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youarewhatyoulove-blog · 1 month

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the violence of the dog days.

pairing: jeongguk x reader

summary: In the midst of summertime, after a week of neglect, your boyfriend has a way of making you feel even more heated.

you're hot and horny for jeongguk.

rating: mature🔞 (minors please dni)

genre: non-idol au, college au, established relationship, smut, fluff, pwp

word count: 9.2k words of unadulterated smut.

warnings: reader and jeongguk are absolute horny simps for each other, but they're also so inlove, soft boyfriend jeongguk (because yes that is a warning), jeongguk is a law student (oof), overuse of the petname 'baby', reader hasn't been getting it seven days a week😔, switch jeongguk (kinda), hair pulling, hickeys, making out, thigh riding, nipple play (jeongguk is proudly a boob guy), religious imagery because jeongguk worships reader like a god, usage of the words 'c*nt' and 'p*ssy' (because i know some people are iffy about that), cunnilingus (f-receiving), jeongguk is low-key a sadist y'all (in his fantasies), a bit of dom/sub dynamics, prayers for reader because jeongguk's got that big d🙏🏽, unprotected sex, doggy style, degradation, a teeny weeny bit of overstimulation, creampie - like this is just pure smut guys 😬, possessive sex, choking, aftercare, reader kinda hints at having attachment issues (but don't we all).

author's note: 1. please ignore any typos :). of course, i'd appreciate any feedback or constructive criticism. but if you find yourself uncomfortable by any of the themes in this fic, there's no need for hate, just kindly move on. 2. also, this is a lot longer and softer than i intended. this fic was supposed to be purely hard smut, but i fell in love with the characters and their relationship, and some aspects of the story just turned out sickeningly sweet - so proceed with caution.

You're an hour into tossing and turning when you can't take it anymore.

The heat.

With June coming to a close end, the surviving remnants of summer creep in through your bedroom window with barely a whisper of a breeze. It clings to every part of your skin, that ever-lingering humidity thickening the air, and wraps itself around your body like a cloak. For some reason, you thought that scrolling aimlessly through the various apps on your phone would help distract your mind from the muggy weather or maybe, by some miracle, even lull you to sleep.

But it hasn’t—of course it hasn't. Because summer is here to stay, burrowing deep within your bones and making a home there. Each passing minute is a testament to that, insomnia creeping up your spine with ill intent and wriggling into every cranny of your mind until you feel like you're losing it.

Perhaps you are, you think.

Because when the desk fan a few feet away suddenly stops whirring and the fumbling grasp you had on sleep slips from your reach like a fleeting dream in the morning light as a result of it—drifting further and further away—you hit your breaking point. The lack of white noise and cool air blowing your way mounts your frustration into place. It hangs there in the ether like a looming shadow but, unlike your slumber, has no plans of deserting you.

With an annoyed huff, you drop your phone back onto the nightstand for the umpteenth time and kick your leg out from under the duvet.

“Fuck.” You sigh, rolling onto your back.

A thin sheen of sweat lingers on the surface of your skin, causing the sheets to stick uncomfortably to every part of your body. You spread your limbs out like a starfish in some futile attempt to cool them down, hoping that you'll catch a draft, but the action only reminds you of how largely cavernous your bed feels right now.

The space beside you is missing a particular doe-eyed boy and, as your hand brushes over the empty spot, you realize that it's not so much the seasonal heat that's making you feel weirdly restless, but rather Jeongguk's absence. In an inconveniently clingy way, you need his body settled next to you at night, your legs and arms a tangled mess beneath the blankets.

You don't know why that is. Why sleep eludes you like a compass without direction, unable to find its way to you when Jeongguk isn't near. But you don't mull over it or give the thought a foothold to stand amongst the endless anxieties already in your head.

All you know is that cuddling up with him in the evening is perhaps one of your favourite pastimes. Akin to a baby with it's bottle, falling asleep in his embrace is something you've grown incredibly used to, maybe even a little dependent on—like a security blanket or night-light—and there's nothing you can do about it.

Sneaking a glance towards the dim light spilling in from beneath the bedroom door, you picture Jeongguk on the other side. Chances are, he’s still where you last left him. Sitting cross-legged on the couch with a laptop balancing carefully on his lap, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration, as he catches up on coursework.

You worry your lip, the thought of your boyfriend causing your mind to wander...

He looked so good tonight; adorned in a pair of grey sweats and a baggy t-shirt with his tattoos fully exposed. His dark hair was strewn across his forehead, falling into his eyes in a way that made your fingers itch.

You, on the other hand, are sporting an old, oversized shirt you opted to steal from Jeongguk's wardrobe to combat the high temperatures, but it hasn't helped much. The heat still loiters, creeping up the back of your neck and imbuing your cheeks with warmth.

It makes you long for winter, for the bitter nip of frosty ice and pelting rain, and the desire for that inadvertently reminds you of that fucking silver lip ring Jeongguk had gotten recently.

The memory of its cold, metal sting against your lips as he kissed you goodnight sends a distant, carnal hum coursing throughout your veins. It's probably tugged anxiously between his teeth right now whilst he types away, eyes deadset on the screen before him, and the image of that sends you reeling. Makes your skin flush further, yearning to feel its steel bite again.

For some reason, it propels you into motion, skin prickling as you throw your legs over the edge of the mattress without a second thought.

The last thing you want to do is bother his progress or interrupt his work, but selfishly, you persist. That gnawing feeling deep within your chest is too hard to ignore, heart beating voraciously with each step you take because it longs to be satiated by Jeongguk's presence. Your boyfriend is only one room over, just four thin walls separating the two of you, yet still—you miss him, want him.

Treading lightly, you hear the persistent click-clack of his keyboard and the muffled sound of typing only grows louder as you step out into the hallway. The wooden flooring is frigid beneath your feet, a sensation you immediately relish in as soon as the fiery crawl of discomfort across your skin begins to lessen. Your shirt—or more precisely, Jeongguk’s shirt—falls flat from your waist, landing a few inches above your knees, as you wander further into the apartment.

Just as you’d predicted, Jeongguk is all pretzelled up on the sofa, too focused on his work to hear you enter. A few empty bottles of soju and convenience store snacks litter the coffee table, serving as silent witnesses to the length of time he's been out here. He must have dimmed the lights as well because a faint, warm glow shrouds every facet of the room, making him look particularly soft at this hour.

You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around the length of his shoulders as you bend over the couch's headrest to envelop him in a hug. ”Hey,” You hum softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Jeongguk startles slightly at the contact, shaken from his deep concentration as he angles his head to look up at you. “Shit, baby. You scared me.” He breathes, voice rough from disuse. It rumbles through you like a distant thunderstorm, body vibrating with electricity.

“Sorry,” You murmur, glancing at the assignment he's been working on and tiny pangs of guilt gradually trickle into your stomach. “I didn't mean to disturb you, but-”

“You're not disturbing me.” Jeongguk instantly reassures, scanning your face with a knowing look. “Can’t sleep?” He asks and you nod, burying your face into the crook of his neck. The scent of his body wash immediately encompasses you like a warm embrace, wild pinewood and bergamot invading your senses.

“I thought you’d be in bed by now.” You mumble against his skin, unable to hide the pout in your voice.

Jeongguk frowns, eyes flickering to the time at the bottom of his laptop screen.

Shit, he hadn’t even noticed how late it’s gotten, the hours skulking along the cusp of a new day. He should probably be turning in for the night, head to bed and worry about this project tomorrow, but he’d rather not postpone his responsibilities. Not when you’re staying over the weekend and he could be spending that time with you instead.

“I know.” Jeongguk responds, hand coming up to intertwine with yours. “I’ll be there soon, okay?” He promises, bringing your knuckles to his lips. The featherlight kiss he presses there soothes you like a curative balm.

“Okay,” You relent, untangling yourself from his body. “But, can I stay here for a bit? It’s too hot in there.” You half lie, gesturing towards the bedroom while simultaneously walking over to the kitchen only a few feet away.

“Yeah, of course.” He murmurs, eyes following your movements.

“Thanks, Kook.” You smile, sparing him a glance over your shoulder as your eyes sparkle with mirth. “By the way, your fan broke down again.”

“Again?” He laments, eyebrows furrowed together whilst he runs a disgruntled hand through his hair. “I seriously need to get that old thing repaired or maybe even replaced.” He grumbles to himself, before a guilty afterthought occurs at the sight of you. “Fuck, I'm so sorry, baby. No wonder you couldn't sleep.”

You don't tell him that it's not so much the heat keeping you awake but, more so, him.

“No, don't worry about it.” You settle on instead, trying to dispel his concerns. “It's not your fault.”

This isn't the first time that Jeongguk’s fan has given him problems. He's had the thing since high school; so it’s no surprise that the motor tends to give in every now and then, running a little too hot. He’s been meaning to get the issue sorted, but hasn’t really found the time to do that these days.

“Plus, I'd much rather be out here with you.” You add.

Jeongguk smiles at you so sweetly then, dimples making an appearance, and your body flushes all over, burning once again.

God, what is wrong with you tonight?

You need to calm down, cool down. At this rate, you feel like an overheating engine, bound to crash in on yourself and combust.

Grabbing a glass of ice water from the fridge dispenser, you rein yourself in, distracting your mind with conversation. “I promise not to be a bother though, like you won't even notice I'm here.” You say, before chugging the cold liquid down on the spot, completely ignorant to the way that Jeongguk drinks you in.

A welcome sight is what you are, so cute tonight with your hair all mussed, practically drowning in his shirt. “You’re never a bother.” He responds, mouth going dry when you lean back to empty the glass. The action causes your shirt to hike up, the creamy expanse of your thighs further exposed to his hungry eyes.

He feels his dick stir at the sight.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be?” You ask, wiping your lips with the back of your palm, as you place your cup in the sink and shuffle over towards your boyfriend.

“Uhh…” Jeongguk clears his throat, broken out of his stupor. He turns back to face his laptop, skimming the Word document that's open before him when he feels you nestle into his side a second later. Automatically, he brings a hand down to rest against your leg.

“I’m not sure,” He grumbles, thumb rubbing soothing circles against your bare thigh. The absent-minded touch ignites something in you, skin blazing at the contact, and you try your best to suppress the goosebumps that rise in Jeongguk’s wake. “Maybe another hour or so?” He guesses.

“Oh.” You mumble and, although you fight the disappointed curl of your lips, Jeongguk doesn’t miss the deflated look on your face.

“I’m sorry,” He squeezes your thigh apologetically, frown overtaking his pretty features. “I know it’s been a while since we spent time together.”

A week exactly, you note, but ultimately keep that detail to yourself. After all, neither one of you is to blame for being so busy, constantly caught between work and university.

You think that's maybe the reason you're feeling so needy tonight, body set ablaze by every minor look and touch from your boyfriend. In a way, you're feeling a little neglected since your relationship’s taken the backseat, not by choice but by consequence, and you don’t know how to deal with it.

“It's fine.” You shrug. "It's not like we can help it.”

You try to be nonchalant about the matter, injecting the slightest hint of indifference into your tone, but Jeongguk sees right through you.

He always does.

“Come here.” He says suddenly, voice soft as he shifts his laptop onto the coffee table.

You look up at him, confusion clear on your face.

“What?” You blink, but your question falls on deaf ears because Jeongguk merely uncrosses his legs and pats his lap.

“Come here,” He then repeats and reaches for your waist.

You're uncertain for the briefest of moments, eyeing Jeongguk suspiciously, before you ultimately give in like malleable clay in his soft hands, allowing him to pull you onto his lap with ease. “I've been working for hours.” He grumps once you're comfortably straddling his waist, hands resting on either side of your hips. “Hardly seen you since you got here.”

You hum, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth in thought. It's no secret that you've been spending a lot more time at Jeongguk's place in lieu of your ratty little dorm room. You felt bad about it at first, feeling as though you were invading his space and overstaying your welcome. But your boyfriend couldn't be happier about it. He rather likes the idea of your lives interlocking, melding together as if they were puzzle pieces falling into place. He likes that when he's working, like on nights like this, that you're just on the opposite side of the door, not one phone call or car ride away.

He likes that you're his and he is, equally as much, yours.

“I wanted to leave you to your work.” You explain, curling your arms around his neck. Your fingers absentmindedly play with the ends of his hair that have grown out and the light touch only brings about the memory of how much he has missed you these past few days.

“Well, it's about time I take a break, don't you think?” Jeongguk muses and you become hyper-aware of the way his fingers brush up your spine. “Give my girl some attention…” He trails on, eyes flickering to your lips.

You practically preen at the idea, smiling shyly as you lean into his touch. “I wouldn't object to that.” Your heart patters in your chest, beating wildly at the mere sight of Jeongguk. At the thought of him finally touching you, kissing you, quenching your thirst after this week-long drought. “I've missed you.”

Jeongguk chuckles faintly. “Me too, baby.” He murmurs, perching his head upwards to press his lips against yours.

The kiss is gentle, chaste, his plush lips feeling so featherlight against yours. You almost imagine they were never there to begin with because Jeongguk pulls away before you can truly savour the taste of them.

“You know, you look so pretty in my clothes.” He begins, large hand spreading lazily around your left hip and up your back. “Kinda makes me want to wreck you.”

“You already wreck me.” You breathe without missing a beat.

“Yeah?” Jeongguk rasps, his voice low and a little dark. It sends a thrill straight up your spine.

You nod in response, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “No one makes me feel the way you do.” You admit, eyes flitting across his face. It's an unwavering truth—one that simultaneously scares and excites you in this quiet dead of night.

“Can I kiss you again?” The words come out as a breathy whisper; as if you've been holding on to them for too long, as if they're the oxygen you so desperately need to breathe, and Jeongguk tilts his head, bewildered frown on his face.

“How is that even a question.” He gripes, slanting his head in a means to meet your mouth halfway, but you have another idea.

You press into him instead, leaning forward, and set out to peck lovingly along the curvature of Jeongguk’s jawline. He huffs in amusement, endeared by the way you take control. Because, although he’s usually the dominant one in the bedroom, he doesn't mind when you take charge like this. In fact, he's grown to love it. Loves the way you come into your own, toying and teasing with him, until your own actions cause you to grow desperate.

It's one of his greater weaknesses, his Achilles heel, and right now, you want nothing more than to expose it. Unveil a certain side of him. The one that'll see how far you can push before he starts to push back. The one that'll give in and take you right here on this couch after he's entertained your antics for long enough and you finally beg him to fuck you.

Your body practically hums at the thought.

You map out his skin, lips brushing against the surface like you're exploring a new land. Every movement careful, every touch claiming what's yours. And it almost goes to your head—how quickly Jeongguk submits to your mouth’s assault, his body relaxing into the couch like he's letting you have your way with him.

Jeongguk doesn't tell you that he is. That your lips are a holy grail he'd happily yield to.

When your teeth graze lightly at a particular soft spot below his ear, he lets out a small groan, eyes falling closed at the sensation. You feel the sound roll through you, the ache between your legs becoming hard to ignore when you think about the fact that you've roused that melody from his mouth.

It spurs you on, makes you want to hear it again and again. You want to paint the entire column of his neck red and then watch your confession of love fade to a bruised purple in the weeks to come. You want to rediscover all the ways that you can make Jeongguk sing, and the way your body dances to his tune in turn. Your lips lap him up, kisses becoming indelicate with desperation, teeth nipping with intent along his upper jaw, tongue tracing over the skin before you repeat all these gestures twicefold.

You can feel yourself growing wet, relish in the way that Jeongguk's hands tighten around your form. “Shit,” He mumbles and your body crows. Without pause, you shift against his lap and move to the neglected side of his neck, targeting the skin there. You can feel him getting hard beneath you, your core situated right above his growing erection, and it causes a shiver to run down your spine.

You plant a few messy kisses against his throat, nibbling vehemently, but then Jeongguk tuts and pries his eyes open before you have the opportunity to really sink your teeth into him.

“Baby,” He warns, curling a hand into your hair to form a makeshift ponytail. “No marks. I've got a presentation on Monday.” He says and pulls you back by an inch. His movements are somewhat hesitant, voice rough, like he's not entirely sure he truly wants you to stop.

But he has to. He can't afford to show up to class on Monday and present the most important project of his life with hickeys all over his neck.

“Next time.” He promises, but you consider outright ignoring him for a second, even though it's nonsensical, like some twisted form of punishment for a week of neglect.

But it’s Jeongguk—Jeongguk who’s been extra stressed lately about completing his degree. Jeongguk who’s carving time out of working on his big assignment right now—one which, not only counts forty percent of his grade, but could also earn him an internship at one of the top law firms in Seoul if he's lucky enough—all to pay special attention to you.

So, “Fine.” You give in, albeit a little petulantly, and brace your hands against his chest, face feeling flushed. “I’m sorry. I just wanna be close to you is all.”

“I know. Me too.” He rasps, grip on your hair loosening a touch, but not completely. “We don't have to stop though, just don't mark me up.” He explains, free hand rubbing up and down your thigh.

“Okay,” You slide your palms up his chest, feeling the toned muscles tense beneath your touch. “I really love you, you know?”

Jeongguk's eyes soften, a hint of a smile creeping up on his face. “I know,” He hums, tugging at your hair in a way that makes your scalp tingle. “But I don't think it comes close to how much I love you.” He rasps, using his grip as leverage to pull your head backwards until the delicate skin of your throat is exposed. “It's incomparable.” He murmurs, placing a single kiss on the side of your mouth before he travels south, lips peppering across your jawline.

You shiver, hands twisting into the thick material of Jeongguk's t-shirt. You want to tell him that it's not a competition, that you'd love him until the sun stops rising and, even if this one week of distance had been more, you know that he feels the same.

But the heavy palpitations in your chest causes the words to dissolve on your tongue because Jeongguk pulls the collar of your shirt to the side a second later, exposing more of your skin, before he traces a path along your décolletage. He's touching you like a starved man, mouth just as desperate and feverish as you’re starting to feel.

A stuttered gasp escapes your lips, your hands moving upwards, unsure of where to be, when he nips at a particularly sensitive spot. You settle them on his shoulders.

“Jeongguk,” You moan, the tingling between your legs maturing into an unbearable ache.

“I know, baby.” He abruptly pulls away from your clavicle—lips red, eyes blown. “Tell me what you want.”

His demand goes over your head because you don't know what you want; can barely think straight with the lingering feeling of Jeongguk's lips on your neck. With the growing wetness sticking uncomfortably to your panties. With the burning, hot embers laying at the base of your stomach, begging to be set ablaze. And Jeongguk knows that. Knows that you're neither here nor there, only somewhere in the middle, teetering on the line of endless choices. So he lets go of your hair then, manoeuvres your body until you're straddling only his left thigh.

“Don't think about it, baby.” He murmurs, both hands moving to your hips. He guides them back and forth, slow and gentle, with just enough pressure to relieve that desperate throbbing in your pussy. “Just feel.”

And you do, sinking into your own little bubble, a paradise as impenetrable as the gates of heaven. You take your time to grind up against him, moving in tandem with the flow of his hands and a soft whimper climbs up your throat at the sensation of your clit brushing against the firm muscles of Jeongguk’s thigh. You're already so soaked, underwear absolutely sodden from the relentless pendular motions of your pelvis, and when you look down to find a dark, damp spot beginning to stain Jeongguk's sweatpants, you can't help but intensify your movements.

It should be embarrassing, how quickly you've become turned on, how much you're dripping, when Jeongguk's barely touched you, but instead you just feel liberated. Pure power coursing through your veins because your boyfriend has given you the reins, is letting you use his body like a bitch in heat, and it's exhilarating; intoxicating every facet of your mind.

“That's it,” Jeongguk purrs, deserting your hips once you gain momentum to instead sneak both hands up the hem of your shirt.

Your breath escapes its chambers when he trails past the soft curve of your waist and straight to your breasts. “Fuck, you're so beautiful.” He grunts, gaze intent on your every reaction, like he's watching artwork unfold. His nimble fingers circle your nipples, tracing them with the most tantalizing pattern, until they begin to harden.

“Please,” You choke, clasping his shirt in between your fists like it's some sort of lifeline. You're not even sure what you're begging for, pace quickening as you ride Jeongguk’s thigh more aggressively. Every rut forward sends sparks shooting throughout your body, nerve endings alight, and when Jeongguk pinches your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, your back arches in pleasure. A throaty moan penetrates the room otherwise filled with nothing but your uneven pants and the sound of Jeongguk's voice.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” He groans, hands inching towards your shirt’s lower seam. He drags it over your torso, itching for better access to your breasts. Even in your muddled state, you meet him halfway, raising your arms above your head until the damned thing is off and you're left in nothing but your lacy underwear.

You hardly have time to adjust to the humid air hitting your torso, when Jeongguk tips his head forward, enveloping your right nipple into his mouth with reckless abandon. The response is instantaneous, a strangled sob slipping past your lips at the feeling of his warm mouth encased around your stiffened peak. His tongue swipes across your nipple, shockwaves manifesting at the blissful contact, and you don't know how much longer you're going to last—an embarrassing feat you don’t ponder on too much.

Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the attention Jeongguk pays you. Whimpering when the pads of his fingers move to fondle the nipple of your forsaken breast while the other submits to his mouth’s pleasurable torment, each purposeful pinch causing them to tighten all the more. Your skin feels like it's on fire, the warmth of Jeongguk's touch igniting the cinders glowing from deep within your belly. “I-I think,” You swallow, your pussy rubbing deliciously into Jeongguk's leg. “I think I'm going to come soon,” You manage to admit through a repressed whine, voice so strained it sounds foreign even to your own ears.

You don't think you've ever hit an orgasm this quickly. You've never had to. Because you and Jeongguk are like inseparable magnets; every atom in your bodies drawn to each other, always connecting like two poles seeking the other out—never going more than a few days without some form of intimacy. Never mind a week.

At least, not until now.

So when Jeongguk bounces his leg upwards to meet the force of your pussy coming down on his quadricep, adding to the way you slam into him, your clit positively throbbing at the impact, you feel the onset of that familiar coil in your stomach tightening.

“Just let go, baby.” Jeongguk rasps, granting you permission with one final flick of your nipples and then you're coming undone, white fiery heat flooding every fiber of your body, as you cry out his name. Only his name, forever on your lips. You feel the way your entire form convulses, the way Jeongguk helps you through it, flexing his thigh so that you can get the most out of your orgasm, and your hips buck forward—unrelenting and greedy—before they finally ease into a slow rut. Grinding into him until the receding, minuscule waves of pleasure begin to fade.

With the last few clenches of your pulsating core, you slowly catch your breath, muscles slackening as you become pliant in Jeongguk's arms, the weight of your body suddenly too much for you to bear. Your boyfriend holds you tight though, both hands moving to your waist to keep you secure.

Behind the darkness of your closed eyelids; you hear Jeongguk softly murmur your name and feel the way his hand comes up to your face, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear before he cups your cheeks. “You okay, angel?” He asks, voice emerging as a hushed tone.

When you manage to tear your eyes open and give him a soft, affirmative nod, Jeongguk seems satisfied, pressing a delicate kiss to your sternum before he shifts you from his lap and onto your back in one fell, but gentle swoop.

Your head hits the soft leather of the sofa with the aftermath of your climax still lingering against your skin like crackling electricity, fuzzing up your mind. “You think you can take more?” He asks, eyes flitting across your face to get a read on your current state of mind.

You nod your head assuredly, reaching out to make a grab for his body, to bring him closer. “Yeah I can,” You say confidently, arm's snaking up his back to explore the taut muscles that reside there.

Jeongguk is hovering over your body, thigh pressed hotly between your legs, and even though you can feel the rush of arousal, brought on only a second ago, pooling uncomfortably in your underwear—you want more. You want him. “I want to carry on.”

Jeongguk studies your demeanour, casting your body and expression a careful once-over, because he wants to feel you, be in you, wants to make you see stars. But it's only a matter of whether you're able to handle that right now. He has barely had his way with you, but you already look so fucked out, so perfect for him. It makes the blood rush straight to his dick. “You make me crazy.” He rasps, eyes locking with yours as he brings a hand up, tracing his thumb along your bottom lip.

You almost cower beneath his touch, beneath the sincerity of his gaze; appraising the very depths of your being as if you were a delicate treasure, as if he were staring at a god or something of a divine beauty.

Jeongguk thinks that maybe he is; thinks you’re the light, the one thing he’d worship morning, noon and night through blind faith. And there are barely enough words in the dictionary for him to express this notion to you, so instead he settles for “I love you.” Voice as rough as the high tides, but softer than moonlight.

He feels compelled to tell you this every chance he gets, a hopeless slave to his feelings for you. “Like I've never loved anything else in my life.” He continues. It's a quiet confession in the night, not a new one, but the words mean just as much as the first time he admitted them to you.

You feel yourself melt, can't remember ever feeling this cherished. Not since before Jeongguk and hopefully, never after. “I love you too.” You murmur, taking a moment to drink in every detail of the man who has left you restless all night.

