#I keep having dumbass thoughts like 'i have white fabric and black fabric and a short white wig and a short black wig and eyepatch. sif?' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ryverbind · 2 years ago

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Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Prologue

"Move, move, move!"

I left the awful, deteriorating city of Nockfell when I was ten years old. It was worth it-- I've always said that. I had nothing in that town; the population went down each day and hell, it was starting to look like I'd die there too.

I had to leave all of my friends behind, but at least we kept in touch. I only had three friends, anyway. Being able to keep those three around meant more to me than the fear of moving to a bigger city. Nothing was scary as long as I had my few friends.

"I'm trying! This guy in front of me is being stupid!"

Moving didn't mean much at the time, but it did leave me very lonely. Both of my parents were and still are workaholics, so I grew up pretty alone. Well, I did until mom and dad got divorced.

I think mom was the driving force behind dad's need to work so much. She was a drama queen.

Dad and I live in the heart of Los Angeles now. We moved here from San Diego just last year. He has his normal job that makes enough-- otherwise we wouldn't be in such a big city-- but making enough isn't always... enough over here.

"Go around him maybe!?"

But I've learned to work around that. Dad has, too. I have a mediocre job at a diner to pay for expenses and to help with some at-home things.

After all, life in one of America's most famous-- and most expensive-- city's won't pay for itself.

"Shut up, Ash! Fuck, why won't this person just move!?"

Though, I wish there was something I could do to make more money. Something to give me more freedom instead of being cramped in dad and I's little apartment. Something easier than breaking my back for pissy customers that won't even tip.

Honestly, I want something easier for me and dad.

And still, I find myself sitting in front of the TV in my living room-- mint chocolate chip ice cream in my hand as I watch my childhood friend fuck shit up on her most recent Youtube video.

The best part about this small, suffocating apartment is that it's on one of the highest floors. Sure, I have quite the elevator ride to take when I come home and sometimes I'm late to work because I miscalculate the time it'll take me to get down to the bottom floor-- but it's so worth it.

Our balcony doors are cracked open, the curtains pulled away to show the busy streets of Los Angeles below. The city is a beauty, that's for sure. The sun and headlights are always reflecting off of the tall, glass buildings which make for quite the light show-- and I have free tickets.

Early morning light filters into my dim living room. A stray golden ray forms a rift in the drab darkness of the rest of the room, illuminating a stripe across the back of the couch, across my legs, and then all the way to the other end of the room. I take note of dust that seems to float on the small stream of light as I redirect my focus from the Youtube video that's currently playing.

This apartment can only get so dark. When I say dim, it's still pretty bright. Our apartment is like any modern apartment-- it's new and filled with neutral colors, making it seem bright and inviting. Our walls are an eggshell white color. Our furniture is a mix of beige and black fabric, never leather because dad hates the feeling of it. And any wooden furniture is black, as well as our carpet.

It's simple, modern, sleek. It's everything a Los Angeles resident could want.

Right?

"Dammit, Sally! You cost us that entire game!"

My best friend's shrill scream pulls my attention back to the television. I see her face in the bottom left corner, her brows furrowed and mouth wide open in a mixture of shock and anger. Her cheeks turn a rosy shade as she begins scolding the guy in the mask at the top right of the screen.

They're playing Call of Duty.

"All you had to do was move around the glitched dumbass, are you kidding me?" Ash bellows. "How long have you been playing this game? I thought you were the pro. Give me my fucking crown."

Sally Face, the guy in the mask, or as he calls it, a prosthetic, snorts into the microphone. His head bobs with laughter, showing that he finds Ash's anger quite amusing. "Ash, if I could have moved around the guy, I would have. I was glitched, too." He pushes a veiny hand through his pretty hair. "I will never revoke my crown."

Sally Face is confusing in my brain. He has unnatural, bright cerulean hair. It's fluffy and full of layers, creating a pretty interesting texture to accompany the fringe that always hangs over his prosthetic.

His style is a contrast to his blue hair— dark, mainly all black clothing. He's always wearing either a plethora of different necklaces or just one that no one has ever seen before. He has chipped, black nail polish— no matter how many times he streams, it's always the same. I've never seen a fresh coat on his nails.

My favorite, and undoubtedly the most distracting, part about him happens to be the rings and bracelets he wears. He has plenty, much like his necklaces. Most times, Sally Face is wearing the same wrap-around snake ring with a black finish and a silver one with unique carvings and a garnet gem. He has a ton of cute fan-made bracelets that say different things, like "Cogito Ergo Sum" and "SF."

And he has this accent, a very attractive one. It's not too strong and I can't put my finger on what kind of accent it is, but I find myself holding onto his every word. There's just something about the way he articulates certain sounds.

Not like I'd admit it, but sometimes I rewind a YouTube video just to hear the way he says "water" or "coffee" again.

Is that down bad-ish of me?

Larry catches my attention, effectively dragging me back to earth from my simping thoughts. His face is in the top left corner of the screen; he pinches his lips together and shakes his head. "Will you two stop bickering? It's just a game," he says, shifting in his chair to get into a more comfortable position.

"Who stole Larry? Because you are not him," Todd's voice cuts in just as Larry finishes speaking. His face is in the bottom right corner. "You're supposed to be the shit-starter, not the shit-stopper," Todd continues, chuckling.

Larry snorts. "Maybe I'm just feeling different today. Ever thought of that, Todd? Huh?"

"You guys are insufferable," Ash scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. She leans back in her chair, showing off her headset. It's super cute with little cat ears that change colors. "I'm taking away friend rights. I'm all for y/n now."

I perk up at the mention of my name. She never talks about me online-- not that I blame her. We agreed to pretty much keep our friendship private.

"Awe, come on, Ash," Larry whines, pouting at the camera. "We have to share y/n, and besides, we love you. You have to take care of us, mom," he jokes.

"Y/n is mine, thank you very much," Ash chirps, smiling wickedly. "And, for your information, I am not your mother so I can very easily dip out of your life."

"Fuck, it's like my dad all over again," Larry says. Everyone is silent, suddenly afraid to say a word as Larry's dad is a sore subject. But Larry starts giggling at his own joke.

"Stop making fun of such a serious situation, Larry," Todd says, holding back little giggles. "I'll go to hell if I laugh. Don't do this to me."

"Ash practically set up the entire joke, Larry just took advantage of the opportunity," Sally Face says, a pretty chuckle leaving his mouth. "But anyway, who's y/n?"

"Oh, shit." Ash slaps a hand over her mouth. "I completely forgot that I mentioned her. I was hoping I'd keep her a secret forever."

I tilt my head, my eyes narrowing as I watch the screen. All four of their characters are idle in the game lobby as they chat with each other.

Shoving a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, I start to wonder if Ash, Larry, and Todd just... never bothered to mention me to Sally.

As far as I know, Sally Face moved to Nockfell long after I left. He became friends with my friends but I never met him. I never spoke to him. I had heard of him, but I just never bothered to reach out and get to know him.

Just two years ago, at the ripe ages of 21 and 22, the four of them decided to try streaming as a way to make money since there were only so may job opportunities in Nockfell. And wouldn't you know, the group went viral almost immediately.

Larry and Todd are the clowns, Ash is the pretty one with a temper, and Sally Face is the mysterious asshole. Viewers want a face reveal from him so bad and that's exactly why he became the most popular streamer out of the four.

Larry and Todd have about two million subscribers and followers, Ash is nearing 2.5 million, and Sally is at a whopping 3.5 million. They're pretty big.

So, my favorite pass-time is getting to watch all of them play. But today's video is extra spicy.

"We were so busy gatekeeping y/n that we couldn't even tell Sally?" Todd asks, a bit confused. "You know, now that I'm thinking about it-- I really don't think we ever mentioned her."

Larry hums, looking off to the side as he thinks. He chews on his bottom lip, tapping his finger against the armrest of his chair. "I've thought it out," he mumbles after a few moments. "I have no recollection of ever mentioning y/n."

Ash laughs shortly, shaking her head with a soft smile. "Damn. I guess we did a good job at keeping her a secret then."

Sally groans, leaning closer so we can clearly see his left eye in the screen. It's the most striking blue color I think I've ever seen. "Who the fuck is y/n?" He whispers, the microphone right against his prosthetic as he says it. This makes the whisper sound like a scream and, as a result, the other three jump in surprise.

"You don't get to know y/n, she's ours," Larry jokes, sticking his tongue out to tease Sally.

"Okay, fine." Sally backs up, his pretty hands gripping onto the armrests of his chair. He's wearing a black, long-sleeved shirt and a chain around his neck. His nails are painted black and multiple rings adorn his fingers— as per usual. "But is she hot?"

I choke on my bite of ice cream, spluttering pale green all over my dad's black carpet. The thought of staining his beloved carpet doesn't even cross my mind as I stare at the screen with wide eyes, watching as Sally Face waits patiently for his friends to recover from their surprised laughter.

"What's so funny?" Sally asks calmly, electric eyes flitting back and forth across the screen.

Larry takes a deep breath, one last laugh leaving him as he places a hand on his heart. "Bro, I can't even lie. I had the biggest crush on her whenever I knew her. She left a couple years before you came along." Larry winces, like he's just remembering that his millions of viewers will be seeing this video-- including me. "Sorry if you're watching this, y/n. I promise I'm over it but anyone can see that you're adorable." He shrugs, winking at the camera.

I let out an obnoxious laugh, a smile forming on my lips as I continue watching. Larry has always been hilarious, though I never knew he had a crush on me.

Todd closes his left eye, a little quirk of his. He always does this when he's thinking. "Well," he sighs, tapping his index finger against his arm. "She's beautiful, I'll say that. But I'm gay, so like, I'm not Larry. I've never wanted to fuck her. Unlike someone, apparently."

Larry shoots forward, a serious expression on his face as he starts yelling out to defend himself. "Fuck off, Todd! I never said I wanted to fuck her, I just said I had a crush on her! She's hot!"

This has gotten a bit crazy. When I sat down to watch this video after Ash begged me to put it on earlier, I expected to giggle a bit and relax on my one off-day of the week. I didn't expect to be hearing about famous streamers, who are also my friends, wanting to dick me down.

I feel like I've just worked a double shift.

I place my melting carton of ice cream on the wooden floor at the foot of the couch, my eyes never straying from the TV screen as I watch Larry and Todd bicker.

Ash and Sally watch, seemingly just as horrified as I am.

After a couple seconds, Larry runs a hand down his face, sighing as he listens to Todd get a good laugh out of the situation.

"Okay," Sally awkwardly drags out the word. "So we have one vote for hot, one vote for beautiful. What's your opinion of the mysterious y/n, Ash?"

Ash hums, smiling brightly. "I vote both. Y/n is the hottest and most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

Sally Face nods his head and I smile. Ash has always been so kind to me, though I think she, Larry, and Todd are hyping my looks up a bit too much. I'm not the hottest or the most beautiful.

"So the important question now, Ash, is would you fuck y/n?" Sally asks. What a dick.

I scoff at the screen, scrunching my face up. He knows that we're all close, clearly. Todd and Larry joking with each other about his crush is all in good fun, but the tone in Sally's voice shows that he's trying to start shit.

Ash narrows her eyes, "Yes, actually, I would."

I pause the video, my smile so wide that it genuinely hurts. I debate calling Ash for a moment just to give her a little smooch through the phone and tell her how much I love her. But I can always call her later. There's only two minutes left of the video anyway.

Larry chortles, Todd following with a very similar sign of amusement.

Sally nods, humming again. "Okay. Two points for hot, two points for beautiful. Those ratings are pretty good."

He pauses, lifting a hand and suddenly waving them off dismissively. "But you guys have terrible taste, so I doubt she lives up to the hype you guys gave her."

What the fuck did he just say?

I shoot up into a sitting position, scooting toward the edge of the couch with my jaw dragging along the fabric. Did I hear that correctly?

Sally looks into the camera. I feel like he's staring me directly in the eye, a sarcastic and cocky look in his gaze as he says, "Sorry, Y/n Whoever-You-Are."

Come again?

—————————

A/N:::::

I don't have much planned for this book just yet, but most of you know what I'm about. Expect angst, expect comedy, and most of all, EXPECT SPICE!

THIS IS JUST A PROLOGUE TO GIVE EVERYONE A TASTE AND I WILL NOT BE UPDATING AGAIN UNTIL I AM FINISHED WITH MY OTHER BOOK!

Sorry for the caps, just wanna make it loud and out there :P

As always, I love you all so much and I'm so excited to start this new, lovely journey with you guys :3

~Ryver <3

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years ago

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twelve hours, m | jjk | ... and now

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You have twelve hours to make Jeon Jungkook fall in love with you. He's about to get married. You're the entertainment at his bachelor party - a burlesque dancer. Long ago, he used to be the class representative and you used to be the class delinquent. Nothing has changed and, yet, everything has.

this is part ii | click here for part i | total wc: 23k

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; this story contains parental child abuse and graphic violence, including the reader becoming physically scarred and having panic attacks; rich, this bachelor party is on a fuckin' YACHT, the best man is LOADED; JK and reader interacted in high school; angst and fluff and feels; cheating; this is mostly smut XD; (in part i) high school smut + intense adult smut (fem reader, striptease, semi-public sex at school, nipple play (he's a bit obsessed with them), dry humping, m-masturbation, handjob, cumming on tits (and diamonds), cum-eating, mirror kink, spitting, tit fucking, m-receiving oral, scratching / biting / marking, penetrative sex, doggy); shifts back and forth between Jungkook’s POV and your POV

non-idol!AU; film director!Jungkook x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader — ft best man, art trader!Kim Taehyung; dancer's bodyguard!Kim Namjoon and bodyguard!Kim Seokjin

> eyebrow pierced, tattooed, and long black-haired JK (with undercut) in a black suit because that's what we need in this life > look for TXT's 'you and me and the sky at 5:53' :)

time left: 06:49

No.

Don’t leave me.

It was the same then as it was now.

Jungkook reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him. Her eyes widened, pivoting quickly on her toe, snapping her heel down and cutting the turn short, black skirt flaring out. The swift glimpse of her legs in the high slit, the gentle bounce of her breasts in the slinky fabric. Her manicured hair bounced, dyed blue-black and giving her skin a surreal quality.

He held on.

Please don’t disappear.

“What?”

Her brows knitted together. She didn’t pull her arm away, but she was steadfast in her posture, not letting him push her around. Not that he ever could.

“He asked me to escort you back,” Jungkook found himself saying. “If not for your sake, then for his peace of mind. I don’t want to be a liar.”

Her features softened.

His fingers around her arm, touching that soft skin once more.

I care. I care a lot.

Jungkook realized that, in a way, he had never moved past those classrooms, those touches, those kisses, those moments.

“You can let go now.”

She said it patiently. Always patient with him despite his overzealous and sometimes clumsy antics, putting up with it even when she didn’t have to. He looked into those eyes and found those walls were falling away, little by little. Winged liner, red lipstick, it didn’t matter, it was the same expression, defiant eyes and hint of a scowl on those lips. Ready to fight, but not him.

She was always a fighter and the opponent was always life itself.

“I don’t want to let go.”

He didn’t expect himself to say the truth, but he did.

She smirked, reaching up, her fingers covering his tattoos for a moment, placing them on the back of his hand. This warmth. This feeling. It was not the same as the rest, and he knew that now.

“Hm, well, you must realize this looks a bit awkward. You wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression, would you?”

Wouldn't want someone to see you talking to me, right?

“You will let me escort you?” he insisted.

She pried his hand from her arm and lowered it, turning the other way.

“You are welcome to do as you like. I won’t stop you, golden boy.”

time left: 06:41

He followed you, surrounded by moonlight reflecting off water.

It streamed through the windows, lighting the red carpeted hall along with the dim sconces. You found yourself stepping in each lighted square, avoiding the thin dark beams of the windows, a little game for yourself, like how children avoided the cracks in the concrete sidewalks, except you were on a lavish yacht wearing Louboutins with a handsome man in step behind you.

It was quiet and yet it wasn’t. Small sounds, footsteps, distant muffles of talking through the walls, the faint sound of bass as you walked away from the party, the sound of the ocean ever present, your own breathing.

Jungkook’s breathing.

Familiar.

Once yours.

You looked to your right, to the window, seeing his reflection. His profile, hands in his pockets, tattooed arm standing out against the black background of his clothes, dressed formally but always a bit sheepish about it, as if he wasn’t sure if it looked good on him, but it always did, even the school uniform. He still had the youthfulness about him, even as a man.

Your eyes found his and he was watching your face in the glass of the window.

You stopped abruptly, pivoting on one heel to face him.

Impulse.

Your younger self would have bristled, glaring, accusing the eyes and snapping, what are you looking at?

Jungkook started, realizing you had noticed, and tripped, his black hair suddenly disturbed and tumbling over his eyes as he struggled to catch himself, hands flying out of his pockets.

You caught one, lacing your fingers with his, and gripped tightly, yanking up.

He righted himself, gasping. Looking up, bent over and long legs awkward, somewhat like a fawn trying to get on its legs for the first time. Those big brown eyes, parted pink lips. Familiar.

Your joined hands fell exactly where the window beam was, shrouded in shadow.

“Something on your mind?” you chuckled, shaking your head.

He straightened. You loosened your grip on his hand, but he held on. You frowned slightly, raising your brows.

He swallowed hard.

“Can I hold your hand? Please.”

Back then, you would hold his hand, hiding behind corners and dashing past, holding your breath, light steps, leaping from shadow to shadow, bodies close, breath mixing. Showing him all the secrets of the school that you had found while wandering, a fun little game with a reward at the end, school uniform being shed, skin to skin, his body against yours, his heartbeat in time with yours, his lips on yours.

You shrugged and turned back around, his hand tightly around yours.

time left: 06:35

Jungkook held her hand.

In an instant, he looked down, staring at their joined hands.

This was different.

And then he saw them.

Scars, all over the back of her hand. He could feel the scar tissue on her palms too, lines on her fingers even though she was holding him loosely. He had memorized every centimeter of her beautiful hands from back then, and these lines were not here before. These were not scars from living life. These had been cuts, healed now, unseen from far away and even up close. Perhaps they had been filled in with tattoo ink in a color to match her skin tone so they were less noticeable.

No one would know unless they were holding her hand or looking for it.

Without knowing it, Jungkook clutched her hand tighter, a sudden ache in his chest.

He had found bruises on her sometimes.

I fell down the stairs. It's nothing.

He had found welts.

Stupid fight with some dumbass.

He had found a criss-cross pattern of cuts on her leg.

I tried to jump over a fence and fucked up.

He glanced at her other hand loosely by her side. The same. He could even see her palm and there were many, many lines, all over her palm, healed cuts. Drugs? But he knew it wasn’t. Not because he had a romanticized idea of who she would be in his head, but because that was the nice answer.

That was the reasonable answer.

“Oh!”

“Excuse me, miss.”

His eyes flickered upward to see a young woman in a short midnight blue dress pausing, looking from her to him, cheeks flushed, not being subtle about it. The glittery fabric picked up the moonlight, accenting her curves and long legs. Pretty.

But not sensual.

Not immaculate.

Not teasing and sculptural.

The grip on his hand tightened so much that he inhaled sharply, fingers nearly crushed by her hold.

“Have a nice evening,” the woman in black purred, edge of ice indicating the stranger to move along, or, more accurately, fuck right off.

Jungkook knew he shouldn’t, and yet.

His heart skipped two beats as she dragged him along.

He had no problem looking away from the other woman and fixate on the back of that neatly pinned, blue-black hair, graceful shoulders, corseted waist, swaying hips.

And her hand in his, not letting go.

time left: 06:22

“This is it.”

You turned to see Jungkook looking around, mouth open, gawking at the entrance of the intricately carved wooden door. It was one of the grander, first-class rooms. The red doors were much farther apart and the sconces here were glided with glass-blown lampshades, casting swirls of orange across the white walls, dimmed now from the late night.

“It was nice to see you again.”

It was, even with the bitter taste in your mouth that seemed to linger.

His eyes came back to you, dark brown and clear, focused on only your face, long black strands framing his cheeks, the small mole underneath his lower lip trembling.

“I hope you have your happiness now, Jungkook.”

You did.

You felt a strange, unmovable pressure on your chest. The time wasn’t up yet. You could still try. You could keep your hold on his hand and drag him into the room and hold him close to you, skin to skin, lips on his, and show him all you’ve learned. You could. You could see it in those eyes. He would follow you now, maybe because of the alcohol, maybe for old times sake, maybe out of impulse and bad choices.

You let go.

You let go, because you didn’t want to be a bad choice.

Not to him, Jeon Jungkook.

“You were my small happiness, back then,” you said softly, feeling yourself smile.

It was better not to have regrets. At the time, even you didn’t know how important he had been. The thought of being withdrawn from that school and not being able to see him again made you fight back for once, and it ended in the very thing you didn’t want. It fucked up your hands, it fucked up your life, but somehow you found yourself here now, in expensive clothes on an expensive boat with expensive tastes, able to make a choice between selfishness or selflessness.

Maybe you hadn’t changed much after all, since you found yourself choosing the latter.

You turned away and pulled your hand out of his.

Or would have, if Jungkook hadn’t grasped your hand tighter, yanking you back and shoving you against the door of your suite. Your hand automatically raised to push him back, but he put his whole weight on your body, sandwiching you between the door and himself, making you gasp, trapped between dead timber and muscular hardness.

Now his face was in your face, breathing hard, dark brown orbs shaking and shining with wetness.

You froze, lips parting.

“You were my happiness too.”

He was panting, warm exhale on your lips.

“Not a small happiness. The happiness.”

He squeezed your hand like you were going to disappear.

“I didn’t know then, but I do now,” Jungkook shuddered, towering over you even in your heels. He stared into your eyes. “Your smile.”

You blinked slowly, confused.

“Your smile. I’ve never seen it reach your eyes.”

Heart racing, suddenly breathless.

“Except when you thought I couldn’t see, like when my back was turned or my face was turned away from you,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, long black hair curtaining your faces, sending you back to the shadows. “I saw it though, in reflections. In windows. In mirrors. In those beakers in the science room.”

Was that so? Had that been you? You made it a point not to smile back then, because there had been nothing to smile about. But maybe… maybe when eyes weren’t on you, maybe when you yourself didn’t notice, but, somehow, Jungkook had noticed.

You realized that your introspection had diverted your attention from him, so you made eye contact again, airless at his closeness. Your eyes and his, lost in sweet dreams.

“I want to kiss you.”

He tilted his head and hesitated.

“I want to kiss you all the time,” he said to your lips.

His expression was clouded with shame. It was ugly. It made his handsome features ugly and you didn’t like that. You wanted to make it go away. You closed more distance, fingers pressing down on the back of his hand, your other hand raising and resting on his hip, lashes lowering.

“Then kiss me,” you said to his lips.

time left: 06:13

Jungkook kissed her.

From then and now, it was the same.

Euphoria.

But this time, it wasn’t clumsy with colliding teeth and too much tongue that did nothing, sloppy with no purpose. This time, his lips were soft at first and so were hers, breathing in each other’s scent. She smelled warm and musky, like blackberry and evergreens, expensive and lush, but somehow still her, still that girl from back then, comforting and intense, sometimes with the hint of metallic blood, but that never bothered him. Her hand on his hip, stroking it under the layers of fabric, making him shiver, caressing the back of his hand with her fingertips, delicate sigh in his mouth.

The faintest flicker of tongue on the edge of her upper lip, swiping down into his open mouth.

He moaned, feeling the strong wet muscle thrust into his lips, coaxing his tongue, teasing, pressing her body to his, breasts against his chest, their deep open necklines exchanging heat in the air between their skin but not quite touching, and he found himself letting go of her hand, reaching up to grab her breasts.

Her fingers closed around his wrists, forcing him to stop.

He gasped in her mouth, eyes opening.

“They’re not stress balls, Jungkook,” she snickered.

He was breathing hard, ribcage shuddering, heartbeat thundering in his ears, getting louder as he realized her red lipstick was a little messed up, feeling the stickiness on his own lips.

“You need to slow down. You can’t just grope me out in the open.”

His impatience spoke for him.

“Why not?”

His voice was low, octave deepened from lust.

Her lips curved into an amused smirk. “Oh? You have changed. You used to be so worried about someone seeing us. If anything, you should be more worried now, considering your beloved.”

“She’s not my beloved.”

She was still holding his wrists, but her head tilted, watching his eyes carefully. He sucked in a shuddering breath, feeling the guilt.

“We… we thought it would be a good idea. Because our friends told us we look nice together. It would help her career. I wouldn’t have to invest too much into it.”

He felt ashamed, but he didn’t look away because he didn’t want her to think he was lying.

“I never found a smile like yours. I accepted that I never would.”

Her eyes darkened.

“It’s dangerous, Jungkook. Ill-advised.”

He smiled and he didn’t know if it reached his eyes because his vision was blurry.

But he knew it wasn’t a lie.

“You always were. I should have chased you to the ends of the earth, even if you were only a ghost.”

He lifted his hands, hers with his, and cupped her face, running his fingertips over her cheeks, smooth and soft skin, transported back to that moment in the abandoned literature club room, her face cast in an orange glow, actually swirls from glass-blown sconces, but the past and present connected, turning it into rays from the setting sun that lit up her features, and he said what he had said then, because it was the truth.

“You’re really pretty.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You are.”

He leaned forward and kissed the side of her lips gently.

She chuckled.

“You really are something, Jeon Jungkook.”

Her hands let go and she reached into the deep neckline of her dress, plucking something from the corset. His eyes widened as she pulled out the key card from between her breasts, smirk dancing on her lips. She winked at him.

“A lady has many hiding places.”

She flicked her wrist and inserted it into the door, unlocking it without looking.

The door opened and they stepped into her room.

time left: 06:02

“Hnnnnnnngh…”

“Dude can snore.”

“Help me turn him to his side. Don’t want him to vomit in his mouth and asphyxiate,” Kim Namjoon grunted, helped by Kim Seokjin, jerking Kim Taehyung’s body to the side. They backed up and Taehyung immediately flopped to his back, snoring away.

Seokjin thinned his mouth into a line. “Seriously?”

“Ah, here, let’s roll up the towels and use them to prop him up.”

“He’s not as cute as she is.”

“Well, she also doesn’t get piss drunk... ever.”

“Still a better cuddle buddy. Comes with built-in pillows.”

Namjoon blinked at Seokjin and shook his head, letting the odd comment slide. They managed to jam the bath towels next to Taehyung and force him to lay on his side, placing a pillow in his arms that he immediately hugged, squeezing it tightly. The snoring lessened as well.

“Guess we should go back,” Namjoon sighed, rubbing the back of his short hair.

Seokjin scoffed. “No, we shouldn’t. They’re probably all over each other as we speak.”

Namjoon frowned, raised an eyebrow at the other man. “Really? I don’t know. She seemed very hesitant about it. She said she didn’t love him.”

Seokjin snorted, somehow still elegant with his handsome face. “You really believe that?”

“That’s what she said.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes. “That’s what everybody says when they don’t want to admit they’re in love with someone.”

“That’s also what people say when they are, factually, not in love with someone.”

The black-haired man raised his hands and held up his index fingers, wriggling them in the air and bending them ninety-degrees, squiggling them around each other and poking the tips together repeatedly. Namjoon blinked at him.

“What are you doing?”

Seokjin rolled his eyes as if it was despairingly obvious what he was doing. “A visual representation of what they’re doing right now.”

Namjoon contorted his face in confusion, raising an eyebrow.

“… Becoming worms…?”

Seokjin groaned. “Having sex, Namjoon.”

“… How is that…?”

time left: 05:53

The door to his dreams unsealed and they tumbled inside.

The orange glow of the hallway lights spilled into the room, bleeding into the cool glow that came from the open windows, curtains pulled back to reveal the shimmering sea and bright moon, a contrast of artificial dusk and true nightfall. She pulled him in by his belt, hooking two fingers under the leather, step by sweeping step, grace that made him breathless, orange and silver and shadow, all mixing together, and then the door closed and then the sea and the moon replaced the sunset dreams.

