#and if they DO keep it vague they better not pull the 'ur my best friend 4ever<33' card like bf did | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1kook · 4 years

Text

espn & bdsm

this is part 6 of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills. warnings; smut (18+) in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink miscellaneous; kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count; 12.7k

notes; this is like… a healing fic… for the part before lol. also i did not know what was going to happen next as I was writing. anyway entire smut scene was based off THIS bad boy ur welcome fellas and the Jungkook described here is from in the soop episode 2... cutie... yes every single 1 of those words is a link

lmk what you think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

You're at the nail salon with Doyeon when she first mentions it.

“Have you ever, like,” she pauses, making a vague, swivel gesture with her head. You furrow your brows and she sighs. “Topped him. Have you ever been the one to take control?”

Your nail artist blushes, furiously filing away at your nails until the most perfect stiletto shape stares you back in the face. “Oh. Not really,” you admit, wiggling your wet toe nails around in the styrofoam flip flops issued by the salon. “I mean, sometimes I talk him through it.”

Doyeon snorts. “Babe, talking him through it and being the boss are two completely different things,” she says rather dryly, seemingly unbothered by the fact your two nail techs are being subjected to this more than intimate conversation. But you’ve had weirder talks with Doyeon in public; this doesn’t phase you. “Listen,” she says suddenly, dropping her voice down to a whisper that has you leaning closer to hear her. “You know how I’m a member of that site, right?”

You nod. “Oh yeah— Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide!, right?” She kicks your shin, but the jab is muted by the bottom of her own styrofoam flip flop.

“Yeah, just tell everyone here my credit card number while you’re at it,” she hisses. Her anger fades soon enough. “Well, they’re always sending me all sorts of freebies for my devoted patronage,” she explains. She quirks her lips to the side, throwing one brief glance at the blushing nail artists in front of you. Eventually she seems to come to a conclusion. “Long story short they sent me some cuffs and I’m gonna give you them.”

Your jaw drops. “Woah, really? I don’t know… Don’t those usually run kinda pricey?” you ask tentatively. You’re trying to play it off, act like this isn’t something you want, but the reality is so much worse.

The minute the word cuffs had slipped through her lips it’s like a door opened before your eyes. A big, wooden door with chains strapped across it and a padlock you swore you’d never open.

Somewhere in your mind, you had always convinced yourself handcuffs in bed was something you’d like to have done to you. But, because she was your best friend and by extension a personified version of all your freakiest, often filtered, thoughts, it was like Doyeon had reached straight into your cranium and extracted your most secret fantasy— and that was Jungkook in handcuffs.

Your nail artist pats your hand, motioning you to head over to the drying station. Before you can be separated from Doyeon, you whip around to throw her one desperate look. “I have never wanted anything so bad in my life.”

She cackles loudly, easily garnering the attention of every employee and nail enthusiast in the salon with the evil witch vibes she exudes.

Truth be told, your argument with Jungkook had brought upon a newfound appreciation for him. Weird to say, considering you had wanted to kill the dude when it had originally happened. But the great thing about you and Jungkook was that you were flexible people— both in bed and out. A few long conversations later and you had reached the root of the problem.

And that root was your apparent lack of communicating when something was wrong. It was weird to think that anything could ever be wrong when Jungkook was involved. He was your honeybun, sugar plum, pumpy-umpy-umpkin. Your sweetie pie, for lack of better wording, and he could do no wrong—

—is what you’d like to say. But if there’s anything you’ve learned in the past year of dating Jungkook, it’s that perfection was a made up belief that revolved around the idea that someone’s flaws couldn’t possibly be a good thing. And as you’ve come to realize, Jungkook wasn’t the perfect gentleman you’d initially chalked him up to be. He was human, just like you, with his own list of worries and thoughts, and sometimes those thoughts manifested into flaws. They could be ugly or they could be beautiful, but at the end of the day, they all made Jungkook into the person he was— and you loved that person. Disgustingly so.

You had your moments, and he had his. Everything would not always be sunshine and rainbows for the two of you, but it was fine so long as you learned to play in the rain and stomp in the puddles.

Still.

You were you.

A slightly mean, slightly conniving, petty ass human who had been plotting his revenge since the day the two of you made up. I mean, you weren’t actually just going to let him get off the hook like that, were you? He had saved himself last time with a gooey, heartfelt apology and confession, followed by some extraordinary dicking down that had left you Naked and Afraid for three days after.

But you weren’t that easy! No, ma’am. You had to let him know that some gorgeous demon dick was not enough to satisfy you after a fight like that.

Jungkook was in for a desperately needed reality check, one that jingles in your purse when you step out of the Uber that drops you off at his place. You know he’s home because his front light is on, and also because he’d texted you that he was watching some soccer match on tv tonight. He’s a pretty big fan, especially of the club playing tonight, so you decide it’s a perfect night to strike.

Your copy of his key slips right into the keyhole. Your slippers are in the same place they always are, neatly set off to the side right by the stairs. He’s not in his living room, undoubtedly the most perfect place to watch any type of sporting event with that huge Jumbotron of his. The damn thing made it feel like you were in the stadium itself.

There’s a quiet hum coming from upstairs. You creep up the steps, carefully rounding the corner at the landing until you’re staring right into his dimly lit bedroom.

The way Jungkook’s got his bedroom set up is so that you can look directly at his door from the bed, terribly inconvenient for when that sleep paralysis demon hits in the middle of the night and you’re left staring into the dark hallway. He’s snuggled comfortably over his sheets, about three pillows supporting his back. The light of the tinier, more acceptable television he keeps in his room is dancing across his features in bright shades of green. You almost throw yourself onto his mattress like a starfish until you spot the carefully placed foot on the bed.

“What the hell did you do?” you blurt. A wrong move, considering he hadn’t seen you yet and your sudden appearance makes him jump nearly ten feet into the air, almost knocking down the bag of ice that sits on his ankle. “Oh my god, it was that damned Pilates class, wasn’t it?” you fret, rounding the bed until you’re on his side.

“Oh hey,” he says as if you’re not currently pulling the first eight seasons of Grey’s Anatomy to the forefront of your head to treat him. “When’d you get here?”

“Cut the crap, who did this to you?” you ask, sitting beside him with the utmost care. You drop your bag off to the side, the loud clatter of the inside contents vaguely registering in your head. The ice pack comes off easily, revealing a relatively okay looking ankle save for the slight swell towards the more medial aspect of it.

Jungkook takes the moment to sit up, joining you in your inspection of his injury. “No one,” he answers, using his new position to drop a kiss against the side of your head. “I fell off the ladder helping Mrs. Jung across the street.”

You choke. “You fell off a ladder?” you squawk, eyes wide as your gaze shifts from his ankle to his entire body.

He places a hand on your shoulder, “babe, I was on like the third step. It was one of those old wooden ones,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. “The step just happened to snap on my way down.”

You scoff. “That old lady is out to get you,” you warn him. “Remember the time she almost had you plug in those burnt out Christmas lights for her? The ones that would have electrocuted you to death.”

Jungkook laughs, settling back into his stack of pillows. “In her defense, she’s old,” he offers. He’s wrapped up in a black hoodie, fluffy bangs parted down the middle. He’s got on some blue shorts, a huge difference from his usual dark-toned clothing. He looks so good and warm, and you’re suddenly hit with the fact you can’t possibly handcuff this poor, injured angel to his bedpost and ride his cock into the sunset. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

You deflate, wild fantasies thrown out the window. “Yeah, well,” you sigh, ditching your pants and climbing over him until you’re snuggled into his side. “Wanted to show you my nails.”

It’s a lame excuse. But he buys it, so.

“They’re cute,” he says, taking your hand in his. He turns your hand over, inspects your pretty new acrylics like he actually has any idea how much they cost or how sexy they look. He raises your hand to his face, pressing a smooch against your knuckles that has you heart thumping embarrassingly loud in your chest. God, you hated this fool.

You turn your nose up at him, like you’re some snooty rich girl who couldn’t give him the time of day. Except it’s not like that, and Jungkook knows.

“What’re you watching?” you ask instead.

He’s got that stupid dopey smile on you, the one that takes one nudge against his side to snap him out of. “Ah, just the game.”

You squint at the screen. “Is this Fox Sports?” you ask in disgust.

He pinches your side. “This is ESPN,” he corrects. “And you don’t know shit about sports channels,” he points out. “So sit this one out.” You give in with a huff, cuddling closer into his side while trying to jostle him as little as possible. Jungkook seems to have no deeply rooted concerns about his injured ankle if the way he hauls you into his arms is any indicator. “How did nails with Doyeon go?”

“You know, the usual,” you respond, idly toying with one of the strings on his hoodie as your eyes focus on the little figures running across the screen. He hums, gesturing for you to elaborate. “Talked about sex, how much better than you at life she is, some more sex.”

He scoffs at that. “Doyeon is not better than me, and I have a whole trophy case to prove it.”

“Okay, but have you singlehandedly Twitter beefed with an entire sorority in your freshman year of university and won?”

He frowns. “No.”

You give him a look, one that says stand down now unless you want to lose to my best friend and get your feelings hurt. Jungkook understands. “Anyway,” he announces, turning his attention back to the screen with you. You think his team might be winning—you vaguely remember seeing him wear a similar jersey once—so he’s pretty relaxed for now. “They’re doing pretty good considering they just lost their main striker.”

You have no idea what that means. “Who? Messi?”

Jungkook knows you don’t know. “He doesn’t even play in this league,” he explains anyway.

“Oh, I saw him trending on Twitter last week. Thought he died or something. Whole time it was just a bunch of soccer nerds crying about him leaving his team.”

He laughs. “You should be a sportscaster,” Jungkook decides after your ever-so-eloquent recap, tucking his head cutely against your shoulder. There was a study once that claimed the incessant need to squeeze a baby’s cheeks or hug puppies tightly was actually the innate human response to kill something they felt threatened by. Oddly enough, you find yourself thinking of that as Jungkook’s citrusy shampoo floods your nostrils.

“Oh, speaking of Doyeon,” he says suddenly. “Did you give her my address? I got a weird package from that store she likes that I genuinely don’t remember ever ordering.” You frown, sitting up slightly until you can look at the side of his face, the cute mole on his cheek calling your name.

“What?” you ask. “Was it in her name?” Jungkook nods. You’re about to tear the roof off his house and go hunt that evil wench down when realization dawns on you. “Oh, no, yeah I gave her your address. My mom stayed over last weekend and Doyeon needed to order something nasty. Guess it got delayed until now.”

Jungkook nods and then doesn’t say much else, which is weird considering the circumstances. You expected him to gently scold you for carelessly giving the psycho that was Kim Doyeon his address, but she’s been here a few times to pick you up, even came over for beer night once. She probably knew it anyway, but you still expected some type of reaction of disapproval from him.

Something’s off, and you know better than to leave it at that. You poke his cheek, right where that mole you’d been eyeing was. “Did you open her package?” you ask, grin slowly consuming your features at the fact Jungkook was apparently a mail snooper.

He looks away. You laugh. “Oh my god, you did,” you cackle, sitting up beside him to get a good look at the blush growing on his cheeks. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” he huffs, pretending to be overly invested in his soccer match again, but that ship died the moment you stepped into his room. “Babe, I can't see the match.”

You roll your eyes, purposefully shifting in front of him so he’s forced to look at the maniac look in your eyes. “What did you see, Jeon Jungkook, and are we going to steal it from her again?”

His cheeks bloom impossibly darker at that. “No!” he coughs, pointedly avoiding your gaze.

But your curiosity is at its peak now, his reactions only exacerbating it. You grab him by the shoulders, hands balling the material of his hoodie as you give him one firm shake. “What did you see,” you demand.

“Oh my god,” he gives in. You release him and he flops back onto his pillow mountain. “They were things,” he explains slowly, cheeks rosy. “For your, y’know,” a vague gesture over his chest.

You frown. “A bra?” you guess. “I’m not gonna lie, Kook, think I just lost a little respect for you.”

“No!” he huffs. “They were… little clamps. For your nipples.”

If this was a cartoon, you’re almost certain you’d be that character with the object in question in their eyes, heart fluttering in your chest at the words that leave his mouth.

Immediately, two things become obvious to you.

One, Kim Doyeon was a bigger freak than you’d expected who obviously dabbled in an assortment of trades. Clamps, your brain screams, overwhelmed with the image that appears in your head, the one that has a shiver running straight to your core. You would have to thank her for this gracious, unintentional gift she’s bestowed upon you.

Two, you’re gonna have to write her the best, most plausible apology letter tomorrow when you inform her those clamps have been lost in the mail, never to be seen again. Or you could just straight up tell her you snatched them up the moment you found out what they were, but you doubt that’ll go over well.

Jungkook groans. “You have that look in your eye,” he points out. You snap your attention back to him. “And I just wanna say in advance that I don’t think i can give you the fun night you deserve, baby,” he apologizes, motioning towards his still swollen ankle.

Something distinctly mean switches on inside of you.

You flash him a sweet smile that has him letting down his guard. You lean forward, pressing a soft peck to his cheek as you climb down the bed towards your forgotten purse that’d been resting on the floor until that point. “Who said I needed you to have fun?” you throw over your shoulder, carefully slipping Doyeon’s first gift close to your body so he won’t see.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed look. “Really,” he says dryly, “you think you can have fun without me?” He almost sounds cocky, as if the idea of you even enjoying yourself the teensiest bit without his help seems unfathomable.

You grin, padding over to his bedside, where you carefully pick up his hand. You mirror his actions from before, pressing a sweet kiss against his knuckles that makes that conceited look slip off his features for a second, eyes soft.

Click.

Jungkook frowns. “What the—“ before the sentence can leave his mouth you’re lunging forward, wrestling his hands above his head, until they’re both secured at his headboard by the soft cuffs Doyeon had given you that afternoon at the salon. Jungkook’s wide eyes stare back at you, briefly leaving to glance up at the silver chain that wraps behind one of the rungs of his headboard. “Babe,” he says slowly. “What the fuck.”

You beam at him, leaning down to snatch a pillow from beneath him so he’s better positioned, leaning back more. “So cute,” you gush, taking in the way his raised arms have the hem of his hoodie lifting at the waist. There’s a faint trail of hairs around his belly button that disappear beneath the elastic of his shorts. “Do you like them?”

Jungkook blinks. “Baby,” he says a second time, much slower and a little too calm for your liking. It almost gets swallowed by the roar of the fans on TV. “What is this?”

You ignore him, scampering around his room until you find the hot pink Sexuality Unleashed packaging peeking out from beneath his bed. Sure enough, it’s in Doyeon’s name but his address. A whole complicated mess just for some nipple clamps she’ll never see again. It’s what’s inside anyway, not that you thought Jungkook was lying, but there’s something about the actual, carefully wrapped packaging that makes your heart and pussy flutter.

“Oh! Aren’t these the prettiest things?” you exclaim, whirling around to where Jungkook is shaking up a storm with his cuffs, pout growing on his features the longer you leave him there. The ice pack slips off his ankle, falling onto the comforter beside him from all his movement.

Jungkook doesn’t seem the least bit interested in the silver nipple clamps in your hands, too busy trying to free himself from the sudden trap you sprung on him. “Sweetheart, we can play with those tomorrow, alright?” he tries, relaxing his arms and finally looking your way. There’s a frustrated furrow to his brows, one you rarely see but adore very much. “Just undo these cuffs for me, yeah?”

You tilt your head to the side, placing a hand on the inside of his calf that you trail all the way up as you move to stand beside his hip. His thighs flinch at your touch, tensing when you stop just before the crotch of his pants. “Mmm, don’t think so,” you smile, dropping the thin chain beside him.

Your shirt goes first, peeled over your body until you’re left standing in your bra. It’s nothing too special this time, just your average run of the mill comfort bra hugging your chest. But that doesn’t really matter, especially not with the way you’re hoping things play out tonight. You’d discarded your jeans a few moments prior, so the shirt joins them on a pile on his floor.

As much as he tries to act irritated by your refusal to release him, there’s a slow stirring beneath his shorts. It’s emphasized by that bright blue material, cock swelling as he watches you take off your clothes. “Baby,” he warns, possibly for the last time. But you won’t know unless you push some more, you tell yourself, placing one knee on the edge of the bed, the other thrown across his lap.

“Wow,” you marvel, picking the chain up once more. Jungkook shifts beneath you, half hard cock brushing against the cleft of your cheeks. “Don’t you wanna see what it’s like, Jungkookie?”

He says nothing, watching you with solemn eyes that leave no room for reading him. Behind you, the game commentator is chattering up a storm.

Doesn’t matter, especially not when this flimsy metal had you so completely hypnotized. You reach behind yourself, unsnapping your bra with one fluid motion that has the cups falling onto your lap, soft chest on display for the man before you. Your breasts spill out slowly from their cage, pretty hardened buds slowly coming into his view. They make him pause his fussing, half-lidded gaze falling to the swell of your chest hungrily. His hands jerk, the cuffs doing their job of keeping them there.

You grin, placing a hand on his chest, over his hammering heart. “Do you wanna see me wear them?” you croon, tugging the material of his hoodie up his stomach, until your thighs are sitting directly on his tiny waist, thin thong just over his belly button. You trail your hand up, letting it brush up the side of his neck and bury into his scalp. You give an experimental tug that has his eyes squeezing shut. “Yes or no, Jungkookie?”

He’s being a huge brat for you, eyes scrunched up together like the sight of you enjoying yourself sans his touch is unimaginable. Another tug of his hair and he’s exhaling shakily, a quiet, “yes,” slipping past his lips.

The chain drops onto his chest with a quiet thud, shocking him enough to blink his eyes back open. Releasing your hold on his hair, you sit back on his lap, towering over his fidgety body like a goddess at a temple, him the lowly worshipper beneath you.

Your hands crawl over your body, starting somewhere around your waist. The glide up over your tummy, caress the underside of your breasts teasingly. Sure Jungkook knew your body well, but you knew your body best. One hand rubs teasingly over your breast, palm pressing down slightly against where your nipple lies, while the other drops down between your thighs, slowly grinding against your mound.

“Look, Jungkookie,” you gasp, body twitching at your own hands. You take a hardened nub between your fingers, rolling it back and forth until it’s standing at its peak. “I can do it without you,” you tease, rolling your hips against him slowly. The thin material of your thong does nothing to save you from the delicious swell of his cock against you. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, circling a finger over your clit. “It’s, it’s even better.”

His restraints jiggle against the bed frame, an obvious look of distress crossing his features. “No,” he huffs out a whine, tugging at the cuffs as you slowly unravel on his lap. They don’t give, no matter how much he pulls. You know he’s holding back, afraid of damaging his headboard, and you take advantage of the fact as you move to roll both nipples between your fingers. He groans harshly, jaw tight. “Hate you,” he hisses, hips wiggling beneath you. “Hate you, hate you.”

You breathe out an airy chuckle. “R-Really?” you ask, trembling hands finally reaching back for that second gift of the day. Your breath is shallow, so thoroughly wound up from your own playful hands, and you tremble at the mere brush of the cool metal. “Oh fuck,” you whimper, bringing them up to your chest, “I’ve never done this before,” you confess.

There’s a sense of amazement that consumes you at the thin chain you hold in your hands, the pretty gold painted clamps on each end. It makes you shiver, body unconsciously grinding down against Jungkook’s lap where his engorged cock was fighting against the material of his shorts.

“Then let me help you,” he tries, the childish tone from before melting into his usual silky smooth baritone. Jungkook even softens his gaze at you, let’s his tongue peek out to wet his lips as you almost seriously consider his request.

Had it not been for the sudden loud shout from the sports commentator behind you, a long obnoxious gooooooaaal, you probably would have fallen victim to that honey-eyed gaze. You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.

Without a second thought, you bring one of the little camps close to your chest, giving it a few experimental squeezes until the nerves are replaced with an overwhelming wave of horniness that even Jungkook can sense. “Fuck,” he groans, shaking his restraints back and forth like a wild animal as you slowly get to clamping your left nipple.

You’re not sure what you expected; part of you had thought it was going to be an excruciating pain, one that would make you want to scream and shout in sheer agony. The other part had reduced it to a barely there pinch that would never live up to your fantasies. As it stands, the sensation of the clamp around your swollen nipple sits right in between, drawing in a choked gasp that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Baby, sweetheart,” Jungkook gasps alongside you, eyes zeroed in on the pinched off bundle of nerves. There’s a sudden grinding sound that fills the air, like the sawing off of wood that definitely doesn’t sound good, and it’s a direct result of the fight he puts up against his headboard. “Please, please,” he begs, muscled arms tugging back and forth. “I have to touch—“

The second clamp goes on, making your entire back arch as if you were possessed. You're not, just extremely overwhelmed by the prickle of pain on your tits that makes you grind down against his cock, hands fisting the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you right now. “Oh,” you shudder, thighs quivering at the heightened stimulation you receive from the clamps sitting on your nipples. “Kook, I-I can’t.”

He growls, hips bucking beneath you in a crazed effort to better situate you on his lap. “You gotta take these off me,” he rasps out. The next buck of his hips makes the chain dangling between your breast brush dangerously close to his face. He’s unintentionally goaded on by the TV in the room, the annoying drone of the commentator shouting something about never giving up. “Can make you feel so much better, sweet girl,” he cooes, jutting his head out like he needs a kiss.

