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vampyrsm · 2 years

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'let me make you feel good' (5.2k) shoto todoroki x female reader ft. izuku midoriya

warnings: cuckolding, izuku is the cuck, humiliation sorta for izuku, blowjob, light degrading with a lot of praise to balance it out, vaginal sex, creampie, overstim.

➼ 'kinktober 2022 masterlist'

"Sure,"

"And I promise it won't be weird—" Izuku pauses. "Wait, really?"

Shouto shrugs a little, long careful fingers flicking through a stack of paperwork. "Sure, I don't see why not. As long as she's okay with it." Mismatched eyes finally look up from his desk to the large burly green-haired man who had stopped by.

Izuku is quick to nod, curls bouncing away from his forehead. "I mean, it was her idea for it to be you. I suggested Kacchan—" he watches Shouto raise an eyebrow at that suggestion, it wouldn't have ended well. "Yeah, I know, she gave me the same look."

Relaxing into the big office chair, his legs spreading slightly as he finally takes in the blush on Izuku's face. "I never would've put you as the guy who likes to watch other people fuck his girlfriend." The reaction from Izuku is almost immediate, the man somehow blushing more furiously than before at the casual tone, and volume, of the half-and-half hero.

"Todoroki-kun!" Izuku hisses, hastily shutting the door he had left open himself. "Don't say it so loud, I don't need some sidekick overhearing that." He turns back to see Shouto with a shit-eating smirk on his face, oh, he was enjoying humiliating Izuku it seems. Still ever the pot-stirrer when it came to things that probably shouldn't be meddled with.

Shouto shrugs. "Just text me with the details whenever you both want it to happen." Shouto may look calm and relaxed on the outside, shrugging off the idea of fucking another man's girlfriend in front of them but his heart is tattooing itself against the inside of his ribcage. Hammering away in a mixture of excitement and anxiety, he'd always loved being around you when he hung out with Midoriya but to know you picked him? He just hopes he's up to your standards.

It was just over three weeks later when Shouto received a text. He figured perhaps it would be done in a hotel room or even Shouto's own place to ensure he didn't 'invade' your personal space. But the butterflies returned with renewed vigour when he received a text from you, not Midoriya, asking if he wanted to come over on Saturday night if he didn't have patrol or any important work that needed to be done. He responded almost too quickly, informing you he wasn't busy.

He neglected the fact he would cancel attending the monthly dinner his father insisted the entire family attended.

So here he stood, a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black slacks and shiny black shoes. He looked every bit the "rich boy" the media often painted him as, a man with killer looks but was often seen as 'too gentle', 'too much of a gentleman'. If only they know the real reason why he was standing with a lump in his throat before someone's front door, maybe from the outside it would just look like he was coming over for a dinner.

The door finally opened, and as expected it was Midoriya who answered the door. The usual friendly smile on his face, "Shouto, hey, come in!", Shouto tries to not notice the band of blush across Midoriya's face, and instead steps past the other pro into the warm home. His eyes immediately dart over the various items, it's a different feeling than Midoriya's own apartment. It's more homely, more welcoming, an old warmth in his chest blooms at the thought.

After toeing off his shoes, he follows Midoriya through the thin corridor before it opens up into the rest of the house. It's smaller than most but he figures that's the point, it's a humble place to live. "She's upstairs already, she figured it might be a bit weird if we both greeted you at the door." Midoriya scratches at the back of his head, clearly just as out of his depth as the Ice and Fire hero. Shouto just nods, allowing Midoriya to take the lead once again to take him up the stairs and into your bedroom.

The door opens, Midoriya stepping out of the way to stand next to the bed and Shouto is certain his heart stops for a second at the sight before him. He had never been in any situation before where he had seen you in anything less than clothing except maybe the one time he had seen you in a bikini but even then that didn't feel quite as sexual as this. The lump in his throat is back with vengeance, tightening as he continues to ogle at you openly.

His eyes start at your feet, skin nearly showing through the sheer material of the stockings you were wearing. It makes his toes curl against the thick-carpeted floor the longer his eyes glide up the glossy material until he meets the apex of your thighs, the pudge of your thighs just spilling out over the top of the tight material has him salivating. Nothing has quite looked as biteable as your thighs. He follows along the suspender belt holding up the stockings, eyes briefly grazing over the thin piece of material hiding away the very thing he would be buried inside of at some point tonight. But before he could eye the rest of what you were wearing, Midoriya speaks.

"Angel, why don't you stand up and show Shouto what a pretty girl you are, hm? Got all dressed up for him and everything." Shouto finally looks at your face, the bashful look on your face is adorable he thinks. You look just as shy as he feels but you do what you're told. Sliding off of the bed until you're stood not too far from the man himself, he has to tilt his head down to look at you properly and for some reason, the size difference has something stirring in his stomach.

He does his best to slow his heart, to stop the butterflies from bursting from his chest at the way you look at him through your eyelashes before you do a slow spin for him. He thinks he can hear Midoriya groan over the blood pounding in his ears when his eyes instantly dart down to the ample amount of skin on display when you give your back to him. He was right about the thin material of your panties, but this was much more than what he imagined. The thong was doing nothing to hide anything from behind, the string buried deep between your asscheeks and something in the back of his mind tells him he wants to definitely have you on your hands and knees at some point tonight.

When you finally turn around again, he has to clear his throat and look away. The heat on his face must be obvious because you laugh, not a condescending one but one that's more like bells chiming. "I hope you like it, Todoroki-kun." He tries not to think too much about the honorific, clearing his throat again.

"You can just call me Shouto, just sounds like Midoriya is the one trying to seduce me when you use that name." This time you do laugh, genuinely and his eyes snap back to your own, just for his hands to grow a little bit more sweaty and the racing in his heart to pick back up. You looked beautiful.

"Sorry, of course, Shouto." you smile, half turning back to look at your boyfriend who is smiling himself, before Midoriya switches his gaze away from you and onto Shouto.

Shouto shuffles a little on his feet, trying to give himself a little more breathing room in his pants before he speaks. "Uh, are there any rules? What's on the table and what's not?"

You step aside, letting Midoriya speak whilst you seem to busy yourself off to the side somewhere and it's taking the years of hero work for him to keep his eyes on Midoriya and not you, as you bend over to grab something off of the floor. "Uh, well, we did talk about it and there're not too many rules, I guess. She said it's a hard no on things like piss, scat, that sort of thing..." Midoriya has to look down at his feet, this conversation was clearly neither of them had ever seen happening in their lives.

"And for me, I may have taken some quirk cancelling cuffs from the agency—"

The two heroes glance over to the sound of giggling, Shouto's eyes shamelessly roaming over the front of your lingerie set. It's a beautiful red shade, and the colour choice is definitely not lost on him. "Sorry, you both just look adorable blushing over it like two school girls." Your eyes meet his own when his lips lift into a gentle smile, he can't help but be thankful you're at ease with the idea. He worried that maybe Midoriya had pushed this kink onto you but you seem just as relaxed and at home with both men just feet away from you whilst you were in nothing but underwear.

Finally, you come back over, stepping past Shouto and towards Midoriya who follows your own steps backwards until his knees are forced to bend when he hits the futon. Shouto can't help but watch the expression on Midoriyas face, he was so enraptured by you even as he offered up his wrists, allowing you to click on the metal and strip him of his quirk. "Love you," you murmur before pressing a gentle kiss to Izuku's lips, smiling at the obvious heart eyes the green-haired man was giving back.

And then suddenly, all the attention was back on Shouto as you turned around to face him. The space between the both of you seems to dwindle in a matter of seconds, and he can now smell the sweet perfume you have on — it's making his head feel fuzzy and eyes lower until he's giving the exact same look back; the look of absolute desire. The warmth of your hand on his chest has him jolting, body strung high and muscles were drawn tight as he watches the way your fingers delicately dance over his shirt until you reach the buttons on his shirt.

"We know all about my rules but what about yours, Shouto? What do you want from this?" your voice sounds like honey, his brain struggling to wade through it when all of his attention is locked onto the way your hands are now moving to undo his buttons, the brief brush of your bare skin on his has his body flaring in heat and toes curling again.

He somehow manages to gain power over his tongue again, eyes however still unable to break away from your now roaming hands as they brushed over his pectoral muscles. "I'm not sure," he admits and his heart flutters when your eyes met his, a little wide and almost shocked? "I mean, I don't know if I have any rules. I'm just here for you, and making you feel good." His admission even has him stumped, was that the truth? Was he really just here for you?

Yes. His mind supplies, he is most definitely here for you.

You swallow thickly, the subtle squeezing of your thighs not going unmissed by the man who was watching you like a hawk. Shouto figures that you're probably more used to Midoriya taking control in the bedroom, so his hands raise finally from the place they were frozen at. Both hands cupping either side of your head delicately, tilting you up to look at him and he can't stop himself from leaning in, a gentle "You look beautiful," passing by his lips before they're pressing into your own.

He feels your fingers curl against the undone material of his shirt, pulling on it gently to press the entirety of your upper body against his abdomen and chest, the warmth of the skin-on-skin contact having him suck in a harsh breath through his nose. Faintly he can hear Midoriya groan, a thump of what must be his head hitting the wall whilst Shouto opens your mouth carefully with his own, letting his tongue test the waters by brushing against your own. You're so receptive to his advances, letting him take control of the situation entirely and just becoming complete putty in the palm of his hands when his tongue drags along the roof of your mouth, flicking against the back of your teeth before he's diving back in for more.

Something clicks in Shouto's mind, something deep and primal telling him to consume you whole. That he can't rest until he has you shaking and sobbing beneath him whilst he bullies his way through your walls. The thought has his cock twitching between the tight constraints of his slacks, so he takes action. He keeps the hold on your head, lips still attached to your own as he carefully manoeuvres you around until you're forced to pull away from the kiss before falling onto your back on the bed.

It's sinful, the way you're looking up at him, propped up on your elbows and chest heaving in shaky breaths. He feels powerful, too powerful, as he stands over you. Your eyes don't leave him as he starts to peel off the shirt, tossing it onto the floor to be forgotten about for now before his hands are on the black leather belt at his waist, deft fingers undoing and ripping it free from his trousers with a quick snap that has you jumping in place. Just as his hands move to undo the button, he watches you hastily sit up and place your hands against his thighs. A raised eyebrow asks you a silent question.

"Let me," your hands smooth over the expanse of his thighs, feeling the muscle tense the further you slide up. "Please? Wanna make you feel good first." How could he say no with the way you're looking up at him and steadily pushing him back enough to make room between him and the bed so you can kneel in front of him. His eyes flutter at the release of pressure when you undo the button and the fly of his slacks. The tip of your nose drags along the bulge in his boxers, nuzzling into it as your hands continue to stroke up and up along his deep-set v-line, fingers dancing over his abdominal muscles and down through the mixture of red and white hair.

The groan comes from somewhere deep in his chest when your soft warm hand reaches back down to his boxers, easily pulling him free and the air feels cold against the sticky tip of his cock making him twitch as you stare at him with no shame. The warmth of your breath has his hands moving up into your hair, brushing it away from your face just in time for you to flick your eyes up at him. He would've believed it were just the two of you if it weren't for the shift of something off to the side and just as Shouto glances to the side, it's like he's been punched in the gut.

The warmth of your mouth around the tip of his cock has him flinching, fingers digging into the scalp of your head and when he looks back down at you, you have the audacity to smile up at him as if you knew exactly what you were doing. Your tongue swirled around the leaky tip, lapping up every drop of pre that he couldn't seem to stop drooling before you took ahold of him at the base, holding him in place as you slowly tortured him with your tongue. The pressure of the tip of your tongue dragging along the prominent vein had his head spinning and he expected you to retrace the path you drew with your tongue, so when you slipped down enough to draw his balls into his mouth he moaned, pretty lips parting to let the noises free unabashedly.

Finally, you returned back to the tip of his cock, angling yourself just so that you could spit against the tip, gentle fingers stroking him up and down to spread it fully all the whilst you were staring up at him, eyes blown wide and he imagines he's mirroring the exact expression on your face. He watched as you leaned closer, not once breaking the eye contact as your lips parted to let his cock slip deeper into your mouth, tongue wiggling to accommodate his length.

"Oh, fuck," Midoriya moans off to the side, and Shouto does glance over this time without the fear of being caught off-guard. Izuku seems to be in no better shape than himself, his hands desperately trying to grab at himself through his loose basketball shorts despite being restrained by the cuffs. "Hah, she's too good with her mouth."

Shouto can't dispute that, the way your tongue is welcoming him further and further into your throat has his quirk threatening to misfire, his toes curling desperately into the carpet every time you gag and pull back. He sweeps his hands through your hair again, gathering it the best he can to hold it out of your way at the back of your head and he angles his body back so Izuku had a good view of what his girlfriend was doing to him, how her throat constricted and how her cheeks were streaked with tears every time she tried to take the entirety of his cock down her throat.

But he wasn't here just to be sucked off, the reminder of the hot coil tightening in his stomach being enough for him to pull on your hair to get you to release him from your mouth. The string of saliva is lewd, downright dirty as it snaps and sticks to your chin, dripping down onto the top of your breasts. His hand automatically comes down to the base of his cock, squeezing as hard as he can to stave off the need to cum on your face right there and then.

"On the bed, beautiful." he smiles at you, and you're quick to stand up and wipe off the excess saliva from your face before you're clambering onto the bed. He watches you kneel there for a second, unsure of what position he wants you in until he speaks again. "Hands and knees, let me see that pretty ass of yours." He loves how obedient you are, immediately moving to get on your hands and knees, arching your back just enough to present everything to him in a beautiful lace package.

He edges closer to the edge of the bed, his hands unable to stop themselves from reaching out to slide along the exposed skin of your hips and down to your ass. For once he was thankful for having big hands, stretching his fingers as much as he could to grab handfuls of your ass to watch the fat pool between his fingers before releasing it to watch it jiggle back into place. His hands slip back down over the curve of your ass, thumbs tucking against the top of your thighs to spread you open for his greedy eyes despite the material of your panties still being there.

If you could even call them panties that is, he watched the way your pussy swallowed the material until it was rubbing just right against you when you swayed your hips in his grip. "So wet already," his voice is low, dripping with needy lust when he focuses on the glisten of your lower lips. He can't help but lean in, mouthing at the exposed skin as well as the black lace that had been pushed deeper against you. You moan, finally, loud at the pressure of his nose pressing against your clenching hole whilst his tongue lapped against your sticky arousal. It was filthy, the way he was lapping at you like a man who hadn't had a sip of water in weeks but you tasted so good. So sweet. He wanted to drink at the oasis between your legs for eternity.

God, he wants you so fucking bad and every second where he isn't buried inside of you is agonising. How did he not know Midoriya was into this earlier? How many times had he missed out on being buried inside of you for the sake of his best friend's dirty perversion? He can't help but feel the need to make up for "lost time". So he pulls back, much to your whine at the loss of pressure and warmth against your clothed pussy but that's quickly forgotten about when his fingers unclip the clasps of your suspended belt before tugging down your thong. He helps you out of it until the sodden lace is forgotten about with his shirt on the floor.

The bed dips when he kneels behind you, and it must be an instinct for you to drop to your elbows and raise your hips up for him, the arch in your back well trained. It has his cock twitching against his stomach, abs tensing when he nears close enough that he can feel the warmth between your legs against the length of his dick. His hands spread against your ass again, spreading you open for his eyes whilst he rolls his hips back and forth. The sticky squelching sound is obscene when his cock rubs up and down your slit, and he isn't even inside of you yet. Did it turn you on just as much to be fucked by another man?

He looks up from the space between your legs just to catch your eyes looking at him over your shoulder, your hair was a mess and the look you were giving him was pleading. Your hips bucked impatiently backwards when he caught your clit again against the tip of his cock before he's angling himself with the help of his hand, the head catching against your entrance. This time he watches the way your mouth opens, the sweetest of moans dripping from plump lips as he inches deeper and deeper.

