#another lukewarm take but whatever. it is so fucking cute

[calcescarp]

anyway i caught up on spy x family within the last 24 hours and i'm fucking in love with it

#another lukewarm take but whatever. it is so fucking cute #brace yourself for more lukewarm takes #starting with my misconceptions going in. because i gleefully live under a rock #misconception number 1: I THOUGHT THEY WERE A REAL FAMILY. NOBODY TOLD ME IT WAS A FAKE ASS MARRIAGE. I LOVE THE REALITY SO MUCH MORE THAN #WHAT I THOUGHT IT WAS. I HAD NO IDEA. I FUCKING LOVE IT I LOVE THEM #misconception number 2: i thought Yor was gonna be 100% femme fatale. i did not know she was gonna be 50% shoujo protagonist #i am obsessed with her #she is my pathetic little scrunkly who is allowed to kill sometimes for enrichment #i want to hold her by the scruff #all those posts about 'what about HER bloodlust and HER crimes and HER patheticness' that's Yor. that's Yor #i was slightly skeptic at first but i am not. at all. anymore. i like her #misconception number 3: I DID NOT KNOW ANYA IS LITERALLY A TELEPATH. I DID NOT KNOW. I THOUGHT EVERYONE WAS SPEAKING METAPHORICALLY. #I AM OBSESSED WITH HER. SHE IS THE MOST CHARACTER EVER. SHE IS MY LITTLE ANGEL. SHE IS A MEME. but we knew that #misconception number 4: i thought it was be less comedy-centric. this is not a complaint. i love it so much. i love my silly spy show #okay here's one hot take. Yuri is the most horrible annoying character and i am obsessed with him i love him. i think he should be put down #Damian is also my little angel. i think that's probably a lukewarm take #talking tag #spy x family spoilers in tags #okay i'm done. btw yes i do exclusively ramble in tags. yes it is egregious. sorry #(<- not sorry) #okay bye. time to watch inuyasha #rue watch party

[stuffeddeer]

Washing dishes is Dazai's favorite activity.

If you asked Kunikida, he'd say Dazai loves wasting time. Atsushi would say something more intellectual, like maybe he enjoys crosswords. Drinking would be Yosano's guess, since Dazai does it quite often, and Tanizaki would mention all the girls that call looking for him. Maybe petting the stray cats by the building, Kyoka would offer, and Kenji would agree excitedly with the notion — since he enjoys it, too. But none of them could guess what he really loves to do.

Ranpo knows Dazai loves doing the dishes with you. He'll unwrap his bandages more and more confidently each day, waiting as the sink fills with lukewarm water and soapy bubbles. You'll stand by his side happily, a dishrag in hand you'd forced him to buy long before you moved in.

The two of you would work without talking for a bit, Dazai scrubbing away whatever grime was left on plates while you dried off his hard work. The feeling of the water in his bare arms brought him peace, knowing the soapy bubbles covered his scars, but you also never commented when he'd pull them up and out of the comforting submerged space to hand you a plate. You'd hum beside him, the notes of whatever latest pop song got stuck in your head while at work today filling the small space between you two.

Dazai would knock his shoulder into yours playfully, grinning down at you softly as he passed over another dish. He loved when you'd almost drop a glass into the sink when taking it from him, face burning and eyes wide as you make an adorable startled noise. The humming tended to stop then, as you'd focus all your energy on not dropping anything else.

That's when the conversation would start. Dazai would ask for work drama, and you'd happily oblige. From intimate humming to workplace gossip, Dazai loved all of your sounds. If he could record these moments to keep forever, they'd become his white noise as he slept in your arms.

"Your fingers must be pruny. Do you want to switch jobs?"

You were always so considerate of him. He'd pat down his hands and forearms and you'd gently help him wrap his bandages back up, making sure not to let your gaze linger. Sometimes Dazai would lean over and sniff your hair as you worked, smelling your shampoo and nearly swooning. You'd pat his arm once gently to let him know you were done before turning to the few remaining dishes. He'd always leave the harder ones for you; bigger pots and pans and whatever the fuck a colander was. "It's just a big bowl! It even drains on its own," you'd huff, but never complain more than that.

Just as cute as ever, you'd wash them without complaint as he smiled victoriously. You both knew what he was doing, but even the "harder objects" were simple so you didn't mind. It'd be Dazai's turn to talk as he'd tease you for being so gullible. He'd mention his day, complaining about Kunikida's reports that he so graciously took over (which were Dazai's reports, actually) and how scary and nearly disastrous his meeting with a random dog was that he had passed by on the way home — a dog that was leashed and following beside its owner obediently.

The way home to you, to this vulnerable moment you both shared in the quiet of his apartment. He loved how focused you'd get on scrubbing away the grime, allowing him pause to stare at you and admire your dedication. How beautiful can one person be? And the way you'd get all flustered when you turn to hand him a dish to dry only to see him basking in your ethereal visage always caused him to grin.

He'd pepper your face with kisses, his now dried hands grabbing your soaked ones to pull you away from the kitchen and to the couch. You'd whine and complain, saying you only had a few dishes left, but you never tried to pull from his grasp while dutifully following suit. Dazai loves to cradle you close to him, forgetting about whatever worries him for a few moments.

Dazai loves doing the dishes.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd imagines #bsd scenarios #bsd fanfic #bungou stray dogs fanfic #bungo stray dogs fanfic #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai bsd #dazai imagines #dazai fluff #bsd fluff

[dramatic-crying]

good old days // ryan dunn x reader

Writing prompt: "She runs into her high school crush and reminisces about the time that they had a really cute moment"

Summary: While working the closing shift at your job, you run into someone you haven't seen in years.

Work count: ~1.5k

Warnings: MAJOR FLUFF, swearing, cute shit

"Will that be all, sir?" You ask, making drinks for the man currently sitting across the bar counter from you.

"Yeah, whatever. Just put it on my tab, will ya, sweetheart?" He remarks, giving you a wink before walking to his friends halfway across the bar.

"You got it, dick," you say under your breath.

"Hey, Y/N!" You hear to your right. You immediately turn to see your manager walking towards you, your heart instantly dropping when you realize that she might have heard what you just said. However, despite your fears, she smiles at you warmly and says, "You wanna take your 30 minute break now before we get super busy?"

"Yes, please," you exaggerate, smiling at her as you rush towards the back. All you grab is a pack of cigarettes and the small dinner of some fries and chicken strips your coworker had cooked for you at the beginning of your shift. You check the clock, just to check how much of your never-ending shift has passed. 9:17, perfect.

"See ya in half an hour!" You shout to your coworkers before walking out the front door and heading to one of the tables placed in front of the bar. You sit down and quickly dig into your meal, feeling like you haven't eaten in days (when, in reality, it's been about 5 hours).

About eating all the lukewarm french-fries you had, you pause to have a cigarette before having the rest of your food. "Hey, dude! Mind sharing one?" You hear from right behind you. As you glance towards where the voice came from, you find a relatively tall, smiling man with a buzz cut.

You barely mutter out an answer before you see a strong hand land on the shoulder of the first man. As the first man moves out of the way, you see a vaguely familiar face behind him. He's blonde, has enormous blue eyes, and a shit-eating grin on his face, and you could swear you've seen him somewhere before. "Will you stop messing with people while we get food for five goddamn seconds?" He playfully complains, shoving his friend away from you. The blonde then looks to you, while saying, "I'm so sorry about him, he doesn't really know boundaries..." By the end of this man's sentence, his voice has almost completely trailed off and his friend heads back into the restaurant. He just... stares into your eyes for what feels like an eternity. He shakes his head a moment later, breaking eye contact. "I should go," he mumbles, beginning to leave.

"Wait!" You shout, expressing the only words you could muster in this entire situation. You turn around in your chair to be able to fully see the mystery man. You chuckle slightly as you realize you have this random man's entire attention. "You just look really familiar," you chuckle as you sweep your hair out of your face. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound weird at all."

He lets out a little giggle and moves the sunglasses he was wearing to sit on top of his head. "I was actually gonna say the same thing about you," he admits, taking a few steps closer. You gesture to the other end of the table you're sitting at.

"Wanna join me?" You suggest, taking another pull of your cigarette. He looks unsure for a few seconds, then begins to move over to the table, taking the seat that you offered. He suddenly holds his hand out to you and says, "I'm Ryan, by the way."

You take his hand and respond, "I'm Y/N." After this action, the man, who you now know as Ryan, smiles twice as big as he did before. "Did you happen to go to Westchester High?"

Ryan's eyes widen with realization as his mouth drops open. "Oh my god, of fucking course! I totally should've recognized you, you were in my P.E. class, right?" Your face begins to feel warm as blush rushed to your cheeks, but you still answer his question.

"I think so, yeah. The teacher, Mr. Wilson, was always a fuckin' bitch to you," you exclaim while chuckling. Ryan covers his face in embarrassment.

"Well, can't say I didn't deserve it since I ditched his class most of the time."

"So, what have you been doing since high school?" You inquire, hoping to continue this conversation with a long-lost acquaintance.

He clears his throat, and you shift in your seat in anticipation of his answer. "Well, I actually started filming movies with my friends, and we just started filming a T.V. show with some other really cool guys."

You can feel your eyes widen in surprise; it's not every day that someone you used to know happens to be famous. "Holy shit, good for you!"

He shakes his head while laughing small bit. "Yeah, well, it can get pretty hectic every once in a while." You scoff in response and say, "Don't tell me that you're complaining about being famous."

He shrugs his shoulders with a neutral look on his face. "What can I say, I'm not much of an extrovert."

You nod your head and say, "Yeah, I guess that's fair."

"What about you?" He questions. "What have you been up to?"

Just before you were about to answer, your manager comes out of the bar and begins to yell to you. "Y/N, what are you doing?? It's been 45 minutes!"

You whip back around to Ryan with a terrified look on your face. You were about to apologize, but the blonde man stopped you. "It's okay," he declares, smiling at you. "We can reminisce in the good old days later, maybe after you get off of work?"

Instantly, you nod in response. "Absolutely, um... I get off at 1."

"Oof, long night," he responds.

"I know," you say, giggling.

"Well, whatever. It's worth it," Ryan admits, his puppy-dog eyes staring straight into your soul.

You bite your lip. "Okay, see ya later." And, with that, you go back into the restaurant.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was finally time for you to go home, and you couldn't wait. You rushed out of the bar as fast as you could, ensuring you had all your belongings with you, so you didn't have to return until your next shift.

As you step outside, you feel the slight trickle of light rain. "Great," you sigh, soon realizing you were going to have to walk home in the pouring rain. You hear someone greet you out of nowhere and you shriek slightly in surprise. However, not surprisingly, you soon see Ryan doubled over, laughing his ass off. What a dick. "Jesus, what the fuck were you doing in the shadows?? You're gonna give someone a fuckin' heart attack one day," you exclaim, holding your hand over your heart.

"Oh my god, you should've seen your face!" Ryan cries, still hysterically laughing. "You jumped like three feet into the air!"

"Shut up," you groan, walking over and shoving him slightly. He finally begins to calm down, but it's extremely easy to tell his eyes were tearing up with how hard he was laughing. "What are you even doing here still?"

"Well, I mean, you said we could talk after you get off of work, so I just thought I would... wait for you," he says.

You raise your eyebrows, and he seems to catch onto the reason why.

"Okay, so that sounded a lot less creepy in my head. But do you think I could at least walk you home?"

You take a few seconds to think, but it really isn't even a question for you. "Sure, why not?"

He grins in response and holds out his hand for you to take. You roll your eyes but take his hand anyway.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It only took about 15 minutes to walk back to your apartment, but the entire time you two were laughing like idiots while reminiscing about the stupid shit you did in high school.

"Right, right, and then Raab ended up getting expelled because of it!" Ryan yells.

"For smearing shit all over the school's lockers?" You cry in disgust.

Ryan hums in response and giggles once again. Once you two had properly calmed down, you point out that you both had arrived at your apartment. It almost looks as though Ryan is upset as he walks you up to your apartment building's front door. You both stop in front of the building, and he gently takes your hands in his.

"I know this is gonna sound weird, and possibly creepy, but you are really, really pretty. Beautiful, even." He remarks, biting his lip as though he's pondering what to say next.

"Yes?" You question, urging him to speak what's on his mind.

"Can I... kiss you?" He sheepishly looks up at you through his eyelashes.

You scoff and say, "Is that even a question?" You then cautiously grab his chin and bring him in for a passionate kiss. After almost 10 seconds, you both pull back for air. He rests his forehead on yours.

"Wow," he says in awe.

You slowly pull back his face to find that his cheeks are slightly dusted pick. "Do you wanna know something?" You whisper. He just nods his head in response. "I've been waiting for you to do that since high school."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi everyone! Omg, I am so so so sorry that I haven't posted in so long! But, I had so much fun writing this super short post and I'm hoping to be able to write more often now as I become less swamped with work and college.

Alsoooooo, I just wanted to thank all of you who have read my posts, liked them, etc. You have no idea how much I appreciate your support and I appreciate all of you so much! <333333333333333

#jackass x reader #ryan dunn x reader #dunn x reader #ryan dunn fluff #ryan x reader #cky x reader #cky #jackass #ryan dunn #ryan #dunn

[aufucker]

look I wanted to do a jack/bj thing but comedically by popular demand this just became #MakeJackPuke2024

So

Uh

CW: talks of decomp, puke

With the details of your job,  you expected the worst to be the sheer amount of gore and viscera you had to clean, the horrors of humans and the distress of lonely deaths and mental deterioration.

In reality, it was the bureaucracy. The dealings with insurance companies who were so divorced from the situations that you wondered what their purpose was beyond making you resent the nature of phones more and more.

But beyond even them, before the dreaded calls could even be considered, you had to deal with cops. And one in particular was becoming a big pain in your ass. You weren't sure if it was incompetence or just purposeless refusal that made any sign offs he did such a half assed mess that piled on your desk.

Officer Dean Whatever-The‐Fuck.

Had you not managed to dig and pry and argue your way to getting his personal number, you would have just assumed he was made up.

It was a miracle you got him on the line. Just a few papers, you told him. He spoke like *you* were an inconvenience.

"I mean, it is your job, after all." You reminded him. You wondered if your tone matched his enough. "'Less I got this badge number wrong. Can read it back to you if you want."

"No." The response was curt. You both knew it was right. "I'll sign them off tomorrow."

"Cute. We'll be cleaning the storage unit detail. You know the one, yeah? I'll have all the papers with me. I recommend parking about a block off and walking."

You weren't sure if it was a grunt or a half-hearted "mm-hmm" you heard before you were unceremoniously hung up on. You were pretty sure he didn't even hear your warning.

"Prick."

----

It was the middle of July; hottest damn day of the year so far.

A poor bastard perished in a storage unit. A hot, pressurized tin that accelerated decay. The respirators your team wore were barely enough, breathing in the humid air and the saccharine scent of boiling rot still bleeding through the seals.

It was like a bomb went off, with an odor that traveled. You were just simply in the blast radius.

You weren't sure if getting used to the stench was better or not, but the nearly desperate chugging of water was the only relief the lot of you cared about, sitting in the barely cooled shade.

A hand slapped against your bicep, an eager attempt to get your attention by your teammate. And you saw what he wanted to point out - a cop car approaching the retired scene.

Approaching the blast radius.

"Oh, shit." One murmured into the plastic bottle, a smirk struggling to keep from his lips.

"Think he's gonna puke immediately?" Asked another.

"Nah, nah, I'm feelin' a fight for it. Get a couple gags in first." Replied someone else.

"You told 'em, like, to park away from here, right, BJ?"

You finished off a other sip from your lukewarm water bottle, sighing before you spoke, "Think that dude's gonna listen to a glorified janitor?"

"Mm, nope."

"Yeah, nah."

"Welp. R.I.P. to that guy."

It was a sight you had seen time and time again, all with varying degrees of the same results.

Step out, realization, vomit.

This time, you opted to prepare a meager mercy with a spare respirator. You had a back log of documents that had to be signed, afterall. Documents you'd rather have clean.

You were just going to watch the show, first.

The man who stepped out didn't look how you expected; a lean sort of guy in a uniform that didn't seem to suit him at all, like a stuffy costume more than anything. Silvery hair in some sort of soft mohawk? You couldn't quite tell from where you were sitting.

But you certainly could tell body language.

Your teammates leaned in, watching the motions take place.

The step out from the car, the scope of the scene with the air of ego with hand on the top of the car door. If he had shades on, you'd expected him to take them off.

And then...

The balk. The impact. The punch of sweet rot to the face that made eyes bulge and a free hand hopelessly reach for the mouth. A jerk of the body, a struggle to keep from folding in on himself -- you had to admit, he was a bit more of a fighter than he looked.

He had enough sense in him to stay behind the car door, but the sounds told enough for what sight couldn't manage. The retching and the splashing of fluid on the shimmering asphalt.

It was greeted with the applause and howling of jackals. A cacophony of cleaners met with an olive glare.

You weren't shy with your amusement, but you certainly kept your volume of knowing glee down as you yelled to him,

"See, that's why I said park away! Gets worse the closer you get!"

#btd #ykmet #tpof #tpof jack #btd oc

[owl127]

Protective Anya Clexa drabble

There were few sacred things in Anya’s life, and close to the top of her list were Wednesdays. In the middle of the week, between work chaos and meetings, she would find herself in a dimly lit bar with friends as close as family, bitching about life and relationships and the beer that never seemed to be cold.

Anya ordered a third round with the cute waitress, who looked interested and added an extra tip because of her cleavage—one couldn’t blame a woman for being weak.

"What are you so worried about?" Drinks hadn’t been enough to get Anya drunk, so the question came clean and steady, steady enough to make the tip of Lexa’s ears turn pink.

"I’m not worried."

"You keep looking at the door, but everyone’s here." Anya pointed around their table, where Octavia argued with Harper over their darts and Lincoln had just settled a bet with Gustus for their next pool game. "So what’s bothering you?"

With her creased collar and askew tie—it had been a long day of meetings, and that’s why Anya never wore ties—not to mention the third whiskey dose, Lexa cleared her throat. The warning would have been efficient if not for her unfocused eyes.

"I’m fine, Anya."

After ten years of friendship and one year of a failed relationship in the middle, Anya knew something was wrong. Her tongue curled around a smart reply when Lexa’s eyebrows shot up in surprise—or was it relief?—and a true, pure smile brightened those high cheekbones. Brown eyes followed Lexa’s line of vision, squinting under the lack of light to be sure.

"What is HR-busty-blonde doing here?"

"Anya." 

That tone—Anya knew that tone well. She also knew what a blush could do to Lexa’s face, and even in the low light, she could see it burn.

"Do you have something to tell us, Lex?"

Lexa didn’t reply, instead taking a few steps to greet "busty blonde" with a kiss on the cheek that made Anya frown.

"Guys, this is Clarke," Lexa introduced the HR girl as if none of them worked in the same building. This ‘Clarke’ probably shared a manager with Lincoln.

But everyone, all their friends—apparently shitty traitors—greeted the blonde as if she were part of their Wednesday, as if she were a friend, as if—

"You’re fucking her," Anya said, almost breathless, the truth settling down like a fog in the deep of the night.

Clarke, unphased and with a smile that Anya immediately disliked, held out her hand in defiance, her manicured fingers daring Anya to continue.

"Clarke Griffin."

Anya took a long gulp from her lukewarm beer, eyes locked on dark blue. A long sigh later, she accepted the peace offering.

Lexa fake coughed, tugging on her collar, and suddenly Anya realized she was the last one to know. Octavia disappeared after Harper mumbled something about darts, and when she looked around, there was no sign of Lincoln or Gustus.

What happened to her Wednesday?

"I’m gonna get more beer. Do you want anything?" Lexa asked Clarke, hand on the blonde’s waist and mouth close to her ear, exposed by her high bun. To Anya’s surprise, the girl ordered scotch. She tugged on Lexa’s tie to tighten it, and a second later, Anya was alone with a girl who was in Lexa’s life and was important enough to make it to their Wednesdays.

It had been almost four years, but still. After the whole Costia fiasco, Anya was protective of her ex, friend, best friend, or whatever title Lexa had in her life.

"So…"

"Clarke Griffin from Human Resources," Anya cut in.

"Director of Fraud Risk Analysis, Anya Forest," Clarke responded with the same tone, though that infuriating smile was still in place.

"How long?" Anya was not a woman of many words.

"Three months."

"Bullshit."

"Okay, two, but I had to try."

At Anya’s eyes growing twice their size, Clarke smirked. "You were the last to know because she said you’d freak out. Please don’t freak out."

"I don’t freak out." Anya took another sip from her beer.

Clarke opened her mouth to respond but closed it, her eyes squinting in thought. "You guys are not one of those complicated exes and shit, are you?"

Anya’s face betrayed her surprise again. Because, no! Lexa was special, yes, but Anya didn’t want to pursue something she was sure wouldn’t work. But Lexa was still special, and Anya was tired of busty blondes breaking her heart for fun.

"Fuck, no."

Clarke nodded and smiled. "I get why she didn’t tell you before."

This girl got balls; Anya had to admit that. Not every new girl who was dating her protegé was brave enough to meet Anya face-to-face like this.

Lexa saved them by coming back with more beer and scotch. She looked up at Anya, her eyes vulnerable and her lips in a thin line.

Anya wanted to frown, but all she could do was grab a new beer and nod silently.

Lexa’s smile could light up the room.

Their friends piled up around the cashier to pay for the night, an act Anya excused herself from doing because she was the last one to know about Clarke. The wind blew against her dark blonde hair and pushed the smoke from her lips up in a twirling curl.

"This thing's going to kill you," Lexa said next to Anya, popping a mint gun in her mouth.

"So will HR chicks."

"I take it that you like her."

Anya took a long drag and threw the half-smoked cigarette on the curb. She adjusted her jacket and looked back at Lexa.

"She’s not bad. She can hold her liquor better than you."

They laughed quietly at that. 

"She’s important to me," Lexa confessed, not meeting Anya’s eyes.

"I know. She made it to Wednesdays."

"She also has a friend who is your type."

"Now we’re talking."

#this was a gift from long long ago that was lost in my drive #so here it is #some protective anya #clexa #clarke being a bad bitch #clarke griffin #the 100 #drabble

[the-story-keeper]

Hello and welcome to my shop

It is a pleasure for any and all of you who come here, be you seeking or simply browsing

I am the beast and you may call me what you will

It is a pleasure all the same

Who’s running this thing?

another blog by me, bunny, the person who came out of nowhere swinging SEMI-LUKEWARM

the beast will randomly blip out of existence with my motivation and energy levels!

ill be sure to tag “gif” for all gifs and the queue tag will be “supes cute” because i am far too lazy to change it at this point, we all suffer together now

since mobile is a fuck, heres the ooc page info put here

my name is bunny, im 25+, i do not want to be addressed

you may know me from honey @jujulebee!

id like to avoid the tumblr chat “function” as much as possible, especially ic, i do not receive any kind of notification that i have a new message and it will not update with new messages unless i manually refresh the page. it leads to miscommunication and me missing things frequently and i dont like that.

additionally, i am no longer given activity notifications, so communicating through replies on a post is a good way to have me not see it! please reblog whenever possible if you want to have a conversation

if you interact regularly and we are mutuals you can talk to me ooc/ask for my discord,, if i draw you things i am trying to be friends, but i am not very good at it and do not have much to offer

im not Extremely picky with who i follow, but i have people whos judgement i trust and will block freely and without hesitation. im here to curate my ideal experience, not save the feelings of a stranger. 

while i understand that ic=/=ooc if your character spews blatant bigotry of any kind please dont interact, actually

this page tentatively accepts magic anons

no godmodding, you are powerless in it’s domain

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

------ The Beast ------

my beast stands at 8 feet and has soft, light grey fur

it has no mouth, but you can hear its voice in your head when it speaks to you

it has a soft voice

my beast has a shop

its a very small shop, very long and narrow

with shelves very high and rolling ladders along the sides

my beast takes and gives memories

do you have a memory you want to get rid of? they will take it

they offer you a memory in turn

all memories become little trinkets

so all the shelves in their shop 

look like

ispy books

they will take whatever memories you do not want to have anymore

they will offer you a trade for something else

the beast does not have a name or a gender and accepts any pronouns or titles

titles so far: Larry, Dreamkeeper, Beast, Simply A Beast, Chronicler, Minstrel, Storykeep, Story Keeper, Story

----- The Shop -----

you can simply Arrive at the shop,

it exists just outside of reality

but no matter where you Try to arive In shop

it will not work

you will only arrive just outside the door

the world outside is Nice, but its hard to focus on

like a dream that keeps changing

going in its a very warmly colored place

like the i spy books in its ecclectic nature

its a very long, narrow shop with shelves as high as the very high ceiling

and the beast stands stooped in textiles not too disimilar to what the withers family owns

theres a feeling of overwhelming Nostalgia

the kind that makes you feel Happy but Ache

and most importantly

while in the shop

you have no powers

you are just a person

------ The World(?) ------

there exists a place just outside of reality

between Life and what lies beyond death (known as the Vast Nothing)

it goes by many names: the Unknown, Traverse, Ephemeral, Expanse, Penumbra

this space can be visited in the Dreaming and is what awaits after Life

the landscape of the Expanse is different for the Visiting (Dreaming) versus the Resting (Leaving)

the Dreaming experience a landscape that is ever changing and dreamlike

the Leaving experience a softer, grey landscape, liminal in feeling

it is a place for the Resting to mourn their lives and find solace and peace before moving on to the Vast Nothing

#pinned post #renditions #(( #artsy shit

[fanfiction-inc]

“The Stroke”

Verse: Stranger Things

Characters/Pairings: Billy Hargrove, Billy Hargrove/ Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Car sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids), creampie, hand jobs, driving while fucking (please don’t do this), PWP, hardcore eye fucking, Billy being Billy. 

Word Count: 6946

Summary: When the weather outside is too damn hot and your shitty car won’t start, Billy offers to drive you home. 

Notes: As requested by the lovely @coldmuffinpartycloud​ and the wonderful @sleep-yv, here is part 2 to the former headcanon asking “Can I get a HC about Billy pretending to drown while his coworker jumps in to save him and its all a ploy to get her to kiss him?" 

Link to Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40656261 Link to previous HC: [Link]

Another hot summer day, the heat index claiming to be a measly 90ºF but feeling like a sweltering 100ºF. You could already feel the heat wave rolling through the area taking its effect on your body despite the big umbrella covering over the lifeguard stand. You reach for your water, having already refilled it twice today and taking a generous sip, wetting your palette but sighing at the lukewarm nature it had taken on from being in the ambient heat. This was a downside of working the pool, having to deal with whatever temperature Mother Nature decided to throw your way. The other downside was the influx of people taking advantage of the open-to-the-public pool. More people meant more attention was needed, meaning you having to blow your whistle and yell more than you usually had to. Adjusting on the stand, you try to free the swimsuit clinging to your skin from the mixture of sweat and sunscreen that made it feel like a glove that was far too tight.

This was dreadful, but it was about to get so much worse when you see a familiar face come into the pool area.

The very fool who would not leave you alone for the past couple of weeks since the incident as you called it. Always with the same smug grin and aviators, letting them tip so you caught a glimpse of those baby blues that could practically see into your soul each time they came in contact with your gaze. Always with those bright red shorts that clung to his hips and ass oh so nicely. That was at least one thing you could agree with the female population at Hawkins High on, he did have a nice rump. Pretty face too if you allowed yourself to admit such, but instead you push such thoughts back in exchange for looking away from him before he has any attempt at getting your attention more than he has already. The bastard seemed to thrive off of it, knowing you were looking back, and you tried to never afford him the opportunity to know but sometimes it was a struggle. On some days, he’d catch you and give that little lip lick, or allow the intensity of his gaze alone to make you squirm. On others, he’d simply stare back, daring you to keep the contact going or be the first to turn away, which usually was what happened. Though there was that one-day Mrs. Cunningham intruded on his sexually charged staring contest and he had to look away, though he dreaded it. That day you rode on the high of knowing he broke the contact first, even if it was due to interference.

“Pretty hot out today, Sweetheart. You must be meltin’.” His voice, it had that tone that made your heart flutter just a bit faster, and fingers grip tighter on the arm rest of the elevated seat. Without missing a beat, or sparing him a glance, you respond. “Well, it’s certainly not cold now is it, Hargrove?” The sarcasm leaking from each syllable was enough to earn a chuckle from him, the lad leaning against the stand and admiring your form openly. Up close, he could make out more of you, raking over your form from the tips of your toes and moving upward over the expanses of your legs. Then your hips, your belly, your chest, before coming up to look at that cute little face of yours hidden behind dark sunglasses and over casted by a shade of red from the canopy above the lifeguard seat. He watches how you adjusted in the seat, fingers snatching the whistle that hung oh so delicately between your breast and blowing into the metal piece. A shrill whistle comes to the air, and Billy watched as you took a breath before calling out in your best authoritative voice to the children running near the pool, telling them to slow down or get out.

It's adorable when you try to be in charge.

But to that same note, it was infuriating to Billy. Ever since the day he felt your lips on his, and just the smallest smidge of you actually enjoying it before you went and landed a hard smack on his cheek, storming off not too long after, it’s all he’s been thinking of. You have been all he can think of. From the little day to day things like working on his car or chasing after the next piece of tail to sate his needs, all he has in his mind is you. He imagined you riding shotgun, his hand on your thigh as you both drove around this hellhole of a town, basking in the AC the car provides. Would you get squirmy and squeal when he hits the gas and you both take off like a bullet releasing from a gun? Would you beg him to stop, but secretly get the thrill of going so fast? Of living? On the same token, you were all he could imagine as he fucked the next girl who threw herself at him. Your legs spread for him, needy for him, begging him to just take you already. How needy you’d be for his touch, his cock, but in reality beyond his desires, you simply sat stoic in the face of his many advances. It just made him want you even more, playing hard to get with him.

“What are you doing after your shift today?” He questioned after a moment, hearing the faint chuckle leaving your lips.

“Going home and praying the AC is working.” You muse, finally sparing the man a glance and fuck, you shouldn’t have done that because the way he was looking up at you was absolutely sinful. The looks pastors warn young followers about when they supposedly look in the face of the devil and are lured in. Those blue eyes look over the aviator frames, casted up to you and twinkling with something akin to burning lust. That’s all you could chop it up to as, lust. The playboy was practically eye fucking you, and the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips made something in you clench at the view. You will your body as best as you can to stop the shiver threatening to travel up your spine, an odd sight in such heat. You couldn’t dare allow him to know the true effect he had over you. “My car’s got AC. I could drive you back, or maybe just take ya on a nice long ride, hm?” His fingertips trailed dangerously close to your leg as he gripped the lifeguard stand bars, as if testing the waters before allowing his digits to come in contact with your heated flesh.

Hot, his skin was way too hot against your leg, but it burned oh so deliciously as he trailed the length of your calf, up to your knee before trailing back down. You jerk your leg away when you see your boss round the corner, waving hello before turning your gaze back to the lad standing below and sending a glare. “As much as I feel others have taken your offer, I think I’m gonna pass.” Heat be damned, you were not giving in to that boy. He simply smiled, a smile that sent your mind to blank for ever a subtle moment, before coming back to reality when he speaks. “Just keep it in mind, yeah?” He pulls away from the stand, humming his acknowledgement to your shared boss as he passes back. “See ya later, sweetheart.” And with that he goes to the pool, slipping into the lukewarm depths. Oh, how you wished you could join him- Of course not for the reason of being around him! Never for that reason! But rather for some relief from the heat that surrounded you.

Your shift ticks by slowly, hand fanning at your heated flesh and breathing just a touch more labored than you would prefer. This heat was insufferable, and you knew surely you’d be melting the moment you leave the covering to start getting things ready for the end of your shift, closing up the pool and all that. “Fuck, I wish someone would just drown so I can get in that water.” You mumble to yourself. Of course, you’d never want to see anyone get hurt, but any excuse to get in the water would be glorious. Just a little dip and it’d all be worth it, would it not? But alas, you were stuck in your place, mentally pleading the universe to send a raincloud your way, even if just for a single moment. Was that too much to ask for? Perhaps it was, but no matter, you’ll struggle through. Jumping down from the lifeguard shack and adjusting your suit from having sat so long, you begin making your rounds around the pool, carefully observing everyone there. All in all, despite the heat, you haven’t had much trouble from the children today. No one was really rough housing or horse playing, just the occasional runner or splashing at those sunbathing on the sidelines. Though you found them crazy for doing such, knowing surely these housewives and girls around your age would be burned within the hour. Bye-bye perfect tans, hello red hot, inflamed skin. In a way you envied how they could stand the heat, but in the same note you pitied them for not heeding the advice given by the weatherman to avoid the direct sunlight for long exposures during this day. Collecting the final pool noodles and tubes that laid on the sidelines, unused by the stragglers milking the last few minutes of the pool remaining open before they have to leave into the heat once more, stashing them behind the rental stand.

