#ITS SO FUNNY TO ME. WHY DOES MY BRAIN LOVE TO DROWN | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

90sbee · 1 year ago

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god i don't usually enjoy this trope but jdkfjsdf OH GOD !!!

You almost ask him to keep driving when your apartment building comes into view. There’s an air of understanding and comfort in the car, and you’re worried you’ll never see it again once you leave. You hope he doesn’t notice your disappointment when he pulls over.

ngl crazy abt this part like just. i can see it so clearly.

“I’ve never seen you smile before,” you say. “You should do it more, it’s nice,” Leon looks beautiful in pink, cheeks reddened and round. When he releases you, you consider falling again just so he’ll return. Instead, you gesture for him to follow you into the building, which he does. Although the stairs are a tough bet, you manage to stumble up them. You swear you hear Leon huff a laugh behind you when you stagger.

I AM VERY NORMAL SO VERY NORMAL ABT A CUTE BLUSHING LEON !!!

“I’ll be right here,” Leon returns. “I’ll keep watch,”

pls i would kill for this man to keep me safe HELLOOOO

He holds you, gently and carefully, cradling you as you fall apart. And you know, in that moment, that he won’t hold it against you later.

excuse me. how dare u write something so soft and gentle UGH IM GOING CRAZY

“Getting tired of me already?” he teases. Spending actual time with Leon has made you realize that he’s funny and playful. He’s not always stoic and unforgiving. He teases, he jokes, he smiles. You didn’t think the latter was possible. You just assumed that he was always unhappy.

NOW THIS WHOLE EXCHANGE I AM SO DUMB SO STUPID FOR HIMKFJDSFD WHAT A FUCKING DORK HE IS AAAA

“I just thought…you might be more comfortable here,” You smile at that. You can hear the insecurity in his voice, something you find sweet. “I’d like to stay here,” “Okay,” he says. You can almost hear the smile. It makes your heart flutter.

NO WORDS. MY BRAIN IS MUSH

He grins at you, and you feel like the entire city lights up a little more.

MY POOR HEART !!!!!!

Almost as if he senses you moving, he follows you, caging you into his arms. You feel like your heart stops when he pulls you in, sighing into your hair. His breath wafts down your neck, pulling up goosebumps in its wake. Your heart hammers against your chest.

yeah i'm gonna need like. 3 business days to recover from this one, boss

He’s slowly consumed every part of your life. It’s nice, you think. He looks so domesticated in these instances, like he’s your friend rather than someone to look after you. You like it. You like that he sometimes steals your shampoo when he runs out. You like that he learned what foods you like. You like that he made you a key. You like him. And that is a scary thought.

WHY WOULD YOU PUT THIS INTO SUCH LOVELY WORDS I AM LOSING MY MIND. !!!!!!!!!! MY POOR DOMESTIC HEART AAA

You know you’re on edge, but you can’t help it. It feels like a sin to want him.

A SIN???????? OOH GGFOGGFKGOFGK GODDDD

His smell permeates everything around you. Even in your new apartment with new furniture, you can’t wash away his cologne. Everything smells of cedar and smoke with a hint of citrus. You washed your clothes three times when you moved in, a feeble attempt at ridding yourself of him. You bought new shampoo.

JESUS CHRIST I AM NOT OKATY

You feel safe around him, regardless of the anger. You know he’d protect you regardless.

...... yu know it is embarrassing how much i'd trust this man. how pathetic i'd be for him. SOBBING

A cold hand slips beneath your shirt, soft and delicate against the red hot skin of your waist. You shiver against it. Devotion makes you dizzy as you pull away, breathing like you’ve nearly drowned. You steel yourself against his shoulders. He looks pretty like this, you think, lips kiss swollen and pulling in a grin around his teeth, face reddened with flush and excitement, hair falling into his eyes. “I resigned,” he says, panting. “So I could do that,” You laugh. “You could’ve done that anyway,” you say. He grins. “Felt wrong,” he says. “I wanted to do it right,”

you deserve a standing ovation for this one. holy shit. it flew so effortlessly and gosh. JDKDSFDKJF.

heaven is not fit

summary: what does it take to be loved? | bodyguard!leon x f!reader

word count: ~8.5k

warnings: mentions of violence, leon is kinda mean for like two seconds, strong language, mild trauma bonding (i guess??), not beta'd, incredibly mild angst (like fr you have to squint)

notes: this is sort of old and has already been posted to ao3 if you'd rather have a look there

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” you hiss. Your father’s face scrunches up.

“Language,” he mends, holding a hand up. “It’s just a precaution. He’ll be responsible for public spaces, taking you places, the like,”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Dad, I’m an adult. I’m pretty sure I can take care of myself. The last thing I need is some stranger on my detail,”

Your father runs a hand over his worn features. He’s tired, you can tell. “I’m not making the same mistake twice,”

Ashley. She lives with her friends now, rather than alone, so there’s no real need to supervise her. Your heart twists with a twinge of guilt, but you hold your ground. “I’m not happy about this,”

“I didn’t expect you to be,” he says. “But, you’ll play by the rules, at least for me. For my sake, dove,”

You frown. “Fine,”

You meet him in a random conference room. He’s tall, with sharp features and blue eyes. He doesn’t seem friendly, which makes your mouth sour. He doesn’t speak through the introduction, just sort of stares straight ahead, like he’d rather be anywhere else. You don’t blame him. It’s not exactly a promotion he’s getting. You barely catch his name when he says it.

Leon.

It suits him, you think. You want to ask what his middle name is, if it’s as fitting as his first, but you don’t. Instead, you toe the carpet, listening to your father drone on about rules.

“Dovie, I’m serious,” he says, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t go anywhere alone, got it?”

“Got it,”

Despite your sickly sweet voice and feigned sincerity, you have no intention of keeping that promise. The ride to your apartment is silent. You notice that Leon drives with one hand, the other perched on the gear shift. When he stops outside your building, you hesitate for a moment before reaching for the handle, just in case he has something to say. As you shoulder the door, he grabs your elbow.

“Call if there’s an emergency,” he says. His voice is low timbred and honey sweetened, coating your nerves in warmth. You can only nod in response. He releases your arm, the tension from the area slipping away.

You hurry into your building, and you notice he waits until you’re through the door to drive off. It comforts you in a way. You make your way into your apartment. There’s a distinct heat on your neck when you enter, one that you hope disappears with a long shower. When it doesn’t, you find yourself staring at the phone. What would happen if you did call him? There wasn’t an emergency, unless you count this sudden bout of loneliness as an emergency. Would he show up? How is it any different than calling the police?

Six hours have passed since being demoted to babysat. You’ve been shuffled between rooms to meet with people, answer questions you don’t understand, and fight with your father. You find that being surrounded by people all day has made you exhausted. You take a breath, but jump when your phone vibrates.

“Hey, Ashley,” you say, sighing.

“Did you meet him?” she asks. You almost laugh.

“Yeah,” you say. “He doesn’t talk much,”

“No, he doesn’t,” she says. You can hear her friends laughing somewhere in the background. “You gotta get him to open up before he starts talking,”

“I can’t imagine that’ll be easy to do,” you huff. Ashley laughs. “He seems kinda stuck in his ways,”

“He is,” she agrees. “He’s…been through a lot. But, he’s a good guy. I think you’ll like him,”

You glance out the window at the rain. You wonder if it ever rained like this in Spain. “Well, if you trust him, so do I,”

…

You don’t see Leon for a week. You almost think he’s quit, but you know he doesn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. You consider calling him, just to see if he’d really show up, but you decide not to test it.

Instead, you go about your life normally. You go to work, you see friends, you buy groceries. You pretend you don’t have a babysitter.

On Monday, when you return home from work, you spot Leon’s car outside your building. Rolling your eyes, you prepare for the worst, and work your way into the building. Sure enough, he’s sitting on your couch when you enter your apartment.

“Make yourself at home,” you say, closing the door behind you. He doesn’t look at you.

“You haven’t called,” he says. You roll your eyes again.

“You said to call if there was an emergency,” you explain, cocking a brow. “There hasn’t been one,”

“You shouldn’t walk to work alone,” he continues. He turns his head finally, staring at you with the same stoic expression you first saw on him. You blink at him.

“How do you know I walk alone?” you ask. “Have you been following me?”

He nods. “It’s my job,”

You sigh, turning away. “Definitely not creepy,”

“Have you noticed anything weird?” he asks, standing to follow you into your kitchen.

“Other than you? No, I haven’t,” you say. He doesn’t laugh, not that you expected him to. “Seriously, I haven’t noticed anything amiss,”

He nods. “Good,”

He turns to leave, and you raise your eyebrows, surprised at the quickness of the interaction. “That’s it?”

“Yeah,” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter. “That’s it,”

“You don’t want to, like, scope out the area?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “Make sure no weirdos are lurking behind my curtains?”

“Do you think there are?” he asks, looking at you. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I mean, no,” you say.

“Then I won’t waste your time,” he says. “You’re an adult. I trust that you can take care of yourself,”

With that, he leaves. You’re taken aback at his cut and dry attitude. You would’ve thought he would be more hands on, given what you know about his time with Ashley. You choose to ignore it; you should be grateful he’s not up your ass. He said it himself, you’re an adult. You can take care of yourself. It’s not his fault–or yours–that no one else seemed to agree. He has plenty of other things he can spend his time doing besides watching your every move.

Which is why, the following morning, you’re surprised to see Leon waiting outside beside his car. You look around before crossing the street to him. Without a word, he opens the passenger door.

“I take it I’m not allowed to walk alone anymore?” you say, ignoring his gesture. He stares at you.

“Rules are rules,” he says. You roll your eyes, filing into the vehicle.

He joins you a moment later. You ignore the heat on your neck when he brushes his hand against your knee to reach for something in the glovebox.

“I’ve been walking this way for years,” you protest. “I don’t need a ride,”

“You don’t have a choice,” he says, cutting a glance at you. He almost makes a wrong turn before you correct him. “I make the rules, you follow them,”

“And rule number one is: don’t walk to work by myself?” you ask, annoyance lacing your tone.

“Well, rule number one is actually to call me if something’s wrong,” he corrects. “But, this is rule number two,”

The rest of the ride is silent. Leon doesn’t so much as glance at you, which almost upsets you. He pulls up to the curb outside of your workplace, and throws the car into park.

“What time do you get off?” he asks, finally looking at you. There’s a gentle tone to his voice, one that throws you off guard.

“Four,” you say. “I’ll be off at four,”

“I’ll be outside,” he says. At this, you exit the car, rounding it before entering the building. He waits for you to get inside before driving off. You wonder what he’ll be doing for the next eight hours. If his job is to follow you around, that means he doesn’t have another job to get to, so what does he do? You wonder what he does when he’s at home.

“Since when did you have a chauffeur?” Marnie asks, jabbing your shoulder.

“Since now,” you say, still looking out the window.

Four o’clock rolls around sooner than you expect. You find yourself a little excited to sit in the car; it’s a nice change of pace. As expected, Leon’s waiting outside the building when you walk out. Again, he’s leaning against the car, waiting for you. When he sees you, you think he’s going to smile. Your shoulders deflate when he doesn’t. Instead, he jerks his head in a gesture to hurry up. You cross the street, and he rounds the car to the passenger side.

“I can open the door myself,” you say. He looks at you.

“I do it for show,” he bites. You swallow, stunned by the harshness of his tone. You allow him to open the door for you.

The ride is silent. Again, he doesn’t look at you. You can feel the tension about him, the way his shoulders are square and strong. His knuckles are almost white from the way he’s holding the steering wheel. You ignore the guilt that brews in your stomach.

“Call me if there’s an emergency,” he says. You nod, hurrying out of the car to avoid any further conversation. Again, he waits until you’re in the building to leave. You wonder if that’s a gentlemanly habit or a job habit.

