#watch how he sways on his feet when they ask too many questions because the serums pulling stuff from him he doesn't want out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joonberriess · 2 years

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𓆩♡𓆪 “why don’t you say so?” — jock!jk

·˚ ༘ 💌 TAGS — jk’s obsession with tits, cunnilingus, fingering, titty play lol, dumbification(?), dirty talk (brief), reader’s creamy pus—

“Jungkook,” you softly huff, “are you sure this is how many you usually do?” You’re out of breath, struggling to maintain the same pace you started out with when you did a set of jumping jacks. You must have done like twenty by now.

Jungkook is standing before you, arms crossed over his chest and eyes locked on something. You can’t tell but you’re not going to ask, not when your lungs are screaming from the vigorous exercise. You kinda wish you didn’t ask Jungkook about his warm-up routine during practice.

“………” his eyes are narrowed, entirely concentrated on something else so he ignores your question.

You pout and give up on asking him any more questions as you tiredly pick up the pace on another set of jumping jacks. You’re vaguely aware of your tits bouncing underneath the white camisole top you decided to wear today. The shirt rides up your tummy with every jump and you keep having to tug the stupid thing down.

A small bead of sweat trails down your neck, sliding between the valley of your tits. Just as you’re about to whine about being even more tired he speaks, “Okay, you’re good.” He says as he steps over, “Careful, you might end up falling.” He comes up behind you, hands immediately settling on your tits as he gently squeezes them through your camisole top.

“How?” You ask, blinking up at him in confusion as you tilt your head back, “Why are you holding my boobs?”

“Because, that way I can catch you in case you trip on your own feet. I mean I’m just trying to help.” Jungkook says like it’s not a big deal as he squeezes your tits again.

You see a point, smiling at him as you nod, “Oh okay.” He’s so nice and sweet worrying about you tripping on the grass! “Are we done already or is there more?” You ask as he guides you over to some mats lying around near the back entrance.

He hums softly and pats your ass, “No, I usually do about like ten sit-ups.”

“No you don’t–”

“It’s something new I’ve been doing.” He quickly adds in.

You blink, staring back at him and then shrugging, “I guess,” you get down on the floor, “can this be the last? I’m really sweaty and tired.” You pout.

Jungkook nods, “You know how I usually do my sit-ups faster? I take my shirt off.” When he sees you give him a questioning look he chuckles softly under his breath as he gently massages your knees, sliding them up to the top of your thighs, “What? You doubting me sweetheart? You can even ask Jimin, he does it too.”

He watches a coy yet sweet smile form on your lips as you pushed your thighs together, “I’m not doubting you, just really burnt out.” You reply as you hold yourself up with your arms, “How many sit-ups can you do? Ahh, you must look so cool when you do them without your shirt on! Just like your push-ups.” You chirp, wiggling out of your camisole.

You ramble off, and Jungkook’s not paying attention as he noncommittally hums to whatever you’re saying. His eyes are trained on the way your tits are squished together, moving side to side whenever you sway. “I bet you’d look so cool as Tuxedo Mask.” You dreamily say.

“Tuxedo Mask?” Jungkook snorts and looks up at you as he gently pushes you on your back, “There you go with your silly little ideas baby,” he reaches up to smack your cheek gently, “you’re so cute.”

You giggle softly and adjust your position on the ground, “You should dress up like him for Halloween.”

“Mmm yeah?” He says as he sits back on his knees and watches you do the first sit-up, “And who are you dressing up as?”

“Sailor Moon!” You say with that bright smile of yours. “It’ll be so cool.” You wiggle around, “I already bought her cosplay,” you off-handedly comment, “but the skirt is too short and tight on me.” Oh this certainly catches his attention.

“Yeah? What else baby?” He raises a brow.

“Mm.. the top kinda fits a little loose but I’m planning on pinning it in certain areas to fix it. It came with the pretty shoes too. You know her red ones, they go up to my thighs. I really like the bow too, the brooch on it is so cute in person,” you ramble off.

Jungkook only really pictures you in the outfit, he’s imagining how you’d look. Would the skirt be so short your ass is hanging out? Pretty cheeks peeking out from underneath, those little thongs you like to wear being sucked between those fat cheeks of yours? He dreads to think about the top.. you pinning it to make it fit?? He’s a dead man for sure.

“You’d look so pretty in it.” Jungkook says, aware that you’ve already forgotten the sit-ups were completed. “Maybe you should model it for me, I mean just in case it doesn’t fit or something.”

“But it fits perfectly?” You tilt your head.

“Yeah, well sometimes it’s always good to ask someone else for their opinion. Never can be too sure. I just wanna make sure you look stunning in it baby.” Jungkook smiles holds his hand out to you.

You take his hand and he pulls you up, forcing you to kneel with him as you’re face to face with him. “Oh,” you become elated at his words, “I’m so lucky to have someone like you. ^^”

“See? Where would you be without me y/n? Prolly out there in a Sailor Moon outfit that doesn’t look good on you.” He says as he shakes his head with a grin.

You suppress a giggle and nod, “I’m done for today, I can’t feel my arms.” You say as you pout at him, getting ready to roll over and get up when he stops you. “Jungkook…?”

“Hold on baby,” Jungkook says, “you’re a little sweaty…. here,” he says as he tugs at your bra, “wouldn’t want you walking out like that.”

“Oh, thank you.” You smile and let him wipe your damp skin with your discarded camisole. It’s a little gross but you’re most likely heading home after this and hopefully into a nice hot shower.

Jungkook hums, “Oh my, looks like there’s more sweat in here.” He says and completely tugs your bra down, tits spilling out as he licks his lips, “Can’t let you go home like this, gotta get you all dried up so your pretty little top isn’t wet with your sweat.” He knows this is bullshit but honestly he doesn’t care.

You’re startled when he leans down, hot breath fanning over your tits as your nipples harden. “I thought you were going to wipe the sweat off?”

“I can’t see very well, just checking up close.” He replies and suddenly his lips wrap around one of your perky nipples.

A small burst of pleasure runs down to your pussy, you shift a little and bite your lip. He sucks hard, his tongue circles around it and then flicking over the nipple. His free hand comes up to grope your other tit and squeeze the soft mound of flesh.

“Jungkook–” you moan, jumping a little when he tugs on your nipple with his teeth, “ouch..” you wince.

Jungkook pulls back, a string of saliva connecting him to your nipple as he moves to the neglected tit. He gives it the same treatment as he groans into your soft skin, lips moving in a motion that felt like he was making out with your nipple. You push more of your chest into his mouth, panting softly as your thighs rubbed together.

“Mmph– such pretty tits,” he says, muffled by your tit. He pushes both of them together and licks over your nipple, “all for me, right baby?” His eyes flicker up to stare into yours.

You nod, “Jungkook..” you softly mutter.

“What is it baby?” Jungkook doesn’t miss the way your thighs rub together, you’re trying to be subtle but you only make it more obvious. How cute. “C’mon, tell me what you need.”

You bite your lip and shift your thighs apart, “I need you… here…” you whisper, “ ‘s so wet.”

His eyes darken at the last set of words you say, he gives your tit a small bite mark, “Show me your pretty pussy baby, c’mon take the shorts off.” He pats your cheek.

“I-I need you to do it,” you whine softly, “my arms hurt.” You say as you part your thighs just a little.

Jungkook chuckles under his breath as he pushes you back on the mat. He grips your little spanks and yanks them down your thighs, they briefly get caught on the top of your ass but he manages to shove them down and off of you. There’s a damp spot on your little thong, he licks his lips and grabs the waistband, tugging them down slowly.

You raise your hips, a dollop of creamy white slick creates a small string connecting from your panties to your soft pussy lips. Jungkook groans quietly under his breath, “Look at you baby, so fuckin’ wet for me.” He leaves your thong hooked around your ankles. “Such a dirty girl, getting wet from me drying you off.”

“I-I didn’t,” you blush, “ ‘s cause you.. were touching me there.” You say softly and cover your tits with a small hand, clearly failing cause they were much bigger than that.

Jungkook snorts, “Sure baby, make excuses for that naughty pussy of yours.” He shakes his head, “Look at you, you’re fucking soaked.” He laughs.

You flush in embarrassment, whining as you cover your face with your hands. Your arms push your tits together, they sit so pretty for Jungkook and he can’t help the low groan that leaves him. “I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Jungkook lifts your thighs, pressing the back of them down on your chest. Your pussy’s left in the air for him, so ripe for the taking. He leans down, nosing at your soft folds. He can see a weak spurt of slick run down your pussy. It makes it look much more appetizing.

He covers your soft pussy with his mouth, tongue dipping past your folds to lick a stripe all the way up to your clit. He gives your clit two slow slicks, tasting your tangy slick on his tongue. He moans quietly against you, he tightens his grip on you and pushes your hips back a little further to get in more properly.

“Could eat this pussy all day baby,” he growls as he flicks his tongue over your clit, swiping it back and forth over your swollen bud, “all wet just for me baby?”

“Y-Yes..!” You whimper out, thighs shaking from the direct stimulation to your clit.

Jungkook attaches his mouth to your clit, sucking harshly as he shakes his head side to side a little. You squeal softly, thighs tensing as you throw your head back. “Jungkook..!” You reach down you grip his hair tightly.

“Mm..! P-Please,” you cry out.

He trails a finger down, swirling around the mess you’ve made. He pushes it in, curling his finger just right. You grind down on his finger, groaning softly as you whisper for more. Jungkook doesn’t tease, he slides another finger and pushes them in deep. Your pussy squelches lewdly and slick dribbles down his fingers, completely soaking him.

He pays special attention to your clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. He applies the right amount of pressure on you, pairing it perfectly with his fingers. You’re moaning uncontrollably, babbling softly as you tighten your grip on his hair, “Oh.. mm..”

Jungkook moves his fingers faster, almost jack hammering them into you. You shiver almost uncontrollably now, toes curling in your shoes as you roll your hips upwards to the best of your ability. “Mm..! I’m so c-close,” you gasp.

He pulls back, panting softly as he takes in greedy gulps of air, “Yeah..?” He asks breathlessly, “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?”

“Yes!” You cry out, “Right there, right there!” You mewl.

Jungkook’s basically pounding his fingers deep into your pussy. You feel your soppy pussy gush around his fingers. Your orgasm rises and rises until it hits with full force and you lie there silently shaking from the pleasure. Jungkook’s dark eyes settle on yours as he watches you contort in pleasure.

When it suddenly becomes painful you reach down to push at his head weakly. “C-Can’t, too much.” You whimper.

“We’re not done here baby,” he says as he pulls back, slipping his fingers out of your messy cunt. He watches as your pussy oozes creamy slick right after, hold gaping around nothing. “Gonna have you bouncing on my cock in the car, make you ride it like the nasty little slut you are. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Fucking this nasty little pussy on me and stretching your little hole around my cock?”

You bite your lip, shaking your head but your pussy has other plans. It leaks more to your humiliation as he laughs darkly, “Sure you don’t..”

taglist: @jungkooksseuphoria , @kooliv

also, i started a twitter but that’s for member x member smuts i have in mind lmfao. i also have a curious cat! send ur anonymous asks there if you’d like LMAO.

i made them their own insta profiles lmfao.

https://curiouscat.me/joonbbymama

#bts smut #bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook

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kaigarax · 4 months

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Absolutely Blunt

Nanami Kento x Reader

Quote: "Fall in love with someone that represents love."

“Would you die if someone told you to?” You asked, your feet hanging over the ledge of the dock and dipping into the cool water.

Nanami, who stands up beside you, looks down, “no.”

You look up at him, a smile pulling at your lips, “that’s a shame.”

“Why?”

Your eyes seem to swirl like pools of gold as they clash with his own, “because you will.”

---

When I was five I asked my mother about love. She scooped me into her arms and spun me around her laughter filling up the room. She said love was like a red round balloon; there was a part of you that wanted to hold onto it, a part of you that longed to see it sore into the big, open sky.

Was this how he would die?

How everything in his pathetic life would ultimately end?

In the midst of a mission ranked too high for his skill level? Before he had a chance to actually decide what he actually wanted to do with his life? An untimely climax that none but perhaps him and Haibara would bear witness to?

Nanami never cared all too much for fame - but he would have liked at least someone to be there in the end. Someone he could entrust everything else to. Though it wasn’t as if he actually had much to entrust in the first place but maybe one day he would. Well… one day might never come.

Nanami’s body aches and his clothes cling to him in an uncomfortable way.

Ah yes.

Nanami closes his eyes.

Here it comes.

He waits.

And waits.

And…

Nanami peaks his eyes open to see everything around him has suddenly stopped. From the large monstrous curse to the gentle swaying of a swing hung up on the low hanging branch of a tree. Even a bird, caught mid air, has stopped. As if suddenly frozen in time.

It’s quiet.

Eerily quiet.

And in the midst of everything Nanami spots you. He doesn't recognize you but assumes you must be an upperclassmen based on the uniform you’re wearing. He’s heard plenty of good (and questionable) things about the upperclassmen. How they were generational talents. How the higher ups had many plans.

From the girl with a mastery over reversed cursed energy; the boy with both infinity and the six eyes; the curse eater; and it seems you.

“Just in the nick of time.” You say, smiling as you pull out a blade from your pocket.

Comfortably, you walk up to the curse before slicing your blade through it. Nothing has moved though Nanami suspects that it’ll dissolve from existence when you halt the use of your cursed technique.

You turn back to look at Nanami and his companion.

Nanami suddenly finds himself at a loss for words. He wants to question you about your ability but words seem to elude him. He’s not even sure he’s breathing as he watches you from a distance.

Your eyes are brilliant.

Like stars.

Has to do a double take to make sure they’re actually real and not just a figment of his imagination.

“Hm,” you make your way towards Nanami, “can you move?”

Nanami nods his head.

“Now isn’t that fascinating.” You hold your hand out to him, “nice to meet you underclassmen. I’m (L/n) (Y/n).”

“I know.”

---

At ten, I asked my mother again about love. A soft smile played on her lips when she said that love was like a drowsy kitten that came to you, unbidden, crawled into your lap, and made you the centre of its world.