Your eyes flicker over the defined cut of his jaw. The delicate curve of his lips and the pretty mole resting just beneath it. The small kissable scar on his cheek. The feathery flutter of his eyelashes. The strands of hair that have fallen over his face, and you retract your hand from his back to push them away.

How did you ever get this lucky?

“So much.” You emphasize and your voice thickens with the weight of your words, spoken from the very depths of your soul. “More than you could ever know.” Because there aren't enough words in the dictionary to get this notion across, so instead you lift your head, planting a firm kiss to Jeongguk’s lips as if sealing a vow, a promise of forever.

Jeongguk receives your kiss like he does with everything else related to you; openly, hungrily. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip—once—twice—and you instantly become pliant under his weight. Your fingers find his hair, tangling into the dark tresses as you deepen the kiss. It’s hot and it’s heavy, and in the distant part of your mind, you register that Jeongguk tastes like peaches, most likely from the alcohol he’s been drinking.

The sweetness of his lips immediately goes to your head; drunk and euphoric, and all grace flies out the window the next second. “Touch me,” You murmur breathlessly against his mouth, fingertips skimming over the nape of his neck. “Please, I need you.”

Jeongguk groans, a husky sound resonating from deep within his throat. “Fuck,” You can feel how rock hard he’s gotten, his erection pressing into your inner thigh and it's making you delirious with need. “I’ll give you anything you want.” Jeongguk rumbles, his mouth forming a wet, messy trek away from yours to embrace the flesh of your breasts.

You want to tell him that it's him, only him you want. Puppeteering your every move, body relinquishing itself to his touch. But you don't. You can't, not when Jeongguk's teeth leave scarlet marks across your chest that render you mute, words evaporating on your tongue like sacramental bread.

“My pretty baby,” He coos tenderly and you fight the urge to rut up against him. “Always so fucking ready for me.“ He praises, kisses traveling southward and it burns, searing, everywhere that Jeongguk touches you. You think you might erupt or shatter, and nothing less, if he doesn't meet you where you really need him to, your cunt begging to be satiated with his fingers, or his tongue, or his dick—anything.

A whimper escapes your lips, an embarrassing, desperate sound hanging in the thick air, as you glance down past your heaving breasts. You watch as Jeongguk abandons your boobs, planting a trail of kisses across the expanse of your stomach, your hip bones—takes the tiny little ribbon on your underwear between his teeth and tugs. The deliberate gesture causes your panty to rise up a bit, ever so slightly brushing against your clit in the process, and you bite down on your bottom lip, holding back an ungodly moan.

You can't take it anymore, all this teasing.

Jeongguk can read it on your face; sees it in the way you swiftly tilt your head back, eyes closed, brows scrunched together. He knows you like the back of his hand, which is how he gauges that you've fallen back into a place of submission—done with the tortuous foreplay, done with calling the shots, done with delaying the inevitable. You want him to fuck you, to use your body the same way you had used his mere minutes ago. And if his dick could get any harder at the thought, it would.

Jeongguk licks his lips, slips a finger into the curve of your waistband as he murmurs, “I’m gonna take this off now, okay?”

You nod your head, not daring to open your eyes to confront the image of Jeongguk's face a mere hair's breadth away from your cunt. It's too erotic. Too much. You feel him drag the thin garment down your legs, a string of arousal following suit, and suddenly feel self-conscious, attempting to close your legs to hide how shamefully wet you are.

But Jeongguk's not having any of that.

He carelessly chucks the lacy material to the side like it’s nothing but a rag, a nuisance, and then grips your inner thigh. “Don't you dare,” He grunts, using his grasp to keep your legs apart, lifting them upwards until your knees are bent to your chest and your ankles are resting over his shoulders, giving him the perfect view of your dripping cunt.

You barely have time to register the ticklish feeling of Jeongguk's breath fanning against your core before he dives straight in, licking a long stripe across your pussy, and your hips instinctively buck up. “Shit,” You mewl, rejoicing in the way his tongue traverses from your slit to your clit, lapping up every drop of arousal.

Jeongguk groans, a sound so low, stemming from the heart of his diaphragm, when he samples that first morsel of your leaking nectar. You taste like heaven, so sweet and unbearably wet, and all just for him.

“So fucking good,” He grumbles, mouth drinking you in. His tongue is unrelenting in its efforts to devour your pussy, and the overwhelming sensation of him slurping and sucking—of him eating you out like a connoisseur tasting the rarest of delicacies—causes frenzied pools of pleasure to ripple within the base of your belly.

He keeps at it, nose brushing against your clit as a byproduct, and after a few minutes the pure, unwavering rapture of Jeongguk's tongue becomes excruciating. A feeling so good, it’s almost too much. “Jeongguk,” You wail, heels digging into the couch as you try to back away from his mouth, but your boyfriend merely hooks his arms around your legs and pulls you closer. Holding you in place; unable to run or escape from the ruthless onslaught of his tongue, from the metal bite of his piercing brushing against your lower lips. “I can't,” You cry, writhing beneath his touch.

With his grip keeping you firmly anchored, Jeongguk brings one hand down to toy with your swollen clit, fingers moving in languid, clockwise motions. “You can,” He grunts thickly, tongue slipping between your folds and prodding deliciously at your hole. “I know you can, baby.” He mumbles in between fucking your drenched pussy with his fleshy muscle.

You shake your head frantically, eyes screwed shut, as you feel the waves of your second orgasm surfacing. “Not like this,” You beg, using your hands to reach down, fingers twisting into his fluffy hair as you desperately try to push him away. “Please, I want you in me.” A sob runs free, your walls pulsating around nothing because Jeongguk is taking his time with you, teasing your opening like he's got all night. But you don't. You're close, so fucking close, you can feel it in the tightening muscles of your pelvis, in the quivering of your legs.

But Jeongguk isn't giving you enough. He isn't giving you what you need. Your boyfriend, in all his hot glory, is taking you there with his tongue, swirling insufferably along your orifice—bringing you right up to the edge of the plank with an ocean of pleasure waiting just below your feet, but then he pulls you back. Drags you from the precipice before you can allow yourself to fall in, and it causes a frustrated whine to escape your lips. You need his cock deep inside, filling you up, pushing you off the ledge and into troubled waters. Your pussy throbs at the very thought. “Please Kook,” You find yourself beseeching for the second time. “I wanna cum with you in me.”

And any thread of composure Jeongguk has been holding on to up until that point, snaps at the pure neediness burrowed within your tone.

He looks up at you; lips glistening, eyes dilated—a mess of a man. But you don't look any better—or, if you were getting a glimpse of yourself through Jeongguk's point of view, never better—skin flushed, gleaming with a fine film of sweat, lips swollen from the way you've been biting them, and all at once, Jeongguk is overcome with the desire to give you everything you've ever wanted.

“Fuck, okay,” He curses, rising to his knees and you force your eyes open at the rough edge tainting his voice, at the overwhelming relief of getting what you wished for. “But it’s going to be a bit of a stretch, baby.” He says, not having prepped you fully. It's been a while since the two of you have had sex and, if he had it his way, he would have given you his fingers first, would have warmed and widened your lubricated walls, to ease the initial discomfort of him entering you.

But you look so pretty beneath him, so impatient, and—“I can handle it,” You mollify, voice a sweet concoction of sultry persuasion.

He nods in response, a curt motion, because if he thinks about how eager you're being, about how you're willing to take a little bit of the pain for the insurmountable pleasure, he might just come right there. Might just think of all the other ways you like to hurt; of the way you'd react if his palm made rough contact with your ass cheeks, or what would happen if he handcuffed you to his bedpost and stuffed you full with a vibrator and butt plug—if he fucked you tonight with no end in sight. He wonders if you'd cry, if you'd beg him for more or want him to stop, sopping and spent. More than that, he wants so badly to find out.

Jeongguk’s dark eyes find yours, their typical doe-eyed demeanour having turned hooded a long time ago. Yours are twinkling with anticipation, watching intently as he pulls his sweatpants down, letting them hang low beneath his buttocks. His cock immediately springs free, slapping against his stomach, and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip at the sight.

“Come here,” Jeongguk's voice carries a jagged intonation, raw and untamed, and breaks through you like crashing waves. But when he makes a grab for your body, his hands are nothing but gentle, hoisting you up onto your knees and positioning you on all fours.

With your ass bared before him, face pressed into the cold faux leather of the couch, Jeongguk smooths a hand down your back, watches with satisfaction as your spine yields before his touch, and then he takes a hold of his dick. Doesn't even bother giving it a few preliminary pumps because he's already painfully hard, precum leaking from the tip as he lines himself with your hole.

He doesn't put it in though.

First, he teases your little cunt with only the head of his length, not fully embedding himself within your warmth just yet. You whimper pathetically at the testing prod, fingers balling into frustrated fists, while Jeongguk watches in awe as your entrance narrows, pleading to be stuffed.

“God, look at you.” Jeongguk groans, eyes traveling from your glistening pussy to the state of your overall servile form.

He places one hand on your hip, fingers digging into the skin there, as he inches just the slightest bit forward, his dick slowly pushing into you. Your mouth parts at the sensation and you shakily prop yourself up onto your elbows, head falling forward with a moan. “So fucking needy, huh.” He goads when you attempt to meet him in the middle, subtly backing up against his pelvis.

“No,” You shake your head as if it's some sort of lie, as if you haven't been thinking about this moment since you stepped over the doorsill of Jeongguk’s apartment earlier. And your boyfriend laughs—he actually laughs—a maniacal, derisive sound that rings in your ears.

“There's no need to deny it, baby.” He drawls like smooth liquor hitting the back of your throat, a silky succour that, for some reason, has you dumbly nodding along. Because Jeongguk’s entering you more now, his dick fighting against the tight restraint of your heat, and you're too distracted by the feeling of it to fully comprehend what he's saying.

“I mean,” He continues, reaching down between your legs to gather the wetness clinging to your folds before he bends over your back, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You’d think you've never been fucked a day in your life.” He murmurs, bringing his slick fingers to your level of sight.

You flush instantly, burning at the way your arousal dwells on Jeongguk's digits and forms a translucent web when he parts them into a V shape. “I can't help it,” You breathe shamefully, about to protest that it's his fault for letting you go so long without attention, for not taking care of your sexual needs and making you this susceptible to moments of depravity, when Jeongguk fully entrenches himself into your heat without so much as a warning.

“Aah,” Your jaw slackens at the sudden stretch of his length against your walls, the sensation so unfairly delicious you find yourself clenching around the intrusion with gasp, and your boyfriend uses the opportunity to stuff his letch-laiden fingers into your mouth.

“Clean them.” He grunts, lazily rocking forward and you choke back a moan, mouth instantly closing around his fingers. Head full of clouds, pussy filled to the brim, you obey. Your tongue licks up the juices stuck to his slim digits, gliding sensually across each one with care, and you vaguely hear Jeongguk curse below his breath, hips grinding into your core. “Fuck, just like that, angel.” He praises, allowing you to suck them clean for a few more seconds before he pulls them from your lips altogether with a lewd pop.

“Such a good girl,” He murmurs lovingly, pressing a singular kiss to your shoulder blade before he straightens to his full height behind you. “Always so perfect for me.”

Jeongguk's hands find your ass again and he gives the supple flesh a few gentle squeezes, savouring the way you whine in response.

“Please,” Your words come out embarrassingly broken and wretched, heart hammering in your chest with want, as you peek at Jeongguk over your shoulder. “Please, no more teasing. Just fuck me.”

“What do you think I'm doing?” Jeongguk asks, eyebrow raised, voice harbouring a hue of cockiness. He withdraws his thick length from your warm embrace at an agonizingly slow rate before thrusting right back in, repeating the motion steadily. “I'm fucking you right now, aren't I?”

You want to cry, your need to come so severe, it's starting to physically hurt.

Your fingers leave deep indents in the couch as you tackle the burning coals of frustration setting every inch of your body on fire. “M-More,” You stammer, feeling a pearl of arousal trickle down your thigh. You're so turned on right now, your mind an empty haze as Jeongguk edges you into oblivion, cunt so wet, you can barely feel the brush of his shaft against your walls anymore. “I need more.”

Jeongguk grins, feels the crown of his cock brush against a particular soft spot, and then decides to give you what you want. Because he loves it when you beg, when you become a blubbering mess beneath him, so cock-hungry, you forget yourself.

Without a moment's pause, Jeongguk pounds into you with unbridled vigour. His hips slap against your ass, the sound echoing throughout the room, and your body jerks forward at the impact. Your core is so drenched he's able to enter you with little resistance now. Emitting a rough, throaty groan, he fixates on how your creamy arousal coats his cock, disappearing in and out of your cunt.

“F-Fuck,” You hiss, your hand reaching back to firmly grip Jeongguk’s wrist for support, but he takes advantage of your extended arm and yanks you up until your back is pressed to his chest.

The new position gives him better access to your front and Jeongguk ghosts a hand around your waist without a second thought, smooths it down your stomach until he reaches your clit. Your body jolts the instant his fingers make contact with the swollen bud, legs quivering with the strength it's taking you to stay upright.

Your boyfriend notices your struggle and hooks his other arm around your waist, his fingertips holding you so tightly you won't be surprised if some bruises appear there tomorrow.

“Fuck, I've missed this.” He rasps, more to himself than you, whilst drilling against your g-spot. But the words affect you just the same as your pussy tightens in response, squeezing him into a death grip, and Jeongguk's hips stutter. “Jesus,” He groans, making a mental effort to stave off his own orgasm, trying to focus solely on you.

You really are going to be the death of him.

He breathes heavily through his nostrils before starting up again, slowly driving into you and his cock burrows so deep, you swear you can feel it in your uterus.

His fingers skim over your clit, tracing the nub ever so slightly because you're starting to flinch from his touch, starting to grow sensitive. And when your head falls back against his shoulder, a choked whine forcing its way out your throat, Jeongguk knows that you're close.

“You gonna come for me?” Jeongguk's lips brush against your temple, his hand deserting your pussy in sympathy to knead your breasts instead. You feel his thumb run over your nipple, static lightning steamrolling across your skin with each sweep.

“I-ah!” You can barely form a coherent sentence, the inklings of even one lucid thought slipping from your empty, fucked out mind as Jeongguk slams into you. He's setting a brutal pace, the noise of skin-against-skin undeniably obscene, but you can hardly find the will to care when the muscles in your abdomen begin to tense. They twist up like a clockwork toy, winding and winding, until Jeongguk hits a particular spot that makes your toes curl, and then you're coming undone for the second time tonight, knees buckling with the sheer force of your orgasm.

It hits you like a freight train, your body spasming. White dots of euphoria blur your vision, the pleasure so blinding, and Jeongguk's hold around your midsection is the only reason you don't collapse right there onto the couch.

“That's it, baby.” He reveres, hips never ceasing their movements even as your walls contract sporadically, determined to fuck you through it. An uncannily pornstar moan spills from your lips, mind and body having finally plunged into the silvery, stormy torrents of your climax, and the strangled sound causes something impossibly primal to rupture within Jeongguk. It thrashes at his chest like a wild caged animal, demanding release, and he recognizes the feeling all too well.

“You're mine, right? ” He finds himself grunting, voice husky with strain. The hand that was attending to your boobs instinctively ascends to your throat, squeezing slightly as he chases his own high, gives in to that grueling streak of possessiveness that only every rears its head when he has you like this—naked and vulnerable—and you groan at the familiar pressure.

You hum, walls clenching around him. “Only yours.” Your own hand reaches up, cuffing around his wrist for support as a tremor runs down your spine.

Jeongguk feels his balls tighten, the knowledge that he’s the sole witness to this side of you, so subservient and docile, sets him off the deep end.

Then you angle your head to the side, joining your lips with his. It's a messy, sloppy kiss, but the intimacy of it all causes Jeongguk's last bit of composure to crack.

He spills into you with a groan, the sound muffled by your mouth, as he rocks forward until every last drop of his seed is snug within your warmth.

The feeling of his cum bursting inside of you, length twitching, causes your pussy to flutter by reflex, milking Jeongguk of every ounce of cum, only suspending their contractions once he's thoroughly depleted.

By the end, you're both a heaving mess; chests rising and falling in unison as you come down, the electric current pulsing through your bodies fading into a comfortable hum.

Your skin is still buzzing, head befuddled, when Jeongguk presses a few lazy kisses across your shoulder—as if to ground you, to bring you back from the constellations he's painted behind your eyes.

“You were so good, baby.” He commends, smoothing the hair at the side of your profile and you can't help the soft, but dopey smile that breaks out onto your face then.

“I've been dreaming about that for forever.” You murmur, submitting to the assault of his lips. Your boyfriend chuckles in return, nuzzling your neck as he commits the smell of your skin, an alluring scent of sex and lavender, to his memory.

“Me too,” He hums, thumb gliding gently across the contour of your waist. Your sensitive pussy throbs at the light touch, rousing from the stimulation; which only reminds you of the unpleasant remnants of arousal coating your inner thighs.

As if reading your mind, Jeongguk whispers against your skin. “Let's get you cleaned up, okay?”

He eyes your figure carefully, waiting for any hint of consent before he leaves you here alone.

You manage to muster a nod and then feel his dick slip from your entrance a second later, withdrawing in a way that makes you cringe and leaves you feeling oddly empty.

“I’ll be right back.” He assures, his lips quickly, but comfortingly, brushing against your hairline. Thereafter, from your peripheral, you see Jeongguk detach himself from your side, pulling his pants back up as he disappears into the bathroom to do what he does best—take care of you.

In the meantime, you resist the temptation to slump back onto the sofa, feeling a hefty load of cum leaking down your thighs. Every muscle in your body feels relaxed, those sparks from earlier sizzling down into sleepy, smoky remnants that weigh you down. Mind a dazed mess, not sure of how much time has passed, you almost give in—the slumber you so desperately sought out at the beginning of the night finally settling into your bones—when Jeongguk walks back into the living room. He's changed into a pair of briefs and is carrying a wet cloth, as well as, a small tube of ointment.

Your body instantly perks up, a little rejuvenated by his presence.

“Hey,” Jeongguk murmurs once he's back in your close vicinity, fingers brushing against your cheeks as he peers down at you with a soft smile.

“Hey,” You tiredly grin back, pointing a finger at the items in his hand. “Those for me?”

Jeongguk hums, draping an arm around your waist to steady you. If you had the energy to freshen yourself up, you honestly would but currently, you can barely keep your eyes open. So instead you lean on your boyfriend—figuratively and literally—clutching onto his biceps as he brings the warm cloth to your nether regions. You hiss a little at the contact, still feeling delicate down there, but Jeongguk handles you with a gentle mindfulness that makes your heart swell. Makes you think back to a little over an hour ago, when you were alone in bed unable to fall asleep because he wasn't there.

And sometimes it worries you. How much you need him. How much something as simple and basic as sleep, needs the warmth of his touch to make its mark on you. How much you’ve grown to love him in the span of a few months, your life endlessly orbiting around him like the earth to the sun. How much the deepest crevices of your soul, where the vile fear of abandonment and instinctual desire to run, relinquish themselves to the light of Jeongguk’s unconditional love.

You watch him toss the used washcloth to the side before unscrewing the top of the ointment. Sigh; as his fingers, tender with purpose, apply dabs of vitamin K salve to your hips where the marks from his fingertips are starting to surface. “Shit, I'm so sorry baby.” He apologizes, the raspy, hushed tone of his voice communicating how guilt-ridden he feels. “I didn't mean to be this rough.”

And, you've never known a love like this. One that rustles through your hair like the wind on the drive down to your parents. One that meets you in the dead of winter between classes, wrapped up in coats and scarves, and coffee as the snow falls. One that kisses you goodnight, hands cupping your cheeks while the street lamps flicker outside.

One that dresses all your bruises.

It makes you want to run in the opposite direction every now and then, fleeing until you forget that you ever knew it could be this good, this safe.

But, staring at Jeongguk and the careful, intricate way he's massaging ointment onto all your black-and-blues, you bury these trepidations away, laying them to rest in the one place they belong—the past.

Because yes, you’ve never had this sort of love before—the seriousness, the commitment.

The emptied-out drawers for your clothes.

The spare toothbrush at his place.

The conversations of a future together—the clear line being crossed from fling to forever.

Even though it's a concept so scary and unfamiliar, and foreign to you—you never want to let it go.

You never want to let him go.

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stayinlimbo · 2 months

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hotel check-ins

pairing: idol!lee minho x f!reader genre: established relationship, fluff requested?: yes warnings: cuteness, slight suggestiveness towards the end, poor attempts at me trying to be funny, lowercase intended word count: 1.0k note: (did i add three different lee know pics because i don't know how to find three from the same shoot...maybe). thank you @starfire21 for the request. i hope i did it justice. now playing - billie bossa nova ♡

as the girlfriend of a kpop idol, you’ve become somewhat of a pro at navigating security.

badge check? easy. safety briefing? lightwork (no reaction). being inconspicuous? you got a couple side-eyes from the hotel receptionists at the sunglasses and mask obscuring your face, but it’s nothing you haven’t handled before.

the only trouble you had was using the codename minho texted you after the concert to obtain his suite number from the front desk. in fact, it’s the first thing you gripe about after your boyfriend whisks you inside the room the two of you will reside in for the night.

“really? ‘lee jisung?’ who chose that?”

“i did.”

“shocker.”

“i know. i wanted ‘lee know is cute’ but they said no,” minho replies casually, a smile illuminating his face.

the sigh you let out is mostly for show at this point, in contrast to the no longer suppressed grin you display in return. you can’t even pretend to be annoyed at the man who tugged you through the doorway after a singular knock.

minho’s hand still gently holds your wrist, and he uses this to his advantage to pull you closer to him. a synchronized “oof” leaves both of your lips as you collide into his chest, taken aback by his unexpected strength. light laughter fills the otherwise silent room as you settle into a familiar embrace.

his arms traverse to your waist, guiding your body to nestle further against his. wrapping your arms around his neck, you rest your cheek on his collarbone, tilting your head slightly to press a tender kiss to the underside of his jaw.

the scent of minho’s shampoo fills your senses as your hand roams through his semi-dry hair. from this angle, you can tell that his stage makeup has been carefully wiped off for the night, revealing the small, beautiful imperfections you love oh so much.

“i missed you,” you mumble, breaking the comfortable silence.

“i missed you too” minho breathes, squeezing your frame tighter, “the door was unlocked, you know? you could’ve just walked in.”

“aw, poor baby,” you coo teasingly, pulling back slightly to face him, “it must’ve been torture to be without me for so long.”

“you say that as if it wasn’t the same for you,” he retorts lightly, moving his hands to rest on your hips. you can’t help the laughter that escapes you as he gently shakes you in place in retaliation. as if you would ever feel otherwise.

you reach up to pinch his cheek, smile growing even wider at his feigned disgruntled expression fighting (and losing) against the tugging at the corners of his lips.

“stay would be so jealous right now if they knew about this,” you say once you’ve calmed down enough.

“about what?”

“this side of you.”

the small, genuine smile adorning his face at your words. the light dusting of blush across his cheeks that reaches the tips of his ears. the post-concert afterglow still lingering on his expression, eyes flickering over your features ever so slightly more than normal. the way he tries to act nonchalant as he brings his face closer to yours.

the side only you get to see.

“mm, too bad for them then,” minho whispers. his breath intertwines with yours at his proximity, stopping a breadth away from your mouth. just a little closer. “i’m yours.”

“yeah, you’re mine,” you murmur, moving forward to close the distance between your lips.

small chimes emitting from his pajama short’s pocket compel you to plant a tiny peck on the corner of his mouth instead, slowly pulling away as he attempts to chase your lips.

“aren't you going to check that, min?” you ask, chuckling at his soft protests from the denied affection.

a cute pout forms on his face, accompanied by furrowed brows, as one of his hands releases your hip to dig his phone out of his pocket. your thumb brushes over his cheekbone as he stares at the phone before turning it off and tossing the small device over his shoulder. quiet thuds echo around the room as it lands and bounces on the hotel bed.

wait. what?

“min–”

your words are interrupted by minho’s soft, moisturized lips enveloping your own. your eyes flutter shut as he allows you to take the lead, slowly brushing your lips against his, savoring the taste of fresh mint on his tongue. minho deepens the kiss, grabbing your palm cradling his cheek and holding it flat against his chest, right above his heart—where you always reside.

minho’s pupils are blown out when you pull away for air, which you have no doubt mirrors your own. heavy breaths mingle together as you both try to regain composure. his heart beats widely beneath your touch and you’re unable to resist the heat spreading across your cheeks at the effect you have on him.

“could that have been important?” you question, glancing over at the phone resting behind him.

“maybe,” minho shugs. his eyes trail back down to your lips, drawing you in again for a heated kiss. “not more important than you though.”

his heart still pulses erratically under the press of your hand. you meet his half-lidded gaze with a smile, letting your eyes wander across his slightly swollen lips and flushed cheeks. you push the bangs that fell into his face out of his eyes, giving a teasing kiss to the tip of his nose.

well played.

