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heavenlybodies333 · 18 days ago

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Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

The glass was sweating in your hand, condensation trickling down your wrist like a thin warning. “You sure you’re not too young to be drinking that?” the guy beneath you teased, his hand moving a little higher on your bare thigh.

You gave him a slow grin, the kind that got you out of parking tickets and detention slips. “I look young, sure. But I’m legal where it counts.” You wanted him to take the bait—wanted the expensive dinner, the wine list, the academic praise whispered against your neck. Mostly, you just wanted to feel something that wasn't suffocating boredom.

He was laughing at something you said when your smile dropped, your body stiffening like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. Because you had.

Your eyes met Emily Prentiss's across the bar.

"Fuck me," you whispered, smoothing down your skirt, trying not to cause a scene and God, could this get any worse?

Oh, wait. Yes. Yes, it could.

Because trailing just a few steps behind was Spencer fucking Reid. Your dad’s favorite subordinate. You saw the exact second he recognized you—his eyebrows arched, and his lips pulled into a smug, knowing half-smile. Like he was already judging you, and maybe enjoying it a little too much.

Of course he’d clocked you the second he walked in. Of course.

You blinked, too stunned to cover your reaction, and immediately scrambled off your date’s lap like you’d sat on something scalding. You turned your back to them quickly, eyes wide as you grabbed your drink and tried to disappear into the crowd.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered, desperately hoping they didn’t recognize you. But you knew Spencer did. He always did.

You felt Morgan's presence next, as unmistakable as thunder. “Look who we found breaking half the laws in this bar,” he drawled, folding his arms across his chest.

You turned around slowly, trying not to look as guilty as you felt. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Emily raised a brow. “You mean it’s not you sitting on some guy’s lap with a vodka cranberry and a fake ID?”

“That’s—okay, fair. But technically—”

Morgan cut in. “Technically, your dad’s gonna be here in fifteen minutes. If you wanna lie, now’s your chance. Otherwise, save it for his interrogation.”

You plastered on your sweetest smile. “Would you believe me if I said I was here studying the effects of alcohol on poor decision-making?”

Morgan didn’t even crack. “Try again.”

You hear Spencer scoff and you turn narrowing your eyes at him as he tilts his head in that deeply annoying, know-it-all way and says, “Well, considering the known clientele here and the likelihood of the unsub being a repeat offender who targets women between the ages of 18 and 22, I’d say your date makes for a rather… convenient alibi. Or accomplice.”

You bristle. “He’s my T.A., not a serial killer.”

“Oh,” Spencer replies, dry. “So, ethics violations. My mistake.”Morgan coughs to cover a laugh, and Emily elbows him.

You mutter under your breath, “You’re insufferable,” loud enough for Spencer to hear.

He smirks, eyes glittering as he says to no one in particular, “Just doing my job. Protect and serve, even the boss’s brat.”

You lunge forward a little, and Emily steps in between you, hands raised. “Okay, children, let’s all relax.” Then Emily leans in. “Please tell me you’re not dating that guy.”

You gave her an apologetic wince. “Worse.”

Before you could explain yourself—or dig the hole deeper—everything in the bar seemed to pause.

Your stomach dropped.

You turned to see your father enter, his jaw already tight, eyes scanning, calculating—landing directly on you. Holding a drink. Underage. Standing between his agents and a terrified grad student. Oh fuck.

You raised your glass like a white flag. “Hi, Dad.”

His jaw tightens. “Outside. Now.”

Your father’s voice slices through the noise like a blade, and for a second, you wonder if the whole bar just flinched with you.

You’re already moving, muttering a quiet apology to your ex-date as you push past Morgan, Emily, and—of course—Reid, who has the audacity to look amused. His eyes meet yours for half a second before he turns back toward the officers with a casual, “West entrance should be cleared. And someone should probably tell the bartender his license is about to be investigated.”

Prick.

You step out into the night, the air cooler than it felt ten minutes ago. Or maybe it’s just your nerves setting in.

Hotch follows, the door shutting behind him with a heavy thud. You’re already bracing yourself.

“How stupid are you?” he snaps.

You roll your eyes immediately, arms crossing over your chest. “Oh, awesome. We’re starting with that.”

You know that look. That I’m-fighting-every-urge-to-ground-you-until-you’re-30 look. He stares at you, unreadable, like he’s doing the math on what disciplinary action won’t make him look insane in front of his team.

You exhale hard through your nose and shake your head. “I wasn’t even drunk, okay? I wasn’t doing anything illegal except the fake ID, and I wasn’t going to let it get out of hand. You raised me, remember?”

“You think that’s an excuse?” he fires back. “You’re in a bar linked to an active crime scene, drinking underage, with a guy who’s too old for you—”

“He’s my T.A.,” you snap, and immediately regret it.

Aaron Hotchner goes silent. His eyes narrow.

“I’m sorry—he’s your what?”

You cringe. “Look, it’s not like that, we didn’t even sleep together—”

“Oh my God.” He cuts you off, voice low and lethal. “You’re done. Hand it over.”

“What?”

“The ID.”

You scoff, annoyed. “Oh, come on, you can’t just—”

“I can. And I will. Now.”

You mutter a curse under your breath, digging through your purse and slapping the fake ID into his hand. “Here. Confiscate away, Agent Hotchner. Go ahead and pretend you weren’t 20 once.”

He doesn’t react, just stares down at the ID. Then at you. “You’ve got no idea how dangerous that place is tonight.”

“I do, actually,” you snap, tired of him treating you like you’re six. “I listen. You think I don’t know the risks just because I’m not wearing a Kevlar vest?”

He says nothing, and it only pisses you off more.

“I came because I thought I could handle it. I needed a night out. A drink. A distraction.” You pause, swallowing. “Not that you’d understand.”

His expression twitches—just a little—and then softens in a way that only makes you feel worse.

“You should’ve told me.”

You shrug. “You’re never home.”

That lands. His jaw tightens again, but not in anger. Guilt this time.

“You’re too smart for this,” he says finally, holding up the ID between two fingers. “Next time you want a distraction, don’t pick a guy who can lose his teaching job for breathing near you.”

You sigh, the fight draining from your shoulders. “Duly noted.”

There’s a long pause between you. The kind that makes your ears ring. Until—

“I’m driving you home,” he says.

You groan. “You can’t. You’re working.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And you think I’m leaving you here?”

You glance behind you through the bar’s grimy windows. Spencer is still talking to officers, arms folded, side profile annoyingly pretty as he watches everything unfold like he’s a part of some indie film noir.

“I’m not staying here,” you say quietly. “I’ll walk. Or—get a ride.”

Hotch follows your gaze. His jaw clenches again. “Not from him.”

You look at your father. And you smirk.

“Why not?” you ask, voice laced with challenge. “Spencer’s safe. You trust him, don’t you?”

He looks like he wants to strangle someone. “He’s twelve years older than you.”

You shrug. “You said I was too smart for bad decisions.”

He stares at you for a beat. Then lets out a frustrated breath through his nose.

“I’m driving you. End of discussion.”

You hesitate. Then nod. “Fine.”

But not before casting one last look over your shoulder at Spencer, who’s definitely been listening the whole time, if the smug little smirk tugging at his lips is any indication.

By the time Hotch’s black SUV pulled up, Spencer had already lingered just long enough near the front of the bar, elbow resting against the brick, trying so fucking hard to act like he wasn’t eavesdropping. He was biting the inside of his cheek, practically begging you to snap.

So you did.

“You’re real quiet now, huh?” you taunted, arms crossed as you stalked past the security tape and toward him. “That mouthy little commentary act doesn’t hold up when Daddy’s around?”

He didn’t flinch, just turned his head slightly to look at you. His eyes trailed over your legs, your too-short skirt, your heels, before settling on your face.

“I’m just wondering what it must be like,” he said calmly, “to be so deeply committed to self-destruction you’d throw your academic record and your father’s reputation under the bus in the same night.”

You blinked. Slowly. “You done?”

His gaze dropped to your lips. “Not even close.”

Your heart stuttered. Your mouth was dry. But not in a bad way. A dark smirk curled at your lips. “Prove it.”

He arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Doctor Reid.” You leaned in close enough for him to smell your perfume, something expensive and stupid and way too adult for your age. “Since you’re so sure I need saving. Come save me.”

There was a beat—a sharp, split-second moment—where you both just breathed. Then Spencer muttered, “Get in the car,” and walked off.

Hotch’s SUV was dead silent.

Not a word was exchanged the entire ride, save for the sharp click of the turn signal and the faint grind of his clenched jaw. The radio was off. The A/C was on full blast. And he hadn’t looked at you once.

You didn’t dare check your phone. You could feel it buzzing in your purse—probably Emily asking if you were alive, or Garcia wanting more details about your “date”.

And Reid?

You didn’t even want to imagine what Reid would text you. Probably something insufferable like You forgot to say thank you. Or worse—Did Daddy lecture you real good?

By the time your father pulled into the driveway, he still hadn’t spoken. The car shifted into park like it hated you. You opened the door and stepped out, the porch light washing over you like a spotlight you hadn’t earned.

The second you made it to the front door, Hotch finally spoke.

“I can’t believe you.”

You paused. Back still to him. “Yeah,” you muttered. “Get in line.”

“I’m serious,” he snapped. “Do you even realize what could’ve happened tonight? That bar is under investigation. There’s a suspect on the loose, and you decided it was a good time to play grown-up.”

“I didn’t know about the case—”

“But you knew it was illegal.”

That shut you up.

He got out of the car and came around the hood, arms crossed, towering. He looked… tired. Beyond angry. Frustrated. Defeated.

You hated that it made you feel guilty.

“Do you know what it's like?” he said low. “Spending my nights cleaning up blood off sidewalks and then finding out my daughter is at the center of a fucking crime scene, wearing a skirt up to her ass and sitting on a suspect’s lap?”

You flinched. “He’s not a suspect.”

“Then why the hell was my team questioning him?”

“I don’t know, maybe because Spencer has a God complex and hates anyone who breathes near me—”

Hotch's brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

You realized—too late—you’d said too much. He narrowed his eyes. “What happened between you and Reid?” Your heart thudded.

“Nothing,” you lied, swallowing. “Just… academic differences.”

He didn’t believe you. But he didn’t push. Instead, he sighed. “Go inside. Lock the door. Don’t leave.”

“Where are you going?”

He was already getting back in the car. “Back to the scene. To actually do my job.”

And then—he was gone.

Just like always.

Fifteen minutes later, the house felt too quiet, too empty and really lonely. You tapped your nails against the kitchen counter. Once. Twice. A pause.

You should go to bed.

You shouldn’t sneak out.

You definitely shouldn’t drive across the city in your shortest skirt to knock on the door of the man who made you lose any and every sense of self respect.

You took a second to think about it before snatching your keys off the counter.

You pulled up just as he was stepping onto the sidewalk in front of his building—dark slacks, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, that lean frame backlit by the streetlight like the world’s most inconvenient wet dream.

His eyes landed on you instantly, and even from across the street, you could see his jaw tick.

You stepped out of your car, slammed the door with a smug little smile, and said, “Fancy seeing you here.”

Spencer didn’t even blink.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

You shrugged, sauntering up to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You didn’t really think I’d let you walk away after that, did you?”

He dropped his keys into his pocket and turned toward his building. “Go home.”

“Can’t. Already did. Got bored.”

“You are unreal.” He spun back toward you. “Do you have any idea what I’ve had to deal with tonight? What your father is going to say if he finds out you came here?”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do,” he snapped, stepping closer. “You care more than anything. That’s why you came here. That’s why you’re standing in the middle of the damn street, in a skirt that barely qualifies as fabric, looking at me, wasting my time.”

He turned back around walking up the steps of his apartment ignoring you as you followed behind him.

“Lose your T.A. privileges?” he asked dryly, eyes sweeping over you like he was cataloging your posture, your blush, your breathing. Always observing.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Lose your sense of professionalism?”

He didn’t answer—just pushed the door open a little more and stepped inside setting his keys down. “I was actually going to check on you.”

“Sure you did,” you snorted, turning your back on him and walking toward the living room. “You just wanted to gloat.”

“I mean,” Spencer’s voice dropped, footsteps following close behind, “you did fake an ID, drink underage, flirt with a walking ethics violation in the middle of an active crime scene, and nearly give Morgan an aneurysm.”

You turned around sharply. “I didn’t flirt.”

He raised a brow. “You were in his lap.”

“That’s not flirting.”

Spencer tilted his head. “Then what would you call it?”

You hated how hot he looked like that—smirking slightly, arms crossed over his chest, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the veins in his forearms. Cocky. Controlled. Just a little unhinged.

“A distraction,” you muttered, looking away.

He stepped closer. “From what?”

You let out a bitter laugh, turning your head to glare at him. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

He blinked. Once. “Say what?”

“You,” you snapped, stepping back and throwing your arms up. “You, okay? The fact that you keep looking at me like that—judging me, hovering, acting like you’re above all this when we both know you’re not.”

His brows pulled together slightly, like you’d confused him. Like he wasn’t fully aware of the effect he had on you.

You scoffed. “God, I came here hoping you’d at least—fuck, I don’t know—kiss me or yell at me or anything that would feel like something.”

“Instead,” you continued, voice rising as your body buzzed with irritation, “you’re just standing there, all holier-than-thou, pretending like you don’t want this. Like you haven’t been thinking about it just as much as I have.”

Spencer’s expression didn’t move, but something in his jaw flexed.

You kept going, unable to stop yourself. “I’m so fucking tired of chasing your attention like I’m some dumb kid with a crush. You want to play the good guy? Fine. Be the good guy. But don’t act like I’m the only one who feels it. You could’ve told me to leave. You should’ve told me to leave.”

Spencer exhaled slowly, but you saw his hands flex at his sides.

“I should’ve,” he said quietly. “But you didn’t let me.”

You took a step toward him. “Because you don’t want me to leave.”

“No,” he said simply. “I don’t.”

That was all it took. You surged forward, grabbing him by the lapels of his shirt and pulling him down, mouth crashing into his like you were trying to devour the breath from his lungs. He caught you immediately—one hand gripping your waist, the other tangling in your hair, kissing you back like the thing he’d been denying himself had finally broken loose. His hand shot out and gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as you grabbed a fistful of his curls and tugged.

He groaned—a low, broken sound—and your legs hitched around his hips like instinct. Spencer caught you easily, lifted you, walked you backward until you were on the couch before you could even blink. Your skirt had ridden up and he didn’t bother fixing it—just pressed his mouth to your inner thigh, lips dragging, tongue wet and dangerous.

“Off,” he ordered, tugging at the hem of your top. You obeyed, breathless, skin hot under his stare as you wriggled out of it and arched beneath him. Your bra was sheer and teasing and did nothing to hide the way your nipples pebbled under the AC—and his gaze.

You whimpered as his tongue slipped past your lips, demanding and slick and desperate in the way only Spencer could make feel precise.

“You are such a goddamn problem,” he muttered against your mouth, hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips like they were meant for his fingers. “Your dad’s going to kill me.”

“Then stop,” you whispered, already breathless.

His mouth dragged down your jaw to your throat, sucking a dark bruise just below your ear. “Tell me to.”

And then his hand was under your skirt, fingers slipping beneath the edge of your underwear. You gasped as two fingers dragged through the heat of you, slow and purposeful, and Spencer leaned in, biting softly at your neck.

He added another finger, curling them just right. You moaned, hips lifting.

“You like that?” he asked, lips brushing your ear.

“Fuck—yes,” you whined, clawing at his shirt. He hauled you back onto the couch, tearing your panties off and tossing them aside without a second glance. He slid in with one long, slow thrust that had you both gasping—stretching you, filling you, as your scream ripped through the apartment, muffled only by his palm clamping over your mouth.

“Shut up,” he hissed in your ear. “You wanna wake the neighbors?”

You whimpered against his hand, eyes rolling back at the sheer stretch of him—deep and relentless, pushing into places you didn’t even know you had.

He didn’t give you time to adjust—he didn’t care. He fucked you like he was punishing himself for wanting you in the first place, each thrust brutal and sharp and perfect. Your moans ringing out in his apartment, his hand doing little to nothing to muffle the sound.

You arched up into him, your legs wrapping around his hips, desperate for friction.

He set a brutal rhythm, hips snapping into yours as the couch creaked under the weight of it all—your breathing, your begging, his name ripped from your throat over and over again.

You dug your nails into his back. He caught your wrists and pinned them above your head, fucking into you harder as you arched.

“Still bored?” he rasped.

You couldn’t answer. Could barely see.

He grinned, sweat-damp curls falling into his face. “Answer me.”

You nodded, frantic and breathless, and then shook your head when he narrowed his eyes.

“I asked you a question,” he growled, voice low and lethal as he thrust even deeper, grinding down into you like he wanted to imprint himself there forever.

“N-no,” you choked out, writhing under him, your wrists straining in his grip. “Not bored. Not even a little.”

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered, leaning down to bite at your neck, right where your pulse fluttered.

Your moan shattered into something obscene—your back arched, hips snapping up as your orgasm ripped through you, your body trembling beneath his like it had never known anything else.

Spencer groaned low in his throat as you clenched around him, and he wasn’t far behind—thrusting once, twice more before he stilled, spilling deep inside you.

He collapsed onto you, head in the crook of your neck, breath warm and heavy against your skin.

Then Spencer pulled back, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising gentleness.

You swallowed hard. “That was—”

“Stupid,” he said quietly. “So fucking stupid.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Neither of you moved. Then, finally, he sighed. “Stay the night.”

Your eyes met his. “And tomorrow?” you asked.

Spencer gave you a soft, almost broken smile. “We’ll figure it out.”

Next morning: You wake tangled in sheets that smell like him. There’s a note on his pillow in Reid’s handwriting:

You’re still grounded. But I’ll come visit after class. —Dr. Reid

And beneath it… a real ID.

With your name.

And your actual birthday.

Because of course he already pulled strings.

Because Spencer Reid may judge you, tease you, fight with you—

But he’ll always save you.

Even from yourself.

a/n: well I don’t really know what happened here but it happened

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

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occamstfs · 1 month ago

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Frat Founding

Wanting a simple group on campus for Indian students on campus, Kiran goes to Chad who has other plans for the academic and university at large. In short order Kiran becomes the first link in that chain and soon neither he nor his friends will be able to resist the allure of horny, dumb Greek Life

The corruption of Kiran into a Desi frat bro he would hate to be! Found too many refs so I tossed on some briefer TFs of his friends at the end. Hope you enjoy! -Occam

He was treating it like meeting an advisor, or a professor. Countless times over the last few years Kiran had gone out of his way to ask for advice on personal projects or visited office hours just to gain further insights. The CS Honors student was always looking for ways to get ahead academically.

Never has one of these meetings involved a person quite like Chad Becker however. The President of the University’s Greek Council was only known to Kiran by reputation. Kiran’s never been much of a people person, part of this whole proposal to the frat president. He wants to make a space for other Indian and South East Asians on campus to have something of a Spirit Org on campus, and given the funding provided by the council to fledgling orgs, he figured it was at least worth a shot.

Worst Chad can say was no, right?

Kiran feels the weight of Chad's stare as he awaits an answer after his opening spiel. There are a few beats before the president speaks up, giving Kiran more than enough time to go over a good number of scenarios where he’s promptly laughed out of the room. Instead though, the intimidating ideal of a frat bro smiles and responds.

Despite the performatively laid back tone, it’s clear that there are cold calculations behind the man’s words, “For sure lil bro. Trust, there’s no one who wants to see Greek Life be more, hm, multicultural yeah? I absolutely hear you.” Listening intently, Kiran struggles to find any sincerity in the Cali bro’s tone as he waits for the ‘but’ that must be incoming.

It doesn’t. Still staring at him with eyes as sharp as a shark’s despite their icy blue irises, Chad continues, “I’m sure you know frat life gets a bad rap regarding biases and having a group like yours on campus would help everyone see that there’s a place for them in Greek Life. So Kiran, bro, correct me if I’m wrong, but you’d be president of the frat starting out yeah?”