Your head feels woozy, pussy throbbing at the sensations being channeled down into your core. Your eyes flutter shut, and before you can think it through, you're blindly reaching for the chain, giving it one light tug that has you mewling like a kitten. “O-oh, fuck,” you sob, looping your finger around the thin chain carefully. Another tug that pulls against your nipples sends a gush of wetness down between your thighs. “Cock,” you slur dazedly, “need your cock.”

Jungkook shudders out a long breath. “Le-Let me go then, sweetheart,” he chokes out, “let me fuck that pretty little pussy for you.”

“Uh uh,” you disagree, bringing another angry buck out of him, metal cuffs rattling loudly. “Want you to watch,” you pant, reaching behind you for his shorts. “Watch me, Jungkookie.” It takes three tries for you to get a grip, the elastic material slipping from your fingers before you finally gain some semblance of control and paw them down . The shorts and the boxers came off together, his engorged cock springing up to tap against your ass. “W-Watch,” you repeat dazedly, leaning forward with one hand on his shoulder to line him up with your dripping hole. Behind you, the commentator is droning on about core balance or something of the sort. It takes two tries as you blindly have to tug your panties to the side as well, and just as you have his fiery red tip against your entrance, something else happens.

He catches you, pearly teeth biting down on the chain that connects your clamps in a motion you can only liken to a bloodthirsty shark jumping out of the water, jaws snapping to catch its prey. It dangles in his face, the same way his own necklaces have done to you so many times before. But the difference between you and Jungkook was that while you let his assortment of necklaces hypnotize you, drag across your face painfully, he doesn’t. He snaps forward, catches it between his teeth.

You mewl loudly, foggy vision turning onto him. Jungkook’s got this unreadable look on his face, likes he’s pissed off and turned on all at once. “You’re not in charge,” he murmurs around the chain, the s and c sounds all slurred together. “You will never be in charge, silly girl, you got that?” he spits, yanking his head back like an animal, pulling your upper body with him by the two golden clamps on your nipples.

There’s tears in your eyes, lining your waterline and threatening to fall with each tug his mouth gives against the chain of your nipple clamps. He’s got his neck craned back as far as he possibly can with a pillow beneath him, chain links digging into his bottom lip. “Y-Yes,” you sob, your entire body quivering at the way he so easily manages to overthrow you, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, solemn eyes flickering across your twisted features once more. He gives another purposeful tug, head snapping back just the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to tug you forward again, a loud whimper torn from your throat. “Undo these cuffs for me, sweet girl,” he commands softly, jiggling the same restraints he’d spent the better part of fifteen minutes fighting against.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, hands wildly slapping down on his bedside table. You had had half the mind to leave the key there when you had retrieved the cuffs, telling yourself it would be easy access afterwards. It’s not, apparently, the silver pick falling just out of reach. For some reason— it’s probably the sensitivity and horninesss, the pinpricks of pain that originate from your nipples —this fact frustrates you to the point of tears.

“Easy, doll,” Jungkook talks you through, voice low and soft beneath you, “relax and grab it for me, okay?” You nod, angrily blinking away a tear that drips down your face. It splatters on Jungkook’s cheek, bringing a soft huff of amusement from him.

Finally the key brushes your hand, and you sigh in relief, shakily leaning forward to undo the lock above his head. He releases his killer chomp/grip on your chain just as you release his cuffs. “I-I’m sorry,” you sniffle, a sudden need to apologize as you watch him rub at the raw skin around his wrists. “I didn’t—“

“Shhh,” he says, cuddling you into his chest. “It’s alright,” he says simply and you believe him.

Which ends up being a terrible mistake exactly ten seconds later when he’s shoving your face into the sheets, your cries and whimpers muffled by the sounds of the game on TV as he winds your arms behind your back. You struggle for all of five seconds before a soft click resounds from behind you.

“Did you think I’d just let that slide, sweet girl?” he growls against your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin. “I'm not your dog, __,” he spits, suddenly yanking you up by your cuffed wrists. Your chest is heaving, arms aching from the way he’s got you on your knees, blind to whatever he’s doing behind you. “Don’t lock me up, because I’ll always come back to bite.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you stammer, flinching when a hand snakes around your waist, an experimental tug to the chain of your clamps. It sends a shudder down your spine, amplified by the hot press of his body behind you. “I won’t do it again!”

“I know you fucking won’t,” he laughs meanly, trailing his hand down over your mound. One finger circles your clit through your underwear, a shaky sigh exiting your lips at the jarringly light touch. “Because I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve learned your lesson, silly girl.”

“I said sorry,” you whimper, thighs quivering. His cock brushes up against you, the same cock you were about to ride until the sunset. Oh how the tables have turned.

A hand slips beneath your underwear, pad of a finger rubbing against your swollen clit. “Oh,” you exhale, surprised with the suddenly gentle touch following his words. “Th-That’s nice,” you murmur, head lolling forward at the slow rhythm he sets, playing with you like you were a toy that needed warming up.

“Yeah?” he husks out. There’s a yank to your clamps that makes you gasp, chest following the motion as if it’ll reduce the shock. “You think this is about making you feel nice?” he murmurs. Another tug, followed by another, until he’s raining down a series of rhythmic shocks onto your tits that make you shiver and twitch, tongue heavy in your mouth to the point you feel like you’re drooling.

“Wait,” you whimper, arms twisting behind you. “Hurts, hurts” you cry, arching your back like it’ll save you from the steady stimulation against your rock-hard nipples.

“Does it?” Jungkook hums, one hand working away at your clit. He swirls it around his finger, pressing down on the nub in an attempt to distract you. But it only heightens the sting coming from your breasts, the blossom of pain that grows over each mound the longer he plays with you. “Good. Want your pretty little body to hurt for me, baby.”

Right after saying that he releases the grip on your chain, letting it swing back and forth until it eventually rests on your stomach, throbbing nipples spared for now. A breath of relief washes over you now that you only have to worry about the hand playing along your folds. The TV is still flickering to your right, but the commentator's voice sounds fuzzy and so far away, like he’s in a whole different dimension while you and Jungkook are here.

Your reprieve lasts shorter than you expected, as his free hand slowly begins creeping up your waist, fluttering over the little gold clamps pinching your nipples. “Pretty girl,” he compliments, nudging one tender nub with a playful finger. “Pretty, pretty baby,” Jungkook murmurs as he begins massaging the scorching hot skin around your nipples gently. There’s a warm kiss pressed to your shoulder, followed by a trail up the side of your neck. You shudder, trying to focus on the hand that creeps down your folds, teases itself against your entrance.

“Jungkook,” you whine softly, rolling your head to the side so he can suck bruise after bruise onto your skin. You’re definitely drooling, the saliva thick and heavy in your mouth. “T-Too much.”

“Thought you wanted that,” he mumbles, kissing up and up until he’s at your jaw and then he’s at your mouth, languidly kissing you. He’s doing that thing again where he’s hellbent on drowning you in his spit, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was preparing you for something. “Wanted me to watch you bounce that tight little cunt on me while your tits were like this,” he says, punctuating his statement with a light slap against the side of one breast. It makes you jump, a moan catching in your throat.

The finger that had been playing meanly along your wet folds eases itself past your lips, plunges head first into the aching heat inside of you. He works it against your walls, thumb over your clit as he curls his finger inside of you. You moan loudly, shaking in your restraints. The hand over your chest squeezes, pushes the clamp deeper against your breast until your entire body is short-circuiting.

Your first orgasm comes over you with all the grace of a lightning bolt; it’s sudden and jerky, has every nerve ending wildly spasming as you whimper his name. “No more, no more,” you beg, head lolling back against his shoulder. He shows you no mercy, simply rubs furiously over your clit, until you’re jerking into his maniac hand.

When it’s over, he places a kiss against your jaw, curling his finger inside once more “Play with yourself,” he whispers.

“H-Huh?” you stutter, the rattle of your cuffs loud in both your ears, but not as loud as the breath you were trying to catch post-orgasm. You wonder if maybe he got ahead of himself again—he occasionally did that, thinking ahead to a point you hadn’t reached in your normal progression of sex —but suddenly he’s shoving you back down again, the finger that was slowly driving you insane rudely exiting your cunt.

You flop down against the mattress with a squeal, wiggling around like you actually had a chance of doing anything with him watching you like he is. You struggle for a few beats, every shift against the mattress rubbing harshly against your breasts until you nearly want to cry.

Just as you reach that point, he’s rolling you into your back, hands uncomfortably bent beneath you. It leaves you unwillingly arching to accommodate them, tits practically presented for him to see. “Pretty girl,” Jungkook groans, reaching down for the first time that day to touch himself.

His self restraint was truly unmatched, you realize, watching him squeeze the base of his cock. He runs a palm over his abdomen, up his chest. He drags the material of his hoodie along with it, eventually shucking it off somewhere to the side. His hair, so fluffy and soft, flops over his forehead, a few defined strands tickling his eyebrow.

The mere sight of him alone made you shiver, pussy clenching at the wet dream before you. He’s not an idiot either, obviously aware of what the sight of his body does to you, the tattoos littering his entire right arm that hypnotize you. The faint glow of the TV screen against his side makes him look like the cover star of every middle-aged wife’s erotic romance novel. He reaches said arm down, runs a hand along your thigh until you’re spreading them wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you like you want, only slides over your body until he’s toying with the chain of the nipple clamps that were slowly becoming the bane of your existence. “Open,” he says suddenly, and you do. Your mouth drops open, tongue stuck out slightly even if you don’t know why. He’s ingrained the response into you by now, made you into a desperate slut always ready for anything in your mouth.

This time it’s the stupid, stupid chain connecting your nipple clamps. He tugs it until it’s pulled up, the pull against your nipples making you whimper and writhe. The metal is cool when it touches your lips, but his fingertips are warm. “Good girl,” he praises once you bite down; even this sends a shock of nerves down your spine and to your pussy. “Just like that.”

A muffled whimper escapes your lips, tears clouding your vision at the stimulation that was quickly overwhelming you again. Part of you thinks no more, please, I can’t. But the other has you spreading your legs for him, quivering pussy desperate to be filled.

The distress must be obvious in your face if the way Jungkook kisses your neck is any indication. He’s got one hand massaging against the underside of one breast, like he’s soothing the striking pain of your pinched nipples for you. If anything, it only strings you along more. “Stupid baby,” he chuckles meanly, a soft puff of laughter against your jaw, “thinking she could push me down.”

He leans back onto his knees, that same careful brush against the inside of your thigh bringing about an embarrassing whimper as he peels your thong away. “But you didn’t really want that, did you?” he eggs on, slowly shifting down against the bed, until his mouth is hovering over your exposed lower lips. His breath is warm, makes you yearn for him to be closer. “You like when I shove my cock into your little pussy, right? Like how it feels when I turn you into my little slut like this,” he sighs, pressing one chaste kiss against your thigh that makes you pull at the cuffs behind your back.

Soon, his mouth is on your clit, the same clit he had previously pampered with his hands but chooses to play with again. He licks an obscenely wet stripe from your throbbing hole to your clit, tongue curling devilishly towards the end. You whimper, though the sound is distorted around the chain in your mouth. Jungkook groans, dives mouth first into your cunt until he’s suffocating himself. His cute nose is pressed against your clit, and he takes advantage of the fact by taking one, dramatic sniff with his eyes rolled back. A soft moan escapes him.

“Fuck,” he shudders, “smell like heaven for me.” You moan at his sweet words, eyes squeezed shut as if that’ll stop the buckets of overwhelmed tears that you’ve been fighting off since the moment the clamps came on. “Wanna give you the world, angel,” he breathes, licking languidly against your folds, tongue occasionally peeking inside.

You mewl and writhe, every movement sending a tug of pain over your nipples. You want that gorgeous cock deep in your cunt, want to feel him in your womb, but you can’t voice any of this with the chain of the clamps between your lips.

Jungkook sits up suddenly, and you’re thinking yes, finally, before the look on his face has you screeching to a halt. There’s something distinctly different about him, a look you don’t think you’ve ever seen in bed before. Your thoughts are only confirmed when his foot slides onto the floor, as if he’s about to leave.

The panic must be evident on your face, because Jungkook is quick to swoop in and reassure you he’s not done with you yet. “Wanna fuck your little pussy,” he admits, carding a hand through your hair. “But the truth is I don’t think you deserve that just yet.”

With that he slinks off the bed, leaving you writhing in confusion as he heads off for the closet behind you. You can’t see what he’s doing, can only hear the shuffling of something back and forth. The TV is still on, the loud cheering of the fans muffling his clattering. You’re suddenly reminded of his swollen ankle, craning your neck to tell him to not overdo it, when something dark covers your eyes.

He’s standing just beside the edge of the bed, his signature teddy bear heat emanating off in waves so thick you could touch them. “Do you trust me?” he murmurs, voice close but not close to your ear.

Something swells in your chest, an emotion so intense your entire pelvis tightens up at the realization that Jungkook was asking for permission to blindfold you. You’re almost certain it’s one of his ties, a silky black thing that covers your vision for the most part, save for a little crack by where your nose juts out. A shuffle to your side, and then he’s gently prying the chain he had pushed past your lips earlier out. “Need an answer, ___,” he says quietly, almost nervously.

“Yes,” you gasp, your entire body set aflame at the sudden turn of events.

If you were being honest you would have never predicted your night would end like this. Maybe you came in a little too cocky, a little too optimistic for the night. It was supposed to be Jungkook handcuffed and powerless, you remind yourself— how on earth did you get here?

“Good girl,” he praises, giving you a little encouraging nudge to raise your head for him to actually tie the knot behind your head. It’s definitely one of his suit ties, you realize, because there’s a distinct cross-stitch pattern that you can feel only when it’s tightened against your skin, pressing against your fluttering eyelids. When he releases you, you’re suddenly all too aware of the sense he’s deprived you of.

“K-Kook?” you call out with a tremble in your voice. The rhythmic pattern of his footsteps rounds the bed again, and then there’s a soft touch against your leg.

“Right here, sweet girl,” he reassures you. The bed dips by your legs as he closes in on you, still tied up and on the verge of a second orgasm that he snatched away before your very eyes; not that you can see it anymore. His hand slides over your stomach, tugs playfully at the clamps. You moan, the sensation magnified tenfold by the fact you can’t see nor anticipate his actions now.

His hands glide like two sailing boats over the broad expanse of sea that is your body, molding against your curves like waves as they go. He hums appreciatively, and you find yourself glad you can’t see him. You can’t possibly imagine with what eyes he’s looking at you now.

You bask in the glory of his attention for another beat before he retracts his touch.

And then, suddenly, something distinctly not hand-like, and weirdly soft traces over the inside of your thighs. “Kook?” you ask tentatively.

No response.

It runs over your skin in the same way his hands just did, a unique shape your brain scrambles to put a name too. It’s soft, so soft. But cold to the touch. Inanimate for sure. It’s a toy, your brain supplies belatedly, but that much you already know.

It’s heart-shaped, you realize, just as it thwacks down against your pussy.

You shriek at the suddenness of it all, thighs clamping shut. Your heart is thundering at a pace of a rabbit’s, chest rising and falling as you blindly piece together what just happened. “Kook?” you whimper a second time, head craning back and forth in a desperate attempt to track his next move.

He’s not touching you anymore, but the bed is still dipping by your feet, so you deduce he must be there. You test your theory by sliding your foot against the sheets, lower lip trembling at the idea of him not being there.

Jungkook catches your ankle with one warm palm, slightly calloused from years of weightlifting. He raises it up, the cold air of his room hitting your exposed pussy. “You liked it,” he says, not a question but an observation. Your pussy throbs, the phantom strike against it lingering. A kiss to your ankle.

“Wh-What is it?” you cry, unconsciously pressing your leg closer to him now that you have his location. (You don’t see the soft smile on his face at your action.) Ever so slowly you let your thighs open again, now anticipating the next touch of that thing— that riding crop, you realize.

Jungkook confirms. “It’s a riding crop,” he explains, excitement curling around his words. Suddenly, it returns, this time against your stomach. He doesn’t strike you like he did before, simply lets it run across your tummy. “Heart-shaped. It’s so pretty,” he sighs dreamily. “Reminds me of you.”

You nod anxiously, stomach muscles tensed the longer it stays there. Jungkook obviously sees this, lifting it to give you the lightest of taps that still manages to make you gasp. “Cute,” he laughs, trailing it back to where it first touched down.

“Oh,” you tremble, thighs twitching as it pats tenderly over your clit. “Wai-Wait,” you warn, body arching as he runs it down, down your swollen folds. “No,” you weep, going to close your legs. But Jungkook predicts your moves, pressing your thigh down harshly against the bed.

“Shh,” he soothes, tracing the heart down your folds, pressing it flat against you. There’s a distinct lining over it that makes your hips jump, a faux-velvet covering the tip that tickles your skin. “Sit still for me.”

“No!” you gasp. Your back arches, body betraying you as it pushes your pussy against the toy. “I can’t, I can’t, Kook,” you sob, lips contracting around the gaping nothingness in your hole.

He condemns your attitude with a harsh swat of the riding crop against your cunt, tearing another high-pitched squeal from your lips. It’s followed by another against your clit that makes your body spasm. “Bad,” he chides. “Supposed to be my perfect girl.”

“I c-can’t,” you whine, the darkness over your eyes making the sensations ten times more intense. You don’t know where he or the riding crop are if they’re not directly touching you. Even then, the image is fuzzy in your head. “Need you,” you pant.

You try to reach for him, try to pull him into your arms. But you’re reminded of the cuffs holding you back, the metal digging into your skin behind you. You sob at the realization, angrily shaking your hands back and forth like maybe acting like a tantrum-throwing child will save you. It doesn’t.

Instead there’s a tug at the chain resting on your stomach, one that makes you cry out in pain when it pulls at your terribly sensitive nipples again. Jungkook uses it to pull you close, just a small inch off the bed that has you gasping for breath nonetheless.

“N-No,” you wail, nipples throbbing from all the sensations you’ve put them through tonight.

A chaste peck against your trembling lips. “Tell me how it feels,” he purrs, nose brushing against yours. Even with the tie obstructing your vision, the latest version of your boyfriend burns itself into your eyelids, force feeding you his sweaty skin and damp hair until even his breath against your face is enough to bring you to the edge.

“I-It’s scary, Kook,” you sniffle, listening for any signs of a reaction. But even if he did show one, your breathing is too loud and the ESPN channel is still blaring on screen. “Scary,” you whimper, lunging forward in a desperate move to feel the familiar brush of his tongue against yours. You miss.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks carefully, like he’s afraid he’s pushed too far.

He has. But fuck, do you love it.

“No,” you wail, lips smushed somewhere along his cheek, near his jaw and not his mouth like you wanted to. “Feels good, feels so fucking amazing,” you babble, cut off halfway through by a hiccup from your sad cries. “Wanna cum, wanna cum for you like this.”

Jungkook chuckles in relief, tilting his head until you can catch his lips with yours. It’s probably an awkward angle you assume, him adjusting for your vision-less whims, but it feels so good. It sends a shock to your pussy, his plush lips against yours. Without him telling you, you’re opening your mouth for him. “Spit on me,” you beg pitifully.

Jungkook groans, and you can almost visualize the look on his face perfectly— the tensing of his jaw, the push of his Adam’s apple, the pucker of his lips. “God, you’re disgusting,” he sighs, a fat glob of spit hitting the back of your tongue. Without your vision, you don’t see it coming, recoiling with a whiny mewl. The thin trail of saliva that follows trails across your chin when he finally reels back. You swallow greedily, wondering how soon is too soon to ask him to do it again.

With your full permission to move forward, Jungkook wastes no time trailing the riding crop over your wet folds, collecting your oozing pre-cum on the tiny heart as he roves it over your cunt. “Fuck, you can probably cum like this too, can’t you?”

You can’t answer, too caught up in the featherlight brushes. Even if you wanted to say something, one sudden strike against your pussy renders you speechless. “Mmh!” you hiss, biting down on your lip.

“Come on,” Jungkook encourages, resting a hand on your thigh. He presses the crop against you again, pushes down until the flat apex of the heart where it meets the flexible stem of the toy is pressing against your cunt hotly. He grinds it down against you, takes a sick pleasure in the pathetic way you arch up into it, rut against the little heart like it can provide even half the pleasure his hands usually would. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your body is on fire, every nerve, every sensation shooting straight to your most erogenous areas— your cunt and your nipples. Talking seems like the farthest thing from your mind right now, too caught up in the way he roughly pushes the crop against your clit. A whimper rips itself from your throat, shuddering at the sensation. Unconsciously you jerk away from him, only to be scolded with another thwack against your quivering pussy lips. “A-Ahh,” you wail, squirming beneath him like a worm that can’t sit still. “Good— it feels good, Jungkookie,” you weep.

The soft mushy pet name has him raining down two snacks against you in quick succession. “No baby names,” he warns, frown evident in his voice.

Even with you completely under him like this, shackled and blinded with your love, something unmistakably childish and obnoxious curls around your throat, has you biting down on a grin as the coil in your stomach tightens. “D-Don’t like that, Jungkookie,” you choke out hoarsely, wildly bold for someone in your position. “D-Don't like being m-my baby?”

