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agustdtown1 · 16 days

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FOREVER GRATEFUL | JJK

PAIRING: jeon jungkook x fem!reader.

SUMMARY: jeon jungkook was a man like no other, one that cared for you and your sinful needs more than he should, and for that you will forever be grateful.

WC: 5.6k

WARNINGS: age gap, jungkook’s older than reader (although there’s no mention of a specific age), their relationship is not the healthiest but they manage, jk’s line of work is not specified but it is hinted that it’s illegal, small (very small) mention of blood, pet names (doll, princess, pretty girl…), it is hinted —and mentioned, that reader doesn’t have much experience about sex, smut, pwp (porn with plot because I got carried away, but only here and there), restraining, blindfolding, unprotected sex (be better), fingering, light choking, biting, marking, name calling (slut, dumb), jk cumming inside reader, i kinda rushed the end so it’s not that good tbh. 18+ only!

A/N: so… this is my first time writing for the boys since I created my account, I hope this is not as bad as I think it is and that you can enjoy your reading. Lmk what you think and also, english is not my first language so if there’s any grammar/spelling mistakes pls just ignore them <3!

masterlist

“Stay still.”

A husky voice rang into your ears, making a feeling as warm as the sun start to spread through your whole body; an electrifying sensation running through your veins, while goosebumps found solace on your skin. His voice has always been your favorite sound. The raspiness and low register adorning the man’s voice often got you weak in the knees, whenever he would whisper to you or call your name. And this time was no different, however, it seemed to have a stronger power over you. As magnetic as the voice of a siren, pulling the unlucky sailors out of the safety of their boats and into the depths of the cold water of the ocean; ready to devour them in such a frenzy that the last thing you could hear from the poor men was the start of a plea that would forever be unfinished.

Regardless of the difference between scenarios, the comparison seemed to be fitting. Jeon Jungkook was often described as magnetic, with the words alluring and charming following not so far behind. It would explain why you were found in such an interesting predicament at the moment.

A chill breeze brushing over your warm, bare skin, snapped you out of your wandering thoughts. The indication was short and simple. Discard your clothes from the very first moment you walk into the room and wait for him in bed. And so, your body, as many times before, was left completely exposed to Junkook’s hungry eyes; moreover, his eagerness to devour you was crystal clear, not daring to hide his fervent desire of having another taste of your sweet body. Watching you like a predator would to its prey.

His hands were tingling with excitement, for the future adventure both of you would go through, in a matter of minutes. Tonight, like many others, was dedicated solely to you, to your enjoyment; for you to, once again, discover a part of yourself that has yet to see the morning sun and yet to taste the deliciousness of the unknown. A new experience, a new journey, a brand new feeling for you to replay over and over again in your head, during those painfully lonely nights, when you could only find calmness in the feather-like touch of your fingers, running through your needy and greedy body.

Jungkook, however, knew exactly what he was doing by making you wait until your breaking point, waiting for a whine to fall from your precious lips, or for your desperate hand to reach out to him, whatever happens first, but in a silent plea for even a sliver of his attention. He had memorized every gesture, every reaction, every movement you would do, and it entertained the man more than it should.

“You’re tense.” Jungkook pointed out, easing the knots in your shoulders with his skillful hands. “What’s gotten you this aggravated, princess?”

It was the mocking tone, the graceful touch, or even his inviting eyes; whatever it was, it served as a decisive factor to push yourself forward and wrap your arms around his empty neck, like a snake would with its prey; hard and firm.

Desperate hands were first, then.

“You.” An answer was uttered, yet there was a lack of reaction from the man in front of you.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Jungkook taunted, acknowledging the power he had over you. “But don’t think I have forgotten the order I gave you.”

It left you confused for a good second, before his strong hands reached out for yours, stripping himself off from your needy touch.

“Stay still.” Jeon ordered once again, smirking once you obeyed.

You knew better than to challenge him, knowing that your safest option was to follow his instructions with no objection, if you wanted to get your awaited reward, that is.

Who would have thought that you’d be so accustomed to this routine. If asked, then give. If given, then be grateful for it.

The older man has improved your sex life in a matter of a few months, introducing your inexperienced self to the wonders of healthy and eccentric intercourse. Jungkook has proven to you many times in the span of a few months that your negative expectations of sex were granted by your poorly skilled sexual partners. Never once experiencing a dull moment since you were left in the dangerous hands of Jeon Jungkook.

If asked, then give. If given, be grateful.

Just like a believer would with whatever God sets in their path. Just like a kid would when a gift was left under the Christmas tree. You were grateful. It was easy to be. For it was gratefulness that had been installed within you from the moment yours and Jungkook’s paths have crossed.

Nonetheless, as grateful as you were, the hesitation in the back of your head didn’t seem to want to leave. The more Jungkook gave you, the more you wondered if you deserved it. But it reasoned with you that the true cause for your indecisiveness was the premise under which your relationship with the tattooed man had developed.

They don’t make men like him anymore, it’s what your friend had told you when she first introduced you to him, and it scared you. It frightened you that your only option to survive in such a cruel world was to cling to a man that was yet to explain what his line of work was. But then again, you didn’t want to know.

If Jungkook came back from work, looking unkempt and exhausted it was none of your business. That blood stain has always been on his shirt for all you knew. His sketchy friends have never once disrespected you, and that was enough for the time being. If he has broken the law, you don't need to know.

You would never know.

If asked, then give. If given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

That’s a matter in which you could actually participate. In fact, it’s the way you were taught to be for the past few months.

You earn what you’re given, so show manners and be thankful.

Don’t question, just take. A mindset that has gotten you to where you were right now. In the bedroom of, by far, the most dangerous man in all Korea. Yet, not once has your well-being been threatened, and for that you're grateful.

And you're about to show it.

“You deserve it.” Jungkook reminded you before straying away to roam through his drawers.

The anticipation was killing you. Your eager eyes couldn’t see past his bare and muscular back facing you. Jeon thrived on the way your lustful gaze would always settle on his body, hence the lack of a shirt. Only a low waisted pair of jeans, that allowed you to see the hem of his Calvin Klein underwear, were preventing you from seeing his firm thighs.

You enjoyed the view, more than you probably should. How his muscles flexed when he moved, and the way his toned back shone under the dim light of the room.

It was such a delectable sight for your painfully sore eyes.

“You ready?” The question snapped you out of your thoughts, making you notice how close he was now.

“Yes.” You answered with light hesitation.

Your major enemy showing up once again: indecisiveness. But that wouldn’t stop you from giving yourself to the man in front of you. Not this time.

“Yes, what?” Jeon insisted. “Don’t forget your manners.”

“Yes, sir, I’m ready.” It fell naturally from your lips.

A satisfied smirk appeared on his face.

“Good girl.”

The dark haired man reached out for your wrists, placing a delicate kiss on both of them before tying them with a silky tie of his, and forcing your wandering hands to stay still once and for all.

“Do you trust me?” Jungkook gently asked.

“No, sir, I don’t.”

It was the only correct answer, and both you and Jungkook knew it.

The moment he earned your trust would be the moment he’d have to leave you behind, to fend for yourself and for you to learn how to navigate through the dark corners of your unlucky life.

Trusting him means leaving your guard down, leaving your guard down means being vulnerable, and Jungkook knew better than to be vulnerable, especially in the type of life he lived in. He didn’t want you to make that mistake, and if it meant giving you reasons to doubt him, then so be it.

“Are you gonna do as I say?” Jeon inquired.

“I will.”

“Good.” He leaned down to steal a harsh kiss from you. “You have no idea how bad I’m going to ruin you tonight.”

A slight shiver ran down your spine, knowing too well that his words were far from being an empty promise.

His tattooed hands descended on your bare body, ever so delicate, ever so tender. A stark contrast to what his real intentions were, and it left you craving more of it. Your insatiable desire for being thoroughly worshiped by his lips, his hands, all of him. It was never enough, and it will never be.

Like a stray dog in need of being fed, you needed his touch to be satisfied. Luckily for you, Jungkook was always a man to deliver everything you asked for, even if not verbally.

His eyes, never swerving from your body, took in all the reactions you gave him; from the way your lips formed a perfect o-shape, freeing the most delicious sounds, to how your back arched oh so naturally when his already trained fingers made their way towards the south part of your body. The place where he would get baptized every night, like a strong believer. Ending his thirst with the holy liquid you would suffice him with, not once asking for anything in return, but thankful of his merciful goddess showing appreciation for his dedication.

The only thing is, you weren’t a goddess and he wasn’t a believer. And the whole scenario was way more dirty in reality than what you’d often fantasize.

“Such a pretty doll.” Jungkook brought you back into reality with his husky voice, “Always so responsive.”

His middle finger traveled down to reach your entrance, teasing you with his light touch. Waiting for your reaction, waiting for you to beg. But just like he knew you so well, it was easy for you to tell when he wanted something from you. So rather than give Jungkook what he wanted, you settled for playing a game that would get you in a situation where not even God would help you.

You moved your hips ever so lightly, testing how far you could go without the tattooed man reminding you who’s in charge. Chasing his touch was easy, attaining it was a whole different story. And it was proven to you that tonight the ball was not in your court, when all you got was a chuckle from the man, while he retrieved his hand and leaned down to be face to face with you.

“Have you not learned anything yet, princess?” His dark voice made you tremble in your spot. “Or have you forgotten how things work around here, hm?”

Unwilling to answer, the only response he got from you was a strained whine, yet Jeon could see the desperation in your eyes, the fervent desire to be ruined by him, to be left defenseless and at his complete mercy. Your body wasn’t yours anymore; it stopped being yours the moment he set his eyes on you.

Jeon Jungkook owned you, that much was obvious. And as terrifying as it was, the fact was equally thrilling.

“How badly do you want me?” He tried again, with a question that drove you crazy. “Be good for me and say the words, princess.”

Wasn’t it evident? People often thought that you were too harsh to deal with, too rude, too much to handle. It didn’t offend you, nor did it crack your heart whenever someone would complain about your hot temper and crude attitude. However, at this precise moment, you were giving the man in front of you exactly what he was asking for, albeit not verbally, but your body was working on its own accord. For every light touch, Jeon would get a shiver, squirming, even a plea from your eyes. Any reaction that was in the books, you were already serving it for him.

Nonetheless, it seemed like you weren’t compliant enough for the older man.

“So bad.” You opted to respond instead, finally giving in. “I need you, I want you. Please, sir.”

It was like music to his ears. Your delightful voice, flying through the room as if it were the sweetest melody. Not even the singing of an angel would achieve the reaction that you were pulling from Jungkook right now. Just listening to you beg for him, that’s all Jeon ever wanted.

“You are being so good and polite, baby.” He praised you. “I’ll give you what you need, but…” The dark haired man drifted off, pulling out a blindfold from the back of his jeans. “I’m afraid we’ll do it my way.”

Terrifying, as looking into the depths of a deserted forest, but it was sinful enough for you to crave it. It was exciting regardless of what the whole ordeal entailed. Therefore, when the tall man approached you, with a silky blindfold resting on his hands, you were ready to follow his orders with no objections.

In a matter of seconds you were deprived of Junkook’s hard features, leaving you with a view of pure darkness, and causing your body to start squirming and moving around due to the anticipation. It was difficult to find calmness in such a stressful moment, but you managed. However, Jeon decided to start toying with you, taking advantage of the fact that you were unaware of your surroundings. And so his fingers commenced a trip down the tender flesh of your neck, rapidly traveling down your collarbones and lightly gracing your nipples, only for later on to pinch both of your buds in a harsh manner, one that ripped a strained gasp out of your mouth.

A sardonic smile took place on his face, however, you couldn’t see it. His free hand traveled up to push your cheeks together, enjoying how plump your lips looked and not being able to resist the urge to bite them.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his teeth sinking in the flesh of your lips, along with the way his fingers were kneading every inch of your body.

“Relax and stay still.” Jeon ordered. “I know you’ll love this.”

His soothing voice was helping you to calm down, but it wasn’t enough. The sensations that were running through your body and the lack of proper touch left you in an unbearable agony. You craved to feel him closer, for his skin touching yours, for his breath mixing with yours while your bodies were intertwined in a passionate race to free both of your souls. What he was giving you wasn’t enough, but then again, when has it been?