“i take it you still have energy leftover?” you smirk, already knowing the answer. “need any help with that?”

minho’s eyes widen, his grasp on your hips tightening as a shiver runs down his spine. you didn’t think his heart could beat any faster.

“the walls aren’t soundproof. chan will break down the door.”

“maybe you should go lock it then.”

minho’s never moved faster in his life.

✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺

bonus: (“should i call you lee jisung now?”

“please don’t.”)

bonus 2: (“how’d you know the rooms aren’t sound proof?”

“felix brought his gaming pc.”

“oh.”)

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

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

taglist: @linospuddin @linocz

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imaginidol · 9 months

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Wooyoung: The Boxing Match

!!mentions of nsfw!! 18+ !! do NOT interact if you’re not comfortable with smut!! thank you for the fun request!! pls feel free to send more, as this was really creative and interesting to figure out!! if you’re interested, i have a hongjoong ver. smut, san ver. smut, mingi ver. smut, yunho ver. smut, jongho ver. smut and i will have more up soon and updated here as i finish the requests!!

“Fuck,” Wooyoung irritatingly threw his training towel over his forehead as he took a swig of his water bottle, avoiding the large screen in front of him as it repeatedly flashed the final results of tonight’s boxing match.

Kim Yugyeom v. Jung Wooyoung

12 Rounds @ Olympic Gymnast Arena

Scorecard: 112-110 | 110-110 | 120-107

Wooyoung crushed his water bottle and tossed it into a trash can, making his way to the backstage locker room as his team trailed behind him, patting him down with more towels and offering him more water.

It goes without saying that the boy was beyond pissed at his performance tonight. He sat alone at a bench and asked for space with a few minutes to cool down, to which his team deliberately agreed.

“Wooyoung,” Yugyeom walks up to the boy and pats his opponent’s back, “you did well tonight. You’re getting so much better, don’t beat yourself over the results.”

I won’t beat myself up over it ‘cause you already did me that favor, Wooyoung curses quietly to himself, nodding at his winning opponent.

“Thanks. You did well,” he says, wanting to add more, though he knew nothing appropriate would come out of his mouth if he kept talking. He was too angry, felt too dispirited, and most definitely wanted to wipe the nasty smirk off Yugyeom’s face.

As soon as Yugyeom walked out of the locker room, Wooyoung lunged himself forward and punched a wall pad in resentment.

“FUCK,” he shouted, ripping his handwraps off with immense aggravation and wanting nothing more than to go home and take a long, quiet shower.

—

Scorching drops of hot water splashed against Wooyoung’s bare back as he attempted to relax under the steaming shower. His efforts were to no avail, as every time he closed his eyes he was met with the burning image of Yugyeom’s villainous simper in the boxing ring.

Of course, Yugyeom had been training far longer than Wooyoung, and even though Wooyoung’s growth and training with 1-on-1 opponents had made him a promising candidate against Yugyeom in a match, his stamina wasn’t nearly enduring at the level he’d hoped for during the last few rounds of their fight. It seemed as though Yugyeom’s stamina had strengthened towards the end, a skill or tactic that Wooyoung couldn’t yet wrap his head around.

Fuck this, Wooyoung turns his body towards the shower head, wanting to clear his mind off tonight’s events instead.

He outstretches one hand to lean against the white tile wall in front of him, hunching over to wrap the other around his meat.

—

You turn the key to Wooyoung’s apartment, hoping he’d be home by now. The last thing you wanted to do was remind him of tonight’s result, as you knew how much the sport meant to him. So, you intended to approach him cautiously so as to not trigger his disappointment.

“Wooyoung?” You walk through the apartment, but most of the lights are out.

Maybe he’s asleep, you think, placing a pint of his favorite ice cream inside the freezer. You start making your way to his room, but the lights in there are also out.

The only light effusing faintly through the room was coming from the restroom, and you could hear the sounds of the running shower echoing from behind the slightly-opened door.

Oh, he’s home, then, you think, almost smiling before realizing that there were more sounds coming from inside the restroom than just the running shower head.

Soft moans and grunts emitted from deep within Wooyoung’s throat, and you placed an ear closer to the door to make sure there wasn’t anyone else in there with him.

What am I doing? He wouldn’t cheat on me—

OOF!!

Wooyoung lets out a startled shriek as you stumble into the restroom floor, falling flat on your face after having tripped over some folded jeans and a belt in the dark.

“I’M SO SORRY,” you scramble back to your feet, lunging for the door and slamming it shut behind you.

“Babe? When’d you get here?” Wooyoung yells from inside as he turns off the shower head, wrapping a loose towel around his waist.

“I only just got here,” you say, hugging your knees as you crouched on the floor against the restroom door.

Behind you, Wooyoung opens the door and a hot cloud of steam emerges from behind him.

“What are you doing here so late!?” he smiles for the first time all night, pulling you up and hugging you from behind. “Shouldn’t you be home and asleep right now?”

Damp drops of his wet hair soak your cheek and shirt collar as he buries his head into your shoulder, planting soft and wet kisses against your neck.

“I couldn’t not see you tonight,” you say quietly.

“Right,” Wooyoung pauses, lifting his head back in a scoff as the unpleasant reminder of tonight’s match crosses his mind. “That fucker’s good, I can’t deny it.”

You felt Wooyoung shiver slightly as the steamed warmth of the restroom had begun to slowly fade away.

"Uhm, why don't you go ahead and finish your shower? Get your mind off things."

"Okay," he huffs, "but you're coming with me."

—

Wooyoung, ever so gently, cranks up the heated water temperature and throws a water-safe lubing tube aside before turning his body around to face you. His wet hair falls over his forehead, his eyes darkening in desperation at the sight of your naked body leaning against the wall.

He wraps his hands slowly around your waist, leaning his face in closer as he begins caressing his lips gently against yours. He trails his teeth slowly to your bottom lip, nibbling ever so slightly as the water progressively got warmer and warmer behind him.

You wrap your arms around his neck and lean your head back as he trails kisses all over you. Soft gasps begin escaping your lips as you feel him lean his body weight against you, pinning your back further against the wall as his hardened cock poked itself between your thighs. You clutched onto the horizontal shower handle as Wooyoung carefully lifted you over it, groping your ass with both hands as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

For a few moments, you both remained comfortably in this position whilst making out longer, letting the hot water pour against your bodies as more and more steam fogged the air around you. You'd closed your eyes and let yourself be immersed by the feeling of his hot lips fighting to dominate yours, his tongue tracing and circling inside and around your mouth. He traced one hand against the outline of your ass to your waist, massaging his fingers gently around your nipple. You gasped at the sudden feel of his soft fingertips against your breasts, and your continuous soft moans only further hardened his already-erect cock.

He smiled into your mouth as he began gliding his hand back down to your abdomen, nudging gently against your clit as your moans progressively became more and more desperate for him.

"I might've not been able to win my boxing match," he whispers, "but I'll sure as hell make sure I dominate the fuck out of this one."

He pulls his fingers away from your clit and begins aligning his dick carefully with your entrance. You let out soft moans as the boy begins thrusting himself into you, experimenting with different speeds as your despairing cries begged for more. You clawed your fingernails deep into his back as the boy recklessly fucked you over and over, your insides heating up as the sounds of his desperate moans greeted your ears. The size of his cock was enough to make you want to scream at him to stop, but he just felt too fucking good pounding away like this when he was angry that you wouldn't dare yourself to give in.

"Fuck," he groans, lifting one of your legs up and over his shoulder as you safely clutched most of your weight against the shower handles. The boy tried desperately to hold in his grunts and groans, but with each deepening thrust, he kept flashing the stupid grin of Yugyeom's face in his mind, irking his anger more and more as he took it out on you. This resulted in a heated, rough fucking-session, and each impending whimper and scream from your mouth only made him want to push further.

In a sudden instant, he pulled out, making you whimper in slight frustration thinking he'd finished. But fuck no, he wasn't anywhere near done.

You switch positions, and now your body is turned at one end of the shower facing away from him, his hands wrapped around your stomach and your lower back as he breathes heavily into your ear.

"Bend for me," is all he says as you obediently hunch yourself forward, placing both your arms against the tub's edges as you feel his body weight leaning into your ass.

Once he's realigned to your entrance again, he assumes his reckless fucking as he starts hitting it from the back. With both hands groped tightly against your hips, the boy holds nothing back as he fucks into you at full throttle.

He's really fucking pissed. Also, you feel really fucking good as your velvety walls lurch around his throbbing cock.

"Fuck, babe," you whimper, holding back from letting your knees give in completely the moment he finds your G-spot. "Stay right there, fuck me right there."

The tempered boy starts panting harder with each deepening thrust, closing his eyes as his dampened bangs rocked back and forth against his forehead. He could feel the heated rush of pumping blood overwhelming every cell of his throbbing member. He leaned one arm forward against the wall, the other still wrapped tightly against your ass.

You let out a final, pleasurable cry as your boyfriend triggers a hot, gratifying orgasm, your knees buckling in place as you bent and rested your face over your folded arms against the tub's edge. His groans were not far from yours as he concentrated on reaching his climax next. Finally, his knees weaken at the feel of his cum shooting through and out of your walls, a final victory that he could satisfyingly consider bringing home for the night.

"Fuck," he says, pulling you up as you rested your head against his shoulder, hot water splashing delightfully against your bodies.

"You're good at fucking people up," you smile as he bends over to leave hot, gentle kisses over your gaped mouth.

"Nah," he smiles, "I'm just good at fucking you."

—

One gentler shower later, you both cuddled under Wooyoung's covers feeling fresher and more satisfied after the night's better outcomes.

"Wooyoung?" you look up under your hair towel as he leaves gentle kisses against your forehead. "Would you ever have a re-match with Yugyeom?"

"Hmm," he smiles, toying with a finger gently against your stomach, "I don't know yet."

"I think you should," you declare.

"I don't always have to win. I have to learn to accept defeat, too," he smiles.

"Oh," you say, intertwining your fingers around his. "I hope you lose a lot more, then."

"Why would you say that?" he furrows his brows in annoyance.

"Because I like the way you fuck me when you're mad," you smirk.

"Believe me," he giggles, sinking his face into your neck, "I'll try not to lose too many matches to keep you safe, then."

You both soon fell asleep, Wooyoung satisfied with the thought that at the very least, there was one thing that even a great boxer like Yugyeom couldn't ever take away from him.

You.

660 notes · View notes

lightlycareless · 6 days

Note

omgggg, that Toji x reader (*plus* Naoya) was incredibleee, ignore me if you want, I know you made Toji chosing to keep distance from reader and Megumi permanently BUT what if one day he ends up finally seeing Megumi, either personally or by pictures/videos 🥺 We know Megumi it's the spitted image of him, I mean, Gojo's face when he saw him for the first time said it all 😅 And also knowing his baby has the Ten Shadows technique (I cant stop thinking about how proud he was in the canon manga/anime 🥺 he always KNEW from the start Megumi was blessed/gifted, since his first breath, the fact Toji named him is not random) making the entire Zenin clan eat their shit

Heya anon!!

I'm so glad you liked it heheheheheheh a oneshot that I didn't intend to write but it just happened!! aren't we glad it did? lol

I didn't mean to ignore you, I was only focusing on other things first 😅 oof, I still have lots of request to go through, which I plan to do it slowly but surely...

Anyways, I might've not gone down that route, however... why not something angsty? I mean 😏I've had this in my mind so... yeah 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

Warnings: mentions of infidelity. Pregnancy. Naoya is, unfortunately, a prick. this is the oneshot anon is talking about. 100% read that first hehe. this is an AU from that, so the second part doesn't count??? I guess. excuse the proofreading. also I haven't written toji that much so please excuse my oocness as well ahahahahha :')

Happy reading!

As much as the three hoped to ignore the bases of your pregnancy, behave as it didn’t rise from an adulterous act, a direct transgression to the principles of the Zen’in, and keep it a secret, it wouldn’t take long before the guilt in each other’s mind began to weight heavy on their mind, ultimately betraying them and revealing the truth to the light, excusing the angered elders to finally get rid of two birds with one stone.

“Where—Where does this accusation even come from?!” You gasp, blood turning cold at the implication—at the notion of the truth. “Do you know the gravity of such words?!”

“Better than you of the act, it seems.” Another accuses. “We were quite aware of the rumors surrounding your ill-fitting behavior, but we never believed it would actually extend to this point!”

“I—I won’t tolerate neither of you disrespecting me!” you cry. “Nor will Naoya for that matter!”

But calling for his aid would no longer prove sufficient, for Naoya, too deep in his own insecurities by that point, had come to the disheartening conclusion that this situation had gotten way out of hand for a simple diversion.

A supposed act of mercy.

He shouldn’t have let this happen in the first place, should’ve respected what you and your marriage represented, what meant to him, and discard his pity for Toji—the man has been alone most of his life, what difference would that make that now?

But he didn’t, he allowed you to go to Toji—no, he handed you over to him, thinking he was doing something right for his cousin, or perhaps something deep inside him was allured by the sick idea of you being with another man and now, he was suffering the consequences.

Consequences he did not like, not one bit—because it got too real for him: you were now pregnant, with Toji’s child, and not his.

And this only highlighted what he considered the pitfalls of this relationship, a strike against his ego and the supposed inability to beget children, a rumor that grew bigger and bigger by each passing day, spreading like wildfire to the point where even outsiders became aware of it.

Which, for a prideful man like Naoya, was only a nightmare.

He loved you, he really did—Naoya never envisioned spending the rest of his life with anyone else…

But he loved his pride more, and when his clan began to actively confront him about it, he couldn’t take it anymore.

And thus….

“…Naoya?”

“This marriage was broken before it even started.” Your husband would say, unexpected words that pierced straight to your heart. “My family advised me well in avoiding you, but I falsely believed I could achieve differently.”

“What—what are you even saying?” you breathe. “What do you mean by—by differently?”

And… where does everything you lived with him stand?

The time you spent with him, the sweet nothings he’d whisper into your ear, to love you both swore to one another, reminding each other that there was no one else that compares…

And that you were the only woman who has ever made him feel this way—loved— and would do everything in the world to make happy…

Was it… all … a lie?

All for… nothing?

Or were you the only one that actually believed the other’s words?

“I cannot look past these transgressions.” Naoya continues. “You’ve left me no choice.”

“But you—you made me do this!” you gasp. “I never—I never wanted to be with anyone else! All this time, my heart only belonged to you! How could you—how could you abandon me after all we’ve gone through together?!”

Naoya doesn’t say anything else anymore, instead, he simply turns around, exiting the room to leave you in the hands of the vengeful elders who did not hesitate to do what they had long desired—banish you from the estate.

Swiftly yet cruelly, you wouldn’t be able to take anything with you, not even a change of clothes or even money (you didn’t even ask for much, just enough to survive the week) as you were forced to face a new life of your own—alone, pregnant.

Going back to your family was also out of the question; the shame that you’d bring upon their name was one the Zen’in didn’t not waste time to remind them of—at the end, there was only so much your father and siblings could do against the invasive ways of the elders, and perhaps, a part of them deep inside, were also disappointed that you’ve succumbed to such foul thing.

And so, you were tossed onto the street, with nothing more than the clothes you were wearing, whatever you had for savings throughout the years, managed to take it out before either clan could close your account—but most importantly, with a broken heart you believe will never heal, not after the grave wound your husband’s indifference inflicted on it.

The pain you couldn’t even mourn properly due to all the things you had to worry about now.

The first thing you did was search for a place to stay, though getting one was proving to be an almost impossible task.

Thankfully, you were allowed to keep one other thing, maybe it eluded their minds when all this was happening, but you’re not going to question why when it was going to help you pay for a roof.

Naoya’s ring, your wedding ring, was something many would consider expensive, the kind of flashiness expected from a prestigious family like the Zen’in.

You remember a time when any kind of ring would’ve been enough for you to marry him. You didn’t need anything extraordinary to commit your life and heart to him.

That’s nothing but a far cry from what you felt now.

It still hurt to pawn it, but it was the only way you could accommodate yourself and the unborn child inside you, in the only area you could afford with what you got, for even then many suspected that your ring… well, had dubious origins.

When was the last time you even had to worry about the costs of living? Food, clothes, water…?

Many years—it had to; ever since you got together with Naoya, he’s been the one that took care of you.

You just had to say the word and he’d disappear all of your worries—even from the simplest of wants, Naoya indulgingly obliged.

It was a happy life you eventually considered for your child—imagining how happy they’d grow to be without a single worry, solely focusing on what they’ll have to play that day, or how to escape their over doting parents.

A long-gone dream, tossed to the side as a nightmare quickly took its place.

…

Did Naoya ever mean the words I love you?

Or was he doing all this just to keep you there, complying, just in case someone better came along, just like his clan wished would happen?

There mere thought of his devotion being nothing but an act tightens your heart with sorrow once more, gifting you the tragic notion that perhaps, all this time, you never knew your husband…

Maybe ex-husband, by this point.

All that was left from those moments, the slightest semblance of that marriage was this baby, created from what you thought your unconditional devotion to him, turning out to be your very own downfall.

The only one that would know of these struggles would be your baby, the one to accompany you through the darkest point of your life, hopefully to a brigther dawn.

And yet… you’ve never felt so alone.

Time surprisingly, went quicker than you anticipated, though not as easy as you would’ve wanted.

Life in your new home was still very difficult to get used to, even when it’s been months since… that.

But with the job you managed to get (whatever place hired pregnant women—they’re supposed to be at home, some would say, you didn’t care.) and some extra jujutsu work you did on the side, you managed, enough to give you a, not exactly comfortable, but just enough lifestyle.

As long as you sacrificed all the things you once considered granted and turned them into luxuries: such as warm showers, take out, and the sweets you liked to indulge once in a while; your pregnancy has been horrible because of that, and that’s without considering the medical bills you’re struggling to pay as well.

But if that wasn’t enough, your noisy neighbors presented issues of their own as well.

You’re not going to deny that your presence there was like moths to a flame, starting from your somewhat suspicious acquisition—all cash—of the small house you were living in.

From there, your loneliness, alongside your pregnancy; single mothers were unheard of, or rather, highly criticized, thus, all eyes were on you, down to your smallest movement.

Yet, even then, as annoying as they were, you were ok as long as it meant you never get to see those that hurt you ever again.

However, what you want isn’t necessarily what’s going to happen, and that would be reminded of one fateful night with an unsuspecting knock, just after you were getting ready to go to bed.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone came to bother you, but it would be the first time someone did so at this hour, and with such insistence that far from worrying you, it made you angrily storm at the entrance, ready to demand who’d be so inconsiderate enough to visit you so late at night!

And you’d get your answer soon enough, in the most shocking, horrifying, if not sorrowful manner you could’ve possibly anticipated, prompting you to close the door as soon as you saw his face, or attempted to, his reflexes much faster than yours.

“Get—get away from me!” you shrieked, hands trembling as you did your best to hold the door shut against his overwhelming strength— but even your husband has admitted that in terms of power, he excels like no one else.

“Y/N—” he breathes, somewhat amused that you’d been able to hold him off as much as you could, though eventually he was able to break free from your grasp and enter your home, you step away from him soon after.

“What are you even doing here?!” you gasp. “No—that doesn’t matter! I don’t want to see you! I’m not going back!”

“I’m not here to take you back” He quickly responds, eyes falling down to your stomach, making his face soften at the subtle bump evident through your clothes—with this sight, he knows he can’t take you back.

“Then—then why are you here, Toji?”

Perhaps Toji needed to see through his own eyes, what the whispers went on about at the estate regarding your absence.

He wasn’t there when it happened, promised himself to be far away from you as soon as your pregnancy was announced to the estate.

Toji would’ve normally taken this opportunity to act on retribution against his family, rub it on their face that the future of the clan came from him, a low life.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do so when you cheerfully paraded around the halls, happy to finally be forming a family with your beloved husband, even though it wasn’t of his making.

For the first time in his life, he thought himself to be too cruel for having planned such atrocities against the only person that has never been rude with him, always welcoming him with a smile on your face, or at least whatever you permitted when not following Naoya around like a lost puppy.

And the baby… well, he won’t deny that he was glad that his child would have a vastly different life from his—with you as his mother, it couldn’t be any other way.

Or so he believed.

Even when promising to keep away, he still attempted to check in on you, especially now that you were pregnant, whenever he had to go to the estate that is. That day was no be no exception, begrudgingly coming back to see what else he could scam out of his family to ensure his living outside.

Toji’s slyly scanned the hallways for your figure, the briefest indication of such, either through your giggle, staff, or even his cousin’s annoying voice—there were moments where he imagined how delightful it must’ve been to have you by his side, instead of Naoya’s; to be receiver of your laughter instead of that man who clearly didn’t deserve you.

But even if it was with him, he still found comfort in the fact that you were around, there.

Not like now, gone from Naoya’s side.

In fact, you were nowhere to be seen! Not with your staff, not eating by the gardens, or even indulging in one of your husband’s idiocies.

Nothing.

And no one had seen you either.

Or more like didn’t want to say, that much became evident when he stomped his way towards a nearby staff member, demanding your whereabouts, only to be responded with a fret falsely feigning ignorance, or foolish diplomacy.

At the prospect of your disappearance, Toji felt his blood run cold, almost like the estate lost whatever little warmth it had, worsening each time he asked another servant, and he’d get the same answer.

The implications behind your absence were growing heavier in his mind, to the point it sunk his heart to his stomach…

And propelled him to the one person who would undoubtedly know where you were.

“Naoya—Where is Y/N?!” Toji commands the moment he sees the heir, the young man instinctively flinched at the sight of his angered cousin, almost as if he knew what was running through his mind and attempted to make a run for it, only to be stopped by the collar, dead on his tracks. “Do not run away, coward! Answer me!”

“She’s—she’s not here anymore.” Is what Naoya manages to squeak, but Toji doesn’t need to be reminded the obvious.

“Where. Is. She.” He hisses, the worst of his assumptions slowly becoming a reality. “What have you done to her?!”

“What—what needed to be done!” Naoya gasps. “I—I couldn’t allow it!”

Toji doesn’t remember much after Naoya told him that the clan decided she was better off on her own—only that the heir was on the floor, bloodied and whimpering while attempting to cover his face, either trying to control the throbbing of his skin, the blood from spilling anywhere else, or perhaps even shame.

No. It couldn’t be the last. To have done something like what he did required a shameless man to do so.

Nonetheless Toji didn’t bother to find out nor to be reprimanded, quick to assert what needed to be done and heading out the estate; he couldn’t even bother cursing those that had done nothing but the worst after the worst, each time a new low, for his mind solely pertained in finding you.

It took him a while to do so, as expected, but he knew it was only a matter of asking around for a woman that simply didn’t fit to do the job—and such, here he is now.

“I want—needed to see you.” Toji takes a step closer.

“Get—get away from me.”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“You were fine doing that before—what’s so different from now?” You spat.

“This is different, Y/N. You’re alone—and you need me.”

“I’m not alone—I don’t need you.” You gasp. “Get away from me or I’ll—I’ll call the police!.”

“If you don’t need me, then the baby does.”

It’s like he struck a nerve with his words, because soon after tears would begin to fall down your cheeks, revealing that the sight you attempted to portray, the strength you so fiercely put up against him, was nothing but a façade, a way to hide the fact that indeed, you needed help.

Exhausted from facing all these uncertainties on your own, afraid.

But not anymore, not when Toji was here, more than willing to step in, as seen in the way he swiftly holds you in his arms when he sees you almost faint from distress, attempting to comfort you as you continued to cry.

“Get— get away from me…!” you’d say again, still fighting against his hold. However, he doesn’t fight it, he simply allows you to vent, taking in all the pain and hatred your heart harbored from the moment you were kicked out of the estate. “Don’t touch me!”

“I’m not leaving” Toji insists, he feels you trying to squirm your way out from him, but his strength doesn’t allow it. “You can struggle all you want, but I’m not leaving you on your own—”

“What difference does it make to you? Your family abandoned me to my luck! And even forced my family to do the same!” you breathe, Toji’s eyes widen—he did not know that; his fury for the Zen’in grows, but this is not the time to deal with that. “They don’t care if I die on the street!”

“I know.” He murmurs, holding you tighter against him.

“And I—And I tried my best to—to move on, but I can’t! I can’t do it!” you sob. “I’m so alone, and scared, and—and ashamed! I don’t want to live like this anymore!! I don’t want to die!”

“…I know.”

“Why—why is this happening to me?! All I ever wanted was for—was for Naoya to love me. I never wanted anything else! I never wanted money, I never wanted to hurt anyone either! I just—I just wanted to live a happy life with him, to make him happy!

But then he—he tossed me away, at one thing he didn’t like, he acted like I didn’t even matter! He didn’t even put up a fight to defend me! he just—he just let them hurt me, like what we had was—a lie!

Did he never—did he even love me?”