The crop loses its position over your folds, and for a minute you’re left anxiously anticipating its next touch.

It’s on the side of your breast, harder than the rest, combining with the already powerful pinch of the clamps. It makes you cry out painfully, stomach tightening at what is probably the most unexpected orgasm you’ve ever had. It isn’t like your usual ones that overpower you and make cum trickle out between your folds.

No, it comes in waves— literally. Your pussy spasms, pushes one splurt of cum out between your thighs, almost likes your lower lips are spitting it out. And then again, more the second time, against his mattress. He pushes your legs up to your chest to marvel at the cum coating your lips and thighs. “You’re my baby, stupid,” he hisses. He grabs at your clamps then, twisting the little chain in his hand harshly. You sob at the yank, at the way your nipples feel two seconds away from being ripped off. But you can’t even complain, because the sudden touch has your pussy clenching, before a final trickle of cum oozes out of you.

Even still, your mind babbles on. “N-No,” you choke, shaking back and forth. Despite the tie covering your eyes, they flicker like a mad man beneath it, like you’ll somehow get lucky and develop Seeing Through Fabric Ability if you try hard enough. “My, my baby,” you fight weakly, pelvis trembling from aftershocks of that orgasm. “My idiot b-boy,” you smile dazedly, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sting you’ve become familiar with by now. “T-Tell me, Jungkookie,” you croon, biting down on your lip to keep a moan from spilling out mid-syllable. “Still the same, r-right?” you stutter, “still think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

He scoffs. “No,” he vehemently denies, brashly landing an unexpected smack against your hip, no warning in sight. “That’s not true,” he defends. You can hear his pout, the little push of his lips when he grows defensive.

You laugh, every bit the insane lunatic, fueled by your two orgasms and slipping sense of reality. “Ffffuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into nothing. “S-Say it again, baby,” you plead, tongue licking across your lips. “Tell me, tell me you don’t care about my problems, Kook-ah,” you whimper.

There’s a hesitant pause on his end, an unexpected lull in your play as he’s torn apart between doing what you want or playing it safe.

You know you’re confusing him, because you’re certainly confusing yourself. You don’t even bother trying to dissect your emotions— you’ve long since accepted your mind was a dangerous place when horny and presented with Jungkook’s sole attention. Well, you knew you were into the whole degradation bit, but this whole having-your-boyfriend-throw-the-words-that-made-you-question-your-entire-worth bit was certainly new and unexpected.

But there’s something in your heart (and in your libido) that needs this, needs him to fix this memory for you that maybe, kinda sorta, has haunted you for days, weeks now, as much as you hate to admit it. Needed him to fix the booboo he gave you with a bandaid, only leave a scar you could look back at and laugh off, not a gaping wound that opened at the slightest mention of it. Because while you forgave, you certainly never forgot*.

(*Unless forgetting meant having your boyfriend overwrite said memory that couldn’t be forgotten with the sheer power of his monster demon cock and wicked tongue. Only then could you forget.)

“Don’t be a fucking pussy, Jungkook,” you spit, feeling the hesitancy in the riding crop that brushes against your skin. It fades away quickly. “S-Say I’ve a dead-end office job; just holding you back,” you beg, trying to pretend the entirety of his little outburst hasn’t been ingrained into your mind for the last couple of weeks. Something flashes in your chest, throat closing off when the toy finally leaves your skin. “Tell me, tell me—“

He looms over you, teddy bear warmth covering the entirety of your body. “Is this what you want?” he asks seriously, lowly, breath fanning across your lips. Your makeshift blindfold feels distinctly damp over your eyes, chest heaving with an exertion that can only be emotional when he speaks so softly to you after routinely raining down brutal thwacks on you for the past half hour. “__,” he says sternly, “is this what you want?”

You gasp on a sob, unsure when these emotions had time to manifest outside your heart like this. You nod your head like a bobble head doll sitting on someone’s dashboard, lower lip trembling on a shameful cry that is not sex-induced like all the other ones until now. “I-I need this, Jungkook,” you admit, voice so tiny and soft, it almost gets drowned out by your shaky exhales and the crowd roaring on screen. “Need to overwrite it.”

He presses a soft kiss to your quivering lips, slow and so devastatingly loving. It’s nothing like the one from before where he’d spit down your throat per your request, and the unbridled adoration he packs into one simple kiss makes you crumble in his arms, sniffles piling on by the dozens.

He leans back after a moment, pulls your thigh over his forearm and finally lets you feel the hard ridges of his cock against your folds. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, trying to sound angry and annoyed, but there’s a lilting tone to his words, a love and trust you wouldn’t have been able to see with or without your blindfold, but can feel nonetheless. He pulls it off you anyway, the warm glow of the TV illuminating his face for you for the first time in about half an hour. Eyes soft, sweat trailing down his body. His body lines up against yours, but so does his heart. You feel it in the way he holds you in his arms, the way he’s careful about sinking into your folds. He slips an arm beneath your waist, uses it to hold you up so you’re not uncomfortably squishing your arms anymore. But if you ask, he’ll pretend he’s doing this for convenience sake only.

“T-Terrible fucking job,” he starts out, the stammer eluding the obvious discomfort he has saying those words, but he does it for you anyway. “Big fucking baby,” he tries again, slowly pushing past your tight walls with a shudder. “C-Can’t look away from you for two seconds because you’re such a fucking kid.”

“Worse,” you choke out. “Meaner. Please, Kook.”

He nods, holds your waist carefully when he finally bottoms out inside of you. “Dead-end office job,” he says, repeating the words that had made you want to crawl into a whole and never come out from. “Got some stupid fucking problems,” he tacks on, slowly withdrawing his hips from your heat. “Always complaining about the stupidest shit,” he hisses, fingers digging into your waist when it’s only the tip of his cock inside of you. “I don’t fucking care about it,” he seethes, forcefully snapping his hips into you.

They’re scrambled fragments of what he’d really said to you that night. Line after line that don’t carry a quarter of hurt or even make coherent sense for that matter. And still.

You whimper, mind fuzzy from the thrusting pace he picks up, body fluttering at the glide of his cock against your walls. But your heart is thundering in your throat, his willingness to help fix this memory for you tightening around your every being until you can’t breathe. “I-I love you,” you cry, clenching down around him.

Jungkook groans, pulls you flush against his cock until the thin hairs around the base of his cock are tickling your skin. “Stupid, fucking child,” he groans, “immature ass nobody,” he grunts, bucking into you like your words don’t mean a thing.

“I am, I am,” you wail, suddenly hit with the cold hard truth that your body was desperately on edge. From the stimulation your nipples had gotten all night, to the ghost of the riding crop that lingered across your skin; your body was tired, so ready for a final orgasm that you’re certain Jungkook will provide. “T-Tell me y-you—“

“Shut up,” he barks, sweaty skin gliding against yours. “D-Don't tell me what to do,” he huffs, nailing you into the bed. He’s pushing you hard into the mattress, like he wants to brand you into it. “Need to fix this— alone.”

You nod numbly, the crowd behind him cheering loudly. It’s like they’re rooting for him— for the two of you —as silly as it sounds, and as bothersome as it would be any other day, today the obnoxious sounds of the ESPN soccer match only serve to fix a bad memory from before. It’s loud and cringey as all hell, but you’ll look back to this moment and laugh.

And that’s what you want most of all. You want that memory from before, that nasty fight, to go away, to disappear forever and be replaced with this one. Of him, pounding you into the sheets as his TV blares beside you, just another day, another round of sex filled with your usual kinks. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Ffffuck,” you whine when the tip of his hard cock prods against your cervix. He’s going deep, he’s going all out, because he wants to fix this too. Wants to do anything to make it right, and he’ll never know how much you appreciate him for it. “S-So deep,” you whimper, hips jumping when he rams back inside.

“Stupid slut,” Jungkook snarls, tucking his head against your neck the same way he always does. “Making me do stupid shit like this,” he bites, but you know he doesn’t mean it, know he never will again. He rocks his hips into you, no longer concerned with holding you up from uncomfortably laying on your cuffed arms anymore as he pistons into your squelching heat. He’s pressed so close over you, lips brushing against your collarbone with each snap of his hips.

All the pushing and jostling about has the chain of your clamps wildly jumping about, sprawling across the planes of your chest, above your breasts, where he snatches it up between his lips again. “Stupid, fucking—“ he slurs, jutting his head to the side like a wild stallion. You sob at the tenderness of your nipples, at the way he pays them no mercy as he continues rutting into you like a mad dog in heat. “Slut,” he spits. “S-So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your mind is in another universe, and when that last word, that devastatingly familiar term, slips from his lips mindlessly, something inside you snaps. “N-No,” you sob, legs fidgeting around his waist at the orgasm that wracks through your body against your will. “No,” you cry in frustration, “didn’t, didn’t want—“

“Stupid, stupid angel,” he babbles, seemingly unaware of your orgasm as he continues fucking into your leaking cunt, ignorant of the cum that dribbles out, creams his cock as he carries on. “Fuck,” he pants, gnaws against the chain of the stupid clamps like he can’t bare this any longer. “Love you,” he says, though he’s still stuck in that mindset from before and his sweet confession sounds more like a threat. “L-Love that childish side of you,” he confesses, finally dropping the chain— much to your relief —and surging forward to kiss you on the mouth. He tastes weirdly metallic, a thought you can’t ponder too long as he continues ramming himself past your clenched lips and into your pussy. “Your fffucking dr-drive to succeed,” he grunts, mouth smushed uncomfortably against your cheek.

“Kook, sweetheart,” you shudder, sensitive pussy spent as he drills on. His cock is still so achingly hard, and he doesn’t seem anywhere near completion. “Take it easy,” you gently remind him, can’t brush your fingers through his hair like you usually would, so you settle for pressing your lips to his cheek.

“Fuck, fuck,” he heaves, pushing so deep you practically feel him in your womb, swollen mushroom head begging for entry. “Give me it all,” he stammers, “want you—want this forever.”

“I know you do, baby,” you coo, nuzzling your nose against his when he sloppily surges forward, panting and gasping over you like a crazed caveman. “I’m yours,” you gently remind him.

“No,” he chokes out hoarsely, eyes screwed shut. “Need more, all of it,” he mumbles. “Give me yourself, ___, need you for the rest of my life—“ he cuts himself off with a shuddered whine, so airy and wispy it makes you shiver. “Ffffuck, shit,” he howls, each thrust into your walls only unraveling him more and more. “Give me, give me—“

“Anything,” you whimper, body trembling from his excessivity. “What do you want, Kook-ah?”

He says nothing, losing himself in the warmth of your pussy as his orgasm rounds the corner. He’s in the final stretch, the final straight until achieving nirvana alongside you at the finish line. And, as you’ve long since come to understand, a true Jungkook Danger Zone. He loses all sense of self, random syllables and phrases slipping through his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, marry me— marry me,” he moans, snapping his hips into you with a ferocious speed that has you bouncing against the sheets, and that’s despite the tight grip his has on you. “Let me— fuck— let me fuck a baby into you, sweetheart,” he purrs, eyes shining like an absolute psycho, but you’re apparently into that because the idea squeezes around your chest and burrows it’s way in. “A baby,” he marvels like an idiot, eyes big and sparkly, “f-fuck.”

“Wh-What?” you choke, flinching when he bites down against your lower lip. He’s got you trapped beneath him, stuffing your brain with these ideas that make your heart enter cardiac arrest, body tingling like in Mario Kart when you’ve got the star power up. “Kook—“

“Sh,” he groans, digging his fingers into your sides as he rolls his hips against you. “Almost,” he informs you, but the blood rushes to your ears. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, jaw clenching, “oh, baby.”

Jungkook cums with a shivered cry, body hunching over you like some entity has just exited out of his spine. Maybe something did, because afterwards he manages to hold himself above you for exactly three seconds before dropping the entirety of his hefty muscles onto you. “Ouch,” you whine, wrists twisted uncomfortably beneath you.

“Sorry,” he huffs, completely out of breath and dazed as he rolls away from you. He ends up spread out like a starfish beside you, completely fucked out and definitely zooming through the fifth, sixth, and seventh dimensions.

He doesn’t say anything for a hot minute, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon, until you butt in. “Kook. Undo me,” you remind him.

He looks over at you, dark hair falling over his eyes and sprawling around his head like a halo. Oh, he was going to be the death of you. “Oh,” he says, like his brain has just processed the information. “Right.” He sits up, tucking himself back into the shorts he never fully took off. That was his character flaw; never bothers to get completely naked during sex. Anyway, his straight male-equivalent of booty shorts come up around his thighs again, stretching sinfully across the thick muscles.

The five sonnet poem that was gearing up in your head comes to a halt when he touches your breast. “No, no more,” you cry, instinctively withering away.

Jungkook snorts. “I’m just taking them off, baby,” he says, reaching forward again with the same practiced ease you’d use on an animal. The clamps come off, all the nerves suddenly coming back to life. It’s a weird sensation, not having your tits subject to that prickling pain anymore, and it makes you moan softly. Jungkook soothes you with his wannabe masseuse hands, but you think it’s just an excuse for him to fondle your breasts.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks gently, hovering over you like a damned surgeon or something. His voice is so silky and smooth, hands soft against your chest. He’s so careful in the way he turns you over, somehow magically producing the tiny key pick you swore was lost between the sheets after its first use.

Being on your chest makes you tremble like a leaf, the faintest brush of the cotton against your tits enough to make your pussy clench weakly. “ I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, carefully detailing his actions like you’re not watching him with your very own eyes. But it’s oddly comforting, having him walk you through the process of rolling your sore wrists. The inside of the cuffs had a plush lining, but it was a pretty cheap thing. After he’s done massaging the skin, he pads over to his dresser and returns with a shirt and undies for you. “Shirt,” he says, helping you into the clothing.

When you’re all snuggled under the sheets again, the television still loud as hell, he mumbles, “wanna talk about it?”

You exhale against his chest, feeling so light and fluttery from your orgasms and the way he runs his fingers through your scalp and the way his heart thunders by your ear. “Hm,” you hum pensively. “Nah. Think I’m fine now,” you admit.

Jungkook chuckles. “A full miracle recovery?” he teases. You nod, taking in the comforting scent of his fabric softener and just him in his entirety.

“Yep.” A beat of silence, the commentator is back to filling the space between you two. He talks about a mile minute, spewing stats and plays you could never understand in a thousand years. But you know Jungkook will get sucked in soon enough, so you strike while the pot is hot. “Do you wanna talk?”

He cranes his neck a little to look at you. “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up to look at him straight on. “Oh, my mistake,” you drawl. “I seem to have missed the part where we were going to act like you didn’t just ask for my hand in marriage and then offered to get me pregnant—,” you pause, the realization suddenly hitting you like a trash can whipping down a hill on a rainy day at a thousand miles per hour. “Pregnant!” you exclaim, cheeks warm at the fact he really just said that to you.

Jungkook’s cheeks fare no better, a Flaming Hot Cheeto shade dusting his skin. “I, it was just…” he tries, poor tiny monkey brain working overtime to offer an excuse. “It-it doesn’t have to be a thing,” he blushes, big Bambi eyes flickering from you to the television to the heart-tipped riding crop by the foot of the bed. “I was just…”

You raise your brows. “Consumed by the spirit of King Henry IV to have fourteen kids?”

He blinks. “Wait, you actually paid attention to that film?”

“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, shifting onto your knees in front of him. “What,” you inhale sharply, heart beating wildly in your chest, “what was that?”

Jungkook can only play the shocked angel card for so long before he’s sinking back into his pillow stack with the sigh of a man who’s worked in construction for the last sixty-four years. “I just,” he mumbles, “I think about it sometimes.” His admission makes your heart lodge itself into your throat, wide eyes watching him spill out his heart to you.

He misreads the expression on your face. “I-Not now!” he hurries to explain. “Like,” he stammers, rosy hue slowly crawling down his neck, over his ears. “Maybe, y’know? In the future…”

You blink, brain reduced to a series of beeps and clicks like that of an old computer trying to compute information that is simply not processing. “Yeah…” you murmur, unsure of what to do with the film reel that suddenly flashes before your eyes, a look into a doorway you had never considered before. “I— me too.”

Jungkook chokes on his own saliva. “Really?” he yelps, has those sparkly anime girl eyes you always tease him about.

The gulp you do sounds loud in your ears. “Yeah,” you breathe, throat drier than the desert, but more confident than the first peabrain response. “I-I’d like that.”

There’s a bright beam of light that shines right in your face, so vibrant and dazzling it makes you flinch and by the time you’ve recovered you realize it’s his smile. “Yeah?” Jungkook mumbles back, pearly teeth framed by his pretty smile, brows raised at your stuttery confirmation. You nod. His lips twist into a smaller grin, a condensed version of the superstar one he gave you just moments before. Before you can brush it off with a joke, he’s snatching your hand up in his, a soft smooch pressed to your knuckles. “Okay,” he says quietly, dark eyes meeting yours. “One day?”

Your heart constricts in your chest, and all you can do is nod. “One da—“

“Goooooaaaaallllll!” the announcer on screen shrieks, the loud sounds of the TV killing your mood instantly.

Any dumbstruck, love struck, idiotic, ditzy expression on your face is wiped clean, replaced with an unimpressed glare you narrow on him. His nose is scrunched up like he wants to laugh, lips pressed into a thin line at your annoyance. He swipes the TV remote off the side table, arms spread open for you to crawl back into. You do so with a huff, pout smushed against the front of his hoodie.

“That’s enough ESPN for today,” he chuckles, switching the channel about a thousand times until Rick and Morty is playing on screen. “I’ll just watch the highlights later.”

“ESPN,” you scoff like an evil villain in a movie who’s just been presented with their mortal enemy, fisting the front of his hoodie.

Jungkook nods. “ESPN,” he repeats. A beat passes. “Kinda like BDS—“

“Go get your ice pack.”

epilogue

Because Jungkook couldn’t sit still for that one eventful night following his ladder injury, he ends up in a medical boot for one week, loudly clunking around the place like a reverse pirate. You snap a picture of him that you post on Twitter for your twelve followers to see, just him pouting at the doctor’s office with his new boot and club jersey on to celebrate last night’s victory.

It’s just a cute pic for you and your friends to laugh at.

Until it’s not, and his handsome face is circulating around the entire internet.

He’s being called the Face of FC Seoul, with desperate women messaging you left and right for his information. Other fans are bragging about the beauty that is an FC Seoul fanboy. It gets to the point where his face appears on the next night’s ESPN Nightly Recap, a special on social media stars posting about the game. Except Jungkook is neither a social media star nor did he even post about the game— you did.

But there he is, all five feet and ten inches of him smiling brightly at you from the ESPN Sports channel, wearing the boot he got from hand cuffing and whipping you to completion.

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

2K notes · View notes

wormstar · 3 years

Note

i was going thru ur blog and u have good posts about ableist aus and i was wondering - what if in the aus the requirements for warriors were different? Like instead of having to fight jay only hunts? Would the muddling of roles still be ableist? In a Tree-like situation?If its not presented in a "work super hard to get what you want" and more in a "yeah they can decide what he wants to do". This is mostly for jay (and cinder) specifically because they had desires to be warriors yet were forced to be medicine cats because of ableism (ig this can apply to briar but i just truly cant remember oots that well and i havent read her death). I am asking because i am still trying to unlearn the ableist mindset that i grew up with. Feel free to ignore this ask and thnx!

hey yeah thank you for asking! took the opportunity to write up more general thoughts on rewrites as a whole and i went over why exactly theyre ableist hopefully that provides a better perspective

i think the major thing to keep in mind is that the structure of the clans is very abled centric and overly ignorant of inner community work (for example dens are only solidified or altered when either the area takes damage/the clans grows wrt population) theres a fixation on marking territory and starting fights and whatever with other clans which is whats expected of most warriors to partake in. to fix those implications in any fanwork youve really gotta knead into them and understand the nature of their ableism....its not just a problem with cats being barred from being warriors its the whole occupation and the standard its held to, so to speak (+ that fits into general clan society being flawed but eh thats another thing and also its easy to branch out into thought about)

going to stress other disabled people might have other solutions to how disabled cats are received this is just how i like to think of things

first i think its kind of interesting to examine discrepancies between disabled cats in canon as somewhat of an indicator of clan attitudes and leaders and whatnot. like i think you could get something interesting by regarding lets say deadfoot in windclan and cinderpelt in thunderclan who both have bad legs yet had different experiences with them in clan life. if you wanna go a step further comparing generations like lilywhisker and deadfoot or cinderpelt and jayfeather (+ the consideration of how congenital disabilities are regarded) can also make things interesting and just give you an idea of what to do. having the clan systems stray from a clear-cut common attitude both gives you more freedom for different approaches + adds to worldbuilding anyway. imo boiling down clan society to perfect utopia just gets boring but you can have imperfections in the system that depict the disabled experience just fine. just be careful with them and the way they come across yeah?