Chad is clearly sizing him up as he says this, like a prize steer to go to show or a weed to be pulled so something superior may be planted. Kiran doesn’t notice as he bristles at realizing there’s been a misunderstanding, “Oh! Sorry Mr. Becker, I think- I, sorry- I wasn’t really thinking about a frat so much as uhm? In my mind I was imagining something more along the lines of a support organization for-”

He’s cut off without a word as Chad sucks on his teeth. Kiran swears he feels the temperature drop in the room, nerves. It’s just nerves. Forcing himself with all he’s got to look at the man sitting opposite him, somehow above him, Kiran almost shivers as he sees him only stare more intently, almost glaring. His perfect wide smile only gleams brighter as he continues to look into and through the meeker student like a predator.

For a moment his surfer-vocal fry fades away, “I see I see, so you want to use our funds for your little hackathons and holi formals but keep us at arms length yeah?” His eyes narrow and his lips twitch slightly, but then he takes a deep breath and resets. That cold tone moving like the ebb of the tide as he reminds Kiran who holds the power here, “Let’s start over. Would you like a drink Kiran?”

Seeing Chad wander over to a minifridge hiding in the corner and grab a beer, Kiran prepares to turn the offer down. But then the president stands over him, one meaty hand on his shoulder while the other offers him an opened bottle dripping with condensation, “Please, Kiran. I insist.”

Before he even has an inclination to respond, the bottle already rests in his shaky hand. Only then does he notice the creeping thirst. Suddenly, his mouth and throat are so dry he wonders if he’d even be able to even speak.

Chad’s smile is too emotionless to be read as cruel and calculating, though there’s sure to be no affection in his words as he seeks to compel Kiran, “Go on, Prez to be, take a sip.”

He’s never been much of a drinker, let alone a beer guy. But as he’s commanded, like a dutiful soldier he has no choice but to obey. As soon as the first sip graces his tongue, the bookish student’s senses are dulled.

In the back of his mind he hears the echo of a memory he doesn’t remember living. Voices shout, ‘Chug, chug, chug!’ Kiran’s eyes go blank as he can’t help but obey. Each heaving gulp is deeper and more labored than the one that comes before. Kiran’s vision swims slightly as he watches Chad’s unreadable expression tinge with contentment.

Patting his guest on the back and laughing, Chad makes his way over to grab a couple more beers, “Hah! Easy now bro, this is a meeting now after all! Didn’t think you were that much of a party animal Kiran.” Popping open two more bottles, he sets one in front of Kiran and watches as the smaller man slowly shakes his head.

He isn’t a party animal, he detests crowds and drunken fraternity bros. Opening his mouth to deny Chad’s asinine assessment, his stomach grumbles. One of his hands goes to put pressure on it and physically feels it rumble. Still woozy from one drink, the lightweight suddenly begins to feel bloated.

Mouth still agog, his hand quickly flies to his face as he struggles to stop himself from burping. Clamping his lips shut just in time, each second pushing down the urge, each second refusing to let loose, it only grows more intense. He feels pressure rising in his stomach as his jaw burns from the effort of staying decent.

Beyond simple pressure, Kiran realizes that it’s not just internal, he feels his thin stomach pushing into his hand. In between clutching fingers begins to grow a layer of fat he simply would never eat enough to maintain. This distracts him enough for everything to give. Eyes watering, Kiran turns to look at the Frat president, as soon as he sees the smug look on Chad’s once guarded face, he loses control.

Buurrp- It lasts more than a few seconds. The soothing relief of giving in is firmly repressed by the embarrassment that fills his chest. Deep enough that Kiran can scarcely notice though, some part of him thinks it’s funny. Nothing wrong with burping bro, chill out- And while the thought is buried for now, it only continues to grow.

“Nice one brah!” Chad reaches out his drink to cheers with the new beer bottle in front of Kiran, lacking willpower to do anything but obey, so he does. Cold bottle in his hand once more he can’t ignore how right it feels in his hand. Clink- Seeing Chad take a swig he once more mimics his, er the president.

Still bloated, Kiran notices another strange sensation begin to rise. Just below where he clutched his stomach earlier, an itch begins to rise. With a frown, his free hand goes to do what one does and scratch it, clumsily continuing to drink his free beer as he does so.

Each pass of his fingers only makes it worse, spreads the burning itch further. Figuring he’s already embarrassed himself enough in front of Chad, he shoves his hand under his shirt. Gasping in shock, he realizes that his lower stomach is covered in a treasure trail growing wider by the second.

Feeling the strands pushing out into his sweaty fingers he can’t help but steal a look. Waiting for Chad to inspect papers in front of him Kiran quickly yanks up his shirt and bites his tongue to prevent from gasping again as he sees, on top of clearly having more weight, that his stomach that has always been gratefully hairless has been overrun with body hair.

Too dense and thick to even be dubbed a treasure trail, Kiran struggles to remember how he let it get this bad. Eyes drifting lower, Kiran finds another new problem. Slightly peeking out above his waistband and creating a definite bulge above his cock, his pubes have grown even more rampant than his belly hair. Seeing this and taking another swig of his beer, Kiran burps once more before doing the unimaginable.

He shoves his hands in his pants and scratches at his pubes. Almost moaning from delight he bites his lip as his fingers are immediately tangled in the thick new jungle. Creaking under his squirming form, reminding him that he has somehow put on more than a few pounds, Kiran absolutely forgets where he is as his hand drifts lower to cup his balls. His less-than-graceful fingers find them unmistakably heavier than they’ve ever been, almost filling his small hand.

Never truly distracted, at this point Chad sees fit it’s time to break Kiran from his reverie, lest he go too far too fast. Clearing his throat he calls Kiran back to his right mind, more or less. The slightly heftier student’s hand tears from his pants and forcefully bumps into the underside of Chad’s desk, producing a deep grunt of pain.

Now realizing that he was cupping his balls during the most important meeting of the semester, Kiran tries to hide that from the man who sees right through him. Though, without him being aware of it the very same hand races to his nose wherein he takes a deep sniff of the ball sweat soaked fingers. Watching his eyes roll back from the odor, Chad has to stop from bursting out laughing.

Going on something of a victory lap, Chad sees fit to taunt the changing man, “Yo bro, you just adjust your dick didja?” Hand still under his nose, Kiran stammers quickly denying the idea, there’s no way he did that? He’d not do so in private, how could he? And yet, even as he forces his hand back to his papers, the whiff of his sweaty dick remains, “No! Of course not- I mean-”

Smirking, Chad interrupts, “No, no, don’t worry ‘bout it bro. Guys like us don’t gotta worry about stuff like that. You get an itch, it’s the most human thing in the world to scratch it.” Kiran slowly shakes his head, guys like us. He’s not like Chad, he’ll never be like Chad

Seeing the man meagrely fighting back Chad stuffs his hand down his pants and performatively scratches an itch that wasn’t even there, dropping a stray pube on the table. The whole time, Kiran’s eyes never left the man’s hands, staring at the bulge in his pants shifting to the single curly strand that now sits between them. Ready to move on and content that the man’s changes are accelerating, Chad directs his attention back to himself.

“Got something on your cheek there bruh?” There’s the sound of Kiran sucking spit back into his mouth, not even aware that he had apparently been drooling. Quickly taking another swig, emptying his second beer, Kiran’s free hand flies to his face. Still slightly sticky from sweat, his fingers find something so shocking that he almost spits up the amber beer still in his mouth.

Swallowing the beer and tossing the bottle onto the table he scratches at his face fervently, beyond shocked that without his notice his paltry stubble has exploded to cover his face. No it’s not even stubble, as his suddenly less than pristine fingernails trail across his once hairless cheeks, peach fuzz thickens and spreads further across his face.

In no time at all a mustache pushes out of his upper lip and his jawline is coated with a thick beard. His mind tries to tell him this is normal, he’s got a hairy stomach and bushy pubes, surely he’s had this beard forever. Feeling bloated once more, his shirt begins to strain his chest as two meaty pecs begin to rise above his meatier stomach.

Focus returns to his eyes, he knows something is horribly wrong. Thicker brows furrowing at Chad he grunts out, finding his voice crackling deeper and slightly tinged with the vocal fry that infects every word out of Chad’s mouth, “What are you grh- doing to me you- urgh Asshole!” The president feigns concern and tilts his head ignoring the question that may well be Kiran’s last show of strength. Chad then simply pushes his half drunk beer closer to Kiran.

Eyes flickering between the man returning to the minifridge and the stale bottle set before him like bait, Kiran’s willpower begins to wane once more. Before the frat bro even makes it across the room, the sound of Kiran’s shirt straining against his heavier arms as he reaches for the drink fills the air. Chad grabs three more and returns to the desk.

When the mousy student entered the room Chad wondered if he’d even be able to sustain the transformation. Sitting here now, watching him drink that backwash laden swill without question, seeing nipples poking through the shirt beginning to tear, it’s clear that no dweeb out there will be able to resist his siren call. Kiran burps loudly, stopping just short of guffawing he tugs at his increasingly uncomfortable shirt.

Time to finish the dance, “So, Kiran, you were saying you wanted an Indian frat on campus right?” The top button bursts off his button up as he dumbly produces a plodding, “uuuuhhh?” His mind alights with his shifting memories. The fluorescent lights from studying overnight in a library suddenly strobing, changing colors as bookshelves press inward and deep base begins to pump from speakers pushing out from behind tables now littered with red solo cups and spilled cans.

Automatically drinking from the new bottle sat in front of him, Kiran sloppily wipes the beer spilling onto his beard with his hairier arm. Struggling a bit as his muscular biceps now compete with his heavy pecs for space. His vision swims, rapidly switching between the blowout party and the meeting with Chad. Competing with blaring speakers and crowd uproar that only he can hear, Kiran shouts in his new bullish voice, “Well uhhh, bro kinda just wanted a place for guys like me to hang y’know? Place for all the lil Desi guys on campus yuh?”

“Shirt’s lookin a little tight there bruh, you sure you’re just a ‘lil guy’ anymore?” Turning to take in his thick form, Kiran certainly can’t disagree. Chest hair encroaching on his neck, thighs thicker than his waist used to be. The chair creaks once more, threatening to totally give way under the still growing man. Yeah he’s no twerp, him and his bros are always at the gym.

In fact, Kiran doesn’t remember the last time he was even in a lecture. Attending office hours is absolutely out of the questions, the only interactions he’s had with professors and T.A’s were arm wringing for class credit. Clear as day he remembers meeting with a dude he would’ve sworn he was close with for intro to python, but as he plays it through he remembers burping in the man’s face and throwing a sweaty, heavy arm around him.

God that nerd was so uncomfortable. His expression turns to a sneer as he sits in front of Chad, and the president knows his work is just about done. Kiran paws at his crotch as he recalls dominating that man, some weak academic who thought himself a superior. Biting his lip, his bulge makes itself more than clear in his tight dress pants as the fabric rapidly e into the same sweats he wears every day, stained as they may be.

When pre suddenly begins to leave a stain that makes it clear the Desi frat bro is free balling, Chad knows Kiran is far past the point of no return. “Bro, do you ever not think with your cock?” Tearing off whatever remains of his shirt and fondling his bulky pecs Kiran shrugs, “Dunno bro, you ever think about somethin’ other than my cock either?” There’s a charge in the air as the two men stare at each other with something dark in their expressions before both break out into uproarious laughter.

Then, addressing it like it’s something they had discussed a number of times, Kiran takes the floor, “So, big bro, council good if I start recruiting for my new chapter?” Chad raises his glass and takes a long swig, with a content sigh he acquiesces, “Course brobro, we know you more than got what it takes. Been wanting to diversify frat row’s portfolio for a while, you know that.”

Scratching his exposed stomach as he stands, his fingers treading dangerously close to inching under his waistband once more, Kiran nods without a thought, “Yuhhhh!” Finishing another drink he belches yet again and finally there is no shred of decency left to fight back “Burrrrp, Huhuh!” Tossing the bottle onto the ground apathetic whether it breaks or not, the newly dubbed frat president stretches.

Flexing to himself as he stands there, feeling the strength and weight of his new form, Kiran feels his blood rush to his thicker cock as he realizes what a specimen he is. Chad similarly imagines how easy it’ll be for him to finally take over the rest of the school. No one’ll be shit talking Greek life anymore once men like Kiran are bumbling across campus. No need for little brownnosing losers in lectures when everyone finally remembers what it’s all about.

Eager to get a move on, and sure that if Kiran stays any longer both will have to write off the day for obvious reasons, he prods the man, “You were saying you were gonna go play your old friends a visit right? Go get your first members?” Kiran nods, that darker look returning and temporarily displacing his lust for himself and Chad. Rolling his shoulders he imagines his study group, doesn’t even remember how he knows them or why.

Grabbing a beer for the road, he nods at Chad and heads out the door. The incongruence at those dweebs even knowing his name begins to prickle at his mind, he needs to fix it. His frat must grow and so must they. Losers have spent too long playing MtG and Dota 2, he’s gotta remind them what men should be. That drinking, fucking, and partying are more important than their shitty assignments.

Wandering around campus he flexes his bicep and delights in his heady musk. Soon every beta male around will be just like him, just as Chad planned. He can’t wait until Chad runs this school. Approaching his old apartment he hears a few shrill men arguing about some lines of code inside. Cracking his neck and pawing at the growing bulge in his sweats, he’s never been more excited for anything. Time for the first inductions into the school’s newest fraternity.

In no time at all, his four best friends are all converted into perfect specimens for Kiran’s frat. Forewarned by his musk creeping in as he stands at the door, as soon as he barges in all four are instantly overwhelmed by his muscular, masculine visage. Under his touch their thin forms bulge. On the couch, Amir’s body immediately thickens into one that never shies away from his keg stand. His nose twitches as a powerful mustache pushes out of his upper lip as he becomes Kiran’s right hand.

Boyfriends Dev and Mo follow shortly after, their suddenly sculpted muscles bulging larger as if they were in competition with each other. Mo’s back cracks as he finally stands taller than his boyfriend, his potable goatee thickening into a beard that would put a lumberjack to shame. Dev’s twinkish face reshapes into something more masculine and handsome despite remaining smooth. While Kiran continues his work, focusing on the other two, the boyfriend’s waste no time rushing to their suddenly messier room.

Finally, quite Ajit who had been doing his best to not give in breaks. Hands that had been gripping the edge of the table trying to avoid the gaze of the man who cannot be Kiran, white knuckles cramp and burst larger as forearms and biceps surge larger in quick succession. His racing anxious breaths allow his chest to rapidly expand. Pecs quickly tatter his shirt as criss crossing veins decorate arms thicker than his legs once were.

Under the table his legs push larger and his bulge demands his attention. Lips suddenly surrounded by a thick beard, biting his lip he quickly snaps a picture of himself before following in the path of his five best friends as his hands quickly find his newly massive cock. The air of their apartment swiftly smells more of sex than one can imagine. Each man a perfect test case for Chad’s grand plans, perfect frat bros whose dicks will lead their frat to expand. Kiran and Amir hosting parties that no Desi man could resist, no one’s eyes will be able to avoid Dev and Mo as they’re all over each other at the gym, and Ajit’s new online presence and perfect form will send tendrils of change well beyond their university. One unreached community handled, Chad continues his grand plan of ensuring that Greek Life is the only group left standing.

#male tf #mental change #muscle tf #hair growth #personality change #corruption #dumber #frat bro tf #jockification #reality change #musk tf

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ineedpaigebuckets · 1 month ago

Note

i need like super menace azzi, like being super bold flirting and paige having to control herselfbecause they are out with her friends. like i need azzi teasing p, sexting her, maybe some photos and paige having to control herself.

holy horny bitches bro

you started it

it starts off innocent. or at least, it looks innocent.

they’re out with teammates—some from uconn, some new dallas girls—crowded around a long table at a rooftop bar that smells like sunscreen and lime. the air’s thick with early summer heat, warm enough that everyone’s drinks are sweating on contact, condensation pooling beneath glasses and cans. laughter rises and falls in waves around the table, easy and familiar, the kind that only comes after hours of running drills together, of bruises traded on the court and inside jokes built in locker rooms.

paige sits at one end, slouched just enough to look relaxed, but not enough to be mistaken for detached. she’s got one arm casually slung behind azzi’s chair, fingers ghosting along the backrest, and her thigh angled in just so—close enough to feel the bare skin of azzi’s leg brush hers every time she shifts. it’s a quiet kind of possession, subtle and practiced, a language only they really speak.

azzi’s sitting up straighter, animated and glowing in a way that makes it impossible not to watch her. the dress she’s wearing is soft and summery, the kind that makes her look like she walked out of a daydream. paige watches the way her hands move when she talks, the way her earrings catch the light when she tilts her head. she laughs easily, leans toward teammates with interest when they talk, plays her part like she isn’t fully aware of the way paige’s fingers are lightly brushing the hem of her dress beneath the table.

nothing suspicious. nothing anyone would dare question. they’ve always been touchy. always close. but lately, it’s different.

and tonight, it’s not just different. it’s dangerous.

but azzi knows exactly what she’s doing.

she leans in close every time she talks to someone else, chest grazing paige’s arm like it’s an accident, like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing. when someone cracks a joke to her right, azzi throws her head back and laughs, then turns to whisper something to paige, lips brushing her jaw like punctuation. soft. fleeting. calculated.

paige swallows hard, keeps her gaze on the table. her hand doesn’t move.

azzi’s fingers stay on her knee, barely visible under the white linen of the tablecloth. just her thumb, drawing soft, slow circles that burn hotter than they should. paige feels it all the way up her spine, the tease of it, the unbothered ease with which azzi touches her like she owns her—and like no one else at this table would ever know.

her phone buzzes once against her thigh. then again.

azzi: you look hot when you’re trying to behave

paige shifts in her seat. azzi pretends not to notice, takes a sip from her straw and smiles sweetly at the girl across from her.

another buzz.

azzi: you gonna keep pretending i’m not making you wet rn or

paige glances at her, jaw tight. azzi is scrolling through her phone, serene, like she didn’t just send that. like she isn’t wrecking her on purpose.

buzz.

azzi: wearing the black bra. the lacy one you like.

a beat.

azzi: no panties.

paige grips the edge of her seat, knuckles white, jaw clenched. she can feel her heart pounding against her ribs and the smirk tugging at azzi’s mouth when she leans over to clink her glass with someone else’s.

“cheers,” azzi says, eyes bright. innocent.

her hand is still on paige’s knee.

paige doesn’t flinch. doesn’t blink. just tightens her jaw and sips her drink. azzi can see it, though—the slight shift in her breathing, the way her fingers curl tighter against the glass.

and then the photo comes.

taken under the table. just the hem of azzi’s skirt pushed high on her thigh—high enough that paige’s hand could settle just beneath it, fingers curved around soft, bare skin. no skin really showing. nothing anyone else could see and call explicit. just casual, right? harmless. her arm draped along the back of azzi’s chair. her other hand resting casually in her lap.

but paige knows.

she knows exactly what she’s touching. knows the difference between thigh and hip, the way azzi’s skin warms under her palm. knows the way azzi’s breath catches—not visibly, not enough to draw attention—but just enough that paige feels it. a slight stutter in rhythm, a subtle tension in azzi’s spine. like her body’s waiting.

she doesn’t look at her. doesn’t need to. she can feel her.

azzis skirt rides higher as she shifts, just a little, legs uncrossing and then crossing again, a silent invitation. she’s talking to someone across the table about summer league matchups like nothing is happening beneath the surface. like paige isn’t losing her mind trying to keep her breathing steady.

paige flexes her fingers slightly, not enough to be obscene—just enough to remind azzi she’s there. still touching her. still playing the same game. she traces the edge of lace at the top of azzi’s thigh, the faintest scratch of nail over delicate fabric, and feels the jolt that runs through her girl.

azzi turns her head, finally, like she’s going to say something. instead, her lips brush paige’s ear.

“careful,” she whispers, warm and taunting. “or you’re gonna make me embarrass myself.”

and god—paige almost does it. almost forgets the rooftop and the teammates and the wide-open sky above them. almost pulls azzi into her lap just to see how far she can push her. because azzi might be playing coy, but paige knows.

she’s already trembling.

azzi grins sweetly, sipping her lemonade like she hasn’t just lit paige on fire in the middle of a team outing.

