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girlygguk · 6 months ago

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FIRST CLASS | JJK (Teaser)

summary in which you are just another spoiled, bitchy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby who has everyone at Yonsei University eating from the palm of your hand. and jeon jungkook, your spoiled, fuck-boy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby best friend, is always first in line to take a bite.

uni au, rich student!jk x rich student!f.reader

[fluff, angst, smut] childhood bestfriends to lovers, pining, unrequited(?) love, they're likee chaebols okay, tae's sister reader, mega SIMP kook because i literally can't write him any other way, jungkook is a sweet fuckboy (if that exists)

teaser word count: 1.4k (sfw, cursing)

full fic word count: 25k (nsfw)

release date: july-16 @ 2pm (est)

>>> FIRST CLASS IS OUT NOW! <<<

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2 years prior ੈ✩‧₊˚ circa. your 19th birthday. . .

"Get fucked, Jeongguk." The words rip from your throat, venomous and sharp as they slap your best friend's face into a furrowed, exasperated expression.

You yank the jacket tighter around your shoulders as the cold night air whips at your skin, storming down the sidewalk. The urge to rip the jacket—his jacket—off your body is strong, but it's so fucking cold. You may be petty and possibly overreacting a little right now... but you're not stupid.

Jungkook's heavy footsteps trail after you, his calls of your name only pushing you to walk faster. He catches up in no time, your hurried steps no match for his long strides. He tries to gently grab your arm, but you shrug off his touch angrily, spinning around to glare at him. You're about to tell him to fuck off again when he speaks first.

"Come back inside. It's like a fucking blizzard out here; you're going to freeze to death," he says evenly, though frustration laces his words.

"Oh, please," you laugh humorlessly, shaking your head in disbelief. "As if you give a shit if I freeze."

"Don't fucking say—"

"I'm going home. You can tell everyone I'm sick and had to leave. Or don't, I don't fucking care." You turn away and start walking again, his footsteps immediately following.

"You're walking home?" You ignore his question, causing him to huff and run a hand through his hair. "Let me drive you home, please."

You ignore him again, knowing that if there's something Jungkook can't stand more than you yelling at him, it's you not speaking to him.

"Stop doing this. It's your birthday; don't let it end like this—"

"Yes, Jeongguk, it's my birthday," you seethe, whipping back around. "And you brought a random chick none of us even know to my birthday dinner. And you didn't even bother to get me a gift. On. My fucking. Birthday."

"Y/N—"

"Limited edition PlayStation, imported Swedish lacrosse stick, custom painted iPad from your favorite local fucking artist," you list the gifts you've gotten him for his birthday over the years angrily. Jungkook shakes his head, trying to step closer to you, but you hold up your hand to keep the distance.

"Do you even know how much effort I put into the things I get and do for you? And for you to sit there with that... that stupid fucking look on your—God, Jeongguk!" Your voice is on the cusp of being a whine, but you don't care. "Oh, but I'm sure you spent a decent chunk of Daddy's money on Winnie tonight, huh?" You don't care that the Daddy's money statement is also very applicable to you… you're angry.

Jungkook's jaw clenches at your words, and he steps forward, slipping his hand into the pocket of the jacket you're wearing. Before you can snap at him again, he pulls out a small velvet box and holds it out to you.

"What is that?" you demand, your voice still trembling with annoyance.

"Your gift," he says softly, opening the box to reveal a white-gold Cartier diamond necklace. "I was planning to give it to you when we were in private."

You stare at the necklace, your anger momentarily overshadowed by surprise. The diamonds of the pendant sparkle under the streetlights, and you almost let out a moan. Diamonds are your weakness.

"You motherfucker," you groan under your breath, glaring at the necklace in hopes it will dissipate into thin air so you can continue being annoyed at him.

Jungkook steps closer, his voice a whisper. "Everyone was coming with their partners, Y/N. I couldn't come alone."

You sigh, knowing that. Your comment was a cheap shot, considering Jungkook doesn't hang with a girl more than once, so it would be impossible for him to bring someone you already knew. But Winnie was getting on your last nerve, and you saw an opportunity to sneak in a jab, so you took it. Not only was the girl clearing glass after glass of the expensive wine your friends had ordered as if it were water, but she was also not shy about ordering the priciest dishes on the menu. Judging by her tiny red Zara mini-dress, you highly doubt she'll be reaching for her purse at the end of the night.

Your gaze is still locked on the necklace as you take a moment to think. Jungkook hasn't moved either, continuing to hold the box open for you while he scans your face, trying to gauge your reaction.

"It's, um, engraved and shit," he mumbles, his hand not holding the box lifting to run over his jaw nervously. "And I got a chain one… for me too."

Your eyes snap to his, and he swears his heart stops beating. God, you think it's stupid. You hate it. That's okay. He'll just wait until you turn around so he can sprint to the nearest homeless guy and give him the stupid neckl—

"Like matching?" Your eyes soften, and he slowly feels the blood flooding into his heart.

"Yeah, only if you like, want to," he shrugs cutely, and you can't stop the grin from spreading across your lips.

You're close enough to slide your arms around his torso but still not near enough for Jungkook as he tugs you closer, melting into the hug. "Thank you, Gukkie. I love it," you murmur into his chest, and he feels his muscles relax at you finally using his nickname again.

You lift your head from his black fitted Givenchy dress shirt, which smells a little too good, to look up at him. "But why did you say you didn't have anything when everyone gave me their gifts?"

He looks down at the slight pout on your lips, his fingers twitching with the urge to wipe it off your mouth. Instead, he flicks the box closed with a thumb and holds it out to you. "Don't think Jaehyun would've been thrilled with me giving you this," he chuckles. "The dude hates me."

You frown up at him, about to chime in and say that isn't true, but his lips tug into a smirk as if to say he couldn't care less about what your boyfriend thought of him. And honestly, if he were Jaehyun, he'd hate him too.

Jungkook had the necklaces made a little over two months ago, and you and Jaehyun have only been official for one. So, Jungkook's intentions behind the gift weren't malicious, he swears.

If you just so happen to wear the necklace and your boyfriend notices his matching one, which then causes a rift in your relationship, resulting in the two of you breaking up… well, that would just be a nice little coincidence.

"Jae knows you and I are close," you explain with a crease in your brow that he wants to massage until it goes away. "I made it very clear to him when he wanted to get serious, and he understood."

Jungkook nods along to your words even if he doesn't fully believe them. Either Jaehyun is a really good and secure guy, or he's full of grade-A horse shit. If you were his and another dude tried to come along and buy you an eleven-thousand-dollar necklace? Fuck, he'd knock the guy out cold.

You untangle yourself from your best friend and lift the lid of the velvet box still in his grasp. You coo at the pretty diamonds before turning to face away from Jungkook. You gather your hair before swiping it over your shoulder and letting his jacket fall slightly to bare your neck. Jungkook reacts immediately, picking up the necklace before shoving the box in his pocket. His cold fingers brush against you as he carefully fastens the jewelry around your neck.

When he pulls away, you let your hair fall back into place and turn around to face him again. Your smile is soft, eyes twinkling as you look down at the necklace. "It's so pretty, Gukkie. I love it."

You're so pretty. I love you, he thinks.

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spoiled bratty girl and her simpy best friend who knows how to handle her.....GIVE it..

—the full fic is out now! click here to go read <3

#📁FC.docx #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook bts #jungkook fic #jungkook one shot #jungkook oneshot #jungkook drabble #jungkook smut #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts #bts fanfic #bts fluff

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crystalflygeo · 1 year ago

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Mark of an Archon ft. Venti / Zhongli / Ei / Focalors / Nahida / Neuvillette + gn!reader

cw/tags: Mostly suggestive but nsfw in some parts (mostly Zhongli, Neuvillette) marking, kissing.

notes: Alright so... this is different from anything I've written before but I got inspired by the concept of the elemental symbols used as marks by the Archons to denote those important to them. Just short fluffy little dabbles I guess, first time writing everyone except the dragon men heh. I tried REALLY HARD to keep this gender neutral and be inclusive in descriptions but regardless, reader bottoms lmao. Hope y'all like it. (Y'all will NEVER guess where did I get the inspiration for all the marks' placements hehe) Edit: Y'all I have never played obey me WHEEZE the marks placement actually comes from a very old magical girl anime I loved as a kid XDDDD (except geo, it was on the belly button but-//hit)

It is said that the Archons place a mark on the body of their loved ones. A symbol of protection, perhaps of “ownership”, imbued with their elemental energy. Legends has it that they remain mostly invisible to the naked eye, glowing brightly only when the Archon in question touches it, but leaving behind a distinctive trace able to be identified with elemental sight.

