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jungkoode · 2 months ago

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死 KKANGPAE | #17 死

† bedroom confessions †

“His real name is the most dangerous thing he’s ever given you.”

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 7.5k

rating: explicit (18+)

content: first time in jeon’s bedroom, real name revelation, sexual tension finally exploding, dirty talk that’ll make you blush, spanking kink discovery, emotional walls starting to crack, post-sex vulnerability, and lines being crossed that can never be uncrossed.

Kiki Nation’s discussion thread for this chapter.

☠ author's note ☠

Y’ALL I’M DECEASED. Just casually writing 7.5k of filth like it’s nothing. Who even am I at this point? My laptop is judging me, my FBI agent is traumatized, and I haven’t made eye contact with my roommate in three days.

So… that happened. Jungkook finally shared his real name AND his bed, and honestly? The power that man holds when he’s being all dominant and teasing is absolutely CRIMINAL. I had to take several water breaks while writing this chapter because WHEW. Is it hot in here or is it just me? (¬‿¬)

The fact that Jungkook’s idea of aftercare is literally “wanna stay connected all night?” has me HOLLERING. Sir, that is NOT how this works—but also it’s so perfectly HIM. Our emotionally stunted sniper boy doesn’t know how to process feelings unless they’re shooting through a rifle scope.

And Y/N with the attitude even DURING sex? A queen behavior. Standing ovation for not becoming a complete puddle the second he touched her (though let’s be real, it was close).

Let’s also talk about how they can’t stop BANTERING even post-orgasm. These two idiots calling it “charity work” when they’re both equally obsessed with each other? THE DELUSION. I love them so much it physically hurts my face.

I know I promised slow burn but uh… Listen. LISTEN. It’s an EMOTIONALLLL slow burn. The fuck buddies tag is there for a reason. Sometimes characters just take over and you have to let them bang it out, you know? It’s for their mental health or whatever.

Don’t get too comfortable though! We all know what happens in this universe when people get too happy… the universe (aka me, their cruel god) decides to throw a wrench in everything. ⌒(o＾▽＾o)ノ

Next chapter will give us a little morning-after situation and maybe even some actual plot development if I can stop writing smut for five seconds!

Love ya, trauma vultures! Keep those comments coming, they fuel my sleep-deprived writing sessions!

xoxo 💋

P.S. Also, for the hate comment I deleted 5 seconds after it was posted (you tried though)… here's an even longer author's note, since yk, like you said, nobody reads them… More for me to yap without consequences, I guess.

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

You're in Jeon's room.

Jeon's fucking room.

When he'd texted you to come to the shooting range earlier, you'd figured it was just another one of his typical late-night training sessions.

But now? Now you're here, on his bed , with him standing over you like he’s already decided you’re his next target.

Like you’re already dead and just haven’t figured it out yet.

Okay, maybe a tiny part of you had hoped for this. (Shut up , horny brain.)

But you'd only agreed to be fuck buddies like, what, some hours ago?

And here you are already, sprawled across his sheets, heart hammering against your ribs like it's trying to escape.

Talk about moving fast.

Except it isn't simple. Not when you're already spread out across his bed like you fucking live here. Not when your heart's kicking like a scared rabbit in your chest.

Your fingers curl into his sheets on reflex. Satin. Dark. Smells like pine and something sharper—pine. Him. God, that should not do things to you but it does.

You fight the dumb grin twitching at the corner of your mouth.

Because here's the thing.

He's just as gone for it.

Jeon's staring down at you like he hasn't eaten in days. Dark eyes locked on you like you're dinner and dessert and every guilty pleasure combined. There's no hesitation. No second-guessing. No going slow. Just that razor-focused, dangerous glint he always gets before pulling the trigger on a mark.

And Jesus Christ, you're the mark.

Your breath catches.

That stormy energy of his? It's fucking alive. Wrapping around you. Crawling over your skin. You feel it. You taste it. Static in the air—sharp, biting, almost buzzing in your goddamn teeth.

His fingers graze your thigh and oh.

That's nice. Really nice.

But before you can really enjoy it, he pulls his hand away. Plants it on the mattress by your head, making the bed creak under his weight.

You snap your head up in disbelief. "Seriously?"

Your voice cracks. Great. Love that for you.

But then his other hand comes up—slides along your jaw like he owns you. Fingers rough. Callused. Deadly. And all you can do is stare like a fucking idiot as his thumb presses against your bottom lip. Tugging. Testing.

You go pliant before you even process it. Lips parting on instinct.

His mouth opens just a little—like he's picturing it. Like he wants to taste you. Swallow you whole.

And goddamn it, you want that too.

So bad it hurts.

Is he imagining what it'd be like to kiss you? 'Cause you sure as hell are.

"You sure you can handle the kind of tension relief I'm talking about?" he asks, voice low and gravelly.

You almost laugh. As if you haven't been thinking about this exact scenario for weeks.

"Guess you'll have to show me so I can decide, huh?"

That does it.

He moves. Fast.

You barely register it before he's already there—mouth crashing into yours like he's starving. Teeth. Tongue. Fucking warzone.

There's no slow build-up. No teasing. Just pure, raw take.

Your breath punches out of you as you grab for him. Instinct. Desperation. Your fingers slip into his hair—damp, messy, soft as hell. You tug. Hard.

He groans into your mouth. Loud. Deep. Way too fucking hot. It rips down your spine like lightning.

You bite his lip just to feel him suck in air through his teeth. God, that sound—that sound—shoots straight to your core. Your legs twitch under him, thighs pressing together, trying to ease the ache.

It doesn't work. Makes it worse.

Jeon doesn't let you off easy either. He dives back in. Deeper this time. Tongue claiming, swallowing every shaky breath you give him like he owns them now.

His body shifts—presses down harder—pinning you to the mattress without saying a single word. Your back arches up like a fucking reflex. Can't help it.

And then, just as fast, he pulls back.

Forehead against yours. Breath ragged. Lips slick and swollen.

His chest rises and falls like he just ran a mile.

You're no better. Gasping. Throat dry. Pulse wrecked.

"We doing this?" he asks.

Not really a question. He knows. You both know. Still—he waits.

And maybe it's stupid how much that makes your throat go tight.

You nod, still trying to catch your breath. "Yes."

One word. That's all it takes for Jeon's eyes to darken further.

His mouth finds yours again, but only for a moment. Then he's moving—trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down to your neck. When his teeth graze below your ear, a small gasp leaves your throat.

Fuck.

The sound does something to him. You can tell by the way his fingers dig into your hip, how his breath comes out just a bit harsher against your skin.

His other hand slides down your stomach, fingers spread wide like he's trying to touch as much of you as possible. The shirt bunches up with the movement.

More skin exposed to the cool air of his room. More of you for him to explore.

You can barely breathe right. Every inhale is shallow, desperate. A whine builds in your throat, needy and embarrassing, but you're too far gone to care. You want more. More of his hands on you, more of his mouth, more of the way he's practically caging you in with his body.

He makes this sound—low and satisfied, almost like a growl—that has heat pooling between your legs.

"Jeon," you breathe out.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide.

"Jungkook," he corrects, voice rough with want. "My real name is Jungkook. Say it like that again."

Your breath catches. Using real names in Kkangpae isn't something you take lightly. It's intimate. Personal. A sign of trust that goes beyond the physical.

"Jungkook," you say again, louder this time. Testing how it feels on your tongue.

The way his eyes darken tells you everything you need to know about how it sounds to him.

He growls—actually growls, okay paw patrol?—at that, like your voice saying his name is doing things to him. Like he can't get enough of it.

God. The way he's looking at you right now.

"Turn over for me," he murmurs like a command, but there's something patient in his voice. "I need to see that ass."

Your whole body feels like jelly as you move. The mattress dips beneath you, and fuck—you realize how exposed you are right now, laid out for him like this. How vulnerable.

How wanted.

"Ass up, sunshine," he says, voice raspy.

You push yourself up on your elbows, lifting your hips. The position makes you feel s̶l̶u̶t̶t̶y̶ bold, but it also feels slightly intoxicating, being on display like this, knowing exactly what it's doing to him.

The sharp intake of his breath is worth it.

His hands hover over you for a moment—those same hands that can take a life from a mile away with a sniper rifle now ghosting across your skin. The anticipation has your stomach in knots, has you fighting the urge to push back against him.

When he finally touches you, it's almost reverent. Like he's mapping out territory he plans to claim.

"Fuck," he breathes out; and the way he says it—like a prayer, like worship—makes your face burn. "You have no idea what your ass does to me."

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, kneading with the kind of expertise that makes you wonder h̶o̶w̶ ̶m̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ if he's thought about this before.

You have to press your face into the pillow to muffle the sounds trying to escape your throat.

Because if you start, you're not sure you'll be able to stop.

He takes his time, methodical in a way that's driving you insane. His thumbs spread you open, then let you fall back together. His hands work their way, massaging and squeezing. The heat under your skin builds until you feel like you might combust. Like you might actually catch fire right here in his bed.

"Such a perfect ass," he groans, and then—oh—his lips are pressing against one cheek, then the other. Soft kisses that feel somehow filthier than anything else he's done. "Fucking beautiful."

The praise hits different when it's coming from him. When it's Jungkook—cold, distant, perfectionist Jungkook—telling you how perfect you are.

When he pulls back, the loss of contact hits different. Like someone just yanked a warm blanket off you.

"I want to try something," he says, and okay, when his voice sounds like that you'd say yes to almost anything he'd say.

"Yeah?" Your voice is breathy, but at this point you're too curious (too turned on) to give a single fuck.

His hand traces up your spine, gentle in a way that doesn't match how intensely he's staring at you. The contrast makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

"I want to spank that gorgeous ass of yours."

It comes out like a confession, like he's been thinking about this for a while. There's a question mark hanging at the end of it though, waiting for your permission.

Oh.

Something hot and electric zips through you at the suggestion. Your brain staggers for a second, but your body's already made up its mind. You're nodding before you can even process what this means.

"Let's do it," you say, maybe too eagerly, but the thought of his hand coming down on your ass has lit something up inside you that you didn't even know was there.

"Remember our safe word?"

Even in the middle of this is, he's making sure you're both on the same page.

"Black tape," you confirm immediately.

Having that word there, knowing you can use it anytime—it's like a safety net. Makes everything else feel okay.

"Good."

He positions himself behind you again, and the anticipation is k̶i̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ driving you crazy. His hand hovers over your skin, making you feel every inch of exposed flesh.

Then, the first spank lands.

It's almost gentle—like he's testing the waters, seeing how you'll react.

The sound it makes in the quiet room has your face burning.

Sharp. Clean. Loud.

Your skin blooms with heat where his palm connected, and fuck—it's not exactly painful, but it sends this electric feeling through your whole body that has you gasping. The sting melts into something warmer, spreading under your skin until you feel like you're floating.

Your face burns.

And... It's not from pain.

Obviously, he's watching you like a hawk, trying to read your reaction. You can feel his eyes on you, heavy and intense.

"How was that?" His voice comes out rough, like he's the one who just got spanked.

You have to take a second to remember how words work.

"Good," you manage to get out, barely above a whisper. "Really good."

He gives you time to process, to just feel it. Then his palm is back on your ass, but this time he's not spanking. He's just... touching. Soothing the heated skin with gentle strokes that somehow feel more intimate than the spank itself.

It's messing with your head��how he can switch from rough to gentle so fast. One second he's spanking you, the next he's treating you like you're made of glass.

The air feels exactly like right before a storm hits.

Jungkook's presence behind you is overwhelming in the best way, and when his hand moves away, you actually have to bite back a whine.

Every second he makes you wait feels like torture. You arch your back a little, trying to be s̶l̶u̶t̶t̶y̶ subtle about asking for more. You can't see his face, but you know he's smirking.

You've seen that look enough times to picture it perfectly—that cocky little quirk of his lips, the way his eyes get all dark and intense.

"Ready for another?" he asks, voice gone all gravelly; and it shouldn't be hot, but it is.

Your heart's going crazy in your chest when you nod. "Yes."

Waiting has has your skin tingling, has you holding your breath without even meaning to.

You can feel him shifting behind you, the mattress dipping as he draws his arm back.

When his palm connects this time, it's not a question—it's a statement.

The smack echoes off the walls, louder than before, and holy shit.

"Fuck," you gasp out.

It stings more this time, sharp and intense, but in a way that makes everything feel unfairly good.

"How does that feel?" His words drip with arousal, but there's still that undercurrent of concern.

Always checking, always making sure.

"Nice," you hear yourself say, and you're surprised by how eager you sound. Like you can't get enough. "Keep going."

There's a pause, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"As you wish," he finally says, and you don't need to see his face to know he's smirking.

He pulls back again, and like the asshole he is, he makes you wait a little bit.

Not for long though, because clearly, the fucker is enjoying this too.

When the third spank lands, it's like a lightning bolt straight to your core. It's stronger, more controlled, and the pleasure that rips through you is so intense it steals your breath.

You cry out—not from pain, but from how good it feels.

How it makes your whole body sing.

This time, his hand stays put. You can feel the heat of his palm against your stinging skin, and it's grounding in a way you didn't know you needed.

"Beautiful," he breathes out, like you're some kind of work of art.

You hadn't pegged Jungkook as the type to be into this kind of thing. But the way his breath catches, the slight tremor in his hand as it rests on your ass—it's like he's discovering something about himself right along with you.

Maybe it's a spanking thing. Or maybe it's just a you thing.

Or your ass thing.

Either way, the realization that you're affecting him this much?

Heady. Bargaining material.

His fingers start tracing patterns on your heated skin, soothing the sting. Again with the contrast, from the spanking to this. Like he's not quite sure himself where he stands.

"You okay?"

You nod into the pillow, not trusting your voice right now.

Because how do you tell someone that you're more than okay? That you're floating on some kind of pleasure high you didn't even know existed?

And honestly, this whole situation is simply making it hard to think straight.

But then, Jungkook moves, slowly, creates some distance and—oh?

A soft thud. His towel hitting the floor.

He steps closer once more, bare skin against yours, and it's hot. He's hot. His skin is hot.

His body is all hard lines pressed up against your softer curves, and when his cock presses against your panties, you actually have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

You push back against him without thinking.

S̶l̶u̶t̶t̶y̶ Needy.

"You're driving me fucking crazy," he makes this sound you can't quite classify.

The raw want in his voice does things to you. But before you can even think of responding, his hand comes down on your ass again.

Hard.

The sound echoes through his room, and you can't help the moan that slips out.

(Anyone walking past his door would definitely hear that one.)

"Tell me you felt that," he demands.

"I felt it," you manage to get out between breaths. "I felt all of it."

Then his free hand wraps around your waist, fingers spreading wide like he's trying to conquer as much of your body as possible. He pulls you closer, and god—you can feel every inch of his cock pressed against you through the thin fabric of your panties.

The contrast between his rough skin and the smooth material is driving you insane.

"You want more?"

He's trying to sound teasing, but you can hear how affected he is. His voice is multiple octaves deeper than his usual 'whatever' tone.

"Yeah." Your voice comes out wrecked. "Don't stop."

He laughs—this low, dangerous sound that makes your toes curl. "God, I love how eager you are."

His hand comes down hard—harder than before—and the sound echoes through his room like a gunshot. You can't help the groan that rips from your throat. It's embarrassingly loud, but who cares at this point?

The sting burns hot across your skin, sharp and biting, sinking deeper until it melts into that aching pulse you can’t get enough of. You can feel exactly where his palm landed, the heat of it sinking deep into your flesh.

"Christ, you take it so well," he says, and his fingers dig into the spot he just spanked, pressure making you bite your lip. "I can see the shape of my hand on your ass, turning red. It's fucking sexy."

You're breathing like you just ran a marathon, each exhale coming out kind of whiny and desperate. Your brain’s mush. All you can register is his hands and the heat of him grinding against you.

"Jungkook, please." The way you say his name is straight-up pathetic, way too needy.

You push back against him, wanting to feel him without these stupid panties in the way.