"Oh, fuck, shit." Shouto groans, eyebrows furrowing whilst he watches every last inch disappear deeper and deeper inside of you until his hips were flush with your ass. He can feel everything with how tight you're wrapped around him, the way you squeeze and flutter when his cock twitches with the need to cum. "Stop squeezing so much princess, 'm not gonna last..." he sounds breathless, mostly because he is. It feels like he's run a mile, all his muscles drawn tight and a trigger away from failing to satisfy you.

"Sho..." you give him a minute to recuperate, to let him get used to the tight wet heat wrapped around him until you impatiently wiggle your hips enough to elicit a low groan from the man. "Fuck me, please, Shouto."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

He gives an experimental roll of his hips, stomach flipping at the way you squeeze at him again when his hips bump back against your ass. His hands find their way to your hips, flexing his fingers until he has a firm grip against you and you seem to know what's coming as you lower yourself down until the side of your face is pressed into the bed sheets.

And then he isn't holding back, the rhythmic pat, pat, pat of his thighs hitting your own is loud. The low moans coming from his left is enough to know that he's definitely fulfilling his best friends request but also your own with the way you're babbling nonsense, talking about how his cock is so big, "Feel so full, 's too much," and he briefly wonders if you're just talking him up in front of your boyfriend. Was that a part of the kink? To degrade your partner because you had to get another man to please you? He blinks a little at the realisation, earning himself a peek over to see how Midoriya was holding up in the whole situation.

And it's no surprise to see he had somehow managed to wrangle himself out of his shorts, big hands struggling to stroke himself properly with the restraints on his wrists but he doesn't seem deterred in the way he's stroking himself, moaning when you speak dirty about how good Shouto feels. The tiny devil on Shouto's shoulder tells him to engage in this, to see just how far he could push Midoriya whilst balls deep inside of the other man's girlfriend.

With a new goal in mind, Shouto leans his body over your own and hooks a large hand around your throat to pull you up into an awkward arch. You're looking up at him through your eyelashes, lips parted in a silent moan at the new angle he's forcing you to take his cock in. "Is it really too much for you? Your boyfriend not big enough to satisfy a pretty slut like you?" he watches the way your pupils expand, swallowing the beautiful shade of your iris whole. Seems he hit the nail on the head too with Midoriya who grunts, a loud thump of what must be his head on the wall but Shouto can't take his eyes away from you.

"Why don't you show your boyfriend what a good little slut you are, and ride me?" It's a rhetorical question you realise as he pulls out, the cool air of the room sticking to the sticky slick coating his cock whilst he moves around you to lay on the bed, angling himself so Midoriya would have the perfect view of just what he wants. You move to straddle him before he holds up a hand and uses his index finger to indicate for you to face the opposite way—to face your boyfriend.

His hands find their place back on your hips when you settle over him, hand wrapping around the length of his cock before you're guiding him back deep inside of him with a pretty moan. He does wish he could see your face, to see just how good he's making you feel on your cock but this angle, the way you're leaning back to press your hands against his chest, has him seeing stars. And clearly, it must be doing the same for you, it feels like he's drowning in just how wet you are when you lower yourself down and raise back up to reveal a creamy ring at the base of his cock.

"You look so sexy, angel," Midoriya comments from somewhere Shouto can't see, but he can hear the way his hand speeds up at the new view Shouto has given him. "Takin' him so well, look at you."

His words seem to inject more adrenaline into your veins as you start to bounce up and down a little faster, but he can feel the way you're starting to falter, the way your feet keep slipping against the sheets so Shouto lets his hero stamina take over, gripping your waist hard before he's bucking his hips up hard enough to plant his feet hard on the bed. Then he's fucking up into you, pounding at a pace that has you nearly screaming, head lolling back as he continues to bully the tip of his cock against the one spot that has you twitching, thighs tensing and jumping each time he hits it.

And he knows it too, Shouto knows you're close, so he doesn't stop. Keeps the brutal pace that has even his thighs burning, and his balls drawing up tight as he throws both you and himself over the edge of the orgasm that he had been holding back from the very second you pulled him into your mouth. The way your walls milk him has his head dropping back, bi-coloured hair falling away from his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling trying to suck in a breath deep enough to steady himself. But he can't, not with the way you remain sat atop of him even when his legs relax back down onto the bed.

Especially not when you lean forward, hands planting against his thighs and you fucking grind against him. The whine in Shouto's throat is unsuspecting, catching himself off guard but you don't seem deterred, if anything you're moving with a little more vigour in your hips as you raise up, just enough for him to watch the way his cum spills out from your still clenching pussy and dripping down the length of his cock before you drop down again.

"Fuck, wait," his hands try to push against your hips to get you to stop, to just let his sensitive dick relax but you're not listening, rolling your hips back and forth perfectly and he can feel his cock twitch again, another hot stream of cum painting your walls. His toes curl painfully, every muscle in his body unable to relax as you continue to milk him for all he's worth, to have every drop of his seed buried deep inside of you. Shouto knows he could easily push you off, but he can't find that strength to stop you—in truth, it feels too fucking good.

"'m gonna cum," he hears you moan, but he can't see past the stars behind his eyes, can't really hear much over the sound of the blood in his veins running a hundred miles per hour. This time your orgasm is much faster, squeezing and clamping down on his cock which has the man jolting, fucking himself deeper into you despite the ache in his balls and the prickly pain of overstimulation that is making him feel lightheaded. He lets you ride out your orgasm until finally, finally, you roll off of him and onto the bed next to him.

For the first time in what must be ten minutes, he can finally breathe, taking in greedy breaths and letting his head fall to the side to watch you. You're in no better shape, sweaty and taking in uneven breaths. So he reaches over, cupping a hand on the back of your neck and he watches the relief hit you almost instantly, the coolness eliciting a gentle shudder down your spine. He's about to speak before he hears someone clear their throat, and he lifts his head enough to look over the mess of his own body to see Midoriya is in a bad state.

The man had came all over himself, reaching as far as his collarbone and his face was glistening with sweat. He was beet red, eyes unfocused as he continued to stare at the two of you on the bed. "Fuck, I," he clears his throat again with a gentle laugh. "We have to do that again sometime, can't tell you how fucking hot that was."

And Shouto looks over to you, to see your response but you're already looking at him with a gentle smile, a tired look in your eyes. "Only if you want to," you say, and you cringe a little at the way your voice is hoarse.

"Of course," he relaxes into the bed again. "Maybe next time Midoriya can join me."

➼ 'kinktober 2022 masterlist' disclaimer: i would totally fuck katsuki if izuku asked me to lol, dont need to tell me twice

#shoto todoroki x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku smut #shoto todoroki smut #todoroki smut #midoriya smut #bnha smut #shoto todoroki oneshot #midoriya oneshot #bnha oneshots #mha smut #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #vampyrsm kinktober 2022

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iratetourist · 2 years

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after school only // eddie munson x reader

summary: this was definitely not what ms. o’donnell had in mind when she asked you to tutor eddie munson… aka you and eddie get up to it in his van

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: medium-length? (written on phone, unsure)

warnings: explicit smut (18+), cutesy stuff at the end

author’s note: i, too, had to jump on the eddie n’ a cheerleader trope!!

———————

It was routine at this point.

The sidelong glances in the cafeteria, the knowing smiles in class, the gentle brush of fingertips against any exposed skin in the hallway, that dizzying rush of anticipation and flush of need as the school day neared its end and the promise of what to come beckoned you half-giddy across the parking lot.

It was no different today, beyond the fact you were in a bit of a rush. But like hell you were going to give up the opportunity, even if you were going to have to be quicker about it than usual.

All the more so considering it had been nearly two weeks since the last time, separate, personal reasons and commitments having taken up all chances to meet, even in the most casual way that you normally did.

Needless to say, you were wound up more than usual, and were more than a little annoyed at yourself for how damn near desperate you were for him in that moment.

…How the hell did tutoring Eddie Munson turn into you, straight-laced, straight-A cheerleader Y/N L/N, practically lusting after him with every spare thought?

The arrangement had started out innocent enough - every Tuesday and Thursday after school, for an hour or two, you would tutor the metalhead for Ms. O’Donnell, who had essentially begged you, which you assumed was due to the fact she would probably rather quit and move to Antarctica than deal with Eddie Munson for another school year.

She had not-very-subtly bribed you with the promise of no more assignments or tests, which any student who loved their free time and was already acing the class would jump on. So that was that, you were meant to help Eddie Munson at least pity-pass biology.

And yet the entire thing had devolved into… whatever this thing was between you two. You couldn’t rightly apply a label to it - it was all a bizarre mix of legitimate studying, chill hanging out, getting high, and fucking each other randomly.

You weren’t exactly friends - it was an after school thing only, and neither of you were really willing to endure the social repercussions of openly being around each other outside of this - but you could hardly say he was bad company… you were having sex with him every other day of the week for a reason, and if pushed to admit it, you could reluctantly confess that it was as simple as he made you relax and laugh.

He was happy to take it all at face value and not push your boundaries, to help ease the everyday stress and boredom in your life, and you were grateful for that - hell, him. Though you were meant to be the one instructing him, Eddie Munson had somehow gone about teaching you yourself that, perhaps, you weren’t quite as hard-assed as you thought… among other things, of course. Who knew you could be that loud when he… well.

Sometimes you felt bad, that you were using him, but it’s not like he wasn’t benefitting from the situation himself - while he was an absolute pain in the ass to study with, he was far from stupid, just generally disinterested and attention deficit to the point of it being borderline comedic. But it turned out that your extracurricular activities were more than enough of a motivator for him to maintain a slightly-better-than-expected grade in the class, so it was a technical win/win for everyone involved.

Yes, you decided: that’s still all it was - a mutually beneficial situation.

You repeated this to yourself as you finally rushed your way out of the school and beelined towards his van on the other side of the half-abandoned parking lot. It was intentionally parked farther away, nestled into a little junction, facing the woods that surrounded the property - it gave you a little more privacy, something both you and Eddie preferred.

For the briefest of seconds, you couldn’t see him, and disappointment and irritation welled up in you, but then there he was - back leaning against the front of the van, his arms crossed and his eyes closed as he waited for you. He was humming some tune you didn’t recognize, and your stomach did the most unsubtle of flips at the sight of him.

Yes, it was definitely, definitely just a mutually beneficial situation, and no, you definitely, definitely did not have a crush on him.

Hearing you approach, Eddie stood and gave you that slow, boyish smile he always did and there it was, your heart beating wildly in your chest for more reasons than the fact that you were about to fuck him.

Okay, so maybe there was the slightest, tiniest of crushes there… but he didn’t need to know that, and you weren’t there to analyze that right now.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice had a lilt to it, a pleased edge, a fondness meant only for you, and the nickname only served to further wind you up. “Been a while, eh?”

Whereas he held himself casually, loosely, hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders relaxed, you were strung like a spring, tense and aching, and before you knew what you were doing, you were launching yourself at him.

Your fingers gripped his jean vest tightly, and you heard him make a noise of a surprise at your sudden movement, which turned in a hiss of pain as his head collided with the door of his van. For a second you felt bad, but he recovered just as quickly, his mouth forming a smile against your lips and a hum of approval leaving his throat.

He was all hands then, rough and roaming, pressing you to him as close as possible, as if trying to recommit to memory the shape of you. The coolness of his rings brushing the back of your thighs caused you temporarily pull away and shudder, and he happily took the opportunity to angle his mouth more deeply against yours, tongue a warm, distracting contrast to the previous sensation.

You were delightfully lightheaded by the time you parted, your lungs feeling like they were about to burst and your mind swimming with nothing but him. Eddie took advantage of your daze, leaning in to press another languid kiss to your mouth before dragging his lips across your cheek to your ear, voice quiet but husky.

“Miss me?”

You could feel the smirk - among other things - pressed to you, and were about to respond with your own cheeky little retort when he dipped his head lower and nuzzled his nose against your neck, soft kisses ghosting across its hollow and your collarbone. Your heart leapt at the unexpected affection, and despite yourself, you sighed, unknotting a hand from his vest to snake around his shoulders, holding him ever-closer to you.

“Eddie…”

It was after a few long, lovely moments that your eyes fluttered open and just happened to skim by the watch on your wrist, the minute switching as you did. And just like that, you were shaken out of your blissful little world, and the arm around his neck tightened and you gripped his hair none-too-lightly, craning his head back.

“Mm, not that I mind that, but what’s up?” His eyes were half-lidded, amusement playing behind them, lips quirked and reddened, and dammit, he looked so cute—

But you were on a mission, and weren’t about to let emotions, of all things, get in the way of getting your shit wrecked.

…Probably.

“We’ve got ten minutes, fifteen tops,” you breathed, very unsubtly sliding your hand down from his shoulders to his belt, fiddling with the buckle impatiently, fingertips gliding beneath the hem of his jeans and tickling his happy trail. “Got that homecoming game tonight, coach wants us to get one more practice in—“

His lips crashing into yours cut you off, his kiss markedly more fervent than before. He manoeuvred so that you were now pressed against his van door, and then his hands, which had continued to tease at the back of your sensitive thighs, travelled up, cupping your ass and hoisting you upwards. You complied, legs hooked high and spread wide to push his arousal directly to your core, the heat of the contact and friction of the fabric causing a moan to leave you and your mind to frazzle. Eddie rolled his hips to yours, a choked groan sounding from deep within his chest, before he spoke again.

“I can make that work.”

You were locked at the lips again in a second, a flurry of hands doing a dozen different things at once. Both of yours had flown to his belt again, making quick, practiced work of removing it, while Eddie half-held you, pinned at your centre, half-leaned over to wrench open his passenger seat door. Before he could tug you towards the seat, you had his jeans unzipped and a palm on his length, rubbing at it slow, hard, the warmth making you that much more desperate.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he exhaled, ragged and hoarse, body going rigid as he faltered, forehead falling against yours.

“I think maybe you missed me,” you smiled, and his eyes met yours, dark and intense. You maintained the contact as you stroked your thumb up and over that clothed, wet tip, and grinned at the eager, aggressive rut of his hips and the filthy, pathetic noise that left his lips.

“Wanted you so bad, all fuckin’ week—“ He had no braincells left to come up with slick comebacks, only pure neediness dripping at his tongue, guiding him forth. “—o-only thing on my mind, how—“

“How?” Your voice was low, a playfully innocent tone to it, as you finally dipped your fingertips below his waistband. It took everything in you not to shove it aside all in one go, your mouth going dry and your lower belly aching at the tickle of hair against your palm and then hot, hot skin, but the teasing was too good to pass up, even on a time limit - you could never not revel in the way he gasped at your featherlight touch, how his hips bucked, the way his eyes rolled back and screwed shut. One thing you had most definitely learned throughout this whole ordeal was that Eddie quite liked being damn near tormented, and that you quite enjoyed being the one at the helm of that.

“—how you were gonna fuck me - how I was gonna be completely at your— ah, your mercy, sweetheart,” he finally murmured, straining forward to kiss you, but you turned away with a soft chuckle, eyeing the slightly ajar passenger side door, your intent clear. He made a noise of half-joking frustration at the denial, blowing his bangs out of his eyes, before complying, preemptively tugging his underwear and pants down further and discarding his jacket and vest before planting himself in the seat.

The loss of heat spurred you back to him almost immediately, and you climbed up and onto his lap without missing a beat, door slammed securely shut behind you.

“Well, who am I to deny you that?” you whispered, hands straying from his cock to grip his chin, wagging it back and forth and smirking as he lifted his hips to try to connect with you again. You leaned back with a laugh, deliberately squeezing your legs around him, but quickly he had one hand stroking up your thigh and under your skirt, while the other rifled absentmindedly at his side.

“Tick, tock,” he whispered back, dragging his nose against the line of your jaw, “time to get these off.” His fingers brushed higher and higher, searching for the the fabric of your underwear, before his eyes snapped to yours in realization, tongue darting past his lips. “…Oh.”

“Like I said,” you shrugged, smiling, bracing your arms around his neck, “limited time, had to be… prepared.”

You were acutely aware of how close he was to you, and you wanted so badly to just slide down on to him right then and there, but just barely resisted it, instead lolling your eyes to the right, where his hand held what it had been attempting retrieve. “Same as you.”

