#the way he goes from being the centre of your world to someone you view bitterly but you hate that it’s come to that because you still | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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∘◦ ♪ ◦∘ Timothée Chalamet - Concerto ∘◦ ♪ ◦∘

A/N - I wrote and posted this almost a year ago on my Wattpad. My writing has evolved a lot since then, but I’m still proud of this piece, and hope you enjoy it. I do not know Tim, nor do I claim to in any way. This is a work of fiction and entirely my own.

Warnings - smut. Detailed (but protected and consensual) sex, slight BDSM, overstimulation. Cursing. Legal alcohol consumption and smoking. Also 10k words of sickening fluff though, even the smut is fluffy.

Summary - At a classical music concert, the last person you expect to meet is a young man as charming and suave as Timothée. And the last thing you expected is for him to invite you back to his flat. Turns out music really is food for the soul, and other things...

IT’S A FRIDAY EVENING IN NEW YORK CITY. The sun is setting behind the towering silhouettes of undulating buildings all across the city, the moon casting shadows all around au contraire to the luminescence of building lights, beaming all around as well as the street lamps, bringing colour and light to people’s faces in the dark.

You’re standing on the pavement outside Symphony Space Concert Hall on the Upper West Side, people watching. Nothing more or less conspicuous, just observing everyone flooding into the hall, though none of them seem to be under 50 years of age. After checking the time, you take your phone out of the pocket attached to your delicate silk jumpsuit you’re wearing for the night, the one reserved for classy parties and sophisticated concerts only (though very handy). You open the email holding your ticket for the evening, a Poulenc appreciation concert, and you show it to the bouncer who grants you entry to the auditorium.

The room looks incredible. Photos of Francis Poulenc, as well as some old parchment sheets of his music spread out delicately over the usually bare walls. The lights create a perfect ambience in the hall for what's sure to be an incredible evening. The red velvet seats are half full, dotted with people at least twice your age, except from one seat near the front where you can see merely a defined jaw and brown curls. On the stage stands two glossy black grand pianos, slotted beside one another with plush velvet stools and their lids propped up, allowing one to see the inner workings of such wonderful instruments. Behind the pianos are seats enough for an entire orchestra, creating a crescent moon shape. A couple of the seats already have instruments atop them, aching for their owners to play beautiful melodies with them. You make your way down to where your seat is, familiar with the layout of the auditorium. You’re on the right hand side of the centre stalls, third row back, but as you arrive, there’s a boy you saw earlier, not much older than yourself.

“Hi, do you mind if I squeeze past?” You ask him, watching his head jolt up from the programme to reveal a mop of beautiful dark brown curls framing his chiselled face, piercing green eyes with flecks of hazel when the light changed direction. You recognise him, an actor, you simply can’t place him.

His look of incredulity melts into a smile. “Sure.” He says, moving his legs so that you can squeeze past and take your reserved seat on his left. He turns to face you, smiling. He’s wearing a crisp navy suit with a pale blue shirt and a matching tie. He looks well presented, and by his nervous and lopsided smile, you guess that he’s rather nervous to be at the concert alone too. “Timothée.” He tells you, holding his hand out.

You return his gesture, smiling right back at him, and tell him your name. “You here alone?” You ask him, turning in your seat to get a better view. He nods.

“Thought I’d be the only under fifty here.” He laughs, “I’m 24 by the way, but I shan’t ask your name since you're a lady.” You can't help but laugh at this, just a little giggle at how sweet he is, but your interaction is cut short as the lights turn down in the auditorium but shine brighter on the stage, and a full orchestra enters the stage, accompanied by their instruments, two pianists and a conductor. Murmurs in the hall settle down to a faint hum while the musicians tune to the sound of the oboe, and then begin to play.

The music is mesmerising, starting with orchestral pieces with faint piano accompaniment, then just a nocturne for piano, split between the two lead pianists. You could listen to it all night, but an interval has to come. As the lights slowly turn back up, you see an infantile smile on Timothée’s face, as though he’s just watched the most excellent thing in the world.

“Come on,” you say to him, smiling sadly while you tap his knee, “let’s get a drink.”

He reluctantly stands up to follow you out of the auditorium and to the small bar area. You order two margarita’s without consulting him, but he seems grateful as you sit beside each other on a high table, people watching once again.

“What's your job then?” He asks you, making small talk.

“I’m a piano major at Juilliard, teaching piano on the side though.” You respond, and he seems really taken aback. His jaw falls a little slack while his eyes bulge a tad.

“Wow, you must be excellent!” You blush a little at his words, elegantly taking a sip from your drink while he eyes you carefully. You feel awkward under his gaze, though flattered nonetheless. He’s gorgeous, and he’s complimenting you and accepting drinks from you, what a night.

“What about you?” You inquire. He's an actor, you know that, but asking means that you may be able to get some more context and maybe it’ll click where you’ve seen him before. He clears his throat, and you can see some older people walking by who pull faces, judging the pair of you, but you brush them off.

“I’m an actor, mainly small films though.” He says, remaining vague. You don’t push much more, realising that he probably likes not being fawned all over for once, so you simply ask of the favourite names he’s had the honour of working alongside, which must be an uncommonly asked question because a light flickers behind his eyes.

“Selena Gomez, Steve Carell, Armie Hammer, Saoirse Ronan, Emma Watson, Robert Pattinson, Maia Mitchell…” He begins to list, but only when he mentions Maia does it click. You aren't huge into films, but you have seen him in a film with Maia Mitchell and Maika Monroe a few years ago.

“Hot summer nights, right? You were in that?” His cheeks turn a magnificent crimson and he bows his head as though embarrassed. He mumbles something along the lines of ‘not my best performance’, but you disagree. “I think you were wonderful, and did you mention Armie Hammer?” He nods again, seeming a little brighter. You take another sip from your drink, and he follows suit, watching your poised movements.

“Call Me By Your Name.” You nod in recognition, you remember watching the film when it first came out and loving the music from it.

“You’re excellent you know, at piano I mean, and the intimate scenes aren’t half bad either, you make them better.” You say with a teasing smirk on your painted lips, making Timothée’s eyes widen again. You chuckle and grasp his hand, dragging him into the auditorium for the second half.

The second half is a whole concerto, Poulenc’s Concerto For Two Pianos And Orchestra. Ten minutes in, Timothée’s hand finds your thigh and seems very comfortable, so comfortable in fact that you don't dare move it. As the concerto flows further on, his hand slides further up your clothed leg and squeezes your upper thigh a little You tense under his touch, infatuation and lust filling every cell and exiting through your pores, just waiting for more passion to fill your body and make you drunk on the feeling.

When finally the concert ends, both of you stand to applaud the musicians for a solid few minutes, and you could swear you see a tear leaving Timothée’s mysterious eyes and rolling down his heavenly made, painfully defined cheekbones. While you clap, you surreptitiously edge closer together, millimetre by millimetre until you’re hip to hip with elbows nudging. Your head comes up to his chin, making you feel a little small, but you’ll feel even smaller once your heels come off. Once the majority of the audience have filed out, you grasp his hand and pull him through the crowds where you stand on the corner of the pavement, only metres from the venue. You’re reluctant to loosen your grip on his slim hand, as he is with yours.

“Cigarette?” He offers, holding a half full box out to you. You half smile and shake your head in refusal.

“I don’t mind if you do though.” You say, meeting his gaze. “I love the taste of smoke when I kiss someone.” You add in a whisper, leaning up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He goes rigid, making you smirk to yourself. This is going to be a good night.

He lights his cigarette and takes slow drag, only looking away to blow the smoke in an opposite direction to you. How respectful, you think, as your stomach fills with butterflies and bubbles with anticipation. He puts it out on top of a bin and throws it away without littering, and just that small and helpful gesture makes you crave his touch, having his fingers trace your sweaty skin and making your body tingle, your back arch with desire and pleasure.

“Wanna get a drink?” You ask, pointing to a nice bar across the road. You’re desperate to sleep with him, but not without pleasantries first. He, however, shakes his head and intricately entwines his fingers with yours.

“I’ll do you one better than a drink.” His smirk sets off a different kind of longing in you, forcing your body to follow him wherever he takes you.

As you walk, he starts conversation, but you’re so breathless from the desperation speed walking that your answers are brief. He asks you why you attended the concert, only to remember that you’re a music student and piano teacher; so in turn, you ask him the same question.

“When I was doing Call Me By Your Name, I had to learn the piano, and while I was learning classical pieces, I kind of just fell in love with classical piano music, I don’t know.”

His nervousness is sweet, making him appear far more humble than anyone of his stature would usually be.

You get to his building after a twenty minute dash in heels, and he pulls you flush against him while entering through the revolving doors, allowing you to lay your weight on him for a moment while you gather your breath. You feel his heartbeat thudding and racing against his ribs, reverberating against your own chest. You turn around to face him and place your hand on his chest.

“Breathe.” You say to him, allowing him to release a long held breathy chuckle. You leave the doors, both laughing, and fervently press the buttons to wait upon a lift. “So,” You then continue, breaking the silence where only your breaths were heard. “Favourite piano piece from the Call Me By Your Name soundtrack?”

“Hallelujah Junction!” You both answer at the same time, just as the lift doors open. You fall into the lift in a fit of giggles, clinging onto each other. You find yourself with your back pressed against the cold metal handle bar in the elevator with Timothée’s face inches away from your own. Your breath mingles together. As soon as he presses the button to his floor, he nudges his nose with your own.

“God, you're so beautiful.” he says seconds before his mouth is pressed hotly against your own, kissing you with an unrivalled passion. Your lips mould and move together like it’s second nature. His one hand holds your waist while both of yours grip his face, feeling a slight stubble.

The lift dings and he drags you out, unlocking his apartment door and leading you inside.

“Welcome to Casa del Timmy.” he says while hugging you from behind, allowing you to get a full view.

His apartment is stunning. Sleek, yet also vintage. Your eyes follow across the perimeter through a door to the left, where he has an office area containing a sleek white desk with a mac and a stack of papers and pens, next to it is a vintage white bookcase stacked as high as possible with novels of all shapes and sizes, and even an indie style rug underneath a colourful modern dining set..

The door next to the office is a kitchen, white countertops with wooden cupboards and a beautiful view of the city out of the window. To the right is a set of glass doors that open onto a small balcony where you can see the whole city, even Manhattan and Brooklyn depending which way you look and how the moon beams down. There’s a closed door right in front of you and through the entry hall and living room which you assume is his bedroom held behind a golden doorknob.

His living room, where you remain standing, holds an array of house plants with a couple of very comfortable looking plush sofas, his TV stand as well as his coffee table look like polished vintage items, refurbished from a flea market maybe, while his book shelf and rug are grand and modern. The best part of all though is a grand piano in an oak wood, matching the wood from his television table, and you become instantly entranced by the instrument that you don’t even notice the velvet stool or the perfectly organised cabinet of music, with a guitar propped up against it.

“Wow.” You breathe. Timothée grips you tighter, trailing kisses across your shoulder and up the side of your neck, inhaling every few seconds to treasure the scent of your perfume. Gardenia, rose champagne, grapefruit, davana; heavenly. You grip his hands with your own, holding them tightly where they’re settled on your tummy. You roll your head against his shoulder to give him better access to kiss you, but he stops abruptly and leads you to the piano stool. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a well loved piece of music.

“I know it’s for two pianos, but let's have some fun.” He says, grinning at you, an infectious smile that you can’t help but return. Hallelujah Junction, first movement. He puts the music out on the piano and takes a seat beside you, your thighs touching and hands overlapping as they begin to glide over the keys.

Playing this piece is second nature to you, allowing you to find your way easily, slipping your fingers between Timothée’s, and the white and black keys. You begin a harmonious melody spanning the whole of the piano, but after only a couple of pages, you realise that its not working as your notes cross over, making it very difficult to play on just one piano. You laugh together, but only for a moment before he is trailing his tongue up your neck, then your lips, and delving inside your mouth. You gasp, moaning into the passionate kiss that he’s giving you, and within seconds you find yourself straddling his lap on the piano stool. You trap his thighs between yours, moving and grinding your hips a little against his to receive more friction where you can feel how needy he is.

Within seconds, he has your legs wrapped around his waist and his teeth on your clavicle. The pleasure makes sounds escape your lips that you didn’t even realise were possible. You knot your ankles as he stands up with one hand around your waist and the other feeling his way around his apartment. After a few funny missteps and close calls of him dropping you while only walking the expanse of his living room, he pins you against his bedroom door, finding your lips again

He gently pokes at your dusty pink bottom lip with his tongue, slipping his tongue back into your mouth, exploring avidly and devouring every taste of you that he can muster. You do the same, but become too infatuated by his taste to put much more passion into it: gin, mint, bergamot and smoke. Smoke, sugar and sin, the most deadly combination of them all, and that's all you can smell on him, making you moan even louder. An erotic moan that makes Timothée twist open the handle to his bedroom door as quickly as is humanly possible.

He as good as throws you onto the bed, but undeniably, it turns you on a lot to see his dominant side this early on into the evening. He doesn't seem like the type to pin you down and boss you around, but as he shuts his bedroom door and delicately takes off his probably very expensive shoes, you can see a glint in his eye, almost as if he’s planning on doing unspeakably pleasurable things to you. Just the thought makes you wetter than before.

As he locks the door and shuts his shoes away, you take a quick look around the room. His bed is nice, comfortable and exquisitely large, like other things you hope. He has a nice colourful throw, vintage looking pillows to match his nightstand, holding only a pillbox, a glass of water, hand sanitiser, and a box of tissues. The simplicity makes you want to laugh, but you restrain yourself. He has a big dresser to match his bedside table with the drawers a little skewwhiff and clothes poking out. His wardrobe is fitted to the wall and by the looks of it, surprisingly neat too. That much cannot be said for his sofa though. A plush, light grey sofa sits on one side of his room just away from the window, and it's covered with clothes. At least he made the bed though, that's more than you can say for most 20-odd year old mans rooms that you’ve been into.

He sheds his blazer and crawls up to where he left you on the bed, needy and craving more. He looks down at you with desperation in his eyes, and you can’t help but to attack his lips, threading one hand in his beautiful dark curls while the other nimbly pulls open his tie and undoes his shirt. You shrug it off his shoulders and run your nails up and down his spine. You feel him shiver beneath his touch while your hands travel all over his body. His shoulders, his biceps, his toned stomach; he’s skinny, but has enough substance to him to be strong and sexy as hell.

“You’ll kill me if you stop.” He whispers, followed by a string of breathy curses. His eyes roll into the back of his head, giving you ample opportunity to grasp his shoulders and slip the pair of you over, pinning him beneath you. His eyes flit all over your face before kissing you again.

“You are so freaking beautiful.” He mumbles between kisses. He slips his hands up to find the zip of your jumpsuit which he slides down crazily fast, only breaking the kiss to shrug it off your shoulders. He just lies in awe, noticing that you don’t have a bra on beneath it. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he examines every undulation of your body, following the swell of your breasts right down to your hips. Your nerves return under his scrutiny, making you want to hide your face, but instead he holds your wrists behind you.

“You never have to cover up,” he says, nothing more or less than genuine love in his eyes, “not for me.”

Despite only meeting him hours ago, you know that you can trust him, so you ungracefully clamber off his lap and lie on your back to shimmy off your burden of a jumpsuit. He practically leaps at the opportunity to worship your body, before him in only your panties. He starts at your ankle, placing feather light kisses all the way from your ankle, up your leg, not minding the slight harshness of your legs, and only stops at your knee joint to switch his lips to his tongue, licking a straight line all the way up your inner thigh, stopping centimetres from where you need him the most. Not through any of this ritual does he break eye contact though. He skips over your panties and only pulls them down a little to trail kisses from your pelvic bone, up past your navel, through the valley of your breasts, and finally back to your lips. He makes you feel things that you could only dream of before meeting him.

“Timothée…” you breathe, hearing his breath hitch in his throat at the way your tongue curls around his name.

You reach between the two of you to his trousers. You undo the belt buckle with ease and push his trousers off his hips and down his thin legs, allowing him to kick them off at the bottom. He seems embarrassed, wearing Y-fronts that make more visible just how much he wants you.

“How about we strip together?” You offer, and Timothée reluctantly nods. He pushes himself off of you and stands up, giving you a hand to stand up as well. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment you left the concert hall. “3, 2, 1…”

You both remove your underwear, pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them, only to step closer together so that your chests are flush against one another. He moves his hand up to cup your face, brushing your hair away from your face while tilting your chin up, capturing your lips in a lustful yet also sensual kiss.

He nudges you and your legs hit the bed, making you topple over and break the kiss from a giggle, but he doesn’t seem to mind and only laughs with you, moving your body further onto the mattress. He doesn't go to you again, he just lies beside you and dances his fingers absently down your pubic bone, ghosting circles around your clit.

“Jesus Christ.” You exclaim at the sudden feeling. Timothée kisses your jawline, but adds in between kisses, “Less of that, darling, I’m Jewish.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. You know he’s joking, just trying to mess with you, but as a punishment for laughing, he thrusts two fingers inside you with no warning, making you cry out in a mixture of both pain and overwhelming pleasure.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, never going deeper than the second knuckle even when you cry out for more. Only when your moans turn to gasps for breath and you’re writhing beneath him does he delve in further and add his thumb to your clit, giving you a more intense orgasm than you’ve ever had before.

You immediately feel blood rushing back to your cheeks, colouring them from embarrassment, but Timothée doesn’t mind. He removes his hand from your core, and makes sure your eyes are fixated on his every movement as he licks his hand clean of all your cum. You’re so turned on that you even reach for his own hand, interlacing all your fingers except for his index one, of which he takes the hint and slips it into your open mouth, allowing your tongue to curl around it, making him groan.

He slips further down the bed and locks his eyes onto yours, you can see different shades of green and hazel in them and a whole world locked behind those beautiful eyes. Slowly, he delves into your heat, licking up everything that his hands missed. His mouth works wonders, sending your mind into a state of mild euphoria. The tip of his nose nudges your clit and you can feel yourself involuntarily gasp, so when Timothée finishes savouring every taste of you that he can get, he harshly bites your sensitive clit for just a moment, stimulating parts of your mind and body that you didn’t know could feel pleasure, let alone pleasure that intense.

He comes back up and kisses your lips, planting his hands in your hair as you kiss him back and get lost in the moment, your tongues dance together in an exploration, an experimentation of passion.

You pull away after a minute or so, gasping for air. Timothée examines your face for a moment, and you find yourself once again losing your thoughts and sanity in his eyes, until you feel the tip of his throbbing cock brush against your bare thigh. You feel bad for how much he’s been neglecting his own levels of desire in order to pleasure you, so you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. He takes a sharp intake of breath and flutters his eyes closed, his long dark eyelashes twitching alongside his eyelids whenever you grasp harder or pump him.

He’s surprisingly big, causing you to take longer while rubbing your hand up and down his member. Half way down one thrust, you squeeze his cock a little, hearing him whimper a little. The mere sound of him drowns your core in want. You edge your way down the bed and swallow as much of his dick as you can take until his tip hits the back of your throat. He lets out the most sensual guttural groan that you’ve ever heard, his eyes still closed while placing his hand on the back of your head to keep you steady. You bring your head back up to look at him while your tongue swirls his tip, his mouth is parted a little with breathy moans of your name escaping every once in a while, his eyelids switching from being lazily half open to squeezed so tightly shut that they wrinkle a little.

You go back down slowly, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks. You work your hand in the part of him that won’t fit in your mouth and continue to bob your head up and down. You lick a strip up a vein on the underside of his dick, making him near enough scream your name. With one final bob of your head where you deep throat him, you pull away with plump lips, climbing up his body to straddle his waist. He looks up at you with wide and loving eyes, pulling you down for a sensual kiss.

“Are you clean?” He asks breathlessly, kissing down the hickeys that he’s already littered your skin with.

“Yeah, i got tested after my last break up a few months ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since. Is that because I just…” He nods and you laugh a little, the vibrations from his chuckle rumble throughout your body.

“I did the same, but I’ll still…” You get what he’s saying and climb off him. He flings open the top drawer of his bedside table and after a minute or so of rooting through it he pulls out a condom packet and places it next to his glass of water. You give him a questioning look with your brows knitted together, but Timothée just smiles at you. He slips one slim arm beneath your back and the other under your knee joint before scooping you up and holding you close to his chest.

“Well hey there Timothée.” You say with a chuckle, secretly astonished at how strong he is, because with one arm still holding you, he throws away the decorative pillows and pulls the duvet back, throwing you onto the mattress and leaping on top of you. You smile into his kiss, savouring every second of the feel of his lips pressed hotly against your own, the taste of smoke driving you crazy.

He pulls away and sits up, tearing open the condom packet and grasping his hand sanitiser. He flicks the lid open and squeezes it liberally onto his hands before applying it and rubbing it into yours. “Are you sure?” He asks you, and your urgent kiss to his jawline is followed by a string of fervent reassurances that you are desperate to have him inside you, though you respect that he wants consent and that he wants to be clean. He slips the condom on, his eyes trained on your lips and the way they part from wanting every few seconds. He’s enjoying torturing you and making you wait, the same way that you edged him but denied him orgasm.

He slips the condom on and slowly enters in one smooth stroke. You gasp at the contact, especially how deep he goes with the first thrust, so deep that his pubic bone hits your own. He reaches for the duvet and he pulls it up over his shoulders, covering the pair of you since he can see that you’re shivering a little in the open. He looks for reassurance, but then begins to thrust inside you, holding his weight above you. You can see his biceps tensing while trying to hold his weight up and keep a steady rhythm.

“How about we spice this up?” He suggests, a sly smirk playing on his lips. He cocks an eyebrow, and the sun hits his face at an angelic angle, only making him more beautiful. You nod eagerly to him, only making his smirk grow wider.

“Yes Mr Timothée,” you say, triggering a dominant smirk to relight behind those stunning eyes.

“That's Mr Chalamet to you tonight, Miss.” Words cannot even explain how wet he makes you by saying that, already making your mind want to submit to his every want. You let out a whimper and remove your hands from his hips to lay above your head on the pillows. He joins his fingers around your wrist and proceeds to lay his slender hand flat against your wrists, preventing you from moving.

“Is this okay?” He asks, his movements coming to a halt. You nod and kiss him again. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He must really enjoy what he’s doing to you. “Yes Mr Chalamet.” You reply, making your eyes as doe like and innocent as possible.

Timothée’s thrusts restart, faster this time. You moan louder, ecstasy filling every inch of your spent body before you’ve even properly begun. His moans are lower, more like groans, all of your name. It sounds heavenly coming from his lips, the way his mouth moves when he says your name just makes it better. His hips hit yours with vigour, adjusting to get a better position where he hits the best spot inside of you.

“There Timothée!” You scream desperately, your back arching on the mattress while your hands fight to break free. Submitting isn’t as easy as you hoped.

“I’m close.” He warns you and frees your wrists, but he doesn’t let your hand go too far. He interlocks his fingers with yours, using one elbow to prop himself up. His thrusts turn sloppy, more fervent, and just as he’s finishing, he digs his thumb into your clit.

Your entire body turns limp, screaming his name in a state of complete euphoria like you’ve never felt before. It travels from your brain to the tips of your fingers, setting a fire in your belly and making your toes curl. Your back arches so far off the bed that your chest becomes pressed against Timothée’s, your breasts moving in time with his breathing. You feel him come to his own climax, silencing his screams by kissing you with more passion than he has before.

You ride out your highs, but the level of pleasure illuminating every nerve ending in your body means that you don’t notice Timothée pulling out and disposing of the condom, you only notice when he flops down beside you on the bed and pulls you closer to his slightly sweaty body. You rest your head on his chest that seems to be glowing in the moonlight from the sheen of sweat. He absently plaits your hair, staring off into the distance. The faint thudding of his heart within his ribs comforts you, it's a little faster than would be normal, making you smile a little.

“How was that?” His hand grips around your shoulder even tighter, pulling you closer to his body. He seems content in simply holding you, maybe he just enjoys cuddling. “Wait, don’t answer that.” He corrects himself, his pupils dilating and his excellent, angelic body going rigid. You chuckle to yourself, drawing circles on his chest with the pad of your forefinger,

“Excellent, Mr Chalamet.” You tease him.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He looks fearful, fretting, it's evident in the sudden sulk of his face, pulling his cheeks and forehead down. You shake your head again, slowly but surely moving your leg to lie over his. Ye inclines his neck to place a gentle kiss to our hairline, and you can feel him smile into it.

“Timothée?”

“Yes beautiful?” Just his simple words make you giggle and blush, such a sweet sentiment from a gorgeous and well meaning man.

“I’m hungry.” You say, feeling slightly embarrassed. He laughs, you feel his body move from it, and he proceeds to pepper your face with the softest and sweetest kisses possible.

“I’ll make us some food, grab any shirt you want and meet me in the kitchen.”

You watch him pull on a pair of grey sweat pants and walk out. His pale hips sway just a little as he walks, and he looks so lanky from where you’re laying on his bed, the covers pulled up around your chest. He kissed your forehead before heading to the kitchen, what kind of a man does that on the first night? He’s a famous actor and the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, let alone a couple of years above yourself. He really knows how to please a girl, your skin rises in tiny goosebumps of pleasure while a shiver shoots down your spine and leaps across your synapses just at the mere thought of what he did to you, by far the best climax you’ve ever had.

You slowly slide out from under his warm, plush covers that smell just like him, only leaving with severe reluctance that melts away as soon as you shrug on the pale blue button down that he wore for the concert. Only a few hours ago you’d met at a concert for old people, already having a common interest that few your age have, yet he’s so eager about classical piano which is so special to you. You fiddle with the buttons, leaving the top few open in hopes of another round - he is making you an almost-midnight feast after all.

You walk out of his room and pad barefoot across his living room floor, only to have a little grey cat come and rub at your feet. You lean down to tickle behind its ears, hearing it meow, and you continue your way too where Timothée has left the kitchen door open for you. He’s standing over the stove with some ingredients laid out on the spotlessly clean countertops. You smile in spite of yourself, running a hand through your messy hair before wrapping your arms around his torso from behind. You place a couple of kisses to his shoulder blades until he turns around and picks you up in one swift movement, sitting you on the counter so that you meet his height.