Nanami watched you with curiosity from the classroom window.

Sensei was going off about one thing or another (likely something having to do with curses) that they covered in class the other day and it wasn’t that Nanami wasn’t one to listen but he couldn’t find it in himself to care all too much today. Most Jujutsu classes didn’t actually take place traditionally but Sensei always went off about wanting to make sure that these desks were actually used every once in a while.

You and the other second years probably had the day off - which explained why you weren’t off doing training. Though, from what Nanami actually observed, the four of you didn’t do as much hand to hand training as the older third years. He supposed it came with the territory of being either well versed in reverse cursed energy and/or S-Grade Sorcerers.

Or maybe you were skipping.

Yeah. That seemed like the more likely of the two.

You sat close to the ground with your knees propped up to your chest, leaning forward as you dangled a branch of catnip in your hand. You let out a small chuckle as a young black cat jumped up and pawed at the treat.

Nanami felt a chuckle escape his lips as he watched you.

“What’re you laughing at, Nanami?” Haibara asks, leaning over Nanami’s shoulder in an attempt to get a glimpse at whatever it is that Nanami has seen.

“Hm?” Nanami turns his head to see that class is already over. The teacher dismissed the class, leaving only Nanami and Haibara in front of the window. When Nanami’s gaze finally makes its way across the room it lands back on Haibara’s eager face.

Nanami turns back to the window to point you out to Haibara but by the time he’s about to point you out to Haibara it seems that you’ve suddenly disappeared. You and the black cat.

“Nothing.” Nanami says, his voice low and monotone.

Regardless of whether Haibara believes Nanami’s answer or not he decides not to usher a response. Instead he smiles brightly, gathers up his things, and leads Nanami out the room. Nanami follows him from behind, his hands stuffed into his pockets and his eyes drawn to the floor.

He would’ve liked to have pointed the cat to Haibara.

Haibara liked cats, right?

Oh well.

This wasn’t the time to be pondering pointless and aimless things.

The pair make their way to the training grounds to run some laps or complete a physical activity of one sort or another. Nanami isn’t all too sure. The life of a Jujutsu Sorcerer has always been much more physical than most people would expect.

“Oh, (L/n)-san!” Haibara exclaims, abruptly stopping, forcing Nanami to also stop or else run the risk of running straight into Haibara’s back.

“Haibara,” you smile, a black cat purring in your arms, as you turn to look at him, “Nanami.”

Nanami feels strangely hot beneath your gaze. Feels like it’s harder for him to keep up his usual frown; especially while fighting a flush making its way upon his cheeks. Probably because he was watching you from afar earlier. It’s a little weird, now that he thinks about it. Watching someone from a window. You’d definitely tease him about it if you knew.

“Is that your cat?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Haibara looks around awkwardly, “so um… whose cat is it?”

You shrug, “a wild cat. Or maybe a stray.”

Haibara smiles, “its taken quite a liking to you. Can I try holding it?”

You nod, moving to hand over the feline before it manages to break free from Haibara’s approaching grasp and sprints off down the hallways of the school. Haibara wasted no time in chasing it down the halls, pathetically calling after it in an almost sickly sweet tone. Well at least a tone that Nanami considered sickly sweet.

Your reaction is much more tame as you stand back, watching Haibara and the cat curiously.

“Are you going to help?” Nanami asks.

You look at him, your eyes swirling like rain clouds in the midst of a storm, “are you?”

---

The day I turned twenty, I dared to ask my mother one last time about love. She tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear and held my young, hopeful face between her gentle hands. Her eyes were raw with longing when she answered, love is a dormant volcano, lying in wait, biding its time.

“Congrats on finally graduating, Nanami.”

Nanami turns around to find you leaning up against a wall. You’re dressed in something cute, with your hair pulled back and out of your face. You’re smiling softly but Nanami notes that it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

Most of your smiles usually don’t.

Not since…

“(L/n).” Nanami greets you with the slight nod of his head, “what’re you doing here?”

“Can’t I come and congratulate my favourite underclassmen?” You ask, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Nanami frowns, “don’t you have better things to do?”

“I always make time for people that matter to me.”

“Do you, now?”

“Of course.” You practically jump off the wall as you make your way to Nanami’s side, “you should be honoured that you matter to me so much that I came here to greet you in person. All Satoru did was send a card.”

Nanami cringed.

You laugh, “I take it that you’ve already received it?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Wow,” you place a hand near the top of Nanami’s head before putting one over your own, “you’ve grown so tall, Nanami. I’m jealous. I wish I could’ve grown a few more inches between my last few years.”

Nanami’s face flushed, “I didn’t grow that much. You’re exaggerating.”

“If you say so,” you hum.

Nanami follows after you curiously as you lead him to a food stall. You walk with your arms to your side, swinging them ever so slightly as if this is simply something you do everyday. As if you have all the time in the world. The blade you carry swings alongside your arms on your hip. It stands out in comparison to all the people walking along the street but strangely inconspicuous when with you.

Despite being your junior by a year, Nanami often feels as though you’re the younger one. You’re kind of like Gojo in that sense. So playful - though he supposes that comes with the territory of being unbelievably strong. You don’t have to take everything else as seriously when you can simply snap your fingers and change the outcome previously thought unchangeable.

He’s almost jealous.

Nanami takes a seat beside you.

You lean on your arm as you turn to look at Nanami, “you should cut your hair.”

“What?” Nanami frowns, “why?”

“Because you’ll look better with short hair.” Usually Nanami would focus on your words but he can’t help but find himself drawn to the curve of your lips. Enjoys the way they curve up into a genuine smile. He thinks that this, this, is what’s captured the hearts of so many others. The reason why someone would have ever fallen in love with you in the first place. It’s so different from the practiced one you’d given him before.

He can simply feel it - from the gleam of your eyes to the depth of his heart.

At first, Nanami thinks that he should outright and bluntly confess his affections for you. To declare that from here on out he loves you. That he will always love you. But this isn’t the time or place. In retrospect of the events to come Nanami should have at least hinted towards his affections for you but that was before he knew what was to come. This is not the right time, nor will it ever be.

Secondly, Nanami thinks that he could reach out and brush a strand of your hair back. To gently hold you in his arms. But it would feel too sudden. Too foreign to who he is as a person. He is not the person that you hope him to be and you’re not the person he always thinks that you are. It’s not like there will never be another moment like this, right?

Finally, he simply gives you a smile in response, “if you say so.”

Your eyes soften and his heart sings.

Yeah. Nanami thinks that he prefers things like this.

---

Fall in love with someone that represents love.

---

About Love - Lang Leav

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento x reader #100 ways to fall in love

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meyousing · 1 year

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𝒞𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜, 𝒮𝑜 𝒫𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: chrollo with a super obedient reader that just complies to whatever he says and frequently asks him if she can do stuff no matter how many times she's told no

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: despite your undying loyalty to chrollo, something inside of you persistently wonders if your love truly is mutual, and how he sees you. his answer is unexpected, and leaves you questioning your decisions thus far.

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: yandere chrollo, sfw, manipulation/gaslighting. part two here!

“What if we got a puppy?” your feet swayed beneath the kitchen island, chin resting upon your interlocked fingers which soon moved to hold your head up by the jaw instead.

You couldn’t see Chrollo’s visible reaction to this inquiry, his back was turned as he had been brewing the both of you an evening tea. You liked to watch him carry out such mundane tasks, it felt so domestic. As if you two were a normal couple; as if you were a tired wife who just returned home from her irksome job, with your loving househusband catering to your needs so he could help you relax after such a long day. This, instead of an essential cult leader and the woman he saved. But you didn’t see it that way. Chrollo’s power made you view him as your protector, who knew what was best for you and ensured that every decision he made for you was ultimately beneficial.

He chuckled softly, looking to the side, his charming profile in your sights as he spoke.

“You know we can’t do that, my beloved.”

You watched him turn his back to you once more, an arm raising as he poured your drinks into the cute, matching “Mr. & Mrs.” mugs that you asked him to buy you as a birthday gift last year. (He questioned if there were any particular reasons why you wanted these mugs, given the officiality of the titles they displayed. You told him that if that was what he desired, then yes).

You did know that you couldn’t do that; get a puppy. Because it was Chrollo who said you couldn’t do that, the same Chrollo who knew what was best for you, after all. You agreed with him. You trusted him. But it couldn’t hurt to have asked. Maybe you’d try again in a few days or weeks.

You’d like to have another companion at your side for when Chrollo was out on long days with his troupe, with you being unable to join him for obvious reasons, always leaving you alone for so much time. If he said yes, you would have something more to occupy your daytime, too. Reading could only provide entertainment for so long before plots became repetitive or too easy to understand, and while you appreciated his thoughtfulness when he bought you a laptop that couldn’t connect to the internet but still provide you with digital papers to write your own stories on; something tangible and alive like a pet would make your life so much more… lively, so much more fun. But you were unwilling to argue with him, who always had your best interests at heart. Chrollo had never steered you wrong before, it would make no sense for him to start now.

He was at your side rather quickly, breaking you out of your thoughts by placing your cup down in front of you and sitting at your side with his cup in his fist. You smiled in thanks, placing your hands around the mug to warm your fingers and let the drink cool off before sipping.

“Would a plush suffice?” you heard him ask, peeking up to watch as he took a quiet swig of his tea.

It really wouldn’t. This was said from the bottom of your heart, the very truth. But you told that voice to be quiet, that a plush would absolutely be enough. Chrollo may have been asking you this, though he may as well have just said “a plush will suffice.”

“Of course” you leaned into him, puckering your lips to peck his cheek. His hand swiftly caught you by the jaw and pulled you in for a real kiss, your lips meeting his sweetness with some warmth from the remnants of his pekoe. His thumb brushed over your cheek as you parted.

“Such a precious thing, you are.”

Is it my obedience that makes him think this? You would continue to be that way if it were the case. But Chrollo was a bit of an enigma, you could never really know. He let you know as much as he wanted you to know, and who were you to ask for more? Once again you hushed that internal voice, you are precious indeed. Chrollo thinks so, so you are. That’s all there is to it.

You melted as he wrapped an arm over your shoulders, bringing you closer into his embrace. Your temple rested against his chest, the gentle thrum of his heartbeat lulling you into a tranquil state. A tranquil, vulnerable, impulsive state.

“What would you do if I never listened to you?” you couldn’t stop the words before they left your mouth.

A beat of silence.

You felt him hum.

His hand on your tricep squeezed.

“Well…” he laughed. “What use would you be to me then?”

Ouch. You moved to detach from him, to make eye contact and wonder if what he just said was meant genuinely, to see if his eyes were as honest as his words. His grip on your arm was unrelenting, you squirmed for a moment before coming to your senses; you weren’t going anywhere.

“What do you mean?” your voice was timid. You knew that you couldn’t accept the truth, that your compliance to his every word was the reason why your life here was so simple, so problem free. What started as an impulsive question that you couldn’t control was now a thought beginning to plague you. What would he do if you didn’t act this way? What if you fought back or if you resisted his commands and advances?

You were complicit because you loved him. It was a hard pill to swallow, to come to terms with the fact that the version of Chrollo that you were bound with now was not the same Chrollo you fell in love with. In spite of that, there was a part of you that loved him still, even who he was now; the ugly truth of him.

But if you weren’t this way, if you weren’t obedient and allowed him to control your every decision, then… you would just have no purpose in his life? You could see past his flaws, but he couldn’t see past yours?

“You know exactly what I mean, Y/N.”

Of course, you did. Because it was Chrollo who said you knew that, the same Chrollo who knew what was best for you, after all.

He held you impossibly closer, both of his arms caging you into his chest as you brought your fists beneath your chin, pressing into him and allowing his warmth to consume you. How much truth did his words bear, if he held you this way? His clench on your arm had long softened, that same hand now rubbing up and down in a very soothing way, a way that had you sighing in contentment.

Maybe you could play this part for a little longer if it meant being touched with such fragility as if you were a precious artifact of the utmost value. That wasn’t too far off from the truth, was it? You are precious, remember? Chrollo said so.

You could only play a part for so long, though. It felt wrong to envision, but delight filled you at the image of Chrollo’s potential reaction to a sudden outburst or blatant disagreement on your part. Would he let you off with a warning, or do something grandeur? No matter how far away, you could not wait for that day to come.

#✧meyou #✧musinghxhmasterlist #chrollo #yandere chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo lucilfer #phantom troupe #hxh #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter #hxh chrollo #hunter x hunter x reader #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x you

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burtonbabygirlguster · 2 years

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alrighty, so i rewatched the hospital scene in Stranger Things S3, and here’s everything that happened to Jon in the hospital

may have missed some, leme know if i did

Immediately smashed a flower pot against a dude, shattered

Strangled by a possessed dude with supernatural strength for about 7 seconds

Possessed dude slammed their heads together (while still being chocked)

Was thrown at least five or so feet across (was probably closer to ten) and at least four feet high in the air, ws thrown from his neck

Landed on shoulder entirely

Had metal stool legs slammed into his back by supernatural strength, fell on hi9s face

Was shown to not be breathing properly- unknown if because of physical damage or general anxiety

Could barely pull himself up, was in immense pain

His weight support for standing up was tossed and he fell on his face and wrist

Was yanked up quickly and forcefully by his shirt and the possessed guys supernatural strength

Threw him much harder into (maybe) metal cabinets

Which was from being spun, at least a good five feet of turning to gain speed and force

Was also about three-five feet in high in the air

Landed on his arm instead, face fell on arm

Was once again picked up by his shirt, he was obviously panicking and trying to get away once he realized what Possessed Guy was gonna pick him up like a cat

Threw onto and over a (maybe) four foot high metal roller-shelf

Back landed directly on a ‘pipe’ or something (the bars on top the roller-shelf that you'd hold onto to push)

Fell backwards and landed on his collarbone (maybe the same one), head (maybe) hitting the floor again

Could barely drag himself to try and prevent his and Nancy’s death

Head was pulled up by his hair, one or two feet off the ground

Then slammed back into ground by supernatural strength

Unconscious or just ready to die for about 13 seconds

Then had to stab a (somewhat) man in the throat with scissors

Started to fall, found something to keep balance on

Could not walk, even one small side step, without major limp

Watched a (somewhat) person then shake and…melt..? Into a pile of jelly looking meat

Watched as it slowly crawled, followed it

Not sure if this was a light trick or not, but was shown to be swaying in the hall when the meat things were joining

Shown to have scratches on his neck? It may just be weird bruises, but it’s one big pink oval with what appears as three long red line running the ovals length

Immediately tried to get the meat monsters attention to save Nancy

Struggled to pull a…rod? put to try and save Nancy, while still calling out to it

Was walking towards the monster/Nancy, rod in hand, having trouble breathing, slouched to one side, and major limp

As soon as he saw the monster going in through the vent, dropped the rod (out of shock? Stress? worry?) and tried his best to run, still sloped to one side and running

It looked like his ankle was twisted when he ran, it was leaning way too much outward

Body Slammed the door twice

Got an oxygen tank? Was big and cylinder

Repeatedly tried busting the door open with his full force

Probably hit around 10+ times, moved to door-window at some point

Fully ran into the room for Nancy while the kids bolted after monster was gone

Asked if she was hurt

Take a look at yourself, Jonathan.

