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spnae · 2 years

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Chapter 21 Our Expert

The two vampires made their way down to the front entry hall. Spike bounced on the balls of his feet while Angel leaned against the wall with his arms across his chest. Angel eyed Spike with annoyance, “So I see you found her alright. Did she even really need your help?”

“I managed to get to her in Paris before it did. We took down the nasty together. Sort of solidified the bond between us.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Thing’s blood had certain mystical properties, we both got completely drenched in it.”

“That sucks.”

“Not as much as you might think. Turns out that back in old times they used to use this thing’s blood for marriage rituals as a test of true love. Couples that shared real true love got over a weeks worth of seriously incredible sex and the couples that had anything less than the real thing just went completely mouth-foaming, bug-shagging mad. Normally ended up with the unhappy couple killing each other before morning according to Little Red. These folks would do it on purpose as a test of love and fidelity. It just sort of happened to us. We didn’t find out about the strings attached until well into the next day when Wil called to tell us about it.”

“And since neither one of you is dead or insane…”

“Course, Buffy and I hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. We just thought things were amplified because we’d been apart for so long. Couldn’t keep our hands off of each other, you see. Didn’t really leave the room much that week… or the next. Nothing quite like Paris in spring,” he smiled serenely, gloating.

“Are you done? You got that out. Played your little mind game and had your fun?”

Spike grinned, “Not just messing round, Angel-cakes. Every word is true. Best. Sex. Ever. And I do mean, ever. Not to mention it seems to have left this sort of connection between us. Like a psycho-sexual thing, hard to make out sometimes if we’re not actually touching or in the act, but it’s coming along, getting stronger. Growing. That one wasn’t in the books, we’ve been figuring it out on our own since it happened.”

“Bet you’re loving this.”

“Damn right I am.”

“You’re twisted.”

“Yeah, a bit. At least I know how to have a good time.”

Buffy came jogging down the stairs dressed for fall in jeans, a sweater and running shoes. Her hair was pulled back into a severe braid. When she got there she pulled a messenger bag down from a hook by the door and slung it around her neck.

“Ready boys?”

Spike smiled at her fondly while Angel looked like he might be sick. She shifted her gaze between the two, “You told him about Paris, didn’t you?”

“You know I couldn’t resist.”

“I thought we agreed we were going to wait to tell him about that.”

Angel looked at the two of them, “Seriously?”

Buffy sighed and opened the door leading the way in across the lawn towards the duplex, “Nope, it’s all a figment of your imagination and you’re going to wake up soon. What the hell do you think we are doing here anyway?”

“Each other apparently…” he grumbled as he followed them across the lawn, “I don’t know, I assumed training Slayers. But you two seem more like honeymooners than teachers. So you tell me.”

“We wanted to take a trip together but thought we should come up here first. Do a little actual work and take things from there—“

“Then Giles broke his leg, and we decided to stay on a bit longer. Had planned on a little sightseeing tour of Edinburgh this weekend, and now we’re entertaining out of town guests,” Spike interjected.

Buffy shot Spike a quick nod, “Right now we’re just sort of rolling with it.”

“You always did like rambling didn’t you, Spike?”

“Figured the lady deserved a bit of fun for once; before we decide to settle down for good,” Spike rested a hand on her shoulder as Buffy stopped to unlock the front door. The three of them stepped inside without any resistance. For now the two vampires still didn’t need an invitation.

“So what is this place anyway? Looks like you’re starting renovations in here,” Angel said as he looked around the living and dining rooms and followed Buffy through the kitchen and into the basement.

“Yup. We just got the place cleaned out, renovations will be starting soon.”

“Are you going to start keeping the girls in here?”

“Not exactly,” Buffy said, dismissively as she pulled out a map, “look this is where Wendy said she and her girls found the baby.”

“Don’t you think maybe we should’ve brought her with us, Love? The redemption bit?”

Buffy frowned a little, “Honestly at this point, I don’t know if that would be a good idea. She’s been seriously off since it happened. Obviously it’s important for her to have a role in fixing this, but maybe just not tonight.”

“Fair enough, I just work here.”

“I’m not your boss, we’re partners.”

“Can we move this along?” Angel asked impatiently.

Buffy folded the map up and handed it over to Spike for safekeeping, “Ready to see something cool?” She asked Angel as she made her way down into the basement, stake at the ready. Once again the basement was empty. She went over to open the tunnel door and it swung open.

“Nice,” Angel grinned approvingly.

“I know right?” Spike agreed as he pushed past him into the tunnel, “Dead convenient.”

It didn’t take them long to find the tunnels Wendy had noted on the map. Angel led the way until they came to a large curved room with a small altar in the middle. There was a single older looking demon standing near the altar. He had blue skin a little darker than the baby’s and was wearing green robes with black trim. He had been lighting a series of candles on the altar. He was mostly bald, which made the three small horns on each side of his head seem larger than the ones on the stocky male demon they had seen in the tunnel before with the mother. The old demon in front of Angel had several eyebrow piercings and a large ring through his nose and a thick white beard.

Angel held up a hand signaling for Spike and Buffy to hang back while he took several more steps into the room. He waited a moment then cleared his throat before speaking in the odd language Buffy had heard the parents of the child speaking. The conversation seemed to be going well until the older looking demon suddenly tilted his head looking confused.

Angel fumbled for a second, “Spike? Help me out here.”

Spike cleared his throat, “Ah well, I think you just told him you know the location of the missing cabbage.”

Angel grimaced, nodded once, “Always get those words mixed up…” he said under his breath before he continued on.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I present our expert,” Spike murmured low into Buffy’s ear.

Buffy glared at him and turned her attention back to Angel trying not to smile. Angel continued his conversation with the old looking demon. After a moment he bowed his head. Angel imitated him then turned around to Buffy and Spike. “This is Elric, he’s one of the elders. He is willing to arrange a meeting with the other elders tomorrow night. The girls involved will have to be present.”

Buffy stepped forward, “Do we trust this guy? How do we know they won’t hurt them?”

“It’s not part of the process. They wouldn’t do anything until they talk to them first.”

“Ah hum, ok… do we bring the baby?”

Angel turned back to Elric, asked Buffy’s question and turned back to her, “The elders will need to see the baby, but they can not accept him at that time. If things go well tomorrow, then we can bring him back the next night when the girls will have to present the parents with gifts. If they accept their gifts then we can give them back their son.”

“Ok. And if they don’t?”

“Oh the usual.”

“Great, I love the usual,” Spike quipped.

“Speak for yourself,” Buffy intoned flatly.

********************

They had no more than got back into the kitchen at the duplex when Angel’s phone started ringing. He checked the phone and held up a finger. “I’m going to have to take this,” he excused himself walking away from them and into the empty living room area.

“Hey, is something wrong?” he asked quietly into the phone, “No, of course not. I don’t mind.”

Angel listened intently for several minutes before answering, “I’m in Scotland on business right now…” another pause, “It might be a few days but I can meet up with you if—“ Angel stopped talking abruptly, “Yeah alright, sure. I’ll be in touch. Hey, thanks for calling. It was really nice hearing from you. I’ll see you soon.”

He flipped the phone shut and looked up to find Spike and Buffy both watching him. “That the werewolf?” Spike drawled.

Angel looked at the phone and back up at them, “Wh— oh no, that was just— it’s not important,” he slipped the phone back into his pocket then rubbed his hands together. “Ready to get out of here?”

Buffy eyed him, “Sure, sun up isn’t really that far off, probably a good idea.”

As they made their way across the lawn Angel spoke up again, “By the way, where’s Dawn? I’m surprised she’s not here with you.”

“Taking summer classes in Rome.”

“And you’re here, with him?”

“And she’s almost eighteen, living with a super powerful witch and a Slayer; not some random guy. I have met most of her friends and she hangs out with at least one Slayer nearly all the time. Plus there’s this thing called a telephone that’s super handy for two people to communicate with.”

“Hard to believe she’s that old already.”

“Yup…”

“Wait; Did you say Rome?”

“They’re still in the same flat,” Spike interjected.

“What school is she at?”

Buffy told him and then raised an eyebrow at him when he stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s the matter with you?” She asked.

He shook his head, “Ah nothing, I just know someone else who is taking summer classes there,” he hitched a thumb behind his shoulder gesturing towards the duplex, “Kind of a crazy coincidence… the phone call I got in there… just letting me know he’s—“

“You gotta be kidding,” Spike and Buffy said in unison as they both stared at him.

“I—“

“No seriously, you gotta be kidding me,” Buffy repeated, “If you tell me your kid is at the same school as my little sister… that’s some coincidence.”

“What?”

“Oh right, so how many college-age kids do you know?”

“You expect us to believe that your kid just happens to be taking a summer semester at the same school her little sister is?” Spike asked.

“First of all, I don’t have much contact with him. He calls every once in a while to give me updates. I knew he was planning on taking a summer trip somewhere in Europe. I didn’t know he’d be in Rome. Or there. It’s a big school, they might not even meet.”

“They’re taking summer classes at the same school, roughly the same age, both speak English, come from LA, and both exist because of some major cosmic rewriting. No, they won’t stumble into each other at all.”

“Probably shagging already,” Spike said nonchalantly.

Buffy and Angel both glared at Spike, “What? Like you’re not thinking it too? I know you are, Pet. Probably what Dawn has been so squirrely about.”

Buffy turned to Angel, “How long has he been there?”

“Humm, I’m not sure, maybe a month? He had some trouble with housing, he was just letting me know that it finally got sorted out and he was settling in.”

“Be funny if he’s just crashing with Dawn. He knows Willow right? It’s not that far of a leap, is it? Friend of dad’s, bonus cute girl… just saying,” Spike said.

Buffy rolled her eyes towards the sky, “William, Honey, please shut up…”

“Slayer, I’m just elaborating on what you already said. You know as well as I do, how this stuff works. I can’t be the only one who’s noticed how the Powers That Be, love to screw with anyone in the know. Sounds just like their brand of screwy. Your mystical sister getting it on with his mystical son. Both of whom shouldn't actually exist. You see what I’m getting at don’t you?”

“That’s just what we need…”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Connor is a good kid… now… Look, I was already thinking about heading down that way when I’m done here. That’s what we were talking about. I can check in on Dawn at the apartment too if you want.”

Buffy shot Spike a quick glance, “Yeah, I think I’d really appreciate that. As much as I don’t want to think about it, Spike is right.”

“Only if Dawn has started wearing leather and slaying,” Angel mumbled under his breath.

Buffy caught it and looked at him strangely, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just that he, ehh… has a type… wears leather, can fight… and he may or may not have a thing for Slayers…” he trailed off.

Spike opened the castle door and let them all in, “Must be hereditary… but Dawn’s not a Slayer,” he pointed out.

“No, but I have taught her to fight and she does have full access to my closet…” she said grumpily as she hung up the messenger bag she had taken with them.

Spike smirked as he shrugged off his long leather jacket, “No telling what sweet delights are hiding in there.”

“I’m going to see if Willow or Dawn emailed me back yet. Maybe they’ll tell me something that cancels out this whole stupid conversation,” She paused abruptly and shook her head, “You know what, no, I’m done worrying for tonight. Now we have a game plan for getting the kid back. I feel a little better, like I can breathe.”

Spike and Angel exchanged glances.

“You have something planned for tonight, Pet? Letting go of worry and all…”

Buffy thought for a moment looking between the two handsome vampires. She had a brief daydream of the two of them standing in front of her shirtless on some tropical beach at sunset. Buffy cleared her throat, “Humm, not really. Maybe a glass of wine and a movie, then I can check my email.”

“Switch wine for whiskey and I’m in,” Spike shrugged. He brushed her hair behind her shoulder and ran his hand down her arm taking her hand in his.

Buffy smiled, “Movie night?”

Spike swung her hand once and smiled at her, “Alright, but not another chick flick.”

“I was thinking of a comedy. I need a laugh. Get my mind off Dawn and all this baby stuff for the night,” Still holding his hand, Buffy turned to Angel, “What do you think Angel, join us for movie night?”

“Yeah, what do you say, Mate? Bury the hatchet and try doing the old-friends bit. At least for tonight. Try it on for size,” Spike said in a tone that dared Angel to refuse the olive branch.

Angel glared at him then glanced at Buffy. She was still holding Spike’s hand. All she was asking for was a little civility and an escape. “It’s been a while since I’ve watched a movie.”

“I’ll get the popcorn!” Buffy withdrew from Spike and shot off towards the kitchen.

Spike watched her for a second then turned towards Angel, “Come on then, let’s find something to make the girl laugh.”

Angel hesitated but followed Spike into the large living room. Spike immediately started rummaging through the extensive movie collection, pulling out a couple of Buffy’s favorites along with some random ones she might be interested in and laying them down on the coffee table to give her the final say.

Angel eyed the movies, “I’ve never even heard of half of these,” he said skeptically as he eyed the small stack of movies including, ‘Death Becomes Her’, ‘Scooby-Doo’, ‘Men In Black’, ‘Dazed and Confused’, ‘The Burbs’, ‘Saving Grace’, and ‘Bedazzled’.

“Not surprising. You really got to get out more.”

“When did they make a ‘Scooby-Doo’ live action movie?”

“It’s pretty new. Haven’t watched it yet. But look at the front. Daphne’s never looked better, she’s seriously hot.”

Angel eyed the movie case, “Looks like Buffy with red hair.”

“Like I said, seriously hot.”

Angel looked at it again and set it back down. Buffy came in a minute later with a big bowl of popcorn and she set it down, “If you two want blood you can help yourself.”

Spike raised a hand absentmindedly as he continued looking through the movies, “Just whisky for me, for now.”

“That’s what I forgot,” she said as she went to retrieve her wine, and the whiskey and glasses for the guys.

She came back in, set down the glasses, a bottle each of wine and whiskey. Angel watched with interest as she stripped off the sweater she had worn out. Now they were inside, she was getting warm again. Buffy didn’t notice his gaze and picked up the stack of movies. She threw one back down and handed the rest back to Spike to put away. He shifted through them before putting them back in the bin, noting which movie was missing from the stack and grinned.

“Go on, Pet. Let’s see what happens when cartoons come alive.”

Buffy got the movie started and went over to stand by the couch, “I’m honestly just hoping for a good laugh.”

“Freddy looks like a real winner,” Angel scoffed as he sat down.

Buffy looked almost offended, “Maybe not the hair, but I thought the actor was pretty damn cute.” Both vampires looked at her, “What? I’m allowed to look,” she said indignantly.

Spike stood up, suddenly wrapping his arms around her and pulled them both down onto the couch. Buffy let out a squeal as she landed on top of him awkwardly and laughed. She swatted him playfully and Spike loosened his grip, letting her up. He sat up a little with her. Their eyes locked as he pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, “As long as you know where home is.”

“You know I do,” she said low in his ear. Spike leaned down to her for a kiss. It was sweet and passionate and left them both wanting more.

Angel fought the urge to vomit. Instead he just reached for the remote and hit play on the movie, “Could you please not do that? Movie night was your idea, if you two need to go upstairs then go,” his tone was grim and he said it without looking at them.

Spike smirked at Buffy, “What say you, Pet? Do we need some alone time?”

“Shhh, the movie is starting,” she said in her most innocent tone. She pulled the popcorn towards herself and settled into the crook of Spike‘s arm leaning up against him comfortably.

The movie had barely started when Faith came into the living room carrying a glass of ice and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight before her. Spike and Buffy cuddled on one couch and Angel sitting alone, sullenly on the other.

“What the hell is going on in here? What happened tonight; did you meet with the elders?” Faith asked indignity.

“Movie night. We will go back tomorrow and the next night with Wendy’s group and the baby,” Buffy answered without turning towards her.

Faith sat down with a huff on the opposite side of the same couch Angel was on and grabbed the popcorn off of Buffy, “Nice of you to see if I wanted to join. Where’s the love, B?”

“Got wine and whiskey, get yourself a glass,” Spike added.

“Already got one. Felt like having one on the rocks so I came down for some ice. Guess that explains why I couldn’t find the bottle in the kitchen. Sounds like my kind of movie night. What are we watching anyway? Is that— is this Scooby-Doo? Are they getting stoned in ‘The Mystery Machine’, what the?”

“Everyone knows Shaggy’s a stoner. Now shut it, watch the movie. Drink,” Spike said simply.

Faith leaned forward to grab the whiskey off the coffee table. She poured herself a glass and glanced over at Angel. She caught him stealing a quick glance at Buffy and Spike, and filled his empty glass. Angel grunted a thanks and sat back looking dejected. Faith stretched her legs out on the couch, her feet not quite touching Angel’s thigh. He didn’t seem to notice. In fact he just sat there staring at the television rather than actually watching the movie. Faith rolled her eyes and directed her attention back to the movie where Scooby and Shaggy were doing something goofy.

Spike and Buffy both laughed at the antics on the screen. He murmured something into Buffy’s ear that Faith couldn’t hear and Buffy laughed again. Angel furrowed his brow and downed half of his glass of whiskey. He held the glass to his forehead as he glanced at them again.

Faith kicked him with one sock covered foot, “Let it go,” she mouthed to him.

Angel let out a sigh and relaxed a little before finishing off the contents of his glass and poured another drink. He continued drinking, sipping slowly rather than pounding shots, throughout the rest of the film. Casting a glance at the happy couple nearly every time Buffy giggled.

The moment the movie ended, both Buffy and Spike practically shot off the couch. Buffy muttered something vaguely apologetic about going to bed early and she and Spike made their way up to their bedroom.

Faith got up, “How about another movie?” She asked Angel.

He turned his head back around to look at Faith, “As long as it’s not based on a cartoon.”

Faith rummaged through the movie bin and pulled out ‘Lethal Weapon 3’ without asking what he wanted to watch. As Faith sat back down with a fresh glass of whiskey in her hand. The movie started and Angel patted the top of her foot, “I know what you’re trying to do…”

“Is it working?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Faith eyed him before taking a sip of whiskey and turning back to the TV, “You got to lighten up dude. I’m not saying get your happy on, just ease up a bit.”

“Not sure that would help the situation.”

“A little levity helps in like 80% of all situations. Maybe you should give it a shot.”

“I can be funny. I make people laugh all the time,” he said with a pout.

“Ah huhh, sure, whatever you say,” she added as she rolled her eyes.

*********************

Upstairs in their bedroom, Spike pulled Buffy to him. She placed a hand on his chest, “Thanks for tonight. I think Angel is finally starting to come around,” she said softly.

“No he’s not. Just because he’s playing nice doesn’t mean he’s on board with you and me shagging every chance we get. Might not be such a bad thing if he never does.”

“Now that’s just evil.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” she gave him an angry look, “No honestly,” he said defensively, “Think about it like putting an extra lock on Angelus’s prison. Even if he does get back with his werewolf chippie or finds someone new, he can be happy without being TOO happy.”

“So you’re saying flaunting our happiness in front of him is for the greater good?”

“Basically, yeah. It’s also a hell of a lot of fun. Throwing all that nonsense of his, back at him.”

“Yeah I’m not sure how I feel about that. I get that he’s put you through some shit but I refuse to be a pawn or worse, some ridiculous prize, in some kind of sick game between you two idiots.”

“You know that’s not how I think of you, don’t you? You are so much more to me than some stupid prize, Buffy. I love you, all of you.”

“I know. I just can’t stand the stupidity of it all when you two get together.”

“Not really much I can do about that, Pet.”

She glared cooly at him. Spike sighed, “I’ll do what I can. But only because it’s you, Slayer.”

Buffy let out a huff and dipped her head before looking back up to him, “I’ll take the nice act for now.”

“That right?” His tone was seductive as he let his hands roam over her body.

“What do you say to trying a little meditation?”

“Not exactly what I was hoping you’d say,” he arched an eyebrow at her.

“Oh I think we could make it interesting if we try,” she smiled wickedly.

“Alright, where do you want me?”

Buffy threw a couple of throw pillows on the floor and got out some candles. Once the candles were lit she sat down on one of the pillows. Spike kicked off his boots and mirrored her. They sat cross legged across from one other. Buffy held out her hands for Spike. His fingers glided over her palms. A subtle electric current passed through them both as their fingers intertwined. Buffy let out a small sigh.

“Ready for this?” She asked.

“Ready if you are.”

She nodded, “Close your eyes and clear your mind. Focus on me. I’ll do the same. We’ll try sensing each other and sending thoughts back and forth.”

“Sexy thoughts?”

“Let’s try small and work our way up,” she winked, “Although I wouldn’t complain to a little sexy.”

Spike cracked his neck and settled down. Closing his eyes he started picturing himself kissing Buffy dressed just as they had been. The kiss was slow and tender. Buffy pulled back from him a little.

So far so good, can you hear me okay? She thought.

Loud and clear, he responded.

A moment later the mind-scape shifted slightly. The kiss resumed and they were floating through space.

Spike? What just happened?

Just roll with it, Love. In his mind's eye he tangled his fingers into her golden hair and pulled her head back kissing along her neck and down to her exposed breast. They were both naked. Interwoven and floating. He imagined taking one of her breasts in his mouth, nipping at the tip with a little more force than he normally would. He heard Buffy gasp and realized it must have worked. Buffy’s eyes suddenly flared with desire.

Two can play that game, she thought. She ran her mouth along his neck and throat. Down towards his collarbone and back up to his ear as she ran her hands through his hair. She wrapped her legs around him, then ran a leg down the back of his thigh and hooked her ankle around the back of his knee. She ground down on him, rubbing herself against his hard member.

You’re in for it now, Pet. Spike growled and his eyes flashed yellow as he reached a hand down working his fingers over her. Slowly he worked his way in. Buffy moved to take him into her warmth.

He had barely worked himself in all the way before Buffy pulled back and opened her eyes, breaking the connection. They were both still sitting in the middle of their bedroom on the throw pillows. Buffy was panting. Spike looked at her with a combination of lust and confusion on his face, “Why’d you break it? It was just getting good.”

She rocked up onto her knees pitching herself into his arms, “Because as awesome as that was, I need you. The real you. I need to feel you inside me.”

He smiled, “Bloody hell yes!” he pushed himself up to his knees to meet her lips. Buffy stripped his shirt from him and ran her tongue along the well defined line bisecting his amazingly chiseled torso. She bit at his hip. Spike’s eyes flashed open turning from blue to yellow and back again.

He gripped his fingers into her hair pulling her up to kiss him again, “I love you, Buffy,” his growl came out from deep within his chest.

She knew his demon self was hovering just below the surface and didn’t care. She kissed him as she reached for the hem of her own shirt. Spike ran his hands up her smooth taught stomach and up over her bra. He pulled back to look at her as she pulled the shirt off revealing a pale purple bra.

“This a new one?”

“I held back a few surprises from our shopping trip.”

“Keeping thing’s interesting are we?”

“Always,” she said as she shimmied out of her jeans.

They kissed again as Buffy pushed Spike back onto the bed. She unfastened his pants and slid them down. Spike sat up to remove his shirt, and she straddled him. Buffy took out the hair tie still holding her hair back in a tight braid and shook out her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders.

“God you’re beautiful,” Spike exclaimed softly. He ran his fingers lightly along her hips stopping when he felt little bows of ribbon on the sides of the little matching panties.

He looked down and grinned, “I like this set,” he said as he pulled a ribbon on each side before pulling them off completely. She shivered as the fabric passed over the sensitive skin. Then he reached up until he found the clasp of her bra and undid it with a practiced hand. Buffy arched her back, letting the bra slip down exposing herself fully to him. Spike gazed at her atop him, feeling like the luckiest man in the world.

Buffy grinned at him, “What's that look for?”

“Just appreciating the view” he lifted a hand, trailing his fingers from her collarbone downward. She shivered in anticipation when he passed down over her breast. He brushed the soft toned skin of her abdomen and continued down her body, moving slowly and deliberately.

Buffy moved her hips, slowly rocking herself over his fingers as he rubbed her gently. Buffy was starting to feel desperate now. Her need for him growing. She raked her nails lightly down his chest as she went in for another passion laced kiss. Spike deepened the kiss as he adjusted himself and pulled Buffy down onto him in one fluid motion. Buffy let out a little gasp as he pushed his hardness into her completely. Giving her exactly what she wanted so badly. The connection between them intensified as they sensed each other’s needs and deepest desires. Spike nearly lost control for a moment, feeling his fangs descend. Buffy watched. Then leaning down she grabbed his hands and using her strength she pushed his hands up over his head pinning them there. In retaliation Spike took one of her breasts in his mouth, teasing her with his tongue. Buffy gasped when he bit lightly. It sent a shock of pleasure and pain through her that had her right on the edge of release. After several minutes she let his hands go. However, he held them in place, reaching up to hold onto the headboard.

He watched her with hungry eyes as she pulled back, sitting up and rolling her hips sensually as she felt him gliding inside of her. They were both lost in a sea of sensation as they moved their bodies together in writhing synchronized motions. Suddenly it was as though they were connected in both the physical world and their shared mind-scape. The feelings were intense as they explored each other both inside and out. The mind Spike was the one in his vampire form, the demon inside him joining in the fun. She opened her eyes to look at the real Spike pressed into her, realizing his face hadn’t actually changed at all. She kissed him and they kissed in the mind-scape too, in spite of his fangs. With a thrill Buffy realized she didn’t mind either way and deepened both kisses.

When she opened her eyes again Spike really had let his face shift, “Are you sure this is what you want?” He rasped quietly.

“I want you, all of you. The monster and the man, inside and out.”

Spike growled as she brought her mouth back down onto his, carefully keeping himself from hurting her with his fangs. She moved back over to his neck and ear, sucking and flicking with her tounge. Can you be gentle with those things? She asked inside her head without ever lifting her mouth from his ear.

“What did you have in mind?” He gasped aloud when she bit his ear with blunt teeth.

Buffy sat up a little, offering her other breast to him. He took it gleefully. As he rolled his tongue along the tip the way she liked. He gave a little nip with his teeth. She gasped. Little pinpricks of blood met his tongue making him shudder involuntarily. Did I hurt you? He thought to her.

“A little. Don’t stop,” she gasped again as he continued to tease. The sensation over took them both. He ran his tongue around soothingly, tasting the little hints of blood on her skin. He loved that taste but never wanted to really hurt her. He thrust up into her as hard as he could and Buffy shuttered as the first orgasm hit.

Spike let go of the headboard. He grabbed Buffy’s hips, suddenly lifting her up and pulling her forward towards him. He let his face melt back into his human form before grinning up at her. “Wouldn’t want to damage your sweet spot, Pet,” he growled low, “I want you.”

Buffy grabbed hold of the headboard and pressed herself against it as he dipped his mouth under her. Tasting her. He teased her with his tongue relentlessly and dug his fingertips into her hips and thighs as she pressed herself to his mouth asking for more.

Buffy screamed as he continued to pleasure her. His hands wandered over her lower back and up to her breasts. She released her grip on the headboard and grabbed his hands signaling him to let go. She ran her fingers through his hair roughly. Spike let out a low sexy growl. Arching her back, Buffy reached behind herself rubbing her hand against him. He was still slick and wet from being inside her. Electricity shot through them both as Buffy screamed again, “William!”

Buffy moaned again, and gripped a handful of his hair, thus spurring him on harder. A scream escaped her lips again before lifting herself up. She swung her leg around so she could move to the side, going down on all fours. Communicating her needs through their link.

Without saying a word Spike got up, and positioned himself behind her. She pushed back into him and he glided into her deeply once more, feeling her clamp down around him. Buffy straightened up, pressing her back against his chest as they continued moving in rhythm with each other. Spike growled and kissed her neck, tasting her salty skin. She moaned in appreciation and reached one hand to grab his hand on her hip, moving it down between her legs. Then she turned as she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him to her for a kiss. He bent towards her, accepting it like a living man might accept an oxygen mask.

As their lips and tongues kneaded each other, Buffy felt herself building towards another release. The kiss deepened. Spike moaned into her open mouth as he continued to drive into her steadily. She let out another little cry of delight as he moved his other hand over her breast pinching gently. Buffy released her hands and moved slightly as she pressed them against the headboard for leverage. Spike increased his pace, sending them both over the edge.

He held her in place with his hands on her hips as Buffy steadied herself. She reached her arm back again pulling him into another kiss, this one slow and tender. They turned to face each other and resumed the kiss as they laid down on the bed. Buffy struggled to catch her breath as they lay there intertwined in postcoital bliss.

Spike rested his head against hers and smirked, “That was incredible.”

“Yeah it was,” She panted as she pulled herself a little closer to him.

“That’s a mind game I don’t mind playing.”

“Think we’ll ever get the hang of that without the sexcapades?”, she teased.

“I’m not complaining.”

Buffy laughed, “Yeah, I didn’t think you would,” she passed the moment relishing in the feel of his arms around her, “I love you.”

“Still getting used to hearing that,” he said softly.

“I love you,” she repeated earnestly.

“I love you too.”

Buffy wiggled a little in his arms as she readjusted herself on the bed with him, “I know I don’t say it enough… to anyone… I just really want you to know how much I really do, love you— you know, with Angel in town and all… I just want—“

“I’m gonna stop you. You don’t have to prove anything, Love.”

She took a deep breath, “Liar,” she laughed, “You say that, but I know you. You wouldn’t be so damn insecure around Angel if—“

Spike huffed, “You have no idea how much of that bloody nonsense isn’t even about you, Pet. You’re right about one thing, I’m still working through it a bit. Did a lot of that in LA but it’s still there; a bit.”

“You’re sure that’s all?”

“I’m sure. Think of it like serious daddy issues— except not— and way more twisted than the average.”

“Yeah, I can’t think of you two like that—“

“Like what? A freaking twisted family? That’s sort of what we are, Pet. A little like the family you’ve built for yourself around here. Except way more buggered.”

“I so don’t need to hear this. Why not go with something less— icky than daddy issues?”

Spike chuckled, “Dru always called Angelus ‘daddy’,” he shrugged, “Then he wouldn’t think twice about shagging her just to annoy me,” he cleared his throat, “I see your point.”

“Yup. That and it sounds like you’re still hung up on Dru.”

