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saulocept · 1 year

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are u gonna stay the night?

pairing: sebastian sallow/reader/ominis gaunt [poly]

rating: g

summary: Ominis comes down with the flu, and it’s up to the two of you to make him feel better.

notes: based on an idea sent to me a while back! sorry if it took me too long to get into it, but uh. it’s here now and i hope its ok :) as always, some liberties were taken but uh. yeah

You don’t find him in any of your classes the next morning. You try not to panic at first, ignoring the dread that churns in the pit of your stomach. It’s a strange feeling at first, though you try not to think too much about it. The day’s still not over yet; there’s still a lot of time left for him to show up, and for all you know, he could just be late: staying up late and losing track of the time, or accidentally sleeping in. It’s happened enough times to not seem far-fetched, but it’s a rare enough occurrence to be sort of alarming.

Still, you try not to worry, chalking it up to the late-night antics he and Sebastian frequently get into. Antics. Even the term makes you snort a little, as if the whole thing is just innocent, harmless – the kind of trouble any student could be capable of getting into. But you aren’t stupid; you know it’s just another term for Dark Arts – something no one around here seems too keen to speak about, as if even uttering its name would make it somehow real, happen.

It’s no secret to you. You’ve joined them in their secret lessons a few times, driven more by curiosity than a real desire to harness the power; it doesn’t escape their notice, of course, Sebastian’s especially, and though at one point, you’d expected the revelation to drive a wedge between you, it doesn’t. They don’t tell you off, or kick you out of their little group. The invitations still come and go, waiting for your notice, your approval, though without the urgency that the previous ones seem to have.

Not that you’re complaining, really. You’re just glad everything’s out in the open now, and that it doesn’t ruin your relationship with either of them, or both.

Now all that’s left is to wait for Ominis to arrive. It’s a little hard to focus on your classes when he’s all you could think about. Every once in a while, you find yourself looking up at the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds, wondering what it’ll take for him to finally show up. Breathless, sweaty. Apologetic. Hair ruffled from all that running, hurrying. Cheeks flushed with shame, embarrassment.

Hours pass you by, but still, there’s no sign of him. It gets to the point where it becomes worrying enough that you deliberately skip one of your classes, seeking Sebastian out in the Slytherin common room in search of answers. You’ve been in this place enough times that most of the other students recognize you as his friend. You’d think that being around here often would stop them from giving you odd looks, but for some reason, it never really goes away.

You’ve learned to tune them out by now, pressing onward and pretending they aren’t really there, but you can’t deny that it’s still a little daunting, especially when they’ve never bothered to keep their staring a secret. Still, you know you can’t back out now, not when you want answers.

You find Sebastian sitting on one of the chairs in the corner, flipping through the pages of a spell book. You stop in front of him, waving a hand in front of his face to grab his attention, and he frowns, closes the book and places it on his lap. Seeing that it’s just you, he smiles, stands up.

“Hey,” he says, giving you a small wave in greeting. “What brings you here?”

You don’t waste any more time. “Have you seen Ominis?”

“No,” he says, furrows his eyebrows in confusion. He pauses for a moment, thinking, “He didn’t show up last night at the meeting place, so I’d assumed he’s busy.” He grows quiet again for a second, staring at you thoughtfully: “Isn’t he in your class?”

You shake your head. “He didn’t show up either.” Here, you pause, frowning as you contemplate all the possibilities; none of them seem any good, but you shake your head and bite your lip, trying not to show how worried you feel, knowing it wouldn’t do you any good to panic this early and without reason, “Do you think something’s happened? Should we check in on him?”

“I don’t see any harm in it.” He shrugs. “Where should we go?”

“Let’s start with his room?” you offer, uncertain.

“Okay.” He gives you a nod in return then reaches out to take your hand in his, pulling you along with him. “Let’s go.”

Sebastian guides you through the hallways, his hand never leaving yours. You walk past the other students, who stare at you more oddly now than ever. You catch the question in their eyes, that quiet intrigue, their gazes glued to your interlaced fingers. Ah. You suppose it’s a little surprising to see him this affectionate to someone else, especially someone so new. Like you. Or that he’s so open about it.

You turn your head, chance a glance at your companion. He doesn’t seem to mind, or notice. Or maybe he’s just too focused on something else to care. Instinctively, you press a little closer to him, as though it’d somehow hide you from view, make you invisible.

He squeezes your hand, and you look up at him, unable to hide the surprise on your face. “Don’t mind them,” he says, as though he could somehow read your mind. He’s still not looking at you, his eyes still glued ahead, though you feel his thumb tracing circles on your skin, gentle, reassuring. “They’re just curious.”

“I know,” you say, though your voice is weak, a little uncertain. He gives you a sideways glance, the corners of his lips quirking into a tiny smile.

“It’s okay,” he says soothingly, softly. His thumb is still tracing circles along your skin, almost distracting, “We’re almost there.”

“Okay.”

You find Ominis’s room after a while. It’s not easy work; not that it’s located anywhere hidden or anything, but all the rooms are identical enough that you’re not sure where to knock at first. Even now, you’re still not sure if you’ve stopped by the right room, though you suppose you’ll find out soon enough.

Gently, you rap on the door: three times, just the way you’ve been taught. Some kind of code, just to let him know it’s just you. No response. You try it again, louder this time, thinking he might not have just heard, but the result is the still same. With a frown, you press your ear against the door, but all you hear is silence.

You lean away from the door, turn to face your companion. He’s staring at you with a raised brow, waiting for an answer. You shake your head. “I don’t think he’s here,” you say, glancing worriedly at the door once more, then turn back to look at your companion, biting your lip as you wait for a response, “Should we go in?”

He’s quiet for a moment, lips twisting in an ugly frown. It’s clear he’s worried too, even if he doesn’t say anything about it. He moves toward the door, and you step aside, give him space, opting to watch him instead, curious to see what he’d do. Like you, he gives it a gentle rap: three times, well-used and familiar. No answer. With the frown still on his lips, he reaches out, twists the knob experimentally. It yields easily under his touch, unlocked. He turns to look at you, his gaze half-curious, half-expectant, as if waiting for your permission.

You nod, signal for him to do it. It’s not as if you’ve got much of a choice; you’ve come here for answers, haven’t you? You’ve come here in search of your mutual friend after all, and if it turns out he isn’t here, then at least you’ll have some clues to fall back on. There must be an answer somewhere in his room, even if he isn’t there to provide it.

And if it turns out you’ve visited the wrong room after all, you can always walk away and pretend that nothing’s happened. Sebastian nods back at you, squares his shoulders in preparation before twisting the knob one final time, pushing the door open.

He gives you another glance, then slowly steps inside, gesturing for you to do the same. Carefully, you follow after him, closing the door behind you. It’s not a large room, not very spacious, but it’s still enough for a single person and their belongings. You glance around you, observing your surroundings. It’s a little dark; the curtains are all drawn. The only light comes from the sun outside, spilling through the cracks: soft, almost hazy.

It’s enough to help you navigate around, and you do so with ease, turning your head this way and that as you walk around in search of clues, some answers. Sebastian follows after you, keeping close, though both of you are quiet, too lost in your own thoughts to make conversation, small talks.

You don’t sense anything wrong at first glance. Then again, it’s not as if you’ve been here often enough to know if things are out of place, or where things are supposed to go. Most of your visits here happen only at night, pitch-black and quiet: sneaking in and out, quick and fleeting. You’ve never stayed long; mostly you’ve stayed in Sebastian’s room, because it’s the closest, and he’s the one who arranges most of your meetings, anyway.

Still, you take in as much of the room as you can, certain you’ll find some of your answers here. The room’s a little messy: sheafs of paper scattered carelessly on the desk, weighed down by a half-empty paper cup, forgotten. You wince a little, trying not to gag; it looks like it’s been there a while now – a few days, maybe, perhaps even more, no doubt stale and cold, absolutely disgusting to the tongue.

You turn your head to the side, look at your companion, “Is his room normally this messy?” You keep your voice quiet, soft as a whisper, not wanting to make too much of a sound.

“I’m not sure,” he replies, shrugging. He matches the tone of your voice, whispering as well, “We should keep looking.”

You frown, looking around you once more, “Do you think he’s here?”

He frowns as well, matching the expression on your face, though this time, he doesn’t give you an answer. He walks around the room, poking and prodding, and you follow after him, making sure to stick by his side. The two of you reach the bed; there’s a lump there beneath, huge enough to be a person, still and not quite moving, and you blink a few times, not convinced it’s real.

You move closer, sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress depressing under your weight. “Hey,” you say, voice quiet, almost uncertain. From the corners of your eyes, you catch Sebastian staring at you; he doesn’t mimic you this time, though he’s careful to stay close, standing by your side, waiting. Like some kind of moral support, you think; you look up, give him a grateful smile – something he’s quick to return – before you turn back to the person-shaped lump on the bed, “Ominis?”

There’s no response at first, though there’s a quiet rustle that comes from beneath. A second later, a familiar head pops up from beneath the blankets, eyeing you blearily. It’s Ominis, looking more exhausted than you’ve ever seen him. His gaze quickly lands on you, and for a second, confusion flashes in his eyes, as though he doesn’t quite recognize you. It’s gone in a second, and a moment later, he licks his lips, says your name.

You smile, reaching out to brush the stray hair away from his eyes. He closes his eyes, leans more into your touch. Your heart melts. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he replies. He sounds different this time: a little strange, though you can’t quite put a finger on it. He must’ve sensed your worry, because a moment later, he tries to give you a smile, though it comes across as weak, more tired than reassuring, “Just tired.”

You frown, not quite convinced. Now that you’re here, you can finally have a good look at him. He looks disordered: hair wild and unkempt, tangled. It’d be an adorable sight if the situation’s a little more different, not at all like this.

Still, he must’ve sensed you staring, because he huffs out a breath, breaks the silence between you, “Why are you here?”

“You weren’t in any of our classes today,” you reply. You turn your head, look up at Sebastian. He still hasn’t moved where he is: standing just beside you, though he gives you a quiet nod, urges for you to continue. You nod back, then press on, turning your focus back to Ominis: “We got worried; we thought something was wrong, so we came to see how you’re doing.”

It’s not technically a lie. You did come here for him, after all, even if you don’t quite expect him to be here, buried beneath the blankets.

“But it’s still early.” He frowns. “Shouldn’t you still be in class?”

“You weren’t there,” you say, as if that’s enough of an answer. From the way his lips twist into a frown, you’re sure that it isn’t, and that he’s disapproving, “We kind of ditched.”

He seems almost surprised by your admission, though Sebastian cuts him off before he can say anything else, “Oh, come on, Ominis,” he protests, like he already knows what the latter’s going to say, “It’s fine. It’s just one time.”

Ominis frowns. For a second, he looks like he wants to argue, say something more, but then he shakes his head, huffs out a sigh – a sound that all too quickly turns into a cough. Not quite knowing what to do, you stand up, move toward him, ready to assist. But he only shakes his head, waves you off with a hand.

“Are you sick?” you ask, sitting back down on the bed, eyebrows furrowed in worry, “Do you need anything?”

“No.” He shakes his head. It takes him a moment to speak, find his voice, “Just tired.”

“Are you sure?” you ask. Helplessly, you glance toward Sebastian, meeting his eyes and giving him a pleading stare. He knows him longer than you have, after all, and if there’s anyone who can make him listen, you’re certain that it’s him. He sighs exasperatedly, though he follows after you anyway, moving to sit beside you on the bed. You scoot a little to the side, making room for him, quiet as you watch him press a hand against Ominis’s forehead, checking his temperature.

Briefly, he turns to look at you, then shakes his head. Uh-oh. That doesn’t seem like a good thing. “It seems like you’ve caught the flu,” Sebastian says, turning back to his friend. Here, his voice grows quieter, conspiratorial. There’s a playfulness to his voice that wasn’t there before, “What were you doing last night, hm?”

“Nothing.” Ominis is quick to protest, seeming far too embarrassed that you can’t help but laugh. “I was resting.”

“Well, if you need anything, just say the word,” you chime in, eager to help.

“It’s okay,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m sure I’ll be fine with some rest.”

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t need anything,” you begin after a moment of quiet, smiling hopefully, “Maybe we could just keep you company instead?”

Ominis frowns. “You’re not just using that as an excuse to keep slacking off, are you?”

“We’re model students!” you protest passionately, as if the very idea has never once crossed your mind. It has, of course, because even if you’re a model student, you’re still a normal student like the rest of them, with frequent urges of rest and procrastination. Still, you don’t need to admit it out loud, “We won’t even do such a thing.”

Sebastian snorts, shaking his head. There’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “That’s just you.”

You glare at him in response, though he only laughs at you in return.

“Still, if I really have the flu—” Ominis cuts in, and the two of you turn at the sound of his voice, waiting for the rest of his words. He sounds almost dubious about it, like he doesn’t quite believe it. “I don’t want you two catching it.”

“We’re fine.” You don’t wait for him to say anything else. It’s a little hard to fit in, especially when the bed’s too tiny – enough only for a single person, and not for three, let alone two. Still, you manage, and quickly, you lie down beside him, wrapping your arms around him and cuddling close, resting your head against his chest. Ominis hums under his breath, wrapping one arm around your middle and keeping you close. You grin at him, though you’re sure he can’t see it. “We don’t get sick easily. And we don’t plan on leaving you alone.”

He snorts in disbelief. “We’ll see about that.”

You stare expectantly at Sebastian, who sighs and shakes his head, looking like he wants no part of this. Still, with enough coaxing on your part, giving him the puppy eyes you know he’d never be able to resist, he finally climbs in after you. You scoot again, trying to give him enough space to fit into, but there’s hardly enough that you end up sandwiched between them, your limbs awkwardly tangled together that you don’t know where you end and where they begin. Still, you’re not sure you’d trade this for anything else.

“Good night,” you say to no one in particular, smiling. The only thing that greets you after that is silence, but you press on anyway, the smile still on your lips. “Sweet dreams.”

#renwrites #sebastian sallow x reader #ominis gaunt x reader

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fatuismooches · 1 year

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I DON'T REMEMBER IF I REPLIED OR NOT BUT HERES A REPLY ANW OMG U BREAK MY HEART SO WELL AAASHHA sorry if I've already said smth so this makes it a double reply ANW dottore angst gets me so hard but I don't hate myself that much so an accompanyinh fluff I'd like to add is like imagine reader is reallyyyy good at chess cus they're established as smart by being in the akademiya and now since you can't rlly do anth all day you challenge the clones to chess often so anw one day dot is just coming as you win a game against one of the clones for the third time in a row and you challenge him to a game and he's so convinced he'll win he deliberates going easy on you and- wait what the fuck why are you so good

also you are quickly becoming my fav creator to interact wit :( 💗

- 🌕

I HAD THE BIGGEST SMILE READING THIS IT'S SO CUTE- I NEED TO WRITE A LIL SOMETHING YOU'RE SO BIG BRAINED...!

Since your illness prevented you from training your body more than you like, you made your best effort to train your mind instead. You deemed your mind as very important, as the loneliness of it all often weighed down on you more than you liked. So you made sure to keep yourself occupied as much as you could, to try and prevent any negative thoughts from creeping up. And well, you found it to be quite rewarding. There was one time when the clones were struggling with an experiment for quite a while and were reluctant to inform Prime. So you asked them to let you take a look at the notes and everything along those lines. Admittedly, it reminded you of when you researched with your lover back at the Akademiya, so you accidentally got too into it, scribbling all of your thoughts and a possible answer to the problems. The clones were rather shocked when you turned out to be right.

But your favorite activity by far was chess. The brain teaser was highly favored by those at the Akademiya, and for good reason too. It was a great way to challenge yourself and get your mind working, and the best part? You could sit down comfortably and only move your hand, and enjoy the rather handsome view of a segment's face laced with confusion.

The clones were almost always happy to indulge your wishes, sometimes even fighting over who got to fulfill them. So after you absentmindedly mentioned wanting to play chess, the next day the game was set up in the lab, ready for use. Needless to say, you were quite elated. You had itched for the chance to play again. And of course, your only opponents were the multitude of your lovely segments.

The segments do love you. It is only natural that their creator’s love for you extends to them as well. So they gladly play along with your little game of chess, but they won’t do it too seriously; after all they wouldn’t want to hurt- wait, how did you already beat him?! For all of their wisdom and knowledge, they are baffled when they are taken out that quickly.

It eventually gets to the point where you have a little group of clones watching you battle another. It’s quite endearing to see them hover over you like that, trying to guess what move you’ll play next. But the true fun comes when Zandik appears. There are times where sometimes you do not see him for a few days, but that’s alright. The time spent afterwards always feels the best, and this is one such time. He is unaware of the little show you’ve been putting on, so you gleefully invite him to play you in a game of chess.

He accepts of course. Admittedly, it had been a while since he played, having only laid eyes on the chessboard in which the Gnoses were pieces. And of course, he has the same mentality as his clones - he’ll go easy on his darling, you’re his after all. He knows his genius is incomparable so- wait… you beat him? Since when did you become so good? You must tell him all the details now, he wants to know your thought process and the strategy’s name and how the other matches went and-

You shut him up with a kiss and invite him for some more chess games in your shared bedroom.

#smooches talks #🌕 anon #fragile reader <3 #dottore love notes <3 #also i cant play chess at all.. so forgive me if i didnt get the terms right LMAO #i want to learn chess so bad. but i just suck ass #BUT I LOVE THIS IDEA AND U TOO NONNIE UR SO CUTE AND FUN TO TALK TO

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theagent470 · 1 year

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Work in progress

Meghan couldn't believe how brazen she had been but whether the alcohol or the laughing at her not knowing about rugby something had sparked her temper and she had decided to take charge. She had deliberately spoken to one of the smaller younger looking men, hoping he would be more compliant. She feared she had misjudged as she turned to walk away but after she had taken less than 4 steps she heard shuffling as he fought to escape his space at the table accompanied by jeers from the rest of the group at his table. She left the club and started walking immediately in the direction of her hotel.

The young man walked behind her until she snapped at him to not act like a lovesick puppy, and walked next to her where she could see him properly. He meekly complied. Out of the club she could see he was just short of six foot and Well muscled. He was passably attractive and showed a few scars on his cheek which gave him a sense of character.

"How old are you?" she asked forcefully

"22 Miss" came the answer. It shocked her. Her husband had been 2 years her elder and in her youthful dalliances she had always been the younger woman. Still age was just a number and she wasn't looking for a relationship. As they approached the hotel she stopped and faced the man.

"What's your name?"

"Sean miss"

"Stop calling me miss, I'm not a bloody teacher, though you may learn a thing or 2 tonight, my name is Meghan, you may call me Meg when others may hear, but in private u shall call me ma'am or mistress" she didn't know where this was coming from. she was used to being in charge during sex but in her anger it seemed to of taken a whole new life of its own.

Sean smiled coyly and grinned "yes ma'am"

"good now follow me and keep your mouth shut"

They walked through the hotel. entrance and to her room where Meghan tried her hardest to avoid eye contact with the staff. As they entered her room she instructed Sean to strip naked so she could see what she was working with. He didn't hesitate to comply. She was right he was finely muscled though still with some puppy fat around the midriff and clearly excited. He looked to be around 8 inches erect, a good 2 more than her husband had, although she had dealt with bigger in the past.

"get yourself showered and cleaned up. You might want to do something with that in the shower, I'm not looking for 5 minutes here, I need real satisfaction" she told Sean firmly. He blushed again but rushed to the shower to comply. She quickly checked there was nothing of value loose in the room and put her purse in the room safe. She found her most sultry underwear amongst her belongings and put them to the side. 10 minutes had passed before Sean came out of the bathroom.

"good, now dry yourself off and wait there I shall be with you shortly."

"Yes ma'am" came the response.

She walked past him to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Her hair and makeup were fine for now though she decided a quick shower was in everyone's best interests and cleaned herself, she was surprised to find she was already wet and didn't realise how exciting she had found having this young man at her command. Finishing her oblusions she took a minute to compose herself and dress herself in the underwear she had prepared and a last minute addition of a pair of her high heels.

She came out of the bathroom to see Sean nervously sitting on the edge of the bed in a bathrobe.

She approached him in nothing but her underwear and high heels and saw the look of glee upon his face and it warmed her. She felt ravishing already from the sheer look of lust she saw consume his features. She pushed him back onto the bed with one high heeled foot.

"did you follow my instructions in the bathroom Sean?" she asked

"yes ma'am" he answered tentatively.

"So you're already one orgasm ahead of me, that tongue of yours is obviously of no use for conversation so lie back and let's make proper use of it" and with that she clambered across the bed and sat astride his face! She felt positively wanton but having this man at her absolute disposal had unleashed her inner desires. She pulled her thong to the side and told him

"do your best to please ma'am and we shall see to your needs when I decide"

Sean was still unsure and started gently caressing her labia with his tongue. Meghan huffed and exclaimed

"we won't get far like this, have you never found the clitoris before?!"

She wriggled her hips until his tongue grazed against her clitoris then settled and Sean found a comfortable pace.

"Perhaps you need to work on your alphabet, spell out from a to z with the tip of your tongue" she sensed the change in motion of his tongue and it pleased her. She could feel the gentle warm glow starting to build. She was aching for her first orgasm but didn't think clitoral stimulation alone would be enough. She leaned her body forward, which allowed for more pressure but also pushed her closer to Sean once again firmly erect member.

"put a finger in now, and see if u can find that g-spot there's a good boy" she purred from this angle it was extremely unlikely he would but the entry along with tongue on her pearl was already bringing her close. The sight of the firm penis pushing towards her face in this state was too much to resist and she gave in and gently took his tip in mouth. That was all it took to push her over the edge for her first orgasm.

For a moment she lost all sense of what was happening as she gave into the feeling. But a deeper need burned now, she dismounted from Sean who gasped audibly. In her throes of passion she had clamped down on his head, luckily he was fit and healthy or that would have been a tough one to explain she thought morbidly to herself.

"stand up" she ordered him curtly and he sprang to his feet. Seductively she leaned forward over the bed and removed her thong, but kept the heels on. Looking back over her shoulder she asked

"Do you think you deserve to be allowed to enter this pussy?"

"please, yes please ma'am!" spluttered Sean.

" Well done,safety first though, get a condom on. And slowly till I say otherwise"she instructed.

Almost falling over himself to do as instructed he slowly inserted his swollen head Into her tight little pussy, she bit the bed so as not to gasp, she didn't want to giv him the satisfaction but he felt enormous. She eased a hand back and began to stroke her still tender clit and almost immediately a second orgasm hit, again she had surprised herself with exactly how excited this whole liaison had made her. She felt Sean fingers fumble with the clasp of her bra and exclaimed

"Who told you that you could do that!"

Abashed he quickly pulled his hands back

"sorry ma'am I just.. "

"I know what you just thought, thank you, no thinking for yourself do as you're told" she snapped without thinking and almost immediately felt as if she had over reacted, then grinned to herself, well now it will be extra special for him she thought.