Must have then ran faster, because he caught up with the kids, down however manys sets of stairs, and out the door with a possibly broken leg/ankle, twisted at least, and many, many other issues

literally how is he still alive. not as in I want him to die- but he must be a GOD or some shit. even bigger question- how is he shown to be perfectly fine, he should be in the ER or some shit after that- i don’t know what it takes to get a concussion- but im sure he has one. like after all that he’d need crutches at least. at least for his ankle/leg. i know i sure as hell would, pretty sure any person that had that happen to them would be dead rn

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honeyedhoseok · 2 years

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I Hope It's Cold In New York | yg x reader

genre | kim yugyeom x reader au!

summary | angst, implied smut, fluff, lots of sweet scenes followed by spiraling - enjoy <3

listen along | the wrecks - i hope it's cold in new york

The paper shakes in Yugyeom’s hand before slipping through his stiff fingertips, fluttering somewhere near his feet.

His unfocused eyes can see it lying there—thankfully, face down—beside his scuffed up sneakers and the grocery bags he abandoned on the floor before sifting through today’s mail.

He’d think he was paralyzed from a few words on cardstock if it weren’t for the steady, drumming of his heart beat in his ears, the hum of the radiator cutting on, and the soft movement of his phone vibrating in his pocket against his thigh.

He pulls it out, his body acting of its own accord to see your name and contact picture lighting up his screen. Your timing has always been mysteriously perfect—or rather this time, a mysteriously perfect inconvenience.

His fingers tighten around the rectangular plastic device, and for just a second he thinks about launching it at the wall—at the satisfaction of hearing it crack against the plaster, hopefully breaking the screen and keeping him from seeing your smiling face in your contact picture looking at him.

But he doesn’t. He loosens his grip, presses the silence button and sits it on the counter beside him, hanging his head back so his watery, stinging vision is aimed at the popcorned ceiling of his new apartment instead.

He can’t answer just yet.

///

He can’t answer just yet.

The two of you are walking home from an outing downtown, and you are deliriously giggly and happy from a few too many glasses of wine. Yugyeom watches you sway in front of him, your eyes trained on the starless sky above for a few seconds before you look behind you as if you’re making sure he’s still there.

“Are you not going to say anything back?” you ask, smiling mischievously at him. “Cat got your tongue?”

It’s not that he isn’t going to answer—it’s that he’s scared of the only answer he wants to give you, and furthermore, how you will react to it.

Yugyeom had blown his cool facade at the bar when some guy approached you, grabbing at your hand, your waist, trying to convince you to let him buy you a drink, calling you baby and gorgeous.

The guy was that really annoying kind of handsome—he was probably popular with the masses throughout his life, used to getting what he wanted with just a cheeky smile and a good one-liner—and it pissed Yugyeom off to see him trying to pull the same tactics to get you to come with him.

He knows you can hold your own, he’s seen you do it plenty of times. But this time maybe it was the burn of the whiskey he’d let slide down his throat along with his self-control that convinced him to tap the guy on the shoulder right before throwing a solid, left punch into the side of his squared, cocky jaw.

His hand stings in remembrance and he knows without looking that his knuckle is split. It’s going to be a bitch to grip the handles of his motorcycle, but he’ll worry about that when the time comes. Right now, he has to get you home in one piece, and the way your heels scrape harshly against the sidewalk because you’ve reverted to not picking up your feet tells him all he needs to know—you’re drunk.

But also aware—aware enough to realize he has yet to answer your lingering question from earlier: Why?

As if on cue again, you stop on a dime in front of him and whip around on your heel.

Why did he punch that guy in the face? Why did he get mad? Why did he ruin both of your nights by getting you two kicked out of the bar for almost starting a fight?

Yugyeom is lucky his left is strong—if he hadn’t knocked the guy out cold there would have been a lot more to tend to than just a few split knuckles and his raging hangover tomorrow.

“I don’t know,” he says, finally. “I’m sorry.”

“I think you do know,” you answer playfully, tsk-ing at him. “But I’ll let you slide, for now.”

Yugyeom grins, glad you’re not one to linger for too uncomfortably long. “Are your feet hurting?”

Your eyebrows raise and your gaze follows his down to your strappy heels that have left red marks around your ankles and the top of your feet. “No,” you say stubbornly. “I’m fine.”

Yugyeom chuckles, shakes his head. “Come on,” he says, walking over to crouch in front of you. “Get on.”

“We still have a few blocks until we get to my apartment,” you say in argument, but you’re already reaching down to slide your feet out of the shoes and clamor onto his back despite your statement.

He stands when your warm body is pressed against his back, legs wrapped around his waist and ankles crossed in a tight hold. He hoists you up, making you laugh a little and your hand that is holding your shoes over his shoulders jumps, making the corner of your heel collide with his chest.

“Ow,” he says, smacking his teeth. “I offer to carry you and you’re trying to take me out with your Manolos.”

“I can’t afford Manolos,” you say, still giggling in his ear. He likes that your voice sounds soft, breathless. “We live in New York, remember?”

“I’m glad we do,” Yugyeom says. “If your place were any further from the bar, I wouldn’t be able to carry you.” You respond with a press of your foot to his abdomen, and he laughs again. “Okay, okay.”

New York is barely alive at this time of night in your neighborhood. Unlike what people expected out of the big city, the smaller suburbs tended to have a homier feel to them. Away from the billboards and skyscrapers, only the streetlights and the occasional car gliding past with glowing, red brake lights guide your way home.

You tuck your chin on top of his shoulder, and every breath from your nose tickles the underside of Yugyeom’s ear. He loves this, loves that you are so comfortable with him that you’d let him hold you like this in public, giggly from all the alcohol in your system on a warm Saturday night.

Yugyeom doesn’t like to think of himself as sentimental, but this might be the night he remembers most when he thinks of you later. After.

“Do you think you’ll live here forever?”

Whether you mean in the city, or in this moment, Yugyeom’s answer is the same: “Yes.”

“What about that job offer in the south you said you were considering?”

Something is dancing underneath your tone—worry or unease, maybe—and Yugyeom can’t tell why.

“So?” he says, hitching you up on his back again. He can see the front of your apartment building looming up ahead now. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“Never,” you say, squeezing your arms around him, speaking directly into his ear. “Who else would punch sleazy guys and save me from swollen feet?”

Yugyeom huffs out a breath at this and doesn’t say anything. You’re quiet for a little while, chin still tucked in the space between his shoulder and neck. It isn’t until he’s walking up the steps to your apartment complex that you say something, just when he thought maybe you’d fallen asleep.

“I just wanted a free drink,” you mumble to him. “I wasn’t going to go home with him.”

Yugyeom makes it inside somehow, pausing in the lobby so you can slide off his back onto the flattened carpet of the building entryway. He watches you slip your shoes back on for the short walk up to your floor, noticing that the red marks there previously on your feet have lightened.

You fumble around for a moment, pulling your door keys out of your clutch and smoothing your clothes into place. Your eyes then train on his, blinking sleepily up at him, lips soft around the corners before you confess: “I don’t want anyone else.”

This makes Yugyeom’s mouth split into a grin. He reaches out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, lets his fingertips linger on the height of your cheekbone. “I know.”

“Good,” you say, stepping toward him, leaning up on your toes.

“Good,” he repeats, bending down to meet you in the middle so you can press your petal-like lips to his own.

Kissing you is like a storm rolling in on the beach—a phenomenon that takes Yugyeom by surprise each time at how quickly it escalates.

One moment your lips are barely touching in the lobby, and the next he is racing you up the stairwell to the third floor, pressing kisses against your exposed shoulder and neck while you giggle and fumble with your keys and the lock on the door.

Inside, your apartment is dark but tidy, and Yugyeom thanks the heavens above that he knows the layout well enough to scoop you up again into his arms and return his attention to kissing the gloss from your lips while he makes his way through.

The two of you don’t even make it to your bedroom—just to the couch in the living room, before Yugyeom is lying you down softly on the cushions. He stands to remove the thin fabric of his T-shirt, yanking it over the back of his head before he returns to the warmth of your body on the couch.

Your legs wrap around his waist, your hands finding purchase in his hair while the two of you attempt to make up for lost time with your bodies. Fumbling on the awkward length of the couch because of Yugyeom’s long legs, laughing between kisses and breathy sighs.

Yugyeom is in love.

You are wrapped around him on the smallest couch in the world, head tucked under his chin with your cheek pressed to his bare chest, and he is in love.

Your living room is blue with dim morning light that seeps through the upturned blinds. Outside, the city is just waking up and so are the two of you, despite your late night on the town and even later night with each other.

Your alarm clock goes off around 7AM—set accidentally out of habit. It’s Sunday, and neither of you have to work today.

You groan cutely, lips poked into a pout that could get you anything you wanted in the world. Yugyeom takes one hand off of your waist to fumble around on the side table above his head, smacking the lamp once with his hand before he feels the cool metal edge of your phone.

He hands it to you and lets you cut the alarm off, tossing it somewhere at the end of the couch where your legs are intertwined beneath what he thinks is also the smallest blanket in the world—but he’s okay with it. He’s okay with everything right now, and he pulls you into a tight embrace again, sleep still heavy at the corners of his eyes and within the droop of his mouth.

Just when he is drifting off, nose buried into the floral halo of your hair, he feels the slightest press of something against his chest, like the kiss of a butterfly.

Except it’s you that is kissing him, trailing with light breath up to the column of his throat. He swallows, hands tightening on the dip of your waist, smoothing over the curve of your ass.

You take this as a sign that he is very much awake now—and he is, how could he not be?—and you shift, throwing a leg over his waist and pushing him on his back. With a bit of awkward shuffling on the cushions that has both of you grinning like fools, you are straddling him, hands pressed on his ribs to center yourself.

Your face is swollen with the lightest dusting of sleep that still clouds your eyes and tangles your hair—but Yugyeom can see underneath the want that is simmering in the slightest part of your lips, the way your chest rises and falls. You are pressed against him in the most intimate of ways, only the thin fabric of both your underwear separating your hips from each other.

He decides to test you a little, despite the carnal urges rumbling underneath his skin to take you right here on the couch. Again.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, squeezing your hips. “What’s on the agenda today?”

You smooth your hands over his ribs, fingers trailing the dandelion tattoo on his right side, the lettering on the left, the bird on the cap on his shoulder.

“Laundry,” you say, and he thinks he sees the slightest twitch of your mouth in laughter. A joke he’s not in on, not yet.

His eyes drop from yours to the piles of clothes scattered in your living room—his T-shirt and pants, your frilly top and shorts from last night—and he nods. “Okay.”

You shift on his lap, and he lets out a grunt involuntarily. You had moved against him there, and whether it was on purpose or not, he can feel the blood rushing beneath his skin at the movement.

“These are dirty, too,” you say, hands smoothing down his front again, fingers playing at the waistband of his briefs. Your eyes shyly meet his, even though you are not a smidgen embarrassed. “Take them off so I can wash them?”

Yugyeom’s eyes flutter closed and he breathes out a laugh from his nose. You’re going to be the death of him.

“You’re insatiable,” he mumbles teasingly.

You grin at him, shrugging your shoulders in a What can you do? gesture. You lower yourself, breasts pressed against his chest, and instead of kissing his lips you hover there and then you pull back. Your eyebrows crease in confusion, and something else—embarrassment?

“What is it?” Yugyeom questions.

“I, um. I should probably go brush my teeth.”

Yugyeom blinks at you once before a laugh bubbles up his throat. He lets his head fall to the side, still laughing while you smack him lightly on the chest. “I’m being serious!”

He pulls you by your arms to lay on him once again, noses bumping against each other as he claims your mouth as his own, mumbling between heated presses of your lips, I don’t care.

Your answering giggle and then sigh as runs his hands up your back, is enough for Yugyeom. He’d listen to it on repeat if he could—the soundtrack of the rest of his life.

No, when you sigh his name later when you’re underneath him as he trails kisses down your jawline, across your bare chest and then lower—that should be the soundtrack of his life. He’s sure.

When the sun is higher in the sky and the apartment is stuffy with heat, the two of you finally separate from each other on the couch. Well, Yugyeom does at least, moving around to collect your garments from the floor to start the laundry. You laze on the couch a little longer, watching him move about your space with appreciative eyes, your head held up on one hand.

He opens a window, cuts on one fan and then another—the heat seems to sink further into his skin the more he moves around. What was the weather forecast for today, and why hadn’t he noticed the temperature before now? You had the dangerous ability to give him tunnel vision.

“It’s not even summer yet,” you complain. “I’m going to melt when it actually starts to get hotter here.”

“Just come over to mine.”

You sigh in response, flopping over on your back. Yugyeom’s large T-shirt now drapes over your body, and he picks your discarded one off the floor, throwing it in the laundry basket tucked under his arm.

“I’m going to take full advantage of the winter this year—you watch,” you say, sounding stubbornly sure of yourself. “I’m not going to complain at all. I’ll be walking on the streets to work with rosy cheeks and cold fingers and toes, so happy that it’s almost below freezing.”