It was a heavy thunk, closing with finality.

The room had many ornate mirrors in it to make the room seem bigger. The had gold vintage frames of different shapes and sizes, reflecting the contents of the room, the large bed and red silk sheets, the black leather chairs and black marble table bolted down to the floor, the matching marble vanity laid out with several black leather cosmetic bags, all zipped up neatly. The had small details on them – red zippers, silver locks, the designer logo engraved into the leather. The suitcases leaning against the wall matched the cosmetic bags, three of them, one larger than the first two.

Jungkook breathed her name, raising his hand, fingers spread.

Her fingertips touched his, halting him.

“Let me do it.”

He spied his expression in one of the mirrors.

The silver moonlight lit up his face and his eyes, reflecting the lust and trust in them.

He looked back to her and nodded.

“Okay.”

Glamour. Fantasy. Descent.

That was the only way he could describe the way she moved, glamour in the way her hand slowly retreated from his, a steady wave and sweep, clearly deliberate. Even in smeared lipstick, the small smirk was present on those lips, stepping around him with a swing of her hips and gentle clicks of her black patent leather heels, the slinky fabric flowing with her actions and also clinging to her body at the same time, using the arc of her stride to spread open the high slit. Letting him watch. He almost turned to follow but she placed a few fingers on his arm, purring softly.

“Don’t move.”

Fantasy, the way she slipped behind him like a shadow, and then Jungkook had to look up into the mirrors, catching glimpses of her behind him. There was no music, but she moved as if there was. If anything, the sound of the waves seemed to form its own music, and he was suddenly more aware of it, the splashes against the hull of the boat mixing with the bass of his heartbeat and the wispiness of her breath, stepping up behind him, body heat making him gasp, looking into a mirror to his left, a window illuminating his right, her hands slipping between the space of his ribs and upper arms, fingers spread like wings, warm exhale on his neck.

No words.

Just a simple kiss to the base of his head and her lips murmuring his name on his skin.

Descent.

One by one, teasing the buttons apart, her fingers ghosting the exposed skin, his heart racing as he watched those hands, peeling apart the button placket, unwrapping him like a decadent sweet. He watched his own expression framed by long curls of black, his teeth sinking into his lower lip, small mole below quivering, seeing more and more of his chest being exposed, somewhat self-conscious, but there was something spellbinding about only being able to see her hands and forearms, pointed black nails decorated with crystals that caught the light, undoing all the buttons until she reached his pants.

“I can–”

“Shh. Don’t let your impatience prevent you from enjoying your own striptease.”

His cheeks heated a little and he lowered his hands, breath hiking as she firmly gripped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it out. Jungkook took a step back, his back hitting her chest, and gasped again, feeling the softness, but she adjusted her position so her body wasn’t touching his anymore, chiding him playfully.

“Never had someone take off your clothes, Jungkook?” she chuckled against his neck, making his hairs stand on end.

“Ah, well…”

He watched those deft fingers undo the last two buttons. Then they spread apart his black shirt, reaching in, fingertips spreading out over his abs and pecs, tracing the contours of his muscles, switching between her nails and the pads of her fingertips, prickling and dainty. He couldn’t sure her face, but he saw his, and only now registered his own moans, so absorbed by her sensual movement and her touch that he didn’t even realize the embarrassing sounds falling from his lips.

“Not… since you…”

She snickered. “Seriously? What fool wouldn’t want to tear the clothes off this lovely body?”

He could feel and see his flush in the mirror. He looked away quickly, down to her hands exploring his body. “Well, I just… figured it’s easier if I do it. No one has ever been like you.”

“Hmm.”

His hands raised. He traced her knuckles, causing her to pause, caressing small circles on his sternum.

“You want to tear the clothes off my body?” he breathed, not daring to see his own reflection and know his reaction to whatever her answer was.

“I do.”

He placed his left hand on hers, heart beating faster and faster.

“Not tonight though.”

He pulled her palm away from his racing heart, not wanting her to know her effect on him, letting it linger beside his ribcage.

“Tonight, I will show you all I’ve learned, because I was always a better student than you, class representative.”

He found himself laughing a little, suddenly sheepish. “Yeah. Your name was always in the top five percent. I was pretty bad at school. I don’t know why everyone voted for–oooh…”

Her fingers touched his nipples, rubbing delicately, sending strange shivers all over him, shallowing his breath, making him look up and see his dark nipples being teased by expert hands. Her nails nicked them lightly and he whined in his throat, feeling them harden against her fingertips, surprised at the arousal from the simple touch, something he never paid attention to or cared about. His hair was covering part of his face.

Jungkook reached up and pushed his hair back, pressing his chest into those hands.

Saw one of her eyes behind his head, sharp and sultry with winged liner, twinkling as she watched him.

“I voted for you because I thought it would be funny since you weren’t even trying.”

He didn’t really have a response for that, too busy looking at his own face and body, shivering as she tweaked his nipples and pushed them in slow circles, his arms descending to lower the shadows, letting them suspend by his sides.

She shifted beside him and half of her lips appeared, on the toes of her heels, whispering close to his ear, seductive and dark.

“You were good-looking then, and you’re even more handsome now, Jungkook.”

The sound of the ocean, the silver moonlight shining off her blue-black hair giving her skin a surreal quality, almost doll-like, the mirror reflecting his expression, desire and anticipation.

She removed her hands and grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking it down.

He inhaled sharply and her face disappeared.

Dress shirt stripped from his body and flung away, the crisp black fabric flaring out, a shadow cast aside.

Jungkook spun around.

Does this man know the meaning of calm the fuck down?

You rolled your eyes inwardly as you witnessed Jungkook turn around, facing you again even though you told him not to the move. He had always been like this, overzealous, but he didn’t seem as clumsy as before, although…

He grabbed your tits.

Hah.

He blinked rapidly, surprised. “Huh?”

You shook your head and knocked his hands away, sighing. “Pasties, Jungkook. To cover my nipples.”

You reached into your dress and scooped your breasts out, trapping them between the v-neckline. His eyes bulged slightly when he saw the smooth black satin circles flush to the apex of your breasts. They fit perfectly, seamless so they were unseen even under the slinky fabric of the black gown.

“W-Whoa…”

“What? I’m a burlesque dancer. Of course, I have fancy nipple covers. This is basic wardrobe.”

He tilted his head. “I’ve never seen any like these. They look like they’re part of your body.”

You tutted. “Obviously, they aren’t. You know I have nipples.”

And you reached up and peeled them off, flinging them aside carelessly.

Jungkook gasped, staring at your nipples with wide eyes.

“Don’t act like you haven’t seen nipples,” you scowled. “You better not be a virgin with how hot you’ve become.”

His hands shot up and you grabbed his wrists again, forcing them back down.

Jungkook whined, eyes shifting back up to you, begging to touch them.

You stiffened slightly. What kind of reaction was that?

“They’re so big,” he whispered huskily, visibly shuddering, shaking with the craving to touch them. “I remember they were soft. And…” His breathing hitched, trembling in your hands. “I remember they tasted so good. Amazing. No one has ever tasted as good as you.”

His eyes flickered back down, biting his lip. He tried to break free, but you held. A single glance exchanged and you let go, realizing he was going to do something other than attack them. Instead, he collected the straps of your dress and pulled them back up, slowly, moaning as the slinky black fabric skimmed over your breasts, your prominent nipples sticking out, hardening from the light friction.

“Fuck, that’s so fucking sexy.”

Well, maybe he did have some appreciation for the visual after all.

“You see why I need the pasties.”

He pulled the straps up, whimpering as he watched your nipples strain against your dress, lifting your breasts in the confines of the fabric and lowering them, lifting, lowering, repeating the gesture.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Jungkook… are you bouncing my tits on purpose?”

His dark brown orbs darted to you. Guilty.

“Um… y-you won’t let me touch them…”

You weren’t sure whether to sigh or to laugh. You just shook your head, backing up out of his grasp. His hands were still outstretched, lips forming a small pout. You almost regretted it, but his expression quickly changed as you casually flicked down the straps, freeing your breasts again, dropping his hands and linking them together under his waist, waiting, now invested in what you had in store.

Oh.

He chewed on his lip and gave you an expectant look.

A flutter in your chest.

The side of your lips curved upward, tongue sliding out to graze the edge of your upper lip before disappearing.

You reached back, leisurely undoing the fastenings of the corset, sweeping your legs so the high slit flared apart, turning around, letting him witness the slow undress. Every action was deliberate, the wide arc of your leg moving the skirt aside to prevent you from tripping as you turned without using your hands, the wide stance of your feet to relieve pressure on your heels and to prevent the dress from sliding down too soon, and even the position of your fingers, poised so you could run a nail down your spine as two of them pinched the hook-and-eye and separated them, traveling down to the top of your ass. Every movement was thought out, details that made up the bigger picture, constructing your ultimate goal.

A sensual striptease.

You caught his reaction in a mirror to your right.

His sparkling brown eyes were wide, jaw dropped.

A lot of people had seen you take off your clothes, but no one made you feel as satisfied as Jeon Jungkook, then in his school uniform and now shirtless in his slacks, hands twisting in front of his crotch.

Then you saw your face.

You were smiling.

You really did smile when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Another glimpse at his face and you found him staring at you, silver moonlight glinting off his eyebrow piercing and flooding into his eyes, bringing out the stars within.

You released your hand and your dress tumbled to the ground.

He sucked in a shuddering breath, your name drifting from his lips.

“H… Holy shit…”

You did have an amazing waist-to-ass ratio.

Proper corset training and specific hit workouts to perfect your craft contributed. You couldn’t simply be pretty. You had to be strong and flexible to do the stunts and to walk in your red bottoms for the entire performance. Christian Louboutin didn’t make his shoes to be comfy. He made heels to make feet look enticing and sexy.

The price to pay for glamour and vanity.

It did give you some powerful calves though.

You lifted one shoe, flashing that blazingly red sole of your heel, balancing on one leg for a second.

This was to prevent you from getting tangled on your now fallen dress. You tightened your core, shifting your weight, knowing it would give Jungkook an irresistible view of your plump derriere in your high French-cut black satin panties, the particular style adding illusion to the already stark proportion.

In short, your ass looked fucking fabulous.

You stepped out of your dress, one leg, then the other, taking care not to step on it, adding a little flourish of your hands to create those body lines, ever the performer. You glanced at the mirror and was pleased to find Jungkook hadn’t moved, although his hands were now firmly open, palms down on his crotch, whimpering in his throat.

“Soon,” you promised, and you would keep it.

He nodded, swallowing hard.

You turned your fingers inward, hooking each index finger on the sides of your panties, rocking your hips slowly, lowering your lashes, following the beat of the sea, tugging down the right side a few centimeters and then the left, listening to his breathing and controlling yours. You bent over slowly at the hips, sticking your ass out, listening to his low moan as your glistening slit was revealed, sliding your undergarments down your thighs and calves, placing them carefully onto the floor.

You gradually straightened, breathing out, keeping it as one smooth motion.

You stepped out of your panties.

Now you were clad in only your black patent Louboutins and black diamond choker.

This time, you found your reflection in the mirror to delicately correct your smeared red lipstick with your fingertips. Good enough. You nodded at your reflection. The corners of your mouth curved upwards.

You turned to face him, showing Jungkook your smile.

This smile was real.

The smile she only showed when she was with him. He didn’t know if that was a valid thought or not, but he liked to think so. Besides, no smile meant as much as this one. That he was sure of, because he had been chasing this smile for all these years before finally accepting that he would never find another one like it. It was too precious to belong to anyone else.

His smile.

If his dick wasn’t trying to rip open his pants, Jungkook might have cried seeing it for the first time.

He couldn’t speak, too afraid he was going to lose it right then and there.

She walked towards him.

No, walk wasn’t the correct word. Strode, strut, glided, fuck, he didn’t know, she just moved as fluidly as a shadow and water combined, silver moonlight glistening off her skin and her diamonds, and he knew he would never love the mere act of walking more than when he watched her move.

She stilled.

He stopped breathing.

Her foot raised, toes tracing the inside of the heel, raising the pointed toe, balancing it on the stiletto, and she flicked it backward, causing it to tumble and somersault backward, falling to its side.

Fuck.

She thought of everything.

She balanced on tiptoe and did the same to the other shoe, discarding it with a swift tick.

He made a less-than-elegant noise of her name mixed with a needy whine.

“P… Please…”

Jungkook was quite sure he was a hair’s breath away from ripping off his pants to get some relief.

She finally made her way to stand in front of him. Smile so close now, emphasized by painted lips.

Her hands closed over his, peeling them away from his crotch, holding them loosely. She leaned forward, placing a delicate kiss on his lips. Deep, meaningful, nothing flashy. Drew back, still smiling.

This smile.

He wanted to protect it forever.

“I should have told you that I love you, but I didn’t know it then,” he whispered.

She chuckled.

“I know now.”

She was lowering herself as he spoke, tilting her head at him, inviting him to continue. Getting to her knees, positioning her feet right under her ass, neat and orderly. His hands dropped, leaving hers on his belt, undoing the buckle, her gaze still on him. Looking up at him with amusement, diamonds glittering on her throat, perky tits and nipples, thighs on display, kneeling in front of his crotch.

“I love you.”

Jungkook meant it, every syllable.

He never meant it more in her life.

“I know.”

What?

She casually undid his belt and slid the closure open, unzipping his slacks.

“Wait… what?” he sputtered, blinking rapidly.

“I know you love me,” she repeated calmly.

Jungkook had time for a single blink before his pants were yanked down to his knees. He started, almost falling over, but her hands came up behind his legs and gripped them, keeping him upright.

“Careful,” she purred, stroking the backs of his thighs.

He jerked his head down, hardly able to breathe, shock blossoming as she leaned forward, hot breath warming his black boxer briefs. Eyes on his face, pink tongue extending.

“O-Oh, fuuuck…”

She planted her tongue over his hardness and soaked it with saliva, wetting the fabric and tracing the outline, molding his underwear to his length, sending him into gasping shivers, heat from her tongue and then her lips closing, blowing a cool stream over it, hot and cold, sensation and deprivation, too much and not enough, placing kisses all over and he flinched with every one, savoring the feeling, the touch that was familiar and unfamiliar, everything he wanted.

“W-Wait… that’s dirty…”

“Not as dirty as the things I want to do to you.”

Not as dirty as the things I want to do to you.

Pants racking his torso, looking down, and it was the same but different, her lips kissing up his abs, his chest, back to his face, holding him to her, lipstick smeared and now on his skin. Open mouth to elegantly parted lips, gasping as she collected her breasts and pressed her nipples to his chest, squashing the softness to his pecs.

“Spit on my cleavage,” she breathed.

“W-What?”

She raised an eyebrow, knowing that he heard her perfectly well, squeezing her breasts together and rubbing them on his chest, sending the electric sensation of her large nipples dragging across his heartbeat, rolling her shoulders to the beat of the sea, bathed in silver moonlight.

“Spit on my tits, Jungkook.”

“I… c-couldn’t… do that to you…” he moaned, pitch hiking with pleasure.

She didn’t chide him to cover his mouth this time, instead smirking wider, licking her teeth. “Sure, you can. Do it, golden boy. Spit on me.”

She hooked a leg over his hip and grinded her crotch to his wet one, causing him to whine, knowing his cock was so close to her pussy but not yet skin to skin, the soaked fabric barrier driving him insane, his hands coming up to grip her waist and press her down on him, staring into her eyes, inhale shaky and erratic.

She smiled, teasing, sculptural, his.

“You trust me?”

Jungkook was drunk on something he didn’t understand and it was love.

“Yeah…”

He leaned forward, capturing her lips, an intense, burning kiss. She smiled into his kiss, and he knew she was aware of his nervousness, but she remained patient as she always was, pressing back daintily, taking his breath away. He broke apart, trembling.

She nodded, telling him it was okay.

He collected saliva at the tip of his tongue and looked down, spitting into her cleavage.

It shot out of his mouth, splattering over the swell of her breasts and onto his own chest. His ears burned, self-conscious at the dirty act, but she moaned deliciously, backing up, his saliva dripping down and stuck to the inside curve of her breasts. He had a moment to appreciate the image, the most beautiful woman in the world with her diamond choker and his spit on her tits glistening in the moonlight reflected by the sea.

“Wow.”

That was all he could say as the image burned into his memory.

She smirked, falling to her knees, tugging his black boxer briefs down his thighs, his stiff cock popping out, bobbing in the air at the suddenness of its release, and then trapped once more, except this time not in drenched fabric but in her soft, saliva-covered breasts – or his saliva, depending on how he thought about it – but he couldn’t think about it, abrupt pleasure shooting up his spine, throwing his head back in a moan, eyes darting everywhere, surrounded by mirrors, reflections of his face, his long black hair a wild mess, his facial features consumed by wanton lust, his throbbing cock jammed between her breasts and her body sliding up and down, her large nipples rubbing against his crotch and thighs, oh, fuck, the sensation insane, soft and rough and wet, her perfectly pinned hair leaving only the curls at the ends bouncing from her effort.

She spit down his length, adding to the lubrication and her name burst out of his mouth in an erratic groan.

“F-Fuck…!”

She pushed his cock up, almost uncomfortable, but then her mouth closed around the tip, tongue swirling, and he was lost again, ecstasy as she switched to blowing him, pressing her breasts to his thighs, smearing the saliva on them too, covering his cock in red lipstick, soaking every centimeter with saliva, running her tongue over the veins and the head, his hands clenching into fists, close, so close, and then she popped her mouth off, leaving him near tears and in whines.

“P-Please, let me cum, please…”

“I want you to cum on my necklace,” she panted, planting his cock in her cleavage again, lacing her fingers over it, pressing the head down into the slick skin, shock of her words and the escalating pleasure, his chin lowering and staring down at glittering black diamonds and the engorged tip of his length popping in and out of her breasts.

“You want me to… cum on your necklace…?” he echoed hollowly, in utter disbelief.

“Fuck yes, I do,” she grinned, tip of her tongue flickering at the edge of her lips. “Cum on my diamonds, Jungkook.”

Well, fuck.

This was the worst surreal and hottest moment of his life.

He clenched his jaw and thrust his hips into her chest, adding to the stimulation, chasing it, seeing her grin grow, devilish and devious, squeezing him tighter, faster, faster, faster, his hands and his body shaking, gripped by pleasure and her hold, panting her name over and over, his prayer, his drug, his lifeline, trying to hold out, the line inside him pulled taut, thinner and thinner, snapping.

“F-Fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

His hips jolted and he forced them upward, her head tipping back as the thick red tip popped out, twitching and splattering thick streams of white, painting the black diamonds with his white orgasm, clinging to the jewels and her collarbones, dripping down, covering her with his strong and masculine scent. She lifted her body, trapping his jolting cock in her breasts, and he moaned helplessly, rutting against her skin, sparks of pleasure shooting through his veins, uncontrollable flinching and shuddering as more dribbled out, milked out by the tightness.

“Oooooooh, f-fuck… fuck, I’m s-so sorry…” he gasped out, wincing at the mess he made.

“Ah, shut up, Jungkook.”

In awe, he watched her back up slightly, strings of his orgasm all over her breasts, chest, and diamonds.

She smiled and dipped her fingers in it, coating them with his cum and bringing them to her smeared red lips, licking them off one by one, pink tongue slipping between her elegant digits, moaning as she drank up his taste.

Eyes on his, drunk on him.

time left: --:--

Kim Namjoon leaned against Kim Seokjin’s shoulder, listening to the other man’s deep breathing.

They were sitting on the plush green couch in Kim Taehyung’s room.

The night was quiet, nothing but the sound of the waves coming through the open window, a light breeze as Namjoon watched the moon reflect off the ocean. Seokjin had already fallen asleep, head resting against the back of the sofa, tired from the day’s events and needing the rest. Namjoon felt the drowsiness beginning to weigh on him too, using Seokjin’s wide shoulder as his headrest. He had opened the window to prevent the room from getting too stuffy.

It would have been more comfortable to be in that giant bed with the one he was paid to protect, but he hoped she was in good hands now.

He smiled to himself, watching the silver moonlight dance off the choppy waters.

His mind went back to those moments, moments when he had to hold her shoulders and remind her of who and where she was, moments when he sat and waited as she clenched her teeth and a skilled medical tattoo artist filled in those white scars all over her hands, moments of when she finally sat him and Seokjin down and told them why she sometimes woke up at night, screaming and crying, yelling the names of past demons.

She had told them she was sorry, sorry for being weak, sorry for not taking responsibility.

Seokjin had scoffed, smacking her lightly on the head. “Are you an idiot? You have been through enough. Stop it with that nonsense. It’s part of our job, so let us do our job.”

After that, Namjoon would make it a point to check up on her at night, reaching over to soothe her brow as she slept, relaxing her face with gentle touches. He wanted to be there in case she woke up from a nightmare, and it became a habit, until Seokjin too elbowed himself in the bed, muttering that she always got the best digs anyway, so why shouldn’t he? He was handsome enough, after all.

They only accompanied her to events or appearances.

It bothered Namjoon to think that sometimes she was alone in her own home, waking up screaming and crying, and that he couldn’t be there.

He wondered what would come of this.

Jeon Jungkook.

Did he know that if he broke her heart that two ‘big-scary-dudes-with-massive-shoulders’ were going to find his ass and rearrange it?

Hm.

Namjoon closed his eyes, letting the night take him under its wing.

time left: error

The black diamond choker was on the vanity, covered in Jungkook’s cum.

Both of your clothes were on the floor, shoes, pants, dress, undergarments, strewn all over, a mess, along with a now cold, wet, white bath towel that smelled like semen and saliva. It had what was left of your red lipstick on it.

One of the designer cosmetic bags was open.

There were condoms scattered on the bed now, thrown over the red silk sheets.

Jungkook was holding your hands, palms up, tenderly kissing them.

It felt strange, his soft lips on your scars.

Most people didn’t realize it. It wasn’t something they looked for or thought to think twice about, because to them, your hands had always been like that. It would be rude to comment or mention it even if they had noticed.

But Jungkook had known your hands before they became like this.

“It’s why I stopped going to school.”

He kissed the pads of your fingertips, looking at you with those dark brown orbs.

“Did something bad happen?”

You smiled, somewhere between sad and apologetic.

“I wanted to make sure that I could still see you, but unfortunately I ended up doing the exact opposite.”

He squeezed your hands tightly, giving you his own smile. “Still, you came back to me.”

You chuckled ruefully. “Not with the best intentions.”

The silver moonlight highlighted all your favorite features, the cupid’s bow of his lips, the tiny mole underneath, the wrinkle of his nose with his smile, the stars in his eyes.

“You’ve always been dangerous and ill-advised for me, but I always liked that about you.”

You arched a brow. “Hm, you were a shitty class representative, huh?”

Jungkook shrugged. “You weren’t really a class delinquent either.”

You shook your head, pulling your hands out of his. “Look at you. What kind of class presentative gets all these tattoos?” you teased, dancing your fingers up his right forearm and elbow, tracing the outlines of the script and graphics, following the swirls of the clouds and flower petals with your nails, listening to his shallow breath at your touch. “And an eyebrow piercing? Are you trying to tell everyone you’re one of the cool kids now?”

His lips twisted into a small frown. “Am I cool?”

You shrugged. “Every time I hear about the cool kids in our grade, it’s just about how they got knocked up too early or how they dropped out of university, so you tell me.”

“I haven’t gotten knocked up.”

You gave him a look, bordering on impatience.

“Wait, I mean–”

You raised a hand and planted it on his chest, pushing him down on the bed.

“Enough. Stop talking, please.”

You crawled over his body, placing your hands by his head, looking down at him. Jungkook stared up at you, long black hair splayed over the pillows. He was definitely a man now, sharp jawline, manicured brows, slight dark circles from long nights, and, as you leaned down, expensive cologne now, still light and clean but with a twist of sharpness and sweet fruit, still with the same warmth. Your lips pressed against his jaw, leaving kisses, sinking your weight onto him, skin to skin, his gasps under you, and now it seemed like you were back in that time, his teenage self and your teenage self, the same eagerness as his arms surrounded you, running his hands down your back, but now he added his nails, making you hum in approval. He did it more, scratching his nails over your spine as you kissed his jaw, his throat, his ear, jingling his earrings with your tongue, whispering against his skin.

“No one has ever been what you are to me.”

You didn’t bother using past tense, because it wasn’t.

You sat down on his thigh, his semi-hard cock twitching against your skin, turned on by your kisses and your tongue toying with his ear.

“You weren’t even very good, you know. You were kinda shit. Too impatient.”

He shuddered, tensing his forearms against your sides.

“I’m b-better now…” he whimpered, turning into a moan as you bit his ear and rubbed your wetness on his thigh, painting it with your juices. You kept it slow, leisurely, with even pressure.

“Still…”

You lifted your head, bringing your fingers inward, slipping them into his hair, pushing it back, caressing his temple with your thumbs.

“I have loved you all this time, Jungkook, even back then when I didn’t know what love was, when I was only chasing a feeling that was different from all the others.”

His eyes widened, stunned by your words.

“Ah, nevertheless, I came back too late.”

“No.”

His hands on your back, holding you tightly to him.

“I want to kiss you all the time,” he whispered, words from long ago, bringing them back. “And I will.”

He raised his forehead and touched yours.

“I know it’s not fair, I know it’s bad, I know it’s terrible, but I’ll be fucked up if you can’t be right here, with me.”

His lips to yours, small kisses and closed eyes, hiding his tears behind his lashes.

“You are the happiness, and if you continue to love me, I will never let you go.”

That’s what Jungkook said, but the sentiment was slightly interrupted by his cock being so hard that it was actually raising your thigh up into the air.

You smiled against his lips, chuckling.

“I guess I’ll bring a towel when you get her cocktail splashed into your face.”

“Maybe two. She has a lot of internet friends.”

“Hm.”

You lifted your head, smirking.

“Well, I can’t say it would be the first relationship I’ve ruined, although those were far more indirect.”

Jungkook tried to make the moment romantic, but her naked body was on top of him with her wet pussy rubbing on his thigh and his dick was coming back to life right in the middle of his speech.

Still, he couldn’t really complain, because at the moment he was ripping open a condom, on his knees between her legs, rolling it down, eyes roaming over her body lines, poised and elegant and sexy, her hair flared out on the pillows, still neatly pinned up, some kind of sorcery, but that didn’t surprise Jungkook, for she had always had her spell on him and he was better for it.

“You want missionary?” she teased.

He bit his lip, nodding.

“I want to watch your face.”

Her tongue flickered out on the edge of her upper lip, accenting the high point of her smirk.

“Good, then I can watch yours.”

He positioned himself in front of her, pausing for a second, unsure now, but she simply grinned and reached between her legs, one hand on his length and the other on his hip, digging her nails into his ass and shoving him inside her.

“Oh, fuck!”

She seemed highly amused, but he was gone, sudden tightness and wetness enveloping him, pitching forward and catching himself on his palms, sinking into red silk, the intensity bursting from his core and washing over him, shuddering and gasping as she gripped his ass with both hands and sank him down into her pussy, down, down, drowning in the feeling, diving into the depths of pleasure, fuck, he felt it everywhere, her walls clenching and wrapped around his length, the sensitive head rubbing against the ridges, and the emotions that rushed through him as he looked into her eyes, a little humiliated that it affected him so much, a little shocked at how good it felt even with the condom, and a lot of lust and trust and love, all rolling into one, and she purred his name, smooth and silky and gentle, and he couldn’t help himself, slowly rolling his hips and smacking down hard, burying himself to the base, eyelids fluttering, feeling it radiate over his body.

“Too... hard?” he choked out, trying to be considerate, desperate not to fuck up.

She shook her head, snickering.

“Not even close.”

“How can I–?”