“you okay?” someone asks.

paige clears her throat. “fine.”

azzi leans in, lips brushing paige’s ear. “you don’t look fine.”

paige grabs her knee under the table, squeezing hard enough to make azzi’s breath catch. finally, a crack in the composure. finally, that flicker of don’t start something you can’t finish.

azzi doesn’t stop. not really.

she keeps the texts going.

azzi: you’d lose your mind if you saw how wet i am for you right now

azzi: don’t you wanna take me home?

azzi: just don’t let them see how bad you want me baby.

by the time they’re saying their goodbyes, paige is a little too quiet. her hand on azzi’s lower back is more directive than affectionate, guiding her out of the bar like she’s trying to keep herself from shoving her against the nearest wall.

azzi just smiles, smug and satisfied.

because paige might be the composed one. the captain. the leader.

but when it comes to azzi? she’s barely holding it together.

they barely make it to the elevator.

paige has her hand at azzi’s lower back the whole way out of the bar, all polite smiles and goodnights as they peel away from the group. azzi plays along, clutching her little purse, giggling like the wine’s gone to her head—but her eyes never leave paige’s.

as soon as the doors slide shut behind them, the act drops.

paige shoves her back against the mirrored wall, hands already hiking azzi’s skirt up higher, mouth finding the corner of her jaw. “you think that shit’s funny?” she mutters, breath hot, teeth grazing skin. “you think i wasn’t dying back there?”

azzi’s already panting, tilting her head back with a grin. “i know you were.”

“brat.”

“your brat.”

paige groans, kissing her hard—tongue, teeth, frustration—and azzi moans into it, arms around her neck, knees already going weak. it’s fast, sloppy, messy with need. paige’s fingers under her skirt again, this time without pretense. azzi gasps into her mouth when they press up between her thighs.

“you’re soaked,” paige hisses.

“your fault,” azzi whimpers.

the elevator dings before they can fall completely apart.

their apartment door slams shut behind them, the echo of it sharp in the quiet. azzi barely has time to slip out of her heels before paige’s hands are on her again—urgent, greedy, full of the weight of every teasing glance and unsent reply.

paige doesn’t bother with the lights. doesn’t need them. she knows this body by feel, knows the rhythm of azzi’s breath when she’s worked up, the way her fingers always twist into paige’s hoodie when she wants more but won’t say it yet.

she lifts azzi onto the counter like it’s second nature, like it’s the only place she belongs. azzi goes willingly, skirt bunched around her hips now, legs wrapping loosely around paige’s waist just long enough to pull her close and kiss her.

deep. slow. the kind of kiss that drags them both under.

paige breaks away first, breath catching, voice low and rough. “do you have any idea what you did to me tonight?”

azzi just smiles, dazed and flushed, lips kiss-bitten already. “yeah,” she whispers, hands fisting in paige’s collar. “and i’d do it again.”

that’s all it takes.

paige drops to her knees like she’s been waiting to worship her. her hands push azzi’s thighs apart gently, reverently. like she’s not just undressing her—she’s undoing her, one soft stroke at a time.

and azzi, for once, doesn’t tease.

she just exhales shakily, her head tipping back as her fingers tighten on the edge of the counter, and lets herself be taken care of.

azzi tries to keep quiet. she really does. she bites her lip, clenches her fists, tilts her head back like the ceiling might offer mercy. but paige’s mouth is too good—too practiced, too sure of what azzi likes. and tonight, it’s not soft. it’s not slow. it’s everything azzi asked for without ever saying a word.

paige’s hands grip her thighs like they’re the only things holding her steady. her jaw is tense with focus, her eyes flicking up every so often to watch azzi try—and fail—not to fall apart. she’s not patient tonight. she’s not careful. she’s making a point.

maybe azzi deserves it. maybe all those texts under the table, all those whispered nothings and grazed touches and photos snapped in the bathroom mirror—maybe that was reckless. maybe it crossed a line.

because now paige is crossing hers.

every flick of her tongue is a retaliation. every rougher pull of her hands is punishment. and every sound azzi makes—every breathless little gasp or involuntary tremble—only spurs paige on, sharpens her focus, digs her deeper into whatever storm she’s unleashing.

azzi’s legs tremble. her fingers reach for paige’s hair and then fall away, overwhelmed. she tries to speak, tries to say something—maybe slow down or i’m close or god, paige—but nothing gets past her throat except a broken whimper.

and that’s when paige slows. just for a second. just long enough to murmur, low and gravel-thick, “no hiding now.”

azzi’s body jolts.

because it isn’t just good. it’s everything. it’s the ache and the build-up and the week apart and the months of wanting without words. it’s having someone who knows you, who reads every twitch in your body like scripture.

and paige? she’s not backing off.

not until azzi lets go. not until she hears her name fall from her lips like a prayer.

“who do you belong to?” paige asks, voice low, breath hot against azzi’s skin.

“you,” azzi gasps. “yours. always.”

paige doesn’t let up.

azzi breaks apart.

again, again.

and again.

the first time is all tension. her whole body goes tight, breath hitching, eyes squeezed shut. she gasps like it surprises her, like she didn’t mean to give in that fast, but her hips are already shaking and paige doesn’t stop. doesn’t even slow.

the second time, she’s quieter. it sneaks up on her—one long exhale, her head tipping forward, her fingers twisting in paige’s hair with something like apology. but paige just hums against her, keeps going, more determined now. more certain.

the third time, azzi’s legs barely hold her. her voice catches, high in her throat, and she says paige’s name like it’s the only word she remembers. everything about her crumples—shoulders slumping, neck arched, thighs trembling so hard they knock against paige’s arms. she’s flushed all the way down her chest, blinking through the tears caught in her lashes, trying to breathe, to speak, to do anything but shake.

paige looks up at her then, lips slick, hands still gentle where they hold her steady. “you okay?” she asks, voice low, hoarse, but still teasing, still proud.

azzi nods, slow, dazed. tries to pull her down for a kiss and misses the first time. “you’re evil,” she whispers, breathless.

paige grins into her collarbone. “you started it.”

azzi lets her forehead fall against paige’s shoulder, still catching her breath. “you finished it.”

paige kisses her temple. “not yet.”

and azzi shivers. already undone. already aching. but still leaning into her like she wants more. like she always will.

“go wait for me,” she said, voice low. “bedroom. on your back.”

azzi’s breath caught. her body obeyed before her mind even caught up, walking backward toward the room, her knees weak and her heart hammering in her chest.

she knew the drawer paige would go to. she knew the sound the harness made when paige clipped it on—quick, practiced, sure. she knew what it meant when paige didn’t say anything while she did it.

when paige joined her, the lights were still off. just the streetlamp casting shadows across the room, golden and soft. paige climbed over her slowly, deliberately, gaze heavy, lips parted like she was trying not to say too much. not yet.

“i'll be gentle,” paige murmured, pressing a knee between azzi’s legs. “promise baby."

azzi’s fingers curled in the sheets, her whole body arching toward the warmth above her.

“okay,” she whispered, breathless.

paige’s hand slid down her side. she didn’t rush. it wasn’t frantic. it was control. it was intent. it was paige giving azzi what she needed—firm, grounding, unrelenting.

azzi clutched at her, eyes fluttering closed, completely undone. and paige didn’t let up. not when azzi gasped, or whimpered, or shook. she held her steady, murmured low praise into her neck, kissed her slow between every movement like it meant something. like it always meant something.

because it did.

it meant everything.

every touch was a promise. every kiss was a memory they hadn’t made yet. and paige treated it like one—like this wasn’t just now but every version of now they’d ever get. she moved with that kind of quiet devotion, that reverent pressure that said i see you. i know you. i’m not going anywhere.

azzi arched into her like she was trying to disappear inside the safety of it. her hands trembled where they gripped paige’s shoulders, breath catching on a soft cry, and paige kissed the sound straight from her mouth. slow. sure. with a kind of desperate gentleness that bordered on prayer.

“you’re okay,” paige whispered, lips brushing against the edge of azzi’s jaw. “you’re doing so good.”

and azzi believed her. even if she couldn’t speak, even if all she could do was feel—she believed her.

paige’s touch never wavered. not once. she traced every inch of azzi like she was memorizing her, like she wanted to remember this for the rest of her life. like she already knew she would.

and when it was over—when azzi’s whole body trembled and her voice was gone and her face was damp with sweat—paige stayed. holding her close, hand in her hair, mouth at her shoulder.

“you’re mine,” she whispered.

azzi nodded, dazed, smiling even through her exhaustion. “always.”

#paige bueckers #ineedpaigebuckets #azzi fudd #pazzi #uconn wbb #wbb #paige buckets #paige x best friend #paige x reader #pazzi fics #paige bueckers uconn #paige bueckers headcanons #paige headcanons #texts with paige #paige blockers #paige x azzi #azzi stud #azzi x reader #azzi35

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v6quewrlds · 3 months ago

Text

inspired by this ask <3

read more⠀⁎⠀joe burrow masterlist / series masterlist.

It started with a pair of headphones. A white, Apple AirPods Max, sitting unassumingly on the kitchen counter. They were out of place, utterly not belonging to Joe, who preferred his AirPods when he wasn't using his free Bose headphones from a sponsorship deal.

"Fuck," he groaned under his breath, dragging out the word as his head tipped back, eyes squeezing closed.

His grip tightened around his green smoothie, the cold condensation slipping through his fingers. She was hovering nearby, seated at the kitchen island, deep in the throes of her dermatology notes, the rhythm of her favorite playlist pulsating through the air as if a heartbeat only she could hear. She had parted the curtains, allowing the soft, early morning light to kiss her cheekbones, highlighting the soft brown of her skin.

Joe took a deep breath, the scent of her coconut shampoo lingering in the room, and approached her, his movements calculated and exact. He leaned in, his chest pressing to her back, strong hands falling onto the countertop. He effectively caged her in, the warmth of his body falling over her like a blanket. Her eyes remained glued to her notes, though a faint smile played on her lips as she sensed his presence, a familiar thrill skittering up her spine.

He didn't speak at first, just took a moment to breathe in her sweet scent, feeling the steady rise and fall of her body against his. His head dipped, sharp nose finding her neck, and he kissed her there, the softest brush of his lips. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned back into him, a faint sound escaping her lips that was a mix of surprise and pleasure.

Joe's hand slipped from the countertop to her waist, his thumb tracing a lazy pattern over her stomach on the fabric of her shirt. "You look so focused," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

"And you feel the need to ruin it?" She quipped without missing a beat, though the delight in her voice betrayed her. She could feel the heat emanating from Joe's body, his scent of freshly showered man and generic deodorant mixing with the faint aroma of the smoothie he set down on the island. He was intoxicating, intentionally so, as always.

Joe chuckled lowly, nuzzling deeper into her skin, his lips finding the tender spot below her ear. "Me? Ruin? Never." His hand traveled upward, his thumb tracing the edge of her bra, a silent promise of the distraction to come. "I'm on my best behavior."

"As always?" she hummed noncommittally, evidence of the effectiveness of his distraction. An eyebrow arched, a smirk tugging at her lips as she leaned into his touch. Her hand reached up to find his forearm caging her in, her thumb stroking a gentle pattern against his taut skin.

"As always," he agreed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through her very bones. The smoothie was forgotten as Joe's hand moved to cradle the back of her neck, his fingers threading into her thick, dark hair. He kissed her neck more insistently now, his teeth grazing the soft skin there, his blue eyes closed in focus as she tilted her head to give him better access.

Her breath hitched, and she felt a warm flush creep up her neck as his kisses grew more demanding. "It's early," she murmured, though her protest was weak, her body already responding to his touch.

"Is it?" Joe's voice was a soft caress in her ear, his breath warm and teasing. He turned her barstool slightly, so she was angled towards him and leaned down for a kiss. She melted into the kiss, her eyes slipping closed as she savored the feeling of his lips on hers. The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, the kiss deepening.

When they broke apart, Joe's gaze held hers, pupils dilated with lust. "What?" she laughed, breaking his eye contact to glance back at her notes, trying to regain her focus.

"I need your help with something," he spoke. Help, he decided, was a better term than his actual intent. "In the guest bath."

Her eyes narrowed, a hint of suspicion creasing her brow as she tilted her head, but she didn't question further, assuming it was about a new decoration he was second-guessing or some other minor issue. "Okay," she said with a shrug, sliding off the barstool and setting her notes aside. She followed him to the half bathroom connected to the kitchen, the one used by guests by virtue of its easy access.

As she stepped into the small, pristine space, she couldn't help but note the absence of any apparent problem. The walls were a soft gray, the towels neatly folded and arranged by color and size. The scent of the housekeeper's recent deep clean hung faintly in the air, remnants of the level of care afforded to the home in its entirety. "So?" she asked, leaning against the sink, arms crossed under her breasts.

Joe shut the door behind them with a click, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. He stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until she could feel the heat radiating from his body, the beat of his heart pounding a rhythm that matched her own. His hand reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the fullness of her bottom lip. "This room," he said, his voice thick with a depth of desire she hadn't noticed before, "hasn't been christened."

In the blink of an eye, she was swept off her feet - literally. Joe's arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her onto the sink counter with an ease that belied his muscular bulk. The laughter that bubbled up in her chest was cut short as he claimed her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

"Joseph!" she gasped, pushing at his shoulders with a playful scolding. But Joe's eyes sparkled with mischief and something more, a silent dare that thrummed in the air between them. The room seemed to shrink around them as their kiss grew more fervent, his hands moving with purpose as they explored her body. Her fingers tangled in his hair, the softness of his shirt under her palms a stark contrast to the strength of his arms.

Then it struck her. The headphones. The bathroom. The gleam in his eye. This was no random act of passion; this was a deliberate move in some grand mission. Upon reflection, it made a strange sort of sense though she had initially brushed it off as an excessive of off-season energy. The house was theirs now, and Joe was a man who liked to conquer, to claim, to win. This was his way of stamping this new step into every corner of their shared space.

"Hold on," she said, breaking the kiss. Joe's expression was a blend of surprise and confusion. "Why do you wanna fuck in this specific bathroom?" Her lips curved into a smirk as she half teased, half tested her theory.

He leaned in closer, his forehead touching hers. "Because it's ours now," he whispered, his hand cupped her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. "And I want to claim every inch of it with you."

"Baby," she whispered, her eyes dancing with amusement, "our guests use this bathroom. Your mother washed her hands in this sink three days ago." Her voice was strained, sighing softly as his hands continued to roam. Large palms smoothed over her thighs, pushing her cotton shorts higher and higher. He took a moment to kiss her again, slow and lingering, before pulling back to meet her gaze, his own filled with a fiery determination.

"So?" He shrugged before getting back to business, his thumbs hooking the waistband of her shorts. "It's just a bathroom." His eyes dared her to protest, but she was already succumbing to the thrill of his touch, her body betraying any pretense of protest. "Our bathroom." He added the cherry on top, pink lips breaking into a proud smile as he pulled her top over her head.

Her eyes rolled, but her laugh was warm with affection. "Okay," she conceded, her voice a breathy whisper as Joe's hands dipped into her shorts, his fingertips fluttering over her center. She knew that tone, that look in his eye. He was deadly serious about this, his own brand of love language painted in brazen, physical strokes.

#&. joe x doctor!reader: blurbs.#joe burrow #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow x black!reader #&. joey b.

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callsigns-haze · 3 months ago

Text

The man's job

At The Hard Deck, Sniper—Hangman’s sharp-tongued WSO—tries to ignore her growing attraction to Rooster, but he sees right through her. After a heated exchange, Rooster pulls her into a quiet hallway, desperate for the truth, and when she finally gives in, he kisses her like he’s been waiting forever. Between breathless kisses, he asks why she joined the Navy, and when she teasingly admits it’s because she likes dressing like the men, he grins against her lips and murmurs, "I do too."

Warning: This story contains intense romantic tension, heated moments, and Rooster being utterly irresistible. Proceed with caution—you might fall for him all over again when he loses his cool.

4k words

Just saying English isn't my first language and this is crap because I got bored and wrote yap

The Hard Deck was alive with laughter, the low hum of conversation mingling with the distant crash of the waves. The scent of salt and spilled beer hung in the air, the jukebox spitting out a country song that had more than one pilot tapping their fingers against the worn wood of the bar.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin leaned against the pool table, a cocky grin playing at his lips as he chalked his cue. His gaze was locked onto Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife.

"You wanna try that again, Rooster?" Hangman drawled, voice as smooth as whiskey. "Because I could've sworn you said I got lucky on that last shot."

Rooster scoffed, arms crossed over his broad chest, aviators still hooked onto the collar of his Hawaiian shirt. "You heard me just fine, Bagman. One lucky shot doesn’t make you the best."

Your fingers tightened slightly around the glass in your hand as you took a slow sip of your drink, the cool condensation slick against your skin. From your seat, you watched the exchange unfold, feigning indifference behind the rim of your glass. But your eyes weren’t on Hangman—not really.

They were on Rooster.

The way his jaw tensed, the way his biceps flexed beneath his rolled-up sleeves, the way the veins in his forearms stood out when he gripped the pool cue. You knew better than to stare, but the dim lighting and the amber of your drink made for good camouflage.

Beside you, Bob and Fanboy were deep in conversation, their voices threading through the noise of the bar.

"I’m just saying," Bob mused, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "a good WSO doesn’t just read the pilot—they anticipate them."

Fanboy nodded, ever the calm voice of reason. "It’s about trust. You can be the best at reading radar, but if your pilot doesn’t trust you to have their six, you’re dead in the air."

You hummed in agreement, setting your glass down with a soft clink. "It’s instinct. That’s why some pairings work better than others. Right, Bob?"

Bob smirked knowingly, glancing over at Hangman, who was now leaning dangerously close to Rooster, both men locked in a silent battle of egos. "Yeah, like you and Seresin," he said. "You two just… click."

"Match made in heaven," Fanboy teased, nudging you with his elbow.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. It was true, in a way. You and Hangman worked well together, your sharp instincts and calculated precision balancing out his reckless confidence. In the air, you made each other better. On the ground, though?

That was different.

"Hey, Snipes!" Hangman’s voice cut through the conversation as he straightened, smirking at you. "Tell Rooster here that he should quit embarrassing himself and rack ‘em up for a rematch."

You raised an eyebrow, the weight of Rooster’s gaze settling on you before you even turned to meet it.

"Don’t look at me," you said smoothly. "I just work here."

Laughter rippled through the group as Rooster smirked, shaking his head before taking a long sip of his beer. The golden liquid caught the light, and for just a second, you let yourself look—really look—before turning back to your drink.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbows on the bar, swirling the remnants of your drink in the glass as Bob and Fanboy continued talking shop beside you. Their conversation faded into the background, your focus slipping as Rooster set his pool cue down and stretched, arms lifting high above his head before settling back down, fingers tapping absently against the side of his beer bottle. The stretch pulled his shirt tight across his chest, and you forced your gaze away, taking a slow sip of your drink to cover the way your pulse kicked up.

"You good?" Bob’s voice cut through your thoughts, quiet but pointed. His pale blue eyes studied you with the kind of sharpness that made you wonder just how much he noticed.

"Yeah," you said quickly, setting your glass down. "Just tired."

Bob hummed in a way that said he didn’t quite believe you, but he let it go, turning back to Fanboy, who was now deep in some exaggerated retelling of a training exercise. You took the out, shifting your attention back to the room, where Hangman had just stepped closer to Rooster, that ever-present smirk still in place.

"Come on, Rooster," Jake drawled, resting his pool cue against the table. "You gonna admit I got you, or do you wanna lose again?"

Bradley scoffed, shaking his head. "Man, I swear, you could fall into the ocean and still find a way to be cocky about it."

"Damn right," Jake shot back, tipping his beer up for a slow sip.

Your lips twitched, but you hid your smile behind your drink, letting the glass linger against your lips. Bradley's eyes flicked toward you, quick but sharp, and for a second, you thought—no, you knew—he caught you watching. The corner of his mouth lifted, subtle, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

Heat licked up the back of your neck, but before you could react, Jake clapped a hand on Bradley’s shoulder with a grin. "Come on, Bradshaw, let’s go again. Unless you’re too busy staring at Sniper over here."

Your stomach dropped.

Bradley’s jaw tightened just slightly, his fingers flexing around the bottle in his hand. But if he was caught off guard, he didn’t show it for long. Instead, he just smirked, slow and easy, before turning back to the table.

"You wish, Seresin," he muttered, racking up the balls.

The moment passed, the conversation shifting, the music playing on. But as you turned back to your drink, your heart was still hammering against your ribs. Because if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that Hangman never said anything without a reason.

And now, thanks to him, you weren’t the only one noticing where your attention kept slipping.