The sun, blaring and hot, loomed aggressively as you called out that the pool was closing, watching those who remained scurry away to find shelter from the heat waves. Good, they were in a hurry to get out of here, which meant less people you’d have to deal with as you packed things away. Watching the last person slip out from the gate, you move to lock it up and sigh in newfound relief. Finally, you can hurry up here, then get to your car and bask in the cold air it’d provide for you. Oh, that relief sounded divine, but the relief blinded you from the fact you had lost track of the blonde who had previously been staring you down as you did your little task in that little suit that just oh so nicely fit you. Peculiar, it truly was because when the thought catches up to you, you look around and don’t spot the cocky playboy who had been eye-fucking you the entirety of his stay. Maybe the heat was too much, even for him. Maybe he snuck away after a piece of tail that enticed him for the moment. You wave the possibilities and “what if’s” away from your scattered mind, exchanging for the spreadsheet before you that accounted for everything that was being stored away, checking off each item as you go. Next was cleaning up any trash from the pool and surrounding area. And finally, it was time to lock up and get ready to leave, your favorite part of this excruciating day. Placing the keys back in their respective place, you wave good night to the owner and make your way to the parking lot, a smile lingering on your lips at the prospect of heading home until you spot a familiar sight and hear the sweet purr of its engine. The 79’ Chevrolet Camaro sat idle, the blue in the paint shining brightly under the evening sun, almost blinding and causing you to squint your gaze. Oh, that’s where he went. A sigh falls from your lips, bright orbs rolling at the fact he’s still here and hand plucking your keys from your pocket as you skedaddle over to the beaten up (and frankly on its last legs) 72’ Ford Pinto. The car was a mess, having so many problems you had to fork money up for. It was no wonder you had to take double shifts at the pool just to pay for it AND try to have enough for whatever life throws at you next.

You climb into the sweltering car, throwing the door back open in need of some relief from the hot interior. The black leather pressed against your skin was excruciating, making you teether on the edge of the seat as you insert the key and try to crank the old hunk of junk. The engine sputters but doesn’t turn over the first try. “Come on baby, work with me.” The words fall out in almost a whine beneath your breath as you try once more, groaning softly when it doesn’t start up yet again. Again, and again, and again until you finally fall back against the hot leather with a noise of defeat. Great, just fucking great. You were royally screwed by this damn car, and it just had to be on the hottest day of summer. Rubbing your hands over your face, you let out another noise, peeling yourself from the hot seats and slamming the door to the car shut in frustration. The faint music playing within the confines of the Camaro grows louder, drawing your attention as you watch the blonde lean over the passenger seat, that grin resting on his lips making your tummy flutter with something akin to nerves. “Car troubles, sweetheart?” “No, I just willingly am standing here sweating my ass off while I have a ‘perfectly good’ ride here.” You reply with snark, but your tone sounded tired, like the fight was leaving it with each ticking second you stood in the direct sunlight. The playboy lowered his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose, peering over them with those familiar baby blues that could make anyone who stared back swoon. A laugh brushes past perfectly delicious looking lips, tongue tracing over them briefly as he watched you. “Really now? Well, it seems to me that your ‘perfectly good’ ride isn’t doing so hot.” He pats the door; the soft sound of metal being hit making your head throb temporarily. “I couldn’t in good conscience just leave little ole you out here to melt, now could I?” Carefully he rakes his gaze over you before leaning back from the seat. “Get in, I’ll take you home.”

In any other situation with anyone else you knew, you would have been throwing yourself into that seat and allowing your body to bask in the chilled air that flooded the cabin of the car, but alas you hesitate, even if just for a second, because of who was inviting you in. It made you nervous, thinking about being in such a confined space with Billy Hargrove, but your body screamed for relief and moved upon its own accord as you pull the door handle open and take a cautious seat on the leather seat. The moment the door closes, and you feel the air hit your heated skin, you all but sink into the seat, humming out in approval. Fuck it, you knew if you even attempted to walk in this heat home, you’d die of heat stroke or something worse. Billy gives you a final glance before pulling out of the parking lot like a bat out of Hell. Your hand shoots to the edge of the seat, clutching the chilled material between your digits, and the sounding laugh leaving his lips at your reaction makes heat rise to your already warm skin. “When’s the last time you lived a little?” He questioned suddenly, his fingers resting lazily over the stick shift while his others tap on the steering wheel. “Felt that adrenaline rush? Or has the sweet princess never had a taste of the wild side her daddy warned her about so much?”

“I’ve experienced enough as is, Hargrove. Maybe not like your Camaro but I know what speed is like.” You shake your head at him, seeing his lips shift into an ever-subtle smirk in the side profile you capture. “In that little Pinto of yours? Oh, you speed demon you. Real rule breaker going forty-five in a forty, huh?” A laugh leaves your lips despite attempting to hold it back, and you send him a look that challenged him. “Alright then, Hargrove, I’ll bite. Show me a taste of this wild side of yours since you’re so insistent in corrupting the youth of Hawkins.” A scoff brushes past his lips at the word “corrupting”. Corruption? All because some girls go a bit dick crazy over him? It’s laughable, how you assume he’s corrupting them when in reality they just want a difference within this sleepy little shit town. He’s just the new element in their boring lives. His foot presses down on the gas and he shifts into gear, the engine roaring in a beautiful show of dominance over the terrain, the car speeding off like a bullet on the long stretch of road. Your grip tightens on the leather, heart hammering in your chest, all while you watch elements pass by in a blur outside the front windshield and see the way his features contort in way that shined a different light over him. Maybe it was the heat that had whittled away at your mind, your control, but as he sped through the sleepy town like some sort of demon screaming through the streets like it was clawing its way out of Hell, he seemed more at ease. He was within his element, control of the road, control of the beat you were seated in, and control of your attention. It was a silent victory to him, knowing he had you captivated by the show he was putting on. Another laugh bubbles up from your chest and past your lips, watching how he sped around a curve, hearing a car blare their horn at him and seeing the cocky little wave he sent before he shifted gear and sped around them, making you tense at the possibility that maybe this would be it, what kills you. Speeding away in Billy Hargrove’s 79’ Camaro and dying from the heart attack he gives you with each move he makes on the road.

You hadn’t noticed when his hand had slipped to your thigh, only realizing as he slows the heat of the digits subtly rubbing at your bare skin. In a way, you cursed having to opt for shorts in this heat, but at the same time with your heart screaming at you for relief, it brought you back to the present. “Why have you been like this?” The question is sudden, startling even, and a squeeze to your thigh is given as his lips move to respond. “What ya mean, sweetheart?”

“I mean, why have you been the way that you’ve been at the pool, in the last couple of weeks? I mean,” you gesture to the hand on your thigh, and vaguely to yourself within his car, “this. Why this?”

“You gotta be a little more clear, (Last name).” He spares you a glance before gluing his eyes back to the asphalt ahead, watching the street signs pass by. A sigh of frustration leaves you and you turn towards him in the seat, his hand shifting with the move of your body before pulling back to the shift stick and resting there. Perhaps the advance was too much on his part. “What the fuck has been all this eye contact and flirting about?” Blunt, you got straight to the point now. “I mean you have been after me since I started working at the pool! Especially after the people from our school started showing up. I mean what is up with that, Billy?”

“Nothin’.” He mumbles the word, his grin falling the ever-slightest bit. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating.”

“Y’know what I mean, Billy. You’re basically being territorial with me.” You huff the words out. “It’s like the moment Steve and the other boys have been talkin’ to me…” You trail off for a moment, gaze settling on the glovebox before you as you process your own words. This all started when Steve was there, Billy barking at him to let you work. And then the flirting, and the eye contact, and the ever so subtle touches… It was like Billy just couldn’t stand to see another guy talking to you, much less Harrington. “So that’s why you’ve been so froward with me,”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re fucking jealous, aren’t you, Hargrove?” The realization slips from your lips, gaze damn near twinkling with the fact that you uncovered what it’s all about. But this hardheaded fucker wasn’t going to admit such, never to you. Especially when it came to seeing Steve with you. His grip on the wheel and gear stick tightens, and for a split second you catch the faintest dusting of color on his cheeks rising, his head tilting out of view as best as it can. Billy Hargrove was blushing. Fucking blushing, and it’s all because of you. Oh, you savored this moment, a grin slipping onto your lips as you watch his reaction. “It’s true! You’re jealous!” He bites at his lip, and you can see the white-knuckled vice he has adopted as he fights back in silence. It just wasn’t satisfying, not hearing him say the words. Every girl has begged for Billy, begged him to touch them, to speak to them, much less cast his gaze in their general direction, but here he is an embarrassed version of what he usually presents, and you want to milk it for all its worth.

Maybe it’s time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Your digits reach to the knob for the radio, turning the station up when The Stroke by Billy Squire plays, the song appropriate in your mind as you steady yourself in the seat, face moving in towards his ear and planting a delicate kiss. He swears for a moment his heart stops at the action, and it takes everything within him not to jerk the wheel when you repeat the motion, inching downward along the column of his neck after brushing aside the curled blonde locks that were in your way. Your lips, they felt like pure fire against his skin, burning a path that made him squirm and hips jump at the jolt they leave behind. “Is it true, Hargrove?” The way you whisper- no, purr- the words, his cock jumps and he sinks his teeth into the plump flash of his lip, feeling his body buzz with each subtle brush of your lips across his skin. “Scared of ‘King Steve’ staking himself on your claim that you were too scared to approach before he made his move?”

Now everybody, have you heard, if you're in the game

Then the stroke's the word

Don't take no rhythm,

Don't take no style

Gotta thirst for killin',

Grab your vial uh

“Scared?” His voice held the subtle shakiness akin to that of a virgin being with their first, those beautiful lashes of his fluttering behind the aviators that shaded him from the sun that began to set in the distance, casting the earth in shades of orange and fiery red. “Of Harrington?” He scoffs, though the noise is cut off by a low growl that goes straight to your core as you drag your chilled digits down the expanses of his sculpted chest, feeling the way his chest rises and falls just a touch quicker. They trail, brushing past his stomach before hesitating, just for a single second at the tip of his tightened jeans. His breaths in a sudden breath, licking at his lips in anticipation before another soft, subtle noise falls from his lips as you breach the layers surrounding him and reach for the hot flesh straining for release. You clutch his cock, his hips jumping up in response, and a self-satisfied hum of approval escapes your lips. “The big bad Billy Hargrove, reduced to silence all because his dick is being grabbed. This isn’t how it usually goes for you, is it?” Another hot peck is given to his ear before you drag the tip of your tongue along the shell of it, hearing how his breath grows louder, free in the air over the lyrics pouring from the song blasting on the radio.

Put your right hand out, give a firm handshake

Talk to me about that one big break

Spread your ear pollution, both far and wide

Keep your contributions by your side and

The softest of moans leave Billy’s lips as you pump his length, chewing at your lip as you watch each subtle gesture he gives away. The way his jaw twitches from how tightly its set, the soft part of his lips as he takes in a soft breath, coaxed by each brush of your thumb over his weeping tip. The way his eyes flutter, even behind the tinted shades, how each noise leaving him is strangled, held back, and the soft curse that spills from them suddenly when you grip the base of him, grabbing as much of his attention that can be dedicated away from the road towards you. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He chokes out the words, his grip damn near breaking the wheel and stick shift if he had the strength to do such. “Tell me, Billy, are you jealous because you thought Steve would finally get to fuck me before you could? Maybe that he'd do it better than you?” Another noise spills from his parted lips, and it draws out the moment you suckle a lingering mark along his throat. “Is that it, Billy? You think you could fuck me better?”

“K-Know I can.” He huffs the words out, and you can’t help the elated smirk coming to your lips. “Is that so?” You pull your hand away from his cock, spitting into your palm before returning and setting a steady rhythm. He wavers on the road for a split second, steadying himself as best as he can except for the way his hips twitch and push upward into your grasp. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t getting off on this, the power trip you were riding on enough to be dizzying to him but made his body scream in desire for your attention, maybe even your affections. In any other circumstance, it’d be his hand down your pants, his fingers buried inside of you and working you up just as you were doing to him. Up, up, up, working him up until he’s sitting right there on that edge before grasping him at the base and stopping. “Fucking hell, sweetheart.” He hisses the words, teeth clenched from the abrupt stop. “Do you want to cum, hot shot?” He glances over at you, met by the cocky smirk that had extended over your features and for a moment you’re a different girl than what he had expected you to be. He knew you were stubborn and resisting his advances, knew you were smart, and funny, and had a smile to kill for that for once he just wished was for him and him alone. That body alone spoke for itself, but what he never had expected was you fighting him for dominance, for calling him on his bullshit over Steve and the little dick fighting competition they had going on since he moved here. Never had he thought you’d play with him like this, but he knew what you wanted to hear from him. You wanted an admission of being right, that he was fighting for claim over you. He just wasn’t ready to let that go just yet.

Stroke me, stroke me

Could be a winner boy you move mighty well

Stroke me, stroke me (stroke)

Stroke me, stroke me

You got your number down

Stroke me, stroke me

Say you're a winner but babe, you're just a sinner now

Silence, you were met with silence in the face of your question and a roll of your eyes followed. “No? You don’t want to cum? I thought you liked it so much with other girls that you’d do anything to do it now.” A laugh leaves your lips, and you brush your thumb over the vein running up his length, feeling his hips jump at the contact. “Guess I was wrong, but at least I’ll admit it.” Casually, slowly, you start back on a lazy rhythm, feeling him flex and try not to thrust up into your pumping fist as he drives along the road. By now it’s just a drive, no destination in sight. He’s forgotten about asking for your address, or even traveling in the direction of his own home, and by this rate you’ll be bound for another state. But none of that mattered, not right now when you were touching him and the absolute filth pouring from your lips had him balancing on the thinnest tightrope imaginable. It was like all the stamina he had developed over the years was shot out the window the moment you started touching on him, and he couldn’t possibly explain it.

“I’ll even go as far as to admit that these little interactions we’ve been having at the pool have stuck with me. Thinkin’ about you and all.” Your words fall as a whisper, breath hitting his ear in a way that sends a shiver straight up and down his spine. It was purely erotic, the tone your voice took on, and it was better than anything he could have imagined hearing. “Yeah? What- Fuck- What have you been thinkin’ about, pretty girl?” The pet name, it was something that made your heart skip and pussy clench around the intrusion of nothingness, breaking your confidence for a split second because oh, the power of his words and what they could make you do to yourself once you’re alone was wonderous. Carefully you collect yourself, lips opening to speak but tensing when you hear the breathiness that your tone takes on. “I’ve been thinking about you in the pool, giving me one of those famous lessons you cluck on about to those little housewives that swoon over you. Backstroke…Breaststroke…Whatever you would be willing to teach me.” A huff leaves him at the visualization of such, recalling a similar thought he had about you in that very same pool, only the lesson wasn’t quite what he would offer those, as you called them, little housewives. His teeth damn near break the skin of his lip at this rate, and his gaze lands on you as your rhythm increased right back to where it had been when he was about to cum. He pulsed in your grasp, twitching, and signaling how close his release was getting just from your words alone. “I can only imagine what your hands would feel like on my body, what you could make it do if I let you.” He sucks in a breath, sharp and sudden, then a noise only recognizable over the sound of the radio that can be identified as simply a whine leaves him when you remove your hand from his jeans altogether, leaving him aching and needy for you.

“(First name)- “

“Yes Billy?” That condescending tone, fuck it got to him. You wanted him just as he wanted you. Begging. Needy. He battles with himself and the raging boner sitting tented in the tight denim around his lower half, scolding himself for the words about to spill from his lips. “(First name) …please.” Oh, that word alone would never do anything to you but hearing it come from him, hearing him say it was all the stimulation you needed in the world to open the flood gates. By now you were dripping and blanking for a stagnant moment because holy shit, he said it. Swallowing thickly, your fingers trace over the zipper of his pants, playing with the metal bit and toying with it between your fingers. “Please what, Billy?” He huffed out a breath, and you finally get a full glimpse of the color that adorned his skin, the blush from before returning tenfold and making you feel damn near feral at the sight. “Please just... Fuck it, please let me cum.”

Who were you to deny such a request?

Put your left foot out, keep it all in place

Work your way right into my face

First you try to bet me, you make my backbone slide

When you find you've bled me, slip on by, and

Pulling the zipper down before grabbing at the waistband of his jeans, you yank to your best effort on the denim material, requiring him to lift his hips momentarily before letting the fabric bunch midway on his thighs. And there it was in all its glory, the thing that drove the women of Hawkins mad and made them dick crazy for the California boy again and again. He was impressive, the rumors you come to realize being true about how well endowed the lad is. Thick, long, and absolutely throbbing for you and you alone. Pride swelled in your chest at the angry red color it had taken on at the tip, on a hair trigger for eruption and weeping pre-cum from the edging it has endured. With a second of deliberation, you reach for your shorts, working them off your hips and down the length of your legs, Billy stealing a glance every chance he can away from the road to watch you drop them to the floorboard of his car. Your panties follow, the material cast aside so quickly that he can’t even register the style of them, much less the color. A noise of surprise leaves his lips when you climb over into the driver’s side of the car, his head on instinct whipping around to keep an eye on the road, as he feels your legs surround him on the leather seat.

“Whoa sweetheart, let me pull over first-”

“I thought you liked the thrill of danger, Billy.” You feel his tip brush your slick folds, shivering gently at the contact. He felt his heart hammer and adrenaline spike at what you’re insinuating, liking this side of you. “No, keep driving.” His hand briefly pulls from the shift stick, pulling your body flush against his chest so he can rest his chin on your shoulder, watching the road as you carefully grind your slickened core against his hardened cock. His tip brushes your clit, and an airy moan falls from your lips when you repeat the action. It was only when he grew impatient do you both finally join, wasting no time sinking down his length and gripping at the thick shaft spreading your walls. “Fuck!“

“That’s it, pretty girl. Take it.” The words growl near your ear, rumbling between the contact of your pressed chest and making you clench around him in response.

Stroke me, stroke me

Give me the reason this is all night long

Stroke me, stroke me

(Stroke)

Stroke me, stroke me

Get yourself together boy

Stroke me, stroke me

Say you're a winner but man you're just a sinner now

(Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke)

“Goddamn, you’re so wet.” A chuckle brushes past your ear, choking off when your hips raise and you sink back down onto his length, setting a pace that leaves you both moaning out. His hips twitch and thrust upward to meet each downward motion, your clit grinding against his pelvic bone each time and sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. With this angle, his cock was brushing all the sweet spots deep within you that was maddening and mind numbing all in the same. Words were failing you as you rode him, clinging to his body with each push along his length and a sweetened noise spilling from your lips at each intrusion. “Billy, J-Jesus…Fucking shit…”

“Already cock drunk?” He huffs the question out suddenly, cocky in nature but edged with a hint of need that can only be contributed to the high he’s getting from rising closer and closer to his release. It’s mutual, feeling that edge get closer to where you’re about ready to fall off. It’s quicker than most, but the thrill of the situation was making the pleasure and the experience itself come tenfold. Plus, it was an added bonus just who you were doing this with, the playboy knowing how to toy with your body just with his words alone.

You’d hate to see what it’d be like if he could actually touch you properly right now.

Better listen now

Said it ain't no joke

Don't let your conscience fail ya'

Just do the stroke

Don't ya' take no chances

Keep your eye on top

Do your fancy dances

You can't stop you just

Stroke me, stroke me

The car comes to a stop suddenly, a question lingering on your lips about it until you feel him pressing you against the steering wheel, the horn going off suddenly and making your heartbeat quicken. He fumbles for the seat adjuster after putting it in park, sending the seat backwards and leaving more room within the Camaro than would be imaginable. He man spreads now, smirking up to you from his reclined position in the seat and all you can do is grasp at him before he takes hold of your hips in a vice grip and sends his cock into you like a feral animal. You gasp at the sudden pace change, tears blossoming at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill over at the onslaught of his cock hitting that sweet spot within you. His thumb moves down, rubbing quick, harsh circles in time with his thrust, and you’re done for. Your walls clamp around him and a shrill cry leaves your throat as your orgasm hits like a brick wall. Tears stream down your cheeks and all you can do is hold on as he fucks you through it, seeking his own end and clinging to every noise and sloppy spill of his name that cries out from your lips. Your face buries against his neck, nails dig in through the fabric of his shirt, but it’s not what does him in. Not yet.

“You were right, pretty girl, I was laying claim.” Your walls clamp tightly amidst the pulse of your orgasm, the rhythm that matches your heartbeat thrown off, and sending him to buck his hips up with a low growl and fill you. Body trembling, numb and tired, you collapse against his chest and try to breath in as much air as the space of the car will allow. It’s hot despite the AC, clammy and sticky, but it’s something you never thought you’d love as much as you do now. Never in your wildest dreams would you imagine actually getting to do this with him. Of course, you fantasized what it’d be like to fuck, but never like this, never while he was driving or with the risk of a cop seeing. Never in his car like this. But it’s what made you smile, even when all you can do is lay there and bask in the afterglow. Carefully his hand comes up to your hair, brushing a strand away from your eyes before his lips connect with yours, swallowing the soft moan that follows. It’s nothing like the kiss when he tricked you that day by the pool, nothing like the incident as you had been calling it. It was hot, heavy, and everything that complimented the sex you just had with the California boy. Teeth clashing, tongues playing, and fighting for that dominance that was shared between you two during this whole experience.

“I didn’t think I was ever going to get this chance with how hard to get you were playin’.” He finally mumbled when you pull away, a soft laugh and attempt at a slap to his chest making him grin. “Thought Harrington would get to ya first.”

“I guess you should have asked about Harrington before going through all that trouble to get with me.” You mumble in turn, shaky digits trailing across his sweat-slickened neck before taking a curl and twirling it around your finger. “He’s not my type.”

“Is that so?” He questioned with a growing grin. “Then what is your type?” You pretend to deliberate, giving a soft hmm in false contemplation before you meet those baby blues, still shielded by the tinted aviators. “Flirty jackasses who pretend to drown just to kiss me.”

“Wow, that’s very specific, isn’t it?” He jokes, giving your rear a smack and making you squeak as you will your body to pull away from his. He falls out from your core, the drip of his spend following and gathering between your thighs as you move to fall back on his legs, seated there. He watches your chest heave beneath the material of your shirt, humming softly to himself as his hand traces over your covered breast. “Next time I’m getting all of you on view.”

“Oh, there’s going to be a next time?” You question with a grin, watching that devilish tongue traces his lips, a silent nod sent in your direction.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m laying claim, remember?”

Say you're a winner but man you're just a sinner now

#Billy Hargrove #billy stranger things #billy hargrove x reader #Stranger Things #NS/FW #Billy Hargrove Part 2 #Stranger Things 4 #ao3 crosspost

[keigosbirdie]

FEMALE READER VERSION

Of all Hawks’ secrets, you are the most well-kept.

Version: Female Reader version | Male Reader Version Links: Gifset (art only) | Mood Music

NIGHTHAWK Rating: Explicit   |   Word Count: 13k  | Art: 14 animations, 2 stills (Technically no spoilers, but if you aren’t caught up on the events of the manga you’ll be missing important context. The fic takes place after Hawks’ meeting with the commission.) Synopsis: Casual was the word you used when you first agreed to sleep together. As weeks turned into months turned into a year, those quick and dirty nights blossomed into private moments that earned him little pieces of you. Warnings: Dom!Hawks, Nurse!Reader, animalistic behavior, rough sex, quirk/feather play, light bondage, biting, praise kink, hurt/comfort, secret relationship, talk of past lovers, mentions of death, panic attacks, PTSD, mention of a past, non-canon event. Spicy, then bitter, then sweet.

There was nothing exceptional about your life from an outsider’s perspective. You lived in an apartment on the outskirts of Jaku City, unmarried and childless. During the day you attended medical school where you studied for your doctorate. During the evening you worked as a nurse in the intensive care unit. Then, when you were home, you sat alone for dinner at a kitchen table meant for two.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

For the past year, however, an occasional tap at your sixteenth-story window would break up the lonely monotony. The tap was quite a scandalous secret, not that anyone would believe you if you let it slip. Even you still had a hard time accepting the bizarre reality of the situation; but it was real. Just as real his voice, which you could hear echoing faintly through your apartment.

You glanced up from your lukewarm dinner and dropped your fork. For a long moment, you sat in silence, listening intently until you heard it again. It was him; it was his voice. Your heart pounded against your ribs as you shoved out of your chair and jogged to the window. The part between your curtains opened, but when you peeked through you saw only the glow of city lights below a blanket of darkness.

A frown found your face, and a sigh spilled past your lips. You heard his voice; you would never mistake it for another. It echoed casually against your dim walls again, and you turned your head towards the sweet sound. The television was on in the living room. Your heart dropped at the realization. The little square thing sat on your end table and taunted you with his image. 

There he was. Hawks, the winged hero, being interviewed by a woman in a pantsuit. It wasn’t often he did interviews, so you left your dinner to go cold in favor of watching the program.

He was dressed in his hero costume, his visor lifted to rest atop his blond, wind-whipped hair, and his scarlet wings folded politely against his back. A wide grin graced his face as he exchanged charming banter with the woman. She seemed enamored with his expression, but she didn't know him like you knew him. He was smiling, yes, but the edges of his eyes were crinkled with tension. When he chuckled, his wings folded a little harder against his back. His beats of laughter were calculated. Uncomfortable, that's what he was.

He’d been that way a lot lately.

"So, I'm sorry, I have to ask- Every bachelorette in the country is wondering, is there any special lady in your life?" the interviewer asked. It was airy and friendly in intent, but your lip twitched with faint annoyance anyway. Your face fell slack and you leaned back into your chair. 

"Well, I don't know about every bachelorette," he quipped. His face was a little grainy on your old TV screen, but you could see the slight pink in his cheeks. He was cute. So, very cute. It made you miss him that much more. "But my personal life, well, how alluring would I be if I didn't keep a few things a mystery?"

And a mystery it was, to everyone but you.

Thankfully, the woman interviewing him had enough tact to know when to move on. Their conversation mercifully veered away from his sex life—your sex life—and towards his agency. The television was a wondrous thing. His voice rang through your home despite his absence. It brought sadness, but also a bittersweet comfort. Viewing him live stung your soul. You watched until his interview ended with a commercial break, and then decided not to wait up for him again. That would only lead to another sleepless night. 

Still, the window remained unlocked for him as you called it a night. The yellow glow of your desk lamp died with a click, and you climbed into your bed. Sleep was always difficult. Many nights you laid awake as you thought about your ICU patients. The things you saw in the ward were enough to scar anyone. But if it wasn’t work that plagued your mind, it was him.

Casual was the word you’d used when you’d first agreed to sleep together. It was easy to swallow when he only snuck into your apartment at night for sex. For the first few months, that was it. He’d steal into your home through the cover of darkness and you’d share a violently passionate night. Then, he would vanish out your window until he craved you again. Which, thankfully, was often.

As weeks turned into months turned into a year, however, those quick and dirty nights blossomed into private moments that earned him little pieces of you. You realized you were in too deep when it became difficult to be unbothered by the casual daydreaming of others. His face was clipped to girls’ backpacks long before you knew him, but others, covered so openly in his merchandise, began to make you a touch bitter. His sex life had been speculated about in tabloids since his debut, but to keep your mouth shut while your friends contemplated the size of his penis became hurtful and emotionally taxing.

The only one you could confide those pains in was the man who unintentionally caused them, but Hawks was too sweet. If he knew just how much it tore you up, he’d surely break things off to spare you the misery.

You cursed yourself for getting lost in thoughts of him. Bemoaning the casual chatter of others as he gracefully balanced the weight of the world on his shoulders made you feel weak. You allowed your eyes to close, your breathing slowed, and your body relaxed into your mattress. By the mercy of whatever god watched over you, sleep slowly overtook all your other thoughts.

At least until a shuffle and a squeak made you toss in your sheets. A faint light spilled into your room from the window, and a coolness settled into your bed. You shivered. It was the fresh winter air from outside. The cold wasn't the only intruder. It was him. 

The light was dim, but a dark silhouette of flared wings blocked out the moonbeams. Your heart lurched in your chest at the dominant display. It was a habit of the bird in him to fluff up when his blood was hot. His predatory energy kept you submissively silent rather than greet him.

Floorboards creaked beneath his shoes. The pulls of their zippers clicked with the movement. His breath was heavy as he moved to your bed. You caught a vision of your lover’s face. Little flecks of snow followed in. They danced around the brilliance of his wings and settled into his hair. In the blue light of winter’s night, his gold eyes looked dazzling. They also harbored a glint of violence akin to the blown-out eyes of a predator in pursuit of prey.

It was a familiar look from the strange animal. He’d seemed so open and friendly when he’d first snuck into your hospital room to talk, but he shrugged away at hugs and only laughed awkwardly when you told him he was your best friend. He didn't understand that kind of closeness.

You’d learned how deep his discomfort ran through him when the relationship became sexual. His inept understanding of touch translated to violence in the bedroom. Sex was most comfortable for him when he thought of it as a battle. He'd hold you down and force you open. You'd dig teeth into his arms and rip out feathers with your fists. To submit to his pounding was capture, but to overstimulate him until he was too weak to hold you down was victory. Extreme? Perhaps to those who didn’t understand your trust in one another.

He'd at least offer a sappy hello before he pulled his dick out, though. Not tonight. He eyed you as if expecting you to run, as if he'd give chase if you decided to. Fuck, it caused the warmest tingle between your thighs. You’d missed him too badly to try to put up a fight.

He left his jacket abandoned on the floor, which offered a much better view of his slim body wrapped in his black bodysuit. His canines dug into the leather of his glove before he yanked his hand free with his teeth. You laid silent and already breathless. It'd been far too long since you last felt him. Your body was hot with need at the sight of his rigid wings alone. His eyes swept over you as he toyed with the front of his tan jeans. He didn't come very often in uniform. To watch him fondle himself through his costume was- god, was there a stronger word than ecstasy?

“I want you,” he said from your bedside.

"You can have me..." You breathed out. It was intended to sound sultry, but your tone was more akin to a pleading whisper. Your body ached for him before your heart did, after all. Old habits were hard to break.

"You've been waiting for me, like a good girl, haven’t you?" he cooed. Cooed, quite literally. A low and rumbling song reverberated from somewhere deep in his throat. Not a bit of you was avian, but your body reacted instinctively when you heard your mate's call.

"I should reward you."

His visor glinted in the dim light as he pulled it off his face and let it land on the floor. His earmuffs, too.

You bit down your grin as the weight of your mattress shifted under his knee. His ungloved hand neglected the bulge in his jeans to tend to you instead. Warm fingertips slipped beneath your covers and found the skin of your thigh. A small sigh spilled from his lips, and your body trembled.

"You missed my hands on you, didn't you?"

You only managed a nod as his fingers slid up and beneath your pajama top.

Your body sank deeper into your covers when he moved over you. One knee landed on either side of your hips. His bare hand played with your breast while the still gloved one ran through your hair. The leather of the glove was frigid from the cold, but his body radiated warmth. The sweetness of his cologne mingled with the harsh musk of sweat. The smell of him fogged your mind.

The pads of his fingers pinched and tugged at the pink bud he discovered on your chest, which earned him a harsh gasp.

"That's it. I love it when you sing like that," he chimed. His hot breath ghosted over the shell of your ear. Wefts of his hair brushed against your face as his teeth nibbled at your throat. You were trapped beneath the cage his body made. 

"These cute little tits of yours- god."

He wasn't usually so chatty when he was about to mount you, but every grumble that reverberated in his throat added to the tingle between your thighs. He could devour you whole and you would thank him for the honor.

Your hands slid up the sides of his tight bodysuit. The inky black fabric was harsh beneath your fingertips. You traced the patterns of its gold accents around to his back and up towards his wings. He stiffened when he felt you slide nearer to them. Between the plush feathers at the base of a wing, you wiggled a finger until you found the skin beneath. Then you gave the joint a brutal squeeze.

Instinctively, that glorious wing of his outstretched and shivered. The stems of his plumes flexed against your hand as they puffed twice their usual size. The longest of them brushed against the ceiling of your room, dwarfing your bodies beneath it.

You were always in awe of the sheer size and beauty of them.

"F-fuck. Not fair," he growled, and then his teeth sunk hard into your neck in vengeance. The harsh bite only made you desperate for more, so you fisted his feathers in your hand and gave a sharp yank. He gasped a hot breath into the nape of your neck. Fuck. You couldn't take the teasing anymore. 

Your hands relieved him of their cruelty to pull off your shirt. He faltered when your bare breasts were exposed. His golden irises became thin rings as the darkness of his pupils devoured them. The tip of his glistening tongue wetted his lips.

It was your turn to stare with sharp desire as you heard the click of his belt, then the pull of a zipper. You pushed yourself up to get a good view of him working his dick out of his bodysuit. The throbbing muscle hit him in the stomach. The sensation made him hiss between his teeth, and you whimpered in reply. 

