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taestefully-in-luv · 3 years ago

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The Island | KTH (Seven)

Summary: You’re just two strangers waking up in a room on a lonely island where a company in the business of love has placed you. They believe that thanks to their in depth research you two are destined soulmates. What happens when your ‘soulmate’ and you want nothing to do with each other but falling in love is the only way to leave?

Pairing: Taehyung x Female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, very slight enemies to lovers, soulmates au, roommate au, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension (?) maid outfit, spanking, vaginal fingering, panty sniffing, pussy slapping, Oc’s ex is an ass, use of a vibrator, mirror sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, rougher sex, choking, sad oc, vulnerable Tae,

Notes: Ch7 is here! A lot goes on but I hope you guys like this chapter. I would say the second part of the story is truly beginning. ;) Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or send an ask if just want to chat about the stories!:)

Taglist: @ggukkieland @707sblog @peacedreamer14 @dopedreamfireparty @everythingnamjoon @taebae19 @typicalgenzworld @mooniyooni @getmemyfries @helenazbmrskai @justinetingball @jpeachytaev @marplest @calling-dips-on-j-hope @lecavivien @fancycollectormoon

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Month 7

“I believe you missed a spot.” You glance over your shoulder to see Taehyung pointing down at some random spot on the lower shelf of the bookcase. His expression is dark, his eyes half lidded as he gazes at you. You turn around to face him, your breasts pushed out thanks to the…outfit…you are wearing. You reach forward with the white duster in hand and lightly sweep it across his chest.

“Where?” You tease. “Here?” You slide the duster lower until it barely grazes over his crotch.

Taehyung slightly moves his head to the side as he pushes a short breath of air out, he looks up as a sly smile draws itself on his perfect lips.

“Finish dusting the bookshelf,” he sounds amused, “Down there, I want you bent over, making sure it’s perfectly cleaned.” He points low again.

You raise your brows and say ‘Ah’, turning back around to face the shelves again. “Yes, Taehyung.” You whisper out and he smirks.

Your maid outfit is quite short on you, the material tight around your body. It’s very low cut giving Taehyung the perfect view of your pushed up breasts that he basically drools at the sight. But now he is getting the view of your ass. The way you are bent over, dusting the shelf has his pants getting tighter and tighter around his cock.

Taehyung walks forward until his crotch is directly pushed up against your cheeks, and his hands are gripping at your waist.

“Lower, clean lower.” He instructs and you begin to bend lower, your ass on fuller display now, the black lacey thong doing little to cover you and leaving nothing to the imagination. Taehyung’s eyes slowly skim down your back until they are settling at your cheeks being pushed up against him.

“Am I doing a good job?” you wiggle your ass and he bites down on his bottom lip. Hard. His plump flesh stuck between his teeth as he continues to stare down at you. You start moving your ass side to side, up and down. Circling your hips into his crotch and Taehyung sighs out, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Don’t make me fuck you right here.” He warns, his voice is tight and strained. You can’t help but push back harder, feeling his hardening cock grow against your cheeks. Taehyung steps back from you, his hands sliding from your waist to your ass. He squeezes the cheek and gives one side a generous spank.

“Keep moving your hips.” He commands, “Fuck yourself onto my fingers.” And then his hand slides down until his fingers are at your wet folds, the material of your thong barely covering you. With his other hand he begins to slip your underwear off of you, he squats behind you dragging them down your legs, slowly…very slowly. You whine when he takes his time, he is always taking his fucking time. It drives you absolutely nuts.

“For fucks sake, woman.” He breathes out, “You are so fucking wet. You like dressing up this much? You like teasing me this much?” he lifts one foot at a time as he takes the underwear off of you. He brings the panties to his nose and sniffs the soaked material.

“Mm.” He throws the thong to the ground, and gets closer to your bare pussy.

You wiggle your ass again and he darkly chuckles, he brings his hand forward and lightly slaps your wet cunt.

“Taehyung!” You moan, you voice shaking as your arousal begins dripping down your pussy and onto your inner thighs. “Please touch me again.”

“My fingers.” He says, “That’s all you get.”

His fingers play at your folds again, they slide between them, gathering your juices. His fingers are so intimidatingly beautiful and long and you anticipate the feel of them entering you. But he doesn’t quite yet, he just continues to slide them between your folds. The tips of his fingers brushing against your clit, leaving you whining.

“I only have one rule for you baby girl.” Taehyung leans forward to kiss your right ass cheek. “You have to be loud. I want every microphone in this place picking up your moans.” He finally dips a finger into your hole and you cry out.

“That’s it. But louder.” He leaves another kiss as he enters another finger. The high pitched moan that leaves your lips should be illegal, it is such a cry in pleasure that it is obvious that his fingers bring you a feeling of euphoria.

“Taehyung, Taehyung.” You start chanting his name, in hopes he will enter another long finger but instead he starts to slowly, very fucking slowly, thrust his fingers in and out of you. He curls them in a way that brushes against your most sensitive fucking spot that has you rocking your hips along with his movements.

“That’s it baby.” He stops moving his hand, but continues to curl and scissor his fingers in you as you fuck his fingers. You rock your hips back and forth, choosing a quick pace as you fuck his long, delicious fingers. Your long, dragged out moans fills his ears and he just smiles as he stares at your pussy. His cock is aching. He wants to fuck you so bad. But as said before, he is a man of self-control. His ability to refrain from fucking you rough and quick astonishes even him.

“Taehyung!” you whine, “Oh god!”

His fingers continue to hit that spot inside you that has you tensing so hard, you clench around his fingers and moan loudly, so fucking loudly that you don’t even recognize yourself.

“That’s it…that’s it.” His other hand sneaks its way around your body until his fingers find your swollen clit. He starts rubbing tight circles, your knees shaking and your body starting to give out.

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna…” you pant, “Can I come? Please?” you move against him faster.

Taehyung licks his lips, he watches at your juices run down your legs and he feels so fucking pleased with himself. He finally starts thrusting his fingers into you once again, at a brutal pace while his other fingers still work themselves on your clit. Your shaky legs give out on you and you fall to all fours on the floor. Your face smooshed in the carpet as you raise your ass higher in the air.

“You can come.” He gives his permission and you groan out loudly, “Now.” He says with a low voice. You feel the wave of your orgasm hit you, it washes over you wave after wave, drowning you in pleasure. Your body is about to fall completely to the floor when Taehyung’s fingers leave your body to catch you.

“That’s it baby.” He whispers, “You did so fucking well.” He starts rubbing your back as he pulls you into his chest. “You put on quite the show. I bet these fuckers watching are creaming their fucking pants right now.” He chuckles. You breathe heavily into his chest, a small laugh leaving your mouth.

“How about we shower?” he offers, his hand still on your back. “Clean you up.”

“I want…I want you to come too…” you say between harsh breaths, “Not fair that I—”

“Oh baby.” Taehyung squeezes his eyes shut and laughs. “You think I wouldn’t come at the sight of you? You think my cock stayed good? Stayed pure? You think I didn’t explode in my pants watching you fuck my fingers? Watching you on all fours in this fucking outfit?”

You lift your head from him with a confused expression until a smirk plays at your lips.

“You came? Just watching me? Without touching yourself?”

Taehyung opens his eyes to gaze at you, his licks his lips and brings your hand to dip inside his pants. The feeling is wet and sticky and your eyes widen.

“You’re just too fucking sexy.” He admits with a dark chuckle, “Sometimes I allow myself to lose a little control, you know?”

Dear Lord, this man drives you fucking nuts. You lean in to find his lips…you don’t think you will ever get used to this. The feeling of his lips on yours…the feeling of this.