Bob was still half-listening to Fanboy, nodding along as his fingers drummed against the side of his glass, but you could feel his attention flicking back to you every so often. He wasn’t obvious about it—not like Hangman, who would’ve just called you out in front of everyone—but Bob noticed things. Always had. It was part of what made him such a damn good WSO.

You exhaled, forcing your shoulders to relax as you pushed your empty glass toward the edge of the bar. "I’m gonna grab another drink," you said, keeping your voice even, casual.

Bob’s gaze lifted from his own glass, studying you for half a second before he nodded. "You want company?"

You shook your head, already sliding off the barstool. "I’m good. Be right back."

Bob didn’t press, just hummed in acknowledgment, but you caught the way his eyes lingered as you turned away. If anyone was gonna figure you out first, it would be him. You just had to make sure you didn’t give him anything more to work with.

You wove through the crowd, dodging a pair of aviators deep in some animated debate over dart scores, before finally making it to the bar. Penny was a few customers down, pouring a round of shots, so you leaned against the wood, letting your fingers trail along the smooth, worn surface as you waited.

It wasn’t until you felt a presence beside you that you glanced up—and immediately regretted it.

Bradley.

He was close. Not enough to be improper, but enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne beneath the salt air, enough that you could see the way the dim bar lights caught on the gold in his hair.

"You hiding over here, Snipes?" His voice was easy, teasing, but there was an edge to it, like he already knew the answer.

You rolled your eyes, willing your pulse to slow. "Just getting another drink, Bradshaw."

He smirked, leaning against the bar beside you, his fingers tapping absently against the wood. "That so?"

You didn’t answer immediately, but you didn’t have to. Because the way his eyes stayed on you—the way they held just a little too much knowing—told you he wasn’t buying it.

Penny slid a beer across the bar toward Rooster without him even needing to ask, a silent acknowledgment that he was a regular here. He caught it easily, fingers wrapping around the bottle as he turned back to you, his smirk still in place but softer now, more amused than cocky.

"You always this jumpy, Snipes?" His voice was low, meant just for you, the rough edge of it curling around your name in a way that sent heat flickering down your spine.

You scoffed, shifting your weight against the bar. "I’m not jumpy."

"Mm." He took a slow sip of his beer, eyes not leaving yours over the rim of the bottle. When he lowered it, he let his elbow rest against the counter, his body angled just slightly toward you. "You sure about that?"

Your brows lifted, feigning disinterest. "You always this nosy, Bradshaw?"

His grin widened, like he knew exactly what you were doing. "Only when it’s interesting." He let the words hang in the space between you, light but deliberate, before nodding toward your empty glass. "What’s your poison tonight?"

You should’ve just answered him. Should’ve just kept it casual, like you did with everyone else. But the way he was looking at you—the lazy tilt of his smile, the barely-there rasp in his voice—it made you want to push back just a little.

"Why?" you asked, tilting your head. "Gonna buy me one?"

Something flickered in his expression, brief but unmistakable, before he leaned in just slightly, enough that his voice was low when he murmured, "That depends."

Your fingers tightened around the glass, pulse kicking up. "On?"

Bradley let the silence stretch, like he was giving you time to think about it, about him, before finally smirking again. "On whether or not you’ll actually drink it… or just use it to hide behind."

Your breath hitched, but before you could come up with a response, Penny stepped up to take your order, cutting through the moment. Bradley didn’t move, didn’t look away—just waited, watching, like he already knew he’d gotten to you.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to look away from Rooster’s knowing gaze as you turned to Penny. "Whiskey, neat."

If she noticed anything in your voice, she didn’t comment on it, just nodded and reached for a bottle. But Bradley? He let out a quiet chuckle, the sound warm and teasing as he took another sip of his beer.

"Didn’t peg you for a whiskey drinker," he mused, tilting his head.

You shot him a look. "And what exactly did you peg me for?"

He let his gaze flick over you, slow and measured, before shrugging. "Something smoother. Less burn."

You smirked, rolling your empty glass between your fingers. "Maybe I like the burn."

Bradley’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his expression shifted, the teasing edge softening just slightly. "Yeah," he murmured, voice quieter now. "Maybe you do."

Penny slid your drink across the bar, and you grabbed it quickly, grateful for something to do with your hands. But when you turned back, Bradley was still watching you, eyes dark with something unreadable, something you weren’t sure you were ready to decipher.

"Careful, Sniper," he murmured, tipping his bottle toward you before taking a sip. "Keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you like me."

Your stomach flipped, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you lifted your glass, letting the whiskey slide down smooth and slow before setting it back on the bar with a soft clink. Then, with your best smirk, you leaned in just a fraction, just enough for your voice to dip between you both.

"You wish, Bradshaw."

But even as you said it, you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince—him or yourself.

Rooster was still smirking when he took another sip of his beer, but when he lowered the bottle, you caught it—just the smallest trace of foam clinging to the edge of his moustache. It was barely noticeable, but once you saw it, you couldn’t unsee it.

Without thinking, you reached up, the tips of your fingers grazing his jaw as you swiped your thumb along the corner of his mouth. "You had a little—"

The words caught in your throat the second his breath hitched, his entire body going still under your touch. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, the slight stubble along his jaw rough against the pad of your thumb. You should’ve pulled away the second you fixed it, should’ve stepped back before the moment stretched too long, before the air between you shifted into something heavier.

But you didn’t.

Bradley didn’t move either, his eyes locked onto yours, something unreadable flickering behind them. Slowly, so slowly, his lips quirked, and you felt it—the way they just barely brushed against your thumb before you finally dropped your hand.

"Thanks, Sniper," he murmured, voice lower than before, rougher.

You swallowed, gripping your glass a little tighter as you forced yourself to scoff, to play it off. "Try drinking like an adult next time, Bradshaw."

He grinned, eyes still on you as he took another slow sip—deliberate, careful, like he was daring you to look away.

But you didn’t.

And maybe that was your first mistake.

You should have walked away. Should have taken your drink and gone back to Bob and Fanboy, slipped back into easy conversation about WSOs and manoeuvring and anything that didn’t involve the way Rooster was looking at you.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you stayed put, fingers curling around your whiskey glass, pulse thrumming beneath your skin as Bradley studied you with that lazy, knowing smirk. The worst part? He wasn’t even trying. He wasn’t laying it on thick like Jake would, wasn’t feeding you some line just to see if you’d take the bait. He was just… there. And for some reason, that made it harder to shake.

"You always this handsy, Snipes?" His voice was smooth, laced with amusement, but there was something else beneath it. Something quieter.

You scoffed, finally forcing yourself to take a step back, putting distance between you both. "Don’t flatter yourself, Bradshaw."

He hummed, tipping his beer toward you in mock salute. "Too late."

You rolled your eyes, turning toward the crowd, desperate to pull the focus away from whatever the hell this was. The Hard Deck was still alive with energy, the Dagger Squad scattered around the bar. Hangman was now leaning against the jukebox, arguing with Coyote about song choices. Payback and Fanboy were deep in conversation, likely rehashing old stories from training. Phoenix was at the dartboard, eyes locked in concentration as she lined up a shot.

Safe distractions.

"I should get back," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

But before you could step away, Bradley's voice was there again, softer now. "You ever gonna let me catch up to you, Snipes?"

You hesitated, fingers tightening around your drink. The question wasn’t loaded, not on the surface. But something about the way he said it made you pause, made you consider the weight behind it.

Slowly, you turned back to him, arching a brow. "What makes you think you’re behind?"

Bradley smirked, but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Call it a gut feeling."

You held his gaze for a beat longer than you should have, something unspoken lingering in the space between you. Then, with a small shake of your head, you turned on your heel, slipping back into the crowd before he could say anything else.

But even as you walked away, you felt it—the heat of his gaze still following you, like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go just yet.

You barely made it three steps before you felt it—fingers curling around your wrist, firm but careful, like he wasn’t trying to stop you, just… slow you down.

"Hang on," Rooster murmured, his grip warm against your skin.

Your heart stuttered, but you didn’t stop him, didn’t shake him off. He didn’t give you the chance to. With a gentle but insistent tug, he steered you through the crowd, slipping easily between groups of aviators and locals like he’d done it a hundred times before.

You knew where he was leading you before you even saw it.

The narrow hallway just past the bar—the one that led to the bathrooms, the back exit, the only quiet place in the Hard Deck that didn’t involve sneaking behind the counter with Penny’s disapproving glare burning into the back of your head.

The second you stepped into the dimly lit corridor, away from the noise, away from the others, Bradley let go of your wrist. But he didn’t step back. If anything, he was still too close, the faint scent of his cologne and the salt air clinging to his skin.

You crossed your arms, forcing yourself to level him with a look even as your pulse betrayed you. "Seriously, Bradshaw? The hallway?"

His lips quirked, but his eyes stayed serious, steady. "Seemed like the only way to get you to actually talk to me."

Your stomach flipped, but you forced a scoff, leaning back slightly against the wall. "Talk to you? About what?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just let his gaze flicker over your face like he was trying to figure something out, like he was debating how much to say. Then, finally, quietly—

"You’re different with me."

Your breath caught.

Bradley took a step closer, close enough that you had to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your eyes on his. "You talk all that shit with Hangman. You joke with Bob, mess with Fanboy, keep up with Phoenix. But with me?" His head tilted, voice dipping lower. "You’re careful."

You swallowed hard, willing your expression to stay neutral. "You’re imagining things, Bradshaw."

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "No, I’m not." Another step, closing that last bit of space. "And I don’t think you are either."

Your back hit the wall. You hadn’t even realized you’d been inching away, hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten until there was nowhere else to go. But even now, even with the way his voice curled around your name, warm and teasing and just a little too soft, he didn’t touch you.

Didn’t have to.

Because the way he was looking at you—the way he always looked at you—was more than enough.

Rooster’s hands flexed at his sides, like he was physically holding himself back. Like if he didn’t, he’d reach for you without thinking. His jaw tightened, his breath uneven, and for the first time all night, he didn’t have a smirk, didn’t have a teasing remark locked and loaded.

"Tell me no," he murmured, voice rough, low, almost desperate. "Tell me to back off, and I will."

You should have. You knew you should have.

But you didn’t.

"Rooster, it's the alcohol talking."

His eyes searched yours, flickering between them, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "Snipes…" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head like he was trying to pull himself together, but then his voice dropped even lower, nearly breaking—

"Please."

Your breath caught, your pulse hammering in your ears. Because he wasn’t just asking. He was begging. Begging for permission, for just a sign that he wasn’t crazy, that whatever this was—whatever had been burning between you for months—wasn’t just in his head.

And God help you, you wanted to give it to him.

"Bradshaw…"

His lips parted at the sound of his name, something flickering in his expression—hope, relief, hunger, you weren’t sure. But his hands stayed at his sides, fists clenching, because he was waiting. He was waiting for you.

"Tell me yes," he whispered. "Just once."

Your breath shuddered.

And then—

You did.

The word barely left your lips before Bradley moved.

Not rushed, not reckless, but like he’d been holding himself back for so damn long that the second you gave him permission, he couldn’t stop himself. His hands finally found you, one pressing firm and warm against your waist, the other cradling your jaw, fingers skimming your skin like he needed to memorize the way you felt beneath his touch.

And then—God—his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t tentative, wasn’t careful. It was needy, desperate in a way that sent heat rushing through you, like he’d been dying of thirst and you were the only thing that could quench it. His lips moved against yours like he was making up for lost time, like he couldn’t get enough, like he was afraid if he let you go, you’d slip right through his fingers.

You fisted the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groaned—deep, low, the kind of sound that sent a shiver down your spine. His grip on your waist tightened, his body pressing flush against yours as he kissed you harder, deeper, like he needed to prove something. Like he needed you to feel how long he’d been waiting for this.

It was overwhelming and dizzying, and God, you should have stopped him. Should have pushed him away before this became something you couldn’t take back.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you let yourself sink into it, let yourself drown in him, let yourself pretend—just for a second—that this was something you could have. That Bradley was something you could have.

And when he finally pulled back, breath ragged, forehead resting against yours, his voice came out rough, almost wrecked.

"Tell me I’m not crazy," he whispered. "Tell me you want this too."

You swallowed hard, hands still curled into his shirt, your heart pounding against your ribs.

And when you finally answered, your voice was barely above a breath—

"I do."

Bradley kissed you like he was starving, like he’d been waiting years for this moment and now that he had you, he wasn’t letting go. His hands gripped your waist, your jaw, like he needed to feel you everywhere at once, like he was trying to make up for all the times he’d held back.

You were just as desperate, fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer until there was no space left between you, just heat and pressure and the intoxicating taste of whiskey and beer on his lips.

But then—between kisses, between the ragged breaths you barely had time to take—he murmured against your mouth, "Why’d you join the Navy?"

You barely processed the question at first, not with the way his lips trailed along your jaw, not with the way his hands were tracing slow, burning lines down your sides. But then he pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded but curious. Like he needed to know.

Your breath hitched, your heart hammering against your ribs. Of all the moments, of all the things—he wanted to ask this now?

You smirked, tilting your chin just slightly, your hands still tangled in the fabric of his shirt. "I like dressing like the man."

Rooster froze for half a second, his brows lifting slightly—then he let out a sharp, breathless laugh, his forehead dropping against yours. "God, I knew I liked you," he murmured, voice husky, and before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours again, deeper, hungrier, like your answer had just sealed something in him.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, "I do too."

And then he was kissing you again, harder this time, like he was proving a point, like he was making damn sure you’d never forget it because to you, he is the man.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x reader #rooster fanfiction #rooster imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw imagine #Bradley Bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction

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emacrow · 2 days ago

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Gotham the build a city game.

Danny as he finally nearly finished 1/20 of his ghostly infinite king reports is tasked to help/dragged a nearly core crumbling addicted Spirit who refused to go to her check up and is a code core red to be in full chamber for recovery for the past centuries or three over a City building board game named Gotham, with Fright Knight as his backup.

It took Danny and Fright Knight about an agonizing hour and 20 minutes to wrangle her from the board game with her screaming, biting, kicking like a feral starving raccoon from the streets under a deal that He promised to play her board game in her stead while she goes back to her recovering.

The Lady explained the game with trembling hands that she watches over the city as the status piece, moves her character pieces here and there, items, and stuff around to built a utopian with random cards of consequences selected that take her ectoplasm as wild card if a character died and if she pick the wrong thing at the wrong time, but she been raking her core a bit after several mistakes, but her knights has been doing well so far.

She been playing for a long long time because her friends played their and bragged about their board game repeatedly resetting if a bad end for all their city that connected to hers, they have Central City, jackasshole holding the obvious cheatimg Gateway city, and her biggest frenemy/nemesis being that *itch with her Smallville and Metropolis just because she got a a few op characters doesn't mean her knights can't beat their ass if they were so busy!

The Lady's green glowing eyes and sharp teeth gritted hard with hatred, but her hate melted away due to how weak she was before continuing to speak.

He simply had to touch the status to continue the game, and please to the all mighty anicent, if her knights die under his watch, she will find a way to destroy him even if he is the current infinite King.

Danny can see pretty clear what Frostbite meant with crumbling game addicted Spirit, her skin was a sickly grayish green with obvious condensed rotting barely renew ectoplasm keeping her stable, her dress obvious tattered blacken to a tar like state that her own haunt was crumbling around her and the board game on the table.

Danny agreed though soup her in the thermos as Frostbite warned him about her little successful escape acts nearly up 4k times even with help that she crawl right back to the board game.

Danny glanced back at the board game after giving Fright Knight the thermos containing the patient spirit for Frostbite.

His hand touch the statue that change from a crowned women with wings holding a board game in one hand and sword in the other to a tall statue replica of him in his infinite king outfit holding a the solar systems of metal planets, his crown hover over his head like a halo simmered with star games and a scythe in the other hand.

It just a board game about building a city name gotham. How hard can it be.

....

Danny hisses like a possessed feral creature who just saw the light from being in darkness at Fright Knight who brought Jazz from starting summer break to see Danny hunch over renovated Gotham city mumbling about dastardly curses trying to latch on his ectoplasm but this time, this time he got the right item to fuck them up

His eyes look crazed and wild with a calculation burning desire to get a good ending, and white hair with dripping Tar, his crown was envelope in a icy fire, his nails sharper then diamond as he gripped and nearly chewed up clown character, the Spirts Haunt look like Danny's wail went through it several times before all cause that fucking *itch holding the Gateway fucked up the timeline again with the speeder character.

I got inspired by this post <-

#dpxdc #danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny is the ghost king #lady gotham is a struggling game addicted to a board game name gotham #Frostbite been got centuries of overdue check ups for lady gotham to uphold #her core is nearly crumbling at this points #danny made a deal to play her game in her stead #beat that metropolis city *itch for her danny #danny gonna ended up addicted too #other spirits play the game board game connect to gotham and keep replaying whenever some idiotic give them the bad ending #the dc universe dont know they are a board game collaboration like dnd

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onlyswan · 2 years ago

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summary: in which you make jungkook’s world spin and you tend to… make him a little too dizzy.

> idol!jungkook x reader / est. relationship, fluff, angst / word count: 7k

> content/warnings: yea shirtless jungkook should be a warning… one (1) spank then he kisses it better, also gives a kiss to that lil bow on oc’s undies >:( + a flashback of oc crying and him getting stressed out bcs oc is a careless brat fr

> in which masterlist!

note: hehe i’m here <3 this drabble is basically just oc in a mood and jungkook being the sweetest bf ever 🤨 idk how it got this long either heh it didn’t feel that way at all while i wrote-edited? but i hope u enjoy and i’d love to hear ur thoughts 🥺 reblogs/feedback are appreciated !! <3

—

“oh my god- fuck!”

you cover your mouth in shock, squeezing your eyes shut and flinching at the ear-splitting sound that bounces off the walls of the apartment.

jungkook is rendered frozen, eyebrows furrowed and jaw slacked, staring down at his shirt largely stained by the chocolate milk you were walking around with after brunch.

“damn…”

his eyes are irritable when they communicate with yours.

“baby! really? did it have to be the white one?”

but seconds later, they become worried and calculating — wandering all over the tiled floor, and then your bare feet infront of his slides-clad ones, surrounded by shattered pieces of ceramic.

the collateral damage. an unforeseen tragedy.

suffice to say, jungkook woke up this morning blissfully unaware of the turbulent storm threatening to make a playground out of your mind. it’s craving to feed destruction, and here he is living with you under the same roof, an unfortunate casualty from your antics.

the hand-painted mug, wet from the condensation, slipped away from your hands when you accidentally collided with his tough build at the intersection of the living room and the kitchen. this… wasn’t part of the plan. the plan was a little spill and this is a landslide.

“that was expensive too.” you utter wistfully, chest deflating as you release an exasperated breath. “sorry. i’ll clean up everything. just stay there and i’ll- when did i last see the broom-”

his doe eyes grow two times its size when you start looking around the apartment in search of the broom, and perhaps something you can use to pat yourself and jungkook dry, causing your feet to unconsciously shift on the treacherous ground.

“ba-baby! don’t move! you’re going to hurt yourself. are you crazy?” he interrupts you with a hiss, voice stern as his hands curl around your arms to hold you steady. “it’s okay. this is nothing, i’m not mad… just stay still, understand?”

you nod slowly as he lets go, eyebrows knitting together to convey confusion when he starts pulling his shirt over his head, revealing miles of bare skin and planes of defined muscles on a perfect silhouette. perfect because it’s jungkook.

alright… to see him half-naked wasn’t one of your intentions, but you’re definitely not one to complain.

“tsk, i think i need to shower again.”

figuring that the internet has a solution to every problem one could think of, jungkook has decided to accept the horror that has happened to his shirt. what was it again? salt? vinegar? baking soda? powder? fuck it, he’ll search for it later.

he throws caution to the wind by using it to wipe his damp torso, brushing it over his tan skin glistening with a sheen of the liquid that you wittingly spilled. he winces at the uncomfortable stickiness that could be felt across his stomach, but he can’t help but to laugh when he sees how it further accentuated his abs.

and if only you were in a chipper mood today, you would be laughing along with him. would’ve taken over cleaning him up, apologized with a kiss on his waist. too bad you’re not.

eventually, he gives up on erasing on the feeling, proceeding to fold the shirt in halves.

“what are you doing?” you snap, putting on a guise of harsher irritation over your dreamy stares at your boyfriend’s glorious physique. “are we just supposed to stand here forever like idiots?”