Speechless, all Toji could do is continue holding you as you kept on pouring out your feelings, hearing the heart wrenching sound of your sobs that just kept reflecting how wounded you were by Naoya’s betrayal, the transgressions of his family, and the disappointment of yours.

And all because of something you didn’t even suggest in the first place. It was him who made his way into Naoya’s mind, and eventually, it was Naoya who pushed you into it, regardless of what happened later.

He wanted to do it; you know?

He wanted to go back there and murder them for all they’d done against you.

But when he left that place one last time, he promised he would stop thinking about himself, and start doing what is right—what was needed.

If Naoya wasn’t to step up and be a man, then he would.

Toji would gladly throw away his own pride, his own anger and thirst for vengeance, just to see you safe and happy once more.

Things your husband, could simply not—but he… he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“I promise you.” Toji would reassure you once carefully placing you down to the bed after tiring yourself from crying, followed by a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

“I swear, Y/N— I will not let my family do the same things they’ve done to me to our child. Even if it costs me my life, I will do everything in my power to keep the two of you safe.”

And unlike your husband, he means it.

Yes, a second part is coming :) just gotta put this one out first hehe.

Anyways, it's not exactly what you asked but I think it's going there??? I mean Toji STEPPED UP and was like OK imma take care of my baby mama. also, here Naoya .I. put it where it fits. ugh, can't say we're done with him...

agihajkgksa I'm excited for what's to come, I haven't written this level of angst in a while!! oof!!!

Thank you so much for your patience and for sending this ask :> I'm super happy you've like my oneshot so much!! I hope you'll be able to like this too!!

Take care, and see you soon! ❤️❤️

#ask #toji x reader #jjk toji #naoya x reader #naoya zen'in #toji fic #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #jjk angst #toji zenin #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #toji x y/n #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

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railingsofsorrow · 11 months

Text

Countdown

[s.reid x reader]

summary: Blood and wine were indistinguishable. You couldn't move, you couldn't breathe, the world was giving up on you (or was it the other way around?). You had to keep fighting. If there's one thing you are sure of is that they would find you. He would find you. You just didn't know how much longer you could take until then.

pairing: s.reid x f!reader

w.c: 6.7K

warnings/content: mentions of freud regarding complex mother/son relationships; tw!aggravated assault; tw!coercion caused by substance use; tw!mentions of child abuse, physical and emotional abuse; very tw!graphic violence be aware; tw!blood; tw!descriptions of injuries and scars; cursing; tw!suicide ideation; mentions of hallucinations, tw!abduction and tw!death of a relative; heavy descriptions of losing sense of time; crying; cm usual stuff; poor analysis of a profile cause I'm no aaron hotchner; in resume there's angst; mc cannot get a break. (tell me if I forgot anything plz)

A/N: oof that's a lot of trigger warnings. if you don't feel comfortable, feel free to leave, this isn't a light fic, quite the opposite. mc goes through a LOT. btw do you like wine? I do. (no pun intended) enjoy the reading!

navi

masterpost

follower celebration

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“Suffering is a terrible fire;

it either purifies

or destroys.”

[Oscar Wilde]

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According to Sigmund Freud, there’s a theory called “the Oedipus complex”. It happens when the child develops a sexual attraction to the opposite-sex parent, meaning that they wish to replace his father to possess his mother, from whom he craves affection.

Spencer’s voice rang through your head as you observed your surroundings. Your hands weren’t tied anymore but the red marks around your wrists made you feel as if the ropes were still there.

There are five stages in this condition, the fifth being the hardest to overcome, but not impossible. However, when the Oedipus complex is not resolved it could lead to an unhealthy attachment towards the opposite-sex parent in adulthood, besides the commitment issues and trouble involving same-sex rivalry.

You also recalled the Doctor detailing statistics about the topic, wildly gesticulating with his hands. But your head was fuzzy and you didn’t know whether your memories were true or if you were making them up anymore. Just as a means to bring you some type of comfort in that endless torture.

He was drugging you.

Paul Knox, the UnSub, was a white male in his mid-forties. Lived alone for most of his life, except for when he married Martha Moore; they stayed together for one year before the marriage ended. Paul worked on a construction site and was described by his coworkers as quiet, “always kept to himself”, and responsible. He always made sure his task of the day was completed before he went home.

His past wasn’t the easiest one. And it seemed as if he couldn’t get away from it. Paul spent his entire childhood being abused by both of his parents, his father, a strict man, sexually abused his wife, who would later take out her anger on her son, by wrapping a belt around his neck and squeezing it until he passed out — This was the signature behavior they found on the crime scenes.

Victimology told you and the team something as clear as day: every woman he murdered was a surrogate to his mother.

And you concluded you had pissed him off enough for him to abduct you and keep you the same way he was keeping his victims.

When you woke up, the only thing you could see was blood.

Blood whenever you stepped.

On your hands.

On your arms.

On your lips.

You could even taste the metallic liquid. And that made you terrified. Not more terrified – of course – than being locked up in a place for god-knows-how-long without a sense of reality. There was a physical fight hours before—or was it days? You couldn't know, time was different where you were. You had a slight chance of speculating if it was day or night due to the minimum crack on one of the walls. Your pinky would fit if anything.

You succeeded in breaking a plate of food he had brought at the back of his head; which barely confused the man as you attempted to sprint towards the door. Well, You did try. Right as you reached the gate, he yanked your hair back and knocked you out on a solid surface.

When you woke up, the first thought that crossed your mind was I'm dead.

You weren’t.

Thankfully, you had just passed out. Again.

Letting out a painful breath, you forced your eyes to stay open. You had to keep trying, you weren’t about to let him win that easily. Before your team found you — if they hadn’t already — you had to buy yourself some time. Once his obsession exceeds its peak, you wouldn't stand a chance.

The sound of another shard of glass clicking against the floor disturbed that deafening silence. Although, no more than actually taking a piece of glass out of your flesh.

You moaned in pain when it was finally out. Maybe being shot would hurt less because I'd blackout. But this hurts like a bitch.

Your breathing was unsteady and you were hyperventilating. There were at least five breathing exercises running through your head as you surveyed the room, looking for a way out. You had been placed in another corner. It was still the same room, but you were seeing it from another angle. This time you could walk; barely, but still. You refused to look at your feet with the trail of blood it left as you walked.

Focus. You need to find a way out.

You're a profiler. Profile him.

Forty-five.

White male.

Abandonment issues caused by his mother leaving him at the age of nine years old.

Each victim was a surrogate to his mother; he kept them for two days and then wrapped a belt around their throats to slash it postmortem. That's his M.O.

You had none of the victim characteristics. You were only unfortunate to be in the right place at the wrong time.

Emily and you were sent to investigate the supposed location the UnSub took his victims to; an old apartment downtown. However, he was onto you as soon as you entered the place. In a moment of distraction, you had been swiped with a chloroform wipe before Emily could blink.

What a cliché way to abduct someone.

On the first day, he covered your mouth with a dirty blanket but kept your hands and feet tied up tightly around a chair. You complied with everything he said, claiming you understood him and that he was so much better than his mother. Wrong move. At the mere mention of her, the guy completely lost it.

You could still feel the slap that made your head turn. No doubt his fingers were marked on your cheek.

Then, radio silence. Your brain worked wildly as you started to analyze your surroundings with undivided attention. There were two dark shelves a few meters away from you and a few boxes scattered around. The room was extremely dark, no windows, and carried a bitter smell. The floor was a blur to you, you didn't know were you were stepping.

Countless bottles on the shelves. It almost reminded you of—

Wait.

There was barely any light in the room, only through that tiny hole in the wall. You assumed it was around evening because of where the angle the shadow was reflecting upon.

1978. Read on the bottle.

This is a wine bottle.

I'm in a wine cellar.

Your happiness was short-lived as your vision blurred, causing you to stumble back slightly.

The bottle slipped from your fingers.

Your mind goes into wildfire when your feet stepped onto something sharp and, immediately, the familiar sensation of it deepening into your skin. You never realized your body was falling, the only thing you could actually grasp onto was the pain, the agony you felt. Your screams echoed through the walls, then your tears joined as a company.

Blood and wine were indistinguishable.

Your vision begins to gloss over, dark spots covering your eyes from reality. It would be only a matter of time until you drifted off again. Was it sad to say that the sensation was becoming familiar? It shouldn't be. You should be fighting for survival.

But your legs had pieces of glass sticking out and your left hand throbbed from an open wound from another piece you had pulled out.

You heaved a shaky exhale, grunting as you tried to step back from the broken bottle. Daring to take a look at your legs was the last you did before the door creaked open, a bitter smile spreading on your dry lips.

“Shit.”

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

The BAU’s technical analyst typed fast on her computer, her eyes quickly swapping between each screen. She was checking into possible locations Paul Knox could've taken his victims, excluding where the last body was found. His M.O. changed drastically from one night to the other, which meant he was escalating. And angry, extremely angry — Garcia couldn’t imagine something else after hearing the news you had been taken.

“As if this couldn’t get any more creepy…” The blonde mumbled under her breath, eyes scanning over her newfound footage. It was a big house, colonial style colored with a pastel yellow on its walls. The picture showed the Knox’s posing for the camera; mother, son, and husband. Left to right. Something irked her in that image and that’s why she hadn’t dwelled on it when they were looking for the prime suspects’ background. His first home wasn’t relevant, he didn't take his victims there.

They had been so wrong.

Her server picked up on a distinct signal. One that shouldn't be there in such an old building.

“He films it. Everything.” Emily handled five of the eighteen tapes they found in the UnSub’s apartment. Derek shook his head as he saw many names written on each of them.

“There’re eighteen here.” You frowned, counting for the third time. “It’s supposed to be seventeen. We found seventeen bodies.”

“We haven’t found the last one yet.”

And this is how you disappeared from their radar. The eighteenth woman was not found and you were abducted from right under their noses the night after you figured he kept souvenirs from his victims. Necklaces, earrings and those awful recordings.

When Penelope succeeded in hacking into the system, a camera was functioning properly. Just one. The place was dark, but the camera provided a poor lightening and from that, her breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, my god.” The technical analyst covered her mouth in astonishment. There you were, on her computer screen. There was no doubt. She's worked with you in the same environment for nearly five years. You were friends, coworkers, partners in crime. She knew you. And that was breaking her heart.

You were thrown over the floor against a shelf, your head lolling to the side as if you were too weak to lift it. “No, no, no,” Garcia exclaimed, tears trailing down her cheeks and ruining her make-up. The floor was damp with something and she can't even imagine what it was.

“Garcia?” Hotch's voice spoke through their connected microphone. “What is it?”

She had completely forgotten she was in a connected call.

The team was in the round table room, trying to figure out your whereabouts with the help of the clues they had until now. Which were minimal. They were very behind in the UnSub's game.

Garcia's gasp made everyone quit their work, to simply stare at the machine anxiously and wait for the woman's next words.

“We have to find her. Now!” Nothing else can stand out through the line like Penelope's frantic fingers typing fast.

Derek is the first to ask for clarification, “Baby girl, give us something. What happened?”

By now, everyone was on the edge of their seats with the tension.

The line pauses, and before anyone could complain, Penelope interjects in a weak voice, “Come to my cave. You need to see this.”

Once they arrive in Penelope's office, the sight is more than they expected. Way more.

The door opened and a figure walked into the dark room. They all watched with bated breath as Paul Knox crouched down to your weak body, drawing a hand to run through your cheek.

“That son of a—”

“What is that?” Spencer cut Derek off, eyes glued to the man's pocket, something was sticking out of it. His mind works faster than any other, the likelihood of the team having a breakthrough during a case because of his inputs is huge and he's quite proud of that — even though Spencer doesn't give himself much credit.

He feels the dumbest in the room right now.

Not only did he lose you the night you were taken but he couldn't find you. The geographical profile was redone five times by him, he analyzed every detail over and over again, his brain was on fire. But he failed. He failed. How could he do that when you needed him the most? Where was his knowledge and IQ of 187 when he needed it?

Penelope turned off the screen on an impulse, earning discontent reactions from everyone else. She didn't answer them as lots of things started popping up on the other computer screen.

“Garcia.” Spencer presses, jaw clenched. He was really trying to not yell at the technical analyst to find a location fucking faster or else instead of a living agent they would find a body to bury.

No. No, that wouldn't happen. That couldn't happen.

“I'm trying!”

“Try harder!” He yelled, causing every eye to give him impressed looks. Spencer Reid doesn’t scream, he doesn’t raise his voice, he doesn’t lose his cool. But he had never seen you in a pool of your own blood in an unknown place as a hostage before. He had never been so powerless. “He's gonna do something!” He reasoned his outburst with the team. How weren't they desperately losing their minds? Was this what they were like when he had been kidnapped by Tobias Hankel? Extremely collected and calm, just like in any other case? “Are we just going to sit here and watch? This is Y/N!”

The sound of the footage suddenly burst through the cave, causing everyone to freeze up.

“Stop. No, n— what is that? Get the fuck away from me— No!”

“Oh, my god,” Emily mumbles with a hand over her mouth. They weren’t able to see the footage, but hearing your screams was just as painful.

“Reid,” Hotch warned, knowing how hard this was being on him. He shouldn't stay there, it would only make things worse, as much as it pained Aaron what was happening — he was your friend before he was your boss — the situation required him to be the levelheaded one. He couldn't jeopardize your safety because of emotions. “Go take a walk.”

“No.” was Spencer's reply. Before he could snap at anyone else and make the tension in the room increase, a hand squeezed his shoulder.

“C'mon, kid.” Derek tugged his forearm.

“I'm not going anywhere—”

“Yes, yes, you are.” Derek sends him a pointed look, pushing him out of the room “C'mon, let's take a walk. Being like this isn't gonna help us find her.”

“Look,” JJ points to the moving image, Penelope had turned it back on due to Hotch’s request. They were too close to figure out your location and they needed to grasp every detail of wherever that room was. “It’s that a… needle?” That can’t be happening. Not again. JJ flinched back as the syringe was pressed against your neck and your cries started to quieten up. She had seen that film before, it was just a continuous nightmare by now. Spencer’s limp body flashed through her mind, a terrible flashback. Now, you. It wasn’t fair. Hotch took her out of her inner turmoil to say they had found her location. Emily was already out of the room.

“Find our girl. Please, find her.” Penelope gave her a pleading look, her glasses were smeared with tears.

Jenifer didn’t need to be told twice.

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

Next time you woke up you saw metal bars. There was a steady dripping sound resonating around. You didn't know where it came from, your senses were compromised by your dizziness; sometimes it was distant, sometimes it was right by your side.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

Always three times then a pause.

Paul had put you in a cage. That much was clear, the quadrangle shape along with the metal bars. You could barely stretch out your legs all the way due to the limited space.

Something stirred in your sight and you realized you weren't alone in the room. He's still here.

Where are your instincts? Where are the tactics you use to save someone almost every day? And why aren't you making use of them right now?

The dripping stopped.

Something creaked and your face was being touched. Feeling the familiar reaction of a panic attack approaching, you tried to regulate your breath. This was not the time. You thought. But again, have you had control over anything over these past few days?

“Don't cry. I won't hurt you.”

When you got out of the high of whatever substance he had injected into your system, you winced at the numbness in your left foot. You moved your limbs around, attempting to sit down. He had cleaned you up. You were in different clothes, too. And the blood was gone.

He touched me.

Hetouchedmehetouchedmehetouchedmehetouchedm—

Stay focused.

“13…11…9…7.” You started counting in the odd-numbered pattern you learnt calms you down. “5…3…1…13— What is—” a red light in a corner of the room glinted at you. “Are you recording me?” You exhaled harshly, squinting your eyes. No, that wasn't the dizziness. The red light was probably there the whole time, but it remained unnoticeable. A wave of drowsiness almost knocks you out again but instead, you squeeze your nails against your tight to prevent sleeping — pain was better than the unknown. You didn't know what he did when you were out of it, though you had an idea just a minute ago. “You enjoy your souvenirs, don't you? Sick bastard!”

You're losing your temper, control yourself.

I can't.

I need to get out of here. I need to GET OUT.

“Let me out.” You whispered to nothing.

What takes you to a breaking point? Being held captive by a sociopath maniac or not knowing what to do to escape it?

All of your qualifications went down the drain. Suddenly you didn't have a PhD in Biopsychology.

Survival mode originally evolved to help us handle threats and situations that activate our stress-response systems. When the alternative does not involve escape or fighting, we are wired to freeze, a state of hyperarousal.

It's always better to go ahead with the instructions, otherwise, you might touch a rough spot and their only response will be to eliminate their target.

Your friends’ voices rang through your brain as if they were supposed to help you somehow.

The walls were closing in, rationality was out of the picture.

“Let me out of here, please!”

“Stop screaming. No one will hear.”

You turned towards the door, jaw clenching. You weren't just weak, you were angry. That shouldn't be happening to you, you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time and he took advantage of that.

“They will catch you.” You spat out. “You don't have a chance once they find you, Paul.”

He nodded, crouching down in front of the cage, hands gripping the sidebars. “I'm aware of that.”

That made you freeze.

So it was an all-or-nothing situation? If your probability of getting out of that alive was slim, now it was just ridiculous.

“You need to learn a lesson.” He said, unlocking the cage and crawling in. As much as you tucked yourself in the corner, he was still able to touch you, he was still able to be desperately close. “Beautiful, beautiful, Daisy... Why'd you hurt me like that?”

Daisy.

Daisy…

“Daisy... I did everything you asked me too. Why'd you leave me with him? The bad man? Why?”

The bad man.

Daisy and Caleb Knox, those were Paul’s parents.

At the age of nine Daisy left Paul to Caleb's care and ran away. She was never found.

It's always better to go ahead with the instructions. Play into his fantasy.

“I'm— I'm sorry,” you croaked out, testing the waters.

“Are you really?”

“He made...” Taking a deep breath You felt your tongue heavy and your head spin. You would pass out any minute. How much longer would you handle without food? You can't remember the last time you ate. “... he made me— do that. I wanted to protect you. I did. But he didn't— he didn't let me,” your breath was shallow and you felt yourself floating.

Stay awake.

“Liar.” He mumbled after a while. “Liar!” You didn't expect the slap when it came. The force made you stumble back, pressing your eyes and groaning in pain. “How can you keep lying to me after all these years? You slut! I was alone! With him!”

“I understand,” you replied, shakily, licking your lips as the copper taste filled your tastebuds. “But— but you love me. Don't you?” Opening your eyes, you realized he was a little farther than you expected. His eyes stared right into your soul with a kind of regret and disgust you had never seen. “You were always a good kid, Paul... Would never hurt your mom. Because you're good. Aren't you?”

A lot of things were at stake there. your life, mostly. If you as much as stepped into his anger then you would be done for.

In a blink of an eye he was in front of you again, “I am. I-I I am, mom.” Mom. That's good. He's falling for it. You could save your vomit for later.

Then, you saw the belt. The same one he uses on the victims for the final kill.

Death wasn't a thing to be afraid of. It's simply another part of life. Or, for the believers, eternal life.

You have never been scared of death in your twenty-five years of living. Not when the situation was related to you, at least. Which was completely different if someone on your team got injured badly, let alone your boyfriend. You didn't know what it was that whenever you were in danger's ways, no fear would kick in, only the nice feeling of adrenaline running through your veins.

However, this wasn't like most cases. You knew this one would break you to the core. You would never be the same after that. If you even get the chance to say after this case. Spencer had this experience. He had been abducted and tortured by Tobias Hankel; you've seen how the trauma affected him till this day.

You wondered if Spencer thought if he would get out alive. You wondered if, at some point in that cabin in the woods, he contemplated death as an alternative. Because God knew you were considering it.

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

Aaron Hotchner marched forward to the backyard of the Knox Mansion as Derek Morgan went in through the backdoor. Spencer Reid and Jennifer Jereau were ordered to enter through the front door.

The two-story manor carried a sense of luxury, although the smell was of something rotten from years back.

It was clear that the inheritance Paul Knox gained from his father had vanished as it had come. The house was almost in ruins, the strong smell of mold all around the walls immediately hit the newcomers. Derek and Aaron met inside close to the living room.

“It's all clear around the kitchen, Rossi,” Derek said, looking around and studying his surroundings. He quickly covered his nose when the smell reached his nostrils. “What is that smell?!”

“I don't know,” Rossi replied, kicking a knocked-over chair. “ There's been a struggle.”

Derek nodded, pointing towards a line of blood leading to the kitchen. It ended there.

“We're running out of time.” Spencer walked in the kitchen with JJ on his trail. “This is useless. She won't be up here. The camera Garcia hacked showed a dark room and it pointed to a door. Possibly the only way in and out.”

JJ nodded in affirmation, shoulders tensing. “Maybe a basement? There's no guest house, right?”

“There's a basement outside.” Rossi clarified. “Hotch is searching there. JJ and Reid search the second floor, Morgan and Prentiss you take the attic. I'll check that ridiculously big greenhouse outside.”

“It's not a basement,” Spencer said, cursing under his breath. Everyone stared at him confusedly. “That was not a basement. It—It looks like one. It's supposed to look like one but didn't you see the bottles and the shelves in the footage? And the liquid when she—” he sucked in a breath. “That's a wine cellar.” He concluded. How couldn't he have seen it before? It was being thrown at his face.

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

Hotch stepped towards the wood doors, drawing out his gun to tear apart the locket.

He tried as much as he could not to make a sound as he walked down the basement doors. If the smell in the house was bad, down there was suffocating.

“Paul, Paul listen to me! I'm sorry that I left, I'm sorry!”

He halted, surveying the area carefully. It was dark, but his weapon light helped him have a grip on his surroundings. That had definitely been your voice.

“Is Carina here?”

There was a pause.

Carina Grace. One of the missing girls, probably the eighteenth victim of Paul Knox.

“You told me I wasn't alone before, is she here, too, Paul?”

That was a bold move. Hotch knew what you were doing, despite the situation you were still doing your job, but this wouldn't end well.

“You have never been alone.”

Your crying out made him approach fast as he followed the sound. That place could fool anyone by the sight of it before you entered. The wood doors made it look like a small corner, but Hotch could see it as a masked labyrinth.

He kept aiming his gun ahead, entering a room of what he supposed was a wine cellar. Slow and steady steps guided by his instincts; his eyes surveyed every corner of the room until three tall shelves came into sight— and a shadow reflected by the sunlight that entered the only small window in the room.

His eyes narrowed when he saw it move and the silhouette of a gun was pressed to its hand. Hotch swiftly hid behind a near concrete pillar just as the man shot twice in the previous direction he had been in.

Idiot. Aaron mentally cursed, eyeing the only part of the room he hadn't checked yet, behind the shelves.

He saw a glimpse of metal. The UnSub was armed.

“Found her badge and bullet proof vest up here, Hotch.” JJ's voice rang through the radio. Loud enough for only Aaron to hear, thankfully. “The perimeters are being checked but I don't think—” He could hear the strain in her voice.

“The wine cellar isn't clear, yet.” Hotch said with his tone contained, eyes glued to the UnSub's shadow. He hasn't moved. What was this asshole planning to do? “He's here. Block all exits.”

“What about her?”

“She's here, too,” Hotch replied to Reid, squinting at the moving silhouette.

“You're in the basement, aren't you?” He breathed out at the sound of Emily's voice.

“Yes.”

“I'll meet you there.”

“There's another body here and he's armed.” Be careful.

Emily spoke to someone else and then he tuned everything out.

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

“Spencer!” JJ tried to pull him back but he yanked his arm out of her reach, sprinting towards the backyard. “Would you calm down? You can't barge in like this!” She hissed in frustration.

He turned back and said through gritted-teeth. “If it were Will, would you be calm?”

She blinked at him, opening and closing her mouth in shock. “I—”

“You know how I feel, you've been there, so why do you keep asking me to calm down?” Spencer spat out.

JJ silently approached him by the entrance, swallowing the guilt her whole body was drowning in. “I'm sorry. I'm just trying to make you think, alright? Spence, she needs all of us. She needs you, so we need to think straight. Our goal is to get her out.” Alive.

“Do you think we can?”

He asked softly, voice small.

She squeezed his shoulder and widened the basement opening. “Yes, we can.” She stepped in, turning to him before he could enter. “Don't step away from me. We don't split up, ever, deal?”

That was something she always said whenever they were paired up in a situation like that. And that's when Spencer noticed that what he suffered didn't just affect him, but everyone else around him.

“Okay.”

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

Hotch had finally caught sight of you. He could see your frame in a corner of the wall, the sunlight didn't help him visualize anything, it was too minimal. He didn't know whether you were awake or— he couldn't see. “Paul, do you think your mother would be proud of that behavior? Killing women? Hurting them?” He needed to get closer and for that, he had to get inside his mind.

“You don't understand,” Paul said calmly. Hotch hears beneath that contained tone, he was a walking time bomb. But they were on countdown before your location was even found, the team knew who Paul was, they knew how he escalated in the last weeks, and they knew his weak spot, too.

