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0oolookitsme · 2 years ago

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Anything For You... And I

Type- One-Shot

Verse- Dwd!Harry x Dwd-Character!!Y/n

Word Count- 2.9k

Warnings- half of this piece is smut lmao

A/N- I've noticed that when I'm actively reading fics, I'm actively writing fics... y'all better hope that I read ff more frequently now heheh. Hope you enjoy <3

Also, a very happy Christmas Eve to those who celebrate!

Harry was in a very good mood right now, on cloud nine even. It's just everything has went so perfectly today, he just wants to go home and have a nice little cozy time with his girlfri- no, fiancé. Yep, he's still digesting the fact that he proposed, she said yes and now they literally live in the same flat, as in together!

He shuts the lid of his laptop with a little too much force and reaches for his bag. Inside it, lies the moustache printed laptop cover that Y/n had thrifted for him- it never fails to lighten his mood when it's dark and make him gushier when it's good.

She told Harry that her father had taught her to never trust a man without a moustache, but because she knew he didn't want to grow one yet, she bought him this. "It won't be on your face but at least it's in one of your belongings!" She had punned and cackled.

Not able to put off the smile on his face, he puts the stack of thick folders in the small cupboard attached to his desk and leans forward to check if his shoelaces are tied properly or not. It's a habit he inherited from Y/n; it might as well be one of the first things he noticed about her.

The chair rolls back on its small four wheels because of the push from behind his knees as he stood up. Brushing down a hand over his suit to press off any creases he swings his bag on his left shoulder, fished out his car keys and picked up his phone from beside the bowl.

Turning on his heels he's caught off guard when he sees her at the gateway to his cabin.

"Hello there," she greets him in her honey soft voice, seemingly ready to strut in towards him.

This is the fifth time this lady is going to come and try to persuade Harry to do something he has already made clear a thousand times he doesn't want to do. He's in too good of a mood right now to deal with her bullshit again, causing him to exhale in annoyance.

"Lumi, I swear to god I will reach the HR before your house," he grits out, his hand going to weave through his hair whose roots feel cold to his touch.

At this statement, she straightens up and raises up her chin accusingly at him. She clears her throat but before her words can pull through her mouth, Harry brushes past her, muttering a stern 'move' and rushes into the lift that will take him to the basement- which is also the car park.

He doesn't even think about her before unlocking his phone and opening the phone app, waiting till the lift doors move apart from each other before pressing on her contact.

It only rings twice before she's picked it up and is greeting him in her same day-brightening voice, sounding to be in an okay-ish mood. "Hello?" She repeats again and that's when Harry realizes that he had totally forgotten he had to reply back to keep a conversation. It's just so easy to get carried away with her dreamy voice.

"Harry? Are you there?" She repeats, seeking some kind of response and sounding a bit concerned this time.

"Yea-yeah, I'm on-line hmm. Just called to let you know that I'm leaving now, can't wait to reach home," he smiled into the phone.

"Ahhh, okay," she sighs. "I'm going to be off this meeting in a few more minutes, then I only need to boil rice." Because she's on a call, it might seem as if she's saying that to him but she's rather telling this to herself- or so Harry thinks.

Frowning when he heard that her work was dragged on later than the official timings again today, he bid her goodbye with a 'see ya soon,' and threw his phone somewhere on the passenger seat beside his'. Set with a goal that he'll try to make her day better by doing whatever that'll be needed, he starts the engine and drives straight out of the exit; his hair flying in different directions as soon as he opens the window to the passenger's seat.

Driving, his eyes are on the road, but mind is listing all the things she likes that is tangible for him right now, at this time of the day. The only thing that sticks out is food, which she's already almost prepared. He was hoping he could find some florist; flowers always seem to put her in a good day. And because she's not so stubborn like him, she forgets about whatever bad thing that must've happened before.

Pressing brake lightly while nearing the traffic lights, he turns on the indicator and makes a swift turn to the lane on the left. Driving at a slightly faster speed at finding the lane empty, Harry enjoys the feeling of cold air against him as he drives in the same direction for ten more minutes before some bright light comes into his sight.

He parks in front of the building and gets out heroically, glad that it's still open. He reads the board, "Favourite-Savourits."

Entering the dimly lit space, he immediately moves for that isle which Y/n beelines to when she's with him. He gathers the main items he remembers in her arms and gets them checked, pays the bill and throws the receipt in the bin just beside the corner.

Satisfied, he exits the shop and comes to a hault when he sees an old lady pushing a cart, sticks of random flowers in it. He immediately makes a run for it, sure that if the lady were to look at her side right now, she'd have a heart attack.

"Excuse me!" He shouts, not able to run at the same speed he had started with anymore. "I want some flowers!"

The lady comes to a halt and turns around with a strange look on her face. She stands there quietly until Harry reaches her. Then, she chuckles at him.

"I'm on my way to throw these, darling," she tells him.

"But they are totally fresh!"

She clears her throat before telling him that the florists of this area have decided to throw these, in the name that they don't need these anymore. "You can take any of these if you want thought, I won't stop you."

Harry, who was nodding at her story to be polite hurriedly picks out some pretty flowers and reaches for his wallet. Though, he stops when the lady starts to walk forward again, dismissing him by saying that she doesn't need money for this. But because she also wished him a good night, he walks back to his car with a slight confusion still painting his face.

Once again, he increases the speed a little, not able to be patient to see his fiancé anymore.

As he is parking his car in the carpark which comes under the right of the flat itself, his phone starts ringing and he's quick to pick up when he sees that it's y/n whose calling and not a lazy colleague who will probably beg him to help them out with some work they procrastinated on.

"Hey, darling." He greets her, taking his keys out of the lock and gets out of his car. He's sure she heard him shutting the door but apparently, she didn't based on her next words.

"Where are you H? You said you were leaving like almost thirty-five minutes ago," she questions and trails off the end.

"Oh darling I'm just 5 minutes away from opening the door to our house," he laughs, "I'm sorry I took so long, put down the phone I'm just coming in."

She hums, muttering 'okay' before hanging up.

With some struggle, Harry manages to get inside the door, grateful that she held the door open for him. Whatever crisis he's in the midst of while managing all the stuff in his arms, he doesn't miss the sight of her eyes lightning up at the sight of her treats. It's like someone just cleaned them and now they are squeaky clean, shiny to be exact.

"Is this seriously why you got late, H?" She asks in a voice that Harry can't identify the emotion in. Although when he meekly nods at her, he's caught off guard when she throws her arms around his neck, pressing a chaste kiss onto his lips. "I'm not on my periods, H... what made you think that?" She questions him out of blue, her tone funny as she's looking him straight in the eyes but softly.

"I didn't do this because I thought you were on your periods, no. I did it because I'm pretty sure you've had an unfair and stressful day, and I left early and had time up my sleeve," he answers her like it's no big thing he did.

And while it is the minimum, y/n can't help but look at him as if he's her Saviour right now. She admires his efforts so much, that sometimes it turns into a battle inside her head- oh he did this?I shall pay him back in a greater way because his sweet soul deserves that. She's been working on that habit for a long time now but it's just hard, and she just wants to let go of the rope she ties herself with sometimes.

"Thank you. Thank you for doing this, I really appreciate it," she mumbled against his lips. "I'm not saying this to pay you back in any sense or anything else- but I was thinking of showering before I called you. Perhaps, you could join me?" She offers but it comes out as a question instead.

Pressing another kiss on her lips, he mutters a 'sure' before bending down to pick her up. Immediately her legs wrap around his waist, and she interlocks her ankles behind his back. They don't kiss, they don't make out- her forehead lies against his' and that's enough intimacy for them before they strip down to nothing but their goose-bumped skins against the chilly atmosphere of their bedroom bathroom.

Pressing her bare back against the wall as she slips her tongue into his mouth, he turns the shower taps, both hot and cold so that they don't burn or freeze in there.

In the meantime, she climbs off him while making sure their tongues stay tied. Her hands crawl up his sides and reach for the back of his neck, tangling her fingers in his locks which have gotten straight due to water falling down directly on his forehead and pushing his fluffy hair down onto his scalp.

Water droplets trickle down their faces, getting in between their kiss and making it sloppier.

Harry's hands snake around her hips before they reach down to grab her ass cheeks, smacking one lightly and making her groan against his mouth. His mouth reaches for her cheek then jawline then her neck, and she keeps tilting her head more and more to the side to give him all the space he wants.

One of his hand crawls up her stomach, causing butterflies to erupt just under wherever his palm goes. He cups her jawline first and then reaches back for her tit, cupping it and pinching its nipple- catching another throaty moan from her.

She has completely let go of herself by now, and Harry can tell. "I need you to stand balanced right now, you hear me?" He says as he cups her cheeks with his hands.

She gets confused as to why but before she can catch the breath to ask him to elaborate, Harry's on his knees with his mouth on her heat and it's snatched right away from her. Her hands go back to take ahold of the walls as he works his way through her arousal, lapping it up vigorously and moving his head so that his nose keeps brushing against her clit.

"Oh fuck-" she moans, her knees buckling when he starts to thrust his tongue in and out of her weepy hole. She can feel wetness dripping out of her and right when she starts feeling the knot in her stomach, his fingers replace his mouth as he latches onto her throbbing clit.

Poking his tongue at its sensitive center, he continues his suction on the bundle of nerves, enjoying the series of curse words and his name falling out of her mouth like a pleading chant. When he starts feeling her legs shaking beside his head, he increases his pace.

"Come for me, cum for your fiancé," he manages to say smugly before latching back onto her heat.

Her moans get louder and louder as she feels him enjoying his time between her legs and the burning sensation moving lower and lower in her tummy. "Oh my god, I'm close- I'm so fucking close, H." She tells him, silently asking him to not stop now in a voice above her usual octave.

He simply hums against her, but that simple thing sends electric shocks up her spine. He continues humming, providing vibrations straight to her clit as his lips continue their suction on her clit, which feels to be getting sensitive as she grows closer and closer to her climax.

From where his hands were resting over her thighs, he wraps his arms like two snakes around her inner thighs and grabs a tight ahold of her ass, most probably imprinting his hand in red on the cheeks. Y/n hadn't understood the reason behind it, too lost in heaven but even there she realizes that he's pressing his mouth harder against her- suffocating himself between her thighs.

"Oh- oh Harry, fuck!" She screams his name, one of her hands going to pull against his hair to make some distance between him and her pussy because of the tight vibrations pulling the knot lower and lower in her belly too fast. Although she's pulling against him, she's also hoping that he won't budge and when he actually doesn't and groans instead, she knows she's done for it.

Her wetness drips down his fingers as he continues fucking them into her, pulling the orgasm towards his mouth because now, he's addicted to her taste for the millionth time and won't move until he has a load of her on his tongue, which can't seem to stop licking up the wetness spreading on her pussy due to finger-fucking her.

When she starts to moan his name louder and louder and he can listen that her throat has gone dry, he knows his tongue is gonna be flooded with her sweetness sooner than ever now.

He hums to encourage her, slapping her ass cheek with his other hand and that's the moment she screams his name like he's the god she's pleading to and dirties his tongue like she isn't one of the sinners in this bathroom as well. He groans when he feels the thick white liquid he had desired for, slip into his mouth through his working lips.

Removing his fingers, he passes it up at her while immediately putting in his tongue inside her wet weepy cunt, wanting every single drop of cum he can pull from her. He can hear her crying out that she's overly sensitive now and pulling on his hair strands to pull him away from her heat, but he knows that she wants him to help her ride out her orgasm as she also swirls her tongue around his two slick fingers.

When he's sure that she's clean of her own arousal now but still dirty with his tongue-traces and saliva, he finally pulls back satisfied with his work.

"Ah fuck, can never get rid of my addiction of your taste," he says, swiping his tongue across his lips and wiping the arousal around his mouth with the back of his hand. His knees crack when he stands up, making him giggle.

"Thank you for that," she grins, pressing a kiss on his stretched-out lips.

"Anything for you... and I, ahah" grins at her, before leaning in to press a small kiss on her cheek. "Think I'm a bad boy, just had my dessert before dinner," he laughs, unwrapping his hands from around her waist as she closes the tap after splashing some water on her vagina. She's walking away with her thighs slightly parted, and he knows exactly why because this has happened before- 'I'm just still sensitive,' she laughs embarrassed every time while saying that; also telling him he did a good job under a laugh.

He laughs at her as she narrows her eyes at him with a grin plastered on her lips.

Already having tied her robe around her, she helps him tie the knot of his' and just when she leaves the two strands, she makes sure to leave a lingering eye contact before turning around and walking outside with him trailing behind her.

"Guess I'll be a good girl to have my dessert after dinner," she finishes with a breathy laugh. It only gets loud when Harry mimics those men who silently hope for a payback after pleasing a woman in some way. "Wait seriously!?" He asks her in a high-pitched voice, picking her up from behind while also laughing just as hard as her. Dropping her on the bed, he bends down to place his hands on his knee to continue his laughter, as she lightly smacks him across his face.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles au #dwd!harry #don't worry darling #dwd #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #dom!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry styles concept #fiance!harry #harry styles x fem!reader

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adragonsfriend · 5 months ago

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*emerges out of the mist* I heard something about gender in Amatakka. Please, tell me everything, I want to hear your take on it (can you tell this is also my special interest?)

*falls out of a tree and floats gracefully back and forth several times before alighting on the ground like a leaf* part of this explanation is in my spreadsheet but there's so much more detail and reasoning to talk about.

ok so I started from the claim that there are four accepted genders among Amavikka people (which is a whole other conversation about how if you make a third/fourth gender accepted and normal in a culture you might eventually get a queer bitch (me) going "I need a fifth gender so i can disrupt this paradigm"), female, male, nonbinary, and genderfluid.

introductions

Fialleril said the introductions have a gender particle? word? thing? attached to them. It goes "Ek masa nu [name] [gender particle]." Which is probably best translated as, "I am named [name], [pronouns]."

Feminine: Ek masa nu Shmi ku. 3rd Gender: Ek masa nu Anakin ki. Masculine: Ek masa nu Owen Lars ka. Fluid: Ek masa nu Ekkreth kai.*

*Note: I have seen others use ke for the fluid gender, but I like kai because it's a pun on kai meaning "yes," ala, "What are your pronouns?" "Yes."

Also I said the fluid option could choose to do a "Ek masa nu [name] kai [other gender particle]," to indicate their current pronouns. More casually, maybe you could say, "Ek masa kai [other particle]." or "Ek [other particle]." (I have a thing about how you can drop any subject pronoun in a sentence except "ek," so that's about as short as it can get)

gender assumption

But anyway, the general concept of these gender particles means that it's immediately evident upon introduction what pronouns & gendered words the person you're talking to uses, which is really cool, but it still leaves the gap of people that you haven't been introduced to, if you forgot someone's pronouns, if you haven't seen someone in a long time and their pronouns could've changed, if your genderfluid friend hasn't told you what gender they're feeling today, etcetera. Basically, there are still lots of situations where you wouldn't know someone's gender.

I haven't introduced grammatical gender (ala french where nouns have gender that affects what articles you use), but since people have gender, and that affects both adjectives and verbs, that means that there has to be a choice made about what gender is assumed when you don't know someone's gender.

In English we are blessed to have singular they available to use for both unknown gender and (the majority of) nonbinary people, but I didn't want to make the assumption that this overlap was the same in Amatakka.

Instead what I landed on is that the feminine forms are assumed in the case of unknown gender, for two reasons. First, I think it presents more of a different look at gender to have the third gender not be associated with neutrality at all. Second, in the mythology we get Ar-amu, a woman, as the most foundational figure, as well as the story keepers being called Grandmothers in general despite the lack of any apparent prohibition on men or 3rd gender ppl taking on the role. Point being, Fialleril has already introduced the feminine as the assumptive gender.

translating gender

This creates an interesting little translation tidbit when translating back to english, where if you said, say,

"Zeechev masabu Mos Espa sip. Shu masabu uumanu*," -> "A stranger is in Mos Espa. They are human." --an imagined statement about Qui-Gon Jinn in the phantom menace

*i decided just now that human, and most other species, are probably cognates with other languages in Amatakka, hence uuman is the base form of the adjective "human"

you actually are translating "shu" (she) in Amatakka into singular they in English. If someone actually knew Qui-Gon and knew he was a man they would use the masculine pronoun, conjugation and agreement,

"Qui-gon masaba Mos Espa sip. Sha masaba uumana." -> "Qui-Gon is in Most Espa. He is human."

Talking about Padme being in Mos Espa, you would use the feminine form if you didn't know her gender, and then continue to use it once you found out she was a woman.

For the plural, there's just one third person pronoun for all three genders regardless of the make up of the group being talked about, which would translate as plural they in english. It's "shun," which is obviously using the feminine "shu" as a base.

So going back to the 3rd gender pronouns, it wouldn't be incorrect to translate them (the subject pronoun is "shi") as singular they/them since those cover a range of non-binary genders in English, but because I specifically don't really want the 3rd gender in Amatakka to be associated with neutrality at all, I usually translate 3rd gender pronouns as ze/zir neopronouns.

disrespectful form

There is also the disrespectful form, used to talk about slavers (depuran) and other people who actively uphold the system of slavery, and (sometimes) people who are in keekta-du or depukreta type situations, which isn't gendered at all in the pronouns, conjugation, or agreement, though of course other gendered words are still relevant to those people. The disrespectful form would be translated to English as whatever gender that person would usually use.

"Jabba Hutt reeue du. Sur masue du Amavikke." -> "Jabba the Hutt doesn't fly. He is not Amavikka."

The reason I'm actually attached to the disrespectful form as a concept is because of the "sometimes" I mentioned with depukreta people. Specifically because it means that by the end of Return of the Jedi, where another Amavikka person might say,

"Darth Vader masur depukrete," -> "Darth Vader is a chain-healer."

Luke would say,

"Shi masabi depukretu." -> "He is a chain-healer."

Ergo his decision to try and redeem Anakin would be evident even down to his word choice.

inanimate objects

Oh also there's a separate pronouns, conjugations, and agreements for inanimate objects

Anyway this has been a lecture on gender and other things that function in the same area of grammar in Amatakka, according to me. i hope it all made sense. if anyone feels like asking me more questions about this or has their own opinions about Amatakka i will include you in my will

#star wars #tatooine slave culture #amatakka #fialleril #conlang #constructed language

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topazshadowwolf · 2 years ago

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GoopTales: Part 10

In which Nightmare knows he's in over his head and makes a call. As I think I warned before, there will be FuzzyNight, and it's now starting to pop up. Balance (Lyra) is a Toriel guardian.

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10(you are here)

AO3: Ch 1 (1-4), Ch 2 (4-8)

---

He gave all the boys a snack of crackers (cheesy crackers and saltines mixed together) and cut-up pears. This they had in the entertainment room while watching one of the animated movies they had brought home at one point or another. He made sure to check the rating of the movie.

Looking over the box, he remembered when the boys brought it home. At the time, they had laughed about it being for kids and expected to mock it the entire time. To them, it sounded cheesy.

It was about some giant metal creature from space that made friends with a tiny human boy. He remembered finding all four in tears by the time the movie finished. Nightmare should try watching movies more often. They were good stories; some were even adapted from books he read. But he’d just instead read.

