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mechaknight-98 · 1 month

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Instinctive Insight II (NSFW) FT Chaehyun

Authors note: back to our regularly scheduled programs. Enjoy more shenanigans between Dino and his favorite marshmallow

Part I

After my lunch with Marshmallow, I returned home. However, after about 40 minutes, a peculiar feeling of animosity towards her began to bubble up within me. What made it particularly unsettling was that alongside these negative emotions, I still felt the same positive, affectionate, and possessive feelings I experienced during our date. The longing for her presence gnawed at me, and every moment she wasn't beside me only fueled my frustration and anger, leaving me utterly perplexed.

In an attempt to distract myself from these conflicting emotions, I decided to call Pops (Old McDonald).

“What's on your mind, Dino? You rarely call after your shift,” Mr. McDonald inquired, sounding puzzled.

“It's about Marshmallow... I mean, Chaehyun,” I stumbled over my words.

Before I could elaborate, McDonald interjected, “Yeah, she's pretty cool, right? Did you know she also raised a female Magnamalo?”

“That never came up,” I replied curtly.

I found myself overwhelmed by disgust and frustration as I continued, “She was wearing this skimpy crop top that showed her midriff and one of the shortest skirts I've ever seen, flaunting her thighs. And then she wouldn't stop complaining about her university troubles at the steakhouse we went to. It was relentless.”

As I ranted, I couldn't help but notice how the very qualities I found attractive about her just hours ago now seemed unbearable.

“Well then, I suppose I'll let Zahir know he's free to pursue her since you clearly can't stand her,” McDonald suggested.

“No, she's mine!” I growled instinctively, the possessiveness surprising even myself.

“Hmm, that was possessive. Are you sure she feels the same?” McDonald questioned.

“I don't care. Marshmallow belongs to me,” I declared fiercely, my mind swimming with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. It took me a moment to regain my composure, but even then, I found myself grappling with a multitude of unsettling feelings.

“Pops, what's wrong with me? Why do I feel so strange around her?” I finally confessed, seeking solace in his guidance.

“Well, I'm no expert on human psychology or biology, but based on everything I've heard, I'd say you're in love with Chaehyun, if that cute little nickname Marshmallow is referring to her,” McDonald stated, his words eliciting a mix of disgust and elation within me.

“Then why am I so angry with her?” I questioned.

“Well, I'd hate to say it, Dino, but you might be going through a transformation similar to Tony as well,” McDonald suggested.

“Wait, what makes you say that?” I asked concerned

“As you know, I'm a man of science. Over the last year, you've grown three inches in height, despite your growth plates being fused. You've also become noticeably stronger, lifting 1.5 times what you could three months ago, and your aggression levels have spiked recently. Not necessarily for bad reasons, but your responses to stimuli have shifted in the last three months.”

“So, you're saying I'm a Magnamalo hybrid?” I questioned, puzzled.

“No, I'm saying you're still mirroring Tony. Remember when you and Tony both fell exceptionally sick at that school in the middle of nowhere and recovered almost simultaneously? Same principle. Your body and biology are mirroring what you've surrounded yourself with” McDonald reminded me.

I pondered McDonald’s words before responding, “Yeah, I remember. But that can't explain something as significant as this, right?”

Old McDonald paused for a moment before replying, “Well, what happened between the two of you when you broke the touch barrier? Or did you just fight the entire time?”

Despite my discomfort, I admitted, “We kissed.”

“Then you and her are mirroring your bonded megafauna. I'm curious to see how that will play out, considering both of you are already bonded to another megafauna. It'll be interesting to see how it affects the two of you going forward,” Old McDonald said with a chuckle.

“Okay,” I groaned. “Oh, wait, before you go. Why did you sell the zoo to Chaehyun?”

“Well, partially because I thought the two of you would run it together. You know the ins and outs, the infrastructure, the people, while she has a worldwide network. Together, you could easily take what her father and I have built to the next level,” McDonald explained hopefully.

“What about your actual son?” I inquired.

“Marshall is too preoccupied with his novels to give the zoo the care it needs. He told me, ‘If you give me the zoo, I'm giving it to Dino. He earned it.’ So, I figured I should be more calculated in my approach,” McDonald replied, prompting a nod from me before our call was interrupted by Marshmallow.

“Guess who's calling now?” I muttered.

“Wish her well from me,” McDonald chuckled before hanging up.

“What do you want, Marshmallow?” I responded, annoyance evident in my tone.

“God, was I interrupting your precious alone time, Daddy? I don't even know why I called you,” Marshmallow retorted in a similar tone.

“Please, get to the point,” I demanded.

“The Malzeno is acting weird,” Marshmallow announced.

“How so?” My misattributed anger surged.

“He's turning silver and shedding his purple plumage and wing membrane.”

“What did you do to my son?” I snapped coldly.

“Oh, that got your attention. He's shedding, but something's wrong…” Marshmallow started, but I hung up and raced to my car.

“Hey, DJ, what's going on?” my mom asked as I hastily explained the situation.

“One of the zookeepers brought a Quirio, and it's causing Alucard to go primordial,” I explained as I rushed to the zoo. Upon arrival, I found Alucard in distress, clawing at his skin. Spotting the Quirio, I swiftly disposed of it and tended to Alucard, feeling his intense malice amplify.

“Dad, it hurts. What did they do to me?” Alucard's eyes pleaded for answers.

“It's okay, son, just growing pains. You'll be okay,” I reassured him, feeling his sadness pierce through me.

After calming Alucard down, I stepped out of the enclosure, only to be approached by the girl who had been with Marshmallow.

“Are you Mr. Dino?” she asked nervously.

I nodded hesitantly, and she apologized profusely. I refrained from scolding her and instead offered a gentle pat on her head, and reassurance that she'll learn it's part of the job.

As I finished up I heard screams and knew that things were about to be bad. I was right and like a cascading snowball, all of my other sons began transforming across the zoo. After I tended to the other megafauna going through transformations, exhaustion began to set in. By the time things settled down, I had fallen asleep on a very content Tony. I dreamed that Marshmallow and I were on a lovely brunch date. She had syrup on her mouth that I wiped off when I was jolted awake by my phone. When I finally woke up after drifting off on Tony, Marshmallow was waiting for me, her expression sour.

“You know we could have handled it?” she said, annoyance palpable in the air, igniting a storm of emotions between us.

“I guess a thank you would be too much to ask?” I groaned

“Please anybody can say nice things and calm down a megafauna.” Marshmallow retorted. I felt my body heat up familiarly as we moved closer to each other.

I scowled before we were inches away from each other. Our eyes were intense but displayed our true emotions. Marshmallow smirked before tying her hair up into a ponytail and getting on her knees. My head swam as she pulled down my sweats. My body reacted viscerally as my cock shot out to greet her.

“Oh did Daddy’s cock miss me?” She said in a teasing tone before kissing it. I was in agony as she teased me by giving these light pecks and kisses to my cock. I resisted the urge to face fuck her and let her take her time with this as she was a pro at working my body. It was as if we were almost made for each other.

“Did you know that when Magnamalos mate they pair up for life? Isn’t there something beautiful and innocent about that?” Marshmallow said as she took me in her mouth. Her first trip down my rod was slow as she got a feel for my size in her mouth. As she retreats and my cock is exposed to the cooled midnight air she looks up at me with eyes full of want, “I want that. I want one love, can you be that for me? My one love.” She begged. her eyes pierce into me and all I could feel for this amazing, talented, smart, and sexy gal was love and affection. I want her close by and never want her to leave. So I respond

“Yes, forever I’ll be yours but promise me you’ll be mine,” I say as Marshmallow’s hand warps around my length.

“Yes, I’ll be yours.” Marshmallow mirrored. I caress her face. She smiles as she goes in for another slow tortuous and euphoric stroke

“I love this cock. It’s perfect for me. The right length the right, girth, all attached to the right man.” Marshmallow said as she engorged herself on my length. She smiled and put her hands in mine before resting them on the side of her face. A silent encouragement to fuck her face follows. I start slowly thrusting in and out of her mouth. I hit her throat a few times but I try to take it easy on her until she tilts her head up during one of my thrusts causing it to go deep into her throat. She gags and involuntarily bites down a little. I give her time to catch her breath before I take a puff. The warm wet cavern is only matched by her pussy. I fall deeper in love with her and her body as I thrust into her faster and faster her eyes roll back as she takes me in and out like she is nothing more than a fleshlight. I feel her throat vibrate as she moans all over my cock.

“Ruin me Daddy” Marshmallow gags/ moans, and I sink my cock deep into her throat. Pushed by the sounds of her gags I just thrust relentlessly in and out of her mouth chasing my release. I watch as she gags and moans all over my cock as she takes it like it’s her favorite candy. I caress her pillowy cheeks as I ruin her until my cock throbs

“Gonna cum Marshmallow get ready,” I say before I paint her throat and mouth white with my cum. I groan as she continues sucking me long after my orgasm has ended. She continues sucking past the point of overstimulation and sensitivity to where I’m starting to get hard again, but before we can continue I lift her and smile at her. She smiles back. Overcome by the emotion of today I devour her as we fall into another kiss.

“You drive me crazy,” I say

“I can’t stop thinking about you, and every time we part I feel this anger of not being with you. It makes me angry and sick how needy I am for you but I don’t care” Marshmallow says

“I feel the same way,” I say gasping between kisses and breaths.

“Is this what love at first sight feels like?” Marshmallow asks.

“I don’t know but let’s find out,” I respond as we break our kiss. I catch my breath as she drags me to her car. We drive to where she’s staying at. A small two-bedroom apartment. After she opens the door she grabs me and leads me to her room we strip in front of each other for the first time and her body makes me feral.

She drags me to her bed as my hands run all over her nude form

I start by caressing her round face. I bring her in for another kiss in between kisses I compliment her, “I love how expressive your eyes and face are. Every time you look at me whether it be with disgust or desire, my heart races in my chest.” I say before diving back in. I squish her soft cheeks which elicits a cute giggle from her as she smiles at me, “my favorite smile from my favorite lady” I say proudly. Marshmallow smiles at me with such soft warmth that my heart melts. How could I ever have hated her? I wonder to myself. I kiss her again and again until I gasp. She gives me a sly look as I look down to see her stroking my cock.

I move my hands lower as I caress her bare chest for the first time. I salivate as I break another kiss. “Oh my god your tits are like the rest of you: Soft and warm. God I love it.” I paint before diving in and taking her left breast into my mouth. Marshmallow moans as I suck to my heart’s content before alternating between both breasts.

I lower myself to her pussy Marshmallow looks at me with overwhelming lust. I give an exploratory lick and she reacts violently. She spreads her legs and shoves my face into her warm cunt. I lap her labia trying my best to pleasure her despite my inexperience. Thankfully Marshmallow was extremely vocal about what she desired.

"Whoa, there cowboy slow down. Okay, a little to the left. a little higher. Right there." She instructed as I navigated her folds, my tongue darting in and out of her tart love box. her taste was pungent but also sweet like a cheesecake. I feel myself harden under he as she smiles at me with her seductive eyes. "Keep going Daddy right there." she moaned as I modified and alternated paces to keep her on her toes. it drove her wild her body writhed and screamed as she came over my face. I lapped up her juice with the widest smile. she looks at me with a look of frightening frenzy.

I’m shocked by her strength when she pushes me off her eyes narrow seductively as she whispers, “I’m going to drain you, and you’re going to beg me to keep going.” My dick hardens at her words even more.

We fucked all night and stopped at 2 am only because I had to go to the doctor for a check-up. When I woke up at 10 am with Marshmallow she smiled at me. “Can you help me with logistics later today?” Marshmallow asked. “I’m trying to move Amaterasu here.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.” I reply

“You know when you left yesterday after our lunch I felt this sadness that I couldn’t deal with. All it did was turn to anger. Like all I felt was this need for you did you feel something similar.”

“Yeah, my infatuation with you is fermented and spoiled. I didn’t like it.” I answer. Chaehyun smiles at me before caressing my face. I smile at her she smiles back

“Well, should we move in together then?” Marshmallow said. I consider her proposal. it would make the negative feelings go away, but it would drastically change who I was in the process I could feel myself changing while being with her and I was unsure whether it was good or bad, but I couldn't be without her my body had made that abundantly clear. So I took a chance.

"Screw it Sure, but can you drive me back to the Zoo I need to get my car and go to my doctor's appointment," I say to Marshmallow who is all smiles. She nods

"Sure anything for my Darling Daddy."

#kpop fanfic #fanfic #male reader #kim chaehyun #kep1er chaehyun #chaehyun smut #chaehyun

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alphabetboyluvr · 10 months

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throttle │ jjk - two

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - just a littleeee (read: mostly) smut... fingering, titty sucking (his fave <3), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (female), creampie, post-creampie-pussy-eating, cum swapping, a little spitting i guess, titty worship, ?? more, maybe ??, idk, you get the idea. oh, and also dangerous driving and jk being down bad within like 5 seconds flat

word count - 13.4k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

Jungkook's cheeks are red, his nose blushed from the chill of the wind by the time you reach his place. It's just on the outskirts of town, past the jewellers' district and out towards the station, and it has you wondering why he's always getting fuel from your neck of the woods. It seems inconvenient, and if you were sober, you'd be questioning it.

Sober, you might have even made assumptions about it.

Hell, you know you would be making assumptions about it.

But you're not sober, and he's got a hold on your hand like you're one of the priceless jewels in the windows you've just walked past.

You're gold dust; a diamond in amongst the rough of downtown Daegu.

In fact, he's holding you so tightly that it's almost as if there's a price on your head, and he wants to be the one to reap the rewards. No sharing. His, all his.

He doesn't loosen his grip on your hand as he begins to punch in the code to his apartment door. It's steel, and robust, hiding everything that Jungkook is behind it. You don't know him, not really - not like you want to - but there's something so painfully intimate about being invited into his space. Has you thinking that maybe you'll get the chance to know him. For a few hours, at least.

The lock beeps, a mechanical whir sounding as the bolt retracts, but he pauses as he puts pressure down on the handle.

"Can you, like, close your eyes?" He grimaces, glancing back around at you. His tongue is tipsy, about to make admissions he never would do sober. "I left in a rush, and there are clothes everywhere 'cause I couldn't decide what to wear and I-"

"Wait, wait, wait," you grin, eyes centred on his. "Did someone get pre-date nerves?"

Jungkook presses his eyes shut, smiling as he rolls his head back. He's never nervous. Always cool, calm, collected - but he can hear your little drunk giggles, and his heart rate is up, and shit, he thinks he might be nervous.

He knows he was nervous before he left.

"I just-" he says with a frustrated groan, too exasperated to finish his sentence before he starts laughing, too.

You're both a little tipsy, swaying, drawing closer to one another. It's innate, the way your body leans into his, with zero resistance from Jungkook as your hands grip the front of his coat for support.

"Shuuuush," he whispers, all giddy and coy, holding his index finger to your lips. It's almost as if he gives a fuck about his neighbours.

He doesn't.

He's just using it as an excuse to get closer to you.

"You shush!" You whisper back, mirroring his actions and holding your finger to his lips, too.

His smile is so big that his dimples are on full display. They're as deep as his eyes are dark, and you just know he must have broken his fair share of hearts in the past. His hands cup your jaw, thumbs resting on the edges of your smile as if he's framing a work of art. He'd argue that he is.

You look so dainty in his hold, and he finds himself overwhelmed with the need to savour your pretty little laugh. It'll taste just like his, but he doesn't care. Thinks it'll be sweeter coming from your lips.

And, so, somewhere between your simpering laugh and his darting eyes, as a flickering light in his hallway beats in unison with your hearts, his lips find yours.

He's still telling you to shush as he does so, and you tell him it back - but neither of you actually shush until your tongues are in each other's mouths.

He fumbles the keypad of his door again, getting you both through the threshold and into his tiny studio before you can even look at the mess of clothes everywhere.

The nerves he once had are gone, because he's confident about this; about you.

The movements of your bodies bleed into one another, neither one of you taking the lead. Instead, it's as if you're a pair of figure skaters gliding through his apartment, eyes closed - not that it makes much of a difference. The lights are off, and a string of fairy lights left up since Christmas provides the only source of illumination.

Jungkook hadn't entirely planned on stumbling home drunk with you, but he knew he'd be stumbling home in some capacity, so leaving them on had seemed like a good idea at the time. He's proven right.

And even though this night hasn't gone exactly how he had planned, he's not complaining. Especially not when your hands begin to fumble with his jacket. You undo it, push it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

Casual arrogance graces his lips as he smirks against you, unbuttoning the top of your skirt.

"I don't fuck on first dates," you tell him, but you don't stop him as he pushes the black denim over your hips and lets it fall to the floor. In fact, you're kind of giving him mixed signals as you reach for his belt, sliding the leather through its buckle.

"We've had, like, 300 GS25 dates," he mumbles into your lips between kisses, so casually that it's almost believable.

He pulls his shirt over his head, tosses it to the floor, and grabs your face just to kiss you again as soon as he can.

It's about now, just after he's finished evaluating your 'dating' history, that you notice the pressure of two small metal balls flicking against your tongue. They're evenly spaced across the centre of his own tongue, and the mere acknowledgement of them has your legs clenching together. The lip ring was bad enough, but a tongue piercing? Fuck.

He smiles as you moan into his lips, and assures you: "I think it's okay if we fuck."

Your hands are in his hair, his gripping onto your waistline before he rids you of your sweater, and all you can do is nod. Playing hard to get is a game for fools, and you're not really sure why you tried it in the first place. You're gonna be winning either way.

"Yeah, you're right," you mumble into his mouth. "We're basically married."

He laughs, and for a second you think that he must have been made by the Gods. It's the only way to explain how a human could be created so heavenly, even when they're about to commit enough sins to send them straight down to the pits.

"Happy honeymoon," he smirks, assisting you as you begin to push his jeans past his ass and down his thighs. Teamwork makes the dream work, after all.

You're both in your underwear, yet neither of you have even looked at the other's bodies yet. Too preoccupied. Too eager. Too consumed by the overwhelming need to feel one another.

His skin is warm, but the ridges of his torso are so hard that you'd be forgiven for thinking he's carved from stone.

Nudging his parted lips against yours, you gasp as his fingers curl in your hair. Jungkook just claims your breaths as his own, pressing his lips firmly shut against yours.

One hand clasps your throat, keeping you secure, as the other trails up your thighs.

"Sure you wanna consummate this marriage?" He asks a little breathlessly, playing on the narrative you built up for this moment, just checking before he does anything he can't take back.

But you're impatient, and you don't think you could be any clearer even if you tried.

"Oh my god," you whine. "Just finger me already."

Your words have him laughing all over again. He likes this, likes that you're not afraid to ask for what you want. He hadn't expected anything less, but it's satisfying to have his assumptions proven right. He kind of gets why you like making so many of them, now.

He fumbles about a little bit, not bothering to turn on the lights. It's not his first rodeo, and he doesn't think it's yours either - in fact, he knows it isn't. You wouldn't be so bold if it was. He doesn't embarrass easy, and knows that there are lessons to be learned with every new woman he acquaints himself with. You're no exception.

"Gotta tell me what you like," he notes as he presses a kiss against your neck, the smell of your perfume so divine that he thinks you must be some kind of lorelei. It's like a meeting of black cherry and vanilla, but when his nose nestles into your hair, he can smell gasoline - and he thinks it might just be the hottest thing about you.

You hum a response, the anticipation causing your heart to beat a mile a minute. He pushes the lace of your underwear to the side, his middle finger running between your folds. You're slick from his kisses alone, but so is he is. As you palm at the bulge in his pants, you can feel the wetness of precum leaking from his tip. He wants this just as much as you do.

"You can do better, little miss clutch control," he teases you. "Speak up."

Part of you wants to kick him in the balls. He's so sexy but so fucking annoying - he can hear how much you're enjoying his touch. He doesn't need confirmation - he just wants the gratification of hearing you say it. It's a power trip for him. You don't like giving men power.

"I like it when you shut the fuck up," you reply, hands in his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. If your words won't do it, then at least your lips will. The vibration of his laugh hums into your mouth, before he pulls away - only by an inch or so.

"That's more like it."

His lips return to yours, as quickly as they left, while he continues to roam. His fingers stay in your underwear, the very tip of his index finger mapping you out. Your body shudders when he brushes your clit, the direct contact a little too much.

He dips down to your entrance, pauses, and says "been thinking about this since the moment I met you," and then pushes two of his fingers into your cunt.