"Hhm, you must be really hungry, the way you're staring at it," he mused before he spat into his palm and ran the wetness along the shaft. He quivered at the sensation. You quivered, too.

"Please." Your cheeks were flushed, and your chest quaked with desire. "I want to feel it, please." 

"Oh, don't worry. You’re gonna have all of this. Gotta get that pretty little pussy ready for my cock, though, don't we?" he hummed.

He reached into his plumage and pulled out a long, red feather. The thing wriggled between his pinched fingers as he presented it to you. The way it moved was unnatural, but you timidly took it in your grasp. The look on your face must have been telling of your confusion because he chuckled at your expression. He gave no direction. Instead, he watched with a mischievous curiosity as you turned it in your palm. The barbs vibrated independently of one another against your skin.

Your breath heaved when you realized why he had given it to you. His hands slid down your stomach as a pair of red feathers brushed against your sides. They dipped into the hem of your shorts, then pulled the fabric, sliding them down your legs until you were deprived of them. The cold from the open window seeped into your most sensitive places as his hands caressed your hips.

His fingertips stopped over a series of divots and deformities in your flesh. They were painful mementos of the night you met, and reminders of the sacrifice you had made for him a couple of years prior. He was a stranger when you chose to forgo your own survival to shield him from death. His bottom lip disappeared between his teeth as he relived the agony with you, but placed kisses all over the scars. It felt like a plea for forgiveness, so you ran a loving hand through his hair.

A soft sound spilled from him, and then his head dipped down to drink in the sight of your bare body. You were naked beneath your shorts, so he hummed through gritted teeth when he teased your legs apart. He'd seen it all many, many times before, but the sight of your glistening pink sex brought about his cooing again. The sound was a deep and beautiful melody unlike anything you'd ever heard, but also purely sexual. It was his body's call to yours. It beckoned you like a siren.

“No panties, huh?” he murmured. His breath hitched and vibrated with his lustful song. “You’re already so wet, my god… how about you put that feather of mine to use?”

He sat back on his haunches. Those narrow eyes bore holes into your exposed body as he spat another thick glob of saliva onto his palm. His hand found his cock. His eyelids fluttered at the contact and he groaned softly as he pumped around it. His eyes drank your every movement. 

You spread your legs for his gaze and then brought the pulsing feather between your thighs. He could feel through them, in a sense. The thought alone caused you to exhale a soft moan, but it was anything but soft when the vibration teased your sex. He groaned, too, at the contact. 

Your body flexed and wiggled when you pressed it hard against your clit. The sensation made your eyes roll back. Your slickness dampened its vanes despite its semi-hard state, and your hips ground into the pleasure. He observed. His hand pumped faster with each desperate whimper his feather worked out of you. 

It wasn't long before he couldn't take simply watching anymore. 

The roughness of his stubble dragged along your breast as he closed his teeth around one of your pink buds. He suckled, and your fingers tangled in his hair as his feather jolted from your grasp. It worked your clit without your help, and hot air blew from his nose as he jerked himself off. You used the distraction to sneak a hand between your bodies. You wanted the hot skin of his cock against you. You wanted to touch and play; to taste and feel. A thick whimper spilled out of him when you ensnared his throbbing dick in your palm and squeezed.

His feather stopped pleasing you.

"I didn’t give you permission to touch, did I?" His wings flexed. The feathered limbs grew massive as their quills stood on end in a frightening display. They were beautiful and plush, but deadly weapons all the same. “Testing me, huh? You're that desperate for my cock?”

Yes, fuck yes you were. You opened your mouth to reply, but your voice cut out when he grabbed you by the wrist. He jerked your hand away from his sex, and you whined. Usually, you were a bit of a hardass. It wasn’t easy to make you crumble, so he looked so devilishly proud of himself when you’d submit beneath the weight of him.

His teeth bared in a deliciously appealing smirk. "I’m gonna have to do something with these hands of yours if you’re gonna grab at shit without permission, yeah?"

You nodded a little too eagerly. His voice was heavy and deep with a depraved need to dominate you. To sully your skin with his desire. You weren’t going to stop him.

A cluster of feathers gathered in the air around you. You had nothing to fear, but watching them circle like small predators overhead made your heart pound against your ribs like a drum. They swarmed you and ensnared your wrists. The strength of his quirk easily had you overpowered. Your hands slammed into the headboard, pinned down by his feathers which trembled with excitement. You were now at his mercy.

“You’ll get your hands back when you’ve earned them,” he informed you through gritted teeth, but you were so mesmerized by the features of his face you hardly heard his words. Beautiful, that's what he was. You'd never told him how his appearance left you breathless. It could scare him away if you said such sweet things too often, but you’d held your heart back for so long it only felt fair to let it beat this once. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” you whispered.

He trembled. His eyes widened in startled confusion, and then his cheeks dusted the faintest shade of red. God, that only made your heart thump harder. His did, too; you could feel it rattle through his chest and against your stomach.

"What was that?"

You bit your lip, embarrassed, but echoed the statement a bit more sheepishly. "I said… you're gorgeous."

Your mattress groaned as he folded back onto his knees. The flaming red limbs on his back lowered until they rested against your sheets. Something about that sweet little compliment tore into him like nothing you had ever said before. That desire that flickered behind his eyes blazed out of control. His kisses landed on your knees before he placed a gentle caress of his lips on the innermost part of your thigh. So close to your pussy that the heat of his breath made you slick.

His other glove was abandoned somewhere on the floor, which rendered both his hands bare. A low groan spilled from him as he pressed his thumbs into either side of your heat. His jaw went slack and his breath erratic as he spread you open.

"So are you," he said, but it was muttered so softly you almost didn't hear.

His head dipped down. The tendrils that framed his forehead fell over your midriff as his tongue caressed your twitching flesh. The hot, wet muscle lapped hungrily between your folds. It flicked at your clit, and your legs trembled on either side of his head. His mouth working you open like that was enough to fog your mind entirely.

“You like that?” he cooed between the slurps of his mouth against you. "Oh, I bet you fucking do."

You replied with only a strangled whimper as you tugged uselessly at the feathers that bound you. You were desperate to comb your fingers through his downy hair, to fist it in your hands and press his face hard into you. A low chuckle flowed from his open mouth and tickled your flinching flesh. Another cry tore from your throat.

“My poor baby, so desperate,” he sighed after placing a kiss against your clit.

His poor baby. He hummed that phrase with such possessive intensity. He was right. Even if it was unspoken, you and your body belonged to him and him alone.

The warmth of his palms traveled back up your stomach and squeezed your breasts roughly. “Forcing you to wait so long for me, did I neglect my sweet little Chickpea? Hmm, I better make up for it, huh?"

God, the way his husky voice reverberated against your flesh was the most delicious form of torture. You bit your lip and nodded, and he rewarded you with a finger. It slid carefully into you, and his hand caressed your insides. You cried a loud, indecipherable string of mangled words. All grasp on language left you as he curled his fingers up and flicked his wrist.

“Aw, what are you trying to say, Sweetheart?” he huffed. All the little nicknames only pushed you further into your need for him. “You wanna feel my fat cock push into that pretty little pussy?”

A sharp inhale burned your throat.

“P-please!” you choked. Your voice was cracked and pitiful when it finally tore from you, and a wonderfully wonton sound fell from him.

“Please what, huh? Please what?” he gasped.

“Fuck me! I want it- I want your cock- PLEASE.”

“Ohhhhh, that sounds so pretty comin’ outta your mouth,” came his long, low growl. As a reward for your begging, he dragged the wetness of his tongue along the length of your little pink slit.

The rough material of his jeans slid down your inner thighs as he mounted you. The shaft of his hot, bare cock pressed flush against your sex. Clusters of his feathers bunched behind the bends in your knees and forced them back, which splayed you helplessly open. You watched as he bit into his lip and rubbed himself against your wetness. You couldn't look away as the most intimate part of his body sheathed itself in yours. 

The most delicious pressure overwhelmed your aching senses. Fuck. FUCK.  He moved slowly. It may have been meant as mercy, but to your sex-starved body, it felt torturous. The ridges of his dick caught at your swollen walls before the tip of it pressed agonizingly slow into the bottom of you. 

“Hawks! Oh my god, I can’t fucking take this!” your throat jerked and trembled just like your aching thighs. Your hips pumped in desperation for friction where your bodies connected. “Give it to me, give it- I swear to god- FUCK!”

Once you gave him control of your body, he lost control of his own. The mattress groaned when he slammed into you. His teeth dug into your throat, laying his claim on you as he panted for breath. His loose belt buckle beat at your outer thighs, and your bed frame groaned in protest with each merciless thrust. His hands dug into your flesh and locked you into his jarring pumps. He pinned you down as if he expected you to play the fighting game, but you didn't resist his cock this time. You didn't want a battle. You wanted your lover. Your moaning whimpers broke and cracked as his jerking hips rocked the wind from you.

He pounded into you too fast for your mind to keep up. Your scarred body buckled and stung under his animalistic need, but the shockwaves of pleasure that rolled through your core kept you begging him for more. More. More. 

His mind was so fogged that he lost his focus on his feathers. The clusters binding you down came loose without his influence, and you easily pulled out of them to throw your arms around his neck. His wings spread out and bristled until they were pressed against the walls, puffed and massive. His forehead was against yours. His hot breath puffed in your face, and his beautiful body was pleasured with yours. 

"Fuck, fuck! Please- Let me come inside you," he pleaded. His eyes were hazy and fogged, his mouth was slack and face a deep red. His body’s cooing song was so loud you could feel it in your own chest. The familiar smell of his cologne intermingled with the musk of sex and blurred your mind. You wanted every piece of him he'd give you.

"Y-yes, please, please," you begged between the hard smacks of his skin against yours. 

Your eyes shot open as his pace quickened. His wings… they were falling apart. Those beautiful eyes of his lulled further into the back of his head with each bone shivering slap of flesh. His teeth bared and his lips twitched as he pressed your bodies roughly together. Shivers rolled through his muscles, and those fierce wings of his were reduced to twitching little nubs on his back as he came.

You ran your hands between his shoulder blades as you marveled at his feathers. They littered the air as they weaved feverishly around one another. The gentle touch of your hands brought Hawks down from his high, and his feathers slowed until they lazily spun like autumn leaves. You pulled him down into a tight embrace and buried your face into his hair. He heaved into your chest, and you watched all the little pieces of him flutter around your room in the light of the moon.

He often lost control of his wings when you made love. They'd fluff up and flap wildly when he came, which often knocked shelves from your walls and your lamp from your bedside table. That was the first time he shed his feathers, and you were in awe.

"Are you okay?" he asked. His voice was gravely and shuttered between labored breaths.

“Yeah, I’m just... admiring," you said as you stared over his shoulder. He glanced behind him, and his cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink when he realized the pitiful state of his wings. The little red feathers spread all around your room stilled in the air and swarmed to his back, returning his iconic limbs to their full glory.

“Er, you managed to pluck me. How embarrassing,” he quipped. You were so sore and exhausted from his sex all you could manage was a little laugh. You were a gasping mess, though, when he finally pulled out of you. The loss of pressure was a relief, but it also left you feeling empty. You laid quiet and trembling as he leaned back to marvel over the mess he made of you. His thumbs spread you open again, and he let out a breathless moan as you felt his come leak from you. His head dipped between your thighs. That beautiful tongue of his flicked out and lapped at the mess on your pussy. The warm wriggling of the muscle shocked your swollen clit and made you cry out, but you couldn't bear to ask him to stop. It satisfied something in you to watch as he licked you clean of your slick and his own come.

When he was content that he'd cleaned you thoroughly, he laid his body carefully beside you in your bed. His fingers tangled in your hair as he locked you into a kiss. You could taste the sex he licked from you on his tongue. 

The sex was always feverish and ravishing, but the afterglow was your addiction. In the beginning, it was rare. To kiss and caress crossed the line into his discomfort, but the more he learned to trust you the more of his affection you earned. The man who feared human touch began to ask for hugs every visit. Kisses became frequent and pleasant the more he let you do it. Then came sex that felt less like vicious wars and more like making love. Yes, after everything you did to earn his intimacy, nothing felt as lovely as lying naked beneath his plush plumage. 

His feathers caressed every inch of your aching body. His warm mouth, still wet from the sex, pressed gentle kisses onto your face. Your head rested against his arm as your breath slowly steadied. His wing flexed and rested on your shoulder as if tucking you in beneath a plush comforter.

“Mm. You like that?” he pondered breathlessly. His fingers trailed up your scarred side until they combed through your hair. There was a ginger softness to the touch that made your heart quiver. He smiled at you, those yellow eyes pierced through the dim light and into your soul. as you reached your hand out to run your fingers under his jaw. 

“Do you need to ask?” you hummed. Your cheeks were still red and your chest quaked as you slowly came down from the high. 

He laughed. What a lovely, airy sound. You hummed in the glory of the moment. And, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you could breathe again. Typically, he’d spend his days off kicked back on your living room couch with a tall bottle of something hard in his hand. You’d go a week or so without seeing him when things got tense in the hero world, of course, but in the last two months, you’d had him for only a handful of nights. It was concerning, but you knew better than to ask. No matter how close the two of you had become he would never talk to you about work.

“It's been a while since you last flew in,” you noted as you got comfortable beneath his plumage. His body beside yours was the definition of comfort. Your mind could only be at peace when he was safe in your bed. “It’s nice to see you again, I was worried.”

“I know, it’s been too long. No need to worry, though, Chickpea, I’m right here,” he replied. His slow exhale tangled in your hair, and his hand's gentle touch found your cheek. He offered no explanation for his lengthy absences, but he and his crimson wing caressed you with apologies. 

You relaxed to the sound of his steady breath through the dim blue light of your bedroom. The wing he draped over you was so plush and warm you could easily fall asleep. You might have, if not for the fear of waking up without him. You scooted closer to wind your arms around his chest and bury your face in his neck. 

"I really wish you could stay," you whispered. 

To let your love get in his way was the last thing you wanted, but it was the utterance of a moment of weakness. It was uncharacteristic of you, the pathetic way it sounded, and you felt him stiffen under your arm as he soaked in your request. While there was never a confession of love, you'd tamed the wild bird with years of patience and earnest affection. He was loyal to you. It was cruel of you to ask for something you knew he couldn't give.

“Ah… I would if I could help it, you know that,” he sighed into your forehead, “but I can try to stay until morning.”

“Please. I’d like that.” It came out like the voice of a frightened child, but it was difficult to hide your need for him anymore. 

If you dwelled any further on the possibility of him vanishing, your emotions were going to get the better of you. You played with the feathers draped over your shoulder to calm yourself. A small one by your face was pinched between your fingers as you rolled the barbs around.

"Your wings are filthy," you mused. Dirt particles littered the poor things. You were sure, with some rooting, you'd find a few bugs he’d picked up in the air, too. "Actually, all of you is filthy. You got dirt all in my sheets, bird brain."

"Oh. Shit, my bad," he murmured as he sat upright. You shivered when the warmth of his wing left you.

"Hm, it's fine. Throw your clothes in the wash and I'll get a shower ready for you, sound good?"

“Sounds good.”

The bed creaked in relief when he stood. His frame was slender and small, but his wings at least doubled the weight of him. That was evident with how smothering being beneath him could feel. He kicked off his pants, though his body was still covered by the black and gold bodysuit he wore beneath them. It warmed your heart to see him carry his uniform out of your room and hear him tinker with the washer on the other side of the wall. The sound of the cloth being tossed inside followed by the creak of an opening cabinet seeped through the drywall, followed by the pop of the detergent lid coming off.

He was intimately familiar with your tiny abode. You’d made sure things stayed in the same place so he'd know where everything was the next time he'd visit. You'd been especially anal about it since he'd often be gone for such long periods at a time. When he returned, you wanted your home to feel like it belonged to him, too.

A sensation overcame you as you laid alone in your bed. The sheets were warm from the love you’d just made. Despite his tongue cleaning you off, you could still feel the faint warmth of him inside of you. His contented sigh found you through the wall and your heart burst.

To the rest of the world, he was a hero, but he was so much more to you. You'd give anything to have him completely. For his voice to echo, groggy and sheepish, against your walls every morning. To get to kiss him goodbye before the sun rose, and to welcome him home every afternoon with a warm embrace. For a ring on your finger; a crib in the bedroom. That wasn’t the kind of life that was meant for him, though. As long as he was afraid of you being hurt, those secret nights were all you’d ever have. It made sense. He had enemies, and you could only imagine how your quiet life would turn upside down if you ended up in the pages of a tabloid.

You only spent time together in the privacy of your apartment. Even after two years of being close to him, there was so little you knew about his life separate from you. What little you did know only made you frustrated on his behalf. You held out hope that it could eventually change, for your sake and his.

Preening Hawks was your favorite thing to do with him. There was something special about being across from one another in the shower, naked, warm water rushing over your bodies as your fingers smoothed and placed his dampened feathers. It took the first year of your friendship for him to allow you to touch them at all, so it was an obvious display of his trust in you. Which was understandable. His wings were an integral part of his identity. You watched as he ran his hands over his face and into his hair. His expression was in a relaxed state of bliss as your fingers picked through his plumage.

With his massive wings on either side of you like plush, padded walls, it felt like nothing in the world could get you. His laughter echoed around the small room as he told jokes and stories. It was okay if you didn't have anything to say, or if you just wanted to listen. He would talk for you when you fell short, and that's usually what got you laughing. 

Through the gentle moment, though, you couldn't help but let your emotions get the better of you. During times like those, when his visits were few and far between, your mind danced around the question of why. The possibilities bounced between him either being in danger or losing interest in you. Both were scary thoughts since he had become such an integral part of your life.

"Would you mind if I ask something?" you pondered, which accidentally interrupted a story he'd been telling about an intern of his.

"Depends what it is.”

"Well… there are a million girls out there who'd gladly do this with you," you mused, and it was true, even if it stung a little to remember. "Did you decide to do this with me because it was convenient?" 

That had been your reason, initially. Hawks spent a lot of time hanging around your apartment and he just happened to be wildly attractive. There were no feelings when he’d first asked if he could fuck you. That didn't come until later.

He laughed, and you glared at him.

“Self-doubt, huh? That isn’t like you. Me being away a lot’s really shaken you up, huh?” 

"It's not self-doubt, I'm just genuinely curious," you quipped as you pulled a feather from his wing. They'd moult if they hung around too long, so pulling out the loose ones was a help to him.

"Well… what we have going on is far from convenient," he said. "If that's what I was going for, I'd go after a pro that could keep a secret. It ain't easy to sneak away like this, you know."

So even a pro hero would have to be a secret for him? Did Hawks have any chance at all for a normal life?

“I wanted you, and if I want something, I go for it.”

You swallowed down a breath you’d been holding, but you didn’t say anything else as you watched his eyes dance around the bathroom in thought. 

"And I wanted you because… well, there were a lot of reasons. The night we met was a big one, I guess.”

You looked away. That night felt taboo to mention, considering all the guilt you knew he harbored. Your scars weren’t his fault. Several villains were on a rampage, and your hospital was in the destructive path. You were just another civilian, caught in the crossfire. His feathers tried, but they couldn’t get you out of the building. You’d been partially crushed beneath the rubble. 

“I was sure it was the end of the road for me. It would have been if you and your quirk hadn’t been trapped inside with me. You have a forcefield. You could have used it to protect yourself, but you bubbled me instead. You were gonna die. I was so sure you were gonna die and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.”

Still, your lips wouldn’t move. You’d spent ten months in an ICU after you were crushed beneath the weight of two stories of concrete. If not for the healing quirks of EMTs, you wouldn’t have survived at all. If not for your sacrifice, Hawks wouldn’t have, either. Still, it wasn’t his fault.

 “Still hurts to know I couldn’t help you when you needed me most, but when I looked in your eyes, there wasn't a hint of fear. All I saw was determination. I never met someone who was so sure of their choices, even in the face of death," he recalled. Your emotions skirted between sadness and flattery as you heard his thoughts. If only you could live up to that selfless picture of you, now. “I know a lot of pros who could only hope to have that kind of resolve.”

“Damn, when you tell it you make me sound like a badass,” you quipped, and your laughter bounced around the shower stall.

“I mean, what are the requirements to be donned with the title of badass? I’m sure you’re overqualified. Either that or you’re fucking crazy, which is also a possibility.”

You snorted.

“I'm not crazy. My job is to help people after they've been hurt. If I bubbled you instead, I’d be saving every person you’d live to protect. Before they would need a nurse like me. It’s just what made sense.”

He was silent for a moment as he absorbed your reasoning. You tended to be rational, even in the most emotional of situations. But that borderline-robotic way of thinking was a by-product of your own miseries.

You were a nurse in a world overcome by demigods and treachery. Some of the things you'd seen in the OR would haunt you for the rest of your life. And, sometimes, those ghosts came to torment you in your dreams. That made it hard the first time Hawks slept in your bed. You would sometimes wake with tears in your eyes as your voice quivered out sobs. Your past lovers didn't understand that part of you. The broken part. The part that had been poisoned by the darker side of this superpowered world. 

That's what fostered your love for Hawks. When he had awoken early that morning to you crying beside him, he’d only reacted with a patient embrace. He adored the bright parts of you, but he also had a solemn understanding and respect for your darkness. Having that connection through your mutual suffering was a kind of bond you’d never had before him. And now that you had it, you couldn't imagine life without. 

You went back to preening. You pressed up on your knees to reach a bit higher on his wing, and he watched intently. His voice died into silence as his gaze swept over your naked form, which dripped from the steam of the shower. It wasn't a surprise. Often, he would get lost in himself as he observed you, like a curious bird. It felt like a wordless compliment, so you silently allowed his eyes to explore you. Not that his hands and mouth and cock hadn't already drawn a map of you in his mind.

"Whatcha thinking about?" you teased playfully, and he hummed in response.

"How you look at my wings… I like it."

"Everybody looks at your wings," you said dismissively. A half-smile graced your face.

"You’re right. They do. People admire me because of what they’re capable of. It's what people think of first when they think of me, and rightfully so. They're hard to ignore. But when you look at me, you look at my face first, my wings second. It's like you admire them because they're a part of me, not because of what they can do. I appreciate that." 

Your fingers in said feathers slowed to a stop as he spoke. You smiled a little to yourself as you brushed them against a feather. He shivered. "Your quirk is a part of who you are. That's why I like cleaning them for you. It feels like I get to give you something special, but wings or not, I'd still want you."

Falling in love with Hawks was the best and worst thing you’d ever experienced. The pleasure of those beautiful moments seeped into your soul like a warm cup of tea. But the anguish that followed after he flew out your window… there wasn't a simile that could correctly describe the immeasurable pain. 

Your response must have triggered a long series of difficult thoughts for the bird. His head tilted slightly, his eyes hardened in expression and his brows furrowed as he soaked in your confession.

"In the year we've been doing this… has there ever been another man?" he pondered. The question jarred you. Occasionally, he'd get a touch possessive of his time with you. He’d asked a time or two who you were texting. You knew him well enough to pick up the hint of jealousy despite his light tone, but he never asked anything so outright.

“Well, look who's got self-doubt now. You sure are eager for a lot of questions and confessions tonight. What’s gotten into you?” you asked.

He shrugged. “You asked a question, so it's my turn now. Besides, we’ve been close for a couple of years. We've been intimate for half of that. just seems a little silly to keep up the fuck buddies act. Or is it just me?”

Fuck buddies act? You bit your lip. Hard. When he was with you he was so relaxed. This seriousness was unusual, and it made your wet skin rough with goosebumps.

"It's not just you," you confessed. 

For a short while, the bathroom was filled with only the sound of the running shower as you collected your confession. 

"There hasn't been another man since you. I mean… I've gone on dates a few times, but it never got that far," you replied. The moment another man kissed you… Well, kisses felt dirty if they were with anyone other than Hawks. "I know this thing you and I have going on was meant to be a no strings attached kind of affair, but… Well, if I’m being honest with you, it feels wrong trying to sleep with anyone but you. I like what we have, and I've always got the impression that you really do, too."

He didn't say anything. You weren't sure whether or not that was what he wanted to hear.

"Have you?" you asked. "Been with anyone else?"

You’d never asked before. At first, it was because it didn't feel like your business. Then, when the thought eventually made your heart ache, you didn't ask because you didn't want to know. But now that you had come clean, it only felt fair that he did, too.

Air left his nose and his head bobbed back until his wet hair pressed against the shower stall.

"Once,” he confessed, and he sounded ashamed now that he knew you never did. “I used to have this on again, off again thing, before I knew you. I messed with her a few weeks after you and I first… well, you know. But only once, then never again.”

You’d thought it would crush you to learn he’d been with someone else, but it didn’t sting like you thought it would. Probably because you didn't know specifics. If you knew what woman had her hands on him, if you could see it, it probably would destroy you. But the apologetic way he said it put your heart at ease. He mumbled like he knew it would hurt you, and he didn’t want it to. But you weren’t wounded, and your feelings weren’t perturbed. He never promised you anything, just as you’d never made promises to him.

“Why’d you stop seeing her?” you asked as you scooted closer to smooth shampoo suds down in his hair. He only shrugged at first, then sighed in contemplation when your fingers combed along his scalp.

“I’ve never had a place I could go to, you know?” he said. “I’ve never had somewhere like this, where I can lay my head for a little while and just be…”

“Pampered?” you suggested as your hands moved to massage his shoulder blades between his wings.

He breathed out a little laugh, but shook his head. “Yeah, but that’s not what I was thinkin’.”

“Out with it then,” you teased.

“Well… I’ve never had somewhere I’ve felt safe and... cared about?” he said, though his eyes were distant and lost when he said it, as if he wasn’t sure he should have.

“I gotta always be looking over my shoulder. Gotta always have a mask on and hope no one ever sees through it. But here, everything’s relaxed. You couldn’t care less what my ranking on some chart is or how much money is in my pocket. You don't give a shit about heroing or the tabloids. You’re the only person in my life who asks for nothing other than my company. I feel human here. I didn’t want to jeopardize that, or what I had with you. That’s why I stopped seeing her.”

Your mouth went dry. While your nights were long and passionate, you’d never whispered sweet nothings. You’d never told him how much he and his company meant to you because you felt he wouldn’t want to hear it, but he kept coming back. For a year he had clung wordlessly to what little affection you gave him. If he’d told you this a year prior, you would have given him so much more love.

“So you do have deeper feelings for me. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He was silent, as you’d expected him to be. He both craved and feared the closeness he’d formed with you. At times he’d drown you in sweet little bits of affection, but, when things got too deep, he would shut down. Through the last couple of years, you’d broken through a lot of his walls, but the cold influence of the commission would always be with him. Even if he was in love with you, he’d never understand how to tell you.

"Because of who I am when I fly out your window,” he began. The reverb of his voice against the shower stall took you off guard. You didn’t expect him to answer. "There are things I know you want from me… things that I can’t give you right now, and you deserve more than that. That’s why I never planned on telling you… Fuck. It was never supposed to be like this…”

He spoke more to himself than he did to you at that moment. There was an internal battle going on in his mind; one you'd never really be able to understand, but you wanted to try. 

"You mean you never meant to get attached?"

His silence was telling.

"It's okay," you said. "We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to." You took a hold of his hand, but he flinched away from you. He was regressing back into old habits. It had been months since he’d last recoiled to your affection. Something was terribly wrong. The recoil was fine. It was okay. Whatever he needed to feel comfortable. "I'm sorry-" 

"No, I'm sorry," he interrupted. He rubbed the wrist you had touched as if you'd burned him. His brow was knit and his mouth became a harsh line. "Sometimes it feels easy and other times it doesn't, but I'm trying."

"I know you are. Like I said, we don't have to talk about feelings." 

He stared at you, and the longer his gaze rested on your face, the softer it became, "I want to try." 

You nodded and wrapped your arms around your naked knees. The shower had been turned off long ago by a cluster of his feathers, but the soothing steam still lingered around you. 

“It's just… this is difficult. One day someone may shoot me out of the sky. The thought of you still being right here, waiting for me, when I can never come back… It... kills me." He paused, his eyes hazed over as he swallowed his emotion down. The rawness in his voice struck such an unpleasant chord that your own eyes pricked with bitter water. "That's why I didn’t want attachments like this. But I didn't mean for all this between you and me. You snuck into me slowly, I didn't even notice until it was too late."

"Is this supposed to be flattering? It sounds like you're likening me to a parasite or something- heartworm," you quipped in an effort to dispel the heavy tension. He smiled, but only for a moment before he rolled his eyes at you. 

"Just… listen to me," he said, and your eyes trained on his as your mouth closed. "If that ever happens… If there comes a day you've been waiting for me, only to find out I'm never coming back, please know that I cared for you."

He didn't use the word love, but that's very much what he was trying to convey. In a way, you’d kind of always knew. It was why he’d said it, how he’d said it, that made your eyes prick with tears at their corners. The thought of what he was implying petrified you. Hawks was so skilled, so powerful, so almighty. Despite all his power, though, he was human, just like you. The night you’d met proved how possible death was for him. Nothing could keep him safe forever, not even your forcefields.

But he’d never talked like this before. He was always so light-hearted and relaxed. His work and the dangers associated with it was off the menu of conversion topics. What had happened to bring all this darkness up now?

"You talk like you’re preparing for death." 

Again, he didn’t reply. His silence was more terrifying than anything he could have said, but trying to pry him open would only break him, it seemed. So you didn’t.

“May I kiss you?” you asked instead. 

He nodded.

You leaned forward and breathed into his ear. He shivered when you placed a gentle kiss on the shell of it. His earring pressed against your lip was a gentle and familiar feeling, but after you heard all he had to say it also felt fleeting. He always had some ulterior motive or hidden reason for every little thing he did. It's as if he said all this because tomorrow would be the day he was gone.

“I’m not preparing to die.” Your kiss gave him the courage to speak. "I have too much to live for. It’s just always a possibility- for anybody, really. But heroes especially. I just wanted it off my chest is all."

He smiled at you, but you’d seen every smile in his repertoire, and this one was faker than your stick-on-backsplash. The air never felt so tense between you. Not even the night you met, dying feet away from each other. It all felt so… heavy. The weight of it pressed hard into your chest.

“Er, this reminds me, while we're on topic, I got some things going on at the agency. I hate to say it, but you won't see me again for a little while. I don’t know how long. It could be a couple of months.” His disposition remained fake casual. His shoulders and face were relaxed as he enjoyed the steam of the shower, but his wings tensed. You felt it in your palms as you preened him.

"You're in trouble," you said. Your mouth went dry as the realization drained the color from your face. 

"Trouble? Me? Nah. Just work stuff."

He spoke with a relaxed air about him, but he couldn’t lie to you. 

"No. You've been acting off all night. You’ve been making all these confessions. Talking about death, telling me you're going away for a while. I know you better than you think I do; something big happened and you're trying to tie up loose ends in case you don't get out of it okay," you rambled, and the more you talked the higher your voice became. It trembled and wavered with building fear. 

He stared at you. That silly face of his melted into a thin line and sharp, angular eyes. Those tricks worked when no one was close enough to see through them, but you knew his genuine smile like the back of your hand. You saw right through his facade, and he was annoyed by the very determination he just prided you for. 

"Can't get anything past you, can I?" 

You didn't whimper, but your eyes became glossy with emotion. It was a strange mixture of panic, sorrow, and rage. You had no idea what he'd gotten into, but you also knew he would never tell. He placed preserving missions above all else, which made sense but was frustrating.

"I don't know what's going on, but you need to get out of it if you're thinking it's something you may not come back from." 

"Things aren't that simple. I chose this life, I gotta follow through."

"No, I chose to be a nurse when I was sixteen and understood the implications of what I'd have to go through. You were fucking six when the commission took you, and they spent all that time gaslighting and taking advantage of you-"

"We aren’t talking about that right now, don't use it against me.” 

"Use it- what? I'm not using anything against you! You’re the one alluding to death! There’s nothing wrong at the agency, there’s something else- something terrible-" 

"Drop it.”

“How can I?!”

"Because I said so." His eyes were narrow and mouth a tight, thin line. You could read him so well. He was regretting this. All of this, because now you were onto whatever suicide mission he was embarking on. But, as his lover, how could you just sit back and silently watch him throw himself into a danger that had even him shaken?

You got louder, and he got louder. You tossed bitter, confused words back and forth until he was screaming. Until you were screaming back at him. Your calm, laid back demeanor slipped through your fingers the moment you realized he could be in over his head. That, if you let him leave, this could be the last night you’d ever spend with him. Your anger was driven by your fear for his life, and his was driven by your inability to let it go. 

He was still screaming. You were still screaming. You were fighting him. He just told you you were the most important person in his life, and you were spitting venom. 

You stopped.

He stopped.

Your hand came to your bare chest as it heaved in an attempt to steady your breath. The other came up to wipe the tears budding in your eyes. He looked away from you, his brow tugged heavily downward, his jaw clenched together in shame.