"pull out now" Sean had just been starting to build a head of steam and for the first time she encountered some resistance from him but it wilted as soon as she looked back at him.

"lie on the bed eyes closed"

He rushed to do as he was told.

She mounted him and for the first time took the full length of his raging erection and it felt enormous!

"Would you like me to remove the bra now?" she asked as she gently rocked back and forth. Her pussy was so wet and she was already feeling a third orgasm building.

"yes, yes oh please yes ma'am" he cooed

" OK, I will take off my bra, but you're not allowed to open your eyes until I say, understood? If you peak I will climb off immediately"

"yes mistress I understand"

Upon hearing him say mistress for the first time an involuntary spasm went through her pelvic floor and he gasped, she worried it might tip him over the edge but she slowed herself to remove the bra. Thank god for youthful vigour she thought to herself, she couldn't remember her husband lasting this long.

Once her bra was unclasped she speeded up once again.

"You may open your eyes now Sean, well done" she said. His eyes opened and he gasped, she only had a modest chest, 32C, but she was proud of them and clearly the anticipation had heightened the tensions for Sean. He tried speeding up his pace, but she maintained control and calmly said

"you need my permission before you may come young man"

"oh please mistress I beg you, please may I come, may I feel your heavenly pussy with my spunk, please mistress!"

It was the most he had said during the whole affair and it tipped Meghan into her third orgasm. She rolled off and led on her back

"Come on then give me your best effort" she said.

Immediately he entered her again and despite the tenderness she allowed him to plough as hard as he could, it was less than a minute until he came and it seemed to last forever, she was still lost in a haze of her third orgasm. Once he had finished, he tried to envelope her in an embrace.

"No Sean, that's not in the agreement. You may wash then leave. See yourself out" she said coldly.

#smut #bd/sm dom #bd/sm kink #ofc

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elysianslove · 3 years

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secrets that you keep; iwaizumi hajime

synopsis; in which his best friend is secretly a camgirl. part 1, part 2

pairings; iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

genre; smut

trigger warnings; i highly recommend reading the first two parts before this. they’re only drabbles that introduce everything! anyways, this is absolute filth. don’t read this if any of the stuff mentioned could trigger you, please! masturbation, camgirl stuff, one mention of the word ‘daddy,’ self choking, degradation, humiliation, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, a lot of choking, accidental breathplay, not proofread unfortunately

she knows.

does she?

it’s an ongoing inner battle he’s been having for weeks now, ever since he’d been directed to that trending video of yours. he sees you in his dreams, hears you loud and clear, moaning and crying for him, and worst of all, he feels you, so perfectly, against his, around him, and it’s overwhelming in the worst way possible. even maintaining eye contact is tiresome at this point.

but he does wonder whether you know or not, more often than he should— were you deliberately calling out for him, in hopes that he’d find this video somehow? or had you said it because you’d assumed this is your safe place, that there’s no way he’d be able to find these videos? had it been a slip up? or, more accurately, multiple slip ups? what were the chances anyways, that it had been an accident, or unintentional, or intentional and he had been losing sleep over it, or that he wasn’t the hajime you were crying out for?

his heard hurt. awfully. there’s already the constant worry of regulating his breathing around you and cleansing his thoughts of anything he’d seen of you the moment you meet, but this added dilemma is in no way helping. every day that you text him for a coffee date, or a night out after a rather stressful week, or a night in at your apartment, and he agrees, his mind diverts immediately to where it shouldn’t as soon as he lays eyes on you. and the worst part of it all is how aware he is of how wrong this is. he knows it’s wrong to choose the revealing shirt over the other when you ask him for his opinion, just because he wants that effortless glance at your cleavage. it’s also so wrong of him to give a higher rating to that obscenely short dress than that other, knee length one because of the way your thighs squeeze when you sit. it’s definitely wrong of him to offer clasping your anklet, the one he’d gotten for you, the one that had been the dead giveaway to your secret online persona, just because your legs feel so soft against the rough pads of his fingers, when he resists the urge to trail upwards, upwards, upwards—

it’s fucking ridiculous.

he can’t believe just how deep of a rabbit hole finding one of your videos is, how it’s impossible to climb out and away, and even worse, how he keeps falling deeper. the one time he decides to jerk off to porn. it’s really ridiculous.

about a week ago, three weeks after finding that video of yours someone had uploaded— which had been taken down because of copyright, and hajime personally thinks that’s fair, considering there’s a reason you pay people to watch your videos and look through your photos, otherwise you would’ve taken the liberty to post everything for free yourself— hajime gives in, and subscribes to you. it’s with a randomized account name, something he tried his very best to make as anonymous as possible, so that it would in no way lead back to him. he doesn’t check in on your account as often, also having taken the time to turn off notifications and not have anything sent to his email, and it’s mostly out of shame. he already feels dirty enough having seen this much of you, even more that he’s fantasized about you. he’s not about to make it worse for himself.

every once in a while, though, especially days where he’s sure he’s completely free of responsibilities, he logs on, and finds your page. it just so happens that tonight, you’re hosting a live stream. swallowing his pride and shame, literally so, he shifts on his bed, sitting up straighter, and clicks to join.

he’d been a little late apparently, because you’re already bare, sitting on a chair. your legs are lifted up, knees bent and hooked over the chair’s arms, the camera angled to show everything, from your cute eyes to the flesh of your ass. there’s a vibrator in your hand, buzzing lightly as it hovers by your clit, dipping between your folds, sliding back up again to rub lazily at your clit. beneath you, on the chair, is a small damp spot, leaking from your cunt. hajime stops himself before his jaw falls slack at the sight of you, and instead, he clears his throat, gritting his teeth and watching carefully.

you’re not so talkative during your videos, just exclamations of pleasure and (the most beautiful of) noises, so he hadn’t expected you to be during your lives. to his surprise, you are, and it’s filthy.

whimpering lightly, you press the vibrator harsher on your clit, your other hand traveling up to squeeze at your breast. “m’so needy,” you admit with a soft pout, adding, “want you to tell me what to do, mmh.”

he’s assuming the ‘you’ is the audience, whoever’s willing to speak up, and it’s then that he notices the chat option. his eyes flicker curiously to it, hands twitching where they sit fisted at his lap as he sees the chat explode with orders and commands and suggestions for you.

one writes, stuff urself full, and hajime gapes.

another commands, wanna see u cry tn, and hajime privately agrees.

someone else writes, gonna squirt princess?

hajime’s hands twitch again, and he frowns, digging his nails into his palms. you’re ignoring all the suggestions, and it’s obvious because you’re reading through them, mouthing some of them, giggling at some, curiously gasping, ‘oh,’ at others, eyebrow quirking. the vibrator trails down to your hole again, and you experimentally dip it inside slightly, shivering visibly as the vibrations rush through you, and the moment he hears you moan so loud, he thinks, fuck it, and his hands reach for his keyboard.

choke yourself.

fuck, fuck, fuck, he did not just do that.

his heart is racing embarrassingly fast beneath his ribcage, loud and pathetically deafening in his ears as he watches your eyes read through the rest of the messages, and you’ve stopped mouthing them, your eyes are widening— which one are you at now? are you just going to ignore him? why wouldn’t you? of course you—

“you’d like that, huh?” you teasingly slur, a lazy, cheeky grin painting your lips, your teeth biting down on your lower lip and your hand— your hand—

it’s trailing upwards, upwards, upwards, until it finds its way around your throat, resting lightly, and just as he sees your fingers squeeze at the sides of your neck slightly, carefully, you pout at the camera, looking straight at him, and asking, “like this, daddy?”

a low fuck wheezes past his lungs, and his hand quickly presses down at the bulge in his sweatpants, squeezing and rubbing at his clothed dick as he watches you, entranced. people watching you with him have taken to thanking him for the idea, and to praising you, calling you a good girl, cursing, rapidly typing out something along the lines of you’re so hot i wanna fuck you so bad, and god, hajime hates that he relates to something as stupid as that.

your hips roll and your head falls back, hand not once leaving your throat. if anything, your grip tightens. you click on the vibrator, and the buzzing becomes louder, your moans with it, as if you were competing. you cry and gasp and sob, writhing in your own hold, your thighs tensing and your hole clenching around nothing as you harshly rub the vibrator against your clit. your cunt gushes and drips as you bring yourself closer to your orgasm, as you cry out a string of, “m’gonna cum, so close, so close!” and a mixture of lewd curses, until finally, you cum. you’re sent over the edge, legs swinging on the chair, high pitched squeals falling from your lips— which hajime can’t decide are real or not, or whether he wants them to be or not. you thrash and cry, tears, as promised to some other watcher, dripping down your cheeks.

the last straw however, is your comedown from your high, sobs hiccuping and muscles twitching, eyes half closed and body limp as you mewl out, “hajime, hajime, hajime,” like you’re not even aware you’re doing it. like it’s subconscious.

hajime swears again, a deep, low, “fuck,” and looks down to find a damp spot on his lap. he really came from barely any friction, all because of you. this really is as ridiculous as it gets.

the next time he sees you, there are the faintest of bruises on your neck. it’s not so obvious that just anyone would notice, but ever since becoming hyperaware of everything that is you and everything that you do, it’s hard not to have them be the first thing he sees. to ensure that the atmosphere between the two of you remains easy, he flicks at your neck and tuts with a smirk, asking you jokingly if you were in your hoe phase.

“so vulgar, hajime,” you sarcastically retort, teasing him. “you like calling me mean things?” and he has to avert eye contact because all his walls crumble so quick.

it’s just the two of you tonight, in his apartment, all your other mutual friends having cancelled at one point or another. it’s not an unusual occurrence; more often than not, the two of you are alone. however, it’s been a while since you’d been alone, privately. a while meaning ever since hajime had discovered your side hustle of a sort. he hadn’t been purposely avoiding this— no, maybe he has, but to be fair, he’s still yet to recover from the initial shock.

it also doesn’t help that since today had meant to be a relaxing night in, you’re dressed casual, but in the hottest fucking way possible. he hopes he hadn’t been blushing as hard as he thinks, and feels, he was, when you’d first stepped into his home. on your hips is a short, black skirt, flowing out to your upper thighs, where just above your knees start a pair of dark thigh highs, squeezing at your thighs and accentuating your legs as you strut around his apartment, feet bare of any shoes or slippers. he can’t decide whether it’s cute or just plain hot. somehow, with you, it’s both. your shirt is off the shoulder, a dark, navy blue bardot, and beneath it, peeking out to rest at your collarbones, is a black bralette. he can barely just see the intricate lace designs, but it disappears and dips beneath your shirt before he can see more of it.

you’re spread out on the couch, laying along it on your stomach, a pillow tucked in your arms and beneath your head, your clothed legs bent and swinging up in the air. he sits right by you, thigh right by your head, his body as tense as ever. it’s impossible not to be you, not with you in such close proximity to him when only a few days ago he’d watched you make yourself cum, and had heard you whimper out his name after. who can blame him, really?

with your eyes trained on the screen, he hadn’t been expecting you to speak up.

“iwa, what type of porn do you watch?”

he nearly chokes, eyes widening as he spares you a glance. your legs continue to swing innocently, your eyes unmoving, your voice unwavering. the suddenness of the question certainly threw him off, but it’s your nonchalance that really shocks him. but, considering everything, it really shouldn’t have.

“uh, what?” he offers weakly, wincing slightly at the barely there crack in his voice.

you sigh, shifting to sit up. you plant yourself on your knees, spreading them apart slightly to get comfortable, and shrugging at him. “i’m just curious,” you say. “or,” your eyes squint cautiously, your head cocking to the side slightly, “do you not watch porn?”

challengingly, his arms lift up to cross at his chest, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes momentarily glance at the way his biceps bulge. it makes his confidence spike slightly, nervousness ebbing away. “what type of porn do you watch?”

you gasp dramatically, joking, “take a girl out to dinner first, my god.” he laughs, relaxing lightly at the banter, before his eyes fall back to you. you inch forward curiously, cautiously, still on your knees. now closer to him, you ask again, “seriously, i’m really curious! confirm my suspicions for me.”

“oh?” he quirks an eyebrow. “so you think you know?”

at this, you offer him a knowing smile, eyes slightly half lidded. you’re somehow even closer now, leaning towards him with your hands resting on the small space between you and him in the couch, helping you in lifting yourself up slightly on your knees as you say in a low voice, “baby, i think everyone knows.”

at the sight of you by his side, he feels himself shiver, and an idea invades his mind before he can even process it. “oh, do you now?” he’s not sure where this boldness is emerging from, especially with how cautious and shameful he’d been and felt for weeks now, but he accepts it either way, because the way you’re staring at him like that, he never wants to let it go. and although he wants to drag out this intense eye contact even longer, in order to do what he wants to do, he has to break it, reaching for his phone instead. unable to contain your curiosity, you peak over, watching with confusion as he types out a link.

the blood drains from your face when you recognize your page on his browser, and he’s logged on— he’s subscribed.

“what type of porn do i like to watch?” he wonders rhetorically. the phone is pushed aside, and he sits up straighter so that even on your knees, he looms over you. his eyes are skimming over you, along your body, up to your neck, to your lips, to your shocked, wide eyes. and just as his hand trails up to your throat, his palm resting at the base and one finger tapping lightly, he says, “the type where my favorite girl cries out my name when she cums for the world to see.”

the hand around your throat—

“you,” you breathe out, and finally, finally, when your brain makes sense of everything, your body relaxes, sags against him, leaning more into him until his hand’s properly wrapped around your throat.

with your mind hazing over, you reach over, and kiss him.

he meets you halfway, as if having expected it, lips pressing harshly against his. his hand tightens as he pulls you closer, lifting you up slightly and bringing you closer to him as his mouth parts, breathing you in, and kissing you deeper, lewder. you shiver and gasp, hands grasping at his wrist and forearm, not to push him away but rather to urge him closer, as you kiss him back just as eagerly. it seems like hours, with his hand around your neck, tight and a daunting reassurance, and your lips wet and hot against his, but eventually, his hand slides down, the other mirroring it, finding their way to your waist, squeezing and bunching at the skirt as he, with complete and utter and shocking ease, lifts you up off the couch.

you gasp as he stands up with you, your legs quickly wrapping around his waist as he pulls you to him. as he blindly walks the two of you to his bedroom, he breathlessly asks in between your kisses, “is this— you sure this is okay?”

with a sharp tug at his hair, you jokingly spit out, “iwa shut up.”

he tosses you onto the bed, allowing you a minute to strip yourself of your shirt while he slips out of his own, before quickly falling above you, caging you in with his arms as he kisses you again. “not iwa,” he quietly asks of you.

for a moment you’re confused, before everything clicks again— your slip ups— and your legs lift up, wrapping around his waist and pulling his hips closer to yours just as you mewl out, “hajime, please.”

god, he is way easier than he thought he was.

his entire body shudders above you, one hand lowering to push at your skirt to grind his hips down against yours until his clothed crotch meets your bare cunt and— holy fuck, holy fuck.

“fuck, you slut.”

you gasp at both his words and the feel of his bulge pressing down against your clit, his lips meeting your neck instead. “you do like calling me mean things,” you say, and he scoffs, his hand traveling upwards to squeeze at your breasts instead.

“you like me calling you mean things,” he notes, and you let out a muffled moan as he pinches at your nipples through the bralette, lips biting and sucking at your neck.

“i do,” you pant, arching up into him. “i do, i do.” his hands are fumbling at your chest, and god, they’re so large, so big and warm and harsh, it’s fogging up your brain.

“yeah, yeah, fucking whore,” he growls, pushing himself slightly on his knees, hands tugging at the bralette. his fingers dip past, gripping the fabric tightly, and as he says, “can’t fucking— take this shit— off,” he tears through it, knuckles whitening as he pulls it away from your body, or what’s left of it. the frills of the ruined bra fall off the edge of his bed, and he watches your wide eyes and gaping mouth follow it, so he grabs at your jaw, twisting your gaze away from it and grunting a low, “shut up.”

you pull away from the kiss, breathing heavily as you say, “that was so fucking hot, hajime,” before kissing him again. he parts his mouth as you lead him to you again, tongue easily meeting yours.

it’s a messy kiss as he slips himself out of his sweatpants, taking his boxers with it and discarding them somewhere in his room. his cock slaps against his stomach, a single string of precum messily staining his tan abs. your eyes are quick to gaze down, lips painted a dazzling grin as his hand finds his cock, squeezing at the head and smearing his precum along.

“knew you were fucking big,” you gasp, eyes trained on him as he strokes himself above you, and he is. he’s so big, thick and heavy, and veiny and your mouth waters at how that’s going to feel when inside of you, stretching you out so good, so much better than any of the toys you had at home. “i thought,” a squeal hiccups out of you as both of his hands grab at your hips from beneath your skirt, one sticky and warmer than the other, “about you all the time.”

your confession draws his attention, and when he’s pulled you close enough, two of his fingers trail to your cunt, quirking an, “oh?” just as he dips his fingers inside. the lack of resistance he’s met with is surprising, and he chokes out, “did you stretch yourself out before coming here? fuck yourself on some fake cock?”

tightlipped, you moan, brows furrowed and back arched into him. god, his fingers were not enough. “yes, yes,” you gasp, head falling back. despite not needing to, he still fingers you, his thick digits fucking into you slowly, driving you insane by the second. “yes, i— pretended t’was you,” you whine loudly. at your words, he curls his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist and pressing his palm directly on your clit.

“do you always?” he lowly asks, dipping closer to you as he fucks his fingers deeper. his fingers were inside of you, the cunt he’d spent over a month marveling at through a screen, the pretty pussy his dick had drooled over for hours. you’re real, as real as ever beneath him falling apart, making a mess of your black skirt, drenching it with your arousal.

you moan out a hum, nodding dumbly as his fingers vibrate with the intensity of speed inside of you, your toes curling in your thigh highs and face twisting to press into his mattress. “always,” you cry out, like a promise. “always think of you— hajime!”

it’s an unexpected orgasm, hitting you so fast and quick that it’s outright dizzying. it has you lifting your hips up into his fingers and palm, grinding and trembling, your legs falling and spreading open, shaking wildly by your side and above you as he fucks you through the orgasm.

“hajime, hajime, hajime,” you chant, words trailing off into tiny sobs and shuddering breaths as your hips slowly fall back onto the bed, body still trembling with aftershocks.

you’re fucked out beyond words already that you genuinely don’t feel a thing until he’s pressing inside of you, the fat head of his cock stretching you out. he’s really no match for your toys, and if seeing him hadn’t been enough confirmation, the feel of him pressing inside of you definitely is. he doesn’t ease himself in slowly, urgently grabbing the back of your thighs with either hand, keeping your legs spread for him as he bottoms out.

“fuck, fuck, knew you’d feel so good,” he grunts, brows furrowed harshly as he digs his fingers deeper against the flesh of your thighs, forcing your legs closer to your chest, and somehow pushing himself even deeper within you. you whine and mewl, toes curling and uncurling and legs trembling. “knew it the moment i saw your pretty pussy creamin’ around that thick cock.”

at the reminder that he’s watched and witnessed you, multiple times, that he’s subscribed to you willingly and curiously, you clench down around him. you feel him twitch inside of you, groaning loudly as he falls closer to you, your legs falling to his waist.

“you like knowing i was watching you?” he sneers, his hand reaching up and gripping at your face, squishing your cheeks and forcing a pout on your lips. your eyes nearly fucking cross as he rams into you, his fingers digging into your jaw. “you like that i fucked my fist every night to you? to your pretty cunt and your pretty noises and your pretty face— yes, good girl, that one.”

your eyes do cross this time, spurred on by his words, your tongue peaking out through the small gap he allows with how harsh he’s gripping your face. he’s pushing out little mewls and cries from you, but otherwise, you quite honestly feel braindead.

“fuck, you’re a gorgeous little slut,” he gasps. “all mine to fuck and use.”

you’re quick to nod rapidly, whining and moaning for him as you grip at his biceps. you’re choking on your breath as you struggle to keep up with him while he fucks you into the mattress, so fucking hard and rough that you’re sure there’ll be an indentation of you once you leave. you can feel your cunt gushing, and you can hear it too, squelching loudly with every thrust of his hips, every time his cock fucks into you. your skirt feels sticky and gross, and so does the rest of you, but you’ve never, never, felt this euphoric, this blissed out.

your stomach tightens impossibly, the tension gradually increasing as your walls tightly squeeze and clench at his cock. slowly and surely, the pressure within you increases, your hands flying to hajime’s arm, the arm whose hand grips your face, which quickly moves to your throat at your simple gasping warning that you were close.

“gonna cum, gonna cum, hajime, fuck!”

he tightens his grip, pressing harsher on the sides of your neck as your eyes shut tightly, your head falling back once more.

“yeah, come on, show me how pretty you look cumming on a real cock,” he whispers by your ear, using the hand that’s around your throat to lift up your head, before roughly pushing it back down, squeezing tighter. “you like it this rough?— shit, shit, you’re tightening.”

you scream, voice cracking and broken as he slams into you again, his hips grinding against yours momentarily, pelvis hitting your clit— and you’re gone, thrashing in his hold, fat tears streaming down your cheeks as you sob and heave, your body shaking uncontrollably beneath him, hips shaking as your orgasm rocks through you. it’s not a few seconds later that he’s spilling inside of you, accidentally pressing his palm down against your throat as he cums, blocking your airway momentarily.

“hngh,” he gasps deeply, cock twitching inside of you as he cums, hips barely grinding. you’re gasping, a little painfully, struggling to take in any air as he blinks dazedly, before he finally takes notice. “shit, shit, i’m sorry.”

his hand flies away from your throat, and you inhale sharply, coughing lightly as air fills your lungs all too suddenly. the strength of this man, holy fuck.

“i’m so sorry; are you okay?”

chest still heaving, you fall onto the bed, body relaxing as you try and regulate your breathing. “s’okay, i’m okay,” you reassure him, hands reaching up to pat at his cheeks and comb through his messy, sweaty hair.

he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and it’s so endearing that you nearly forget he’s still inside of you. but you feel the shift of his cock, feel his cum slowly start to ooze out of your cunt, and he winces from the oversensitivity, shifting away to instead pull out of you. his soft cock falls from your cunt, a steady flow of his cum following. hajime has to physically resist from reaching out to fuck it back into you.

“i’m sorry i wasn’t careful ‘nough with the—“ he makes a gesture with his hands around his neck, “—the choking.”

you laugh lightly, tiredly, hands slowly caressing at his sweaty biceps. “stop apologizing,” you reassure him again, shrugging with a small smile as you add, “just be more careful next time.”

his breath gets caught in his chest, and he only softly exhales when he falls on the bed, to your side, carefully repeating, “next time.”

from beside him, you lift yourself up on your side on your elbow, palm cradling your head, trying your best not to wince in pain. “hajime?”

he spares you a glance as he mumbles, “hm?” opting to stare at the ceiling and contemplate whether what had just happened was real life or not.