But something is off. You feel it deep within your bones. And nothing makes you more afraid.

~~~~~~

“W-What do you mean?” you feel your lip tremble. “What are you talking about?”

“This has gone on too long, y/n. I had to do something about it.” Ben’s lips are set in a firm line. “You are crossing too many boundaries.”

“Boundaries? I just told them we—”

“We what?” he snaps. “You blabbed and lied to the whole office.”

“L-Lied?” you feel your body get really warm, slowly filling with rage. “What are you talking about? Lied?”

“Saying we are in some sort of romantic relationship? How delusional are you?” he grits out, “So I was nice to you a few times, but you become so delirious and imagine we are in some sort of relationship?” he scoffs, “It’s truly sick.”

You pull your eyebrows together, completely confused and shocked at his words. What is he fucking saying? What is he going on about?

“I filed a complaint about you to HR. They will deal with this legally.”

“L-Legally?” You’re speechless. “What the fuck are you talking about Ben?” you glance towards his cracked open office door, you know at the volume you two are speaking at you can be heard.

“You told me you loved me!” you cry out. “You have fucked on this very desk!” you point at his office desk and look at him incredulously.

“Christ’s sake, y/n. I will call security.”

You feel tears bubble in your eyes and they begin streaming down your face.

“Ben? What is this about? Why are you doing this?”

“This is truly unprofessional.” He walks closer to you then leans down to whisper in your ear. “If I were you, I would just go.” Then leans away with a dark smirk on his face.

“Fuck you.” You spit out, “Go to fucking Hell.” You turn towards his office door and swing it open, walk through, and slamming it shut.

You wipe at your face, walking to your cubicle to gather your things. Layla stares at you from her seat and shakes her head disapprovingly.

“You’re so pathetic.” She snarls, “Making all this shit up.”

You whip your head in her direction, not believing your ears. Sure, you kept your relationship a secret for a while and maybe she has a hard time believing that but—

“Did you do all this because you were jealous?” Layal spits out, “That he would flirt with me? Did you want it to be you?”

“Layla—”

“Get out of here.”

You feel weak. Too weak to respond, too weak to defend yourself. You gather your things and make your way out of the buildings floor, to the elevators. You cry the entire way down to the ground floor. Not believing a thing that just happened to you. The man you have been with for over 6 moths just betrayed the fuck out of you, just embarrassed you in front of the entire office. He ruined you. You will never recover from this. How could you?

“So she…chose him over you?” Taehyung’s deep voice crawls all over your skin as he asks the question that depresses you further.

“I guess…” you bring a cracker to your lips, sticking it between them but not eating it. You stare blankly at the couch cushion beneath you, not entirely wanting to have this conversation.

“But you two were friends…” Taehyung scrunches his face in displeasure, he’s starting to get peeved, you can tell.

“It’s fine, Tae.” You finally open your mouth and take a bite of the cracker and swallow the dry food in one go. The crackers slowly making its way down your throat, a lump is formed and you reach towards the coffee table a gulp down some water.

“It’s not fine y/n.” he huffs out, “These people hurt you. Makes me wanna—”

“I said it’s fine.” You try again, setting the water back down. “It’s in the past.”

“Babe…” Taehyung’s hand finds yours, he wraps his fingers around yours tightly and strokes his thumb over your soft skin. “I know you don’t want to remember this…I understand. Talking about your past can be hard—”

“What about you?” you snap your head up, looking into his eyes with a somewhat hard stare. “Should we talk about your past?”

“I’m an open book, y/n.” he whispers softly, “You can ask me whatever and I will gladly tell you…” he squeezes your hand but you continue to stare at him coldly.

“What about Hana? In her eyes you guys are practically together.” You grit your teeth, “I kind of feel like the other woman here.” You admit. Taehyung’s eyes widen just slightly before they fill with something similar to guilt.

“But we weren’t together. And I doubt she is waiting for me all this time…”

“You claimed to be so in love with her Taehyung, and now you just aren’t?” you snap, making Taehyung flinch. His lips turn downwards as a frowns decorates his face, he then looks at you narrowing his eyes.

“Careful, y/n.” he warns. “I understand you’re feeling—”

“Oh? And how am I feeling?” you pull your hand away from his, setting it into your lap, joining your other hand.

“Insecure.” He says bluntly. “But it’s okay. I will say what I have to say to reassure you.”

“Oh? So you are just saying whatever you think will help me feel better? Whatever it takes, right?”

“y/n…” Taehyung can’t help but rolls his eyes. “Everything I say will be the truth. I would never…I will never lie to you.”

You stare at him with pinched brows, your breathing harsher than before. You grit your teeth in frustration and tear your eyes away from his.

“Sure, Taehyung. So what? You just suddenly don’t feel anything for her?”

Taehyung breathes in and out a few times, trying to gather his patience.

“A long time ago I asked you if it really seemed like a had feelings for her…everyone was right. I don’t. I just wanted to. I wanted something, someone…but now—”

“How do I know you just aren’t transferring those same feelings to me?”

“For fucks sake, woman.” Taehyung runs a hand down his face. “I am literally falling in love with you!”

Your eyes quickly dart across the room, you try to find something to focus on—anything but Taehyung.

“Look at me.” He demands of you. “Now.” And then you are feeling his fingers at your jaw as he softly guides you to face him. “I am going to make sure this works no matter what. And that will take a lot of fucking communication. So talk.”

“I…” your eyes finally find his, they’re like a pool of chocolate and you find yourself wanting to take a dip. “I don’t know if I am ready.” You breathe out, the admission making you feel small.

Taehyung gulps, his hands coming together to rest in his lap.

“Ready for what?” he asks, the nervousness evident in his voice.

“You.”

Taehyung’s hands are sweaty as he holds onto himself, bracing himself if you are to continue but you don’t. You stay silent as you search his eyes.

“Tae?”

Taehyung blinks at you, clearing his throat.

“I…” he begins, “I understand.”

“I do like you Taehyung.” You clarify before he can overthink. “I just—”

“I said I understand.” He reminds you softly. “And trust me, I know you like me, I would be blind to think you didn’t. I don’t play games y/n. I don’t want you to either. Be real with me, be honest.” He releases a shaky breath. “You’re still going through a lot, you probably don’t have closure…you probably have a lot to work out when you get back home.” He says quickly, “Love is the last thing on your mind—”

“That’s not true!” you cut in. “God, Taehyung you make me…you make me want to forget everything. You make me want to stay on this island with you for forever.”

Taehyung blinks at you again before he offers you a small smile.

“But that’s not real life y/n.” he looks down at his hands, “I want to experience real life with you.” He finds your eyes again, “And you aren’t ready for that.”

“I want to be.” Your eyes begin to wet with tears. “I really, really want to be.”

“I know baby.”

“Slow.” You scoot closer to him, “I still want to be in this. Just slow.” You say, not believing yourself. Your trauma isn’t your only problem here. It’s this whole damn company.

“You still want me?” Taehyung whispers softly and you begin to feel yourself melt into liquid, your body puddling on the couch.

“Tae…” you lean into his space, pecking his lips lightly. “Yes, of course.” You lean back and smile. “You mean so much to me…” you look down at his tense hands. You want to comfort him now. “You are such a light in my life.” You fingers cover his hands and your squeeze lightly. “I feel so strongly for you.” You admit. Hating yourself for being so drawn to him.

“Yeah?” he releases some of the tension in his body through a long, shaky breath.

“Yeah.”

“Then we have to communicate. I know it’s hard. But y/n, I am quite literally desperate to make this work.” He sighs, “I will do whatever it takes. And I just want to know if you will do the same.” His dark eyes pierce into yours and you find yourself being even more drawn to him, leaning closer and closer like he has you under some sort of spell.

“Yes, Taehyung. But…”

“She quit her job out of nowhere! Came back home? This isn’t damn suspicious to you honey?” Your moms voice is loud enough for you to hear from the living room.

“She said she has her reasons sweetheart. Let’s just trust her, be there for her.”

“Do you think this has anything to do with that boyfriend she had? You think they broke up?” you mother pries further, making your father roll his eyes.

“You think our daughter would move to another town just because of a break up?” he groans and you bite your bottom lip as you eavesdrop.

You hear your mother scoff, “Wouldn’t be that surprised. She’s known for running away when shit hits that fan.” She reminds your dad and you feel your eyes gloss over and the slight burn of your throat.

“Sweetheart…” you father warns, “Let’s just be there for her for now, she will come to us eventually.”

But will you? Even your father isn’t sure.

You feel the tightness in your chest only intensify as you recall your memories. Taehyung watches you with careful eyes as he thinks of your life and the things you’ve been through. He grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into his chest, your head getting buried into his shoulder and he starts to soothingly rub your back.

“You can cry if you need to.” His voice is soft, softer than you have ever heard it. This only pushes you to listen to him…you cry. You cry just as hard as you did in the elevator that first day. He rubs circles into your back and whispers sweet words into your hair. You hate this. You feel pathetic. But somehow you feel yourself getting freed with every tear that drops and soaks into his t shirt. You finally…finally after all this time, for the first time, feel someone’s support. You feel someone understand you, believe you.

“Taehyung…” you cry into his shirt harder as that realization hits you. “Taehyung…”

He slams his eyes shut and inhales you. The scent of your shampoo filling his senses and he goes dizzy.

“I’m here baby. I’m here.”

But he won’t always be here, you think. Once he goes home why wouldn’t he just continue to live his normal life? Why wouldn’t Hana wait for him? He’s amazing. He’s absolutely the best thing that has happened to you in the last year. Why wouldn’t someone wait for him?

This only makes you cry harder. He pulls you into his lap and continues to stroke your back. He is terrified. He won’t say that out loud, but he is. He is falling for you harder and harder with every moment he spends with you, good or bad. He just wants to protect you, to be there for you, to make you safe and happy.

“y/n?” he leans back to get a look at your crying face, but you only shove your face deeper onto his shoulder, refusing to be seen right now.

“Will you look at me?” he softly pleads. “Please.”

You hesitate for a moment but finally lift your head, showing him your swollen eyes and puffy lips.

“Still think you are falling in love with me?” you joke pathetically and Taehyung smiles sadly.

“I think I already am.”

Month 8

It’s been 8 months…stuck on this island for 8 months. You know the day to return home is coming at any moment. The anticipation quite literally kills you. Every day that passes you want to believe that Taehyung’s feelings are real. You want to believe it so badly. But something deep within you, stops you. You have these heavy ass doubts that weigh you down.

Taehyung isn’t blind…of course he has noticed. He has known you for 8 months, you and only you so of course he has noticed—he knows you—he hates how well he knows you. Taehyung doesn’t give up though, he gives you space when you obviously need it and he is there for you when you also obviously need it. This makes you feel like a mess. Mostly just makes you feel as pathetic as you probably are.

You lay in bed with Taehyung snoozing next to you, his arm draped lazily around your hips. Did this company win? They forced you two together…and he probably only thinks he’s in love with you. You are the only one he knows…what other choice did he have? You blink back growing tears and huff out loudly.

“You okay?” you hear Taehyung whisper from beside you, startling you.

“Y-Yes.” You lie. “Just—”

“Just stressed? You have been really stressed the last month…” he awkwardly chuckles.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to distress I guess.” You awkwardly laugh back and he stays silent for a moment.

“I could think of a few ways…”

It’s been a while since the two of you had sex. Maybe a few weeks? You’ve just been so into your head that you just can’t get into it. But Taehyung’s touch sounds so warm and inviting right now.

“And…what are those ways?” you turn to lay on your side, inching closer to him.

“What ways will make you most comfortable?” Taehyung asks slowly and carefully. His hand reaches up to caress you cheek and you automatically lean into his touch for the first time in what feels like forever.

“Anything you can come up with Tae.” You breathe out, you words hitting his plush lips.

“I think I know how to relax you.” He tests the waters by leaning in to kiss you. The sigh of relief that pushes past his lips when you kiss him back is almost comical, almost sad.

“Come with me.” He says pulling away from you, only confusing you.

“W-Where?” you ask as he rises from the sheets and steps out onto the floor. You follow his lead though, leaving the bed to join him. He takes your hand and leads you out of the bedroom, walking you through the hallway until you reach another bedroom door. This room?!

“Tae…” you softly say his name and he squeezes your hand.

“Just trust me.” He opens the bedroom door and switches on the soft, low lighting.

You both walk through the room and he leads you in front of the bed.

“Undress.” He tells you, his voice a little lower than usual. “Now.”

You release a long breath before lifting your tank top of your head and shoving your shorts down your legs. You stand here in just a purple bralette and some black panties and Taehyung raises a brow at you.

“All the way.” He says, “All your clothes.”

He crosses his arms over his chest as he waits expectantly. His dark gaze making you feel nervous so suddenly.

“D-Don’t stare.” You reach behind you to unclasp your bra, the purple material dropping to the floor, exposing your breasts.

“Panties next.” He commands, licking his lips as he gazes at you.

“Taehyung.” You whine, feeling so exposed. Taehyung walks closer to you until he’s standing inches away, his hand reaches forward until his fingers are playing with the band of your underwear. He lifts the band up and slaps it against your skin.

“I said panties next.” Then he’s stepping away from you as he smirks.

You gulp, trying not to roll your eyes as you feel the sting on your hips from the panties being slapped against you.

“Yes Taehyung.” You listen, dragging the panties down one leg at a time, they pool at your ankles and you kick them away.

“Good job baby girl.” He says, turning around to walk towards one of the drawers. He rummages through it until he finds what he is looking for.

“Perfect.” He says, holding something small in his hands. You don’t know what it is specifically, but you have an idea considering you know what’s in that drawer.

“Taehyung.” You whine again and he keeps what’s in his hand hidden as he walks towards you. He sits on the edge of the bed, scotting back just a bit and spreading his legs.

“Sit between my legs.” He orders. “Facing the mirror.”

You raise a brow at him and he smiles. “Just trust me.” He says.

“Okay…” you walk forward and turn around, sitting on the bed and scooting between his legs until your bare back in flush against his chest.

“Take your shirt off…I want to feel your skin on my skin.” You quietly beg. Taehyung takes a moment to think before he’s nodding his head at you, his eyes catching yours in the mirror.

“Sure baby.” He lifts his shirt over his head and throws it off to the side and you lean back to feel his warn skin on your back.

You stare at him through the mirror, his breaths hitting the side of your neck and you begin to close your eyes. What does he have in mind?

“Spread your legs. Put your legs on either side of mine…bend your knees…just like that, yes.” Taehyung praises you as you do as he instructs. You watch in the mirror as Taehyung guides your legs apart, his eyes on your pussy in the mirror as you expose yourself to him.

“Perfect.” Suddenly, you hear a low buzzing sound. Your eyes shoot open and you catch his gaze.

“Tae…”

He shows you the small bullet vibrator to you in the mirror, his smile growing as he watches your eye lids get heavier. You nod your head to him, and roll it back until it hits his shoulder.

“Oh baby, you’re the one doing it, I’m just here for support.” He takes your hand and wraps your fingers around the small vibrator. You eye him in the mirror and breathe out roughly, you feel yourself getting wet at just the thought.

“I’m getting myself off?” your shaky voice makes Taehyung chuckle.

“That’s the idea.” He gestures for you to begin. “Go ahead.”

You lick your dry lips and stare at yourself in the mirror. You slowly bring the vibrator closer to your body, your eyes scan your body until you get the idea to start at top. You bring the vibrator and circle it around your left nipple. You sigh out when it first makes contact, the vibrations making your bud harden. Taehyung watches in amusement, he bites down on his plump bottom lip and moves his hips upwards.

You can feel his cock getting hard at the top of your ass cheeks, between your crack. He must like what he sees. You slowly glide the small vibrator down the valley of your breasts until its dragging down to your lower belly. You sigh out again, drawing pictures over your sensitive stomach. You then glide the vibrator to your inner thigh, moving it closer and closer to your dampening folds. You sigh out a little louder this time, making Taehyung gulp as he watches you.

You feel his hard cock twitch in his shorts, the thin material doing little to hide his raging erection.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He whispers in your ear, his eyes never leaving yours now.

You finally take the vibrator and put it at your center…you start low. The toy at your hole until you slowly, very slowly drag it upwards…you press the button and raise the speed a setting. You swallow hard when you drag it even higher, and the buzzing toy finally meets your clit. You don’t intend for this—but the moan that leaves your mouth is long, and loud. You slowly close your eyes as you circle the vibrator over your bundle of nerves, pressing the button again and it begins to vibrate faster. You move your hips up and down, the feeling so fucking good that you cannot help the way you squirm between his legs.

“Open your eyes. Look at me.” His hands go from your hips to your thighs and he squeezes them. You open your eyes and get a look at yourself first. Your expression is so fucked out as you continue to run the vibrator against your clit, the loud buzzing not doing much to drown out your moans. Then your eyes find his…his eyes are terrifyingly dark, filled with the most lust you can imagine. He heaving chest only pushes you to buck your hips harder onto the vibrator.

You press the button once more, the setting changing into a pulsing vibration and you cry out, pressing the button again, building the tension. Taehyung catches his bottom lip between his teeth again, he swears he can taste blood from how hard he is biting. You squirm harder between his legs, beginning to slide down his chest as you start to chase your high that is soon approaching. You are leaving a fucking mess…your inner thighs are drenched and you are leaving a big soak spot on the sheets from how dripping wet you are.

“You’re doing so good baby. Can I touch you?” Taehyung’s voice is deep and strained and you frantically nod your head yes.

You lean your head back on his shoulder again, your half lidded eyes watching as his hand moves closer to your pussy. He uses his other hand to spread your legs further apart and then his eyes bore into your pussy as his fingers dive into your neglected hole. He starts thrusting his fingers in and out as quickly as he can as you raise the speed on the vibrator. You clit is begging you to come. You watch Taehyung’s fingers fuck your hole in the mirror, his eyes focused on this as well. You whimper when you feel your orgasm coming to hit you like a fucking truck, it hits so hard. Taehyung’s free hand grabs a hold of your hand that holds the vibrator and pushes it down on your clit harder, making you see fucking stars as this orgasm washes over you with the most intense wave possible. You shake between his legs, squirming once more when you finish climaxing. But Taehyung keeps the vibrator on you and you cry out, loud and whiny.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you grab a hold of his thighs and squeeze them tightly. “Taehyung!” you pant out.

“Come again.” He adds pressure on your clit, and raises the speed.

You feel the buzzing toy make you go into overdrive. Taehyungs fingers still thrusting in and out of you, curling inside your pussy making you overwhelmed. The toy works its magic though, making you feel a crash of waves, multiple waves drown you repeatedly. You ride them out, as he slows the vibrations down and his fingers leave your hole. You breathe out roughly, crying in pleasure.

“Good girl, good girl.” You lean back on Taehyung and shut your eyes, trying to even out your breathing.

After several long moments of composing yourself you begin to slowly turn in Taehyung’s lap, on your knees, facing him. His eyes stay on the mirror, they travel down your back until they land on your ass. His hands find their way to it, and squeezes it roughly. His eyes finally leave the mirror and meet your gaze.

“What is it baby?” one hand leaves your ass to caress your cheek, “What is it?”

“Will you fuck me? Right here?” you lower yourself onto his crotch, your dripping wet pussy leaking onto his shorts. You can feel how rock hard his is. How is he able to control himself this well?

“Is that what you want? Me?” He narrows his dark eyes at you and smirks.

“Yes.”

“Get on all fours.” He commands, lifting you off his body as he stands to take his shorts and briefs off. His member springs free and you have never seen it so angry, so swollen, so needy, so ready. You listen to what he says, getting on all fours, facing the mirror once more.

“I want you to be rough with me.” You say confidently. “Don’t wanna walk tomorrow.”

“Be careful what you wish for here babe.” Taehyung warns with amusement in his voice.

Taehyung gets on his knees on the bed and positions himself behind you, without much warning he quickly thrusts his cock into your hole. You gasp out, your body pushed forward from the force. Suddenly, he’s grabbing a handful of hair and pulling it up to lift your body to his. You are flush against his chest as he whispers in your ear.

“I’m going to fuck you as hard as I want then?”

“Yes.” You moan out when you feel him starting to slowly thrust in and out of you. He yanks your head to the side and starts placing hot, wet kisses down your neck. One hand on your hip and the other crawls up your stomach, squeezes a tit and then is at you throat. He starts to lightly choke you as he thrusts harder and harder, his grip on your throat getting tighter as well.

“All mine.” He growls into your ear. He pushes your upper body down until you are on all fours again, his eyes meet yours in the mirror and he bites his lips. He begins rolling his hips into your pussy, fucking you deeper. You hear him groan, he watches you in the mirror the entire time as you roll your eyes back. Your loud moans, whiny and desperate.

“Please, harder!” you beg. Taehyung smirks at you…he raises a hand and it comes down on your ass. Then his hips slap into your ass cheeks with such force that you shake, his thrusts so fucking powerful. His skin slapping against your skin, the squelching sound of your pussy and both of your moans fill the room.

“Fuck, fuuuuuuck.” You scream out, his dick reaching so far into you, hitting your fucking g spot over and over.

Taehyung lifts you up again by the hair and once you are on your knees his cock leaves your hole and he pushes you to the mattress. He positions you so you are on your side facing the mirror once again, then he lays behind you and quickly inserts his member into your pussy again.

“Aaagghh.” You groan out when you feel him start to fuck into you, his cock doing wonders. His hand makes its way back to your throat as he starts to choke you again, he leans down until his mouth is latched onto yours and his tongue is down your throat.

You kiss him back with passion, your tongues tangling and dancing. Its wet and sloppy and god, you couldn’t have asked for anything more.

Taehyung slaps his hips into you, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he feels himself getting closer and closer. His hand creeps up your pussy and his fingers find your clit, he rubs on it so deliciously quick that you feel the tension begin to build uncontrollably.

“Faster, faster.” You chant and he grits his teeth in frustration. He’s about to blow, he wants you to come first though but god, if he goes faster he’s going to come all inside you.

“I’m so close Tae, faster!” you plead. He breathes out roughly as he thrusts into you quickly, his fingers pushing down harder on your clit. You feel your orgasm so fucking close, it’s about to explode.

“Fuuuucckk.” Taehyung whines, “I’m gonna come y/n.” he warns. “Where should i—”

“Inside me!” you beg, “Please, please. I need to feel you come inside me, I want all of your cum…” you continue to beg and he throws his head back as he fucks your harder.

His fingers don’t stop their assault on your clit and that is it. That is all you need because you are coming, creaming all over his aching cock. He finally still his hips and shoots his load inside you, painting your walls a milky white. His chest heaves as he holds on to you, bringing you closer to his chest.

“Let me stay inside you.” He doesn’t ask. He tells. You nod your head and look at him through the mirror.

“Taehyung.” You moan, “You feel so good inside me.”

“You absolutely feel amazing.” He assures you, brushing a strand of hair away from your sweaty forehead. “Always do.”

After a few moments, Taehyung begins to softly thrust into you again, pushing his cum even deeper within you with his long, thick length. You wince at the feeling but you meet him half way, shoving your ass further into him.

“Again?” you ask in a moan.

“Can’t get enough of you.” He admits between bated breaths.

His head falls on to your shoulder as he slowly fucks you again, his breathing is as unsteady as can be. He groans when he feels your ass push back, making him fuck you faster.

“Slow baby.” He warns, “Just want to enjoy being inside you.” He takes one of your legs and lifts it over his, “Deeper?” he asks.

“Yes, this is good.” You moan, “So good.” The slow drag of his cock brushing against your most sensitive spots again has you melting.

He fucks you like this for a long while, your long, loud moans in competition with his groans and grunts. You swear you can die like this. His cock is sliding in and out of you so slowly and so accurately hitting your g spot that you clench around him so tightly causing him to slam his eyes shut and fuck you just a bit faster.

“Let’s come.” He orders and that is honestly what it takes for you. You feel your orgasm hit you and you ride it out as he comes inside you again, he whines when he finishes.

“God, you feel so amazing.” He whimpers out and you love the sound of him being the whiny one for once.

“You too babe.” You say, your eyes catching his in the mirror. His hand grips your waist and begins to turn you over in his embrace.

Taehyung smiles softly towards you and leans forward to catch your lips in a sweet kiss. He pulls back just as quickly and smirks.

“feeling a little less stressed?”

You feel your heart pinch in your chest…right…your stress. You feel guilt bubble over but you try to smile for him anyway. “Yes babe.” You whisper. “Yes.”

~~~~~~

It’s late, you know that much. You and Taehyung are laid in bed in the master, he’s all snuggled up against you, his soft breaths hitting the side of your neck. You hate yourself. You hate all this overthinking.

The company won. They fucking won. You were never supposed to fall for this, fall for him. Not actually, no, not really. But in pretend, yes. But now they won for real.

You feel lost right now. You briefly felt amazing, but now your overthinking has taken over and now you are left feeling anxious. And you have your biggest fear. Does Taehyung only think he’s in love with you? This company forced you two to be together, to “fall in love” and of course, after spending everyday with you he might think he feels something. That scares you, because it could be true. Your heart just breaks into pieces thinking about it. How do you know that the reason you have feelings for Taehyung isn’t because this company tricked you into it and it’s not real? That thought breaks your heart into even more pieces.

You lay here, your breaking heart pounding in your chest. You could cry. Well, of course you could fucking cry—it’s you. But you could really cry. The type of cry session where you release heart wrenching sobs that break your body.

“Why are you awake?” Taehyung’s voice has you jumping in place. He knits his brows together, concern is laced in his voice.

“Can’t sleep.” you reply plainly. Taehyung smiles, pinching your arm.

“Too happy?” he asks.

You can’t do this. Your bottom lip begins to tremble and you open your mouth to speak but no words come out. Taehyung’s smile fades as the seconds tick by.

“What’s wrong?” he rushes, his hand gripping your arm gently.

You can’t do this. Your eyes start glossing over and you try your hardest to blink back any building tears. Taehyung rubs his hand up and down your arm, trying his best to soothe you.

“y/n, talk to me.” His eyes are wide and round and beautiful.

“Please talk to me, please.” He begs. Yes, Taehyung fucking begs. The tone of his voice is soft and low and pleading. And this just pushes your tears further. Taehyung pulls you into his chest as you begin crying. Those heart wrenching sobs that break your body.

“It’s okay baby, shh, shh.” He pats your head, his fingers tangling in your hair.

“I’m here. You’re just…you’re just overwhelmed, that’s all.” He tries to reason for you. You just cry even harder. Taehyung clears his throat, “Yeah, just overwhelmed.” It sounds like he is convincing himself rather than you.

“Tae…” You cry out softly, trying to calm your tears. When you are able to form coherent sentences you lean back from him and look into his eyes.

“We should talk.” You whisper, for once in your life handling some confrontation.

“No.” Taehyung says, surprising you. “We can-we can talk tomorrow.” You can see the hurt in his eyes. He knows. He knows where this conversation is headed. Because of fucking course he would know, his mind has had to wander there too. Because it’s your reality. “Let’s-let’s just sleep.” And he pulls you in his arms again but you pull away. He looks pained by your action. Your heart drops.

“No Tae—”

“Please.” You both just stare at each other. Silence lingers in the air at your lack of response. Then you are scooting closer to his warm body, wrapping an arm over his chest, you hear him sigh in relief. He then holds you the tightest he has ever held you. His breaths are shaky and you want to cry again. But you don’t.

“I love you.” You barely hear him from how softly he whispers it. But you do hear him and it makes you want to bawl. But once again, you don’t.

You exhale deeply into his chest and close your eyes. You love him too. But you don’t say it. You let the silence swallow you both whole and you swear you can feel his body tremble for a moment and him sniffling above your head.