…

It’s Friday night, and you’re going out with friends. You stare in the mirror, like you have for the last half hour, analyzing the intricacies of your outfit. You can’t decide if you like it or not. You tug at the shirt again, wondering if you should change. There’s a knock at the door. You huff, deciding that the outfit will have to do.

You’re not sure who you expect to be at the door, but it’s not Leon. He looks collected, jacket slung over his shoulders, hair framing his face. He looks normal, not like a man constantly working. He blinks at you.

“Where’re you going?” he asks. You sigh.

“Hello to you, too, Leon,” you say. “I’m going out with a few friends,”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t have to ask permission for things,”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. You can practically feel the anger radiating off of him. “You kind of do, actually. So I can be where I need to be,”

“Well, I don’t need you to be anywhere,” you bite. He frowns. “I can take care of myself,”

At this, you go to shut the door, but he stops it with his foot. He pushes his way into the apartment, closing the door behind him.

“Look,” he says, voice low and gentle. “I get it. But I have a job to do, and I’m not going to let your stubborn independence get in the way, alright?”

You stare at him. “Stop being such an asshole, and I’ll think about it,”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of playfulness to it. “Sure, deal,”

Leon doesn’t follow you into the bar, and if he actually does, he makes it so that you can’t see him. You spend the evening laughing and enjoying yourself, which is relieving. You needed a break from everything. Your friends ask about the fact that you got a ride here, rather than walking.

“My feet have been killing me lately,” you lie. “And have you seen these shoes? I’d probably die ten feet from my building,”

When you’re sufficiently drunk, you call Leon. It’s the first time that you’ve actually called him, rather than just expecting him to show up. He’s kind enough to act like he’s not in the vicinity, and you pretend that he’s not. Instead, you lie to yourself and say that he drives very fast. He’s standing outside the bar, waiting for you again.

“My hero,” you say, voice flighty and gentle. “I shouldn’t have worn these shoes,”

He doesn’t answer, just helps you into the car. You ramble about your night on the drive home, not giving him the room to answer because you know he won’t.

“Did you learn to drive on a manual?” you mumble, whirring your head away from the window to look at him. He glances at you.

“What?”

“A manual,” you say again. “Manual transmission. You drive with your hand on the shift, like you’ll need to use it at any given moment. In an automatic, you don’t need to do that, but in a manual you do. So, if you learned to drive on a manual, you would’ve picked up that habit,”

He doesn’t respond for a long while. His eyes are focused on the road ahead of him. Finally, he says, “Yeah, I did,”

You feel satisfied with yourself, surprised that you were able to figure that out. “You have a lot of habits like that,”

“Name some,” he says, cutting a glance at you.

You take in a breath. “You wait outside before leaving so you can make sure I get into my building safely. You bite the inside of your cheek when you’re thinking about something. You square your shoulders in public, like you’re prepared to shoot,”

“You’re observant,” he says. You grin.

“Gotta know who I’m spending time with,” you reply, grinning wildly and returning your focus to the window.

“Do you need help getting in?” he asks. The gentle tone is back, and you pretend, for a moment, that he genuinely cares. You shake your head.

He watches you almost fall out of the car, stumbling on your tall heels and drunken legs. You right yourself, flashing him a smile. He returns it, then follows you out of the car.

“I can make it,” you say, balancing against his car. When you almost fall again, he’s there to catch you. His hands fall against your waist with ease, like they’re meant to be there. You feel heat flush your cheeks, and you almost move away. He steadies you, giving you a look to make sure you’re alright.

“We’ll see about that,” he says, still smiling faintly.

“I’ve never seen you smile before,” you say. “You should do it more, it’s nice,”

Leon looks beautiful in pink, cheeks reddened and round. When he releases you, you consider falling again just so he’ll return. Instead, you gesture for him to follow you into the building, which he does. Although the stairs are a tough bet, you manage to stumble up them. You swear you hear Leon huff a laugh behind you when you stagger.

At your door, you pat your pockets in order to find your key. Sensing your loss, Leon holds out the key he has. You accept it gratefully, turning the knob to make sure it’s actually locked.

Your heart sinks to find it unlocked.

“Did you forget to lock it?” he asks, voice hushed. You turn to him, fear evident on your face, and shake your head. He steps between you and the door, and holds a hand out to tell you to stay put. You find yourself willing to listen.

He enters the apartment slowly, quietly. You pretend there isn’t a gun in his hand. He rounds the corner into the kitchen, and you catch his frame again when he crosses the room to the bedroom. He returns in a few minutes.

“It’s clear,” he says. He pushes the door open more to allow you to enter. You feel uneasy, suddenly sober.

“I never forget to lock my door,” you promise. “Ever. Is…is the window open or something?”

He shakes his head. “You must’ve forgotten this time,”

“No, no I don’t do that,” you say. You wander to the window, finding it closed. Your head hurts. You feel on edge, like there’s someone watching you.

With a sigh, you sit on the couch.

“There’s no one here,” Leon promises, sitting beside you. You look at him. “Trust me, I checked,”

“But what if someone was here?” you say, looking at him. “I don’t…I don’t want them to come back,”

He reaches out for a moment, then decides to return his hand to his side. “No one’s coming back. I’ll make sure of it, okay?”

You can feel your hands shaking. “Will you stay?”

He softens when he looks at you. He can see the fear in your eyes. You think of your sister, stolen from somewhere she felt safe. You feel safe in your home, as anyone might. You don’t want to face the same fate. You know Leon knows that.

“Yeah,” he says. “Go change, I’ll be out here,”

You nod, rising to your feet. You wander past the window again, double checking that it’s closed. You find your clothes in the dark, not caring too much about what you put on. A shower sounds nice. You’re afraid to be alone for that long, though. Instead, you wash your face in the sink, then throw on your clothes, a loose t-shirt from a far off ex-boyfriend and sweatpants. You feel vaguely comforted by the thought of Leon sitting right outside the door.

“I’m going to try to sleep,” you call from the door. You want nothing more than to curl up in your bed.

“I’ll be right here,” Leon returns. “I’ll keep watch,”

You shuffle into bed easily. You feel safer knowing he’s outside, waiting for any potential threats. You feel especially safe knowing his reputation precedes him. There’s no doubt in your mind that he would protect you. It makes it easier to sleep.

You wake sometime later to a creak beside your bed. Your eyes shoot open to find a figure looming over you. You move to scream, but your eye catches the glint of moonlight against the barrel of a gun. You swallow whatever scream you had left, and rise to your feet. You’re moving without much thought, just doing whatever instinct tells you to. The figure says nothing, just motions to the window. You run through your options. If you shout, you’ll be dead before Leon even makes it into the room. You can’t fight him off, you’re definitely not strong enough. If you leave with him, you’ll be dead before Leon notices you’re gone.

You turn to face your attacker, who seems to grow frustrated with you. He, again, gestures to the open window. You take a breath.

Follow your gut.

In a fluid motion that surprises you, your fingers wrap around the barrel of the gun, shoving it towards the ceiling. You feel lucky; just as it’s pointed away from you, it’s fired. You knee the attacker in the stomach, and you’re out the door before he rises from the ground.

“What’s going on?” Leon shouts, assessing you for injuries quickly before entering the room.

You’re crying now, fat tears rolling down your cheeks before you can stop them. Your hand screams with pain, seared flesh crying out angry and red. You feel stupid, weak, small. You collapse onto the couch while Leon takes care of things.

The next two hours are a blur of police and your father. You answer questions vacantly, absent from the situation. Leon sits beside you, dressing the wound on your hand.

“Dovie,” your father says, holding your face in his hands. You begin to cry again. He pulls you into a hug, holding you as close as he can. You grip the back of his shirt, and sob into his shoulder.

“I’m okay,” you say. It’s true. You’re alive, breathing, hugging him. “I’m okay,”

When the crowd shuffles out, they take you and Leon with them. You vaguely hear them discussing where you’re supposed to stay, Lord knows you can’t stay here. You feel sick.

“She can stay with me,” Leon volunteers. You somehow feel worse. “Makes sense,”

You follow him to the car. You stare out the window. The sun is coming up on the horizon, a new day. You can’t help but think about how just 24 hours ago, you were in this passenger seat, on your way to work. Now, though, you’re swollen and hurting and scared. Your hand feels like it might just burn away.

“I didn’t know what to do,” you say by way of explanation. Leon doesn’t respond, so you continue. “I just grabbed it. I didn’t know it would burn me,”

“You’re lucky nothing is broken,” he says calmly. “Your fingers’ll be stiff for the next few days,”

You look down at them. They’re swollen for sure, round and angry red around the knuckles. There’s a strip of gauze against the burn on your palm now, courtesy of Leon’s deft and gentle hands. You graze it with your opposite hand. It aches beneath the dressing, a painful reminder of your night.

“I’m just up here,” Leon says quietly. You nod absently.

He lives in an apartment, same as you. He resides on the third floor, which is much nicer a walk than your seventh story apartment. His apartment is small, quaint, but you aren’t surprised by the lack of decoration. Blank white walls wrap the room. There’s a few pieces of furniture, but only the necessities like a couch, a few tables, a dining area, and a coat rack. He doesn’t even have a TV, which surprises you. He ushers you into the space, gently pushing against your back to get you to move.

“Go lie down,” he says. You turn to look at him. His gaze is softer now, full of sympathy. “You deserve peaceful, uninterrupted sleep,”

You don’t move. “You saved me,” you say. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there,”

“You handled yourself pretty well,” he says, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. You can feel tears resting in your eyes, begging to spill over. “I was there, and now you’re here. Nothing else to it. You’re safe with me,”

“I know,” you whisper. “I know,”

Without thinking, you wrap your arms around him. His embrace is comforting. His arms encircle your waist, holding you in an almost practiced way. He’s strong, holds you up where you can’t stand on your own. You can feel yourself beginning to cry again, relief washing over you as you recognize that you’re truly safe. You’re mostly uninjured, save for the burn on your hand, and you’re alive. You sob gently into Leon’s shoulder, and he holds you. He lets you cry. You half expect him to mock you, or to reject your plea for comfort, but he doesn’t. He holds you, gently and carefully, cradling you as you fall apart. And you know, in that moment, that he won’t hold it against you later.

…

You spend the next week off work, curled away in the safety of Leon’s apartment. He goes out, although rarely, for groceries and other things to entertain you. He even buys a TV. He claims that he’s been meaning to get one, but you know that he did that so you didn’t die of boredom. Initially, you were concerned about the sleeping arrangements. However, Leon is generous and lets you sleep in his bed while he shacks up on the couch.

“When can I go home?” you ask over Chinese takeout and an episode of Wheel of Fortune. Leon smiles at you.

“Getting tired of me already?” he teases.

Spending actual time with Leon has made you realize that he’s funny and playful. He’s not always stoic and unforgiving. He teases, he jokes, he smiles. You didn’t think the latter was possible. You just assumed that he was always unhappy.

“No,” you say honestly. “I just don’t want you to sleep on the couch anymore,”

He waves a hand at you. “It’s pretty comfortable,” he says, reaching down to pat the cushions. “I’ve slept in worse places,”

“This is your home, though,” you say. He wordlessly passes you an eggroll. “You should sleep in your own bed in your own home,”

He shrugs, which makes you frown. “As long as you’re safe and comfortable, I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to,”

“Damn it, Leon,” you laugh. He grins wider. “For the love of God, sleep in your own bed tonight,”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine, but you don’t get to sleep on the couch either, just so you know,”

Heat creeps up your neck, blushing against your cheeks and nose. You’re still smiling, but it’s more flustered now, shy and sweet.