(real quick as an in between. god just dont refer to cats/their injuries as crippled. it still happens somehow)

im a little ambivalent on the idea of creating a ‘special role’ for disabled cats to be thrown into. cause then thats a repeat of canon medicine den really. its like ‘oh youre disabled youre instantly discarded into the x role pit’ i think just adding substantial in-universe changes to the warrior rank itself (vagueness is fun actually) or expanding on ‘warrior types’ rectifies the othering angle. ‘othering’ as a whole is just as bad as the ‘exception’ archetype people run for most warrior aus i want to state that clearly. effectively if youre gonna introduce roles that dont depend on fighting or hunting or both make sure theres abled cats who have them too. like say you want a camp-based role where a cats job is to fix dens or one where they help in the nursery, its far easier for a cat who cant run to manage those but also have some cats who are physically capable of doing other ‘tasks’ do the same thing for personal reasons

the tree comparison is interesting honestly cause i guess you could just give a cat a particular thing to do as a nonfixed position. and roles accordingly being made for a cat to fill until they cant and the positions done away with afterward. but youve gotta do it carefully so you dont fall into othering as ive said. id avoid something like that personally i just dont like the quality of ‘well theyre not a warrior (the most noble/useful concept in cat society) theyre actually some other thing’

in general giving disabled cats agency and choice is the best thing you can do. whether this means them deciding on tasks they can do themselves or picking a certain kind of warrior to be or asking for an assistant to help them out when they do stuff. the way you wanna pull it off again depends on my first question of “how does the relevant part of your warrior cat world treat disabled cats already”

very important point, the majority of the ableism also comes in the form of character narratives and not just the structure of the world itself. like think for a bit why the writers decided jayfeather shouldve been forced to be a medic or why briarlight got killed off early etc etc. characters ‘wanting’ to be like the abled ideal and still being bitter about not fulfilling that years down the line are just part of the ableist storylines. if youre abled id literally say just do away with those sadstuck ‘i wanted to be a warrior!’ moments. if you really want to id say pull a cinderpelt or a shadowsight where a cats time in the medicine den started their fascination with medicine and they switched to that path due to personal intrigue. id say a more interesting and realistic angle to it is having a disabled cat who found fulfilment in doing something else besides being a warrior becoming bitter about their entire clan ‘mourning’ how theyll never fight again or giving them the pretence of being a warrior being the best thing you can do.... it depends on the character really

this is just a very basic disability thing but stray from the whole ‘useless/dead weight’ way of regarding disabled characters. like dont place their worth on how well they service a clan or not theyre still deserving of shelter and whatnot. you dont need to justify a cats existence or usefulness by going ‘well they may be blind but their sense of smell is excellent so we keep them around’ or whatever its just no good

last thing i can think of is like. dont disregard how a cats disability affects them. like its fine that briarlight cant fight (or even hunt major types of prey) she doesnt need some convoluted method that lets her do that. there are like a dozen other warriors hunting and fighting and theres present value and enjoyment in the stuff she does around camp. she doesnt have to be brightheart 2 its ok

#hopefully this makes sense im tired of reading it over and over again #rambling

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brandywine-tomatoes · 3 years

Note

Hello! I was wondering if you could write a fluffy Lydia x reader where the reader is really bad at flirting, but absolutely loves being flirted with, as well as cuddling and being cuddled! Y’know, the usual fluff stuff. ❤️❤️❤️ Love ur aesthetics btw!

Natural Beauty

Masterlist

1 634 words

tw: none, just a bit of fluff in hallways at lunch

a/n: ahhhh!! Thank you so much for the request! I’m sorry it took this long, chemistry is taking up a lot of my time. I hope this is alright!! (and thank you for being my first request 💕)

“You need to learn how to repress your feelings better, it’s incredibly obvious,” your friend Anya said out of the blue from the desk beside you.

You whipped your head around. “What? What’s obvious?”

“You like her, plain as day, you’ve been staring at her for weeks. She’s your best friend, just tell her,” she went back to writing whatever was written on the chalkboard.

“I do not!” Your voice rose an octave. “She’s just that, a friend.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” she smirked at you.

You hadn’t been staring at her, just... admiring her. She was a work of the best artist, her smile perfect and lifted the clouds from your mind, how could anyone not admire her? But this was different. She was your closest friend, and you were her first friend at school, though that had been a different time. You both were young and innocent, now you were a year away from graduating and everything seemed to become more free-flowing and fast-paced. But Lydia was always there, she was the constant throughout all of it, who helped you when no one else could. She laughed at your terrible puns and stayed late on the phone to help you stop crying. She’d trusted you enough that she even invited you to meet her dad and stepmother and told you ghost stories until you drifted off to sleep beside her.

“You’re staring again,” Anya mumbled.

“I’m never sitting next to you again,” you sarcastically grumbled, trying to catch up on the photography notes.

Lydia sat a couple rows in front of you beside the window, her face always illuminated by the natural light while she furiously scribbled down notes and listened intently. She was incredibly talented; she could be accepted into the best schools for photography and that would be with her ‘worst’ photos. She just loved it so much.

“Okay class,” the teacher started, standing up to pack her bags. “There will be a project due in the next couple of days, very simple and covers what we’ve learned so far. I want you to find a natural beauty and capture it, keeping in mind the composition techniques we’ve learned. This will determine your status in the course.”

As she finished, the irritating bell rang over the intercom, signalling the start of lunch and a bit of freedom.

You and Anya packed your things and left the classroom in a hurry, not wanting to be caught in the stampede of students. You both stood close to the wall, waiting for Lydia.

The highway of students thinned out and only the ones who hung out in the hallways at lunch were occupying it.

“What’s taking her so long, I’ve got food to eat,” Anya asked.

“Dunno, maybe she’s talking with Ms. Wilson?” You shrugged.

“If she doesn’t come out soon, I’m gonna starve to death. I didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, she can’t be much longer,” you reasoned, looping your arm in hers so she wouldn’t abandon you.

“This could be considered hostage-taking,” she retorted.

“This is a sign of friendship.”

She chuckled at that. “You’re so ‘sunshine and rainbows’, maybe Lydia will change that.”

“What am I changing?” Lydia walked out of the classroom with Ms. Wilson behind her, walking in the other direction.

“Apparently I’m too much of a ray of sunshine for little miss ‘I’m a hostage’,” you looped your other arm in hers to her surprise and started walking towards your lockers down the hall.

Lydia held onto your arm, the gesture warming your cheeks a bit. “Oh yeah, 100%, we’ve gotta work towards corrupting you.”

“New project for the spring, corrupt little miss sunshine.” Anya unlopped her arm and went to unlock her locker.

You realized Lydia was still clinging to your arm and your free hand found itself wrapped around hers. Your heart started pounding and you quickly let go to unlock your own locker.

“Any other projects I should be aware of?” You asked jokingly.

Anya gestured to an occupied Lydia opening her locker beside you. “Many in the works.”

You playfully slapped Any’s arm, feeling the heat rising up your neck and locked your locker.

The 3 of you slid down the lockers and started talking about whatever came to mind and shared the food you collectively had. As the minutes ticked away, somehow Lydia’s head ended up in your lap and your hands played with locks of her short black hair while Anya couldn’t stop smiling at the sight.

“So, then I was like ‘he wouldn’t do that! You’ve got be kidding me!’ and they were all ‘nope, he did, he let every bug he could find in into the house’ and then I was like ‘well where is he?’ and they were all-” Lydia went on about her step-uncle, her hands animated in the air for emphasis.

You had a little smile on your face as you looked at her passionately going on about her family. Your back was getting sore from leaning on the locker, but you didn’t dare move.

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N?” Lydia’s voice interrupted your thinking.

“Yeah?”

“You were staring,” Anya almost vibrated off the floor in excitement.

Oh no oh no you thought. Lydia could get the wrong idea... or was it the right idea?

“I wasn’t staring, just thinking,” you defended, Lydia looking up at you with curious eyes, causing more anxiety.

“Anyways,” Lydia thankfully interrupted, seeing you were uncomfortable. “I asked if you had any ghost stories.”

“I mean, I believe in them, sure, but I’ve never met any.”

Lydia’s lips quirked up. “You’ll meet some one day.”

“Is that a promise, Deetz?”

“You betcha babe,” Lydia winked. Anya choked on a french fry and you looked anywhere but Lydia, laughing nervously and your face feeling incredibly hot. You were suddenly very aware of your hands still playing with the locks of her hair and slowly pulled them away reluctantly.

“Aw, you’re blushing! You’re so cute when you blush!” She excitedly said as she sat up, her face inches apart. You swallowed and looked to the ground, to the wall behind her, to your fidgeting hands, anywhere but the gorgeous girl in front of you. You finally turned your gaze to her and saw hers was observing your lips. She looked from your lips to your eyes, then again, and you swore the corners of lips turned up when you let your gaze slide to hers.

The irritating bell rang out, echoing off the walls and made you jump back. Lydia smirked and gathered her things into her bag. You sat there for a moment, stunned and really confused. You thought she was actually going to kiss you, in a school hallway, in front of Anya, around everyone else, against the no PDA rule. You told yourself you didn’t want that to happen as you packed up your things and let Anya help you up who was grinning like an idiot.

Your breath hitched when Lydia looked at your lips, you almost leaned in, you imagined cupping her cheek and holding her closer then would be considered just platonic, you wanted that to happen. But you always felt like that, you always felt your heart pounding when she grabbed your hand to lead you to class and tried to keep your breathing even when she was bumped closer or when she flirted shamelessly with you.

You vaguely remember saying goodbye to a beaming Anya and walking slowly through the crowd to your next class, lost in thought. Well, lost in figuring out what you were going to do about Lydia.

“What’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours, Y/N?” Lydia came up beside you. You snapped out of it and halfheartedly smiled.

“Oh come on, what’s wrong? Was it something I said?” She stepped in front of you, her eyebrows turned down and a worried look in her eyes. The students behind gave you dirty looks as they passed by.

“No, of course not, you didn’t do anything wrong.” You gave her a reassuring smile, though she didn’t look convinced. You put your hands on her shoulders, trying to ignore your rising heartbeat. “If you did anything wrong, I’d tell you.”

She put her hands on top of yours, a relieved smile overtaking her features. “Come on, I’ll walk you to class.”

“Isn’t your class the other way?”

She winked and pulled you forward, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “I can run.”

Her short hair tickled your jaw and you could see her dark purple lipstick shimmer in the fluorescent light. The crowd thinned out as everyone got to their classes, leaving you two walking through the empty halls. You walked to your art history class in a comforting silence, consumed by your own thoughts.

You finally got to the plain entrance of the class and Lydia slid her arm off your shoulder to your dismay. You both faced each other, waiting for the other to say something, a goodbye or a confusion.

“You wanna come over after school? You know, to do the photography assignment?” She asked.

“Uh, sure!” You replied a little too eager. “I don’t really know what to do for it, but I guess I’ll think of something.”

Lydia smirked at you and began walking back down the hallway. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Well, what’s the idea?”

“You.”

She blew a kiss and ran back down the hall, leaving you fumbling and blushing like crazy.

Once your heart slowed down, you smiled to yourself, wondering if the goth girl of Winter River really had a thing for you. Maybe she really did think of you like you thought of her. Maybe you could really be her natural beauty.

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keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

lavender latte: v

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 3 || chapter 4 || chapter 6 ||

word count: ~4k

coming to terms now, are we?

warnings: descriptions of medical settings, discussion of surgery and injury but nothing graphic, god fluff, nasty big fluff

——

wow. halfway through y’all. thank you to each and every ONE of you who have given this story a chance. enjoy some fluff and get ready for next week 👀 once again, beta-ed by the wuv @keiqos !!

||||||||||||||||||

Exhaustion had long since clawed a hole in your skull.

It was one of the many forms of malefactum that came from your fucking quirk, damn it to hell. The days following any sort of intense overstimulation episode of yours were always hellish. Constant fatigue, burning migraines, dry eyes, and confusion always waited for you by the time you rolled out whatever pushed you over the edge.

The villain attack was probably the worst episode you’d had, ever.

The entire trip to the hospital had been sort of a nightmare. There were so many people that needed treatment after the attack, so many of them worse off than yourself. You were lucky enough to get into a dark hospital room fairly quickly, allowing some of your symptoms to dull.

You were just coherent and aware enough to deal with everyone you needed to, paperwork and legalities of your visit sorted. You even managed to send a few texts to your parents and work groupchat to confirm that you were safe.

After a myriad of late-night tests and exams, it was confirmed that the next morning, you’d have a procedure to mend your leg.

...

Fixing the internal damage to your leg caused by the tearing of the glass was a fairly quick affair, according to your kind-smiled surgeon.

“I know it seemed abrupt, to do it so quickly,” The surgeon stuffed her hands in the pocket of her scrubs. “But, we’ve flown in extra medical personnel to help deal with injuries from the attack and well, you’re an easy fix.”

You smiled, the best you could, groggy with the anesthetic, “I’m glad it isn’t too bad.”

“Nope! Not at all,” She laughed, far too pleasant for all the chaos just outside your dimly lit hospital room. “We’ll keep you here tonight, and you should be able to go home tomorrow afternoon. You’ll need to keep weight off of that leg for about three weeks. We’ll have a follow-up appointment then, and make sure you’re healing alright. Sound good?”

You nodded, some tension releasing from your chest.

The procedure left you with a heavy plastic boot, clasped up to your knee. Not to mention your body ached with fatigue.

Most of the rest of that day was spent spinning in and out of sleep, only waking for basic checks and a delivery of flowers you received from the teashop’s owners complete with a passive-aggressive reminder that ‘this had nothing to do with us, you can’t sue <3.’

Your constant company was Hawks’s scarlet feather. As you moved through the bends of your quirk and post-surgical recovery, you held onto it like a lifeline. With each stroke of the soft filaments, your heart rate monitor would beep slower and slower towards a relaxed rhythm.

It made you think of him, and how he felt with your quirk activated.

Despite how shitty the circumstances were, really feeling Keigo with your quirk was heavenly. Feeling him in general, physically was a fucking blessing. You spent a lot of time that night and first day at the hospital fantasizing about how the beat of his heart felt like amber drops on your tongue and orange-bound warmth in your chest.

You wanted more of it.

Keigo stayed around to help deal with the mess, for once in his career. It was weird for him to spend the following day after the attack helping out on the scene. It was even weirder for the other Pros around that were aware of his reputation of simply not doing that.

It was out of character for him.

But, then again, Keigo hadn’t ever spent as much time at someplace he enjoyed like the teashop. Hell, the whole street. He’d patrolled plenty of areas for long stretches of time, but he’d never grown attached.

You were, obviously, a big part of that.

Seeing you hurt left him frazzled and fucked, and staying behind to help pick up the mess and provide aid made him feel a hell of a lot better. Sure, it was different, having local Pros look to him for guidance when he had to purely rely on his training from the Commission as opposed to his professional experience. He did well, he knew, especially based on the way the scene calmed even when he simply flew around.

Keigo had the power to bring people ease, even if he struggled with it himself.

The idea made him think back to you, undoubtedly still in pain, but more than likely entirely fine. He ignored the urge to text you anxiously as he was still parsing over the very sweet interaction the two of you had, even if it was in such a bad circumstance.

Your sweetness at the end was his constant reminder that you would be okay.

The implication and Keigo’s knowledge post- ‘the miel incident,’ as he was calling it, was obvious, and god, he wanted to fucking drown in it. The thought of having you so close that he could hear your heartbeat and feel the drum of your voice against your chest made him weak.

He was so fucking weak for you.

It was distracting, as it always was. It seemed fairly unavoidable especially as anxiety chewed at him. The one thing that lulled him was the far off feeling of the feather he had tucked in your hand. It had to be close to you still, the beat of your heart sending him shudders if he focused on it hard enough.

It became too much, thinking of you.

As his feathers swept piles of rubble, he pulled out his phone, the sun beginning to sink in the evening sky.

You had spent most of your recovery time in and out of consciousness, enjoying the time to rest and sleep.

A short buzz from your phone forced you into a half-wakeful state. You reached to the table next to the hospital bed, grappling for your phone.

[birdboy]: hey r u alive,

[birdboy]: how r u feeling

[birdboy]: speak 2 me

You cracked a sleepy smile.

[you]: alive, tired, surgery-ied.

You took a quick snap of your booted, propped up foot.

[you]: getting discharged tomorrow babyyyy

[birdboy]: oh fuck what happened?

[birdboy]: u sure ur good

The feather against your collarbone twitched, filaments waving. You thought little of it.

[you]: i tore some shit in my leg

[you]: and yes, just tired as fuck and want to be home

[you]: hospitals SUCK

[birdboy]: true, true

[birdboy]: would u...

[birdboy]: like a visit perhaps?

[you]: u sure??

[you]: i know ur busy and i dont wanna use up ur freetime

There was a pause in Keigo’s nearly instant responses.

[birdboy]: dove.

Your breath stuttered in your chest. That was newer; you only remembered it vaguely from the . It felt far more intimate than just ‘angel,’ and it made you shiver as you read it.

[birdboy]: busy schedule??

[birdboy]: i’ll make the time angel

[birdboy]: i’d love to come visit u

You couldn’t help the smitten expression that burst across your face.

[you]: and i’d love to see you

You wished you could’ve continued the conversation, but your night nurse knocked to offer you pain medication and sedatives and you couldn’t say no to more rest. Your mind and body needed it.

As quickly as it was administered, you were out again.

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You were exhausted. Still.

When you heard voices just outside of your door, you couldn’t help cracking open your dry eyes. It seemed far too early for them to collect your vitals. The room was still dark, large windows only showing a trace of the dawn’s light stretching from the east.

Your sleep-addled mind stretched to listen:

“Thank you so much for the autograph! My son is such a huge fan of yours.”

“Oh, really! Tell him I say hi! I really adore my fans.”

Giggling.

“Is she a fan?”

“Sort of, more of a friend of mine.”

He... said it again.

A shaft of light sprayed into the room, your quirk firing at the sudden intrusion. You groan, pawing at your eye with your fist, the feather held between your fingers blocking some of the light.

Even with your diminished vision and tired mind, you still caught it when he laughed at your reaction, stepping into the room.

Honey, softness, cream and heat that made your chest thrum like embers.

“H-Hawks?” Your voice was still itchy with sleep.

“That’s me.” His laugh rolled over you as your quirk receded, palms thrumming with the silkenness of his voice, “It’s good to see you, dove.”

“S’nice to see you too,” Your chest thrummed with his words and you couldn’t restrain the smile that spread across your face, “‘Ya know, you woke me up, just now.”

Hawks gave you a little chuckle, moseying his way to a chair nearby the bed and window, “Sorry about that. I had to sneak in here before official visiting hours so I didn’t cause a ‘scene’.”

You snorted.

“You, causing a scene?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him, “Hawks? Never. Not once.”

He stifled a laugh, dragging the thinly-padded chair closer to the bed and leaning back into it, “Glad to see you’re in good spirits, considering you’re still here and all.”

“From what I can tell, it could be a lot worse, especially compared to other people that were there,” The end of your sentence turned sullen, your expression darkening.

Hawks let out a little sigh, “It wasn’t pretty, that’s for sure. But, you’re safe, and most folks are safe. Bright side.”

“Bright side.” You repeated, softer, looking up from the plain sheets to meet his gaze.

You took him in, quickly.

He looked a bit worse for wear, the exhaustion from the days before still visible on his features. The dark circles under his eyes almost looked worse, perhaps uncovered and deeper since the attack. His wings weren’t even visible from your angle, plucked too short and sparse to be of much use.

But, Hawks was, undoubtedly, still stunning.

It was almost distracting, how unavoidable mentally eating him up was. You’d felt what he was like during the attack and that had apparently broken some mental dam for you. Holding back just how much you liked him seemed futile, at least mentally.

You would let yourself be honest, at least with yourself, as a treat.

What probably also pushed you over the edge was the fact that he wasn’t in his hero uniform, for once. You’d only ever seen him in his tan and black get up before. Seeing him casually dressed was shocking and very hot.

Hawks wore a simple black long sleeve with a long, wool jacket over it, black jeans, nothing seemingly extravagant except for the nicer looking chunky sneakers he wore and the fat gold watch on his wrist. It was all designer, knowing his paycheck. Without all of his normal regalia, you could better see that his pierced ears carried some light yellow stones that played off his eyes.

His feathery golden waves were messy, falling over his forehead and temples. The curves and angles of his jaw looked accented by the rising dawn light that was just beginning to filter into the room. There was the smallest quirk in his plump lips, but it hardly detracted from how stunning he was.

He was remarkably gorgeous, naturally, and you let yourself think about it freely.

Keigo felt a bit bad, seeing you in your state.

He tried to be subtle, looking you up and down, heart-thumping his chest as the feather in your hand-picked up your own pulse. It had sped up when he entered the room, even more so when you started to beam at him despite your state.

You looked like a bit of a mess, and with anyone else, Keigo might’ve indulged himself in being a little bit of sarcastic shit about it, but he didn’t with you. It didn’t seem right.

Your booted foot was propped up, a hospital gown askew over your collarbones under some thin blankets you were nested underneath. Your dark circles could’ve been worse, but your eyes were shining and alert, all directed on him it made him ache all over in the best way.

The feather twitched in your hand, your gaze darting to it. Heat spread across your cheeks.

“Oh, uh, shit,” You stretched your arm to pass the feather back to him. “Here’s this back. Sorry, I’ve kinda been holding on to it... a lot.”