“You're right,” Hotch said, craning his neck to the side when he saw your voice. More like a whimper. Low, discreet, but there. You were alive. And he intended on keeping that way. “I don't understand. I didn't go through what you did. I was not left in a house by someone that's supposed to care for me. I was not left to a parent that never loved me.”

Silence.

“Paul. She deserves everything you did to her. Every beating. Every truth spat out on her face. Every day locked up here. She was supposed to be a good mother back then, why is she trying now, after all.”

“She never loved me.”

Bingo.

“Is that what you think?”

There was shuffling around and then a gun was pointing directly at him, but Hotch had a shelf to cover behind. Paul was finally in his aim, vulnerable. Not yet.

“Do you think people change, Agent?” Paul asked him, cocking the gun at him mockingly. He then looked back at you, tongue moving across his lips slowly. “I don't think so. That's why I didn't kill her. Yet.”

You said something else but Hotch couldn't hear. He wasn't close enough. You weren't safe yet. Not yet.

The clock was ticking.

“For some people, death is just another way out.”

Everything happened so fast his mind didn't grasp it until it happened.

He heard a click. Then the sound of gunfire exploded through the wine cellar.

Paul Knox was on the floor, his head had two gunshot wounds on the forehead and blood leaked through it. Eyes wide open. He didn't see it coming.

Quick and effective.

A perfect aim to kill.

He thought it would be Emily at the entrance, gun pointing right at Paul's head. He's seen her frustration at herself for losing you that day, it was a matter of time until she snapped.

But he was met with Spencer Reid barging into the wine cellar instead. A stunned JJ frozen at the entrance.

Reid's movements carried no hesitation as he dashed towards the body, snatched the keys out of his pockets and stepped back to unlock the cage you were in.

It was foolish to check if he was still alive. Two shots to the head - that was the outcome Hotch didn't want. Paul Knox was supposed to go to jail for the rest of his life. Because of the victims he terrorized, because of the days he stole from one of his own that she would never get back.

“We found Carina.” Derek told him as they watched you being pulled into the ambulance. He didn't need to be told that they only found her body. Carina Grace had been missing for a month. “Same way as the other girls.”

“Safe to say he won't be dreaming about hurting anyone else.” Rossi made the comment as a body bag was transferred out of the wine cellar.

Hotch glanced towards Reid, who had just entered the ambulance by your side.

He would lecture him later. The only thing that mattered now was that you were safe.

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

When you fluttered your eyes open, you quickly shut them again. The lights were strong and forceful. Light. Was this the sunlight? Had he dumped your body somewhere? Were you finally dead and this was your spirit floating over what was left of you?

You hadn't felt that cool air in days. It almost felt like air-conditioning. A soft fabric wrinkled between your fingers and your leg… you could move it. You could feel it. There was no numbness.

“Take a deep breath. It's okay, you're safe.”

You're hallucinating. Because what you were hearing didn't make any sense. It couldn't be. Your head was searching for ways to bring your relief. That's the only reasonable answer.

Reasonable. What about this situation is reasonable?

“You're safe,” He repeated.

You forced your eyelids open, despite the bothersome whiteness. The first thing you saw was Spencer, his honey brown eyes with heavy bags of sleepless nights around them, his soft smile that threatened to spill the sadness hanging over him.

You could touch his hand.

But the calm doesn't last for long.

“You're not here.” You snatched your fingers away.

This is not real. I'm dreaming again.

Hurt flashed through his eyes. “I am.”

“That's not you.”

“That's me, sweetheart. This is real, we got you out—”

“No!”

He flinched back, watching as the heart monitor went off. A group of nurses entered the room to check the commotion; it took five people to hold you down. He never saw you like that. That's anger, that pain. He'd never seen it in your eyes. JJ had to pull him out of the room otherwise he would stay there, frozen.

You weren't seeing him.

He provoked that nervous breakdown.

“Stop. Hey, don't do this,” he could feel air entering his lungs but his chest hurt. “Spencer, this isn't—”

“Don't.” He said shortly, shaking his head. “I shouldn't have…” He stared at his hands as if they had committed a crime, trying to blink away his tears.

“This isn't your fault, Spence.”

“I should've figured it out sooner.” He said, burying his head between his hands. “I do it all the time. Why couldn't I do it now, why couldn't I find her sooner?”

Sobs racked through his body and he felt arms wrapping around him some sort of comfort. He didn't feel it. He wanted you. He wanted to make you feel better, he didn't need to be taken care of. He didn't deserve it.

“It wasn't your fault,” JJ repeated, tightening her hold on him. “We were all in this. And she's fine now. She's safe.”

“She'll never be fine again.” He mumbled through her shirt. It physically pained him to see you like this, as if your mind was playing you. The worst was that he knew what that felt like. He wished he didn't. Actually, he wished that it was him instead. He'd go through it all again just to spare you of that trauma. That haunting pain that would follow you and make you doubt everything.

He didn’t mean that he didn’t want you to be fine, of course, he wanted it. That kind of trauma, however, doesn’t just let you go, it’s like a shadow looming over you, a tall ghost.

I should've found her sooner. He couldn't stop thinking that. I should've found her sooner.

An hour passed and nobody moved from the waiting room. They were anxious and on edge waiting for an update. Penelope had drifted off on Derek's shoulder a few minutes ago, Emily had bitten all of her cuticles as much as Rossi reprimanded her on it, Hotch would leave and come back with coffee refills and JJ had left a while ago to speak to Will and her kids. As for Spencer, he was just there. Not mentally, just physically.

He needed to see you okay to function again.

“She'll need you.” He snapped around to Hotch's voice. At some point, his feet reached the end of the hall, a cup of water in his hands. He wasn't even thirsty. “She'll need you when she wakes up. More than anyone else.” His boss added.

Spencer knew what he meant by that. It wasn't just in the literal sense.

“I know.” He responded.

“Then you need to be there.”

Get a grip on yourself.

“I will.” Spencer swallowed hard, looking up at him. “I will.” He repeated, throwing the cup on the trash can and taking a deep breath. Hotch squeezed his shoulder reassuringly on his way back.

When the doctor called him back to the room, you were already awake.

✫・゜・。✫・゜・。

“Spencer?”

You croaked out, blinking multiple times to undo the blurred image of the long-haired genius.

“Hi,” he replied, lowering to the seat beside your bed. You oversaw his movements carefully. He looked shaken up but he mustered one of those smiles you were done for from the first day you walked in the Bureau.

“Can you tell me something?” You requested, clearing your throat. You didn’t trust your senses, but it sounded and looked like your boyfriend. Your mind couldn’t play sturdy tricks like that, could it?

Outsretching your arm long enough to reach him, you nudged his hand. He pulled the chair closer and intertwined your fingers. That was the first time you felt warmth in days.

“What about?”

“Something only you would know.”

Bring me back to reality.

He sighed, lifting your palm to his cheek. “You hate the color gray,” his eyes locked into yours as he recalled your words from a few months ago when you had revealed this to him. “It was your brother's favorite color. He wore it all the time. When he died, you could never look at anything gray because it would remind you of him.”

You stayed quiet.

“You hate when people keep telling you to wear your hair down because it looks pretty. You know it does, but you feel uncomfortable with the strands touching your neck. You love sunlight the same amount you love cloudy days – not thunderstorms, you’re scared of those. Especially lightning.” You let out a tearful chuckle to which he grinned. “You have a tattoo on the inner side of your left thigh, it's the page number and the line order of your favorite Norwegian Wood edition, your favorite book. You had a secret obsession with the theme from that animated movie…” his voice trailed off, a crease between his brows.

“You mean Let it go from Frozen?”

Spencer’s lips twisted in a pout, “Sorry if I don’t know that much about pop culture.”

“You’re hopeless at it, Spence.”

“I’m not that bad.” He rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How are you feeling?” He asked, eyes softening. You traced the tip of his nose, eyes scanning his features so you’d cement it to your brain.

“Better,” you replied. It was the truth. He nodded, brushing a strand behind your ear gently. “Thank you.”

Spencer lifted his chin to glimpse at you, disappointment draping over his gaze. “I didn’t do anything.” Disappointment at himself. The failure that he was during the case when you needed him the most. You furrowed your brows at the tear trailing down his cheek, drying it with your thumb. Reaching for his arms, you waited until he adjusted enough at the edge of your bed so you could rest your head on his chest. His heartbeat rang through your ears like a long-awaited tune.

“I know you did, Spencer. All of you did. Hey,” you tapped his chin so he could meet your eyes. “I'm here, aren't I?”

He frowned. “You almost weren't.”

“But I am,” you insisted. Your gaze darkened and you shifted on the bed causing the thin blanket to fall off one of your legs. You were all bandaged up, literally. “You know, I… I lost track of time. After the first two days I nearly went crazy. I knew you'd find me but I— I—”

“You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready.” Spencer reassured you softly. He saw the way you stared at your legs, it was the scars beneath the bandages that you were seeing. And the ones beyond your body. “I love you,” he mumbled against your hair, caressing your arms and cradling you into his hold. “We got you out. You're safe now, alright? I promise.”

You resigned with a long breath, burying your face in his shoulder. That heaviness brewing over your thoughts vanished under his touch, wrapping safety around you instead.

“I love you too, Spencer.” You said, curling into his side. Now that you knew you were safe, you could feel the exhaustion weighing down your eyelids. “Can you stay?”

He hummed, tucking his chin above your head and shifting on the bed for a better position. It wasn't the most comfortable setting and you two would probably — certainly — wake up with your backs hurting. But Spencer would do anything for you.

“I won't go anywhere, don't worry.”

That was what comfort felt like. You weren't dreaming. That was real.

The nightmare was finally over.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Isn’t it funny how day by day

nothing changes,

but when you look back,

everything is different. ”

[C.S. Lewis]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

sources used: [1]; [2]; [3]

taglist: @lilyviolets

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid angst #criminal minds imagine #countdown

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cc-horan28 · 2 months

Text

The Little Things You Do for @wishingforloushair <3

Written for the @1dlibrary Valentine's exchange!

“What’s that supposed to mean, then? I’m romantic, aren’t I?!” His voice went up an octave with indignation and Harry couldn’t help but giggle at the offended look on his face.

Harry sat back up from where he was snuggled up with Louis, careful to not spill any of his wine onto the older man as he leaned forward to peck his cheek. “Sure you are, Lou,” he grinned.

The one where Harry makes a throwaway remark about Louis not being a romantic, and Louis is desperate to prove him wrong.

Read on AO3 or under the cut <3

Long note incoming:

Oof so this one was... Yeah, I had it all in my head from the start but i questioned all of it so much. It was fun to write but it turned out WAYYY crack-ier than I'd intended so hehe

I added the stalker bit WAYYY before the actual thing happened with H and I thought it was in bad taste for so long but I couldn't figure out a replacement for it :') . (I apologise if you find it in bad taste I really m sorry)

Huge huge huge thanks to Liv for staying crazy with me while I worked over this (also the moodboard ily). Nashie, Coco ily guys ty for everything. Also everyone in the 1DLibrary server, I could not have finished this without y'all sprinting with me. Much love <3

Louis is like Murphy's Law personified idk man lmao <3

So yeah, this one's for Loz

They were both amazing prompts! Much love and I hope you like this <3

“Okay, Haz, babe- That’s the third time you’ve sighed in the last five minutes. Something has to be on your mind. What is it, love?” Louis stopped short, fingers still tangled in Harry’s hair, the other wrapped awkwardly around a crystal glass Harry had insisted on pouring his beer in, finding the can ‘unromantic’. Louis thought the can had arguably been the better option while they cuddled, but, oh well.

Harry met Louis’ eyes, face expressionless for a moment. “I mean… I’ve just been thinking- It’s about to be Valentine’s day, soon…” he trailed off, smiling up cryptically at Louis.

Louis raised an eyebrow, utterly confused. Valentine’s day… What did that have anything to do with what they were talking about. Was he forgetting something? Had he forgotten something? He waited for a few moments, trying not to panic. A few moments later, he tilted his head slightly, motioning for Harry to continue, unable to wait any longer.

“See, it’s exactly this,” Harry blew out his cheeks and sighed again, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve been wondering-” he paused, before blurting out the rest of the sentence with the words all meshed together, “It’s almost been a decade and a half and I still haven’t managed to turn you into a romantic,” He watched Louis from the corner of his eye warily.

Louis’ jaw worked up and down for a few moments, trying to make sense of Harry’s rushed words. “ Turn me into a romantic!?” Louis exclaimed, realisation hitting him with the force of a train, “What’s that supposed to mean, then? I’m romantic, aren’t I?!” His voice went up an octave with indignation and Harry couldn’t help but giggle at the offended look on his face.

Harry sat back up from where he was snuggled up with Louis, careful to not spill any of his wine onto the older man as he leaned forward to peck his cheek. “Sure you are, Lou,” he grinned.

“Hey- I’m not a child! Don’t just say it for the sake of it! It’s- I’m-” Louis sputtered, “That’s not going to convince me! Say it like you mean it,”

Harry’s lips curled up with amusement and he pouted exaggeratedly at his husband. “Well, Louis… I mean, what’s the last big romantic gesture you made that you remember?” he asked with a small, crooked smile, tilting his head as he watched Louis gnaw at his lower lip. He felt almost bad for Louis, how seriously he was taking this, but Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t find it all just a bit funny.

“Thought so,” Harry said after a pregnant pause, choking back a laugh at the look of concentration on Louis’ face. “You look like you’re gonna blow a nerve, babe,” he said, reaching out to gently run his thumb along Louis’ jaw, “It’s not that big of a deal- I was just wondering. Don’t stress yourself out,”

“You can’t just say something like that and expect me to forget it!” Louis motioned helplessly, forehead still scrunched up, “You’ve got me all worried now, I- Be honest, have I been a bad husband all this time?”

Harry couldn’t help but giggle at that. “Never, Lou. I love you. So so much. You’re the best husband I could’ve ever asked for. You’re just- It was just an observation, that’s all,”

“Oh no no no. It’s you who’s got to have got it all wrong- I mean- I am romantic, aren’t I?” Louis turned to frown at Harry, folding his legs up and looping his arms around his knees.

“Sure you are, Lou. I said that ages ago, didn’t I?” Harry said with the long-suffering patience of someone who had been dealing with this for a long time.

“Not like you meant it. I- You know what, Haz? I’ll prove it to you. Keep your eyes peeled-”

“Don’t generally need to carefully look for grand gestures,” Harry interrupted with a chuckle, ducking away when Louis made to swat at his arm.

“Just you watch, you’re not going to be that mouthy when I’m through with you,”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek and was just about to say something when Louis rolled his eyes, sighing as he turned further towards him. “ Don’t say it. I know what you’re thinking and just- Don’t,”

“I didn’t say anything!” Harry burst out, palm pressed over his mouth as he tried to stifle his giggles.

“But you were thinking it!” Louis mumbled, fake cross with him as he made to pour out the rest of his beer into the glass “And you say I’m the unromantic one,”

Louis smiled smugly to himself as he cut the call, lifting his phone to check the time until the delivery.

He’d stocked up on roses the previous day, placing them throughout the house one at a time in places where Harry could find them, even putting one in Harry’s car before he left for the studio that morning. The younger man hadn’t mentioned them yet, however.

When Louis had checked later, the flowers were gone, so Harry must have seen them, but his husband was nothing if not unpredictable, so he chose to ignore it for the time being.

He’d called and practically begged Mitch to not let Harry anywhere near his car until it was time. He was doing his best to keep the plan under wraps, not wanting to make it obvious and so, had decided to restrain himself from asking Harry to come home early, barely able to contain his excitement. Later, they’d had a little conversation over text during lunch, and Harry had promised to be back by dinner.

Louis was holding Harry to that.

Glancing at his phone again and scrunching up his face when he noticed only a few minutes had passed, Louis strode to the kitchen, turning on the kettle to make himself a cuppa before peering into the fridge, unsure why he was relieved when he saw the cake was still intact. It wasn’t like anything would happen to it still in the fridge, but he’d been anxious all day. He wanted it all to be perfect for Harry.

Louis perked up as soon as he heard the door swing open, quickly stubbing out his cigarette and throwing his phone off to the side, turning around to grin at Harry. “Evening, love,” he smiled, watching patiently as Harry shucked off his coat, throwing his shoes off to the side before practically falling onto the couch beside Louis, looking tired and frustrated.

“So…” Louis started, watching Harry intently “Did you like the flowers?” he asked expectantly, the other man’s reaction not what he had in mind when he had sent the flowers. He had been expecting more… Well- Anything but this.

“Oh my god, Louis,” Harry said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned towards him.

“That’s not the ‘Oh my God’ I was expecting, if I’m being honest,” Louis deadpanned, picking some imaginary lint off his t-shirt, feigning nonchalance while his mind reeled with what could have gone wrong to make Harry react this way.

“I almost called the cops here, Louis- To the house. Mitch had to intervene. He stopped me,” Harry paused, a smile betraying the strict tone he was trying to adopt, “ And I still made them go through hours of footage at the studio to confirm who put the flowers there,”

Louis sputtered incoherently, brow creased in confusion “But Mitch told you, didn’t he?” he asked weakly.

“He did but- I thought I had a stalker, I- I mean- The flowers were everywhere! By the door, yesterday? In the car, this morning? And I- The whole car was covered right now, babe. What was I supposed to think, it’s not like you sent a card saying they were from you,” Harry said, holding back from dissolving into a fit of giggles at how ridiculous the whole situation was now that he looked back at it.

“Who else would know you’re at the studio? How did your mind go straight to fuckin’ ‘stalker’?!” Louis asked, a smile creeping onto his face, “They were just flowers!”

Harry leaned into Louis’ side, full-on belly laughing now as he tried to speak coherently. He nearly called the cops on Louis, for sending him flowers. When he was the one who asked him to be romantic. It was all a bit crazy, he couldn’t lie.

“I’m- Sorry. But I mean- You could’ve added a note,” He managed to choke out, grinning up at Louis, having somehow ended up with his head in his lap.

“I just wanted it to be a surprise! So much for being fuckin’ romantic,” Louis sighed dramatically.

Harry decided to skip replying, choosing to pull Louis down for a kiss by the neck of his t-shirt.

“No incidents this time,” Louis promised a few hours later, giving Harry a sheepish smile as he drew his chair for him. He’d planned on making his date night usual chicken-parma ham but then decided not to take any chances. He’d ended up ordering in and impulsively getting a cake as well.

He sat down across from Harry, taking in the sight of his face bathed in the flickering light of the candle and reflecting back to when they’d had their first proper date. It had been something similar, dinner he’d made, with just the two of them giggling over nothing the whole time, giddy at the novelty of it all.

“ ‘M never gonna get used to this,” he said, voice slightly thick with emotion, “All of this. You’re so pretty, my love. You look fuckin’ gorgeous in this lighting,” he smiled shily, “I don’t know how I was lucky enough to end up here. I’ve said that for years, I know, but I just- I look at you, at us- And we’ve come so far. It’s- I just love you so much,”

“The season’s getting to somebody,” Harry joked weakly, sniffling in what he hoped was an inconspicuous manner. “We’ve barely started and you’ve already made me all emotional,” he said, the look on his face despite his playful tone telling Louis all he needed to know. “I love you too, my soppy fool,”

Louis stood up, rubbing his hands together like a little kid just about to be let loose on Christmas morning. He tried not to overthink it, this was his chance to make it up for the roses. Harry had to love the cake.

“Don’t look back,” he reminded, keeping the nervousness out of his voice. He had made Harry sit on a barstool with his face away from the refrigerator, once he’d gotten the plates cleared away. He was standing in front of the fridge himself and tried not to bounce too much as he carefully got the cake out, biting his lip in concentration as he crossed over to the kitchen island.

“Don’t peek,” he repeated, bending over Harry’s shoulder to place the cake in front of him. He smiled to himself as he stuck the little heart-shaped candles in, getting them centred on his first go. He went through the drawers, looking for a lighter, swearing under his breath each time he shut a drawer he didn’t find it in.

“Try by the couch?” Harry suggested, “And I didn’t look, Lou, before you ask. I mean- It’s pretty obvious,” he added, turning towards what he thought was Louis’ general vicinity to show him his still-scrunched-close eyes.

Louis, however, was in the living room by then, groaning as he snatched up the lighter innocuously lying on the centre table.

“What would I do without you?” He asked dramatically as he walked back into the kitchen, lighting up the two heart-shaped candles. “Even with your eyes closed you’re more competent than I am,” he mumbled, stepping back to survey the setup.

The pink of the candles almost clashed with the colours of the cake, but Louis had a feeling Harry wouldn’t mind. His husband was a sucker for anything blue and green.

“What are we blowing out candles for?” Harry asked from behind him and Louis jumped slightly.

“Well, I dunno-” Louis said, cracking his knuckles anxiously, “I just thought-” He trailed off. Maybe this was a stupid idea, he thought with a sting of doubt passing through him. Who blew out candles when it wasn’t their birthday? And even if it was one of their birt-

“Oh, I’m not complaining!” Harry exclaimed, “I was just curious, is all. Can I open my eyes now, Lou?” he added, sounding apologetic.

Louis hummed, perching on the stool beside his, watching Harry’s expression as he took in the blue and green house shaped cake. It was simple, but in the dim lighting and with the candles on, it looked rather good. Plus, it was the sentiment that mattered. Despite all the teasings, they both knew Harry was the soppy one.

“Two hearts in one home…” Louis trailed off, motioning vaguely to the cake, “Since we’re going for big romantic declarations- Nothing more apt,”

“Wait- There’s sparklers as well,” Louis mumbled, fumbling with the lighter again as he lit them up,

“Happy Almost-Valentine’s Day, Harry,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.

“We’re definitely making this a thing,” Harry smiled when he pulled back, “Happy Almost-Valentine’s, Lou,”

The sparklers had died down and Louis pulled them off, crossing over to throw them into the bin. When he came back he was met with Harry sitting in front of the candle, palm slapped over his mouth.

Louis stood there, staring at the cake and back at Harry, a sinking feeling of realisation heavy in the pit of his stomach.

“No incidents, you were saying,” Harry grinned, nodding towards the cake, “Watch,”

He gave Louis a significant look before pursing his lips, blowing hard on the candles. Louis was strongly aware of the blush creeping up his neck as he watched the candle go out, only to come back to life a second later.

“One more time,” Harry giggled, blowing out the candles and snorting out a laugh when they jumped back to life.

“This wasn’t the plan,” Louis groaned, slumping onto the stool beside Harry.

“I don’t mind, they’re fun,” Harry chuckled, blowing out the candles again. Louis couldn’t help but smile at the look on his face. Maybe this incident wasn’t all that bad.

Harry opened the door, shucking his coat off and hanging it on the hooks over the table, dropping his keys into the little bowl. He then stopped short in his tracks, staring dumbfoundedly. There were petals. Forming a path. Leading up the curving glass staircase. Presumably to the bedroom.

He scoffed lightly in surprise. It was all a bit over the top, even by his standards. Perhaps he had truly made a romantic out of Louis. If just asking him was all it took…

Barely aware of it, he followed the trail, stepping lightly on the petals, smiling when he felt them give a little beneath his feet. He could imagine Louis laying the petals down, crouching with his tongue caught between his teeth. He smiled to himself at the image, turning to glance back down the stairs to take in how it all looked.

He pushed the bedroom door open, the generally silent snick of it connecting with the magnet on the wall echoing across the closed space. “Lou?” he called out, lingering awkwardly in the doorway as he stared around the room. The floor here was covered with an even thicker layer of petals, and in the back of his mind, he wondered how they would clean them up.

There were also several candles dotted around the room, most of them unlit, but the low scent of something spicy was undeniably present in the room. He had the feeling he was a bit early, and- Well, he had thought Louis would appreciate it, he never stopped moaning about how long Harry spent in the studio, but- From the sight of the room, it seemed like Louis would’ve appreciated a bit more time.

He considered returning to the living room, wasting a bit of time, and pretending he hadn’t seen any of this. Maybe Louis wouldn’t have heard the main door open. Maybe he could act like he’d just gotten home. Maybe-

“Haz!” Louis exclaimed, stepping out of the en suite with a towel clasped between his hands. He threw it carelessly off to the side and crossed over the room to where Harry was standing, and Harry flinched a little, detachedly thinking about who would pick up the towel.

He shook himself mentally, realising Louis was saying something. He hadn’t registered a single word. Hopefully, Louis wouldn’t notice. “ -And I mean, you weren’t supposed to be home early- I’m not- Don’t take this the long way, I love that we can get a head start, but I would’ve liked to have at least gotten all the candles lit,” he rambled, chuckling lightly before placing his hands on Harry’s hips and stepping closer.

Harry bit his lip sheepishly, giving him a small shrug. “It really just isn’t meant to be,” he teased, “Every time you try to pull an extravagant gesture, someth-”

“Oi! Watch it, then. Don’t get all cheeky on me,” Louis reprimanded, smiling despite himself.

“Just stating the facts,” Harry grinned, leaning down for a kiss.