“Goodnight Taehyung.” And off to sleep you go, no matter how broken you feel.

~~~~~~~~

“Good morning sunshine!” Taehyung is bouncing on the bed slightly as he hovers over you. His smile is big and bright like a kid who just received candy. You want to smile but your heart is heavy. Why is he so happy?

“I made breakfast! Pancakes, your favorite…although I don’t make them as good as you,” He looks all over the room as he speaks, “But I have to say, they’re pretty damn good. I had to test try them of course, make sure they’re safe to eat.” He laughs at himself. “Why don’t you wash up? Then come downstairs.” He smiles at you, his bright eyes shining down at you.

Why is he acting like last night didn’t happen? Well, he’s acting like the good parts of last night happened but not the rest of the night.

“y/n?” he looks down at you, big puppy dog eyes.

“Huh?” You blink up at him.

“Come on!” then he leans down and kisses you on the lips. It’s quick, really quick. But it happens. He lifts himself back up, he nervously nibbles on his bottom lip and his eyes slide to the door. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.” Then he’s jumping out of bed and making his way out of the room.

What the fuck is happening? Why is he pretending you two aren’t necessarily in the best place right now? Like, you don’t have to have a serious conversation? But your confidence to confront him has wavered quite a bit, and you hate yourself for being so weak. You knew you should of done it last night but you let him win. You just couldn’t stand the sight of him being so sad. Today he is super happy! Fake happy. He’s forcing himself and it breaks your heart. Jesus fucking Christ. But his fake smile is better than his real frown.

You force yourself out of bed and drag your feet across the room to the bathroom. You wash your face and brush your teeth but you really need a shower. Especially after last night, you are sure you smell like sweat and sex. Taehyung didn’t seem to mind. He smelled clean. He smelled like soap and his musk, an intoxicating combination. After you’re through with the bathroom you make your way downstairs, the house smells like bacon and you groan at how good it smells.

“Hi.” Taehyung chirps, his smile grows as you walk closer.

“Hi,” You reply slowly, walking up to the dining table. Taehyung slides a plate of pancakes over to the spot in front of him.

“For you.”

The plate has 2 pancakes with strawberry slices covering the top and scrambled eggs and bacon on the side.

“Syrup.” He offers, sliding that across too.

“You didn’t have to…” You mumble under your breath. Taehyung continues smiling brightly at you, grabbing his fork and knife ready to dig into his own food. He really waited for you.

You walk closer to the table, your eyes downcast as you find your seat.

“Thanks…” You whisper. You look down at your food but how can you fucking eat? Your heart is in pain right now, you are in pain right now. You were tricked into these feelings, feelings you are not even sure are real. And he’s looking like the fucking sun right now.

“Aren’t cha gonna eat?” he says, mouth full. Good thing you speak mouth full Taehyung, or else you wouldn’t have understood that.

“Not that hungry.” you admit, not looking at him.

“Come on baby,” his tone is less happily forced and instead softer. “Please eat.” He sets his fork down, you can feel his eyes on you.

“Fine.” you give in quickly, not wanting to worry him. You hear him say ‘good’ in the most chipper voice and it makes you nauseas.

You eat slowly, mostly just picking at your food. You never look up from your plate, but you can feel Taehyung’s gaze, you can sense how worried he is. You know him. You don’t need to look at him to know.

“I was thinking we could paint today.” He says, breaking the silence. He stuffs some bacon into his mouth, chewing loudly. “Whaddya think?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Taehyung…” You begin to speak but he cuts you off.

“Great!” the sound of the chair screeching across the floor startles you, you look up from your food to see Taehyung standing, his bright smile even brighter. Yup, just like the fucking sun.

“I’ll clean up, you’re done right?” you only nod. “Why don’t you go to the art room and start setting up. I’ll be there in a minute.” He shines so brightly, you are forced to look away. You nod again.

You stand from your chair and walk towards the entry way into the hall but before you can get too far away you hear Taehyung at the sink cursing under his breath. Your heart drops. You turn around and peak into the kitchen to see him standing there, his hands at the kitchen sink with his head low.

“Fuck.” You hear the pain in his voice and you scurry off to the art room, not able to handle this right now.

After several minutes of setting up yours and Taehyung’s easel’s and placing down the paper, you search for what colors you want to use. Maybe sticking with blues since blue is how you fucking feel. You are grabbing for a few when you hear Taehyung enter the room. You turn to face him.

“Hi.” He says with that chipper tone but his eyes are glossy. Had he been crying? Fuck, you can’t handle this.

“Taehyung…” you start again, determined to confront this situation. But he cuts you off again with a pained smile.

“Thanks for setting up for me babe.” He ruffles your hair, like he just needed to touch you in some shape or form.

“R-right.”

You two paint in silence. Complete fucking silence. The tension in the room is absolutely suffocating, it’s hitting you in strong waves, pushing you around, drowning you. You can’t take this anymore, You have to say something.

“Taehyung—”

“Wanna know when I knew that I was in love with you?” He speaks up, his voice not laced in that fake joy. His eyes are focused on the painting in front of him, his fingers wrapped around the brush as he strokes the paper in beautiful color. You frown, not really wanting to know.

“Taehyung—”

“I fell in love with you when you made me realize I could be loved. Really loved.” He dips the brush into a cup of water, wiping it clean on the edge of the cup. “That I could love too.” He adds, still not looking at you, only focusing on his work.

“…Taehyung.” You just sound sad, the tone of your voice is depressing.

“You made me realize I don’t have to force any feelings…they could just be.” He pauses his hand before his paint brush is hitting the paper. “And I thought, ‘wait why do I feel this way?’” he lowers his head, chuckling to himself. “Then it was so fucking obvious.” He continues his work on the paper, dabbing the green paint in different spots.

You are left stunned. Speechless. Completely silenced. He just sits there, not even sparing you a glance as he paints his work of art. Like he didn’t just confess something so utterly beautiful to you. He must really think he loves you and it crushes you that he probably does not. You can’t let this go on any longer. He paints in green but you are about to turn his whole world blue.

“Your feelings aren’t real Taehyung.” you say in one breath. He stills his hand for a moment then continues to paint. “Don’t you see we’ve been tricked into these, these ‘feelings’” you use your fingers to quote the word for emphasis. “You just think you love me but you probably don’t. You’ve just spent enough time with me that you think you love me. You have no one else to love, why not me?” You see his body go tense and he stops his hand from painting. He lowers it and sets the brush down and turns in his seat to face you.

“How fucking dare you?” he grits out, his teeth are clenched and his eyes are narrowed. You jump at his exclamation.

“How fucking dare you try and tell me how genuine my feelings are?” He’s angry. His fists are balled up and his knuckles are turning white. So yeah, angry.

“Tae—”

“No! you let me fucking speak.” He grits again, “If I say I love you because I do then fucking believe me!” He’s shaking. His voice is loud and booming and it startles you.

“Please just listen to me—”

“No you listen.” He stands up from the chair and walks toward you, “Why are you doing this, huh? Things were so perfect.” He stops in front of you and pulls you up by the arms. Your chests almost touch from how close you are. “Unless…” he looks down at his feet, “You’re saying all of this because that’s how you feel. You’re the one unsure of your feelings. You’re the one who only likes me—loves me—because there’s no one else.” He looks into your eyes, searching for an answer.

“Maybe.” You finally say. And you wish you didn’t because Taehyung releases a shaky breath and his brows crease together as he forms the saddest smile you have ever seen. The canvas of his life is full of beautiful bright colors but you continue to splatter blue and grey paint all over it. The paint mixes together and drips down, a gloomy mess.

“Oh.” He steps back. “I see.” He takes another step back, carding his fingers through his hair. He looks into your eyes as his gloss over, “I’ll leave you alone then.” And he turns around and walks out of the room, leaving you behind. And being left behind is probably what you deserve. Your heart has fucking shattered. You don’t want him to leave you alone. You don’t want him to leave. You want this to be real, you want this to be real so fucking bad. But how can you be sure that it is? And of course cry baby y/n makes her appearance because you are back on your chair, letting a stream of tears fall down your cheeks. You cry. And cry. Loudly. You know Taehyung hears it but he does as he says—he leaves you alone. Just as you fucking deserve. Your body is shaking from your sobs and you enter a full on panic attack. Your breathing picks up and your chest tightens and you feel like you are being choked. Like someone wants you dead.

“If I say I love you because I do then fucking believe me!” His words echo in your mind. Right. He’s asking you to trust him. You want to…but you are now just debating on trusting yourself. You want to believe your feelings are real. You still believe the company tricked you both, they could of grabbed any two strangers and they would probably “fall in love” with given time. But thinking that feels wrong because your relationship with Taehyung is deeper than that. You know that. He…is your best friend. And you…you…

You wipe at your face as fresh tears slide down the warmth of your cheek. Your throat burns as you choke on a sob. You have fallen in love with him. Genuinely. And you have to trust your feelings. You have to trust his feelings. But it is so, so hard.

The rest of the day drags on slowly, you hole up in your room until night time finally approaches. You have cried enough today for the next 5 years. Your eyes are swollen and so, so puffy. You look at yourself in your bathroom mirror, and wince at the sight. You look rough, you won’t lie. You finally decide it’s time to try to sleep.

You slip between the sheets and slide down far into them, letting the soft material hug you closely. You’ll be sleeping without Taehyung tonight and the thought makes you feel oh so lonely. You close your eyes and think of him. You can’t help but chuckle when you recall meeting him at first…you thought he was some closed off asshole. He even made a big deal that he would not fall in love with you. Then your smile fades…you recall the first time you cuddled with him, first time you saw him naked, first time you kissed him…you think of the first time he was inside you…his long, beautiful fingers. You think of the first time he was really inside you.

You start to feel so lonely and lost without him. But sleep finally starts to take over, your limbs feeling heavy, your eyes refusing to stay open. You know you two will have to really talk this out. There’s still so much you have to discuss because you are just so confused and unsure at the moment, but you have a feeling Taehyung will somehow make you feel okay. Finally, after a long day…the world goes dark and you’re asleep.

The sun is shining extra brightly this morning…your dark drapes doing little to cover the offending light like it usually does. You keep your eyes closed though, not wanting to get up quite yet. Your mind automatically goes to Taehyung again…you wish you were feeling yourself wrapped up in his arms this morning much like other mornings. You wish you could feel his breaths fanning against your neck, you wish you could feel his limbs draped over your own.

You start to feel that familiar heartbreak…you really, like really need to talk to him. Maybe he can sort out your messy, mushy brain, maybe he has the answers. Or maybe you just want to see him. Even if you are feeling as uneasy as you are. You just want to make sure he is okay.

You finally begin to open your eyes, one lid at a time. The sun making the room glow in whites and yellows. You start to sit up and rub the sleep that crusts your eyes and soak in your surroundings.

That’s exactly when you feel the panic set in. This isn’t your bedroom. This is a small bed, there’s none of Taehyung’s painting on the walls and your sheets in your bed are much softer. Then it hits you. You do recognize this room. It’s your room at your parents’ house. You start to sit up straighter, your entire body shaking. Your hands tremble as you pull the blanket on the bed back and try to stand from the bed. But your knees are weak, your legs shaking. You feel like someone has drained all the energy from your body as you stand here, you are sure you are as pale as a ghost. Your mouth is agape and your eyes wide. You slowly look around the room, there’s things in here that weren’t before…like this place has become a place for storage.

You hear fainting humming coming from the other side of the house, your head whips up in that direction and you recognize that voice. Mom? You blink repeatedly, not believing your ears. You slowly take a few steps forward toward the door and slowly reach for the knob, your weak, trembling hand trying to twist it so you can open the door. Once the door is opened you smell bacon…but unlike yesterday the smell of bacon is making you nauseas. You walk with shaky legs, small steps at a time as you walk through the hallway to make your way to the kitchen. The humming more clear and becoming louder the closer you get.

You finally walk into the kitchen and see your mothers back, she is at the stove cooking. Your breathing is sharp as you stare at her and you feel yourself become dizzy and lightheaded.

“Mom?” you stutter out quietly. Your mother freezes her actions at the stove. She slowly turns around and once she spots you she drops the tongs she was holding on the tiled floor. She is maybe even paler than you, she looks like she legitimately saw a ghost.

“y-y/n?”

“Hey what happened, I thought I heard you drop some—” your father is cut off when he walks in from the living room as he sees you. He blinks at you over and over until his eyes are wet with tears and he’s rushing to hug you.

You are in a state of shock that you don’t process that your mother has also finally raced over to hug you as well. Your parents embracing you tightly as they sob.

What’s happening? Why are you here? Where’s Taehyung?

It’s been two weeks and fuck. He has no way of contacting you. You don’t have any social media and you two never exchanged numbers…the only way for you to talk to him is if you reach out. And you…you aren’t sure you want to just yet. You’re sure he’s settling back into life just like you are, you don’t want to intrude. He has family, he has friends. You’re sure he hasn’t even thought about you yet…you’re sure he’s doing okay.

It’s been two weeks and you have mostly been in and out of intelligence offices for your country. You have had to describe the island over and over to strangers, they have been on the search for you for the last 8 months. Your parents were starting to give up. The love company kept them updated on your island life though, sending them pictures of you and Taehyung during your 8 month stay. You are creeped out all over again.

You’re sure Taehyung is going through something similar in Korea. Time keeps passing and every day you lose the spark and motivation to reach out to him. You stalk his social media but he has not posted anything until finally, 2 months into your real lives again you see he has posted a picture of him and his friends. He looks happy. And that’s how you let a total of 6 months pass you by without reaching out to Taehyung. 6 months without the man you without a doubt love. 6 months of absolute loneliness, even when you are surrounded by people. 6 months and you are sure he has probably moved on. But you have not. Even with these last 6 months…Taehyung is all you can think about. 6 fucking months.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #the island chapter 7

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shatouto · 4 years ago

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I.Raised as sith Anakin au asdfghjkl I actually cried at some parts when obiwan was treating his injuries. T-T “I always looked at you like this… should I not?” …. My poor (criminal) child has a lot to learn. I wanna go down the angst road but I’ll never find my way back so let me just go the opposite direction because I feel like ani will short circuit everytime obiwan shows him any positive reaction/emotion that he can’t recognize...

aaaAAHH thank you SO MUCH for these asks, i am so so so happy that you like this super self-indulgent au (at least on my side). writing a very needie babie woobie ex-sith anakin is one of my biggest guilty pleasures, so i am always super grateful when people join in. i LOVE anakin and ahsoka bonding with that sibling rivalry. im not super good with ahsoka so i’ll probably leave that to @obiwanobi; for the time being i will go feral over the idea of anakin not knowing how to read ;;O;;

lost lonely loth-wolf

It’s not just boredom that scratches at Anakin’s bones from the inside; it’s idleness. Under Darth Sidious’s care (for want of a better word), he must always make himself useful, be it training or killing. No waking moment should be wasted; he should spend every of them on bettering himself in combat and commanding. He must always convince his Master not to doubt his worth, lest he be cast back into slavery again. Idleness is but the short-lived quiet before storm.

Having nothing to do makes his old scars ache.

It borders on astonishing him how the Jedi can afford themselves so many luxuries. Music halls, corridor murals, gardens, so many gardens. Not that he has seen all of them; he only saw glimpses from under his hood, whenever Obi-Wan takes him by the hand and walks him through the Temple to get to the hangar, for their nightly trips in the park. He’s no stranger odious displays of wealth, but the Temple is not odious, and that is hardly wealth. Everything looks simple and… soothing, somehow. The Jedi seems not wealthy, but rich.

The thing they are the richest with, is books. Loads and loads of them, along with datatapes and datacards. Anakin hasn’t been to the Archives, but he has heard the apprentice (Ahsoka, she has a name) talking about it. There are datatapes in Obi-Wan’s quarters as well. Obi-Wan can often be found poring over his datapad with one of those tapes plugged in, quiet and serene and glowing at the edges, backlit by the late orange sun. There’s always a lock of hair falling over his forehead. Anakin can’t recall how many times he has had to stop himself from reaching over to brush it back in place.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice stirs him out of his reverie. Their eyes meet, and Obi-Wan smiles a little. Anakin’s face heats up, which he promptly ignores. “What are you looking at?”

You, the true answer. Obi-Wan did tell him not to stare, though, so Anakin shrugs and drops his gaze to the glowing device on Obi-Wan’s lap. Obi-Wan, in turn, rests a warm hand on his shoulder.

“You can read anything on those shelves, you know.” He gestures towards the bookcase in the living room. “They’re all my favorite novels. The bottom shelf is younglings’ stories, and I still enjoy them greatly. Ahsoka leaves her comics lying around often, in which case you are perfectly in the right to read them as well. Force knows how many times I have told her to tidy—”

“I hate reading.”

Silence shatters upon them. Anakin scowls deeply, biting the inside of his cheeks. Books are written to corrupt you with lies. The majority of them are but garbage. There’s no need to busy yourself with those things, no need to wade through messy pages of drivels composed by Force-blind loudmouths, when your Master can dispense true wisdom to you. Your Master has great plans for you, so great that you needn’t burden your mind with trivia. So Anakin doesn’t read.

Nobody ever taught him to.

Obi-Wan gives a dismayed little “Oh.” Anakin rises to his feet and escapes to the fresher, as reluctant as he is to leave his warmed seat.

He shouldn’t have said that. At least not in that harsh manner. Night after night Anakin can’t sleep without seeing Obi-Wan’s face: his upturned brows, his downturned lips, his eyes wide in surprise. They never truly speak of it again, because that is how Obi-Wan is: if Anakin refuses something, Obi-Wan will simply let him be.

Obi-Wan leaves on a mission once more. Day after day Anakin passes by the bookcase in the living room, eyes sweeping over the datapads, fingers itching to pull one out - just to look at the pictures if there are any. He could now, right? There are no eyes looking over his shoulders anymore. No Master to sneer at him, call him a silly boy, and order him to go to meditate in the Sphere.

It takes Anakin another day to make up his mind. He picks a nice moment into the evening, after he has had his one meal of the day (the way he eats when he is alone), and crouches before the bookcase. He could have taken one of Ahsoka’s comics, but his eyes keep getting drawn towards the bottom shelf. Younglings’ stories, Obi-Wan said.

Anakin plucks out a datatape with a lilac casing, and takes the datapad left free for use on the other end of the shelf. He settles on the couch, something like excitement brewing in his belly as he plugs the tape into the datapad. The screen lights up in its familiar cyan glow. The cover page is a beautifully drawn illustration of a Loth-wolf under a great tree. He taps through the pages until he reaches the other illustrations. The Loth-wolf is depicted in various sceneries: in its den, between the trees, atop a boulder, under the starlight, and there never seems to be any other being around, beast or sentient. It feels wrong to him, so he keeps tapping to go through the pages. There has to be at least a scene where the Loth-wolf is with its pack, doesn’t it?