“It looks better on you.” He whispers, pulling you closer by your bare thighs to plant a kiss on your lips. He’s making you feel things you’ve never experienced before, you can’t wipe the smile off your face for the first time in a while, and he's making you food in the middle of the night after cuddling you.

Dreamboat.

After watching him cook for a while, you slip out of his kitchen and take a seat at his piano. You run your fingers over the smooth wood, it’s well loved but well kept. Then you take a seat on the stool. You can feel where Timothée sits to play, your smile turning a little sad. There’s so much to him that people won’t see because he’s getting famous, but he’s still a person and that’s something that you’re able to experience first-hand.

Eyes closed, you feel for F and Ab with both of your hands. You press the keys down gently, creating the soft blend of notes that is Clair De Lune. You fall lost in the music in a new way, a new feeling washing you with all of tonight's new sensations and sitting at a piano that is neither your own nor at school, it feels somewhat ethereal.

Your fingers glide all across the keys, black to white, flats to sharps, switching between octaves like its second nature. Your mind dances along with the rhythm, your whole mind, soul and being becoming lost in the symphony that you’re creating, one that you haven’t been able to create for a while, and it’s only thanks to Timothée.

You become so absorbed in playing that you don’t notice him leaving the kitchen to listen. He just stands in the doorway, leaning against it with his head lolled a little to the side, completely mesmerised by your movements, your music, and just everything you are. Only when you play the final notes are you alerted of his presence from the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. He walks over to you with purpose, a slight grimace on his perfect lips, but he just hugs you. Timothée just holds you close to his chest, allowing you to entwine your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face in his bare chest.

“Stay the night?” He asks, such a simple request but he truly does seem anxious. You want to be genuine, kind, but it’ll be best to relieve the tension.

“You’re making me a late night post-sex feast and giving me your shirt, of course I’m staying the night.” After a moment of silence, he exhales a laugh and node, brushing a curl or two into his face. “Anyway, your cat likes me too, so it’d be a shame to disappoint the little cutie.”

After only a few minutes, you find yourself back in bed with Timothée. He’s carrying a tray full of food that looks and smells gorgeous, followed by his cat who decides to dance between his legs. He serves you a strangely shaped piece of an odd looking pizza, though it still looks excellent, and it has some perfectly cooked and seasoned vegetables next to it on a white plate.

“What is this?” You ask him as kindly as possible.

“Flammekueche with some vegetables. It’s a French pizza with crème fraiche and bacon. My dad makes it all the time and always gives me some that I just freeze and reheat. I can only make microwave meals and vegetables, so this isn’t bad for me.” The way he explains it makes him so endearing, and even makes the food seem more than enticing. “You’re not allergic to anything are you? Or vegetarian?” You shake your head with a smile, kissing him and thanking him for the meal even though he won’t let you touch it before you sanitise your hands.

You talk the whole while that you eat, learning little things about his favourite books and his family. His favourite book just happens to be Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a book you both know and love, and Timothee has a Jewish mother, a French father, an older sister, and he grew up in the city. You however are from out of the city with an exceptionally normal family, and your favourite book is Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. He seems to be growing fond of you, wiping the pizza sauce from your lip, followed by a kiss each time.

He places your plates on the floor as soon as you finish, snatching at the speed of light for some hand sanitiser, lube and another condom. You more than happily oblige with all of his steps and strip off his shirt, kissing the living daylights out of him before he’s even slotted the condom on. He kisses you back with equal fervour nonetheless, exploring your whole mouth with the tip of his tongue. He cautiously adds some lube to the sides of the condom and slips into you while you’re still atop him. You moan at the penetration, arching your body forwards and hereby giving Timothée a full view of your breasts and the way they bounce with his every thrust inside you.

You moan pornographically at his slow and passionate movements upwards and deep inside you, finding your special spot within moments. He settles his hands upon your hips, squeezing them and guiding your every movement. You ride him just the way he wants you to, you can see it in his eyes. He looks at you like a teenage boy would at a naked supermodel, of which you are only naked and most definitely not a supermodel, despite him treating you like one, and Timothée is thankfully older than a teenage boy yearning for sex.

“You look so fucking brilliant.” He tells you, admiring the way that your face contorts with pleasure while taking every inch of him.

You rhythmically grind your hips against him, swirling them occasionally just to hear him cry out. Nothing is a hinderance from you going faster, but this sex isn’t needing to be urgent to be satisfying. He squeezes your hips harder and you decides to move up a little further, bouncing back down on him as he becomes buried to the hilt in your desperate core. You do it again, engulfing him anew and moaning his name continually from the mix of friction and pleasure that’s sending you into another euphoria, but not enough to release again just yet.

Timothée still hasn’t taken his eyes off you, namely your breasts where he’s currently focussed, eyes trained on your hardened nipples - partly from not wearing a shirt and partly from Timothée’s ministrations. He leans up and captures your left nipple in his mouth, sucking and kissing and swirling his tongue around you in the most divine way possible. He moves his hands away from your hips too, allowing you to grind your hips on his in any way that you like. His one hand moves to your other breast, tweaking and pulling at your right peak and sending sensations through your body that you’d never realised could be real before; while his other slips to the rounds of your ass, squeezing delectably.

“Mr Chalamet, p-please,” you find yourself begging, leaning down while still riding him, his torture on your breasts never ceasing, not even when he thrusts his hips up one final time, allowing your core to devour him whole and sending you into your third otherworldly climax of the night.

“Timothée!” You scream, your climax pouring out of you. You feel him come too, and you hear him cry out your name like a blessing.

He doesn’t pressure you, he just waits until you’re able to clamber off him with as minimal pain and exhaustion as possible, though you do whine at the loss of contact as you lie beside him, his arms securely around you and holding you as close to him as possible. It doesn’t matter that you’re both sweaty or spent, it just feels special.

“Look at that, done before 1am.” He chides, cuddling into you. You laugh a little at him, especially his humour, but it is rather remarkable.

“Two rounds, a meal, and a concert. Can’t speak for you, but I’m knackered.” He smiles at you sleepily, passing you the shirt that you wore earlier. You shrug it on and do it up while Timothée puts his joggers back on and draws the curtains, leaving the two of you in dark for the most part. You lie further down, still close to his thin chest, you hear his breathing rattle a little, but it's soothing.

“Night beautiful.” Is the last thing you hear before falling asleep in his arms.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The only issue about sleeping with Timothée is that you forget it's a Saturday morning, and on Saturdays, you have to work. Your phone alarm starts to go off at 7.15 precisely, which when you’re home, gives you enough chance to get ready for teaching in a calm manner so that you aren’t already angry before teaching little children how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Today however, that is not the case.

Timothée sleeps through it somehow, but your eyes are shocked wide awake, causing you to leap from the comfort and warmth of his bed and cuddles just to crawl on the floor in search of your phone and where it fell last night. You find it next to his door somehow, and switch the alarm off immediately, propping yourself up against the door to release a long held breath and to watch the sun rise through his windows. He looks so beautiful asleep, his lips parted slightly, soft snores escaping every so often, dark eyebrows furrowed and his mop of curls haphazardly lying around him like a halo. The morning glow makes his cheekbones appear even more defined.

You want to gather your belongings without waking him, get dressed and catch a cab back to your flat, but just as you go to open his door, he stirs.

“Where do you think you’re going beautiful? Come back to bed, I’m keeping you here with me forever.” You know he’s joking, and his words melt your heart and inhibitions a little, but you can’t justify staying

“I have to work, my first student is at 9.30.” You say, walking across to stand beside his bed and brush some hair off his forehead, kissing him and your lips lingering on his sweaty skin a little longer than they probably should have.

“And? I’ll drive you home in time, if you live near Juilliard then I know a shortcut. Just come back.” He's virtually pleading, puppy eyes and quivering lip just to add to the effect, and you simply can’t say no when he looks so perfect. You place your things on the floor by the bed and slip beside him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut just a moment longer.

His finger traces your naked body beneath the shirt, focussing on the bruises he left on your hips and the marks on your neck. Just his touch is enough to take control of your body, to give you goosebumps, to electrify every feeling of love and lust held within.

“Can I use your shower please?” You ask him, and he nods, placing his chin atop your head.

“I’ll take you to my bathroom and then I’ll make you breakfast. Grab whatever clothing you want from my room, but you can’t leave this bed until you agree to dinner with me tonight.”

Your heart rate increases tenfold at his gesture, and you want to take a leap of faith and say yes straight away, but that would be playing your cards too quickly. “We’ll see.” You respond sultrily, making your way to leave, but his strong grip pulls you flush against him with no space to move. You can hear him laughing in your ear.

“Say yes to dinner and then you can leave.” He slips his hands further down your front without losing his grip and decides to toy with your clit as though it’ll get you to talk.

“Y-yes! God, Timothée, of course I’ll go to dinner with you, just don’t stop!” You find it impossible to understand the shockwaves of pleasure pulsating and electrifying your every sense from an action as simple as the pads of his fore and middle fingers twisting and pressing your sensitive clit. It’s so incredible that after the previous night, it feels like overstimulation, and you can’t get enough.

“I’ll never stop.” He murmurs gruffly into your ear, you can hear the hoarseness that smoking causes but god it sounds and tastes so good.

He pulls your body closer and rolls you over. “Hey baby.” You say as calmly as you can, but within seconds you find yourself sitting on his face, half of his stunning bone structure lost beneath you. He delves his tongue into your already dripping heat, licking as far as he can get and only pulling away to kiss and suckle at your clit.

“Let me come Mr Chalamet!” You cry out, and with one final swipe of his tongue around your core and a squeeze of your ass, you let go. Timothée licks you clean while you still chant his name, and he proceeds to pick you up in order to carry you to the bathroom. You settle your heels at the base of his spine, digging in a little, and his arms tense beneath your ass from the manner he carries you. You like being above him, able to trace every line and bit of stubble on his face with your focussed eyes that he stares so deeply into at any given chance.

“Don’t be too long or I’ll be tempted to join you.”

You slowly cross the threshold of the bathroom, winking at him as you close the door. He inaudibly groans, but you can tell from his facial expression and the tension in his joggers that make him look utterly sexy. You slowly unbutton his shirt, reluctant to take it off, but when you step under the warm jet of his shower, that reluctance washes away along with any inhibitions you may have had about Timothée. He’s an angel: clean, respectful, enjoys classical music, has a cat, isn’t a cocky dickhead, and he’s literally the most gorgeous human being that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You run your fingers through your hair, standing directly beneath his showerhead. The steam clouds your vision, but you can hear Timothée singing while he cooks, Mystery of Love. What a dork, you think, chuckling to yourself while you rinse Tim’s shower gel from your body, and you just know that after this you’ll smell like him, but he smells delectable. As the water hits the most sensitive parts of your body, you remember the previous night. Just the thought of what he did to you makes you crave his touch again.

Through the bathroom window, you can make out the New York traffic that builds every morning, accompanied by the screeching of tires and sirens and car horns. Despite it being a ruckus, it's soothing as you step out the shower and wrap yourself in one of Timothée’s fluffy towels.

“How do you look so sexy when you’re getting out of the shower? God, I can't stress it enough, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my life, even without any makeup and with your hair un-styled, just wrapped in my Goddamn towel. You’re gonna be mine, mark my words.” You feel tears come to your eyes at his kind words, watching him purposefully walk from the kitchen and all the way across his apartment just to place his hands on your waist and tell you how beautiful you are. Those words are better than a concerto to you.

Once you’ve finished getting dry in his bedroom, you ferret through his drawers until you pull out a white top with various tie dye patterns across it. It’s cute, very Timothée. You pull it on and it reaches your mid thighs, making it clock in your head just how much of a lanky lad he is. You bundle together your stuff and head out of his room, closing the door behind you and greeting him with a kiss. He sits you at the breakfast bar and serves you a proper cooked breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, and pancakes.

“There's ketchup and syrup in the cupboard if you’d like.” He offers, sidling up on the seat beside you, nudging the tip of your nose with his thumb. The smile hasn’t left your face since you met him.

“This is good, you’re an excellent cook.” You tell him, resting your hand on his. His cheeks glow an even brighter red in the cascading morning sunlight, dappled by his blinds, but he looks magnificent despite his embarrassment.

You take out your phone, just to take a picture of the breakfast while it’s still untouched, and of your hand held by Timothée’s, already wearing rings. You notice that he’s already wearing a silver chain too, and a couple of bracelets on the wrist away from your own, which you find unusually attractive.

“I wish you could stay all day.” he whispers, placing his forehead on yours.

“Me too.” you say softly, smiling sadly and caressing his cheek.

You finish your breakfast and make your way to the living room in a strange kind of waltz orchestrated by Timothée. He insists on holding your waist and turning around a little, moving your feet in sync until you yank him down onto the sofa, catching his lips mid sigh which leads to a much more passionate make out session than you anticipated. Once that’s over, he plaits your hair beautifully, explaining how it used to calm his sister down before an audition. By the time he’s finished a very good pair of plaits, you check the time and it’s already 9, time for you to leave with NYC traffic, but Tim won’t let you go.

“Not without a photo.” He insists, but you question his reasons. Who would want a photo of you with wet hair in plaits, an oversized tee-shirt and a bare face? But his answer is too sweet to refuse. “I like taking pictures of beautiful things, and of which, you are the most beautiful.” Your cheeks flush a raging scarlet, and Timothée takes your few moments of silence as the perfect opportunity to take a picture of you, sunlight hitting your face in all the right places, and he takes another for good measure, his hand on your cheek and his lips on yours, a kiss that shuts you up for good.

He takes you down the stairs right to the garage where he keeps his car, and surprisingly, it’s an understated car, not crazily extortionate nor flashy, something which you respect highly. He sits you in the passenger side, making sure to kiss you before closing the door, and he gets in the driver's side. After starting the engine and leaving the parking lot, he lays his palm flat against your thigh and keeps it there the whole drive while you change gears for him. You tell him all about your childhood, your high school, your time in uni while he tells you his life at a performing arts high school and then his life as an actor, he truly fascinates you.

Once he pulls up outside your building, he tries to convince you to let him come in, or at least walk you to your door, but on the grounds of not scaring the life out of your neighbours and students, you say no with a promise to see him later.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight that you won’t be able to walk.” He says, pulling you in for a final passionate kiss before you step out of the car. He made you wet just before you have to work, you’ll get him back later, but the revenge melts as soon as he leans out the window to blow you a kiss and tell you how stunning you are.

You’re so lost in your trance of Timothée that you don’t notice your first student tapping you on the shoulder and excitedly saying “Was that the Timothée Chalamet?”

You chuckle to yourself, watching him drive off into traffic, all for you. “Yes it was love, yes it was.”

#timothee chalamet #concerto #timmy t #chalamet #tim chalamet #timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet fluff #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee smut #timothee fluff #timothee imagine

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violettelueur · 3 years

Text

— JUJUTSU KAISEN EPISODE TWENTY TWO || THE ORIGIN OF BLIND OBEDIENCE

↳ featuring : itadori yuji + fushiguro megumi + kugisaki nobara + nitta akari from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : mention of violence + mention of suicide + mention of dangerous acts + mention of killing + EXTREME grammar issues

↳ form : story

↳ published : 04 may

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 7.2k

↳ synopsis : within the jujutsu world, there were three famous clans to be aware of, the Kamo clan, Zenin clan and the Gojo clan. However, unknown to many sorcerers there was one last family that was known to be apart of the three, only for them to disappear after the golden era leading some to speculate that they had died in battle after the sealing of ryomen sukuna, but....

↳ previous episode : jamais vu

↳ next episode : the origin of blind obedience 2

↳ barista’s notes : let me admit...this ain’t my best piece of work, but i hope you all enjoy this episode of the series and good night everyone ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆

BEFORE READING, I NEED YOU TO BE AWARE OF THIS:

1. the whole story belongs to Gege Akutami and the credits go to them and them only.

2. the spell curses used belong to Tite Kubo due to them being the ‘Kidos’ being used on the manga and anime ‘Bleach’.

there was one going to be mention but...let’s keep that a secret for now...

2.5. for the ‘cursed spells’/kidos (bleach) i will link this video here and tell you the time stamp to check out what i am intending to show - remember i add a few twist here and there by adding the katana to link with Y/N’s cursed technique : hopefully this video is slightly better...

3. if you are confused on anything, please don’t hesitate to message me since i know this whole thing is so confusing.

“Kanada Taichi in Morioka, in June. Shimada Osamu in Yokohama, in August. Yamato Hiroshi in Nagoya, in September. These three died in similar circumstances. They were stabbed to death by a cursed spirit at the entrances to their apartments and all of them had filed the same complaint with the property managers several weeks before dying. They claimed their auto-locking doors were left wide open. None of the other residents have any idea what could have happened,” Nitta (your current driver) explained, causing you to open your eyes slowly, letting your drowsiness fade away slowly.

Currently, at this moment in time, you and your classmates were being driven to your desired destination to your current mission that all four of you were set causing you to wonder how much longer the drive was going to be, but also how you were going to cope with dealing with the whole ordeal since it had been a while since you had gone on a mission dealing with the unknown - last time was over two months ago at the detention centre where you had to face Sukuna (a special grade curse).

“None of the dates or locations match, though. Could the same cursed spirit have killed them all?” Fushiguro questioned as he stared down at the Ipad he had in his hands while trying to read all the information that was provided.

‘There is one location they all have in common though’ you thought, as you turned your head to stare out of the window, recalling the time where you had read the same information on your phone during breakfast with your adoptive father, Gojo Satoru.

“Hey, could the cursed spirit be responsible for the doors? Do sensors like those pick up cursed spirits? They don’t show up on camera and stuff, right?” Itadori began to ask an abundance of questions causing you to internally giggle as some of the questions he asked were basic knowledge for jujutsu sorcerers, but it was adorable for him to try to find a solution.

“Apparently, the cursed spirit made the door operators go crazy, not the sensors,” Nitta answered, leading you to give a side-eye to indicate that you were listening to her before going back to peer at the window to figure out a solution of your own about the current situation.

“Oh...Operators?” Itadori muttered in confusion as he tilted his head slightly to the side.

“And as for whether or not the same cursed spirit was behind this...Well, we couldn’t be certain from just the residuals. After all, a lot of time had already passed. So we tried to track down any connections between the three, we found that all three attended the same middle school for two years,” Nitta mentioned causing you to stiffen up slightly on the information given to you.

“Meaning all three received the same curse, and it activated after time had passed?” Kugisaki suggested with a thinking gesture causing Itadori to make a noise of impressiveness before leaning forward to view the female sorcerer.

“Precisely. That’s highly likely. So we’re going to that middle school now to question someone the three victims all knew, and I want you four to see what you can find as sorcerers,” Nitta answered leading you to sigh (to which she slyly notices) before you processed to close your eyes as if you were going to nap for a bit.

“Way to go, Kugisaki!” Itadori mentioned in astonishment leading the mentioned sorcerer to flick her hair back.

“Heh. What’d you expect?” Kugisaki questioned smugly.

However, without the attention of all three of you, Fushiguro seemed to be annoyed as he leaned his head back onto the chair seats before letting out a sigh of his own, wondering how he was going to handle this situation now.

ꕥ

“A funeral?” Itadori questioned, as you processed to exit out of the car leading you to see a few people wearing all black, entering into a building before shutting the door quietly to not disturb the mourners that were attending the disheartening event.

“Is this the home of that acquaintance?” Kugisaki asked as she was also looking at the darkening event that was happening.

“Yes, it is…” NItta answered in a stutter leading everyone to get back in the car since there was no possible way, all of you could even interview someone properly during this time since it would be considered extremely rude.

ꕥ

“Well, this sucks. He dies the same way the other three did. He lived with his family, so there was no auto-locking door, but he was killed in front of the entrance. Previously, upon returning home alone, he reported, “The door was unlocked, but it wouldn’t open,” to his family members,” Nitta explained, as you processed to scan through all the documents through your phone trying to obtain some sort of connection between all the victims rather than the middle school that they attended to.

‘Date of birth 1983-1984...that means they were in middle school at around 1995-1998...Yasohachi Bridge was popular back then, right?’

Suddenly, the car had come to a sudden halt causing you to look up from your phone, only to discover that you had arrived at the location that Nitta had discussed to everyone at the beginning leading you to look up that the building from the side of your window before slowly letting out a breath as you processed to open the car door to go and investigate with the others.

“I asked his parents, too, but they said they didn’t know what relationship he had with the other three. Man, there goes our only lead!” Nitta whined loudly, as everyone began to enter the school premises causing you to halt for a second before you continued to stroll behind them, trying to make sure your classmates didn’t notice your fidgeting behaviour.

“Don’t worry! There has to be something at this middle school!” Itadori reassured Nitta as she looked disappointed with her head hanging low.

“I sure hope so. For now, I’ve secured an appointment with a teacher, so I’m counting on you,” Nitta replied with a disheartened tone.

“Roger,” Itadori replied with a determined smile.

Suddenly, Kugisaki (who had her hands behind her head in the beginning) unexpectedly had a mischievous smile painted on her face before quickly running off to the side causing you to look at her with a raised eyebrow as you wondered what she was planning on doing.

“There’s some obvious punks, let’s beat’em up and set’em straight!” Kugisaki suggested causing you to walk up to her with your hand raised since she was going completely off-topic with what everyone was supposed to do currently.

“Why?” Itadori asked in a confused tone.

Slowly, the two punks that Kugisaki mentioned began to straightening up with menacing looks on their face, leading Itadori to lean forward to observe the two, only for them to suddenly straighten up more in sudden fear, causing you to be somewhat confused on why there was a sudden change in expression, only for your eyes to follow what they were looking at.

“I-It’s good to see you!” the pucks shouted while processing to bow 90 degrees with their heads lowered causing you to turn back to them with widened eyes at what was going on.

“Heh, look at that. You actually get it,” Kugisaki stated with a smug look on her face causing you to give her a fed-up look towards her direction while trying to figure out why Itadori was joining in her shenanigans.

“An aura just pours out, even if you try to hide it,” Itadori mentioned as he pushed his hair back leading you to ignore both of your classmates and you processed to look around the school trying to find some clues while noticing slight hints of cursed energy roaming around the premises.

“We haven’t seen you since graduation, Fushiguro-san!” one of the punks mentioned, causing the two smug sorcerers to drop their act before quickly turning around to see Fushiguro, who was now looking to the side in embarrassment.

“I...went here...for middle school,” Fushiguro announced before turning his back to face behind him to avoid his classmates, only for them to violently grab his face as they tried to make his turn to face them.

“That’s a surprise, too, but that’s not the point! Look at me!” Kugisaki angrily demanded, as she forcibly turned Fushiguro’s face to look at her with a struggle as Itadori had a hold of the shikigami sorcerer’s head to make it face him.

“What’d you do?! What did you do in middle school?! No, it would be quicker to ask them!” Itadori mentioned in a panic, as he was desperate to find an answer.

“Hey, Idiot A and Idiot B! What did this guy do to you?” Kugisaki yelled out her question, while still having a hold on Fushiguro’s face.

“We...Or rather, every delinquent, gang member, and so on in this area got beaten up by Fushiguro-san,” one of the punks answered, as both of them lifted their heads leading both Itadori and Kugisaki to let go of their friend’s face in shock before turning back to face him in confusion, looking for answers.

“I beat them up,” Fushiguro muttered as he turned his head back with his now messed up hair, leading Itadori and Kugisaki to grab his face again in complete surprise.

“Why do you keep talking so stiffly?! Look at me!” Kugisaki angrily asked as she painfully turned Fushiguro’s face to look at her.

“What are you doing?! Hey! What are you doing?!” Itadori asked in a panic, once again, as he now turned Fushiguro’s head to face him.

“Wow~ you beat up people Fushiguro, what a drag~” you commented with a hand over your mouth leading the erratic-haired sorcerer to look to you for help only for you to turn away to observe the school’s premises again, trying to gain something for the mission at hand.

“Hey!” someone shouted, causing both of the sorcerers to let go of Fushiguro’s face which led his hair to bounce a bit. Turning around to face the front, you noticed an old man with glasses running up towards you guys leading your eyes to widen once you had gotten a good look at who was coming towards everyone.

“Who are you? Students from other schools aren’t allowed in here!” the old man stated with a loud tone.

“And who the hell are you?!” Kugisaki yelled back in anger, causing you to smack the back of her head as if to tell her to ‘shut up’ which caused her to look up at you with a pout as she held her head to soothe the pain away.

“He’s clearly a staff member. Why are you so combative?” Itadori questioned in a low tone as he began to slouch.

“We have permission to be here,’ Nitta informed the staff member while processing to show the pass that she was carrying leading the old man to adjust his glasses as he peered at the pass she was currently holding.

“Oh, you’re the ones? You’re all young, you need to hang your pass around your neck,” the old man mentioned as began to observe the group of students behind her before his eyes widened once they handed on a certain someone.

“Fushiguro-kun?”

“Hello,” Fushiguro greeted, as he looked to the side with a small blush beginning to appear on his face.

“He remembers you!” Itadori and Kugisaki mentioned in a teasing tone as they looked at their classmate with an amused look.

“So this man’s been here a long time?” NItta asked with a cheerful tone, leading you to conclude that she probably had gained hope for a new lead on the mission that was happening right now.

“Probably, Takeda-san’s a permanent employee,” Fushiguro answered in a monotone voice.

“Then I leave the rest to you!” Nitta concluded, to which she held a thumbs up as if it was some sort of encouragement.

‘Abandoning her duty....’ Fushiguro thought, before shifting his eyes towards you as he realised that you had become quiet again, only to discover that you were looking at Takeda with some sort of fondness in your eyes as a small but noticeable smile appeared on your face.

‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it Takeda-san? How are you? You’ve been okay? I wish I could ask you this..but...it’s for the best that I didn’t at all huh?’ you thought before turning your head to look at the windows beside you, only to realise that the same hint of cursed energy was still lingering around.

‘I’m surprised it remains here…’ you mentioned internally before turning back to look at the staff member in front of you.

ꕥ

“Kanada, Shimada, Yamato...and Morishita, huh? I was shocked by their passing, but I guess it’s been nearly twenty years since they graduated, I remember it like it was yesterday. They were problem children in their own right, though not as bad as you. What do you want to know?” Takeda mentioned with a soft smile causing you to scoff a bit at his comment as you covered your mouth to hold your laugh but to Fushiguro’s annoyance.