A greedy little thing, that’s what Jungkook has always called you. And rightfully so, because you longed for him in ways no one else had done, and it scared him. Jeon was afraid you might be too attached to him, moreover, to your own idea of him. The way you would reach for his hand, almost as second nature, when you were out and about, or how your eyes always gravitated towards his figure whenever he stepped into a room. That terrified him. Because it meant you were addicted to him in the same way he was to you, and that could only mean trouble in the long run.

Tonight, however, was not about his fears and insecurities. Tonight was meant to be for you; to supply you with the utmost pleasure you were able to handle, and even if you couldn’t, Jungkook was willing to give you more than what you asked for. So rather than letting his mind wander to places he wasn’t fond of, the man decided to grant you what you were desperately looking for.

His slender fingers slid into your warm hole, filling you up as best as possible. Moving in ways that would haunt you forever, as a reminder that no one —not even yourself, will be able to touch you and treat you like he could.

“There you go…” He muttered, so close to your ear that made you shiver. “Is that enough for my little slut?”

His husky voice echoed through every corner of the room, pulling a light gasp out of you. It wasn’t strange for you to hear him say such lewd things or call you such unspeakable names, but every single time he did, it awakened a wild sensation within you.

Answering to his question you shook your head no, adamant to get more of him, and desperately wanting to be filled to the brim with something more than his fingers.

“More…” You begged. “Please, more.”

His fingers were avidly moving, pumping in and out of your velvety walls at a steady pace. His touch seemed to be enhanced and it felt much more than any other time. Whether it was because you couldn’t see nor could you touch anything, or because of his skillful movements, you couldn’t tell. Nevertheless, there was no complaint. It felt terribly good.

“Yes, please don’t stop.”

Your whiny voice was making Jungkook experience unspeakable things. He was eager to have you, eager to touch you, eager to have a taste of you. But more importantly, so desperate to fuck you. In the same way he awakened a wild side of you with his dark stare, you drove him absolutely crazy with the little noises you made. Furthermore, having you underneath him, moaning his name while squirming in pleasure, and feeling pure bliss due to how good he made you feel, was boosting his ego.

Jeon Jungkook was a man that always strived to be praised, even for the little and insignificant things. So to say he was thrilled and satisfied by the way you were chanting his name like a sinful prayer, along with how your body was responding insanely good to his touch, would be an enormous understatement.

He was on the verge of losing control and claiming you in such an animalistic way, that would leave anyone who happened to be near his room, concerned for your well-being.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you look like this?” It was a question that didn’t need an answer.

Jungkook was entranced by the way you were reacting to his touch, watching your skin coated in goosebumps and how your legs would try to wrap around his waist to pull him closer, in need of him. It has always amazed him how innocent and clueless you looked and acted on the daily, yet somehow you knew what to do to make him act up, to drive him crazy. It was as if you were just pretending to know nothing just to tease him, just to make him never leave you, but deep down Jungkook knew you were sincere.

Your life has been tough, to say the least, and he knew you were in need of guidance, in need of someone to hold your hand and walk you through the crude stages of life. Jeon has never told you, but part of the reason why he took interest in you was due to his protective instinct. The older man knew you needed protection, from who or what? It wasn’t clear, but he instantly knew he was the right one to do it.

Oddly enough, there was no one better than the most dangerous man in South Korea to keep you safe.

But the way you would act so innocently drove him crazy.

Even when you tried to act confident, there was this sprinkle of hesitation every time you did something —indecisiveness striking again. And it was difficult to ignore it, moreover, it was difficult to hide it. The man could see right through your weak act, and spot your nervousness from miles away.

Even when you sucked him off in his office after a tiring meeting, he knew you were slightly scared to do such a thing.

Someone pretending to be clueless wouldn’t act as eager and clumsy as you did back then, although there has been some improvement since that time. Your teeth wouldn’t make an appearance anymore, you would use the right amount of saliva to make it messy but still look appealing for Jeon. The man loved how now you use more of your tongue to tease his tip and how far he could go into your throat. But none of that would’ve been attained without his help.

If given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

It all goes back to the same predicament: you often showing your thankfulness for every little thing Jungkook has done for you.

He saved you, in the same way that a human would take an injured bird into their home to help it heal. Only for the person to cage it after the bird it’s back on its feet. Whereas Jeon Jungkook saved you from your previous way of living, he also owned you, preventing you from leaving his side.

Your broken moan snapped the dark haired man back into reality. His eyes were glazed with lust, looking right down on you and your tempting body.

“Are you close yet, doll?”

He knew you were. Jungkook could feel you clenching on his fingers, but he wanted to hear it from you.

“Yes, I’m so close.” You whined.

Your hands were moving so much, trying to break free from the tie that was preventing you from touching him. Jeon silently enjoyed it, he enjoyed how addicted to him you were, that it was a torture for you to not touch him in any way. You were so accustomed to feeling him, every single inch, that being restrained felt like pure hell.

“Please… More, faster…” You once again begged, and this time Jungkook couldn’t handle it.

Ignoring your protests, he pulled his fingers out, rapidly stripping off the rest of his clothes to position himself in between your legs. Because yes, he was on the verge of losing control before, but now his racional side flew out the window, and so he couldn’t wait a second longer to be wrapped in the warmth of your walls, ready to take him in.

“My sweet girl, don’t be impatient.” Jungkook cooed at you. “I’ll give you something better.”

Without further ado, he thrusted into you with a hard pump. It ripped a moan out of you, making you tug at the tie even more. You were beyond annoyed that you couldn’t touch him nor could you see his beautiful figure while he fucked you, although it enhanced the rest of your senses.

You could hear his little noises more clearly, feel his touch even better than you usually would, and taste him so much more in every kiss he gave you. It was truly a blessing and a curse.

“You’re so tight, Y/n.” Jungkook gritted through his teeth, preventing himself from moving manically just yet.

Jeon could see the struggle in your face, the way you were clenching on his dick so hard that it was almost impossible for him to move. No matter how many times he’s fucked you, you would never get accustomed to his size. But in reality, the actual problem was that the man hasn’t done exactly that in a while.

Truth be told, there was a reason for your eagerness, for your desperation. For your ambition to have more of him. Jungkook has been neglecting you the past couple of days, perhaps not on purpose, but his line of work has required him to travel to the other side of the world for a whole week. And now that he was back you were ready to trap him in your limbs for as long as you could have him.

“I haven’t fucked you in a while that your pussy is already forgetting how my cock feels, huh?” He acknowledged the situation. “Maybe I’ll have to remind this tight cunt who owns it.”

Without a warning, he gave a hard thrust once again, bottoming out. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t forget how big his dick was or how good it felt. Many nights you fantasized about his fat cock pounding into you while the only thing you could use to pleasure yourself was your fingers. It was such a sad comparison, especially because it proved that what he once told you was completely true.

No one will be ever able to satisfy your carnal needs in the same way that he does. No one will be able to make you come undone with their touch. You could only daydream about Jungkook rocking into you hard and rough, during those lonely nights when the only thing you could use was your small fingers.

Luckily for you, now you have it, the real thing. Now you could feel the tip of his cock hitting every right spot the more the thrusted into you. His veiny member slamming over and over into your throbbing cunt, crying for more of him.

“So fucking greedy. My dirty slut can never get enough of me, huh?” Jungkook groaned, “Look at you, already a mess and I’ve barely done anything, sweetheart.”

It was such a true statement. Even if there was no way for you to look at yourself, you were sure of your disheveled appearance. Sweat was coating your skin, making your messy hair stick to your forehead and nape, your lips were now swollen and shiny due to the wet kisses Jeon has shared with you.

But it has always been like this. Jeon always knew what to do, what to say, how to touch you to turn you into a babbling and whiny mess, one who could only chant his name and ask for more, like the little ambitious and greedy girl you were. Regardless of the way you would sometimes demand more of his attention, more of his touch, he loved it. The tattooed man loved how ruined you looked at the end of your rendezvous, staring at your tear stained cheeks and swollen lips. Jungkook was always fascinated by how fucked out you were once he was done with everything, it was his favorite look on you.

“You like this, don’t you? Being used like a fuck toy, not being able to do anything to fight me.” The older man let out a dark chuckle, while one of his hands crept up to wrap itself around your throat. “So defenseless and needy, letting me do anything to you.”

The more he talked the closer you got. You knew it was a matter of time for you to cum. And you couldn’t be more thankful for that.

Jungkook kept rocking into you at a rapid and harsh pace, fucking your brains out while calling you names that he knew would pull a reaction out of you.

“My dumb baby, taking me so well.” He praised you. “You always know how to take my cock, willing to let me fuck this pretty pussy however I want.”

You could only nod, gasping for air and moving your hips to meet his thrusts as best as possible. It was like a race to see which one would finish first, although it was clear that the man ramming into you would not relent until you were crying and shaking underneath him.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy.” He confessed, leaning down to kiss your soft lips.

His free hand traveled down in between your legs to place his skilled thumb over your clit. His movements were like a bucket of cold water poured over your burning skin. It calmed the building fire in between your legs, just as much as it fueled your already approaching orgasm.

“You feel so amazing around my dick.” Jeon hissed over your lips, hypnotized by the way his aching cock would get lost into your soaked cunt.

“Oh god…” You moaned. “Please don’t stop, I’m so fucking close.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” A promise, far from being empty.

It was clear that Jeon was getting close as well by the way he so desperately was pounding into you, moaning lowly and leaning down to bite your neck.

His lips and teeth were doing wonders on your skin, marking you up with his bites and sucking on your flesh as well. Jungkook was devouring you, tasting you, ruining you as he promised.

“Holy shit…” He said in a raspy voice. “You’re all mine, aren’t you? Only I can make you feel like this.”

“Yes, yes, yes…” You chanted back, but it wasn’t enough for him.

“Come on, tell me, pretty girl.” He requested. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours. I’m all yours.” You slurred your words out.

It only encouraged the man to fuck you harder, meaner, faster… Exactly how you liked it. Jungkook was aware of it, he knew you like the palm of his hand, and although it was concerning how much he knew about you, it also came in handy in moments like this.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” Jungkook alerted you, snapping both of you from your wandering thoughts.

“Cum, inside me.” You croaked out, biting on your bottom lip.

It was a risky request, something that you might regret in the future, not only because you weren’t on any contraception, but it entailed being connected to him in such an intimate way, one that neither of you were ready for.

“Are you sure?” He asked with a soft tone, yet you could hear the agitation in his voice. “Are you okay with… oh fuck, with me cumming in you?”

“Yes, yes, please. Just do it, fill me up, please.” You struggled to say. “I need to feel your cum deep inside me.”

Jungkook felt like dying with the lewd words you were spewing.

You were drunk on the ecstasy of the whole experience. Not being able to look at your surroundings, being restrained, the way Jeon was pistoning into you, hitting spots that no one has ever been able to reach before; the sinful words spilling from his lips, his hand still wrapped around your neck, albeit more loosely now. Everything was clouding your mind and leaving you in such a lax state, that prevented you from forming any coherent thought.

Regardless, your consensual words were all he needed to let go, shooting his hot cum inside of your greedy pussy.

“Oh god…” Jungkook moaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

His orgasm triggered yours, throwing you over the edge in a matter of seconds, right after he came. Your whimpers were loud and high pitched, your body was burning and trembling, and you were sure the light makeup you were previously wearing was smudged by now.

You were panting, trying your best to calm your agitated breathing. Jungkook was still inside of you, with his face hidden in your neck, breathing as heavily as you were. Both still intertwined in a mess of sweaty limbs.

After a few minutes where both of you recovered from the intense orgasms you just had, Jeon finally pulled out, separating himself from you. His hands flew up to free yours, making you whine softly; he placed a soft kiss on both of your wrists, making sure the tie didn’t hurt you. The blindfold came off next, and it took a few seconds for your eyes to get used to the dim light after seeing pure darkness.

“How was it?”

A simple question, one that, in the ears of an oblivious listener, would mean nothing. An inquiry that held more significance and concern than a simple are you okay?; it was subtle but it spoke volumes the way Jeon Jungkook would still feel the need to protect you, even from himself.