"Let’s just breathe, okay?" you pleaded.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," you whimpered into your hand. "Out of everyone in the world, you're the last who needs to say sorry, so don't. It's just- it's not right, okay? You're too… I don't know, selfless? I watch all the time as that gets taken advantage of. Doesn’t it get tiring? Even your name is some dirty secret. I've been sleeping with you for a year and I don't even know what it is-"

"Yes, you do," he argued, his lip wavered with weakness for one vulnerable moment. "You know me- you know my name."

Desperation laced between his words and strung the sentence together. It wasn't easy to see your lover look at you that way, just begging for you to let pieces of him go. It was hard to accept it, but whatever name he went by prior to heroism didn't exist anymore. Neither did the once innocent child it belonged to. You tried to respect that, but it was unfair he was denied a basic human right: to have a name. 

"You're Hawks, I know, I'm sorry… it's just… how much is left of yourself that actually belongs to you? How long until there’s nothing left to give? People have taken so much from you that you’ve become numb to it; do you even know what you're missing out on? Do you even know how lonely you are? When’s the last time anybody even asked if you were okay?"

He realized, then, that you weren't angry at him.

You were angry for him.

His eyes shifted to yours, and he nibbled at his bottom lip before he muttered with the quirk of his mouth: “Well, you ask me that pretty much every time you see me.”

There it was. The crack in your voice. The crinkle of your nose and the tremble of your lip. You cried, and he sat there across from you, still bare as his wings lowered to either side of you. His expression didn't change, and, for once, you couldn't read it. You didn't want to be so upset, but knowing he was in some kind of dangerous trouble that shook even him was too much for you to bear.

"I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. It’s just… Do you have any idea how many heroes I've wheeled into the morgue? People die on my table all of the time. Every time is just as hard as the last, but the heroes- those are the ones that destroy me. Because every time someone in a cape lands on the table I know their families are waiting for them at home, just like I wait here for you.

"I saved you once, but you're so far away from me, too far for my forcefields to reach you. Hearing you say you’re going away- all I can think of is coming into work one day and finding you c-... covered in a sheet."

His wings moved up from the shower floor. The feathers were dark with dampness as their joints pressed into your back. You sat there like that as he let you cry. Really, what else could he have done? What else could you have done? Of course you were angry. You would be for the rest of your life over how his panned out. His childhood was taken from him, his understanding of human affection was still stunted, even after all the time you spent gently undoing what damage had been done. Now he talked like one wrong move would end it all.

"It's… difficult," he began, though he couldn't make eye contact with you. He usually couldn't when you had discussions like this. "Being a hero isn’t what I imagined I would be when I was a kid. And sometimes I do ask myself: 'what is this all for? There's always going to be a new bad guy. Why does it matter?' And then I think about you…" 

He went silent for a moment; you could see the little battle behind his eyes. The battle between his affection deprived confusion and his need to be closer to you. To explain himself. 

"I think about you and it reminds me there are good people who are worth fighting for. As long as you are here and there are bad people out there that could hurt you, I have to be out there, too. And, yeah, sometimes I get afraid. But as long as I have these wings, I'm going to use them to keep this world safe for you."

He’d never felt so close to you, and yet so far away. He thought even more of you than you anticipated. A part of you felt touched you'd become a cornerstone for his sanity in such a hostile world, but the other part felt sick. If he wanted to fight for you, that was fine.

But to die for you; that would be unforgivable.

The urge to argue the worth of his life weighed heavy on your heart. If you did, he would call you hypocritical, considering your own history of self-sacrifice. It wasn’t the same, though. His self-worth depended on his usefulness to others and little else, and you feared the day that usefulness ran out. What would Hawks be, if not a hero? It should have such a simple answer, like what you would be if not a nurse. But it didn't. It never would.

You leaned forward to pull him into a tight hug. Perhaps when he was anywhere else you were unable to protect him, but right there, in your arms, you'd use whatever you could to keep him safe. Your bubbles, your kind words, anything. 

"I understand," you said, because you knew there were no words that could keep him away from the hero path. It wasn't just a part of his identity; it was all he'd ever known. "Just… don't forget when the heroing is said and done, you'll always have a place here if you need it."

He hummed a small, contented coo at your kindness. Of course, you didn't have to tell him that. He already knew. Why else would he spend so much of his precious little free time cuddled up to you? 

"I'll remember," he promised as his arms and damp wings curled in to squeeze you against him. 

You and Hawks bathed in the comforting darkness of your bedroom. Your window was frosted from the bitter cold outside, but his body heat kept you warm in the safety of your bed. Or nest, rather, as Hawks tended to construct mounds of tangled comforters and wadded up bedsheets to hide in as he got comfortable. You were buried beneath the mass of cloth and the cocoon of his wings as you tried to fall asleep. It was a difficult undertaking since you didn’t know when you’d see him again. You were so tired, but you wanted to be awake to hold him for what little time you had left. 

You wouldn’t have gotten any sleep, anyway.

Often when Hawks slept in your bed you'd awaken at strange hours. Sometimes this was due to your own nightmares. The subject bounced between the traumatic things you’d seen at the hospital and the night you’d met. You'd wake to find that you’d encased your bed in your protective bubble during your sleep, and Hawks' wings squeezed you gently against his chest. Other nights, it was Hawks' anxiety that would keep you awake.

During the day, his guard was discreetly up. He carried carefree conversations as if unbothered, but those well-trained feathers of his were on constant guard. Really, he never had a moment to breathe. This was something you never would have understood the depths of if you weren't woken by his anxiety in the midst of the night. The anxiety he kept bottled during the day often let itself out in the form of night terrors. He'd mumble. Roll. His wings would twitch over you. His face would morph into an agonized expression, and he chirped in distress. A good, gentle shake was usually all it took to pull him out of the bad dream. 

That night his nerves reared their head, though in an unorthodox way. Apparently, you did fall asleep, because you awoke with a small grumble when you felt the mattress groan, followed by a heavy weight draping over your body. You let out a long whine of displeasure, but the weight just got heavier. You turned your head and opened your eyes to find Hawks, but he wasn't gasping in his sleep. He laid over you, wings puffed but flat on either side of your bed as he stared at the bedroom door.

"Hawks? You're squishing me." 

He didn't answer or turn to look at you. Those sharp eyes of his danced around in panic, his feathers raised as they sensed every small movement in your apartment. You dropped your head back onto your pillow with a sigh. 

"What's the matter?" you pondered.

"Shh," he hummed. "I felt something…"

You laid and listened for a short while, but all you could hear was the lady in the apartment above you walking across her floor.

"It's my neighbor."

"What if it's not?" 

Whether the display was the primal instruction from the bird in him to protect his mate or if it was a by-product of the harsh reality of the life he lived, you weren't sure. Either way, his calm and almost lazy facade cracked. When the world was quiet and his feathers could sense every mundane movement in your apartment, his anxiety that those small bumps in the night might be something that could hurt you overwhelmed him.

The little display was an annoyance to your sleep-deprived brain, but his first thought in the midst of his worry was to protect you. That spared him from your groggy wrath. 

"Lay down, McNugget. There's no one there," you grumbled, but he didn't turn his head away from the door. 

Feeling your hand on his face seemed to snap him back into the moment, even if just a little. He leaned into you and encased you in his wings. It felt like a protective gesture, but the warmth you found beneath them made you hum pleasantly. The fluffy white cloth of his hoodie rubbed your cheeks as he cuddled into you. Well, actually, it was your hoodie. 

At one time it was just some old thing you'd snagged from a thrift store on a chilly day. It was much too large for you, though. When Hawks came into your life later on, you'd cut holes out of the back and hemmed it up. That way he'd have a little something to throw on when it got chilly at your place. He never said it out loud, but he loved the thing. He'd go looking for it if you didn't leave it laying out in the living room. 

"I know you usually have a lot to be afraid of, but you don't have to worry about protecting me. I'm a badass, remember?" you whispered into the shell of his ear. His shoulders relaxed just a bit, and he puffed out a little chuckle. 

"Yeah, I know. I just… I want you to be safe. That's all." 

Your gaze softened, though he couldn't see it in the darkness. You didn't need Hawks to protect you. You didn't need a hero. You needed a best friend; a lover. Between the both of you, he was the one in most need of saving.

"Shh," you hummed gently. Your hair lifted from your pillow and danced slowly around your face as if gravity was lost to you. He scrunched his nose as your locks brushed his cheeks, and his wings settled flat as a ring rose from the floor around your bed. The translucent wall came together above your bodies to form a hard, bubble shell.

"You've been the hero long enough. Let me be the protector tonight,” you said. His throat bobbed against your shoulder as his arms wound around you. He settled, but you still felt his unease.

“What’s got your feathers ruffled?”

“You shouldn’t have to protect me,” he said. His voice was muffled since his mouth was pressed into your skin, but you still heard the sadness in it. “I should be taking care of you.”

You blinked as you soaked in his words. For a year you pined for such romantic things to come out of his mouth. Of course he’d wait for a night like that night to say such sickeningly sweet things. The future that used to feel so full of mystery and excitement had become dangerous, uncertain, and disappointing.

“You don’t have to be the hero every time,” you replied.

“But if I’m not a hero, what am I?”

His question was an echo of your fears. The ambient light from your window filtered dimly into your forcefield, but your eyes couldn’t adjust with tears in them.

“I don't know if I have the answer you're looking for, but... Do you remember when I was in the hospital?" you asked. "When you first came to see me you brought a twenty-piece box of chicken nuggets, and while I was trying to eat one you laughed until you were crying because it looked vaguely like a penis.”

“Vaguely? It had balls and everything,” he recalled, and you rolled your watering eyes.

“Whatever. It was stupid, but it was the first time I laughed since I was trapped in that hospital. And, well… when they said I’d never walk again you helped me out of bed. I cried myself to sleep some nights, but you were there, still trying to save me. You were trying to be a hero then, too, but you became my best friend. If nothing else, that's what you’ll always be to me.”

A sound came out of him akin to laughter. You shot him a look, then hooked your finger under his chin. You wanted to see his dumb grin when you berated him for poking fun at you. When his eyes met yours, though, they weren’t crinkled with laughter. They were red and watering.

“Oh, Hawks,” you breathed, and he tucked his face back into your arm to hide his vulnerability. He never cried before. At least not in front of you. He was always the immovable one, virtuous and strong. Moments like this reminded you just how human he was beneath it all.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you,” you assured him in a whisper. Gentle promises spilled from your lips like lullabies, and he clung to every word with heart-breaking desperation. You whispered every sweet nothing you could think of to ease his pain, but you didn’t have that kind of power. 

You had no power at all.

His world always seemed scary to you. You feared for his life every day, but the thought of him being ripped from your arms overwhelmed you that night more than it ever had before. The protective bubble that encased your bed would keep him safe for as long as you could fight sleep, but what of the morning? You’d be safe at home, and he’d be lost somewhere in the dangerous fray of his duties. Far away from your warmth and the apartment he found so much comfort in. 

This would not be the last time you held him. You had to believe that, but what if it was? What if this sleepless night was your last together? 

Tell him you love him, you thought to yourself. Tell him before you never get the chance again. 

You bit your lip as you felt his trembling breaths on your collar. You prepared your lips for the taste of the confession, but he was so vulnerable, more so than he may have ever been before. He didn’t need you to tell him about your affections, he needed you to use them.

You placed a reassuring crown of kisses along his forehead, and he gripped you so hard his knuckles were surely white. 

When you’d cried as a child, your mother would lay in your bed and sing lullabies until you fell asleep. Your voice was untrained and awkward compared to hers, but you tried your best to use it. Your off-key tune echoed back to you in the dome of your forcefield, and your cheeks pinkened with how childlike it sounded. Your embarrassment interrupted your lullaby. He stirred against your chest.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “Please, sing to me.”

You cleared your throat as you gathered the courage to start again. His eyes fell closed as your song settled into the safety of your shield. His feathers relaxed, and his face went slack as sleep slowly overtook him. You sang until his tears stopped flowing. You sang until he was asleep in your arms. For as long as you could, you laid awake. If you succumbed to sleep, so would your forcefield. So would your promise to keep him protected through the night. As time moved slowly forward, sleep inevitably began to settle into you, too. It was as terrifying and as peaceful as death.

“I love you,” you whimpered as you felt your eyes grow too heavy to fight back open. “Please… stay safe.”

Credits: 

A massive thank you to my wonderful friend and editor, @fuwafuwagem​! If you thought the fic looked especially polished, it’s thanks to her efforts!

Also a big thank you to my buddies and beta readers: @dendriticheep​ and @narcolepticroses​! Thanks you guys for being such sweet friends to me ;u;

And a huge thanks to YOU, for reading !

Authors Note:

I’d love to do a lot more fanfictions like these! If you have any suggestions or requests for animations or animated stories like this one feel free to submit it to me!

#Hawks #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #hawks x you #keigo takami x y/n #hawks x y/n #hawksbnha #bnha #mha #boku no academia #my hero academia #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks smut #bnha fanfiction #hawks x listener #nighthawkfic #my fic #nhfemale #xfemale

[gojology]

Fireworks.

the request :

pairing : not technically a pairing.. but lets just say gojo x female reader warnings : angst and cursing, no editing. wordcount : 2561 a/n : this physically hurt me to write thanks anon. aha all jokes aside i’m so sorry for not making this quick enough, i finally got enough time to finish it and it’s not even that good :( thank u SO much for ur kind words omg u got me feelin like <333333333

       You stare at him, and he stares back, you’re sure he’s unblinking behind those shades of his.         You knew what would happen after this confrontation, after all, you were the one who had asked him to meet you here. It’s a small, calm park. The atmosphere is still, and the shrill sounds of cicadas are the only thing penetrating the deafening silence between the two of you.          “Hey.” he finally speaks up, sounding a bit too impatient for your liking. You flinch a little, and your fist tightens. It was like he never learned how to introduce himself politely.         You take a deep breath in and exhale, your breath comes out in clouds of smoke. You remember when Shoko had given you those cigarettes one day and Gojo slapped it out of your slack hands, Geto and Gojo laughing at your flushed face, your heart twists.          Truth be told, you didn’t even know why you were thinking the world was ending- it wasn’t. Breaking up with your fellow peer was awkward to say the least, but there were only 4 of you in the jujutsu class, yourself included. It would be undeniably dreadful to see his lanky figure dotting around the back of the class with Geto, and to have to work with him for everything else.          “Hey.” you reply, your words dripping with venom.         “C’mon, cut to the chase.” he waved his hand a few times in the air as a dismissal of the conversation, a half eaten lollipop dangling dangerously from those limp long fingers. It makes you hate him even harder. Couldn’t he read the room?     “I don’t have time for chit-chat, you know?! The strongest needs some rest. I’m human like the rest of us! Sheesh, Jujutsu is so demanding....”      “We need to break up.” is all that slips from your lips, and even you’re shocked it came out that carelessly. You wanted to stop resisting, to stop holding back and let loose the long river of hatred and misery you had for this man- no, a boy, he was a boy.      A strong wind blows against your warm face, and the lollipop drops onto the grass without another word.        Gojo gapes at you dumbly, and in return you look down to study that glistening in the moonlight lollipop, it’s pink and ants are already crawling on their new found prey. Your shoes are slightly dirty, and you could see-        “Are you serious?” he scoffed as if it was a joke. It’s not, and you hate being taken like a joke. You weren’t, and that’s all Gojo Satoru did- take everything as a joke, everything was childs play to him. You were looking for a serious relationship, and him? He was looking for sex and quick make out sessions.        “Wait- you’re not joking?” he laughs again, but it trails off, you doubt it actually affected him.        “Of course I’m not joking. Why would I joke about shit like this?” you spat back.        You didn’t care about his feelings right now. You deserved some sort of medal for dealing with him, any sort of compensation really. it seemed to you like the relationship didn’t quite matter for whatever reason. If he wanted to be fuckbuddies he could’ve just said so-       But you still can’t wrap your head around why he kept you, he didn’t throw you away, and you falter. You wanted to be his girlfriend in some ways, in others you wanted to punch him in the face with as much cursed energy as possible.        Gojo takes his glasses off, slipping them into his jacket’s pocket. It seems like he doesn’t want to talk, but you press on.        “I’m fucking tired, Satoru. You treat me like bullshit. I’m not your-” you take a short breather, tears beginning to dawn at the corner of your eyes. “I’m not your fucking doll. And I never, ever WILL BE. I’ve hung onto this stupid fucking relationship long enough and the amount of dedication you poured into this isn’t enough. I deserve better.”        Shit. You hated rambling like that. Scratch that, you hated confrontations as a whole, this would be sure to take a toll on you later.       Turning your back on him, you allow those tears to finally fall. Tears that had been shut in long enough had finally seen the light of day. You wipe the trails away with the already wet sleeve of your hoodie, a large trembling frown adorned your features.        You can’t hide your sniffling even if you tried, and before you know it you can’t even prevent the floodgates from bursting. The tears seeped into the dirt, creating some sort of rhythm as they fell from your cheeks.       “Hey-” he places those hands on your shoulder that made your knees go weak, it’s gentle, and he slightly caresses you. It’s strangely intimate for the situation you found yourself in, but you’re still mortified. Why did you enjoy his touch?        It feels like you’re in this position for ages, his hands on your shoulder, your back facing him. Somehow, someway, you can taste salty tears and you didn’t remember drinking any, for a split second you feel disgusted, at you, at him, at the world.      A small noise leaves your throat.      “It’s okay.” he finally spoke, was that a hint of sorrow? Never mind that, he was actually taking this seriously. What a turn of events.      He took it better then you certainly thought, especially since this would be a definite blow to his big ego. You turn to face him, maybe as an act of superiority, hell like you knew.       Peculiarly, there are tears in his eyes as well. Crocodile tears, probably. He’s most likely trying to guilt trip you- hah, like you’d fall for that. You knew better.      “It’s okay.” he repeated again, brushing those tears away with his roughed up thumb, you’re mortified. Why were you allowing him to touch you?      A calm silence settles between the two of you, but shortly after you hear the rustling of cloth.       Gojo’s taking his jacket off?       About to speak, your mouth snaps shut as he placed the impossibly large jacket around your body, small compared to his. Instinctively, you allow it, but your mind is cursing you for not lashing out on him- why did he still care about you, anyways?     Gojo takes a step back, and you realize you’re now wearing his jacket. His gaze directed at yours, eyelashes fluttering. Your lips are tingling, and for some unbeknownst reason you wonder how a kiss would feel right now.      A part of you still wanted the relationship.      “Take care.”      And with that, he twirled around with a hint of flair, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets; wind howling against your ears as he did so. He was finally leaving you, but that wasn’t what you envisioned, you wanted to leave him- not him leave you.      You watched him stroll off, heading to where ever he came from.     That was how your first, and last relationship ended.  ‧₊˚✩彡.     The thought of this abandoned relationship nestled at the back of your head, and it had been for several years. It was like it happened yesterday.      His glasses still resided on your nightstand, sitting on the same spot that you had hastily dropped it on all those years ago, gathering dust quickly as you couldn’t quite look at it.       Gojo’s jacket was at the very back of your closet, and you’d advert your gaze to somewhere else- anywhere else, whenever you saw the wretched pitch-black sleeves that were twice the size of your arms.       You had taken a rather looked down upon jujutsu path, one that you knew only one other person had done before you. Nanami Kento was his name, from what you remembered. Sure, you still kept in touch with Shoko, but that was about it.       Today was one of those days, Shoko would invite you to some sort of establishment to eat, perhaps make small talk about what had been happening in your life, and that was that. Admittedly, you missed that childish relationship with her so badly- but you could never tell her about that.       Japan at night was always a treat though, that was certainly a fact.      Perhaps Shoko was thinking about other things when she took you to the Japanese night market, though you didn’t blame her- after all the fireworks festival was today, if you remembered correctly. Stalls filled with games and cheap street-snacks wafted about in the air, sweet tangy sauce, noodles, your stomach grumbled as you thought about taking a bite on the horribly unhealthy junk food.       “Here, Y/N. I’ve heard this takoyaki is really good.” You and Shoko had finally found an empty bench to sit at, and for some reason the muddy green color painted onto the wooden bench made your stomach lurch- it was the same shade that you saw nearby when breaking up with Gojo.     Shoko gives you this lukewarm yet kind smile, enough for you to give her a small grin to her in return, and you take the still hot container out of her gentle hands.       You plop the doughy deliciousness into your salivating mouth, and immediately you’re giddy. Savoring the taste of the thick brown sauce coating your pallet. You had to admit, Shoko, Geto, and... Gojo had amazing taste in food. Your tastebuds had instantaneously dulled as soon as you parted ways with the trio.      “Shoko-” you mumble, your mouth still stuffed, you cover your mouth and try to lower the sound of your chewing. “This is really good! How much was it?”        Shoko’s eyebrow quirks, and she leans in closer to you, “What was that?”        About to repeat yourself, you drink in the scene around you first. Cheerful children roaming the streets; too past their bedtime. Angsty teenagers and the many lanterns strung highly above everyone’s heads, how bright everything was.       Then you see it.       Someone large, atleast, significantly larger as opposed to the general crowd bustling in the streets. You couldn’t be mistaken, he had the same wild white hair- except it’s gelled up into spikes. He’s wearing a mauve darkish-purple uniform, it seems, a cute shopping bag swinging side by side as he took long strides. One thing you had to note was a blindfold, though.       Gojo’s not wearing those classic shades that was practically his signature.       You peer over at Shoko, who’s now frantically waving at Gojo, humming, his chin tipped towards the clear canvas of a sky, dotted with many white stars. He seems livelier somehow, an aura of friendliness radiating instead of arrogance, and you drop your takoyaki in suit.       He notices you.      And then he notices Shoko.       “...’Scuse me. Comin through.” he maneuvered himself through the already annoyed crowd, muttering quick polite apologies before finally freeing himself from the tight bundle of people. A large toothy grin is displayed for the world to see on his face, you feel like you’re about to vomit everything you had eaten today.       Your eyes scan the bag he’s holding, it contrasted heavily from the dark color scheme of whatever he was clad in; pastel yellow with a cute light green mascot chewing happily on mochi. In bubble letters above it were the words, “It’s a good day for yummy food.”      “Shoko!” he exclaims joyously, giving her a quick hug. “Hey, haven’t seen you in a while outside of work.”       Then, Gojo glances at you, atleast that’s what you assume he’s doing, the blindfold was really confusing you. He politely smiled, not as big as the one that he gave Shoko, though.        “Long time no see, Y/N.”        You clear your throat and nod in agreement. “You too.”        Polite chatter between the two of them ensued, and you steadily got more bored as the time went on, checking your phone and stealing quick stares at the two of them. You want to comment, to be included, but you doubt anyone really cared for you right now.        “...How are you?” you say bluntly, blinded by boredom, and immediately you regret it.       Shoko chuckles awkwardly, looking at you with those tired eyes of hers. “Was that for me or Gojo?”        Fuck it, if you were gonna go out, you might as well do it now.        “Gojo.”        “Shit. Putting me in the spotlight like this?” he stands back up from leaning down to talk to Shoko eye-to-eye, now turning to look at you, pausing.       “You’re even more straightforward then I remember, and I thought that was impossible.”        “Yeah.” you finally say after too many seconds of silence. It seemed like he was hinting at something. “I guess we just grow as people, even though I thought that was basically impossible for you.” you cheekily retort back, crossing your arms over your chest with a smug smirk now proudly playing at your lips.        “AND you got sassier? Never quite grew outta the brat phase.” taking a seat between the empty space between the two of you with a huff, his right leg placed above the knee of his left, his thumb plays with the hem of his blindfold, pulling it just a bit so that you could see his snow white eyelashes, alongside with a singular eye.     It’s like time stops as soon as you see them, and it’s like Shoko isn’t closely surveying the two of you, obviously perplexed with this sudden increase of the intensity of conversation.        You see a split second of something flickering in those eyes of his, you’re not quite sure what it could quite be.. Vulnerability?         “Can’t believe my eyes.” pulling his blindfold back down. They’re still as breathtaking as you had imagined them to be. He shrugged, leaning back into the bench casually.      For a while, the three of you just watch the stall directly in front of you- it’s a goldfish stall. Gojo had gotten you one when the two of you were still dating.         Shit. Why weren’t you over such a silly relationship? It wasn’t like you still had feelings for him, but there was still this emotion you couldn’t shake off. It clung onto you like a leech.         “It’s been so long since we’ve relaxed with each other like this.” Shoko mused aloud, turning to look at the two of you. The words are so faint, you’re barely able to hear her subtle voice.        At this point, colorful fireworks started bursting into the air- every shade of color could be seen. Vibrant greens, blues, reds, a loud crackling is all the ear can hear, aside from the loud cheering of over joyous children. Both of you are unanswering.       Vaguely, you remember the first time you saw the fireworks. Lo and behold, you remember wisps of Gojo’s white hair that you twisted and played with, your legs wrapped around his head. You felt on top of the world. Now, you found yourself at the bottom of it.         There’s a grateful, albeit, sad smile on your face. It wasn’t like it was all sunshine and rainbows for you, no. You felt bitter. Hatred, even, that Gojo matured without you.        “Yeah. I miss this.” you say through gritted teeth.         If you were to be honest, you did miss them. Geto, Shoko, Gojo, running around pelting each other with scrunched up paper.       Not just Gojo.        But you guess he’s a big factor as well.       

#gojo satoru #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru #jjk gojo satoru #gojo satoru fic #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen fic #gojou satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo sensei #anime fic #fanfiction #fanfic #gojo satoru scenario #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #gojo satoru fanfic #this is so bad #im sorry #angst #gojo satoru x female reader

[nessaxc]

___________________________________

Victory is Sweet || Miya Atsumu

After Atsumu’s raid on the Police Station, he comes back home to the penthouse to celebrate with his girl, and he brought a souvenir for you.

~ Words: 3.8k

~ NSFW 18+

___________________________________

It was just after 10pm when you heard a heavy knock on the front door from upstairs that sounded like the police were here. You looked into the peephole to make sure that it wasn't and heaved a sigh of relief once you spotted the blonde through the space with a policeman's cap on his head.

You opened the door with a big smile on your face when you greeted him. "Ooh, how did it go? Did you knock em dead?" you practically squealed in excitement.

He skipped his way in before he kicked the door shut with his foot, his cackling immediately assuring you that you were correct.

"Oh, it was amazing, wish you could have been there," he said with a grin on his face. "Cleaned the whole place up, nice and easy, they didn't even see it comin'," he laughed and walked towards you. You were half listening to what he said but your attention was more confused on his police uniform and how it hugged the contours of his body so perfectly, like it was made for him, which was very ironic.

You snapped your head up to look at him just in time before he realized. "I'm impressed," you giggled. "I wish I could have seen the look on their faces," you added with a loud laugh that sounded much like his earlier one.

"They were such babies, couldn't hold a candle to anything I could do," he chuckled with you as his eyes met your lustful gaze, "which is why we're going to celebrate," he told you in a whisper before he laughed again. Your lips curled into a sly smirk the second those words came out of his mouth.

"I like the sound of that," you replied around a silky purr.

"Oh and I got a little gift for you," he said with a big grin before he removed the hat from his head and placed it on your own, and it fit snugly. "You're going to wear that while we fuck, think of it like as a souvenir for my hard work today," he told you, and you nodded your head in agreement because who were you to deny him?

Then in an instant, he leaned forward to press his lips against yours, the kiss was hard and insistent and demanding, just how you loved it. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, and you could already feel the lukewarm heat spread through your body. It flooded your toes and fingers and pooled between your legs, stirring even further when his tongue passed over the swollen skin, the quiet groans against your teeth turning the stirring to a storm.

You both licked and nipped and sucked on each other's mouths and lips while he blindly staggered forward with you until he reached the room you two shared, plopping you down on the bed. He was quick to crawl atop your body.

"It's so rewarding coming home back to my girl after a long day," he cooed, his hands found the button on your pants and he undid it quickly before he yanked the zipper down in one swift motion. He pushed at your pants, your thighs peeking out from beneath the cotton, and you lifted your hips to shove them down the rest of your legs. "You proud of my work today, baby?" he drawled.

"Yes of course I am, you did so good," you praised and giggled when you saw a wide smile cross his face.

"I hope you don't mind, but you're wearing way too many clothes," he said before he practically tore off your blouse in one rapid motion, then repeated the same treatment to your bra which you didn't mind in the slightest. There was nothing like celebration sex with Atsumu after a successful day.

You squirmed as one of his strong arms wrapped around you, the fingers of his other hand tracing gently against the oddly sensitive spot beneath your ribs. His lips pressed to the swells of your breasts and—somehow, through the sensations—you noted that his fingers weren’t swirling randomly beneath your ribs, but in precise motions.

A.

T.

S.

You gasped when the U was written on your flesh. The M had your toes curling, your back arching. If the U came, you didn't feel it, too lost in the heat. His groan echoed off the walls around you two when he lowered his head down and pressed his face to your bare breasts. Teeth brushed against your flesh, nibbling at the hardened buds, tongue soothing when they became irritated, and he listened to your sighs as your hand fell to rub against your panties, fingers tracing the warm outline of your center.

You moaned when he took a nipple into his mouth and your finger crooked a rather specific way, and that was it. You were lost in the haze, and willing to do whatever he wanted. His hands fell to find a strong grip on your thighs. A squeak escaped from between your swollen lips as he hefted you up against him, your breasts pressing against his collarbone. You wrapped one arm around his shoulders to keep yourself upright, but the other hand pressed beneath the collar of his shirt and into his skin, finding the spot behind his left collarbone that he enjoyed so much and massaging it urgently.

He answered by taking your shoulder between his teeth, and you couldn't stop your hips from jerking against his stomach, nor could you keep your moans in as he nipped away at your skin deliciously.

"Looks like you need new marks," he told you around a heavy breath as he glanced at the fading marks on your skin.

"Oh, fuck," you gasped, writhing against him as he sucked on your skin, dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh. He blew against the marks gently, cooling the saliva there before dropping you down his body slightly and setting his mouth to your neck. "Atsumu," you uttered his name softly, your heels digging into the small of his back.

He sighed against you as his lips trailed up and down your neck several times, his teeth scraping every now and then. Slowly, he shuffled you both to the last stretch of the bed. When his shins bumped against the bed frame, his fingers left your thighs and hooked behind your knees before dropping you down onto the mattress, your back connecting with the soft sheets as you stared up at him. When your cop hat nearly fell off your head, he readjusted it to make sure it would stay still.

You sucked your lip between your teeth as your gaze wandered over him. There was a flush climbing up from his chest, tingeing the tips of his ears crimson. His chest rose and fell quickly, his hair was a mess, and the bulge in his pants was an enticing sight. You couldn't help but feel incredibly lucky.

He dropped to his knees in front of you and ripped your panties from your legs, his eyes finding yours and holding them as he dropped the undergarment to the floor and pressed his teeth to the inside of your knee, nibbling before moving further up your thigh. He took his time making his way towards the apex of your thighs, his fingers tracing up the inside of them as he pressed his mouth to the softer skin near your core. Nip, lick, suck, over and over, and you knew he was littering dark marks across your flesh.

Your back arched when his mouth came closer, sucking a mark rather close to your folds, and you wiggled your hips in an attempt to find relief—relief he wasn’t yet willing to offer.

"Please," you keened, your hips bucking upwards. His mouth paused when he heard your plea, and he pressed a gentle kiss to his final mark.

"You're so fucking cute when you get impatient like this," he chuckled against your skin before he pulled away. Finally—finally—he threw your legs over his shoulders and inched closer to you, his breath fanning over the wet heat between your legs. And then there were lips, and tongue, and his nose pressing in all the right places. A strangled sound fell from your lips as he pressed the flat of his tongue to you over and over in long, heavy strokes.

Your fingers traveled down over your breast and stomach to press against his shoulder, silently asking for his hand. Seconds later, his fingers curled around your own, and your nails dug into his palm as he pointed his tongue and pressed it between your labia, his teeth and chin a welcome pressure against your swollen sex. In and out, once, twice, countless times. He knew you—knew how much you enjoyed the sensation, and the warmth of his smooth tongue.

His hand—the one not being destroyed by your own—traveled up your body, taking a breast into his palm and flicking his long, talented fingers over your nipple. You could hardly breathe. You tucked your lips between your teeth and bucked against his face, your open hand falling to bury your fingers in his hair and press him against you. When he moaned, you felt it, and you wanted nothing more than to fall apart before him.

His tongue didn't stop his attentions. Soft, tentative licks were brought upwards until he found the hard button at the top, but he didn't touch it. He teased, because he loved messing with you. Close, but not close enough. You didn't notice his hand left your chest and drifted down your body as you focused on the feel of him around your clit. Not until you felt a finger press into the spot his tongue had abandoned.

"Fuck, Atsumu!" you cried.

