#I refuse to work on this for another second lmao | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ssour-apathyy · 5 months ago

Text

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ fangs and forgiveness

vampire!vi x vampire!caitlyn x vampire hunter! reader, detailed descriptions of violence, blood, fighting, death (not reader or caitvi), use of y/n, reader is referred to as daughter

word count; 3,949

summary; as a vampire hunter hot on the trail of your latest catch, you meet two "monsters" who change your world view forever

a/n; i think that i mayhaps got a little carried away with this one LMAO. thank you to the anon who made this request, i had a lot of fun writing this one. sorry if the ending feels a little rushed, i had no idea how to put it WITHOUT turning it into an even longer mess

The ground was cold and damp against your skin. The harsh asphalt rubbing through your aged jeans where you sat, stoking the makeshift fire in front of you.

In the distance, you could see the small hamlet that you had been sent to investigate. A quaint, isolated place with a population of less than 100, dwindling as of late. People were disappearing, only to turn up again a few days later in some back alley as nothing but skin wrapped around bones, without a drop of blood in their bodies.

A vampire, naturally.

It was nothing new to you, having been in the game for years. Your father and his father, and so-on and so-forth, had all been vampire hunters. It was a tradition supposed to be carried on by the men in your bloodline, but you had so graciously thrown a spanner into the works when your mother had given birth to a girl.

You had a chip on your shoulder and something to prove. So, if nothing more than to spite the man who said you couldn't, you became the most decorated hunter in your family's history. A shelf within your home lined with large glass jars, each filled to the neck with fangs. One fang from every vampire you cleansed from the earth, as physical evidence of your successes.

Even then, it wasn't good enough. You were acutely aware that nothing you did would be good enough for him, for the simple fact that it wasn't a son. But still, you persisted, because you refused to give him the satisfaction of actually ruining the tradition.

So here you sat, on the ground that had recently been rained on, in the damp dark of the night air, waiting. The routine was always the same. Never, ever, enter the settlement at night. Wait, and watch. And once the vampire makes its move, as will you.

── ⟢

It will never cease to surprise you how loud a human can actually scream. The second that the shrill sound echoes over the surrounding land, you're up and moving.

You close your eyes, take a breath, and let your ears guide you. Accustomed to the tell-tell sounds; the snap of bones, the tear of skin and the suckling of the blood leaving their body, it's no time at all before you find yourself peering around the corner of a house to gaze upon the monster you're hunting.

With another steadying breath, you reach inside of your coat to grip the wooden stake tightly, slowly advancing towards the creature. It stills, waiting for a moment before detaching its mouth from the victim and unceremoniously dropping them to the floor with a squelch. It slowly turns its head, snarling at you over its shoulder.

In a blink and you'll miss it moment, it lunges. You drop to the floor and roll to the side, avoiding the vampire with expertise as you spring back up, fingers tightening around the stake as you drive it forward towards the creature's chest.

Too slow.

Clawed fingers seize your wrist and twist hard, causing white hot pain to flare up your arm as the stake clatters to the ground. Before you can think, it slams you into the wall of the house, the bricks crumbling as the impact steals the breath from your lungs. Its claws move to grasp your jaw, pressing you further into the building with a snarl— flashing its fangs as it leans in, rancid breath hot against your face.

Your free hand slips a smaller stake from your sleeve, and you drive the tip into the chest cavity. It stumbles backwards, releasing its hold on you as you drop to the floor with a sharp gasp. It looks down at the small stick poking out of its body, and grasps onto it with both hands, slowly removing the wood.

It's a small distraction, but it's enough for you to unbutton the sheath on your thigh and grasp your machete, the silver blade glinting in the moonlight. As the wood clatters to the ground and the creature looks up at you, you swing.

The sound of your sharp, shallow pants is all that fills your ears as you watch the headless creature slump over in front of you. You take the moment to compose yourself before you wipe the blade clean on your leg, slipping it back into it's sheath.

The head had landed by a nearby shrub, and you collect it by holding onto one of the pointy ears, carrying it back over to the body. Propping it up against your thigh and holding it in place with your hand, you retrieve the pliers that you keep in a small pouch on your belt. Lifting the upper lip reveals the monster's most prized asset, and the jagged grips of the tool slots over the fang perfectly. With a grunt, you twist and pull, freeing it with a pop.

"Oof, that's gotta hurt."

The head drops to the floor with a thud as you whip around to where the voice came from, quickly slipping both the fang and the pliers back into your pouch. As your gaze settles on two women peeking around the wall of another nearby house, you squint.

Even in the dark of the night, you can see the un-natural red hue of their eyes, and your hand settles on the handle of your machete once again.

The shorter one, who likely realises she gave away their position, winces as she sees they've been spotted. The taller of the two steps out from their hiding spot, eyes dragging over you slowly. "You're hurt" she says matter-of-factly as her gaze settles on your arm, the blood dripping from your fingertips steadily.

"Don't think for a second that gives you an advantage" you retort, voice tight. In all honesty, alarm bells are ringing in your head. Your injured arm is too weak to help, you're still winded from the impact against the wall, and there's two of them. You have no chance of getting out of this, but you've been raised better than to back down.

She raised her hands up, palms facing towards you in surrender, as she takes a tiny step forward. "Relax. We don't want to hurt you, right Vi?"

The other one — Vi — slowly steps out from around the corner, mimicking the blue haired girl's body language as she joins her. "Right. We aren't like he was" she states, tilting her head towards the twist of limbs in front of you. "We don't hurt humans."

You scoff, the action causing the lack of air to catch in your throat and send you into a coughing fit. It's shallow and wheezy, and you curse yourself for showing weakness. "Bullshit—" you grit out between clenched teeth, grip tightening on the handle of the blade. "Goes against your nature."

"Maybe—" the taller one starts, voice as calm as a lake. "But something tells me standing here and talking to us, rather than swinging that blade, is against yours."

You don't reply, don't move a muscle as your eyes flit between the two. They don't look like any other vampires you've seen before. Almost too—

Human.

And she did have you there, you must admit. Any other time you would be swinging by now, for better or for worse. But something about them is stopping you.

"You're hurt" she repeats, her voice stressing the point as she takes yet another step towards you. "We can help you, if you'll let us."

Your father's voice is screaming at you from inside your skull.

Swing! Swing, you silly, silly girl! They are not for this earth!

The burning in your arm, and your lungs, and your lower back wins out — however — and you let go of your weapon, shoulders slumping as you release your breath. You take one step towards them before the pain and the blood loss catch up to you, and you crumple to the floor face first.

Vi is by your side in an instant, wrapping strong arms under your own to haul you up to your feet. She adjusts, slinging one arm around your back as she moves your injured one to lay across her own shoulders, encouraging you to lean on her as she takes a step towards the taller girl.

"Wait—" you gasp out, causing her to freeze. With a shaky hand you reach into your pocket, pulling out a small box of matches. You hold one between your teeth momentarily as you close the box and twist it around to the rough side. With one hand you strike the match and flick it onto the corpse beside you, the roaring flames engulfing the body to ensure that there's no coming back for the creature.

── ⟢

They had brought you to a run-down wooden cabin that was on the outskirts of the back side of the hamlet, abandoned. As Vi assisted you to sit down on the beaten-up couch, the taller girl got to work drawing any curtains and blocking all windows to ensure the coming sunlight wouldn't enter the building.

You hissed as Vi placed you down, cradling your injured arm against your chest protectively.

"M'gonna need to take this off you. That okay?" she asked carefully, grasping the edge of your jacket. Her voice was hushed, gentle, as if speaking any louder would cause you more pain.

You squinted up at her, still clinging on to the deep-seated apprehension that was tugging the back of your brain. Even if you were in pain, even if they hadn't hurt you— yet, you were still wary that they were technically your enemy and this whole thing could just be an elaborate game.

Your gaze caught her own, and her wide-eyed and questioning expression made you feel like, even if it's for a fleeting moment, that you were safe here. Begrudgingly, you nodded.

Vi gave you a small smile and an affirmative nod, and carefully moved to help you out of the heavy outerwear. You grunted as you leaned forward, your body stiff and back screaming from the earlier impact, and she was quick to slip the material down your shoulders and remove your good arm from its sleeve. Your injured arm proved a little more difficult, as it was stuck to your exposed flesh. Your eyes bore into the site before flicking up to Vi's, and you knew what she was thinking.

You gave her a nod, took a deep inhale and grit your teeth. "Do it."

If your jaw wasn't aching from the prior fight, it sure as hell was aching from how hard you tensed it now. In one swift movement, Vi tugged the sleeve down your arm and away, small slithers of material popping out of where they had embedded themselves in your arm. You refused to scream, to show that kind of weakness in front of anybody, but a strangled groan still managed to tear its way from your throat.

"Caitlyn!" Vi shouted to the other girl, who was elsewhere in the cabin. "We really need medical stuff here, it's worse than it looked!"

The monster's claws had shredded your forearm, skin torn and ripped like it were paper. If you looked really closely — which you didn't, not wanting to risk your dinner coming back up — you swear that you could see tendons.

"It will buy us some time, but isn't a permanent fix" the taller girl — Caitlyn as you now know — spoke calmly as she entered the room, her blue hair now tied up and out of her face. "This place isn't exactly full to the brim of live saving materials."

Vi steps to the side as Caitlyn takes her place, dropping the items she's holding onto the cushion beside you as she kneels on the floor in front. The red-haired girl moves away and out of your view, your eyes firmly fixed on the scraps of material and bottles that Caitlyn had set down.

You felt lightheaded, the mix of pain and loss of blood sending your brain fuzzy as you watched Caitlyn pick up the larger bottle and a small cloth from the pile. Soft, cold hands cupped the sides of your face and guided you to look away, carefully manoeuvring your head to lean back against the couch. As your vision moved up, Vi was stood behind you, looking down at you oh so softly. She moved one hand to brush your hair away from your sweaty forehead, a sad smile on her lips.

"This is gonna hurt" was all she said quietly, before a white hot burning pain engulfed your forearm causing you to strain against her with a scream. Her touch was still soft, but firm enough to keep you in place, as you almost immediately passed out.

When you came-to, you were lying down on the couch now, and a small fire was burning away in the cabin's cobbled fireplace. You groggily raised your head, lifting your arm up into your line of sight to take a look at it. It was tightly wrapped with the scraps you had seen earlier, the surrounding skin looking a lot cleaner than it did before. You made a move to sit up, groaning in pain before a hand stopped you.

"Easy, easy." Caitlyn's voice came from above you, her hand against your shoulder softly guiding you back down. "You need to rest, your body's been through a lot."

She moved to perch herself on the edge of the couch, facing you. Her eyes were soft, a tiny hint of a smile gracing her lips. She was nothing like you'd come to know from vampires — neither of them were —and the way that they'd been looking at you made your stomach flip.

"Your wound is clean, and the cloth will act as a temporary bandage, but you will need stitches. Soon." she murmured, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the material of your shirt. You took the moment to study her face, every contour and curve, the way her lips curled as she spoke. As much as you hated to admit, she was truly beautiful.

"Why are you helping me?" you rasp out before you can think about the question. "i've killed so many of your kind. Why not leave me to bleed out, or — I dunno — kill me yourselves?"

"Because that's not who we are" she answered immediately, her voice firm as her eyes locked on your own. "Vi wasn't lying, we don't hurt humans."

You paused for a moment, mind whirling. "Then how-"

"Animals, mostly" Vi chimes in as she enters the room, effortlessly sliding a chair up alongside the couch so she can sit with you, giving both of you a brief smile. "Livestock, when we can get our hands on it. Sometimes, depending on where we are an' how desperate the situation is, we'll hit up a blood bank and sneak a few bags. But never a live person."

It was quiet for a moment, the sound of the wood crackling as it burned filling the room.

"There are more of us, you know." Caitlyn adds. "Those who don't want to hurt you. It's unfortunate that the violent ones are the loudest."

You didn't know what to say. This was so alien to you, so abnormal, that you were struggling to wrap your head around it. There was no way they were telling the truth, right? You had never met a vampire that hadn't wanted to kill you. Although you had never really given them much of a chance, you supposed.

"We'll take you to our commune" Caitlyn said firmly, causing Vi to snap her head towards her.

"Woah, okay, hold on. She's still a hunter, Cait-"

"And she's injured" the taller girl retorted, turning to face her partner with a stern expression. "Even if she did want to wipe us out, which I don't believe she does, you expect her to do so in this state?"

Vi thought for a moment, her expression firm before she sighed, shaking her head. Caitlyn turned back to you, her face softening once again. "We have resources to help you heal. Properly. If you'll let us, that is."

Your throat felt tight, but you swallowed around it. "My name is Y/N, by the way" you murmur. An olive branch.

The two share a look, and then smile softly at you. Branch taken.

── ⟢

The commune was, admittedly, quite breathtaking. Various different buildings, of different sizes and materials, scattered around the land between two large hills. There were trees all around which, combined with the natural landscape, worked well to shelter the sanctuary.

It had been a few days since you had arrived, barely having seen how things operated as Caitlyn had firmly insisted that you rest once your arm was properly seen to. It was currently bandaged and in a sling against your chest, to make sure that you were allowing it to heal. They had given you an extra set of clothes, just a simple pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, whilst somebody worked on getting your ruined ones somewhat presentable again.

Caitlyn was showing you around, showing you the ropes of the small settlement. "Most of the people here were turned against their will" she explained, her voice filled with melancholy. "All of us agreed on one thing though, that we shouldn't have to lose our humanity. Shouldn't have to become monsters." She paused her steps and turned to you, one hand resting on your shoulder.

"I know it might be hard for you to believe, but that's not what we are. The majority of us are just victims of bad circumstances, who are scared and confused and don't know how to control it. That's what this place is for, to offer them a different path."

As you mull over Caitlyn's words, you glance over at Vi in the distance. She's knelt down in the grass, surrounded by 3 or 4 kids, teaching them how to properly drink from some rabbits. You had never seen vampire children before, and the picture following from Caitlyn's prior words made your gut twist.

Not allowing yourself to sit with the thought for too long, you couldn't help but settle your gaze on the short haired girl. The softness of the interaction and the way that she was so gentle with them, paired with the way that the moonlight was painting her in an almost ethereal light, caused your heart to stutter in your chest. Not that you could have noticed but from beside you, Caitlyn was looking at you the same way.

She showed you around some more, taking you to the small paddock that the settlement had, explaining how they were breeding their own livestock so that they didn't have to take so much from the humans. The more you saw, the more your feelings shifted. The more you started to believe that maybe, just maybe, they were right. That being a monster is not their nature, but something that they choose to be, willingly or not.