He never voiced his worries properly, trying to play it cool but secretly concerned that he might have hurt you in any way. The man never learnt how to correctly communicate with others, but he would be damned if he didn’t express how much he cared for you in other ways.

“Amazing…” Was your response, albeit in a hoarse voice.

Your throat was slightly aggravated, feeling terribly dry after attempting to voice the pleasure and enjoyment from the experience, through the small space there was left from Jungkook’s hard grip on it. However, it didn’t stop you from answering his concerns.

Amazing, fascinating.

It was the only way to describe it, your mind was too foggy to think of a proper answer, but by the way he was smirking you could tell he was satisfied with your response.

“Good.” He nodded. “Don’t move, I’ll bring a towel to clean you up and a bottle of water.”

Before he could step out of the room your weak voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait…” You called for him.

If asked, then give; if given, be grateful. If grateful, show it.

“Thank you.” A small whisper was all it took for the man to walk back at you, leaning down to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

“Get some rest, I’ll be right back.”

You were left alone in the big room, spread out on the mattress while your mind was trying to comprehend all the events that just happened. Your heart was filled with questions, but you knew better than to ponder over those inquiries.

Jeon Jungkook was a man like no other, one that cared for you more than he should, and for that you will be forever grateful.

#jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jk x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook fic #🥢town originals!#🥢.townsmut!

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elvisalltheway101 · 5 months

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••••••Crimson and Clover•••••

Summary: Elvis deals with insomnia and it’s hard enough as it is. When he wakes up in the middle of the night randomly, he looks over at you. In all your glory and beaut. When his thoughts linger and wander, his body can’t help but react. Instead of disturbing your beauty sleep, he decides to take matters into his own hands. Literally.

Author’s note: I was supposed to write out a different thing and post it, “My Sweet Remedy,” but then I got a huge idea for this… don’t ask, what the hell does this gotta do with this song. And the title’s got nothing to do with it…don’t ask, because my answer will be too far intelligent for understanding. No actually because I cannot give you an answer, since my ass doesn’t even know.

Author ain’t go shut up yet: Also, this is my second time writing smut…so cut my ass so slack or better yet, gimme some ass cuz your girl has nothing but a flat board- This is definitely a little different than what I had in mind but enjoy anyway! Oh! And keep in mind, I’m imagining Vegas Elvis in this and this is 2nd-ish point of view!

warnings: masturbation (elvis doing this), dirty thoughts.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Elvis lets out a soft groan, turning in the silky and red sheets of his king-sized bed and wakes up slowly. His eyes flicker up, squinting into the dark to adjust his vision. He can make out the side of where his baby darlin’, Pillow, lays. He’s called you “Pillow” since the day you both started dating, for two good reasons. The thickness of your body and the swells of every perfect curves you’ve got on that damn body of yours. And 2, because your heart was as soft as a damn feather. Uncalled for reason #3 was also because you were pretty damn ticklish and giggle.

Elvis reaches over with a grunt, stretching out his arm to switch on the light. The light switches on and he lets out a hiss as the sudden brightness shines onto you both. The light’s dim but bright enough to make out of everything. His eyes roam around the room, looking at the tv across from the bed and over to you.

His eyes can’t help but travel from your pretty little head, to your itty widdle feet that journeyed on, walking around to fulfill duties he gives you. But this night particularly, he really can’t help it. Can’t help the way his eyes watch your body, and hear your soft breaths you take every moment. You sleep so peacefully and quiet, but also deep.

Since your back is faced to him:

His eyes watch your long, thick hair splayed against the pillow your cute lil pink cheeks lay on. Your curls shine under the moonlight that peaks through the room’s curtains.

How it would be to hold and grip em while making sweet, sensual love to you.

His mind wanders, and he cant help the small smirk that comes upon his lips. His eye continue to travel lower, seeing your perfect shoulders, and down to your waist. You didn’t have an hourglass figure…or did you? The way you lay on your side, and your waist dips down, bringing your hipbones to stand curvy and mighty.

Oh, your hips.

Your love handles that he’d just love to grab while he ravishes into your sweet pussy.

Fucking hell, your pussy.

He clenched a fist and bites down hard on a knuckle, breathing in a sharp breath to keep a groan in.

Where can he start?

His eyes keep at the delicious swell of your ass. So plump and thick in all its glory. And only his imagination would have to work right now on your beautiful flower thats not far below your belly button.

Elvis can’t help the twitch in his pants. Hell, he didn’t even notice it til he finally got into his head. One of hands balling the sheets into one fist while he chews his knuckle on the other, and he only now realizes that he’s become painfully hard.

He takes his eyes off you to quickly and gruffly untie the strings of his pajama pants. When he lowers them, his eyes quickly dart back over to your ass. Oh, he’d love to just dip his tongue and press against your little pink hole that he sees whenever you arch your back. Only times he sees your second tight hole, was when he’d spank you for being a naughty girl or when he’d take you from behind. Lord, did he wanna bite your ass cheeks right now.

From all his shuffling, you start to wake up slightly. Letting out a hum and shifting onto your other side, now that’s the sight Elvis can stare at for the rest of his life.

Your soft hair that’s showered and lays almost a veil onto your calm and soft facial features. The sight of your perky and tender breasts that smoosh against eachother as you lay, and your legs crossed over the other.

He lets out a soft whimper, grabbing his cock with no hesitation. His length is stiff as stone, a pretty pink is his veiny shaft and his pretty tip that peeks under his foreskin, wags back and forth. When his thumb swipes across his tip, it already has his hips stuttering.

Seeing more than enough for his imagination to wander and work, he turns his gaze to his throbbing cock. His right tan hand bobs up and down on the poor “little” fellow in rhythm with his breathing. Elvis closes his eyes and tilts his head back, trying to keep his breathing steady.

How it would be to just fuck you senseless. Your tight hole swallowing him deep. Your- oh and then to have your pretty little ass hole hug his long fingers snug and perfectly.

He lets out a soft gasp, speeding up his hand on his cock. Precum dribbles from his pretty cock and he uses that as a lubricant. He bucks his hips into his fist, until his balls slap and bounce slightly to his pinky knuckle and back.

His mind continues to come up with ideas of what he would do to you once you both wake up in the morning. Then, he glances and turns his head back to see your face. Your pretty plush and plump lips, your long dark lashes that tickle and rest against your upper cheeks and again, the hair that smells as rose and strawberry cupcakes.

His fist tightens around his cock and he doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care if he wakes you up. Or even the damn neighbors. Not even if his mama or daddy can hear from next door. His tip off loads and drops more glistening and shiny arousal, and he twitches harshly in his hand.

How it would be to cum on that pretty little face of yours. To have your lips and fluttering, innocent and doe eyes that your long dark lashes shelter be coated with layers of his hot cum.

That does it for him, he lets out a high-pitched moan, taking both fists to squeeze both his shaft and his thumb to press firmly against his wet and sticky, hard tip. And his other hand to cup and squeeze his ballsacks.

He lets out a Yelp from how harsh he’s being to his own body, but his lower belly heaves and gets covered by his thick, warm ropes of white nectar. His hips stutter against the bed and he finally leans back.

He can already hear the stomping of his parents, and the groaning of you about to wake up…

How the hell was he supposed to explain this, anyway? •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hope you enjoyed! And May I add, I didn’t proofread this shit🫣

Tagging: @msamarican

#Spotify #elvis imagine #elvis presley #elvis fans #70s elvis #army elvis #elvis presely #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis presely smut #elvis presley imagine #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x reader smut #enjoyyyyy #Elvis smut

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dangerously-human · 6 months

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Twice in The Hollow Boy, Lockwood leaps for Lucy and it's not enough. The first time is jumping between her and a ghost on the Wintergarden staircase and he still can't save her, Holly has to. And of course, that's still when I think he had his oh moment, realizing he's in love with Lucy and has been for a while, so there's an emotional leap too and he's too scared (etc) to tell her in the aftermath, and they end up more distant than ever. The second is when he jumps into the Aickmere's pit for her, and that time he is able to save her on a literal level - and how delicious that he's saving her from the hollow version of himself, which is exactly what got between them the first time - but on the emotional side of things, he tries telling her how he feels, as best as he can manage for now, and it's not enough, he still loses her, just days later.

And to add to the anguish, @womaninwinter's response to this was, "Not being enough as a theme for Lockwood in THB - how did you make it worse???" Which, like, there's a lot to unpack there, actually, in terms of Lucy and Lockwood's parallel journeys in that regard. A lot of repetition in this book of Lockwood trying, and somehow always getting it wrong. Which is something we saw Lucy struggle with so much in the earlier books, and she's just beginning to develop some confidence in her decisions now, only to be met with resistance that she interprets as Lockwood not believing in her. So actually, maybe parallel isn't the right word - their development in the "not being enough" realm intersects here, painfully, because they're dealing with the same problem but at different angles and keep catching on each other's edges.

Which brings us to the Black Winter, and Lockwood's scheming to reconnect with Lucy and maybe, just maybe, convince her to come back. There's a huge hole between them now that he's afraid he can't really stretch far enough across to reach her - and maybe it is shaped a little like Aickmere's, what he tried to confess to her (about his past and the future he's only just beginning to hope for and his heart his heart his heart) and she still ran - and what if he takes another leap and she still doesn't take the hand he's offering? What if she never takes his hand again?

(Not like I need any reasons to be more devastated about The Hollow Boy and Lockwood's spiral during the Black Winter, but hey, I just finished the first very messy draft of the sleepless/Catholic Lockwood/hands fic - the one inspired by Won't Give Up by Colony House, please join me sometime in sobbing about how well that fits for both Lucy and Lockwood - and in the meantime, had to inflict this thought on everyone in a more meta form. You will be seeing it again in a more narrative format later, but that's not ready yet and I'm having too many feelings about it not to at least say something about it now.)

#personal #lockwood & co #writer probs: fanfic edition

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shewhohangsoutincemeteries · 1 year

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downpour

tony stark x f!reader prompt: rain theme: smut

The cold of the rain-streaked window sent a shiver up your spine, a sharp contrast to the heat of the body behind you. Tony thrust into you, hard and deep, his face buried in the curve of your neck. His facial hair scratched at your sensitive skin, his teeth scraping bluntly over your shoulder as he murmured your name and a curse.

Your hands flexed against the glass, fingers squeaking against the pane. The lights of the city below blurred through the rain, creating your own little world despite being so on display. The condensation clung to your cheek, to your chest, your nipples almost painfully hard against the glass despite the barely-there lace of your bra.

“Oh, fuck, Tony…”

His mouth moved to your ear; his breath deliciously hot against your skin. His hand slipped up your back to unclip your bra, smoothing over your skin before returning to your hips. “Look at you, all spread out for me…” he muttered tightly, his lips brushing over your earlobe. “And none of those people down there realize just what they’re missing…”

He clutched at your flesh firmly, pulling you back to meet each thrust of his hips. You could feel the strap of your bra sliding down your arm, your cunt aching wonderfully as he filled you. You could feel your own cum dripping down your inner thighs, and you jerked as Tony wrapped an arm around your waist and snaked his hand down between your legs. His fingers circled your clit, his teeth catching your earlobe in the same moment.

You came with a hoarse moan, your head falling back against his shoulder. Tony’s hand left your clit, gliding up over your torso. He mapped out the line of your ribs, his hand pausing to squeeze your breast before continuing upward. It closed around your throat, forcing your face up to his. He kissed you hard, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his hand tightened on your throat.

Your eyes rolled back behind you closed lids as you came again, and Tony followed with a deep, throaty groan that was almost drowned out by the rain outside. His other hand flexed so tightly on your hip you may have bruised. It wasn’t until you felt his hips slow that you felt your breath begin to steady again, your thighs shaking.

“Hell of a performance, sweetheart,” Tony murmured, kissing your shoulder softly. You felt his hands smooth over your hips, and you twitched as he reached around to tease your clit again for a second. You shoved his hand away, and he snickered against your skin.

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this shit.”