Leon notices, and begins to flush himself. “That’s…that’s not what I meant,”

“I mean,” you begin, turning your eyes back to your food. “We can both sleep comfortably and not worry. I trust you,”

He lets out a barely audible breath. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we can,”

That night, as you’re getting ready for bed, you notice Leon shifting nervously. You try to ignore it, pretend like nothing’s wrong. It’s easier to pretend. He keeps a decent distance between you on the bed; another person could easily fit between you. You’re suddenly self conscious, aware of each and every movement, how much blanket you take up, where your feet are laying.

“You never answered my question,” you say when he flips the lamp off. The room is flooded in darkness. You feel a little more confident now that you can’t see his face.

“What question?”

“About when I can go home,” you answer. He shifts beside you, almost like he’s about to get up.

“Not for a little while,” he says. You sigh. “It’s not safe for you at the apartment. Your dad doesn’t even want you going to work, but I worked something out so that you can. You can…you can stay here as long as you want,”

“Okay,” is all you say. You feel a little far away, removed from the world. In just under a month, you’ve lost all sense of independence, something you valued greatly, and have been reduced to someone that needs to be looked after like a child. You hate it.

“We can find a temporary apartment, too, if you think that’d be better,” Leon amends. “I just thought…you might be more comfortable here,”

You smile at that. You can hear the insecurity in his voice, something you find sweet. “I’d like to stay here,”

“Okay,” he says. You can almost hear the smile. It makes your heart flutter.

You turn onto your side, facing him. He’s still lying on his back, watching the ceiling as if it’s going to collapse. He glances at you. “If we’re going to be living together, we should get to know each other,”

He laughs. It’s a real laugh, not just a huff of air through the nose. “And what do you want to know?”

You think for a moment, tongue poking between your lips. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Don’t have one,” he replies easily. You snort.

“Everyone has a favorite color,” you say. He looks at you with a smile resting on his cheeks. It’s not compulsory; it’s genuine.

“What’s yours then?” he asks, voice low and gentle. You feel like you might melt away under his gaze.

“Blue,” you say. You almost tell him that his eyes have become your favorite shade of it, but you refrain. “Like the ocean,”

His smile widens. “Then that’s mine, too,” he says. You roll your eyes.

“No way,” you tease. “What is Leon Kennedy’s favorite color? And give me a real answer,”

He laughs. “Green,”

“Like, Kermit the Frog green or forest green?” you ask. He shrugs.

“Just…green,”

“So if I were to paint the apartment bright green you wouldn’t have a problem with it?” you ask. His expression sours. “So you don’t like every green, then,”

“I like dark greens,” he says finally, still smiling. “Like pine trees,”

“I never thought I would get an honest answer out of you,” you joke, but there’s truth to it. You don’t imagine him as someone who likes to share.

“To be fair,” he says. “It wasn’t like I was withholding information, I’ve just never thought about my favorite color,”

“Well, now you have,” you say. He grins at you, and you feel like the entire city lights up a little more.

He’s quiet for a moment. The moonlight casts over his face in a way that somehow makes him prettier. “If you could only bring one thing to a deserted island, what would it be?”

“God, your questions are so lame,” you tease. He rolls his eyes.

“Just answer it,” he says.

“I’d bring you,” you say honestly. “Knowing you, we wouldn’t get stuck there, and I’d be home in a few days,”

“I wouldn’t get stuck in the first place,” he says. You shake your head. “Honestly, I’d probably bring something to listen to music on,”

“Then you better hope it doesn’t die,” you say. “Good to know the sentiment is equally held, by the way,”

“Would you be able to get us off the island?” he asks, poking your shoulder. You shake your head. “Exactly,”

“I’d keep you company while you got us off the island,” you say. He laughs. Your heart seizes for a moment at the sound.

“What would I do without your terrible jokes?”

“My jokes aren’t terrible!”

“Totally terrible,” he promises, turning over to his other side, facing away from you. “Some of the worst I’ve ever heard,”

You laugh. “Yeah, well, yours are pretty bad, too, y’know?”

“You wound me,”

You fall asleep easily beside Leon. The safety his presence brings is immeasurable, and you’re coaxed into sleep without a second thought. When you wake, your head is on his shoulder, arms wrapped around one of his own. You cling to him like he’s keeping you alive. His breathing is slow, giving away the fact that he’s still sleeping, so you steal a glance at him. His other arm is slung over his face to block out the sunlight peering through the window. Feeling strange, you roll onto your other side. Almost as if he senses you moving, he follows you, caging you into his arms. You feel like your heart stops when he pulls you in, sighing into your hair. His breath wafts down your neck, pulling up goosebumps in its wake. Your heart hammers against your chest.

…

It becomes routine. Until your father deems it safe to return to your own apartment, you shack up with Leon, spending your nights watching television and lying beside him. If he ever notices that you cling to each other, he doesn’t mention it, which you silently thank him for. He goes about life as normal, as if he hasn’t changed the way you look at him.

There’s menial touches exchanged. The grab of a hand during a movie, a palm to your lower back as he passes, the brush of hands when you pass him something. And although you welcome these bits of contact, they often leave you a blushing mess that struggles to even get words out.

He drives you to work still, which you’re becoming accustomed to. He’s there when you finish up. He’s the person you split groceries with–which he only let you start doing after you argued with him for days about it. He’s slowly consumed every part of your life. It’s nice, you think. He looks so domesticated in these instances, like he’s your friend rather than someone to look after you. You like it. You like that he sometimes steals your shampoo when he runs out. You like that he learned what foods you like. You like that he made you a key.

You like him. And that is a scary thought.

It makes you freeze up around him, stumbling between words until you find something to say. It makes you stare at him in awe because you can’t believe you get to be around him all the time. It makes you blush any time he meets your eyes. You feel childish because it makes you that way.

“Gonna tell me what’s up with you, or do I have to interrogate you?” he asks one night over pizza. You’ve been sitting with the plate in your lap for ten minutes.

“Nothing’s up,” you say, lying through your teeth. You’re a bad liar, and he knows it. When you look at him, he’s watching you, analyzing your body language. You know you’re on edge, but you can’t help it. It feels like a sin to want him.

He looks pretty like this, you think. He looks comfortable, wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, no weapons stuck to him. Your hand twitches with the desire to reach out to him.

“So you’ve been acting weird the last few days for fun?” he asks. You nod. “You’re such a shitty liar, sweet girl,”

His voice is gentle; it warms you up. “Really, Leon, I’m alright,”

He holds his hands up in defense. “Okay, I won’t pry. But, I’m here to listen,”

You force yourself to eat, to be normal. You can’t even look at him because you’re afraid of what you might say if you do. He wouldn’t mock you for it, and that’s somehow worse. You almost want him to belittle you, to call you stupid, because that would make pushing him away much easier. If he doesn’t, then who are you to cut him off?

“I can practically hear the gears turning, doll,” Leon calls from the kitchen. You sigh. “If you’re not going to share, don’t be so loud about it, huh?”

You know it’s meant to be a joke, but it makes your mouth sour. He can’t help the curiosity, you know that, but you wish he would back off. It would make your life so much easier if he pretended that you didn’t exist.

“I don’t have to tell you everything about me,” you say. It comes out harsh even though it wasn’t supposed to. “I’m entitled to my own thoughts. Or is that another thing you’re paid to infiltrate?”

He stands in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at you. “I don’t think I’m infiltrating anything,” he says. His voice is even, but you can hear the hurt in the words.

“Then keep it that way,” you say. He inhales deeply, beginning to gnaw on his cheek. You feel guilt wrapping around your throat. You turn your gaze back to the television, feigning interest in the commercial that clogs the speakers. He disappears back into the kitchen.

You’re almost thankful when your phone rings. You don’t get many calls, so when you see it’s your father, you’re less than surprised.

“Hey, Dad,” you say breathily.

“Hey, Dovie,” he returns. “Getting all packed?”

You pause, glancing toward the archway into the kitchen. “Packed?”

“He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“Tell me what?” you ask, sitting up on the couch. You can hear Leon shuffle in the other room. “What do I need to be told?”

“We’re moving you,” your father says, plain as day. “We’ll be finding someone else to watch over you, too,”

“Huh,” is all you say. There’s less guilt around your shoulders now, replaced by anger and humiliation. “Well, if that’s how it goes,”

“I’ll get back to you later, okay, Dovie?” he says. “Get to packing, I’ll tell you more when I can,”

You bid your father goodbye, staring back at the phone screen long after it goes black. You feel your shoulders deflate, allowing the melancholy to consume you a little bit further. You stand, return to Leon’s room, and pull open the dresser drawers where your clothes have resided for the last few weeks. Slowly, almost on autopilot, you begin pulling them out one by one. A shirt, pants, sweatpants, a lone sock; they fall onto the floor with an unceremonious thud. You go until the drawer is empty, the contents piled up on the floor beside your feet.

“I was going to tell you,” comes from the bedroom door. You take a breath. “I didn’t know how,”

“I assume it would’ve been pretty easy,” you say, turning to look him in the eye. He stiffens at the cruelty lacing your tone. “All you had to do was let me know you were done with me. Not like you were in all that deep anyway,”

He doesn’t say anything. You cross the room to the small closet that holds your suitcase. You begin to haphazardly stuff it with your clothes.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you, sweet girl,” Leon says softly, taking a step forward.

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty fucking disappointed right now,” you spit, glancing at him. “Would’ve liked to have known my life was getting upended days ago. Would’ve liked to have known that I was wasting my fucking time,”

“Wasting your time?” he asks, catching your wrist as you push down the top of the suitcase.

“I tried so hard to get to know you, Leon,” you say. He winces. “And to think, that for a fraction of a second, I thought you liked me? I feel stupid. You never cared. It’s not in your nature. You go in, do the job, and get out. When’s the last time you talked to Ashley, huh? Or is that something else you like to keep boxed away?”

He releases your wrist. You continue packing your things, and he leaves the room. He returns a moment later with your nearly empty bottle of shampoo.

“Don’t forget this when you leave,” he says coldly. You ignore the ache it leaves in your bones.

“Might as well keep it,” you say. “You’ve used most of it anyway,”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Isn’t that one hell of a metaphor?” you say before you can stop yourself. “I gave and gave, and you just took. I told you things I’ve never told anyone. And what do I know about you? Your favorite color is green. And even then, it was like pulling fucking teeth to get it out of you. Just keep it. I don’t want it anyway. Can’t put the shampoo back in the bottle, right?”

“I get that you’re angry,” he mumbles. “I understand,”

“No, you don’t,” you say, turning to him finally. He’s staring at you. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t place. “You have no idea what I’m feeling right now,”

“You’re right,” he says. You falter for a moment. “I never once said that I did. I just…understand. I can follow the logic between you and your emotion,”

You roll your eyes, choosing not to respond. Your suitcase finally zips closed, and you haul it off the bed, nearly knocking yourself down. He drives you back to your apartment. He doesn’t say anything the entire ride, not even when you finally get out of the car. You leave the key to his place on the center console.

…

You feel ridiculous. Your heart aches, and for what? A man who never showed interest? You ignore the acrid taste in your mouth that seems to never go away. You ignore the yearning in your bones. You ignore the burning in your chest. It’s easier that way.

He tries calling. You ignore those, too. You pretend he’s a telemarketer, or a prank calling kid, or an old man with the wrong number. You pretend you don’t recognize the number, and that the messages he leaves on your machine are empty. You find that pretending makes the hurting stop for a while, even if it creeps back up when you’re staring at the ceiling at night because you can’t sleep alone anymore.

You cook breakfast more often now, finding that it takes up the empty time in the morning before you go to work. The new guy is nice. He talks about his wife a lot, which you find sweet. You like that there’s no unresolved tension when you get into his car. You just wish you could remember his name.