But she didn’t let him finish, tapping the mandala flower tattoo on his right elbow and he raised his arms, at loss for words and breath when she raised her legs to his shoulders and tugged his forearms back down, his hands landing on the bed once more.

Oh no.

This was tighter.

“Fuck me, Jungkook, and make it rough.”

I can’t talk or I will blow my load in two seconds.

He nodded, tensing his jaw, and smacked his crotch down, her thighs smacking against his chest.

Oh, fuck me.

He wished he could sound less desperate and less ruined, but he simply didn’t have the capacity for that any longer, tumbling into a series of wild moans as he built up the pace, wave after wave of pleasure crashing into him, too much sensation, soft thighs, wet tightness squeezing his throbbing length, her hands on his upper arms, holding on tightly, his name falling from her mouth along with her erotic exhale. He loved every sound she made, every single one, her moan, her hiss, her growl, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, that’s it, give it to me, Jungkook, loved the way she looked at him, a mixture of bliss and slyness, loved the sound their bodies made, a harsh rhythmic smack, louder and louder, messing up the sheets, her head tipping back, eyes closing, fuck, yes, gonna cum if you keep going like that, so he did, hard, firm, powerful slaps of skin-to-skin, feeling so good but holding himself back, biting his lip hard and moaning in his throat, not willing to orgasm until he made her do so, at least twice.

Jungkook was being ridiculous, he knew, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he lost it too soon during his first time inside her.

“Mmm, fuck, Jungkook, fuck!”

A sharp throb and then a cascading effect, brutal massages of his length, and he didn’t even realize it, pausing for a second from the strength of her orgasm, his cock clenched all over and squeezed, shocking pleasure that made his eyes roll back, struggling with every fiber of his being to not explode, edging himself by ceasing his thrust, and then he drew back and rammed back into her, clawing up the sheets to press her further down into the bed, nearly bending her in half, but she didn’t seem to mind, gripping his arms and raising her hips to meet him, deeper now, the head being constricted even tighter by this changed angle, him sucking in a deep inhale, smelling blackberry, evergreen, and sex, the sweet smell of her pussy, reminding him of sitting on the bus on his way home and catching that scent on his hands and clothes, not regretting it, loving her mark on him.

It was better now.

Better because he was actually in her pussy.

And better because her teeth caught the side of her lower lip, a second of lost control, lashes lowering, moan in her mouth, his name, his name, his name leaking from her lips.

“Oh, Jungkook…”

He would never tire of it.

Never.

It burst again, a lewd squelch, and the insides of his thighs were soaked with viscous honey, clinging to his balls, violent throbs around his jerking length and Jungkook was gone, gone, everything accumulating at the peak and shattering down, his deep moan flooding the room, shooting his orgasm into the condom as his quivering cock was clenched all around, unbearable euphoria that he welcomed, letting it consume every nerve and vibrate through him, a feeling he never wanted to end.

He let it swallow him, her ocean, her moonlight, her night, and he promised himself that he would never leave.

All in all, Jeon Jungkook hadn’t changed much. That was alright. It was clear that you both had unfinished business in the past that was being hashed out right now.

Through sex, because how else?

He was behind you, both of you kneeling on the bed, his breath on your skin, murmuring your name, wonderment and desire, leaving a trail of kisses on your shoulders and neck.

“You can bite me, you know.”

He nipped at your skin experimentally. You pinched his finger on your upper arm, the little sheepish emoji on his middle right. He squeaked and bit harder. You hummed approvingly, lowering your hand.

“You’re turning me into a crazy person,” Jungkook mumbled to the curve of your neck.

“You were already a crazy person. You just pretend you’re not.”

“That’s not true…”

You gently peeled his right hand from your arm and yanked him forward. He inhaled sharply, hard chest hitting your back as you tugged his arm forward, curving it around you.

“What non-crazy person blacks out the inner part of their elbow and tattoos the bone on the outer part as well?” you accused, rubbing his muscular forearm against your nipples, smirking at his moan, his shiver traveling through your back and to the sparks of pleasure radiating from your breasts at the lovely friction.

“Um…”

That was as far as he gave you as an answer because he had no good answers.

“Mhm.”

His hand curved around your left breast and he ran his fingers over it, tugging at your nipple. You leaned into his touch, sighing softly. Well, maybe you had been a bit harsh. He had changed. Less clumsy now, attaining his own irresistible sensuality that he probably wasn’t even aware of, considering the wavering in his tone.

“You’ve probably had better than me, huh…”

“You would be surprised at the complete inadequacy of the human race when it comes to sex, Jungkook. Most people don’t give two shits about listening to their partner’s wants.”

He pinched your nipple and you moaned, rubbing your ass against his crotch.

“You always do everything I want and even things I didn’t even know I wanted,” he mumbled.

His cock was getting the hint with every rock of your hips, rousing at the soft friction. You listened to his rapid breathing, amused, the amusement turning into fond irritation as you felt his free hand slide between your bodies, tucking his hardening length between your ass cheeks, now slowly and non-discreetly humping you.

Well.

Can’t say you were surprised.

“You’re not that hard to read, Jungkook.”

He was leaking all over the top of your ass, ramming the head into your tailbone, now both hands on your chest, forgetting to answer, too absorbed in touching you, tugging at your nipples in time with his rocking hips, lips back to your neck, biting down and sucking hard, leaving marks. There was power in his hold, passion and desperation, a needy whine vibrating in his throat, faster, harder, pinching your nipples and rubbing the tips, pulling slightly, pleasure from his lips and his hands, your own reaching back and clawing at the small of his back, leaving scratches, yes, please, harder, mark me, make me yours, and you chuckled at his declaration, you were always mine, Jungkook, and he moaned your name in affirmation, licking up your neck, hot shaking breath ghosting your ear.

“Wanna fuck you from behind.”

You sunk your nails into his skin and brought your fingers outward, flicking your wrists to leave sharp lines of lust, his moan in your wake.

“Do it,” you drawled, voice saturated with need.

He pushed you down and your caught yourself with your hands, clutching fistfuls of red silk. You heard the rip of another condom and his groan as he encased his aching length, one hand on your ass, and you spread your legs, his knees fitting between them, the head grazing your wet opening and he slid in with a shudder, filling you up and stretching you out, a little pain that dissipated as he squeezed your ass with two hands, sighing with satisfaction with you.

“I know I said I want to kiss you all the time, and I do,” he panted, stalling.

You smiled, turning your head to look over your shoulder. Jungkook looked back at you and he reached forward, driving deeper into you, making you mewl for him. He plucked the pins from your hair, one by one, undoing the perfection, tossing them aside as he spoke, shrouding your shoulders and face with cool-toned black, surreal and glamorous.

“But I think I’ve decided I also want to fuck you all the time.”

You smirked. “You don’t take much convincing, I must say.”

He eased the last pin from your hair and flicked it aside.

You heard it fall to the floor.

That one wouldn’t be found in the morning.

He grinned. “Maybe I already knew you would be amazing.”

Instead of replying, you leaned forward and then smacked your ass back into his crotch.

Jungkook reeled, hand flying back to your hip, grabbing it tightly as you roughly pushed back into him, his natural response being to thrust forward, compounding the pleasure for you and for him, looking forward again and tipping your head back, letting go, moaning for him, his hardness twitching with your sound, loud and getting louder, bodies tangled, bed creaking, clutching your ass for dear life. You lifted one hand and brought beside your hip and Jungkook gripped your forearm, your body naturally dropping lower, deepening each thrust, and that was it, the uncontrollable need resonating in his deep voice, forcefully pounding you into the mattress, thighs, crotch, balls slapping into your lower half, carnal and wild and visceral, his name and your name mixing together, filling the room with the sight, sound, and smell of sex, so strong, fuck, he was so fucking strong, and so were you, a shock every time your bodies connected, until you were wailing with the ferocity of orgasm, squirming and clutching his forearm as he held yours, clenching around his length, but this time he didn’t stop, fucking you through it, gasping for air.

“Oh fuck, yes, fuck, do it again, cum for me again, fuck, feels so fucking good, feels like you’re choking my cock…”

And he brought it out of you again, your right hand punched into the sheets, your left in his hold, moaning for him, Jungkook, fuck, Jungkook, for him then, him now, him forever, ecstasy and elation, hitting a high you thought didn’t even exist, lust and trust and love, raising your torso and slamming your palm onto the headboard, rattling the whole damn bed.

“Fuck!”

Slamming back onto his cock and squeezing hard, Jungkook gasping at the suddenness of the harsh throbs around his length, jolting inside you and spilling another into the condom, your head whipping to the side, spotting a mirror and there he was, head thrown back, long black hair touching his shoulders, open mouth, eyes rolled back, chest shuddering, your name a shaky moan, holding you tight, his right arm travelling, wrapping around you and lifting you up, and then it was you in the mirror, your body against his, skin to skin, his dark brown orbs shifting down, feeling your eyes on him, and then he was watching your reflections, seeing your joined bodies, panting in unison, both sweaty and spent.

You smiled at him, lit up by moonlight and mirrors.

He smiled back.

And then his hand was on your chin and he turned your head to face him, tilting his head and kissing your smile, seeing it not its reflection but the real thing, no longer only when you thought he wasn’t looking.

time left: 00:00

“Oi.”

Jungkook didn’t recognize that voice at all. He concluded must still be dreaming.

A finger podded his temple.

“Oi!”

He started, but the arms encircling him pinned him in place, not letting him and his naked body leave the bed. Softness pressed against his back, bare nipples rubbing against his skin. He froze.

His dick was rock-hard.

A black-haired man in a black suit with a disturbingly handsome face was glaring at him.

“You animals made a fucking mess.”

“Go away, Seokjin.”

Jungkook squeaked, unable to talk because one of the hands holding him was dancing downwards under the covers, wrapping around his impossibly stiff length. He prayed it wouldn’t start moving up and down, but it did. Slowly. Not enough, but still too much, because he didn’t really want to get jacked off first thing in the morning while someone was very clearly assessing whether or not to cause extreme bodily harm to him.

Well, he did want to get jacked off first thing in the morning.

It was the bodily harm he was less enthused about.

The man named Seokjin squinted at him and it took every fiber of Jungkook’s being to not make a goddamn peep as her fingers ghosted the head, smearing slick pre-cum over the slit.

“I want to take a shower.”

“Then go take a shower. I left towels for you,” she mumbled behind Jungkook’s back.

“Namjoon’s in the shower right now.”

“Then order us some breakfast.”

“I sent Taehyung to do that. Also, it’s noon.”

“Couldn’t you order room service?”

Seokjin shrugged and Jungkook realized his shoulders were huge. “He said he had a friend who worked in the kitchen and was going to reserve us a table.”

She raised her head, resting her chin on Jungkook’s right shoulder and pulsing his cock with her right hand under the sheets. “Taehyung has a lot of friends, doesn’t he?”

Seokjin looked at Jungkook pointedly.

“Er… yeah. T-Tons…”

Those brown eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Jungkook suspiciously. “He seems like a dork.”

“I like dorks. That’s why I keep you around.”

Seokjin stuck his tongue out childishly and yelled at the top of his lungs. “Namjoon!”

“I’m done!”

“Finally,” Seokjin grumbled, walking off and yanking the bathroom door open, barging in unceremoniously.

“Gah!”

“Gah!!!”

“Oh, fuck, please, d-don’t…”

“It’ll only take me a second.”

You dove under the covers and Jungkook clapped his hands over his mouth, your grip on his twitching length moving fast and tight, rubbing your tongue on the hot head, and you were right, it only took a few seconds, and then Jungkook was hissing through his fingers, now, fuck, now, and your mouth swallowed his cock, not a moment too soon as thick spurts of his orgasm shot into your throat, coating the back of your tongue, savoring his smell and his thighs under your breasts, rubbing your nipples on the muscle.

“N-No, stop, stop,” Jungkook whimpered desperately, grabbing you by the shoulders and yanking you up, your head popping out, smirk on your lips.

You opened your mouth and showed him your tongue covered in his cum.

“Shit, you’re going to be the death of me…”

He hurriedly nudged your chin and you closed it, grinning.

Dangerous.

Ill-advised.

Jungkook grinned back at you helplessly, holding your smiling face in his hands.

---

some time later

“I have two towels.”

“She didn’t throw her drink at me.”

“Damn. I even seduced the bartender a little bit to get those plush cotton ones.”

“She asked if she could keep the ring so she could sell it and give the money to her secret, less good-looking boyfriend so he could buy her a new ring.”

“Oh. Wait, what?”

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his head. “I said sure, because it wasn’t like the love of my life couldn’t afford her own diamonds.”

“Ah, true, true.”

“I might be slandered for a little while on the internet.”

“Nah, you won’t. Maybe for like, six hours. Then everyone’s attention span will be somewhere else. Also, your taste upgraded in their eyes, from social media influencer to burlesque dancer.”

You grinned, raising your hands to create a finger frame of your index fingers and thumbs, enclosing the handsome face of Jeon Jungkook, long black hair, silver brow piercing, dark sculpted eyebrows, big brown eyes, defined jawline, shapely pink lips, mole of his nose and cheek, and finally that perfect mole underneath his lower lip, appearing as he smiled at you, confused at what you were doing.

“Even though we all know you’re just a hopeless sucker for the class delinquent. Tsk tsk.”

His grin grew mischievous, walking over to you as you lowered your hands.

“Well, I was a shit class representative anyway.”

He leaned down to kiss you, smile to smile.

Twelve hours.

Sunset to night.

fin.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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writefandoms · 4 years ago

Text

The Outfit

Levi x Female!Reader

Summary: You buy Levi a new outfit to wear during sexy times🥴 (NSFW, blowjobs)

Word Count: 2.1k

“What was that?”

The short captain scowled at your cocky expression, embarrassment mixing with anger in eyes.

“You heard me, dumbass.” Not being able to hold eye contact, his steel orbs wander to the wall beside him.

Being on Levi’s squad had a lot of advantages, it was well known that the Great Captain Levi chose only the best of the best for his team. So many cadets and new recruits looked up to you because of your skills. On top of that you were one of the only women on his squad, besides Petra. You couldn't help but feel pride when young girls would say you were their inspiration.

But that’s besides the point, your skill was enough to catch the might Captain’s eye. And after late nights of drinking and occasionally crying, you built a good relationship with the shorty. A relationship that turned into something less pure.

Now, the usually stoic and cold captain, is standing before you looking like a nervous teenager confessing his love to his crush.

“Sorry couldn’t hear you, Captain. Could you repeat that please?” The glint in your eyes didn’t match your innocent tone.

As much as he scoffs and glares, Levi loves this part of you. He sucked his teeth before staring straight at you, “I’ll wear the stupid dress.”

You knew what he was going to say, but making him say it himself only added to the satisfaction of cracking his armor.

“Oh? Why did you change your mind?” He obviously didn’t like the teasing because he swiftly turned around and stomped away, you could hear him muttering under his breath.

“I’ll see you later, Captain,” You call out to his fleeting form.

The clock ticked loudly throughout your empty room. Time always moved so slowly when you had to wait. Sitting in a sofa chair besides your bed, your boot taps against the wood floor. He was a clean freak, so he was definitely showering or something after such a long day.

It wasn’t much longer until you heard three light taps on your door, making you shake with anticipation.

Taking a deep breath you called for them to enter, trying to hide your excitement but probably failing horribly.

Your beloved Captain walks in, shutting the door behind him. “Let’s get this over with.”

Smirking at his poor attempt at seeming bored you retort, “As I recall, you’re the one who said they wanted to do this.” Leaning back in your chair you cross your legs, “If you don’t want this then leave, you know I would never force you into anything you don’t want.”

Levi knew what you were doing, while you loved riling him up, consent was key in any healthy relationship. Ticking filled the room once again as Levi stayed glued to his spot by the door.

“Good. Lock the door.” A small clicking of the door locking followed quickly. He remained at the door awaiting further instruction.

“Back of the bottom drawer.” You pointed towards your dresser, watching as his small form moved swiftly across your room.

He crouched and opened the drawer, “Do you just throw your clothes in here?” he complains.

“Just keep looking.” You roll your eyes as he grumbles as he probably fights the urge to re-fold all your clothes.

You knew he found what he was looking for when he went completely silent. Standing up once again, this time with a black and white clump of fabric in his hand. He pinches a shoulder in each hand and lets the ruffled dress unravel.

He scans the outfit for a moment. It’s adorable in your opinion, him and the maid outfit. You were shopping with your squad mates when you saw the dress.

A black dress with a white trim that connects with a short black skirt, a white apron tied around the waist, and a pair of thigh high white socks. There were cute little black bows on the sleeves.

You couldn’t stop the dirty thoughts from attacking your brain and crotch, imagining Levi wearing such a sexy outfit. Not wanting to chance someone else taking it, you purchased it right then, jokingly bringing it up to Levi a couple days ago. But it seems that seed only grew in the Captain's dirty mind.

“You like it?” Now standing behind him peering over his shoulder, worrying that he might not like the style.

“It’s not wrinkled like all your other clothes.” That’s a yes, you grin.

Pressing your chest against his back, your arms wrap around his waist. “You’re gonna look so perfect.” He shutters as you kiss a trail down his neck.

“Now go get dressed.” Pulling away he looks at you with a dazed look on his face, only nodding and walking to your personal bathroom.

Once the door fully shut you let out a small squeal of joy, unable to contain yourself any longer. Nothing is more attractive than a man who isn’t consumed by his own pride. Of course a man can be masculine, live your life however you want, but when it becomes the end all be all then it’s an issue.

Being comfortable with your body is an attractive quality, one that Levi most certainly doesn’t lack. This fact is only solidified when he exits the bathroom, maid outfit wrapped snugly around his form.

His normally small waist was more apparent with the apron tied around him, his hips appeared larger due to the flare of the black skirt. Underneath the skirt revealed his smooth pale thighs. That soft skin on both sides of your head, gently squeezing you as you worked him to the edge with your mouth. That’s a feeling you're all too familiar with.

Unfortunately, the remainder of his legs are covered by a thin white material. Disappointment quickly fades as you take in the white stockings on his slender legs, somehow the extra piece of cloth made the outfit feel more lewd.

“My eyes are up here,” he snaps at you as your eyes begin to linger to unholy places, “Stop looking at me like I’m a piece of meat.”

“Aw, but you look so beautiful it’s hard not to stare.” His cheeks turn pink at your compliment, but doesn’t respond.

“I gave you a compliment,” you place a finger under his chin tilting his head back, giving him a faux look of sadness. “So what do you say?”

His eyes widen at the authoritative tone in your voice, legs unconsciously squeezing together. “T-thank you…”

Hearing Levi stutter is a rarity that blesses you more than anyone in the Survey Corps. He is clearly struggling to maintain his composure.

You’ve only touched his chin and he’s already turning red and pulling his skirt to hide his growing bulge.

“Of course,” pulling your hand away, you swear he chases after your touch before controlling himself and remaining still. “Now I have a few ideas about how we can spend the night.” You sit back on your sofa chair, motioning for him to approach you.

He takes a few steps until his legs are touching yours. Spreading your legs, pulling him closer, his knees bump into the front of your chair. Hands gripping his elbows slowly sliding down to hold his hands.

Leaning forward, you rest your chin against his chest peering up at him. Due to his short stature, he’s only about a foot taller than you, when you’re sitting down. Pupils blown out, pink cheeks, and racing pulse. All telltale signs of your captains excitement.

“You’re beautiful.” Silver eyes widen a touch, clearly not expecting the praise. Quickly masking his surprise, he rolls his eyes and scoffs.

Chuckling slightly at the man's childish behavior, you release one of his hands. Fingers dancing along the front of his dress, the light touches making him press his lips together to prevent any sounds from escaping.

“So sensitive tonight, Levi.” Before he can retort, your fingers pinch his right nipple.

He arches into you, a small gasp followed by a low moan as you twist the hardening bead between your fingers.

“And so cute.”

“Shut… Aah… up.”

“Let’s take this to the bed, yeah?” He pulls away and goes to sit on your bed. You take a moment to take off your boots, knowing he’ll throw a fit if he sees you wearing shoes in bed.

Levi’s sitting at the foot of the bed, with his legs dangling over the side. Such an innocent position gives you the nastiest idea.

Rounding the bed, you sit on your knees on the ground in front of him.

“What the hell are you doing? You know how filthy that floor is?” His endless questions are silenced when you place a hand on his knee, slowly moving upwards.

“I thought I’d give you a little appetizer before we got to the main course.” Grinning widely you place your other hand on his other thigh, “Well I guess I’ll be the only one eating.”

“Such a shitty joke…” You lift up the front of his skirt, only to find he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. A very welcomed surprise.

“Boxers would have looked weird.” He’s looking off to the side, clearly sensing your next question.

For someone who seemed so against the idea, he was actually worried about ruining the aesthetic?

But you keep your teasing to yourself, not wanting to make him stomp off. You let his skirt fall back over his thighs.

Leaning forward, he shudders at the gentle trail of kisses as your lips travel up his stocking clad knees. Moving higher with each kiss, closer to the exposed skin of his thigh. Kisses turn into love bites, leaving a trail of crescent indentions and saliva along the inside of his thigh.

It only takes a few touches and his dick is already straining against the ruffled material. Instead of holding the skirt up, you opt to just throw it over your head, hiding your face from Levis' line of vision.

“Hey- Ah!” Your fingers wrap around his cock, giving it a slow jerk. Already drops of precum leak from it’s reddened tip.

“Ahh!” He moans above you, sounds slightly muffled from the layers of clothing above you.

Speeding up your jerking, you lean closer towards his dick and give it a few licks. All the way up the shaft, reveling in the slight quivers of his thighs. Parting your lips you take in the tip, giving it a light suck. Levi lets out a loud groan above you, his hand now on the top of your head.

His noises only encourage you to move your head faster, taking him deeper in your mouth. Obscene noises fill your ears and mix with his moans of pleasure.

Swirling your tongue around his tip, the salty precum hits the back of your throat the more you suck. His thighs spasm, squeezing tightly around your head. An obvious sign that he won’t last another minute.

Pulling him out of your mouth with a wet pop, you push the skirt off from over your head.

“It was so hot down there-” You cut yourself off once you caught sight of his expression.

His face was beyond hot. He looked absolutely fucked.

A thin layer of sweat covered his face, redness across his cheeks and ears, and a trail of drool trailing down his chin.

Although you just had his dick in your mouth, the look on his face is what makes you clench your thighs together. A familiar wetness building between your legs.

Standing up so quickly, you got a bit of a head rush. Levi jumps at your sudden movement, looking up at your hungry gaze. He bends his knees and pushes himself backwards up the bed. You follow after him, crawling on your knees towards him.

“I can’t wait to fucking destroy you.” You can see him visibly shiver at your dominant tone.

“Then hurry up…” He demands, a slight tremble in his voice.

Oh god. This man will be the death of me.

Pressing a palm against his chest, you push him down to lay against the pillows.

“Relax, baby.” The small resistance he meets you with melts at your words, “Let me take care of you.”

Laying flat on your stomach, you move his legs so they’re bent over your shoulders.

“Comfortable?” He shifts his hips down a bit before nodding. “Good. Remember two taps to stop.”

The heels of his feet dig into your back, pulling you closer to his torso. A silent plea to shut up and make him forget all his worries.

“Okay, okay!” So pushy, shorty.” He glares but says nothing, as you lift the front of the skirt.

“Now be a good Captain, and keep your voice down.” He grunts as you take the leaking tip into your mouth, giving a gentle suck.

Pulling away with a ‘pop’, fingers wrapping around his shaft jerking at a quick pace.

“We don’t wanna wake our comrades, do we?”

I hope this 2k word self-indulgent fanfic of Levi in a maid outfit makes up for my month absence☺️ Please tell me what y’all think❤️

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x female reader #attack on titan #levi x reader #snk levi #aot #aot imagines #snk season 4 #levi maid #levi smut #smut #nsft

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chil2de · 4 years ago

Note

How are you today? If its alright with you, can I request a Atsumu x fem reader where she has a super tomboy style and ALWAYS wears baggy clothes, but one day atsumu comes over to hang out and the only outfit she has left is kinda a tight fitting shirt and for the first time ever Atsumu realizes just how curvy his girlfriend is

sorry if thats to specific! feel free to ignorethis!

warning - miya atsumu x reader

hiii! i’m doing okay anonie, thank you and i hope u are faring well!!! so um this ended up being a LOT longer than i expected pls forgive me it was supposed to be a cute lil drabble but now its like uh 2k words aJdhfhhd, i really loved this idea!!! don’t worry ab it being too specific i actually like that and it helps give me a general idea about the req

well whilst this isn’t tooooo nsfw there are a few small themes in the beginning + swearing since i write atsumu like that and implications of sexual content ig at the end but aside from that? just some fluff for our fav king. characters are aged up and i am unsure how it would work but call it anime logic and enjoy! thanks for requesting! (okay rereading the ending is lowkey smut why am i like this)

“b-cup.” atsumu huffed with confidence. he took a large swig out of his water bottle, nodding his head wisely in affirmation.

“really? i’d say c-cup.” suna chimed in, his half-lidded gaze narrowing.

“nah, it’s b-cup”

“what the hell are you two talking about?” osamu interjected, concern and disgust thick on his features as he came over carrying a few towels.

“(y/n)’s bra size” suna nonchalantly responded, his eyes flicking up for a few seconds as he accepted the towel from osamu.

“‘tsumu i knew you were messed in the head but, suna? have you caught his germs?”

“fuck are you making it sound like i have some viral disease?”

“you don’t?” suna snorted, plopping down onto the floor to sit cross-legged.

“why don’t you just ask her?” osamu’s gaze flickered onto yours from across the court. you felt your ears burn from the way the three of them were staring at you.

was something on your face?

a bug? dirt?

“huh? like i’m supposed to say, hey baby girl, what size are your tits?”

“i’m still saying b-cup”

“c-cup”

“i think b-cup” osamu joined in, watching atsumu screw his face at him

“you goddamn hypocrite-“ “who’s being a hypocrite?” kita inquired with a half-hushed tone, making his way over with a few protein bars

“oh my god i’m going home” atsumu groaned, resting his palms on his knees as he stood up. he beelined towards you, his exhaustion painted his lazy smile beautifully. he still had the energy to turn around over his shoulder and flip his middle finger up at his team whilst his right hand snaked around to your waist.

somewhere around your waist. it took him a little bit of digging through all the fabric.

it didn’t matter to him, though. as much of a jackass as he might’ve been, he never judged you for the way you dressed. even if it meant that sometimes you looked a lil bit homeless, at the end of the day- he still had that glimmer in his eyes whenever he saw you.

you would be his favourite baby girl, no matter what.

“is that my shirt you’re wearing?” he hummed, glancing down to look at it.

it was, in fact, one of his shirts. it was matte black in colour, with a small dip that would showcase atsumu’s collar bones. it was a little bit faded from the many wash cycles it endured throughout its lifetime, but he would always notice the small tear in the bottom right section of the fabric.

“sorryyy, i know you just washed it but it smelled so nice. also, wow, did you put on deodorant? you actually smell like a man it’s kinda creepy”

“i always put on deodorant you dipshit, you’re always crying about how pretty my face looks so your nose doesn’t pick up the scent. it’s verbena citrus, buy your own because i know you’ll try stealing mine so i’m putting a padlock on that shit.” atsumu scoffed, digging his fingers into your sides to tickle you as you walked. you squirmed, swatting him away as you dug your hands into the pockets of your joggers. they were not atsumu’s, unfortunately, for you found out the hard way that you would literally have to drag the excess fabric behind you like some train dress or bundle it up and fold it, which, in retrospect- did not look too aesthetically pleasing. you settled for your own joggers and favourite high-top sneakers to match.

“you know you’ll say all this but give me your deodorant anyway, right?” you stuck your tongue out at him. he rolled his eyes, ruffling your hair.

“hey.” he called out, causing you to direct your attention towards him.

he nudged your arm with his elbow.

oh.