“Mm…” He hummed before ripping open the condom wrapper, tossing it aside and positioning himself to roll it on. “Efficiency is my middle name.”

“Ed… ward? -win? -mund? Efficiency Munson. Rolls off the tongue like a dream.” You watched, heavy-lidded, as he finally began to fit the condom on, before instinctively reaching down to do it for him, earning a twitch of his length and an appreciative groan at the gentle caress of your fingers upwards as you finished.

“Not the only thing that rolls off your tongue… or mine,” he snorted, unable to pass up the chance to quip even as he had to bite his lip to keep his composure - hell, he did it to keep that composure - and you rolled your eyes, sitting back and giving him a good, long look.

Hair mussed and cheeks flushed, he smiled that irresistible goddamn grin at you and trailed his hands up your sides before reluctantly removing them and holding them up in mock innocence. “I’m all yours, princess.”

“Oh, I know.” The statement was sure, possessive, and a thrill ran through him at it, straight to the length throbbing against your thigh. His breath hitched as you drew a hand up his abdomen, over the planes of his chest and collarbone, and to his throat, firmly running a thumb across his Adam’s apple. He swallowed, and you felt it bob, and finally pressed your hips forwards to his, sighing as you sunk down.

He was capturing yours lips instantaneously, a clumsy collision of mouths and teeth, a throaty groan of his own intermixing with your borderline heavenly moan - he was sure he would never get enough of it, the way you sounded with him, for him.

One of his hands bunched in your skirt while the other fell to your waist, pulling you flush to him, and deep as he could be within you, the head of his cock hitting that all-too-wound-up spot in a way that drove your hips forward abruptly, automatically, walls clenching deliciously with a rough, frenzied grind that had him letting out a choked half-laugh, half-gasp.

“Jesus, fuck me,” he rasped, flinging his head back against the headrest to stare, starry-eyed, at the top of his van.

“I mean, I’m trying…” With not a second to lose, you began to rock against him, slow and steady as you went, savouring that feeling of him filling you, the warmth of his whole presence - all that you had craved for days upon days now.

Heart hammering - was it yours or his? - he watched you for a few long moments, the way you bit your lip to keep from being too loud, how you readjusted just a bit and tilted your hips at the slightest different angle and couldn’t help the sudden soft noise, his name, that came from you. His eyes took in where you two connected, over and over again, the way his length spread you, the slickness gliding around him, and he nodded weakly, drawing his face to the crook of your neck, whispering a kiss to the skin he wanted nothing more than to litter with bruises - he settled for sucking, hanging on until the moment just before his lips might leave a mark, kisses upon kisses.

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart… that’s what I need…”

Eddie quickly made to meet you thrust for thrust, trying to time the wave of his hips to the crash of yours, the tightening in your gut, dizzying and intoxicating, growing all the more each time you met, wilder and faster with each movement.

He became grabbier, hand clutching the curve of your ass and fingers digging in, the other running across the just-exposed skin of your midriff. That touch, just below your navel, had your stomach fluttering - so close to the apex, to that coiling sensation, deep and coming together and undone only for him - but instead of travelling lower, he palmed the stiff, starched fabric of your uniform, over a breast, a neglected but sorely-wanting peak, and an approving keen left you.

“Oh my God, Eddie, I—“

“Wouldn’t do to ignore these.” He gave you a long smile, grazing a thumb across your nipple again to yet another appreciative gasp. It was almost painful, how the rough fabric dragged against them, but it all melted back into that pool of pleasure at the base of your spine, the dip of your belly. Your hips stuttered a few times as he played, his own chasing your forwards to beckon back to that familiar heat, that glorious rhythm.

In a second, all he wanted to do was kiss you, hold you, and he sat forward abruptly, melding his mouth to yours as a hand splayed up your spine and the other fell to grip beneath your thigh, crowding you against the dashboard, back to the windshield. You were half-hovering, drowning in his demanding, heady kiss, all coaxing and relentless tongue, and he took every advantage from his position he could - pounding upwards, relishing in how you squirmed and squeaked, the way your knees locked around his legs every time he hit within you, how utterly fucking lost he was in you—

“Eddie, Eddie, I’m so— fuck…”

Your mouth broke from his with a moan as he finally brought his fingers to your core, pressing a punishing digit to your clit, over and over and over. You saw white and felt pin pricks across your lower back, the coiling in your belly reaching its breaking point, and you unravelled, fucking him half-stupid as your body tensed and rode every crest of pure aching pleasure that washed over it.

“You sound so goddamn good, coming for me… You’re so fucking gorgeous, all I need—“

You were breathless yet breathy, his name, faint and wrecked, pressed from your lips to his as you clumsily tried to kiss him, hands in his hair, his shirt, fumbling for the closest purchase you could between every noise you made. He watched, listened, and felt his own release so close, so tempting to just blindly barrel towards, but he slowed his pace, instead taking to just admiring the way you had came apart around him, for him.

You were collapsed against him, sweaty temple pressed to his hair, hanging onto those last shreds of mind-shattering bliss, to the consistent, slow momentum he still maintained, edging himself to hold on just that much longer - he needed to be close, close, close as he could for as long as you’d let him.

A few lasting moments passed where you basked in the glow, in how he turned and placed a soft kiss just above your eye and then held that contact, something more than just naked desire sparkling in those brown depths. You felt warm all over from more than just the way he had fucked you, and a swoop of your stomach at this both delighted and terrified you, propelling you forwards to press him back into the seat.

He let out a hoarse laugh at your newfound burst of energy, but the sound broke into a string of swearing as you set to a rough, feverish roll of your hips, propped up slightly by your shoe mounted to the seat. As he had before to you, you brushed a hand up his thigh, strained and tense, and he shivered, fidgeted, a flighty moan escaping his lips, knowing all too well he was now the sensitive one, teetering on that edge so very, very precariously.

You continued to mercilessly grind down on him for a few seconds, before an idea struck you and you were reaching down to the side of the seat. He gave you a momentary look, dark and dazed, before he felt himself suddenly sprawling back. When he recovered enough to realize what had happened, you were lording over him with a smirk, content now to take your own advantage at the change of angle.

He huffed an amused, disbelieving sound, blowing his bangs out of his face and grinning like an idiot. He went to reach for your hips, but you shook your head slowly before nodding back at him.

“Behind the headrest,” you directed, and he swallowed, eagerly doing as told, barely resisting the urge to buck upwards, to return to the delicious friction you had patently stopped. When he had locked a hand around his wrist to keep them firmly in place, you gave him a teasing little hum, tongue trailing your lips and fingertips lightly dancing over his happy trail and just beneath his shirt, across the soft contours of stomach but no higher. “Good boy.”

Straight to his heart, straight to his arousal - you could very clearly feel the impact of your words, how he twitched within you, how your body responded in kind. You were aching for him, but him all the more for you.

“Fuck me something fierce, sweetheart.” He had something of an arrogant smirk on, and he tried to move his hips again, just the slightest bit, but you just pinned him, cock still buried deep, and he groaned, guttural and low, bravado falling away and a plea like a song lingering on his lips. “Please, God, fuck me, Y/N, it’s been too long, I can’t— Just, just… Please.”

“Well…” You pretended to consider, euphoria in your chest at his agonized, desperate expression. “I suppose you’ve earned it.”

Pure liquid pride pulsed through you as you drew your hand up his torso and to his throat, placing your fingers firmly around it, giving an experimental squeeze. He gave you a look as if daring you to press harder, and you heeded it, revelling in the way his whole body went taut, at the half-strangled noise that left him.

Finally, you recommenced your lower teasing, an aggravatingly slow rhythm of your hips coupled with the gentle tightening of your hand around his neck, pressing higher, a featherlight caress of your thumb along its column, the sounds leaving him reverberating up your arm. His own arms, still held obediently behind the headrest, flexed and trembled as he barely, barely resisted reaching out to you, but the adoring look you gave him kept him in place, pliant and entranced.

“I swear to God, you were put on this earth to drive me completely insane,” he breathed, voice breaking.

The spiral of control slipping from him was maddeningly intoxicating to watch, all the more that you knew you were solely the source of it. His eyelashes were splayed over his cheeks, eyes half-lidded, stormy and blown, his face dusted a warm pink, lips parted, tongue poking out the side to wet them… the way he responded to the lightest of touches, the softest of words…

You could feel that ever-building mountain in your gut again, but decided to focus only on him, on his release, riding him faster, harder, thumbing a soothing circle across his Adam’s apple, and whispering, “All yours, Eddie Munson, so fuck me like you mean it, too.”

Permission granted, his arms flew up to grab you, pulling you down to him, and he gratefully arched up into you, rutting frantically, kisses sloppy and sultry. Nothing but the sound of slapping skin could be heard for several long moments, before Eddie clutched to you for dear life, breaking from your lips to rest his forehead to yours, eyes locked - he was obsessed with the intimacy of it, you had learned, and your stomach flipped for the umpteenth time at the implication - as he finally came, chest to chest, hearts thundering, groan at the tip of his tongue.

You could partially feel the warmth of him in you, blocked only by the thin sheath of the condom, and with a start you realized how strongly you wished you could have been filled with it, directly, completely, no barriers to prevent the flood.

Risking a look down at him, he gave you a very spent, very satisfied smile, and your heart ached as it hit you - you wanted him, all of him, this but more, so fucking badly it scared you. Whatever it all meant, you needed it - him.

You didn’t have time to ruminate on these thoughts and considerations, though, before Eddie’s fingers worked their way down, and though neither of your hips were moving any longer, he remained deep and pressed them to you, to that raw bundle of nerves, then his nose to just below your ear, brushing the end of it to the delicate skin, earning a soft laugh and sigh as you leaned into him.

You followed close behind him, gentle but dedicated ministrations sending you over the edge a second time so easily, so quickly, his name no louder than a whisper as you turned and thoughtlessly guided his lips to yours, the entire interaction unexpectedly tender. Brushing a hand over his face and the bangs out of his eyes, you gave him one last kiss before exhaling, moving off of him and aside to the driver’s seat to calm your rapid heart and gain some semblance of reality.

Eddie blew out a long breath from beside you, careful as he removed the condom and tied it, repositioning his pants and underwear once he did so. He pulled a face and looked around fruitlessly for a few moments, before shrugging and tossing it into a random empty gas station coffee cup, avoiding your eyes as he did so.

You choked back a laugh at that and gave him a look, scrunching up your nose. “Classy, romantic even.”

“Look, I’ll deal with it later,” he waved his hand dismissively as an embarrassed blush decorated his cheeks. “Got nowhere else to put it right now.”

You both sat separately then, minds wandering and otherwise still fucked foggy. You felt somehow both weightless and yet like a sack of potatoes, eyes naturally lulling shut and your legs propped against the steering wheel. You felt a bump against your arm then, and lazily gazed over to see Eddie holding out a hand to you, a vulnerable flash to his eyes.

Gently, with a shot of girlish glee through your chest despite the fact you had just fucked the man, you took it, giving it a squeeze and running your thumb over his knuckles. Despite himself, he grinned, and moved to interlace your fingers, before letting your held hands drape down to the space between the seats as he turned to look out the window casually.

You two sat connected like that for what had to be a solid several minutes before you caught Eddie glancing at his watch. He blinked a few times, frowned, and then spoke. “So, uh, it’s definitely been almost an hour. Forty five minutes-ish?”

“Hm?” You hadn’t the slightest clue what he was referring to.

He tilted his head and gave you an entertained, smug look. “Lay so good you forgot entirely about that extra cheer practice? Sure your knees’ll be able to take it?”

“OH, FUCK—“ You were launching yourself up in an instant, reaching over from where you sat to dig through your bag. “Why didn’t you say anything!? Coach is going to skin me—“

“In my defence, we were both very distracted,” he said airily, amusement only growing at watching you scramble beside him.

“Eddie Munson,” you groaned, “you are so—“

“Ridiculously irresistible? Devilishly generous? Freakishly adept with my fingers?” He waved them playfully at you, and you spluttered before rolling your eyes, finally finding what you had been looking for.

Plunking yourself back down, you began to yank your panties back on, and Eddie had to bite his tongue to stop the laughter from erupting from him at the visual of your leg mounted up on the steering wheel, skirt still sporting a scrunched up spot from where he had grabbed.

“I’m sorry, seriously,” he leaned over, closer. “But to be fair, I…” He shifted his eyes to the dashboard before flickering them back to you. “That was, uh… we did get a little more caught up than usual.”

Something about the mutual acknowledgement that more than was originally planned was going on sent a warm, tingly feeling over you, and you suppressed a smile.

“Mm, true.” As much as you wanted to sit there and analyze what your relationship with each other really was, you also very much so didn’t, plus, you were still late as fuck—

“Okay,” you nodded to yourself, zipping up your bag and turning to open the door, “um, gotta go, but—“

Suddenly, Eddie was tugging you back, hand curling at the nape of your neck, and he pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to your lips, silencing you. When he pulled back, he had on a soft expression, all little smiles and cutely-crinkled eyes.

“Hey, good luck at the game, sweetheart.” His words were genuine, despite his well-known hatred for the sport your team would be cheering on.

“Even though it’s just all about throwing balls into laundry baskets?” you teased, bringing your hand up to rest on his at your neck.

“Ah, well,” he shrugged over-exaggeratedly, “Don’t much care for that bit, but your cheer thing? The real deal. So kill it tonight, I know you will.”

You couldn’t stop the request from falling from your lips before you could think better of it - probably a futile effort, but you had to try. “You could come, you know.” That - you acknowledged with a racing heart - was an ask typically made of cheerleaders’ boyfriends. “Not… not to the entire thing, but for the opening cheer?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up at that, and you felt the sting of disappointment already blooming in your chest, before his lips quirked up the tiniest bit. “I… yeah, I could probably do that.”

That jolt of unbridled excitement hit you full-swing again, and you shouted out of surprise, “Great! Uh, so—“

Unsure of what else to do, you leaned up and kissed him again, a little longer, a little sweeter, before reluctantly parting and finally opening the driver side door. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you tonight?”

He nodded, still hung up on the kiss, before running his tongue over his lips and sitting back. “Yeah, absolutely.” Jesus Christ, he actually agreed to go to a basketball game for you - who was this man, and what had he done with the real Eddie Munson?

Well, for starters, the Eddie Munson of yore hadn’t yet met you, the girl he was evidently utterly head over heels for.

At this, you gave him one last, final smile, easily returned back, and slammed the door to his van, taking off across the parking lot and to the gymnasium with a pep in your step in more ways than one.

Eddie observed you through the rear-view mirror, shaking his head and laughing to himself as he zipped up his jeans and readjusted to the seat you had just left, eventually starting the van up and taking off.

You, in turn, watched him drive away, heart aflutter and doubt melting away into innocent, genuine hope.

Okay, so maybe this whole arrangement definitely could be more than just an after school thing, after all.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson reader insert #stranger things #my fics

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blackjackkent · 5 months

Text

OK. So, obviously that was a pretty upsetting experience for Hector, but it does finish up (as near as I can tell) everything we can do on the main floor of Moonrise Towers, so it's time to go upstairs and see what Z'rell wants to talk to us about.

This is a bit nervewracking because we overheard some of the Absolute guards talking about how Z'rell has been summoning a lot of True Souls up to her office lately, and none of them have come back down. So there's reason to believe this might be a dangerous prospect.

(Amusingly - mechanically, Hector still has a dislocated shoulder; from a story perspective I assumed Shadowheart probably healed it up already but I can't figure out how to make it go away in-game without a long rest so it's just kind of there for right now.)

Going upstairs, we find Z'rell setting guards around the door to the roof, where apparently General Thorm is doing some meditative shit or other.

"Excellent timing, True Soul."

She meets Hector's gaze with a casual smirk. There's an air of cool violence about her that is quite unsettling; even more than many of the cultists here, she seems as if she would be happy to lash out at him given half a chance.

"The goblins," she goes on eagerly. "Tell me how they suffered - or better yet, show me."

Narrator: Her mind enters yours abruptly, flickering across your memories in a blaze of excitement. She sees the goblins walking free, and a burning rage fans across your mind like wildfire.