“what is this? why are you so grumpy today?” he questions with a frown, patting your cheek with the soft cottony fabric because the splash managed to reach your face unbeknownst to you.

and then he bends down to place the folded shirt infront of your feet, looking up to you with his galaxy-filled eyes to say, “here- come on. stand here while i clean up.”

you stand isolated on the safe zone he created, childishly pouting with your arms crossed over chest as you wait for him to pick up your slippers in the bedroom.

the simple answer to jungkook’s question is you’re bored and in a bad mood. the more complex answer would be you came up with a one-man game you can only win if you successfully piss your boyfriend off, but you’re too scared to pull off anything that will legitimately make him upset with you.

because the last time you made him angry, it hasn’t been… that long ago. he’s been keeping a closer eye on you since then, and you’ve been trying to be good. keyword being trying. after all, you did lost his car key… at a beach three hours away from home. you searched the entire shore — retraced your steps, made your knees and palms bleed digging through the rocky sand, curled up by the waves to wallow in self-blame and the smell of salt-air defeat. you were nearly in tears as you listened to the call ring for what felt like an eternity, unsure if he already wrapped up the company meeting he mentioned to you the day before.

you still remember the desperate words you greeted him with instead of ‘hello’.

“babe, promise me you won’t be mad.”

—

“____, you didn’t even tell me you were coming here! care to explain that to me first? huh?”

your name, and not ‘baby’? heavens above have mercy; you’re fucked.

jungkook presses the heels of his palms over his eyes to alleviate the dull throbbing of his head, breathing heavily to compose himself, but he can’t disguise the frustration deeply embedded in his voice.

“you scared me!”

not yelling, but tone evidently very upset with you. somehow, that makes you feel worse.

“i had to make up an excuse infront of everyone and drive here fast. i was so worried of you being here all alone when it gets dark!”

“it’s your car so i thought i had to let you know right away. i’m sorry.” you chew at your bottom lip anxiously, eyes brimming with tears as you barely muster up the courage to observe how he’s handling this.

your heart pounds louder in your chest when he finally looks down at you, guilty and gloomy, sat on a wooden bench painted yellow. it drops to your stomach when you see the sullen expression painting his face a light shade of red.

“where did you lose it?��

you open your mouth, but no words come out. you can only manage to point at the shore with your disoriented eyes, and he traces the direction with his. the majestic orange sky where the sun descends below the horizon fails to be recognized by your foggy, distracted minds.

it’s silent for a few beats, then he huffs, breathing out a sarcastic chuckle before burying his face in hands.

“baby, please. please. are you sure you’re not pranking me right now?”

“no! do you think i’d joke like this? i really tried my best to find it!” you sniffle, roughly wiping away the lone tear that escapes your eye. you’re almost too humiliated to continue talking, volume falling a few notches above a whisper. “but the waves were getting stronger.”

he vehemently shakes his head, rendered speechless and stuttering, malfunctioning. he doesn’t think he has ever imagined this type of scenario before. “this is crazy. really… this is unbelievable… how did this even happen?”

he exhales loudly before removing his hands, revealing a calmer exterior. be that as it may, his skin is more flushed, all the way to his ears and down to his neck, where his veins have become noticeably prominent.

“i mean, what else can we do about it? i’ll request for a new one.”

“but are we just going to leave the car here?”

“did you leave anything in there?”

“i left my bag, but…” you pat the pockets of your skirt to check if your valuables didn’t meet the same fate as the car key. “i brought my phone and wallet with me.”

he nods. “then i’ll call a towing service.”

you pout.

“it’s such a bother.”

feeling exhausted after burning a concerning amount of energy in search of the missing item, you stand on wobbly feet to loop your arms around his waist.

maybe it’s to coax him into forgiving you. maybe it’s to make yourself feel better, nuzzle your face on his chest to drive away the anxiety weighing on your shoulders. but as it’s being lifted off, so is the barrier withholding your salty tears.

“i’m so careless. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i should’ve drove my car instead.”

“ye- no, that’s not…” he cuts himself off with a sigh.

he puts an arm around you, pushing his hair back and repeatedly carding his fingers through it out of habit.

“seriously, baby… you stress me out so much, do you know that? you’re always wandering around places you’re not familiar with… this is secluded. it’s dangerous. you could get hurt if you bump into the wrong people… really, i’m just relieved it’s not yourself that you lost this time!”

the recollection of old flashbacks playing in his mind like a movie reel elicits a throaty chuckle from him, low and rough, the vibrations of his chest rudely awakening the butterflies in your stomach.

“you couldn’t even send me a text. you didn’t turn on your location. i would’ve lost my fucking mind again… did you even thought of that? or is that what you wanted, huh? baby? you enjoy driving me crazy like this?”

and the confession tucked inside his scolding obliterates any coherent thoughts in your head, causing you to lose control of your whirlwind of emotions.

“this isn’t fair. you said you won’t be mad.” you wail out in response, tears fiercely leaking from your eyes akin to a rainstorm. “i didn’t know this would happen!”

he clicks his tongue, gingerly caressing your wet cheeks with his thumb, then with the rest of his fingers, and the paw of his jacket, because the streams just seem to have no plans of ceasing. his wide eyes worriedly scans your tear-stained face, heart squeezed painfully by the restrained sobs forcefully ripping themselves from your throat.

“shhh, shh. don’t cry- don’t cry. i’m not mad, i was just worried about you.”

“jungkook, you’re lying.” you whine. “don’t lie to me. i don’t like it.”

he slowly blinks at you, head hanging low as to compose his thoughts before he reconnects with your eyes. a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips before his tongue unconsciously sweeps over them, its tip catching the silver ring piercing through his skin to play with it.

a moment of silence, thick with restlessness and anticipation, harder to breathe with the unique smell of the salt-air entering and leaving your lungs.

you feel small under his stoic gaze. you want to sit back down and cry harder.

your boyfriend is mad. your boyfriend is infuriatingly hot even when he’s disappointed in you. you need to dig a hole in the sand and live there forever. after everything, these are the only thoughts left running in your head.

“okay, fine. you lost the key of our car in the ocean, ____. but what if someone already found it by chance?” he cocks his head to the side, briefly peering at the road behind you.

he knows that it’s no use. even if he does see the white jeep wheeling by, is he supposed to assume that he can outrun it by some heaven-granted miracle?

“what then? hm…? what else can we do? i guess it could be getting stolen right now and we don’t even know. you parked so far away.”

god, please, not your favorite car.

“it’s not only the car. i still have important documents left in the compartment too.” this only dawns on him now, judging by the look of distress written on his face. he suddenly slaps his thigh, and you flinch a little. “fuck! i should’ve cleaned sooner!”

“then you are mad.” you arrive at a conclusion, chin wobbling as you sniffle. “about a lot of things.”

you resist the urge to stomp your feet. you want to throw a tantrum so bad. tell him that he shouldn’t be keeping such things in the car in the first place, that he owns a safe for fuck’s sake, but you know you can’t get away with shifting the blame because you messed up horribly in comparison.

“i get it. i’m sorry… i take full responsibility this time.”

“shit, baby.” he deeply sighs.

it becomes quiet again. he just looks at your face with knitted eyebrows, not saying anything more, and you try your best to cut off your crying, not to act conscious, but your eyes still fall on the sand. they stay there for a few beats to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

he almost sounds pained when he finally speaks. “how can i stay mad at you when you’re crying?”

he tilts up your chin, and your glassy eyes, sparkling with a new wave of tears, look at him beseechingly.

the setting sun. an eternal witness to a brand new day of humans being humans. it kisses your skin with its golden light, bathing your figure to radiate an angelic glow that drives him to consider once more that you could just be an enchanting character across dreams and the year is still 2017.

you sniffle again, brushing off his hand. sometimes you despise that jungkook brings out messiest, most unstable side of you. you know that he practically signed up for this, and he will always love you the same, love you even more. but that doesn’t take away the fact that you’re so embarrassed.

“but i’m not crying just to make you feel bad, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“yah, that wasn’t what i meant?” he frowns, eyes softening at your reply. “of course. i know that.”

the cracks in your voice, he seals with a soft kiss on your lips, tender and swollen caused by the onslaught of your sharp teeth.

“anyway, i can take care of replacing it. i mean, it’s not like it can get stolen just like that, right…?”

he sounds rather nervous convincing the both of you.

“but i’m most worried about you. i can lose everything but you.” his tattooed arm pulls you closer, casting aside the tension by leaving not even an inch of space between your bodies. he tenderly rubs your back to console you, and another kiss is granted to your temple, his soothing voice slightly muffled as his lips stay glued to you. “did i make you cry? i’m sorry, baby, i’m sorry… it’s okay. things like this can happen.”

“no, i’m sorry.” you aggressively shake your head and he carries on with wiping your cheeks, the back of his hand brushing off the tears that drip across your chin. he dries his hand on the hem of his jacket only to get it wet all over again.

“let’s just learn from this and move on. promise me that you’ll be more careful next time, okay? you can do that, right?”

jungkook does scold you every now and then, but although you stress him out, he would hate it if he’s not the first person you call when you’re in trouble. he would hate it if you act nonchalant and secretly cry when you’re hurt. but most of all, he can’t imagine a life in which you don’t make his world spin, much as he tends to get too dizzy at times.

your defiant hum makes his tense shoulders drop in disappointment.

“there should be a bus stop somewhere, i’ll just go home on my own. i don’t want to keep stressing you out.”

you will yourself to break free from his embrace, dragging yourself away to leave behind a trail of footprints in the sand, and he knows he’ll be running after you today, too.

“oh? you better stop right there!” he warns with a hand over his hip.

you become smaller and smaller in his eyes with every tick of the clock, much like how the sun is gradually getting swallowed by the ocean.

“i’ll get angry for real if you disappear from my sight. really, i’m not joking!”

angry? what a joke. you know that he’d cry blood searching for you if you get lost.

“oh? you’re really not going to stop?!”

jungkook’s voice fall on deaf ears, except that of the dog leashed to a tree that stands infront of a humble home. it seethingly barks at him from many meters away.

“fucking shit. i need alcohol.” he chuckles to himself, rubbing his tired eyes. “____, i swear, you’re getting too stubborn these days. what should i do with you?”

but you’re too far away to hear him, and so, he answers himself.

“eh, it is what it is.”

the wind blows with a quiet whistle, deadly as it fuels the roaring waves.

“AH! nuh-uh!” he exclaims, jaw dropping in alarm when he sees an urgent reason to chase after you, putting those leg days at the gym to good use.

you jump, a squeak leaving your mouth when out of nowhere, a solicitous palm smooths over your behind, sliding down to the back of your thighs to hold down your rippling skirt.

but you’re determined to be unyielding, eyes shooting daggers at jungkook. “leave me alone. i can do it myself.”

“baby, isn’t that a little rude? is that how you say ‘thank you’?”

“thank you. now let’s go our separate ways.”

and just like that, you’re walking away again.

“shit.” he curses quietly through gritted teeth, pulling at his hair. “babe, please come back… i’m sorry! i didn’t mean that!”

—

“jungkook! how many times do i need to tell you to turn off faucet properly?!”

you’re hot on jungkook’s tail as he makes his way to the laundry room beside the kitchen, carrying a laundry basket over his hip. he’s still shirtless, only clad in a different pair of shorts after a quick shower.

“the bathroom sink was close to overflowing! again!”

“i know what you’re doing.”

“what? what am i doing?”

the basket touches the ground, standing beside the dryer, and then he turns to face you, eyebrows shooting up. “picking a fight with me won’t work today.”

“why?” your tone borders on a whine.

“what do you mean ‘why’?” he laughs in jest. “why? why do you want to fight with me so bad?”

“i don’t know.” you exhale loudly, rolling your eyes and shrugging. “just because!”

“well, that’s not very convincing, is it?” he teases you with a grin, proceeding to open the dryer to dump the fresh laundry in the basket. the clothes you wore in the past week once again soaked up the sweet, floral scent the people around you distinctly recognizes to be your own and jungkook’s.

“i know, but i’m done playing now. you’re not hearing me.” you close your eyes in frustration, recounting the other times you had to say these exact words. “you’re going to flood our house.”

“okay, okay. i won’t forget to double-check it from now on. i promise.”

“sure, that’s what you also said last time.” you indignantly scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “i’m not turning it off for you anymore. if we get flooded, i’m leaving you. i’m moving out.”

your threat puts a halt to his movements for a split second before he’s adorably replying in a sing-song voice. “then i’m going with you.”

“no, you’re not.”

and it doesn’t come as a shock to you that jungkook doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“huh! good luck trying to stop me.” he slams the door of the dryer shut, standing up straight. “it’s not easy getting rid of me. you know that.”

he walks to the middle of the room to get a good view of you at the entrance. with the other resting on his hip, he lies his palm flat over the counter, outstretched arm cascading with varied colors of ink in sharp lines and swirling curves.

fuck, he has to know what he’s doing — flexing his muscles like that, not playing fair.

“aigoo, look at you glaring at me. you want to fight?”

and you’d feel intimidated by his challenging stare, the quirk of his eyebrow, his teeth sinking on his bottom lip… only if he didn’t blink to rake a stare over your body, lingering on your smooth legs that couldn’t be covered by your mere underwear. only if they didn’t flicker back to your face, and only if he didn’t smirk like a lovesick fool.

“so cute.” he chuckles. “you’re totally my type.”

“shut up.” you roll your eyes at the random compliment. “i know, i already get that a lot.”

his smile then fades, not so thrilled with the reminder that it’s so easy to fall in love with you, and therefore anyone would die to take his place. he knows that they hover around you like moths to a flame when he’s not there. well, he really can’t blame them, can he? you’re so fucking attractive.

“what does that mean…? who else is saying it, huh? tell me. i think i have a few guesses.”

“does it matter?” you stare at him blankly, which then turns into a piercing glare. “jungkook! i was just talking about you not paying enough attention. look at you proving me right!”

the stomp of your feet on the floor tells him that you’ve reached a level of frustration near to inducing a flood of tears.

oh, he truly got called out, huh?

“i’m sorry- i’m sorry. i admit that. i’m sorry, my love. i was just joking around. i’m listening well now.” he winces guiltily, beckoning you to be where he is. “come here then.”

“i don’t want to.” you stay rooted in your spot. “who do you think you are?”

“m-me…? i’m your boyfriend. boyfriend!” he points at himself, index finger repeatedly poking his bare chest to emphasize his point. his arm then drops to his side. his doe eyes widen as he breathes out a sigh of disbelief. “oh, i’m really getting upset now?”

you bite back a smile. the sweet taste of victory.

you can’t be the only one, can you?

“aish, i see you’re having your way again.” he chuckles, taking it upon himself to cross the distance between you. his hands find purchase on the curves of your waist, and every nerve in your body turns into a live wire. “let’s just go out today. do you want to practice boxing at the gym with me?”

didn’t he just watch you do arms day this morning? does he think you have the same stamina as him? you make a face of disapproval and shake your head.

“shall we go to a rage room again then? break more stuff?” he playfully sticks his tongue out, and you glare once more.

for the record, you loved that mug.

“boring.”

“and fighting with me is fun?”

you purse your lips into a thin line. “well, it’s not boring.”

“of course.” he laughs, softly squeezing your waist, pads of his thumbs mindlessly tracing shapes over the fabric of your top.

all of a sudden, he’s tugging you closer to envelope you in his embrace, voice slightly muffled as he sweetly talks. “are you mad at me for real? i’m sorry. sorry, sorry, sorry. sorry. i’ll really be more mindful of the things you remind me about, i swear… i don’t like fighting. it breaks my heart when you cry.”

what is this five foot ten man with bulging biceps, tattoo sleeve, and piercings doing here in the crook of your neck — affectionately nuzzling his face on your skin and telling you in a baby voice that he doesn’t like fighting?

you don’t know, but you feel good.

and his bare body is so comfortingly soft and warm.

he draws back for a kiss but his nose and lips only graze your cheek when you turn away, and you don’t see the sadness that flashes across his face.

“so what i’m hearing is… you don’t like fighting with me because i’m too sensitive? is that the truth?”

“no!” he perks up to interject without hesitation, shaking his head. “but i don’t think that’s a bad thing anyway… being sensitive.”

but you admit being a crybaby. you cry when you’re angry.

that’s when jungkook distinguishes the glint of mischief swimming in your irises. he feels dizzy after having his heart drop to his stomach.

“no. no, no.”

his mirthful grin returns, revealing his perfect set of teeth.

“ahh, i’m stressed!” he closes his eyes, throwing his head back, chest puffing up when he breathes in then out. “i knew it. no, i’m not falling for this trap!”

then he flees the room carrying the laundry basket, leaving you doubled over and covering your mouth to silence your giggles of amusement.

“i’m hanging the laundry now!”

“how dare you walk away from me?!”

“you can’t follow me!”

“i’m not.” you scoff, purposely bumping your hips against his. “i’ll vacuum the living room.”

—

“where are you going? gym?” you genuinely begin to sulk, watching your boyfriend slide into a baggy pair of bleached denim pants. “are you leaving me here?”

he avoids your inquiring eyes, ignoring you as he pulls up his zipper and does the button. you pout when he walks further away to pull out a black shirt from the clothing rack.

“is that it? are you tired of me already?”

he tosses its hanger in the basket where you discard the empty ones before wearing the final piece of clothing, covering himself fully for the first time today.

you sigh, feeling dejected. “you don’t love me anymore?”

and jungkook needs to physically restrain himself so he won’t grab your face and say ‘i love you’ over and over again until he runs out of breath.

you leave the closet to follow him to the bedroom, where he sits on the edge of the mattress to put on his socks.

you stand by him, patience quickly running thin. “hello?”

he brushes away the non-existent dirt on the left sock before switching his legs to put on the right one.

“did i turn invisible?”

your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. this isn’t how fighting works. you need a reaction at the very least.

you tug at the sleeve of his shirt, starting to get annoyed, already planning your exit if he continues this act. “you’re hurting my feelings. you’re not even going to look at me?”

he mumbles, and you almost fail to piece his phrase together. “can’t, you’re too pretty.”

his big brown eyes faintly glimmer with hope when he looks up at you, puckering his rose-tinted lips and making kissing sounds.

your sweet and clingy boyfriend, he’s making this too difficult.

a tsunami of affection washes over you, and it becomes impossible for you not to crack at his cheekiness then. “jungkook, you’re impossible!”

atleast he tried to shoot his shot.

“tsk, see? i thought so!” he grumbles, snapping the elastic band on his ankle. “just want one kiss.”

he disappears into the closet again.

he returns not a minute later, unceremoniously placing a white bucket hat on your head before tugging it down to obstruct your vision.

“hey!”

you hastily take it off, scowling at your laughing boyfriend who turns out to be already wearing a black bucket hat of his own.

“you’re bored, aren’t you? let’s go out, have some sun.”

“no.”

you reply exactly as your boyfriend predicted you would.

jungkook captures your wrist to slip his credit card on your palm, folding your fingers over it, but they aren’t enough to hide the black rectangular thing you can use to buy the world with if you wanted to. your amusement spills out as giggles, brighter as he pushes your hand to your chest so you have no other choice but to accept it.

he scrunches his nose, face only inches away from yours as he persuades you with his natural charm. “what if we go shopping, hmm?”

“thanks babe, but i can’t think of anything i want right now.” you sniffle with teary eyes, flipping the card and holding it between your longest fingers as muscle memory takes control.

“then just keep it incase you see something you want.”

he kneels on the floor out of the blue, and you eye him curiously, your fingers automatically tangling with his silky locks before making a loose fist.

“here, put some pants on. hurry-” he presents your pair of faded gray cargo pants.

you tug at his hair lightly, which prompts him to lift his head. you scrunch your nose cutely, giggling. “i’m spoiled.”

“ey, so what if you are?” he brushes off your observation with his satoori accent, blithe tone listing down reasons. “i love you. i worked hard so i can do these things for you. we moved in together so we can take care of each other.”

and you want to cry. you truly do. your face began to feel warm after he said that he loves you, but the tears never make it past your lash line when his big palm lands a loud smack on your ass, skin-to skin.

“but i do think that you are a brat. does that count for something?”

it catches you by surprise, and a scandalized gasp escapes your mouth as you feel the sting spreading across your skin.

“shut up! give that to me.” you roll your eyes, stealing the pants from his grasp.