You stay a few more days, helping out with things where you can before either Cait or Vi catch you and guide you back to rest. When your arm is finally healed enough that you wouldn't need to be supervised, you were handed back your clothes.

You stood in front of the two girls inside their home, the fabrics bundled in your arms. "It... it doesn't feel right—" you mumble, shaking your head a little. "putting these back on. Going back to... that."

It wasn't a lie. Nothing about hunting vampires felt anywhere near acceptible after the time that you've spent in the sanctuary, after you've seen them as a mirror reflection of humanity. But that wasn't the main reason for your apprehension.

Truth be told, you had grown fond of the pair. The way they had helped you, had looked after you so gently. The way they were when helping those in need, providing assistance wherever necessary. All of it had you feeling things you'd never felt before, let alone for two people at once.

You were falling in love with them, and there was no way that you could deny it to yourself.

"Then don't." Vi spoke, voice firm enough to cause you to raise your head. There was a small, fleeting look of worry in her eyes, like you would slip away at any moment. "Don't go. Stay."

She took a tentative step forward, her eyes roaming over your face to gauge your expression as she did. Your eyes flicked up to Caitlyn, who gave you a smile and a nod, coming to stand just behind Vi. The shorter girl reached up to cup your jaw, her thumb softly grazing over your cheek bone.

The sound of the clothes you were holding hitting the floor with a soft thud was barely registered before you surged up, wrapping your arms around her neck and pressing your lips to hers. Vi took a small step back but didn't falter, kissing you back firmly as her free hand slid to your back so she could press you impossibly closer.

It was as if time had slowed to a stop, and you swear that Vi was kissing you for hours. Your breath was coming out in short pants as she reluctantly pulled away, giving a soft chuckle as you tried to chase her lips. You hadn't even managed to open your eyes as Caitlyn stepped forward, lifting your chin with her pointer finger before capturing your bottom lip between her own.

Kissing both of them was very different. Vi was impatient and greedy, kissing you like there were minutes left to live and she was adamant to die with your tongue against hers. Caitlyn was more refined, slower and more controlled. Both of them made your head spin deliciously.

You slowly blinked your eyes open as Cait pulled away, looking at the pair in front of you with a dazed expression that slowly morphed into a shit eating grin. Caitlyn giggled at that, and Vi let out a soft laugh too, and before long the three of you were stood together chuckling amongst yourselves.

The two vampires each took one of your hands in their own, interlocking your fingers as they shared a look, making sure they were on the same page. They intertwined their free hands together, the three of you molding to one another so perfectly, like a puzzle that was finally complete.

── ⟢

The three of you stood out in the street, looking down at the pile in front of you. Your hunter's clothes and gear, all the little pouches and gadgets and importantly, your machete, laying out on the hard ground. You took a step forward, twirling the match box in your hands as you took a moment to reflect.

Your father would be so disappointed.

With that thought, you took a match and struck it, wasting no time in throwing it onto the pile and watching the flames engulf your possessions.

The two vampires took a step forward, each wrapping an arm around your waist and cuddling into you, both pressing a kiss to your temples. You leaned into their touch, closing your eyes for a moment to bask in the glow of not only the fire but also their affection.

You stood there and watched as the flames consumed everything you had thought you'd known. The fire burned bright, the light from the flames dancing across your faces, painting the three of you in a new light.

#𖤐 ssour-apathyy.#✧ katt scratch.#vi x reader #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #vi arcane x reader #caitvi x reader #arcane #caitlyn kiramman #arcane vi #vampire!au

554 notes · View notes

nagaytoe · 8 months ago

Text

THE KID AT THE BACK

-theories

(- Posted before the new version of day 1 and day 2 -)

Did i sit down and analyze this game for 3 hours straight because I'm hyperfixated on it? Yes, yes i did.

This isnt proof-read and long as hell so buckle up for a joyride, y'all (by the way, there's another TKATB fanfic in the works as we speak and also some fanart, though I'm not sure wether to post it or not... well, we'll see!)

Some of these might not seem all too thought through (??) Since i was kind of grasping at straws here (and it was like 2 a.m. lmao), so if y'all have questions/need me to elaborate or have theories of your own feel free to share!

(There's some inspiration here from other people in the Fandom, most of them from the community section on itch.io which isnt available any more)

Sol knows the player longer than we think

My theory ->

-Fantasia stated that one of her 3 biggest inspirations was the game AMNESIA

-In amnesia the mc loses her memory in an accident. One of the love interests is her childhood friend and also the only yandere in the game (at least from what i could find out)

-She already drew Sol with Forget-me-nots and in the valentines day special the boquet sol gave us also contained Forget-me-nots

-In the book (this gallery thing with all the cutscene images) on the top of sols page is written 'Remember Me' which implies we forgot about him

-Annabel Lee Poem:

+The poem contains the line 'I was a child, she was a child' which furthermore implies that Sol and MC knew each other as kids

+Except for the last two paragraphs the poem is written in past tense, which could be talking about sols POV with us

Perhaps MC had an accident, as mentioned above, and MCs father (highborn kinsmen) tore MC away from Sol to the countryside

+The poem mentions angels killing annabel lee which could also mean something like this: MC doesnt die but, however, gets amnesia. That way, the MC sol knows and loves is dead because MC no longer exists the way MC did before (also the fact that she forgot him)

Some people theorize MCs farm is near the sea and that is the reason why sol hates the sea (i believe the city is near the sea and that's where MC 'died' (maybe MC almost drowned and got Amnesia that way?(apparently its possible for people who almost drowned to get amnesia)))

+"The speaker loves annabel lee to the point of death and even after death" (MCs view how to interpret the poem) (-> Sol loves MC to 'death' (the day they got amnesia) and even after 'death' (after MC got amnesia and 'died' in a sense, as a person))

-sol says he thinks death is beautiful, i didn't really know what to make of that, the only conclusion i came to would be: If MC actually did drown and lose their memories due to that, sol might have been involved in MC drowning (or at least blames himself for that) but viewed MC losing their memories as a 'second chance' with them, since they can start from anew (perhaps he made some mistakes with MC in the past which all eventually built up to MC drowning (it could be that we were already teens at that point)

-sol states afterwards: "But people refused them to let them be together, as if fate refuses them to die together" which supports my theory that MC was taken from Sol by someone (most likely the father after he witnessed Sols behaviour and his final straw was MC drowning because of him) the 'let them die together' could mean something like their relationship 'dying' and then starting over again or perhaps he tried to die with them, who knows (all this is really far fetched i am grasping at straws here lmao)

-in a really quick scene right after he mutters "I'm won't let it happen to me... not again" (some people view this as Sol already lost someone he loved dearly but it could also be the MC who was taken from him

ANOTHER THING I COULD IMAGINE -ABOUT DYING TOGETHER COULD BE:

MC almost died, Sol went after them but they were already saved, Sol just didnt witness that and almost died himself/wanted to die but was saved from that by someone (maybe hyugo? Though, he is an exchange student)

-Another theory on hyugo. It's canon that he is an exchange student, however i do believe he is from this city (since he knows about the hierarchy and his brother Geo apparently is no exchange student), moved away and is now back for business (relating to his 'mafia schemes' but under the disguise of being an exchange student)

Maybe he moved around the same time MC left or some time after that

-Hyugo mentions on the rooftop that we remind him of someone and the pronoun of the person he refers to changes based on the one the player picked for the MC in the beginning. It could mean we remind him of someone else entirely, someone maybe not even related to sol (though i doubt that) or to the MC and he knows them from back then but maybe thought MC died as well and cant believe they actually survived (maybe he want to spike MCs memory by doing that)

-A dream within a dream: MC mentions that this poem, at least to them, talks about the uncertainty about something, like life (which could also imply that they might be uncertain about some things in their mife because they simply forgot them due to amnesia)

-THE SECOND DAY 'THE KINGDOM'

+some people think the kingdom (by the sea) refers to MCs farm and implies its near the sea, however in day 2 we find out about the hierarchy in the city and considering my theory that MC actually is from the city and almost drowned there, i believe the kingdom by the sea is the city. MC does mention in the beginning that they lived on the farm ever since they were a child, however, it could very well be that we moved there right after the incident that caused MCs amnesia (if MC was akid when it happened it would really matter because then it would still fit with the fact that they lived there since theyre a child, however if they were already a teen, perhaps the father moved there immediately to cut off all ties to Sol and told us we have always lived there on top of that (considering the previous theories)

The father also didnt seem fond of the idea that we go to the city (the fact that he is is indebted to someone from high class could imply he might be from there), that could be because he knows how dangerous the city is (and how we could potentially meet sol again)

-maybe the reason for the debt is that MCs father suddenly bought the farm land to get us away from the city as soon as possible and had to take on a loan from one of his contacts in the city

-we know that this is MCs last year at the university, if we say shes minimum 22, and was already in the school for 4 years that would mean she got there at 18. If the 'drowning theory' events took place when MC was a teen (like 16 maybe) it would explain why the father was indebted (i also think 2 years is an believable timeframe a higher class person would give someone to pay off their debt)

-at the end of day 2 sol says he's sorry for leaving us and "i dont know what I'll do if..." which supports my theory that he lost us once (and he blames himself as the reason (again, MC drowning?))

-inspirations:

+ https://www.tumblr.com/sweet-herbal-peach-tea/746168072919023616/tkatb-theories?source=share

+ https://itch.io/t/3749638/whats-the-secret-between-hyugo-and-sol

Another theory:

Sleepy Hollow and The kid at the back

-In the nicknames the boys have for MC (fantasia released that on twitter and tumblr) sol calls MC pumpkin (like the pumpkin of the headless horseman (also in the gallery there is a pumpkin above the book)) and Crowe calls them '(star-crossed) lover'

Star-crossed lovers are people who love each other but can't be together

I believe this might imply that, even though Crowe is the second romance option, MC can't be with him no matter what they do

I also found out that the nickname is a phrase from romeo and juliet (which furthermore implies crowe will die)

We know what romeo and juliet is about: romeo and juliet cant be together because their families are enemies (some people believe Crowes father might be them man MCs father owes money to(i personally doubt thah though but it would support this romeo and juliet situation)) and at the end romeo thinks that juliet died, kills himself and then juliet turns out to not be dead but kills herself after seeing romeo dead

-Jericho Ichabod is a character from Sleepy Hollow, along Katrina (the FMC who owns a farm (what a coincidence)) and Brom Bones (its implied he is the headless horseman). In the story, jericho courts Katrina at a party, she rejects him and on his way home the headless horseman kills him (in the scene where Sol accompanies MC to class he says 'it's always been you ichabod' which could furthermore imply that crowe or his family have something do to with the fact that Sol and MC arent together)

In the library scene with Crowe he asks MC about their opinion on marie Antoinette and when MC says something negative about her, his reaction seems kind of strange. MC also brought a book about torture devices and execution methods and in that book is a picture of 'The Executioner' and he has scars on his arms, wears a mask and a chained collar. This correlates with some of sols features. He has scars on his arms (as seen in one of fantasias drawings), wears a chocker (he also wears a mask when he breaks into MCs room but that's really something anyone who does that would do). This implies even more that he will kill crowe.

#tkatb sol #tkatb vn #the kid at the back #solivan brugmansia #Crowe #jericho ichabod #Crowe ichabod #sol brugmansia #yandere visual novel #yandere #yandere vn #tkatb #tkatb theory #tkatb crowe

598 notes · View notes

rainrot4me · 29 days ago

Note

helli, I don't know if you take requests or not, but I saw your eyeless jack hc's and was wondering what if s/o actually was up to jack cutting into their abdoment? I thought that was a interesting hc but I liked it.

Have a good day/night/evening!

Please, please, please, please, please be cautious reading this. Remember it's fiction.

SMUT WARNING, MDNI

✦ . Characters: Eyeless Jack x Genderneutral Reader

✦ . Warning: THAT DOVE IS DEAD, scalpels, organ pleasure, paraphilia, internal organs, blood, I don't know how else to tag this besides Jack literally fucks your intestines through a cut in your stomach, pain and pleasure, mentions of needles and medical equipment, reader is a proxy/not entirely human

✦ . Words: 2.7k

✦ . Note: I'm not responsible for your personal enjoyment/disgust of this work so do not come complaining to me!!! ALSO, I’m in no way a medical expert, so take everything I write here at face value and not as what would actually happen (I hope none of you actually partake in this LMAO).

────────────────────────────────────────────

“I’m not suggesting. If we’re going to do this, you’re going to listen to me.”

Jack counted, then recounted every inch of medical tubing that ran up your arms, checking once again that he had all of them flowing correctly. The medical table underneath your back wasn’t comfortable, but the giddiness you felt overran the complaint of stale leather and stiff wood.

It was your idea, after all, to follow through with this whole fantasy. The demon never brought it up again after he had let it slip once—the idea of fucking something other than just your holes—but you never let it slip your stingy mind. It came as teasing afterwards, breathless remarks about ‘sticking his dick in’ while Jack sewed up yet another bullet wound or knife attack. As a proxy, the sting of pain became secondary to the sting of disappointment you would get from messing up a mission.

“Love, I’m fine.”

You reassured him yet again, reaching a hand out to grip on his wrist, the tubing that stuck into your veins following with the movement.

“I’ll be the judge.” A stern remark. You were beginning to think this would make him more stressed than anything.

He adjusted the mask over his face, not the porcelain one, not today. Just a medical-grade surgical mask, as if that could sanitize what was about to happen. His gloved hands paused at your hips. Not out of hesitation, but deliberation. Measuring, calculating, and then recalculating again.

The scalpel gleamed beneath the low amber light overhead. He had used it a thousand times before, but right now, it looked like he wasn’t even sure how to hold it.

“You have to tell me,” he said quietly, not looking at you, “if anything changes. If your heart rate spikes. If your breathing changes. If you feel cold, nauseous, faint—”

“I know the list, Jack,” you murmured, voice warm despite the chill in the air. “You’ve made me memorize it every time I get so much as a scratch.”

He glanced at you then, the sockets where eyes should be were black and bottomless, unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his gaze settle over you like a second set of hands.

“This isn’t a scratch.”

You tilted your head, smirking just a little. “Then make it count.”

That shut him up.

Silence bloomed between you for a moment, taut and thrumming. Your pulse was steady, he was monitoring it on a tiny screen just out of your line of sight, but his? Jack’s breath was shallow, stiff, like his lungs refused to sync with the calm professionalism he wore like a second skin. His energy was thrumming against you, even as he leaned closer, even as his hands steadied over the exposed area of your gut.