Your walls are tight and hot, but oh-so fucking wet. There's nothing about your pussy that he doesn't love. His thick knuckles are celestial inside of you, just as cosmic as the reflection of his fairy lights in his eyes, and you find yourself thinking that maybe those tattooed hands of his are something special, after all.

"Bra off," he husks, and you do as you're told. He'd have done it himself, but his hands are a little preoccupied.

He adjusts the pair of you as your bra hits the floor, encouraging your legs around his waist. Hoisting you up before you really have a chance to comprehend what he's doing, you're pretty certain that this is just an excuse to display his strength. You're impressed, so it's working, but you're also unable to really think about anything other than the way he feels inside of you.

Your back is against the wall, the weight of his body keeping you pinned in position as he fucks his fingers into you. There's no real calculation to his movements, just an awareness that he absolutely cannot fuck you yet. He'll simply finish too quickly.

It's not that he doesn't enjoy a quickie - truth be told, he finds them far more convenient - it's just that it would be mortifying.

He's not sure he'd actually be able to show up at the gas station ever again if you heard him whine like a little bitch and unload himself in five seconds flat.

Equally, he doesn't want you to dread his car coming into the forecourt.

He wants you daydreaming about him, all hazy-eyed, like you are when you're drunk, waiting for his car to roll in. He wants you musing about the way his tongue feels against your neck, and your coworker asking why you're smiling so much. He wants you blushing as you try to think of a justification, and he wants you excusing yourself to go to the bathroom to sort out the wetness pooling in your underwear.

So, yeah. A quickie simply won't do.

He grips onto the side of your neck with his spare hand as he sinks his fingers into your pussy again. The way you gasp is like music to his ears, every single one of his senses overrun by the entity that you are.

It's mutual though. You're consumed by everything that he is; his scent, the sound of his laboured grunts, the taste of his tongue and the feel of his hands all over your body. The only sense he isn't violating is your sight - but it's only 'cause he's making you feel so good that your eyes are forced to rest shut.

Jungkook, on the other hand, exclusively watches you. He marvels at the way your head leans back against the wall, neck exposed for him to leave a trail of pretty purple bruises. He knows he shouldn't. Knows he shouldn't leave a single mark on your skin. Knows better than to leave evidence of his crimes, but it's a sin he thinks he'd quite like to commit over and over again.

You're pretty good at faking it. A string of careless lovers, of whom you used to entertain prior to learning your worth, had helped you to perfect a moan. You can manipulate your body, make your chest heave with exertion, your pussy throb around their fingers, their cocks. You can make it leak, get yourself looking like a fucking mess for them, as if it's because of them. It's a fine art.

Botticelli would admire you, you think. His Venus couldn't compete with you. Femme fatal; a kisser of jaws, a killer of the men you have to let down gently because they fall too in love with you for your liking. Understandably, given what you can do. You've mastered it. Mastered men.

And it's for this reason, that you don't fake anymore. If someone isn't pleasing you, you let them know. You view it as a way of helping humanity - or their future girlfriends, at least. Why waste time letting someone else think they're getting you off, when it's you doing all the hard work?

You'd gone into this prepared; ready to remedy what would inevitably be a disappointing shag with a near stranger.

But you're not throbbing around Jungkook's fingers - you're trembling. There's no self-made stutter in your chest, but there's one a little lower down, one that you've got absolutely no jurisdiction over. Y'see, the way you're gasping, like you're struggling against a riptide, caught in the wave that is Jeon Jungkook, can't be faked.

It's what has him smirking as he puts pressure behind the kisses he's placing on your neck. It's the fact that every time you try and speak, even if it's just a curse or the sound of his name, it's cut short. You've no control. Fuck all. It's all on him, on account of him being inside you. If he's learnt anything about you in the short time that he's known you, it's that you're never speechless. Always getting that last word in.

But you can't even formulate one now, his fingers pumping into you at such a speed, that the lewd wet noise is almost louder than your moans. Almost.

Jungkook isn't a jealous kind of guy, especially not when it comes to casual hookups - but he kind of thinks he's jealous of his own fucking fingers.

Every single part of him wants your pussy; his tongue, his cock. You feel so good around him that he regrets not making a move sooner. Should have asked to fuck you as soon as you started talking about his car on his first visit to the gas station. Lord knows he thought about it.

His lips are on yours, not really kissing you, resting open, his breaths heavy and laboured. The way he's pushing into you, deeper, deeper, has you mirroring his expression, small moans pouring into his mouth. He wants to eat them up, devour them, use them as fuel.

You loosen the grip you have in his pale hair, gripping onto his neck with one hand, the other falling to his bicep. He likes the scratch of your nails against his bare skin, but there's a distance between you both that he wants to close. He pulls his hand from beneath your ass, relying on his core strength alone to keep you pressed into the wall, and reaches for your fingers. Intertwining them, he places his hand, with yours beneath it, back against the wall, above your head.

The change in position has your chest lifting, almost as if your tits are begging to have his lips around them - and who is he to refuse?

His tongue finds your nipple, flicking against the hardened nub before sucking it between his lips. The vibration of his studs against your sensitive bud has your back arching. He sucks you further into his mouth, tongue lapping against you, before he releases your nipple - but it's so puffy, and wet, and perfect, and fuck- he can't help himself, teasing at it again with his tongue.

So fixated on how you feel in his mouth, he's forgotten that he meant to be fucking you. His cock throbs beneath his boxers, as his fingers are kept warm by your walls, slick wetness creaming around the base of his knuckles and dripping down his palm.

His apartment is small, so it only takes him a moment to move you from the wall and toss you down into his sheets. There's a waft of his fabric conditioner as he does so, floral and soft. It's hard to imagine a man so broad, so handsome, so god damn irresistible, paying any attention to laundry - but you suppose it must just add to his charm.

"C'mere," you whine, as he takes a moment to take in the sight of you. Missing the way he feels, you pull him down onto the bed - but he's scared that even just rutting against you will have him spilling himself all over your stomach. Instead, he places himself beside you, and gets to work.

There's a familiarity now, his mouth taking your nipple again, wet and wanting, as his fingers toy with your pussy. He's not sure which he prefers, your pussy or tits, but he's more than happy to play with them both. His thumb presses on your swollen clit, and you writhe beneath him. "You like that, huh?"

You try and respond, but his thumb begins to rub languid circles against you. If you couldn't muster a word before, then like fuck can you speak now.

"Huh?" he teases, teeth grazing your hardened nipple, now. His finger strokes at your walls as he sinks into you once more, on the hunt for something that no one has ever been able to find, except you. The way your legs are tensing lets him know he's close.

"I asked if you like that." He's only a knuckle deep, stroking pretty little circles against your walls. Closer. You whine. "Don't go all shy on me now, doll."

Your body writhes beneath his, toes curling, teeth digging down on his shoulder in a failed attempt at keeping quiet. He hopes you'll leave a mark. His thumb presses a little harder against your clit, encircling it with pressure so deep that you're almost certain you'll die from his touch.

"Don't stop," is all you can manage. "Don't stop- fuck."

"Better," he says, pressing a kiss into your neck. You can feel his precum leaking onto your thigh, and the idea of him dirtying you has you insatiable. He can tell you're at his level now, so close to finishing that it won't be embarrassing when he's done in five-seconds-flat - but the way you're putty in his hands has him unable to stop himself. He's gotta make you cum. Needs to.

He presses his thumb down, fingers up, as if he's pinching them together, and then he's stroking and - "Oh, fuck it. Right there. Right fucking there." - he's found it.

He's fucking found it, the little ridge in your pussy that up until now has been just for you. You've lied before, told guys they've hit your g-spot and faked a little something that convinces them of it - but it's never been like this. Ever. Not even when you find it.

Jungkook follows your commands. He won't stop, doesn't stop, not even when your nails grab at his wrist because the pleasure is so unbearable, so intense, that it fucking hurts.

"Like that," you encourage, knowing your grip probably says otherwise. "Like that, fuck."

He does as he's told, and keeps like that, lips latching onto your nipple, sucking just as hard as his fingers are massaging. The slickness of your walls compared with the texture of your g-spot has him going insane. He doesn't think it's his first time finding such a sacred spot, but it's never been this easy, and the reaction has never been this good.

You moan out his name, 'cause he's all you can think about. Any and all articulation of your pleasure goes on him.

"Yeah, baby?" he asks, forgetting that he doesn't know you nearly well enough to be addressing you like that, but he doesn't slow down. You just moan. He can call you whatever the fuck he wants at this point. It's too good. Too much.

"Kook, I-" you try, but your hips are bucking, and there's fuck all you can do to stop it.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises you.

He will make you cum. Will do whatever it takes, if needs be. The tip of his cock is red and leaky against your thigh, ready to fuck into you, but he doesn't give a shit. Your walls are hot. Burning hot. And then they're throbbing, and your torso begins to tense. You whisper his name like a secret prayer, legs trying to close around the welcome intrusion of his hand.

"That's it," he keens. "Cum for me, doll. All over my fingers. That's it."

You're fucking mewling as your body shudders against his. There's no dignity left in your body. It's pooling in the palm of his hand, slick and slippery, just where he wants it.

"You're unreal," he hums, drawing the last of your little death from you. "Fucking insane, babe. So fucking hot."

Turns out the Grim Reaper had made an appearance that evening, just in the form of a 6-foot adonis, who knows his way around a pussy like he does a bloody electric switchboard.

You're panting, and so is he, his lips curving against your skin. Neither of you speaks for a minute, both casually aware that it - this, the night - isn't over yet.

And then Jungkook just thinks to hell with acting coy, or playing it cool. You're naked in his bed, and so is he. No point in beating around the bush (unless you're into it).

"Wanna eat you out," he says as he presses a kiss into your neck, placing himself more centrally over you. Your chest is still heaving, and the thought of cumming again makes you feel all dizzy. His elbows are rested by your head, cock stiff against your tummy. You wrap your arms around his neck, toying with his pretty blonde hair. "Wanna fuck you first, though."

There's a logistical step to be taken there. You're on birth control, and the subject of regularly testing had come up during a particularly suggestive conversation over dinner. You both know he'll be fucking you raw - which means he's finishing raw, too.

"But-"

"I don't care," he mumbles into your lips, a little rough, claiming them as his own. He really doesn't give a fuck if it means eating his own cum. Not like he hasn't done it before. He's probably just gonna spit it into your mouth, anyways.

He pulls his hips back to line himself up. The tip of his cock nudges into you slowly, gently, and then he eases himself forward. It burns, the thickness of his shaft spreading you in a way that his fingers couldn't. It's bliss. Divine. Heavenly, and yet absolute sin.

He revels in the way you feel, for a moment, letting your walls stretch before he sinks into you fully. You curse as he does so, the pain overridden by pleasure. His hips begin to pick up pace, eyes on yours to make sure that you're okay as he ploughs into you.

It's like he's digging for diamonds, almost. Funny thing is, when you gasp, eyes all wide and focused on his, it's looks like he's found them in your eyes. It's just the reflection of his fairy lights, but the illusion fools him.

Looking at you is too much for him to handle, so Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. He really wasn't kidding when he figured he'd finish in no time at all. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls.

"Gonna make me cum," he drowsily mewls, fucking himself into you like it's where he belongs.

His body is clammy against yours, stamina impressive but dwindling. His thrusts are getting sloppy, and so are his kisses, but you kind of love it like this; Jungkook so out of control he isn't even trying to keep a pace anymore. The rhythm of your body beneath his, the way he fits inside of you, how soft and warm your tits are as they pillow against his chest, it's all too much for him.

He's so deep he's practically kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock, and yet he still hooks your leg over his elbow. He needs to be deeper.

"Gonna make me cum so much. You want that, huh? Wanna be the reason I cum?" he grunts, and then his words become needy. "Tell me you want it, doll. Tell me."

He licks into your mouth, toying with your tongue before you even get a chance to respond.

"Don't want it," you pant, his harsh thrusts interrupting your words. He's about to be offended, all needy and pouty while he's buried inside you, but you're biting down on your lip and - oh, god - he's obsessed. "Need it. Cum for me. Want it so bad."

He smiles against your cheek as his hips move languidly between your legs. One of his hands comes down to your hip to help him control himself, but he can't. Not when he can feel you smiling, too. He laughs a little, soft and mellow against your skin - and when you do the same thing back, Jungkook knows he's absolutely done for.

"I'm gonna-" he rasps, unable to finish his sentence. "Where? Where do you want me?"

You don't say anything, just tighten the grip of your legs around his waist. You're a fucking mess, mentally, physically. He's ruined you in every sense of the word.

"Sure?"

"Sure," you pant against his skin, before repeating your earlier claim. "Need it. Need you."

It's a lie. You don't. You barely know him - but you feel so in tune, so aligned, when he's inside you that it feels like your pussy is the only place his cum deserves to be. It'd be wasted on your tits (though Jungkook would definitely disagree).

"God," he groans. "Don't say shit like that."

Jungkook has severely underestimated just how much of a little bitch you can be.

"Like what?" you pout as his thrusts get even sloppier, his skin slapping against yours. "What can't I say? How much I need you?"

He curses your name, lips showering you in pretty kisses. His tongue finds its home inside your mouth, but it's just an attempt to shut you up. A pretty good one, in all fairness. The way his studs feel against your tongue has you dripping around the base of his cock.

You can hear it; Jungkook slipping in and out of your soaked pussy like you're fire and he's ice.

"Need you," you simper again, just to fuck with him a little more. "Need to feel you fill me up."

"You want it that bad, huh?"

He pulls himself back a little, sitting up on his heels, holding onto your hips as he fucks himself into you. Your tits pillow on your chest, bouncing in time with his thrusts, hypnotising him, almost. You're smiling as your forearms cover your eyes, a little shameful of being caught in such a compromising position, but loving it nonetheless.

"Looking a little shy, there," he says, but his tone is so low it almost sounds like a growl. You pull your arms away, and he's amazed that you can still manage to raise a brow and throw him a pissed off glare even when he's balls deep in you. Truth be told, it just makes him want you even more. He's fond as he smiles at you. "There she is."

Even if you can't fake your orgasms for him, you can still fake annoyance.

"You gonna cum, or what?" You sigh, and then he's laughing, sinking back down, elbows either side of your head as he kisses you. "All men do is lie."

"Not gonna cum," he says, and you're right - it is a lie. "Just gonna keep fucking you forever."

"I have work tomorrow."

"Fuck if I care," he sinks his tongue back into your mouth, briefly, just to remind you who's really in control here. "Said I'll fuck you forever, so forever it is."

There's a bell chiming in your tummy, and you're not able to convince yourself that it's just another building orgasm. It's still him, though, in a round about way.

"We're not allowed to bring our pets to work," you deadpan. "No can do."

Jungkook stops thrusting, and pulls his head back, almost to look at you in disbelief. He's smiling, and he's so desperately turned on that his balls fucking hurt, but he's never been more perplexed in bed. You're equal parts a siren and a little shit.

You're grinning too, pleased to have rendered him speechless. "What is it, huh? Cat got your tongue?"

He smirks, now. "Nah. Not yet. But it will."

And then he's back at it, hips erratic, building such a pace that you can't even think, let alone come out with some dumb remark.

"Still need it, huh?" He recites your words back to you, voice raspy and hushed, so close it feels like his body could give out at any second. He's edging himself, trying to make it last just a little bit longer, but it's so wet, and you're so fucking tight, and he's throbbing, and grunting and - fuck - it's so fucking good he might just die.

"You're gonna look so pretty when I fill you up," he moans, before correcting himself. "Already pretty. So fucking pretty."

His hips slap against yours, once, twice, and then it's happening.

He buries himself in you, body tense as a shiver runs down his spine. Your nails dig into his back, a hushed whine escaping from his mouth and getting lost in your hair.

His cock unloads thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy, coating you with the very essence of everything that he is. It's overindulgent and unrestrained. Fuck if it isn't the most full you've ever felt, ropes of thick cum spurting into you like he was built to fucking breed.

He pumps himself gently inside you for a moment or so, just to ease the remainder of his hot cum into you. The sound is lewd as he adjusts, his job very much done.

Neither of you speak for a moment, hedonism taking heed. The way his heart beats in his chest is unlike anything you've ever felt before. In fact, you're almost in a state of shock, and so is he.

Only for a moment, though. He's not actually done yet.

Your first orgasm was cute - but there's no way he's letting you see him that pathetic, that weak, without making sure you end up in the exact same state.

He presses a few kisses to your damp neck, laughing softly. "Get what you wanted?"

Looking at you, brown eyes all big and sparkling, he pulls his torso back up, ass resting on his heels, before checking the state of his cock as he withdraws himself.

You're smiling as you watch him stare at where the pair of you meet with such devotion that it's hard not to feel a little enamoured with him. Even if it is just a casual fuck.

"Got what I wanted." Your voice is light and airy, like you're a Disney princess waking up from centuries of slumber. Might not have had true loves kiss, but you bet none of them has ever had a fuck like Jungkook.

You pout a little when he finishes pulling out, sad to have lost the feeling of fullness. He catches your expression, and smiles.

"Cute," he says a little mindlessly, articulating a thought that wasn't meant to be shared.

"Shut up," you reply, embarrassed, but he doesn't mind. Not in the slightest. In fact, he loves that you didn't want him to leave. Kind of wishes that he could have kept his cock buried inside you, instead.

But Jungkook is a man of convictions, and a firm believer that he'll simply die if he can't eat you out.

You sort of think the moment has passed, that it was something he said in the heat of the moment. Figure now he's orgasmed, he's finished - but Jungkook is an endurance athlete, not a sprinter. There's still a hurdle left to jump.

He presses your legs apart so that he can look at you. Your hole is creamy and fucked out, his load slowly seeping out of you with every beat of your heart. His fingers dip just beneath your entrance, collecting his cum on them, before he pushes it back into you. He doesn't look at you, just your cunt, as he says, "told you you'd look pretty full of my cum."

The way he's staring at you, like a man who hasn't eaten for days being presented with a three course meal, has you feeling all hot and bothered.

You're satisfied. The sex you just had was enough. More than enough - but you're getting weak at the knees again, his desire infectious. You can't remember a time you've ever wanted someone as badly as you want him. Not for any deeper reason than the selfish fact that he makes you feel good. It's pure lust, no romance about it.

His fingers continue to push his cum into you, stroking up and down your walls, applying just enough pressure to let you know he's there.

He moves his body back, keeping his fingers snug inside you - and then he lowers his body, just a couple of inches from you. His breath feels cold against the slick wetness covering your pussy.

"Also told you I wanted to eat you," he adds, as if you need reminding.

His spare hand strokes down the inside of your thigh before it reaches your hot core, and he begins to toy with your pussy. He spreads your lips open, just like he did your legs, and then he's studying you. Figuring out ways he can get your squirming.

The first initial contact is brief; the tip of his tongue licking across the top of your clit. A parched moan escapes your lips, and he smiles. "There?"

"There," you moan, eyes closed, head pushed back into his pillows.

He does it again, tongue a little flatter, a little firmer. You feel his piercing against you this time, smooth and hard. Your clit is snug between the two studs, like it was made to be there. He does it again. Wetter, deeper. And again. Slower, harder - and then his speed builds.

He licks up and down across your clit, rolling it beneath his tongue, once, twice- and then you lose count, so lost in ecstasy that all you can think about is his tongue lapping at your cum-filled cunt, plugged with his fingers.

Occasionally, he sucks gently on your clit, just to earn a little extra moan from you. It works every single time.

You're leaking around his fingers at this point, so close to cumming again that it's impossible to keep your legs open. He feels the pressure of your thighs against his head, and it only serves to encourage him. His speed builds, both his tongue and his fingers meeting with your pussy at such divine speeds that you're sure you'll cum in such an undignified manner that'll he'll perhaps regret his choices.

As your muscles begin to tense, his head in a literal death grip, he smiles, dimples deep and lips pretty against your pussy. Jungkook is utterly enthralled with how it feels to have his face between your thighs.

He keeps his eyes closed, letting himself experience the sensations of your body completely unadulterated. If he could see you, he'd be so obsessed with the view that he might not savour you in the way that he wants to. He wants to taste you, to smell you, to feel how soft and warm you are. If he wasn't obsessed before (which he was), then he definitely is, now.

The pressure builds, his tongue lapping against you, one of your hands tangled in his messy blonde hair, the other holding one of your boobs for a little moral support.