A slow slide, the drag of his digit against your walls. Your chest heaved when he pressed with another finger, and then stroked and searched attentively for the spot he knew would cause you to become a babbling mess of sensation. When he finally found it, you felt you were choking on air, your lungs unable to find enough oxygen to satisfy.

You both knew what was next—what you needed in order to become putty beneath him—it was just a matter of figuring out how much he would prolong it. Thankfully, not long, because he breathed against you once more before covering you with his mouth and flicking his tongue against your clit. Then in an instant, every muscle, bone, tendon in your body went rigid, waves of pleasure running through your insides, and your hand rose so your teeth could bit into the skin of your palm.

Though, it muffled your scream, it was still louder than you wanted, but you found yourself unable to care as your thighs clenched around his ears, shaking with the force of your orgasm as your essence fell on his clever tongue. He lapped at you as you continued to convulse, and his hand tightened around yours, grounding you.

Slowly, you came down from your high, and your muscles went lax. His lips pressed kisses to the marks on the insides of your thighs. It took a moment, but your ability to speak returned, and the first thing you did was swing your heel weakly against his back.

"Tease," you mumbled against the back of your hand. You could feel him grin against your thigh, and it was both a great pleasure and a great irritation. Gently, he pushed your legs from his shoulders and stood. He used his heels to quickly remove his shoes, and then his knees were pressing yours upwards as he crawled over you.

"You look so flushed, baby," he pointed out cheekily, one of his arms propping him over while his other hand smoothed over your ribs, stroking your breasts.

"Asshole," you said in playful tone.

"Bitch," he retorted.

With a peal of laughter, you reached up and began to attempt to undo the snaps and buttons on his dress shirt with fingers still shaky from your orgasm. What you lacked in finesse—at least for the moment—you more than made up for with enthusiasm, and soon the shirt was open and being pushed past his shoulders. He knelt over for a moment, but once his chest was bare he was over you again, leaning down to tenderly press his lips to yours.

"I need you so much," you muttered against his smile, your fingers combing through the fine hairs over his pectorals.

He took your bottom lip between his teeth and swept his tongue across it before leaning back, his eyes glinting as they found yours.

"Oh we're getting there," he promised in a gravelly tone. With some of your strength and a grin returning, you leaned up and kissed him once more before giving his shoulder a gentle shove. He rolled off of you and landed heavily on his back. You followed, your arms on either side of his chest as his arms reached up to stretch, pulling muscles and skin taut. His back arched momentarily, ribs brushing against your nipples. When he settled back down on the mattress and caught your infatuated gaze, he flashed you a smug grin.

"Get over here," he rasped. You snorted as you moved to kneel between his thighs, his calves hanging over the edge of the bed, and then focused your attention on the button and zipper on his pants. When they were loosed enough, you tucked your fingers beneath the waistband and pulled them down as far as they could with your position, along with his underwear. His member—hard and heavy—freed itself and fell against his stomach, twitching and smearing clear liquid against his skin.

Your eyes dropped to his erection, heat curling your toes. Your gaze reluctantly left his shaft to move to his eyes, and you found him propped up on his elbows, watching you with wide eyes, large pupils, and his tongue poking out from between his lips. His natural flush had darkened, his chest and shoulders painted red. You rubbed the pad of your thumb against the underside of his cock and he released a sharp intake of breath upon the gesture, and a shallow thrust as he leaned his head back.

Taking your lip between your teeth, you shifted to allow your thighs to generate a small friction against your center and squeezed your fingers gently around his cock, stroking from base to tip with a practiced fluidity. He moaned beneath you, hips rising to meet your strokes as his breath came faster.

"I said, get the fuck over here," he hissed out. His hand came down a moment later, grabbing at your shoulder and pulling you up. Your knees came to rest on either side of his waist as your sex gently settled over his erection, your arousal coating him as you leaned your hands on his chest. Whimpers erupted from both of you when his hips pressed upwards.

His hands grabbed at your hips as you shuffled atop him only to move them to your chest when you began rolling your hips. His fingers kneaded, stroked, his thumbs pressing over pert nipples and making you shudder and dig your fingernails into his shoulders.

"Oh fuck, yes," he groaned. His hands left your chest to once more grip your waist, pulling you downwards as he pushed his feet to the floor and the backs of his shoulders into the mattress, rolling himself against your slit. When your hat nearly fell from your head, you pulled it on tighter and pressed it back down which made him emit a laugh in amusement.

You leaned further over him—angled yourself so his tip rolled over your clit with every thrust of his hips—and couldn’t stop the strangled moan that dripped from your tongue. Every slow drag built the tension growing in the bottom of your stomach. It rose and rose and rose, and you found yourself rising up on your knees shakily, your breaths ragged as you reached down with both hands, taking his erection in one and spreading your folds with the other.

A string of garbled words left his throat as you shifted your knees slightly and pressed the head of him to your slick opening. Slowly but surely, you sank down, feeling the press of him on every inch of you, the slide of heat that pulled at you until you were seated on him. You willed your hands to move steadily as you smoothed them over his chest, shoulders, ribs, needing to feel him everywhere.

"Oh fuck, keep going, that's it," he said between long, heavy breaths, a glint in his eyes as they pierced yours, and it spurred you on. You smiled, your thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his skin, your heart swelling.

You could hear him take in his breaths as he tried to control them, both inhaling and exhaling through his nose. A quiet moan left you when you leaned over him, your lips covering his own, tongue finding his in breathy gasps and warm, wet strokes. Hands reached for each other and fingers laced together when you settled back on your knees, palms pressing as you better arranged your legs.

And then, leaning your weight against his hands to give yourself some leverage, you lifted yourself. Your muscles clenched around him as his shaft dragged tantalizingly against your walls, his fingers squeezed, your thighs trembled. Breathy curses shot from his tongue as you wiggled your hips and began to sink down against him once more. It was slow—too much so. At this rate, you two would either be interrupted or drive each other mad.

Reluctantly, you pulled your fingers from between his and planted your palms firmly against his chest. His own fell against your hips, eyes catching yours, tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. He thrust his hips upwards, nudging himself that small bit deeper inside of you and pulling a moan from your throat.

With fingers pressing into muscles and supple skin, you both moved together. He lifted to aid your tensing thighs as you pressed down when his hips rose to meet yours. Breath left both of you quickly as he thrust up into you over and over. Your eyes fell from his to look down your body, to your breasts, to watch his cock delve into you. Though, you—at some point, somehow—had come to hold yourself stationary above him, he had set a pace, rising to meet you.

His grunts echoed in your ears, and your toes curled. He pushed up inside you once more and released your hips to pull your chest to his, wrapping his arms around you before rolling you two, pressing you back into the sheets. Though one of his hands remained curled behind your back—arching you against him—the other planted itself on the mattress, and he used it for leverage as he pulled back before pounding into your slick heat once more.

Your mouth fell open in moans and whimpers as he pressed into you. You cursed, a groan against the skin of his shoulder, followed by his name in two separate, stuttered parts as your legs spread further and your ankles hooked against the back of his thighs. Every thrust dragged his torso along yours. Chest hair brushed over your nipples, his abdomen riding along your stomach, and still he wasn't close enough. Your hands found his back and pressed him down onto you. With every movement, he would stutter briefly before curving his spine and digging into you even further, and every muscle in your body would clench.

When the rhythm he set began to falter, his teeth found your neck to leave more marks. He could write his name on your forehead so long as he didn't stop. You could feel yourself tightening around him, and you dug your fingers into his back, lifting your hips to meet his every thrust.

You were sitting on the edge, and he must have known it, because he settled the length of his body completely along yours and dropped the hand that had been propping him to slip between your bodies. His fingers ran across the slick skin at the spot you both joined before rising to press against your clit. You leaned in and bit into his shoulder as he rubbed small circles around the nub. His fingers twitched in a specific way, his cock rammed into you and—with a high-pitched noise you would be ashamed of later—you fell.

You felt wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure through your core, and every part of your body found some way to cling to him; your hands scrabbled against his back, ankles dug into the back of his legs. You wanted to scream—more than anything you wanted to scream—but your throat felt like it had collapsed as your jaw locked on his shoulder. The pads of his fingers continued to massage your clit, his cock still thrusting into you at a stuttered pace, and you continued to fall apart beneath him.

He tumbled over the edge with you, a strained grunt echoing in your ears as his hips rammed against yours one final time. His thighs jerked and he pulled you tighter against him, spilling himself into your tight heat.

Together, the two of you went limp, bodies twitching and sending aftershocks up your spines as you laid together. It took several moments for your breathing to return to a normal pace. Only then did Atsumu allow himself to slip from you, his breath a heave, and he settled lower on your body, his hand dropping to rest on your chest. Your hands were shaky as they rose to run through his hair. A contented moan vibrated against your collarbone and you smiled before repeating the motion with one hand and allowing the other to draw lazy circles between his shoulder blades.

"You were so good today," you praised, your voice still not completely there. "You definitely earned that."

His lips curved in a smile, and you could feel it against your skin. He purred in approval, "Of course, I always do."

He nuzzled his head into your breasts before he peppered wet, sloppy kisses on the soft mounds. You laughed airily and dropped your head back against the mattress. You sighed happily as your fingers continued to pull his hair from his forehead and felt his fingers—still somewhat shaky—trace patterns into the skin on the side of your rib cage.

Exhausted, the two of you curled on the bed, and he told you all about his raid on the Police Station, laughing as he recalled the events just before he came home to you, foreheads finding each other, fingers stroking. You could feel the rest of the world fall away, and losing yourself in the moments like these—like the laughter, the smiles, the tender looks—made your crazy, wild, unbelievably fun relationship with the blonde even more worth it.

___________________________________

#miya atsumu smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu #haikyuu fandom #haikyuu fanfic rec #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu atsumu #hq atsumu #msby atsumu #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x reader #inarizaki #atsumu scenarios #atsumu smut #miya atsumu #atsumu fic #atsumu oneshot #atsumu hcs #miya twins #hq fanfic #hq fandom #hq x you #hq x y/n #hq x reader #haikyuu time skip

[lord-squiggletits]

I know a little bit about Gravesteel (and i love her) - pls tell me more about Auric and their relationship.

There's not much more to tell about Auric that I haven't outlined in other #tf oc posts so I'll answer some Gravesteel/Auric questions using this ask meme I stole from coefore. (Some NSFW/valveplug implications in this post, DNI if minor as always)

Who’s more dominant: Gravesteel for sure. Auric kinda has a bratty/whiny personality when she's being playful and teasing. Is also kind of a brat/pillow princess in bed lol. But Gravesteel is the one that takes control because she's calmer and because Auric likes to be the follower in romantic situations

Who’s the cuddler: Gonna go with Gravesteel just because having a S/O means that she can touch another person on a regular basis when she's not used to any sort of intimacy.

Who’s the big spoon/little spoon: Gravesteel is the big spoon because she's big and Auric likes being hugged, though sometimes Auric is the jetpack because she's also cuddly

What’s their favorite non-sexual activity: Probably looking at paint swatches in cosmetic stores or otherwise painting decorations/new colors on themselves and each other. You wouldn't believe it but Gravesteel actually really likes colorful things and looking at photographs/artwork/etc with aesthetically pleasing colors, and Auric is...just a fabulous and pretty mech herself.

So basically this image here:

They probably low-key like to gossip too tbh, because Auric is the social butterfly who knows a lot of people and Gravesteel is the person who people forget is in the room/people think she doesn't talk to anyone, so she overhears a lot of things by accident.

Who uses all the hot water: Auric because Gravesteel is a madlass that doesn't mind lukewarm/cool/cold water when showering. She actually doesn't really like hot water, and Auric does so

Most trivial thing they fight over: Perceived lack of enthusiasm about some thing that Auric is talking about (Auric mad at Gravesteel), Gravesteel getting her work interrupted by Auric. Or they argue about color swatches for paint and interior decorating, "blood orange" vs "it's fucking red" style.

Edit: They would probably watch shows akin to Project Runway and get into arguments/debates with each other critiquing the designs and getting mad when the other one correctly votes their favorite off of the show

Who does most of the cleaning: Gravesteel, she's a doctor so she likes things neat. Auric is average cleanliness but probably has a different arrangement/decoration style

Who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working: Gravesteel so that Auric doesn't end up acting like a Karen because she can't get hot showers/it's too cold in the house

Who leaves their stuff around: Auric, Gravesteel keeps her experiments and new limb designs at the workplace, plus she's never led the kind of life where she collected a lot of possessions. Auric is the one with various knicknacks and shiny things.

Who remembers to buy the milk: Gravesteel

Who remembers anniversaries: Both of them :)

Who cooks normally: Auric, I don't think Gravesteel has a particular talent for cooking besides being able to make the basics

How often do they fight: Not that often, but when they do it's about 80% old married couple inconsequential shit and 20% "we have to stay in separate rooms of the house until we calm down and then by bedtime we say sorry and go to bed together"

What do they do when they’re away from each other: Auric is the type to send cute pics, selfies, pretty pictures of the landscape/wherever she went that day, Gravesteel just talks about whatever project she was working on today (and also sends pretty pictures when she can, but she doesn't go out much so she doesn't have much to send).

Nicknames for each other: None (unless someone more creative than me can think of one)

Who is more likely to pay for dinner: Both. Auric because she wants to spoil Gravesteel, or Gravesteel because she saves all of her money and never buys anything special for herself so she spends extra money when it comes to giving Auric nice things

Who steals the covers at night: Auric, she likes being warm and Gravesteel doesn't get cold. For that matter tbh Auric probably sleeps inside Gravesteel while she's in alt-mode

What would they get each other for gifts: Auric gets Gravesteel jewelry and sweets and flowers and artwork because she deserves some "superfluous" things simply because they're pretty whether they're practical or not. Gravesteel gives Auric a day at the spa or maybe the occasional new weapon/armor module (because "I want you to be able to defend yourself/I want you to have the best protection from damage.")

Who kissed who first: Auric kissed Gravesteel first because even if Gravesteel knows she has feelings, like hell she's going to be the one to initiate because she's awkward as fuck and would rather just stew in her emotions until she dies.

Who made the first move: Auric again for similar reasons, unless Gravesteel decides that it's romantic to be like "Hey, so uh... would you like to come to my office so I can scan you and build you a new frame upgrade?" or "Your internals are extremely efficient, you must not suffer from overheating very often."

Who started the relationship: Auric obviously

Who cusses more: Auric insists that she's prim and proper, but she's the one with the temper so she constantly slips and swears all the time (only apologizing at the end of her yelling spree lmao). Gravesteel can swear but chooses not to.

What would they do if the other one was hurt: Auric would go into berserker rage, Gravesteel would whisk Auric away (if on the battlefield) or stare ominously across the room if a medic besides her is taking care of Auric

Who is the dirty talker: Auric, Gravesteel is silent/doesn't talk during interfacing because she's bad at saying things

A head canon: (Valveplug) Auric is a 10000% bottom that refuses to do anything but use valve. Gravesteel doesn't have a preference one way or the other since her libido is extremely low

(Humanformers) They both have long hair (though Auric's is longer) so they style each other's hair before they go out for the day

#squiggle answers #aturinfortheworse #tf oc #does anyone have any suggestions for what to call this ship btw #gravesteel and auric don't exactly mash well together

[glitterge1pen]

Big Bird

Keigo Takami x reader, sfw, fluff, word count 1,336

“Hey watch it Big Bird!”

You're not snapping at him, it’s a playful remark. He looks at you blankly at first. There is a brief second where you think you might have upset him but then he spreads his wings to their full span and you're squished against the elevator wall.

"Ha ha very funny"

You say as dry as your voice will allow.

"What? You get to call me names but I cant-"

You cut him off.

"Names! You should be fucking honored to even be compared to him"

"Hm? Do you know Big Bird on a personal basis?"

He teases. You sigh dramatically hoping to get a laugh from him.

"Big Bird? I wish I knew him”

With that the elevator sounded announcing your arrival to the lobby. You rushed off, saying goodbye to Keigo with a wave of your hand. You were actually quite busy today and needed to hurry.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The next time you do it is in a meeting with another hero agency. You’re sitting next to him, listening intently to all the information that is being given to you. When you and all the other seated heros are passed folders with documents you mumble under your breath,

"Shit, looks like we got ourselves into a bind Big Bird"

He grins, but then remembers that he’s supposed to think the Big Bird thing is annoying. He pokes you in the back with a feather but leaves it at that.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You have a day off. Hawks tries to be subtle about checking your schedule. He doesnt find out and spends half the day wondering what you’re up to. If you’re just taking the day to rest, running errands, watching movies. Then he asks himself why he cares so much, before he can answer his own question his phone vibrates. Its a text from you, he stares at it from the notifications screen.

"Would you look at this Big Bird"

He clicks on it, not being able to see the picture from his notifications. It looks like you’re at a store. It’s you holding up a box of Sesame Street band aids. As he’s looking at the photo you send a second one. There is only your wrist in frame, on it you have placed a Big Bird band-aid.

He stares at it. At the stupid, stupid Big Bird band-aid. Is this your way of flirting? Were you just being funny? And god why did he care so much. He is standing just holding his phone until the screen goes black. He knows. He knows why. He doesn't want to say it out loud. Doesnt even dare to call those stupid photos you sent cute. He wouldn't dare. But the thought taunts him in the back of his mind.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

He wakes up one morning exhausted. Not bothering to get to the agency on time. He feels sore, worn out, tired. Keigo rolls over in bed mulling over the previous nights events.

It was a bad brawl. A robbery. Hostages.

He has to go into today. To finish up the debrief, to see if any new questions from the investigation had come up. He cleans himself up, gets dressed and heads out the door.

As he passes by people he says good morning, sends greetings, shakes hands. Not letting his bitter mood shine through his persona. Once inside the doors of the agency he relaxes a bit. He can feel everyone's eyes on him as he makes his way through the building.

He silently prays for you to be in the elevator. But you aren't there. There’s an impatient jitter starting to consume his nerves. He wishes he did better yesterday. That you didn't have to see him struggle. Or the way he had shouted at you to help the hostages. If all of this wasn't so complicated, the world so horrid.

If he saw you it would be fine. You got it, you got what the job was about, you got him, you got that he just wanted things to be normal. You wouldn't ask him about what had happened, you would wait until he was ready to talk about. You would see him and you two would joke, and complain and just be the usual.

Keigo stops, thoughts clearing as he sees the duct tape on his office door. There’s a note from you, it just says 'out on patrol' .His attention is on the Big Bird key chain. You have it taped next to the note.

He feels as if the Big Bird key chain is looking straight into his thoughts. Specifically his thoughts about you, like the Big Bird is a spy. He considers it much too seriously. Leaning in to inspect it before hooking it around his belt loop.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

There’s a hero meeting. Politics, recent major incidents. Keigo wants to skip out on these things and does his best to bite his tongue. Instead he focuses on not paying attention to you. Which has been getting harder these days.

The meeting is over and while some people have left others mill around the room chatting. They discuss meeting notes, recent patrols, a new tv show. He stands and heads over to the snack table. Pours a cup of lukewarm coffee, snags two ginger snaps before walks over to where you are.

You’re talking with Ken. When Keigo approaches he hands you a cookie and you thank him silently, only mouthing the words, not wanting to interrupt Ken.

“I swear all he wants to do is run into walls and watch sesame street”

Keigo turns his head, hoping to god that you won't bring up the Big Bird thing. Embarrassed by the thought alone.

“What’s wrong with that he has Oscar the Grouch as a role model”

You and Ken laugh a little.

“How'd you know Oscar was his favorite?”

“Are you kidding, Oscar is everyone's favorite”

Now that. That makes him feel a million different things at once. His mouth is open in shock and disgust, eyebrows creased together.

“Everyones favorite?”

Its snarky, maybe too snarky a tone for him to take on. Ken and you look off put by it. Then a look of realization washes over you. Your expression borderline remorseful. Ken glances at you hoping for an explanation, amused by whatever it was he was seeing. Keigo has his arms crossed, waiting for you to say something.

“Big Bird-”

The words leave your mouth and Ken loses it in laughter. He’s clutching his sides, a few other people turn to look. Ken had easily clicked together the little puzzle in front of him after you said Big Bird. Keigo refuses to look at either of you, arms still crossed, your stuck in a useless rant about a children's show, trying to get him to loosen up.

As Ken is hunched over, trying to recover from his laughter he sees it. It being the Big Bird key chain fastened around Keigo’s waist. His hand trembles in laughter as he brings his fingers up to the key chain. Keigo glances down at the motion and so do you.

You feel your cheeks warm up, feeling bashful all of a sudden. You tilt your head to the side.

“You kept it?”

Keigo stops messing with you, drops his arms, and states very matter of fact like,

“Of course I did?”

“Oh, I thought you, I don't know I didn't think about it”

Ken gets up, his laughter having calmed. He wants to leave before things have the chance to get awkward.

“It was nice seeing you two, but I gotta get back to work”

You say goodbye to Ken, staring at his back as walks away, not wanting to face Keigo alone. Neither of you say anything. Keigo wondering how much of all that was just to tease you and get a rise from you, and how much was him pouting and genuinely caring. You are doing the same.

“Well Big Bird, up for lunch?”

You can push that all aside for just a while longer you decide.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: I had this idea this morning and it wasn't going to leave me alone until I wrote it out. It's not as fleshed out as I would have liked but I think it came out neat. Originally this was just going to be like a two paragraph headcanon but then my head kept having thoughts :/ Requests and the such still open tho

#hawks #hawks x reader #hawks fluff #bnha #kiego x reader #hawks imagine #bnha x reader #keigo takami #gender neutral reader

[atsunflower]

Rated: SFW

Author notes: *sigh* for the third time the damned app ate up the tags. This one took me too long and I'm excited for write about my man suna again. This is also pretty different from what I'm used to write, but why not? Please enjoy your reading.

Warnings: cursing, substance usage/mentions, break-ups and me trynna be funny.

I – Cancel me.

Previous || Next

He looked at them with expectation as the beats smoothly faded, indicating the song's ending. 

If he were to be honest, the pair before him was a pain in the ass, but their opinion was that important because, when it came to music, they were the best at it. He felt no shame nor jealousy in admitting it.

"Dunno, the hook sounds like a Vice headline ta me." The bleach-haired male said, hearring the song's outro blaring through the studio speakers.

"Isn't it a Kid Milli reference, tho?" The other asked while munching a chip. He frowned at them, not understanding their point.

"Whatever. You two are no help anyways." Hearring their bullshit, the brunette already regretted this collab. He paused the queued song, turning to the other two with a blank stare.

The twins before him snickered, knowing they successfully hit a nerve. They couldn't help it, provoking Suna was one of their favorite hobbies.

"The song is good, but I gotta tell ya this butt hurt phase of yers is pretty lame." The faux-blond opened his mouth again, spinning around the studio with the desk chair. 

"Fuck you, Atsumu" He snapped, almost giving in to the desire of decking them both on the face.

"Tsumu's right, ya Lil Peep wannabe. Can't believe this break up ended up that bad." Osamu said in mockery, throwing the empty Lay's wrapper at him. He scoffed, disposing the wrapper on the bin before getting back at the screen to look at the FL studio interface.

"It's not that I have a broken heart. I just wanna know what's wrong with my life" He shrugged, blindly tacting over the desk in search of his Juul.

"Yeah Samu, he's just grieving over those fancy ass Dior Jordans. Sunarin is incapable of mundane things like a broken heart." His blond friend was partially right.

Suna Rintaro was many things: alt model, music producer, cloud artist and a decent volleyball player that almost went pro. But if there was something he could never be, it was a lucky man on love matters.

With his fair share of failed relationships, the artist could never pinpoint when things went wrong. It would always be the same: he would meet a girl, they would have a good time and then, the chick would turn out demanding as fuck.

In the end, every single one of them would slap him across the face and leave his life banging the front door shut like crazy — last week, it was Mika who broke things off, but not before setting his limited edition pair of jordans on fire. He would never get over those sneakers.

"Good for him, those kicks were kinda ugly." Osamu said in a bored manner. Suna felt his soul leaving his body.

"The hell, Osamu?" He was ready to fight, deeply offended by the attack at his taste in fashion.

"Yo, you two." Atsumu butted in, checking something on his phone "Y'all are drifting away from our problem."

"That is?" The other brother asked.

"Cheer up Sunarin before he fucks up with the Album." If Suna had the energy, he would kick both Miyas out of his studio "And I gotta the perfect thing. Let's hang out at Akagi's tonight, he just invited us." The already distressed musician felt the soul leaving his body for the second time that afternoon. He was sure both twins wished his death.

"Not a fucking chance. Last time I went there I almost died because of that weird stuff we smoked." 

"Aw, Sunarin, Kita'll be there too." The faux-blonde tried to persuade. The mention of their older, responsible and straight edge friend made Suna look at them with interest. But he needed more, though. Based on the last experience, he didn't have the will to risk his life going to Akagi's house once again. A shiver descended his spine as the male recalled how much he threw up that night.

"Suna, man, I gotta agree with Tsumu. Yer feelings are showing in your music." Osamu said as if he was some kind of genius.

"Isn't art about it, tho?" He deadpanned "Expressing feelings and shit?" He asked, staring them dead in the eye. The males before him shivered because of its intensity. Suna snickered.

"Man says art, but most of his songs are about the Nikes on his feet and the Tesla in his garage." Atsumu mocked "What the fuck?" The blonde barely dodged the moleskine thrown at him.

"Don't chew on me when you do the same, asshat. This is called character development." As unnerving the twins were, he felt a whole lot better in their company "Just lemme produce my sad stuff in peace."

"Cut us some slack, ya dumbfuck. We're just worried about ya." Osamu protested " 'Sides, no wonder no girl sticks by yer side. You know what the chicks find sexy? Seizing the means of production, not yer dumb car."

"You two are so la—" The musician was interrupted mid sentence, startled by the blond figure clutching his phone with enthusiasm.

"Oi Samu," Atsumu's loud voice startled the other two, as he excitedly fisted the air.

"What the fuck?" Suna asked, dropping the Juul on the floor.

"She'll be there tonight." The blond said, looking at his brother with a new wave of joy.

"The fuck? She who?" The brunette frowned.

"Ya gotta go and find out, man." The gray haired twin said with a knowing smile, matching his brother's excitement.

The night out felt somewhat draining. The booze, the music and the company were great, but his lack of energy was a mood killer.

Cheer me up my ass, Suna cursed internally as he observed everyone getting wasted all over the place. He grimaced at the sight, realizing the meeting with the twins was enough social interaction for the day.

He didn't know what's gotten into him. The male knew it wasn't necessarily caused by the break up, but he couldn't help the feeling down.

Right now, life just felt lowkey suffocating. 

Being a public figure meant being under the spotlights the most of time.

People talked.

People assumed.

Media was all over him, ready to catch a scandall.

And of fucking course his name was on gossip headlines. It even occupied a spot on twitter trending topics for a day or so.

"Fuck me." He said before the lukewarm beer went down his throat.

"Sunarin!" He heard Atsumu shouting from his right "I want you to meet someone!" And only now he noticed the blond had his left arm over a girl's shoulders.

Oh, that's the one they were talking about, maybe? the brunette realized. What's the hype, tho? He asked himself, eyeing your figure.

"[Name], this is Suna. Sunarin, this is [Name], best girl ever and the mastermind behind the visuals of mine and Samu's last album" The bleach-haired male said with a proud smirk, ruffling your hair. You were obviously shy.

How cute, the brunette thought.

"Dumbass, don't embarrass me in front of others!" You nudged the Miya with your elbow "Nice to meet you, I saw your name on TMZ last week—" You said beaming and he grunted.

I take it back. Not cute at all, the man internally screamed, not ready to talk about the recent events. He didn't even want to listen to the rest of your speech, your cheery voice went through his ears in a white noise.

"And this makes me really excited for your album. The interview about the collab with dumb and dumber was lit." You continued, the words were genuine and you seemed really interested "And I also relate on a spiritual level because I know working with them is hell."

Oh, she's talking about the album. He realized in relief.

"Yo, I heard good things about you too. The design of their album was hella sick, even though they two suck ass." Suna snickered when he heard Atsumu protesting. You only left out a giggle, joining him on the teasing.

The blond kept ranting about how bad of friends the two of you were.

"I didn't introduce y'all ta gang up on me. Bye, I'm finding another company. Ya two suck." The blonde Miya said, leaving only you and Suna in the sofa area.

"Uh, so…" He drifted off, trying to start some small talk

"Yeah..." You both giggled at the awkwardness "Not enjoying the night?"

"Too much happening right now. Lots of people talking shit 'bout me." He sipped the beer, grimacing at the stale taste of the drink "Hope they cancel me already. So all this shit dies down." Suna looked away, suddenly shy for opening up to a stranger.

"You're a famous guy and the break-up wasn't that scandalous. It'll be over eventually, just beware the sneaker cult." Your amusement was comfort enough. You didn't make intrusive questions about the events and merely joked it off. He felt so worn out by the situation but, at least, your presence wasn't overbearring.

"How is it everyone knows about the jordans?" You shrugged it off, laughing at the distressed face he mocked. Sighing in relief, Suna couldn't deny how refreshing your presence was. Not to be a jerk, but usually, the girls either were all over him or judged every single move he made. You were just that easygoing.

"Well, I don't think you came here to sulk on the sofa all night long. Why don't we join them by the pool and down some shots?" You hopped off of your seat, pointing to the glass doors. All the boys were waving at you two and suddenly, Suna felt a wave of joy run down his body.

Atsumu was right. Best girl ever.

At some point of the night, everything became about you.

All he could hear was the sound of your voice and all the time, his eyes were drawn to your figure. He couldn't figure out a reason for it, but the rapper wasn't complaining either.

A sharp pang at the side of Suna's head broke the trance he was in. Osamu had a shit eating grin on his face, eyeing the ravenette with amusement.

"We told ya so." The younger twin mused whilst he handed a long neck of vodka to the other.

"Stop. This is dumb."

"Yer dumb. But you ain't that dumb ta dare ta mess with her." The gray-haired Miya squinted at him, menacingly pointing the bottle in his hand at the brunette. The latter shrugged it off, opening his drink.

"Nah, I'm good." And he meant it.

But how could he explain the situation he was in?

Lips and hands wandered over the expanse of his skin. Everything was too hot and too good at the same time. Overwhelming, even.

He wanted more, more and more. There wasn't enough of you.

And if it wasn't unfair enough, his body felt lethargic. He was desperate, but couldn't keep up with the rhythm you imposed. Be it the alcohol or the stress, his body gave up and blacked out, even before you could undress each other.

In the morning after, a pounding headache woke him up. Suna didn't dare to open his eyes, but the morning breath fanning over his face was unbearable.

"I can't believe a cutie like you have a stinky breath like this." The complaint came out in a raspy voice, accompanied by an annoyed grunt.

Someone snickered on the other side of the room.

"Man, I didn't know you had the hots fer Samu." Atsumu was somewhere across the room, laughing at him.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Hearing the other, Suna's body jolted, dizziness made his head spin in the process. He felt sick in the stomach and the morning light made his eyes sting. "When did I get back here?" The male looked around, realizing he was sprawled over Akagi's floor, right beside Osamu, who didn't even squirm at the loud voices in the room.

"What do ya mean? We never left" Atsumu frowned, uncaping a water bottle he was holding "Ya puked on Kita and passed out. The boys were too wasted ta drag yer sorry ass back home so we all crashed here." The blonde was dumbfounded, trying to figure out how wasted Suna got last night.

Suna wanted to know too. After all, there was no way the events envolving you were a product of his drunk mind.

facts:

• Suna's artist name is yosemite.

• He has a Tesla Model S because of Frank Ocean.

• He takes his Nikes very seriously.

• No, not all of his songs are about the car and the kicks.

• He and the Miya twins got a sports scholarship because of volleyball, but they dropped out of school to make music.

• The three of them created Inarizaki, the label they're making music under. Kita and Aran manage it.

• Both Miya twins are beatmakers and music producers. They recently debuted as artists and now are making a collab EP with Suna, thus Atsumu's concern about the album.

#suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines

[kopikokun]

Spilled Drinks & Study Sessions༄ mark l.

↳ When you’re forced into a study session with your next door neighbour Mark, who also happens to be your academic rival in school, things go south very quickly.

pairing; mark lee x reader

genre; fluff, slight angst, enemies to lovers (more like friends, but anyway)

wordcount; 2503 words

author’s note; how the hell do you guys write e2l and make the transition so smooth? bro i could never. also, the header pic is different than what i normally do :/ it’s kinda eh, but i liked the picture so i had to do something with all that empty space

Request 26: Mark + “Oh, are you ticklish?” (73) + “Why are you naked?” (109)

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. | 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬.

The animosity between you and Mark is intense and painstakingly obvious to everyone around you. Well, everyone besides your parents, you suppose. 

   “Can you stop being so loud? You’re distracting me,” you grumble, angrily flipping through your homework. 