“do you wanna do a video with me?”

he all but chokes.

end note; please this took me like 4+ hours. please please please don’t flop, and more importantly, i really hope i don’t disappoint. i know this has been a long awaited piece, so i’m praying and hoping you guys love it.

love you all, mwah <3

#haikyuu smut #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime smut

2K notes · View notes

chosonore · 3 years

Text

aquiver

aquiver [adjective. shaking slightly, often because of strong emotion]

pairing: sukuna/f!reader

summary: as a jujutsu sorcerer, you should be despising sukuna - so why did you find yourself back in his arms, again and again. how could you look at anyone else, when he ravished you so well?

wordcount: 3.5k

content/warnings: curse!sukuna + jujutsu sorcerer/f!reader, dom!sukuna, dumbification, kitten kink, degradation, breeding kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it, ppl!), thigh riding, sukuna makes use of mouths appearing anywhere he wants to, use of collar and leash, oral (f receiving), fingering, choking, spanking [unedited]

a/n: ah yes. i had this idea some time ago, musing about how sukuna would probably call his partner his pet and get a collar to control them. ahfuehwif it's so filthy help. thank you @madisnorm for always listening to my thirsts and fluffs and also for contributing to this idea huhu

you weren't sure how and when it started, the lines already having blurred and intertwined a long time ago. it was a dangerous game that you were playing, treading between life and death as you danced around in a sexual relationship with the king of curses. you were his mere plaything, someone to kill his boredom with. and yet you were his only and favourite plaything. sukuna had taken a liking to you after a fight between the two of you, complimenting your abilities in a mocking tone. the interested lilt in his voice should've warned you and yet you couldn't stay away. like a moth to flames, you were drawn back to him.

not that sukuna had ever let you go. he kept his eyes on you, slowly but surely conquering your body and soul until you finally paid attention to him. oh how perfect you were, from your body's reaction to him touching you to the sounds that he coaxed from your lips. his favourite sound was his name on your lips while begging for him to let you cum.

no matter where you were, sukuna would find a way to you and drag you in his domain where you were safe from intruders and the nosy, watchful gazes of others. he didn't like to share, wanting to keep all of you to himself. while confident in his abilities, he hadn't expected you to stick around for so long. a jujutsu sorcerer caught up in his charms. the thought made him snicker as he watched your small frame seated on his thigh. you were naked, safe from the collar that was fastened around your neck - it was a new addition sukuna had indulged in, liking the look of it on you; the soft colours of the collar complimented you well. the leash that was hooked on the collar constantly reminded you of the fact that you were his. his pet.

"you've been good lately, kitten," sukuna mused, fingers gently combing through your hair. "good girls receive rewards, hm? i'll let you ride me, don't you feel honoured? being my pet, getting to fuck me on my throne."

you nodded eagerly, hungrily staring at the bulge in his robes. he had yet to undress, the kimono merely loosened to reveal his broad chest and the tattoos across his skin. sukuna could tell what you were thinking, you were predictable after all. though he had promised to reward you, he couldn't resist but play with you a little, perhaps make you cry in frustration. he liked the idea, he couldn't spoil you too much after all.

"get yourself nice and wet, ride my thigh," sukuna ordered sternly, watching with hooded eyes as you pressed your cunt against his thigh. deliberately, you dragged it across the fabric, soaking and smearing it with arousal in the process. he didn't seem to mind, enjoying the sound of your breathless mewls instead. holding onto his shoulders, you used them as leverage to press yourself further against his thigh and built up a comfortable rhythm. you felt a tug against your collar, causing you to tilt your head and bend backwards slightly. sukuna kept a tight grip on the leash, barely letting you move your upper body as he dove in to kiss your breasts.

he teased your nipples until they stood at attention, stiff and begging for attention. you were keening as he wrapped his lips around one of them, lapping and sucking at the small bud while pinching and tugging at the other. he couldn't resist biting at them, gently letting his teeth and fangs graze over the skin. the fabric of his kimono was sullied, completely soaked in your arousal but sukuna didn't deem you as ready just yet - he wanted to continue playing with you too.

sukuna busied himself with marking up your chest before moving to your neck. though you were only his pet, he was possessive and disliked other people staring at you. even worse, jujutsu sorcerers. they would leave you alone if he marked you up real good. despite it, you didn't have eyes for anyone else but him. sukuna set your feelings on fire, he satisfied all your cravings that no other person had managed to even uncover before.

"what is it, kitten?" he inquired as frustrated whimpers resounded from you, watching how you sloppily grinded against him.

"mhm, i can't, i- i need you, sukuna. can't cum, need you to fill me up," you mewled quietly. you were embarrassed to admit this but it wasn't a lie. no matter how hard you were chasing your high, there was something missing. you had difficulties coming by yourself and needed sukuna to fill you up, ruin you in every way possible. your hands reached out to paw at his kimono, wanting to undo the ties to reveal his cock underneath.

though he was thrilled to know that you were so dependent on him, he wasn't giving in just yet. slightly irritated, he tugged at the leash, causing you to lean back slightly. "you want your reward, right?" he clicked with his tongue, taking in the guilty look on your face. "dumb sluts don't get their rewards, so behave. i'm being nice enough to offer you this, pet."

immediately, you stilled in his lap. sukuna's punishments could be harsh, they could be pleasurable as well; it depended on his mood. but now that you were so close to being able to ride him - something that he'd always denied you - you wanted to please him so he would let you. "continue, kitten. gotta make sure you're wet enough to take me."

sukuna's hold on the leash loosened, allowing you to move freely once again. you released a shuddering breath, grinding against his thigh again. you could tell that he wasn't going to let you off the hook so easily, only satisfied when he was able to render you a whimpering mess. he watched you with amusement as you used his thigh to get off, the slick coating your thighs and dripping down his. your cunt was already puffy, begging for attention that he wouldn't give you so soon. you were on the brink of tears as your first orgasm rippled through you. writhing in his hold, you whimpered his name in hopes that he would give in now.

"see, you can cum from this alone. what a filthy slut you are, i haven't even touched you yet? you should be despising me, the very curse that you're supposed to exorcise," sukuna mocked you as he chuckled, coaxing you to continue. "and yet here you are, begging for me to fuck you like the desperate pet that you are. be happy that i've taken a liking to you. what would happen if i entered you now? you'd come on the spot, wouldn't you?"

you should be ashamed. should anyone ever find out, you would be executed for treason. but the pleasure was addicting and clouding your judgement. sukuna grasped your chin, forcing you to look into his crimson eyes. your tear-stained face and the pleading look in your eyes send shivers right down sukuna's spine. he loved this look on you, loved knowing that he was the only one who could make you cry out like this. "does my dumb kitten need me? want me to fuck you silly. look at you, such a delirious mess. you just can't live without me giving you a good pounding."

“please, sukuna,” you pleaded again, sobbing when he shook his head. his thumb pressed against your clit and circled it roughly. sukuna laughed when you jerked your hips away from him slightly, sensitive from your previous orgasm. inquiring why you were pulling away when this was what you wanted, he grinned sardonically as he lightly slapped the side of your thigh and urged you to carry on. you were obvious with your wishes but sukuna loved seeing your teary eyes and what a mess you’d already made before he would even get around to fucking you. his fingers kept wandering, lightly brushing over your clit, prodding and rubbing gently at your entrance.

as opposed to providing you relief, it only made you crave more, rendering you an incoherent and babbling mess as you begged him for more. you begged him for his fingers, his mouth, anything that wasn’t leaving you to your own devices. there was an evil glint in sukuna’s eyes as he suddenly hoisted you onto his lap, one hand moving down to cup your cunt as the other wrapped around your waist to keep you in place. you halted in your movements, a surprised squeak leaving your lips as you realized that he'd made a mouth appear on his hand.

you sobbed in relief as it lapped away at you, delving and prodding in and wrapping its lips around your clit to suck at it. your hips were trembling at the onslaught of pleasure and hadn't it been for the strong hold that sukuna had on you, you would have slumped against him. sukuna regarded your writhing form with glee, whispering in your ear about how you were still so eager despite whining about it being too much. "such a good kitten, so desperate for me. who do you belong to?"

"you, sukuna, i belong to you," you gasped, moans spluttering from you as you felt his index and middle finger entering you. you cried out for him, arms shooting out to grasp his kimono. sukuna kept a languid pace as he finger fucked you and took his time stretching you out, curling his fingers every now and then. the sensations were too much for you, the combination of his fingers stretching you out while the mouth was still lathering your clit with attention. it was filthy, the way his fingers easily slipped in you from all the arousal that dripped from you and the sound the mouth made as it eagerly ate you out.

high-pitched moans mixed with incoherent babbles, begging and pleading him, his names on your lips - it didn’t take long for him to coax another orgasm out of you, one that was so debilitating that it left you seeing stars, writhing in his arms as he kept rubbing your clit in slow circles to help you ride out the high. faintly, you could hear him praising you, calling you his good kitten. you blinked a few times as you came back to your senses, staring at the mouth on his hand that was grinning at you mischievously as it licked your slick off its lips.

“i think you’ve deserved it now, go ahead, kitten,” sukuna spoke up after allowing you to have a few moments to recollect yourself and come to your senses. in an uncharacteristically sweet manner, he brushed his fingers through your hair and caressed your back as he placed kisses on your neck. why wouldn't he? you were his favourite pet after all and he had to throw you a bone every now and then, keep you interested. make you come back around again and again, when no one else could satisfy you like he could. you were his favourite pet, his little jujutsu sorcerer, the very person that should kill him. he couldn’t deny that he’d taken a liking to you and not only that, the thrill of you possibly turning against him was egging him on. he was half expecting you to rat him out - but you were still here with him, letting him ravish you.

sukuna untied his robes, pumping his hard cock a few times before nudging the flushed tip against you. you were panting slightly as you sank down on him, his length deliciously stretching you. despite of how wet you were, you still struggled to take him. your thighs shook from the sensitivity as you moved, stopping halfway. sukuna looked at you with fake disappointment, hand wrapping around your throat over the frilly collar. "i- i can't," you whimpered feebly, hands wrapping around his wrist. "'s too big, sukuna, i can't, too full! i feel-"

"i'm disappointed, kitten. weren't you begging for it like a whore just moments ago?" sukuna growled, tilting your chin up to face him. his ruby eyes glinted with slight malice, irritated at how you were backing down. "have i not trained you properly enough?"

"n- no, i want it! 'm sorry, i can do it!" you reassured him hastily, not wanting to disappoint him any further. sukuna had never let you ride him before and you weren't about to let this opportunity slide. but the angle was different, unusual for you to engage with by yourself. but god, did it feel good to be able to angle him so that he hit your walls in the right way. as you slid down further, you could tell that you were on the verge of an orgasm and slowed down.

taking it as another sign of weakness, sukuna clicked with his tongue. "c'mon, you can do it. you're a big girl." though he waited for a few seconds, he grew impatient and pressed you down until all of him was buried in you to the hilt. you felt so full as you clenched around him, almost coming as you rocked back and forth. the way the tip pressed against your favourite spot was delicious, making you choke on your moans. sukuna placed his hand against your stomach, curiously pressing and prodding as if he could tell how far he reached.

"you're taking me so well, kitten. just how small you are and still swallowing me up so greedily, i'm going to ruin you," he hissed in pleasure when you clamped down on him at his words.

"please, please do."

you placed your hands on his shoulders, you lifted yourself up before sinking down again. sukuna sucked in his breath as he restrained himself from moving. he wanted to see how you would do, whether you could fuck yourself on him without faltering. the little bell on your collar jingled with every move that you made, slowly mixing with the sounds of your sobs - it might be sukuna's favourite sound, aside from his name on your lips like desperate pleas.

he watched you for a while, amused at how eager you were to make yourself cum. sukuna wanted to see how far you could take it, whether you could really make yourself cum. knowing you, you would not last that long - you were his silly kitty after all, always needing him to take you over the edge. he, and only he, was in charge of your pleasure.

though you didn't make any moves to tell him, sukuna knew you couldn't continue. despite chasing your high, your movements had slowed down and become sloppy. the moans that left your lips were just pleas for him to take over. sukuna gladly took the invitation; with swift movements, he'd gotten up and draped you over the armrest of his throne. you scrambled to lift yourself up on your elbows before turning your head back to look at him.

you were a sight to behold, the way your ass was invitingly jutting out with your puffy, dripping cunt peeking out, as well as your teary eyes as you silently begged him to take you. sukuna loves it, loves the feeling of you wrapped around him. he couldn't help himself and dealt a few blows to your asscheeks, making you whimper as you wiggled your ass. the redness of your bottom looked cute and if he wasn't trying to get off himself, he undoubtedly would've spanked you some more.

with ease, he slipped into you. you moaned his name, pushing your ass against him. sukuna set a brutal pace, forcefully thrusting in you while using the leash as leverage. you had no choice but to arch your back, reeling in how good the slight pressure felt. a ring of white was slowly building around his cock, smearing onto your pussy as well. it was a delicious sight, a testimony of your arousal. sukuna couldn't wait to fill you up to the brim - as a curse, he couldn't get you pregnant and so it thrilled him to be able to freely shoot his load in you.

it served no other purpose than to feed his ego, to appease the possessiveness over you in his soul. you were his little pet. sukuna almost missed your climax due to his thoughts, groaning as you suddenly clamped down on him as you came. his name left your lips in chants, along with incoherent babbles that sukuna could half decipher as thank yous. "how would the other jujutsu sorcerers feel about this? knowing that the possibility of catching me was directly in front of them this whole time."

sukuna grunted as he leaned down, pressing his chest against your back. he was close himself, hips pistoning against yours. hands wrapped around your neck, keeping you in place as he came inside you. "it doesn't matter i suppose. you're my little cumslut that i get to breed nice and well, right? you wouldn't snitch on me."

your reply was cut off as another forceful thrust had you moaning. the hand wrapped around your throat made you feel slightly lightheaded, drunk on the sensations that were suddenly amplified. "my dumb little kitten, not being able to live without my cum stuffing your insides. i've ruined you for everyone else, huh? you'll return back to me, forever." of course sukuna wasn't satisfied until he's painted your walls in white and until then, he wasn't going to let you go. you'd lost count on how many orgasms he'd drawn out of you - not that it mattered, you felt amazing. as if you were floating on clouds, always feeling good.

when sukuna finally pulled out of you, you could feel the his warm cum trickling down your thighs. he had half a mind to scoop up whatever your cunt couldn't keep in and offer it to you. eagerly, you wrapped your lips around his fingers, humming as you licked them clean. you felt him wrap his kimono around you as the domain dissipated to reveal your bedroom back in tokyo. carrying you over to your bed, he placed you on it and haphazardly draped the blanket on you. sukuna was bad at taking care of humans but he supposed he could put in some effort for you. you were his frail little human after all.

you felt sleepy, still high on the pleasure that was coursing through you but exhausted. the way sukuna dragged his fingernails across your scalp and gently massaging you was lulling you into sleep, your mind slowly drifting away as you did.

sukuna disappeared without a trace, as per usual. hadn't it been for the kimono that he'd draped around you and the collar as well as the hickeys, you would've assumed that you'd dreamt the entire encounter the next day.

"did you miss me, kitten?" sukuna inquired amused and pulled you towards him, claiming your lips. he was sloppily kissing you, licking in your mouth and sucking on your bottom lip. oh how he'd missed your whimpers and how your body automatically responded to his. you whimpered against his lips, not sure what to make of the entire situation. of course your body responded, wanting to welcome him. but you were starting to feel conflicted.

miraculously, the kimono and collar disappeared a few days later and you couldn't find it. maybe it had been a fraction of your imagination, a mere fever dream that was induced by your own desire to be touched and loved. you went about your work as you normally would; assisting in lower rank regions, helping the school's administrations and tutoring the students. nothing was out of the ordinary and your life returned back to its dull self. that was until one night, sukuna appeared in your room again.

he'd scared you out of your mind, causing you to get in a stance as he appeared behind you. "sukuna," you breathed out in disbelief, all your memories flooding your senses as they returned. you'd forgotten about his existence but that was how the cycle went - he would come to play with you, have fun with his pet before disappearing for such a long time that you almost forgot about him. right when you were on the verge of purging the memories out of your mind, he would return.

you felt sukuna's hands wrap around your throat, smooth silk fabric wrapping around your neck as he fastened the collar. the bell chimed softly as he pulled away, tutting at your clothes. "undress, kitten, let me play with you," he requested hungrily. obedient as always, you removed your items of clothing one by one until-

a knock resounded at your door, making you halt in your movements. you held your breath as it slowly opened but weren't able to see who came in as sukuna shielded you.

"y/n, you're to be executed for treason."

#jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen imagines #sukuna imagines #ryoumen sukuna imagines #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna smut #ryoumen sukuna smut #writing

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1kook · 4 years

Text

kissanime & foreplay

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You get a glimpse of the KissAnime screen for a good two seconds before about seven ads pop up. Another tab to a raunchy hentai website opens, and Jungkook groans. warnings; mentions of hentai yes u read right, kook leads most of it, cunnilingus, masturbation (f), oral (f), use of a sex toy, fingering, nipple play, face sitting/fucking/riding idk (f), praise kink, hints of dumbification, cum eating, jk is like passive aggressive in this one, 4 (f) orgasms, this is the kicker: sub kook at the end😳, like 2 sec of dom yn lol, & u get 0.002 sec of adams apple kink misc; more dumb story lines, made up sex stores bc my creativity knows no bounds, Jungkook plays nice but is actually mean for the majority of it, once again doyeon plays a pivotal role in the furthering of women empowerment, internal love monologues about jk best boy<3 wc; 8.2k

notes; back when kissanime was offed I remember looking at this fic in the drafts like what the hell we gone do now.. n almost deleting it but I was like yknow what this isn’t a 1kook fic unless there’s smthn weird going on so here we are. also yes I know ohshc is on Netflix shut up!!!!!

HAPPY BDAY MY LOVE AND MUSE JEON JUNGKOOK !!!! 🥺💜

—

The good thing about getting your own apartment is that you finally have a place to call your own. There’s no limit on how many potted plants you can squeeze into a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment, and if there was one, you’re twelve in and no one has said anything to you yet. You don’t have to share the shower space with anyone, label all your products with a hastily scribbled name. There’s a bathtub—something you haven’t had the pleasure of using during college—and a fairly open living space. There’s so many empty spots to fill with useless decorations and family heirlooms and that ugly plastic rooster Jungkook won you at the summer kick-off fair last month.

The bad thing about having your own place is that the entire world and their mothers seem to know now. Despite graduating from college, you still keep in touch with your trusted graduate mentor Kim Namjoon, who is still very much in school, and has made it his mission to bring you a new plant every week, hence your growing collection. Your childhood friend comes over every Saturday morning to lounge around after her Friday nights out. Jungkook, although the only one who is ever actually invited, runs through your strawberry scented body wash like a madman.

And of course, Doyeon.

Your beloved college roommate of four years, Kim Doyeon, has been the bane of your apartment experience so far. Unlike you, who had slaved away for four years, saving every penny you made during college for this moment, Doyeon was a big spender. She blew every dollar she ever came across, which is why she’s going to be stuck living at her parent’s house for at least a couple more years.

Nothing wrong with that, of course, if she wasn’t the most maniac online shopper in existence. It hadn’t been a problem in college because she was always good old pals with the students who worked the mailroom. If they saw something questionable, they’d let it slide as long as it was under Miss Kim Doyeon, Room 229.

The reason it became an issue for her now is because it’s poor Mrs. Kim who signs over the package from Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide! one Tuesday afternoon as it is delivered to their suburban home.

So now she’s taken to ordering all her freaky stuff to your new apartment, where the small cabinet by the door has quickly become home to her impulsive shopping habits. Truthfully, you don’t mind accepting Doyeon’s weird packages, and have long since grown used to the uncomfortable looks the mail carrier gives you.

Jungkook’s supposed to come over today and you really hope he doesn’t ask about the state of your hall cabinet. Now that you work at a small company outside of your degree to make ends meet, time with Jungkook has been significantly decreased. You weren’t in college anymore, so you didn’t have the luxury of dropping by his house whenever you wanted to in between classes. Of course, it’s mostly your schedule that conflicts with your planned hangouts, because Jungkook is still working his dream job from home.

However, because Jungkook is quite possibly the most amazing person on this planet, he’s started coming over every Saturday night to make sure you’re still alive and not dying. And so weekly media binges are a thing, and it’s currently week four.

He gave up on showing you the Marvel movie franchise last week, after you had asked where Wonder Woman was three times in a row. Since the Barbie Movie Debacle of last month, you’ve found a nice medium between who picks when. Jungkook picks most of the time, because most of the time you don’t really care. It’s become a running joke between the two of you that movie binges are usually just terribly masked excuses to go to town on each other, so you don’t mind missing an entire 15th Century French Revolution documentary if it means Jungkook is deep in your guts by the time King Louis XIV gets beheaded or whatever they did to him. Is it too obvious you didn’t watch the documentary?

Occasionally, there are instances where one of you genuinely does want to watch something, in which case you have an intense match of rock-paper-scissors to decide who’s picking that night. Most of the time, Jungkook wins. But for every match Jungkook wins, he promises you’ll pick the next one so you’ve long since stopped trying to actually beat him.

Long story short, last weekend you sat through a two part Ancient Aliens episode on the connection between aliens and American presidents.

It was the most god-awful conspiracy theory you’ve ever heard of, but Jungkook ate up every minute of it. By the time the two hosts announced their conclusion you were just about ready to rip your own ears off and single-handedly fist fight every producer on the channel for allowing the production of such an atrocious show.

Anyway, because you had so bravely sat through the entire evening without complaints— well, no complaints towards Jungkook’s terrible taste; the show, however, was not safe from your wicked tongue —Jungkook has so graciously allowed you to pick the media for this weekend.

You’ve been telling him for the longest time that you were going to hook him on anime. It was one of the few interests you always believed Jungkook should possess, being a weeb and all, because it was only fair that he had one questionable trait to balance out the rest of his perfection. Liking anime isn’t bad— if a hottie like you enjoyed it, then it obviously had its perks. However, you know a lot of other people are turned off by anime-enthusiasts due to preconceived notions of the genre and the viewer-base.

Now, it was a widely known fact that you always had ulterior motives. So maybe turning Jungkook into a weeb was just a ploy to turn other women off from him and keep your jealousy at bay. Sue you, your boyfriend was a walking wet dream, and you’d do anything to keep him to yourself.

After long deliberation, you’ve decided on introducing Jungkook to anime with a classic: Ouran High School Host Club, a god among anime, a true Beyonce among shoujos. The only problem was that you absolutely refused to pay Crunchyroll or Funimation when you could so easily find the entire show on KissAnime.com, home to only the finest of hentai ads and Are You a Robot? questions.

He sends you a text when he’s outside your building, and five minutes later there’s a rap against your door.

“Hi,” you smile up at him, heart fluttering in that same trademark way it did whenever Jungkook was within a five foot radius. He smiles back softly, leaning down to peck your lips as you step aside for him to enter. He’s got on those cotton sweats that you love, the ones that send your brain into a censored frenzy. But he’s also got that soft curl to his hair that lets you know he came here straight out of the shower in his hurry to see you. How you managed to bag a dream boyfriend like him was beyond you.