Thankfully Dust was handling the snack well. The flavors were mellow, especially since he gave him more saltines than cheesy crackers. Nightmare offered them all small amounts at a time, preventing him from getting excited about the flavors and overwhelming his magic. Since they all got the same treat with needing to ask for more, Dust wasn’t singled out. Though Nightmare did need to ask him not to share so much with Ferrous.

The dog was lying beside Dust, letting the child lean on him. It was nice to see the animals accept their smaller owners, like Bill, who was again lying like an oversized rag doll over Killer’s lap.

Once done with the snack, he stood and left the room with the excuse of needing to clean up. The truth was, he needed help, and he wasn’t above admitting it to himself, at least.

While they were watching the movie, Nightmare made a phone call.

“Hello, Nightmare! How are you?” Asked a kind and feminine voice.

“Hello, Lyra, I…,” He looked in at the boys who were fixated on their movie. Each in shirts that fit them more like nightgowns… Horror’s, in particular, was down to his ankles. “... I have a small problem. It is something I will try not to bother you with too often, but I could use some help for a moment. And yes, there was a pun intended before… you will understand once you see what I am talking about. That is, if you can come here?”

“I… can. Nightmare, is everything alright?” Lyra inquired. “You say it is a small problem, but your voice contradicts that.”

With a sigh, Nightmare closed his socket, and his tentacles drooped. “I trust you, so I will be honest… no… everything is not alright. But… I will make do.”

“I do not like the sound of that. I am finishing baking a treat for your boys,” She said. Before, he knew she would have been teasing him to say, ‘your boys.’ It has reached the point, now, that she calls them that without even meaning to.

Well, she will soon see.

“I will be there soon,” She said, finishing her statement.

“Thank you, goodbye until then,” Nightmare said.

“You are welcome, and likewise,” with that said, she hung up.

Now, he should warn the boys. Lyra tended to look for them first when she visited. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t mind. She seemed to enjoy finding them and giving them a pie or something else that they happily came to share with him.

Walking into the room, he paused the movie, and all but Dust looked up at him. Dust looked confused and glanced around before looking up at Nightmare.

“I am sorry to pause your movie, boys, but a friend is coming over. She will be helping me out, and so I want you four to be nice to her. Alright?” Nightmare asked, and all four nodded. “Thank you.”

“what’s her name?” Horror asked.

“Her name is Lyra, or Balance, for she is the guardian of balance and order,” Nightmare explained.

“is she your wife?” Killer blurted out.

“My wi-” Nightmare felt his magic rush to his face, his tendrils lashing with a sudden burst of nervous energy. “No, no, she is not my wife.”

“Oh…, girlfriend!” Killer announced, pleased with himself.

“If by that you mean a friend who happens to be a female, then yes. But that is all we are, friends. Is that understood?” Nightmare clarified, and Killer nodded with a smile.

What was he to do with that one?

He then resumed the movie and returned to the kitchen. By the time he finished cleaning up from the snack, he had heard the soft footsteps of Lyra walking into the kitchen. “I now see what you mean by ‘small’ problem.”

“You saw them then…,” Nightmare sighed without looking back at her. He pulled the plug in the sink to allow the water to drain. “Did they see you?”

“No, I had been considering surprising them. It is safe to say they surprised me, so I stepped away from the doorway to find you,” Lyra said as she moved closer. He glanced over as she set a tray of brownies down. Steam was rising off of them; they were fresh from the oven. She looked at him with a tilted head. “What happened?”

Nightmare waved a hand to the table before he remembered the tablecloth. She looked at it as well and giggled. “What is this construction?” She inquired.

“A cave… a small cave dragon hatchling lives there with his three guards. Here, let me fold the tablecloth, and you can take a seat…,” He said as he picked up the tablecloth and started folding it while walking over to the drawer it belonged in.

Once she was sitting and the tablecloth was put away, he joined her and started telling the story of what had occurred. He didn’t hold back either, telling her everything he had learned about his henchmen. As he spoke of their Gasters, she covered her face when he got to Dust’s memories.

“Oh my… that…,” Her words failed her, and she shook her head.

“Anyway, I need supplies for them… but I can not leave them alone in the castle when they do not even remember this is their home.”

“I can stay here for as long as you need me,” Lyra said.

“Actually… do you mind making the shopping trip? I will confess my knowledge of child care is limited,” Nightmare frowned. “They mainly need appropriately fitting clothing. Then anything you might feel they need.”

“And after the shopping trip?” Lyra pried

“You may go home,” Nightmare said with a tired smile.

“Nightmare… they are children.” Lyra pushed.

“I am aware of that,” he replied flatly.

“And with the same injuries and changes that occurred in adulthood. Nightmare… they will… be a challenge for just one person,” Lyra explained.

“They are my b-… my idiots,” he stated. “They are always a challenge, and I will make due as usual.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Alright, but know that I am just a phone call away. You need not do this on your own.”

She then stood and walked into the entertainment room. Just in time, too, the closing credits for the movie were starting. “Greetings, boys! Nightmare told me about you four and asked me to run an errand. Before I leave, I wanted to talk to the four of you.”

He stood there and watched as she knelt on the floor and spoke with them. Asking about favorite colors, animals, foods, and other things. Three of the four were excitedly answering. Dust, though, sat quietly and shrugged. The others would offer up answers for him. He then noticed Nightmare and walked over to him, Ferrous trailing behind.

“can i stay by you?” He looked about ready to cry, and Lyra offered an apologetic smile.

“You may,” Nightmare replied, and Dust moved beside his leg. He stood there quietly, watching the others. Nightmare glanced down again as he felt something touch his leg and saw Dust place a hand on his fibula.

The others asked Lyra questions and pointed out how much she looked like Queen Toriel. Though, with some black fur, one gold horn, and one silver one. They were very curious, though Horror soon tired and made his way over to the other side of Nightmare.

As the children stood beside him, he moved a tendril around Dust’s and Horror’s shoulders to offer comfort. Horror smiled up at him but then sighed and closed his sockets. His head must still be bothering him. Dust, Of course, flinched at first when the tentacle Nightmare used for him made contact. Much to the Guardian’s surprise, though, he looked up at Nightmare with a smile.

“Alright, I will be back,” Lyra said as she stood.

“Thank you,” Nightmare said.

“You are very welcome,” she replied with a smile.

---

#GoopTales #I have COVID so I have days off work #means more writing :3 #nightmare!sans #dust!sans #killer!sans #horror!sans #cross!sans #babybones #Balance OC toriel #Lyra OC toriel #utmv #soriel

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btscontentenjoyer · 2 years ago

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This chapter was... really something else whew 🥵🥵 And the way the chapters end always make me so excited to read the next one. They feel like TV show episodes or something.

"And you certainly could have done without the appreciative noises he made after he forced you to describe Suga’s dick in explicit detail." lmao everything Jimin does is ICONIC

I felt so bad for Kihyun the whole time in the club, seeing OC constantly comparing him to Yoongi. Nobody deserves to be used to take somebody's mind off of somebody else, especially without their knowledge.

"Your back arches, pleasure washing over you, and you cry out. “Yes, Yoongi, yes!” I knew this was coming no pun intended but that doesn't stop it from making me go 😬😬😬

Kihyun was so nice and obliging too and OC goes and does that on top of just straight up using him. Maybe if you're down this bad you should like actually sleep with the person you want insead of hurting innocent people. But I understand that everyone makes mistakes and that it's hard for her to come to terms with the fact she wants Yoongi like that. Still a shitty thing to do though.

“I ordered one, and they gave me two. Crazy, right?” God, he's so cute. Not looking forward to the inevitable heartbreak when OC rejects him though. I just hope she doesn't lead him on too long 🥺🥺🥺 Although he's still doing all of these things without admitting to anything so 👀👀👀

"Yoongi rolls his glass between his palms as he continues. “So you know, we catch up, ask how life is going, all the usual shit. And then my friend— Kihyun, that’s his name— Kih starts telling me about this crazy hookup he had last weekend.” And this is when my jaw absolutely hit the floor. What are the fucking chances lmao. Despite the fact that I really don't like what OC did, this is a very shitty situation to be in and I feel so bad for her.

“It seems to me like we could establish something that would be mutually beneficial. Get some of that energy out. If anything, I think it might help both of us actually focus on our work, and that would in turn benefit everyone. It’d certainly be a lot better than the two of us running around like a couple of horny teenagers the way we have been lately. It’s not a purely selfish thing.” Thank you, Yoongi! Finally one of them is saying something that makes sense and is addressing their situation head on. Although hatefucking your coworker is a veeery risky thing to do lmao.

"He smirks. “I meant it as a compliment, honestly. Respectfully.” Lmao it definitely didn't sound like one to me.

“Don’t want anyone getting suspicious. Which is really a damn shame, because there’s so much I want to do to you.” 😳😳😳

“That much is obvious,” he says, and you can hear the unsteadiness in his voice now. “How would you like to get fucked?” How polite of him, what a gentleman.

“Wait a minute or two before you head out,” he instructs, and you nod dumbly. He crosses the room, opens the door, and slips out, all before you can even so much as think a coherent thought." This man is so fucking dangerous omg. If OC couldn't get him out of her head before I can't imagine what it will be like now that she's experienced how much sexual chemistry they have together.

“Well, well, well,” Your best friend’s voice is smug as you slide into his passenger seat. “If it isn’t the company whore.” I absolutely LAUGHED OUT LOUD at this. I love Jimin so much and I still stand by my above statement that everything he does and says is iconic.

"An entire weekend of forced professionalism, in Los Angeles, with the man you just hatefucked in a bathroom. What could possibly go wrong?" Let’s goooo. Wait until Jimin hears about this lmao.

I really hope this didn't sound completely mean and rude at the beginning because that was not my intention at all. I love it when characters in stories make mistakes because it just makes them feel so much more realistic and fleshed-out. I just can't say I approve of OC using someone like that. But Min Yoongi could make all of us that desperate I guess.

So excited to read what's to come in LA 👀👀👀

look down on me like that - 5 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst)

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 11.4k (you're welcome 😌)

contains: ~explicit sexual content~ !! *deep breath in* YES THERE IS ACTUAL FUCKING HAPPENING - EVERYONE REMAIN CALM. also i promise this is the most unhinged reader gets lmao. alright let's go: one night stand/stranger sex, semi-public sex (bathroom of a bar), fingering, spanking, a truly gratuitous blowjob, orgasm denial, a smidge of dirty talk/namecalling, finger sucking?, protected sex, semi-awkward sex lmao, the hatefucking is HERE 🙌🏻 plenty of alcohol mentions as always,, so much alcohol. this chapter also features a couple fun cameos - kihyun of monsta x and wonho 💜

A/N: hope y'all enjoy this absolute CHAOS!! i have so many lovely friends who cheered me on while i was writing this, far too many to name, but i fucking adore you all 🥺🥺 and i do want to specifically shoutout @kiestrokes because the ~spicy twist~ in this chapter would not be HALF as good if it wasn't for her and her big beautiful brain. srsly she took a half-baked idea i had and made it insane. god i love that woman. ALRIGHT ENOUGH BABBLING - ENJOY!!!!!

read on AO3!

chapter four | masterlist | chapter six

~*~

“Try this.” Jimin yanks an emerald green dress off the hanger and chucks it over his shoulder, nearly hitting you.

“Ugh, I hate this one,” you groan as you hold the offending item up for inspection, pinched between index finger and thumb. “The fabric is so itchy.”

Your best friend whips around, hands on hips, when you question his taste. “I’m sorry, did I just hear you going back on our agreement? Is that what this is?”

You groan, flopping over onto your bedspread, doing your best not to mess up your hair. Jimin had, understandably, been pissed when you’d called him immediately upon leaving the office last night, hands still shaking as you cradled the phone against your cheek. You think you have permanent hearing damage from the anguished wails your best friend made as you finally admitted everything you hadn’t told him. And you certainly could have done without the appreciative noises he made after he forced you to describe Suga’s dick in explicit detail.

It’s not like you aren’t constantly thinking about it, anyway.

Especially now that Yoongi has specifically told you everything, everything he wants to do to you. The words swim back to you in pieces whenever you aren’t actively trying to suppress the memory. Finger that tight little pussy. Spank you until you bruise. Fuck you like the slut you so clearly are.

God. You’ve been horny for 24 hours straight. This can’t be good for your health.

Jimin had nearly disowned you for letting secrecy infiltrate your friendship for the first time in over a decade, but then he’d realized how truly distraught you were as you just kept babbling into the phone about Suga, too far gone to make any sense.

“Jesus fucking christ, it’s not the end of the world!” He’d finally interrupted with a frustrated groan. “You really think Suga is the only man in the world who can fuck you senseless? He was probably overselling it anyway. Having a pretty dick doesn’t guarantee he knows what to do with it.”

At this point you’d stumbled onto the bus home, and you remember smacking your forehead against the cold glass of the window with a whine at the words pretty dick, your mind already departing on another Yoongi spiral.

Jimin’s peal of laughter rang in your ears. “I’ve never heard you down this bad in my life, good god girl! We just need to get you laid so your fucking brain can work right again.”

“Please,” you’d grunted.

“Alright, I’m coming over tomorrow, and we’re going out.” He’d paused then, and you knew there was more even before he continued. It was like you could hear his evil smile. “And I get to pick your outfit.”

You’re snapped out of the memory as a second dress is tossed your way, this one hitting you square in the face.

“Either the green or this one. You’re still in the doghouse, ma’am,” Jimin reminds you.

You pull the second option up to examine it, already grateful for the softer feel of the material. Jimin loves to put you in shit that you’d never wear— usually dresses that he bought for you, or bullied you into buying. You think you already dress pretty racy when you go out, but Jimin likes to take it to another level, always encouraging you to show more skin, more tits, more ass. He’s definitely responsible for this number even being in your closet: dark burgundy in color, it’s tight, short, and the cutouts leave very little to the imagination.

You whine softly despite yourself. “Do I have to? I’m going to freeze to death.”

Jimin has already moved to sit at your desk, examining his hair in the mirror you use to do your makeup. He’s in one of his favorite going-out shirts, one he claims “makes even the straight boys look twice”, a blue and white striped button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He doesn’t even bother making eye contact with you as he peers at his reflection, fiddling with the silver hoops in his ears. “I dunno. Depends on whether or not you value my friendship.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics. “I can’t stand you.”

“Will you shut up and put your damn freakum dress on already?” He rummages through your makeup bag without asking until he finds what he’s looking for, a tube of Fenty gloss that he dabs in the center of his bottom lip.

“That is not what freakum dress means,” you say with a laugh as you stand to strip out of your sweats, but he’s already reaching for his phone that’s connected to your Bluetooth speaker, another requirement for the evening in order to keep your friendship intact. Beyoncé starts to blast as you pull your shirt over your head and suck in for dear life.

“So, what exactly is the plan?” You ask as soon as you swallow down another shot, nearly shouting to be heard over the noise of the bar. Jimin made you do a couple in your kitchen before you left, and though you haven’t even been out for an hour, you’re already straddling the line between tipsy and drunk.

He shoots you a look. “Don’t act so innocent, like I haven’t personally seen you go home with random dudes.”

Your gaze flits over the mass of bodies out on the dance floor. “I mean, yeah, but…” You shrug, grimacing slightly. “I don’t know, it’s been a while. And we’re not in college anymore.”

“What about him?” You look back at Jimin and he nods his head behind you. You do your best to be subtle as you glance over your shoulder to see two guys a couple of tables away.

“Which one?”

Jimin makes a face like it’s obvious. “Are you kidding me? The absolutely built daddy with the red hair?”

You examine them more closely, scrunching your nose up a little. He’s cute, big as hell, and you certainly notice his bubble butt in those tight pants. But it just doesn’t feel right. “I don’t know that he’s my type.” When your gaze lands on his friend, dressed in all black, dark hair skimming over his eyes as he leans in to say something, your heart flips in your chest. Now that could work.

Turning back to Jimin to say as much, you realize that he’s already brushing past you. “Well I’m not stupid,” he scoffs, and you scramble to follow after him as he stalks confidently across the room.

He’s already talking to them when you catch up. “Hi boys. Care for some company?”

They glance at each other, and you can tell Jimin’s presence is clearly unexpected but not unwelcome. He wasn’t wrong: nobody can resist him in that damn shirt.

“Sure,” red-haired daddy says with a shy giggle, and you have to bite back a smile. You were not expecting a guy that built to react so softly, and you already know your best friend is going feral on the inside. There is nothing Jimin loves more than a man he can fluster. Especially one who can make him pay for it.

His friend flags down a server and orders a round of shots for the table, then gives you a small wave as Jimin takes the liberty of giving his name and yours. “I’m Kihyun.”

“Hoseok,” Jimin's target is clearly squirming under his intense gaze. “But my friends call me Wonho.”

“Can I be your friend?” Jimin purrs. You’re nearly laughing at how quickly he lost the plot of trying to get you laid, but he’s also such an intense flirt that it nearly works as a wingman maneuver, in its own weird way.

You scoot a little closer to Kihyun as Jimin and Wonho disappear into their own conversation. Up close you can really admire how attractive he is, full lips and a wickedly sharp jawline.

“Hi,” you say with a smile, surprised to find yourself slightly nervous despite the alcohol coursing through your system.

“Hi,” he says back, and he looks like he’s about to say more when the server reappears with a tray of four shots.

“Thanks again for these,” you say as you reach for one, and he waves it off. You glance over at Jimin and Wonho, assuming they might want to toast as a group, but Jimin is already hooking his elbow around Wonho’s ridiculous bicep and making a not-at-all-subtle comment about how big he is, intertwining their arms before they each throw the shot back.

You look at Kihyun again, who is biting his lip nervously, and you can feel your face heat up. You’re no Jimin, so you settle for gently tapping your shot glass against his. “Cheers.”

He echoes the sentiment and you down your drinks simultaneously. You shiver a little as you swallow, but you’ve had enough that you don’t even feel the burn of the alcohol.

“So,” Kihyun’s eyes flit over to Jimin, then return to you. “Do you two come here a lot?”

You shrug. “We rotate. Jimin likes this place more than I do. You?”

He laughs softly. “Not really. Honestly, we’re both homebodies, but we try to get out every so often. Always nice to meet new people.” It’s so quick you nearly miss it, but you swear his eyes jump down your figure and back up again.

You try to ignore the little voice in your head reminding you of another pair of eyes; dark, calculating, wandering over your body. Not now.

“I couldn’t agree more,” you say, because it’s true: a new person is definitely what you need in this moment.

Before you can ask a follow-up question, you hear Jimin, talking loudly so that he’s audible over the music. “Your thighs look so good in those pants!” You have to resist the urge to smack your head against the table when you look over to see him attempting— and absolutely failing— to wrap his small hands around the circumference of Wonho’s leg, who is giggling like a schoolgirl.

You glance back at Kihyun, who is equally enraptured. “I’m so sorry,” you say quietly. “He is unfortunately always like this.”

“You know where else those thighs would look good?” Jimin’s voice lowers as he asks the question, and you watch Kihyun’s eyes go wide.

“Do you want to dance?” You say quickly, and he nods so fast you think his head might fall off. You start to break away from the group, his hand slipping to your waist, when Jimin smacks the table so loud that it makes you jump.

“Hey!” He yells, and you turn back, but he’s pointing at Kihyun, who instantly looks terrified. He leans in, as if to divulge confidential information, and Kihyun takes a tentative step towards him.