The main door slides open, and Anakin almost drops the datapad. He snaps his gaze up to find Obi-Wan staring back at him. Whatever expression Obi-Wan is wearing, Anakin can’t afford to study it for so long. He rises to his feet, fumbling to unplug the datatape from the device with just one hand and the Force.

“Oh, is this The Lonely Lost Loth-wolf?” Obi-Wan says with utter delight, his hand gently covering Anakin’s. “I hope you’ve been enjoying it, Anakin. This is one of my most-read books yet.”

“I…” Anakin struggles. He’s hot in the face and tongue-tied and his eyes flit over their nearly entwined hands in the bluish light from the screen. He dreads the moment Obi-Wan asks, I thought you didn’t like to read? - something he’s bound to do. Mockingly, maybe. The truth perches on the tip of Anakin’s tongue; what would Obi-Wan think of him if he says it? Even younglings a quarter of his age know how to read.

But Obi-Wan asks no such thing.

“What a strange coincidence; I’ve been meaning to reread this story,” the Jedi Master tells him with a gentle smile. “I would be loath to fight you for the datatape, though. I think we’ve had enough of fighting for a lifetime.” Humor twinkles in his eyes, and Anakin blinks, stumped. “So how about we share this?”

“Uh… Yes?” Anakin lets go of the datapad, now that Obi-Wan has a hold on it. “How?”

“Well, I would like to read to you, if that’s alright with you.” Obi-Wan squeezes his hand lightly. “I do prefer to take it from the beginning - it’s been a while since I read this last - unless you…”

“No,” Anakin says immediately. “I—Yes. Yes, I… want to hear it from the beginning.”

Obi-Wan changes into something soft, and insists Anakin settle in bed for comfort, just for the night. (To be truthful, Anakin would settle in bed with him every night if he could bring himself to.) It’s reminiscent of his first night here, only with a lot less blood and a lot more tenderness.

There was a time when Lothal was made of forests. There were more beasts than men, and among the beasts, the wolves were the strongest, wisest, most respected of them all. There were two Loth-wolf clans: the blue-eyed, and the golden-eyed. They did not always like each other. On the night the first daughter of the blue-eyed clan was born, the golden-eyed wolves hatched a plan…

Obi-Wan’s voice pours like velvet, smooth and warm with the occasional sparkles in his melodic lilts. Anakin’s eyes droop; he strains to open them as the kidnapped Loth-wolf princess begins her journey to travel back from the swamp land, to find her family and restore peace in the realm. At some point, he finds great, pooling-blue eyes looking down at him, and ashen fur with markings like the stars. A calloused hand runs through his hair.

The stars blink at him, and Anakin smiles as he drifts into the softest darkness.

#ask #prompt #blueara #raised as sith anakin #always a sith anakin #obikin #oh god my baby #this is such pure fluff

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annab-recs · 4 years ago

Text

Mind Readers - JJ Maybank

Since y/n and Kie have been attached at the hip since birth, they can literally read each other like a book and can finish each other’s sentences. The boys witness this one day out on the boat and to them, it sounds like straight gibberish.

Requested by an amazing anon 💙

Warnings: some curse words; alcohol use

Word Count: 1.6k+

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

You and Kie have been best friends for as long as the two of you can remember. Your moms were best friends before y'all were even thought of and when they found out that they were both pregnant at the same time, they just knew their babies were going to be best friends like they were. It was not long before Kiara and you were born and that was the beginning of an incredible friendship that would last for years.

Over the last sixteen years, the two of you have basically shared every memory you have together. From playing in the backyard to sleepovers to working at The Wreck to your terrible year at the Kook Academy, Kie was with you through it all. Being together for practically all of your lives has led to you two being able to read each other like a book. You can always tell what the other is thinking or feeling and you can finish each other's sentences as well. Conversations would be had between the two of you without a full sentence being completed.

But without your best friend, you wouldn’t have met your other amazing friends or your gorgeously handsome stud of a boyfriend. Kiara brought you Pope, John B, and JJ and the five of you were inseparable. Y'all were going to do anything and everything to make your summer fun and today, you were going to spend the day out on the water. After making some sandwiches and packing some beers in a cooler, you walked out onto the dock and made your way to the HMS Pogue.

"Whatcha got there, princess?" JJ asked you as he held his hand out to you to help you onto the boat. You sent a smile his way before taking his hand in yours and stepping in.

"Just some sandwiches and beer for the long day ahead of us," you replied to him as he placed a sweet kiss to your cheek and grabbed the cooler from you to set it down. A smile played across your face and you went in to give him a real kiss. His arms traveled around your waist to hold you close to him and your hands found their way into his gorgeous mess of golden locks.

"Really? The day just started, and you guys are already macking on each other," Pope huffed from behind you. You pulled away from the blue-eyed boy before a blush scattered upon your cheeks.

"How can I not, Pope? Have you seen her?" JJ mentions as he twirls you around and pulls you into him. "If someone this beautiful and amazing had walked into your life, wouldn’t you want to mack on her every chance you got?" You gush at your wonderful boyfriend as he plants little kisses all over the top of your head and face.

"Stop! You gonna end up suffocating me!" You giggle as his kisses invade your space to breathe. He plants one last kiss on your lips before leaving you to grab a beer and talk with John B. You can't help but notice the way that Pope looked at you two a few moments ago and how he was gazing at Kiara right now. God, he is so in love with her. Before you could encourage him to swoop on her, she called you over.

"Y/N! Come here," Kie shouted from the front of the boat. You and Pope parted, him going with the guys and you with your girl. "Guess who we passed on the way over here?" By the way she rolled her eyes, you could tell it was someone she does not like.

"Skank Cameron?" You asked, using your nickname for the middle child of the Cameron family. You and Kie had nicknames for almost everyone y'all talked about. You two could literally be talking about the guys right in front of you but they would not know because of the nicknames you use. The nod of her head let you know you were correct.

"She was with your ex too," She muttered as she slid her sunglasses down from the top of her head to rest on her nose. You groaned after being reminded of one of the worst decisions of your life.

"Please don't remind me," you exasperated, dramatically letting out a huff of air. Kie giggled at your theatrical display before sipping on the beer in her hand.

"But while we are on the topic of boys, what about the one over there?" You ask as you tip your head in the direction of the guys. Her eyes follow to land on the group of three. She knew you weren't referring to your own boyfriend, but she didn't know if you were talking about the one with a brain or the one with shaggy hair. She sent you a confused look before you mouthed 'Pope'.

"I don't know y/n," she whispers so that the guys don't overhear.

"What's not to love about him? He is smart and caring and have you seen the way he looks at you? He absolutely adores you and I know he'd do anything for you," you tell her.

"But the rule-"

"JJ and I have broken that rule sooooo many times and have done so much worse than just macking, I promise," you chuckle and send a smirk JJ's way. He notices and shoots you a wink before returning to his conversation with the guys.

"Ew, y/n, gross." Her face shows pure disgust as she speaks which only sends you into a fit of laughter.

"Don't act like you don't know."

"Oh, I know. I just don't want to be reminded of it." She shivers as if to shake off a bad memory. She has never caught y’all doing any worse than kissing. Now, John B is a different story. He has seen a lot more than you would like, but he's fine. He hasn’t been traumatized by anything he’s seen, but he should have listened a little better before opening the door anyway.

"All I'm saying is he is clearly interested in you and it wouldn't hurt to try," you encourage as she shrugs. The two of you continue to discuss other topics before Kie suggests hopping in the water to which you nod happily. You two shuck your shorts and shoes before jumping off the boat's edge into the nice cool water.

"Mind if we join?" John B asks as soon as you and Kie resurface.

"Not at all," Kie speaks softly as she lays back, letting her body float and relax.

"Come on in, boys," you say as you gesture for the boys to join you. JJ sends you a big smile before cannonballing into the water below him and sending splashes and waves as his body hit the water. You saw it before it happened, so you were able to shield yourself, but Kie had her eyes closed in her relaxed state.

"JJ Maybank!" She huffed angrily as JJ ducked behind you. Giggles escaped you as JJ cowered behind your frame.

"Mama's mad," he muttered as his hands rested on your shoulders and he peered around you.

"Maybe a little warning next time?" She spoke through gritted teeth before rolling her eyes and continuing to swim.

"Aye aye captain," JJ joked as he saluted her. John B jumped in during the bickering of your best friend and boyfriend and all that was left was Pope. He walked up to the edge of the boat and attempted to jump. He actually slipped and belly flopped into the water.

"Oh my God!" You yell trying your best not to laugh as Pope comes back to the surface.

"Are you good bro?" John B asks and swims closer to Pope as he nods. After we are sure he's alright, the group erupts into a fit of laughter.

"Dude, it was like you've never jumped off the boat before," JJ chuckles behind you.

"Y/n-" Kie starts but is interrupted by her own giggles, "do you rem- remember when-"

"Oh my God-" Your laughter keeps you from speaking as well as the memory she is referring to comes to mind. "Wh- When Whitney wiped ou-"

"Completely!" Kie shouted as she laughed.

"And then Topper-"

"And when he tried-"

"He fell in-"

"Rafe and Kelce laughed-"

"And they got pushed-"

"That was probably the funniest party I have ever been to," Kie spoke after you two had finally calmed down from laughing so hard. That was when you noticed the strange stares you were getting from the boys.

"Uh, what the fuck?" John B sounded astonished as he had a look of shock on his face. You and Kie shared a confused look between the two of you before speaking.

"Did we miss something?" She asked as she looked around us to make sure there wasn't anything in the water.

"Yeah, the second half of your fucking sentences," JJ remarked.

"What the heck were y'all talking about?" Pope questioned with wide eyes. You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to put the pieces of the sentences that you two said together.

"A party that I made Kie come to."

"And for some reason, people just kept slipping and falling into the pool," she said as her laughter came back. Your own giggles did as well.

"Girls are weird man," Pope spoke as he pulled himself back onto the boat to grab a sandwich.

"They're like fucking mind readers dude," JJ agreed as he joined his friend to get a sandwich as well. He couldn't help but look down at you in the water in adoration as your lovely laugh filled his ears.

"You got it bad, lover boy," John B teased but JJ didn't seem to care. He had his eyes fixed on you and that was all he needed. You.

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waywardimpalawriter · 4 years ago

Text

The Bet (Bucky Barnes x F!Reader)

The Bet

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Rating: M (mature) NSFW

Warnings: gambling, teasing, a little bit of spice

Word count: 3,051

Summary: Game night with team Cap turns up unexpected results.

Notes: Written for Writer Wednesday. Thank you for the very lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog

“Hope you’ve all brought a fat wallet tonight,” devilish smirk tipping the corner of her ruby lips upward. “It won’t be that way for long. I plan on parting you from your hard earned cash in spectacular fashion.” Shuffling the deck like a seasoned pro in Vegas and dealing the cards out.

Eyes rolling while sipping your Screw driver, “You gonna talk us to death Romanoff or deal the hand?” Brow lifting, hiding your own smirk behind the high ball glass.

“Just a sore loser Y/N,” blowing you a kiss after finishing the deal. Deck slammed down in the center as everyone grabbing for their cards to look them over.

A few soft groans at the terrible hands dealt, “Your shit at dealing Nat you gave me nothin,” Sam calls from your left between Steve and Wanda.

“Suck it up buttercup you play the hand your dealt,” downing her first shot of vodka. Locking eyes with Steve for a moment, “And watch your mouth…”

“You know what Romanoff that’s getting old,” rolling his green flecked blue eyes, shooting a piece of popcorn towards her head. Only to have it deflected by a quick brush of her hand.

“Children,” fake stern voice utters from beside you long neck meeting those soft lips. Trying very hard not to watch the single drop of condensation slide from bottle to chin, and down the strong expanse of tanned neck. Never being more jealous of a simple drop of water than right now. “Stow the bickering for later in the game when my pile is triple what the rest of yours is.”

A chorus of snorts drown out the music for a moment, “Bucky sweetie in your dreams will that truly happen.” Snarky comment leaves your lips right as Bucky fixes those cerulean eyes on you. Finding it a little difficult to think for a spilt second as you fidget under his heated stare.

“Wanna make a bet?” This time a chorus of groans echo around the table accompanied by head shakes. “It is Wednesday night poker right? Why not make this a little more,” pausing brow lifting giving you a slow perusal his eyes darkening to pitch. “Interesting then just Nat taking our money?”

“Ah you at least acknowledge my superior poker skills good man Barnes,” sassing him with a smirk and the salute of her shot glass. “But I rather not need eye bleach to scrub your naked ass from my memory. Of that I’m sure most around this table would agree.”

Affirmations of the positive echo her words along with chuckles in various lengths. Leaning over while everyone places their bets your turn coming up quickly. “What’s the bet Barnes?”

Maybe its the vodka infused orange juice you’ve been sipping, beer tasting like ass to you. Instead sticking with the harder liquors to pair with the right mix. Drinking isn’t something you’ve done much so maybe it’s having a quicker affect on your system. However, something tells you it has more to do with the man sitting a little too close on your right. Leather and whiskey wrapping around your senes to send tingles across your skin. He’s the reason for your bold question determined to ditch your comfort zone for one night and be a little wild.

Placing a pot bet then turning to watch you do the same, admiring your profile for the moment. Having only admitted to one other person how much he wanted you, Bucky can’t believe you’ve actually asked him for a bet just between the two of you. His mind races with possibilities none more prominent than having you spread out in his bed whimpering his name. Body withering in the pleasure he’s giving you. Your voice bringing him back to the present and trying to clear the lustful thoughts parading through his mind.

“If I win more hands you’ll be mine for the night,” brushing his lips over the shell of your ear pleased smile at hearing the sharp intake of breath from you. Knowing he’s playing with fire at proposing such idea, he could loose his heart to you so quickly and maybe that’s what he wants most. To finally let himself feel something other than pain, anger and remorse. Though that little voice in the back of his mind taunts, you wouldn’t want the ex-assassin with so much blood and death on his hands.

Swallowing harshly you turn to look up into his eyes, “And if I win?” Everyone else disappearing, sounds going mute and all focus is on Bucky. Wishing his winnings wouldn’t be just for a night. That’s right you knew already he’d win since you sucked at poker and only played to hang out with your family instead of just missions and meetings. Happily loosing most Wednesdays just to see the pleased looks on their faces instead of grimaces of pain when patching them up.

“What do you want to win?” Itching to reach out free your bottom lip from being trapped between your teeth and run his thumb over the wet bitten skin.

Throat clearing, to draw both of you back to the game, “You playing or just ogling each other? Either way place your bet or fold so the rest of us can get on with the game Sergeant Frostbite.” Rolling his eyes and downing the last of his beer, Sam stands to get a refill silently asking if anyone else wanted one.

Both of you fold more interested in each other than the usual poker game. Your mind whirling with thoughts, not sure how to answer the bet. Thinking and discarding so many ideas, between asking him to be more careful on missions and to stop baiting Sam with snarky comments and looks. Settling for something your sure would get you into trouble but couldn’t stop yourself.

“Never thought you were that kinky Y/N.” Sweet Sokovian accented voice floats through your mind, head snapping up to look over at a smiling Wanda.

“Your not suppose to be reading minds babe,” for which you get a small shrug and a wicked smile spreading over her lips. Tsking in your head trying to keep from laughing, “Careful I might have to let the mistress of pain know.”

“You wouldn’t? Besides your thoughts were so damn loud I couldn’t help it. I’m surprised the whole table doesn’t hear the both of you,” winking she nods towards Bucky who’s still looking at your expectantly. “Might want to answer Buck before giving him an aneurysm since he’s waiting on bated breath what you’ll ask for.”

Clearing your throat and grabbing up your glass to take a drink, finding Bucky staring. Admiring the way your tongue peeks out to wipe up the left behind bits of orange juice. Shy smile sliding over your lips, eyes darting to the group and finding them arguing over who won the last pot.

“How about a private strip show just for my eyes only Sergeant Barnes?” Nervously swallowing hoping you’ve haven’t asked for too much. But then once would never be enough for you. Needing a repeat performance whenever the mood strikes to accompany being totally wrecked by this man who haunts your dreams.

“Tell him, you’ll be surprised at his answer,” Wanda urges then falls silent as another hand is dealt by Sam this time. She gives you another wink returning her attention to the game.

Biting off the groan of arousal, shifting in his seat to adjust himself and the bite of his jeans against his hardening cock. “I think…” irritated growl leaving his mouth when Sam tossed a balled up napkin at his head. Dead center hit to Bucky’s forehead making everyone cheer around the table. Getting a scowl from the man in question, “What?”

“Your turn Frostbite or have you forgot the game already?” Bitting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the look Bucky sends him. Knowing the shared unrequited feelings you’ve both harbored for each other. “Has old age finally caught up to you old man?”

“I don’t think it’s the age that’s caught up with him Sam,” Steve grins for which Bucky cuts his eyes at his best friend.

“Value your life Rogers and all the secrets I keep about your pre-serum days you’ll keep that mouth shut,” threat empty as everyone knew but Steve still gives him a mock hurt expression.

Hand to his chest, “You won’t buddy?” Seeing the lifted brow cerulean eyes dart towards Nat and back to Steve’s who catches the wordless meaning. “Fuck off jerk.”

“Steven Grant Rogers did you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Natasha exclaimed biting her lip to keep the laughter from rolling out.

“Then keep your mouth shut Steve.” Bucky shot back with a taunting grin spreading across his face at Nat’s words.

Playful gasp leaving your lips, “I never thought I’d hear those kind of words uttered from your good boy lips Steve.”

“Good boy?” Snorting Bucky holds his stomach as a full belly laugh leaves his lips at the very thought. “Doll he’s got you all fooled. Hook lined and reeled in,” glancing at you for a moment then back at Steve. “You gotta quite acting all saintly Steven you’ll never get laid.”

Chocking on his beer, wiping at the mess, while his eyes throw daggers at Bucky. “Keep it up Buck and you’ll find a shield up side your head next mission.”

Peels of laughter sound around the table drowning out the music, a beet red Steve just gapping at his family in fake astonishment. Sam’s slumped forward head resting on his forearms while gruff deep chuckles sound from him. Wanda wide eyed but soft giggles leave her as Natasha full out belly laughs, slamming a hand down on the table. Disturbing the poker chips and cards, glasses and bottles wiggling in there spots. While you’ve managed to pull your phone out and snap a few quiet pictures to save and send Clint. Who’s missing all the action while out on his own mission. Mirth dances in your eyes that lock with Bucky’s. Lips parting on a soft gasp of surprise with how he’s staring at you. Heat flaring to life across your body and you swallow trying to regain some moisture to your parched throat.

Leaning over, “We’ve got a deal doll, prepare to loose though.” Glancing back at the table seeing everyone still recovering from their laughter, Bucky uses that moment to press closer. Placing his slightly chapped lips to your cheek, “If there’s one thing Romanoff got right it’s that I’m a sore looser. I play to win,” dragging those sinful lips away to sit back in his chair. Cards resting now between those large hands.