His fingers trail down your spine, so slow it’s infuriating. They dance over the curve of your ass before playing with the edge of your underwear. When his fingers finally hook into the fabric, you freeze, chest tightening as he pulls the fabric aside.

Your face is pressed into his mattress, ass up in the air like some kind of offering. You should feel exposed, but something about it just feels right.

"You're already so wet for me..." You can hear the smirk in his voice. What an asshole. "How can I resist?"

But he does resist, the bastard.

His touch goes all gentle, fingers just barely exploring your folds like he's got all the time in the world. Like he's trying to memorize every little detail—how wet you are, how warm, the way you can't help but tremble.

He then makes this approving sound deep in his throat and you've had enough.

"Jungkook," you whine, dragging out his name like some kind of desperate prayer. "Stop teasing."

"But I want to watch you squirm," he says, and fuck—you can tell he means it.

He wants to see you fall apart, wants to watch you beg.

What a bitch.

His sadistic little game only gets worse when you complain. You can feel his finger right there, barely touching where you need him most, just collecting evidence of how embarrassingly wet you are. The anticipation is k̶i̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ driving you insane as he slides that finger up and down, parting you without actually giving you what you want. Using your own arousal to make the glide easier.

You try to push back against him, to get his finger inside you—anything. But his other hand is pressed firm against your lower back, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

"Jesus Christ, just fuck me already," you can't help but groan, frustrated.

But Jungkook—because he's a bastard—just keeps playing his little game.

"I'll fuck you when you're ready to break from wanting it so bad," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

He loves it.

His finger circles your entrance, the touch so light it's actually torture. Every time he passes over that spot, you clench around nothing, desperate to feel him inside you.

When he finally pushes just the tip of his finger in, you actually sigh out loud—half relief, half frustration. Your whole body's shaking with how bad you need more, but he keeps holding back. Adding pressure so slowly it should be illegal, pushing in just to pull back out again.

He's drawing this out just because he can, the power-tripping dickhead.

The pressure builds just a tiny bit as he shows you the smallest amount of mercy, sliding that one finger in entirely so slow you think you might actually lose your mind.

It's not enough—nowhere near enough—and he knows it.

You want him to stop being so careful, to just take what you're offering.

Despite how frustrated you are (or maybe because of it), you can't help but smirk.

"What, you got no condoms this time either?"

The words come out all breathy between your gritted teeth—and honestly? Not your brightest idea, bringing up that particular memory from the tent.

The response is immediate—his hand comes down hard on your ass, sting spreading across your skin like wildfire.

"Aw, what the fuck—?"

You yelp, caught between the sharp pain and how embarrassingly turned on it makes you feel—like your body can't decide if it wants to flinch away or push back for more.

"You should know better than to sass me right now."

Then his hand is smoothing over the spot he just spanked, gentle in a way that feels almost worse than the hit itself.

"You're such an asshole," you tell him, but there's no real bite to it.

You both know you don't mean it, not when you're bent over his bed with his finger inside you.

"Mhm, but you fucking love it, don't you?"

He says it like it's just a fact. Like the sky is blue, water is wet, and you get off on him being a dick.

(The worst part is he's not wrong.)

You can't help but grown more impatient when you feel his ring finger press up against your entrance, right next to where his middle finger is already buried inside you. He pauses there, just letting you feel the pressure.

"For fuck's sake, just do it." Your voice cracks embarrassingly, giving away just how bad you want it.

He laughs, low and rough. "Patience, I want you to feel every single inch."

Can he die? Genuinely.

Then the pressure builds as he starts working his ring finger in alongside the other one. He's being so fucking methodical about it, pushing deeper into you at a pace that's making you lose your mind.

Every inch feels like it takes forever.

"You feel so fucking tight, you sure you can handle both?"

The teasing note in his voice makes you want to bite him. He already knows the answer, the smug bastard.

"I can take more than you can give," you get out between breaths, because fuck him.

And it's meant to be cocky, but it comes out sounding more desperate than anything.

"We'll see about that."

His fingers stop moving for a second—just long enough to make you whine—before he starts pushing in even slower. Like he's trying to make you feel every single movement, every stretch, every slide.

And at this point your body's on fucking fire. But can you be to blame, when he's been nothing but an infuriating tease?

Little pleading sounds keep escaping your throat without permission. You're practically chanting 'please's as you try to push back against his hand. But he's got you pinned, keeping that torturously slow pace.

"Fucking... jerk," you mutter—because he absolutely is.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I am."

When both his fingers finally—finally—bottom out inside you, you actually gasp. Your body clenches around them greedily, trying to get any kind of movement, and the grunt he lets out sounds s̶e̶x̶y̶ pleased.

"Tell me how much you want it."

It's not a request. His voice has that edge to it that makes it very clear.

"I want it more than my next breath." The words tumble out raw and honest.

"Good girl," he says, and even though it's rough around the edges, the praise makes you stutter.

His fingers curl inside you, making you moan embarrassingly loud. Then the bastard just... stops. Stays completely still, letting you feel exactly how deep his fingers are, how they're stretching you open.

You're actually going to lose your mind if he doesn't start moving soon. But you refuse to beg—you won't give him the satisfaction.

"I think listening to you beg is my new favorite sound," he says, like he can read your thoughts.

"Fuck off—" The words die in your throat when his fingers pull back just a tiny bit before pushing deep again, and yup, the sound that comes out of your mouth is straight-up pathetic.

"You're driving me insane," you tell him, trying to sound angry.

"That's the idea." He says, but it's all dark and pleased. "I want you out of your mind with need, so when I finally give you what you're begging for, you'll remember who put you there."

Fuck.

His fingers are still buried deep inside you, not moving, and you can feel every single knuckle. It's like a preview of what's coming later—a promise that this is just the start, and he's planning to take his sweet time getting there.

The seconds drag by like hours. You're stuck in this weird space between pleasure and frustration, where his fingers feel so good but it's n̶o̶w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ not nearly enough. The heat of his body against yours isn't helping either. Having him this close but not getting what you want is actually torture.

"Are you planning on moving anytime this century?"

And yeah. It sounds bitchy.

Exactly how you want it.

"In due time."

You can barely breathe right, desperation clawing at your throat. Then—oh—his finger brushes against your clit, so light you almost think you imagined it. Your hips jerk without permission, chasing that barely-there touch.

"Jungkook," you warn, half-growl, half-whine.

He chuckles. "No patience at all, huh?"

"Just fucking touch me already." The snark in your voice is falling apart, giving way to pure need.

"Ahh, I love it when you get all feisty."

You open your mouth to tell him exactly where he can shove that smugness, but then his finger is back on your clit.

Just ghosting over it, barely any pressure at all.

But your whole body lights up anyway, every nerve ending suddenly wide awake.

"This is torture," you accuse, though the breathiness in your voice kind of ruins the effect.

"Not torture. Appreciation." He hums. "I'm just enjoying all those pretty sounds you make. The way you shake. How desperate you get."

Bastard.

His finger starts moving in slow circles around your clit, adding just a tiny bit more pressure. It's enough to make your back arch, trying to get more friction, but it's n̶o̶w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ not nearly enough.

"Please," you whine, past caring how needy you sound. "Just—a little harder, please, Jungkook."

He gives you what you asked for—barely.

Just a fraction more pressure, but combined with his fingers still buried inside you, it's enough to make your body clench around him.

He's got you trapped between pleasure and frustration, keeping you right on that edge.

"This what you want?" he asks, mocking. "This pace good for you, hmm?"

You know exactly what he's doing—getting off on your impatience, on how desperate he can make you with just his fingers and that stubborn w̶i̶l̶l̶p̶o̶w̶e̶r̶ control of his.

The pressure on your clit keeps changing, going from barely-there touches that make you want to scream to just enough to have you chasing more.

"Jungkook, I fucking swear—"

The words die in your throat when his finger suddenly presses harder.

"What?" His voice drops even lower, hitting that dangerous note that usually means he's about to stop playing nice. "What exactly are you swearing?"

"That I'll rip your fucking hair out if you don't stop messing around." You have to grit your teeth to get the words out, trying to sound threatening even though you're literally shaking with need.

He laughs—this deep, dark sound that vibrates through you—and rewards your threat with a firm stroke that has heat coiling in your stomach.

"That's not very nice," he says, but he sounds more amused than anything. Like your empty threats are entertaining him.

His finger goes back to those slow, torturous circles around your clit. Each pass builds the pressure a little more, but it's never quite enough to get you there.

The most f̶u̶c̶k̶e̶d̶ messed up part? You're kind of into it.

This whole power play thing you've got going—how you push and he pulls, how you threaten and he teases.

It's addictive.

Because in truth, there is something powerful about knowing you can make Jeon Jungkook, Kkangpae's perfect soldier, want to hear you say his name.

Suddenly his whole rhythm changes.

No more of that torturously slow pace—his fingers start moving with actual purpose, curling inside you in a way that has your toes curling. Like he's finally done playing around and just wants to make you genuinely cum.

Hallelujah.

The sound that comes out of your mouth is straight-up filthy. You have to press your face into the mattress to muffle it, which only makes you more aware of how heavily you're breathing, each gasp basically fucking advertising how good his fingers feel.

"Come on, sunshine," he teases. "You don't have to be quiet. These walls are soundproof."

But you just press your face harder into the mattress.

It's become a matter of pride now—you refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing exactly what he's doing to you.

You're right there, so close you can taste it—

And then the fucker stops.

A pathetic whimper leaves your throat as you squirm beneath him, feeling weirdly empty. The loss of sensation has you actually wanting to cry.

When you turn your head to glare at him, he's got this insufferably satisfied look on his face.

He reaches over to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer like he's got all the time in the world. The foil packet he holds up catches the light, and the victorious look he gives you makes you want to bite him.

"See, I do have condoms this time, you smart mouth." The smirk on his face should be illegal.

"Oh wow, look who's being a semi-functional adult for once." You narrow your eyes at him."Want a fucking gold star or something?"

He laughs whilst tearing the foil packet and for some reason, it is weirdly hot—how focused he looks while rolling the condom on.

"Maybe after this you'll want to give me one," he says, still sounding way too amused.

He settles back on his knees, raising an eyebrow at you like he's waiting for something. You huff, pretending to be all put out even though you're literally dying from how bad you want him. When you press your cheek against his cool sheets again, you make sure to arch your back just right.

You know exactly what that view does to him.

Feeling extra b̶r̶a̶t̶t̶y̶ bold, you wiggle your hips a little. Just a tiny movement, but it's basically saying 'come and get it' without words.

And bingo.

His hand comes down on your ass hard—but despite that, you feel weirdly victorious.

Then he's right there, lining himself up.

His tip brushes against your entrance, teasing to the point of madness, because at this point you just want him inside already.

You bite down on the sheets, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg again. But your body's giving you away anyway—the way you're trembling, how desperately you're trying to push back against him.

He takes his sweet time, just watching you. His eyes trail down your spine to where his handprints are probably turning your ass red.

After what feels like forever, he finally pushes in, one smooth stroke that rips the air from your lungs.

And it's impossible to muffle yourself; even with your face squashed against the mattress, when he bottoms out completely.

You feel every single inch of him, filling you up so completely it's genuinely insane. And he just stays there, buried deep inside you.

"So fucking tight," he growls, sound vibrating through you, making your toes curl.

Your body moves on its own, pushing back against him, desperate for more. You need him to move, need that relentless pace you know he can give you. But the bastard just holds you there, completely still, making you feel every single detail of how he's splitting you open.

His fingers dig into your hips—not hard enough to leave marks (yet), but firm enough to keep you exactly where he wants you. And the slight bite of pain just adds to the pleasure, kind of welcome honestly.

When he finally pulls back, you almost whine at the loss—but then he slams back in, hard and deep, and your brain melts. Everything gets kind of blurry after that.

Your skin feels like it's on fire everywhere he touches. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes through his room (thank god these walls are actually soundproof), getting louder with each thrust. His pace is brutal, punishing, but it's exactly what you've been dying for.

"That's it, take all of it."

And there's just this thing in how he says it—that has you pushing back against him like you're desperate for it.

(Maybe you are.)

Every thrust feels like getting hit by a natural disaster; like a fucking hurricane. It's hard to breathe, hard to think about anything except how he's driving you into the mattress.

He's fucking you like he's got something to prove, hips snapping forward so hard it's just obscene, has you clutching at his sheets like they're the only thing keeping you grounded.

Then his hand slides underneath you, looking for your clit. Like he knows exactly what you need without you voicing it out.

The second he finds it and starts rubbing circles against it, electricity zips through your whole body. It's almost too much, the dual sensation of his cock stretching you open and his fingers working your clit.

"Fuck, Jungkook," you moan, and you barely recognize your own voice. "Don't stop."

He lets out this grunt that gets lost in the sound of him pounding into you.

But he listens, thank god, keeping up that relentless pace with both his cock and his fingers.

It's not gentle. He's fucking you like he wants to break you, like he wants to hear every embarrassing sound he can wring out of your throat.

"Just like that, sunshine," he pants. "Fucking take it."

Each thrust builds something wild inside you, like being caught in the eye of a hurricane. The pressure coils tighter and tighter until you think you might actually lose your mind. Everything feels too much and not enough all at once.

Your senses go into overdrive—the obscene sound of skin hitting skin, the heavy scent of sex filling his room, the salt of sweat on your tongue. You're drowning in pleasure, and Jungkook's the one holding you under with his relentless pace.

Then it hits.

The orgasm crashes through you in waves, drawing these embarrassingly loud sounds from your throat—whimpers, growls, straight-up begging. Your body clamps down around his cock like it's trying to keep him there forever, fingers still working your clit through it all. Pleasure zips through every nerve ending until you can barely breathe.

"Jungkook—" His name rips from your throat when you come, sounding absolutely wrecked.

The pleasure is so intense it almost hurts.

He falters for just a second before picking the pace back up, fucking you through your orgasm until you're seeing stars. Each stroke sets off these little aftershocks that have you questioning your sanity. His groans get louder, deeper, mixing with the sounds you can't help but make.

Every thrust hits exactly where you need it, precise and commanding in that way only he can manage.

You can feel how tense he is, how close he is to losing it.

His breathing comes out all rough and uneven, matching the brutal pace of his thrusts. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave marks, using the grip to pull you back onto his cock like he can't get deep enough.

It's feral, is what it is— how he's moving now—like he's completely lost in it, chasing his own pleasure.

"Shit, I'm close," he groans against your neck, chest pressed tight against your back, skin burning everywhere you touch.

Then he goes rigid as it hits him.

You can feel every twitch of his cock, every pulse as he fills the condom.

He makes this plethora of sounds—deep, rough groans combined with some high pitched ones; all stripped away until he's just raw need and pleasure.

"Ah— fuck—"

Every curse that falls from his lips sounds snatched from him, desperate.

His hips stutter against yours, losing his rhythm as he rides it all out. His grip on your hips is tight enough to bruise, holding you still while he falls apart. Each thrust gets slower, like he's trying to make it last.

When he starts coming down from it, his hands go gentle where they were rough before.

He's still panting hard against your neck, little aftershocks making his cock twitch inside you. His heart's hammering so hard you can feel it against your back.

Jungkook collapses against your back, his legs apparently giving out after how hard he just came. His chest is slick with sweat where it presses against you, and his breath fans hot across your neck. He's still buried inside you, cock softening but still making you feel so full.

The sound he makes—this low, satisfied groan—is almost cute. Like a big cat after a good meal.

The afterglow starts to settle, leaving this heavy kind of quiet between you. Your breathing starts evening out, going from desperate gasping to something more normal.

You both just... stay there for a minute, too worn out to move.

Then he just... drops his full weight on you. Like his arms finally give out or something.

The heat of his body wraps around you completely, and maybe it'd be nice if he wasn't crushing your lungs.

His whole body is radiating exhaustion, and yeah—you get it. That was intense.

"Jeon, move... you're heavy," you grunt into his pillow.

Your voice comes out all rough from how loud you were being earlier.

"Give me a second," he mumbles against your skin, sounding just as wrecked as you feel. "You can't expect me to move after fucking you like that."