Inwardly, Hector braces himself. He knew this was coming. The prisoners he released - he'll have to account for them somehow. He somehow didn't fully expect, though, quite the extent to which Z'rell's expression has hardened with pure fury at being denied the moment of sadism.

"Explain yourself!" she snaps.

Hector is very tired and really not in the mood to deal with someone who takes pleasure in others' pain to that degree - but the cover must be maintained. So with an effort of will, he remains perfectly still and resists the urge to fidget under her stare. [PERSUASION] "They won't get far," he says, affecting an air of casual disinterest. "Let the curse take them, and save us the job of cleaning up their innards."

A pause. The disciple sneers. "Very pragmatic. But very boring."

Hector starts to relax, seeing that his story has been accepted, but the ordeal is not yet over. "Let's see if there's *anything* interesting in that brain of yours."

Before Hector can fully register what she means, she is inside his mind.

Narrator: She parts the folds of your mind again, touching your wants and hopes. Tasting them. Every emotion soaks into her mind's palate, but there is purpose to her exploration - she is searching for proof of your faith.

Hector shudders at the feeling of her slipping through his thoughts. It's a tremendous violation that these people do so casually, but he cannot show his distaste without giving away the flimsy disguise that is all that keeps them safe here.

And proof of his faith...she will find plenty of proof there, but not the faith she wants. If she is allowed to explore too long, she will find his faith in Selune, as bright as the moonlight that still exists somewhere beyond this dark and awful place.

Focus. Show her only what you want her to see.

[MONK] Empty your mind. Show her a perfect, harmonious soul.

No sign of Selune within him. But not quite deception - no sign of the Absolute either. Balance. Serenity. Peace.

"When you are in harmony, you need fear nothing at all," one of the other monks told him once, early in his training. "For then your path will be unburdened by those who would see you unbalanced."

Narrator: You feel her grasp within your thoughts for familiar, roiling zealotry. It finds no purchase.

Z'rell blinks, drawing back; he feels her grip withdraw from within his mind and allows himself to tremble inwardly with relief. He feels dirty, marred by this contact, and wishes he could express the disgust that he feels.

"Simply...void," she murmurs, and she sounds legitimately perplexed, the sadistic glee for a moment gone in favor of simple confusion. "Why would you not embrace her? Worship her?"

A pause, and then she goes on, with renewed energy, "I have already been blessed to stand in Her presence. It was bliss." She stabs a finger towards his chest. "She gave me *everything* I wanted."

It's almost accusing, the way she looks at him. The calm and serenity that he showed her was not enough. She wants to see him caught in the web and does not understand the purpose of resistance.

"Everything?" Hector asks carefully. "What exactly do you want?" All the better to keep the conversation off of him and on her as much as possible - both for information and to avoid those questing fingers through his mind again.

Her eyes brighten with eager, hungry zealotry. "To take without asking, to feel without doubting, and to kill without consequence. In a word - freedom."

Hector swallows uncomfortably. He had expected at least a veneer of some more palatable assertion - unity or something like that. Not this unbridled cruelty without measure, completely unmasked.

"That's a little abstract," he says vaguely, trying to maintain his sense of calm with a little more effort now. "Show me something real."

Her eyes light as if she has never received a happier request.

"Oh, why not? What's the point in power if you don't get to have a little fun every now and again?" There is a brief moment in which Hector has time to realize that he made a grave mistake by phrasing his comment the way he did. Then she claps her hands together and a flash of light flickers between them.

"She gave me the power to cut the thread of life with a thought..." she murmurs, rapturous - and without warning, without even a sound, the ogre standing behind her throws her head back...and dies, blood spurting from every orifice of her face.

Hector stares down at the corpse, then back up at Z'rell wordlessly. He hopes his stunned silence will be taken for awe, rather than the fact that he is feeling suddenly sick to his stomach.

Thorm invulnerable. This woman killing with a snap of her fingers. How do we fight a force like this? How is it possible?

To his muted relief, Z'rell smiles.

"But I can caress as well as cut," she murmurs with a horrible sort of sweetness. "That's why you should stay on my good side." She reaches out, taps a clawed finger against his cheek. "And the best way to do that is to serve General Thorm. I have a mission for you."

All Hector wants to do is run from the room and never see this woman, or Thorm, or any of these people ever again. But that choice is not on the table. He focuses for a moment on Karlach's presence at his side, his other companions behind him. The dream guardian whispers in his mind, "That's it - play along. The closer you can get to the General, the closer you'll be to the answers you seek."

Calm. Find the center, two beats to the breath. He inhales slowly, lets it out heavily. "I live to serve," he says evenly. "What do I need to do?"

"There is a relic that General Thorm requires," Z'rell says briskly, all business now. "He sent his most trusted advisor, Disciple Balthazar, to retrieve it. The relic is beneath the Thorm family mausoleum. That is where you will find Balthazar. But we have lost contact with him - go there, aid Balthazar if you can, and bring the relic home."

Ah. He feels on slightly firmer ground now; they know of Balthazar already - and, in fact, already agreed to help him. "What exactly was this relic he was sent to retrieve?" Hector asks curiously, hoping to draw from her some of the answers he was not able to get from the necromancer.

"It is something that General Thorm desires, and that he ordered us to retrieve," she says curtly. "That is all you need know."

Narrator: [INSIGHT] She's suddenly nervous - on edge. Talking about the relic makes her anxious.

Hector hesitates - then presses. There will never be a better time than this to ask. [PERSUASION] "Talking of this relic makes you anxious," he says carefully. "Why is that?"

She too hesitates - and when she speaks again it is with more sincerity than he has seen from her thus far. "I am in awe of the power the relic must hold to be of such importance," she admits. "General Thorm will not leave Moonrise without it."

Hector senses a stir of unease through his companions. He shares it. What lies unsaid in Z'rell's words is that when the relic is found, Thorm will have no reason to stay at Moonrise. And the only possible reason for that...is that he will be ready to move on Baldur's Gate.

"I already met Balthazar," Hector says.

Her eyes flash. "Then he must have failed to make the urgency of his mission clear. I do not want to see you again until the relic is secure at Moonrise."

Well, thinks Hector, I don't want to see you again ever, so we're at least agreed on that.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #whoo boy these are some unpleasant people #can't wait until we get to smack them dramatically somehow

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minghaoyoudoin · 2 years

Text

CIX reactions to you sitting in their lap during a bumpy car ride

genre: suggestive

requested: yes!!

a/n: thank you for this request, anon! I had wayyy too much fun writing it and I hope you enjoy reading!

“Dude, cool it with the turns.” Byounggon said tightly, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. You adjusted in his lap as subtly as you could, your cheeks burning.

Seunghun offered an apologetic glance over his shoulder. “Sorry guys. They should really make cars with six seats, huh?”

Byounggon didn’t bother laughing at his friend’s joke, though the rest of the boys did. You were hyperaware of every place his body touched yours, each bump and pothole in the road somehow pressing you further into him.

When presented with your “seating” options for the two-hour-long road trip out of the city, none were wildly appealing. You loved each of your friends fiercely, but sitting on their lap wasn’t exactly how you’d planned to spend the long drive.

After ten minutes of bickering and five games of rock-paper-scissors, you and Byounggon had stared at one another in silence. And now, you were only fifteen minutes into the car ride and you felt ready to itch out of your skin.

Byounggon’s body was warm against yours, his hands resting awkwardly on the seat. You sat in silence most of the time, only contributing to the boys’ conversation when their terrible jokes became too much for you.

Seunghun took yet another turn without braking at all. Your body pitched to the side and you gasped, but Byounggon’s hands abruptly found your waist. His fingers dug into your hipbones as he steadied you, unintentionally pressing you further into his lap at the same time.

You exhaled shakily and turned your head to look at him. “Thanks,” you breathed.

Byounggon’s throat worked, his cheekbones stained with color. Were you affecting him as much as he was you? There was an incessant heat building in your stomach that you attempted to control with every breath.

Safe to say, it wasn’t working. Byounggon didn’t remove his hands from you this time, instead allowing them to relax on the tops of your thighs. The heat of them seeped through your jeans like the fabric wasn’t there at all.

Yeah, this was going to be a very long drive.

rest of the members under the cut!

seunghun

“Come on, hot stuff, I don’t bite.”

You scowled at Seunghun’s words and he giggled from his place in the backseat. You eyed the open door warily, then the rest of the boys who were waiting for you to get in. The drive would be uncomfortable, but there wasn’t much you could do about it. And after Seunghun’s goading, you were completely unwilling to lose.

You clambered into the car before you could psych yourself out of it. Seunghun opened his arms automatically to accommodate you, his hands casually linking across your stomach the moment you were settled. His arms weren’t much by way of a seatbelt, but they would have to do.

Seunghun pulled you back against his chest and laughed again at your affronted huff.

“Everyone good? Good.” Jinyoung didn’t wait for confirmation from your friend group before he shifted the car into drive. He whipped out of the parking lot with enough speed that you gasped. You unintentionally grabbed Seunghun’s thighs in an attempt to steady yourself at the same time his arms tightened around you.

Seunghun didn’t release you as Jinyoung merged into traffic. He launched into the usual bickering with the other boys almost immediately, each word he spoke vibrating into your back that was pressed against his chest.

You relaxed sooner than you thought you would. You leaned back against him, his chin resting gently on your shoulder. This position was far more intimate than you’d ever been with any of your friends, let alone Seunghun, and it affected you more than you expected.

Your heart galloped in your chest, beating so fiercely you worried he could feel it. Jinyoung ran over a pothole in the road and you inhaled sharply when the car jolted. That sensation took you by surprise, to be sure. You shifted in Seunghun’s lap at the uncomfortable heat building between your thighs and he stilled.

“What are you doing?” He whispered, quietly enough that he couldn’t be heard over the other boys’ conversation. You froze, embarrassment surging through you in a rush.

“Sorry—accident.”

The longer Seunghun considered his response, the more your anxiety grew. “You’re not… are you?” When you didn’t answer, he laughed gently. “No way.”

“Shut it, Hun.”

Seunghun’s hands slid over your hips and he lightly squeezed your waist. Another bump in the road pressed you further into his lap and you nearly groaned aloud.

Seunghun exhaled in your ear, raising pleasant chills on your neck. “This should be fun.”

yonghee

Yonghee whispered his tenth apology when the car drove over a speedbump in the road, pressing you firmly into his lap. You waved him off, trying and failing to appear casual.

In truth, you were going wild. You couldn’t seem to get a handle on the sensitivity between your legs, reacting to every sensation of Yonghee’s body against yours. He was impossibly warm and solid, his arms a comfortable brace around you as he attempted to keep you from flying across the car.

You weren’t thrilled at the idea of sitting on any of the boys' laps, but you were glad it was Yonghee. He was trying his best to be respectful, only touching you enough to keep you steady. Little did he know, that minimal contact was enough.

Your one-sided crush on him was having a field day today. It was easy enough to control your feelings when in a usual setting, but even with the other boys in the car you were struggling to keep your composure. If anything, the complete care with which Yonghee held you was only fuel to your fire.

“Are you okay?” Yonghee whispered. His voice was more strained than you expected and you turned your head to look at him. There were stars in his eyes, the mole beneath the left one close enough for you to kiss if you dared.

“Yeah… fine.”

Right, because that was convincing.

Yonghee inhaled deeply, never looking away from you as his arms tightened around your waist. You shifted on his lap again, only partly because of the way the hooligan driving—namely, Byounggon—drove over a pothole.

Heat rose in your cheeks at the sensation of Yonghee’s lap pressed firmly against your backside. He wasn’t… turned on, was he?

Judging by the way he subtly shifted against you in answer, he very much was.

You had only been in the car for half an hour. If you were already this affected, how were you going to make it through the rest of the drive?

You forced yourself to look forward again, a faint smile on your face. Maybe your crush wasn’t so unrequited, after all.

bae jinyoung

“If you keep doing that I’m going to lose my mind.”

You froze at the low sound of Jinyoung’s voice in your ear, no more than a strained whisper. Yonghee apologized from the front seat as he drove over another pothole, jostling you where you sat in Jinyoung’s lap. He exhaled heavily into your hair, his warm breath prickling your scalp.

“Doing what?” You whispered back.

Jinyoung didn’t answer. His arms around you loosened so his hands could rest on your thighs. He subtly splayed his fingers, squeezing lightly.

You released a shaky breath, aware that your cheeks were burning. Of all the boys you could have sat on during the drive, it only made sense for it to be your boyfriend. But apparently, you had made a grave mistake in doing this.

At this point, your skin was hypersensitive in every place Jinyoung touched you. His warmth seeped through your clothes, somehow as comforting as it was energizing.

Hyunsuk raised an eyebrow at you in your periphery as Jinyoung planted a soft kiss onto your shoulder. You rolled your eyes at your friend, trying your best to act unaffected by your boyfriend’s antics. It definitely didn’t work, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

This drive would be the death of you. The second you arrived at the Airbnb, you intended to steal Jinyoung away from the boys for at least an hour. That is, if you didn’t burst into flames first.

The car drove over a speedbump but you didn’t even process Yonghee’s apology anymore. Jinyoung’s fingers were lazily massaging your thighs, doing nothing to soothe the ache between them.

“You stop that,” you breathed, hardly daring to look at Jinyoung as you spoke. He laughed softly, the sound reverberating through your back. Your heart thudded unevenly in response.

Seunghun groaned dramatically from the front passenger seat. “There are thirty-eight minutes left until we get there. Then, for the love of god, please get a room.”

hyunsuk

Hyunsuk couldn’t seem to get ahold of himself. He squirmed at every bump and hole in the road, his movements only succeeding in pressing himself more firmly against you.

“Quit it, please.” You whispered, your voice low. The other boys were asleep, save Jinyoung, who was very pointedly watching the road as he drove. It was dark enough in the car that you couldn’t see Hyunsuk’s face well as you looked at him, his eyes reflecting the night sky through the window.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately. His hands were balled into fists on the seat in his effort not to touch you.

He didn’t need to apologize. In truth, you were just as affected as he was. You had been dancing around one another for months, each of you too afraid to voice your feelings aloud to the other. Of course the other boys would jump at the opportunity to make you sit in his lap during the long car ride back to the city.

You were definitely plotting Seunghun’s downfall for conspicuously shoving you into Hyunsuk’s lap.

You unintentionally shifted in Hyunsuk’s lap when the car drove over several low speedbumps in the road. The heat in your stomach rose into your cheeks and you resisted the urge to cover your face.

“How much longer?” Hyunsuk’s whisper was no more than a ghost of air moving. Apparently, he had reached the limit of his patience, as his hands at last moved from the seat to your hips. His touch was feather-light, his fingers barely curling around your hipbones as he held you to him.

“I don’t know,” you murmured back. God, the impulse to shift in his lap was enormous. “An hour?”

Hyunsuk exhaled shakily. You leaned back fully, your back pressed flush against his chest. His rapid heartbeat thudded against you, mirrored by your own.

“When we get back,” he whispered, his voice strained. “Please tell me you’ll finally let me take you to dinner.”

You laughed breathily, nervous when the low sound caused Yonghee to stir in his sleep beside you.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

if you made it this far, thank you for reading!! I'm so grateful for all of you sending requests/thoughts in my inbox, I love reading them! please like or reblog if you enjoyed it 😚

masterlist here :)

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astaroth1357 · 3 years

Text

Cuddle Time w/ the OM Cast

Baby Simeon woke me up from my slumber. That card is fucking adorable, I want it.

Lucifer

The fact Lucifer doesn't immediately throw them off whenever they try to snuggle should be proof enough of his love.

Cuddling is mostly done in the privacy of his bedroom. Occasionally he'll allow it in his office, but only if he's not busy.

He prefers to do it on one of the many chairs or cushions he has by the fire. Between the warmth of their body and the heat of the fireplace, he'll relax into it in seconds…

His favorite position is face-to-face with them on his lap - it's a way for him to "hand over" control while still feeling perfectly in charge. Sure, they can trace his jaw or fluff his hair as much as they like, but it's his arms holding them in place.