You're too far gone to even let him know you're about to come undone all over again. He knows, though. He can feel you pulsing, and then you're gasping, and panting, and mewling and fuck, he loves the way you sound.

Your muscles throb as he brings you to orgasm. It's so undignified that you're certain you'll never cum like this again. Your abdomen flexes involuntarily, making sure your orgasm is signed, sealed, delivered to you. He pushes your legs apart again, glancing up towards you as he licks one final stripe up your exposed mess.

You ignore the slick on his fingers that's now coating your thigh as he spreads them apart, too busy with the fact his chin is soaked, hair a mess, nose blushed. He's watching your entrance seep; a mixture of himself and you.

It's hard to know what belongs to who, but as he dips down and licks it up with the tip of his pointed tongue, the ownership is clear. It doesn't matter whose is whose, because your pussy belongs to him, now.

It's all his.

He gathers the creamy slick on his tongue, and then he pulls on your hand to encourage you into a sitting position.

You're putty in his hands, doing whatever he tells you, which is albeit very little. In fact, he doesn't say anything - just looks at your lips, then your eyes, and clasps your jaw.

He opens his mouth and pools his tongue, letting the mess that you've both made sit prettily in his mouth, dancing over his studs. He nods gently, moving his thumb from your jaw to your pillowy bottom lip, pressing down on it.

Open.

He's insatiable. Wants his cum on your tongue, but wants yours on his, too.

You spread your lips apart, eyes exclusively on his. Your tongue flicks against his thumb.

And then you nod.

Please.

Jungkook is slow in his approach, tentative as he holds your jaw, bringing your closer to him. His tongue licks into your mouth, swiping against yours, swapping his cum between the pair of you. It's a languid exchange, slow and sensual, neither of you caring for the boundaries that are being crossed.

He pulls away from you, hand gripping your jaw again. You open your mouth instinctively, just like he wants you to. Neither of you pay any attention to his phone, which is flashing on the floor next to his bed.

Spit gathers in his mouth, rinsing himself of the pair of you as he draws you closer to him, your mouth still resting open. He spits directly into it. You whimper a little as he does so, his grip on your jaw keeping your mouth open for him to observe just how messy it is; all thanks to him.

"Swallow," he tells you, easing his grip, and so you do.

Lips closed, you swallow everything; his spit, his cum, your cum, all of it. When he grips your jaw again, you know the drill, but it doesn't stop him from commanding you.

"Open."

He's pleased when you do, mouth all pretty and clean for him to ruin again - but instead, he just kisses you softly, hands on your cheeks, pushing your bodies back down into his sheets. There's a tenderness to the way in which he touches you; as if he realises you sacrificed a little dignity for him, so he's trying to restore it.

He's hard again - had never really softened, in all honesty - but he's too sensitive to do anything about it.

"Stay," he mumbles against your lips. Your hands are in his hair, keeping him close, as your legs wrap around his waist. "Stay the night. Wanna wake up to this."

You moan into his lips. His cock is firmly pressed into your stomach, his naked body warm against yours.

There's something about the weight of his body, the firmness of his muscular chest against the soft pillow of your own, that is unrivalled by any other sleeping arrangement you could think of.

And despite knowing exactly what he's saying, and being far too skeptical to think he means anything other than sex, you still choose to toy with him a little.

"Wake up to what?" You purr into his lips, aware that your hips are languidly rolling against him again.

He kisses down your neck, laughing softly to himself. His smile vibrates against your skin, and, for a moment, it's your favourite feeling in the whole entire world.

"To you."

You're pretty sure he can feel the way your pulse skips a beat in your neck. But again, you're difficult. And this arrangement definitely isn't anything more than just sex.

"You mean to my pussy, right?"

He presses pretty little kisses back up your neck, along your jaw and into your lips. They're cute. Kind. Romantic, even.

"Oh, a hundred percent," he grins against your lips, and then you're laughing too.

"You're so mean," you pout, as if you weren't the one to put the words into his mouth. There's a dimple etched into his cheek, eyes all hazy and sparkling as he shakes his head. He thinks you look adorable when you pout. So damn cute. He steals another kiss, and protests.

"Made you cum twice," Jungkook says, and has the audacity to scrunch his nose, acting all cute and shit. You're embarrassed, bringing your hands from his hair to cover your face, which you just know is flaming red. "I think that's actually pretty nice of me."

He pulls one of your hands away from your face, and kisses your knuckles. His smile matches yours - because while yes, you're embarrassed, you're still riding the post-fuck high, too.

"You also spat in mouth," you remind him, and then he's cringing. Jekyll and Hyde have nothing on Jungkook when it comes to him and, well, him in bed. "That's not very nice."

He covers his eyes with his hands, but his teeth are still on show, smile prevailing. "Shut up."

And then he's kissing you again, 'cause fuck it, he just can't stop himself.

It's been a while since he last got like this. In fact, he probably hasn't been this giddy post-fuck since he was a teenager. He's normally in the shower by this point, ridding himself of whoever he's been inside - but he doesn't have the compulsion to do that with you.

He knows that when he breaks from the spell you've cast upon him, he'll be back to reality. The fairy dust will settle on the ground like ashes, and the magic that once was will become nothing but malice.

There's a bridge to be crossed.

Jungkook has been fixing it up - repairing the cracks, making it sturdy - but he's not sure he wants what's on the other side, anymore. Not when you're in his bed, not when he can feel your chest wobble with every little laugh you do, and not when your nails are tenderly scratching at his scalp.

See, he likes being on this side of the bridge. Likes being with you.

But if he doesn't cross it, the trolls beneath it will inevitably come for him.

And so he asks you to stay again, but this time he says it like he means it.

"I want you to stay with me," he speaks quietly, rolling off of you and curling up beside you, reaching for the duvet that ended up at the end of his bed. He brings it back over your bodies, as if he's locking you in. You have to stay now.

You turn to face him, curling up too, mirroring him. Your fingers delicately tuck strands of his beautiful blonde hair behind his ear, ignoring the way his eyes are focused on you. Instead, you watch your hand as it moves, curiously touched by the fact he wants you to stay. You don't peg him as guy who often wants a girl to stay.

You're right to assume that.

Right to assume that he normally doesn't do this.

One night stands? Yeah, sure. He's had a handful - but never at his place. He doesn't like inviting people back to his apartment. It feels too personal. He likes being able to leave. He doesn't do the whole waking up together thing - no matter how much he likes morning sex (of which he does ( a LOT)).

But Jungkook's thinking about that bridge again.

He's thinking about the fact he knows shouldn't be at home right now.

He's thinking about the fact that you should be at home right now.

He's thinking about the fact his phone is on silent, and that Namjoon is probably cursing him out on voicemail right now.

But then you kiss him, and for a moment, he forgets again.

"I get grouchy when I'm hungover," you warn him, giving him an out, just in case he wants to retract his offer.

"Mhmm," he hums, pulling you into his chest. Your legs intertwine as he squeezes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You're grouchy when you're not hungover."

You laugh, cheeks plump and full, resting right where his heart is pumping a little faster than usual.

"You're lucky you're a good fuck, or else I'd be out of that door ASAP."

It's a lie, and you both know it.

"Thank god for my cock," he says, grinning like an absolute twat.

He decides that he's still really drunk. It's the only way to explain how his body feels all disjointed but perfectly together at the same time.

"Thank god for your cock."

────────────

You're still awake as the sun begins to rise. He's mumbling, saying something about how a town in Alaska has a cat for a mayor, while your head rests on his bare chest.

He's a little clammy, the smell of sex stuck to him. Neither of you have showered yet. You enjoy the way your bodies are a little sticky, skin on skin, as if you're made for his bed; for him.

Every now and again, his hands roam out of the realm of safety, and you find your breath hitching, toes curling, lips parting. It's always accompanied by the sound of an airy smirk from Jungkook.

You learn that he's obsessed with your chest. Your tits, more specifically. So pillowy, so soft. A gift bestowed upon you from Venus herself, he thinks, or at least he would, if he knew who Venus was.

He just wants to hold them forever. In his hands, in his mouth, he doesn't care. He'll put his dick between them too, eventually. Another time. He's too sensitive right now. But definitely one day, and definitely soon.

A little sunlight pours in, and you watch speckles of dust as they dance around in the air. When he laughs, soft and serene in the hazy atmosphere of a post-fuck come down, it's nice. You imagine that you'd quite like to do this again. You hope he feels the same.

"Just think it's funny," he says, toying with your fingers. "How a cat can do a better job than fully grown men."

"Pussy power," you smile, and so does he, before he presses a kiss into your hair. It still smells like gasoline and he still thinks it's the sexiest thing in the world. It's funny, 'cause if you knew it smelt that way, you'd feel insecure about it. It's why he doesn't mention it. Doesn't want you withdrawing from his touch.

He nestles down, shifts his naked body beneath his duvet but keeps you close. His legs interlock with yours and his lips find a home on the curve of your shoulder. "I'm really glad you said yes."

The comment seems out of the blue, but it's not. Your thoughts have been echoing in his mind, too. It sounds a lot like vulnerability. To him, it feels more like he's laying down a safety net. Making his intentions clear. Doesn't want you second-guessing. Not this, at least. He knows the way you like to theorise.

"You didn't really give me a choice," you rib, as if that chime isn't back in your diaphragm.

He squeezes you tightly. "Don't say that. You could have said no."

You shuffle down, tilt your head, and press a kiss into his chest, just between his pecks. Sweet like honey, your lips trail across, placing delicate kisses in pride of place.

His firm muscle; one, two. His dark nipple; a flick of your tongue, one, two. Just above his beating heart; one, two, three.

Your lips feather across his collarbone and land where tattoo leaks ever so slightly onto the top of his chest. You sign the art with your kisses like the ultimate thief. Stolen. Yours, now.

"You'd have still shown up regardless."

And you're right, he would have done.

Not for any grand romantic gesture, nor to coerce you into something you didn't want. He's just got a job to do, that's all.

He doesn't respond, but you don't really notice.

By the time you're dressed and leaving his apartment, the 503 is running. He offers to pay for your fare, but you tell him that it's fine, and hop on the bus as if your insides don't burn. It's been a while since you had a workout that vigorous.

There are a few old women and a middle-aged man in a business suit taking the same journey as you.

Your cheeks flush crimson when you start to think about the ache in the pit of your stomach, right beneath that little chime that likes to ding every now and again. That feeling? The one that made you quietly gasp as you sat down? That's Jungkook.

The acknowledgement ruminates. It's insidious. Has you feeling all dirty.

You wonder if they know. The people on the bus, the one's sat around you. They couldn't possibly know, not really, but you brood over the notion that you give off an aura; one that says you've just been fucked by the most beautiful man you've ever laid eyes upon.

You wonder if the old ladies glance at you and long for the days when they'd go home with strangers.

You wonder if the middle-aged man is responding to the pheromones you're releasing without realising it, cock a little plump in his pants.

It's a morbid curiosity, but one that makes you feel all hot, and sticky, and sordid. Makes you feel good, too. A little dangerous. A little bit like you wanna get off the 503 and leg it back to Jungkook's place.

It has you reaching for your phone, pulling up kakaotalk and clicking through on your most recent contact. There's still a message at the top of your thread, warning about spam, or fraud, or whatever it is. You don't read it. Too busy typing away.

You're about to press send on a poorly thought out message when your phone vibrates in your palm. You pause. Cringe. Are aware that Jungkook will have seen how quickly you read his own message that's just come through to you.

꾹: i wanna do that again.

You: the galbi or the sex?

꾹: both.

꾹: mainly the sex, though.

꾹: the galbi i can take or leave.

Your legs press together, and realise you're squirming in your seat. It's subtle, but anyone who's looking at you must know.

You: funny, im the opposite.

You: id die for the galbi.

You: sex was alright.

꾹: wow, a glowing review.

꾹: can i add it to my tinder profile?

Like fuck you can, you think to yourself. If he's still active on tinder after the night you had together, you'll do the reasonable thing and learn witchcraft just so you can hex him. You tell yourself you're just joking, but honestly, the idea is tempting.

You: uh-huh.

You: you can put it right beneath a bullet point where you let them know how much you like eating your own cum :)

꾹: technically, you ate it.

꾹: i just delivered it :)

You: thank you for your services.

꾹: any time.

You: tonight?

꾹: please.

And so he arrives at the gas station just before nine, hood up, angelic strands of blonde hair tickling over his eyes. He's got a mask on, like he usually does, a black turtle neck resting prettily around his throat. An earth-toned flannel shirt peeks out from the bottom of his jacket, where the hem meets a pair of black jeans. He has a charm about him that makes the world stop turning for a moment when you first look at him.

He's not really sure how to greet you. With a kiss? A high five? Neither of these seems like a good idea, so he just does an awkward half-bow, which leaves cringing.

"Just gotta cash up," you smile from behind the kiosk. "You walked?"

He shakes his head. "Parked around the corner again. Didn't wanna block the forecourt."

It's a reasonable enough excuse, even if a little weird. You finish what you're doing, cash up, give Jieun the keys (and ignore the way she's grinning at you) and then toss your jacket over your shoulders. He walks beside you as you leave the store, popping your hood up again just like he did the night before. "It's windy."

The forecast said it would rain, too, but Jungkook doesn't know this. Doesn't actually give a shit about the weather. Just needs excuses to put your hood up.

"So I've been thinking," he says as you make your way to the side lane.

"Dangerous," you quip, but he ignores it - though he does nudge you a little. You let your body move in accordance with his, swaying back into him slightly. Like a swinging pendulum, you're about to recoil, but Jungkook's arm drapes around your shoulders, keeping you close. The scent of his clothes is a mix of fresh cotton and WD-40. It makes you laugh, how much a walking juxtaposition he really is.

"I've been thinking," he reinforces, and pauses just in case you're planning on interrupting again - but you don't. You want to hear his thoughts. All of them. No matter how big or small. "What if... What if we skip the sex tonight?"

You don't respond immediately, walking around to the passenger's side of his car. He clicks down on his key, opening up the locks. The lights flood your features, illuminating you in warm hues, reds and oranges, as if to send Jungkook a warning: she's dangerous.

"Skip the sex?" You raise a brow, ignoring the butterfly atrium that has spontaneously constructed beneath your ribs. "You lured me here under false pretences, Mr Gimbap."

He doesn't question the nickname. Figures he'll find out its origins this evening. After all, all he wants to do is talk.

Talk about you, where you come from, where you plan on going. He wants to know more; what makes you tick, your favourite chocolate bar wrapper joke, if you really meant what you said about not fucking on first dates. Wants to know if he's special. Wants to know if he gets to you the same way you do to him.

He'll ask you about your favourite Shakespeare play, and he'll hope that you'll say Romeo & Juliet. It's the only one he's read.

You'll tell him that it's not a representation of love, and he'll say he knows. He doesn't - he just won't want you to think that he bases his idea of romance on such ill-fated endeavours. Thinks it's about stars-crossing, illicit affairs, love that prevails. Shit like that.

He isn't really sure what it all means, but he's seen the Baz Luhrmann adaptation, and that's enough.

You'll say that Romeo is an ass, and he'll feign offence and tell you that you'll never be his Juliet. It'll earn him a laugh from you. That's fine; you never wanted to be her.

You're a Beatrice in search of her Benedict, after all - and the way that the pair of you bicker, it seems like you might have just found him - even if he does think he's a Romeo. Twat.

"I didn't," he laughs in response to your earlier statement. "I just like to know the girls I'm sticking my dick in, that's all."

"Ohh, romance," you whistle through pursed lips, throwing him a coy smile.

He nods towards the buckle by your seat and tells you to do the belt up, as his key turns in the ignition. There's a small rumble, his exhaust rattling as fumes begin to bluster around the end of the pipe. He's listening again, revving the engine ever so gently, foot on the throttle.

The way he cares for his motor makes you laugh. He's so temperate, so careful - but you know he abuses the engine like no tomorrow whenever he races it. He treats it almost as if it's a racehorse; something with actual feelings.

You do as you're told, clicking the belt into place, and remind him to do the same.

"The girls?" You question as he passes you the aux. "Multiple?"

There's a static click as you plug it into your phone, before your playlist starts up again. His hands move like machines, smooth and automatic as he slips into first gear.

"The girls," he echoes, eyes flicking up to the rear-view mirror, and then over his shoulder to check the blind spots, before easing onto the main road.

"Charming," you say dryly.

It's not like you hadn't assumed this already. You had already decided that he at least had a friend with benefits lurking about (even if she had become too clingy (actually, no, especially if she had become too clingy)).

You'd figured that it was where he had been on the night that he was a no show - but then he'd shown up all apologetic and shit. You had let his innocent eyes win your skeptical mind over.

"Guys aren't really my thing," he follows up, sensing your discomfort. He knows he's beating around the bush, not giving you the answer that you want - and he also knows that you're getting in your head about it. Knows you'll be questioning what he means, and if he's sleeping with anyone else. He'd be within his right to. You barely know each other. Where he sticks his dick isn't really any of your business. "And I'm hardly a virgin, am I?"

"Gasp," you say. "You're not?! Could have fooled me."

He's smiling again.

You like how much he does that around you. Wonder if he's like that around other girls, too.

"Was I really that bad?" He flirts.

Jungkook knows how to fuck. He's been given enough positive reviews to know that he's anything but bad. Although... he kinda is. But in a good way. In the way that you want him to be bad.

"I've had better."

Liar.

"Ouch," he laughs as he presses down on his indicator for the next left. "Guess I'll just have to keep practising."

City lights cascade over the pair of you as his car rolls through the quiet streets, splintering like refractions of a mirror ball. He hates that he has to keep his eyes on the road. Wants to drink in the way you look almost as much as he wants to drink up the way you taste again. The night is dark, the moon hiding behind a fluffy cloud that looks like charcoal cotton candy beneath its radiant light. Jungkook loves nights like these; likes them even better with you in his passenger seat.

Green flashes over your features as he passes beneath a traffic light. You cross your legs, adjusting your posture. It's so subtle that you don't even realise you're doing it - but Jungkook does.

"On your other girls?"

There she is, he thinks. It's what he's been waiting for. Confirmation that the idea of him fucking other girls irritates you. He reaches across and taps your knee. He enjoys the predictability of you.

You resist the gentle nudge of his hand, the pads of his thumb and fingers resting on your kneecap. Your legs remain crossed, just as his hand remains on your knee. The stretch of road you're on is straight, requiring no gear change for a little while. He can play this game, if you really want him to.

"No," he says. There's pressure beneath his fingertips now. "Be a waste of time, wouldn't it? Everyone's different. If I wanna get better at fucking you, specifically, then I gotta keep fucking you."

He's not wrong. You can't fault his logic, and in all honesty, the way he's talking is so abrasive, so raw, that it's got you feeling all hot and bothered again. He may as well be stroking your pussy, not your knee, with the impact he's having on you.

His grip tightens, then pulls your knee back over. Commanding, not requesting. Your legs part for him, because of course they do. There's something about knowing he has options, knowing that he could be with someone else, but is choosing to be with you that gives you a little ego boost.

"Maybe I've changed my mind," you feign indifference, but Jungkook knows there's a handful of feelings beneath your words. "Maybe I don't wanna fuck you anymore."

He strokes his broad palm along the inside of your thigh. It's warm, wrapped in the sheer nylon cover of tights, and he'd obsessed with the way they feel. So smooth, so soft, so perfectly pristine. He wonders if you're making a mess of them. Hopes you are.

"I don't like maybes," he says. "Either you wanna fuck me or you don't."

"I don't like fucking boys who fuck other girls."

"Who said I was fucking other girls?" he smirks, and lets his hand trail a little further up. He squeezes the flesh of your thigh, getting a feel for you.

"You did."

"No," he corrects. "I said I've fucked other girls. Past tense. Never said I'm currently fucking other girls. You really gotta stop making assumptions, little Miss Clutch Control."

"I hate you," you say with a smile, and you really do mean it.

"I like girls who hate me. Makes the sex so much hotter."

"Despise you."

"Ugh," he grins, as he lets his hand reach the top of your thigh. He squeezes again, and you hum a little moan for him. "Doesn't sound like you hate me."

You giggle, soft and serene in the safety of his car. Reaching a junction, he pulls his hand back to change gear. You're at a four-way intersection, the light only just hitting amber, so he reckons he has a least a couple of minutes to toy with you.

When his hand returns to your thigh, just like you hoped it would, it's beneath your skirt. Right at the top. Right where it belongs. The pressure beneath his palm is firm, fingers sinking into the softness of your leg.