He sounds half-joking, half-serious, nuzzling into your neck like he's planning to just stay there forever.

You can't help but laugh at that. Something about seeing Kkangpae's perfect soldier brought down by an orgasm is kind of hilarious.

You shove at his side, trying to get him to budge.

He doesn't move an inch, the bastard.

Instead, he has the audacity to suggest something so wild it's weirdly very him.

"How 'bout we fall asleep just like this, me still inside you?" His voice comes out all lazy and satisfied.

You can tell he's half-joking, but there's this note in his voice that says he's actually considering it.

You reach back to smack him, caught between being annoyed and kind of endeared by how shameless he is.

"Fat chance, thundercloud," you tell him, but there's no real bite to it.

He laughs—this deep, warm sound that tells you he's smiling even though you can't see his face.

But you really can't breathe with him crushing you, so you push at him again, harder this time. "Seriously, off. You're heavy as fuck."

He makes this exaggerated groan like you're asking him to run a marathon or something, but finally rolls off you and onto his side.

His cock slips out (and fuck, that's a weird feeling), and then he sprawls out next to you, throwing one arm over his face as he catches his breath.

The sight of him like this—all tatted up and muscled, skin still kind of shiny with sweat—is doing things to your brain that you really don't want to examine too closely.

After a few more deep breaths, he sits up with this little sigh like moving is the worst thing ever. You watch him from the corner of your eye as he deals with the condom.

There's something almost gentle about how he handles it, which is kind of funny considering how rough he w being just a minute ago. He ties it off and tosses it in the trash with this practiced little flick that says he's definitely done this before.

"So, you wanna cuddle?" The teasing in his voice is obvious.

It's a callback to your conversation earlier, when you were both pretending this was just going to be sleeping.

"Seems like I'm not the one wanting to cuddle after all," you shoot back, matching his tone.

Jungkook gives you that smug little grin.

"Just doing some charity work," he says, voice all teasing and challenging, daring you to argue.

You can't help but scoff. The audacity of this man.

"Charity work? Please. If anyone's being charitable here, it's me."

He laughs—this deep, satisfied sound that fills his room. "Ha. Don't act like you didn't enjoy that just as much as I did."

Well. He's got you there, but you're not about to admit it out loud. Not when he's being this smug about it.

You tilt your head, feeling a crooked smile tug at your lips. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. Guess we'll never know."

He shifts closer to you, and fuck—even after everything you just did, your body still reacts to his proximity.

"Maybe I need to fuck you again to find out," he says, voice dropping low enough to make heat pool in your stomach.

"Oh? You sure you can handle another round, tough guy?"

The smirk he gives you is absolutely criminal.

"Sunshine, I've got stamina for days." He says it like he's joking, but something tells you he's not exaggerating.

"For days, huh?" You raise an eyebrow. "Someone's confident."

"Because I know you," he says softly, words ghosting across your skin.

That makes you pause.

Know you?

He doesn't know you any more than you know him.

Sure, your bodies seem to speak the same language—the way you fit together, how you respond to each other's touch.

But that's all this is.

All it can be.

Nothing more complicated than pure physical attraction.

But you don't feel like getting into that right now. Not when you're both still riding the high of what just happened.

"Tempting," you say instead, drawing the word out. "But we've got a long night ahead, and I'd rather spend it actually sleeping."

He narrows his eyes at you, looking way too pleased with himself.

"My bed seems to be the only place you're actually honest," he says, and how does he always have a comeback ready?

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Was that supposed to be a compliment, Jeon? Getting soft on me already?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, putting on this fake serious face. "Can't have you thinking I actually enjoy your company or something."

"Oh, please. Soft is literally the last word I'd use to describe you." You can't help but smirk at the double meaning.

A yawn catches you off guard—not because you're tired (okay, maybe a little), but because you're actually kind of... comfortable?

Weird.

"Anyway, time for sleep. That's what we said we'd do, remember?

He literally snorts. "Sleep? After what we just did? You're fucking with me."

"Not anymore, I'm not," you shoot back, and the look on his face is actually priceless.

"Come on," he tries again. "Round two? I promise it'll be worth staying up for."

But you're already settling into his stupidly comfortable bed. "Nope. Some of us need actual sleep, thundercloud."

"Fine," he sighs, all dramatic about it. "But just so we're clear—this isn't me giving up. It's a tactical retreat."

You actually snort at that. "A tactical retreat? Is that what we're calling it?"

"Yeah, well." He pulls the covers up, finally accepting defeat. "Pushy ain't sexy."

You both settle comfortably in the quietness of his room.

And you can't help but ponder.

It's weird how easy this feels—being here with him, joking around after what you just did.

Like you're not just teammates or gang members or even fuck buddies.

That thought's definitely more scary than it should be.

goal: 480 notes (also lil reminder to go vote fmu 21 and 22 on wattpad after the mass unvoting to restore them, if you enjoy that story as well! (●’◡’●)ﾉ)

if you’ve enjoyed this chapter please consider buying me a coffee!! ☕️ ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

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🔪 taglist 🔪

@cannotalwaysbenight @taevescence @itstoastsworld @redcherrykook @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @whothefuckisthishoe @mikrokookiex @vialattea00 @minniejim @curse-of-art @mellyyyyyyx @mimi1097 @jeontae

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

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melanchoire · 2 months ago

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i’ve had thoughts about g!p stepsister yujin for MONTHS and I'm finally going to let her fly because i can’t stand to keep this in my mind and let the voices in my head keep talking

cw: stepcest, unnie kink.

pervy!older sister!gp yujin x bratty!younger sister!reader…

i know everyone sees her as a mature older figure and a role model, being an unnie who always takes care of the little kids, except for her younger stepsister! who seems to want to make her life impossible since her father married yujin’s mother when they were both little. obviously yujin usually swallows her words and prefers to act with her brain rather than with her impulses, sure, it’s just that sometimes she ends up being a bit of a shit to you because you end up running out of patience with her anyway, but it’s her bad luck that you’re the spoiled daughter and your parents always end up on your side

imagine one day pestering yujin as usual, making some witty comment about her short hair, her tomboyish and carefree way of dressing, her attitude and behavior that is masculine and somewhat “rude” according to you. yujin, as always, would be trying not to explode and beat you up to shut you up, flicking her tongue against the inside of her cheek and arching her eyebrows as she listens intently to you giving your critical monologue about her, not wanting to do anything but tell you to fuck off and shut you up once and for all, but she can’t! at least not when both of your parents are standing in front of you listening to the typical daily argument between sisters. so she has to stay here, listening to you have something to say about her lack of femininity, again inciting that it’s a coincidence that she hasn’t brought a boy home yet and that she is probably a lesbian… you always had something to say about her, and it pissed her off that she couldn’t defend herself the way she wanted!

although yujin couldn’t admit that she kind of liked having these kinds of discussions with you. for some reason unknown to her, she enjoyed it more than she should have when you had that fucking bitch attitude and went out of your way to make fun of her. yeah, yujin had a thing for girls who tended to have a bitchy attitude, but for some weird reason she liked your behavior more than any other girl’s!

so here’s yujin, getting a boner again because she's so turned on by you being a complete bitch to her. her cock is craving to be touched, but yujin doesn’t dare jerk off because her only thoughts are about you insulting her earlier that day… so yujin resorts to the old reliable, watching porn like any other dirty man 😇 she is not someone who really enjoys it that much, but it’s her only option when her cock is erect because of her own stepsister

browsing through cliché and boring videos until he finds a peculiar account; a girl who doesn't show her face but seems to be having fun on her own with her toys <3 yujin doesn’t know how much it would help her to see a girl using toys or her own fingers until she sees how the thumbnail of a video shows a nice pair of tits, then yujin’s perverted brain wins and she automatically decides to enter the channel 🥰 scrolling through the videos until she finds one that says “having fun with my unnie’s shirt on 💕” yujin knows it’s sick to look at something that seems to incite stepcest… but she immediately thinks that it’s probably just a title to grab attention and get views!

yujin absolutely enjoying being able to finally pump her cock, letting out a sigh and closing her eyes as she lets her head fall back, her ears focusing on the soft whines of the video playing on her laptop, enjoying having headphones on because she wouldn’t miss seeing how a girl was desperately riding a pillow in search of pleasure, even going so far as to grab the edge of the polo and lift it over her chest to show the camera how her tits bounced with each jump

until yujin realizes that shirt looks strangely familiar?? first she feels a little sick imagining her younger sister wearing her shirt while masturbating, but when she stops jerking off to look at the room in the video, she realizes that she wasn’t actually being completely sick…

of course she would confront you about it, of course, after she finished jerking off her cock!

one day, during one of your… activities, yujin decides to surprise you by suddenly opening the door when you were in the middle of humping your pillow. luckily you reacted quickly and stopped, reaching to grab your blankets to cover yourself and yell at her why she didn’t knock on the door, but yujin isn't in the mood! much less when she notices that you’re wearing one of her shirts again while grinding your pussy against your pillow, and you realize you’re screwed when she doesn’t say anything and approaches the bed while taking off her belt…

ending with your face buried in the pillows and your ass in the air while yujin destroys you from behind 😵‍💫 yujinnie not thinking about stopping the live stream, choosing to show your followers who that beloved unnie you often mention in your videos was, and here she is! destroying your pussy from behind and making sure that everything is recorded so that your fans can see how well unnie is punishing you by fucking you roughly for being such an impatient and rude girl who steals her clothes for your pranks!

and yujin loves how you can only babble incoherent sentences and high–pitched ‘unnie’s because of how goooood she is fucking you 😩

#yujin #yujin x fem reader #yujin x reader #yujin smut #g!p yujin #ahn yujin #ahn yujin x fem reader #ahn yujin x reader #ahn yujin smut #g!p ahn yujin #ive #ive x fem reader #ive x reader #ive smut #g!p ive

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iam-lnt · 7 months ago

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The Age of Louis XIV

Voltaire, who wrote Le sciècle de Louis XIV (The Age of Louis XIV), started off by doing a recount of the states of Europe before Louis XIV. and my hetalia brain rot began to go wild so i figure this can help me understand the first chapter of the book better so I sorted out quotes and made a brief summary for each mentioned nation in order that is written in the book to help enforce my understanding.

Germany*

*- "Germany" refers to the Empire of Germany, known in history as the Holy Roman Empire; since the 15th century, its throne had been occupied by the Habsburgs

"...the most powerful neighbor which France has...it abounds more with sturdy men inured to labor." "this great Germanic body...is maintained in [... ] order and regularity [...] The difference of government and genius makes...the Germans [more proper] for acting on the defensive."

Summary: strong, divided into two parties by Christianity. Emperor has less power in compare to a King in France. Was at the time pretty poor despite being "rich at home", and would eventually see its flourishing later on.

Spain

"...more formidable to Europe than the Germanic Empire. The kings of Spain were infinitely more absolute and rich than emperors..." "[Spain] under Philip II became a vast body without substance, which had more reputation than real strength...Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, Spain, by being united to the empire, threw a very formidable weight into the balance of Europe."

Summary: strong #2, starting to see its weak points, but still a ringing force and surviving well with the colonies.

Portugal

"...Portugal was again made a kingdom...through necessity, cultivated trades...entered into a league with the French and Dutch against Spain." "Portugal...extended its trade, and augmented its power..."

Summary: doing well over there. Shall watch your career with great interest.

The United Provinces

"...almost the only example in the world of what may be done by the love of liberty and unwearied labor. There poor people...made head against the whole collected force of their master and tyrant...and founded a power which we have seen counterbalancing that of Spain itself." "...they established a form of government which preserves...equality, the most natural right of human kind."

Summary: quite an admirable force (don't mess with the Dutch's money bags™️). Good government.

England

"England...arrogated to itself the sovereignty of the seas, and pretended to preserve a balance between the powers of Europe." "This civil war...[made England] lost [...] credit in Europe...trade was obstructed, and other nations looked upon [England]...till the time that she at once became more formidable than ever, under the rule of Cromwell."

Summary: pirate arc of England sprouting. Charles I could do well in anything but being a king ("ill-advised prince"). Waiting for Cromwell to do his thing.

Rome/The rest of Italy

I merged these two parts together for ✨aesthetics✨

"[Rome] has very little trade or money. [Rome's] spiritual authority...is slighted and abhorred by one half of Christendom...yet [...] some [...] resist [Rome's] will at times with reason and success." "but [the privileges] of Rome, by an almost constant proper use of resolution and concession, has preserved all that was humanly possible for her to preserve." "Some rights, many pretensions, patience and politics are all that Rome has left now of that ancient power..."

Summary: typical pope behavior, but in reality was losing respect and control. Impressively that was dealt with seasoned insight, and different oppositions of different kings/emperors were met with different levels of defense ("submissive...terrible to..acting cunningly"). Sly old fox, if you will.

"...situated in a peaceble country...biassed by various interests." "The state of Florence enjoyed tranquility and abundance under [...] Medici; and literature, arts, and politeness [...] still flourished there."

Summary: the typical Renaissance still doing the thing. Less disturbed by conflicts compared to the northern parts.

The Northern Kingdoms

"The Swedes [...] were a freer nation by their constitution which admits even the lowest class of the people into the assembly of the general estates." "Denmark...was no longer so [formidable] to any power."

Summary: Sweden good. Denmark flopping a bit. The rest of the northern kingdoms were doing their best (fighting)

The Turks

"The seraglio, though corrupted by effeminacy, still retained its cruelty...when it had [recovered from wars], this empire became again formidable."

Summary: may look messy back home but still don't underestimate the power

The situation of France

"France [...] was in alliance with Sweden, Holland, Savoy and Portugal...was engaged in a war against the empire of Spain...The French there has done the Spaniards and Germans a great deal of mischief, and had suffered as much themselves."

Summary: fighting with Spain (and also the house of Austria, so also Germany), tho the battles has reduced to petty squabbles over "a few frontier towns". Richelieu came to raise tax.

---

Works cited The Works of Voltaire. A Contemporary Version. A Critique and Biography by John Morley, notes by Tobias Smollett, trans. William F. Fleming (New York: E.R. DuMont, 1901). In 21 vols. Vol. XII.

--- Rambling (just a little) time.

Okay first off, bear in mind that all the quotes and summarized content are from the pov of Voltaire, so there can be possible biases.

I've been invested in the reign of Louis XIV for quite a while now, and I can attribute the reasons to 1) BBC Versailles, 2) Molière, and 3) general liking to history at the time (17-18c). I'm trying to figure out what exactly that the time period attracted me so much, like what "vibe" what "ideal" etc, but I'm still trying. And reading that book, which is long as hell, not to mention the messy af™️ European drama and people having Too Similar Names may just be helpful in terms of getting to know the history that happened in and around the court of Louis XIV.

Welp, gotta read more if I want to know more.

#hetalia #aph #historical hetalia #i will be lazy and not tag everyone sorry not sorry #doodle dump #random otter rattles #history

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elsecrytt · 9 months ago

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Kinktober Day 5

Prostate Massage | Blindfold | Cages

Pairing: Satoru Gojo X Reader

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, yandere/controlling behavior, drugging, captivity, panic attack

He’s missing again.

This is more surprising than one might think – Gojo, for all his whimsical tendencies, doesn’t typically slack on exorcizing curses.

It’s why they think he’s just going off the grid for a bit to take care of some other business – goodness knows he drags in enough sorcerer children to the school.

But it’s been a while, and no one’s heard from him.

If he had meant to defect, he would surely have done it when Suguru Geto was still alive. So this must be another fit of arrogance, running off and doing whatever he pleased. It was annoying, but who could stop him? He was, after all, the strongest sorcerer in the world.

Certainly, no one was expecting to find Satoru Gojo in a cage inside your basement.

You’re not a sorcerer, after all. No one Satoru knew or had ever known would even know your name, much less where you live and that Satoru was with you.

You don’t even bother visiting him for the first few days. There’d be no point. He’d try to convince you this was a bad idea (it probably was) and to let him go (you absolutely could not, not under any circumstances). He probably wouldn’t lie – you never thought him to be the type, even if his life were truly on the line – but nothing he said would be of any use to you.