“Oh yeah?” Yugyeom says mindlessly, walking to the small closet that holds your laundry facilities—despite not having air conditioning, at least you had this in your apartment.

“And I’m going to make you do all the winter activities with me,” you say. “Ice skating, seeing Christmas lights, sharing hot chocolate…”

Your voice trails off dreamily, and Yugyeom smiles a little to himself as he stuffs your laundry in the washing machine. The hopelessly romantic part of himself wants to linger a bit on your statement—you were including him in winter plans, in the future.

When he’s finished and the wash cycle is started, he turns around to see you laid on the couch, your hair splayed around you on the cushion, your chest rising and falling slightly as you stare at the ceiling in thought.

He puts the basket down and goes over to you, poking his head in your field of vision. Your expression softens when you see him before a grin splits your mouth.

“Well,” he says, “I hope it gets that cold here.”

“Me too,” you say, nodding. Distant, dreaming. “I hope it’s cold in New York.”

///

I hope it’s cold in New York an old friend, Chaeyoung, texts him one day. It’s blistering in the South rn

I want it cold when I come up

Omg what if it snows? I haven’t seen snow in years

Yugyeom looks at the messages coming in in between hurried bites of his sandwich for lunch, dusting off his hands quickly to respond back to her.

Why do you act like I live in Alaska he types with a smile, I’ll probably be COOL but not cold. Don’t get your hopes up

Chaeyoung, his one remaining friend from college, was coming to visit him later in the year. He was excited to see someone from his old life, the time where he lived in a smaller town and went to a small school before moving away from it all.

How are the people? She fires back. Treating you nice?

Yugyeom immediately thinks of you—of your sparkling eyes, tinkling laughter, windswept hair, aura filled with light and everything he thinks life in a new city is supposed to embody.

He crumples his sandwich wrapper up and stands, picking up his phone for one last message: Yeah. They are

However, in the following months, Yugyeom’s first stretch of living in the big city is a bit rocky.

Everyone he knows wants to live in New York. It holds its arms open as a big welcoming beacon full of opportunities and excitement and new faces—and while it’s absolutely true that it offers those things to both himself and you, there is turmoil underneath that comes along with those offerings.

Some of his problems are out of his control. The lock on his apartment door breaks and his landlord is out of town for three days before she can come back and do something about it—so he is forced to come home after work and set up camp in a chair in front of his door, nodding off every once in a while but jerking awake at the slightest sound that might be someone robbing him blind.

When someone steals his umbrella from beside the door at work on a particularly wet, miserable day outside, he’s forced to walk the blocks home with nothing to cover him from the cloud’s relentless downpour.

Taxi drivers are useless—they pass him on the road without even slowing down. He still has not mastered the art of hailing one.

Upon arriving, he pours enough water to fill a glass out of his loafers on the cement outside of his apartment building before trudging inside.

Other misfortunes, well, Yugyeom supposes they are technically in his control but also not. No matter how much he wishes to have some sort of say, he cannot and will not, ever try to control you.

He hasn’t seen you in a few weeks. To him it feels like lifetimes.

The expanse of five working days between him and his weekend also feels like lifetimes. Adulting is not for the weak.

He drops into a creaky kitchen chair after a long Friday at work, grateful for the weekend and determined to see you no matter the cost. Fingers dialing your number automatically, he waits for three rings before you pick up.

“Gyeom,” you answer. “What?”

His facial expression falls immediately—your words are slurring a little, consonants blending into vowels that even he picks up on with the shortest of sentences.

“Oh, are you out?” he asks. He absentmindedly takes the finger of his right hand and traces a small crack in his wooden table.

“Yeah, why?”

“By yourself?” His throat goes a little dry and he clears it. “I can come get you. I was just—”

“I don’t need you to come get me. I’m fine right here.”

“Where’s right here?” he asks softly. His left hand tightens around his cell phone. “Why are you—why didn’t you tell me? I could have met you.”

“You think I’m that lonely, huh?”

Yugyeom blinks. “What?”

“You think I only have you?” He hears you mockingly laugh through the receiver, alcohol tinting all of your actions. “That’s rich.”

He licks his lips, shaking his head even though you can’t see him. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s silence on the other end, and he thinks maybe he lost you for a second until your voice comes crackling through the speaker, smaller this time. “What have you been doing?” you pause. “It’s been a long time.”

Your tone almost sounds accusatory, but he can’t be too sure.

“Working, Y/N—you know, that thing that adults do?”

He doesn’t mean to snap at you, but his annoyance is rising. Why were you avoiding the question of where you were, who you were with? How many drinks had you had?

“Yeah? I saw your Instagram.”

“What about it?”

“You were out the other night—you didn’t call me up.”

Yugyeom knows exactly what you are talking about: a quick picture he snapped on his way home from after a few drinks with his coworkers. They were last minute plans, and he wouldn’t have even gone if he didn’t desperately need something to knock the edge off after a ridiculously long, tiresome day.

“That’s not—that’s—why do you even care?” he manages.

“You’re right,” you mumble. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t care. Listen, I’ve gotta go.”

“Y/N, come on—” he says, before the line goes dead in his ear.

Talking to you, getting more and more agitated as the conversation went on, he has rubbed his finger across the crack in the kitchen table so much he has a splinter now. He holds it up to the light—a tiny, dark sliver underneath the tip of his skin that stings like a paper cut.

Yugyeom isn’t one to get too upset unless it’s over you. And right now, he feels like he needs to hit something.

///

“Hit something!” Chaeyoung yells at him, clapping her hands from her seat. “At least one pin, Yugyeom, come on!”

Yugyeom squints at the pins in front of him, attempting to listen to Chae’s encouragement. But honestly with the lights and a few full glasses of beer from the pitcher on the table, it doesn’t matter how hard he concentrates: he just sucks at bowling.

He’s going to try anyway, because watching him is not just Chaeyoung, but a few of his friends from work—Jaehyun, Lia, and Mingyu—and you, of course. The most important of all.

“Try standing a little to the left,” Jaehyun coaches. “Or maybe like—as far from the right gutter as possible. You know?”

Chaeyoung laughs but smacks his arm. “We’re on the same team, you’re supposed to be supportive!”

Yugyeom flips him off before repositioning his hand on the ball, lining up his eyesight and sending it as straight down the lane as he can. Chaeyoung and Jaehyun stand up from their seats just as Yugyeom’s ball gets about halfway down the lane, looking like it’s actually going to hit something this time.

It makes a satisfying crack on the far right—three pins down.

They yell and clap like you all just won the super bowl, and tables nearby turn to look. Yugyeom laughs, a little embarrassed, but mostly just glad he can say he didn’t get a complete zero at the end of the game. He returns to the table in high spirits, smacking hands for high fives, and he’s glad to see you smiling delightedly at him, too.

“Nice job,” you murmur from beside him. “I thought Chaeyoung was going to have an aneurysm if you didn’t help them out a little.”

Yugyeom scoffs, turning to look at the scoreboard and then back to you. “We’re still losing.”

“Yeah, but now you’re losing by twenty-seven points instead of thirty.”

You two grin at each other under the dim lighting, and Yugyeom wants to kiss you. So he does--quickly, on the corner of your mouth. “Thanks.”

He’s not too sure how you are about PDA. Sometimes he can do it and other times he can’t, he just has to test the waters every time to see what mood you’re in. But he doesn’t mind.

You seem dazed by the action, maybe even slightly surprised. You glance around at the others who are too focused on Lia bowling her turn to notice and press your lips quick and soft against his in return. You pull back, trying not to break out into a grin at the little sneaky gesture.

The kiss lasts less than a second but it’s enough for Yugyeom to feel a little prick of something underneath his skin, looking at you under the hazy, fluorescent lighting. It starts as a little shiver on the back of his neck, his eyes trailing your features from one smooth line to the other.

You are so, so pretty. And he almost says it, right there. The truth behind all his bottled-up feelings.

In a fucking bowling alley.

“Yugyeom,” Jaehyun calls, breaking the two of you out of your reverie. “Want to come with me to get a beer refill before your turn?”

He nods and separates himself from you, giving your knee a quick squeeze under the table before he follows Jaehyun to the other side of the bowling alley. There’s a line, so they fall into it, watching as the cashier behind the counter struggles to keep with the demand on a Saturday night.

“Who wanted more beer?” Yugyeom asks, raising an eyebrow.

Jaehyun grins. “Me. I think we might be the only two drinking it at this point.”

Yugyeom laughs. He’s glad for this distraction, honestly. He needed to do something away from the others, away from your comforting gaze and hand that continued to find his underneath the table in between bowling turns.

He needs to get his head on straight.

“So,” Jaehyun says, trying to sound casual. “Y/N seems cool.”

Yugyeom’s eyebrows raise at the mention of your name. “Oh, yeah, she’s pretty cool. I told you she was.”

“You did,” Jaehyun says, nodding. “What you didn’t tell me was that you two were dating.”

Yugyeom grins, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shrugging his shoulders a little. “It didn’t come up.”

“In the three million things you’ve told me about her, that didn’t come up, huh?”

Yugyeom rocks on his feet a little, feeling giddy and childish at the conversation that is unfolding. “We’re just—hanging out. You know? Casual.”

Jaehyun’s eyes narrow and he crosses his arms. “Okay, yeah sure. Hanging out,” he repeats. “I look like this when I’m hanging out with someone, too. Definitely.” He gestures to Yugyeom’s rocking, restless body and they both look at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter.

“I don’t know if we’re friends like this yet, but just—be careful,” Jaehyun says as the line moves up a few moments later. Yugyeom’s eyebrows crease over his eyes before he realizes Jaehyun is still talking about you. “You might be getting in over your head.”

Yugyeom doesn’t have time to ask exactly what he means by this because a second cashier is stepping up to help the struggling one, and she beckons them over with a call and wave of her hand to take their order.

Jaehyun orders a pitcher of beer and a plate of nachos for the table, and also a cup of water for Yugyeom—or, as he tells the cashier, my lovesick friend, here.

Yugyeom smacks his lips distastefully when he’s handed the cup, but he gulps it down anyways. His throat is suddenly a little tight at Jaehyun’s friendly warning.

Even though Yugyeom doesn’t want to understand, he does. He’s felt it all along.

He wishes things didn’t feel like they were slowly slipping through his fingers, somehow. But they are.

His hands feel sweaty when he sits back down at the table, and he wipes them on his jeans a few times. You raise an eyebrow at the sudden anxiety written all over his face—you okay?

He doesn’t know, but he nods anyway.

“You know what I mean?”

Yugyeom doesn’t know, but he nods anyway. Or, at least he shifts his head a little against his pillow in answer.

The two of you are lying in his bed after getting home from another round of drinks after the bowling alley. You are facing each other on opposite pillows, but your legs are tangled underneath the sheets, your toes brushing his ankle whenever you move.

Outside his shut bedroom door, Chaeyoung is sleeping on his couch, limbs sprawled out in post-drinking bliss across the cushions. When Yugyeom went to get some water earlier, she was actually snoring, which made him laugh a little.

You two were talking just now, like you always do before falling asleep beside each other. But something is different about you.

You’re here with him, in his bed, in his arms. But the words you’ve just whispered to him in the dark hurt his feelings.

“Sometimes when I’m with you, with your friends—I just. I feel more alone than usual.”

“What?” he’d asked, reaching for you out of instinct and pulling you closer. “What are you saying? Did someone say something to you while I was bowling?”

“No,” you said, your eyebrows creasing. “It’s just, they’re not my friends, they’re yours. And I see you having a good time with them—it’s selfish, but it makes me feel left out, somehow.”

Yugyeom blinked at you in the darkness. The moonlight shining through his bedroom window highlighted the crest of your cheekbone, throwing a shadow over the side of your face closest to the pillow. Where was this coming from?

You’d tucked your head down, gaze dropping from his and he couldn’t stand it. He moved his hand to lift your chin back up, making you look at him.

“Left out?” he repeated. “You have so many people that care—why are you comparing yourself to me at all?”

You didn’t respond so he pressed a hard kiss against your forehead, stroking a hand down the back of your head and smoothing your hair.

“You’re crazy,” he said, exasperated. “You have so many people around you that care about you, Y/N. I don’t understand.”

You spoke in a soft voice against his throat, his chest. “Not really though—you know what I mean?”

Yugyeom somehow feels the distance between you two more than usual, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your lower half flush against his body. You feel fragile in his arms.

This is a conversation you two have had before, he realizes suddenly. His mind drifts back to what you said on the phone that night he’d called, when you were drunk.

“You think I’m that lonely, huh?” “You think I only have you? That’s rich.”

He isn’t sure what to think now—you’d been drinking then, and even though you’re a lot more sober here in his bed, he can’t tell which version of your story is the truth. Drunk words are sober thoughts, after all. Both make him sad in different ways.

He pulls back and your eyelids that had floated closed flutter open, gaze searching his face in earnest.

“You mean so much to me,” he breathes in the darkness, pressing a kiss against your mouth lightly. “Do you at least know that?”

You nod against the pillow, giving him a small smile and tilting your head up a little more to chase after his mouth, deepen the next kiss.

Your lips are cold against his.

///

Your lips are cold against his.

Yugyeom and you are standing outside of the stadium downtown, waiting in the check-in line. It’s chilly today, the temperatures dipping lower as the sun sinks behind the horizon, and Yugyeom is hugging you for warmth since the line is slow.

It’s almost winter.

He’s sure you’re bothering the other people around you—like the pictures of annoying couples in amusement park lines he sees online—but it doesn’t really matter to him.

You are giddy with laughter because this is your first hockey game, and his baseball cap bumps against your forehead as he presses a chaste kiss to your mouth. “You’re going to love it.”

“Let’s hope so—I did some research last night on the team. I pretty much know their names now.”

Yugyeom intertwines his fingers together behind your back, both of your thick jackets making the action almost impossible, but he gets it after a few tries.

“Yeah?” he asks. “Tell me.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Let me hear some names!”

“You’re making me nervous. I’m forgetting all of them!”

Yugyeom throws his head back in laughter. “Sure, Y/N. Sure.”