Then the scalpel kissed your abdomen.

Just a line, not yet breaking skin. He dragged it slowly from sternum to navel, a cold whisper over warm flesh, and you shivered, goosebumps shot up like a warning.

“Last chance,” he said, voice a ragged whisper. “If you say stop, I stop. I don’t care what you promised or what you think you can take. My pleasure is not worth you life, love.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

You could see it: the twitch in his jaw. That flicker of restraint cracking.

“I want you, Jack,” you said, breathless now. “All of you. Even this.”

He exhaled through his nose, something feral and broken. Not quite relief, not quite fear, but things deep and old that stirred in him when you said that like you meant it.

The scalpel cut.

Not deep, just enough, just barely. A hot line of pain seared across your skin, sharp and bright and real. You gasped from the sheer thrill of it. Jack’s gloved hand pressed gently against your side, steadying you.

His breath caught.

“You shouldn’t look so happy,” he said, voice hoarse. “It’s fucked.”

You grinned up at him, eyes glittering with heat. “Then we’re both fucked.”

He leaned in, hovering over you, the warm wetness of your blood slicking his gloves as he spread you open, not cruelly, not recklessly, but with reverence. With trembling hands and barely-contained hunger.

The scalpel’s edge dipped beneath the top layer of skin. A clean incision. Shallow enough to avoid danger, but enough to make your breath catch and your limbs tense against the restraints. Jack felt it, the flutter of your pulse against the inside of your wrist, and watched, silently, as a thin rivulet of blood bloomed from the cut and curved down your side.

“Breathe through it,” he said lowly, almost beneath his breath, not a command, more like a reminder to himself. To both of you.

He set the scalpel down with reverent care, replacing it with gloved fingers that were soaked almost immediately in the warm slickness pooling from the wound. Your blood coated his hands, dripping between his knuckles, sliding down his wrists in long, slow trails. It made his mask cling tighter to his face from the heat radiating off both of you.

Jack’s hands spread you open gently, the pads of his fingers pulling the skin apart to expose the layer of fat beneath. Yellowish and subcutaneous, still undisturbed by damage, glistening under the low light.

Your body arched involuntary. A hiss of pain curled off your lips, and he watched it. Every twitch of your body fed into that overworked brain of his: breathing, color, responsiveness. You were straining, but you were there. You were with him.

“You’re handling this better than I expected,” he said, voice low and shaking with something that wasn’t fear. Not anymore.

Desire, tightly caged, pushed against the back of his throat. He hadn’t felt this much pressure in years, not since the last time he’d truly wanted. His cock pressed against the front of his jeans, hard and straining, but he didn’t move toward release. Not yet, not until he finished what he started.

He reached for the clamps.

One by one, he peeled you open. Just slightly, just enough to let the blood roll down your sides in thick, slow arcs, not pouring, but oozing, dark and rich and slick. He placed the clamps with exact care: one on each side of the cut, holding the skin parted so he could see deeper. The pale fascia layer shone beneath, the muscles flexed. Jack sucked in a sharp breath.

“This is insane,” he muttered to himself, but his hands didn’t stop. “You’re insane.”

Yet, he leaned in closer.

His fingers brushed the muscle wall, feeling the heat pouring out of you like a furnace. Blood coated the table. It soaked your lower back and ran toward the leather padding beneath your spine. Your poor clothes were beyond salvageable now. You were smiling through the pain, through the heavy ache blooming inside you.

Jack was trembling now. He leaned over you, lips inches from your temple, and whispered, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

His voice cracked at the edge. You offered yourself like a specimen and a sacrifice, and he was fighting the line between worship and defilement.

One hand, just one, dropped to his belt. He paused, checking your vitals again, glancing at the monitors. Still stable, still strong. Your breath came out in uneven, heated bursts, but you weren’t crying. You weren’t begging him to stop. Tears were welled in your eyes, but nothing to be overly concerned about, yet.

You were thriving in it.

He pushed his hips against the table edge and groaned, muffled behind his mask, his other hand tracing the opened wound again, not pressing too deep, not enough to damage, just to feel, to memorize the heat and slickness of your insides under his fingertips. He could see everything, all the bits and pieces that worked together to keep you going, to keep the one he loved moving and talking and his.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, head bowed, voice nearly broken. “Perfect and fucking ruined.”

The blood had soaked through to his thighs. He didn’t care. It dripped off the table in steady splashes, pooling on the floor beneath him. There was a feral gleam in his posture now, tempered only by the strict rigidity he had grown to master. No flinching, no frenzy, just precision, a steady hand with a throbbing ache behind his zipper and an unbearable tightness in his chest.

This was desire in its rawest, ugliest, truest form. And Jack had never loved someone more than he did when you moaned softly and whispered, “More.”

“Fuck.”

Jack adjusted the clamps again, delicately teasing the incision wider. The abdominal wall pulled apart under the gentle pressure, revealing a glistening tapestry of tissue, layers of pink and red, quivering slightly with every breath you took. The room smelled like copper and antiseptic, thick and sharp. Jack leaned over the cut, mesmerized.

He could see the coils of your intestines, slick and glistening with fluid, nestled like an offering inside you. Your liver, dark and velvet-smooth, sat tucked to one side, pulsing faintly. Your stomach curved beneath it, twitching slightly. You were a cathedral of blood and muscle, and Jack bowed before the altar of your anatomy.

“Fuck,” he rasped again, voice hoarse. “You’re so goddamn beautiful like this.”

The mask over his face was stifling. It kept him from you, from your scent, your breath, the warmth of your skin. He tore it off with one hand, flinging it to the side with shaking fingers, and exhaled shakily as cool air hit his skin. A bit of your blood streaked across his cheek. He didn’t wipe it off.

You were watching him, dazed, drunk on the adrenaline and pain, but your eyes stayed locked on his. There was no fear in them, just longing.

Jack climbed up onto the table with slow, deliberate care, straddling your hips so his knees bracketed your thighs. You could feel the weight of him now, the tremble in his legs, the tension in his gut. The bulge in his pants pressed against your stomach, just below the wound.

Even now, he didn’t move too fast.

One gloved hand reached for the drawer beside the table. The other tore at the buttons and zipper containing him, tugging his cock sharply with his latex palm. He fished out a packet, and tore it open. His fingers moved automatically, rolling the condom down with expert care. He held himself over you, head bowed, one hand braced beside your head, the other finishing the motion.

“I need to know,” he murmured, dipping closer, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone, then your temple. “You’re still okay? Nothing’s changed? Heart rate’s steady, no dizziness, no numbness?”

You nodded, breath hitching as he kissed the corner of your mouth. His lips were hot and slick with sweat, blood, and something unbearably tender.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, a quiet confession breathed directly into your ear. “Not to this. Not to me.”

Your hand, trembling, reached up and touched the back of his neck, encouraging, grounding. Jack let out a shaky sigh and leaned into it. His body trembled above yours, barely holding himself together.

“This isn’t about fucking,” he whispered. “It’s worship. I want to be inside you. With your blood on my hands and your body open to me like this. It’s not just pleasure. It’s—” He broke off, his voice almost cracking.

His forehead pressed against yours.

“—it’s communion.”

He rocked his hips gently, pressing himself flush to you, not yet entering but close, so achingly close. One hand ghosted down, stroking the edge of the incision, marveling at the way your body welcomed him even now. His other hand found yours and squeezed.

“You’re everything,” he whispered. “And I swear to God, I’ll bring you back from this. I’ll sew you back up perfectly. You’ll feel nothing but safe and loved.”

You gave a weak laugh, trying not to move around your open abdomen too much, but still communicating.

He kissed your mouth then, deep and slow, tasting of blood and desperation, while his trembling hips pressed against you, sliding his cock between the folds of opened skin without entering, just feeling, just savoring.

He could lose himself in this. But he wouldn’t. Because he had you.

Jack hovered, every inch of him taut and trembling like a cord about to snap. His cock, sheathed and slick, pressed flush to the line of your opened flesh, not thrusting, not breaching, but feeling. Just the heat, the proximity, the tension of muscle and blood and living warmth beneath him. Your body pulsed against his, and his breath stuttered in response.

The sensation of your split-open belly against him wasn’t grotesque to him. It was divine, sacred. The friction of skin slicked with blood, the twitch of exposed fascia under his thighs, the trembling strength still thrumming through your body despite the pain. You weren’t fragile, you were transcendent, and Jack was trembling like a devout man at the gates of heaven.

He kissed your mouth again, slower this time, mouth open, breath hissing through his teeth. When he pulled back, his lips were tinged crimson. Your blood was on him, in him now. He licked it without thinking.

“I need to go slow,” he whispered, voice cracked and guttural. “If I do this too fast, I’ll break. I’ll fucking lose it.” He was starving.

You tilted your face into his, mouth brushing his jaw. “Then lose it.”

His hips practically moved on their own.

He pressed forward — not into the organs, not through the surgical field, but just above. Carefully, Jack guided himself between the gap of your skin and insides, slick with your own excitement and the blood running from the incision. The mix of fluids made him groan deep in his chest. His hips rolled forward in a slow, measured motion, sheathing himself inside you with one shuddering breath.

Your walls gripped him, and for a second, Jack’s entire body seized up. He clenched the table’s edge, head bowed so low it nearly touched your collarbone. He contorted himself, trying to not let his size crush you.

“God—” he gasped, “You’re—so warm, so fucking tight—alive.”

He stayed still, buried in you, trembling with the strain of holding back. Around him, your body twitched with the dull burn of the incision, the clamps holding you open, the ache of fullness and restraint. Every breath you took stretched your skin and made the gap that much smaller for him to fit inside. But your hand found his jaw, and when you whispered his name— “Jack” —something tore through him all over again.

He moved.

Slowly, with measured control. His hips rocked into yours, shallow at first, grinding rather than thrusting, careful not to jostle the table or disturb the surgical site. But every stroke pushed him deeper, not just inside your body, but into something untouched by him or anyone else.

Your groans and gasps were like music, every jostle of your body making you react in ways much different than normal sex. This was more severe, more intense than anything the two of you had experienced, this was new territory. Scary or not, you were enjoying it.

His gloved fingers slid down to your lower abdomen, ghosting just beside the open wound. He didn’t touch the organs—he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not during. But he let his palm rest just above, feeling the movement inside you, the tension, the way your body pulsed beneath him.

“You’re taking me so well,” he whispered, voice rough with adoration. “You’re incredible. So strong. So beautiful.” He kissed you again, your lips, your cheek, your throat, leaving smears of blood and sweat in his wake.

With every careful thrust, his body pressed more tightly against yours. The heat of your blood, your scent, the friction of his thighs against your hips, and the taste of your mouth sent him spiraling. He began to whisper again, soft mantras, barely audible between ragged breaths:

“I love you— You’re mine— I’ll put you back together— I swear— You’ll be whole— I’ll clean you— stitch you— worship you…”

His words were unraveling. His rhythm faltered, losing its precision as his desperation built. His mouth found your pulse, sucking gently at the skin, his hips moving faster now, grinding into you harder, needier.

And still, still, he never lost track of your vitals. One eye on the screen. One hand still resting near your surgical clamps. He was fucking you with every fiber of his being, but part of him remained the surgeon, the caretaker, the one who would never let you slip too far.

It only took his hips angling down just a bit for the head of his cock to slip from the valley of your wound into the folds of your intestines. The coils of organs housed his cock like they were meant for him, the warmth and deepness sucking him in hypnotically. Jack nearly snarled, your gasp loud as you both watched his cock slip in and out of your guts, each pass leaving the condom a deeper shade of red than the last.

He didn’t last another couple thrusts, the sensation absolutely breathtaking.

When he came, sudden, raw, tearing a broken sound from his throat, he locked his body over you like a man dying and being born in the same breath.

His mask was long gone. His blood-slicked face buried against your neck, he panted harshly, whispering, “I’ve got you— I’ve got you— Stay with me, sweetheart, stay awake— You’re okay— you’re okay…”

You felt the shift instantly from predator to protector. From desire to devotion.

He eased out of you with a groan, both of pleasure and urgency, already reaching for gauze, clamps, surgical thread. His hands moved fast now, gloved and shaking but trained, slipping back into medical command. He would sew you shut with the same reverence with which he split you open.

And all the while, he kept talking to you, even when your eyes grew heavy and your heart-monitor beeped just a little slower.

“You did so good… I’m gonna make it perfect, okay? I’ll clean every inch… You’re safe… I’ve never—never trusted anyone like this.”

And you knew, beneath the sweat, the blood, the trembling afterglow, he meant every word. That’s why, when your eyes finally shut, you didn’t fight it. Even when you heard muffled calls of your name.

── .✦

“A week??”

Jack nodded, stern.

“Love, come on, you can’t do this to me.”

“I can, will, and already have.”

Jack had turned your post-orgasm crash into a fucking hospital wing.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, watching him move around the room like a storm in latex gloves, reorganizing tools, labeling vials of your blood, adjusting dosage meters with that signature furrow between his brows.

The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, barely masking the copper tang that still lingered under Jack’s nails no matter how many times he scrubbed.

You lay flat on the medical cot, body bound by more tubes and machines than you could keep track of. A bag of saline hung above you, feeding steadily into your arm through a neatly taped IV. Two blood bags dripped slowly into the second line, another pump released a slow stream of antibiotics. The pressure monitor beeped softly with each stable beat of your heart.

“You lost two liters,” he replied sharply, not even looking up. “You’re on bed rest until your red cell count stabilizes. You were open, and you let me— We—” He paused, visibly tensing. “You’re lucky I was aware enough to stitch you before you passed out.”

“I didn’t pass out.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I moaned, Jack.”

He stopped, slowly turned to face you, arms crossed over his broad chest, his expression unreadable beyond the never-ending scowl.

“You are the most medically irresponsible human being I have ever met.”

You smiled sweetly. “And yet, I’m still your favorite patient. And you’re the one who agreed.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then sighed, finally stepping closer to the bed.

“You’re incorrigible,” he muttered, brushing your hair back gently. His hands, for all their violence and precision, were so soft now, fingertips moving across your temple, trailing along your jaw, checking your temperature like he always had.

“You stitched me up like a fucking Renaissance painter,” you teased. “Could at least let me walk around to show it off.”

“Out of the question. You’re not moving until your body starts producing again. Your hemoglobin is down, your BP is shaky, and if I catch you trying to stand—”

“You’ll what?” you smirked. “Strap me to the bed?”

Jack’s hand paused mid-adjustment on the IV regulator. Slowly, he turned his head toward you. There was that pause, the look he always gave you when he was trying to decide between scolding you or absolutely wrecking your shit.