You bask in the overwhelming feeling of unannounced love for all of ten seconds before Jungkook is lifting up a square package you hadn’t seen at his hip. “Mailman gave me this,” he says, waving around the signature bright pink packaging of Sexuality Unleashed. Jungkook, for all his politeness and respect, seemed to falter in those categories when it came to you. He turns the box over, reading the big fat name of the company on the side. “Since when did you start buying sex toys?” he asks rather loudly in the hallway.

You yank him inside, hurriedly slamming the door shut before any of your neighbors can come out into the hallway and get a peek of this avid sex toy consumer. “They’re not mine!” you hiss, standing still when he uses you to balance himself as he tugs off his shoes. You snatch the box out of his hands, turning it around to make sure it is actually addressed to your home. Sure enough, it’s for you. Couldn’t there have been some other sex toy fanatic on this floor?

With his shoes off, Jungkook wastes no time enveloping you in a hug, the Sexuality Unleashed box tumbling to the ground. “It’s okay, baby, no need to be embarrassed.”

You groan, leaning your forehead against his shoulder as he continues to pat your back like you’re actually embarrassed to be caught buying toys— you’re not. You’re embarrassed he caught you with a sex toy you simply can’t put to use. “Whatever,” you sigh, “your gross popcorn is in my bedroom and it’s probably stale.”

He releases you, not before pulling you into a slow and languid kiss that has you clutching tightly at the front of his shirt. He pulls away with a soft smooch, right eye falling into a wink. “Bring the box, gorgeous,” he teases, before sauntering off in the direction of your bedroom.

You groan loudly. “It’s not mine!” you repeat, but for some reason do as he says.

Not only do you have no idea what’s in this package, but you’re frankly not too keen on finding out. You’re more interested in Jungkook’s reaction to one of your favorite animes of all time. The package is tossed onto the end of the bed, where Jungkook has already stripped himself of his socks and cuddled beneath your covers.

Your laptop has gone dark from inactivity so you slam down on the space bar to bring it back to life. Your first mistake was pressing anything at all. It flickers back on alright, but you forget that you are working with a minefield of ads ready to explode. You get a glimpse of the KissAnime screen for a good two seconds before about seven ads pop up. Another tab to a raunchy hentai website opens, and Jungkook groans.

“What the hell is this?” he asks in a tone that screams he has never had to fight viruses off his computer just to watch something at two in the morning.

You ignore him, cuddling into his side as you hurriedly type in the title of the anime before another annoying ad can intercept you. “KissAnime,” you answer for now, accidentally clicking down on the mousepad with the heel of your palm. Another tab opens up to some sketchy credit site. You huff.

“Baby, I swear I just saw like twelve viruses,” he says. “And what even are these?” he scoffs, jabbing a finger at one of the many ads that lines the perimeter of the website. “Animated teacher porn?”

By the grace of god, you somehow manage to get onto the episode selection screen without having another tab open on you. You smile in relief, turning the power of your excitement onto Jungkook… only to find his eyes narrowed in on the square advertisement for some hentai website. “What? You wanna watch hentai now?” you snort, placing the laptop on his legs as you cuddle into his side.

Jungkook sputters, cheeks tinting red at the mere insinuation he would ever consume such media. “No,” he glares, releasing the arm around your shoulders to huffily cross them over his chest. “I am not going to watch anatomically incorrect illustrations of a woman teacher relieving herself, ___,” he says rather matter-of-factly.

You snort, repeating, “a woman teacher,” mockingly and in a high pitched voice that, honestly, doesn't sound anything like him. You click play on the video box that appears after only about twenty more pop-up ads. “Silence, you nymphomaniac, the episode is starting.” Jungkook pulls you close with a displeased expression, finally quieting down when you put it on full screen and the ads disappear from his view.

You’re beginning to wonder if Jungkook really is the script and plot dissector he claims to be, or if he just lives to get under your skin. He doesn’t make it three minutes without finding something to critique. First it’s the quality of the frames, and then it’s the characterization of the lead character. He nitpicks everything about the best anime in existence, and by the end of the first episode you’re considering breaking up with him.

“Oh my god,” you groan, tearing yourself away from him. He’s all laid up against your mountain of pillows, tongue prodding at the insides of his mouth in that ridiculously attractive habit of his. Usually, you’d be tripping over yourself to kiss him, but you’re about two seconds from ripping his head off. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, baby,” you sigh, picking up his hand in yours. “You gotta shut up.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I have to shut up?” he asks in a scandalized tone. “You sang through the entire intro, off tune may I add.”

At this rate you’re getting nowhere, so you just snatch the laptop back up before you actually hurt his feelings. You escape the full screen, met with those hentai ads that are slowly becoming the bane of Jungkook’s existence.

“Who actually watches those anyway?” he mumbles, covering the sidebar full of naked cartoon ladies with his palm for you, a real gentleman if you ever saw one. “Really?” he says, knocking his pointer finger against a particularly raunchy ad with the caption Be a Good Boy and Let her Play beneath it.

You snort. “You are such a baby,” you tease, pinching his cheek much to his annoyance. “What? Can’t handle seeing some anime titties?”

Jungkook shoves your hand away, leaning back to become one with the pillows as you continue onto the next episode. “They’re just weird,” he admits. “And make unrealistic faces.”

“Unrealistic,” you repeat, finally giving one of the ads the time of day. There’s an adorably drawn character making the most perverted expression, knees hiked up to her chest. Her face is twisted up, drooling like a dog and with her eyes crossed in ecstasy. You shrug. “Just because you can’t get those faces out of me doesn’t mean they’re unreal.”

The second the words leave your mouth Jungkook is letting out a scandalized scoff, sitting up to level you with another glare. “First of all, I can get you like that,” he defends, tapping his finger against the ad on screen. “In fact, I can get you like that without even trying, so let’s not say anything too drastic now, okay?”

His sudden bout of defensiveness makes something playful in you switch on, laying back down beside him with a smirk. “Oh, you can make me all stupid like this?”

Jungkook scoffs. “Yes.”

“Uh huh,” you drawl, tracing a finger up his chest teasingly; Jungkook knocks your knuckles away, obviously still butt hurt about your comment. That’s fine, because a slightly riled up Jungkook was always the best Jungkook. You sit up and lean in close, letting your hand slip beneath his hoodie, palm running over his bare shoulder and around the top of his back. You give his nape a light squeeze, lips pressed against the shell of his ear. “Why don’t you prove it to me, Jungkookie?” you purr, before pulling away.

His jaw twitches at the nickname, one shapely brow unconsciously arching as he regards you with a calculative expression.

The thing about Jungkook was that, after almost a year of dating, you know just how to push his buttons. He has a rather calm and collected exterior to him, the same one he’s had since the day you met him, but beneath it all was a childish competitiveness that raged with the heat of ten suns. He disliked being taunted like you were doing now, especially when his credibility was at stake.

Honestly speaking, you don’t doubt Jungkook can make you look as goofy and messy as those hentai ads. In fact you’re rather confident he can. Either way, him being right or you being right, you would still get some fun out of it.

“Hm?” you add, tracing your hand up to dance over the skin of his cheek, pads of your fingers running over that stiff jaw. “Are you scared I’m right and you’re wrong?”

A hand snaps up to catch your wrist, fingers tight around your skin until you’re shivering against him. “Oh baby, I can make you cum until you cry,” he murmurs, his usual sweet and lilting tone dropping to a low vibration that makes your pussy throb beneath your panties. Your heart leaps in your chest, lips falling open when he ducks down to brush them against yours. It’s too light, just a simple touch that makes you follow his mouth when he pulls back.

With one firm shove, the laptop is tumbling off the bed, thudding loudly against your bedside rug. Jungkook leans over you, his usual trademark doe eyes zeroed in on you with the focus of a laser. “Have a little faith in me,” he teases, and when he presses close you can feel his fattening cock flush against your thigh. Your body is begging to be touched, every brush of his fingers against your skin searing trails in their wake.

Suddenly, he’s drawing back. “Kook?” you frown, barely biting down on a childish whimper when he snuggles back into your mountain of pillows, one arm stretched behind his head.

He flashes you a smile. “Go on,” he says, arms behind his head. “Show me how to get you like that.”

“By myself?” you ask, shifting onto your knees anyway. Jungkook nods, a soft jut of his chin as he gives you another one of those easy going smiles of his. His goal seems a little unclear, but you had a ridiculous amount of trust in your boyfriend that whatever he had planned was certain to be good. With one final skeptical glance his way, you sink down onto your bum, knees spreading and giving him a clear view of your little pink boy shorts, elastic band hugging your waist.

The material of your t-shirt is guided away, held to your chest by the hand currently not traversing the length of your stomach, gliding across soft skin, over your belly button and past that band until it slips beneath. You chance another look Jungkook’s way, only to find his eyes wonderfully downcast in the direction of your core. That smile is gone now, replaced with a somber look as he watches your hand move mysteriously beneath the fabric of your undergarments.

The first brush of your forefinger against your swollen button makes you twitch, back arching at the sensation that is magnified by his watchful gaze. “Mmh,” you bite down, hand twisting in the material of your shirt. Jungkook’s eyes glare a molten path across your skin, from the comfy bra that peeks out from beneath your rumpled shirt to the wrist slowly working beneath your panties.

A hand falls over your thigh, tattooed fingers giving the skin a light squeeze as you get to work swirling your bud around. The sight of his inked skin on yours makes something warm blossom in your lower abdomen, your eyes following the inky swirls up, up, up. They lead you to the face of your very handsome boyfriend, long lashes fanning across his cheekbones as he watches you play with yourself. “Wanna take these off for me?” he says, the tip of his pointer finger wiggling beneath the fabric of your shorts.

You nod hurriedly, wiggling around on the bed until you’re on your back, legs bent in front of you. The shorts come down your legs; the simplest press of your thighs makes something quiver in your abdomen. You toss them off to the side, and just as you go to sit back up, Jungkook places a hand on your knee. “Stay like this for me,” he says, sitting up from his mountain of pillows to glance down at you. You melt into the plush mattress beneath you, staring down at him between your legs. He’s got that adoring look in his eyes, the one that makes you feel so warm and in love, it’s only natural your hand slips down to play with your bare clit again. “That’s my girl,” he smiles, rubbing a hand down the outside of your thigh, urging your legs to fall open.

There’s this overflowing vat of arousal that builds up inside of you everytime Jungkook is around, like the moment your eyes land on him you’re reminded of every position he’s ever had you in. You remember the soft brush of his hands on your body, the way his lips feel on yours, the soft tickle of his hair when he gets too close. It makes your heart lurch in your chest, like if you don’t grab onto him tightly this feeling will slip through your fingers and out of your life. So you were crazily in love with your boyfriend— now what?

A puckered set of lips meets the inside of your thigh, the action ripping you from your overly gooey, overly soft inner rambling. Your hand trails down your quivering pussy lips, collecting your dripping wetness as you go. At the same time, Jungkook kisses down the inside of your thigh, soft smacks of his lips against your skin filling the air with an emotion that makes you bite down a whimper. Your hole puckers at the brush of your fingers, anticipating an entrance that you yearn to give into soon.

His mouth is on you before your finger can go deeper than a centimeter in. But Jungkook doesn’t brush your hand off, doesn’t shove you away to prove his mouth was undoubtedly better. He places a kiss over your knuckles, before swallowing up your significantly smaller hand with his, that of which he clasps together over your navel.

You groan, head rolling from side to side. “Don’t be so soft with me,” you whine, leg twitching when he presses a kiss against your engorged bundle of nerves. “Push me around like that one time, you know I like it.”

Jungkook grins, mouthing over your clit with practiced ease that has you releasing all kinds of whimpers and sighs. He’s got his other hand wrapped around your thigh, strong arm pulling you closer to that devious mouth and tongue that lavished attention on your clit. “Need me to be mean to you, baby?” he purrs, curling his tongue in such a way that it makes your entire body tense up, muscles pulled tight. “Want me to push you around like the stupid little girl you are?” You moan, head bobbing up and down at the ideas he stuffs in your mind. As he moves down the length of your cunt, that round nose you love brushes against your bud, and the cheeky shit takes an obnoxiously loud sniff of it, a soft groan breathed against your lower lips. “But isn’t this better?” he hums, languidly molding his lips against your lower ones, much in the same way he does with the ones on your face; he moves slowly, slips his tongue in every few seconds before eventually diving in head on. “Slow... and so easy.”

“Kook,” you mewl, getting this overwhelming urge to cover your face with your hands. But you can’t, because he’s knotted one hand with yours and his fingers only tighten when you try to yank them apart. Instead you’re left pressing one knuckle against your mouth, brows pinching as he begins slowly fucking his tongue into your cunt. “F-Faster,” you beg. He, of course, ignores your plea.

The wet mass moves past the clenched muscles around your hole, nose brushing against your lips with every intrusion. Every few cycles he stops to press a kiss against your pussy, so hard and wet that it hurts when he pulls off. You’re left writhing and moaning, your heel knocking against his shoulder when he pushes your leg up closer to your chest. “It’s enough,” you cry, your entire body shivering.

Jungkook pulls off with a loud pop, lips glistening with your arousal. He’s got this glint on his eyes, like he’s thoroughly entertained by your reactions. He shuffles around to get comfortable, finally releasing that grip on your hand. Immediately, your newly freed hand jumps forward to tangle in the hair above his ear, tracing down the delicate curve of his cheekbone. Jungkook turns his head, pressing a soft peck against your open palm that makes your heartbeat thunder in your ears.

As he moves around, his leg bumps against something that has both of you pausing. It sounds out of place next to your shallow breaths, and both of you glance down only to catch sight of that stupid package from Sexuality Unleashed teetering on the edge of the bed.

The moment you see it, it’s like you’re transported into an omnipresent view of the scene, the next few hours flashing before your eyes as Jungkook snorts. You know he’s going to reach for it in two seconds, and you know he’s going to tear the hot pink packaging apart with his bare hands. He does so with a scary amount of power, the industrial tape not standing a chance against him. A box roughly the same size as the package falls out, and before you can kick it away and save yourself from suffering beneath Jungkook’s teasing antics, he’s snatching up the box.

“The Bullet Bestie,” he reads aloud, dark eyes flying across the text with lightning speed before that box is also being ripped open. (Briefly, there’s a voice in your head that thinks of Doyeon, but you’re not sure why.) Out tumbles a little pink bullet with a strap on one end that bounces against your thigh and an even smaller remote.

“Baby,” you rush out, the sight of the tiny toy making your heart thunder in your chest. “We can look at it another time,” you try, hands coming up to brush against his face again. “Why don’t you finish off here?” you ask, a sickeningly sweet politeness dripping off your tongue as the knot in your tummy fades into the background of his attention.

Jungkook ignores you, picking up the remote with a wondrous look in his eyes. Before you can try to persuade him back between your legs, a quiet click cuts you off and the little bullet whirls to life. You yelp at the sudden vibrations against the inside of your thigh, so close to your throbbing core. The jump of your thighs has it falling onto the mattress below you, wide eyes snapping back to the smirk that grows on his face.

“No,” you say slowly, sitting back up, “no, no,” you try, your usual assertiveness melting into a whiny cry as you try to wiggle away from him and the nefarious ideas infesting his lust-addled mind. You’re barely turning, ready to make a run for it and hand him his victory by forfeit, when Jungkook is catching you by the waist. Your hips get pulled up, arms clawing uselessly at the sheets beneath you as he drags you close to him. He’s fast, already having moved onto his knees behind you, and when he yanks you up, you can feel every hot plane of his body aligned with your backside. “Kook, please just make me cum,” you gasp.

There’s a smile pressed against your shoulder, lips still wet from before, kissing along the side of your neck. “Look at my girl,” he murmurs, and you nearly jump out of your skin when something smooth is traced along your thigh. One hand slips beneath the material of your shirt, soothingly rubbing circled against your skin. This hand also holds the tiny remote between two fingers, and every nerve in your body is on edge waiting for it to be used. “Where’s that smartmouth now?”

“Jungkook,” you try to warn. But there’s no bite to your words, only an anticipation that grows the closer he moves that damned toy between your thighs. “Baby, we-we can play another time, okay? Just please—“

A soft click, and suddenly your spine is giving out on you, upper body flopping forward as Jungkook runs the vibrations over your clit. Of course Jungkook follows, never letting you slip far from his reach. A loud moan spills from your lips, lower lip wobbling at the unreal amounts of pleasure he bestows upon you with such a small toy. “W-Wait,” you sob, the coil from before suddenly magnified tenfold. It makes your orgasm loom over you bigger than ever, a wave that threatens to spill over and drown you in one go. “No-please.”

His mouth presses against your ear, hot breaths fanning against the skin there. “Hey pretty girl, does it feel good?” he husks out, kissing just below your ear. “Aw fuck,” he groans, something stiff pressing against the cleft between your cheeks, “can’t even see if you’re making that stupid face right now.”

You are, but you don’t even have the words to tell him that. The moment the vibrator had made contact with your already ravished clit, your eyes had rolled into the back of your head. You don’t doubt you look like those silly ads you’d laughed at earlier, mouth opening and closing every few seconds as he circles the toy around your bud. You settle on a high-pitched whimper that has Jungkook laughing meanly against your ear.

It ends too soon, the stimulation from Jungkook eating you out for a few minutes combining with the bullet to form a powerful duo that swallows you whole. An embarrassingly loud moan rips itself from your throat, hands twisting in the sheets beneath you as it washes over you. It’s so powerful, it blinds you, pussy spasming. Jungkook’s name is repeated about a thousand times in between, your body eventually melting back into the mattress as the final shocks run through you.

The vibrator clicks off just as quietly as it turned on, your harsh breaths filling the room in its place. “Good girl,” Jungkook praises, raining down a parade of kisses against your shoulder. You mewl in appreciation, still awkwardly shoving your face into the mattress, and your hips in the air. From the corner of your eyes, you watch him set the glistening toy off to the side, and you’re just about ready to thank the heavens for such an experience with your boyfriend, when said boyfriend hits you with a curveball.

The gentle pecks against yours shoulder dissolve into harsh kisses, rough hands trailing up your waist. The t-shirt gathers around his knuckles, pushed and pushed until he’s got those same hands cupping your breasts. “Did you like that?” he asks, biting down against your shoulder; the sensation is dulled by your shirt being in the way but it still makes you whine. You moan softly, nodding against the mattress as he gets to kneading your breasts over your bra. “Mm,” Jungkook sighs, “my pretty girl was so good for me, wasn’t she?”

Those deft fingers run back down, crawl beneath the elastic of your lounge bra and push it away until your breasts are bouncing out of their cage. “Kook,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut as he traces circles around your nipples. “W-Wait,” you whimper, suddenly reminded of the swollen cock pressed against your backside when he leans closer.

“Shhh,” he soothes, tweaking your nipples. “Relax for me, sweetheart,” he coos, flicking your hardened nipples with his fingers. You can’t relax, not with your body still so sensitive and him playing with you. Still, the low intonation makes something soft and warm settle in your chest, the kisses against your jaw making your eyes fall shut. “That’s it,” he says, giving one nipple a playful twist that draws a high-pitched moan from you.

Just as you’re beginning to fall into the rhythm of Jungkook’s caresses and voice, he releases one breast to traverse his hand down and over your tummy, to your sensitive pussy. You gasp, biting down on your lip as he teasingly flicks your clit with his fingers. “Bet you could come again now,” he murmurs, taking the tip of your earlobe into his mouth and nibbling softly. You groan, shoving your face into the sheets as if that will save you from your doom. “Bet your pretty little pussy can cream itself just like this, isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

You whimper, hips bucking back against him when he begins nudging your bud, lewd sounds reaching your ears. His other hand remains on your breast, no longer toying with your nipple but simply holding it almost comfortingly. There’s a smirk pressed against your skin, that pearly white smile you usually adore so much teasing you as he circles your nub.

“Come on,” he encourages quietly, kissing up the column of your neck again. You moan, thighs quivering as he strokes a second orgasm out of you with no struggle. Your eyes and throat burn at the heat that washes over you, and you release a hoarse scream into the mattress— Jungkook chuckles at the sound, egging you on with that low voice until your muscles go limp a second time.

When he rolls you onto your stomach again, you try desperately to cover the tears that blur your vision, turning away from him like a child when he tries to look. “Crybaby, crybaby,” he sings teasingly, prying your hands away to capture your mouth with his for the first time that night. “Lemme see those tears, baby,” he purrs.

He tastes like you, tongue dripping with that sweet tang of your pussy, and he smells like you too. It strokes the flames of you ego, arms eventually wrapping around his shoulders as he settles above you. He pulls off with a curl of his tongue against your swollen lips, brown eyes lazily staring down at you. It’s embarrassing how well kept he still was compared to your half-nude state of dress. His skin is all glowy and pretty, not a single tear track in sight, and his grin is still too relaxed for your liking.

Jungkook’s body feels so warm and comforting against yours, muscles keeping the heat trapped between your bodies. You go to brush a hand through his hair, needing to feel the familiarity of those silky locks, before he’s suddenly leaning away. He shuffles onto his knees again, glancing down at your thoroughly abused cunt with a quirk in his brows.

“God,” you groan, knocking your foot against his side. “Just fuck me already,” you huff despite your earlier fatigue. You could only go so long without feeling Jungkook’s fat demon cock inside of you.

He snorts at your snappy tone, cutely tilting his head to the side to move his hair out of his face. His jaw looks sharp from this angle, facial features covered in shadows the lamplight behind him can’t touch. “Can’t,” he announces, and you could pull your hair out from all this unnecessary build up.

Truth to be told, you and Jungkook were both equally as unrestrained when it came to each other. Most of the time, the lead up to actual, penetrative, key-in-lock sex included a couple minutes of heavy petting from his end, and maybe a half assed handjob from you. Sometimes if you felt extra attentive, he’d eat you out and you'd him off. But for the most part, the two of you jumped straight into it after an orgasm, like horny teenagers despite the two of you being twenty-three now.

The most adventurous you’d ever gotten up until the point was maybe two orgasms bestowed upon you by a crazed Jungkook. And, well. You had hit two orgasms now. You were ready for his monster cock.

“Kook,” you whine childishly.

Jungkook shakes you off, placing a palm on both your knees. Slowly, he spreads your thighs apart again, eyes zeroed in on the glossy folds that come into view, the sparkling pearly cum that leaks out of your hole. “I can’t, baby,” he says, almost pained. “I gotta clean you up first,” he insists, and before you can tell him how counterproductive it is to lick you clean of your arousal before fucking you, he’s diving face first into your cunt.

But the biggest surprise doesn’t come from Jungkook going in for thirds, but from the hands he clasps around your thighs, the sheer strength he uses to roll you over (ignoring the shriek you let out) to sit you on his face. “No, no,” you yelp immediately, “I-I‘ll break you,” you cry, trying to escape from his hold.

