you seem tired.” You questioned his actions and he gave you another smile as he continued “Don’t worry I didn’t poison it, besides I packed too much this morning, it wouldn’t hurt to share.”

“Thank you, I owe you one.” You chugged the coffee and ate the bagel quietly.

Your eyes lit up as soon as you saw the white-haired male make an entry to the classroom, you kept your gaze on him hoping he’d return it to you but he never did. He sat on the opposite side of you. Maybe he didn’t see you, he can he a ditz sometimes.

⋆ 💌 ⋆

The next day you brought some brownies you and Utahime made together, you patiently waited in your seat, again, you were waiting for Gojo. You continued waiting patiently and again the seat next to you was occupied by Nanami Kento. “Goodmorning Y/N.”

Like yesterday Nanami handed you coffee and another bagel. He took his seat as you gave him a questioning look, “Don’t worry there’s extra at my place, they’re going bad soon and it’d be a waste for them to just get thrown out.

You nodded and again your eyes searched for Gojo. You decided to wait outside for him incase he wouldn’t be able to find you again.

Once you saw his white hair you waved at him and you got nothing in response. You figured that he wasn’t able to see you but when you were calling his name out he just slipped into the classroom, and again sat at the opposite end of you.

Okay, he was obviously ignoring you, if it wasn’t clear before it was definitely clear to you now.

You sat back down and before Nanami questioned you, you stuffed the brownies that were wrapped perfectly with your love into his face. “Here, to pay you back.”

Nanami figured they were for Gojo but he still took them, I mean hello? free brownies.

The lecture soon started and a question lingered on your mind,

Why is Satoru ignoring me?

⋆ 💌 ⋆

The next morning you showed up to class with a small box in your hand, inside that small box was the keychain he gave you. You figured that if he was gonna act like such an asshole then you’d give back the one thing he gave you other than a headache.

You searched for him in hopes that he’d be alone, and unfortunately he wasn’t. Gojo was sitting near the entrance, on his right was Getou and on his left was an empty seat.

“Satoru.”

His head turned, but when you looked into his eyes you saw an empty soul. You weren’t mesmerized by his crystal blue eyes like usual, they weren’t fill with joy like the day at the carnival.

“Don’t call me that.”

His tone was harsh and his words hurt, so much for trust huh?

“Okay, asshole. Here.” You shoved the box into his hands and walked to the seat next to Nanami. You placed your bag on your desk and leaned on it for support, god what was wrong with him.

Throughout the whole day your heart felt heavy, you skipped the next few classes and sulked in your dorm room. After a few hours of just staring at the ceiling the door opened and the lights flashed on.

“Yo, Y/N it’s been a while since we hung out. Did Gojo like the brownies?” Utahime asked as you felt your bed dip signaling that she sat down

“That asshole can rot.”

You ended up telling Utahime the whole story and she sighed knowing how much of a bastard Gojo really was.

“Come on get up.”

“Huh why?”

“We’re going to a party.”

⋆ 💌 ⋆

You and Utahime arrived at the party and as soon as you stepped foot into the frat house your friend became one with the crowd, she was no where to be found. You figured it was only natural that she’d go with her other friends.

You walked around trying to find the kitchen to get yourself a drink that hopefully hasn’t been spiked. Around every few steps you took you had to pull down the skimpy dress that Utahime loaned you. Once you found the kitchen you poured yourself a drink and you chugged it down, one after another you slowly started to intoxicate yourself with the alcohol in front of you.

“Woah that’s enough Y/N.” a voice said as they grabbed they bottle form your hand. “Come on let’s go.” He grabbed your arm and slung it around his shoulder and helped you walk up the steps.

“Why?”

“You’re drunk.”

You opened your mouth to reply but your word were replaced with barf. He helped you up the stairs and to the bathroom, you felt your hair being gathered behind you as you gagged into the toilet. His hands were rubbing circles on your back waiting for you to finish.

“Thank you-” you cut yourself off by puking on yours and his clothes. He sighed and picked you up and led you into a bedroom, carefully laying you down.

“Y/N, we have to take off our clothes.”

“Are we gonna have sex?!”

“No, we’re covered in barf.”

“But I wanna have sex.”

“I’m not taking advantage of you, you’re drunk.”

“But what if I let you?”

“No.”

He carfully took off the dress that was covered in what you ate for lunch leaving you in your underwear. He then took off his pants walking into the bathroom that was connected with the room and rinsed both yours and his clothes under water trying to scrub off the vomit.

You were laying on the edge of the bed with your legs hanging from the side, you heard the door open and your eyes met with Gojo along with the girl giggling behind him.

“Hey close the door!” Nanami yelled coming out of the bathroom.

Gojo slammed the door shut and left.

“Nanami” he hummed in response, “‘m going to sleep.”

“Okay, sleep well Y/N.”

⋆ 💌 ⋆

You end up waking up a few hours later, you were tucked in bed, you were wearing completely different clothes. You turned to the side expecting Nanami to be there with you but all you saw was a sleeping Gojo with his back facing the headboard and his arms crossed.

“Why are you ignoring me Satoru? Did I do something wrong?” you whispered

You got out of bed and grabbed your belongings on the bedside table and while doing so you noticed the keychain you had given back to Gojo latched onto his keys. You gave yourself a small smile and crawled back onto the bed giving Gojo a peck on the cheek “Talk to me soon okay?” You hurried out of the room and looked for Utahime.

“It’s better this way” Gojo said bringing his hand up to the cheek that you kissed.

⋆ 💌 ⋆

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 | 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 | 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐! 𝚂𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚕 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛!! 𝙴𝚡𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚡 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖! 𝙰𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌! 𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢'𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥

⋆ 💌 ⋆

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @peppytine @enesitamor @fairyblue-alchemist @diluczs @honouredsatoru @thankuary

𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚂𝚊𝚝. (𝟸/𝟸𝟺)

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 10.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, sub!jungkook, dom!reader, pegging, anal play, rimming, multiple orgasms, crying during sex, jk being a good good boy, dom!namjoon, sub!reader, bath sex, ageplay/DDlg, fingering, unprotected sex, pet names, spanking, creampie, aftercare in both cases

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and jk’s ass

DAY EIGHTEEN

All things considered; you were rather lucky to be sharing a room with Yoongi when you wake up that morning.

The second consciousness returns to you, it brings a feeling of nausea so abrupt that you’re careening off the bed and rushing to bed over the toilet without a second’s thought, body running on survival mode.

You’re not sure what wakes Yoongi - the sudden absence of pressure and heat against him, or the sound of you throwing up all the food and alcohol you’d consumed last night – but it takes mere moments before you feel him gently caressing your trembling body, lifting your tangled hair back off your face.

“Just let it out,” he coos softly as you bend over miserably, the sour taste on your tongue making your stomach turn again, “you’ll feel better after, I promise. That’s it.”

The moment you finally have nothing left to empty out, you collapse sideways onto the cool bathroom tile, hand curling over your stomach. Yoongi gets up to flush the toilet and gets out a spare toothbrush from under his sink, pressing it into your hand already prepped with toothpaste. “I’m sorry,” you mumble lowly, nose running slightly as you sniffle. “I think I drank too much. That green apple soju fucking sucks, too.”

The doctor has the good graces to smile at your attempt of lightening the mood, but it’s strained, waiting for you to begin brushing the acrid leftovers from your mouth before speaking. “You’d better have a light breakfast, okay? Some toast and maybe a cup of herbal tea to settle your stomach. Can you stand? I’ll get you some fresh clothes from your room while you take a shower here.”

Your heart warms at his endearing bedside manner. “I’ll be fine, Yoongi.”

“It’s non-negotiable, I’m afraid,” Yoongi says with a mock sigh. “Come on; you can wash your hair, too. Feeling nice and clean will help.”

Sniffing one last time, you give him an agreeing nod and hunker up on your knees, before standing. God, but why do you still feel so nauseous? That fucking soju. Yoongi must see the discomfort on your face, because he gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Not to worry, I’m sure I have something here you can take which will make you feel better. You aren’t the first person to not handle their liquor in the villa.”

You give him a questioning frown, your throat feeling raw as you clear it lightly. “What do you mean? Everyone seemed okay yesterday.”

“Hoseok texted me,” Yoongi answers with a shrug. “I didn’t see it ‘til after you fell asleep, but apparently poor Tae was curled up with a hot water bottle last night feeling rather sorry for himself. I think he got a little trigger-happy on his Sprite and soju mixers.”

Your brows furrow in concern, your own condition forgotten. “Is he alright?” You mentally kick yourself for not being more attentive to him. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel excluded now that he was voted out.

“He’s fine, I’m sure. Hoseokie and Jimin apparently actually spent the night in the bunk room with him, because both refused to leave. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”

“Holy shit,” you muse. “If you weren’t so busy filling me like a cream puff maybe we could’ve witnessed that.”

Yoongi’s mouth gapes at your jibe, and you let out a hiccupping giggle when he rushes you, jabbing at your sides. “You little shit! That’s how you repay me after yesterday?”

You chuckle, feeling significantly more cheerful than when you woke up. “I gotta keep you humble, Doctor Min.”

His shoulders jump with a fond huff. “You’re impossible,” he gives in with a begrudging smile. “Now go; shower! I’ll be back.”

By the time you’re downstairs, enjoying some lightly buttered toast and an aromatic peachy-tasting tea - laughing with Taehyung who has slunk downstairs like a viscous goop, slumped on the table sucking on a vitamin table - any concerns or worries about your brief vomiting spell have entirely left your mind.

Jungkook is antsy.

He cycles madly between intense eye-contact and complete avoidance of your existence, looking for all intents and purposes like a deer in headlights. You imagine it’s because he wants to do his prompt today, and you certainly could dispel the awkward tension by just asking him if he wants to go upstairs or texting him to dig a little, but where would the fun in that be? You much prefer cuddling with Taehyung and a chunky blanket, pretending to watch The Voice of Korea while you really watch Jungkook squirm instead.

Taehyung sighs wistfully as a contestant finishes with a belted high note, all four judges slamming down their buttons and giving the cameras big reactions once they turn and catch a glimpse of the singer. “I wish I could be on the show,” the masseuse says with another slow sigh.

You grin, poking him in the cheek with a single finger. “Is our puppy a good singer, huh? Do you reckon you’d win?”

“What?” Taehyung asks distractedly, his eyes locked to the screen. “No, I wanna sit in those big chairs and spin around. It’d be so fun.”

Your surprised laugh makes Jungkook jump in his seat, even as he sits on the opposite couch to the two of you and glares intensely at the pages of a comic book he’d stolen from someone, spending far too long on one page to actually be reading it.

Hoseok, who sits completely silently next to Jungkook - extremely strange for the normally bubbly man - is even more suspicious. Every few seconds, he shoves his phone under Jungkook’s nose, before pulling it away and typing furiously.

You had no doubt in your mind that he was giving the youngest contestant salacious tips, instructions, or both, judging by the way Jungkook’s cheeks get hotter with every message.

A lazy day after the drunken entertainment from the day before, the four of you had chosen to collapse onto the couch and stay there, flicking between channels as you idly enjoyed each other’s company. Namjoon had texted the groupchat and put a note on his door warning people that he was studying for an exam for a summer course he’d signed up for. This was the first you’d heard of said course, but his messages had contained several exclamation points, so you knew it was serious.

Jimin was also making the most of his privacy. The only glimpse you’d seen of him at all today was while you and Taehyung were cleaning your dishes. He’d rushed down in a fluffy white bathrobe, covering his face with his sleeve, bemoaning the drinking that had done serious damage to his clear skin. When he dropped his sleeve to bundle some ice into a paper towel, it looked fine to you, albeit pinker in the cheeks and forehead than his bare face had been before, but he swore the two of you to silence and determined he was going to lock himself into his room until he no longer looked like “an evil stepmother.”

Jin and Yoongi were nowhere to be found, though most of the house were almost certain they’d become something akin to fuckbuddies considering how often they disappeared together, and how rampant and shameless their sexual tension was whenever they cooked together for the rest of you.

It had taken a while for Taehyung to bounce back from his hangover, Hoseok fussing over him like a child as Tae clung to you for some tactile comfort. Spending a day by yourself hadn’t really been an option when you’d been cuddling with him for hours, but you were far happier spending some quality time with the masseuse.

It takes no more than three new contestants on the TV show to have their moment in front of the judges for Jungkook to break. Hoseok’s given up on the phone messages, instead whispering directly Jungkook’s ear as the boy clutches the open comic book in front of his lap so hard his knuckles go white.

Laughing at the flustered camboy, Hoseok loses all tact and stops damping his voice, his natural level loud enough that you can make it out over the garishly aggressive appliance store advertisement on the TV. “Come on, Kookie, it’ll be great!” he insists, Jungkook cringing at the volume. “Switching things up will help your chances for fan favourite too, and surely you’ve done-”

Jungkook stands up abruptly, comic book still propped up in front of his crotch as his cheeks and neck go bright red. “If you like pegging so much, why don’t you do it, then?” he blurts with a cry, before the realisation of what he said aloud hits him. Choking on air, he just about trips back onto the couch in his haste to leave, stomping upstairs like a wronged teenager.

Everyone goes silent, a cheery female voice announcing that Subway’s quality is higher than ever being the only sound in the room. Mouth open, you blink over to Hoseok. “Should I… go check on him?”

“Uh- Yeah, maybe,” he admits, a slight pained look of guilt flickering across his face before he brightens up. “But it’s dangerous; you should take a strap with you.”

You pause halfway through standing up, Taehyung letting go of you and curling deeper into the pile of blankets. “Have you no shame, Hoseok? You humiliated the poor kid!”

Hoseok grins broadly. “He only reacted that much because he liked the idea,” he protests, before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “And what about you, princess? Do you like the idea?”

You swallow, straightening up fully. “I haven’t really thought about it until now, I guess,” you offer up slowly. “I’m not- I’m not opposed.” But even as you say that, you begin to picture it. Jungkook on all fours in front of you, or perhaps spread out on his back, brows furrowed in pleasure, clingy and whiny. Though it was certainly new ground to you, most things were these days, and you’ve started craving fresh experiences, feeling more alive and excited about sex than you’ve ever really felt before.

A lightly huffed laugh leaves Hoseok’s lips. “I’d say you’re a little more than ambivalent, judging by that look on your face. Go upstairs now, princess; Jungkook’s ass needs you.”

You scoff, patting Taehyung’s cheek goodbye before leaving the way the maknae left earlier. Upstairs, Jungkook’s door is open the slightest sliver. A shy invitation.

You knock anyway, calling out his name. When his sullen voice invites you in, you slip inside and shut the door behind you. With his head hanging, shoulders slumped, poor Jungkook looks miserable. “Oh, Gukkie, baby, you’re okay,” you soothe, rushing to his side.

Folding his hands cutely over his crotch, he keeps his head down, but nuzzles against your stomach when you pull him into an embrace, running your hands through the long, heavy black locks of his hair. “‘M sorry,” he murmurs, lifting a single hand to ball his fist in the fabric of your shirt.

Your heart warms at the little action even as it aches for his sadness. “What are you sorry for? You don’t have to be sorry.”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you can just about hear the pout. “Embarrassed,” he explains shortly. “You probably think it’s gross.”

“Of course I don’t,” you deny in a soft yet firm voice, still stroking his hair. “Baby, if you want me to do it for you, I will.”

He looks up suddenly, chin propped up on your stomach. “Really?” he asks in hope, eyes glittering like entire galaxies.

You shrug. “I mean, I haven’t used a strap-on before, so it probably won’t be very good, but I wanna try if it’s something that would make you happy, you know?”

Jungkook’s mouth parts sweetly, before he lets out a dejected breath. “I don’t know,” he says with a sigh, letting his head drop off you again. “I still feel really embarrassed. Hobi-hyung was te-teasing me so much.”

You wince at the way his voice hitches and wobbles, like he’s on the verge of tears. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you coo. “I think he was just trying to encourage you. But if he made you uncomfortable, I can go down there right now and-”

As you start to shift away, a hand shoots out and latches onto your wrist, snagging you in place. “No,” Jungkook interrupts quickly, before turning sullen again, lifting up his head so that you can just barely see his eyes, gleaming with unshed tears. “Can you just stay with me?”

Reaching forward to cup his cheek and bring his gaze up, you send him your warmest smile. “I’ll stay,” you promise, “want me to help cheer you up? I don’t like seeing my Gukkie so sad.”

His bottom lip quivers as he nods, fingers tightening around your wrist, tugging you back to his side. “Yes, please,” he asks politely, voice still so hesitant as his gaze drops like he’s too shy to meet yours, face pressing into your palm. “Want you to make me feel better.”

Your breath hitches when his eyes dart up, just for a second, and reveal a glimmer that isn’t tears so much as mischief. You realise quickly that perhaps Jungkook is pulling on your heartstrings intentionally, luring you in just like he did the day after the fight, when everyone in the house bent over backwards to give him what he wanted. But you aren’t mad; truth be told, every second that passes, you grow more excited about what’s to come. “Of course I will,” you reply warmly. “Can I give you a kiss, baby?”

One thing you aren’t prepared for as you carefully straddle his lap and press your lips against his is just how differently he kisses when he’s in this submissive frame of mind. You’d associated Jungkook with hunger, fierce passion and need. This Jungkook was needy, but in a very different way. Lips parted, he tilts his chin and lets you take over, his fingers curling tightly in the fabric of your shirt, his long hair tickling against your cheeks.

And unlike the more dominant Jungkook that would kiss you until you couldn’t breathe, the camboy now seems impatient, hips shifting under you and whines leaving his throat as he breaks apart, lips swollen. “Will you fuck me, Y/n? I need you.”

Sucking in a breath, you’re nodding before you’ve even really processed his words. “How do I, uh, what should I-”

“The stuff’s in my nightstand drawer,” Jungkook offers up in explanation. The young man bites his lip, looking positively delectable. In a starch-white t-shirt that simultaneously swamps his figure but exposes his delicate collarbones with the v-neck, and his long locks tucked behind his ears, no imagination is required to see how easily he fits into this subby persona. Even as he’s physically much larger than you, and there’s no hiding his thick thighs and broad shoulders, his expression and posture alone convey plenty. “But, um… Could you- could you help prepare me first? I can if you’re uncomfortable, you know. No pressure.”

“I can,” you assure quickly, standing up when he wriggles meaningfully beneath you. “I mean, I want to. Is it, you know…?” You trail off, watching Jungkook scoot himself back so that his feet don’t quite touch the floor. He tilts his head in confusion. “Clean?” you hiss softly, cheeks flaming.

Jungkook freezes, eyes wide and mouth parted in a small o. “I- Yeah, it’s, uh, clean, I-”

“Sorry,” you grimace, “that totally ruined the mood, didn’t it? I’m new to this.”

“You don’t have to, honestly,” Jungkook says with a small voice, fiddling with the loose threads in the rips of his jeans. “I can do it.”

You’re really fucking this up, huh? “No, no, I want to, it’s fine!”

“I swear, I won’t be offended if it weirds you out-”

Without a pause to think, your lips are moving. “Pants off, Gukkie, I’m going to finger you,” you announce in a firm voice, chin jutting forward in your determination.