“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered.

You grinned wider, triumphant, but your body betrayed you with a groan as you shifted. Pain flared down your abdomen, a dull, bruising ache around the tight seam of fresh stitches.

Jack was on you in an instant, hand on your shoulder, pressing you back down.

“Easy,” he said, voice gentler now. “You’ll tear something. The internal stitches need time to settle. You’re not indestructible, even if you proxies like to act it.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you push it,” he snapped. “You’re mine. That means you heal right.”

You blinked, momentarily silenced by the possessiveness in his voice. Jack didn’t say things like that often, but when he did, he meant them.

“…Okay, Doc,” you murmured, reaching up weakly to curl your fingers around his. “You win.”

“I always do,” he said softly, entwining his fingers with yours and kissing your knuckles. “Now shut up and let the IV do its job.”

You smirked as he leaned in to check the dressing on your incision, humming thoughtfully under his breath. For all his fussing, his touch lingered more than necessary, fingertips trailing your ribs, his mouth brushing your stomach just above the bandages.

“You know,” you said lazily, “if this is the treatment I get for letting you cut me open, I might volunteer more often.”

Jack gave you a flat look. “Don’t even joke about that.”

You laughed, drowsy now, drifting in and out beneath the buzz of medication. Jack pulled the blanket up over your hips and leaned onto the cot, careful not to jar the tubing. His arm traced across your chest, palm resting onto your heart to feel the steady beat underneath.

“You’re infuriating,” he murmured, already sounding more relaxed.

“And you��re obsessed.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, grinning. “I am.”

꩜ .ᐟ

341 notes · View notes

starkeymeow · 9 days ago

Note

hi! loving your rafe cameron who thingy at the moment it’s so good and i love all the different fandoms and ideas! i was wondering if you’d ever consider writing a slytherin rafe x hufflepuff reader one?

love you work <33

# HOGWARTS — slytherin!rafe who . . .

main masterlist | series masterlist

glances at you the first time during second year when you trip over your robes in the hallway and instead of laughing like his friends, he just keeps walking, but his gaze lingers half a second too long.

bumps into you on purpose one afternoon, knocking your bag to the ground, just to see if you’d cry or snap, and when you glare at him like you’re not scared at all, he grins for the first time in days.

scoffs when a professor partners him with you for a magical creatures project, muttering “great, a puff. this’ll be fun,” but still does every part of the work because he refuses to be outdone.

sends a jinx your way during third year dueling club, smirks when you fall, then just stares when you laugh and get right back up like you weren’t humiliated at all.

stays behind after class when you drop your quill and actually hands it back instead of kicking it like he used to. he doesn’t smile, but doesn’t look away from your eyes either.

starts watching you more during fourth year, arms crossed, jaw tight, trying to decide when exactly you stopped being annoying and started being interesting.

sighs dramatically when he’s paired with you again in potions but doesn’t argue this time, just lets you lead and mutters “guess you're not just sunshine and stupid after all.”

glares when you wave at him across the great hall, but still nods back.

tosses a sugar quill on your desk after snapping at you in front of the whole class, then walks off before you can thank him.

gets weirdly quiet in fifth year when someone calls you “just a puff” under their breath. he doesn’t say anything until after class when he meets that kid’s eyes and hexes their ink bottle to explode mid-essay.

starts sitting next to you in electives without being asked, and when someone points it out, he just shrugs like “we’ve partnered before. might as well.”

starts watching your quidditch matches, always near the back, arms crossed and scowl tight maybe, but he still never misses a game.

lets you wear his scarf during a snowy sixth year hogsmeade trip with a sigh, muttering “don’t stretch it out.”

fights with you in the courtyard after you catch him hexing someone again, and when you shove him, he grabs your wrist and kisses you, like he’s been waiting since second year.

doesn’t tell anyone about the kiss, but he doesn’t need to. everyone sees the way he stands beside you now.

still teases you in front of others, still rolls his eyes, still calls you “too soft,” but starts doing it while holding your hand under the table.

starts waiting for you outside your common room, hands in his pockets, pretending he’s “just walking by” even though it’s across the damn castle LMAO

pulls you aside before every quidditch match now, lifts your chin, says “don’t get distracted. and don’t die.”

listens when you talk about what you’ll do after hogwarts, doesn’t say his own plans, but quietly shifts his to be closer to yours.

says “you’re not allowed to fall in love with anyone else” on a late walk after curfew, and you realize it’s the closest he’s ever come to saying he loves you.

walks beside you on the last day of seventh year like it’s just another morning. he doesn’t kiss you goodbye just yet. he just says “you were the best thing i got out of this place.”

me when i write them a happy ending idc i dont wanna ruin them id probably cry

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @sukunasmuse @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts

181 notes · View notes

bigskyandthecoldgun · 2 years ago

Text

based off this post i made a couple days ago lmao

words: 2.1k

Generally speaking, Steve Harrington is a pretty good boyfriend.

He takes Eddie out, never lets him pay for stuff if he can help it—hell, he’s even bought Eddie flowers before. And Eddie’s not complaining, because it’s hard enough to find another queer man in Hawkins, let alone one willing to date him. So Steve is his first boyfriend, and Eddie hasn’t had much (read: any) experience with dating.

But he’s pretty damn sure by the time they hit the three-month mark that Steve’s staunch refusal to hold his hand is unusual.

It’s not like Steve isn’t affectionate. More often than not, Steve’s arm will be around his shoulders or his waist, and there are no shortages of kisses anywhere and everywhere. But Steve won’t hold his hand. And he hasn’t let Eddie give him a handjob. Which—the latter isn’t as much of an issue, because maybe Steve’s just not a fan of handjobs, and that’s fine, Eddie’s not an asshole, Steve’s more than entitled to say no to stuff like that.

Though, Steve’s got no problem putting his hands to work, so what is it about the idea of holding hands or Eddie touching him in the same way that makes Steve so weirdly uncomfortable?

Eddie’s first thought had been that Steve might just not like holding hands. That the clamminess of another palm in his gives him the same kind of sensory ick that Eddie gets from getting adhesive residue on his hands. But Steve holds hands with Robin all the time with no problem, so it can’t be that.

His second thought is that Steve might be so used to being the ‘man in the relationship,’ so to speak, that he doesn’t think Eddie would want to be as handsy. But, again—doesn’t explain the hand holding thing. Because Steve had definitely held hands with girls he’d dated in the past, if Eddie’s high school memories aren’t failing him.

So what the hell is it?

What’s so unthinkable about being touched by Eddie?

And Eddie tries not to read too much into it, because he’s more than aware that both he and Steve have some internalized stuff about being queer, and maybe Steve’s just working through that. He tries not to read too much into it because Steve is a good boyfriend, save for this one weird thing, and maybe they’ll get to a point where Steve will tell him why he doesn’t want to hold hands or have Eddie’s hands on his bare skin for more than a minute or two.

They’re making out on Steve’s couch one night, Eddie’s hands on Steve’s waist and Steve’s hands already halfway through undoing the button on Eddie’s jeans. Eddie starts to tug at Steve’s shirt to get it untucked from his jeans. “C’mere, wait, lemme touch you,” Eddie breathes, and Steve grins against his mouth before backing away. Eddie blinks, utterly confused. “What? What is it?”

Steve just laughs, shakes his head, and dives back in for another kiss. “You’re funny,” he murmurs against Eddie’s lips, and Eddie feels a weird tug in his gut, because something’s wrong, and Steve’s acting weird again about Eddie touching him.

He thinks it’s funny.

Thinks it’s funny that Eddie wants to touch him.

Well, firstly, ouch. Secondly, that’s a real jerk move, but he’s torn between telling Steve off and getting off. He ends up going with the better option, because Steve might be acting like a jerk, but he’s a jerk that’s jerking Eddie off, so…better than nothing, Eddie supposes.

He doesn’t bring it up again for another three months, resigning himself to have his hands redirected from Steve’s bare skin and remaining steadfastly un-handheld. And, sure, y’know, he might be able to attribute it to the fact that they spend a lot of time with people who don’t know they’re together yet, but that possibility is quickly eradicated when Steve suggests that they tell the rest of the Party about them.

“You sure you wanna do that?” Eddie asks, brows raised skeptically, because for a guy who won’t hold Eddie’s hand, Steve’s pretty gung-ho about airing their business to the rest of the group.

Steve just tilts his head, a cute little look of confusion on his face. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, like the idea of him not wanting people to know about him and Eddie is crazy. Steve blinks, the confusion turning to concern. “I mean, unless you’re not ready. I don’t want to pressure you—”

“You can tell them,” Eddie cuts in, fidgeting with his rings. “I’m—yeah. Yeah, you can tell them.”

Maybe this will finally give Steve the push he needs to get over himself and hold Eddie’s goddamn hand before Eddie goes crazy and gets shipped off to Pennhurst.

Or…maybe not.

Because Steve still won’t hold his hand. Or let Eddie touch him.

The one time Eddie had managed to get his hands on Steve’s bare skin, he’d spotted Steve itching at the spots Eddie had touched in the bathroom later that night, the door only open a crack. Which is pretty dramatic, even for Eddie’s taste. Is the feeling of Eddie’s hands on him really so awful? Christ, Eddie’s getting sick and tired of this shit.

Eventually, nine months into their relationship, Steve blatantly moves a hand away from Eddie’s during a movie night when Eddie tries to take hold of it. In front of their friends. Eddie sucks up his wounded pride and corners Nancy in the kitchen later, after the first movie is over and they’ve been sent to get snacks while Steve and Robin argue over what movie to play next, wondering if he should even be asking her.

“Something on your mind?” she asks, because he hasn’t come up with anything to start with yet, and Eddie sighs.

“Is—okay, did Steve ever—when you guys were dating, did he ever, like, not hold your hand?” he asks, and Nancy tilts her head.

“I mean, sometimes…? It was only because I was wearing rings, though,” she says, like that makes perfect sense, like Steve just has some ring-phobia or something, and Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. Nancy gives him a little smile. “You wear yours all the time, so I don’t know why you’re so surprised.”

Okay, so, weird ring-phobia it is.

That’s the new working theory, and when he and Steve bunk in Steve’s room for the night, Eddie makes a show of carefully pulling his rings off and setting them on the bedside table. There’s a couple of green marks on his fingers where the clear nail polish he’d coated the interiors in has chipped away, and he rubs at his bare fingers absentmindedly as he climbs under the covers. He takes a deep breath and laces his fingers with Steve’s, ready to have Steve pull his hand away for the umpteenth time.

Instead, he’s met with a surprised, pleased little hum. “You took your rings off,” Steve notes, relief clear in his voice, and Eddie nods, trying not to let the feeling of triumph show on his face too much. Steve grins at him and presses a kiss to Eddie’s cheek. “That’s a nice surprise.”

“What, you don’t like my rings?” Eddie teases, keeping the genuine curiosity in his voice to a minimum, and Steve’s brows furrow.

“What? No, no, I love your rings, Eds,” Steve tells him. He lowers his voice. “I think they’re pretty hot, actually.”

Okay. Okay, so a wrench has been thrown into the ring-phobia theory.

“What, are they too cheap for his majesty’s royal fingers?” Eddie jokes, putting on a goofy, poorly-done British accent, and Steve’s nose wrinkles slightly.

“I mean, they are costume jewelry,” Steve says. “Nickel-plated, right?”

Ah.

So…it’s that Eddie looks, or even feels, too cheap.

Jesus. He hadn’t thought Steve would be that shallow.

Eddie swallows. “Uh, yeah, they—they are. I can stop wearing them, if you…” he trails off, not really sure what to do with this new information. Cheap to the touch, apparently enough to make Steve wrinkle his nose at the thought of Eddie touching him with his rings on.

“What? No, no, you don’t have to. I’m good, I can deal with it,” Steve says, like it’s supposed to be reassuring, like it’s such a big sacrifice for him to deal with how inexpensive Eddie’s taste in jewelry is, like their relationship isn’t serious enough for Steve to get over himself.

It’s just his rich boy upbringing, Eddie reminds himself. Even Wheeler’s upper-middle-class jewelry wasn’t enough to beat that expensive taste.

Evidently, the conversation had stuck in his boyfriend’s brain, because on the morning of their first anniversary, Eddie is given a long, velvety black box with four Sterling silver rings. They’re exact replicas, design-wise, of their nickel-plated counterparts, and Steve looks so proud of himself, so pleased with his gift idea, and Eddie barely stops himself from frowning.

“Oh,” Eddie says, a little hollow, “um, thank you.”

“You like ’em?” Steve asks, and there’s such a hopeful look on his face that it just pisses Eddie off more. “I just figure—y’know, because, I mean, I can’t hold your hand if you’re wearing costume jewelry, so—”

“Yeah, no, I, uh—I got that,” Eddie says with a strained smile. “Thanks, Steve.”

Steve’s brows furrow. “I feel like you’re mad at me,” he says, and he says it with humor, but there’s genuine worry behind it. “Did I screw up your present that bad? Were you dropping hints and hoping for something else?”

Eddie’s jaw clenches. “It’s…the present is fine, Steve,” he says.

“You don’t like them,” Steve mumbles, gnawing on his bottom lip. “I mean, it might take me a lot longer to save up, but is—would you, like, prefer titanium or steel or something? I didn’t really think you were a gold kind of guy, but it’s fine if you are, I just didn’t know—”

“Why do I have to prefer anything?” Eddie snaps. Steve blinks at him. The look of pure confusion on his face is a little infuriating, like he can’t even fathom why Eddie might be upset, and Eddie’s eye twitches. “Look, just because you’re all high and mighty about what jewelry is worthy of being seen near you—”

“Woah, woah, what are you talking about?” Steve asks, alarmed.

Letting out a frustrated groan, Eddie slams the box down on the coffee table and stands up to stomp around the living room, pacing back and forth. “You won’t let me hold your hand o-or even touch you, like you’re so above cheap shit that you can’t bear to let it touch you, and I’m so sorry that I’ve offended the sensibilities of his highness with my ‘costume jewelry,’ but Jesus, Steve, you can’t even get over yourself on our anniversary? I’ve seen you act like me touching you with my rings on gives you hives or some shit, like it’s just so terrible that it makes your skin crawl—”

“It does,” Steve says, a little subdued, eyes wide with shock, lips parted, “I’m allergic to nickel.”

Eddie pauses mid-stomp.

“You’re what?” he squeaks.

Steve blinks, and a long silence stretches between them. “I’m allergic to nickel, Eds, everybody knows I am,” he says. “I can’t hold your hand if you’re wearing nickel-plated stuff, but you really like your rings, they’re important to your look, so I wasn’t gonna be a dick and tell you to take them off just so I could.”