“Do you know him?” he asks, pointing across the parking lot. Leon leans against his car, watching you pull in. You sigh.

“Yeah,” you say. “He’s friendly,”

“Doesn’t look like it,”

“Well,” you say. “He’s not actually friendly. But he’s not a threat,”

He lets you leave. You can almost see the way Leon stretches back up when you approach. You set your jaw.

“You haven’t been answering my calls,” he says. You raise your brows at him.

“I don’t have to,” you say. “You lost that privilege.”

He shakes his head. “I’d still like to know if you’re okay,”

“I’m fine, Leon,” you say. He nods. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking in,”

You feel like a fool the second you invite him upstairs. You can’t help it. You want to be around him. You feel safe around him, regardless of the anger. You know he’d protect you regardless.

You feel insecure about the state of your new apartment. You haven’t gotten around to breaking it in, so to speak, so the walls are bleak and empty, there’s a loveseat and nothing else, and a single lamp lights up the room. You wring your hands together.

“Missing a few things,” he says. “Where’s all your stuff?”

“Haven’t gotten around to putting it up,” you lie. It’s more like you haven’t wanted to put anything up. You don’t want this place to feel like a home because it isn’t. This is temporary—as long as you keep telling yourself that, it feels true.

“I’ll get you a rug,” he says, meeting your eyes. It almost feels like a peace offering.

“I don’t need a rug,” you say. You see his shoulders slump. “I prefer socks anyway,”

“Right, yeah,”

He’s silent for a while, just watches you as you set up for the night. He sits rigid against the cushions of your couch, hands clasped in his lap. You grab a frozen pizza from the freezer for dinner. His eyes don’t leave you. You don’t feel uncomfortable under his gaze, it’s almost comforting.

“I owe you an explanation,” he says finally. You almost laugh.

“I don’t need an explanation, Leon,” you say. “I get it. Your job makes you move around a lot. You were never intended to be permanent,”

“I resigned,” he says. At this, you turn to face him. He’s searching your features for a reaction, and you fight to keep them neutral, but you know he can see the discomposure. Heat creeps up your neck, threatens to swallow you whole.

“You resigned?” you repeat, far quieter in order to conceal the stutter in your breath.

He nods. “I did what I thought I was supposed to,”

“And that was leaving me?” you say. He averts his eyes. “How on Earth is that what you were supposed to do? You were being paid to be around me, and you thought you were supposed to leave?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, returning his gaze to you. “You have to know that that’s not what I meant,”

“Leon,” you say, leaning against the counter. “I don’t know a thing about you. I don’t know if what you’ve told me about is even fucking true!”

“My middle name is Scott,” he says. You blink at him. “My favorite color is green, that was true. I slept with a baby blanket until I was thirteen years old. I lost my parents when I was young. I used to be a cop,”

He unloads. For the first time since you met him, he lets you into his head a little bit. You take in a breath.

“I don’t…” he begins, then shuts his mouth again. He gnaws on his bottom lip for a moment. “I don’t know how to be…like this anymore. Vulnerable,”

You join him on the couch. He watches you carefully. “That’s okay,”

“It’s something I’m working on,” he says, smiling slightly. You can’t fight one of your own. “I think you make it easier,”

“I’ll be here to listen,” you say quietly. “You know you’re always welcome,”

He grins then. “Whether you want me here or not, right?”

You laugh. “I always want you here,”

There’s something left unsaid between you, but he’s looking at you and laughing at your jokes, and you feel like the world begins to spin again. You feel like the sun shines a little brighter outside, and the colors are clearer, and songs sound like music.

…

You find out that his name is Ryan. He’s more like a personal chauffeur than his intended job, but you like him well enough. Leon spends most of his time on your couch. Things are normal again. He offers to cook dinner most nights, which you appreciate. He does end up buying you a rug–he claims it’s because his feet get too cold without it.

“If you do that one more time, I’m kicking you out,” you scold, swatting Leon’s hand away for the millionth time. He laughs loudly, widely, and it breathes a new air into your lungs.

“I swear to God, sweet girl,” he says between laughter. “There’s something on your face,”

“Then just get it!” you say, wiping your hand aggressively against your cheek. “It doesn’t take a thousand pokes to get something off my face,”

“Hey, I keep missing because you keep moving,” he says, shrugging his shoulders dramatically. You roll your eyes. “C’mere,”

You lean in a bit more, and he swipes his hand against your cheek. For a moment too long, it remains, delicately holding you as if you might break under increased pressure. He clears his throat and retracts his hand. You feel heat creep up in its place.

“You staying tonight?” you ask. He shrugs. “You know the couch will miss you if you don’t,”

He laughs at this. Your heart swells at the sound. “You just like using me as your personal alarm clock,”

“Not true,” you gasp, clutching your heart in feigned offense. “My couch grows increasingly lonely at night,”

He rolls his eyes. “Sure,”

It occurs to you, in that moment, just how much you want him to kiss you. It would certainly make things a lot easier if he did. You’re almost desperate for him to kiss you. The feeling you have for him is akin to idolatry, an offshoot of worship. He’s magnetic, pulls you in in a way you can’t describe. You can see the entire world in his eyes. He is divinity in its most basic form. Whatever religion he’s created, you would gladly follow it until your last breath.

Want consumes you. An insurmountable degree of yearning swallows you, floods your senses, makes you unstable.

“Why did you resign?” you ask. His expression falters for a moment. “You never explained it to me,”

He doesn’t answer, just swallows thickly. You take in a breath like it might be your last.

You wring your hands. “I’m owed at least that,”

“I thought it would make things easier,” he says. The answer is vague, like you’d expected. It doesn’t answer your questions.

“That’s not an answer, Leon,” you say, frowning. “Can you give me a straight answer, just this once? I don’t care if you lie to me for the rest of my life, but, please, just give me this,”

He stares at you, as if he’s trying to get one last look at you. “I wanted to start over,”

Your brows knit together as you watch him. He’s stiff against the arm of the couch he leans on. His shoulders are square, jaw set, eyes forward. It’s been a while since he’s gotten a haircut, you notice.

“Start over?” you repeat.

“With you,” he says, staring into the wall behind you. “I wanted you to know me…differently,”

Your heart hammers against your chest. You hope you’re reading this the right way, because if you’re not, you might just die where you sit. “How did you want me to know you?”

“As a person,” he says, meeting your eyes again. “I wanted you to…like me. Not just see me as a guy that follows you around,”

You smile. “I liked you anyway, Leon,” you say. He flushes.

“I mean,” he stutters. “I mean that…I wanted to be right,”

You don’t know when, but he’s leaned in. You can feel his breath on your lips, floating back against your ears. He’s looking at you through his lashes, all starry eyed and vulnerable. His cheeks are pink, rosy and soft. You want him to kiss you. You wonder, for a moment, what it would be like if he did. Goosebumps surface across your skin at the thought, shivering against the flesh like you’d stepped into the cold. You want him to kiss you.

With a shaking breath, you ask, “Right about what?”

He brushes a strand of hair away from your face with a trembling hand. It slots against the curve of your jaw, just below your ear. You notice that his hands are freezing, but it’s a welcome change in temperature given the heat that resides in your cheeks. You wonder if he can feel the beat of your pulse, hammer strong and rapid against the muscle. You wonder if his would feel the same.

“Leon?” you breathe. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “Are you going to kiss me?”

His breath is shaky. “Do you want me to?”

“Please,”

He indulges. He’s soft against you, sugary sweet and easygoing. He breathes you in like he’ll never get the chance to again. Your hands wind into the collar of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, an attempt to fuse into one. It’s a crescendo at the end of a symphony, harmonies and melodies colliding into one final note. Your ears are ringing. It’s a soft collision of warmth and intimacy, lips and hums that finally get to meet.

“I resigned,” he says, panting. “So I could do that,”

You laugh. “You could’ve done that anyway,” you say. He grins.

“Felt wrong,” he says. “I wanted to do it right,”

#fic recs #AAAA LOVE IT LOVE IT SO MUCHFJFD

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justmybookthots · 1 year ago

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18 Dec 2023

I read a bunch of books for the past few weeks and I mostly disliked them so I'm just going to make this wrap-up as quick and painless as possible.

Six Crimson Cranes

Honestly? The writing isn't half-bad. The premise and storyline was a whole lot of fun, and I adored most of it. The saving grace / highlight of this entire story? Raikama. This woman made me cry. Yes, I actually ended up shedding some tears for her at the end of the story. I loved her character tremendously, and I just… felt she deserved the world.

I only WISHED the rest of the main cast was as interesting. I'm furious that Seryu isn't the male lead. We were fucking robbed, y'all. He is a gazillion times more interesting than Takaan. Oh Gawd. The romance is the worst romance I've ever read. I don't buy anything here. I don't care.

Unfortunately, Raikama wasn't enough to save the story for me. If I don't care about the leads, then I don't care about the book. While I don't follow this rule for thrillers, books of that genre are the only exception to that rule. It's that simple.

Silence of the Lambs

It's funny because this book is the total opposite. I was extremely fascinated by Hannibal and I thought he was the highlight of the story. However, I didn't care for the rest of the thriller. I'm not the biggest fan of books—in fact, I hate it—where the killer's identity is revealed at the start. I don't mean Hannibal, by the way; I'm talking about Buffalo Bill. That's what the majority of the plot circles around. It sucks out all the tension for me, and I need to say that even for a police procedural, this was a very dry, very tedious read. There was just too much detail on extraneous parts of the book.

Okay, it wasn't entirely extraneous, but it might as well have been. I didn't need chapter after chapter of the police people doing police things in excruciating detail before finding out something mildly important. I have read A LOT of police procedural thrillers, and this is by far the worst. Most of it just involves you sitting there waiting for the main leads to connect the dots that you... already know.

City of Glass

I finally read this! I preferred City of Ashes, but it wasn't a bad book. I think out of everything in this wrap-up, I liked this book the best. After watching the paint dry with Silence of the Lambs, reading a storyline that actually gripped me and kept me turning the pages was MOST welcome.

I do think, though, that Sebastian was quite wasted of a character and he died too easily. But the twist with how Valentine broke through the city's wards was AWESOME. (And also the Hodge twist? *chef's kiss*)

In my opinion, the series should have ended here. I really am hesitant to continue with the rest of the Mortal Instruments series. I know the next three books go to shit, and I... do not know if I want to waste my time with the brain rot. This would have been quite satisfying as an ending, and we REALLY don't need any more existential drama from Jace.

(Also, I still think Simon is garbage and I wish he didn't exist.)

Juniper and Thorn

Ava Reid, you are my mortal enemy. YOU are the reason I'm in a slump right now.

I think a lot of people would like this book, and I don't blame them. The fantasy elements are beyond fascinating, and I think that the story is far superior to Six Crimson Cranes. I couldn't put the book down. I think the level of darkness is just enough for me—any more and it might feel too much. (I was actually expecting more.) The ending twist was pretty good, and I wished A Study in Drowning had produced some kind of twist in its conclusion too.

That said, the heroine is an idiot who does idiotic things, and if this wasn't fiction, she'd be pregnant, duped by a man and even more fucked over than she already was… which is saying something, given her familial circumstances. But because this is fiction (but a very unconvincing one), Sevas, the hero, is a decent man. I do not know why he liked her, I do not know why this romance had to happen, and I do not buy any of this charade with its insta-love and lack of chemistry. I still think Takaan and Shiori were a smidgen worse, but this is a close second.

Marlinchen is the type of foolish, sheltered heroine you'd read in The Only One Left by Riley Sager, the one that makes horrible mistakes and meets a horrible end. I can stomach characters like that in thrillers, because it's not romanticised and you see the ugly reality for what it is. But in this story, it is completely romanticised, and I just… I don't want any part of it, and I'm annoyed that this is the aftertaste I'm left with after reading three unsatisfying books in (almost) a row.