“see, that’s what i’m talking about.” he chuckles lightheartedly. “get dressed then.”

his fingers dig in the soft flesh of your thighs when he pulls you closer to kiss the tiny little ribbon on your underwear, heart-shaped lips pressed to you so firmly you can trace their outline bleeding through the thin fabric and onto your skin. “mmm-mwah!”

and then you feel them there next, where it still hurts, a softer kiss in comparison to soothe the sting he left behind.

your heart is beating so loud you can feel it in your throat, feeble knees nearly giving away to crash and break.

who does that so casually? who the hell does that?

oh, right… jungkook. of course.

you raise the white flag today.

perhaps he will flood the apartment tomorrow, and you can stay angry longer then.

—

“what’s taking him so long?” you mutter absentmindedly to yourself, lost eyes scanning the park in hopes of getting a glimpse of your boyfriend and his classic jungkook outfit, but he’s still nowhere to be seen.

your sour mood makes a reappearance.

to your credit, taking you out and then asking you to wait here without telling you where he’s going is rude, and you’re lonely and jealous of the couples around you having a picnic. not to mention that the clouds have uncovered the sun and you’re burning.

this scene also leads your brain to wander to those cliche flashbacks in a film or a show where a parent lies to their child that they’ll come back, and then they doesn’t. it’s always, always at some sort of park.

oh, for fuck’s sake, why are you wasting your time giving this a lot of thought?

too bored and antsy to sit still, you finally decide to text jungkook.

to: my baby love

i'm gonna look for food. do you want anything?

orrr is that what you're away buying 😥

WHERE ARE YOU

why didn't you just take me with youuuu

please me lonely :(

[sent 1 photo]

a black cat !! is sleeping on my shoes!! 😭

i miss you :(

are you almost done

i hate u

whatever i'm going. call if you still remember that you're someone's bf i guess.

—

jungkook crosses the street like an excited puppy, long pretty hair bouncing as he practically skips his way to the area where he left you to wait.

only to be greeted by a complete stranger.

his radiant beam fades into a hue of confusion.

the bench is now occupied by a woman chugging an energy drink after running laps around the park.

they lock eyes for a split second. he averts his befuddled stare to pretend that nothing happened, walking past her with a bouquet of sunflowers until he settles down two benches away.

he wears his bucket hat again only for him to throw it aside with a sigh, messing with his hair to release his frustration. of course you left. he can only snort to himself while he reads the last message you sent. you’re so cute. he knows you’ve never been keen on having to wait, but he didn’t expect himself to take so long either.

not wanting you to be upset with him another second longer, he instantly decides to call you.

his forehead creases when his phone vibrates, informing him that he typed an incorrect password. he tries again, slow and deliberate, only for the same thing to happen, and he begins to feel nervous.

what the fuck?

okay, calm down, JK. one more time.

he freezes as the same words flash on the screen. his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he feels the irritation bubbling up inside of him.

“why is it like this…? what’s your problem? what am i touching wrong?”

—

you return to the park more carefree than before. since jungkook is god knows where, you decided to have a picnic on your own. you had to buy a new picnic blanket, though. you can’t get the one in the car because he has the key. but just to be petty, you hope that he figured it out from the text notifications he got when you used his card.

oh, there he is looking angrily at his phone.

you halt on your tracks, instantly pulling the brakes on your feet when you recognize your boyfriend from your peripheral vision. you slowly chew the remaining tteokbokki in your mouth.

he’s holding his phone… and he hasn’t called you yet?

“wow, did you seriously forgot about me?”

upon hearing your familiar voice, jungkook’s features soften, not having to squint at the sunlight either because you’ve kindly blocked it with your back.

“where did you even go? i didn’t see you!”

the password-protected device that’s been giving him a headache for the past ten minutes is abandoned in the depths of his pocket.

“baby,” he utters airily as he stands on his feet, reaching out to hold your forearm. “i’m sorry. i took so long, didn’t i…? i went to buy you flowers but they didn’t have tulips anywhere. anywhere. every shop said someone bought all of them!”

he scratches his head with a sheepish grin, revealing the bouquet he’s been concealing behind him.

“i got you sunflowers instead… they-” he points at them, eyes flickering on the bundle of yellow flowers he’s offering as a gift. “they’re not bad. i think they’re pretty too. you like them too, right?”

sunflowers are pretty. after all, it used to be your favorite in middle school, mostly because it’s the first flower you received from an admirer… it was for your birthday and you felt like you died when it withered, heavily on-brand for a young heart drawn to romance. excluding that, everything has changed. it’s a typical saturday and beads of sweat have formed on your lover’s forehead after running around under the sun. you think you can keep them alive longer this time around.

“i like you the most.”

and then he receives his gift in return, that particularly sweet smile of yours he only sees when you’re so giddy.

his heart flutters wildly at your following actions.

“kiss.” you adorably demand, copying his pout earlier when he was asking for a kiss.

but unlike you who left his wish ungranted, he crosses the distance to plant a kiss on your lips. he pulls away a mere three inches, muttering to confront you. “but i thought you hated me?”

“who said that? that wasn’t me.” you feign ignorance, eyes so wide as to mimic being confused. you carefully take the flowers into your embrace, subtly exchanging it with the paper bowl you’re holding. “thank you, baby… here, do you want tteokbokki?”

he goes for the fish cake first, poking it with the stick and popping it in his mouth. you find yourself too absorbed in admiring the sunflowers one by one to sense your boyfriend staring at you, thinking to himself, you’re always worth the effort and this overpriced tteokbokki is pretty damn good.

“i turned on my location like i promised i would. did you see?” you mention without looking at him, acting laidback, still too shy when anything related to the incident is brought up.

he awkwardly smiles. no, he didn’t, unfortunately. he’s still fucking locked out of his phone.

you whimper when he pinches your cheek. “good job, baby.”

—

jungkook removes his head on your stomach to lie down beside you on the red picnic blanket. his hair touches his face and he tucks them behind his ears for the millionth time today.

“will you type my password for me?”

you take his phone without question, putting yours over your chest for the meantime. you successfully unlock it within a second, experienced fingers nimble after years of typing on the daily.

“here.” you hold it out for him without looking, picking up your own phone to continue scrolling through trending topics. however, seconds pass and the heavy weight on your hand has yet to be eased, so you wiggle it to catch his attention. “hey, it’s done.”

he gasps, gaping at you in bewilderment. “how did you do that?”

“you changed it again last night, remember? because i told you our anniversary isn’t a good idea.”

shit, right. he added a new one to the list of passwords that he uses for everything. he totally forgot about that. you’ve taken over every working brain cell that he has in his body.

“baby, this is your fault!” he groans, finally snatching away his phone. “ah- i wanted to throw it away. i didn’t know what was wrong with it. i was seriously so close to crying!”

that bad? was he about to get all his data wiped out? your poor baby. you laugh out loud at his reaction, belly aching as you roll over to wrap your arm around his waist and bury your face on his side.

“anyone can guess it if they try hard enough.”

“but that was the trick, you know? they’d think it’s too easy. they wouldn’t even consider it!”

“that doesn’t mean they won’t try it!”

“ah, i don’t care. i’m changing it back.” he stubbornly pouts, falling back on the blanket.

you want to cuddle. he feels a tug on the sleeve of his shirt and he immediately understands. he allows you to use his tattooed arm as a pillow. it envelopes you entirely when he reaches for his phone to type with both hands, and you automatically snuggle with him closer by resting your head on his chest.

“fine. do what you want, you dummy. you better not leave your phone lying around.” you mutter, heavy eyelids fluttering shut as the wind blows to softly caress your face. “and don’t take more pictures of me sleeping.”

“you’re sleeping? i thought we’re going to the mall.”

“we are. i’m letting you rest before you carry shopping bags.”

“ah- wow. thanks, baby.”

you don’t how much time passes, a minute or ten or more, but falling into a deep sleep proves to be impossible with the cacophony of sounds you’re surrounded with. you’re resting somewhere away from the crowd, but there’s still the hiphop music from a bluetooth speaker, honking of vehicles… and the main culprit, jeon jungkook scrolling through tiktok on your phone and bookmarking videos for you to watch later on. you can hear his giggles louder than his heartbeat, feel them make his body vibrate throughout.

so, you give up. you open your blurry eyes with a tired sigh, blinking to readjust to the brightness. he feels your movements, your nose brushing against his neck, and he squeezes you to his side, dutifully stroking your head to remind you that you’re safe despite being in a public place because you’re with him. you kiss his cheek to show your appreciation.

you end up harmonizing with his giggles when you do decide to join him, nearly tearing up at the sight of a cat riding a motorcycle toy on the screen. a little while later, your fascination is then stolen by fiddling with his tattooed hand — tracing the veins, the lines, the tattoos; pressing the faded heart like it’s a button connected to the beating one in his ribcage; grazing the rough areas of his palm calloused by lifting heavy weights.

and as you do so, you mull over the house by the sea you’re saving up for. how much longer will it take? should you check out more locations? do you tell jungkook? that it’s your back-up plan, a place where no one knows your name, just like how this city once was. it’s where you would run to, where you would build a new life if the time comes that this one falls apart, too. if not, if not, if not, would it be so bad to wake up beside you with an ocean view when he’s sixty?

fuck, you don’t know anymore. it shouldn’t be this hard— not anticipating the worst, but still being prepared for it. you despise being an adult.

you do it absentmindedly, taking off one of your silver rings and slipping it into each of his fingers to see where it would fit best… he knows you’re only entertaining yourself, but feeling it in his ring finger still puts a lump in his throat.

“are you proposing to me?”

“this is your right hand, silly.” you tease your stunned boyfriend, sticking your tongue out. “if you want me, come and get me.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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jikookuntold · 3 months ago

Text

The Untold Stories of “Are You Sure!?”

I know it's been quite some time since Jikook's travel show, Are You Sure?, aired on Disney+, and I've been wanting to share my thoughts about it here ever since. After watching the entire series twice, I've finally organized my reflections and found time to put them into words. Without further preamble or disclaimer, let's dive right in.

I’m Not Sure…

I must admit that a duo trip for Jikook and a reality show based on it wasn’t in the most optimistic Jikookers’ bingo card. But we got it in the best way possible, a whole Disney+ series with some of the most beautiful, meaningful, and intimate Jikook moments to gush about for years. Through the eight episodes, we saw them talking sweetly, laughing together, cuddling and touching intimately, being domestic, and taking care of each other. I can talk about those moments for hours, but I know many Jikookers have done it in the past few months, and I’m going to look at this show from a different point of view; What does this show add to our Jikookery encyclopedia?

For new fans, this show can be a guide to know more about Jikook’s real and special bond, but for veteran Jikookers like us, maybe there was not much new information. We cherished seeing them together, enjoyed their sweet moments, and learned more unknown facts about them and their dynamics. You may say we already knew how inseparable and couply they are and have been familiar with their domestic nature. But was that all we perceived from AYS, or we can go deeper and find more? Yes, there is always more to see without hallucination or delusion.

First of all, keep in mind that AYS is a TV show after all, and we know TV shows, including reality shows, can be scripted. These shows are often filmed and edited in ways that emphasize specific narratives or push certain agendas. I’ve discussed the topic of "Scripts in BTS Content" before (link) and concluded that the narratives in BTS reality shows, especially the paid ones, aren’t far from the members’ real dynamics, making them largely authentic. However, in the case of AYS, we have even more solid proof of this authenticity: Jimin and JK themselves confirmed that we see them as they are in the show.

But the thing is, what we saw in the show wasn't everything. No matter how honest and authentic they try to be, approximately 96% of the footage had to be edited out to condense an eight-day trip into less than ten hours of television series. This percentage would be even higher if we accounted for duplicate shots from multiple cameras and repeated scenes - though there's no precise way to calculate this. The truth remains: there was far more that went unseen, and I'm attempting to shed light on these untold stories from "Are You Sure?!"

USA

The first chapter of AYS was also the shortest, consisting of only two episodes, and it began with Jikook in New York, US. The timing of this trip was particularly interesting: JK traveled to the US on July 12th for his "Seven" promotions and GMA performance, and the next day, we saw Jimin at the airport heading to the same destination. Unofficial sources had announced that they were planning to film something together in New York - which turned out to be true, though not the full story. What many Jikookers overlooked was the significance of this moment for JK's career. As he embarked on his solo journey with a bold, sexy song and romantic music video, he clearly wanted Jimin by his side during this pivotal and stressful moment.

Meanwhile, Jimin’s presence beside JK served as crucial emotional support during this important moment in his career. While some might argue that Jimin similarly supported Hobi and Suga during their solo performances by traveling to the US, and JK is just another BTS member he loves and supports. But don’t forget that both times in August 2022 and May 2023 had coincided with Jimin’s own solo schedules in that country. This time, however, his trip had no purpose other than filming a potential travel show and simply being there for JK. This was when Jimin had just finished recording his second album, Muse, and "finally" had free time to spend with JK, plus, unlike Hobi and Yoongi’s solo performances, Jimin’s presence in New York for JK, wasn’t covered in the respective Bangtan Episode.

However, their journey immediately faced setbacks: JK's live performance was canceled due to heavy rain in New York, leaving him feeling gloomy, he even joked about being "cursed by water" on their first day. On the other hand, Jimin got sick and spent most of the day unwell, growing pessimistic about their show's prospects. Despite this streak of bad luck, they managed to uplift each other and enjoy being together. The second day told a different story, with Jimin feeling better and JK supposedly being happy about "Seven" topping the charts, their real dynamic emerged, leading to some of their most intimate moments. I’m sure you know which moments I’m talking about.

Okay, let's address the elephant in the room: “Jikook discussing how they hadn't seen each other”. Their conversation in the first episode about this separation raised questions about their dynamic during the solo era, specifically the period between the YTC Busan concert and the release of "Seven". Despite the inaccuracy in the official English subs for this part of the episode, I have to remind you, the era Jikook were talking about was when Jin and then Hobi enlisted in the military after releasing their farewell gifts for fans, Namjoon and Jimin released solo albums, and Yoongi embarked on a solo tour after his comeback.

At the same time, we stopped seeing Jikook together as frequently as before. This coincidence between the solo era activities and Jikook's so-called separation fueled conspiracy theories among haters, with claims like "Chapter two revealed the members' true relationships”. But we already had the answer to these claims: Jimin was working intensely on not one but two albums simultaneously, leaving him little time to spend with JK or anyone else outside his work. Meanwhile, JK had more free time, which explains why he was frequently seen socializing with various friends and acquaintances.

So, the question is: Did Jikook really not see each other for six, seven months? We witnessed them together at least four times during this period and it appears our definition of "not seeing each other" differs from Jikook’s. They were specifically referring to their inability to spend meaningful quality time together, which simply wasn't possible during that era. However, immediately after finishing recording his second album, Jimin went straight to JK to create new memories with him. Personally, I think parts of this "separation era" weren't solely due to busy schedules. At that time, they still were not sure about their upcoming enlisting situation, and perhaps they were trying to do a trial for their eventual military separation, but they failed miserably, ended up pining over each other. So, this result possibly leading to their joint enlistment decision. Of course, this remains just a theory and I could be entirely wrong, and the simpler explanation might be Jimin's overwhelming workload at the time.

Now let's discuss the untold part of the story. After wrapping up their trip and filming, Jimin returned to South Korea on July 18th while JK remained in the US to depart for London the following day. Considering the time difference between Connecticut and South Korea, Jimin actually stayed for more night and day after filming concluded. This means they spent at least one full night and day together off-camera. Antoya, the New York restaurant, confirmed in an official post that Jimin and JK dined there twice, first time with cameras and staff and the second time without them, while the show included only brief footage from Antoya, mere seconds of them discussing JK's sore throat.

Based on their filming schedule, we can determine the second visit occurred after they returned to New York from Connecticut, following the completion of shooting. This confirms they enjoyed private time together, just the two of them. Jikook's time in the US wasn't just about their couple-like conversations during hikes or their casual touches on the boat or in bed. Their connection went much deeper: JK cared for Jimin when he was sick, prayed for his recovery, and prepared special meals for him. Similarly, Jimin supported JK through his stressful days, and as we realized by analyzing their travel schedules earlier, it was something that extended far beyond simply filming a show.

We never saw footage of Jikook's topless photo on the wharf or never witnessed how Jimin's nose got injured by JK's elbow in their sleep. While we were deprived of many potential moments, what we did receive were some of the most genuine and authentic episodes of the series. The impact of this trip on Jikook was big enough that we saw JK passionately discussing their experience on Suchitwa and begging Jimin to join his live just days after returning, the experience that was pleasant enough to motivated them to continue the show with more travel destinations.

Jeju

The next destination for Jikook’s travel show was Jeju Island in South Korea. These three episodes featured Taehyung accompanying Jikook, though his participation was included to the show only two days before filming began. While this last-minute addition sparked unnecessary controversy among some shippers, it’s important to recognize the benefits of Taehyung’s guest appearance; it proved that aside from the predetermined itinerary and props, nothing else about the show was scripted. Moreover, despite the presence of a third party, Jikook continued to display their unique and romantic connection - both on and off camera. Also, for viewers seeking an unbiased comparison of their dynamics, these episodes are valuable case studies.

Vminkook enjoyed numerous exciting activities in Jeju, from ocean fishing and kart racing to more mundane moments like shared meals, sleep, and playing together. Despite the Jeju episodes having the shortest average runtime (60 minutes compared to 63 and 77 minutes for the US and Sapporo) and including lengthy scenes like their 15-minute Japanese restaurant meal, we were still treated to precious Jikook moments. Highlights included their heartfelt conversation about enlisting together, the adorable pool scene, their casual cuddles in bed, and romantic interactions alongside playful bickering and roleplaying. These moments, authentic and unfiltered, reinforced just how deeply connected and inseparable they are, no matter who accompanies them.

Aside from what was shown on camera, there were some other interesting facts to notice. As we know, the Jeju filming officially began on September 26th and concluded on the 28th, just before Chuseok. I’m not sure if you were aware of the rumors from a credible source, about Jikook being spotted in Jeju during August that year, but I understand if you remain skeptical. Regardless of the rumor’s validity, Jimin himself confirmed their off-camera time together when he mentioned spending the night with JK right before departing for Jeju.

What makes this sleepover particularly special is the fact that JK had only arrived in Seoul the previous day, and we witnessed him rushing through the airport to go home. By his own admission, he hadn’t slept since landing, implying they stayed awake together all night. Even more intriguing, we later learned that Jikook received confirmation of their buddy system approval that same day. It’s highly likely they celebrated this news with a night of dining and drinks together alone—yet all we received was a vague mention in the show.

However, these off-camera moments extended far beyond their private date night. When JK’s mom mentioned Jimin twice during their phone call and inquired about their Chuseok reunion, the warmth of familial bonds was sensible. Throughout their trip, JK remained by Jimin’s side, even when Taehyung stepped away for personal activities, he lingered nearby even as Jimin slept, a quiet but telling detail. The show removed many intimate moments, for example the footage related to the iconic photobook image of JK proudly displaying Jimin’s name written in sunscreen on his belly. But I’m far from disappointed, if anything, I’m grateful for all the beautiful moments we got beyond our expectations.

Japan

As someone who doesn't particularly enjoy cold, snowy weather, I found these Sapporo episodes to be unexpectedly warm and sweet, and they left me emotionally attached. It's no surprise that Jikook themselves seemed to cherish this part of their travels most of all, as it marked their final trip before military enlistment. Japan has held special meaning for them since at least GCF in Tokyo, and winter has always been their favorite season. While their US trip presented some mishaps they weren't prepared for, and Jeju introduced a third party that altered their dynamic, Sapporo offered something different. Here, they seemed at ease - ready and willing to showcase their peak authentic, boyfriend behavior.

The Sapporo episodes featured some of the most memorable moments in the entire series, from their strolls along snowy sidewalks and playful antics on Sapporo's empty streets to listening to romantic songs while sharing AirPods on the train. Their indoor moments were also precious from playing and bickering to half naked Jacuzzi moments. At one point, Jimin remarked that is just how they are at home as laying on the floor singing, as JK effortlessly completing his verses like it is their everyday routine. Though their impending enlistment loomed in their thoughts and made the atmosphere bittersweet, these moments felt so natural and effortless.