Gets beyond grouchy if they get interrupted... First, it's embarrassing, but second, who even has the right? If he gets pulled away for anything less than a house fire, someone (usually Mammon) is getting tied up to the chandelier...

Mammon

Jumps at cuddle time, but always tries to play it off afterwards like an indecisive puppy.

Like Lucifer, he prefers his bedroom or theirs, but he'll do it in the Common Room too if he really needs a "pick-me-up." It's just that they usually get interrupted in there, so…

Likes to cuddle in bed or on couches, any place that's long enough to let him stretch out a bit. He wants to monopolize as much MC as he can.

Favorite position is laying on them so that his head is on their stomach or chest, kind of like a blanket. Like I said, the MC Surface Area to Mammon ratio is very important to him. More than half of MC must be cuddled for supreme satisfaction.

Whines like crazy if they get interrupted (and they usually do). Nearly every brother has an automatic gut reaction to toss him across the room if they see it happening, but that never stops him trying.

Leviathan

Levi had to warm to cuddling but after that he was all-in for life.

Really only does it in his room (duh). He gets so nervous about trying it anywhere else that you'd think it was scandalous or something...

Actually prefers to cuddle on the floor - on beanbags or pillows of course. It's not terribly comfortable to cuddle and play games together in his bedtub and he needs the multitasking.

Favorite position (scratch that, the only position) is with their back to him and his arms around them in some way, probably also gripping a controller (or vice versa). They can do it laying down or sitting up, but that's what he can muster. His brain stops functioning if they ever try to face each other...

Not above vague thoughts of homicide if they get interrupted. He already doesn't like letting go, so add on the depletion of his all important "MC Meter" and he's going to be very grumpy indeed…

Satan

Cuddles a bit like a semi-social cat. Less big on full-on snuggling, but he still requires physical contact.

Much more relaxed about the PDA than the others, but his affection style is more casual looking as well. He'll cuddle right about anywhere, but mostly whenever he's reading.

Couches or loveseats are easiest. Chairs are less so, but manageable as long as they can sit close to each other.

Favorite position is to have them sit next to him with their legs over his lap. He only needs one hand to read so the other usually roams around mindlessly while he's engrossed in a book. He may rub their thighs, hold their hand, or play with their hair.

Hates being interrupted with a burning passion. The death glare he'll send to anyone stupid enough to try could curdle milk… Give Satan his MC time if you know what's good for you.

Asmodeus

Needs cuddle time like he needs air, but would you expect any less from the embodiment of Lust?

Down to cuddle anytime, anywhere - zero shame and no hint of hesitation. Sometimes he'll come over and latch into them in the middle of someone else's conversation...

Fond of using beds but he's also mastered cuddling in the tub, his bathroom is certainly built for it. Nothing beats a nice hot bath with his nice warm MC! 😘

Favorite position is really any of them. He's hardly going to be picky - though if given the choice, he'll pull them to the nearest bed and wrap himself around them so tight that they may get stuck together.

Whines louder than Mammon if they ever get interrupted and pelt the intruder with pillows or shoes to make them go away (it rarely works though…).

Beelzebub

Always happy to cuddle with MC!... as long as they don't mind his stomach growling from time to time.

Prefers to cuddle after he's downed some big feast. When the food coma is setting in, it's really nice to hold MC for a while… They make him feel full for at least five extra minutes!

He tries to incorporate MC into his training sometimes so his favorite position is to have them latched onto him like a kola while he goes about the House. If their arms or legs get tired, he'll carry them over to a couch and just continue from there.

If he's got to be still, then he prefers to cuddle in a bed, ideally one where Belphie is. Nothing warms his heart more than having the both of them clung into him in some way, it's very therapeutic. 😊

Not AS bothered when they get interrupted… If anything he's just disappointed. He was probably having fun, but they'll come back, right...?

Belphegor

Look, all time is "Cuddle Time" and any other activity is just a distraction. If Belphie could hot glue the MC to his body, he would.

Being cuddled to sleep is a MUST. He thrives on their proximity and the sound of their heartbeat is the world's best lullaby.

Unfortunately, he doesn't even need to be particularly comfortable to get cuddling in… He has been known to just collapse onto their lap if he's tired enough, all else be damned.

His favorite position is any way that lets them be his pillow. Any particular soft parts of the body like the stomach are fair game. He'll use their thighs like a neck pillow if he wants to (and hope that they don't try choking him out of revenge...).

There's really no interrupting Belphie. If someone needs MC, he'll latch onto their legs so they either stay put or bring him too. The others have to use magic or spatulas just to pry him off...

Diavolo

Big on cuddle time. HUGE on cuddle time! This man has hardly ever been touched, so this is a dream come true!!

Look, he's the king so he'll cuddle them wherever he damn well pleases! (That's a lie, Barbatos won't let him do it during work hours… Otherwise it's fine.)

He's very enthusiastic but uh… kind of inexperienced so a lot of things (like convenient location) don't occur to him right away. Like sure, they could go cuddle in a big ass bed, but he really wants to hold them RIGHT NOW so they're just going to have to do this in an empty ballroom somehow...

His favorite position is probably best described as the "Teddy Bear," where they just sit on his lap and he hugs them from behind. He'll even rest his chin on their head if he can. It looks vaguely like he's holding them hostage but they actually seem happy about it.

Unless your name is Barbatos or Lucifer, you do not interrupt them. As far as he knows, there's still a snake in the dungeons and you don't want to be the person he sends to check…

Barbatos

A spot of quiet intimacy is quite rare for him… but never unwelcome.

Assuming Barbs even finds the time in his schedule to sit still for a while, he will almost always opt to do so when utterly alone (sometimes even in deserted timelines). It's very embarrassing to be caught procrastinating at work...

Ever the pleaser, he'll claim that he has no real preferences but if he were being honest it's when they're curling up together on a cushion or loveseat. It's comfortable, but still allows for some proper conversion.

Unlike others, no matter what position they take he'll always want to be face-to-face. When he gets to be with them so rarely, why would he ever want to see their back turned…?

NO ONE interrupts them. No one. Short of Diavolo needing him desperately, if someone sees the two of them together they will turn around. Even an irritated Barbatos is scary, an angry one is terrifying…

Simeon

Oh man… This is the height of intimacy for an angel. Cuddling with Simeon is just as sweet and relaxing as it sounds - it's an almost photogenic level of serenity, fit for the brushes of Renaissance painters trying to define what divine love is...

Naturally, because it's such an intimate act Simeon will only do so in absolute privacy. He doesn't even want Luke to see, it's just that personal...

Part of why he's so guarded is because it's one of the rare times he'll let his wings be free. They're very delicate, so he has to sit on stools, logs, or other backless seats to even let them out but it's worth it.

His favorite position is to have the MC sit across his lap while he holds them as close as possible. He'll beat his wings for a nice breeze on hot days or fold them in to shelter the MC from cold ones. No matter what, their movement is so glimmering and graceful that they're practically mesmerizing…

To him getting interrupted is legitimately so mortifying you'd think he got caught streaking. Even the brothers - sans Satan - will avert their eyes if they find them like that… while still telling him to back off but at least they're considerate about it.

Solomon

Solomon's softest moments come when he's cuddling MC… but he's still a little mischievous no matter what.

They pretty much have to do it in secret because if any of the brothers see them, they'll throw a fit… So snuggling in cramped storage closets or "so-high-up-in-the-air-no-one-can-stop-us" it is!

But when he wants to poke buttons, Solomon will magic them onto his lap dead-ass in the middle of RAD, like, two minutes before a class starts just to watch the world burn…

If he had a favorite position, it's sitting wrapped up together in his cape. It feels intimate, warm, and the starry-sky pattern makes him feel like there's nothing in the universe but them…

Interruptions are frequent - thank the PDA police - but only in the Devildom. In the human world, though? They're all his and he soaks up every minute of it... Sorry fellas. 😏

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me dateables #obey me undateables

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jimipoo · 2 years

Text

‘I Hate You’ kiss.

prompt: In which, you get stuck in a refrigerator room with the man you’ve hated for years.

pairings: taehyung x reader (enemies to lovers)

word count: 2.1k

genre: crack, fluff

warnings: lots of swearing! suggestive language :)

a/n: yasss hai welcome :3 my first taehyung fic !!!! this is probably going to be hard to imagine but basically .. u kno how there r huge refrigerators well they somehow got in there and yea… also i didnt mention why they were enemies in the first place ill jus leave it to y’all’s imaginations hehe but anyway i hope u enjoy ! feedbacks r very much appreciated <3

At this point, you don't even wanna know the exact reason why Kim Taehyung, your life-long enemy, is currently breathing in the same air as you are. Never in a million years did you think you'd be sitting this close next to him when the only distance you've had between the two of you has always been far, far away. And the only interaction you've had with each other after that incident were exchanging death stares every time you walk past each other or rolling your eyes when you'd catch him looking at you with that stupid, smug look in his pretty ass face. Did you say pretty?

Yet here you are.

Talking ever so casually, as if you hadn't wished upon his death before, or that one time you yelled at him that you wish he gets hit by a tree and gets paralyzed just as his fancy car swiftly swerves away from your vision. For years, you couldn't stand him. Yet now it feels like you've known him as a friend for years. And maybe, just maybe, if he wasn't such an asshole that time, you would be friends. Maybe you'd consider it.

The grudges you hold against him that continue to sit within you now feel unfamiliar, it's almost as if you've forgotten everything that's happened between the two of you in the past. It's strange, how his presence that used to make you feel sick to your stomach now feels rather, comforting. Or maybe it's because you're stuck in a huge refrigerator with the one and only Kim Taehyung and his warmth is the only thing that saves you from completely freezing to death. If he hadn't come in this stupid refrigerator just to argue with you in the first place, maybe you wouldn't have been stuck here. No, but seriously, where the fuck are the rescuers?

"Are you uh, still doing okay?" A deep voice snaps you out of your reverie.

You attempt to turn your head towards him, “I mean, I guess.. We’re literally in a room with the same temperature as Antarctica—not to mention, I’m also wearing a tank top so I guess yeah, I’m doing okay,” you told him, the tone your voice laced with sarcasm. He just scoffs, shuffling behind you as you feel his heavy arms tighten around your torso as if it was going to make you feel less cold, but it helps. You suppose.

"You know, if you didn't come after me and shut that damn door behind us, you wouldn't have your arms wrapped around me like I'm some kind of stuffed animal," you retort.

"Will you relax, doll? Why are you suddenly giving an attitude we were fine like, five minutes ago," he responds, you try to fight the warmth that spreads across your cheeks. His deep voice still never fails to make you shudder, how every syllable rolls off his tongue perfectly, so smooth, and you bet his tongue will feel just as smooth against—no, it's the cold. What the fuck are you thinking?

You quickly shake your head to erase the thoughts beginning to intrude on you the more you spend time with this man.

"Doll?" you hear him but it's nothing but an echo.

Doll. What a dumb pet name, you think. He's called you various pet names but you've never heard him say your actual name. You wonder why. You'd think he does it to annoy you, because every time he'd call you something you'd always have a prepared sassy response, and every time, he'd just flash you his annoying yet attractive grin that leaves you awake at night. You hate him, oh you do, but a little fantasy from time to time won't hurt, right?

"Doll!"

"Fuck, what is it?" you jerk your head towards him, shuffling as you try to loosen his grip around you, you feel suffocated all of the sudden, he's so close and you might just go insane if you let him stay like this. "Let go, I can't breathe you moron!" you grunt.

He lets out a chuckle, "Damn, sorry," he lets go of you, the cold immediately hits through your skin and suddenly you miss being held, but you won't tell that to him. You quickly scoot over to his side and bring your legs up to your chest, hugging your knees.

"What is it?" you ask.

"Nothing, just making sure you were not about to die or something,"

"I'm not gonna die, idiot. I'm just a little cold, besides, how are you not cold?" it's a dumb question because you know the answer, he's wearing a thick jumper, but you just wanted to continue talking to him for some reason.

"Because I'm not wearing a tank top like you are, princess." his lips form into a smirk, "Oh, fuck off," you roll your eyes, "Now, you're calling me princess? What's up with all these pet names you keep giving me?"

"What, don't you like it? Don't act like I don't see how your cheeks turn red every time I call you doll, or,"

"Princess,"

"Baby,"

He leans closer every time he opens his mouth.

"Angel," he keeps leaning even closer, at this point, his lips almost grazed against your ear lobe.

"..or Kitten," you feel the tickles in your stomach travel down to your core, you gulp, you could feel how his breath softly hits under your ear and you could almost feel your whole body shudder. You felt as if the time had slowed down, and the noise from the machine had been muted, the only thing you can hear were your own slow, but heavy breaths. You don't realize that you were beginning to close your eyelids and lean into him before he suddenly leans back, and when you open your eyes you were met with no one but Taehyung and his annoying smirk. You feel your cheeks heat up.

You were certain you wouldn't die from this cold, but you're more certain that you could die from embarrassment.

"I wanted to tell you something," he starts.

You let out a sigh, breaking eye contact with him and turning around to face your back towards him because you feel stupid and embarrassed that you think your enemy was going to kiss you, because that only happens in books, idiot.

This is the man you've hated most of your life, why do you suddenly feel like a puddle around him? It's funny how you're in a cold room yet you feel like your melting from the tension you've created between the two of you. However, he doesn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, what is it?" you manage to let out despite how much you wanted to bury your head and suffocate yourself in the ice bucket beside you.

You expect an immediate answer but he kept quiet, so you wait.

He still doesn't respond.

"What is-"

"I like you." you swear you're hearing voices.

You've gathered enough courage to face him again, because what the fuck. When did he ever like you? How did he like you? You were always fighting with him, yelling at him, arguing—he's your enemy for god's sake. You've wished upon his goddamn death right to his face many times, he literally has tripped you on purpose many times than you could count with your fingers and toes. You had no chemistry, and you hated him, just as much as he hated you. It doesn't make sense.

"I-I know it sounds crazy but hear me out," he pauses, you watch him as your eyebrows furrow, you're not mad, you're confused. It just doesn't make sense in your head, and if it is true, part of you is glad, because as much as you hate to admit it, you had been harboring a tiny crush on him. You've always pushed that feeling away until he was in this room with you.

"I've liked you for a long time actually. I did hate you, but I couldn't tell you the reason why I started liking you-"

"Why not?"

"It's stupid," he quickly replies, although you weren't satisfied with his answer. You want to know.

"How the fuck is it stupid when you've literally just confessed to me?"

"Fine!” he sighs, you watch him intently as you wait for his answer. “It was when you showed up to my party in that dress, I didn't even know why you were at my party in the first place, but I thought you looked gorgeous, then the more I saw you after that night I started to realize that you were actually not that bad. I guess I was observing you a little." he confesses, but you still feel like it's not enough of an answer. After what he's done to you earlier, you want him to prove it to you.

“A-and I attempted to flirt with you that night, I guess some part of me thought you’d give in to me but I was wrong, you cussed me out and walked away,” you recall the memory, now that you think about it, you were kind of a bitch. You weren’t sorry, you hated him, so it was natural of you to think that every gesture he made towards you was to make you mad.

"I don't believe you." was the only thing you could say.

"What do you mean?" he asks innocently.

"Taehyung, we're literally enemies. You think I'm immediately going to believe you when all my life, all you did was torment me?" you let a chuckle, you could tell he was slightly taken aback, but you couldn't lie. You've hated each other for a long time, and now he suddenly confesses that he likes you? It sounds a bit ridiculous.

"How do you want me to prove it to you then?"

"I don't know, kiss me, or something," you challenge him.

"Where?"

"Anywhere..?" you don't why you said that. You only want one place where he could kiss you.

"Okay, but I'd mostly prefer to kiss your lips anyway." there's that fucking smirk yet again. You could probably get used to this.

He begins to lean in, but you lean back and place a finger on his lips. "Don't act like you didn't tease me earlier, you little shit."

"I'm making it up to you," he grabs your wrist and puts it down before leaning in to mold his lips against yours. You both sigh into the kiss, feeling as if this was the moment you had been waiting for, this was the fantasies you've created in your head before you drift off to sleep, it was finally real. He likes you, and maybe, you've always liked him too. You were just too busy tormenting each other's life to notice it.