“It’s alright, that’s why I gave it to you,” Hawks assured you, the feather whisking from your hand on its own and back to the downy stubs that Hawks had left. “Just a little reminder that good ol’ Number Two is looking out for you.”

You hardly needed a reminder. Thoughts of Hawks had been filling your head since it had stopped from swirling from your quirk. The thought of him leaving a bit of him with you only warmed your insides.

“How could I ever forget?” You leaned back into your pillows, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Thank you, Hawks.”

Hawks blinked at you, reaching down to rustle something down by his feet, “For?”

“You know, saving my ass.”

“That’s my job, angel.”

“Still. You thank me every time I make you your drinks, right?” You shrugged at his wide-eyed expression. “Same principle. Except, your life isn’t on the line when I make you lattes.”

“Oh, angel,” Hawks drawled and deflected. “That is a false statement. I rely on those. They’re my lifeblood.”

A little realization dawned on you.

You gave him a sad little smile, rubbing your own knuckles for some semblance of comfort, “It’s gonna be a while until I can provide anything life-giving, then.”

The teashop was destroyed and who knew how long I’d be until they reopened. Not to mention that your leg was post opt and you couldn’t exactly work on it.

Practicality aside, what saddened you most was that Hawks didn’t have much of a reason to see you without the shop.

As much as you had feared it at the beginning of your friendship, you had gotten comfortable with Hawks’s presence in the shop and in your life.

Too comfortable, and now it was biting you in the ass.

Thorns stabbed in your chest.

Keigo noticed your slow-falling expression and frowned, “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s nothing, just, uh...” You shook your head, blinking up at him,

Your voice cut off as your gaze refused to settle on him, Keigo clearly seeing your discomfort.

“Without the teashop, you know...” Then, with that honesty that scared him, you finally met his eyes, gripping the sheets of your hospital bed, “I’m gonna miss seeing you.”

The principle made Keigo’s mind swirl.

You missing him.

His thoughts slipped back to ‘the miel incident’, and your mutual feelings that you very obviously didn’t fucking know about. If you did, he was sure you’d know that he would be missing you a lot without your normal interactions.

This certainly wasn’t the setting to tell you, you were still stuck with an IV and probably somewhat traumatized by the event, even if you seemed in good spirits.

But, he could help assuage your fears. Subtly. Let himself use his honed arts to comfort rather than connive.

“Dove, it’s alright,” He gave the softest smile he could, shreds of real vulnerability in it coaxed out by you without you even being aware of it. “Just because the teashop isn’t around right now doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you.”

The stunned expression on your face would’ve been cute if it didn’t make Keigo’s heart stutter painfully in his chest.

“You... You do?” Your voice was so soft, you surprised yourself.

Hawks was a busy, busy man. Why the fuck would he bother with you? There was no cute coffee shop aesthetic in your foreseeable future. Maybe some decent drinks, but you wouldn’t be very mobile. You had some supplies and gear to make teas and some drinks at your apartment, but nothing as expansive as was destroyed at the shop. If it was flirty banter keeping him near, there were certainly other people he could go to for some natural chemistry, right?

He doesn’t need you.

Why the fuck would he bother with you, outside of what you could offer him?

“Dove,” Hawks’s voice shook you from your thoughts. “I’m here right now, aren’t I?”

“Uh,” You stuttered, mind catching up to the very obvious conclusion that, yes, Hawks does like having you around. “I guess, yeah.”

He frowned, leaning back in his chair as one of his smaller feathers whisked to your forehead, patting it a few times, “(Y/N), I like spending time with you. I care about you.”

Oh.

That was a little more vulnerability and truth than either of you expected.

Your eyes darted up to meet his, seeing a hint of unbearable fear before it was wiped away.

You didn’t know it, but it was just you that pushed that fear off Keigo’s face.

He forced his shaking hands to be still, mouth drying after saying words that he wasn’t sure he was ready to say yet. God, they were true, but were they okay? For him, or you?

And then you gave him the gooiest, biggest smile you’d ever graced him with, “I care about you too, Hawks. Thank you.”

It made both of your guts turn to mush.

In a stunned moment of silence, both of your breaths stuck in each of your throats. Neither of you could tear your gazes away from each other.

You both tightened your grip on your respective fabrics, your heart rate monitor beeping faster as you swallowed.

Hawks opened his mouth, inhaling, but he was quickly interrupted by a knock on the door. A head poked in, the same nurse as before.

“Hey, sweetheart, we need to take your vitals quick,” She came in, waving to Hawks gleefully.

Hawks’s softened eyes were gone, you realized. Torn away from the moment and now speaking comfortably with the nurse as she checked what she needed to.

Your hands shook.

Keigo noticed it, too, his own trembling as well.

The idle chat between Hawks and the nurse fell on your ears, though you didn’t process any of it. You were far too busy mentally coming to terms with the fact that Hawks cared about you. And, based on his tone and that familiar (but usually hidden) adoration in his eyes, it was a bit deeper than you expected and knew how to swallow.

You took a slow breath as the nurse left, Hawks waving with a wide smile plastered on his face.

When the door shut once more, there was a lull of silence that settled over the room. More early morning sunlight was beginning to slant into the room, throwing gold over the otherwise drab and lifeless greys and whites of the room.

The intense mood had been thoroughly interrupted by the nurse, but perhaps it was a hidden blessing.

Both of you were terrified, but so deeply yearning. You both were a bit too raw.

Maybe it would be better to let the fear fade, just a bit more.

“Oh, shit, I nearly forgot,” Hawks reached down next to him, pulling out a bag you hadn’t realized he had brought him. He set it on the edge of the bed. “I got you something.”

“Hawks.” You groaned, shaking your head and running your hands down your face. “You need to stop being so nice.”

“Can’t do that, (Y/N). I’ll be as nice as I want,” You could see that his grin was shit-eating through the space between your fingers. “Besides, you haven’t even looked at it yet.”

You took the bag into your lap, noticing the ruffles of tissue paper that puffed from the top.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” You told him, albeit still pulling the paper from the top to reveal a small, wrapped, fluffy object.

Hawks hummed, leaning forward to set his elbows on his knees, “You’re right. I didn’t have to. But, I wanted to.”

As carefully as you could, somewhat suspicious, you peeled back to the paper.

Your eyes widened.

It was a plushie, round and soft with a filling that made it feel like a marshmallow in your arms. The design was familiar, a character from one of your favorite cartoons, but you’d never talked about it with Hawks.

“I figured you could use a little pick me up after all this,” Hawks tilted his head and winked. “Did I get the character right?”

Your mouth fell open, blinking, “How did you... know? That I liked this one?”

“The little pins on your apron,” Hawks tapped his chest. “I figured you must be pretty fond of this one, since you had a couple of buttons for them, right?”

You wanted to give you a coherent, thankful statement to Hawks. Really, you did. Instead, you stared down at the doughy, round-eyed plushie. Maybe a few overwhelmed tears gathered in your eyes, which you promptly sucked down and shook your head.

“Thank you, really,” You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand. “But, fuck, Hawks—”

For a moment, Keigo thought you were upset with him. Based on the slight contorting of your face, and the wetness in your eyes, his heart seized up. His fingers twitched from where they cupped his chin, wanting to shoot out and comfort you somehow.

However, Keigo stayed put as you turned back towards him, plushie carefully gathered in your arms and hugged snugly and perfectly to your chest.

“You gotta stop being so fucking nice,” You sighed, pressing your face into the soft fabric of the gift. Your words were muffled, but Keigo heard each one perfectly. “I’m gonna start getting ideas, you know.”

Sure, Keigo could’ve pushed some of your buttons and fluffed himself up for some fun, flirty banter that would be undoubtedly lovely, but it wasn’t the time. You’d had a very long and tiring few days, and Keigo could see and imagine that you were in all sorts of disrepair.

Keigo stood slowly, moving just next to your bed where you turned your head upwards to look at him. Carefully, he placed a worn hand on your shoulder, feeling the small bit of bare skin exposed by the thin gown.

“Don’t worry about that right now, dove, okay?” Keigo let his voice go soft, quiet, and gentle as he could make it. Without thinking, he squeezed your shoulder, rubbing his thumb just under your collarbone.

It was too much, maybe. But neither of you would complain.

Keigo could see and feel the way you relaxed, eyes going half-lidded and leaning into his touch, even putting the slightest amount of your weight into it.

It was probably the most precious and sweet gesture he’d ever experienced.

He made it his goal to make more like it.

(Anything to see you so instantly mushy.)

“I saw a coffee machine when I was coming in,” Hawks voice was a hum, hand on your shoulder not moving. You didn’t want it to. The heat pressing against your skin made you melt. “Want me to grab us some? I know I need it.”

You managed to giggle, craning your neck to fully look up at Hawks. You swore you could see the slightest quiver in his bottom lip.

“I’d love some.”

“You sure you can stomach shitty coffee?” The thumb rubbed over your collarbone, Keigo’s pretty eyes searching your face, portraying far more than your words. “That’s my territory, angel.”

“I guess I’ll stoop to your taste,” You gave him a smirk like sweet lightning and tentatively, carefully, reached your hand up to wrap around his own, squeezing. “I take my coffee black.”

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taglist: @thepandapopo @sinclairsamess

#lavender latte #salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo x you #takami keigo x y/n #hawks fluff #hawks fanfiction #this is a transition chapter shhh y'all are getting spoiled the next few chapters #enjoy a lil preview of the sweetness :'^)#hawks mha #takami keigo

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costellos · 4 years

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author’s note: another self-indulgent piece! you can interpret this as ur dating ur boo already or nah. the only ones that imply not being in a relationship are Bucciarati and Fugo’s scenarios. in any case, take it as you will and enjoooyy.

❥ ┋ ❝ bucci gang & their first kiss with you!

bruno bucciarati.

Bucciarati first kissed you after being caught in the rain.

the sound of his water faucet comes gently humming from his bathroom. it offers a nice contrast to the heavy raindrops pattering against his window. Bucciarati sighs, watching as a strike of lightning ignites his house, then slips a bag of earl gray tea into a kettle of boiling water.

this is his fault. he had asked you to meet him at Libeccio to go over some last minute details about an upcoming mission. but just as you were both about to part ways, an onslaught of rain came pouring from above. and of course, neither of you had an umbrella. ↳ “my house isn’t far from here. you can stay with me until this passes.”

Bucciarati curses to himself. he’s trying his best to make the most of the situation. the sense of guilt for forcing you out is overwhelming, though. and now that the temperature is dropping in Naples, he fears that he set you up to get a cold.

the water from his bathroom cuts off. alright. you’re almost done. hopefully taking a hot shower will keep you from getting sick. a sigh escapes his lips once more as he pours the earl gray into a mug for you.

fantastic work, Bruno, he thinks to himself. it’s nice to have you here, it really is. but this was hardly out of choice. there had been so many scenarios that Bucciarati had concocted to bring you back to his home, to make you feel as safe as you do for him, yet. here you are. stuck here because he didn’t check the forecast.

really, that’s what it’s all about: he’s seen the way that you act around the team and civilians. how you selflessly put their needs above your own. even when he requested that you talk with him last minute, you didn’t hesitate to drop everything and run to Libeccio. you shouldn’t have to do that for anybody. certainly not him.

he desperately wants to take care of you, just as you do for everyone else. he wants to be the one that you come to for all your problems. he just wishes that mobster life wasn’t so complicated, that he could admit his feelings truly and wholly.

the mug in his grasp slips away. Bucciarati blinks. but when he hears your giggle, he realizes he must have gotten so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t notice you were out of the bathroom.

you sip your tea, sending him a playful grin. Bucciarati returns it with one of his own. you look so small here, with your towel over your head and your cheeks still rosy from your hot shower. god. he can’t help but smile wider.

oh. hm. his strainer must not have contained all the leaves, because there’s a stray earl gray remnant on the corner of your lip. wordlessly, he reaches up to swipe it off with his thumb. your skin feels so smooth under his touch, so warm and soft. he just wants to take care of you. he just wants to make you feel loved. he just wants to—

Bucciarati’s kiss is quick yet so incredibly gentle. remnants of his cologne still stick to his skin — sandalwood and sea salt — but all you can focus on is how loving he feels against you. he tastes faintly of red wine. ↳ “forgive me. I couldn’t help myself.”

leone abbacchio.

Abbacchio first kissed you while doing your makeup.

it’s quiet underneath the yacht that Bucciarati rented. Narancia is blasting music on the deck above you and Mista and Fugo are talking, but everything is so muffled. it’s just you, Abbacchio, and the rouge lip stain that he’s sliding across your lips.

it’s a simple job: infiltrate a fundraiser hosted by the capo of a rival gang. because you’re one the most stunning member of the group, you were unanimously voted to distract the capo’s guards. this would give Mista access to his room and end this once and for all. and so, here you are now: getting your makeup done to, as Bucciarati quoted, “put your best face forward.”

so beautiful, Abbacchio thinks to himself. to be honest, he doesn’t understand why you asked him to help with your makeup. you really don’t need it. but he’d take any opportunity to get closer to you (though he’d never admit it).

the lip stain feels cold against your skin. Abbacchio does his best to make you comfortable, with his holding your chin in his grasp. his eyebrows are knitted, eyes strained as he tries to make you look your best. ↳ “alright. now rub your lips together.”

you do as your told, sliding the solution between your lips. seeing you move your mouth in such a way, rolling the liquid between your skin, your face so perfect... well. it’s an understatement to say that he’s overwhelmed.

“Leone?” your voice is so soft. he’s still holding onto your chin. you’re so close that he can feel your breath against his skin. all it would take— ↳ “so beautiful...”

his kiss is breathy and needy. you never expected him to be so desperate. how long has he been like this?

Abbacchio’s lips smack against yours, the hand on your chin moving to the back of your head, pulling you even closer to him. you can feel the lip stain that he just applied transferring to his own mouth. it tastes like cherries.

he keeps pushing himself further and further into you. he’s so enamored. so deprived. it takes you by surprise, but you follow his lead. ↳ “agghh! I’m sorry! I’ll come back later!!”

Narancia slams the door to the yacht’s room, effectively ending whatever you had just a moment ago. Abbacchio flinches from the sound, and once he realizes that Narancia saw everything, he rolls his eyes and sighs. ↳ “we’ll continue this later.”

giorno giovanna.

Giorno first kissed you during a mission in in the Alps.

you’re patrolling the perimeter of a ski resort. it’s cold up here, colder than you’re used to. nonetheless, this is potential new territory for Passione, so Bucciarati sent you and Giorno to observe the scene. you just didn’t expect your fingers to freeze so quickly. ↳ “I told you to bring a thicker coat.”

your partner isn’t helping. you turn to the blond next you, a sly grin on his lips. you merely stick your tongue out in response (which, quite frankly, freezes rapidly too).

in any case, you push further. despite your chilly surroundings, you have to admit that it’s nice up here. the setting sun sets the sky on fire, casting an orange glow on the snow at your feet. the air smells vaguely of pine and Giorno’s cologne, but you can’t quite pinpoint the notes on the latter.

Giorno is trying to be subtle when he looks at you. when he knows you’re not paying attention, his green irises turn to you. you look so cute out here, with your cheeks so rosy and your eyelashes covered with tiny snowflakes. you’re wearing the knit hat with the little pom pom that he bought for you. that gesture makes his heart as warm as the jacket you should’ve brought with. he’s so enamored by you.

but he can’t help but notice how much you’re shivering. he wishes he had been more adamant about bringing a thicker jacket. you insisted you would be okay, but even still. he feels that this is partly his fault. ↳ “here. hold on.”

Giorno stops in his tracks, forcing you to stop as well. the air falls dead silent, likely due to the snow around you. he unwraps the tan cashmere scarf from his neck, opting to swing it around your own. it's here that you can finally identify what his cologne smells like: vanilla and tobacco, the latter a remnant from an earlier meeting. it’s so inviting, just as he is to you.

but instead of folding it around your neck, Giorno grasps the ends of the scarf, pulling you close to him. that stupid sly smirk is on his face, and as he presses his lips onto yours, you can feel it against your own.

for as confident as he seemed just earlier, he almost recoils in the kiss. he’s shy and inexperienced, and it seems he acknowledges this, for the kiss itself is rather chaste. but he places his forehead on yours, his smirk replaced with that gentle smile you’ve come so well to know. ↳ “is that better?”

guido mista.

Mista first kissed as you were waiting for the subway.

your eyelids feel heavy. it’s far past your usual bedtime. not that you mind; tonight was an important mission briefing, so of course it would go far longer than any of you expected.

nonetheless, it’s dark out. few people are at the Salvator Rosa subway station. maybe it’s better that way — fewer creeps to deal with. though Mista had offered to bring you back home, you live on the other side of Naples from him. it’s a sweet gesture. you just feel bad accepting it when it’s already so late.

click. click. click. the heels on Mista’s boots send echoes down the tunnels. he looks down the train tracks, seeing no sign of any approaching vehicles. the train should be coming every ten minutes at this hour. it’s not that he wants to get rid of you, he just wants to make sure that you get home as soon as possible. he doesn’t like the thought of you being out this late by yourself.

at no sign of a train, Mista clicks his tongue and leans back. he then looks at you, catching you mid-yawn. you’re tired, that much is obvious, with your bloodshot eyes and sullied expression. yet even then, he can’t help but find you so charming. you work so hard for everyone, trying your best to do the most that you can. you continuously put everyone first. he wishes he could do the same for you. it’s the least he could do. ↳ “you’re so incredible, I could kiss you. ...wait, did I just say that out loud?”

oh my god oh my god oh my god DID HE REALLY JUST BLURT THAT?

Mista’s internally panicking now. he’s trying to take back what he said (but also not, because it’s true), yet there’s no smooth way to do it. he’s tried for so long to put up this cool guy persona and now he’s ruined it!!! (even though he never had it in the first place.)

but you just laugh in response, and that alone is enough to relax him. okay. so maybe he didn’t fuck up entirely. ↳ “err... can I kiss you?”

god, he’s such an idiot. but you oblige, saying yes, he can kiss you.

Mista wastes no time. he takes you by your hips, pressing his lips against yours. he’s wanted to do this for so long now. and now that this moment is here, all he wants to do is keep you close to him — and him only.

his kisses are eager and excited. he’s not inexperienced, especially with his flirtatious past. but there’s something about the way he moves his lips that makes you feel like you’re the only kiss that matters. you can feel him smiling as you return his enthusiasm. ↳ “you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

narancia ghirga.

Narancia first kissed you during a moment of silence.

Tupac is playing quietly in the background. the smell of stale potato chips fill the room. you can hear Narancia playing some video game on his N64, the soft buzz of his TV filling the silence between songs.

neither of you had any days off nowadays. but by some miracle, some god took pity on the both of you and allowed a Friday night of relaxation. although Narancia and you had discussed going out, you both decided you were too damn tired. (even though it’s far beyond midnight now.)

Narancia selects the TRY AGAIN? option (after dying for the upteenth time... jesus, this game is hard), and while he waits for the loading screen to pass, he can’t help but look at you. you’re sitting cross-legged on his bed, reading some trashy tabloid. you look so at peace here, with your eyelids low and a Twizzler hanging from your mouth. he loves seeing you like this; it’s such a nice change from how stressed you’ve been lately. he wishes you would always be like this. and he knows that’s not the life either of you agreed to once you joined Passione, but. the fact still stands.

it’s like you know that he’s watching you. you instinctively tap on his arm, a sign he’s so familiar with that means you want to play the game next.

everything here is so comfortable and familiar. he wants this moment to last forever.

the only thing that would make it better is to... well. hmm. how should he go about that? ↳ “hey, hand me a Twizzler.”

without looking, you move your hand from his arm, reaching to the plastic bag beside you. ↳ “no, stupid! I meant like this.”

it’s a smooth move, you have to admit. after he pauses his game, he climbs onto the bed with you. he bites onto the opposite end of your Twizzler, far before you can process what’s even happening.

though, let’s be real, Narancia doesn’t even know what’s happening. there are all sorts of alarms ringing in his head. what is he doing? oh my god, is this what it means to be smooth??

he supposes so, because he quickly closes the gap between you. he’s clumsy and he tastes like strawberries, but he’s so, so inviting. he tries to take it slow, with his peppering your lips with relaxed, gentle kisses. you can feel his right hand creep onto your cheek, the pads of his fingers tickling your temple.

↳ “was... was that okay?”

pannacotta fugo.

Fugo’s first kissed you while tending to your wounds.

crickets chirp from outside his window. cicadas hiss from outside. you hiss along with them as Fugo places an alcohol-soaked cotton ball on a cut. ↳ “I know, I’m sorry. I’m almost done.”

following a stand battle where, quite honestly, both of you narrowly escaped death, Fugo took it as his responsibility to tend to you. not that he particularly wanted to (which is what he kept telling himself), he simply felt it was his responsibility after you took care of him just a month earlier.

neither of you should be in this situation. had you not defended some civilians during the fight, both of you would have come out of this battle a lot cleaner. especially you. dear lord, your skin is littered with cuts and bruises. nothing too concerning, and thankfully no gashes or broken bones, but that was calling it way too close.

his violet eyes flicker to you for a second. your lips are pursed and your eyebrows are furrowed — he can tell you’re in pain. although he tries to make this process as easy as he can, there’s only so much he can do.