“Strange rumours, dark rumours, connections to bad adults…” Fushiguro listed as he raised his arm, leading you to look at him weirdly since it wasn’t the arm towards your side he had lifted.

“Hey, problem child!” Itadori and Kugisaki chanted in a teasing tone.

“...and anything of ill omen,” Fushiguro concluded before closing his hand into a fist as he proceeded to swing it down to punch the top of Itadori’s head.

“Dark rumours? They may have been problem children, but they never went beyond average middle school stuff. But wait...ill omen?” Takeda muttered as he began to think.

“Do you mean that tale? About the Yasohachi Bridge bungee jumping?” one of the punks questioned, causing you to look to the side in interest since you had an idea about the bridge before you had arrived at the middle school.

“You’re still here, A and B?” Kugisaki asked since she was surprised that they remained where they were.

“Yasohachi Bridge?” Itadori questioned.

“A notorious suicide spot, it’s well known in this area as a haunted location,” you answered in a casual tone before explaining why it was such an important detail to note for your pink-haired classmate.

“Oh, that’s right! Back then, it was all the rage among delinquents to bungee jump off Yasohachi Bridge late at night, it was one of those tests of courage,” Takeda explained, once he remembered what he was trying to think of.

“What a weird tribe,” Kugisaki muttered in annoyance.

“What a drag,” you mentioned in a fed-up tone.

“I’m surprised there are people dumber than me!” Itadori stated.

“What do you use for a cord?” Fushiguro questioned as he was trying to wonder how the people bungee jumped in the first place.

“We don’t do it, I just heard some students from our parents’ generation talking about it,” the punk mentioned causing you to nod your head slowly, conveying that you understood what he meant.

“One day, Kanada and the other three were absent without permission. That wasn’t all that usual by itself, but when we contacted their families, we learned that those four hadn’t come home the day before. It caused a pretty big stir, then they were found unconscious under the bridge. They got chewed out good, but all four swore up and down they didn’t remember a thing,” Takeda explained, causing all the first years to come to the same conclusion in their heads.

ꕥ

“I think that’s it,” Nitta suggested as she looked at all four of you.

“I’ve been to Yasohachi Bridge, too,” Fushiguro mentioned in a serious tone.

“To bungee jump?” Itadori asked comedically, leading Fushiguro to swiftly smash a fist on the top of his head in annoyance causing Itadori to wince in pain as he held his head with a pout.

“It’s easy for curses to take root in haunted locations, just like in schools, so people from Jujutsu High regularly patrol it,” Fushiguro explained causing you to recall the times where you would walk around the area late at night while trying to hide from the sorcerers that came from time to time back a few years ago.

“There wasn’t anything unusual at the time, though. It might be a bit famous, but it’s still used as a normal bridge,” Fushiguro mentioned.

“We still have to go check it out, though,” Kugisaki suggested, causing you to agree with her since it was the best for all the four of you to survey the bridge yourselves.

“Fushiguro-kun?” someone called out, causing everyone to turn to find Takeda coming towards everyone’s way.

“Sorry, I was curious about something,” Takeda mentioned causing Fushiguro to fully turn around to face the old man.

“What is it?” Fushiguro asked.

“Tsukimi-kun took awfully good care of you when you were in school. Is she doing well?” the old man asked, causing you to stiffen up slightly before shifting your eyes to the side since you were getting nervous at the fact the staff member was remembering everyone little by little.

“Yes,” Fushiguro answered with a deadpan expression.

“Who’s Tsumiki?” Itadori asked the shikigami user in curiosity.

“My older sister,” Fushiguro answered in a low tone, leading Kugisaki to grab his shoulder in surprise once again.

“What?! You tell us too little about yourself!” Kugisaki mentioned in an annoyed tone leading Itadori to agree with her, leading the old man to tilt his head slightly to the side - to avoid the blockage of Itadori’s body - to discover you making your way to the side of the car, where you were sitting before.

“Excuse me, I also wanted to ask you something if you don’t mind,” Takeda asked in a kind tone, causing you to halt your movements before looking up to find the old man gifting you with a sweet smile that you remembered so much causing you to turn back and make your way towards the staff-member with lessening the tension that you had before walking away.

“Yeah, it’s fine, what is it you want to ask me?” you questioned with a light tone, trying to sound polite to the man, causing him to smile at you.

“Do I remember you from anywhere, you seem quite familiar to me?” Takeda asked, causing your eyes to widen in fear before quickly blinking away the sudden change in emotion you were surprisingly expressing so easily.

“I never been to Saitama Urami East Junior High before, I’m sorry but I don’t think I’m the person you are trying to recall,” you answered with a sad soft smile leading the man to sigh before fixing his glasses.

“Is that so? I’m sorry, the minute I saw you, I began to recall a student that would always help me around from time to time and she was always on top of her work, but she left around the second year before I got to thank her,” the old man began to reminisce, not noticing the stiffness of your body as well as the panic rising within your heart leading it to beat faster than it should.

‘He’s remembering too much, but didn’t I put enough cursed energy into that spell? It should have wiped everything from his memory’

“Sorry, but could you look at my left eye for a second? I think I got an eyelash stuck there,” you quickly asked, causing the old man to agree to help you as he adjusted his glasses once again before taking a good look at your eye.

‘It could cast it now, but the others are here...I could just not use the spell to its full potential and that couldn’t cause him to faint, maybe that will work,’ you quickly thought as you were slowly transferring a small amount of your cursed energy to your left eye.

“Haku-” you muttered under your breath before coming to a sudden halt, causing your cursed energy to waver slightly as it began to slowly move away from your eye leading you to conclude that you didn’t even have the guts to commit to the action that you were planning to go on with like you did two years ago, to which caused your heart to become extremely heavy with guilt as you knew once he entered back into the school, the lingering cursed energy that you had left in the school would cause his memory to fade away, processing you to let go of your sudden plan as the staff-member mentioned that there was nothing to worry about.

‘Nothing to worry about huh?’

“Thank you so much,” you softly said with gratitude before giving the old man a final wave goodbye before entering the car with the rest of your classmates, wondering if it was still for the best that you let him free with his memory gradually coming back to life.

ꕥ

“We’re here. Koi no Kuchi Canyon, Yasohachi Bridge. Once you confirm a cursed spirit’s here, I’ll lower a veil,” Nitta explained as all of the first years processed to get out of the sleek black vehicle before stepping to the side of the bridge to be away from the road.

“Roger!” Itadori started with a confident smile presented on his face as he tugged at the vinyl cord he was holding.

Slowly, you began to walk away from the group while Nitta got back in her car before driving away and steadily grabbed onto the metal poles the were in front of you - probably built to prevent any more suicidal people from jumping over - and with much effort, began to pull yourself up to reach to the top before grabbing in the metal bar as you pulled yourself up even further.

“GOJO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Kugisaki screamed in horror, as she finally turned around to discover you pulled your body up to sit on top of the fence as you peered down to check how far you had to jump down in order to find what you were looking for in this mission.

“SHE’S NOT LISTENING!” Kugisaki yelled (once again) as she pointed at you in anger, causing the boys to turn around to see what the fuss was about before seeing the drastic measures you had taken to find the cursed spirit.

“Woah, Gojo, there’s no need for that! We have the vinyl cord for a reason!” Itadori mentioned, which seemed to be a way of getting you to come down from where you were right now as you turned to look at him before turning back at the ground below you.

“SHE’S NOT LISTENING AGAIN!” Itadori cried out in fear, as if he hadn’t done more stupid and extremes things than what you were doing right now.

“Gojo!” Fushiguro shouted before jumping up to reach the back of your school jacket, leading you to grab onto the sides of the metal bar that you were sitting on right now for support before turning back to peer at the shikigami user, ready to yell at him for disturbing your train of thought only for him to give you a pair of surprised eyes as if he remembered something.

“Get down, please,” Fushiguro quietly commanded, leading you to give him a deadpan expression before turning back to prepare to jump off since you couldn’t find another way to get down there, only for Fushiguro to pull you from your jacket once again leading your body to start to fall backwards - much to your surprise - to which caused the boys to immediately get behind you, ready to catch you so you didn’t hit the ground at all.

“You drag!” you screamed at Fushiguro before letting your body fall towards the safe side of the metal barrier, processing to land on top of Itadori and Fushiguro as a result.

ꕥ

Letting out a yawn, Itadori couldn’t help but emphasise how tired and bored he was as he remained seated on the metal railings that all four of you were sitting on right now.

“Hey, we didn’t find hide nor hair of any cursed spirit,” Kugisaki whined in annoyance as her posture slouch in disappointment, leaving Fushiguro to slouch in boredom while you had your eyes closed as if you were sleeping while sitting up straight when in reality, you were concentrating on sensing any lingering cursed energy around the area you were in right now.

Suddenly, you felt something pressed gently on the side of your head before it pushed you down to the side slowly, causing the movement to halt the second you felt someone’s shoulder being used as a pillow for your head leading a sense of confusion to rise within your stomach before you heard a few teasing sounds from Kugisaki.

“Oh~ what a gentleman Fushiguro~” Kugisaki teased, leading you to realise that your head was now resting on Fushiguro’s shoulder since it did seem like you had fallen asleep while sitting up.

“I’m surprised she can sleep while sitting up,” Itadori commented, as she leaned forward to see you in what seemed to be in a state of rest since you made the decision to keep your eyes closed.

“You should have seen her while we were training, she was asleep for so long every day,” Kugisaki mentioned as she began to recall all the times you had taken a nap during your daily training sessions with the second-years as preparation for the Kyoto Sister School Exchange Event.

ꕥ

As time went by, after you had ‘woken up’ from your nap when in reality, you had given up on trying to trace a single amount of cursed energy from the distance you were away from the ground below - which was where you were trying to go from the beginning if Fushiguro didn’t pull you down - you were now in front of a small convenience store while sipping on a small carton of orange juice that you had managed to purchase as a breakfast substitute since you were surprisingly not feeling hungry at all currently.

“We didn’t sense any presences or residuals,” Fushiguro informed Nitta, who had come to pick you three up after not hearing a single thing from everything, except for all of you being hungry.

“I see, which means this ain’t it, Guess it’s back to square one,” Nitta replied with a slight tone of disappointment as the most promising lead has been for nothing.

‘It wouldn’t be square one if you just let me jump down to the bottom to investigate…’

“Gojo, is there something wrong?” Kugisaki asked as she noticed you looking to the side with a somewhat annoyed expression planted on your face.

“It’s nothing,” you replied before taking another sip from the carton you were holding.

“But isn’t it bad if we take too long?” Itadori asked in a light serious tone.

“Why?” Kugisaki questioned, wondering why they needed to be in a hurry to finish the mission as soon as possible.

“Well, it’s a famous haunted location, right? There might still be plenty of others who got cursed and right now, the death rates at 100%. We don’t want to see others die, right?” Itadori explained as he answered Kugisaki’s previous question.

“True,” Kugisaki muttered, once she took Itadori’s theory into consideration.

“Ding-Ding! Bungee jumping was all the rage then, right? So maybe the act of jumping off is the key?” Nitta asked as she seemed excited to think of another clue on how to find the curses that were the curse for all these deaths that have been happening.

“Did she say “ding-ding”? Did she really say that?” Itadori asked as he stared at his senior in adoration.

“She did! She did!” Kugisaki replied in the same high tone with the same look at adoration at how cute Nitta was right now.

“Itadori already tried that,” Fushiguro mentioned causing the bungee jump idea to come to a halt.

“Huh?..... What?! You mean you jumped with that vinyl cord?!” Nitta screamed in shock as she began to imagine how you, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki would wrap Itadori in the cord, only for the shikigami user to fly kick him over the metal bar with you and Kugisaki holding onto the end of the cord.

“Hey, there you are!” someone shouted, causing you to look towards the direction in where the sound was coming from, only to discover one of the punks from yesterday to be on a bike with someone behind him with her arms wrapped around his waist.

“Fushiguro-san!” the punk shouted to gain the shikigami user’s attention.

“Who’s that again?” Kugisaki asked as she stared at the punk with a confused expression only for Itadori to answer her question by mentioning the people were Fushiguro’s upperclassman from his middle school and how she was ready to pick a fight with them causing her to suddenly remember who the person was.

“You were talking about Yasohachi Bridge, so...I’m really glad I found you here!” the puck mentioned with a smile on his face with slight sweat from the swift bike riding as well as a hint of fear of Fushiguro.

‘Fujinuma?...If I recall, she was a student as well…’ you thought, as you watched the girl get off of the bike she was on before walking towards the group as her eyes widened at you for a second before turning into complete confusion, leading your body to complete tense for a second.

“Fujinuma?” Fushiguro muttered causing Nitta to look at him with a perplexed expression before he clarified that she was an old classmate of his.

“My older sister,” the punk introduced the girl leading her to bow as a greeting.

“I’m glad you remember me,” Fujinuma stated in a soft-toned voice before straightening back up to face everyone within the group.

“I was talking to my sister about you yesterday, and..” the punk stated before his sister took the reins.

“Um, Morishita-san had a funeral in the neighbourhood...Then I heard from my brother that you were looking into that man and Tasohachi Bridge, so I started to wonder if they were related…” Fujinuma began to explain, leading Nitta from behind both of the people to shake her head as they needed to hide the real reason on why everyone was here right now to which Fushiguro noticed.

“If what’s related?” Fushiguro queried as if he didn’t understand what was going on.

“Morishita-san’s death and the bridge…” Fujinuma replied in a smaller tone.

“They’re not related, we just-” Fushiguro quickly countered back.

“I...I went there. In eighth grade...I went to Yasohachi Bridge at night,” Fujinuma stated as her face contorted in fear as she began to tilt her head down, causing Kugisaki to give a look as she began to wonder how many people had been to that bridge.

“Has anything odd happened at home recently? Any strange feelings that only affect you and no one else?” Nitta asked as she leaned down to face the fearful girl, only for Fujinuma to look up once again.

“My family runs a local branch shop...and the shop’s automatic door is wide open only when I come home. Mom and Dad both say it’s just a coincidence, but there’s definitely something there. It scared me. That’s when I heard about you and remembered the Yasohachi Bridge,” the girl replied as she began to shiver in fear while trying to recall all the same incidents happening to her.

“When did the issue with your automatic door start?” Nitta queried, trying to get enough information as sly as possible.

“It’s happened about every other day for exactly one week now,” Fujinuma replied in a shaky tone.

‘There’s at least two weeks between when the four victims noticed something and their deaths,’ Fushiguro thought.

‘We still have some time,’ Itadori thought, encouraged by the fact that there was some amount of time left to save someone from the cycle that was happening right now.

“You didn’t go to Yasohachi Bridge by yourself at the time, did you? Do you remember who you went with?” Kugisaki asked, trying to make sure there weren't any other victims that you all were missing at this current moment in time.

“Um, so this really does have something to do with…” Fujinuma mentioned in a stutter, scared that her life might now be at risk.

“Just with your automatic door. But it has nothing to do with Morishita-sans’s death. Fushiguro-kun and the others are helping me with my college report: Electromagnetic Waves from Haunted Locations and their Effects on Electronics, it’s a huge pain in my gut!” Nitta responded quickly, before suddenly linking arms with you causing you to put on a realistic fake smile to hold the lie in place.

“But I want to hear from all kinds of people, so I’d love to hear who you went with,” Nitta continued, trying to make the girl calm herself down while reminding her the fact that they now have to save her life before something could happen to her.

“I went on a test of courage with two others from my club. That’s right. Fushiguro-kun, Tsumiki-san was with us then, too,” Fujinuma announced, causing you to halt for a second while Itadori and Kugisaki were shocked at the fact that Fushiguro’s sister was involved in this too.

“I see. Then I’ll try asking Tsumiki, too,” Fushiguro replied calmly.

“There was also another person there at the bottom of the bridge, but I don’t remember really clearly of her at all...she was wearing our uniform thought, sort of reminds me of her,” Fujinuma stated as she pointed off to somewhere, leading your whole body to become suddenly numb at the fact that her finger was directing pointing at you causing your classmates to turn to you in fear at what might happening to you if her statement was true.

“Sorry, but I never been here at all, maybe you have the wrong person?” you unconcernedly suggested, trying to change you from being the topic of the conversation leading the girl to look confused again before gasping on how silly she was being before mentioning that she had never even met you and that she apologised for scaring you.

“Okay, then I’ll escort these two home. Please keep working on the report,” Nitta mentioned to the four of you with a smile on her face.

“Something’s up, isn’t it?” Fujinuma’s brother asked leading Nitta to form another excuse on how she could let them ride a bike back after making them petal all the way here, causing you to turn around and take a deep breath the second they began walking away.

“Fushiguro,” Itadori called out in worry before repeating his name again louder as he proceeded to grab onto his friend’s shoulder, only to see the look of unknown fear painted across Fushiguro’s face.

“Fushiguro, snap out of it, make sure she’s safe first,” Itadori muttered in reassurance, as he turned his body to face his friend to help him calm down.

“I’m fine,” Fushiguro muttered in a low tone, once he was able to snap out of his fear daze but apologising to his friend as he needed to take a step back for a second before reaching into his pocket to grab his phone to make a call leaving Kugisaki to come to your side and ask a few questions for you to answer.

“What was she talking about? Were you really a part of that school? Were you really at Yasohachi bridge back then? Answer me, Gojo!” Kugisaki asked in a panic, as you just stared at her with a blank look on your face before letting out a sigh.

“I’ve never been there before until yesterday, I have never been here at all, to begin with. There is no way I could be at that bridge,” you answered, trying to convert the conversation into something different, only for Itadori to turn his body to face you directly as he questioned you again about your ‘involvement’ in everything that's happening right now.

“Why are random people saying if they remember you then, does your cursed technique allow you to manipulate someone’s mind or anything?” Itadori asked as he needed to understand why a few people mentioned about you when you had said you have never been here at this location ever in your life.

“I don’t have a technique that does that, they have been talking about a girl that looks like me,” you answered while proceeding to cross your arms to stay as persuasive as you could while trying to hide a piece of your past that you had already somewhat erased out of everyone’s minds.

‘If they are somehow recalling some bits here and there...what about Fushiguro?’ you thought as you closed your eyes to lessen the headache that was gradually coming from the back of your head.

‘There isn’t enough time to think about it at all...these three need to get out of here before I go investigate the whole thing myself...that is...if my theory is correct like last time’

Suddenly, you reached into the pocket of your skirt before taking out your phone to swiftly call Nitta to pick everyone up from where she had left all of you causing Itadori and Kugisaki to look at you in complete confusion.

ꕥ

“Just get in the car,” you commanded in a low and threatening tone, causing the three first-years to look at you in shock before all three were pushing down into the back seats of the car.

“Us three? What about you Gojo?” Itadori asked in a panic, as he wasn’t sure why you were pushing everyone into the car that Nitta was pulled in - to which she understood why you were doing this at this moment in time.

“The mission has gone into a higher rank than what it was previously predicted, I’ll come back once I’m done with the whole thing,” you stated in a serious manner as you processed to push Itadori further into the car causing Fushiguro and Kugisaki to be squashed behind him before slamming the car door shut before anyone could escape out of the vehicle leaving you alone once the car had driven off with all three of your classmates inside of it.

ꕥ

‘If I remember, you go down here’ you thought, as you began to slide down to the bottom of the ground before walking forward out of the wood, to only find yourself in the same spot you were two years ago in a different sort of uniform.

Taking your katana out of the shoulder bag you were carrying, you hooked it on your lower back before taking the familiar blue metal pole out of the same back before hooking it on to the side of your belt causing it to dangle once it was secured onto your side.

‘If my theory was right along, there should be an incomplete domain lingering around here...meaning there is a possibility that Sukuna’s finger is within a finger bearer if I enter it…’

“What a drag,” you muttered under your breath before sliding your katana out of its wooden sheath as you swift swang it behind you, causing the tip of the blade to be an inch away from Itadori’s neck to which lead the sorcerer to lean his head back in shock as your sudden speed.

“Why are you all here? Didn’t I tell you all to go home and I would deal with this?” you rhetorically asked as you pulled your katana back from Itadori leading him to relax as he let out a breath of relief.

“Fushiguro told us everything and that's what led us to help you out,” Kugisaki mentioned causing your eyes to shift from her to the shikigami user.

“We don’t want you to do this alone, you don’t have to tell us everything you are hiding Gojo, just let us help you,” Itadori pleaded with you as his hands were pressed together in a way to convey a ‘please’ to you.

“I...I can’t tell you anything...I’m sorry,” you muttered, as you slide your katana back into its black wooden casing, causing the trio to look at you with worry in their eyes as they were anxious that the secret you were keeping was something that was going to eat you inside as they were already cautious about your wellbeing if the cursed spirit was now going to target you due to Fujinuma sudden assumption.

ꕥ

After the sudden intrusion of your classmates (much to your dismay), everyone started to walk towards the area where everyone believed the domain was going to be.

Crossing a river or other border - acts that symbolise crossing into the afterlife - carry important meaning in sorcery.

Confidently, everyone took one step forward causing a reaction of electricity to conduct as your foot hit the ground causing it to erupt as the domain suddenly enclosed everyone that had taken a step within its territory.

“There it is,” Itadori stated as he stared up at the curse, leading everyone to prepare themselves with their weapons of choice.

“This one will be rewarding to exorcise,” Kugisaki commented, as she confidently smiled at the scene in front of her.

Suddenly, you had sensed something coming from behind causing you to turn your head to the side to find a disgusting looking creature coming towards you leading everyone to move away slightly as the creature spun in the air before landing in front of all of you.

“What’s this? Someone beat me here?” the creature asked in a weird voice.

“Huh?” Kugisaki yelled out in annoyance.

“Fushiguro, this one’s a different case, right?” Itadori asked as he faced the new cursed spirit that decided to make an appearance.

“Yeah,” Fushiguro confirmed, leading Itadori to close his hands into a fist as they suddenly became consumed with his cursed energy.

“Then you three focus on that other one, I’ll exorcise this one,” Itadori stated as he raised his hands.

“What? You’re going to play with me? I wanted the older sister to,” the curse asked, causing you to shiver as you came to the sudden realisation that this curse was most likely with the others that were at the Kyoto Exchange event.

However, before even one could even move you rapidly unsheath your katana from your wooden casing as you spun around to block the sudden sneak attack that was behind you before utilising your cursed energy to your legs to give you the strength to halt your movement as the sudden intruder in front of you widened their eyes in shock at your sudden speed.

“That isn’t going to work on me again, you drag,” you muttered in a menacing tone causing your new opponent to laugh as they snapped out of their shock.

“Please, call me your mother again,” the woman stated as she smirked at you, leading a wave of anger and excitement to consume your body.

“Please, I….can’t wait to kill you,” you replied back with a crazed smile.

515 notes · View notes

jizzie · 3 years

Text

Flower Husbands: the Breakup Playlist Masterpost!

[ARCHIVED VERSION]

AO3 Series | The “Lost Songs” Playlist | AO3 Collection

On Friday the 22nd to Saturday the 23rd of October, five other writers and I held a fandom event. Under the cut is the archived version of the Flower Husbands Breakup Playlist, back up for your viewing pleasure.

On the night of Monday, October 11th, Scott Smajor added eight new songs to his Flower Husbands playlist, because his husband (Jimmy) kissed another man jokingly (Sausage). The next afternoon, he took out those eight songs and two more, leaving the playlist with only five songs to its name.

Before that point, I (Sadie) created a Flower Husbands playlist series, complete with fics inspired by every song he added to the playlist. However, there was a problem: what do I do know that the songs were now removed?

This is what I did. I got five other writers and we all wrote a one shot for every song in the playlist he added and then took out. Most of these are AUs, but they all centre around the idea of breakups. Some are angsty (I’m looking at you, Miles), some are sweet (I wrote fluff!), but all are about Scott and Jimmy (and Sausage), in every universe. (I also wrote a prologue and epilogue!)

If you’re planning on reading, I recommend that you work your way through the AO3 Series (the link is provided above). More information about every one shot is under the cut, with the Tumblr account of the author.

This collection will be put up at 7AM CET on Friday the 22nd, and be privatised at 7PM CET, Saturday the 23rd, just like Scott's songs. Soon after (likely on Monday), these fics will be put up as an archive.

Enjoy!

total word count ↣ 14,172 Words

THE FICS.

* the prologue. ↣ @infinitelysordinary

1106 Words

It happens like this:

Scott and Jimmy are watching a ceiling of stars. Then, the lights are turned on.

if you love me, if you hate me (you can’t save me, baby, baby) ↣ @infinitelysordinary

2023 Words | High School AU

Scott’s tired of being good.

i keep dancing on my own ↣ @mori-mementoed

484 Words | Empires SMP, Canon Compliant

The lights are too bright.

remember when you said you wanted to give me the world? ↣ @infinitelysordinary

379 Words | Empires SMP, Canon Compliant

in hindsight, i should've told you 'i love you' more. in my defence, you never told me that at all.

you weren’t smart enough (to keep your stupid mouth shut) ↣ @infinitelysordinary

830 Words | Small Town Modern AU

Scott leaves, and he doesn’t look back.

maybe next time (i) he’ll think ↣ @renchantings

1334 Words | Modern AU (1)

Thankfully, Scott has his best ideas drunk.

boy so pretty (with an ugly heart) ↣ @queercode-my-minecraft

1200 Words | Modern Celebrity AU

Scott can’t seem to fall asleep, all because his boyfriend has kissed someone else and he’s the last person to know.

i’m all the way up (you’ll never bring me down) ↣ @mangop1e

1701 Words | Modern AU (2)

Scott shows up at Jimmy’s doorstep, completely wasted. He’s over Jimmy. It’s fine.

(He’s not over Jimmy. It goes about as well as you’d expect.)

all that’s left (when the whole world ends) ↣ @mangop1e

1755 Words | Last Life AU

Even until the bitter end, Jimmy refused to ally with Scott.

just because it’s over (doesn’t mean it’s really over) doesn’t mean it’s really over ↣ @emo-space-gay

1001 Words | 3rd Life SMP & Origins SMP

Jimmy wasn’t dead he couldn’t be.

another place, another time (another world, another life) ↣ @infinitelysordinary

1006 Words | Empires SMP AU

Together, they watch the sunset.