I'd hoped this could redeem the author after A Study in Drowning disappointed me, but I know better now. To the Blacklist you go, Miss Reid!

(Also… Ava, there is such a thing called 'female orgasms'. Feel free to Google this phenomenon, because I don't think you've ever known about their existence. We do not exist just for male pleasure. Just a heads-up!)

#book blog #book review #ava reid #six crimson cranes #elizabeth lim #silence of the lambs #shadowhunters

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rory294 · 3 years ago

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thegrandkahuna33/object-battle / /let5-ago

hey, this is a lot on one post, so i made a carrd. i update it whenever i find new stuff so come check back at it once and awhile. enjoy,

https://puffycheeksanon.carrd.co/

thegrandkahuna33/object-battle /let5-ago is a dirty pedo

he likes asking kids to draw fetish art because he thinks its cute

if you look on his blog and see what he follows, you will see some pretty ugly faces. not cute at all

the third one is a dumb weaboo blog, but these two are straight up fetish blogs. tell me, does that look “cute” to you? i think not.

lets look at @heavingandpuffing because thats where the real dirt is

the first image is a cartoon woman pissing herself while holding her breath. that is not cute at all and everyone knows pee kinks exists. i’m not going to post that here because its gross but you can see it vaguely in the picture above.

the image of sandy cheeks you see is what i’m focusing on here into detail about a spongebob character drowning. if you go the bottom of the post, you will see a few lines of gibberish, almost like the user tried to make tags and failed

this is listed as “fetish” and “kink”

i am not saying these two blogs are the same person. i am just showing that alolaace/drv34 is a dirty ol peeedo who likes tricking kids into drawing fetish art.

he has changed his url from momo5yu to pummol88 because he’s a dirty little pedo on the run

he has changed his url from pummol88 to pokemonfan77 because he’s a dirty little pedo on the run. take note on how he removed the blog i mentioned but kept the other ugly ass blog up. its still fetish you silly pedo

he has changed his url from pummol88 to smlover3 because he’s a dirty little pedo on the run. of course someone as tasteless and brain dead as this motherfucker would watch something like that. he’s also removed the other fetish blog in his follows. this is him admitting that yes, it’s a fetish. yes he wanks off to it and no he doesn’t care if he tries to trick children into drawing it. what a pathetic life to live.

he has changed his url from smlover3 to super-mario-67 because he’s a dirty little pedo on the run. at this point he knows i’m here but is a little pussy bitch to do anything.

he has changed his url from super-mario-67 to Pokeblog5 because he’s a dirty little pedo on the run. he’s also made his blog dashboard only because another victim has spoken up. i would recommend checking out their post. love how this spineless little freak is so pathetic that he can’t confront me but continues to harass minors. typical pedo behavior i say.

pokeblog5 has completely abandoned his blog altogether and became danganfan7. unfortunately tumblr loves pedos so they took down one of the other blogs against him but honestly it’s sad to see the experience i gave him wasn’t terrible enough to make him go away. shame shame. just means i have to try harder ;)

so it’s been awhile but this guy’s swapped from his previous usernames and split himself in half! he’s got both drv34 and alolaace take note that he has two different ages on his profiles.

this is very much him trying to bring his sockpuppet brother here, despite being really fucking stupid and making him act JUST like him.

Oh, he also made a funny little post, I’ll link it here so you can roast or block as you please.

yikes, i don’t know why he keeps trying considering he’s made this kind of post before and all it’s done is given him harassment. very pedoy behavior here, imagine having to jump through this many hoops just to convince a bunch of strangers that you don’t jack off to “puffy faces”. couldn’t be me. also take note of the piss poor excuse to keep bothering minors. nasty.

another thing to mention is that he’s prone to send anon hate like a little bitch, here’s a screenshot from someone who wanted to stay anonymous.

honestly, if this guy hit my way with anon hate (he won’t because asks are off and again he’s a little bitch) it would make me laugh. I would show my friends on discord his ask and we’d just make fun of him. lol

Want more reasons to hate this thickskulled prick? Well here you go, ablest slurs!

I censored the person’s icon because I’m sure they don’t want anything to do with this but its nice to see we all live in this dickbutt’s head rent free (i mean it’s not too hard because he’s got such a small brain LMAO)

here’s puffycheeks Mcpedo using his sockpuppet account to send anon hate, not even hiding that it’s him lmao

hey remember on your DA about when you said you take medication so you don’t do bad things? yeeah maybe get a higher dosage dude.

Found another sockpuppet account YEEHAW -->gogogreg

Apparently he has several deviantart accounts in which he uses to prey on kids. typical pedo behavior strikes again. Would be a shame if I plastered them here for all to see!

Oopsies! Oops again! lets hope no one raids or reports them teehee

Good news! We found his furaffinty account! I will not be linking it here because it’s full disgusting crap in his favorites but his username is ugochu. If you ever need proof that this guy’s got puffy cheek fetish, just check there!

It seems he’s slowly becoming aware that people are going to kick him in the teeth whenever he sends anything, so being the groomer he is, puffy’s decided to become a total creep in dms!

Silly dipshit, now you REALLY look like a pedo! if you get a dm asking to draw you stuff privately, block it right away!

He still goin god damn!

literally sounding like a child groomer my dude

#momo5yu #pummol88 #pokemonfan77 #smlover3 #super-mario-67 #Pokeblog5 #danganfan7 #drv34 #alolaace #gogogreg #7genpoke #thestarslumiary #7genp #thegrandkahuna33 #mymomotree34 #let5-ago #object-battle

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free-pool-trash · 4 years ago

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utopia- peter maximoff

yeah... im back being in love with Peter <3 enjoy loves <3

word count: 3k

warnings: angst and fluff, wandavision spoilers

id be open to writing more parts if anyone was interested <3 (I wrote this at 4am if it’s all over the place im sorry)

masterlist

You didn’t know much, but one thing was for certain; you didn’t belong here.

This morning you had opened your eyes and were met with a town that seemed like the very definition of the suburban dream. Your mind screamed at you as soon as you came to in the strange and indisputably new environment, telling you that this town was your home. The fact that you couldn’t remember anything before your eyes had fluttered open didn’t fill you with the utmost confidence about the legitimacy of the voice in your head, or the utopia that surrounded you.

All you knew was that you came here to look for someone. This someone was someone very important to you and you had a feeling that you were exactly where you needed to be to find this someone. There was one minor problem though; you didn’t have a clue who this special someone was, just that you needed to find him.

Cautiously, you found yourself wandering the town that seemed to be lost in time. All of its residents dressed like they were all attending an 80s themed party, yourself included. You couldn’t recall pulling on the ridiculous getup but that voice told you not to worry about it. It wasn’t long before you were in the middle of the town square, people bustled around you happily, all of them eerily going about their day as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Nobody looked stressed or sad or anything other than animatedly happy.

The realisation caused a slight panic to begin in your chest, there was something very wrong happening here and you didn’t know what. The very second you began to show anything that didn’t come across as positively blissful, the voice you’d been hearing since you opened your eyes sounded in your brain, louder than ever.

You are happy here. WestView is home. You are home.

Despite her soothing tone, you weren’t convinced.

“Who are you?” You demanded out loud, whipping your head in all directions, eyes set in a glare as you watched the citizens of the town acting none the wiser to your question.

Within seconds a woman appeared before you, a sweet smile on her face and two children by her side. “Hey there, you must be the new neighbour.” She spoke kindly, something familiar about the woman caused you to immediately relax in her presence although that relaxation felt somewhat… forced.

With a hesitant nod you looked around again, you brought your eyes back to the little family and offered them your best friendly smile, “It seems I must be, yeah.”

The lady giggled and held her hand out towards you, “Nice to meet you, I’m Wanda. And these two are Billy and Tommy.” You took her hand in yours, suddenly overwhelmed with an influx of thoughts that didn’t seem to be yours. Suddenly you were giving Wanda the most sparkling smile you could manage, not entirely sure why your mouth had formed such a smile for a complete stranger.

“Pleasure to meet you all.” Were the only words you could manage, still riddled with confusion as to what was going on.

Wanda returned your smile, Billy and Tommy seemed almost enamoured by you as they both stared at the new arrival. Glancing at her boys, Wanda knew she’d have to keep a very close eye on you, you were a mutant and stronger than even you knew, hard to control. But she had let you through her barricade as soon as she realised who you were and why you came.

“What’s your name?” Billy had asked and Wanda grew nervous as she noticed your eyes lose their smile for a second as you blanked on the simple question.

What was your name? It took you a moment or two before you regained your composure and extended your arm to the little boy in front of you who shook it excitedly, “Y/n. My name is Y/n, it’s really nice to meet you two.”

“Say, would you like to come and have dinner with us?” Wanda offered and you nodded your head gratefully.

“Dinner would be lovely. I’m feeling quite airy today, a good feed might help.” You told her with a laugh.

You walked to what you assumed to be Wanda’s residence, Billy and Tommy spoke excitedly to you as you walked, the pair of them strolled on either side of you fighting for your attention and entertaining you as they constantly tried to one up each other.

“You’re so cool! I can’t wait for uncle piet to meet you!” Tommy commented, prompting a soft smile from Wanda and an agreeing nod from Billy.

With a laugh you ruffled the boys’ hair, “Uncle Piet, huh? I bet I’m way cooler than that guy.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Wanda laughed, her hold on you lessening as you began to relax on your own accord.

It only took a few more minutes until the four of you arrived at their house. As you entered you took a second to take in the interior, the 80s theme not as glaringly out of place to you as it had been earlier.

“Vis! Pietro! I’m home and I’ve brought a guest!” Wanda’s sweet voice sounded from the kitchen.

“Uncle Piet hurry up! Come meet our new friend!”

“Come on! Come on! Hurry up!”

Billy and Tommy yelled up the stairs impatiently and you smiled fondly at the boys, crossing your arms over your chest as you anticipated meeting ‘the funnest guy in the whole world’.

“M’coming! Jeez.” The deep voice made you freeze. For the first time since you arrived in WestView you could finally say you recognised something.

The thumping of feet running down the stairs had your heart beating out of your chest and when you finally came face to face with the man the twins had praised so highly you thought your ribs were at risk of breaking from how rapidly it was pumping.

The man looked at the twins, expectantly, “Alright. Where’s the one making you two so excited?” He hadn’t noticed you yet.

With a shaky breath, it bagan coming back to you, he was the someone you were looking for. He wasn’t just someone special, he was your love. And there he stood, silver hair unkempt as usual and his signature grin painted his lips.

“She’s-“ Billy started but Peter cut him off.

“She? You guys get yourself a lil girlfriend? Huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows and you couldn’t help the breathless laugh that left you. He was still your Peter. Funny, lighthearted, great with children and not completely thoughtless behind his gorgeous doe eyes like the rest of the town’s residents.

The airy laugh caused a shiver to run up his spine. No, you couldn’t be here. Not you. But he knew without even turning his head that it was you, his girl, the love of his life. The loyalist person he’d ever had the privilege of being able to love. Of course you’d follow him to a whole different reality.

He whipped his head in your direction, his mouth falling open as his eyes landed on your form, your eyes shining the way they always did when you’d see him after a long mission.

“Peter?” The boy felt his heart crack as your expression dissolved into something between confusion and panic. He quickly zoomed over to you and pulled you into him, pressing your head into the crook of his neck to hide your expression from Wanda who had yet to return from the kitchen.

His lips hovered close to your ear, “Pietro, you have to call me Pietro. I’ll explain everything, I promise just act natural for me, alright?” He murmured, moving his hand comfortingly up and down your back, aware that the twins were watching Peter pulled away but wrapped an arm around your shoulder and you forced yourself to smile as the pair of you faced the boys.