You hadn’t even intended to use it as power play, more so just insisting what you were okay with, but his reaction is undeniable. Jungkook visibly melts at your command, eyelids fluttering for a moment and shoulders going lax. Even his socked feet turn inwards, the complete posture of submission. The image of it sends heat through you, and you feel alive with it.

“Th-thank you,” Jungkook stutters, chest hitching. “How do you want me?”

Even though you don’t know the least about fingering or prepping, you’re quickly growing addicted to the way he responds to your authority, so you make a split second decision. “All fours, baby. And clothes off for me.”

Jungkook bites down a whine - how you wish he wouldn’t muffle himself - but obeys quickly, stripping all the way down to his socks, toeing them off hastily before getting on his knees. Clearly a position he’s used to, the camboy wastes no time in presenting himself, upper torso flat against the bed and back arched up to expose himself. With a cheek pressed against the mattress to look back at you, his hair slips over and covers his face.

Before he has the chance to huff, you reach forward and tuck it back behind his ear, tapping your finger once on his nose to make him scrunch it, a toothy grin on his face. “Y/n!” he protests with a hiccupy giggle.

“What?” you ask innocently. “I’m just trying to help out, baby. Can I ask you a favour?”

Jungkook’s grinning so widely that his eyes crinkle. “You’re the dom, Y/n, you don’t need to ask favours, you know?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right,” you muse. It’s so easy to forget that the control is yours, especially when you’re a bit out of your depth. Resolving yourself to be more authoritative, you clear your throat and school your expression. “Mouth open, Gukkie.”

Following your command so quickly that there’s an audible sound, Jungkook braces himself up a little with his forearms so that he can face you better with his jaw wide open and tongue lolled out on his bottom lip.

When you place your first two fingers of your dominant hand on that pretty pink tongue, you don’t even have to command him to suck before he’s wrapping his lips around them and hollowing his cheeks, blinking up at you for approval.

You try and use the past couple weeks of dirty talk from the guys to inspire you when talking to Jungkook, using your other hand to comb the hair back from his face again. “That’s it, baby,” you croon, “nice and wet; soak them for me. What a good boy.”

Keening under your praise, still bent over on his knees, Jungkook swirls his tongue and salivates over your digits diligently. It feels strange; the hot wet cavern, the muscle covering every inch of your skin. Your stomach flips in arousal when you begin to tug your fingers out and he pulls off them with a pop, drool on his chin and pupils blown wide.

“Alright, Gukkie, stay there,” you indicate, holding your spit-slicked fingers aloft as you get on the bed behind him. Cock dangling hard between his legs, he’s hunkered down, heels pressed against his upper thighs. You could easily reach him from here, but there’s something rising within you, an urge to play with him a little rougher.

He jumps and lets out a surprised cry when you rain down your other palm on his asscheek in a swift spank, head falling back to the mattress.

“Did I say you could lie down? Ass up, Gukkie,” you spit sharply, satisfaction curling around your ribs as he lifts his hips without delay, back arching beautifully to present himself once again. A roughly hand-shaped pink flush on his otherwise unblemished skin makes you bite your lip. “Colour?”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, fingers fisting the sheets. You fear the worst for a second, but it seems like it just took him a second to comprehend you, because just as soon as the worry rises, he lets out a cute gasp of realisation and spreads his knees further. “Green, so green.”

“Good boy,” you praise, relief clear in your voice. “A single hair out of position without my permission and there’ll be more where that came from.” Though you secretly admit spanking the responsive boy feels good in some odd way, you’d feel a lot better knowing when he’d intentionally stepped out of line, and so giving him a specific avenue assuages some of your potential guilt over the impact play. He seems to understand too, nodding his head sweetly and visibly flexing this thighs to keep steady.

This isn’t usually an angle you’re used to seeing on a guy, but as you gently circle the tight muscle of his rim, you marvel at how Jungkook still makes it look good. Entirely free of hair, ass, thighs and back thick and sculpted, it’s clear the visual is an important thing, especially in his line of work.

You can feel his body go slightly stiff when he holds his breath, but the slightest pressure makes him tremble, his eyes loosely shut as he focuses on pure sensation. Wary of the spit drying off your fingers too soon, you swiftly but smoothly slide your first finger all the way inside of him. There’s resistance up until the first knuckle as he clenches, but once you reach a certain point it’s like his body is letting you in. So tight that you can feel his walls flex, it’s an odd sensation to get used to, but you know from experience that the first intrusion feels odd to receive, too, and that only building up stimulation helps get past it.

For that reason, you don’t pause much before you begin fucking your one finger into him, using your other hand to grasp the flesh of his ass and part him. “Doing so well, baby,” you compliment when Jungkook lets out a guttural, drawn-out whine. Minutely, you feel his hips rock, seeking stimulation in the right place. You know he’s probably aching for his prostate to be touched, but you haven’t the slightest clue on where to find it.

Instead, your next best option is external. Once you draw your first finger out and start to stretch his rim on two, you reach around and under him, hand wrapping around his cock.

Startled, Jungkook goes iron-tight around your two fingers and cries out. You freeze, worried you’ve done something wrong, but he rocks himself back, burying your fingers deeper inside him.

Even in your uncertainty on how to proceed, you know one thing: he’s actively chosen to move out of place.

This time when you drop his length and come back up to spank him, he moans, face going lax and dopey. “Fu-fuck, please,” he breathes, “I’m sorry, I need more.”

“You need more?” you ask, soothing a palm over the reddened skin. “I didn’t realise you were in any position to be making demands, baby.”

Jungkook swallows heavily. “Please give me more, I can take it, please.”

“That’s more like it,” you state proudly, before cringing at how cheesy the words sound to your own ears. Although taking control is fun, you don’t feel as at ease with a filthy tongue like you were used to the others being. Jungkook however, unable to see your reaction, just makes a needy noise in his throat, hotly anticipating your next move.

As you start to move your fingers again, however, they don’t glide like they did before. Unlike a proper lubricant, his saliva has evaporated away, and the dry friction certainly can’t be pleasant.

He’d said the supplies were in his nightstand, but that’s well out of your arm span, so, thinking quickly and not wanting Jungkook to feel uncomfortable, you pull your fingers out gingerly, bend down and spit directly onto his winking hole, some of it disappearing inside as the rest runs down to his balls.

Since he insisted he could take it, you hook three fingers inside him, his hole stretching around you as he groans. There’s so much pressure on your fingers as you plunge inside, the friction aided by your saliva, and you can feel the way he tries to relax himself, clenching periodically.

As much as the spit helped, you become paranoid that it’ll dry out again as you stretch him on your fingers. Still too far from the lube, the thought occurs to you that you could keep him wetter if you just used your mouth.

The thought isn’t entirely unappealing to you. Sure, he doesn’t have the same nerves that make you feel so good when someone goes down on you, but you’re sure he’d enjoy it, and you’re reassured that he’d cleaned himself.

The second your tongue traces his rim, pressing between the tight ring and your knuckles, Jungkook gasps, before letting out a moan so high and keening that you practically salivate.

With your free hand inching around to grip his thigh and steady yourself, you press your chin between his ass cheeks and lap at him, fingers speeding up now that they’re better lubricated.

His hips won’t stay still, but you can’t blame him. From the constant trail of cries and whimpers, there’s no doubt Jungkook is extremely sensitive. Slowly, the thought of stretching him out for a purpose leaves your mind, and you begin to take your time with him, enjoying the feeling and sound of him falling apart from your touch.

You could get used to this; the meaty thighs trembling, the heaving breaths, the moans of your name on his tongue. At one point, your middle finger grazes a slightly protruding spot inside him, a different texture to the rest of his walls. The second it does, he jumps like he’s been electrocuted. Aha.

“Oh, fuck, feels s-so good, please do that again, fuck,” Jungkook babbles hopelessly. Your grip on his thigh quickly morphs from steadying yourself to holding him steady, as he jerks with every repeated stroke of your finger against his prostate.

Unable to respond verbally, you stiffen your tongue and push it deeper inside him as your fingers speed up, all corkscrewing directly towards that sensitive spot.

So noisy that he buries his own face in the blankets, rocking back desperately onto your face and fingers, Jungkook’s pleading and praises are garbled, one long stream of need until he finally lets out one loud, sharp cry and paints the mattress white.

Lifting yourself up to watch him cum, you speed up your fingers to ride him through it, devouring the sight of his red, untouched cock twitching and shooting ropes of cum as his whole body shudders with it.

There’s the undeniable warmth of pride in your chest at watching him cum so beautifully, at hearing and seeing the pleasure you’ve given him. You’d give anything to make him cum at your hands over and over, and in the back of your mind you marvel at how so many things the guys did to you when they dommed you make sense now.

Slowly, he comes back down from his high, chest heaving rhythmically as he catches his breath, going slack. You guide him to roll over onto his back, avoiding the puddle of quickly-cooling cum, and sit beside him brushing back the hair that clings to his sweaty face.

A dopey smile puffing up his cheeks, and eyes hazy, he blinks up at you. “That was so good,” he breathes.

Keeping your voice sweet, you raise a brow. “Do you think we’re done just because you came, Gukkie? I don’t think so.”

His smile falters, eyes regaining some of their clarity. “I- Oh, you didn’t- Do you want me to...?” he trails off, eyes falling down to between your legs, still fully clothed.

Though you’d love for him to make you cum - truth be told, your nerves feel like they’re working doubletime right now, and you know it wouldn’t take much - you shake your head, standing up off the bed. Jungkook whines and sits up slightly as you pull away, but freezes once you begin to undress in front of him.

Unbuttoning your shirt, you feel his eyes follow your movements hungrily. “I never even gave you permission to cum, baby,” you point out. “I also didn’t ask you not to, so I won’t punish you. But you did ask for me to fuck you and make you feel better.” The fabric of your shirt falling to the floor, you leave your bra on and slip off your pants instead. “So I don’t care how sensitive you are or how many times you cum, I’m going to fuck you until you feel so good you cry. Is that understood?”

Where such vulgarity came from you don’t know, but it triggers the right reaction, Jungkook going limp against the bed, grabby hands flexing at the sheets as he nods as quick as he can, one drifting dangerously close to his still half-hard cock. “Please, I wan’ it. Yes.”

“Wait patiently, then,” you command in a cutting tone, discarding your underwear without ceremony, “and no touching.”

He lets out a quiet huff, leg kicking out and hand slipping under his back to stop temptation. You would laugh at the bratty display - or perhaps even punish him for the attitude - but you’re too focused on stepping into the black harness of the strap-on you got from Jungkook’s nightstand, working out how to tighten the straps and sit it right.

It takes you a moment to get right, but it’s surprisingly comfortable once you get it into place - which probably is the point. Though it’s odd feeling weight extending from your pelvis, the dildo is supported by a leather belt-like strap that runs around your waist. Right on the outer line of each hip, adjacent straps run down, under the curve of your ass and connect to the central one that sits between your legs like panties, albeit narrow and stiffer than fabric.

You’d seen ones with a second dildo facing inwards to go inside the wearer as they fucked someone else, but this didn’t have one, so instead your only stimulation was the slight heat when the leather would drag against your swollen clit. Happy to forgo your own pleasure for the sake of pleasuring Jungkook, you reach in the nightstand drawer again to pull out the lube.

Unlike Hoseok’s travel-sized bottle, the base of the drawer is littered with sample size packets of multiple brands. Mixed in with foil condom packets, you spy oil-based lubes, water-based ones, some scented, self-heating, even one that claims to be strawberry flavoured. Reaching for a basic water-based one, you rip it open and use it to slick up the dildo.

Jungkook watches you raptly, hips wiggling against the bed either in impatience or the effort it takes not to touch himself. Hyper-aware of the appendage that dangles in front of you, and how slippery your hands currently are, you imagine hunkering on the bed without using your hands probably isn’t a very sexy look, so instead you stand to the side of the mattress and instruct him to come to you.

He does so with obvious enthusiasm and anticipation. The earlier haze of his orgasm dissipating, his eyes are alert and his lips are stretched in an unconscious grin. Splayed out on his back, legs dangling on either side of your hips, Jungkook looks so content to hand over his dominance to you that your heart swells slightly at the sentiment of it.

Clearly Jungkook isn’t feeling as soft as you. On the contrary, his cock looks so hard it must be physically hurting him, the tip weeping precum onto his belly as he arches his back to entice you. “Please, Y/n,” he whines, hitching a foot up onto the edge of the mattress to bare himself more fully. “Gukkie needs it.”

Though it’s more your own hesitation rather than any desire to make him beg for it, you can’t deny that the sweet entreating voice is music to your ears and core, and pushing aside all worries you find yourself guiding his opposite leg up with a slippery hand, before lining your synthetic cock against Jungkook’s rim.

Immediately, before you even enter him, he keens, and although you can’t literally feel him rocking back towards it, you watch it catch on the muscle and begin to slip inside, and the resistance can be felt as a pressure against your pelvis where the base of the dildo is fastened.

“De-deeper,” Jungkook makes out with a gasp, his fingers reaching up to clutch at your wrist, and you push past the resistance to drive the dildo inside him, slowly but smoothly. His breath hitches, back lifting off the bed as his body tries to process the intrusion, and instinctively - a word you wouldn’t typically associate with domming - you grip onto his waist to hold him still.

Though your palms and fingers are still slick with lube, you manage to keep them steady on his skin by slightly digging your nails in. Jungkook’s mouth parts in a gulped moan, and you feel the pressure in front of your crotch suddenly increase as he stiffens.

“Green?” you check in quickly, so quick to fear the worst.

Jungkook is even quicker to dispel your worries. “Green, fuck, harder, please,” he babbles, shifting as much as he can under you to spread his legs wider in invitation.

You let out a breath of relief but pair it with a snapped thrust to mask it as exertion. Jungkook lets out a cry of pleasure that sounds more like a hiccup, his body rocking on the bed with the force of it.

It’s hard to tell how intense or rough your thrusts are when all you have is his response and the feeling of the leather base pressing against you to go off, so once you start to fuck him in earnest, you’re sure to pay close attention to him.

Not that you’d otherwise be apathetic by any means. Whether his beautiful reactions are a skill learnt from camming or he began camming because of his reactions, you don’t know, but you think watching him like this could never get old.

His hair’s splayed back on the pale grey duvet like a dark halo, red hot streaks highlighting just how long the strands have gotten. His eyes, when he manages to open them, glitter like constellations and plead like puppy eyes. Though he has the bone definition of a god, gravity works against the strong lines and puffs up his cheeks instead, making him look small and sweet.

With lips so pretty and swollen, he pouts and whines and pleads, teeth poking out to nibble at the pinked flesh when the dildo hits his prostate and he muffles a whine.

It takes a surprisingly little amount of time to find a rhythm. Though you’re certainly inexperienced in the art of fucking someone else, it’s really a very natural motion to make your hips rock up against him. Albeit tiring, you find yourself able to pick up the pace until he’s writhing under your hands, his own nails scratching at the meat of his thighs with the restraint it takes not to touch himself.

Taking mercy on the poor thing, you lift one knee up on the bed to give yourself sufficient momentum to drop one of your hands from pinning him down and wrap it instead around his cock, doing your best to time your strokes together.

Jungkook lets out a low keen and goes stiff, back in a violent arch. “Fu-uck,” he cries, and his face would almost look scrunched up in pain if you didn’t know better, the poor camboy overwhelmed by finally being touched there.

“Does that feel good, Gukkie? Am I fucking you good?”

He nods hastily, bottom lip trembling as your thrusts don’t let up for a second. “Suh-so good to Gukkie,” he confirms in a wobbly voice, “please fuck Gukkie harder!”

Quickly tiring, you don’t know if you even can, but you engage your core like it’s a workout and speed up your hips, the insistent rub of the leather over your pussy lips and clit actually beginning to tighten a coil of pleasure low in your belly.

“Yes,” Jungkook wails when he feels the dildo spearing him quicker and quicker. You use your thumb to press at his slit, dripping precum in obscene amounts as he sobs and bucks between your hand and your fake cock.

Once his thighs start to tremble violently and he can’t seem to take in a full breath, you know he’s close. Steeling yourself for the final lap, you ignore the rub of the leather and the pressure of the dildo base against your pelvis, and focus fully on Jungkook and bringing him to a second powerful orgasm.

“Are you close, baby? I wanna see you cum again,” you request, punctuating it with a squeeze of his cock to make him cry out.

Such a polite boy, he composes himself enough to answer. “Baby’s so close,” he whines. “Gukkie can cum?”

You smile fondly even with gritted teeth from exertion, glad his eyes are scrunched shut with pleasure so he can’t see you melt for him. “Gukkie can cum, baby.”

You make good on your promise for him to feel so good he cries when he reaches that high shortly after receiving permission. Tears spilling over his cheeks, his moan comes out strangled but stuttered and airy at the same time, almost like he’s giggling at the feeling that overcomes him. Barely anything comes out of his cock, already milked from the first orgasm, but his body is wracked with sensation and his lips are stretched in a dopey grin, struggling to catch his breath.

If you were a meaner - or fitter - dom perhaps you’d fuck him past the point of oversensitivity, but as it is, you quite happily come to a stop buried deep inside him, lazily stroking his cock as it softens until he hisses at the contact.

Using the duvet to wipe away the last of the lube and cum off your hands, you lean forward and cup this cheeks to brush the tears away and press a kiss to the button of his nose.

He shivers happily, lashes fluttering, and lets out a hum. “Thank you for taking care of Gukkie,” he whispers, before wincing slightly and correcting- “taking care of me. Sorry, I tend to do that when I’m-”

“You don’t have to explain,” you reply easily, kissing each of his cheeks in turn, tasting the salt of his tears as he giggles again at the tickling feeling. “Did you enjoy it, baby?”

Jungkook lets out a breathless chuckle, chest still heaving. “Fuck, like you wouldn’t believe,” he jibes, throwing a hand over his eyes and heated cheeks when you pull away. “But really; thank you.”

You slip the dildo out of him carefully, hearing him make a low noise in his throat as his hole flutters, empty. Rubbing his thigh comfortingly with one hand - if you knew one thing from being on the show, it was that you needed to shower Jungkook in aftercare now - you unfasten the strap-on carefully with your other. “You don’t have to thank me. I had fun too.”

The crook of his elbow lifts just slightly to expose the glint of his eyes, disbelieving. “You did?”

You beam warmly. “Definitely. You’re so fun to play with, Gukkie,” you praise, “plus, I feel like getting a new perspective has been really enlightening, you know?”

“Ah,” he muses, “entertaining and educational. I’m glad my ass served you well.”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of your throat; the quip a clear sign that Jungkook is returning from that hazy, contented plane of subspace you’ve grown used to. “Better put that on your CV.”

Jungkook sits up, affronted. Two fat drops of cum run down his stomach, quickly drying out once they spread over his skin. “My ass has been listed on my CV as a skill for years, Y/n, I’m not an amateur.”

“Oh, a professional ass man,” you tease, sighing at the release of pressure once the strap-on harness falls off your hips and to the ground, leaving your lower half bare. “Is that why you got on the show, huh?”