“give it here.”

you uncurled your left hand out of your pocket, zipping it up to make sure the contents inside didn’t spill. atsumu slid his right hand away from your waist and opened his palm up, intertwining his fingertips between yours into a tight lock. he grazed his thumb over the back of your hand, giving you a small squeeze.

“that was the cheesiest and most corniest thing you’ve done and i hated it” you made a mock gagging sound, averting your gaze.

you could feel the blush fresh on your cheeks, heart pounding in your chest like it was about to explode.

“wait, you thought i was holding your hand because we’re dating? i’m just doing it because i know your dumbass would get lost” atsumu snorted, throwing his head back in laughter.

well,

you could still see the light blush tinting his cheeks. and it wasn’t the sunset.

“mmm, should i wear this one- wait-“ you grabbed the shirt, folding it upwards as you took a small whiff. well,, you did wear it yesterday… yeah, you did put it in the laundry basket,,, no, it didn’t smell toooo bad, but..

you groaned, tossing it back into said basket as you furrowed your brows in concentration.

you heard the doorbell ring which only caused you to panic even further. you just needed a shirt. literally any shirt. you were about to cut your freaking pants out and sew them together to another pair for a shirt.

since it was a friday, you had atsumu walk you halfway home. you only lived a street away from him, and the apartment was conveniently built on a fork between the road down to his house and the supermarket. hence, he dropped you off and went to the store all by himself like a responsible adult to grab some snacks for the weekend.

“it’s open!” you called out, leaning your jaw back as you shouted in hopes for your voice to travel further.

in that moment, just in the corner of your eye- you saw a familiar flash of black.

you swooped the fabric up, quietly humming in pleasure when it smelled like laundry detergent and fabric softener.

you lifted the shirt over your head, struggling to pull it down for a few seconds.

you admired yourself briefly in the mirror.

it was a casual t-shirt. it reached down to the middle portion of your arms, though it was significantly less baggy than all of your other clothes. you liked to sleep in it during hot and stuffy summer nights, but rarely found yourself using it otherwise.

it’s not like you didn’t like these kinds of shirts.

but when given the option to look “stylish” or comfortable, who wouldn’t pick comfortable? that’s what was important to you above all. clothes that made you feel like you were constantly in bed were a godsend from the heavens.

“hey dipshit, i spent twenty minutes jumping stores for you but no one sold any (favourite drink) so i got you-“ atsumu halted in his steps, the grocery bags curled around his fists were suddenly forgotten and discarded as he caught sight of you through the doorframe.

you were clad in a pair of old white shorts and a black t-shirt, complimentary of the fact that everything else was currently in the laundry machine. atsumu could outline every single damn crevice and dip on you, and he burned that shit so deep into his retinas that he would still see it when his eyes were closed.

he felt his breath hitch, something deep inside him resonating, growing feral like hunger.

he still stood by what he said,

baggy clothes or not, you were beautiful.

but he wasn’t expecting this

“so you bought what?” you inquired, twisting your torso halfway to greet him as you finished brushing through some knots in your hair at the vanity.

“huh?”

“you said there wasn’t any (favourite drink) so you got what? did you fall and crack your head open on the way here? cause it looks like it”

you could feel your heart squeeze, body temperature increased twofold as icy hot waves wracked every inch of your skin. there was a cold sweat that rolled down the back of your knees.

“shut the hell up, i hate you” atsumu grumbled, forcing himself to turn away from you and stomp off to the kitchen with a pout.

“jesus christ give me strength i hate this woman, where the hell does she get off thinking she can get away with looking so good like that” atsumu mumbled incoherent curses underneath his breath, shakily unloading everything he bought out onto the counter and stuffing the groceries into cabinets and the fridge.

“‘samu, i hate you but dude i need twin telepathy, give me strength so i don’t deck this woman right here right now” he cursed, gritting his teeth. his self-control was about to fly out the window.

“you okay?” you popped your head through the door, leaning into the kitchen.

he could see the outline of your prominent collarbones, the way the shirt still fell a little bit and hung loosely off of your frame. he could see the start of your stomach.

god, it should’ve been illegal the way he wanted to grab your thighs. he wondered for a second what it would look like with his fingerprints etched into your skin there.

“want a few tissues and some lotion?” you snorted, nestling up beside him to help. you gazed at him, watching him keep his eyes narrowed on the packet of pistachios he was fumbling with.

you thought it was cute.

“listen- if you’re not ready yet then i’d suggest that you find something else to wear cause holy shit if you don’t get away from me right now i swear i will not restrain myself-“

“i’m ready” you hummed, giving him an innocent smile. you toyed with your hands behind your back, fiddling with them as butterflies swept your abdomen.

atsumu snorted, eyebrows creasing in confusion. he turned to face you, setting the pistachios down.

“alright i’m not saying this to boost my ego, but, what did you say?”

“i said i’m ready”

you watched his brain stir, gears ticking and turning like clockwork.

atsumu let out a low sigh.

“yeah, yeah. well, then.”

his right hand slammed against the wall, caging you in. he leaned into you, looming over you as his half-lidded eyes burned holes inside your soul. you felt the air tense and switch around him, carnal desires swirling behind his gaze. his chest was so close to yours, practically flush, save for the tiniest gap. you could literally feel his heart hammering.

he was so invasive, so close, yet so respectful. he still kept his distance, just n case you changed your mind.

“are you sure this is what you want?” his voice was hot and slick against the shell of your ear, voice husky and octaves deeper. you could feel the sexual tension dripping from him.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against him.

“i’m sure, ‘tsumu.”

a loud chuckle ripped from the depths of his chest. it was so hearty, and fuck, it made you clench.

atsumu swooped you up all in one swift motion, hands hooking underneath your thighs as he shoved you against the counter. he sent everything clattering and thudding in the process.

“don’t say i didn’t warn you, doll.”

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chaos-in-bright-pink-hair-dye · 3 years ago

Note

would you mind writing something about the venom brothers watching the sunrise together? i'm literally obsessed with this headcanon. thanks bby and good luck with the movie lol.

Mind? I would love to the headcanon is amazing!

Sunrises are all we have left

Alternatively: The rare moments when the Venom brothers don’t want to kick each other in the face

Word count: 1 067

Warning: mention of injury, implied trauma

Party Poison hadn't slept very well in the previous few weeks, the wound on their side still burning against the fabric of their t-shirt and faces of the 'joys that weren't as lucky as them haunting their dreams. Hence the quiet familiar click of Diner's backdoor closing was enough to wake them from their restless sleep ’Kobra? I heard the door, we shoul-’ they whispered reaching next to them to shake their younger brother up but found only an empty sleeping bag instead. ‘Where the fuck did you go...’ murmured Party as they slowly got up trying not to disturb Jet and Ghoul, both of them got their own good share in the last dance party with dracs and even if Party couldn’t get the so needed rest at least they should.

There was no trace of Kobra in front of the building but Party didn't hear him starting 27 so he had to be somewhere around, there was no way they could overhear the loud roar of the metal monster among silent dark dunes with no one but them around. Their bare feet burrowed into the still slightly warm sand as they made their way around the long-abandoned building that they now called their home.

Late at night like this, it seemed as if no one but ghosts lived inside, wind tugging on the foil they’d put into broken windows and the light mint paint, lovingly applied by someone long gone, now covered under layers of graffiti instead, slowly chipping off under their touch, leaving little flakes on the tips of their fingers. They hadn’t lived there for long, they hadn’t been a crew for long either, just few months before it was just them and Kobra, now? The Fabulous Killjoys, to Party it kinda sounded like a joke, when they weren’t fighting for their bare lives with piles of bodies, both white and neon, by their side, they constantly got into each other’s hair, what is so fabulous about that. But if they wanted to survive, they had to keep the façade up and in the end, those two dumbasses peacefully sleeping inside and their currently missing brother was all they had and out in the desert you have to be happy for whatever you have, so if those three are their new family, then be it.

Speaking of their missing brother they still haven’t caught a single sign of him being around but with Kobra being himself there was only one place where he could be. The roof, place where he always went to fight his demons, actually where any of them went when they wanted to be alone with their thoughts or just overwhelmed and needed a little bit of peace. It was an unspoken rule all of them respected and also used maybe a little too often.

‘Couldn’t choose a worse place to brood could ya..’ the killjoy grunted grabbing the lowest bar of the ladder leading to the roof, lowest meaning it was actually a good meter and half above the ground which wasn’t exactly fun to climb with a still fresh wound on your ribs. ‘Kobes? Ya here?’ They finally dragged themselves over the edge, laying on the harsh black asphalt for a while to catch their breath. Climbing with only one hand and holding the gash on their side with the other was way less fun than they’d thought it would be, which wasn’t much to start with.

They didn’t get an answer but they could clearly see their brother’s dark silhouette against the pink sunrise. Big old blanket tightly wrapped around his shoulders to protect him from the cold of desert night. At first glance he seemed like a statue, sitting between two letters of the big neon sign at the front, left behind by people no one remembers, only his short blond hair slightly moving in the morning breeze.

‘Ugh the fuck are ya doin’ up here?’ sighed the older killjoy stepping next to their little brother. ‘Remember how we used to watch sunrises from the balcony of our parent’s apartment?’ Kobra asked quietly without otherwise acknowledging Party’s presence, stoically looking at the clouds on the horizon painted orange and pink by the rising sun. ’Ya know I don’t...’ Party smiled softly, giving the younger ‘joy quick sad glance. ‘Mind lendin’ me some of that blanket it’s freezing out here and I’m wearing only a t-shirt and shorts’ they tried to quickly change the theme so that they wouldn’t have to think about what was on their mind since they’d gotten into the zones. Their past of which neither of them knew more that the few glimpses they caught in their dreams, but from those Party accepted it was maybe better this way.

Kobra finally looked at them, shuffling to the side and lifting the thick bright yellow fabric from their back to make room for Party. ‘Bad dreams again?’ they asked quietly, their voice a little raspy, after they sat next to Kobra pressing their knees to their chest to hide under the blanket as much as possible. ‘Yeah, ya know it, Mr. Snuggles trying to kill me again.’ Kobra laughed shaking his head ‘but seriously you should be sleeping, ya need to rest’ he wouldn’t admit it but one could clearly hear the concerns in his voice. He knew there was something wrong with Party no matter how hard they tried to hide the bags under their eyes with make-up or clean the blood stains on their clothes. His older brother was always there for him, with them he was safe, but now when Party wasn’t truly themselves Kobra wasn’t sure what to do.

‘Hmm maybe you should have been quieter ’Party tried to laugh but ended up yawning instead, making their sentence almost unintelligible ‘Oh shut up’ the younger brother smirked slightly pushing their sibling but got no response. ‘Hm finally run out of wo- Oh, I see...’ he got interrupted by Party’s head lightly falling onto his shoulder. ‘Guess I can stay here with you for a while’ he whispered, gently brushing few strands of bright red hair out of their brother’s face. ‘But if ya drool onto my t-shirt I'm gonna use your drinkin’ water to clean it’ he laughed quietly as if Party could hear him, turning his gaze back to the sunrise. Yeah, he could stay there for a while.

#shh adding paragraphs of unnecessary info which are actually one long sentence is my hidden talent #fun story I actually got my grade lowered once because apparently my sentences were too long and complicated #anyway it wouldn't be me if I didn't take very sweet suggestion and didn't turn it into something at least partially sad #with one or more killjoys wounded and mentally fucked up would it #well thanks for the awesome suggestion Dust I actually wanted to ask you if I could write something about it since it's so wholesome #so guess this actually solved more problems than one #well hope you aren't disappointed and thanks again sweetheart #party poison #kobra kid #venom brothers #ttlotfk #ttlofk #danger days #killjoys #spilling the power pup #my writing

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goldenlaquer · 4 years ago

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Hey, can I ask for some headcanons, please? For Gin, Toshi, Sougo and Kamui. About how they were in a fight, separated from their so and something happened like an exposion or whatever, anyway the main point is that they thought that their so have died but later they see her alive and relatively unharmed. So the headcanons of them when they thought they lost their so and when they see that she is ok. Sorry, this is so specific and long, I'm just a slut for some angst and I love your writings

Thank you for the support and sorry for the wait! I don’t know if I’m that much good at conveying angst but let’s bring on the feels!

Gintama Headcanons:

Hijikata Toushirou:

Hijikata stands on top of a pile of rubble, and surveys the destruction around him.

His hands don’t shake. His feet are firm against the ground. His shoulders are straight and rigid against the fleeting wind. Smoke escapes him in steady stream, and when he inhales in, the dust and fire of the air sticks to the walls of his lungs like sludge.

To the men who stop to look at their vice-commander with their ugly concerns plastered on their ugly mugs: He’s fine.

To the Gorilla who can’t stop asking him the question every ten minutes and that, he really should take a break or else at this rate, he’ll collapse: He’s fine.

To the brat who stubbornly stays by his side like spit-up gum on the sole of his shoe: He’s fine, damn it, so go do your job and leave him alone.

For once, Sougo doesn’t have anything clever to quip back at him. He doesn’t need to-- the silence between them speaks better than words. And Hijikata hates what it says, so he turns back to the grey landscape, eyes darting and sifting through the mangled and charred parts to see something, anything that is you.

Nothing.

He reaches for a cigarette, pulls it out of his pocket like second nature. The lighter is the trickier to work. The blasted thing refuses to flicker on. Oh, the cigarette falls down. Hijikata bends to pick it up. He tries again. The cigarette falls down. He stares at it. His shoe crushes it. He’s stomping down hard. Sougo is still silent, watching. Hijikata doesn’t care.

The facade of normalcy is gone. Here he is: Taking his frustrations out on a sad little cig, like it’s the cause of all his fucking problems, like it’s going to bring you back. Harsh pants come out of his mouth, and in another series, they’d sound like something akin to sobs, but his face is dry.

“Hijikata.” He ignores Sougo. The cigarette is reduced to paper and dry leaves scuffed against concrete. “Hijikata.” He doesn’t answer.

Okita, with an eye-roll, kicks Hijikata square in the back and knocks him off the pile.

Sougo, what the fuck? He. Is. Mourning. Hijikata has always known Sougo to be insensitive, but this is blatantly crossing several lines and he clearly doesn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with.

But if it’s a fight that bastard wants, Hijikata will give it to him. He leaps up from the ground, ready to hand Sougo an express ticket to hell, misty eyes narrowing in anger as he looks up

and the breath is knocked out of him in a way that years of chain-smoking had miraculously failed to do

Standing before him, white particles clinging to your clothes, hair, and eyebrows, is the damn most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. The feet move faster than he can process, and by the time his arms are around you and he’s breathing in the scent he thought he’d lost forever

“Fuck.” Because that’s the only appropriate response he can say without his voice cracking. “Don’t do that again.”

Kamui:

Loss is not a new thing. It was in the labored rise and fall of his mother’s chest, the pallidness of her white skin. The feel of his sister’s small hands, fisting in his clothes and pleadingly tugging back, her blue eyes wide and wet. It was in the looming shape of his father’s retreating back.

But there were other, worthier things to focus on. The pain in his knuckles slamming against bone and muscle. The taut stretch of his lips as he licks his wounds, tasting metal and victory. The title of ‘Universe’s Strongest’ nearly within his grasp. He didn’t have time for the weak. Didn’t have time to be weak.

Loss is not new, and yet there is something about this loss. Now, Loss is a sentient being, latching to his throat and squeezing as he grapples through the mud.

Abuto’s face is too blank and too careful. His voice is low and calm and reasoning, and he is saying things, but Kamui doesn’t listen. The words ‘she’ and ‘gone’ don’t mix, they don’t make any sense, so why should he listen? He digs and digs and digs, not hearing, he can’t, his ears and eyes are filled with the same muddy brown that must also be filling yours. Kamui works even faster, his nails splintering against the rocks embedded in the wet ground.

Hair released from its braid, trussed and caked in dirt. Pupils dilated, black swallowing blue. His face abnormally slack as he claws in frenzy, in desperation at the ground like a wild animal.

There are few things in this world Kamui can’t fight. No matter his strength, one cannot simply beat Mother Nature into submission. But there is no excuse. If he cannot save one woman from something as stupid as dirt, then what is the point? What use is his strength? He didn’t leave that tiny, rainy planet, ignoring all the things left behind with it, to become this weakling who couldn’t even manage to keep you by his side like he promised.

He’s a young brat again, helplessness coloring every pore. A damsel in distress. Someone who can’t save, but needs saving. He is no different than the baldy. Unable to keep promises. Unable to protect. Unable to do anything. Was he always this fragile? Pathetic.

Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. The word is a punishing mantra in his mind.

Something crashes into him. It’s not near enough to make him pause in his digging, but the something is tugging on his clothes. Incoherent, muffled shouting in his ears. He doesn’t pay it any mind because mud keeps slipping back in place despite all his useless strength and you’re still trapped, waiting for him--

“KAMUI!”

He blinks in surprise, snapping from the heavy cloud covering his mind. He’s flat on the ground, staring up at you. How he got there, he doesn’t know, but you are here in front of him, covered head-to-toe in mud and crying.

He is silent, watching as you blubber concerns and curses. A curious hand reaches out to your face in wonder, carefully tracing the path that a salty tear had made down your cheek. The familiarity of your soft skin warms his numb body and a small smile emerges from his lips.

As you sit on top of him, crying not because you are scared but because he’s such a stupid idiot, he realizes that that he isn’t all alone just yet, that there’s one thing that refuses to leave him.

Okita Sougo:

It’s happening again. And it honestly makes him want to laugh.

He doesn’t believe in it, karma, but when you think that you’ve gotten used to the pain of losing someone you love, his rotten, black heart has to go and get ripped out for the second time as if he forgot, as if he needed reminding that there’s no way someone like him deserves something as good as happiness. There’s no other explanation to this shit luck other than that, for the accumulation of every filthy deed he’s done with his filthy hands and every fucking sin he has committed once and twice and will most definitely commit thrice, someone has to pay for it.

And because Karma is two bitches and a half, that someone wasn’t him.

There it is. The laughter finally comes out as he looks at the torn fabric in his clenched fist. It comes out harsh and hollow and, if you listened hard enough, choked, but who’s checking? Not him. Not Mitsuba. And certainly not you.

He reported it to the vice-commander himself, voice robotic, telling how he was walking front of you when it happened, how the enemy somehow managed to predict your movements and ambushed the both of you on a bridge, how he had been unable to react in time to stop the silver flash of a knife and how the world tilted, too fast and too slow, and that there was a piece of hanging rope that he managed to snag on to with one hand and when he blindly flashed out the other to grasp at you, reaching through free air and snatching at cloth, it ripped from his fingers, and you fell to the chasm below. Deep enough, Okita said as he looked straight into Hijikata’s eyes, that death would be quick and painless.

If nothing else could go right for him, then at least for this, he hoped, even fucking prayed, that it was painless.

Hijikata doesn’t react to the report with anything unnecessary, just a stiff upper lip and an “okay” before he walks off to stand somewhere far enough, yet close enough. For all their differences, Hijikata knows. He understands losing youthful love, and that the pity that comes with it is nothing more than steaming trash. In this way and other ways that he’d sooner eat shit than to admit aloud, Okita is grateful for him.

He stops mid mirthless chuckle to shove the hand holding what’s left of you up to his eyes, slanting his head downwards so his bangs cover what he doesn’t want the world to know what he’s somehow still capable of. Hijikata is tactfully looking away. Over the distance, Kondo is bellowing orders to his men who keep a wide berth from the spot where their 1st Division Captain stands. This is the only opportunity he can afford to be an eighteen year old again. Sougo swallows thickly, feeling the roughness of fabric dampen against his eyelids.

Acutely, he hears the sound of footsteps. It is slow and steady and he thinks that they belong Kondo at first but the weight of them is too light for a gorilla. Before he can process this information further, the steps halt for several long seconds before starting again, this time faster and more urgent, lurching in his direction. Hijikata mutters an astounded “shit” but for whatever reason doesn’t move to intercept. Okita really isn’t in the mood to deal with dumbasses but the sword by his side is already unsheathed and he’s aiming his red eyes to glare at whoever the fuck--

Arms wrap around his waist. A face burrows into his chest. His knees almost give out, but his name is Okita Sougo and he has already maxed out his whiny bitch points for the next decade. Instead, he drops his sword to cup the back of your very-much-alive head, caressing the wet silk of it before threading his trembling fingers through the strands to

sharply tug you from his chest and grasp your cheeks with one hand, squeezing your expression to that of a startled fish.

“Now,” Okita murmers, the smirk on his lips at odds with how fucking great it feels to see you again. “What should I do with you?”

Sakata Gintoki:

Before they say anything, he knows.

He has seen that type of expression too many times to ever forget the set jaw, the horrible attempt at stilling a trembling bottom lip, the unshed tears of eyes that can’t seem to stop roving, unable to face the recipient of bad news for more than half a second, and the pallidness of knuckles straining against skin, holding onto their clothes like a lifeline.

He knows this expression so well he can gaze down at Shinpachi and Kagura with well-placed apathy, perfectly appearing as if his lungs aren’t threatening to collapse on itself when he notices who is not there with them, and tell them in his same old way to stop sucking on their teeth and finish what they can’t seem to get out because he has an appointment at the pachinko parlor at four and if they don’t finish up this job by three-thirty he is going to dock their nonexistent pay by 80%. It hides the rising nausea and stone weight of the stomach well.

This time, however, his casual rudeness doesn’t make them react the way he wants them to, it only makes them fold into themselves even further.

The thing is, no matter how many times you see it and know better than to entertain it, there’s always this one glimmer of hope, so ridiculously strong that you’d gladly pray to anyone and everyone, even if you don’t really believe, because if anything is possible then it better be possible that this isn’t bad news, or that even if it is bad news then the worst of the pinched expression is just a by-product of eating food gone bad or the pain of an ingrown toenail, that it isn’t about someone dying or dead.

But life rarely goes like that, and Gintoki lives in an extra-shittier life compared to most people.

When you stumble across them, hair singed and smelling of gunpowder and smoke, there is something so thick and so wrong with the air, something that makes you stop from crying out in elation at seeing the people you love most. Shinpachi is fastidiously rubbing his eyes and Kagura has her face buried against Sadaharu’s fur and Gintoki

Gintoki looks alone. And you don’t think you have ever seen him look like that, so withdrawn into himself that even if he is surrounded by people, there’s nothing that can come close to him, nothing that can ease the dull bleakness of his eyes and the defeated hunch of his shoulders. He looks like a single thread worn too thin, on the verge of snapping. He looks like nothing matters anymore. Nothing.

You dislike it. You hate it. You hate it so much, to see this man turn into something so unfamiliar and terrifying and gut out. You don’t know this Gintoki. You want the other one back, the one who wouldn’t hesitate to smear dog shit and boogers on the back of your jacket and the one who doesn’t really mind it when you take a sip of his spoiled strawberry milk.

So when you shout out loudly, so loud that vibrates the space, that you’re here and alive and that you didn’t, couldn’t die because how could such a measly explosion off you when there were idiots waiting back home for you, to see Kagura and Shinpachi fly to you, screaming and whooping as they open their arms wide for your hug, snot running down their noses, and Gintoki snap his head up, disbelieving at first, yet searching your form with a speck of hope that brings life back to his dead eyes, and when he finds whatever he was searching for, he goes to you on steady feet, folding his arms around the group, gaze still drinking your form up as he leans across Shinpachi’s and Kagura’s heads to bump his forehead against yours, his breath sighing out something like relief-- it almost makes you cry, or maybe it does because you can feel something wet trailing down your face.

Gintoki is silent for the most part, because Kagura and Shinpachi are doing most of the talking for him, but when he does speak, it is to say:

“Damn, there goes the life insurance money.”

#gintama #gintama headcanons #gintama x reader #gintama imagine #sakata gintoki #kamui yato #hijikata toushirou #okita sougo #answered ask #asks closed

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starryseung · 4 years ago

Text

han jisung + smut

☾

request; can i request jisung roommate au which they are both rival word count; 2.7k words warnings; enemies to lovers!au, roommates!au, orgasm denial, semi-public sex

Black Shirt

You drag your heavy suitcase throughout the corridors of your campus, a white sheet of paper with black scribbles made by your friend to guide you through the hostel dangling carelessly between your fingers. She had already found her room, which she shared with a guy; something absurd for your conservative mind.

No doubt, you had guy friends, but you never even thought of sharing a room with the opposite sex, let alone actually doing it. Your new hostel had such a policy though, and they justified it by saying that it would ‘help them come out of their bubble’ and all that. You were anticipated to meet your new roommate, hoping you would click with him soon.

—

Yeah no, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

Especially when your roommate was going to be Han Jisung; your rival since 8th grade. You didn’t just dislike him, no. You two loathed each other. All the synonyms of hatred combined still wouldn’t be near half of how much you despised him. And unluckily, he ended up being your roommate for the next two years.

There was no turning point in your lives where you just started hating each other. You two were overachievers. Anything one would do, the other did better. Not only did it lead to the growing feeling of distaste in you two, but it also did something good. Put you two into amazing universities in the country.

But the fact that you two ended up in the same room as well, your friends kinda knew what they were going to be facing soon.

The second you enter your room, the only thing leaves your mouth is, “What the fuck?!”

Jisung looks at you, snarling and clicking his tongue as he sees you at the doorstep with your red suitcase in hand. You knew where this was leading to, but you liked watching his face turn red in anger. You liked watching his face in general, though.

“You! You followed me here too!” he cried, pointing a finger at you as he stood up, slow steps walking towards you.

“Um, no? This shitty piece of paper brought me here? Also, why the hell would I ever follow a dickhead like you!”

“You know what? Just—”

“Hey there! What’s with all the yelling?” another voice calls from the kitchen. A taller male with blond curly hair walks up to you two, eyebrows quirked up in amusement. He eyes the two of you as he picks up his bowl of cereal, walking round the island top and leaning against it as he digs in his breakfast.

Jisung groans and storms to his room, leaving you and Chan alone.

“I’m sorry, he gets his period once in a while. Do you guys know each other..?” he laughs, swirling his spoon in the white bowl.

“Yeah, we went to the same school for a couple years and stuff—”

“Oh so you’re friends! Tha—”

“No. I hate him. He hates me. He sucks and we’ll hate each other until he dies.” you cut him off, dragging your stuff inside the living room. You hear a ‘You suck more!’ from Jisung’s room, and Chan chuckles. He helps you with your stuff and shows you your room, instructing you about the small details of the place.

—

It was time for dinner, and you heard your stomach growl. With a little help from Chan, you were able to almost set up your room by the end of the day, and now you were starving. The delicious aroma of flavor rolls by your nostrils, and you take in a long breath. You place the pile of books neatly where you wanted them, and trudged towards the kitchen, where something was cooked.

You saw Chan and another girl, mindlessly humming and wiggling their hips to some song playing softly, their backs facing you as they cooked pasta. You quietly walk forward, but somehow the girl hears your footsteps and turns around to acknowledge you.

“Hey! You must be Chan’s new roommate! Come, have a seat, dinner’s almost ready!” she squeaks happily, smiling as she returns back to cooking, the loving grin not leaving her lips.

You set up the table and sit down as the girl served the delicious food onto your plate. Chan sits next to you, and the girl sits closer to him.

“Oh, I forgot to introduce myself,” she giggles as you’re about to start eating.

“I’m—”

“Saerom! Hello~” Jisung exclaims as he trudges out of his room, making his way to the table. He glances at you and pokes his tongue out, but before you can retract, the girl, or Saerom, starts.

“So, I’m Saerom, and I’m Chan’s girlfriend! He told me about you earlier, I hope we can be good friends!” she speaks as you all start eating. You didn’t have heart eyes for Chan, but you didn’t expect him to have a girlfriend. But then on the other hand, he did have the looks and brains to have ten.

“Sure! The food’s great by the way,” you speak mouthful, devouring the best dinner you’ve had in weeks.