“Just so you’re aware,” Jimin starts, and you know it’s going to be bad. “She needs to get dicked down. Severely. Hope you’re ready.”

You close your hand around Kihyun’s wrist and drag him towards the dance floor, eager for a distraction to keep you from murdering your best friend.

Now that you’re actually in motion, you can feel the last couple of shots quickly catching up to you, the room blurring slightly at the edges. At the center of the dance floor, the thudding bass is loud enough to make it hard to think, which is exactly what you need right now.

You’re grateful not to have to force any more conversation, both of Kihyun’s hands slipping to your hips as you start to move in time to the music. It gives you free reign to admire him up close, and damn, he really is gorgeous. He’s only a little taller than you in your heels— probably about the same height as Yoongi, though his frame is slighter, smaller. You watch as his dark hair falls into his eyes again and he reaches up to sweep it off his forehead— Yoongi’s hair is a little longer, and he certainly has much better hands, but other than that—

You have to squeeze your eyes shut when you realize what the fuck you're doing. The whole point of this encounter is to stop thinking about Yoongi. Not pick apart this absolute stranger in comparison to him.

You desperately wish you could get another drink, but you know that would push you all the way into “drunk” territory. As much as you hate admitting it, Jimin was right: you really need to be able to consent to sex tonight. You’re gonna have to get through this the old-fashioned way, with sheer fucking willpower.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes flutter open to meet Kihyun’s concerned gaze. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just, uh. Thinking about work.” Not a complete lie.

“Well, don’t,” he says with a soft laugh. “It’s the weekend. You should enjoy it.” His hands press a little tighter, pulling you close until your body is flush with his. His breath ghosts over your neck as you hear his voice in your ear. “That dress looks really good on you.”

A different voice echoes in your mind before you can stop it. Spread your legs for me. Show me what’s under that dress. You can’t help but wonder if this is what it feels like to literally go insane, and then you grab Kihyun’s face with both hands and kiss him in a desperate attempt to not think anymore.

You can feel him freeze, clearly not expecting it, but after a second his mouth starts to move against yours. His hands slip further down towards your ass, and fuck, it occurs to you that you are still incredibly horny. You need this to happen as soon as possible.

Pulling away and sliding your hands to Kihyun’s shoulders, you tilt up to speak into his ear. “Do you live near here?”

His eyes go wide for at least the third time tonight. “Y-yeah, not far.” You see his tongue dart out to lick his lips.

“I don’t know how to say this politely,” you admit with an embarrassed smile. “But my friend wasn’t wrong. About… what I need.”

He pauses for a moment, and your stomach twists as you prepare for rejection, the reasonable reaction considering you basically jumped this man like a crazy person. But then he smiles, leaning into you so he can keep his tone soft. “Come on, then.”

You follow Kihyun as he guides you towards the exit, keeping one hand pressed to the small of your back. It’s hard to miss the other half of your group making their way through the crowd— Wonho is large enough that people quickly shrink to get out of his way, but his gaze is entirely transfixed on Jimin’s ass in front of him. You nod in their direction and Kihyun follows as you push past bodies to reunite.

“Are you leaving?!” Jimin asks, and you can only nod. His eyes jump to Kihyun. “I told you, you better give it to her!” He shouts it so loudly that people standing behind him glance over their shoulders, but he is fully unfazed, now brandishing his cellphone. “And I always have her location on, so if you murder her, I will come find you!”

With a roll of your eyes, you lean across the circle so that Wonho can hear you. “Take good care of him, okay?” When you pull away, you swear he’s blushing as red as his hair, and he nods sheepishly.

You turn back to Kihyun. “Ready?”

The door to Kihyun’s apartment barely has time to close behind you before you find his lips with yours again. He presses you up against the wall of the entryway, and you waste no time in moving your hands over his body. His shirt and pants hit the floor in quick succession.

When he reaches for the hem of your dress, you cover his hands with yours to stop him. “Do you— is it okay if I keep it on?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, breathless. “Yeah, okay.”

He kisses you again and you let him guide you backwards through an open door into his bedroom until you feel the mattress hit the backs of your knees. You perch on the edge of the bed and glance around the room, taking it in. It’s clean, if minimally furnished, and your stomach flips when you see a nondescript work desk tucked into one corner.

You look at Kihyun when you feel his hand gently rub your thigh, encouraging you to spread your legs.

“Kihyun?”

“Yeah?”

Your gaze jumps to his desk, then back to him. “Do— uh… Do you think you could bend me over your desk?”

He seems a little dumbfounded, and takes a second to find words. “Wh— I— yeah, yes, I can do that. I just—” he clears his throat. “Do you need, like, foreplay, or…?”

You stand up again, knees shaking slightly. “I’ll tell you what to do, does that work?”

It must, because he kisses you, eventually starting to move towards the desk. When you’ve gotten far enough, you feel him tug at your hips, encouraging you to spin around so your back is flush with his chest. His hand slides up to your shoulders to gently press you forward, and you brace your forearms on the desk, already breathless.

“P-pull my dress up,” you manage to instruct. His hands caress over your thighs, then move to the hem of your dress, pushing up until your ass is fully exposed for him.

Get a good look at that ass you were tempting me with, the voice in your head finishes for you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on this moment, this man. Not any others.

You look back at Kihyun over your shoulder in an attempt to stay present, spreading your legs a little wider. “Touch me.”

He slowly moves a hand from your thigh up towards your core, and you feel his fingers just barely brush over the fabric of your underwear. The rush of contact after so much anticipation is enough to make you shiver slightly, but his touch is so light, so gentle.

Gentle is not what you need right now.

Keeping yourself held up on one arm, you reach the other behind you to forcefully tug your panties to the side. “Your fingers, Kihyun,” you hiss.

You tip your head forward and swallow down a whine of relief as he presses a digit into you and starts to rub circles. “How’s that?” His voice purrs in your ear, and you whimper as you nod.

It feels good, especially when he adds a second finger, but it’s not enough. He’s too soft, too tentative.

You look back at him again. “Can you spank me?”

You’ve officially lost count of the number of times you’ve surprised this man tonight. “I— what?”

“Like, smack my ass?”

“Like this?” He asks, but you barely feel it when he brings his hand down over your ass.

“Harder,” you say almost instantly, realizing after the fact that you could probably stand to be a little nicer to this random stranger. “Please.”

Kihyun’s second attempt is better, enough to make you groan softly as the sensation of the sting mixes with the movements of his fingers pressing against your front wall. He does it again, harder still, and you wiggle your ass back towards him— you need more, more than his hands can give.

“Kihyun,” you gasp, “want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? I’ll fuck you right here,” he grunts. At least he seems to be genuinely into it, you think to yourself gratefully. He smacks your ass a final time and you bite down on your lip as he withdraws his fingers. “One second.”

You hear the sound of him opening a drawer somewhere in his room and retrieving a condom, and you let your eyes flutter closed until his hands brush over your hips again.

“Ready?”

“Yes, Kihyun, please,” you beg, your head dropping down onto your forearms. “Please fuck me.” Desire is wound up so tight inside you that you can’t think about anything else; you need this so fucking badly.

He makes a strangled whine as he presses into you, and you move your hips back onto him, gasping slightly at the stretch. “Fuck.”

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Kihyun groans, and he starts to roll into you with steady thrusts that brush the head of his cock right over your g-spot. You push backwards, matching his rhythm, and he’s not wrong: it feels good.

But it’s not enough.

“Harder,” you groan, your voice muffled in the crook of your elbow, and you hear Kihyun grunt as he picks up the pace, hips snapping against your ass. Better, but somehow still not what you need.

“Please, Kihyun,” you encourage again. “Fuck me like a slut.”

“Jesus,” he breathes, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve finally broken him. But then his hand cracks over your ass, hard enough to take you by surprise, and he starts to thrust even faster.

“Is this what you want?” He asks, and his voice is tense, almost angry; something about it makes your walls start to flutter. Your orgasm is so frustratingly close, yet somehow beyond your grasp.

And then you hear that all-too familiar voice in your head. I want to make you come so hard that your legs shake. Before you can help it, you moan a little at the memory. The way Yoongi leveled his gaze on you as he spoke so calmly, in a way that had you believing every single word. You can feel your core starting to tighten at the very thought, and once your brain realizes that’s what will get you there, it’s like the fucking floodgates open.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, and you can hear him grunt in agreement, like he’s close, too.

You’re helpless to stop it now, too desperate to come. Yoongi’s voice, his face, his tongue, his hands, his cock. It’s all you can think of. You gasp as everything inside you tightens and starts to pulse.

“Shit, shit, I’m gonna come,” you whine. So hard that you have no choice but to scream my name as I wreck you, the voice in your head finishes, and you dig your nails into the desk beneath you as you reach your climax.

Your back arches, pleasure washing over you, and you cry out. “Yes, Yoongi, yes!”

There’s a moment where his hips stutter, and then he pushes all the way into you one last time with a grunt of effort as he comes, too. Your heartbeat starts to slow.

And then it occurs to you that the man fucking you is absolutely not named Yoongi, and you smack a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you say softly, voice muffled, and you remove your hand as you start to straighten up. You can hear Kihyun still breathing heavily behind you, but he’s otherwise silent as he releases his grip on your hips and slides out of you.

“Kihyun,” you turn to watch him cross the room to the en-suite bathroom, where he briefly disappears to dispose of the condom. Face burning with embarrassment, you awkwardly maneuver to readjust your underwear and pull your dress back down over your ass.

When he reappears in the doorway, you try again. “Kihyun, I am so sorry. I—I don’t—” you fumble for what to say, knowing full well you don’t have a good explanation. At least not one that doesn’t make you sound insane.

“It’s cool,” he says, but he’s clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, you know. Shit happens.”

You glance around nervously for your phone before realizing it’s back on the table in the entryway where you tossed it in the throes of passion. You shoot Kihyun a weak smile. “I should— let me call Jimin. I can get a ride home.”

Kihyun laughs dryly. “Yeah, I’m gonna take a wild guess that he might be a little busy. I can take you home. It’s not a big deal.”

As much as your pride wants to refuse, you don’t exactly have a backup plan. “I would really appreciate that,” you murmur.

The drive is silent and painfully awkward, Kihyun turning up the music just loud enough that you get the indication that he doesn’t want to talk. As the lights of the city stream by, you can’t help but wonder how everything got so fucked up.

When Kihyun pulls up to your apartment complex, you indicate where he can drop you off, and he reaches over you as the car slows to a stop to politely open the door.

“Have a good night,” he says firmly, and you can barely manage a word of thanks before you slip out of his car and head up the stairs to die of embarrassment.

Jimin shows up at your door late Sunday afternoon, a takeout bag of haejangguk tucked under one arm, gushing incessantly about the various ways Wonho threw him around all night. It feels like he babbles for an hour, until he finally takes a break to sip from his own container of soup, and prompts you with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Your turn. Was your mission successful?”

You keep your gaze firmly planted on the floor as you recount what happened.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

~*~

Jimin decides that you’ll try again next weekend, promising he’ll be less distracted. You’re not positive you’ll survive that long. You preemptively text Jungkook asking to take the week off from boxing class - your stomach is such a fucking bundle of nerves that you barely sleep at all Sunday night, and you know the next five days spent in constant fear of running into Yoongi is only going to make it worse.

Those same nerves creep up into your throat when you unlock the doors Monday morning, Jungkook waiting patiently behind you with his hands wrapped around the straps of his backpack.

Dread blooms inside of you as you move to place your purse on your desk, and then you make a split-second decision, spinning back to face Jungkook.

“Hey, JK?” The nickname is unplanned, just sort of comes out, but you see him visibly brighten. “Are there any open desks on your side of the office? I think I need a change of scenery.”

He nods, eyes wide. “Yeah! I’m actually all by myself right now. Sunye is on maternity leave for the rest of the month. You can use her desk.”

You gesture for him to lead the way and he does, heading past the break room and walking backwards down the hallway to keep talking to you. “Is there something wrong with your normal desk? We can always put in a work order.”

“Uh, no,” you scramble, trying to find a good excuse. “It can just be a little distracting, you know. People coming in and out all day. I’ve got a lot of stuff I need to be heads-down on this week.”

The excuse sounds flimsy and false to you, but he seems to buy it. “Yeah, makes sense! I’ll try not to distract you too much.”

He does a full 360-degree spin on his heels as you turn the corner at the end of the hall, and it’s enough to make you laugh softly despite yourself. There’s a small alcove with a desk pressed against either wall, and you don’t even have to ask which one is Jungkook’s. The standing desk is dotted with tell-tale signs of Baby Star Candy: an empty shaker cup, a mini tub of protein powder, several fidget toys tucked beneath his monitor. A small collage of polaroids is taped to the wall where you see him smiling with friends, throwing up a peace sign in nearly every single one.

Sunye’s desk is mostly empty, save for a few framed photos of her with her husband and two young kids. You drop your purse down and take a seat as Jungkook chucks his backpack under his desk, both of you reaching to retrieve your laptops.

Outlook hasn’t even loaded before he’s turned around and talking to you again. “So how was your weekend?”

You grimace reflexively at memories you’d rather forget, and Jungkook misinterprets the look. “Oh, sorry, no distractions. I’ll be quiet.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “It’s not you. My weekend was fine. What about yours?”

He laughs, looking a little embarrassed. “I mean, honestly? I’m super addicted to this new mobile game that just came out. I feel like I blinked and lost two days.” He’s already reaching for his cellphone. “Want to see?” You roll your chair across to his side of the room as Jungkook leans over to show you the little island world he’s nearly 500 levels into. After a few minutes, he seems to remember himself.

“Shit, you specifically said you came here to focus. I’m sorry, I really will leave you alone now.”

You bite down on your bottom lip. “No, it’s okay, JK. I— honestly, I wasn’t being entirely truthful when I said that. I don’t mind the distraction at all, actually. It’s kind of complicated, but… it would be nice if I could hide out here for the foreseeable future.”

He looks at you, clearly surprised. “Of course. Whatever you need. Is everything okay?”

You wince a little, with no idea how to answer that question.

His voice drops. “Is it Suga?”

“It’s complicated.” You repeat with a sigh.

An unfamiliar emotion flashes in Jungkook’s eyes. You’ve never seen him angry before, but you’d guess this is what it looks like. “Hey, seriously, if he’s being aggressive with you, we should do something about it. Report it or something.”

You have to suppress the urge to laugh in his face. Like Yoongi being aggressive with you isn’t exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about for days.

“No, it’s not like that,” you reassure him. “I think we’re just two people who are better off kept apart from each other. That’s all.”

Jungkook nods slowly, and it’s clear from his expression that he wants to pry more, but is forcing himself not to. “Okay.”

There’s a heaviness of unasked and unanswered questions in the air, but the two of you manage to lapse into corporate smalltalk as you roll back over to your desk and dive into your workday.

Jungkook eventually has to peel off for a few virtual meetings, and watching him work is its own source of entertainment. If it’s a meeting that requires his focus, you can tell because he leans in close to his monitor, staring at spreadsheets or data visualizations with a look on his face like he’s using every single brain cell he owns.

You can also tell when he’s put on calls where he clearly isn’t needed, because he’ll spin in a full circle at his desk with a glazed over look in his eye. There are even a few times where you glance up to see him silently doing what you vaguely recognize as TikTok dances, and you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from outright laughing.

The day rolls on, and you’re neck deep in drafting a communication when Jungkook’s voice breaks your concentration. “Do you like ramyeon?”

Your head snaps up to see him lean down under his desk to grab his backpack. He unzips it to retrieve two containers of instant noodles, and when he offers one to you, you give an approving nod. “I usually bring two in case I get extra hungry. I’ll make it, come meet me in the break room when you finish what you’re doing.”

You genuinely believe him on the first day, but when he just so happens to bring a second lunch on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, you start to get a little suspicious.

Friday has you stuck on a working session straight through your usual lunch hour, and Jungkook disappears without a word, returning as you’re pulling your headset off with two to-go salads in a plastic bag.

“I ordered one, and they gave me two. Crazy, right?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him to signal that you don’t believe a damn word, but you still thank him as you follow him down the hall to the break room.

“You’re coming out tonight, right?” He asks over lunch, and it takes you a second to remember the planned happy hour your boss has scheduled for the office. You’re torn between never wanting to see the inside of a bar again, and the overwhelming desire to drink as much as you can on the company’s dime. Ideally enough to obliterate the brain cells that store your memories of last weekend.

In the end, your cheapness wins out. Plus, given that it’s a social work event, you’d bet your entire salary that Yoongi will be nowhere to be found. You figure it might actually prove to be a good distraction. “Sure, yeah. At least for a couple drinks.”

“Cool,” Jungkook smiles a little as he spears a piece of chicken on his plastic fork. “Let me know when you’re done for the day, we can head over together.”

As much as you’d like to blow off early, a phone call that was supposed to take fifteen minutes ends up lasting over an hour. You mute your headset briefly to give a loud sigh, and shoot Jungkook a silent pout in apology when he meets your gaze, but he just flips his phone around to show you the progress he’s making on his island. At least he’s good at keeping himself entertained, you think with a smile.

Finally the person leading the call seems to come to the extremely delayed realization that no one is going to make any more progress on the issue after 5 PM on a Friday, and things wrap up pretty quickly after that. You and Jungkook gather your things and head for the front, and the office is a ghost town.

Your eyes drift down the opposite hallway towards the Genius Lab, your pulse quickening a little. You’ve checked the lab every evening this week and have luckily only found it empty, but you’re nearly an hour ahead of schedule today. And you don’t exactly have a great track record with Yoongi when it comes to Fridays.

“I should probably…”

“I can do it,” Jungkook cuts in softly. You’re hit with the automatic urge to say no, to shield him from this chaos in any way you can. But it would be really nice to not have to deal with Yoongi for one fucking day.

“I would appreciate that,” you reply, and Jungkook is already striding down the hall. You pretend to busy yourself on your phone as you hear a knock, then the electronic beeps of him punching the code into the door lock. When you glance up, you see him push the door open and stick his head inside, then promptly close it again.

“He’s gone. Let’s get out of here.”

The bar your boss has chosen is only a few blocks away from the office, and Jungkook holds the door open for you to enter first when you arrive. You don’t see your group right when you first walk in, and you have to round a bend in the layout of the building before you spot the long table of familiar faces.

You move to take a step forward, but Jungkook nearly imperceptibly brings a hand to your elbow to stop you. He says nothing, which is unlike him, and you start to ask a question.

“Wh—” the words die in your mouth when you see Yoongi smiling politely into a glass of whiskey, seated at the table next to your boss. His gaze flickers up to meet yours. Your stomach twists as you watch the smile immediately drop off his face.

“We can go,” Jungkook says quickly, but you know you can’t give him the satisfaction.

“It’s fine,” you say, and it comes out a little more harsh than you mean it to. “We don’t have to sit near him.” Jungkook follows your lead to the opposite end of the table. When you take your seats, he almost immediately gets sucked into a conversation with some of the audio engineers. You do your best to at least act like you’re following along, but it feels like the room is spinning despite the fact that you’re entirely sober.

That absolutely needs to change, you quickly determine. You’re sitting at the corner of the table, so it’s easy enough to slip out and get to your feet. Jungkook glances up when you do.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, and your tone must be direct enough that he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions or offer his company. Which is fine, you think to yourself as you cross the room. You’re perfectly capable of walking to the bar and ordering a drink on your own.