The camboy pouts. “I got on for many reasons,” he insists, “I’m very qualified, you know.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” you return immediately, and pause. “Fuck. We were meant to be bantering but I’ve just been complimenting you, haven’t I?”

He nods like it was intentional. “Yet another one of my skills.”

“You’re impossible,” you sigh, but even when he convinces you to join him in the shower, the conversation between you flows without a hitch, and your fondness for the boy only grows.

In retrospect, you probably could’ve worked out Namjoon’s prompt based on how he treats you that dinner.

Subtlety isn’t his strong suit, but you’re so hungry from earlier that you barely notice the signs. It’s not uncommon for the guys to pile food on your plate, but Namjoon’s repeated insistence of feeding you directly perhaps should’ve been the first flag.

The way he fills your glass of water for you, ruffles your hair, continuously calls you little… Yeah, you blame Yoongi’s delicious fish cutlet and rice meal for not paying enough attention.

Luckily for you - or perhaps for him - an opening appears when you’re cleaning up the table with Taehyung and accidentally fumble a small dish of dipping sauce all over your hands and front.

Immediately, Namjoon as at your side, taking the ceramics out of your hand and tsking gently. “Oh, love, that’s no good,” he coos in a low timbre, “you’ve gotten yourself all dirty.”

You could just offer to go rinse your hands off in the sink and change shirts, but you’re wired up from fucking Jungkook without your own release - the camboy was so chipper at dinner that everyone had surely cottoned on - and so a better idea comes to mind. “It’s running down my sleeve,” you offer with a faux pout, “I’ll probably need a shower to get it all off. Care to join me?”

Namjoon’s brows lift as he surreptitiously ensures no one else is in earshot. With a hand on the small of your back, he leans in and presses his lips against your ear. “How about Daddy gives you a bath, baby girl?”

You suck in a breath, nerves alighting. Oh. You can work with this. Straightening up, you latch onto his shirt sleeve near the cuff and soften your eyes. “Only if you take one with me,” you bargain, “I’m only little, Daddy.”

He pulls back quickly, and were it not for the hot flares of lust in his eyes, it would almost seem like he’d been shocked. “Go to your bedroom then, love,” he instructs, “and no running on the stairs.”

Of course you aren’t really an impulsive child but, as it is, his command is actually difficult to follow. The urge to clamber up them as fast as you can, knowing you’re finally going to get fucked good, is hard to suppress.

You manage, however, and soon enough Namjoon’s in the bathroom with you, filling the tub. As you wait, toes wiggling against the cool tile in excitement, he unbuttons his cuff and rolls up the sleeve.

“Okay, clothes off, kitten,” he instructs, hunkering over the edge of the tub to dip a hand in up to the forearm, checking the temperature and stirring up the water, “it’s just about ready.”

You obey, tossing your clothes in a growing pile in the corner. Though it’s no bubble bath, he has drizzled some body wash in to give it a comforting scent, floral and sleepy like ylang ylang. When he pulls his arm out, there’s a ring of suds, and spots of water have already gotten onto his shirt. “You’ve gotta hop in too, Daddy,” you point out, smirking when Namjoon visibly falters at the title.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he confirms, shucking off his shirt and pants, “get in first, kitten, it’s all ready.”

The water is divine, a blooming heat that seeps down to your bones, warming you to the core. You immediately see your skin start to pinken, but the water isn’t unbearably hot, and it’s a pleasant flush.

The heat below contrasts with the cool air on your upper back and shoulders, causing you to shiver, but before you can complain you feel the water level rise, Namjoon’s arms wrapping around you from behind.

As you let him lean you back against his chest, you feel his hardness, but neither of you feel the need to comment on it. This is a porn show, and you’re going to fuck soon, sure, but for now there’s nothing better than a hot bath.

“Give me your hand, let’s clean this sticky sauce up, huh?” It isn’t until Namjoon begins to soap up a loofah and delicately scrub away at the black trails of dipping sauce that have run down your arms that you realise just how fantastic this prompt is. If you played your cards right, Namjoon would take care of you and pamper you all evening, fuck you silly, and then presumably put you to bed like a good Daddy. Holding your hands out obediently, you’re quite content to oblige.

“Sit up, kitten,” the academic commands softly with a press to your shoulder. Once the skin of your arms is unmarred again, Namjoon dips the loofah in the chest-level water, pulls it out dripping suds and water, and laves it over your back, making you sigh at the warmth. “Feels nice, hm?”

Your lips stretch in a lazy smile as you recall asking that very question yourself just earlier today. As much as you had fun domming Jungkook, and wouldn’t be averse to switching things up - quite literally - again, there’s no denying that your soul really sings when you’re the one being taken care of, played with, and pleasured. “Really nice, Daddy.”

The loofah gets dipped again, this time sliding over your chest and stomach. Letting your eyes slip shut at the relaxing treatment, Namjoon’s low timbre washes over you just like the aromatic suds of body wash. “I’m glad,” he coos, “I like taking care of you. You’re too little to do it all yourself, aren’t you? Need Daddy’s help?”

“Too little,” you parrot sleepily, “need Daddy.” With every word, with every touch of his large hands on you, you truly begin to feel little. Curling your toes against the base of the tub, you make a low noise in your throat and lean back against his chest again, head lolling back over his shoulder. “Will you give me a kiss, Daddy?”

He smiles at your entreating plea and wide eyes, eyes like crescent moons as he dips his head and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “All better now?” he checks as he sits the sopping loofah on the side of the bath.

You bite your lip and shake your head. “I’m not all clean yet, Daddy.”

“You aren’t?” he asks with mock surprise, dimple deepening and brows lifting. “Well, that’s no good, is my kitten still dirty somewhere?”

With a single decisive nod, you grab his hand and lead it down until the tips of his fingers brush your folds. “Daddy didn’t clean here, ‘s still dirty.”

You let out a blissful sigh when he cups you, middle finger curling up to barely dip inside you. Namjoon grins. “In here?” Rather than wait for your answer, he smoothly pushes it deeper, massaging at your inner walls. “Alright, kitten, just close your eyes and let Daddy finish cleaning you up.”

A smile graces your lips as your eyes flutter shut again, head comfy in the crook of his neck and shoulder. You could get used to this.

He doesn’t tease you, but nor does he fingerfuck you with intensity or vigor. It’s methodical and diligent, like he really is cleaning you out. One finger quickly becomes two, and his other arm winds around your waist on the other side to roll your sensitive clit, making you moan softly.

Raring to go from unfulfilled pleasure that morning, your nerves go into overdrive, a building wave growing quickly in your belly. When Namjoon adds a third finger, crooking them inside you thoroughly to stroke your g-spot, it takes less than a minute for you to fall apart, thighs clenching tight around his hands.

He works you through it, only stopping when you whimper from oversensitivity, but that doesn’t stop you from whimpering unhappily again when he pulls his fingers out and you’re left empty.

“You’re all clean now, kitten,” Namjoon states, running his palms over your inner thighs to relax them. “Time to get out.”

You sit up suddenly with a pout. “But Daddy!”

Narrowing his brows, you don’t miss the slight twitch of Namjoon’s lips at your sudden outburst. “No buts,” he reproaches, “I don’t want you pruning up.”

You huff, scowling when he deftly tugs out the plug and the water level steadily sinks. “You haven’t even fucked me yet, Da-mmf!”

Namjoon sends you a cutting glare, his strong hand cupped over your mouth. “I should wash your mouth out with soap for using that language, little one,” he warns, “now out of the bath.”

You whine behind his hand, but once he drops it you obey and scramble out of the quickly-draining tub. Your body feels heavier without the buoyancy of water, and you’re dripping onto the bathmat like a drowned rat, but Namjoon pays it no mind, getting out himself with powerful thighs and a heavy cock dangling between them, passing you a towel wordlessly.

You dry yourself off, pout never leaving your face. He’s really just gonna stay hard like that and not fuck you? “Daddy…”

“One more protest and I’m taking you over my knee,” Namjoon says with a sharp tone. “I thought my kitten was better behaved than this.”

You open and close your mouth, unsure how you can get what you want without using vulgar words. Then again, perhaps making him punish you would rile him up enough to fuck you, and you certainly weren’t against some spanking. Sucking a breath in to establish some resolve, you stomp your foot on the bathmat. “You’re so mean, Daddy!”

Namjoon gapes at you, the way you’re bundled in a towel from your chin to your knees, scowling at him. “You want it, don’t you?” he mutters quietly, receiving a small nod in return. Relaxing for a moment, he slips easily back into that position of authority. “That’s it,” he spits, taking you firmly by the wrist and leading you - still naked himself - into your bedroom, “I gave you plenty of warnings but you still won’t listen.”

You squeak as he rips the towel from you and tugs you onto his lap on the edge of the bed. Adjusting you so that your crotch is right above his aching erection, his legs are so long that your toes barely brush on the carpet, all your balance resting on him. This had been the roughest he’d ever been with you, or at least the most domineering, and your mind whirls with how much he’s coming into his element with this prompt.

He gives you no warning before he’s laying his hands on your ass, small pats to warm up the skin before a sudden, stinging strike laces your nerves. You cry out, wriggling in his grip, but he uses one broad hand to link your wrists together in the small of your back, your face pressed onto the mattress as you’re held up fully by him.

He’s carefully merciless, spanking you hard enough that it burns, tears pricking your eyes and lip swollen from when you bite it, but whenever your cries of pain and pleasure turn too much to genuine discomfort, you notice he gives you an extra second of reprieve and swaps out to lighter hits.

“Apologise to Daddy,” he commands gruffly as you sob beneath him, swatting you without pause.

You sniff and swallow before you can compose yourself enough to reply in a wobbly cry, knees buckling and trembling. “Suh-sorry, Daddy, I’m so sorry, I learnt my lesson, ple-ease!”

You could cry when you feel his hand land on you one last time, soft and soothing the stinging flesh. Namjoon shifts, and then you feel light kisses being pressed all the way from your reddened ass up your spine, making you shiver. “Thank you, kitten,” he murmurs in your ear, and gently sits you up, lying you on the mattress.

You hiss when you feel the fabric scratch at your skin, but it’s cool and soothing if you stay still, so you take deep breaths and feel your heart slowly return to normal, Namjoon running his fingers over your now-dry body.

Blinking up at him with what you hope are sweet puppy-dog eyes, you call his name softly to bring his attention to your face. “Are you really not gonna, you know…?”

He grins fondly at your attempt to evade the word fuck, silver hair flopping over his brow as he leans over you. “You took your punishment so well kitten, I think you deserve a reward, hm? Some special time with Daddy?”

You light up, sucking on your lower lip as you spread your legs to bare yourself shamelessly, hooking one foot around his waist so he’s between them. “Extra special time with Daddy,” you insist in a small voice, lip curling now that you’re finally going to get what you want.

With a light laugh, Namjoon centres himself so that he’s facing you head-on, your legs comfortably resting aside his hips. Stroking himself a few times, he taps his hard length against your already-swollen pussy lips. “Relax for me, kitten,” he guides, and you keen as you feel him begin to push inside you.

You try to stop yourself from clenching around him, but it’s been a while since you’ve fucked him, and as usual the biggest cock in the house takes getting used to. “So big, Daddy,” you breathe with a groan, brows pinched together at the stretch.

“You can take it, kitten, you’re doing so well for me,” Namjoon promises, holding you steady and open with a hand hooking your knee up high by his chest.

By the time he’s bottomed out, hips flush against your still-stinging ass, you feel so deliciously full that you can’t breathe. You lay back, eyes scrunched, and focus entirely on the feeling of his girth stretching you open.

“Feels good?” Namjoon checks in, and you nod, wriggling your hips against him to indicate he can move. “Hold on tight, then.”

Even though it’s barely been a day since you were last fucked, it feels like so much longer, and having Namjoon fill you up over and over is so satisfying on a deep level, that you don’t bother muffling your moans, letting yourself clutch at his arms and enjoy the ride.

While Namjoon certainly isn’t the most lithe or experienced member, his cock is a force of nature in and of itself, and this time, with the heat of desperation and the excitement of your altered dynamic getting to him, he fucks you without holding back.

If he’s like this on his third time, you think, he’ll be a beast before the show ends, but then the head of his cock strikes right against your g-spot, and the thought shatters as a cry is ripped from your throat.

“Oh! Daddy, yes, right there!”

He obliges you by adjusting his hips so that every stroke rubs against you just right, and your mind melts, colours and sounds and sensation blurring together in one full note of all-encompassing pleasure.

You cum without warning, not expecting it yourself, and Namjoon curses lowly in his throat as you clench around him. The orgasm is powerful enough to leave you shuddering hopelessly on the bed before going fully slack, drained.

Warm, fuzzy tingles settle in your fingers and toes and chest in the aftermath as Namjoon fucks you through it, not taking long himself to spill inside you. He drops your leg to the side and leans in, pressing slightly ticklish kisses to your neck and collarbone, hands on either side of your chest to keep his weight off you.

“So good to me,” he breathes out lowly, nuzzling your chin up to give him a better angle to sweetly kiss you on the lips, languid and unhurried as he slowly comes down from his own high.

This time when he pulls out of you and you’re left empty again, you don’t complain, too thoroughly fucked to do anything but let out a contented sigh. Namjoon cleans you up, apologising when oversensitivity makes you twitch at the slightest contact, and then washes up himself.

Just as you feel your mind lifting out of that mental space of feeling little, sitting up a bit on his bed and trying to work out if you’d be able to make it to your dresser to put on some pyjamas, Namjoon returns and does it for you, helping you slip into a baggy t-shirt that you like to use as a nightie.

“Are you going to stay?” you ask softly as he lowers the hem over your head, arms slotting through the holes.

“Do you want me to?” Namjoon counters with an edge of hesitation, scratching lightly at his opposite arm, still naked.

You nod, patting the bed beside you. “If you don’t mind.”

Namjoon gathers his clothes and slips them on, not really appropriate for sleeping. Once he sees your look of confusion, he tilts his head towards your bedroom door. “I’m just going to duck out for some comfier clothes for sleeping, are you going to be alright for a moment?”

By the time he’s come back, you’ve already quickly brushed your teeth - hobbling to and from your bathroom like a newborn deer - and slipped under the covers, getting comfortable. Namjoon returns in grey striped pyjama pants and a white shirt, but he has something in his hands.

“You might think it’s silly,” he offers by way of explanation, the mattress springs squeaking as he gets on beside you, “but I like reading before bed, and I thought maybe you’d find it calming.”

With a dubious smile, you look at the book in his hands. It has the clean edges of a cared-for book, with the creases in the spine of a well-read one. On the cover, golden embossed stars and swooping font read The Little Prince. “You want me to read it?”

Namjoon returns your smile, warm and dimpled. “I want to read to you.”

The two of you cuddle together without words, one of his arms wrapped around your back as you lean on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Propping the small novel up on his stomach, he peers over your head to read.

“Once when I was six years old,” he begins, “I saw a magnificent picture in a book called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.” He pauses, tapping you twice on the crown of your head to indicate you should look. “In the book it said…”

As he recites the novel aloud, you feel more than hear his voice, a low rumble in your ear like a rushing river or a slow-moving thunderstorm. It’s soothing, lulling you into sleep. His voice wraps around every word like a hug, enunciating each syllable with such care and colour and love, and always pausing when there were photos, even when your eyes slip shut and you begin to drift off.

Slowly, everything fades away. All sound is reduced to that regular heartbeat and warm rumble; all sensations are narrowed down to just the heat of his skin where it meets yours, his fingers lazily swirling patterns on your scalp. All thoughts simplify, the last six words in your brain, I could get used to this, before they wink out to nothing at all, and you sleep.

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beebrainedstudios · 3 years

Text

You Said I Was The Most Exotic Flower:

In which Kell can’t forget someone. This is an exploration of a headcanon I have relating to Kell and some trauma he carries from his experiences in ADSOM. Definitely a little on the heavier side, so mind the tags/warnings. This will have a sequel though, so keep an eye out!

Warning for descriptions of PTSD, panic attacks, anthophobia, emetophobia, vomiting, and brief mentions of slavery and blood!

It’s the strangest of weaknesses, Kell thought, retching into the marble sink. The sharpest of cruelties. As he leaned back against the far wall and wiped his mouth, he thought of his condition, and its cause, all while trying to avoid looking at the gilded vase on the vanity’s countertop. There were many like it all throughout the palace- there always were this time of year- but the tiny washroom was too cramped to offer any escape. He tilted his head back and swallowed down the burn in his throat summoned by his pounding heart, wishing he hadn’t already caught a glimpse of the delicate lilies arranged inside it.

His lungs were full of the sweet summer scent. Kell shut his eyes and tried to breathe over it, but there was no room for air. Frosty blue petals grew in his mind, warping and twisting into two eyes, each sharp as knives and lit with wicked joy. A voice echoed behind them, laughing along with his racing pulse. The smell was like smoke, coiling against the back of his eyes. He couldn’t pick it apart from the scent of his own magic. The voice was hiding in it, sliding down his throat and into his head like water. For a moment, he was drowning.

I smell something sweet.

Kell lunged once again for the sink.

***

The fabric in his hands was soft like crushed velvet, the silver embroidery bright as fine filigree on ceramic, glinting lines on silky smooth.

Rhy was smiling at him, pleased with the banner and its signature design. Kamerov Loste. A moment ago, his brother’s newest scheme had been buzzing in his head, a call to the chase, a chance to escape. But now his thoughts were turning, spiraling around and over one another like the thorny vines stitched into the banner’s front. He couldn’t pull them back together, pull them back apart, straighten them out. They were a writhing mess of dread.

The embroidery traced itself into the same winding shapes of his thoughts, carving out monochrome brambles, two leaves, petals. A ring of them, then another, until there were two gleaming roses on the banner, both bound together by their own thorns.

My rose.

Blood dripping down his chin, smeared along the front of Rhy’s shirt and along his many rings.

He tried to shake the image away, masking the motion as exasperation, but it only made him think of the ruby drops that had spilled all over the prince’s carpet. Kell blinked, and thought, and then as soon as it’d hit it was over. He looked up and sighed at his brother with a bemused smirk. Inside his mind was screaming, and his hands, still clenched around the pennant, were cold as ice.

“How subtle.”

***

It had been only a little thing, at the ball. It was so much easier to ignore the plants and the vases when there was Rhy to laugh with, royals to avoid, Alucard to admonish. The scent of floral sweetness was hidden behind burning candles and wine.

And of course, there was Lila. Kell was spinning with her now, a few moments after she’d slipped away from him on the balcony. He’d followed her, slyly, at the edge of her vision, his presence a request to resume. He’d been waiting too long now to follow right at her heels like a dog- but he’d settle for skulking like a fox instead.

Lila had nabbed herself two drinks before coming back for more.

Now they were dancing, and the music and everything else was only a murmur in Kell’s ears as Lila pressed against him. They were still at the edge of the dance floor- neither of them craved the attention of the center spot- but Kell could have been anywhere in the world for all it mattered.