"But I do," you say, voice quiet, anticipation lacing your breath.

His pinky finger stretches out a little, just to stoke over the mound that rests between your legs. He can already feel the heat, but what surprises him - and excites him - is the slick that's seeped through your panties and onto the outer side of your tights.

"Doesn't feel like you hate me, either."

"No?" You toy. "Feel again."

And so he does. He points his index and middle finger, and holds them flat against you. They're instantly met with a slippery mess. He slides them up and down, once, twice, three times, and then cups your pussy with his palm. You're fucking pulsing in his touch.

"See?" You speak as if you don't wanna whine his name. "Loathe you."

"So you do," he mumbles as he presses his palm tight against you, inhaling sharply as he does so. One glance at his lap and you can tell he's just as turned on as you are. His cock is solid beneath his trousers, jeans tight, keeping him concealed. Part of you feels a little bad. Looks painful. He's too big to be confined by such unforgiving material.

"Still wanna skip the sex?"

Jungkook presses in index finger against where he can feel your entrance is. You're so wet that his fingers are already coated in everything that you are. He wants more. Wants your tights gone. Wants his fingers inside you.

But he's a stubborn asshole, and hates being proven wrong.

"Sex?" he pulls his fingers back, and rests the heel of his palm on the top of his steering wheel. They're covered in your juices. He considers licking them clean, but figures that might be a bit too brash - and then thinks fuck it, and does it anyway. There's a sweetness to your taste, one that has him holding back a moan. Absolutely fucking divine. You don't even realise that you're staring at his hands - the way they sink into his mouth - until he pulls them back out. He looks at you. Shrugs. "Yeah. Not really in the mood."

"Thank god," you say, not skipping a beat. Even when your need to fuck him is so intense that it manifests into a physical form and leaks onto his passenger seat, you're still able to bicker with him. It satisfies him like nothing else. Makes his cock so hard. "Me either."

The light turns to green, his hand is back on his gear stick. You stick to looking out the window, not favouring looking at him. The temptation to palm his crotch is overwhelming, but you're just as stubborn as he is. If you've said you don't wanna fuck, then you're damn well gonna act like you don't wanna fuck, until you simply can't take it anymore.

"Glad we agree," he says. "So let's talk."

You half wonder if this was his plan all along. You actually do think you hate him - but only cause he makes you feel weak. You don't enjoy that feeling, but you enjoy him.

"I'm an open book," you lie.

He flicks his eyes to the rearview and mutters under his breath, "shit."

"What is it?" you glance over your shoulder, noticing a pair of headlights flashing Jungkook. You can't make the car out. Its lamps are on full-beam. Blinding.

Jungkook leans over, the fingers that had been stroking against your pussy now pressing down into your buckle. There's a click as it releases, before he moves down and pulls up on the lever by the front of your seat, dragging you forward.

"Get in the back," he says, as if he isn't still driving. You go to question him, but he cuts you off. "In the back. Now. Middle seat."

You stare for a second, until he glances over to you, jaw tense, with no hint of a smile. "Don't argue with me, now. Middle seat. C'mon."

"Kook-"

"Now."

And as unsafe as it feels, you find yourself twisting, hands gripping onto the back of the passenger seat as you bring your legs up to crouch.

"Quickly, babe," he says, his hand reaching over to tap your ass gently. Your back is to the windshield, and Jungkook's terrified that the fucker behind him isn't gonna wait for a respectable start - but he's also anxiously aware of the fact he isn't explaining himself to you, and that it's gonna make you hesitant. "Please. Trust me."

And so you do. You wobble a little as your leg dips over the centre console, his hand still on your ass to keep you stable.

"That's it," he encourages. You make your way into the back, a little squeal as you leap soundtracking the move. "Seat belt. Now."

The leather of the backseat is cold against your tight-covered thighs, legs pressed together, feet firmly on the raised centre of the footwell. You do as you're told, all rather quickly.

"Hands on the seats," he tells you again, and you don't question it, even though it's all that you want to do. There's a time and a place for bickering with him, and while it's the perfect place, the urgency of his commands suggest that now isn't the right time. You grip onto the seats in front of you, and Jungkook reaches up to feel your hand, just to make sure it's where he wants it. His hand is clammy and warm, safe against yours. He lingers for a second, not wanting to lose the way your feel against his skin. "Hold tight."

He slows to a near stop, and you almost laugh when you realise where you are. That fucking bridge, again. The car behind you pulls up beside him, but it's hard to make it out through his back windows. They're so intensely tinted that all you can figure out is the rough shape. "Is that-"

"Yep," he cuts you off, knowing what you'll ask. "Car from the last time. It's cool. I got this. I will warn you, though, he's a little pissed with me at the moment."

"A little?"

You can hear the engine revving. Sounds more than just a little pissed.

"We're friends. It's okay."

Friends is a loose description. It would have been the right term, once. Jungkook thinks of him more as a colleague these days. A pain in his ass.

"Doesn't sound very friendly."

"I'ma need you to be quiet, babe," he says, voice soft. He isn't trying to be rude, he just needs to concentrate. Needs to win this. Needs to get Namjoon off his back. Needs to get you away from, well, here.

"Noted."

Jungkook watches the lights. It's how races like these work; the impromptu kind that first got him acquainted with Namjoon. They wait for the lights to shift, throttle teasing on amber, rubber-burning on green.

His gaze is on the lights and the lights only. The leather binding of his wheel almost squeaks as he grips against it, shoulders rolling back ever so slightly. Glancing over to the black SsangYong, he nods, and then his eyes are back on the lights. The lack of a flagger has never bothered them. In fact, Jungkook prefers racing without one. Fewer variables. Less chance of things going wrong. He knows the time of the lights. Trusts them. Trusts his muscle memory to do the hard work for him.

You can feel that chime in your stomach again - but it's different this time. It's a warning bell. The kind that tells you to get out of the situation you're in. Fat fucking chance.

There's a purr as the lights flicker into amber, Jungkook's rev count building. The sound of the SsangYong rips through the windows, letting you know just how powerful it is. Ain't no way Jungkook's fucking Pony is beating it. His grip adjusts, foot sinking further down onto his throttle. He builds it, 2, 3, 4 - and then the light is green.

The way Jungkook moves is as if he's at one with his car.

His movements are slick, well-oiled.

There's no hesitation, just an innate understanding of what needs to be done. His car tears from the starting line, and you forget all about the SsangYong he's racing.

It's hard to think about anything at all, in all honesty. Hard to comprehend the speed he's built so quickly; the control he has. There's a rush pulsing through you that you haven't felt since, well, ever. You don't enjoy racing, not really. You hate it whenever Yoongi rags his car about, but you trust him.

And you find yourself trusting Jungkook, too.

Maybe it's because you've already seen him tame his car when it's been out of control, or maybe it's because you've already trusted him with your body, so what difference does your life make?

His tyres are almost silent, moving at such a pace that there's no chance for anything to reverb. He grunts a little, pushing the car up to fifth, building, building and then -

"Corner," he braces you.

You're pretty certain you're going to throw up.

It's a route that Jungkook knows well, just a short circuit, over the bridge, sharp left out along the riverside road until they reach Kang's. Same every time. Hasn't yet thought about what he's gonna do when he gets there. Just knows he has to get there first to buy himself a little time.

He knocks the car into neutral, clutch down, brakes too, and then he's turning the wheel just a little. Not too sharp. Doesn't wanna oversteer. He coasts it round the bend, knowing better than to be in neutral, but he isn't thinking about that right now. He's thinking about the fact that Namjoon's car is fucking faster, and he needs every gain he can get.

Your hands grip into the padding of his seats, desperately trying to stop yourself from toppling over. Elbows locked, it's hard to determine the sheer amount of force you're putting behind your bones.

There's a screech as the tyres burn against the road, no doubt leaving thick black streaks on the tarmac. You're so used to seeing them on your way to work that you never really consider how they get there. Now you know.

He pummels the car forward, knocking it back into third, and then up into fourth. It's a miscalculation. Should have jumped right up into fifth - but he can lament that later.

He corrects his mistake. Strikes it into fifth. Namjoon is trailing. Jungkook has got this.

Eyes hard against the horizon line, Jungkook has no time to think. He flicks his eyes up to the rearview, catching sight of the SsangYong's bonnet. He's miles ahead.

Well, no. Not even a metre - but it may as well be miles. He just needs to keep up this pace.

Foot to the floor, he's tanking it. The shops you dart past become a blur of neon lights, nothing for your eyes to absorb other than the chaos of light beneath a dark sky. In the distance, you see Kang's.

"Shit," he hisses as the light at the intersection ahead begins to flash amber.

"Hold on," he says, as if you've even thought about letting go. Hands clammy from nerves, you adjust your grip. Tighter. So tight, your nails will leave prints in his leather.

He pushes further, further, further, but the lights are flashing quicker, quicker, quicker. "C'mon, beauty. C'mon."

He hits the junction line.

The lights are still amber.

And then he switches from gas to clutch. Easy does it.

Jungkook pulls the handbrake up. Clicks it into place. Pulls the car round with a single hand on his steering wheel.

He has full control over the vehicle as it roars into position right in the middle of the cross-section.

There's a blaring horn sounding behind you - but it's not directed at the Pony.

It's directed at the SsangYong, which has screeched to a halt. The oncoming traffic has been set free, lights fully changed. Jungkook made it just in time.

"He's stuck," you tell Jungkook, head over your shoulder, making sure that the SsangYong hasn't moved. "Can't get past the traffic. You're good."

You expect Jungkook to ease off the throttle, but he doesn't. He takes a sharp right instead, and begins to tunnel down back allies. Right, then left. Then left again, and another right. Takes so many rogue turns that you don't even know which direction you're facing in by the time he comes to a stop. It's been nearly five minutes since you lost the SsangYong - and yet he just won't ease off the gas. Not until he's certain Namjoon isn't lurking in the shadows of his exhaust fumes.

By the time he does eventually stop, his chest is heaving. Breathless.

You're down a back alley, across the other side of town. You don't recognise it.

Pressing down into the buckle, you undo your belt and clamber forward into the passenger seat again, feet up, body facing towards him.

He doesn't look at you for a while. Just stares ahead. Inhale, exhale. You can see his jugular vein beating.

"Hey," you reach out to his wrist, and stroke on his arm gently. He doesn't respond instantly. Just lets his eyes close. It's nice, the way you're so gentle with him, he thinks. So nice. So soothing.

And then his body acts before his mind does. He pulls on your wrist, grip firm, as his other hand pushes down the lever by the front of his seat. Weight on his feet, he pushes himself back, making space for you in his lap.

The way you clamber over the centre console is less than elegant, but he doesn't care. Just needs you on his thighs. Needs to suffocate in the scent of your gasoline tainted hair, and taste the sweetness of your tongue in his mouth. Needs to remember everything that you are, so he can forget who he is.

His hungry lips find yours, a hand in your hair, the other on your cheek.

There's really not enough room, your legs straddled over his, trapped by the door on one side, the gear stick on the other. It's tight and claustrophobic, but he likes it. Likes how ensnared he is by you. Wants to be even more trapped.

He licks against your lips and begs for permission to enter - as if you'd ever refuse. His tongue strokes against yours, the studs you'd (somehow) forgotten about making you whimper. He's rough and aggressive with his kisses, the adrenaline manifesting itself in the form of intimacy.

"I lied," he says breathlessly. "About the sex. I want it. Let me fuck you."

He wants to lose himself in you. Needs to.

"Backseat?" you moan into his lips as he begins to encourage the movement of your hips against his painfully hard crotch.

"Backseat."

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

597 notes · View notes

iiseor · 5 months

Text

Smoke sprite | part 1

Synopsis: maybe your mother cheating on your father wasn't that bad after all.

Cw: idk... reader is described as a first year college student... (semi self insert) kinda wrote reader to be like 19 & Ellie 20 but it doesn't matter age isn't rlly mentioned

4:30pm.

"This is boring huh?" Laila said as she sat down beside you. You squinted to look at her, protecting your eyes from the beaming fire lights. "Insanely boring" you replied.

It had been three months since your life changed drastically. Your mother cheated, divorced your father, married her new boyfriend and moved you to an entirely different state within months. Everything happening so fast, it felt like you never got the opportunity to actually comprehend anything.

Despite the separation of your family, and your now resent fullness towards your mother and step father—there was one thing making it all better, your step siblings.

Laila and jay, your new brother and sister. Unlike you, they were used to having one full parent. Though, just like you, they hated that parent for nearly everything. Because of this, they became your biggest support system and resource for when you needed to get away from your mother—often taking you for drives as your mothers affair ruined your license plans.

And that's how you're here, at a stupid neighborhood fire, in the middle of fall, watching your mother live happily ever after.... despite your misery.

5:00pm.

"Me and jay are going to a party, wanna come?" Laila asked you, still sitting next to you. "Really?" You questioned. "Of course, it'll be cool, you can meet some people for once" she replied, making you laugh. "Idk... I'm kinda still getting settled, and won't our parents notice we're gone all the sudden?" You responded. "Nah, it's all good, just come let's get ready" she added, pulling you up before you could protest

The two of you spent just about a hour getting ready. As Laila figured, your parents didn't once question where you had ran off to, making it easy for you to walk right by them and drive off.

8:00pm.

"Her names y/n" laila told. "Your new girlfriend? You moved on that quick?" one of her guy friends questioned, making you nearly spit out your drink. "No wtf, my step sister idiot, ignore him" she said turning to you, "we're gonna go out and smoke wanna come?" She added.

"Oh uh... I don't smoke" you replied, making laila laugh, thinking you were being sarcastic. "Oh you're frl?" She said as she glanced at you again realizing you were serious. "Yea.... not my thing" you added. "That's alright, we'll go you have fun!" She said pulling her friend away, the faint conversation between them fading out

"You're so stupid" she said, "how was i supposed to know she was your sister" he replied.

11:56pm.

Nearly midnight, and Laila still wasn't back from her smoke session. You had spent almost a hour outside in the cold looking for her, with no luck.

Your anxiety was through the roof as you made your way to the nearest restroom, stopping to ask anyone you could if they've seen her—only getting "nah's" and crazy stares.

you burst through the bathroom door, desperately trying to turn your frozen phone back on, nearly dropping it as you fidgeted with the buttons. Girls clearing out left and right, while you tried your best to not embarrass yourself. Before you could finish trying to get yourself together, something startled you out of the breakdown.

"You good babe?" A raspy voice echoed through your ears as you turned around, your eyes mimicking a deer in the headlights. "You need a charger?" The girl questioned, moving up from against the wall and reaching for your phone. Her hands quickly gracing yours. "Your hands are freezing, run them under some hot water here" she said dragging you towards the sink.

"Do you know Laila" was the only thing you could get out, still trying to bring your breathing back to normal. "I know of her" she chuckled, "why? You her new girlfriend?" She questioned. "No god why does everyone keep saying that" you replied.

"Relax I'm just messing with you" she said. "she just... brought me here and I can't find her anywhere, my phone won't fucking turn on and I don't know how to get home it's too dark" the words spilled out of your mouth, 'it's not her problem' you thought mid ramble. "It's alright love, your hands warm enough now yea?" She laughed at your sudden shift in tone, taking out a pair of mittens from her thin jacket pocket. "Wear these outside" handing them to you. "Thanks" you said—finally making eye contact. 'Of course she has to be fine, the first time I embarrass myself here' you thought on.

"You good now tho? Sounded like you were gonna explode when you came in" she said, caressing the back of your jacket. You paused, studying her for a moment before breaking out of it—afraid she'd think you're a creep. "Yea I'm good, I was just panicking" you said now studying the floor. "You the step sister?" "Laila's new one?" She questioned, you so distracted by her presence — you hadn't even realized she started to guide you out of the washroom and back to the main room. "Hm?" She added looking over at you. "Uh yea" you replied, your tone quiet. "Yea of course she left you here, she doesn't pay attention to shit" she told, "I'll drive you so you don't have to walk in the cold, yea?" She asked. "You know where she lives?" You asked back. "Where you live? Yea" she smirked. "Give me ten, I gotta talk to some people first, sit here" she said guiding you onto a kitchen stool, as if you were incapable of thinking for yourself. "you'll be good?" She looked at you again. "Yea..." you replied. "Alright" she said patting your shoulder.

And unlike Leila, Ellie came right back. talked to some people, came back and took you striaght home as told. "Is the heat warm enough?" She asked, leaning to put her hand over the car vent. "Yea it's good" you replied. "When did you move in? With Laila... I knew her dad started dating again but I didn't know it moved that quick" she questioned. "like three months ago..." you replied, your tone quickly going quiet again as you slouched down in the seat. "You don't like him?" She asked, looking at you through her mirror. "He's fine I guess, I don't mind" you replied, "must suck tho, having to leave everything behind and move in with strangers.. especially ones your age, and having to apply to new colleges and shit, must suck bad" she ranted on, 'tell me about it' you thought to yourself.

"Sorry that was out of line" she added on, noticing your silence. "It's fine, at least someone gets it " you said unbuckling your seatbelt, the awkwardness making the time go by quick. "Let me walk you to the door, it's dark" she said getting out to quickly open the car door. "your phone" she handed to you once you reached the front entrance. "Thanks, and for driving me.. can I repay you?" You questioned, Ellie now being the one to study you. "Yea" she replied looking you up and down, "with what?" You replied, looking back at her wide eyed once again, making her laugh. "Just your number, I'll take you to a real party" she said, "Oh alright.." you hesitently replied—but hesitant enough as she had already handed you a pen and paper. "You just keep this on you at all times?" You asked, as you wrote down your number—cheeks frozen and hands cuddled up in the mittens she had given you. "Comes in handy doesn't it?" She replied, you handing her the paper and rolling your eyes. "I live down the street, it'll be nice to see you around" she added.

"Thanks.. again" you said, looking around the street behind her. "Don't mention it...you should go inside, poor face is frozen" she replied lifting her hand to caress your cheek—eyes meeting for a moment before you broke it. "Yea, it's cold... but thanks again.. see you, later?" You questioned. "Yea, I'll call you, once your phone is unfrozen" she joked, you laughing in return. "Ellie by the way" she practically yelled as she walked down the stairs from your front entrance, "y/n" you yelled back just enough for her to hear, before turning around and going inside—your freezing face not being able to contain your giddiness.

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probablyhuntersmom · 1 year

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It's me again. The therapist/illustrator who can't stop squeaking and screaming about her beloved son Hunter.

I've been thinking nonstop about him finding the terrible grimwalker graveyard, imagining what would be going through my mind if I were him. Sifting through whatever moments, dialogue and frames that I can find from the existing material, along with references outside of the show, to formulate what an offscreen scene would've been like.. (And seeing if I can find editable and salvageable enough backgrounds so I could perhaps even depict this scene one day)

A soul like him who not only wants to help others, but also acquire knowledge:

heading back here to see the graveyard:

You can't tell me that this wouldn't still be on his mind, and he's even anxious while saying this below, scratching his face a little:

Whether he follows up on this or not, also depends on how he looks back on being shown this:

And is he just going to go cold turkey and totally drop these leads he was pursuing in the episodes before the finale? :

Three things prompted me to finally write this post:

@polyhexian's and @ashanimus's analyses of Hunter's fight scenes in Hunting Palismen and Eclipse Lake (links here and here, they're really cool to read!!), based on their years of experience with martial arts. Reading those was a revelation to me because learning about how high Hunter's skill level is, how in touch with his body he is by default, portrayed so well thanks to the crew...that allows me to make far more educated guesses about his mental health in the early stages of the pre-epilogue gap of about 4 years. Because he is so used to high activity and being on high alert, no thanks to having C-PTSD.

Observing how light and free Hunter's expressions are, and how transformed his demeanor became, in the epilogue sequence. That transformation is an indication to me of the magnitude of grief which had to be transformed within him. To be put back together, in order to be so radiant, generous and self-actualized in the epilogue...imagine how much had to be deconstructed and further broken beforehand. He wouldn't have room to fill his life up with all that amazing newness if the old isn't emptied out first.

This psychoeducational video by my fave author, also a practicing therapist, who specializes in traumatic grief: link. Hearing her address the topic of entering the second year after a bereavement vs. the first year, was interesting. Definitely confirms to me that Hunter wouldn't have carved Waffles until past the 2nd year of navigating his bereavement.