“I love you so much,” Louis sighed dramatically when Harry pulled away, getting on his toes to peck him, “But now that you’ve seen the surprise already, help me with the candles, yeah?”

“Yeah, I… could…” Harry cocked his head to the side, smiling smugly “Or… we skip the candles,” he teased, cupping Louis’ jaw and running his thumb over his cheekbone, “And we get to whatever it was you had planned in the bathroom?”

A flush crept up Louis’ neck from the sudden change in Harry’s demeanour. It wasn’t like Harry to take the reins, and Louis liked to pretend he would rather be the one in charge, but they both knew he loved it when Harry got like this. “Oh- I wasn’t- It… Um, later?” Louis squeaked.

“Yeah, the candles can wait for later-” Harry smirked, dipping his head down to peck Louis’ lips, then moving to press kisses along the line of his jaw. He placed his hands on Louis’ waist, barely aware when Louis took a step towards him, guiding him to the ensuite door.

Harry instinctually took a few steps back, letting himself be guided by Louis. He barely registered something nudging the back of his calves, and then heard a dull thunk. He broke off, swearing under his breath, and whipped around.

It was one of the candles. Oh-

“Fuck,” Louis hissed, grabbing the candle and blowing it out, setting it upright before looking around wildly for something to clean up the wax with. “Haz, where’s that fuckin’ towel I- Fuckin’ hell,”

Harry didn’t even stop to think, throwing the towel over to Louis and standing awkwardly over his shoulder as he mopped up the spilt wax. It wasn’t until later that he realised the better option would have been to let the wax harden and scrape it out.

At the time, all he was focused on was the small black singed circle on the carpet. Right in front of the window.

“Oops?” Harry bit his lip as Louis turned to face him, grimacing apologetically, “It’s um- The carpet is… yeah. And the candles, I mean- I’ll light them again, later?”

“Forget the candles, the cinnamon was getting on my nerves anyway. Too fuckin’ strong,” Louis smiled back, and Harry was internally grateful for the offhand way he was taking this. He knew Louis must’ve wanted it all to be perfect, and he nearly would have gotten it right this time, if not for Harry’s clumsiness.

“I love you, Lou. Thanks for doing all this,” Harry said in a small voice, feeling warm and fuzzy as he watched Louis go around the room and blow out the candles one by one.

“No need to thank me, Harry. Y’know that, babe,” Louis smiled, eyes crinkling up as he leaned against the table, crossing his arms and gazing fondly at the younger man. “I won’t lie… All of this- All that I did” he motioned vaguely, “Could’ve gone better, but- That would’ve been boring, at best. I mean- At least we’ll make more memories this way. No fuckin’ way to forget your husband almost calling the cops on you because you sent him flowers,” he giggled.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?” Harry sighed.

Louis just shook his head in response, cracking into a wide smile and holding out his hand towards Harry. “Last surprise,” he motioned towards the slightly open bathroom door and Harry grinned back, intertwining their fingers together.

The scene that greeted them when Louis cracked open the door was not the one Harry had been expecting.

Suds. Suds everywhere.

Harry watched expressions flick over Louis’ face, his own jaw hanging open. Surprise. Bewilderment. Confusion.

Harry understood the flood of emotions Louis must have been feeling. It really was a lot of bubbles. The bathtub in the corner was nowhere to be seen, completely engulfed under a mountain of suds. Harry bet it would’ve at least come up to his knees if he waded all the way to the bathtub.

He could actually see when the realisation of how this all happened hit Louis. He watched his expression change as it dawned on him.Harry bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing his giggles at the look on his face.

“Best Valentine’s Day ever,” Harry said seriously. Louis rolled his eyes at him, looking entirely unimpressed.

“No I- For real, How did you even manage this?” he asked incredulously.

“A bit too much bubble bath?” Louis offered, still staring incredulously around the bathroom.

“A bit more than just ‘a bit’, I’d say,” Harry chuckled.

“Stop it,” Louis giggled, shooting Harry a fake-offended look, “Or there’ll be no bath for you,”

“What? You’re going to actually bathe in that ?” Harry raised an eyebrow coolly.

“Well since all the bubbles are already there , I figured- Might as well use them, yeah?” Louis grinned, stripping off his clothes as he walked into the foam, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry.

Harry shook his head and tugged his own shirt off, discarding it off to the side carelessly. He laughed out loud when Louis stepped into the bathtub, disappearing under the bubbles, apart from his head.

Louis really was such an idiot. But he was his idiot.

“I’m not an idiot,” Louis exclaimed, sounding offended. Harry realised he said the last part out loud. Well, oops.

“I love you, Lou,” Harry giggled, getting in the tub with Louis, reaching for his shoulder when he slightly lost his balance. Maybe it hadn’t all gone according to plan, but Harry wouldn’t have had it any other way. Louis was always there for him. There was nothing more he could ask for.

All that mattered was Louis. And all the little things he did.

#larry stylinson #louis tomlinson #harry styles #one direction #larry #larry stylinson fanfiction #larry fanfic #larry fanfiction #hlcreators #hltracks #hlficlibrary #trackinghome #1d #larry fluff #valentine's day

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doki-doki-lesbians-club · 3 months

Note

as someone who’s entire poetry style is based on a mix of natsuki and yuri’s, PLEASE ANALYZE THE POEMS TOO! ANALYZE THE HELL OUT OF EVERYTHING!!

You had me at “poetry” 😊

Okay, everyone! In this post, we’ll be analyzing Natsuki’s poetry in Doki Doki Literature Club! because she’s gay and i can prove it dammit

Well only be going over the poems that have a profound affect on reading her character, namely “Amy Likes Spiders” and “I’ll Be Your Beach”, and maybe touching on “The Best Place in the World” if I feel like it by the end of the post.

(Links to read the poems for yourself!)

｢Amy Likes Spiders｣

Let’s talk spiders… er, poetry! So to summarize, we are introduced to a hypothetical character named Amy, who likes spiders. We are shown that she is a normal person with a normal life, except the narrator of the poem refuses to be friends with her because she likes spiders. Simple, right? Spiders are gross!

Well, not that simple. The climax of the piece is a stanza towards the end that reads: “It doesn’t matter if she has other hobbies. It doesn’t matter if she keeps it private. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

Oof, yikes, kinda harsh, don’t you think? It keeps going.

“It’s gross. She’s gross. The world is better off without spider lovers.

And I’m gonna tell everyone.”

Woahhh okay, took a bit of an intense turn from enjoying arachnids, huh?

This should be the first clue that the true meaning of the poem isn’t surface-level. Lines that seem intensely out of place or out of character are most likely intended to point you to a deeper content, such as I believe is happening here.

The entire poem, Natsuki has shown us in detail Amy, her life, and how this narrator treats her in response to her “liking spiders”. The narrator refuses to enjoy Amy’s singing, won’t let Amy touch her to help her when she’s hurt, and even fears that Amy might cause her friends to start liking spiders too.

So, what’s going on here? Why such a strong reaction to Amy’s interests? Well, this becomes more clear when reading with a queer lens.

Go through the entire poem (or at least the key parts) and replace “spiders” with “girls”. You get such lines as: “I tried not to let her touch me. She likes girls, so her hands are probably gross.”

“I always see her talking to people. She probably talks about girls. What if her friends start to like girls too?”

“It’s gross. She’s gross. The world is better off without girl lovers.”

Reads totally different, right? But it also makes a little more sense, doesn’t it?

In this context, Amy is a lesbian. Someone (the narrator) found out, and is being entirely homophobic about it, even if it doesn’t affect them at all. This makes the end of the poem more ominous and borderline horrifying.

“The world is better off without spider lovers.

And I’m gonna tell everyone.”

This can also be used to support a trans reading of Natsuki, as all of these same things can be applied to being transgender (though maybe in a more distantly metaphorical way than the easy spiders/girls swap).

Stylistically, it’s a very simple rhythm, no rhyme, with the repeating line “That’s why I’m not friends with her.” This simple repetition of pattern and phrase makes the changeup with “It doesn’t matter if…” all the more prominent, because it breaks that pattern.

｢I’ll Be Your Beach｣

Ahh the beach. Not my vacation of choice, but many find it refreshing, rejuvenating, and relaxing. That’s certainly what Natsuki seemed to have in mind for her poem she wrote from the one word prompt “beach”.

This piece is longer, though still keeps Natsuki’s tried-and-true simple format, four-line stanzas, and repetition not too dissimilar to common music patterns. The scene is of two people walking along a beach, basking in the warm sunlight, and letting the seawater wash their worries away. Natsuki can even be seen fantasizing about a kiss between these two~!

Though I don’t believe Natsuki to be the first person narrator of “Amy Likes Spiders”, I do think she is the narrator of this poem, as she then assumes the role of one of the two on the beach. Which means Natsuki is actually writing about her kissing this person! How intriguing~

Now, we are lead to believe in DDLC that the romantic poems written by Yuri and Natsuki are directed at the MC. However, that would be an odd assumption for this poem, given some of the things Natsuki mentions…

“Your mind is so full of troubles and fears” “The walls in your mind will melt away” “Let’s bury your heavy thoughts in the sand” “Wash your insecurities in the salty sea” “You’ll learn to love yourself again.”

By show of hands, how many of you lovely readers thought about MC when you read those lines? I hope none of you, because he doesn’t express these sentiments at all, let alone to Natsuki.

But how many of you maybe thought about Yuri? Or even Sayori? Ahh, a different story.

Natsuki is clearly imagining a time where she can comfort this person and remind them of “the reasons [they’re] wonderful” and even kiss them. This person clearly means a lot to Natsuki, and seeing them happier is obviously a goal. Now who does Natsuki say this is about explicitly…

Oh, of course, Yuri.

In Act 2, Natsuki gives MC a note that mentions she always wanted to be better friends with Yuri, and is concerned for her wellbeing (as we all were in Act 2). This seems to be a similar theme to the therapeutic scene in “I’ll Be Your Beach”, not to mention that the “beach” prompt was an assignment with Yuri! They were supposed to write from the same prompt, and Natsuki wrote this while Yuri wrote her poem, “Beach”. Wouldn’t it make sense that Natsuki might write some of these feelings she has for/about Yuri in a poem that was surely going to be read to her?

In conclusion, Natsuki’s simplistic style is excellent at throwing in emotional and/or sudden endings that really provoke thought about the poem itself, and its deeper meaning. This also allows for some thicker metaphors, since everything is encouraged to be taken at face value. I hope my breakdowns here have shown you just a little bit of a queer reading of Natsuki’s character through poetry! (Not to mention everything she does and says!)

I might add “The Best Place in the World” as a reblog later, Tumblr mobile is fucking with my formatting ahaha! Thanks for the ask~! I might do this for some of the other poems too if people are interested!

#doki doki lesbians club #mailbox #doki doki literature club #ddlc #ddlc natsuki #natsuki ddlc #ddlc poems

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honey-tea-and-lemon-trees · 9 months

Note

Nancy running her fingers through Ace’s hair to help him fall asleep

anon 1, please know that prompt genuinely made me melt when i saw it. i have combined it with the following prompt from anon 2:

I wrote it as a college au but then realised i didn’t really make really clear in-text that it was a college au… so this is me telling you: it’s a college au.

and it’s for very people we meet on vacation coded, for the friends-to-lovers, emily henry girlies (that’s me, this was self serving.)

It’s also longer than i intended, so i have put it on ao3, if you’d rather read it there: (X)

—————————————

Ace drops the key ungracefully into Nancy’s hand and wraps a heavy arm around her shoulders while she leans down to unlock it.

‘I still can’t believe,’ she huffs, wrapping one arm around Ace’s torso and awkwardly tries to balance while she pushes the door with the toe of her chucks, ‘you got hit by a car…’

She tugs him through the doorway and tries to maneuver them around so she can gently close the door, but Ace has clumsy feet at the best of times and stumbles a little, which would be fine if he wasn’t so heavy. Nancy lets out a soft oof as she struggles to keep them upright.

‘Well, it would’ve hit Nancy otherwise.’ He says like he’s not wrapped his body around the person he’s speaking of, though he makes his objection to this clear with a heavily creased brow.

‘Uh huh, those painkillers getting to you a little, Ace?’ She laughs under her breath.

‘Nooope,’ he chirps with a popped p, frowny face gone in an instant. ‘Hey, Nick is here!’ he says with a burst as the man himself emerges from his room.

‘Yep, he lives here too,’ Nancy says.

‘Sure do. How you feeling, buddy?’ Nick says.

‘Like a box of waffles,’ he summises with a lopsided grin.

There’s a beat of silence while Nick and Nancy blink - first at Ace, then at each other - in effort to puzzle the meaning of this statement.

‘We’ve got a broken arm, some forehead stitches and a concussion. And will probably feel a whole lot worse once the loopy-juice wears off,’ Nancy translates to Nick with a soft smile.

‘And are you okay?’

‘I’m good.’ Nancy sighs. ‘Some scrapes and bruises, and a heart that hasn’t stopped pounding since this guy stepped in front of a car this morning,’ she pokes Ace lightly in the side and he lets out a completely uncharacteristic giggle that has both Nick and Nancy chuckling along with him. ‘But, it would have been a lot worse if he hadn’t pulled me out the way... Self-sacrificing fool.’

That pinching sensation fills every corner of her chest again, as it has been all day. She tightens her arm on his torso a little, leans into the ridiculous heat of his body and reminds herself that he’s okay. He’s safe and (mostly) whole still.

Nick frowns. ‘I thought you would be a little longer and was about to head out - just for half an hour, I’ll be back to check on him during the night - but you want me to stay and help him get into bed? It’s been a long day for you, I’m sure you want to get home…’

His head drops to the top of hers, like he’s tired of standing up. Or like he’s trying to hold her tighter.

‘That’s okay,’ Nancy says. She doesn’t want to be anywhere else. ‘We’ve made it this far. I’ll help him.’

Nick at least helps steer them across the floor to the doorway of Ace’s room, and leaves with the promise that if she calls, he’ll come straight back.

Nancy is unbelievably grateful that Ace is confident he’ll be able to change his own clothes - she knows he broke his collarbone when he was in high school and promises that was a hell of a lot harder.

She stands facing the wall, and apart from when he nearly trips on his own feet, he manages just fine, and beams at her proudly from having done so.

Nancy grabs his shoulders and steers him towards the bed.

‘Do you want anything?’ she asks as they reach the edge and she gently pushes on his shoulders until he’s sitting.

Ace’s chin tilts up to look up at her. ‘For you to stay.’

Her heart twitches in her chest. ‘I meant, like, a glass of water.’

‘Same answer.’

The chirpy, bumbling Ace from a few minutes ago isn’t visible now as he searches her face, a crease in his brow like there’s a problem he can’t figure out.

She hasn’t moved her hands from his shoulders. She can feel the warmth of his skin through the threadbare tshirt covering them. If his knees parted, she’d practically be standing between them.

And it’s stirring an ache she manages to forget about ninety percent of the time.

A ‘what if this thing between them could be more than friendship?’

A ‘what if this wasn’t a person I wasn’t so afraid to lose?’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she says in a voice she doesn’t mean to whisper.

Their eyes stay locked and something works in Ace’s jaw.

Nancy clears her throat and steps away until she’s colder. ‘I am going to insist on the water though, and I want to see you lying down and resting by the time I get back,’ she says with faux-sternness, waggling a finger at him as she walks backwards.

That confusing look has melted from his face and is replaced with a soft smile as he tracks her all the way to the door.

When Nancy re-enters the room, Ace is dutifully laying under the covers. For a fraction of a second, she makes her footsteps featherlight when she spots his closed eyes, until he cracks one open in a squint, paired with a lazy grin.

Nancy shakes her head as she approaches, placing the glass on the nightstand.

She lets out a surprised hum when Ace’s good arm reaches out and snakes around her waist, pulling her down so she’s sitting beside his head.

He’s never usually so tactile with her. It’s not that they never touch, it’s just that it’s usually Nancy reaching out a hand, brushing his arm or pulling him into a hug. This side of him, a relaxed, walls-down version of her best friend, is confusing her.

There’s far too many tangled up feelings, stringing within her ribcage, as she looks down at his face, hair falling in front of her face.

‘What’s going on in there?’ Ace’s hand reaches up as he mutters, the backs of his knuckles brushing across her forehead, coaxing the string of hair back.

‘Just thinking,’ she whispers, shifting her position so she’s a little further on the bed, a little closer to Ace’s head. She swallows thickly. ‘You scared me today.’

It remains a flash of Ace yelling and yanking her arm as a car whipped round a corner too fast, silent, shocked tears as she watched paramedics tend to him in the back of the ambulance, barely held back gasping sobs when she spoke to Bess on the phone, alone in the waiting room. It stays a burning in her chest that she doesn't think will go anywhere any time soon.

It’s a disbelief that nearly three years ago she didn’t know this person, and today, for a moment, she had to imagine her life without him and it brought her to her fucking knees.

She can’t help but mirror his bravery, bringing her own fingers to brush back the hair flopping over his brow, exposing the stitches beneath. The tips of her fingers hover an inch above, tracing the shape of the small curve.

‘God… I hope you don’t get a scar because of me.’

‘Hmm?’ Ace eyes focus where they’d been lazily studying her face, flitting to where her hand is poised, still not quite touching. ‘Oh.’ The bed shifts ever so slightly with his gentle breath of laughter. ‘I dunno... I wouldn’t mind.’

His head nudges against her hand with intention, and her fingers are pushed into his hair with it.

‘Can think of worse things than having a Nancy scar,’ he says, like it’s no huge thing. Like he’s not saying, I wouldn’t mind if you were permanent to me, with the letters rearranged.

As her throat dries, she allows herself to drift further into the waves of Ace’s hair, the sand-blond strands slipping softly through her fingers. She lets herself enjoy the contented smile he leaves unguarded as his eyes slip closed.

She tells herself that her heart didn’t flutter at the deep hum that rumbled through Ace’s chest when she lightly scratched her nails against his scalp. She’s honestly not sure how his head ended up in her lap.

She can’t remember it being this easy to be quiet with someone, how it right it felt to touch them.

Nancy can tell Ace is drifting off when his chest rises slower and she whispers his name, keeping him tethered for one last moment.

He hums in question.

‘Please don’t jump in front of any more cars for me,’ she says softly to the empty room, the only accompaniment their gentle breaths.

Ace smirks sleepily. ‘No promises, Nancy.’

He falls asleep smiling, and time freezes as she watches him.

And she realises that the moments like these, when her chest throbs with a wanting that extends beyond friendship, cannot keep happening.

Because she loves him too much to fall for him.

#pre ep reading anyone ?#nace #prompt fill #ask games

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the-kipsabian · 7 months

Text

god this got so much longer than i intended im so sorry oof

i am admittedly very fascinated by kips gear design (so much so in fact that i straight up asked him if we could ever hear process or design notes about it lmao), so i had some of my own thoughts honestly

im gonna make this in chronological order cause its easier to explain the reasoning that way, so i hope it makes sense but

so we have to go back to the last of the superbad designs first

i cannot for the life of me find a photo of the backside of the gear, but i literally rewatched arcade anarchy for research for this as thats one match i can name from the top of my head where he wears this, and it holds no relevancy (apart from the 'superbad' text on the ass) to what im gonna talk about later, so

but yeah.. i have no explanation for this design choice tbh lol. im pretty sure most of this was just "because he liked the colors and it looked cool", its mostly an aesthetic choice afaik. which, admittedly, it is. its really fucking pretty. the only thing i can say from the top of my head is the drip effect on the top of the tights, as that was in some previous superbad shorts, so thats a recycled thing (and will continue to be, so its good to point out here). likewise the non-matching kneepads, tho interestingly enough the side of the one with images changes as we move on, which. i'll talk about a bit later

i just wanted to point this one out cause it has some elements that keep on appearing later, and also cause its pretty. longboy supremacy 💜

moving onto the return/boxman gear

the boxman gear holds up some of the old design choices - the different kneepads, the drip effect, at this point he also had mismatching kickpads which i found extremely interesting (especially after realizing this was a repeat design choice. like if you look at them, the right one has a light pattern on it but the left one doesnt. and then compare those to the superbad kickpads. same thing). and yeah the superbad text still remains on the ass, which i find kinda funky considering he literally right up to the reveal of this new look went around ripping into his old self so. hmm. tho this is a point im gonna bring up in the collective thoughts later, so put a pin on it

but. theres a few things i wanna focus on here. mainly the clearly toned down color scheme - the more wine red, black and white is clearly toned down from whatever that aesthetic mess was before. but it works, especially later with the colored hair. i dont know the significance of it apart from him just really liking those colors so he wanted to use them (which i believe he has mentioned off-hand before so im just pulling this from my memory idk), but im mentioning them now to talk about it later a bit more when we get to the current design

also the big head on the side. this is more relevant later, again, with how it changes from design to design, but its interesting to see that despite moving on from his "previous self", hes still carrying that image with him. sure its a bit more updated, but the base for the superbad is there and used for it. like i get it that its a logo thing, but still. it sure is a choice

and thennnnn the kneepads. cause this is where i feel like the interesting shit starts (before we move on to current look which is what really prompted this whole thought process). see, there used to be a kip head there. now its a question mark. which has been imagery he used a lot during the boxman era both before and after his return, even to the point where there was a question mark on the back of the box (with the word 'back', yes, but the question mark was still very much there. omnipresent, if you will, as was the boxman himself). it feels like a nod about forgetting, abandoning to your old self and searching for something new, searching for yourself again. to me this looks like a sign of 'who am i/who was i' type of deal, like its such a deliberate choice of where its put - and yes i know the knees change between this and the previous design, but i feel like the point still stands. even more so with the swapped knee tbh, being so lost trying to find yourself you make mistakes. i know this is a reach but bear with me lmao

I ALSO ACTUALLY HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THE KICKPADS CAUSE I JUST REALIZED SOMETHING

look at this. look at it. so i mentioned before that the different patterning on the kickpads, right? well its only on the right side. which is also the only side with the drip effect on it. and look at the kickpad. the pattern shows better in the ddt photo lighting, but what does that look like? its kinda like a blood splatter. and knowing at this point in time, for this character, kip was doing character studies and consuming media etc. about characters that were most often serial killers or otherwise similarly deranged... yeah baby this is a nod to that you cant tell me otherwise!!

and then some choices i just wanna mention cause i think they're interesting but i have no fucking idea what they mean or why they are there lmao. apart from the 'time changes us all' text on the right side, thats pretty obvious (and plays to everything else ive pointed out so far actually) as well as the fact that instead of a few selected fingers, he started taping almost all of them (wedding band my beloved). that one i know he has mentioned was an aesthetic choice cause he liked it (also it might have something to do with him previously having dislocated a finger mid match sssooooo)

but anyways

i just really wanna talk about the lacing of the kickpad. yeah, just the one. cause i really dont know why, but im completely in love with the asymmetry of this design choice, its very similar to the one patterned kneepad. its also made into a more obvious one as time goes on i think, cause its barely visible in the return match at all in zero hour, but just few months down the line its fully visible and you can even see it in the promo pictures, the bow end of it just dangling about. i just honestly think its really cute, but also relevant to, again, the current design so im gonna talk about it more later

..and then i just offhand wanted to mention. this. cause i dont know what the fuck this is or why its a choice in this design but. it is. so here you go have fun lmao

(like in speculation i had a quick thought that MAYBE its trying to match pennys new gears garter belt style, as its just about the same spot, and since they did kinda matching styled gear? but thats literally all i got. i got so distracted by this fucking thing and i have no idea what it is. i hate it now, thats all i know lmao) anyways, moving on! current design yay!!

so what i find the most interesting here, compared to the two others, is lack of color. honestly i think the grayscale works wonderfully with the rest of the design choices as well as his current look, but seeing him go from the previously colored design to this just sparked a thought in me.. tho idk how much of that actually plays into this design choice, considering this was done before he started the transition more away from what the boxman had become with the 'underrated and over it' gimmick and hes moving towards a much more confident version of himself again (sex idol, anyone?), but hes trying to prove something here. less flash in design, more flash in character, if that makes sense. also, classic villain look, black and white and cheesy blond 80s hair. i love him

the drips are also to the minimum now for some reason, and the splat pattern on the kickpad is gone. which is sad cause i really loved that detail, but again, minimalism, more classical and clean look. it still works, but i miss it. i also just like it how all the text is easier to look now, while that font just has the creep vibes. this whole set up feels like a homage to old black and white horror movies tbh, now that i think about it which i absolutely would not put past him

whichhhhh leads us to the first big point i wanted to make with this one - the mask on the side that now entirely replaces the previous kip heads. he very briefly brought it up as part of the two episode stint they did in ddt in february this year with penny, and there was like a single photoshoot in aew with it

and then it was never brought up again. which i believe is cause kip said once that he was waiting for a good opportunity and a longer storyline to bring it out for its full potential. which, sadly never happened as i believe he has now plans to move on from it (and possibly return to the box? we shall see, but thats what he said he wanted to do, so), but i find it interesting that its chosen as the new logo to replace the original kip head on the tights, but yet the box logo design remains on both the front and the back of the jacket (which i didnt bring up here as while i love the design, it holds no relevancy in these cases im talking about here, apart from this one) and the actual mask is never seen on screen

the second thing i wanna talk about is the text on the back. previous two designs have said 'superbad', this one says 'the gallery' - for uninformed, this was(/is?) the unofficial team name of kip, butcher, blade, bunny and penelope. although i believe they are more or less now coining the name 'deadly alliance', but since neither is official... anyways, i just wanna point it out that hes moving on from singling and acknowledging himself only, and moving more into team territory here, which is an interesting touch. especially for someone who can often be viewed as a mastermind behind the things he makes his little henchmen do. hmmm (i could talk about this alliance forever but im gonna spare you, let it just be known that i dont think they are on as equal standings within this group as they might let you believe or think themselves lmao. like kip is obviously leading this bunch of killers but thats a whole another tangent. its just an interesting thought in the relation to him now having a team name on the gear [especially when in the meantime both butcher and blade i believe just have their names SO])

and finally! the actual thing that made me wanna write this whole four fucking hours long operation!! the color splash details!!!

these. the lacing. its the only colorful thing in these pants and it has sparkled so many thoughts in me god. like i obviously see how these were easy to recycle from the previous design (although they are different laces so. theres also that. which makes this an even more deliberate choice), and keeping the colors consistent by making the two similar pieces the same color. this also can be tied together to the horror movie theme still, as while we lack blood splatters overall, we do have these here. in red. which i feel like is an important detail

i do want to, however, talk about why i thought this was so important and what it sparked in me. now, this might be the part where im fucking reaching and reading too much into this, but.. in this transition towards something new and something else, few former pieces remain, although they change along the way. the kneepads are still similar, the pants are still pinstriped, the red laces are there, the kickpads are similar, minor changes to some of the designs, etc.. the basics are the same, but it swaps to new things over time, as we move on

whats the saying thats hes using as a catchphrase and a hashtag everywhere again?

embrace the change

so you see. hes embracing it. hes moving on. hes changing. little by little, things are different, but hes making the active role in accepting it and making them happen. hes still the same old underneath, just the perception to outside and how its viewed is different. the patterns change. the colors change. the names, the phrases, the looks. they all change, hes embracing it, but it all comes down to the same old, because thats the thing; even if youre moving on, you cant forget your roots. cause whats the other, a bit lesser known saying?

time doesnt heal; it changes you

thank you for coming to my tedtalk

#kip sabian #you know what im tagging this and you cant stop me this took me way too long and i feel like im losing my mind #my beloved #kip in a box #boxman saga #box thoughts #if it doesnt make sense dont tell me i dont wanna know i just wanna have it done at this point lmao #i'll regret it later just here take it im going to bed good god

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freneticfloetry · 6 months

Text

weekend wip game

Rules: List your WIPs below (if you only write one fic at a time, feel free to include future WIPs/ideas!) then answer the following questions. Then, tag as many people as you have WIPs (or more).