At least it feels that way until you sweep your gaze across the room, waiting on a bartender to acknowledge your presence, and realize Yoongi is headed straight towards you, empty glass in hand.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You set your jaw, determined not to let him smell your fear, and renew your conviction to flag someone down and get a drink as fast as possible. When Yoongi takes a seat at the barstool next to you, you will your face not to react. But you’re not quite fast enough to remember to tell your mouth to stay shut, too.

“What are you doing here?” You snap, refusing to look him in the eye.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says, voice even, and you blink hard. You don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. “I figured an event with free alcohol was a good place to start. Let’s hope no one wore their good shoes tonight.”

Setting your jaw has turned into fully gritting your teeth, and you’ve never been more grateful to see a bartender when one approaches. You order quickly, and see Yoongi silently lift his empty glass as a request in your periphery.

“What do you want, Yoongi?”

When he hums and doesn’t respond right away, you glance over to see him running a finger around the rim of his finished drink. Just his fucking hand is enough to send a shiver up your spine, and you tear your gaze away.

“Well, for one, I honestly have to say I was surprised when HR didn’t personally escort me out of the building Monday morning.”

Your head snaps up to look at him again as you parse out his meaning. “Really?”

Yoongi’s gaze meets yours, his brows slightly pinching together as if he’s surprised that you’re surprised. “Uh, yeah.”

You’re so shocked it takes you a minute to form words. “I— I mean, it’s not like it was unprovoked.”

He makes a face as if he’s considering it, shrugging a little. “I suppose.”

As you drop your gaze to the wood grain of the bar, you can’t help but wonder if that was meant to be an apology. You barely have time to process that thought before the bartender returns, setting your drinks down, and you reach for yours like a woman dehydrated. When you take a sip, it’s strong— exactly what you need in this moment.

You’re already halfway off the barstool, very ready to get back to your seat at the table, when Yoongi speaks up again.

“Do you want to hear a funny story?” Something in his tone makes you pause, and he keeps going.

“I heard from an old friend a few days ago. We used to be really close, but lately I don’t think we’ve talked in…” He shakes his head in disbelief, like he’s trying to think. “God, probably years. I’ve been so focused on work. You know how I get.”

You physically recoil at his strange candor, how comfortable he suddenly is with implying that you know him. Your stomach is already starting to turn, though you can’t put a finger on why. It just feels like he’s playing with you.

Yoongi rolls his glass between his palms as he continues. “So you know, we catch up, ask how life is going, all the usual shit. And then my friend— Kihyun, that’s his name— Kih starts telling me about this crazy hookup he had last weekend.”

You nearly drop your drink as your blood runs cold. Yoongi continues the charade, pretending like he’s telling you something you don’t already know first-hand.

“He said he got approached by this super hot girl out of nowhere, and that she was fucking desperate for it. Barely said two words to him before she was asking him to take her home. And once he did, he said the sex was wild. I mean, it definitely sounded great to me when he gave me the play-by-play.” He pauses for a moment, and when he speaks again, there’s a new tone to his voice, almost aggressive. “Straight out of one of my own fantasies, really.”

You take a nervous gulp of your drink in hopes that it might help cool down your burning face— whether it’s from shame or rage, you can’t tell.

“And get this.” Yoongi’s voice is grave now, all pretense of telling a funny story gone as he turns to fully face you. “You’re never gonna believe whose name she cried out when she came. Because it sure wasn’t Kih’s.”

The shock of his words, at the fact that he knows this, is enough to freeze you where you stand. You’re nearly shaking with the chaotic storm of emotions swirling in your brain, and it takes every ounce of willpower you can muster to keep your voice steady as you fix him in your gaze. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business who or how I fuck, Yoongi.”

“Oh, I think it’s absolutely my business when you’re calling them my fucking name. And I don’t understand why you’d settle for imitation when you could have the real thing.” Despite how livid you are, you don’t miss the way your pussy flutters at the smug look on his face.

“Maybe it’s because your friend doesn’t come with all the strings attached that you do.”

“Strings?” He quirks an eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning on dating you, sweetheart.”

You can’t believe how dense he is, and you slam your drink down on the bar. “No, Yoongi, but you’re my fucking coworker. Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘don’t shit where you eat’?” He chuckles dryly into the rim of his glass. “It’s a bad fucking idea.”

He examines you as he takes a sip of whiskey, then finally speaks again. “Here’s the way I see it. We are both sane, consenting adults, very capable of being rational about this.” You scoff in disbelief at how calmly he can say such a thing as you take another long pull from your drink. “There’s obviously a lot of pent-up feelings going on. I’m not saying we have to be friends. Hell, we don’t even have to like each other. Sometimes it’s more fun when you don’t.”

Not expecting that commentary, you nearly choke on the ice in your glass. Yoongi gives you a moment to recover before continuing.

You hate that his stupid logical argument makes sense to you. You hate it so much that you finish your drink in one swallow.

“Look, I’ll make it easy for you,” he says, eyes locked on you, his voice dropping into a lower register. The tone immediately takes you back to the last time you were in his lab. The things he said to you. The things he wanted to do to you. Heat pools in your belly before you can tell it not to.

“I’m going to head back to the group. You get yourself another drink, come join us, and take some time to think about it.”

He leans in to speak the next part directly into your ear, his voice quiet. Every nerve ending in your body lights up at the feeling of his breath against your neck. “Then I’m going to get up and go to the restroom. I’ll give you three minutes to discreetly excuse yourself and join me. If you don’t show, I’ll drop all of this and leave you alone. Promise.”

Yoongi pulls away, shooting you that trademark smirk, knowing full well that he doesn’t have to explain what will happen if you do decide to join him. He already has. Then he slips off the barstool, glass of whiskey in hand, and strides back towards the table.

When you order the next round, you ask for a double.

You do your best to act like the world isn’t ending as you return to your seat at the table. The conversation continues around you, without you; you can only stare dumbly at the empty space between two of your coworkers as you take a long swig of your drink. You’re vaguely aware of discussions of upcoming mixtapes and the Grammy’s, but your brain can’t process anything over the roaring in your ears, the pounding of your heartbeat in your gut— and a little lower.

You feel insane, enraged, and deliriously aroused.

You have no concept of how quickly time is passing, no clue if it’s been an instant or an hour when you see movement from the other end of the table out of the corner of your eye. There’s no self-control left in your system to keep your jaw from going slack, to keep you from unabashedly watching as Yoongi gets up from the table and strides confidently across the bar toward the restroom. He doesn’t so much as glance in your direction.

“Are you alright?”

You whip around at Jungkook’s voice, having completely forgotten there was anyone else in the room. It takes a second for you to snap your mouth shut, and then you realize you have to open it to answer his question.

“I— uh—” You can barely string a sentence together. “My drink is really strong.”

“Do you need some water?”

When you nod, he’s up in a flash, heading towards the bar, and you realize as you watch him disappear that it might have been a bad idea to let yourself be left alone. Because now you have no distraction from the way every cell in your body is screaming at you.

It’s obvious that there is a right choice and a wrong choice here. And you’ve tried so hard, for so long, to be smart. To deny the truth, to say no and go home, to channel the energy out in any other way. But none of it has worked. You still want this terrible man to do terrible things to you, maybe now more than ever. And you’re so fucking tired of making the right choice.

So tonight, you resolve with a final sip of your drink, you’ll make the wrong one. Fuck it.

You slip away from the table before Jungkook returns, following the same path Yoongi did towards the back of the bar. When you reach for the handle of the restroom door, your pulse is racing, enough that you nearly jump out of your skin when the door swings open before you can even touch it. You glance up to find yourself face-to-face with an equally shocked looking Yoongi.

“Your three minutes are up,” he says dryly. Rather than bother with a response, you bring your hand to his chest and firmly shove him back inside the single stall room. You hear him laugh a little as you follow after, pulling the knob and turning the lock into place behind you.

When he takes a step toward you, there’s nowhere for you to go except flush against the door. You watch his eyes drop down your body and back up, taking his time, shameless. His gaze lingers on your mouth.

“Didn’t think you’d really do it,” he murmurs, eyes glinting.

“Call it a lapse in judgment.”

There’s something about the situation that makes you feel like Yoongi has the upper hand— like he expects every part of this to go according to his plan. That, you decide, simply will not do. And then you drop to your knees in front of him.

“Oh my god,” Yoongi breathes, taking a small step back to give you room. “You’re a whore.”

You do your best to shoot a death glare up at him. “I don’t have to do this.”

He smirks. “I meant it as a compliment, honestly. Respectfully.”

That’s it. You’re determined to suck that smug fucking look off his face. “Hands to yourself,” you say firmly. “If you touch me, this all ends.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, as if he wasn’t expecting you to be giving any orders. But then he nods, raising both hands in the air as if to indicate compliance. You lower your gaze and realize he’s already straining against the fabric of his joggers, which do nothing to hide how hard he is, the thin material clinging to every inch.

In one swift motion, you tug both his pants and boxers down his hips, and you have to actively suppress a soft sigh of appreciation. Yoongi’s ego doesn’t need any more feeding, but damn, his dick is even better up close: long, pale, and pretty.

Glancing back up at him, you maintain eye contact as you lean forward to teasingly trace your tongue along one of the prominent veins that runs the length of his shaft. His eyes are dark with lust as he watches you. Despite being on your knees, a thrill of sheer power runs through you when you see him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple jerking in his throat.

It occurs to you that you are extremely ready to torture this man.

When you reach the tip, you just barely slide your lips over it in an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock, your tongue swirling in sloppy circles. You can hear Yoongi breathing now, clearly trying and failing to suppress his shaky exhales at your work.

Tilting your head to find the right angle, you take more of him into your mouth, then bring a hand to his shaft to guide the head of his dick to one side. You don’t miss the quiet groan you elicit from him as you let him press against the soft wall of your cheek to create a bulge. He makes the same sound again, louder, when you rub your tongue firmly along the underside of his shaft while you do it.

His hips jerk under your touch as you start to move the hand wrapped around him in slow, deliberate strokes. You recenter him in your mouth and bob your head along his length in time, now sucking firmly. Yoongi’s breath catches on a moan as you keep your tongue pressed tight to his shaft and match the movement of your head to the deliciously slow pace of your hand.

The sound only encourages you, and you lean forward to take even more of him until his cock briefly brushes against the back of your throat. You hold him there for a second, then swallow.

“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses. You can feel him twitch a little in your mouth, taste it as he leaks precum onto your tongue. You tip back for a few more shallow thrusts, just tormenting him, then repeat the action, humming this time as he hits your throat. His knees nearly buckle.

You glance up at Yoongi as you pull back again, lashes fluttering, and you have to keep yourself from laughing around his cock at the look of pure distress on his face. Now that you’re watching him, you realize his hands are flexing desperately at his sides— it’s clearly taking everything in his power to follow your no touching policy.

Good, you think, and then you lean forward to swallow him down and keep him there, taking as much as you can until your nose is nearly flush with his pelvis. You bob your head, guiding him up and down your throat, choking slightly but too determined to stop even as your eyes start to water.

“Oh my god,” you hear him groan, and your eyebrows raise at the sound of a loud smack. When you look up, still working him in your throat, you realize that he’s helplessly banged a fist on the bathroom door and is now bracing himself against it. You watch as he rakes his other hand through his hair, his head tipping back with a gasp as you increase your pace in response. His hips shudder as he starts to buck softly into your mouth. “Y-yeah, keep doing that, oh fuck, fuck—”

At what feels like the last possible second, you pull off his cock with a soft, wet pop, swallowing down the precum in your mouth. You wipe at the corners of your lips before getting to your feet, legs shaking a little more than you’d like from how long you’ve been on your knees. As you meet his gaze, now at eye-level, it seems you’ve certainly achieved your mission: Yoongi’s usual smug appearance has been replaced with a look of frustrated desperation, courtesy of one denied orgasm.

“Why should I let you get off that easy?” You ask simply, and he makes a noise low in his throat, something between a groan and a laugh.

“Fuck, you are such a bitch.” He advances towards you, and you find yourself backing up, this time until your ass is pressed against the countertop of the bathroom sink. He’s staring at your mouth again, looking at it with what seems to be a little more reverence now that he knows what it’s capable of.

“Am I allowed to touch you yet?” His voice is so low, his mouth so close to yours, that it makes your core ache. The noises you sucked out of him have unfortunately only turned you on even more. “Or are you going to make me beg?”

As much as you’d love to see that, the desperate throb that’s been steadily building between your legs has now overtaken your desire to tease. “Yes, Yoongi, you can touch me.”

The words have barely left your mouth and his hands are already on your hips, firmly spinning you around. You have to clutch the edge of the countertop just to stay upright, but you only feel yourself getting that much wetter at the rough way he handles you. You shiver as he shoves the hem of your dress up to expose your ass, and you can’t help yourself, leaning forward to give him the best possible angle, too desperate for anything less.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, and you’d swear he almost sounds appreciative.

You don’t even have time to process that thought before his hand cracks down over your ass, so hard that it nearly knocks all the breath out of your lungs. You inhale a shaky gasp, your mind reeling in its attempt to catch up, but Yoongi is already pulling your panties to the side, perfect fingers sliding between your folds. There’s no hiding how drenched you are; your upper thighs are starting to stick together with arousal.

Without warning, he presses two fingers firmly into you, and it’s enough to make your jaw go slack. You outright moan when they find purchase against your g-spot, rubbing in tight, expert circles. He could make you come right now if he wanted to.

“You’re so wet for me,” Yoongi’s voice is low and smug, and you don’t need to see his expression to know that cocky smirk has returned to his face. “Been ready for it all night, huh?” You whimper a noise that isn’t disagreement.

“Good,” he says firmly, pairing the word with another smack to your ass. You’re too far gone to try and hold it back now, not with the way his fingers are working inside you, and you moan again. “Because we can’t take too long,” Yoongi continues. “Don’t want anyone getting suspicious. Which is really a damn shame, because there’s so much I want to do to you.”

When he smacks your ass one more time, even harder, and couples it with an insistent press of his fingers against your front wall, you have to grip the edge of the sink for dear life. Your cunt squeezes around him; the noise you make is practically a sob.

He huffs a laugh as he withdraws his fingers, and you glance up to see him retrieving a condom from his pocket and tearing it open. “Wrecked already? And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You try to compose yourself, but just watching the way his hands work as he rolls the condom over his leaking cock has you aching, clenching around nothing. You really are fucking wrecked— nothing has ever come close to this.

Yoongi’s hands come to your hips, pads of his fingers digging into your skin, and you feel the head of his cock against your entrance, sliding lazily through your folds but purposefully not pressing into you.

“Yoongi,” you whine. You’re too far gone for this teasing.

“You have to tell me what you want,” he says, his voice dark.

You can barely even think a sentence, and you try to push back on him instead, but he keeps you held firmly in place, hands squeezing into the flesh of your hips. “Tell me,” he insists.

“I want you to fuck me,” you manage, and you look up to meet his gaze in the bathroom mirror.

He licks his lips, and you realize that he’s having just as hard a time restraining himself. “That much is obvious,” he says, and you can hear the unsteadiness in his voice now. “How would you like to get fucked?”

You’ve had enough alcohol to brazenly tell the truth. “Like you hate me.”

It may be the first genuine smile of his you’ve ever seen.

“Gladly,” he replies, and then he thrusts all of himself into you at once. You collapse forward on the countertop, crying out at the feeling.

“Yeah,” Yoongi grunts, a little breathless. “You like that?” He pulls nearly all the way out and slams into you one more time, pressing his hips flush with your ass until you feel overwhelmingly full. Then he starts to properly thrust, moving at a pace that can only be described as ruthless.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head dropping down as you scramble to brace yourself against the counter. You practically yelp when his hand cracks over your ass again.

He leans forward; you can feel his chest graze over your back, his hips still snapping into you as he grabs your jaw with one hand and forces your gaze up to look at him in the mirror again. You watch as he runs two fingers along your bottom lip in an unasked question. You let your jaw go slack to allow him to slip into your mouth.

When your lips close around his fingers, you find yourself a little grateful to have something to keep you grounded to reality. Your eyes flit up to Yoongi’s face, and his gaze is piercing, eyes totally fixed on you.

“You look so good like this.” His voice is hoarse, strained from effort, and he continues to drive into you, never slowing. Your own hip bones dig into the bathroom counter, shocks of pleasure-pain rippling through you with each thrust. Little moans and whimpers spill out from your mouth around his fingers at the sensation, and you can feel your climax starting to build.

Yoongi withdraws from your mouth, that same hand moving down your body to slip into your panties and circle your clit, earning a gasp from you. His other hand keeps a death grip on your hip as he thrusts, and he straightens up again, the head of his cock now rubbing so perfectly over your g-spot that you hiss.

“Did Kihyun fuck you like this?”

The question catches you off-guard. “N-no,” you gasp, and the hot coil of your arousal tightens in your core. Yoongi’s cock stroking into you, his hand working your clit, the feeling is overwhelming, dizzying. “Oh, god.” Your head presses into your forearm as you give yourself over to the pleasure. You can only distantly hear Yoongi’s voice continue, somewhere between coaxing and demanding.

“I didn’t fucking think so. So why don’t you say it? Tell me who fucks you right. Tell me who you fucking hate.”

The fingers on your clit are unrelenting now, and your edge approaches fast and hard.

“Y-Yoongi,” you breathe, and it feels too good to say his name and mean it. “Yoongi, fuck, Yoongi.” A loud moan rips through you as your legs start to shake. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, “I’m coming, fuck, yes—” You nearly sob as your climax hits you hard, and your walls flutter around Yoongi’s cock over and over in what feels like an endless orgasm.

The pleasure rolls through you, and you look up in the mirror to see Yoongi grit his teeth as he picks up the pace of his hips. A look of desperation paints his face, not unlike the way he looked when you were blowing him, and you know he must be close.

“God fucking damnit,” he grunts, each word punctuated with a thrust, and then he tips his head back and pushes all the way into you with a moan as he comes.

For a moment he pauses like that, gazing up at the ceiling, chest heaving with effort as his dick twitches inside of you. “Holy shit,” he breathes, and then he starts to laugh softly in what appears to be disbelief. “Fuuuuck.”

You haven’t fully recovered, so you can only watch, still gripping the countertop for dear life, as he slips the condom off, chucks it into the trash can, and pulls his boxers and pants up. He gives his reflection a once-over in the mirror, running a hand through his hair, and you’re amazed at how quickly he’s put himself back together. The only indication that he was literally just railing you is the way he’s breathing heavily.

Yoongi notices you watching him and gives your ass one more firm slap, hard enough that you flinch a little.

“Wait a minute or two before you head out,” he instructs, and you nod dumbly. He crosses the room, opens the door, and slips out, all before you can even so much as think a coherent thought.

It takes several more minutes for you to get your shit together, but you eventually manage to readjust your underwear and smooth your dress down, though your legs are certainly still unsteady when you make your way back to the table. You can’t help but shoot a glance over at Yoongi as you pass, and you’re shocked to see him laughing and chatting it up with the group of coworkers seated around him. You see clear expressions of surprise on their faces, too— because he’s never like this. Except, apparently, mere minutes after fucking you.

You don’t even bother to sit down, instead grabbing your purse off the table and slinging the straps over your shoulder.