Your eyes twinkle at him, filled with mirth and much more warmth than you two are currently standing outside in. The check-in line shuffles forward a few paces and Yugyeom switches to standing behind you, letting his arms drape overtop of your shorter frame.

“You really never went to a game when you were younger?” Yugyeom hums in your ear. “I can’t believe it.”

“My parents didn’t do much together—they were too busy,” you say with a sigh. “My mom was a career woman, chasing the next big promotion and my dad, well he was chasing everything but my mom.”

Yugyeom blinks—you didn’t talk much about your family, so this was the first time he’d heard anything concrete about them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, squeezing you a little. “When did you realize?”

You attempt to shrug underneath the weight of his arms. “Probably a year before they got divorced—I was like thirteen.”

“Where’s your mom now?”

You’re quiet for a moment. “Still career chasing, I suppose. We haven’t spoken in a few years.”

Yugyeom purses his lips in thought, not wanting to make the mood sour. “You ever had a stadium corndog?”

A smile spreads across your face at the change of subject. “I feel like I know where this is going.”

“Our first stop is the concession stand, then,” he says matter-of-factly. “It’s going to change your life.”

Once inside, he does indeed buy you a corndog and a soda, and anything else you would have wanted if you’d asked.

You watch with excited eyes as the hockey players zoom up and down the rink, bouncing in your seat when things get heated near the goal, gasping when the players push each other against the glass or start arguments on the ice.

“This is amazing!” you say at one point, looking over at Yugyeom—who, if he’s being honest, has split his attention 70-30 with you beside him and the game unfolding beneath your nosebleed seats. “Promise me we’ll come again. When’s the next one?”

///

“When’s the next one?”

Yugyeom is sitting in the conference room at work, looking into the concerned eyes of his boss, Jaebum. After a few moments of silence, Jaebum’s serious facade cracks, and he laughs at the question that has just tumbled over Yugyeom’s lips.

“What do you mean when is the next one?” he says. “There is no next one—it’s this opportunity, or never. You can’t put this off any longer if you want to change departments.”

Yugyeom had been called into the office, again, to discuss the training program in Ft. Lauderdale his company was offering. It was a short flight but hours by car, and states away from you. States. All the way down at the bottom of the east coast while New York sat at the top.

“Why don’t you want to go?” Jaebum asks. “It’s a really good opportunity. You’re a good worker and a smart kid. You deserve more money and the advancement this program could give you. Don’t you want that?”

Yugyeom does want that. That’s the whole reason he moved to the big city: it’s promises of a steady career and the lifestyle that came with it were so enticing he packed up everything without a single look over his shoulder for his past life.

Then he found you here, and he knew that despite all its shortcomings, New York felt like where he was supposed to be. Things were so good between you two again. And now he was faced with the opportunity of leaving—fifteen weeks away from the place he was just starting to like home in—but the rewards after he came back were well, unprecedented. He was sure to get promoted and who knew what else after?

Yugyeom looks up from his hands balled into fists on the table.

“Can I have tonight to think about it?”

Jaebum looks like he wants to object, but he runs a hand over his face and nods instead. “Tonight, only. Come back tomorrow with a solid answer because we need to get your flight and housing figured out if you’re going to go—they expect you there before November first.”

That was less than two weeks away. He’d spend the whole winter in the sunny climate of the South and miss everything here. And you.

“Yes sir.”

The feeling of defeat lingers as Yugyeom leaves the office that day. It’s defeat tinted with hopelessness—he doesn’t feel like he has much of a choice. He’s young and has to think about the opportunities he’s given and what life he envisions for himself in the future.

He just hopes you’ll understand, too.

He dials your number as he’s walking out of the building.

“Can I come over tonight?”

“Of course, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I just—” Yugyeom runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I need to talk to you.”

“Okay,” you say, sounding unsure. “Um, well, I’ll be home at like 9. I think. Is that too late?”

Yugyeom presses the crosswalk button and waits, feeling restless. “Why? Is your team working over again?”

“No. Well, I mean, yeah, they are. They always are. It’s no big deal though—I’ll see you later?”

“Okay,” Yugyeom says right before the line goes dead in his ear.

The crosswalk sign dings, and he makes his way to his apartment. He spends the three hours between getting home and seeing you tidying up his place—he’s not much of a stickler for a deep clean but he needs something to do with his hands. Keeping his hands busy keeps his mind busy, for the most part.

Walking up the stairs to your apartment feels like he’s taking his time on purpose since he’s early, lingering in the stairwell for a moment before he finishes the walk to your door. It’s only 8:45 and you said nine, but he can’t stand the thought of sitting on his couch or doing another mindless task to pass the time.

Yugyeom needs to see you, be near you, touch you now.

He hopes maybe you’re home early. It wouldn’t hurt to check—but just as he is lifting a fist to knock, your door swings open and he comes face to face with a familiar

His memory of the night might be a little fuzzy around the edges, but Yugyeom remembers the satisfying feeling of cracking the guy in front of him across the face with his knuckles.

“Hey man,” he says, and Yugyeom is too surprised to even say anything back. He pushes past him and into your apartment to see you tidying up what looks like a delicious dinner for two in the kitchen.

You freeze in your tracks when you realize it’s not him that has come back inside, but Yugyeom, standing just outside of your peripheral vision.

“What the fuck is this?” Yugyeom manages. “What was he doing here?”

You’re wearing a pretty dress, hair curled into big ringlets and your makeup done. You swallow, blinking at him. “Yugyeom, I—”

“Y/N.” It’s him again, having followed Yugyeom back into the apartment after his apparent brush off earlier. “You okay?”

“Okay?” Yugyeom laughs, turning to look at him. “Why wouldn’t she be okay? I would never do anything to hurt her.”

He looks incredulous. “Hey, I don’t know—”

You take a few steps forward, holding a hand up in warning. “Mark, it’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it, it’s just Yugyeom.”

Just Yugyeom. For some reason the words make him more angry than anything else about this whole situation. Just Yugyeom. Nothing more.

Mark looks between you two a few times, trying to judge the situation accurately. You nod at him and he turns to leave. Finally, finally, when the door is shut behind him, Yugyeom feels himself deflate a little. It’s just the two of you now, but he feels more alone than ever.

“You were having dinner with him,” Yugyeom says. It’s not a question. “Why?”

You have turned your back to him to finish washing the dishes, but he wishes he could see the expression on your face—something, anything, to let him know he has it all wrong.

“He’s a friend,” you say softly.

“He wasn’t a friend at the bar that night, Y/N,” Yugyeom answers. “You’ve got to be joking.”

The silence is suffocating. Yugyeom feels like he can’t breathe in the few seconds that pass.

“What did you need to talk to me about, since you’re so insistent on coming over.” You rinse out a glass under the steady stream of water. “I told you nine.”

“I—” Yugyeom can’t believe the cold intent that is lingering in your voice. The feeling of everything slipping through his hands comes back suddenly, and he balls them into fists at his side. “I’m leaving.”

A dish clatters in the sink. “What?”

His heart is a hummingbird in his chest. He hopes this comes as a surprise in the worst of ways. “Training seminar. Our sister company in Ft. Lauderdale has an opening and my boss, Jaebum, he wants me to go.”

“Huh.” You cut off the water and dry your hands on a dish towel, turning to face him as you rest against the counter. Your expression is stony. “Well I can’t say I didn’t see this was coming.”

“Is that why you did this?”

Though he wishes his voice was steady, strong, it comes out whiny and so unlike him. Desperate. Pleading.

“Did what?”

“Is that why you’ve been, you’ve been—pulling away.” Your eyes dart away from his and he knows he’s hit the nail on the head. “I thought it was me, but really—”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Go on, Yugyeom. Blame all of this on me.”

“I’m not blaming anyone,” he says, taking a step toward you. He sees you visibly shrink against the counter. “I’m trying to understand why you would call Mark over for dinner at your place, by yourselves, and you’re—you’re dressed like that.”

He takes in the scene around him again, your distance, your dismissive nature toward him lately, and tries to find a better explanation for it all. “Am I a joke to you?”

“What?”

“Was this all just a joke to you?” he says, licking his lips, running a hand through his hair. “Tell me the truth. Everything that happened between us—it didn’t matter to you?”

“What, of course it mattered. Why would you even assume that?”

“Then why do you hate the thought of being with me so bad?”

“I don’t! I never have!”

Your response is too quick, too rehearsed, almost. You both know it.

“You and me, we’re—we’re just too different,” you try to clarify. Your eyes are welling with tears now, urgency lacing your tone. “We’re not meant to be together.”

Yugyeom’s mouth drops open before he can stop it. That’s the last thing he expected you to say—he almost thinks that maybe he’d prefer you tell him it was a mistake. That you were getting too comfortable and didn’t know how to process it, so you called Mark up—not that you two weren’t meant to be together. It’s not true. He refuses to believe it at all.

You’re full-on crying now, big crocodile tears falling down your cheeks and onto the collar of your dress. Yugyeom feels like he’s going to throw up.

He doesn’t, but instead his words come up like vomit, all in a rush because he has to let you know. If this is it, he has to let you know how he felt just this once, so that you can know if anything, at least one of you believed in an us. And that’s all that matters.

“Y/N, I loved you.” He says, softly, looking at you but you are looking at the ground, blinking away the water on your lash line. “No.” He corrects himself: “I love you.”

Your shoulders hunch like you are trying to curl in on yourself and on this conversation, but then you look up at him, lower lip trembling.

“I don’t want you to go,” you say, shaking your head. “Don’t go to Ft. Lauderdale. Please. I know it’s selfish, but I am.”

It’s funny—all these months he thought you two were building something strong and steady that would survive this, but in reality you both need more time. Yugyeom needs it to prove to you how much you mean to him, how much he enjoys your time and your presence and doesn’t need anything else. And you, you need it to soften the walls around your heart and let the truth of his feelings in.

He takes you in his arms then, ignoring the way your shoulders shake with sobs and presses kisses over and over into the soft floral halo of your hair.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

He was a fool to think that you’d wait for him.

The three months in Ft. Lauderdale are excruciatingly long, and only because there’s nothing to stop Yugyeom from thinking of you and how with each passing week he feels more space and distance growing between you two.

Yugyeom works hard. He puts his all into his training because that’s what he’s here for—if he’s going to mess up his personal life for this opportunity, the least he can do is take it seriously. He rubs elbows with the right people at the training center, putting on a facade of a person who really, really wants to be there. Wants to succeed. Wants to be something.

He sends you messages when he can, calls you when he can—but there’s no mistaking the far away sound in your voice when you pick up the phone, humming vague answers as Yugyeom tells you about his day, not even really listening sometimes. You tell him you just have a lot on your mind when he asks you about it, and when he tries to get you to elaborate, you don’t. So he stops asking.

Eventually, you stop answering when he calls, and soon after even his text messages go unread.

He’s unsettled in the small, stale hotel room he stays in for the training. He finds himself pacing the floor most nights after work, wondering what you are doing when you ignore his second, third, fourth call.

One night Yugyeom finds himself at a bar, three whiskey drinks deep when you send him a message.

Wish you were here

His hand curls around the plastic casing of his phone, wishing for once you would think about how it feels when you do things like this to him. When you ignore him for days and then send him something so confusing in the middle of the night. He’s walking a tightrope with you, only to realize there is no other side—he won’t get the relief of stepping on solid ground again because you will always keep him in limbo even if you don’t mean to.

The bartender asks him if he wants another, pulling Yugyeom’s empty glass off the bar coaster and tossing the melted ice. Yugyeom nods, looking back at his phone, his fingers flying over the keyboard on the screen.

Yeah me too

Nothing, he decides, is worse than longing.

///

Nothing, he decides, is worse than longing.

But he’s wrong. This, this is worse than longing.

He arrives home on a cold day at the end of January, and he knows his first stop after riding the subway into the city is the grocery store. Everything in his fridge has be spoiled by now, and it’s better to get it before the exhaustion of being back home creeps on him and has him knocked out cold in his bed.

The market is quiet for a Sunday evening, and he quickly gets some frozen meals for the week, some fresh fruit that’s on sale, a few snacks for work and some beer. Because he deserves it.

The cashier raises her eyebrows at him, recognizing his face from the many, many times he’s been in the store since moving in just down the block.

“You’re back!” she says, grinning. She’s a sweet girl with a round face—one he immediately realized meant she was too young for him. But a face happy to see him is one that he will take tonight.

“I am,” he responds, pulling out the rest of his items and putting them on the conveyor belt slowly inching along. “You working late?”

“Until ten.” She pouts, the register beeping as she swipes his items. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

Yugyeom’s chest tightens, but he manages to keep a straight face. “Oh, it’s late so I let her stay behind this time.”

The cashier nods, smiles hopefully, and drops the conversation because she’s at the end of Yugyeom’s cart. She tells him his total and bags his things, her hand accidentally bumping his as she hands them to him. Her face goes red, and Yugyeom feels bad, wishing he could tell her the reality of her crush is futile, but it’s not worth it right now.

His apartment is dark and stale when he opens the door, almost tripping over the mail slipped under the door by his landlord in his absence. It’s a bunch of bills that he already paid online, a few coupons, some sales papers from stores in town. White card stock addressed to him catches his eye amidst the pile, and he quickly sets the groceries near his feet, picking it up as he closes the front door behind him.

Please join us in celebrating the wedding of…

Yugyeom doesn’t even finish reading before his vision goes blurry, the card slipping through his trembling fingers and fluttering in the air. As it flips over and over, catching on an invisible wind current, Yugyeom can still see glimpses of your name and someone else's, written in elegant cursive on the stiff paper.

This is worse than longing, he’s absolutely positive.

Three months had seemed excruciatingly long to him and now he realizes why. Three months was enough time to end and begin anew when it came to you.

Your slow silence, the way it felt like you were fading—no, slipping—through his grasp just like the card stock had done a few moments before. He was just too ignorant to realize.

There’s a buzzing in his ears that he thinks is his rapid thoughts but is actually his phone in his back pocket, and when he pulls the screen into his vision he realizes it’s you calling.