* the epilogue. ↣ @infinitelysordinary

1347 Words

The world has no time for heartbreak.

* Fics are the ones that bookend the series. They aren’t from any song that Scott added to the playlist.

126 notes · View notes

stargazingthenightaway · 3 years

Text

See Something You Like? Part 3

Pairing: Rebels Rex x Reader

Word Count: 4.4K

Warning: NSFW 18+ Sexual tension, yearning, dirty thoughts, praise kink, size kink, Dom!Rex, slight predator/prey vibes

A/N: What. The. Fuck! This turned into a monster chapter! Buckle up people things are starting to heat up! Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

Those words ring in your ears as you stare at Rex, his gold eyes pinning you in place, grip still gentle on your chin. He’s standing so close that you can feel the heat from his body, ghosting over you skin. You’re surprised that you chest is not touching his already, and it probably would be if you could remember how to breathe. He’d taken it away the moment his thumb started to caress along your jaw, adding trails of heat with each pass, branding your skin with his touch.

You know you can easily break out of his hold, but you don’t know if you’ll be able to have this, have him, all to yourself again, so you keep still, enjoying the sensation of his touch on your face. The calluses on his hand feel warm, made from years spent fighting and honing his skills to perfection. Skills he expertly used to outmaneuver and put you in a place under his power, his control and secretly that idea excites you. Rex is the one calling the shots, and you wonder if that was his intent all along. You break from Rex’s gaze, turning your head to survey the results from the match.

The targets are at a standstill, waiting for the simulation to be reset for the next person. At the centre of each is a perfectly placed shot, the edges marked with blaster residue and lightly smoking. The wispy tendrils curl into the air, taunting you as a reminder that your meagre shots were no match for Rex’s precision.

Beaten. Destroyed. Absolutely annihilated.

That’s how you’d describe your side of the outcome of this farce of a challenge. All in the hopes of preventing your wanton thoughts from being spoken aloud. Using an imaginary wager to try and play your emotions off. A false bet now made true. It must have been childs play for Rex to see through your flimsy ruse, and use that to his advantage. Going against someone like Rex, who has years more experience than you, hoping to win? What a fool’s wish. Now, you’re at his mercy.

There’s pressure on your chin as Rex turns your face back towards him, relaxed in his perusal of your form. “Now, what to do with you?” He leans back, placing his hands on his hips and giving you a very slow once over, admiring the view in front of him. There’s a steady beating against your ribs, the same beat that causes Rex’s eyes to linger at the pulse point at your throat, before finally lifting them to your face “So many possibilities.”

You watch his lips say one thing but hear his voice say another, and it makes you want. Oh, does it make you want, so many things. Things that you would only tell the most depraved part of yourself, before locking it up and throwing away the key. Things that make you toss and turn and cry for release. Things that you want to give to Rex, just so he can call you his good girl. Sadly, those thoughts are only fantasy, no matter how much Rex may flirt with you, or that you may burn for his touch, that’s all your thoughts will be. Fantasy. Bringing yourself back to reality is harder than you’d like it to be, but you do it anyway, shoving the words out of your mouth with a shaky smile on your face.

“We could always narrow those possibilities down to a couple.” You think for a moment before you have an idea. It might not be what you want, but you’ll still get to be near Rex for the foreseeable future. “What about this, I could finish your reports for a certain amount of time or polish your armour.”

Rex tilts his head like he’s contemplating the idea, reaching for his chin. You can hear the slight scratch of his beard as he moves his hand over the whiskers. It sends a delightful shudder through you as you imagine the beard burn he’d leave behind after spending some time between your thighs, a constant reminder of what he’d done every time you go to move. The throb between your legs continues to grow, fully on board with that idea. Curse your weak self-control!

Rex shakes his head and your heart droops. “Heh, while that sounds like a good idea, that’s something I’d give one of the shinies to do. Keep them occupied and out of my way. But you?” He suddenly leans forward, making sure there was no space between the two of you. “I’d rather keep you in my sights.” He shakes his head again, a lazy grin curving on his lips, “no I have something different in mind for you mesh'la.”

Mesmerized, you wait for him to continue, and as the silence grows you realize he’s waiting for you to ask, make you voice the question out loud. Ask him what he wants. With you.

There’s calm expectancy in his gaze as you finally voice the question you both need to hear to move on from this emotional limbo.

“What do you want?”

Rex is eyeing you like a nexu thats caught its prey as he braces his forearms by your head, caging you in, before leaning his head next to your ear, whispering those words that make your stomach clench with need.

“I want you.”

Any response you had shuts down in surprise. Someone could barge in at this very moment, crying out that the Empire was gone and you wouldn’t care. The world around you ceases to exist, focused only on the man in front of you. Of all the things Rex could ask for, never would you have imagined he’d want you, and to state it so boldly makes your knees weak. I want you. His words echo in your head I want you. I want you. I want YOU. Your mind is in a whirlwind as you try to collect your thoughts, unsure of how to move, if you can move, your body with this revelation.

As you drift in stunned silence, Rex takes in your appearance and is enchanted by what he sees. From your bright, wide eyes locked on him, to your rosy cheeks that have made a lovely flush down your chest. Stars it’s a sight, and your mouth. Parted in a slight ‘o’ from surprise, your lips are just begging to be kissed. All plush and perfect, tempting Rex to take a nibble, take a taste. He wonders what sounds he can get you to make just for him. Soon. Yes, he very much likes what he sees and wonders just how debauched you’ll look after he’s thoroughly taken you apart, ruined you for anyone else so that he will be the only one who can satisfy your cravings.

His cock twitches in his pants, thinking of how you hastened to obey his command to get into the shooting position, the ‘sir’ that fell from your lips sending a burning need through his veins to hear you say it again as he spread you wide, licking up your juices. As you were bouncing on his cock, begging him to go faster. Taking you from behind as you wanted more, please sir, more! All these enticing possibilities at his fingertips, and who was he to squander such an opportunity.

Turning his head towards you, he breathes you in, noticing how you shiver beneath him, already reacting to his presence. Rex can see your dazed expression, thoughts somewhere else, and decides he wants your attention back on him where it belongs.

“Your mind’s straying again mesh’la.” He says, lips lingering by your cheek. “Time to come back to me.”

Instead of a jolt to awareness, your awakening is more like a haze slowly lifting, Rex’s voice leading you back to the present. His voice is like that first cup of caf in the morning, dark, warm and knows how to get you going. His beard tickles your skin as you answer. “It does seem to do that.” You chuckle weakly, “It’s becoming a bad habit.” A bad habit that brings him close enough for you to ride his thigh you think to yourself.

“Hmm, then I’ll just have to be the one to break you of it before it becomes a problem.” One of Rex’s hands move from the wall and finds a new home on you hip, slowly dragging the fabric of your shirt up, exposing the sensitive skin beneath. He doesn’t bother to hide his glee when he hears the quiet squeak you utter, smirk forming on his lips that he knows you can feel.

“This bad habit of yours only seems to happen when I’m around. Am I really that bad that you’d need to think of something else?”

How could he think that! You blurt out an answer in your haste to reassure him that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. “No! No, it’s not somethi-”

His smirk turns predatory and you realize you’ve walked into a trap.

“Ah, then someone.” The hand at your hip flexes “Do I make you wish someone else was here? Is that who your minds goes to?”

Rex’s voice deepens to a growl, challenging the idea that there could be someone other than him to have your attention, your affection. He can’t help the possessive feeling that claws at his chest that screams Mine! when he sees you, wanting to place you on his lap for all the base to see that you are his, not some jumped up pilot who can’t tell the difference between their dick and a gear stick.

He sounds jealous you think to yourself and Maker does that thought get you wet. As if he has anything to worry about.

Rex continues, his voice causing trembles to ripple through your body, that you know he can feel. “There was that pilot who was talking with you the other day…”

“It’s not him.” You don’t even hesitate to give your answer, wanting to dispel that idea before it ruins anything.

His hand relaxes, thumbs lazily circling on your skin. The feeling causes your eyes to flutter and lean into him “Then it is someone. Who is it then that has you so enraptured cyare?”

The growl has turned into a soothing rumble, helping you ease even further into his touch. The patterns Rex has been drawing slowly changing course, moving from your hip up to your waist, making his way up your torso. You keen when his fingers graze the underside of your breast, not going any further, just teasing you with his touch. Back and forth, back and forth. There is no way that he doesn’t know what his touch is doing to you, that your panties are coated in your juices, that you’re ready to just say ‘fuck it’ and drop to your knees to suck his dick. Anything to get him to stop pawing your and do something.

As if he senses your turmoil, Rex turns his head so that he’s facing you, so close that his lips ghost over yours. "Who consumes your thoughts to the point of forgetfulness?”

Maybe it’s your turn to surprise him and turn the tables in your favour. With a lazy smile you place your hands on his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath and look up at him with your best tooka eyes.

“Don’t you know Sir? It’s you.”

You’ve barely finished uttering those words before Rex pushes his body against yours, until there is no space between the two of you. The hand not on your side whips behind your head, gripping your hair and pulling your head back so your neck is bared. Your hands flutter by your sides, unsure of where to put them as you stare wide-eyed up at him

“Say that again” he growls.

You swallow hard and his eyes track your throat’s movement before looking back up. “It’s you.”

He shakes his head “You’re missing something there cyare”

Oh. You grin wickedly, so that’s how it’s going to be. “It’s you, Sir.”

The growl that comes from his chest makes the deepest part of you clench in need, and you want to hear that sound again as he’s over you, fucking you into his bunk. Your hips start to grind up against Rex when he suddenly pins them against the wall with his own, stopping your ministrations. You whine in frustration and he nips your jaw in retaliation.

“Tell me right now if this is not something you want cyare, and I’ll stop.”

Why would you want him to stop you think to yourself, when you finally get to have him exactly how you’ve dreamed. You voice your thoughts out loud “I thought our bet was you could do anything to me, anywhere you wanted?” Dread sinks low in your belly, does he not really want this and is using you as an out?

He quickly puts that fear to rest. “Only with your consent. I won’t take anything that is not given freely or willingly. So I’ll ask again, is this something you want?”

A flush warms your chest and it’s not from the arousal Rex inspires in you. This perfect being in front of you would stop everything at once, no matter how excited he may feel, if you said you were uncomfortable. This is what sets him apart from everyone else. While they may taketaketake without any thought to you, he puts your comfort as his priority, giving you the chance to say no and respect it.

You want to give Rex everything he deserves, which is why there is no hesitation when you reply. “I want this. I want you.”

Rex looks at you, searching for something that would indicate that you aren’t telling him the truth and finds only honesty. He’s suddenly surging forward, lips devouring yours in a bruising kiss. Stars, you just submit to him, opening your mouth with a whimper so that he can taste you. He savours the feeling of your tongue against his, warm and wet, with the sweet tang of the muja fruit you’d had earlier in the mess hall. He had watched you, unnoticed, taking each juicy bite in contentment, licking away the droplets that clung to your lip. You’d been a vision and he’d had to leave before he snuck in a taste of his own. He didn’t want to scare you off with a meagre kiss in the mess hall before he could claim you properly.

This kiss though, with all the burning touches and wanton looks, all the buildup between the two of you has led to this moment being taken out on your mouth. There’s no finesse, no gentle touch, just pure want. Rex alternates between kissing you senseless and nipping your lips, revelling in the sounds that come out of your mouth.

He uses the grip on your hair to angle your head into a deeper kiss, and it sends a rush of desire through you, knowing that he’s the one controlling your pleasure.

Rex starts kissing down your neck, paying particular attention to a spot just under your jaw and the moan you give him lets him know exactly how much you enjoy it. You’ve grasped his shirt between your hands, needing something to hold on to as he traces your neck with his tongue, while your hips have started grinding up against him, legs spread wide to fit around his hips, but it’s still not enough.

Rex can see you struggle and decides to show you a little mercy. He slots one of his thighs between your legs, barely pressing against your core, looking down at your flushed form. “Come on mesh’la, ride my thigh.” You don’t need another invitation and start rubbing against him, undulating your hips as close as you can. Rex goes back to marking up your throat, nipping the place where your neck and shoulder meet.

While he’s content to let you find the friction you need, you realize something is wrong. Rex had ordered you to ride his thigh, but had kept it just far away that you’d only get a whisper of a touch against your core. You whimper in impatience and try to pull him closer, but he won’t budge. “Rex,” you implore him “in order to ride your thigh I need something to ride!” He bites down on your shoulder and you cry out in surprise.

“Don’t be a brat” he growls

You whine, high and desperate, hoping that Rex will understand what you need and give it to you. You’ve already been so good for him, why can’t he see that.

By the dark chuckle exhaled upon your skin he does, though he doesn’t speed up his ministrations, in fact he slows down. The pleasure you feel starts to trickle away and you feel like crying you’re so frustrated. You’d do anything at this point just to get off.

“Such a needy girl” he tsks "but doesn’t know how to ask nicely”

Ask. He wants you to ask him to let you cum on his thigh. Ask that he press closer so he can feel how wet he’s made you. The thought makes you dizzy with want.

“Rex, I need to cum on your thigh.”

“Still being a brat.” He makes a mock disappointed sound and moves his leg away. Nonono! This is the opposite of what you wanted. He continues before you can object, “Good girls don’t make demands, they ask nicely.”

Force take you now. Your panties are so wet it’s like the oceans of Kamino, you don’t think you’ll be able to salvage them after this. Biting your lip, you can feel how swollen it’s become after Rex’s kisses and you can only image how dark they’ve become, evidence of his desire for you. Your neck is covered with his marks and you wonder where else he could put that talented mouth to use. That thought spurs you on. “Please sir, please let me ride your thigh, I need to cum so bad.”

He hums, “No.”

You make a sound of distress, “But I asked nicely! Please Sir! Don’t leave me like this!” You sob out, heart clenching.

The hand that had been tracing patterns on your side reaches up and cradles the side of your face. You nuzzle into his palm, pleas falling from your lips in hopes to sway him, saying how you want to be his good girl, that only he can make you cum, pleasepleaseplease!

Rex waits until you’ve finished “No, you won’t cum on my thigh. You’re going to cum with my fingers stuffed deep in that pretty pussy of yours.” He kisses you until your whimpering in his arms “Understood?”

Kark it all! Rex was being a kriffing tease and you doubt he’d let up anytime soon

You nod eagerly “Yes! Please Sir! I want to cum on your fingers, please!”

He chuckles, “There’s my good girl” before sliding his hand down the front of your pants. His fingers are thick as they push your panties to the side and slide through your folds, collecting the slick gathered there. He pulls his fingers out and you can see your juices glistening on the first two digits, already dripping down.

“Already so wet for me mesh’la.” Rex says in awe, “and I’ve barely even touched you.” Swiftly he moves his hand back down to your core and before you know it, his first finger is already knuckle deep inside you. Your eyes roll back as you moan and Rex curses. “Kriff cyar’ika, I just slid right in.”

He slowly pulls his finger out before pushing back in, keeping his eyes on your face, looking for any twitch of discomfort, but all you feel is satisfaction. Finally, you’re getting exactly what you need.

Rex has removed the hand from your hair and braced his arm back on the wall above your head, giving him better leverage to fuck you with his hand. You start to pant as you feel your pleasure building up again, a slow burn that consumes you from the inside out.

When Rex adds a second finger you can feel a delicious burn as he stretches you out, picking up speed as he steadily thrusts his fingers, the room filling up with the mixed sounds of your moans and wet sounds of your arousal. Rex pumps his fingers faster, desperate to hear more “Keep making those beautiful noises cyar’ika! Show me how much you want me!” “I always want you, only you” you whine out, hips rolling with each thrust “I didn’t think that you’d want me.”

Rex drinks in your look of ecstasy, how he’s the one causing you to lose your inhibitions. “I want you, I have for a while. Didn’t think you’d felt the same until we sparred, when I had you under me, seeing those big eyes staring back, full of want.” He twists his fingers and finds that spot that makes you arch your back, pressing your chest against him, hands scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders. Your mouth drops open in a silent moan. “Knew then I’d give you everything I could just to keep those pretty little eyes on me.”

Your eyes snap back to his face, tears starting to blur your vision. Maker, you were so close! If Rex continued talking like he was, you’d be over the edge in no time, you’re already teetering with how close you are.

He continues as if he can’t hear your gasps and moans. “What would’ve happened” he murmurs, “if we hadn’t been interrupted. Would you have let me taste you cyare, spread those pretty legs nice and wide for me? I’m not a small man, it would be a tight fit, but you’d make it work, wouldn’t you?” He rolls his hips so you know exactly how big he is elsewhere, the motion pressing his fingers in deeper.

“I like that you’re big.” Stars, was that voice yours?

Rex makes a pleased noise. “What sounds would you have made for me, as I tasted you? Would you have let me fuck you on the mat, where anyone could have walked in? Let everyone hear how easily my cock would slide in, how wet I made you, that I was the only one who could make you feel that good.” He adds a third finger and you howl, uncaring if anyone hears you, too consumed with Rex and how he was playing your body like a fine-tuned blaster.

By now you’ve drenched his hand, all the way down to his wrist, soaking his fingerless gloves. You bet if he took his hand away he’d be dripping onto the floor. The squelching sounds fill the room as Rex thrusts even faster, and he groans low in your ear. There is a moment of gleeful satisfaction that you’re not the only one affected, before a hard thrust sends another gush of slick over his hand.

He curses again “Kriff, I could take you here right now and you’d let me. Soaking my dick, getting me all nice and wet while I fuck you against the wall.”

By now you’re a babbling mess, the only words you’re able to say are please!, and more!, and yes Sir! The coil in your belly is wound tight, ready to snap. Knees trembling, you clench down hard on his fingers, looking for that last little bit to carry you over the edge. Through the haze you can hear a chirping noise but don’t pay it any attention, too focused on how full you feel, Rex’s fingers filling you up.

Unfortunately, Rex does pay attention to the chirping noise, as it’s coming from the vambrace on the hand currently three-knuckles deep within you. An in-coming message.

“Just ignore it!” You plead with him, feeling too strung out to think logically.

Rex just shakes his head “You know I can’t do that mesh’la.” He sounds gruff as he answers, so you know he’s as unhappy as you about the interruption.

You burrow your wail of despair against his chest, muffling your sounds so he can answer his com. From the sounds of it, it seems like he’s needed to give an in-person debrief on the latest training session with the new recruits.

Oh all the times for command to call, and it would have to be when Rex is knuckle deep inside you and your orgasm is about to take you to hyperspace. All for an update about the shinies! Can’t they just read his report like everyone else! Kriff! The sound of the com is deafening and Rex pulls himself away, though he does so very slowly.

He starts making himself look presentable, smoothing out his shirt and arranging himself so his hard on is not so noticeable. You stare at him, wide-eyed, and you must be too finger-fucked frustrated because you blurt out “You’re going to leave me here? Without letting me cum?”

“Yes.” He turns a stern look towards you “and you’re not going to touch yourself when you get back to your bunk.”

Your jaw drops in shock and Rex smirks at you “I told you that you’d cum on my fingers, and that’s what I’m going to do after my meeting. So no getting yourself off.”

You know you’re pouting, but you can’t help it. “And then what? You come back, get me to cum, and then leave? I thought-”

Rex cuts you off “Thought what mesh’la?”

You look away, feeling embarrassed. “I thought that I was your good girl” you whisper.

A fond look crosses over Rex’s face “Oh cyar’ika, you are my good girl.” He steps closer, causing you to raise your eyes back to his face, “and because you’re my good girl you’re not going to touch yourself until I can take care of you.” He presses his forehead against yours, letting you see the sincerity in his eyes. “ Believe me cyare, once with you will never be enough.”

With that he steps back, keeping eye contact with you. With a mischievous look, Rex brings his hand that is covered in your slick up to his mouth, and sucks on the first two digits. His groan of satisfaction gets your legs trembling and your core clenching all over again.You continue to watch him as he cleans up the evidence of your arousal until nothing remains. Nothing except a damp glove.

When he’s finished he takes his fingers out with a slick pop, a feral smile on his face. His parting words lingering well after he’s gone.

“I’m only just getting started.”

To be continued.

Tag list: @samrubio @justanotherstarwarswhore @bvcketfvcker @grumpymuffinmama @justanothersadperson93 @fat-zygerrian

#I forgot the tags #slksdjfslkjs #Too excited to post this monster #First fic #Yay me #Getting some spicy times 👀#Rex getting reader all 💦#Captain Rex #Rex #Oldman Rex #Rebel!Rex #Rex x reader #Rebel Rex x reader

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certifiedteaenthusiast · 2 years

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Vicious V.E.Schwab review

Rating 5 stars

Vicious

V.E.Schwab

This book was centred around the idea of death and life, good and bad, light and dark a hero and a villain. V.E.Schwab took these concepts and created a universe that gave man the chance to become almost godlike and the consequences that follow. She delves into the concept of religion being used as a defence for committing crimes e.g., murder against others (this is regarding Eli). V.E.Schwab gave us two main characters Victor and Eli who were neither good or evil allowing us to see both of their sides and understand both to an extent. In an overall summary the book was about two guys who had different ideas on the same concept and separate ways to carry out said idea. The idea of gaining superhuman powers and what that could mean for the world. This led them to both do horrendous things for the sake of their goal for Victor it was revenge for Eli it was the cleansing of the world of the so called ‘monsters’ that walked amongst them.

Partially three features that stuck out to me from this book was 1) the usage of the hero or villain archetype, 2) The reasonings for Elis continuous murders and 3) Victor's drive for revenge and destruction of Eli.

Regarding the first one I personally find it interesting to see how people depict heroes and villains because it gives us an insight into people's personal views and beliefs. In Vicious you could say before they killed themselves and gained power that neither of them was the villain Eli was simply a ‘better person’ if we look at him through the lens of the people surrounding him – this is ignoring Victor as he saw that there was another side to Eli. Then Victor would be the ‘worse’ of the two, through a societal viewpoint. However once Eli gained his powers you could say this is when the roles shifted and we saw Victor become envious and spiteful of Eli, so eager to match Eli to be special like he was. Then you could label him as becoming the villain especially when he finally got what he wanted. He died and came back to life but the cost was Angie's life. Making him a murderer (given it was an accident so it would be classed as involuntary manslaughter. I am unsure if there would be a difference in America). After this when he went to Eli for help or some sort of guidance and he betrayed Victor you could say that this established Victor as the villain in Elis eyes, as Angie was someone who made him feel whole and Victor took that away from him. So, when Victor ended up in a cell this marked his deep-rooted hatred for Eli emerging and his thirst for revenge. As we continue through when Eli and Victor are face to face and Victor tries to kill Eli even though it is not possible due to Elis's healing powers. Victor just wants to cause Eli pain as his power is intensifying or numbing the effects of pain. We can see the joy he feels and during this part some may class him as the villain but Elis words calling him a monster and that his existence is going against to God, that he has the devil in him makes us wonder if Victor really is the Villain. Moving forward Eli shoots Victor three times and leaves him there to die. Which is a messed-up thing to do but we move from that. Victor goes to prison he ends up in solitary confinement for 4 years and then is integrated into the prison for six years he breaks out with Mitch and is now free. We now get to see (and in my opinion where the overarching idea of the ‘villain and hero’ is established to an extent as in reality neither of them was completely good or bad). Elis killing EOs and doing it in the name of God. Which is a direct contradiction against the second, fourth, slightly the seventh and eight commandments:

2. You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain.

4. You shall not kill.

7. You shall not steal.

8. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbour.

So, what exactly is forbidden by the third commandment? The word vain (as it’s rendered in the ESV) can mean “empty,” “nothing,” “worthless,” or “to no good purpose.” We are forbidden, therefore, from taking the name of God (or taking up the name or bearing the name, as the phrase could be translated) in a manner that is wicked, worthless, or for wrong purposes.

The text above describes what the second commandment could be interpreted as. Also, regarding the second one he steals people's identities. Additionally, he lied about what happened to Victor and what happened to his professor. Hes a consistent liar. So, in the eyes of the God, he follows he would be committing multiple sins and deemed as a villain. He continues to be seen as a villain by me. Victor is helpful to toes around him to an extent it is not his main goal so you cannot say he has completely pure intentions by committing revenge on Eli he helps all Eos to not be killed by Eli. So, in some regards Eli is the hero.

The reasoning for Elis murders is because he is doing in the name of God. He believes that all EOs are going against gods will and that makes them dangerous regarding himself as the only good one and Serina is just there because he cannot get rid of her. I find his perception on religion to be extremely interesting and confusing due to what he is doing is going against some of the fundamental laws of God. I will not delve too deep into the area of religion seeming as Christianity (the religion I think he follows) has many denominations but as a Christian I find it amusing to see him try and defend his actions by using the shield of religion.

In a whole I just find it interesting to know why people want revenge that intense need to see them fall and for Victor it was captivating as I related to his feelings albeit a bit concerning but we continue. Seeing the similarities in what he thought and did (excluding murder) to what I would have done was simply fascinating and I quite enjoyed it to be fair. Also, I enjoy seeing what revenge can make a person do and how far they would go to see the demise of someone that wronged them.

In general, I recommend the book due to its complexity of the themes demonstrated which I could talk for hours on, the quality of the writing that enabled me to read it in two and a half days. It is an enjoyable book and I recommend it.

It may not interest people who have difficulty understanding the ideas presented or the usage of violence just a slight warning for the contents of it. However, do not let that put you off entirely the violence is not just there for the sake of it has a meaning and a purpose so give it a go.

#vicious ve schwab #book reveiw #technically this was ment for school #any differing opinions welcome #vicious

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lsholland · 3 years

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𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 (𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈 - "𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠?"

Word count: 3.7k

tw: addictions (alcohol, drugs), swearing, disease, murder...

genre: psychological thriller / suspense / drama

Synopsis: Tom Holland is Hollywood's #1 celebrity and is adored all around the world. But this rise to fame hasn't been easy for him. With fame comes his own demons: addiction issues, a relationship that's about to end and...he doesn't know it yet, but he's about to kill an innocent woman. How is he going to get through it?

You can also read it on Wattpad.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated :)

"Tom! Tom!!! TOM!!!" shouts a woman in a black hoodie among a hysterical crowd of young boys and girls trying to get this man's attention. "PLEASE!!! I love you so much" her voice crackles, she's sobbing in despair.