You and Jisung act like you don’t know each other, and you keep talking to Saerom and Chan about regular school stuff. You felt Jisung shaking his legs under the table, restraining everything in you to not yell at him to stop. Then again, he might as well be doing it to piss you off.

His leg hits yours— and to be very honest, your whole body was sore from all the work you had done today, and you were exhausted. Jisung’s kick pisses you off even more and you kick him back, trying to be as subtle as possible.

“Yah! Why’d you kick me!” he asks, eyebrows raised and fork shifting in his hands as if one wrong move and he would stab you.

“Excu— Me? Your dumbass purposely kicked me when I was clearly minding my own damn business,” you counter, pissed off at his audacity.

“I didn’t hit you, I hit the table leg!” he defends, and you scoff, amused if he was being serious or shocked if he was comparing your leg to the table’s.

“Hey hey, now, let’s have a nice dinner, yeah?” Chan muses, grinning as he sees the two of you fighting like preschoolers. You finish off your food, occasionally glaring at Jisung who does the same, and wash off your dishes.

“Thank you so much for today! The food really was delicious,” You compliment, and Saerom and Chan call out a ‘good night’ and ‘thank you!’ as you walk off to your room.

—

“Yes! Fuck yes!”

You couldn’t hold in your excitement as you jumped up and down on your bed, hands holding the paper Chan had given you. After weeks and weeks of assessments and projects, you were finally shortlisted into the University’s International Representatives team. It was a huge honor for you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling all these emotions.

Chan has to hold you by your arms and pull you down when he starts hearing the weak bed squeak under you, afraid that the furniture might break under your actions.

“I’m so happy! Oh my God this has to be the best day of my life.”

“That’s great! Now y/n please go to bed it’s pretty late and you have the interview tomorrow,” Chan sighs, looking up at the clock.

He wishes you night before signing off for the day, heading to his room retiring for the night.

—

You admire yourself, twirling around in the red pencil skirt and black dress shirt you’d worn for today’s interview. You were totally going to ace this, and nothing could stop you. You hop on into Saerom’s car as she told you she could drop you off for your big day.

You walk inside the dimly lit restaurant, a fresh smell flowing through your lungs. You feel confidence rush through you once again and you smile, walking into the hall. The receptionist asks you if you needed a reservation or if you were here on invitation.

“Yeah actually, I’m here on invitation. I’m here for the interview for the University of Seoul.” you reply, tapping your heels on the marble tiles. She kindly directs you to a table not far away, and you thank her before walking towards them.

There was a female teacher you recognized from your lectures, and the other was a random man you’d never seen before. You smile and greet them, sitting in front of them.

“Good evening, y/n! How is your day going,” your teacher smiles, shuffling through some papers. You talk about some basic daily events, possibly to get you to be comfortable with them.

“So we’re waiting for another student, so when he arrives, we’ll— here he is! Welcome,”

You turn to look at who the student was and your jaw almost drops down. It was, of course, Han Jisung. Of course, he was here too, ready to ruin this for you as well. He looks at you with a blank stare, eyes immediately dropping down to your exposed thighs. You turn back around, mentally crying at what you thought was going to happen.

“Great! So we’ll start off with the interview now. We’ve seen your reports, and we’d like to hear from you, how would you tackle situations based on international conflicts...”

—

So far you've done pretty well. You couldn’t deny, Jisung was a good speaker as well; he almost impressed you with his answers. You noticed how his eyes close up to crescents when he would smile widely, the small grin everlasting on his face. His honey skin basked under the glow of the yellow lights paired up with the soft sunset glow from outside the restaurant.

His hand rests on your right thigh and you snap out of your daze, shifting your eyes back to the teachers assessing you. All your attention which was on them snaps when you feel the hand on your thigh rise higher and higher. You feel goosebumps rise on your skin where his fingers touched.

At this point, the two older professors at the other end of the table are busy discussing something among themselves, and you can’t really excuse yourself from this mishap. Jisung’s fingers rise higher and higher, and he briefly looks at you and you slowly nod, approving his actions. He gladly moves ahead, smirking as his fingers are dangerously close to where you wanted him the most.

He feels the lacey material of your panties on his fingers and decides to tease you, running his fingers up and down the damp fabric that stuck to your folds uncomfortably. You slowly grip his wrists, signalling him to work his way quickly without the teasing.

He smirks at your eagerness, pushing your panties aside and prodding his fingers at your hole, using your slick to coat his fingers. You sigh softly, clenching your fists under the table. He pushes his index finger inside, slowly thrusting in and out of your hole. You bite your lip to hold back any sounds as his finger curls inside you. He maintains his steady pace pumping his fingers, his ring touching your walls every now and then making your toes curl.

He adds in two more fingers at once and you almost yelp, stomach churning in pleasure. Your walls clench around his fingers and he continues his sinful actions underneath the table. He places his thumb over your clit, pressing down on the nub. You feel your high approaching, legs bouncing up and down as his fingers keep thrusting your leaking hole. You’re about to let go the knot, when—

“Thank you for spending your time with us, students. We’ll talk about this in the next few days. I’ll keep contact…” and the rest of the words spoken by your professor are a haze as frustration of your lost orgasm takes over. You force a smile, bowing and thanking the older for their time. Fixing your skirt, you and Jisung walk out of the restaurant. You rush ahead of him, and he follows close by. He opens the door of a cab, motioning you to sit inside before himself plopping in, directing the driver to take you to the dorms.

The ride back is extremely quiet, and all you think of is having sex with Jisung.

—

Luckily, Chan and Saerom were out for a study date, so you had the whole room to yourselves. Just as the door clicks open, Jisung pushes you inside along with him, locking it shut before pressing you up against the door.

“Fuck y/n, you look so hot in that dress,” he moans, grinding his hips onto yours. You turn your head back, moaning at the feeling of his lips latching onto your neck, his clothed member grinding against your wet heat.

“Plea— Please Jisung, just fuck me already,”

He unbuttons your dress shirt, tossing it onto the floor before pushing his lips against yours. You moan at the plush feeling of his lips on yours, teeth biting your bottom lip. He licks your lip and pulls away, breathing heavily. There’s a tug on your wrists, followed by Jisung pulling you to your room.

You quickly skim out of your pencil skirt, watching Jisung as he unbuttons his shirt. He walks towards you and you lie down on your bed as he crawls up to you. He leans down to kiss your shoulders and you feel his hard-on on your thigh. You arch your back as he goes lower and lower on your body, kissing and nipping at your skin.

He knows Chan won’t be out for long, and so doesn’t waste too much time foreplay-ing. He pulls down your panties, harshly rubbing his fingers on your cunt. You yelp as his nimble fingers spread open your folds. All you hear in the room is his breathing and your soft noises, paired with the soft wet noises his fingers make in your cunt.

He prods his fingers at your hole, circling at your folds. You whine at his tease, bucking your hips in his grasp. He chuckles breathily before pushing two fingers in at once, curling them upwards to hit the spots that had you moaning in no time. Innumerable curses and groans leave your lips as Jisung pumps his fingers in and out of you just like he had done in the restaurant.

His silver ring touches your walls and you shiver, your action not going unnoticed. He draws his fingers from your convulsing hole, bringing down the cold ring on your clit and pressing it gently. You whine at the sweet pleasure coursing through your veins due to the stimulation, your vision turning blurry from the tears in your eyes.

He licks his lips before removing his dick out of his boxers, pumping it a few times and rolling on a condom before pushing it into you. You grip the sheets tightly as he enters inside slowly, filling your walls deliciously. He wasn’t too big, but was of perfect girth and size to satisfy you.

He is balls deep in you, and he feels his head spin as your walls squeeze around him. He places his hands on either side of your head, making eye contact with you and kissing your jaw.

You feel him slowly pulling out with a whine, before slamming in gratingly. You scream as he sets a quick pace, thrusting in and out of your tight hole. You clench around his length and you both moan at the tight feeling in your abdomen. Your head spins as you reach your high, Jisung’s pace slowing down as well. His thrusts reach deeper in you, finger drawing rough circles on your clit.

You release around him, your warm orgasm coating his dick. You both moan at the sensation, Jisung following soon after. He comes hard, filling up the plastic. He stays that way for a moment, plopping himself on you.

You hear the front door unlock, Chan’s voice booming through the halls.

“I’m home!”

Fuck. Your black shirt was still out on the floor.

—

a/n; i’m kinda pissed with how this turned out lmao jsdhjs ALSO my series is in progress! i’ll start publishing it when all my requests are done :)

taglist; @ffelixxie @cherryeol04 @stayletters @yooniversalstudios @bruh-changbin (message me if you want to be added!)

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sgtbradfords · 4 years ago

Note

“I can’t do this.” Chenford prompt. You’re writing is amazing.

It's finally here!! I've teased this fic the past few days and I'm so glad to finally share it!! Anon, I just want to thank you for this prompt. My muse was beyond thrilled and never wanted to stop :) I hope you guys love it just as much as I do. I’ve inserted a read more link due to the length of this fic.

Tim Bradford stood in the hallway of the beach house, his back pressed against the light-colored wall, the fitted dark grey tuxedo a stark contrast to the paint behind him. The black suspenders underneath the suit jacket was digging into his shoulders, the tie that rested under the collar and around his neck, feeling as though it was constricting his airway. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be anywhere but here.

He felt at his pants pocket before reaching in, glancing both ways for anyone coming as he grasped the smooth metal flask, pulling it out. He flipped the clasp, taking a long shot of the amber liquid, letting the flavors of the smoky whiskey savor his taste buds before pocketing the flask once again. He knew he should not have come, but the smile that has graced her face for the past eight months was worth every bit of heartache. He told himself he would stay for the ceremony, hide out in the back of the outdoor gathering, slipping away before any of their friends could notice.

“Hey.” Angela Lopez-Evers said, pulling him out of his thoughts as she rounded the corner from the living room.

Tim gave her a once over, “What are you wearing?”

“It’s called a dress dumbass.”

“Mommy, that’s three dollars in the swear jar.” Max said as he swung her hand back and forth.

“Thank you honey.” Angela told the four-year-old before glaring at Tim.

Tim chuckled. “Shouldn’t you be in there helping her?”

“She told us she needed a few minutes alone and, I had to run through what this little guy’s job is one more time.”

“Why do’s they call it a ring bearer if there is no bears?” asked the child.

“That’s a good question Max-a-million, Uncle Tim’s been married before, maybe he knows.” Angela smiled back at her friend who smiled at the child, crouching down next to his godson.

“Uncle Tim!” he exclaimed, his eyes growing wide. “You’re married?! Is it to Aunt Lucy?!”

Tim’s smile dropped, the comment making his heart violently lurch, the muscle feeling heavier and tighter than it had all day. “No,” he said, clearing is throat. “no buddy I was married, a long time ago.”

“To Aunt Lucy?”

“No,” he said again, looking to Angela for help. “no, her name was Isabel. Aunt Lucy is marrying Emmett. You remember him, right? He’s a firefighter.” Tim told him, fighting the scowl on his face at the man’s occupation.

“Yeah, he’s ok but Mommy said Aunt Lucy can do better than him.”

Angela’s eyes grew wide. “Max Benjamin Evers! Was that not an adult conversation?”

Max pouted, knowing he had been caught. “Yes mommy. I sorry.”

“It’s ok mi alegría, but baby sometimes adults have conversations that are made to not be repeated, ok? Now,” she said looking at the decorative clock on the wall. “we’ve got twenty minutes before we have to be down the aisle, so let’s go potty one more time and maybe Daddy has an answer for your question. Tell Uncle Tim you will see him later.”

The boy lunged at the man’s legs. “Bye’s Uncle Tim.”

Tim patted the child’s back, “Bye buddy.”

“Hey,” Angela said, looking at Tim as she grabbed her son’s hand. “go in there, she might could use a friendly face.”

Tim stared at his friend, giving a slight nod as she walked away. ‘That’s the last thing I want to do.’ He thought as his body made the choice for him, turning and moving him towards the door. He felt like he stood there for hours, the internal conflict in his head making time stand still as he rose a hand, his knuckles rapping on the wooden door.

“Come in.” he heard her soft voice say. He took a deep breath, his hand turning the knob as he slipped into the room.

“Hey boot.” He said, shutting the door as he plastered on a fake and happy smile. “You ready?”

Lucy stood in front of the floor length mirror, her hands ironing out the non-existent wrinkles. “Tim.” She breathily spoke as she looked up, turning around to face him.

Tim stopped staring at the woman in front of him, his lungs losing the air to breath as he took her in.

Her dress looked to be a perfect fit, being made of white lace, with a miniscule amount of ivory tulle underneath. The gown reaching the floor, giving way to a small train in the back. The front was a-line, with a tan silhouette in the middle, casted with small white petals, the lacy sleeves falling down her arms, reaching her wrists in a delicate design. Her hair was gathered in the back, pulled into a low bun that was accented by a comb that was made of glass pearls and metal leaves, a small ivory flower offset to the side. Her face was framed by a few strands of her gently curled brown hair. Her make-up light and natural save for the deep burgundy color staining her lips.

“How do I look?” she asked as she moved a curl behind her ear, nervously glancing at the floor.

Tim was at a loss for words, “Beautiful.” He couldn’t help but whisper in awe.

Lucy blushed as she took him in, “Thank you. You don’t look half bad yourself.”

Tim couldn’t take his eyes off her, moving closer. “You never answered my question Chen, maybe you should do a few burpees before you walk down the aisle to get your brain going.” he joked.

Lucy turned around quickly, facing the mirror once more, taking a deep and shaky breath as she stared at the floor.

“Chen?” he asked, immediately picking up on her reaction as he watched her begin to fidget with the band on her left hand. Concern filled him as his feet moved forward on their own accord, leaving a small gap behind her. “Lucy?”

“I can’t do this.” She told him as her tear-filled eyes met his in the mirror. “I thought- the past few weeks I’ve thought maybe it was just the stress of the job and planning a wedding or maybe a case of cold feet but this, this isn’t that.”

“Don’t cry.” He softly spoke, reaching for the silk pocket square in his pocket as he moved in front of her, using the cloth gently, catching the few tears that had fallen before handing the handkerchief over to her. “What do you mean you can’t do this?”

“I mean I can’t- I don’t love him Tim, not like I should. He deserves- he deserves someone that gives him butterflies when they walk into the room, he deserves someone else worth of his love.” She told him, sniffling.

“I think you’re overthinking this Chen. Emmett, I promise he loves you, how-.” Tim stopped himself, biting his tongue to keep in what he so desperately wanted to say.

“No. You don’t understand, I can’t marry him. I don’t love-”

Tim moved closer to her, gazing into her eyes. “Ok, ok. Take a deep breath.” He instructed, as she inhaled and exhaled once, twice deeply. “Good.” He whispered. “Now, what do you want to do?”

She stared back, her hands nervously wringing the silk fabric she had been given. “Were you serious?”

He arched an eyebrow, asking his former rookie to elaborate.

“When- when you offered to help me run away?”

Tim looked at her incredulously before realizing she was serious.

“You want to go?” he asked running a hand down his face as she nodded. “And you’re sure?”

“I don’t want this marriage to end up as a statistic Tim.”

“Ok.” He said, giving himself time to fine the right words. “Ok, let me go find and tell Angela and we can-” He said as he turned around, making his way to the door, his hand on the handle.

“No!” she yelled. “No, go get Emmett. He deserves to be told in person. I owe it to him to tell him face to face.”

Tim turned back around. “I’m going to ask again, are you sure?”

“Yes.” She told him soundly.

“Ok.” He whispered back, giving her one last look as he opened the door.

What felt like an eternity to Lucy was five minutes, a knock on the door interrupting her thoughts as she stood in front of the bay window that looked out towards the Pacific Ocean. “Come in.”

Emmett stepped through the door, a nervous smile on his face as he kept a hand over his eyes. “This is supposed to be bad luck Lucy.”

Lucy smiled at him as she wiped away another stray tear that had escaped. He looked perfect, the light grey suit he wore making him look every bit of Mr. Right.

“Emmett…”

Emmett opened his eyes, hearing the tone in her voice, his nervous smile faltering. “Lucy.” He breathed her name as he took in his fiancée. “We’re not going to make it down that aisle, are we?”

Lucy shook her head as the tears welled in her eyes once again. “I’m sorry.”

Emmett nodded as he sat down, the silence of the room deafening save for the faint noise of voices coming from the garden at the side of the house where the ceremony was set to take place. “You love him,” his voice becoming a whisper as if he were revealing a secret. “don’t you.”

Fresh tears began to fall as she slid off her engagement ring, the jewelry feeling like a ton of bricks in the palm of her hand. “I wish I didn’t.”

“We can’t help who we love.” He told her as he stared at the ring, gently reaching out to take it back.

“Emmett, I love- loved you. But-“

“—not the way you love him.”

“I’m sor-“

Emmett stood, turning towards the door, his hand grasping the metal and rock so hard it began digging into his skin. “Don’t.”

Lucy nodded her head, moving to her bag in the corner. “Here, take this.” She told him, reaching the for the two slips of paper she was holding on to. “Go on our honeymoon. I can’t- I don’t-.”

Emmett took the tickets hesitantly, sliding them into his jacket pocket. “Lucy… I understand but don’t expect me to forgive.”

“I’ll send Angela to get my things tomorrow.”

Emmett nodded as he laughed sadly. “Well, we’ve got fifty-two people waiting for a ceremony outside. I guess I should let them know there’s free food in the tent.”

“Blame it on me, make sure they know it was me.” She pleaded, adjusting the bag on her shoulder.

Emmett nodded. “Goodbye Lucy. I hope he knows just what he’s missing out on.”

“Goodbye Emmett.” Lucy said softly, walking out the door.

Lucy grabbed her dress in her left hand as she ran to the door, wanting to leave quickly before word got out about the runaway bride. She opened the door, the late afternoon sun casting light onto everything it touched. She kept her sights set ahead as her eyes tried to adjust to the bright lights, running towards the driveway in front of the steps that led to the house which is where she found Tim. He stood, waiting, both of his hands in a pocket as he leaned against his truck parked in the center of the drive. Gone were his tie and jacket, the top button on his dress shirt was popped open and the aviators he wore on his nose showing everything he was seeing.

Tim moved off the metal, his hand ready to open the door of the cab as she approached. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You ready to go?” he asked as Lucy nodded in return.

Tim stared at her, the bright sunlight from the California sun beating down on the woman standing in front of him, giving her a halo, making her look even more beautiful. “Can I ask one question and I promise to never ask again? Why?”

Lucy bit her lip, taking a moment to choose her words carefully as she stared into the eyes of the knight standing in front of her, taking a deep breath. “He’s not the one I love.”

Tim’s face went from curiosity to understanding as a small smile overtook him. He helped her into the truck, closing the door, making sure all the fabric was inside the cab.

“Bradford!” Jackson West yelled from the door of the house, hurrying down the brick paver sidewalk with a large suitcase in hand. Tim turned, glancing back at the woman in his passenger seat as she gave him a shaky smile, nodding as her best friend and man-of-honor rushed towards them. “Where are you two going?”

“Where ever she wants.”

Jackson looked at Lucy as she sat in the truck, noticing a peaceful look on her face for the first time in months. He gave her a crooked grin as he extended his hand carrying the suitcase. “Just… watch her six for me, ok?”

Tim smiled at the brotherly threat, taking the large travel bag. “Always.” He said as a loud noise from the garden made its way around the front. “That’s probably her mother.” He grimaced. “I’ll deal with her, you guys get out of here.”

Tim turned back around, going around the truck to open the door behind his, throwing her bag into the backseat before quickly throwing open his own door, buckling before throwing the gear shift into drive and speeding out of the driveway.

After a few miles, of nothing but main streets, Lucy began to fumble with the radio, turning it up as a constant sound of her phone ringing began filling the cab.

“Hand it here.” He said as he extended his palm.

“What? No! What if-“

“Luce, if you don’t want to have to deal with your phone exploding with messages and missed calls, you’ll hand it here.”

Lucy grumbled, knowing he was right. Tim powered the device down, sticking it into the center console. “If they need you, they can call me.”

“What about- you know what you’re right.”

“Always am.”

“Smartass.” She mumbled as he smirked. “You wanna know a secret?”

Tim grunted, signaling his turn on the interstate.

Lucy began to gather the skirt of her dress, lifting it till mid-thigh. Tim focused on keeping his eyes on the road but failed when a flash of black lace around her left thigh caught his attention. He cleared his throat, an attempt to nonverbally ask, ‘What the hell are you doing?’

“Ha!” she said in victory, removing something from the other thigh.

Tim glanced over. “Chen- Lucy, is that a gun?”

“Yup.” She said proudly as she undone the straps of the thigh holster.

Tim laughed at her. “You we’re going to be packing heat at your own wedding?”

Lucy shrugged, releasing the clip as she pulled the slide back, the extra bullet falling into the lace of her dress. “Why not? Besides, are you carrying?” she judged, putting the clip back in before putting it into the handbag on the floor.

Tim slowed down, setting the truck on cruise control, as he kept an eye on the road ahead. He moved his right foot off the pedal and back, slightly lifting his pants leg before pulling out a small gun of his own.

“Is that a P365?” she asked with a gasp.

Tim nodded, “Bought it a few weeks ago.” He told her before he felt the gun disappear out of his hands.

“And you didn’t think to tell me!”

“I’ve only had it a few weeks and I have taken it to the range once, keep up with the class Chen.”

She let the weight of the gun settle in her hand. “I was going to buy one but you know, wedding and all that.” She told him as she handed the gun back over to Tim, who fastened it back into place. “Where are we going anyways?”

“You haven’t figured it out yet?”

Lucy snorted. “What is with all the sass today Sergeant Bradford?”

Tim smiled as he took the exit he needed. She knew what he was doing as he pulled into the parking lot, parking on the side of the building before throwing the truck into park.

“This ok?”

“It’s prefect.” She said, smiling at him.

He returned the smile before getting out of the cab, making his way back around to her side of the truck.

“M’Lady” he said offering her a hand.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Ok, something has clearly taken you hostage. Can I please have my Tim Bradford back?” She asked, placing her hand in his as she put a foot on the running board, leaning forward. Her body lunged towards Tim as her foot misjudged where it was landing, stepping on the dress causing her to slip. Tim easily caught her as she fell into his arms, “Your Tim Bradford?” He questioned, arching a brow at her before moving on. “I guess I will always just have to catch you, huh boot?” he asked before letting her go.

Lucy wanted to answer, but choose to give a secretive smile instead.

They walked into the restaurant, the few early dinner customers turning their heads in curiosity at the dressed-up couple.

“Good Evening Mr. and Mrs.?” the hostess greeted from behind the podium.

“Bradford.” Tim said quickly.

“Oh we’re not-“ Lucy began saying at the same time.

“Well, congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Bradford.” The hostess genuinely smiled, grabbing the menus. “If you both will follow me to your table, we’ll get you seated. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Lucy walked ahead as Tim placed a hand on her back, both taking in their surroundings, cataloging the patrons and exits though they have eaten at the restaurant countless times.

The hostess seated them away from the other patrons, guessing the ‘newlyweds’ would like some privacy.

Neither looked at the menu, both knowing what they were ordering before their waitress came.

“A veggie burger with fries, extra pickles. Oh! And with a strawberry milkshake please.”

“House burger, no tomato with fries and extra pickles because she always eats mine. Also give me a strawberry milkshake as well.”

They talked, Tim telling her about the drama going on outside the room and house she had been in not even an hour ago.

“So, what did they do?”

“Honestly? You’re better off not knowing.” He told her, wrinkling his nose in disgust before taking a sip of his milkshake. “Must you do the fry thing? It should be a crime.”

Lucy finished dipping her fry into her shake, popping it into her mouth. “You going to arrest me Sergeant?” she asked him, raising an eyebrow in question as Tim playfully glared. “Besides, I am missing out on my wedding cake, which seriously tasted like heaven so, I damn will do and eat as I please.” She informed him as she grabbed another fry, dipping it into the whipped cream.

Thirty minutes later, their stomachs were full, Lucy laughing as Tim threw a napkin at her.

“Excuse me.” Came a quiet voice. Both of them startling after being engrossed in one another. “I hate to intrude but my name is Judith Wilson, and I’m the owner of the restaurant, I think I’ve seen you two in here before, haven’t I?”

“Yes ma’am, Ms. Wilson. We come here quiet often.”

The older woman gave them a warm grin. “Not to be one of those old Grandma’s but my Petey has been gone a few years now, and you young man remind me so much of him.” She said, causing Tim’s skin to tinge pink. “Anyways, I wish your marriage lots of love and happiness. And babies, you’ve both got such good genes.”

Tim turned, hiding his face as Lucy took pity and spoke. “Thank you Ms. Wilson.”

“You two get on out of here, the night’s still young.” She winked. “Your bill has already been paid for.”

“Oh, there’s no need for-“

“Nonsense.” She said brushing them off. “But I do have one request before you two leave, can I get your picture? I would love to hang it over the back counter.” She gestured towards the wall covered in memories.

Tim glanced at Lucy as she smiled, “We would love that.”

A few posed pictures later, Tim and Lucy were on their way. A slow ride in rush hour getting them to Tim’s house forty-five minutes later.

Tim grabbed the travel bag of out the back as they both exited the truck, Lucy gathering the skirt in her dress, landing on both feet.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he rounded the vehicle, suitcase in one hand, his suit jacket in the other.

“I’m carrying your bag inside?” he told her as if it was the most obvious thing.

“I see that, but why?”

Tim raised an eyebrow as he looked her up and down, Lucy realizing she was still dressed to the nines. “Right. Wedding dress, homeless, kinda forgot over the past few hours.”

Tim unlocked the house, carrying her case to his spare room, setting it on the bed before turning to leave.

“Hey Tim.” She said softly. “Thanks.”

“Anytime Luce.”

Lucy furrowed her eyebrows. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

“Is it? Huh, didn’t notice.” He told her, fibbing around the edges. He knew, but he wasn’t about to tell her that, the nickname slipping off the tip of his tongue as easily as his other nickname for her does, both holding the same meaning.

She would have called him out on it had it not been for the ringing of the doorbell, a panicked expression falling on her face. “Please let that be someone we don’t know.”

Tim rolled his eyes as he left the room. “Do you think strangers stop by my house often Chen?”

Lucy stayed in the spare room, gently pulling the pins and comb out of her hair, the sound of voices she recognized coming closer.

“Hey.” Angela spoke as she stepped into the room. “Bradford said you might need some help?”

“Lopez, thank God.” Lucy said as she wrapped her friend in a hug. “I thought I would have to ask Tim.”

Angela pulled back. “I don’t think he would have minded.” She said causing the other woman to blush. “Now, turn around Chen and let’s get this off you, there’s a cranky four-year-old finally asleep in the backseat of my car.” Angela told her as she began undoing the lace buttons in the back.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done today Ang.”

“That’s what friends are for Lucy.” She assured. “But let’s talk about you for a minute.”

Lucy cringed, knowing what was coming. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, you became a runaway bride today. Though, thanks for the reception, the food was absolutely amazing. My point being, do you know what you’re doing Lucy?”

Lucy thought about lying, as she worked the dress down her body, the fabric bundling in the floor. “I love him.” She whispered the confession as she unzipped her suitcase still on the bed, digging for more comfortable clothes she hoped she would have packed for her honeymoon.

“I know and I know he feels the same way about you, but Chen, if you ever break his heart or pull a stunt like this again…”

She found an old shirt, shrugging at not remembering packing the old academy shirt as she slipped it over her head. “I won’t.”

“Good.”

Angela filled Lucy in about her mother’s antics as she slipped into a pair of leggings.

Lucy rolled her eyes as she opened the door, walking out. “I’ll send her a fruit basket.”

Lucy walked into the living room, finding Wesley and Tim standing at the door, Wesley keeping an eye on the cranked car in the drive.

“Thanks for coming by Wesley, I think I’d have been stuck all night if Angela hadn’t of come to my rescue.” Lucy told him, wrapping him in a quick hug.