Hands you wish were somewhere else right this moment, soothing the arch building between your thighs that rub together in the bid to find some kind of friction on your clit. Marveling at how quickly that simple brush of his lips could turn you into a pile of goo in your own seat.

Clearing your throat, “Bring it on Buck this time I may just have a reason to win as many hands as I can.”

Gauntlet tossed down with the raise of his brow. Determination coats your veins especially when he gives you a very heated once over. Scorching your very soul with the intensity making you throb, clit jumping at the very promise those wickedly beautiful eyes held. Watching the way his fingers caress the long neck bottle in his flesh hand. Bringing the brown glass to his lips for a deep drink.

Savoring the taste more than any effects it could have on him. “Careful doll face those who play with fire usually get burned,” eyes lock with yours licking those sinfully plush lips.

Glancing between his lips and eyes, your own smirk tugging your mouth upward. Free hand coming to rest on Bucky’s thigh, the heat of your palm burning his jeans covered skin. Shifting in his seat to relieve the pressure on his cock with the touch of your hand. “Don’t worry none James,” voice a soft purr in his ear. “I have salves of all kinds that’ll take care of a burn. It’s the ache I need taken care of. There’s no medication to take accept my own fingers to help sooth the pressure.” Drawing patterns over his thigh, feeling tension held tightly in those delicious muscles you wouldn’t say no to feeling between your thighs.

A bit shocked with how forward your being. His reactions only spurring on your need to see just how far you could push him before he snaps and finally takes you. Asking yourself for the thousandth time if once would state the desire you have for this man? Wanting to have more than friendship between you though you’d take it and run. But there’s a part of you which wants more, to open your heart and share it with Bucky. You only hope he feels the same way.

For a second Bucky’s mute ignoring the calls from Sam and Steve to stare at you, mouth hanging open. Only to close with a challenge flaring in his cerulean eyes. “You sure about what your offering sweetheart?” Hating to ask but not wanting to miss understand you or the intentions swimming through your mind that he’s not privy to yet.

“As sure as the next breath I’ll be taking,” moving your hand from his thigh to rest on his vibranium forearm. Looking up into his eyes, soft smile gracing your lips that turn into a squeal. Ice sliding down the front of your shirt, cutting your eyes towards the rest of the table all of whom are pretending to not see anything. All except Natasha who’s just giving you a Cheshire Cat grin. Jumping to your feet, shaking your shirt to get the ice out. Only to have it caught in your bra melting against your heated skin, peaking your nipples. Scowling at the red head, “Your dead to me Romanoff,” playfully glaring at her before taking off towards the kitchen.

Not realizing Bucky is following you have your hand down the front of your shirt trying to fish the cube out when he clears his throat. “Need help?” Wicked grin pulling across his lips.

Licking your own at the heat flaring through your body and in his eyes, “It’s a slipper little devil.” Capturing your bottom lip between your teeth and nibbling hard as Bucky steps towards you. Crowding you against the counter, planting his hands on either side of your body.

“Maybe it’ll help if you take off the shirt?” Tugging the black AC/DC shirt twice, flesh hand teasing along your side under the shirt.

Gulping to gather air into your starved lungs, shivering as the ice moves against your skin pebbled nipple starting to tent your bra and t-shirt. Distracting Bucky as his gaze drops and his hand moves upward. Sliding two fingers just under the wire and cup of your bra to snag the cube. Pressing it to your nipple, melting the ice between the heat of his fingers and your body.

“Tell me to stop and I will doll face. I won’t do anything you don’t want,” words puffing from his lips that are just inches from yours.

“You stop and I’ll have to hurt you James,” hissing turned whimper as those talented fingers wrap around your nipple and tug. Desire fogged brain only barely registering your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, embracing his body to pull him closer.

Grinning right behind his mouth claims yours. Desperate and passion fueled, licking his tongue against the seam of your lips. Which open on a gasp Bucky having found the front clasp of your bra and popped it open to cup and massage your breast. Weighting the generous globe before rolling the pebbled nipple between his fingers. Giving a light pinch to gage your reaction. Confirming whimper has an answering growl from deep within his chest. Vibranuim arm tightly wrapping around your waist as you damn near suck his tongue into your mouth tangling together for play and pleasure. Pushing your body into his wanting to mold the two of you together as the kiss turns deeper. Breath becoming an issue and you break part panting to gather in air to your starved lungs.

“Bucky,” whimpering his name, head lolling back to give his questing lips access to the sensitive column of your throat. Swallowing to gather your wits. “James,” you try again running your nails through his hair, scrapping his scalp lightly and pulling a groan from the man against you. “I’m going die if you don’t fuck me James.” Words whimpered from you lips.

“We can’t have that now can we doll?” Dragging his nose up your beautifully scented skin to nip at your earlobe. Hands one warm the other cool cup your ass and lift, your legs wrapping around his trim waist of the own accord.

Pressing his harden cock into your willing core, making you shutter around him at the delicious friction his movements cause. “Don’t you dare tease me James,” burying your lips against his neck to bit down on the strong cords sucking a small mark just south of his thumping pulse.

“Marking me already sweetheart?” Pushing away from the counter to head towards his apartment. Trying to focus on his steps and not how good you feel in his arms. “I wouldn’t dream of teasing you doll but if you keep using that mouth of yours to tempt me I won’t be held accountable for the state your clothes end up in or the fact that the whole compound will hear us.”

Pulling back, hands spread over his neck, fingers tugging at the short strands, “Then you better pick up the pace Sergeant before I have to take matters into my own hands and that would be a shame to take care my own self. Wouldn’t it James?”

“Yes ma’am,” pausing at his door to press you into the hard wall. Rocking into your body so you can feel just what you’ve caused. “Especially when I have just the remedy to sooth that ache you were talking about.”

Poker night was never the same again at least night for you and Bucky.

#Writer Wednesday #Bucky Barnes x F!Reader #Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader #James 'Bucky' Barnes x F!Reader #Marvel Fan Fiction

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yourmcu · 4 years ago

Text

Bloodlust

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x vampire!reader

Summary:

There’s a vampire in the city. Natasha (and Steve) went to investigate the aftermath of your killing spree.

Word count: 2,402

A/n: disclaimer! all info about vampires, description of vamps are based on tvd

Warnings: blood, violence, swearing, angst but fluff at the end? kinda confusing if I’m being honest but that’s ok! lmao

gif not mine! credits to the owner^^

Natasha found herself walking around the woods again. Not because she wanted to - well, half of her did, but she needed to find and talk to you for more important reasons.

The day (or night) before yesterday, she crossed paths with you. She went out with Steve in the woods to investigate more than a dozen deaths that occurred in less than two weeks, it was nothing compared to Loki’s attack in New York but they were... gruesome.

Steve pressed a button on the remote, showing three different pictures of the victims as holograms. They weren’t normal - murder - pictures, no bullet wounds or knife slices/stabs. One had bite marks all over their body, one’s head was entirely snapped off. But they had one thing in common: they looked drained, and thin. “There are fifteen more like that. Each gory than the other.”

They all let out noises of disgust.

“Definitely a psychopath,” Tony muttered.

“A deranged serial killer?” Bruce suggested.

“There’s bite marks. It’s probably an animal.” Sam emphasized on ‘bite marks’.

As she continued to walk, Natasha’s fingers brushed on the mark on her neck. For something that was two days old it still stung really bad sometimes. She’s not proud of it. You made her feel incredibly vulnerable that night, weak.

It all started when you jumped from a tree and landed on your feet just behind the redhead-

Natasha had her gun pointed at you in an instant. She was trained and could identify a murderer when she sees one but surprisingly, you looked... normal. Her eyes lowered, checking you out if you had something sketchy on you, but you just looked like a civilian in their mid-twenties or thirties.

You put your hands behind your back, smirking. You licked your lips and mimicked the way she looked at you up and down, not showing any signs that you were threatened by her lethal weapon. “Hey there.”

She was beautiful. Red hair with blonde tips, green eyes, plump lips, she gave off a fierce aura. She looked tough. You liked it.

Natasha kept her usual cold expression and her tone wasn’t any different. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you...” you reached out to rest your palm on the barrel of her gun and-

Bang!

She let out a shaky breath when you barely flinched as she shot a bullet through your hand, eyes widening. It was a metal bullet, it had little to no effect on you. You made an amused noise before ripping the weapon out of her grip and used all your strength to pin the fighting ex-assassin against a tree.

Her speed and strength surprised you. She kicked you hard in the abdomen before her back hit trunk and punched you across the face several times. For you they only stung for a moment; she had no match against you. She had no idea what she was dealing with.

Natasha looked up when she doesn’t hear pained grunts or signs of weakness from you. You smiled, gripping both of her wrists again. “I’ll have a go now, yeah?” She was grunting, struggling, trying to push you away. “You’re stronger than I thought you’d be.”

You forced her to look straight into your eyes. The only light source was coming from the moon but you could still see her green eyes perfectly. So beautiful.

“Think you can relax for me, hun?”

Natasha stared up at you curiously, breathing steadily. To her you looked so irresistible all of a sudden that she had no choice to listen. Her hands that gripped tightly on your arms relaxed, she was now the one holding on to you.

You moved a side of her hair back to get a clear view of her neck, smiling, “good girl.” Your fangs protrude and poked the sides of your lips, the whites of your eyes turned crimson red as black veins popped out just outside both of them. The smell of her blood filled your senses more intensely-

Well you all know what happened next.

Steve decided to show up while you were feeding on Natasha, successfully saving her from you, much to your dismay. They evacuated right away so you wouldn’t do more harm to the pair. They’d be fighting for a long time against you if they stayed, now knowing what you were capable of.

Natasha hated that she felt intrigued and curious by you, or eager if that’s one word to describe it, she doesn’t know exactly what she was eager for but, she can’t help but think about you.

A small cottage came into view, finally, and Natasha stopped walking. Under different circumstance she’d say it looked pretty cozy. She went on to knock on the door, not sure if you were the one occupying it, but she was right.

You answered the door, raising an eyebrow when you saw who it was.

She doesn’t say anything but her heartbeat quickens. You wordlessly stepped aside to let her in.

“Miss Romanoff,” you said softly, not wanting the air to be filled with awkward silence. Your eyes trailed her as she looked around your - the supposedly abandoned cottage that you may or may not have forcefully stole from a now deceased man. “After what I did to you I was sure the last thing you wanted was to see me again.”

She opened her mouth to speak but was astonished by how fast you’ve gotten in front of her to look at her neck. The bite mark you caused was still there and still looked bad. She tried to read your expression but couldn’t, and was taken by surprise when you bit your thumb without hesitation, a generous amount of blood oozing out.

“I... I don’t-”

“It’ll help but, suit yourself,” you shrugged, wiping away the blood and the wound immediately healed right after. You disappeared for a moment in the kitchen. “I apologize, I’m not used to having visitors. Are you here to kill me, Miss Romanoff, or did you want something else?”

Your stare lingered on her when you came back with a bottle of wine. You did a lot of digging on this woman ever since your encounter and if it wasn’t for your sudden attraction to her you would’ve finished her off already. You thought she was merely a sidekick to Captain America but as you dug further, she might as well be as dangerous as you.

But she was quiet, soft and maybe nervous around you, giving you the feeling that she felt the same way. Your little crush grew more at the thought. As a vampire, everything about you was magnified. Your senses, strength, and if you ever felt it for a certain person, feelings.

“I’m here on behalf of the Avengers,” Natasha spoke, slowly as if she’s choosing the right words to say. “Look, we mean no harm to you, or your kind. We just want to know your intentions...”

“It’s Y/N,” you said absentmindedly, and added, “you’ll never convince me, unfortunately. I won’t come with you.

“I’ve been around for, what, two centuries now and... that sort of play’s getting old. I lost friends the last time I heard that same line.”

You rubbed your temple while taking a swig of the red wine straight out of the bottle.

“I’m sorry to here that.” Natasha shifted from where she was standing, still not budging whenever you urged her to take seat.

She didn’t know where to go from here if she was being honest. The plan - well, the original plan, was to kill you. Stake to the heart. Just like that. But after hearing that little story, Natasha’s regrets about suggesting an interrogation on you faded. It’s not like you wanted to be a bloodsucking, immortal monster in the first place, right? You were human once. And it didn’t seem like you dedicated yourself to be completely against humans, because if you did, Natasha would be dead right now without a doubt.

She may or may not have suggested that because you also did leave quite the impression on her.

“Is that genuine, or is this all part of your plan to kill me?” You said coolly, getting up once more to put away the bottle. “Because you’re doing great - oh I forgot, you’re a spy, after all-”

In a swift movement you found yourself on the floor, bottle shattering, drilling pain on your shoulder and Natasha above you, pulling out a pistol. You winced as you struggled to pull out the thick wooden stake buried in your shoulder. You definitely did not expect that.

Natasha gave you an almost apologetic look, but it returned to its usual stoicism. “I’m giving you a chance to do this the easy way,” she breathed out. The sudden attack made you turn to your original form, she looked at the way your eyes faded from red to white again, black veins still pulsing around them.

With your incredible speed and strength you applied pressure to her stomach with your knee and pinned her against the wall again. “What the hell do you want from me, Romanoff?”

What was she waiting for? She could’ve stabbed me already and her job’s done. She’s easily done this before, why was she hesitating now?

Your foreheads were touching and both of your breaths were ragged. Her eyes were so beautiful up close. “You never wanted to be like this,” her voice was barely a whisper. “It’s never too late to change.”

You weren’t all that bad, Natasha was right. You still had a bit of goodness left in you. The vampire that turned you so many years ago didn’t give you a choice, everything just sort of happened. You had no choice but to live like this.

“Is that what this is about?” You mumbled back, loosening your hold on her.

Both of your guards were completely down now.

“I’m a monster,” you said bitterly. “I’ve done horrible things. I’ve killed so many innocent people.”

Natasha gave you a sad smile. She almost had the same background as you. Being an ex-assassin, yet now she was saving lives almost every day.

“You know,” she said, feeling a tingle when your lips brushed against hers. “I don’t judge people on their worst mistakes.”

You gulped, suddenly struggling with your words. But you didn’t have to say anything anymore since her lips connected with yours. Natasha ran her hands on the back of your head while you cupped her face.

The warm sensation didn’t last for long. You heard something whiz by, and the next thing you knew you had a burning sensation all over, it made you weak. You pushed Natasha off you to look for the source but you were too weak-

The last thing you heard was the door opening and Natasha saying “Clint!”.

-----

Your cell reminded Natasha of the one on S.H.I.E.L.D’s helicarrier, specifically the one they used on Loki. But yours was more small and instead of it being inside an aircraft it was inside the compound.

It’s been a few hours since you went unconscious. Clint used four vervain shots just to knock you out. Natasha had to remind Steve endlessly that you were not to be killed unless things don’t go well.

“Are you sure this one’s a vampire? ‘Cause it looks like you just closed your eyes and picked a random person outside.” Tony leaned over the glass to get a good look at you.

But once you gained consciousness you lost it. You sped up to the glass, slamming your whole body against it which startled Tony. Not to mention you were in your vampire form.

Some of them cursed when you managed to get a crack on the glass on your third pound. “I don’t want to be here.” Your fists visibly shook as you spat at Natasha. “How do you expect me to change when you trick me, Romanoff?”

“Stark, do something about that glass.” Steve ordered as he pulled Natasha away from your cell.

“Right. You better have those shots at the ready too, Robin Hood.”

“Steve, I’m going in there,” Natasha removed his hand from her arm. She already knew what the look he was giving her meant. “I’ll be fine. Even I didn’t expect Clint to engage last night.”

So she made her way inside, the steel door shut behind her. You were silently pacing back and forth, still shaking. You had given up on the glass when it was replaced by a more durable one.

“Y/N...”

“Get the fuck away from me.”

“I’m sorry.”

You scoffed, glaring at her and glaring at Steve outside the cell who was watching you intently. “Just get your pals in here and finish the job.”

“I really do believe you can change-” she insisted.

When she went to touch your shoulder you immediately grabbed her wrist. Natasha was speechless when she saw your twisted face, eyes scarlet and unrecognizable, your fangs just waiting to sink into flesh.

“I can’t change.” you whispered. “I was meant to be like this.”

-----

Ending 1: Natasha fights and convinces you that you still have a bit of humanity, despite being what you are. You end up having to fight Steve and the others too but they manage to knock you out a second time. When you wake up, Natasha’s the only one in the room with you. That’s when you both get to talk properly, and then you get to be one of the Avengers. It’s unusual, but it works, using your powers and abilities for good, not having to kill people but you feed on blood bags instead (occasionally). And maybe you even end up dating Natasha.

Ending 2: You completely snap at Natasha in the cell. Steve and Clint burst in to help her. This causes you to get even more aggressive. The fighting took a while, Tony and Rhodey even got into their suits to fight you, but you threatened them with the lives of their friends so they couldn’t do much. You knocked out Steve, Natasha and Clint, so it was now Bruce’s turn. They were a bit conflicted of letting Hulk out since they were sure he’ll destroy the whole building. But Wanda came out, using her witch powers to weaken you, it finally ended with a stake to your chest.

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Rivals

A/N: @obsessedwithrandomthings requested some Neville angst in the form of enemies to lovers from me so here is what I hope is Neville angst! Honestly, it’s more rivals with a lot of unresolved sexual tension but I still hope you like! She also made this wonderful banner! I also don’t know if you can tell but I am really inspired by greek mythology and witchcraft lore in general (I'm a historian, what can I say?) and this fic is full of it so if that’s not your thing, then I apologise! Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Rival professors

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, gets a lil bit steamy

Word count: 4.7k

There wasn’t a man on the earth that could infuriate you more than Neville Longbottom.

And you had known Draco Malfoy for over a decade.

There was a history between the two of you; a natural hatred that came with the Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalry, but there was always something more. A deeper attraction that ran between the two of you despite how hard you rejected it.

He felt it too; and he fought it with every breath.

You thought you would get some reprieve upon your appointment as the Divination professor at Hogwarts, but as you entered the staff room your first week there, Neville Longbottom was stood speaking to Headmistress McGonagall.

“You have got to be shitting me?” You cry.

“Professor (Y/L/N)!” McGonagall admonishes.

“I’m sorry Headmistress, but seriously? Longbottom?”

“I’m not thrilled about the prospect of working with you either.” Neville drawls.

McGonagall looks between the two of you, a small frown pulling down the corners of her mouth, “I do hope you’ll get along in front of students.”

You glare at the tall brunette, “There’ll be no issue with that on my part, Headmistress.”

Neville returns your glare with just as much acid, “The one thing we’ll agree on then.”