Recontextualizing every interaction of his year-long relationship he’d tried not to read too hard into is…a lot to experience in a little under thirty seconds.

“Oh, dear God, I’ve been an asshole,” Eddie mutters. “I thought you wouldn’t let me touch you because—but it was just—”

“Yeah, an itchy dick is not a good feeling,” Steve says, a nervous little laugh bubbling out of him. His face falls a little. “I—did you think—?”

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie blurts, horrified. “I am so sorry, Steve, oh my God—”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you didn’t—I must’ve seemed like a total jerk, Eddie, I should’ve told you outright, but I guess I figured you already knew,” Steve says, shrugging helplessly. “But, no, it’s nothing like what you said, I promise, I’m just—I’m allergic.”

Eddie immediately yanks the rings from his fingers and fumbles to get the box open, swapping them out for the silver ones, which he jams onto his fingers as fast as humanly possible. “If I got my head out of my ass sooner, I swear I would’ve found replacements the second I knew,” he says, and Steve laughs.

“I know you would’ve,” he says, all fond and soft, “you’re good like that.”

“Let me make it up to you? I can touch you all I want now,” Eddie says, waggling his silver-covered fingers in front of Steve’s face.

Steve interlocks their hands and leans in to kiss him, slow and sweet. “Looking forward to it, Eds.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #my fic #also my prompt #i guess it's a prompt?#it was more like. a passing idea #but still

4K notes · View notes

thefallenangel2008 · 2 months ago

Text

Merlin becoming unhinged and paranoid after being alive for 1500 years. Merlin not eating for 1 week straight before he goes like "oh right" because he fucking forgot. Oh, the elevator in his apartment building is out of order, but he has to go to Lake Avalon. Oh well. He's gonna use the stairs. And by "using the stairs" I mean throwing himself from the staircase. It's faster this way! He's gonna break a few bones and give himself a concussion but hey, he's immortal, so it's ok! Merlin walking outside and glancing behind his back every 3 seconds when someone looks like has been walking behind him for a bit too much of a time. Merlin having a tons of locks on his front door. Because you never know. Merlin talking with people and that voice in his head screaming at him "don't form connections with them, don't you dare become attached to them, because that's how it starts. You make small conversations with people, then you become friends, and the next thing you know they find out about your magic and they try to kill you or they just die because they're mortal." (definitely not from experience, nuh-uh). Merlin having weapons somewhere hidden in his house just in case he's in danger and his magic doesn't work for whatever reason. A minor inconvenience happening and Merlin just going "fuck. Oh well, let me just- *throws himself from the top of a building*. Merlin finding out he's neurodivergent. He doesn't really have to mask anymore, he hasn't been doing that for a while because he's all alone so no one will care and also because nowadays no one gives a shit. Him being neurodivergent explains so much (personally I'm an ADHD Merlin truther lol). Merlin having abandonment issues, which is also another reason why he refuses to connect with people. Because hey, better to be never loved than be loved and lose it, right? Merlin considering himself something more than human. Not in the "haha, I'm more powerful than everyone else, lmao" way, but in the "I have all this power in my hands yet the world is still shit, I'm a failure, why couldn't I be like everyone else?" way. All these stuff don't even have to revolve around Arthur or Camelot, it can be just the brain trying to comprehend 15 centuries worth of trauma.

#i love torturing my boy #bbc merlin #merlin emrys #immortal merlin #king arthur #arthur pendragon #merlin headcanons

231 notes · View notes

rain-water-flowers · 3 months ago

Text

Blue (It's so hot)

WC: 2078

Synopsis: Felix is the son of a wealthy industrialist who just had a very public and nasty divorce from his wife. Y/n is a reporter hired to find dirt on him for a story, but she's surprised to discover that she can't get much done when her assignment is a hot and teasing business man.

Warnings: unprotected sex once again (one of these days I'll make them wear a condom), business man Felix, his father is a CEO, oral (m. receiving), teasing, slight dry humping, pet names, profanity, riding, slight praise, title based off of 'Blue' by DynamicDuo

A/n: I'm here again with another one!!! This was fun to write lol. Let's not talk about how choppy it is in the middle lmao (I got bored and needed them to fuck already). As always thanks to my beta @midnighthazee who keeps nagging me to finish TSSOUL series. I will I promise!! I've just hit a block so... yeah. Enjoy this Felix fic!!

SKZ Masterlist

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅-`✮´-⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Felix sat on the couch against the far wall in his father’s office, legs crossed and his hands resting on his knee. If his father couldn’t even be on time to a meeting with his own son how does he run his company smoothly? Felix will forever be surprised the business is as successful as it is.

Felix was two seconds from getting up when his father walked in, tightening his tie and fixing his hair. So he was late because fucking his secretary was more important than his own son? Right.

This is why his marriage to Felix’s mother didn’t work out. One, because his dad is a cheating bastard who refuses to keep it in his pants no matter how small it is. Two – and this is probably the more important reason – he’s gay, and his secretary bending his father over and sticking his dick into him on a daily basis probably made him realize that.

Felix lets out a loud sigh and clears his throat as he gets up to sit in a chair opposite his father’s desk.

“You done?” Felix says, disdain in his voice and picking at his nails.

His father sighed and sat down in his office chair. “You know I had some business to deal with, Felix. I apologize for being a little late.”

I’ve been waiting for 55 minutes. Felix thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. It’s not worth getting into an argument over.

“Now, I know there's a lot of different things that come with me and your mother’s divorce, and I want to make sure that you’re able to carry out your responsibilities, son.”

This was what he waited an hour in his office to hear? ‘I hope my divorce from your mother doesn’t affect your work’?

“I’m fine, father. I think you’re the one who needs to focus on your responsibilities right now,” Felix was struggling not to let disrespect make its way into his tone. “The news is all over you since the divorce and you so obviously being involved with your secretary doesn’t help.”

His father glared at him as he talked. It was obvious to Felix that he wanted to argue – but what could he say? Nothing he was saying was wrong, and getting defensive about it wouldn’t help anything either.

Felix’s parent’s divorce was very public and very nasty. His mother said things that were enough to get his father thrown out of the CEO position, and his father said things that were enough to get his mother thrown in jail.

Luckily, his mother had a good lawyer.

Either way, Felix got caught in the middle of their dog fight and now he had to play Switzerland between them.

“Just do your job, Felix. Don’t worry about me or what business I’m handling with my secretary.” His father hissed out, obviously defensive and glaring daggers at him.

Felix scoffed and looked to the side, tongue poking out his cheek. “You're right, father. How often your secretary bends you over isn’t my problem or my business, but when the news tears you apart don’t come to me for help.” Felix said, getting up and straightening his suit out.

Felix knew about his father's dirty hands skimming off of the business funds, the offshore accounts, the several illegal things that could get him thrown in jail with Felix and his mother in the cell next to him. If the media ever gets word of any of it, his father will go down in flames and it won’t be pretty.

As he turned around and walked to the door he could practically hear his father seething and decided to dig his grave further.

“I’m lucky small dicks aren’t genetic.”

_______

Y/n had covered war zones, political implosions, and tech billionaires with too many secrets and not enough moral compass (in her opinion). But this story? This one was different.

The Lee Divorce wasn’t just tabloid gold, it was a Category 5 media strom – ugly, sprawling, and enough hatred to give anyone a headache.

And right in the middle? Felix Lee.

Y/n didn’t care about the society drama. What she cared about was the rumors: missing assets, offshore accounts, shell companies quietly gutted just weeks before the divorce was announced. There was something deeper there. Something worth chasing.

The first time they met was at a private art gallery showing. She found him leaning against a column like he owned the place. His amused expression when their eyes locked made her think he could read her mind.

“Ms. y/l/n,” he said, swirling a glass of red wine. “I was wondering when you’d come sniffing around.”

“I’m not sniffing,” she said, slipping her recorder in her coat pocket. “I’m digging.”

It surprised y/n that he knew who she was and that she was obviously there for a story.

His smile curved like a blade. “Careful. You dig too deep and you might find something sharp.”

Felix was the kind of man who deflected everything with charm and perfectly-timed sarcasm. He teased like it was second nature – every comment laced with something dangerous, every smirk a challenge. But y/n had learned to read people, and beneath the effortless confidence was something cracked.

“You don’t seem too broken up about your parents’ divorce,” she said, watching his reaction closely.

He shrugged, putting on a show of nonchalance. “They were always better at playing house than actually living in one.”

His tone made her feel for him for some reason. Maybe it was the obvious way he wasn’t chill about the whole thing, or maybe it was the sad look in his eyes that held everything all at once.

Y/n had to get this story, she couldn’t back out now. But…something about the way he looked made her not want to push further. It was obvious he was keeping something a secret, but she didn’t want to shove him over the edge to find out.

She sighed and looked off to the side. “Look, my boss sent me here to find dirt on you about the divorce, but I'm not the type of person to push beyond someone's comfort. So I’ll stop, but I know there’s something going on here, and I plan on finding it.”

______

So much for y/n’s determination to find the dirt she was looking for. The closer she got to Felix, the further she fell for him. Showing up at his office, going to events and parties just to get close to him. Something about him made her obsessed with him. She had long forgotten about the story she was supposed to be finding on him, instead getting lost in his looks, his voice, the way he talked to her.

Which led them to where they were now. Fucking on the regular.

Felix lounged back on the bed, his eyes roving appreciatively over y/n’s body as she stood before him. She was wearing a thin silk robe, the deep V-neck giving him a tantalizing peek at her cleavage. Her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Well, well, well," Felix purred, "don't you look good enough to eat, sweetheart."

Y/n smirked and tied her robe tighter. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Felix," she teased. "Unless...you plan to put that clever tongue of yours to good use?"

Felix chuckled lowly and crooked a finger at her. "Come here and find out, beautiful."

Y/n bit her lip and sauntered over to the bed, letting her robe fall open to reveal her naked body beneath. Felix's eyes darkened with lust as he drank in the sight of her, from the swell of her breasts to the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he groaned, reaching out to grab her wrist and yank her down onto the bed. Y/n squealed in surprise as she landed on top of him, her bare skin pressing against his clothed body.

"Someone's eager," she purred, grinding her hips against the prominent bulge in his pants. "Is that all for me?"

"You know it is," Felix growled, cupping her ass and pulling her harder against him. "I'm always hard for you, baby. Always ready to give you what you need.”

Y/n moaned and kissed him fiercely, plundering his mouth with her tongue. Felix kissed her back just as passionately, one hand tangling in her hair while the other continued to grope her ass.

He broke the kiss after a long moment and smirked up at her. "Take off my clothes, sweetheart," he commanded huskily. "I want to feel that hot little mouth on me."

Y/n shivered with anticipation and sat back on her heels, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. She traced her fingers over his chest and abdomen as she went, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his smooth skin. Felix groaned and arched into her touch.

"Keep going," he urged breathlessly as she pushed the shirt off his shoulders.

Y/n complied eagerly, fumbling with his belt and zipper until she could finally free his straining cock. She wrapped her hand around his thick shaft and pumped it slowly, smearing the pre-cum leaking from the tip.

"Mmm, so big and hard," she purred, leaning down to lick a stripe up his length. "I love how you taste, Felix."

Felix tangled a hand in her hair and guided her head lower. "Then suck it like a good little girl," he ordered smugly. "Worship my cock with that pretty mouth."

Y/n shot him a sultry look but obediently parted her lips, taking him deep into her throat. She moaned around him as she bobbed her head, relishing his salty taste and the way he filled her mouth.

"That's it, sweetheart," Felix groaned, his head falling back against the pillow as she sucked him. "Take it all. Fuck, your mouth feels so good."

He rocked his hips up into her face, fucking her throat steadily as she gagged and slurped around him. Y/n loved the feeling of being used for his pleasure, loved the dominant way he held her head and controlled her movements.

After several minutes, Felix tugged her off his cock and dragged her up his body for a filthy kiss. "Enough teasing," he rasped against her lips. "I need to be inside you, baby."

Y/n whimpered in agreement and straddled his hips, reaching between them to notch his cock at her entrance. She sank down on him with a low moan, taking him to the hilt in one smooth motion.

"God, yes," she gasped, rocking her hips to take him even deeper. "You fill me up so good, Felix."

Felix gripped her waist and pistoned his hips upward, slamming into her slick heat. "Ride me, baby," he urged hoarsely. "Take what you need.”

Y/n did just that, bouncing on his cock with wild abandon. Her tits jiggled enticingly with every movement, and Felix leaned up to capture one sensitive nipple in his mouth, sucking hard.

"Fuck, just like that," he groaned, laving the sensitive bud with his tongue. "Gonna make you come so hard on my cock, angel. I know you want it.”

Y/n could only cry out and move faster, chasing her orgasm. She could feel it building rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in her belly. Felix thrust up into her sharply and pinched her clit, sending her hurtling over the edge.

She came with a scream of his name, pussy clenching down on him like a vice. Felix snarled and pounded into her through the aftershocks, prolonging her pleasure until he couldn't hold back any longer.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come!" he groaned, slamming up into her one last time before stilling deep inside. Y/n could feel him pulsing as he filled her with his hot cum, marking her as his.

They collapsed together in a sweaty tangle of limbs, gasping for breath. Felix pulled y/n down for a languid kiss, tangling his fingers in her damp hair.

"Never get enough of you, sweetheart," he murmured against her lips. "So fucking perfect."

Y/n smiled and nuzzled into his neck, feeling completely satisfied and cherished. She thought back to a couple of months ago when she was desperately trying to bring him down because of his parents divorce. She’s glad that now she gets to scream his name instead of dragging it through the dirt.

260 notes · View notes

oddinary4bts · 1 year ago

Text

Chasing Cars | ch 4 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: the power outage is still power outing, curses, Jungkook being Jungkook, mentions of being really drunk and throwing up, explicit content: they talk about what happened in ch 3, teasing, some Mario Kart (yes, it has to be in the explicit content section lmao), hickeys, brat!reader, dom!Jungkook, big dick!Jungkook, degradation (he calls her a slut/pretty little slut), consent king Jeon Jungkook, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, jerking off, talks about having raw sex, protected sex, praise

☆word count: 9.5k

☆a/n: new chapterrrrrrr! Enjoy reading everyone <3 there's a tiny bit of angst if you squint your eyes really hard, but the real angst will hit much later on. Thank you to @moonleeai and @jessikahathaway for beta-ing, you guys are the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Friday, February 15th

You wake up slowly, with the rising sun. Your room is dark, cold, yet you’re snuggled close to Jungkook, whose body heat has been keeping you warm all night. He’s still asleep, mouth slightly parted, and you watch him for a few seconds before the events of last night come back to your mind, and you have to shut your eyes to try to forget.