However, none of this has been proven at all, and remains mostly as a fantastic tale, just a rumor…

Or is it?

-Barbatos

Venti’s mark rests between your shoulder blades, the small Anemo sigil emulating tiny wings in the most appropriate of places. It makes him fond of calling you his “angel”, though, you know it cannot compare to his own real wings... it makes your heart flutter nonetheless.

It remains mostly covered, and yet without fail, Venti’s hand would always gently rest on it before his hand slides over to your shoulder or waist. At this point the touch soothes you and you’ve come to expect it every time you enter Angel’s share and bright Aqua eyes land on you.

In the dark of night, those precious moments of closeness and passion among the bedsheets, Venti’s nimble fingers, calloused by the Lyre and the bow alike, trail along your spine and stop at the mark, before he leans in and places a kiss on it.

For the God of Freedom to brand someone like this… it would seem as a contradiction, but you know it to be his blessing, his vow to you and your love. As his lips go up to your shoulder and his hands slide down to your waist, sneaking between your legs, he closes his eyes and hums a soft tune.

-Morax

The Geo mark is found on a rather unusual place, and to tell the truth, it even embarrassed you a little at first. The golden diamond placed just below your navel, partially hidden by the line of your underwear. When asked about it, Zhongli simply murmured something about dragon mating, fertility or virility… his cheeks dusted red.

You admit though, that once you get used to it, you do find yourself idly tracing it from time to time. Sometimes it seems to glow softly, or feel warm, perhaps responding to the Archon when he thumbs gently at it, contrasting and comparing with his own blackened arms, etched with veins of gold. Amber eyes staring up at you with love and desire as he places a kiss on it making you shiver.

Zhongli constantly wants to mark you more, in all sorts of ways. Drape you in silks and cover you in gemstones and gold. Leave bite marks along your skin. Douse you in his scent. It appeases his draconic instincts. But nothing compares to that little geo sigil, a personal indisputable claim, tattooed on your skin.

In a way, the mark could be taken as the God of Contracts’ signature and an unbreakable oath to you, his mate. It makes the dragon purr as he rolls his hips into yours, sinking deep inside you and making you whine as his palm presses against it.

-Beelzebul

Right at the center of your collarbone, like a pendant held by an invisible necklace, that is where the Electro mark was placed by Ei. Sometimes it’s a real shame it can’t be seen normally by humans, it would make for a pretty nice tattoo…

It’s not like the Electro sigil is rare to see anyway, quite the contrary, a rather popular choice and common sight all over Inazuma with deep cultural and religious meanings alike honoring Her Excellency. But one look from a youkai or one of the mikos at Narukami shrine and you know this is different.

Ei could act aloof and have a hard time expressing or understanding feelings, but the way she looks at you as she straddles you… dark violet hair cascading down her back and sides, hands roaming your chest and settling at your shoulders. She pins you there under her intense purple gaze and then bends forward to kiss at the sigil before moving to your lips.

The Goddess of Eternity considers her choices deeply and rarely ever goes back on her word or breaks a promise, and that is what she bestows upon you with her mark, a promise. Of love, of respect, of loyalty. Who would’ve thought the Electro Archon could be so… passionate?

-Focalors

You couldn’t believe just where Lady Furina had placed a pretty, blue, Hydro symbol on your skin. When asked about it she’d just giggled and said everything had a reason when it came to divine marks such as these… then proceeded to not explain at all. But seriously, your inner thigh?!

You could only sigh but smile softly at her antics as she laid across the couch, head rested in your lap, taking a nap by using your thighs as pillow, or demanding to be fed more sweets and sputtering indignantly when you poke at her nose or cheek instead, blushing.

She often drives you insane, paying special attention to the hydro marking with kisses and nibbles when you need her lips to go just a little more to the side… but oh, how she enjoyed teasing and riling you up. Mismatched blue eyes blinking coyly under thick eyelashes.

This is Lady Furina’s pledge to you, her word of honor as the Goddess of Justice, to love and cherish you no matter what. For despite her innocent act, she is guilty of having fallen for you.

-Bonus: Buer (Platonic)

Many people underestimate and doubt Nahida. A grave sin, in your opinion. When she places her mark of Dendro softly in your forehead, you feel nothing but pride, willing to follow and defend her and her teachings, for it is an honor to be her acolyte.

You see her wisdom in her actions, in the contemplating looks at her beloved city and people, in the way she always tries to solve problems and learn from difficulties, in her kindness, gentleness and little smiles. You see her love in the way she helps the elderly and soothes the children, in the candied ajilenakh nuts she shares with everyone, in the sparkle of her unique green eyes.

Like any other Archon, her nation and all its inhabitants are like her children. Despite her preferred appearance, the way she holds your hand as she guides you along and brushes at your hair gently with comforting words and praise feel more akin to a mother.

Just as you trust her, she trusts you, that is the covenant her sigil represents. And in the eyes of the Goddess of Wisdom, one day you’ll reach the sky and stars above.

-Bonus II: Hydro Dragon Sovereign

You stare at the sigil in the palm of your hand. An ancient symbol of power, no doubt, but with a meaning long since lost to time and shrouded in mystery. Yet, its significance is crystal clear to you: “I am yours as you are mine.”

The way the Iudex would always, without fail, hold your hand gently and kiss your palm instead of the back of it as it was traditional would no doubt confuse some people, but it makes your heart skip a beat. This special connection, the knowing look from those gorgeous lavender eyes and the hidden smile pressed against your skin…

Your back arches with a moan as Neuvillette ruts softly into you, slow and reverent, peppering kisses and nuzzling at your neck. His hand takes a hold of yours, fingers intertwining and you shiver as the marking in your palm seems to react. Your grip his hand tighter, canting your hips as well and surrounding him with your legs, asking for more, more, more-

It’s unknown if one day his kind will return to power, just as it’s impossible to predict the flow of the elements and the energy in leylines or just what the future will bring. But for Neuvillette, having you by his side feels like the most refreshing spring water and makes life that much sweeter.

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mangoshorthand · 15 days ago

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A Hargreeves Christmas Carol | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader | Ch5 Final Chapter!

SUMMARY: Luther is the sort of idiot who goes around with a 'Merry Christmas' and a goofy smile on his lips. In your opinion, he should be roasted with his own turkey and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. Who better to teach you the error of your ways than Luther's brother, the man who holds the power of Christmases Past, Present, and Yet to Come in the palm of his hand? Info/Announcement Post

<< Read Chapter Four

Chapter Five (Rated E, 4.9k words)

The End of It

You awoke on Christmas day with a feeling of unreality. Was any of it real? Was this real?

Yet the bedsheets were your own, the bed was your own, the bedroom was your own. And, as what happened solidified in your mind, you realised that, best and happiest of all, all the time ahead of you was your own.

Time to make amends, time to build some bridges, time to live your life.

Today, you had three things to do. As you jumped in the shower, you imagined each of them with a smile. The first was so simple, the second so overdue, and the last so needed.

The first two could be completed almost immediately so, fresh out of the shower, you immediately set about choosing a nice outfit for the day.

As the wardrobe door creaked open, you smiled again. It was a beautiful wardrobe, big enough for a grown man to hide in before taking you on the trip of a lifetime. For that, you’d love it as long as you lived.

Dressed, you cantered into the living room intent on another piece of furniture. The old bureau had been left virtually untouched since the apartment passed into your name. You laid hands on it, smile trembling with emotion, and felt beneath your palms before you unlocked it.

There it all was: keepsakes and framed photographs stacked or stowed away in inner drawers. Your hand went automatically to the topmost drawer, where you knew you’d find what you were seeking. You remembered carrying it numbly back from the hospital and locking it up tight; locking away the fact she was gone.