He brings his hands to cup your face, not breaking the kiss, he begins to deepen it as you feel the warmth of his tongue against your lips, you gladly let him in.

You've spent a total of ten minutes making out and feeling each other until you both hear a loud noise from the other side of the room and before you could even pull away the heavy metal door slid open, revealing two rescuers and your friend, who was just as shocked as you are because Taehyung hasn't stopped kissing you on the neck.

"Taehyung?! ___?!"

"Looks like you two weren't freezing to death here," one of the rescuers jokes. "We had a good time," Taehyung responds.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," you start, "We were just--"

"It's fine, glad to know you both were okay, more than okay I suppose." your eyes widen as you feel the embarrassment strike within you as you attempt to stand up but you struggle because of your heels. Just as Taehyung stood up he brought his hand towards you and you quickly grab it and pull yourself up.

"Well thank you for rescuing us," he says to the rescuers. The moment you get out of the room your friend immediately pulls your arm and shoots Taehyung a glare, in which he brings his arms up in surrender.

You kept your head down as you and your friend follow behind the rescuers. Taehyung is behind you, you could feel the stare burning your back and you feel as if your surroundings had been muted and you couldn't hear what your friend was saying, all you could really think about was the make-out session you just had with your new, potential boyfriend. Or is that too soon?

Suddenly, you feel Taehyung's breath against your ear, "We'll continue this later," he whispers, just loud enough for your friend to hear as well.

And he's off.

"Now, why don't you tell me how you went from, 'I hate Taehyung with all my life' to having a full-blown make-out session with him?"

615 notes · View notes

ezlebe · 2 years

Note

If you’re still taking Tomgreg prompts— Greg taking care of Tom on anesthesia (I loved that bit from the 5and1 ficlet so I’m shamelessly asking for more lol <3)

“Oh, aren’t you a tall drink of water.”

Greg pauses halfway into the room, hearing an odd note in the taunt. It’s sort of… It’s somehow defensive, in a way, like he hasn’t heard in a real long time.

“Do you work for the hospital?” Tom says, overdramatic with a slight slur to his voice, while gesturing with his largely uninjured arm to the one trussed up in a tight package against his side. He fixes another hard stare at Greg, half-lidded and unfocused as it is, then tilts his head to the side. “Could you tell me why I’m here?”

“No, I –” Greg swallows hard, remembering what the surgeon told him and trying not to be so disappointed. “I’m just Greg. And uh, you – we were in a-a car wreck.”

“Just Greg,” Tom repeats, breezily, in a thoughtful voice like it explains everything. “You look like a Greg. A Gregory.”

Greg ignores the sting at the corner of his lips, as a smile stretches weakly across his face. “Yeah?”

“It means watchful,” Tom says, casually and absolutely random; a fun fact that Greg didn’t even know that he knew before today. “And you’ve got big eyes.”

Greg laughs in a huff, ducking his head a little while moving further into the room. “Thanks?”

“Oh no. You’re all cut up there, are you alright?” Tom says, trying to sit up, then wincing with a glare at his strapped-in arm. “Come here, watchful thing.”

“I – I am okay,” Greg says, fumbling down into the chair and scooting it closer, wincing at the scrape on the ground, but Tom doesn’t seem to notice it. “Better than you.”

Tom seems to realize his arm all over again, looking at it with a bewildered blink and another look up at Greg with a pressed frown. “What happened, again?”

“Car wreck.” Greg looks down at his hands with a twist at the corner of his mouth, flicking at a small scratch against his thumb. He cut his hands up a lot all on his own just after it happened, while trying to get to Tom on the other side of the car. “A bi-big truck smashed into the car.”

“A big truck,” Tom repeats, seeming largely unconcerned at the news, but that is probably to do with his whole… current situation. It’s probably keeping him relaxed in a lot of ways.

“Your sh-shoulder and – “ Greg wets his lips, trying to keep his voice from breaking, as it shakes worse with every next word. “Uh, like arm is… broken in l-like three places,”

“But you’re okay?” Tom says, solemn, his eyes darting around Greg with concern. “Look at that face. You’ve got cuts all over.”

“Just glass,” Greg croaks, swallowing hard, shaking his head slightly and turning his hand to gesture at Tom. “You got hurt the worst. Even Mauricio was – he’s only got a dislocated elbow.”

“Oh, good,” Tom says, frustratingly, as if being stuck in surgery for an hour was okay, but he – he doesn’t even know that part, yet. “I can take it. A guy like you breaks a limb, and we risk having to donate you to the glue factory.”

“I wish it didn’t happen, at all,” Greg says, forcefully, and mostly for himself.

Tom offers a crooked smile. “That’s cute.”

Greg blinks rapidly up at Tom, then down to his knees, as he feels heat flood up his neck and into his cheeks. He has to remember that Tom is so drugged right now that he doesn’t even know him, and nervously taps his fingers down against his knees. “It’s just true.”

“Am I married?” Tom asks, his gaze suddenly directed over Greg’s shoulder toward the window. “Are we married?”

Greg looks over with a start, staring at the window sill and the small plastic box of effects, the shiny ring glinting at the top, and swallows hard. He should deny it; he can’t bring himself to. “Uh.”

“Uh?” Tom echoes, then his eyes noticeably drop to follow Greg’s hands, as they scramble for his phone. “Yes or no?”

“I’m um, just looking something up,” Greg says, hastily trying to find out from millions of armchair doctors if Tom will remember any of this – seems like a maybe leaning into a no? “No, yeah –” he swipes the tab away, then stands and hastens backward toward the window with a jump at the back of his throat. It’s easier than telling Tom that his actual spouse preferred to go fight with her dad, right? And it’s only, like, a few minutes of pretend. “Ye-yes. Do you want it?”

Tom offers a slow smile while holds out his hand, then blinks down at it when Greg clumsily slides the ring onto his finger. He is silent for a few long, tense beats, then looks up at Greg with a puff of weak laughter. “This is – it’s the wrong hand, right?” He asks, then tries to move his hurt arm, only to again look at it in evident shock. “Oh, hell, what happened there?”

“Fuck,” Greg says, swallowing hard, and slides his fingers through Tom’s while something catches hard at the back of his throat. He tips downward, dragging Tom into an awkward, ungainly sort of hug, rather than trying to explain the wreck a third time. “I’m s-so sorry.”

“Oh,” Tom says, taking a shallow breath, but he doesn’t cringe away, just tilts his head into Greg’s temple with a low tut. “Hey… It’s alright. I think.”

Greg curls his fingers tight to Tom’s hand, burying his face in his neck. He shouldn’t be doing this in particular, for sure, but he – He can’t even get himself to let go. “I-I was – it was bad, Tom,” he says, squeezing tight around Tom’s uninjured side with a choked breath. “Your bones – th-they were sticking out.”

“All inside now,” Tom hums, pulling out of Greg’s grip, then setting his palm heavily on the back of Greg’s head. He strokes downward, then again, and Greg knows he should feel worse about lying, about taking this from Tom without asking or even deserving it.

“This is probably weird,” Greg mumbles, as mortified heat thrums under his skin, from his heart down to his fingertips, now clutching at Tom’s gown.

“No,” Tom says, stern, if a bit wheezy across the syllable. “It feels just right… I don’t need to remember to know.” He pats another time down Greg’s head, humming low, “What’s your name, again?

Greg swallows hard and forces himself to pull away, then rubs the heels of his hands into his burning eyes. “Greg. The uh, the doctor and Google said this is just a – a thing from the surgery,” he says, turning his hands and digging them up into his hair with a shaky exhale. “It’ll wear off. Be like this – um, the forgetting never happened.”

“Good,” Tom says, reaching out and squeezing Greg’s bent elbow with an absent smile. “Greg. That means watchful, did you know?”

“Uh…” Greg looks over with a start when the door opens, watching a nurse hurry in with a couple bags of something in their hands. He glances to Tom, who seems just as startled. “Is something wrong – he’s acting kind of wrong?”

“We’re giving Mr Wambsgans here something a little different to help that,” the nurse says, tapping at the pump and starting to hang, then rearrange, the bags with a peer at the labels. They press a few buttons on the pump, then look directly down at Tom, “It’ll help you sleep and collect those marbles back up, too. Physician said you reacted with a bit of global amnesia.”

“Just my whole life,” Tom says, lips flattening while staring up at the new bag dripping who knows what into his bloodstream. “No big deal. I think I’m married to the Alton Giant, here.”

The nurse nods patiently, glancing over at Greg with a consoling smile. “He should try to nap, too.”

“Hah,” Greg says, tightly, seeking back into the chair with a tight crook of his back.

Greg wakes to an ache in his shoulder where he’s wedged it into the chair, a general discomfort of stinging in his face and hands, a soreness in his ribs, and a pair of icy eyes staring hard into his face. He blinks back, wary that the amnesia is still ongoing. “…Tom?”

Tom worryingly doesn’t respond for a few seconds, until he exhales an explosive sigh. “Oh, buddy,” he mutters, still a little mush-mouthed, but he seems to recognize Greg this time, reaching out and gesturing in a circle around his face. “Why… why didn’t they clean you up?”

“They did, uh –” Greg says, blinks hard, rubbing at his eyes and trying to rub the burn of bad sleep out of them. “It stung for like a long time, actually.”

“You look just… so terrible,” Tom says, slurring the last word into something mushy and pitying and taunting all at once. “And why haven’t they gotten you a bed?”

“‘s okay,” Greg says, stretching his back in the chair with a groan and a popping wrench of his spine. He should’ve slept in the couch, stretched in front of the window, but it’s… so much further away.

“Fuck, I –” Tom exhales a harsh, angry breath, somewhat startling after the last conversation where his emotional range seemed reduced to curiosity. “I’m going to have start driving, again. I can’t believe you got hurt.”

“I didn’t, really,” Greg says, swallowing hard, as emotion pools heavily at the back of his throat. He can’t believe Tom is really just upset about him, again, hasn’t he looked down? “They like checked out my… everything, Tom. Like, even X-rayed, too. You – you’re way worse.”

“Who cares – it’s a broken arm,” Tom sneers, eyes skating again across Greg and color determinedly rising in his pallid face. He swings out to gesture with his uninjured hand, a bit clumsy from the painkillers and thwacking it ungently into his alert when he raises it to sweep back and forth in exasperation. “You’ve got a big black eye and your neck is a – a fucking mess. Jesus. There’s the thousand cuts of – ”

“Hey, Tom, don’t –” Greg reaches out and catches Tom’s hand, checking the monitor thing to make sure it’s still clipped on good before letting it back go. “You’re going to like set off the machine.”

Tom sets his jaw for a few beats, then exhales hard through his nose. “Shiv?” He asks, tightly, glaring down at his uninjured hand with a twice over stretch of his fingers.

“She, uh – she was here a few minutes after we came in, but sa-saidshe had to go back to work.” Greg bites against his lower lip, swallowing hard and feeling tiredly upset by it all over again; he doesn’t want her here, really, but she should be for Tom. “Sorry.”

“Of course,” Tom mumbles, exhaling a sigh and stretching his hand a third time. He taps at the ring on his finger with his thumbnail, then starts to work it off. “You should know, Greg… I’ve been embroiled in a surprisingly unnasty divorce, considering, as of two months ago. You can stop making that face.”

Greg stares for a few beats and feels his eyes gradually go wide.

“It was a secret, Greg,” Tom says, his voice turning pitchy, guilty but not that guilty. “And you’re sort of terrible at keeping those, buddy.”

Greg reaches up and scratches and the bridge of his nose, catching on a butterfly bandage and wincing at the pull. He drops his hand to wrap tight around his elbow, shrugging with a hard swallow. “The only person I like really tell many secrets to is – uh, is you. So.”

Tom is quiet for a pair of beats. “Ah,” he intones, “Except that time it was Gerri, Greg?”

Greg looks up under his brows with a start.

Tom waves in another jerky gesture, hand hitting the rail on his bed, again, and looking down promptly to glare at it. “I got revenge, anyhow.”

“Revenge?” Greg raises his brows. “Y-You did – when?”

“You ended up shredding them yourself, didn’t you?” Tom says, then slowly drops his head a bit heavily to the side with a foggy blink. “It… counts.”

“…I guess,” Greg says, blinking rapidly while furrowing his brow, only to look over at a small pair of clinks and find the ring dropped onto the side of the bed – a glint wedged into the wide plastic rail. He stares at it, then looks back to Tom between blinks, consequently startling slightly when he sees him staring straight back. “Tom?”

“The next one’s going to be lapis,” Tom announces, dropping his chin in a decisive, heavy nod.

Greg slowly raises his brows. He reaches out and hooks the discarded ring onto his own finger, thinking about, if nothing else, how much it must be worth. “Next what?”

“Ring,” Tom says, then he reaches out and taps inexplicably against Greg’s cheek, a bit clumsy, with a tip of his finger. “Lapis, Greg, just… just like that.”

“Uh-um… Oh,” Greg stutters, heat pooling in the space where Tom’s fingers draw away from his cheek. “Why?”

“I had a dream about – a second marriage, or something,” Tom says, closing his eyes and leaning back into his stack of pillows with a low, meandering hum. “Drugs, probably, but… It was a good one.”

#tomgreg #global amnesia is probably more serious than this

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moonlit-reveriee · 3 years

Text

NSFW Alphabet

ft. technoblade

concept: a collection of my own personal nsfw headcanons for techno, one for each letter of the alphabet

@saturnsstufff ‘s discord saw it first ;)

A = Aftercare

I like the idea that techno actually gets very clingy after sex. He’ll get up and grab a glass of water or a towel if either of you need it, but if he’s able to, he’ll stay glued to your side the whole time. Even if he won’t admit it, he needs to have that intimacy after sex. He loves the feeling of your body pressed against his as you both cool down. Usually, his hands will be absentmindedly drawing patterns over your skin

B = Body part

Kind of an oddly specific one, but he loves your shoulders. He loves to casually rest his chin on them as he holds you from behind, and bury his face in the crook of your neck as he presses heated kisses on your pulse point. He also considers the way a person carries their shoulders to be an indication of their strength, and how could he see anything but strength in you.

He hadn’t put much thought into his own body before meeting you. He’s learned to love parts of himself because of you. Particularly his scars. They way you gently run your fingers across the rough surface of them, in both intimate and casual settings, made him crave the touch. Now when he looks at them, he thinks of your hands moving across his skin

C = Cum

Fun fact: pigs have 30 minute orgasms

Early on in your sexual relationship, he was very embarrassed by just how much of it there always was. But once you started praising him for it, that became a very different story. He started to take pride in how well he could completely fill you up without even trying

D = Dirty Secret

He would probably never admit it to you, but it’s become a habit of his to think about the last time he had sex with you during battles. He starts to make sure you two always have sex the night before a big fight, so his mind can wander back to it during the haze of battle. He’s not sure if it’s a coping mechanism or what but it certainly helps

E = Experience

You are his first ever sexual partner, but somehow he just.... already knows what he’s doing?? He’s very nervous and considerate the first time, but he does everything perfectly. Once you tell him that, he’s very happy and secretly a bit proud of himself

F = Favourite Position

He loooves to have you in his lap. Either facing him, back to chest, it doesn’t matter. He’ll do everything with you in his lap. Cockwarming, fingering, thigh riding, anything you and him are physically able to do in that position

G = Goofy

He’s usually a bit more on the serious side. Sometimes the two of you will quip at each other during foreplay, but once he gets going, it’s all business. In the moment, he likes to treat is as something special (doesn’t mean he won’t tease you about things after the fact)

H = Hair

He likes to keep himself clean-shaven most of the time. When he’s relaxed and doesn’t have to go to any public events for a long period of time, he’ll let a small amount of stubble grow on his chin. You can always tell when he slacks off on it, cause the stubble on his face brushes roughly against your skin as he kisses down your body...

he doesn’t really shave much below the neck, but he keeps it clean and trims occasionally

I = Intimacy

He’s surprisingly romantic when he wants to be. It’s definitely a side of him only you’re allowed to see. Alone together in his bed, he’ll whisper sweet nothings to you as he slowly draws you to your climax. Even when he’s speaking the most lewd and naughty things to you, he somehow makes them sound affectionate and full of love

J = Jack Off

He loves to watch you masturbate. The first time was a complete accident. He came home late one night to find you curled up with his blankets, breathing heavily as you massaged yourself over your underwear. It wasn’t long before you noticed him in the doorway and jumped, worthlessly attempting to hide what you were doing. He wasn’t sure if it was the blush on your face or the fact that the blanket you chose to cover yourself in was his cape but something urged him to sit on the edge of the bed, still in his armor, and ask you to continue. It was beautiful to simply sit there and watch

K = Kink

He’s a little bit possessive. He loves to mark you in subtle ways so you always remember that you’re his. Especially if you’re going on a trip without him. He’ll drape you in gold jewelry and leave a hickey just out of sight on your neck for good measure. The part that he loves the most about it though, is that you know exactly what he’s doing and show off his signs of possession with pride

L = Location

He prefers to keep most of your sexual acts to the area in and around his cottage. Other than in bed, he loves to press you up against a wall. Sometimes you two get distracted while tending to the farms and end up heatedly making out in the snow. One time, you decide you wanted to lay out some blankets on the floor and do it right in front of the fireplace. He adored the way the firelight danced across your skin. (He’s thought about taking you down to the syndicate room and laying you out across the table. But he came to the unfortunate conclusion that during meetings, he’d never be able to look anyone straight in the eyes ever again. So he’s shelved that idea for the time being. Maybe once the group has disbanded...)