“Pfft, not bloody likely,” he paused a moment turning his face towards hers with a wicked grin, “So what do you think, Love, round two? Or would that be three with the whole mind thing?”

“Oh yeah, color me totally reassured,” she snorted delicately and grinned.

Still grinning, she tilted her head for another kiss and let herself melt into him. He pulled her hard against his naked body. Letting out a gruff moan, he kissed and gently nipped her neck. She ran her fingers in his hair and gripped hard. Setting up the mind-scape once more they dove in. The physical and the mental intertwining until they lost themselves in the other. There in that bramble of mind and body they found themselves and each other over and over again.

They moved against each other. Feeling, touching, and tasting every inch of one and other in slow sensual movements that consumed them both in sheer ecstasy. They let their minds wander in and out of each other, heightening the experience exponentially. The sun had risen long before they finally fell asleep, still intertwined in a tangle of limbs as they slept.

#fanfic #buffy the vampire slayer #bound #buffy fanfic #buffy x spike #spuffy #spike x buffy

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5sosfanfictioncatalogue · 4 months

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Moving/Moving In Together Masterlist

A Bomb In Your Fire (ao3) - dafeedil michael/calum E, 16k

Summary: Michael starts up a no-strings relationship with one of the dancers at the club where he works. Almost a year later, he’s still not entirely sure how they wound up where they are, but he figures it’s probably time he and Calum finally address the question they’re both dying to ask:

“So, what are we?”

Eighteen (ao3) - boomercal luke/ashton E, 56k

Summary: Eighteen-year-old Luke is done putting up with his father and brothers so he takes his father's Corvette and credit card to track down Ashton Irwin. Who graduated a few years ahead of him and has a reputation for smoking, drinking and sleeping around; surely he'll be enough to make his dad meet his demands... right?

i only wanna talk to you (ao3) - calumshoods calum/ashton E, 47k

Summary: ashton leaves to work on his documentary and leaves calum recordings of his favorite memories with him

oh but this time, maybe this time (ao3) - lukeisababe michael/calum T, 3k

Summary: “Hey, Cal?” He says after a few minutes of silence, deciding that it's worth a shot.

“Yeah?” Calum responds but doesn't really pay much mind to Michael as he continues to pack.

“We should probably move in together.” And that's totally not how Michael was supposed to ask Calum.

Or the one where Michael keeps asking and Calum keeps saying no. Until he doesn't.

only memories, fading memories (ao3) - lifewasradical michael/calum T, 2k

Summary: “Hello?” he says into the microphone, extending his legs out in front of him, making tiny dust angels from the thickness on the hardwood.

“Mike? Where are you?”

“Broke into the old apartment,” he answers softly, eyes shutting as he basks in the golden rays.

sending shivers right down my spine (ao3) - mukelftv luke/calum G, 836

Summary: luke and calum move in together.

stay stay stay (i’ve been loving you for quite some time) (ao3) - nothingliketherain (39_killer_queen) michael/ashton T, 2k

Summary: A soft, lazy morning that ends with Ashton asking Michael a very important question.

This Could Be It (ao3) - The_girl_of_the_fandoms_18 luke/ashton M, 2k

Summary: It may have already been theirs but Luke never asked before tonight.

Or,

Luke finally asks Ashton to move in with him and they end up having sex in their bed again.

you can hear it in the silence (ao3) - fakecharliebrown luke/ashton T, 23k

Summary: Ashton turns to look at Luke then. He doesn’t speak right away, appearing to consider his next words very carefully. He opens and closes his mouth several times, before finally, he says, “Do you think it’ll all work out for us?”

Luke hums softly. His head is angled in such a way that Petunia imagines he’s looking at their intertwined hands behind his dark sunglasses when he admits in a quiet voice, “I think it already has, Ash.”

Ashton squints at him for less than a second before he turns to face forward, closing his eyes against the bright afternoon sun, and says, “Yeah. I think you’re probably right.”

or; Petunia loves her boy more than anything in the world. When the world shuts down, she realizes that she might not be the only one.

you feel like the sun on my face (ao3) - mukelftv luke/calum T, 1k

Summary: luke and calum make plans for the day.

#5sosfanfictioncatalogue #5sos fanfic #masterlists #moving #moving masterlist

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littlefluffbutt · 4 years

Photo

Collectober Day 20: Kirara!

Feeling a bit nostalgic for the old Toonami shows so here is my favorite character from Inuyasha:) I loved the relationship between Songo and Kirara and the fact that she could go from the cuddly little fluffball here to the large battle ready entity that wreaked havoc on their enemies, BWAHAHAHA! Ahem.

And yep, she has her two tails! (makes it easier for her to sit).

#Little fluff butt hehe #Her front legs are supposed to be together but the string broke #I really miss Toonami #Toonami #Cartoon Network #Inuyasha #Kirara #Kilala #plush #collection #collectober

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

A Thousand Words

as promised, a Valentine’s Day fic 💕

Oikawa Tooru x female reader, Iwaizumi Hajime x female reader

TW implied dub/non-con, cheating, minor choking/abuse, nsfw(ish)

You break up with Iwaizumi two weeks before Valentine’s Day, standing in the doorway of the apartment you share with him.

And you hate that it still hurts, still tugs at the wretched, broken strings of your heart to watch that rare, beautiful smile of his fracture like glass, confusion giving way to disbelief and then finally anguish.

Iwa’s never been the best with his words, but it seems that you’ve robbed him of those too as you tell him that your relationship’s over. He just stands there, wide eyed, agonised as you shove your phone – the proof – into his face, a hoarse, strangled whisper of ‘why’ leaves his lips.

It seems that it’s all that he’s capable of.

There’s nothing for him to say anyway. You don’t want his apologies or his excuses. The pictures are evidence enough.

A boys weekend, he’d told you, and you’d trusted him. You loved him. He wasn’t like your ex, Iwa would never deliberately do anything to hurt you.

He knew what fidelity meant to you.

You’d thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with him, but those pictures are enough to show you what a fool’s dream that was. Iwa, naked in bed, wrapped around some other woman.

Sleeping so peacefully, curled up by her side, like he’d done with you a thousand times.

And it doesn’t matter whether he was drunk or not. It doesn’t matter if he knew her or paid for her or found her at some fancy fucking bar downtown. He cheated on you, he broke your heart and he doesn’t get to watch you fall apart in front of him.

You save your tears until the door swings shut, collapsing onto the floor with a heartbroken wail as the man you love walks away.

—

Iwaizumi doesn’t remember much of that night. He’s never been a lightweight, but the drinks they were knocking back would’ve been enough to take out the best of them. And Iwa didn’t have to worry, not when he was out with friends.

God knows they’d gotten him into so much shit when they were younger and stupider, but between the four of them they’ll stop each other from doing anything too damaging. They have careers now (most of them, anyway) and reputations to protect. And Iwa had you.

Out of everything; his career, his reputation, his livelihood, you were the one thing Iwa wouldn’t risk fucking up.

The night itself is a hazy, incomprehensible blur, but he does remember the girl. Not her name or where she came from, but he remembers her. A pretty face with a sultry smile, wearing some short, tight, shimmering dress. He remembers her sitting on Oikawa’s lap, fingers carding through his hair, red lips kissing at his jaw.

And he remembers Oikawa lounging back in his seat, barely paying the poor girl an ounce of attention, even when her hand started to run teasingly up his thigh, those same sinful lips whispering into his ear.

How the girl managed to find her way from Oikawa’s lap to his hotel bedroom is beyond him, but the pictures don’t lie. It’s his arm wrapped around her waist, her skin littered with love bites and fingerprint shaped bruises.

It was her mouth he’d woken up to, trailing a slow, teasing path up along his chest. He’d shoved her aside, snapped and snarled until the pretty thing welled up with tears and all but fled, leaving him to fall back into the sheets full of self loathing and disgust, wondering how he could possibly have fucked up this badly.

And when he threw up later, hurling until there was nothing left in his stomach, he knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d drunk.

Iwa hadn’t known that anybody knew, hadn’t thought that there was proof – not until you were shoving it in his face, your bottom lip trembling as you tried to keep your tears at bay. And what could he say?

It was a mistake?

He was drunk?

Iwa doesn’t make excuses, you deserve more than that. You deserve more than him.

He should’ve fallen to his knees and begged – begged you through tears if he had to – for you to give him a second chance. But the words stuck in his throat, because the look of absolute, utter heartbreak on your face felt like a fist driving into his gut, and he wasn’t sure if he even deserved it.

You break up with him two weeks before Valentine’s Day, entirely unaware of the ring he’s been carrying around in his pocket for almost a month now, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

So he does the only thing he can, and calls Oikawa.

—

Moving your things out of the apartment you’d spent the last year and a half sharing with your boyfriend – your ex-boyfriend – takes less time than you think. The life you’d started to build with him, packed up in nice neat little boxes in only a few hours.

And you’re grateful that he’s not there. He’d messaged you to tell you that he wouldn’t be, the only contact you’d had with him since breaking up.

It’s not the pictures on the nightstand, Iwa’s strong arms wrapped around you, a dopey little grin on his face that gets to you – it’s the World’s Best Boyfriend mug he’d bought you as a joke one day, the old hoodie of yours that was actually his, the one you’d worn half to death because it was warm and smelled like him.

It’s hard enough to do this without him hovering over you, but stupidly you’d forgotten that while Iwa had promised not to be there, he wasn’t the only one with a key to your shared apartment.

The lock clicks and the door swings open just as you’re finishing up in the bedroom and for one single, split second, your heart jumps into your throat.

But the brunette that saunters in isn’t the one you’re still in love with, and you’re quick to brush away the tears on your face before he can see.

Before he can mock you for it.

Oikawa, ever the charmer, merely grins when he catches sight of you.

“Did Iwa send you to supervise?” you say in lieu of a proper greeting, the words slightly more bitter than you intend – even for him.

He isn’t bothered by it, his grin widening just a fraction as he turns and settles down on the bed, long legs stretched out, ankles casually crossed over. He looks entirely too comfortable there and it’s an effort not to bristle.

“Well hello to you too,” he says, his voice a teasing lilt. “Are you always this fun in the mornings?”

Your brows draw together in a frown, but just as you open your mouth to snap a retort, his palms come up in a gesture of mock surrender. “No, Iwa did not send me to supervise you. He doesn’t know I’m here, actually.”

“Then why are you here? To gloat?” you spit.

Oikawa’s eyes glitter, amusement tugging at his lips. You love Iwaizumi, and for his sake you’ve spent the past few years tolerating the constant, overbearing presence of his best and oldest friend. Oikawa, on the other hand has never made all that much of an effort to hide the fact that he doesn’t exactly approve of your relationship with his friend.

Oh, he’s never outwardly rude or hurtful. He doesn’t sit there and spew abuse at you, and as far as you know he hasn’t tried to sway Iwa into leaving you since the very early days of your relationship, but Oikawa doesn’t need to be overt to make his feelings clear.

He treats you like a one night stand that hasn’t quite gotten the hint that it’s time to fix your dress and move right along.

You still haven’t forgotten the night you all went out to celebrate your boyfriend’s birthday, how he’d slid into Iwa’s empty seat the moment he’d slipped out to get another round of drinks and spoken so casually, as if it was nothing but a friendly conversation. Small talk.

“You know it won’t last; you and Iwa.”

And you hadn’t said a word, not wanting to be baited into fighting – into ruining Iwa’s night. You hadn’t even scowled at him, just sat there, pretending that he didn’t exist as you waited for your boyfriend to come back to you.

“You’re cute together, I’ll give you that much,” he’d mused, swallowing the last mouthful of his beer. He’d studied you from beneath long lashes for a moment; a sharp, lingering look entirely at odds with the easy, relaxed tone of his voice. “But you two aren’t a good match. You don’t belong with him.”

You never did figure out exactly what you’d done to make him dislike you so much, but you suppose it doesn’t matter now.

Not when he’s finally proven himself to be right.

“Please,” he says with a scoff, rolling those pretty eyes of his, “as if I’d be so immature. I’m just here to make sure you don’t steal the coffee machine – it’s so much better than the one I have at home.”

He spends the next half hour trailing you from room to room, looking entirely too delighted at your misery. It’s almost a relief when you slip into the bathroom just for a moment’s fucking peace, brushing angrily away at the tears that still haven’t left you.

You almost – almost – reach for your phone to message Iwa and tell him to call off his stupid, infuriating friend, except you’d left it lying on the kitchen bench.

—

His head hurts. An incessant pounding, throbbing ache that makes him want to hurl.

Rationally, he’d known that the cure for the monstrous hangover he’d given himself wasn’t going out for a run at five in the morning, but he didn’t know what else to do. It was either that or keep drinking, and considering it was the alcohol that had gotten him into this fucking mess in the first place…

“I need to fix this,” he groans, dropping his head into his hands, letting his fingers roughly run through the tangles of his hair. “I need to fucking fix this.”

He looks like shit, feels like shit, but he can’t bring himself to care, not even as a solid weight drops itself onto the couch beside him.

“You need to give her space, Iwa,” Oikawa comments with a sigh, passing him a glass of water that he gratefully chugs. “Give her time to figure things out. She’s hurting, and you constantly harassing her won’t do you any favours in trying to win her back.”

He wants to see the truth in his friend’s wisdom. He knows he hurt you, he knows he fucked up, but–

You’d already moved your things out.

He’d known that, of course he had, but coming home to see every trace of you just gone was like a gut punch. He was gonna marry you, get down on one fucking knee in front of everybody and– and now you’re gone and he’s crashing in his best friend’s spare bedroom because the thought of going home without you there is too fucking painful for him to bare.

And he only has himself to blame for it.

But you’re his future, the only one he really gives a damn about, and he’s not one to just give up and walk away. Iwa doesn’t care if it takes weeks or months, he doesn’t care if he has to spend the rest of his life making this up to you; he will.

He can’t just let you go.

Oikawa continues to try and talk sense beside him, but he’s barely paying attention, only offering a small grunt of acknowledgement when he feels the brunette’s eyes studying him. He knows that he’s only trying to help, but he can’t honestly remember the last time Oikawa bothered to introduce him to one of the girls hanging off his arm. He knew as well as his friend did that there wasn’t much point – they wouldn’t be sticking around for long. Fuck, he doesn’t think that Oikawa’s ever had a serious relationship in his life, so excuse him if he’s a little hesitant to take his advice as gospel.

And Oikawa doesn’t know you like Iwaizumi does. He doesn’t understand you, doesn’t see what Iwa does when he looks at you. You’re like… sunlight. There’s no other way he can describe it. It’s cheesy and stupidly sappy, he’d rather be shot than admit it out loud, but he’s never met another person so–so… radiant. You burn bright, and Iwaizumi can’t help but be drawn to you – your warmth and your softness and everything about you. You’re beautiful and caring and you’re home and he’s terrified that if he waits too long, somebody else is gonna see that and snatch you up for themselves and he won’t even be able to blame them for it.

He knows he fucked up, knows that you probably (rightfully) hate him, but he has to try.

So he ignores the way that Oikawa huffs and rolls his eyes when he reaches for his phone, opening up your last conversation.

Please, can we talk? I know you don’t want anything to do with me right now but I’m begging you. Just ten minutes?

And his heart pounds against his ribcage so violently that he thinks he might be sick as he waits for it to send. Waits for the little ‘Read’ notification to pop up.

And waits.

Error. Message failed to send.

He tries again, distinctly aware of the Oikawa’s watchful, curious gaze peering over his shoulder.

Error. Message failed to send.

There’s a sinking feeling in his gut and in his panic, he presses the call button, bringing the phone to his ear with a sick feeling in his stomach.

It doesn’t even ring, there’s just three beeps and the line disconnects.

You’ve blocked his number.

—

You second guess yourself with every step, but you don’t stop and you don’t turn around.

The radio silence from your ex had been a little unexpected, but you’d been the one to tell him in no uncertain terms that the two of you were done.

You were the one to make a point of moving out, keeping the few messages you’d exchanged short and to the point. Were you expecting him to fight you on it? Blow up your phone with messages and voicemails begging you to come back? Maybe show up at your door demanding that you hear him out and give him another chance.

Were you maybe just the tiniest bit disappointed that he hadn’t?

It wasn’t remotely fair to expect that of him, you know that, but you couldn’t help the way your heart had leapt into your throat the moment his message had come through after days of nothing.

Can we talk face to face? I need to see you.

Two sentences, that was it. And you’d spent the better part of an hour debating whether or not you should reply.

Because you love him still, despite it all.

The last person you’d given a second chance to had used that chance to walk all over you. He’d broken your heart, your trust, and any semblance of self worth you’d had. Iwaizumi had been the one to build you back up afterwards.

And now he’d done the same thing. Knowing what you’d gone through before, and it gutted you.

The date on the calendar hasn’t slipped your attention. It’s Valentine’s Day, and you’d spent all morning trying to forget that if things were different, you would have spent the day with Iwa. He’d been secretive about his plans, tight lipped for once in his life, and there’d been some part of you that had wondered, hoped even… but instead you’re sitting alone in a hotel room, feeling miserable for yourself.

If you were stronger, maybe, and if today were any other day, you might have ignored the message, the way those two brief sentences made your pathetic heart ache, but–

But… perhaps you had been a little too hasty when you’d broken it off. Iwa hadn’t said a word to defend himself, but you hadn’t really given him the option, had you?

Agreeing to meet with him wasn’t agreeing to brush it all under the rug. It wasn’t a promise of forgiveness, or even really an olive branch. It just meant that you would go to hear him out, that’s all.

Just to hear him out.

Yet your stomach’s twisting into knots as you walk up the familiar steps, your heart beating out an unsteady rhythm. You love him, despite it all.

You love him, but that doesn’t stop your hand from trembling as you raise a fist to knock.

The smiling face that greets you when that door swings open, however, is not the one you’re expecting.

“Hey there, cutie. You’re early.”

Oikawa.

For one single, floundering heartbeat, confusion grips you. Why was he– was Iwaizumi not coming? Had you misunderstood the message, or… or had he changed his mind, backed down at the last second and sent his friend to hammer the final nail into the coffin of your failed relationship.

You didn’t think Iwaizumi would be the type, though. He’d never been cruel, he’d never been cowardly, either.

“I don’t… understand,” you breathe, wide eyes darting around as if you’re expecting your ex to suddenly pop up behind his shoulder and shove him aside with a growl, telling him to butt out of your relationship the way he had countless times before.

Yet Oikawa offers no explanation, that same stupid, infuriating grin widening as he steps back to let you in, and you, somewhat robotically, follow him inside. Your eyes flicker from his back to the apartment around you – it’s exactly how you left it last week, not a single thing out of place.

“Iwa said–” but your voice falls silent as you realise that no, that’s not true.

The door to your bedroom is ajar, soft, flickering light spilling out from the crack, but that’s not what catches your attention. It’s the rose petals on the floor, the dulcet music playing so quietly you’d missed it entirely.

Your brow furrows, breath catching in your throat as you stare at the scene before you, utterly frozen. You don’t register Oikawa stepping closer, nor the dark hunger brewing in his eyes. None of this makes any sense, you don’t understand–

“Iwa’s not coming.” Long, delicate fingers grip your chin, tilting your face and before you can even draw breath his lips are pressing against yours. It only lasts a second, long enough for your lagging brain to register that Oikawa is kissing you, here, in the middle of the apartment you’d shared with his best friend.

Oikawa, who hates you. Who’s cupping your cheek, gazing at you with an expression so eager and wanting, so unnervingly wrong that it makes your heart clench in fear and your blood run cold.

His thumb brushes along the curve of your cheekbone, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

And then he’s grabbing at your hand, fingers entwining with yours as he tugs you towards the bedroom, and finally the shock wears off enough for reality to kick in.

“What the fu– Oikawa, get the hell off of me!” you snap, trying to wrench yourself free. But he’s stronger than he looks, and his grip merely tightens.

“Tooru,” he calls back, glancing over his shoulder with that impish, wicked little smirk. “I want you to moan it for me tonight. You can do that for me, right cutie?”

You’re not a violent person, you’ve never been the type to lash out with fists and blows, but something inside of you just snaps at his words, and before you can stop yourself, your open palm flies towards his face.

Quick as lightning, Oikawa spins, catching at your wrist and slamming you up against the living room wall. A small burst of pain radiates through your skull from the impact, your breath forced from your lungs in a pathetic squeak as he boxes you in. There’s not a moment for you to catch your breath, though, not with his forearm pressing down on your throat just hard enough so that you can feel it. He’s always been taller than you, but you’d never considered him to be intimidating – not until he’s looming over you, teeth bared in that feral smirk.

“Oh, baby. If you’re not going to play nice, I won’t either.” His fingers tighten on your wrist, squeezing until a choked whimper slips out and he kisses you once more. Not soft or sweet, but bruising, teeth clacking, nipping and biting and harshly sucking at your bottom lip until you return it.

And when he pulls away, there’s blood on his lips – yours – and he licks it away with a satisfied little hum. “I put effort into this, you know,” he says, his tone almost conversational if not for the slight pant, the shivering undercurrent that laces every word. Oikawa leans closer, and you can feel the outline of his cock, hardening already as he presses it against you, rutting his hips ever so slightly. “Set the bedroom up nice and romantic for our first time together.”

He kisses you again, a sweet, tender peck, smiling when you part.

“But if you want me to fuck you here first, up against the wall, all you had to do was say so.”

—

The girl had been easy enough to convince to play along, which probably should have disgusted him.

She looked like you; a cheap imitation, of course, but close enough. Oikawa could kid himself that it was for Iwaizumi’s sake, to sow the seeds of doubt in his head, but he knows as he forces her face down into the pillow, slamming his hips against her ass like a man possessed, that that’s not the whole truth.

But she served her purpose well enough, letting him fuck her, mark up that pristine skin with the same kind he’d seen littered across your neck and collarbones, your thighs–

And she’d still tried to kiss him the moment before slipping out of her robe and climbing into his best friend’s bed. Given him that playful wink, biting her bottom lip seductively as if she were anything but a means to an end for him.

As if he hadn’t forgotten her name the moment he’d gotten those pictures.

Oikawa knows all about your ex and how that asshole treated you, out of all the possible scenarios he could have engineered, this would be the one that’d hurt you the most. He’d thought that you would fly off the handle, kick Iwa out for a few days and leave the door open just wide enough for him to weasel his way in, but you’d gone one step further.

You’d left him.

Broken his heart completely, the way he’d broken yours. Oikawa couldn’t have planned it better himself, and oh what he would have killed to have been there to see it.

And it’s not that he enjoys his best friend’s pain – truly, he wants Iwa to be happy, he does.

Just not with you. Not when you’re his.

It was easy enough to bully Iwa into revealing when you’d be coming over to pick up your things. Easy enough to rile you up to the point you’d run and hide just so he wouldn’t see you shed all those pretty tears.

Leaving your phone unattended. And really, it’s your own fault for choosing such an obvious passcode – how could he possibly resist?

You were none the wiser, his poor, unsuspecting little idiot.

Yet for all your posturing and your badly concealed hurt, he’d known that you’d show up today. You’re a romantic at heart, and you’d let yourself be walked all over again if you thought it meant that somebody loved you, wouldn’t you?

You would’ve said yes when he’d gotten down on one knee, and when he’d come back to you with tears in his eyes, drowning in regret and you saw what a mess Iwaizumi was without you, you would have forgiven him – even if it meant giving him the power to break you all over again.

Oikawa honestly doesn’t know whether he should admire or pity you for it.

It hardly matters now, he supposes. Not when you’re so beautifully wrecked, lying nestled against his bare chest with those tears he adores spilling down your flushed cheeks. Every thump of your heart echoing his.

He wonders if he should send Iwaizumi a picture.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa tooru #tw dub con #tw non con #tw abuse #tw choking #tw cheating #angst #this one's a doozy

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

The Bet: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: While on vacation, Gojo makes a bet that Geto just can’t refuse.

words: 1677

tw: nsfw, heavy smut, and bondage, baybeeee

Vacation sounded nice.

When Suguru said “vacation” and “we” and “are going” all in the same sentence, you first squint your eyes at him, noting the last time he had said those words, you ended up sitting on the floor of the hotel watching a B-rated horror flick while he laid in bed, snoring the night away. But he promised this time would be different, mentioned a beach, and then had you hooked.

The beach was there; that was a fact. You actually went to the beach earlier, splashing around in the ocean after making a very amature sand castle and burying Satoru in the sand. But now, you were sitting in the adjoining suite with Satoru and some girl he had picked up from a local club, your legs in Suguru’s lap while you talked, absolutely sober.

“I bet you all of the money in my wallet that y/n won’t survive thirty-minutes of being tied up.” Gojo laughs, a long arm slung around the random brunette who giggles a little at the bet. “She’ll be begging you to untie her before you cum, Geto.” Suguru tilts his head at Satoru, stroking your bare legs in his lap and calculating the possibility of beating Satoru’s odds. You don’t know how they got onto the topic of rope and the art of tying someone up, but here you were; the focus of this particular unwarranted conversation.

“I wouldn’t be so sure… You’re pretty resilient - aren’t you, kitten?” He asks, patting your thigh with certainty. You just nod, half-interested in the conversation, half hoping they would just leave well enough alone and Satoru would waltz off to fuck the woman to his left.

The woman in question eyes you carefully from her perch on the couch, fully relaxing into the white-haired sorcerer’s chest. Little did she know that this would be her one and only debut because Gojo never dipped in the same pot twice. Ever. So you effectively ignore her and answer Suguru’s question.

“I’m sure I can handle it.”

You really thought “tied up” meant both wrists bound or even a simple frog tie. But your hands are bound behind you in reverse prayer, with your legs tied up in some other position that Suguru had mentioned to you as he worked. You wonder for a moment where he got the rope and if this had been Satoru and his plan all along.

But the thoughts fade as you watch the sorcerer work his magic, taking care to exert minimal pressure with his movements and check the tightness with fidelity. The sound of the thick rope running through his fingers arouses you more than the positions he contorts you into, and before long you are absolutely helpless to his every whim and wish with no ability to move of your own will. When Suguru finishes, he runs a hand over your back, admiring his handiwork with a sweet smile.

“It’s been a minute since I’ve done this…” he murmurs, peeling off his clothes slowly. His arm muscles ripple in the dim lighting of the room, and you feel saliva pooling in your mouth. “But you look just as beautiful as I thought you would.” As a final touch, Suguru reaches into his suitcase and pulls out a bar gag, looking at the device before deciding that yes, he would like to use it. “I need your consent,” he states, and you nod your head, eager to feel the contraption between your lips. A relaxing sensation sweeps over you after the gag is put into place, and you rest your head on the sheets in surrender.

“You’re being so good for me tonight,” your lover coos, swiping a hand over your pussy. You groan at the contact, constricting on nothingness until he slides a finger into you. You quickly discover that the gag is a barrier to all speech except the guttural sounds you make, and your desire to be vocal about your pleasure heightens. Now that you can’t touch yourself, the sensations are enhanced exponentially, and you squirm beneath Suguru’s touch. “If something doesn’t feel right, I need you to shake your head twice, understand?” You nod, and he adds a finger while tugging on an exposed nipple. The sound that wrenches itself from your throat is needy and heady and absolutely filled with lust, and your head begins to spin.

Suguru removes his fingers quickly, making you cry out, but it isn’t long before they’re replaced with his cock nudging at your entrance. When he enters you, you hear him mutter a long string of curses, more than he’s ever uttered before in one sentence to your knowledge.

“Oh my fucking god, this shit is so motherfucking good.” You whimper when he begins to move inside of you, the familiar wet slapping sounds filling the room. You hope Satoru and his little plaything can’t hear you enjoying yourself, but you’re sure Suguru has plans to make your moans the soundtrack of the night. As you jostle back and forth with each stroke, there’s a distinct sense of pain you feel from the rope against your skin. Not that it was too much, but the pain added another layer of stimulation that you couldn’t quite describe in any other word except incredible.

Suguru sounds like a dying man as he plows into you, and you answer his pants and grunts with your own. “Seeing you like this makes me… oh, shit… it makes me feel so good, y/n. You’re such a beautiful woman… all tied up and...” He couldn’t finish his words as he moved inside of you, but you knew that this was exactly what turned him on: the fact that you were absolutely helpless without him made him feel invincible. The power dynamic is switched, and here you are, beholden to his every move. He wanted to be the one to give you pleasure, not anyone else; not even yourself. He held the cards in his hands, and he wouldn’t let anyone have them.

So when you tumble over into your first orgasm of the night, you know he’s swelling up with pride as he continues ramming into your soaking wet cunt. “Cum for me…” he whispers as you moan around the bar in your mouth. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.”

Afterwards, he unties your hands, rubbing feeling back into them before re-tying them together in front of you. Instead of looping the rope around your wrists until it runs out, he deftly ties the ends around the restraints on your legs, making your arms stretch out between your thighs. Your fingers are so close to your pussy that you can feel the heat coming from it, but when you try to touch your clit, you find that it’s nearly impossible to do so.

“We’ve got about fifteen more minutes,” Suguru murmurs into your ear, kissing your temple. “Think you can hold on?” You nod eagerly, hoping he can give you at least two more orgasms in that time frame. “Wonderful,” he answers, and takes his position behind you again. Except this time, there are no fingers or his cock… His tongue soaks into your cunt with precision, both hands resting on your ass cheeks.

At the unexpected feeling, your head shoots up, tugging on your restraints a little. But Suguru ignores the movement and continues his agonizing, languid procession up and down your pussy, circling around your clit and back. His appreciation for your taste is evident in the sounds he makes, the humming down below stimulating you further.

“Mmmph!” You grunt in response to his teeth grazing your clit before his tongue soothes the dull ache, flicking the bud back and forth. Your fingers extend out painfully, trying to anchor on anything as Suguru tortures you. But you fall over into the nothingness again, eyes drifting to the back of your head as you tremble beneath him.

Your orgasm hasn’t even fully ended when he re-enters you, beginning his strokes. A wet sensation runs down your ass and the pressure from a single finger on your asshole startles you, making you jerk again. “You can take it…” Suguru whispers, pressing his thumb into your asshole with slight difficulty. “There you go.”