You picked up her necklace and held it to the light. The silver encrusted with rhinestones still looked like diamonds to your eyes. It sat on her collarbone, twinkling in the light day after day. The pendant was one snowflake-delicate flower hanging from another, leaf detailing leading off them to form Y shape up each side of the chain.

It was her all over, and you kissed the pendant in your hand.

“I love you, Grandma.”

Your heart fluttered with the small moment of feeling, and then soared as you fastened it around your own neck. It was like a talisman: with its comforting weight against your chest, you could honour the past, live for the present, and look with new eyes towards the future.

The first of your three tasks done, you set about the second, pulling out your phone and sitting down to compose a message to Robbie.

When you rang their doorbell later that morning, intent on your third task, you bounced nervously on the balls of your feet, bottles clinking in the stuffed-full bags by your sides.

Sloane answered, and you faltered, remembering what you heard her say yesterday, but when you looked at her face, she seemed more surprised than anything.

“Happy Christmas,” you said, smiling a little awkwardly.

She returned your greeting with a slightly cold smile.

“Is Luther in?” you asked, “He invited me today, but I was pretty rude to him so…”

You tailed off, and her expression softened slightly.

“I brought booze.” you joked tentatively, “A peace offering.”

Sloane smiled then.

“Come in, it’s cold out there. He’s in the kitchen.”

“Cooking since five AM I bet?”

She gave a surprised chuckle.

“Yes actually. They’re been working their asses off. Just let me go get him.”

You gave her brief thumbs up and she walked briskly towards the kitchen.

You looked around affectionately at the Academy’s entrance hall. Far from being intimidating, it now felt like an old friend.

Only a few seconds later, hurried footsteps announced Luther’s arrival.

“You came!” he cheered, bounding towards you.

He was wearing an expression of pure, unbridled joy on his face and a comically tiny apron embroidered with poinsettias and adorned with frills. You held out your arms and hugged him.

“Happy Holidays. I’m so sorry about yesterday,” you said fervently, “I was such an asshole.”

“Forget it,” Luther replied, sounding as if life could afford no greater promise for the day than to have you here, “water under the bridge.”

“I don’t deserve you.” you said, hugging him harder, “Thank you so much for putting up with me.”

“I don’t put up with you, I like you.”

When you broke apart, you briefly hugged Sloane too.

“You’ll stay all day, right?” she asked, “And sleep over. We have so many spare rooms.”

Apparently her dislike of you wasn’t so deep that a decent apology couldn’t undo it all, and you were glad for that fact. You knew from Luther that Sloane was his perfect match, and you hoped to find a friend in her too.

“If you’ll have me, I’d love to stay.”

“Gladly,” said Five’s voice.

You broke apart from Sloane to find Five standing in the doorway, clad in his own frilly apron tied over his new sweater and drying his hands on a dishtowel.

Though you said goodbye to him only a few hours ago, it felt like much longer. You felt renewed, joyful, and invigorated, and with it came a new perspective. Every person was a fellow passenger onwards through time, but only you and Five were united in having seen the destination and decided to change it.

Luther and Sloane exchanged a significant look as you and Five moved towards each other.

“Happy Christmas,” you said.

The consciousness of what passed the previous night crackled between you, and you exchanged conscious, conspiratorial smiles.

“Happy Christmas.” he replied, tucking the distowel in his apron pocket, “Nice necklace.”

“Thanks. Nice apron.”

He gave a self conscious smile, and his arms gave a strange sort of twitch outwards, hands hovering uncertainly at his sides as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

You took pity on him and hugged him, which he gladly returned.

So far, most of your touches had been unconscious, unconsidered, or instinctive. This time, you made a conscious decision to kiss him on the cheek. It was platonic enough, but that didn’t stop Five’s grip almost imperceptibly tightening around your upper arm as shivers ran down his spine.

The four of you entered the living room, where you were finally introduced to the people you’d seen last night. Viktor and his girlfriend Annabelle, visiting for Christmas for the first time; Klaus all smiles in his sequins; and Lila and Diego, joined at the hip.

“You’ve been cooking with him?” you said to Five in an undertone the moment you got an opportunity, “That’s sweet.”

One corner of Five’s mouth rose in his lopsided smile.

“He’s a surprisingly good cook, actually. Taught me a thing or two.”

“I’m glad for you.”

“What are you two whispering about?” asked Lila, honing in on an interesting dynamic with the precision of a sniper.

Five turned to her with the air of a father holding his patience with a bratty child.

“Just making a pact to grin and bear it when one of you idiots inevitably suggests Charades after dinner.”

“Ooh! Charades!” Lila said, boisterously, “Yeah, great idea!”

“Uh. Charades?” grumbled Diego.

“Shut up, Diego,” she scolded, slapping him on the arm, “don’t be a killjoy.”

The day progressed as most family Christmases do: there was Christmas meal in which the potatoes were slightly overcooked (Five’s fault), little squabbles breaking out over the gravy, (Diego and Luther’s fault), and one serving platter broken in the production-line of dishwashing (a mortified Annabelle’s fault).

Afterwards you all retired back to the living room and, while Viktor piled up the fire and the family began to chat, someone mentioned drinks.

“I brought some stuff with me from Maggie’s,” you said, eagerly, “I thought I could say thank you for inviting me by making a few cocktails, if you’d like that?”

“You sure?” asked Luther, looking at you doubtfully, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re at work.”

“I’d love to actually,” you said, earnestly, “mixology never feels like work to me.”

You caught Five’s eye, but continued speaking as if to Luther.

“And I’m taking a step back in the New Year anyway. I’ve asked Robbie to manage the place for me.”

“Really?” Sloane asked, surprised, as you went to grab your supplies from the entrance hall.

“Mm-hm,” you said, re-entering the room, “It’s long overdue. Robbie’s always wanted to manage, and I need to reevaluate what I want in life.”

“Good for you,” said Five, quietly.

You couldn’t help but look at him then. His approval felt good. Very good.

“I wanted to try out a recipe idea I had.” you said, again deliberately addressing anyone but Five, “Tell me what you think: it’s whisky, cinnamon, maple syrup, egg white, and a dash of lemon.”

You turned to catch Five’s eye as you finished, eyes practically sparkling with mischief:

“I call it the Ebenezer Splooge.”

There was a polite chuckle around the room, and Five’s face worked very hard not to draw attention to himself. There was a blush high on his cheek, and his mouth gave a violent twitch.

“Hence the egg white?” he asked, careful to keep his voice steady.

“You’re a quick learner,” you replied.

Five bit his lip, the line bringing back the memories you’d deliberately evoked; that night back in March when you turned his drunk ass down. It hit something inside him.

Up until last night, he’d been content with masochism: drinking in your little touches whenever he could get them, enjoying the flirting and quietly dying inside every time you so much as poured a drink with that elegant poise of yours.

He couldn’t do it anymore, not when he knew what it was to hold you in his arms, to feel your lips on his skin, to be party to your grief and revelations. It was better to look to love that he could have rather than pining after yours. It felt so near sometimes, yet, whenever he reached for it, it was inaccessible.

The promised game of charades came and went. The booze flowed, and the atmosphere got livelier. It was all a whirl of caterwauled Christmas songs, champagne, and late-night turkey sandwiches.

They were a friendly group, and it felt good to be among them. This was what Christmas was supposed to be, spending time with people who made you feel loved and welcome.

By this stage, all of you had been dancing, and you flopped down on the couch beside Five, a stitch in your side.

“I’m going to have to go to bed,” you said, grinning at him, “Klaus is going to tire me out!”

“He has that effect.” Five remarked, glancing fondly at his brother, “Want me to show you to a guest room?”

“Yes please.”

You said your goodnights, and when you were both out of earshot in the entrance hall, Luther turned to Sloane:

“I bet you fifty dollars Five doesn’t come back downstairs.”

“It’s about time,” Sloane replied, grinning, “he’s been hung up on her for months.”

“How about you and I go upstairs?” he said, with a sly smile.

“Soon, sugarplum,” she promised, and kissed him gently.

“So you’re taking a step back from Maggie’s?” Five said, as you mounted the stairs together.

“Yeah,” you said, with a gentle smile, “I woke up this morning and I just knew. I don’t want to sell the bar, but I don’t want to spend my life chained to it either.”