It’s hard. His arm is still draped over you, and it twitches in his sleep. You try to push him away, but he wraps his arm around you tighter, nuzzling his face in your neck. It does something to you that you entirely can’t deal with, and you shut your eyes even harder, trying to ignore the way your heart is acting up in your chest.

You breathe in, the cold air taming the burning inside of you. You exhale slowly, and to your surprise, your heart finally decides to start calming down. You keep breathing deeply for a while, and you reckon it might have worked better than you expected because, next thing you know, you wake up with a start.

Jungkook is sitting next to you, and he offers you a lopsided grin as you meet his gaze, heart once again beating wildly.

“Morning, peach,” he greets you, voice gravelly with sleep.

You force yourself to sit up, and you stretch a yawn away. “Morning.”

“Slept well?”

There’s a teasing glint in his eyes, mischief laced with his words. You know you shouldn’t be surprised. Know Jungkook is probably going to turn you into a blushing mess even more now. Especially as he smirks, head cocking to the side while he awaits your answer.

“Yeah,” you answer, and you look towards the window as his eyes bore into your profile. You take a deep breath, another yawn moving through you before you’re able to look at him again. “Did you?”

“Better than I thought I would,” he admits, and he stretches before lying back down, pulling the covers to his face. It’s adorable, in a way Jeon Jungkook should never be, and you force yourself to not let it get to your mind as he continues, “I usually sleep like shit when I sleep with someone.”

You purse your lips, refusing to give meaning to his words as you say, “Maybe last night helped.”

The lopsided smile is back, and he nods once, sighing in content. “We should lose power more often.”

In the hopes that power would come back during the night, you plugged in your phone before going to sleep. You reach for it on the night table, and even though your room is still freezing, you’re still taken aback that the power is still out.

“Well, we still don’t have any,” you inform him.

He glances at you. “Then we should go back to sleep.”

At that, you snort, shaking your head. Even though your battery is low, you still go to your emails, trying to see if you received anything from your professor.

What you find is a college-wide email informing the students that all college activities are cancelled today and through the weekend, to start again on Monday. Your gaze widens before you glance at Jungkook.

“Power is still out in college, too,” you tell him. “So, no class.”

Jungkook’s smile only grows wider, and he opens his arms for you to come cuddle again. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Your heart is warm. A hearth, in which a small fire has started to burn. It’s soft, cozy, and you worry at your bottom lip as you survey Jungkook. As you try to figure out when you crossed the line, and if it’s too late to pull back.

You figure you can decide later when the power is back on and this bubble outside of time will have burst, and you lie back next to him. His arms, still wide open, look far too inviting, and it takes you about five seconds before you’re scooching into his embrace.

He sighs in content. “You know,” he lets out. “If Tae learns, I’m a dead man.”

Reality crashes harder than a tsunami on a beach, and you try to pull away. Jungkook holds onto you, even when you push on his chest.

“I was just going to say,” he adds so you’d stop pushing him, “that we should keep this between us.”

You nod against him as you finally stop trying to pull away. “Yes, I agree.”

“Good.”

And Tae doesn’t cross your mind for the rest of the morning. Eventually, you and Jungkook decide to move out of the safe comfort of the covers, needing to eat something before you die, as Jungkook jokes. It’s a quick trip to the kitchen before you figure your room is far warmer than the rest of the apartment. You retreat with fruits, while Jungkook grabs a bowl of the food he cooked yesterday.

Watching him eat it cold makes you gag, so you turn away from him to focus on eating your apple and blueberries.

“What?” he says, and he sounds like his mouth is full.

“How can you even be eating that?”

There are a few seconds of silence, while he clearly swallows his bite. “What’s wrong with it?”

You scrunch up your nose in disgust, glancing at him over your shoulder. His gaze is narrowed, eyebrows bunched together over his eyes as he fakes offence, or perhaps suspicion. It makes you snort, and you look away from him before you speak again.

“It’s cold.”

“Wow, is it?” he teases. “Never would have noticed.”

You roll your eyes, forcing your laugh down because Jeon Jungkook shouldn’t be making you laugh anyway. Silence replaces the conversation, and you finish eating in peace, watching the world outside the window.

It looks straight out of a fairy tale. The trees are covered in a thick coat of ice, and they glisten in the morning light as if they are made of glass. It’s beautiful, in an unforgiving way, and you find peace in their contemplation.

Peace in this comfortable silence with Jungkook.

By the time you’re done eating, Jungkook has wolfed down the bowl he made for himself, and you both return to the kitchen to put away the dishes you’d used. Jungkook leans against the counter while you rinse them, arms folded on his chest.

“What should we do today?” he asks.

You cock an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Unless you want to be alone.”

Your eyes dart to him quickly, before returning to the safety of the spot where the jet of water hits the bowl you’re holding. “What do you want to do?”

“We could go for a car ride,” he suggests. “To charge up our phones.”

“Don’t you think the roads are a little too dangerous right now?”

He plays with his piercing as he frowns slightly, clearly not having thought about this. “Right.” You watch as the cogs work in his brain, and you can’t help the smile that slowly grows on your lips when his features light up. “We can just stay parked somewhere.”

“We’d still have to get there.”

He furrows his brows. “I’m sure they’ve put salt on the streets, we should be okay.”

What he doesn’t know is that you don’t need convincing. You’ve already decided you’d go, mostly because you do need to charge your phone. Not because you really need it right now, but just because the thought of not having it with you feels strange.

“We’re going?” Jungkook presses as you remain silent.

He must be immune to the teasing glint you know for a fact has taken over your eyes. You sigh, before nodding once. “Sure.”

He beams. “Let’s go!”

His enthusiasm makes you laugh, and you turn the tap off before turning to watch him as he’s leaving the kitchen.

“Shouldn’t we brush our teeth and freshen up first?”

He stops in his tracks. “Right.” He turns, flashing you a grin that reveals the same dimples you noticed yesterday. “Good luck with taking a shower, though.”

You snort. “Let’s just brush our teeth.”

Which is what you do, Jungkook pushing you with his hips as you stand next to him. You flip him off, and his eyes sparkle as he looks at you.

It stabs right through your heart, and you look away, searching for salvation on the tiles of the floor. It does nothing – reality is just a heartbeat away, and no matter how easy it is with Jungkook right now, you’re very aware that the moment the world returns to normalcy, your relationship with him will too.

And you still don’t understand where this is coming from. Where this easy complicity between you comes from, and why you’ve never really noticed before. Was it because of Taehyung?

It’s a question you ask yourself for the next hour, as you sit in Jungkook’s car listening to music and belting out tunes even though you’re not half the singer that he is. He doesn’t mention it, only laughs along with you before asking you stupid questions about your past, about Taehyung when you grew up and why you decided to move in with them.

He clearly doesn’t like you saying that it was just because it was convenient. It’s clear as spring water, and he pouts slightly as he says, “Not even for me?”

You punch him in the shoulder. “I didn’t know you when I moved in.”

“But now you do,” he teases, smirk moving on his lips.

There’s more meaning to his words than it seems, and you feel blush creeping on your cheeks. “Do I?”

“I’d say watching me jerk off and come is a good way to get to know me, no?”

“Jungkook!”

He laughs like a child as you flush furiously purple, trying to ignore how, as a matter of fact, his words are actually turning you on. You don’t want to think about last night, just want to focus on the now, on this unexpected friendship.

Jungkook has other plans for you, because he says, “Don’t tell me you didn’t like it.”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

“You’re blushing.”

If possible, your glare intensifies. “Shut the fuck up.”

He dissolves in a fit of giggles that makes your heart skip a beat, and you roll your eyes before glancing at your phone.

“Mine’s full now,” you mutter.

For a reason you don’t quite understand, Jungkook has two phone cords in his car, both of them working to charge. He glances at his phone, shaking his head.

“You’re going to be stuck with me for longer, peach,” he tells you mischievously. “Mine’s only on 75%.”

“Do you really need it full?”

He offers you an innocent smile. “Definitely.”

Your phone buzzes, and you both glance towards it. You’ve received a text from Ria, in the group chat you share with the whole friend group. She’s asking how everyone’s surviving, and if anyone needs to crash at the dorm, which for some reason, is the only place on campus that still has power.

You hesitate for half a heartbeat before turning your phone off.

*****

Today was fun, albeit cold. After charging your phones in Jungkook’s car, you took a long walk through campus, just talking about everything and nothing as if you’d always been close.

As if he didn’t finger you with his cum last night.

Whenever the thought resurfaces, it makes you startle, and Jungkook smirks. Because he knows – obviously he does.

He knows the effect he has on you. You think he sees how you tense whenever his hand touches yours, whenever he stands just a little too close. And maybe that’s why you avoided going home for a long time, because you’re afraid that being stuck between four walls with him again will make you go insane.

Alas, when you both grow hungry sometime in the afternoon, you can’t force him to stay out, so you follow him home, ignoring the weight of your turned-off phone in your pocket.

Fortunately enough, on all the journey walking around campus, you didn’t run into anyone from your friend group. Somehow, you were afraid that you would – what would they think if they saw you hanging out with Jungkook?

More importantly, what would Hoseok think? Maybe it makes you an asshole, but in the moment, you don’t really care. You are entirely focused on Jungkook, mostly because it’s easy to be entirely focused on him. As if he’s the full moon in a summer night sky – he makes all the stars hard to see, as he shines too bright for their glow to be noticeable.

You sigh as you’re settled in the kitchen, door closed as Jungkook reheats something on the stove. It’s not extremely cold in the apartment, but keeping the door shut does help with keeping the kitchen warm enough to be bearable with only a thick sweater on.

You think Jungkook is crazy. He’s only wearing a beige and indigo athletic Nike vest, and he’s left it unzipped because he claimed he was getting too warm. Underneath, a white t-shirt rests loosely around his waist, and you’ve been doing your best to forget just how dainty his waist is, under all the clothes.

“See, we’re going to build up your heat tolerance,” he says over his shoulder, and he flashes you a grin before focusing on what he’s reheating again.

“Good luck with that,” you answer, chuckling. “I’ve tried before, and nothing works.”

“You and Tae really are the worst at that,” Jungkook teases, and you roll your eyes even if he can’t see.

Indeed, he’s turned his head towards the window, and he watches the sun as it gets lower in the sky, nearing the horizon. You’re afraid of when it’ll be gone under; you’re afraid it’ll elicit sinful activities between you and Jungkook again.

Afraid, yet with a certain kind of apprehension to it. Perhaps because it’s not fear of him, but rather fear of yourself.

It’s hard to remember that he’s Taehyung’s best friend when you’re alone with him like this.

Especially when he sets a steaming bowl of food in front of you, a wicked smile on his lips as he forces you to eat. As you choke on it, the heat too much to handle for you. Jungkook laughs out loud before handing you a glass of ice-cold water.

It barely helps, and the heat remains for a while as you eat, and even more so as you’re done, watching Jungkook eating a second portion as if he hasn’t eaten the first one in record time. You’re playing music on your phone, your usual study playlist – lo-fi beats – and Jungkook seems to like it. He’s been nodding his head to the music as he devoured his bowl.

When he finishes eating, sitting back in his chair as he rests a hand on his stomach, he once again offers you the wide grin. The sun is setting now – the whole kitchen is turning to gold, and you hate that the glow makes him look ethereal, like he’s a piece of heaven fallen to Earth for you to enjoy.

“Do you want to wash yourself?” Jungkook asks out of the blue. You cock an eyebrow in question, but before you’ve had a chance to say anything, he adds, “We could warm some water on the stove and use that to wash ourselves.”

Your eyes widen. “That’s actually a good idea.”

“Come on, peach,” he lets out, and he chuckles as he shakes his head, a little condescendingly. “You really think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

Stupid wouldn’t be the word that you’d use. Arrogant, maybe. Too full of himself, for sure. But you don’t think that saying so would be a good idea, so you only shrug.

“Aren’t you?”

He bursts out laughing, that goofy smile that makes your heart skip beats in your chest as if you’re twelve and it’s the first time you’re speaking to a guy. “I’m not, thank you very much. I wouldn’t be in college if I was.”

“Lots of stupid people are in college,” you point out mischievously.

He tuts. “I’d thought by now you’d know I’m not a lot of people, peach.” He cocks his head to the side, and his eyes drop to your lips. “You get fingered by a lot of guys like that?”

You turn to fire. “Excuse me?”

And the goofy smile returns, as if he didn’t just say the crudest sentence in the world. “Just teasing you.”

You narrow your eyes but don’t find any retort to that. It makes Jungkook’s grin widen, and then he gets up to bring your bowl and his to the sink. As he’s rinsing them, he offers you a look.

“Should I reheat some water then?” he asks, the teasing tone gone.

You try a look towards him, but standing there, the sun forms too much of an aura around him, so you can barely see him even if you squint your eyes.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“One pot for you and one for me, then!”

His statement makes you laugh, and you get up to actually help him get the pots on the stove. You turn the gas on, using the lighter so that the flames catch, and soon the water is heating up, and the prospect of freshening up brings a smile to your lips.

You notice Jungkook looking at it, features turning somber. And he’s quick to look away. Quick to focus on where the sun dipped under the horizon, watching the clouds turning to gold above.

“Have you spoken to Tae today?” he asks, and the reminder of your brother makes you clench your jaw, ever so slightly.

“No,” you admit. You think he’ll say more, but he remains silent. So you take it upon yourself to make conversation, and you ask, “Have you?”

He shrugs. “Just told him the power is still out.”

“Mmh.”

The silence is deafening then – you can barely hear it over the clamour in your thoughts. And you don’t know where it’s coming from, only that the more the silence stretches, the more you grow unsteady on your feet.

“How did you guys meet?” you ask, voice sounding a little strained.

Jungkook shoots you a look. “He didn’t tell you?”

You purse your lips and shake your head no, which earns you a chuckle from him. It makes you grow suspicious, and you narrow your gaze. “What?”

“Nothing.” He pauses, observes your features for a moment with those big doe eyes of his before he says, “We met Frosh week.”

You remain silent, waiting for him to continue.

“He was pissed out drunk in a bush,” Jungkook admits, and his eyes fog up with the memories as he looks away from you. “Jimin is the one that found him first. And mind you, I only knew Jimin for a few days then, since we were dorm roommates.”

But you know how easy friendship forms in that Frosh week. You and Nabi are a good example of it after all.