In the years that pass before the epilogue, Hunter will not be able to understand why the efforts he puts into all the rebuilding work, coordinating and leading others, and trying to have fun - only cycle back to him experiencing a mix of a restlessness and emptiness in the deepest layer of his mind. It'll exhaust his energy bit by bit. I bet he's going to generally look as tired as depressed Luz does below, even if he's had an acceptable hours of sleep per night:

That restlessness will be an awful psychological itch that he'll be unable to scratch, caused by losing Flapjack and now also Belos. This is the same as what happened with his anger in For the Future, except Belos was still alive back then. It will be harder to understand and messier to navigate the bereavement this time round. It'll be something gnawing into his soul which I really think only professional help can heal, especially since the show promotes that it's okay to not be okay, and more than okay to seek professional help (Steve and Lilith's conversation in Edge of the World).

He will be trying to claw his way out of that C-PTSD pit, but he'll be aware deep down that he simply cannot reach any emotional high points for long, and something will be blocking his feelings of connection with his loved ones. He won't feel nearly as free and easy the way he used to be in the human realm:

Having a routine like he used to in the Castle, and moving around a lot, was what helped him survive. However, he won't have the awareness that the shift resulting from Belos passing away has been at such a fundamental level: to the point that those old, supposedly tried-and-true methods no longer serve him in any positive way. At least, not until his mental health will be back in better shape.

As he puts in more and more effort to escape that restless emptiness, getting annoyed at himself because he doesn't know what's going on...he'll use up the rest of his strength and eventually crash. That itch won't be solved by going back to overworking tendencies, and like how it is with addiction cycles, he would need some kind of fix for the deep restlessness within. The answer? Productivity to feel useful, which we have seen even in his efforts to fix damaged clothing and well, making stuff in general.

Where the grimwalker graveyard comes in is...once he hears news about its existence, he will stubbornly insist to want to help in investigating it, saying he has already read a bunch of books about them, and can be useful, etc. Worse, if his offer to help to investigate is refused, he will do what he did in Eclipse Lake. Go to the location anyway, to fill that deep void within.

Old habits die hard.

I don't know if he may hear from King (who he'll be seeing fairly often, I think!), The Collector or even Kikimora about it. Since they were the three characters who went all the way down there in King's Tide, and The Collector already knew about these horrors for literal centuries. King and The Collector are also still young kids! Will they have the sensitivity and awareness about breaking this news to Hunter?!

On the other hand, I don't know how the timing will be with Darius, Raine and Eberwolf..Darius will want to get serious about investigating his mentor's disappearance. Once the searching and scouring extends to the location of the Head of the Titan, they will find the evidence staring them in the face. If they want to scour every inch of the Isles, there's also a high chance they'll find the godforsaken grimwalker lab.

Worst of all, Darius would be aware by then of how much Hunter loves to help out in operations like this to be productive. At the same time, Darius's own grief will surface even more, I'm not sure he'll be able to hide that, and Hunter is highly observant. If Darius is trying to hide his own priority of finding closure re: his mentor, I think Hunter will sense that.

Therefore I wonder if this will happen except it's Hunter with Darius:

and then this poor beloved skrunkly son of mine, who so famously said these words at the beginning of his arc:

is probably going to get reckless, and endanger his mental health...not unlike moments like this:

by venturing to the graveyard, whether stealthily or accompanying the grownups, because he'll rationalize it as "getting closure" and once again "being useful". Remember how used he is to moving around so much and being active, combined with growing up isolated so that asking for help can still be a foreign concept to him. He would be anxious about grinding to a halt, and he'd want to be on the move instead.

He may demand to see the graveyard, and holy Titan I'm not sure any dilemma will be as tricky for Camila and Darius to navigate as this one. Because preventing him from seeing something he already knows exists is, in a very twisted way, also an unhelpful form of avoidance. Avoidance is a hallmark criterion for diagnosing both PTSD and C-PTSD.

How far do they go in protecting him from himself? Where do they draw that line? They might reach a compromise where Camila and Darius accompany him there. Once he sees it, it'll hit harder than this:

Letting him see it means his new parents would have to fall with him, in the sense that they follow him to that emotional place: but while he figuratively does not have a safety harness when falling into this deep dark hole, Camila and Darius are equipped with harnesses a.k.a. higher maturity, less of a trauma history, and some tools to help him get better, navigate the trauma, and manage his symptoms.

Camila will have the warmth and sensitivity to catch and meet him as he falls (she interacts with animals in her profession, who don't have the capacity for human language, in a similar way to how serious trauma can't even be put into words at times: it makes you voiceless). Darius's shared past living in the Castle and grieving over his mentor will help Hunter not feel as alone once he has seen these horrors.

And because his heart generally became more open to receiving love and support,

I doubt he'll close himself off almost completely, the way he did in the first two-thirds of For the Future (god, remember these deleted storyboards??):

It wouldn't surprise me if he weeps and panics as soon as he sees the graveyard, and his parents give him maximum support through that breakdown. As complicated as it would be for Camila and Darius to give in to his desire to see the graveyard, a response like this from him - a child seeking attachment with proper timing - is a good sign of growing into healthy attachment with parental figures.

It is an arguably better response than one of the hardest aspects of C-PTSD: where the outpouring of grief only happens after a delay, sometimes a significant delay, at very inconvenient or strange times. Hell...if I were Hunter, I'd probably want Camila and Darius to just hold me close in wordless silence for half an hour until my initial distress and shock passes.

If I use King - a child who is securely attached to Eda, who's definitely had a more stable upbringing - as a control experiment here, he could have the appropriate response immediately in Echoes of the Past and expressed his emotional needs clearly enough:

Whereas this is what Hunter has to now learn, at twice King's age, as he settles in with new parents who take care of him instead of mistreating him the way Belos did. Hell, I can't imagine what kind of Belos punishment awaited him if he cried to demand attachment.

(I need to use more King scenes as a comparison to Hunter's upbringing in my next metas! I realize this can make my explanations clearer)

Anyway, what may happen next after he can't unsee the graveyard is...Hunter will then swing to the other extreme of high activity. I.e. being passive, physically inactive and psychologically crashing into depression, which may translate into habits such as oversleeping (catching up on all that lost sleep...but at what cost?). Supposedly sliding deeper into the C-PTSD pit. A place from which he has to express the desire to seek the forms of help he needs.

Remember that this kid has only known extremes for most of his life. Until he settles in properly with his found family and attends therapy, he has no clear reference point for more balanced approaches in living.

The trauma he went through is a quadruple whammy for a 16-year-old who just survived growing up in a cult. It would be so much. I can't see him not falling into months of deep dark depression, as unfortunate as this sounds.

Grieving over Flapjack, grieving over Belos, over his childhood/upbringing, and now a grisly memory of his predecessors who didn't make it (to add to what he saw in Belos's mindscape). I simply cannot see him handling a load like this without a highly-equipped and sensitive professional, paired with his support network of family, friends and even possibly the wider community at times. Especially now that we've seen him in action during the epilogue.

The epilogue sequence would've had a different feel (and in my opinion, a not-so-good feel) for me if Dana had established that the grimwalker graveyard was still untouched after those 3.5-4 years and if Hunter never found out about it. Something like that is different compared to Dana mentioning in the recent Post-Hoot that in the he does not know about Caleb and Evelyn, or that he is related to the Clawthornes. Mysteries like the Clawthorne heritage can remain an eerie secret that only us in the audience know about, but I wouldn't feel comfy if this were the case for the graveyard as well.

To quote @idlescree's video essay about Hunter's death (link), the show's writers didn't pull any punches when it came to Hunter's development arc. Which means they had to take his story to the "categorically appropriate place for him to overcome" his greatest challenges.

Something tells me that with respect to the grimwalker graveyard and the avoidance theme in C-PTSD recovery, Hunter would've had to put in more work to confront a number of terrifying foes even beyond his Thanks to Them speech. One of which was the graveyard containing the remains of his predecessors.

PS: This is a spontaneous post which branches out from my giant post-finale meta (link) that I pinned to my blog, I suppose.

#toh hunter #the owl house #hunter noceda #camila noceda #hunter deamonne #darius deamonne #toh analysis #grimwalkers #grimwalker graveyard #loz writes a meta

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from-the-clouds · 1 year

Text

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. vii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter |

chapter summary: Reader and Joel try (poorly) to keep their budding relationship hidden from Sarah. pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 6.3k chapter warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY. Angst, PTSD (though not explicitly stated). References to abusive parents. A bit of a drunken brawl. Men being generally shitty and misogynistic. Alcohol and marijuana mention. Fluff. As always please dm if you have questions. a/n: Strap in, ya'll. This chapter is pretty heavy at times but I promise, it'll be worth it. Things have been going well so we needed to bring some drama! Also, some of my links are breaking and I try to update them but as of right now the masterlist should have links to all the chapters ! Also special shoutout to @str84pedro for reminding me to close out the 'Joel getting his wallet back' storyline. And @ay0nha for the Hank Williams joke. tysm my friends.

-June 27th, 2003-

“Joel.”

Pleasure swirls low in your belly, his name comes out as a throaty moan.

“Aren’t you-oh, fuck,” you manage. “-worried y-your neighbors might see?”

You’re splayed open on one of the patio chairs in his backyard, fingers curled in his hair. The dress you’d worn is hiked over your hips, thong pushed to the side. Joel has long since pulled your legs apart, one of them hooked over the cool metal arm of the chair, the other pressed against his cheek, his beard rubbing your skin raw.

“No.” His lips pull away from the suction they have on your clit, but the two fingers he’s got inside you continue to work diligently, scissoring and curling against a spot deep within you that serves as the cause for all your stuttering. “They shouldn’t be lookin’ over the fence,” he murmurs, voice surprisingly clear and steady considering what he’s doing to you. “And if you stay quiet, you won’t give them a reason to.”

Joel hums contentedly as he latches his mouth back against the sensitive bud, sucking furiously, and you do as you’re told, panting into your palm to keep your whimpers to yourself. It’s Joel who seems to be struggling the most to stay quiet, especially when you arch your back to press your hips into his face, and he moans against you. He loves going down on you – you’ve learned through lots of experience. As if to prove it, you look down to where he’s knelt between your legs and see that his free hand is squeezing himself over his jeans.

It’s only been ten minutes since you walked through his front door. Currently, you can’t remember what your plans had been for the night. Seeing a movie? Going to dinner? For a walk? Your brain is mush. But Joel had suggested you have a quick drink on his back patio before leaving and, well…here you are.

You can’t get enough of Joel, and yet, you never have to ask for him. When you have plans, they’re often abandoned, and you end up tangled in bedsheets together. Whether it’s his place or yours, he’s taken you everywhere and every way you can think of, but you still want more. He is just as insatiable.

Sarah has been away at camp for two weeks now, which means you’d actually gotten to spend an entire weekend together. This past Saturday, Joel had made good on a promise to spend an entire day in bed with you, and then Sunday was spent the same way after he’d revealed to you he had never had sex stoned. Well, we need to fix that, you’d said. It felt like a huge accomplishment when you were able to drag yourselves out of bed and clean up for long enough to grab a meal at a 24-hour diner that wasn’t far down the road. Such a short drive, even, that when you’d tried to suck him off in the car on the way home Joel had said there ‘wasn’t enough time.’

Of course, most of your flings started off with this phase, but Joel still found ways to surprise you at every turn. You didn’t know it was possible to be with someone who was so thoughtful, so sincere. It was easy to trust him, to be yourself with him, even if you were still learning how.

Tonight is your last night alone before Sarah returns from camp, and Joel’s determined to use it to his full advantage.

After you’ve come on his fingers, against his tongue – and he talks you through it – Joel pulls you onto his lap. He’s still on his knees, crushing you against him, and you can feel him straining through his jeans.

“We’re not gonna make it to the movie, are we?” It’s more of an observation than it is anything else, pulling back from one of his greedy kisses.

“You wouldn’t be upset if we didn’t go, would you?” There’s some sincerity in his expression, like he almost feels bad.

“Stay here with you, or go see a terrible action movie?” you say, shaking your head, steadying your breathing. “That’s a tough one.”

Joel rolls his eyes, but doesn’t hide his smile. “Want to go upstairs?”

“Sure.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

At this point you’ve been in Joel’s room more than once. But you notice new things each time. There’s photos of him and Sarah he has framed on his dresser, one from when she’s just a toddler, and he looks not much older than a kid himself. He has a stack of books there too, but they’re collecting dust, one of them is some sort of thick construction manual, and the other is titled Everything You Need To Know About Creating a Startup. You would sooner crack those open than you would your old law textbooks. There’s always a pile of clothes on the floor, and you don’t think the chair in the corner has ever not had a couple pairs of his work jeans strewn over the back.

Joel lays back on the bed, stretches out like a cat, his arms above his head, flannel and t-shirt combo lifting to reveal the swathe of hair that trails down and disappears into his jeans. You’re well accustomed to his body at this point, but it still doesn’t stop your stomach from flipping every time any inch of his skin is revealed to you. The muscles in his biceps flex as he props his head back on his forearm, looks over at you, pausing in the threshold. “Why are you bein’ shy all the sudden?”

“Can’t I just look at you?”

Joel’s face gets flushed, or at least, it sort of looks like it does, and he holds a hand towards you. “Get over here.”

You step forward to take his hand, and he tugs you onto him, shifting his weight so the line of his body is pressed against yours. Since he’s already gotten you off, and you had a few moments apart while walking upstairs, you’ve both calmed down a little, and the kisses he gives you are lazy, exploratory.

Outside, all the light has nearly left the sky. A cool breeze filters through his open windows, the sheer curtains billowing out. When you shiver, Joel pulls you closer, one broad, warm palm raking up your arm, brushing over pebbled skin.

Joel makes love to you slowly, languidly, hovering over you. This isn’t new, it’s how he always seems to like it. Before, it had never been your favorite. You used to think it meant there was a lack of enthusiasm, but you must have been with the wrong people. With Joel, it just makes sense. You’re still able to taste the desperation dripping off of him when you trace your tongue along his collarbone, and can feel how badly he wants you in the unhurried drag of his fingertips. The way he touches you, so confident, but also so tenderly, makes you feel insane. All you want to do is take and take. And he’s so eager to give it to you.

When you wake the next morning, your cheek is resting on his sternum, and his palm in the dip of your spine. Window still open from the night before, you can hear the morning doves calling – probably what woke you to begin with. Something you’ve learned is that when given the chance, Joel loves to sleep. You do too, obviously, but it doesn’t seem to come as easily. So when you tilt your head back to look up at him, you’re surprised to find him already awake. Sunlight glitters off the amber in his eyes, and there’s such a warmth to his gaze that your first instinct is to turn away.

But you don’t. You let him kiss you, let his beard tickle your neck.

“I love waking up next to you,” Joel whispers.

Even though you’re too afraid to say anything in return, he doesn’t hold it against you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-July 5, 2003-

Sarah answers the door to her house before your knuckles can even make contact with the wood. She all-but pounces on you as you step over the threshold, wrapping you in a hug that’s so tight you barely can breath, and pulling back before you can return it. “How are you? Where have you been?”

“I’m good, just busy,” She’s been back for a week and you still haven't had a chance to see her. Work has been hectic, and you’d even had to work during the holiday yesterday to meet a deadline for a new client. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she gives you another quick hug.

You wait for her to pull back before she speaks again. “How was camp?”

“So much fun,” she nods. “But I got eaten alive by mosquitos so I’m kind of happy to be home.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t know how well I’d do out in the wilderness for so long.”

“Oh yeah,” Sarah raises her eyebrows. “The New Yawk-er,” she says with an unconvincing accent, but grimaces. “Sorry, that was bad.”

“We’ll work on it,” you pat her shoulder.

There’s a fresh smattering of freckles across her nose from the days she’s spent outside under the Texan sun, which is unrelenting this time of year. It also seems she’s grown another inch since the last time you’d seen her, but you can’t be certain. “My dad is upstairs. Running late as usual,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You can come in. I have so much to tell you.”

You act tentative, because as far as she knows, this is your first time in her home. When you sit on the couch, she plops next to you, leaning against the cushions. “What’s this?” you reach for one of the many photos strewn out across the coffee table.

“Oh, that’s my dad and his brother when they were kids.” The photo is of the two young boys seated in a red wagon. Tommy’s got a half-eaten strawberry in his hand, his lips and cheeks stained red. And he’s leaning back against Joel, who's wearing a cowboy hat that’s far too big for him, his plump cheek resting on the top of his brother’s dark curls. You are ashamed by the twinge of bitter longing that twists in your gut when you see their carefree smiles, despite it being one of the sweetest one of the sweetest things you’ve ever seen. But you’re even more ashamed that for one quick second, you wonder what Joel would look like with a son that age. Would he be just as adorable? “My dad was going through a bunch of old family photos the other day,” Sarah says.

“Cute,” you observe.

But Sarah doesn’t seem as interested in them as you do, so to avoid any suspicion, you put the photo down. You let her recount her trip, starting with day one, and moving on. Sarah explains what it was like to live in a cabin for a week, to sleep for a night under the stars. She learned archery, and swam, and rode horses, and hiked, and wove friendship bracelets with the other girls there. She shows you one of the multicolored woven bracelets on her wrist, and pulls an identical one out of her pocket to fasten around your own. It’s so thoughtful you aren’t quite sure how to thank her, and you’re hit with a fresh wave of guilt over the secret you’ve been keeping. It had been easier to ignore when she wasn’t around.

You hear Joel shuffling down the stairs before he comes into view. “You ready, babygirl?”

“Yeah,” Sarah answers. “We’re waiting.”

“Hey,” Joel says when he reaches the landing. He pauses, looks between you and Sarah, huddled on the couch together, and then nods at you once. “Nice to see you.”

“You too,” you say, rather rigidly. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

“Of course,” he says over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen. He’s trying so hard to be nonchalant, you almost buy it. Almost.

The county fair only lasts a week, and tonight is the last night you’re able to go. Sarah had called you at work a few days earlier to invite you. She seemed adamant that although it was a yearly tradition to go with Joel, she wanted you there. I asked my dad already and he said it was fine. It had been awhile since you’d gone to a carnival, and you weren’t one to turn down the opportunity to eat a funnel cake and drink some fresh-squeezed lemonade.

“Alright,” Joel returns from the kitchen with his car keys, all business. “Let’s head out.”

He holds the door open as Sarah filters outside, followed by you. But you stop yourself in the threshold, turning to Joel. “Did you remember your wallet?” You ask him out of habit, because historically speaking, he’s always leaving it behind.

Joel pats his pockets, groans, throwing his head back. “Shit.” and then disappears back inside. Briefly, you worry that Sarah might have picked up on the implications of the question – maybe you know him a little too well – but she doesn’t even seem to be paying attention, and you scold yourself for being so paranoid.

“Good catch,” Joel says as he exits the house, stuffing his wallet into his back pocket. He grins at you and Sarah.

You bite back a teasing remark. Are you sure you’re the oldest child in your family? Sometimes he seems just a tad too frazzled, forgetful. That might’ve drawn a laugh from him, or a pointed ‘Shut Up’. But you’ve got to keep that sort of thing to yourself, if you can.

You pile into the car, Sarah in the back and you on the passengers side, but it doesn’t stop her from leaning forward to stay in the conversation while Joel puts his elbow over the bench seat and looks over his shoulder to back out of the driveway. It’s a hot night, so he’s only got on a fitted t-shirt that’s a tad too tight through his chest and upper body. You do everything in your power not to let your gaze linger on him. It’s hard to believe someone could make putting a car in reverse sexy, but if anyone could do it, it’s Joel.

“Do you like The Chicks?” Sarah asks from behind you, once you’re on the road.

“I don’t listen to much country music,” you’re honest.

“You live in Texas,” Joel interjects.

“Yeah, you live in Texas,” Sarah echoes. “I think you’ll like them. Dad, will you play my favorite song?” She nudges you to get your attention. “He finally fixed his radio.”

“Is your seatbelt on?” Joel does a double-take when he notices how far up she’s sitting.

“Yes, I actually can get a pretty good range of motion with this thing.”

“Well it needs to go across your shoulders,” Joel adjusts his rearview mirror so he can see Sarah better.

“It is, Dad,” she chastises. “Can you please play the song?”

You smirk. Joel puts one of the discs sitting in his center console into the CD player, and then skips forward two tracks.

“Turn it up,” Sarah says immediately as the first few bars of quiet guitar kick in.

“I should’ve never bought you this album,” Joel grumbles, but reaches out and obeys.