“Don’t thank me.” He said as he pulled back as he nodded his head to Tim. “He’s the one that messaged Ang.”

Lucy looked at Tim, who she had noticed had at some point changed clothes as well, staring at him as he turned and walked into the kitchen.

“We better get going, Max somehow has cake icing in his hair and it needs to be washed out.”

Lucy seen them out of the house, waving goodbye as she stood on the front porch.

“Hey.” Tim said joining her, a white box in his hand. “They had to go?”

“Yeah, thank you for having them come by. The dress was starting to get itchy and I was afraid I would have to wear it the rest of the night.”

“I could have helped you out of it.” He told her, Lucy blushing at his words. “Not like that, not right now at least.”

“Thank you, but I didn’t want to bother you.”

Tim arched an eyebrow. “I brought you here didn’t I?”

“You did. What are you hiding behind your back?”

Tim moved his hand from behind his back, revealing the white box in hand, handing it over. “I had Wesley bring you something.”

Lucy looked from Tim to the box, opening the box as she gasped. “My cake!”

Tim nervously rubbed the back of his neck “You said you wanted some so I had Wesley grab a couple of slices.”

Lucy smiled, looking from the large slices of cake in her hand to the man standing in front of her as she stood on her tippy toes, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I’m tired of saying thank you today so I’m going to go get us two forks, and then, you and me are going to enjoy this cake.”

Tim reached into his back pocket, puling out two metal forks, handing one over.

“Getting ahead of yourself, weren’t you Bradford?” she asked as she sat down, sitting the box on the wooden deck. “Who said I was willing to share?“

Tim sighed as she moved, sitting on the other side of the box, leaning his back against the wall. “Lucky guess.”

That night the two sat on the deck of his house, eating her cake, the air around them turning cool as the asphalt and concrete chilled.

“You were right?”

“About?”

“The cake.”

“It’s heaven right? I’d almost say it’s better than sex.”

Tim choked on the bite in his mouth, causing Lucy to giggle. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.” He said hoarsely.

“No, I’m not.”

That day was a lot of things, for Lucy it was supposed to be the beginning of a new chapter in her life but instead it was the closing of a chapter, not a failed one but a re-written one. For Tim, the day started out as one of dread, of a lost opportunity but ended with the hope of a second chance. Things that day may have happened by the seat of their pants, but in the end, it was a brand-new beginning for the both of them.

#the rookie fic #tim bradford x lucy chen #chenford fic #chenford fanfic #chenford #fanfic

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devinescribe · 4 years ago

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Promises We Made

This is the first chapter of my Niragi book over on wattpad, so I just wanted to post it over here.

Next Chapter

Warnings: Swearing, abuse, bullying

I think that's it, but let me know. Sorry this chapter took so long my lovely readers!(again, it was over on my wattpad)

Promise 1

"Promise 1, we promise to always protect each other."

"Stop being such a bitch, and go say hi. Sorry about that, kids huh?" Your father threatened, laughing with the parents. "Oh, I know. Our little boy is so antisocial. And at 15... so disappointing!" The lady had said. Your father had invited your neighbors over, as they had just moved in. They had a boy your age, who stood straight, not looking anyone directly in the eyes. He had black hair, and black rectangle frame glasses that were seated on his nose. "Father, would it be alright if Suguru-San and I go talk outside?" You asked your father. He looked annoyed. "Don't talk to me. You're being so rude, interrupting me," he scolded. "And don't give my son such respect. He deserves none of it," the boy's father snapped. You flinched at his tone. "Ye-yes sirs. S-suguru, would you like to come outside with me?" You asked the boy. He nodded curtly, and you two walked outside.

You let out the breath you'd been holding, leaning against the wall. "I-i apologize for my mother and father... they really have no filter," he apologized, bowing towards you. "It's fine... Are you going to my school when it starts?" You asked. He nodded. "You're not to talkative are you Suguru?" You mentioned. "Not really... I've just never been forced to socialize," he said, looking out to the street. You thought for a moment, before deciding on what to do. "Want to come up to my favorite place?" You asked. He nodded slowly, not knowing where you were taking him. You told him to follow you and you led him through the back door of your house, up to the second story. "Where are you taking me?" He asked, fidgeting with his sleeves. "My favorite place. Aka, my room," you said, going down to the end of the hallway. His eyes widened, and he quickly followed, not wanting to get lost in your house. You pulled down a rope that was connected to the roof, and down came a ladder. "Isn't that the attic?" He questioned, looking up to the dark room. "Yep. It's my room," you said, starting to climb up the stairs. He followed after, looking straight instead of up. 'Don't look she's wearing a skirt, don't look she's wearing a skirt.' Ran through his head the whole time.

You flipped the switch on the wall, the room filling with warm light. You went over to what looked like a giant window, grabbing the doorknobs on either side. They opened like an accordion, the slight breeze of a summer night wafting into the room. "I've always loved that about my room... I have this balcony," you sighed, leaning your arms on the white railing. He went out there with you, and you two spend the night talking.

When school eventually started, you noticed the bullies had taken an interest in him. And the bad kind of interest. You helped as best as you could, but that made you a target as well.

"Stop squirming you little bitch," one of the guys spat, trying to hold your arms down. "Fuck you!" You shouted, kicking him in the stomach. He doubled over, and the rest of his goons tried to get you. "Get off of me damn it!" You screamed, kicking and squirming, trying to get their grip off of you. Their hands were everywhere on you, and you couldn't get out. "You're a little slut aren't you?" The guy laughed, he walked over, wiping the blood from his lip. 'Damn, I made him cough up blood? I'm badass' you thought, before getting back to the situation at hand. He got even closer, putting a hand on your throat. Your eyes widened as he began to squeeze. "L-let me go you son of a bitch," you managed to stutter out, trying to kick out. You could feel the grip on your neck get tighter. 'That's sure to leave a mark. We need to find a way to get out of this...' You tried bitting his arm, or thrashing to get away from them. Of course, there was no camera in the corner they had you in, just your luck. You could feel your skin hit the cold wall behind you, the skirt from your school uniform riding up as you thrashed and squirmed. Black spots started to enter your vision, and you shook your head. 'I will not be brought down by this motherfucker, if I-' Your thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice shouting, "Hey, let her go!" You winced, the squeezing on your throat getting painful, and your lungs were screaming for air. You felt pain, and pain only at this point. "Oi, dumbass, don't get yourself brought into this!" You tried to shout back, it coming out as more of a gasp, seeing your next door neighbor. You were trying to gasp for air, any tiny bit of oxygen would help. You would never know what happened, as your vision started to grow dark from the lack of air.

"Please wake up, please please please," he whispered to more himself than you. You were unconscious, bruises already forming on your body, especially on your neck. He wiped away the blood on his lip, wincing a bit at the pain. He was just glad you were still breathing. He heard you whine, and turned his head to you. You slowly opened your eyes, groaning at the sudden light. You sat up, wincing in pain. He rushed to help you. "Don't move so suddenly, you'll hurt yourself!" He scolded. You shoved him off of your body. "D-dont! I-i-i... I'm such a burden... can't even take care of myself," you muttered to yourself. He heard. "You're not. Everyone needs help once in a while," he said, sitting next to you. You looked at him, noticing the blood. "N-niragi! You're bleeding!" You exclaimed, putting your hands on his shoulders. He held his breath, looking into your eyes. They held sympathy, worry, kindness. He hadn't seen eyes that held as much emotion as yours. You frowned, gently dabbing his lip with the sleeve of your school blazer. "But it'll get dirty, and we-" he started, trying to pull away. "Who gives a damn about a piece of fabric? Let me help you," you stated, grabbing his face, making him look at you. His dark eyes widened behind his glasses, and he froze as you cleaned up the blood.

You two walked to your houses after, not saying a word. You stayed close by eachother, not wanting to get separated. "Niragi... let's make a promise," you said when you got closer to your houses. You both stopped walking. "What kind of promise?" He asked. "I promise to always protect you as you protect me," you smiled, holding out your pinkie to him. He smiled back. ''We promise to always protect eachother," he said, grabbing your pinkie with his.

Promise 2

"Promise 2, we promise to always tell each other the truth."

School had started as normal. You went over to the desk you shared with Niragi, sitting in your seat. He had gone off before class to go look for something, or so he said. You sat in your seat, tapping your fingers on the desk. You saw the group of boys that spent their time torturing both of you walk in, high fiving each other and laughing. You finally saw him come in, and your eyes were drawn to the bruises on him. The teacher was first to notice.

"Why, what happened to you? You're all covered in bruises!" She exclaimed. Niragi saw the dangerous glares the boys sent him and looked down. "F-fell down the stairs, Miss..." he lied, bowing towards the teacher. "I-i apologize." He quickly made his way to the seat next to you, not looking at you or anything. The bell rang, and the teacher began the lesson.

Soon, lunch time rolled around. You two had gone to the park next to the school to eat. You sat down, and gave him the bento box you had made for him. "I told you I'd make you lunch today," you smiled. You knew his mother didn't make him lunch, or give him money for lunch. So, once you found out, you wanted to bring him lunch. "T-thank you (Y/N), you really didn't have to," he thanked, staring down at the box. It was a simple one, black with 3 green lines going vertically. "I didn't know what bento box to use, so I used that one... I hope you don't mind it," you said. He smiled, assuring you it was fine. You both opened them, thanking for the food. You grabbed the chopsticks, and began to eat. "Oh, and where did you really get those bruises?" You asked after you had a couple bites of your food. "I already told you, I fell down the stairs," he lied. He felt bad about lying to you, but he didn't want to worry you. "Bullshit. I know you're lying. Tell me," you said, annoyed. Silence filled the air for a bit. "Fine... those guys... again," he muttered. You frowned. "Niragi... You can tell me about that stuff. You dont have to lie to me. Let's make another promise. I promise to always tell you the truth, as you tell me," you stated, holding your pinkie out as you had before. He had a feeling there would be more promises in the future, but put out his pinkie, linking it with yours. "Ok... but I'm going to start counting these. Promise 2, we promise to always tell each other the truth."

Promise 3

"Promise 3, we promise to keep each other warm." (I actually made that promise with my best guy friend, but he lives in Japan, so... we suffer)

It was another weekend where your father had invited Niragi's family over. They sent you two up to your room. "And, Niragi?" His father called from behind you. You both turned to face him, confused as they never wanted to keep you around more than they had to. "If you're going to do anything, at least bruise her up a bit," he laughed. Your father and his mother joined in with the laughter. You whimpered quietly, hiding behind him. You were extremely confident and outspoken at school and with Niragi. At home, it was a different story. "Aww, look! She's already so submissive to you!" His mother cooed, making a gesture as if you were a dog. You grabbed onto the sleeve of his hoodie, closing your eyes. They started talking about how you two were so obviously in love. And then they started talking about how with how smart you both were, his mother saying you were a beautiful young girl, and your father saying something about Niragi's looks as well, how your kids would be so amazing. Your eyes widened at that. Did they plan this? Niragi didn't like what they were saying. It was gross. You two were only 15, why would they say those kinds of things? "W-we'll be going, then," Niragi excused, leading you away from them. They made more comment about the same topic, making him shudder. Once you two got to the attic entrance, away from ear shot, was when he checked on you.

"Are you ok?" He asked, letting you go up the ladder first. You gave back a soft 'yeah' as you reached your room. He knew that it had bothered you, what they had said. But, if you didn't want to talk about it, he wouldn't push. He got up into your room, and pulled the ladder up. He pushed up his glasses, and turned to you. You were standing by the double window doors, looking out to the night sky. "You want to go out there?" He asked. "F-father... he said I shouldn't go out there, because he would lock me out as a punishment if he caught me asleep out there again," you explained, playing with the curtains. Niragi huffed. Your father was so horrible to you. "A punishment for what?" He asked, scared of the answer. "... Anything... The other day, h-he asked if I was still 'pure', and when I told him yes, he got mad. I don't know why, I don't know if he was drunk or what happened, but he's been so curious about if I still have my virginity or not," you responded. "Why would he get mad about that? I-is there something we don't know?" He asked, walking over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You shrugged. "If he locks us out, I promise I'll keep you warm," Niragi stated, opening the doors. He turned back to you, leading you out to the balcony. He grabbed your pinkie with his own. "I promise to always keep you warm," he laughed. "Promise 3, we promise to always keep each other warm," you laughed with him.

"Promise 4, we promise to always share our snacks."

"Promise 13, after fights we promise to give eachother a reason why we love eachother." (In a platonic way at this point, anywho)

"Promise 21, we promise to watch the stars together."

"Promise 36, after fights we promise to not turn it into ammo for future fights."

"Promise 58, we promise to meet at our special place after school."

"Promise 76, we both promise to apologize for anything after a fight. If we can't decide who was originally the problem, then we both were."

"Promise 199, we promise to always stay together."

Those were some of the promises you had made throughout the years. You smiled, remembering th promises you'd made with the boy. You decided that since you had off from work, you'd go visit him. You picked up some flowers on your way, deciding it was about time.

"Hey there 'Ragi," you greeted with a smile, placing the flowers down. There was no response, as usual. You sighed, and placed the flowers down. "You know, it's only been a few months, but I really miss you," you said. You took the flowers, arranging them around. You had gotten two types of flowers. One being yellow carnations, and the other being daisies. You started weaving some of the flowers together, talking about whatever came to mind.

"You know, I'm the only one who comes to visit you. Which is sad. Because you should be remembered by more than one person, you are... were... so amazing ," you said sadly, your fingers moving slowly. "Oh, you remember that tattoo I told you about? I finally got it. It looks really good with the others," you stated with a small smile, finishing with the flowers. "I'm really sorry... I wish you weren't dead 'Ragi... I miss you," you whimpered, tears filling your eyes as you placed the flower crown on top of the grave stone.

Truth was, you knew there was no body buried in the ground. He had disappeared a few months ago, and no one could find him. There were no leads on the case, no evidence to say he was killed or kidnapped. He had literally just vanished into thin air. Instead of searching more for him, his parents decided to close the case and pronounce him dead. They didn't have a funeral for him, or anything at all, really. You were the one who begged them to at least have a grave, and they got tired of you, so they did. You didn't think he was dead. There was no evidence to prove it. But either way, no matter what you belived had happened, you had begun to accept the fact that you had lost your best friend. Weather it be that he died, disappeared, or any other conclusion. So you brought him new flowers every day you had off if work, made him the flower crowns, and every week, you would watch the stars next to the grave, pretending he was next to you, still smiling and ranting about work, or a game he played. Or maybe it was a code that was hard to program into the game. At the time, you had laughed and listened, calling him a nerd for being so smart. But you really missed it. Even if you didn't understand what he was talking about, you still enjoyed the time you two got to spend together. The late nights watching movies, playing games, or just talking. The early mornings getting coffee and heading off to work. You missed it all so much. It was so true what they say, you don't miss something until you lose it. Because now you realized how much he honestly helped your mind cope with so many things. "I heard- I heard it w-was going to be chilly tonight, s-so I brought you a-a blanket... remember promise 3?" You said, tears flowing down your cheeks. You leaned your head against his grave stone, the tears that fell from your face fell to flower petals that bent slightly. "I-i hope you're o-ok... Wherever you are," you whispered. Suddenly, you heard fireworks in the distance. You saw them, and stared in confusion. A few minutes after, you no longer heard the rush of cars, or the voices that talked quietly in the cemetery. You stood in confusion, looking around, wiping your tears and sniffling a bit. "Wasn't there just someone there?" You asked out loud to yourself. "I'm sorry Gigi, gotta go. I'm going to find out what's happening," you excused yourself from the gravestone. You laughed a bit, remembering how he said he hated the nickname. You ran towards the street, seeing the cars unmoving. There was no people that you could see, and all buildings were empty. "What the hell?" You muttered to yourself.

It was almost sun down, so you travelled through the streets, finding out that everyone in Tokyo had disappeared. There was no power, and your cellphone, that had been at a hundred percent, was now dead. Sure, it was creepy, but it was somehow peaceful. "If everyone's gone, that means my father too! I'll wait for tomorrow to go over to the house and see if I can find anything he kept away from me," you decided, remembering all the photos of your mother he had stashed away in a box.

Nightfall came, and you sat at a cross walk. There was no wind, and no lights, so you could see the stars. Suddenly, a screen lit up. "Game arena?" You questioned out loud, reading the screen. You decided you might as well follow where it was pointing you to.

The place was an old zoo. One that you recognized had been closed for years, as you had faint memories of your mother taking you here when you were younger. The lights were on, and you looked at it suspiciously. It shouldn't have power. Nowhere in Tokyo had had power, and this place has been closed for years. You entered through the large gateway in the front, and noticed red lines as you did. You looked around, and found a stick. You threw it back the way you had come, and it was immediately shot by lasers. "What the actual fuck," you whispered, walking into the so called game arena. Inside there was a table with phones, and a sign that simply said 'one for each person.' You picked one up, and it light up with face recognition.

You were so involved with the phone, you didn't notice people walking in. Once you did though, you immediately lowered your eyes. They were all guys. You didn't trust men. Well, except Niragi. But he was also your best friend of 8 years, and even then you had your doubts.

"Registration closed. Game: Little Red Ridding Hood. Game Difficulty: 4 of Spades.''

"Rules: One person will be little red ridding hood. The rest will be wolves. The objective for the wolves is to kill Little Red. Little Red's objective is to kill all wolves but one, and make it to the safe zone before time runs out. The one wolf remaining was chosen by little red, meaning they will survive. If time runs out, and neither one of these objectives has been completed, death for both sides. You may use any outside weapons or the weapons provided. Special Condition: Little Red gets an extra 5 minutes to go hide. Anyone who chases after them before the 5 minutes are up will die. Time limit: 1 hour. Game Start in 5 minutes.''

"I don't mean to sound stupid, but what the fuck is all of this?" You asked looking at the men around you. "It's a game," a voice said. You looked around to where it came from. "A game?" You repeated. "Yes, a game. You play for your life. Let's see who's a wolf, and who's little red, shall we?" He said, walking out from the corner he had hidden in. He had white hair, and a condescending look on his face. You checked the phone again.

'Little Red: Player 11037.'

A picture of you came up, and you looked around. Most of the guys smirked at you. You headed towards the table with weapons, grabbing a small dagger. You saw there was a bow with a quiver of arrows, and grabbed it quickly, strapping it on to you. "Well, I'm either going to Katniss Everdeen this shit, or die. Let's see... so basically, this is a game of physical endurance from what it seems. We have to run after or away from eachother. We each have an objective we must complete or it results in death. Am I right?" You said, turning to the white haired boy. He stared back, an eyebrow raised. "You sure it's your first day here?" He asked. "I catch on pretty quick. I would hate to be the girl that starts crying and shaking. Pathetic," you said. Was it bad that to survive you either had to kill or get killed? Yes. But were you about to risk your life for people you didn't know? No way in hell. "I only have to keep one wolf alive for my objective. So impress me, and maybe you'll survive," you said, stretching. "Quite cocky, aren't you?" One of the men said, stepping closely to you. His hands went around you, pressing you into him. "I can change that," he whispered into your ear. You elbowed him harshly, making him double over in pain. "I don't plan on losing to a bunch of men who think they can do shit like that and for me to sit there and take it. Goodluck to you, you condescending yet interesting man," you said with a smile towards the white haired boy. "Yeah, no. No nicknames. Chishiya, call me Chishiya," he introduced. You laughed. "Nice to meet you Chishiya. Call me whatever you want. I'll tell you my name after the game... if we survive of course," you said.

"Little Red Ridding hood headstart starts in

Sorry this took so long, I'm really trying here-

But is your best friend dead? Will you survive this game? I don't know haven't decided yet-

I'm joking, it's all jokes...

....

.....

Or is it?

#alice in borderland #niragi #×reader #angst #fluff #100 Promises

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unsteadygalaxy · 4 years ago

Text

all is soft inside chapter 12

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on Ao3, my username is the same there!

previous | next

12. give me a piece of your heart

A quick note: I have the Pathfinder's Quest book and I finished it today (Feb 2nd 2021)! It was mind-blowing and amazing and SO, SO GOOD. Unfortunately, this fic can no longer fit into canon because of what we find out about Bloodhound. Don't worry, I won't be spoiling! I had a story set up for them before I read the lore book, and that's the story I'll be sticking to. Maybe one day I'll write some canon things, but for now, this story is no longer canon-compliant. Part of me is sad to have all the answers, but hey! That's what makes canon-divergent fics so fun :)

Elliott practically flies down the street towards the Legends’ apartment complex, bursting with nervousness and energy as he goes. The torrential downpour of rain doesn’t even manage to dampen his mood; he’s got a heavy-duty umbrella and an upbeat attitude that could make the skies clear up in moments. Bloodhound’s proposition hangs in his head, and he clings to it with an embarrassing neediness. ‘Would you like to visit me in my apartment later this evening?’ they had asked, and he thought his heart would burst out of his chest. He feels like a dumbass for the way he had reacted- god, he was so lame. Falling over his words, making the simplest mistakes… What fourteen year old in the area had reached out and possessed him? Whoever it was, he’d have to have a strong talk with them later.

After arriving back to his apartment above the bar, he’d scrubbed himself clean and very meticulously arranged his hair. He’d eventually chosen a deep purple sweater over a light blue button down, a pair of his nicer dark jeans, a black belt, and sneakers to wear for the evening. He’d hemmed and hawed in front of the mirror for at least twenty minutes, rolling and unrolling his sleeves, second guessing each outfit choice he made until he settled. He had decided to keep the sleeves rolled up, but the easy confidence he usually has in himself has chosen to take a pointed leave of absence.

Elliott really does feel like a teenager obsessing over their first date all over again, but he has to remind himself it’s not a date, it’s just a talk. A nice evening in. A nice evening alone with Bloodhound. His cheeks blaze, and the enormity of his crush on them plummets onto his head all at once.

Ahh, shit.

He finally lets his thoughts race and wander while thinking about them. For the first time in days, he lets himself linger on his memories of their face, though the quick glimpse he had gotten had not left him with much to remember. Their gorgeous red hair, their piercing green eyes, the striking contours of their face… They are so beautiful, and he would do anything to see their face again.

A giddy smile crosses his face when he thinks of all the times they’ve touched him on the arm or on the shoulder, or held his hands so softly. They had exuded kindness and compassion in those moments, the genuineness of which Elliott has not truly felt in a while. Bloodhound’s quiet vulnerability in the bar the other night had struck him as both odd and humbling; their increasing trust in him is something he definitely doesn’t want to take for granted.

The complex comes into view and Elliott’s heart starts to pound harder in his chest. It takes a great deal of effort to not run all the way to their door… until he realizes he doesn’t know which floor is theirs, much less which door.

Bzzt! His phone vibrates in his back pocket, and he jumps a little before retrieving it. A message from an unknown number is emblazoned across the lock screen:

Second floor, number 14.

-BH

Excitement and happiness surges through his veins, and he immediately saves their contact information. God, is he really that pumped about having their number? A big stupid smile stretches across his face, and he wants to smack himself. Chill, Elliott, chill. You’ve gotta get ahold of yourself before you get up there. He takes a deep breath and sends a quick reply to Bloodhound as he continues down the sidewalk, valiantly avoiding the puddles.

Nearly there! How’d you get my number?

A reply flashes through faster than he thought it would.

Renee owed me a favor. I hope it is all right that I asked her.

Oh, yeah, that’s fine! No problem :)

He has to physically restrain himself from adding a little heart; Renee or Octavio or Makoa were used to his nonsense, but he figures Bloodhound would only find it strange for him to be adding those things to his texts right off the bat. He’s busy smiling off into space when his phone vibrates again.

I am looking forward to seeing you.

Elliott’s heart practically explodes in his chest, and he steps right into a puddle.

------

Bloodhound can’t stay still.

Ever since those traitorous words had fallen from their mouth, they’d been on red alert, their brain and body a hopeless torrent of conflicting emotions that hadn’t quite settled. They think it’s fitting that it is raining; it seems the Allfather is showing his sympathies in the smallest of ways. The rain patters against the windows in a steady rhythm, and under any other circumstance it would have been very calming. They would have shed the mask and goggles and snuggled into the couch with a book and a cup of tea, but tonight, that isn’t an option. Instead, they’re wandering aimlessly around their apartment- cleaning corners that don’t really need to be cleaned, tending to Artur, and sipping at a glass of water every time they walk by the kitchen.

They’d hopped into the shower immediately after arriving home and cleaned every inch of their skin with an annoying attention to detail. Their anxiety had mounted in their chest until they had had to sit on the cold tiles of the shower with their head between their legs. Everything is going to be fine, they’d repeated to themself over and over again. Elliott would never hurt you.

The thought is ironic because of the stubborn headache at the base of their skull- Boone’s pain medicine had done little to abate the throbbing in their neck. As they think back on their day, they feel a surge of pride for Elliott. It seems that he is finally allowing himself to succeed, instead of limiting himself like he had before. He had truly surprised them today. Where they had once seen hesitation and worry, it had been replaced with deadly precision and focus, and Bloodhound would not change the outcome of the match even if they could. Elliott had been a wonderful sight to behold.

The frantic fear is nearly gone, but it lingers just enough to make them a little self-conscious. Opting not to wear their Games attire, they’ve picked a thick turtleneck, fitted cargo pants, woolen socks, and a slimmer pair of gloves that will hide their hands but not hinder any movement. The mask is laid on the table, ready to be put on at a moment’s notice. They’re already wearing the helmet, their goggles, and the leather cap. They’ve always hated having to pile wet hair under the hood, but their plans left them no choice. Bloodhound hasn’t cared much about their physical appearance in years, but for some reason, the idea of being alone with Elliott again makes them want to hide away in embarrassment.

An eager knock at the door startles Bloodhound, and they very nearly knock over their glass.

Their heart starts pumping in their chest, and their fingers fumble a little as they clip the respirator to the cap. Immediately, their breathing comes easier, and they scold themself for going so long without it this evening. Bloodhound makes their way to the door and opens it, revealing an absolutely drenched Elliott holding a broken umbrella in one hand and a pair of sopping wet sneakers in the other.

“Hey! I, uh, definitely stepped in a ton of puddles on the way here. I usually watch where I’m going but these ones were sac- ski- scattered everywhere, so I couldn’t see them at all, and then of course the wind picked up and shredded my umbrella, so I’m totally soaked.” He shrugs helplessly and shakes the bent umbrella off a little, showering Bloodhound’s feet with droplets of water. “Ah, shit. Sorry!”

They shake their head at him and sigh, and a shiver goes through their body as they think about being drenched in this weather. “It is of no consequence, Elliott, I can very easily change socks. Please, come in,” they say, and they lead him into their apartment.

They try not to look at him as he takes in their apartment, suddenly insecure about how simple and bare it looks. The apartment had come furnished, but it is not quite to their tastes. Bloodhound prefers a more homey and warm feel, not the modern, sleek look that is so popular these days. The windows in the living room are quite large. Bloodhound had had a tinted effect added to them immediately- for their anonymity and so the light coming in would not be quite so harsh on their sensitive eyes. The furnishings are a combination of aesthetically pleasing colors and fabrics, all tones of white or grey or brown. A couple of plush blankets are draped over the back of the couch, and minimalistic frames are hung on the walls, great white voids containing typeface quotes and old cliches. The fireplace is an inordinate monolith of dark stone, and if Bloodhound had thought of it, they would have started a fire to make it seem less dull and boring. The thought occurs to them that they should have made this place more welcoming, but they are not vain enough to care in the long run. After all, will Elliott even want to return after he receives the answers to his questions? Bloodhound thinks not.

“Wow,” Elliott remarks, leaning his umbrella against the wall by the door. “It’s so clean.” He strips off his socks and rolls up his pants a little so the soggy ends aren’t rubbing around his ankles. The cuffs fit tightly around his very sculpted calves, and Bloodhound blushes before looking away pointedly.