“So what’s your plan now?”

“The plan is no plan,” you beamed, “I’m just going to build my bridges, follow my heart, have some fun, and see where it leads. I’ve got some catching up to do.”

Five was silent for a few moments.

“And where’s your heart leading you now?” he asked, uncertainly.

“No idea. I guess we’ll see.”

He stopped and opened a nearby door.

“Does this room work for you?” he asked, casting an eye around to check its suitability.

“Are you in love with me?”

He blinked once at the unexpected question, and then answered without hesitation or preamble, as if he was simply giving you the time.

“Yes.”

Your arms, legs and sex tingled with the admission.

This was it. You were done with self denial and done with pushing people away. Five was everything you wanted right now, and you wanted to pull him as close as two people could be.

“Then spend the night with me.”

His mouth fell open, and he let out one or two disbelieving breaths. You took each of his elbows and pulled him closer to you.

“This is…unexpected,” he said, and swallowed.

Your eyes immediately flew appreciatively to his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and when you raised your hand to touch his face, you were surprised to see a hard expression there.

“I don’t want to be a one night thing for you.”

“You won’t be.”

“I don’t believe you.” he replied, resentfully, “You just said that your plan is ‘no plan’. You’re just throwing spaghetti at the wall and seeing what sticks. I’m not going to-”

You silenced him with a kiss, pulling him to you by the collar. It was one you’d been holding back for as long as he had, and when your lips connected with his, you felt your body wanting to melt, permeate his skin and sink into him.

You could taste his last scotch on his lips, you could smell that maddening cologne.

But he took you by the upper arms and pushed you away, firmly.

“Five,” you pleaded, “Five, please. Please.”

“No. I’m not going to be some experiment for you. I’ve wanted you for too long to just be some no strings fuck. I’m done.”

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” you pleaded, shaking him slightly by the front of his sweater, “Pretty much since you first came into Maggie’s!”

There was a needy, beseeching tone in your voice. It would have embarrassed you before, but now it just felt good to wear your heart on your sleeve. He opened his mouth to object, but you spoke over him:

“I’ve been hiding from my feelings for years: hiding from Grandma dying, hiding from how I feel about you, and I’m done hiding!”

Five looked down at you, at your pleading face.

To think you were literally begging him for sex - the stuff of his wildest fantasies - and he was turning you down.

He bit his lip again and looked up at the ceiling, away from you, and tried to think.

This didn’t help quell your desire, finally released from its bounds after years of repression and cold showers. His neck looked unbelievable, all stretched and arched that way, and it took some restraint not to dive forward and taste his skin.

“God, Five. I need you.”

He let out a little growl of frustration.

“No. I need to know we have a chance at a future!”

The fragile note in his voice broke through your fever. Guiltily, you loosed your hold on his sweater and backed off.

You closed your eyes for a second or two, and then spoke again:

“Okay. I understand. I’m sorry I kissed you like that.”

“It’s fine,” he croaked, sounding far away.

You put a hand on the spare bedroom door frame, signalling your intent to leave him alone.

“I’m going to go to bed, but let’s talk in a few days, okay?”

He nodded, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again.

“Maybe we’ll go for dinner?” you added, tentatively, “We can take it slow. You’re worth the wait.”

He flushed at this, and his fingers moved restlessly at his sides.

You gave him an understanding smile, and then, echoing his leavetaking of the previous evening, you took one of his hands, raised it to your lips, and gave two delicate kisses to the backs of those fingers.

“Goodnight,” you said, tenderly, “Thanks for today. And last night. Thanks for everything.”

With that, you retreated into the bedroom.

But before you could close the door, he was over the threshold.

“I won’t last long,” he said, voice low.

And, before you could process what he meant, he kicked the door closed behind him with a bang, pulled his sweater over his head and cast it away from him.

If his voice smoldered, his eyes were aflame; being the object that gaze felt like being scalded by hot honey. It seared your skin.

With a rush from your toes upwards, you threw yourself at him, sending him falling back against the door with another loud bang.

His tongue was in your mouth: plunging, searching, tasting; teeth clashing against yours with the urgency of desire. You moaned into his mouth and sagged, weak with the feel of it, and he grunted in displeasure. His hand came to the back of your head and held you fast, pressing your face harder against his.

Though you initiated the kiss, though it was you pressing him against the door, though it was you begging for this only a few moments prior, it was his passion that won out, leaving you wilting in his arms, eyes helplessly closed.

At last he came up for air, loosening his hold on you and breathing hard.

He looked too full of lust for words, eyes were darting all over you, teeth exposed. You could relate, your pussy aching like a tuning fork struck too hard.

You dropped immediately to your knees, hands coming up to fumble at his waistband.

He groaned in anticipation, head hitting the door as he slumped back against it, the mere prospect of being sucked almost undoing him.

“You shouldn’t -” he gasped, sounding a little embarrassed, even through the lust-induced haze. “I’ll come. It’s been a long time, I’m already-”

But he gasped again when you took him, hard and heavy, into your hand. It was clear that he hadn’t been exaggerating; his white underwear and pink cockhead were already moist with leaked arousal.

His cock was thick, uncut, and long enough to exceed your grip by half. His shaft was curved and sculptural like his forearms; veins standing out attractively. It twitched invitingly in your hand and, as a little more precome dripped from the slit, you felt yourself gush into your panties.

“I want to taste you,” you said, looking up at him.

“And I want to give you a good time,” he said, fretfully.

“You will.” you smirked, lips an inch away from his tip.

He answered only with another sound, and when you tasted him, he hissed, and bucked his hips immediately into your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “it’s hard to control.”

You only smiled and took him back into your mouth, tasting the salt of his arousal, the delicate musk of his cock, and yet drinking in his whines more greedily than either.

“Oh fuck,” he choked.

He was perfect: sensitive and desperate. He writhed, cursed, tensed, and whimpered: one fist contracting in your hair and the other against the door handle as he fought fiercely against the need to come.

You took pity on him then, content with having had him in your mouth for the few moments he could manage.

“You’re going to kill me,” he said, breathlessly.

You grinned up at him.

“Then eat my pussy and calm down.”

His cock twitched, and he gave another small cry.

“That didn’t help!” he yelped, agonized.

You chuckled mischievously and stood, just he started to unbutton his shirt, kicking the pants and underwear off from around his ankles.

Even this momentary delay to getting some part of your body back on some part of his was too much, and you cast your dress away as roughly as Five had his sweater. Meanwhile, he was wriggling out of his shirt, swearing as his wrists caught in the cuffs. Your fingers shook as you unclasped your bra and, as you struggled, his eyes fed on you.

“Can I take off your panties?” he asked.

No sooner had you answered in the affirmative, finally succeeding in removing the cursed bra, Five was on his own knees, shimmying your panties down your legs, and helping you to step out of them.

“Against the wall,” he growled, cock protruding invitingly between his legs and bobbing with his movement.

No sooner had you obeyed than his mouth was inches away from your pussy, helping one leg up onto his shoulder to give him better access.

He looked at you for a moment, fascinated.

“Holy shit,” he said, awed, “you’re so wet.”

“I’ve been wet since the hallway!” you breathed.

With that same expression of fascination, he dragged a single finger between your labia, from your hole all the way to your clit, collecting your juices, and then put it in his mouth.

He let out a low moan as he sucked his finger clean, one hand darting lower to gently roll his foreskin back and forth.

He looked up at you with a cocky grin at the effect he’d already had on you, the appearance of even more thick fluid evidence enough that you liked what you saw.

He leaned forward, nose less than an inch away from you, and lingered there.

“Please!” you said, desperately.

“Call this payback for the Ebenezer Splooge,” he said, playfully.

“No! Please!”

He took another, momentary pause, and then mused:

“You do sound good when you beg.”

His tongue protruded, his breath hot and torturous against your inflamed, excited pussy… and then he paused there, tongue tip millimeters from your clit.

Just as one of your hands came to urge him forward by means of his hair, he gave your clit two or three experimental licks.

You squeaked, hand finding a grip in his hair anyway, and he dragged his tongue deliberately up and down.

“Oh fff-fuck.”