You could feel his smile as he brushed hair away from your neck. “Oh, c’mon, sweetness. When have you ever been able to say no to me?”

tags: @ccbsrms@startrekkingaroundasgard@lina-mar@lovely-dreamer19@wittyforachange@wefracturedmotivation@january-echoes@glossyloner@capitalnineteen@youclickedthislink@s0ftness@castieltrash1@drakelover78@queenoftheunderdark@fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13@lol-you-thought@sebbystanlover-vk@mikariell95@csigeoblue@abrunettefangirlnerd@babyblues915@aar-journey@moistpotatobear @capsironunderoos @bellamyblakemorley@diesinspanishbcimhispanic@sentimentalalien@agustdowney@akumune@xxboesefrauxx@patheticallysentimental@loki-is-loved

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yagirlwrites · 2 years

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Wild Summer (Part 3)

Series Masterlist

Pairings: JJ Maybank x Reader, Rafe Cameron x Reader

Synopsis: Y/N and JJ have fun in the supply room. Rafe figures out what happened between her and the pogue and he's not happy about it.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), sub!JJ, dom!Reader, oral (f + m receiving), rough sex, semi-public sex, pain kink (slight), unprotected sex (y/n is on the pill), angst, jealous!Rafe in the end

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: Hiii! This part contains JJ smut, followed by jealous Rafe confronting Y/N about his feelings. These crazy kids' journeys are only beginning! As I've said, this series will feature several OBX characters. I hope you enjoy it and do let me know if you like the concept of this series and would like to see more!

My work is my own; it’s not to be copied, transferred or translated (but reblogs are welcome).

Happy reading! 🥰

Wild Summer (Part 3)

"I want you to fuck me so hard I forget my own name. Can you do that?" JJ gulped at her question, the words igniting a fire inside of him.

He could tell she was aching for a distraction over something. He wouldn't judge, he'd done the same thing plenty of times. So he nodded his head and grabbed her face in his hands, crashing his lips against hers.

Their tongues met and he pulled her closer. She tasted of mimosas and smelled like strawberries - it was a delicious combination. Their tongues danced together, battling for domination, neither willing to relent. She bit down on his bottom lip and he groaned. She was wearing him down and he liked it.

"Your wish is my command, princess." He whispered against her lips and she sighed in pleasure as his mouth made it's way down her neck. This was good. This was what she needed.

He left wet, hot kisses over her neck and collar bones, grazing her skin with his teeth, making her tug on his hair in response. She was breathing heavily, her chest moving against his. The thin material of her sundress gave him the opportunity to feel exactly how turned on she was, her nipples hard already. He groaned as he bit down on her shoulder and she gasped at the audacity of his actions. She pulled him off her by his hair, roughly - and he moaned at the feeling. She was so hot when she was pissed off.

He smirked at her and her pupils dilated. He was asking for trouble. Little did he know, she'd deliver more of it than he could imagine. She tugged his hair harder and he groaned, no longer smirking but looking at her in surprise. He was incredibly turned on with her taking control of the situation, his dick straining against his pants painfully.

"You like to be hurt?" She was looking right into his eyes as she posed the question and he gulped at the intensity of it all. He didn't really advertise all his kinks so her reading him like that really shook him. He projected the image of a guy who likes control but nothing got him harder than the idea of being used. Somehow she could see right through him. He wanted her to be rough. Wanted her to fuck him. He needed it so badly he almost begged. But he didn't. He still had his pride after all.

"Are you a subby little boy? Huh?" She was teasing him, both with her words and her movements. She was scratching at the back of his neck and looking at him with dark eyes that made him want to get down on his knees for her.

When he didn't respond she tugged at his hair again, harder, drawing a whimper out of him. "I asked you something." He nodded his head rapidly, too turned on to find his words. "Yes?" "Y-yes." She hummed in response.

She looked him over for a moment, he was panting in anticipation. So hard he wanted to burst. And then she was pushing him down by his head, until his knees hit the floor and he was looking up at her with hungry eyes. "You gonna make me cum, baby?" He nodded, wide eyes, licking his lips in preparation for what's to come.

"Go on then. Better make it good if you wanna cum too." Her words had his eyes rolling back. She was so filthy and it was driving him insane. She widened her legs for him and he didn't need to be told twice, flipping her dress up and diving in head first.

He kissed her thighs and hips until he finally made contact with her panty-clad core. He licked her clit over the cotton fabric and her eyes closed in relief. He was looking up at her, needing to see her reactions, to know just how good he was making her feel. He didn't play around too much, slipping his hands under the band of her underwear and pulling it down her legs quickly. She stepped out of them and he stuffed them into his back pocket, not wanting to waste a second more before tasting her.

He pulled one of her legs over his shoulder and buried his face in her heat, finally giving her the sweet release she'd been craving. He moved expertly on her; licking and sucking on her lips, nudging her clit with his nose, lapping up her excitement eagerly. He was moaning into her pussy as he worked her, and it drove her crazy. The vibrations paired with his ministrations felt so fucking good she wanted to be loud, to reward him. But she couldn't. They were still in his place of work and her family was not 50 feet away, clueless as to what she was getting up to with the bartender. It turned her on so much.

He watched her sigh and pant above him as he ate her expertly, her head falling back against the wall, fingers burying into his hair. His tongue made its way into her heat and she gasped, louder than she intended, causing his cock to twitch. She was biting down on her lip to suppress her moans as he started sucking on her clit right before two fingers made their way deep inside her. And then he was pumping into her, licking and sucking and biting on her clit and she had to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep quiet.

He felt so fucking high on it - seeing the pure pleasure he was bringing her was so hot he could barely stand it. He was louder than her, letting out moans and groans into her pussy as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. He didn't care if someone caught them, didn't care that he'd definitely be fired or even arrested if someone walked in on them. The view of her falling apart for him was all he cared about in that moment.

She started clutching on his fingers and he knew she was close so he picked up speed and force, working her harder, sucking her deeper. And then her nails dug into his scalp and she was shaking and twitching on him. She came so hard that his face was drenched and he wanted to curse at how sexy the whole thing was.

He cleaned her up with his mouth, enjoying the taste for as long as he could while she tried catching her breath, legs feeling like jelly after her climax.

Her eyes opened and she looked down at him - so damn pretty on his knees for her. His face was shiny with her release and it ignited a new fire in her. She pulled him up by his shirt and kissed him. Hard, needy, so turned on they were both struggling to breathe. She tasted herself on his tongue and moaned at the absolutely erotic feeling of it. He was gripping her waist, trying to keep himself together, the whole thing overwhelming his senses.

Her hand cupped him over his pants and he moaned into her mouth. He was so hard it was painful and she decided enough was enough. She made quick work of undoing his pants, pushing them down his thighs and massaging him over his boxers. He was letting out delicious whimpers and moans at her actions and they were making her feel high.

She pulled his underwear down, finally releasing his cock and he wanted to sigh in relief. She looked him over, all panting and flushed and hard for her - so red, tip wet with precum - and she groaned at the sight.

She pulled him back by his hair and kissed his neck as she started pumping him. He was putty in her hands and she was on an adrenaline high. It was so hot, the way he relinquished control to her. So hot she couldn't wait any longer. She rubbed his tip and he whined, causing a smirk to make its way onto her face. So fun to play with. She wanted to drag it out longer but they were on a clock after all, and she really wanted to feel him.

"You're gonna fuck me now. Yes?" He was moaning and nodding, so lost in lust it was hard to find his breath. "Yes?" She repeated and he struggled to find his words. "Ye-yes. Yes." His voice was trembling and it was the sexiest thing.

She wrapped her leg around him, pulling him closer, their cores touching. He was a mess, she was driving him absolutely insane and he didn't mind it one bit.

"Make it hard. I wanna feel you for days." His eyes rolled to the back of his head at her filthy orders. He groaned and nodded, kissing her lips in hopes she won't force him to speak again cause he didn't think he could.

He picked her up, legs wrapped around him, cock pressing into her soaked heat. She leaned half back against the wall and her fingers found their way into his hair again. She loved tugging on it, it was so fun, with his reactions always being so immediate.

He positioned himself at her entrance but before he could push in she pulled his hair to make him look at her. "You don't cum until I say so. Got it?" Fuck, he wanted to cry at how hot that was and how hard it was making him. He didn't think he'd ever been harder in his life.

"Yeah." He mumbled before he pushed inside her. And then they were both letting out desperate pants and low moans, trying so hard to stay quiet but so high on the feeling their self control was slipping.

He was following her orders - fucking her hard and deep, swallowing her moans, squeezing her ass and trying not to pass out from her rough tugs on his hair and the way she clenched around him. It was hot and sloppy and rough and needy and it felt so fucking good. So good that they were both approaching their highs a lot quicker than they expected.

The items on the shelves shook with how hard he was fucking her against the wall. Her nails were digging into his neck and shoulders, drawing groans from deep inside of him. If anyone passed the door they definitely would have known exactly what was going on inside. But they didn't give a shit. It felt too damn good that the risk was worth it.

She started clenching harder, getting closer to the peak and he slipped one hand between them to roughly rub at her clit. That was all it took for her to fall off the edge as she bit down on his shoulder to muffle her screams, her climax rushing through her. It was so intense her eyes rolled back and she was definitely drawing blood with how hard her nails were pressing into his back.

He fucked her through her orgasm, twitching inside her from the intensity of her grip on his cock. He was so pussy drunk he could hardly handle it - so fucking close and he was trying so hard to stay in control, to wait for her say so.

As soon she came down from her high she was pushing him off of her. He was confused at how quickly she jumped down from him, leaving him hard and cold. It didn't take long for him to realize what she was doing as her knees hit the ground and her lips wrapped around his cock. The sight alone had him moaning. Her movements on him having him on the edge in no time.

She was sucking on him so good, tasting her own juices on his dick and moaning around him. He was whimpering with pleasure. She reached down and rubbed his balls and he was right there but she realized he was still holding back. And then she figured out why.

She pulled back, catching her breath. "Cum for me." And as soon as her lips wrapped back around him he did. He came inside her mouth, grunts leaving him as his climax took over and his knees buckled.

He came so hard he felt like he was floating. Her mouth moving on him, working him through his orgasm. It was absolute euphoria. She sucked on him hard, drawing out every last drop until she was sure he was finished. She pulled off of him, opening her mouth to show him his cum swirling in it. He whimpered at the sight - so pornographic he couldn't believe it was happening. And then she swallowed and licked her lips, making sure to get every drop. She licked him clean as his hands against the wall held him upright so he wouldn't fall.

She got up and kissed him, making him taste himself on her tongue and he moaned into her mouth. He swore her middle name must have been Trouble because she was crazy and he loved it.

She pulled away smiling at him, brushing back the hair that fell onto his forehead as they caught their breaths. She was so beautiful he could hardly believe she was real. He found himself smiling too, post orgasm high making them both giddy. She kissed him again, a sweet kiss that almost had him questioning if what just happened was real or if he'd imagined it. But the taste of him on her mouth was more than enough to convince him it was. He moaned into the kiss and she pulled back grinning.

She put her dress back in place and tried to fix her hair with her hands. He was still trying to steady his breathing, just looking at her in awe. She saw him and smirked. That damned smirk that started it all. Trouble.

"You should probably get dressed." She nodded her head down and he realized he was still standing there with his pants down and cock out. He blushed and she laughed reaching down to help him put his underwear back on.

"You're cute when you blush, you know?" She helped him buckle himself back up, his fingers still shaky. His cheeks were bright red now and it was endearing. A simple compliment made him react like that after everything they had just done. Fucking adorable.

She fixed his shirt for him and stood back looking him over, just to make sure he looked presentable enough to go back out into the world. His bow tie was crooked so she reached up to fix it. His eyes were focused on her, too in trance to do anything else but look. Look at this stunning woman in front of him. This filthy, troublesome, beautiful woman.

Her eyes snapped up to see him staring and she cocked a brow. "You're so pretty." She chuckled at his words and kissed his cheek, making him blush all over again. "So are you." She grinned and stepped back, turning round to unlock the door.

His mind finally caught up to him before she managed to turn the handle and he grasped her by the arm, gently. She turned around in question and he pulled her panties from his back pocket handing them to her. She smirked and shook her head leaving him confused.

"Keep 'em. You can give them back to me next time." And with that she opened the door and left him standing there, clutching her underwear, in pure shock over what just happened. Someone passed by the door and he quickly snapped out of it, tucking her panties back into his pocket and fighting off another boner that was quickly starting to form. Trouble.