Thanks to @welcometololaland for kicking this off, plus @liminalmemories21, @rmd-writes, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @orchidscript, @alrightbuckaroo, and @heartstringsduet for the tags!

1. WIP List: had we but world enough (and time) (the TiMER fic) a strong enough foundation (followup to tbah in the Roots Before Branches series, aka “five times Morgan was just like her daddy, and one time she was all her papá”) for better, for worse (bachelor party shenanigans) we were emergencies (the It’s a Wonderful Life/Sliding Doors-esque TK AU) the same in every language (five times Carlos says something in Spanish during sex and one time TK understands) show me the steps so i can go through the motions (4x18 Carlos & Gabriel tag) our hearts are haunted by the ghosts that i made (the no coma AU that angst built) Still Sadly Untitled Phone Fic (five times Tarlos had to replace a phone) Untitled HGTV AU Untitled [Film] Fusion Untitled Breakup Era Hookup (accidental club run-in where Jealous TK Makes Choices) Untitled [Redacted] AU (collab with @ambiguouspenny) The One Where Carlos Gets Shot …do you know how happy I am that to build a home is not on this list?

2. Which of your WIPs is currently the longest? The TiMER fic! It wasn’t even supposed to be second in line, it just bullied its way to the top of the list.

3. Which WIP do you expect will end up the longest? Oof. If I didn’t know myself so well, I’d say we were emergencies, but since I do, it’ll probably be the HGTV fic.

4. Which WIP is your favourite to write/the most enjoyable to write? Why? The TiMER fic has been a lot of fun to write, despite it being hurtier than I intended, but I think that’s just down to being in TK’s head for the first time. But every single snippet of for better, for worse makes me grin like a loon without fail, so it’s that one, hands down.

5. Which WIP do you find the most intimidating to write? Why? Hat trick for the TiMER AU. I think I was so excited about the premise and the possibilities of it all — I’ve wanted to write a TiMER fic since I first saw the movie, and a Soulmates fic for even longer — I didn’t really stop to consider that, after ~64k of building on and in-between canon, I was going to have to… build on and in-between canon. There’s a substantial element of re-imagining for this one, just because of the nature of the TiMER as a literal plot device, but there are times I’m still like fuuuuuck, I have to do this thing completely differently now.

6. Which WIP do you experience the most self-doubt about. Why? the same in every language. It’s not a plot-what-plot, it’s literally sex as plot, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about making it work.

7. Which of your WIPs will you seek out a beta/sensitivity reader for? Why? Both for better, for worse and we were emergencies will need outside attention to make sure they’re working as planned, and I’ll definitely be enlisting @hoko-onchi-writes’ Smutmancer services to make sure the same in every language is worth anything at all.

8. Have any of your WIPs been struck by the curse of writer's block? I’m just laughing right now. That’s my answer.

9. Which WIP has your favourite OC? Tell us about them? Definitely we were emergencies. His name is Simon, he’s a vet (as in healer of animals, not former military man, but he has Seen Some Things in his particular line of work so the latter isn’t far off), and he has a history with Carlos that he’d very much like to be a future with Carlos. He’s also totally scruff-and-curls era Zane Phillips in my head, and both @ambiguouspenny and I are sort of shamelessly infatuated with him. To quote Tay, after being virtually introduced to Dr. Simon: “do you even like TK?”

10. Which WIP is the sexiest? One would think it’s the aforementioned fic where sex is the plot, but the TiMER fic has some moments, y’all.

11. Which WIP is the angstiest? I mean, pick your poison. As I said, the TiMER fic is angstier than intended. The Breakup Era Hookup will be hot angst, but angst nonetheless. There’s one where Carlos gets shot. And I know it sounds like show me the steps so i can go through the motions might be an obvious answer, considering The Gabriel Factor, but the real winner is probably our hearts are haunted by the ghosts that i made. I told Tay the actual premise and they threw me in angst jail.

12. Which WIP has the best characterisation (in your humble opinion)? a strong enough foundation is a real contender here, because it’s the Carlos I already know and love, but I think it might actually be for better, for worse, simply because it’s all of Team Tarloft, and I have something of a knack for ensemble fics, if I do say so myself.

13. Which WIP has the best scene setting (in your humble opinion)? Either the HGTV fic or the Untitled Film Fusion. Probably the former, because pretty pretty interiors are like porn for me.

14. Which WIP have you worked the hardest on? Surprising no one, the TiMER fic. Snippets aside, I’m a “one WIP at a time” kind of girl.

15. Which WIP do you have the highest expectations for? Why? In a weird way, I think this is usually the fic I’m currently working on. Some Yuletide fic aside (mostly pinch hits and quick treats), I always want to feel like whatever I’m writing is the best thing I’ve done — that way I get the sense that I’m growing. That said, though I’ve written a kid in fic (Teddy from The Magicians), I have never written kidfic, and the plan I have for a strong enough foundation makes me really excited.

16. Do you dream about any of your WIPs? Not the actual fics, no, but I do dream about characters.

17. Do any of your WIPs have particular complexities that your other fics don't? our hearts are haunted by the ghosts that i made has to tread some very thin ice, due to its premise, and I’m hoping I can find the right balance with it. And that it doesn’t make people hate me.

18. Which WIP is the funniest or has the most humour? for better, for worse. And it’s not even close.

19. Do any of your WIPs contain outside POVs or a deep dive on a character other than the main ship? How are you finding that process? The Untitled Phone Fic has an outsider POV! An OC outsider, even. She’s an overworked, underpaid girl named Kelsey, and she’s sort of precious. This one’s still in early stages, just an outline and a handful of snippets, but Kelsey is very clear in my head.

20. Tell us one thing we don't know about one or more of your WIPs. One involves an unreliable narrator, one involves an inanimate object as a running theme, and one involves revenge.

I am so very late to this, so consider it an open tag for anyone who’d still like to talk WIPs!

#fic meme #wip game #writing #the proverbial plate

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iratetourist · 2 years

Text

pour some sugar on me // eddie munson x reader

summary: an early morning meeting opportunity with eddie quickly takes a heated turn…

pairing: eddie munson x fem!cheerleader!reader

word count: medium-length (written on phone)

warnings: smutty stuff (18+, in a classroom, fingering, eddie does some nasty shit with his coffee, implied bl*wjob), banter in between it all

author’s note: he wasn’t even around for the song the title is based on… rip king you would have loved it… this fic contextually fits with my other one - after school only - which is kind of becoming something of a series, i guess? but this is separate enough that it can be read on its own… it is pure smut after all lmao

——————————

It was far from subtle or secretive anymore.

Sure, the technical extent of it known by the student body was still just that you were tutoring Eddie Munson, and given how long it had been going on… well, the jokes about him not graduating a third time had certainly ramped up, despite your deterrence and the obvious improvement of his grades. Rumours flew that the teachers had schemed to get you off final exam-free for the agonizing, dedicated venture, because why else would you, lovely straight-A cheerleader extraordinaire, continue bothering with the bum-ass skid kid wonder?

Now… you were well, well aware of what Eddie Munson could offer to keep you around - his hands, ring-clad and rough-palmed down your thighs, and oh, those lips buried between your legs - but at some point, you began to recognize it was just as much, if not more, the little things, the affection and the warmth it stoked in your chest.

Today was no different, the butterflies in your stomach no less fluttery at waiting for him, no less bursting when he walked in the classroom door that early, early morning, easy smile dimpling his cheeks and coffees and a small crinkly bag clutched in hand.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

The nickname never not caused you to melt, and despite trying to keep your expression casual, your demeanour breezy, you practically beamed back at him, already moving to draw him to you. “Hiya. Almost thought—“ Your short greeting was cut off by a sudden yawn, only half-stifled by your hand.

“Oof, you need this,” he smirked and placed the to-go coffee tray on your desk. “How else are you gonna survive the arduous trial of dealing with me before 8AM?”

“Mm, I’ve done it before,” you remarked cheekily, “but thank you.” Standing straighter, you gave a little stretch, revelling in how obviously he was watching each and every movement you made. “Honestly, though, what I think I need more is…”

You leaned over and kissed him, hand gently holding him over your desk by the shirt. He returned it without missing a beat, dropping the bag in his hand on said desk to wrap around your waist. It was longer than intended, content and lazy in the warm morning rays, and most definitely exactly what you had required.

When you parted, Eddie lingered close for just a few moments, face flushed and eyes opening slowly to study you. He seemed almost mesmerized, unusually quiet and all attention on you, and you felt a paradoxical flood of guilt wash over you even as your heart skipped. He looked at you like that, made you feel like this… and yet, you had both convinced yourselves into a place where it couldn’t be acknowledged.

You wanted nothing more than to take his hand in the hallway, sit with him at lunch, kiss his knuckles and call him yours - but what kind of target would all that set up on him, on you?

You hated that you still let their opinions control you, seep into and poison the bright, simple happiness he brought into your life.

“Hey, you good? You kind of zoned out there.”

He brushed his ringed fingers down your arm, voice soft and low. You were struck out of your spiralling thoughts at the contact, and you shook your head and plunked yourself down before they could take root again, anchoring your mood to his presence, the way he angled into you and bumped his knee against yours.

Even with all that doubt and shame nagging at the edges of your mind, you weren’t about to let it ruin a rare morning with him.

“I’m all right,” you nodded, giving him a genuine smile and taking a sip of the coffee he had brought. A little burnt and stale, courtesy of the gas station, but triple-sugared and two-creamed just as you liked it. “Thanks again for… oh, you remembered! Thank you, Eddie.”

“S’nothin’,” he shrugged, but you could see a crooked smile dawn on his own features. “Got you this, too… uh, remembered you said you'd, quote unquote, 'kill a bitch' for one of those Daily’s everything bagels when we drove by there last time, and they actually had some left this morning, so…" He dangled the flimsy bag he had brought in front of you, brows waggling all the while.

Maybe it was the fact that you were ravenous, but it took everything in you not to lunge him into another lip lock right there and then. God, he had you completely and utterly whipped in the stupidest, sweetest ways possible.

“You, Eddie Munson, are an absolute godsend.” You had the bag playfully snatched from his hands before he knew it, a delighted, self-satisfied noise leaving you as you bit into the bagel. “Literally everything I could ever need in one perfect circle.” Your voice became theatrical as you next spoke. “However can I repay you, good sir?”

“Hmm…” He put on a look of mock-consideration and tapped his chin. “Well, I do seem to be in need of some… say, sugar, fair lady—“ He tipped his own coffee cup in your direction, “Perhaps you may provide?”

Your brows drew together at him for a second, before he matched your earlier gesture and was leaning in to press his lips to yours, kiss just as tender as the first. When he went to pull away, you instinctively gathered your hands up his chest, fingers gently tracing the line of his collarbone up to his jaw before settling on his neck. He was putty in your capable hands, an appreciative noise leaving him at the way your thumb massaged his nape, head tilting automatically to deepen the kiss. What was definitely meant to be something short and teasing quickly had him shifting to bring you to his lap, fingers ghosting beneath your skirt and tongue pushing to yours.

Breakfast was forgotten as the kiss went from unhurried to something desperate, needier - your hips grinding down on the growing tent in his jeans, seeking the friction the rough fabric provided, his hand under your shirt, bra shoved aside, his thumb and forefinger circling, rolling, punishing, appreciating… Every kind of noise left the two of you, a gasp and moan from endlessly-kissed lips, a groan that rumbled from his chest against yours, more than a few fucks shared alongside your names.

You were hyperaware of the location, the fact that a too-early student or janitor or teacher could wander by and see your activities, but something about that only added to the fervour with which your hands explored him, to the want coiling low. You weren’t sure you were quite ready to just straight up fuck the man right there in a classroom, but there were most certainly other ways to go about this…

He already had one hand holding you at the back and the other sliding down to press fingers against the thinly-clothed, increasingly-wet apex of your legs, spreading your folds, and you rolled your hips forward to meet him, earning a stutter and stir of his own and that groan you loved so, husky and yours.

“Raring to go, I see… damn near soaked…”

“Mmf, E-Eddie…” You buckled down on him as his thumb grazed your clit, a test of a touch, his mouth fixing itself into a smirk against yours. “God, are we—“ Another euphoric flick of a calloused fingertip, a sensitive whine falling from kiss-swollen lips, “Are we really doing, ah… this, mm—“

He kissed you hungrily, teeth hooking into the plush of your lower lip as he readjusted you higher on him, hand relocating to ass, his tongue following close behind to soothe the area and then sink upwards, never once settling on an angle to maintain. You matched his enthusiasm, tangling a manicured hand in his hair and tugging, nails and all, while you propped the other beneath his chin, thumbing the annoyingly-attractive dimple in it and craning his head to the side to kiss him even deeper, longer.

You were forced apart for air after who-knows-how-long, and with sweat sticking your foreheads together and your chests heaving in-time with hammering hearts, he gazed up you, dark eyes hooded and completely captivating. Finally slipping a finger past your soaked panties and into you as effortlessly as could be, he maintained the eye contact with little more than a crooked, cocky smile, watching smugly how the simple action had you writhing.

“Why don’t you tell me, sweetheart?” he practically purred the words into your ear, nose nudging at the shell of it. You nodded eagerly against his temple, arms tightening around his neck, but he did not heed the way your hips fidgeted, how you clenched around the digit deep within you. Rather, he only slowly added another, curled just the once to further your impatience, your desperation.

“Eddie—“

“I said,” he whispered, pressing a light, infuriating kiss to your jaw, “tell me.”

A hand of yours fell to grab the wrist of the one of his pressed to you, running over the chain bracelet he wore, heated all the same as the three bulky rings denting your asscheek and the jewelled one, slick and edging deliciously just at your entrance. Eddie’s hand twitched at the featherlight dance of your fingers against his inner wrist, the movement jolting his drenched fingers sat punishingly still within you, and you moaned, grinding down to any source of relief to be granted by your words.

“You’re going to take those fingers,” you breathed, quiet with mind to the potential for being heard, before guiding his hand closer, watching as he did so, your own fingers gliding over tattoos. “And you’re going to fuck me with them—“

“‘Atta girl,” he nodded, eye contact still intensely held peripherally, his stubble scraping at your neck and jaw. “Go on—“

“Curl them—“ He did so abruptly, fingers eagerly hooking and stroking, working into a steady rhythm, and you gasped, your walls spasming around him, spurring him on. “Oh…”

“And?” He shifted a little, letting his frustratingly-clothed arousal press slightly from where his fingers played, just below your backside, and your mind blanked as you naturally strained down and back for it. He kissed the hollow of your neck and then prompted again, an amused lilt to his low voice. “…And?”

“Th-thumb,” you murmured, hand rising from its place at his wrist back to around his neck, clutching at his shoulders to maintain your own pace against his relentless fingers. “You’re gonna keep fingerfucking me, and you’re going to take that thumb and— now, now—“

Eddie took the cue, feeling the way you pulsed around his fingers, hips chasing every movement he made, and finally darted his thumb back to that point of pleasure. Abandoning any care that you could be caught, you made an obscene sound that struck him clear through to the cock, pressing almost painfully against you, and he rocked his hips once, twice, again and again as he teased and kneaded at your aching clit.

“Don’t stop, Eddie,” you moaned, fisting his shirt, frantically riding his hand, “you’re— you’re going to— it-it feels - I’m—“

“Oh, it’s all you, sweet thing,” he exhaled raggedly, “Feel that, feel me? What you do - fuck, babe, you deserve it all, never gonna let a day go by where you don’t know that… so come on, right on my fingers, right here, right now, babe… let me look at you…”

He kept at it as he basically babbled, fingers continuing to glide and curl and thumb, never once easing up on you. His words paired with his movements had you climbing ever-higher to that peak, the tightening in your lower belly cresting, close, close, until you were crushing your mouth against his and cumming hard, cursing as muscles contracted and your cunt clenched around his hand. Your chest heaved against his and you had to break away after a long moment to breathe, lungs and heart feeling as though they were about burst, and you caught him staring, simply watching, luxuriating in you as he always did when either of you came, whether together or apart.

Sinking down against him, you pressed your face, flushed as could be, to his collarbone, a lazy kiss or two from your lips to the skin lingering as you came down, body impossibly warm and thrumming, mind blanketed blissfully in a fog of just him.

Slowly, reluctantly, Eddie removed his fingers from within you, and your face grew all the warmer as he raised them in front of you both, a devilish grin on his face as he admired them, slick and shiny, in the morning light. His ring practically glittered, and he caught you watching it alongside him, his smile turning into a glowing sidelong smirk as you buried your face back where it had been.

“Eddie…” you groaned, balling up your hand and lightly play-hitting him on shoulder, embarrassment welling up in you. Shifting slightly, you could feel the mess you both had made below, underwear - of which you clearly didn’t have another pair readily available - absolutely drenched, your legs automatically pressing together as your embarrassment only mounted… fuck sakes, you still had the whole school day to get through…

“Mm, shy now, are we…” he teased, rolling your face from the crook of his neck to look back up at him. “Not sure why,” he mused, self-satisfied smile widening as he raised those glistening fingers higher. You watched with wide eyes as they finally arrived at his mouth, and he gave his thumb a long, thorough lick upwards, heavy-lidded gaze never breaking from yours, a low, appreciative hum leaving him as he continued.

He proceeded to spread your slick over his lips then, tongue darting out to lap it up immediately, a mockingly-playful bite taking to his lip as he carried on with his agonizing display. “You taste fuckin’ amazing, as always, sweetheart.”

Though a part of you felt nothing short of thoroughly bashful, the sight stoked at you all over again, and you squirmed against him, too overwhelmed to think or act coherently quite yet. “God, you are utterly ridiculous,” you huffed, allowing your embarrassment to be soothed by pride at the way he, still hard and straining, rutted beneath you, into that tantalizing soaked heat of yours.

“Can’t deny a man his sugar, princess,” he quipped, leaning past you with a groan and reaching for his coffee. You gave him a curious look that almost instantaneously re-registered a maddening flush of desire and mortification as he popped his index and middle finger into his coffee as casually as could be, swirling them around before taking a long, long sip.

“Y-YOU— Did you JUST—?”

“Yes? Just a little natural sweetener, babe. Courtesy of you, of course.”

You swore you were about to burst into flames, hands flying to cover your face, ears burning and heart palpitating. “Ohhh. My. God…” He would be the end of you, and would relish in every second of it.

“Don’t be like that,” he laughed, a genuine thing that, along with the glorious aftereffects of the orgasm and bizarre, heady flush of your embarrassment, had you going light-headed and those butterflies returning to your stomach. “You’re my favourite flavour, after all.”

“Okay, you know what?” You leaned back on his lap, very deliberately reaching down to fiddle with his belt and zipper, his erection tickling the skin of your inner wrist as you went along. “I think it’s about time you shut up—“

“Oh, of course, you’ll hear not a word,” his face split into yet another grin and he pulled his fingers across his mouth, miming them zipped. His hands then fell to help you with his belt, but you swatted them away, and he exhaled a breathy laugh, running a hand back through his hair.

“I highly doubt that,” you grumbled, finally freeing him from the restricting confines of his jeans and boxers. You caught his eye for a brief second and licked your lips, swallowing through a dry throat at the way his rigid cock bobbed before you, precum practically beckoning you to bend down and—

“Mrs. Pratt, Mrs. Pratt, do you know where the AV equipment was last seen? It’s been missing since Wednesday, and Kenny and I need it—“

The shrill call of a voice much, much too close to the classroom you two occupied had you freezing and your heart leaping to your throat, and one quick glance at Eddie showed that even he had tensed into something of a panic mode.

“Fuck, what’s the time—“ Eddie shifted the chair you were both on at an angle away from the windowed door, obscuring at least a bit if a passerby were to skitter down the hall, before quickly checking his watch. “Goddamn, already 7:55…”

“So much for helping you with last minute review…” You blew out a breath that had his bangs flying up, and he laughed hoarsely, still very aware of your fingers skimming around his length, before leaning forward to tap your nose.

“Ah, it’s not like I didn’t learn something new,” he smirked for the umpteenth time just that very morning, and as always, it made you all the more hot and bothered. “For one, now I know you have a thing for going at it in classrooms… kinda figured you might, what with the whole studious, goody-two-shoes cheerleader act, but damn, you didn’t even hesitate…”

“I thought you were going to shut up,” you narrowed your eyes at him and ran your thumb under the length of his cock, and he groaned as he leaned in and kissed you squarely on the mouth - you wondered briefly if you could taste yourself on his lips…

“People are about to start flooding into the school… gonna be walking down that hallway, going about their day…” he whispered against your lips, “and yet here you are, still basically begging to suck my dick like half your cheer squad and the basketball team aren’t about to walk in that door any minute now… god fucking damn, you’re a bolder one than I, sweetheart…”

“Am I, now?” you finally found yourself leaning into the goading, to the excitement and danger of really, truly getting caught. Experimentally, you brushed the head of his cock with another featherlight skim, and his hips drove forward instinctively, heat throbbing and twitching against your palm and your mind going haywire with the need to sink down on him.

“No shit, babe,” he nuzzled your neck, voice a little breathier than before, “but whereas you somehow might have ended up as the freakier of us - no idea how that happened - I—“ He sighed and made to retrieve his tossed-aside belt, “Well, I’m a glutton for punishment, and the only person I want seeing you like this is me. So, unfortunately, sweetheart, I do believe this little foray is gonna have to wait until at least lunch…”

With that, he was, with much difficulty, removing your hands from his length and rearranging it in his boxers and pants, hissing and half-bucking as he did. You watched with confusion for a second, before squinting at him in frustration and, Jesus, really, truly whining, none of which helped with Eddie’s issue.

“Are you for real right now?”

Your voice was incredulous, your face screwed up in genuine exasperation, and fuck, the indignation had him wanting to drag you to the parking lot and to his van that very instant.

“You want my cock in your mouth that bad, sweetheart?” He jutted out his bottom lip mockingly, eyes sparkling with pure ego as he took your chin in his fingers and tilted it downwards. Through it all, your fingers still toyed around him, something he was more than happy to allow. “God, I love it when you get needy, like, seriously needy. Whore-adjacent, even.”