I said I wanna touch the earth, I wanna break it in my hands, I wanna grow something wild and unruly….

“Are you going to learn to play this on guitar like I asked?” she questions Joel, who is focused on the road.

“No,” he deadpans.

Oh, you play guitar? You’re tempted to ask, like he doesn’t put on a show for you every time you decide to get stoned on your back porch – which has been often, lately. But it seems a little too risky, so you keep your mouth shut. It’s better right now to be an observer.

“Why not?” Sarah asks.

“Not my style.”

“It might be good to expand your catalog outside of Hank Williams and Johnny Cash,” Sarah encourages.

“I play more than just them,” Joel defends himself.

“Whatever you say,” Sarah says, but looks over at you as though she’s skeptical. You grin and roll down your window.

I said, cowboy take me away, fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue…

“Turn it up,” Sarah prompts again.

Joel pretends like he doesn’t hear her, so when she requests again, you reach out to do it. Instantly, you’re met with a firm, smack on the back of your hand. “It’s loud enough,” he says.

“Dad!” Sarah exclaims, and seems almost shocked that he would do such a thing, offended on your behalf.

Joel doesn’t turn from the road. “She’s fine.”

“Ouch,” you dramatize, shaking out your hand, egged on by Sarah.

“Oh, come on, I barely touched you,” Joel reaches out, squeezing your hand gently in response. A force of habit. For a second, you’ve both forgotten where you are, who you are with. Joel pulls away, clears his throat and looks back at the road. “You’re fine.”

You know if you look for Sarah’s reaction, you’ll give yourself away. So instead you continue to antagonize. “What if I was turning it up for myself?”

“Yeah, dad. It’s a really good song.”

“It is,” you nod. “I’m enjoying it.”

“Stop that. Don’t encourage her,” Joel warns you.

You reach back out to turn up the radio.

“Oh, come on,” Joel rolls his eyes, realizing he’s outnumbered, but he sort of laughs as he does it, running his hand through his hair.

I wanna be the only one for miles and miles, except for maybe you and your simple smile…

You look over your shoulder to wink at Sarah, who is beaming. Satisfied now that the music is blaring from the truck’s speakers, she settles back against her seat and looks out the window, the wind tousling her hair, her sweet voice singing along faintly to the rest of the song. Joel gives you a sidelong glance when she’s not looking, the same unidentifiable warmth in his eyes that you had seen last weekend, and you let your eyes remain on him for another moment, before forcing yourself to turn away.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun is down, and the lights of the carnival glitter and twinkle as you weave through the crowd. Sarah’s arm linked through your own, the other around a giant stuffed teddy bear you’d somehow managed to win at the shooting gallery booth. All those summers of your brother forcing you to play ‘target practice’ with his BB gun when you were supposed to be honing your serve finally paid off. There’s a band playing swing music somewhere, but there are so many people around, and you’ve sort of lost your spatial awareness. Joel and Sarah both seem to know where they are going, so you stick with them.

Every now and then, in the fleeting moments when Sarah runs up ahead of you, or turns her back to look at something, Joel will take her place. You had been a little worried that your teasing in the car may have gone too far, but he doesn’t seem upset. It’s quite the opposite, really. He’ll wind an arm around your waist, put his lips to your temple, squeeze your hand. He seems completely at ease despite the relative chaos around you, and always manages to pull himself away just in time.

“Should we go into the funhouse?” Sarah asks, after your little group has pulled off to the side.

“Eh,” you wrinkle your nose. “I’ll pass.”

“What?” she’s incredulous. “No! You have to, come on.”

“I don’t really want to,” you shake your head.

“Why not?”

“Sarah,” Joel interjects. “She said no.”

“They make me claustrophobic,” you say, tone much softer than her father’s. You were pretty sure you’d be fine, but it seems dumb to traumatize yourself doing something that’s quite literally supposed to be fun.

Surprisingly, Sarah doesn’t continue to press, and instead turns to her father. “I think I’ll stay back,” Joel says. “But you go ahead. We’ll wait.”

“Ugh, lame,” Sarah rolls her eyes, but doesn’t protest, pushing the giant stuffed teddy bear towards it. Joel tucks it under his arm – he’s already holding a bag of popcorn, and she bounds off.

“I didn’t know you were claustrophobic,” Joel says, his eyes locked on Sarah until he sees her disappear into the attraction. Then he turns to you.

“Only in specific situations,” you explain. “Plus, did you know that funhouses were originally invented to give people panic attacks?”

“What? Really?”

“No,” you say. “I just made that up.”

Joel shakes his head. “I guess if I’m thinking about movies I’ve seen, nothing good ever comes from a funhouse.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Carnivals in general don’t usually great media representation.”

“Well, I hope you’re having fun at this one.”

“I am,” you smile at Joel. The crowd is just tipsy enough to be pleasant, and it’s not late enough in the evening for any children to be having the tired-hungry-overstimulated meltdown yet. Plus, you’re in good company. “Are you?”

“I would be havin’ more fun if I didn’t have to watch you walk in front of me in that little dress all night.”

You look down at the floral sundress you’re wearing. It’s very flattering and feminine, and felt right for the hot summer evening. “You don’t like it?”

“No,” Joel says. “I like it a little too much.”

“Oh,” you nod. “I mean….I did sort of wear it because I figured you would.”

“Darlin’,” Joel puts his head back and groans dramatically. “Please don’t tell me that.”

“What’s the issue?”

“Because I can’t touch you. I could now, but instead I’ve gotta carry all her shit.”

You snort, amused, crossing your arms. “You’re in the trenches, huh?”

“Exactly. At least you understand,” Joel smirks. You’re unable to resist the urge to lean close enough to wrap your arms around his torso and kiss him, despite being rather out in the open. Joel lets out a noise that sounds like relief, hand on your waist, keeping you from pulling back.

“How long do you think she’ll be gone?” His eyes flick behind you towards the funhouse. “Think we could sneak off, pay off a carnie to keep watch so we could- what’s that face?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “You’ve clearly thought this through…”

“Well, I’ve been third wheeling all night so I had time to get creative,” Joel drops his hand from you and turns you both around so you can see in between two booth games. “You see over there, between those two tents…there’s a dumpster-”

“Sounds hot…”

“Right?”

“...And also kind of like the beginning of an episode of Law & Order.”

Joel loses it, and you steal a bite of popcorn from the bag in his hand to hide how satisfied you are at making him laugh so hard. You nudge him in the ribs with your elbow when his hand goes to cover his eyes.

“What’s so funny?”

The smile doesn’t leave your face as quickly as Joel’s does when you both pivot to find Sarah standing behind you. “Hey babygirl,” he offers a weak grin. “That was quick.”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “There wasn’t a line.”

You try not to act suspicious, but you’re wondering how much she heard. Apparently, not enough to be skeptical, because she continues on. “And you’re right,” she looks at you. “It wasn’t very fun.”

“Yeah,” you nod, reaching to take some more popcorn out of the bag in Joel’s hand, hoping it just seems like a nonchalant, platonic thing. “They’re kind of a lot right?”

She nods, shrugs, and then reaches for the popcorn herself. You might be in the clear, and make a pointed effort to keep more distance between you and Joel for the rest of the night.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Do you think we should stop for another snack?” Sarah asks, like you haven’t already eaten your weight in junk this evening. But you’ve arrived at a little picnic area surrounded by food trucks and vendors. “Maybe we can sit down for a little.”

“That sounds nice,” Joel says. “Why don’t you two get in line, I’m gonna run to put this in the car.” He lifts the prize you’d given to Sarah up with a grimace. Somehow, he ended up carrying the plush bear all night.

“Is it too heavy for you?” Sarah teases. Joel doesn’t even answer, just rolls his eyes and turns around.

“I’ll be back,” he calls over his shoulder.

Sarah’s giggles subside and Joel disappears into the crowd.

“Where do you wanna go?” you ask her, putting your hands on your hips and taking in the area. At this point in the night, many people attending appear to be fairly plastered. At this point in the evening, most of the families with younger children have cleared out, and it’s well past dinner time, so there aren’t a ton of people hanging in the area. “I probably owe you dinner. And your dad a beer, since he’s paid for everything.”

“He’d like that,” Sarah says. “I’m glad you two are friends.”

“Oh?” you glance over at her. “Yeah, me too.” Sarah just stares at you, doesn’t say anything. “You have a nice family. You, your dad, your Uncle Tommy…”

Sarah just keeps studying you.

“What?”

Her eyes narrow, just a touch. You recall what Joel had told you about her picking up your mannerisms, but you never realized how horrible it was to be on the other side. Still, it was you, who had taught her this, so you do your best to appear confused. What do you want from me? It works, and she smiles, shakes her head, then looks at the ground. “Nothin’,” when she looks back up, there’s something melancholy about her expression, and she kicks the toe of her Converse into the gravel. “Can we get a funnel cake?”

“Lead the way.”

As you follow her to the food truck, her petite form gets jostled by some of the patrons waiting in line near a drink stand. You have to squeeze through them to get by. There’s a picnic table near the walkway where a bunch of men sit – hunched over, listening to a man on the end of the bench tell a very animated story. Several empty draft cups and beer bottles are stacked or lined up on their table, and the sickeningly sweet smell of the tipped cigarillos they’re smoking makes your nostrils burn.

Just as Sarah’s about to pass them, the man talking stretches his arms wide, and the hand that just so happens to be clutching a solo cup filled to the brim reaches out directly into Sarah’s path.

It’s too late. She collides with his arm, and the beer is knocked from his hand, landing on the picnic table and spraying everyone in the vicinity with liquid and sticky foam.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Sarah says, putting her hand over her mouth, genuinely apologetic.

And that’s where it should’ve ended.

“What the fuck?” the man, who looks to be about your age, maybe a little older, gives her a once over.

You reach Sarah. “Are you alright?” you ask, stepping between her and the man, turning her away from his nasty glare. Before she can answer, he speaks up again.

“You better learn to watch where you’re fucking going, girl!”

Sarah’s jaw drops, even though she’s staring at the gravel. You turn to face the man. “Hey,” you keep your voice light. “Calm down, dude, it was an accident.”

“Oh, it was an accident?” The man looks down at his shirt, soaked through, then back up at you, his hand landing on the table. “Seems like a pretty big fuckin’ accident.”

“She said sorry,” you shrug. And if you really want to get down to brass tacks, asshole, it was totally your fault, you think, but you keep your cool.

The man drags himself to his feet. Your head tilts back to look at him, notice how he hulks over you, and you ignore the feeling of your heart rate picking up. But you stand your ground, pushing Sarah backwards without looking, hoping to put some space between her and what is becoming an increasingly ridiculous situation. Who the fuck picks a fight with a middle school girl?

“Are you at least gonna pay for another round?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you pretend to reach for your purse, even though you have no intention of giving him any money. Prick. You can’t help yourself. “You’re at a county fair in Texas, what do you want, like, two dollars?”

The man flicks the plastic tip of his cigar onto the ground. For a brief moment, your eyes float towards the men at the table behind him. Some of them are watching, seemingly amused, while others stare at the table. Like they know they should be doing something about this, but they aren’t. They won’t. Typical.

The truth is, you’re scared. You’ve been here before. Helpless, praying that some adult would intervene - and being let down every time. Surely, someone had to know. Surely, someone could’ve helped you. In the end, you had to do what you were doing now. Look out for yourself.

“Shut the fuck up, you fuckin’ cunt.” He says it like it’s supposed to end the conversation. But being a woman who's been on her own most of her adult life, and regularly seen as a threat to men’s fragile egos, you give him zero points for creativity.

Your fatal flaw is your mouth. It can get you into trouble, it can get you out of trouble, but one thing is certain; when you’re angry, you always have shit to say.

“Is that all you got?” you ask.

Any bit of bravery that remains vanishes entirely when the man’s hand rises. You take a step backward but know it’s too late, flinching in anticipation. Sarah, who's huddled behind you, clings to your waist, and you nearly topple over her but luckily, you don’t lose your footing.

The impact never comes.

Well, not for you, at least.

Joel has materialized, seemingly out of nowhere, and his hands are fisted in the collar of the man’s shirt. He’s yelling something unintelligible, and it doesn’t really register because you are too focused on the fact that he looks like a wild fucking animal – teeth bared into a nasty snarl, his voice gravelly. Your Joel, the sweet and gentle man who you’ve come to care so much about looks positively feral.

Of course, it’s only then that the other men at the table decide to intervene. It takes three of them to pull Joel off before he can do any significant damage, and they all scatter, heading out in the opposite direction.

You can’t move. It could’ve been worse, you think. There wasn’t even a punch thrown. But it caught enough attention from the crowd that you can hear people murmuring amongst themselves now, like they deserved to have an opinion as bystanders.

Sarah releases her grip from you as Joel makes his way back towards you both, looking shockingly calm after what you’d just seen him do. His daughter tucks herself against his chest, he murmurs something into her hair. You’re still frozen in place, but you manage to turn your head away from the scene, sniff, and straighten up.

“Hey, are you okay?” Joel’s voice is in your ear, his hand is on your shoulder, his face coming into view. For one split second, you’re struck by the impulse to pitch forward, to bury your face into his chest and allow yourself to be comforted. That’s until you see Sarah under his opposite arm and you remember where you are. You’re not a child.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Like he doesn’t believe you. You nod, step away enough that his hand drops off of you, and you cross your arms. “I saw what he-”

“I’m fine,” you put every bit of venom that you can into your voice without letting it crack, and you see the change in his face. Whiplash. Oops. That’s too far in the opposite direction. “Really, I’m good,” you say, much more gently this time. Then you force a smile, before realizing that even if you are okay, it’s not really appropriate to smile in this type of situation so you abandon that strategy.

Breathe. Reset.

Reaching out, you squeeze Sarah’s arm. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her cheeks wet, but she doesn’t appear to be crying anymore. “Are you alright?” you ask her.

Sarah nods, relaxing slightly. “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

“Of course,” you answer, and now that you’ve shoved every emotion that came bubbling up back to their rightful place, you’re able to offer: “Guess I’m not too great at deescalating.”

“Well, he wasn’t very nice.”

“He was a fucking asshole,” Joel rubs her back, but doesn’t release her. It’s only then you can see he’s still on high alert. “But I think that’s our cue to get out of here.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Keeping control of your emotions, as you have gotten older, does not work as well as it used to. And this…event….feels like you’ve gone to pull a loose thread off a sweater, only to realize it was the one that held the whole damned thing together. You don’t realize until it’s too late, and the next thing you know, you’re on the floor of your closet, scraps of fabric all over the floor, and no idea what to do with them. Oh, and it’s cold outside, so now you have nothing to wear.

In the car on the way home. Sarah and Joel chat a bit. They go over everything that happened in detail, starting with the spilled beer. You don’t speak. You can feel your heartbeat thrumming in your body, your jaw clenched so tightly it’s begun to ache. It’s hard to tell if you want to scream or cry – maybe both, but as the whole situation solidifies itself in your memory, you’re starting to feel like it might be more of the latter. And you just want to get home, so when it happens, you can be alone.

It’s not great to know that you have fucked up the whole vibe. Unfortunately, you cannot give anything else right now. Joel keeps looking over at you, and you imagine he thinks you’re acting pretty pathetic.

Joel pulls into his driveway, puts the car in park, and you can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Until he speaks up.

“Sarah, can you give us a minute?” he asks, and you hear his car keys jingle. Elbow on the window frame, fist pressed against your nose, you stare at the dashboard. “I’ll be inside in a little bit.”

“Yeah…” Sarah answers, though she sounds timid. There’s the click of a seatbelt, and she slides out of the car on your side. As she passes your open window, she pats your shoulder gently, and you nod. You watch her walk up the path to her front door and ignore the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you.

He says your name, and you give in, turn to look at him, just for a second. “Thank you for looking out for her,” So earnestly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there earlier.”

“Yeah, well….it wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t yours, either.”

“Yeah.”

The front door slams closed. Sarah’s inside, and Joel reaches out, moves a bit closer to you. He lays his hand on the side of your face, guiding you to look at him. You can’t meet his eyes, or he might see right through you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Has something like that-?”

You know what he’s getting at. You don’t need to hear the rest of the question. “No.”

"Please," Joel takes a deep breath, dropping his eyes. “You can tell me the truth.”

You hate that he knows you’re not. And you hate yourself for hurting him, for being so cruel and dismissive when he’s only trying to help. But what is going to happen if he knows you? If he really knows who you are? “Joel,” you shake your head. “I can’t get into it.”

“Okay,” he says, nods.

“But….” you raise your hand, let it clasp around his wrist, over his watch. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Why don’t you come inside for a little, huh?” He asks. “Watch a movie with Sarah and I?”

“I don’t know, I-” You’re not sure how much longer you can keep the tears to yourself. You’d been planning on letting them out the second you walk inside, and bottling them up for more time sounds excruciating. So what are your valid excuses? “She might figure out that-”

Joel shakes his head. “I don’t care about that right now.”

“It’s late.” You say, as if you’re actually going to sleep tonight.

“You just spent the whole night with us. What’s another hour or two?”

Those were your two best shots. Joel finally asks. He’s pleading with you, you can see in his face. This is for him. It’s not even about you. Well, it is. But it’s sincere. He’s not just pitying you. “Alright.”

Sarah seems just as relieved to see you walk through the front door as Joel had been when you agreed. She sits between you on the couch while you watch some shitty action movie Joel picked out, and falls asleep curled up against his side. Once her measured breathing fills the room, Joel reaches over to clasp your hand, thumb rubbing over the back of your palm, and he doesn’t let go.

Your plans to end the night crying yourself to sleep are long forgotten by the time you get home.

-----

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l0ves1ckf0ol · 1 year

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hear me out! nevermore has a musical they produce for the spring. they they so happen to do Chicago, the reader is velma kelly and xavier falls in love with the reader while he is helping with set for the show.

CAUGHT IN THE ACT | xavier thorpe

"you're breaking character, xavier. "

also a bit of a disclaimer i only heard abt the summary and i have no time to watch the whole musical but imma just go with my common knowledge i have for this. SO MOSTLY ITSBJUST THEM AND LESS CHICAGO IM SORRY SHSGS

"damn! only got ensemble, what about you y/n?" enid groans, you smirk at her "i got velma kelly." you say a toothy grin growin on your face. wednesday frowned at the conversation, "remind me again, why are you doing this?" she sighs out to you, almost looking disappointed. "i may be the child of the poltergeist and yes i love to hide but y'know i have to try out stuff once in a while." you reply to her, "also it's because of principal weems. she said that i had to do this or else i won't be sleeping in my own dorm, i set one on fire by accident." you add as enid laughed, "you never try out these things, y/n. why the change of heart? also you could've spent beekeeping with me and ottinger rather than be in that horrific display of singing." wednesday wonders curiously, did she see right through you? "just trying things out, wednesday." you breathed out to her, trying to play it cool looking ahead of her to a specific long haired boy who was busy on his sketchbook.

you've never heard of a theatre within the school, but it certainly exists. it's just that it needs cleaning up. you were there for rehearsals, since it was a saturday morning everyone was either in jericho or lazing away in their dorms. principal weems was unsure if you were going to stay put in the school grounds but you stayed behind, truthfully. you suddenly begin to despise being the lead for this musical, the pressure was getting to you and you start to worry if you're going to screw up.

"okay, let's go again, lights-" you announce as you start pacing the stage, "camera- paint?" you notice xavier coming up to the stage with a small bucket of what looked like maroon paint. "sorry for interrupting, please continue." he says politely, walking over to the lousy background of the stage, it had a sickening yellow color to it with loads of crusty paint slipping off the cement. "wouldn't you be at jericho by now?" you ask him as he dipped his wide brush in the paint and started painting from below to above.

"nope, weems asked me this morning to make a good background for the musical, it needs to be barely noticeable because they're using cardboard cutouts as scenes. she said black but for interrupting my coffee hours, i'll go with maroon instead." xavier answered, "could've gone with neon instead to infuriate her more, no?" you offer, wiggling your eyebrows. xavier laughed, "then i'll feel bad." he replies. "you have a soft heart for someone who looks like they ate a piece of lemon." you mentioned to him, he looks at you for the first time he walks in the room with a downturned smile, if that made sense.

"well- don't tell anyone about that. that right there is my biggest secret." he jokes, shaking his head left to right with a scoff. "alright, it'll be our official secret."