“We couldn’t find anyone who knew him, so we brought him back to the dorm. He threw up in Jimin’s bed, and the next day he suggested grabbing breakfast together, as a thank you for taking care of him.”

Jungkook smiles fondly, and his gaze connects with yours. “And the rest is history.”

It sure is. You’re not really sure where you come into this story – if you should come into it at all. Because Jungkook and Taehyung really are close – what would Taehyung say if he knew what Jungkook and you did?

It’s a scary thought, one that you’ve remedied with Jungkook already. You just have to not tell Taehyung, simple as that.

“I think the water is ready,” Jungkook admits, and he dips his fingers in one of the pots. He nods, before saying, “You can grab yours, and go to the bathroom. I’ll clean up in my room.”

“Don’t you need soap?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You know soap can be carried outside of a bathroom? Like, it’s not confined-“

His sentence dies as you punch him in the chest, and he starts laughing as you curse him under your breath, grabbing the pot.

“Open the door for me,” you grumble as you walk towards it.

“Please?”

You look up to the water-stained ceiling. “Are you for real?”

“Yes.”

You debate silently, though you know that you’ll cave in.

You reckon you’ll always cave in where Jungkook is concerned.

“Can you please open the door for me?” you ask, and you scold yourself internally for not being able to stand your ground.

“Of course, peach,” he says, grinning widely. “I can actually carry that to the bathroom for you, I need to grab soap and a towel anyway.”

He walks towards you, gently taking the pot out of your hands, so you end up opening the door for him, begrudgingly following him to the bathroom. You follow him in, watching him as he carefully puts the pot down in the sink.

“Here you go,” he says as he shoots you a look over his shoulder.

You can’t help but look away as your gazes connect, before mumbling, “Thank you.”

“You could at least sound happy about it,” he teases. You roll your eyes, though a smile teases the corners of your lips. Jungkook taps your cheek, and you bristle, stepping away from him.

If he cares he doesn’t show it, instead moving to grab a washcloth and his shower gel.

Are you disappointed to see him go? Maybe. But you don’t let it show, instead shutting the door behind him, making sure to lock it before you strip out of your clothes to wash up.

It’s freezing, and you hate every second of it, so you make it quick, washing the most strategic and important body parts. When you’re done, you move to grab your clean clothes from the…

You never grabbed clean clothes, did you?

You curse under your breath, mostly cursing Jungkook for making you so stupid around him. You hate it - you feel like you lose most of your brain cells when he’s around. But you can’t help it, and you tightly wrap yourself in a towel as you pray to the God above, if there’s one, to not make you run into Jungkook as you walk back to your room.

Of course, Jungkook opens the door to his room the second you are in front of it. You startle, freezing like a deer in headlights, and Jungkook’s gaze dips to your legs.

You hate the smirk growing on his lips the second it appears.

“What’s got you walking around naked in this temperature?”

Though you reckon his gaze warms you up in an instant, you reply, “Fuck off, I just forgot to get clean clothes.”

He leans against his doorframe, slipping his hands in the pocket of his grey sweatpants. He looks the perfect picture of male insolence, and fuck, it does things to you that it shouldn’t.

Like, make you remember that he fingered you with his cum yesterday. Thinking about it, it was a really stupid thing to do, but you hadn’t been able to resist…

And from the way he’s eyeing you right now, you highly doubt you’ll be able to resist him again. You realize then that the apartment is darkening, that soon you’ll have to light up the candles…

You’re sinking in quicksands, aren’t you?

“How unfortunate,” Jungkook comments, always so arrogant.

“I said it already, but do really fuck off, JK,” you reply.

He tilts his head to the side - the predator, and you, its next meal. “That’s not what you were saying yesterday.”

You blush, bright scarlet taking over your features, and you roll your eyes, choosing to ignore his comment as you finish walking to your room.

“That’s what I thought,” he says behind you, and you flip him off over your shoulder, which makes him laugh that boyish laugh that does things to you.

You lean against the bedroom door once you get in, heart beating out of your chest, cursing power for going out, and cursing your brother for choosing to do a semester abroad.

It’s useless - the cursing, that is. Because it won’t change anything, and a small, tiny, minuscule part of you doesn’t want it to… so you curse yourself too for good measure.

By the time you finally emerge from your bedroom, the sun has fully set, and you’ve been using your phone as a flashlight. Jungkook is sitting in the living room, playing on his Switch, which apparently still has battery, and he glances at you as you approach.

“Want to play a game?” he asks, offering you a small smile.

His features are lit from the screen, and he looks soft, his big eyes slightly crinkling at the corners. You hold in your own smile, instead cocking an eyebrow.

“So that I can beat your ass?” you say.

You watch as fire catches in his gaze, and you think he’s about to burn you to the spot. “Oh, you wanna play this game?” he says, his voice suddenly an octave lower.

A thrilled shiver runs down your spine, and you finish crossing the distance between you and him, sitting next to him. The leather couch is freezing, but you hold your wince in as you motion to the Switch.

“You think you can beat my ass?” he asks.

“I know I can.”

He smirks, leaning back on the couch. He rests his head against the backrest, turning his head towards you. “Oh, peach,” he breathes out. “You’re cute when you try to be sassy.”

You widen your gaze. “Try to be sassy! I’m serious, I’ll beat your ass.”

“In any game?” he asks, and his eyes dip to your lips.

“Mario Kart,” you say, folding your arms on your chest.

You’re wearing a thick sweater, yet it doesn’t stop Jungkook from looking down, and you know exactly what he’s seeing - you, with your legs spread wide open for him like they were yesterday.

“Winner gets head,” he says, and you really think you’re about to catch fire.

“What about Tae?”

You can’t help the question. Because you don’t want to do that to your brother, but you’ve been unable to resist. You know shame and guilt will catch up to you one day - hell, Ria will never let you live it down if she learns what’s already happened.

Jungkook shrugs. “I don’t think it’d make any difference after yesterday.”

“So you want me to choke on your dick?”

Night and you and Jeon Jungkook really don’t mix well, do they? Because you want him. You want him so bad right now you think you’re about to go insane, yet you know you shouldn’t.

“Fuck, peach.” He chuckles. “I want to know if you taste as good as you look.”

You wet your lips, and his eyes fall to your mouth, staying there as you say, “Well then, winner gets head,” you murmur, and you think he’s about to say ‘fuck it’ and jump on you.

You really do think he won’t be able to resist, and frankly, you don’t want him to. You feel yourself leaning forward, a moth to the flame, but Jungkook clears his throat, and his eyes shoot to yours.

“Deal.”

Jungkook sets up the game, and since you can’t play multiplayer thanks to the power being out and the TV not functioning, you settle on whoever gets first place first. Which you reckon is stupid - getting first place when you’re playing against the AI isn’t really an impressive feat.

You shiver before Jungkook starts his race, and he pauses the game to glance at you. “Do you want to go to your room?”

You cock an eyebrow. “Too excited to play here?”

He rolls his eyes, though a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “No, you’re freezing, and I figured, since your room is the smallest, if we do like yesterday, we can probably keep it warm. Or at least warmer than here.” His last words are accompanied by a vague motion of his hand encompassing the living room, and you reckon he does have a point.

“Sure then,” you say, nodding once.

You get up from the couch, and Jungkook quickly follows you. He’s so close, looming behind you like he’s the predator about to pounce on its prey, and you shudder with delight, warmth pooling in your lower stomach.

You think he knows. You’re convinced he does, because a few minutes later, when you’re in your room with the candles on, sitting on your bed, he leans against the wall, abandoning his Switch to the side.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s so easy to get into your bed, peach,” he teases, and you startle when one of his large hands lightly grazes your thigh.

You swat it away without an ounce of regret, even though the spot he touched feels like it’s been hit by lightning. “Are you saying I’m easy?”

His mouth falls open and he looks surprised, even maybe a little apologetic. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

The wicked smile you offer him makes him chuckle as he realizes you were teasing him, and he grabs his Switch, his brow creasing a little with the frown that adorns his features from concentrating. It’s cute. You reckon it’s adorable, and you reckon you shouldn’t feel that way about your brother’s best friend, so you push the thought as far away as you can.

It’s not like Jungkook is the kind of guy you should feel endearment for. Because you know he’d only break your heart - he’s not the most popular guy on campus for nothing, after all.

“Ready?” he tells you.

You nod. “Good luck.”

He doesn’t need it. He gets first place, and he puts his Switch down on the bed as you realize what it means.

But you’re not going to give in so easily to him, will you?

“If I get first place, too, then this doesn’t count.”

He fake-glares at you, but he shrugs. “Alright. Let’s see if you can get first place.”

The way he says it is ominous, and you gulp, cheeks flushing with pink as you grab the Switch. As per always, you choose Peach as your character, which obviously earns you a snicker from Jungkook, but you don’t mind.

Maybe because you’re starting to like when he calls you peach.

You easily start the race in the first position, Peach racing and drifting ahead of the AI-controlled characters. Jungkook shifts next to you, attracting your attention, and you almost run into a wall, thankfully recovering quickly.

It doesn’t last long. Because next time he shifts, Jungkook brushes your thigh, and you just know he has a wicked smirk on his lips without having to look at him.

“Stop,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Or what?” he purrs, and you nudge him with an elbow. He just laughs, his hand now resting flatly on your thigh. “Got trouble focusing?”

“You’re cheating,” you whine, and you’re hit by a blue shell which puts you back a few positions.

“Am I?” he breathes out.

You sigh as he leans closer to you, and his nose brushes your cheek. Instinctively, you tilt your head to the side, and he chuckles as he pushes your hair off your shoulder, before leaning even closer.

His lips ghost on your neck, and your eyes flutter close, the Switch entirely forgotten in your hands.

“Jungkook…”

His tongue darts out, tasting you, and then he sucks a hickey on your skin. “What?”

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice barely over a whisper.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about my fingers inside of you,” he says, huskily. “All fucking day.” He nibbles at your earlobe, and you let out a breathy sound that makes him chuckle again. “Just been thinking about how you’d feel on my dick too.”

“Fuck.”

“I know.” He kisses your jaw, and then pulls away, sitting back against the wall. “I think you lost.”

You open your eyes, realizing that you’re still holding the Switch. He’s right – the AIs have finished while Jungkook was teasing you, and you stare at the screen for a few seconds before meeting his gaze.

He looks victorious, happy with himself. You want to wipe the smirk off his lips, so you put down the Switch on the bed, kneeling next to him.

“So you want me to suck your dick now?” you say, voice low, and you drag a hand on his thigh.

His tongue toys with his piercings. “Well, wasn’t that the deal?”

Emboldened, you straddle his lap, and you wrap a hand around his throat for support. You feel him swallow, and you lean closer, watching as the smirk slowly disappears from his lips.

“Was it?”

He gulps. He fucking gulps, and you can’t help but bite your lower lip. Even though the room is cold, you feel warm, a tingly sensation slowly taking over your entire body. His eyes fall to your mouth, and it takes him a few seconds before he says, “Yes.”

You have him right where you want him to be. “Damn, who knew Jeon Jungkook wanted me so bad?”

You lean in, brushing your lips on his, tongue darting out to play with his piercings. He doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything, though you can tell that he wants to touch you.

Maybe because you’re perched on his erection.

“Maybe Tae should have left before, mmh?” you continue. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so desperate…”

Jungkook grabs your waist, spinning you around dizzyingly until you’re on the bed and he’s hovering over you. “Enough,” he says, voice rough.

You don’t lose the smirk. “Or what?”

He wets his lips and then leans in. “I’m going to have so much fun wiping that smirk from your lips, peach.”

“Oh, will you now?” you fire back. “Better get into action then.”

One of his hands grabs the side of your head, tightening around your hair, and he forces you to turn your head to the side. He leaves wet kisses down your neck and then moves back up to your jaw.

“If only Tae knew how much of a slut you are,” Jungkook says. “A pretty little slut.” Your smirk wavers as he pushes your legs apart with a knee. “I wonder, are you already soaked for me, mmh?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

He chuckles darkly. “Fucking hell, you really are driving me crazy.”

And even though you shouldn’t, even though Jungkook is your older brother’s best friend, even though you know guilt will eventually catch up to you, you say, “Then act on it, JK. Show me just how crazy I’m making you feel.”

His mouth collides with yours with force, and you immediately reach up, running your hands through his hair. He sucks on your tongue, earning a moan from you, and he grunts as you pull on his hair, the soft strands feeling like silk on your fingers.

He grinds into you, and you feel the powerful length of him rub against you. You know he’ll stretch you wide open, and you want him so bad it almost hurts.

You think you’ve wanted him for months already. Yesterday, you could blame it on the alcohol, on your inhibition being altered, but today… Today you know it’s always been about the tattoos, the piercings, and the shameless flirting.

You’ve been in Jungkook’s orbit ever since September – you were bound to crash into him someday.

Jungkook pulls away to meet your gaze. The weight of his body on yours feels right – better than Hoseok’s ever felt. The thought douses you, and you think Jungkook notices.

You know he does, because he says, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Your eyes flit around his features for a time – his nose, his mouth, the mole underneath his lips, his left eye, the scar on his cheek. They eventually settle on his lip piercings.

“Are you getting insecure?” you tease. Because it’s all that you know how to do, the only way you can think of pushing the vulnerability away.

His tongue pokes at his cheek, and he presses another searing kiss on your lips. You can’t help but moan softly as he grinds again, and you instinctively wrap your legs around him, your arms circling his neck as well.

When he pulls away next, it’s to rest his forehead against yours. You breathe the same air for a few seconds, until he says, “Consent is hot, peach. Tell me you want it, or I’m stopping now.”

“I want it, JK,” you answer. “I want you to fuck me dumb until my room isn’t cold anymore.”

Jungkook straightens, kneeling between your legs. The candles cast flickering lights on his honey skin, and you watch unblinkingly as he takes off his shirt.

He’s beautiful. You realized that yesterday, though you didn’t see him without the shirt. But he’s truly beautiful, all muscle and delicate waist, and his skin glows golden under the light of the candles. His brown nipples are perked prettily on his chest, and you want to touch him, want to drag your hands over every powerful line of his body.

“Shit, it’s fucking cold,” he says, and he quickly bends down again.

You grab the blankets, pulling them on top of him. Without any trace of hesitation, you rest your hands on his back, and you lightly scratch him with your nails.

“Then we better get you warmed up,” you purr.

You don’t need to say it twice. Jungkook finds your mouth again, and he grunts as you dig your nails in his skin, before releasing the pressure. He then goes down to your jaw, down your neck, and he disappears under the covers, spreading your legs wide open with his large hands.