He’d already said enough when under the influence of those helpful substances you slipped him. You’d gone through a few before you found one that made him pliable enough to repeat the words you needed.

A binding vow. One that would keep him here, and keep him tame, for as long as you wanted.

Oh, you’re sure he was terribly confused for those first few days. Wondering what kind of curse or curse technique had him trapped in there. Poor baby was probably bored to death, too, if anything you knew about him was correct.

But it would take a while to get to him, to get him to the place he needed to be. And you had all the time you needed.

After all, good things come to those who wait.

You open the door, a thrill in your heart at the thought of just how excited Satoru Gojo is going to be to see you.

The worst part is, you’re right.

Satoru’s been stuck in here for three days now. He is, frankly, bored. Worse than bored. He’s sort of going insane.

It’s not like he needs to use the restroom, or even eat. Sorcerers – anyone who could use reverse curse technique, really – had ways to suspend bodily functions and stuff like that, for use on long missions, in extreme environments, or domains with weird effects.

So, no. He’s not hungry, or thirsty, he doesn’t need to use the restroom. That’ll catch up with him eventually, of course, but it’s not a problem right now.

The problem right now is that someone was powerful enough to trap him in here, had some weird power that stopped him from escaping, but they just. Left him.

All. Alone. In the dark. Even with the six eyes, it was dark in here. He can tell where the door is, but the light level is far beneath what a normal human could see. There’s almost no sound. No cursed energy at all. Nothing interesting in the room to stare at, nothing moving.

It was a weird, surreal sort of experience, for about ten minutes. Hard to tell even how much time was passing. Just the sound of his breath and the thoughts knocking around in his head. He didn’t get time like this often, didn’t just sit down and think. It cleared his head in a strange way – no more migraines, no more constant analyses from his six eyes, no more reverse curse technique constantly healing his brain.

Like taking off a weight he hadn’t noticed was there to begin with. He felt lighter, so many physical demands suddenly lifted from his body. A breath of fresh air.

Fresh air got old pretty fast, when most of his thoughts kept coalescing on Why can’t I use my curse technique and What the hell is going on? At first, there was even fear, too – he wasn’t totally crazy – but after that?

This is just boring. He’s never been so bored in his entire life. His brain feels like it’s rattling in his skull, waiting to drop out the next time he tilts his head. Satoru is about ready to start banging it against the bars just to have something to listen to.

So when you open the door, light suddenly flooding in from a crack (it’s bright enough to make him wince, with his eyes), Satoru Gojo is entirely focused on you, in an instant. Taking in every single detail about your body, your voice, your cursed energy and cadence.

It’s amazing, how much you can learn when you pay attention.

He learns that you’re not a sorcerer. That he’s not kept here by any curse technique or tool – rather, it’s by a binding vow. One that only you can release. You’d drugged him through his infinity using a knockout gas and gotten his half-conscious self to repeat specific words to make the vow.

He learns you think you’re doing this to help him, save him.

“I just don’t think you’re that strong. I mean, it was easy enough for me to get you like this, right? And I’m not a sorcerer at all.”

His eyes are fixed on you like shattered sapphires. You’re insane – you must be – but it isn’t every day some insane person manages to get one over on him.

Maybe the reason you were able to get this far with him was because you were so crazy.

“For your whole life, you’ve had to be strong.” Your eyes soften; he can discern your features on a microscopic level, the tiny flecks of warmth and concern, “But you aren’t. And you don’t have to try anymore. I’ll protect you.”

Something weird twists in his guts.

There’s lots of kinds of crazy in Jujutsu sorcerer. He’s no stranger to it. But this kind of crazy? He’s never seen it before.

Love is the most twisted curse of them all.

And that is what you tell him, that you love him. You continue by telling him all sorts of funny things – that you’re taking care of him now, getting him back on track, this is for his own good, yada yada.

It’s definitely crazy person speak, but it’s new and refreshing that it’s directed towards him. And maybe because it’s so novel and fun, he goes ahead and sits back and enjoys it.

Like, he tries to tell you he’s important. People to protect, students to teach, all that stuff. You just dismiss him, tell him he’s weak, tell him he doesn’t know what’s best for him. He wasn’t meant for sorcery – his life will be better, now.

(Somewhere in the back of his head, he realizes with a belated horror, that this is what he sounds like to other people.)

It’s funny, though, it is. He laughs at you (you smile, though, because you’re delusional like that, even if you can tell he’s mocking you), at the thought that he could be meant for anything but sorcery.

And hey, it’s not like he’s got anywhere to be. Anywhere he can be. He’ll give it a try.

Although it’s not so much a try as endure the very carefully calculated daily plans you lay out for him. You’ve got a lot of free time – probably some work-from-home position – and a lot of money, too.

(Great taste in body wash also. Amber and honeysuckle or something. He’ll have to remember it when he gets out of here.)

The room he’s in is special in that it’s painted a gentle off-white color, and sparsely decorated. His little cage is large enough to fit him just sitting down, tall as he is, and it’s large enough for a cot in the corner. It’s kind of cozy, he’ll admit, in a camping kind of way.

When you send him to bed – yes, like an actual child – he finds out the cot is a lot softer than he’d expected, some kind of memory foam he’s never tried. The sheets are extra cooling, the pillow feels like a dream, the room is pitch black and chilly. It only takes him a few minutes of moody contemplation to start drifting off after he lays down.

Sleep training, you’d called it. Satoru’s pretty sure he’d be offended if he actually knew what it was.

“You have your healing powers, sure,” (when he’d interrupted you to tell you it was reverse curse technique you’d paused and waited out his explanation like a champ), “But there’s no substitute for a good eight hours of sleep, Satoru.”

Your voice is stern and laden with something he can’t quite get, but it doesn’t matter anyways. He’ll be out soon.

It’s interesting, lying down inside the cage. This room is so small. It’s all fitted just for him, perfectly sized to leave neither empty space nor squeeze him too tight. His world is reduced to this cage and the things you choose to put in it.

He’s quick to complain about the boredom, but you don’t mind his whining. You actually hook up several game consoles to a small TV set carefully placed at head height for him, sitting up, with controllers you hand him through the bars.

“I’ll have to limit your screen time – it’s not good for your eyes. It’s probably even worse for the six eyes. So I’ve got a collection of books here, and an e-reader, so you can get anything you want. Oh! I’ve also brought some puzzles.”

Yaaawwwn. You don’t even flinch at his exaggerated expression of boredom, promising instead to find more complex puzzles online to entertain him. Rubik’s cubes, jigsaws – these things bored him. He put everything together right away.

You find a puzzle made in braille, one that has to be put together by touch. Brain teasers that required out-of-the-box thinking… you’d even brought him a jigsaw puzzle with a mixed up image printed on it, one that couldn’t be put together by the visuals at all. He had to hand it to you, that was neat.

There’s almost an amusement in watching how diligent you are about finding things to entertain him with. The video games, the books, the puzzles, some TV, too. He’s half worried that you stole his collection of movies, but it turns out you just have some streaming services. It’s fun enough to kill time. Human Earthworm 4 really was garbage.

You laugh when he tells you so. Your defense of the dumb movie is that it was half-parody (you are correct), and he tells you with a sniff that you have no taste, and you laugh, and his stomach feels funny.

Clearly the isolation is getting to him, if you feel like decent company.

He takes meals with you, too, and you’re particular about them. No more mochi for breakfast and dinner, no more coffee at all actually – “It’ll interfere with your rest,” – instead, you make him eat ‘real food’.

Complete, home-cooked, admittedly delicious meals. They’re all way more palatable than most things he eats, all foods he likes, he ends up liking… at first he didn’t want to try, but you’d dangled so many sweet looking deserts over his head – specially made mochi, fresh souffles and macarons, carefully crafted crystal candies.

Ugh, you know way too much about him. And you look so pleased with yourself, too. He wonders if you make them yourself – so he asks, and watches your face blush lightly, watches you smile, eyes softening as you look at him in that way he doesn’t get.

Isolation. It’s getting to him. Definitely.

“And of course, I’ll be here to allow you socialization time. We could play games together, or if you want, we could read the same books? Or just talk, if you like. I’m not letting you out, but I’d be happy to hear about your life from before, your likes and dislikes. You can make requests, too!”

Normally he’d be all like “No way, creepy kidnapper,” seriously. But to be honest, he’s kind of looking forward to a chance to pick your brain.

You seem all too happy to oblige. Delighted that he’s taking an interest in you, which is kinda cute and pathetic, since it’s totally not what’s happening. He just wants to know how the hell you got to be so fucking weird.

“I think love makes us all a little crazy, don’t you? As for why I love you, Satoru… well. I couldn’t pick only one reason. Suffice to say, I’m really happy to be talking to you now. It probably sounds weird to you, but being around you just these past few days has been awesome for me. Being around you just brings me so much joy. I want to make it good for you, too!”

Yeah, to be honest, it’s really weird how accommodating you are. You let him out for bathroom breaks at regular intervals – he’s still not sure why you put him in the cage at all –

“Oh, the cage? That’s for your benefit, not mine. Obviously this room is locked. But I think you… it’s difficult to explain. But your awareness of the space around you is warped somehow. I constantly see you nap in awkward places, sit or lean in positions that would stress your body out, zone out from your surroundings. I think it’s important to reset your senses.”

It’s creepy at this point. Or it would be, if it hadn’t blown wayyy past that part.

He likes that you don’t press him much. You just confess your love and go on about your day. No expectations, no freak outs. You’re crazy but you’re obviously not so crazy you think he loves you back. You just think you’re trying to do the right thing by him, which is like, really sweet, in a super weird and demented way.

Satoru had already decided that he doesn’t want to go after you once he gets out of here. You’re not malevolent, even if some distant part of his mind knows that people are dying while he’s chilling out in here.

No, you’re just lonely, and you’ve somehow attached yourself to him with this completely delusional idea that you understand him on a deeper level, and you wanted to protect him. Wasn’t that sweet? The cutest thing?

He can’t really bring himself to be mad at you. Not when you’re probably the only person on earth who’s ever thought this about him, who tried to do something about it. And it’s a damn good try, he’ll give you that.

The cage really isn’t that small. It’s comfortable in here, actually, it’s nice. It’s simple and easy in a way that would be boring if you didn’t give him company, entertainment, meals. The bed is so easy to fall asleep in, he has more energy waking up, he’s happier,

He gets where you’re coming from. You’re still totally insane, of course, but he sees the idea behind it. It’s not the space that he’s in. It’s what’s happening in that space.

It’s his time. And you seem to have so many ways to occupy it.

He starts thinking about you more and more. It gets weirder. He runs into you fresh out of the shower, no clothes on, watches the blush on your face and feels himself –

No. No, no no. It’s not a big deal. It’s whatever. He knew you were crushing on him. You’d made absolutely no secret of your feelings, and he knows the attraction is there, he can tell.

So maybe he sneaks in a hand job or two during these lonely nights. Purely for fun. It’s your fault for not stimulating him enough!

Are you watching on camera? That’s what all the stalkers do. You’re totally a stalker, you know way too much about him. You have all his skincare, shampoo, and conditioner in the bathroom.

You’re totally watching him. He licks his lips while he jerks himself. If he listens hard enough he can hear your breath in the other room.

(Turns out you’re all the way down the hall, but he’s got the six eyes, not the six ears.)

He could put on a show for you, even. His dick gets harder at the thought. He wonders if you’ve thought about this. If you watch him in the cage touching himself. If you want to be in here with him. In the room, or in the cage.

Would you want to touch? The thought absolutely tickles him, has him twitching in his hands, licking his lips. Would you want him so badly? You’re so dedicated, so diligent about his welfare. He could just imagine your pretty lips opening right up, how hot and wet your mouth would be, how those eyes of yours would look at him, always so full of care and affection.

Your hair looks soft, silky even – what would it feel like in his hands? Are you so crazy for him you’d let him fuck your face, or would you guide him through it, like you guide him through everything?

A pulse, another pulse, throbbing in his fist. Your hands would be smaller, softer. What would they feel like on his bare skin? He’s gotten more skin-to-skin contact these paste few weeks than the past ten years. What would you feel like on him? How would you touch him, where?

How would you look at him? He thinks of your face – of your eyes when you smile at him – he feels a squeeze –

When he cums, he does it with an exaggerated moan, head tilted back, lips wide and open. Spurting all over his hand as he makes a little blissful sigh.

He looks up, where he imagines a camera might be, eyes half-lidded. Smirk fighting to tear his lips as he closes them around his fingers, licking them clean.

Maybe you weren’t watching, but that doesn’t stop him. Not from giving you looks the next day.

There’s something in his chest. Wobbling around. Something knocked loose. He finds himself waiting for you to visit, impatient between meals. Demanding. You give, and give of course, but you never give any indication that you’ve seen what he did.

Actually… that was probably his way out.

He tries to proposition you, of course. Lays it on thick. But you hesitate to accept. You blush, and he thinks cute, he thinks he’s got you, but you act like you’re too good for him or something, like you’re not sure if you really want to be with him.

Like you’re too good to be seduced by him? When you fucking kidnapped him in the first place? You don’t want to come in here in the cage you put him in?

It makes him acidic. The rattling in his chest feels like the rattling in his head, only, his tolerance has gotten so much lower.

It’s not long before he snaps at you.

“What?” He says cruelly, words escaping him without his will, “You didn’t think I liked you or anything, did you?”

There’s something mean in his voice, something awful that curdles in his chest. He brandishes it like a sword. Swinging at you, carving sorrow over your features.

“You fucking kidnapped me.” The words come as a surprise even to him, but it was true, wasn’t it? “I’m not here willingly. You’re keeping me here against me will, you’re not helping me. Did you think I’d forget?”

(He can’t even convince himself of that lie. He knows he’d forgotten.)

You look at him, something strange in your eye.

“…If you want to leave, then leave.” You say, and he feels it, like the click of a lock, the crunch of a shackle. How the Binding Vow unwinds in an instant. “I’m not going to drag you back. It’s pointless to keep you here if you hate it so much.”

He tells himself he darted straight out. He didn’t hesitate for a single moment.

But he can’t tell himself that he didn’t look back. That would be too blatant a lie.

He tries not to think about the look on your face, empty and indifferent. He tries not to think about how it felt like a knife to his chest.

And just like that, he’s back. And –

“Gojo? About time you showed up. There’s several special grades waiting for you to exorcise. Where the hell were you? Okkotsu has barely been able to help out your other students.”

His students. His precious students, the ones who needed him, the ones he was preparing to take over the Jujutsu world –

God, the world is so big, isn’t it? It feels so vast and massive now, like he’s suddenly stepped into the shadow of a terrible monolith, blocking out the sun. It doesn’t feel like the first daylight he’s seen in weeks. This light is blinding, like a shadow convalesced.

“Gojo, do you hear me? I’m sending Ichiji over with the car.”

And there’s a sinking feeling in his chest, dragging him down in a way he normally doesn’t feel. This isn’t something that bothers him. For the life of him, he can’t figure out why.

He likes fighting. He likes sorcery, and he’s good at it. Exorcizing curses, beating curse-users to shit. It’s fun. He’s so strong that it’s not a risk anymore, just something to do with his overpowered abilities, and that’s cool. He’s not afraid, not in any universe.

So why does the voice asking him when he’s going to go kill these curses fill him with a sudden, inexplicable nausea?

Why does the thought of having to do this again, all over again, always on repeat, have the pit of his stomach burning? Like there’s a pressure on his shoulders that he knows he can’t relieve.

Satoru knows he has to do this. He’s the only one who can. Other sorcerers are weak – many of them would die. For some of these special grades, it’s him or nothing, with the lives of regular civilians on the line.

Each thought sends his stomach churning. He has to. He has to. He has to do it he has to go he has to he can’t avoid it. Today and tomorrow and the next day, too, over and over and over again.