- xavier's pov (?) -

xavier never thought of you, or even acknowledged you that much but for some reason, after that conversation at the theatre you were basically unforgettable. he said hi to you in the hallways, everything seemed so monochrome but when you walked in the same room as him? instant color. so whenever he was free, he would do at least something to see you. this had been going on for a good 2 weeks

a week before the final rehearsal, he brought wax because weems tasked him to wax the stage. as he was nearing the door your voice rang clearer and clearer. your beautiful voice. xavier sighs to himself, he was at a loss by now, he tried his best to sneak inside unnoticed but the poltergeist could spot a shadow moving a mile away. so you instantly stopped.

"xavier?"

"oh hey sorry, i came in here to uh... wax the stage." xavier mumbled timidly, finally getting up to his normal height. you frowned, "thought this school was rich enough for maintenance people." you told him, he was trying to find the answers, for a moment he thought you were about to catch him in the act. "or was this only an act of service to suck up to the principal?" he could almost sigh from relief, "um yeah, been failing ms. thornhill's class lately so." xavier lied, he was doing excellently in that subject. a firm "hm." said it all, you probably knew, you just didn't want to spoil the fun. while y/n was singing her lungs off, xavier was sure it had something to do with jazz, he wasn't familiar with the musical. he was pre occupied scrubbing the floors with wax, luckily he wasn't wearing his school uniform since it was after class hours, otherwise those sweet blue slacks were toast. you didn't leave until he finished, you had other plans, xavier was onto you. if you figured him out, xavier was dead to himself and his dignity, i mean he wasn't ashamed with liking you. you were amazing, he just wanted to be sure that he liked you. lies.

"you finished. now, walk me to my dorm will you?" you ask him as you picked up your things from one of the leather seats and went outside as he followed. xavier left the wax at the stage, he remembered to return it tomorrow. as you walked the only sounds both of you could hear were your steps against the cobblestone floor, this only happend for 3 minutes. "so uh-"

"do you like me, xavier?" xavier wanted the ground to swallow him up right now. he stops in his footsteps and you turned from your heel, with a raised eyebrow. testing him. for a moment xavier almost breaks but he endured "do i like you is the question, what do you think?" he said, now you were testing each other. "i think you have had a little crush on me, ever since you painted the maroon background at the theatre. i know the maintenance people here, and i know that weems would never leave out an assignment for them, especially since it's this heck of a theatre that has not been used for a decade." you point out to him, with a devious smirk on your face.

xavier tugged at his jacket and approached one step forward toward you, "we both know you're a lazy poltergeist, l/n. why do you have extra rehearsals every after rehearsal- alone in the theatre?" you scoffed at his accusation, placing a hand on his chest, leaning in slightly, this made xavier's stomach do a flip and made his knees weak. "since we both are onto each other, you and i know the answer." you whispered as you lean back with a teasing side smile, xavier sighs out through his nose, his cheeks could match the theatre background, a sign that he gave up. his slim hands went up to your cheeks, his thumb caressing it. his lips were practically brushing against yours now,

"may i kiss you?"

"you're breaking character, xavier." you smiled, pressing your lips on to his, giving him an answer.

#gn reader #xu's fics #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams netflix #xavier thorpe fanfic #xavier thorpe x gn reader #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe

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bonefall · 2 months

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what poison/s were used in riverstar's heir at moth's celebration and when bright and flowerstar ate together? suggestion (if you hadn't decided yet): Monkshood/Aconite/Wolfsbane (Aconitum napellus) its a VERY poisonous plant native to the uk and europe, lethal with both ingestion and body contact and has historical use in killing and murder. symptoms appear quickly and death often comes in only a few hours; its a shame it wasn't used in canon lmao

Oh symptoms don't just appear quickly-- Aconite's name is said to be ancient Greek for "Without Dust." That refers to how aconite kills SO quickly that you will not even kick up dust in your death struggle. Death coming in a few hours is from the minimum deadly dosage, any good assassin worth their salt would use more (and take care to mask its bitter taste, it's not a subtle flavor like cyanide is.)

Forget "deathberries." Yew is nothing next to aconite.

Yew's deadly compound, taxine, acts by stopping your heart. Yawn. Aconite targets your heart, liver, kidneys, AND brain all at the same time. It's so potent that handling young roots will make your hands go numb. Only 2 miligrams of the deadly compound, aconitine, is a fatal dose in a human being; a single grain of rice weighs 20 miligrams.

Anon, my friend, you undersold aconite. It's not just a very poisonous plant in Europe, aconitine is top 5 deadliest poisons period. Members of the aconite family are widespread through the northern hemisphere-- indigenous Alaskan people have used it to hunt whales for tens of thousands of years. Its toxic properties break down within 24 hours, leaving the meat completely safe to eat.

So naturally, suggestion accepted. This is going to be SICK.

Especially since no one will be able to tell what happened. It looks like every major poison because it is. You might assume it was some kind of toxic cocktail from the symptoms. Convulsions, rapid heartrate, vomiting, numbness. It looks like yew, nightshade, and bryony all at once.

It'll be very easy for Bright Whisker to survive this and shake off suspicion simply by poisoning herself with a small amount of something else. If I go with Maple Whisker being a sibling instead of a cousin, I could have her simply join their meal a little late and realize that her mouth feels numb, just as everyone else enters convulsions, so she spits it out.

(Autism win! Avoided a poisoning because texture bad! Maybe she was waiting for the food to cool down too lmao)

And LASTLY... Aconite is Wolf's Bane. I think this is a really cool place to see the earliest incarnation of the Wolf Motif that will later show up in Bluestar's family. It tickles my brain a bit to think of Flowerstar somehow having the "hood" shape of the flower, and then she loses her first life in her gambit to poison the wolf among sheep.

I also had a stroke of inspiration and had an idea for one of the BB!DOTC cats, too. Dappled Pelt gets massively neglected in canon, imo, and I could set up the wolf thing even earlier. African Wild Dog time (painted wolf.)

#better bones au #bone babble #riverstar's heir #BB!Maplewhisker #BB!Brightwhisker #BB!Flowerstar #tw poison #cw poison #aconite

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deep-space-lines · 1 month

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Hi Guess What I Do Commissions

I've been doing commissions on Flight Rising for probably around 10 years now, but I figured I might as well try my luck on Tumblr. I need money to do frivolous things like exist because we live in a society, and some of you out there might want cool art, so here we are. Please commission me

Commission info (including what I will/won't draw) can be found here.

A ton of other examples, including past commissions, can be found here.

Currently, I mostly do PWYW (pay-what-you-want) commissions.

It's simple: you pay me however much you'd like (min. $30, current max $100, at a rate of ~$30/hr- I'm thinking of upping the price because I'm getting Too Fast but it'll stay there for now), provide a character ref and a prompt, then let me loose upon the canvas for 1-3 hours like releasing a feral hog into the woods. Commissions are usually finished within 1-7 days.

PAST PWYW COMMISSIONS (mostly 2hr/$60 pieces)

Composition, style, etc is up to me; could be a painted headshot, could be a sketchier fullbody, could be something experimental, however I feel like committing the vibe you give me to paper. Whatever the case, I will do my absolute best to draw something really cool for you. More info can be found in...

THE COMMISSION FORM

This post is subject to change in the future if I decide I want to add more commission options, but for now I'll keep it simple. I might be willing to do other commission types on a case-by-case basis if it's something I think I'll enjoy drawing- more info in the form.

Indecisive about exactly what you want to commission apart from 'cool art of my blorbo'? Can't for the life of you find someone willing to draw your robot oc because nobody ever wants to draw mecha stuff? Want someone to actually design said robot oc for you because you ALSO don't want to draw mecha stuff? I'm your guy.

OTHER COOL STUFF I'VE DRAWN TO PROVE I CAN DRAW STUFF

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anyway. this is also gonna be my new pinned post so

if you wanna see all my cool art on this blog click here -> #MY ART

if you want to see only the dumb stuff click here -> #STRAKA'S SHITPOSTS

#my art #commissions open #commissions #commission art #commission info #artists on tumblr #reblogs appreciated <3 #cmon gay people. i'll draw your robots for you. let me draw robots for you

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xxchthonicreaturexx · 1 year

Note

I've got another request but I just love your writing sm. How do you think the boys (Curtis gang + Shepards) would act during and after an argument (like would they be cold to their s/o, would they be clingy, how long does it take to make up etc). I'm honestly such a sucker for angst like it's not even funny💀. Sorry, this is kinda a long one.

-🤍🤍

You're adorable :) <3 thank you for being patient.

Tim Shepard

Tim doesn't yell unless absolutely necessary. If you're the type to raise your voice and not listen to a thing he's saying, he'll probably yell a few times, but he easily will out yell you. It's quick and it's scary. He has that scary parent voice like Darry-

He's usually a quiet type of angry with a partner. A snide, backhanded comment here and there followed by the silent treatment until you're begging like a puppy for forgiveness. Or if he realizes he's being too harsh and he gives in first but usually it's the latter.

Fights can last up to a week depending on what it was. Usually it's only a few days before it's resolved, but if you're the stubborn type then sadly he can also hold a grudge. He'll never let it go past a week though. After y'all have time to cool off he decides it's time for y'all to act like grownups and talk it out calmly. Nothing really changes after the fight though. He's still Tim. He's still an asshole. 🤷

Curly Shepard

Motherfucking Curly Shepard can kiss my ass. I love Curly with a passion...BUT he can get slightly petty. When's he's upset with you, you'll know. Trust me. He's a fighter, and can be violent, but with his partner he'll channel his pissed offery in other... More annoying ways.

Oh, you need your morning coffee? Sorry babe, he just drank the last of it and the fucker doesn't even like coffee. 🤷

Oh, you're missing your work shirt? He "accidentally" spilled water on it so you can either go to work without your uniform or wear it wet.

Oh, you wanna makeout and watch a movie? Sorry, he's already getting ready to go hang out with friends even though you guys specifically planned to hang out that day.

He's a little shit but eventually it'll get so ridiculous you can't help but laugh and that's kinda how you guys makeup? 🤷

Darry Curtis

I mean- how the hell do you think that'd play out? He's a yeller. He pulls a loud disappointment card and talks with his hands a lot. If he's too mad he'll yell from a different room because he's scared he'll push you or something like what he does Pony. He really doesn't want to hurt or scare you, so he puts distance in between y'all.

And I swear, if you FOLLOW him while he's trying to put space in-between you, you just might get pinned into a corner. Not that Darry would ever lay his hands on you but the second he sees your scared expression, he's a mess. The yellings out the window and he almost looks like a kicked puppy.

I'd like to say that fights actually happen frequent with Darry but they're usually over things like your or the boys' safety and stuff like that. Doesn't matter if you're his kid brother, one of the other Greasers, or his spouse, he's overprotective. If he likes you even a tiny bit he's protective as hell. However, Darry is usually the type to apologize with a lame offer of a date or alone time within 24 hours.

Sodapop Curtis

Another silent type. This little shit will be kinda immature when it comes to the silent treatment. "Oh, Steve? Did you hear someone saying something to me? I could've sworn an annoying little voice was talking to me."

Yeah he pulls that shit. Kick him him in the shins and run away and he'll chase you. Honestly might end up with y'all play fighting despite him trying to be mad. He just can't keep it for long 🤷 unless it's serious that is.

If it's serious, I could see him raising his voice for a second, but never super loud. He'll do it to get his point across and then he'll want space. He might secretly cry if it's something bad, but Pony's got him, don't worry. Nothing a late night talk won't fix. Soda will probably phone you within a day or two and ask if you guys can take a walk and CALMLY talk things out.

Ponyboy Curtis

He's such a freaking whiner bro :/ y'all probably fight all the time with how whiney he is about shit. I like Pony, don't get me wrong, but Pony can be kinda sensitive. Don't even lie.

He's a sarcastic little shit that will make comments and pout whenever he's upset with you. Visibly less playful and acts around you how he does Darry most times. Sometimes if you guys start to actually argue though, he'll actually run away. He'S a TrAcK sTaR-

Trust me, just give him an hour or two. If he's out longer than that, check the lot. 🤷 Probably got lost writing a little sob story or reading a book. Also the type to write you apology letters though in a form of a poem. The poems are sweet I guess but kinda cringey when he's all awkward about it lmfao.

Johnny Cade

Probably guessed it but he hates fighting. He'll avoid it the best he can but it's unavoidable sometimes. You yell and he'll shut down. Come back and talk to him when you've cooled off. He refuses to be yelled at, reminds him too much of home, but he also refuses to yell at you.

I could also see Johnny giving you semi-playful pinches. You guys are talking about something and you're getting worked up and you're starting to raise your volume? Pinch. You're ignoring him because you're pissed off? Pinch. You guys made up and he's feeling a little cheeky when you guys hug it out? Pinch.

Fights never last long. He doesn't let you guys go to bed angry like his parents. He'll give you time to cool off, of course, but not angry.

"I know we're fighting right now, but I just want to remind you that I still love you, ya dig?"

Dallas Winston

Honestly, despite him being an asshole that deserves a majority of the fights thrown at him, he's a strong believer in not going to bed angry when he really likes someone.

"Oh come on, don't be like that!"

Cue the dramatic eye roll as you slam the door. A few cigarettes later and you guys are sitting side by side on the porch of Buck's place. Or yours, depends where y'all are.

It's quiet, he's just taking drags off his cigarette and suddenly his jacket is around your shoulders.

"I like ya, doll. We can talk about it in the morning if you want to cool off, but come to bed and we'll cuddle or something, capiche?" Usually you have to initiate cuddles, so the fact he's even mentioning it first is a total win for you. You're weird if you don't take the offer.

I could also see him allowing you to hit him if you're angry too. He's low-key a masochist so 🤷🤷🤷

Steve Randle

He's kinda dumb, fights are probably started because he did something dumb and didn't realize. Or he said something kinda insensitive without thinking. He won't even know that you're mad unless you tell him and then he kinda gets defensive? "Don't be so sensitive."

Go on, you can hit him, I don't mind. He'll probably glare at you, use that stupid mocking voice under his breath. Kinda childish? I also see him as the type that would avoid his partner once they get into a fight. Kinda scared of them and doesn't want to have to deal with the negative emotions, you know? He might run away a few times but he'll eventually come back. Threaten him. It works. Tell him if he doesn't call you back within 24 hours you're done and he'll be on the phone within 5 minutes.

He really does care, he's just not the best with lover quarrels. Probably one of the worst here because if you don't say anything this dude can go up to like two whole ass weeks avoiding you. It gets a little ridiculous. Once y'all make up though he's definitely more careful with his words for a while. Compliments you a lot more.

Twobit Matthews

Honestly? He laughs it off. You do most of the yelling. He'll make sarcastic little comebacks. Definitely the type to make petty comments whether it be bringing up your faults when you're ripping on him or trying to gaslight you into believing you're overreacting. He just doesn't want to deal with it. Let him have fun, you know? He just doesn't get that he can't be that way 24/7, especially now that he's in a stable relationship.

Fights don't usually last long. Few days tops as he's not one to hold a grudge. He might even forget you guys are fighting lmfao on the occasion that he didn't forget and he just misses you, he'll probably just say a quick sorry and go back to pretending it never happened.

Definitely the type to half-ass apologize even though he doesn't think it's his fault. He's just kinda a people pleaser? If his sweetheart is mad at him and he's cooled off, he's like a kicked puppy.

#the outsiders #that was then this is now #the outsiders x reader #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade #dallas winston #two bit mathews #steve randle #tim shepard #curly shepard #x reader #requested

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jenna-ortega · 6 months

Text

19th hour

vertigo intermission (joel pov)

YOU'RE SCARED OF LOVE, WELL, AREN'T WE ALL (JOEL POV)

INTERMISSION SUMMARY - After you took care of Joel, and he took care of you, he almost leaves you. Realizing his mistake, he makes sure he shows you exactly what he needs from you. Joel's claws are stuck between the layers of your skin, and it'll take a village to pry what he believes is his from those callused hands.

Pairing - joel miller x female reader Word Count - 2.8k Warnings - angst, pinv, gagged & bound, praise, heartbreak, bathroom sex

original chapter

series masterlist - previous chapter

series playlist - by the wonderful @lovers-liability

Light barely breaks through the dusty windows. His eyes are slowly blinking open as he feels the cool breeze of your open window raise goosebumps on his skin. You barely feel the blanket rustle as he turns over to inspect you there. It still feels like a dream. Joel hasn’t felt drawn to someone so unapologetically since… and this is what scares him. How is it you? Why is it you? He could run from himself and hide in useless bodies that create no resistance in his emotions…and yet you’d still find a wear to tear through flesh to get to the part of him he knew you wanted. His eyes danced up and down your body, thinking of ways he could hide again. Could he use your body to hide? Or would your body be all he’s hiding from? His skin crawls with the knowledge of last night, how much you’d taken care of him. Even after all he’s done, and will do. He can’t help himself. He takes. You give.

Joel pulls the blanket slowly off of him, careful not to wake you. He looks down at himself, shirtless with just his boxers, he shakes his head. “m’ too old for this.” he whispers to himself as he walks himself down to where he remembers you took off his denim shirt. He should leave. He should find a place to hide soon, before you wake. Before he ruins it. Before he realizes this is exactly what Vanessa was screaming at him for before she left.

“Joel. You never give me anything,” she pleads,

“I give you plenty. Give you more than I give most.” he corrects her, stomping away from her and to the front door.

“I ain’t got time for this now, I've got somewhere to be.” Joel knows he’s being cruel, but he can’t help it. He can’t help but try to drag everyone down to feel what he’s been cursed to feel for years. Trapped. Within his own mind, within his own skin. And as he thinks about her words she screams as he leaves,

“You’re tragic, Joel. You don’t deserve anything good.”

He believed her. Believed anything good couldn’t possibly love anyone as damaged as him. And you were good. So he can’t, he won’t destroy you.

At least that’s what he wants to tell himself. He wants to convince himself he’s strong enough to leave you alone, wants to convince himself that leaving would mean destroying. Hiding from you wouldn’t stop you from seeking him out. Demanding he give you what he’s denied you for so long. He wants to. Wants it to be you who he comes home to, wants to be the only person you listen to, be the only one you confide in. He wants to be the only one to build you up, and the only one to tear you down. He wants to be the one to see you cry, to wipe away tears against those puffy red eyes. His sick urge to dominate and control, he needs to own. Joel is not a man of softness, never a man who will not consume you and your every thought. If he has now decided to stay, he won’t let you leave. Not when you’ve spent all this time pleading to him, giving yourself to him.

Joel takes a deep breath in as he puts his shirt back down, deciding to come back to you in bed. His footsteps are heavy as he’s made up his mind. This is it. He feels his claws release, finding a new host to sink into. That host turned to look at him in her doorway, eyebrows furrowed and hand outstretched over his side of the bed.

“What ya look so nervous for, darlin’” he questions, his heart dropping as he watches the chaos ensue behind your eyes. The nerves he knows you had waking up and thinking he’d left you. How could he leave now?

“Nothing.”

Joel knows you're lying. He can sense concern on your face, knows he shouldn’t have even thought of leaving you alone after what he’s done to you. Joel watches you fidget as his eyes glare into you. He won’t run from you, he knows what he’s done in the past. Knowing the minute life resumes today the only thing going on in that pretty little head of yours will be if you’ll feel him again.

“Alright then.” he lets it go. Doesn’t want to get into things with you after such a good morning.

—

“Thought I told you,” Joel grabs your attention behind the bar, leaning back against his chair with a smug smile on. You look so good in your mini skirt, he wants to devour you whole. Make a home inside your body and make you love it.

“I don’t want you workin’ here.” and he means it. Doesn’t want to watch mean stare at what is now his. He knows how easy it would be to pursue something else, and he won’t let you do it. Won’t let any other animal sink their claws into you like he has.

“You don’t own me.” Joel watches your mouth twitch in anger, loving how spunky you get with him. He’s gonna fuck that attitude out of you tonight and see what kind of shit you have to say then. Joel smiled as you slammed an empty glass in front of him.

“But I want to.” and there wasn’t an ounce of dishonesty behind those words.

He watched your eyebrows raise as your chest expelled a large breath, you’re so cute when he takes you off guard. Your soft whisper of his name has him adjusting himself in his seat, bulge straining against his jeans.

“ n’d here i thought you wanted me to own you,” his eyes darkened as he leaned over the bar, enticing you closer to him, “wanted me to take what’s mine. What belongs to me,” he growls and holds your eye contact without looking away,

“Tell me..you wanna be mine?”