“This space is not to my tastes,” they reply, watching him walk around. “My real home is much more notalegt- cozy- and warm. Not cold and unfeeling like this place is.”

“Your real home?” he asks, glancing at them. “You don’t live in the Legends complexes full time?”

“I stay in the buildings during the on season, but during the off season, I retreat to a modest cabin in the woods,” they explain, and they realize they’ve made their first confession of the night. That... wasn’t so bad. “There are bookshelves from floor to ceiling, a large fireplace, plenty of furs to keep warm, and a view that would take your breath away. I quite enjoy it.”

“That sounds amazing,” he grins. That smile… Bloodhound has to take a deep breath.

“Maybe I will show you one day,” they say, surprising themself with how easily they offer. “It is a beautiful place, and I think you would like it.”

“Really?” he asks, surprised. “You’d, uh… you’d let me go with you?”

“Perhaps,” they murmur, and their heart starts to beat hard in their chest again. They notice he’s still carrying his wet shoes and socks, and they move to take them from him. “Here. Let me start a fire. Your shoes and socks will be dry in no time.”

“Oh, thank you!” he replies cheerily, and the smile he gives them makes their heart skip a beat. They take the soggy items from him, cringing a bit at the questionable texture, and set them on the mantle for a moment. Overly aware of how closely he’s watching them, they kneel down, turn the gas knob, and light the fire quickly. In moments, a rosy glow emanates from the fireplace and Bloodhound pulls the screens over to eliminate any chance of Elliott’s things going up in flames. They reach up and place the shoes and socks on a small rack in front of the fire, and then they stand and retreat to their room for a moment.

Before long, they return to the living room wearing a fresh pair of socks and carrying a pair for Elliott. “Here,” they say, holding them out to him. “So your feet are not cold. It can be drafty in here when it rains.”

A pink tinge comes to his cheeks, and he accepts them hesitantly. “You’re way too nice,” he grumbles quietly as he sinks down onto the couch. He puts them on and then pushes his floppy wet hair out of his face. “Hey, can I borrow your hair dryer?” he asks, giving them a questioning glance.

“I… do not own one,” they reply, face burning. “Mine gave out a few weeks ago and I have not yet had time to buy another.”

To their surprise, he grins widely and looks away, suddenly very focused on the fire. “That’s all right,” he says, and his voice is curiously flustered. “I can just sit in front of the fireplace for a bit. You’re about to see the fluffiest hair the Outlands has to offer.” He laughs and rolls his eyes, raking his hands through his messy mop.

The thought of Elliott with an untamed mess of curly hair makes them smile like a lovesick teenager, and they’re so, so glad they’re still wearing the mask. “So your hair is not perfect all the time?” they tease, sitting down on the couch next to him. They leave a respectable distance between them, but the distance is smaller than it would have been two or three weeks ago. “Ah, so he does have a flaw. Artur, can you believe it?”

They look to Artur’s perch where the bird has been sleeping peacefully throughout all of this. The bird shakes his beak and gives a soft caw before shuffling along his branch, completely ignoring Bloodhound. They shake their head at him. Unhelpful creature, they think affectionately.

Elliott scoffs and says, “Psh, no! I’m absolutely fal- flo- fu- perfect. My hair just has a life of its own sometimes.” He flips his hair to the opposite side and gives Bloodhound a ridiculously goofy expression. It takes everything in them to not burst out laughing, and they would have given him a deadpan expression if they could.

“Like your aim with an R-99, then,” they reply, keeping their voice as even as possible.

His mouth drops open, but he’s smiling. “Wh-What? Was that a joke? Did you actually just tell a joke?” A huge, incredulous laugh escapes his throat and he grabs his chest, and Bloodhound almost loses it. “That’s a little unfair though, considering how I absolutely lasered you today.”

It’s Bloodhound’s turn to laugh, and their face hurts from how much they’ve smiled lately. “You are correct, Elliott,” they admit, holding their hands up in a placating gesture. “I was very impressed with your skill this morning. Your precision and focus made you a formidable opponent, and I was honored to fight with you.”

Instead of the cocky, arrogant response they have come to expect from him, Elliott actually blushes. It is a welcome change; his cheeks turn a lovely shade of red and he looks away, biting his lip. “Thanks,” he says simply, and his voice is… bashful?

Bloodhound does not quite know what to make of that.

------

His face burns fiercely and he can’t meet their eyes. He loves getting praise from his fans and from his friends, but getting praised by Bloodhound somehow means so much more. Maybe it’s because they’re so skilled, or maybe it’s because he respects them the most out of any other Legend, but such high compliments coming from them renders him a little speechless.

“Hey, I know this is dumb since we’re paid to kill each other, but, um… Sorry about today,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Taking an entire clip of ammo to the head always gives you a nasty headache.”

Bloodhound huffs quietly, and Elliott takes that to be a soft laugh. “Do not worry, vinur minn. I am perfectly fine. It was simply the Allfather’s will for me to lose today, and I am not offended.”

Elliott lets out a small chuckle, relieved. “Well, that’s good to know. I was worried I might have broken your mask.”

They tap their mask firmly, and it makes a solid thunk sound. “You see? Perfectly fine,” they reply, and Elliott can hear the smile in their voice. “It is quite solid and substantial. Unlike much of your humor.”

Elliott stares at them open mouthed. “I’m wounded, Bloodhound, truly!” he rebutts, scandalized. He flops back against the couch dramatically, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead. Bloodhound, making multiple jokes in one night? The world must be ending, he thinks, and he doesn’t even care that the jokes are coming at his expense.

Bloodhound laughs, and God, he’s missed that sound. The gentle lilt, the soft breathiness of their voice… Elliott blushes even as he giggles, and he treasures the noise they’re making.

“I have been known to be humorous now and again,” they say, still chuckling.

Elliott can only smile and shake his head in wonder as the two of them laugh, and soon, he’s wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Wow. Okay, out of all the things I expected tonight it definitely wasn’t that.”

“And what have you expected for this evening, Elliott?” Bloodhound cocks their head and leans back into the couch, folding their arms.

A thrill of joy runs its course throughout his body when they say his name, and he finds it strange. Bloodhound has surely said his name hundreds of times, but this feels different. Elliott is sure he’s overthinking it, but the way they had said it feels like they were humming a song.

His entire body glows with warmth. “You promised me answers,” he says carefully as the giddiness starts to drain away. “You don’t have to go into specifics but… still, you promised answers.”

Bloodhound is silent for a moment, and their hands fidget lightly in their lap. Then they nod. “Yes. I do owe you answers, so please, ask whatever you would like.” Their voice is guarded and serious, and the shift in attitude is sobering.

Elliott notices how discomfort begins to creep into their posture, and so he resolves to not push them any further than they are willing to be pushed. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the air hissing between his teeth as he leans back and begins to think. “Okay, um… Well, I was worried about your mask breaking because I don’t know how it works or how it helps. Can I ask why you need it?”

The question only makes Bloodhound’s body language tighten up more. They are silent for several long moments, seeming to ponder and consider his question. Was that too much right out of the gate? he thinks frantically, and he’s about to redact his question when they let out a big breath and begin to speak.

“When I was a child, I was… in an accident,” they say, but something about their admission feels shallow, as if they have more to tell. “No. I made a grave mistake.”

Elliott takes a deep breath and readjusts himself on the couch. He can tell this story will be a long one, and he intends to listen to every word.

“In my culture, young warriors must endure a rite of passage that shows our strength and our transition into adulthood,” Bloodhound explains. “My test was to slátra a prowler beast. I was afraid, but... I knew the Allfather would guide me.” They pause for a moment, and Elliott hangs on to their every word. “I followed its tracks to an abandoned IMC facility deep in the woods, but what I found there was far more hryllilegur. Horrible,” they add when Elliott raises an eyebrow.

“A jötunn had made its home there. It is a terrifying beast, all horns and teeth and claws. It is as large as some of the buildings in Slum Lakes, if you can recall. I began to run away, but I found a prototype Charge Rifle and shot the beast. I thought it was dead. I collected its horn to present to my uncle, but he was... disappointed in me.” They sigh deeply as dread begins to pool in Elliott’s stomach. “I had rejected the sacred laws of the Hunt by using a gun in order to defeat this beast. Artur was steadfast, immovable in his convictions, and no matter how hard I tried to convince him of my victory, he would not validate it.

“I left in anger. I was a child, only fourteen years old, but if the other village elders knew what I had done, they would have exiled me. I was... so ashamed.” Bloodhound swallows, and it sounds like it takes a lot of effort. “I retreated to the forest to be alone, as I often did, and… the jötunn was there. It was not dead, as I had hoped. It sought revenge.

“I tried my best to fight it off. My uncle was alerted to my cries, and came to help, along with many other villagers. They fought, and…” Their voice tightens, and Elliott’s heart breaks. “Many died. Including my uncle.”

Their voice has become achingly vulnerable and soft the longer they’ve spoken, and Elliott wants nothing more than to reach out and take their hands again. He shifts closer to them on the couch, closing the gap ever so slightly. His eyes stay glued to their mask, and the lenses of their goggles reflect the flickering light of the fireplace. He’s always found the mask to be either intimidating or expressionless, but Bloodhound’s sadness speaks for them, and the mask seems to be considerably more morose than usual.

“I sought the beast out,” they continue, and Elliott is surprised by how quietly angry and low their voice is. “It had returned to the abandoned facility. The halls had been equipped with coolant lines in case of an explosion or other emergency, and I broke them in order to immobilize the beast. But I breathed too much of it in, and… it dehydrated and froze my skin and lungs, leaving me scarred. Fortunately, I was able to find an oxygen mask just before I succumbed to the cold. Once the beast was frozen, I killed it with my uncle’s axe, fulfilling my test.”

Bloodhound is quiet for some time, and it takes Elliott a moment to realize they’re done talking. He knows he’s staring, and he knows he looks like he’s pitying them, and he fights to find an adequate response. “I’m so sorry, Bloodhound,” he murmurs, and he reaches out to them hesitantly. He takes their hands ever so softly, giving them every opportunity to pull away. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with such horrible things when you were younger. That sounds really tra- tor- traumatizing.” He’s struck by an incredible urge to pull them into his arms and hold them close, and a wave of embarrassment runs through his body as he presses that urge down.

Bloodhound’s hands begin to tremble in his, and he’s alerted to their discomfort immediately. Their breathing comes quicker and shallower even through the mask, and he holds onto them tighter. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks, worried.

“I-” Their voice breaks and Elliott’s heart clenches in his chest. “I- I am sorry, Elliott, you do not want to see me like this-” Bloodhound makes an attempt to pull away and stand, but Elliott holds on tight, keeping them right where they are.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes. “It’s okay! It’s all right. I’m not bothered by you being emotional. It’s actually pretty refreshing, honestly. Makes you feel more normal, like the rest of us.”

They laugh weakly, and Elliott sighs in relief. “T-Thank you, vinur minn. I just- I am prone to anxiety attacks, and…” They suck in a huge lungful of air, but they’re still shaking. “That is why I left the other night. When you asked me about Artur, I was overcome and needed to leave as quickly as possible. Please do not take any offense- it was not your fault.”

Elliott’s chest fills with a strange sense of compassion and guilt, and he squeezes their hands comfortingly. “It’s okay, Bloodhound,” he reassures them. “I’m not mad. Just… worried.” The admission makes him feel exposed and overbearing all at once, and he really hopes he’s not making them uncomfortable.

An idea comes to his mind. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Breathe with me.”

Bloodhound stiffens, and Elliott hopes to God he hasn’t somehow offended them. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, and after a moment, he hears Bloodhound inhale greatly as well. He finds himself rubbing his thumbs back and forth across their rough gloves, just like they had done to him a few nights ago. He lets the air calm him and settle his racing heart. He still doesn’t really know what he’s doing, or if he’s even doing this right, but to his delight, Bloodhound’s breathing begins to slow and even out. They gradually stop shaking, and he smiles.

Elliott opens his eyes. “Better?” he asks, and he gives their hands a quick squeeze.

They are quiet for a moment. “Nearly,” they murmur, and they pull their hands away. Elliott’s face falls, and rejection begins to rise in him, but they take off their gloves and reach for him once more. He eagerly closes the gap between his shaking fingers and theirs. The place where they make first contact with his skin- a small place near his thumb- tingles pleasantly, and the warmth of their hand settles in his. He inhales sharply, and beams as their fingers curl into his own.

“Better.” They are so quiet and soft as they speak, and Elliott almost misses what they say. “Your kindness is a blessing to me, kæri vinur. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, trying to find their eyes beyond the lenses of their goggles. Despite his happiness, he finds himself wishing that he could search their face for meaning, for emotion, for clarity. He knows why they need and wear the mask. He knows why he will likely never see their face again. But, damn, does he desperately want to gaze upon them just one more time. He doesn’t know what kæri vinur means, but he can’t help but notice the similarities between it and what they usually call him.

He doesn’t dare to hope it means anything.

...does he?

“Do you… do you want to talk about it, or…?” he trails, attempting to do what they had done a few nights ago.

“No, Elliott,” they reply, but their voice is not unkind. Their grip on his hands tightens for a moment, then they loosen, and it sends a thrill down Elliott’s spine. “Your help was more than enough to calm me.”

He adjusts himself on the couch, and his knee brushes against theirs. The only light in the room comes from the quietly crackling fire, and it highlights Bloodhound’s features with a silhouette of warmth. His heart starts to pound in his chest once more, and every sense heightens. Elliott suddenly becomes aware of how intimate and vulnerable this little bubble of space is, and his shoulders tense in anticipation of something he knows will never come. He wants to pull them close. He wants to lace his fingers in theirs. He wants to…

“Can I trust you, Elliott?”

They sound so… exposed. So afraid. His breath catches in his throat for a moment. “O-Of course, Bloodhound. You can trust me with anything,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs across their knuckles reassuringly. He’s surprised by how rough their hands are, and it’s only then that he remembers the silvery spider web scars stretching across their skin.

“Then… there is something I wish to share with you,” they reply, and their hands begin to tremble in his again. They let go of him, and to his utter shock, their hands go to their helmet, edging towards the many clasps that fasten it to their goggles and respirator.

“W-Wait, hold on,” he stutters, and he reaches for their hands again. “A-Are you- hey, you really don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, I mean- I mean, are you absolutely sure?” He stares at them in confusion and worry, and his stomach is an unintelligible knot of emotion. Elliott searches their mask and their body language, trying desperately to figure out what the hell they’re thinking.

“If I was not sure I would not be doing this,” they chide gently, and they remove their hands from his grip. “Please, just let me do this. Ég er svo- I am so tired of hiding.”

Elliott can’t argue with that.

“Okay,” he says, still very unsure. His hands fall back into his lap.

------

The child inside them shakes and trembles horribly as they raise their hands to their head. Part of them screams and begs for them to stop, and it’s only in this moment that they realize that part is the terrified twenty-five year old that had had their mask shattered in front of all those people so long ago. That crowd had been so cruel, but Elliott could never share their vitriol, their hatred. Bloodhound has seen into the man’s heart more than they ever thought they would, and no trace of cruelty exists inside him.

How long has it been since they willingly showed someone else their face? Five years? Ten? Ajay seeing them had been a complete and total accident- one that they had learned not to mind. Boone had grown up with them, of course, so he does not count. But Elliott… At the beginning of this night, they never would have dreamed of doing what they’re about to do. But Elliott is so kind, so thoughtful and accepting that their heart yearns for him greatly, and they can ignore that fact no longer.

Their fingers fumble with the straps of their helmet, but something drives them forward. It drives them to be vulnerable- to be open and take a risk. Elliott has seen their face already, so why are they so nervous? He has seen the scars they bear- why are they trembling like the young one they used to be? They do not know, but they hope that the price of them being so vulnerable is a price he’s willing to pay.

There is no turning back now, they think.

With trembling hands, they remove the helmet, cap, goggles, and finally, the mask.

#apex #apex legends #miragehound #mirage #bloodhound #mirage apex #mirage apex legends #bloodhound apex #bloodhound apex legends #miragehound fanfiction #elliott witt #elliott witt apex #elliott witt apex legends #my writing

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chipsfics · 4 years ago

Text

Part 5: Basement

Part 5 is here!!

rated: PG (for injury and swearing)

~~~~

A few weeks later, Tissues and Yinyang had fallen into a sort of rhythm. Get up, get breakfast, sit in the front room and play video games- they still seemed closer than ever, although they weren't making any progress getting better at playing the games. Sometimes the ruckus from Yinyang's rage (mostly Yang's) would annoy the other residents at the hotel. Other than that, things had fallen into a nice, consistent normal. Boring, but normal. Mostly.

It was something small, but... Every odd night, if any thoughts at all, Tissues was thinking about that tiny door they'd found under the wallpaper. What else could the hotel be hiding? Between twisting orange hallways, leaky ceilings and peeling wallpaper- The hotel already seemed like the perfect place to house mysteries. That, or cockroaches. It was the first time in a long time that Tissues had something to think about, to worry about, to wonder about. Most of the time he was just concerned with surviving, any way he can, and keeping himself entertained cooped up while Inanimate Insanity draws closer to curtains.

It was a bright pink evening, the sunset dazzling and painting the hotel's dusty windows like a canvas. A couple contestants were outside watching the sun go down, but Tissues was in bed, staring at the humming ceiling fan, as he often found himself doing. Around 7pm, if he had the mind and strength to be tossing and turning he would have been. That secret door was there all along, he'd probably walked past it a few times- What other secrets lie hiding, impossibly old, right under his nose, right under his feet? It made him shiver. He wondered if Yinyang thought about it as much as he did, or even at all.

Since their discovery, of course, everyone else in the hotel noticed the door too. The general consensus seemed to be "Huh, weird." OJ seemed a bit upset (mostly confused), but didn't feel like figuring out how to re-wallpaper the peeled area. And of course, nobody had figured out it was them who had uncovered it, or that it had previously housed those mysterious magazines. Tissues sighed, willing himself up into a sitting position and fetching his tattered old journal from his side table's drawer. Once he flipped to the first blank page, a thought hit Tissues sudden as a train and heavy as a bag of bricks.

"Does the hotel have a basement?"

Tissues, his heart momentarily racing, grabbed his worn out ballpoint pen sitting askew on his bedside table, and quickly scribbled his chickenscratch between the snot-splotched lined paper of the cheap notebook, neglecting to write the date and filling up the page with his large, rough handwriting.

"DEAR DIARY:" (he wrote in all-caps) "DOES THE HOTEL HAVE A BASEMENT?" (this is when he stopped for a moment, furrowed his brow and chewed on the pen's lid-) "IF SO, WHAT IS IT HIDING..? I KNOW THAT THE ELEVATOR DOESNT GO BELOW F1 BUT IVE NEVER TAKEN THE STAIRS AND THEY MIGHT GO DEEPER. I MIGHT INVITE YY TO CHECK IT OUT WITH ME." (YY is shorthand for Yinyang.) "ON SECOND THOUGHT, NO THEY PROBABLY ARENT INTERESTED IN IT. THE LAST THING I WANT IS TO BE ANY MORE ANNOYING THEN I ALREADY AM." (Tissues scoffed, and put his journal back into the cupboard.) Tissues flopped back down onto his bed and stared at the same old ceiling fan. A small black bug crawled across the lightbulb. Tissues sniffed. The wall clock tick-tocked until it hit 7:23pm. Frenzied thoughts bubbled inside Tissues' mind until they felt like they were going to boil over and out his ears.

Once he reached for his water bottle and noticed his hand shaking slightly- He decided that tonight was the night. A determined but nervous feeling swept over his body as he huffed and forced himself out of bed and out the door- To the staircase. It was a plain, short walk down, carpeted stairs with nothing to trip or slip on- A short safe staircase. He gulped. Did he trust himself enough to make it down even these easy stairs?

The dizzy, nervous feeling that made his stomach plunge the two story drop before he did wasn't helping much- He grabbed onto the handrail with a white-knuckle grip. He took a slow step downward, and his head spun- The staircase beneath him seemed to sprawl out into endless darkness. He wasn't about to give up, though. He shook himself off and continued walking down the stairs one step at a time, two steps per stair- Step, step. Step, step. He was making progress! Step, step. Step, step. Once he made it halfway down, he stopped to catch his breath, and.... Oh no. Sniff, Sniff.... He felt a sneeze coming on. Ah... Ah.....

ACHOO!

Tissues stumbled back and attempted to hang onto the handrail- he tripped over the side and fell, for what seemed like ages, down, down, down, and rolled banging into every odd step on the way down.

"Oof.... Ughh....." Tissues forced himself up, bruised and tattered from his fall, and found himself on cold concrete. Had he ever been on this floor...? It took him a moment to readjust, but as he looked around, rubbing his sore head, he realized that F1 didn't have any concrete. This must be it. The basement.

~~~~

It was dusty and completely dark- cold with a chill that seemed almost too appropriate for such a spooky place. Tissues rummaged around inside his head to pull out his phone and flashed the light into the deep darkness- It cut through the inky blackness like a beacon. Tissues shone it around the room slowly and nervously- illuminating large shapes draped in old white sheets of fabric. Tissues' heart raced before he realized it was probably just furniture with a dust covering- Yeah, just furniture. He sighed. He crept into the strange and cavernous room- His small footsteps echoing through the basement, reverberating clear and crisp as the dark, cold air. He shivered.

He more he looked around, the weirder the basement got. Cloth-draped chairs and couches and even what appeared to be a small TV set or strangely-shaped table seemed to be arranged as if whoever was using this room just... up and left. It looked like a living room for ghosts. The furniture itself also seemed to be localized around the middle of the room- The rest of the room seemed strangely vacant except for a few stray cardboard boxes stacked on one another.

"The basement can't just be this room, can it? It's an entire floor, is the rest just filled in? It can't be. There's got to be more," Tissues thought, circumventing the room once again, looking for a door, a bricked-off passageway, something that he could use to explore the rest of this strange place. It seemed, after a few minutes of looking around, to be a concrete prison.

Tmp. Tmp. Tmp.

Tissues froze.

Tmp. Tmp. Tmp.

Footsteps. Getting closer. echoing down the staircase, heartbeat racing, no way out but up. Between fight or flight, Tissues chose freeze. He stood like a deer in the headlights, holding his flashlight at the entrance, his hand shaking like a paint mixer.

Tmp. Tmp. Tmp.

Closer, closer, down the stairs, Tissues had no idea why he was so afraid- It was probably just another resident at the hotel. If it was OJ, he might've gotten in trouble, but some strange part of him felt like he was an intruder. Like whoever is coming down the stairs right now was following after him for a reason. As the shadow came into view, in a moment of pure adrenaline, Tissues flung his cell phone at whoever it was that was following him. It hit them straight in the forehead.

"Ow, what the hell?!"

Relief washed over Tissues as he immediately recognized the voice.

"Y.....Yinyang?" Tissues said timidly.

As the familiar face came into view, rubbing his forehead, picking up the cell phone that had gone skidding across the concrete floor moments before.

"Of course you dumbass, who else?" Yinyang said, shining the flashlight at the bewildered, blinking Tissues. "What are you doing down here? Are you ok?"

"Umm oh. Ohhhh... You-" Tissues stuttered, blushing. "You came down here to check on me?"

"The hell do you mean?" Yang growled, "Of course I did!" Yin continued, walking up to Tissues and inspecting him closer. "You fell down 2 flights of stairs! Are you injured?"

From the sheer adrenaline of the situation, Tissues didn't seem to notice, but his knee was scraped pretty badly. "Ah... Yeah. A lil bit. My knee," He said, gesturing to his left leg.

"You dumbass!" Yang cursed. "Why did you- Why did you try and go down the stairs alone in the first place? You know-" Yang sighed. "Why are you even in the basement? There's nothing in here but old storage space,"

Tissues sniffed. "Umm... well... ahh... umm..." Tissues seemed to be getting a little bit choked up. "Umm... y'know how we found the old- the little door? After we..." Tissues took a deep, shaky breath. "I wanted to see if the hotel had any more secrets like that. Yknow... cause, I have so much time to think, and it was just bothering me... I thought- It can't be just that, there's got to be more- I guess i just wasn't thinking." Tissues wiped his nose.

"Oh, Tissues..." Yinyang said, his voice soft. "We should go back upstairs. I'll get you patched up," Yinyang continued, patting him on the head gently. “I was worried about you!

"You're probably right..." Tissues sighed, and limped to the doorway, Yinyang letting him lean on his shoulder. On his way out, he leaned against the wall, and his fingers came into contact with something smooth and cool, completely different from the texture of the concrete walls. He froze.

"Wait-" He said. "I feel something." He continued, trailing his hand farther up and feeling something akin to a lightswitch. He flicked it on, and the basement was instantly illuminated- causing Yinyang and Tissues to squint and turn around.

"Huh. I found the lightswitch!" Tissues laughed, and scanning the room in the light, it didn't look as scary as before- and one thought was present in his mind.

"Hey, this could make a really cool hangout spot if you just fixed it up a little bit."

It was like another lightbulb came on dinging bright above Tissues' head.

As Yinyang worriedly ushered him back up the stairs and into his room, Tissues was busy smiling, ideas silently buzzing in his head as Yinyang cursed him out while tenderly wrapping blue bandages around his knee.