“Wow, there you are,” Jungkook’s voice drags you out of your thoughts, and the look of concern on his face just makes your stomach turn. You genuinely have no idea how long you were gone for. “Are you okay? Your face looks flushed.”

You don’t know how to answer his question, so you don't. “I think I’m gonna go home.”

“Do you need a ride?”

You shake your head quickly. “I’ll call a friend.”

Perched on the curb outside, you clutch your phone for dear life as you pull up Jimin’s contact to call him. The line rings and you realize you’re shivering; you don’t think it has anything to do with the weather.

You don’t even give him a chance to say hello when the call connects. “Can you come get me?”

He groans on the other end of the line. “Why? I already took my pants off for the night.”

“Baby mochi, please.” You whine, but you know only the full explanation will get him out of bed. You drop your voice a little. “I just hatefucked Suga in the bathroom at the company happy hour. I need you to come pick me up immediately.”

Jimin’s apartment is a ten minute drive away, but you swear he makes it in five.

“Well, well, well,” Your best friend’s voice is smug as you slide into his passenger seat. “If it isn’t the company whore.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jimin.”

~*~

Come Monday morning, you’re racing down the hallway to the conference room, quietly cursing yourself for being late. You’d seen the email from your boss moving the usual Tuesday pull-up to first-thing Monday, but then you’d gotten so tied up with other projects you’d forgotten about it entirely. It was only once you were in the break room, trying to get your caffeine fix in, that you’d glanced up at the wall clock and realized it was already ten after.

Focused as you are on getting to the meeting quickly— and just as importantly, not spilling any of your coffee— you’re completely unaware of your surroundings until it’s too late. You nearly smack directly into Yoongi as you approach the conference room simultaneously.

He smirks as you jump back in surprise. “We have got to stop meeting like this.”

It’s the first time you’ve seen him since Friday; you’ve been hiding out in Baby Star Candy’s corner all morning. “We’re late,” you say, flustered enough to state the obvious, and he shrugs like he can’t disagree.

“I got distracted.”

Yoongi must notice the way your eyes start to widen. “With work,” he clarifies quickly. He reaches around you to place a hand on the conference room door, and you hear his voice low in your ear. “Amazing how much easier it is to focus today, huh?”

Straightening up to put some space between you, he pushes the door open and gestures for you to go first. You swallow hard and try to keep your composure as you enter the room, briefly apologizing for being late. Yoongi follows behind you silently, slumping into the open seat across the table. You take a sip of your coffee to settle your nerves, which turns out to be a horrible idea when your boss speaks.

“There they are, perfect timing. You’re the very two people my next announcement concerns.”

You just barely manage to keep your drink in your mouth. When your gaze flits to Yoongi across from you, he looks similarly shell-shocked. You can’t help but wonder if you’re about to get fired in front of the entire team.

“We’ve managed to secure funding for the Grammy’s at the end of the month,” your boss says brightly. “We’ll be flying Suga out to do a press circuit as well as attend the award show and surrounding events in-person. We think it will be a great opportunity to network with American artists, try to get his name out there and work on our international appeal.”

“And of course,” your boss’ gaze lands on you, “we all know that our Suga isn’t the most extroverted, or good with schedules, for that matter. We figured he needs a wrangler, and who better than our very own admin?”

You swear your heart stops beating. Your boss keeps going, reminding the team to connect with you about temporarily taking back any deliverables you’ve been handling while you’ll be out of pocket for Grammy’s weekend and subsequent travel time, but you barely process a word. This can’t be happening.

An entire weekend of forced professionalism, in Los Angeles, with the man you just hatefucked in a bathroom. What could possibly go wrong?

chapter four | masterlist | chapter six

#yoongi fic recs #ivi reads

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yonkimint · 3 years ago

Text

All I Need Is Me [Namjoon x Reader]

45. Happily Ever After

PREVIOUS - MASTERLIST - NEXT

Only time is going to tell.

It does.

Alex not only turned himself in but provided the police with dozens of screenshots of his conversations with Yeji. She had laid out her plans in detail. How she would protect him from the authorities even if he broke the restraining order. How she intended to punish y/n and guilt Namjoon into taking her back.

The evidence was so overwhelming in fact that Alex was offered a lighter sentence for violating the restraining order. Community service and he was off the hook. The boys were in an uproar over it and even went so far as to make a pact to cover for each other if Alex ever went missing or was found dead.

y/n wasn’t supposed to know but she and Namjoon had also made a pact: all cards on the table (pun intended). He’d shown her the text chain immediately to which she had nearly keeled over laughing.

“I knew Yoongi was cold-blooded,” he had told her, his eyes rounded and a little haunted, “I was not expecting Jimin.”

“Don’t let his cute exterior fool you, he’s dangerous.”

A week later, the media caught wind of the lawsuit against Yeji. The storm that followed was intense. Yeji’s influence over her fans was strong with many of them blindly coming to her defense. She would never blackmail anyone. Namjoon was lying. y/n was actually a homewrecker.

Before she knew what was happening, y/n’s entire history was plastered in the headlines.

y/n sets her phone down on the couch, the warmth of satisfaction spreading through her. Finally being able to take control of something is helping to channel her anxiety and, honestly, she needed that more than comfort or pity anyway.

She’s just about to start formulating her statement when the door to Namjoon’s studio swings open. While she hasn’t officially moved in or even talked about moving in, she’s spent more time here in the last few weeks than she has at her own apartment.

“Jagi,” he calls. y/n twists around in her seat, propping one elbow up on the back of the couch, and plasters her trademark hazy smile on her lips. He’s only said one word but his tone is serious.

“Yes?” she asks as he appears around the corner, his plush lips already puckered in the cutest pout.

He shakes his head at her, “Get that smile off your face! I can’t think straight when you look at me like that!”

Namjoon comes to sit beside her and automatically pulls her into his arms. y/n can’t contain a small giggle when his hot breath tickles the crown of her head before he presses his lips to her hair. She wastes no time snaking her arms around his torso and leaning her head up on his shoulder to gaze into his eyes.

“Why would you need to think straight?” she teases, making her best attempt to steer him away from what she knows he’s about to ask her. She knew she shouldn’t have sent the text. She knew it would make her vulnerable.

“Because I have a question that needs answering,” he tells her, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and cupping her cheek in his warm palm.

“Or,” she suggests, “We could just kiss and probably do other things that don’t involve questions or answers!”

He leans down to press his mouth firmly to hers. His lips seem to dance against hers until she’s so consumed with desire for him that they part and his tongue slips inside. She’s just about to shift so that she’s straddling him when Namjoon pulls back.

“Remember when we didn’t talk about what happened in Vegas and so we didn’t know how we felt about each other and my crazy ex tried to run you out of my life and we almost got divorced?” he asks, leaning his forehead against hers.

y/n whines, “You are killing the mood!”

“You are evading a serious conversation when you promised we would tell each other everything from here on out, remember?”

“Fine,” she pouts, “but you’re going to make me blush and feel gross on the inside if you make me answer.”

“Oh good,” he teases, “Blushing y/n is my favorite y/n.”

“That’s not what you said last night! You said —”

Namjoon presses his palm to her mouth to silence her and says, “You were blushing then too! But that’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” Her question is muffled against his skin. He puts his hand back on her cheek and traces the outline of her lips with his thumb.

“What are you afraid of that’s so embarrassing?”

y/n ducks her head, hiding her face in Namjoon’s chest. He doesn’t try to pull her face back to his. Instead, his arms circle her, his fingers tracing soothing patterns across her spine. She sighs, “You.”

Namjoon freezes, his muscles suddenly taut around the woman he loves so much. She’s afraid of him? Has being with him forced her to her breaking point? y/n senses his thoughts before he speaks them and now she’s the one trying to soothe him.

“Jagi, not like that! Do you honestly think I’m afraid of you when I just tried to seduce you into bed?”

“Well, I’ve been misled before!” he protests. He didn’t mean for the comment to sting but they both feel it. The scars of their former relationships are going to take a long time to heal. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know you aren’t misleading me. Why do I scare you?”

y/n shakes her head, finally looking into his eyes, “You don’t scare me. Loving you scares me.”

“Am I being too much? Am I going too fast? I don’t want to scare you off, y/n!”

She shakes her head again, laughing now. They must have the same fear. She presses her palms to either side of his face and presses her lips very carefully to his. When she pulls back, she tells him, “I’m scared because I love you and I don’t want to mess it up. That’s what scares me.”

He leans up to kiss her again, “After everything we’ve been through in our short time together? How could you ever think you could mess it up?”

“Hey, it wasn’t too long ago that you were trying to get rid of me!”

His arms tighten on her waist and he pulls her into his lap, “Only to keep myself from falling in love with you but now that that’s happened, it’s too late. I’m keeping you forever.”

y/n grins and pats his arms to release her. He pouts but honors her silent request. She disappears from the room but she emerges again a few minutes later, holding something behind her back.

“Okay, so I know you said we could go slow and I really wasn’t planning on doing this until after the lawsuit was settled but fuck it, we’re being mushy and vulnerable, right?” Her words come out in a flood, one breathless thought.

Namjoon quirks an eyebrow but leans forward as if he can get a peek at what she’s holding. Her hazy smile suddenly becomes intoxicating.

“Yeah, fuck it!” he says, parroting her.

She brings her hands around, cradling a black velvet box in her palms. Namjoon’s mouth falls open and then suddenly he’s on his feet.

“Namjoon,” she starts but he’s pressing a finger to her lips again.

“No! You better not be doing what I think you’re doing!” he shouts over her. Her eyes twinge with an unspoken hurt but Namjoon presses on, “You better not be proposing because I already bought you an actual ring and it’s taken all my self control not to give it to you because I didn’t want to spook you!”

“Ugh, why can’t you let me be romantic?”

“Why can’t you let me be romantic? I’m the husband! Let me propose!”

“Fuck your gender roles! Don’t you want to see the rings I picked out?” she whines. Her pout is so cute, Namjoon can’t stand it. His pride dissolves immediately and he sticks out his left hand for her to place the ring on his finger.

“Let me see,” he demands.

y/n rolls her eyes and opens the velvet box with a crisp snap. Two matching bands glow against the dark cushion. “I had a whole disgusting speech ready too but since you killed the mood, I love you and even though love is ugly just like that statue, I want to be ugly with you.”

She pulls the larger ring from the box and pushes it onto Namjoon’s ring finger. It contrasts beautifully against his skin and y/n’s toes curl, knowing this is her person and now there’s proof. He pulls her into his chest, pressing his lips to her head.

“Even if a judge hadn’t court ordered me to stay married to you, I’d be honored to spend the rest of my life with you,” he whispers into her hair.

y/n wriggles in his arms until he loosens his arms just enough for her to pull back and look into his eyes, “Can I see my ring?”

Namjoon shakes his head, “Let’s wear the matching ones! This is better.”

“Are you really mad you didn’t get to propose?”

“If it were anyone else, I would be salty but the fact that you spent literally years planning to be single forever only to be the one to propose gives me a weird sense of pride,” he admits. y/n leans up on her toes and kisses his cheek.

“Also, after your last proposal ended in a dumpster fire, I figured I would save you the trauma and make my feelings clear,” she says.

“Weren’t you just saying how worried you were that you were going to mess things up with me? You’re literally the most thoughtful human being I’ve ever met. I love you.”

“I love you more!”

“Okay, now you’re going too far! Can I put your ring on you now please?” Namjoon asks. y/n nods, handing her husband the box with her matching ring. He pulls it from the cushion and tenderly takes her hand in his, sliding the ring carefully down her elegant finger. “So about those other things you were mentioning earlier…”

y/n rolls her eyes and spins around to lead him to their bedroom. Maybe she hasn’t technically moved in but who is she kidding? They may have done everything out of order but this finally feels like the start of their happily ever after.

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rons-wheezely · 3 years ago

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224 || G.W.

George Weasley x Reader, Soulmate AU

Genre: Fluff, humor

Summary: Each soulmate pair receives a special number to them, and them only, on the day they’re born into this world. The placement on the body can vary, so people usually keep to themselves unless they fancy someone or it’s displayed somewhere public. How do you go around explaining to your best friend that he’s the one?

A/N: i have been so inactive, I’m so sorry rip I am going to try to post a fic here and there, but I’m still a student doing student things... This blog recently turned 2 years old, and has reached about 300 followers, so thank you so much for those of you who have found me in the piles of other wonderful works :) I love you all from the bottom of my heart.

--x--

“Oh, do forgive me, Georgie,” you playfully shove him out of the way. He stumbles away from the shelf containing the last package of Fizzing Whizbees in time for you to snatch it into your hands. You hear him chuckle as he regains his balance behind you. It’s suffocatingly crowded with fellow students in Honeydukes, so he leans in close so you can hear him.

His warm breath comes close to your ear, saying with a soft laugh,” At least share, alright?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully as the smile plastered on your face turned into a smirk. You make your way to the cashier with George close behind. The candy in the box shake in your hands, and the decorative ring you’re wearing on your middle finger glimmers in the shop’s light. You call over your shoulder,” If you win the next match against Slytherin, I might.”

This statement alone had George fist pump the air in satisfaction. Even if he lost, you would most likely share it anyways –– to cheer him up, of course. You two have been best friends since your first year when you cleverly evaded one of the twins’ pranks. It was a lucky guess, but the outcome left Fred and George tangled in a mess of burping up slugs for three hours. It was an easy friendship after that, other than the secret feelings you harbored for George, that is.

Soon enough, the match came and the sight was an absolutely thrilling one. You watch as each player flies by, and each time the wind sweeps your hair in every direction. Fred and George are on a spectacular streak, and they never once miss the bludger. Thankfully you had a pair of binoculars and Lee Jordan’s commentary; the team was so small in the air that it was hard to tell what was happening.

Harry Potter was no doubt going to catch the snitch, and here he comes now swooping in underneath his teammates. He’s almost flat against his broomstick, urging it to go faster before Malfoy could get to the fluttering golden speck. All eyes are on Potter, and the boy is mere inches away. Just as his nimble fingers wrap around the snitch, another Gryffindor teammate drops from the air.

You can hear the subtle gasps from a few in the crowd who noticed. The Gryffindor team were too enraptured with Harry’s catch to notice that one of them was dropping ten, twenty, thirty meters to the ground. “George!” You cried.

As if sending a telepathic message to the other twin, though it is most likely he heard you yell as clear as day, Fred swoops down to save his brother from impact. You notice now that you're standing on your feet and leaning on the railing that separates you from your best friends on the field. You watch on in horror as Fred barely makes it in time. The breath you didn’t know you were holding finally escapes you, and your surroundings come back all at once.

You hear the deafening silence and the sound of the wind blowing by. No one moves as they watch Fred land on the ground with George. It was Lee who ended the tension,” And with that, Gryffindor earns 130 points and has won the match…”

All at once, everyone in the stands scrambles to get out. Elated with Harry’s catch and the twins’ safety, the student body goes their separate ways. You follow them as well and weave your way through the crowd to get to Fred and George. Panic fills your lungs, and every fiber in your body screams to make sure they’re okay.

“Fred!” You call out,” Are you two alright?”

“Yeah, no harm done to me,” he sighs,” –– Other than this git. A bludger whacked him straight on the side and he passed out on his ride down.”

“It looks like it hurts… but it’s nothing Madame Pomfrey can’t handle, right?” You wince. You try to convince yourself that George is just sleeping a very deep, restful sleep.

“I reckon he’ll be fine, y/n.” Fred winks your way with a sly grin. “Visit him lots, yeah?”

Madame Pomfrey refused to let anyone in until she was done running some tests. When she finally let you visit, you rushed to sit next to George’s bedside. He stirred at your frantic movements and opened an eye to see you. “It’s not that bad is it?” He chuckles.

“She said that you’ve broken a few ribs, but you’ll be alright.” You smile.

George sits up slowly, pretending to be in agonizing pain. You worry for a bit and reach out to him on instinct, but he laughs and tells you he’s okay. His torso is wrapped entirely with gauze over his clothes, and there are a few bandages wrapped around his forearms as well. Pomfrey had drawn a blanket over George earlier, so the white sheet still covered the lower half of his body. A moment goes by, and you hear a soft wheeze leaving George’s lips. “You don’t suppose my soulmate is into beaten up ginger-heads, do you?”

“Well,” you mull over your words. Pretending to take his question seriously, you answer,” they would have if you were Fred..” You laugh a little as you catch the glint in his eyes –– the mischievous one you had grown to love.

“Oh, if only I looked exactly like that bloke.” He jokes. His head falls a little forward as he laughs. His gaze is drawn to his lap, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he looked like those shy love interests in romantic muggle films.

You notice that his fiery hair is covering his eyes, and your body compels you to get another glimpse of that wonderful boy’s face. Ever so gently, you reach your hand out and tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. When your fingers curve around the back of his ear, you notice a few dark marks of what looks like a tattoo. Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion. You go to move more of his hair out of the way, but he turns his eyes to you.

“Are you getting handsy with me y/n? Tryin’ to make a move, are you?” He smiles, but there is a small panic in his eyes as they frantically search yours. “You could’ve just asked me out, you know.”

“Is that your soulmate mark?” You ask.

“Maybe.”

“Well,” you huff playfully,” I might be able to tell you who your soulmate is. I might cry if your soulmate is Madame Pomfrey, though.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks, a playful tone in his voice.

"Georgie, please don’t tell me you have a thing for milfs.”

It takes everything in him to hold back his laughter. George pulls his hair back to reveal the numbers 224 etched behind his left ear. Your breath catches in your throat, but you try to hide your very obvious shock. 224 was a number you knew too well, and seeing that number reflected on your best friend’s skin meant that your deepest feelings were true. It’s okay to be in love with George because now... now there is chance he feels the same way.

Your mark is tattooed on the band of your middle finger, which is usually covered up by jewelry. You fidget with your rings nervously, trying to ground yourself all the while. George doesn’t pay too much attention to it when he says,“Fred has his numbers on his right ear. I might be the right-hand man, but he’s lucky enough to be the right-ear man.”

You laugh at his really bad pun,” Really? Out of all of the ear jokes, you chose that one?”

“It made you laugh, didn’t it?” He nudges you with his shoulder, and you can’t help but giggle some more.

“Would you like to hear a fun fact?” You ask. You gulp down all of the fear that has started to swallow you whole. You are George’s soulmate. The idea buzzes in your head along with a million other thoughts. George nods for you to continue, and you fight the panicked urge to scream. “...In the muggle world, they have such advanced technology.”

“Yeah, dad would know––” George interjects for a second.

“The numbers 224 actually hold a meaning to them. It’s something like a code–– it’s related to their fancy devices I think? Anyways,” you take a deep breath. You remember vividly the details your friend went to great lengths explaining to you.

“Your number is all kinds of special, y/n!” Mae beams at you. Her eyes twinkle in an amusing manner as she tries to prove herself. A soft thud could be heard when her hands meet with the common room table, and she quickly jumps to her feet. “Imagine, having such a fantastic number as that!” She exclaims with awe.

“I don’t understand?” You bemusedly remark. Why would numbers hold more meanings beyond your standard soulmate reason?

“My brother loves binary code, a certain muggle science,” she explains,” and he told me a few meanings. One of them being yours! Now, if only fate would tell us who your soulmate was...”