The combined pressure from his cock and the finger in your ass drives you wild. Nevermind the fact that you were tied up; this was an entirely different level of satisfaction: ecstasy.

Tears slip from your eyes and your body begins to feel the ache of an overwhelming experience. Reality is no more. You are no more. The universe? It’s all composed of this.

The gag is drenched with your saliva and Suguru tosses his head back, a pained inhale dragging into his throat. “Fuck, I’m so close…” You try to buck your hips or at least attempt to reach your clit one last time so you can cum with him and completely black out, and you’re almost unsuccessful until you feel his cock twitch fiercely in your pussy. And that’s when your soul is snatched out of your body.

You’re deaf to the loudest groan you’ve ever made, blind to the sight of Suguru tilting back and pressing his eyes closed due to the force of his orgasm, and numb to the feeling of him shooting long streams of cum into your cunt.

The blackout doesn’t last forever, but you wish it had.

The timer beeps, ropes come undone, the gag comes off, and you’re covered in a thick blanket before Suguru presses an infinite number of kisses to your face and neck. You feel as if you’d smoked the best weed in the world, but you know the high only stems from the man who is holding you close and whispering tender words into your ear. Before you can close your eyes and shut out the world around you, a kiss is pressed to the inside of your right wrist, Suguru places your hand on his heart, and whispers,

“Satoru better not be broke.”

#geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen getou #getou x reader #geto suguru #jjk smut #jjk geto #jjk gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen #geto smut #getou suguru

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1kook · 4 years

Text

some way, some how

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

Summary: Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you. Warnings: emotional constipation, toxic ex, internalized misogyny, jk has bad experiences w/his ex’s dad, one scene where jk throws up, brief episode of panic, mentions of terminal cancer (minor); smut; fingering, praise kink, face fucking, spitting kink, cunnilingus, unprotected sex on top of a car im sorry Misc: autoshop owner!jk, businesswoman!oc, slice of life, childhood crushes, friends to lovers, ex gfs, pining, country bumpkin pjm w/crush on oblivious oc, ex-bf kth but it’s not real lol Wc: 19.4k (wow!!!)

the spirit of auto shop jk possessed me n next thing i knew i was 11k into a drabble. if ur curious: the 1975 corvette, car at the end, the tweed suitskirt (not actually chanel ☹️sowwyyy) also: this is the longest fic I've written!!!!! clap for me!!!!! i proofread the first few paragraphs n was like thats enough professionalism for the day

inspired by ain’t no mountain high enough one of my fave songs ever🥺 the title is a lyric from the song bc i love it so much enjoy !!

The garage is mostly dark when you enter, the faint hum of a radio quietly filtering through the stagnant room, its source coming from the back wall, where the only light is. It’s a rolling lamp, shining down an ugly yellow glow onto the figure of one man.

Jungkook’s sitting in that same rolling stool he always is, the metal one that’s rusted beyond repair, the cushion so uncomfortably flat. He’s caught up in whatever paint job he’s been tasked with this time around, a classic muscle car from what looks like the 80’s. He’s humming along to the radio, so caught up in stenciling out his design that he doesn’t notice you creep behind him until you’re very purposefully rattling the tool cart beside him, a teasing “boo!” making him jump.

“Fuck, you scared me,” he gasps, rubs over his chest as if to check if his heart is in fact still there. You grin, brandish your bag of takeout out for him before he can lecture you on the dangers of startling people who work around very complex machinery. Instead, all he says is, “you’re an angel.”

Once you’ve got the food carefully scattered across his work bench, your cherry cola tucked next to a canister of gasoline like that’s the safest practice, Jungkook wastes no time diving into all the details of his project, the 1975 Chevy Corvette behind him. The longer you look at it, the more you feel you’ve seen it somewhere. Probably a car show, you presume.

“Purrs like a kitten,” he sighs dreamily, completely ignoring the way half his toppings slide out from the opposite end of his cheeseburger. You don’t, and you swipe a fallen pickle from his tray before he can catch you.

“A kitten?” You ask, glance over at the car. It’s desperately in need of a paint job, and you only realize this now as you stare at it more in depthly. The niggling feeling that you know this car is still there, but you ignore it in favor of indulging your best friend. “Don’t people usually compare cars to bigger, better cats?”

There’s a taped stencil running alongside the car, a thick stripe followed by a thinner one, and you suppose Jungkook’s trying to spice her up, give her back the same youthfulness she probably had in her prime. What better way to do so than by adding some classic stripes alongside it.

Jungkook hums, gulps down his soda noisily. “Not this one. Never heard an engine as soft as hers.”

You roll your eyes. For a minute, the two of you quietly chew through your burgers, the radio filling in the gaps while you analyze the car. You know this car, but you can’t remember where. Jungkook coughs into his palm, probably from trying to inhale his fries too fast like he does every time you go to the diner you’re eating from today.

The diner.

A mouthful of braces. A pretty waitress. A strict dad.

“Holy shit, this is Sojin’s dad’s car,” you inhale, the memories from high school suddenly hitting you full force. Jungkook chokes, out of surprise this time, and furiously goes to deny your claims. “This is totally his car. The one he tried to run you over with when he caught you trying to put her on the back of your bike.”

“He didn’t try to run me over,” Jungkook whines, and the tips of his ears are red from your revelation.

You glare. “Why are you fixing that asshole’s car for him?” You interrogate, the last quarter of your burger forgotten in favor of squeezing the truth out of him. You’d had enough of that treacherous woman and her equally deranged father causing Jungkook trouble, and to catch him still helping her now, almost ten years later, was enough to make a brain vessel pop.

He shrugs, avoids your eyes as he picks through his fries. The radio is still on, some tune you recognize from those old days at the diner when Jungkook had become so unbelievably smitten with the part timer that served you milkshakes every Wednesday afternoon.

He had been in love with her the moment he saw her, and the look in his eyes was only magnified by those dorky glasses he wore pre-lasik. You'd been his friend long enough, recognized the jump of his scrawny thigh beneath the table. Like a bunny, thumping in excitement at the sight of her.

Sojin was... full of surprises.

She was nothing less than a supermodel, long legs carrying her around the diner as if it was her runway. She was nice too, so you hadn’t originally had an excuse to dislike her. She was nice, and so endeared with your best friend that it was inevitable when they began dating. Her presence consumed the end of your high school careers, overtook the time that should have been yours and Jungkook’s last year before being thrown into adulthood. He decided on studying at a technical school nearby—per your encouragement to save money—while you travelled five hours out for your degree in business. That last year, when you had finally come to terms with your feelings, had been so painfully ripped away by Sojin and her never-ending list of teenage drama, and by Sojin’s dad and his overbearing need to police her and Jungkook every chance he got.

Jungkook still hung out—“Sojin was busy, do you wanna do something?”—but more often than not those hang outs consisted of Jungkook telling you about her and her dad, about how hard he tried to get into his good graces.

The bike incident had only been one of many. Times where Jungkook would put his heart—and life—on the line for that girl only for it to be in vain every time she broke up with him over the simplest things. You’d heard stories from Jungkook, all told with a tight smile, of a handshake that would bruise, a man chasing him with a bat, of a car following him to school. All things he put up with for a girl who didn’t care for him. One day, after Jungkook had grudgingly sat through an hour long dinner with her family, the stare of her father piercing through him, she broke up with him because she didn’t like how long his hair had gotten.

(If anyone were to ask you, he was handsome with long hair. Dreamy even.)

He cut it that same day.

As her childishness grew, you quickly came to dislike her. She strung Jungkook around, you thought, and just when you thought she was finally done toying with him and making his life difficult in the sneakiest ways, the damn kid started hitting the gym. His growing frame, toned arms and now straightened teeth had turned him into a heartthrob, and Sojin was just as aware of this as you were. “Don’t we look perfect together?” She’d ask, twirl around him like they were on the cover of a magazine and not standing on his chipped front porch.

Needless to say, by the time graduation had rolled around you despised the woman. You absolutely disliked how she treated Jungkook, how she let her father treat Jungkook without ever stepping up and defending him. Granted, you didn’t know exactly what went on in her household behind closed doors, you’d seen enough of her uncaring attitude to want to ram her and her dad’s head against the hood of the car.

Which is why seeing the old car, in Jungkook’s shop nonetheless, was rekindling a boiling hatred in your chest. “That man should rot in hell for all he put you through,” you huff, glare at the car like it holds some magical connection to him and he can feel the intensity of your stare.

“___,” Jungkook scolds, swirls his cup around to distract himself. “He was just trying to protect his only daughter,” he defends, quietly, like it’s what he tells himself to justify all those years of mistreatment. Even when he and Sojin had continued through college, it had never stopped. You, being five hours away, couldn’t do a damn thing. “Besides, the guy’s old as hell now.”

You snort, finally breaking your staring match with the car. Glancing at Jungkook, he’s got that same forlorn expression on his face, the one he started wearing when he first came to terms with the fact that her dad would never like him. There was a time it was stuck permanently on his face, the pressure and the discomfort that came from the father of the girl you’ve dated for five years looking at you like you were nothing more than a speck of dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

When you came back from school, educated and confident, you almost didn’t recognize your best friend. Tall and broad, tattoos splattered over his arm. Hair long like you loved it, but eyes still as round and wondrous as they’d been when you were kids. He had his own place now, he told you, and you vaguely remembered all the times he mentioned him and Sojin moving in together, mentally preparing yourself to see that wench for the first time in a while.

Much to your surprise, there was no Sojin in sight. No lingering artifacts of her presence. Nothing that showed she existed in this space besides an ugly orange mug she’d given him for his birthday one year, tucked into the very back of his cabinets. They’d broken up, he explained. Almost immediately after graduation.

After stringing him along for the better part of five years, she had decided this wasn’t what she wanted. No, what she wanted was a man ten years her senior with an abundance of cash to flow. Jungkook hadn’t cried. Hadn’t even looked the tiniest bit upset when you ordered pizza and drank some beer, watched your favorite episodes of The Simpsons like you were seventeen and avoiding your homework again.

You stayed the night, a little too tipsy to drive home. Besides, Jungkook had a spare bedroom. It was a room beside his, just a full bed with a chest of drawers. You liked it, liked the scent of him surrounding you after only seeing each other for a couple weeks in between months of distance. You liked it, because when he shifted in bed you realized the beds were pressed against the same wall, and you liked it until the shared wall spared you no secrets, and you listened to him quietly sob into his pillow.

“Old or not, he’s still the devil,” you murmur, snapping back to the present where Jungkook is wheeling himself closer to the car again. “Where did you find that thing anyway?”

He stays silent, quietly pretending like he still has something to do on the car besides paint it. Then, “I bumped into Sojin at the store.”

You sigh, drop your head between your shoulders. You can only imagine what whirlwind of a sob story she had to throw on him to win this favor.

“Kook,” you start, gauging his reaction only from his backside. His muscles ripple beneath his dark t-shirt, his usual red jumpsuit knitted around his waist. “What happened?”

Again, silence.

You say nothing, let him sort through the hurt on his own while you creep up behind him, sliding your hands over his shoulders and pressing down on the cricks behind his neck. He melts into your touch, head lolling forwards as a quiet sigh escapes him.

“She told me she was low on cash, and she needed the car to get to work,” he confesses, and from his ducked position, his voice trembles. You roll your eyes.

“And the paint job?”

A particularly rough press of your fingers has a whimper escaping him. God, this boy needed to see a chiropractor and a masseuse soon. All that hunching over and under these cars was doing a number on his back.

“I… I figured I might as well fix up the exterior too.” Of course he would, you think, Jungkook’s heart was stupidly big and easy to manipulate. He would get so swept up in it sometimes, trying to do the best he can for everyone’s benefit that he’d ignore himself.

You sit in his confession, fingers digging into his skin for a few minutes as you consider what to say.

The mature adult in you, the logical half of you, wants to hit him upside the head, scold him for letting that wench into his life again so easily. You were going on twenty-six now, all three of you, and you didn’t have time to be fixing him every time that childish woman decided to toy with him. Granted, it’s been four years since you last saw her, since you heard him muffle his cries on the other side of the wall, and you liked to think Jungkook was a respectful adult of society now. He didn’t have time to get dragged around by self-absorbed women with insane fathers.

The other part, the best friend since childhood, wants to run away. Wants to pack Jungkook into a suitcase and take him far away from here and from her. Unlike you, who now lived in the city, Jungkook had stayed in your small hometown, a quiet place just outside the bustling city. It was difficult to ensure his happiness when you were always forty-five minutes out of reach. It would be so much easier to just take him and fly to another province, maybe on the beach, Jungkook loved the beach.

“Listen,” he says, successfully pulling you out from your spiral. “I know what you’re gonna say and I just wanna tell you it’s not like that.”

You blink, hands stilling on his shoulders. Your lack of movement allows him to spin around on his chair, gaze up at you with the same shiny gaze he’s given you ever since you were kids. “I’m just doing her this tiny favor. She looked...” he trails off, face scrunching to find the words.

“Like shit?” You propose, and he smiles. “Like flaming dumpster shit behind a club?”

Jungkook laughs, loud and beautiful. You want to kiss the mole beneath his lip.

“She looked bad, okay?” He settles, reaches forward to take your palm in his. You’re standing between his thighs, and you wonder how he would have acted if you were Sojin. “Don’t think things worked out with that CEO she was dating. I’m just giving her a push.”

You sigh, try to push those crestfallen sobs to the back of your head. “Okay,” you agree, briefly glancing back at the damn car. “You fix her car, and that’s it,” you state. Jungkook nods, makes a little X over his heart. He knows how much you hate that woman. “No funny business.”

“No funny business,” he agrees, then reaches down for a white spray can. “You wanna spray some dicks on it before I paint it?”

“Please,” you laugh, taking the face mask he offers you with a grin.

—

One day your car starts making a weird noise as you pull out of the underground parking garage of your building. It’s somewhere between a pig squealing and metal scraping. You’ve been around Jungkook long enough to know this is probably something to do with your breaks, something about them being loose or old, one of the two. You have a short day at work today. There’s repairs being done to the office you work at, so everyone’s been spending more time working from home.

You leave work a little after two pm, head pounding from the hour long meeting you sat through, the mediocre business proposals your boss had asked you to look through and file. There’s a hefty load of emails waiting in your inbox, mostly the interns requesting you write them a recommendation letter. You’ll have to look through those later, pick out the good ones and write them each a unique piece kissing the ground they walk on.

The scent of freshly fried donuts hits your nose as you pull into your old town; the bakery down the road from Jungkook’s has their windows open. You can already taste the sweetness on the tip of your tongue, the iced coffee cooling your insides as you sit and watch Jungkook work on your car.

Jungkook’s shop is on the corner of the street, takes up a huge chunk with it’s massive garage and driveway; the office area is tiny compared to the sheer size of the actual work floor. There’s music blaring through the overhead speakers, and when you pull in you recognize it as Jimin’s playlist.

“Morning, Miss,” the country bumpkin says, leaning against your car door as you rifle through your purse. “What’re you in for?”

“Hi, Jimin,” you reply sweetly, take his hand as he helps you out the door. You very vaguely explain the noise your car had made that morning, glancing around the shop as Jimin gets to work inspecting it. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin’s waving over some other employees, all greeting you in their matching red jumpsuits. “Kook’s in the office,” he tells you, and it’s almost sensual the way his hand glides over your palm for your keys. God, you needed to get laid. “Has some lady friend in there with him.”

You pause, the bustling of the crew behind you fading into the background. Something inside you snaps, and you whirl around the garage, before catching sight of a 1975 Chevy Corvette, almost unrecognizable from how you’d last seen it. It’s bright red now, a color you only briefly saw before you’d left the other night, with two, lightning bolt racing stripes decorating each side. It looks new, almost in mint condition, and the fact it’s still here has you storming through the garage.

Your heels clack loudly, the crew moving to the side as you torpedo straight into the offices. You barely remember to greet the receptionist before you’re stomping straight into the main office.

There’s no knock, no warning given, before you’re flinging the door open, seeing exactly what you’d expected.

“___,” Jungkook stutters, jumping onto his feet from his position on the couch. He looks frantic, wide eyes flickering between you and the woman sitting in front of him, her back turned to you. But you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Did you say ___?” She says, and she’s still as tall and as beautiful as you remember her. Had it not been for the heels you wore, you don’t doubt she’d tower over you. She flashes you a killer smile, lips carefully painted red. It almost looks murderous. “My! ___, you haven’t changed a bit,” Sojin exclaims, rushing around the couch to pull you into a tight hug. You don’t return it.

You let her cling to you for a second, before pushing her away as gently as you can by the shoulders. As much as you’d like to rip her in half, tear her apart for all she did to Jungkook, you won’t. You’re older now, elegant in all the ways you weren’t before. It would be a huge disservice to your maturity if you shoved your heel up her ass right now.

“It’s lovely seeing you, Sojin,” you smile, taking her hand in yours.

Besides, being a woman in business meant you knew better, more creative ways to strike.

“And your boyfriend?” You ask, tilting your head in staged confusion. You even glance around the office, like you’ll find the geezer hiding behind the potted plant or Jungkook’s frozen figure. “The rich one with the huge company? Did he come with you today?”

Her smile tightens, red lips pursed as she gauges you with those cat eyes that haunt your nightmares every now and then. “My ex-boyfriend,” she corrects after a minute, pastes a forlorn expression onto her features. “We’ve separated, and you know how it is for women like us,” she jests. “We need a man to push us along—“

“Do we?” You ask, think back on all those years of school, of studying and working and pushing yourself, all the time you spent investing in yourself for yourself. “I don’t think so,” you contemplate. “It’s really embarrassing if you can’t care for yourself without the help of a man. Almost like you don’t trust in your own abilities, and ride other’s coattails instead.”

A beat of silence. Two completely different worlds, and Jungkook hovering awkwardly beside you.

Two palms grasp your shoulders from behind, and when you turn Jungkook is smiling at you, forced and stressed like he can’t stand to be in this uncomfortable situation any longer. “Well,” he announces, pushing you behind him as he guides Sojin towards the door. “There was an issue with her car, so I’ll just check on it real quick, okay?”

You nod, feel empty as he takes her by the wrist, and not you. He hands her her purse, palm on the small of her back as they exit the office. When the door clicks shut behind them, you throw your own handbag at the ground, barely stop yourself from stomping like a child.

Instead, you breathe in, hold it, and exhale, just like your Tuesday yoga instructor taught you. By the time you’ve collected yourself a few minutes have passed, so you kneel down to gather your fallen lipstick tubes and cellphone from the floor, scooping them back into your purse.

Tugging the door shut behind you, you mindlessly wander down the hall, until you reach the small receptionist area and nearly get jumped by Kim Taehyung. “Holy shit, you won’t believe this,” he gasps, takes you by the shoulders and nearly shakes you until your brain falls out through your ears. You would have slapped him, had this been any other man, but he’s quite possibly the only man besides Jungkook you’d let jostle you like this. “You’ll never guess who just left the office with J—wait,” he pales, suddenly connecting two and two, your exit from said offices definitely a key factor in whatever conclusion he’s drawn. “You were in the office with Hwang Sojin and you didn’t kill her?!”

You huff, let him shake you again until you’re nearly tripping in your heels. “Yes, I know,” you groan, finally slap his hands away when you begin to feel this morning’s breakfast bubbling from all the motion. “I’m surprised too.”

“Wow,” Taehyung marvels, leans back against the receptionist desk even though the poor girl has told him time and time again not to. He ignores her, something he can do as second best friend to the boss. “Remember when she showed up crying outside his mom’s house and you threw a potted plant at her? Oh how the great have fallen.”

Rolling your eyes, you drift over to the plexiglass window in the office that looks out across the entirety of the garage floor. In the corner, Jungkook’s got the hood of the Corvette open as he works away on something, Sojin tapping at her phone beside him. “Why are you here, Tae?”

He steps beside you, tuned into the same scene. “Can’t visit my ex-girlfriend every now and then?” He teases, you groan.

“We dated for three days, dude, let it go,” you whine, and watch with rapt attention as Jungkook motions for her to start the engine. She does, and it purrs to life, soft and silky just like Jungkook said it does. She squeals and claps, launches herself into his arms in thanks. You look away.

“Yuck,” Taehyung gags and you couldn’t agree more. “Can’t believe you ended the best 72 hours of my life for that pinhead and the hussy attached to his hip.”

He shrieks when you pinch his side, and you take great satisfaction in the judgemental stare half the crew sends him through the glass. After all, they weren’t soundproof. “You embarrassed me and my brand,” he huffs, crossing his arms as the two of you return to watching Jungkook and the hussy.

“He’s not a pinhead,” you softly retort, watch him wipe a bead of sweat off his forehead as he waves her off. Sojin sends him a brigade of air kisses, none of which he catches. A sick sense of glee consumes you at the sight, but then he’s turning to stare directly at you and Taehyung through the glass, and the both of you quickly whirl away.

“His ability to find you in less than a second is so weird,” Taehyung shivers, and you ignore it, taking the candy from the bowl on the receptionist desk. She doesn’t care, having heard these conversations more than enough times to get the general gist of what you and Taehyung gossip about. You’re surprised she’s never mentioned it to Jungkook before.

Regardless, you listen to Taehyung complain about his life for a few more minutes, before Jimin’s sweet voice pops into the room. His ash blonde hair is all ruffled, and there’s something dark smeared over his otherwise perfect skin as he tells you your car is fixed. Taehyung bids you goodbye, and Jimin walks you back to your car out on the garage floor.

“All set, miss,” Jimin grins, puts a hand against the car so you don’t hit your head as you go in. You thank him, and don’t miss the way he lingers by your window.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, tilt your head quizzically. Jimin’s cheeks flush, and he looks shyly at the ground.

“Actually, I was wondering if—“

“___,” Jungkook calls, jogging over beside Jimin, who looks almost ashamed to be caught doing...whatever it was he was gonna do. Jungkook glances at him, catches him in some weird staring contest before crouching down to your window. “You needed your car fixed? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You blink, don’t know how to politely tell him he was too busy kissing the ass of his toxic ex-girlfriend to help you out. “Jimin helped me,” you smile, the same practiced expression you’ve mastered since college. You usually get by, usually trick people with that look, but not with him. Jungkook knows you too well, knows that look, and knows you’re holding yourself back. “You were busy.”

His lips part in surprise, tugged downwards with the hint of a frown. “I,” he stutters, looks at Jimin, who doesn’t seem that impressed with him either. “I… I would’ve came if you called.”

You tug your sunglasses out from their little case, slide them over the bridge of your nose as you strap your seatbelt over yourself. “Would you though?” You ask, flash him another polite smile before shifting your car’s gears. Jimin walks off, clears the path for you to exit, and with just Jungkook standing there, you speak freely. “I would hate to distract you from something important.”

—

Some of the proposals end up being better than expected, and after carefully sifting through them, your boss asks you to sit through presentations for the next few days. Your time gets consumed in graphs and budgets. There’s a multitude of businesses you have to look into, some big and well-known, and others small and local. You drive around the city one day, visiting business after business, until your ankles hurt in your heels and your cheeks hurt from all the smiling. Your only comfort is the nice Chanel skirt suit you’re wearing that makes you feel like the most important person in the room wherever you go.

By the time the week’s over, there’s a thin cut forming on the back of your ankles from all the walking you’ve done in your heels. You slump against your front door, tossing your heels in the vague direction of the closet before padding through your house.

You nearly scream yourself sore at the figure in your kitchen, hunched over what looks to be a hastily made cake with a number three candle. “Oh my god,” you seethe, turning the overhead light on to illuminate Jungkook’s grinning figure, dirty and sweaty from work. You glance at the clock on the stove; it’s only been about an hour since his garage closed.

“Surprise!” He exclaims, and you’re not the slightest bit amused when he begins humming the happy birthday song on a day that is definitely not your birthday.

When he’s done, you don’t clap and his beaming smile doesn’t waver. “It is not my birthday,” you calmly state, placing your leather padfolio on the counter.

Jungkook blows the candle out for you. “It’s the birthday of when we first met,” he explains, and gets to cutting the cake. How he remembers such a day, you don’t know. You do know that this is his mom’s birthday cake recipe, and you love that. “Can you believe it? Friends for almost three decades.”

“Almost,” you repeat, dutifully sitting across from him and taking the plate he offers. He nods at you like a bobblehead.

His eyes are sparkly and big, like he’s drunk, and it’s only then you notice the red wine on the table, bottle open and halfway done. You set your fork down, grasp the neck of the bottle in your hand. “Have you been drinking?” You ask, even though the answer stares you right in the face. You frown. “You hate drinking.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, shovels more cake into his mouth to delay his response. “Needed it,” he offhandedly explains, nearly eats the candle but you jump forward to snatch it off his fork before he can.

“What do you mean?” You inquire. You’re not hungry anymore, too interested in whatever’s going on in his head to make him think he needs to be drunk around you.

Jungkook gulps, reaches forward for more wine but you cradle the bottle to your chest. You nearly gasp when he levels you with a real, stony glare, the expression out of place on his face. “Cuz you’re mad,” he huffs. “At me.”

There was a time you would coddle Jungkook’s every mistake, never let him think he was at fault for anything. You’d grown out of it shortly before high school, recognizing boys were stupid no matter how much you tried to prove otherwise. Since then, you’ve watched him get into trouble time and time again—Sojin being the prime example—and only intervened when absolutely necessary. Some part of you, the half that hates seeing him upset, wants to tell him you’re not. The mature part in you, however, doesn’t let that happen.

“I am,” you agree, watch his eyes widen almost comically at your admission. You set the wine bottle back on the table, leaning your chin on your palm as you level him with the most unimpressed gaze you can. “I’m furious, actually.”

He whimpers, actually whimpers like a kicked puppy, and you can almost see the metaphorical ears pressed against his head and the tail tucked between his legs. His lips are big and pouty, stained from the wine. You’d love to know what they feel like.

Jungkook’s vulnerability lasts all of three seconds, before he’s shaking himself out of whatever emotional pit his foggy brain has him in. “Well, it’s dumb,” he spits, and it’s your turn to sit in shock. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Excuse me?” You ask, incredulously, because this has never happened before. Are you overprotective and sometimes overbearing? Sure. Has Jungkook ever voiced discomfort with that before? Never. “I’m not telling you what to do,” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest.

He rolls his eyes, pushes away from the table like a moody teen. You know it’s because he’s drunk, because he’s not himself, but you have to remind yourself that he obviously felt this way somewhere in his heart to voice it to you now. “You’re not my mom.”

You choke. “I’m not!” You angrily agree, pushing away from the table as well.

Jungkook snarls, “well you sure do love acting like her.” He picks up his plate, glances over at you with a look in his eyes that can only be likened to that of a sneaky cat, and then purposefully shoves the bread and frosting down the garbage disposal in the sink. You shriek, fly around the table and shove him away.

“What is wrong with you?” You seethe, push him away rudely with a hand on his face. Jungkook stumbles back, slips on the floor and nearly cracks his head on the corner of the counter. “Oh my god,” you exclaim, abandoning the sink in favor of watching the way his face twists up at the sudden motion, stomach contracting beneath his black t-shirt, cheeks puffing. “Oh god, oh god,” you stammer, tugging him to his feet with the strength only a panicked individual about to see an entire cake regurgitated onto their kitchen tile can have.

You’ve barely kicked the door to the bathroom open when Jungkook begins throwing up, gooey vomit spewing from his mouth and onto the floor. It touches your arm, and you shriek before shoving him in the general direction of the toilet.

“Ew, ew,” you freak, shoving your hand under the sink faucet to get that gross feeling away. You wanna vomit yourself, but you tell yourself there can only be one sick person at a time, and right now it’s Jungkook.

He’s got his head in the toilet, disgusting sounds echoing off the ceramic of it. By the time you’ve calmed down and washed your arm thrice, you move over to pull his bangs away from his face, letting him hurl in peace.

“I’m sorry,” he mopes, spews another round of birthday cake into the toilet.

You look away, blindly reach out to turn the bathroom fan on. “Mhm,” you nod, rubbing a hand over his back. Jungkook nods sadly against the toilet seat.

“‘M sorry,” he repeats, gags around nothing but the gross feeling left in his throat. “I-I know you just want…” a pause as he considers throwing up some more, “...want what’s best for me.”

“I do,” you agree, wipe a hand down the side of his face that he leans into. “Not trying to be your mom,” you assure him, and he snorts.

“Be a good mom,” he murmurs, so soft you don’t hear him. You hum, leaning closer and he repeats it. “You’d be… a good mom.”

Not knowing what to do with that information, you just pat his back until he falls asleep, cheek against the toilet seat.

—

“Woah, the sexual tension in this garage is off the charts,” Taehyung blurts from behind you, and you smack your clipboard against his chest. “Oof,” he grunts, rubbing his chest like it actually hurt. “You doing finances for him again?” He asks and you nod.

In an ideal world, Taehyung would leave upon finding out you’re busy. In this world, he simply leans into your personal space, nearly knocking you into an empty tool cart. “Oooh, an extensive list of all the money Jungkook’s stupidly blown this month. How much did he spend on neon signs this time?”

You relent, showing him the shop’s finances. Anywhere else, revealing a business’s finances without the consent of the owner would be a federal crime. Here, it’s the equivalent of showing Taehyung Jungkook’s browser history. “He spent how much on window tint?!”

“A lot,” you say.

There’s a whistle from across the garage, the shop’s resident country bumpkin Park Jimin standing at the huge garage doors with his hand on his hip. “No fraternizing, please.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Boooo,” he shouts, peels himself away from you to flick an impolite finger Jimin’s way. “He’s just jealous,” he tells you, and you frown.

“Of what?” You ask, and Taehyung nearly loses his shit.

“My precious ___,” he sighs, leans his forehead on your shoulder. “So beautiful and smart, yet so slow.” You flick the side of his forehead just as Jungkook strolls by and, seeing your attack, slaps the back of Taehyung’s neck. “Why do you guys hate me!” Taehyung exclaims, jumping at least five feet away from you and Jungkook’s giggling forms.