A sharp, abrupt laugh left you at that, his words doing nothing to alleviate the coiling sensation deep in your gut. “You’re lucky I like you so much, pretty boy,” you murmured as you rolled your eyes and looked away, and yet he knew you were quietly revelling in his taunting, in the name-calling.

“Mm, I am…” Finally having put himself back together, he reached up and brushed his knuckles along your jaw, a fond flash to his eyes and a gentleness to his touch that both contrasted and complemented the entire odd air of the situation. “Very, very much so.”

You rolled your eyes yet again, more embarrassed by the blatant affection than the teasing about, you know, being a desperate slut whom wanted little more than to blow him right then and there.

“Fine,” you humphed, sitting up and back in your own chair, crossing your arms in a way that deliberately hiked up your breasts as you did so, receiving an approving raise of his brows at the action. “But you best believe this is happening the second that fucking lunch bell rings, you hear? Your van, 11:45AM—“

“Jesus, you’re so fucking hot,” he groaned, shooting forward to tilt you back in your chair and kiss you absolutely breathless. You clutched to him out of sheer surprise, but he had you completely secured in one arm, the other tending to your seat.

It was a little mischievous, a touch longing, and warm above all, and you couldn’t help wrapping an arm around him to kiss him even deeper. Despite the potential for being walked in on at literally any second, it wasn’t rushed, rather quietly, intensely yearning, all-consuming, the ever-present butterflies in your stomach going off erratically as he angled back further and further yet.

“Nothing, and I mean nothing, could keep me away,” he whispered as he finally broke away, once again just caressing you, his thumb stroking down your neck, tickling the flushed flesh. “Putting this off for the next few hours, s’gonna be pure fuckin’ agony—“

Pure fuckin’ bliss—

The delayed gratification was already stoking at the fire in his gut, and it had only been barely ten minutes… “—only thing I’m gonna be thinking about is you and that gorgeous goddamn mouth—“ Fuck, he was not helping himself, cock still as hard as ever and clearly evident to you before him, a raised eyebrow directed at it.

“But, oof, the come-up and drop down—“ He put his fingers up to his head and pretended to shoot off like a gun. “Gonna send me to seventh heaven, cloud fuckin’ nine, baby.”

“Mm, right answer,” you smiled, playfully rolling your eyes at his puppy-like enthusiasm, while letting him slowly put your chair back on four legs before you let go of his leather jacket. “And we’re listening to ABBA when we get out there.” You could have requested fucking gospel music and he would have agreed like it was nothing. “Now I suggest you do fulfill your previous promise and stop talking before you blow your load right here and now, Munson.”

At that, he stretched out his arms and did a goofy half-curtsy, applying a kiss to your hand, before turning and retrieving his coffee and bagel, eyeing you the entire time he took a good, long, loud drink of the beverage. “Better eat that,” he pursed his lips at your own once-bitten everything bagel, “Gonna need the energy for later, sweet thing.”

With this, he waggled his eyebrows and took off to his officially-designated desk several spots and a row behind you, leaving you to splutter as your fellow classmates conveniently started to filter in. Unable to mutter or scold or whatever, you tried to school your composure and instead took to his cheeky request, grabbing your bagel and taking a ragged bite, knowing all the while he was watching you, munching away at his own.

Just as a few more people entered the room, you heard a slurping sound from behind you, and you went ramrod straight as you slowly twisted around to find Eddie doing just so, his coffee cup hanging at his lips, doing nothing to conceal a massive smirk. Your attention now on him, he dropped the cup, finished, to the desk, and maintained eye contact as he slowly, heinously licked his lips. He was all casual in the way he held himself above the desk, shoulders relaxed and whole demeanour unbothered, but a quick glance below showed him unsubtly trying to angle his chair to the side, legs awkwardly half-crossed trying to hide the quite obvious.

When he caught you so blatantly staring there, accentuated all the more with a challenging, cocky wink, that smugness of his fell away in a second, replaced with something a little wild, more than a bit pathetic, and nothing short of desperate.

With a furtive little smile and definitive lick of your lips, you turned back to face the blackboard, mind swimming with anticipation and your gut aching with a familiar warmth all over again.

Oh, the next few hours were going to be torturously fun for the both of you, indeed.

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

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ticklystuff · 2 years

Text

Tickletober Day 5: Hide

a/n: taken from this list! i don’t have much time to do many prompts, but i’m gonna try and attempt one a week!

words: ~950

characters: ler!kazuha, lee!heizou

Heizou grinned to himself as he tip-toed closer to his target, peering past the overgrown shrubs that concealed him well. Sneaking around wasn't usually his thing, the detective preferring to tackle his duties head on, but for someone like Kaedehara Kazuha, different methods were often required. The samurai still had failed to notice Heizou stalking him for the past half hour, seemingly distracted by the scenery of Inazuma, a perfect set-up to greet his "friend" with an ambush. Things were going a little too smoothly than he had anticipated, but Heizou was a much more experienced detective than the last time their paths had crossed, he figured.

A sudden snap from behind made its presence, prompting Heizou to swiftly whip his head in the other direction, though there was nothing to be seen. 'Must've been a cat,' he thought to himself, before turning back to watch Kazuha, only to realize the samurai was no longer there. Heizou only had enough time to blink twice in confusion, before being bowled over from behind, hitting the forest floor face first with an 'oof'.

"Ah, Heizou, fancy meeting you here," spoke the person that currently sat atop Heizou, effectively pinning him to the floor. The uniquely airy voice mixed with a hint of smugness could only belong to Kazuha.

"Seems you're observant as ever," Heizou gave a dry chuckle as he craned his head, just barely able to make out the triumphant smirk plastered on Kazuha's face.

"Of course. No use in hiding for the wind tells me everything," Kazuha mused, "but tell me, Detective, why were you following me?"

"Why? You're under arrest, of course," Heizou said with a hint of cheekiness behind his voice.

"Oh?" Kazuha quirked an eyebrow in response. "And what is it this time?" "Kaedehara Kazuha," Heizou began, his voice both authoritative, yet playful as he squirmed under Kazuha's hold, "you're under arrest for- hehEY!" A burst of laughter unexpectedly slipped past his mouth as Heizou felt fingers dig into his exposed sides, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Nohohoho! What are you dohohohoing?!"

"My apologies, I didn't catch that. What am I under arrest for?" Kazuha teased as his fingers continued to tickle the bare skin, methodically scribbling his fingers against Heizou's sides, playing the detective as if he were his favorite instrument.

"Kazuhuhuhaha! Stahahahap!" Heizou squealed as he was relentlessly tickled, causing him to lose all composure he had, kicking his legs and flailing his arms uselessly in an attempt to throw the samurai off of him, but Kazuha continued to hold steady. He cursed himself for his choice of clothing as the openings of his shirt were used against him, giving Kazuha open access to prod at his exposed skin as he pleased.

"Detective Heizou, I do believe you need to explicitly list the charges for arrest before apprehending the person in question," Kazuha continued to speak as Heizou's laughter grew by the second, unperturbed by his pleas to stop. "Wouldn't want another lecture from Kujou Sara, now would you?"

"Dahahahamn ihihihit!" Heizou's body shook violently as Kazuha's hands made their way up his sides, dangerously close to his underarms. Once they reached their intended target, Heizou bucked under Kazuha's hold, but the samurai buckled down, disallowing any chance of freedom. "KazuhahAHAHA! MERCY! MEHEHERCY!" he cried out, his voice reaching different pitches he didn't know that he was capable of as his laughter continued to quiver throughout the air. Eventually, the assault on his armpits became too much for him to handle and Heizou was reduced to just pounding his fist on the floor in surrender, cackling uncontrollably with his eyes squeezed shut.

"We would be on our way by now if you weren't laughing so much," Kazuha chuckled to himself, finally slowing his tickling to a drawl, giving Heizou a much needed breather and a chance to speak. "If you don't hurry, though, you might find yourself in another laughing fit."

"N-Nohoho," Heizou lightly giggled at the feeling of Kazuha's fingers curling again at his underarms. He reached around in an attempt to grab at Kazuha's arms, but could only manage to place his hands against his legs. "Kaedehara Kazuha," he managed to barely breathe out, slightly affected by the phantom tickles that wisped against his body, "you're under arrest for excessively tickling a member of the Tenryou Commission."

Although he couldn't see his face, Heizou could easily imagine Kazuha's playful eyeroll followed by the audible scoff. "But you came to apprehend me before the tickling, so what was the real reason?" Kazuha asked and Heizou jolted at the slight poke of Kazuha's fingers, an attempt to coerce the actual reason out of Heizou.

"Well, the original charge was because you failed to pay your favorite detective a visit on arrival," Heizou quickly mumbled with a slight pout. There was a slight pause, but was soon followed by a hearty chuckle from Kazuha and Heizou grunted as he felt Kazuha's hand roughly tousle his hair, before finally removing himself from Heizou, offering the detective a hand.

"I suppose that's a serious offense on my part," Kazuha smiled, helping Heizou to his feet. "Guess I have no choice but to spend time with you as you escort me to the police station."

"That's true, though I might let things slide a little if you were to treat me to lunch," Heizou responded with a wink, a little hint-hint to his voice.

Kazuha sighed, folding his arms at the offer. "A bowl of chicken katsu, I presume?"

"Hmmm, and throw in some milk tea for the tickling charge," Heizou said with a nod, grabbing Kazuha's arm and giggling as he escorted the "criminal" back to town.

#heizou #kazuha #genshin impact #tickling #tickletober

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jedinightsister · 1 year

Text

So let me spiral into my Bad Batch feels in this site as well with a bit (okay, it's not a bit, it turned out longer than intended oof) of a headcanon or idk, just ramblings in general...

Once Tech inevitably figures out where the Empire is holding Crosshair and their other fellow clones, Echo is the one to persuade Hunter to take up the mission. Yes, it's risky. But they are more than just soldiers. They're brothers.

Let me start with Omega. She's always known about the inhibitor chips even before everyone else did. And she knew that Crosshair was heavily affected by it. Then, even as Crosshair clarifies it that it was his choice, she still doesn't blame him and remains optimistic that he will eventually be part of their little family again.

Next, with Wrecker. His vibrant energy so much like Omega's, but he actually spent so much time with Crosshair. Again, I have to bring up some observations with my Bad Batch s1 and TCW Bad Batch rewatches. Wrecker and Crosshair had a lot of banter. Wrecker with childish humor, and Crosshair with his deadpan seriousness. But even then, I really sense how much they enjoyed each other's company in their own ways, so the idea that Crosshair is out there and might be in trouble, to Wrecker, it doesn't matter much what terrible past he had done. He just missed his friend, his brother.

Over the course of s2, large in part with the help of Omega, Tech's ability to understand and express his emotions have improved a great deal. That convo between him and her really put things into perspective for Tech, and when he met the crew to discuss that decrypted data for Echo, he carries this air of vulnerability to him now. He's allowing himself that in his own way. There's this strong sense of him being concerned for his brother in his own way that he may have actually looked up his number in the Empire's records just to make sure Crosshair was safe. And he wasn't.

Echo would feel very responsible to do whatever he can to make sure Crosshair and the rest of his brothers are safe and not experimented on. He knows the kind of shit that feels like and no matter if he is on the losing battle, as long as he does his very best to make sure everyone else is okay, that's more than good enough for him.

Then you have Hunter, whose hesitation to believe Crosshair's signal is rooted in protectiveness toward the crew, but also because he blames himself. In s1, he specifically mentions to Omega that he's not angry at Crosshair, he's angry at himself. Even when s1 ends and Crosshair makes it clear he's choosing the Empire, those self blaming feelings aren't something he can just shake off. He's their team leader, he feels responsible, and even though he probably wants to have the hope that he can get his brother to reunite with the crew, there's just so much risk and he can't afford to lose any more of his family.

Last but certainly not the least, we got our batcher in trouble, Crosshair. He carries so much pain in him, thinking that they abandoned him when he chose to side with the Empire. That's what they were supposed to do, right? And do it together. But as it turns out, the Empire didn't care for him. So now he's fighting back in his own way. There's a lot of guilt here too, he's not just suffering physical pain from the torture by Hemlock and co, his solitude is heavily highlighted. Right now, he thinks he has no one anymore. Not even the Bad Batch. So when he figures out what Hemlock wants, he didn't even try to escape the prison, to escape his pain. Not really. He doesn't feel deserving or worthy anymore because of his choices. Despite that, he still believed in his crew and chose to protect them, even Omega, whom in some ways he may have felt jealous in earlier parts of the show, for taking his place as a member of the team. Crosshair chose to carry all the pain. He may not have hope for himself anymore, but his family- they still have hope and he gave the little of what's left in him to them.

Next week is gonna be such an emotional rollercoaster ride, I am both soooo excited and soooo terrified...

#the bad batch #the bad batch speculation #tbb speculation #tbb crosshair #tbb echo #tbb omega #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #thoughts #txt #ramblings

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miamierre · 2 years

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Your posts are so funny with your tags. I am laughing! But it gave me a prompt idea too. Basically chain/cross porn but without the porn. Keep it PG-13, kids!

HELLO BESTIE THANK YOU FOR THIS PROMPT!!!!! i definitely took a more alternative route than u probably intended lol BUT. my piarlie duty to write cross fic has been completed <3 and like....ok....so it's a little blasphemous at the end but....hm....im going to hell already so like. o well!

enjoyyyyyyyyy

(word count: 2,186)

“I win again,” Charles cackles, dropping his controller to the carpet as Pierre huffs beside him. He gently kicks at his best friend’s knee. “You literally have had a week to practice, Pierrot, you knew what we would be doing when you got here.”

Pierre grunts, amused. “I knew what else we would be doing when I got here,” he points out. “Some of us think about more than Call of Duty on vacation, you know.”

Charles snorts, shaking his head as he reaches down to retrieve his controller once again. “Yeah, like sex,” he deadpans, and Pierre just cackles. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“You say that like it doesn’t benefit you personally,” he mumbles. Charles just ignores him in favor of focusing on starting a new game. “You enjoy killing me way too much, Charlito.”

Charles laughs, clicking buttons that Pierre is no longer focused on. “You’re just a sore loser,” he insists, kicking at Pierre again, and that’s it—Pierre jumps him, wrangling him successfully for a moment to steal the controller from out of his hands. “Pierre!”

“We’ll see who the sore loser is, huh?” he laughs, feeling the way Charles’ shoulders are shaking against him in his own amusement. With one arm hooked under his shoulder, Pierre uses the other to swat at Charles’ right hand until the Xbox controller finally falls from out of his white-knuckled grip, drawing a yelp from his best friend.

“You are a fucking cheater—” both hands freed, now, Charles twists under Pierre’s grasp and fights back, fingers bunched in his shirt and digging into his shoulder. It’s amusingly familiar to what Pierre had actually planned for: Charles grunting under him, hands pressed flat to his chest, laughter bubbling right into Pierre’s ear.

It’s just a little different. “I thought you worked out,” he taunts, and Charles grunts as he catches Pierre in a half-formed chokehold. “You are really—oof—"

In his surge upwards, the mess of Charles’ summer hair has caught the gold cross that hangs Pierre’s neck. “Ow.”

“Ah, shit—” Pierre tugs a little and earns a hiss from his boyfriend, who’s now stilled under his grasp. “Okay, okay, truce, mon cheri,” he mumbles, and Charles nods gently, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Okay, easy, let me—don’t move, let me just. I can unhook this, just—” with one hand, he threads his fingers through Charles’ hair, petting a little at his scalp. “Just be patient.”

“Pierre, this should not take this long—”

“Maybe you should’ve gotten a haircut before I came, hm—” he presses down into Charles’ head and uses his free hand to twist the gold cross from the lock of hair it’d gotten coiled around. Fortunately for the both of them, Charles’ hair isn’t densely curly—it only takes a gentle pull after being mostly freed up, and Pierre almost tumbles backwards onto the couch as Charles twists away from him in relief. “There, there we go.”

Charles tosses him a scowl, although it breaks into a smile almost immediately. “And you say I am the one trying to kill you.” He rubs at his head in mock-hurt, pouting at Pierre as he scoots back into Charles’ space. Like he doesn’t love this when Pierre gets a hold of him. “Why don’t you get that chain shortened? It would probably do less damage.”

“That would mean I’d have to take it off, Charles.” He tugs at it casually, shakes his head. Charles raises an eyebrow at him. “Besides—this way, it’s as close to my heart as it can be without it being a crime against fashion.” He cracks a smile, although it’s not really meant to be that funny. The chain is a perfect length, if he’s being honest—it sits right at the center of his chest without being unbearably dramatic. Any longer and he’d run the risk of being a fifty-something woman trying to accessorize—anything shorter and he’s moving towards choker territory, which is a little blasphemous.

“And because I can put it between my teeth when you fuck me.” Charles’ grin is catlike as he says it, braced against the couch invitingly. And, well—he’s right, of course, because there is nothing prettier than Charles glistening in sweat, light catching on the cross between his teeth, making pretty breathy noises as Pierre fucks into him again and again.

But he can’t actually admit that. It feels like a violation of a couple pretty cardinal rules in Catholicism. “That is incredibly inappropriate, Charles,” he says, mock-chastising. Charles sticks his tongue out but wiggles closer to him, elbow digging into his side. “You are so…” he ducks in a little, presses a barely-there kiss under Charles’ ear. “Mmmmm, maybe tonight.”

Charles giggles, turning towards Pierre so that their noses bump. “What are you, a Valentine’s candy?”

“Mmm, you do think I am sweet,” he purrs. “So maybe.”

Charles laughs, nuzzles at him again. “Disgusting,” he teases. But he curls a little closer to Pierre anyway, head leaning into his shoulder. Their game is forgotten—the colors flash across the screen in Pierre’s peripherals but he’s got an entirely different focus, now. He presses another kiss to Charles’ head, then combs through his tussle of curls again, drawing a quiet noise of pleasure from him. Charles burrows even closer, snaking a hand up Pierre’s chest.

His fingers close around the cross hanging at Pierre’s neck, though. “Pierrot,” he murmurs after a beat of comfortable silence. The night has filled Charles’ bedroom almost entirely, now, streetlights glittering distantly below them.

“Mmm?”

Charles makes another soft noise and thumbs at the gold-plated cross in his fingers. “Do you pray for me?”

Huh. A question he hadn’t necessarily expected out of him, but it’s not like they haven’t talked about this before. Pierre is more than religious enough for the both of them. “All the time, cher,” he chuckles, planting another aimless kiss somewhere on the exposed skin within his reach. “Why do you ask?”

Charles hums contemplatively as Pierre’s mouth traces languidly across his skin. “Can you show me how?”

The Frenchman pauses his half-formed assault on Charles’ neck. “Of course I can,” he answers after a beat, running his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. “Of course, mon cheri.” He covers Charles’ hand with his own, thumbs at his knuckles. “First, I put the crucifix to my lips once.” Pierre purses his lips a little, a mock-kissy face, and Charles laughs under his breath.

But he does as Pierre says nonetheless; their fingers brush as he lifts Pierre’s cross to his mouth and kisses it once, a small smile on his face. Something warm curls in his chest at the sight—at Charles’ eyelids fluttered closed ever-so-slightly, attention entirely on Pierre. It’s not burning desire, not like usual when he has Charles this close; it feels like something deeper.

Like Pierre has never been closer to God than he is right here.

“And then?” Charles’ voice is barely a whisper, gaze still entirely fixated on him.

Pierre returns to his body, then. “Ah,” he chuckles, “so you are serious.”

Charles’ eyebrows knit together. “Of course I am serious, Pierrot.” He tsks. “Now tell me what next.”

Something swells in his chest at the devotion in Charles’ voice. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay, mon cheri, just repeat after me.” Charles nods imperceptibly. Pierre closes his eyes, turns his head up a little like he always does sitting in the back pews during church. “Lord, please watch over Charles today.”

Charles’ voice is quiet as he echoes Pierre’s words. “Lord, please watch over Pierre today.”

Pierre’s eyes open, at that—but Charles is steadfast in his mimicking of Pierre, his own eyes closed, head lifted. That warmth in his chest seems to stretch wider. “Keep him steady in your hands, let him drive without burden.”

At that, another soft laugh tumbles from Charles’ mouth, although he clearly doesn’t mean to. “Keep him steady in your hands, let him drive without burden.”

Pierre can’t keep his eyes shut any longer, though—quieter moments like this with Charles are rare, and Pierre himself is nothing if not indulgent. “Let him fly with the wind without fear of falling, for you will catch him.” Charles echoes him, fingers still curled around the cross. “Remind him You will catch him, Lord, so that he will always know safety in Your hands.” Charles’ face softens as he repeats this, too; mouth curved upwards ever-so-slightly, he says the words and Pierre can feel the way they’re meant for him. That Charles is praying for him. “Let him always know Your love. Let him feel the sun on his skin and know it is You, Lord, watching over him.”

Charles rests his free hand on Pierre's knee, tender, as he repeats the words back.

"Amen," Pierre whispers, throat tight with emotion. Charles is beautiful, so beautiful like this—the low light of his living room casting a heavenly glow around him, making him look like the angel Pierre often thinks of him as. He looks born for Catholicism—something he’s teased his boyfriend about a lot over the years, how he has the guilt and the cheekbones to belong in a church sculpture. Pierre loves every piece of him, always; but here and now, with his own hand cradled on Charles’ still clutching at the crucifix hanging around his neck, Pierre thinks this is something beyond anything they’ve shared before.

Charles’ eyes open slowly, like he can tell Pierre is analyzing him. "Amen," he echoes, kissing the cross again and catching Pierre’s fingertip in the process. The action isn’t seductive or sexy, not by any means—but full of love. His eyes are sparkling with it.

Pierre is breathless with the knowledge. Speechless, almost—at how earnest Charles is, how earnest this all has been.

A reminder, of sorts, that Charles is watching out for him, too.

Pierre can’t help himself—the moment their eyes lock, he closes the short distance between them and kisses Charles full on the mouth. There’s no heat driving him, no dangerous instinct to rip off his sweats and take him here on the couch: just mindless affection.

Charles kisses him back easily, of course, like always—pliant, soft, he makes a soft noise against Pierre’s mouth as he opens up, tongue swiping across Pierre’s bottom lip languidly. “Mmmm,” he murmurs as they part for a breath, eyes still closed. “Pierrot, is this how all prayers end.”

Pierre laughs quietly, chasing his mouth once again. “Oh, yes,” he teases, biting at Charles’ bottom lip a little before dropping a kiss to the drawn bow of his mouth. “We Catholics are very slutty at church, you know.”

Charles breaks away from his mouth to laugh loudly. “And you said I was being blasphemous!” He exclaims, face pink. Pierre shrugs, unable to swallow the grin Charles seems to always draw out in him.

“You are not Catholic, mon cheri, I am—it is a perk of the church,” he insists, and Charles slaps his chest at the blatant lie. “Okay, okay, fine.”

“You are unbelievable,” his boyfriend chuckles, pressing his hand a little more just over Pierre’s heart. The crucifix digs into his skin at the contact even through his shirt, but Pierre can’t really be bothered to care. Charles leans forward again, catches him in another kiss. He’s warm, he’s firm, he’s so perfectly fitted against Pierre’s body even here on Charles’ not-quite-comfortable loveseat. His leg is hooked over both of Pierre’s, somehow, keeping them locked together—in a moment he’s all but entirely straddled in Pierre’s lap, still kissing him languidly, palm flat against the cross and warm over Pierre’s heart.

“Charles,” he mumbles between exchanges, and Charles mutters something against his skin as he trails kisses across Pierre’s jaw.

“Mmm?”

“I am not going to fuck you on the couch.”

Charles sags on him, face now entirely buried in the crook of Pierre’s neck. “Mean,” he pouts. Pierre can feel the warm heat of it right at his pulse and swallows, hard.

“We literally just prayed together, calamar.”

“So?” Charles’ grin is cheeky, and he rocks a little into Pierre’s hips to clearly tease. “You do not seem to be that against it.”

Pierre groans. “Please, mon chat, you are making this so difficult.” He rests a hand on Charles’ lower back, stroking him a little through his thin white t-shirt. “Let us cool down—and I—” he chokes on the rest of his sentence as Charles kisses at his neck, pout now turning dangerous the way it always seems to. “Later. Later, I pro—” Charles sinks his teeth in, pushing all of Pierre’s buttons at once like a child in an elevator. God dammit. “Fuck, you are impossible.”

Charles bites at the chain around Pierre’s neck. “You love me,” he mumbles, teeth bared.

He does. “Come here, Charlito. We can call this—fuck—we can call this communion.” Pierre slips the cross between Charles’ teeth. Charles whines.

Oh, he is so going to hell for this.

#piarles #pierrecharles #10 x 16 #fic #prompt #lord forgive me besties #also *twirling my hair* hehe u think im funny? jkgdlsmgklsdmg ily thank u for following n absorbing my clownery #ask reply #Anonymous

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