She passed a mirror on her way back and took a second to fix her appearance. Her cheeks held a healthy flush and she was glowing with that post sex glow. She was sated and feeling happy. But that all came crashing down as soon as she stepped back into the dining hall and reality came flooding back.

Quickly making her way back to her seat, she tried hard not to meet his eye. She could feel his gaze burning into her and she knew - he knew what she'd been up to. And for some reason she felt shitty. She knew she didn't owe him anything. They'd had a one night stand, had no right to each other. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong. She had every right to sleep with whomever and do whatever she wanted.

And yet, the overwhelming guilt bubbling inside of her was claiming different. She felt ashamed and she hated herself for it. For letting him get to her like that. Because it had worked. She hadn't thought of him once when she was with JJ. She felt good and had fun. And she was going to be damned if she let this make her feel bad about herself. No way. She was a grown ass woman, with every right to enjoy herself and she wasn't going to let some guy have that kind of power over her.

Her eyes finally met his. Her resolve clear. She was not letting that guilt make itself at home. She was not some little girl, desperate to belong to a guy. Her plan remained the same; having as much fun as she could this summer before going back to her life and being responsible again.

Rafe could see it in her eyes - she didn't feel bad about it. It seemed for a while like she had, like she was struggling with something in her head. But it seemed she decided not to be bothered about hurting him or making him jealous. And that should have told him that she really didn't care, that she didn't feel the same things he did, that she was done with him. But all it did was make his resolve stronger. He wouldn't accept that, not just like that, not without speaking his piece. Not without showing her just how much he wanted her. Not without trying for her. For them.

He didn't care if she fucked every pogue on the island. He still wanted her. More than he wanted anything in his life. And as much as it hurt, he knew she wasn't in the wrong. He had no right to her, no monopoly. But he wasn't giving up without a fight. He would show her exactly why he was the only one she needed.

Whatever was going on at the table with his friends, Rafe didn't care. Whatever was going on at the table with her family, she didn't care. They were staring at each other, unwilling to relent. As if whoever blinked first admitted defeat. It was perhaps childish and ridiculous but there they were. And the more their eyes stayed on each other's, the more they were both feeling deep inside. The tension, the chemistry, that magnetic pull was still there, as strong as ever. Like it was oxygen in their lungs or iron in their blood. It was undeniable, powerful and real.

Eventually they did break contact, neither knew who it was that blinked first but they were pulled back into conversations at their respective tables, their companions none the wiser of the storms brewing inside of them. And as time passed, they felt the other's eyes on their bodies but they didn't meet again. Not until her family was ready to leave and panic stirred within him. He needed to talk to her. He couldn't just let her leave again without saying anything.

She gave him an intense and calculating look before she spun on her heels and followed her parents out of the club. He jumped up from his seat, leaving Topper and Kelce confused as he made to follow her without a word of explanation. All he could think about was catching up to her. Nothing else mattered.

He hurried out the door of the Island Club and laid eyes on her just as she was unlocking her car. Her parents were still chatting with their associates at a separate vehicle and he took the chance to corner her. He couldn't wait until the next time they accidentally ran into each other. He needed to talk to her now.

He crossed the parking lot in quick strides, reaching her just as she was opening her door. He pushed it closed and she jumped, startled. It took half a second for the scowl to reach her face and he was cursing under his breath. Why did she have to look so god damn adorable while she was mad. While he was mad at her. Fuck!

She stood her ground giving him a look that said - better speak now before I slam this door in your face. She cocked a brow at his dumbstruck expression and silence, rolling her eyes and grabbing the handle again. He grasped her shoulders and turned her around, crowding her against the car with his hands on either side of her.

The breeze blew through her hair and that sweet smell of strawberries and cream invaded his senses making him close his eyes. That damn scent. The same one that had all but disappeared from his pillow from the time they showered together and his hair smelled like hers. He had been breathing it in for two whole days trying to envision her by his side, to pretend she was there. And even though she wasn't, the scent lingered. It drove him insane.

He took a deep breath, forcing his eyes open. She was looking at him with a mix of confusion and excitement running through her veins. He was so close, his warmth enveloping her just like it had that night at the beach. She wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet. Dangerous.

This was exactly why she needed to stay away from him. When he was close she couldn't think straight, she wanted to fall into him and never let go. Which is why him being so persistent was starting to piss her off. She was holding onto her sanity by a thin fucking thread and the more he chased her the closer she was to falling off the edge and crashing into a bottomless pit of feelings, hurt and heartbreak.

She made to push him away, get him out of her personal space, to breathe air that wasn't so infused with him - but he caught her hands against his chest and she didn't have the strength to do it anymore. She wanted to cry. Why couldn't he leave her be? Why couldn't he just move on and let her live in peace? Let her forget and move on from this? It was impossible.

His eyes were desperately searching hers, taking in every freckle on her face. Feeling the warmth of her wrists in his hands, like fire on his skin. He wanted to kiss her so badly his entire body was aching for it. Wanted to drop to his knees and beg her to give him a chance. To cry and hug her and never let go. It was impossible.

"Rafe..." His name leaving her lips sounded like a prayer. He wanted to melt into her right there and then. But she was pushing at him, finally gathering some of her strength.

She managed to push him a foot away and took a breath in hopes she'd feel stronger. But his essence still remained in the air around her, as if mocking her for thinking it would be so easy breaking from his spell. She almost cried - feeling weak and pathetic - like she needed him to hold her and she hated that. Hated feeling like that. So vulnerable, so small.

When she looked up at him her eyes were glossy and his heart clenched at the sight. She was hurting too. He could see it clearly then. She felt something too and she could deny it all she wanted but it was written on her face and the way she held back tears. She was stubborn. So damn stubborn. And so, so beautiful.

He cupped her cheek with one hand and she had to refrain from leaning into his touch. Instead she pulled back and crossed her arms over her chest in hopes of creating a boundary between them. Any kind of safety net between him and her aching heart.

He let his arms fall back at his sides and clenched his fists to keep from touching her. They stood there for what could have been a moment or a century, they couldn't say. Her parents had left without sparing them a second glance and she wasn't surprised but a sliver of anger coursed through her. Now she was alone with him. All alone in this big parking lot with no one to save her from herself. Dangerous.

"I missed you." His words were soft, full of longing and something else she wasn't ready to read into. When her eyes met his again they were eerily empty. No longer on the verge of tears. She was closed up tight like a safe and it left him frustrated. Why did she have to make it all so difficult?

"It's been two days." Her voice was cool, steady, not giving anything away. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for a second." He was putting it out there. It shook her how open and vulnerable he was being, she wasn't used to it. It didn't seem like he was either, given how awkward he looked. But he wasn't holding back. He was being honest. It terrified her because she could feel herself melting and her walls were make believe as it was, she didn't know how much of it she could take.

"It'll pass." There it was. The cut. The only way she knew how to push him away was to make it hurt. And she hated herself for it. Hated the look on his face when she said it. Hated the way he swallowed his pain down. Hated how small he looked while towering over her. Hated it all.

But he wasn't giving up yet. "I don't think so." He closed the gap between them, not quite touching but right there, a breath away. She could feel it. Feel him slipping past her defenses, the facade, making his way inside like a vice taking over her system. It was scary how easily she could feel him inside her chest and heart and she wanted to kiss him. So badly. But it was her head that was desperately trying to grasp the threads that the universe seemed to want to manipulate in his favor - trying to change course, to protect her.

"Give it a few more days." He took a deep breath at that, trying to keep his temper in check. Her feigned indifference was so blatantly obvious and it was making him angry. He was trying so hard. Opening up to her the way he never had with anyone before. So desperately trying to get her to admit she felt something for him too. Just to give him that little bit of hope that he wasn't alone in it. Some fucking silver lining to hold onto.

"You think if I go fuck someone else right now I'll feel better?" She looked like he slapped her. "Do you? Feel better?" She had to swallow down the sting that came with her thinking of him actually moving on with someone else. Took everything in her to convince herself that that was exactly what he should do. He needed to move on and give her a chance to put herself back together. To breathe. To let him go.

"If that's what works, yeah. Fuck me out of your system and you'll be okay." She gave him a fake smile and tried turning around but he pushed her onto the car, trapping her there. "Did it work for you? Hmm?" She gulped at the fire in his eyes and the way he was holding her so tight. "Did he fuck me out of your system?" She was holding back tears now. "Did he? Huh? Are you over me, now?" It hurt so bad to have him so close and so angry at her. So desperate to get her to let her guard down for one second. Just one second.

The way his eyes bore into hers, the way his body was pinning her against the car door, the way his hands were holding her as if she'd disappear if he let go, drove her mad. She could feel every muscle of his straining against her, every ridge of his hard body wired tight from frustration. Frustration at her; how stubborn she was, that pogue touching her, how fucking pretty she was, how good she smelled and how badly he wanted to remind her just how good it was when they were together.

It was like a spark was set alight with both their hurt and anger and it was spreading through every cell in their bodies. That pull, that stubborn, annoying, magnetic pull, making them shake with need and want. The tension at a breaking point. They were both wound up and breathing heavily. Him trying to stop himself from taking her right there. Her trying to stop herself from letting him.

She took a deep breath and shoved him off of her roughly. "Yes." Lie. Big fucking lie. "I am." He could see it. She was lying through her teeth.

"Yeah?" He got in her face again. "You sure about that, angel?" The pet name had her holding back a whimper, his energy so possessive and dangerous and hot. So hot. She wanted to curse her body for betraying her desire. Curse him for being so persistent in reading her like an open book.

"Yes." Her voice shook. Just a little. But enough for him to pick up on. And then he smirked and she knew she was fucked. That damned smirk made the tingles in her heat turn into a burning fire. She was so close to giving in and he knew it. He had her right where he wanted her.

"Yeah? So if I check right now your panties won't be soaked for me? Huh?" His filthy words nearly had her eyes rolling back. She needed to get control of the situation and she needed to do it now.

"No. They won't." The conviction in her voice took him by surprise. He could tell she was just as turned on as he was. So why did she sound so sure of herself?

She used his confusion to her advantage and pushed him off of her again. He didn't protest. Did she mean it? Was he wrong? Was it all in his head? And then her words nearly knocked him on his ass in shock.

"I'm not wearing any." His brain short circuited and he was left gaping at her like an idiot. She took advantage of it and quickly made her way inside her car, closing the door. By the time his brain rebooted she was turning the key in the ignition.

He wanted to stop her, to rip that door open and take her. Bend her over and bury himself inside her until she screamed for him and everyone, including Maybank, knew who she belonged to.

But she was backing up before he could and he was left standing there in the dust, panting, with a hard cock, wanting to scream with anger and arousal.

She knew exactly what she was doing, telling him that. She knew what his reaction would be. Knew it would drive him insane. But she also gave him the confirmation he had so desperately been searching for. She was just as into him as he was her. She was turned on, wet for him. She wanted to throw him off with her smart comment but she gave him exactly what he needed - hope. His resolve was stronger than ever. He was going to make her his. He would fight tooth and nail for her. Put his blood and sweat and tears into making them happen. Because she did feel it. He wasn't alone.

He grinned thinking that if that was how she wanted to play it, he would give as good as he got. He would drive her crazy until she finally accepted her feelings. He wasn't going anywhere. He was hers and she was his. He would make her see it soon enough.

Taglist: if anyone wants to be tagged in future work let me know; @r0und3bitch , @lurkymurker , @tianotfound , @wannabestarkeysgirl , @wishing-i-was-rafes-princess

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ghostinthegallery · 9 months

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I just need everyone to know that I enjoy writing Necrons a *completely normal* amount. And I think about how to write them pretty much the average amount too. Just so we're clear.

But y'all I really like writing for Orikan (and not just because of the banter with Trazyn. That's only like 60% of why)

We went on a journey, him and I. Because I hated his robotic guts for easily 2/3rds of Infinite and the Divine...

In my defense, the scene of him shattering all those ancient ceramics enraged me! I've been going to museums since I could walk. I love art and history! I watch the Great Pottery Throwdown!! He did not start off from a sympathetic place.