“How’s it going?” Jungkook asks you, completely ignoring Taehyung’s soulful cries as he glances over your shoulder at the clipboard. You tilt it his way, but he stands close anyway, until you can feel his breath huffing against the back of your neck.

“Okay, but you’re spending a lot of money stockpiling on things that haven’t shown signs of running out yet,” you explain, pointing at the window tint that had astonished Taehyung only a moment ago.

Jungkook grimaces, pink tongue swiping across his lip as he looks at the total amount he’s spent the last three months. “Well, it’s a good thing I have my accountant,” he grins, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“Not your accountant,” you correct, “just a friend who doesn’t wanna see you run your business to the ground from overspending.”

Jungkook waves you off, and Taehyung tries to sneak into the receptionist office behind you, but Jungkook catches him with his free hand. “This is the life,” he sighs, wistfully gazing over the garage floor. It reeks of motor oil and car paint.

“Count me out,” Taehyung snorts, voicing your disinterest toward such greasy and smelly work. He tries to wiggle out of Jungkook’s hold, but the muscle bunny only straps an arm around his neck, until Taehyung’s squirming and clawing for air against the red sleeve of his jumpsuit.

“My own successful business, a shitload of sexy cars, and of course,” he pauses, squeezes the two of you tighter until you’re both groaning. “My two best friends.” The sap has the gall to peck the top of your heads, and that seems to be the final straw for Taehyung who rips himself away.

“Have this lovefest somewhere else, man,” Taehyung says, flattening his rumpled clothing down. “You’re really putting a nail in my reputation around here.”

Jungkook cackles, mindlessly goes to wrap himself around you from behind. “Your reputation has been trash since that scream you let out the other day,” he informs him, swaying the two of you back and forth. Your heart thunders in your chest, and you just barely manage to avoid Taehyung’s pointed stare.

“Whatever, I’m outta here.” With Taehyung peaced out, you’re left in Jungkook’s arms, gazing over his business like two old lovers. It makes your chest tight, so you quickly go to shake him off.

“We’re okay?” Jungkook murmurs, so soft you almost don’t hear. He’s got his hand wrapped around your wrist, thumb massaging over the bone there like he’s afraid you’ll bolt the second he lets you go.

You nod, tuck the clipboard to your side. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Those sad puppy eyes, pouty lips turned southward. You want to wipe that look off his face. He sighs, glances at where your skin meets and gives it a squeeze. “I’ve been an ass lately,” he settles on saying. “Said some mean things and ruined your bathroom rug—I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what to say.

Jungkook takes your silence as understanding, reaching down to hold both your hands in his slightly dirty ones. “It won’t happen again. I’d rather lose a million friends than lose you,” he confesses, and something about it feels too real, too raw. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You nod, the constricting feeling in your throat only tightening when he smiles at you, those gentle eyes and plush lips for only you to see. You want to kiss him, swallow him whole. Right here on the garage floor so everyone knows he’s yours.

But you can’t because he’s not.

You settle on swinging your arms between you. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” you warn him, narrowing your eyes playfully. There’s a heavy feeling in your heart, something akin to anguish, but you could never voice it out loud.

“I won’t,” Jungkook promises.

—

Jungkook visits again on a weekday, and you nearly send him straight home when he brandishes another bottle of wine in your face. “It’s nonalcoholic!” He exclaims before you can shut the door on him, foot lodged against the frame. You give in.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, curling up on the couch in just your shorts and huge t-shirt. Jungkook pops the bottle open, pouring the wine into two limited edition Shrek 2 cups you pulled out from the depths of your cabinet.

“Can’t hang with my bestie?” He throws back at you, snatching the remote from your hands before you can click on another episode of that dumb housewives show. You end up watching National Geographic, some documentary about the role of bioluminescent shrimp in the sea.

“Aw look, they’re kissing,” he cooes at a pair of seahorses that wander across the screen halfway through a shot of some school of shrimp. “How romantic.”

“Wonder what that’s like,” you comment, not thinking too much on the meaning behind your words until you can feel Jungkook’s stare pierce your cranium. “What?”

“You’ve never been kissed?” He blurts, and you choke on your wine.

“You were my first kiss,” you remind him, flush at the memory of the two of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on his bed, knees knocking in what was probably the worst first kiss in the history of first kisses.

Jungkook blinks. “Oh yeah,” he laughs. “With the Tony Hawk poster behind my bed, right?”

“The one and only.”

Jungkook hums, and the two of you melt back into the silence. Nice aquatic sounds fill the room, the camera panning over more colorful fish that Jungkook oohs at appreciatively. You don’t really pay attention, more interested in the way the wine swirls in your cup and the way you can feel Jungkook’s thigh pressed against your knee, like when you were thirteen and trying something new.

You know it doesn’t mean a lot to him. Just another silly childhood memory of you. Not like you have hundreds, thousands of them with each other. By the way he’d blurted the question, you doubt he even remembered it most days. But you did.

It plagued your mind all the time, the soft feel of his mouth and the trembling hand that had held yours. You wonder if he kisses the same still, lips gently puckered. He’s had years to learn, half a decade to get creative with Sojin, and the past four years of being a bachelor to explore more.

You’ve kissed too, plenty of guys who had no meaning and ones you thought would replace him. But it’d been a long time since you’ve let anyone into your bed, more content to please yourself without the overbearing weight of feelings and emotions to wrap around your throat.

Jungkook coughs, and you shake yourself from your thoughts.

He’s looking at you inquisitively, like he can’t get his usual read on you and would rather just ask what’s wrong. “You don’t,” a pause, “hang out with guys?”

It’s devastatingly cute, the way he asks if you’re fucking, and you want to pinch his cheeks. Instead you shake your head, try to hide the grin on your face from his inquisitive expression. “Just you and Taehyung,” you admit.

Jungkook nods. “Do you and Tae…?”

You shake your head furiously. “No! God no, we don’t do anything like that,” you clarify, the thought of Taehyung in your bed enough to make you want to gag.

Jungkook says nothing, just turns back to the documentary to watch more Nemos and Dorys flit across the screen. You polish off your cup of wine, leaning forward to settle it back on the coffee table. As you settle back into the couch cushions, Jungkook speaks again. “So you take care of yourself?”

You freeze.

“Yeah,” you admit after one complete meltdown in your head. Where was this coming from? Why did he want to know? You and Jungkook were close, but you never did this. You never divulged the details of your sex life, never bragged about who you slept with or how many there were. What was going on?

Jungkook doesn’t say anything after that, just turns his attention back to the tv screen, where you’re almost certain the sea horses from before are fucking. Not that you know what it looks like, but you hope at least someone in this room was enjoying themselves and not drowning in the mortification of having their life long crush ask them if they masturbate.

“So, do you use your hands or a toy?”

You choke, slap your chest to ease the pounding of your heart at Jungkook asking such a question. “E-Excuse me?” You ask, scandalized that Jungkook, your sweet and caring childhood friend turned Fabio, could ask you such a bold question about your personal affairs.

“What?” Jungkook says, like he truly doesn’t see the inappropriateness of the situation. He even raises his eyebrows at you, as if urging you to answer the question.

You sigh, fight the flush of your cheeks and stare idly at the cups on the table. “A toy. Hands don’t feel good,” you curtly reply, crossing your arms over your chest and straightening your legs off the couch, hoping that’s the end of his curiosity. This was enough to fuel your 3am anxiety meltdowns for the next five years.

Jungkook nods, and you can feel his penetrating gaze on the side of your face again. A great white shark swims across the screen. Jungkook strikes. “My hands feel good.”

“Jungkook!” You exclaim in horror (and excitement, but you’ll pretend it wasn’t there). “What has gotten into you?”

“What!” Jungkook defends, Bambi eyes looking at you like you’re the unreasonable one here. “We’re having a civil conversation in which I’m trying to open up your worldview.”

You’re flabbergasted. “This is not a civil conversation, what are you even talking about?” You scold, tug your arms around yourself like it’ll actually protect you from the words that don’t seem to be filtering out of his mouth properly. “Why are you so concerned about that?” You interrogate, hope your forceful tone will scare him away.

It doesn’t. Jungkook shrugs, some noncommittal i dont know sound. “I can’t be interested in what you get up to? What my best friend gets up to?” It’s the obvious emphasis on best friend that makes you step down.

“No,” you sigh, rub a hand down your face. “You can be interested,” you tell him gingerly. “We just never really… talked about... those kinds of things,” you rush out, turn away from him as the narrator on screen dives into the intricacies of bioluminescent shrimp in the animal food chain.

As if sensing your discomfort, Jungkook softens, scooting closer to you. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, too close and too warm. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says, places a palm on your knee.

“I’m not!” You rush to assure him, facing him head on again. His eyes are big and implorative still, and you wonder why he became stuck on that of all things today. “It just surprised me.”

His lips quirk to the side, an unsure grin that has you leaning into his shoulder. You sit in silence, the rise and fall of his body with every breath lulling you into a sense of comfort.

A false one that Jungkook zeroes in on.

The documentary’s wrapping up, soothing ocean sounds and wind instruments playing as the credits roll across the screen, when the hand that had been laying so comfortably on your thigh inches up. At first, you don’t notice it, writing it off as Jungkook just shifting around. You tell yourself it’s just that, until his pinky makes contact with the end of your shorts.

Slowly, you turn towards him, catch his mocha irises lustfully lidded as he toys with the hem. “Kook?” You murmur, so soft, barely there.

“Hm?” He replies, continuing to play with the edge of your shorts, until he gets brave and his fingers slip beneath, index finger just barely grazing the panties underneath. You gasp. “This okay?”

Stuck between your arousal and your common sense, you flounder for a response. He’s so close, and smells so good, curls brushing against your temple the closer he gets. You want him so bad, want him to find his place between your thighs and put those pouty lips to use. But you know it’ll make things different, change whatever it is you’ve had for the past almost thirty years, and you’ll never bounce back. Another brush against your panties, pointer finger wiggling it’s way beneath the fabric, and you’re choking out a “yes.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and something in your core tingles at the name, thighs clenching together. “Uh uh,” he chides, nudges them open. “Stay still for me,” he commands, and you do, for all of ten seconds, but then he’s pressing his finger on your clit, panties and shorts muting the sensation. Still, it makes you squirm, fingers clutching the couch cushion beneath you as you struggle to keep them open. “Too much?” He asks, and you shake your head no.

“I-It’s fine,” you whisper, and Jungkook smiles.

He pets you, almost wondrously, for a few beats, watches the way the muscles in your thighs twitch with every press against your mound. Eventually, he decides it’s enough. “Hands don’t feel good for you?” He inquires, your words from earlier obviously having left their mark on him. Slowly, you shake your head. He glances down at the fist you have on the couch, composed features sliding up your face. “Well, yours are so small, princess. Of course they don’t feel good.”

He manhandles you around, tugs you onto the couch until you’re laying down, legs sprawled on either side of him. Pleased with the arrangement, Jungkook glances back down to your bottoms. “These have to go,” he tells you, hooks his fingers in the waistband and abruptly yanks down, leaving you just in your t-shirt.

You go to shy away, but Jungkook stops you, palms resting on the insides of your thighs, thumbs pressing into the skin soothingly. “My fingers are long, see?” He says, raising a hand to wiggle his fingers at you. You nod, heartbeat thundering in your ears. “They’ll feel nice inside.”

You know they will.

You can tell he knows his way around a woman’s body just from the way his hands glide over yours, carefully like he’s mapping you out. Ever so slowly, one hand grows closer, until his thumb is gently circling your clit, and you inhale sharply.

“So wet,” Jungkook hums, his other hand traveling further down, until he’s spreading your pussy lips with two fingers, trailing them through the arousal that gathers there.

You’ve never been so attentively cared for, never had a man zero in on your cunt like it was his first meal in ages. Jungkook’s eyes are clouded with lust, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he watches your pussy lips flutter at his touch.

He swirls his hand over your clit, pressing down. The first sound escapes you, a soft whimper that has you clamping your hand over your mouth in embarrassment. Jungkook grins down at you, shifts closer to press a kiss to the knuckles over your mouth.“Don’t hide from me,” he purrs, pulling away and pressing a kiss to your neck.

You cry out when he gets back to it, massaging your pussy with gentle hands and a thumb against your clit to placate you. “Jungkook,” you choke out, and he beams at his name, takes it as a sign to finally slip two fingers inside. “A-ah,” you whine, arching beneath him.

He basks in your noises, leans close again to press a kiss beneath your ear, against your jaw. “This okay?” He murmurs, curling the fingers inside of you. You mewl, throwing your arms around him as he begins working you open. “How does it feel, baby?”

“G-good,” you pant, turn your head until you can bury your nose in his hair, drown even more in his all-consuming aura.

Another kiss to your neck, before he’s suctioning his lips right below your ear, nipping and sucking at the skin to brand you his. “You like my hands?” He husks, and the patch of saliva he leaves on your neck feels cold without his mouth there. You nod, and Jungkook rewards you with a soft smooch over the hickey he’s left.

His fingers inside you curl and scissor, brush against every inch of your walls until you’re quivering beneath him, gasping his name out. You could melt if his fingers weren’t holding you together. “So tight,” he groans, curling his fingers. The movement touches upon something sensitive within you, and you moan his name loudly.

“O-Oh,” you pant, wiggling beneath him as you try to feel that again. Jungkook lets you, watches you desperately rut into his hands. He drifts away, lets his tongue mouth over your breasts, licking until there’s a damp spot on your t-shirt, the flimsy house bra you’d worn and the t-shirt combined not enough to hide your pebbled nipples.

The drag of his hands against your pussy isn’t enough, the motions not quick enough. Jungkook glances at your twisted features, your quivering pussy, and then, ever so gently, ducks over you, puckered lips letting one, long glob of saliva touch down on your pussy, trickling around his knuckles.

“Fuck,” you choke, watch his tongue swipe over his lip to break the thin bridge that connects you too. Suddenly, everything is smoother, the combined lubrication of your arousal and his spit making the glide of his fingers sinfully slick.

Frantic for release, you lose yourself in him, ready to free fall into your pleasure so long as Jungkook is there to catch you. “That’s it,” he encourages, picks up the pace of his fingers inside you. “Come on, beautiful, let me see that gorgeous face of yours when you come.”

“K-Kook,” you sob, and he smiles against your neck. His fingers work fast, until your muscles are all pulled tight, waiting for that final push to unravel. You make the mistake of glancing down, only to be caught by that pearly smile and adoring gaze. You’re in heaven, you know you are.

There’s no other explanation for this—the way Jungkook holds you like you’re his, hands so gently caressing your most intimate parts. You’re almost convinced you’re having a fever dream, a sick, too realistic dream, but then Jungkook’s biting down on your shoulder through your t-shirt, subtly rutting against your thigh.

“Cum for me,” he purrs against your neck, and you do, sobbing as your orgasm rolls over you, the heavy weight of his cock against your thigh. “Jungkook,” you cry, so pitifully, it has him lunging forward, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth.

You feel sweaty and gross, unbelievably tired from the gentle way he opened you up. Blindly, you reach down, feel the hardness of his cock beneath his sweatpants, but Jungkook nudges you away. You huff. “Let me,” you whimper, reach for him again even though you can see the slowness in your movement. “Need your cock in my mouth,” you drawl, almost sleepily.

“Shh,” he soothes, lips pressed against your neck, where he’s still licking and sucking over every inch of you. You whine. “You don’t have to do a thing, gorgeous,” he assures you, “just wanted to make you feel good.”

—

Work gets stressful shortly after. There’s a new batch of interns coming in this season, new faces who will mess up your coffee orders and jam the printers for a good few weeks. There’s normally a team of employees who train them, a mix of relatively older people from different departments who show them around; a girl in the finance department, the one who usually trains them, is on maternity leave. With no one else to fall back on, the head of the department pushes the duties off on you, claiming your flexibility and work ethic make you the perfect candidate for such a role.

Normally you’d thrive at the praise, eat up every single word like it sustained you. In a way, it did. It was nice to be appreciated and recognized for your hard work, to be thought of so highly, especially in a male-dominated company. However, this time, you know it’s out of convenience that the head kisses up to you, and you end up begrudgingly taking the role.

The gaps in your schedule you’d normally spend relaxing or catching up on other projects are filled with bumbling interns, calling for help every chance they get. It’s like they’ve never done anything on their own, this group, always asking you the correct way to do this, the right way to do that. You haven’t mentored interns in a while, so you spend the first day breezing over old powerpoints and print outs you made years ago. You remember why you’re not fit for mentoring when one of them asks you how to navigate Excel. You nearly rip their head off.

There’s so much going on, you barely get time to see Jungkook, let alone text him. You saw him once the morning after, stack of pancakes on your kitchen table as he rushed you off to work. The shop didn’t open for another hour. He was sweet, kissed your forehead as you left, but he’s always done that. You didn’t have time to talk about whatever the night before was, or what that made the two of you now.

On Friday night, one week into your nightmarish role, you pull into the shop. You'd like to convince yourself it was routine, visiting the shop, but that’s a lie. You desperately miss Jungkook.

Most of the garage doors that are usually pulled open during the day are shut, save for one. The last of Jungkook’s employees are leaving, bidding you adieu as you step out of your car. Park Jimin is there, repairing some rickety car in the back corner.

“Boo,” you call playfully, and Jimin doesn’t flinch, merely pulls his head from out of the hood to flash you an easygoing smile.

He whistles at the sight of you. “You look like you’ve been through one of helluva week,” he says, and you, despite your strong personality, feel yourself blush at his comment. Jeez, did you look that bad? Jimin doesn’t elaborate, just pulls out a stool for you to sit on beside where he’s working. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You glance at the plexiglass, the offices hiding down the hall. Jungkook could wait, you presume, settling down beside him. Your skirt tugs up as you settle onto the pleather seat, so you cover your legs meekly with your purse. “Work’s been crazy,” you explain, and Jimin laughs at the obvious.

“You’re telling me,” He hums, and you roll your eyes playfully. “What’s going on at work?”

What hasn’t been going on, you think to yourself, before launching into a full retelling of your new horrendous position, of all the interns with their clueless eyes and useless notebooks. Jimin chuckles, indulges you in a few comments here and there that only fuel you on. He’s just about done with whatever he’s doing to the car at the same time your story wraps up, explaining how you found yourself here, desperate for Jungkook to whisk you off to that arcade you loved as kids. “Jungkook?” He asks, and you nod. “He left a while ago.”

You freeze. “Huh?” You say, dumbly. You almost want to laugh at your own impulsiveness, for showing up without sending him a text or a warning to let him know you were coming. You almost do laugh, but then you remember you and Jungkook never did that anyway. Hell, he showed up at your house a few weeks ago unannounced and drunk. The two of you were hardly the type to plan ahead, so it was weird for him to not be here. He’s been at the shop almost every night since it’s opened, the days he’s not usually a holiday.

“Jimin…” you begin, glancing at the receptionist window once more. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin shuts his tool box, kicking a cart off to the side. “He left with that lady,” he tells you, doesn’t hear the way your heart rips straight out of your chest. No way. “Tall, pretty. Had that nice Corvette he fixed up a while ago.”

“Sojin,” you mumble, and Jimin nods.

“Think that was her name.” As if sensing your tumultuous thoughts, he steps closer, one hand reaching out to steady you. “You alright?”

“God,” you exhale, pushing yourself away from Jimin and the garage and the window. The stool rolls away, almost hits the side of another car but Jimin catches it. He rushes over towards you, watching you wobble in your heels.

“Honey,” Jimin says, steady and warm beside you. “Sit down for me, yeah?” He guides you to a row of seats against the wall, nailed into the floor so you can’t push them away and make even more of a mess. Not that that’s your concern, your mind and heart too preoccupied with thoughts of Jungkook lying to you, going out with that woman again, despite your obvious hatred for her and his promise to you.

Jimin disappears, rushes over to the other side of the garage before returning with a water bottle for you. He cracks it open, presses it into your hands, and then against your lips when you don’t move. “Drink,” he encourages, watching you with worried eyes that only grow more and more concerned the deeper you fall into your thoughts.

You want to cry and beat Jungkook up at the same time. You want to scream at him for lying to you after treating you so nicely, holding you so warmly. Instead, you gasp for breath, clutching your face in your hands like it’s the only thing that grounds you.

There’s a beep outside, chirpy and cute in the way only older models are, and you whip your head up, the headlights of the Corvette painting you in shades of yellow as it rolls to a stop, the tears you hadn’t felt glistening under the light.

Jungkook flings himself out of the driver’s seat, and a sob catches in your throat when Sojin steps out of the passenger seat. Jungkook shoves everything in his path to the side, carts flying into the few automobiles on the floor, tools clanging loudly onto the cement, and just as those arms you love so much are reaching out for you, there’s a hand on his chest stopping him.

“What did you do to her?” Jungkook snarls, pushing Jimin roughly to the side. Jimin, smaller but not weaker, holds his ground, clutching Jungkook by the material of his jumpsuit a second time. “Let— go!” Jungkook shouts, finally worming away from his employee.

He nearly trips before you, stumbling to his knees as he takes your quivering hands in his. “What’s wrong,” he asks, throwing a nasty glare back at Jimin who watches silently from the side. Sojin is still by her car, leaning across the driver’s side now. “What did he do, what did he say?”

You shake your head, dropping your head to tuck your chin against your chest. You hate this. Hate letting him or Jimin or Sojin see you cry. It’s not the person you are, not the self-made woman you claim to be as you cry over the same man who is unknowingly defending you from himself.

“Let go,” you whisper, hoarse and choked. You shake your arms, but he doesn’t let up.

“Tell me what's wrong,” Jungkook pleads, inching closer to you. His breath is warm and he smells like oil, just like he always does. He also smells sweet and floral in a way only a woman could. He smells like Sojin.

You sob, rip your hands away from and scurry blindly towards Jimin, who catches you in his arms despite the shock that paints his face.

Jungkook watches with an expression of hurt, watches you snuggle into the arms of another man over an issue you won’t tell him about. Jimin says nothing, just rubs his palm over your back. He gestures towards the red corvette, the woman standing by it and Jungkook takes the hint.

You hear the kitten-like purr as it pulls off, the silence that follows afterwards. You don’t know where Jungkook is, if he’s here or if he left with her, and you don’t want to. “Tell me he’s gone,” you beg Jimin, quiet gasps against his neck.

He nods, slowly lets you untangle yourself from his arms as the two of you stare over the empty garage. The Corvette is gone, and so is Jungkook. Before Jimin can tell you where he is, you’re wiping a hand over your face, embarrassed at the moisture it comes back with.

“I take it he’s not supposed to be with her?” Jimin tries to joke.

Neither of you laugh.

You sniffle, process what just happened, how you acted. You’ve never felt that way before, never experienced such brutal heartbreak.

You don’t know what you expected from Jungkook. In your heart, you convinced yourself what happened in your apartment was the start of something new between the two of you, a natural result of your long friendship. Realistically, you know you should’ve waited until the two of you spoke, discussed whatever happens next. But you’d spent the past week comforted by the fact you’d finally gotten to experience something like that with him, daydreaming about him every chance you got.

Somewhere in your mind, you had convinced yourself your involvement with him would finally be what broke his connection with Sojin, the final nail that would make him forget about her. It’s painfully funny how such wasn’t the case.

Jimin breaks you out of your thoughts. “You okay to drive home?” He gently inquires, and you turn your gaze over toward your car.

Did you trust yourself to make it home without shedding a single tear? Absolutely not. But between Sojin and Jimin, you had let enough strangers see you fall apart over a man tonight.

“Perfectly okay,” you tell him.

—

The interns pick up on your sour attitude the week that follows. They don’t ask dumb questions, and don’t mess up your order. You talk them through a presentation, show them how to properly organize finance charts. There’s a slide that has clip art, a goofy dollar sign with a smile and shoes. Jungkook put it there when you first made the PowerPoint. After the little lesson, you go to the bathroom and try not to cry.

A week later, and the interns don’t need you anymore. They do well, and your boss praises you for being such a good mentor. You thank him and he lets you go home early.

Home is empty. Jungkook doesn’t show up unannounced, mostly because you’ve changed the number lock on the door. You want to eat salad today, for some reason, but don’t have any of the ingredients for it, so you walk to the supermarket a few blocks away.

The supermarket feels the same as it always does at night. That ghostly feeling of being watched in an empty aisle, the scratchy tune of whatever Top 50 radio station they settled on today. You get there and decide you don’t want salad anymore, so you buy ingredients for a stew instead, all of which you probably had at home.

When you step outside, the air around your bare thighs is cold. Summer was ending, which meant Jungkook’s birthday was coming up. You ball the receipt in your hand and fling it at the trash. You miss, so you hobble over to pick it up.

The trash is beside a red Corvette with two racing stripes.

“Hey,” Sojin says, arms crossed over her chest as she walks up behind you, sizing up your crouched form beside her car. “What’re you doing to my car?”

You breathe in, shake the crumpled up receipt at her, before stuffing it in the garbage. She says nothing as you stalk by her, and you’re back on the main road when she pulls up next to you, window rolled down to speak to you. “Get in,” she gestures, “it’s gonna rain.”

“No,” you say, and a fat raindrop falls right on your nose.

The door unlocks and you climb in, plastic bags crowded by your feet.

The drive is silent. You only live a few minutes from the store, and you point out an empty spot by the sidewalk for her to pull up to. A dry thanks is on the tip of your tongue, but you never get to say it.

“My dad has cancer,” Sojin says.

“That sucks,” you respond, feel bad right away and say, “I’m sorry.”

Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by it, shifting the Corvette out of drive and cutting the engine. “He’s probably not gonna see Christmas,” she adds, and you don’t know what to say. You don’t care about her or her crazy father. “I wanted to do something nice for him before he, y’know.”

“Died,” you fill, and at that she glares.

“Yeah,” she huffs. “Before he died. So I fixed up his car. But the place I took it to didn’t know how to fix an engine so old, and ended up fucking it up even more.” You nod, she continues. “Then I bumped into Jungkook and—“

“Took advantage of his kindness,” you finish, remembering the twinkle in his eyes when he’d told you about their encounter, that day in the empty garage that seemed lightyears away. “Well congrats. Hope your dad liked it,” you sigh, push open the door and get soaked to the bone immediately.

“Wait!” Sojin calls, hopping out after you. She’s still as beautiful as she was when you were seventeen, even with rain soaking her entire being. “I didn’t ask him to repaint it, but that’s what my dad loved the most.”

You want to go inside, make your stew, and cry in it.

Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by the bangs that stick to her forehead or the water that washes down her spine. “When I told him Jungkook did it… he wanted to see him. Apologize and stuff.”

You snort. “Apologize,” you repeat, tightening your grip on your shoppings bags. “For what, Sojin? For almost killing him with this car or for treating him like shit for five years?” She says nothing, stares at the hood of the car like she doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “He was crazy for you, you know that? He would have done anything for you and not once did you stand up to your dad for him. You let that man call him worthless, stupid, a waste of space. And for what? For you to break up with him for some rich asshole who would never treat you half as good as Jungkook did?” You sneer.

The rain feels cold and your groceries feel heavier, so you whirl on your heel and make for your building entrance.

“He never liked me,” Sojin calls out, and you wonder if she even heard the second half of your emotional outburst. You turn to face her with fire in your eyes, and are only a little surprised at the sadness that paints hers. “He never liked me the way he said he did.” You could knock her teeth out.

“You’re stupid,” you spit, and she rounds the car at an insane speed until she’s glaring down at you over her perfectly sculpted nose.

“He never liked me,” Sojin repeats angrily. “He was always busy looking at you—for approval, for attention, I don’t fucking know. He would hold me and touch me but it never felt real. It always felt like practice for him…” she sniffles and your breath hitches in your throat. “We dated all through college,” she says like you don’t know, like you didn’t stress about it for years. “Everyday closer to graduation felt like a ticking bomb. Like he was just waiting for you to come back. To come home.”

You remember it.

The excited texts he’d send you everyday, the plans he made for you. Jungkook was more excited than your parents about you coming home. The five hours had done a number on him, and after four years all he wanted was to have you close again. You remember the hug in his driveway, the way his mom had told you he’d waited all day for you. It’s weird hearing it from Sojin.

Too overwhelmed, you decide to deflect. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmur, and you’re surprised she hears it over the pouring rain.

A loud scoff. “You’re stupid,” she repeats back, jabbing a finger at your chest. You glare, and so does she. Like two animals in a cage you size each other up. “You’re stupid and ugly and I hate you,” she spits, and you drop your shopping bags to lunge at her.

You don’t swing, just grab her by the shirt and move to slam her against the wall, but she’s tall and a little strong, bony fingers wrapping around your wrists like spiders. “Why can’t you see how much he likes you?” She screams, like it hurts to admit it. “He’s been in love with you since forever, and all you’ve ever done is run away!”

“I never—“ you gasp, pushing her away from you. Sojin stumbles, but she doesn’t fall. “I’ve never run away,” you defend, heart beating in your chest too fast to be normal. “Some of us have careers and lives we want to live—I don’t want to depend on a man for the rest of my life!”

She growls, tugs at her wet hair like you’re giving her a headache. Stomping up to you once more, she pushes you hard with both hands, and you barely catch yourself in time. “He would have followed you to that fucking fancy school, but you told him it was better to save money here! Told him to not waste his time and just settle there! You did this to us—to all of us!”

You choke. Lightning flashes behind her, and for a moment all you can see is your gentle prodding, sitting behind him as he filled out applications, big wannabe business brain telling him the easiest way to save money for his auto shop was by going straight into technical school. The small frown on his face that day you’d packed for college, and the way he’d stood in your parent’s driveway until you couldn’t see him anymore, a little spec in your rearview mirror.

Sojin, sensing she’s made her point, says nothing. She scoops up your fallen grocery bags and shoves them into your trembling hands, stomping back to her car and pulling off with a roar, loud and ferocious, and nothing like a kitten.

The groceries in your bag end up in the trash.