“How’d you guys manage to find my girlfriend in this dump?” He asked jokingly, smirking proudly as their faces dropped.

Billy glared and raised his little eyebrow at his uncle, “Your girlfriend?”

“You were right, you two. He definitely is the funnest person but I still win in the cool department.” You said, laughing nervously and hoped you weren’t being too conspicuous.

“Oh come on,” Peter groaned, “I haven’t seen you in forever and you’re already making fun of me in front of my nephews? That’s cold.” He pressed his lips to your temple, keeping them there for a few seconds, they were firm and sure and they let you know that he was really with you, you’d found him and he was real.

When Wanda re entered the room you felt your shock ebb as if it were being drowned beneath the surface before you could calm it naturally. You allowed your body to melt into Peter, your unintentional, sitcom worthy smile making his way across your lips again.

“Oh good, so you two have met then?” Wanda grinned, knowingly. Peter gave her a grin of his own.

“We’ve done more than meet.” He told her suggestively and you poked his ribs gently.

“You should’ve told me you were a Maximoff,” You giggled out as Peter littered your face with kisses while the twins gagged, the silver haired man pulled away from you for only a second to stick his tongue out at his nephews before he returned his attention to you as you chastised Wanda softly, “I would’ve been able to prepare myself to see this loser.”

Peter scoffed and gently pushed you away before speeding to catch up with your body. He wrapped his arms around your torso from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder, “She loves me really.”

Peter knew exactly what Wanda was after; a perfect family. He understood that’s what she wanted but he didn’t know how far she would go to achieve that goal. He had to make sure you played along, he couldn’t lose track of you again.

Your next words caused a stir in the hearts of both the siblings, your head was turned and your gaze was locked on Peter’s face, eyes free of any outside emotion as you broke out of Wanda’s hold and what Wanda read off your face wasn’t fear nor confusion, it was nothing but pure adoration for her brother.

“I do. I really do.” You told him, eyes becoming glassy before Wanda managed to regain control of your mind. You cleared your throat and gave Peter an airy smile, gently placing your lips against the curve of his jaw and he bit the inside of his cheek as he held you, allowing the conversation to flow easily and trying his best to support you as you unknowingly exhausted yourself fighting against his sister's hold.

He had a feeling you hadn’t remembered your mutation yet. You were one of the most powerful mutants Xaviers School had ever seen, your powers similar to Jean and Charles himself. Telekinesis was a tricky game, especially when you weren’t aware of it.

He remembered when he’d met you, you were with Charles and Hank, in his basement and asking for his help. He smiled to himself when he thought of how you’d been just as confused as him at the time.

You had no control over your telekinesis back then, similarly to now as you sat playing a board game with the twins, lights would flicker when you laughed and the very ground you walked on would shake if you got angry enough.

“Her mutation, it’s strong.” Wanda commented breezily as if it were nothing, floating through the kitchen going about her business as Peter’s eyes never left your form.

With a sigh he murmured, “She’s powerful, Wands. Trust me when I tell you that this whole thing could come crashing down if you don’t let her access her mutation.”

Wanda paused, her jaw clenched. With a flick of her wrist the panel that was allowing Peter to gaze at you from his place in the kitchen shut in his face. He turned to face Wanda then, an incredulous look on his face.

“What do you mean.” Peter only let out a tired laugh.

He shook his head, “Why did you let her in in the first place? You could’ve kept her out if you didn’t want her here.”

“She came for you, Pietro. You were the only thing on her mind. I didn’t realise she had power until I’d let her in.” She seethed, glaring at Peter.

“Maybe this was a mistake…” Wanda began, clenching and unclenching her hands as she considered her next actions. Noticing her uncertainty, Peter stood up and approached her as she spoke, “I should send her back.”

Panic flooded the speedster and before his sister could so much as move a finger he grabbed both of her hands in his, “No!” He shouted, desperately.

“Please don’t. I’ll look after her, just… just don’t take her away from me. Not again.” He begged, shaking his head frantically and Wanda knew in that moment that sending you away would create more problems than it would solve.

With a steady nod Wanda squeezed her brother’s hands, “She’ll stay here. But she’s your responsibility now. If she becomes a problem she’ll have to go.” His sister explained causing Peter to once again nod his head frantically.

“There’s an empty house next door. It’s yours, take her home, she’s tired I can tell.” Peter left the kitchen without another word, a smile on his face as if the conversation with Wanda hadn’t shook him to his core.

When he entered the living room he watched fondly as Billy tried to impress you and Tommy sat contently beside you. Wanda had released you from her influence and you were simply fighting sleep while simultaneously keeping the twins occupied. Even without your mutation, Peter knew you were a superhero.

“Alright, nerds. Stop bugging my girl.” Peter walked casually to the couch and pulled you up gently, kissing your temple like he had done earlier, “Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

When he pulled away you were looking at him, your expression somewhat defeated, “Home?” That’s right, he reminded himself, you didn’t know where home was.

He nodded gently, interlocking your fingers with his and led you to the front door.

“Bye boys!” He called over his shoulder, not bothering with a proper goodbye tonight.

True to her word, the house next door was vacant and ready for the couple to move into. As soon as the front door was shut Peter attached his lips to yours, feverishly moving his hands to your cheeks as you melted against him.

“I’ve been looking for you for so long.” You croaked, pulling away, select memories had began to return upon meeting his lips.

Completely overwhelmed you nuzzled your cheeks into his palms when tears began to leak from your eyes. Peter pulled you closer, bringing his forehead to rest against yours, “I know, baby. But I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

His words had only served to push you further towards the edge and you gripped his wrists to keep his hands in place, using him as an anchor. He shushed you gently once the picture frames nailed to the wall began to clatter against the plaster while you struggled to even out your breathing.

“I couldn’t think, Pete. I couldn’t- I couldn’t keep her out. There’s something so wrong here, we need to get out- we have to get out.” You rambled, tears streaming down your face now as the panic Wanda had pushed away from you earlier now manifested into a full blown panic attack.

“Hey, hey, hey, Y/n, look at me, okay? Neither of us are under her control right now, you’re safe, you’re with me and I’m not going to let her so much as flick her wrist at you, do you understand me?” He spoke steadily and sternly, caressing your face so gently as if he was afraid you’d break.

After a second or two, the walls stopped shaking and you let Peter guide you to the stairs and into a double room. Carefully, he undressed you and redressed you into the shirt he’d been sleeping in, something in him just knowing being surrounded by his scent would calm you down.

Your hands snaked around his waist after he finished getting himself changed, with a content sigh you pressed your lips against his shoulder before pulling away to look into his eyes, “You’re sure you’re okay?”

Peter nodded his head, eyes softening at your concern, “M’better now.”

Before you could respond Peter had zoomed the pair of you into the floral double bed. He lay on his back, his silver hair sprawled against the pillow and his eyes looking at you contently. You gazed at him from your space against his chest, your body completely flush to his, the arm he had wrapped around your waist making you feel safe.

He hummed in approval as your finger lazily traced his jaw, he grinned dorkily, he watched your eyes fluttering open and shut as you struggled to stay awake. Peter wrapped both arms around you tightly, pulling you up ever so slightly to let your face rest against the crook of his neck.

“I love you, Y/n.” He whispered when he felt your fingers toying with his hair gently.

You hummed, pecking the skin of his neck, “I love you, Peter. Or should I say Pietro?” He couldn’t stop his chuckle when he felt your lips form into a smirk as you continued to peck lightly at his neck.

Peter shook his head, his hands moving up and down your back, slowly and softly as he told you, “Nah, I just wanna be Peter with you. You’re the only person in this wacko town who knows who I am.”

“We’ll get out… and then we can go back to being whoever we were before we ended up here.” You spoke sleepily, but honestly, he knew you believed what you were saying.

He wanted to ask why you’d put yourself in this situation but he knew why. And he knew he’d follow you into anything like this too.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been proud of the love the pair of you shared, considering it had landed you in a borderline tyrannical suburbia. But even a barrier that wiped memories, a witch who could bend time, space and the very reality around her couldn’t keep the two of you apart.

Neither of you knew what would happen in the future but that didn’t matter so long as you had each other. As your breath evened out against his neck Peter promised himself that he’d find a way to get you both out, get everyone out.

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wandavision

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1kook · 4 years ago

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commercial break ; NINE

this is part of my netflix & chill series!

SUMMARY “I think that, like— me and you? We’re like, totally destined,” you ramble, “you should, like, take my number! And maybe we can, like— Netflix and chill one of these days?” WARNING angst with implied smut at the end!!, flashbacks, low self esteem, alcohol consumption, jk is (implied) a virgin in this, there’s a lil fondling by oc u know the usual MISC they r soulmates <3, our queen doyeon returns, i tried to use symbolism👁 in the dialogue so yes everything drunk oc says has a meaning hehe RATING m bc alcohol WC 2.2k

NOTES i said once a long time ago that n&c couple were prolly at the same party once but didn't realize so hERE WE GO ! its not proofread bc um. yeah<3

Homecoming week.

Jungkook doesn’t even think his university’s football team is good, but he had read somewhere that part of the college experience is obnoxiously supporting this team all four years. And well. Jungkook wants to fit in. Frankly, Jungkook feels a little dumb having accepted this invitation from Kim Taehyung from his first-year writing class. He’s only known the man a solid four weeks, probably won’t know him this well once Taehyung finds real friends, ones who suit his outgoing personality, and decides Jungkook is too boring, but Jungkook will make the best of it while he can because, again, he wants to fit in. Badly. It’ll be different this time, he had told himself while getting ready. You won’t be awkward anymore. You’ll make friends.

And then it’s nearing midnight and Jungkook has spoken to a whopping two people at this party of over a hundred. Not including Taehyung, it’s down to one. Even that had only been to ask where the bathroom was. He feels severely out of place, like he’s both too large and too small to be in this area, to be at this party, so he shuffles into the kitchen when he hears them call for another match of beer pong. He’s actually pretty good at the game, has refined his skills at get togethers with his older cousins. But it’s not like anyone here wants to be Jungkook’s partner anyway. Or even knows who he is for that matter.

Taehyung had bumped into him a little past ten, had had two girls clinging to his sides when he had greeted Jungkook. One of them had almost looked tempted, Jungkook wanted to believe, brushing her hand against his arm. But he didn’t act quick enough— what would he even have done? what did he even want? —and Taehyung disappeared with both girls soon after, leaving Jungkook by himself once more.

The kitchen is empty, the drinks long since having migrated to the living area of this huge frat. With a defeated sigh, Jungkook sinks back against one of the counters, setting his lukewarm cup of beer down beside him. He’s buzzed, drank in a feeble attempt to ‘lose himself’ as all the movies claimed. But now all he can feel is a pounding headache threatening to consume him. He doesn’t even like drinking— why did he drink this much?

He should go home.

Events like this, parties like this— they weren’t meant for someone like Jungkook. He was too quiet, too shy to let loose like everyone else. He doesn’t do well in social situations, or at least not as well as his therapist had told him he would. He hesitates too much, never speaks when he needs to. Haerim from his freshman basics class had even said so. “You’re quiet, huh,” she had smiled, and when her notebook had touched his elbow, he flinched. She didn’t take it to heart. Just like Taehyung wouldn’t if he left right now. They know how he is. He doesn’t belong here. These types of parties were made for outgoing people, people who lived on the edge, people who weren’t trapped in their own thoughts all the time, people like—

Like the girl who stumbles through the doorway now. “Woooo,” she slurs, and then promptly faceplants into the dirty tile of the kitchen, the same tile littered with sticky footprints and random debris. He can’t even imagine what else is on the floor of a frat house mid-party. Jungkook flinches at the sound of her knee hitting the ground, before rushing over to help her up.