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

It’s the little things he does that bother you; such as smirking at you from across the Great Hall or taking the last of the milk in the staff room. Neville knows exactly how to get a rise out of you, and he does an excellent job of it.

The rivalry that had seemingly ended upon the end of your education, promptly started back up again.

Constant competition broke out between Neville and yourself: who got the higher grades? Who had the highest pass rate? Who got the most laughs out their students?

It never ended. He would goad you, and you’d goad him right back. Practical jokes would be played on each other often. You were both frequent customers at the Weasley twin’s joke shop where materials were hoarded, and plans were formed.

McGonagall watched the two of you bicker in the staffroom; a regular occurrence. She watched the both of you argue from across the room with a fond look on her face. The rivalry would always be present between the two of you; and she was surprised – to say you were a gifted seer, you had not foreseen the palpable tension between Neville and yourself.

She watches the back and forth between the two of you; head moving as if watching a muggle tennis match. Insults and jibes are thrown between you both and yet, despite the bitterness of the words, there was no major malice in your voices.

McGonagall sips at her tea, rolling her eyes at the two of you. She supposes that it would only be a matter of time now.

----------

The week before term starts you get a letter of rejection in your notice box. Your application for the money for new textbooks had been denied. You scrunch the paper in your hands; feeling the all too familiar emotion of frustration running through your veins. Your argument for the textbooks was sound; it would be easier for the school to purchase the materials for the students than to rely on the students to use their own money.

You knock on the heavy, wooden door of McGonagall’s office; entering upon hearing her grant permission. “Headmistress, why has my application for new textbooks been rejected?”

“We’ve had to siphon funds for the Herbology trip.”

You see red, but keep a lid on your temper in front of your boss, “Pardon?”

“Divination is an elective subject; Herbology is compulsory through all seven years.” McGonagall reasons.

“So because of that, my students have to use textbooks that are falling apart?”

“We can add the material onto the reading list if that makes anything better?”

You sit back in your chair, “Term starts in a week. Students will have bought their books already. The very reason I applied for the textbooks was so that students didn’t have to buy them.”

McGonagall holds her hands up, “I’m sorry, Professor.”

You sigh through your nose, standing to leave, “Thank you for your time, Headmistress.”

Anger rises within you; all directed at the maddening Herbology professor. You understood that Herbology was a compulsory subject, and that it was very useful in determining a student’s future career as a Healer or a Potioneer. But Divination was becoming increasingly popular among the muggleborn students who grew up knowing the tales of tarot reading, palmistry and clairvoyance. And after the war, so many students sat in the class hoping for a relief in their grief – to find an answer to the well-asked question, do they find peace?

You confront Neville in the staff room, “The reason I cannot get new textbooks for my Sixth Years is because you’ve used the money for a trip to London to meet Herbert Beery?”

“He taught Herbology here before Professor Sprout, it is a worthwhile trip!”

You pause the rant sitting at the tip of your tongue; letting his words settle. “Repeat those very words for me, Longbottom.”

Neville frowns, “What?”

“Repeat. Those. Words.” You enunciate; each syllable pronounced.

“Herbert Beery taught Herbology here before Sprout. It’s a worthwhile experience for students interested in taking the subject further.”

The cushion in your hands hits Neville in the face. He looks at you astonished as you shout, “You’re taking students to meet an ex-professor?”

“What aren’t you understanding about this?” Neville questions as another cushion hits his face, “Stop doing that!” he yells.

“Why didn’t you bring him here?! He knows the school; it’s known territory! And it would have saved enough money so I could get my textbooks!” You throw more cushions at him; enjoying the way he has to dodge them. “You didn’t think this through at all, Longbottom.”

“Calm down, (Y/N). Your students can always buy the textbooks.”

“Not this close to term starting!” You throw yourself down onto the couch with a groan, “You’re an arsehole.”

Neville glares, “This trip is a once in a lifetime experience for my students. Herbert Beery is officially retiring from the field after this lecture.”

“And yet you couldn’t invite him to Hogwarts?”

“No.”

You stand, shoving his shoulder as you pass him to leave. “I can’t even begin to tell you how pissed I am. I can’t even look at you right now.”

Leaving him there, surrounded by couch cushions, you take a breather in the courtyard. Inhaling the fresh air, you start to see things more clearly. It seems that a friendship would never exist between the two of you; the rivalry stemming from Hogwarts running so deep that it could never be breached by kind words and actions.

A plan forms in your head for the perfect revenge, and it would mean a visit to Diagon Alley.

---------

If there was one thing that your education at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry had taught you, it was if you were going to prank someone, you had to make it a good one. George and Fred Weasley are more than happy to help you enchant the chalk; neither asking too many questions – they see the mischievous glint in your eye and know not to interrogate too much.

Neville walks into his classroom to find his students already sat in their seats. He lets them continue socialising as he sets up his materials for the day; this lesson focusing on the theory behind Herbology rather than hands-on practice. He grabs his chalk from the bottom of the board, proceeding to write the date and title before turning to his class, pulling their attention away from their friends and on to him.

It takes him two minutes to notice to amused expressions and the stifling of laughter.

It takes him five minutes to figure out why.

On the chalkboard behind is a caricature of his face on the body of a baby Mandrake. He’s crying big, fat tears that make their way down the length of the board before turning to dust at the bottom.

Neville can feel his face heat from the anger building within him and coursing through his veins, setting them alight. He knows exactly who’s behind this, and it isn’t any of his students.

--------

Your class settle into their assigned seats; the crystal balls already placed in the centres of their tables. Once upon a time, students would groan at the sight of them, but now they regard them with interest.

You grin at your students, knowing what lesson they had last, “How was Herbology?”

Thomas Wadsworth in Ravenclaw begins to laugh, “I knew you would have something to do with it, Professor.”

“Was it obvious?”

He shakes his head, “Not really, but everyone knows of your rivalry.”

“How did he react?”

Shea Bard in Gryffindor raises her hand, “He went very red and muttered some curses before teaching us something else.”

You rub your hands together, “What else? Was it funny?”

“Very,” Shea nods, “But we didn’t dare laugh, no-one was in the mood to get a detention no matter how funny it was.”

You clap your hands together, pleased with the outcome. You’d have to send a thank you card to the Weasley twins for their genius minds.

“Why do you have this rivalry with Professor Longbottom?” A voice from the back asks.

Other students turn their eyes from their crystal balls to you; more interested in this topic of conversation rather than predicting their neighbour’s future.

You shrug, “We’ve never liked each other. He’s a Gryffindor and I’m a Slytherin.”

Thomas scoffs, “That can’t be it, surely? Give us something more, Professor.”

“What more is there? We went to school together and we never got on.”

Shea smiles, “With all respect Professor, you have to be aware of the tension between the two of you.”

“Tension?” You question, eyebrows furrowing.

Thomas raises his hand, counting the syllables off with his fingers, “Sex-u-al ten-shun.”

You stare wide-eyed at your class. Shea frowns, “Oh man, you weren’t aware of it were you?”

You clear your throat, “I have to know, how did my personal life become the topic for this class?”

“Since you won’t make a move on Professor Longbottom.”

“Thomas!” You chide.

He frowns, “I’m only saying what everyone else was thinking. It’s so obvious you fancy each other, it’s sickening.”

“Professor Longbottom and I have never gotten along. The most you’re going to see out of us is rivalry and cold stares.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, “Okay, Professor. If you get together before Christmas, Frances owes me Butterbeer for a month.”

“I’ll be sure to keep your bet in mind, Thomas, thank you.” You drawl with an unimpressed look, “Let’s get back to our crystal balls shall we?”

And just like that, the conversation over your personal life and your relationship with Neville Longbottom was over.

--------

The sound of your classroom door slamming shut has you jumping in your spot. You press a hand to your chest; trying to slow your racing heart as you take in the angry figure of Neville Longbottom.

“I know it was you.” He states, enunciating every word as if they were its own sentence. “I know it was you that planted the enchanted chalk in my classroom.”

You place a hand on your heart, grinning, “I am hurt that you would accuse me of such a thing, Longbottom.”

He stalks towards you, pressing you into your desk. He’s so close that you can smell the dirt from the greenhouse; it’s become the scent you associate with him.

“I spoke to the Weasley twins.”

Your grin shifts into a sly smirk, “The jig is up, you’ve caught me red-handed.”

The atmosphere between the two of become charged. The electricity in the air becoming magnetic; stirring something deep within your gut. Your eyes run over his face; taking in the widened pupils and the deepened breathing. He’s feeling it too; feeling it just as intense as you.

You resist the urge to drag him in for a kiss. You resist the urge to taste him; to memorise every inch of him with your fingers and mouth.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” You ask, voice breathless. He pushes himself away from you, stepping away quickly as your words land.

Neville storms out of your classroom; running both hands through his hair with a frustrated groan. You watch him leave, trying to slow the racing of your heart to no avail. He had no idea the reaction he could pull from you, but you were also unaware of the reaction, you could evoke from him.

You push your hair back from your forehead as you analyse your feelings for the Herbology professor; wondering when they had started to lean more towards to love than hatred.

You need to consult someone or something whether it be your cards or your tea leaves; everything feels so gnarled and scrambled, it felt impossible to make heads or tails of it all.

----------

Neville begins to enact his revenge a week later.

It starts with sitting next to you at the weekly briefings; sitting close enough to you where you can feel the warmth exuding from his body – sitting close enough to you where his thigh presses against yours. Through the briefing, he’d lean into you, whispering into your ear, asking for your thoughts. You clench the hand that’s resting on your thigh, and you feel rather than hear Neville’s amused snort at your action. He pulls away when McGonagall calls the end of the briefing and you’re left feeling suddenly cold at the lack of his touch.

He then moves onto catching your eye at every meal time. Upon which he smirks, running a hand over his jaw, not missing the way your eyes track the movement of his fingers. You turn away with a frown, drawing Professor Flitwick into a conversation about the latest journal on charms.

He decides to interrupt one of your lessons on the second day of his revenge. He enters your classroom using the ruse of searching for a student. Your mouth dries as you run your eyes up and down his body. His work overalls are tied at the waist; his muscles gloriously defined by a tight white t-shirt spattered with dirt from the plants, and the tattoos he got in memorial for the second wizarding war stand out against his lightly tanned skin.

In the years you had known Neville, you had watched him transform from a bumbling teenager into what could only be described as a Greek God.

The expression that falls across his face as you take in the sight of him makes it very clear to you that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You refuse to let him see how he’s getting to you. You shift your attention back to your class; not missing the way Thomas Cresswell points at Frances Bainbridge across the room, calling for the outcome of their bet. You roll your eyes at Thomas and Frances as you let the student Neville came for leave the classroom.

-----------

“What are you doing?” You hiss at him on the third day of his revenge.

He smirks, “Absolutely nothing.”

“If this is your revenge for my prank, it’s messed up, Longbottom.”

Neville’s eyes widen; his face the picture of perfect innocence, “What makes you think that?”

He walks away before you can answer, leaving you questioning the last week of your life.

You finish your week confused and frustrated. The feelings that had always been present for Neville were riled up; you were thinking of him more often, remembering how his thigh felt pressed against yours and the attention he paid you from across the Great Hall at every meal time.

Your heart races every time you think of him, and your stomach erupts in butterflies. You spend your free periods thinking of how he would feel pressed against you, and how his stubble would feel under your lips. More often than not, you would find yourself with your head in your hands, cursing the day you ever let the Herbology professor into your life.

----------

It was the very last thing you wanted to do, but it was something you needed to do. A headache had been brewing now for three days, ever since Neville cooled off with his revenge for your chalkboard prank. The headache was making you sharper with your students that you intended to be.

This wasn’t a usual headache though; it had stemmed from your witches-eye - becoming a seer’s headache very quickly. The only way this could be relieved was to fall into it; opening your eye and being shown what you needed to see.

You find Neville in one of the many greenhouses dedicated to Herbology. He stands over the freshly potted Mandrakes, sprinkling fertiliser on them. You lean against the door to the greenhouse, rubbing the centre of your forehead. “Longbottom, I wouldn’t usually ask this of you, but I need access to the restricted greenhouse.”

Neville frowns, “Why would you need to go there?”

“There’s a plant I need. Would you please take me?”

“It’s nothing dangerous is it?”

You shake your head, refusing to speak as it would give away your lie.

Neville takes a set of keys from his pocket, searching for a minute for the lesser-used key. You follow him as he leads you to the restricted greenhouse. Such as with the library, the greenhouses had an area controlled against student use for it grew plants that were not only dangerous, but deadly. Mandrakes were one thing - the plants grown here had helped dark wizards gain fame, fortune, power, and all at a cost.

Neville waits at the door as you walk through the greenhouse, looking for the pale yellow flower covered in veins. You find it in little to no time at all, picking a few flowers from the plant. A petal would be fine for now; Henbane could be deadly if used in large quantities. Taking more than what you needed was your way of assuring that you wouldn’t need to bother Neville again.

You make your way back to Neville, smiling smally at the questioning expression on his face. “Did you get everything you need?” he asks.

You nod, patting the little bag in which you had stored the Henbane flowers, “I got it. Thank you, Neville.”

The walk back to the staff room is in silence. You make to walk back to your tower, ready to start the drying process for the Henbane flower, but a hand grips your wrist. You turn to find Neville holding you in place, “You’re being careful, aren’t you (Y/N)? There’s a reason that greenhouse is restricted.”

You pull your wrist from his grip, “I’ll be fine, Neville. Thanks for your concern.”

You walk away before he can say anything else.

--------

Nothing felt clear; everything felt frazzled and vague. It was as if the very threads of your life had become a tangled, snarled mess. Your realisation of your feelings for Neville had left you in a lurch; you’ve caught him watching you multiples times now – all with a puzzled expression on his face, as if reliving the restricted greenhouse and the revenge from your prank on him.

Your hands run over the top of scrying bowl. The bowl had been handed down to you by your grandmother who had been a powerful seer; it depicts the Triple Goddess in her three forms – maiden, mother, crone.

Incense fills your office; the scent of the Black Henbane given to you by Neville. Henbane had been demonised for centuries; scholars noting that it was used in ointments and could help with conjuring of spirits.

You inhale its smell; your witches-eye opening, more sensitive in the right environment. So few witches possessed the gifts of a seer, it was rare for you to use your talent – usually letting the prophecies and such come to you naturally.

But this was needed. You needed answers for why your tea leaves were conflicting and why your tarot readings were not making sense.

An ethereal voice calls out in greeting, signalling that you had reached the other side, “You called me, daughter.”

“The path is foggy, and I’ve lost my way. I thought I was certain but now I’m not.”

“There is no way forward that does not have him in it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The one who gave you the Henbane to call me forth. He is with you through it all.”

Neville? Neville.

“He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even like me.”

“Do not be too sure, daughter.”

Your eyebrows pull together, a puzzled expression taking over your face. You knew your feelings for the professor had changed; had felt the long dormant passion flare again but there was nothing to be done about it.

The pull of the spirits is intoxicating; you can feel their hands on your shoulders and arms, caressing your face, pulling you closer and closer – begging you to help them find peace, to answer their questions, to help pay the ferryman but you cannot.

A male voice shouting your name has you refusing the screams of the spirits.

The voice shouts again; it’s closer now, corporeal hands shake your shoulders in an attempt to pull you out of your trance, but there’s no luck.

The goddess bids you farewell before everything falls black.

----------

Your vision comes back to you slowly; black spots still dancing across your view of the vaulted ceiling of the hospital wing. You groan at the pounding in your head, bringing a hand up to rub at your forehead.

“(Y/N)?” A male voice asks; a familiar voice.

The feeling of a cool cloth being pressed to your forehead has you sighing in relief, “That feels nice.”

Neville’s face comes into view; his eyes run over your face, checking for what – you don’t know. “You’ve been in contact with higher powers – that’s why you asked for Black Henbane, isn’t it?”

You take the cool cloth from him, “I needed to see something.”

“You put yourself at risk doing this.” Neville bluntly states.

You groan, “I know.”

“Was it worth it?” He asks, narrowing his eyes, “Did you get your answers?”

You nod, averting your eyes – focusing on the vaulted ceiling rather than the man sitting next to you. Shame washes over you from the tone of his voice – reproach mixed with something akin to worry. You smile a little, “Neville Longbottom,” you tease, “Were you worried about me?”

“What was so important that you needed to contact higher powers? You know how addicting they can be!” He chides; ignoring your question completely.

You purse your lips, refusing to answer.

Neville leans forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on his knees, “What was so important?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“I was the one who found you, did you know that? I found you bent over your scrying bowl, talking to spirits and the higher powers. It was me who pulled you out before they could take something more permanent.”

“And I’m grateful for that, Neville.”

“But you won’t tell me why you had to consult them?”

You push yourself into a sitting position slowly; pausing only to stave off the wave of dizziness and nausea. Neville stands, his hands outstretched to help but you wave him away, telling him you’re okay. He doesn’t look like his believes you, but he steps back, nonetheless.

“I needed some answers about my future, about my feelings. It’s all so blurred, even my tea leaves don’t make sense!”

“So you decided to use your scrying bowl? (Y/N), you had trouble with this when we were students.”

“I’m surprised you remember.”

“Of course I remember, why wouldn’t I?”

“We weren’t exactly the best of friends.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t notice you.”

“You noticed me?”

“I always notice you, that’s how I found you. You asking for Black Henbane had me consulting my own textbooks and when I read it was used to help see the future more clearly, I followed you.”

You both lapse into a heavy, charged silence. Neville throws his hands in the air before setting them on his hips as he paces the two steps in front of your bed. You want to groan in frustration; want to scream and shout but it would do no good.

“What are we doing, Neville?” You finally ask, voice tired and head foggy.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean us. The pranks, the teasing, the unresolved tension.”

Neville sits back down, crossing his arms, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

You pull the cloth from your forehead, glaring at the brunette, “Oh that’s a load of bullshit and you know it.”

He glares in return but doesn’t say a word.

“We have been dancing around this for years, Neville. I’m sick of having to pretend I hate you.”