—

Taehyung invites you to lunch one day, and you go. You’re starving and desperate to get away from work, where you’re paranoid everyone knows there’s something wrong with you. You meet up at a cute little bistro, and he smiles and hugs you when you arrive. You sit in comfort for all of two seconds before he jumps into his interrogation.

“What’s going on with you and Kook?” He asks, casually flipping through the menu. Your hand stills around your glass of water, and you eventually set it down without ever taking a drink. Your mind instinctively maps out a lie, but Taehyung has known you a while now, knows the quirk of your lips when you’re about to lie your ass off. “Don’t lie to me. I haven’t seen you at the shop in almost a month. And he doesn’t go out,” he mentions. “I think he spent four nights at the shop before I made him go home.”

You deflate.

Too embarrassed to explain, you flip through your own menu, and when the waitress comes you order the first words your eyes focus on. Taehyung doesn’t push you, just patiently gazes out over the bustling street.

Finally, you break. “We… did a thing.”

“Uh huh,” he nods, reading some ad on the side of a bus that passes by. “Need you to elaborate, babe.”

You squirm. “We… fooled around,” you say for lack of more appropriate wording. There’s a family sitting beside you, and you’d rather die than let some nooby pre-teen listen to the details of yours and Jungkook’s night.

“You fucked?” You choke, make a loud sputtering noise like it’ll drown out Taehyung’s voice to the other patrons. “What’s wrong with that? We all knew it’d happen sooner or later,” he shrugs.

“No,” you seethe. “We didn—I didn’t.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, the same way Sojin did that day on the sidewalk. You almost throw your glass of water at him. “We…” you sigh. “We did a thing, and then the week after he went out with Sojin.”

Taehyung scowls at the mere mention of her, so the glass of water is returned to its coaster. “Really? He went out with her right away? He’s cancelled.”

You nod, rubbing your hands over your face. “He… her dad has cancer and is literally on his deathbed so she wanted to fix up his car for memories sake, which he loved, so he wanted to apologize to Kook and thank him for fixing up his car,” you rush out, and now Taehyung chokes, water spewing out of his nose. You shriek, drawing everyone’s attention as you pat down your soaked blouse. “Tae!”

“I’m sorry,” he cries, wiping at the sting in his nose. “He-she, what?!” You ignore him, focus on battling the damp spot on your blazer. “God, that’s crazy,” Taehyung snorts, winces at the feeling in his nose.

After the two of you have settled, the manager kicks you out for your inappropriate conversations and childish behavior. You leave with your tails tucked between your legs. Taehyung holds your hand as he walks you back to your workplace, you quietly fill him in on all the other details surrounding yours and Jungkook’s fallout, from your breakdown in the garage to your weirdly dramatic confrontation with Sojin. “Well,” he claps, slamming a hand down on the traffic light button, even though both of you know it doesn’t work. “That explains a lot of things.”

“Yeah,” you agree, pushing down the crosswalk when the light finally changes of its own accord. “Do you,” you pause, feet glued to the sidewalk. “Do you think she was right?”

Taehyung glances back at you, so small and unsure in the midst of a bustling crowd. He smiles, sweet and soft. Rare coming from him. His free hand ruffles the top of your head, and he brings you into his chest. “Babe, the hottest guy in your grade was intimidated by scrawny, pre-muscle bunny Jungkook. I’m pretty sure he feels some type of way towards you.”

Your lip wobbles dangerously, and you bite down on it to stop. Taehyung pats your head, barks at some old guy when he yells at the two of you for standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

When you’re outside your office, you speak again. “You were not the hottest guy in our grade, by the way.”

Taehyung snorts. “I totally was.”

—

You hideout for the rest of the week.

On Friday night, you finally have the balls to show yourself again, and you hop on the highway leading out of the city before you can overthink it. The buildings slowly melt away, replaced with cozier homes, tinier shops, and by the time you’re pulling up the street, you’re deep in doubt again.

It’s not that late yet, only a little past sunset, but the garage doors, usually open to the street, are all shut. You frown, pull around the block, reverse into a spot across the street. Locking your car, a gust of wind nearly trips you as you cross the street. The front office is dark, metal shutters pulled over the entrance.

Eventually, you stumble around until you find the tiny backdoor squeezed beside some dumpsters, grateful for the key Jungkook had given you so long ago.

Just as Taehyung predicted, a pair of red jumpsuit clad feet stick out from beneath a car. A nice car, an even older Corvette than Sojin’s dad’s, still shiny despite the model it is. It looks like a show car with the way it glints at you, black paint almost glossy. The only light in the entire garage is a lamp, positioned over the area where the legs are working, and a flashlight that occasionally beams at you when the holder loses his grip. No music today, just the hum of a rotating fan. You creep over.

Jungkook’s humming a song when you get to him, foot tapping idly on the ground. You suck in a deep breath and nudge his foot with the tip of your heel. You have exactly two seconds to jump away when he abruptly rolls out from beneath the car, concentrated features scanning quickly around until they land on you.

The garage is still, until Jungkook jumps into action. “___,” he stammers, stumbling to his feet. The rolling board drifts away, bumping into the corner of the metal table beside you. “Hi, um,” he flounders, brushing his fingers through his hair, palms wiping over the front of his pants. Finally, “hi.”

The bad bitch Chanel skirt-suit you’d worn today fails you for the first time in a long time. Your hands feel sweaty, so you clutch them behind your back. “Hi, Jungkook,” you exhale, and all the emotions you’d swallowed for so long, the feelings that tightened around your chest and throat like boa constrictors, come oozing out, until all you can see is his puckered mouth and twinkling gaze.

He coughs, tries to casually lean against the car, but greatly miscalculates the distance. “What, um, what brings you here?” He asks, foot tapping nervously against the ground.

There’s a box of takeout on the floor he tries to subtly kick beneath the car, and a plastic bottle of soda that makes a loud noise when he tries that too. You twist your lips, watching the anxious shuffling of his feet. You breeze over his question, plaster a tight smile into your face, and ask your own question; “how long have you been here?” Tentatively, you lower yourself onto a rolling stool. “It’s late,” you state the obvious.

Jungkook’s leg bounces, and he pats his hand over it nervously. “Um, an hour? Just working on something,” he answers, cheeks warm as his eyes flicker everywhere but you. “What brings you here?” He repeats, and you know you can’t deflect it this time.

Shrugging half heartedly, you wait for him to finally look at you. When he does, he almost looks away but the glint in your eye stops him from doing so. “We need to talk,” you finally say. Jungkook visibly deflates, lips pulling into a thin line. You contemplate letting him relieve his thoughts first, but you came here with a point to make, for questions that needed answering, and you’re scared one word from him will wash them all away.

“Listen,” you start, smoothing your hand over the edge of your skirt. “I know something weird happened between us, and then I kinda freaked out on you, but… I need you to tell me the truth.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”

You swallow, try to push back the frustration that builds in his throat. “Did you ever even like Sojin?”

Jungkook blinks. “Huh?” A snort. “You’re joking,” he snickers, wipes at faux tears in the corner of his eyes, before your unsmiling face registers and he’s schooling his features. “___, I did like her. I dated her for five years. How could I not like her?”He says seriously, like he can’t believe you would ever question such a thing.

You exhale, pick at your fingernails. “I met her,” you admit, and Jungkook’s face twists in confusion. “At the supermarket last week. She said you never liked her.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Of course she’ll think that—we’re exes. I doubt she remembers all our best memories,” he sighs, turning back to organize his tool cart like he’s done with this conversation.

Raising to your feet you call his name again, and he hums absentmindedly. “Sojin said you never liked her because you were always chasing after me,” you accuse, laying all your cards out on the table. Your claim startles him, and you watch as he jostles half the tool cart with his surprise.

“She, what?” He huffs, cheeks as red as his jumpsuit. He forces out a laugh, airy and tight like you’re starring in your elementary school play again and the nerves are eating him up. “I-I don’t know why she’d say that.”

He’s flustered, obviously so, as he scoops the metal tools back onto the cart, bumping into three other things before settling back down on the floor to roll under the car. He pushes himself under, and you sternly call out, “Jungkook.” He freezes.

You strut over, brush your hands behind your skirt as you crouch beside him. “Always,” you quietly remind him. Jungkook says nothing. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve grossly misread the situation, if this was just another one of her schemes to drive the two of you apart.

Slowly, Jungkook appears from under the car. There’s a new stain on his cheekbone, brown and slick. He sits up, wide eyes tracing over your features likes he’s trying to seal them in his memory. “Yeah,” he admits, lips twisting as he watches the surprise take your features, before he’s lolling his head back to stare at the ceiling, leaving you to stare at the column of his neck.

“I do,” Jungkook admits, pushing through his emotions. It’s hard for him to confess, you realize, watching the way his Adam’s apples contracts and his jaw twitches from having to say so. “I like you so much it hurts.”

His confession leaves you feeling weird. On one hand, you want nothing more than to spring yourself on him and kiss his face until the stray oil marks are gone and replaced with the outline of your lipstick prints. You want to smother him and hold him, let him know he’s yours, always has been.

On the other hand… it’s sad. Going on thirty years and never did the two of you guess your feelings for each other. You doubt either of you are good at hiding them, with the way everyone seems to have known except you two. Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you.

A hand touches your knee, and you return your attention to his downtrodden appearance, chin tucked against his chest. “Please,” he murmurs. “Say something.”

You say nothing.

Tentatively, you reach a hand out, run it along the side of his head, through his mane, chocolate waves touching his cheekbones. He almost looks like when you guys were kids, round eyes watching your every move. Your hand continues down the back of his head, cupping the nape of his neck comfortingly. Jungkook leans into the touch, even though his shoulders are tense. You soothe your fingers over the tight muscles in his neck.

“Since when?” You inquire.

Jungkook blinks, lets your palm trace along his jawline and cup his cheek. “Since you dated Taehyung when we were sixteen.”

Mentally, you curse every deity in existence for putting Kim Taehyung in your life. “God,” you groan, burrowing your hands in your palms. Jungkook, surprised by your reaction, rolls closer, moves around until you’re crouched between his long legs. “Since me and that pinhead dated for twenty minutes?” You repeat.

Jungkook shifts closer, rubs your back. “It was 65 hours, actually,” he corrects, and the exact duration of your relationship makes you cringe. “I… counted.”

Small and shy, almost embarrassed. You glance back up at him. “Why?” You prod, and Jungkook’s cheek flush, palm stilling.

“Uh,” he starts. “I was nervous? That you two were in it for the long run. And I, I don’t know. It was easier to just count,” he lamely finishes, and his dangly earring whips around with him when he avidly avoids your gaze.

You sigh, catch his hand in yours. “Tae and I would have never lasted,” you tell him, remembering all the times the guy made you pick him up from one night stands in the last few years. “He wasn’t who I wanted.”

His foot jumps, toe tapping against the wheel of the car next to you. He wants to ask, you know he does, but Jungkook was quite possibly the only other person on this planet who could overthink something more than you.

Deciding to ease his worries, you give his hand a squeeze. “It was you,” you confess, feel like an elephant lands straight on your chest. “It is you,” you correct.

His forehead knocks against yours, hard, and you hiss at the bump that probably forms. “What the fu—“

“Tell me it’s not temporary,” Jungkook pleads, eyes crinkled in worry. You’re going cross eyed from trying to look at him like this, so you flit your eyes off somewhere to the side. His hand is heavy in yours. “Tell me you’re not just doing this for closure, or because you want to see what it would have been like, please,” he begs, “that would be so fucked up, because I’m so in love with you I actually think I might die.”

The dramatic confession makes you painfully warm. You nod, your lower lip trembling at the way he looks at you, like you single-handedly controlled this entire world with a flick of your wrist. “I-I love you too,” you parrot back, the first time you’ve ever said it, the millionth time you’ve ever thought it.

Jungkook visibly relaxes, pulls away from you to drop his head on your shoulder instead. Your legs are starting to cramp from the tight crouching position, ankles wobbly in your heels. His hair smells good still, despite the hours he’s probably spent beneath a car, and you gingerly pat the back of his head.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and you repeat it. “I love you,” he says again, and you repeat it. “I lov—“

“Me, yes, I’ve heard,” you cut him off, smile at the snort he releases, and when he turns his head, his lips brush against your neck. You’re instantly thrown back a few weeks, to that night on the couch with the limited edition Shrek 2 cups and the wine; the gentle touches that left you trembling for weeks. You inhale quickly, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him away.

His eyes are too soft, face too relaxed as he stares at you. “My legs hurt,” you tell him, quickly getting up. You whirl around, facing the car and digging through your purse like you suddenly have something to do.

“Oh,” you gasp, watch two arms wind around your waist, the dirty red jumpsuit contrasting against the tweed material of your high-end Chanel jacket. Jungkook sighs lovingly by your ear, snuggles his face into your neck. “W-we should go out,” you blurt, nerves jumping when he squeezes tighter, burrows closer. “To celebrate!”

Jungkook hums. “Yeah?” His voice is too low. You’re in trouble. “Celebrate what?”

You squirm, breath catching in your throat when he presses you closer against the hood of the car. “Um,” you shakily exhale, hands splaying out over the sleek surface of the black hood to steady yourself. It’s so shiny you can almost see your reflection. “U-Us!” You finally manage to exclaim.

A kiss against the side of your neck, and your spirit just about exits your body. Your knees feel weak, and you're just about ready to throw another mediocre excuse his way, when something warm and wet traces up the column of your neck. “Kook!” You gasp.

“Shh,” he murmurs, deep voice instantly soothing over your nerves. His hips nudge against your behind, and you jump at the bulge that presses against your lower back. One hand unwraps from around you, gliding down your arm sensually until he’s trapping your fingers on the hood of the car with his own. A swift kiss against your ear. “You owe me, remember?”

You flush, remember the filthy promises your list-addled brain has spewed that night at your house, the almost erratic development of your thoughts as you became consumed in the thought of him. Reminisce on the prod of his fingers against your cunt, his hot breath against your ear.

Suddenly, Jungkook whirls you around, traps you with his gaze as two hands flutter to rest on the small of your back. He’s looking down at you with those lovesick eyes, hooded with lust as they trace over the dip of your Cupid’s bow. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” A soft brush of his mouth against yours, pouty lips guiding you through a kiss, until you’re sighing against him, and he’s pulling away.

Numbly, you nod, almost hypnotized by the soft smirk that overtakes his features as he pushes you down, watches you sink to your knees before him. The concrete feels cold and hard beneath your knees. His jumpsuit is knotted around his waist, and you shakily unravel it, the elastic waistband staring you in the face afterwards.

“Take your time,” Jungkook croons, hand coming to rest on the side of your face, knuckles brushing over your skin delicately.

You tug it down, and one flash of that underwear band has your nerves flying out the window. You shove his t-shirt out of the way, let your hands trail over the ridges of his abdomen in your haste. He helps you by tugging it over his head. With that gone, his black boxers stare you in the face, and you yank those down with no hesitation.

“Jesus, baby,” Jungkook chuckles, though it’s choked off when you grasp his engorged cock in his hand. You should be surprised, marveling at the sight, considering it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. But you brain is working overtime, too immersed in the vein that runs alongside it and the tip that throbs back at you. Later you can worship it, you think. Right now, you needed it down your throat.

The tip is flaming and swollen, his cock still growing plump in your hold, your hands slowly dragging up and down the length. You lean forward, press a gentle kiss below the mushroom head, trail kisses down the length until you're meeting your knuckles, and trail them back again. Jungkook sucks in a tight breath, leans to rest his palms on the car behind you, as he watches you on him.

A head of precum escapes, and you lunge for it, swirl your tongue in and around the slit on his cock, until his entire body tenses up. “Fuck,” he grunts, watches you ease his cock into your mouth. You groan at the stretch, the drag against the corners of your lips making your eyes roll backwards. “___, baby, a little more?” He asks, voice hoarse as he watches you sink down further on his cock.

You comply, close your eyes and focus on relaxing your throat. There’s a hand on the back of your head, impatiently pushing you down his length. “Shit,” he cries, unconsciously ruts against you. You gag, and he shushes you with a caress against your cheek. “Sorry,” he huffs, “just a little more for me, okay?”

Eyes squeezed shut tightly, you let him push you down until his cock hits the back of your throat and you can’t take anymore. The prod against your throat has tears springing to your eyes. “Gonna move now,” Jungkook announces, thumb brushing away the tears that collect in the corners. “Be good.”

He drags himself out, your saliva coating every inch of him, and when just the tip is resting on your tongue, he shoves back in. You whimper, palms digging into his thighs. Jungkook brushes a hand down your hair, soothes you for all of two seconds before he’s pulling out and doing it all over again. He picks up the pace, loses himself in the feeling of your hot mouth around him, tongue dragging over his cock.

The feeling in your throat burns, each thrust of his hips against your mouth making your jaw more and more sore. But god, it feels good to have him so close, his scent swarming your sense, groans like music to your ears. You want to please him, want him to feel as good as you did at your place. You want it even more now that you know how he feels, know he’s probably thought about this before.

A brutal thrust has you gagging, throat contracting around his length. “Shh,” Jungkook sighs, the fingers buried in your hair flattening out to run over your head. “Doing so good for me, beautiful.”

You bask in the praise, let a hand flutter down to the apex of your thighs, pressing down to relieve some of the pressure. Jungkook groans, rolls his hips against you and keeps you there for a second. Your throat spasms, his dick pressed hotly against it, and you feel your panties grow embarrassingly sticky. Eventually, he draws back out.

“You like this?” He hums, rutting against you faster now, nose brushing against the sparse hairs on his pelvis with every slam of his hips. You nod around a gag, eyes clouding with tears, lips slippery with saliva and precum. One particular thrust is so hard, it nearly sends you knocking back into the car, Jungkook’s hand on the back of your head barely saving you. “Fucking hell,” he spits, “look so pretty with my cock shoved down your throat, princess.”

You moan around him, feel a subtle twitch against your tongue before he’s pulling himself out. “Shit,” he cursed, pushing you away as he goes to grab his own dick in his hand, tugging at it like a madman. “Wh-Where?” He asks, and you stare dumbly at the sight of him playing with himself, almost don’t realize he’s asking you a question.

You take too long, scramble for words too long, and even if you did have one your throat is far too sensitive yo answer. Jungkook grows impatient. Pulling you closer by the collar of your Chanel suit jacket, tugging it open until the flimsy buttons snap, and the tank top you wore beneath comes into view. He aims the tip of his cock towards your sternum, and a few jacks later, he’s coming, cum spurting against your chest. You watch the cum trail down between the valley of your breasts, until the feeling comes to rest against the inside wire of your bra, sticky and gross, sliding along the underside of your boobs. “Shit,” Jungkook repeats, eyes furrowed over you.

Your knees ache, and you nearly trip when you stand up, steadying yourself against the side of the car. Jungkook seems to regain his sense by then, hand trailing around your waist. You meet his eye, and almost immediately turn away, the blood in your face rapidly rising.

Jungkook laughs. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he teases, gets too close and your noses bump. “Sorry,” he smiles, too shiny and bright for the sinful acts you just committed in an auto shop.

“Put your dick away,” you huff, let him nuzzle closer to you, and when he doesn’t move to tuck himself into his pants, you go do it for him.

Jungkook frowns, swats your hand away. “This dick has places to be,” he informs you, and you scoff.

“Refractory period,” you remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Well I’m not exactly gonna stick it in you this instant,” he drawls. “Gotta stretch you out first.”

You go to complain, tell him he doesn’t have to over exert himself. Truthfully, with Jungkook you feel like one good session was enough to sustain you for weeks. After last time, your skin had flowed for an entire week. But then his hand is slithering up your backside, sneaking under your skirt to grab a handful of your ass.

There’s quickly drying drool collecting at the corners of your mouth, saliva from when he’d fucked your throat just a few moments prior, that he kisses away. His mouth slots over yours, and your heart and pussy both flutter at the kiss.

It’s gentle and sweet for all of ten seconds, his mouth moving against yours until you feel the wet press of his tongue against your bottom lip, tracing along until you open your mouth. He wastes no time shoving his tongue past your lips, letting it dance with yours as he pulls you closer, hands gripping the globes of your ass. You let him lick his way into your mouth, more and more saliva catching in the corners of your mouth until he’s pulling away with a wet pop.

He pulls away, doesn’t stray too far, proud smirk crossing his features at the sight of your slicked lips. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Huh?” You ask dumbly, tongue mindlessly swiping over your lips.

Jungkook’s eyes track the movement. “The saliva,” he clarifies. “The spit. You liked it at your place too,” he reminisces, moving in on you again. “Liked watching me slobber and spit all over your body. Isn’t that right, baby?”

You blush, discreetly rub your thighs together. “I-I do,” you admit, willing the warmth of your face away because at this distance he must certainly feel it.

Jungkook nods, doesn’t say anything else as he captures your lips a second time. He doesn’t bother with the gentle prodding anymore, jumping straight into tongue right away. He’s messier, letting his saliva coat your lips and drip down your mouth, and as messy as it is, you love it. You whimper when he pulls away, but gasp when his hand tugs at the hair by the nape of your neck, pulling you back until you’re looking up at him.

“Open,” he murmurs, and you do, tongue pressing against your bottom lip.

It should be disgusting, the rev of his throat, the sound of his saliva collecting, and the way his jaw shifts when he’s got enough. It should be filthy, the way he shoots it down your open lips, the way it splatters against the back of your throat. It should be gross, but god do you love it. “Swallow,” Jungkook commands, and you do, feel his spit drip down your throat like it’s your own, whimpering at the feeling. A quirk of his lips. “Good girl.”

You have to bite down the pride that grows in your chest.

Jungkook’s hands continue their mapping out of your behind, eventually ending with a hard squeeze that has you squealing. Automatically, your back arches in surprise, breasts pressing against Jungkook’s chest. He smirks down at you.

“Bet you taste good,” he says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Let me taste?”

“Please,” you beg, nearly losing your shit when he lifts you up onto the car, the cool metal making you jump, heel on your foot nearly kicking the side view mirror clean off. “Wait, Jungkook,” you sputter, glancing down at the sleek metal. “This is someone’s car.”

Jungkook ignores you, pushes your legs apart to slot himself between them. His palms run up your legs, over your thighs, until they’re toying with the hem of your skirt. Mocha eyes glance up at you, as if daring you to question him again, so you promptly zip your lips shut. The skirt goes, ever so slowly, over your thighs, bunches up at your waist until he’s staring at your lace panties.

He presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose faintly brushing against your skin. The kisses trail over your skin, until he’s hovering over your panties, and he’s staring like a man starved. He gives no warning, suddenly leaning down to press his mouth over your party-clad folds, nose flush against your clit. “Kook!” You squeak, hands flying to clutch at his hair.

Jungkook mouths at you, drags his tongue against your panties until they’re soaked in both your essence and his saliva, just how you like. A hand slithers around your leg, wrapping around until he’s got a firm grip on it that he uses to hold it open.

“J-Just take them off,” you gasp, squirm when his mouth moves towards your clit, lapping against you. “Please,” you cry.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook tortures you with those kitten licks, muted through your panties, until you’re begging him to stop, to take them off and do it right. He loves it, you can tell, dazzling smile peeking up at you every time you tug against his hair, until finally, he’s had enough.

The underwear comes off, dangling uselessly by your ankle, and then the show really begins.

“Wait,” you choke, head falling back against the hood of the car when he finally gets his mouth on you, suctioning his lips around your swollen clit. The niggling reminder that this is some stranger’s car he’s eating you out on rings in your brain, and perhaps that’s what makes it more exciting.

His mouth is warm, tongue flicking over your sensitive bud like it’s candy and he needs the sugar. The sounds are so loud and wet, the squelching of your pussy every time he pulls off a pop that resounds throughout the garage. He pampers your clit for what seems like hours, switching the movements of his tongue every time he gets the chance until you’re quivering.

When you think he’s done, he’s not.

Fingers slide up your thigh, featherlight, as they reach your drenched cunt. They drag over your lips, and you mewl, feeling the muscles jump and tighten at his touches. “Jungkook, please,” you moan, rolling your hips against him, but it’s hard and everytime you move, you feel the sweat on your skin weigh you down, glued to the metal beneath you.

The first finger breaches you, just the tip of his index slowly wiggling inside. You muffle a moan in your palm, and Jungkook pulls away with a huff. “No hiding,” he warns, slowly lowering back to your cunt with a stern glare. You nod, but can’t help it when his second finger pushes its way in and you bite down on your knuckles.

“Oh,” You sob, body quivering as he begins scissoring his two fingers inside you. With your attention focused on the digits sheathed inside you, he pulls away from your clit, bestowing one final kiss against it that has your foot kicking out wildly. “Th-there.” His other hand catches your palm in his, presses it against the metal by your head.

Jungkook smiles, curls his fingers around until he finds the soft spot inside you that turns you to jelly. “There we go, beautiful,” he purrs, pushing himself to his full height, leaning over your trembling form. “So sweet for me,” he sighs, licks his lips like he’s remembering your taste.

“I'm gonna,” you choke, become hypnotized by the dark cloud in his gaze, the arrogant smirk on his lips. He curls his fingers, palm brushing against your abandoned clit. The touch makes you jump, nerves tingling.

“Cum for me,” he encourages, silky tone swarming your head as your pleasure slowly washes over you. It’s probably the most relaxed orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, his low voice and delighted eyes guiding you through it, until your entire body clenches, dissolving in a puddle of contentment. Your arousal surges around his fingers, trickling down onto the metal.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you pant, overwhelmed from the touches and the kisses. Jungkook’s smile gets swallowed by your greedy mouth, desperate for more kisses now that he’s made you feel like this.

The kisses only placate him for so long, and when he presses his body against yours, there’s an awfully hard cock that slides against your dripping cunt. “Think you can go again, gorgeous?” He murmurs against your jaw, nipping at the skin on the way down. You nod, eyes falling shut at the warmth you feel in your bones.

Jungkook kisses your neck one last time, before leaning back once more to line himself up.

This was a scene straight from your teenage fantasies, a dripping, shirtless Jungkook at full mast between your thighs, looking at you so lovingly. It makes your heart thunder, imagining how long you could have been doing this if you weren’t both so stupid. As if reading your thoughts, Jungkook rubs a palm over your thigh, eyebrow quirked. You nod his concern away, squirm closer until the tip of his cock nudges against your hole.

“Fuck,” Jungkook sighs, moving his hands to your hips as he slowly pushes in. His fingers, bless their intentions, could have never prepared you for the size of Jungkook’s cock, thick and veiny as it pushes inside. You whimper, clawing at the hands on your waist that stop you from impaling yourself on it fully. “Waited so long for this.”

“Then fucking do it,” you beg, nearly pass out when he shoves in harshly at your tone. “J-Jung—“

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, jostles you until you’re flush against his cock, clit brushing against his pelvis. Your back arches, and Jungkook slips his arm around you, the other lingering on your waist.

Every subtle shift has him brushing along your swollen clit, and you sob at the sensation, begging him to move. He complies, changes his stance to make it easier, and finally begins thrusting into your throbbing pussy.

“So good,” he huffs, eyes zeroed in on where the two of you meet. You would have looked too, if your body hadn’t felt so completely boneless beneath him, the grinding of his cock sending shocks of pleasure up your spine. “So pretty and mine.”

“Yours,” you choke, heart swelling in your chest at his words. It’s almost animalistic, the way he ducks down to bite at your neck, like some animal staking its claim, and you like it. You like it because it’s all you ever dreamed of for so long. “Faster, Kook,” you urge, wrapping your arms around him.

He does as you say, slow and careful thrusts transitioning into a fast piston that would have had you bouncing out of his reach if he wasn’t holding you so tightly. “Fuck,” he chokes, lost in the way you clench around him, lips dragging against his cock with each thrust. “Baby,” he grunts, sweat trailing down his temple, eyes furrowed shut. Eventually, his head falls into the crook of your neck, his weight pressing down on you uncomfortably, subtle ridges on the hood making you ache. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. “All I ever wanted,” he gasps.

You could cry, right now and he’d pull out right away, big heart fretting over your emotional well-being. Which is exactly why you hold your emotions in, let yourself get fully immersed in the feeling of Jungkook pounding you against some stranger’s car and not the inevitable emotional crash you’ll have later.

He fucks like he’s waited all his life for this, and you guess he sort of has if what he’s saying is true. You have no doubt it is, and when his lips suck a mark against your neck, you feel like you’re in heaven. “Almost,” you pant, legs wrapping around his waist tightly. Jungkook nods, his hair tickling your jaw and neck, as he picks up the pace. Your cunt swallows him up every single time, suctions him in until he’s shaking, and so are you.

It can only last for so long, your heart and body eventually reaching their peak, and you unravel. His arms are there to catch you, to pick up the pieces and hold you together. You want to cry, you really do, and when the coil in your stomach snaps, you finally do. “I love you,” you sob, and Jungkook shudders, glances at your tear-struck face to push himself off.

“Love you too,” he mumbles, grinds his cock against your spasming folds one last time, and comes mid-thrust, cum spurting inside you. He holds you, just like you knew he would, as you come down from your highs, hot breath fanning across your skin.

You feel warm, loved, and in love, body trembling in sensitivity afterwards. He’s pulled out since, soothingly rubbing a hand against your side. You’d like to say you wouldn’t be anywhere else, but one shift reminds you of where you are.

“Shit,” you groan, taking in your surroundings before letting your head fall back against the hood. Jungkook hums, round eyes looking your way. “We really just confessed and had sex on some stranger’s car.”

Jungkook snorts, leans away just the slightest to look you in the eye. He’s lost in thought, chocolate irises swirling as they drink you in. “Say thanks to Taehyung,” he finally says.

You roll your eyes, and when you shift beneath him, your sweaty skin sticks uncomfortably against the metal hood. “Yeah, let me thank Taehyung for dating me for three days and awakening your crush,” you huff sarcastically, resigning yourself to your new life stuck against the hood of some classic automobile from the 50s. Jungkook laughs, tucks himself back into his underwear. “Thanks Taehyung, for your noble sacrifice ten years ago that allowed me to fuck Jungkook on some stranger’s car—“

Jungkook hums, snuggles closer to you. “Tae’s car.”