What could you possibly have to say to him at this moment? What could you say that would make this all make sense, make the last year of his life not feel like it was worth nothing?

You can’t, he realizes—and so he silences the call with a press of a button, the first angry tear making its way over his eyelid, onto his cheek as he tilts his head back and looks at the ugly ceiling of his apartment.

He can’t answer just yet.

#yugyeom x reader #yugyeom angst #yugyeom fic #kim yugyeom x reader #got7 imagines #yugyeom smut #yugyeom scenarios

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ctrlemis · 2 years

Text

𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ⁀ awaken and find out what happens after like word count. 0.6k. warnings. none.

“3, 2, 1, ACTION!”

The cameras flash, signaling that the recording has started. Y/N, Asta, and Sebastian stand on the side of stge, out of cameras view. Next to them are Yujin, Liz, and Wonyoung. In front of the cameras are Hades, Nadia, Jungwn and Riki. They all look fantastic, and by the way Nadia rolls on the balls of her feet in her flats, they can tell she’s excited.

“Oh my, do you guys hear that?” Nadia asks her three co-hosts, feigning confusion. The other three, look around innocently, before looking at Nadia.

“No, what are you talking about, Nadia?” Riki bites, and as soon as he does, a sweet melody plays through the studio. Hades and Jungwon sway to the beat of it, before it stops.

“That’s the sound of music! Welcome to Sound of Music, with your MC’s, Nadia, Riki, Jungwon, and myself, Hades!” Hades says smiling.

“It’s our first day as MCs. Are you all nervous too?” Jungwon recites his script perfectly. Y/N can’t help but chuckle softly at how corny it is, because it’s almost somewhat cute. Wonyoung seems to think the same, because a soft giggle comes from her. Y/N glances at her, and when the tall girl looks back they look forward, heat rushing to their face. They ignore the way Asta elbows them, watching the four mcs.

“Now, we welcome our guests, three members of two groups here to promote their new comebacks! Are you all ready to AWAKEN and find out what happens AFTER LIKE?” Nadia questions, and Y/N’s mouth curls inward in order not to burst out laughing. “Please welcome our guests, Asta, Sebastian, and Y/N of ETERNIA, as well as Yujin, Wonyoung, and Liz of IVE!” That’s their queue. With the inhale of a deep breath, they follow their older members onto the stage.

“So, Liz, could you tell us a bit about what After Like is about? This is your third single album, correct?” Riki asks.

“Right, and you guys sampled ‘I will survive’ Right?” Hades adds. ‘They’re really good at MC-ing.’ Y/N thinks as Liz answers the question. In fact, they don't realize they’ve spaced out until Asta nips them on their elbow. He has good timing too, because Jungwon looks at them, ready to ask them a question.

“Now Y/N, in your words, what does this new album AWAKEN mean to you?” Jungwon asks them, staring at them intently. They falter for a second, his hard gaze burning a hole into their head. They remain professional though, smiling dazzlingly.

“Well Jungwon, in my personal opinion, AWAKEN is about waking up and realizing and accepting who you truly are, and being that person in whatever way feels right to you. To stay true to yourself, no matter right or wrong is what it means to AWAKEN. To choose yourself in the face of adversity is what AWAKEN means to me. I hope it can mean the same to our fans.” Jungwon mods, turning to Wonyoung as Nadia asks her another question about AFTER LIKE. As they mentally pat themself on the back for that answer, they don't seem to notice or realize that seconds before, Wonyoung was ogling them.

A/N. GUESS WHOS BACK, BACK AGAIN?? its crazy so many mfs ik are coming back and updsting today like damn am i the blueprint or what😁 jk but anyways i hope you all enjoyed this!! i had alot of fun writing this so yeah(btw its not proofread and im seriously sleep deprived i woke up at four am so please understand thanks you love)

SYNOPSIS. Wonyoung & Jungwon are more alike then people think. Besides the basics, like being the same age and both being idols, they both enough the same types of music, stan the same groups, and they both have a crush on ETERNIA’s maknae. Only two problems. The world is convinced they’re secretly dating and they both know that the other likes Y/N L/N

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PERM TAGLIST. @coffeewon @soobin-chois @jangwonie @hiqhkey @bigtoewinwin @enhacolor @abdiitcryy @hseungi @chiyuv @seungstarss @strwberrydinosaur @sarcasmhadachild @butterflyy-ningg @simeonswhore

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invisibleraven · 11 months

Note

5 for Peterpatterlina?

Julie walks around the borders of the dance, taking it all in; the flash of every colourful dress, the shine of shoes and hair gel in the overly bright fluorescents of the gym. The band playing overtime as the song reaches a fever pitch.

Honestly she had wanted to be out on the dance floor, letting the music take her, but Nick isn't a dancer, and after one too many times of him stepping on her feet she had begged off. It's not like she can dance with anyone else, not with the Sharks watching her like hawks.

Maybe when they go talk with the Jets about this stupid rumble they're planning she can go sneak in a few dances. Enjoy herself for once without all the stupid rules that restrict her thanks to some stupid turf war.

Then a slow song comes on, and she evades Nick's hopeful eyes, escapes to behind the bleachers and lets herself dance with an invisible partner. Much better company.

Only then a hand slips into hers, and she startles, opening her eyes to see two smiles directed at her. She doesn't know either of these boys, meaning they're most likely Jets. But they're awful cute in their own ways. One with slicked back black hair and a crooked grin that makes her stomach flutter. The other with artfully distress brown hair and eyes that spell mischief.

"Seems a shame for you to be dancing here on your own darlin'," the black haired one said.

"Figured we'd offer our services," the other adds in. "I'm Luke, this is Reggie."

"Julie," she says, giving a shy little curtsey. "And I shouldn't-my cousin he'll-well he wouldn't like it."

"Because of who we are?" Reggie asks, taking her hand and giving her a twirl.

"Or because there's two of us?" Luke questions, catching her in his strong arms.

Julie giggles. "Both." But she lets them dance with her, back and forth until she's just swaying between them, a boy to her front and back as the music slows and dies.

"Julie!"

Shit, that's Flynn, and while Julie knows her friend is understanding, she'd never let Julie live this down. Would ask her what about Nick. Nice, boring, Bernardo approved Nick.

"I have to go," she apologizes.

"Can we see you again?" Reggie asks, kissing her knuckles.

"Maybe take you out?" Luke adds, hopeful.

Every bit of Julie wants to say yes, but she can hear Flynn calling her name even louder, and she can't risk getting found hiding with two Jet boys, so she shakes her head with apology and dashes off. Thinking that this one memory is all she'll have of them.

Only they find her house, somehow. Climb the trellis to see her once more, perched on her roof and whisper how much fun they had. How much they want to see her again. And Julie can't deny she wants the same. They make plans to meet in the city the next day, take in a museum uptown where no one will know them.

And they do.

It's bliss to walk hand in hand in hand with them, and though a few people do double takes at the three of them, most everyone goes on about their day. Luke and Reggie are happy to walk her through each exhibit, one of them always having something to say about a piece, but happy enough to let Julie wax poetic about the ones she likes.

They share their first kisses in an empty room full of stained glass, reflections and refractions of rainbow staining them. Bringing out the green in Reggie's eyes and the pink of his blush. Mimicking the multi-faceted nature of Luke's eyes, unable to settle, just like the man himself.

From there they check out a concert in the park one day, take out a rowboat the next. Always in a part of town far from the Sharks and Jets, away from the prejudice and silly fighting based on some asinine ideas over who owns the small strip of land they both reside in.

"The rumble is tomorrow," Reggie said quietly as they picnic under the shade of a tree.

"Please tell me you're not really going," Julie begs.

"We have to boss. If only to let cooler heads prevail, maybe find a way to end this," Luke replies. "So the three of us can stop sneaking around."

Julie worries her bottom lip, clutching their hands in hers. She's hated all the sneaking around they have to do. The lies to her friends and family about where she disappears to. Weeks and weeks of falsehoods and lies so she can have her bit of paradise, her slice of happily ever after.

She wonders if the truth come out would the fighting stop, or would it just make it worse. "I just wish there was a place for us. A chance that we could be together, happily with no worries about gangs or hatred, or anything," she finally whispered.

"Us too," Reggie whines, pulling her close, pulling Luke in too. They clutch and cling to one another, as if this will be their last moment together.

"Maybe... maybe we just run away," Luke proposes. "No matter which way the rumble goes. We can go find our place out in the world. The three of us."

"No more hiding?" Reggie asks.

"No more hiding," Julie repeats with a nod.

They make plans, and finally part with fevered kisses and promises to see one another on the other side. Julie packs her bag, and writes a note. She hates to leave her family, but she can't live like this any longer. This stifled partitioned existence that makes the two people she loves most in the world a secret to the rest of it.

She waits at the bus stop, clinging to her valise, even as the big clock at the station clicks past midnight. Prays and thumbs at her rosary that her boys are safe.

Luke appears first, a small bag slung over his back. His lip is swollen and there's a bruise forming at his jaw. A small trickle of blood escapes his nose, and his knuckles look pretty worse for the wear. But he's there, swinging her around, then pulling her into a kiss, assuring her that Reggie is coming.

Reggie appears almost an hour later, and Julie gasps when she seems him. His eye is black and shut tight, he's limping, and covered in small cuts and scratches. Even worse is that Luke mutters a curse, saying most of that isn't from the rumble. Reggie has a suitcase and a blinding smile as he rushes too them, promising he's okay.

"Ready to go find our place?" he asks.

"Always," Luke replies.

Julie takes one small glance back at the town. The place she grew up, that nurtured her, that helped her find her voice, and she bids it a bittersweet farewell. Maybe one day the three of them will come back here. Find it changed or not, for better or worse.

But then Julie turns and sees her future, the two hands held out to her, and she smiles, taking them and letting her boys escort her to the world. And from then on, she never looks back.

#filled prompts #ficlet #rukebox #peterpatterlina #julie and the phantoms

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awkwardgtace · 1 year

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58.

Ty for the ask. Here's a link to the list.

I'm annoyed at the fact the text is black. I use dark mode and this is awful. Tumblr is mean though.

Moving Houses

Mira had been running back and forth for the last few hours. Corus had been watching from his desk the whole time. He offered to help, but she wouldn’t accept any. He couldn’t stop himself from chuckling when he heard her shouting from below his bed. They were both too stubborn.

“Don’t laugh,” Mira huffed as she tugged her latest bundle behind her. “This stuff is heavy.”

“I’m not laughing, I swear,” he smiled. She glared up at him. He bent over to try and grab the small bag, but a single shake of her head made him stop. “Why can’t I help again?”

“Because I can move my things on my own without your help.”

He sat up with a sigh. He couldn’t believe she’d even decided to move into the house at this point. She pulled the heavy bundle across the floor. It was almost funny to see her pulling so much behind her each time. It didn’t seem like she’d have so many things. She tried to force it through the door, but it was too big for that.

“How do you have so much stuff?” he asked. She grumbled, ignoring his question.

Corus pouted a bit before standing up. Mira didn’t even look at him. He put a bit more weight than normal in his steps as he moved around his room. She groaned as he stopped a bit away and looked at her. She stared up at him with an annoyed face. He just tried to smile with an innocent look, he knew she didn’t buy it.

Once she turned back around he let himself fall to his knees. She squealed as it made her bounce, but landed on her feet. Her small angry face was turned to look at him again, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He wasn’t done yet, they both knew it. She pushed her hair behind her ears and turned back to the bundle.

Corus leaned forward, his shadow seemed to absorb her. It was amazing how easily she hid in any hint of shadow. Pale skin and bright lavender hair that never seemed to stand out anymore. He grinned when he heard her stifled laugh. It was nice to have moments like this again, to be trusted by her.

Corus started to lower himself, he was curious about what she’d been doing. She’d already added so much to the house. He held himself up on his forearms and leaned forward to see into the windows. One room seemed filled with fabric, his best guess was a sewing room. The other had bits of wood and nails. There was a bit of fabric as a curtain stopping him from seeing anything more.

“Can you just lay on the ground already?” Mira sighed. Corus laughed and finally let himself fall. She stumbled, falling off her feet. He stopped laughing and quickly wrapped his fingers around her.

“Sorry,” he whispered. She just shoved at his fingers until he moved them. He stared at her, noticing for the first time how worn out she appeared. She stood up with a slight sway. “You should take a break. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“That bag might have been heavier than I thought…” He smiled. She wouldn’t look in his eyes, but pushed herself more fully onto his palm.

“What was in it that made it so heavy?” The bright red on Mira’s face made him laugh. She curled up against his fingers. Burying her face to hide from him. Corus brought his hand closer to his face.

“...some metal Zeke gave me, bits of wood, flower petals, some tools I need most of the time…” His eyes went wide. Reaching forward with his other hand, he pinched the bundle she hadn’t quite fit in the door. Lifting it made him gasp. “No! Now I won’t be able to drag it inside!”

“Mira… you’re amazing. This is heavier than you and Kaya combined.” He stared at her with wide eyes. He knew she was strong, but this was a different level. She just crossed her arms, pouting about him touching it. He brought her just below his lips. “How about we watch a movie for a bit?”

He felt her shiver as he spoke. He gently pressed a kiss to her. Most of her was hidden by him then. He never stopped feeling amazed by how much trust she had in him. Slowly he sat up keeping her pressed into his palm. Her lips pressed into his and made him smile. He pulled away, seeing her smiling widely.

“I think I can put off moving things for a little while,” she said. He stood up and walked out to his couch. He grabbed the remote and fell back. He held his hand near his neck. She climbed off and curled up on him. “...will you help with what I have left?”

“Sure, I’ll help you with anything I can.”

#awkwardanswers #gt #giant/tiny #g/t #giant tiny #g/t writing #gt writing #gianttiny #gt community #g/t community #oc:Mira #OC:Corus #ty anon

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cabezadeperro · 1 year

Note

Fi/Sev and 7!!! <333

hi slipper! thanks for asking! this one took a while because i really like the song and i ended up listening to it on repeat for two hours and not writing at all lmao

the song in question is vampire on my fridge by low roar. very cold very melancholic weirdly eerie.

sev lives au, T. imperial era. not very plotty, just vibes, sorry.