He hummed delightedly against you, and started to eat you out in earnest, kissing your labia, slipping his tongue inside you, and alternating between nudging your clit and sucking on it.

You urged him on, trying hard not to moan too loudly, stroking his thick hair, and trying hard not to surrender too much of your weight to the wall as your supporting leg went weak.

His face wormed its way further between your thighs, and his mouth closed around your clit, lips and tongue at work against you, eating you like a ripe fig; sucking your juices down his throat with a snarling, feral sound.

As it turned out, Five didn’t need to worry about his lack of stamina: he might not last long, but neither did you. With only a few minutes of concerted licking, tongue swiping side to side, he only had to introduce a finger for you to keen, shout, and then come.

You flailed and cursed as the pleasure slammed through you like a wave smashing you against the rocks. It floored you, and then that hot-honey was back, engulfing all your senses in a thick, shimmering molasses haze.

As the feeling subsided, Five slowed his licks, kissing your pussy lips and easing you out of the orgasm with increasingly gentle attentions, mercifully avoiding your over-sensitive clit.

When your breathing was back to normal, you unhooked your leg from his shoulder, and he looked up at you, face wet with your juices.

“Good?”

You didn’t need to answer him, your fucked-out haze of an expression was enough.

He smirked and stood so that you were on a level once more. He kissed you deeply, hands coming to cup and fondle each of your asscheeks and holding you up as you slumped bonelessly against him.

“We need a condom.” you said, breathlessly.

“Right,” he agreed, distractedly, setting you on your feet and bending to locate his wallet from his pants pocket.

“Still in date,” he said, sounding slightly surprised as his trembling fingers located the rubber and opened the package, “I haven’t needed one in a while.”

“You can’t get STDs from the cable porn ladies,” you quipped.

“Shut up,” he smiled, rolling the condom down his shaft and leading you to the bed.

He sat down on its edge and looked up at you.

Ride me,” he said huskily, “I promise I won’t take long.”

Though already exhausted from your orgasm, the need to have him inside you overwhelmed it, and you nodded. He guided you onto his lap facing him, your thighs around his waist and his arms around your own.

As wet as you were, it was still a slow, tight slide down onto his cock. Five buried his head between your breasts with a strangled moan at the sensation, intense even through the condom. When you started to ride him, he was beside himself in no time at all, feet planting on the floor and pushing helplessly up and into you.

It felt good; full and intimate with your arms wrapped around each other, eyes and mouths occasionally locked as you thrust into one another, meeting the other’s body and pushing as deep as you could go.

It was his face that made your nipples harden, the feel of his strong, lithe body between your thighs that made you bite your lip, and his pelvis moving against yours that made you bend to finally taste his neck.

“Fuck,” he said, roughly, “Gonna come already. Been too long - thinking about you - can’t believe we’re - oh sh-iii-t!”

He came with a yell, surging upwards in the grip of his orgasm, head thrashing and arms tightening reflexively around you. His thrusts became disorganised, messy and uncontrolled, eyes screwed up, teeth gnashing against the air, and neck once more arching in that delicious way.

He collapsed onto the bed, panting, and you leaned forward to give him a final kiss before climbing off him and wriggling into bed beside him.

You stroked his hair idly as he came down from the high, regaining his breath and dealing with the condom. For a few moments afterwards, he just stared at the ceiling.

“That was amazing,” you said.

“Yeah,” he replied, distractedly.

“All okay?”

“Yes,” he said, sitting up but not turning to face you, “I’m gonna go get cleaned up, but I’ll be back, okay?”

Sitting in his pajamas on his own bed, Five plucked another hair and inserted it into the briefcase on his lap.

He’d get over you. If that really was a quick fuck while you rediscovered yourself, then that would suck, but he could face it and survive. What he couldn’t face was becoming that lonely man with the child-molester mustache.

He had to know that it wasn’t inevitable. Because if that wasn’t inevitable, then it proved that the power really was still in his hands.

And maybe it even proved that he had a chance to make you love him back.

He set the briefcase to the same date as last night, braced through the static of time travel, and then immediately regretted not putting on shoes.

Snow was soaking through his socks.

“Great,” he grumbled.

He was standing in the front yard of a little house, alone on a snowy country road, and a quick glance at the briefcase proved to him that it was the same night as before: Christmas Eve, ten years from the present.

It was different, that was for sure.

He hurried as quickly as possible off the snow and onto its covered doorstep, where the light from the front window drew him to it. With a strange sense of deja vu (shouldn't he be standing beside an azelea?), he looked through.

There was a small but cozy living room, a lit wood fire, a Christmas tree with wrapped gifts beneath, and himself.

He was wearing the same sweater Klaus got him for this Christmas, his socked feet up on the coffee table and a book in his hand, reading contentedly. Instead of the pedo ’stache, he sported only a little scruff around his jaw.

It was all he needed to see, and Five let out a deep sigh of relief.

Alone he might be, but with that many presents beneath the tree, he at least had family coming.

It was almost perfect, he thought, as he set up the briefcase for the return journey.

But then something caught the periphery of his vision.

There you were, entering the room and handing him what had to be a glass of Ebenezer Splooge, garnished with a twist of orange zest.

“Hi,” he whispered, climbing back into the guest bed beside you.

“Hey,” you replied, sleepily, shuffling up beside him and laying your head on his shoulder.

For a few moments, he just enjoyed the warmth from inside and out.

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispered, “that was amazing.”

“It was a long time coming,” you mumbled, “and when we wake up, we’re doing it again.”

“Good,” he said, breathing in the smell of your hair.

His future was all here in the here and now: his family downstairs, you held here in his arms, and his resolution to deserve it all by being good to you all.

And he’d do it too. He’d be better than his word. He’d be as good a friend, as good a brother, and as good a man as he could. Perhaps his siblings might laugh to see the change in him - all loved up and cheerful for once - but he found he didn’t care. His heart sang: and that was quite enough for him.

As he drifted off to sleep, the woman he loved in his arms, he barely heard your sweet voice as it observed:

“Your feet are fucking freezing!”

The End

A/N: Did you think I was ending this without smut? Have you met me? Thank you for all your lovely comments and reblogs throughout this fic and all my others this year. They really do make the difference and constitute roughly 80% of my self esteem. Happy Christmas to all who celebrate, and here's to a better 2025, (slim hope, but bring on the revolution etc etc).

Scrooge and Bob Cratchit, or The Christmas Bowl by John Leech, 1843 in Dickens' A Christmas Carol, first edition (1843).

Dickens' A Christmas Carol full text available here.

Read it! It's a much better than this, and you can see how many lines I stole verbatim or clumsily referenced.

Dividers used in this series by @bernardsbendystraws (garland) and @strangergraphics (lights)

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom @thebearmage @kaybreezy3000, @starlitflora (comment to be added or removed)

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

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mrsensitive · 2 years ago

Text

just fluff

when you get back from work quinn is all but ready to leave for the game tonight.

"hey handsome, you ever going to put on something different?"

he smiles and shakes his head, more than used to your quips about his suits every time he leaves for a game. instead he pulls you in for a kiss, mumbling against your lips, "i got you something."

"hmm it couldn't wait til later?" you tease, knowing he's usually out the door by now, but your joking tone stalls when he hands you a small rectangular box wrapped beautifully in ribbon. "q... what's all this?"

he doesn't answer you, instead stands there with his hands shoved in his pockets and a bashful smile tugging at his lips. you blink at him for a second before realising he's not going to tell you, carefully lifting the lid to find a simple gold necklace with a q pendant laying inside.

"quinn..." you breathe out, staring at it in disbelief.

"you were so upset when you lost your old necklace so i wanted to get you a new-" he pauses, scanning your face when he realises you haven't looked at him yet. "you don't like it?"

your head snaps up and you give him a soft smile. "no, i love it, it's beautiful really, i just-" your eyes flicker back down to the diamond on the tail of the q. your mind is running through all the dinners and dresses and flowers and plane tickets he's bought you and every other time he's refused to let you even reach for your wallet. you gently put the box down on the kitchen counter and let out a small sigh.

"quinn you gotta stop buying me stuff."

he pouts for a second. "but i like spoiling you."

"yeah and i'm incredibly thankful but i don’t need any of this - it’s your money!"

"and you’re my girlfriend!!"