His eye contact was too painful as he looked you up and down. Swearing the sight of you to his memory,

Joel rushes to lean over the bar, catching your chin between his large fingers. He would kiss you right now, force this whole bar to watch as he claims you, forcing you to stare back into his deep brown eyes, “I want an answer, darlin’,” he makes sure his southern accent was thick, knowing what it does to you. Melting in his touch, and all he does is laugh at your pathetic moan as he lets go of your face.

“I wanna be yours.”

Joel’s body temperature started to jump up. Those words made the dormant beast in him rage. Knowing you want to be his as much as he wants you. He loves knowing you’d let him control you, dick getting harder at the thought of dictating every move in your life. Forcing you to be a good girl by his side. God, you’re perfect.

Joel spends the next few seconds thinking about all the ways he can ruin all of your nights, now knowing you’d happily oblige if he did.

“Good girl,”

—

Joel had to have you right there. He couldn’t stop his steps as he led you into the bar bathroom, it was as if he was possessed by the idea of control. You give your body over to him as his prize, and goddamn was it something he’d cherish.

He couldn’t stop himself from pushing himself against you, black mini skirt in his hand hiked up to your hips, his dick twitching as it met your aching core. He could feel how wet you were, watching his own jeans soaked through from your drenched underwear. Joel groaned as he watched your pussy clench around nothing, dripping down your own thigh. God, your fucking slutty outfits were going to be the death of him. You were definitely not allowed back at the bar after this. He watches the recoil on your ass as he slaps it, moaning as he kneads your ass, giving another sharp slap to one, making you moan out, “Joel,”

Joel surely was loving this version of you. Compliant, and at the mercy of his hand.

He undid his belt, thinking of how much he wanted to manipulate your body. It was his after all, and only he had a say on what you could do with it. He wanted you waiting and ready for him without any say. And that’s when he had an idea…if he wants to control you, it starts now. He pulled your arms in behind your back, he winced as his force caused you to wince. Joel leaned against your neck, wanting to taste the salty sweat on your skin. He groaned at the taste, whispering to you softly,

“Poor little thing, in over her head is she?” his voice going higher, mocking you as you squirm in his embrace. Pushing back against him to feel his warmth against your body, Joel groaned at the feel of you. His prey trying to wiggle its way into submission. His belt now tied too tightly around your wrists, he watches as tears flow slowly from your eyes..

“Joel–please,” you were pleading with him to give you any sort of relief. He always felt bad, almost giving into you. But what precedent would that show? His strong hands tangling up in your hair, bringing your head up to rest slightly below his shoulder, and on his warm chest,

“You take what i give you, little girl” he warned, hand still tangled in your hair, now pushing your head off of his chest and forcing your eyes to watch yourself in the bathroom mirror. “Fuck” you were a dirty girl. He watches as your cunt drenches your panties more. His big body swallows you whole, holding you hostage as he walks your body closer to the mirror, pushing your pelvis to meet the cold porcelain sink.

“Joel, please–” you cry out as his hips trap you,

Joel hums in approval, “Darlin, I love when you beg…but you gotta stay quiet f’me.”

Joel watches as you nod your head fast, looking over your shoulder to see his dark eyes burning a hole through you. And he growls as he rips your panties off your body, suddenly feeling rushed to feel you squeeze his cock. Your body bounces from the force, and he smirks as you whimper from the sharp pain, “Fuck…” Joel’s cock is red and swollen as he hears those words from you, noticing how fucked out you look without him even fucking you,

“Shhh, baby. This’ll help,”

He forces your panties into your mouth, muffling any pleas to him you might have had on the tip of your tongue, and gagging you in the process.

Joel moved back from you, eyeing his work. “Mmmm”

Your body slugged over the sink, black skirt pulled around your waist with your hands bound behind your back.

Joel’s grin spread ear to ear, his dick jumping in excitement as he began pulling down his pants just enough to pull out his cock. His pink tip pulsing with clear precum already released.

He gripped it in hand, pumping it a few times before he walked back over to your body, lining it up with your slit.

He needed to tease, running his cock along your wet slit and putting small pressure on your clit as he does. Feeling your body tremble under him as you try to scream out, he’d remember this moment forever.

He couldn’t wait to take this from you any longer. Without warning, he shoved himself in you, hearing a squeak from beneath him–” fuck. FUCK.” his voice deep and husky as he began his pace, not letting you adjust at all. Grabbing your hips hard enough to bruise, helping him steady his thrust as he tore you apart. Your pussy squeezing around him, letting him know he’s in control of your body. Every thrust earned a squeal from you, he didn’t have any mercy in this. Deep and hard was all he was doing, the sounds coming from your core making Joel close his eyes and get lost in your body

Mine, Mine, Mine,

A chant Joel’s brain has now crawled its way into his mind. You were his baby. You were his to fuck, and his to hurt. He grabs your left tit and squeezed as he watches your nipples perk as he thrust even deeper inside of you, stumbling behind you as he loses balance with how hard he’s making you take it,

“Mine. Mine. Mine” his chant. Possessive in nature. Because how just and fair is it to be his, his, his, after how hard you fought, he thinks. You’ve earned him, you’ve earned the right to be torn apart by him.. to be bound and gagged in a bar bathroom, to be controlled and subject yourself to his nature. Possessive.

“You’re killing me with this pussy,”

He watches your wrists turn red against his belt as his thrust sends you further and further against the sink, the cold porcelain distracting is all he feels as he snakes around your front and begins rubbing tight circles on your clit.

He laughs at your feeble attempt to cry and moan his name against your panties, feeling your insides hug him tightly as he gives it all to you. His cock kissing your cervix when it happens, when he feels you shake and cry against the gag in his arms. Holding you up as you choke his cock with your orgasm, creaming all along his shaft.

“Yeah baby, you got it, you can do it, taking me so. fucking. good.

His thrusts match his words, hard punches into your cunt as you lay limp in his arms, gurgling nonsensical sounds as he takes, devours your whole.

“Gonna cum, gonna, –oh, fuck!”

He pushes deep in you, his balls hitting your core as he gives you everything, shaking and pushing you back into him as he does. “Take it all.” he demands through gritted teeth,

You squeal out as he gives you one last hard thrust, pulling out of you with a deep guttural moan, “Oh baby…” he tilts his head up to the ceiling, breathing out heavy as he comes back down to reality,

Joel tucks himself away and helps you get decent, ungagging you and pulling down your skirt, leaving you a small slap before pulling it down all the way.

Joel begins fixing himself as he watches you breathe deeply, closing your eyes as your hands hold yourself up on the sink. He’s looking at your flush complexion in the mirror, walking closer to you and petting your hair,

“You did so well,” he kissed the side of your head.

—

He brings you to place afterwards, making sure to tell Tommy he was stealing you for the night.

“Have I convinced ya to quit yet?”

“Joel,” you sigh as he opens the door to his place, he wants to hear you open his door when he’s in the bedroom, in the kitchen, in the living room. He needs you to blend yourself into his life so deeply you forget where you start and he ends. He needs you to never leave him.

He notices the smell you bring up immediately, heart dropping as he recognizes the scent. His body stiffens as she comes out from the kitchen,

“Joel! What took you so–” the high pitched voice he couldn’t not know. He watches as Vanessa’s eyes drop to yours. His heart drops as he feels you emotionally shrivel up. This can’t be happening. Not when he was so close to having you. And he knows he fucked up, watching you as you turn around and speed walk out of his place.

“Fuck,” he throws his hands up, running his hands through his hair, walking closer to Vanessa in the kitchen,

“Really?...are you fucking kidding me, Joel?” she throws the sizzling pieces of pork against the top of the stove, shutting the fire off.

“What the hell are ya doing here, Vanessa?” there’s an apparent tone to his voice. He can’t help but despise her at this moment. She broke up with him. She said terrible things to him and walked out, and now she would be the reason her words rang true, “You don’t deserve anything good.”

He holds his hand up, shutting her up as she began to defend herself,

“Y’know what? …i don’ wanna hear it.” his voice low as he jumps at Vanessa, grabbing her wrist and dragging her out of the kitchen, to his front door.

“Get the fuck out,”

“Don’t touch me!” She screams as she tries to plant her feet on the ground, to no avail as Joel’s big body drags her further out the door, finally letting go as she falls to the ground in front of him. Her eyes puffy as she begins to cry.

He’s doing it again. He’s destroying. He’s ruining things, ruining people and even if he’s noticed…it’s too late.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller x you

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warabidakihime · 11 months

Text

Heart's Refuge

Characters: Bakugou x Reader Synopsis: In your eyes, I found a refuge from the chaos of the world, a place where I could rest my weary heart and discover the beauty of love. Content warning: none A/N: was feeling kinda icky so i gave birth to this lol. hope it'll comfort some of you too. love u. <3

The night grew darker, and the dorm rooms of U.A. High School was cloaked in a hushed stillness. Bakugou sat on his bed, his room illuminated by a solitary desk lamp. He couldn't shake off the gnawing worry that had settled deep within him.

You had left earlier to visit your parents, assuring him that you would return before curfew. But as the minutes stretched into hours, an anxious restlessness consumed Bakugou. His mind conjured up vivid scenarios, each one more alarming than the last.

What if you were hurt?

What if something had gone terribly wrong?

What if you ran into a villain?

What if the League of Villains got to you?

Unable to contain his growing unease, Bakugou paced back and forth, his thoughts racing as he glanced at the clock on his wall. The hands seemed to move agonizingly slowly, amplifying his anxiety with each passing tick.

He resisted the urge to call you immediately, reminding himself that you were capable of taking care of yourself. You're mighty strong and smart; Bakugou regards you that much. But as time slipped further into the night, Bakugou's resolve wavered. His concern for your safety overpowered his desire to maintain his cool façade.

With a frustrated huff, Bakugou reached for his phone and dialed your number. His heart pounded in his chest as he anxiously awaited your response. The phone rang, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room. But there was no answer.

His grip tightened on the phone, his worry turning into frustration. Where were you? Why hadn't you returned or even messaged him? The thoughts swirled in his mind, fueling his restlessness. He fought against the urge to burst out of his room and search for you, recognizing the futility of such actions.

As the minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, Bakugou's worry began to mix with a simmering anger.

Damn it, Y/N. Just where the heck are you?

Bakugou's worry continued to eat at him as more time passed. Not being able to take it anymore, he decided to do something about it.

He made his way towards Aizawa's office, intending to inform him about your prolonged absence. His footsteps echoed in the quiet hallways, his mind racing with various possibilities of what might have happened to you.

Just as he reached Aizawa's door, about to knock and seek guidance, movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He turned his head and saw you, with a crestfallen expression on your face, slipping out of the dorm premises. Bakugou's heart sank at the sight, his concern intensifying.

His instincts took over, and Bakugou made a split-second decision. He abandoned his original plan and instead chose to follow you discreetly, determined to understand what was troubling you. Silently, he trailed behind you, making sure to keep a safe distance.

As you walked towards the training grounds, Bakugou's worry deepened. He observed the heaviness in your every step, sensing the weight of your emotions. With his own emotions tightly controlled, Bakugou watched you from the shadows, his eyes fixed on your figure.

When you arrived at the training grounds, Bakugou found a vantage point where he could observe without being noticed. From his hidden spot, he witnessed the transformation that took place as you unleashed the power of your gravity manipulation quirk.

Your movements were a harmonious blend of grace and raw strength, and your martial arts skills were honed to perfection. Bakugou couldn't help but be captivated by your prowess, even in the midst of his concern.

He watched as you poured your heart and soul into each training session, your determination shining through. The air crackled with the intensity of your gravity manipulation, and the ground trembled beneath the force of your strikes. The sheer dedication and focus you displayed were awe-inspiring.

Bakugou's worry intensified as he realized the depth of your emotions and the extent to which you pushed yourself. At that very moment, he yearned to reach out and offer you comfort and support, but he understood the importance of letting you find your own way.

As he continued to observe you from the shadows, his heart ached with the desire to alleviate your burden. And aside from feeling sad on your behalf, anger was also boiling in the depths of his heart. Whoever made you feel this way is going to pay.

An hour has passed and the blonde finally decided to reveal his presence and let you know that he was there for you.

Just as you were about to land a punch in the air, Bakugou swiftly caught and evaded it with expert precision, surprising you. Your initial shock turned into a mix of surprise and intrigue as you locked eyes with him.

Without uttering a single word, Bakugou's actions conveyed his intentions. He understood your need for an outlet, a way to channel your emotions. With a small nod, he acknowledged your unspoken agreement, and the two of you engaged in an impressive sparring session.

As punches and kicks were exchanged between you, Bakugou skillfully matched your intensity. He became your partner and your confidant in that moment, offering himself as a sturdy sparring partner. He allowed you to pour your emotions into every strike, blocking and countering with his own formidable skills.

With each exchange, the intensity of the training increased. There was an unspoken understanding between you, a connection forged through combat. Bakugou's unwavering support was evident as he pushed you to your limits, encouraging you to unleash your full potential.

Time seemed to slip away as the two of you continued the exhilarating training session. The intensity of the sparring allowed you to release the pent-up emotions that had weighed you down. Through the physicality of the training, a sense of liberation filled the air, and a shared understanding blossomed between you.

In that moment, Bakugou's presence became a source of strength and solace for you. You found comfort in the unspoken bond that had developed between you, knowing that he was there to support you wholeheartedly.

The training session carried on, filled with fierce determination, mutual respect, and unspoken affection. Words were unnecessary as the unspoken connection between you grew stronger with each passing moment. Together, you danced in a symphony of power, skill, and trust.

Sensing the need for an even greater release, an unspoken agreement passed between you. Without a word, you both amplified the sparring session by incorporating your quirks. The air crackled with energy as your gravity manipulation and Bakugou's explosive abilities merged in a dazzling display of power.

You manipulated gravity with finesse, effortlessly altering the trajectory of your movements. Bakugou countered with explosive blasts, showcasing his mastery over his quirk. The clash of abilities created a symphony of power, each move fueled by the determination to grow stronger and overcome personal obstacles.

The training grounds became a stage for the dance of your combined abilities. As you dodged and countered each other's attacks, a sense of exhilaration surged through your veins. The raw energy of your quirks intertwined, reflecting the unspoken connection that had formed between you.

As the amplified sparring continued, the world around you faded into the background. There was only the two of you, locked in a harmonious battle, pushing each other to new limits. In this shared endeavor, you found solace, strength, and a newfound hope.

The training grounds were filled with a lingering haze of exertion as you and Bakugou lay side by side on the messy floor, catching your breath after the intense training session. The silence between you was heavy, and each breath was a reminder of the shared intensity you had just experienced.

After a few more seconds, Bakugou finally broke the silence, his voice gruff but laced with a rare tenderness. "You really know how to make me worry, damn it," he said, his gaze fixed on the ceiling above.

You turned your head to face him, mustering the strength to share your pain. "Katsuki, I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice filled with vulnerability. "I just... I couldn't handle it anymore."

His crimson eyes locked with yours, and his expression softened slightly. "Handle what?" he asked, his tone laced with genuine concern.

Taking a deep breath, you began to recount the painful encounter with your parents. "When I went to visit them, it was the same as always," you said, your voice tinged with bitterness. "They treated me like I was worthless, like I was nothing more than a disappointment. I couldn't take it, Katsuki. It hurt so much."

Bakugou's features hardened, a flicker of anger igniting in his eyes. "Those assholes don't know a damn thing," he growled, his voice filled with righteous indignation. "They're the ones who are worthless, not you."

His words pierced through the pain, providing a sense of validation that you desperately needed. Bakugou's unwavering support bolstered your spirit, filling you with newfound strength.

"I just wanted to release all the frustration and sadness I was feeling," you continued, your voice trembling slightly. "So, I trained. I trained until I couldn't feel anything but the exhaustion in my body."

Bakugou's hand reached out; his touch was surprisingly gentle as he intertwined his fingers with yours. "You don't have to go through this alone," he said firmly, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. "I'm here for you, Y/N. Always have been, always will be."

His declaration washed over you, bringing a sense of comfort and relief. The weight of your pain felt a little lighter with his support by your side.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you whispered, "Thank you, Katsuki. I'm grateful to have you in my life."

He squeezed your hand reassuringly, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—concern, determination, and a flicker of something deeper. "I won't let anyone make you feel like that again," he vowed, his voice resolute.

The two of you remained on the floor of the training grounds, the silence enveloping you, punctuated only by the sound of your shared breaths. It was at this moment that you realized how fortunate you were to have Katsuki in your life—a fierce protector, a pillar of strength.

Bakugou leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead—a fleeting display of tenderness that contrasted with his typically explosive nature. His arm instinctively pulled you closer, but you playfully evaded his embrace, teasingly wrinkling your nose.

"Back off, Katsuki," you said, playfully pretending to be repulsed by his post-training sweat. "You smell funky."

An irritated scowl crossed Bakugou's face, his temper flaring up. "Oh, like you smell like roses, huh?" He retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's rich coming from you, Y/N."

You couldn't help but laugh at his fiery response, knowing he was incapable of holding back his trademark arrogance. His outbursts were as familiar to you as the back of your hand.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Katsuki," you replied, rolling your eyes but still grinning.

Feeling the heat of his temper rising, you swiftly extinguished the flames before they consumed him. "I'm sorry for teasing you. I know you were just worried about me."

He huffed, his pride slightly wounded, but a faint smile played on his lips. "Damn right, you should be sorry. I can't believe this is what I get for worrying about you."

Feeling remorseful for teasing him, you leaned in and planted a full kiss on his lips, a gesture to make it up to him. The kiss lingered for a moment, filled with a mixture of playfulness and genuine affection. It was your way of showing him that your teasing came from a place of love.

As you pulled away, a softness enveloped both of you, and Bakugou's features softened. He cupped your face in his hands, his gaze locked with yours. "I'm glad you were able to return safely. I may sound like an old geezer by nagging about your safety or whatever, but..." he whispered, his voice laced with sincerity. "Just know that I worry because I care. If something's bothering you or, god forbid, you're in need of rescuing, I'm always here for you."

You smiled, feeling reassured and immensely grateful by his words. As you and Bakugou were sharing your sweet moment, lost in each other's presence, a voice suddenly boomed through the training grounds, shattering the tranquility of the night.

"Do you have any idea what time it is? What are you doing here training so late at night?"

Startled, both of you turned to see Aizawa standing nearby, his gaze piercing and his tone laced with irritation. The realization of breaking curfew and the consequences that could follow hit you like a bucket of cold water.

You quickly disentangled yourself from Bakugou's embrace, feeling a pang of guilt for getting caught up in the moment.

"Sensei, we..." you began, but Aizawa raised a hand, silencing you.

"No excuses," he interrupted sternly. "You both know better than to disregard curfew. Get back to your dorms now."

You nodded, your voice filled with regret. "Sorry, Aizawa sensei. It won't happen again."

Bakugou stood by your side, his expression apologetic, but he didn't say anything and just acknowledged his teacher in his own way.

Aizawa's stern gaze softened slightly, and he let out a tired sigh. "Just go back and get some sleep. But remember, rules exist for a reason."

You and Bakugou nodded, acknowledging his words. With a final glance at each other, you turned and walked away, heading back to the dorms under Aizawa's watchful eye.

The both of you walked back to the dorms in silence, the weight of the encounter still lingering in the air. As you reached your dorm room, Bakugou stopped and turned to face you.

"Sorry about that," he muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and apology. "I didn't expect Aizawa to show up like that."

You smiled softly, understanding his feelings. "It's okay, Katsuki. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for getting you into trouble too."

He nodded, his gaze softening as he took a step closer to you. "Good night, Y/N."

"Good night, Katsuki," you replied, your voice filled with warmth.

In that moment, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips. It was a tender gesture, filled with unspoken affection and a promise of tomorrow. As he pulled away, his hand reached up to brush against your cheek, and his eyes locked on yours.

"Get some rest," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

You nodded, feeling a sense of comfort and security in his words. "Thank you, Katsuki. You take care too."

With one final lingering look, Bakugou turned and walked away, leaving you standing at your dorm room door with your heart fluttering and a smile tugging at your lips. As you entered your room, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for having someone like Bakugou by your side—someone who cared deeply for you and was always there to offer support.

With that thought in mind, you settled into bed, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over you. As you drifted off to sleep, you carried with you the memory of Bakugou's kiss and the promise of a new day filled with possibilities.

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