There were so many sweet moments in these three episodes that I won’t be able to recount every one of them, I know you remember them as vividly as I do, and I cherish them all. As this post’s purpose suggests, I want to focus on the untold part of their Japan journey: Tokyo. We all saw them depart Seoul on November 23rd and return on the 28th, yet the three episodes of Japan only covered Sapporo. What went unshown were their two nights and two days in Tokyo. Yes, JK had his "Hate You" MV filming and an interview scheduled, but Jimin had no professional reason to accompany him, he could have joined JK later in Sapporo. Jimin was amid preparing Muse and might have used those days to rest or wrap up his work. Yet they chose to travel together, deliberately carving out private time away from cameras.

So, it's safe to say that the Tokyo portion of Jikook's Japan trip served as their private time together - a detail made even more meaningful by their personal history with the city. Throughout show promotions and commentary, they referenced their 2017 trip a few times, suggesting that they wanted to recreate those precious memories before enlistment. And so they did just for the two of them, preserving these new moments for themselves just as they had six years prior, never intended for filming or public viewing, and all we saw was a beautiful four-minute long edit created by JK himself, and of course Jimin’s sweet twitter edit. But this time, two photos of Jimin in Tokyo presumably taken by JK was all that we were allowed to see.

We Are Sure

After years of promoting the OT7 (7-1=0) narrative, Are You Sure?! a travel show, exclusively featuring Jikook, emerged as a completely unexpected phenomenon. To be honest, this Jikook portrayal, unaligned with most of the Jikook narratives we have seen from Hybe in the past few years. Does this signal a future shift? A soft or hard launch? I can't say for certain, and I prefer to remain pessimistic, only time will reveal the truth. What's undeniable is that AYS was a gift and a blessing for anyone who genuinely loves Jimin and JK. The series offered us rare glimpses of their authentic dynamic, something we'll always be grateful to Jikook for sharing. Across eight episodes and 52 minutes of behind-the-scenes footage, their undeniable chemistry shone through. Their endless inside jokes and constant roleplaying revealed just how close they are off-camera, maintaining their special connection in their own private world.

After reflecting on all the beautiful moments in Jikook's exclusive show, I wanted to end this post on a positive note, but one issue demands acknowledgment. Jimin and JK openly expressed their love for this journey and the series itself, and asked us to give it love and support. Yet the harsh reality remains; ARMY collectively chose to ignore the show, even voting against it for iHeartRadio awards. While disappointing, this wasn't surprising, because these haters knew that any success for this show could signal Hybe to produce similar content in the future, an outcome they clearly fear. At the very least, I challenge those dismissing Jikook's bond as "fanservice", true fanservice caters to fans, and when the so-called fandom rejects the content, this label becomes meaningless.

Whether fans like it or not, and regardless of Hybe commercialization, Jikook will continue doing as they please, and their actions clearly demonstrate that being together is their priority. Their joint enlistment and little to no updates from the military proven this beyond doubt. Military service is no luxury vacation in some lavish villa with yachts and fancy meals; they aren’t being paid to film content. They consciously chose harsher conditions solely to remain together, knowing separation would be unbearable for them. What they share is a bond built to last a lifetime. I feel privileged to exist in the same era as Jikook, and I pity those who either cannot or refuse to recognize their beautiful relationship.

#jikook #jimin #jungkook #are you sure?!

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grugruel · 1 year ago

Note

I am-- in DESPERATE need of Prewar cooper Howard FILTHY smut. Taking his Co-star in his trailer on set on a hot summer's day and they're both sweaty and needy and he's got a FILTHY mouth on him. maybe she plays the damsel in distress and he can't get over how good she looks all tied up 🔥 she definitely enjoys teasing him but takes it too far,, poor cooper 😔😏

Yessss, currently feeling feral, so this was perfect. Did my best, hope you love it🫶

Quiet on set

Pairings: pre-war!Cooper Howard x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: wrapping yet another movie together, these co-stars take out their constant tension in Coopers trailer.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: (acted violence and death), pinv sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, edging, lap-riding, cowgirl, doggy, bratty reader, petnames (sweetheart, princess, girl, woman), praise, slight degradation, choking (blink and you'll miss it).

AN: Currently working through my requests, it might take some time for those of you that sent them in! But I appreciate you all, thank you!!

I could feel that heavy star-studded aura bearing it's weight down on me, his eyes ransacking every part of my body while he awaited his cue. Through the blinding stage lights, just out off frame–he stood hungry–strong hands white-knuckling his belt while teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

'Help! Somebody please save me!' I cried out, the rattling railroad tracks cool beneath my body. The air was stuffy and hard to breathe, clamming to my body as the mid summer heat penetrated the studio walls. Truly making the desert set come alive.

Enter: The Man from Deadhorse. Walking into picture with his signature gait, spurs jingling and eyes acting as he stared my captor down. Heat practically burning in his gaze as he delivered the infamouse line, "Feo, fuerty, y formal."

But a growing suspicion resided–perhaps it was not acting at all, but rather me, that had him ignite that way.

The bang of a revolver shot out, hitting the antagonist right between the eyes as a result of an experienced and deadly aim.

Dignified indeed.

I yelped, making my eyes big with shock. 'You came!' And then let a relived smile soften my expression.

The sound of a charging train began rolling, a billowing steam engine and a piping whistle thundering along a railroad. But it was no worry anymore, I was to be saved.

The sheriff's starved eyes switched to me and my bound form.

Swiftly, he moved over the dusty desert set in his blue and yellow getup. In a second of harrowing anticipation, placed in clever calculation to have the viewers at the edge of their seats, he loomed over me, that infamous gaze following every curve of my body. The rope circling me in such a way that it accentuated my goods, and what the cameras did not see, was a ravenous smirk on the hero's lips–holding a silent promise ment only for me.

In a flashy movement, he cut the rope from my body and pulled me off of the tracks and into his embrace, the camera panning to us as the sound of the train just missing our bodies passed by the frame.

'Don't worry sweetheart, you're safe now.' He purred, voice drawling with that trademark smile accenting his lips, lips that only a second later collided with my own in a strong, righteous kiss-

'CUT!' A voice bellowed, and the set bustled to life with congratualations and handshakes as they were traded between the crew and cast, celebrating yet another wrap.

But his lips had stayed on mine for a second or two too long, and I had to pull away. Gasping for air, pretending that we simply hadn't heard the call over the ruckus.

'My trailer in 10 minutes, honey. Don't be late. . . I got a surprise for you.' He whispered in my ear, disguising our continued embrace as a friendly, celebrating hug. A hug with a condensed, slap off the ass–hard enough to sting, quiet enough to go undetected.

And with a wink, he was off. Chatting and laughing while coworkers patted his back with him returning the gesture. Meanwhile I myself became wrapped up in party-ready colleagues of my own. But the partying would have to wait, I had somewhere far more fulfilling to be.

I hadent been able to keep the 10 minute mark, the cast and crew had stuck around for longer than I'd thought. Which made sneaking to his trailer all the more difficult, but I managed. Eventually.

I opened the door to a dark, even hotter cabin, no movement or noise that I could detect. But the second I shut that door behind me, he revealed himself.

'There you are. . .' A low voice growled from the shadows. Then there was a sound of groaning threads, a woosh, and I was captured. A lasso had been thrown around my body, pinning my arms to my sides as I was blindly pulled into the depths of the darkness, and collided with something, strong, something hard. 'You kept me waitin' princess. Fame gone to your head already?' The words were breathed against my cheek, puffs of his sultry breath warming my already damp skin deliciously.

'I imagine I'll be on your level soon.' I hooked my index fingers through his belt loops, eyes adjusting to the dark as I pullied him closer with what little movement I was allowed. 'Now, I want my surprise.' I pouted, brushing my lips along his, the features of his face clearing up like the sea after a storm.

'This is it.' He flexed the rope between his fingers, feeling its coarse texture. Taking my bottom lip between his teeth and tugged.

'My surprise is a . . . rope?' I could't hide the sound of disappointment from my voice. 'Should I start playing the damsel now or? Oh. . . Please Sheriff, save me!' I mocked.

'Well yes, the rope is you're surprise.' He paused. 'Now, what makes you so sure I'll play the sheriff, huh?' He tightened the rope around me to emphasize. 'Perhaps I captured you.'

'Oh?' I was truly intrigued, but sighed an overly dramatic sigh, just cause I was hoping it'd get a rise out of him. 'C'mon now, cowboy. You can do better than that–thought I was your special girl.' I teased, eyeing his dark form through my lashes as I used his own words against him.

He nudged his nose against my cheek, his lips moving into a grin along my jaw. 'You are my special girl. . .' He confirmed, voice gravely as he pressed his hips against mine, letting me feel the hardness beneath his pants. '. . .and my special girl will be fucking pleadin' when this rope has served its purpose.' The lasso was thrown into serveral more circles around my upper body, wrapping me tighter as he imitated what he'd seen on set.

'That a threat?' I groaned, his stiffness rubbing against my mound. Creating friction so wonderful I found my hips automatically flexing against his. More. I needed more.

'A promise.' He fell back onto a couch. 'You'd better start ridin' before I put that big mouth of yours to better use.' He tugged on the lasso, helping me fall into position stradeling his lap.

I settled with a whimper, my core veiled by the thin fabric of my skirt as it made direct contact with his clothed member. But with the way I was bound, he'd restricted my arms further, they were unmovable infact. I couldn't support myself, couldn't unbutton his pants. 'Can't reach. . .' I whined, frustrated that I couldn't get his fucking dick out.

He hummed. 'Mmm, serves you right, dont it?' He pulled my skirt over my hips, and grasped the rope around my waist, making a point of not touching me as he pushed me downward and pulled forward, grinding my core against the coarse fabric of his pants. 'Now, ride.' He growled, the friction affecting him as much as me. For I had a simular reaction, if not worse.

The air was sucked right out of me, but I did as he ordered. Grinding my hips into his lap, over and over again, moaning curses left and right. But however much I tried I couldn't losen my restraints, couldn't get a grip on any part of him to work myself harder against him. I was stuck in a rut of superficial pleasure, with his occasional torturing tug. I just wanted to feel him, his touch, on me, in me. I didn't care, juat somewhere.

'Touch me.' I whispered, my head lulling against his shoulder as I desperatley tried increasing the friction.

He hummed, a breathy and guttural sound as he replied, 'Starvin' already?' He leaned closer, mouth hovering just above that sweet spot on my neck.

'Yes, yes.' I placed a kiss on his throat, grateful for what he was about to bestow me-

My button-down blouse was ripped open, buttons flying everywhere with a loud clatter as they hit the floor, the expensive prop ruined too quickly. 'Plead.' His rough knuckles brushed over the beginning of my breast, as they were now bare for him.

I gasped, 'What?' lust driven confusion clouding my mind. The stifling heat didn't help my mind to clear either.

'Plead, sweetheart.' He repeated, his murmur vibrating against my skin.

It was my turn to grin, my turn to drag my exposed teeth along his jugular, my lips closing around them as I kissed his jaw tenderly. 'I dont think so.' I purred, readying myself to stand up. 'Guess I'll have to find some other man the sate my needs.' I licked a stripe along his jaw before sitting back. 'My very, very. . . Slick needs.' And scootched back, leaving a wet inprint on the convex bulge of his jeans.

But before I could do anything too drastic, he grabbed my waist, he touched me, and pulled me back into a perch. A small victory for me, but the battle wast over yet. Now, our heads leveled with eachother. 'Don't you dare.' The jealousy was evident in his tone. 'Filthy little brat. . .' He hissed, 'I can play that game too, sweetheart.' He began unbuttoning his pants with the other hand, pulling his erect member out.

And drool dripped from my mouth as I got a good view of it, but he didn't lift me up and enter me, no. That would be too merciful. He simply pushed my undergarments to the side and pulled me closer, my slick cunt sliding over his length, wetting it as he let me feel the size of him, what I could get, but wasn't allowed. 'You aint to only woman in this cast.' His mouth trailed downward, lips following the valley between my breasts, the tip of his nose and chin collecting droplets of sweat along my skin.

His words stung, and even though I knew he only said them to rile me up, they worked. I didn't answer him, didn't deign to give him any words, but carefully began moving my hips instead, easing them into a slow rocking, and the few seconds I got were jaw dropping. I hoped he somehow just wouldn't notice, foolishly enough.

He hardened his grip, holding me steady, unmovable, as if he'd bound my lower body together aswell. 'Naughty fucking brat.' He leered.

Fuck, I just needed something, anything. The aching was building within me, unadultered want for pleasure. Pleasure which only he could give me.

'Fuck. Me.' It was an order, no sign of begging in my tone.

'Plead for me, woman.' He dragged the word out, chuckling. That ravenous grin on his lips he nipped at the soft flesh of my breast.

'Cocky bastard.' I scoffed, but yielded. 'Please. Fuck. Me.' But there was no weight behind them, the words fighting to stay in my mouth, coming out strained.

He cocked his head to the side, eyes searching my own as amusement filled them. 'C'mon now, you can do better than that.' He threw my words back at me.

But the desperation was seeping through my skin, into my quaking muscles and quivering bones. 'Please, please, please. . . Fuck me, Cooper. Oh, you big, famous movie star.' I whimpered. This time, meaning every word, although some in a more mocking fashion than others.

He faced me again, grinning as he shook his head in disbelief. 'Wicked fucking woman, I'll fuck some sense into you yet.'

'I dont think you have it in you, cowboy.' It took everything in me to keep my lips from curling into a smile-

Suddenly, I found my face pushed into the soft cushions of the couch. One hand pushed me down firmer by the neck, while the other lined himself up with my entrance. He stroked the tip through my folds, teasing me torturousley slow. The aching grew so strong I thought I'd break into a million pieces right then and there. 'Please. . .' I begged, the word half a whimper. '. . .please.' I had no self restraint left, no morals or standards to keep up. I just needed him, inside me. Now.

'About, damn time.' He pushed inside of me, wasting no time by setting grueling pace that had my body shaking. Muffled moans and whimpers escaped me, there was not a thought in my mind. No room for anything but him inside me. 'Yeah? You like that? Filthy girl. . .' He groaned, his hand colliding hard with my ass. The slap ringing out through the cabin, and it was glorious.

I nodded, or did the best I could while the force of his hold constricted my movements.

He hummed again, that low titillating hum. And leaned over me, bracing himself on the forearm that held my neck. His body laying flush over mine as his hips struck into mine, deeper, harder. His lips brushed against my ear, opening his mouth to whisper-

Raised voices, approaching, shouting outside the trailer. 'Better stay quiet now, sweetheart.' He breathed, and just then, out of spite, he struck into me harder, only to see if I could keep us secret. But I wanted to scream, needed to. So, I shoved my face into the cushion, muffling my crying out.

'Thats it. . . Good girl.' He praised, moaning the words against the shell of my ear. And as the voices approached, he slowed the thrusting, keeping the depth but dimming the strength. Softening the loud lewdness of our slapping bodies. His hand slid around my front, finding me clit with easy expertice. 'Good girl.' He breathed again, kissing my earlobe. As if it was my award for doing as I was told. 'Sticking my dick in you was all I had to do to fix that attitude of yours?' His fingers began rubbing circles over my clit, stimulating my already pulsating body further.

'Yes. . .' I whimpered, 'Yes, yes, yes.' And his hand moved to my throat, placing it between my jugular and jaw, tilting my face a sliver closer to his. 'Kiss me, please.' I pleaded, and he met my lips. His hungry, hungry lips surpassing the neediness my ownas be pushed his tongue into my mouth. He tasted heavenly.

The voices had passed since long, their drunk celebrating dissapearing beyond the lot. And his thrusts grew equally hungry once again, pushing into me, hitting my spot with reverance. The pressure was building, threatening to spill over the edge with every flick of his hips. 'Close. . .' I moaned into his mouth, my breath coating his lips.

'Yeah?' He moved his lips, kissing my cheek and down my throat.

'Yeah.' I shuddered, my whimpering indicating how close I was to release. The ramping, strained breaths between us almost sent me over the edge alone, white spots flecking my lids, lightning neighing in my nerves, the wall so close to collapsing-

And he pulled out, releasing my clit and pushed himself off of me.

No, no, no, Cooper please.' I whined, the pressure dissapearing, slowly seeping out into nothingness.

'There you go, sweetheart. Now you're pleadin' properly. . .' He basked in my despair, that smug grin of his adorning his face in all it's glory. He uncircled the rope, pulled me to his chestand twisted us, making us swap positions, with me once agains tradeling him as he laid on his back below me. 'Now ride me properly too.'

Oh I was, and I would get my revenge. I pulled my blouse and skirt off, I would have him pleading and squirming when I was done with him. 'That's more like it.' His eyes ravaged my body, staying longer on my nipples and hips, and cunt. 'Pretty little brat.' His tone so self-righteous it would've made me scoff, but I played along. Snaking my body against his, I wrapped my hands around his, finally able to touch him and pinned them both above his head. Then sat up and aligned myself with his length, slowly sinking down, greedily accepting every inch as he hissed. It dulled the pain he'd left me in, his member filling me up made me whole again.

But I wasn't done yet. Leaning in, I kissed him, distracted him, and carefully grabbed the discarded lasso. He would be pleading, he would.

And after a moment I sat back up, hands on his chest. Pushing him back down as he tried to follow me. Which is when he realised, that his arms wouldn't budge.

'Mmmh. . .' He chuckled, '. . .clever girl.'

I nodded, hands tracing down his sculpted abdomen. Transfering from his body to my own, I let them roam. Moving them along my hips, waist, stumache, breasts, throat. Just watching, enjoying every second of his growing displeasure, of his twitching and leaking inside me.

'Plead, cowboy.' I sqeezed my breasts, whimpering form the feeling. 'I'd much rather have you touching me.'

His lips drew into a thin line, hips bucking into me, slithering for any movement, any stimulation. 'It must be hurting.' I murmured, 'You can end it, just plead.'

His breaths were ragged, guttural and groaning. 'Cruel, cruel woman.'

'Now you're getting it.' I smirked. 'Plead. . .'

He scoffed, eyes hard as he opened his mouth, 'Please. . .' He mustered the word through clenched teeth.

Oh it felt amazing, the word as much as his member as I began moving along it, riding him. 'Fuck.' He grunted. 'When I get loose, girl-'

I laid my index finger against his lips, shushing him. Enjoying the sound of our wet squelching, his hard breaths and my own moans. I leaned down, my body rubbing against his while I kissed his chest and made my way along his collarbone.

'Why don't you give my lips some love too, girl.' He moaned, and I figured I could give him that at least. My lips met his jaw, bushed along his lips and then-

He grabbed me, locked his arms around my torso in a grip of steel, as he thrusted into me, rocking me violently into his arms.

'You really think I've never been tied up by a lover before?' He grunted, pushing his tongue into my mouth. And just like that, the pressure was rebuilt and released, washing over me in electric waves, shocking my body and nervous system.

'Easy girl, there you go.' He held me still, pecking me with kisses wherever he reached as he let my quivering body do what it needed, he himself coming moments later with a few last thrusts. And I collapsed on top of him, the strong rise and fall of his chest helping me calm my breathing.

'Wanna go again, movie star?' I asked.

'Which position, cowgirl?' He answered.

#cooper howard #cooper howard smut #fallout smut #fallout #fallout x reader #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x female reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard imagine #fallout imagine #fallout fanfic #cooper howard fanfic #the ghoul smut #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul imagine

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alexanderlightweight · 11 days ago

Note

In ‘to break with fate’ could I ask for something when their relationship was still new and growing? How Alec learned to belong to Magnus or maybe something about how Alec learned to break the mindset his past left him with? I could be anything really, I’m just very curious of that vers

here we go this is, kind of the healing part of the journey for to break with fate.

last bit here. and I really love this verse it's (which is saying something) probably one of the darkest verses? mainly because valentine is in control of shadowhunters/nephilim and I feel like it has to be stated thats a really fucked up, dark world.

that being said, this is pretty much as soft as this verse gets because Magnus understands Alec needs to heal and he wants that. I hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

to break with fate

It’s taken time.

Time and magic and promises and more rituals than Magnus knew a single body could bear but every bit of effort he’s put in to protecting Alexander has been returned to him tenfold.

It’s in the way Alexander is laughing, loud and free as he sits on the mast of the small boat Magnus is steering. There’s wind in his face and his hair is wild and unkempt, thick with salt and his skin bare and tanned, healthy and flushed under the sun.

He looks young and unburdened, his youth finally showing through the mask of trauma he once wore like Magnus’ tiger stripes.