He stops walking and stands right in front of her, a sharpie pen between his fingers and an unnatural grin on his face. Even though these people claim they love him, he's tired of them. It's something with the drama, the screams, and the perpetual inconsideration that drains his energy. His straight face says it all, if only they weren't obsessed with his looks, he'd be pleased to spend time with them. But he knows he's just an object of their fantasies. He forces a smile, or something close to it, and accepts to take a picture with her. He stands next to her, his arms in his back, his fingers intertwined and shakily holding the pen, glancing at the camera lens, lost in his thoughts. His body is present in the moment, but his mind is thousands of kilometres away in the universe that is his brain.

And she's so happy to finally have that precious picture that her smile shows all her impeccable teeth; she's sweating and rapidly breathing and laughing with the same high-pitched voice as everyone else; she's just a typical fangirl. All her friends gather around her and whisper as if they were hiding a secret from an alien.

And onto the next one. Same hysteria, same cry for help, miserable for his attention. She hands him a picture of him in a Spider-Man suit and asks for an autograph while she's filming the scene with her brand-new iPhone.

It has to do with the way they treat him. The way they pretend he doesn't notice their weird behaviour. The way they simply believe he's not a human being. That he must be good-looking, happy, nice, and funny all the time.

"We've gotta go" says his assistant as he presses his shoulder with his hand. Tom looks at him with relief and closes his eyes for a second. He lets out a sigh as a soft smile appears on his angelic face.

"A'ight, I'm sorry guys" he apologises, but that's not enough. Many of them start crying and push through the thin barrier to get a hold of him; like monsters that haven't been fed, like addicts when you can't provide their usual dose of drugs. They look so disappointed and hopeless; leaving now would reduce all his efforts to dust. Keeping a good image and reputation is the key. He doesn't want to be hated.

Guilt rushes through him like a thrill; he glances at his watch and gulps. He gives them another 5 minutes for pictures, autographs, and hugs. Even if he's late. Even if he's going to miss his interview. Because he owes his success to them; or at least he thinks he does.

And when he goes into the back seat of this huge black SUV with no registration plate, he slams the door shut and . . . Peace. Finally, the moment he's been waiting for. The pressure leaves his body like a bubble burst. He sighs and relaxes his muscles, his head falling back on the seat. His eyes are closed; he doesn't say a word for the whole ride. His time alone is so rare and valued.

And when they arrive in front of that gigantic building to pass this final interview, Tom prepares to show his usual bright smile and pretends he's happy. Nobody notices what's hidden in his gaze. But his eyes are telling the truth. His eyes show how hopeless he is. But nobody dares looking into his soul. They only see the superficial layer, the mask he puts on every day. Because nobody knows who he is. Nobody cares about him.

It's so much simpler to ignore sadness in other people. We just tend to believe only good moments are worth sharing. We just pretend we're happy all the time because that's what everyone else does. And why would he show his sadness anyway? He has it all: a girlfriend, loads of money, a caring family, success . . . What can he be sad about?

The interview is done, Tom is in the car, cruising in the city. He's finally going home after a long, tiring, and stressful day.

He unlocks his phone and checks his text messages. They're plain and all related to his fame or his work. All his conversations are so self-centred. What are his plans? What does he like? And what's his opinion on this subject? He, he, him, him, again and again!

He's so tired and wants to be entertained. This empty space laying in his heart and brain becomes bigger and bigger. It's become harder to ignore it, especially when he's alone like tonight. Besides, he's too used to entertain others that he almost forgets what it's like to be passive and watch people do things. As if the world revolved around him.

Here we go. Instagram. The most toxic of all social media platforms. He scrolls through pictures of his friends. The famous ones on red carpets or photoshoots; the anonymous ones a drink in their hands. They're all so superficial. All the same. And the algorithm showing him pictures fans have taken of him earlier today . . . Icing on the cake. Why would he watch this? He doesn't need it. But he decides to read what the fans say, because he's curious. Or because he's obsessed with what people think of him. He needs to be known, loved, remembered, at the centre of attention – adored. He wouldn't need to sell his soul to the devil because it's already in him, and he's now paying the price of this sin.

The fans he met earlier, who were so happy to finally see their idol, were bullying him on social media. They aren't even aware of it. All these people objectifying him, posting pictures of his family – invading his privacy – and saying he can't 'write' or 'walk' or do anything properly because he's just human. They say they are joking except it's not funny. Tom's feelings are hurt, again. He should have written 'you're' instead of 'your', he should have noticed there was a hole in the grass and not trip . . . These images are roaming in his brain like a car's spinning wheels when you brake at 60 miles per hour; the pressure of the tyres scratching your mind, and the intrusive thoughts that can't be stopped like the wheel. Ever. And you eventually hit the wall.

He glances at the rear-view mirror and see his driver focused on the traffic lights. He glances around to make sure no paparazzi is watching and takes a flask out of his back pocket. His trembling hands poorly hold it, but he needs to drink something to feel better; to feel energised. He spills his boose on the leather seats and sighs with annoyance. Grabbing his hoodie feels like lifting the weight of the world; he manages to wipe it off and savours the sweet taste of vodka. Just one sip can't hurt.

That's how you know it's too late.

"Do you really need it?" says the assistant in the front passenger seat who caught him.

"It's just a drink" Tom replies instantly, frowning his eyebrows.

"I'm just worried about you, you know" he adds as he turns around and looks at him in his eyes.

"There's nothing to worry about," Tom mumbles as he feels relaxed "I can stop if I want to."

"If you say so . . ."

And even the people surrounding him day and night aren't trying to help him. Everyone's aware he's slowly getting addicted and is wasting his potential, everyone but the fans. Everyone pretends to love him, but nobody truly cares. They're just after his money, power, and fame . . .

It's like watching him tiptoeing on the deck's edge of a ferry and being shocked when he eventually falls off in the unforgiving cold, dark sea.

He smiles when the car stops in front of his London house. That's the only place where he feels like he can truly be himself. Or the last of it. After all, who is he really? Spider-Man? An actor that pleases 13-year-old girls? A failure? An impostor? Or no one at all?

What happened to the young boy who was excited about everything and anything? What happened to the one who used to laugh more than he'd breathe?

He is torn. He can't love anymore. He's had many girlfriends, each one more famous and beautiful than the last, but they couldn't bring him back to life. He truly loved them though. He felt good with them and always thought they were a match until he messed up. Making up a behaviour so they'd leave him because he's not strong enough to quit. Because he is just like this. A kid who can't handle success.

He currently has a girlfriend. Everyone loves her. He thinks she's too good for him though. Too beautiful, too clever, and maybe too famous. He feels like she's achieving much more than he is and that scares him. He can't even make love to her without feeling like he's not worth it. So, he ignores her calls, takes days to reply to a text, becomes cold as stone, distant, and unstable. This is how cowards break up. But she holds on to him.

Once he gets home, he sits on his couch and starts watching TV. His stomach is empty; he hasn't eaten all day but the only thing he wants is to drink more. It's like a voice in his brain that takes control of his body. He sees everything but can't do anything about it. The smell, the thirst, the mind that can't think of anything else. His hands are shaking, breathing becomes uneasy, he's uncomfortable in his own skin; he's a stranger to himself until he drinks. He's desperately waiting for someone to help him. But they're all too busy with their own problems.

He tries to drink from his flask, but it is empty.

He groans. "One more isn't gonna hurt" he whispers to himself as he walks towards the kitchen area. He opens the fridge and grabs a cold one.

And another one.

And another one . . .

The saddest thing about the situation is that he truly believes in his excuses. He doesn't realise he desperately needs help.

Now, the fridge is empty. But he still doesn't feel it. He doesn't feel the uninhibited state he wants to reach. He's still a victim of his thoughts; the sadness, the anger, the feeling of being trapped in a never-ending game.

He glances at his 80,000 dollars Rolex and decides it's time for him to go to a bar. He grabs his phone and calls his assistant. No answer. He calls his second assistant then. No answer.

"It's only 2AM, come on!" he grunts.

Only?

He thinks for barely a second and grabs his keys and gets into his car. There's a night bar in Kingston that he absolutely loves, and he knows he's always welcome there.

As a celebrity he's obviously welcome everywhere. But he noticed the way people looked at him with pity when he spent an entire night drinking without speaking to anyone. Alone in his thoughts that only he knows. It's different there, the barmaid usually talks to him and entertains him. And she just doesn't care he's famous, which is rare nowadays.

He's been caught drunk driving many times, but he was always released without a word because he's so famous. As if all the police officers have daughters who worship him.

Maybe his problem is thinking he's above all. He who used to be so humble, kind, and generous.

He parks in front of the venue, but the lights are off. He rolls down the window and squints to read the paper sticked to the door.

The bar is closed for annual leave.

"Fuck it!" he shouts. He checks on his phone if another bar is open tonight. Miss Jackson is. It's not the bar he usually spends his time in, but the beers are good and it's not too crowded for him. He absolutely wants to avoid fans tonight.

Most of them are underage, it's dangerous for him. One mistake and he'd become a paedophile. That's why he swore to himself to never do anything with a fan, no matter how hot they are. It's harder to respect this rule when he's drunk though.

"Let's go then" he says in a lazy way, the alcohol slowly taking control of him.

His eyes are red, everything he sees is blurred. He can't keep his thoughts straight.

He starts the car and puts some music to lighten his mood. He needs this to feel better. If something bad happens while he's drunk it ruins his mood. And when this happens . . . he starts having very dark thoughts. The kind of thoughts you better keep to yourself if you don't want people to be scared for you. Where your life is on the line, and you don't care about tomorrow because you just want to stop it . . . The sadness; the anxiety; the constant fears. Because the only moment you feel happy is when you sleep, as if you were dead. Tom feels like this all the time, and he hides it well.

But now he's focusing on the moment. The boose allows him to feel better. He listens to this pop song and its energy is spreading in his body. He's pushed by the music; the excitement and adrenaline take control over his body. He's ready to go.

He quickly backs up the car. He's so excited to go to the bar to finally drink some more and—

BOOM! His car abruptly stops, it sounds like a crash. An alarm is wailing, echoing in Tom's ears, making him feel dizzy. The shock was so intense he hit his face against the airbag of his steering wheel leaving his skin half-burnt. He passes out.

Tom startles as he wakes up, "what the fuck just happened?" he hisses. He stays still giving time to his brain to proceed the information and checks his rear-view camera. It's been disconnected.

He jumps out of his car and checks what happened. He collided with another vehicle. A much smaller car with a crushed bumper. Tom's car is damaged as well, but he doesn't care, he walks over the small Fiat 500 and scans the surroundings. His heart is pounding; air isn't traveling down to his lungs. He suffocates as if he were trapped in a cage down the ocean. He doesn't control his shaking fingers rubbing against his sweating forehead. His lips are parting, gasping for air, while his eyes are wide open looking straight to the ground.

For a second, he realises that he can be in big trouble if anyone knows about this. This can be enough to be fired by the Marvel Studios and ruin his entire career, his life. No one wants a drunk superstar to ruin a movie's reputation.

He hesitates. He wants to run away. He faintly grabs his head in his weak hands and is heavily panting. He can taste iron on the tip of his tongue. He rubs his forearm against his mouth and feels wobbly at the sight of his own blood.

What is he going to do? Has someone seen what happened? And if he leaves, what happens to the unconscious person in the car? But if he helps them, what guarantees him he's not going to be prosecuted? And lose it all? But what if he leaves and this person dies? What if they die and someone knows he killed them? Each scenario is getting worse and worse.

There's only one viable option for him.

"Hey, are you alright?" he says as he approaches the fuming car.

He glances around, but the street is empty. That's the reason why he usually loves this place; because it's so quiet.

"Are—Are you okay there?" he stutters.

He opens the door and see blood. Dark, thick, red blood. An unconscious woman with blood all over her face is lying on the steering wheel. Her car is so old there is no airbag. The shock must've been tough for her. She might even have a brain injury.

Tom places his hand on this woman's neck to check if her heart is still beating. It's weak. She needs help or she'll die because of his stupidity, because he's a drunk who can't even check his surroundings before backing up his car. Poor woman whose life is on pause for his mistake. She'll die because of him.

He dials 999 on his cell phone and repeats what he's going to say once someone picks up the phone.

"There's a woman—she's injured! Car accident!" he cries. He doesn't even try to make sentences; he just wants this to be over. "Please come quickly"

"What's your name, sir?"

His body is wavering, tears are streaming down his face – it's absolute chaos in his mind. He can't tell his name; he'd rather die than publicly suffer from the consequences of his actions. He needs to fly away; he needs to escape from this nightmare. He needs to leave, and now.

He hangs up in a hurry. No one can know he is drunk, and he almost killed someone. He walks back to his SUV and catches one last glimpse of this woman's body before closing the door and driving away.

As soon as he leaves, he regrets his decision, but sticks to it anyway. His soul is crying for him to go back there and help this dying life, but his cowardice tells him to hide and wait until this is over. He's reaching his lowest point, and the only person he wants to see now is his mum. When she holds him in her arms, the weight of his problems is bearable; he can even feel relaxed. And he wishes she'd be able to do it tonight. But it would kill her to know what monstrosity her son just did . . .

He's home, all alone. It's been a few hours since the incident happened, and Tom can't think of anything else. This woman's face, her blood all over the windshield, her crushed car.

Why didn't she see him? Why was she driving so fast in an empty street at night? So many questions roam in Tom's brain, it's slowly eating him alive.

He's sobering up as the morning lights glow on his face. It's already 6AM and he hasn't slept at all. He watches himself in his bathroom mirror and only see dark circles, pale skin, and the features of a monster. The broken blood vessels in the white of his eyes give him an evil aspect. He raises his arm and see the pink burnt skin, another scar for life. How on earth could he leave a dying woman?

He doesn't only feel remorse; he doesn't recognise himself. He's lost and wonders what happened in his life to be so miserable he considers his career more important than someone else's life.

He firmly rubs his face with the palms of his hands and takes off his clothes in a simple sweep. He crawls onto his bed and covers his body with a weighted blanket. He's almost trying to forget he exists when he squeezes his eyes shut and stops breathing until his lungs pressure him to open his mouth. Nature has done a wonderful job preventing us from suffocating on purpose. What a bummer for Tom; he would be dead already if he could just stop breathing . . .

He takes his phone, his only friend and his worst enemy, and checks the local news. Maybe they've mentioned the accident and he'll be able to know what happened to his woman. Not many articles have been published since last night. He keeps scrolling until he finds what he's been looking for.

25-year-old in coma after accident in Southeast London, fugitive remains unfound

Tom's heart skips a beat; this article must be about her. For a second, he apprehends and hesitates to read the article. But his guilty mind needs to know everything about what happened since he deserted.

As he reads the article, he gently places his hand over his mouth to stop him from crying out loud. The woman was so heavily injured they needed to put her under artificial coma to keep her alive. She was on her way to meet her dying husband, in the same hospital she's at now.

Such an emotional shock inflicts a profound pain to Tom's heart. He sobs in silence and passes out due to sleep deprivation. He's finally at peace; no thought, no nightmare. His mind is off, and his body is fully regenerating. His brain is solely focused on keeping his body alive. His soul is resting for a few hours until his cell phone starts ringing.

Tom wakes up with a start and answers his phone without checking who's on the line.

"Tom, what are you doing? I've been knocking at your door for the past 10 minutes," shouts his brother "what happened to your car? Dude what are you doing? You've gotta get ready for GQ!"

"Wh—What?" he mumbles.

His brother knocks at the door. Tom gets off his bed and walks down the stairs with difficulty. When he opens the door, the lights blind him, it's too sunny outside. He'd rather stay inside for a few more hours.

His brother checks him out and sighs. "Have you been drinking? The photoshoot is in less than an hour and you look like shit"

Tom remains silent, trying to process the information.

"And what happened to your car, man?"

And here it is. Every memory comes back in his mind like fireworks and his feet are failing, he can barely stand still. He grabs his brother by his shoulder and holds him tight in his arms. He's the only one who can really help him feel better. He wants to tell him everything that happened, but he can't admit he's got a problem.

He's lost.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! What do you think so far of the story? Tom is in a very bad situation, I wonder how he's going to get through it?

Please like this post to be in the taglist.

#tom holland #tom holland series #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #tom holland fiction #tom holland imagines

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dreamsclock · 3 years

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Its actually really interesting that dream didn't plan for tommyinnit to be the first victim of the prison, or ever a victim of the prison, that he had someone else in mind for maximum security when tommy was the one dream has the worst relationship with. Also the idea that dream wanted to have a part in tommys "origin story". does c!dream idolize c!tommy?see him as a paragon hero?

i think dream views tommy in the same way the other characters view him — just to a greater extent.

because we all sort of view tommy as our protagonist hero, right? especially early on. even before dream began to shape tommy into ‘his’ hero, he was still ‘the’ hero; he duels dream, he gives up the discs, he’s exiled with wilbur, he helps save l’manburg. we view/viewed tommy as the hero, which is why we got frustrated when he did more stupid things, it’s why we root for him even when he’s doing ,, questionable things, hell, it’s why half of us voted for tommy to be exiled. he’s the hero, and it keeps the story moving for him to have hero-like things happen to him, you know?

dream and tommy both have times where they’ll talk about their lives/relationship as enemies like it’s just what it is to us: a story. notably, dream more so than tommy. in my mind, dream has become so detached from his world being real life for him that he can’t help but try and mould people / his life into how a story should go. maybe this is an attempt at control, maybe this is something else, i don’t know exactly.

but in any case, i don’t genuinely think he hates tommy. he keeps talking about the “fun” they both have and at one point during doomsday says he’ll have to go away for a while because people will be “frustrated” by what he’s done (i’ll find the entire quote at some point). frustrated,,, isn’t exactly a strong feeling for someone who has blown up everything you ever loved and cared about, you know? dream sees all of this, including tommy’s genuine suffering, as a sort of “necessity”: he doesn’t necessarily WANT to kill tubbo or exile tommy — it’s just what needs to happen in his mind to progress the story forward.

because EVERYONE views tommy as the hero. it’s why jack and niki want him and dream dead — the “hero” and the “villain”. it’s why tommy is the centre of so many animatics, it’s why he gets so wrapped up in so many storylines, it’s why the egg doesn’t affect him LMAO, because he’s got so much plot armour that it’s unreal!!

i think dream sort of depends on this, too: it’s why he said “it’s not your time to die yet, tommy”. he’s so confident tommy wouldn’t jump, because this isn’t where their story ends. in dream’s eyes, their story will never be over: there’s always going to be him, and there’s always going to be tommy.

to sum up what was basically a very long ramble about dream’s character, dream twists the “idolisation” we and the others have for tommy’s hero status even further until it’s obsessive. he’s obsessed over the idea of their “story”, obsessed over making the perfect hero to match his creation of the perfect villain, obsessed over tommy’s character and making sure he goes through the perfect “origin story” — and when tommy “messes up” his hero role by getting help from others? that’s the only thing that brings dream to his knees.

(as for who he originally intended the prison to be for.... my bet is on technoblade or himself. but that’s a whole OTHER can of worms.)

#> my asks !!#this was an incredibly interesting point so tysm!!#mcyt #dream smp #dreamwastaken #smp dream analysis #dream smp analysis #dream smp theories #dream smp theory #dream #tommyinnit #-> my analysis !!#tw suicide mention

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loki-is-my-god-of-mischief · 2 years

Text

To Find Your Mate (Young!Remus x GN!Reader)

It can be hard being a werewolf, especially when you don't accept your wolf. It can become very painful because the wolf is trying to rip itself out of you. I should know, I have experienced this first-hand. It doesn't help that many people's views of werewolves is that we are monsters. But we're not, not all of us at least. I mean yeah, there are monsters. Wolves like Greyback, they have no excuse for their behaviour but others can't help it. They fear their wolves, don't accept them and in return the wolf becomes angry and in its blind rage attacks anything it comes across. I know this because I have done this. But now I accept my wolf and we are both better off now that I have, that doesn't mean people accept me though. I just want to find someone who will accept me. It's hard being a student at Hogwarts in normal circumstances never mind trying to hide what and who you are.

______________________________________________________________

Professor Dumbledore doesn't trust me on my own out in the forest anymore. He knows what I am and has allowed me to turn in the forest for my first six years at Hogwarts but now I can't. So now I am heading to the medical wing so Madam Pomfrey can take me to the Shrieking Shack. When I enter, I wasn't expecting anyone but Madam Pomfrey but there was someone else. A boy from my year with auburn hair and green eyes was standing next to the schools medi-witch. I head towards Poppy cautiously. "Come now Young (Last/N). It's not like you to be nervous." Poppy says with a kind smile.

"Me? Nervous? Never." I reply flashing a grin in her direction, receiving an eye roll for my troubles. I turn toward the other occupant of the room. "Who's this?"

"This is Mr. Lupin. He will be accompanying you during the full moon tonight."

"WHAT!!!" was the incredulous shout from the boy revealed as Mr. Lupin. I ignore his shout and ask, "So he's a wolf too then?"

"Wait...too?" again Mr. Lupin goes momentarily ignored.

"Indeed." was Poppy's reply before she turned to Mr. Lupin. "Really Mr. Lupin, please close your mouth before you catch flies." She tries for admonishing but I could clearly hear the amusement in her tone. From the look on Mr. Lupin's face, it is clear he also heard it.

______________________________________________________________

We were now at the shack, which was disgusting by the way, and Madam Pomfrey had already left. There was still a few hours before the moon was officially out so I decided to get to know my fellow wolf. "So, what's your name?"

"Remus. Remus Lupin but my friends call me Moony. You?"

"(Y/N) (Last/N). Your friends call you Moony?" I ask as I beckon him to sit near me on the broken bed.

"Yeah, you know. Because of the moon and stuff." he finishes with a dismissive shrug.

"You mean your friends know?" He nods. "And accepts you?" again he nods. "Wow, you have great friends."

"They mean the world to me, they are pack. I'll introduce you to them, you'll like them."

"Sure." It was at that moment that the moon started to rise, both our heads snapped to the window and basked in its glory...or I did anyway. I rose from the broken bed and stood in the centre of the moonlight, I allowed my wolf to have full control of my body, completely trusting that they will keep me safe and behave. The change happens quick after that, I barely feel it from the protection of my wolfs inner conscious. Screaming breaks through the peace I feel and the wolf snaps their head toward the sound. Remus is the source; he is screaming so loud that we both whimper.

My wolf heads over to Remus and try to offer comfort by rubbing against his side. It doesn't seem to be working and it worries us both deeply. After a long while of screaming it finally stops. In the place of what was once a screaming boy now stands a strong yet angry auburn wolf. My wolf heads over to the wolf and tries to calm him down, obviously the boy doesn't accept Moony. Moony growls low and deep the moment he spots me, not a natural alpha but the alpha of his little pack. In order to not anger the wolf more, we lower our underbelly to the ground and crawl our way over. The growling lowers in intensity but doesn't leave, once we reach the wolf we roll onto our back and roll our head to the side giving access and showing our vulnerable stomach. The growling stops as the wolf lowers his head to smell our stomach then up to our offered neck, after a thorough smell the wolf nuzzles our neck and allows us to stand. We are no longer a threat. It seems once a rejected wolf is calmed it reverts to basic instinct. Interesting. My wolf urges me that we should tire the wolf out with a game of tag, I agree to this and the game begins with a playful nip the front paw of the auburn wolf. The chase is on.

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It's been months since we first met, I've been trying to teach Remus to accept his wolf. We have reached the stage where Remus trusts Moony enough to take over the change. This has helped since Remus won't feel the pain of the change anymore. I've also made friends who accept me at last, I'm now officially a Marauder...in training. Not too good at pranks yet. But I now have a Marauder nickname and name for my wolf, Sassaba. It means the Wolf in Native American. Not too creative but Sassaba loves it. I love all of my friends but I'm closest to Remus, especially lately. I've been feeling a pull toward him lately, Sassaba knows what it means but they won't tell me. Apparently it's up to Remus to tell me. Tonight, is a full moon so me and Remus will be meeting again, sometimes the other Marauders join us but today they have detention. I meet with Remus in the Medical wing and together with Madam Pomfrey we head toward the Shack. The entire time there I can tell Remus is nervous, which is strange because ever since a few months ago he hasn't feared a change since it doesn't hurt anymore. I grow worried the more he looks nervous.

During the few hours before the change Remus is unusually quiet. He doesn't say a single word to me, just continues pacing back and forth in the centre of the room. I'm trying to build up enough courage to ask what's wrong but the look on Remus' face stops me every time. Finally, though, just before we start to change, Remus looks right at me and says "We're mates. We are destined for each other and I love you." Before I could reply, our wolves take over and the change begins. It was quick and painless for both of us and when Sassaba looks on over at Moony it is to see him waiting patiently, staring at him. Sassaba walks on over to Moony and nuzzles his neck before licking his muzzle. Moony gives a happy yip before speeding off into the forest, it happened so fast that even Sassaba was confused as to what was happening. Moments later, Moony returns with a dead forest animal in his jaws and drops it at their paws. Sassaba immediately recognises this as a courting gift, if they eat it they are accepting Moony as their mate, if they don't they are rejecting him. Sassaba talks it over with me to make sure we both agree. After a very brief discussion, Sassaba eats the kill accepting the courtship.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, I wake up and notice that Remus is up before me. He doesn't look his cheerful self, which is worrying to both me and Sassaba. We walk on over to Remus who is looking out the shack window. "You ok Remus?" The boy in question jumps at my voice and spins round.

"Oh. (Y/N) you scared the life out of me. I didn't know you were up. Are you well?"

"I am fine. I was just wondering the same about you. You seem awfully down."

"I'm fine." Even Sassaba could tell that Remus wasn't being truthful.

"Is fine werewolf for not fine at all?"

"What? No, why?"

"I'm trying to justify why you would lie to me." When I saw him flinch I realised I could have worded that better. "Sorry, I mean...ugh...I just want to know what's wrong. I don't like it when you're not yourself." He looks into my eyes and I look back seeing nothing but insecurity.