From beneath your thighs, dark eyes peering up at you daringly, you can see the clear warning on Jungkook’s face. It’s a look that loudly says don’t you dare fucking move, shapely brows sending a jolt of genuine fear down your spine for a moment. “Jungkook,” you fret, trying to ignore the arousal that only continues to blossom as his tongue laps against your folds for the second time that night. “I’m, I’m,” you stammer, hands burying themselves in his hair as he ignores your cries. “I’ll break you,” you try again, spine arching when he slurps your clit into his mouth. “I-I’ll—“

He pulls off with a pop. “Fuck my face, baby,” he says, as if he hadn’t heard a single of your concerns at all. His nose nudges against your clit, a whimper catching in your throat. Briefly, his hand disappears from around your thigh, and when it returns, that tiny bullet vibrator from earlier is pressed against your thigh. “You got that?”

You nod, internally torn apart by your fear of crushing him and your need to drag your cunt all over your boyfriend’s handsome face. You glance down at him, watch him slip that vibrator into his mouth for just a second and lewdly coat it in his saliva, before he’s reaching around to shove it past your pussy lips. They’re still swollen and puffy, but have long since relaxed enough for him to slip it in. “B-But what if—“

“You won’t,” he cuts off, readjusting himself closer to your cunt again, “come on, pretty girl.”

The reason you think you and Jungkook click so well was because he was able to bring that vulnerable side out of you every now and then. He knew you liked to parade around with that huge superiority complex, and he loved it. But he also knew there were things you liked and disliked, and sometimes it took a little pushing for you to reveal them.

For a second, that horny cloud over his irises lifts, and he gives you one of those cute, sloppy winks as he taps your thigh gently. “Fuck my face, sweetheart,” he whispers, “drag that pretty cunt all over me until I can’t breathe.” A gasp catches in your throat, hands unconsciously curling against his scalp. He notices, and flashes you a lazy smirk. “You can do that, can’t you?”

Something akin to adoration blooms in your chest, and before you can blurt out something embarrassing—like I love you—there’s a soft click that has The Bullet Bestie revving up inside of you. You gasp, the sudden vibrations deep inside your pussy making your hips snap forward, clit rubbing against Jungkook’s nose.

“O-Oh,” you cry, and that’s all it takes for you to lose it. Your hips start off slow, at first just savoring the wet drag of his tongue against your lips, his nose against your clit. He sticks his tongue out for you, and part of you wants to tell him he’s a good boy, that corny hentai ad flashing in your mind, but you doubt you’ll survive the aftermath of that. Once you find that perfect pace, your hands are practically yanking at his hair, pushing him further into the mattress as you ride his face like he’s nothing but a toy. “Kook, Jungkook,” you pant, grinding your lower lips against his all too eager mouth.

It feels oddly weird being over him like this, using him like this. You like to think you and Jungkook have equal power in the bedroom, but you will admit that more often than not, he assumes control by default. You’re not particularly bothered by that, because you doubt you’d ever come up with the crazy ideas Jungkook did when he was horny (okay, a lie, because you definitely have thought of crazy sex schemes before).

But, this moment…

The power was quickly going to your head. “Fuck,” you sob, roughly dragging the length of your pussy over and over his face. The hands around your thighs are pressing against your skin with a strength that would hurt were you not blinded by arousal. His eyes are shut, lids fluttering open every now and then as he watches you buck wildly over his face like he was a pillow in high school and your parents were gone for the weekend.

It doesn’t help that the rhythmic pulses of the vibrator inside of you are doing their job well, the tongue that slips into your pussy joining together to form a powerful combination. It’s ultimately what has you halting your manic thrusts, instead falling into a slow grind over him. Your hips circle, eyes squeezed shut as you lose yourself in the lapping of his tongue against your dripping hole. “Mmmf,” you mewl, biting down on your lower lip as the wet muscle prods against a delicate spot within you. You hear feels light, view of the gorgeous man beneath you obstructed by the eyelids that can't seem to stay open. “N-No,” you cry, pulling his hair more roughly than you intended to in order to redirect him. “There, there,” you whimper, holding him tight against your pussy.

Beneath you, Jungkook exhales harshly against your lips, hands moving frantically over your thighs as he works his tongue inside of you alongside the bullet vibrator. If you weren’t so caught up in your own pleasure, all kinds of sounds spilling from your lips, you would have heard the quiet moans that fall from his. Alas.

It takes a few more pulses from the toy and a few more licks from Jungkook until you’re coming for the third time that night, features twisting up as your pussy clenches around his tongue before spilling down his mouth. Your back arches, a defeated moan escaping you as you release the same mess he’d claimed to clean up onto his lovely face. You can barely breathe afterwards, mouth dry and head dizzy when Jungkook finally pops back out from between your thighs. You barely have enough time to lift yourself up, pussy lightly brushing across his Adam’s apple as you stop yourself from crushing his windpipe. It makes you twitch.

“Good girl,” Jungkook praises with a cheeky smile that distracts you from the bullet toy he retrieves from your quivering cunt. His face is absolutely glistening from your arousal, skin warm and flush. He’s looking up at you like you’re some mythical goddess and he’s but a humble villager coming to pay his respects at the temple that is your body. Fuck, were you okay? You don’t think you’ve ever felt this good in your entire life, and Jungkook’s mushy gaze was doing things to your heart.

He presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh before helping you off of him, laughing meanly when you flop limply down beside him. He’s still fully clothed, a fact that irks you when he leans over to kiss you with that glossy face of his. “D’you like it?” he mumbles, kissing softly down your face. You nod, legs twitching from the aftermath of that wild ride. “I saw it, y’know,” he says suddenly.

“Saw what?” you mumble, mindlessly rolling your head to the side and exposing more skin when he begins kissing along your neck.

Jungkook says nothing, just rolls over you. Part of you thinks he’s crazy, but you’re suddenly hit with the realization that while Jungkook’s drawn three orgasms out of you in the course of an hour, you hadn’t done anything for him. Before you can dive head first into swallowing his cock, he’s kissing you softly. “That stupid face,” he smirks, slotting his mouth against yours. “That weird, now realistic face,” he tacks on.

You huff out a laugh, throwing your leg around his waist comfortably. Jungkook smiles, kisses you one last time before settling in your arms, face cutely pressed in between your boobs. “Hey,” you call, “don't you wanna cum too?”

He shakes his head, a soft sigh filling the air. “Nah,” he says, cuddles closer into you. “Rest now, baby.”

You roll your eyes. “I can feel your dick against my thigh,” you point out, wiggling your pelvis upward to brush against his throbbing erection. Jungkook holds you down in an effort to stop you. “Fuck me.”

He groans against your collarbone. “No, you’re tired,” he tries to convince you, but his skin is warm and flushed in the way it always gets when he’s riled up. “Sleep.”

With the leg around his hip, you pull him closer. “Fuck me, Jungkookie,” you purr, using the hands in his hair to turn his face up towards yours. His dark eyes are drawn down cutely, pouty lips too. “Use my body,” you suggest, “I’m yours anyway.”

His eyes flutter shut, a quiet whimper falling from his lips. “Don’t say that,” he sighs, “makes me wanna do very mean things to you.”

You smile. “You can do whatever you want to me, don’t you know that?” Another groan, his head falling forward until he’s hiding in your neck. Still, there’s movement from below, he sweats slipping down at his hips until that throbbing cock is pressed into the tiny crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. There’s a moment of hesitation, and you wonder if this is what he felt like earlier when he’d managed to get you to sit on his face. “Inside, Jungkookie,” you murmur, reaching down to line him up with your sensitive entrance. He whines softly, arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close. “Good boy.”

Despite your earlier belief that you’d never survive an encounter with Jungkook after using such a term on him, the result is much different from what you had anticipated. He visibly melts into your arms, cock slipping past your folds easily. “No,” he says, his voice feathery and whiny against your ear. “I can’t.”

You soothe a hand down his back, eyes fluttering shut as he begins slowly rutting against your swollen lips. “That’s it,” you encourage, tugging softly at his wavy hair. Jungkook moans wantonly against your neck, rolling his hips harshly against you until his arms are the only things keeping you from jostling out of his hold. “Do you like this pussy?” you ask, purposefully clenching around him, tummy tightening at the stimulation you keep packing on.

Jungkook shudders, pace growing slipping inside of you. “Yes,” he pants, “s-so wet… creamy.”

“Yeah?” you huff, pressing a smiley kiss against his forehead. “It’s yours.”

“Ffffuck,” Jungkook chokes, picking up his pace as his well-deserved orgasm reaches its peak. He’s breathing harshly now, and it’s taking everything in you to keep your pussy tight around him. But after the night he’d given you, the sounds and faces he pulled from you, it’s the least you can do. Besides, your body, after being so thoroughly pleased, still rears up for one final orgasm with him. “Mine,” he growls, bucking his hips into you. “You’re mine, baby, mine,” he seethes, ending his little tryst with a piston of his hips that makes you gasp, body almost unconsciously spasming around him. It’s painful, but so, so delicious how he manages to pull this last orgasm from you as he finally busts inside of you.

He comes with a stuttering garble of words, none of which you catch as he collapses into your hold for the final time that night. “Fuck,” he pants afterwards, leaning into your touch when he finally registers the soft combing of fingers through his hair. “That was evil.”

You laugh, pulling him closer. “As evil as you making me suffer through three orgasms before putting your dick in me?” you tease. Jungkook slips out of you, and you know it’ll be a hassle to clean your sheets tomorrow but it’s worth it.

“It’s called building the scene,” he weakly defends, blindly tugging the puffy blanket over the two of you. “I was gonna rhyme it with that horrible website you made me use but I already forgot it’s name.”

“Rude,” you snap, “it’s called KissAnime.”

“And fore-play,” he suddenly says, and you almost yank his eyeballs out of their sockets for doing that stupid thing again.

—

epilogue

Two weeks later, your favorite website and home to hentai ads is shut down after years of piracy. Jungkook laughs at your demise, sits and actually cackles at your heartbreak, until he eventually comforts you with his flaming demon cock and a subscription to both Crunchyroll and Funimation. Doyeon spends weeks tracking down a missing package, apparently some freebie she’d gotten for being such an avid customer on Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide! before eventually finding it in your drawer. And because her and Jungkook have some awkward life-long rivalry for your attention, he doesn’t pay for that.

—

#goldenclosetnet #networkbangtan #bangtanhq #ksmutclub #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #jjk fic #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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hornime · 3 years

Text

mutually assured destruction | kyoutani kentarou x gn!reader

he pushed your cheeks in with his fingers, effectively quieting your protests. “be quiet,” he spat, “and take what i give you. or nothing at all.”

warnings: 18+, fwb!kyoutani, hate sex, degradation, orgasm denial, fighting for dominance (idek if that’s a thing but it should be), both you and kyo are BRATTY AS HELL, some choking, spitting, CHAIN BITING, kinda toxic ?? but like mutually so it cancels out cus pemdas ???

w/c: 1.7k (i got carried away but kyoutani is just so sexy)

a/n: the way i came up with this title while studying for apush and then kyoutani flooded my mind and suddenly the catalysts of the cold war no longer mattered to me anymore.

you and kyoutani were not a good mix, not by a long shot. simply being in the same room was a disaster waiting to happen; he was a bundle of tnt and you were a lit match. for all that you hated each other, though, both of you needed the other for something: a fuck that would never disappoint.

the sex, just like your relationship, was explosive. it was heart-stopping, ab-clenching, vision-blinding, breath-stealing, hardcore-as-fuck sex. neither of you could get enough of it nor wane yourself off it. you were addicted.

it made you hate him even more.

[11:05 PM] kyo-kyo: come over

you cringed at the contact name. you must’ve changed it after the last time you hooked up, all stupid and cock-drunk. you quickly retyped his contact info before responding to his message.

[11:05 PM] you: why

[11:05 PM] kyoutani: are you an idiot? you know why

[11:05 PM] you: ik i just wanna hear u say it

[11:05 PM] you: say that ur soooooo horny that you just haddddd to text me

[11:06 PM] kyoutani: no. fuck you.

[11:06 PM] you: fine. im not coming over then.

you both knew that was a lie.

[11:08 PM] you: have fun taking care of urself.

[11:08 PM] you: needy bitch.

[11:08 PM] kyoutani: watch it. i wasnt this mean when you were begging me to fuck you last week.

you sighed. that was a moment of weakness.

[11:08 PM] kyoutani: whatd you say last time? something along the lines of “ill do whatever you want just come fuck me”?

[11:11 PM] kyoutani: *attachment: one (1) screenshot*

[11:11 PM] kyoutani: ohh it was “ill do whatever you want PLEASE just come fuck me”

[11:12 PM] kyoutani: youre so much nicer to be around when you use your manners

definitely a moment of weakness.

[11:12 PM] you: fuck off i get it. im coming

[11:12 PM] kyoutani: doors unlocked

the moment you nudged your way into his apartment, he was on you, hands gripping tightly at the flesh of your hips and teeth nibbling at your bottom lip.

“get off,” you groaned, pushing him away. as you peeled off your jacket, you glanced down at his pants and looked back up at his face with an amused expression. “are you hard already?”

he met your eyes with a gaze of lust—and was that desperation?—before turning to walk towards his bedroom, expecting you to follow. “no.”

“yes you are,” you teased. “you really needed me, didn’t you? you’re absolutely pathe—”

before you could finish, kyoutani grabbed your wrist before practically dragging you to his bed. he pushed you onto the mattress and, with his hands on your waist, maneuvered your body up until your head rested between his two pillows. “stop fucking talking. your voice is annoying.”

“at least i can keep it in my pants,” you retorted. “you’re just embarrassingly horny.”

“you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.” that shut you up.

he crept towards you until the gold chain around his neck dangled tantalizingly in your face. in an instant, you were kissing, aggressively melding your lips together in a mess of teeth and tongue. kyoutani’s hands clumsily reached for your bottoms, briefly breaking the kiss to unbutton your pants and yank them, along with your underwear, off your legs. he then did the same to himself, giving his leather belt a thoughtful once-over before glancing back at your face. he was clearly deliberating about something in his head, though you were completely clueless as to what, but he ultimately threw the belt to the side alongside his jeans with a shrug of his shoulders. maybe next time, he thought.

meanwhile, you’d taken off your shirt and were tugging at the hem at kyoutani’s. he seized your forearm, “stop being so impatient,” he chastised, before pulling the cloth over his head and letting it drop to the floor.

breathless, you both marveled in the glory of the other’s naked body. kyoutani, a lot more eager than you—though he’d rather die than admit that—closed the distance between you, leaning down to suck on your tongue. when he separated from you, his eyes cloudy and cheeks flushed, you spit in your palm, maintaining eye contact while feeling blindly for his cock.

he hissed, briefly shutting his eyes, as your fingers closed around his shaft, leisurely stroking up and down.

“where’s the lube?”

“in the,“ his voice became strained as your thumb swirled his pre-cum around the tip, “the bo-bottom drawer. i’ll,” he groaned. “i’ll get it.”

you released his cock as he leaned over, opening the drawer and pulling out the bottle. he dribbled some of the liquid on the pads of his fingers and brought them closer to your hole. you tensed, eyes squeezing in anticipation as you prepared for the intrusion.

nothing happened.

in confusion, you opened your eyelids only to be met with the mildly-entertained expression of the man above you. “so hasty,” he tsked. his fingertips circled your fluttering hole but did nothing more.

“stop teasing,” you pleaded.

he slowly inched his fingers in, groaning as he watched your walls stretch to accommodate him. for a few minutes, he did nothing but push in and out and scissor his fingers, making you wider and wider.

“put it in.”

your words were met with little resistance—he wanted this as much as you did, if not more—and he repositioned himself, aligning his cock with your hole, now stretched and slick with lube. he moved his hips in, moaning lightly as he bottomed out.

“f-fuck,” he mumbled. “you’re so tight.”

“just move.”

he obliged, thrusting in and out, faster and faster, until you both were crying out in pleasure, scrumptiously close to your orgasms.

“i’m gonna cum soon,” you babbled. “don’t s-stop.”

“oh, are you now?”

you nodded mindlessly, brain hazy and unable to register the sinister undertone of his question.

“y-yeah. i’m so close. so. close—fuck i’m gon-”

kyoutani suddenly halted his movements, eyes blazing as he looked down at you.

“wha-why’d you stop?” you couldn’t help but whine. “i was so close.”

“are you seriously asking me that? why i stopped?” he taunted. “who’s the one that called me a ‘needy bitch’? huh?”

shit. if you’d known that he was going to use your jabs against you like this, you never would’ve made them. hindsight is a bitch.

“i didn’t mean it, kyo,” you pleaded, innocently using the cute nickname. “you know that. so why don’t you just give me what i wan-”

he pushed your cheeks in with his fingers, effectively quieting your protests. “be quiet,” he spat, “and take what i give you. or nothing at all.”

he thought for a moment. “and call me ken.”

he resumed his thrusts, significantly more erratic than before, and you couldn’t help but call out his name: ken, k-ken, fuck ken, more.

however, you’d sobered up from your denied release, and a wicked plan was beginning to formulate in your head. kyoutani, actually ken, now, was losing his composure even faster than you were—he’d denied himself an orgasm for the sake of punishing you, after all. you could tell that his dominance was crumbling—his shaking forearms and barely concealed moans had not gone unnoticed—and now was a good a time as ever for revenge.

and his chain, his stupid, fucking, gold chain, was getting on your nerves, clashing with your face every time his hips met yours. fed up and driven by vengeance, you clasped your teeth around the glimmering necklace, catching him off-guard.

he looked down at you, curiosity shining through his lustful gaze. “what’re yo-”

you quickly jerked your head to the side, yanking him off balance and making him land on his side. in an instant, you’d forced him onto his back and straddled his muscular thighs, a triumphant look visible on your face.

“how’d you even d-” ken choked on his words as you slammed back down on him again, taking him impossibly deeper. his hands scrambled to grip the bedsheets, “shit.”

“for the record,” you panted in between heavy breaths, rocking your hips, “i called you a needy bitch because you are a needy bitch.”

“shut up. no i’m no-”

your hand closed around his neck, preventing him from continuing. “yes you are,” you insisted, “and you’ll take whatever i give you.”

he shook his head out of your grasp, gasping for air. “i fucking hate you.”

“open your mouth,” you ordered. he glared at you defiantly. “open,” you purposefully clenched, tightening your hold on his cock, “up.”

at the sudden change in pressure, he couldn’t help but throw his head back and moan, allowing you to harshly grab his chin and let your salvia drip off your lips onto his awaiting tongue.

“swallow,” you demanded.

overwhelmed by the undeniable pleasure coursing through his veins, he did so without complaint. why does it taste good, he sighed internally. now i’m gonna want more.

just a few thrusts later, you both reached your orgasms, moaning far too loud in a room of walls that were far too thin. the intensity made your muscles turn to jelly and you collapsed onto ken’s chiseled chest, your bodies both trembling.

“‘m tired,” you mumbled into his collarbone.

“yeah me too,” he snapped. “you’re fucking exhausting to be around. i don’t know why i do it.”

“i do,” you teased, raising your head, “‘cus you’re a needy bi-”

he mashed your cheek back into his shoulder. “don’t finish that.” you weren’t sure if the fuzziness in your mind was clouding your judgement, but you swore you could hear the hint of a snicker in his voice.

gradually shaking the exertion out of your limbs, you picked up your clothes and got dressed, walking out ken’s front door with a middle-finger throw over your shoulder.

“i hope i never have to see you again!” he called out behind you.

as you headed back to your apartment, your phone buzzed with a text:

[02:01 AM] ken: i have a team dinner on tues and its gonna be annoying and ill probably be frustrated as hell

[02:01 AM] ken: so

you hesitated before responding.

[02:01 AM] you: i can be there around 10

[02:02 AM] ken: cool. sounds good

you couldn’t help the corners of your mouth from turning up. you were happy—in a sick, perverted, sex-crazed kind of way—but happy all the same.

tuesday couldn’t come soon enough. you were going to absolutely destroy each other.

#the chain biting was such a sexy brain move on my part #like how did i even think of that #that one paragraph literally belongs in a museum #spreading my gold chain kyoutani agenda #kinky.inky #haikyuu smut #haikyuu! smut #kyoutani x reader #kyotani kentaro x reader #maddog #maddog x reader #tw.hate sex #tw.degradation #tw.toxic #tw.choking #tw.spit #kyoutani

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nat-20s · 3 years

Note

#10?

prompt 10- recognizing the other's voice in a crowded room

so uhh u didn't specify this being a pairing, and it ended up jonmartin lol

this is like? an au where one of the domains of the lonely (and also maybe stranger) plays off the specific loneliness that comes with parties. u kno the one, where you have fun for about an hour and then realize that you're fundamentally isolated and you need a breather?

anyway

~*~

Upon opening his eyes, he is not where he last remembers being. He is not sure how long his disorientation will last, but considering he's standing up right, at the edge of a crowded ballroom, he suspects it may be the entire time that he's here.

He had fallen asleep on the couch, the TV blaring away on a program he didn't know any of the details of. It hadn't mattered what was playing, as long as it had some of the natural rise and fall of other people speaking. He had been severely mising that lately, those gentle rhythms of conversation, and trying to listen to an audiobook while staring at his bedroom's popcorn ceiling just wasn't cutting it. So, TV dreaming it was.

Oh, that could be what was going on. An elaborate dream, constructed from the sound of a scenario he hadn't paid any attention to. He didn't think he'd fallen asleep watching anything to spark this kind of dreamscape, but that didn't mean much. It'd be oddly lucid, for a dream. And oddly sharp. His dreams, much like his memories, were always somewhat clouded over, and never as colorful as reality. Even his grayest waking days, of which there were many, had colors more distinct than what appeared in his mind's eye.

Simple test: he could never read or write in dreams. The words always swirled and distorted, and he somehow lost all manual dexterity. He needed a book, or a pencil, or both. He began to wander the ballroom, and abruptly realized that this was a masquerade, everyone wearing elaborate costumes with animal shaped masks. Did he fit in? Did he belong? He hoped he wasn't in what he fell asleep in, the worn hoodie and sweatpants barely worth making a grocery run in. The outside world wasn't supposed to see him looking comfortable, but presentable. He liked to think that if he left the apartment appearing at least somewhat put together, maybe people would believe that extended to other areas of his life. That it would be easier to ignore the increasingly dark circles under his eyes, that his nice sweater had been getting gradually looser as the tool of everything literally wore him down.

Small mercy, he wasn't like that now. A glance down showed that he was, like the rest of the guests? Captors? dressed to the nines. He has a suspicion that his own elaborate outfit, dark blues with gold and pearl embroidery, was a part of it. It was not a mercy to blend in here, it was a design element. Standing out would result in being noticed, being noticed meant being seen as an individual, and they can't have that.