But damn it, the bastard grew on me! He's obscenely competent, literally the best at what he does, but that doesn't change the fact that he's essentially a servant to more powerful people and that he is *profoundly lonely*

The thing about a lot of characters who think they are smarter than everyone around them is that they are wrong and usually have an arc about needing to be humbled. Orikan actually is smarter than everyone around him! He runs circles around farseers! He pulls time shenanigans that are considered *impossible* on a semi-regular basis. No one can truly compete with him (well, almost no one, put a pin in that).

Except that means he has no equal, no person he can really relate to, and he's painfully aware of that. Jokes about e-girlfriends aside, meeting Vishani was a dream come true, because she was actually someone Orikan respected, who respected him in return, and who he could talk to like a friend. He got that after waiting millions of years.

Except it was all a lie. The god that damned their people decided to ruin Orikan's day in particular in the most personal way possible.

It's a particularly cruel twist because not only are there no other Necrons for Orikan to consider an intellectual equal, there aren't any he can really TRUST. He warned every single one of them that biotransference would be a disaster and no one listened. Not only that, they forced him to give up his body and soul. He was dragged to the furnaces knowing what was going to happen to him, and it doesn't sound like he's gotten a whole lot of "mea culpas" from anyone.

So yeah, everyone's an idiot, their idiocy cost him his literal soul, and the one time he got the friend he craved it turned out to be an evil star god cosplaying his nerd-crush.

Which is a lot of angst to work with as a writer! And it is fun as hell. There's just one more ingredient that truly elevates this tragedy souffle. Time to take out the pin...

The pin is Trazyn. No one should be shocked by this.

Because the thing is, Orikan *does* have an equal, a counterpart, and someone he can...not trust per se, but at least understand. The only problem is that he does not realize it, because that person is Trazyn. Who Orikan hates. A lot.

Justifiably, to be fair. Trazyn is an asshole (loveable asshole, but still). But more relevantly, Trazyn represents a philosophy Orikan understandably cannot stand. Trazyn represents the past, memory, preservation. None of those things have served Orikan well. Necrontyr society kind of sucked (early deaths to cancer or dying in a war were about the only options). And that was before it fundamentally failed him specifically. Plus, preservation and stasis are anathema to what a chronomancer devotes themselves to being able to do. So yeah, Trazyn may be a genius in his field equal to Orikan, but Orikan does not respect that field, so he can never admit it.

Orikan embodies the "want vs need" principle of character writing. He wants a companion and an equal. He needs to accept that those will not come in the form he expects or even likes. He's nowhere near doing that and it's *deliciously tragic*

How can I not love this hyper-competent, lonely nerd with a tsundere streak and strong motivation to Burn Society to the Ground?

I've been rambling too long, I'm cutting myself off before I start going off about the relationship between Orikan and Imotekh which is admittedly based way less on canon (have they even been in a scene together ever?) and way more my own interpretation and extrapolation.

I'll probably talk about writing other characters too, I love these undead robot idiots to much to shut up

#writing #necrons #orikan the diviner #the infinite and the divine #trazyn the infinite #the silence and the storm #unhinged ramblings #could a depressed person do THIS?#character analysis i guess #i just think they're neat #fanfic

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ferociouslycreativemystery · 6 months

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I just finished the Button House Archives and it's SPECTACULAR. Here are some personal highlights:

I love Alison's additions and comments in lots of places. She is fighting tooth and nail to stay on those hinges, and we love to see a character with spunk!

Mick's facial reconstruction could be the most horrifying thing I have *ever* seen

Mary's bits are some of my absolute favourites. Her speaking/writing voice is just delicious

Pat was just a terrible group leader wasn't he XD the arrow was really just a matter of time. He should have gone orienteering with them first, then he might have lost the kids before they could kill him

HAH I unwittingly picked Kitty's "character quote" to use in my video edit :P I feel validated

Thomas with his painfully literal complaints about other people's poems OMG rip bestie you would have loved tumblr (I haven't listened to the audiobook yet but I swear I can hear his "counted them, did you?" through the page)

I really like the way you can glimpse parts of later documents around the edges of earlier ones (like with Pat's folder, where the layers are removed one at a time, p. 22-23, 40-41, etc)

Hang on, just gotta go put on One Night in Bangkok for Robin (wait, now I need to hear him say that out loud)

Cap's munitions requests and personally penned operations with their TERRIBLE hand drawn maps that he keeps sending to actual Southern Command; I am fascinated by your mind sir. I believe he suffers from the same affliction I had in school where a combination of the dunning-cruger effect regarding general knowledge and teachers not talking to you in person about what you write in hand-ins causes you to just sort of assume everything you do is brilliant and that then it simply disappears into an unknowable void, and therefore you feel basically free to confess to murder in writing without ever thinking of the consequences. Embarrassment and second thoughts are very much face-to-face kinds of emotions (as he. ahem. would come to find out). Like, is written communication even real? Did it ever really leave your head?

Also: his war diaries were published? 1) who chose to publish them and 2) did Havers ever come across them by any chance? (plus: love to see a fellow tiny handwriting person. Cheers!)

The hand lettering on everything is so well made!!! I know a little (heavy emphasis on 'little') about palaeography, and the writing styles are recognisably of their eras, if many of the letter forms have indeed been updated to be readable for modern audiences. Compare for example Arthur Pinhoe's writing from 1575 (p. 8-11) with this actual letter from 1547. Also this actual 1700s writing to Kitty's diary entries from 1779 (p. 70-71 etc). (These samples are in Swedish but minus åäö they're all the same letters.) The writing also follows the pattern of older script being generally more rigid and standardised, while the closer to present day we get the more individual the handwriting becomes, which is a great opportunity for additional characterisation—which has also been very well implemented I think. I'm devouring every page of this, line by line!

REST IN BRIEFS (also the sly tail of the 'y' from the Daily Mail title just visible above the only compassionate headline lmao)

The reason I cannot talk to people is that Fanny's etiquette rules on conversing take over my entire mind from the moment I see another person.

Oh Kitty, I am coming to pick you up—you can be my sister instead of Eleanor's. It was nice to read her final entry though; finally the trick backfired and she got something good out of it while Eleanor suffered. Bieetch.

FANNY. SINCERELY. YOU ARE INSANE. I already knew about the letter where she demands reimbursement for the unsunk 7/8 of the Titanic's journey that she was cheated out of, but to SIGN IT OFF WITH "Would be survisor/victim of the RMS Titanic". Unbelievable.

Pat write a legible word challenge

I have a slight suspicion Julian might have had something to do with the designs for the Boys Adventure Club badges...

The "pictures of the ghosts" will make excellent reference photos for the various rooms, I appreciate them very much (should we make a game out of copying them and filling in the ghosts? There is a lot of potential there)

Humphrey, my guy... do you need a hug? (Sorry.)

FLOOR PLANS FLOOR PLANS FLOOR PLANS THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH I WILL TREASURE THESE WITH MY LIFE

Robin's constellations are impeccable I say we officially replace the zodiac with these no more superstition only bum

Julian's final email was really well written; a single page yet it's oozing with character and story

The behind the scenes pictures at the end are heartwarming. I am slightly alarmed at my ability to pinpoint the precise scene in the specific episode many of them are from though... is it maybe time for a break?

No. Never!

#I did it! I read a book in a day!#not a very wordy book but still. I'm a very slow reader #bbc ghosts #button house archives #maddie's ghosts tag

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payphoneangel · 5 months

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Vinny's Fic Recs

I love reading it, I love writing it, I love talking about it! So, I thought I'd put a few fics here that never leave my brain so they might infect others <3.

my lead to blow by amidsizedfrog A 9x07 coda where we follow Dean's journey as he makes his first friend and joins the wrestling team. This fic is deliciously bittersweet. It rides the line of joy and fear that comes from being young, having a connection with someone, but being unsure if they're a friend... or something more.

well everybody's got a secret, sonny by luminoussbeings Short and sweet, a s1 ficlet in which Dean and Sam have an argument where they each think the other is being homophobic, only to realize they're both queer.

not with a bang but with a yelp by strange_estrangement What if the brothers used Yelp? More of a multi-media project, this is a look at some of the motels throughout the series showcased by the brothers (along with a few guests) leaving yelp reviews. It's imaginative and out-of-the-box, and features some fun tfw teasing!

iCarlynatural by Sequesters The title speaks for itself.

ad astra per aspera by jeremycarver THEE Stanford Era Dean one-shot. This fic scooped out my insides, painfully and lovingly. It's understated, atmospheric, and just brimming with heart. If you've ever wondered what it feels like to get swallowed up the the vast, aching loneliness of the US Midwest, this is it.

Until the Breaking of the Day by Dira Sudis (dsudis) A destiel fic from the classical era (2009). Intimate, electric, and theological, this fic finds Dean and Cas postulating the age-old question: If you're resurrected from the dead... do you stay circumcised?

John Dies at the End by Kalliel An exploration of an alternate season 2 timeline. This fic is psychological, intense, and heartbreaking. Here's my favorite three lines, which make up the entirety of chapter 6: "Here's a secret: Sam knows Dean's always been a little afraid of him. Sam, after all, had the power to leave him.

Dean's not even a ghost, and his absence still feels vengeful."

Go check them out! Leave a kudos! Leave a comment! Make a fic rec yourself!! Happy reading <3

#vinny types #fic recs #I left out a lot of the fics i like bc theyre super popular and I wanted to highlight some stories that i think deserve more love #thats why i only have like one destiel fic on here lmao

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peterrefur · 17 days

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The days we knew ⅏ Wilbur Soot x GN!Reader

Summary: Wilbur returns from Limbo. Reader reminisces about L'Manberg. Wilbur visits Reader's restaurant, and they recognize each other. Notes: Hey Mate!!! I’m Peter and I say right away that English is not my first language. I’m curious to hear your opinion about this work in the comments! Enjoy!

I am trying to get back to writing after a long break. This story is not the pinnacle of my abilities, but it is the beginning of my return to writing.

𝒲hispers and rumors spread like wildfire about his return from hell. A hell that he referred to as Limbo .

𝒜ccording to tales, this was where every soul must journey after departing from the mortal world, each Limbo tailored to the individual's experiences and memories. Some say his Limbo took the form of an endless underground metro system, with never-ending tunnels and trains that always arrived at the same station no matter how many times he boarded them.

𝐻is screams were said to be so deafeningly loud and relentless that they would echo through the night and linger for weeks, until he inevitably started screaming anew upon waking. Each scream was like a violent eruption from his chest, tearing at his vocal cords until blood filled his throat and spilled from his lips. His cries were like a tortured symphony, haunting and unyielding, they painted a picture of his anguish as a tortured symphony, echoing through the corridors of his mind long after reality had fallen silent. His knuckles, once sturdy bastions of strength, now lay bare, stripped down to the bone by the unyielding assault against the harsh concrete wall. The bones beneath threatened to breach the surface, a grim testament to his unwavering resolve. Deep furrows marred his palms, etched by the relentless barrage, a stark reminder of his unending battle. Deep grooves crisscrossed his palms from the repeated beatings, leaving behind a permanent reminder of his struggles. His nails, once neat and trimmed, were now jagged and torn off in places from desperate attempts to claw his way out. They bent backwards, painfully pulling away from the fleshy tips of his fingers.

𝐹or years, he had drifted in and out of sleep, unsure if he was truly awake or trapped in the never-ending purgatory of Limbo. He had grown accustomed to the unchanging landscape of darkness and despair, where hunger and pain were constant companions. But eventually, he came to the realization that this was an eternal torment - a hell without end. No matter how much he struggled or what he did, death would not release him from this cursed existence. His only escape was to endure and hope for some sort of redemption beyond this bleak realm.

𝒩o respite, no escape - just an unending abyss of torment.

𝒜t least that's what they say in town when Reader goes to get groceries from their quaint little restaurant. They fondly remember the days when their establishment was nestled within the borders of L'Manberg, a place where soldiers sought refuge after grueling battles and found comfort in the hearty soups and flavorful dishes they cooked up. Aromas of savory herbs and spices wafted through the air as customers eagerly awaited their meals, their spirits lifted by the warm atmosphere and delicious food.