"Sassaba may have chosen Moony, but how on earth will you ever choose me." Remus finally admits sadly. If I was expecting anything it definitely wasn't that. Over the months that I have known Remus, I have never once seen him this self-depreciating. I don't like it; the look doesn't suit him. "I have and always will choose you Remus. You are the most wonderful man I have ever met. You are charming, loyal, brave, kind-hearted, and so sweet you put your favourite chocolate to shame. Why would I ever make the mistake in not choosing you." By the end of my speech Remus looks utterly shocked.

"You really think all that of me?"

"Of course, I do, I wouldn't lie about this."

"So, you accept me then?" he asks, starting to look hopeful.

"Of course, I do. But if you bring me a dead animal whilst we are human, I will kill you." We laugh at this and I decided then and there that Remus should be laughing all the time as that is his best look and I will be the one to put it there.

"It's beautiful." Remus' comment snaps me out of my thoughts and I focus on him completely.

"What is?"

"This feeling. To find your mate and they accept you." I smile at this and get one in return.

"Yeah, it is."

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #remus lupin #reader insert #gn reader #gn!reader #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #reader is werewolf #werewolf!reader #mates #hp #hp marauders #marauders

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bts-hyperfixation · 3 years

Text

Love You Too Much

Part 13

Yandere!Namjoon x Army!Y/N

Warnings: Yandere fic, this chapter mentions nausea. Smut in the next chapter

(back)/(next)/(masterlist)

The underground is extremely busy when you board, but Joon manages to snag himself a seat. He tugs you down into his arms and cages you too him; tightly hugging your waist to keep you from sliding off when the train jerks. You blush noticing the eyes on you, public affection isn’t common in places like this. Instead of focusing on the glares of other passengers you try to look around the cabin, unfortunately, you don’t get very far before Namjoon stops you.

“You can’t look around; you’ll figure out where we are going too easily.” His eyes lock with yours showing how serious he is about this being a surprise. You pout back at him, bringing your finger up to poke at his cheek.

“Then what am I supposed to do for the next hour you said we would be down here?” The question is answered with a small kiss, and then another, and another. He kisses all over your face as you turn redder and redder at the attention. You try to push him back a little, but the death grip he has on your waist won’t let you.

“I know I could keep this up the entire time.” He says in between each peck. Its makes you giggle as his voice vibrates against your skin. You keep wriggling until he stops. Sighing dramatically he adds “Unless you want to spend the time on your phone, that’s good too I guess.”

“That sounds like a much more appropriate plan,” you confirm laughing. You kiss him once more before pulling out your phone for the rest of the journey. With each stop more people exit without being replaced, but even with ten empty seats around you Namjoon won’t let you slip off his lap grumbling and burying his fae into your neck every time you try. Anyone else would be thankful for the reprieve, having someone sat on your lap for so long can not be comfortable. Eventually the train changes from underground to overground and you can see the city around you.

Clearly nowhere near the massive towers and bustling stores of the centre. However, there is a very suspicious looking building on the horizon. The tops of blue turrets can be seen hidden in the distance. You dare to glance around the train and find a lot of people wearing character clothing and excessively bright colours.

“Joon?” you tap at his arms to get him to lift his head away from where it rested on your shoulder.

“Hmm?” he answers, a little smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Are we going to Disneyland?” its hard to contain your excitement, as you start to bounce a little in his lap.

“I don’t know… are we?” he raises an eyebrow at you, completely failing to keep the grin off his face as he watches you get more fidgety.

It feels like the rest of the journey takes a lifetime, even if it is just two more stops. Namjoon lets you up just as the door slide open. You take his hand and follow him through the station. Instead of the expansive white walls and large advertisements of the other stations this one is coated in rainbow Disney character silhouettes, all it doe is add to the knot of anticipation that’s building in your stomach.

Along the walk-way different Disney princess theme songs play leading all the way from the station doors to the gate. Pathways are framed with cherry blossoms and ornate streetlamps. Even before you reach the park they try their best to make sure guests are fully emerged in the experience. A giant inflatable Donald Duck welcomes people from the nearby lake, many waiting to take their pictures with the beloved blow-up character.

You slow to take in your surroundings but Namjoon seems determined to carry on. He squeezes your hand to bring you back to him and starts moving a little quicker.

“Come on there is a ride I really want to take you on, but the line can be pretty long so the sooner we get through that one the better.” He smiles back at you but your stomach drops. You hadn’t thought about the rides. Yes it’s a theme park… but it’s more of an experience situation. Big rides are terrifying. As you waited to be admitted into the park you tried to come up with a way to break it to Namjoon gently that fast rides weren’t for you. He just looked so excited, and maybe its time to try something new.

Luckily being a weekday the line for entry was reasonably short. Just inside the gates there is a board with described wait times. You chew your lip anxiously as he searches for the ride in question. He doesn’t even bother to tell you the name before heading off in, what you assume is, the right direction. It doesn’t take long to reach the dreaded thing; Shanghai is a reasonably small Disney park after all.

*Soaring Over the Horizon*

Terrifying…

The ride itself seems to be in a large amphitheatre. Hidden so you can’t tell how bad it is. Joon tries to keep heading for the ride but you force him stop.

“I’m sorry Joon… I’m… I’m not good at rides.” You force your stomach to stop flipping as he studies you. It’s uncomfortable for a moment and then his normal relaxed demeanour reappears.

“I promise you this one isn’t bad baby.” He reaches out to push a stray hair behind your ear. “It’s like a cinema, you get lifted up to watch a movie, no scary rollercoaster I promise.” You nuzzle into the warmth of his hand, allowing it to calm you a little. “If you don’t like it you just close your eyes and most of it just goes away. After the turn you had in the tower, I would never risk putting you on a fast ride. I just had all of these big plans 0for what we were going to do today. I know you’ll enjoy it all if you just try… Don’t you trust me?” the last words sting a little. The tone too severe for the context.

“Of course I trust you,” you take a deep breath and steel your resolve, determined to show him that you have faith in him. You charge towards the queue as he falls into step behind you. Inside the building is stunning. Modelled after temples in a desert, the ceiling has been strung with a million tiny lights to make it look like a clear night sky. You lean back into Joon to get a better view of what’s above you, also using his solid body to keep you grounded. The closer you get the more you regret you decision to force yourself onto the ride. With each shuffle forward you can feel your heartbeat faster. He must feel it too because he tightens his grip on you and leans down to whisper in your ear.

“I’ve got you Y/N, every moment.” The tension in your shoulders loosens a little, until it’s your turn at the front of the queue. The attendant usher two dozen people into a new room to watch a video. A video in Chinese. You glance around at the other guests wrapped up in the magic of the ride. Kids as young as eight stand around you, and you can’t help but feel a little silly. As the preamble ends, doors open to your left and you are told to strap into a row of seats set out like paraglider. You place your loose items in the tray under your chair and strap your self in, clinging desperately to the chair arm on you left and Namjoon on the right.

When the ride starts to move you can’t help but squeal, making Namjoon laugh. You shoot a glare at the idol before returning your attention to the screen at the front of the ride. It takes you throughout the world. 3D images of the world’s greatest wonders and animals. The entire show is breath taking, you almost don’t want it to end. But it has to.

You are lowered back to the floor and sent on out into the park. The stress of working yourself up hasn’t helped the queasy feeling that had been lingering since the bout of vertigo, Namjoon wraps his arm around you shoulder and pulls you close.

“See that wasn’t so bad was it.” He grins, you try to match his enthusiasm with your reply but apparently there is no hiding your unease from him. “Come on I think you need lunch before we do anything.” You start to protest, determined to do all the fun things he had planned. However, your stomach grumbling beat you to the punch. You check your watch to find out it had been a long time since breakfast.

“Okay, where so you want to eat?” you end up leaving the park. Just outside there is a large selection of restaurants to choose from. He pulls you into the cheesecake factory, citing something about familiar western food being easier for you, although you can’t hide your disappointment at not being able to try more traditional Asian dishes. The food is great though, and you get to share dessert. He orders an oreo cheesecake, feeding it to you from his fork “Accidentally” getting it on your face and leaning over to kiss it off. You can already feel the boost in blood sugar helping you to feel better. By the time he has paid the cheque, you are more than ready to take on the rest of the park for the afternoon.

Masterlist

#kim namjoon #bts fic #yandere bts #bts smut #bts fluff #namjoon fic #rm fic #yandere namjoon #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #rm fluff #rm smut #bts disney #nausea mention

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 12k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: good god where to begin, loss of virginity : ) for real, big dick joon, cowgirl, unprotected sex, special appearance from namjoon’s sensitive neck o.o, premature ejaculation sorry bud, creampie, dom!joon still tho, sub!reader, sexting, dom!hoseok/master!hoseok, sub!jungkook, sub!reader agAIN, bondage and shibari, master/slave dynamics (sorry i have to spoil the prompt but want to properly TW this stuff, but the word slave is only used once out-of-scene), filmed sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, hoseok wearing the tear dior fit you are WELCOME, fingering, orgasm control/denial, oral (m receiving), anal (m receiving), a position i am told is called a lucky pierre/french sandwich, threesome in case you couldn’t guess, aftercare, guided masturbation, phone sex, pet-names, discipline/punishment

banner designer @jamaisjoons | thank you my darling SFHS babies ! i love you

DAY EIGHT

“Are you ready to make your decision?”

No. Of course the answer is no, but there’s no delaying it anymore. “Is it nine already?”

Sejin sighs, shuffling to the side of the table to indicate you’re to sit beside him. When you do, facing the boys on the couch, your heart gives another sickening lurch. Sejin squeezes your shoulder kindly. “Just a game, sweetheart,” he assures quietly, before raising his voice into the authorial tone he used for announcements. “Thank you for all being here on time, any on topic questions before we begin?”

Nobody answers, not even Jin. There’s a tense atmosphere, and you feel caught right in the centre of it.

“Okay, then,” he says softly, sensing the sullen atmosphere. “I’d like to give each of the Gentlemen a chance to explain why Y/n should keep them in the show. Let’s go around the room. Yoongi?”

To Sejin’s left, perched on the end of the three-person couch, is the doctor himself, legs crossed and face relaxed. “Um, Y/n should keep me in becau-”

“Say it to her,” Sejin guides, shuffling back to move out of the way.

Reflexively, Yoongi glances up at you, and the calm warmth of his eyes reassures you. “Y/n, I’d ask you to keep me in because we’ve had a good time together so far, but there’s so much that we have yet to explore. Beyond that, I’d like to think I’m a good fit for the house, and I’ll continue to assist Jin-hyung in cooking many meals.” Once he’s done, he sends you a small smile, eyes glinting playfully.

The younger boy sitting next to him is not as cheerful. Bottom lip red from gnawing, Jungkook tucks his feet up on the couch, resting his chin on his knees. His eyes meet yours after Sejin signals for him to begin. “I really hope you don’t vote me out because I like it here a lot. You’re so cool, and the hyungs are so cool, and I feel really happy here. I know we haven’t spent a whole lot of quality time yet, but I want to, if I stick around long enough.”

You bite down harshly on your tongue, sending him a strained smile. Fuck, this sucks. Beside Jungkook is Hoseok, who props his elbow on the arm of the couch, posture casual but face stricken.

“Y/n,” Hoseok begins, voice tentative and uncharacteristically subdued, “you’re a very intelligent girl and you have a lot of potential in being a sub. I’d appreciate the opportunity to stay in and show you and the audience how enjoyable BDSM can be. We’re all very lucky men to be on the show with you.”

On the couch beside, Namjoon is the next one around. He pauses, eyes dancing about the room as he thinks. “I think it probably doesn’t make much sense to keep me in the game,” he allows. “I’m not experienced like the others and so it’s a little hard to defend on that front, but I think me staying allows you the advantage of being my first and best experience. I feel like with just a bit more time, I’ll really grow into my element, and I feel safe doing it with you. So I really hope I stay.”

Squished beside him is Jin, who sends you a big grin, even if it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “This is so shitty,” he says with a laugh, “it’s harder than I was prepared for before I came, and I think that’s due partly to the warm environment that we’re developing with each other, but also because you, Y/n, are a very genuine and lively person. Of course this is a game about sex, but I don’t think any one of us could say that’s the only factor here. As for me, I ask that you keep me in at least a week more because I can promise not only a good time, but also an ear if you need one, and advice should you ever want it.” He pauses to glance around the room. “That goes for all of you,” Jin adds, “I cannot believe that I don’t hate any of you, I don’t know how the producers found such great people.”

His words ease a bit of the tension, and the rest of you let out laughs of relief, your heart easing slightly.

Next, it’s down on the floor for Taehyung, who seems to prefer sitting cross-legged on the carpet to any other spot in the room. “I really wanna stay here,” he pleads with his eyes locked on yours, so earnest, “you’re so fantastic, and Jungkookie and the hyungs are all so fantastic, and I don’t wanna go home so soon. And also I think in terms of sex and stuff, I bring a lot to the table.” Taehyung avoids Sejin’s gaze, fiddling with the hem of his shirt innocently even as he stares up through his eyelashes at the rest of you cheekily. “I think we saw that yesterday. Though in the future, hopefully it’ll cost me less.” He sends a withering glare at Yoongi and Jin. “You assholes.”

You let out a chuckle, Jin huffing in response and Yoongi just shrugging with a shameless grin. Finally, it’s Jimin’s turn, and your chest pangs as you remember the last time you were together. The way he squeezed your hand gently before getting out of the car last night, the way he walked you to your bedroom door, wishing you sweet dreams. The way you saw an entirely different man to the one he’s been advertising.

His eyes on you are imploring even as his back is straight and legs crossed. “I value the time I spend with you. This is, after all, a game about sex so I’ll defend myself by saying you can rest assured I’m skilled enough to please you well, but if you allow me to stay,” he drops eye contact, fiddling with his rings even as he fights to remain poised, “I do hope it’s not the sex alone that keeps me here.” Like a switch is flicked, his momentary vulnerability vanishes, and he glances up and sends you a smile, warm and at-ease, having said his piece.

“And Y/n,” Sejin guides from beside you, his kind eyes on you, “anything to say to the guys?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s been a week? Why is this so hard? “I- First of all, this decision has been insanely hard. You’re all amazing, not just in bed but as people, and I hope that whoever has to leave will still stay in touch. It feels really cruel that I have to say goodbye to someone so soon. The reality is, none of you did bad, and there’s nobody I don’t like; nobody that doesn’t belong here. I’ve made my decision, but- I don’t know. I’m not happy with it, but I don’t think I’d be happy with any decision. In the end, I guess I just went for the least painful option.” You take a deep breath, eyes lifting to look at Hoseok, who sends you a sad smile. You open your mouth-

“Wait!” Sejin interrupts loudly. Everyone turns to look at him in unison, eyes wide. “There-” He breaks off with a sigh, glancing at the camera closest to him before looking back down at the group. “Listen; this will be edited out, but ratings have been doing far better than we’d ever anticipated. We already hired a third editor to keep up with demand and get more episodes out than was on the schedule, and there’s talk we may even start getting sponsorships because the support has been creating headlines, at least on Twitter. The higher-ups at Bangasm, well… they want to make an exception.”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” Sejin answers. “Act surprised.” The eight of you stare at him with varying degrees of bewilderment as he puffs his chest and carries his voice louder, switching back into producer mode. “Wait!” he repeats in the same tone as earlier. “The production team hasn’t been completely honest with you. This isn’t just a basic game with prompts each week like we told you. There will be a special advantage, a wildcard if you wish, that changes things up. They could affect the prompts, or how the game proceeds for that week. We call them Bangasm Bombs. And while we didn’t tell you, our production team has drawn the Bangasm Bomb for Week One.”

Sejin pauses to look at you all meaningfully. Jimin picks up the hint. “So; what’s the ‘Bangasm Bomb’ for this week?” he asks for you, gesturing quote marks with his fingers.

Your mind is starting to whir, possibilities beginning to percolate in your mind, but you aren’t prepared for what Sejin says next.

“Nobody goes home this week.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes darting around the room to see the open disbelief on the guys’ faces. “So I- I don’t have to send anyone home today?”

“No,” Sejin answers warmly, and you feel your shoulders sag in relief, a breath rushing out you didn’t know you were holding. Sejin winces, clearing his throat lightly. “That’s… the other thing.”

“Other thing?” Yoongi asks incredulously. “There’s more?”

“With the success of the show comes other benefits. For example; the CEO and treasurer of Bangasm have agreed to double our funding if we can keep the views up. No, Seokjin,” Sejin quips the second the eldest contestant raises his hand. Jin puts his hand down, lips pursed in a pout. “We’re changing the rules a bit. Before, we said if Y/n eliminated you, you’d pack your bags and leave. Now; you stay.”

Sejin can’t get another word out over the clamour that arises, everyone shocked and excited and confused all at once. He waves his hand for silence, and only after a minute or so everyone calms down.

“So, there’s just no eliminating?” Jungkook asks with a comically quizzical look on his face.

“Please just let me explain,” Sejin requests, sighing. “Yes, there will still be eliminations. But if you get eliminated, you stay in the house.”

“So it’s a free pass,” Jungkook surmises.

“Not quite. No longer will you not be competing in the game, but you won’t be able to have sex with or sexually touch Y/n in any way. If you do, then you’ll be sent out of the house for good.”

“No sex with Y/n?” Taehyung asks meaningfully. “So… otherwise…?”

Sejin sighs, a tired laugh falling from his lips. “Just no sex with Y/n,” he confirms. “If you touch Y/n sexually, you go home. If Y/n touches you, of course we can’t send her home, so we’ve devised a punishment.”

At the word punishment your head darts up to stare at the producer, but Hoseok beats you to the punch. “She’s gonna come join us in the bunkroom?”

“That’s for failing prompts, Hobi-hyung,” Namjoon points out, “Y/n doesn’t have any prompts.”

“Correct,” Sejin confirms. “If Y/n touches an eliminated member in a sexual manner, then that member gets to choose what she wears for the next 24 hours.”

You frown. “That doesn’t sound so…” you trail off when you glance up, only to be met with seven hungry sets of eyes. You can just about see the cogs turning in their brains as they stare at your body. “Ah.”

“Yes. So stick to the rules, and you get, as Jungkook so elegantly put, a free pass minus Y/n. Got it?”

The eight of you stay silent, still shell-shocked from the two revelations. This changed things. Now, when you voted someone off, they would get to stay, but they would get to stay. You can see both the positive and negative possibilities there, and it’s no surprise that a reality show would have such a sneaky plot twist.

So you’d have all seven fucking you for one more week, and then all seven every week in the future, only with your sexual prospects dropping as you went. It does ensure that you’ll begin voting for them purely based on sexual performance; considering their personalities in the house wasn’t an issue if you’d have those anyway.

As you glance around the room, you can’t help but wonder if your vote would’ve been different had you known that he’d get to stay. And you wonder if you’ll end up picking the same person in a week’s time, after a new set of prompts. The thought makes you sit up, turning to Sejin again.

“Will the boys draw their new prompts, then?” you ask. “Do I get to know the theme again?”

“Ah, of course-” Sejin breaks off to sit up, retrieving a stack of slightly crumpled papers from his back pocket. “This week’s theme is dynamics and roleplay. Come pick a card.”

Like last week, you pay close attention to the reactions of each of the seven. Namjoon blinks wide at his, but doesn’t seem as put off as last week, and his eyes go distant when he sits back down, like he’s already picturing it. Jimin takes two, one for him at one for Taehyung, and the two compare, Taehyung laughing at Jimin’s and Jimin smirking at Taehyung’s, brushing his clean-shaven cheek with the back of his knuckles and murmuring something in his ear.

When Jin gets his, he bites his tongue and shakes his head with a light laugh, and Yoongi’s mouth drops open upon reading his card, eyes darkening with lust. Jungkook winces at first, but thinks on it a moment longer and grins eagerly, taking a second glance and scrunching his nose cutely at it. Hoseok takes his last, calmly reading it with a pleased smirk, sliding it into his front pocket and taking a seat.

Your breath leaves you in a slow stream. You’re back to the not-knowing. Dynamics and roleplay. It could really be anything, you supposed. Naughty schoolgirl, pizza delivery guy. You didn’t watch a lot of porn but you vaguely knew some of the tropes, and it’ll be a rather interesting week indeed.

“That’s not all, of course,” Sejin adds, and you feel like your brain could implode with the information dump that this morning has been. “Would you like to hear the Bangasm Bomb for Week 2?”

“We find out now?” Hoseok questions. “Not at the end?”

“Well, in order to fulfil it you need to know now,” the producer explains. “This week, Y/n may not sleep in her own bed, and she may not sleep in the same bed twice.”

You blink, not expecting it to be directed at you. “I what?” Your mind catches up with the rule, and you let out a light laugh. “So, I’ll have to share with the other guys?”

"Let's not forget the type of show we're on," Yoongi points out, leveling an impressed stare at the producer. "Well-played."

"Thank you," Sejin replies shortly. "Now, that'll be all. Just a reminder, if your scene isn't filmed, it doesn't count, and it's okay if Y/n guesses the prompt, but if you tell her directly then your prompt is void. Seokjin; we ordered you a set of chef's knives that should be here later today. Please stop spamming the company's inquiries email."

He's out of the room before Jin can even react, open-mouthed but smug like the cat that got the cream.

The eight of you sit in silence for a moment or two, still reeling. It's Hoseok in the end that recovers first.

"So we all stay," he muses. "Even if we get voted off, we stay. Why is that both a blessing and a curse?"

"This is reality TV," Jimin points out calmly, "and it's porn on top of it. Tension and drama skyrockets ratings. Well; I'm going to make some coffees if anyone wants one."

Most of the group move back into the kitchen, rifling through cabinets like zombies to make their breakfasts, but Namjoon approaches you hesitantly, biting on his lip.

"Y/n, can I talk to you? Privately?"

You stand up off the coffee table, though still you're lifting your chin to meet his gaze. "Sure," you reply easily, "privately or privately privately?"

"Um," he hesitates, glancing towards the entrance foyer, where across the hall lies the unfilmed rec room. "Just privately is fine for now."

Everyone else distracted with the prospect of food and hot coffee, it's easy enough to just sit on the stairs, side-by-side and thighs touching. Like this, you become aware of how much bigger he is than you. Namjoon's legs sprawl out down to the bottom of the stairs, socked feet slipping slightly on the glossy stone floor, whereas yours are tucked on the step below you. He glances down at you with a nervous disposition, but his eyes are surprisingly steady.

"Hoseok-hyung and I slept in the bunk bed room last night, as you probably know," he explains. "Him and I talked a lot. About a bunch of things, but he helped me realise something. And after I got the prompt today, I was sure."

Your eyes widen as they watch him carefully. The roots of his purple are starting to grow out in a soft brunette that makes him look even younger, his face round yet gently sculpted, chin pressed out in solemnity. "Sure of what?" you question quietly.

Namjoon takes a slow breath, rubbing his palms over his knees. "I think it's better if I don't lose my virginity while doing some cheesy role-play for a porn show, you know? I know I chose to come here knowing what I was walking into, but... Hoseok suggested maybe we could use the rec room for some privacy and then I could just fill my prompt later in the week. Of course, the producers will probably get annoyed at me not losing my virginity on camera, but they never said I had to, and I think I want it to be something just for me, you know? Something that's just you and me, outside of the show. I understand if you don't want to do that, but if you're happy to, I think I'm ready now."

You take a few moments to fully process his words, the gravity of them. "You sure you're ready? If you are, I'm happy to do that, Joonie. I want it to be good for you. You deserve that."

He smiles at that, broadly, but with his head ducked down. "That means a lot," he admits, "but yeah. I'm ready. If you want to...?" He trails off, tipping his head in the direction of the private rec room.

You sit up straight. "Oh! You mean- now now? Yes, I can do that, wow, okay-"

"If that's alright?" he asks hastily, face pinched with worry, but you just stand up, holding out a hand to him. He takes it, letting you lead him to the door.

From the few times you've needed to use this room, it's been pretty empty. It's small; most likely originally intended as extra storage or a home office, and the producers had put a visibly second-hand couch on one wall, a skinny coffee table and a lamp in there.

Generally, it's a glorified staffroom of sorts, a time-out that's more valuable for its lack of cameras than anything actually inside. Today, though, you freeze in the hallway at the sight that greets you.

With the table pushed to one side, boasting two bottles of water, a box of tissues, a bottle of self-heating lube and a small bluetooth speaker, the rest of the room has been converted into a massive bed.

The floor is covered with blankets, sheets and duvets, thick enough to be like a bedroll, with pillows stacked on the edges. They cover most of the floor, roughly the size of a queen size bed. On top of the impressive set-up are a colourful variety of packaged condoms, arranged in a tasteful love-heart.

Namjoon groans at the display, pinching his brow. "Hoseok said he'd set up for me and make it a little more comfortable, I'm sorry."

"It's cute," you say with a laugh, "are you wanting to use condoms?"

Namjoon swallows. "Uh, you- what would you prefer?"

You shrug, collecting them up and flicking through the buffet of options. You chuckle as the majority are L and XL. Unsurprising. "I mean, we don't need one. So if you want to feel everything fully, I say go bare."

"G-go bare, please," he coughs out awkwardly, shutting and locking the door behind him, double-checking the handle. "Can we put some music on? It's really quiet in here."

"Of course." You busy yourself with the music, smiling at the fact that he must have appreciated it last time. By the time you select a nice playlist on your phone and pick a decent volume, Namjoon's surprised you by hastily stripping down to his underwear, shyly rubbing at his knees.

You stand stock-still for a moment, just taking in the gorgeous sight of his body, all understated muscle and bold lines and planes. He must do some form of exercise, because his chest is thick, as are his thighs, and his lower stomach is soft but lean. He's gorgeous, and between your legs you feel your excitement grow.

Hustling to strip your clothes off as a gentle guitar strumming fills the air, you feel the cool cotton of the duvet under your knees as you straddle Namjoon, the man sucking in a breath as your clothed pussy presses flush against his hardness.

"Give me a kiss," you ask softly, a suggestion to let him take control, and a sigh of relief leaves his lungs as he cups your face in his hands, tugging your lips onto his greedily.

The ferocity with which he kisses you takes your breath away. It's powerful, greedy and demanding like he's waited an eon to kiss you again. While he was surprisingly skilful the first time, now it feels like he's come into his own.

You make a noise of surprise in the back of your throat as you feel his tongue slipping between your lips, licking up into your mouth like he's trying to devour you. You're drunk on it, mind feeling hazy, but you manage to pull away for a moment, gasping out a, "how the hell did you get this good?"