The sky – it’s so big. So massively big, so wide and yawning, he feels like he’s falling into it. His head is pounding, information flooding back through his senses. One special grade, two, three or four – he has to teleport to them, exorcise them. He has to teach his students. He has to report to the elders. He has to – he has to – there’s so much, so much to do –

The six eyes are screaming at him, the sky is screaming, light burning into his retinas it’s too bright. Too fucking bright out here.

His legs carry him to a nearby wall. He’s leaning against it, now, breaths coming heavy and labored.

And then, it comes. He’d only been half expecting it – part of him still probably thought he was invincible, untouchable.

And he’s right. Nothing is touching him. It just feels like his skin is crawling for no reason. Pins and needles, electric adrenaline racing through every last nerve fiber in his body.

He’s simultaneously too strong and feverishly weak, collapsing against the wall. Gravity feels like it’s pulling harder, off balance, only it shouldn’t be. He should be fine, he should be able to move his limbs however he wants, they shouldn’t feel gangly and overresponsive and desperately twitchy.

His heart shouldn’t be trying to beat itself out of his chest. His lungs shouldn’t feel like they’re on fire. He shouldn’t have alarm bells going off his head, his limbs burning hot with too much energy and not enough.

Between ragged breaths he catches a faint, familiar scent, warm like sunlight –

“Satoru?”

It’s – it’s – it’s you, you’re back, and something awful in his chest jumps with irrational delight, a weight shifting on his shoulders, almost lifted. He tries to control his racing pulse, stammer through your name –

A mind, indifferent gaze meets his eyes. It freezes him in place. All his anxiety swinging on a precipice.

“Is something wrong?” A voice that betrays no emotion, no affection, no hidden longing. No I missed you, or I’m happy to see you, or I hope you weren’t lonely while I was gone.

He’s going insane, he must be going insane, but with all the adrenaline shooting through him, limbs trembling, he’s barely able to keep himself upright against the wall.

“Don’t – don’t you – ” Insane, insane, he knows he’s delirious while he’s saying this, why is he saying it, but his body is acting on his behalf, mind paralyzed with fright, “Don’t you want me?”

How could he sound so – needy? So forlorn? You’d fucking kidnapped him, he should be afraid, he should be angry, if anything.

(Maybe that was his fault from the beginning. He’d never really been quick to anger. Never been one to fear others, either. Deep down, the only thing that had ever hurt him was being left behind.)

Even the six eyes cannot discern your tone, “I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me. I tried to make things work with you. You didn’t want it.”

He didn’t, of course he didn’t, you were keeping him fucking captive. He knows this, the information is there in his mind, but his body won’t stop shaking. The sky is too big, the street is too broad, too many bodies, too much cursed energy, every object in every direction overwhelming his senses.

It feels like a migraine. It feels like his legs are about to give out under him, no solid earth to be found. Too big it’s too big he wants to go –

“Unless… you want to come back?”

Satoru knows he doesn’t. He knows the answer is no. He knows that you fucked him up, that this is a consequence of your captivity directly, that he should be able to overcome this if he just bears with it –

I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me. I tried.

“Please,” His voice says without his permission, “I want…” To go home. Take me back. Don’t leave me.

Relief floods the entirety of his quaking form as soon as you smile.

“Of course, Satoru,” Your eyes soften, and against all rationality, he feels like he’s made the right choice, “Take my hand. Let’s go home.”

He’s messed up, this is messed up. He’s better than this! He isn’t stupid, he knows what you’re doing! He has the six eyes, for fuck’s sake, he’s the strongest sorcerer in the world!

You’re not strong, Satoru. You only think you are, and I understand why. The whole world has been telling you this forever. But you aren’t, and that’s okay. I’ll protect you.

He doesn’t have to be the strongest sorcerer. Not if he doesn’t want to. He can go back where it’s dark and comfortable and warm, and he can be Satoru Gojo, your cherished pet.

He looks at you, six eyes blinding him, headache burning though his skull. He thinks of how close and soft and safe that place was. How you stayed with him for hours and hours on end. He never had to be alone.

Nothing has ever felt as right as your hand clasped with his own.

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #yandere #yandere!reader #lemon #kinktober #satoru gojo smut #i tried really hard on the formatting for this... trying something new... even though it's actually not a lot. i did my best!!! jfglsdhg #i hate making more work for myself but i think it does look a little nice... maybe...

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electriccleric · 1 day ago

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The framing of this shot isn’t by accident

I was part of the GA when season 4 released and this shot right here made me realize that they were gonna go through with a love triangle. Not only that, but that Will & Mike were likely going to end up together. Why? Because it’s been hardwired into my brain what this type of shot means. The person in the middle tends to end up getting the guy/girl. Here’s just a few examples from shows I’ve watched throughout my life.

Exhibit A: Ross & Rachel from Friends

Ross literally got married to someone else and STILL ended up with Rachel in the end. Because they’re each other’s lobsters. (That’s a Friends reference lol) This is my mom’s absolute favorite show in the world so I’ve seen episodes of this show a million times. She plays it every single day. Well, I know where I got my obsessive behavior from lol 😆

Exhibit B: Lizzie and Gordo from Lizzie McGuire

I was too young to actually ship them and appreciate them while it aired but recently did a rewatch and omg the best friends to lovers trope really does have me in a chokehold. So adorable! The final scene of the entire show is literally a cute ass montage of Lizzie and Gordo moments before a freeze frame of her kissing him on the cheek. Oh and they end up kissing in the Lizzie McGuire movie as well. I’d say that’s endgame lol

Exhibit C: Eli and Clare from Degrassi

I’d say this is the first ship that I actually obsessively shipped while it aired. Their popularity within the Degrassi fandom was insane and the writers knew that. So because they knew that, boy did they make us suffer and put us on one hell of a rollercoaster. So. Much. Drama. So much playing with our emotions. After everything they actually were endgame though. Miraculously. That’s not typical for a Degrassi couple. Oh, and Eli Goldsworthy was the original emo boy we all went crazy for lol boy drove a freaking hearse! His Degrassi entrance is legendary haha

So yeah anyways, Byler endgame! The Duffers absolutely know what they’re doing with a shot like that. They chose to make Will in love with Mike. It’s not like Mileven is a good ship either. They could’ve made them good together, but they didn’t. Why do all of that for Byler not to happen? Why make the main gay character suffer so damn much right up until the end? Especially for a show that’s meant for the marginalized and outcasts. Makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Byler better be endgame istg…

#byler #stranger things #will byers #mike wheeler #friends #ross and rachel #ross geller #rachel green #lizzie mcguire #david gordon #gordo #lizzie and gordo #degrassi #eli goldsworthy #clare edwards #Eclare #eli and clare

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wingfleur · 6 days ago

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omgg your desperate ex!dick fic got me thinking if you're interested in writing angst?? something abt his behavior is so.. devastatingly toxic lol. the push and pull would kill me. like what would he do if instead of getting a reaction, y/n started sobbing

# — dick grayson as a desperate ex (2).

soooo, i got carried away... i don't typically write part twos unless the fic was written with one in mind (this isn't really a part two, to be honest, more of an alternate ending), but, regardless, this turned into something i did not mean for it to turn into. here's the link to the fic in question. thank u for picking my brain, lovely! enjoy! | wc: 1.0k words.

cw: implied sexual content mdni (18+), gn!reader, angst, leaning into fuckboy!dick grayson again, and the implied childhood-friends-to-lovers-to-exes-to-fwb(?) energy, the toxicity is very much turned up this time too, like he is manipulative afffff

nonnie, you do not understand how glad i am that you asked me this. this scenario has never crossed my mind! fun fact: i love writing reader to be strong and stubborn because that’s how i am, but i don’t typically write pieces intending for them to just be plain angst. honestly, all of my work on here that is inherently angsty (i.e. helping mark lose his v-card, desperate ex dick, etc.) is a byproduct of the topic i’m writing about— it’s never on purpose 😭. but the idea of reader breaking down and crying instead of giving in to dick’s teasing made me so giddy because i came to realize that, no matter how you reacted in that moment— ignored him, lashed out, dropped to the floor in tears— he still would’ve managed to get into them drawls, and i think that’s absolutely terrible, LMFAOAOOAOAO.

like, walk with me: the end goal will always be the same, but the method? the approach? that’s what differs. dick can and will adapt; it’s up to you what show he puts on tonight.

so yeah, let’s say that you cry instead. that, when you get to your place with dick hot on your heels, you’re struck with a nauseating sense of clarity that reminds you that this man has done nothing but make your life miserable. that, by falling into bed with him, you’re degrading yourself and proving that nothing’s changed— even after you’ve spent so much time trying to convince him that you’re over it.

over him.

“i can’t,” you say suddenly, feet coming to an abrupt stop in front of your door. you can hear dick’s shoes scuff against the pavement as he stops just in time to not run into you, and the look of confusion that’s probably on his face has got to be worth its weight in gold. you’re not gonna look, though. you can’t. the tears in your eyes would make it hard to see, but the last thing you need is for dick grayson to see you crying.

too bad for you, dick’s already seen you cry. more often than not, he’s been the reason for your crying, so you don’t get to hide for long before he’s putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. with light pressure, he coaxes you into spinning around and ducks down a bit to be in your line of sight.

“can’t what, birdie? talk to me.”

that stupid fucking nickname.

“god, don’t fucking— call me that!”

it goes on like that for a while. you sob, scream, and kick at his expense, but it’s hardly satisfying because dick just stands there and takes it. then, once you’ve worn yourself out, he wraps you in his arms and pulls you firmly to his chest. you feel helpless as you sink into his arms; everything in you is screaming to pull away, but you’re too exhausted to listen.

“it doesn’t have to be like this, you know.” dick’s voice vibrates against your crown from where his chin rests atop your head. his tone is soft, melodic, and sincere. you don’t know how he does it, but he manages to be calming and repulsive all at once. it’s impressive.

“i fucked up last time, and i know that. i’m owning it, birdie, trust me. but before all of this started, we were friends. i’d be lying if i said it hasn’t been hell not speaking to you these last couple of weeks. i can’t fucking stand it.”

you don’t respond, but the beauty of it is that he doesn’t expect you to. all dick does is hold you tight and sway from side to side, just the way you do—well, did, you guess— when you hug him.

“i’ve been working so hard to become a fraction of the man you deserve,” he starts, “and tonight showed me that i’m not even close. it actually taught me that you’re incredible and i’m disgustingly selfish because, despite all the work i need to do, i still wanna be with you. now, as i am.”

you move to lean back. “dick—”

“i’m serious. don't be dismissive.”

dick meets you halfway and pulls back enough to see your face. your cheeks are puffy and your eyes are red, but dick thinks you’re adorable— a descriptor that has felt nothing but condescending and patronizing coming from him these last few months. but right now? as you feel a sense of dread and longing swirling up to create a toxic combination in your stomach?

you’re pathetically eating it up.

“i miss you”, he says. “and i’m sorry. so sorry. let me make it up to you by letting me inside.”

you stare up at him for a few, long moments, your eyes glassy, wide, and emotionless. dick hadn’t expected you to become such a tough cookie since the last time he saw you, but he can tell you’re close to cracking. all he needs is to give you the final push.

dick slowly unravels one of his arms from around your waist and brings it up to cradle your face. you stare at him for a few moments, his thumb running soothingly along your jaw, but then something gives, and your eyes flutter shut, head relaxing into the curve of his palm.

“there you go,” he coos. “there’s my baby.”

and when dick leans down to kiss you, his hands slipping effortlessly into your pockets to retrieve your key, he doesn’t bother to hide his grin. he knows you feel it— wants you to— but you’re not gonna push him away. not even if your subconscious is screaming at you to deck him in the face.

what you’re gonna do is let dick seamlessly open your door and guide you inside, a gentle foot kicking it shut as you two stumble down the hallway. what you’re gonna do is let him undress you on the way to your bedroom, then let him lay you down and work until you’re shattering with a cry of his name. then, he’s gonna leave you— alone in the morning with an empty bed and a pit of despair settling deep in your stomach. and, finally, he’ll quell your deepest, darkest worries by leaving a dorky note on the fridge about how “duty calls, but there’s breakfast in the fridge!” to make sure that no matter how much you convince yourself to hate him right then and there, there will always be enough of a gap in your armor for him to wriggle right back on inside.

# — navigation

#— alexis answers ꒰ঌ ໒꒱#— alexis writes ꒰ঌ ໒꒱#this ask made me feel like i got possessed #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x reader smut #dick grayson x you smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing x reader smut #nightwing x you smut

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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Hi 💜

I sent a request a while ago about Spencer x reader academic stress. It was absolutely perfect. Thank you so much 💗

I just read the james one about reader skipping meals (it was so sweet and lovely) and I tend to do that myself sometimes not eating anything between dinner one day to the next simply because i got busy with classes and forgot until i get a migrane or get a bit dizzy. So, I was wondering if you could do a similar prompt with Spencer and reader being busy all day with work or classes or whatever and simply forgetting to eat until a migrane / dizzy spell occurs and he finds out.

I just feel like he'd be so kind and give facts about importance of not skipping meals for brain function, while coddling, feeding and spoiling reader, maybe cooking or handfeeding too I don't know whatever works for you. Thank you 💕🌸

Sorry if i wrote too much😅

Thank you for requesting lovely (and no sorries necessary) <3

cw: mention of skipping meals, dizziness/nausea

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Spencer finds you sitting down in the stairwell. You recognize him by the sound of his footsteps, lighter than Morgan’s but less clicky than JJ’s heels. Neither of you typically use the stairs, so you can only imagine that he’s come looking for you.

“Hi,” you say to let him know you’re alive inside the tiny cavern you’ve made of your own body. You’re bent over to rest your forehead on your knees, one hand on each of your temples as you breathe slowly to steady yourself. Overall, it’s a pretty dramatic pose. And you’re definitely getting the butt of your slacks dirty on these stairs.

Spencer’s footsteps pass you, and for half a second you think he really is just using the stairs. He stops a few steps below you. You can feel him scrutinizing the top of your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks in that soft, careful voice of his. “You just disappeared.”

You had sort of fled the scene. You still feel too new to the team to feel fully comfortable, and with Strauss here for the case everyone is on their best behavior, so when you’d all been walking in the hallway and a dizzy spell had nearly collapsed you into the wall, you’d dropped back from the group and stepped into the first door you saw rather than risk bringing attention to yourself.

“I’m fine,” you say through an exhale, lifting your head from your knees. “Sorry, I just got dizzy and didn’t want to cause problems.”

Spencer’s eyebrows bunch. He lowers into a crouch in front of you, looking up into your face. “Dizzy—do you know what caused it? Is this something that happens often?” He bypasses your rudeness in abandoning the team immediately, and the questions come almost too fast for your addled brain to keep up with. You think you need protein. Or carbs, or something.

“Yeah—I mean no, it doesn’t happen all the time,” you say. “I just forgot to eat lunch.”

The notch between Spencer’s brows digs in and he brushes a piece of hair behind his ear. “What happened?”

You shrug, embarrassed. “I packed a lunch so I wouldn’t have to take a break, and then I just forgot about it. I’ve been…” you glance up at Spencer, but his eyes are too safe and open to even contemplate deceiving. “I haven’t been keeping up with my work like I should. I didn’t want to take a break, and I didn’t even remember my lunch until now.”

“It’s on your desk?” he asks.

You blink. “My work?”

“Your lunch.”

“Yeah,” you say. It comes out curved like a question.

“Okay.” He straightens, lithe limbs extending until you’re craning your neck to look up at him. “Wait here.”

You turn, starting to protest, but Spencer sets a pacifying hand on your head as he passes. Objections acknowledged, but ignored. Following him is out of the question; just pivoting sitting down had sent your head swimming again.

The door bangs shut after him, and a minute later he returns with your sad paper bag and a bottle of gatorade.

“I saw you have water in here,” he says, sitting back in his place a couple steps below you, “but I thought electrolytes might help more.” He twists the cap off and hands it to you. Rather than passing you your lunch bag, he sets it in his own lap to dig through the contents. “You want your sandwich first?”