She’s a giggling mess, eyes half shut by the time Jungkook gets her into a seated position. “Are you okay?” he flounders, hand on her shoulder when she wobbles again, nearly falls back down.

“Just peachy,” she sings, flashing him a sloppy thumbs up. Her neck isn’t doing a particularly good job of holding her head up and when Jungkook places a hand on the back of her head, she leans into it, blissful smile on her face. She’s really pretty, it makes Jungkook’s cheeks burn when she aims it at him next. “Pucca loves Garu,” she lets him know, eyes finally fluttering open. “He’s a pretty boy.”

Jungkook blinks. He has no idea what you’re talking about. “Huh?” he stutters, glancing back at the bar stool by the counter instead. It’s probably infinitely times better than the sticky tile beneath your bare legs. “I’m gonna stand you up,” he tells you, taking your loud cackle as a sign that you’re okay with it. Jungkook’s been working out all summer, so you’re not heavy in the slightest, arms thrown around his shoulders while he slips his own around your back. Your proximity leaves him drowning in your scent.

The giggles don’t subside when he sits you down, not even when he begins opening random cabinets in search of a glass to get you some water. He’s had his fair share of experiences looking after drunk people, so he has a pretty good idea of what to do now. However, your sudden bout of commentary certainly doesn’t make it easier. “Isn’t it, like, super cool how the sun and the moon are, like—“ a hiccup, Jungkook settles on tap water “tooootally different beings, but, like— they, like, both maintain the earth?” Your hand reaches for his forearm when he returns, gives him this little squeeze in your excitement. “Like— Like they both have to, like— work together? To keep it perfect, y’know?”

Jungkook pushes the water into your hands. You’ve got this sparkly sheen to your eyes, the one that most people get after one too many drinks, but it’s accompanied by this childlike wonder that leaves Jungkook breathless when you meet his gaze. “Yeah,” he says quietly. You beam. It’s blinding. So blinding that Jungkook promptly looks away, nudging the cup in your hands. “You need to drink this.”

You frown. “Boooo, so boring,” you huff. It’s nothing Jungkook hasn’t heard before, but it is a little disheartening to hear it from a stranger. He stamps the feeling down, pursing his lips as he gives up on letting you drink yourself. The cup is swiped from your hand and Jungkook tasks himself with making you drink it instead. And of course, like all wasted young adults, you put up a fight. “Ew, what is that?” you spit.

Jungkook sighs. “Water.”

At his defeated tone, the exaggerated grimace slips off your face, replaced with a rather solemn expression instead. Jungkook tries to take advantage of it and pushes the cup against your lip again, but all he really accomplishes is sloshing it down the front of your dress. You don’t yelp, but he does. “I’m so sorry,” he panics, sliding the sleeve of his shirt down around his thumb to wipe your chin.

You let him, head tilted curiously to the side. Jungkook tries to ignore your analytical gaze until: “you’re cute,” you announce, and abruptly send him into shock.

He recoils, face a blazing mess. “I’m—“ he chokes, swallowing when you wipe your hand down your own chest, leave a glistening layer of water over your sternum and down between your breasts.

“Cute,” you repeat, downing the glass he had been trying to coax into you like it’s nothing now. With it gone, you don’t waste any time, throwing your hands around his shoulders, fingers brushing through the hair at the base of his neck. You pull him close, so close in fact, that he ends up having to hold the back of your chair to keep from accidentally crushing you with his weight. “Your name, pretty boy?”

He can’t think. You’re so drunk and smell so good and are just so pretty— his brain short circuits. “Um I’m, uh, Jeon J—“

“Jeon,” you repeat, silly smile back on your face. You’re not technically wrong, so he nods along with a blush high on his cheeks. “Well, Jeon,” you purr, but you’re still so drunk, eyelids fluttering in a rather funny way. “I think that, like— me and you? We’re like, totally destined,” you ramble, “you should, like, take my number! And maybe we can, like— Netflix and chill one of these days?”

Jungkook doesn’t even know what that means, and honestly, he doesn’t really hear you over the thundering of his own heart and the bass in the other room. “Um, but you’re really…” he stammers, leaning back but a finger loops around one of his curls and he gasps when you pull at it. “You’re drunk,” he rushes out, lower lip trembling when your nose knocks against his.

A soft hum, the sound sending electricity down his spine when you cup his cheek. “But don’t you think I’m pretty?” you murmur, eyes flickering to his mouth.

“Yes,“ he chokes out, “you’re a very, very pretty girl. But I really shouldn’t—“

“Hey,” you shush, tilting his head just the slightest. Jungkook has never had a girl touch him like this, has never even touched a girl before either, but, well. He really wants to kiss you. And that’s saying a lot considering Jungkook has never kissed anyone before.

Despite how good it feels, he knows you’re still really drunk. It’s with a decisive huff that he pushes away, hands on your waist to keep you from touching up on him any further. You’re not that strong anyway. And then he’s met with the biggest pout he’s ever seen, an absolutely distraught look on your face.

Something in him says you’ll cry if he doesn’t explain himself soon, so he launches into it right away. “You’re very pretty,” he says, almost laughing at the way your entire face lights up immediately. “But you’re very drunk.” You huff. “You deserve to be treated like a queen.” Mostly regurgitating something he heard in a motivational video.

It works. Eventually, you stop being fussy in his arms and settle with a frown. “You’re too nice,” you grumble, forehead on the countertop. He doesn’t see how it’s much better than the floor but he lets you be. “You got a girlfriend, don’t you?”

At that, Jungkook laughs. “No,” he reassures you, hesitates, and then gently pats your back. Jungkook actually feels you melt under his touch. That sultry look is gone, replaced with this rather tranquil look that he doesn’t quite understand.

“That was pretty,” you murmur, but Jungkook doesn’t quite hear.

“What was that?” he asks.

“I said your smile was pre—“

“There you are!” someone hollers from the kitchen doorway, the shrill tone of their voice making both you and Jungkook jump. When he turns around, he’s met with the sight of a rather tall girl angrily stomping your way, eyes a blazing fire, fists clenched by her side. Jungkook realizes only a second too late that she’s looking at him. “Get off of her, you sweaty city-owned dumpster,” she hisses, using the strength of three football players to push Jungkook away. “You make me sick—“

“Doyeonie,” you beam, launching yourself into the angry girl’s arms. Ah. The Help had arrived.

Said angry girl (Doyeonie?) is still using every mash-up of words possible to degrade Jungkook as she hauls you into her arms, shooting daggers every step of the way. “I can’t believe you would try to take advantage of a poor girl when she’s this drunk,” she spits.

“What?” Jungkook coughs, cheeks warm. “I wasn’t—“

“Tell it to Campus Safety when I report you, you wannabe, dollar store Rain.” Jungkook clutches his chest at the acidity of her tongue, surprised anyone could be so mean.

All things considered, this was actually good. Someone who knew you had come to take you to safety, meaning Jungkook didn’t have to look after you anymore. When this Doyeonie turns around, he’s met with your smiley face smushed against her shoulder.

(It’s weird. He’s a little sad to see you go.)

“Bye, Jeon,” you giggle, hand brushing down his arm, squeezing his hand, before you’re abruptly yanked away. Jungkook manages one weak wave, cheeks lit ablaze once more when you send him a silly air kiss from the doorway, urging him to catch it. He does, and he feels really silly when he puts it in his pocket, but he can hear your laughter for a second more before he loses you.

The last few minutes being so hectic, he decides to go home. Parties weren’t really his thing. Jungkook doesn’t think he’ll ever go to one again.

Until a few years later.

“You’re, like, really pretty,” you slur, lips against his throat. Another invitation, this time, Taehyung’s birthday. His friend had practically begged him to come, knowing how Jungkook was. In the end, it had been you who had accepted on his behalf.

“Baby, not here,” he laughs, hand on your shoulder when you try to shove your hand down his pants for the third time that night.

Taehyung had been ecstatic to see Jungkook here. And then had quickly become annoyed when he caught the two of you making out in his storage closet an hour later. “Bro, don’t be that couple at parties,” he had groaned, locking the door behind him.

Jungkook had laughed. “I wouldn’t know what ‘that couple’ is at parties,” he reminded him.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m sure your girlfriend can fill you in.”

Apparently not. You’ve been trying to kiss him for the past three minutes but keep missing because you’re so drunk. “Just one,” you beg, so pretty but so drunk. The fake lashes you’d worn today make you look like a doll, batting them his way until he’s giving in, slotting his lips against yours. You’re probably going to throw up in his bathroom when you get home, so he should make the best of your kisses now. Jungkook pushes that thought aside as he reaches a hand out to wipe at the sweat accumulating on your chest. There’s something weird about the gesture, like he’s done it before at another party. But that doesn’t make sense; he couldn't have— this is his first party with you.

“We should, like, leave,” you whisper against his ear, fingers burying themselves in his hair; when you pull on a strand, he nearly moans. “Go home. Maybe netflix and—“ a hiccup that makes him smile “—chill?”

Jungkook kisses your temple. “Sounds good to me, pretty girl.”

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jjk fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fic #mine

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hoziersong · 3 years ago

Text

for @emeraldcas follower celebration!

day 1 - prompt: words unspoken

1.3k words

read below or on ao3

Tonight, Dean's brain has decided it's the perfect time for a little screening of Everything I Regret Saying (Or Not Saying) To The Love Of My Life.

Dean's not good with words. Never has been. Sometimes when he was a kid, he'd spend days without talking. By now, he's figured he just has to show instead of tell, otherwise he'll send every relationship he has flying off a cliff simply because he doesn't know how to say what he's thinking.

With Sammy it got easier eventually. He's learned to understand him without words, to know what he's thinking, how he's feeling. Dean's sure Sam knows how much he loves him, even if he rarely tells him. He's very grateful for that.

With Cas, though, things are different. It's not that he's better with words, it's actually the opposite. He wants to tell him so much stuff that he ends up not saying anything he truly wants to. And then they end up hurting each other, because neither of them knows their way with words. If there was a prize for miscommunication, they'd certainly win first place.

So, every time Dean says something wrong, he feels like a teenager with an embarrassing crush, mulling over his own words, regretting them even years after having said them. It's like an endless cycle of self-loathing, which he's an expert on.

Sometimes it's not even his long, big speeches that have the most meaning behind them, but the little sarcastic quips here and there, or the small, quiet sentences spoken in moments of uncertainty. Those are the ones that rewrite themselves in his heart, like lines of a poem carved in stone.

"Cas, we've talked about this. Personal space." I want you to be close to me all the time but I'm scared you'll just want to walk away.

"Morning, sunshine. Want some coffee?" I love that you're here. This is your home.

"I'd rather have you. Cursed or not." There is nothing that could ever change the fact that I love you.

"I need you." I love you no matter what.

"Of course I forgive you." I never wanted you to leave.

Then there's a look of sorrow, or a hug, a pat on the shoulder, a mixtape...

There's always something, and yet that something never seems to be the words that have been lodged in his throat all through the past decade.

Holding the weight of his regrets, Dean lays back on his memory foam mattress and stares at the ceiling. He pictures Cas' eyes from memory. The way they droop when he's tired, and sparkle when he's curious. The way they squint when he's angry or thoughtful, almost cartoonish. I love him, he thinks, with an ironic chuckle. I love him, and I'm never gonna be able to tell him.

Just as he's about to start round two of his self-loathing ritual, there's a knock on the door.

"Yeah, come in."

Cas walks in, wearing a pair of Dean's plaid pajama pants and a Zepp t-shirt. He's holding two steaming mugs that carry the smell of ginger, and his hair is all over the place.

"What's so funny?" Cas asks when Dean starts laughing.

"Dude, you look like a hedgehog."