“Can I take these off?” his muffled voice says from beneath the blankets.

You pull enough on the covers to see his face, big doe eyes awaiting your consent. “Yes.”

He smirks wickedly. “Good.”

He’s quick to rid you of your pants. He leaves your panties on, his large hands caressing your thighs as he settles between your legs. You know he’s going to eat you out, and you think you’ll go insane. But nothing could have prepared you for how much of a tease he is.

Indeed, Jungkook presses light kisses on the insides of your thighs, mouth ghosting over where you need him the most, never once giving in to your desires. You’re soaking wet, painfully so by the time you groan, hand flying to his hair as you try to push his head where you want him.

He resists, chuckling darkly. “Growing a little impatient?”

“Eat me out,” you answer breathlessly. “Fuck.”

“Why should I?” He bites the inside of your thigh. “I love watching you squirm under me.”

You whine, yet this time, he licks the wet spot on your panties. Your thighs instinctively close, and he forces them wide open again.

“Don’t move,” he orders.

You try to obey. You really do, but when he pushes your panties to the side and sucks on your clit, your back arches off the bed.

“Jungkook,” you breathe out.

He doesn’t answer, too busy pushing his tongue inside you, parting your folds easily. You moan, and your grip on his hair tightens, though you keep him close. And he doesn’t seem like he wants to pull away. He starts making out with your pussy, squelching sounds coming from between your legs with every swipe of his tongue.

Soon, he gets bored of pushing his tongue in and out of you, and he moves back to your clit, circling it unforgivingly. He’s good, that much you’ll admit, and when he circles your entrance with one long finger, you moan again.

“You want it?” he asks, pulling away just long enough to voice the words.

He’s right back on your clit a fraction of a second later, and he sucks on it, flicking the sensitive bud with his tongue.

You feel the orgasm. It’s still far, but it’s on the horizon of your conscience, and you know it’ll hit good once it does. So you say, “Please, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t disappoint. He pushes his finger in, arches it to rub that sweet spot inside of you in time with the motions of his tongue on your clit. You grind in his face by reflex, and he grunts against you as you do so, resting his tongue flat on your clit so that you can pleasure yourself on his face.

He must know it’s not enough. Because after a few seconds of it, he starts moving his face from side to side, and the orgasm looms closer, aiming for you at the speed of light.

It hits when Jungkook pushes a second finger in, stretching you, and your walls clench hard against his digits, though he keeps on pushing them in and out of you in a steady rhythm. He sucks on your clit as you come, and you think you’ve moaned his name at least twice by the time he finally pulls away, drying his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Shit, peach,” he says, and you watch him through the ecstasy blurring your gaze. “You taste so fucking good.”

As if he wants to show you, he captures your mouth in a kiss. You taste yourself, but you’re too fucked out to be able to agree or disagree with him. All you can do is moan in his mouth, and he swallows it with a swipe of his tongue.

And as he keeps kissing you, keeps branding himself in your mouth, you run your hand on his body, blood boiling from the sheer strength that you know he has. You reach for the band of his sweatpants, going lower to wrap your hand around his clothed length.

He’s big and heavy in your hand.

Mostly, he’s not wearing any underwear. Or if he is, they are extremely loose, because you’re able to wrap your fingers around him even through the sweatpants. He bucks his hips, and you tighten your hold.

“Why don’t you put that pretty hand under the clothes, mmh?” he teases against your jaw, before he goes to nibbling on your ear. “I’ve been wanting to feel it wrapped around my cock.”

You don’t hesitate. You move back up to the band of his sweatpants, and you quickly push your hand in. You sigh in delight as you find he’s not wearing any underwear, fingers grazing over the velvety softness of his length. He hisses but doesn’t say anything as you test the waters, slowly grabbing his dick.

You lightly stroke him, and he bucks his hips, trying to fuck your hand.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” you tease him, and he bites at your jaw.

“I’ve been wanting you for a really long time, peach.”

His words make your heart pause in your chest. Because you feel like there’s a deeper meaning, like it isn’t just shameless flirting in the heat of the action. It reminds you of the kiss yesterday, of the way he’d pulled you on his lap with no other intention than to kiss you.

And it makes you tighten your grip on his dick, and he grunts as you start jerking him off faster. But it’s awkward and clumsy with the sweatpants on, so you pull your hand out after a few seconds.

“Take these off,” you say, and he immediately kneels to obey, taking off his sweatpants quickly before resuming his position between your legs.

You’re not sure you were prepared for the sight of Jeon Jungkook fully naked in your bed. Though goosebumps prick at his skin from the cold, he still looks devilish, like he’s about to drag you to hell. His dick stands proud and tall, leaking precum, and the muscles of his thighs strain against his skin.

He’s big. And not just his dick. Jungkook works out a lot, spends hours every week at the gym, and it truly shows in every angle of him. He looks sculpted in marble, a perfect body that accentuates the beauty of his features, that contradicts the innocence of his big eyes.

Or maybe what truly contradicts it is the way he fists his cock, jerking off quickly as he eyes you. As he stares you down, and you feel ready to go all over again just from the sight of it.

“You have condoms?” he asks, and he grunts as he keeps jerking himself off.

You have half a thought to tell him to keep going, to come all over you, but you want it too much to resist. So you motion to your night table, saying, “Bottom drawer.”

He nods appreciatively, letting go of his cock so that he can bend and rummage through the drawer until he finds the condoms. He winces as he straightens, a tinfoil package in hand.

“Pretty sure that’s going to be too tight for me.”

You roll your eyes. “Condoms stretch, you know that?”

“Not enough,” he says, flicking your nose teasingly. “But I don’t think we should go raw, so that’ll do.”

Yet, the thought of going raw with him… You grab a hold of his wrist before he’s able to start unrolling the condom on his dick, and he cocks an eyebrow as he meets your gaze.

“Are you clean?”

You see him gulp. Indeed, his throat bobs, and he tilts his head to the side. “Got tested last week,” he admits. “But I really don’t think we should go raw.”

“I’m clean.”

“You’ve been fucking that other guy,” Jungkook says.

“We always wear protection.”

Jungkook purses his lips, taking a deep breath. “Honestly peach, I think I wouldn’t last a minute if I fucked you raw right now. Let me put the condom on.”

He says it in a stern way that makes you let go of his wrist. You feel bad, wondering if you were pushing a boundary, but Jungkook doesn’t seem like he notices. Indeed, he busies himself with putting the condom on, rolling it down his dick, and he winces in pain once it’s all the way down.

“That shit’s fucking tight,” he comments, and then he positions himself between your legs again. His large hands find your thighs, and he caresses up and down once before meeting your gaze. “Are you okay?” he asks, with no lust or desire or anything other than concern for you.

Because of course, he’d notice that you’re feeling bad.

“Sorry if I was insisting…” you say, vaguely motioning to his dick.

He looks down at himself. “About the condom?” He waits for you to nod your head before he says anything else. “Peach, don’t worry about it. I’m seriously close right now, which is really fucking weird, and I just want to be able to make you feel good, m’kay?” He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You melt, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. He chuckles, mumbling against your lips, “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, but you really turn me on.”

You think you know what it is. You don’t think it’s about you, or about him. It’s rather about the feeling of doing something you shouldn’t be doing. Of doing something forbidden, because he’s Taehyung’s friend, and you’re Taehyung’s younger sister.

But you don’t say it. Instead, you whisper, “Then fuck me good, Jungkook.”

He lets out a breathy sound as he leans his forehead against yours. There’s something so intimate about the gesture that you feel your heart soaring in your chest, and then he pushes your ruined panties to the side again so that he can nudge your entrance with his dick.

“I will,” he promises, and then he pushes in. Just his tip, yet your mouth falls open at how large he already feels, and you tighten your hold on his neck. “Let me know if it hurts.”

Unforgivingly, Jungkook slams all the way in. You let out a broken sound, and he quickly captures your lips in a kiss as he stays right there, deep inside of you, unmoving so that you can adjust around him. And you know you have a lot of adjusting to do – he’s so large it burns, yet the pain feels good. Far too good, and you easily understand how Jungkook got the reputation that he has.

When Jungkook pulls away from the kiss, he slowly pulls out, before pushing all the way in again. Your walls suck him in, and he grunts, leaning his forehead against yours once more.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You feel so fucking good.”

Before you can reply, Jungkook establishes a steady rhythm. Nothing too crazy, but the drag of his dick on your walls is making you see stars, and you softly moan as he keeps moving, never once faltering.

“Moan for me, peach,” he breathlessly says. “I want to hear you fucking screaming my name.”

And then everything changes. Jungkook kneels between your thighs, pulls your legs against his chest, and starts pounding into you, bending down just enough to hit the sweetest spot inside of you. The change of rhythm and position makes you cry out, and your walls clench around him.

He echoes your cry with a moan of his own, something breathless that makes you want to look at him, to stay with him like this forever. So you open your eyes, and the sight of him is nearly enough to make you climax right then and there.

Yet you don’t. You don’t come as you just watch him, watch the way he’s frowning, teeth digging in his lower lip once in a while. Beads of sweat quickly appear on his temples, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t falter, not even once, as he fucks you, and you feel that familiar knot forming in your lower stomach.

You still don’t come. You keep it in – you don’t know why. You just enjoy the moment, refusing to rush towards its ending. Instead, when Jungkook pushes your legs open so that he can bend down and kiss you again, you welcome him in. You wrap your legs tight around him, keeping him close, and you scratch at his back with one hand, the other getting lost in his hair.

He grunts in your mouth, and he finally switches the rhythm, aiming for harder yet slower. It makes him reach new depths, and you can’t help but moan loudly as he keeps going, keeps ramming into you.

For the first time ever since you moved here, your bed slams into the wall from the force of Jungkook’s thrusts. It’s hot, especially as he moves to your neck, sucking hard.

“Best fucking pussy,” he says in your ear. “Fuck.”

And then he straightens again, forcing you to let go of him, before pulling out. You whine at the sudden loss of sensation, but he just looks down at your pussy, licking his lips at the sight.

“You’re so fucking creamy and wet,” he tells you. “Look at my cock.”

You obey, looking down to where your bodies almost meet. His dick is indeed covered with your juices, and Jungkook gently pushes it between your folds, collecting even more juice. It’s sinful, inherently so, and you moan lightly as he rubs his dick on your clit.

“Think you’ll be able to come for me again?” he asks.

You look up, meeting his gaze. His lips are slightly parted as he breathes in and out quickly, and he smirks wickedly as you nod, once.

“Make me come,” you say, finding some defiance in you again. “You think you’ll be able to do that for me?”

His gaze widens, and then he chuckles. “Fuck peach.” He chuckles again, slightly shaking his head. “I’m going to get addicted to this fucking pussy of yours.”

You whine as he moves from between your legs, lying down on his back. You shoot him a look, and he motions at his body as if in invitation. It makes you laugh, yet you still climb on top of him, grinding on his dick.

His eyes go to your chest, and he gently grabs the hem of your shirt. Even though it’s still cold in your room – though warmer than before – you quickly take off your shirt, wincing as the cold air hits you head on.

“So pretty,” Jungkook praises, and his hands reach up to push your breasts together. “So fucking pretty.”

You blush slightly under the praise, and you’re about to sink on his dick when he stops you. Your eyes go wide, and he motions to your panties.

“Take these off too. I want to see all of you.”

He says it with so much reverence for you that you can’t say no. You can only obey, sitting next to him just long enough so that you can remove the panties. They are soaked, and you throw them towards the dirty clothes hamper before climbing back on top of Jungkook.

Your gazes meet, and there’s a moment of you watching each other. You wish you could read his gaze, wish you could know what it means when he grabs your wrists to pull you down. Your eyes never disconnect from his, not even as one of his hands goes between your bodies so that he can align his dick with your entrance.

And then he pushes up, pushes in. As if you forgot just how big he is, you moan, eyes fluttering shut on instinct. Jungkook grunts, wrapping his arms around your waist, before saying, “Look at me.”

You do. You meet his gaze again and try to hold it as he starts jackhammering into you, the new angle so good you feel like you’re slowly slipping out of your body, soaring towards the sky outside. It’s so good all you can think about is him, his body, the way that he holds you so gently yet fucks you so rough. You rest one hand on the side of his face as he keeps fucking you, and when you can’t resist anymore, you hide your face in his neck.

“You’re such a good girl,” Jungkook says. “You take me so fucking well.” He grunts loudly, slamming to the hilt. You think he’s coming, but then he pulls almost all the way out, before slamming in again. “I never want to stop fucking you.”

You moan, and then your lips ghost on the shell of his ear. Though you’ve been struggling to speak, you say, “You’re so fucking big.”

“I know,” he breathes out. “Let me know if I hurt you.”

You whine. “Never. You’d never hurt me.”

His grip on you tightens, like he’s trying to say he wouldn’t hurt you, wouldn’t be able to, and then he’s fucking you again. The knot in your stomach comes back in full force, especially as he starts whispering filthy praises in your ear, growing more breathless with every swipe of his hips.

Just when you think you’ll come, Jungkook grunts, “I’m going to c-“

He never finishes his sentence, but the feeling of his dick twitching inside of you as he stills deep inside makes you fly over the edge, and your walls start spasming around his cock, milking his orgasm. It feels far too good, like you’ve reached nirvana, and it takes you so long to come down from your high that you believe you never will.

But you do. You do, and the first thing you notice is the cold. Though it’s a lot warmer than it was when you started this whole ordeal, you still shiver.

Jungkook gently pulls a blanket over you, before circling your waist again. He doesn’t let go, not even as his dick, now soft, slips out of you. He lets you lay on top of him, ear against his chest so that you listen to his heartbeat, refusing to move.

You don’t want anything to pop this bubble of peace. Never. You just want to stay here with him, content breathing in the same air as him, until eternity flashes in front of you. Until you grow old and grey, to go to sleep forever. It’s a powerful feeling, though you like to tell yourself that it’s mutual. That his heart, beating softly in his chest, beats for you, in time with the beats of your own heart. You hope that he, too, doesn’t want to let go, though you reckon that this probably was just a hook-up to him, something he’ll be proud of, yet keep to himself. Because wouldn’t Jungkook be the kind of guy to be proud he bagged the little sister? You think he would.

And the thought scares you more than you would ever dare to admit.

Prev | Chapter 4.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

Is it me or is it hot in here? oof- Let me know what you thought of this chapter! I hope that smidge of angst at the end doesn't scare you too much...... bc trust me it scares me OOP

#chasing cars ch 4 #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk #jeon jungkook #btswritersclub #chasing cars #chasing cars series

1K notes · View notes