You lower the gatorade from your mouth, wiping self-consciously under your lower lip. “Yes, please,” you say, and Spencer hands it to you. You set the gatorade down beside you. “Do we keep these in the fridge?”

“Morgan does.” You must look as horrified as you feel, because Spencer goes on quickly, “He won’t even notice it’s gone. He likes the blue ones the least anyway.”

You nod hesitantly, raising the bottle to your lips for another sip. “I’ll get him a replacement in case.”

His smile is understanding, and you’re reminded that before you, Spencer was the youngest on the team. You imagine he knows how it feels to be constantly wary of getting on someone’s bad side.

“You really don’t have to,” he says anyway.

You take a bite of your sandwich, shrugging. “Thanks a lot for this, but you don’t have to stay here with me. Won’t we get in some kind of trouble?”

“I think we’ll be okay here for a little while,” Spencer says. “Actually, I don’t think most people on the team even know where this door goes. None of us ever use the stairs. And they might not have noticed we’re gone yet.”

You give him a deadpan look. “They’ll notice you’re gone.”

He shrugs. It’s not a denial. “I don’t mind waiting with you.”

It means more to you than it reasonably should. “Thanks,” you say quietly, and take another bite of your sandwich as an excuse to look away.

You haven’t even polished it off yet, and Spencer’s already dipping into your bag for more. He takes the cap of a container of grapes.

“Here, have some of these.” He holds it out, and you shove the last bite of sandwich into your mouth to take it from him. “You probably need some vitamin C,” he muses. His eyes fall to the nearly full bottle at your side. “Don’t forget to drink.”

You almost grin, covering your full mouth with a hand as you speak. “I can’t actually do all this at once.”

“Oh, sorry.” He looks abashed. “Take your time.” You do, swallowing before lowering your hand to give him a small smile. It’s returned. “You know, skipping meals is actually pretty dangerous.”

Your smile fades, but Spencer holds your gaze. His eyes are gentle.

“I know you just forgot, but low blood sugar impedes brain function. We need to be able to think clearly and quickly to do our job. So, being nourished is really important to that.”

You nod, chastised. He taps the container of grapes, and you pop one into your mouth.

“Are you going to tell Hotch?” you ask him quietly.

Spencer blinks, brows twitching together. “No,” he says. “It’s not really that big of a deal, and anyway I think Hotch would just tell you the same thing. I just think it’s important for you to know.”

You rub your lips together, bobbing your head again. “Okay, thanks.” You look at him seriously, dropping your voice into a terrible imitation of Hotch’s deep timbre. “I won’t let it happen again.”

Spencer grins, surprised by you, and you mirror him. You’re a bit surprised by yourself too.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asks.

You nod automatically, not taking even the barest inventory yourself to see whether that might be true, but Spencer can obviously tell. His brown eyes search yours, scientifically probing, like they might tell him something you won’t. You’re well aware that Spencer’s a certifiable genius, and yet you’re still learning not to underestimate him.

“We can probably go back now,” you tell him.

His stare holds yours a minute longer. You feel pleasurably crushed under the weight of his attention.

After a few seconds, Spencer’s expression settles into decision. “Let’s sit here for a minute,” he says. “You should finish your food. You’re owed a lunch hour anyway, no one’s ever stipulated when or where you have to take it.”

You crack a smile. “What about you?”

“I’m staying with you,” he says matter-of-factly. Like it’s the only option even worth considering. “I don’t want to leave you here by yourself, and it’s probably best if I take the gatorade bottle back up with us. If Morgan sees, it’ll be easier for me to take credit if I’m holding it.”

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deadhands69 · 1 month ago

Text

In The Stacks Part 2: Taking Things Slow

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

A mysterious library patron catches your eye, seeking information about his past life. You help him, stirring up your own past in the process. Contains: gn/afab reader, SMUT, cussing, mentions of injuries/violence, obsessive/yandere leaning behavior, spoilers.

[previous] this is part 2 [next] [series masterlist]

"Actually, you said Love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. It's like a religion. It's terrifying."

- Richard Siken

Your brain swims, staring at the stack of new books on the desk in front of you. You started adding barcodes to them an hour ago but it feels like the pile is only growing. That can't be possible, right?

Many of your coworkers had residual issues with the flooding from last night and had to call out. This includes your work friend, Ao. Half awake this morning, you offered to cover the first half of his shift for the four hours before yours starts. It's not that you aren't happy to fill in– you absolutely are. You're glad to help your friend out and you don’t mind the overtime money either. Unfortunately, it means you were in more of a rush than usual today, in addition to the extra work being divided up among those who could make it in, and you're really feeling it.

All of this would be easier if you didn’t have a headache.

Typically, you’d drop by the coffee shop next door on your walk over, but by the time you got the call, you were running late already and didn’t have time to stop. The lack of caffeine is getting to you, on top of the lack of sleep from choosing to stay up talking to Tenko half the night before the storm died down. You don’t regret that by any means either, it’s just catching up to you. Now you’ll have to wait for a long enough break before you can venture out for coffee.

Two more hours.

You weren’t always a caffeine addict, but you are human so the things you surround yourself in tend to rub off after a while. If you’re going to work in a library, you might as well fully embrace the lifestyle. Even the surrounding neighborhood reflects this. Any way you choose to walk to work leads you past at least two coffee shops. Given your current situation, you will yourself to stop thinking about caffeine – it's not helping anything. Right now you need to focus on adding call numbers to the new books. You double check the one in front of you before sticking the tag on and sealing it.

Only thirty-eight more to go. Meanwhile, you're still in charge of the circulation desk while everyone else is rushing around to fill other tasks that weren’t covered by the mostly absent morning shift.

Tenko walks in with his hood and mask obscuring his face, like usual. Unlike usual, he’s here a few hours early. Today he’s also carrying something different. He turns and walks to the desk as soon as he notices you there. You take note of the interesting way he holds his pinky away from the cup, but he drops it onto the sleeve as soon as he catches you staring. He has nice hands, the kind that make you wish for things you’d rather not think about while at the front desk of your work.

“I wanted to do something nice for you,” he mumbles, “as a thank you.”

“Wow, thank you so much.” You stare at the coffee cup he just pushed in your direction. You’re saved. “You have no idea how much I needed this today.”

“Uhm,” he scratches his neck, “I had to guess your drink though. So hopefully this is okay. It felt right.”

You glance down at the barista’s scrolled handwriting across the side, it’s what you usually order.

“Impressive,” you smile at him, “you’re sweet and you can pick out my order by vibes alone.”

He smirks back, looking proud of himself. Since you go to the same place every day, they have your order memorized. You’re almost certain Tenko asked the barista; it’s nice he made the effort though so you don’t bring it up.

Tentatively, he continues. “I may also have a favor to ask you.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, really hoping it’s something he can say at the front desk in earshot of a few of your coworkers.

“I need another article from the archives. On the website it said to ask for assistance, so here I am.”

“Got it, yeah. I can set you up with an appointment for that.”

“I need an appointment?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you pull up the schedule, “you need an appointment for someone to take you down there. I could, but it would have to be in a few days. Or you could go tomorrow with one of my coworkers?”

“No, I can wait.”

“Okay,” you continue, scrolling through the timeframes on your screen. “How about the day after tomorrow at eight pm? It’s completely empty at that time, so you won’t be interrupted. The archivists are typically gone by that hour though so if you need help with anything else–”

“No, that's perfect,” he smiles and you struggle to hold it together. Tenko glances at the desk and you, surrounded by new books. “What are you doing now?”

“Right now, I’m labeling new books while watching the circulation desk for the two hours I’m assigned to be here so other people can take breaks and work on different projects.”

“Got it,” he replies. “Is that what you usually do up here all day?”

“Not typically, but we're pretty short staffed from the weather. Usually, I check out books for people and answer questions,” you relay, as if you were reciting your resume.

Tenko looks around, the library’s pretty empty today. “And when there’s no one to check books out to?”

“Mostly scroll Tumblr,” you say. He raises his thin eyebrows at you, but it’s your turn to ask questions now. “What do you do all day? I’ve never asked what you do for a living.”

“Freelance software developing,” Tenko replies, sounding bored. “I want to do games but that’s harder to get into. So for now, boring stuff.”

His random interest in books suddenly makes sense if he’s building video game worlds.

“What kind of games do you want to make?”

“I don’t have a set genre yet, I have a lot of ideas though. Like, ” his cheeks redden from behind the mask. You reach for his hand reassuringly. It's not like there's anyone around to see. “Uh, I'm working on a dating sim,” he says tentatively, scratching his neck with his free hand. Seeing the intrigue on your face, opens the floodgates. “It's kind of a fun concept,” he says excitedly, “because no matter what you pick you still end up together. There are different endings, and some are much better than the others, but there's no rejection.”

“So, I take it you don't like a challenge?” you joke.

“I like a challenge,” his voice is light but his eyes look serious, “I just don’t like being left.”

“Okay. I won’t leave you,” you say, toying with his pinky, “promise.”

Tenko’s coffee gets you through the afternoon until your break. An extra long shift means a longer break than usual, you walk to the cafe down the block and back with time to spare.

With the headache subsiding, you figure the least you can do is head up to the fourth floor to check in with Tenko and say thanks again. When you arrive, he's nowhere to be found. Even when he goes to search for another book, he leaves his backpack at the desk in the far corner. You search around the entire floor, not finding a trace of him.

“Weird,” you mumble to yourself, taking a back exit to a less used stairwell. He must have gone home early or something. He showed up a few hours earlier than he usually does, that wouldn’t be too weird. Swinging around the last corner before hitting ground level, you run into someone.

“I am so sorry,” you frantically apologize, looking up to see bright red eyes staring back at you.

“It's fine,” he says, arms still steadying you from the collision. “Really. Are you in a rush or something?” he asks, looking you over as if you’re hiding books somewhere.

“No, I'm actually on break–”

“Good.”

Tenko bridges the tiny gap between the two of you, cutting you off with a kiss. The angle is different from before, given that you're standing one stair above him, but you both adjust quickly.

Everything about your long day washes away, it doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters now is keeping him as close as possible for as long as you can.

One of his hands slides down to the small of your back, over your ass, and grips the back of your thigh to hike your leg over his hip. You continue kissing him, fingernails digging into his shoulders. The harder you latch onto him, the more into it he seems, enthusiastically sucking your bottom lip. Your tongue runs over the dry skin on his top lip and his hips slam into you in response. It's nice being able to tell what he's into this easily. You can feel him harden through his pants as he grinds into you.

Everything about Tenko surrounds you. The smell of his shampoo, the sweetness of his lips. His hands grasping where they can, his teeth that are now pressed into your neck. Tenko sucks onto your skin like he wants to pull your soul into his. Fortunately for him, you’re into that. Kissing alone is not enough, you want him to need you so deeply that every fiber of his being seeks all of you out in desperation.

He leans forward, lowering you with him until you feel the cold concrete against your back.

Slowly, one of your hands makes its way across his chest and down his side. Giving you a bit more space than before, only slightly less desperate for the closeness. One of his hands slides to land on the small of your back as he hovers over you on the stairs. Your finger runs over the skin along his waistband. He shutters.

“This okay?” you breathe between sloppy kisses.

“Yes,” he moans back, “do whatever you want to me.”

Hearing this makes you wish you weren’t in an old stairwell on your now dwindling break. Not every moment can be perfect though and you need him now. Your hand slides over the thick fabric of his pants. Running your fingers over where his dick fills the space in the v-line of his hip, straining against his jeans. You should probably be worried about doing this in a semi-public space during your lunch break, but the feeling never comes. No one ever comes back here. Besides, this is just the tip of the iceberg compared to what you’ve been dreaming about all day. You've held back for long enough.

Tenko breathes sharply into your mouth, hands clutching your jacket like you could slip out of his grasp at any moment.

Then your phone buzzes, it’s the alarm you set to make it back in time to clock in from your break.

Two minutes remaining.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself, “sorry, I–”

“Do you have to go?” he asks breathlessly. It takes everything in you to pull away from him. He helps you to your feet and the two of you take a moment to steady yourselves.

“Yeah,” you continue, “my break ends soon so I have to get back to shelf reading.” You do what you can to smooth his hair down but it’s a losing battle. As you step away, he adjusts his pants and pulls his oversized hoodie further down his front.

“So, will I see you tomorrow?” he asks awkwardly, fiddling with the excess of the straps on his backpack.

“No, I have the day off tomorrow. I’ll be back in the next day though, and we have our archive time set-up then. So, I’ll definitely see you soon. And I'm just going upstairs now, like usual.” Tenko’s eyes stare at you like a puppy being left at home.

Tomorrow, you have plans to go out furniture shopping. It’s not exciting, but it’ll be nice to finally have somewhere comfortable to sit. Especially if you have Tenko over again. This doesn’t seem like something you invite your new…whatever he is with you for. It’s only been a day, you don’t want to scare him off asking him to buy furniture with you.

“Okay,” he says in that light tone with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “I’ll see you soon then.” With a quick kiss on the cheek, he walks past you, running back up the stairs.

Rushing around the corner, your hand barely grazes the metal door pull to enter the main library area when another pair of hands yank you back.

“Oh no,” Ao says, looking slightly windswept from the weather. “You can not go in there looking like that.”

He pulls his scarf off, wrapping it around your neck before fixing your hair.

“Why,” you grumble, but don't put up a fight. “Do I look that bad today?”

He laughs. “Bad? No, you look like you fucked someone in the back stairs." Realization creeps over his face, "wait, did you?” Ao’s eyes are huge before he turns and runs to look up the stairwell. Lucky for you, Tenko is long gone. Your secret is safe for another day.

“Tell me everything,” Ao whispers, pulling you through the door towards the front desk as you both clock in.

At Ao's suggestion, you take a moment to stop by the restroom to freshen up before getting back to work. Last night, Tenko’s enthusiastic kissing didn't leave any lasting marks. No such luck this time. You wrap Ao’s scarf back around your neck, happy to have run into him before your manager saw you. Fortunately, his grey and black stripes don't completely clash with your outfit so you think you can pull it off.

A few minutes later, you resume shelf reading on the fourth floor like usual. Tenko glares at you as you walk past the corner desk where he sits. The first time you think it's in your head. When he does it again as you pass twenty minutes later, you know it's not. Is he upset you're not working tomorrow?

“What?" you pause, leaning over the desk. "Why are you looking at me like that?”

He stares up at you, arms crossed. “Why are you wearing some other guy's clothes?”

“Because you left a huge bite mark on my neck, I couldn't go back to work like that! I could get fired if they found out.”

Somehow, your explanation doesn't quite sink in. He still stares at you, pouting. Then it hits you.

“Wait, are you jealous of my gay work friend?” you ask.

Tenko’s shoulders sag in relief, but he's not admitting it that easily. “No, I just–”

“You totally are!” you yell whisper back at him. “Tenko, there's nothing to worry about. He just didn't want me to lose my job or something. There's no one else you need to worry about either, I promise. I do have to get back to work though.”

Tenko smirks, looking pleased with himself as you turn to leave.

Like you'd ever do anything to fuck this up.

Your day off passes uneventfully to any passerby. You mop your apartment. You drink coffee. You go to the furniture store.

That's how you find yourself standing in a large showroom, surrounded by couches in designs you couldn’t have imagined existing, asking yourself which one of them represents you best in the way you want Tenko to see you. No longer are they simple pieces of metal and wood with batting and fabric wrapped over, absolutely not. Someone designed everything down to the tiniest detail, and it's in those details that you'll find the perfect shape to hold him in. The stitching that flows in the most fitting way for you to spend your lives on them. Each one comes with a story of the future, pre-built in. And you need to pick the right one. This was never just about a couch.

A deep green one with long cushions looks wide enough for the two of you to cuddle easily on it. You picture yourself holding him, arms wrapped over his curled up body as he drifts off to sleep.

It's also much too big for your apartment.

There's a smaller pink one near it that also looks like you could both lay comfortably on it. The moment you sit, all fantasies disappear as the cushions give too much and you feel the boards underneath.