   “Well, I’m sorry for breathing.” Mark rolls his eyes at you. “Would you rather I stop entirely instead and drop dead right here, right now?”

   “At least it would be quieter if you did.” You press your pen down harder, taking your rage out on your poor, innocent worksheet. If you’re going to blame anyone for the excruciating torture your homework is enduring, you’d blame Mark. Even if it technically isn’t his fault, you’d still pin the blame on him. 

   “What’re you gonna do with my body? You wouldn’t be able to lift me, I mean, you couldn’t even open that can of Coke.”

   Your cheeks grow warm, mentally replaying the image of a grinning Mark as he effortlessly opened your can of Coke, the soft hiss of its fizz taunting you. Mark had puffed up his chest triumphantly like he was some kind of hero. For crying out loud, he had only opened a can of Coke, not saved his country. It still bruised your pride though, having to ask for help from Mark, your sworn rival since middle school. Childish, you know, but you’re certain that Mark thinks of you as such too. 

   “Whatever,” you fumble for a name to call him, “nerd.” Mark snickers at you. “My fingers were just slippery.” He arches a brow, challenging you, and you scowl. “I wouldn’t be able to lift you because you’re heavy, fatass. Not because I’m weak.” You twirl a lock of your hair around your finger. “And look who’s talking, Mr. I-Can’t-Open-Doors.”

      Mark flushes crimson as he silently fumes. “That was because I was pushing the pull door!”

   “That’s even worse, Mark,” you tease, unable to suppress a smile. “Dumbass,” you mumble below your breath, enjoying the way Mark seethes.

   “You’re calling me a dumbass? If I remember correctly, I was the one who placed above you last term.” Mark haughtily flips a page in his workbook. “Which I think is why your parents want me to tutor you.”

   You throw a measly eraser shaving at Mark in rebuttal. “You know that’s not why I’m here!” Another shaving is thrown at Mark’s head, yet he doesn’t even look up at you. “In fact, your parents probably wanted me here so I could babysit you!”

   Neither you or Mark are right. Your parents just chucked you together because they thought that after all those years of living beside one another and having weekly dinners together, you two would be absolutely wonderful buddies, and you can’t fault them for assuming such a thing.

   Logically speaking, you and Mark are supposed to be the bestest of friends. As much as you dislike the word, it seems as if fate has decided that you two are meant for each other. Gross. 

   In almost every situation possible, you and dear Markie boy over here have been unwillingly strung together—from group projects, to assigned seats, you two just can’t get a break from one another.

   Your parents had innocently thought that having a little study session while they went out for a double date with Mark’s parents would be beneficial for you two. Perhaps even fun. Fun, your ass. 

   All those years spent with Mark hasn’t made you friends, no, it’s made you rivals.

   Yeah, so not sworn enemies, but what’s life without a little exaggeration?

   You’ve always been a bright kid, some would even go as far to say that you’re ‘gifted’, but you think ‘persevering’ is a better word to describe it. You weren’t just born naturally intelligent or outstandingly athletic, no, you’ve had to work hard, insanely hard, for that. It hadn’t been handed to you all nicely wrapped with a little bow to match, just for you to tear it open and take. You’ve had to tolerate and undergo several sleepless nights, and many agonising hours of training. 

   Up until middle school you were top of your class in all aspects. You were idolised (well, as idolised as you could be for a middle schooler anyway), loved and acknowledged. It had been blissful. 

   That was until, little Mark with that stupidly cute gleam in his eyes came along, skipping over to you in those worn-out track pants and smiling toothily as he introduced himself as your brand new next door neighbour.

   You have to admit, initially, you and him were close friends. You’d walk home together, sneak out to go to the convenience store together, share snacks together, the list goes on. You’d even given Mark your very first kiss, right on the cusp on your twelfth birthday. He didn’t know that it was your first kiss though, and he’ll never know. You’d rather be shot at point blank range than give up such private intel. 

   But when one day, in seventh grade, when Mark had begun closing in on you in rankings, outrunning you at the park and gradually being everyone’s new favourite, you found yourself isolated. Even one of your friends, a girl with straight long hair that fell past her waist, started hanging out with Mark more than with you.

   And when you invited her to your thirteenth birthday, the first thing she’d asked was, “Is Mark going to be there?”

   And at that same party, you saw her, kissing the boy you had been crushing on for the past year. And it looked like Mark really enjoyed kissing her too. More than he did with you.

   From that point on, you began to distance yourself from Mark. It was gradual, slow, but you knew Mark could tell. When he finally surpassed you academically too, you started harbouring a resentment towards him, and the rivalry between you two started.

   You were somewhat hoping he’d confront you, at least wonder why your attitude towards him had seemed to change in the blink of an eye, but he hadn’t. And that stung.

   Obviously rumours had circulated in middle school about what was going on between you two. Kids, no, people love to talk. And talk they did. 

   It had been widely known that you and Mark used to be inseparable at one point in time, and it was jarring seeing how differently you two were acting around each other.

   Mark and that friend of yours had broken up some time after that, and evidently she was pissed. It seemed as if she had begun spreading gossip about you, claiming that you had been some sort of psycho ex-girlfriend and that you had threatened Mark to break up with her, essentially, she was villainising you.

   When high school finally rolled around, Mark’s ex had moved by then—you weren’t sure where and you didn’t care to know. The rumours eventually died down with her absence, and you thought that maybe, just maybe, you and Mark could finally make amends, bury the hatchet, as one would say. But that never happened.

   Looking back, you’re a bit amused at what an eventful and dramatic childhood you had. All those scandals at just thirteen? What a boss bitch. Present you would not be able to stomach that.

   You take a peek at Mark. He’s attractive. Of course he is. He had been a cute kid, no doubt, but as he’s aged, he’s matured into his good looking features. He’s not the rugged and manly kind of good looking, he’s got more of a sweet boyish look to him, and in your opinion, it adds to his charm. 

   “What are you staring at?” 

   Shit, you’ve been caught. No, caught? It’s not like you were doing something you shouldn’t have. “Nothing.” You reach forward to take a sip from the infamous Coke can. It’s lukewarm, but you gulp it down regardless, trying to appear unfazed.

   “Were you checking me out?”

   Disaster strikes just as those words leave Mark’s lips. The putrid sensation of warm coke leaves your mouth entirely, not because you’ve begrudgingly swallowed it all, but because you’ve spit it out from the sheer shock of Mark’s question. 

   “Hey! What the fuck?” Mark stands from his chair across from you and its legs scrape against the floor with a sound that makes your skin crawl. 

   You cough and sputter, gasping for air. Once you’ve gotten past that tight feeling in your throat, you wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. A few droplets of the sugary drink dribble onto your shirt. But fortunately, well for you at least, you’re not as drenched in spit-laced Coke as Mark is. 

   “Shit!” You lift your gaze to look at Mark, who’s surprised, to say the least. 

   Mark takes a breath to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he clamps his mouth shut, opting to groan in annoyance instead. “Jesus, why’d you even do that?”

   Your face burns in embarrassment. No way you’re going to admit to him that you were checking him out. Sort of. “I don’t know, it just went down the wrong channel, I guess.”

   Mark’s lips form a thin line of dissatisfaction. “Yeah, okay, whatever.” He cringes as his shirt sticks to him. “ I’m gonna go change.”

   He runs a hand through his hair, face upturned in frustration as he stomps up the stairs, his footsteps echoing throughout the living room. Your eyes follow his figure until he turns a left into his room. 

   You sigh. If you were home alone, you would have screamed in humiliation. The can of Coke on the table mocks you. You resist the urge to pick it up and hurl it into Mark’s neighbour’s backyard—well, your backyard. 

   A sliver of positivity presents itself in the form of you and Mark’s mostly unscathed worksheets. There are a few stray droplets here and there, but it’s barely noticeable. It would’ve been much worse for both Mark and you if you had drenched those as well. In fact, your homework wouldn’t be drenched in just saliva and Coke, but also in tears at that point. 

   You curse the can in your grasp, its aluminium smooth against your skin, before you dump it in the bin. Good riddance, bitch. 

   I should apologise. You can suck up your pride for that. No, this isn’t even about petty things like pride anymore. That shouldn’t matter. I should apologise, you think to yourself firmly.

   Alright. Apologising. Sorry. You inhale deeply, gathering your senses and calming your jittery nerves. Why are you even nervous? It’s not like you’re professing your undying love to him. Chill the fuck out.

   As you’re standing before Mark’s single, wooden door (which looks extremely daunting for some reason), it doesn’t dawn on you that perhaps you should knock first.

   If it had, then perhaps you wouldn’t be staring at a shirtless Mark, your hand still wrapped around his doorknob and your mouth hung agape.

   “Oh my God, Mark!” You cover your eyes, the door shutting behind you with a creak. You’re a bit ashamed at how fast your cheeks are overtaken by a hot, prickling feeling. “Why are you naked?”

   Mark, though just as startled as you are, has the common sense to reach blindly for the stained shirt he just took off, holding it in front of him. “What do you mean why am I naked? Why are you here?”

   You take a few steps back, your back pressed up against the door. “I- I came up here to say I’m sorry. You know, for uh, just now?”

   Your hands slowly fall to your sides as you burn holes into Mark’s carpeted floor with your eyes instead. 

   “Oh, uh, o-okay. Apology accepted, I guess.” Mark’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Let me just uhm—”

   You can hear his drawer sliding open and the faint rustle of fabric. All the while you keep your gaze glued to the floor, feeling your cheeks grow warmer by the second. Oh my God, you’re acting like a little girl who’s just held a boy’s hand for the first time.

   This isn’t the first time you’ve seen a guy naked—for fuck’s sake, Mark’s not even naked. He’s all covered up where he should be. Why is the sight of just his bare body from the waist up making your mind go blank and your palms grow sweaty? It’s not like you have feelings for him anymore. No, you don't.

   “You can uh, you can look up now.”

   You steel yourself, looking up to face Mark. Why did you have to steel yourself? It’s not like he’d have taken even more clothes off once you looked up again. You feel like slamming your head into the wall.

   You fiddle with your fingers, searching for something to say to try and ease the tension. “Uh, sorry. For spilling that Coke all over you, I mean.” You scratch the nape of your neck. “And for you know, walking in on you changing.”

   “Why didn’t you leave?”

   Your shoulders slump. “Huh?”

   Mark chuckles confidently, like he’s unabashed. His cheeks are ablaze with colour, though. “I mean, why didn’t you just back out of the room when you walked in on me changing? Why’d you just stand there?”

   You blink at him. Why didn’t you just leave? “I- I froze up, okay? Don’t bully me!” Your ears are burning.

   “Yeah, okay, okay.” Mark raises his hands by his sides, that entertained smile never leaving his lips. “Let’s go back down, okay? I still need to finish my work.”

   You chew on your inner cheek. “Yeah, whatever,” you try to find a creative name to call him.

   “Yeah, I know. Nerd.” Mark raises his brows at you, still with that amused grin. You wish you could smack it right off his stupidly handsome face.

   You huff, turning on your heel and practically booking it to the stairs. Mark catches up to you in no time with long, languid strides. Stupid long ass legs.

   “Hey, wait up, loser,” he says, a hint of delight in his voice. He pokes your side and you jump, shoving his hand away and mustering a weak glare at him. “Oh, are you ticklish?”

   You gnaw on your bottom lip. “No, I’m not, fatass!” Despite your harsh tone, your cheeks deceive you, blossoming with warmth yet again.

   Mark smiles genuinely this time, although there’s no sarcastic edge to it whatsoever. “You getting shy?”

   “No, I’m not.”

   “Hey, don’t be upset!” The next thing Mark says is nearly incomprehensible, but you hear it. Oh, you definitely do.

   “You look cute.”

   Your head swivels to look back at Mark, and you realise that he hadn’t meant for you to hear that.

   The faintest of smiles teases your lips, before you turn away, denying him the satisfaction of seeing you break out into a grin. “Yeah, whatever, Mark.”

   Now, it’s Mark’s turn to be enveloped in heat as a red tint spreads across his cheeks.

#toaster requests #mark fluff #mark angst #nct fluff #nct angst #mark lee #mark nct #nct u #nct 127 #nct dream #mark imagines #nct imagines #nct scenarios #mark scenarios #nct oneshots #mark oneshots #nct x reader #mark x reader #nct blurbs #mark blurbs #nct drabbles #mark drabbles #nct fics #mark fics

[minyoonmeme]

Normalcy of the Pretty Posse

Chapter 2

Word Count: 3708

Pairing: ??? x reader

Description: Stupid Jeongguk and his cute sweaters and pretty posse of hyungs.

Genre: again like 90% fluff, 5% humor, and another 5% of reader literally forgetting how to function a little

(Some rambling because I have no life: here is part 2! I honestly didn’t expect any one to find part 1 so??? thank you guys so much. I’ve missed writing lately and this has been such a good outlet for me. I hope you guys like it.)

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masterlist

“Hyung…” Jeongguk skids to a stop just before one of the sets of speakers. A whine leaves his mouth as he puffs out some air before tossing his bag haphazardly against a random speaker. “I messed up. Big time.” His legs, just slightly too long for the childish behavior, fold underneath him awkwardly as he flops against the dusty linoleum floor. 

Hoseok looks down at his younger friend as he folds another chair and places it against the wall. “Messed up as in pissing your pants again like that one time Freshman year or getting another C on a test?” Hoseok only laughs when Jeongguk throws a pen from his pocket at him. Jeongguk’s pout settles deeper on his face as his eyebrows furrow and Hoseok knows that whatever is bothering Jeongguk is something a little more closer to the heart than pissing his pants at a frat party after chugging an entire keg upside down.

“Hyung, I’m serious.” Jeongguk closes his eyes and wraps his sweater tighter around his body as he rolls on his left side to look at Hoseok. “You know that girl that dances in the back in your Thursday workshops?” 

“I’m gonna need you to be a little bit more specific, Guk. There are a lot of girls who come here.” Hoseok is only kidding, of course. He and all of Jeongguk’s hyungs know of his crush on the girl who comes every Thursday to his workshops. Jeongguk had originally only come to the workshops because Hoseok was nervous no one was going to come, but that was 2 months ago and despite the sign up list being full every week, Jeongguk still came despite being a little bit more advanced than the beginner classes he attended. Hoseok had offhandedly mentioned that Jeongguk tended to glance at the back, at a particular girl, during another one of their game nights and Jeongguk, wine drunk off of two bottles, giggled as he explained his small crush on a girl who attended Hoseok’s beginner class. 

“Hobi-hyung, she’s not a beginner like have you seen her dance? She just looks so pretty and her hair is just so..” Jeongguk giggles as he wraps a finger around his hair. “...fluffy after she dances.” A small hiccup escapes him as he finishes his glass. “It’s so cute.” Jeongguk, in silent awe, squeals a little into his glass, one of the many stolen from his favorite bar, as he scrunches into a ball and bangs his knee against the table. A smile never leaves his face as he continues to giggle into the fogging glass. 

Hoseok’s heart strings tug at the fond memory he has of his younger friend and decides to leave putting away the rest of the furniture to the workers who litter around him. Jeongguk lays his head against his knee when he sits next to him. “Tell Hyung what happened, Gukie. It can’t be worse than vomiting on the poor girl…..” Hoseok grimaces before giving Jeongguk a look. “You didn’t vomit on her right?” 

Jeongguk shakes his head no before huffing. “I asked her friend last week if (Y/N) was okay since she hasn’t been coming and I don’t know I panicked because like what if I missed my chance to even talk to her. A-and I saw her outside and I walked over and like spoke to her?” Jeongguk knocks his head a couple of times against Hoseok’s knee as he relives the moment in his head. “I was so nervous and sounded so stupid. She probably thought I was stupid and weird for coming up to her. What kind of person asks a stranger if they plan on coming back to some stupid dance class. She probably thinks I’m a creepy ass stalker who watches her dance every week.” 

Hoseok runs his hand through Jeongguk’s hair for comfort as the younger beats himself up mentally. “Are you saying my dance classes are stupid?” It’s meant to be a joke, but Jeongguk shoots his head up and sputters out incomprehensible words. “Guk, I’m kidding. I know you don’t think my classes are stupid, you’re just frustrated at yourself because your first interaction with your crush didn’t go as well as you planned.” Jeongguk flops back down against Hoseok’s thigh as he groans. Hoseok just smiles softly at him wondering how Jeongguk, handsome and all, was someone inept at talking to a simple girl. 

“I may have also lied and told her that you have me here to help out with teaching.” It’s muffled against his leg, but Hoseok hears every word. 

“So you chose to lie, for what?” 

“I panicked! I told her that her coming helped me with the others since she’s obviously experienced. How else was I supposed to explain that I, a complete stranger, noticed she was gone for two weeks? She’ll think I’, watching her or something.” 

“That’s all you ever do, Jeongguk. And besides, I didn’t even notice she was gone and I read the roster every night.” 

Jeongguk smacked his hyung’s hip closest to him as he huffed. “You’re not helping Hyung! Even if you didn’t notice she wasn’t here, she probably thinks I’m a stalker now. A big stupid stalker who can’t even look her in the eyes. I’m gonna be alone forever!”

Hoseok wanted to laugh at him, but decided that he needed to play the role of the helpful caring hyung for now. He’ll let the others clown him later once he retells everything to them tonight. “Gukie, you’re not gonna be alone forever. You’re smart and stupidly handsome. I don’t think you should’ve lied to her, but it’s not life or death, so you should be able to save yourself from this. How about you let your hyung help you a little tonight? Let me work my magic.” 

“You would help me?” Jeongguk throws his arms around his waist and gives a tight squeeze.. Hoseok grimaces from the too tight hug and the dust from Jeongguk’s sweater falling onto his new clothes. He ignores both in favor of giving Jeongguk’s back a few solid rubs. “You’re the best, Hobi-hyung.” 

“You’re on your own after tonight though, Gukie. No more help from your one of kind, amazing, most handsome Hyung.” 

“Jin-hyung isn’t here though?’ 

Hoseok scoffs and pushes Jeongguk off of him as he cackles from the floor. “Go open the doors you ungrateful brat.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

Tonight had been… interesting to say the least. 

Yoonjin had chosen to nudge me every time she thought Jeongguk had glanced in my direction resulting in a dull throb in my ribs. 

“Don’t look but he’s looking again… Oh my god, I said don’t look!” 

“You said that the last 4 four times and every time I look back he’s literally looking at Hoseok-shii.” I huffed and rubbed at my right side. Yoonjin has always been stronger than she looks. “Yoonjin, if you ram your boney ass elbow into my ribs one more time I will drop kick you into the wall.”

Yoonjin blinked at me before rolling her eyes. “He keeps looking away. Just trust me why don’t you! Why would I joke about this.” I rolled my eyes and refocused on Hoseok as he explained some of the footwork again. House dance had never been my speciality. 

“I don’t know, maybe you like to see me suffer.” 

“I’m literally trying to help you get a man.”

“No, you’re trying to break my ribs.” 

9 o’clock rolled around sooner than I expected as Hoseok wrapped up his lesson. Many of the students who endured the class in its entirety were shuffling to the walls of the room where their water bottles had long ago since turned lukewarm. Hoseok was not one for lots of water breaks. Used to long durations of exercising and cardio, I had chosen to hang back and stretch out while Yoonjin made small talk with the others around her. I held in my laugh as she shot me a look or two of ‘what the fuck is going on’ and ‘please help me’ while talking to the animated girl with sweat drenched pink ponytails. Figuring that whatever kind of conversation she was wrapped up in was payback enough for the bruising I was sure to have on my ribs for the next week, I chose to let her suffer. 

“You know I think you’d do a lot better in a higher level class.” There stood Jung Hoseok in all his beautiful glory as I attempted to straighten my legs from their lunge. I tried to blame the jittery feeling settling in as adrenaline from the cardio, but I knew my body was just buzzing from having him stand so close. Did he even sweat? How did he manage to smell like fucking flowers after dancing? Damn Jeongguk and his pretty posse. 

“Uh sorry?”

Jung Hoseok smiled and offered a hand to me. I smiled back, although less brightly, and hoped my hands were not as sweaty as the rest of my body. “I just meant that you seem a little more experienced than what this class has to offer. It’s a shame to see talent be wasted on some basic combinations.” His eyes took a quick over my body and I flushed at movement. If he looks at me like that more time, I will be internally combusting. 

“I-uh used to dance growing up.” My hands gripped my shirt as Hoseok proceeded to make eye contact. Does he have to be so nice and beautifully intimidating? A deadly combo for my poor nerves. Do I look away? Is it rude to keep eye contact? Would a wink be appropriate for a first conversation? 

“How long did you take lessons?” 

“Like 14 years maybe? My mom tried to put me in baseball like my brothers when I was 4, but after I started spitting and grabbing my pants before I batted she decided it probably wasn’t a good influence to be surrounded by all boys at home and during practice.” My lips pressed together as I pinched my face in horror. Oh god, why did I say that? Hoseok on the other hand was having a jolly good time as dropped his jaw and choked in a fit of laughter and I screwed my face shut in embarrassment. “I don’t know why I said that. Oh my god, please forget I just said that! I’m just nervous and I say stupid things when I’m nervous. I’m an idiot and I just don’t know how to shut up sometimes.” 

Hoseok continued to laugh as I covered my overheating face with my hands wishing I had grabbed Yoonjin and left before we both got wrapped in unwanted conversations. “Y-you’re too cute. Oh god, I can totally see it!” Hoseok laughed for a few more breaths before settling down into giggles. 

“Hyung...? Is everything okay?” Jeongguk shuffled over with both his and Hoseok’s bags as he glanced between Hoseok and I. 

Hoseok giggled a few more times before accepting his bag from Jeongguk. “I was just just asking if...”  Hoseok titled his head before looking back at me. “I forgot to ask for your name actually, I’m sorry.” 

Not used to having 2 out of 7 members of Jeongguk’s Pretty Posse’s attention on me made me flush even warmer. “No worries, I’m (Y/N).” 

Hoseok smiled at me before swinging his bag on his shoulder and went back to addressing Jeongguk. “I was just complimenting (Y/N) on her dancing. We could do with another dancer on the team don’t you think Jeongguk?” 

“We could?” Jeongguk bugged his eyes out a little at his hyung before throwing a confused look his way. 

Hoseok raised his eyebrows and tiled forward a little bit. “Of course, we could Gukie! Remember we had that talk earlier about adding a new member? Junhoo graduated last semester, so we don’t have anyone to fill his spot.” Jeongguk stared at Hoseok wondering who the hell Junhoo was and when this conversation happened. Hoseok starred a little harder before-Oh! “How about you let your hyung help you a little tonight.” 

“Yes! You’re totally right Hobi-hyung! (Y/N), you would love our dance team! You’d fit right in too!” Jeongguk bounced on his heels a little as he turned to me. Back on was the sweater he had been wearing earlier. Damn. The sweater paws have returned too. 

“Isn’t it all guys? How would that even work? I’m literally like half Jeongguk’s size.” My glance danced between Hoseok and Jeongguk as I bit my lip. 

“Where there is a will, there is a way (Y/N). And I’m sure you won’t pick up any bad habits this time (Y/N). We’re all mannered and hygienic, so no worries!” My jaw dropped as Hoseok poked fun at my previous story and raised his eyebrows at me. That little-

I scoffed and stomped my foot to turn his direction fully. “I wasn’t even talking about that! I can’t believe you! I let one thing slip and you use it against me!” I jutted my lips out in a slight pout as I crossed my arms. 

Jeongguk deflated a little as he watched Hoseok’s teasing glance and my pouting. “Am I missing something?”

“No!” 

“Yes!” 

My finger found a place on his chest as I leaned closer. Are those pecs…?  “Jung Hoseok, you keep your mouth shut!” Those are definitely pecs. 

“I will if you join our team.” 

My mouth fell open as I removed my finger with an inaudible gasp. “I see you play dirty, Jung.” I tsked at him before turning to Jeongguk. “Get your hyung before he embarrasses me more and I combust.” Jeongguk blinks as I give him my sole focus and nods softly, most likely lost on what’s happening. 

“So if that is a yes?” 

Defeatedly, I face Hoseok and shrug my shoulders as I grab my bag from Yoonjin as she approaches. “You’re in luck. I was actually looking to join something a little more advanced dance wise. My body misses dancing despite how old it makes my bones feel.” 

“So.. is that a yes?” Jeongguk reiterates as he bounces forward a little, eyes wide as his hair flops a little. I smile a little as my heart flops along with his hair. I give Hoseok a quick glance and will the oxygen to return to my lungs and brain at the focussed look he gives me. 

“It’s a no.” My heart sinks at Jeongguk’s sudden smile. “Not that I wouldn’t join; I totally would! It’s just I have to find a music production mentor for my Music Composition and Engineering class and I’m basically meeting with strangers every other day until one decides to take me under their wing. I really need this class to graduate and I can’t afford any breaks until I find someone.” My hands are flying everywhere as I try to make my rejection lighter on Jeongguk. 

Jeongguk nods a little and licks his lips as he gives Hoseok a quick glance. Hoseok seems to understand whatever is going on in his head and tilts his head toward him with a hard look as a warning to think before you speak, you love sick idiot. Jeongguk, with a heart often bigger than his brain, ignores his hyung and blurts out, “Yoongi-hyung is a music producer! I can introduce you to him and see if he’d be willing to mentor you.” 

Hoseok closes his eyes and drops his head forward into his hands. Dammit Jeongguk. 

I blink a few times before trying to stop my smile from spreading. “Are you sure? I mean I’d really appreciate it of course, but I know it might be a lot to ask. I’m also a total stranger, so you don’t have to at all!” My mouth suddenly feels dry as I lick my lips. “It would be really great though! Some of the guys I meet are total creeps and I don’t know how many coffees I drink everyday while one of them tries to feel me up.” I force a laugh to lessen my discomfort and hope it comes across as less awkward than I feel. 

Jeongguk looks to Hoseok after I’m done exhausting my voice and they seem to share a meaningful look before Hoseok reaches into his pocket. “Here, give me your number. Jeongguk and I will talk to Yoongi-hyung and see what we can do. He might be willing to meet with you and see if you guys ‘vibe.’” 

My eyes flick up to meet his as I smother another smile. My attempts fail and I grab his phone and giddily put in my number. “You guys are the best! I promise to join you guys if I can resolve this whole mess.” My grin widens as I think about not having to stifle through conversation after conversation every other day in some overpriced cafe with another self employed music producer as they critique every layer of my pieces. “Do guys like cookies? I’m totally baking you guys some cookies as thanks!” 

“Are you ready to go (Y/N)?” 

“Yoonjin! We’re going to be baking cookies for Hoseok and Jeongguk!” Yoonjin furrows her eyebrows as she loops her eyebrows with mine. 

“We are?”

“We are! Is chocolate chip okay?” I offer her no other explanation as I ask Jeongguk with a sweet smile. These pretty boys were coming in handy and so were my depressive episodes’ baking habits. 

“Chocolate-chip sounds great.” Jeongguk licks his lips as he feels his heart rate border an unhealthy pace. “Hyung, we-uh should probably head out and go pick up your package.” 

“My package?” Hoseok finishes adding a baseball bat and a flower emoji to his new contact before catching the look Jeongguk is sending him. “Oh! Yeah, uh, I’ll have Jeongguk text you about Yoongi-hyung. It was nice meeting you (Y/N), get home safely!” 

Yoonjin and I watch them both leave the room before facing each other. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

“I honestly have no fucking clue, but I think I’m gonna die. Please check my pulse.” Yoonjin feels at my neck and sighs. 

“Nope, still alive. Maybe next time though.” 

I re-loop our arms and pull her out of the emptying room. “Come on we have to go get Chaebin from the library before she has another aneurysm over her homework. I’ll fill you in on the way there.”

Yoonjin shrugs and follows along. “I hope you know that if this progresses into some dramatic fated love story I will be living vicariously through you.” 

“I expect nothing less.”

#bts #bts fluff #bts university au #bts x y/n #bts x reader #jungguk x reader #jungkook x reader #jhope x reader #jhope x y/n #jhope fluff #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #suga fluff #suga x reader #bts ot7 x reader #bts ot7 #ot7 x reader #ot7 #i am crying #i am so tired #please save me i wrote that at 1am like weeks at 1 am #bts fanfction #bts fic #uh #love you all #i guess now is not the time for confessions though #good night #see you when my professors decide im human to enough to not throw a 7 hour assignment at me #lmao kms #jeongguk

[wherevermyway]

step out! do what you want (chapter three)

pairing: reader/bang chan side pairings: established changbin/minho, past jisung/reader (and it’s causing problems), reader/bang chan/jisung rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: oh boy here we go. angst like mad, lots of drama, more profanity, chan is possessive and jealous, arguments, smut, threesome (because I am trash), smoking (again), mention of firearms, unprotected sex, mentions of drug use, profanity, alcohol consumption, minor praise kink, lots of biting. word count: about 15,000 (!!) also posted to my AO3 here! chapter/series navigation

chapter three: one more step, i will never stop

recommended tracks: you calling my name by got7, I am you by stray kids, follow by monsta x, jungle by punchnello, absinthe by punchnello, louder than bombs by bts, veni vidi vici by zico, baby don’t like it 나쁜 짓 by nct 127, on track by stray kids, honsool by agust d, congratulations by eric nam, singularity by bts, people by agust d, 時間がない by kirinji, and 주소서 (pray) by b.a.p (I cannot get enough of this song right now). playlist can be found here!

note: jisung is so soft in this chapter. he’s one of my favourites (stan 3RACHA), so writing this chapter broke and warmed my heart a million times over. apologies for the length of this one!

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

You had shown a photo of your ex, Jisung, to Christopher and Changbin, who confirmed that it was the Jisung they knew. When Christopher saw his face on your phone, his mouth turned down into a scowl, causing him to become tense and reserved. “Whatever,” he grumbled as he spun on his heel, turning to the fridge, “I’m gonna make some jigae with the stuff in the fridge. We’ll deal with this later.”

Changbin pulled his eyebrows together in confusion. He opens his mouth to speak to Christopher, but decides against it, turning to you instead. “Look, we’ll make this work. Han won’t be here for that long, just a follow-up on his task. Then he’ll be gone and we can pretend this never happened. Okay?”

You nod your head, hoping that it was going to go that smoothly. Christopher takes out some ingredients from the fridge and then pulls out some cookware with a clatter, the noises causing Minho to finally wake up.

“Aaaaahhhhhh, Binnie,” he groans loudly while stretching, catching the attention of Changbin.

“What, Min?” Changbin says with little concern in his voice, getting up and walking over towards him. He leans over the back of the couch, reaching a hand down to Minho’s hair to ruffle it around.

“Binnie, you crushed me, cuddling me too hard in your sleep last night and now I hurt,” Minho whines, grabbing Changbin’s arm and pulling the brunette down on top of him.

“What the fuck?” Changbin squeaks out, in a cute voice you weren’t aware he could make, before he topples over the back of the couch.

“Cuddle me and make it better,” Minho cries out dramatically, wrapping his arms and legs around the smaller man. Changbin tries to say something, but his voice is muffled while he’s kicking his legs up and down in the air.

Watching the two of them made you smile, happily reaching down to your cup of lukewarm coffee to take a sip. You turned your attention towards Christopher, watching him chop up some vegetables and other ingredients, prepping them and putting them all into a large pot.

“Can I help you with anything?” You ask him.

“Nah,” he shrugs your suggestion off, turning over his shoulder to smile at you, “I don’t know how to work with someone else in the kitchen, but maybe we can try something out later?”

“Yeah,” you smile back at him, “I’d like that.”

The assembly of kimchijigae doesn’t take that long. Once all of the ingredients are in the pot, Christopher calls for Changbin to help him set up the gas burner on the coffee table, while you help by getting the rice started in the rice cooker.

Within a half hour, you’re all sitting down around the table, happily eating the jigae. Changbin and Minho are talking about some story about the time they went to Daegu and the Colourful Daegu Festival was happening. They had dropped some acid and lost their minds during the parade, where there was a lot of music, dancing, and other performative arts on display.

As fun as their story sounded, Christopher looked like he wasn’t completely paying attention, his mind distant and thinking about something else. “Christopher?” You call out to him, poking him in the arm with the back end of your chopsticks.

“What?” He snaps back to reality and shakes his head. “Oh, sorry,” he apologizes, “I was just lost in thought over something. How’s the jigae?”

You smile and nod, “I’m impressed, Mr. Bang, I had no idea you could cook.” The compliment makes him smile, and he reaches out to rub his hand on your thigh in appreciation. “You’ve been telling me for two days now that you’d make me something and you finally did it. It was worth the wait.”

You’re about to bring another bite of rice to your mouth when a knocking at the door startles you. Changbin and Christopher stand up at the same time, but Changbin calmly coaxes the blond to sit back down. “It’s probably Jisung, but if it’s not,” he grabs his bag from under the table and pulls out a pistol, sheathed in a protective case, tucking it in his waistband, “I’ll handle it.” Minho stands up, a focused look on his face as he quietly walks over to sit next to you, likely to help calm you down and to protect you if need be.