“—after confessing our—Taehyung’s car?” You shriek, sitting up with the strength of three football players, Jungkook toppling off you. “Oh my god. No.” Jungkook rubs his elbow where he knocked it against the hood, looks at you with solemn eyes. Slowly, a smirk crawls over his features. “No,” you gasp, mortification crawling up your spine. “We didn’t.”

He tugs you off the car, tugs your skirt down when you wobble on unsteady heels. “Yup,” he says, pops the end of the word like a child. “Say hello to Taehyung’s new car!” He exclaims, patting the hood you just defiled. “Straight from the car auction he went to this morning,” he beams.

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your face with your hands when you finally spot the puddles of... something on the black hood. “This is terrible.”

Jungkook ignores you, wipes up the mess with some napkins from his takeout bag, but there’s already some that's dried, only fueling your mortification. “Not like he’ll find out,” he shrugs, then narrows his eyes at you. “Or will he?”

“No!” You stutter, carefully rounding the car as if inspecting it for any more signs of the treacherous things you and Jungkook did on or around it. “I-I won’t tell him.”

“Uh huh,” Jungkook teases, settles on that rolling stool and pushes himself towards you. There’s a hand easing itself around your waist, tugging you between open legs. Still in shock, your hands flutter around his neck, muscle memory causing you to immediately begin massaging the skin there.

Jungkook sighs into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Too bad Jimin’s not here,” he sighs, and you visibly see his nose grow in arrogance.

“What? Why should Jimin be here?” You ask, pushing your fingers against the knots in his neck.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed, one-eyed glare. He scoffs, “maybe you are as dumb ad Taehyung says.” And then, “hey!” when you tug his ear. He isn’t upset, just tugs you closer until his face is buried against your stomach. “You know country folk like him marry on the spot right?”

“What are you even saying,” you huff, burying your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging his head back to properly look at him. “Why do you care who Jimin marries?” He doesn’t bother answering.

Instead, Jungkook sighs into the touch, an easygoing smile thrown your way, and for a moment you forget about the trauma Taehyung will have when he inevitably learns about this. “This is the life.”

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook fic #mine

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harrywritingsbyme · 3 years

Text

Bored

Based Off Of This Ask

And This One

A/N: He’s back bitchessss🤪…and he’s filthy as fuck! And I’m sorry this one is extra extra late with a crappy ending lol...Enjoy🙃

You were finally finally getting your weekend alone with Harry. After almost two weeks of him being away for business, you were finally getting to spend some quality time with him. And it was going to be without any interruption. Since your best friend was was spending a long weekend with her boyfriend, you were going to be able to spend a long weekend with yours. You were so excited to see Harry that you had everything planned out. For starters, you had your bag packed the night before he was due home. It had all of the essentials: a couple outfits for when you two weren’t in bed having sex, two of your skimpiest sets of lingerie that you weren’t going to miss given the fact that Harry had a habit of ripping your lingerie off of you, and some toys. He had few at his house but had the funner ones that you both could play with. Now along with getting your bag packed, you also made a visit to the waxing salon you went to from time to time. Even though Harry could literally care less about whether or not you had any hair down there, you still liked to give him a little treat from time to time. So as a little welcome home present, you endured thirty minuets of someone ripping those coarse hairs away so that you could be nice and smooth upon his arrival. And to make sure that you were ready to spread your legs for him as soon as he landed, you got this done a little over two days before so that you could let your pussy rest a bit because once you were with Harry, you were going to be begging for a break. You also made sure to be right at the airport to pick him up so that you two could get your weekend together started.

Now since his flight landed in the evening and you were positive that he’d be exhausted, you weren’t expecting to do much that night. Once you two arrived home, Harry wasted no time getting himself and his bag upstairs before ridding himself of his clothes and taking a nice hot shower. Again, you knew for a fact that he was exhausted from his flight and the trip itself so you decided to let him unwind and take his shower while you unpacked his bag and got everything nice and ready for him to have a good nights sleep. After spending a good half an hour in the steamy cabin, Harry finally exited the shower and came into the bedroom where you were waiting for him.

“I take it you had a good shower.” You point out, taking in his more relaxed disposition.

“It was so good.” He hums, striding over to where you were sitting on the bed. Once in front of you, his hands go straight to your shoulders and up your neck to the sides of your face where he tilts your head back a bit so that you’re looking up at him. He then lowers his head before bringing his lips to yours. Besides the pecks you gave him in the car when you picked him up from the airport, this was the first real kiss the two of you shared in almost two weeks. You missed the feeling of his warm pillow soft lips moving against yours. Even though you missed the sex, you missed being close to Harry. You knew that you could call him whenever you needed him and he’d always answer, but you weren’t close to him the way you were in this moment.

“I love you baby.” He mumbles lowly against your lips after slightly pulling away from you.

“I love you too.” You mumble back to him before lifting your head up a bit to reconnect your lips with his for one final kiss. “Now get in bed with me!” You whine, pulling him down towards the bed.

“Have t’get dressed.” He laughs at your eagerness.

“Who said you needed to wear clothes to bed?” You quickly reply, leaving him no other choice but to dry himself off and hop into bed with you. “Now it’s time for your goodnight kiss.” And with that, you moved your body so that you were between his legs and you used your mouth in the best way possible to send him right to sleep. Just because you weren’t expecting to do much didn’t mean you were expecting to do nothing at all. How could you not take up the opportunity to not only pleasure him but to also help him unwind?! Not to mention the fact that you hadn’t touched him in almost two weeks.

Now even though this was supposed to be a relaxing weekend for you and Harry to spend some quality time together, Harry still managed to get holed up in his office. And even though you were fully aware and understanding of the fact that his job could be demanding at times, you still couldn’t understand why they couldn’t let him have a little bit of an extended weekend since they did have him for a straight week and a half. The one thing you did know in this entire situation is that you had to get him away from the work and into you instead. And you knew just how to do it. You checked in on him the first time right after you woke up and realized that he wasn’t in bed with you. When you did, you gave him a ton of kisses and an incentives for stepping away from the desk but he wouldn’t budge. All you got out of that was a kiss to your lips, a promise to give it to you real good later on, and the task of getting him another cup of coffee. At this point, you realized that you were going to have to make him step away from the work.

So after you deliver his cup of coffee, you make your way upstairs to put yourself together. After you get out of the shower, you throw on the perfect outfit (or lack there of to be completely honest) to get Harry to focus on you. Pulling from the bag you packed, you went for a cute little pastel thong that barely covered anything and was just there for the appeal, along with a tight fitting crop top that had “Daddy’s Girl” written across the chest. It was prefect. If this didn’t get Harry’s attention, you don’t know what what could. After doing a little once over and twirl in the mirror, you head back downstairs to try your hand once more at getting Harry to put the work to the side. Hopefully he got something done in the hour and a half you spent upstairs because you weren’t going anywhere without getting something from him. When you walk down the hallway leading to his office, you could hear him talking to someone on the phone but that doesn’t stop you from walking right into the doorway of his office. When you first walked in he could see you out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned around to fully face you, Harry was completely dumbfounded at your appearance. There was so much to take in!

“Daddy I’m bored.” You huff loudly, causing Harry to scramble around behind his desk, hoping that his colleague didn’t hear you through the phone.

“M‘ gonna have to call you back.” He says abruptly before hanging up the phone, keeping his eyes right on you the entire time. He then slides his phone onto the desk and pushes his chair out a little from the desk before wagging his finger in your direction, beckoning you to come over to him.

In an instant, you’re following his nonverbal instruction and your making your way over to him. As you’re walking over, Harry takes you in. Aside from the lack of clothing, Harry couldn’t get enough of your body. He couldn’t get enough of your figure. Your hips were perfectly rounded and full and your chest was absolutely abundant with your breasts. When you round the desk and step in front of him, you don’t even bother to stop and wait for a direction. You just go right in and you straddle Harry before sitting yourself right in his lap. Instead of saying anything right away, you decide to wait until you’re spoken to. That’s the least you could do since you already broke two of his rules.

“You’re so lucky I could use a good fuck right now.” He sighs, finally breaking the silence while continuing to look your body over your body. Now that you were sitting down, he could see the string like waistband of your panties digging into you fleshy hips, and he could see your pert nipples pushing right up against the thin material of your t-shirt.

“What would happen if you weren’t daddy?” You “innocently” inquire, lifting yourself up a bit just to move yourself but higher up on his lap before plopping yourself back down onto him.

“Well luckily for you, I’m always in need of a good fuck from this beautiful body of yours.” He begins, removing one of his hands from your fleshy hips up to your chest to latch onto one of your ample breast’s through the thin shirt you had on. “But when I do punish you, because all brats deserve punishments, I’m gonna make sure you learn your lesson.” He says simply, continuing to fondle your breast.

“What are you gonna do to me daddy?” You press on, beginning to move yourself back and forth right against his cock.

“Now what’s the fun in me telling you my plans? All I’m gonna say is that unless our safe word falls from that pretty mouth of yours, m’gonna use you any way I want, and m’gonna do anything I want to you.” He explains. “How does that sound?”

“Sounds amazing.” You moan, continuing to push yourself back and forth against his now completely hard cock.

“I figured you’d like the idea of being my personal fuck toy.” He chuckles smartly as you bring your face down to kiss at his neck. “But I do have to say, even though you’re such a little brat, you definitely make up for it in being the perfect little slut f’me.”

“Mhm, just for daddy.” You hum, keeping your mouth against his skin. As you continue kissing at his neck, you continue moving your hips against him as well. You also pull his hand that was squeezing at your hip down between your legs.

“Does my little girl want daddy’s cock?” He asks “surprisedly” when he feels you pull his hand down to touch the puffy mound between your legs.

“Yes daddy.” You moan against him when you feel his fingers poking at you through your panties.

“I guess I can let you have your way since I’ll be spending the better part of the day teaching you a lesson.” He rations, removing his hand from your breast and using it to grip onto your throat and pull your face from his neck before lifting you up and onto the desk in front of him. He then pushes his seat back some more so that he can stand up and tower above you. He quickly clears the space on the desk behind you before swiftly removing the tight shirt from your body and returning his hand to your throat, pushing you to lay back. Instead of wasting anymore time, Harry brings a hand down to your panties that were extremely close to just snapping and just rips them off your body, leaving you completely naked in front of him. His eyes travel all the way down, from your breasts to the area between your legs, each time taking a moment to touch and feel your soft body in his hands. When he makes it to the area between your legs though, Harry immediately crouches down to be at eye level with your cunt. “Oh sweetheart” He begins, taking in your bare cunt. “Look at you.” He admires, bringing his hand back there to feel how smooth and bare you were. The area was a sticky mess since there were not curly hairs for your arousal to cling onto. Even though he loved when you had your hair down there, he couldn’t get enough of how messy it got and how good it was to really feel the plump lips of your pussy in his mouth. He also liked to lick your arousal from your thighs. After staring and petting the smooth area, Harry finally brings his mouth to your cunt and goes straight into licking up and down your folds.

“Daddy! Feels so good!” You moan incoherently, feeling him eat into you like his life depended on it. Not only would he lick into you, he’d also suck on your swollen and oh so sensitive bud, and slightly sink his teeth into your thick pussy lips.

“Oh my- you are so delicious.” Harry moans from between your legs, savoring how amazing you taste. No matter how many times he licked into you, Harry would never get over how good you tasted on his tongue. “I could eat this pussy of yours for the rest of my life!” He exclaims, continuing to eat and marvel at your cunt. “You even look perfect too.” He says, pulling his head back to stare at your mound. “It just swallows up everything it touches. Your panties, my fingers, my tongue, my cock…” He continues on, taking in how pretty and puffy your pussy was for him. He always knew how meaty and utterly delicious your cunt was, but seeing it bare and as a result being able to get a better view of you made it even better.

After a bit more oogling at your mound a bit longer, Harry finally goes back to eating you out. He uses his fingers and mouth to drive you wild, fucking you with two fingers while he either bites into your fleshy lips, sucks on your swollen little button, or licks into you. As he continues, you are gripping onto your supple breasts and letting out the biggest moans as Harry pushes you to a release. The way he was raving about your pussy and ravenously eating you was absolutely insane and it pushed you right into your release. Your moans echoed through the room as you let go all over Harry’s tongue to which he made sure to lick up every last drop before standing back up.

“Oh my goodness doll!” He coos, looking down at your now limp body below him. “You look like you’re even more of proper little slut for daddy now.” He admires, properly taking in how loopy you were now and your heaving naked body that was spread across his desk. “Wish there was a dildo in here for you to choke on but your panties will do I guess. I’ll just fuck your mouth myself later on.” He sighs, reaching for the ripped panties he sat on the desk moments prior before pushing them past your parted lips and stuffing them into your mouth. He then pushes his pants down his legs to reveal his rock hard cock. Without wasting anymore time simply staring at you, Harry gives his shaft a couple tugs before guiding himself into you. “Fuck princess!” He loudly groans, finally feeling your walls engulfing his cock again. “Y’cunt always swallows m’cock perfectly.” He grunts as he watches himself disappear into you.

While Harry was losing his mind from how good your cunt was, you were a whimpering and quivering mess. He’d made you cum less than five minuets ago and he was already pushing his cock inside to fuck you. Even though you loved feeling his big cock stretch your tight walls to fit, your pussy was incredibly sensitive from his mouth. So you could already knew that you’d not only be sensitive, you’d also be sore. Which was exactly what Harry wanted. Once he was balls deep inside of you, Harry immediately began pounding into you. His eyes were trained on your breasts that were bouncing freely on your chest with every thrust of his cock down into your quivering cunt. He could feel your walls squeezing him with every thrust and he could feel himself hitting the deepest part of you over and over again, slamming himself into the pit of your stomach with every thrust.

“That’s it babydoll.” He growls, releasing one of your hips from his hand to wrap it around your throat. “Take daddy’s cock all the way up into that little tummy of yours.” He continues, keeping his eyes locked on your glassy ones. “M’gonna cum in there too. Want you t’be completely filled up by daddy.” He pants, feeling his already bubbling release begin to intensify. “Feel you squeezin’ m’cock, wanna cum again for daddy?” He questions through a pant. Since he was practically pinning your head to the desk by means of his grip on your throat, you could only give him a faint nod yes and a whimper. “C’mon then baby, cum with daddy.” He grunts, continuing to send more sharp yet staggered thrusts into you as he starts to feel wave of his release begging to overtake him. From the way he was gripping onto your body and shoving his cock deep inside of you, you weren’t able to stop yourself from squirting all over his cock and going numb from the waist down. Your seismic release from earlier doubled in size and just crashed down onto you. The same with Harry, his release crashed down onto him, resulting in rope after rope of his cum pouring into you just like he promised.

Even though it took a little while for you guys’ weekend to get started, neither of you would have it any other way. Just based off of this round alone, you and Harry immediately knew it was going to be a very long and pleasure filled weekend.

Masterlist

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peachsayshi · 3 years

Text

Chapter 6 - Festival

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Teasing and a little bit of Fluff.

Summary: Your best friend Rina is curious about what's been keeping you so busy, and the two of you run into Gojo and his student at a food festival.

A/N: I have been working on my jjk fics but this chapter was a little bit difficult for me to write. A little bit of backstory and plot building here. Gojo and personal space? Non-existent. You can't tell me that the man wouldn't abuse his flirting rights.

- - -

“Aren’t you a little warm in that top?”

Rina glanced at the high collared t-shirt you were wearing under your mini dress. The top covered the marks that Gojo left on your neck but the material was a little too thick for the summer heat. Thankfully, there was a breeze cooling you off otherwise you would be dripping with sweat.

“I’m fine,” you replied, directing your attention onto the vendors instead of your best friend’s narrowed eyes.

Rina asked you to come along to check out a food festival set up in the city. The entire district was lined with painted stalls which made for a picture perfect scene. The rich aroma of cooked food danced around you, enticing the bustling crowd that was growing in numbers. From golden battered fried takoyaki balls to mouthwatering barbecued yakitori, rainbow cotton candy that sent strings of sugar into the air and sweet kakigori to cleanse the palette…

Everything was making your stomach grumble.

“Oh, let’s get okonomiyaki!” Rina suggested.

After picking up your orders, you both sat at an empty table where you could enjoy your meal. You were ignoring the way Rina continued looking at you suspiciously, clearly not letting go of her obsession with the top you were wearing.

“Okay, that’s it. Let me see it.”

“See what?” you questioned, covering your mouth as you tried to chew on your food.

“The hickey you are hiding.”

You nearly choked as you swallowed but Rina didn’t flinch at your reaction. You patted your chest lightly, clearing your throat as you gathered your thoughts.

“I’m not hiding anything!” you replied defensively.

Rina rolled her eyes at you, “then at least tell me who the guy is…”

You waved your arm nonchalantly in her direction, desperately trying to avoid getting into a losing battle with your best friend. If there was one person in the world who didn’t need superhuman abilities to tell what you were thinking - it was Rina. She read you like an open book, making it near impossible for you to keep a secret from her. How you managed to go this long without her figuring out you were hooking up with Gojo was a miracle.

“I just want to know exactly what has been keeping you so busy recently,” she continued, “I’m having a hard time believing it’s work because you would be in a miserable mood if you were spending all your free time at the office.”

“ Or we can talk about how absolutely delicious this is...” you blurted, letting her words travel in your ear and out the other as you pointed at the meal in front of you.

Rina lifted her brow, shaking her head in disapproval. She calmly placed her chopsticks on her plate, leaning forward a little closer to you before hooking her finger in the collar of your shirt and tugging it down to check your neck.

“LIAR!”

You clasped your hand over the mark, your eyes widening as you prodded your best friend with your other finger.

“Oh, you are in trouble!” a sly smile spread across her pretty face, “when did you start dating again? I thought you swore off men after what happened with the fitness instructor..”

“Please don’t remind me of him…”

“Then who is this mystery man that you are hiding?”

You pressed your lips together, hesitant to reveal the truth about the deal you and Gojo had made. Yes, you were having fun together and none of it was supposed to be as serious as you were making it out in your head. In fact, Rina would probably applaud you for initiating this to begin with.

But…

Rina also liked to ask hard questions: why were you using him instead of confronting your heartbreak? Why were you chasing after something false instead of trying for real love again? Do you really want to risk ruining the friendship you both have?

Those were questions that you didn’t have the answers to.

“It’s...It’s some guy at work, you don’t know him…” you stated, finally settling on a good enough excuse to satisfy her curiosity

“How long have you been seeing him?”

“Just a few weeks…” you fibbed.

“Tell me what he’s like?”

“Uhh…he’s fun, I guess …handsome, kind of charming…but it’s only been a few dates, I still don’t really know him well yet.”

You swallowed hard, hating yourself for not having the courage to tell Rina the truth. Your best friend continued throwing questions at you while your brain spat out the answers before you could even think things through, your guilt twisting your insides with all the lies you were spewing.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner…”

Rina smiled, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I just want you to be happy. If you like this guy, you should give him a chance. Who knows, maybe this could turn into something serious…”

“I am not really looking for anything serious,” you admitted, allowing yourself to be vulnerable. “At least not right now…”

How could you want something serious after what happened?

You and your ex-boyfriend were together for five years. You met him when you were both at university and he swept you off your feet. His handsomeness showed through his kind personality and he always managed to make you smile. He was your first of many things, including this painful heartbreak.

You hated yourself for getting comfortable with him, for allowing your mind to plan a future that you both could share. You were disappointed that he made you fall in love with him but more so, that he abandoned you to piece together what was left.

You always felt like you never had your closure. When you asked him why he cheated, he never gave you a solid answer. He was ashamed for keeping his infidelity a secret for so long that his only response was a pathetic apology.

Who was this woman that he was willing to jeopardize your relationship for?

Why did he stop loving you?

You blamed yourself because you couldn’t understand.

One minute you were happy and the next you found yourself betrayed in the worst way possible.

You had enough respect for yourself to know that you couldn’t stay with a man who would treat you this way. When you broke up, you expected him to beg for your forgiveness. He was your prince charming, of course he would come crawling back.

You only knew that he had moved on with his lover when you caught the two of them at the supermarket together. They were buying peas, completely entranced with one another and the adoration that your former boyfriend used to look at you with was now passed on to the woman with golden hair.

He was your weakness and you…

You still loved him.

Rina’s eyes shifted to the crowd, pausing when she recognised a face among the sea of strangers.

“Oh! Look who is over there!”

You glanced over your shoulder, following her line of sight until you saw your dirty little secret wave at you from a distance.

Gojo was eating ice cream, mindlessly swerving around the crowd and looking exceptionally fine in his summer fit. Adorned on the top of his head were cat ears, a little souvenir trinket that some of the vendors were selling at their stalls. His free arm was draped across a teen boy’s shoulder, whose unamused face indicated that he was not keen on being here.

“Rina-chan!” Gojo sang as he approached your table, “it’s nice to see you!”

“You too! How are things?”

“Great! Busy with the usual but today I decided to stop by with my student. This is Megumi…”

The boy awkwardly bowed to greet you and Rina.

“It’s nice to meet you both…”

Gojo’s shades slid down his nose slightly, and you caught a glimpse of those blue eyes. When he winked in your direction, you couldn’t help but blush.

“What are you two up to?” he casually asked.

“Well, I finally got Miss “Busy All The Time” to myself today and we just had some okonomiyaki, that guy over there is selling it…”

Gojo hummed and swirled his tongue around his vanilla ice cream before calmly replying, “I know, she’s been so preoccupied lately! Oi, when are we going to have our catch up session?”

Your face grew warmer, Gojo was good at keeping secrets and him playing off like he hasn’t been the one taking up all of your spare time only resulted in you staring at him with furrowed brows.

Thankfully, Megumi interrupted the conversation.

“I’m going to walk around for a bit,” he stated, turning his heel to walk away from your little group.

“I’ll meet up with you in a minute,” Gojo replied with a nod.

“I’m also going to use this opportunity to find the restroom. Gojo can keep you company until I get back,” Rina added, as she stood up from her seat.

Gojo gave her a thumbs up, “happily!”

The sorcerer took Rina’s place, sitting down across from you while his long legs bumped into yours as he adjusted his position. He paused for a moment, watching your friend and his student disperse into the crowd before finally returning his attention back to you.

“Nice outfit by the way but a little warm for today’s weather in my opinion.”

“I wonder whose fault that is…” you mused, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling at his teasing comment, “I bet you think you’re so cute assuming you’re completely innocent in all this.”

Gojo smiled, “Actually, I know I’m cute.”

You couldn’t deny it, even right now as you watched him with those ridiculous cat ears that pulled back his white locks. He definitely was catching the eye of every girl and guy who passed by.

You flicked one of the black ears on his head, “this is a new look for you…”

“I bought it for Megumi but he wasn’t too pleased wearing it around, kept saying that I was embarrassing him...” Gojo explained with a frown.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on your thighs and bringing the ice cream in his hand to your face.

“Want a taste?” he asked innocently.

Your heart skipped a beat, unaware that Gojo would get this close to you in public. He knew that you hadn't told anybody about what you both have been doing and you wondered if he was deliberately trying to put you in an awkward position. You subconsciously scanned the crowd to see if Rina or Megumi were around.

You tilted your head back slightly before asking, “do you understand the concept of personal space?”

“Relax,” Gojo said in a low voice, “no one is paying attention to us.”

“What if they come back…”

“I’ll see them before they see us,” he replied with confidence, grazing his free hand over your thigh. “Besides, you look like you could use something to cool you off…”

You arched your brow, deciding to give in and play this little flirtation game. You bit your bottom lip, gently wrapping your hand around his slender fingers and slowly leaning forward to lick the ice cream off his cone. You kept your gaze on Gojo, focusing on the devilish smirk that spread across his lips as he watched with approval.

“Mmm, that is good…” you moaned, before looking at him with glittering eyes, “wait, I didn’t get any ice cream on my face, did I?”

Gojo chuckled under his breath, “you’ve got a little something right here…”

His hand moved up to your face, his fingers holding your chin as he brought your lips to his. You inhaled, holding your breath as you were caught off guard by him stealing a kiss. The moment was fleeting and before you knew it, he parted his lips from yours but trailed his hand down your neck to take a peek at the hickey he left on your skin.

“I usually don’t care about where I mark you but if it’s a big concern I’ll make sure to do it in places where only I can see…”

Even though he spoke in a low whisper, you felt like it was loud enough for the whole crowd to hear how flustered you just got by his words.

You cleared your throat, turning your face away from him to regain your composure. “Behave, Satoru…”

“Mmm,” he hummed, “I could keep going but Rina will be back in any minute…”

You sensed a hint of annoyance in his voice when he said that.

The sorcerer leaned back, inviting the space that separated you both as he ate his ice cream with indifference. Sometimes you wish you could flip the switch as easily as he did but you found it impossible.

Rina arrived before you could even respond to his statement.

“What did I miss?” she asked, patting Gojo lightly on the shoulder to request returning to her seat.

“Nothing special,” Gojo answered with a shrug as he stood up , “I think I’m going to head back and find this kid before he leaves without me knowing.”

“Enjoy the rest of your evening! Also, you should stop by the candy shop sometime. I’ve been working on some new treats I think you might like…”

“I will,” he promised, stretching the lying game even further. He proceeded to remove the headband he was wearing, his white hair flopping over his shades as he handed you the cat ears. “Hold on to these for me won’t you…”

You took it, puzzled by the sudden gesture.

“What for?”

“Just an excuse to pick it up from you later,” he remarked innocently, “otherwise I’ll never see you!”

Rina laughed, clearly not catching on to his hidden invitation. Gojo waved goodbye and walked away, leaving you both to return to your date.

For a moment you thought your lie was about to catch up to you but realised that it was easy keeping this secret because nobody would expect you to hook up with Gojo.

You guys have been playing this song and dance for a while, saving your flirtatious banter and curiosities for when you two were alone together. Maybe you’ll come clean eventually, but for now you wanted to enjoy the bubble you were in.

You played with the cat ears in your hand, completely unaware that you were smiling to yourself.

- CHAPTER 7: GAMES -

#Gojo Satoru x reader #Gojo Satoru x you #Gojo Satoru x ofc #Gojo Satoru #Gojo Satoru fan fic #Gojo smut #Gojo fluff #Gojo angst #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x female reader #Gojo Satoru smut #Gojo Satoru fan fiction #jjk

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phrynewrites · 2 years

Note

32 + 34 sounds like a continuation for the teachers au jasco prompt 👀

It's just a little bit, but I hope you enjoy hun!

“Ok, whose intervention is it?” Bosco asked upon entering the teacher’s lounge, seeing all their coworkers there, staring at the door. They sat on top of a table and opened their bag of grapes. “I don’t know, I personally think Orion teaches physics a lot better when she’s high, but…”

Kornbread cleared her throat, pointing toward a chair at the front of the room, next to Jasmine, who sat bashfully, hands folded in her lap.

She was also next to the spaghetti, which still hadn’t been cleaned up.

Turning their attention back to Kornbread, Bosco raised a brow, trying to pick apart her accusation. Sure, it was an intervention, but one for them and Jasmine. They locked in on each other for a moment, Bosco mouthing really? It shouldn’t have been a shock, given Kornbread’s reaction when they’d caught them last night, but nonetheless, at Kornbread’s nod, Bosco retreated, settling in next to Jasmine.

“I really thought someone would have cleaned—” Jasmine starts, plucking a grape out of Bosco’s bag.

“I haven’t told anyone,” They cut her off. “You haven’t told them about…yesterday…when we…did you?

Stringing the words together grew difficult as they felt the gaze of all their coworkers on them. It was wildly accusatory, and frankly too personal for Bosco’s comfort. They scolded themself for not thinking about what would happen next, after they kissed Jasmine. They had to have known that it’d get out eventually.

Jasmine shook her head and reached for another grape, earning a playful swat as Bosco stole it back.

It didn’t matter much at the time, though. And frankly as they threw the grape back at Jasmine, eyes going wide as she caught it between her teeth, they knew their stupid little crush probably wouldn’t matter much once this intervention was over.

“Oh my god, are you done?” Kerri broke through, head cocked at the two of them.

But right now, scanning expressions ranging from bored to too-intrigued, crossing their arms over their chest, it did matter.

“We’re all here because of what happened in this very spot yesterday,” Kornbread began, her accusatory finger back on the two of them. She paced in front of Jasmine and Bosco like a prosecutor, narrowly avoiding the spaghetti. “We’re a family, and we should have found out about this before…”

“What were we supposed to do?” Jasmine butted in. She crossed her legs and leaned forward, hands wild. “Send you all an email like Evening Colleagues, On this day of November 12th, I have engaged in light kissing with Bosco, which resulted in potential emotional and spaghetti damages. There are no updates as of this time. Expect an email from Bosco to follow. Sincerely, Jasmine. Tell me how you should have found out about something neither of us knew was going to happen?”

When Jasmine got angry, Bosco noticed, her hands were swift and cutting. Her eyes rolled and her tone dripped in sarcasm, much more than they imagined she could muster. And she was quick, right to the point.

And Bosco, damn their stupid ways, found it exceptionally attractive.

But seeing Jasmine getting genuinely worked up, knowing how much she didn’t need this stress on top of her instruction, her demonic sixth period, her shitty landlord, and whatever bits of teasing Bosco liked to throw her way, they took her hand, washing their thumb over her knuckles.

“Look,” Bosco shooed Kornbread off to the side. “I told Jasmine I might have a little crush on her and we ended up kissing. Nothing else happened. Nothing else is going to happen. And if it did, it’d be no one else’s business but.”

They stood, pulling Jasmine up with them. “Now, I’m going to go back to my room and finish my grapes, and I imagine Jasmine’s going to do the same.”

Whistling and whooping followed Bosco and Jasmine as they left the lounge, quieting only when Bosco pushed the door shut.

“Hey, I’m sorry.”

Jasmine stopped, tentatively looking back at Bosco.

“I should have thought about what would have happened next.” Bosco rubbed their neck, pulling their gaze up from the floor to meet Jasmine’s. “They might be worse than the kids.”