Feeling like Goldilocks, you move to another. A velvety beige chaise lounge. You sit, finding it comfortable. It’s lower than the others. You picture him walking towards you, pausing as he reaches the living room. Your mind runs away from you with every direction this could take. You’d be at the right height to suck his dick from here, visions of it take over reality. He felt amazing through his pants and made such sweet sounds, you’re sure having him in your mouth would be even better.

Before you get too carried away, you check the price tag – it’s nearly three times your budget. Onto the next.

You spend an hour wandering the furniture store, imagining the way your life will play out on every stop. As the day passes by, you swear Tenko is sneaking out of your subconscious and into the world. You see him everywhere, but when you look closer he's never actually there. Behind bookshelves and around corners out of the corner of your eye. One man carrying a massive twisting lamp with delicate shades made from deep blue glass looked like him at first glance. It's a beautiful lamp but there's no way Tenko would ever buy something like that. Besides, there has to be more than one man in this city with white hair who wears facial masks and hooded sweatshirts. The obvious explanation is that you thought you felt him here, probably because you want him here.

Maybe you've been thinking about this for too long.

You wonder what Tenko would pick. He seems practical – he didn't even notice how under-furnished your space was. So, he'd probably be happy with something simple.

In the end, you land on a cozy grey couch with washable upholstery, functional and you can decorate around it. It won't be delivered for another week, but that's fine. You haven't had a couch in months, you can wait just a little longer.

The tiny pieces of your new life are finally coming together.

When you arrive at work, Ao laughs at your attempt to cover the remnants of Tenko’s mark with a high necked sweater. You don't mind him leaving them, some part of you actually felt a bit proud of it on your day off. It's like you get to show him off to the world even when you're apart. Sure you got a few weird looks, but that's to be expected. However, Tenko is still a secret at your work to everyone but Ao for obvious reasons.

“That outfit is too warm for here, heavy sweater up to your chin with those oversized pants?”

“It's cold outside,” you assert, the older librarians passing by still suspect nothing.

Ao laughs, “suit yourself,” before whispering, “most people just buy concealer.”

He's not wrong, unfortunately, and within the hour you're regretting your choices. By the time eight rolls around, you're practically dragging Tenko down the stairs to the archive area, happy to be in the consistently cold basement.

“This is the room?” he asks as you swipe your key card to enter an unmarked door.

“Yeah,” you explain, turning the lights on and walking in. The librarians have all gone home for the day, it's just you two. “I was told there used to be a sign, they just never replaced it. Most people don’t come down here. They just ask for copies of the articles, so it's not a priority to label the door.”

The space reflects that sentiment as well. Given that the archive is one of the least patron-facing areas, funding never quite makes it here for new tables and chairs. These are just the old ones that were moved in to replace the last old ones. The shelves are older too, minimalistic. Covered in old books and boxes, they stretch on seemingly forever with the lights only partially on. The old book smell you’re growing used to is stronger down here, more condensed.

“Do you know the dates of the articles you're looking for?” you ask. He hands you a small list.

You track them down in the far corner of the expansive room, pulling out a few more pages on the Shimuras and the house from before. He doesn’t read any of them, instead he takes out his phone to snap a few flash-less photos before returning the articles to their boxes.

“Is there a record of what people look at in here?” Tenko asks curiously.

“No,” you yawn, “as long as someone is in here to make sure they're being handled carefully, no one really cares. They know who came in and when, that's it.”

“Oh,” his voice almost sounds disappointed.

“Why,” you ask, “do you want someone to keep track of what you looked at for you?”

“No,” he mumbles, folding the last newspaper and placing it in its box. “It just seems like there would be a record since someone could damage them or something.”

“I'm not too worried,” you put the boxes back on their shelves then take a seat on a scuffed up, but solid, table.

“What are you doing now?” he asks, standing in front of you.

“Killing time. I'm scheduled to do this for the whole hour and it's colder down here.” You gesture at your huge sweater before sliding the neck down to show him the lingering bite mark you're covering.

“Sorry,” Tenko mouths.

“It's fine. It doesn't hurt or anything,” you say, taking the sweater off. “I don't mind it either, I just don't want work people asking too many questions.”

Tenko stares at you, barely registering what you’re saying. In that moment you realize he's never seen you in a tank top. You're always dressed conservatively here. Plus, it's barely spring so it's still been pretty cold out.

Most guys would feel some level of shame being caught staring like like he is, Tenko isn't most guys though.

His hand grazes the skin of your neck. Slowly, his knuckles move down your shoulder and over your arm, leaving a trail of tingles in their wake.

“Looks pretty on you,” he says, “I look pretty on you.”

“You do,” you agree.

“Are there cameras in here?” he asks, hands already pulling at the hem of your shirt.

“No. According to my manager, it’s a budget or a privacy thing. Something like that. They’re just in the main common areas.”

“Good,” he mumbles against your lips, hand sliding up your shirt.

You slide back on the table, pulling him down with you. Tenko follows, eagerly, mouth not moving from yours.

Your hands slide under his shirt, taking in the feeling of him. His skin is textured with scars, every bump sliding easily under your touch. You want to rip all of his clothes off and memorize every detail of his body, but you don't have all night and you're in the basement of a library so you'll take what you can get for now.

Some tiny corner of your mind remembers the two of you decided to take things slow, but you don't have the will to pull yourself away.

The two of you pull at each other’s clothes as you make out, desperately feeling what you can. His hoodie lays thrown over the back of a chair along with your sweater. Your tank top is shoved up to your neck, pants dangling by one leg. His ripped jeans are shoved down to his knees, along with his underwear. One arm is pulled out of his shirt. You press up to straddle him, the table is cold and hard against your knees. It doesn’t bother you though, nothing could distract you from him right now.

Tenko grabs your hips, dragging each of his fingers deliberately over your skin. You watch his cock practically jump at your touch; it’s so fucking beautiful.

Everything about him is beautiful. His pale flushed skin. The way his white hair is splayed out over the table. Perfect scars everywhere to match the ones on his face.

Precum glistens at the tip of his dick, you rub it away with your thumb as you begin stroking him. Even his erection is blushing for you. You want to stare at him forever, taking it all in. Unfortunately, your time here is limited. Leaning back over him to resume kissing, you continue to stroke his length as he pants into your mouth. One of his hands slides between your legs, moving your underwear to the side.

Tenko gasps at how wet you are for him, fingers exploring and lightly dipping into you as you drip down his hand.

“Fuck, y/n. I need to be in you,” he begs, “please.”

His big red eyes stare up at you, looking deep into your soul. It’s dangerous, you think, because you’ll never be able to say no to him when that’s all he has to do.

Not that you’d ever want to.

With one more stroke, you line his dick up to your entrance. His hand joins yours, rubbing your wetness over him as he teases you with his tip. It doesn’t last long, he needs this as much as you do.

Looking into his eyes, you lower onto him slowly. The stretch is a lot, which you expected. It’s been a while, you didn’t have a lot of time for foreplay, and he’s not exactly small. Still, you’ll take every bit of the feeling if it’s him. Tenko breathes in sharply, fingers digging into your ribs. Neither of you look away.

“We still have to be quiet though,” you whisper, pausing as you reach his base. “Anyone could walk past the door and it echoes in here with the high ceilings.”

He nods.

Your movements start small then increase. It doesn’t take long for the ache to fade and he starts to feel good.

Really good.

Your pace quickens, back arching to press into him as deep as you can. You've waited forever for this and you need as much of him as you can take. He moves to match your tempo, meeting you in the middle.

Tenko grips the front of your shirt, yanking you closer with every thrust. The sound of you both reverberates from every wall.

“Just like that, Ten. You feel so good,” you murmur.

You weren’t sure what to expect your first time with him, but you’ve had thoughts. You’ve been dreaming of this for so long, playing out every way it could possibly go. Somehow, this is even better than you ever imagined.

He never struck you as the type to have a lot of experience, but then again he’s read books on everything to make up for it.

Tenko fucks you like he needs it. Hips pressing into you with force, pace slightly off when he’s too worked up. Still, so much of what he’s doing is deliberate. The way he adjusts the angle with your moans. How his hand rests on the top of your thigh, thumb reaching over to massage your clit as he pounds into you harder.

It’s all overwhelming. His touch, the soft smell of him all around you. This is finally happening and you still can’t believe it. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knees giving as you fall into his chest. Tenko catches you, holding you close to him. Waves of pleasure surge through you, leaving you breathless. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, teeth latching onto the soft skin at the bottom of his neck.

“Fuck, y/n, I’m gonna cum,” Tenko groans.

“Please cum for me,” you reply, needing everything he can give you. His hips slam into you as he holds you as close as possible. For a moment you forget where you are, the entire world outside of this room disappears.

“Fuck,” laughs Tenko as you come to rest on his shoulder, “I can’t believe we did that.”

The two of you pull most of your clothes back on, with him noting that you’re twins now after you bit his neck. You know you should go and get cleaned up but he’s so cuddly and you need a few more minutes close to him.

“Well,” you muse, “so much for taking it slow.”

“Can’t help it,” Tenko mumbles, drawing circles with his fingers in the area where your shirt dips below your collarbone. “I just feel like we've been together for so much longer.”

Your heart skips a beat at the way he casually refers to the two of you as “together.” You're about to ask what that means to him when he continues.

“So, uh, I've been trying to ask for a month now, but didn't find the right time. I guess better late than never though. Can I take you out for coffee or something?”

“Yeah,” you answer a little too quickly, he doesn't mind. “When are you free?”

“Tomorrow at noon?”

“Perfect.”

The two of you lay in silence for the few minutes you have left here, happy. With his leg wrapped over you and arms pulling you closer as well, the oversized table is a reasonable enough space to cuddle.

You have no doubts the couch you chose will be even more perfect for this.

[next] [series masterlist] [bnha masterlist]

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@dummi666 @lotus-flower420 @nonominchan @softnfuzzy @mysticalhills

@reireitaka @crwavee @baby-pink-flowers @drlucichen @frieren-imposter

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ngage2003 · 5 months ago

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I would be absolutely thrilled to hear your highschool Jaylex headcanons

SMILES. Ok.

⟦content warning: unhealthy relationships, abusive childhoods, generally two traumatized people behaving badly and like real people, headcanons and some analysis.⟧

As mentioned in this post, I think Alex and Jay are to some extent codependent, with bad habits developed between the both of them due to growing up in the south and being not typical/"weirdos".

I think this based off of just how easily they fell into an unhealthy dynamic in Season 2 of Marble Hornets where I believe Alex plays to what he knows about Jay to manipulate him. (Using his curiosity against him and leading him in circles.)

Jay isn't innocent either though! Really, both these characters are defined by their selfishness, which get exacerbated by the Operator. Alex has a need for control and power, and Jay has a deadly curiosity and passivity/apathy to others in the face of it.

I think Alex's need for control and power comes from his toxic relationship to masculinity, (talked about a bit here,) and a desire to fit in despite being unable to, exacerbated by his home life. I think its very likely his father instilled these beliefs in him by himself being someone who upheld toxic masculinity and make fun of perceived femininity in his son, a sort of abusive "tough love" approach that left Alex hurt and angry and hating himself and his dad.

I think strangely the reason Alex and Jay first connected is because Jay's closed off nature, apathy and his autistic tendencies left him appearing to just not care about masculinity and fitting in, despite being male, a fact which pissed Alex off to no end because it sort of broke his brain. ("Men are naturally good at being masculine and in control and powerful, and I'm not so I am a failure" is a belief instilled in him by his dad, but here is Jay, this apathy filled fly on the wall.)

I think they originally became friends because Alex wanted someone to punch at metaphorically and push around, and Jay easily complied to that, fascinated by Alex's attention on him and his general bristly demeanor which was so opposite to his gilded cage life. (For more on that check out my nepo baby jay post)

I think as time progressed, Alex's anger towards Jay gradually faded a bit, but he always held some sort of residual resentment for how unbothered he seemed with fully conforming to masculinity. Jay to him is as much of a symbol as he is a person, a tick that stubbornly persists in the flesh and ruins Alex's attempts to make sense of things.

That is not to say Jay is feminine necessarily or actively avoiding masculinity, but he is just apathetic and not too preoccupied with being masculine. Along with this, I think he is caring to Alex, especially in highschool, a fact which upsets and confuses the other because "men don't act like that to each other."

I can so clearly see Alex in highschool getting in fights, and then Jay helping patch him up, or buying him something in an attempt to make him feel better because that is just the behavior he has been taught, and Alex briefly thinks about driving his knuckles into Jay's stupid face as he applies an antibiotic to his split knuckles.

I think Jay understands that the grass is not greener for Alex to some extent, but Alex envies him so hard sometimes.

The furniture in Jay's house gets replaced every few months, there is nothing concrete to hold onto and savor there besides this toxic pristine smell of freshness. Meanwhile everything in Alex's house is the same as when he was a young kid, with all the residue of bad memories that come with that, molding under seat cushions and catching in the dusty corners of rooms.

Alex's home is painfully lived in, and Jay's is painfully empty.

I don't think they're ever together romantically, but I think Jay has a brief crush on Alex in highschool because Alex is kind of the only concrete thing in his life. Alex has a crush on him (that he denies) in turn because Jay is the only good thing in his.

They make out on Alex's couch when his parents aren't home, desecrating over a decade of memories with a needy, unsure passion only really held by teenagers and infidels.

Alex is so shocked with himself afterward that he stays in bed all weekend and refuses to ever sit on the couch again, like the memory of what happened there will somehow rub off on him. (Like it will tempt him.)

I don't think Jay ever mentions it again, seeing as Alex ignored him all that weekend, (despite him trying to call because he really wanted to ask Alex about all that, and maybe invite him over to make out again.) But if Alex doesn't want to talk about it, they won't. If he wants Jay to pretend it never happened, he will. Alex leads them after all, and Jay will always follow in his footsteps, always eager to be at his side, no matter how much or little Alex Kralie is left.

I think it is worth noting that, despite coming from different backgrounds, Jay and Alex both go down at the hands of the Operator. Tim and Alex practically come from the same story but they come out the other side as two opposites, while Jay and Alex they both die in the same building.

I think there is some meaning there, with how Alex and Jay are so entangled.

Alex can't kill him for so long, and Jay keeps looking for him always.

I don't know, I think about them a lot.

#Jaylex #alex kralie #jay merrick #marble hornets #ng.mh #ng.txt #ng.analysis

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m1ssunderstanding · 7 months ago

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I love how you are always bashing Jim lol bc I think the general public and fandom doesn't know that much about this part of Paul that is so essential to explain what he is like he is aksjks (ik it's because Paul himself doesn't like to talk about this). Also his struggling for money is so relatable like I get young Paul so bad, thanks for ur posts I learned this about him, keep doing the good job dear<3

lmao the thing is I agree with you. Like I get that I'm annoying and obsessive and some people are probably like "we knoooowww!" But most of the fandom doesn't, and definitely the general public does not know. Yes, this is partly because Paul compulsively does whatever the opposite of trauma dumping is. Trauma hoarding? Which even that behavior is in itself rooted in the abuse. It's also partly because Paul's messy childhood just does not fit into the typical narrative, and people's brains don't like it, so they ignore or justify it. People, especially boomers, really like "tortured soul Lennon" and "vapid popstar McCartney". But the reality is "be as loud as you can to get your needs met John Lennon" and "be as pleasant as you can to be safe Paul Mccartney". So it's really important to me that the next generation of Beatles fans knows the story and tells it correctly.

You and me are the saaaame! I actually think just like we need more women writing about the Beatles, and more queer perspectives on the Beatles, etc. we definitely need more working-class people who can look at this stuff with an understanding of the impact "not having" can have on a person. With Paul it literally seeps into so much of him that to someone who doesn't get it doesn't look like it has anything to do with money. But it absolutely does! And the thing is, a lot of them don't even get the most obvious things. Like "Paul is a tight-wad" or "Paul is a workaholic" to them are just flat statements with nothing to look at underneath them at all. And if they can't even think critically about those things, they're nowhere near understanding the complexities of things like how big a deal it is when someone like Paul is able to decide "no, fuck the critics, I'm going to make songs people like." Or how his life experiences might have made him either racist or anti racist and the conscious choice he must've made. You know. On and on.