---

The floor is cold under Sev’s feet. He hisses and makes himself keep on walking, slipping soundlessly through the open door and into the dark hallway just beyond. The ship keeps humming all around him, buzzing and sighing and rattling and crackling. He can hear the whine of one of the ventilators up on the ceiling, and underneath the shifting and settling of the gunship’s old metal bones.

It used to be Vau’s. The old man left it to them in their will, a big monster of a vessel, ancient and lumbering and still functional. Sev can’t say he saw it coming, and he half-expects his old sergeant to appear one day on the ramp, in the cockpit, sneering and disdainful and cold. He haunts the whole ship, Walon Vau’s ghost.

A free ship is a free ship, though.

Sev steps into the cockpit and checks the autopilot, numb fingers moving thoughtlessly over switches and screens. They’re hiding in the dark side of an unnamed planetoid, one of the many shards of metal, glass and rock caught in its orbit. The planetoid itself is a darker shadow floating in the void. Sev finishes checking the ship’s systems and then blinks sleep out of his eyes and watches it all, alone in this ship he isn’t that sure he wants.

It’s always cold. Sev knows that’s how space is: cold and quiet and lonely. He shivers and wraps his arms around his torso, eyes snared in the slow dance of the space debris in front of him.

They’re alone. Too close to the expansion region to be of interest, too far away from the closest inhabited system to be a danger. Ignored by the Empire, forgotten by pirates. They’ve been there for three days, sleeping and working out and keeping watch, always keeping watch, waiting for—something. It’s very much like the army and not at all.

He watches two asteroids collapse into each other soundlessly and closes his eyes: he can hear the echo crashing around the inside of his brain, can feel it in his jaw, in his belly.

“Sev?”

Sev stiffens. He opens his eyes and finds Fi watching him in the reflection of the transparisteel viewport. He’s naked as the day he was decanted, shameless and shivering where he stands in the open door.

He ignores Sev’s scowl and steps into the cockpit, feet nimble on the metal plating. His eyes are sharp when he flicks a glance first at the panel, then at the asteroid field, finally at Sev. He has this way of looking at Sev that’s like no one else’s: he sees through him, into him: he sees all of Sev, eyes soft and hot.

Fi steps into Sev’s space like he belongs there, hands warm and slightly damp through the thin fabric of his shirt, crowding him against the back of the seat, and Sev lets himself be pushed, licking his lips.

“Not in the cockpit,” he reminds Fi. Fi just laughs, that snicker-snort that hasn’t changed in the decade they have known each other.

His back hits the back of the seat, and Fi slips warm fingers under his shirt, into the waistband of his sleep pants, blunt fingernails scratching at the skin of the small of his back, and Sev can feel himself melting, giving in. Fi licks into his mouth and Sev sighs and lets him, hands ensnared in his curls.

Fi steps away. Sev sways after him. When he opens his eyes again, Fi’s watching him. He offers him a hand; after a beat, Sev links his fingers with Fi’s. He follows Fi out of the cockpit, caught by the strength in his hand and the set of his shoulders and the warmth of his mouth, and then Sev follows him back into bed.

#fisev #sevfi #fi skirata #sev #repcomm #cloneshipping #maría writes #song prompts

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remyfire · 10 months

Note

❛ i’ll take care of you. ❜ WHAT IF. BEEJSID

(okay so what if I DID write 5K for this single sentence what ABOUT it— psst thank you I love you!!!)

"You don't have to worry about it," BJ breathes as he loops a finger through the edge of Sidney's belt, gives him the tiniest tug forward—one that, notably, Sidney resists. "I'll take care of you."

The older, smaller man sways forward slightly, but his arms stay crossed over his chest, and when BJ relaxes his pull, Sidney simply comes back down off the balls of his feet. It's as though he was a strong tree rocking with the force of a hurricane, but ultimately unmoved. "That's an interesting suggestion," he points out. "Though I think you might be missing the preceding question."

Instinctively BJ flicks his gaze over Sidney's eyes, his expression, even the tendons in his neck, overanalyzing him as deeply as he can to get an answer to a question he doesn't yet feel like he can safely ask. This is uncertain. Unconfirmed. There's gin on their breath and a lock on the door of the VIP tent. He shouldn't be here, and Sidney shouldn't let him be.

But the longer he stares, the more certain he is that there's nothing warning him off.

This is part of the fascination he has with Sidney. In regards to himself, BJ knows who he is, how he looks. He's an attractive man. He catches as many nurses mooning over him as those who simply watch from a distance, similar to Peg's fellow cheerleaders while they were going steady in high school. And while BJ's more than a little familiar with the way men will orbit him with a careful rhythm when they're assessing how dangerous he might be to chase, there's none of that from Sidney.

There's a simple watchfulness. Perhaps not even a true interest. He's a man who's made a study of being perfectly neutral when he needs to be.

In a lot of ways, it's a massive fucking shame given how handsome he is when he smiles.

He's different. He's interesting. He doesn't shy away from how BJ towers half a foot over him, but he doesn't lean into him or buckle from a nudge or a companionable graze.

Maybe it's because he's older. As many men as BJ's fucked around with in his lifetime—when he's been long-distance from Peg, when she's fucked around with just as many women—they've all been in his age bracket, tucked so safely in that same four-year span that he found so plentifully at Stanford. But Sidney's got a decade on him, maybe even closer to two, and he clearly knows exactly what role he intends to play during propositions like this.

But Sidney hasn't broken the silence either. If he intends to rush BJ away, he's not showing it.

Charmed, fascinated enough for the both of them, BJ's lips quirk. He keeps his fingers tucked right there against his belt, the heat of Sidney's slim belly burning through his fatigues. "Penny for your thoughts about that," BJ finally says under his breath.

Sidney's dark eyes narrow ever so slightly, so faint that it wouldn't be noticed if BJ hadn't been so accustomed to watching every nuance of an older man's expression to see how much trouble he might be about to be in. "Well." Sidney holds his gaze, doesn't blink. "For instance, most men would typically lead with asking if someone wants to be taken care of."

"Now, I find that interesting." BJ comes one step closer, suddenly fascinated by the gleam of the light on Sidney's eyes, by how he tips his head back to maintain this steady stare. "I don't know. Maybe I'm letting my mind wander a little too far off the path—"

"No, by all means." Sidney waves one elegant hand through the air.

"Think about it. Think about who we are, where we are." BJ taps his chest first. "See, if someone needs me to take care of them, they're gonna find their way into the 4077th and end up on my table, right? They come to me. Whereas you..." This time when he lifts his hand, he hesitates. With two fingers still caught in his belt, it feels almost too much to touch him anywhere else. So perhaps that's precisely why he does. BJ rests just his fingertips on Sidney's undershirt, above his buttons, right below his bare throat, and this time he gets to watch those dark pupils swell ever so slightly. "Well, you pretty much have to go to them, don't you?"

Sidney tips his head slightly in acknowledgment. "An anticipated twist of the trade. It's far easier to see you need help when your intestines are spilling out of your gut than when your skull's full of bees."

He's not sure how he feels about the way that Sidney still hasn't looked away, especially when he makes that kind of statement. Dr. Freedman's visits to the 4077th are few and far between, considering how often they could really use somebody like him around, but every time he arrives, he sinks into the camp culture so seamlessly that it's as if he's always been there. And maybe BJ's got an edge of paranoia—maybe they all do, when it comes to Sidney, to the power he actively holds by nature of what miracles he could make happen or take away—but he does sometimes feel as though Sidney can read beneath the surface in a way that no one else can.

What he sees when he looks at BJ is anybody's guess, but not one he's ready to ask about. He learned a hell of a long time ago that you don't ever bring up questions when you know you couldn't handle the answers.

Instead, he hard pivots, throwing on a grin. "This probably isn't what you were expecting when I was trying to find a pretty veiled way of saying I'll make sure I get you off—"

"No, on the contrary, I knew you'd be a talker." Finally there's a little spark in his unfathomably lovely eyes, that twist of amusement like orange peel in a cosmo. "You wouldn't be able to keep up with Hawkeye, if you weren't."

As the relief floods him, he lets it take over, bubbling up in a laugh that burns off these nerves and uncertainties all at once. Now it's just the delicate edge of adrenaline, something that drugs him but stirs him in such a delicious way. It has to. Otherwise, their kind of men would've never risked cruising in the first place.

Maybe it's because they've summoned the influence of Hawkeye Pierce into the tent with them both. Maybe he can't keep his hands to himself. Hell, maybe he's simply sick and tired of pretending he doesn't want the things he craves. But whatever the reason, BJ lightly toys with one of the pins on Sidney's collar, rolling it between his fingers while his other hand slowly, slowly, slowly creeps over the leather of his belt all the way to the buckle. "Well. Since I'm not paying to sprawl out on your couch and talk completely in metaphors, why don't we get down to the brass tacks of the situation?"

"By all means," Sidney drawls. His arms might still be crossed, but BJ catches the slight flex of his digits, and it emboldens him further.

"So when I said I was gonna take care of you, I was suggesting you bottom." Bluntness isn't something BJ often goes in for, but as he meets Sidney's gaze again, he knows it's the only thing that the other man's going to respect from him right now. "I'm getting the sense you don't do that."

"Not with someone new, no, typically not." Sidney quirks one dark brow, tipping his chin back a little further to make sure the stare stays strong. "And I'm getting a similar read on you."

"No, typically not," BJ parrots with a small smile he hopes reads as self-deprecating as he wants it to. He could be honest—say that he took cock for a year straight as a freshman at Stanford, that once he successfully flipped the script that first time he knew he wasn't ever going back to naively trusting his fraternity brothers to handle him and sometimes finding out otherwise—but if there's a chance nothing's gonna even happen here tonight, he really doesn't see a point in sharing.

He's curious enough that he still hedges, one more step forward, so close that their bodies are almost touching. "And furthermore, I don't suppose you're seduceable."

That charms a full blown grin out of Sidney. "Well, never let it be said that man won't stop trying to achieve the impossible. They sometimes even manage to succeed."

BJ lets out another chuckle, but this one is more demure, tinged with wistfulness and understanding. "Uh-huh. I hear that."

What's really interesting right now is how oddly crestfallen BJ actually is to know this...won't be happening tonight. Maybe when he was younger, he was easier at dealing with the rejection, but for years past, he had the love of his life—his soulmate—right there by his side, as ravenous for him as he is for her. He's gotten worse, it seems, at not having that ready source of pleasure, at having an invitation turned down.

The other implication would be that it's less curiosity that he has toward Sidney Freedman and more a puppy dog crush, and that's something he's really not happy to entertain, so...unfamiliar rejection it is. Forgetting how to laugh it off and move on.

It's time to get back in practice. Who knows how long he'll be here? Who knows when he'll next feel bold enough to make a move on a man who won't immediately shatter BJ Hunnicutt's carefully constructed temporary world if he isn't interested?

Reluctantly, he finally lets Sidney go and backs up two steps. He lets his gaze settle somewhere on Sidney's forehead. "Well, I can't say I didn't give it my best shot, huh?" BJ asks in bright humor.

"Are you sure about that?" Sidney's words are shaped by a half-laugh.

"Eh!" With a flick of the wrist, BJ waves him off. "It's no big deal, seriously. Sometimes two guys just aren't compatible, right?" He even manages to chuckle himself as he turns, heads for the door, gets ready to go lick his wounds somewhere in private, maybe drink himself to silence and return to his longings for his Peggy.

"Oh, you are young, aren't you?" Sidney asks softly.

BJ stops in his tracks and blinks. That's an interesting thing to say, he finds himself thinking in an incredibly familiar cadence that's more akin to honey than anything else. He'd been expecting a good night, maybe. But not that. He slowly rotates back around. "And why do you say that?"

Sidney's eyes burn with good humor and that beautiful, curious hunger. "Your best shot? Come on. Open up your mind a little more, BJ. There's still a few ways we could play."

The first urge is to snap out a quick, I know that, make it plenty clear that he's not that same college kid fumbling in somebody else's pants, but he learned to bite back a smart mouth a long time ago—and for the first time tonight, he wonders at how many times he's made this instinctive connection to little him, to an older man, and he's sure Freud would have a million and a half things to say about that if only BJ was willing to hear them.

But listening means not acting, and if he has a choice between the two, then...

"I thought you were turning me down, full stop," BJ points out, not making a move to close the gap.

As though Sidney can read his mind, he comes forward instead. "Saying no to one thing doesn't mean the whole affair's called off."

"Uh-huh." BJ's lips begin to quirk once more. "If you're not gonna give me a yes, and, at least give me a no, but."

"And what if I do?" He's still not reaching out, but at least he's closer. At least he chose to approach this time. "Are you open to it, even if it means you're not the one who's completely in control?"

After a beat, BJ replies. "Would you be?"

"Not at all. We'd share it." Sidney straightens up a little taller, his voice dropping to a delectable level. "Let's bring each other off. Together."

BJ takes a long, slow, deep breath through his nose, keeping his expression under control even as fire licks through his veins. "How so? Hands?"

Sidney shrugs as though he could care less, but he seems to have given up on hiding secrets in his gaze. "Sure. Your hand on me. My hand on you."

BJ carefully nods, full of thought, like they're consulting over a patient together rather than their own pleasure. "I could be amenable to that." He even catches himself speaking in that careful way that he did sometimes in residency, before it was interrupted with barely a year to go by this damn war. God. The things Sidney brings out in him really are curious. He falters in his realization of it and clears his throat, pulling on another smile where this time, he doesn't have to play at the self-deprecation. "I mean, if you're sure it works for you."

Sidney's laugh is so unexpected that BJ's lips part in surprise. "Honey," he murmurs. "I'd keep you awake all night in my bed, if you were keen on it. Believe me, what I'm suggesting right now isn't a consolation prize. Not by a long shot."

Sidney punctuates his sentence by resting his hand right against BJ's waist, his thumb drawing a dizzying pattern at the curve of a rib, and for some reason the contact is utterly unexpected. There was a part of BJ that was so fucking sure that they'd keep doing this bizarre dance, in and out, back and forth, before finally laughing it off in the end and calling it a night. Heat actually rushes to his cheeks in a way that it hasn't in years.