Then his toes pinched and he stumbled, Lila’s boot quickly righting itself away from his own.

Lila laughed quietly- Saints, he loved that laugh- and pulled him back to her. “Sorry, flower boy.” She mumbled, her eyes already back to her feet so she could mark the steps.

Kell froze, the murmur of the world slipping away until he was alone with Lila’s hands in his own. They weren’t Lila’s.

He drew back from her, snatching his hands away and bolting across the ballroom. Somewhere in his mind he knew he was drawing attention, he was moving too fast, he was being rude- but none of it mattered because his hands were freezing and he hadn’t been dancing with Lila at all. Or had he?

His hands were so cold, and it was spreading up his arms like the touch of frozen fingers.

Kell burst into the hall, a pair of guards following in his wake, but Kell didn’t notice or didn’t care and ran for his room, sliding around the corners and taking stairs two at a time. He couldn’t see, there were tears in his eyes, but he heard the quiet clatter of glass- no, ice- growing behind him, and the guards were yelling now but Kell wouldn’t stop. He might have heard the king, or Lila- not Lila- or someone else, but none of them were as loud as the voice in his head.

Hello, flower boy.

He crashed into his room, shouldering through the door and straight to the floor. Kell had enough sense to shut it behind him, kicking it closed with one foot, but then there was nothing but the dark and the cold and icy hands against his neck. Around it, like a vise. In his hair like a mother’s touch. On his shoulders like a father’s. They were worse than the fists, worse than the sting of Rhy’s knuckles when they hadn’t been Rhy’s at all-

A sudden sob tore from Kell’s mouth and he scrambled for his coat, the one flash of red he could still see through the tears, but when he tried to stand to put it on he only fell back to the floor. His feet had frozen too, and he felt that they would snap apart if he tried again. Tight as wire, his voice was the whine of a dying animal.

She was back, just as she’d been again and again for the past four months.

“No, no, shut up, go away, go away please-”

I should keep you.

Kell couldn’t hear anything else but his heart and his breaths and the white queen’s voice, sharp like the wind in winter, and so very cold like a knife to his chest-

I will own your life.

“Y-you can’t have it, it belongs to Rh-”

As if summoned, the door flew open, bright light filling the room and tracing the shape of the prince in the dark. Kell could see the outline of his crown perched in his hair, the sheen of his golden eyes filled with concern, but he blinked and more tears fell. Then it wasn’t Rhy anymore.

“Kell, Saints, you’re freezing the room-”

Behind him, Lila’s- not Lila’s- voice sparked, drawing closer with every thudding beat of his heart.

“Kell, hey, I’m sorry-”

Kell let out a cracked sound that he’d hate himself for later, his magic surging with the scent of petals before a gust of frigid air pushed the false prince away and slammed the door shut again. Kell pulled himself further away from it, back near the wall, fingers searching first for the icy hands tracing his chest before tangling in the soft folds of his coat. It was still warm, and Kell tried to choke back the tiniest sob of relief as he pulled it close around his shoulders like a sheet. The tears on his cheeks felt like snow.

The hands against his throat shifted to his chin, as if the queen was right behind him, her nails raking feather-light against his skin. He shook and followed them and their pull, wishing that someone, that anyone else was here but her, because he was helpless to stop it. His magic was hot, surging with the adrenaline in his veins, but he couldn’t summon anything but the stinking scent of flowers and it was nothing against the cold threatening to split him apart.

She was everywhere.

Saints, he hated flowers so much.

The queen laughed- why hate what you are, sweetness- and Kell looked up and saw nothing but the glimmering dark of his room and the white shards slowly covering everything in frosted white.

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

Text

Shaky Hands- prompt fill

Okay so I did both, but this one is for Shaky Hands!

Cw nausea, vomiting (nothing gross tho, promise), panic (but not too explicit), references to disassociation, and Jon typical negative self talk and guilt. Set post 159! (Can be read as a sequel to my last fic if you like.)

Send me more prompts! (Bingo card by @celosiaa) The ones with stars are the ones I already have prompts for, the crossed out ones are the ones I have posted! Send me a character, a prompt, and tell me if you want an art or a fic!!!!!!

Here it goes:

Jon's knuckles are white against the steering wheel of Daisy's car. Martin is dozing next to him. Face slack, and slowly regaining some color. Very, very slowly.

Jon is tired. So so so so so so tired.

The tension in his jaw is giving him a headache. Then again, that could be any number of things. Could be the thick exhaustion sitting in his limbs. It could be the endless stretch of road in front of him and the endless stretch behind. Although that is what is currently trying to force his stomach up his throat.

He's Fine.

He grits his teeth harder. They don't have time to stop.

He would turn on the aircon, but he's worried about Martin. Would the cold be too much like the Lonely? Martin is still faintly shivering under the thick jumper he had donned after his shower back at his flat before they had left.

Wasn't driving supposed to Stop a person from getting carsick? Christ there had been a time where he had trained himself to read in the car. It had taken a while... and many errors much to the chagrin of his grandmother, but he had managed it.

Of course that didn't stop him from getting horrifically sick on that unfortunate "Team Archive" road trip and every time he was kidnapped. Daisy had not been happy. Jon shudders to think of it.

And now he's nauseous and sad. Brilliant. If he loses any self control, he will be a right bloody mess.

The again, if he's going to be dreadfully ill, might as well get it over with. Maybe he'll feel better? Optimistic. Why should he assume that he would be so lucky. He hasn't been lucky a day in his life.

He's lucky no one has caught them yet. Yet. That no one is following them yet. Yet.

Seven and a half hours. They are an hour in. It’s dark. How sure is he that no one is following them? Did he catch a glimpse of police lights? Or was that just his overtaxed eyes playing tricks on him, the flash of a dashboard light against his glasses? Was that a siren or the ringing in his ears. His breath coming hot and fast against anxiety and his unhappy stomach.

Breathe Jon.

In through the nose out through the mouth. Again. Again. Again. Don’t hold the breath. That will make it worse. Something that Jon found hard to fathom. How could he feel worse? No. Shouldn’t think like that. Anything could happen. A tire could blow out. Martin could fall out of the car. The engine could fall out of the car. He could be sick all over the windshield and he could crash them into a tree.

No. No. No.

If a tire goes flat, there is one in the boot. He Knows that.

Martin probably won’t fall out of the car. It’s no more likely than Jon falling out of the car. He tries to Know the odds to calm himself but all he gets is static and a worse headache for his trouble.

He doesn’t try to Know the odds of the engine falling out. A headache any worse would cause him to be ill immediately.

As for the last possibility. He won’t think about it. He’s fine. He is.

It’s raining now. Heavy sheets of the stuff batter the car. Or at least rattle it. Rattle Jon. Quaking hands on the wheel. His hands cramped and numb from his grip on the wheel. His arms sore from it. It’s been a long time since he drove. And he was never very good.

He’s thirsty. But putting anything in him sounds like a terrible idea. But being thirsty makes him feel so much worse.

Martin is still asleep. And Jon is just barely keeping it together for him. Barely. Martin needs to sleep. Jon needs to let him sleep. He tried to count trees earlier but with the rain and the dark he can’t manage that. He can hardly see the road and he suddenly Knows about the oils rising in the rainwater from the road and making it that much easier for Jon to slide them off the road and get them both killed. So close. So close to being safe. To being free.

His stomach lurches. Again. He swallows hard. Again. He can’t keep doing this.

The backs of his hands are tingling. It’s getting hard for him to measure his breaths.

He is honestly not sure if this is panic or nausea. Probably both. Because he’s on the run again. And this time he did actually legitimately kill someone. A though that further turns his stomach much as he absolutely doesn’t regret it. He was a horrible old bastard and he tried to take Martin. But what if Basira? Left to deal with his mess, that was his fault, right? The hunters here for him. Not-Sasha also after him. If it weren’t for him, Daisy wouldn’t... she....

He’s gasping for air. There are tears on his cheeks. And he’s pulled to the wrong side of the road, emptying his stomach. Door flung open. Rain soaking his jumper. Seatbelt digging into his shoulder.

It hurts and he’s crying harder.

And Martin’s hand is on his heaving back. His other hand gathering his tangled hair.

He shouldn’t have woken him. He should have pulled over and gotten out, but he’d been too sick. Too dizzy. Too tired.

Jon continues to gag. He is shivering. Rain running in rivulets down his spine. Martin probably also getting soaked. Martin who needs to stay warm and dry and not alone getting wet and cold and with only his miserable company. He sobs around his body trying to expel all of the nothing he’s eaten over the last few days.

“Oh. Oh, Jon.” Martin’s voice to gentle. It makes Jon sob harder.

Martin still rubbing his back. Martin leaving as far as he can over to Jon’s seat and Jon knows it can’t be comfortable. Jon doesn’t have the where with all to make any sound other than a pathetic whine.

“Jon, please are you alright? No that’s a stupid question, you’re clearly not. What can I do to help?”

Jon manages to swallow hard a few times and slowly tries to sit up. The seatbelt digging in harder as it did not appreciate the sudden yank to the side. He pulls the door closed, very much hoping he won’t need to open it again.

“‘M fine. It’s fine. Go back to sleep.” His voice is worse than wrecked. It’s hoarse and thick and damp. “We’ll be there soon.” They won’t. That starts a sob tearing through him. They need to keep going. They need to keep going. They’ve got to go before someone comes after them. Jon can lose his lack of lunch when they’re safe. And they aren’t safe and Martin isn’t safe. And Jon can’t make his miserable body do anything but be cold and wet and still impossibly queasy and shake. Shake with exhaustion, nausea, anxiety, cold.

“Jon, please talk to me?”

“Just carsick. I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Jon starts the car again and Martin sputters weakly. Still cold and drained and Jon is just draining him further.

“Jon! You’re soaked! You’re sick! You’re shaking! Don’t you think any of those mean you shouldn’t be driving?”

Martin is probably right. There’s only one of those things he can fix. “I’ll. I’ll get a spare jumper, alright? But you shouldn’t be driving either. I’ll be fine. If I have to pull over a few more times… so be it. But honestly I’ll be worse if I’m not driving and looking at the road. And you... Martin I’m worried about you.” He doesn’t want to say that Martin has been disassociating when he isn’t sleeping, for fear of making Martin defensive, or worse losing him to where ever his brain goes when he’s like that. He doesn’t want to lose Martin to the fog or to himself.

Martin must know that’s he’s less fit to drive, or he would be arguing.

Jon wants Martin to go back to sleep. He also selfishly wants Martin to stay awake and keep rubbing his back when he’s ill. He wants Martin to hold his hand. He wants Martin to hold him until the shaking stops, the headache stops, the dizziness stops, until his stomach stops rolling, until he’s no longer afraid.

Selfish.

Useless.

Pathetic.

He stifles another sob as he sheds his jumper and fumble blindly behind him from another from his backpack.

He turns off the hazard lights and shakily gets them back in the road.

His head buzzes with headache. Worse now that he’s lost more liquid than he had to spare. And the motion of the car is making his head swim more and his stomach turn. Again.

Martin is handing him a water bottle. Martin is carefully wiping away his tears.

“Please, you’ve got to drink something.”

Jon whines. A truly embarrassing sound. He doesn’t want to. But he takes a couple very very measured sips.

“That’s very good. Thank you. It’s okay if we have to stop again, you know.”

Jon nods for unhappily. He doesn’t want to open his mouth to say they probably won’t have a choice.

Jon has to pull over several more times. Each time more painful than the last.

Shaking harder than ever before, Jon stops the car in front of a small, ...cute cabin. It’s mid morning. And Martin had commented several times on Jon’s claim that they would be there “soon.” It’s still sprinkling and Jon is caught between how the cabin is both increasingly Not Daisy and yet very very Daisy. He doesn’t have the energy to dwell on that, though. He takes slowly retrieves his bag and wavers the few steps towards the door. His hands shaking almost too much to find the key and unlock it.

His vision is darkening around the edges.

He flutters awake in Martin’s arms. They are on a bed Jon doesn’t recognize in a room Jon also doesn’t recognize. He’s sore and thirsty and dizzy and exhausted. His shoes have been removed and Martin is pressing him with more water.

“Sorry,” Jon manages to slur around sips that Martin is ferrying to his mouth.

“Shh. Water then we are getting some sleep. No more fainting.”

Jon doesn’t have energy to argue. He drinks his water, and presses himself against Martin with a sigh.

They can talk later.

#the magnus archives #fic #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tma #cw nausea #cw vomit #emeto warning #cw panic #cw guilt #whump #motionsickness #words #my words #my writing #art #my art

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xenteaart · 4 years

Text

Apocalypse Chronicles

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Summary: Getting stuck in the apocalypse certainly has its ups and downs, and this is somewhat of a dairy with little glimpses into the life you two had.

Warnings: mentions of vomit

Note: This is sort of a part 2 to this fic. Also you can check out my other fics on this Commission AU right here!

Hopefully, this is a rollercoaster.

Day 548.

You and Five were currently on your way… somewhere. You rarely had any particular destination in mind, if you were being honest. Mainly, you were just moving from one place to another, seeking shelter and looking for food and other essentials such as clothes, medical supplies and many other things, most of which were really hard to come by.

It’s been a very long day, and a fairly hard one as well because the weather seemed to get harsher with each passing mile and moving one foot in front of the other was beginning to feel like an impossible task. So, since all of your focus and concentration went into walking, naturally, you’d stopped listening to what Five was saying about thirty minutes ago. Funnily enough, it took him that long to notice you completely zoning out and ignoring his passionate ranting.

“Hey! Have you been listening?” he asked bitterly, mostly just annoyed by the fact he’d been wasting his breath.

You quickly snapped out of your daze and blinked a few times.

“Charming.” Five added as he rolled his eyes. It was this very moment when you realized something and couldn’t help but smile widely, and he raised one eyebrow in confusion as to what could be making you so happy right now.

“Your voice is starting to crack,” you pointed out. He clearly didn’t expect you to say that, and it caught him completely off guard, making him forget he was mad at you mere seconds ago.

“My boy is turning into a man!” you exclaimed; tenderness, pride and just a tiny bit of sarcasm radiating from your voice. Five shook his head and scoffed at your observation as he was trying to conceal his embarrassment; rather unsuccessfully, you must say.

Getting stuck with a slightly older girl and going through puberty was, in his opinion, beyond humiliating.

You wrapped your arm around his shoulder and squeezed it lightly, pulling him closer as the sound of your joyful giggling was filling the air.

“Can’t wait till you start getting facial hair too,” you teased him and immediately felt his elbow kick your ribcage, the impact too mild to leave a bruise but certainly sudden enough to make you go “ouch!”

Day 1325.

“Five Hargreeves, you may wanna propose to me right now,” you screamed from a distance as you were still rummaging through the ruins of what used to be a grocery store. Oh, you knew he was going to love this.

After spending almost 4 years by Five’s side, you’ve come to know an impressive amount of facts about him, most of which were mundane and in the grand scheme of things, he would say, insignificant. But you didn’t see them as such and kept them all in mind, waiting for the right moment, and today was your lucky day.

“What?” he yelled back, a little confused by your assumption that seemingly came out of nowhere. Not that he didn’t like your company but marriage wasn’t on his to-do list quite yet.

As you awkwardly climbed over the debris, obviously carrying something in your hands but trying to hide it underneath your ill-fitted parka, you said, “Close your eyes.”

Five seemed hesitant, so you insisted.

“Come on, I know you don’t like surprises but it’s the nice kind, I promise.”

He finally complied and exhaled loudly as a means of communicating his growing impatience. You promptly pulled out a coffee pack from under your clothes, swept the dust off its surface in one quick motion and handed it over to Five.

“Look.”

“No way,” he opened his mouth, sincerely shocked you had managed to find something whole and completely untouched. And it happened to be coffee.

“I think I deserve at least a kiss on the cheek, wouldn't you say?” you grinned at how fast Five’s expression turned from grumpy and tired to excited and grateful.

In no time his tight grip found your waist, and he effortlessly spun you around, making you squeak in surprise as you clawed into his shoulders for support instinctively. His movements were smooth and confident as if you were light as a feather or rather weighed nothing at all, and you caught yourself really enjoying the warmth of his hands on your skin.

“You deserve a lot more than that,” Five replied with a sigh as he put you down carefully, his tone suddenly losing its playfulness and blossoming with something a titch more unexpected, and if you had to put a name on it, “affection” would be the most fitting.

Fortunately, the smudges of dirt on your skin were doing a very good job at hiding just how red your cheeks turned at the comment.

Day 1557.

“God, do you ever shut up?” Five snarled irritably, interrupting you mid-sentence, and your jaw dropped in shock. You could have sworn it felt exactly what getting stabbed in the stomach would feel like.

You were a very short-tempered individual and in any other context you would have snapped back, making some scathing comment and walking away with your chin up. This time - not a single word left your mouth as you were paralyzed by Five’s unfiltered hostility. You felt your eyes burn and immediately turned away to wipe away the tear rolling down your cheek, too proud to let him see how much it hurt.

In your defence, you weren’t much of a talker before the apocalypse but it didn’t take you long to find out that being locked up in your own head in a deathly quiet world was not a good way to spend your days. So you kept talking, for both Five’s and your own sanity. It made things feel less real, however paradoxical it may sound. But, more importantly, it was a gesture of care.

You spent the rest of the day without saying a word, and, to your disappointment, Five wasn’t willing to break the silence either. Not talking, however, didn’t mean not looking after each other, and you, of course, made him dinner while he organized a safe place for you both to spend the night.

Since there was never a roof over your heads, you tended to sleep very close to each other, exchanging body heat to keep each other warm. At first, it was only a safety precaution but the habit slowly transformed into something more meaningful, somewhat of a necessity to know and feel that the other was still alive and breathing, still there, safe and sound.

As the two of you were lying in your improvised bed, which was essentially just a few layers of blankets on the hard and unfriendly concrete, you felt Five’s hot breath against the back of your neck as he cuddled you from behind. The big spoon.

“I deeply regret saying that,” Five whispered and sighed in frustration at his own self. He knew he royally fucked up.

“Please, don’t ever stop talking. I need it and I need you, okay?” he uttered so quietly that it was almost inaudible but you caught every word.

You clenched your teeth.

“Okay.”

Day 1866.

Birthdays were never a happy event in the apocalypse and you only kept track of them in order to know your own age.

Every birthday was nothing but another reminder of how much time you’ve spent trapped in this nightmare, and there was truly nothing either of you wished to celebrate.

However, this time you decided to make an exception. Five was turning eighteen and, despite the fact that your circumstances were far from perfect, it was a big day nevertheless.

To say you had limited resources would be saying nothing at all. No cake, no candles, no decorations, no anything to create an environment for having fun, and the only thing at your disposal was your contagious enthusiasm. It wasn’t much but it was surely something.

“Wakey-wakey, sleeping beauty,” you whispered into Five’s ear as you tapped on his shoulder, gently breaking him out of his sleep. He murmured something incoherent and placed his hand over his eyes, trying to escape the bright and intrusive daylight.