Grunting, Namjoon's eyes flutter open and one of his hands slips back to cup the nape of your neck securely, preventing you from backing up further. "Hoseok gave me some tips," he admits. "Now get back here."

You let yourself be pulled in again and eaten alive, muffled groans and sighs of bliss slipping out between swipes of tongue and flashes of teeth, nipping at your bottom lip until it's swollen and aching in the best way.

Without realising, you've begin to grind your hips against him, needing friction, and he pants into your mouth at the feeling. The pleasure makes him sloppy, and you groan as his lips leave yours, veering down to kiss along your jawline, tugging on your earlobe before sucking blossoms of colour down your throat. You tip your head back, arching into his mouth and rocking your hips against him, the friction addictive.

"Gonna fuck you now," you hear him groan against your collarbone, lips on your skin that's slick from his spit. Even in your heightened state of arousal you can sense the slight question in his voice, like he's checking you're still okay with it.

More than okay, you glance down to see the point that joins you, your panties so wet that the grey of his boxers is marred by a dark spot, wet and clinging to the stiff outline of his cock. You curse lowly at the sight of it. "Fuck, please, I need you, Joonie."

He lets out a strangled sigh, hands trembling slightly as he pushes down the waistband of his boxers so that it rests below his balls, cock bobbing up to rest at his stomach. He swallows hard, eyes closed and back resting against the base of the couch. The sheets beneath you have heated up with your body temperature, arousal radiating off the two of you in waves.

When you first reach out to touch him, you keep your eyes on his face, on his reaction. The initial contact makes his brow twitch, eyes clenching shut. So thick your fingers don’t touch around him when you grasp his base, he’s definitely the biggest you’ve seen in the house; a touch of irony that the least experienced member had the biggest genetic advantage. His bottom lip finds his way tucked between his teeth, thighs tensing beneath you.

“Joonie,” you mumble in a mock pout, “are you gonna fuck me now or so I have to do all the work myself?”

His eyes fly open, gaze landing on your widened eyes of innocence, before darting down to where you’re gently stroking him, fingertips catching on the sensitive ridge beneath his head. “Hobi-hyung said you should ride me so you can get used to it.”

You chuckle, tapping your thumb over his weeping slit, making him hiss. “Let’s stop thinking about what Hobi said and start worrying about what you want. Do you want me to ride you? Feel how tight I am for you?”

He curses, brows knitting as he nods shakily, and you can’t hold yourself back any longer. With a low curl of thrill in your stomach, you sit up so you can quickly slip off your panties, before straddling him again. He feels heavy when you brush his length through your sodden folds, readying him for you, and the thought makes you groan lowly.

“Wanted you so bad,” you confess over the music in the background, now a simple drum beat that gives you rhythm as you grind your hips over him, letting his blunt head catch at your entrance. “Fuck.” His fingers are digging into your hips just with the feeling of your pussy clenching over his tip, and you lower yourself painfully slowly, adjusting to the way he stretches you to your limit, dragging inch by inch against your walls.

“H-oh god, it is, it’s so tight,” he comments with a hitch in his voice, and again you feel the muscles of his thighs twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to bury himself in you. Though the thought of it is hot, you’re merciful that he’s giving you time to grow accustomed to the sheer girth of his dick inside you.

“Does it feel good, Joonie?” you ask, the question panted as he takes your breath away, grinning at the quick stuttered nods he gives in reply, fingers flexing on the flesh of your hips and ass. By the time you’re sitting flush against his lap, you can barely breathe, a shaky hand pressing onto your stomach almost expecting to feel him bulging out of you from the inside. He’s not just the biggest on the show, but the biggest you’ve ever had, and you feel like you could cum just from rolling your hips against him.

“You feel so amazing, Y/n,” he praises, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you in close so that he can press his lips to yours. You whine as he shifts in you, feeling shakier than ever, but appreciate the chance to adjust to him, tongue chasing his and fingers slipping into his hair as you kiss.

You’re content to stay like that for as long as he continues to move his mouth against you, mouth watering at the feeling of cockwarming him and joining your bodies so intimately, but the excitement of new sensation gets to him, and after a while he begins to shift, holding your hips down and grinding his hips.

Your jaw drops open, hands flying out to grip at his shoulders at the feeling. He’s so deep you can barely comprehend it, can barely think with his cock filling you so completely, and find yourself pleading quietly, an unintelligible babble of more, please more, need more. He shifts his posture as you sit on his length, uncrossing his legs and instead bracing them in front of him.

“Want me to fuck you like this?” he asks, nipping at your throat, and you shiver at the husky gravel of his tone. What happened to the shy virgin?

“Please, Joonie,” you gasp, clenching around him, “need you to move.”

His first thrust takes your breath away, punching the air out of your lungs. When he moves inside you it feels monumental, like a core piece of you shifting, and your eyes water with the delicious burn. You whine when he pauses for a moment, hands slipping down to knead at your ass. Namjoon’s eyes are like molten dark chocolate as they focus on you, rich and intense, and when your head tips down to kiss him again it’s so needy your teeth clash, the keening whimper in your throat sign enough that you want more.

It’s only once he begins to fuck you in earnest, bouncing you on his cock, that you see how truly affected he is. Strands of lilac cling to his temples as he sweats, chest heaving and hands trembling even as his fingers dig in hungrily. His lips are slick with spit, but he makes no move to wipe them clean, just biting onto his bottom lip and sucking, hips snapping up with bruising momentum.

You can’t catch your breath, but still you chase his lips like oxygen, needing to be as close as possible. His panting keeps you anchored as you moan shamelessly, toes curling and back arching. Your high approaches quickly enough that it shocks you, but there’s no escaping the pleasure that rushes through you with every snap of his hips.

You lose contact with his mouth, cheek resting limply on his shoulder as he speeds up his pace, the muscles in your legs failing you, twitching uncontrollably.

“No, no, no, fuck,” Namjoon chants lowly, and you feel a hand bury in your hair, holding you to the crook of his neck, “I’m sorry, I’m not gonna last.”

You moan at that, feeling him stiffen impossibly more inside you with every thrust. “Wan’ you to cum,” you promise in his ear, barely more than a gasped breath, “wanna cum with you.” To end the statement, you nuzzle your nose against his throat and nip at his pulse point. To your surprise, he shudders violently, suddenly going stock still.

Your eyes widen as hot ropes of cum fill you, Namjoon clutching you to him helplessly, groaning nonsense as his orgasm hits him out of nowhere. Your own high recedes, but you barely notice it as you sit up tiredly and clench around him, watching the pleasure flicker across his face as he rides the high.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes cast towards the ceiling and chest still heaving, “I’m so sorry, I… sensitive neck.”

You grin, running your hands up to gently brush over it, feeling him pulse inside you, spurting the final drops of cum from his spent cock. “Don’t apologise,” you assure, leaning in quickly to nibble at his lips and give him a lazy, indulgent kiss. “That was really fucking hot.”

He laughs, cheeks pinkening slightly, and you feel your heart warm at the return of the shy Namjoon you’d gotten used to. So he’s a lot more dominant and confident in the heat of the moment, you muse as he catches his breath, good to know.

When you find your strength again, slowly sitting up off him, you wince at the rush of cum leaving you, and the uncomfortable feeling of emptiness. That’s only exacerbated by the fact that you haven’t cum yet, but it’s his first time and you don’t want him to feel bad. Collapsing on the sheets beside him, you rest your head on his shoulder, breath still coming in shallow pants. “Good?”

“Good god, Y/n,” he exclaims earnestly, “I think I might be a sex addict now.”

A surprised peal of laughter leaves your lungs, and you shove him playfully before crawling over to the coffee table, cracking open a bottle of water and cleaning yourself up with the available tissues. “Hoseok really did think this through, huh?” you muse, chucking him the box once you’re done.

Namjoon clears up the cum on his cock and thighs, grimacing at the way some of it has stained his boxers, but he sends you a guilty look. “I’m sorry.”

You frown, reaching for your clothes. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t-”

Whatever Namjoon is about to say is cut off by a sudden thud that gives you both a fright, followed by three polite albeit enthusiastic knocks. You stare in bewilderment at the door, before hastily dressing yourself.

“Is everything alright?” Namjoon calls out, putting his underwear back on properly and hopping into his pants. “Has something happened?”

“I should hope so, young grasshopper!” an enthusiastic voice chirps from the other side of the door, muffled but unmistakably Hoseok. “You’ve popped your cherry, Kim Namjoon!”

The academic winces, reaching out to unlock the door once he’s made sure the two of you are dressed. “Hoseok, what are you doing? Wha-?” He breaks off once he opens the door, and you rush around behind him to see what gave him pause.

In the foyer are Hoseok, Taehyung and Jin, all in matching paper birthday hats, the strings of thin elastic digging into their chins. Hoseok’s holding two more in his hands, and he thrusts them towards you as Taehyung wiggles the weighty bottle of champagne in his grasp. Behind them, Jin calmly holds a kitchen knife.

“What’s going on?” you ask in bewilderment, stepping out into the foyer and wincing at the ache between your legs with each step. “Why the fuck are you holding a knife?”

Jin, his bright blue party hat on at a jaunty angle, stares down at his hands blankly before gasping, tucking it behind his back. “Sometimes I forget I’m still holding it.”

“That’s extremely alarming,” Namjoon says with a frown. “I still don’t understand why you’re all gathered outside the door.”

“It’s time for the party, hyung,” Taehyung explains, “to celebrate you finally getting your dick wet.”

Your cheeks go flaming red as you glance at Namjoon, the poor man spluttering and eyes wide like he didn’t know what to do. “If there’s champagne, I’m there,” you announce calmly. “Come on, Joonie, let’s go celebrate.”

Namjoon visibly relaxes when you aren’t offended, flicking you a warm smile. “Is everyone wearing a hat?” he questions incredulously, taking the thin cone card.

“Mo-mostly everyone,” Hoseok answers suspiciously.

“It’s just you guys, isn’t it?”

“Well, if you both wore one, we’d have the majority.”

You grin, patting Hoseok on the shoulder as you walk past him into the foyer. “Let’s just go,” you call out to the guys behind you, “there better be food.”

As expected, the three that greeted you were the only ones wearing party hats. At the dining table, which has been laden with aromatic dishes, steaming rice and empty champagne flutes, the other three await. Jimin’s is resting beside his plate and chopsticks, untouched. Beside him, Yoongi has his upside down, using it as a bowl for the rice snacks he’s munching happily on. The youngest man in the house hasn’t even noticed you’ve arrived, using it like a very inefficient telescope, one eye scrunched shut and the other focused on the pinhole at the top of the cone. Sitting at the head of the table, he aims it at Jimin, mouth hanging open as he tries to see through the tiny gap.

Giving up, he waves the wide end around the room, desperate to catch a glimpse of something. Once the cone lands on the five of you, he gasps, chucking down the party hat. “You’re back! I didn’t start eating the cake, like you said!”

Jin frowns. “That sounds awfully suspicious.” Knife still in hand, he makes his way to the kitchen island, where you catch a glimpse of a beautifully iced cake with writing on the top that you’re too far away to read.

Jungkook shifts restlessly in his seat, staring worriedly at Jin. “The- um, the birds attacked it.” If you look closely, you think you can see the slightest hint of vanilla icing in the crook of his mouth.

Jin stares at the cake desolately. “The birds?” he deadpans.

“Seagulls, you know,” Jungkook tries to pass off casually, the pink of his tongue dashing out to lick the sugar off his lips. “Absolute vultures.”

Hoseok tsks in disappointment. “Was it seagulls or was it vultures?”

Jungkook stays silent an inexplicably long amount of time, glancing slowly between Hoseok and Jin. His eyes are wide like he’s trying to work out the lie in his head “...It was me.”

Jin’s fingers are pressed to his temple as he sighs. “Right.” Setting down the knife, he picks up the cake and brings it to the table, placing it in the middle of the table. The rest of you all take a seat, filling in the spaces around the table. Taehyung slips in beside Jimin, Hoseok at the end of the table opposite Jungkook, and finally Jin, Namjoon, and you take the last of the seats.

The cake is beautiful, neat and fluffy buttercream all over with swooping cursive written in a thin black stream. Unfortunately, a very delicate but obvious slice has been taken out so you have to focus to work out what the writing says. Once you do, you let out a reluctant chuckle, watching Namjoon blush once more, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his shirt shyly.

“‘Here lies Namjoon’s virginity,’” you recite, “‘1994-2020.’ Who came up with that?”

“That’s not impor-” Jin begins, but Taehyung swiftly cuts him off.

“I did!” he declares proudly. “Everyone agreed mine was funnier than Jin-hyung’s.”

“Obviously not everyone,” Jin replies bitterly, dishing himself up some of the rice closest to him. “Dig in, everyone, Yoongi and I worked hard on this. And congratulations Namjoon,” he adds, though he sends Namjoon a genuine smile, eyes twinkling.

After everyone says their congratulations, the food is dug into and the cork of the bottle is popped, conversation flowing like the champagne.

Over time, Namjoon seems to get used to the chatter about sex, perhaps not feeling so left out of the loop, and his face is more open and relaxed than ever, a dimple poking out when he smiles. You occasionally reach out to shove him playfully or squeeze his arm as the chatter continues, and he no longer freezes or stiffens up. It warms your heart that he feels a little more comfortable amongst you.

You’re happy to tuck into your meal, having worked up an appetite for lunch, but it’s barely more than a second after finishing your first helping that your phone buzzes.

You slip it out casually, frowning when you see it’s a notification that you’ve been added to a group-chat.

After that, you smother a scoff and slip your phone back into your pocket, hoping if your cheeks are red they can safely be attributed to the alcohol.

Glancing up, you see Jungkook stand up suddenly, eyes wide with barely-contained excitement as he picks up his bowl, chopsticks and champagne flute, scurrying over to dump them in the sink before disappearing upstairs. Yoongi stares at his empty seat in confusion, but shrugs and takes another mouthful of cake. You eat yours quickly enough that your stomach flips, or perhaps that’s just the anticipation.

After you’re done it takes you a few moments to build up the courage to look across to Hoseok, feeling his gaze hot on your skin. When you do, your eyes lock immediately, but he just continues to stare, lips pressed in a narrow line.

Your heart leaps for a moment, wondering what that hard gaze means for you later on. Silently, as Taehyung continues to explain something to him with a mouth half-full of food, Hoseok lifts his eyebrow once, gaze darting to the roof. The message is clear. Go upstairs.

Biting your lip, you let Namjoon know you’re heading up, waving off his concern until he’s pulled back into a thread of conversation. You try to ignore the uncertain adrenaline rush that makes your hands tremble and your core throb all the way upstairs, until you’re knocking on Jungkook’s door.

The two of you share a look once he opens the door, one of anticipation and desire, and you let out a breathy chuckle.

“What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?” you ask rhetorically, stepping in and collapsing onto the bed.

“I’ll take it if it means getting a good fuck,” he states matter-of-factly, sitting himself beside you and tucking his legs up. “Besides; I’ve wanted to see Hobi-hyung in action for a while.”

Sitting up, you think back to that day in the confessional booth, where he had so easily made you fall apart without even taking a single item of clothing off. You wondered if he’d deprive you of his body tonight as well.

“I think he’s angry at me,” you admit, “before I left, he looked… intense.”

“Why would he be angry at you?” Jungkook asks with a frown, his hand slipping under the baggy fabric of his black tee, rubbing at his shoulder like he’s aching to take the item off.

You go to shrug, but then your mind flicks back to this morning. “The elimination,” you realise, dread rising in your stomach just as much as your arousal is. “I think he knows I was going to eliminate him.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, round enough to be saucers. “Wait, really? Why him?”

You find the words dry up in your throat. “I- God, I don’t know. How am I meant to choose anyone when you’re all amazing? Maybe his had the least impact on me, I suppose.” You eye the door to the walkway warily. “I guess he’s determined to change that now.”

Instead of replying, you’re taken aback when Jungkook throws his arms around you in a tight hug, his long hair brushing at your neck and shoulder as he tucks his chin into the hollow of your collarbone. Hesitantly, you bring your own arms up to hug him back, feeling your tension melt in the warm embrace.

“It must be so hard,” he murmurs, “I don’t think Hobi-hyung is really mad, you know? He probably just feels like he wasn’t good enough for you and wants to prove himself.”

This thought just sends another spike of guilt through you, but you have no time to dwell on it before the door is clicking open, making you and Jungkook instinctively jump apart.

Hoseok stands there, as intimidating as last time in all-black. Though he’s wearing just socks instead of the heavy duty boots he was in that day, there’s no denying the power he holds in the clothes he wears like armour. Leather pants so snug they’re like a second skin and a black long-sleeved shirt, tight but breathable cotton with a harness of thin leather straps providing some structure. His raven hair is swept back, but just a single stray lock hangs low over his brow, drawing your eyes back to his. “Starting without me?” he questions lightly, though his face is devoid of humour.

You swallow hard. “No… Master,” you add, seeing the expectant look on his face. Once he steps further into the room, you notice the black bag that was previously hidden behind his back. The duffel bag from last time. You suck in a breath and clench your thighs before you can even think to stop yourself, and Hoseok’s positively gleam at the sound.

“Both of you have been very naughty today,” he explains, dumping the bag on the bed beside Jungkook, beginning to casually pull a heap of bright red nylon rope out. “Little Jungkookie ate the cake that Jin-hyung worked so hard on, even when he was specifically asked not to. And Y/n… Y/n knows exactly what she did.” Your eyes widen when Hoseok sets the multiple lengths of rope to one side in a neat folded coil and reaches back into the bag to produce a pair of wide, heavy-duty shears.

“Woah, hyung,” Jungkook exclaims in alarm, “I can apologise for the cake, I-”

“Settle, Jungkook, it’s okay,” Hoseok explains softly. “I told you we’re gonna be tying you up, yeah? This is so that we can cut the ropes quickly in case you want out. They aren’t part of the scene.”

You feel a thrill run through your veins at the gentle click of metal resting on the nightstand once Hoseok sets the scissors down. He hadn’t needed them for when your arms were tied. It meant that whatever you were going to do tonight would be more intense. The thought of everyone else downstairs having a good time and hanging out while you and Jungkook were up here getting bound by Hoseok… it somehow feels even more illicit and dirty.

“Let’s do Jungkookie first, hm?” the dom proposes. “I’ve been wanting to see what you’d look like all prettied up for me. Choose red just for you.”

Jungkook positively preens at the compliment, hands tucking into his lap and chest puffing out. “I’m excited, Master!”

Hoseok gestures for Jungkook to remove his clothes with a flat expression. “Don’t be,” he retorts calmly, “this isn’t a reward, it’s discipline. We’re going to learn a lesson about behaving.”

The camboy trembles, hastily shucking off his baggy shirt and pushing his sweatpants down, naked except for a pair of white socks. Your breath is taken away by how easily he bares himself to the cameras and to the two of you, eyes eager and nervous as Hoseok picks up one of the longer lengths of rope.

“I want you to kneel, Jungkookie,” Hoseok instructs, “kneel on the bed for me, arms at your sides.”

Jungkook obeys, breath hitching as Hoseok approaches, passing the coil over his palm. You watch with baited breath as a bright red strand of rope is run around his narrow waist. As the professional dom begins looping, knotting and wrapping the rope around Jungkook’s torso, the boy’s eyes grow lidded, cock twitching as it rests back against his lower abdomen.

It takes a while, but time is as smooth as velvet in the soft silence of the room, just gentle breaths and the whir of nylon rope sliding so beautifully along Jungkook’s skin.

By the time Hoseok is done, Jungkook’s eyes barely open, so content with the feeling of being patiently wrapped up, and he hums lightly as Hoseok rechecks the tightness of each loop, slipping two fingers between rope and skin in several places.

Rather than bondage or restraint, this looks like art. An elaborate harness of red contrasts beautifully against the pale golden flesh below, hardness of his chest and abs softened by the vaguely fishnet pattern, loops that interlock and curve across his body gracefully, the most careful and precise lattice of scarlet ropes.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” Hoseok questions, and a finger comes down to run through the glossy precum that has been smeared onto Jungkook’s lower stomach. The boy hisses, arching his hips up in search of contact, but all it takes is a sharp swat at the head of his cock and Jungkook is whining, thighs flexing with the force of keeping still. “Patience, my little prince,” Hoseok tuts, patting Jungkook’s cheek with a hand still wet with the camboy’s own precum, “we’re gonna teach you how to be patient today.”

Jungkook groans low in his throat, lips parting at the term of endearment, and Hoseok grins at it, tiger-like.

“Oh, do you like that, hm? Wanna be my special prince today?” Hoseok runs his fingers through Jungkook’s long hair, the camboy sucking in a sharp breath when they snag on some knots. Jungkook nods, eyes round and glittering as he looks up at his Master. Hoseok pouts, tapping him once on the end of his button nose. “It’s a shame you weren’t behaving today, then wasn’t it? Maybe if you’re good for me tonight, you can earn it.”

Jungkook’s brows lift pleadingly, looking so small under Hoseok’s harsh stare. “I’ll be good, though, Master.”

“Mm, I’m sure you will,” Hoseok confirms, swiping a thumb over Jungkook’s nipple to make him shiver, before he fixes an iron gaze onto you.

You swallow, slipping out of your clothes as quickly as you can once he gives the same gesture as before, crossing your legs and arms to try and preserve some dignity. Hoseok just tuts, picking up two of the remaining sections of nylon rope, only one still left waiting on the bed.

“Hands at your sides, kneeling,” he instructs sharply, and you feel the way your walls clench at the authority in his voice as you hustle to get into position.

The harness he puts you in is different to Jungkook’s, accentuating your breasts with bands both above and below them, leaving your stomach free but doubling the rope over so that every loop that wraps around you is twice as thick. The final tie is slipped up between your breasts, around the back of your neck and tucking back down to hold it all together, and your breath shallows at the secure feeling of the rope.

It’s peaceful; the warm stripes of friction as he pulls strands through loops, the gentle flicking of the ends against your skin until he folds them away, the way it embraces your chest so snugly, but not too tight. It’s only once he’s done checking the rope like he did with Jungkook that he picks up the second, shorter length of nylon, and by then you already feel the sleepy yet electric haze of subspace seeping throughout your body.

“Hands,” he instructs, and you hold them out for him, watching with heightened arousal as he binds them, the rope wrapping around and between your wrists until they’re locked together. Last time your hands were bound behind your back but like this, you can watch him as he works.

It’s quick - a testament to his expertise - but you spend every moment with your eyes locked onto him. The eyes, gleaming with control and satisfaction, the pink tip of his tongue poking out just slightly as he focuses. His thin fingers, looping and wrapping and knotting with such skill.

His last move, eyes darting up and smirking once he catches you watching him, is to connect the thick cuff-like ropes to the top of your harness, pinning them up to your chest, folded hands resting at the base of your throat. You instinctively tug once he’s done, only to feel the rope around your back tighten and dig in, but no distance made. The feeling of being at his mercy only adds to the slick gathering between your thighs.

Once he steps back, eying the two of you up, your breath catches in your throat. Both you and Jungkook are fully naked, somehow feeling even more vulnerable in the rope, and Hoseok stands across from the bed in all his black leather glory, eyes raking over you like he’s assessing his work.

“Are you gonna touch us, Master?” Jungkook questions in a small voice, fingers clutching at his own thighs, cock flushed and needy between them.

“Not you yet, Jungkookie. Gotta warm Y/n up first.” Your eyes widen - for what? - but Hoseok is moving closer run a hand down Jungkook’s back, fingers jumping over the strands of rope. “Do you wanna help me, baby?”

Jungkook nods, blushing when Hoseok pinches lightly at his cheek.

Hoseok leans over to you, carding his fingers into your hair and curling them in so that he can hold you steady. Like this, kneeling on the bed, you have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze, but he just tuts, holding you face-forward to Jungkook. “You wanna give her a kiss, Kookie?”

You swallow, fingers interlocking together as you look over to the camboy. He looks so needy, blissed out and pretty in his red rope, cock untouched and weeping. Your lips part automatically, tongue darting out to wet your lips and you don’t miss the way Jungkook’s eyes are drawn to it, lids now as he nods.

With your hands pinned to your chest and kneeling, you don’t feel able to meet him halfway so you just wait as Jungkook crawls to you, glancing up at Hoseok for permission before burying your hands in your hair alongside the dom’s. With barely a second to suck in a breath, Jungkook ducks his head, his lips descending onto yours with sweet, unrestrained need.

Unable to touch him back, you let your eyes slip shut with the soft presses of his mouth, taking everything he gives you. Everything about Jungkook in this moment is soft; his lips, his thumbs brushing across your cheekbones, even the subtle scent of vanilla as his hair tickles your face - but the stiff grip in your hair is anything but, reminding you where exactly you are and the hand you’re under.

Your breath hitches as two things happen at once; Jungkook’s tongue presses into your mouth, deepening the kiss, and behind you Hoseok shifts, getting up on the bed behind you. Though you can’t see him, you become even more aware of his commanding presence, through the simple gesture of a fingertip, tracing beside lines of rope with a touch so light you shiver.

“You both look so pretty for me,” Hoseok murmurs warmly, his voice closer than you’d expected him to be, sounding like it’s right beside your air. Jungkook doubles his efforts in response, and your core is alight with excitement when you instinctively go to touch him, only to be reminded of the restraint you’re in.

Jungkook kisses without abandon, not hurried but deep and purposeful. Though you still tremble under Hoseok’s teasing touch, your mind is so enraptured by Jungkook’s tongue in your mouth and teeth on your lips that you lose track of it.

The camboy doesn’t dare venture his hands further than your face, cupping it so tenderly as he delves into you, so your eyes fly open with shock when two fingers are suddenly slipping through your folds, running over your clit for a single delicious moment of pleasure. You moan in shock and pull away to look down.

Between your kneeling legs is the slender but calloused hand of your Master himself, wrapped around your front and slipping inside you without question like you’re his. His to explore, his to ruin. You pant at the intrusion of two fingers, clenching around him, but his only response is to tug suddenly at your hair, pulling your gaze back up again.

Nipping sharply at the bridge of your ear, Hoseok scolds you. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” he growls harshly, “did I?”