Fugo turns back to your arm. you have a cut along the inside of your elbow, which he’s currently wrapping in gauze. he makes a note of it. that’s going to hurt whenever you bend your elbow, which will effect how you fight during your next stand battle. he sighs. you’re so stupid.

even still... he envies you. you don’t hesitate, ever, unlike him. you know exactly what you want to do and how you’re going to get it. and despite everything, you still try to protect the people around you, even if it means putting yourself in harm. that part is foolish, he thinks, but admirable nonetheless. he wishes that he could follow in your lead, carving his own path.

however, he couldn’t ignore how you defined him a month ago: a friend, someone worth caring for. Fugo has been described as many things yet... that’s the only one that he felt mattered. he wants everyone to see him as that. that’s how he sees you, at least.

he turns back to your face. your eyebrow is singed. he takes his thumb, running it over your charred hairs, checking for any more cuts. thankfully, there’s nothing.

but it’s here that he realizes how close he is to you. your faces are a mere three millimetres apart, your wide eyes looking back at him. with that stupid grin on your face (though he admits, most of the time it’s cute), you quickly reach up and kiss his nose.

to say Fugo is stunned would be an understatement. is... is this even appropriate? can he do this...? this wasn’t at all how he expected the night to go, yet...

Fugo exhales. you can hear how his breath wavers. but once he composes himself, he takes your face in his hands and presses his lips onto yours.

everything about Fugo is calculated. but here, it feels as though he’s absorbing everything for the first time, fumbling through the steps. because, honestly, it’s true. you’re his first kiss, and he couldn’t be happier to share it with you. he’s careful to not to push too hard into you or to touch you where your skin is cut, but his lips are smooth and welcoming. taking you in as if this was his intention all along. ↳ “come closer. I... I don’t want to stop.”

#giorno giovanna #bucci gang #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #golden wind #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #guido mista #narancia ghirga #pannacotta fugo #headcanons #what's good my name is toya mctoyason #and i realized while writing this that i had been spelling Bucciarati's name wrong this ENTIRE. TIME.#don't worry i fixed it.......#toya whisks u away

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reyescarlos · 3 years

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26, 65 or 74? hurt/comfort? i love ur style of writing and i wanna see where you take these 🥺🥰

this is just the sweetest. you’ve really been making me so happy with all your kudos and comments in this collection! thank you so much! this one kind of ran away from me and is a bit heavier than my previous fics. it comes with trigger warnings so... overdose tw, drugs tw

#26 “How did you find me?”

TK sits with his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs as he looks out across the field. To any passerby this wouldn’t be anything remarkable. It’s nothing more than an expanse of dry grass but this particular vacant spot is arguably one of his favorite places in all of Travis County. This is the field where he allowed himself to dive headfirst into something real with Carlos, the two watching an anomaly in the sky above as something organic bloomed between them.

Austin has been leaving its mark on TK, the new memories and bonds forged here almost enough to eclipse all of the bad he’s left behind.

But there are certain aspects of his past that he can’t quite run from, despite his best efforts to. Life enjoyed playing with him too much to allow good times to last long. TK supposes he may be a touch melodramatic but after the last call he and his team were dispatched to, he can’t shake the idea that the universe likes tossing in harsh reminders of a life he’d rather forget.

The scene they were called to was far too similar to a scenario he had personal experience with. A worried mother stood watch for the crew’s arrival outside the door to her daughter’s apartment, tears in her eyes and she begged and pleaded with them to break down the door and get to her child.

The young woman was unresponsive, passed out on her bathroom floor. Beside her was an empty orange vial and two small clear baggies. It was as if seeing an alternate version of his life. Michelle bustled in, Tim and Nancy flanking her as they worked in tandem to save the woman. Narcan passed from Tim straight to Michelle in the blink of an eye, leaving her to administer the dose in almost no time at all.

TK was vaguely aware of his father’s voice but his ears were ringing too loudly to make out any of the words, let alone any other sound coming from the room. He could see Michelle calling out orders, see her team’s lips moving in response. But the dial was turned down to zero; TK was unable to register any of it. He could recall the touch of his father’s hands on his shoulders and hands, urging him away.

But it was all TK could do to stand there, feet planted like a formidable oak as he watched the young woman’s eyes flutter open, to hold his breath as she emptied out her stomach, her body too weak to even move herself away from the mess she’d made.

“TK,” his father had said a bit more forcefully in his ear, a hand on his elbow to take him away from the threshold.

He stumbled backwards as his father pulled him away, his vision of the apartment blurred as tears filled his eyes. The young woman would be okay but the image of her sprawled out against the tiles, TK knew, would always haunt him, never mind the sheer anguish on her mother’s face.

The ride back to the station was painfully quiet, the team—for his sake, more than anything— not saying a single word. But TK didn’t even feel like he was in the truck at all. His mind was somewhere else entirely, a thousand miles back in New York on his living room floor. It all came rushing back in such stunning clarity.

He’d gone through the motions of showering and dressing once they returned, enduring another quiet ride, this time home with his father.

TK had gone straight to his room though Owen tried getting him to open up and talk about what they’d just seen. His room made him feel like a caged animal as he paced the length of it. Before he could fully register what he was doing, TK was fleeing the house without saying a word to his father, hoping to find someplace where he could be alone and hopefully wind up feeling better.

TK’s top pick would have been Carlos’ condo but the last thing TK wanted to do was burden his boyfriend with this. He’s done his best to shield Carlos from the sordid details of his past, so keen he is these days on maintaining a brighter future.

He closes his eyes, listening to the sound of crickets hidden in blades of grass, feeling the soft evening breeze blow across his skin. This was the perfect place to settle on.

The road his mind wants to travel down is a dangerous one and it takes everything within him to keep on a safer path. The silence of the field helps. He tries to mirror it for himself, an open space and an open mind.

Out here with no one around, the noise in his head dies down long enough for him to steady himself and recalibrate.

His peacefulness is broken about twenty minutes later by the sound of tires approaching. TK scrambles to his feet quickly at the sudden intrusion. The car’s headlights make it hard to see much of anything but as the engine is cut and the lights are as well, TK feels his chest tighten at the sight of Carlos’ Camaro.

He stands frozen in his spot as he waits for Carlos to get out. When he does, his boyfriend’s eyes are locked in on him, his expression unreadable as he comes to a stop in front of him. Carlos doesn’t waste time with a preamble, jumping right into things.

“Your dad told me about the call you guys had today,” Carlos says delicately.

TK looks away, cracking his knuckles. His skin feels stretched too tight around his body. It’s a perfectly cool evening and yet he feels like he’s suffocating, his face and neck suddenly feeling hot.

“He was worried when you left and refused to answer his texts and calls. That’s when he reached out to me, hoping that you were at my place. He was worried sick...as was I.”

“I didn’t mean to make you all worry. I just needed...to breathe.”

Carlos frowns. “I know that call must have been horrible for you but you can’t go AWOL like that, TK,” he says, voice still gentle. “If you needed this time on your own, just say that next time, please. When you disappear, we can’t help but to get scared that you’re hurt or—”

“I didn’t do anything stupid. I didn’t, you know,” he concludes lamely, unable to even bring himself to say the word relapse.

“I didn’t think you would but thank you for telling me. I’m glad you’re hanging in there. I tried calling but it kept going straight to voicemail.”

TK’s brows furrow as he takes his phone out of his pocket. He touches the screen but it remains black. He hadn’t even thought to check on his phone, not that it mattered either way given he was practically in the middle of nowhere. It’s then that Carlos’ appearance really sinks in.

“How did you find me?”

For the first time since he arrived, Carlos smiles faintly.

“There’s a reason I still earn a paycheck every two weeks. You may think you’re a mystery but I know you,” he says, reaching for TK’s hands.

TK lets him hold on, realizing now just how cold his fingertips feel once he’s met with Carlos’ warmth. For as much as he wanted to be alone, TK is glad for Carlos’ presence now. It’s a powerful thing to be seen and loved by someone.

“I figured you’d go somewhere you could be by yourself, that’s nice and remote but also someplace that made you feel comforted as if you weren’t actually alone. That night we spent out here came to mind so I thought I’d check it out first.”

TK huffs out a sound similar to a laugh and shakes his head, looking back out across the field. “Impressive work, officer. But as you can see, I’m doing just fine so you don’t have to worry.”

“I wouldn’t call running away and isolating yourself fine, T. Please, can you talk to me about what you’re feeling right now?”

TK can hear traces of panic in his voice though, to Carlos’ credit, he tries to disguise it. But TK can read the strained look in Carlos’ brown eyes and the set of shoulders. This was precisely what TK was hoping to avoid, making someone he cared for so concerned. But he supposes he brought this on himself. Had he just spoken up when it mattered most, Carlos wouldn’t have had to go tracking him down.

Carlos turns and walks back towards his car, sitting on top of the hood. TK watches him for a moment, the man’s hand outstretched in invitation. This takes him back to that glorious night where there didn’t seem to be any limits to how happy and free he could be.

It feels like such a déjà vu. There may not be northern lights above them now but the stars shine so brightly that it’s captivating all the same. Carlos still looks at him with wonder and care in his eyes, just as he’d done months ago. The car is just the same, the spot beside Carlos empty and waiting for him.

But inside TK feels different. Something has monumentally shifted due to that call. So much of this scenario may feel familiar but he feels a long way off from the guy he was that night.

Something in his expression or body language gives him away; he knows Carlos can see his unease. The man lowers his hand and sits cross legged, just staring at him patiently.

It’s just one of the many things TK appreciates in Carlos. He never forces him to speak if he isn’t ready. He’s simply just there and that counts for so much more than TK can even say. It’s more than he deserves, of that he’s certain. But it’s exactly what he needs so he’s grateful.

After another moment, TK’s legs finally begin moving forward, the soles of his shoes crunching against the dried grass. He slides upwards onto the hood of the car, laying back wordlessly against the windshield. Beside him, Carlos follows his lead, reaching for his hand again. He brings it to his lips to kiss each of TK’s knuckles before resting his hand against his chest.

TK stays quiet for a beat, taking just a moment to relish in Carlos’ touch. A conversation is inevitable but before they get underway, he knows he needs to contact his father and attempt to put the man at ease. He dreads the thought alone but it’s the least he owes his dad now for bailing like he did.

“I should probably borrow your phone and give my dad a call. Let him know that I’m okay.”

“I sent him a text before I got out of the car. He knows you’re with me.”

A ghost of a smile plays at TK’s lips at the implication of that last sentence. Being with Carlos amounts to the same thing as safe.

TK pulls in a breath, trying to collect his thoughts but everything in his head is a wreck. He plucks out one thought and goes from there, just needing to get something off his chest so he could breathe a bit easier.

“Being on that call today, seeing that girl’s mom absolutely lose it....,” he trails off, closing his eyes to the memory but the images still flood him anyway. “It just made me think about my dad finding me when he did. If he’d come over to my place even five or ten minutes later, I likely wouldn’t even be sitting here right now.”

He has to stop short there, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat.

“I’ve put him through so much and I don’t ever want to do that again, cause even a fraction of the fear that woman had. Her daughter looked so helpless and all I could think about was ‘what if this girl doesn’t make it?’ Her mom wouldn’t have been able to survive that. And I thought back to New York, my dad being there, saving me. I’ve been doing well now but this thing is always going to be in me, no matter what and I hate that more than anything. One setback could undo everything. It’s happened to me before and I barely made it through that time.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “Sometimes it seems like it’d be safer not to let people in just in case I relapse again. I don’t want to drag anyone else down this road. My dad, you, the family I’ve made here. You all are so important to me and nothing terrifies me more than the thought of losing you guys, one way or another.”

Carlos sits up at this and from his periphery TK can see that his boyfriend is looking at him but TK can’t bear to look back. Instead he keeps his eyes trained on the stars just wishing he could trade places with them now, be light years away from the troubles of this world.

“Hey, no. The people you have in your corner are going to be there for life. We all love you so much and will always stand with you.”

There’s such conviction in his words that leaves no doubt about his sincerity and commitment. TK can’t help the tears that fall from the corners of his eyes and race back to his hairline as he keeps vigilant watch on the sky. He knows that if he looks at Carlos now, the little bit of restraint he’s been clinging to will break. Carlos continues speaking, undeterred, or perhaps motivated, by TK’s silence.

“I’m not in the business of giving up on people. Serve and protect, right? If I can care deeply for perfectly good strangers every day, why on earth wouldn’t I be able to do the same for you, the man I’m so incredibly in love with? You couldn’t push me or anyone else who loves you away. You and I agreed, right on this very spot, months ago that we were a team. I have every intention to hold up my end of that promise.”

TK lowers his gaze, finally letting his eyes land on Carlos. The man’s face is flushed, beautiful brown eyes tinted pink from unshed tears but there’s a fierceness in them despite the sadness.

TK sits up and draws nearer, resting his head against Carlos’ shoulder. TK’s wrapped up in the man’s embrace instantly, those steady hands rubbing soothing circles along his back.

He lets himself be cared for, ignoring how weak he feels now. Carlos, he knows, is strong enough for the both of them at this moment. There’s no judgement or shame to be felt, not with Carlos.

“You’re so much stronger than you even know,” Carlos murmurs against the shell of his ear. “There’s nothing you can’t get through and there’s definitely nothing we can’t do together. You’re so loved, TK. You are so loved and needed. Always.”

#tarlos #carlos reyes #tk strand #tarlos fic #911 lone star #drugs tw #overdose tw #userthai #captainstennerstar #ronenrubinstein #kimmy writes

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lazywonderlvnd · 4 years

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this is a tiny soft birthday piece for @l0vegl0wsinthedark -- you deserve way more than u think u do my angel and i hope this lifts ur spirits just enough to enjoy ur day like u should (and while i’m finishing a whole ass fic for you) happy birthday ilysm ❤️❤️❤️

includes: lots of weed smoking, kissing boys, and a room full of gryffindors and slytherins getting along

The chair is definitely made for one person, but that hasn’t stopped Draco from making himself comfortable on Harry’s lap in an entitled manner reminiscent of Crookshanks. In fact Crookshanks, in Harry’s opinion, looks a bit annoyed at the stolen bit of real estate. He’s contented himself with Ron’s lap but he’s watching Draco with an almost human expression of contempt.

There’s a layer of smoke sitting stagnant at about head height, like a potent cloud, that Harry had noticed five minutes ago and can’t unsee now. Had they really smoked that much?

He looks around the room: at Seamus, who is speaking rapidly and with extravagant hand gestures to Blaise in an Irish accent so thick Harry can make out only one in five words; at Hermione, with one of the two circulating joints in hand, laughing with tears in her eyes at something Ginny’s just said; at Luna, holding the other and staring peacefully off into space, completely unaware of Pansy sneaking glances at her. Yes, perhaps they had smoked that much. Goyle looks utterly blazed too, his eyes bloodshot and slitted, fingers positively caked with cheese dust from a bag of crisps.

Bringing his focus back round to Draco on his lap — who is, from his position, engaged in conversation with Dean — Harry gives a great yawn and shifts a bit, trying to relieve the slight tingling in his right leg. Draco readjusts himself without missing a beat, moving some of his weight around to Harry’s other thigh and continuing uninterrupted in his spiel about … well, Harry’s not sure, really. He thinks it’s something about some artist or another, Draco’s current obsession.

“Harry!”

He turns, blinking, to see Hermione holding the joint towards him and shaking it. The ash falls off and lands on the carpet.

“Oh — oops,” she giggles. “Sorry. I said your name a million times. Here, take it, it’s yours.”

He leans over the arm of the chair to reach out as far as he can while being weighed down with Draco, stretching towards her on the sofa, and just manages to snag it with his fingertips. She pulls out her wand and cleans the ash, then turns back to Ginny.

Harry drops his head back and takes a hit, pulling the smoke into his lungs, holding it there, and then blowing it out towards the ceiling. He watches with fascination as it joins seamlessly with the larger cloud. He’s become completely neutralised to the smell of the weed but he keeps getting whiffs of Draco’s shampoo, a brand new one he keeps raving about that’s supposed to work all kinds of wonders on his scalp and hair follicles. All Harry really gives a shit about, though, is that Draco’s smelled like coconut lately, which he very much likes.

He lifts his head and takes another hit, but this time he brings his mouth close to Draco’s ear and blows the smoke into it, causing him to cringe away, startled, while Dean starts laughing.

“You’re so fucking annoying when you’re high,” says Draco, trying for scolding except that his eyes are bright and he can’t quite keep a smile off his face. “Give me that.” He snatches the joint from Harry and brings it to his lips, letting the smoke drift out through his nose and looking like the world’s loveliest and smallest dragon. He must see the way Harry’s looking at him because after he takes his second hit he leans down with a coy grin and Harry meets him halfway in a kiss so Draco can breathe the smoke into his mouth. His tongue follows shortly after and Harry loves the way he can taste the weed on it, earthy and bittersweet.

He loses himself in it quickly, his hazy, sluggish brain happily forgetting the presence of eight or nine of their friends around them as he drinks his fill. All that’s real or matters is the warm, solid weight of Draco in his lap, the smell of weed and coconut, his soft lips and wet tongue and the gentle fingers on his jaw, stroking lightly. His own hand, the one not draped behind Draco’s back, finds his hip and snakes beneath his shirt, just enough to graze warm skin. Draco smiles against his mouth and hums into the kiss before pulling away and trailing his lips towards Harry’s ear.

“I’d settle down if I were you,” he says softly, his breath tickling Harry’s neck. It’s only then that Harry realises he’s got a semi that’s beginning to dig into Draco’s arse and he lets out a quiet laugh. Just to be cheeky, he brings his lips to Draco’s jaw and kisses down his neck, grinning when he feels Draco shiver.

“But I’m enjoying myself so much,” he whispers, hand sliding from Draco’s hip to his lap, where he squeezes over his half-hard cock, causing him to squirm and gasp in surprise. He grabs Harry’s hand and pulls it away with pink cheeks while Harry laughs against his neck.

“Oi, d’you two fucking mind!” comes Dean’s voice, and Harry looks up to see him watching them with raised eyebrows.

“You don’t have to watch,” Harry tells him, ripping his hand out of Draco’s grip to squeeze his thigh this time, delighted by the squawk of indignation.

“Draco’s still holding the joint, you pillock,” says Dean. “And he’s about to singe your arm with it.”

“I’m not about to singe anybody, you troglodyte,” Draco says, whipping round to glare at him. “Not all of us are bumbling Gryffindor barbarians born without a trace of elegance in our blood —”

“Ow!” Harry yells, snatching his arm from around Draco’s back when something scalding hot touches his skin. Dean descends into howls of laughter while Draco takes Harry’s arm and starts apologising profusely. He goes as far as chucking the joint at Dean, whose laughter subsides as it lands in his lap and he jumps out of his chair before it can burn him. Harry can see it beginning to burn a hole in the carpet.

This is not by any means the first time this carpet has seen a lit joint. Hermione has fixed most of the damage but here and there are obvious reminders, which Harry actually quite likes. There is, he thinks, such a thing as too much cleanliness and perfection. If a burn mark on his carpet is a memory of a good time, he can’t see what’s so bad about it.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” Draco coos, lifting his arm and pressing a soft kiss to the tiny burn mark.

“You did that on purpose,” says Harry, affecting a deep, childish frown that makes Draco laugh. He cups Harry’s cheeks and kisses his lips once, twice, three times, then his cheek, before pulling away.

“Better?”

“Oh, I’ll need more than that if you wanna make up for burning me,” Harry tells him, cheeky grin back in place. Draco rolls his eyes and Harry hears both Dean and Ron making retching noises while Seamus wolf-whistles.

“Who has the other joint?” Dean asks as he drops the roach into an ashtray on the coffee table. “Someone needs to roll a new one.”

“Harry, you do it,” says Pansy. “Blaise did the last two and they were terrible.”

“What the fuck?” Blaise says, glaring at her. “They were fucking decent, what’re you on about?”

“Harry?” Pansy presses, ignoring him. “Will you? Yours are the best.”

“That’s because he’s good with his hands,” Draco says, bringing his lips to Harry’s cheek again where Harry can feel him grinning.

“You have to get off my lap then,” says Harry, prompting a heavy pout from Draco that makes him look twelve.

“Just do it on my lap, it’s not that hard.”

Harry huffs out a breath but agrees; he likes Draco’s warm weight and doesn’t really care if it’s a little more difficult to do, but mostly it’s because in spite of the burn he’s still half-hard and doesn’t necessarily need everyone seeing it. Dean brings over the flat tray with a mirrored base that Harry likes to use for this purpose and sets it down on Draco’s lap.

Draco makes a game of kissing his neck while he’s trying to roll the joints, causing him to fumble several times to the general chagrin of the room at large.

When he’s finished, Dean removes the tray and all the scattered, ground-up weed on its surface and takes the joints, lighting them both and handing one off to Seamus so the rounds can begin again. Harry wonders vaguely how long it would take for the whole room to fill with smoke and eventually suffocate them.

Draco’s nuzzling his cheek now and Harry slips his arm back around him.

“We should kick everyone out after they finish these ones,” he hums into Harry’s ear. “I’m very anxious to make up for burning your poor arm.”

Harry laughs and squeezes his hip playfully, but he also feels his cock twitch with interest. Their friends will come again, plenty of times; more important is the very baked, very randy Draco in his lap whose mouth looks more inviting by the minute.