If Mae were in this room, she would be bursting at the seams from pure glee. You look into George’s eyes and say,” ...the numbers actually mean something along the lines of ‘Today, Tomorrow, Forever.’ It has to do with the bond you and your soulmate have together.“

He blinks once or twice before breaking out into a grin,” Okay, can you say it again but,” he emphasizes,” simpler, maybe?

“––it means that your soulmate will love an accident-prone idiot like you forever and always,” You joke halfheartedly.

The familiar gleaming smile he wore after a successful prank creeps up onto his face: one of self satisfaction and deserving of many awards based on looks alone. His smile is much gentler and you almost miss it, but a blush tints the very tips of his cheeks. “Oh? wait ‘till dad finds out that numbers have meanings to muggles. How’d you know all of this anyway?”

“Oh, it’s just something my friend talked to me about.” You dismiss his questioning gaze and clear your throat. Every second that passes makes you more and more anxious being around George, simply just by knowing you two are soulmates. It’s a dream come true, sure. But how do you go around explaining to your best friend that he’s the one?

“Are you alright, y/n?” George asks. “You seem real fidgety. Do you need to go somewhere?”

“Oh–– no, it just that,” you gulp. “Well.. I think left the Fizzing Whizbees back in my dorm room.” You lie. You know it’s in your bag with your other belongings, safely tucked away for later consumption. “Post-game snacks are essential, and I did make a promise.”

“Are you sure you left it there? I thought I saw it in your bag...” He leans over to find your bag, and sure enough, he pulls out the box of candy.

“Oh.” You look at him. There’s an awkward pause before he clears his throat.

“You’ve really got to get yourself together mate–– looks like Nearly Headless Nick showed you his neck hole again or something.” George jokes to lighten the mood, but he’s right. The longer you sit there and stare at him, the more you either want to slam your lips against his or vomit profusely. You feel pale and sickly; just enough to feel the twists and turns of your stomach. Is this what having butterflies feel like? He opens the bag of candy and offers you some.

You share the box of whizbees with him, taking one out and popping them into your mouth. It fizzes and jolts a little as the sweet taste melts on your tongue. “I think maybe Fred slipped something to me earlier,” you avert your gaze,” I’m not sure.”

“Yeah, sounds like Fred.” George grabs your hand and looks you in the eyes. He’s rubbing soothing circles on your hands, and it does seem to relax some of your nerves. He looks at you softly and gently, and all at once, your anxiety starts to melt away in his presence. You almost forget why you’re so worried in the first place. “You know I’m not going anywhere. If you have to take a massive shit, I’ll wait for you.” He says as he pats your hand reassuringly.

You erupt into laughter and shove him away. “And here I thought we were having a moment.”

“Nothing says true love like bowl movements, darling.”

As the laughter dies down, the somber feeling in your gut returns. It’s now or never, right? “George, I think I need to tell you something. I—“

Fred bursts into the door with Lee following shortly behind. “There’s my favorite twin!” He beams. He gets a disapproving look from Madame Pomfrey peering around the corner from her office. Fred doesn’t pay much attention, choosing to walk past her with barely a glance over his shoulder. George rolls his eyes as Fred happily trots over, spilling some liquid from two mugs in his hands. “—had to have Lee help sneak these in for the party, which you lot are missing out on.” He hands you a mug of butter beer and George, the other.

You decide to drop the subject even after George was free from the hospital bed. It’s a few weeks since then, and school has made you push those thoughts of pesky soulmates and true love aside. Of course, George kept looking at you funny, waiting for you to bring it up again. To his dismay, you didn’t.

“Alright everyone, class is dismissed.” Professor Sprout announces as she busies herself in setting up plants for the next day. It’s the last class of the day, and you couldn’t be happier. Repotting plants was hard work, and you were sweaty enough as it is. Beads of sweat dripped down the side of your face, and as much as you hated it, it did make for good eye candy across the room — namely George, although there’s a lot of dirt smudged onto his face too.

He’s cleaning up rather quickly so you call out to him,” Can you grab my rings, Georgie? They’re over there by my bag.” You had to remove jewelry in order to “safely handle” the creatures and wear proper gloves. Those of which you hastily pull off to wash your hands. The suds come and go as you lather and rinse away in the sink.

“Today, tomorrow, forever eh?” George’s deep voice rumbles in your ear. You jump a little at the sudden scare. “I think I like the sound of that, don’t you?”

You turn your head a little to the side and come very close to George’s face. You can feel his breath fanning on your skin, and his nose is just barely touching yours. You fear that if you blink, the sight in front of you will vanish. Every freckle that glitters his skin is so close you could count them like the stars and draw constellations between them if you wanted to. It’s absolutely breathtaking. Your body feels like it’s on a cloud— so feather light and airy— as he smiles at you. Your throat is dry; your tongue struggles to keep up with your thoughts. “...what?” You choke out. You cover your hands on impulse, but you know it’s too late.

“It means you’re stuck with me forever, y/n.” He grins. “Soulmate magic is no joke, you know.” He hands you your rings and walks beside you out of the greenhouse. You slip the rings on to your middle finger where it’s always resided, deciding to fidget with it a little.

Nothing should be different. You’re walking with George in the hallways like you always do, your hair is no different than yesterday, and class was the same as an other day. And yet your heart is beating faster and the sun seems to shine brighter. The grass is greener and the lake bluer than it was this morning. Words remain unspoken, but the truth is there. His fingers are interlocked with yours. 224.

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wipethetape · 3 years ago

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Wandattention

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

a failed attempt with the pun? yes. is it really that bad? yes. did i make this after seeing the multiverse of madness trailer 2? definitely yes. this user is for wanda maximoff supremacy.

Making your way to the kitchen, you saw some of the members, particularly Bucky, Sam, and Scott, placing bets and arguing on who's going to be the 'Most Loved Avenger' between the three of them on Valentine's Day. You don't care that much about it because you know it's going to be a tough competition with strong contenders and unexpected dark horses.

Tony made a system where civilians, literally anyone, even welcoming admirers from outer space and multiverse, where they can put all their gifts and letters in a certain sort-of-like-a-mailbox located in rooms not too far from the entrance, each with the names of every Avenger. There is a passage where it would go to another set of intensive security that also counts all the gifts before delivering them in each bedroom. There are three reasons why you despise this silly arrangement.

One, yes, you are one of the most popular Avengers from the team, therefore you would get many gifts from fans. But it means that there are also not that famous to the people so some of you will get only a few to none (which thankfully didn't happen because everyone received a massive or enough amount last year).

Second, you knew this was the idea of the egotistical playboy side of him, even though he reasoned out that this might be a good way for the Avengers to connect and please the citizens for wreaking havoc in every mission so they could feel that the Avengers are not that different or out of reach (no really, he just wants to confirm that fans with the same daddy issues find him hotter now that he's a dedicated family man because apparently, social media is not enough proof).

Third and the most important one, while it pleases you that many people give their attention to you, you only wanted to attract that from one person. And that person happens to be around your vicinity, yet you always find yourself conflicted on approaching her.

Grabbing a drink from the fridge, you saw Wanda coming your way so you quickly went to the living room where the three men were still bickering.

"I already told you it will be me– hi Y/N!" Sam greeted, followed by Scott, with Bucky patting your head as a greeting.

"I'll place my bet here on Y/N," Bucky states.

Scott rebutted. "No offense but might as well put your bet on Tony if you're going to be like that, vibranium man."

"Offense!" Both Bucky and Sam exclaimed.

"Now that's rude," Sam retorts.

"I agree," Bucky says, gaining a questioning look from Sam. Scott politely apologizes to both, which they accepted.

"I think I should be the one offended here for being compared to Tony."

"Hey! I heard that kid!" Tony shouts from nowhere. When did he even arrive? You turned around and saw him approaching the four of you, but that didn't really catch your attention. You saw Vision having a few laughs with Wanda in the kitchen, and you missed the way the other men looked at each other after seeing your seemingly jealous eyes shooting lasers at Vision. However, Tony grabbed your attention and snapped you out of it, arguing about your statement earlier.

Later that day, right after dinner, where most of the members are resting in either the living area or theater room, you caught a glimpse of Wanda trying to sneak out with a visible red envelope in her hand. You excused yourself to Natasha and decided to secretly follow her.

She was heading outside the compound, where the rooms are located, and walked towards Vision's area. You head back to the compound with slumped shoulders and a dejected face, not minding the curious gazes that will certainly follow you if you walk past through them.

You just patiently waited until the clock strikes at 10, where the gifts will be delivered to your room and have something to distract you from the heartbreak you are experiencing.

It warms your heart to read the letters you received from fans, some of which made you laugh because the writers were teenagers professing their love to you and commanding you to wait for them to grow up and court you. Somehow, the warmth doesn't seem to reach the void in your heart where coldness and pain lies. It still hurts to know that no matter how much love you get from other people, you will never get it from the person you wanted to reciprocate it to you. However, it's fine that she's happy with him, though that will not stop you from thinking about terrible ways how to piss him off.

You only intend to finish reading the letters and call it a day (literally since it's already past midnight) because you don't have the energy to open the gifts nor the appetite to eat the chocolates and other food you got. The last one is a red envelope, and your chest is already pumping hard but you don't want to assume who the sender is. You already experienced enough heartbreak for today, you don't need more.

You took the envelope and saw the wax seal with a 'W' on it, and you swear you can literally pass out right now then happily deal with the nagging you will get from Dr. Cho. Checking the back, your name was gracefully written and you can feel the small bit of magic enchanted on the letter as you feel what's written on it. It basically confirmed that you were the supposed recipient of the letter, jumping gleefully with the discovery.

Wanda gave you a letter! How can you process that fact alone? And on Valentine's Day? Sneaking outside the compound for secrecy when she can just go to your room and leave it somewhere in your bed? But you swear you saw her drop by in Vision's area. Wait, did she? You remember seeing her walking in the same direction, but you went back without seeing her drop the letter. Oh.

You were so fixated on your jealousy that you didn't even think that the arrangement was from the oldest to the newest recruits, and you were recruited around the same time with Carol, so definitely Wanda would pass by Vision's. It doesn't matter now, because despite the heartbreak you brought upon yourself, you finally got the Wandattention you want on hearts day.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #avengers x reader #avengers #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #wandavision

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malleficarian · 1 year ago

Text

❛ not everything , but a good share of it . ❜ it hardly mattered that much though , considering malina had requested plenty of questionable things be done by diablo in her name . still , it would be a nuisance if he were to get arrested yet again ; one more thing for her to deal with , and not exactly a fun one . she could've sworn he was about to say something else , maybe a name , before referring to ' the feline ' as just that , which made her raise an eyebrow for a second . she'd deal with that later . ❛ don't mention it . you're moving in by the end of the week ; i trust that won't be a problem . ❜

she would much prefer not to have noticed the shift in his demeanor , the way diablo seemed to shut down at what malina considered to be harmless advice . how generous of her , and yet ! nevertheless , she was taken aback by the mention of diablo's previous homelife . ❛ well , ❜ a small shrug , ❛ that's a very low bar you're setting . ❜ there's an almost comical tone to her statement , which doesn't make it any less true . it was better , yes , but not as good as what she thought he deserved and for whatever reason , malina liked to believe she knew what was good for diablo . someone had to keep his head straight , he lucky to have her . she wished she'd had someone like that at his age .

pausing , she simply stares in disapproval of the little pun he made . ha - ha , hilarious . ❛ am i supposed feel intimidated by that ? please , the man is allergic to sunlight . ❜ a dismissive chuckle . she could acknowledge dracula's reputation , but fear him ? never , she feared no man . it's the next few words that cause an actual disturbance in her , a strange feeling sitting in her chest . ❛ oh dear , it's worse than i thought . ❜ a heavy sigh , ❛ love isn't real , diablo . i don't know what it is you think you feel for her but let's not make up random things . ❜ and while malina wasn't sure why she was so certain of her conviction , she knew she was right . the mere sound of that word made her want to break something , but she knew to keep composure . just as mal was about to bring up the fact that he might end up dead anyway ( which , judging by the bites , wasn't a stretch in the slightest ) , he beat her to it . you sound just like my father .

malina's eyes went wide , incredulous and surprised . he didn't actually mean that , of course not ! it wasn't true , no . being compared to diablo's father , being worse than him , meant she was just as terrible as her own father had been — or worse . ❛ ... you little shit , ❜ mal barked . ❛ i saved your miserable , pathetic life and you dare compare me to that poor excuse of a creature ? who do you think you are ?! ❜ she could feel anger burning a hole inside her , nails digging into her palms as fingers curled inward . ❛ i think you've lived without consequences for far too long , you ungrateful , insolent fool . you think i sound like your father ? ❜ malina laughed like it was the funniest joke of all . ❛ i can do worse , and i will . ❜

"Just because I got arrested before and you had to bail me out does not mean need to assume that everything I do is going to end with me being in jail." Or someone's dinner now, apparently. As Malina quickly glanced through her phone he tossed the towel aside and pulled his hoodie on so he wasn't standing in front of her half naked, which was awkward enough on its own. Diablo wanted to barter for something maybe with...more space but he should be thankful for what she was offering all together. "Never asked you to pay for H-- the feline," he grumbled. "Thanks."

The way Malina referred to Sibella upset Diablo. The way she mocked him and threw his past in his face reminded him of a person more sinister than her, to him at least. Her tone, expression, and choice of words brought back haunting memories of his father talking down on him and demeaning him as if he were nothing. He could feel his hands shaking as he pulled his hood up on his head. His eyes lock on hers, expression blank as he simply just stares. He just...shut down for a moment. Despite the anger and hurt bubbling in his blood he had nothing to say to her. Nothing to retort back to defend himself. Maybe, even after all these years, he was still his father's son-- a poor soul that let everyone walk all over him. "It sounds a lot better than the life I remember having before," he finally said, hoping she would understand the severity of his words. Diablo needed to get it through Malina's head that the life he had chose for himself would always be better than the life he grew up with. He wanted to defend himself though, scream in her face that he wasn't 'someone's dinner' that he was in love and Sibella was the best damn thing to ever happen to him. He didn't though, he stayed relatively silent. Despite his trust and loyalty to Malina she still did frighten him at times, almost more than his own father had.

"Her name is Sibella," he mumbled softly, "I can certainly count on the fact you know of her father." He crossed his arms over his chest like a stubborn teenager. This was ridiculous, he thought, he was a grown man and she was treating him like he wasn't. "You're right. I wouldn't let just anyone do this. I let my girlfriend do it because I love her." It was strange admitting his feelings for Sibella out loud to Malina but it was also...relieving. At least she knew the truth now. Diablo shook his head. "You're missing the point. Do you not think I'm grateful to have those things? I never would have without you. I'd probably be dead," he reminded her. His eyes reach hers again, his own having a blatantly sad look in them. "Something I'll never have. Something I've never had. Approval from someone I respect, I guess. I've never had it before so why would that change now?" He bites the inside of his cheek. "Fuck me for thinking I'd ever live in a world where it was okay to do what I want without consequences though! You know what-- No. I think the worse part of all of this is that you sound just like my father. That's the worst consequence of all."

#✦ — 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐞𝐝 ┊ threads #dicblo

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squidyyy23 · 2 years ago

Note

Hello. Am I texting you right now as I send you this? Yes. Yes I am. But I have a few questions that the world needs to know!

In you kitchen sink cookies, which topping was chosen by which Gallagher sibling? And also, if the Mandy and Mickey (and any other Milkovich siblings) ever get invited to Thanksgiving at the Gallaviches, what toppings would they ask for? And also, also, what about Franny and Freddie'd choices?? And also also also, what would be yours if you got invited??

Very. Important. Questions.

oh hey there, stranger. 😉 quite the homework assignment you’ve given me here! who knew some 🍪 cookies 🍪 could spark so many questions! okay okay, let’s see if we can’t turn everyone’s personality into a dessert topping.

alright, so i started with a recipe and threw in some extra things of my own and ended up with six toppings. six toppings, six gallagher siblings. it works and i love it!

here's what we've got:

chocolate chunks - liam. classic. reliable. no surprises. a traditional choice for the boy with an old soul.

pretzels - lip. a realist. had enough of all this sugar and sweetness. doesn’t trust this cookie making business. too smart. knows how it ends up. rebels by picking something savory. he’s not a child and everyone needs to know that.

toffee bits - fiona. sickeningly sweet. our selfless provider. but will break your teeth if you aren’t careful.

potato chips - carl. chaos. probably grabs the chip bag with a wild cackle. wants everyone to notice how outlandish he is. but actually ends up blending in quite nicely.

m&ms - ian. classic middle child. unassuming choice. no big statement to be made. but gotta throw a little color in there lest he get lost in the shuffle completely.

salted caramel chips - debbie. salty and sweet like out little baby-stealing firecracker. (ok, these were a recent trader joe’s find i couldn’t resist. i’ll admit it. i’m an addict.)

(some of these are a stretch but let’s roll with it 😂)

now on to mickey and mandy…

mickey - he’s throwing in some nuts. peanuts, walnut, pecans, macadamia. he doesn’t care. it’s all about the endless puns in the kitchen which irritate his husband to no death. he then picks the nut back OUT of his cookies because he doesn’t even like them.

mandy - our girl got out and saw the world. she’s a cultured bitch now. she’s coming home with ideas. maybe a spicy chocolate or an exotic dried fruit.

as for the kiddos…

franny - she’s changes her mind a dozen times before the cookies are finished. every time someone pulls their topping out, suddenly that’s her FAVORITE!

freddie - he’s a baby. someone hands him the sprinkles and he’s happy to dump the entire container onto one cookie.

and for me, i’d say i’m either a chocolate chip purist OR one of my absolute favorite cookies is this 🎃 pumpkin spice honey cookie 🍯 (which is should totally make soon since we’re pretending it’s fall already)

#ok so now what topping are YOU?#ian the baker #tw food

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cilogram · 3 years ago

Text

Memory of Jacques Tati, by Ron Mael

Jacques Tati entered the lobby of the Paris Hilton looking very much like Monsieur Hulot---same raincoat, same determined gait. “Hello, I’m Jacques. You can pronounce it like ‘Jack’.”

When a band is given the opportunity to appear in a film, it usually is a cameo in a prom night scene with adoring teenage actors feigning hysteria at the lip-sync performance of their new song. Here we were, in 1975, being given the chance to make preparations to appear not in an American teen comedy, but in a French film, a Jacques Tati film, and not as a performing band in one scene, but as actors in the entire film with Mr. Tati.

A Swiss record company executive had thought there were similarities in sensibility between Tati’s view of the world and ours. We were under no illusions as to the relative genius of Tati versus Sparks, but we kept our mouths shut and a meeting was set up in the Paris Hilton.

Perhaps Tati, who we doubted had ever heard of Sparks, had accepted the meeting and the inclusion of us in his next film as an attempt to widen his audience. We, of course, never asked him whether it mattered that we weren’t actors. The process began.

Over the next several months, we had numerous discussions with Tati in his Paris office about the planned film “Confusion.” It was to be centered in a television studio with Russell playing a television director and me playing some sort of technician.

We learned that the oft-debated “auteur” theory in film did at least exist in Tati’s world. Attending the meetings were only Tati, his sketchbook and notepad, his personal assistant, and the two of us. Our job during the “collaboration” was mostly to marvel at the brilliance of his ideas, a job made easy by the brilliance of his ideas. Each meeting would typically begin in the French manner of starting a statement with “no”, as in “No. we must be certain we are completely prepared before beginning anything,” in effect contradicting a statement that had never been made.