Christopher reaches under the coffee table, staring at Changbin as he walks to the front door. His hand fumbles a bit until a sliding door is heard. Out of the secret compartment, he pulls a pistol that’s identical to Changbin’s and a magazine, snapping the machinery together. He puts a hand on your leg, gripping it tightly as you start to tremble in panic. “It’s alright,” he whispers to you. Changbin turns to Christopher, and they both nod.

A knock is heard at the door again, a bit more urgent this time. “Who is it?” Changbin questions coolly, putting a hand on the door and his other hand on the handle of his pistol.

“Bang-hyung?” It’s faint, but you can hear a voice come from the door. “No, wait, Seo-hyung? It’s me.” Changbin turns around, dramatically rolling his eyes in the direction of all of you, a dumbfounded look on his face. He opens the door and yells at the silver-haired man that walks in.

“Aish!” Changbin exclaims, slapping the back of the man’s head, eliciting a squeal from him. “You dumbass! I told you that you needed to text us when you show up. We thought you were a potential threat.”

Christopher exhales an irritated sigh of relief, taking his hand away from your leg before disassembling the magazine from his pistol. “Fucking moron,” he grumbles under his breath, putting the pistol and magazine back in the compartment under the table. He turns to look at you right as you spin your head around and look at the man that walks in. Your jaw drops in shock as you realize it really is Jisung.

“Sungie?” The word squeaks out from you in shock. Jisung snaps in your direction when he hears your voice, looking as if he was hallucinating the sound of you.

“Bunny?” He says your old nickname with a whine. He looks directly at you for a second before nearly running over to you, almost tripping over himself as he kneels in front of you, reaching his hands up to your face. “Oh my god, why are you here? How are you here?”

Christopher scoffs, rolling his eyes as he kicks back into his chair, arms folded, biting his lip back in anger. An air of jealousy fills the room as he watches Jisung pull you into a hug with him. “Oh my god, oh my god,” he whispers, rubbing the back of your head. “I knew there was a civilian woman here, but I had no idea it was you, baby, I’m so sorry.” His voice is so calm, so soothing, but you feel how broken his heart must be, seeing you in such a helpless situation.

It’s almost like the past year never happened, the comfort between you is so warm and familiar. It felt so good to be comforted by Jisung, but you could feel Christopher staring at both of you with fire in his eyes, like he would kill Jisung just by staring at him if he could.

“Han,” the man assertively barks, causing you both to jump. “Beijing. What happened?” His tone is curt and cold, something you hadn’t heard in him before. You had a sinking feeling in your gut that this wasn’t going to go smoothly, after all.

Jisung snaps up, bowing deeply in apology. “B-Bang-hyung,” he stutters out, “yes, my apologies. I just,” he turns to you nervously, then back to Christopher. “I’m sorry, we used to be close and to know she’s here, in danger, well-“

“I’ve got her.” Christopher cuts Jisung off, sitting forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, “She’s not your concern right now. She’s mine.”

The way he claims you so nonchalantly makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. It was a strangely attractive thing for him to say to your ex-boyfriend, but it was also really embarrassing. Jisung had no idea that the two of you were something, so he just kind of brushes it off not really grasping the seriousness of  Christopher’s words.

“Yes, hyung, I understand,” he nods, “but, if I may, since she knows me, I’d like to-“

“Shut up, Han.” Christopher spits out, balling his fists up, slamming one of them into the arm of the chair as he cuts Jisung off again. “I don’t want to hear another goddamn word out of your mouth unless it has to do with Beijing.”

Changbin pipes up from behind the couch, “Chan,” he says with a commanding tone, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Back off. That’s an order. Jisung isn’t your enemy here, he’s your brother. Do I need to remind you of the code?” Christopher shoots a nasty glare at him, snarling his lip up in anger.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung interrupts in confusion, “Am I missing something?”

You sigh, dropping your head down to your hands to comb your fingers through your hair. “Sungie,” you say softly, looking back up at Jisung, “Chris- uh, Chan, I mean, and I are, well,” you voice trails off, not really sure what to call this thing that’s going on between the two of you.

“We’re seeing each other,” Christopher finishes your sentence for you, eyeing you before he looks back up to Jisung. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Jisung looks at both of you a couple of times, disbelief painted on his face, before he finally settles his eyes on you. “Bunny, is this true?”

“Kind of?” You say, shrugging your shoulders. “We met each other at a party the other night and I’ve been here ever since because shit hit the fan.” Jisung’s face falls as he looks at you, realizing the implication of what you’ve done with his superior.

“Baby,” he whispers, the look of disappointment on his face causing your heart to sink down into your stomach. You shouldn’t feel bad, since it’s been a year and you separated amicably, but you always felt protective of Jisung while you were together, a feeling that clearly hasn’t disappeared from you.

“The fuck does it matter to you?” Christopher grumbles under his breath as he stands up, walking angrily over to a drawer in the kitchen. He rifles through it for a second, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Whatever. I’m going out on the balcony; I need a cigarette. Enjoy your fucking reunion. After I come back, I want that goddamn report on Beijing and then I want you to get the fuck out of my apartment, Han.”

Christopher pulls open the blinds in the far corner of the living room, unlocking the balcony door and flinging it open. He steps outside and rips the door closed behind him, closing it with a loud slam. You’re not sure, but you think you hear him yell “fuck” after he slams the door.

“The hell is his problem?” Minho chirps up for the first time in a while, looking up at Changbin, then back down to you. “Are you alright?” He places his hand on top of your knee, rubbing it softly with his thumb. You timidly nod your head, still in shock.

“I swear to God, that man and his issues,” Changbin grits his teeth and sighs, walking up to Jisung to squeeze his shoulder in support. “I’ll go talk to him. I’m sorry he’s taking this out on you, Jisung. You know how he gets when he’s stressed. He probably doesn’t mean any of it.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything, just nodding in response as he looks down at his feet.

“Minho,” Changbin says, making his way to the balcony door, “keep an eye on things in here. Yell if you need me.”

“I’ve got it, Binnie, don’t worry,” he says with a nod. Changbin slips through the door and you can see Christopher throw his hands up in the air as he starts to yell. His muffled voice somewhat comes through the door, but there’s no way you can possibly make out anything he’s saying.

Jisung flops down in Christopher’s seat, letting his head fall into his hands. “Bunny,” he says, not bothering to look up at you, “I can’t believe that you and Chan-hyung are…”

Minho chimes in, “Hey, maybe you two should go into the studio and talk this out? I’ll stay out here and keep an eye on things.”

It was a good idea, you had to admit. This entire situation was complicated and personal, not really something you wanted everyone to hear. It would probably make you both more comfortable if you talked about it in private, anyways. You stood up and grabbed Jisung’s hand, guiding him to the studio with you. Once inside, you closed the door softly and fumbled your fingers around on the wall for a light switch, flicking up the first one you felt.

The room illuminated, and the first thing you saw as you turned around was Jisung’s pained face. He stutters, trying to come up with something to say to you, but he just stands there, dumbfounded. You weren’t exactly sure where to begin. It was over a year since you saw him last, and all of the memories you had together were floating around in your head, not helping make the situation any easier.

“Jisung,” you open your mouth to speak, but before you can say anything else, the lean man walks up to you, pushing his body against yours so you’re forced to step back up against the wall. As soon as your back hits the wall, he reaches his hand up to just under your chin, bringing it up to his face.

“Don’t say anything, baby,” he whispers, tears glistening in his eyes, before his lips softly collide with yours. His lips have a faint taste of bubblegum, probably from his favourite chapstick, and his tongue is warm and soft against yours. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers softly in between kisses, “I never wanted to leave you. I loved you so much, and I absolutely still do.” His voice starts to crack, and you feel tears come down his cheeks as he rubs his face against yours with his sloppy, needy kisses. “I just… I couldn’t do it to you, bunny. They had connections in the industry and I needed the money. I was only going to stick around until I had enough and then stop with the criminal shit, but now I just can’t leave. They’re my family now, my brothers. They mean so much to me.”

He breaks down, his head falling on to your shoulder. Racking sobs run through him as he pulls you into a tight embrace. You try your best to soothe him, an arm wrapped around his back and one hand stroking his hair. “Sungie, baby,” you whisper into his ear, hushing him, “it’s okay, I forgive you. I promise, it’s okay.”

You both stand there for a while, letting Jisung calm down a bit thanks to your words and your soothing demeanour. After what seems like an eternity, he finally stops crying. When you’re about to pull away from each other and go back into the living room, you hear footsteps and chattering come from outside the studio.

“Where is she?” Christopher’s voice booms from the other room, loud and terse, “Where is he?”

“Goddammit, Chan,” Changbin growls after him, sighing. “We just talked about this.”

“I told them they should talk it out in private, in the studio,” Minho answers him, his voice quiet and timid. “Was that a bad idea?”

Footsteps draw closer and Christopher bursts through the door. He looks at Jisung, nuzzled up to your shoulder, eyes wide and still damp from crying. “Chan-hyung, please,” he whimpers out, cowering back into your shoulder before the blonde starts to make an advance towards him with his fist drawn back.

“Christopher!” You shout, throwing an arm up in the air and turning Jisung away from the blond, gripping him closer to your chest to shield him. “That’s enough!” Your outburst causes him to stop dead in his tracks, dropping his arm. “I will not tolerate you treating Jisung like this. Yeah, I get it, you feel threatened because we have a history, but if you so much as touch him, I will leave here and never come back. I don’t care what anyone out there does to me. I won’t stand for this.”

The two of you stare at each other for a pause pregnant with tension, Jisung gripping your shirt tightly. “Fuck,” Christopher finally sighs out, rolling his eyes as he walks over to the couch behind you. He grips his hair, looking up at the two of you. “Han,” he starts, letting himself breathe for a moment. “Jisung, I’m sorry. I’ve been nothing but an asshole to you since you showed up. Actually, since before you showed up.”

Jisung rubs his face on your shirt. He stands upright and turns to look at Christopher, still holding on to you with one hand. “Chan-hyung,” he says, looking at you, then looking back to him. “I know you’ve both been doing things, but,” he sighs, eyes drifting down to his feet, “I still love her. I wouldn’t have left her if it wasn’t for the family. Seeing her here makes me terrified for what could happen. She still means so much to me, even after all of this time.” His hand drops down from your waist, grabbing your hand and interlacing his fingers with yours.

Christopher grimaces at the sight, but chooses to let it go. “I get that,” he groans, “but you left her. It’s up to her to decide if she wants you back. Even if,” his voice trails off and he sits fully back into the couch, “even if it doesn’t involve me.”

“Haven’t you only known each other for two days?” Jisung innocently questions, hoping that the question won’t provoke a fight. “Seems a bit early to care that much?”

“Yeah,” Christopher says as he avoids eye contact with either of you, “but there’s something about her. Maybe it’s this whole situation, maybe I’m just delusional. But there’s something that makes me want to risk it for her.”

Jisung smiles, looking at you as Christopher starts talking about you. He squeezes your hand and nods his head. “I know, she’s incredible.” The way that he looks at you reminds you of the night he first told you that he loved you, with that same boyish grin on his face and excitement in his eyes.

Christopher looks up to you both, an uncomfortable, awkward look on his face. Even Jisung simply making lovey eye contact with you just hurts him. You weren’t in love with him, not even close, but you did have some feelings towards him that were starting to be impossible to ignore. Choosing between them would be hard, and you simply didn’t want to do it.

“Wait,” your eyes light up with an idea. You pull Jisung to the couch, telling him to sit at the opposite end of Christopher. You go to close the door, seeing Minho and Changbin making a pointed effort to hide their eavesdropping before the door slides closed with a click. “What if,” you say, walking back to the couch, sitting in between the two men, “I don’t have to choose between you two, at least not yet?”

Christopher squints his eyes in confusion and Jisung cocks his head to the side, not quite understanding what you mean. “You know,” you say as you grab a hand from each of them, “you just share me, until I make up my mind?”

“Share you?” Christopher is the first one to respond, sounding confused.

“Oh,” Jisung breathes out, then the realization hits him, “oh. You mean…” He looks at Christopher, then back to you. “You want me to share you with Chan-hyung? But he’s my superior, he makes all of the decisions. If he says no, then,” his voice goes from excited to a bit dejected.

“Jisung, look at me.” Christopher addresses him with a stern voice. “If it’s what she wants, it’s fine with me. I don’t know how we’ll make it work, and it already sounds weird, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Jisung’s eyes light up as he looks at Christopher and then looks to you, “You mean it, hyung?”

Christopher nods his head, then turns his attention to you. “I’m willing to do anything if you’ll give me a chance. You are stuck here with me for a while, yeah?”

You smile and look down at the hands you’re holding. It was a strange concept that you weren’t sure would even work, but it was something to hopefully keep the three of you somewhat happy and entertained while you were stuck here.

“Okay,” Christopher says, standing up, “I’m glad we could work this out, but we really need to talk about the Beijing deal, Jisung.” You both look up at him, noticing an awkward smile on his face. “Come on, let’s go back out there, take care of work, then we can address all of this,” he waves his hands in a broad circle around all of you, “when we’re done. Alright?”

Jisung nods his hand, squeezing your hand before he stands up. “Whatever you say, Chan-hyung.”

“Can you, like,” Christopher rubs the back of his head in embarrassment, sighing, “not call me hyung when it’s just the three of us? It’s a little weird, considering the circumstances.”

“Oh!” Jisung exclaims, “Yeah, sure thing, Chan-hy… Channie.” He corrects himself, then giggles. “That doesn’t seem right, either, does it?”

“Ugh,” Christopher groans, walking to the door, “don’t get used to it, Sungie.” He mockingly uses your nickname for Jisung and it causes the silver-haired man to visibly cringe.

“Point taken,” he says, following Christopher to the door. “C’mon, baby, let’s go.”

Jisung does an extensive job explaining just how the Beijing job went. The guys had been working on building up their relationship with the Triad since the Shanghai incident a couple years ago, and, based on what Jisung reported, it sounded like it was finally getting better. He had secured a deal for a small shipment of firearms and some party drugs like ecstasy and cocaine. The cocaine was more expensive than Changbin wanted, since it was coming from a different source this time, but he figured he could turn it at the clubs for a higher profit pretty easily.

“I’m impressed,” Changbin says, sitting forward from his spot on the couch, clasping his hands together in front of him. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually secure the whole deal, much less any part of it. For a last minute switch up, I’m glad I sent you, Jisung.”

Jisung flashes a cocky smile at Changbin, darting his eyes to you for a quick second, looking like he hoped that you were impressed, too. “Thanks. Beats getting protection money for once, but I really need to brush up on my Mandarin. I got lost in conversation a couple of times and had to try explaining stuff in Korean and English.”

“Chan can help you with that,” Changbin says, looking to the blond man with a serious look on his face, “if he’s done being an asshole to you, that is.”

“Oh, shove it,” Christopher scoffs. “Yeah, Jisung, I’ll help you before your next trip out there; it’ll probably be a while, though, since you’re gonna be out here a lot more now. I need you to cover my usual spots since I’m stuck here.”

Changbin and Minho exchange a surprised glance with each other and then look at Christopher. “What the hell happened in there?” Minho pries, “You’re calling him Jisung now? You’re not trying to tear his throat out? Are you actually being nice for once?”

Christopher glares at Minho, causing the black-haired man to gasp, then he turns to motion at you. “It’s thanks to her. She brought me to my senses, made me realize how irrational I was being. Now I’ll only get mad at the kid if he deserves it.”

“Chan-hyung,” Jisung says, the corner of his lip pulling up a bit, “thanks for offering to help me. I’ll need it.”

Christopher waves his hand dismissively in the air. “Don’t get too excited. You’re still covering my normal shit and I’m gonna work you twice as hard to pick up the slack.” Jisung lets out a whine as he’s told about his workload.

Minho snickers at the way Christopher phrases his demands, making a comment under his breath. “Yeah, I bet you’ll work him hard.”

His quip earns him a light shove from Changbin. “Alright,” the brunette says, standing up. “Since you two seem to be getting on just fine for now, Minho and I are going to go back to our place for the night. I’ve got to meet with Hyunjin tomorrow to fill him in on some things and so I can take care of the goods we’ve got coming in thanks to Jisung.”

Changbin turns to Jisung, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m leaving you to watch this place tonight. A couple of the newer guys in our security group, Lee and Yang, are in 3201 if shit goes down and you need backup. Chan has an arsenal hidden in the studio, so you don’t need to worry about arming yourself.” He turns to look at you, then Christopher. “We’ll be in one of our properties in Apgujeong-dong tonight, so if you need anything, call me and I’ll be here pretty quickly.”

Changbin turns back to the couch, offering a hand to Minho to help him upright, which the black-haired man happily accepts. “Don’t worry,” Minho says, looking down at you, “We’ll be back tomorrow night or Thursday morning. You haven’t seen the last of me yet. I know Binnie doesn’t like to leave Channie alone for too long.”

“Aish,” Changbin says as he elbows Minho in the side, “you make it sound like I’m obsessed with him.”

“I mean,” Minho says with a smirk as he rubs his side, “with the way that last night went and how you reacted when we listened to that recording-“

“I’m going to throw you in the river on the way out.” Changbin cuts Minho off, grumbling as he walks towards the door. “C’mon, you troublemaker. I’ll give you something to obsess over when we get home.” Minho grins, then leans down to you to give you a hug.

“I put my number in your phone last night, so if you need to bitch to anyone, I’ve got your back. I’ve also got a lot of knowledge on Chan if you need it. Put a better passcode on your phone, by the way; birthdays are too obvious,” he whispers in your ear before standing back up. “Channie, Sungie, I’ll see you soon.” His voice is light and cheerful as he says his goodbyes.

“Min,” Changbin says pointedly, adjusting some items around in his bag before motioning for him to follow, “Come on, let’s go. Seungmin isn’t gonna wait forever.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Minho says, waving at everyone as he heads towards the entrance and puts his shoes on. “Try not to kill each other while we’re away, okay?”

Christopher scoffs and waves at the guys as they walk through the door. “See ya.”

An awkward silence falls over the three of you. The couch now feels a lot more spacious now that Minho and Changbin are no longer sitting next to you. Christopher and Jisung are sitting in the chairs across from you, and all of you are trying to avoid looking at each other.

“Well,” Christopher chimes in after a minute, slapping his legs as he stands up. “I’m gonna pour myself a drink. Do you guys want something?” You look over at Jisung, who is nibbling on his bottom lip and looking at you, then look up at Christopher.

“Sure, I guess,” you say noncommittally. “I don’t want any soju or beer, though, not after last night.” The memory of you and Christopher in the studio rudely comes up and interrupts your train of thought, and a blush creeps up on your face.

“What happened last night?” Jisung innocently enquires, looking at you with a puzzled expression. “Minho-hyung brought it up too.”

Christopher clears his throat, walking over to the kitchen, reaching up to a tall shelf above the refrigerator.  “I’m gonna break into the whisky,” he says, ignoring Jisung’s question. “I’ve got some…” his voice trails off as you hear some bottles rattling around, “oh, I’ve got some sake, vodka, gin - why the fuck do I have gin? Damn you, Minho - oh, and some weird baijiu that Hyunjin brought me from Taiwan.”

Jisung pouts, visibly upset that neither of you answered his question. “Don’t you have any flavoured soju? I don’t like any of that stuff.”

“I think we drank most of it, but,” Christopher opens the fridge, humming to himself as he looks around, “Oh, yeah, we’ve got two bottles of peach and two bottles of strawberry leftover from yesterday. Which do you want? Do you want a glass?”

“Strawberry sounds good! No glass, though.” Jisung says in a happy voice, his face lighting up a bit. Christopher brings Jisung the bottle he requested, eliciting a soft, “thank you, hyung,” from the silver-haired man as he accepts it with both hands. Christopher turns back towards the kitchen, stopping in front of you.

“What do you want, baby?” Christopher asks, earning a glare from Jisung as he calls you baby, “I think you’d like the sake that I have. Want that?”

You nod your head a bit begrudgingly. “I suppose it’s different enough from soju, but I guess I’ll take the sake. Is it a nigori?”

Christopher twists his face in confusion at your question. “I don’t know,” he says with an upward inflection, walking back into the kitchen and fumbling with the bottles. “My Japanese is really bad. Is that the clear kind?”

“No,” you laugh, getting up to go assist him. “It’s cloudy. Nigori literally means murky, just so you know.”

“Oh,” he laughs, tilting the bottle to you, “I think you’ll like this one, then. I had it once in Osaka and brought a couple bottles back with me the last time I was there. It’s really good.”

“Thanks,” you say, holding the bottle. “I’m gonna need to chill it, though. You’re supposed to keep this stuff cold.”

Christopher opens up his bottle of whisky, the seal snapping loudly, grabbing a nice glass from the cupboard, He opens his freezer to put a couple of ice cubes in the glass. “Clearly, I don’t know these things,” he laughs, smiling at you for a moment longer than he should have. He sucks in air through his teeth, turning to grab a paper towel and wetting it in the sink. “Anyway, wrap it in this and stick it in the freezer for about 20 minutes. It’ll get nice and cold by then.”

You take the towel from him, wrapping it around the bottle in your hands. “That’s an odd tip,” you say, sticking the bottle in the freezer.

“Yeah, well,” Christopher grabs the bottle of whisky, and carefully pours it into his glass. “You learn a lot of weird drinking things when you’re friends with people that have the balls to buy warm beer that you wanted to drink sooner rather than later.”

Jisung lets out a giggle from the living room. “Bunny, you can share my soju with me while you wait for your sake to get cold!” You turn to him, about to tell him that you really don’t want more soju, but the way he smiles at you convinces you that one glass wouldn’t kill you.

“Fine,” you grumble, grabbing a sake cup from the cupboard, dramatically groaning as you walk back to the living room, shuffling your feet the entire way. “I really don’t want more of this flavoured stuff for a while, but I’ll drink a cup just for you, Sungie.”

He excitedly claps his hands once, shaking the bottle a couple of times before opening it. “Bunny, baby, here,” he motions for you to bring your cup to the table, “I’ll pour it for you, okay?” That’s exactly what he does, getting down on to the floor and getting really close to the cup. He sticks his tongue out of the corner of his face, squinting with determination as he fills your cup. “There! Now you’ve got a drink.”

The way he smiles at you warms your heart as he takes a quick drink from the bottle, then screws the lid back on his soju. You instinctively reach out to rub his face, letting your thumb slowly stroke his cheek. “Thank you, Sungie.”

Jisung is about to say something, but Christopher unceremoniously flops down on the floor to your right, sitting very closely to you. “Well,” he says, taking a sip of his drink, “aren’t you two cute? I can’t say I expected this from you, Sung. You never gave off those vibes.” You turn your head to look at him, expecting him to be angry, but he surprisingly doesn’t seem like it.

Christopher leans into your space, reaching a hand up to your face, and pulling it close to his. The sharp, sweet aroma of his whisky faintly floats up to you as he looks at your lips, then looks up at you with a look that screams desire. He gets closer, then softly kisses your lips. It’s not quite as passionate as the kisses he’s given you over the past couple of days, but it’s still loving and sweet.

He pulls away, looking at you, then looking at Jisung. “I can be cute, too.”

You feel your face warm, and you turn to Jisung to see if he’s angry. He has a determined look on his face as he stares at Christopher. His hand sneaks up to your neck, pulling you close to him, and he grips your face with his other hand, giving you a needy look. “I’m not always that cute,” he says with a low voice, flicking his eyes at Christopher before pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. As his tongue demands entrance into your mouth, the artificial flavour of strawberry is strong and briefly overwhelms your senses. His fingers dig into your skin gently, and you feel your heart skip a beat as he pulls away from you, breaking the kiss.

Jisung looks at you, proudly smiling and licking his lips. His eyes slowly roll over towards Christopher and he gives the blond a taunting smirk. Your mind is starting to spin, all of the attention from both men causing you to feel a bit overwhelmed in the best possible way.

“If that’s how it’s going to be,” Christopher says coolly before crawling over your lap, straddling you and grabbing the back of your neck, “I’m going to win this game.” He eases you down on to the floor, the cool panelling giving you a slight chill. He presses his lips to your neck, kissing you all over, occasionally giving you quick nibbles to make you squeal.

You down look at him exploring your neck and kissing you, then you look at Jisung. The expression on his face registers as jealous, but also intrigued and aroused. His bottom lip is sucked in under his teeth, and his eyes are half-open, staring down at you. “Chan,” he breathes out, crawling closer to both of you.

Christopher breaks away from you with a groan of irritation, turning to look at Jisung. “What? Why are you interrupting this?”

“She likes her collarbone marked up,” is what unexpectedly comes from Jisung. You were expecting him to be angry, but he looked like he was enjoying this. “She loves to be bruised, but only where I - er, we, can see it.”

The two men exchange glances, almost as if they were coming to a mutual conclusion, then turn to look at you with a devious intent in their eyes. “Wait, wait, wait,” you say, sitting up on to your elbows. “As much as I love this, I don’t wanna do this on the floor; it’s cold and uncomfortable. Can we save whatever this competition is between you for the bedroom?”

“Oh,” Christopher snaps out of it and sits back on his heels, moving his hand down to your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think that this spot would be uncomfortable for you.”

Jisung puts a hand on your other thigh, smiling at you. “Yeah, sorry, we got a little excited, didn’t we, Chan?”

“I’m never going to get used to you not calling me hyung,” Christopher groans, moving back to his previous spot, taking a short sip from his drink and pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “I think we should eat something beforehand, too. It’s been a long time since lunch, yeah?”

It didn’t register to you until now, but you were starting to feel hungry. Jisung’s arrival did interrupt your meal earlier, after all. “Yeah, I could use something right now,” you say, subconsciously running your fingers over your stomach. “What are we going to eat, though? It’s not like we can go anywhere.”

“We can’t, sure,” Christopher says, scrolling through his phone. “But we can order something to be delivered to the lobby and have little Sungie be a good boy and fetch it for us.”

The way that Christopher talks about Jisung makes him blush awkwardly. He fidgets with the hand on your thigh, and you can’t help but giggle uncontrollably. “Bunny!” He whines softly, shaking your thigh with his hand.

“What?” Christopher looks up at you both with confusion. “Was it something I said?”

“Sungie,” you say between giggles, “he likes to be called a good boy by me. I wasn’t expecting a reaction out of him from you saying that, though.”

“Oh my god!” He shouts and playfully shoves you, a bright pink tinting his face in embarrassment. “I can’t believe you’d tell Chan-hyung something like that.” His arms fold in front of his chest and he frowns.

“I,” Christopher shakes his head in confusion, “What? What’s so weird about being called a good boy?”

“Aah!” Jisung groans, bringing his hands to his face and falling to the floor dramatically. “Hyung, please stop, it’s killing me.”

You can’t contain the full-blown laughter coming from you. There was always something you enjoyed about making Jisung squirm. He was always so cute and adorable when it was just the two of you. To see him react like this made you more confident that he was becoming more vulnerable with Christopher.

It takes you a minute to stop laughing so hard, but you do recover, sitting back up to wipe the corners of your eyes. Jisung is still curled up on the floor in embarrassment, and poor Christopher looks like he finally understands, just suffering from secondhand embarrassment for the man on the floor.

“Duly noted,” Christopher says, looking back down to his phone with a slight blush on his face, “a-anyway, what should we have for dinner? There’s a decent sushi nearby place that delivers.”

As you’re about to mention that it sounded good, a thought crosses your mind. “Wait,” you say, looking at Christopher with concern. “What if they can trace your location? You know, giving your name and phone number to this place.”

Jisung sits up with a groan. “It’s fine,” he grumbles, “we never use our real names or phone numbers for any of these things. We use burner numbers, and we almost always pay in cash, but we do have credit cards and IDs in fake names, just in case.”

Christopher hums in agreement. “Jisung, you’ve learned quickly. He’s right, though. We’re very cautious about our existence around people we don’t know.”

Jisung cocks his eyebrow and tilts his head, “Yeah, unless it’s an attractive girl at a house party.” This quip earns Jisung a middle finger from Christopher.

“If Changbin was here, I’d make you go out and pick this up instead,” he grumbles, looking back down to his phone, “I’m gonna order from this place. What do you want?”

Eventually, you sort out an order you all can agree on. Christopher places the order, and you grab your sake from the freezer. His trick was miraculous - it was cold, but not frozen. The paper towel came right off without ruining the label, too, which was an added bonus. You gently shake the bottle as you walk back to the table, pouring some of the sake into the cup you used earlier for Jisung’s soju.

“How did you two meet, anyways?” Christopher asks Jisung as you sit down. The question freezes you in place for a second, a bit embarrassed at the memory. Jisung and Christopher look at you as you shake yourself out of your stupor. “What?”

Jisung smiles, despite your discomfort, “I think she has a type. We met at a club, she was drunk and we were both lonely. I told her I made music, and she practically begged me to take her back to my place so she could listen to some of the stuff I made.”

You groan, and drink the entire cup of sake you poured in one sitting, even though you had intended to slowly sip on it. As you slam the cup back on the table, you notice Christopher is staring at you with a very amused smile on his face. “So, musicians, eh?” He quips, and it causes you to grumble. Your head falls to the table in frustration.

“Needless to say,” Jisung continues, “we didn’t even get close to hearing some of my music. She was on top of me, literally, as soon as we got back to my tiny apartment and the rest was history. We were both pretty hungover the next day, so we stayed in bed, messed around a bit, and ate really bad takeout while watching some bad dramas. If she didn’t stick around for that, we probably never would have ended up together.”

Christopher snickers, rubbing his hand on your back. “Seems reasonable. I can see how that would happen.”

You sit back up and pout at both of the men. “You two are just as bad, taking home a girl you barely know at a party or a club.” The three of you share a nice laugh as Christopher’s phone pings.

“Ah, wow, that was fast,” he looks up to Jisung, then back down to his phone, “that’s your cue. The concierge downstairs just texted me, and delivery guy is asking for, ah, what was the name I gave,” he scrolls on his phone for a second, “looks like you’re Kim Jihoon today.”

Jisung stands up and stretches, and Christopher gets up, walking to the kitchen to rifle through a drawer. “Jihoon doesn’t really suit me, does it?” He looks down at you and smiles, bending down to give the top of your head a quick peck.

“Here,” Christopher says from the kitchen, not looking up. He puts some bills on the countertop and shuffles some things around in the drawer before closing it. “Should be plenty to cover the bill. Tell the concierge that you’re in room 3201. He’s one of us, but it’s enough to throw off the deliverer, just in case.”

“Alright,” Jisung says as he walks to the entryway, grabbing the money on the counter on the way. “Kim Jihoon, at your service.” He sarcastically salutes before taking a mask out from his pocket, pulling it over his ears as he slips his feet into his shoes. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he says before exiting the apartment.

Christopher sits down right next to you, placing a hand on the back of your neck. “I’m going to be honest,” he says as you look at him, “this is still a little weird, but I can see that Jisung really does care about you.”

You try look down at your feet, but Christopher puts a finger under your chin, tilting it up so you look at him again. “I didn’t say it was bad, so please don’t look away from me. I told you, I’m willing to give this a shot for you. We just might have some awkward bumps along the way.” You nod, giving him a soft smile. “The way he kisses you, though. Wow, that was both fun and frustrating to watch. It made me want you more, which I didn’t think was even possible.”

“Really?” A giggle escapes from you. “You two looked like you were enjoying fighting over me.”

“Yeah,” Christopher laughs nervously, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to see what he’s like with you in bed.”

The thought of both men in bed with you caused your heart to flutter with excitement. The duality of them was enough to give you whiplash: Christopher was on the more aggressive side, from what you could tell, and Jisung was generally the complete opposite. He usually preferred it when you took control, being warm and comforting, but he had moments where he was the exact opposite, enjoying making you beg for any sort of sexual gratification.

“What’s up?” Christopher says, rubbing his thumb on your chin.

“Oh,” you say, snapping out of your thoughts. “I was just thinking it’s going to be interesting having you both at the same time. You’re both really different, that’s all.”

A curious look comes up on Christopher’s face with your response. He’s about to open his mouth to say something, but his phone beeps with a notification tone. “Ah,” he grumbles, reaching for his phone on the table, “that’s probably Jisung.” He scans his text message and stands up. “Yeah, it is. The fuck? What’s with all of the star emojis?”

“It’s something he does, especially when he’s been drinking,” you say with a laugh, “you’ll get used to it.”

Christopher shoots you a look of doubt before walking to the entrance. He opens the door, and Jisung walks in with a couple of paper bags. Christopher grabs the bags from Jisung, allowing him to come in and take his shoes off. “Thanks, Chan-hyung,” Jisung says, pulling his mask off and shoving it back into his pocket.