This isn't the rhythm he's used to. God, Sidney almost makes it easy to give that whole offering-him-control thing a try again. This isn't a kid who sees BJ as a hole and a way to take out the frustration of his day. No, it's a man who is watching BJ like he's worth more than gold, and like he'd love to have the opportunity to show him.

Next time. Fuck, he hopes there's a next time.

He wants to pivot. Wants to shift his weight into something that makes more goddamn sense than this, because the longer he stays here, the less certain he is that he's gonna be able to put himself back together again the second he leaves this tent. And that's the trouble with Sidney, isn't it? That he's so good at making you feel safe. And the safer you feel, the more you're going to drop your shield and risk an arrow right to the chest.

So he's going to pivot, because he has no other option, but that doesn't mean he can't be honest first, just so Sidney knows to play soft. BJ speaks slowly, breathily, every word chosen with care. "You are doing things to me tonight that I haven't felt in a decade."

Sidney nods in silence at first, and BJ half-thinks he'll leave it at that, but he doesn't. "You're making me bolder than I've been since I set foot in Korea. There's something so..." As he furrows his brow, BJ rediscovers a taste of what drove him in here in the first place, and he lightly wraps his hand around the back of Sidney's neck with an experimental squeeze. That's all it takes to make Sidney tighten his grip on BJ's shirt, then begin leading him slowly back toward the center of the tent. "You can let yourself be whatever you want to be right now. I won't take advantage of it."

Safe. So fucking safe. So monumentally in danger.

"Noted," BJ simply murmurs with a slow smile as he slips an arm around Sidney's waist. "Do you kiss, Sidney?"

"Sometimes," he fires back right away.

"Where?"

"Where do I kiss?"

"Yeah." BJ finds himself wondering at the texture of his curls, remembers a second later that he can find out. They're tight, but so soft between his knuckles.

Sidney goes on amiably. "Oh, in bars, in my living room, on the fire escape. But I find my favorite is somewhere out under the night sky, far from the city."

"Where you can give your lover a kiss for every star you can name overhead?" BJ teases, utterly charmed by the meandering journey Sidney's taking him on.

"You know, that's a good line," Sidney murmurs. "I'll have to remember that."

BJ laughs as he leans in, then second guesses right at the end, brushes his mouth over his cheek instead. "Do you kiss here?"

"Mm, that's a lovely place." Sidney sinks his fingers into BJ's hair just as carefully, and it makes his eyelashes flutter.

"Where else?" BJ whispers.

"You really want to tease yourself like this?" he replies in amusement.

"Yeah, why not?" Little by little, BJ eases back to the front, trying to leave the vulnerability behind him. "Tell me. Get me hard."

Sidney chuckles. "I enjoy taking a long, winding path." As he speaks, BJ hunches over further, craning himself to wander leisurely along Sidney's neck. "The scenic route, so to speak. If I'm having an experience, I want to savor it."

BJ's eyelashes flutter as he catches Sidney's earlobe between his teeth, feels a surge of arousal when he makes the older man gasp.

"So I might start at the cheek, yes," Sidney goes on, his voice becoming more raw as BJ sucks and tongues at his lobe, the shell of his ear. "But I think I'd wander down your jaw. Your neck. The lift of your collarbone. You know, I have the strong suspicion that by the time I reached your chest, I might need to settle in for a while."

Without thought, BJ grabs one of Sidney's hands, puts it right on his left pectoral over his heart.

Sidney hums, first simply fondling the shape of him there, but starting to work to a more purposeful knead. "This is one of the few places on you that's soft, isn't it? You're a powerful man. Strong. But here..." Sidney thumbs along slowly until he rolls over BJ's nipple, and the moment that BJ gasps, he brings the edges of two fingers around it and gives a more purposeful squeeze. "No, you'd be hard-pressed to get me to move on."

Starting to be driven slowly mad by the shocks shooting through him with each tiny tweak, BJ rolls his forehead against the top of Sidney's head with a weak groan. He pants, unashamed, against his hair, grabbing a fistful of Sidney's shirt.

"But eventually, I think I would have to. I'd see everything else waiting for me, and I wouldn't be able to resist." His other hand runs up BJ's stomach, pressing in here, then there, as though mapping out the exact topography of his rectus abdominus. "I imagine I'd tongue my way over these."

"Fuck," BJ whispers, barely audible.

"Every one of them. Find the lines that separate them. Maybe leave a little mark."

He's coming so dangerously close to letting Sidney have him, and there's a trickle of fear there like a drop of water through a breaking dam. It's enough to make BJ chuckle through the heady lust as he sets his hands on both of Sidney's slim hips. He's so much smaller than BJ that he half-thinks he could probably just pick him up by them right now, drive Sidney straight back into his cot without so much as breaking a sweat. "I thought these were kisses," he points out.

"Oh, man is always evolving, BJ."

It's unfair for him to sound so goddamn erotic no matter what he says. Almost out of self-preservation, BJ lets his touch wander around the sharp cut of Sidney's iliac crest, all the way to his pelvis, and the ragged relief at feeling how hard Sidney is brings him vividly into clarity. It's not only BJ going out of his mind. They're twirling around each other together, like Sidney promised. Maybe he's the one charming BJ deeper and deeper into aching need with his words, but it appears that just thinking about it is enough to get this man right there with him.

It's been too long. Too fucking long. As BJ rocks the heel of his palm slowly down Sidney's hardness, he fights to remember how to do it from this angle, how it's been half a decade since he had the right to try. But the quiet hiss against his throat tells BJ that he's doing a hell of a job recalling, and that emboldens him to really focus, to map out exactly how massive the cock under his hand is.

It takes a grand total of two seconds before he is practically frothing at the mouth to see, because surely not...

Sidney chuckles. "Are you that bored of hearing about my mouth already, BJ?"

"On the contrary, if I imagine it anywhere near my dick, this isn't going to last as long as I..." As he fumbles with Sidney's belt, a shock of humiliation shoots through him. He needs to be good. Needs to be perfect. He looks like he's a fucking kid on his prom night in the back seat of his car right now.

"Hey. Slow down," Sidney suggests quietly.

BJ jerks his gaze up to meet Sidney's, almost wants to tell him not to say another word—this is embarrassing enough—but in this moment of eye contact, Sidney seems to read enough behind his stare yet again.

"Come here, sweetheart." As Sidney lifts slightly, closing the distance between them, it has the effect of bringing BJ's mind to a very slow, gradual halt. "I kiss here too."

As their lips meet, BJ's fingers go loose against the metal, and he shivers as his eyes fall shut. Kissing isn't...something he does with everybody. Really. Back at Stanford, his dalliances with men were ways to expand his experiences, to chase away the loneliness of not having Peggy there. It wasn't meant to form long-lasting relationships. In the end, it was always safer to keep his lips far, far away from their own, and the few times he let himself have the simple pleasure of making out, it always made it hurt that much harder when he knew he had to break off from them for good.

He shouldn't be doing it here. What happens when he leaves Korea and goes home and returns to a life of perfect monogamy and never sees anybody he met here ever, ever again? Is he going to remember how Sidney Freedman tastes?

He's practically a stranger, his mind reminds him. Whatever this is isn't gonna matter at all.

But also, it means everything. Against all odds and logic, this is a brilliant gleaming gem in the middle of a burning garbage heap. Because of course BJ couldn't do something like this with Hawkeye—not when he needs him so fucking badly just to stay alive, not when the world would self-destruct if they fell out after BJ gave too much of himself there. So this peek into intimacy, vulnerability, and sensuality, something that makes him feel more tethered in his skin and sanity than anything else could, is all at once the most vital thing he's experienced since he got here.

And he's kissing him.

And it's going to be brutal when it's over.

And that means he should leave. Right now.

Instead, his buttery fingers work almost languidly at the belt, taking their time so that it opens without any more immature fumbling. And he doesn't even feel that bite of frustration when Sidney works his open in one smooth, effortless motion.

I have a lot to learn from him, BJ finds himself thinking, tipping over the edge into utter recklessness with absolutely no more thought for what will come after it all ends.

He manages to break the kiss once he's eased Sidney's pants and boxers down, and a glance at his cock has BJ taking in a deep breath. God. BJ got used to apologizing for the size of his cock over the years, of all things, but seeing the length and curve of Sidney's makes him suddenly understand one reason among many why he's so calm, so self-assured in moments like this. "Wow."

"Speak for yourself," Sidney teases. He runs the tip of a finger up BJ's length, and that alone is enough to draw a faint growl out of BJ's chest. "Gorgeous."

"I-I'm glad you approve." Fighting again to push forward, BJ grabs Sidney by the wrist, then holds his gaze as he lifts the palm to his mouth. After one filthy spit, he lets the arm go, then brings his own hand to Sidney's lips. There's a searing heat in those dark eyes as he does the same.

After steadying himself on Sidney's shoulder, BJ cups the older man's cock, and he doesn't so much as blink as he begins to tease him.

Sidney takes in a deep breath. He settles just his palm over the head of BJ's hardness, slowly applying gentle circles of pressure that coaxes slick precum to rush to his tip. "You have beautiful hands. Do you know that?"

"I try not to notice," BJ murmurs roughly. "Makes surgery that much harder when you keep falling in love with your own fingers."

Sidney smirks, something lovely and toothy that gives BJ the intense desire to bare his throat. "Have you ever read the tale of Narcissus?"

"Haven't found the time. There's a mirror right by my bookshelf and—"

"Oh, you are too cute, aren't you?"

"I try to be. Is it working?"

"I can still talk, so it doesn't look like it," Sidney murmurs in amusement.

Fair point. BJ tightens his grasp around Sidney's shaft, then gets assaulted by a rush of goosebumps as Sidney reciprocates. All right, so maybe he is a talker, but there's value too in silence. But only when there's such an insistent physical component that it makes the thoughts stay quiet.

BJ's not the only one with perfect hands. He watches almost with desperation how Sidney's smaller grip fits around him, how his sensitive skin gleams in the lamplight around Sidney's capable fingers, how the touch was so necessary that he's twitching every few seconds. Before he realizes they're there, soft and aching sounds of pleasure rush out of BJ with every other breath.

He's so caught up in Sidney's care that BJ almost forgets to ask, until it slips out, "Is this good?"

"Perfect," Sidney murmurs without hesitation. He steals another kiss, nothing but a quick peck, but before he can go on, BJ crashes down like he needs to eat him whole.

The physical feedback of Sidney leaning into the kiss with all his might is everything BJ needs, and his mind finally shuts off completely as he moans. BJ squeezes Sidney's shoulder hard enough to bruise, and Sidney holds him perfectly still by the hip, and there's not a single hurricane that could make BJ move away from that grip. He stands as stock still as he can, even through the ravenous liplock, even through the feverish rush to jerk Sidney off to utter perfection.

It's actually laughable that BJ thought he could've taken any measure of control over Sidney, he realizes now, because in the span of barely minutes, he's right goddamn here at the edge, and no matter how much he fights, his body screams its need to let go. He breaks the kiss with a gasp. "Sorry. Sorry, I'm close, I—"

"Give it to me, BJ," Sidney commands so gently, the heat in his tone a potent aphrodisiac. All at once, his grip seems to refine itself, and he overwhelms BJ with such an easy skill that it's as if he saved something for this exact moment just to make sure he gave BJ a taste of heaven itself. "That's it, be good and come for me."

"Ohh—" It's like rocketing to the top of a rollercoaster in seconds when he thought he'd already reached its peak. All at once, he's scraping the cosmos, dragging stardust in waves behind him as he comes with a groan he can't be bothered to silence. Sidney works him through it, the hot slick of BJ's own cum making it all the more easier, and only when he's at the point of whimpering does Sidney loosen his fist.

There's something to be said, at least, for getting your own overwhelming rush out of the way. In the moment before he might've tipped into exhaustion, BJ harnesses the emptiness of his mind and leans into Sidney. "Now it's your turn," he murmurs, the words slurring as they drip from his lips. "I bet you're gorgeous when you come."

"Oh, you've thought about it?" Though it sounds like Sidney's trying to drawl at him, he can't convincingly pull it off. The man's back to kneading BJ's hip, his knees beginning to wobble.

"Mm-hmm." There's still a growl on BJ's tone from his satisfaction, and he leans into it, playing it up for show as he grins crookedly down at Sidney. "I jerked off to you last week in the shower. Hope you don't mind."

Sidney shudders, his jaw dropping. "Not... Fuck, not at all. Fuck, don't stop. Keep doing that."

Everything in the entire camp goes silent at that quiet bit of direction. As though this is his final exam, BJ locks his gaze on Sidney's stunning face, refusing to blink so he won't miss a moment of this. That hyperawareness comes right back into play. Suddenly it's the easiest thing in the world to keep this perfect rhythm, this tight grip. Brilliant, incredible, powerful man, one who slips so constantly into the background, the only person keeping half of this country tethered in their skulls. He deserves this. He deserves everything BJ can give.

BJ has one second to think, oh, I need to walk that back fast, don't I? But then Sidney seizes up, and a glorious, strangled cry breaks from him as he comes in heated waves, wiping the thought away so succinctly that it's like it never existed in the first place. There's a vivid moment of perfection where Sidney actually looks beautiful, he's gone so soft in the face, and BJ completely forgets to breathe.

And then Sidney catches his wrist, a silent command, and BJ lets him go.

If there is anything BJ knows about hookups like this, it's how quickly they can go awkward, if one lets them. And sure, maybe he could let Sidney lead with his age and experience, but in all honesty, he'd rather not risk it. So BJ steals one last quick kiss before he can second guess it, and then as the two of them sway slightly in place and watch each other, he speaks softly. "See? I told you I'd take care of you."

Sidney's still catching his breath, but he looks at their filthy hands, their ruined shirts, and barks out a stunned sort of laugh as he shakes his head. "That was quite an astute prediction of yours, Hunnicutt."

Easy, relaxed as anything, completely fine and in control, BJ smirks.

#my writing #ask meme answers #sidbeej #beejsid #bj hunnicutt #sidney freedman #m*a*s*h

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