“Yeah, all right,” he agrees.

“Good,” Draco says and kisses his cheek once again. His touchy-feeliness is one of Harry’s very favourite things about Draco when he smokes. It’s like he can’t help it. “I’m gonna get some lemonade actually, do you want anything, love?”

“I’m okay,” says Harry. “Don’t be long.”

With another kiss — on his mouth this time — Draco stands up and Harry takes the opportunity to swat his arse before he walks away. Draco yelps and blushes and smacks his arm but he’s smiling, and it makes Harry’s heart even lighter than the weed does.

#weed cw #ily have some fluffy domestic boys smoking weed and being soft when u wake up #happy birthday ❤️❤️❤️#anna writes #drabble

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queenofimagines · 4 years

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Questions

Request: “can I get a jj x reader where y/n is being abused at home and jj finds out when he’s not suppose to. Y/n likes to hide it so when jj asks she denies. She comes up with lies and when jj tries to get the group involved they believe y/n’s lies. Jj tries to convince them but y:n breaks down and is denfensive at jj. But finally admit. Anyway I love ur work sm💜💜”

Warnings: Mentions of abuse. It’s kind of detailed in the beginning and even though it’s mostly just yelling and verbal fighting it can be triggering so please proceed with caution.

Waking up sore was definitely not how you planned your day to go. Every day since last Friday, it seemed, the aches in your body were getting worse and worse. The pain itself you could handle pretty easily, some pain killers in the morning and maybe a couple more throughout the day and you’d be set, what you really couldn’t stand was how you had come to be so sore.

It was an accident, honest to God. You went out with your friends and it had gotten late so you opted to have dinner with your friends. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, your father never cooked and your mother split when you were just a baby, so most nights you were left to fend for yourself. You had texted your father, letting him know that you would be out late but you had neglected to tell him you would be eating dinner with your friends on account of the fact that it just didn’t make sense to tell him, especially since he paid such little attention to you in the first place. So when you got home, stuffed with the free food that Kiara had convinced her parents to give you and the rest of the Pogues, to see your father sitting at the dinner table with what looked like a full meal for himself and half a sandwich for you, you knew that little good would come out of whatever you had just walked into.

“I got you a sandwich.” Was all he said. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. He hadn’t gotten you a sandwich, you knew him better than that. No, what happened was that he had only eaten half of his sandwich for lunch and had given you the other half after he realized he hadn’t thought to buy you something from whatever restaurant he decided stop by on his way home.

“Thanks. I’ll take it for lunch tomorrow.” You responded. You began making your way up to your room when his voice stopped you.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“No, I had dinner with my friends.” You braced yourself for the inevitable. You knew it was coming, the screaming, the insults. You had dealt with that on nearly a daily basis. On cue, your father slammed his fist into the table and began berating you about what an ungrateful child you were. About how he took care of you, clothed you, housed you, fed you. ‘Bullshit’ you wanted to say. None of what he said was true. You bought your own clothes with the money you made from the various odd jobs around town. You were the one who learned to cook so that you could scrape together just enough to get you through the day. And if it weren’t for your people skills and the money you were able to pull together, there wouldn’t even be a roof over your heads.

‘Whatever’ you thought. It didn’t matter, he would be done yelling soon and you could leave. But it didn't stop, not like it usually did. Today was just a bad day for him you guessed because it seemed like every move you made, every twitch and every glance, was somehow you showing him disrespect that he “didn’t deserve,” although you would have argued that he deserved much more than what you were giving him.

The panic really began to settle in when he began to move closer to you. Your father was prone to temper tantrums and you knew on days like this what would come next. You backed away the closer he came but soon found yourself trapped against the wall with nowhere to go. He reached you soon after, his hand enclosing around your throat and putting an uncomfortable amount of pressure on it before releasing you in order to hit you. First it was a slap to the face, then a punch to the gut that had you on the floor, then he began kicking you over and over and over again until you could see black spots in your vision and taste blood in your mouth.

‘Just a few more’ you kept telling yourself. How you wished you hadn’t. If you had stood up to him this time, if you had fought back, maybe you wouldn’t be laying in bed too sore to even sit up. If you had done something, anything, maybe the first thought in your head this morning wouldn’t have been about how to cover the bruises that were left on your skin.

As slowly as possible you sat up, gently moving your feet to the ground in order to stand and staying still for just a moment while your head stopped spinning. You definitely had a concussion, you concluded, but the only way to heal it would be with time. You slowly shuffled to your closet, grabbing a white long sleeved shirt and some capri shorts. Most of the bruises were along your torso, your limbs not bruising as easily with the exception of your bicep up near your shoulder. After you changed you quickly made your way to the mirror to make sure everything was hidden, opening the blinds when you found the light in your room to be too dim, although opening the blinds didn’t do much since your window was facing another building. You used what little light you could get to do your makeup, using a color corrector under your foundation to hide the bruises that were forming along your jaw and neck.

“It’ll have to do.” You said to yourself after assessing your work, then making your way to the bathroom in order to grab some pain killers from the cabinet. You quickly located a bottle of pain killers you had gotten from CVS and popped the cap off only to find it empty.

“Fuck.” You groaned, a vague memory of you waking up in the middle of the night and downing the last two in the bottle hitting you. Sighing, you headed back to your room, grabbing your jacket before creeping downstairs and out your front door, relieved to see that your father’s truck was gone. Down the street you could see JJ already waiting for you. You did your best to adjust your pace so that the slight limp you had developed wouldn’t be so noticeable while also keeping up speed so as not to arouse any kind of suspicion.

“Hey babe, what’s with the shorts?” JJ asked. You didn’t usually where capri shorts, in fact, JJ was pretty sure that you hated them.

“Laundry day.” You answered, grabbing his hand and pulling him in the direction of the Chateau. You were thankful that JJ didn’t question it, instead changing the subject to whatever scheme the boys had cooked up the night before. You tried to listen to what he was saying but in all honestly, you just couldn’t stop thinking about how much pain you were in. For the entirety of your walk you told yourself that you could make it to the end of the day and after JJ dropped you off at your house like he always did, you could go to the store and get some kind of over the counter pain killer. But the pain was beginning to be too much. There was a Walgreens just ahead of you and you couldn’t resist the urge to go in and get anything to ease your pain.

“Hey JJ?” You asked, gently grabbing his attention.

“What’s up?” He answered.

“Can we go in for a second? I have some stuff I need to get.”

“Anything for you, my love.” JJ said, bowing towards you in an attempt to make you laugh, smiling when he pulled a light chuckle out of you. His happiness quickly turned into concern when he saw you wince and hold your stomach.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just um... period cramps.” You answered before ducking into the building. JJ almost believed you, key word almost. He knew your cramps got so bad sometimes that you couldn’t even get out of bed, but it was for that exact reason that he knew you were lying. JJ had your cycle memorized just so he could always be prepared for when your period started; the week before he would always stock up on snacks and make sure that the heating pad he kept at his place was always fully charged. JJ’s first thought was that he had forgotten, panic slowly rising in his throat, but he also had a gut feeling that that wasn’t the case. JJ checked his phone to settle his confusion and sure enough, your period wasn’t due to start for at least another couple of weeks. JJ followed you in, upset that you would rather lie to him than tell him something was wrong.

“What exactly is it you’re looking for?” JJ asked.

“Pain killers,” you answered.

“Why?”

“Like I said, cramps.” You had just turned down the first aid isle when you realized JJ was staring at you.

“Something wrong?” You asked.

“You’re not on your period.” You froze, mentally facepalming at how dumb of an excuse you had come up with. Of course JJ would have caught your lie, he had been so amazing whenever your period came around, always being prepared and willing to give you whatever you needed. You were hoping that JJ would have blamed his own carelessness on the matter, but what you didn’t know was that when it came to you, JJ always made a point to be deliberate with his actions.

You didn’t answer, not knowing what to say. Should you keep with the lie? Maybe say your period came early? Or should you come clean? But coming clean would mean telling JJ what really happened and you knew he would blame himself for it, even if he had nothing to do with it. Luckily, or maybe not so, you didn’t get the chance to respond.

“You’re in pain,” JJ took a step towards you. You almost took a step back but resisted the urge to last minute, memories of last Friday suddenly bombarding you. JJ slowly grabbed your hands.

“Where does it hurt?” He asked. You were surprised, having expected him to demand to know why you were hurt.

“My legs.” JJ raised an eyebrow at you, knowing that you were still hiding something.

“A-and my shoulders.” You didn’t dare look at him, afraid that you would break down if you did, instead deciding to fiddle with a piece of paper you had left in the pocket of your shorts.

“There’s more, isn’t there” It was more of a statement than a question but the way JJ said it, in an impossibly soft voice that he just knew you couldn’t say no to, made the thought of telling him all the places you were bruised seem less daunting.

“My torso kind of hurts too, and my jaw. Um, also my neck.” You whispered.

“Why?” Such a simple question, you thought, a simple inquiry that would be sure to break you both. You didn’t answer, eyes trained on the floor while you thought about how stupid it was for you to have believed that being honest with JJ about your pain was a good idea. You had kept it a secret for so long and in one moment of weakness you had jeopardized it. If you hadn’t been so weak, you thought, then maybe you could have avoided all this and just gone to the Chateau instead of being here practically breaking right in front of JJ.

JJ watched you chew your lip, seeing the conflict in your eyes and chastising himself for putting you in such a state of distress, but the pain he felt in that moment couldn’t compare to the pain he felt in the next. JJ saw the purplish bruises on your jaw and neck that were partially being hidden by your hair, the makeup you had used to cover it evidently being inadequate. It was enough to go unnoticed if people weren’t paying any particular attention but it wasn’t blended well in some places, making it easy to see the slight difference in pigment between the bruised and unbruised skin. By now JJ was shaking, gently holding your face so that you would look at him.

“Who did this to you?” His thumbs gently caressing your jaw. “Was it your dad?”

“No,” You slightly jerked away from his touch. “He would never do that JJ. I’m not being abused or anything I’m just clumsy that’s all. You know me, I never pay attention to where I’m going!” You laughed, hoping that it would be enough to make JJ believe you. He didn’t, not even for a second.

“Y/N if he’s hurting you, you have to tell me.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” you said, beginning to get defensive. “My dad isn’t hurting me JJ so stop with all the questions. And stop thinking that just because you’re my boyfriend means that I owe it to you to tell you.”

You were being harsh, you knew that, but you needed JJ to leave the subject alone and the only way you knew how was to get him to be angry at you. You hated it when JJ was mad at you but desperate times call for desperate measures.

JJ did let the subject slide on account of the fact that he knew if he kept talking he would definitely say something he would regret. He wasn’t going to let it go completely, though. If you weren’t going to tell him the truth then surely if he got the Pogues to intervene too, if he could somehow convince you that they were all on your side, then maybe you’d feel safer talking about it. What he didn’t understand is why you would be willing to protect someone who was causing you so much pain. He knew about your strained relationship with your father, that in and of itself already drained you so much, but your father physically hurting you was a whole other problem. Still, given how much you hated your father he didn’t know why you were protecting him, but that wasn’t what you were doing. In all honestly, you were ashamed that this was happening in the first place. You felt like you were a pretty independent and strong willed person and knowing that one man could render you so powerless made you feel weak. On top of that you felt like you were drained enough as it is, adding the fuss that you would have to deal with when your friends found out was just something that you didn’t think you had the energy to handle.

You quickly found some pain killers and paid, making your way towards the Chateau faster than you ever had. The walk with JJ had turned awkward and you felt like if you were with him alone for a second longer you would explode, so when you had crossed paths with Kiara and Pope you were glad to have someone else to break the tension. From then on it was smooth sailing for you, despite the fact that you spent almost the whole time avoiding JJ. You figured you were being subtle enough but the way JJ was practically glaring at you tipped the boys off.

“Hey, is something going on with you and Y/N?” Pope asked.

“Yeah it seems like she’s been avoiding you. Did you guys get into a fight or something?” John B added.

“I think Y/N is being abused.” JJ answered, not even bothering to sugar coat it.

“What?” Both Pope and John B spoke at the same time, eyes wide.

“She has bruises on her neck and jaw and earlier, before we came he, we stopped by Walgreens so she could get some pain meds. She lied and said she was on her period but it isn’t due for another couple of weeks.”

“Well, that could be anything JJ...” John B said, but it seemed like he was trying to convince himself as much as JJ.

“It’s not. I think I would know. We have to do something.”

“No, what we need is proof,” Pope spoke up. “Even if abuse seems like the likely reason for her bruises there's still a chance that it is something else. One of us could ask her.”

“Sure Pope, instead of helping my girlfriend, who just so happens to be one of your best friends, we should definitely just outright ask her if she’s being abused. She’ll be really eager to answer that honestly.”

“I meant that one of us should ask how she got the bruise. And unless you have a better idea I don’t see what else we could do.” JJ fell silent at that. He knew Pope was right, so the boys joined you, Sarah, and Kiara. The boys exchanged looks, trying to decide who would ask. JJ was already out of the question but they didn’t know if the question would sound more innocent coming from John B or Pope.

“Hey Y/N, what happened to your jaw?” Pope finally asked.

“Yeah, I thought your neck looked a little off too. You okay?

“Oh, yeah! You guys remember a couple days ago when I fell off the boat? Turns out I hit my chin pretty hard and it caused this ugly ass bruise to pop up. I tried to cover it but you know how crappy the lighting in my room is.” You laughed. Now that you had calmed down, lying came easy, and having had a couple of hours to prepare your answer made it all the more easier. Your friends seemed pretty convinced by your answer and you were satisfied that you had avoided the subject.

“What about your legs then?” JJ asked, pushing you. “And your torso, hm? What about those?”

“Uh, well we did do a lot of swimming-”

“No more than we usually do. Plus you’re on the swim team, you don’t get sore from swimming.”

“What are you implying JJ?”

“I’m implying that you’re not telling us the truth.” By now both you and JJ were on your feet and breathing heavily. You were angry and panicked that JJ was pushing you so far. JJ was desperate to help you and even if he was going about it the wrong way he didn’t know what else to do.

“Okay guys just calm down,” Sarah said, gently grabbing your arm and pulling you to sit, John B soon doing the same with JJ.

“Y/N is JJ right?” Kiara asked. You picked up the pillow that had fallen to the floor when you stood up, picking at a loose thread at one of the corners and refusing to answer. It had been a tough day already and right now you felt like you would break at any moment, but you were exhausted. Exhausted from fighting with JJ and from having to lie to your friends and completely defeated by the fact that this had become your life.

“Y-Yes,” You admitted, finally letting the tears fall. “He just- he just get’s so mad sometimes and he can’t control it and I get it because there’s no one else to take it b-but I don’t know what to do because I can’t leave, I have no where else to go.”

You were sobbing at this point, holding onto the pillow in your lap like a life line. JJ was the first to react, practically jumping over the coffee table to hold you. The rest of the Pogues soon followed, hugging you while their hearts broke more and more with each sob you emitted.

“You’re wrong,” John B spoke after a few moments. “You'll always have a place here.”

“I can’t just leave.” You responded, taking deep breathes to calm down.

“I know it’s hard,” JJ stated. “But we’ll be here for you okay? We’ll call Child Protective Services and sort this all out so you never have to see him again.”

“B-but what if they take me away? I don’t even know of any other family I have.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Kiara said, gently squeezing your hand. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Yeah. And anyway we could always bribe the officer.” Sarah agreed, trying to lighten the mood which caused you all to laugh.

“It’s settled then! You’ll stay here with me and JJ and tomorrow morning we’ll all go to your house together to grab your stuff, okay?” John be asked. You thought it over. This, this was your light at the end of the tunnel. An end to the constant fear you felt. You’d thought of a moment like this a million times over but each time you always figured that you’d have to refuse it. But now that you were here, faced with the decision, you knew you’d be an idiot to say no. A smile slowly spread across your face.

“Okay.”

#jj maybank imagine #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj outer banks #Outer Banks #outer banks one shot #outer banks x reader #outer banks imagine #pogues #obx pogues #outer banks pogues #obx #obx x reader #obx imagine #obx one shot

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dirt-cup-draco · 4 years

Text

Cedric x Reader- Mistaken Adoration

Zhi! can i request cedric x reader and smth with a love potion? sorry it's pretty vague 😅 i am IN LOVE with ur writing btw 💖

It was inevitable, falling in love with Cedric Diggory. His sharp jaw, his observant eyes, his wicked body. You withheld a giggle as you watched him during quidditch practice. You were his friend, not just some fangirl. And that’s what made what you felt real. You knew he was more than his looks, that was just a bonus. Cedric wasn’t an airhead or naive but he saw the best in people and he was a legitimately good guy.

After all, you’d been without a friend on your train ride to Hogwarts and Cedric had been the one to poke his head into your passenger cart and ask if any of the seats were taken. Part of you thought he might’ve known that you weren’t waiting on anyone. Cedric seemed to be in tune with everything going on around him. He had a big heart and open arms for everyone and you were certain that was why everyone adored him so. You wondered then why he was so blind to your affections.

“Alright then Y/N?” Cedric greeted as you met him after his practice finished. He was quick to throw his arm over your shoulder and you leaned in to him without hesitation. Under his arm had been a familiar place to be lately and it stirred up the butterflies in your stomach that you wished had stayed dormant. You couldn’t fight the blush that bloomed on your cheeks as you hung your head low, dodging his gaze.

“Was until you rubbed all your sweat on me,” You jested, ducking underneath his arm as Cedric barked out a dizzying laugh. You loved his laugh. You smiled to yourself and Cedric playfully bumped his shoulder into yours.

“You going to tell me why you’re head is in the clouds?” Cedric asked and you stared at him in shock. The man always knew your slightest mood changes, when you were feeling up or down or somewhere in between. He knew when your mind was racing and when you were feeling pleasantly thoughtless. He knew when you needed a hug and when you’d punch him if he got too close. So surely, it wasn’t too hard to imagine that he knew your feelings. Right?

“Only if you can guess, Diggory,” You winked at him and strolled a few steps forward to try and wipe the giddy smile off of your face before he saw it. You were trying to flirt, was this flirting? You two had been playful since your friendship started and it was getting hard to distinguish between your jokes and your flirtations.

“Zacharias?” He tried, nodding to his chaser who was a few paces away.

You snorted and nearly tripped over your feet, having to pause to let out a loud laugh. “Oh Cedric, my dear, you could not be more wrong,”

“Not a Hufflepuff then, got it,” Cedric pretended to look thoughtful but you saw his lips twitch into a silly smile. Despite his prodding and teasing, you were beaming bright. Was he trying to find out what, or rather who, was on your mind because he wanted to be that person?

You shrugged, lip tugged between your teeth. “I didn’t say that,”

“Vague today, aren’t we?” Cedric lamented and you sent him another innocent shrug before you split from his side so he could go clean up before dinner.

“Alright, see you tonight then,” Cedric shook his head laughing, as you were already halfway across the hallway with no chance of hear his quiet muttering. You were a curious one.

“Later” meant the party that the Ravenclaws were throwing. The kids who were interested in getting some rest were already tucked away in their dorms. Some were awake with fiction books open, others with textbooks. The other handful of Ravenclaws, the artists and poets and the geniuses who procrastinated, were currently throwing a party to avoid the fact that Snape was supposedly giving everyone a popquiz the following day.

Cedric had been quick to tell you that you ought to come knowing full well there was some excuse already halfway out of your mouth. Last time you’d gone to a party you’d had a bit too much firewhiskey to impress a certain Hufflepuff. You’d kissed the wrong boy (probably for the better), and gotten sick all over some sixth year’s shoes. Ever since then, you’d stayed shy from any type of party.

But he was looking at you like that and you couldn’t possibly say no. “Alright, I won’t make you beg,” You’d teased, pretending to be put out but buzzing with delight and some trepidation. You knew you could contain yourself this time but that didn’t mean that you wouldn’t somehow make a fool of yourself.

“Oh hello Y/N,” Came Luna’s whispy voice, “You’re look particularly orange today,”

You giggled as you pulled the girl to you in a quick hug. “Thank you?” You tried not to sound confused and she didn’t seem to notice. From speaking with Ginny, you were pretty sure that meant you looked...cheerful? Or it could mean you looked sick, you couldn’t quite remember. Luna was darling, if a bit confusing.

Cedric was off around the corner, another kid tucked underneath his arm as he ruffled their hair. His smile was bright as always and your stomach flipped. You were pulled from your staring as a girl gripped your elbow lightly. Turning to her, you recognized her as a girl in Cedric’s house. Tamsin Applebee, if you weren’t mistaken.

“Hey, could you give this to Cedric for me?” She extended a cup of what looked to be firewhisky yet there seemed to be a pearly sheen to it. You must be seeing things.

You were tired of girls trying to go through you to get to him. It totally wasn’t jealousy. “Oh I’d love to but-”

“Thanks!” She cheered, shoving the drink into your hands and then running off to her friends to laugh. You sighed and rolled your eyes. You hoped you didn’t act that oddly around him.

“Hey Cedric-” You sighed, extending the cup as your friend lit up at the sound of your voice.