"quinn seriously."

“can’t spent it all on myself y’know…."

"I know but it makes me feel like... like I’m using you or something" you mumble.

quinn pauses, stepping closer to you and brushing the hair out of your face. "but that’s not what it is at all... just makes me feel like I’m making up for all the time I can’t be with you."

you start to protest, "that’s not-" but you're cut off when he buries his head against your shoulder and mumbles something into your skin. "just feel like a bad boyfriend sometimes."

you barely catch it but you do, and you can't help but completely melt into him, your fingers immediately going to run through his hair in comfort.

"q, you're the best boyfriend i could ever ask for," you reassure him, "i just want to be able to spoil you back sometimes."

his arms have snaked their way tightly around your waist and he pulls you into him even closer. "don’t have to. feel spoilt enough just getting to be with you."

you're rolling your eyes but you can't help the soft laugh that escapes you as he presses a kiss to your shoulder before pressing another against your lips. he reaches to grab the necklace when you hold out a palm against his chest.

"you know what you could spend your money on?" he quirks an eyebrow hearing the teasing back in your voice.

you're tugging at his lapel, "some new game day suits." you smirk, turning and moving your hair out of the way. "you know i lost my necklace months ago, so if you can remember that surely you can remember me pestering you to go to a tailor every other week."

it's quinn's turn to roll his eyes but he doesn't say anything to fight back, instead just clasping the necklace and turning you back around to face him. your hands are quick to find their place against his chest again.

"please?" you look up at him but he can't seem to take his eyes off how perfectly the pendant rests against your collarbones and you're hoping the sight is working some magic.

"yeah fine, okay," he mumbles, "next week."

you smile, finally satisfied, fingers toying with chain. "i think you're gonna be late if you don't leave now,” you whisper.

he chuckles, eyes finally finding yours. "wear my jersey to the game?"

"what, the necklace not enough for you?" you're both laughing as you try to push him towards the door but his hands stay firmly on your waist, refusing to make it easy for you.

"good luck kiss before i go?"

you smile, pulling on his tie to cup his face in your hands before dropping a kiss on his mole, his nose and then meeting his lips. you let him kiss you a second and a third time but push him away when he leans in for another.

"don’t blame me if you're late!"

when he's finally gone, you head into your room to get ready - and without even realising you find yourself looking for his jersey in the process.

#this is self indulgent and idc bc I just want him to get some new suits I’m on my knees begging #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes blurb #📝

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scribble-dribble-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Plastic hearts - (7)

<<<Prev Next>>>

---

Had some extra time, wrote the next chapter haha. Ken is a golden retriever lover boy ✨

---

“It's simple. Go through the ‘tunnel of dreams’. It will take you to where she had gone last.”, Weird Barbie stopped as she dug through her trunk of gizmos and gadgets.

“Then?”, he asked sure that was only the first step.

“Then you improvise.”, she spoke as she brought him a few elements that looked like they were put together by herself.

She strapped a watch around his hand, it’s dial displaying a meter that was scribbled in with sketch pens.

“The Doomsday meter. It will help you with knowing how much time you have left since time behaves differently out there.”, she rushed around him as she spoke out instructions and what to look out for but he couldn’t help but wonder how any of this was going to pan out.

He worried for your safety. He was overthinking, cooking up the most terrifying scenarios of what you could have been facing.

What if you were put in jail like he was?

Or roamed the streets without a home?

This was new. He had never worried about Stereotypical Barbie before, but when he thought of you. His hands yearned to hold you close.

Possibly this was because of the level of respect he had for you and your friendship. He can’t be falling in love again so soon. Can he?

He never felt this stressed and calm at the same time when he was in love before. It was thrilling, exhausting and chaotic.

He brought his attention back to the problem at hand. He had to bring you home. Barbie land was on the verge of collapse.

Weird Barbie ran back to him with a shiny little trinket in her hand. A chain with a small crystal heart pendant. It looked ancient and different. It wasn’t a part of this world.

“Thank Mattel, I found this. They discontinued it long ago but it was around the same time Diamond Castle was released. This is a variant of that necklace.”, she held it as though it was sacred.

“What’s so special about it?”, he asked inspecting it closer.

“This is as close as you can get to a magical compass.”, she raised her eyebrows to then carefully place it in the middle of his palm.

“How well do you know her?”, she asked him with her fingers crossed.

“Well enough.”, he mumbled.

He knew you but he couldn’t remember any of it. He had known you in fragments but now it was replaced with an overwhelming need to just see you again. To want to tell you that he missed you.

“Perfect.”, she jumped, her eyes now borderline crazy with hope.

“Now close your fingers and think of one remarkable attribute she possessed that could never change with time or place.”, she rubbed her hands together, her eyes now focused on the trinket hidden in his hand.

He closed his fingers and thought of the one thing he knew best that could never ever change. The one thing that reminded him he was loved and cared for. The one thing that possessed the entirety of your love he didn’t have a chance to value.

So he thought about it. So much so that he could feel his body crave it. It struck him then, that all he wanted now was a second chance. To do things right. To apologize to you and have you back.

To have you back as his … friend?

Yes.

No.

Maybe there was more to this.

But his palm began to grow warm and from within the cracks of his fingers golden light shined through.

Weird Barbie gasped and then clasped her hands over her mouth, “You did it.”, she mumbled in awe.

Relief washed over him, and so did hope, because now he was one step closer.

“Every time it senses her presence, it will glow. The stronger it does, the closer she is.”, she imparted another rule before she looked up at him with curiosity.

“What exactly did you think of?”, she asked.

“She makes the best sea salt caramel cookies.”, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Interesting.”, she clicked her tongue before she moved away.

What it was that she had observed from his demeanor, he wasn’t sure.

He woke up to the sound of his alarm. His heartbeat a bit faster than usual as he had the worst dream, one of those nightmares again. Where Barbie land is destroyed and everyone thinks he was the cause of it, again.

He got up, to place his head in his hands to take a few deep breaths. It had been longer than he had expected, he was certain to return in a weeks time but New York was an ocean with small delis to fancy restaurants that it was nearly impossible to go to every single one. To track you down with the little he knew. It was as good as fantasy. He would dine alone, with that rock in his hand that never actually glowed the moment he set foot here.

It was beginning to drive him insane. One, to be nowhere near finding you. Two, to see everyone be hurt by the very ideal he had long ago be enthralled. It was everywhere and it stunned him how a large part of the population was actually ok with this. So the job he had now felt much more inspiring.

If this was how Barbie felt, then he wouldn’t stop doing what he did too. He knew a little bit about the job process and what he needed from his last visit. He was passing by a school during recess and was entranced by the sound of their laughs. He had never been a kid before, he had always existed like this. But it touched him, that his existence was never for Barbie’s sake but for them, for their joy and as he shuffled his feet, he heard the sound of paper crackle beneath his feet.

It was a opening for someone who would be willing to help out in the library and also in doing a story reading session a few times during school hours for the kindergarten students.

He was sure he would be a great fit, plus he needed money.

And now as he fixed his tie in place and slicked back his hair that was a lot less paler than what it had been in Barbie land. No matter the worry, he always had a spring in his step. His eyes flit to the doomsday meter, the needle hovered over the green area when he first arrived, now it was crossing over into the orange section.

He downed his glass of orange juice, the tart flavor waking him up, reminding him that today could be the day. It was the day when the school held its parent-teacher meeting for this semester and given the need to maintain an image to get sponsors, a new caterer was set to be hosting the event. So he felt like he had an even more important reason to go.

He took the train along with the morning rush as he held his bag to his chest remembering the one time he was naïve enough to give away his wallet to a thief disguised as a homeless man, he had been homeless once too. As he walked down the street, he made sure he didn’t walk near the edge because on a rainy morning, a car drove past him to drench him in roadside puddle water, causing his shoes that he meticulously polished to lose their shine and also ruined the way he had set his hair.

He was fiercely afraid of rats, so this city had it out for him. Unlike Los Angeles, it snowed here, the people were ruthless and often times he felt like the sun in the darkness of space. No one could light up his world, atleast not like you did.