The memories flood back to them as they recall the prestigious guests who frequented their restaurant. The elegant President of L'Manburg himself had made special visits for diplomatic meetings, seeking the comfort and privacy of their establishment. And they always made sure to serve him their nationally famous dish - Noodles with meat. The aroma alone was enough to make mouths water - a rich, savory broth simmered for hours, perfectly cooked hand-prepared noodles that they could tell were ready just by the color and texture, tender pieces of pork carefully placed on top. But it wasn't just about the taste - the presentation was just as important. Carrots, chives, and other fresh garnishes adorned the bowl, along with a sprinkling of sesame seeds and a dollop of fiery chili paste for those who dared.

𝒯his dish had become synonymous with significant events in the history of this young country, and the Reader couldn't help but feel proud knowing their humble restaurant played a part in shaping its culture and identity.

A very pleasant past that Reader misses. They remember those times with a smile.

𝐻owever, amidst the comfortable thoughts in their mind, there are also haunting memories of Pogtopia. They can still feel the weight of poverty and fear that shrouded their daily life like a thick fog. The memories of living in the canyon for what seemed like endless months flood back to them. Yet, as they try to recall the time frame, it all becomes a blur, the days and years blending together into one hazy period of turmoil. Such is the impact that time had on their memories of that place.

𝒯he unrelenting grip of poverty, the constant gnawing fear of death, the monotonous routine of preparing potatoes day after day. They had so many potatoes that they ate them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, struggling to find new ways to cook them - boiled, roasted over a fire, mashed into a purée.

𝐵ut in the end, they always seemed to give up and serve them simply boiled. The bland aroma of boiling water filled their small ravine 'kitchen', as they resigned themselves to yet another meal of plain potatoes.

𝐼t was a reminder of their meager existence, a symbol of their struggle to survive.

𝒟espite not having a large customer base, they relish every opportunity to cook for someone and bring joy to their day. The thought of someone not having to worry about food at home and being able to come to them for a satisfying meal fills there with a sense of purpose. For a small fee, they serve up bowls of steaming noodles or simple dishes that they customize to each person's liking. The aroma of herbs and spices wafts through the air, enticing passersby to stop and sample their cooking. Their humble kitchen is filled with warmth and welcoming energy, creating a haven for anyone in need of a comforting meal.

As they enter the kitchen, their arms laden with fresh produce, they quickly tie a crisp white apron around their hips. They waste no time in placing the vegetables on the counter and rinsing them under a steady stream of cool water. With practiced efficiency, they pull out a large mixing bowl and various containers to store the ingredients. The cutting board is carefully wiped down, its surface gleaming beneath the bright kitchen lights. They run a hand over its smooth surface before grabbing their sharp knife and getting to work.

𝒲ith a practiced hand, they reach for their favorite knife, its blade catching the sunlight and gleaming as they slice through the ripe tomato with precise movements. The crisp skin gives way easily and the sweet scent of the fruit fills the air as they carefully carve an even chunk and place it into the container. Moving on to the cucumbers, they expertly cut them into perfect strips, each one identical to the next, before adding them to the growing collection of vegetables in the container. Each ingredient is selected with care, from the vibrant red peppers to the deep green kale leaves and bright orange carrots. Finally, they add to earthy mushrooms their spongy texture completing the colorful array of ingredients that will soon become their customers' daily dishes. As they work, a sense of pride and satisfaction fills their heart, knowing that these fresh and carefully prepared vegetables will bring joy and nourishment to those who eat them.

𝒲ith the grace and ease of someone who has spent years perfecting their craft, they carefully wash their sharp knife before deftly cutting into the succulent meat. Every slice is deliberate and precise as they expertly remove any unwanted bones and gristle. The stray cat that frequents their restaurant in the evening is the only customer who doesn't have to pay, so they always set out a small plate for it in appreciation. It's become a familiar routine, just like the comforting scent of freshly cooked meat that lingers in the air of their cozy establishment.

𝒜s the ten o'clock hour strikes, Reader interrupts their preparations and goes to the front door and pulls down the wooden covers that protect their glass window, with a sign that Tommy, one of the former members of L'Manberg, painted a few years ago. Reader opens the door wide and lets fresh air into the small room, which seats less than ten people.

𝒜s the clock strikes ten, Reader pauses their preparations and strides to the front door with determination. They slide down the wooden covers that protect their glass window, adorned with a hand-painted sign by Tommy, one of the former members of L'Manberg. The aged paint peeling off reveals glimpses of vibrant colors from years past. With a firm grip, Reader pulls open the door, allowing a gust of cool air to sweep inside the small room. A cozy space, barely enough to seat ten people comfortably. The scent of fresh air intermingles with the comforting aroma of food and freshly brewed tea.

𝒯heir days pass, every so often consumed by thoughts and doubts of the rumors swirling about the resurrection of L'Manburg's President. Memories flood her mind- of the ravine where he had stood, surrounded by his people, pleading for them to stop calling him President. They remember the look of despair and desperation on his face, a stark contrast to the once hopeful and confident leader he used to be. The transformation he underwent is etched in their mind, from a man filled with eager ambition and hope to one broken and desolate by the loss of his country. It's a haunting image that lingers in their thoughts, a poignant reminder of what once was and what could have been. As they reflect on these memories, they can't help but feel a sense of sadness and disillusionment for the fallen leader and his shattered dreams.

—

𝒜s the time for cleaning up arrived, Reader moved with swift and precise efficiency. Their movements were like a choreographed dance, each step executed with perfect control and purpose. Without a moment of hesitation or uncertainty, they sorted through the items on the table, placing them carefully on the cat's plate or in the rubbish bin. It was as if they had been programmed for this task, carrying it out flawlessly like a well-oiled machine. The clink of dishes and rustling of paper filled the air as Reader worked, their focused expression never faltering. They were masters at their craft, turning chaos into order with each calculated movement. With a sense of accomplishment, Reader stepped back from the neatly organized items in front of them. Their duties were complete, each task executed with precision and attention to detail. A satisfying feeling of completion washed over there, leaving a smile on their face as they surveyed their flawless work. It was as if each item had found its rightful place, creating a symphony of order and efficiency.

𝒲ith a poised and graceful step, the owners of the charming restaurant emerged from their kitchen, their faces glowing with a warm smile. In one hand, they carried a delicate plate, its contents arranged in an artful display that could rival any high-end eatery. The scent of spices and herbs wafted through the crisp autumn air, drawing in any nearby feline companions. Each carefully selected ingredient had been placed with precision, creating a feast not only for the senses but also for the palate of any fortunate cat.

As they walked towards their favorite spot outside the restaurant, a small cat curled up under their legs and wrapped its tail around their thighs in grateful contentment. It was clear that this furry companion held a special place in their heart for providing it with nourishment every evening.

𝒯he frigid and forbidding darkness of the night hung heavy, engulfing everything in its path. The cold air prickled at their skin, heightening their senses as they gazed upon the lone figure standing in front of their restaurant. His silhouette loomed large against the dimly lit street, casting a daunting shadow that seemed to swallow up everything around it. The glowing moon above served as a watchful guardian, its silvery light bathing his features in an eerie glow. His intense gaze locked theirs, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still as they stood alone in this deserted city.

𝐻is voice cut through the silence, sharp and forceful. "Are you open?" he demanded, his words like shards of ice in the stillness of the night.

The man's appearance is strikingly unkempt, emitting an aura of poverty and potential homelessness. His hair, a mass of shoulder-length brown curls, appears tangled and greasy, with strands protruding in all directions. Among the chaos, a solitary white strand stands out conspicuously, almost luminous against the disorder. It's as if he's aged a decade overnight. His eyes, bloodshot and encircled by a rim of red, convey a sense of sleeplessness that spans days. The profound, dark circles beneath his eyes surpass any exhaustion I've witnessed, even among the most fatigued hybrids or humans.

𝐻e dons a tattered yellow jumper, its fabric worn thin and punctuated by tears. Draping loosely over his shoulders, a patched coat, once a lively brown, now bears the weight of dirt and grime, concealing any semblance of its former vibrancy. Wrapped around his arm, a bandage, tainted with a red hue, poses a mystery—blood or perhaps wine? Despite the neglect evident in his attire, one detail stands out: his trousers, meticulously pressed, hint at a pride in appearance amidst adversity. Yet, they're juxtaposed with scuffed and grimy shoes, evidence of a journey endured with little regard for appearance.

"Unfortunately, it has just closed," Reader says with a warm smile, their gesture directed towards the now darkened restaurant front. "But fear not, for I will be open again at 10 tomorrow morning." As they speak, they absent-mindedly pet the purring cat perched on the counter, savoring its meal of freshly prepared food. "The only customer being served now is this cat. You don't look like a cat, I'm sorry," they add, their hands gently stroking the animal as it enjoys its feast.

At this, the man chuckles and responds, "I may not look like a cat, but I wouldn't mind meowing or snuggling up to your leg if it means getting some of that delicious food," he laughs. "I wish I could help you," Reader says with a chuckle, "But I'm afraid my only clients after hours are of the feline persuasion."

𝒯he man's hearty laughter echoed through the street, blending in with the soft purring of the cat. The tension from earlier seemed to dissipate, replaced by an ease that felt strange but also comforting. "Fair enough," he said, smiling at the Reader. "I think I'll have to find another place then." "Just down the road there's an all-night dinner," they offered. They pointed towards the end of the street where a neon sign flickered intermittently. "They should still have something warm for you." "Thanks," he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine gratitude. He turned to leave before hesitating and turning back towards Reader "Do you remember cooking noodles with meat in L'Manberg?"

𝑅eader paused, a flicker of surprise passing across their face. Their eyes, which had been warm and inviting, cooled as they studied the man before there. "Why would you ask me that?" they said, their voices betraying a touch of guarded curiosity.

The man gave a rueful smile. "It's a memory I've carried for years," he admitted with an odd sort of vulnerability, his gaze never leaving their face. "A chef who cooked the most delicious noodles with meat in L'Manberg." Their faces softened as they listened to him, their initial wariness fading into curiosity. "That was a long time ago," they finally said, more to themselves than to him. He nodded slowly. "Yes, it was," he conceded. "But for some reason, those noodles have always stuck with me. I suppose...I've been looking for them ever since."

𝒜 silence descended upon them then, as they each absorbed what had been said - and perhaps what hadn't been said too. The cat finished its meal and hopped off the counter, brushing against Reader's leg before slipping out into the night. "Have we met?" Reader said finally. Their voices were soft but resolute. "Yeah..." he says and puts his hands in his pockets "I'm the one who let you open the restaurant and was the first to eat those noodles." says the man, at which Reader takes two steps backwards and only now in the man does they recognize the former President of L'Manburg.

"Mr President..." whispers Reader.

The man's expression softened at their recognition, a hint of nostalgia flickering in his eyes. "Please, just call me Wilbur," he said, his voice carrying a note of sincerity. Reader's mind raced with memories of their time together in L'Manburg, the moments of camaraderie and hardship they had shared. They couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion at the sight of him standing before them, a stark reminder of the past they had tried so hard to leave behind. "I never thought I'd see you again," they admitted, their voices barely above a whisper. "Not after everything that happened."

𝒲ilbur's face took on a serious expression; his eyes seemed to be searching the ground for answers. "I understand," he spoke in a hushed tone. "Being brought back to life is just as shocking for me as it is for others.”

Reader paused, gazing at their small restaurant with its quaint decor. "If you'd like, Mr. President - Wilbur, I believe I can whip up some delicious noodles with savory meat for you. However, it may take a bit of time." A small, genuine smile graced Wilbur's lips at Reader's kind offer, the corners of his mouth turning up as if pulled by invisible strings. "I would be delighted," his bright brown eyes shone with gratitude, reflecting the warmth in his voice as he replied, a hint of nostalgia woven into his words.

𝒲ith a graceful sweep, Reader disappeared into the kitchen to prepare their meal. Wilbur followed, sinking into a plush chair at one of the empty tables. His mind wandered back to the days when L'Manburg was a bustling nation, overflowing with life and possibility. Memories rushed in like a powerful river, each one bringing a flutter of nostalgia and longing as he waited patiently for the mouth-watering aroma of food to permeate the air once more. He could almost taste the rich flavors and feel the warmth radiating from the kitchen as Reader worked their magic.