M = Motivation

He loves to be praised by you. During regular day-to-day life, he doesn’t like to accept any compliments from you, usually just brushing them off or responding with a joke. But when you two are alone together and intimate, he drinks that shit up. How can he not believe it when you look up and him with lidded eyes and tell him just how good he makes you feel. Just moaning against his lips as he kisses you is enough to keep him going for a while

N = NO

He will never do anything that involves seeing your own blood. It sets off the voices too much. One day, you randomly got a nosebleed while cooking dinner together. He could smell it before he even saw it. When the voices recognized the deep red color dripping down your face, they wouldn’t stop chanting. He tried to help you clean up, but it became too much to ignore. He had to go out back and slaughter at least a dozen zombies before they shut up. And even then, he was left with a pounding headache. You were extra gentle and sweet with him when you cuddled up in bed together that night

O = Oral

If you’re on the receiving end, be prepared for him to be down there a looooong time. Once he gets his mouth on you, it’s hard for him to pull away. He loves your smell and taste too much. He tries not to get too carried away, but there was one time he made you come 5 times in a row with just his mouth. He was very thorough with his aftercare that night.

He isn’t the one receiving very often. He only really likes it when he’s tired. He loves to sit back in a chair and watch you gently suck him of on your knees in front of him, one hand gently weaving it’s way through your hair

P = Pace

I always imagine him on the slower side. He likes to savor every moment, making sure that every thrust or movement of his hand is intentional and perfectly placed. He takes time to watch you carefully to make sure you’re getting exactly what you need. He’ll go harder before he goes faster

Q = Quickie

As much as he loves to treasure your intimate time together, there are times where he just needs it. Every once and awhile, he’ll be desperate for it and quickly have you against the wall before heading out to run some errands. Sometimes he’ll pull you in, make you cum, and head out the door without saying a single word. He usually feels the need to make up for it when he returns, but you’ve assured him many times that you love sex with him at any pace

R = Risk

Since he’s still fairly inexperienced despite his skills, he’s not super adventurous himself. More often than not, you’re the one bringing new ideas to the relationship. He’s willing to try the new things you suggest. You’ve had a discussion about your limits, and you both understand what goes too far for each other

S = Stamina

He can go multiple times in a row if he wants to, and for a long time. He lowkey loves it when you tire out before him, and you let him keep going while you lie there sleepily in his arms

T = Toy

He doesn’t own any sex toys, but he likes to make sex toys out of everyday objects (as long as they’re safe and properly cleaned of course). He likes the idea of never being able to look at that object the same way again, especially if it’s something either of you use around the house frequently. He would get his hands on some actual toys if you wanted him to. If toys are involved, he prefers them to be used on you, not on him

U = Unfair

He likes to randomly tease you during moments that are absolutely not sexual. Maybe you’re brushing out his hair, complaining about the knots in it. He’ll suddenly respond with “that’s not what you told me in the bedroom last night” leaving you to sit there in shock while he laughs. Or he’ll quote things you said to him during sex completely deadpan and watch as the blush rises to your cheeks

V = Volume

He’s not extremely loud. When he is loud though, he growls. You’ll be able to feels his chest vibrating when you lean into him. Sometimes you can even feel the vibrations through his lips as he pleasures you with his mouth, which is an absolutely crazy and wonderful feeling.

During very domestic moments, he likes to talk a lot during sex. If he comes home from working all day, and he’s missing you greatly, he loves to tell you all about his day while his cock gently rocks inside of you

W = Wild Card

This part is definitely just gonna be me fulfilling one of my personal kinks, but I love the idea of techno going through a heat since he’s part piglin. Maybe it only happens like once a year, but when it’s that time, his senses are kicked into high gear and he’s desperate for you. The two of you have a routine for it by now. You prepare the bedroom by gathering every blanket in the house, and prepping a week’s worth of food & water that can be eaten quickly during the moments when techno’s haze of arousal drops. Once he feels it start to set in, he locks the bedroom door and allows his senses to become completely enveloped by you

X = X-Ray

I like to believe that a lot of the hybrid races are PACKING. It’s one of the many things he’s nervous about on your first time, but seeing the way your able to take him so well every time is such a turn on

Y = Yearning

Both you and him can be too tired to have sex at times, but if he’s able to have you, he’ll take everything he can get. He loves to take care of you if you’ve had a long day, and he knows you’ll do the same for him

Z = ZZZ

If it’s nighttime sex, he can pass out as soon as aftercare is over. But if it’s morning or midday, he can have sex and go about the rest of his day no problem. Since his orgasms are so long, he likes to make you cum more often than he does, and watching you cum invigorates him

#mcyt x reader #techno x reader #technoblade x reader #mcyt smut #techno smut #red:moon #c!techno

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clusterbuck · 3 years

Note

how about 4 from the prompts list? "I'm here, aren't I?"

okay fun fact when i sat down to fill this prompt and turned my spotify on shuffle the first song to come up was i'm here by sweet talk radio so like... that's appropriate lmao

thanks for the prompt!!

"i'm here, aren't i?" buck mutters under his breath. "stop looking at me like that! it's rush hour on a friday, i did the best i could with the traffic conditions i had."

"i know, i know," eddie whispers next to him. "i'm not mad at, you, i just—" he cuts himself off and sighs. "i was going to talk to you about something before we went in."

"why am i here, anyway?" buck asks, looking around at all of the parents and teachers milling around the foyer of christopher's school. "i mean, you know i don't mind, but you made it sound really—"

he's interrupted by the sound of a woman's voice, somewhere on eddie's other side. "mr diaz, there you are! and this must be the husband."

buck whirls to look at eddie, because—if eddie has a husband, this is the first he's hearing of it.

please, eddie's expression seems to say, desperate and cornered and a little hopeful. and buck's never been able to deny him anything.

he's always been quick on the uptake, and even if he wasn't, eddie's arm sliding around his waist would probably make the pieces slip into place. so he schools his features into his best approximation of what a husband probably looks like and turns to face the woman next to eddie.

she's bright and bubbly, the platonic ideal of a suburban california soccer mom. she holds out a hand, and buck grins as he shakes it. "that's me," he confirms.

"and are you mr diaz as well?" she asks, and buck breathes an internal sigh of relief when she doesn't add anything along the lines of i don't really know how it works with you people.

"buckley, actually," he tells her. "buck." then he drops his voice and leans in like he's sharing a secret. "makes it easier at work, you know, so our captain knows who he's talking to."

she laughs, and eddie squeezes his hip. "i've heard a lot about you," she says with a smile. then she inclines her head at eddie. "he won't shut up about you, actually."

buck grins. "is that so?" he asks, turning to look at eddie.

eddie rolls his eyes. "i talk about you a normal amount," he says. "don't go getting an ego about this."

the woman introduces herself as somebody's mother. next to him, eddie falls into an easy conversation about math homework and the upcoming science fair, but buck is only half-listening. he's mostly preoccupied by the fact that eddie, apparently, goes around telling people that they're married. which is definitely news to him.

he's also more than a little preoccupied by the warm weight of eddie's arm resting around his waist, and the casual way eddie's hand curls around his hip like it belongs there. before he can think better of it, buck leans further into eddie's embrace, and eddie adjusts his grip mid-sentence like this is something they do every day and not something out of buck's wildest daydreams.

eventually, the woman excuses herself to go and find some teacher or the other.

"husband, huh?" buck asks. "that's funny, i don't remember you proposing. or, you know, asking me out."

as he speaks, eddie detaches himself from buck. when buck turns to look, eddie is already wearing a guilty expression.

eddie sighs. "i was going to tell you," he says. "that's what i wanted to talk to you about before we came in."

"i mean, yeah, knowing ahead of time that i'm supposed to be acting like your husband would have made life a little easier," buck says. "also, uh, why am i supposed to be acting like your husband, again?"

eddie looks away, squirrely in the way buck knows he only gets when he's embarrassed. "there was a teacher a while back," he says. "she kept, uh, hitting on me? so i panicked and said i was married."

"okay, so, why me?" buck asks, and wonders if eddie can hear the unspoken question. why are you pretending to be married to a man? eddie's never given any indication that he's anything other than straight. it's the biggest reason buck has him firmly mentally labelled as never going to happen, buckley, you might as well stop dreaming about it.

it hasn't worked so far, but repetition is key.

"i guess christopher talks about you a lot," eddie says. "she asked if it was you, and it seemed easier to say yes than to invent some kind of fictional spouse that i'd have to remember details about."

"romantic," buck says, and eddie laughs and elbows him.

"shut up."

"so why didn't you just tell me?" buck asks.

"i was going to, if you'd been here when you said you would!"

"hey, it's not my fault the 146 didn't manage their pile-up scene properly and traffic backed up!" buck says. "besides, you could also have told me at any other point in time between now and—how long have you been telling people this?"

"uh... six months, give or take," eddie says. "that's why it was so important you come tonight—i've been making excuses for you at school events, but the other parents have started to question it and i don't want them thinking my imaginary husband is a shitty person."

"clearly you have better taste than that," buck agrees.

eddie sighs again, but it's good-natured. "god, i should have known you'd be insufferable about this."

"and yet you picked me anyway," buck beams. "so why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"i was worried you'd think it's weird," eddie says. "and i really needed you to be here."

"mm, being addressed as your husband out of the blue was definitely less weird," buck says.

"so it didn't go exactly to plan," eddie says. "thanks for just rolling with it, by the way."

"of course," buck says. "i've got your back, remember?"

"somehow, i don't think this is what either of us envisioned back in that hospital parking lot," eddie laughs.

and it's true—buck had envisioned doing a lot of things with eddie, back in those first few days before he'd realised he didn't have a chance, but fake marriage was never one of them.

"so is there anything specific you need me to do?" buck asks, in an effort to distract himself from thoughts of the things he did envision.

"just—sell it, i guess?" eddie says. "i'm pretty sure i've only told people things about you that are true anyway, so there's no elaborate cover story or anything."

"except that we're married," buck says.

"except that we're married," eddie agrees. "for—about a year now, i think i've said?"

"a year, okay," buck repeats. "cool, i'm on it." then he steps closer to eddie again and slips his hand into eddie's back pocket.

"buck," eddie hisses. "what are you doing?"

"selling it," buck replies.

"where? in high school in the year 1987?" eddie asks, but he relaxes into buck's side.

"hey, no judging," buck says. "maybe this is my signature move."

"i mean, you do you," eddie says. buck doesn't argue, because he doesn't want to have to tell eddie that he's mostly doing it because this might be the only opportunity he ever gets to touch eddie's ass.

it's only as they set off to meet with the first of christopher's teachers that buck realises he might have miscalculated. because now his hand is on eddie's ass, and he's suddenly hyperaware of even the smallest twitch of his fingers. how much of it can eddie feel? is eddie going to think he's trying to make a move if he accidentally flexes his fingers a little?

it's not that he doesn't want to make a move. it's just that he doesn't think that eddie would be very receptive to it.

except eddie turns out to be a very affectionate fake husband. if buck's hand isn't in eddie's pocket then eddie is holding it. when they sit side-by-side listening to teachers talk about how smart christopher is, eddie's foot is hooked around buck's ankle. in the hallway between meetings, eddie turns to drop a kiss on buck's cheek, and a shiver radiates through him.

buck doesn't know what to make of it. he's used to a certain amount of physical contact from eddie—shoulders brushing together as they walk next to each other, working together so seamlessly their limbs might as well be extensions of each other on calls—but this feels different. it's not just that the touches are different—there's an ease to eddie's actions that makes buck wonder for the first time in years if maybe his mental label for eddie isn't quite as accurate after all.

he doesn't know how else to explain the fact that eddie keeps touching him. it's more than enough to sell their ruse—bordering on excessive, even, especially for a middle school parent-teacher conference.

and buck isn't exactly innocent himself, either. he wonders if a year into a fictional marriage is too far to claim honeymoon period, because that's the closest he can come to describing the feeling—like now that he has permission to touch eddie, the dam has broken and he can't keep his hands off.

they're still holding hands when they spill out of the school doors and into the dark warmth of the september evening. eddie makes no move to let go, and so neither does buck.

buck's jeep is clear across the other side of the parking lot, but he follows eddie to his truck anyway. they reach the car, and eddie brushes his lips against the corner of buck's mouth, closer than he has all night. buck freezes.

eddie pulls back, horror clear across his face. "i'm sorry," he says. "i didn't—i just—i forgot. that we're not inside anymore."

there's just enough wistfulness in his voice that buck makes a split-second decision. he takes a step forwards and takes eddie's face in his hands, stands still for two heartbeats just in case he's reading everything extremely wrong and eddie wants to protest, and then he's kissing eddie.

eddie kisses the way he does everything else, with a steadiness that keeps buck tethered to reality and a quiet intensity that bubbles just under the surface. it's a combination that's uniquely eddie, one that makes buck feel like he could take on the world and win and like he's coming home.

"i don't want it to be just inside," buck says, just in case eddie didn't get the message. "i don't want it to be fake. i mean, it might be a little soon to get married, but—"

"someday, though," eddie says, and buck laughs.

"someday, yeah."

eddie grins at him. "in the meantime, do you want to come home with me tonight?"

"yeah, i really do."

send me a starter line from this list and i'll write a ficlet for it!

#i am so tired i hope this makes sense lmao #buddie #911fic #ask emma #emma writes #becominglionhearted #lol i was literally just saying the other day that i tend to default to eddie pov and here's my second buck pov in a row #oh well

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sevendeadlymorons · 3 years

Note

Ok mc is still unused to devil Dom and the house and the boys so they usually wake up in the middle of the night, if they even sleep at all the first few weeks. Just them their thought a hot cup o any beverage on the big chair in the library at 2 am just lost and a little sad.. who would find them first how would they react? I just had this idea in my had for such a long time and!!!! Sorry but I positively love your works so much!!

Just pretend that Belphie wasn’t locked up and he was there in the start of the game, ok? Ok.

Thank you! And this is so sweet I’m loving it :,)

Brothers Reaction to Newly Acquainted MC Sitting Alone At Night

You’d woken up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night for the third time this week, hyperventilating after the nightmare you’d just endured. You check your surroundings but quickly realise that you weren’t in your room, but in the room you were assigned to when you were dragged to the Devildom against your will. You sigh and hold your head in your hands, desperately trying to shake away the irrational fear you’d embedded deep inside of you the past few nights. You knew you weren’t going to be sleeping tonight so you decide to get up and go grab a hot drink and sit in the huge chair you saw in the library when you walked past with that demon. When you’d finished making your drink and sat down in the chair, ready to start drinking it, you hear the floor boards creak from across the room...