“No worries.” A slight smile, a bright giggle, came through. “It’s not like it’ll happen again. Not that I don’t want…or it wasn’t good or anything…but, you know.”

Bosco returned the grin. “I know.”

#for anon #teachers au #jasco teachers au #jasco #phryneff #rpdr fanfiction #rpdr fanfic #rpdr fic #asks answered

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ninyard · 3 years

Note

i want to know ANYTHING and EVERYTHING about the andrew meets neil as stefan au

YES PLS OKAY

(holy shit this was supposed to be a HC ramble/snippets from the fic but uhhh….here’s a mini fic instead????? The actual fic I wrote isn’t even set back in California it’s set in PSU??? This was supposed to be short backstory!!!!!! Anyways lmk if u want the foxes stuff lol Enjoy <3)

Neil had natural looking ashy blonde with green eyes at the time, no older than 14 years old, going by the name Stefan Montgomery. Him and Mary ended up in a motel in Oakland for a couple weeks, regaining their footing after a close-call somewhere in Oregon.

Mary had hit Neil a gnarly heavy-handed blow after he forgot which name he was using in Eugene. Was it Sam? Or Dylan? Or had it been Joseph? A nice inch wide cut sat where his perfect court tattoo would sit, just on the turn of his cheekbone below the corner of his eye, bordered by a healing purple-brown bruise. Stefan was born on the border between California and oregon, stolen from a waiter at a pit stop diner, who didn’t let their coffee cups go empty as they mapped out where to go next.

He had met Andrew by chance; Stefan had been sitting on the bottom of the metal stairs that led up to the floor they were staying at. Mary was having a shower, dying her hair, becoming Georgia, perfect mother, a beautiful, average woman. He was people watching, looking at the cars pulling in and out of the car park, making up his own stories about who was who, what their names were and if they were worth stealing when they inevitably moved on. Andrew hung around the motel because just behind the building was an old, decrepit playground that’s should’ve been foreclosed years ago. Nobody ever used it, so it was a quiet place for him to be alone. He’d been walking through the parking lot after having just grabbed a chocolate bar or two from the vending machine when he stopped in front of Neil.

“What happened to your face?” It was quiet, barely a sentence, not big enough of a question to be intrusive or over-stepping.

“I’m a boxer.” That was the lie he’d been using for a few days. “I had a fight a couple days ago.”

You see, Stefan was a name Neil didn’t want to remember, like a bitter memory he forced himself to forget. It was just before Mary’s paranoia began to spiral even worse that it had already been. Stefan was keep your head down, we won’t be here long, give it a week, give it a week. Stefan was sleepless nights, watching his mother sat upright almost all night, eyes on the door, a knife under her pillow. Stefan was you don’t need friends, they’ll drag you down.

Mary didn’t know until the end that they’d been friends, Neil teaching Andrew the little boxing he knew, Andrew teaching Stefan how to keep yourself busy when you needed something to do. There was something about Andrew that made it impossible for him to stay away; he wasn’t a particularly happy kid, but the way he spoke, the way he cared about the fake life Neil had made up, the way he saw Stefan’s life as something he could never have.

“Have you ever thought about kissing a boy your age?” They’d been in Oakland for three weeks, and the two kids had made plans to meet every time Mary was occupied and Andrew was around. Neil didn’t really think to wonder why Andrew was always around. Didn’t he have a family who would miss him being gone all this time? Didn’t he have a home to go to?

“No,” Neil answered honestly. There wasn’t time for thoughts like that. Kisses weren’t signs of affection; kisses were lies, kisses were dangerous, kisses occupied a space in the mind that could be filled with run, run, run.

“Do you think it’s wrong?” Andrew had been swinging on the swing set, his feet dangling from the chipped plastic seat, the creaky chains holding him up. The question was loaded. Behind it was a conversation he’d had with his foster-mom, a slur from his foster-siblings, another hit from his foster-father.

“No,” that was an honest answer too. In his head his answer sounded like I’ve been told all kissing was wrong. But he couldn’t say that. Normal teenagers thought about kissing, and boyfriends, and girlfriends, and worried about how they looked in front of their crush. “Do you?”

“I don’t know.” His words were a sigh. Andrew trusted Stefan in this weird, out of character way. He’d never met anyone who’d been more interested to hear about his life than talk about their own. Of course, half of it was a half-truth, lies weaved into the story of Andrew.

Andrew was the first person who made Neil smile in a very long time. It was foreign hearing himself laugh, a sound reserved for fake interactions with strangers who couldn’t help but prying. Neil trusted him. His honest eyes often burning a hole in his face, on the days when Neil couldn’t bare eye contact. Andrew was a rock that Neil could feel himself becoming more and more attached to, more and more…attracted to? He didn’t know what that feeling felt like, but when he caught himself thinking about what a long hug from him would feel like, or a kiss on the forehead, the cheeks, the nose, the….

It was an impossible thought that Neil kept buried. Until Andrew had a bad day. Until Neil met him in the playground and he was sat underneath the slide, face buried in his knees that were pulled to his chest. Black hood pulled so far forward it almost covered the wet cheeks and puffy eyes he tried to hide. Stefan sat just across from him, the tips of their shoes not quite touching, but Neil rested his open palms on his shoes for Andrew to hold if he needed. He didn’t ask what was wrong.

“You’re my friend?” Andrew asked, half statement, half question. There was no hesitation in Neil’s “Of course.”

Andrew gently weeped, babbling on about wishing he could feel normal, or have a normal family. He wished he could understand himself. He wished he didn’t have to hurt so much. He’d looked up at Neil with his red eyes and wiped the tears from his face with the cuff of his sleeve. “Can I trust you?”

The statement hurt Neil far more than he thought it would. He hated that words spilled out of his mouth, his eyes stinging at the thought of saying what he really wanted to say. His mouth said “You can tell me anything,” when his brain said “I think Stefan dies in a week”.

Andrew told him about how he thought he was gay, and how embarrassed, alone, and ugly he felt to think that way. He didn’t know what normal feelings felt like. He didn’t know what it felt like to kiss someone he actually wanted to kiss. The statement hung in the air like a floating question. Did he…? Andrew had brushed away the thought almost as quickly as Neil did, but not without both their cheeks flushing pink at the unspoken idea. Neil watched as Andrew messed with the strings on his hoodie. Andrew cheered up after a little while, but when Neil realised how long he’d been gone for, he panicked. Instinctively, he pulled Andrew into a hug before running back to the motel room.

Stefan was bad memories, he’d always had to remind himself. Stefan was a mistake, a fuck-up, a vulnerability he would never, ever show again. Stefan was a slap across the face when he came back late. “Where the hell have you been?” Followed by a lie, then another, then another. Neil had only lied to his mother a handful of times in his life, but when it came to Andrew they seemed to slip out of his mouth at an alarming rate. The next time he seen Andrew, his swollen, burst lip barely hidden, Andrew had brushed his fingers across it and sarcastically asked if it was the product of another boxing match. Neil shushed him when he asked if his mother had done it. That was too personal. He was letting Andrew in too far and he was rotting Neil from the inside out. His hardened exterior fell away when he was around Andrew, and boy, was that dangerous. It shattered into a million pieces when they sat at at the top of the jungle-gym and Andrew asked so gently if he could kiss him.

No, no, no. The ghost of his mother’s hands in his hair told him to walk away. The phantom pain of a slap, and a hit, and a deafening lecture about his safety told him to stop letting Andrew in. He knew it was dangerous. He knew it, he knew it, he knew it. So why did his lips automatically curl around the word yes and his heart start pumping a hundred miles a minute? They looked each other in the eyes for a few seconds, minutes, hours, days, until they were both so close they couldn’t see each other anymore. It was only a peck, a playground kiss, but Neil’s stomach flipped. Andrew pulled away as quickly as he’d leaned in. He didn’t look at Neil for the rest of the hour they spent together, but Neil didn’t look at him. That wasn’t to say they each didn’t have to constantly fight a love-struck smile off their faces every few minutes.

Their meetings started to get less frequent after that. Andrew stopped showing up, but instead left little notes carved into the yellow plastic of the slide. ‘R u grossed out? -A’ was the first one he left after their moment’s kiss. All Neil wrote back was ‘Never’. The next time they seen each other in person they sat hidden again in the top of the jungle gym. Neil knew Mary was planning on them moving on in the following days. He couldn’t tell Andrew. Even the thought of it broke his heart. Regardless of the kiss, or kisses, they shared, Andrew had become the closest friend Neil had ever had. Neil had to remind himself more than once that everything Andrew thought he knew about Stefan was a fabrication. They spoke about sexuality again, hands brushing off each other, sometimes intertwined, sometimes resting on the others leg or arm. Andrew asked if Neil was gay, and his face fell when Neil said no, I don’t think so. It took him a moment to add on “I don’t know what I am”. They left kisses on each other’s lips that lingered for hours, for days. The more Neil let Andrew in, the harder it was for him to keep lying to his mother. She began to get suspicious of where he was going when she left him alone.

Even still, Neil didn’t hear when Mary came into the playground the last time he seen Andrew. Andrew had his head rested on his shoulder, their hands intertwined and hidden between their outstretched legs. They’d been talking about something and nothing at the same time. Neil’s stomached bottomed out when he saw her brunette hair and tiny figure step around the rusted green fence. He let go of Andrew’s hand as quickly and as subtly as he could, but he knew it was no use. He didn’t know how long she’d been standing there. Andrew looked into Stefan’s green eyes as Neil stood up, searching, scared. Neil sent him a weak smile. This was the last time he would ever look into those hazel eyes, his light eyebrows furrowed as he watched Neil begin to walk away. Neil had nodded his way, and whispered a frightened ‘See you around’ before he walked over to join Mary. She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards their motel room, already mentally packing their bags. Not before she beat him harder than she ever had before. Neil expected it. But every blow reminded him of Andrew until Andrew was no longer gentle touches and honesty and kisses. Andrew was a kick to the back of the knees as he walked through the motel room door. Andrew was a slap, and another, and another. He was a screaming, crying, angry mother, shoving whatever belongings they owned into their single duffel bag. Andrew was leaving their key at reception at midnight and starting their journey to another town. Andrew wasn’t worth it. Andrew was the swollen ankle he walked on for miles. Andrew was Mary pulling roughly at his blonde hair to dye it black in some random gas station that night. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it. Neil left Stefan with Andrew in Oakland. He tried to leave the memories there too. Oh, how badly he tried.

The worst part was, Andrew didn’t know that was the last time he would ever see Stefan again. He waited every day for him to come back. Every day came and went and every day he never showed up. Neil didn’t know about that part, you see. Neil thought Andrew would forget about Stefan like a childhood crush, thrown away, moved on to the next cute boy who listened to him talk. They shared a thought, though, drilling the regret and shame into their minds. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it.

(Part 2)

#forgive me if my geography is shit #u might be able to tell I’m Not American #but damn I’m sad now #love those boys #andreil #andreil au #Andrew minyard #Neil josten #tfc #aftg #txt #rambles #also sorry if the names are confusing as hell #Stefan v Neil death match #tfc fic #aftg fic

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

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Hot-shot, Hot-head | Clint Barton

Hey lovelies! Here's another one for Dinner at Dizzy's! I actually really like this one. Clint Barton is super close to my heart. I remember watching the avengers for the first time when it first came out (and Thor before that) and just falling in love lol. Treat him well lovelies and please do enjoy.

Appetizers (Tags): Fluff / Angst (more so fluff)

Entres (Pairing): Clint Barton x F!Reader (third person)

Sides (Prompts): 7: “Teach me.”

Notes: None, requested by an anon

Word Count: 2.9k (lol I don't even have an excuse anymore)

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

“God damnit!” She hisses as the bow string snaps back against her fingers, the sting making her fumble the bow.

She catches it— like she always does— but not without another curse. She resists the urge to slam the hunk of metal against the grass, her muscles squeezing so tight she could scream. He makes it look so fucking easy. It’s not— it’s impossible. She wants her pistol back and glass of water. Water or wine. Same thing. Screw Barton and how ridiculously nimble he is— she thought she was supposed to be the agile one.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. She bites back a groan when she hears footsteps sound from behind her, rolling her eyes before spinning on the brunette, scowling at the gleeful squint of his bright blue eyes. He’s always so smug. In all of her years of knowing him that has never changed.

“Told you it’s not as simple as it looks.” He simpers, his smile so wide she wants to throw him to the ground right here, right now, and slap it off.

Slap, kiss— same thing.

“If you came out here to mock me, Barton, feel free to not.” She scrunches her nose— it’s the only thing she can do to keep the smile off her face.

Why does his grin always have to be so infectious? She wants to be annoyed still— she was annoyed before she turned around so why can’t she still be annoyed now? It’s infuriating and awful and so damn endearing. God, if she could go back to training and strangle Fury she honestly just might. What was he thinking, pairing her for fucking life with Clint Barton. She glances at the man and the smirk in his eyes and she presses her lips together.

He notices— of course he notices, they trained together, their reflexes are the same. It’s what makes them such good partners— they were created to be a team. Fucking Fury. Well, a team in one sense at least. The other not so much. She shoves the thought to the back of her head, finally letting the smile break out on her face.

“Someone has to, hot-shot.” He settles against the tree behind him, muscled arms crossing over his chest, puppy dog smile still just as wide.

God where the fuck is she supposed to look? There’s nowhere left— not the corded veins along his arms, not the golden skin peeking out of the collar of his t-shirt, not the the glint in his icy eyes that she can’t tell whether it’s from the sun or is just always there— she’s being attacked on all sides and all she has is this stupid bow— his stupid bow.

She drops her shoulders, rolling her eyes again and caving to his larkish voice— she always does. “I guess it’s fair. Shouldn’t rag on you so much for your terrible shot—”

“I don’t have a terrible—” He begins to protest, pushing from the tree and stepping closer to her.

She presses her fingers to his chest when he gets a few inches away, trying to keep her breathing in check. “With a pistol. Ten years later and he still interrupts. Good to know some things never change, hot-head.”

She beams up at him, palms flat against his broad chest, forcing herself to ignore the heat seeping from the thin material. It feels like at any moment he’s going to burn her, much too hot for his own good. Being this close to him she can smell his woodsy, citrus scent— like the damn sun— and she takes a step back. Co-workers. Partners. Best friends.

Nothing more.

“Ten years later and she still does everything in her power to make me interrupt. Terrible shot. Who taught you to fight so dirty, huh?” He peers down at her as he pushes past her, fingers flicking at her jaw, and she bites her tongue because it’s starting to feel like he’s asking her to say something she’ll regret.

“Uhm you? You did— weren’t you the one who kicked my knees in on the first day of training?”

He’s a good few feet in front of her now— stupid long legs— and she sucks in a breath of fresh air, her skin tingling as her body cycles him out of her blood. There’s no point, he’ll be back in a moment. He’s always back— always annoying and around and warm.

He glances back over his shoulder— “You mean right after you broke my nose, right darlin’?”

She lets her gaze flick to his nose and the faint bump on the ridge where she had jutted her palm into it all those years ago. The academy nurses are good— she can only see the blemish when she’s looking for it. Too bad her jab is better. It suits him at least— everything does.

“I did do that, didn’t I?” She hums, meeting him once more and standing on her tiptoes to get a better look. He leans down, staring at her from over the crook. “Maybe I was marking you Barton— I made ya’ pretty.”

He hands her the arrows, fingers clasping over her own for a moment, encasing her in that warmth again. “Couldn’t have found any other way, huh?”

She has to force herself to meet his banter, suddenly breathless and woozy, still wobbling on her tiptoes. “Thought you liked the violence— you did back then.”

He holds her gaze, fingers tightening so minutely that she’s sure if she were anyone else she wouldn’t have noticed. She wouldn’t notice how his eyes skim over her face before flicking over her head quickly, how his shoulders square defensively, how even when there’s no one around he’s always watching her back. But she isn’t anyone else— she’s her and she notices everything he does.

He meets her gaze again, muscles easing slightly, and her lungs scream at her because all she can taste is lemons and juniper.“Oh I love the violence.”

She tugs the arrows— and by default her hand— from his hold, searching desperately for an escape in the open air in front of her. The targets taunt her from across the field, the little pin prick holes in the middle of the red bullseye leering. She wants to throw the bow again— where the fuck is her gun?

“Why am I doing this again?” She groans and he laughs, his hand curling around her neck, thumb digging into the knots in her shoulder blade.

“‘Cause one day you won’t have bullets.” He supplies, voice too close to her ear for her to make much sense of the words. They’re like honey— too sweet, too slow.

Still she shrugs. “Won’t I have you, though? You planning on ditching me, Barton?”

Beyond the teasing she can hear the insecurity laced in her words and she wants to slap herself for potentially ruining the sunny afternoon. She can practically feel the switch in the atmosphere. The lighthearted banter fading into cold seriousness. She swallows, closing her eyes. Even after ten years she’s still terrified that one day she’s going to wake up and he won’t be in the kitchen pouring the sugar into her coffee and burning the toast. Joining the academy was her chance— at freedom, at family— and Clint was— is— the payoff of those hard years. She would be utterly lost if one day he just wasn’t there.

His hand stills, thumb still pressing into her skin, chest tensing where it just barely brushes her back. For a moment they just stand there, the only noise being the soft thud of the bow landing in the grass. A few seconds later the arrows join. She doesn’t drop them on purpose— she would never carelessly throw his things around— she just can’t feel her hands anymore. When she brings them together, wringing them together, she isn’t surprised to find them trembling. She can feel him start to shake his head, hair brushing against her temple before the words are even out of his mouth.

“Don’t even say that. Don’t. Or think about it. Ever again— you hear me? I thought I was the dumb one.” He tries to say it like a joke— she can hear him forcing his tone to stay light— but his voice is too gravelly, his words spiking too low.

She presses her lips together again, nodding. “Sorry—” she mumbles, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead, sinking back slightly to knock her shoulder into his chest— “was just— just over thinking, I guess. Stressed myself out.”

He wraps his arms around her shoulders, squeezing her against his chest. She tips her head back, putting her weight on him. It’s not unusual— it would be more unusual if she didn’t cuddle into him. That’s why she does it despite how terribly she wants to pull away. She can’t stay in his citrus arms— in this fever dream. She needs to break the spell. Maybe spend some days in the woods soon, alone, resetting her brain. She’s had to do that a few times.

“Not going anywhere.” He mumbles, hands closing around her arms, his jaw— scratchy and rough from stubble— rubbing against her shoulder. “You know that. Not now, definitely not in a fuckin’ appocalypse—” she laughs at that and he rocks on his heels, letting out a soft hum— “We’re in this together. Where the hell would I even go?”

He whispers that last part, probably hoping she wouldn’t hear, but his mouth is right there and she’s tuned into everything him. She can hear the worry, feel the rumble against her back. Shit. They’re both spiraling now and she’ll be damned if she brings her down with him. She has to do something.

“Teach me.”

He freezes behind her, hands softening their grip. When he speaks his voice is a little tighter than normal— hesitant, maybe. “What was that, darlin’?”

She goes to pull out of his arms again, bending to retrieve the bow, but she only ends up pulling him with her, the giant man curling around her easily. Too easily. She clenches her jaw, fighting the sudden urge to whirl around and push him to the ground.

Push him to the ground and climb on top of him.

“Teach me how to use this stupid thing, Barton. Can’t do it— you were right.”

Apparently she doesn’t have whirl around— he does it for her, spinning her so quickly that the heavy metal almost whacks him. He pries it gently from her fingers, releasing it back onto the grass. She almost protests— what the hell was she so afraid of dropping it for when he practically just threw it? — but before she can he’s pulling her off her toes and spinning her around.

“Clint what are you doing—”

“Ten years— it’s taken ten years for you to say those words.” He laughs and she swats the nape of his neck, rolling her eyes, feet dangling off the ground. It’s all she can do to not curl them around his hips. “And you tell me my ego is big.”

She scrunches her nose at the man, eyes dipping over his crinkled eyes and triumphant smile, once again fighting the curve of her own lips. “You’ve been waiting for me to ask for help?”

He snorts, dropping her on her toes before slumping onto the grass, sprawling out on his back— clearly not about to actually do as she asked. “No— if you wanted to learn that badly you would have by now. You’re not stupid, just stubborn.”

Clint leans up, warm hand curling around her ankle and yanking, pulling her feet out from under her and sending her flying. Before she has time to scream— hell, to even think about screaming— his arm is hooking around her stomach, catching her midair and lowering her easily to his chest. Ten years and she’s still never ready for that. She goes to drive her elbow back against his ribs but he catches her, grabbing her arm and instead pulling her to rest across his stomach.

She grumbles but turns anyway, cheek pressing against hard, warm muscle, meeting his gaze from where his head rests on his folded arms. “Then what?”

He flashes her another toothy grin— that can’t be good. “Was waiting for you to tell me I was right about something. Took you long enough.”

She scowls. “Shut up, will you?”

“Awe, is someone angry that I won?” He teases, his voice warmer than the sunshine on the bits of her exposed face.

“Barton, I said shut up.”

His laugh is too easy. Too musical. It rumbles against the parts of her that are pressed against him and makes the rest of her ache, wanting to be pressed against him as well.

“Geez, someone’s touchy today.”

As if to enhance his point he runs a gentle finger over the top of her spine, right where her tank top stops, and she has to clench her jaw against the heat that pools in the pit of her stomach and the shiver that races down her back. It’s the final straw. Ten years is a lot of straws— maybe she’s a hoarder of said straws— but finally her last one has broken. She can’t take it anymore. She bolts upright.

“Shit—” he mutters lowly, probably not intending for it to reach her ears, before speaking louder— “c’mon darlin’ I was just messing with you—”

She swings her leg over his stomach, knees caging him underneath her, thighs spreading deliciously over his warm abdomen, and his mouth snaps shut. He’s up on his elbows, no doubt because he had been worried and was on his way up to check on her, but now it only serves to bring them closer together. For a moment all she does is look at him, chest heaving, palms pressed against his chest and anticipation laced in every muscle. Each breath he takes tortures her— what’s he thinking?

She’s never thought Clint Barton to be a mind reader but maybe anything is possible at this point because as soon as she thinks it his crystal eyes narrow, his pink lips quirking up. “Are you going to make the first move or do I have to?”

Butterflies erupt in her stomach— wait, no, that’s just her gut twisting as he flips her over so fast that she doesn’t have time to blink. Dammit he’s quick. She’s quick too, though, legs finally curling around his hips to keep her back from crashing against the ground. She doesn’t remember wrapping her arms around his shoulders but when her head stops spinning she can feel her fingers digging at his arms. Her back eases against the ground, one of his arms slipping under her head, his other hooking around her thigh and pressing her that much closer to him.

His nose bumps against hers, breath hot on her lips, and she doesn’t try to fight the smile this time. “You didn’t give me a chance.”

His lips brush against hers, just a wisp— a promise— of what’s to come, and she squeezes her thighs tighter, pulling a raspy groan from his mouth. “Gave you ten years, didn’t I?”

She hums, lips pressing against the corner of his mouth. “You did— what on earth is wrong with you Barton?”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re really something, you know that?”

She kisses the other corner, just barely brushing her mouth against his as she passes, reveling in the way his hips push her harder into the grass. “Someone’s touchy today—”

The rest of her words are cut off— they’re swallowed— by two warmer-than-sin lips. He tastes like candy. Like red licorice and lemon drops. That’s all it takes for her to kiss him back, hands slipping into his hair and yanking— maybe she should be gentler but she can’t help it. She’s been patient, she’s paid her dues. Besides, if the moan that rips from his lungs and passes over her tongue— all needy and wild and lemon tinted— is anything to go by then she would say he doesn’t mind it. His tongue slips into her mouth, caressing hers, and she returns his moan with one of her own.

“Why— he mumbles into her open mouth, pausing momentarily to tug her bottom lip between his teeth and groan— “why didn’t we do this earlier? Like—” his lips skim over her cheek, up to her ear, tugging on her earlobe next— “like ten-years-ago sooner?”

She turns her face towards him, following him as he moves down her neck, lips pressing against his cheek. She doesn’t want to detach from him now. She doesn’t think she’ll ever want to. Her mouth slants against him, teeth nipping at his jaw, and he hikes her higher up his body. Her fingers are still tangled in his silky hair, raking through the strands and trying to memorize the feeling.

“I don’t know.” she mumbles against him— she can’t bring herself to find a witty remark, she just wants more.

He pulls back, ducking his head, lips swollen and eyes sparkling. “That was passive of you, hot-shot.”

“Barton.”

For once he doesn’t need to be told twice, leaning back down, nose bumping against her with another brain melting chuckle. She arches up, impatient for his touch. Before his lips skim hers he says something else, though. It’s like he can’t help but annoy her every chance he gets.

“Maybe you’re the hot-head after all.”

#Clint Barton #hawkeye x y/n #hawkeye x reader #clint barton x y/n #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #clint barton fic #hawkeye fic #clint barton imagine #hawkeye imagine #clint barton fluff #clint barton angst #hawkeye fluff #hawkeye angst #mcu fic #mcu #marvel cinematic universe fic #marvel cinematic univers #Dinner at Dizzy's

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cardansriddle · 4 years

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Draco- Secret little rendezvous

Request: May I request a SlytherinPrefect!Draco x GryffindorPrefect!reader smut in the prefects bathroom? Ajakdkdk the place seems so smut worthy

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kiddos) also not proofread because I have shit tons of hw to do, bear with me.

I slammed the portrait shut to the Prefect’s bathroom, letting out a string of curses as I started undressing hurriedly. Umbridge has been getting on my last nerves, and it took every ounce of my willpower to not lunge at her and Avada the toad looking woman.

The water was warm when I dipped my toes in, and I didn’t hesitate before diving into the water and brushing my hair back once I resurfaced. My tense muscles relaxed immediately, and I sighed a deep breath of relief as I felt my anger being washed away. I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy the bath, trying to forget the torture the toad put us through.

My relaxed state didn’t last long, as the portrait door opened and my eyes snapped open. I yelped at the unexpected presence and shrieked further when I realized just who it was.

Malfoy looked just as surprised to see me there as much as I was. I sank into the water so he couldn’t see anything above my neck.

“Get out!” I yelled at him when he continued to stare at me dumbfoundedly. “How the hell did you even get here?!” I shrieked and a small smirk made an appearance on his lips.

“It wasn’t locked.” He shrugged simply. “Get out, I’ve had a long day and I want to bath.” He commanded, inching closer to the giant bath. I quickly gathered bubbles around me for modesty’s sake and glared heatedly at the blonde.

“Bullying children became hard for you now? Anyway, I don’t care. I was here first, so for Merlin’s sake, get out!” I gestured to the door, sending him the darkest look I could muster to get my point across.

“I guess we’ll share it then.” He said simply and I watched horrified as he started unbuttoning his shirt slowly. My eyes were drawn to his ring clad hands as I swallowed.

“I’m not bathing with you! Where the hell are your bloody manners, Malfoy?”

His hands stilled as his eyes caught mine. He tilted his head a bit, studying me with his piercing eyes. I squirmed under his gaze and tried not to look away first.

“Either get out or shut up and let us both relax.” He snapped at last before discarding his shirt, his eyes still on mine. I tried to fight the blush that was threatening to taint my cheeks and instead I raised my chin and held eye contact. Even as he discarded his pants. Even as he got out of his boxers.

I did not dare look down, knowing that I would immediately get flustered if I did so. He got in the water, dipping his head in and resurfacing with wet hair. I tried to convince myself that the sight of him in front of me with his bare chest and wet hair was not arousing, but my body wouldn’t listen. The fact that we were both in the same bath, completely bare was dawning on me slowly.

I tore my gaze away from him. He was Malfoy for fuck’s sake! What the hell was I thinking? If Harry, Ron or Hermione ever found out about this, they would not only question my sanity but probably disown me as a friend. I should’ve hexed him as soon as he stepped a foot in here.

“Why so tense?” He mocked, running a hand through his platinum blonde hair. I rolled my eyes instead of answering him and leaned my head back, closing my eyes. Sure, Malfoy was hot, but I still had my morals. I wouldn’t betray my frien-

The splashing of water cut my thoughts short, and I gasped once I realized Malfoy was right in front of me, in very close proximity.

“What are you doing?” My voice came out breathless. He cocked his head to the side with a small smirk before getting even closer. His nose was brushing mine at this point. I was trapped. The wall of the pool was cold against my back as I pressed myself into it, trying to put as much distance as possible between Malfoy and me because I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself once his lips touched mine. I knew kissing him would be the final nail in my coffin and it terrified me.

His skin was glistening, little droplets of water dripping down his face. “I know you want me.” He lowered his voice, eyes glinting with a dangerous spark.

With the last drop of my willpower, I put my hands on his chest and tried to push him away, but he grabbed my wrists roughly and slammed his lips on mine.

The oxygen was punched straight out of my lungs at the feverish pitch of his lips pressed against mine. His soft lips felt euphoric, like silk and sandpaper. One of his ring clad fingers grabbed my jaw, while the other ran down my sides like he was trying to memorize every inch of my body until his hand reached my thigh. He wrapped his demanding hand around the underside of it, making me lock my legs around his narrow hips.

Reflexively, my arms shot up to wrap around his neck for support, gripping the hair at his nape and tugging on it. He emitted a low groan, and I squeezed my thighs tighter around him.

We pulled away to catch our breaths, panting heavily. “Fuck, Malfoy. We can’t.” I whispered, but despite my words, I didn’t release my hold on him.

He put his mouth on my shoulder murmuring against my skin. “Then tell me to stop.” He said. His words were met with silence and I felt him smirk against my skin. He nipped my shoulder causing me to gasp. His touch was electrifying, awakening every nerve in my body. “You’re literally wrapped around me in a bath, I think you can call me Draco.” I groaned and pulled at his hair, making him move his head back so I could kiss him again.

Draco wasted no time in kissing me back. He teased his tongue against my bottom lip and I didn’t hesitate in granting him access. He darted his tongue inside my mouth, and the taste of him was enough to leave me feeling mindlessly drunk.

“Draco” I moaned. “I want you.” I breathed out once his mouth attached to my neck, sucking and kissing, no doubt trying to mark me as his. I moaned at the sensation.