“Will you join me anytime soon, or are you turning into a gull?” Magnus asks and Alexander hears him and laughs louder. Because Alexander can now hear Magnus anywhere within a five mile radius, no matter if his runes are dormant or walls lie between them.

A splash is his answer and Magnus leaves the wheel, letting his magic take it as he walks to the side and chuckles, his boy grinning up at him from the cerulean waves.

“You could join me instead.” Alexander teases — joking with Magnus in a manner he would wouldn't have just months ago.

Magnus anchors the boat with a snap of his fingers and since he’s hardly wearing much more than Alexander, simply dives in as well. The water is just cool enough to be refreshing under the hot sun but warm enough to soothe and relax. It’s not something Magnus normally indulges in, water is hardly his favorite element but he’s learned to master it all the same.

To leave such a vulnerability... Well, there is no room in Magnus’ life for weaknesses. It's why Alexander couldn't be left with his wings clipped rather than teaching him to soar.

Alexander swims closer and kisses him, lips salty and tongue cool as Magnus keeps them both afloat to kiss his boy deeper.

“One of these days you’re going to truly think you can fly, darling. Then what will I do? Lock you in a cage to keep you from going too far?”

Alexander smiles, delight in his eyes and he nuzzles Magnus' chin, his own face bobbing in the water with little splashes of movement.

“Considering I tried to lock myself in the cage of your lair and arms and you instead threw me through a portal onto a beach—” he trails off leadingly, smirking and Magnus dunks him.

What a ridiculous brat.

Except he’s also not wrong.

When Alexander had been too cautious to leave Magnus’ lair, Magnus had simply portaled him to an Island only a handful know about and have access to. It had been three days of showing him the joy of sand and water and tidepools and it had been just enough to spark an interest in life again. Enough that the next week they’d returned, and again the next until Alexander had explored the Island until nothing new could be found.

Then, after three more visits and the urge to adventure had grown too strong, he’d finally asked Magnus to go somewhere else.

Truly, there is nothing quite so delightful as showing Alexander the realms and knowing that every step his boy takes to expand his world, Valentine and his ilk probably scream with rage.

Alas, Magnus cannot leave his territory for too long. Their adventures are many, but condensed, carefully calculated so that Magnus never leaves any of his territories for too long.

Already the four days they’re currently taking for themselves runs the risk of being noticed. Yet for Alexander’s joy and the potion ingredients they’ve both collected, it’s been well worth the risk and the annoyance of remembering how to sail a boat.

It took weeks of effort for Alexander to feel strong, for him to feel safe.

Weeks in which Alexander studied and trained when Magnus was busy and when Magnus was at his side, well. When they weren’t fucking, then Magnus was testing and teaching his boy. Ensuring that Alexander had the tools and skills to protect himself and the ability to put it into action.

Alexander’s confidence was harder to build.

He’d rarely been allowed to train with other hunters and most of his talents were culled by his mother or Valentine, yet even they could not completely diminish him.

So Magnus coaxed him with words and actions and his hands.

Until Alexander’s courage and his pride and his determination were sparked, a rekindling of his dampened flame. On their first true hunt together, Alexander had finally spilled the blood of his own kind and there, fingers covered in gore and skin coated in blood, Alexander had smiled at him.

Something true and real and gleaming and finally unafraid and Magnus had kissed him in a pool of blood and vowed; that even if it took annihilation of every nephilim, he would have Alexander just like that, forever.

Always shining as brilliantly as he always should have been allowed.

AN:

Magnus beating Alec to the ground: do you want a break?

Alec: no, again.

Magnus: darling if you want my hands on you i'm more than willing to oblige but i'm not going to just throw you around, as Ragnor would say, willy-nilly and call that training. i'm nothing like a nephilim, sweetheart. you know that.

Alec with a scowl and sulking: fine

Magnus: ... he's a brat. but he's my brat.

Magnus internally: there was a brat hiding under all that trauma? this is the best present!! he's adorable when he's bratting, look at that point and the little gleam of violence in his eyes.

it should be noted that Alec is like, a nuclear orb of magic at this point. Magnus has put so many rituals and geas and vows on him that when he's looked at with magesight, he could temporarily blind someone.

Magnus decided that throwing Alec into a safe enclosure and letting him slowly adapt would be the best bet. yes, he kind of treated Alec like an abused exotic animal and was giving him enrichment and a large enclosure to explore.

it worked. very well. Alec got to relearn his emotions and curiosity, and interest and how to fight without being 'too good' for what Valentine and his mother wanted from him and started to lean into the instincts he'd had to suppress. it takes a while but by the time Magnus is done with him, he's very stable.

Alec is pretty much: Jonathon? Jonathon who? oh... him. is he even worth bothering with?

Magnus may have also you know, also glamored himself into Valentine and Jonathon and Maryse many times in sparring in order to help Alec get over ingrained responses. (Yes Magnus felt disgusting even pretending to be them but well, he's dedicated to his goals).

Unfortunately, that does mean that Alec is a little feral right now and Magnus doesn't quite realize it. because of the bond between them, Alec can always tell it's not actually them. despite what he sees and hears and smells, his soul tells him it's Magnus, not an enemy. so when he finally sees an enemy and he doesn't have that 'oh that's magnus'.

... he's not going to hold back. like he's not good enough to win yet but he's good enough to do some damage. Also Alec has demon bone lines gloves Magnus crafted for him and they're his most discrete 'weapon'... those and his teeth. Also, since Alec never fully went after Magnus, Magnus is delighted and surprised the first time they go hunting and Alec just, snaps. Hands through heart, fingers in eyes, teeth in veins and ripping through skin, nails tearing past layers into muscle and sinew... he's very hands on.

Magnus is just like: my sweet boy, aren't you messy? why don't I clean you up.

*smooching noises amid the gurgles of the dying and the whimpers of suffering*

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #to break with fate #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters

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doumadono · 3 months ago

Text

IV - THE BUTCHER OF THE DEADLANDS

Summary: Shigaraki and All For One sought answers from the ruthless Overhaul, whose dark experiments and growing influence might threaten Sangreal’s reign, and might hold the key to unraveling the mysteries of the human girl Dabi spared as well. Meanwhile, Hawks, a Sangreal Hunter, suggested a deeper connection between you and Dabi’s potential plans, sparking a new wave of uncertainty within you

Warnings: mentions of blood & experiments, vampires, mentions of vampire Dabi, vampire Shigaraki, vampire AFO, vampire Overhaul, vampire Hawks, Shigaraki despises Overhaul and vice versa

WCT: circa 2.6k

𖥸 SANGREAL - previous chapter 𖥸 chapter V 𖥸 SANGREAL - playlist 𖥸 MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The Deadlands stretched endlessly beyond the shattered ruins of Musutafu, a wasteland of ashen soil and skeletal remains, where the land itself had been scarred beyond repair. The last nuclear blasts had left this place twisted, grotesque, a place where the air was thick with the stench of decay and scorched metal.

The sky, choked by ash, hung low over the ruins, casting everything in an eerie sepia glow.

Nothing lived here. Nothing human, at least. What was left had been claimed by monsters. And some of those monsters built kingdoms in the dark.

Somewhere within this desolation, carved into the ruins of an abandoned research complex, was a place that Overhaul had carved out his dominion.

The facility was a fortress of steel and suffering, built deep into the husk of an old underground medical research center. The original structure had been swallowed by time, but Overhaul had repurposed it, expanding its depths, reinforcing its walls, and filling its corridors with horrors that should have never existed.

The moment AFO and Shigaraki arrived, the stench of sterilization chemicals, blood, and rotting flesh assaulted their senses.

Tomura’s nose curled. He already wanted to disintegrate this place to the ground. He hated this place. It stank of sterilized, unneeded cruelty, of rotting flesh and antiseptic, of Chisaki’s disgusting attempt at godhood.

The walls were lined with metal pipes, steam hissing through the cracks, condensation pooling beneath flickering overhead lights. The corridors were tight, clinical, but everything here felt wrong. A laboratory built on corpses.

The doors hissed open.

The man waiting for them stood perfectly still, flanked by two masked enforcers, his posture straight, pristine — calculated.

Chisaki Kai. Overhaul.

His golden eyes gleamed with clinical detachment as he stepped forward, his black gloves flexing against the sleeves of his meticulously kept coat. “Welcome,” he said smoothly, though there was no warmth in it. “I wasn’t expecting a personal visit.” His golden eyes flicked toward Shigaraki, lips curling slightly behind his plague mask. “Oh. And you brought your heir.”

Shigaraki’s fingers twitched violently — he already wanted to tear Overhaul’s face off.

Overhaul’s lips twitched slightly, but he ignored him, turning to AFO instead. “To what do I owe the honor, my lord?”

All For One sighed. “Must you always waste time with empty pleasantries, Chisaki?”

Overhaul gave a shallow bow. “Only with those who deserve it.”

Tomura bristled immediately, but All For One raised a hand. Not yet.

They were led inside, deeper into the labyrinthine halls, past observation rooms filled with creatures that barely resembled vampires anymore.

Tomura’s fingers itched to decay the place.

As they moved through the corridors, the creatures imprisoned behind tanks made of glass convulsed, their twisted forms a nightmarish patchwork of flesh — warped, stitched together as if Overhaul had played god with whatever shattered remnants he could salvage. Mutated limbs sprouted where they didn’t belong, some grotesquely fused, others jutting at unnatural angles. Jagged bones pierced through their skin like cruel, organic armor.

No wonder they call him the Butcher of the Deadlands, Tomura thought to himself.

Overhaul walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back. “I take it you’re here for something important.”

“You tell me,” All For One said.

Overhaul paused, turning slightly. His golden eyes were calculating. “I assume this is about the incident in Musutafu.”

Shigaraki clicked his tongue. “Tsk. You mean the mess Dabi left behind?”

Overhaul arched a brow, amused. “A traitor burning some street filth? That’s hardly news.”

Overhaul’s minions pushed a massive iron door open, and Kai shifted aside to let his master and his heir into the chamber.

Tomura stepped through the massive iron doors with utter disdain, heavy boots clicking against the bloodstained floor. All For One, his father, walked beside him.

Overhaul stood at the far end of the chamber, hands clasped behind his back, his golden irises gleaming dully in the dim light.

Shigaraki clicked his tongue, stepping forward with a lazy, slouched stride, his claws dragging over the rusted railing of an abandoned operating table.

“Dabi spared a human female,” All For One stated. “Have you heard of this?”

“Well,” Overhaul mused, “that is interesting.”

Shigaraki rolled his eyes. “Spare us the dramatics.”

Overhaul ignored him. “A former Sangreal Hunter saves a human?” He exhaled, tilting his head. “If it were anyone else, I’d assume he was making a pet out of her, but Dabi?” His voice dipped in something almost thoughtful. “That’s not his style.”

“Do you think she’s of value?” All For One asked. "I had hoped you'd tell me she was one of your little projects — one that somehow defied the odds, slipping through your grasp before you had the chance to tear her apart."

Overhaul exhaled slowly, tilting his head as if considering the possibility. "Sadly, she’s not one of mine," he admitted, his tone laced with a quiet disappointment. "It’s been quite some time since I last had the luxury of a human subject in my laboratory. But I think it would be wise to retrieve her,” Overhaul continued, stepping closer. “If she was spared by Dabi, then there must be a reason. She must be an anomaly,” Overhaul continued, golden eyes gleaming. “And anomalies are meant to be studied.” He straightened, his confidence absolute. “I need that girl. I’ll find out why she was spared.”

Shigaraki didn’t miss the way Overhaul’s fingers flexed slightly, as if anticipation was curling through him like a drug. Tomura bristled. He knew what that meant. Stripped down. Drained. Torn apart. Kai's research didn’t birth miracles — it gave rise to abominations that could one day become a devastating threat to Sangreal.

“This facility has grown,” All For One noted, his voice smooth as silk, yet laced with quiet menace.

“Indeed,” Kai replied, bowing his head slightly.

“You’re making an army,” Shigaraki muttered, voice low, dark.

“Let’s say I’m preparing for the unexpected future.”

Shigaraki scoffed. “The future?” His fingers twitched. “You mean the one where you stab us all in the back and play king?”

AFO, however, remained neutral. “I do not tolerate insubordination, Kai,” the vampire king reminded.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, my Lord.”

Shigaraki hated him. He hated the calm, collected way Overhaul spoke, as if he wasn’t standing in a mausoleum of his own twisted creations. “Careful,” Shigaraki sneered, voice thick with mockery. “Wouldn’t want you to choke on all that self-importance.”

Kai gave Tomura a brief glance, scoffing under his breath.

AFO was unmoved. “So, what do you propose, Chisaki?”

Overhaul’s voice remained calm. “I’ve been working on a new batch of enhanced hunters. They are stronger, faster, and unshackled by the limitations of lower-class filth.” He gestured to the cages lining the walls. “I will send them into the Dregs. They will retrieve her. Alive.”

Shigaraki exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he turned his gaze toward AFO. “This is a bad idea,” he stated, his tone edged with frustration. “Dabi shall be our main priority now. He’s unpredictable, and he’s had too much time to get comfortable. He should have been eliminated already.” His crimson eyes cut toward Overhaul, filled with disgust. “Going after the girl first gives him leverage — it gives him time. And if we’ve learned anything, it’s that he thrives when he's backed into a corner.”

“The difference between you and me, Tomura,” he said smoothly, “is that I think strategically. I plan every move, carefully considering the outcome before I act.”

Tomura grinned, sharp and jagged. “The difference between us, Chisaki,” he murmured, stepping closer, “is that I don’t need to play god to be dangerous.”

AFO simply raised a hand, silencing them both. “Do what you must,” he looked at Overhaul, his voice final. “And do not fail me.”

Overhaul bowed his head. “I won’t, my lord.”

Two days passed before the results arrived.

Aizawa sat with Recovery Girl in one of the makeshift med-bays, fingers tapping against the surface of the old desk.

The results lay before them.

The girl’s blood was unlike anything they had ever seen. Quirk-carrying. Pure. Unchanged.

And, most importantly — it resisted the infection.

A cure. Possibly.

The Recovery Girl sighed, setting the document down. “Her blood is unlike anything I’ve seen. It’s resisting the virus.”

Aizawa exhaled, rubbing his temples. “We need to keep her safe.”

“Further testing could lead to a cure.” The Recovery Girl nodded. “If Sangreal finds out…”

Aizawa didn’t need to say what would happen.

Because if they had figured this out — sooner or later — so would Sangreal.

The rebellion’s safe zone was a hollowed-out metro station, its tunnels stretching deep beneath the ruins, carved into a labyrinth of survival. Makeshift shacks, supply stations, and dimly lit corridors breathed with life, filled with refugees, fighters, and those who had nowhere else to go. The air smelled of damp stone, of rusted metal and burning oil, of too many bodies packed into too small a space.

You wandered the tunnels of the rebellion’s hideout.

You weren’t supposed to leave the infirmary. But you needed to walk to clear your mind. And you needed answers.

That was when you saw him.

And every instinct screamed at you to run.

The scent reached you first. That faint, unmistakable trace of death. It wasn’t the overwhelming, suffocating stench of low-class vampires — or feral ones who reeked of rotting flesh, dried blood, and decay. No, this was something different. Fainter. Sharper. Cleaner.

But unmistakably, it was a vampire’s scent.

You had learned to recognize it. The knowledge had saved you more than once.

Your body locked up, muscles winding tight, your heartbeat kicking against your ribs. Your gaze snapped to the winged man lounging lazily against a stack of crates.

He was handsome. Too handsome. But not in the way that made people comfortable. His features were sharp, lined with an unnatural, effortless beauty that felt almost designed to be disarming. His golden eyes, half-lidded in amusement, glinted like a predator watching its prey.

But it was the details that gave him away.

The massive red wings shifting lazily behind him. The long, clawed fingers, tapping idly against the hilt of a sword that was one of his large, red feathers. And when he smirked — pristine white fangs, sharp and gleaming, flashed on the people that were passing him by.

A vampire. Undoubtedly. One of them.

And yet — no one reacted. The rebels passing by didn’t scream, didn’t run, didn’t even flinch. Some even greeted him. One woman tossed him an orange — the most luxurious of all goods, which he caught without looking, flashing her a cocky grin.

Your fingers curled into your sleeves, stomach twisting in confusion.

What the hell was a vampire doing here?

More importantly — why wasn’t anyone afraid?

His golden gaze slid toward you. And he grinned. “Well, well.” His voice was smooth, light, laced with amusement as he raised his tone to make sure you could hear him. “Look who finally decided to crawl out of hiding. You’re the girl Aizawa took care of?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to step forward, even though every instinct begged you to stay the hell away. “You’re a vampire,” you pointed out flatly, not bothering to mask your suspicion as you skipped replying to his question.

He let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Yeah, I am.” He tilted his head slightly, flashing his fangs in a mocking little show. “But don’t worry — I don’t drink human blood. Anymore.”

That didn’t make you feel any better.

Your fingers clenched at your sides. “You must have been a Hunter. What are you even doing here?”

His grin widened. Too sharp. Too knowing. “Still am,” he corrected lazily. "Let’s just say I’m deeply loyal to Aizawa so I am helping around from time to time, and that’s all you need to know for now.”

You swallowed hard. His name clicked in your head. “You're Hawks.”

The vampire gave a slow, mocking bow. “In the flesh.”

A thousand stories surfaced in your mind.

Sangreal’s fastest, deadliest Hunter. The one who could track anything, anywhere. A shadow with wings, a death with golden eyes, as survivors used to call him.

And now, he was standing in front of you, alive, laughing like this was all some kind of joke.

You had no desire to prolong this conversation — exhaustion weighed heavy on you, and the last thing you wanted was to linger in the presence of a vampire who, under different circumstances, wouldn’t hesitate to sink his teeth into your throat. But he was the only one who might have answers you desperately sought. The only one who could tell you about the vampire who had saved you.

The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them. “What do you know about Dabi?”

The shift in Hawks was immediate.

The amusement in his gaze didn’t fade, but something changed beneath it. A flicker of something deeper.

There was a long pause. Then, a slow chuckle came.

“I know he’s not who he used to be,” Hawks uttered. “But I don’t think even he knows who he is anymore.”

Your brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Hawks exhaled, tilting his head as if debating how much he wanted to say. “He was the most dangerous of all Sangreal’s Hunters,” he began, his voice low and steady. “Every order from All For One was carried out swiftly, with no room for hesitation or mercy. He was promising. Whispers among the vampires suggested he could one day take the lead of the Court of Obsidian, overthrowing Kurogiri, who had held the position for years. But then, he started to defy Sangreal’s rules. To question their orders.”

He paused, his gaze sharpening as he studied you. “You heard what he did?” He let the silence hang for a moment, then spoke again, his voice a quiet hiss. “He left Sangreal.”

You shook your head, disbelief tightening around your throat. That was impossible.

“And you need to understand that’s like a death sentence.”

A cold dread slithered through your veins, sinking deep into your bones.

Hawks leaned back, stretching with a casual ease, a yawn escaping his lips as his wings shifted behind him, the feathers rustling faintly. “It happened nearly twenty years ago, before the sky was permanently smothered by clouds after the Night of Ash,” he stated, his voice smooth yet cold. “Sangreal passed the death sentence on him. They wanted to make an example of him, to show the other vampires the price of disloyalty. They executed their plan, tying him down on the rooftop of the highest skyscraper in Tokyo, leaving him there to burn under the sun. And yet,” the winged vampire continued, a sly amusement creeping into his tone, “he’s still alive, somehow. Still out there. Stirring up mayhem whenever it suits him. Thumbing his nose at the Sangreal regime like he’s untouchable.”

Your breath hitched. “You think he has a plan?”

A slow smirk crossed Takami’s face. “I think he’s waiting.”

“For what?”

Another pause.

"No idea. But I start to think—" Hawks flicked his feather sword into the air, the blade spinning, catching the dim light as it tumbled effortlessly before landing back in his grip, snug and sure. His fingers curled around the hilt with unnerving ease, his smirk lazy, his eyes anything but. "—that you might be exactly what he’s been waiting for all this time, girl."

The weight of his words didn’t just settle— it sank, deep and leaden, pressing against your ribs, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

And for the first time since waking in the rebellion’s safe zone, a familiar, icy grip of fear coiled in your gut — sharp, cold, and undeniable.

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