𝒯he kitchen was alive with a symphony of sounds, as Reader moved with dancer-like grace and purpose. The clinking of pots and pans echoed through the air, each utensil playing its own instrumental part in the culinary orchestra. The scent of simmering broth, infused with aromatic spices, filled Wilbur's senses, wrapping him in a warm and comforting embrace that made his stomach growl with anticipation. It was like being enveloped in a cloud of savory goodness, beckoning him closer to the source of its alluring aroma. After spending years in the desolate realm of Limbo without any sustenance, the mere scent of these noodles sent a wave of hunger crashing over him. He could practically taste the savory broth and chewy strands as if they were right in front of him. The aroma was so enticing, he felt like he could devour liters of it without hesitation.

𝒜s Reader emerged from the warm, bustling kitchen with a steaming bowl of noodles in hand, Wilbur's eyes met theirs with a mixture of admiration and longing. The aroma of savory broth and freshly cooked noodles wafted through the air, enticing his senses. As he took the first bite, the flavors exploded on his palate, each mouthful a symphony of tastes that transported him back to simpler times. With every swallow, he could taste the heart and soul that Reader had poured into the dish. "You have truly outdone yourself," Wilbur exclaimed between bites, his eyes never leaving Reader's face as if trying to convey his gratitude and appreciation through their locked gaze.

𝒯he words hung heavy in the air, thick with disbelief and awe. "I was at your funeral," Reader's voice trembled as they took a seat in the chair next to Wilbur. "And now I'm serving you noodles." The steam from the hot meal rose and mingled with their breath, a surreal scene unfolding before them. "You really have been revived," Reader marveled at the miracle of Wilbur's return from death. "Believe me, you're not the only one having trouble adjusting to this." Wilbur says between mouthfuls of steaming noodles. He pauses to take a deep breath, then continues with a tinge of gratitude in his voice, "But thanks to my hero I am back alive. Dream." He lifts his bowl up in a gesture of gratitude towards Dream, who is now behind bars in prison. Reader can sense the tension and unease between Wilbur and Dream.

𝐼t's clear that something has changed between them, something that Reader doesn't quite understand or enjoy witnessing.

𝒯he word fell from Reader's lips with a bitter tone, carrying with it the weight of past struggles and disappointments. The mere mention of "Dream" conjured up a flood of negative memories - the root cause of L'Manberg's seemingly endless problems. "Dream? Eh, Wasn't he perhaps enemy number one in L'Manberg?” Reader asks.

𝒲ilbur's gaze darkened at the mention of Dream's name, a storm brewing in his eyes. "Yes, he was," Wilbur admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and betrayal. "But he was also the one who brought me back from the Limbo." The conflicting emotions within Wilbur were evident in his tense posture and furrowed brow. Reader could sense the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface, the unresolved issues and complicated history between Wilbur and Dream hanging heavily in the air. "I know it's hard to understand," Wilbur continued, his voice softer now, laced with a hint of sadness. "But things are never as black and white as they seem, especially in a place like L'Manberg." He took another bite of noodles, the warmth of the broth offering a momentary distraction from the weight of their conversation.

𝑅eader watched Wilbur closely, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together in their minds. Despite the tension between them, Reader couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Wilbur. The weight of expectations and responsibilities had taken its toll on him, leaving behind scars that ran deep.

𝑅eader smiles and refills the broth in Wilbur's noodles.

"It's good to have you back."

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #mcyt wilbur #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #wilbur mcyt #wilbur soot fic #wilbur soot #wilbur x you #wilbur post #wilbur soot x y/n #Reader #revivebur x Reader #revivebur x you #mcyt x Reader #revivebur fic #revivebur

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endwersed · 3 months

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messy draft monday

Tagged by the ever wonderful @dear-massacre 💖

Sharing a little more of my secondary WIP, the lie is beautiful, today!

The journey up the stairs is messy, uncoordinated, and they pause more than once so that Derek can press Stiles up against a wall and kiss him breathless, kiss him stupid. He grabs at one of Stiles’ thighs and lifts it up to wrap around his waist, slotting their hips together in a way that makes Stiles keen, clutching desperately at Derek’s shoulders and kissing back with everything he’s got.

When they finally reach the top step, still completely wrapped up in one another, they stop. A quiet moment passes between them as they stand, stilled, in the stretching hallway.

Behind the doorway just in front of them, Jake sleeps on. Painfully, awkwardly, horribly, they are both aware of the two paths from here. One way, leading to Stiles’ bedroom. The other, leading to the bedroom that Derek shares with his wife.

They are no longer kissing. Derek has his forehead resting on Stiles’ shoulder, staring down at the patch of carpeted floor between their feet. This could be where they stop, Stiles thinks. This could be where sense prevails.

Instead, he runs gentle fingers down Derek’s arm until he can slip their hands together.

“This way,” he says quietly.

Derek lets himself be tugged in the right direction easily, returning to Stiles’ mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world as they make their way quickly down the hall. Stiles’ bedroom is still a bit of a mess from earlier as they tumble under the archway, and Stiles uses the time it takes for Derek to carefully set the baby monitor on top of the dresser to kick a pile of discarded clothes underneath the bed.

There’s a little more distance between them, now; a little more space for thinking. Derek stands a few paces away, his breathing heavy and his hair mussed, clothes wrinkled from Stiles’ wandering hands. He looks downright fucking delicious, truth be told, and Stiles’ fingers flex at his sides with the ache to reach out and touch, his tongue darting out to wet his puffy lips.

Derek’s gaze darkens a moment before he begins to stalk closer. Stiles winds his arms around Derek’s neck the instant he’s close enough, breath hitching when Derek’s hands slot against his hipbones beneath his shirt, so warm against his bare skin as their chests bump together.

“This is a bad idea,” Derek says.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees quietly.

A kiss pressed to the edge of Stiles’ mouth; the height of his cheekbone.

“We should stop.”

The flat of a tongue over the hammering pulse in his neck; a mark sucked under the hinge of his jaw.

“Yeah.”

Teeth grazing up the column of his throat; biting down lightly on his earlobe.

“Do you want this?”

Derek staring directly into his eyes. Stiles staring right back.

“Yeah.”

A tiny, upward tick at one corner of Derek’s mouth. There for just a moment before Stiles dives forward to lick it away.

#sterek #my fic #i so want to be done with college baseball au so i can jump back to this wip but it just keeps growing and growing #so close! yet so far!

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starvels · 9 months

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SteveTony Reclist: Road-Trips

@stevetonygames 2023 team future. challenge: camouflage. a reclist in the style of the inspiring @carsonian ! (thanks for your fun reclisting haha)

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A Long Road To Share [FANART] by SirSapling

Summary:

After 50 years in the ice and a couple exhausting years leading the Ultimates, Steve realises he isn't quite sure he knows anything about the new modern America he's supposed to represent. Luckily, Tony has an idea how to show him.

Notes:

such a sweet hopeful look at ults in the future! the landscape is warm and so is my heart. this comic encapsulates the road trip vibes in its scenery, colors and soft focus on steve and tony discussing believing in each other.

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After the Devil is Gone by Ironlawyer

Summary:

When Steve leaves to travel the country on his bike, Tony comes with him. But Steve is not ready to face those particular demons yet.

Notes:

CW for noncon offscreen. a super sharp desolate view of steve's 616 roadtrip, this fic aches to its core! the things it doesn't have to say ring so loudly and painfully across the text.

Are we satellites? by starvels

Summary

In between sunrises on the road, Steve is speaking, eating, stepping into diners to save people like coming back to his childhood home. And Tony, Tony is watching him. Tony is relearning being awake. - A cross country roadtrip where Steve and Tony find the typical American town, a fuckton of trees and finally, finally, find the right questions to ask each other.

Notes: a self rec! this is an ode to winding american roads, the trauma and aches of being a superhero, the longing that comes with being in love with your best friend, and both steve and tony being the little spoon.

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BACK IN BLACK!! Eyes on the road Tony… [FANART] by @shaggybeetle

Summary:

MCU roadtrip featuring sing alongs to blaring music, delicious snacks and a phone ready to topple off the dashboard

Notes:

what a style! what a scene! steve and tony jamming out is so fun and they both look so at peace and ready to dig into vacation. great atmospheric details like trees through the windows!

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Flight of Icarus by Missy_dee811

Summary:

“Tony,” said Kamala, hurried. “I loaded up some music to give you a little boost,” she said. “Oh no,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t worry,” she added. “It’s not mine.” He smiled. I knew I liked you. She wished him luck. He thanked her, though he didn’t believe in luck. He had one try, one try to get it right. She was counting on him, they all were. It felt good to be needed. It felt good to be useful. All these years, he had wanted nothing more. He couldn’t fail now. Not again. [Written for Lights On Park Ave - Round 13.]

Notes:

a marvel avenger's video game rec! a wistful retrospective of tony dealing with the loss of steve, flipping through memories like a photo album, topped with a reunion cherry!

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the honeymoon suite by CapnShellhead

Summary:

Wade Wilson is getting married and he's assembling a team to get him to Vegas for his bachelor party. Requiring a team with a special set of skills, he asks Wolverine, Spider-Man, Special Agent Preston and Captain America to come along. Steve decides this would be a wonderful opportunity to fix a rift between him and an old friend.

Notes:

a thoroughly enjoyable 30k 616-verse fic based in an oft-overlooked moment in canon featuring delights such as: bed sharing! team fight scenes! wistful conversations! snark! accidentally thinking of your crush while jerking off!

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On the Road We Find the Journey Home by navaan

Summary

In the Aftermath of Secret Empire, Steve goes on his Road Trip to find out who Captain America can be after Hyda!Cap put fear into the hearts' of the people who used to cheer for him. His thoughts trail back to Tony.

Notes:

follows 616 canon for steve's post-hydra road trip gives this fic the opportunity to have steve connect genuinely to things in a way that reminds us all why we love cap. the end pay-off is good and the writing is so very even keel and wonderfully paced.

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somewhere along the oregon coast by Marvellous

Summary:

Tony stared at the door of the coffee shop they’d pulled up to, watching multiple people come and go. He crossed his arms and laughed to himself, “How much do you want to bet he’s having a very in depth conversation right now?” A deep but agreeable woof sounded from the backseat of the car.

Notes:

small and sweet like a little dessert! a tale of a pup and a love so warm it melts your heart to look at it. sometimes, it is that easy.

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ride (with) me [FANART] by wingheads

Summary:

kobik brought steve back. tony woke up from a coma. a road trip seems like a good place to start some reacquaintance. square filled: e1 motorcycle lol i really wanted that stevetony roadtrip in 2018 bc it had been a long time ?? since steve and tony were together where steve isn't old (i love old man steve btw) or evil and tony isn't in a coma or an ai. etc. etc. inspired by steve's road trip.

Notes:

a vibrant scene of steve and tony on their way to reconcile some loving feelings, complete with a gorgeously detailed motorcycle. the vibes here are so picturesque and the pose is so sweet.

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You Go Up Instead of Down [FANART] by MissionCritical

Summary:

This is set in the universe of the 1966 Marvel Superheroes cartoons (Earth-600026). Only two years ago, Iron Man and the original Avengers discovered Steve, frozen and floating in the Arctic Ocean, and rescued him. It's been rough for Steve, adjusting to this new world, but he has a lot of support -- from two people in particular. Tony Stark is brilliant, handsome, and a generous benefactor to the team. He's even given Steve a place to live in his own actual mansion! Steve doesn't really understand why, but it's clear Mr. Stark is good man, devoted to helping the Avengers. And then there's Iron Man, who has quickly become Steve's best friend, Iron Man is brave, and determined, and just a terrific teammate. He's given Steve the thrilling experience of flying into battle by riding on his back! And in that gleaming suit of armor, Iron Man always has Steve's back. Steve is Iron Man's biggest fan.

Note:

a delightful lil glimpse into a fun, small universe, this edit is such a delight to experience! we all need a little more flying steve in our lives, don't we?

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go forth: stevetony beans, greens, potatoes, you name it! and give these treats the resounding kudos/comment/retweet/reblog chomps they deserve!

#:))))))#fic rec #my talk #stevetonygames #stevetony games 2023 #stevetony #fic blogging #my recs

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