The moment he left, Tissues pulled out his journal and hurriedly wrote something in big, messy lettering:

"BASEMENT SUITE...?"

~~~~

#ii #inanimate insanity #ii2 #tissues #yinyang #tissyang #tissuyang #yissues #fanfic #fanfiction

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benevolentspidey · 4 years ago

Text

“I’m Scared.”

Here is some mediocre TodoBaku angst for you on this fine day. I wrote this while watching the first Captain America movie at like 3AM and now my eyes are swimming. Enjoy!

Warning: Mentions of blood and heavy injury. Major Character Death. Some strong language.

It was their last trip as a class. Just a simple drive to one of the off-campus arenas to have some fun. They’d somehow, as a class, convinced Aizawa to let them have a day of friendly team battles, to let off some steam and release the stress of the last few weeks. After cramming for exams and getting everything ready for graduation that coming Saturday, they could use some time to be kids, one last time. And really, after everything they’d gone through the last few years, they all craved for a chance to feel like kids again.

And yet, as small of a request it was to have one normal day, the universe looked at them and denied their wishes. They should’ve known better, they shouldn’t have been naive enough to think that one day without incident was likely to happen, but they were hopeful and wishful and all thinking they deserved this one. Thing.

Katsuki and Todoroki were paired together to fight against Deku and Momo in their first round. The day itself had been set up as a bracketed elimination, lose one fight and you’re out, and Katsuki was more than ready to take home first place, especially with Todoroki by his side. It was exhilarating, fighting against the pair with Todoroki, he can’t deny that fact.

After he’d finally worked through all the shit going on in his head, Katsuki had become more… approachable, easier to get on with. He was able to create steady and healthy friendships without it feeling like an attack on his strength, his character. And looking at Todoroki, he is more than thankful he sorted himself out. The growing friendship they started had kept him grounded more than once and the budding feelings both the pair shared showed Katsuki that Todoroki wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. Sure, they were both focused on their future careers as pro heroes, and sure, neither of them quite understood how to handle the emotions they felt growing between them, but they were happy with how things were now and more than happy to take things slow. Just as long as they were there, waiting for each other at the end of the day. As long as they were there for the other person to rely on when they needed them most.

And with all of this on his mind for the last couple of weeks, being paired with Todoroki and fighting alongside him only showed him even more how important it was to have, and keep, the beautiful, dual-colored hero in his life. And he had every intention of outing this to Todoroki himself, instead of keeping it in like the pair had done previously in their relationship. He was going to pull him aside and lay it all out on the table, bare and exposed for him to see. But then it happened.

Katsuki had managed to pin Deku to the ground, the pair of them laughing like idiots when they heard the rumbling of an explosion, the vibration reaching them in seconds. The pair looked at each other, knowing they were in for a fight. Katsuki pulled Deku to his feet, as they gave each other a nod before shooting off in the direction of the soon to be bloodied battleground, determination coursing through Katsuki’s veins. Determined to fight until the battle was won.

And fight he did. The chaos around Katsuki did not distract him in the slightest as he took down the villains in front of him, only noting, with relief, each time a streak of red and white came in view of his peripherals. It kept him only the slightest bit calmer as he continued to fight, losing track of time and ignoring the searing pain in his hands as he pushed himself to his limits. And just as the end was in sight, just as Katsuki took down the last villain with a triumphant smirk on his face, Deku overpowering Shigiraki in the background, he turned to find Todoroki and give him a wide smile.

He didn’t quite understand the sudden fear in the other's eyes until it was far too late. He followed Todoroki’s eyesight to the building behind him as it started to collapse around him before a body crashed into him and everything went black.

When he finally came to, there was dust and debris all around him, his leg crushed underneath a concrete pillar. He groaned at the pain, trying his best to move the debris off himself. He looked around him, the small pocket of space he was in not giving much light, but giving enough that he caught dirty mussed red and white hair. His heart sunk as his blood turned to ice.

“Todoroki, hey, wake up.” He began to frantically use all the energy and strength he had left in him to push the pillar off his leg. “Icyhot, I need you to wake up, I need you to let me know you’re okay.”

He yelled out in pain as the pillar finally gave way, freeing him to crawl towards the unconscious hero. The sound of coughing filled his ears, easing his panic ever so slightly.

“Bakugou?” Todoroki’s voice was hoarse and laced in pain.

“Hey, Icyhot, I’m coming towards you right now.” He made an effort to be quick with his movements, ignoring the searing pain in his leg. “Are you hurt in any massive way? Are you able to move? I need you to talk to me.”

Todoroki let out a choked cough, moaning something incoherent. Katsuki squeezed through the last hole between the pair of them, “Todoroki I need you to use your wo-”

He felt all the air leave his lungs.

“I’d say this is a pretty massive injury.” He locked eyes with a softly smiling Todoroki. Katsuki felt numb looking at the giant metal pole protruding out of his body from beneath his lungs, blood staining the fabric around it at a terrifying rate.

“This isn’t funny,” Katsuki whispered, hands shaking, his mind in a million different places on what he should do, what is the best option, how does he get them out of here?

“I know it’s not,” Todoroki said, the smile slipping.

“Don’t joke about this okay,” Katsuki’s hands were shaking, unsure of where to start.

“Bakugou,” the voice was quiet, almost like he was a child, but fuck, weren’t they just that? Children? Hadn’t they been children every time this happened, their innocence and joy ripped from their unrelenting grip every time this happened, them begging, pleading for it to stop before… before...

“I’m scared.”

Katsuki locked eyes with him and saw how small, how young Todoroki looked, suddenly reminding him of the first time they’d met. Had it really only been three years since that first meeting? Had he not known him a lifetime by now?

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here.”

How many times had he said that in a training exercise, how many times had he said that to children when they'd been practicing rescue plans. Every time he said it he was looking into unfamiliar eyes, eyes holding pretend fear. He never imagined saying those words to a pair of mismatched eyes he’d grown so fond of.

“I don’t think I’ll be making it out of this one, Katsuki,” Todoroki managed before coughing blood out onto his chest. Katsuki wiped it from his chin, fury filling him in an instant.

“Don’t say that dumbass, of course you’re going to make it out of here. What kind of hero would I be if I didn’t get you out of this? Are you seriously doubting my capabilities after everything we’ve been through?” Katsuki ignored the crack in his voice in favor of giving Todoroki a fierce look as he began to assess the damage and plan for the best course of action.

He stopped when a hand, an oh so painfully pale hand, stopped his movements. “We can’t save everyone.”

Katsuki’s eyes snapped up to meet Todoroki’s tired ones, hating how dull they looked. He knew, looking into Todoroki’s eyes, that he was right. There was too much blood, too much damage, too much hurt. He could feel it in his chest that he was the only one that was going to make it back home and that thought alone broke him.

He carefully grabbed hold of the hand bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly, as to not break the boy below him even more, not bothering to wipe the tears as they began flowing down his face.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, we’re supposed to graduate on Saturday. You and I are supposed to start at the same agency this summer. We were going to move in together,” He didn’t bother holding in the sobs, the pain of it all too much to be kept composed. He looked at the hero laying in front of him, his eyes struggling to stay open, his grip barely holding onto his own.

Katsuki leaned forward, pressing his lips to the bloody and dirty pale forehead. “You were supposed to give me more time to fall in love with you. I was somehow supposed to get you to love me back.”

An airy chuckle filled his ears, and he held onto it, wrapped himself in the pureness of it, imprinting it to his memory.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Katsuki,” Todoroki wheezed a big breath before continuing, pushing his head against Katsuki to get him to look at him, their eyes locking and catching his breath, Todoroki’s gaze far more intense and eyes alight than he had ever seen them. “I fell in love with you a long time ago, all on my own.”

The confession, unexpected, heartbreaking, and full of truth and fierce passion, hits Katsuki in his chest and knocks all the resolve he has left out of him. He surges forward, his lips crashing with Todoroki’s. The kiss itself was short and messy, their tears mixing together and smearing with blood, but it filled and shattered his heart, his soul, and tore him to shreds and he wouldn’t take it back for the world.

He pulled back, cupping Todoroki’s face in his shaking hand, looking at him fondly with tears in his eyes, “Took you long enough, Icyhot.”

Todoroki chuckled, his eyes drooping and breathing becoming more sparse, “Says… you.” He takes a deep breath, his lungs rattling, and in that same second, all the air rushes out of his lungs, the light leaving his eyes and face relaxing.

And just like that, Katsuki’s world shatters.

#todobaku #drabble #angst #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #bnha #if you have a headcanon you want written just send me an ask and I'll try to do the idea justice!#actually so nervous to post this lolol #i hope you enjoy it!

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xfandomwritingsx · 4 years ago

Text

Authenticity – John Constantine (2005)

-gif source unknown-

Description: Challenge: The we have to kiss right now or they’ll notice we’re not supposed to be here trope.

Warnings/Labels: Mentions of a hard-on but that’s about it.

Approx. Word Count: 2,500

A/N: For Meg’s (@thranduilsperkybutt) 11k Follower Challenge. I was super excited to do this one. Hopefully all of you enjoy.

---

“You look uncomfortable,” you say at a volume that only he can hear in the crowded bar. One of his arms is behind you on the armchair’s extra plump armrest and you don’t even have to see it to know that he’s got a near white knuckled grip on the edge, digging his fingers into the cushion. You’re seated on his lap, nestled in close with your legs thrown over the other armrest and between the way his thighs are entirely too tense underneath you and the way his hand practically hovers over your shins like he’s afraid to touch you, it’s very obvious he’s not doing a good job at faking this whole cover story.

“That’s probably because I am uncomfortable,” he snaps back through gritted teeth. Your eyes scan the dark bar, looking for your target as you throw one arm over the back of his shoulders to pull him in even closer, running your other hand over his chest.

“We’re supposed to be lovers,” you remind him a little quieter, getting closer to his ear. He flinches and you can tell he’s resisting the instinct to lean away. “You’re so stiff.” You squeeze his shoulder. “And not in the good way,” you tease. He grinds his jaw and if he weren’t so close to blowing your cover, you might have found it funny.

“This whole thing was your plan,” he says coarsely as his eyes drop down to your skirt that’s slowly riding too far up your thighs every time you shift on him. You wonder if he’s debating on yanking it back down for you.

He was right though. This was entirely your plan. Information about a demon making some very illegal deals and trades had brought you upstate to a fairly new underground demon bar whose appeal was largely influenced by the sin of lust. Risqué artwork, a red motif that you weren’t entirely sure wasn’t meant to symbolize blood instead of romance, and cozy dark corners all helped embody the hedonism-esque atmosphere. So yes, it made sense to enter as pseudo-lovers to scope the place out. You’d thrown on a wig and some tight clothes that teetered the line between glamorous and grungy. Then you’d forced Constantine out of his suit jacket and tie in order to blend in, hoping neither of you would be recognized.

But as you had forgone one of those dimly lit corners in favor of an oversized, plush, velvet armchair closer to the middle of the room for better visuals, his hesitancy to even touch you is bound to stand out and draw the wrong kind of attention. The bartender, who already had raised an eyebrow at your apparently uncommon drink order, was watching you both a little too closely for your liking.

“Next time I’ll remember to ask someone a little less uptight,” you threaten idly as you do another quick scan of the room. You both knew it was a lie. He’s your go-to partner and on the rare occasions where his dumbass will admit he needs help, you’re his too. “Would you just touch me already?” you snap at him sharply, noticing more eyes on you.

“Most women ask me that question with a much nicer tone.” The words are dry, but the humor is still behind them nonetheless and you catch the glint of a smile on his lips. He lets his hand come down fully and relax on your shin which still isn’t great, but it’s better. Bastard should feel lucky you remembered to shave your legs at the last minute too. “Have you spotted our guy yet?” he asks as if you were the only one looking.

“Not yet,” you tell him, leaning in to whisper it to him in hopes of looking intimate. His flinch is much less noticeable this time at least. “You need to relax,” you chide. “You’re going to draw the wrong kind of looks.” He gives a humorously gentle squeeze to your leg in response and you can’t help but smile at his timid behavior.

You let your eyes search the room in the most casual way you can. You lean over to the side to the small table in front of the chair where your drinks reside. Constantine’s hand finally leaves the armrest to sweep over your waist, making sure you don’t topple off his lap when you reach for your beer mug. You take a slow swig of it, eyes peering over the lip of the mug to keep fanning over the room. You put it back down, his fingers sinking into the pocket of your waist as you make the stretch.

You readjust yourself on his legs and make a show of cuddling up to him. You’re a little impressed that he keeps his hand on you. He slides it up your side, resting it under your arm and shifting his own up your back to allow you to lean onto the armrest like you had been. You can feel the warmth of his forearm, bare from his rolled up sleeves, seeping through your relatively thin shirt and relax into it. When his fingertips brush the side of your breast, you can barely feel it through the absurd amount of padding in your bra, but you figure it’s good for show.

Another fifteen minutes pass and you continue to unsuccessfully try to get Constantine not to look like he wants to crawl away from you. In that time, you notice the bartender cast suspicious eyes your way a few too many times for your liking. When one of the bouncers just happens to show up at the bar to talk to him, you know you’re about to have a problem.

“Bail or sell it,” you warn Constantine. He furrows his brows, not following you. “Either we get out right now or we find a way to sell our cover story in a hot damn hurry.” You tap his shoulder with the hand you’ve flung around his neck again to indicate a direction without your eyes. “Or else beefed up half-breed over there’s gonna start something I didn’t bring proper footwear for.” You had not come in tonight looking for a fight and the black heels you’re wearing are a testament to that. You leave the decision in his hands and fully expect to be walking quickly towards the door in a moment’s time.

“Fuck it,” he whispers harshly and before you have a chance to question what reaction that was meant to imply, the hand at your side tightens, hugging you even closer to his chest and the hand that previously rested on your shin is suddenly at your neck, pulling you into a crashing kiss.

There’s definitely a slight mmph noise that escapes your mouth and you have to forcibly repress the instinctive surprise from flashing over your face. When your brain catches up with what’s happening, you expect a fairly chaste decoy kiss, but the way his lips are moving against yours and the heated way his fingertips press into the back of your neck prove contrary to that thought.

You realize quickly that now you’re the one acting oddly, being unusually rigid for a woman being ravished by her supposed lover. So you return the kiss in the same way he’s giving it; hot and heavy. Your mouth opens easily beneath his and your hands are suddenly gripping at his clothes. There’s little actual romance to the kiss, your eyes still opening into slits to jump around the room, making sure it’s working. The only eyes on you now are the intrigued ones, the voyeur eyes. The bartender has gone back to his duties, seemingly satisfied with your display.

You pull away from Constantine by mere inches, ready to let him go and release him from the ruse. He takes a single, deep but fleeting look at you before the hand on your neck pushes up into your wig. He kisses you again as he pulls roughly, sitting you up and using his other hand to help guide you where he wants you.

It takes you by surprise, but the way he handles you doesn’t leave you wanting to fight it. The fist twisting in your fake strands of hair makes you regret wearing a wig. He’s making you ache to feel that pleasurable tug at your scalp. Your hands are forced to let go of him and brace yourself on the back of the chair in order to follow the direction of his pull, turning you to face him and slipping his hand between your legs. His fingers press into your inner thigh to push your thighs open over his lap all while keeping his lips up against yours.

Your eyes are sealed shut this time, getting completely lost in his kiss and his touch. His hand slides around to the back of your thigh, pulling you closer to slot your pelvis over his. The moan that slips through your lips when you feel the bulge pressing up through your panties is completely involuntary and causes a twitch beneath you. Was this why he’s been so hesitant to touch you all night? If only you’d realized before. His mouth opening under you and his tongue pressing against yours ceases your brain from thinking much further.

You move your hands from the chair back to his face to slide and cup his jaw, allowing yourself to put your full weight onto his lap with a roll of your hips. He releases your wig and both of his hands glide over your ass, giving a small, discreet tug on the hem of your skirt to prevent it from riding up enough to give everyone here an eyeful. His fingers curl over the edge of the fabric and when you feel fingertips brush over the crease underneath your cheeks, you know the maneuver was not without a selfish motive.

One of your hands starts to melt down from his jaw to his neck and then slinks down further to his chest. And further still to his belly. And further still to his waistband. The rattle of his belt jolts him out of his daze and instantly, his hand shoots back between you to stop your motions as he pulls back from the heated kiss.

Your surroundings slowly bleed back into your consciousness and you voluntarily, although reluctantly, remove your hand from between you. Your breathing is heavier than you realized and there’s a look in Constantine’s eyes that has you wondering if he’s debating pulling you back down one more time. And damn it all if you didn’t want him to do just that. But the look is fleeting and he clearly decides against it as he gives your waist a push to back you off his lap.

You make quick adjustments of your clothes and your wig, hoping no one happened to notice anything awry. Getting to your feet, you spin around and quickly down the rest of your drink, a harsh mix of needing alcohol, quenching a sudden thirst, and finding something to do quickly flooding you.

“I’m going to go… freshen up.” Your voice is dry despite the beer you finished off and you don’t even spare Constantine a look over your shoulder before whisking yourself away to the restroom, skin still tingling and stomach flipping around inside of you so much that you feel the slightest bit dizzy.

You make it quick; splash a little water on your face and smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes before making your way back out. You don’t make it very far, rounding a corner and nearly running into Constantine’s chest. The freshness that the cool water had given your face is washed away instantly with a blush.

“Time to go,” he says simply, his face filled with a composure he apparently stole from you, reversing how you had been when you walked into the bar. Your only response is a furrowed brow as you step back, needing to keep some space between your bodies. Had the kiss not worked? Really? It sure as hell worked on you. “Our guy hasn’t made himself known, but a whole bunch of people from Midnight’s just walked in so our cover is useless.”

“Shit,” you hiss, shifting right back into work mode. “Alright, let’s slip out the back door.” You want to be pissed. The whole night is blown and you got nothing from it, wasting money and time. And yet, you’re still too preoccupied to be anything but a little relieved.

Constantine follows you down the back hall and towards the back exit into an alleyway. He’s silent behind you, but you can practically feel him on your heels and you resist the nervous urge to pull at your skirt; an urge you can’t help but notice you haven’t felt all night until now. When you open the back door, you take a look over your shoulder and catch his eyes lingering on your ass. His eyes flash to yours with a smirk on his lips and you can’t help but laugh as he follows you into the alley. Such a small thing throws your nerves out the door and you fall back into your regular selves.

Your heels click and splash on the wet pavement as you make your way back to the car parked in a garage around the block. Constantine walks besides you once you reach the sidewalk and keeps a respectable distance between you. As is normal for him, he’s quiet, his eyes watching the street.

“So,” you break the silence, a little courage creeping into you. “Are we going to talk about that kiss in there?” You watch his face for a reaction, but all you get is a small clench of his jaw and his eyes squinting just a hair.

“No,” he answers curtly. It wasn’t anything less than you expected so you simply nod. You wait another minute or so, until you’re inside the parking garage before asking your next question.

“Are you going to do it again?” You watch as his lips press together tightly, something he does when he’s holding something back. For a moment you think maybe he’s not going to answer. Then, with his eyes still purposely looking away from you, he lets the smile come through.

“Maybe,” he says plainly.

You chuckle at him as you both start to climb into the car. You don’t need any further conversation than that for the moment, but you do spend the car ride wondering if you can convince him to continue to play lovers when checking into your motel room for the night. For authenticity, obviously.

#constantine imagine #thranduilsperkybutt #megs11kchallenge #john constantine #constantine x reader

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anika-ann · 5 years ago

Text

No Apologies Needed - Pt.1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 2380

Warnings: swearing, forced PDA, alcohol

Summary: Your friend left you alone in the bar only to make out with a cute guy she just met. So the plan is to go home. Except things rarely go as planned, do they?

Then again, this change of plans in the form of a handsome stranger seems rather pleasant. Until it doesn’t.

Story Masterlist

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You couldn’t believe she had convinced you to do it again.

You couldn’t believe you had taken the bait, again.

A girls’ night out, she had said. Just the two of us having drinks, she had said. No boys allowed, she had said.

The first brunette passing your table caught her attention, but Nicol had tried to be a good friend and keep her promise, ignoring his suggestive wink. You wanted to congratulate her for the restraint.

And then another one had come and you were left alone in the bar, just like always. You were so stupid. Why had you come here? You weren’t exactly number one fan of bars. You just let Nicol tag you along, only to be abandoned. Every. Single. Time.

You finished your drink – the second one ever since your so called friend had left you – and considered taking off. You couldn’t see Nicol anywhere, probably because she was having a wild make-out session with the hot brunette no.2, and you were feeling a bit tipsy yourself – which was never a good state. One more drink and you might make a decision you would regret lately. Also, walking New York’s streets at night was bad enough itself; you didn’t need to add your drunken ass in the mix.

You slipped into your jacket and swung you tiny purse over your shoulder, making your way along the wall to avoid the people who had got encouraged by alcohol enough to start some sort of a dance.

“This isn’t funny at all,” you heard someone behind you complain in what was almost a whine. You rolled your eyes at the male voice and pulled your purse closer as you felt the man’s presence right behind you.

Yeah, getting mugged on top of all that, no, thank you. You quickened your pace, pushing past a girl who seemed to have more than enough; and you were not thinking alcohol. More like… you didn’t even want to know.

Nicol, I really hope your boy-toy is freakin’ worth it. You realized that you should shoot her a text at least – that you were heading to the apartment you two shared, for her to read when she wouldn’t be… busy. With that thought, you headed to your salvation – the exit.

It was when you heard him again, the guy almost sneaking behind you; his voice sounded differently now, more resigned than annoyed. Desperate even.

“Dammit!”

A strong hand gripped your arm and you choked on air as the man spun you around swiftly.

“Hey-“ you snapped at him – him being a hooded guy – your lungs gathering enough air to let out a scream.

“Please, play along.”

Those words shocked you, but you had no time to question them as you were suddenly backed against the wall, the stranger’s mouth on yours.

You gasped at the feeling, unintentionally parting your lips, only to meet his warm breath.

“Please,” he whispered, his large hand cupping your cheek and at the surprisingly tender gesture, you allowed yourself to close your eyes, your rapidly beating heart slowing down just a little.

Somehow, your brain was working one hundred percent – at least certain areas, while others were just too drunk to function. You had got the message – he possibly didn’t like the prospect of kissing you unexpectedly any more than you did and only did it because he was trying to get someone off of his back.

Your pulse wavered in fear and for a second you wanted to push him away – but then the memory of his soft apologizing tone hit you and you just couldn't do it. You suddenly didn't care why he needed to hide – whether it was a crazy clingy ex, a drunken friend or a drug cartel he owned money to. It didn't matter to you, as insane as that made you.

Perhaps it was the alcohol in your bloodstream – or the fact that his lips felt very nice against yours, or the broad shoulders you had managed to notice during your super-fast panicked inspection of the stranger who had grabbed you. The lips didn’t seem to be close enough and neither did his body. You sneaked one hand around his waist, gasping when you felt the firmness of his muscles, unable to stop your hand from reaching a bit lower to what you expected to be a booty feeling just as firm. You were not disappointed and boy, if that sensation didn’t warm your belly in the most delicious way.

Your other hand slipped under the hood of his sweatshirt and you could feel him stiffen as he probably thought you were about to expose him. But you simply slid your fingers into his locks, earning a soft sigh from him. It apparently encouraged him to press his body closer to yours.

Now that was a believable make-out session for this kind of place and you would be damned if your evening just didn’t turn way better than you had expected. The man’s lips were still dancing with yours, slowing down, until there was just a ghost of a touch of them on yours, his fingers resting lightly against your cheek, while his other hand was on your hip.

When had he started touching your hip?

You were breathing heavily, attacked by his unobtrusive cologne that somehow felt vintage. You crossed out a low-life persona from your mental list of people who might have just kissed you, because someone who smelled this nice couldn’t be hanging out on the streets most of his days. Also, you couldn’t smell large amount of alcohol on him, which only supported your theory.

And wow, your brain was so busying itself with stuff that weren’t important.

You licked your lips, gulping. Well. Now should come the awkward part. You couldn’t make yourself open your eyes.

“So… are we good, Stranger?” you asked hoarsely, your throat too tight to allow you to speak clearly. You fought the urge to swallow again.

“Depends,” his equally rough voice caressed you and your fingertips tingled. Jeeez, girl, get a grip, god knows who this guy is- “Is there a white male, 5 feet 9 tall, dark hair, athletic built, wearing black t-shirt and jeans or a white male 6 feet 3 tall, blond, muscular, in dark blue t-shirt and jeans in sight?”

Your heart jumped to your throat and your eyes snapped open at the first words he said. White male about 5 feet 9 tall, athletic built-? What kind of a person described people like that? What the hell did you get yourself into?

…not that you had been in it voluntarily. At least from the beginning, later on it was— shut up.

You raised your gaze from his neck – because he was just that tall – and let your eyes roam around the room, searching for the men he had just described. You had no clue, it was rather the way he had said those words than their actual meaning that got stuck in your brain, but you didn’t think you saw anyone who looked like that… and seemed especially intimidating on top of that, because you guessed that if a walking rock like this hooded stranger himself felt the need to hide…

“No, I don't think I see anyone who would match that description,” you whispered dutifully, fighting the urge to add ‘Sir’. He was just giving a vibe of a man you should be addressing ‘Sir’.

With your mouth dry, you looked up to the man’s face still partially hidden in the shadows of his hood.

Beautiful eyes met yours with unbearable intensity. You stomach clenched, but not uncomfortably. Oh boy, he was a looker; bright blue eyes, blond hair, ripped body… you realized you were still touching him – quite inappropriately – and let go of his shoulder and… bottom, yeah. Though it was as hard as if there were magnets between you, the sensation just way too pleasant under your fingertips only a moment ago.

He must have come to a certain conclusions hearing your strangled voice, because his gaze softened, allowing you to breathe in properly.

“I'm sorry for... throwing myself at you like this, Ma’am.” Here it comes. Ma’am. I really should have called him ‘Sir’. “I really am, I would never-“

You felt the tension building in your shoulders ease with the way he sounded; slightly embarrassed and... well, utterly adorable. This guy was a good guy, you decided. There was no way he was not on the side of the angels, not with the sincere apologetic eyes and the tone he spoke in.

Crazily enough – and you blamed the alcohol, really – it made you smile rather confidently.

“Hate to break it to you, but you did literally nothing that would require an apology.”

Even with the poor light and the hood, you would swear his cheeks flushed with a little red. It was so cute you would cry. Putting a respectful distance between the two of you – and you did not feel sorry for the loss of contact, not at all, that would be weird –, he cleared his throat.

“I’m— at least... may I buy you a drink as an apology, Ma’am?”

The Ma’am thing again. Had he been raised in a freaking castle? Military, you dumbass, maybe he is military-

“Uhm... o-okay,” you stuttered, completely forgetting you had decided to stop drinking for the night. It would be impolite to decline, right? Plus, after what just happened – or was still happening? – you could use a drink.

He gave you a bashful yet brilliant smile and your heart melted, your legs turning into an uncooperative mass of jello. Seeing your hesitation, he offered you a hand. It was an utterly sweet and chaste gesture – especially given how the two of you had been touching just few moments ago.

You found yourself staring at him as he led you to the bar. He seemed to grow now, holding himself like… well, like a military man, perhaps. The grey hoodie looked size too big around his middle, but was struggling in the higher area – his shoulders and arms were wrapped tightly and you could almost hear the fabric cry. His jeans were… wrapping his bottom pretty nicely, making your cheeks flush with the memory of touching it without any warning or permission. You quickly raised your eyes, afraid he might catch you staring if he turned to you unexpectedly.

Even when seating himself on a bar stool and catching the bartender’s attention, he left the hood on. He only let go of your hand when you were both sitting and the man behind the bar approached you. You ordered another margarita while he had a scotch. He paid for you both of course.

His body was slightly directed to you, remaining somewhat polite, but his eyes were rather on his drink, not meeting yours; until they did.

You almost fell of the stool as you were surprised by gaze staring right into your soul.

“I truly am sorry for assaulting you, Ma’am. But I would like you to know I’m very grateful for your cooperation,” he exclaimed, voice less measured than you would expect with the way he carried himself.

You felt burst of blood in your cheeks when he called the make-out session and your wandering hands a cooperation.

“It was no trouble… Sir.”

You could see the corners of his lips rise as he offered you his hand again, this time obviously to shake yours.

“My name is Steve.”

You accepted his hand, nodding, and sheepishly whispered your name back. You wanted to ask whom the hell he was running from, why he had picked you of all people around, who he was, but you couldn’t make yourself to do it. Possibly because you were well-aware of the fact he wouldn’t answer any of those questions.

Instead, you raised your glass, gesturing towards his. You had no idea what you should make a toast to, so you didn’t say anything, just attempted a tiny smile. Steve reciprocated it and sipped his scotch, only to put down the glass down a second later.

He sighed then, sounding a bit irritated. You studied him carefully, wondering what you had done to cause the change in his mood. He made a subtle motion towards his neck and you noticed his fingertips brushing his ear.

Your heart skipped a beat before it broke into a gallop. Jesus, was he... was he wearing an earpiece? Comms? Was he actually… some kind of a spy?! What the-

“I'm sorry. I have to go.”

“Oh,” you only let out intelligently as he downed the glass in one go. Christ. He stood up hastily.

“Thank you-- thank you again for your help, Ma’am. It was nice to meet you,” he said with a nervous smile and headed towards the exit abruptly.

He couldn’t see the quick smile you gave him as you followed him with your stare.

“Was my pleasure…”

He was almost by the door when a redhead woman, also in a hood, only worn lower, wrapped her arm around his shoulder with a grin. Now you were taken aback utterly, possibly even more than earlier that evening. What the hell?! Was this his girlfriend? Or-?

Even from the distance, you could see Steve’s lips mimicking a very clear 'shut up' at her and then the woman turned directly to you, met your eyes and gave you a playful wink.

You blushed harder and not just from alcohol. The strangest thing was that… the wink didn't scare you or made you feel guilty or something. The gesture wasn't saying 'that's my man, bitch', but more like a 'good job, sister, I hope you enjoyed'.

And then they were gone.

You hypnotized at the door long after they had left, your imagination running wild. For some reason, the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith came to your mind and you had to roll your eyes at the ridiculous picture of Steve and the woman being a married spy couple.

You returned to your drink and shook your head in silent wonder. The alcohol was starting to taste a bit funny on your tongue; just another indication it was time to finish your last drink and go home.

That was the plan anyway.

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Part 2

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart

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Thank you for reading! Tags always opened, just like my inbox and whatever ;)

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #civilian reader #no apologies needed #anika ann

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