“Come on, I’ve made you a birthday breakfast,” which wasn’t at all different from any other breakfast but you believed a sprinkle of love that you so thoughtfully added was definitely going to make it taste a bit less like wet cardboard.

“We have plans for today,” you stated proudly as you were waiting for Five to get up. He glanced at you suspiciously, and you were quick to reassure him.

“You can do your clever math things till evening but after that we’re celebrating. There are two bottles of wine that you didn’t know about, and we’re going to drink them and dance. But not ball dance, properly drunk dance. No sadness allowed. Instructions clear?”

Five nodded, feeling a weary yet content and cheerful smile touch the corners of his lips.

Maybe, it wasn’t going to be a shit day, after all.

Day 2587.

“Come on, don’t you dare die on me, you idiot,” Five hissed after pressing his lips against your forehead and coming to a disturbing conclusion that your fever was only getting worse.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you laughed weakly as you looked up at him, and in less than a second a violent wave of nausea washed over your body and swallowed you whole, leaving you with very little chances to escape the overwhelming feeling. You’d been throwing up non-stop the entire day, and the severe dehydration you were suffering was becoming a genuine concern.

The two of you didn’t have the luxury of medicine, and most days you were doing just fine. This time, however, sleeping it off didn’t seem to be doing it for you, and Five was beginning to panic.

“Don’t say that,” Five said coldly, and you winced at the sudden change of mood, almost offended that he wasn’t trying to distract you from your mysterious illness with humor.

“I’m just worried about you,” he clarified as he noticed a gleam of sadness in your eyes.

It was absolutely killing him to see you like that - in pain, sick and exhausted, and he simply couldn’t afford to have “sad” on the list as well.

If there was one thing that Five despised more than anything else in this world, it would be helplessness, and now, as he was facing the invisible enemy that was threatening to take you away, he was feeling exactly that. Helpless. Useless.

You closed your eyes and tried to breathe through another urge to vomit, inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth loudly, but the agonizing sensation didn’t seem to have any compassion or mercy for you.

“Okay, I can’t hold it back any longer,” you warned, and Five nodded in silent understanding.

He’d been sitting by your side and holding your hair all day, thoughtfully keeping it away from your face while you were restlessly puking your guts out, and, as you were doing so, not a single muscle on his face cringed in disgust. The only thing that was truly bothering him about this marathon of vomiting was how soon you were going to recover from it.

Thankfully, your immune system was strong enough to get you back on your feet without any external assistance, and you began to get better eventually. But even during your weeks of sickness there wasn’t a single day when you didn’t feel loved and cared for, and the precious moments of Five holding your hand during your feverish nightmares were going to be imprinted on your mind forever.

#five hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #number five x you #five hargreeves x you #tua #The Umbrella Academy #number five #five hargreeves #my fic #my writing #tua fic #tua fanfic #Umbrella Academy #reader insert

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serendipityunho · 4 years

Text

Fire & Flames

× genre: smut, fluff, college au × pairing: badboy!Hongjoong x Reader (fem.) × word count: 5.9k × warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, fingering, handjob, oral, clit play, slight choking, pull-out method, hand kink, praising, explicit sex

× synopsis:You never expected to fall into the arms of the notorious bad boy of the campus, Hongjoong, after getting locked out. But yet again, he never expected for you to end up in his arms either.

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

‘Come to the party’, they said.

‘It’ll be fun’, they said.

If only you knew you’d be walking home barefoot, holding your heels in your hands in this cold midnight. To begin with, the party wasn’t even that fun. People got high, people got fucked, people got knocked out. When was there anything new?

It was like any other college party, but with more beer kegs this time and Wooyoung didn’t get too wasted, which was an achievement. You never knew how people didn’t get so bored after the first hour of being surrounded by sweaty drunk bodies and actually not worry about being in the danger zone of being vomited on.

Your best friend had already fucked off with some guy at the party, leaving you with the set of apartment keys since you had dropped them down the drain a few days ago. She was already too wasted to give you a lift home before tending to her businesses with whoever she caught, now you’re shivering down the street with your feet so numb you could barely feel the pain of the gravel stabbing at the bottom of your feet.

The apartment building wasn’t too far from sight, it was only a minute walk before you found yourself standing at the entrance with the flashlight on your phone on as you fumbled with the keys. Wait.

“Fuck!” You wish you were seeing things, anything other than the fact that you were holding the wrong set of keys. None of these belonged to you.

Your best friend had given you the wrong keys, and you were too homesick to even bother checking them before leaving the party. Great. Now you were locked outside with a nearly dead phone and frozen feet.

“Come on, come on, pick up” It felt like forever before the robotic voice answered, sending you straight to voicemail as you sighed in defeat.

You wouldn’t have found yourself in this predicament if only you had listened to yourself and stayed home instead of allowing yourself to be dragged to that god awful party. You couldn’t even think properly with your constant shivering as you sink to the floor, ass getting cold from the pavement.

There was always Jongho who didn’t live too far. No, he’s probably at a boxing match tonight. Or Yeosang. Eh, probably in a chicken coma with his girlfriend.

Another sigh left your lips, hot breath evaporating into the cold air as you hugged yourself not that it would make a difference to your warmth. You didn’t want to go back to that party, not when people were finally starting to throw up on each other and couples occupying the bedrooms.

Everything but the 7/11 beside the abandoned warehouse, and the bar was open, all other warm and cozy places were closed dark. The 7/11 looked empty, and that was the problem. You didn’t want the cashier’s eyes on you the entire night suspecting you of stealing shit. The bar it is.

You lift yourself off the cold steps of your apartment building before patting whatever residue was on your dress. A grimacing look took over as you looked down at your heels. You really didn’t want to wear it again unless you wished for your feet to stop working the next day. At least look decent before entering.

With every step, your feet felt like they were on complete fire. You were bound to collapse at any given moment.

Just. A. Few. More. Steps.

The neon sign beamed brightly, almost making your eyes ache at the sight as you pushed through the entrance. A subtle buzz surrounded you almost instantly as your eyes land on the pool table then onto the bar with only a few drinking.

It was definitely much warmer than you expected it to be. But it was more than enough.

“First time at a bar?” Your eyes stopped looking around and shot to the bartender in front of you, wiping the surface with a cloth before swinging it over his shoulder.

“It’s that obvious huh?” You place your clutch onto the counter before taking a seat on the stool, sighing in relief as your sore feet take another break from walking in heels.

“Very. Would you like a drink?”

“Um, a martini would be nice, thanks” Money shouldn’t be used recreationally right now. But, a drink was needed in order to keep your cool.

“So what’s a girl like you doing here so late?” The bartender didn’t look up as he started mixing your drink, ice shackling inside the shaker.

“I got locked out because my roommate gave me the wrong keys and now she won’t pick up”

“Have you tried calling her again?”

“No, my phone is about to die” The glass filled with the beverage pouring out from its shaker as the bartender pushed the drink towards you.

“There’s a payphone over there if you have any change left”

“Yeah, if I had change left, thanks though”

Another customer appeared in the corner of your eye, sitting down just one seat away from you. You could sense a burning gaze in the side of your head as you kept looking down, stirring your drink with the little toothpick you got with the olive.

“What made you come here?” From the very first word spoken, you immediately knew who it was.

“That’s none of your concern, Hongjoong” You were met with a well-known smirk the moment you turned your body to the blonde-haired man.

You weren’t surprised to find Hongjoong at a place like this. It fits in well with his rough agenda anyways. That is, being the boy most parents warned their daughters about and the boy many others either despised out of jealousy from stealing the attention of girls they tried too hard to get.

“It’s quite concerning to see you at a bar so late. Did something happen that finally drove you out of the house?” Hongjoong chuckled, tilting his head to the side as he smirked.

“The only thing that drove me out of the house was a promise that my roommate would do all the housework for a week if I went to this party with her”

“But?”

“But this idiot gave me the wrong keys when I left and now I’m locked out with a dead phone while she’s off fucking some random guy” You scoffed, downing the rest of your drink before fidgeting with your fingers.

“Do you want to use my phone?” Hongjoong reaches for his back pocket, slinging out his black phone before unlocking it.

“No point, she hasn’t picked up any of the other fifty calls I left her” A flash of empathy washed over Hongjoong’s face as he remained silent, nodding his head subtly as you turned back around.

Maybe if you didn’t spend the most of your money on this martini, you’d be able to snag a cheap motel room for the night. Or perhaps some slippers instead of torturing yourself in these heels.

“You could... stay at my place if you’d like? Just until your friend comes back of course” Those were the words you never expected to leave Hongjoong’s mouth.

“I don’t want to trouble you”

“Well, where else are you going to go?” Nowhere.

You were quite surprised that Hongjoong, out of everyone, had offered you a place to stay for the night. Many would think he’d just snicker and walk away from the looks of him. But on this night, he doesn’t look that uptight as usual.

“You’re right. I guess it’s better than nowhere” You sighed before reaching for your clutch, pulling out a few crumpled pieces of cash to leave at the bar.

“C’mon, you look tired as fuck” That was nice to know.

You followed Hongjoong out the bar, standing in front of what seems to be his motorcycle. It was sleek and black, you saw him ride it to campus every day, zooming out the parking lot in a flash as people admired behind their books.

“Thanks” You take the helmet from Hongjoong’s hand before slipping it over your head, adjusting it before swinging a leg over the motorcycle.

“Hold on tightly” Hongjoong revved the engine as you snaked your arms around his waist.

“You trust yourself without a helmet?”

“Do you trust me?” Hongjoong turned his head slightly, letting you catch a glimpse of his eyes.

“Well, I’m going home with you aren’t I?” You wrap your arms tighter around his waist, lifting your feet off the ground as he does the same.

It felt like your heart was about to jump out of your chest at any moment as the wheels on Hongjoong’s motorcycle started moving. You were immediately hit with the cold air once again, goosebumps rising along your arm as you clutched tighter onto Hongjoong.

The neons lights of shops along the street passed by in a blur as Hongjoong sped down the street. It didn’t feel as cold as before, maybe because you were literally hugging someone.

Hongjoong slows down at a set of traffic lights, making your grip on his abdomen loosen as your heart calms down from the adrenaline. Hongjoong’s icy blonde hair glistened under the light, it looked miraculously soft and silky. You lowkey just wanted to run your hands through them.

“Scared?” Hongjoong kept his eyes on the road as he spoke up.

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re hugging me like a koala”

“Okay, maybe a little bit” To be completely honest, you were scared for him too. Riding this death machine without a helmet is ballsy.

“You can trust me” Now that was another thing you’ve never expected to hear from him.

You were already so used to the cold, your skin felt numb as you grew used to the cold despite Hongjoong lending you his leather jacket halfway through the route. You felt kind of bad seeing goosebumps on Hongjoong’s arms as he endured the cold.

“You don’t mind loose clothing, do you?” Hongjoong unlocked the door to his apartment, dropping the keys onto the kitchen counter before letting you in.

“Uh, no, anything would do. Thanks” You stepped into the apartment, it was neat and clean with a few pizza boxes on the counter.

“Are you hungry?” Hongjoong’s face lit up as he pulled onto the fridge door, scouring at what he could find.

“No, I’ve lost my appetite for the night already” With your sense of smell ruined by the thick aroma of alcohol and whatever at the party, you couldn’t bare to eat without wanting to throw up.

“Here, you can take this room. And, uh, here,” Hongjoong lead you to a room with a bed freshly made as if no one had slept in it before, handing you what seems to be one of his shirts and some pants. It wasn’t like they were too oversized so you didn’t need to worry. “, the bathroom is right there by the way”.

“Goodnight, Hongjoong” You flashed a small smile as Hongjoong scratched the back of his head, avoiding much eye contact before inching backwards out the door.

“Y-Yeah, goodnight” You stifled a chuckle before turning back around as the door closed behind Hongjoong.

The room wasn’t too big or too small. It was just perfect. It was masculine enough not to mistake it for a woman’s room. Maybe this was someone else’s room. It wasn’t a new discussion around campus that Hongjoong had a roommate. But where was he?

It was a relief to finally strip off the party clothes, well, dress. The soft material of Hongjoong’s shirt made you feel at home, a subtle masculine scent lingered on it as you held the collar to your nose, sniffing it before stretching your arms out. A man who smelt nice was always attractive.

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

It was a pleasant sleep before you woke up in a cold layer of sweat, gasping for air as you shot up from the bed. You weren’t so sure if you were still dreaming or not, maybe both.

The only thing you could hear over the ringing in your ear was the sound of your heart pumping loudly out of your chest as you focus on your surroundings. Almost everything was completely black other than the window with the moonlight shining through.

It wasn’t uncommon for such sleepless nights like this, you’ve had them since you were a child after some rather unfortunate events. Some you could never seem to forget. Since then, you’ve learnt to cope with it.

It wasn’t much of a big deal as you grew older, nothing an ice-cold glass of water couldn’t fix. That and probably a few episodes of TV that you’d forget in the morning.

You felt gross just sitting in the bed, quite sorry for whoever actually sleeps on here. The red numbers from across the room beamed 3:29am as your feet touched the ground before stepping towards the door.

Hongjoong was probably already dead asleep at this time of night. You’ve never met anyone who sleeps with their door open before. Making your way down the corridor, the wooden floor creaks subtly beneath you as your eyes lingered around the dark space.

What you didn’t expect to see in the kitchen was Hongjoong himself, making you halt in your spot as he looks up from the counter. Arms rested against the counter with a glass of water in his hands.

“Why are you awake?” Hongjoong’s voice was raspy, probably just woke up not too long ago before you.

“I had a nightmare” You hesitantly make your way into the kitchen, fidgeting with your fingers as Hongjoong hops off the stool.

“Do you usually have nightmares that wake you up?”

“Only when I don’t have my pillow, childish right?” It was another thing that helped you cope with nightmares. The long pillow that your parents had given you before they moved away helped majorly. You couldn’t have a proper goodnight’s sleep without it.

“Not at all. Actually, I can’t sleep without my pillow either” Who would’ve thought this baddie was actually a softie?

“So, how come you’re awake?” Your eyes flickered from cabinet to cabinet, questioning in your head which one the glasses were in.

“I was thinking” You were about to take your chances, opening up a cabinet only for a glass filled with water enters your view. You gladly take the glass from Hongjoong’s hand as you turned back around, facing him entirely as he maintained a distance.

“You must be thinking about something deep to stay up this late” Your dry throat felt relief after the first sip of water, finally, your body felt like it wasn’t on fire anymore.

“Would you say BuzzFeed quizzes are deep?” Hongjoong chuckled, leaning back onto the counter with his arms crossed.

“What kind of person stays up at three in the morning thinking about BuzzFeed quizzes?”

“Me, surprisingly, San too”

“San, the rich kid, San?”

“That’s the one”

By now your glass was half empty, rubbing your thumbs across the glass as you take a seat next to Hongjoong. Your eyes glued onto the scenery outside of the window, moon hiding behind the trees of the small forest next to Hongjoong’s apartment building.

“How are you not tired?” Even you were tired and you were barely awake for more than five minutes.

“I’m used to getting calls from my drunk friends at this time telling me to pick them up. It’s kind of like a subconscious alarm clock now” Hongjoong slips around the counter, inching back towards the corridor.

“How fun”

“It’s going to be hard for you to fall asleep, isn’t it?” Hongjoong flashed you a concerning look before leaning forward with his hands pressed against the edge of the counter.

“I normally end up pulling all-nighters when this shit happens” Your finger swipes along the edge of the glass as you make yourself comfortable in your seat, accepting your fate for the night.

“I know I’m no special pillow, but perhaps, I could help?” Hongjoong scratched the back of his head, cocking a brow before pushing himself off the counter.

“What, you want to hold me to sleep? Is that what you’re saying?” It was sweet, really. Just a surprising thoughtful gesture you never expected.

“No- maybe- yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying”

You found it quite charming that Hongjoong had offered you such redemption from tired eyes in the morning. With no further words, you hopped off your stool and brushed passed Hongjoong with him following closely behind.

The bed didn’t feel icky anymore the moment you touched it again, lying on your side as you wait for Hongjoong. You didn’t see him come in but you knew once the side of the bed dipped and a warmth covered your back.

“Wake me up if I start snoring”

“You snore?”

“I don’t know, that’s why you need to tell me”

A soft chuckle issues from behind, feeling the wave of Hongjoong’s breath against the back of your neck. You could tell he was hesitant of actually holding you with his hand lingering over your waist. Softly grabbing his hand, you snake his arm around you, holding his hand in yours as you let him get comfortable.

“Can you sleep like this?” With Hongjoong hugging you like this, it wouldn’t take more than a blink of an eye to fall right back asleep.

“Can you?” He did say he needed his own pillow to be able to sleep too.

“Only if you don’t move too much” You could feel your eyes shutting close as Hongjoong started playing with your hair, growing more comfortable in your presence.

You never knew how much you enjoyed the feeling of someone playing with your hair until now. The way Hongjoong’s fingers tangled in your hair as his fingertips gently massaged your scalp calmed you, it was like a silent lullaby putting you to sleep.

“This is so much better than a pillow” You murmured, flipping onto your other side to face Hongjoong. His eyes were droopy, close to shutting as he rests his hand at the back of your head.

“I’m glad”

“You don’t sound so tired”

“Because I’m not” Hongjoong chuckles, drawing little circles on your back as you subtly snuggle closer, lifting your face slightly to see him better.

“It’ll be weird if one of us is awake” You could see the corners of Hongjoong’s lips curve upwards into a soft smile, making you do the same as your fingers trace his jaw.

“Sorry, but I have no more sleeping pills”

“You need to get tired somehow” By now, your face was just as close to his as your body was against his body.

“What do you suggest I do?” Hongjoong had stopped drawing his little circles on your back, smoothing his hand over to your waist before rubbing his thumb along the exposed skin his shirt had uncovered.

At this distance, Hongjoong could probably hear the sound of your heart beating like crazy in your chest. Your hand had trailed down from his neck to his chest, hand cupping over his heart as your eyes flickered up to his.

“Me” Hongjoong couldn’t mutter another word as your lips locked onto his, kissing him passionately as your arm snaked around his neck.

Hongjoong kissed you back just as hungrily, hand caressing your waist as they moved down to your hips and pushing you onto your back against the bed. Your tongue swiped across Hongjoong’s bottom lip before biting it softly, earning a vivid smirk against the kiss.

Your legs wrap around Hongjoong’s torso as he pushed his body between your legs, swivelling his hips against yours with the noticeable tent rubbing against your aching heat. You couldn’t help but moan against Hongjoong’s lips as his hands slide under your, or should you say, his shirt, roaming every inch of your skin.

“You look so good in my clothes” Hongjoong growled against your lips before trailing his kisses down your neck, harshly sucking on the skin as he hikes up the shirt right above your breasts.

“I look good in everything” Your fingers run along the skin of Hongjoong’s waist, hiking his shirt up before letting him pull it over his head.

“You’re not wrong” A small gasp left your lips as Hongjoong takes a breast into his mouth with his hand cupping the other, squeezing it gently as you play with the hair at the back of his head.

“Mhm” Your hips grind upwards against his hard-on, desperate for some friction against your throbbing clit and dripping wet cunt.