As Jisung is slipping his shoes off, Christopher walks back towards the living room, setting the bags down on the table. “Watch this,” he quietly mouths to you, before turning back to face Jisung. The silver-haired man stands up and starts walking over to you. You can see a wide grin from the side of Christopher’s face as he opens his mouth to speak. “Wasn’t little Sungie such a good boy, grabbing all of that for us?”

You stifle a laugh, eyes growing wide as you clasp your hands to cover your mouth. Jisung stops dead in his tracks and instantly turns bright red with embarrassment. He locks eyes with Christopher, a look of shock and disbelief on his face as his eyes widen. Christopher can’t take it, doubling over and cackling with enjoyment.

“I’m so sorry, Sungie,” you say between laughs, “I had no idea he was going to pull that on you.” Jisung looks at you and pouts, shuffling his feet towards the living room.

“Baby,” he whines as he flops down on the floor dramatically. “You know what that does to me.” His voice is in that whiny, needy tone that you loved to hear from him when you were together before. It’s the voice that told you that you could get away with nearly anything.

“Oh my god,” Christopher says, catching his breath and taking a seat on the floor. “I’m sorry, it was just so fun the first time. I had to try it out again just to see what you would do.”

Jisung sits upright, his face serious. “It’s weird when you do it!” He cries out, his brows furrowed. “It’s fine when she does it because I love it when she does that, it makes me all excited. When you do it, it’s just weird!”

Christopher looks at you, cocks an eyebrow, then looks back at Jisung. “Why’s it weird when I do it to you?”

If it were possible for Jisung’s face to turn a deeper shade of red, it was happening. His eyes nervously dart around, settling on the floor as he shrinks into himself a bit. “I like it,” he mumbles, barely audible enough for you to catch it.

“What was that?” Christopher prods, unsure if he heard the younger man correctly.

“I like when you do it, too!” He shouts in frustration. “It’s weird, because you’re my hyung and I don’t see you like that. But this whole situation is weird and I don’t know what to do about it.” Jisung did seem honestly flustered, but not quite upset.

“Sungie,” you say, softly, before you scoot close to him. He looks up at you and pouts, but you just grab his face and pull him into a gentle kiss. “It’s okay, baby, we’ll make sense of it as we go, okay?”

Jisung perks back up at your words, giving you a soft smile. “Okay, bunny, that’s fine with me.”

Christopher clears his throat and opens the bags up. “I think it’s time for food, yeah? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Jisung nods and grabs some things from the bags, helping set everything out on the table.

All three of you get through the dishes you ordered, it seeming to be just the right amount of food. After a couple of drinks, the three of you are laughing around the table and are enjoying the company of one another.

“Well,” Christopher says, “before I drink anymore, I’m gonna step outside for a second.”

“I thought you only did that when you were bored at a party?” You ask, looking over at him in confusion.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I’m just feeling like it tonight, you know? It’s been a weird day. Does it bother you?”

You shake your head, “I just don’t want you to smoke too much, that’s all.”

Christopher leans over and kisses your forehead. “Don’t worry, baby,” he says in a soothing tone, “I won’t.” He pulls away from you, walking over to the balcony door, grabbing the pack and lighter from earlier off of the end table by the window. “Don’t have too much fun without me,” he says with a wink before he slips outside and closes the door.

As soon as Christopher closes the door, Jisung reaches his hand out and grabs yours. “Baby,” he says, looking at you with concern. “About Chan…”

“What’s up, Sungie?” You ask, interlacing your fingers with his, giving the top of his hand a soft kiss.

“It’s about earlier.” He looks down to the floor, then back up to you, his face turning pink again. “When he, uh, called me a ‘good boy’.”

“What about it?” You ask, rubbing his hand with your thumb. “Did it really bother you? I can tell him to stop.”

“No!” Jisung shakes his head. “No, it didn’t bother me. But, um,” his voice trails off as he looks over his shoulder, over to the balcony door, then back down to his lap. “I really did like it. More than I should. I don’t know if it’s because he’s my hyung or my superior or if it’s because you like him, but,” he sucks in air through his teeth, colliding his head down to your shoulder “he said it and it instantly got me hard.”

Your eyes widen with shock. “Oh,” is all you can manage to squeak out, not really sure what to do with that information.

“Please don’t tell him,” Jisung says, still resting on your shoulder, “I don’t wanna make things any weirder than they are. He didn’t really like me much to begin with and I know he probably doesn’t even want me to be a part of this, so I don’t want to cause any more problems.”

You run a hand through his hair and rub his back with your other hand. “Don’t worry, Sungie, this is new to all of us.” You try your best to reassure him, but also reassuring yourself. This situation was indeed crazy, and unpredictable. This could either go very well, or very poorly, and you just had to go with it for now.

The balcony door opens, breaking the silence in the room. Christopher steps inside, setting his lighter down on the end table. He turns around, walking back to where you were sitting, looking confused. “Sung, are you alright?”

Jisung sits up with a snap and shakes his head. “I’m fine, Chan-hyung, I was just, uh-”

Christopher cuts him off as he sits down. “I told you, stop calling me hyung when it’s just the three of us. It’s weird. Are you sure you’re fine?” He reaches down to his glass, bringing it to his lips as he takes a sip of his whisky.

“Yeah,” Jisung says, a bit more calmly this time. “I just wanted to rest my head and cuddle. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Christopher says, clearly not convinced. “Anyway, now what do we do? It’s a bit after 11, so we could go to bed, but that seems a bit early.”

You take a drink of sake, darting your eyes back and forth between Christopher and Jisung, not really sure what to suggest. You really couldn’t handle drinking games two nights in a row.

Then, Jisung grabs his drink, sucking it all down at once. “Finish your drinks, or don’t,” he suggests, leaning on to the table. A somewhat shy smirk comes up on his face. “I think it’s time we finish what we started earlier.”

Your face flushes as you take a drink directly from the bottle of sake, finishing off the last of what was was left in it. Christopher smiles widely, finishing off his whisky. “You don’t have to tell me twice,” he says as he slams his glass on the table, turning to you. “Alright. Stand up, both of you” he commands you with an ominous tone to his voice.

You don’t see any reason not to, so you stand up at his request. “Jisung,” he says, “go in the bedroom and wait on the bed for us.”

Jisung looks like he’s thinking about protesting, but he decides against it. “Okay,” he says, flashing you a smile before he walks off towards the bedroom.

Christopher walks up to you, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “Do you trust me?” His voice is soft and calm, a stark difference to what he sounded like just a moment ago. He cared about what you were thinking, and it was starting to show.

“Yeah, I do. Why?” You ask, but Christopher doesn’t give you a complete answer. He bends down and picks you up, lifting you under your back and your knees.

“You’ll see,” he says, smiling deviously as he carries you to the bedroom.

Jisung is sitting at the foot of the bed when you both enter, not really sure what to do with himself. Christopher sets you down on the bed next to him, and leans up on the dresser in front of the bed.

“Jisung,” he says with a commanding tone, “I want you to undress her, but she has to enjoy it. This goes for both of you, but if you want to stop at any point, I need you to tell me. Green is fine, yellow to slow down, red for stop. Understood?” You nod your head in affirmation and look at Jisung.

“Okay,” Jisung says, turning to you, a nervous smile on his face. He crawls on top of you, straddling you. His lips crash against yours, a bit timid at first, but his kiss rapidly becomes more and more desperate and needy. It seems subconscious, but he starts to grind his pelvis into yours, his erection very obvious against you. You grab his hips, helping to steady him as he grabs both sides of your neck, fervently lapping his tongue against yours. With each kiss, he lets out the softest, small moans against your lips.

“Oi,” Christopher stresses, his voice startling both of you. You both turn to look at him, and he hasn’t moved. His arms are folded over his chest, and he has a devious look on his face, drinking in the sight of both of you all over each other. “Jisung, I told you to get her undressed, that’s it. She’s enjoying it, so hurry it up.”

Jisung swallows hard and nods his head, turning back to you. He gives you a couple of soft kisses before bringing his hands down to the bottom hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. He looks down at your torso, shirt still in his hands, as he can’t bring himself to stop staring at your breasts.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, dropping the shirt to the bed and moving his hands up to just under your bra. “I forgot how incredible you look, baby.” He takes you in, then looks up to meet your eyes with a cheeky grin. “I loved this so much. I love you so much.”

The words cause your stomach to do a backflip, but you have a wave of nervousness as you dart your eyes over to Christopher. You expected him to snap up, call the whole thing off, and tell Jisung to stop. It was weird - he just didn’t. He looked completely calm, nodding at you to continue.

Jisung reaches behind your back to the clasp of your bra. He always had trouble with it before, so it doesn’t surprise you when it takes him a couple tries before it finally unhooks. Once it’s unhooked, he gently pulls the bra to him, gently guiding your arms through the straps. He doesn’t even bother looking away as your breasts are unveiled. The needy, wanting look on his face makes you shift your legs a bit in discomfort. You wanted attention and you wanted it now.

Christopher moves, and you spot him sneaking behind you from the corner of your eyes. “Keep going, Jisung,” he whispers as he places his hands on your hips and comes down to your neck. It’s obvious he’s taken Jisung’s words to heart as he kisses you a bit before sinking his teeth into the apex of your shoulder, right below your neck.

The initial sensation is shocking. It feels like a bolt of electricity goes up to your head and down to the bottom of your toes; the moan leaving your mouth is completely involuntary, only intensified by the fact that Christopher sucks the skin between his teeth hard. It felt like it was going to leave a bruise and you loved that feeling.

Jisung is a bit shocked, staring down at both of you. When Christopher comes up off of your shoulder, he looks up at the dumbfounded man. “She’s not naked yet. Finish your job.”

Christopher’s commanding tone snaps Jisung out of his trance yet again. He sputters a bit, stepping down to the floor. “Hyung,” he timidly whispers, clearly not wanting to interrupt either of you.

“Chan,” Christopher corrects him. “What do you want?”

“I can’t remove her jeans if you’re, um,” Jisung nervously stutters, looking nervously at the two of you.

“Spit it out.” Christopher commands, sounding a bit annoyed.

“I can’t remove her jeans if you’re keeping her down.”

It takes Christopher a minute to snap out of it. “Oh,” he says, pulling back from you and putting his hands in the air. “Alright, continue.”

“Hold on,” you say, looking up at Jisung, “are you sure you’re okay? Is Christopher bothering you?”

Jisung shakes his head, “No, no,” he says, kneeling down in front of you, “quite the opposite, actually. I kind of like being told what to do, even if it’s by Chan. I’m just a little nervous, since this is new.”

He reassures you for now. The last thing you’d want would be for something in this to go wrong, because it was starting to feel incredible, having both of these men devote all of their attention to you. You put your weight on your hands as Jisung undoes the button and zipper on your jeans. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your jeans and panties, pulling them all the way down and off of your ankles.

Jisung starts to adjust as if he was going to get up, but he’s at eye level with your crotch, which causes him to blush. Before he gets to enjoy it too much, however, Christopher orders him to stand up, and come back to the bed. “Yes, Chan,” he says with a pout on his face, moving to the foot of the bed.

Christopher moves away from you, grabbing Jisung’s hand and pulling him down. “Come here,” he says a bit softer than before. You turn around to look at them. Christopher moves to lean up against the bedframe, pulling Jisung between his legs. “Turn around and sit here.” He pats his legs and Jisung does as asked, his face a light shade of pink.

Christopher takes Jisung’s wrists, pulling them behind his back and firmly holding them in place. Jisung yelps in shock, nervously sputtering incoherently. Christopher leans down to Jisung’s ear and whispers, “Be a good boy while we take care of you and you’ll be rewarded, okay?”

Jisung stops chattering, his eyes widening with excitement as he looks at you. “Alright,” Christopher looks at you, “why don’t you help Sungie get out of his clothes now?” You nervously swallow and nod, shifting your position to in between Jisung’s legs. As you grab Jisung’s shirt, starting to pull it over him, the look on his face distracts you for a brief moment.

He’s leaning back into Christopher’s arms, eyes flooded with lust. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and he’s biting his bottom lip in anticipation and excitement. Christopher looks at you with a smile on his face. The sight takes your breath away. “Go on, baby,” Christopher nudges you along, “I want to see you play with Sungie.”

You nod your head, and Christopher lets go of Jisung’s arms so you’re able to pull his shirt off. Jisung reflexively goes to reach up to your face, but Christopher snaps to his wrists, pulling them back down behind him. “No, no, Sung, not yet.” He brings his chin to Jisung’s neck, a breath hitched in his throat, pausing briefly in thought before he nods at you.

Jisung whines, adjusting his hips right back up into Christopher. A gasp leaves his throat and he turns his face to look at the blonde man. “Chan,” he breathes, a surprised look on his face. Christopher darts his eyes away and blushes.

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbles, clearly not wanting to talk about whatever it is that’s happening between them. “Come on, baby,” he says as he looks at you, trying to change the subject, “let’s get him completely undressed.”

You reach up to the button of Jisung’s jeans, trying to undo them, but fumbling a bit due to your nerves. Finally, you release the button from the hole and unzip his pants. Jisung flinches a bit and gasps in relief as his cock is no longer restrained by the taut fabric of his jeans. “Ah, baby,” he whines, squirming up against Christopher, as you slip his jeans and briefs off of him. “I want you so badly.”  

Christopher looks at you with a smirk before he presses his lips against Jisung’s ear. “Patience is a virtue, Sungie,” he whispers softly, gently biting the man’s earlobe. Jisung’s face contorts into an expression between shock, pain, and pleasure and his cock twitches in response.

“Chan,” he desperately breathes out, turning his head to face the man behind him. They exchange a quick glance, before Christopher shifts himself, timidly bringing his lips to Jisung’s, clearly unsure if he wants to actually kiss him or not. Jisung, however, decides for both of them, aggressively closing the distance between their lips. The brash action appears to change something in Christopher. He releases one of his hands from Jisung’s wrists, grabbing the side of Jisung’s neck, pulling him in and shoving his tongue into the man’s mouth, adventuring around assertively.

You don’t really know what to do, sitting there, your gaze transfixed on them. The sight makes you forget how to breathe, completely entranced by the way they melt into each other. Without even thinking about it, you make your way down to take Jisung's cock into your mouth, gently kissing the tip of his head, and giving it small, gentle licks.

Jisung breaks away from the kiss with a cry, curling his legs upward a bit in response to your actions. You look up at him, your tongue swirling around his head, watching his reactions as you take him fully into your mouth, and down your throat. He lets out a deep moan, throwing his neck back onto Christopher’s shoulder, panting hard.

“That’s it,” Christopher coos, bringing his free hand up to stroke Jisung’s face. “You’re doing so well, Sungie." He plants a kiss on Jisung's temple, then looks down to you. “Keep going, baby. Get him close.”

You continue, licking your way up his shaft slowly, teasing him a bit, before taking him all the way in again, sucking your cheeks in and creating a vacuum effect in your mouth. You go up and down like this a few times, until Jisung’s become moans breathy and shaky. He starts to twitch, and Christopher says your name, getting your attention.

“Stop,” he commands, “he doesn’t get to come yet.” You follow his order, pulling yourself off of Jisung. His eyes snap open, frantically looking at both of you.

“What?!” His voice is panicked, thrusting his hips into the air once, scrambling from the loss of contact. “Why did you make her stop?”

“Because,” Christopher says, pushing Jisung to sit upright, “I want you to be a good boy and wait.” Jisung groans in frustration, quite loudly, in fact, as Christopher moves himself out from underneath the silver-haired man in his lap to sit next to him. He slips his shirt off, tossing it across the room, then undoes his belt, pulling it from the loops of his pants.

“Jisung,” Christopher says, turning to look down at him, “give me your hands.” He holds his belt in one hand, other hand held out, waiting. Jisung furrows his brows in confusion, but presents his hands to the blond. “Good boy,” Christopher says, taking him by the wrists, lifting them above his head to the bedframe behind them. He pins Jisung’s arms up, carefully wrapping his belt around his wrists and the frame, finishing by fastening the belt together.

“What?” Jisung turns his head up to look, then looks back down to both of you. “What are you doing, Chan?”

Christopher doesn’t technically answer him. “What’s your colour?” He asks in response.

“Uh,” Jisung pauses, still distracted by his arms being restrained above him. “Green?”

“So, you’re okay with this? And you’re relatively comfortable?” Christopher presses.

“Yes?” Jisung says with an upward inflection, nodding. “I just don’t understand why?”

Christopher smiles, then turns toward you, grabbing your waist and pulling you close to him. “Because I don’t want you to touch yourself while we have fun. Patience is a virtue,” he repeats.

Jisung dramatically groans, rolling his head back into the headboard. “You’re so mean, Chan,” he whines, “this is so unfair.”

Christopher was leaning in to kiss you, but turns to Jisung with a glare. “One more complaint, and I’ll make sure you don’t come at all tonight. Understood?” His assertiveness causes Jisung to snap up with a squeal, biting his lip as he nods feverishly.

“Good,” Christopher says, bringing his attention back to you. “What do you say we make Sungie squirm some more, baby?” He grabs your head, finally pulling you in to kiss you, deeply and passionately. You bring your hands down to his waistline, trying to undo his pants as you kiss each other.

Christopher breaks away from the kiss, pulling your hands off of his pants. “How about a repeat of your first night here? I can wait.” He grabs your hands, guiding you with him as he lays down next to Jisung, who’s staring at both of you, wide-eyed with intrigue. You walk up to Christopher’s face on your knees. He lets go of your hands, lining you up to his mouth.

“Watch and learn, Sungie,” Christopher says, almost mockingly, as he starts to lap you up. The first lick causes your body to shiver from head to toe, but you manage to keep your balance. You dart your eyes over to Jisung. His eyes are attentive and curious, taking in the sight of you on top of Christopher.

You open you mouth, about to make a comment, but Christopher’s tongue presses up against your clit in a way that makes you forget how to speak. He moves his tongue back and forth, then in circles. “Playing with Jisung made you so wet, baby,” Christopher says, breaking away from you for a moment, turning to Jisung to speak. “Look at what you’ve done to her, she must really want you, hmm?”

Jisung bites his lip and whines, uncomfortably shifting around, “She likes it when you bite her inner thighs. Always makes her scream.”

Christopher lifts his eyebrows, smiling at Jisung. “That’s helpful. Let’s test it out,” he says, bringing his attention back to you. You feel your legs tense as he brings his teeth to the top of your thigh, digging them in and dragging his teeth across the sensitive skin. The sharpness of his teeth on your skin causes your nerves to light up and tremble within you. You drag your hands into Christopher’s hair and shout out his name.

You feel Christopher smile against your skin, pausing for a moment to look at you before he brings his attention back to your clit, lightly sucking on it, flicking the tip of his tongue against you. Everything inside of you is burning, aching, pining for more, crescendoing in tandem within you as Christopher brings you closer and closer to your orgasm.

He breaks away from you again, but not before sticking two of his fingers inside of you, causing you to gasp. “What do you think? Should we let her come?” You want to kill him for stopping, right when you were right there, but the way he asked Jisung just drove you mad. You looked down to Jisung with pleading eyes, mouth half-open and you likely looked totally wrecked.

Jisung locked eyes with you, smiling as he studied your face. “Do it, Chan. Make her come for us.” As soon as he says that, Christopher curls his fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out at a rapid pace. Your knees start to buckle and you curl over him, lucky that you miss hitting your head on the wall, and you drop your arms to either side of his head. He steadies you with his free hand, bringing you back up to his mouth, his tongue doing circles against your clit.

“That’s it, baby,” Jisung says in a soothing voice, helping coax you to your orgasm, “come for us. Come on Chan’s tongue. I wanna hear you scream our names.” The combination of Jisung’s words and Christopher’s actions proved too much to handle. You started breathing uncontrollably, laboured panting taking over as every muscle in your body started to involuntarily twitch and shake.

“Christopher, Jisung, I’m gonna-” you say, but you’re unable to finish your sentence. Your orgasm comes coursing through your body, making you stiffen up and tremble, contractions pulsing within you from head to toe.

It takes a minute for you to catch your breath and lift yourself off of Christopher’s face.

“You did so well, baby,” Christopher whispers, removing his fingers from inside of you, reaching his arm up to the man next to you both. “Hey, Jisung,” he says, tilting his head to look at him, “open your mouth for me.”

Jisung furrows his brows, but does as he’s requested. Christopher takes the fingers that were inside of you, and brings them right to the entrance of his mouth. “Clean them.”

Jisung sticks his tongue out, inching closer to Christopher’s fingers. He slowly licks the essence of you off of him, rolling his tongue around and in between both fingers, then takes them all the way into his mouth. Christopher moans, his eyes fluttering in response to Jisung’s actions. “Fuck, you’re good.”

Christopher pulls his fingers out of Jisung’s mouth, rubbing his cheek softly before turning his attention back to you. “Why don’t you reward Sungie for being so good, baby? Crawl on top of him. Ride him until he comes, okay?”

You weakly nod your head, swinging your leg around Christopher. “But what about you?”

He waves his hand in the air before reaching down into his pants. “I’ll be fine. I did say that I was curious about how you two would be together, didn’t I?”

“Alright,” you say, positioning yourself over Jisung. He looks up at you with eager eyes. “Are you ready?”

Jisung nods his head quickly. “Oh, please, baby,” he whines, “I’ve been waiting for this all night.” You smile, lining him up underneath you. Your attention is momentarily distracted as Christopher closes the space between him and Jisung. He brings his face up to Jisung’s ear, giving him light nibbles as he strokes himself.

“Be a good boy for us, okay?” You hear Christopher whisper to Jisung, causing the man below you to shudder. He nods, and you slowly lower yourself on him.

You watch Jisung, taking in every reaction he makes as you take him in. He involuntarily rolls his head back, still trying to watch you. His eyes flutter as you meet his hips with yours, eliciting a deep, guttural moan from him. Christopher looks up at you, smirking, before he drops his head down to Jisung’s neck, giving him small nibbles and kisses. He whispers praises in between each kiss and bite, but you tune it out as you start grinding your hips into Jisung’s.

The way that Jisung felt inside of you was enough to make your eyes roll back as you ride him up and down. It probably wasn’t enough to make you come again, but it still felt incredible.

“How does she feel, Sungie?” Christopher says, loud enough for you to hear.

Jisung responds with a nod and some incoherent ramblings. “Don’t stop,” he manages to squeak out. “Both of you. Please, don’t.” He rolls his head back into the headboard. “Chan,” he pleads, “keep going.”

“Jisung likes to be bitten hard,” you breathe out, smiling up at Christopher, “so you should finish what you started.”

Christopher responds with a scoff. “Fine,” he says as he adjusts his position. “Only because you’ve been so good.” He leans up on one of his elbows to get closer to Jisung’s neck, fully devoting himself to worship Jisung’s neck with his teeth.

The sight of them both causes your stomach to burn in the best possible way. You shift down, steadying yourself on one arm as you take your right hand and start pumping Christopher’s cock. He groans against Jisung’s neck, but doesn’t stop.

Jisung starts to pant out mewls, his eyes shutting tightly as he starts to twitch. “Baby,” he pleadingly whines, “baby, I’m gonna come. Can I? I want to come. Please, please.”

“It’s okay, Sungie, baby,” you pant out as you ride him a bit faster. “You can come for me. I want you to come for me, okay?”

He nods once, about to bite his lip, but he chokes out a moan, calling out your name at the top of his lungs. Christopher removes himself from Jisung’s neck as he starts to twitch and thrust up into you. He watches you ride Jisung, milking out every drop of cum from him with each slow thrust of your hips.

Jisung’s pants slow down, and he starts coming back to reality. He looks down at you, eyes half-open, and goes to move his arm, surprised to find that they’re restrained, just for a moment. “Ah, shit, I forgot,” he groans, “I wanted to kiss you, baby. That was amazing.”

You smile, letting go of Christopher for a second and leaning down to give him a quick, but loving, kiss. “I’ll give you a better kiss when I’m done with Christopher, okay?” Jisung pouts, but nods his head. Slowly, you lift yourself completely off of Jisung, getting one last shiver out of the man beneath you. You reach up and undo the belt, unravelling it and tossing it to the side. “You did so well today,” you coo to Jisung as you kiss his wrists, gently bringing his arms back down to him.

“Okay,” you say, adjusting yourself on the bed so you’re hovering over Christopher. “You’re next, baby.” You lean down to kiss him. “Do you wanna be inside me?”

“Fuck yes, I do,” he groans, grabbing your hips and aligning the two of you together. “I’m already really close, but I want to feel you around me.”

You lower yourself on to him, expecting your motions to be slow and calm like it was with Jisung, but Christopher tightens his grip on your hips. He takes control, thrusting himself up into you with no mercy. His sudden movement causes you to cross your eyes in surprise and collapse down into him.

It really doesn’t take him long, with him in control. He’s in and out of you, hard and fast, and it feels good. You turn your head to face Jisung and he’s watching you intently, a smile on his face. “Do you like making Chan feel good, baby?”

You can’t really make the words go from your brain to your mouth, so you make some sort of groan of affirmation in between your pants.

“Oh, fuck,” Christopher moans underneath you, reaching his hands up to your back and digging his fingernails into your skin. He moans out your name as he thrusts up into you one more time, throwing his head back into the pillow behind him. His body shudders beneath you, and you lift your head up, propping yourself up on one of your arms.

You look down at Christopher, completely blissed out, his face starting to relax and come back to normal. Slowly, you bring your face down to meet his lips, giving him soft, tender kisses as you help bring his attention back to focus. “That felt really good, baby,” you whisper, smiling against his lips.

Christopher scoffs, a goofy smile coming up on his face. He opens his eyes, looking at you, reaching his hand up to your face. “That was incredible. All of that was incredible.” His head turns, looking over to Jisung, reaching out to his chest with his free hand. “I seriously can’t believe we did that.”

Jisung takes Christopher’s hand into his own, sliding himself up closer to both of you. “I can’t believe we did that, either. I didn’t think I would ever be able to share my bunny with anyone, but you treat her so well.”

You slide yourself off of Christopher, and he lets out a soft moan in response. “I’m going to duck off to the washroom for a minute. You two made a mess of me.” Both of the men laugh in response as you wobble your way off of the bed and into the washroom.

It doesn’t take you long to clean up and wash your face. Within a couple of minutes, you find yourself walking (a bit more coordinated, now) back towards the bed. The bedroom is an absolute mess of all of your clothes. ‘Whatever’, you think to yourself, ‘we’ll just deal with it tomorrow.’

You maneuver your way through the clothes strewn about, getting up to the edge of the bed before you stop. Christopher and Jisung have passed out, with Christopher on his back and Jisung curled up next to him. You had wanted to sleep between them, but you’d settle for the space right behind Jisung.

As you crawl up on to the bed, you turn off the lamp next to you, deciding to leave the rest of the lights in the apartment on for now. You curl up next to Jisung, wrapping your arm around him. It only takes a couple of minutes before you find yourself nodding off, completely at peace. Honestly, this felt so nice. If you could end every night like this, you would happily take it.

“Fuck,” you hear a voice as the bed shifts, and Jisung rolls over, wrapping his arm around you. It feels like the voice in the distance is part of your dream, along with the chirping of a bird. “Shit,” you hear the voice again, a bit clearer now. The chirping of the bird turns into a ringtone. Christopher’s ringtone, actually, the one that you heard when Changbin called him. “Goddammit,” the voice perks up again as the trilling stops. It’s Christopher’s voice.

Your eyes flutter open, the room still relatively dark, the only light was from the kitchen, spilling into the bedroom. It’s faint, but you make out Christopher’s shadow, walking into the kitchen as he answers his phone as quietly as possible.

“Changbin, it’s four in the morning. What the fuck?” His voice is groggy and low. You don’t really have the energy to stay up to hear some sort of report, so you let your eyes close again, drifting back off into sleep.

“Fuck,” Christopher says, the sound of his footsteps getting closer and closer to the bed. “You both need to get up. Now. Jisung, we need to move.”

Jisung shakes his head, sitting upright. “What happened?”

“We need to go. Now. Changbin’s orders. Go pack up the shit in the studio; most of it should be in the black bag.” Christopher says with urgency, turning on the lamp next to you. He turns to you to wake you up, but is surprised to see you wide awake and staring at him. “Get dressed. I don’t have time to explain.” Jisung groggily gets off of the bed, stumbling to get his pants on. He tosses your shirt and bra over to you, slipping his other leg through his jeans.

Christopher grabs some clothes from the drawer, still holding his phone up to his ear. “Lee and Yang? 3201?” He questions, “Right now? Alright.” He turns his head back around to you, his voice starting to sound panicked. “Seriously, get dressed. Two of our guys are on their way over.”

You don’t really have the time to register what exactly he’s talking about, you just move to grab your underwear and pants from the floor, and slip all of your clothes on. Christopher pulls his phone away from his face, tapping the screen, and you can hear Changbin’s voice on the other line. Jisung walks behind Christopher, slipping his shirt over his head. He moves with purpose out into the kitchen, and you hear him rustling around in the studio next door.

“Hyunjin’s been shot,” Changbin’s voice comes through the tinny speaker of Christopher’s phone. Both of you freeze, unable to move for a second. “I don’t know where they are, but I know they’re coming for you.”

“Fuck,” Christopher says, snapping out of it, throwing on his shirt and slipping his pants on in a rush. “What’s his status?”

“Don’t panic, he’ll make it. If I heard correctly, it was just a through and through in his leg. Seungmin’s with him at the hospital, so don’t worry.”

You take a hasty breath of relief, putting your shirt on with shaky hands.

Christopher grabs his phone, stopping to look at you. “I need you to hurry up, please.” He turns off the speakerphone, bringing his phone back to his face. He starts to move for the kitchen as the front door opens. He stops for a moment, trying to decipher if it was a threat. You can’t see who comes in, but Christopher relaxes when he sees them.

“Are you ready?” One of the unfamiliar voices says, and Christopher shakes his head.

“Almost. Yang, she’s in here, keep an eye on her and get her out here. Lee, watch the door. Han and I are grabbing the essentials from the studio and we’ll be ready in a minute.” His voice trails off, and you assume he’s headed off into the studio with Jisung.

A young man with black hair walks into the room, your shoes in his hand. He sees you and offers a shallow bow, handing you your shoes. “I’m Yang Jeongin. I’m with Bang-hyung and Seo-hyung.” You don’t really know what to say, so you just offer a small bow with your head, shakily introducing yourself. “I know. Don’t worry, we’ll keep you safe, alright? I need you to get up and come with me, though, okay?”

You hastily slip on your shoes and shakily make your way to your feet, all semblance of balance leaving you. As you’re about to fall forward, Jeongin comes up to catch you. “It’s alright,” he says softly. “We need to go. Seo-hyung will be here in just a few minutes. Okay?”

You weakly nod your head, regaining your balance. With Jeongin’s help, you make your way to the kitchen just as Christopher and Jisung are coming out of the studio, both visibly armed with pistols. “Lee,” Christopher says, putting a large black duffel bag on the counter. The young, bleach-blond man standing at the entrance nods, walking over to the counter to grab the bag. “Everything’s in here. Don’t let this bag out of your sight, no matter what.”

“Understood, Bang-hyung,” he says with a bow, meeting your eyes as he grabs the bag. He looks at you with a serious look, as if he were hiding his nervousness under a tough skin. “Lee Felix, nice to meet you.” He offers you a bow, pulling the bag off of the counter and taking it to the entrance before you can introduce yourself.

“Yang,” Christopher says, grabbing the pistol from under the table, “Han and I have got her, don’t worry.” He takes the pistol and the magazine and passes it to the black-haired man. “I want you to lead with Lee as we leave, understood?”

“Yes, hyung,” he says with a bow, assembling the pistol and putting it in an open side holster.

“Alright,” Christopher says, coming up to your side. “Han, are you ready?”

“Yes, hyung,” Jisung says, coolly and calmly, walking up to your other side. You turn to look at him, and he looks stoic and composed. “Don’t worry, baby, we’ve got you.”

“Changbin’s out front,” Christopher says, grabbing your hand haphazardly. “We need to go.”

With his words, the five of you move quickly, yet cautiously, stepping out of the apartment and into the elevator. You, Christopher, and Jisung stand in the back, as Felix and Jeongin stand up front. All of them have holstered their pistols, but their hands are on their hips above them.

It seems like an eternity since you’ve seen this elevator. The last time you saw it, you remembered being excited and nervous, curious about who the mysterious Christopher Bang was. Now, you were nervous and terrified. You looked up to him, and found yourself wondering that familiar question:

Who is this man?

a/n: if you made it this far, thank you so much. <3 i really hope you enjoyed this chapter.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids fic #skz fic #bang chan smut #chris bang smut #han jisung #han jisung smut #chris bang #bang chan #bang chan x reader #han jisung x reader #chan x jisung x reader #drug dealer au #i am emotional over this chapter too holy fuck #changbin x minho #putting the bang in bang chan lol #skzsmutnet #skzsmutnetwork #step out do what you want #wherevermyway