——————————————

Lucifer

Seeing the eldest of the brothers in the middle of the night wasn’t exactly the most comforting situation to be in, but you composed yourself as best as you can when he spotted you and walked in to the room, sitting down dangerously close to you. Lucifer stares at you questioningly, wondering why you were up so late. He was going to say something but felt, since you’re new here, it may stress you, so he kept quiet.

Time passed and you two were still sat in silence, awkwardly sipping on your now lukewarm drink. You wanted so badly to just get up and leave but God, he had a presence that made you stiff. You thought you were about to lose it until he finally spoke, breaking the painful silence around you. He told you softly that if something was troubling you, that he would try and help, his eyes glistening in the ray of moonlight from the open window, making him look like an angel, causing you to feel much more relaxed. You nod politely and go back to drinking your drink, his gaze still locked on you, but now, it felt more comfortable. He went on to talk about Diavolo’s plans for the future and how you were helping them get there, reminding you how grateful he is to have you here. It was a nice thought, honestly.

Hearing such soothing words from him calmed you down, overall, and you both talked about music and hobbies. He wasn’t such a bad presence in the end, and his smile still makes you feel safe whenever you think about it.

Mammon

The demon you knew to be Mammon walked into the room with a surprised look on his face. Obviously you wasn’t the person he was wanting to see at 2 in the morning... Ever since you first lay eyes on him, you knew he was the more eccentric brother, as he quickly became quite vocal and perhaps even comfortable in your presence?

He marched towards you straight away, your paranoia rising as you wonder what he was going to do. But instead of all these awful things you’d thought up in your head, he stopped in front of you and started telling you how late it is, calling you foolish. You thought you saw concern flash in his eyes for a brief second as he was nagging you though. He sighed and shrugged, realising that you may just be overwhelmed, so he took a seat next to you and just went silent, letting you dwell in your thoughts, but not entirely letting go of the fact it was still very late and you had RAD tomorrow and he wasn’t going to be the demon to drag you out of bed.

Weirdly, in the end, he made you feel more relaxed somehow? He obviously showed some care for you and that made you feel a bit more secure in your surroundings. He was just who you needed to see in that moment.

Leviathan

Seeing the third born, Leviathan, came as a shock to you more than it did to him. As soon as he saw you, he rolls his eyes and huffs, then continues on to what you imagined to be the kitchen. You thought he’d left at first, leaving you in a peaceful silence with just you and your hot drink, alone in thought. Then, why do you feel so hurt by him ignoring you...? Your thoughts continue to attack you, until another creak echoed into the room. It was him again.

He looked into the room at where you were sitting; it looked like he was deciding whether to walk on or comfort you. He seemingly made up his mind as he walked in and sat down opposite you. You knew he was awkward to be around as soon as you met him, and you weren’t surprised whatsoever when he pulled out his phone and started playing a game, the light from the screen illuminating his face. You noticed his eyes darting up every few seconds, maybe to check you were still there and you hadn’t left him? He wasn’t going to say anything anytime soon, and you knew that, so you sceptically asked him what game he was playing. He didn’t even look at you when he answered, his eyes glued to the screen as he quickly tapped buttons on his phone. You chuckle, telling him you play it too, and you’ve never seen someone’s neck snap up to look at you so fast in your life. His eyes light up as he begins to talk about his favourite characters, then going to ask you yours. He was like an entirely different person; he even dashed up to sit right next to you, showing you all his rare cards, but then blushing after your legs brush against eachother.

Levi made you feel safe, and like you had someone to relate to. Talking to him was also like talking to an old friend, insults included. He really was a joy to be around.

Satan

From out of the shadows, you realise it was Satan, a face that you trusted because of his tranquillity and ability to stay more or less level headed. He obviously came in to have some alone time as he looked like he didn’t expect to see you sitting alone at this hour. But nonetheless, he flashes you a comforting smile, making you relax just a bit, but you still kept your guard high; he was a demon after all...

He quietly minded his own business and went to pick out a book from the various shelves. Reading at this hour sounded a bit odd to you, but perhaps he couldn’t sleep like you? He pulled out a book and sat down on a large chair besides you. The silence was almost deafening as the two of you sat in complete silence for what felt like hours, the only sound audible was the rustle of paper and the sip you made as you drank your drink. You was tempted to get up and leave but he suddenly spoke in a calm and soothing manor, something you never expected from him. He asks several questions, from what your favourite book is, to your favourite genre, and even told you if you ever needed something, come to him and he’d sort it out. He was a kind soul at heart, you noticed, sharing his love for cats with you and watching his eyes light up as he continues to tell you about the ones he looks after outside.

He made the night just that bit better. All you wanted was a friendly face and Satan provided that, along with a much needed conversation.

Asmodeus

You sighed as you realised it was just Asmo. He was probably the least threatening to you compared to his brothers, but you had to admit, being alone at night with the Avatar of Lust did feel slightly unsettling. He caught on to your presence pretty quickly and casually walked over to you, flashing you a big smile and a friendly wave. You cautiously smiled back and went back to drinking your beverage.

He was unsurprisingly friendly, starting up a conversation, or a lecture, you suppose, about how you shouldn’t be up this late unless you want your skin to suffer. He talked quite a lot about himself, so thankfully you didn’t have to respond much, and instead stuck to drinking and nodding occasionally to show you’re still listening. He even gave you little compliments to try and cheer you up; complimenting your hair and skin to which you laughed and thanked him. But he never took his eyes off your hands for some reason, and you couldn’t understand why until he took your hands in his and you soon realised you’d been shaking. He looked at you with sparkling eyes, his tone suddenly quite serious as he began to tell you that if you ever felt lonely or distressed, come to him and he’ll make you feel all better. You couldn’t help but smile and look down in embarrassment, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand soothingly.

After sitting with Asmo for a while, you came to realise he actually had such a kind heart. His aura was calming and you felt safe. He definitely improved your mood.

Beelzebub

Coming from around the hallway was Beelzebub. He always threatened you in a way, what with his large frame that towered over yours and the way you don’t think you’ve seen him smile yet. How could you not be slightly worried about his intentions? He didn’t see you as he made his way to the kitchen next door. You sighed and went back to drinking your hot drink, staring into your lap and feeling painfully lonely. You heard yet another creak and quickly looked up, but all you could see was a stockpile of food held by none other than Beel himself.

You felt your heart leap out your chest in shock. You didn’t even hear him come towards you. He kept staring at you with that same emotionless expression, but when you looked closer, it wasn’t a scary one, or a threatening one. He sat down across from you and started to eat through the huge pile of food he’d gathered, an entire steak lasting maybe 5 seconds. You got heartburn just from watching him so you turned away and continued to sip your drink, listening to the awkward sounds of Beel devouring his next piece of meat. Not even 5 minutes later and you look up and notice all the food was gone, all that was left was this huge grin on his face. In that moment, you felt peaceful, like his smile was lighting up the room and making you feel better already. He looked at you and smiled that same smile, causing you to smile back. He was actually such a happy soul and you soon started talking about your favourite foods and he even got up to get you some fruits that you said you enjoyed.

He was comforting to be around and your first impression on him was no longer as negative. He made you feel safe and you knew you could be open with him without judgment.

Belphegor

Out from around the corner was Belphegor. You could’ve swore he went to sleep ages ago, so you thought he’d be one of the brothers you could avoid, but apparently not. He didn’t even say anything to you as he walked in, blanket and pillows in tow, and spread himself out on the couch across from you, falling straight asleep.

You had no idea what just happened as you listened to his gentle snores, feeling like you’re intruding on something even though you knew he was the one who walked in here and fell asleep right in front of you. You felt slightly weird just watching him sleep and instead focused on finishing your drink and getting out of there. The drink was still hot so you couldn’t exactly just down it, and leaving straight away would’ve just looked weird, what if he wakes up and sees you staring at him? You couldn’t calm yourself as multiple thoughts rushed through your head at the same time, leaving you with a pounding headache. You didn’t even notice the demon across from you peaking one of his eyes open to watch you carefully. You hear him call out your name suddenly, disrupting your panicking thoughts. You stare straight at him and see that he’s now sat up, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He apologises for interrupting you and tells you that his twin, Beel, was just snoring too loud and it woke him up, so he came to sleep down here. You smile and nod, but still felt kinda weird. He notices and proceeds to get up and sit right next to you, wrapping you up in his blanket and resting his head on your shoulder, telling you to sleep as you look tired. You blink in surprise but agree silently, waiting for him to fall asleep before trying to yourself.

Belphie was a soothing demon to be around. He never smiled much, but he was warm and made you feel safe and wanted, even if you did sorta play the role of a pillow for him. Falling asleep was quite easy with him around.

I had way too much fun with this, holy shit, thank you to whoever sent this me

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me asmodeus #obey me lucifer

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yeojaa · 3 years

Text

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or: Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing. tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life fluff, light smut. explicit (but only at the end).

tags / warnings. mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc. 7.6k.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif, @papillonsgf, and @yeoldontknow 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note. i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this. it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless. as always, feedback means a lot!

You and forethought aren’t close friends. You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree. You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is. Careful consideration? Thoughtful patience? None of that exists for you. At least, not when you really, really want something.

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this. Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid. By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment. Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to. When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed. (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right?

“Everyone’s fully booked.” The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial. (You don’t blame her.) By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal. You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue. “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice? Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable. Well-known. Considered one of the best in the city. Surely their apprentice would be fine. Just less seasoned, not as experienced.

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter. “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall. “Last room on the left. His name’s Jungkook. His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.” It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves. Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told.

“Jungkook?” There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight. (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.) It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else.

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting: one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits. Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine. A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall; one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it. There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath. All in all, very homey. Reminiscent of your own apartment.)

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space. “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples.

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for. Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe. It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin. “Are you okay?” He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way. Good for him, but worse for you.

He’s so cute. Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.” You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete. “Um— I was told you might have some time? For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering? You’re never shy. Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess. People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!” Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder. He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway. “Yeah, I’ve got time. Come in.” Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek; the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip; each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks. “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no. You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook? He was that. In spades.

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table. It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display. “I’ve got a pretty big selection.”

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him. This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation.

“So—” He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen. You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt. It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion; it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles. He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling. The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity. “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.” It really is. You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink. “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question. Of course it did. It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally. “Like crazy, but it was worth it. This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—” He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.

“A piece of cake?” You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you. (It doesn’t. You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap. “Do any of these interest you?” He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash. There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf). They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.” It catches your eye more than the others have. Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines. A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do. “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.” He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled; you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion. A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen. “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy. Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no. You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though. You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it. You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life. There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,” you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.

“Do you have your ID?” You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form. “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come.

Alone, the nerves set in. You’re actually doing this. Getting a tattoo. Putting something permanent on your body. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap. Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come. (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.)

(But had you really made up your mind? Was this going to be it? It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise. It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!” Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope. You eye it curiously. “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”

He’s really thought of everything. Or the shop has. Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?” It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand. (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.)

You hadn’t thought about that. You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away. “My arm?”

“Upper? Forearm?” There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative. He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you.

“Tricep area, I think? Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.” Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same. “I’m kidding. That was cheesy. But I’m sure it’ll look fine. We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?”

“That sounds good.” A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement.

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake: wearing a turtleneck. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like. Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon? Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)?

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule. Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside. Whatever you’d prefer.”

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill. You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way? He was probably desensitized.)

“It’s fine.” You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly. Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though. Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater. It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath. Two.

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“So, which arm?” He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello.

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers. You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.” It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror. “It’s so pretty.”

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face. “Thanks.” He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful. “What do you think?”

“This is it. Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool. As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee.

“All right. We’ll shave you down and get started. You like the colours, right?” Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart. It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes. (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.) He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him. “Hop on up. Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace. It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?” You’d misheard that, right?

“Your skin. You’re sparkling.” He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.

“Oh.” Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly. “It’s my soap.”

“Sparkle soap?” Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure. He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before. (Which, fair.)

“It’s this specialty holiday soap. It has pigment in it.”

“That’s cool.” He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm. “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree. It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does. Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot. “Thanks.”

“Was that weird? I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.”

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle. “Ready?”

Honestly, you’re not sure. Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog. Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue. “I think so.”

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee.

“All right—”“ The incessant buzzing stops. Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel. “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you. Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.)

“Can I see?” You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right. You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet. It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you.

“Careful!” It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.

“Sorry, sorry.” You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede. Everything straightens out quickly enough. “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?” He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall. “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art. “I’m fine.” That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.” The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open. Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words, “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention. It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours. It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.

“You like?”

“I love.” You’d stare at it for hours, if you could. Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie. “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head. Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose. Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into. “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one. It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink. (You half expect him not to answer; you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.)

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.

“So, what’re you thinking?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking. Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history. You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece. “A sleeve?”

That surprises him. His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously. “Like, a full sleeve?” It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable. “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high. “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,” he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea. “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.” He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up. For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing. (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.) “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan. It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there. He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions. It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin. A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep. Another takes up the entirety of your forearm. There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi. It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch. You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.” Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap. “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers. Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat. He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up. Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.

“You mean we did it,” you return, giddy like a child.

“Ah, right.” The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled. “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey! Screw you!” You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more. It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head. Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow. You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm. That in itself had hurt like a biiitch; you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?” He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to. It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.

“Yes, you are.” You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares. This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together. (Not that you’d complain. You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful. “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration. “You wouldn’t dare.” You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.

“Wouldn’t I? I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed? You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation. Had he mentioned it previously? Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain? No, you would’ve remembered that. You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.” How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea. You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway. Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago. (God, your memory is good. If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.) “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.

“Gonna miss me?”

Would it be inappropriate to say yes? Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question. You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,” he answers, offering honesty to your reticence. “You can still send me funny photos though.”

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile. “I guess you’re right. Will you still be tattooing?” It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know. You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.” Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin. “Actually, where I got most of mine done.” You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith. He’s finally come full circle. You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise. “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,” he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair. It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn. “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,” you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder. You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go. It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk. “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you. It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available. (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.) “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black. You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?” He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to. (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?) “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended. “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you. “Hey, I don’t judge. You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there. Used your own impulsive history against you. “I would never.”

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what? Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him. “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth. There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up. You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”

“Really?” You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face. “Then why don’t you have one?” He has a million others as it is: a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs. (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)

“And hide all this?” One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home. “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual. “But I’m cuter. It’d be a shame if it were me. You…” The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean. (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.) “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him.

“I’m kidding.” You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries. A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke. “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them? Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was. Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met. It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?” The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.

Were you? You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? You can’t?” You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it. But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously. It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears. “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”

Had he? Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall. Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of; accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff). Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought. You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,” you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.

“I think you’re cute,” he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff. The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week. The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb. (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer. “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” Where the confidence comes from, who knows. You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering. It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits.

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go.

Then he does the last thing you expect: shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.

(His lips are so soft. A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate. Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him. French fries and beer and his Chapstick.)

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.)

“You just kissed me.” It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.” Speaking the words into existence feels bad; you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.

“I am.” At least he’s realistic. It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay.

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose.

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next. (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass. Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers. An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,” the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials. You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation.

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof. The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin. You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous. It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left.

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed. He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders. You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,” he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity. It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,” you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped. You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was. As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though. You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow. He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?” You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder. Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again. (You’re proud of that. It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine. You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness. Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad. Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around. It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper. He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror. “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals. Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care. Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre. You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life. It means so much - like progressing to the next level.

Which, you suppose it is. This is a fresh start for you. A new beginning in a new city.

“Proud of you,” he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips. He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago. A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,” you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual. “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that. You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome. From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this: a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had; to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that. Made it worth it in ways you had never considered. Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?” He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself. It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.” The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?” You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets. It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that. He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?” Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job?

(It truthfully could be. You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.” All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine. “You don’t like when I admire my own work?” Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit. The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need. (Because you really do need it. You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.) It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once.

“Kook,” you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.” He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin. They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas. A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care. Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits. When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt. “I’ve missed this,” he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.

“Missed you too,” you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @xjoonchildx

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