Anyway! Lol you send me an ask on my favorite topics and I'm going to go on a bit. Akom recently said we should all write books and definitely if I was going to -- not that I have time -- it would be on one of these things. The Beatles and attachment theory or The Beatles and class. But yeah, I seriously appreciate this ask, it's very fun to hear from a like-minded person!

#thanks for the ask!#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #jim mccartney

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reaper-chan666 · 1 year ago

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Since the poll said longer posts with multiple types of Hybrid! Readers interacting with Taskforce 141, I'll start slow, and gain speed as I go. I'll start with Lioness! Reader, Bat! Reader, and go from there! I'm sorry if it seems short still!

Lioness Hybrid! Reader who doesn't like it when people assume they're weak, since they're smaller than the male Lion Hybrids, is automatically weaker. But they've never been allowed to go into the field to prove otherwise. Instead, they get placed on desk at every base, essentially becoming a glorified secretary, and it pisses them off. Over time they become irritable, then they start becoming increasingly agitated, until it gets to the point, that they're just flat out aggressive, and get traded around to different squads since people get tired of dealing with them.

Until John Price of Taskforce 141 sees their file, and decides to transfer them over to base. Immediately, all the personnel on base is put on edge. They've heard the stories of this hybrid, and they don't want to deal with that. Within a week of Lioness! Reader transferring, Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap notice that the hybrid seems agitated when they aren't put on missions or on regular training, so they have a small meeting, and decide to test out the abilities of Lioness! Reader. After Lioness! Reader is tested by doing the training regimen that Ghost follows, it's clear to the four men, that while the hybrid is smaller, they're faster and stronger than they seem, so Ghost makes it a point to read up on Lioness Hybrids, and comes up with a training regimen that will allow reader to train to their fullest potential. And it works, the hybrid quickly loses the aggressive behaviors once they start training with the four men, and soon they go on missions with the boys, getting results with brutal efficiency.

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

Bat Hybrid! Reader, who is forced into military sleep schedules, and gets sick easily because of the stress it puts on their bodies. Gaz is visiting the base that the hybrid is at, and immediately notices how bad it is, so he calls Price and explains what's going on, Price then calls Laswell, and there is an emergency transfer for the poor hybrid.

Bat! Reader is allowed to set their sleep schedule to follow their bodies needs, and it starts a discussion about meeting Hybrids needs in the military, and not always forcing them to conform to things, especially not things that will cause their bodies harm, like sleep, diet, and training.

Bat! Reader, who shows their strengths once they're recovered, being able to find things in absolute darkness, flying up to around 60 miles per hour on a regular mission, to 100 miles per hour in an emergency. Bat! Reader has an amazing sense of smell, and uses echolocation to help track targets and squad members alike, and being able to accurately differentiate who's who. But that sense of smell comes at a cost. Bat! Reader has issues with strong odors, causing the guys to get better ventilation installed in the barracks.

Bat! Reader, who likes to sleep upside down at times, so Price installs a pull up bar in their room, with a soft cushion on the ground underneath it, just in case they were to fall. They tend to get anxious alone when they're trying to fall asleep alone, so typically the guys will sit in there with them until they fall asleep, unintentionally starting a bunch of break times that forces the guys to slow down and breathe.

I ran out of ideas, it's almost 6 am and I have a migraine, I'll post more when my brain doesn't feel like mush.

Give me more Hybrid suggestions, or tell me if you want to see more Snake! Lioness! Or Bat! Readers again.

Bye!

#cod #task force 141 #reaper chan's writings #hybrid reader #FANON NOT CANON #tf 141 x reader

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mae-lou-ron · 10 months ago

Text

A Little Kindness, pt. 1

Summary: It’s been a few months since Crosshair and his family returned from Tantiss for the last time. Settling into civilian life hasn’t been easy, but one Pabu resident shows Crosshair some kindness that makes him want to try.

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader

Warnings: social anxiety/awkwardness (aka awkward budding friendship between two traumatized puppies), internal berating, grumpy soft crosshair dealing with ptsd-related stuff but nothing specific, non-descript mentions of injuries treated, fanon typical swearing.

Word Count: 2,400

A/N: thank you to everyone who read A Friend Indeed. I really enjoyed writing the brotherly dynamic between Crosshair and Wrecker in that one. It was honestly an outlet for me to process some of my own stuff, and I appreciate all the encouragement and kind comments. I’m continuing Crosshair’s journey in learning how to heal and even maybe enjoy that Pabu life a little. I’m thinking I’ll make a little anthology series of these because I’ve got a lot of Crosshair fluff cooking up in this goblin lair of a brain. Part 2 to currently underway. A song I listened to quite a bit while writing this was State of the Art by Incubus. Proofread by me.

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

Crosshair strode down the sandy path, his eyes periodically scanning the star-studded sky. He inhaled the night air, surprisingly crisp for the island now that the sun had set, giving way for the moon to rise. Its blue-tinted glow bathed the island, ushering in the evening sounds that helped quiet his overactive mind. He would often walk these paths at night, aiming for nowhere in particular, just letting his feet decide where he would go.

As he turned down the path that led to the compound of small homes shared with his family, he heard their voices spilling from open windows. They sounded upbeat and cheerful. The sing-song lilt of Omega's voice suggested someone else was there—a visitor. Crosshair inwardly cringed. Still new to civilian life, he wasn't overly fond of visitors—especially those who showed up unannounced, regardless of their self-proclaimed important reasons.

In situations like this, he couldn't help but notice how his siblings were adapting to life on Pabu much more easily than he was. People had a tendency to baffle him. But the others, Wrecker and Omega especially, seemed to really enjoy getting to know anyone and everyone. As Crosshair got closer, he recognized a voice in the mix of conversation, which nearly made him stop in his tracks.

He exhaled softly, a flush creeping up his neck. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears when he heard your laughter ring out. Why does it have to be her? The thought of walking past the compound and continuing down the hill to the beach was very tempting. He wasn't in the mood for other people right now, least of all you.

It definitely had absolutely nothing to do at all with the fact that he was always putting his foot in his mouth when you were around. You set him on edge like no one he'd met before, though not necessarily in a bad way. He quite liked you actually, but you'd probably never know it from his behavior.

Not to mention your last encounter on his walk a few nights ago. When you called to him from your porch, asking for his help with something out of your reach. He froze, thoughts swirling, and all he could manage to do was scowl despite his desire to assist. He hesitated, realizing it was a task you could likely manage yourself. But you asked, and the look in your eyes had his feet leaving the path and taking the small steps to your patio where you stood on a chair. Though you appeared steady, his hand instinctively hovered near the middle of your back. Maintaining his usual stern expression, he held the awning in place while you secured it.

You thanked him with a warm smile, and without thinking he offered you his arm as you stepped down. You accepted with another gentle smile, your hand resting lightly on his forearm, the warmth from your touch lingering even after you let go. You took a step backwards to admire your work. "That should do," you murmured before turning your attention back to him. "It might be a bit stormy tonight," you added, crossing you arms over your chest. You both glanced up at the clouds that had started filtering into the sky on the horizon. The bright moon made it easy to see them rolling across the water.

"Are you warm enough?" you asked, looking up at him and rubbing your arm as the wind picked up. "I've got some extra tunics or ponchos somewhere in here, if you'd like one… Oh, do you like tea? I just put some on…." You rambled, taking another step back towards your door, offering a welcoming smile. The breeze swirled again and carried the scent of your hair—or perhaps perfume—to Crosshair, and he felt drawn to accept your offer. Yet his apprehension rose, and his "no, thanks" came out quick and terse. He couldn't even recall if you said anything after he retreated, berating himself as he walked away. Before your house disappeared from view, he glanced back over his shoulder, only to find you'd already gone inside, leaving him with another twinge of regret.

But you were here now, and he couldn't really get to his part of their home without being at least noticed by Hunter. Kriff. He swore inwardly and steeled himself for the onslaught of attention that would be cast his way as soon as he crossed the threshold.

"Crosshair! You're back!" Omega rushed over as he appeared in the doorway. His sister beamed up at him, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining with excitement. "How was your walk?"

“It’s too close to bedtime to be getting all wound up, don’t you think?” he said to his sister and glanced at you, who was regarding him warily. Omega rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm, pulling him fully into room.

“Nope! But look what we just got!” she smiled, pointing to the table in the near center. You were there standing next to Wrecker with an amused look on your face. Crosshair scowled, gesturing to the pile of neatly folded ponchos on the table before them, one for each of them. "What do we need these for?" He chided himself mentally the moment the words made it past his lips.

"Duh, because it gets cold at night here during some parts of the rotation," Wrecker said matter-of-factly, as if it wasn't something he had just learned a few minutes ago himself. He nudged you gently with his elbow, which made you blush slightly. The exchange made Crosshair's eye twitch. What was wrong with him? He wasn't exactly proud of how your previous encounters had gone, and this one wasn't looking like it would be all that great either, but seeing you react to Wrecker like that… he liked that even less.

"It really does… I… didn't have a whole lot when I came here, but Lyanna brought me a couple of these not too long after. Total lifesaver," you beamed at Omega who was excitedly unfolding one to throw over her head. It had hues of blue and brown fibers threaded together. "They make them right here on the island. It might be a little big on you now but you'll grow into it," you grinned at the young girl as you adjusted the seams at her shoulders, letting the garment fall into place.

"I really like it," Omega smiled, giving a little twirl that made the fabric fan out around her. "Thank you," she added warmly before wrapping one of her arms around you in a half hug.

"Anytime, kiddo," you smiled down at Omega, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze before she turned to Wrecker to show him. When you looked up, Crosshair was regarding you with that severe look on his face, like it was actually causing him physical pain to be in your presence. You decided to take your leave, sensing the mood had shifted and not wanting to overstay your welcome.

"Well, I'll leave you all to it, then. I've got an early start tomorrow anyway," you said, your voice light and kind. Their words of thanks met your ears as you retreated towards the door, causing your lips to quirk up in a smile as you walked by Crosshair. However, he swore the spark he saw in your eyes when he first entered the room had dimmed a little. Good job, di'kut.

Crosshair opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but no words came, instead he just gave you a tense nod of his head before looking at the floor.

"Goodnight, everyone," you said softly before closing the door behind you with a gentle click.

“Way to kill the fun, Crosshair,” Wrecker teased after a long moment, roughing his brother’s shoulder as he walked past him into the kitchen, shooting a wink at Omega.

A heavy silence settled over the room. Without looking up, Crosshair knew Omega and Hunter were staring at him, their arms undoubtedly crossed and their faces wearing that annoyingly stern expression. Great. It meant they were about to gang up on him.

"Crosshair..." Omega said with a gentle reproach only she could get away with. He still hated it, though. "The people here are kind. She's just trying to help us feel at home. She understands what it's like, remember?”

Crosshair set his jaw, struggling to untangle the swirl of self-doubt and self-deprecation in his mind. "I know that," he said softly, fully aware that you, too, had sought refuge on Pabu to escape the Empire not all that long ago.

"I also think she likes you,” Omega whispered conspiratorially. “Like actually likes you…"

"I can't imagine why…" Hunter muttered, leaning into the doorframe. Crosshair narrowed his eyes at him in return, taking a wooden pick from his pocket and placing it delicately between his teeth. “You act like she’s a thermal detonator or something,” Hunter rumbled, smirking.

Omega rolled her eyes and glared at Hunter before turning back to Crosshair, whose expression only continued to sour the longer he was being put on the spot. "Don't listen to him," Omega insisted, but Hunter's words gnawed at the part of Crosshair's mind that had already questioned the same thing. Yet, Omega saw through his trademark scowl, regarding him with affection and gentle reproach.

Crosshair sighed, eyes softening as they returned to Omega. He still couldn't pinpoint the exact moment this kid had wrapped him around her finger, but glancing at Hunter's face, he knew his brother shared the same thought. Crosshair rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. Hunter's eyes simply darted between the two of them—no words were necessary.

After a long pause, Crosshair huffed, "Fine—I'll… go talk to her." He winced at the thought. "What do I even say?" he said to the room, his jaw tight, shoulders slumping slightly at the discomforting thought.

"Well—I think you might like her too, Crosshair…" Omega offered gently, "…so maybe start with something simple like 'thank you for the new clothes' or 'I'm sorry for being such a cold wet blanke—'" Hunter coughed to interrupt her, and his chuckling.

"Going," Crosshair held his arms up in surrender, slinking towards the door you had just exited a few moments ago.

"Cross," Hunter said as he followed him to the door, handing him a dark green one from the pile. Silent communication passed between the brothers. Crosshair eventually nodded and slipped the soft material over his head, adjusting it to drape evenly over his shoulders.

It was pretty comfortable, he had to admit.

The scents Crosshair had grown to associate with you still lingered on the fabric—warm and spicy but soft with a hint of something like chamomile. He took a deep breath, allowing it to hang on the end of his senses, pulling up fleeting images of you in his mind that gave him a strange fluttering in the pit of his stomach.

You were one of the first people here to show him genuine kindness. A series of gestures from you that had actually quite startled him at the time.

He could still recall every detail of that first encounter months ago. The landing pad on Pabu bustled with medically inclined residents and clone troopers as they returned from Tantiss. Your welcoming smile and guarded eyes greeted him as you offered your arm to help him onto an awaiting cot; he didn't take it, but you held it there nonetheless. Panic suddenly rose in his throat at losing sight of his siblings, but it subsided when he spotted Omega and Emerie tending to Wrecker nearby—who was indeed badly injured. Only after Echo lowered Hunter into the adjacent cot did Crosshair warily allow you to examine his injuries. You seemed to understand his hesitance, asked for his name, told him yours, carefully explaining each step and always seeking his permission before proceeding—a gesture that was both deeply appreciated and deeply unfamiliar to him.

Since then, he's been struggling to find a way to show his gratitude for that moment, and all of your unexpected kindness after. Every time he tried, the words caught in his throat—nothing he could think of seemed adequate enough to express it. Parsing through the complexity of his feelings often made it difficult for him to speak. He found himself caught between wanting to open up and his instinct to maintain distance. Crosshair knew he needed to find a way to bridge this gap, but he had no idea how. And the idea of being hit with any sort of rejection from you also gnawed at him.

"You look great," Omega grinned up at him, shaking him from his thoughts. Hunter gave him an encouraging clap on the shoulder before pushing Crosshair back into the crisp evening air.

The air was more comfortable now with the added layer. The gentle breeze that wove its way through the streets and staircases gently tugged on the fabric as he walked. Looking at it more closely, it was different shades of green, and like Omega's, it was woven into a pattern that blurred one color into the next. He trudged the path to your neighborhood—lost in thought, wracking his brain for what he was going to say.

But when he arrived, the house was dark—it seemed you weren’t home.

Crosshair hesitated, contemplating his options. He brought his hand to the door but decided against knocking. He considered leaving a note but dismissed the idea quickly, as he had nothing to write with. He had no idea what he'd put down anyway. With a frustrated sigh, he turned and began walking aimlessly down the winding path.

Reluctant to return home immediately, Crosshair continued to where the houses grew sparse, eventually discovering sprawling patches of wildflowers. He vaulted over a crumbling stone wall and gathered a handful of blooms in various types and colors. As he walked back, he bundled the vibrant flowers as best he could, using his teeth and a loose thread from the poncho's hem. Upon returning to your door, he gently placed the makeshift bouquet on the chair you'd climbed onto the other night.

As he took a few steps back, he could only hope this small gesture might convey his intent better than any fumbling words he could muster right now. With a quiet hum, he finally turned and walked back towards home. Maybe he'd figure out what to say by the time he saw you again.

#tbb crosshair fan fiction #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #crosshair fluff #that pabu life #mae lou ron writes #the bad batch fan fiction #clone fan fiction #star wars fan fiction #clones clones clones #the bad batch #star wars #tw in the tags

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