“You don’t hate me?”

You shake your head, “You piss me the fuck off, but I don’t hate you.”

“I don’t hate you either.” He whispers.

“So what do we do?”

“Honestly, I’d like to take you out to dinner,” Neville states, confidence running through his body.

“Dinner?”

“What’s wrong with dinner?”

You bite your lip, running your eyes over him. He’s standing again, as if unable to sit still through this conversation. His eyes are bright with happiness and another emotion you can’t quite put your finger on; he’s entirely delectable. Merlin, in for a penny, as the muggles say, “How about we skip dinner and go to back to my rooms?”

Neville leans in close; his breath fanning over your face. He smells like recently mown grass, freshly fallen rain, and a hint of lime. It’s intoxicating. His eyes search yours for permission; you granting it as you tilt your face up to meet his, you close your eyes at his proximity, taking it all in. He lightly brushes his lips against yours, with a feather-light pressure that has you chasing him for more. He pulls away with a light chuckle at the look of frustration on your face.

“After dinner,” he promises.

The note of promise in his voice has your breath quickening and your toes curling. In the time that you had known this man, you had hated him but now, all you did was crave him.

His touch, his look, his attention. The goddess had promised you that there was no version of your future without him in it, and now...

And now, you were more than ready for that future.

“I’ll hold you to that.” You murmur, breathless from the thoughts running through your head.

---------

A month later:

Neville finds you in your classroom writing the information for your first lesson of the day on the board in chalk. He leans against the door as he closes it. Neville watches you; his eyes running over every curve and dip in your body, thinking of how less than twelve hours ago he was worshipping it with his mouth and hands. He bites down a groan at the memory; your gasps and moans echoing in his ear – he can still feel the dull ache of the scratches on his back, from your fingernails reaching for purchase.

He struts over to you; enjoying the surprised yelp that leaves your mouth as his arms wrap around your stomach, but he loves the way you soon relax into him, your hands coming to rest on top of his. Neville presses a kiss to the crook between your neck and ear, smirking against your skin as he hears your breath hitch.

Neville leans close, his mouth to your ear, “I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”

You hum happily, arching into the touch of his hands as they trail lower, starting to undo the fastenings to your skirt.

You knew he would come; you’d played another prank on him, but this time you knew what the outcome would be.

You turn your face, pressing your lips to his cheek before trailing them across his jawbone, enjoying the look of your lipstick staining his skin. “What did you have in mind?” you whisper, breathless from the excitement coursing through your veins.

He smirks as he bends you face down over your desk.

*************

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes

#neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom #neville longbottom fanfic #neville longbottom x you #neville longbottom x y/n #enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers au #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #neville longbottom fanfiction #neville longbottom one shot #neville longbottom imagines #harry potter imagines #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic

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thefreakydeaky · 4 years ago

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Call Out My Name

Part Eight Title: The Town

Characters: Negan, Reader, A stupid little prick named Rick Grimes, Garbage pail kid Daryl Dixon, Tanya and Frankie.

Summary: You belonged to him.Try as you might to pretend indifference, Negan’s very presence has awakened feelings in you that you believed had died with the old world.Is the ruthless King of the Sanctuary still human enough to fall in love?

Warnings: Language, Canon Typical Negan BS, Canon Typical Violence, A bit of gore, Angst.

Word Count: 3000

With each step you took your stomach knotted tighter in dread of the big scary u.Dealing with the unknown had always been a problem for you. When something was unknown, you were stuck waiting around to find out and in that time you could not plan for it.Upon reaching the ground floor, you saw that all of the dock doors had been pulled down. Every exit locked and blocked.The hungry rasps of the dead filled you with dread.It sounded like you were surrounded. Your eyes darted nervously about the place, from the worn and teary faces of the scared inhabitants to the hard expressions worn by the invaders.

The pounding of heavy boot steps had you swiveling your head about to find the source.

“Don’t you think of tryin’ anything.” Darryl grated.

“Get down on your knees.” He ordered gruffly.

You and the other two girls knelt on the concrete floor, waiting.

You could hear someone approaching behind you.Your breathing quickened in horrible anticipation.

“Are these his...wives?” A deep voice, asked calmly. “Carl said there were five.”

“I looked all over. Found one dead and these three."

You closed your eyes, wondering briefly who it had been.Your stomach churned.You knew what would happen next.He would hit you.He would hit you and demand to know where Sherri and Amber were.You wouldn’t have an answer, except to say you hadn’t seen them in a couple of hours.

“We’re not here to hurt you.” The man’s gentle tone was reassuring. “We’re here to free you.”

“Where is number five?” He inquired.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the man, you couldn’t bare it.

Darryl put a hand on your shoulder and shoved you forward.

“Ask her.This one was leadin’ ‘em.”

A pair of worn leather work boots stopped in front of you.The man inhaled deeply as if to calm himself.

“Are you alright?”He seemed to actually mean it.

You clenched your jaw.

He reached out and brushed his knuckles along your cheek.

You stiffened, hardening your heart for what was to come.

He tipped your face up, his index finger just under your chin.

Your eyes met his clear blue gaze.

The gasp you emitted made Tanya and Frankie turn to look at you.

“Y/n?” He sounded as astonished as you felt, almost hoarse with the shock of this revelation.

His arms were around you and squeezing you in a warm embrace before you could fully process it.

“Oh,” He kissed the top of your head.“You’re alive!”A sigh of relief escaped his throat.

Your lower lip trembled, emotion overtaking you.

Home hadn’t come to mind in a long time.Hugging him, you were transported to a different stage of your life, a different society.

“She doesn’t understand.Much as I wanna be there,I have got to put work first.We talked about this when I joined the force.Lori agreed that she should stay home and take care of Carl, that I would provide for our family. These days, I cover a late shift for another officer, get home and she starts ripping me a new one. Says everytime I’m out late I been drinkin’ with Shane.She accuses me of any wrong thing a husband can do.You name it, according to Her, I’ve done it.”

You frowned a bit at that. Lori wasn’t the best person, but she certainly wasn’t the worst. Neither of you was really in a position to judge her. Not when you were sleeping with her husband.

“Well, I’m sorry that ya’ll are goin’ through a rough patch.”Your voice sounded dejected even to you.

He closed his eyes briefly, his expression contrite.

“I’m...I’m sorry.You shouldn’t have to hear all this.I don’t know what I was thinkin’.” He kissed the top of your head in apology.

You snuggled closer, your head on his bare chest and sighed.

“It’s okay with me for you to talk about your problems.Everybody needs to vent sometime.The thing is, I feel...bad.I feel like I’m part of the problem.”

“You’re not.” He said vehemently. “Lori started accusing me of havin’ an affair long before you and I ever...”

He couldn’t bring himself to say it, his guilt wouldn’t allow it. That sat well with you. It was the least either of you could do.Admit that this temptation you’d both given into wasn’t right.

“How much do we owe you for watchin’ Carl?” He inquired with a softness in his tone that made you melt inside.

“I can’t charge you not when we’re sleeping together.It would feel like-like-“

“I get it.” He ran his hand along your side tenderly. “But I’m gonna have to pay you anyway.”

You winced.Of course he did. She would notice if suddenly there was an extra $80 bucks in their account every week. He could hide the money, save it and use it for something. but that would be one more lie he had to tell Lori. So you accepted the money and put it all in your savings account. Guilt kept you from spending it and as it turned out,you had needed that money to get yourself out of Kentucky.It had gotten you as far as Richmond,Virginia when all hell broke loose. It was there you met Charlie and the gang...

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” He murmured into your hair.

Darryl cleared his throat. “Are you forgetting somethin’?”

Rick looked to him questioningly.

“She’s married to a sociopath!”

“She’s...a friend” He hedged. “I know her. She would never willingly have married a man like Negan."

“I don’t care if she’s your damn aunt fanny! Her husband murdered Glenn and Abraham!” He growled and spit at your feet.

You jerked back at the insult.

“You’re not the only one that’s lost people to The Saviors.” Your voice shook as you spoke.You couldn’t bring yourself to say that it was Negan who killed Charlie.Negan had done terrible things, but he also made you feel wonderful things, now was not the time to reconcile the two.

“He killed my best friend. My co-leader,Charlie.” You told them.”He forced me to become a wife. You gestured toward Tanya.

“Her mom was terminally sick.She was suffering. He offered to get her some morphine if Tanya would become his wife.”

Rick was listening with wrapped attention, compassion in his gaze.

“Frankie,” You nodded toward the redhead. Her green eyes begged you not to tell.

You took a breath.

“She was attacked by a group of cruel and violent men. Negan and The Saviors, rescued her.The price for his help was marriage.” You hoped Amber had gotten far far away from the Sanctuary.

If your words were revealed to be untrue, you might all be killed. You had no doubt this, Darryl guy would have you strung up in a heartbeat. Quiet followed the sad tale.

“I believe you.” Rick said calmly. “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

Your eyes filled with tears.Not because you agreed with his insinuation that your marriage to Negan was a form of torture you had undergone, but for all else you had endured since leaving Kentucky.

Darryl huffed loudly.

“What are we gonna do with Negan?” He ground out.

“Now’s not the time or place to discuss this.” Rick inclined his head, peering at Darryl over your shoulder.

“We’ll talk about it once we get them to Alexandria.”

“Fine.” The man responded.Though it didn’t sound as if he were fine with Rick’s decision at all.

Once we get them to Alexandria. He’d said.

Your heart leapt at the possibility that Rick’s them included Negan.

During the three month deliberation of Negan’s sentence, Hilltop’s Doctor Carson had informed you that your dizzy spells and drowsiness were actually pregnancy.You were elated at first, then heartbroken when you realized there was a huge chance your child would never meet it’s father.

It took pride shriveling amounts of begging and sweet talking your ex-boyfriend to get him on your side to save Negan’s life.Rick turned the majority of the council in your favor.Their final decision was that Negan would live.Your relief at hearing this was immense until you were told the terms on which his execution had been stayed.You would be delivering his sentence.

The rustling sound of soft soles walking across the dirty concrete floor reached Negan long before your tear stained face came into focus in the dim light.

“Negan.”

He kept his face blank.

“Y/n.” His voice sounded raspier to you than usual.

Your eyes scanned over him in the dark and caught on the white bandage set across his throat.

“I’m here to-“

“Do I look like I give a shit?” He glared over your shoulder at Darryl.”You people are ridiculous.Five women to choose from and you send the one I regret ever setting eyes on.Nice.”

You glanced over at Darryl.He looked supremely unimpressed.

“That isn’t true and you know it.” You wet your lips with your tongue.

“You get the fuck away from me right fucking now.”

You took a shaking breath and tried to hold back the tears.A sobbing emotional mess was the last thing either of you needed at the moment.

You held your wrists up where he could see the restraints the council demanded you wear at all times.

You felt sorry for him.This was going to hurt both of you immensely, but if you didn’t do as you’d been asked, he would be getting a hell of a lot worse than a life sentence.

He turned away from you, unable to bear the sight.

“You’re wasting your fucking time.I am not fucking talking to you.”

“You don’t have to say anything, just listen.” You inhaled slowly and held it, to steady yourself for the pain to come.

“I’m not married to you.I wasn’t ever married to you.You manipulated, scared, and threatened me into submitting to you.”

He stiffened.

“You are a power hungry, sociopath who took advantage of my weakness and the weaknesses of many others-“

“Weakness? You?” He scoffed.

“-you brain washed us like some kinda deranged cult leader.I don’t love you.I never loved you and neither did any of the other wives.”You spat the word at him.

He laughed bitterly.

“I did what had to be done to keep all of you alive, if that makes me the fucking bad guy then fuck it.”

“Don’t you dare laugh!”You cried glaring at his back. "Do you have any idea how many people had to die because of you?Do you have any remorse for the pain you’ve caused? The lives you’ve taken?”

He turned to look at you then. From Negan’s surprised expression, the tears streaming down your face must really be selling it.

“You know I don’t.”He frowned, uncertainty in his tone.

“I hate you!”

“Hate me? For what?” He huffed.

“For everything you took from me! For everything you did to me!”

“You sure seemed to like what I did to you. Used to beg me to keep doing those things to you...But don’t you worry, Baby. I’m sure you’ll be getting your retribution soon enough.”

He crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

You sniffed, choked down a sob and prepared for the grand finally.You stepped right up to the bars.Eyeing you wearily, he moved slowly towards you.

“Kiss me.” Your voice was a low whisper.

The reluctance in his gold flecked eyes unsettled you, made what was to come that much harder.

He leaned in and through the bars pressed his dry lips to yours. He closed his eyes, reveling in your proximity, the familiar intoxicating taste of you.You fought to keep still, to appear unaffected. It took him longer to realize that you weren’t participating, than you thought it would.

He pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you, Y/n.” He declared, breathing harshly. “Don’t you forget it.”

You raised one eyebrow attempting to seem aloof.

“You have been sentenced to life imprisonment.You’ll have all the time in the world to reflect on the atrocities you committed.It’s a fitting punishment for what you’ve done. Wouldn’t you say?"

He smiled sadly.

“I would much rather die, but they know that, don’t they?”

“Mhmm..”

He held you as best he could.

“They don’t have any mercy to spare where I’m concerned...Why’d they send you to tell me?”He wondered out loud.

You pulled away, taking a few steps backwards, so he could see you fully.You placed your hands on your stomach in that soft maternal way, the sick fucks had told you to do.

His face fell.

“I’m expecting.”

“No, no no no no.”

“Oh yes...but don’t worry.My baby will have a father.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Do you remember those little chats we used to have?”

He nodded, hanging on your every word.

“I told you about the man I was seeing, the cop with the bright blue eyes...”

Negan shook his head in denial.

“Fate has brought him back into my life. Can you believe that? I mean what were the chances, that the man to take you down, would be the only man that I have ever loved, Rick Grimes?”

Negan dropped to his knees. His eyes were wide pools of vulnerability.

“Have a nice life. I know I will.” You turned away.

Darryl gave you a begrudging nod of approval on your way out.

You’d never hated yourself as much as you did in that moment.

#Negan x Reader #negan x plus sized reader #the walking dead #jeffrey dean morgan #plus sized reader

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writingwithcolor · 5 years ago

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Fairy Tale Retellings with POC

@anjareedd asked:

Hello, Writing with Color! First of all, thank you for all you do. Second, do you have any advice for a white person retelling fairy tales, both European fairy tale and non-European fairy tales? Is it okay to retell non-European fairy tales? I would feel bad if all fairy tales I retold were European as those are over represented, but given how much white people have erased and whitewashed other culture's fairy tales I understand if that were off-limits for a white person. Thank you!

Fairy tale retellings are my favorite thing. I love reading, rewriting and creating new fairy tale-style stories with People of Color!

As you write, keep in mind:

European does not mean white.

The possibility of PoC in European or Western historical settings tends to throw off so many. There are plenty of European People of Color, then and today. You can have an Indian British little red riding hood and it isn’t “unrealistic.” And we wanna read about them!

Still, research the history of your settings and time period. Use multiple credible sources, as even the most well-known ones may exclude the history of People of Color or skim over it. The stories might be shoved into a corner, but we live and have lived everywhere. The specific groups (and numbers of) in a certain region may vary, though.

How and when did they or their family get there, and why?

Has it been centuries, decades, longer than one can remember?

Who are the indigenous people of the region? (Because hey, places like America and Australia would love to have you believe its earliest people were white...)

Is there a connection with the Moors, trade, political marriage; was it simply immigration?

No need to elaborate all too much. A sentence or more woven into the story in passing may do the trick to establish context, depending on your story and circumstance.

Or if you want to ignore all of that, because this is fantasy-London or whatever, by all means do. POC really don’t need a explanation to exist, but I simply like to briefly establish context for those who may struggle to “get it”, personally. This is a side effect of POC being seen as the Other and white as the default.

Although, if PoC existing in a fairy tale is the reader’s biggest stumbling block in a world of magic, speculation, or fantasy, that’s none of your concern.

Can you picture any of the people below, or someone with these backgrounds, the protagonist of their own fairytale? I hope so!

Above: Painting of Dido Elizabeth Belle (1760s - 1800s), British Heiress with her cousin. Check out her history as well as the movie, Belle (2013).

Source: English Heritage: Women in History - Dido Belle

Above: Abraham Janssens - The Agrippine Sibyl - Netherlands (c. 1575)

“Since ancient times Sybils were considered seers sent by god, priestesses foretelling the coming of great events. This model serves to depict the Sybil of Agrippina, one of the 12 that foretold the coming of Christ. Notice the flagellum and crown of thrones which are symbolic objects reminding the viewer of Christs suffering.” X

Above: “Major Musa Bhai, 3 November 1890. Musa Bhai travelled to England in 1888 as part of the Booth family, who founded the Salvation Army.” X

Above: Eleanor Xiniwe and Johanna Jonkers, respectively and other members of the African Choir, who all had portraits taken at the London Stereoscopic Company in 1891.

“The African Choir were a group of young South African singers that toured Britain between 1891 and 1893. They were formed to raise funds for a Christian school in their home country and performed for Queen Victoria at Osborne House, a royal residence on the Isle of Wight.” X

The examples above just scratch the surface. Luckily, more and more historians and researchers are publishing lesser known (and at times purposefully masked) PoC history.

More Sources

PoC in History (WWC Search Link)

POC in Europe (WWC Search Link)

The Black Victorians: astonishing portraits unseen for 120 years

Hidden histories: the first Black people photographed in Britain – in pictures

Let’s talk about oppression and slavery

There is a hyper-focus on chattel slavery as if the times when and where it occurred is the only narrative that exists. And even when it is part of a Person of Color’s history, that is seldom all there is to say of the person or their lives. For example, Dido Elizabeth Belle.

People of Color were not all slaves, actively enslaved, or oppressed for racial reasons at all times in history! Dig deep into the research of your time period and region. Across the long, wide history of the world, People of Color are and were a norm and also NOT simply exceptions. Explore all the possibilities to discover the little known and seldom told history. Use this as inspiration for your writing.

PoC (especially Black people) were not always in chains, especially in a world of your making.

Don’t get me wrong. These stories do have a place and not even painful histories should be erased. I personally read these stories as well, if and when written by someone who is from the background. Some might even combine fairy tale, fantasy, and oppression in history. However...

There are plenty of stories on oppressed PoC. How many fairy tales?

Many European tales have versions outside of Europe.

Just because a tale was popularized under a western setting doesn’t mean that it originates there. Overtime, many were rewritten and altered to fit European settings, values and themes.

Read original tales.