You couldn’t help but grip his hair tighter as Hongjoong swirls his tongue around your nipple, sucking on your breast as his hand caresses your waist before hooking under the waistband of your pants. Suddenly, you didn’t feel the need to sleep.

Your legs slide up and down against Hongjoong’s sides before lifting your hips, letting Hongjoong cascade your pants down, throwing it onto the floor as his lips smother your stomach in kisses. His warm breath scattered over your skin as Hongjoong trails his wet kisses down to the waistband of your panties, fingers teasing your inner thighs with harsh squeezes.

Your face scrunches in desperation as Hongjoong pulls your panties down, licking your skin gently before kissing just above your clit, making you clench around nothing yet gushing over the slightest touches. Hongjoong eyes you from below with a devilish smirk, pushing your legs further apart before hooking his arms underneath.

“You look even better like this” Your legs twitched slightly as Hongjoong kisses your inner thighs, blowing softly against your sopping wet pussy, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your hips subconsciously buck up towards his face.

“You’re such a tease” You moaned out, arms stretching above your head as Hongjoong kisses your clit before lapping his tongue at it.

“I know” A breathy moan left your lips as Hongjoong sucked on your clit, swirling his tongue around the bud of nerves as his fingers slip between your folds.

It was quite a feeling seeing Hongjoong lapping away at your pussy with the glimpse of moonlight shining through the window, highlighting his back as his arms flexed with each movement. You couldn’t hold back another moan as Hongjoong slipped a finger into you, pumping slowly before adding another.

Your face furrowed in pleasure with Hongjoong’s eyes piercing at you from below, lips attached to your clit as he hooked his fingers deep in you. If breathing wasn’t difficult before, it definitely was now.

“Fuck, right there” Hongjoong’s tongue worked faster, fingers coating in your arousal as Hongjoong peppers sloppy kisses all around before reaching up for your lips.

Your knees bent instantly as Hongjoong buried his fingers deeper in you, pumping faster until you could hear the subtle squelches of your juices against his fingers. His teeth clash with yours as your lips hungrily meet each other, moving in sync with your arms pulling him closer.

It felt like a film of buzzing sensations had just washed over your body with each pump growing faster. Hongjoong’s palm rubbed over your clit, making you moan against his lips. Your lips hovered over Hongjoong’s, mouth wide open as Hongjoong’s hand worked faster, fingers slipping out and smearing your juices over your clit before rubbing it.

“Shit- fuck, Hongjoongohmygod” Your abdomen tensed hard as you nerves spark with each rub, close to emitting a firework in the pits of your stomach as Hongjoong’s fingers circle at your clit.

“You like that?” The whisper against your ear made you moan a soft ‘yes’ as Hongjoong’s face dips into your neck, kissing your jawline as you pull on his hair.

“Oh mmphhhfuck” It was only a matter of seconds before you had felt an explosion of bliss triggered by the pace at which Hongjoong was circling at your clit, making your legs tremble as they stayed opened by Hongjoong’s hand firmly planted against your thigh.

Your brows furrow deeply, jaw clenched as Hongjoong smears your release on his fingers again before bringing them up to your lips, letting you take them into your mouth and swirling your tongue around his fingers making sure to keep your eyes locked on his. A groan escapes from his lips as he admires you from above, lips brushing against yours as he rubs his legs against yours.

“You want more?”

“Please” You bring your knee up to his crotch, feeling the hardened length over his sweatpants before rubbing your knee against it subtly.

“Fuuck” Hongjoong swiftly pecks your lips before standing on his knees, tugging his sweatpants down before throwing it off the bed, leaving him in his boxers.

The moonlight highlighted the crevasses on Hongjoong’s body, from the lining of his back to the lining of his abs. He looks tremendously good at this angle, making you lick your lips in anticipation before standing on your own knees, palming Hongjoong’s hard cock over his boxers.

Hongjoong cups both sides of your face, pulling you closer for a hungry kiss as a hand flies up over his, kissing him back just as passionate. You could feel his cock twitch under the material of his boxers, waiting to be held and clenched around.

Your palm rubs against his clothed dick, making him moan as he bit down on your bottom lip. Hongjoong’s hips bucked forward against your hand, rolling it subtly with the movements of your hand.

Your tongues lapped together as Hongjoong pulled you closer by the waist, cupping your ass before giving it a squeeze. Your head tilts as Hongjoong smothers your jaw in soft kisses before trailing them back down to your neck, making you moan a soft ‘fuck’ as you tug at his boxers, letting his cock spring free as you pulled them down.

“There’s a lot of things I could’ve done to sleep,” Hongjoong runs his hand through his hair, eyeing you down as you lower yourself down on him with a hand wrapped around his dick “, but I never expected this”.

“Are you telling me you don’t want this?” Your tongue licked a stripe from the base of Hongjoong’s dick to the tip, letting the tip of your tongue sit on his slit as your hand caressed the rest of his dick.

Hongjoong throws his head back with a groan before taking a hold of your hair between his fingers. His face scrunches in pleasure as your lips wrap around his dick, keeping eye contact as your head bops back and forth, swirling your tongue around the base of his cock throbbing in your mouth.

“Mhm fuck-” A breathy moan fell between Hongjoong’s parted lips, brows furrowed deeply as his thighs tremble at the feeling of you slobbering on his dick.

The grip on your hair tightens, slightly stinging as Hongjoong rocked his hips subtly against your mouth. His abdomen tensed hard as a rock the moment you took his length deeper, letting it hit the back of your throat before pumping the rest of what you couldn’t reach with your hand.

You could taste the precum spewing from his dick as your wetness felt like it was about to drip from your pussy. Hongjoong shot you a daring look as he admired you from above, mouth gaping as broken moans fell from his lips.

Your mouth comes off his dick with a pop as you continue to pump his length, running a hand up from Hongjoong’s abs to his chest only to have Hongjoong grab your wrist, spinning you around as you fell on your knees and hands. You smirked as your head turned to the side, seeing Hongjoong caress your ass cheek with both hands before spreading them apart.

“So beautiful” Your back dipped deeper as you push your ass back, letting the tip of Hongjoong’s dick poke at your entrance as he slides it up and down your slit, coating it in your wetness as you crave the sensation.

It was almost a feeling you quite missed as Hongjoong pushed his dick into your hole, stretching it out with a moan coming from the both of you as you take in his length. You almost forgot how good it felt to have someone bury their cock deep in you before rolling their hips. Hongjoong just brought that sensation back to your memory.

“Fuck, Hongjoong” With your knees digging deep into the mattress and arms stretched far above you, Hongjoong grips your hips, squeezing them before rolling his hips into you, just pushing his dick into you deeper than before.

You run a hand through your hair, pushing it back as Hongjoong thrusts into you, starting slow as your breathing quickens with each hit into your body. You could feel Hongjoong leaning down, pushing your hair to one side before attacking your shoulder with sloppy kisses, hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin.

His hand remained on your hip, squeezing it still as the other travels up from your thigh to your breast, fondling it before reaching for your neck. A quiet moan left your lips as Hongjoong wraps his fingers around your neck, squeezing ever so gently as his thrusts grew faster, knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Ohmygodnnghh-” It was a hoarse moan thanks to Hongjoong’s fingers pressing down on the sides of your neck as pleasure shoots through your body with each body lurching thrust.

“You’re right,” Hongjoong plants a soft kiss behind your ear, still holding on to your neck as his hand on your hips moves between your legs, fingertips lingering along the skin before circling at your clit “, you do look good in everything, even with my fingers around your throat”.

“Maybe even better down my throat” You smirked, a devilish grin carving into your face as you turn around, pulling Hongjoong’s face down for a harsh kiss as he slaps his hips in you.

You couldn’t help but push your ass further back, letting Hongjoong slam his cock deeper and harder into you with each thrust. Your mind slowly thickens with lust and senseless thoughts as Hongjoong rubs your clit in pace with his thrusts, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as you grip the sheets tighter.

“Oh?” Hongjoong cocked a brow, smirking with you before flipping you on to your back, spitting at your pussy before sliding himself in again, thumb rubbing your clit as your legs wrap around his waist.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust knocking you up and down with pleasure and nerves buzzing in the pit of your stomach. You entwine your fingers with Hongjoong’s before dragging his hand over your stomach to your chest, grabbing your breast with his hand as the other rubs your clit.

“Oh fuckkkk mhmm oh god” Hongjoong rolls your nipple between his fingers, squeezing your breast before sliding it back up to your neck, thumb swiping across your bottom lip, letting you softly kiss it before wrapping your lips around it.

Your eyes only roll back further when Hongjoong quickens his pace, making you tighten your legs around his waist, trapping him as sounds of skin slapping against skin grows louder. Your back arches off the bed in response to Hongjoong grabbing both sides of your hips, rutting himself into you at a relentless speed.

It was almost as if he was trying to dig deeper, thrusting harder into you as your jaw was left hanging, inaudible moans trying so hard to escape with each thrust sparking something new in your body. All rational thought flew out of your head as your mind was left on nothing but soaking in a puddle immense pleasure and bliss.

“Yesyes- oh fuck yes” Your face scrunches in pleasure as your brows furrowed deeply, cupping your breasts in your hands as you look down to Hongjoong pounding himself into you.

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched hard, on the brink of breaking as he grunts through gritted teeth, slamming his hips faster into you with his hands keeping you in place. It felt like confetti exploding in the pit of your stomach with each thrust bringing you closer to a high much more than just confetti, nerves buzzing into a firework ready to combust at any given moment.

“F-Faster mhmmfuckk” Hongjoong shoots you a glaring stare with his hooded eyes, smirking with his parted lips.

Your legs couldn’t hold around Hongjoong anymore, sliding off like jelly as your toes curl with every passing second. And with each of those seconds, you could feel it coming, the way your heart threatened to jump out of your chest at any moment and the way your back arched with each static euphoria coursing through your veins ready for combustion.

“Yes! Yesyes oh god! Yes- mmphhhmmfuckk!” It felt like you’ve lasted forever until the ball of buzzing nerves in the pit of your stomach finally flooded throughout your body, filling every inch with nothing but toe-curling, eye-rolling blissful euphoria and pleasure. Hongjoong groaned as he felt your warm release around his cock, desperate to chase his own high while fucking you senseless.

“Ohhhh god- fuckk” Your legs tremble as Hongjoong pulled out quickly, removing his hand from your hip to pump at his throbbing twitching cock above your stomach, gazing into your eyes before landing down for a kiss.

“Mhmmfuck ohmygod-” Hongjoong groaned against your lips, body twitching as you felt his warm release spew onto your stomach, panting like crazy with each kiss stealing another breath of air.

“All out, baby, all out” A hand cups one side of Hongjoong’s face as you wrapped your other hand around his cock, milking the rest of his high out as he heavily drops his head into your neck, panting as if it were his last.

Hongjoong’s cock twitches in the palm of your hands, droplets of cum still dripping onto your stomach as his legs collapse. You smeared the rest of his cum over the tip of his cock, thumb swiping over the slit before Hongjoong lifts his face again.

“You’re fucking amazing” It was a mere whisper but you could hear him clearly over the pounding sounds of your heartbeats.

“Clean me up before you go complimenting me” You swiftly steal a peck on Hongjoong’s lips before pressing your palm against Hongjoong’s chest, pushing him up onto his knees.

“How is this supposed to make me sleep when I just want more now?” Hongjoong yanks a few layers of tissues from the box on the bedside table, catching his releasing into the tissue before carefully trapping it with another layer of tissue.

“More? Oh god, you’re awake awake” You chuckle, running a hand through your hair as Hongjoong collapses on his back beside you.

“It was your idea”

“But did it work though?”

“You mean, do I want to sleep now?”

“Yeah, do you?”

“With you? Definitely” Hongjoong opens his arms for you to snuggle closer, fingers drawing little shapes on your shoulder when you lay your head on his chest.

“Snnggff-” It was quite amusing how Hongjoong managed to hide his secret cheesy persona.

“Wait, I can’t. This is weird”

“What’s weird?”

“This is Yunho’s bed”

#ateez smut #hongjoong smut #kpop smut #180knet #fanfiction #smut:hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #ateez fanfics #kpop fanfics #kim hongjoong #ateez imagines #kpop imagines

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obscureoperations · 3 years

Note

ok feel free to delete this if you aren't into blood play cuz I know its not everyone's cup of tea

but.

I was thinking about a scenario where Martin agrees to be tormented when he's gotten really hungry. tie him up, make sure he knows the rules, establish a safe word. basically the scenario involves teasing Martin with your own blood and making it so he can't get to it to drink, but also pushing and teasing him about the fact you're bleeding and he's hungry and all he really has to do is safe word and he can drink. but he's a good boy, so he won't. and you know he won't.

(of course this involves a lot of trust and intermittent check ins to make sure he is truly okay in the moment which brings out the intimacy here (yes. intimate blood play. it makes sense leave me alone))

telling him to keep his eyes on the cut in your finger as it drips blood down onto his chest. not letting him look away. reminding him how hungry he must be and telling him to not struggle and keep his eyes on you.

by the end of the scene hes crying and in a real deep headspace. ignoring his most important need. for you. all because you told him to.

(of course afterwards he gets taken care of all sweet n stuff :) )

I'm actually not opposed.. not at all! I love the detail.. and I really tried to do this justice to no avail. This is one of the premises that I can see myself coming back to. Trying to turn it from word vomit into an actual story!

Stray tears continue to trickle past his hairline, seeping into the thousand thread count pillow..Cheeks burning with shame.. Martin’s eyes remain fixated on the ceiling--the thin jagged crack that starts at the fan all the way to the far corner of your room. He felt heavy, nearly saturated with guilt the moment you began to ‘take care of him’. Your fingers gripped his thighs with an almost otherworldly force, as you pin his slight hips to the bed. Questions of who he belonged to.. What was his name… why exactly should he be apologizing.

Martin was still at you kept him tethered to the edge of delirium. Lips moving over his flesh in a way that reminded him that you still cared-- Teeth gently nipping at his neck tongue laving over his racing pulse. His mouth was dry, the gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach was almost unbearable. The coppery scent was unmistakable, it curled at his nostrils causing him to swoon. The smell was unique, almost spicy-- everything about it was decidedly you. He would catch glimpses of the heady aroma when you would accidentally nick yourself preparing dinner. Or that one time when you fell off your bike skinning your knee.

His hands were numb, wrists tied to the bedposts, he had no idea where you managed to acquire the rope. His legs were extended towards the edge of the bed, slightly parted ankles tethered to the bed. Luckily for him, you decided to spare him some dignity. He was completely bare save for his shorts. Mouth sized bruises adorn his collar, chest and ribs-- all ranging in various colors. Pools of blood began to dry and stick to his skin, he could feel them tighten under the breeze. He was shivering, eyes fixated on the laceration on your arm--he prayed you didn't press in too deep.

He could still taste the tears streaming down your cheeks the moment he crawled in through the window. You were shaking, struggling to contain your sobs.The look on your face practically broke his heart.

“Martin… where were you?”

He momentarily seemed to lose the ability to speak. His eyes remained glued to your angelic face. The tears flowed freely. He never knew you to display any emotion beyond very mild annoyance-- You were shivering, arms wrapped around yourself protectively-- this was something completely new. He messed up.

“Y/n… I’m so sorry..”

“Why not me?”

You had asked him that question every single time. You knew all about his sickness, his actual need for blood. You knew that he couldn’t go to a hospital...he would be locked up forever-- Then why not you?

He claimed that you were far too precious to him. If he ever hurt you “He would die”

This was far worse, he had been doing so well-- You were on the verge of full blown panic whenever you could hear police sirens in the distance.

Martin knew what he was doing, he was quick on his feet, there was very little reason you should fear for his safety. But still, what if he messed up and made a mistake. You would never forgive yourself if something happened to him.

So he agreed. If anything to regain your trust-- and hopefully make amends. The safe word was “silk” ; he could use it at any time when things became too much. He wasn’t allowed to drink from you until you explicitly tell him it’s okay.

He had no idea what he was getting into, he nearly used the word the moment you picked up the blade.You winced ever so slightly as the steel pierced your skin--the ropes were the only thing stopping him from wrapping you in his arms. You didn’t have to hurt yourself for him. The blood began to pool down your arm, he wanted to scream. You seem almost mesmerized for a moment yourself as the crimson rivulets begin to drip down your wrist. His eyes remain transfixed, his face grows hot--the stabbing pain in his stomach causing him to wince. “Yn..p-please be careful” he whispers. Was that a warning or a request?

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you poise your arm over his chest-- squeezing gently as a few droplets land against his skin. He hisses sharply, eyes immediately screw shut-- white hot electricity surged up his spine. Every nerve ending set on edge as the coppery scent hits his nostrils

You take your time, painting red washed lines across his chest as his fingers helplessly grasp at the bed posts. He was panting, clearly tenting in his shorts, but he still refused to look at you.

“Martin, open your eyes..”

He shakes his head, images swirling through his mind. He saw mobs chasing him through the city. Torches blazing as he scrambles down cobblestone stairs. He saw the woman on the train laying practically lifeless. He saw the image of you from one of his dreams.

The two of you had very nearly broken up--but that was towards the beginning of your relationship. You knew that Martin had nightmares--this was when you first began to discover the depth of his sickness. It started with him talking in his sleep, waking up in tears unaware of his surroundings. It only got worse till one day you woke up in the middle of the night to find him locked in the bathroom sobbing uncontrollably. You begged and pleaded for over an hour for him to just open the door. He refused, he was so scared that he might have hurt you. As it turns out he dreamed that he had actually killed you. It all started from accidentally tasting a stray droplet of your blood. In fact, it was a few days after he had patched up your thumb after your run in with the kitchen knife.

Better than he ever imagined, the taste alone sparked something inside of him. He was so worried that one day he might not be able to contain himself. He was so scared that he might hurt you. You noticed his somber demeanor, but the pieces didn’t click until you found him in the midst of a literal breakdown. You didn’t care, you wanted him with you for the rest of your life. You were certain you could show him how to be good.

“Martin.. It’s okay… please look at me darling”

After a moment, he opens his eyes. Damp lashes cling to porcelain cheeks-- you only wanted to hold him. His gaze gradually moves from your face to the tips of your bloodied fingers, still glistening in the light. His stomach turns, threatening to collapse in on itself as he resumes tugging at the restraints.

“Y/n.. p-please.. We--ah.. We shouldn’t do this…”

Do what… sweetheart?” You coo, painting a crimson line just beneath his lips. In that moment you could have sworn his eyes shone brighter, almost amber under the lamplight. The force of his thrashing causes the bed posts to creak.. Groaning heavily beneath the pressure.

No no no… this was not a good idea everything about you smelled so warm and inviting.

He tries his best to school his face into a pleading expression, tongue darting over cracked lips.

“You should-- just clean up, and untie me.. I feel so much better now. “

“Untie you?” you snort as you trace your fingers over his lips, as he fruitlessly attempts to tilt his head. You can feel him tense as a strange sort of shiver rolls through him.

“And then what are you going to do…”

Tears begin to freely flow down his cheeks as he shakes his head. “N-nothing.. I swear..”