It is with that line of thinking that he suddenly becomes aware of the weight of the mask on his face, the restriction of his sight through eyeholes. Looking into a teapot that's been polished to a mirrored shine, he see that he bears the incredibly crafted face of a field mouse. It would almost be plain, if it didn't have matching embroidery to his coat.

Fitting, he thought. It made him look smaller than he was, and he had so often wished to go unnoticed. A fly would've also worked, but he imagines it would be rather hard to make that into a suitably beautiful mask. Either way, he was level with the rest of the crowd. Even believing it to be part of the trick, even knowing that the masquerade was meant to make you false, there was some level of comfort to it. He was not going to be seen here. Instead someone more handsome, more charming, more even with his peers was allowed to take his place, as false as they were. Best of all, that's what all of them would be doing here, the whole appeal of a masquerade in leaving behind the person you loathe most and can never be free from.

Seems lonesome, for a party. So structured around the theater of it all. You can connect with countless people, and you don't get to actually connect with any of them at all.

Oh.

Oh, now this made all made sense. Crave interaction, and get a warped version of it.

He could see the napkins, emblazoned with a name that he didn't recognize, presumably the host, and, in much smaller font, the company name. Every one of them was consistent.

Easy enough to receive the message. This wasn't a dream. This was a punishment.

Hmm. Well, no, punishment might be the wrong term. Punishment implied that it was a consequence, a direct cause and effect of doing something wrong, by someone's definitions of "wrong". No this was. Torture is too strong of a word, and again, has the problem of making this seem willful. Deliberate. And maybe it was, but more likely, whatever this was had just sort of happened. A cruelty that comes with being in the universe they all happen to occupy.

This wasn't a dream. This was a consequence.

He doesn't know how to get out of here. He can't see any doors, and exits. The only approximation of one is some giant frosted glass that seem like they might lead to a balcony. They're only on the other end of the ballroom, but that lengths feels impenetrable, like it spans for miles and miles of harsh terrain.

There's a few options available to him.

One: Try to fall asleep, and see if he can get back to where he started. Lowest effort option, but he's pretty sure he hasn't been this fully awake in months. Maybe years. Something about the environment makes it feel as though electricity sparks throughout his entire body. It's an interesting sensation, certainly, akin to anxiety taken to an extreme degree, yet it's not particularly conducive to sleeping.

Two: Make a break for it. He doesn't know if there's anywhere to make a break for, but he also isn't sure how high up this place is. Maybe the balcony is a viable option for escape. Or maybe he'll find a door that had previously been hidden from him. Hell, maybe he won't fully escape, but he'll find somewhere quieter at the very least. Somewhere that he doesn't leave him so thoroughly dazed. This is probably the best option, even account for the wall of people surrounding him. But.

Option Three: Join the Dance.

Inadvisable. Foolish, really. The best outcome is..what? Is there a best outcome? Worst outcome is he's dancing forever, until his feet wear down to stubs of bone, until he dies, until he cant remember anything but the dance. Never a connection with any dancer, all of them, eventually, a blur of activity and nothing more.

Yet, it's what he's going to do. He's not the most curious person he knows, that honor goes to a man that he's been in love with for years, but can't grasp any of the details of while he's here. That can't be good. What was his name?

Anyway. He's not the most curious, but he's hardly immune to a detrimental sense of interest. He wants to know what the dance is like. He wants to see the intricate costumes of the others stuck here, and see if there's anything behind the masks. He knows it will, inevitably, leave him lonelier. He knows, inevitably, that he does not care. At least this version of loneliness is more interesting than sitting in his flat, wondering whether having thin enough walls to hear the echo of his neighbors' voices would make things better or worse. So, when someone approaches, adorned in a shrew mask, hand outstretched to pull him into the fervor, he accepts.

The dancer is competent. Neither of them steps on the others foot, and he lets himself be led. Even better, the dancer is willing to talk. A man named Tom, his voice cheerful even as he confirms that he doesn't know how he came here either. Tom shrugs when he asks if this bothers him, saying if you're going to end up somewhere mysteriously, gliding across a ballroom with a handsome stranger is hardly the worst place to be.

It takes a second for him to register the fact that Tom's flirting. It makes him laugh, and it feels wrong in his throat. The sound is unfamiliar, almost belonging to someone else, but it's brief enough not to hurt. He'll grieve all the time he's lost later, for now, he says, "How would you know if I'm handsome with this mask? Or are you just making a flattering guess?"

Tom opens his mouth to answer, a grin on his features that suggest something playful and wry is about to come out, but then the song ends. They both know, somehow, that the brief rapport they've gotten to enjoy has come to an end. They swap partners, and as much has he would like a second dance, when Tom gets swept into the throng, he knows he won't be seeing him again.

The next dancer is at a higher skill level at him, which results in nerves encroaching on what limited ability he has. Perhaps the peacock mask should've been a tip off. He doesn't speak to them, more focused on trying to keep up. He doesn't regret that they'll only have one dance, but he is slightly remiss that his own costume doesn't have feathers after watching the way they move.

The dancer after that catches him for a slow dance. Her name is Shelia, and he's never seen such a dazzling smile. He tells her as such, and she tells him that she would tell him the same, but she hasn't actually seen his own, yet. He makes an attempt, and she tells him, "Oh honey, you're waiting for someone here, aren't you?"

When he states his confusion, that nobody comes to mind, or at least, that nobody is going to come, she shakes her head. Apparently, she can always tell when her dance partners have somewhere else to be, and she doesn't resent it, but it does mean she's not going to give him her number for after the night ends. He's amazed she believes this night will end, but it's a sentiment that seems far too rude to voice out loud.

He also knows that he doesn't have somewhere else to be. If he did, he would've never joined in.

The music continues, and so does he. He tries to get names, tries to get connections. He flirts with Mark, and Nadia, and Jamie. Those people are his favorite during the dances, but losing the also feels the most acute. Robert is his least favorite, even more so than the peacock, for how incredibly small the fox makes him feel. Nothing is even said, it's just the entirety of body language screams that Robert doesn't think he belongs here, that he's not worthy of the clothes he's wearing or the hall he's haunting. Ironically, he's right. He doesn't belong here. These clothes, these people, are not his. Only Robert is quite so skilled at making that seem like a bad thing.

About ten dances in, long past the point he should be winded, he realizes two things. One, there's no pain in his feet, no heaviness to his breathing, confirming once again that no aspect of this environment is natural. Two, is that he's actually had a path. Sometime in the spins and leads and follows, he had been making his way towards the center of the floor. He denies the next partner, likely the worst of a faux paus in this environment, but he needs a moment to stop. Taking in the scene, he has yet to find the source of the music, but he has found the host of this party.

There's nothing to physically show that he's the host. His costume isn't particularly ostentatious, at least not compared to the rest of them. He's not surrounded by a horde of people clamoring for his attention. He doesn't glow or sparkle or have a spotlight on him. The only reveal of his status is the fact that the second he looks at the man in the owl mask, fear floods through him.

Now he needs to run. He needs to leave, he needs to get out, he can't let the man in the owl mask see him, let alone approach him. Pushing his way through the crowd is a bad idea, will bring too much attention to himself. However, he's not in a state to think about that sort of thing, panic gripping his actions. As he shoves his way past one person, he swears ten more people tke their place, and he, oh so close to despair, is unable to tell if there's any actual distance being put between him and the owl masked man.

As he's about to start biting, clawing, screaming his way out any way he can, he hears something that makes him stop.

"Let him go, or I will make you let him go."

The statement is cold, filled with vitrol and determination. It should only make him more afraid. But as he turns around, he sees someone he never expected to be here, someone who has come here anyway. In an all black outfit, the man's face is covered with that of a cat's, but he has not a single ounce of doubt as to who it is. And he's facing off against the owl man, the absolute fool. He's facing off against the owl man, and Martin knows that it's on his own account. What the hell? He can't...he doesn't know what's going to happen to him, what exactly the owl man is going to do, but he can't let Jon get hurt. Begging his voice to pierce through the pandemonium of people and noise, he calls out, "JON!"

Jon finds him in an instant, eyes locking. They only have a second before the crowd pushes in, before the owl man reaches out, wing-like cape ready to wrap Jon up and snatch him away. Jon simply calls out, "Balcony!" before he's once again out of sight. Martin wants to go towards him, wants to follow the instinct to try and protect the one he loves, but going forward is impossible.

The tempo and volume of the music has swollen, and he's surrounded by hands reaching out, trying to pull him in. One of those hands, much to his surprise, belongs to Tom. He stares, uncomprehendingly, and Tom shoves his hand out even further in an act of urgency. He has to participate to make progress.

He holds on tight, all the basic skill of their first dance lost. It doesn't matter, as long as Martin participates, he is rewarded. When the next song begins to play, Tom strengthens his grip, and they manage to prevent the switch. In a manner of minutes, or perhaps hours, they make their way to the edge of the crowd. Martin can see those beautiful frosted doors only about 10 meters away, mostly unobstructed, and releases Tom from their dance. "Thank you. I seriously didn't think..just, thank you."

Tom gives him a nod, his expression much more solemn than it had been during their initial meeting. "After our first dance, I remembered my kids. A daughter and son. If they're out there, wherever out there is, I need to get back to them. If you can get yourself out, maybe there's hope for the rest of us, yeah? I think you might be a tipping point."

Martin had no idea if that was true. Sounded a bit too..center of the story for him. The hero, the chosen one, he was never going to fufill those roles. But. But he doesn't know what a denial would serve, and if he can go through those doors, who knows? "Yeah...yeah, maybe. I'll certainly try."

Tom clasps one of Martin's hands between both of his own, and with a quick shake, tells him, "That's all I ask."

In a blink, Tom has once again been swallowed by the fray, and Martin strides to his goal. He catches glimpses of the owl man out of the corner of his eye. Despite the sight making his heart race, the owl man never makes it to him, almost as if the dancers had forcibly blocked his path. Fascinating, isn't it, how a crowd can turn against someone in a matter of moments. Fascinating, isn't it, how a crowd can decide to help someone in the same span of time.

As Martin stands in front of the exit to the balcony, he has to take a breath. This could be a trick. A trap. A cruelty. If it is, he'll deal with it. If not, well.

Well.

The doors are heavy, but he's still able to push them aside. The sight outside is incredible. The stars are dazzling, brilliant, and numerous, resembling themilky way that Martin has only ever seen in pictures.

It's wrong. It's obviously wrong. Martin's never been anywhere remote enough to escape the effects of light pollution, and he's pretty sure a brightly lit manor isn't the exception to that rule. Yet, that's not what's bothering him about it. He can't quite articulate why, but the sky in general should be..different. Worse, maybe. Greener?

Jon is staring up into the night sky with a fascination that confirms Martin's suspicion. After he takes a step towards him, Jon turns towards him, and a smile appears that knocks the breath right out of Martin. When has Jon ever smiled at him like that? It doesn't make sense, feels like another trick of the party, but Martin decides he doesn't care, he'll enjoy it while it lasts. "I have to say, this is definitely one of the nicer looking domains we've wandered through. Always a plus when we end up somewhere without any bloodstains."

That's not... "Huh?"

With an aftertaste of a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders, Jon tells him, "Just that, for as much as I despise the loneliness, it does at least have cleanliness going for it."

He knows of the fears, at least, but the way that Jon is talking about them doesn't make sense. He's going to ask about it, try to get some clarification, but then Jon takes off his mask. There's more grey at the temples than he remembers, more eyes than the average person, and he's stunningly beautiful. Martin's always found Jon rather good looking, even when he didn't particularly like Jon himself (god, what a fool he was. Maybe what a fool they both were). Combined with the softness in the line of his mouth, the adoration in his eyes, it leaves Martin breathless, speechless, thoughtless. Feet moving of their own accord, he drifts closer to Jon. Once he's standing in front of him, Jon reaches up, then pauses, as if asking for permission. Half in a daze, Martin nods, then leans down. Ever so gently, Jon lifts Martin's mask off. The pinpoints of contact between his face and Jon's fingers almost burn, and he realizes that despite the electrified sensation under his skin, he's been cold this entire time. Mask fully off, Jon beams at him, and lets out a quiet, "There you are."

It's too much. It's the tipping point for him to go from enamoured back to properly baffled. "Jon, I don't..what are you doing here?"

Jon smile drops, and Martin almost wants to take it back. Almost, because he needs answers, because if this is a dream, if this is a nightmare, it's more wicked than he could've ever expected. Being stuck forever in a dance with only partners whose greatest talents were being alone in a crowd is one thing, but having a..a false Jon, one that regarded him with...that acted like...that felt anything close to the same as Martin was so..exacting. When it got taken away, when the illusion shattered, it would hurt. It's already hurting, anticipation of the wound causing a phantom pain. Jon's brows are furrowed, and at least that is familiar, expected. "I..thought you would want to leave. I came to get you out."

"I do," did he?, "but that still..that's not the why? Why would you come for me?"

"Because I love you? I know I'm not much for the swashbuckling hero role, bit I figured that would make me rather uniquely qualified."

Martin sucks in a breath through his nose and his eyes go wide. Ability to read be damned, this is a dream, and mean one at that. He's going to wake up, and he's going to remember, and he's going to be as alone as he's always been. "Since when? You're not..I think we've just started being friends, and it's not even, fuck, we're not even that close! And even if..if things were in development, which they aren't, you're supposed to be in America right now. Or, no, wait you're in a coma, or maybe..no, that's not-"

Martin's spiralling is abruptly cut off by Jon taking his hands. Looking at his face, he finds Jon staring back, his eyes, his two eyes, are searching him, and Martin realizes he might not be the only one that's lost right now. "Martin...what's the last thing you remember?"

A mostly empty flat, the delightful mix of insomnia and exhaustion, and the TV with the volume turned down low enough to not bother anyone but himself. The context around that scene is a bit fuzzier. "I..was at my place. It was..I dunno, it was boring."

"Anything else. Do you remember Jane Prentiss?"

"Of course I remember Jane Prentiss. Not likely to ever forget the worst two weeks of my life."

"What about Scotland?"

Scotland? "I'm mean, I've never been, but I, uh, am aware of the concept."

Except that wasn't quite true, was it? He had been to Scotland, and Jon had been there, but when? Why? What had they..

Jon's frown deepens. "Martin, do you trust me?"

He did. Despite everything, or maybe because of an everything he couldn't quite access, he really, really did. His response of "Yes" is more of a breath than a word, but Jon understands nonetheless. Jon reaches up, places his hands on the sides of Martin's face, and tells him, "Close your eyes."

Martin does as told, and Jon brings their foreheads together, an approximation of a kiss. There's a buzzing at the base of his skull, not painful, but not particularly pleasant, either. As Jon leans back and he opens his eyes, the sky is wrong, but it is the wrong that he has become increasingly accustomed to.

He remembers.

Jon hasn't fully released him yet, asking still ever so gently, "Back with me?"

Martin nods, and Jon drops his hands. Immediately, Martin grabs one of them with his own, because while it may be the apocalypse, at least he can do that as freely as he likes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good, " he looks down, and sighs, "Eugh. Do miss the clean clothes though."

Jon gives a hint of a smile, and as he begins to move forward. "Now you understand my point about the lonely having a tidiness to it."

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll take grime over memory loss any day."

"Next domain is a corruption one, so we'll see how much that holds true."

"Of course it is."

They walk in silence for a few moments until Martin gives Jon's hand a quick squeeze. "Hey Jon?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for getting me out."

Jon replies, "Of course," as an easy statement of fact, and Martin believes it. He has to add, "And I love you too."

The responding smile he gets from Jon makes him think he might be one of the few people in existence to feel lucky after the end of the world.

#replies #fluff prompts #tma #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jon sims #anon

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bastardbvby · 3 years

Photo

transcript of dream’s twitlonger undercut

starting my onlyfans:

Okay the title is a joke, but another day another "drama", although this is the dumbest one to date as it really shouldn't be a 'drama' but it is. Recently there has been a lot of people willingly spreading "dox" information that is claimed to be about me or my family. I think this is disgusting and harmful and should never be done in any capacity. Spreading potential information about someone's family is horrible, and not to mention is against basically every single sites terms of service. I've seen commentary channels show full names and addresses under the guise of "it's news" which again is just disgusting and those people should be publicly shamed and reported for even thinking about doing something like that. I've had people spread fake pictures of me, whether they be photoshopped to be with people 'close to me' like Sapnap (as if we've taken even a single photo) or deliberately planned in a way to appear as believable as possible. Including saying things like "they were found on his moms/dads facebook" when neither of my parents even have facebook and that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard, as if I wouldn't tell my parents to remove pictures of me. Things like using a photo of Karl facetiming me he posted to say "look how big he is!" when the photo is literally just another photo of Karl that we photoshopped, which is extra funny. Obviously no one is going to or can fact check these things so it's just touted as fact regardless of how ridiculous it sounds. This started a long time ago and I made a pastebin about it, as it was something being perpetuated along with lots of horrible things by someone who used to be close with me. I don't want to bring it up again, as that was months ago and I don't want unnecessary attention on it. The people saying these things are people with ill intentions with the purpose of "forcing me to face reveal" to prove I'm not 'ugly', as there's 'no other way'. They're the same people who have attempted to harass my family and friends for months because of how "manipulative and horrible" I am for "cheating in a block game". Spreading things about me having "kids locked up in my basement", which is disgusting for a million reasons, and it's Florida they're not even smart enough to realize no one has basements. Or other things about "wishing I'm a pedo" which is equally as disgusting. On another note, as someone who has gone through weight problems in their life (I was a homeschooled gamer, no surprise there), I think it's disgusting to see people fatshame and ridicule a random person just because they "could be Dream!!". I've been fairly open about the fact that I eat fairly specific and healthy things, and the reason for that is because I sit inside doing nothing 99% of the time. I've been like that for a few years. I would be incredibly unhealthy if I wasn't strict with my diet. Sapnap dropped 70 pounds in a couple months after moving in with me because he started eating healthy food and being a skater boi (lmao). (He gave me permission to say that, and good for him he looks fucking amazing and did before as well). I don't think that anyone should be ridiculed for their looks, and anyone that does that is a piece of shit human being. I will say that it's pretty funny seeing people who hate me spread these things and get more and more frustrated as people who watch me don't give a flying fuck, I play Minecraft with my friends, not model on playboy. Also, all the creators saying "dream's fan base is so horrible for doing this", get your facts straight before you look like an absolute idiot. I haven't seen a single fan of mine spread or even give the time of day to any of the bs. It's only people who despise me and think it's some kind of win to say "dream might be fat! LOL!". Felt the need to defend my fans completely on that front. I'm not going to let anyone "force me into doing a face reveal", especially not by expecting me to be offended by being compared to a guy that is bigger than me. At the end of the day, who the hell cares? I've been "fat" at certain points in my life, who gives a shit? I've said for a very long time that I plan to do a face reveal at a meet and greet type of event, something I've said for over a year, and something that hasn't been possible due to covid. I've recently actually been planning this though and will definitely have announcements regarding it soon, so I'm looking forward to that :) Also, thanks for the added mystery to it all, now even the people who don't like me will care about it, and hopefully feel humbled when they realize how ugly they actually are on the inside (lmao) Anyway, I just felt the need to say something due to how ridiculous the whole situation is, and how willing people are to "dox" people and put people in danger just because they "don't like them". Just to reassure people who may be feeling upset with themselves or insecure after seeing all the hate recently: you are amazing and if you are happy with how you look that's all that matters. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You are beautiful! End note; I'm just a normal looking guy and I've never claimed otherwise. If someone calls me "hot" it's not because of my "god like facial structure and beauty" no one even knows what I look like. it's because I'm good at block game and have a massive green dump truck that even your mom likes ;) https://i.redd.it/fvbset0bwn061.jpg love u guys keep being awesome :)

#for anyone that still can't open the link :]#dreamwastaken #mcyt

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fraidy-farfelle · 3 years

Text

This is my attempt at the Fluff ABCs for Frankie the Undead. Please be gentle with criticism because I cry easily. I’ve taken some ideas from @lovestruck-lasagna.

Taglist: @writingfromthetomb @beebubb

A = Admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

Your dry sense of humor. It perfectly matches his insults and he doesn’t have to go out of his way to make you laugh. He just says what he’s thinking and you laugh and agree.

B = Body (what is their favorite part of your body?)

Frankie appreciates a good smile, and for many reasons. He learned to read smiles (fake vs real) early on and uses it to gauge people, so he pays particular attention by default. He’s a sucker for cute dimples, and loves the way your nose scrunches and your eyes close.

C = Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

He loves late at night when you share the couch and he can read a good book, sip on some whiskey, or puff on a cigar. He really doesn’t care what you’re doing, he can tune out the TV or you prattling on about your day and make comments to show he’s listening. Put your feet in his lap, lay on top of him, make yourselves mummies in blankets, so long as he can reach his glass he doesn’t care. He just wants to be with you.

D = Dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

Stay in date nights are his favorite. He doesn’t really like to “share” your attention. He likes to either cook a meal together or order takeout and watch a movie. Particularly black and white gangster ones, or older horror films. Likes to tease you if you get scared and grab onto him. He’ll pat your head and say something like “oh there there, don’t be scared! I won’t let the big, bad monster getcha!” (Like your neighbor isn’t a 7 ft tall children murdering clown demon) If you go out, he prefers less crowded places outdoors.

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

He’s a spitfire and he knows it. He tends to explode and then after a few minutes apologizes gruffly and explains himself. “WHY WERE YA OUT UNTIL MIDNIGHT, THATS SUCH A STUPID THING TO DO!” “Sorry, Frankie.” “…… ugh just, please get home earlier from now on. It’s dangerous and I worry about you.” Definitely doesn’t hug you close so you don’t see the relief and worry on his face. Nope!

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

He misses Amy desperately. He wants a little girl in his life again, although he’ll never ever admit it. He’s hesitant to make relationships because he doesn’t want to be hurt again. But, if you go out with him to the living world, you’ll catch him staring longingly at parents and daughters when he thinks you’re not looking. If you ask him what he’s looking at, he’ll shake his head and spit out a line about children being obnoxious but you can tell he’s blowing smoke.

G = Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

If the underworld wasn’t so dangerous, he’d love to drape you in the finest silks with diamonds and rubies dripping off of you. However he doesn’t want you to draw any unnecessary attention to yourself. So, he settles for things you don’t really see in public. He also doesn’t like to be found out about it. Your gas tank is filled, the bill you were worried about has mysteriously been paid, your favorite ice cream is in your freezer when you know you ate the last of it yesterday, and hey, didn’t you spend this $20? Why is it in your wallet? If you ever bring it up he’ll just shrug and say “How strange!”

H = Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

He’s torn about PDA because he doesn’t want you to become a target because you’re associated with him, and people stare at him enough because of his appearance. But on the other hand, he wants to show the world that someone as worthless as him (don’t say that we love you Frankie) has such an amazing person that loves him. Will absolutely grab you and passionately make out with you with one hand on your ass and the other flipping the bird to the cheeky bastard that told the broad beside him to watch out for the zombie.

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

Panic. Sheer panic. He’s so afraid to lose you, any injury is serious and cause for alarm.