You might be inspired to include a story in its original setting. Even if you kept it in a western setting, why not consider a protagonist from the ethnicity of the story’s origin?

For example: the Cinderella most are familiar with was popularized by the French in 1697. However, Cinderella has Chinese and Greek versions that date back from the 9th Century CE and 6th Century BCE, respectively.

Choosing a Setting: European or Non-European?

I do not see anything wrong with either (I write tales set in western and non-western settings, all with Heroines of Color). There is great potential in both.

Non-Western Settings (pros and cons)

Normalizes non-Western settings. Not just the “exotic” realm of the Other.

Potential for rich, cultural elements and representation

Requires more research and thoughtfulness (the case for any setting one is unfamiliar with, though)

European or Western Setting (pros and cons)

Normalizes PoC as heroes, not the Other, or only fit to be side characters.

Representation for People of Color who live in Western countries/regions

Loss of some cultural elements (that character can still bring in that culture, though! Living in the West often means balancing 2+ cultures)

Outdated Color and Ethnic Symbolism

Many fairy tales paint blackness (and darkness, and the Other) as bad, ominous and ugly, and white as good and pure.

Language that worships whiteness as the symbol of beauty. For example: “Fair” being synonymous with beauty. Characters like Snow White being the “fairest” of them all.

Wicked witches with large hooked noses, often meant to be coded as ethnically Jewish people.

Don’t follow an old tale back into that same pit of dark and Other phobia. There’s many ways to change up and subvert the trope, even while still using it, if you wish. Heroines and heroes can have dark skin and large noses and still stand for good, innocence and beauty.

Read: Black and White Symbolism: Discussion and Alternatives

Non-European Fairy tales - Tips to keep in Mind:

Some stories and creatures belong to a belief system and is not just myth to alter. Before writing or changing details, read and seek the opinions of the group. You might change the whole meaning of something by tweaking details you didn’t realize were sacred and relevant.

Combine Tales Wisely:

Picking stories and beings from different cultural groups and placing them in one setting can come across as them belonging to the same group or place (Ex: A Japanese fairy tale with Chinese elements). This misrepresents and erases true origins. If you mix creatures or elements from tales, show how they all play together and try to include their origin, so it isn’t as if the elements were combined at random or without careful selection.

Balance is key:

When including creatures of myths, take care to balance your Human of Color vs. creatures ratio, as well as the nature of them both (good, evil, gray moral). EX: Creatures from Native American groups but no human Native characters from that same group (or all evil, gray, or too underdeveloped to know) is poor representation.

Moral Alignment:

Changing a good or neutral cultural creature into something evil may be considered disrespectful and misappropriation.

Have Fun!

No, seriously. Fairy tales, even those with the most somber of meanings, are meant to be intriguing little adventures. Don’t forget that as you write or get hung up on getting the “right message” out and so on. That’s what editing is for.

--Colette

#writing advice #representation #history #people of color #writing #fairy tales #fantasy creatures #supernatural beings #guides #long post #slavery #slavery mention tw #culture #images #asks

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highsviolets · 4 years ago

Text

breathless, chapter 3: an obi-wan x 90s!reader au

summary: in which you and Ben discover that nothing is like the first time, but maybe time is a construct anyway

word count: 3.2k+

cw: kissing. light references to smoking, a lil angst, some language

A/N: this could not have happened without @afogocado. Thank you for encouraging me to continue this lil fic and an endless supply of ewan pics and listening to me ramble and omg ilysm

references // previous // next // series masterlist

“my curfew’s at midnight.”

Ben doesn’t look at you when he speaks. Well, he does. Just not right now. He’s busy at the moment, tinkering with something in the hood of his car. hunter green t-shirt — auburn hair — something out of goddamn salinger novel ((or maybe dos passos))

you look up at him. you’re settled on a skateboard ((he’s far too trusting of your ability to remain upright)). listless currents from a fan — somewhere, in the garage, you think — ripple in that nomadic space between his t-shirt and your skin.

remarks are so curious a thing, and you watch yours descend upon him. not quite a cascade. not quite a pittance of cleansing summer rains. it’s something other — but not ethereal — it’s here, it’s now, it’s taking you, too, holding you in thrall — words bump into skin ((sinew and sin)).

“it’s about doing the right thing.” the grind of one metal locking its relatives, corollaries, corrosions, into place has ceased. or maybe only paused. you’re not sure the car is done. but Ben looks at you, and you know he’s done. done explaining himself.

the skateboard’s wheels squeak and cry out against the pavement when you adjust. legs stretched out — ragged vans pointing above ((wherever that is)) — violet tipped hands clutching the back edges — knees exposed — just kissing the faintness of tangible ((affection or affectations, what’s the difference?))

“i know.” freckles gaze into the sun, his eyes, reflections. he expects your explanation to be plaintive. institutional. it’s not. “i just wanted to know why.”

Ben shakes his head, once, twice, thrice — face still half-soaked in the shadow of the hood — astonishment is plain to see in the flatness of his cheeks — the waltzing of his tongue on his upper lip.

Two seconds later he is right there, crouching ((muscles straining)) next to you, the leather tips of air jordans exotic and smooth against the external lateral bone of your left knee. His eyes, screwed up at the invasion of the sun against their tranquility, stare at the meeting of his shoes and your body and then he is gazing at you.

angels manipulate his mouth into a smile — Ben’s yours, now — hands are clasped — battles halt in the ceasefire. “I should really stop underestimating you.”

Ben reaches out. Two fingers ride the length of your cheekbone. They still as skin morphs into frizzled, sun-bleached hair at the crown of your head, in that space between your ear and eyebrow. your head nudges into his terms of surrender. “That would probably be best,” you say. The pause between conditional tense and adverb is like the space between you and him, an assured hesitancy, caught between becoming and being, trapped in an interstitial existence.

it’s so fucking americana it hurts.

hair , secured by a scrunchie the same shade as your fingertips, is given a light tug. let’s get you home, he says, and your presence wilts in upon itself , he senses the rush of photosynthesis exiting your body and brings your lips to caress his.

it doesn’t feel like the first time — nothing ever does — familiar in semantics — murky in meaning — singeing and sweet — a transfusion of significance between you and him.

the breaking away comes with a solemn sigh. he’s rising and bringing you with him. you resist the urge to stage a coup and use the skateboard to rocket yourself into his arms ((a safehouse you’ve found)).

___

time: a nebulous concept for you. it’s pages dogeared and how many days until the next cd is shipped to the store and how many t-shirts you’ve accosted from oaken drawers.

it’s a far more solid object for him. a tangible weave of textures and patterns that he notices in the scrunchies now in the car’s island of misfits ((he still hasn’t told you the make and model)) and how many times you guide his hand around your waist while you eat ice cream ((vanilla in a cone with sprinkles)) and the pens he’s busted through since you first met ((he knows the number , they’re immortalized in a tin cup on his shelf))

Ben’s holding one that has yet to join its brothers in the tin graveyard. The clicker rests against his teeth. It looks seductive in his mouth. Like he can make you keen with just an imitation of the real thing, with words and ideas. Words twirled around the air have power. You both know this.

You’re the one who’s twirling, though. spinning around his bedroom — boombox emitting a Billy Joel song at least ten years mature — mouth forming words you have yet to possess the courage to blare — so much like your kisses.

((the words come through in the translation , the body moves but he hears the soul))

he watches you and he is transfixed. he knows you do not know how much you are revealing to him. at least not consciously. but you want him to crawl into your soul and never leave. he does not see it or hear it or feel it as much as he experiences truth, the clumsy trio dotting patterns across his extremities and seeping into his essence ((what it means to be human)) like an antibiotic ointment. he is scared you will stick to things for which you are not designed. but it’s too late and he’s covered in the stuff, slick with you. unleashed in a trigonometric function of three sides ((him / you , other)). sins and signs and echoing sunlight.

your smile mimics his as you edge toward the bed where he’s sprawled out. you laugh and he matches you, shaking his head in rare & unguarded ((unabashed , unembarrassed)) regard. you are in harmony.

skin meets skin — heels arched into the carpet — he’s too strong too stubborn — and you fail and fall and spill over him — tumbling over his torso, legs mashed — the heat of his victorious grin burns the atmospheric bubble arching over the two of you.

You’re not sure if the record stops or if you’ve just ceased hearing it. he arranges you ((like a bouquet, like a song)) on the bed. he stares down at you. the eyes are stormy again, like before he kissed you the first time ((but nothing’s ever like the first time)). they say eyes are the window to the soul. Your hands whisk the hair that’s dangling there, like you can quiet him by quelling his independently-minded locks. it seems to work. he blinks and when you see the sun again it’s brighter, bluer, but maybe that’s because he’s so still now.

he does not move. He may not have danced but his soul is pressing into you like a dagger ((did you fall on a sword)). Ben cuts off your impending speech with conciliatory kiss. “i know , darling” , and the words etch themselves into reality against your body.

—-

Ben is distant and he is near to you all at once. There are corners of his being that you want to slide and drag and push to the surface. maybe if you do he will start to make sense. form follows function, he tells you, and the words feel as yellow as the pages on which they’re inked.

it doesn’t make sense to you — “you have too much sense, dear one” — elinor and marianne — but for all his purity he does not dance — no ricochets in his lever and pulley soul.

you are glass and flannel and he is steel and silk. he is not quite your sun, or your moon, or your stars, and not even your world. but you are rapidly terraforming to his sundry heights and arid permafrost and the devil’s sun that makes a home in his fingers, in his mouth ((yet he is not lucifer, nor abdiel perhaps he is raphael)).

Ben watches you soak in him. He takes note, n.b., nota bene, notes well, excellently, the stillness of your hands ((the tremors have lessened, but have they learned?)). your words are teal and vermillion and ecru and weeping with tannins. Ben deduces ease, easel, paint, art as you furrow into his chest. His mind infers souls through their bodies. Form follows function. Function follows form. Maybe it’s all the same, and Maybe It Isn’t.

Through your mirror he sees himself with you but he does not comprehend. He is bewildered.

nails boards cones sheets — teeth fingers knees breath — swerving form yielding function clutching grasping — all so very , sine qua non — aspectu sine logos — why does the latin transform into Greek

Morpheus, he thinks, nods sagely. he hurls ticket stubs and lipstick napkins and sense ((you)) into shoeboxes and mailboxes and shadowboxes. he refuses a photo of you, with you, for you and takes your knotted eyes and throws them, too, into the nearest body of water. you are close but you are not near ((droplets on tanned skin, drowning in the water)) and it is all he can do to obey his life and he does not know that sartre laughs at him and de beauvoir pokes her lover.

you are not at the middle of your life and neither is he. the path is still obscured by the trees. is charon delivering you to this threshold of the styx ((stones, bones, death)) or the tip of the world where the stars scrape into the heavens with a different edge? he is rising: he brings you with him. so it was in the past, but does the past presage the future? if he is raphael then he is virgil ((Maybe it’s all the same, and Maybe It Isn’t))

epic firestorm of righteous creation myths — empirical histories — imperial truths. but no. dante, where is dante, is he off in firenze, dancing in florid colors? no. dante is in exile, civitas ex nihilo : in need of virgil. guide him to transcendence.

____

you do not see him for several days. maybe it is weeks. you aren’t sure. time is not empirical, Ben has told you, it’s something you have to feel through its measuring ((sometimes vibrancy tips out of his ridges)). but you wish he had let you take a picture of the two of you. you are more like him than you realize , the truest truths are the ones you can touch.

it is the longest you have not seen him, and it is very hot. the pool, the lake, they’re not the same when you can’t thread sand through his hair and be abducted by his gaze as you read ((spirited away from his bookshelf)).

you’re running out of books — running out of time? — but time is not statistical — multidimensionality of you and him — there is no space where he does not compress himself to exist with you.

“it’s not a phase, mom,” you say, and take another bite of cereal.

“you need to make up your mind.” the crunch is effective at blocking out the noise, and your mind continues on its path. you wonder if DJ Tanner ever felt like this. hair surfaces in your bowl, and you pluck it out, grimacing. Maybe you should cut your hair. it’s hot out. DJ had short hair.

a rap on the table — spoon? knuckle? you can’t tell — strikes you. the words reality and wake up and decisions and wasteful are abrasions on your knees, still sore from too many tries on Ben’s skateboard ((he had smiled at your earnestness and kissed away the latent tears , let your body do its healing)).

you do not speak words so much as you give birth to emotions, agonizing and cruel and hideous. you do not know what you say or if you even say it ((dissociation)). but it is metallic in your mouth and turncoat shaking fingers and the sinking sound of unharnessed emotion in your ears.

it is hot and stifling and too much when you leave. nothing is feeling right — that stillness has lodged in your diaphragm again — opaque skies mock you — rain comes and you are colliding with nature and you are losing

Ben is standing underneath the overhang at the library ((it always comes back to the library)) and you wonder if you’re finally hallucinating. you voice forms itself to his name and he turns, damp hair following a few seconds later, and he drops his cigarette at the sight of you.

Exhilaration delivers specks of mud on your legs and arms but it is no matter. the time and space continuum has rectified and he is in front of you, giving you a cigarette, gray t-shirt abstracting to his muscles as much as your vans cling languidly to soggy toes.

he exhales smoke the way he says your name. it is precise and pious and it blooms over you like pink and purple hydrangeas.

Ben sees the gouges in your eyes and chastises your traitorous hands and absorbs you. cigarettes slump, abandoned, as he presses your cheek to his heart ((the conjunction of your logic and heat meeting his fervent center)). you cling to him and he does not resist but molds himself to you. time stops ((it’s an illusion)). rain continues. Ben’s kisses glide along your hairline, your forehead. it tickles and you laugh and his smile takes shape against your frontal cortex.

you pull him into the rain even as he protests ((but he’s laughing and the clouds pause, time takes a breath , are you time)) and you kiss him. it is like something breaks in him or perhaps the rain has induced erosion or maybe he is like you and there is a filigree thread connecting his head with his heart and constructing a railway through his body. Ben is all the lightning — the sky has crowned a new Zeus — you hold him as the thunder in his soul cracks and pulls

((maybe kant was wrong about time and heidegger was right about dwelling and nothing crystallizes in his soul like you do))

the two of you alight to his car ((still unknown yet cordial, native)) and when you reach his building he opens your door and scoops you up in his arms and it is like that first time by the pool ((but nothing is ever like the first time)).

your hand makes a fist in his soggy shirt and his hair is pasted to his forehead and you cannot censor the searing, violent, desideratum swooping over you ((nor can you pause the absurd laugh that gushes out of your heart at his display of exorbitant chivalry)).

“i can walk,” you say as he wades through water that’s now folding over his skin, lapping up his electrolytes.

“yes, dearest, but you can’t swim, can you?” he likes to respond with questions, but this one’s an answer. Ben’s clutching you so tightly that you can’t see his face but you feel the contentment in his tone—it dashes into you like the rain currently encompassing the Earth, hesitant with the effort of exertion, with the weight of metal souls. “I’m just preemptively forbidding a disaster, darling.” there’s a tenderness bridging Ben’s raw power and mischievousness — the network protrudes — extracorporeal ((does he know?))

He cherishes the rain, Ben tells you later, when existence reduces to you and him and incandescent petrichor and the pasticcio of kisses, heartbeats, palms on skin.

___

Ben is not carefree, but he is not serious. it is like he has learned that he can take up space ((empirical)). there is less constriction, tension, stenosis in his body ((the filigree is stretching his limbs)). movements are not languid but nor are they demonstrations of correctness. not slouching — just not strictly upright.

your hair gets tangled, like his sheets, like his legs in yours, and you tell him you want to cut it. An auburn eyebrow lifts archly, and he runs a finger down the length of your arm, tracing the veins ((your life)). “how will I teach you how to swim if you chop off your legs, darling?” Ben’s voice is charcoal. gray, yellow red orange burning, glowing at the edges. He draws up blueprints for cities in your open palm.

You make a quip about the ship of state and he snorts. When he shakes his head, his other hand — the one not serving as an architect on your body — shags through his hair, tanned skin meeting with copper effervescence in a ragged tryst. “i like its hows” he murmurs against your lips and you cannot protest, not when his caustic tongue ices, soothes, pacifies your conflagration.

The two of you are at the pool, again. He’s on his break. The air’s circulation is viscous, shoving over your skins. It straps you in — like the fanny pack around his waist. Ben’s donned his lifeguard pack for work, swapping out his array of gauche accessories for the traditional red and white accoutrement now fastened at his hips.

the most important things in his life, Ben thinks as he inhales the light spice of a Malboro, start with “l”. learning, lady, library, liberty, lake, logos, love. he doesn’t know from where last word originates; he must learn ((connaître ou savoir?)). in his experience, there’s no such thing as luck. He feels like a character in one of those war movies filmed right before he was born, smoking lucky strikes in a foxhole and just trying to stay alive, goddamnit, just trying to get through the war.

The two of you are always watching each each other. The obtuse phenomenology plays out like a courtly masquerade. veritas, quid est veritas, for here both object and deception are degrees of truth. He smirks around the cigarette and you blush but your eyes hold his and you catch his approval and stuff it inside your heart.

Ben takes your hand and places it on his thigh as you speak. the two of you are straddling a lacquered yellow beach chair, offensive in its self-confidence. he leans forward and touches his forehead to yours. he likes to take initiative — he is making use of his knowledge, he told you once, mumbled and sleepy, when you had whispered the question against his shoulder late one night.

Ben brings himself nearer to you. sweat — splashes — dangling exertions — smoke — sunscreen. it all plays about your lips and in your blood and in his hands that keep yours pressed against his flesh. someone yells at him to get his ass back to work and Ben rolls his eyes.

“duty calls.” his actions, the chair: they embolden you to dip your voice, your thoughts, mayhap you actions to a lower register.

He ducks his head to peer at your face, like that first time when you were falling over ((but nothing is like the first time)). as he passes the remainder of the cigarette to you, the words he speak sound like him, carry his weight, refracted starlight from coal. “we all have a duty. even you.” Ben doesn’t need to say his duties; they are his life, his schedule, the notebooks in haphazard stacks under the bed, his tin cups of pens. you wonder if you are part of his list ((if the cables have let you traverse the journey from his heart to his head)).

when you tell him that he is diamond but you a like one of those new gems they make in labs — what are they called — moissanite, he shakes his head. “you are not so scientific, darling.” fingers squeeze yours. “you are burning skies and delimitations and biting stars — the most natural things that exist.”

((you are not sure if you believe him, because nothing is like the first time)).

#obi-wan x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi-wan imagine #usernobie #fic: breathless #afogocado #i had so much fun writing this #am v emo for ben kenobi #can he pls kiss me in the rain #(that's all i want)#is this an idfic?#idec #cris writes

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