“What do you want?” I felt his hot breath on the surface of my neck. “Tell me.” I groaned. How the hell did he expect me to forma conherent sentence when he was grinding against me like this?

“I want you to fuck me.” I managed to get out at last.

“Fuck.” I heard him curse, before I felt him reach down between us to line his member against my entrance, slightly teasing me as I waited in anticipation.

He slid into me agonizingly slow, growling deep in his throat once he was fully inside. He gave me a few second to adjust before I started moving my hips, encouraging him to move. He complied without a second thought, his wet hair sticking to his forehead as he started thrusting into me, increasing his pace with each one.

“Draco...” His name slid out like a prayer. In response, he brought one of his hand up,wrapping his ring clad fingers around my throat. The action turned me on even more, if that was even possible. The sound of the water splashing as his hips slammed against mine and lips moulding together echoed throughout the large bathroom and I untangled my hands from the nape of his neck so I could scratch his back, causing him to moan in my mouth.

His pace quickened, hitting a particular spot that made my toes curl. I arched my back against him, moving my head back as my eyes rolled back from the pleasure.

“I...I’m...” He didn’t finish what he was saying, but I understood, because I was close too. “Fuck.” He cursed as he came, saying my name repeatedly with sloppy thrusts, and it wasn’t long before I followed with my own release as well.

He dropped his head on my shoulder still buried inside me. I sighed before smiling slightly, curling my fingers into his hair.

“Come to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow.” His husky voice broke the silence. My eyebrows shot up in surprise at his request and I chuckled before replying.

“That’s not how it works, Draco. You’re supposed to ask me, not order me.” I said, and grinned when he growled in displeasure.

“Fine, come to Hogsmeade with me?”

I ran my hands through his hair as I replied with a simple ‘yes’, all worries about how my friends would react gone for the moment as we simply soaked in each other’s company.

That was when I admitted that perhaps, there is a fine line between hatred and sexual tension.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy imagine #draco x reader #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter #slytherin #gryffindor #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #draco x gryffindor!reader #hate sex #draco imagine #smut #drarry #dramione

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edendaphne · 3 years

Text

“Discordant Sonata” Chapter 20

>>Click here to read on Ao3<<

>>Click here to read on Wattpad<<

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CHAPTER 20: PRESTISSIMO

Music glossary:

Prestissimo - "Extremely quickly”; to be played as fast as possible

* Fun tidbit: The name “Gaspard” means "bringer of treasure" *

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(Mood Music: “Dead Things” - Philip Glass)

Adrien cursed into his gag, feebly squirming on the back seat of the car he’d been dragged into. The windows were heavily tinted, so there was no chance that anyone would be able to see him. Not that that mattered right now anyway, as he couldn’t even sit up at the moment. In fact, he couldn’t feel any of his appendages due to whatever drug his bodyguard (or... whoever he was) had injected into him.

One thing was certain: since neither of these men was the real Gaspard, they must be akumas, and his father had used their likeness to trick him.

Damn it. Why had he left his guard down back there? He should’ve known not to trust anyone. And now thanks to his idiocy, Marinette had gotten dragged into this giant mess, and he had no idea where “Fake-Gaspard #2” had taken her. He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to her. He seethed silently, consumed by fear and anger, both simultaneously raging for control.

He could feel Plagg behind him trying to fiddle with the zip ties that bound his arms together; but it wasn’t as simple as merely unlocking a safe or a door. Having Plagg with him was his only ace in the hole, so he had to remain hidden. Adrien had to plan his escape carefully for when the effects of the drug had worn off enough. Even if Plagg wasn’t able to remove the ties, he could still unlock the car door, so Adrien could roll out and... hopefully not be crushed to death by traffic. He let out a muffled grumble.

Okay... maybe that wasn’t the best idea.

He had to do something soon though; there wasn’t much time left before they arrived back at the Agreste mansion, and the only feeling he’d regained was in his hands and feet. He supposed he should consider himself lucky. If the dosage had been any higher, it could’ve interfered with his lungs, or worse.

Not that Father would care, he huffed impassively. If anything, it would get him out of the picture permanently, and he’d no longer be an inconvenience to Hawkmoth’s schemes.

Adrien’s thoughts drifted back to Marinette; worry and anxiety about what had happened to his beloved roommate clouded his mind, interfering with his concentration. He replayed her scuffle with the bodyguards over and over in his head, the overwhelming feelings of guilt and shame causing his entire being to ache in agony and self-loathing. This was all his fault. He was pathetic. Degraded from superhero to hostage with no one but himself to blame.

If Gabriel locked him away, would he ever find out what happened to her? Memories of being locked in a small, almost completely barren room for days at a time as punishment for misbehavior flashed in his mind, causing his insides to churn and his hands to get clammy. He fought the panic that threatened to boil over within him and firmly shoved the memories away. He needed his wits about him at the moment, and getting sucked into a spiral of panic would prevent him from being able to think logically.

His thoughts were interrupted as the car screeched to a halt, and had his Not-Bodyguards not partially strapped him into the lap seatbelts, he would’ve been thrown onto the floor from the momentum. He managed to turn his head and shake it slightly to try to get the hair out of his eyes, letting out a small grunt of puzzlement. What was happening??

His confusion didn’t last long.

An enormous force hurtled down from the sky onto the hood of the car, squashing it like an empty aluminum can, crushing the engine and rendering it useless. Once the dust and debris settled, Adrien peeked as high as he could, trying to catch a glimpse of what had landed on the car. Despite his meager view from the back seat, coupled with his blurry eyesight (as he’d lost his eyeglasses sometime during the scuffle), he could still make out the unmistakable red boots and black leggings that stood on top of the broken metal.

A million questions swirled around in his head in a jumbled tornado of confusion and elation. He tried calling out her name, having completely forgotten that he couldn’t, and he doubled his efforts trying to squirm out of his bindings so he could get her attention.

His endeavors were cut short though. Despite his impaired vision, he saw the distinct glowing masks form in front of the men’s faces.

I knew it!! he thought, glaring at them with distaste.

They rushed out of the car without a word, and he couldn’t help but utterly loathe the thought of Ladybug fighting both of them by herself, despite her partner being mere feet away, albeit totally useless.

God, I hate being a damsel in distress, he frowned. I hope she’s gonna be okay.

In a vicious display of skill that shocked onlookers, barely a minute later Ladybug had the two men strung up with her yo-yo from a street light. They hung several feet above the ground, expressions slightly miffed but otherwise still rather blank, which, for an akuma, was unusual to say the least.

“Ugh, not in here either,” Ladybug remarked crossly, discarding a broken watch onto the floor, joining the plethora of other torn items and belongings scattered all around them. “Where the hell is it?!” she grumbled after tearing a shoe in half and still not seeing any blackened butterflies.

She frowned, twisting her mouth in annoyance. If I keep going like this, they’ll end flashing all of Paris, she thought. Best to turn them over to the authorities and continue this search at the police station. She needed to check on Adrien anyway.

Right on cue, the police arrived and secured the area. After making sure the police had a handle on the situation, Ladybug rushed to the busted car to retrieve Adrien.

She jerked the car door open––or rather, tried to– accidentally yanking the entire door handle off and warping the metal of the door itself. She cursed in irritation, deciding to bypass the door altogether, and leaped onto the top of the car. With a strained heave, she peeled off the entire roof like a can opener, all the while muttering a colorful string of expletives Adrien had never heard his mild-mannered, even-tempered partner say before.

She dropped down next to him onto the back seat, releasing the seatbelts and assisting Adrien into a seated position. She reached up to touch his face, apologizing sheepishly before carefully peeling off the tape that covered his mouth.

Despite the gag being gone, Adrien remained speechless, staring at Ladybug with an intensity she’d never seen coming from him before. With a small, flustered stutter, she summoned a Lucky Charm. A pair of small, polka-dotted scissors landed onto the palm of her hand. She made quick work of his bindings and briefly inspected the red marks on his skin to make sure he was unharmed.

Adrien threw his arms around her, bringing her into a bone crushing hug, his entire body shaking like a leaf.

“Oh, Adrien,” she whispered, her voice still a bit raspy, and squeezed back firmly. “I’m so glad I found you. I was so scared.”

He didn’t reply, as he was near-hyperventilating, but his grip around her shoulders tightened and he buried his head into her neck, seeking comfort.

A few moments later, Ladybug gently lifted Adrien out of the car, careful not to touch the jagged metal edges. She hopped down to the ground and gingerly sat him on a nearby bench. He wobbled unsteadily, but managed to stay upright as she examined him.

“How are you feeling? Can you tell me what happened?” she asked, seemingly snapping him out of a haze.

Without a word, his head whipped up and his eyes developed a determined glint. He shot up to his feet– or, at least, he attempted to– barely managing to take a single wobbly step before crumpling onto the ground.

“Adrien!!” Ladybug called out as she halfway caught him. “Are you injured?! What’s happened to your legs?”

“Paralyzing drug,” Adrien slurred. “I’ll be fine,” he continued as he clumsily broke away from her hold, successfully taking a couple of shaky steps forward.

Ladybug exclaimed, horrified, “They drugged you?! What did they want?” She stepped in front of him, placing her hands gently on his chest, halting his attempt to flee. “Where are you going?? You’re in no condition to be running around right now, we need to take you to a hospital!”

Adrien shook his head, his tone becoming increasingly desperate, his pace becoming faster and more frantic as he stumbled ahead. “No no, please, I need to go look for her!”

“What’s wrong?” Ladybug asked, perplexed. “Look for who?” she said as she rushed beside him.

“I have to go back!” he pleaded. “I have to make sure she’s okay! She could be in danger, I need to find her!”

At this point, they’d reached a grassy portion of an adjacent park, and the uneven ground caused him to trip over himself. He cried out as he fell on top of Ladybug, who had surged forward to catch him.

“Please…” he looked down at her, barely able to hold himself up with his arms in their weakened state. “I have to find Marinette. She got hurt trying to save me,” he uttered quietly, his voice quivering and eyes glossy. “If anything happened to her, I don’t think I could–” his voice cracked, unable to continue. He inhaled slowly, then uttered with a trembling voice, “Please, I need to go back. She’s really important to me, I can’t go anywhere else until I know she’s alright.”

Ladybug’s face softened, touched by his concern. “She’s fine!” she blurted out. “Marinette’s fine!”

Adrien gave her a puzzled look. “What?? But how do you know?”

She attempted to give him a reassuring smile, trying her hardest to avoid looking like a demented clown. Think, you knucklehead, think!! Ladybug screamed inwardly in a panic.

“Uhh, she’s the one who contacted me!” she lied, then lowered her voice, as if she were letting him in on some forbidden knowledge. “She’s been secretly helping me and Chat Noir, so I gave her a way to contact me privately in case of emergency. But of course, this has to remain a secret; so please don’t tell anyone.” She helped him to a sitting position on the ground and added, “Can I trust you with this?”

Adrien’s face and posture relaxed, his eyebrows upturned with both amazement and affection. “Always,” he breathed out softly. “You can count on me, always,” he murmured, a kind smile etched on his handsome face as he reached for her hand and squeezed.

Ladybug smiled fondly in return, remembering why it had been so easy to fall in love with him several years ago. He was truly a selfless and sweet person at heart.

He lifted his hand up to her face, rubbing his thumb across a cut on her lower lip and wiping away a spot of blood which, unbeknownst to him, she’d gotten as Marinette. Her breath hitched, face suddenly feeling rather warm.

“It seems like we always meet under less than ideal circumstances,” Adrien chuckled softly. “Fate has a cruel sense of humor sometimes. I’m sorry.”

Ladybug’s stomach tingled, a sense of familiarity descending on her yet again. She must have been staring because Adrien swiftly withdrew his hand with a quick apology, muttering sheepishly how he’d never been very good at recognizing the need for personal space.

Not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable, Ladybug forced herself to pretend to have a functioning brain and smiled politely, helping him to stand and letting him use her as a support. “It’s okay, no worries!” she added amiably. “Would you let me take you back to the school? My yo-yo’s better than a taxi, or so I hear.”

He grinned widely, then nodded. “Yeah. I’d appreciate it.”

Ladybug picked him up, acutely aware that crowds were beginning to gather around the area. As she was about to take off with Adrien, she heard one of the cops call out her name.

“What is it, Officer Raincomprix? Do you have the situation under control? I’m taking Adrien back to the school to get him checked out by a medical professional. You can get a statement from him there, away from the public and from–” she added, an annoyed crinkle forming on her forehead “–from all the reporters. Be on the lookout for any possible akuma.”

Officer Roger Raincomprix’s face was one of pure bewilderment. “Uh– well, ma’am, something’s happened. I’m not sure how to explain. You’d better come take a look for yourself.”

Ladybug and Adrien exchanged puzzled glances, then she nodded as she and Adrien made their way to where she’d detained the kidnappers.

Upon arriving back at the scene of the battle, Ladybug gasped, almost dropping Adrien in shock, with a look on her face like she’d just witnessed an alien invasion.

“WHERE ARE THEY?!” she shrieked. “How did they escape?!?”

“We’re not sure,” Officer Roger stated. “Somebody caught it on camera, maybe you can get some clues from the video.” He called over one of the cameramen from a local news crew. “Rewind it, please,” he instructed him.

Ladybug and Adrien stared at the tiny screen in awe. The two men had been released from the lamppost and were being walked towards the police car in handcuffs. Once they’d almost reached the vehicle, they halted mid-step, then fell to the ground, faces twisting in agony, and they let out a bloodcurdling wail, like their insides were being ripped apart. A cloud of dark, indigo smoke engulfed them, obscuring them completely; and when it cleared, there was nothing.

Ladybug gaped in total confusion. “So they just… disappeared??” she cried. “Vanished without a trace??”

The officer shook his head. “Not entirely. These were left behind,” he added, presenting two small, white feathers.

Ladybug accepted them, even more confused than before. “And you’re absolutely certain you saw no akumas leave their bodies?”

Roger nodded. “Positive. There was nothing else. We’re searching the area for clues; we’ll let you know if we find anything.”

Ladybug exhaled sharply, feeling like she’d been thrown into a freezing lake, the tiny hairs at the back of her neck standing on end. What in the world was happening??

(Mood Music: Ballet from “Orpheus and Eurydice" - Christoph Gluck)

By the time Ladybug had gotten Adrien situated at the school nurse’s, the effects of whatever neuromuscular drug he’d been injected with had waned somewhat, and he’d regained most of the feeling and mobility in his limbs. Since he waved off the need to actually lie down in one of the beds, she helped him sink into a small sofa, adjusting the pillows, fussing over him, asking if he needed a blanket or something to drink. All the while, he kept trying to reassure her that he was fine (although his face did look a bit flushed during this exchange, which didn’t ease her apprehensions).

As the nurse examined his vitals and gave him a quick check-up, Ladybug’s thoughts slowly shifted from doting concern to one of regret and guilt. This was all her fault. She should have listened to Tikki and transformed instead of rushing in headfirst without knowing the full situation.

Her earrings rang out their second beep, reminding her that her time was beginning to run short. She knew she needed to part ways, but a pressing question rooted her to the spot. She couldn’t leave just yet. Not until she knew.

Adrien must’ve sensed her discomfort; as soon as the nurse excused herself to fill out a health report and speak to the police, he touched her arm and asked quietly, “Is everything okay?” He motioned for her to sit next to him, patting the cushion with a friendly gesture.

She complied, trying to appear as calm as possible as she took a seat. “Well, it’s about… earlier,” she began hesitantly, then lowered her head to whisper, “Do you think this had anything to do with those photos of us from a few months back, when we went to the movies together? Maybe the pictures got leaked after all, and the wrong people got ahold of them. I can’t help but feel like that’s why you were targeted.”

Adrien’s eyes popped wide open as he jerked his head up. “Oh, no!! No, it wasn’t!” Adrien replied, arms waving in emphatic denial. He tried to calm his voice again as he continued to insist, “Believe me, it’s not connected to that at all!”

“What?? B-but how are you sure? You can be honest with me; you don’t have to downplay it for my sake,” she insisted. “I accept all responsibility for everything that happened that evening. I should’ve known it was too dangerous and that it would put you at risk. I just want to fix things and make sure what happened today won’t ever happen again.”

“The timing was just a coincidence, I promise,” Adrien assured her, reaching forward and giving her shoulder a squeeze. “This has nothing to do with you... and everything to do with my father,” he added darkly.

Ladybug’s jaw dropped as a realization dawned on her. “Oh no, your father… he’s going to be so upset!! The police have probably already notified him, he must be worried sick!” Ladybug groaned in dismay, her head dropping into her hands, entirely missing the way Adrien’s eyes rolled sardonically. “Would it help if I escorted you to your home myself? Just to make absolutely sure that you arrive home safely? It’s no trouble, really! I’d just need to go recharge real quick and–”

Adrien looked like he’d just been set on fire. “NO!!!’ he cut her off, unable to keep the terror out of his voice. “Please, don’t!!”

Ladybug recoiled back like she’d been slapped in the face, utterly bewildered at his response. Adrien’s hands began to tremble, and he gripped the fabric of his pants to try to keep them still.

“Uhh, what I meant to say was, ‘no thank you, that won’t be necessary.’ M-my Father is, uhh... very particular. Fastidious, really. Someone will drive me back.” He grimaced as if his words tasted bitter, then he exhaled, seeming to compose himself. “I appreciate the offer, it’s very kind of you. But there’s really no need.”

“I… b-but…” she stammered, twiddling with the hem of her skirt, unconvinced. “Are you absolutely, positively sure you’ll be alright?”

Adrien nodded. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Ladybug let out a deep sigh. “Well… alright. Sorry I kept pushing, it’s just…” She bit her lip, trying not to think about the chillingly blank stares of the impostor bodyguards. “It’s just that those men were no ordinary akumas. Actually, I don’t even know if they were ever really human in the first place. Or akumas. Something is very wrong here. I don’t like it.”

She felt Adrien shuffle nervously beside her, and her posture straightened like she’d been smacked with a rod, her head whipping up to meet Adrien’s concerned eyes again.

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t be blabbing all this stuff to you, especially after what you’ve just been through. You’re safe now and I’ll make sure it stays that way, alright? I swear it! So, please try not to worry about it. I’ll discuss this incident with Chat Noir and see if he knows anything about this weird phenomenon, okay? We’ll protect you.” She grinned and took his hands into hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

An odd look crossed his face, but it shifted into a cordial smile before she could think much of it. “Right. Thanks, Ladybug. I’m sorry you had to get dragged into this.”

Ladybug sputtered, “Not at all! Please don’t be sorry! It’s my job! I was happy to do so! W-well, I mean– not happy you almost got– I mean, obviously not that, but happy that you... that I—“ she stopped her ramblings with a loud, embarrassed facepalm. “Ow. Anyway, you know what I mean,” she finished with a self-deprecating grin.

Adrien was about to reply when the door to the infirmary swung open, crashing into the adjacent wall with a loud bang.

“ADRIEN!!! BRO, ARE YOU OKAY??!” a despondent-sounding Nino rushed to his side, throwing his arms around him without even noticing Ladybug’s presence, a concerned Alya following closely behind.

Adrien hugged him back, touched at his concern. “Nino!! Boy, am I glad to see you! I’m fine, really!”

“You’re not hurt?? You’re really okay?!”

“Of course! I’m fine now, all thanks to Ladybug and Mar— wait…” His head whipped around the room, squinting his eyes as he searched (the action reminding Ladybug that Adrien’s glasses were still missing). “Where’s Marinette? She’s not with you guys?”

Ladybug let out an odd squeak, then tried covering it up with a cough.

Alya shook her head. “I tried calling her, but there’s been no answer. But someone pulled the fire alarm and called the cops, so maybe that was her? I was able to squeeze some info out of one of the officers. He said a young woman called and claimed she saw Adrien Agreste get taken away in a vehicle against his will. He mentioned that she sounded out of breath, almost like she was running or chasing after them. If that doesn’t sound like Marinette, then I don’t know what does.”

Adrien bit the side of his cheek, brows upturned in concern. “She saw us and tried fighting the assailants. She could be injured, I have to go find her,” he said as he stood up, still wobbly but able to do it unassisted.

“NO!!” Ladybug yelped, leaping off the sofa like it was made of hot coals, and they all looked up at her. “I mean, you shouldn’t push yourself. D-don’t worry, I’m sure she’s on her way! You should stay here so she knows where to find you! No sense in having you both running around and potentially missing each other, right?”

Adrien crossed his arms, not quite convinced, but deciding to follow her instructions. “Well… I-I guess. We should try her cell phone again.”

Ladybug continued, words dribbling out like a broken faucet, “Anyhoo, my earrings are about to beep again, so I’d better get going! But you all know how to get a hold of me if anything happens, right guys? Right?? Right... Anyway, bug out!!”

And with that, Ladybug scampered away like a white rabbit late for a tea party.

A few minutes later (the entirety of which Adrien spent answering Nino and Alya’s worried queries as well as filling out a police report) a rather rumpled-looking Marinette quietly entered the room, not wanting to interrupt.

She didn’t stay undetected for long, however. Upon seeing her, Adrien’s features morphed from surprise into joy, followed by relief, then concern. He’d never seen her look quite so… tired .

He must’ve uttered her name out loud because she approached them sheepishly. “Umm… hi. S-sorry, it took me a little while to walk back to the school and my phone ran out of battery on the way. Are you oka––”

Adrien sprung off his seat and shuffled towards her, halfway dragging his still-sluggish legs. He threw his arms around her, clutching her as tight as he could, as if she might disappear again at any second.

“Marinette, thank God,” he cooed, gently cradling the back of her head. “I don’t know how to thank you. If it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve been–”

“You would’ve done the same for me,” she said as she embraced him with matching fervor. “I’m just glad you’re okay now.”

They felt a large thwump as someone wrapped their arms around them, followed by another set of arms joining the pile.

“This most definitely calls for a group hug,” Nino said, squeezing hard.

“Especially after what Adrien told us happened,” Alya added. “Girl, you are so brave! I’m so proud of you!! Ladybug and Chat Noir better watch out or you’ll be stealing their jobs soon!” Adrien heard Marinette let out an amused snort as he and Nino chimed in in agreement.

Now that the danger had passed and the adrenaline had subsided, a moment of calm was exactly what they needed.

As the group pulled apart and he was able to get a better look at her, it was then that Adrien noticed how truly beaten up Marinette appeared, physically. Her hair was out of place, her clothes torn in a few spots, her usual hair accessory was missing, and she was covered in grime, cuts, and bruises.

“Oh, Mari…” he whispered sadly as he slowly turned her head by the chin, gently thumbing a large cut on her lips and ghosting the tips of his fingers over a darkening black eye, moving her hair out of the way.

Marinette then realized that, in the midst of all the commotion, Ladybug had forgotten to use her Miraculous Cure.

Damn it! Screwed up yet another thing today.

She wondered if she could summon another Lucky Charm later today and try to fix things then . She’d never tried using a Lucky Charm outside of battle once the danger had already passed. Would it even work?

Marinette winced. “That bad, eh? Do I have to wear a paper bag over my head for a few days to avoid frightening the children of Paris?” she joked. She instinctively stuck out her tongue to search for the cut on her lip, then flinched when the wetness of her saliva made it sting.

Adrien frowned. “Nonsense. Here,” he said, leading her by the hand back to the sofa. After she sat down, he began gathering some of the first aid materials that the nurse had left on the countertop, then rummaged through the drawers and cupboards for more.

Marinette let out a flustered squeak as he brought the supplies over and pulled up a chair, sitting across from her.

“Oh! Don’t worry about it, it’s totally not necessary,” she said, holding her hands up. “I can take care of it later, it’s no big deal, you should really get some rest–”

Adrien leaned forward in his seat, reaching for her hand. “Please. Let me do this.” he murmured, insistent. “It’s the least I can do.”

Marinette could feel her face getting flushed from all the attention, but didn’t want to argue with him. He was clearly blaming himself for what had happened, and maybe this would be a way to help him feel better, even though it wasn’t his fault whatsoever. She shyly tucked some hair behind her ear, then nodded in consent.

As Adrien treated Marinette’s wounds, they overheard Principal Damocles and Madame Bustier conversing as they walked down the hallway outside of the nurse’s office.

“—And now there isn’t even anyone left behind for Monsieur Agreste to press charges, since the police claim that the perpetrators disappeared into thin air!” Mr. Damocles lamented as he paused in front of the slightly ajar infirmary door. “It’s not like he can sue Ladybug or the authorities for their negligence in capturing the culprits. Or, come to think of it, maybe he can! He is friends with the mayor, after all,” he pondered, continuing his musings. “Regardless, the blame will surely fall upon us!”

“Perhaps this isn’t the time to worry about that, Principal Damocles,” Mme Bustier spoke in a more hushed tone. “Surely M. Agreste must be feeling absolutely distraught after what nearly happened to his son. He’s such a caring and devoted father, always worrying about Adrien’s well-being, especially since his wife’s disappearance. His son is all he has left. We should try to be more considerate.”

“Hmm, yes, I suppose you are correct. Perhaps if we send him a basket of fruit to show our condolences about this incident, he’ll let the whole thing slide and we can avoid a lawsuit.”

“Sir…” Caline Bustier let out a troubled sigh as the two continued down the hallway.

The room was quiet again and Marinette had to work really hard to suppress an irritated groan, as her acting skills were put to the ultimate test of avoiding outwardly cringing at her principal’s misdirected priorities.

Her attention turned back towards Adrien, and at this point she realized that his actions had halted. His arm hovered in mid-air holding a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic, glassy eyes staring blankly at the ground. He looked rather pale, almost like he’d seen a ghost, and his face was downcast, yet somehow still unreadable. She supposed that years of concealing his emotions came naturally for him as well.

Marinette knew that Adrien’s relationship with his father was rather strained, particularly over the past year, with him becoming more and more strict and Adrien having to deal with increasing pressure to maintain a near-impossible standard of conduct. But judging by Adrien’s dramatic shift in mood, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it than that.

She reached forward, lightly touching his opposite forearm to get his attention. His gaze whipped up to meet hers, his eyes revealing an ocean of sorrow. But he cleared his throat and gave her a small smile, that perfect default smile, the one that she hated seeing on him. Then he resumed tending to her various wounds, briefly apologizing for getting distracted.

She noticed in her peripheral vision a miffed-looking Nino pulling Alya to the other side of the room, speaking in hushed tones. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it sounded like they were disagreeing about something.

“–You can’t just go around making those kinds of accusations!” Alya hissed, almost too quiet for Marinette to hear. “It’s literally the worst time for that!”

“I won’t!” Nino whispered back. “... For now. But it doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop suspecting him. I’m telling you, he’s not a good dude! If he’s such a ‘perfect’ father, why isn’t he here right now?! After what just happened?” His posture drooped and he crossed his arms. “I just… I’m worried about Adrien, babe. What if he’s not actually okay?” he asked with a slight quiver in his voice.

“Oh, Nino…” Alya’s face softened as she brought him into a tight embrace. “Everything’s gonna be fine, hon. Don’t worry.”

She glanced over and made eye contact with Marinette, giving her a small smile; then she and Nino walked off together to a more secluded area to continue their private conversation.

Adrien finished wrapping up a nasty-looking gash on her shin, which had bled through her pants leg. He’d rolled up the fabric to treat the wound, and was now rolling it back down.

“Thank you, Adrien,” she said quietly. “I should get going, my parents are probably worried; they usually keep the news radio turned on in the bakery, so they’ve probably already heard about what happened.”

Adrien stood when she did. Always a gentleman, she thought with a smile.

“Will you be alright? Can I walk you home?” he asked.

Marinette spluttered incredulously. “You’re asking me if I’m alright?! After all that you just went through??”

He shrugged slightly, giving her a tiny, contrite smile. “Well… you went through it with me. And, as amazing as you are, you’re not unbreakable. I just wanna be there for you like you were for me today. And like every time you’ve been there whenever I needed someone.”

Marinette’s heart thumped loudly in her chest, touched by his concern and gratitude. He spoke so sincerely, and she could sense that many things were left unspoken, and there was a weight behind his words that she couldn’t decipher. “What about your car ride?”

“I…” he faltered slightly. “I’ll tell them to pick me up from your place. No biggie.”

“Well… if you’re sure. The company would be nice,” she relented.

“Great!” he said cheerfully, offering his arm. “You can be my seeing-eye mouse.”

“A what? A seeing-eye mouse?” she giggled. “Actually, that reminds me–” she paused, opening her purse and rummaging through it.

Adrien’s eyes grew wide as she conjured up his missing eyeglasses from within.

“I went looking for them before coming to find you. It was lucky that they were still there, in the locker room. One of the lenses has a small scratch, but they should still work fine until you can buy a new pair.”

Adrien let out a small, incredulous laugh, then put on his glasses. “I can’t believe you went back for them. You’re a lifesaver, Marinette; in so many ways. Thank you.”

Marinette’s face warmed at the compliment, despite trying hard to smolder the remainders of a flame that was once there. She cleared her throat and teased, “Can I still be your seeing-eye dog?”

“You mean, my ‘seeing-eye mouse’!”

She raised an amused eyebrow. “Why a mouse?”

“You’d be a mouse ‘cause you’re little and cute!”

Marinette blew a raspberry as she giggled. “You’re such a dork! Alright, I’ll do it, but you’d better be there when I need someone to fetch something from the top shelves!”

Adrien chuckled and gave her a wink. “That’s a promise.”

–––––

As some of you correctly guessed: YES! The peacock miraculous was used to create sentimonsters in the image of Adrien's old bodyguard to deceive him and take him back to Gabriel.

There's some plot decisions I have to make (whether to follow my original outline of what comes next or if I need to tweak some things to improve the flow of the story), so it's back to "normal" updates again, but I'll do my best to update a bit more consistently :)

#CW: kidnapping #Miraculous Ladybug #Ladynoir #Enemies AU #enemies to lovers #Marinette Dupain Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #Ladybug #fanfiction #Discordant Sonata #ML AU #aged up #Eden writes

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