“Oh cheers!” He smiled, taking the drink from your hand and throwing it back in one go. “Thanks love, I needed that,”

“I think I’m going to get going,” You tried to sound convincing. “Too loud,” You smiled but Cedric shook his head, hand gripping your shoulder and shaking you slightly.

“C’mon it’s just starting!” He swept his stupid, perfect, hair from his eyes and fixed you with an intense look. “Please stay? For me?”

Your heart jerked around violently but you nodded slowly. “Fine, just to make sure you don’t accidentally hurt yourself seeing as you’re already plastered,”

“You’re wonderful,” Cedric smiled, pulling you close and pressing a wet kiss to your forehead. You shoved him away and he frowned.

“Sober up Diggory, I’ll be talking with Luna,”

Cedric felt warmer than usual when the drink you’d given him had settled in his stomach. The room seemed to slow down a bit, the music and voices dimming until your’s was the clearest. It was a shame though, when he watched you walk away and talk to that Ravenclaw girl.

A frown worked it’s way onto his face. “Don’t get why Y/N can’t just chill with us,” He grumbled and his friends look at him oddly.

“Why you like her or somethin’?” One joked and laughter rippled through the group.

Cedric’s eyes were trained on you. The answer that he thought he was going to give was no but as he looked at you, you seemed to glow in the lights of the Ravenclaw’s common room as you smiled and laughed with your friends. Since when had your smile been so pleasant? And had your hair always been so shiny? Cedric swore he could smell your perfume in the air and it made him feel good.

“What if I do?” He asked and the boys around him gaped with open mouths and bugged eyes.

“Ced, come off it,” One jabbed his shoulder.

“I thought you were into Cho?” Another asked. “Keep talking ‘bout Y/N and you might kill your chance,”

Cedric decided listening to them was the last thing he wanted to do. You looked far more inviting, a lovely tint on your pretty cheeks. As he got closer you looked at him and he wondered when your eyes had begun to shine like stars. Merlin, you’d gotten pretty.

“Doin’ okay Ced?” You asked out of concern as the boy came stumbling over to you with a wide and somewhat vacant smile on his face. He nodded, his hand reaching up so he could twirl a strand of your hair around his finger.

“I’m doing wonderfully,” He grinned and he took a step closer. What was that about?

“Maybe too wonderfully, let’s get you some water,” You said, grabbing his hand. Cedric seemed to have few complaints as he squeezed back. It wasn’t an oddity to hold his hand but it was strange of him to stroke his thumb against your skin. It was tender, caring. It had you in shambles. You shook his hand free.

“Y/N~” Cedric whine indignantly, grabbing your hand again. “Why’d you let go?”

“You’re drunk,” You pointed out as you shook free again and filled a plastic cup at the bathroom sink. “Now drink,”

Cedric took the cup from your hands and pressed it to his lips. “Anything for you,” He winked and you would’ve laughed if it hadn’t knocked the air from your lungs.

“What’d you do to my Cedric,”

“Oooh, my Cedric, I like that,” Cedric commented, setting the plastic cup down to rest his hand heavy on your hip. You gulped but couldn’t find it in you to pull away.

“You do?” You croaked, mouth gone dry and palms sweaty.

“Course I do,” Was all Cedric had to say as he pulled you closer, hips pressed together as he nudged his nose against yours. His lips were so tantalizingly close that you kicked yourself when you dodged his advance.

“A-are you serious or are you drunk? Because this isn’t some game to me Ced... I have to know,” You needed to make sure that this wasn’t some mistake, that tomorrow morning he’d avoid you because he’d kissed you when drunk and you’d let him. You couldn’t take advantage of him.

Cedric kept his hands on your hips but gave you the space so that he could look in your eyes and give you a chance to breathe. His eyes were glazed over but he spoke clearly, not wavering on his feet and barely smelling of alcohol. “I’m serious, more than I’ve ever been,”

It was all you needed to trail your hands up his broad chest and around his neck. His hands flexed on your hips and squeezed you affectionately. You smiled and tangled your fingers in his hair. “Kiss me then,” You asked and Cedric did just that. You whined softly against him and he drank it all up, lips hot against yours. It was everything you’d imagined and so much better.

“I really like you,” You gasped as he nibbled at your neck. He hummed against your pulse and it spiked considerably as you giggled.

“Like you too,” He mumbled and you couldn’t have felt higher.

Cedric woke when the sun purposefully broke through the blinds to glare into his eyes. He dragged a hand down his face and furrowed his brow trying to remember all of last nights events. He hadn’t even had that much to drink, then you’d given him something and-“Fuck,” He groaned, fingers rubbing against his still swollen lips.

“You got smashed last night!” Zacharias laughed. “You’d been goin on about Y/N, then we found you two snogging in the Ravenclaw’s bathroom. Dragged you back here,”

The boy’s interruption into his crisis wasn’t welcomed and he groaned more. “That’s rubbish,” Cedric tried convincing himself. “I wouldn’t do that, didn’t even drink that much,”

“You got pretty chuffed after Y/N gave you that firewhiskey,” Ernie poked fun and the color drained from Cedric’s face. He wouldn’t have kissed you, well he might have but he hadn’t been planning on it and he hadn’t been drunk despite feeling terrible this morning. He feared the worst as he got up from bed, on a mission to put you in your place.

You were beaming as you put your breakfast together that morning, hoping Cedric would be up before noon so you could catch him before you had to get to classes. You hadn’t gotten the chance to talk last night, his friends had found him and offered to take him back to his dorm and you’d figured it would be best. He had wanted to stay but you knew he needed the rest.

When Cedric barged into the Great Hall you were a bit surprised to see his barely restrained anger. Once his eyes landed on you, your smile was stolen as that expression darkened. He took long, meaningful strides.

“Come with me,” Cedric demanded, hand tight around your arm as he tugged you from his seat. “Now.”

“Cedric-” You began, confused and a bit frightened. You’d never seen him like this before. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,” He scoffed as he pulled you past a group of first years that were entering the great hall. They stared as Cedric continued to drag you. You practically had to jog to keep up with him. You were nearly to Mrs. Sprout’s greenhouse when you planted your feet into the ground.

“Cedric stop! What’s the problem?”

“You’re my problem!” Cedric roared and you felt small underneath his ferocious look. His cheeks were red from frustration and his chest was heaving with his quick breaths. “I would expect it from anyone else but you... I can’t believe I was so fucking blind!”

“Ced-” You teared up, confused. Had you done something wrong? You thought that last night had been nice. He’d told you he’d barely had anything to drink so what was wrong?

“No, no, no!” Cedric laughed bitterly. “You don’t get to cry, you don’t get to act like the victim because that is exactly what you made me! You are just like all of the other girls Y/N... I feel so violated, do you know how that feels? To be manipulated and made to do and say things you don’t mean?”

“Please, I don’t know what your talking about!” You gasped, trying to hold your tears back at his request but failing miserably. You tried reaching for him but he stepped back, eyes stone cold.

“Yes you do!” Cedric shouted back. “You betrayed my trust because, why? Because you like me? Guess what Y/N! I will never like you, and no stupid love potion can fix that!”

You nearly stumbled back with the force of his words. Your heart that was already cracked from his anger was now properly shattered as he brought the hammer back down. I will never like you. I will never like you. I will never like you

“Wait? L-love potion?” You choked out, eyes burning and hands shaking as Cedric stood before you in a similar state except he was full of rage and you were feeling oddly empty.

Cedric pinched the bridge of his nose, his anger fading but his frustration not lessened any. “How many times do I have to say it? I know what was in that drink you gave me last night,”

You paled immediately, raising a shaking hand to your lips as you let out a cry. “Oh god,”

“Yeah...” Cedric scoffed.

“N-no, you don’t understand,” You sniffled, stomach in knots as you felt like you were going to be sick. “Tamsin handed me that drink to give to you- Oh god, I swear I didn’t know,”

Cedric paused as your words sunk in. This was Tamsin’s doing? He searched your eyes and he found what he always did when he looked at you: honesty and affection. Yet, the longer he looked at you the more he saw the damage his words had caused. “Y/N-”

You shook your head, chewing on your lip as your nails dug into your palm. “Don’t worry about it C-C-. Don’t worry about it,” Your voice trembled and you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I thought that you- I wouldn’t have yelled if-” Cedric fumbled for words now as he saw you creep back into the same shell he’d found you in when no one had sat by you on the way to Hogwarts.

“I get, it’s fine. I’m gonna go, yeah?” YOu gave him a weak smile but it wasn’t convincing in the slightest as tears ran down your cheeks.

It wasn’t fine, you can’t even say my name or give me a proper smile. Cedric wanted to say but the words didn’t exit his mouth fast enough and you were running, actually running, away from him. He knew he’d been terribly cross, but now that the misunderstanding was cleared up shouldn’t you feel better?

And then it hit him. You’d kissed him last night, you’d made sure he was sober enough to know that he wanted to kiss you... Hell, he’d told you he liked you back.I will never like you, and no stupid love potion can fix that. He’d said in his rage.

Cedric took a shaky breath as he drug his hand down his face. He’d just doubted his best friend, who was apparently interested in him, and broken her heart completely. How could he get out of this one?

You’d never felt more low, you realized as you bolted past Cedric without waiting for a response. You weren’t sure what hurt more, that he thought you’d take advantage of him like that or that he had said the words you’d been anticipating since your feelings first made themselves known. It was heartbreak like you’d never known before and you couldn’t keep from crying even as curious and worried students watched you sprint past them.

“Alright, Y/N?” Tamsin asked and you halted to fix her with a long and miserable stare.

“I really hope you’re happy with yourself,” You sobbed before shoving past her. You made it to your dorm room and threw yourself on the bed. Classes be damned.

You cried until there was nothing left to cry.

Cedric knew you were his best friend. You were always there to watch his quidditch practices and always there to crack a joke. You were there to give him a hug on his bad days and give him a pep talk when he lost a match. You were there to reassure him he’d find someone better when a fling fell through and he worried no one would ever like him for anything other than his looks or popular status.

Now, you weren’t anywhere.

It had been a whole month since you’d run from him, sobbing. He’d tried speaking with you since but you ate meals as close to the great hall’s doors as you could so if he approached you could make a quick exit. He hadn’t seen you at a quidditch game once let alone a practice. When you were in classes you sat as far away as you possibly could and didn’t even spare him a glance.

It would have been bearable if Cedric knew that you were happy, but it was so clear that you weren’t. You looked like you hadn’t slept since he’d blamed you for his foolish teammates “prank”. She’d been suspended from quidditch games for the rest of the school year for fooling around with a love potion but it still didn’t feel like enough of a punishment .She had put Cedric and you in between a rock and hard place and your friendship was dying out because of it.

Your smiles were so rare now that he found himself replaying memories in all of his sleeping and wide awake hours. Memories of your smiles that could light up a whole room, just because he’d walked in and you’d caught his eye. Memories of you wrapping your arm around his waist whenever he set his arm over your shoulders just so you could give him an affectionate squeeze. Memories of your eyes sparkling because he had complimented your outfit during a trip to Hogsmeade.

Cedric hadn’t realized how good he’d had it with you until you were gone. All of your warmth had vanished from his life and he felt sick. I will never like you, and no stupid love potion can fix that. The words played in his mind day and night. The words had come from a place of hurt, from a place where he thought maybe you had violated all of his boundaries and given him a love potion.

Cedric now knew you’d never needed a love potion to make him fall for you.

You were on autopilot day in and day out. It wasn’t that you didn’t have purpose or friends outside of Cedric but he was your best friend and he added so much to your world that couldn’t be replicated by anyone else. You wanted to move past it, wanted to see a Hufflepuff scarf and not panic, wanted to go to a quidditch game without feeling like you’d been hit in the gut with a bludger, wanted to go to class and not feel like crying just because Cedric fucking Diggory walked in.

He’d made his feelings for you very clear in the sense that he had none and never would. Anything he’d said to you that night was a lie, his kisses and compliments and praises were all fabricated by the drink Tamnis had spiked. The drink that had ruined the best friendship you’d ever had.

You were hiding in the library when a charmed airplane floated through the shelves, searching for the person it was meant for. It hovered over you for a moment before nose diving between the pages of the book you were currently trying to hide from reality in. It was so much easier to imagine fictional characters resolving their problems when you couldn’t do the same for yours. Huffing in annoyance you opened the note. In not-so-neat block letters read:

Please come meet me at the Black Lake after dinner.

There was nothing else to it but it made you feel miserable all over again. You knew Cedric’s handwriting from a mile away. It wasn’t so much the note that worried you, it was the contents within that made your chest constrict with discomfort. What could he possibly have to say? It had been a month, a whole god damn miserable month, and now he had something to say?

Maybe he was finally going to bury your friendship, lay it out in clear words that he didn’t want anything to do with you ever again. You tore the piece of paper into several bits then discarded them into the bin. You’d be a fool to go see him, you’d been a fool to fall in love in the first place.

Dinner had ended nearly an hour ago and Cedric was half frozen out by the Black Lake. The breeze had picked up into a more substantial wind and it chilled him to the core. It might have also had something to do with the fact that you weren’t here. You weren’t here and he really needed you to be, he wanted you to be.

Everyone had exited the great hall some time ago and he hadn’t seen you enter in the first place. You sat in the spot closest to the great hall’s doors ever since he’d broken your heart but tonight you hadn’t been there. Had his letter even gotten to you? He was positive it had, but that brought up another possibility that riddled him with guilt and remorse.

It was possible you’d seen it and decided not to come. He hadn’t signed it but you two used to pass notes during class and he hoped you could recognize his hand writing. It was also possible that Cedric couldn’t fix his blunder with a note.

You might not go to him, but he could go to you.

Cedric was fueled with determination as he snuck past the prefects monitoring the halls. He was always updated on house entry passwords (it paid being popular) and it was simple enough to enter your common room. What was less simple was explaining to those in your room why they had to leave and why he had to talk to you.

Despite his worries his feet carried him to your door but his knock was stalled by a voice behind him. “Don’t do it,”

Turning around he feared it was a prefect but he was much happier to realize it was one of your roommates. “Pardon?” He asked, hand still raised to the door.

“I said ‘dont do it’, not unless you’re going to fix things,” She said with a sullen glare.

“You know?” Cedric winced and her resounding scoff didn’t help ease his guilt.

“You two were glued to the hip then suddenly she’s crying herself to sleep every night and you’re nowhere to be seen. That’s all I have to know,”

“I’m here to fix things I-” Cedric paused, seeing the way your roommate squared their shoulders in a somewhat intimidating stance. “I was a complete git but I’m here to make it better, please just let me have some time alone with her,”

Cedric wasn’t used to asking for things more than once, he was usually just given things but this was to be expected. What hadn’t been expected was the news that you’d been crying every night for a whole month and he’d been too scared to speak to you. “Please,” He tried again, voice cracking as his stress got to him.

“Give me five minutes to get the other girls out, but I swear to god Diggory if you hurt her again I’ll send a bludger right into your pretty face.” Ah. Cedric remembered where he knew your roommate from. She was your house’s quidditch captain and beater. That explained her wicked biceps.

“Thank you,” Cedric sighed but his palms began to sweat. What was he going to say?

True to her word, she had your other roommates out in five minutes time and now it was his time to make things right. You were curled up under your sheets, shoulders shaking softly as you tried to make no noise. Every few seconds a pitched whimper would leave your lips and your sobs would start anew.

“Did you get my note?” Cedric decided was the best way to interrupt you but it turned his blood cold when you went instantly silent. Your body stilled completely but then you slowly sat up. You kept your back turned to him but even seeing your hair, the shape of you lit up with a halo of moonlight, was comforting to him.

“I thought I’d better steer clear, in case you were worried about me slipping you any banned potions again,” Your voice wasn’t bitter. It was empty and cold and it cracked over a cavern in Cedric’s chest.

“Merlin, Y/N,” Cedric sighed, eyes burning with emotions that were quickly flooding him.He decided to cut to the chase in case he psyched himself out. “If I’d known it wasn’t you I wouldn’t have said any of that,”

You gave no reply.

“I’m so sorry, don’t you see that?” Cedric offered. He was prepared to say more when you cut in.

“No. I don’t see that,” Finally you faced him, eyes swollen and red with dark bags underneath. “The person I cared for most, the person I loved, hasn’t spoken to me in a month because they will never like me and no love potion can fix that, right? I am just like all of the others and I scheme and I hurt you and I use you and I’m just so fucking awful, yeah?” You cried out and Cedric moved to stand before your bed but didn’t dare sit beside you yet. He didn’t want to make it worse.

“I-I” Cedric thought, knowing he had to find his words carefully if he was going to keep you talking. “I’ve been given a love potion before. I meant it when I said it felt like a violation, a betrayal. Truth be told, I don’t think I would have kissed you had I not been given the drink. I felt like I wasn’t in control again and I hated that, so when you seemed the most logical option I took it out on you.,” The truth was bitter in his mouth but it needed to be said.

“I get that Ced,” You sniffled. “Of course it’s a violation and you shouldn’t have had to go through that. But, I’m hurt that you thought I could ever hurt you like that.”

“I didn’t know what else to think,” Cedric offered. “You gave me the drink so the love potion made me see you differently. I didn’t stop and think that you had just been used like I had,”

You wrapped your blankets around you tighter, curling back up against your pillows as you watched Cedric.

“Please say something?” He begged.

“What do you want to hear?” You asked, brows furrowed. “You know how I feel, you know that you don’t feel the same. Talking about it wont make it disappear, so lets just agree to never talk about it again,”

“No,” Cedric found himself saying, crawling on the bed to place a worried hand on your knee. You didn’t pull away. “Because if we don’t talk about this, you aren’t ever going to talk to me again and I cant- I can’t lose you Y/N”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Bit late for that now, isn’t it?”

Cedric shook his head, hand squeezing your knee to calm himself. “I don’t want it to be too late. I was stupid and I thought that I could let you go. I thought that it was better if we just cut our losses but that was my guilt telling me to bury the past and forget my negative feelings. I didn’t allow myself to feel guilty until suddenly it was all I could feel. I’ve thought of you every day and night for the past four weeks... I miss you,”

“You just miss how I treated you,” You snapped, looking away from him.

“I miss you, Y/N. I miss your laugh and your smile and how your arms get swallowed up by the sleeves of my sweater when you put it on. I miss pulling you against me after quidditch practice and having late night study sessions. I miss how you treat me like I’m everyone else, but also that you treat me like I’m someone to be treasured. I miss how we used to be and I miss what we never got to be because I was an absolute git,”

“W-what does that mean?” You interrupted, feeling as if he had given you whiplash. “It’s easy to say you miss me but how do I know?”

“Trust me,” Cedric begged softly, hand finding yours and not letting go. You stared at your intertwined fingers, your rebel heart skipping a beat.

“Like you trusted me?” You had to ask. Maybe it wasn’t fair after his apology, but you needed him to know how hurt you’d been. If he didn’t feel the same, fine, you’d eventually get over it but how could he think you’d ever want to use him and manipulate his feelings?

“Y/N... I can’t change the past. I may want to, but I can’t. You are my best friend and I royally fucked up when I thought you’d given me the love potion... I want my best friend back and more than that I want you. It's been hell without you love, I didnt realize what you meant to me until I'd ruined my chance,"

You stopped breathing. Cedric looked...honest. Honest and hopeful and like he might cry if you turned him away. He wanted you back in his life and you were trying to process all that that meant.

"Youre an asshole," was all you could think to say.

Cedric nearly laughed at the abruptness of your statement. "Yes, yes I am" He agreed, a frightened smile toying with his lips. You hated those lips almost as much as you missed them.

"Im not going to lie and say my feelings havent changed," You began and Cedrics heart sank.

"I understand," He tried to smile and it was almost painful to see how badly he failed.

"But!" You added, sending him a pointed look. "I care for you Cedric and I understand you were dragged into a real uncomfortable situation by me even if I didnt know what Id done..."

You squeeze his hand, letting your thumb stroke the back of his hand as hed once done to you. It had made you feel so loved even if the love itself had been manufactured and a mistake.

"I need time, I think we both do. We have to learn to be friends again before we can even hope for anything else," you laid down the law before he could get ahead of himself. It seems youd said something right as he lit up like a christmas tree, a bright and wonderful smile on his face.

"I agree," Cedric nodded quickly, then added. "But can I kiss you?"

And for the first time in a month, you laughed. You laughed like it was the only response you could give, like youd just been told the worlds greatest joke, like you had to laugh unless youd cry.

"For how much I love you, sometimes I really hate you," you laughed until tears sprang to the corners of your eyes. Cedric looked sheepish, embarrassed even. It chipped away at some of the ice that had taken over your heart.

"Its late you should get back to your dorm," you advised.

He simply nodded, letting go of your hand as you followed to the door. He felt triumphant and melancholy as he mumbled "Goodnight,"

"Goodnight,"

"Oh and Cedric?" You caught his attention and he turned back to you. You set your hands on his shoulders and you could both feel yourselves relaxing at the contact youd missed for weeks. Standing on your toes, you kissed his cheek and his eyelids fluttered closed when your lips lingered. "Dont stop trying, I'll come around," You advised.

Cedric let you close the door behind him before he could answer but it didnt stop the smile that was spreading onto his face. Things werent perfect, he hasn't expected them to be, but he had his best friend back and maybe on day youd be something more, without the help of a love potion.

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