“I know this Martin.. You’re not going to hurt me.. You never would.”

His chest heaves, you could have sworn you feel some of the tension leave his body.

“No.. never!”

“Are you hungry darling?”

“Y-yess” There was something about the raw unfiltered need in his voice that caused something inside to ignite. You were familiar with it sure-- it wasn’t rare that you had him nearly slipping off the bed.

But this was different.

You only wanted to cure him of his nightmares, but in that moment you feared you were making everything worse. You just wanted to show Martin that you trusted him completely. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you even if he tried.

With a shaky hand, he draws your fingers to his lips, keeping the blood stained digits poised directly over his mouth. His breath came out in heated puffs, reminding you of this old rottweiler that used to be chained up in your neighbor’s yard.

You couldn't help but smile to yourself as you weave your fingers through his hair--noting as he leans into your hand. Breath ghosting along your palm--the tip of his nose brushing over the hardened bits of blood. You can feel him inhale deeply, as another shiver shoots through his slight frame. His teeth digs into his bottom lip as he relishes in the brief bits of attention. You continue to whisper to him words of affirmation. Thanking him for behaving so sweetly.

There was always one small vein on his forehead that always seemed more pronounced whenever he was in pain. Martin had migraines, so you saw it alot. He refused to take medicine, in fear that it might “make him loopy” His cheeks were flushed, brows furrowed in agony-- you couldn’t help the sudden pang of guilt. You already knew that Martin would never hurt you… why on earth did you think this was a good idea?

In a haste you reach for the razor, digging it into the palm of your hand. You begin to squeeze at your wrist, urging the blood to flow. You lean in, pressing a kiss against his temple as drops of blood coats your fingertips. You press one of your stained fingers to his mouth

“Martin… drink..”

He shook his head almost violently, pressing his cheek against the pillow. The motion left a bloody streak across his face. He could feel the droplets hardening by the second, his teeth immediately sink into his bottom lip. You were perched atop of him, knees resting against each side of his hips-- you sink down just a bit further. He lets out an audible gasp as your hips rock against his clothed erection-- droplets of blood pool into the dips of his collarbone.

He wanted to die… he truly wanted to die. There was no way that this could possibly be okay. Why would you want him to drink from you? You were so much more than one of his victims, you were his entire life. He valued your livelihood so much more than his own.

He failed to realise he was staring off into space, until your fingertips began to ghost along his jawline

“Sweetheart, are you okay?

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to stop?” you sink back further onto your knees. The sudden bout of friction causes him to shiver.

“Plea- No.. y/n. Don’t stop..”

After a moment, he slowly reaches for your hand, you press your palm directly against his lips. You can still feel the rumbles emanating from his ribs, arms tugging fruitlessly at the restraints. Stray droplets of blood adorn his chest, the crimson stream begins to drip past his cheeks. He was panting, even as you press your fingers through the crack of his lips. Breath seemed to still within his chest.

Tears continued to spill down his cheeks, seeping down into his hairline. Had you actually “broken” your boyfriend? What was wrong? Surely he wasn’t this repulsed by your blood alone.

“Martin.. I’m so sorry..” You whisper suddenly, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling, the crimson rivulets drip past his firmly closed lips.

You continue to weave your fingers through his hair, as his lips slowly part beneath your hand.

Tugging as you whisper against his ear. “ Darling.. Please drink..”

#martin 1977 #martin 1978 #martin mathias #martin/you #martin/reader #bloodtw #blood play #self harm #consentual self harm

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whumpingcrow · 3 years

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Ink Poisoning - Chapter 11

The Art of the Crash

CW: bbu and everything in relation to that, drugs/alcohol (explicit), noncon drug use, aftermath of drug use, vomit mention, food mention, discussion of noncon, dubcon kissing, conditioned/trained responses from whumpee, brief mention of suicide (vague), dehumanizing language/themes (let me know if I missed anything!)

Gio slept well into the afternoon the next day. Nicko let him, he knew from experience with Rory that there was an inevitable crash that followed the highs, and he'd spent quite a few days ignoring her sleeping body on his bed, usually it ended in her getting up only to vomit and then cry to Nicko about how shitty life was. So this time, with Gio, he waited in the bedroom with him until that happened. He finished the painting he'd started the night before. He had to refrain himself from waking Gio up to see it. Then he sat on the floor and sketched more, using Gio's face pressed against his dark pillow case and the dull light of sun through snow clouds dancing across his face as inspiration. He didn't draw the bruises or the hickeys, found himself strangely jealous over them both. He kept the tattoos, because those belonged to him, and Giovanni's adorable crooked tooth, and his messy, wavy hair that splayed out across the pillow and his face. Nicko couldn't wait for him to wake up so he could draw him with bed head.

When Gio finally woke up, it wasn't to throw up or to complain about the nightmare of his life crumbling around him, not that Nicko would've blamed him, but to the sound of some music that Nicko had put on quietly to help him focus, deciding to work on some long put off art assignments. Nicko didn't notice that he woke up, and Gio rubbed his eyes just a little and glanced over Nicko's shoulder to see the bright array of colors across his page, dark marker scribbling purposefully against the paper. He was enthralled for a moment, then he turned his focus up to the large canvas he'd caught a darkened glimpse of last night, and he gasped sharply.

Nicko swiveled around to look at him, eyes blown wide like seeing Gio conscious was jarring. It made him wonder how long he'd been out. "Oh. You're awake."

Gio glanced at him for a second, then turned his attention back to the painting. The painting of him, sleeping in bed, lost in a world of blankets. He pushed himself up to his elbows with a wince. "Is...is that me?" He whispered.

Nicko looked back at the painting in question, smiling bashfully to himself. "Uh, yeah. Yeah you were just...you look nice in my bed." He fought the blush creeping up his cheeks, the embarrassment was uncomfortably new. He didn't know why he was embarrassed, just that suddenly he was the one who couldn't make eye contact with Gio. The switch in dynamic was painfully tangible to both of them, with Nicko on the ground, cheeks rosy and face turned away, and Gio sitting on the bed, looking down at him. With a yawn, Gio pushed the blankets off of him and stood up.

Nicko watched him closely, surprised that he hadn't hurled already. Then, as if on queue, he closed his eyes and swayed forward, bringing his hands up to his head with a groan. Before he can tip over, Nicko is up on his feet next to him, placing strong hands on his shoulders to hold him steady. "Are you ok?"

Gio dropped his hands, blinking a few times before squinting up at Nicko. "Dizzy." He looked a little dazed, his face pale, and Nicko crouched down on the floor, gently pulling him down with him. Gio easily knelt, body soft and easily movable, as always. Once Gio was all the way on the floor, hunched over just a little to make himself smaller, as if he wasn't already pathetically tiny already, Nicko ran his hand up his neck, across his jaw.

"I'm gonna go make you something to eat. Ok? You wait right here."

Gio nodded eagerly, towards Nicko's hand, his huge vacant doe eyes gazing up at him through his curtain of hair. Nicko had been right, his curly hair was framing his head in a dark halo, and he had a sudden sense of urgency to get some food in him so he could draw him. Nicko smiled at him, patting his head softly as he stood straight.

Salem was in the kitchen when Nicko came out, and they both froze awkwardly in their places when they saw each other. Nicko nodded at him as he passed, opening the fridge and grabbing a bowl of fruit and a protein shake, then deciding last minute to also palm a bottle of water. When Nicko shut the fridge, Salem was standing a couple feet away watching him.

"He woke up?" Salem asked.

"Yeah. I think he's ok, just hungry." Nicko hesitated, they both looked at each other, then away, then Nicko sighed. "You wanna come? I think he'd like to see you."

Salem lit up just a little, straightening his posture and smiling to himself. "Sure."

When the door opened, Gio flinched upright from where he'd been leaning over just a little, looking at Nicko's sketchbook, at the cartoonish portrait of a woman he had been drawing. He turned to see Nicko standing in the doorway, Salem a couple steps behind him. Gio couldn't help the smile that spread across his face.

They both came in and joined him on the floor. Nicko opened the bowl of fruit and set it in front of Gio, but he wasn't paying much attention, watching Nicko's face apprehensively. He knew from observing that Salem and Nicko weren't particularly fond of each other, he'd heard them fighting before, and he was a little worried to show any attention to Salem in case it came across as disloyal. He couldn't afford anymore mistakes, when it came to Nicko.

Nicko sensed it, and opened the water bottle and forced it into Gio's hand as he said, "Salem was waiting for you to wake up like a kid on Christmas. He missed you."

Salem laughed awkwardly, shifting where he sat. "Yeah. It sucked not having anyone to show my lame music to."

Gio was grinning ear to ear at them both, but he said nothing. Truthfully, he didn't really understand what they were talking about, didn't remember what Christmas or lame meant, but he was happy to have them speaking to him anyway. Salem only stayed for a few minutes, then he told them he had to get to class. When he said goodbye to Gio, he gave him a soft pat on the top of the head, like Nicko kept doing, and Gio smiled up at him as he left. Nicko wondered why Salem wasn't Gio's favorite. He was at least nice.

Once he was gone, Nicko picked up a block of fruit, mango maybe, and gently coaxed it into Gio's mouth since he hadn't eaten any yet. Then he reached for his sketch book and his pencils, moving so he was squared up to Gio, who looked a little nervous when Nicko's pencil started scratching across the paper.

"So you were with Rory, huh?" Nicko asked. He kept his tone light, he knew that Gio was anxious enough around him already, could see his face get a little more horrified every time Nicko's voice was a little too loud, too harsh.

He nodded stiffly, only once, then moved very slowly to eat a strawberry. He knew Nicko was drawing him, he was trying to be as still as he could be. He was too cute.

"And how was that?"

Nicko thought he heard Giovanni huff in disdain at the question, and he looked up to see his face screwed up in a tight frown, like it pained him to think about. Nicko sighed, then kept drawing.

"You can tell me as much or as little as you want, Gio. It's just...you don't look too good. I just want to know how she hurt you so I can help." His pencil froze on the paper when Gio reached up and covered his eyes for a second, then he hastily dropped them back to his lap like he remembered he was supposed to be sitting still.

"She told me she was gonna bring me back," he whispered, voice trembling painfully as he thought back to that day, how stupid he was, "she wouldn't tell me where we were going, but she just kept saying she would bring me back before anyone noticed I was gone."

"Ben called me right after you left, I think."

Gio frowned at him. The entire time he'd been wishing that Ben would come out and stop Rory from taking him, and he had called Nicko right after he left? Why did he wait? Gio bit back his frustrated tears, then continued on.

"We went to this guys house. Oscar." Gio flinched as the name passed his lips, then shook his head to himself. "The entire time we were driving she was drinking and smoking, and so I was too. I tripped at some point and made my nose bleed, so he let us in so Rory could clean me off. Then she was talking about...about buying something. From Oscar."

Nicko knew the name, he'd met him only once before, but he knew that he was huge and even more of an asshole than Nicko was. He was the one Rory always went to for her hard shit, which Nicko hated so he hadn't accompanied her after the first time. He stopped drawing altogether, setting his sketchbook down and moving closer to Gio, who was now shaking all over.

"She didn't have enough money, I guess, and uh...um." He couldn't look at Nicko anymore, turning his head away from him completely. He couldn't bare to see Nicko's face when he admitted to the horrible, unfaithful things he did. Giovanni knew he belonged to Nicko and only Nicko, and he was absolutely disgusted in himself for having allowed Oscar or Rory or the motel owner or any of the others to do what they did to him. "He wanted her t-to pay a different way."

"Oh, shit, Gio."

"Only she didn't want to," he continued, "and she was scared, and I didn't want her to be scared so...so when she asked me to do it instead, I-I did."

Nicko was stunned into silence, eyes instinctively dropping to the mess of hickeys all over Gio's frail neck. It was heartbreaking, thinking of Gio feeling the need to protect Rory like that, especially when he was the one that needed protection. It was even more heartbreaking to think of him under Oscar, who Nicko had no doubt had ripped Gio to shreds with their size difference.

Gio was only more frightened at Nicko's lack of reply. Silence meant anger, silence meant that Master was thinking very hard, something Gio was too stupid to do, and more often than not, silence meant brutal, meticulously planned punishment. So Gio did what he was best at: he started to beg.

"Sir, I'm so sorry, I know I'm yours, I shouldn't have ever let them touch m-me." He looked up at Nicko, then his composure broke and he let out a tiny whimper before crawling over to him. "L-Let me make it up to you, sir. Please, use me, let m-me be good for you. Please le-let me-"

"Gio, stop." Nicko was flustered by Gio crawling right up between his legs, trailing his trembling fingers over Nicko's leg suggestively. But all of it was happening rather quickly, too quickly for Nicko to react well, and Gio was freaking out, for whatever reason, so all he could do was sit still. And what was this "them" that Gio was talking about? Had it not just been Oscar that Rory handed the box boy over to? He wanted to ask, but he couldn't form the words, not when Gio was on his knees inbetween Nicko's legs.

"P-please! Please, sir. Wan-wanna be useful." Now his hand was brushing tentatively at his belt, over his zipper, and then Nicko reached down and snatched his wrist up tightly in his hand before he went any lower. Gio gasped, snapping his head up to look at Nicko. He was closer than either of them had realized, now that they were face to face they were inches apart. Gio's eyes were glazed over with something Nicko hadn't ever seen before, something that made them soft and dulled down more so than usual, but simultaneously had a sad glimmer of tears over it. Nicko had thought the huge, spaced out gaze Gio did at him sometimes was his version of puppy dog eyes, but that paled in comparison to the way he was looking at him now. Nicko would never admit it out loud, but it drove him absolutely crazy, to have someone looking at him with such gentle desperation.

"Stop calling me sir." Nicko instructed after a moment of silence. Gio didn't break his gaze, he only blinked a few times, and then he nodded. "I want you to say my name, when you beg like that. Alright?"

Giovanni melted in Nicko's grip, leaning forward just a little closer. "Nicko..." he breathed, and that was all it took. Nicko dropped his wrist and took his face in both of his hands, drawing a small whimper from him.

"I don't want to take your clothes off or use you, or anything like that." He whispered, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead against Gio's. "I just want to...try something. For one second. Ok, Giovanni?"

"Please, Nicko."

Gio held his breath right before Nicko kissed him, focusing on keeping himself still and soft and good for Nicko, but it all went out the window once their lips were actually pressed together. Gio had been burning for this since the first time Nicko had kissed him, but he was too afraid to ask and Gio always seemed to make him regret it anyways, so he didn't think there was much use hoping for it. And here he was, with Nicko holding him close, kissing him, just kissing him, and he was so nervous he was going to mess it up and not be good enough at it to make Nicko want him.

Nicko pulled away from him after only a couple of seconds, he laughed when Gio huffed in obvious displeasure. But he was calmer now, not panicking and calling him "sir" and saying all of those...other...disturbing things. So Nicko was satisfied.

"I seriously think you should eat, darling." He trailed his fingertips over Gio's jaw as he spoke, slowly pulling his hands away. "I'm worried you're gonna blow away if we go outside."

Gio sank back to sit down where he had been, picking up the bowl of fruit again and watching his hands tremble as he picked up another piece of the sweet orange-ish fruit Nicko gave him earlier. He couldn't force himself to put it in his mouth, knew he wouldn't be able to chew and swallow over the huge lump in his throat. Why didn't Nicko want him? Why wasn't Gio good enough for him? Maybe it was arrogant of him to think he was good enough, he should be humble, he should just keep trying harder until he actually was. But truthfully it wasn't hurtful because he thought he felt deserving, it was hurtful because he was scared. He wasn't good enough for his old master, he wasn't good enough for Rory, he wasn't even good enough to keep his old life. And he loved Nicko so, so, painfully much, he had finally found somewhere mostly safe and his master was perfect and if he wasn't good enough again then maybe Rory was right, and he should just give up, find a way out, like she said.

Nicko got a little freaked out at the way he could physically see Gio's crash start, he was a little unnerved to see his posture sink in a little, his throat bobbing up and down as he tried not to cry. He could see his thoughts spiraling, realizing that, damn, life kind of sucks, and it kind of always has and what if always does? By now, Rory would be a blubbering mess.

As if reading Nicko's mind, Gio started to sniffle, trying again to press the fruit to his lips, still unable to bite. If he opened his mouth, he might make a noise, and he just wanted to stop messing up already. But then, Nicko was sitting in front of him, gently grabbing his hand and taking the mango away from him, setting it back in the bowl for him. Then he grabbed Gio and pulled him into his lap, holding him close.

"You're ok, Gio." He told him. "I know, it hurts, I know, but I'm here, I've got you."

Giovanni let out a soft mewl, trying without much strength to squirm out of the comforting arms. He was terrified of the gentleness he so obviously didn't deserve, knew it could easily be used against him later. "I was so soft with you earlier," the warm body would say, "Don't you want me to do that again? I will, if you do this for me."

But this wasn't just a warm body, it wasn't his old Master, it wasn't the couple of guards who would visit his cold, concrete cell late at night long after training was over, it was Nicko. And Nicko didn't even want him in that way. Why didn't Nicko want him that way? "Nicko, please please u-use me. I-"

"Shh, Gio. I don't want to do that to you."

"Why?!" He sobbed out, fingers tightening into tight fists around Nicko's shirt. "Why d-don't you w-wa-want me?!"

Nicko gasped at his outburst, reflexively tightening his grip around him just a little. "Giovanni...I...shit. It's not about what I want, it's just that it would be, uh, different, with you. Like it wouldn't be the same as sex with a regular person cause you're uh...trained for it."

Just like that, the boy grew rigid and stopped shaking, leaning away from Nicko as much as he could. He just had to be reminded of his place, that was all. Nicko didn't want him because Nicko was a person, and Gio wasn't. Maybe Nicko just wanted him as something to practice art on, whether it be with the tattoo gun or painting him on a canvas or sketching him in his little notebook. As much as that hurt Gio, to know that he wasn't human enough for Nicko to want him back, he could live with being useful in that way for him.

"I'm sorry," Gio looked away from Nicko and up at the huge painting of him a few feet away. Nicko had done a wonderful job on it, he made Gio look small and pale and broken, like he was and felt he always would be. But Nicko had also done a good job of showcasing Gio as alone, swimming in an ocean of black fabric, isolated and untouched and useless. Like he was, and felt he always would be. "That was...out of line. I'm sorry."

"Gio, c'mon. Don't... Don't be all sad now. I do like you, I really do. I think you're the cutest thing ever." He reached out and grabbed onto a piece of his hair, twisting it somewhat playfully. "And you're a real good kisser, too. Honestly." Gio looked up at him, and Nicko grinned at him, trying to elicit some sort of positive reaction. Finally, Gio cracked a small, halfhearted smile, dropping his shoulders from how tense he was. "But I don't want to have sex with you cause it...you know, it means something different to us. You understand?"

Gio nodded slowly, forcing himself to take a deep, ragged breath. "Yeah, I understand."

Nicko leaned forward just a little and placed a soft kiss into his hair. "Good boy," he mumbled, "now eat your fruit so I can finish drawing you, yeah?"