Frankie:*bursting into a hospital lobby, screaming to be taken to f/n l/n immediately**running in the opposite direction the nurse pointed in panic**bursts into exam room 30 seconds later* “Y/N!!!!! I came as soon as I got the message, WHATS WRONG!!!”

You: *sitting on the table, reading phone* “Oh, I have a sprained ankle and they don’t want me to drive so can you give me a ride?”

Frankie:*slowly blinking* “Uh, yeah no problem…”

You: “lemme guess, you heard my name and hospital in the same sentence and ignored everything else.”

Frankie:*hanging his head* “go wait in the car, I’ll go apologize….”

J = Jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

Not actual jokes, but he loves to sit with you and insult people. He’s an incredibly sweet person to you, but no one else. (Except service people, like nurses and waitresses. Just the general public) he doesn’t think pranks are funny or practical, which is one of the many reasons he and LJ butt heads. If LJ or Will prank you or him, he’s raising hell.

K = Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

Love kissing your lips. He’s actually really self conscious about his mouth stitches and constantly frets they feel weird to you. Neck kisses are another favorite and are extremely private to him. He also likes to hold the back of your hand against his lips and tell you what he’s thinking, no matter how mundane. Kiss his stitches. Please. Just do it.

L = Love (how do they show you they love you?)

He has trouble saying it to your face. He’ll whisper it to you when he thinks you’re sleeping, and he’s been known to leave little notes around for you to find. He thinks protecting you is the best way to show he cares.

M = Memory (favorite memory together?)

The day you finally broke down and told him you loved him. He knew as soon as he looked into your eyes and saw your smile his goose was cooked. He was very abrasive and hoping against hope that you’d leave him be. He knew you deserved better. He was so afraid to build a relationship and love again, he wanted to distance himself and if he was an asshole to you, it would be justified and you’d do it on your own. What he didn’t expect is for you to be so kind to him. Upon your initial meeting, he had been a little harsh, but helped you (if there’s enough interest I’ll do a fic about it) and so when he subsequently was a jerk to you, you were curious and determined to find out what he was hiding. He finally had been mean enough to make you cry. He had never regretted something he did before. He immediately wanted to cradle you to him and beg your forgiveness. Normally when he insulted you, you’d have a snarky retort in reply. But not this time. You fell to your knees and clung to his legs and demanded to know why he treated you so poorly and proclaimed your love for him. It was probably by accident and you were so distraught you didn’t even know it flew from your mouth, but hearing it, he couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t care about the consequences, he just wanted you. Hearing that you loved someone like him made him so happy, he knew he’d treasure the memory forever

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

Losing you. Period.

O = Oddity (what is one quirk they have?)

What ISNT odd about this man?! A cute one is he always winks with his green eye.

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?)

I HC that he was born in the 30’s, so he calls you “doll” a lot but only in private. He uses your name otherwise so it’s not as obvious to people watching you’re together. He will absolutely refer to you as “the dame” to others. The equivalent of “the boss” or “old lady.” “William! The Dame is trying to take a nap, so shut up or I’ll shoot you!” You call him stitches to tease him in private and are the only person allowed to do so.

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?) Either taking naps or couch potato time. Also, low key likes to cook with you. He can’t cook for shit, but likes to “help” by handing you things or chopping things for you. Is a super good taste tester, self appointed.

R = Rhythm (what song reminds you of them?)

Stitches by Shawn Mendez (PLEASE DONT HURT ME!!)

We don’t have to Dance by Andy Black (referring to how he can’t really show you affection in public but he loves you)

S = Secrets (how open are they with you?)

He’s open about himself and what he’s thinking, and will always take what you say into consideration. He doesn’t like to keep things from you, but he does omit some detail about his jobs if you ask about them. He just feels like you don’t need to be stressed about it.

T = Time (how long did it take you to get together?)

LJ picked up on Frankie’s fondness of you almost instantly. He and Will decided to do what they could to get you together in the interest of making Frankie less of a grouch. If it hadn’t been for them insisting that he was good guy to you, you probably WOULD have let Frankie’s prickly nature drive you away. It took a year or so for you to break down.

U = Upset (how do they act when you’re upset?) A powder keg of insults, foul language, and bullets. Has actually never called you a name outright, and would absolutely never physically hurt you. When he was deliberately being rude to you, he’d insult your actions rather than you. “Stop acting like a dumb broad!” Vs calling you a bitch to your face. He usually calms down quickly, and is hardly ever angry at you, only when you put yourself in danger.

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

He likes that he’s scary and tough looking so that when you’re with him, other men scatter pretty fast. Has had many occasions where he stepped away and someone came to flirt with you and he came back and had the pleasure of scaring them.

W = Warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?)

You are not allowed to do anything dangerous, ever! Will teach you how to use a gun and how to counter things like chokeholds, so you’re less vulnerable. Will absolutely lose his mind if he learns you’ve put yourself at risk. He will shoot someone so fast for you. Takes every person as a threat to you and will pick fights with somebody that accidentally bumped into you. Do NOT test this man.

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?)

You are an open book to him. He’s learned to read people well, and he takes his time studying you. Can tell if you’re getting sick before you can. More than once he’s handed you a bottle of Tylenol, leaving you bewildered, and shrugged and said to take them because you’ll have a headache in a few minutes. He can pick up on your emotions easily and has learned what to do to handle them.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?)

Honestly, marriage isn’t that important to him. He’s not opposed to the idea at all, but like you’ve been together for this long, you love each other, is it really necessary? You’d have to tell him you want to be officially married. He’ll buy you a ring, to show that you’re taken, if nothing else, but he’ll wear his around his neck under his tie so it’s not obvious he’s attached to anyone to discourage his rivals using you to get to him.

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

The smell of your perfume. Holding you in his arms and taking deep breaths makes all of his troubles go away.

#frankie the undead #frankie creeps #creepypasta

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spine-buster · 3 years

Text

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 32

A/N: Another ‘friend’ of ours makes an appearance in this chapter (unfortunately for me lmao)

August 2nd, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom was as prepared as she could be for Game 1 against the Columbus Blue Jackets.

Scotiabank Arena was freezing – more freezing than normal – because of the three-games-a-day and all the hockey being played. She knew the players and team personnel would complain if the ice was crap (apparently they could tell, though it beat the shit out of her how they could tell), and of course Scotiabank Arena, and the Leafs in general, wanted to make an excellent impression. They were the centre of the hockey world, so Aberdeen knew they could pull it off. It just didn’t help that it was August and it felt like early November indoors.

She joined Brendan and Kyle in their usual box – luckily they didn’t have to give that up. The team was taking their pre-game skate below and Aberdeen watched as William shot pucks towards Freddie in the net, sneaking one past him before skating around their perimeter of the rink a few times. On the other side of the ice, the Columbus Blue Jackets were doing the exact same thing, though she barely knew or recognized a soul on the team. One of them could walk by her in the arena and she wouldn’t know better.

“How do you think it’s gonna go?” Brendan asked from six feet away from her, his black mask covering his face.

Aberdeen shrugged her shoulders. “You should stop asking me these questions, Brendan. I know nothing about hockey.”

“That may be,” he said, not letting up, “but you know the boys, on a level far superior than your knowledge of hockey. So what do you say?”

Aberdeen thought about it. She knew them on a personal level, but that didn’t matter at all – at least she didn’t think it mattered – when it came to a playoff game. She knew how much pressure the guys were under. She also knew that they were still adjusting to the bubble life and how weird everything was. Make no mistake – they were being taken care of exceptionally well by the staff at the Royal York Hotel, and Aberdeen made sure she said a loud thank you to every worker she came across and interacted with. She heard every single one of the guys do the exact same thing. But she didn’t know how that would translate into a hockey game. They were two different things. They were to different entities that she had no idea how to join together.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, her voice soft. “When you ask me these questions, I feel like you want me to be Nostradamus or something. What if I said they were going to lose 2-0?”

“I’d believe you,” Brendan shrugged.

***

The Leafs lost 2-0.

“C’mon Nostradamus,” Brendan said as he packed up his clipboard and tucked it under his arm. “The social media posts can wait. You need to go mediate the post-game interviews and press calls.”

Aberdeen packed up her iPad after she rolled her eyes. She shouldn’t have said anything. She should have responded ‘They’re going to win 5-0!’ the first time he ever asked her that question and kept that answer throughout the entire season. She followed six feet behind Kyle, who was in turn six feet behind Brendan, as they made their way to the locker room. By the time they got there, Sheldon was nearing the end of his post-game speech. Most of the guys were half undressed – at least at the top – and a few of them were shoving off their elbow pads and chucking their tape from their socks into the bins. They all looked irritated.

She made her way into the media room and set up the Zoom call where a bunch of reporters joined. Morgan and Auston walked into the room, and she quickly typed in the chat which players were there so they could organize their questions accordingly. Morgan and Auston sat down in their chairs.

“Is Steve on the call?” Auston asked suddenly while Aberdeen was adjusting the camera.

“Uh, yeah. Why?” she asked.

Auston pursed his lips together and shrugged it off.

The interviews were going fine. She hated hearing the sound of her own voice on recordings but she knew she’d have to suck it up for the sake of the media call. She called on each reporter by name. The boys answered their questions. It was all very routine.

“Steve Simmons from the Toronto Sun,” Aberdeen called out. She waited, and while waiting, she saw Morgan’s and Auston’s demeanour completely change.

“Uhhh, Steve Simmons, Toronto Sun for Auston – it’s one thing to hear about how tight they play, and to even watch the films of how tight they play. What was it like to experience it?”

Auston took the lead. “Uh, well I mean first of all, it’s unfortunate that I’mn getting a question from you at this point, Steve, but I just wanted to say I didn’t really appreciate the article you wrote about me a couple months ago. I thought, uh, it was very unethical to be honest, but…uh, moving along…”

Aberdeen didn’t hear the rest of his answer. Truthfully, she didn’t care. All she could feel was a burning sensation shooting up her spine at Auston’s words. He did it. He called out Steve Simmons, the most annoying reporter known to mankind.

She smirked.

***

After the media interviews, Aberdeen found a quiet space and took out her iPad again to post the final score graphic to the team’s Instagram page. As she finished typing the caption – ‘Battled hard. Back at it on Tuesday.’ – she heard some fairly loud footsteps behind her before they stopped. “A girl?” a voice from behind her said.

She didn’t recognize it – and it wasn’t like anybody from the team would refer to her as “a girl” – so she furrowed her brows and turned around. She saw what had to be a member of the Columbus Blue Jackets staring at her. She couldn’t see it, but she automatically knew from the way he was standing and the energy he gave off that he was smirking smugly underneath his mask. “Yeah, we exist,” she shot him a look, not ready to take any bullshit from him or anybody else. The way these men thought she was a complete novelty astounded her. “Have you never seen one of us before?”

“So Barzy was right,” the man continued. “The Leafs have a girl in their bubble. Incredible.”

Aberdeen could tell by the way he said and emphasized girl that this conversation – if you could call it that – was gonna be a doozy. The guy was huge but didn’t look any older than she was, so she knew she would be able to put him in his place. “What are you even doing in this hallway? You’re not supposed to be on this side,” she said sternly. “I suggest you leave and go back to your area of the arena unless you want me to complain to the NHL that your breaching protocol.”

From the very end of the hallway, another figure walked by, stopping at the gap when he apparently found who he was looking for. Aberdeen could at least recognize him – John Tortorella, the head coach of the Columbus Blue Jackets. “Pierre, what the fuck are you doing there? Come on, we gotta go.”

The man, named Pierre, gave Aberdeen a smoldering look. She rolled her eyes. “Must have taken a wrong turn,” he said, loud enough so John would hear.

Dead set on not taking any bullshit, and just really, really wanting to put this guy in his place, Aberdeen didn’t let up. “Perhaps you should remind Pierre of how to speak to the staff of another NHL team,” she said sternly. Both men were too far away to notice how red she was getting, but she could see Pierre whip his head to look at her and his eyes go wide in shock. “And perhaps he should read another copy of the social distancing and bubble protocols tonight in his bedroom so he doesn’t make this unfortunate decision again,” she said, deliberately using ‘decision’ instead of ‘mistake’, because she fucking knew this was no mistake. She wondered what other rumours were swirling in the Royal York about a girl being in the Leafs bubble.

Pierre scurried to the end of the hallway. From her spot, she could hear John chuckle. “You must be the Aberdeen Bloom I’ve only ever heard good things about,” he said. “Keep it up. I might ask you to take my place to keep the boys in line.”

She couldn’t help but smile. Pierre took one last look between his coach and ‘the girl’. “I could take ‘em,” Aberdeen commented, getting a nod from John before he and Pierre disappeared.

She let out a breath.

***

After the team got back to the hotel, picked up their pre-packaged dinner, and settled into their rooms, Aberdeen showered and changed. She sat at the desk where she put the meal and took out her phone. She sent some quick texts to her parents, Siena, and Camden before bringing up William’s name.

U up?

lmao minskatt isnt that what i should be saying to u *wink emoji*

Do you want to eat dinner together?

of course

I’m ready whenever you are babe

She waited for him to start the call. Not even two minutes later, her phone began to ring and “Head Empty” flashed across the screen. She accepted the FaceTime call almost immediately. When it connected and he appeared on her screen, walking in his hotel room with his bathrobe on and his hair wet and tied back, she smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi minskatt,” he said, his voice low. She watched as he put a pair of headphones on. “That’s better.”

Hers were already in. “I’m sorry about the game tonight,” she said, perching her phone on a high point on the desk. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Not really. At least, not right now,” he said, putting his phone down too. “Maybe later. Like, after we have dinner.”

“Promise me we will.”

“I promise,” he said, looking into the phone. He knew she would want him to talk about it, and he made her a promise all those months ago. He would never break it. “Right now I just want to have dinner over FaceTime with my girlfriend even though we’re less than fifty feet away from each other.”

Aberdeen chuckled, if only because she agreed wholeheartedly that this whole thing was ridiculous. The tone of William’s voice made her know that he thought it completely ridiculous too. “It’s hard. I know. At least we get free food,” she held up a forkful of the marinated chicken breast. “And good food. It’s not like it’s airplane food.”

William smiled slightly. “First thing I do when we get out of here is bring you to Canoe or Ardo or Miku and splurge on every meal they have on the menu,” he said.

“Sounds good to me. Maybe by then I’ll have a new job to celebrate, anyway.”

“How’s the article coming along?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said. She’s started in the other day and already had about 1500 words worth of material. She figured the best way to go about it was keep a sort of diary every day and then edit it down when she could. “Might talk about how fucking awkward you hockey boys are these days with women.”

“I’m excluded from that, right?” he asked. “I mean, I totally swept you off your feet when we first met.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “You did.”

***

August 3rd, 2020

Aberdeen accompanied the team to one of the workout facilities just so she could catch a glimpse of sone sunshine on the day off. Instead of working out, she sat on the sidelines of where all the equipment was and the boys worked out, furiously typing away on her personal laptop. Every so often when she’d glance up, she’d see Morgan’s thighs almost ripping through his shorts as he did some lunges; she’d see Auston’s biceps almost bursting through his sleeves as he lifted weights above his head; she’d see William’s thick torso exposed as his shirt rode up from him throwing a heavy medicine ball above his head.

A million girls in this city would kill her to be in her position.

And here she was, writing 10,000 words about them instead of ogling them. Well, everyone except her secret boyfriend.

***

August 4th, 2020

Game 2.

Aberdeen was confident that the boys would respond to Columbus’s win in Game 1. She could tell in their energy throughout the day and in the arena they were ready and they were ready to win.

“Hey Nostradamus,” Brendan called out, winking. Aberdeen saw Kyle chuckle from behind his mask. “What’s the score gonna be?”

“Oh shut it,” she shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest and smirking to herself. Except she couldn’t hold her tongue. “3-0, but this time for us.”

“I believe her!” Kyle piped up.

Brendan snorted. “Who’s placing bets?!”

The bell rang and everybody settled down to stand for the anthem. As the game got underway, Aberdeen could feel rushes of electricity move up her spine every time the Leafs touched the puck. They were playing phenomenally. They looked focused, into it, and like a complete team. It was a night and day difference from Game 1. Though the first period didn’t have any goals, Aberdeen knew they’d be coming – for the Leafs only.

In the second period Auston scored and Aberdeen jumped out of her seat to celebrate. And when John scored late in the third period to get a two goal lead, she was even happier.

Then, with less than two minutes left, disaster hit.

It was a play behind the net. Pierre Luc Dubois – the guy from the other day, Aberdeen had learned – basically cross-checked Jake Muzzin, and Jake fell awkwardly, trying to break it, with his head hitting a Blue Jackets player’s leg. He fell to the ice.

He wasn’t getting up. And the referee hadn’t blown the whistle.

Those fuckers.

“BLOW THE FUCKING WHISTLE!!!” Aberdeen screamed at the top of her lungs, startling Brendan and Kyle. Her face was turning red. She was sure she’d been so loud the referee actually heard her, because he finally blew it. Jake was having a hard time getting up, and then he lay back down. One of the trainers immediately made his way onto the ice, rushing towards Jake.

The replays began to play from every angle, and Aberdeen watched on the TV screen in the box how his head and neck contorted once he hit the player’s thigh. She had tears in her eyes as she watched the worst angles. She looked back out onto the ice to see Jake still lying there. The trainer was still with him, though more were making their way onto the ice now. Then, she saw one of the trainers put his hands near Jake’s neck. They called for a stretcher.

She bolted out of her seat.

“Aberdeen!” she could hear Brendan call out after her, but she didn’t listen. She didn’t turn around. She hurried down to ice level, her mind running a mile a minute, and flashed her credentials to anyone and everyone she needed to, not bothering to stop so they could actually see them.

By the time she got to ice level, she could hear the distant sound of sticks tapping, letting her know he was being stretched off. She met all the trainers and the stretcher at the entrance. “Jake?!” she asked frantically.

“Aberdeen?” he asked.

“Are you okay? Did you break your neck?!”

“I didn’t break my neck. I can feel my arms and legs,” he said. Aberdeen let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding in. “Did it look scary?”

“Is that a joke?” she asked. “I ran down here the second they called for the stretcher.”

“We’re going to take him to the hospital. He’s going to have to leave the bubble,” the head trainer informed Aberdeen. “You need to tell Brendan and Kyle. Then update us on the protocol of what it will take to get him back into the hotel.”

Before she could acknowledge what was just said, Jake spoke up again. “Aberdeen?”

“Yeah Jake?”

“You need to call Courtney for me. Tell her I’m okay,” he said. “She’s probably worried sick.”

Aberdeen’s heart sunk into her stomach. Courtney. “Yeah yeah, of course—”

“—You have her number, right—”

“—We really need to get him to the hospital—”

“—Yeah, I have her number—”

“—Call Courtney, please,” were Jake’s last words before he was stretchered off.

Aberdeen watched until they were out of her line of sight. For a few moments, the images of what just happened flashed through her mind, and she momentarily forgot about everything. She felt sick to her stomach. Jake said he felt okay, but she knew hockey players always just said that. Morgan had been playing injured for the better part of the year until he actually got injured. High sticks to the face, lost teeth, blood drawn – these guys just put a bandaid on it and said they were fine. But this was different.

When Courtney’s face crossed her mind, she jolted back to life and grabbed her phone out of her pocket, scrolling until she found Courtney’s number. The phone didn’t even have to ring twice. “Aberdeen?!” she asked frantically. “How’s Jake?”

“Hey Court—he’s okay—”

“He’s okay?!”

“Well, they’re bringing him to the hospital right now,” she said. “But I was able to talk to him because I rushed down to ice level and he told me he was fine and to call you.”

“So you—you were able to talk to him,” Courtney said, her voice much calmer than just moments before. “You saw him?”

“Yes. He told me he could move his arms and legs,” Aberdeen informed her.

“Okay. Okay. Does that mean he has to leave the bubble though? I mean can I go visit him?”

Aberdeen cringed. “I don’t think so,” she said. As she did, she could hear Luna being fussy in the background and Courtney trying to calm her. “The NHL has an agreement with Toronto General about potential injuries. If everything is okay and he comes back into the bubble, all he has to do is pass three negative tests,” she explained, listening to Luna get even fussier.

“Okay. Alright. But they’ll call me, right?”

“Absolutely. I’m sure Jake will even be able to call you from the hospital. Our trainers all have their phones on them.”

“Thanks Aberdeen,” Courtney said, and Aberdeen could hear the relief in her voice. She knew all Courtney wanted was to hear from her husband. Luna let out a loud cry. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye Court,” Aberdeen ended the call.

Families. So many of them had families. So many of them had families that were suffering and making do with a prolonged absence and Aberdeen couldn’t take it. The players were sacrificing so much to be in the bubble. And their families were sacrificing so much letting them go into the bubble. She knew most of them had money – to cope, to do whatever, really – but that didn’t compensate for presence. That didn’t compensate for having daddy around to play and snuggle with.

She began to cry as she found herself walking towards the locker room, not even knowing whether or not the game had ended. She didn’t really care at this point. All she could think about was Courtney and Luna at home, worrying about Jake as he was being taken to the hospital. To Aberdeen, nothing else mattered right now.

She heard some commotion from the locker room and she knew the boys were back in. She didn’t know how long they’d been back for, and didn’t bother to peek in to see. She didn’t want to when her eyes were still red and welling up with tears. Instead, she hid herself around a corner, crouching down with her knees against her chest, wiping at her eyes every so often and trying to control her emotions before having to go in, or getting called by Brendan, or by Kyle, or—

“There you are.”

Well, so much for that.

She looked up from her crouched position and saw Jason looking down at her. He wasn’t completely undressed – he had all his UnderArmour on – but he was still sweaty from the game and his hair was matted against his head. She wiped her eyes one last time before getting up. “Hi.”

“Did you see Jake?”

She nodded. “He’s okay. He can feel and move his arms and legs or whatever.”

“Why are you crying?”

She knew he wasn’t asking to be insolent, but did she really have to have to spell it out for him? “Don’t tell me you’re immune to this shit,” she said. “I just had to call Courtney and explain to her that her husband didn’t break his neck and end his God damn career. Luna was crying in the background. It’s a lot, okay?”

Jason nodded his head. “I know it is. I’m not trying to…fuck, I know that came out wrong. He’s gonna be okay, Aberdeen.”

“Thanks.”

“Come on, Aberdeen,” he said soothingly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

She shook her head, wiping away the last of her tears. “I know. I’m just being a big baby.”

“No you’re not,” Jason said. “You’re not being a big baby. You’re being a human being. Someone you cared about got hurt. Do you want to talk about it when you get back to the hotel?” he asked.

She considered it for only half a second before she shook her head. “No. I know you call your girls every night. I can’t take time away from them.”

“Aberdeen—”

“I’ll be okay,” she asserted. “I promise. I’ll be okay.”

“Aberdeen!” Kyle’s voice suddenly called out. He rushed towards her with his phone in his hand. “They took him to the hospital, right?”