As the meetings progressed, it seemed as if there was a basic structure in his notebook on which to hang “gags.” I use the term “gags” with some hesitation as these were not modern American comedy-type gags or even silent comedy gags, but more visual playthings or visual puns. A highly decorated military general, wearing numerous colorful battle ribbons on his chest, finds the colors of these ribbons begin to run down his uniform into a pool on the floor. Another character would be shown to leave the frame of the film, much as Tex Avery characters sometimes do, perhaps in order to make you aware that you are in fact watching a film. Jacques, tell us where to stand and we’ll do anything.

Outside of his office, Tati seemed always to be studying peoples’ movements and behavior. He would always take public transport, never a taxi and most certainly never a limousine, in order to be able to watch people and not feel sheltered from the surroundings. Even a lunch at a restaurant would be more than just steack-frites, with Tati asking a waitress what part of the animal a certain cut of meat came from. When she demonstrated and left the table, he would mimic her action, not in a mean-spirited or patronizing way, but in what seemed like the transformation of her simple act into a ballet move.

At one point in the series of discussions in Paris, Tati and Sparks were asked to be guests on a Swedish television show. Tati’s only request of the show was that they supply a white horse for his use during the TV performance as a “prop.” No problem! (Our 25 year long search for a video copy of this performance ended when our recent pilgrimage to the same Swedish television station revealed that copies of the show no longer existed. Tragic). Soon, our meetings with Jacques Tati occurred less and less frequently. Perhaps there were financial problems. Perhaps there were health problems. We never knew. Finally, sometime late in 1975, our meetings stopped.

People in bands are always selfish about one thing or another. My selfishness was wanting to forever be linked in some small way to the brilliance of Jacques Tati. How ironic that after 30 years as a musician, my sole regret is not being able to have appeared in a French film, a Tati film. I will always remember that first Jacques Tati entrance into the lobby of the Paris Hilton and how, in a sense, being in his presence for even a short period of time made me an actor in Monsieur Hulot’s world.

------- Ron Mael

This essay was written by Ron and appears on pages 30-32 of the Guide Book. Paragraph breaks added by me for readability; punctuation/spelling errors are the book’s own. For copyright reasons, I haven’t included the Japanese translation by Tsuzuki Hajime, my apologies.

#Ron Mael #Jacques Tati #I may have shed a tear whilst reading this for the first time and some subsequent times and also when copying it out here #His final sentiment is very lovely #Guide Book

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aquamarinescarlet · 3 years ago

Text

The Psychology of You

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word count: ~3.2k

Warnings: soft angst (I don’t know when things are angsty enough to be considered angst)

Summary: You search for answers but the girl from the library doesn’t seem to want to make it easy for you.

Author’s note: I think this is turning out pretty great, but let me know what you think!

Taglist: @helloalycia @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xastrydx @trikruismybitch

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Your enjoyment was short-lived when she quickly replaced her shocked expression with a smirk.

“So you read it,” she simply stated and your hands ached to brush that victory smile off her lips.

“Explain,” you repeated.

“The plot?” She referred to the book. “Was your little brain incapable of understanding it?” She mocked in a high pitched voice, as if she was talking to a toddler.

Determined to not let her get into your nerves, you held back a sigh.

“Oh, I understood it,” you countered, “what I didn’t understand was what it had to do with all those weird questions you asked me. So, if you would be kind enough to get the screws on your brain back to work and explain it to me, I’d appreciate it.” Your tone filled with disdain.

“And why would I do that when watching you struggle is much more fun?” Your patience was starting to wear thin.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you better than you think.”

“What? You’re Sherlock Holmes now?”

“Something like that.”

You didn’t reply, hoping the silence would be an invitation for her to explain herself. She didn’t catch on, or at least she pretended she didn’t. Tired of this conversation you made a move to leave. That she noticed.

“Color?” You stopped dead, turning back towards her, wanting to wipe that stupid grin off her face.

“I’m not playing this game again,” you simply stated.

“Don’t be such a bore.” She challenged.

Oh how you wished to just punch that pretty face of hers. Your need to always prove people wrong fought with your desire to leave and never see her again. Needless to say which one won.

“Blue.” To your dismay, her smile only grew wider.

“Person?”

“My cousin.”

“Place?”

“The beach.” You stifled a laugh from that subtle pun.

She walked away without another word. You waited at the table, along with her stuff.

“Here,” she handed you a thinner book this time, an orange and black cover, “good luck.” She said before taking her stuff and leaving.

Circe was the title. You’ve heard that word before, but couldn’t pinpoint where. You didn’t have time to dwell on it when Diego showed up in front of you.

“What was that about?”

“What?” You turned your gaze to the boy.

“You and that girl, she’s the one who insulted you last week isn’t she?”

“She wasn’t insulting me.” The words came out before you had time to process them.

“Oh,” he looked surprised, “so you’re defending her now? What happened to ‘she’s crazy’ and all that?”

Honestly, you were as lost as he was. Why did you defend her? Why wasn’t her presence as annoying this time as it was on your last encounter? Or, better yet, why did you agree to keep up with this little game?

Diego seemed to notice your hesitation.

“Do you plan on reading that or…?” He trailed off.

You analyzed the book and what your best friend was implying with that statement. You needed to talk to someone about it, and Diego was the perfect person, he understood you like no one did, and he knew books, maybe he might help you come up with an explanation.

As an answer to his question, you checked out the book and started to make your way to the pastry shop.

Once you were seated, each one with your respective order, you pulled out both books from your backpack and placed them in front of Diego. His eyes went wide, you didn’t blame him.

“Okay, so,” you started, “the girl, from the library.”

“Yes, the one you’ve apparently grown quite fond of.” He teased.

“Not fond,” you corrected him, “I still hate her guts, but I did grow curious.”

He adjusted his position on the chair.

“Curious…” He urged you to continue.

“You remember the first time I met her?”

“The one where she called you dumb,” he recalled.

“Precisely, well, she asked those three questions-” He didn’t give you time to finish.

“Yes, a color, a person and...”

“A place,” you reminded him, “those were weird questions, but she somehow used them to recommend me this book.” You raised the The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo copy.

“If I remember correctly though, you had left it on the shelf before you stormed away.”

“I went back on friday,” he gave you a skeptical look, “curiosity got the best of me, what can I say?” You defended yourself. “Anyways, that’s not the point, I read the book and it had nothing to do with any of the answers, or at least not in an obvious way.”

You watched Diego pick up the book and leaf through it.

“What were your answers?”

“Red, you and as far away as possible.” He sat in silence with those words for a second.

“I can see the connection with the place.” He stated.

“I saw it too, kind of, I’m not sure.” You motioned for him to put the book back down and pay attention to your problem. “Today she refused to explain the connection, and she made the questions again.” His eyes drifted to the second book.

“And you answered them.” It wasn’t a question, although you could sense his confusion.

“Blue, my cousin and the beach,” you looked at him pleading, “do you have any idea how they connect?”

He did the same with Circe. Almost studying the book.

“The cousin maybe, for this one, but no, sorry.” You let out a sigh of disappointment.

You leaned back, relaxing your body against the chair. The coffee was only stressing you out more. Your mind swirling with questions just exponentiated your eagerness to go home and read this one, and try to make some sense of the girl’s mind.

Despite that, you made an effort to actually engage in Diego’s conversation, which thankfully shifted to a different topic, instead of letting your mind drift back to the girl from the library. How could a stranger occupy your thoughts so easily? You didn’t even know her name.

An hour later you were back home, lying comfortably on your bed, the book in your hands.

When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.

That sounds like some paranormal shit, you thought to yourself. You were wrong… well, depending on the perspective, you were wrong. It wasn’t paranormal, it was mythology, Greek mythology to be exact.

Maybe that’s where you’ve heard that word before, ‘Circe’. It was the name of a character from those stories, those beliefs. Diego had gone through the classic mythology-obsessed fase as a kid, you might have heard him mention it during his everlasting monologues about the Gods and all their shenanigans.

You barely made it to chapter two before being hit by a throbbing headache. The medicine cabinet didn’t have anything that helped, and no one else was home to go out and buy more, you certainly weren’t in the state to do it yourself, so you opted to just lay down and rest your eyes hoping it would pass on its own.

It didn’t. At least not before you fell asleep.

Darkness flooded your room, the house was dead silent. You checked your phone, 4am. It didn’t come as a surprise that you still had your clothes from yesterday on. You stumbled towards the bathroom, your body oddly light from the sleep, your muscles stiff from the uncomfortable position.

The headache was gone, thankfully, but so was the tiredness. You had four hours before you had to be up and was hoping to get some extra sleep, but kept tossing and turning, wide awake.

Giving up, you turned on your lamo and picked up the book on your nightstand. The story wasn’t as mysterious as the last one, but it managed to catch your interest quickly. It told the story of Circe, a nymph who has been disowned by her parents due to her not-so-attractive looks.

Was this the girl’s way of telling you she thought you were ugly? You scoffed at the idea, she wouldn’t go that low. Plus, it’d be a lot of work just to tell you something so petty and stupid.

As you advanced on the reading you tried to pick on little details that would clue you to the connection it had to the questions she asked. You even tried to find points in common with the previous book she had recommended, and some came to mind, but nothing that helped solve the full puzzle.

This one was taking longer than expected. Between classes, practice - in which the coach was making you do lighter exercises - and the headaches you’d get from staring too long at the small words, you were reading at a much slower pace than you’d usually do.

On Friday the headaches had finally subsided, and to celebrate you invited Diego to the arcade.

As always, the simple prospect of going to the arcade kept your thoughts about the girl and her books in the back of your mind. For the time being you even forgot about Circe, which you were only halfway done with.

The music, the lights, the dust, none of those affected you at all, nor did they give you anymore headaches. You pulled Diego excitedly, beating him at all your favourite games. The owner was familiar with the both of you, offering extra coins and making conversation throughout your stay there.

“C’mon, give up, these things are rigged.” You said to Diego, who was playing on the Claw Machine for the third time.

“It’s not rigged, it’s physics.” He explained whilst concentrating.

“It’s luck,” you laughed lightheartedly as he lost yet again, “and you don’t seem to be having any.”

He scoffed at you and inserted another coin, you just rolled your eyes at his insistence. You were getting bored of waiting for him when you were surprised by a voice coming from behind you.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” You turned around and were met by the boy with silver hair.

“Pietro,” you exclaimed, “I could say the same about you. Don’t you live like... on the other side of town?” You remembered from the day you dropped him off after the party.

“Nope, I live a few blocks away.” He gestured to his right. “That was my folks’ place.” He explained, sensing your confusion.

“Really? Then how have I never seen you here before?”

“I don’t come that often.”

“Well, you should, this place is awesome.” You said dreamily.

“Sure is.” He agreed, and you heard someone coughing behind you, suddenly being reminded that Diego wouldn’t know the boy.

“Right, Diego this is Pietro,” you introduced them, “he’s Angie’s… uhm,” you looked at him quite unsure of how to explain, “friend?”

“For now.” He gave you a wink and you were pleased by that. He was good to Angie, and it was about time she fell for someone decent.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Diego said.

“You too.”

“Y/N I have to go,” Your best friend turned to you, signalling to his phone, “my mom needs me to pick up Iz.” His little sister.

“That’s too bad, I was just about to ask you to show me your favourite games here since you know it well.” Pietro looked at you.

“Are you fine to go by yourself?” You asked Diego with pleading eyes.

“By myself?” He brought his hand to his chest feigning offense, but quickly laughed it off. “Sure, have fun.”

You bid your goodbyes, thanking him again for not complaining about you staying without him. Despite this being you guys’ place, it was the place where you could destress, and you certainly didn’t want to leave yet.

Pulling Pietro by the arm, you presented him to all your favourite games, teaching him how to play some, and getting beaten by him on others. He had talent, you had to admit. After at least an hour of playing, laughing and friendly teasing each other, your stomach started to grumble.

“Someone’s hungry.” Pietro joked.

“Maybe,” he didn’t seem to believe you, “okay, yes.”

“Let me take you to dinner.” You looked at him with an eyebrow raised and he rolled his eyes at your insinuation. “Not like that, I just know a place a few blocks away, plus, I’m also starving.”

You quickly agreed and he took you to this place that sold pizzas by the slice. Your eyes went wide with the variety of options you could choose from.

Once you both had chosen three slices each, you sat down at one of the tables.

“So,” you started, “why don’t you live with your parents if they are in the same town as you?”

“They were very strict about bringing girls around,” you both laughed, “so me and my sister decided to move out, we wanted some freedom y’know”

“Sister?” You asked curiously.

“Twin, yes.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you had a sister, have I met her?”

"Doubtful, she isn’t one for socializing, spends all her time with her face buried in books and studies.”

“She and Diego would get along quite well then.” You joked.

“If he’s as shy and sweet as she is, then definitely.” He added.

Conversation shifted to several different topics from there, and after eating five or six slices of pizza you decided it was time to go home.

Pietro walked you home with the promise of getting revenge on the games he had lost in the arcade.

A good shower was much needed, your muscles happily relaxing with the hot water. Settling on your bed, your eyes found the book sitting on the nightstand. You picked up from where you had left, hoping to finish it that night. You didn’t, you fell asleep half an hour later.

You did finish it on Saturday morning, and after lunch you planned to go directly to the library. As you were about to leave the thought that she might not be there passed your mind, so you packed your backpack. In the worst case you’d spend the afternoon studying instead of getting answers from her, plus, you could use some time to catch up on your classes, the headaches leaving you slightly behind throughout the week.

As it turned out, your intuition was correct. She wasn’t there. So you settled yourself in one of the empty tables, scattering notes and textbooks all over it.

You almost laughed at the scene. You were willingly in a library, you were spending more time than needed in said library, you had two novels on the table, two novels that you had read in the past week. That was so different from you, and you didn’t regret it one bit.

Could you have just ignored that girl the first time you met? Yes, you could.

Could you have ignored her the second time you met? Also yes.

But you didn’t, you played along, you engaged in her little mystery game. You let her invade your mind, your thoughts. You let her steal all your focus, which should be on the notes sitting on the table, seemingly forgotten.

Speaking of the devil, your train of thought was cut short by a presence taking a seat across from you.

It was her. She stared at you for a few seconds, none of you saying anything. Without breaking the silence, she took out some of her own notes and started to read over them.

You wanted to say something, you wanted answers, but you found yourself at a loss for words. She was sitting right there, you just had to ask, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Was it because the last time you asked so bluntly she found a way around it? Probably. It was the most logical reason, although it didn’t feel like the right one. That only seemed to increase your anger towards her, you were quick witted, the words always at the tip of your tongue. But somehow this girl changed that, and you still didn’t know her name.

You must’ve been staring for a while when she cleared her throat, breaking you away from your daze.

“I thought you hated libraries.” She simply stated.

You didn’t know how to reply, she wasn’t wrong and you weren’t willing to admit she was the reason you were here.

“It helps me concentrate.” Her gaze met yours.

“Sure.” The glint in her eyes told you she didn’t believe it and you felt shy for being caught. “You don’t seem to be concentrating tha much.” She challenged.

“I would if you left.” Your tone was one of pure annoyance, she didn’t seem fazed at all.

“Are you implying I’m distracting?” She added playfully, a smirk on her lips.

You just wanted to reach over and wipe that off of her. Instead you let out a deep sigh, closing your eyes for a few seconds, determined to not enter into another argument with her that would distract you from what you wanted.

“I read it,” you tossed over Circe to her side of the table, “I still don’t get it.” You admitted.

She reached over for the book, brushing her fingers over the cover. The smirk was gone, now replaced by a playful grin. Somehow that was even more annoying. She was enjoying this, taunting you, keeping you on your toes trying to figure her out.

“You are quite slow aren’t you?” You huffed loudly in frustration.

“Is there even a logic behind those questions? Because I’m starting to think there isn’t any and you’re just doing this to annoy me.”

“Color?” You rolled your eyes, you weren’t falling for it as fast this time.

“Why me though? You don’t even know me.”

“Color?” She insisted.

“I don’t like to read, this will get you nowhere.” You kept trying.

“Color?” Swallowing back a growl, you got up abruptly, startling the girl.

“You know what?” You started to shove your stuff back into your backpack. “I’m not playing this anymore, either you tell me now or I’ll leave.”

You hoped she would give in to your ultimatum, she didn’t. She just stared at you.

“Color?” You shook your head with disbelief, taking your stuff and walking away.

You didn’t want to come back here ever again. The nerve she had. Your blood was boiling with rage. Yet you stopped dead on your tracks once the exit came into view. Something kept you from moving, from leaving and you had no idea what it was.

Before you knew it you were face to face with her, no longer on the table but in the middle of the infinite shelves filled with books. Your nose inches from hers. She was taken by surprise, her eyes went wide and her breathing became heavy.

“Black, my grandpa, the arcade down the street.” You stated with a seriousness you’d never had before.

She didn’t smirk, didn’t grin, her eyes no longer had that glint of playfulness it had earlier. She reached her hand out, without moving her eyes away from yours, giving you a thin book you didn’t even bother to look at.

You held on to that position for a few seconds longer than necessary, not quite sure why you did it, before moving away with a look of displeasure from giving in to her once again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x reader #mcu #marvel #I'm obsessed with books

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jmbringitonworld · 3 years ago

Text

What Cures A Sickness

This is my contribution to the @frans-monthly March Prompt: Sick. It technically takes place after Fransweek 2022, Day 5: Food, but can be read as a standalone oneshot.

Horrortale belongs to Sour Apple Studios

AO3 link for those who prefer to read fics there.

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After putting away her gardening tools, Frisk let out a satisfied sigh. Turning her head to look out the window, she admired how well her garden was doing. All of the vegetables were growing beautifully, a testament to all of the hard work she’d put into them, and most of the fruits were almost ready to be picked. She was especially proud of her red, juicy tomatoes, the pride of her garden; they were sure to make for delicious ketchup. Frisk hoped Sans would approve, he’d certainly enjoyed the jar she’d previously made for him, after all, and had thanked her in the most pleasant ways... A loud jingle broke her out of her fond reminiscing, and she swiftly fished her phone out of her pocket, answering it in the same beat.

“Hello?”

“frisk,” Sans’s deep baritone answered back, his voice even rougher than usual, tinged with an edge of panic. “i need your help. it’s aliza, she’s sick, and me an’ pap don’t know what to do. she says she’s fine, that it’s just a cold, but her face’s all red and really warm, she’s sweatin’ buckets and she keeps coughing an’ sneezing. and... and she refuses to eat anything .”

That last damning statement sounded like it truly pained Sans to admit, which, given his previous history of starvation, Frisk knew it really must have. Sans couldn’t bear to let anyone go hungry, and was always fiercely insistent on making sure everyone ate enough. Someone as dear to him as Aliza, refusing food, must have him so worried...

“Don’t panic, Sans, Aliza’s a healthy kid, and some colds seem more severe than they really are. I’m sure whatever’s wrong isn’t too serious,” Frisk tried to reassure her boyfriend, her tone purposely placating and upbeat. “Have you called a doctor?”

“no, i don’t know any, ‘sides my therapist, but this ain’t really their field of expertise. an’ i don’t wanna phone Aliza’s parents, they might never trust us to look after the kid ever again. you’re the only one i could think to call, frisk.”