But as he approached his the entrance, he had a feeling envelope him. It was the sound of his students greeting him, but it was more than that, almost as if his soul could reach out to its other half. He wore the crystal around his neck, afraid that he was going to lose it but now it felt warm.

He grew conscious of its meaning, that his hand snapped to his chest, scared that everyone could see it’s glow but as he looked around, the children couldn’t see it. Only he could, it’s light grew brighter as it spread a zing of warmth through his skin but his eyes moved away from the happy faces to a woman who was observing him.

Her eyes wide as realization dawned on her face but it was in that moment Ken knew that the world could freeze. That even here, magic still had some effect, because even before the pendant could tell him, he knew.

He knew he would find his way to you.

He knew that as he spent everyday over the past few years trying to find you and the more clearer he began to understand his emotions. He had come to understand that all this while, what he had thought was just a friendship was actually a foundation for something more deeper. For something he had wished for his whole life.

He was in love again. And so as he called for you, hoping this wasn’t a dream, the name that was special to him as he whispered it in his sleep.

He could tell anything you had felt for him long ago was not present anymore because in your gaze he saw a mix of shock and pain. You began to turn away from him and he didn't want to waste another second but in the heat of the moment, he watched as you fainted and all he did was drop his bags to run to you.

---

Tags:

@imogen-skye @ateliefloresdaprimavera @meowkid1000 @jokersgrf @linacool13 @oh-kurva @dreamsarenicer @memospacexx @haleysucks00 @ibetyouthinkaboutmefics @tempobaekh @fallingwallsh @whatafreakingloser @lcversrockk @imonmyvigilanteshh @constellationscharts @eddiemunson4ever @freyafriggafrey @neptunelixir @iamruiningmylife @floralsightings @ynbutbetter @lazyboikat @mrharringtonsbae @spookyscellar @harleyquinn03041998 @haydensith @thatgirljas13 @weasleytwinscumslut @bl00dy-murd3r @itstylersblog @papichulo120627 @lee-lee-23 @dazeglitter-blog @urmom24sworld

#barbie movie 2023 #barbie movie #ken barbie #barbie #ryan gosling ken #ryan gosling #ken x y/n #ken x you #ken x reader #ken carson

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nebulablakemurphy · 1 year ago

Text

Through Love And By Love (Pt. 16)

Summary: Twenty-Two years ago, Draco Malfoy used the imperius curse to slow Voldemort’s rise to power. No good deed goes unpunished. Warning: this series contains mature subject matter surrounding use of the imperius curse, discussions of trauma and mental illness; reader discretion advised.

18+ ONLY this chapter contains sexual content

Part 15

The first thing Scorpius notices is the sound of birds chirping. He is outside. Outside and someone is talking. Slowly he forces his eyes to open, blinking up at the sun.

“Scorpius!” That voice.

“Albus!” Albus is back, he’s here and hugging him.

“Thank god.” Rose. She’s there too. The three of them embracing, on the side of the train tracks, exactly where they left. It worked! It worked.

——————————————————-

“We can try scrying for them,” Rosanna suggests, “I know it’s a gray area, but it’s not actually dark magic.”

They’re desperate, they’ll try anything.

“Go for it.” Harry nods, summoning a map.

“I’ll do it.” Draco says, with a hand to his wife’s back. Dark arts, or morally gray arts, is his department.

Rosanna shakes her head, “we’ll do it together, it’ll be more powerful. Blood of our blood, not just mine or yours.”

She’s right.

“Fine,” Draco nods. Producing his wand, “we seem to be doing a lot of blood magic, these days, you and I.” He uses the tip to slice across her palm and his.

“Don’t tell the minister,” Rosanna smirks over at Hermione, “or we’re never beating the allegations.”

“I was saving this for the next time you were miffed at me,” Draco says, tugging a perfectly wrapped parcel from his pocket, “but I’m hoping, since Scorpius helped pick it out, it might help to locate his magic.” Draco flicks his wand and the wrapping disappears.

“It’s beautiful,” Rosanna says. Taking the chain and holding it over the map as she waits for Draco’s hand to join hers. A star, set with a tapestry of diamonds, a constellation. “Thank you.”

“I aim to please.” Draco curls his fingers around hers, allowing their blood to mingle, spotting the map.

The room is silent after that, to concentrate.

Scorpius.

Where are you, Scorpius?

The tip of the pendant lands…smack on top of their current location.

“It didn’t work,” Ron says, peeking over his wife’s shoulder, all huddled around the desk.

Draco moves away, taking out his handkerchief and coming around the table to press it under Rosanna’s nose.

“What?” Her brows furrow.

“You’re bleeding,” Draco explains, “you can’t push like that.” Her magic is different now, especially in such close proximity to his.

“That’s why it didn’t work?” Ginny asks. Is there still hope of finding the children this way?

“I think…we’re too-“ Draco struggles to word it. “If we scry together, our magic will assume we’re trying to find each other.”

“You try without me.” Rosanna suggests, taking the fabric from him and holding it herself.

Draco presses his lips to her temple, before stepping away. He’s got the necklace, attempting to clear his mind again-

The door swings open.

A blonde, a brunette and a redhead.

“Mum!” Scorpius charges in. “Dad!”

Draco is frozen, solid, in shock, after all this time the three of them come waltzing in the door?

Rosanna stumbles forward, desperate to reach her son, as the room erupts into joyful chaos.

Scorpius catapults himself into her arms.

“My baby.” She’s hugging him back, smoothing down his hair.

His mum, with a kind word and gentle hands, his mum who loves him so much that the sight of him moves her to tears.

“Don’t cry, I’m here. You never have to be sad again, I fixed it. I fixed everything for you. I fixed it for dad. We’ll all be safe now, all of us together, please don’t cry. I love you, don’t cry.”

“What do you mean?” Rosanna pulls back, enough to see his face.

“I have the memories, to prove dad’s sacrifice turned the tide of the war. I have those memories, I can extract them…or you can and put them in a penesive for the wizengamont to see.” Scorpius explains, as a second set of arms envelope him.

“Never do anything like that again.” Draco breathes, resting his chin atop of his son’s head.

“I promise.” Scorpius gives his word.

“My boy; six pounds, seven ounces, twenty inches long-” Dixie always measured them in pounds and inches…

“Dad,” Scorpius leans into him. His father who worried about being a good father, his father who adored him, since before he was born. “I understand that you’re upset with me, but I’d do it again. You’re one of the best people I know. It’s not fair, the things people say about you. You don’t deserve it. You’re a hero.” Scorpius shifts slightly, finding his father’s eyes. “You’re my hero.”

“But how did you get those memories?” Rosanna asks, as Draco continues staring at his son.

“Delphi gave me a time turner.”

“My Delphi?” Rosanna breathes.

“She wanted to go herself but she couldn’t, because the ministry was on lockdown after the files got stolen.”

“And what makes you think that wasn’t her too?” Draco bites out.

“Draco, if she wanted to out us, there’s a hundred different ways for her to do it. I don’t think she did this.” Rosanna meets his eyes.

“Then who?” Draco demands.

“I say we put our focus there, figure out who infiltrated the ministry.”

“There is one more thing about Delphi.” Scorpius scratches the back of his neck.

“What?”

“It’s true that her parents are dead. Her parents were Voldemort and Bellatrix. I can show you, one of the places I went, Voldemort had Leo and you had Delphi. No one would talk about it. Like you knew but couldn’t acknowledge it.”

“What happened to Leo?” Rosanna wonders.

“I don’t…” Maybe it’s best that he doesn’t know. “They said she was troubled, that’s all I know.”

Draco swallows, harshly.

“Rabastan insists that Voldemort did father a child, he was under the impression that it was Leo, because,” Rosanna breaks off. “He said Voldemort hid the child in plain sight, in the manor. But it wasn’t me, it was Bellatrix.”

“Voldemort believed Leo was the one who would bring his victory, perhaps he never intended for us to keep her. Biological we had to be her parents, in order to fulfill the prophecy.” Draco’s eyes flit about the room, searching for some unforeseen threat. “Maybe his plan was always to trade a child for a child.”

————————————————————————

Delphi turns herself in quietly, to Rosanna, the next day. Pleading for forgiveness, “I’m so sorry, Rosanna-”

“How could you do this?” Rosanna closes the door behind her.