The smile on Gio's face was genuine that time around, and he sat a little straighter. "Yes, Nicko." So Gio sat still, he watched Nicko scribble against his paper while glancing up at him every so often, and he ate his fruit. It wasn't what he wanted to do, but that didn't matter, he did it because he was told to, because Nicko wanted him to. Gio had once been told, in training, that as long as his master is happy, he should be to. He was seriously starting to wonder if he was broken, because it was seeming like he couldn't be happy at all, even as Nicko smiled at him over his notebook.

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magnoliasinbloom · 4 years

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Lie To Me - 6

There is room for secrets, but not for lies. Is there a place for their love?

A/N: Last chapter was really short, so as promised, here’s the next one early.

AO3 :: Previously

TW: Assault

Jamie races towards the noise, a scuffle and yelps coming from an alley nearby. He comes upon a stocky man dressed in dark clothes who is pawing at Claire, simultaneously trying to yank her purse away from her and put his hands on her breasts. Claire is valiantly kicking out at the man who is a head shorter than her, while attempting to scratch the man’s eyes out.

Jamie sees red. His Viking berserker heritage kicks in and he charges into the fray, arms swinging. He is not so far gone that he does not protect Claire from the blows he administers. His Sassenach stumbles further down the alley, cowering. Jamie delivers strong uppercut punches to the man’s stomach, until he is laid flat on the dirty pavement gasping for air. He slams his fist one more time into the attacker’s face, knocking him unconscious.

He thinks quickly if he should phone the police, but when he glimpses Claire trembling against the rough brick wall, all thoughts except her are erased. Jamie approaches slowly, hands extended, making sure she understands he means her no harm.

Claire sees Jamie, backlit and tiptoeing towards her, and know she is safe now. She pushes away from the dingy wall and hurls herself into his arms, finally letting the adrenaline surge through her and leave relief and tears in its wake. Jamie holds her carefully, unsure if she is hurt, but making soft shushing noises and stroking her neck.

“Mo nighean donn, ye’re alright. Dinna fear, dinna fash. I’m here.” His breath makes white clouds in the air; she sobs unabashedly into his shirt, clutching him wildly. He leads her away from the alley, making sure her attacker is out for the count. He surreptitiously dials Willie Coulter and gives brief instructions on where to find the piece of shit. Willie can make it go away—it’s what he does, and he’s good at his job.

“Your hands.” Claire speaks for the first time in the whole ordeal, and it’s to notice that he is slightly injured. She doesn’t question what he was doing on that street in the first place.

Jamie glances down at his knuckles; they’re only a bit cut and bloodied. “I think that’s mostly not my blood. Dinna mind that now, Sassenach. I’ll call a company car. Would ye have me take ye home, or anywhere else? Do ye want me to walk ye back to the hospital? Where is Geillis?”

“No, no, I—she was going to her parents’ for dinner. I’m fine, really, he didn’t… I mean, he couldn’t—” Her voice broke and her hands were clenched into fists.

Jamie pulls off his own coat and drapes it over her shivering shoulders. “Sassenach, are ye alright? I do think the hospital might—”

“No, please, I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

“My flat’s nearby. Is that alright?”

X-x-X

His coat on her is huge and all-encompassing, with its scratchy wool surface but warm inner lining; it smells of Jamie and she burrows deeper into it, while its owner has his arm around her and then she starts shaking uncontrollably.

“Sassenach, what’s wrong? What can I do?” Jamie’s voice is anxious.

“I-I-I—I’m going into shock.” Her voice is strangely detached and she observes her hands tremble uncontrollably. She has the most unholy urge to laugh, to whoop and cackle until the lead weight in her stomach dissolves and she can feel like herself again.

“We’re here, mo nighean donn. Let me help you out.”

The walk up to his flat was a lopsided, heavy-footed affair, with Jamie propping her up as she continued to shiver and small giggles burst from her mouth. Jamie eyes her oddly, but chooses (wisely) not to comment.

Inside, Jamie practically carries her to the plushest couch, a grey suede behemoth that is cold beneath her scrub-clad legs. He pours her a generous helping of whisky, neat, and presses the cut glass tumbler into her hands. “Here, drink this. It should help.” He hisses suddenly and pulls away, the scraped skin of his knuckles stinging.

“Do you have a first-aid kit?” Claire tries to stand, but Jamie places a hand on her shoulder gently. “Let me see that.”

“’Tis nothing. I’ll wash my hands at the sink. They willna spoil for the keeping. I’ll put the kettle on for tea. Do ye need anything else?” When she shakes her head, he smiles briefly and goes to the kitchen, flipping lights on as he goes.

Claire takes in the ambience of his flat—dark colors, from wood to drapes to upholstery, seemingly sterile and almost unlived in. Like a flat for realtor showings, nothing seems quite real or ideal. There are striking geometric prints on the walls, but nothing that speaks of a home.

When he returns, Jamie senses her trepidation and shrugs apologetically. “I’m no’ really here much. I spend most of my time at the office.”

“So what were you doing… there? At the hospital?” Claire asks, unwilling to remember just yet what transpired in that alley but realizing Jamie had to have been there for her, wanting to hear the words from his lips.

He rucks up the back of his hair abashedly, suddenly finding his wingtips very interesting. “I think ye can guess. I was hoping to see ye, mo nighean donn.”

“That’s lovely,” she says, remembering his note.

“Lovely? That I’m obviously stalking ye outside yer workplace?” Jamie frowns playfully.

“No,” Claire responds softly, “the other bit. The one about me being your brown-haired girl. In Gaelic.”

“Och, aye.” Now Jamie’s face flares bright red to match his hair. “My parents made sure Jenny and I were fluent. It was important to them that we… I meant every word.” The silence that befalls this declaration is interrupted by the kettle’s shrill whistle. “Tea. I’ll go. Stay, please.”

Claire nods and watches him step into the kitchen. Standing, the coat now forgotten on the couch, she wanders around the flat, hoping he won’t mind; it’s not like she’s intruding in his very bedroom. She is thinking of his hands—his very strong, capable, injured hands, that saved her earlier. Maybe he has a first-aid kit somewhere; she will ask and insist he let her tend to him.

There is a tinkling of crockery coming from the kitchen, noise of cupboards opening and closing, Jamie humming off-key. She is glad she doesn’t have to be alone. Claire peruses the mahogany bookshelf, still clutching the whisky. She takes note of the books displayed there, wishing she had more time to devote to reading. She traces a finger over the spines and stops when the glint of glass catches her eye. There’s something tucked behind the books.

Before she can think of what she’s doing, she reaches behind the stack of hardcovers and paperbacks and pulls out a picture frame. At first, her brain doesn’t quite register what she’s seeing; it’s all just a blur of white and black, but then she can clearly define red hair and a shorter head of blonde locks. Claire starts shaking violently again; her heart slams in her throat and she’s afraid she might vomit.

It’s Jamie’s wedding picture.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #ltm6 #here we gooooo

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byunbaekby · 4 years

Text

One Day (PM 01:27)

Pairing: Reader x ex!Doyoung Summary: You’ve never been able to let Doyoung go. He remains in your heart though you can’t erase him, your memories that you can’t let go of. He lives in your books, though you try to ignore his presence. And now, he stands before you to remind you of that time you’ve lost. Word Count: 2.6k Author’s Note: Please enjoy this t h i n g that I wrote at one in the morning because Replay (PM 01:27) came on, and I’ve always loved that song. I’ve always felt like, although it’s kind of disco-y and upbeat, it had a deeper sadder meaning. So here is my word vomit, inspired by one of my favorite NCT 127 songs :)

Your break-up wasn’t supposed to be a break up.

Initially, it was just a break.

Fresh out of college with your undergrads, drowning in debt and lacking in love, you told your boyfriend of three years, Kim Doyoung, that you needed a break. You had simply grown apart, and needed time to reprocess your relationship. Being the understanding man you knew him to be, he obliged.

You had expected it to last a week or two, maybe a month. But Doyoung had packed his necessities from your shared apartment and, with a kiss on your forehead, left for Taeyong's place, promising to be back whenever you needed. But he never came back.

You didn’t really know what it was that kept you from calling him.

Perhaps it was that you were a writer. Your head in the clouds and your emotions always running wild, you constantly overthought every single detail of your relationship. You would keep telling yourself you needed more time away. That time grew from days, to weeks, to months, until it had been over a year since the last time Doyoung pressed his chapped lips to your skin in a chaste kiss.

Perhaps it was that Doyoung, as a law student, was far too emotionless and had no qualms giving you your infinite space, even as your relationship silently disintegrated. He respected your space, told you to reach out to him when you were ready. But you had never been ready.

Perhaps it was just that in your time apart, the love faded. You both came to realize this.

I can't move an inch, I’m still here. Afterimages of you dig into me like vibrations. At the end of the scene of longing that always circles my head. I heard a familiar sound.

It’s been two years since the last time you set foot on Korean soil.

After your break-up with Doyoung, after you came to terms with the fact that you would never collect the courage to pick up the phone and tell him that you made a mistake, you left your home for greener pastures. In other words, the States.

You had minored in English Literature anyways, and felt that you had a greater chance to kickstart your career in a different country. In some ways, perhaps you needed to get away as well. Get away from the craziness of Korea, from the reminders of Doyoung and the life you once shared together that was no longer attainable.

It’s all a lie, for your heart has been in the same place all this time.

Though it’s only been a mere three hours since you’ve stepped off the plane, your luggage tucked away in your hotel room somewhere negligible in your mind, you remember why you never wanted to return. If not for the release of your first Korean novel, you would have never come back.

Because Doyoung is everywhere.

You see him as you turn the corner, thinking you catch a glimpse of that ugly old car he had always insisted on keeping.

You feel him as you walk down the crowded street bustling with people in the afternoon, clutching your hand tightly to prevent losing you.

You taste him as you walk past a bar the two of you used to frequent, alcohol on his lips as you tugged him home with giggles on your’s.

And now, as you stand at a crosswalk surrounded by tens of commuting passerbyers, your hands tucked into the pockets of your Burberry trench coat, you hear him.

“Y/N?”

Except you turn and discover that he is real.

Between the passing people, your melody scatters. Just like then, we're facing each other.

“So… How have you been?”

He is first to break the awkward silence. Your hands, cold from both the air conditioning and your trembling nerves, clutch tighter at your cup of tea. You can see it now. Just four years ago, in the comfortable phase of your relationship, you sat with him in the same cafe, in that corner over there and helplessly in love.

Now he offers a tight-lipped smile to you.

“Fine.”

“Seems like you’re doing more than fine. I… I’ve seen your name on the news. And writer’s lists, your work is doing really well.” You would have never thought that he’d seen your writing. It was all in English, a language you didn’t remember him being too proficient in.

“I guess,” is your response. To anyone, you would have sounded indifferent, uninterested in a conversation with your ex.

A pregnant silence grows between you. Now, it is not Doyoung who is emotionless and stone-faced, but you. He had always been the rock in your relationship—you were infinitely falling apart in emotion and he was always putting you back together. Now, you are stone cold and he is reaching out to you.

“You still don’t drink coffee.” No, you don’t. You had always despised it.

“And you still drink your cafe latte with caramel drizzle.” This brings a soft smile to his face, as if amused by the fact that you could still recall such memories from your mind. What he doesn’t know is that you had spent almost three years away from him trying to banish these thoughts from your mind. You didn’t want to remember, yet he forever remained like an echo in your brain.

“Yeah,” Doyoung starts. “Some things don’t change after all.” Oh, but they do. Everything has changed, except perhaps your preference in drinks.

Another silence.

He looks healthy. He doesn’t look like a man who had been blindsighted and left in the dark by his long term girlfriend and lover. His face is more defined, no longer softened by the image of youth. Shoulders broadened. Hair done. He dons a suit, pricey as you can recall the brand. But he’s still Doyoung, the man you had been in love with since you laid eyes on him at eighteen years old.

“I’m a lawyer now.” You hadn’t even thought to ask him about his whereabouts. How rude, you scold yourself.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Finished law school a year ago. I didn’t really want to but… Taeyong encouraged me to finish what I already started. I work at Jaehyun’s dad’s firm now.”

“Oh. That’s… nice.”

You wonder fleetingly if you sound uninterested, because you’re not. It’s quite the opposite.

You’re amazed.

Unable to prevent the river of memories that hit you, you relish in it instead. Doyoung hunched over his books for hours; Doyoung stressing over his law school applications, even though you had assured him multiple times that he would be accepted with flying colors; Doyoung always debating with you over the simplest topics, and you laughing to tell him that he’d make the perfect lawyer, always so argumentative. The only time he hadn’t argued was when you told him to leave.

Another silence, except this time, it is you who breaks it.

“I’m proud of you.”

A softness falls over Doyoung’s eyes which are typically always so guarded.

“Thank you.”

Old memories, frozen times. Songs we listened to together. You and I, it's clear like it was yesterday.

“You hate it!”

“No… I never said that, baby.” You stare at him with narrowed eyes and a pout on your lips. The two of you are sitting on your bed in your PJs, it is nearly two in the morning. In his hands, your boyfriend holds the first draft of your first short story.

Though he tries to keep a straight face for half a second, he soon bursts into laughter, tilting his head back. With an indignant grunt you snatch the papers from him.

“You’d be a horrible lawyer, you’ve got horrible resolve,” you frown, clutching the papers close to your chest with a pout.

“Baby,” he says, remnants of his laugh from earlier still present in his voice. “It’s not poorly written.” As he speaks, you tuck the papers into the drawer of your nightstand and instead tuck yourself into his arms. “It’s just cliche, I mean, her parents are dead from a drunk driving car accident? She falls in love with a boy after they get paired for a project together? This is K-drama central.”

“It was the best I could do,” you mumble into his chest as he pulls you close in bed, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Thank you for your best.” Even when he is making fun of you, you feel the sincerity in his words. He never means to hurt you; that is Doyoung. He is brash and serious, sometimes too serious to the point where you don’t know when he’s joking, but he never means to cause you any pain. “But I know you’ll be better one day. And one day, I’ll read every single one of your books. I promise, and you know I’m a lawful man!”

One day. One day with Doyoung, you can see it already. “Yeah, one day when you’re the top lawyer at the firm and I’m a famous author.” You grin, tearing from his chest to shoot him a bright smile. “People will pay you billions to have you protect them, and I’ll be picking out stars for my first movie… Song Joongki will do.” This brings a giggle from your throat.

He presses his lips to your forehead, a trademark of his.

“Sounds like a plan, love. One day.”

We were so perfect and it hasn’t faded. I want to turn back time.

Though the two of you are standing in the middle of the sidewalk, surrounded by a bustling crowd of people and noise which never seems to cease, the silence is overwhelming.

It’s the same silence that lingered between you for years following your “break,” because neither of you were willing to smash it. Smash the wall between you, one that had been erected without either of your knowledge. The two of you have changed, have grown, have become adults. Yet it seems you are still both afraid.

He walks you to the crosswalk that you had earlier met at. As you are waiting for the light to turn green to allow your journey across the street, Doyoung produces something from inside his suit jacket.

It is your book, the first with its phonetics written in Korean, your mother tongue. It had only been released yesterday.

“I just finished reading this, on my lunch break, when I saw you.”

Does he know? Does he know that it is your story? A story of love, of the love that never asked but never ended. A question mark on the end of a seven year long story, never to have an ending? A couple that falls in love, falls apart, and moves on. Life doesn’t have happy endings, after all.

“You read it?” “Of course. I promised I’d read all your books.” The thought makes your heart lurch, but rather than lean away from him, it reaches out to him.

“Thank you for today. I know it was sudden, but thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to have coffee with me.. Miss famous author.” You look up to him and he has a slight smile curving on his lips.

“Any time, Doie.” The name catches him off guard, but he tightens his lips and smiles. You mirror it.

Yet another silence grows and you almost wish you could live the rest of your lifetime without ever thinking, writing, or experiencing that word ever again.

The look that Doyoung has on his face is stoic. You want him to say it, you know he has something unsaid. It almost feels as though he has dug it from within him after three years. You know it. Say it, you want to urge him in your head.

“Have a good life, Y/N.” It is a goodbye, a final closing on your story which had been left open-ended for so many years. The thought makes you want to cry. Just hours ago you had stepped off the plane, thinking that you were perfectly content in this new life you had grown without Kim Doyoung. Now, the thought of living without him causes your heart to tighten painfully.

“You too, Doyoung.”

The light turns green. You turn your back to him.

Like Doyoung had done at your request a number of years ago, you walk away.

Our hearts that connected one by one. Our hearts that beat toward each other. In this moment, we want the same dream.

You’ve counted twenty steps when you can’t walk any further. Frantically you turn around, and search for his disappearing head in the crowd of people.

No, you can’t allow him to walk away. Not again.

“Doyoung!” You yell, but he can’t hear you. The silence is deafening.

Though the light on the crosswalk has now turned red, you sprint across. You cannot lose sight of him, you cannot allow yourself to lose him once again.

“Doyoung!” Please.

You have found him. He is walking, his eyes to the ground and your book in his hands. You have to find it—the courage, the voice within you to call out to him.

You love him.

“Kim Doyoung!” He stops. He’s heard you.

Doyoung stops in his tracks and turns over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. You were supposed to be gone, you were supposed to walk away on the crosswalk back to your hotel and out of his life once again. But no, you were standing here before him with panting breaths and tears in your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” There, you have said it. You are sorry for letting go. You are sorry for allowing your relationship to dissipate into thin air and nothingness. You are sorry for running away, and for never being able to say it until now. “I love you, I love you so much. I’ve never stopped loving you. I tried to ignore it and pretend I didn’t, and pretend that I didn’t care when you never came back from Taeyong’s. I pretended I didn’t care when I threw out the stuff you left behind, I pretended it didn’t hurt me when I stepped on that plane.” Your tears are free-falling now, and suddenly you feel Doyoung’s large hands on your cheeks, cupping them as your book falls to the ground. How foolish you must look, crying in the middle of the day in the midst of the city, but you don’t care.

“I pretended that I didn’t miss you, I pretended my heart didn’t do a thousand and one flips when you called my name today, I pretended that everything would be okay eventually if I kept ignoring the fact that I couldn’t live without you, because I thought it would be okay one day.”

One day.

“But I don’t want that day to come. That day where I can live without you. I want our one day. The one day where I’m happy and you’re happy and we can live out our dreams that we’ve planned since we were stupid kids in love in college. The one day where we can be okay again... Doyoung, I want you. I want your one day and the rest of your days.” Your voice catches in your throat. To be able to admit aloud verbally, to both him and yourself, it makes you cry even harder.

You hadn’t noticed until now that your tears were matched by his. God, you love him so much.

“Okay,” Doyoung manages, voice low as his shaky breath touches your lips. “Today.”

Cause I just want to be, I just want to be loved.

#nct #nct 127 #doyoung #kim doyoung #nct doyoung #doyoung fanfic #doyoung imagine #doyoung angst #doyoung fluff #nct angst #nct fanfic #nct imagine #this turned out a LOT longer than i planned #but whooop

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