“Sorry, Master,” you reply without thinking, barely a moment before you let out a muffled squeak from Jungkook joining you together again, wasting no time to obey.

Hoseok doesn’t stop his motions between your legs; on the contrary, he continues without pause, fingers moving inside you with a steady urgency.

For a while, your brows furrow, hips rocking below him. He keeps missing your g-spot, fingers too straight to press against it on each thrust, and he moves to three fingers without touching your clit at all, hand held foward off of you to avoid friction. You moan brokenly into Jungkook’s mouth as you realise Hoseok’s doing it intentionally, stretching you out almost clinically, without regard or want for your pleasure. You go weak at the thought, sinking forward into Jungkook’s embrace, but soon enough the fingers are removed from you completely. Empty and unsatisfied just like earlier, you huff and begin to kiss the camboy more frantically, desperate for some pleasure to replace it.

But Hoseok clearly isn’t having it. “Stop,” he commands shortly, “hands off.”

Jungkook sits back quickly, making sure you won’t slump over before he presses his hands to his thighs again, cock twitching at the continued neglect. Blinking, he licks his swollen lips and glances behind you to Hoseok in confusion. “Master?”

Your mouth goes dry when you hear the unmistakable sound of a zip being lowered. Hoseok’s hand leaves your hair suddenly, and you feel unmoored between the two men, just you and your hands tucked under your chin. “You tasted her pretty little pussy in Week One, didn’t you, Jungkookie? Would you like her to return the favour?”

Eyes wide, you drop your gaze down to Jungkook’s aching dick, as it twitches and leaks another thin trail of precum, the boy groaning. “Please, Master.” His fingers flex, holding back from touching it. “‘Hurts,” he whines.

You bite your lip, mouth watering. He’s not as big as Namjoon, but you know how fully he filled you just yesterday, and to have him in your mouth… “Please,” you croak out, fingers wiggling in the air as you’re unable to lower yourself to him.

“Good girl,” Hoseok praises, hands strong on your shoulders as he helps you down, elbows propping yourself up awkwardly in the space that Jungkook’s shuffled back from. “Gotta warm Kookie up too, don’t we? Open up, princess.”

Like this, you’re able to keep upright, but barely, craning your neck to look up at Jungkook. His cock is in front of you, and this close you can see just how flushed it is, the tip almost perfect. Hoping your pleading gaze can communicate your desperation, you open your mouth, letting your tongue rest just over your bottom lip.

Jungkook’s brows furrow in wanton need as he glances towards Hoseok. “Can I touch her, Master? Help her?”

“Of course,” Hoseok’s voice allows from behind you, palms running over the flesh of your ass, “but my little prince better not cum.”

Jungkook visibly shivers at the nickname, hips jerking uselessly. “Y-yes, Master,” he allows, before tipping your chin up so gently, gripping himself to guide his length into your waiting mouth.

You moan the moment your lips wrap around his tip, the tang of his precum bursting on your tongue as you flick it over the slit, making Jungkook thrust up again, enough that his cock reaches the back of your mouth. You’re barely able to avoid gagging, but you inhale harshly through your nose, blinking up at him as he brushes your hair back with a shaky apology.

Knowing he can’t orgasm, Jungkook seems happy enough to lazily roll his hips, just enjoying the wet warmth around him as you follow his rhythm, enjoying the slight ache of your jaw around his girth. Hoseok gives you only a few moments to reach this equilibrium before you feel his cock lining up against you.

Eyes widening, you’re given no time to prepare as he slides inside you, slowly but without pause, making your back arch with the intrusion.

You moan, muffled, as Hoseok pulls out and begins to pick up a steady pace, once again sliding right past your g-spot, not fast enough to make your toes curl and not deep enough to make your eyes roll. There’s no denying he’s doing it on purpose, and the thought that he might not let you cum at all has you whining desperately around Jungkook’s cock, loud enough that Hoseok hears.

To your disappointment, he tsks and pulls out, tugging at your hair to pull you off Jungkook. “What the fuck?” you complain bitterly, sucking off the drool that’s accumulated in the corners of your mouth. Equally deprived, Jungkook makes a noise of confusion, but before he can speak up, a commanding voice calls out to you.

“That’s it, on your back,” Hoseok orders, making you jump as he smacks the flesh of your ass. “If you’re gonna be ungrateful you won’t get anything at all.”

You pout, craning your neck to look back at him. “Hobi,” you whine, hoping to appeal to that soft inner that got you what you wanted the last time you were scening with him, but it doesn’t work.

Impatient, his hands find your hips, flipping you around unceremoniously. Your breath is punched out of you as you’re suddenly landing on your back, and you whimper as he hooks a finger in your harness over the top of your breast, using it to tug you higher up the bed so that him and Jungkook are on either side of your waist.

“You’ve been far better behaved,” Hoseok directs at Jungkook casually, reaching into the duffle bag to pull out a square foil packet, “so you’ll get my cock instead.”

Jungkook bites his lip harshly, shuffling on his knees as Hoseok rolls a condom on. “Thank you, Master,” he replies politely, eyes lidded and needy.

“What a good boy,” Hoseok coos, reaching over to brush a fond hand over Jungkook’s cheek. “Do you wanna fuck Y/n too, my little prince?” You let out a low groan at the prospect, at the way Hoseok speaks for you like you’re a toy of his. The thought is more erotic than you’d expect, and your legs part unconsciously.

Jungkook whimpers at the sight, dark hair curling at his temples with perspiration. “Please, Master.”

“Go on, then, baby.” Hoseok gestures for him to straddle you, and you whimper as Jungkook’s form blocks the light from the ceiling, framing him in a silhouette of dark hair.

Your legs part further as he settles between them, cock brushing between your folds lightly until he puts a hand down to line himself up. With one arm bracing himself, Jungkook slowly drives his cock deep inside you, small rocking motions to get you accustomed to him as he bottoms out. The two of you groan in unison, the feeling of being full again like bliss.

Before Jungkook can set a pace, you hear Hoseok’s voice again behind him. “There’s only one thing,” the dom adds in an apologetic tone, “Y/n hasn’t earned an orgasm yet, not like my sweet prince has. If you want to fuck her, Jungkookie, she better not cum.”

You let out a frustrated moan, heel kicking into the mattress. “Fuck,” you whine, hips already rocking against Jungkook’s length inside of you, “are you serious?”

Calmly, Hoseok clicks open a bottle of what must be lube, and you feel Jungkook go lax above you, holding his weight off of your torso but dropping his head onto the bed beside yours, groaning lowly. “Of course I’m serious,” he explains simply as he preps Jungkook with his fingers, “I’m doing you a favour, Y/n. This way you won’t make the same mistake twice.”

You sob, feeling Jungkook twitch inside you from the pleasure he’s receiving from Hoseok. As the dom finally deems Jungkook ready and lines himself up, you realise why Hoseok was so popular at his job. Handling two subs, let alone one who was getting punished and one who was now getting rewarded, was a tough balance, and yet he does it with such cool and professional ease.

Jungkook curses, rocking his hips with stuttered gasps, and you feel the impact of Hoseok’s hips through Jungkook’s body as he thrusts the first time, the camboy hurriedly throwing his other arm up on the other side of your head to prop himself up with more stability. You can feel the rhythm as he gets fucked, and the way his chest heaves, breaths panting over your bare shoulder.

With your hands tied to your chest and lain on your back, you quickly realise there is nothing you can do to chase any pleasure for yourself, and you let out another low sob. You won’t be making the same mistake twice indeed, you muse as Jungkook barely shifts inside you. He feels so good, but it’s just not enough for you to get anywhere close to your own high. The lesson has most certainly been learned; if you want pleasure, you play by Hoseok’s rules.

“Please, Master,” you pipe up desperately, looking past Jungkook’s shoulder to the dom’s face, calm even as his hips rock with the graceful fluidity of a dancer, every stroke making Jungkook cry out. “I’ll do anything, Master, I’m sorry for being bad, just please let me come!”

A grin spreads across his face, satisfied, even as he grunts from exertion, Jungkook trembling above you as he’s brought mercilessly to the edge. “It’s too late for that,” Hoseok pants out with a chuckle, “it’s already time for my little prince to cum.”

Jungkook moans, a high-pitched keen at the pet-name, and the sound is so sinful you can’t help but clench, making him stiffen impossibly inside you.

It only takes a thrust or two more, and a gruff command to cum before Jungkook does just that, spilling inside you with a drawn-out whine, thanking his Master with every breath he can suck into his lungs.

He manages to keep his weight off of you as he rides his high, Hoseok fucking him into oversensitivity before he pulls out, leaving briefly to discard the condom. Jungkook pulls out of you with a wince, but a satisfied one, and rolls over onto his back, running his fingers under the lines of rope lazily as he catches his breath.

Once Hoseok returns, he begins untying you first, and as your wrists are loosened from your chest and promptly released, the cool air on your skin feels like defeat. Your eyes slip shut, a pout no doubt on your lips as you give him nothing but dead weight, forcing the professional to manhandle your torso as he undoes the rope bit by bit.

You open your eyes once he’s done, frowning at him as he releases the rope from Jungkook’s body. Without looking, Hoseok chastises you. “Don’t look at me like that,” he scolds, “I’m sure next time you’ll be behaved like our Jungkookie here.” The boy in question preens softly at the compliment, blinking up at Hoseok as the dom brushes his hair out of his eyes.

The sight warms your heart, and you can’t deny that Hoseok has the right to discipline you, no doubt feeling self-conscious about his place on the show. And the feeling of him playing you so skilfully is something that will stick with you for a good while. You press your thighs together, sighing out at the slick still between them.

After finishing with Jungkook, speaking quietly with him in praise or reassurance, he comes back around to you, rubbing at the few red marks on your chest and wrists that have appeared from your movements. His eyes search your face, and you’re surprised to see the absolute calm in them, clearly switched out of the Master persona and just into a dominant but caring one. “Not hurt?”

You shake your head after taking the time to really think it through, wiggling your fingers and toes.

“Not angry?”

Again, you take a moment to consider, but shake your head.

Hoseok smiles down at you, warm as he squeezes your hands fondly. “Good. Now I know you can’t sleep in your own bed, so Jungkookie has kindly offered for you to stay here with him. Take care of each other, okay? I’m just down the hall.”

By the time Hoseok zips up his pants - you note that even after all that, you hadn’t seen him properly naked - and gathers his bag, Jungkook’s managed to slip his legs under the blankets, snoring away peacefully with the aftermath of a good orgasm.

After the dom leaves, you get under the covers yourself, watching the relaxing cycle of Jungkook’s chest rising and falling, the way his eyes flutter lightly in his sleep, but it doesn’t lull you to unconsciousness.

Instead, the unsatisfied throb between your legs just grows more ferocious than ever. If you could just get yourself off…

Your hand trails down, slipping between your legs naturally, but the first swipe of your index finger against your clit gives you pause. Hoseok had pretty clearly stated that you weren’t to masturbate without permission unless you were in a scene with another contestant and, well…

You grimace as Jungkook snuffles in his sleep, wriggling around to get more comfortable. You can’t exactly wake him up.

Which leaves you with only one option.

Fuck it. As quietly as you can, you slip out of bed, stumbling over to your pile of clothes. After retrieving your phone - still somehow tucked neatly into your pants pocket - you hop back into bed and seek out the one contact who can alleviate your need. Hoseok himself.

You answer the call with shaking fingers, those not still buried inside you. When Hoseok’s voice comes through, it’s thankfully quiet and low, but the words still make you keen.

“Princess couldn’t wait until the morning, hm?” Hoseok chuckles quietly at your whine of response. “That’s okay. Let Master help you.”

You sigh out, sitting the phone so that it lies on the pillow beside you. “Please, Master,” you whisper, “can I touch my clit?”

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, “such a polite girl now. Baby took her lesson well. You can touch it, princess. Get yourself close for me.”

When you change the angle of the fingers thrusting inside you to make room to rub at your clit, you could cry from the satisfaction, biting your lip to muffle the moan that’s pulled from your lungs.

Glancing quickly beside you to ensure Jungkook’s asleep, the sight of him sleeping so peacefully as you get off right beside him has you clenching down, and your back arches off the bed.

Your high is close, and the faster you strum your clit frantically, the more you pant, desperate to keep quiet. Your mouth drops open as you suddenly feel the orgasm approaching, and you turn to the phone on the pillow, getting close enough that he can hear your whisper. “I’m go-gonna cum, Hoseokie, fuck,” you choke out before quickly pressing your lips together, preventing further noise.

His voice is low velvet on the phone, a calm command. “Cum for Master now, princess.”

You feel your orgasm hit you like a tsunami, crashing so violently that you curl over your hands, shivering and convulsing as pleasure rocks every inch of your body. As it floods you entirely, you feel hot tears stream down your face, ones you didn’t even know you were shedding. Your thighs shake and your chest heaves and you don’t stop your fingers until there’s no more pleasure left to be milked from you.

When you finally cum down from your high, panting, you fumble clumsily for the phone. “Tha-thank you, Master.”

Perhaps it’s the post-orgasm delirium, but you swear you hear the smile in his voice when he murmurs, “you’re most welcome, princess. Now get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

After hanging up, you lock your phone and chuck it down onto the carpet beside the bed carelessly, the wetness between your thighs no longer uncomfortable, now just a satisfying reminder of the pleasure he finally allowed you. Taking one last look at the tranquil face of Jungkook as he slept, you let yourself join him in a blissful unconsciousness.

ELIMINATION GRAPH

No elimination this week ! What a doozy, huh? If you were curious, here are the results of the vote!

It was taken after exactly 48 hours of the poll being open, and required a sign-in with email to prevent spamming so that it was as fair as possible!

In the future, we’ll use this format for both Fan Favourite and Elimination voting. I’ll tell you the top three for audience fan-favourites in the following chapter, and for elimination you’ll find out Y/n’s final decision in the following chapter, plus this graph at the end for the complete results.

Thanks for all your support !

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lizamango · 3 years

Text

Finding You (Bucky Barnes x Reader) 2/?

A/N: Hi everyone! I’ve decided to call this fic Finding You, just to inform you for future chapters! Getting my second vaccine tomorrow!! 😁🤩

Summary: You’ve been one of SHIELD’s top spies for years but what happens when the organisation you’ve put your trust in crumbles and Captain America gives you a mission to help him find his best friend? The last thing you expected to happen was to fall in love with your assignment and become best friends with a witch.

Taglist ~ just comment if you wanna be added

@buckylokisimp, @white-wolf-buckaroo, @austynparksandpizza, @markandlexies

Word Count: 2345 (this is so fucking satisfying omg)

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Warnings: Just curse words, rewrites are hard but it’s kinda like shifting but through fanfiction??

Chapter Summary: Steve Rogers doesn’t trust you very much

Chapter 2: BUT YOU KNOW BETTER

On our way back, the STRIKE team is on celebration mode while Rogers is quiet. It won’t be a surprise if he goes to see Fury about the side mission I was assigned without his knowing. As we land on the Triskelion landing pad I watch as Captain Rogers leaves without a goodbye and heads to, undoubtedly, Fury’s office.

I tune into Fury’s communicator.

“Heads up, Fury. Angry Cap on your way. He found out about my mission.”

“Batroc?” he asks.

“He got away,” I answer regrettably.

“I’ll have international agents on high alert. You’ve done your part. Just leave the drive with me after Rogers.”

“Yes sir.”

I put all the weapons into the cache and go to clean up, changing out of my stealth suit and into a SHIELD hoodie and sweats that I keep in the locker for after missions. I wait by Fury’s office doors and he finally emerges from the elevator without an angry Cap.

“Gave him a little tour of Project Insight,” he says as he unlocks his office.

I walk in behind him. “That’s brave of you.”

“He didn’t like it.” He takes a seat and so did I.

“I’m sure he didn’t.” I fish out the hard drive and put it on the table. “One super secret hard drive for Nicholas J Fury,” I announce like a waitress.

“Good job.”

“He didn’t think so.”

“I want you to keep an eye on him. Just make sure he doesn’t do anything, alright?”

“What could he possibly do?” I raise my brows.

“He isn’t on board. I need you to get him there.”

“Don’t you already have an agent assigned to him?”

“Agent 13 is for when he’s off duty. You will be there for when he’s on.”

I scoff. “Have you met the guy? That’s all the time.”

“That’s an order, Agent.”

I nod. “Fine. Have you heard anything else on HYDRA?”

“The last reliable intel we have is three years old now, Y/N. It’s hard to track them down.”

“I don’t understand why you had to take me out. I was getting close to something. Someone. I don’t know.”

“Finding the world’s greatest soldier just took precedent. You weren’t getting anywhere for a whole year. Whatever it was, they packed it up tight.”

“Because it was something big,” I defend. “I still think you made the wrong choice. Captain America doesn’t need two babysitters.”

“Well, you try being asleep and waking up 70 years after to a whole new world and see how you feel. You’re dismissed. Get some rest. Make nice with the old man.”

I get up and leave his office. Make nice…. How do I do that when he doesn’t trust me anymore?

I get a ride home from Fitz who congratulated me on completing the mission.

“So what was he like?”

“He doesn’t like me very much,” I chuckle.

“Why not? What did you do?” he asks in an accusing tone.

“Me?!”

“He’s the perfect man, what could he have done?”

I roll my eyes but don’t answer. We arrive at my apartment and I thank Fitz for the ride back.

Unlocking my door I go straight to the bathroom for a bath. I run the water to the perfect temperature and add a bath bomb that turns the water a glittery lilac scented with lavender. I also light a candle that crackles like a fireplace that emits a subtle smokey French vanilla. A girl’s gotta treat herself. After a good long soak I get out and decide to rest up not wanting to do anything for the rest of the day.

I wake from my nap to the ringing of my phone. Reaching over to my bedside table I read the screen which has nothing but the number 1212. Well, that can’t be good.

“This is L/N,” I say.

“I need you to find the star. Keep your guard up.”

Shit, I think as I jump out of bed and get dressed in something inconspicuous. Black trousers, leather combat boots, a Kevlar vest under a back hoodie, two pistols on my belt and a knife tucked in each boot. I pick up a grey Von Dutch trucker hat on my way out.

Walking is the safest option so I navigate toward Steve Rogers’ DC apartment that he was relocated to after the New York Invasion as he decided to become a full time SHIELD agent.

I arrive outside his apartment and see Sharon on her way out.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“Mission. Waiting for the Captain,” I say. I look at her scrubs. “How you liking the infectious disease ward?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Well it’s just a uniform. I guess it’s better than people shooting armour piercing bullets at me.”

“I’ll see you ‘round, Kate,” I wave, using her alias.

I track Steve’s whereabouts on my phone and see that he’s at a counselling centre for veterans. Fair enough, it’s good to admit you need help.

What do you want me to do here, Fury? I wonder to myself. I decide to do a perimeter check for any bugs, wire taps or double agents.

I reach an alleyway and after peering into it I hear the scraping of a manhole against the ground. I reach for my gun and keep it to the side as I slowly approach it.

I hear a grunt and raise the gun.

“Agent,” I immediately recognize the voice as Fury’s. “Stand down.”

“Shit, Fury.” I holster the gun and help him out of the manhole. “What happened, who did this?”

“Not safe,” he says in pain.

“W-where do we go? Rogers isn’t inside.” I inspect his wounds. “Looks like you have multiple fractures on your left arm and abdominal bruising-“

“Car ambush,” he utters as he approaches the fire escape. “Stay out here, keep a look out.” He pushes a phone into my hand, I don’t recognize it as his day to day. “Anything happens, secure line 0405. I have to… get to Rogers. Do not engage unless enemies fire first.”

“Fury-“

“That’s an order.”

I put the phone into my back pocket and stay behind as he climbs up and through the Captain’s Window.

The sky is starting to darken so I make my way through the perimeter again. Sharon returns and shortly after that, Rogers arrives, weary but alert. Just as a soldier would.

I hear some 40s music coming from the walls of the Captain’s apartment. I suppose he heard it too and got suspicious because he exits his apartment building to climb up the very same fire escape that Fury did.

My eyes follow him up and survey the roof of the building for any suspicious activity.

Suddenly three shots are fired right into one of the apartment building’s walls.

“Fuck!” I whisper, looking for the source.

“Foxtrot is down, he’s unresponsive. I need EMTs,” I hear one of my comms come through. It’s Sharon’s voice.

“Do we have a 20 on the shooter?” a dispatcher responds.

Before I know it, Captain Rogers is jumping out of his window and into the building the shots came from.

“Captain Rogers is in pursuit,” Agent Carter says.

I follow the Captain as he runs through a building following the shooter while he runs on the roof. They don’t fight but Rogers manages to throw the shield at him and does what some would say impossible as he catches it and throws it back just as hard. I stop where I am and just observe which is what Fury wanted me here for. The shooter jumps from the building and it looks like he catches himself using his… metal… arm. I look up and see Rogers standing at the edge of the rooftop, looking back down the shooter is out of sight.

“Transporting Foxtrot to BridgePoint Hospital Capitol Hill,” the dispatcher says from my comms. After sweeping the place one more time for any sign of the shooter and coming up empty I decide to take a cab to the hospital.

I put out an arm but it’s not a cab that stops in front of me.

“Get in, L/N.”

“Hill?” I get into the passenger’s seat and she starts to drive. “You’re supposed to be –“

“Fury called.”

“He was shot.”

“I know. Ballistics will tell us more at the hospital.”

“He’s gonna be okay,” I say but it’s more for my comfort than hers.

We arrive at the hospital and Maria takes a phone call while I find his room number, viewing the operation through the glass. Rogers is already there.

“Is he gonna make it?” I ask the Captain.

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me about the shooter.”

“He’s fast. Strong. Had a metal arm.”

“Ballistics?” I ask, knowing he can hear Hill’s conversation outside.

“Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable,” he answers and looks at me.

Hill enters.

“Soviet-made,” I add as I put the picture together in my head.

“How did you know?”

I don’t get to answer her as the surgeons and nurses say that Fury’s in V-tach and rush to solve the problem.

“Fuck’s sake, Fury,” I whisper. “Don’t do this.” My hands start to shake as they lose his pulse and can’t bring him back. I notice that I’m mumbling something repeatedly but I can’t realise what.

I feel Rogers leave as the team gives up.

“Time of death, 1:03am,” the doctor calls.

I watch them wheel him out as Hill goes too. Taking a deep breath, I walk outside into the hallway.

“How did you know they were soviet-made?” Rogers asks, following me.

“Do you trust me?” I ask him, turning to face him.

“No. How did you know?”

“Why are you asking me when you don’t trust me?”

“Why are you dodging the question?”

“Cap!” Rumlow calls. “They want you back at SHIELD.”

“Give me a minute.”

“They want you now.”

“Okay,” he replies irritated.

“You’re not gonna ask me what Nick was doing in my apartment?” he asks.

“I know what he was doing there. Do you?” I raise a brow and turn on my heel, walking away.

I see Maria in the viewing room with Fury’s… body.

“I need to take him,” she says. “Don’t get yourself into trouble, alright?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not a child, Maria.”

“Do you want a ride anywhere?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“What, you’re just gonna hang around here until Rogers comes back?”

Yes that’s exactly what I was going to do. “No.”

She chuckles and walks away. I wait for all the SHIELD and STRIKE agents to clear out of the floor to go back into the waiting area. I go to the vending machine to pick up a snack and notice something that shouldn’t be there… the drive I gave Fury with SHIELD intel hidden behind three packets of bubble gum. Frowning I buy out the stack until the drive also falls to the dispenser. I take a seat, waiting for Rogers.

I don’t realise when I fell asleep until someone shakes me gently.

“I heard.”

I look up and it’s Sharon. “Hey.”

“How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t you have an assignment debriefing to give?” I reply.

She shrugs. “That can wait. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Did you wanna know what Fury was doing at Rogers’ apartment too?” I ask, suspicious.

“Do you know?”

I nod.

“Then that’s all I need to know.”

“Fury trusts – trusted him,” I correct myself. “That means we have to.”

A beeping comes from her wrist communicator and she sighs. “I have to go. I’ll keep you in the loop about what happens at the Triskelion.”

I frown. “Why would I need to be kept in the loop?”

“Because I know you’re gonna be on the run, soon. With him. To find that shooter. Pierce won’t like that you’re after him outside of mission directives…”

“I know. You be careful, Sharon.”

She smiles stiffly and I know it’s because she’s worried about me. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were being careless and rash.”

“But you know better.”

She chuckles softly and turns to leave. I get up walk around to stretch my legs. Where the fuck is Rogers?

An hour passes and I’m back where I started but I see the man of the hour stop in front of the vending machine. I pop a strip of gum in my mouth and walk up behind him, blowing a bubble.

His face sharpens and he sighs then pulls me by the arm and takes us into a room.

“Where is it?”

“Safe.”

“Do better.”

“Fury trusted me. I’m on your side if he trusts you.”

“He doesn’t trust anyone. That’s the problem. That’s why he’s dead,” he says harshly.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat.

Rogers sighs and pulls away. “What’s on it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I bet you knew Fury hired the Pirates didn’t you?” he accuses.

No, no I didn’t. Stunned, I blink at the news. “Made sense. The ship was dirty, Fury needed a way in, so do you.”

“How did you know it was Soviet-made?” he repeats his earlier question, losing patience.

“I know who killed Fury,” I say. “The metal arm… I knew as soon as I saw it. 2009, Natasha had a mission in Odessa. Someone shot out her tires and killed the engineer she was protecting by shooting right through her. Soviet slug, no rifling. Metal arm. The intelligence community call him The Winter Soldier. I’ve heard him as the Asset. That’s who killed Fury.”

“How do we find him?”

“He’s been credited with two dozen assassinations in the last 50 years, Rogers. You don’t go after him. I’ve tried.”

He looks up at that, as if surprised. But he doesn’t know half the shit I’ve been through while working for SHIELD.

“So he’s a shadow.”

“Was.” I pull the drive out of my pocket and hold it up to him.

“Let’s find the Asset, then.”

💖

Thank you for reading! I’ll update once I’ve finished Chapter 4 but I am busy this weekend!

Chapter 3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #slowburn #enemies to lovers #steve rogers x platonic!reader #captain america #bucky barnes fic #steve rogers fic #reader insert #rewrite #series rewrite #marvel #mcu

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