“That’s fine, love, I’ll be right over to help out, and I’ll see if Aliza needs professional help.”

“thanks, babe, that really means a lot. and don’t worry about getting here, i’ll pick you up myself.”

Just then, the doorbell rang. Frisk quickly made her way to her front door, throwing it open to reveal the elder of the skeleton brothers himself. Hanging up her phone, Frisk threw her arms around Sans, wrapping him up in a tight, comforting hug. Feeling Sans return her hug with trembling arms, Frisk tightened her hold on him.

“It’s going to be okay, love,” Frisk’s soothing words and presence were like a balm to Sans’s soul, as he relaxed within her embrace.

“thanks, sweetheart,” Sans sighed into her hair, inhaling her familiar scent, and grounding himself in the gentle pulsing of her soul calling out to his, which instinctively slowed down to match it. “i dunno what i’d do without ya.”

“Panic some more, probably, without getting anything done,” Frisk’s voice was half amused, half chiding. Sans chuckled lightly.

“heh, ya sure know how to cut me to the bone. but you’re not wrong. This has really rattled my bones.”

Frisk giggled, relieved that Sans had calmed down enough to tell bad puns. Giving her boyfriend one last firm squeeze, Frisk reluctantly released him, grabbing one of his skeletal hands instead. Sans tightened his grip on her hand.

“lessgo,” was all the warning Frisk received before the world dissolved around her, to be replaced by a familiar, welcoming living room, where an even more familiar and welcoming skeleton monster was pacing fretfully, wringing his gloved hands. Upon noticing their arrival, Papyrus immediately rushed to them and swept Frisk up in a bone-crushing hug.

“FRISK! YOU ARE HERE!” he cried loudly, tears liberally falling from his eye sockets, glittering brightly underneath the glasses taped to his skull. “I’M SO RELIEVED! YOU CAN’T IMAGINE HOW WORRIED I’VE BEEN FOR MY OTHER, TINIER HUMAN FRIEND! EVEN USING THE FULL EXTENT OF MY VERY IMPRESSIVE MENTAL FACULTIES AND CULINARY TALENTS, I’VE BEEN UNABLE TO HELP ALIZA AT ALL!”

Patting his arm as best as she could, trapped as she was, suspended high in the air, by deceptively powerful skeletal arms, Frisk was quick to reassure her dear friend, keeping her voice light and sympathetic.

“There, there, Papy, I’m sure you’ve been very helpful and that Aliza really appreciates all you’ve done for her. And I promise to do everything I can to help her, as well. Now, could you please take me to see her?”

“OF COURSE! SHE’S CURRENTLY RESTING IN OUR GUEST BEDROOM,” Papyrus gently placed Frisk back on her feet and eagerly led her to a nearby room. Carefully opening the door, he quietly ushered his first human friend inside, before following closely behind her, with Sans choosing to remain in the doorway to observe. Frisk sat in the chair someone had placed beside the bed, where lay a human, teenaged girl, her normally pale face flushed and sweaty, her dark hair lank, and her breathing laborious.

“Hey, sweetie, how are you?” voice hushed and consoling, Frisk tenderly caressed the other girl’s head, delicately stroking stray strands of hair out of Aliza’s face. The young girl blearily looked up at her, offering her a shaky smile.

“It’s just a cold, honest!” her voice was weak, and rough from coughing, despite her clear efforts to appear strong, as she sniffled loudly. Frisk’s heart clenched in sympathy. “Uncle Pap and Uncle Sans are fussing over nothing. I’m fine! Sorry to bother you, Auntie Frisk.”

“None of that now, Aliza,” Frisk frowned down at her, tone firm but not harsh. “We all care about you a lot, and your health is very important to us. And you could never be a bother to me, sweetie.”

Frisk leaned down to place soft kiss on Aliza’s forehead, who smiled shyly at her, grateful for her consideration and affection, before the elder human placed the back of her hand on top of the teenager’s forehead, then moved it to both her cheeks.

“Hmmm, you definitely have a bit of a fever, sweetling,” Frisk furrowed her eyebrows in concern, while behind her, Papyrus made a noise of distress, anxiously biting on his gloves, heedless of his braces. “It doesn’t feel too high, at least. And I can tell you have a runny nose and have been coughing quite a bit. Sans told me you don’t have much of an appetite, either. How else do you feel, honey? Tired? Achey? Do you have a headache?”

“Uh huh,” Aliza closed her eyes, leaning into Frisk’s touch, the latter’s hand feeling pleasantly cool against her heated skin.

“Well, I’m not a doctor, but it definitely seems like you’ve got a cold, precious,” Frisk concluded, before raising her voice slightly, to address the entire room. “Thankfully, it doesn’t seem too serious.”

Papyrus stepped forward, still looking worried, but hopeful.

“SO ALIZA WON’T DIE?” he asked, his normally loud voice at a much lower volume, in consideration of his guest’s poor health.

“No, she won’t die,” Frisk smiled softly at him.

“YOU ARE CERTAIN?” Papyrus still hesitated, but Frisk’s answer was confident.

“Positive. All Aliza needs is some medicine, lots of liquids and plenty of rest, and she’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Papyrus breathed an audible sigh of relief, almost melting to the floor as the tension left his body, while Sans eased his tense posture, a relieved smile on his skull.

“I told you guys it was just a cold.” Despite her self-assured words, Aliza also looked genuinely relieved, relaxing fully in her bed.

Standing up, Frisk turned towards the skeleton brothers.

“Do you two happen to have a thermometer? Or human pain-killers?”

They both shook their skulls, Papyrus stepping forward anxiously.

“WE DO NOT,” he informed her, looking disappointed with himself for not having everything his friends could need on hand. He clearly needed to be much more prepared in the future. “BUT! I KNOW WHERE THE HUMAN PHARMACY IS! I VOLUNTEER TO PURCHASE EVERYTHING OUR YOUNG FRIEND NEEDS TO FULLY RECOVER FROM HER DEFINITELY-NOT-FATAL ILLNESS!”

Frisk smiled fondly at his enthusiasm.

“Thank you, Papy, you’re a huge help.”

Papyrus drew himself up to his full height, puffing his rib cage out proudly.

“NYEH HEH HEH! WELL OF COURSE, THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS AN EXPERT HELPER AND PEERLESS FRIEND!”

As he was about to rush off, Frisk swiftly caught his scarf, tugging him back to her side.

“Wait, Pap, I need to write down what you need to get, first!”

“OH. RIGHT,” chuckling sheepishly, he scratched the back of his skull in embarrassment. “OOPSIE DOOPSIE, HOW CARELESS OF ME.”

Frisk quickly jotted down what she needed and, instructions in hand, Papyrus dashed off. That settled, she returned to Aliza’s bedside.

“I’m going to make you something to eat that’s light on your stomach,” she smoothed down Aliza’s sweat-soaked hair once more. “I know you’re not very hungry right now, and that’s understandable, but it’s important you stay well hydrated during a fever. I’ll be back real soon.”

Before the woman could leave, Aliza reached out a hand, grabbing onto Frisk’s sleeve as tightly as she could in her weakened state.

“You promise? You won’t leave me?” she pleaded desperately, her monophobia worsened by her illness. Turning back, Frisk leaned down to take Aliza’s clammy, shaking hand in her own, smiling kindly at the scared child.

“I promise, sweetie, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be nearby in the kitchen, and I’ll return to you as soon as possible.”

“... Okay,” satisfied with her words, Aliza released Frisk from her hold and settled back down in her bed. Frisk pressed one more tender kiss to the young teenager’s brow, before departing with Sans, gently shutting the door behind them. The couple made their way to the kitchen, where Frisk searched through their large, well-stocked pantry, before finally settling on making the classic chicken soup. Together, they took out all the requisite ingredients, then worked as a team to prepare them and cook them in a large pot. Sans generally preferred to leave the cooking to his brother, but he relished taking part in any activity he could enjoy with his girlfriend, especially when it involved food.

“hey, frisk?” he quietly called out to her, keeping an eye socket on the roasted garlic he was mashing. She hummed back, her gaze focused on the chicken simmering in a pot on the stove, as she added freshly squeezed lemon juice and various spices to it. “thanks again for coming here on such short notice. it means a lot, to all of us, to have you here with us. you really are a life-saver, babe.”

Frisk’s head shot up, her eyes widening in surprise, before she ducked her head back down, a bright blush overtaking her face.

“I-It’s nothing! Really!” she stuttered out, shaking her head in vehement denial, uncomfortably reminded of all of the people she hadn’t saved, both monster and human. “Y-You’re exaggerating Sans. Aliza isn’t anywhere near as sick as you boys feared, and I’m not doing anything anyone else couldn’t do. I’m sure you guys would’ve been just fine without me.”

Putting his fork down, Sans marched towards Frisk, taking her soft, fleshy hands in his hard, skeletal ones, causing her to look up at him timidly.

“i mean it,” he insisted, his tone serious and brooking no argument. “you’re an angel, frisk. maybe not the one from that stupid prophecy, that’s probably made up anyway, but you’re an angel nonetheless. my angel. i’d be lost without ya. you’ve already saved me, more than you realise, and you’ve brightened up my life just by being in it. and i know you’ll keep brightening it up further. i can feel it in my bones , heh”

Moved beyond words, Frisk’s face lit up with a delighted, heartfelt smile, and she leaned forward, Sans mirroring her actions, meeting her in a loving kiss. Lingering there for a while, the couple eventually parted, to return to their task, shooting furtive, adoring glances at each other every so often, blissful smiles remaining fixed to their faces, while Sans’s right eyelight had become heart-shaped.

Once the soup was finished and a portion was spooned into a bowl, the happy couple returned to Aliza’s room, as promised. The young teen’s expression melted in relief as she spotted them, attempting to sit up, with some difficulty, until Frisk rushed to her side to aid her, while Sans placed the tray carrying the bowl, a spoon and a large glass of orange juice, on the bedside table.

“See, told you we’d back,” Frisk winked at Aliza, before taking the soup bowl and spoon in hand. “Now, do you think you’re up for some homemade chicken soup?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Aliza nodded, perking up at the tantalising smell.

Taking a spoonful of soup, Frisk gently blew on it to cool it down, before offering it to Aliza, who hesitantly sipped it at first, before drinking the soup down with more enthusiasm once she’d had a taste of it. Sans watched with a fond smile, his soul almost glowing with love and joy, as the love of his life tenderly fed the child who’d freed him, his brother, and the rest of his race from the hell they’d been trapped in for countless years. He knew that he didn’t deserve to have such amazing people in his life, but he was eternally grateful nevertheless, and vowed to do his best to be worthy of them. He was certain he’d never achieve that goal, but he’d work himself to the bone to try.

Once Aliza had finished the entire bowl and drunk most of her orange juice, Sans took the tray away, swiftly returning with a wet towel, which he handed to Frisk. With slow, delicate movements, Frisk then proceeded to wipe the sweat from Aliza’s brow, before gently doing the same to the rest of her limbs, helping to refresh the sick girl. Frisk had just finished her task, when Papyrus entered the room, proudly holding up his prize.

“BEHOLD! THE GREAT AND INCREDIBLY HELPFUL PAPYRUS HAS RETURNED WITH THE HEALTH RESTORING ITEMS YOU’VE REQUESTED.”

Beaming up at him, Frisk rose to take the bag from him.

“Thank you so much, Pap, you did a wonderful job! You’re so cool and dependable.”

Papyrus fairly glowed under her sincere praise, his bones almost vibrating in excitement, while Frisk retrieved the items she needed and coaxed a now sleepy Aliza into swallowing some medicine.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” Frisk asked, as Aliza settled back down into her bed, yawning widely.

“Hmmm, much better, thanks Auntie Frisk,” Aliza mumbled drowsily. Frisk carefully tucked the girl in, under the covers, smoothing the blanket down over her, before using the thermometer Papyrus had got her, to check the teen’s temperature.

“Your fever seems to have gone down a bit, it’s under 38°C (100.4°F) already. That’s wonderful,” she remarked happily, to the skeleton brothers’ great relief. “And you’re not coughing or sneezing as much. What you need most now is lots of rest.”

“... Mmm, I am feeling... bone-tired,” Aliza agreed, smiling faintly at Sans’s chuckle, while Papyrus gaped at her pun, bug-eyed with shock.

“I... WILL ALLOW IT,” he begrudgingly said. “BUT ONLY THIS ONCE! AND ONLY BECAUSE YOU ARE CLEARLY DELUSIONAL FROM THE FEVER!”

“heheheh, good one kiddo. i’m proud of ya,” Sans leaned in to gently ruffle the girl’s hair, Frisk smoothing it back down immediately afterwards.

“All right, then, sweetie. We’ll leave you to get some much-needed sleep,” Frisk announced, standing up to leave. “Sweet dreams, honey.”

Before she could take one step, however, Aliza once again reached out a hand to snag Frisk’s sleeve, keeping a surprisingly firm grip on her.

“Wait! Please don’t go! I don’t wanna be alone,” Aliza urgently pleaded, fighting her urge to sleep.

After a moment of hesitation, Frisk retook her seat at Aliza’s bedside, her hand returning to the teenager’s head and resuming its gentle caresses.

“It’s okay, sweet pea, I’m not going anywhere,” Frisk patiently reassured the teen, her voice comforting and full of compassionate understanding. “If it’s all right with the boys, then I’ll stay the night here, and even longer if you want.”

Looking towards the skeleton brothers, she saw them both nodding eagerly at her.

“WE’D LOVE TO HAVE YOU STAY WITH US, FRISK!” Papyrus clapped his hands in delight. “WOULDN’T WE, BROTHER?”

“yup, absolutely,” Sans smiled widely, winking at his girlfriend in whole-hearted agreement. “stay here as long as you like, angel,” then, just under his breath he whispered “forever even.”

Frisk beamed at the two of them, before turning back to Aliza’s hopeful face.

“Then it’s settled,” she smiled warmly at the girl. “I’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future.”

“Thanks, Auntie Frisk. Thanks Uncle... Sans... Uncle... Pap,” she sighed sleepily, before yawning again, her eyes struggling to remain open.

“You’re welcome, sweetie. Now go to sleep,” Frisk ordered her gently, yet firmly. “I’ll be right here the whole time.”

Letting out a hum of appreciation, Aliza closed her eyes. Resuming her tender stroking of Aliza’s hair, Frisk proceeded to sing softly to her, keeping her voice low, soothing and full of affection.

“When the light is running low...”

Papyrus sighed happily at seeing his two best friends at peace, plopping down on the floor to gaze dotingly at them, holding his skull in both hands. Sans was equally pleased with how well this seemingly horrible day had turned out. Leaning back against the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets, he stared contentedly at the scene before him, mismatched eyes looking between his little brother, his lover, and his kid. They were here, with him, and they were safe .

“And the shadows start to grow...”

When Aliza’s parents had asked him and his brother to look after the kid, while they were busy sorting out their messy divorce, Sans had been overjoyed. He loved Aliza and was only too happy to keep an eye socket out for her. But then, this morning she’d woken up coughing and sneezing. She was lethargic and grumpy, unwilling to play with Paps, or joke with him. Her skin was also a lot hotter than he knew a human’s should be, and he’d been concerned. Very concerned. And then she’d refused to eat. Shoving all manner of food at her had only made her more stubborn. Papyrus was inconsolable when he realised that his dear friend was sick, and even more so when neither monster knew how to help her. They both only knew how to kill humans, not heal them, not anymore. So, Sans had turned to the only other person in the world, besides Paps and Aliza, whom he truly trusted. And Frisk, like the angel he knew she was, had answered his call for help.

“And the places that you know...”

And now they were all together, happy once more. What a sight for sore eye sockets they made. His entire world, in one room. He felt his soul fill with love, until it overflowed, seeping warmth into every bone in his body. He’d do anything for them, his family, because they meant everything to him.

“Seem like fantasy...”

Ever since he’d detected the time anomalies and discovered how messed up the time-space continuum had become, he’d given up on everything, not bothering to even try to accomplish anything, realising how futile his efforts would inevitably be. His choices didn’t matter after all, so why even try to make a difference? It was all pointless in the end. And then the CORE broke down, and he became worse than useless...

“There’s a light inside your soul...”

But now, he could finally see the light, both literally and figuratively. His struggles weren’t in vain, his actions weren’t meaningless, and his choices did matter. He’d managed to change the world, even if not in the way he’d originally hoped. He’d changed Frisk. And he’d changed Aliza. And they’d both changed him in return.

“That’s still shining in the cold...”

With their help, he found hope again. Despite the pain, the loss, the misery, despite everything , he’d managed to obtain the happy ending he’d long given up on wishing for, and had found the strength to believe in the future once more. And more than that, he’d found love. Despite his many mistakes, and the sins that stained his soul, Frisk loved him, melting his cold, uncaring heart with her warm, generous one, shining her radiant, imperfect light on even his darkest days.

“With the truth...”

And with the determination she claimed to have lost, she’d opened his eye sockets to the incredible truth, that no one was beyond saving, not even him, and that even a creature as miserable as he was, deserved mercy and happiness. And love. She really was his angel.

“The promise in our hearts...”

Sans hated making promises, but at that moment, he didn’t hesitate to promise to himself, and to his loved ones, that he’d do absolutely anything to protect them and their bright, broken smiles. He promised to devote the rest of his life to safeguarding this blessed happiness and peace they’d found together.

“Don’t forget...”

Once upon a time of hopes and dreams, before his nightmare began, he’d wanted to have a family of his own. And now, looking at Frisk, being so caring and nurturing with Aliza, the both of them looking so much like mother and daughter at that moment, made him remember that long lost wish, and he realised with a start that maybe, just maybe, it could be a reality.

“I’m with you in the dark.”

His soul shuddered as that painfully wonderful thought gripped his mind. He didn’t deserve such happiness, he knew he didn’t, and it’d be beyond foolish to risk the happiness he already had, to greedily pursue even more, but he wanted it. Oh, did he want that life, a life shared with the woman he loved. He wanted, so desperately, to have Frisk as his wife, staying by his side, forever, and, hopefully, someday, as the mother of their very own babybones. No matter how terrified he was of the potential consequences of his actions, Sans was determined to propose to Frisk.

His soul thrummed excitedly, longingly, glowing faintly within his rib cage, and Sans placed a hand over it, so that its wistful light didn’t disturb his family. But as if able to sense his soul’s yearning anyway, Frisk turned her head towards him, and smiled at him, her expression full of the very love which had cured the sickness in his heart and soul. And, unable to do anything else, he smiled lovingly back at her.

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I struggled for a while to come up with something to fulfil the prompt, and was working on the next chapter of my Machine Convergence AU, until the idea for this fic slammed into me with all the force of a freight train. I've mentioned it before, but I really love (canon) Horrortale, so I'm glad for the opportunity to write more for this AU. Although, since I came into the fandom so late, all of the Horrortale backstory had disappeared (Flowey and Aliza's in particular), but thankfully, a kind stranger on DeviantArt, who'd been following the comic since those early days, told me about them, and checking the wikis also confirmed it. So, I'm sticking to Aliza's canon backstory as far as I'm aware of it. If it's not correct... well I tried ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway, after two serious, emotional pieces, heavy on the feels, I need to write something light, cute and probably a bit silly. Onto the next work in my Machine Convergence AU!

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