“I saw how you were after Draco was charged and I panicked. You didn’t deserve to go through it again.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Delphi.”

“Of course I do.” The younger woman scoffs. “You took me in when I had no one. You were patient and you taught me, you believed in me. I only ever wanted to help you.”

Rosanna draws in a deep breath. “Will you show me?”

“Yes.” Delphi nods, “anything.”

Anything comes in the memories of a little girl, growing up in an orphanage. A child who has no one. But as she grows, she becomes sure of herself. She knows that she wants to do good in the world. And so she does.

She’s different from other children, she can do things they can’t, and when she is old enough, she sets off to find out why that is. Delphi is seventeen when she leaves the orphanage with nothing, not a penny to her name.

She finds refuge on a strange bus that appears out of nowhere and can stretch and shrink to fit between cars. She rides for days on end, because she is going nowhere, she has nowhere to go.

The more she learns about the wizarding world, the more she finds herself. Working odd jobs for a few years, learning everything she can about magic, before deciding setting her sights on an open position at the wizengamont.

She starts at the bottom, pushing papers, delivering mail, so on and so forth until she finds a job she likes. Working for renowned legillimen, Rosanna Malfoy.

When a man named Rabastan Lestrange begins writing her from Azkaban, claiming to her uncle, Delphi isn’t sure what to think. He tells her about Voldemort and Bellatrix, how she is their child and how they were murdered. How angry she should be at Harry Potter and his lot for their downfall.

He wants her to help him and when she declines, Rabastan tells her that she will regret it. There’s no one to turn to, no one she can tell. Because how can she tell Rosanna that she is Voldemort’s daughter? She can’t and so she doesn’t, instead she doubles down watching over the ministry, trying to keep everyone safe.

When news breaks that a boatload of sealed case documents have been leaked, Delphi is in shambles. She tries to hide it, to maintain that nothing is wrong. Delphi can fix it with a time turner.

Only now, the ministry is on lockdown, she can’t do it herself. She decides that one of Rosanna’s children, who are still attending Hogwarts, is the best bet. And when the crowd at King’s Cross Station separates Scorpius from his parents, she knows it has to be him.

She never wanted to hurt him, she even charmed the time turner to bring him back to present day, in twenty minute intervals, just incase he wound up in trouble.

She’s sorry. She’s sorry, she’s so sorry.

Rosanna breaks away from Delphi’s mind, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I was so worried about Scorpius. Finding out that you were the one who put him in danger… you hurt me, Delphi.

I confided in you about so many things during your internship and you were there for me when I needed a sounding board or just someone to talk to.

I don’t know if we can ever get back to that, but I want you to know I’m not abandoning you. I just wish you’d told me sooner.”

“Me too.” Delphi says, resting her cheek against the back of Rosanna’s hand.

————————————————————————

The rest of the week is spent extracting Scorpius’ memories, acquired with the time turner. It doesn’t hurt. His mother makes sure it never hurts, even if that slows the process.

Draco spends days going in circles with Rabastan.

Who stole the files from the ministry?

You knew Rosanna didn’t carry Voldemort’s child, why are you so interested in her?

Harry is there, observing his partner, recording the results. Eventually they leave, with more questions than answers.

Draco has long retreated to his office by the time Rosanna comes looking for them.

“You should go to him.” Harry tells her, quill scribbling, wildly.

“I can help with the report first,” she offers.

“I’ll handle the paperwork.”

“Are you sure?”

Harry sighs, scrubbing a hand over his forehead. “I don’t pretend to understand exactly what goes on between the two of you, but you’re all he wants in the world. You should go to him.”

So she does, finding her husband staring out the back window of his office.

“Draco?”

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, holding his stance.

“Is there anything I can do?”

His hands curl into fists at his sides, “I would advise you leave this room until I collect myself.”

“Did I do something?”

“Lestrange’s head is full of you. He’s quite…taken.”

“Oh.”

“You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” Rosanna assures him.

“Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to pour all that you are into something, make it well and truly yours, then everyone wants to take it from you?”

“Actually, yes, I do.” Everyone is always trying to take him away from her.

Draco turns to face her, pupils blown wide.

Rosanna closes the space between them, cupping his cheek. “The only thing to do is quit our jobs and hole up in the manor.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

She lifts a shoulder, flicking open the top buttons of her dress shirt. “Would you settle for fucking me on your desk?”

Draco chortles. “You are a menace.”

“My husband tells me all the time.” Rosanna teases, perching herself on the edge of the desk.

“And what else does your husband tell you?” Draco follows, loosening his tie and slipping it off.

“He tells me that I have the terrible morning breath, then kisses me anyway.”

Draco’s lips find hers, cradling her head as he lies her back on the desktop, flinging parchment and ink to the floor without care.

“He tells me that I’ll be the death of him.” Rosanna murmurs, against his mouth, “he tells me I have the prettiest cunt in the world.”

“Your cunt is a masterpiece.” Draco stands behind that statement. “You are a masterpiece.”

She smiles, “and you are insufferable, Malfoy.”

“Draco,” he chides her, charming off the remainder of her clothes. To her, he wants to be Draco.

“You are insufferable, Draco.” Rosanna nuzzles her nose against his.

His lips trail over her cheeks, past her jaw, down her throat and collarbones. Open mouthed kisses against the swell of her breasts before finally closing his mouth around her right nipple, rolling it to a taut peak with his tongue.

Her hands busy themselves in his hair, holding him to her.

His teeth graze her pebbled flesh and she arches up toward him. “Fuck,” she whines.

After a moment, he moves to the other breast, plucking at the abandoned nipple with his thumb and forefinger. “You’re mine,” he croons.

“Uh huh.” Rosanna nods.

Draco huffs a laugh, she’s rather agreeable in this state. He could say anything and she wouldn’t object.

Her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. With a snap of her fingers, he’s disrobed, cock resting between them. “More.”

“I’ve spoiled you absolutely rotten, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” Rosanna hums.

“That’s what I wanted, you know? From the moment I saw you, I wanted to take you apart, put you back together. Steal you away and keep you safe, so safe. I wanted to take care of you forever.” Draco confesses, tracing freckles over the bridge of her nose.

She catches his hand, kissing at his fingers, his palm, down to his wrist. “I want to take care of you too, Draco. I want you to let me. If you’re having a shitty day, come to me. Let me comfort you.”

His eyes search hers. “You do take care of me, Rosanna. In more ways than you’ll ever know.” He’s inside her then, drawing his torso away for leverage. Shifting one of her legs up to his shoulder and fucking her deep, the tip of him meeting her cervix.

She gasps, lacing their fingers together. “I want to make you happy.”

“You do,” he turns to nuzzle against her calf and pepper soft kisses there. “There is nothing I enjoy more than you.” Draco grips the front of her thigh, driving into her faster.

Rosanna’s breath leaves her in staccato puffs, little whimpers that only spur him on.

“Once I had my bearings I would’ve come to you. I always come to you, don’t I?”

“Yes, but,” she breaks off in a sob as he adjusts the angle.

“Just there?” He bullies that spot inside her.

“You can come to me without your- fuck-bearings.”

Draco grins down at her. “You like me rough around the edges? Moody? Gets you off?”

“Yes.” Rosanna pants out, “I like it when you let me see all of you, not just the parts you like. I love all of you, every bit of you.”

“Fuck,” Draco feels himself swell, he’s close. Prettiest girl with the prettiest lips and the prettiest words just for him, as he drowns his sorrows in her pretty little cunt. So sweet around him, clenching tight. His fingers find her clit, rubbing hard, making her eyes roll back in her head.

“Draco.”

“Tell me what you want and it’s yours.”

“I want to cum.”

He lets her, hot and hard, all over his cock, until there are tears spilling from the corners of her pretty brown eyes.

Draco huffs out a low groan as his release rushes over him.

Rosanna’s mouth is curved into a content smile by the time Draco lowers her leg and collapses on top of her. His hair is still held in a low ponytail, though slightly disheveled. She removes the elastic, smoothing it out with her fingers.

“Must we always with the hair, darling?” Draco murmurs, against the crook of her neck.

“Yes,” Rosanna informs him, “we must.”

Draco bites back a grin. “You are insufferable, Malfoy.”

Part 17

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