“Yeah,” she nodded her head, trying to steady her voice and make it seem as professional as possible. “He’s technically left the bubble, so we have to update the trainers on protocol to get him back into the hotel and how—”

“I’ll handle that with Brendan and Josh,” he interrupted. “But he was okay?”

“He could feel his arms and legs. That’s what he told me. Then he asked me to call Courtney and I did that.”

Kyle nodded his head, looking – really looking – at Aberdeen for the first time in their conversation. “Were you crying?”

“I’m going to be fine,” was all she said.

***

“I’m going to come to your room,” William said through the phone in a strained voice.

“Don’t you dare,” Aberdeen chastised him, a new batch of tears having fallen down her face as she lay in bed. “Don’t you even think about leaving your room, William.”

“Aberdeen, you need me and I need to be with you right now—”

“And you need to stay in your room so you don’t get kicked out of the bubble,” she said sternly. “I’m being serious, Will. Don’t come over.”

She watched as he bit his lip and shook his head. She could see all over his face how conflicted he was. It was one of the things she loved most about him – to the world, he seemed cool and unemotional and that he didn’t really care about anything or take anything too seriously, but to her, he was the entire range of emotions in one conversation. He had a heart full of gold and she knew it would always stay that way. “This is killing me, minskatt,” he whispered, his voice defeated. “I want to be there for you when you need me. Always. I mean…you need me, right?”

Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know where this was coming from, but like some things with William, she felt like it was something that had been on his mind for a while and was only letting out now. He was still learning to talk to her about his feelings. He was keeping his promise from February, so she could appreciate that. “Of course I need you,” she said softly. “I’ll always need you like you need me. We’re in this together. You know that. But you need to be on this team right now. You need to help them fight. This isn’t about me. It’s about the team.”

“It’s always about you,” William said. “You still don’t get it, do you? It’s always about you.”

“Don’t make it about me right now, Willy. It’s not about me. It’s about Jake, and the team,” she paused for dramatic effect. “Make it about me later,” she added, trying to be humourous.

It garnered a small smile from him, and she felt proud of herself. “I love you, minskatt.”

“I love you too Willy. Promise me you’ll get some sleep?”

He nodded slightly. “I promise.”

***

Aberdeen’s iPhone was still in her hands as she woke again from its vibrations. She jumped at the sensation of being awoken in the middle of the night. If it was Willy calling her at three in the morning, she was gonna kill him.

“Hello?” her voice was groggy.

The voice on the other end was not William’s. “I lived, bitch.”

***

August 6th, 2020

It wouldn’t be a Toronto Maple Leafs series without some drama, apparently. And the drama tonight was how the team blew a 3-0 lead, allowing the Columbus Blue Jackets to win 4-3 in overtime, with Pierre-Luc Dubois scoring a hattrick. That meant the Columbus Blue Jackets were now up 2-1 in the series.

It meant the Leafs could go home tomorrow.

Aberdeen tried not to think about it.

She didn’t bring it up with anybody as they went back to the hotel, and she knew, judging by the looks on their faces, that they didn’t want to hear about it either. Nobody would be turning on their TVs tonight, and she doubted they would check the news on their phones, either. Maybe they’d play video games to take their minds off of it. Or maybe they’d go right to bed and rest, since they had to do all of this again in less than 24 hours. Fuck.

Aberdeen took a shower. She washed her face. She did her skincare. She put on a sheetmask.

Her phone rang.

She knew it was William, so she tucked herself into bed and accepted the FaceTime call. When he realized that she had a sheetmask on, a smile broke out on his face from ear to ear. “Nice sheetmask,” he said, biting his bottom lip.

She smiled cheekily and shrugged her shoulders. “You’re used to it by now. Shouldn’t come as much of a surprise,” she said.

“I am used to it by now and—oh shit, hold on, I forgot something…” he said, trailing off as he set his phone down so Aberdeen could only see the ceiling in his room. Knowing William, he probably forgot to turn the light off in the bathroom or something. But the longer he took, the more Aberdeen became skeptical of his whereabouts. She barely heard anything on the other end. “There we are…” she heard his voice. And then she saw what he had on his face: a sheetmask. He was still smiling from ear to ear. “Now where were we?” he asked.

“William!” Aberdeen squealed, letting out giggles she couldn’t hold in at the sight of him. He looked ridiculous. It was clearly the first time he’d ever put one on himself. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

“You love these things!” he tried to justify himself. “I brought one because I knew I’d catch you at least once in here with one of these things on. And if we can’t do it together…well, physically, then we can do them together in separate rooms. Like everything else we need to do.”

Her cheeks flushed red – not that he could see. He bought sheetmasks and put them on with her. He gave her time to write. He encouraged her writing. He listened to her. He cared for her. He was even better than anything she could have imagined in a dream boyfriend. How did she get so lucky? How did she let guys treat her like shit before him? She felt tears well in her eyes. He was going all out to make the best of the bubble, and she couldn’t be more thankful. “I love you so much, Willy.”

“I love you too, minskatt.”

“No…I love you Willy. Like love you love you. Love you love you love you. I don’t even have the words…and I’m a writer! You make me speechless, Willy. There aren’t enough words in the English or Swedish languages that I can string together that will, like, tell you or show you how much I love you.”

“I get it, minskatt. Don’t worry. I feel the same way.”

“I don’t know how I got so lucky with you.”

“I annoyed you enough until I wore you down,” he quipped.

She giggled. “You seduced me is what I’d call it.”

“I don’t know about that. If I remember correctly it was you rubbing yourself against my thigh that morning.”

She made a face at him. He made the exact same face back but crinkled his sheetmask so he had to flatten it with his free hand. She watched him with complete adulation. “Willy?”

“Minskatt?”

“Can we listen to our song together?”

William smiled. He fiddled around with his phone and his ‘Minskatt’ playlist until the familiar chords started playing over the phone, filling the air with the nicest, best, most beautiful sound Aberdeen had ever heard – save for Willy’s laugh, maybe – because she knew this song was about her, about them, and it was still their little secret.

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a-yellow-book · 3 years

Text

If you were words on a page, you’d be fine print.

In which Wen Kexing shamelessly courts Zhou Zishu with cheesy pick-up lines instead of beautiful ancient Chinese poetry, and Zishu falls for him anyway. (Alternatively, if Word of Honor was a modern romantic comedy.)

[read on ao3 instead]

Zhou Zishu was not looking forward to his closing shift at the cafe tonight. Thinking about the pile of case studies he still had to read through sent him down a spiral of sadness. It was a Saturday night, for goodness’ sake. He wasn’t gunning for a rowdy night-out at bars. All he wanted was to finish his readings and then to curl up on his cozy couch and snuggle in with his cat to watch a wuxia drama. But alas, Zishu couldn’t say no when his boss called, asking if he could cover A-Ying at the last minute because he’d gone skating and knocked his head on the metal railings, no doubt concussed.

It’s ok! It might be a slow night and I can get some readings done there, Zishu reassured himself. That, and also he needed extra money anyway. Jiuxiou’s surgery was coming up soon and they needed whatever extra funds they could get.

Pushing the cafe’s door open, Zishu greeted Heilan, who barely looked over at him. “Urg, you’re finally here. Took you long enough,” he grumbled.

“Sorry, I missed the bus,” Zishu said, shrugging off Heilan’s rudeness. The kid treated everyone whose parents weren’t millionaires with disdain. He was forced to get a job so his dad would let him keep his (unlimited) credit card. Something about teaching him a lesson. Zishu didn’t think it was working.

Before Zishu even managed to set his bag down in the back room and clock in, Heilan had already gathered his stuff and left. “Tsk, tsk, youths these days,” Zishu shook his head mockingly.

It was already close to five o’clock. There might be a bit of a rush as the office workers and students stop by for a quick pick-me-up after a long day. Zishu put on a new apron around his waist, washed his hands, and headed out to the front counter to take stock of the status of the store. Heilan was notorious for not caring to refill any supplies at the end of his shifts.

The cup racks were almost empty. There were random mixing utensils, cups, and blenders left unwashed, littering around the equipment. Sighing, Zishu rolled up his sleeves to get to work cleaning the mess Heilan left behind.

Just as Zishu put the last bit of clean dishes away, the door’s bell rang, signaling the entrance of the first customers since he clocked in. Turning around, drying his hands on his apron, Zishu greeted, “Welcome to Four Seasons Cafe!” And promptly stopped dead in his tracks when he finally processed what he was looking at.

The person standing in front of Zishu had to be the most stunning man he’d ever seen. His eyes sparkled with mirth, his lips quirked up in a perpetual smirk, and his jawline was as sharp as knives. And his hair! It was a beautiful silver starlight waves cascading down his shoulders. And his beautiful pastel green suit! Ahh! Realizing he was staring, Zishu awkwardly cleared his throat and asked, “What can I get for ya?”

The beautiful man kept looking at Zishu. He definitely noticed the blush that was blooming on Zishu’s cheeks. “I assume you know what’s on the menu?” Zishu was taken a bit off guard by the strange question, but before he could answer, the man continued, “Me ‘n’ u.”

For all the years he’d worked at various restaurants and coffee shops, Zishu had yet to encounter someone so... alluring (?) and shameless (!). “I’m afraid that’s not on our blackboard,” he replied after a short moment spent recovering his wits, and pointed at the said blackboard nailed on the wall behind him.

Undeterred, the stranger smiled and continued, “Oh? Well, that’s a shame - because if I were the alphabet, I would put ‘U’ and ‘I’ together when I write your menu.”

Zishu had to give him points for those cheesy lines only made funnier and cheesier with his dead-ass serious delivery. “If we ever decide to rewrite our boards, I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Zishu said, biting his lips to keep himself from smiling at the ridiculousness of the conversation.

“Hmm, hmm, good, that is reassuring to hear,” the stranger nodded thoughtfully.

“So! Is there anything on our board that I could get for ya?” Zishu asked, clapping his hands together and putting on a chirpy tone. If this guy was flirting with him, he might leave a hefty tip!

“Uhmm,” he paused, pursuing the menu with great care. “I would love to try the ‘you mocha me crazy’ with an extra espresso shot, please.”

Grabbing a cup and marker, Zishu fought against the urge to dig a hole to hide in before asking, “Alrighty! What’s your name?” Internally, he was cursing A-Ying for coming up with the outrageous and horrific punny names for their specials.

“Kexing, Wen Kexing.”

“Great! It’ll be right out!” Zishu said, scribbling the name down on the side of the cup and promptly turned around, about to get started making the drink.

“Uhm, excuse me?” Kexing, the beautiful stranger said, sounding full of suppressed laughter. “Should I pay now?”

“OH!” Zishu immediately turned back around, “Yes, right. Sorry about that!” He quickly ran up the total, accepted the money from the smiling stranger, and repeated, “Great! It’ll be right out!”

There had to be a hole large enough for him to hide in. He could not endure this embarrassment any longer.

“There’s no need to rush!” Kexing, the infuriating stranger said.

“I don’t want to...uhm... delay you...” Zishu said lamely.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Zishu could feel his cheeks flaming up. He turned all his attention and focused on making the mocha, which he could do in his sleep, to avoid looking at the (shameless!) man. With a flick of his wrist, he drizzled the raspberry syrup around the cup, letting it drip down to make a fancy pattern before pouring in the chocolate syrup, milk, and topping it off with the espresso shots.

Giving the cup a slight shake, Zishu grabbed a bamboo straw and handed both to the (shameless!) man, who hadn’t moved an inch from his spot by the front counter. “Here you go!”

“Thank you,” he said, reaching out with both hands to grab the cup and incidentally caught Zishu’s hand as well. (Zishu was sure it was a deliberate move, considering how shameless the man was.) “I’ve told you my name, but I still don’t know yours,” he said, continuing to hold onto the cup (and Zishu’s hand).

“Oh, uhm,” Zishu wiggled his hand, successfully dislodging it. Before he could think of a fake name to give out, the cafe’s door swung open and A-Ying stepped in.

“A-Xu!” A-Ying greeted, seemingly not noticing the tension between his best friend and the customer. “I’m here!!!!!!!”

Seeing A-Ying all bandaged up standing in the cafe was enough to jerk Zishu out of the staring contest he had unwittingly been engaged in with the stranger. “What are you doing here?!”

“Hi!” A-Ying greeted the stranger, thinking he was just a normal customer. “Sorry - I wanted to come in to help you close! It’s too much work for one person.”

“But you have a concussion! You need to go rest!” Zishu grabbed A-Ying by the shoulders, turned him around and about to march him right the fuck back home.

“No, I’m fine! Just a tiny headache and a scratched forehead,” A-Ying protested.

“But---!”

“Besides, I’ve been taking so many days off recently. I need to make up for that.”

“A-Ying, you’re going to clock in and you’re going to sit in the back, resting,” Zishu declared. “Or else I’d knock you out for real.”

A-Ying raised his hands placatingly, “Ok, ok, ok!”

With A-Ying retreating to the back, Zishu let out a sigh. This kid, always trying to be helpful to others but didn’t know how to take care of himself.

“A-Xu?” It was the stranger who called out to Zishu, “Xu is a beautiful name.”

“I--uhm, thanks. It’s a nickname,” Zishu corrected.

“Oh? Then would it be ok if I call you by A-Xu?” Wen Kexing asked.

“Sure,” Zishu shrugged. He figured the man might not come back anyway.

“It was really nice to meet you, A-Xu!” He said cheerfully before leaving (finally!).

“Who was that?” A-Ying emerged from the back, tying an apron on and looking at the retreating Wen Kexing curiously.

“No one, just a customer,” Zishu might have said that a tad too quickly. Also, he was sure his cheeks were still dusting pink from all the flirting.

“Ooooohhhhh, I’m sensing something else is going on!!!” A-Ying teased. He could read his best friend as easily as an open book. “That guy is so cute! Good for you, A-Xu!”

“If you aren’t already hurt, I will kick you so hard right now,” Zishu threatened without much bite.

“Yea, yea, sureeee.”

The glare Zishu directed at A-Ying was sharp enough to cut steel. “Why did you come out here? Huh? What did I tell you?”

“A-Xu, A-Xu!! I’m just going to sit here and do nothing! Ok!” A-Ying said, waving his hands wildly at the chair propped against the back counter.

Just as Zishu was about to scold A-Ying, the door swung open, and a group of students piled in, talking loudly among themselves. Turning around to A-Ying, Zishu pointed a stern finger and said, “You will not move an inch from that chair. Got it?”

“Got it, boss!” A-Ying said, smiling widely, already thinking of how he was going to stealthily make the drinks anyway.

#word of honor #word of honor fanfic #zhou zishu #wen kexing #cheesy pick up lines #my writings #i just got to the mountain and i am here to stay #wenzhou #wenzhou fanfic

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everythingoesnk · 4 years

Text

Better Late Than Never

summary; john plays cupid (sorta?)

word count; 1 711

request by anon; “heehee i never knew u took requests!! ur writing is so lovely u rlly are talented❤️❤️ i was wondering if u could do smthg ab being georgies neighbour and like him n the quarrymen r rehearsing and they invite u to watch and they flirt w u and he gets jealous”

disclaimers; this sat in my drafts for ages but i finally finished it. glad that i can post it for once and for all. don’t be too hard on me cause i haven’t written shit in so long and i’m super sceptical about my work ty

warnings;

********

A few weeks earlier, Paul and John made the decision that Eric Griffiths had to go. They wanted George to be part of the group, and with Eric on board there were just too many guitars. The Quarrymen, along with Lowe on the piano and Hanton on the drums, had a demo recording scheduled in Kensington in a couple of days, so whenever they had the time, they would invest it in practising and sprucing up their performance.

You were coming back home after babysitting a three-year-old boy when you saw Paul and John’s distinctive jaunty silhouettes down the street.

They were carrying their instruments.

”Reunion of bitches?” you teased, bumping your shoulders with theirs to open a spot for you in between.

They were so used to you being a nosy little bird that they didn’t even flinch when you appeared.

“If what you mean by that is if we’re heading to a rehearsal, yes we are” Paul confirmed looking down at you with a warm smile. He slid his arm around your neck and patted your cheek persistently just to annoy you. “It’s the three of us this time, the others are busy”

You tried to smack his hand away while he spoke, but he had it strongly clamped over your mouth now, playfully sticking to his cat-and-mouse game. John was used to Paul behaving like this around you, you being like a little sister to him even though you shared the same age, so he didn’t move an inch when you began asking for help through the muffled laughter.

What came out of his mouth instead earned puzzled looks from you and Paul, who slowly let his arm drop.

“You can’t come” he had stated, because he knew you and it was only a matter of seconds before you started badgering them to let you stay and watch them play.

“Why not?” you snapped back, forehead puckered up.

John threw his head back to stare at Paul and raised an inquisitive knowing eyebrow at him.

After witnessing the looks they were giving each other, you huffed loudly, tired of the melodramatic secrecy. “Not again with the silent conversations”

“You can’t expect to know everything, (Y/N)” John stated.

“But what is there to know?” you questioned, beyond confused.

You were missing something and it was stressing you out that they knew what it was but wouldn’t tell you because they didn’t feel like it.

Paul felt empathy for you after seeing you so lost.

“We don’t progress much when you’re around because you distract Geo too much” he explained.

“Bravo, Macca” John sighed as the three of you continued to walk towards George’s house.

With their ‘silent conversation’ they agreed not to rat out George, but Paul’s mouth was faster than his brain could ever be.

John should have taken into account his mate’s overspoken nature.

“I do?” you said, lines forming between your brows, not understanding. “How so?”

John snorted. “Sit and observe”

You turned to Paul. He was staring at John the same way one does when you recognize your friend is about to put on a show and you aren’t very sure if it’s the right time or place, but you know that anything you say will fly into their ear and out of the other.

He fixed his eyes tenderly on you after and shrugged his shoulders with a peculiar cheekiness.

George looked every bit the unconcerned man as he sat back and watched John plop down on the couch next to you, splaying his arms along the top of the seat as he asked you how much you get paid for the babysitting.

They were in a break after been playing for two hours.

“Not much” you noted.

“Quit” he interrupted, smirking friskily and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear cautiously. “I’ll double your wage if you join the band. We are missing the attractive factor”

You wheezed. “I’m positive with your talent it’ll be sufficient” you said, laughing still.

You looked over at George. He wasn’t looking in your direction but John’s, mouth compressed and something you couldn’t fathom flitting across his eyes.

“Besides,” you added, “I don’t know how to play any instrument to save my life”

“The piano a little bit” George chimed in, after deliberating whether to speak or not.

You blushed settling your gaze on him one more time, marvelled that he remembered. “It’s been years since I last practised”

“If the piano is too much I’ll give you my harmonica. I’m fucking tired of blowing into that shit” John offered, resting his left hand on your thigh and giving it a firm squeeze.

Everyone laughed except George. He didn’t even smile.

He dipped his eyes and ran a finger over his brow back and forth for a couple of seconds before grabbing his guitar again.

Something was off with him, and it upset you that he was feeling under the weather when Paul, John and you were vibing and having such a wonderful time.

John kissed your cheek and cuddled you after wrapping his leather jacket around you even though you didn’t ask for it. George saw and shook his head gently, forcing himself to continue working on his part so he would nail it in the upcoming session. His mind was elsewhere and the chords didn’t sound as good as he wanted them to be. He brought his brows together and you stifled an affable grin, observing silently while he mumbled under his breath, probably putting himself down for not getting them right.

John smiled seeing you stare at George, but Paul knew what that smile meant, what was really behind it, and he started gesturing at him as subtle as he could not to push his luck with George. He’d keep his conscience clean regardless of what happened from now on.

John’s smile enlarged when he saw his best mate from the corner of his eye trying to catch his attention, but he had it all mapped out in his head.

He leaned forward, elbows on the knees and fingers interlocked.

“(Y/N), is it true that you’ve been seeing Sam?”

You looked over at John, perplexed.

George also raised his gaze, disconcertion lurking in it.

Paul slapped a hand to his forehead.

Clueless as to why he would ask that, you turned pink. “Where have you heard that?”

George interpreted your blush as you being embarrassed because you got caught, and your question as wanting to know who spillt the news. The suave yet pained expression tinted on his face was replaced by a rather sad and fragile one.

Instinctively, you pinned your eyes to George’s when John didn’t answer you. You weren’t dating anyone named Sam and you didn’t want him to believe that you did.

He remained there staring what felt like a lifetime into your eyes, only for his to fall to the floor seconds after. He stood up and paced to the door.

Envy overloaded him, making his jealously evolve into what a romantic would describe as passional delirium.

Hastily, he turned, came up to you and closed his fingers over your arm. John watched with a wry grin.

“Can we talk?” George asked, his tone filled with forced politeness.

You nodded and let him guide you towards his kitchen.

He looked over his shoulder first to confirm that neither of his bandmates had followed you there.

Then, for a few seconds, he froze. You noticed he was agitated and internally saturated with mixed feelings.

Out of the blue, he straightened his spine, a different kind of thickness filling his throat. Determined to overcome his shyness and insecurity, he gave a long exhale. Throwing you off guard, he grabbed your face, fingers gripping tightly your cheeks, and pressed his mouth to yours so enthusiastically that you subtly felt his front teeth.

Excitement and love rushed into your veins.

You kissed him back and wrapped your arms around his waist, knowing from the get go that this wasn’t going to be the last time that you would taste his lips. George couldn’t open his eyes at first after having departed from the kiss, which turned out to be the best and most pleasant, pure and precious kiss he had ever shared.

When he flicked them open, he couldn’t resist the drive to glide his thumb over the soft skin of your sweet fleshy lips.

John suddenly burst into the kitchen pretending to pull off that the obtrusion was casual. The real and obvious reason was that he wanted to see what was going on behind curtains.

George quickly pulled back.

That reaction and the swollen lips from both of you was enough for John.

“Don’t mind me. Just came here for something to drink” he said, but the clownery in his voice was oh so present and solid.

Cheeks burning, George didn’t move.

John, with the glass in his hand, turned to him before leaving.

“I mean, maybe it’s you who needs some water. You look feverish, my friend”

You quickly pushed him out of the kitchen.

George slowly looked up again when he wasn’t around. “There’s no Sam, is there?”

You shook your head no. “John is a crackhead, a good bloke but a crackhead. Never listen to him, listen to me” you smiled. He drew you into his arms, missing your warmth already. “I’m not dating Sam, Geo. He’s blond and I’m not into blondes”

George chuckled. “What are you into, then?” he asked, needing to hear from you that you only wanted him.

“I’m into this guy from The Quarrymen. Not the one who plays the bass, and clearly not the blind one, he’s too much of a ponce sometimes” you smirked. “Into the bushy unibrow guy”

He laughed harder and tightened his embrace.

“Lucky you he’s had his eye and unibrow on you for some time”

“Sweet, cause I’ve been in love with him ever since I met him”

George stared dearly down at you with the brightest smile and captured your lips again.

He didn’t know if John was a genius or a foolish cretin for causing him to feel so enraged before, making him believe you had a boyfriend.

The perfect mix, he conceded.

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