Cas does not seem to be happy about Dean's comparison, judging by the squint of his eyes. But that just makes it funnier, so Dean smiles deviously at him until the angry facade is gone, replaced by soft, ocean-blue eyes.

"Dean, it's four in the morning. Why are you not sleeping?"

"Well, I could ask you the same thing."

Cas sighs. "I was making some tea." He says, handing one of the mugs to Dean. It warms up his hands when he holds it.

"At the crack of dawn? Sounds like someone's got a bad case of insomnia." He says it like it's a joke, but he's worried. Again, not good with words.

"Yeah. Maybe I do." Cas says in a raspy voice.

Before regretting it, Dean pats the spot beside him two times, signaling for Cas to sit down. Cas walks the short steps towards the bed and sits down slowly, careful not to spill his scalding tea mug on himself. Then, he lays his head back against the headboard and closes his eyes.

Because Dean has no self-control, he scoots closer to the former angel and stares. His eyes trace the slope of his nose and the curve of his eyelashes, and the way his jawline is pointing upwards. He suddenly gets the urge to trace it with his fingers, to feel the stubble growing there. A wave of longing hits him like it's done a thousand times before, and he does nothing to stop it.

A second later, Cas' breath startles Dean out of his internal thinking. That's when he realizes how close their faces actually are. His first instinct is to move away, maybe say some joke about personal space, but he finds himself unable to move an inch. Cas is just watching him intently and shamelessly, and it occurs to Dean that maybe he's not the only one who likes to observe his best friend like he's a renaissance painting.

Since his body has decided to become a full-time statue, all Dean can do is stare at the wooden headboard next to Cas' face. Then he clears his throat quietly and replaces what he wants to say with something else, the way he always does.

"Maybe you could, um, stay here. Y'know, to help with your sleeping problems. A different mattress might, um. It might help."

Cas takes a little while to answer, long enough for Dean to start panicking. But when he's about deflect his offer with a joke or a change of topic, Cas nods. They're still close enough that his hair tickles Dean's forehead when he moves his head.

"Yeah. It might help." Cas says, matching Dean's small, tense tone of voice.

Dean's brain stopped working the minute Cas sat on his bed, but the rest of his body doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. It's moving on its own, and a second later, his forehead is touching Cas'. He feels electricity run through it, like his skin is made of lightning. If Cas weren't human now, Dean wouldn't dismiss that possibility. Dean does his best work to assess the situation, but all he's coming up with is a repetitive whisper of Cas' name inside his otherwise empty head. He does the one thing he's never been able to do, which is voice his exact thoughts out loud.

"Cas..." he whispers, feeling their breaths mix together.

Cas has always been braver than him, so he's the one who closes the gap. He presses his lips against Dean's, so ghost-like and soft that he's not sure it's real. To test that theory, Dean's brain finally restarts with a jolt, and then he's pushing forward, deepening the kiss, which he's now sure is actually happening.

Cas returns the kiss like he's been drowning for ages and can finally breathe again. The electricity Dean felt when their foreheads touched is dialed up to a hundred where their lips are sliding against each other, like tiny little fireworks exploding against his skin. Despite the surreal feeling of kissing the man he's been in love with for ages, it also feels like home. Cas tastes like ginger and honey, and that cherry chapstick Dean bought for him at the grocery store.

Dean traces Cas' jawline with his thumb the way he was imagining just a few minutes earlier, which pulls a sigh out of him. The stubble tickles his skin, and it feels so good he thinks he might explode. A million words unspoken fly through Dean's mind, but he doesn't need any of them at the moment.

They break the kiss to take air, but their foreheads stay in place, aligned with each other perfectly. Cas smiles, and it's nearly blinding. I love you, Dean thinks, except this time, he's sure he'll be able to tell him in the future.

#emeraldcas1k #sara writes #destiel fic #spncreatorsdaily #creativecaviar #offbeattraxx #plantdadcas #userjenmish #userstarry #chocolatecakecas

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libradusk · 4 years ago

Text

Touch Starved | Jesse

Word Count: 6.8k

Pairing: Jesse x Reader

Summary: A night in a Coruscant hotel gifts you plenty of quality time with your lover (and a few noise complaints as well)

Warnings/Content: Explicit smut, mention of alcohol, AFAB reader (though no gender is explicitly mentioned), established relationship, some playful sexual power play, petnames galore, 69 action, a few light spanks to the backside and some tender shaaaaaaaggin’. (And Libra’s frequent overuse of italics.)

a/n: dedicated to the one and only @morganas-pendragons, congrats on finishing your third year of uni Kayla, I’m so proud of you! <3

And of course, a huge thank you to everyone who has continued to support my writing. It’s been a really horrid couple of months for me, but slowly, things are starting to improve. Thank you all for being understanding while I take a much-needed continued break from social media.

CT-5597

Jesse

Jesse who is infamously cocky and funny, if not dangerously outspoken and headstrong during even the most tense of situations. Jesse who is renowned for caring so deeply and so fiercely for what he believes in, and loving even fiercer than that. Jesse, who will never hesitate to be the first on the dance floor at 79’s and the last to leave.

Jesse, the soldier, the brother, the undeniably charismatic individual. The man whose smile would warp the lines of the tattoo draped across his cheekbone with how widely it stretched.

Jesse, who everyone knew would continue to belt out barrack-born anthems that sung of the glory of the Republic, even after he was turfed out of the bar and sent stumbling through the neon maze of Coruscant’s streets until the rising sun inevitably forced the migraine from within his skull.

Though no soul who met him could ever even hope to deny that Jesse was a character, these descriptions and stories told fondly over the shoulders of comrades and acquaintances alike barely scratched the surface of the Jesse you knew.

You can see him now, slipping out of the bravado and bellowing laughter even as he throws it back alongside Fives on the dancefloor, a drink in his fist and a grin that doesn't quite light up his eyes the way it usually does. His gaze stumbles under the weight of the lights and music until it gives way to an expression that looks more detached than enraptured towards the music and movement enveloping him. Within another beat however, it has dragged its way over to you, and finally (and perhaps mercifully), Jesse appears to bloom more into himself the longer it rests on your seated form.

You throw him a pursed smile over your drink, knee bouncing underneath the table. Anticipation and concern peppers your nerves and drives the way your fingers twirl your straw between them. All around you, his brothers continue to laugh and joke between themselves, none the wiser to the energy crackling unspoken across the stretch between the booth and the dancefloor, simply grateful for the fresh taste of decompression bestowed upon their squadron by recently granted leave. Beside you, Kix’s elbow knocks into your side as he adjusts his posture to spread out into a more comfortable position. The medic is quick to apologise, but he needn’t have bothered; your attention is firmly glued elsewhere and as he follows your stare, he soon sees why.

You miss the way Kix smirks warmly into his pint as he turns to recount another tall tale to the troopers sharing the table, ensuring that he unravels the story in such a way that he sweeps up the remnants of their attention with a timed wave of his wrist and a comically timed jab at Hardcase’s expense.

It only takes a matter of minutes more until the other Jesse, your Jesse, steps out of his boisterous skin and slinks over to you.

The surface of his bare hand feels scorching hot as you rise to meet him halfway and grasp it with your own. Your palm is chilly from nursing your drink, the same one that now sat barely touched and long forgotten atop the crowded table. Jesse’s appears to radiate with the heat of a sun in comparison, clammy and blistering as it engulfs your own whilst its twin all but throws his half-empty glass of liquor onto a nearby waitress droid’s tray.

It teeters for a moment before tumbling over and sending a sticky cascade spilling over the side of the metal disk towards the floor below.

There's little time left to waste. You're not content to simply sit back and sweat out the minutes until you can have him completely alone this time, done with sitting back until the alcohol burns your throat and the flash of lights drowns out the grainy buzz in your temples.

Grabbing him more firmly by the hand now, you move to tug him past the straggling group of wide-eyed troopers that have congregated in the wake of Jesse’s stride. You’re not sure you can bring yourself to care anymore if they talk, not while your pulse is twisting louder in your ears with each brush of his thumb against your wrist.

The moment the chill of night time air hits his lungs, the hidden Jesse emerges completely, eyes honeyed but focused as the last few curls of boyish laughter die on his tongue. He shifts his grip to lace his fingers with your own as you weave between the lingering bodies outside. Most here pay little attention to the pair of you, too concerned with casting their own troubled gazes towards the city skyline as they smoke contraband cigarettes and turn over glass bottles between bruised knuckles.

You try to choke down the strange feeling rising in your throat at the sight, focusing instead on the warmth that continues to radiate from Jesse’s body as he trails down the street closely behind you. Despite the charged air that surrounds you both, it suddenly dawns on you that you’ve yet to actually speak a word to him since entering the bar, his late entrance alongside Fives meaning that you had already been swamped with the attention of familiar faces, all of whom were equally eager to unwind and catch up.

But now, as you sneak a sideways glance at him and catch just how tightly his blacks seem to cling to the defined muscles of his torso, you feel that if you were to open your mouth in anything more than a smile, you wouldn’t be able to trust what your brain would make you say, or do for that matter.

Your chest feels so tight with emotion that even breathing feels like a strained action. It had been a tough few weeks, and right now all you wanted, all you needed, was your Jesse all to yourself in the self-made sanctuary only privacy could help you build. A squeeze of your hand assures you that through his tipsy intrepidity, he most certainly feels the same way.

Jesse remains uncharacteristically silent as you hail down an air taxi, though you can clearly feel his eyes on your face in your peripheral vision as you lean forward to speak to the driver through her open window. You attempt to flash him a smile once you finish relaying the last of your directions, but it comes out more strained than you intend, even as you squeeze his hand back in reassurance. Tired is truly an understatement, and for a moment, it dawns on you that there’s a real possibility you might end up falling asleep mid journey.

That is, until you feel the wide, warm expanse of Jesse’s palm deliver a gentle pat to your backside. The action succeeds in ushering you into the back of the cab, and having you feel very suddenly awake again in one fluid motion.

You don't need to shoot him a raised eyebrow over your shoulder to know that he's smirking.

A sharp, very clearly fake cough from the front of the taxi cuts down the heat spreading downwards from your face before it can settle deeper. In the reflective surface of the rear view mirror, you catch the disgruntled glare of the now very unimpressed Twi’lek cabbie. The twitch of her pursed lips accompanied by the dull tap of her blunt, painted fingernails against a bright red sign that sits mounted on the dashboard.

Your stomach flips in embarrassment as you scan over the bold printed words that are listed upon it.

NO EATING/DRINKING

NO SMOKING

NO SASSING THE DRIVER

NO WANDERING HANDS

Where Jesse was smirking before, he now struggles to suppress on a snicker as he stretches to practically lounge across the backseat, clearly unbothered by the stink eye currently being thrown directly his way now by the woman in the driver’s seat - even daring to throw up his hands in mock-innocence in return. For a moment you’re concerned she might actually throw you both back out onto the curb, but instead, you’re just met with another exaggerated roll of her eyes before she throws the well-loved vehicle into reverse and takes off down the neon-painted highway.

With a ghost of a sigh, you lean back slightly into the worn leather seat as the streets of Coruscant rush past your window in a blur of colour and noise. Your gaze slips past the glass, to the apathetic, focused expression of your driver, and finally to your lover once more. Whilst dizzying to watch through the smeared windows, you find yourself helplessly bewitched with how the sharp glow of the city lights splash and dissipate almost rhythmically across Jesse’s face and body. Red, fuchsia and blue drip down his skin before disappearing into the void of his blacks each time you pass under a particularly bright stretch of neon-signage. Whilst beautiful, the glow also highlights just how deeply cut the bags under his eyes are now.

A not-so-subtle squeeze to your thigh unravels the grip twisting around your heart before it can truly poison your mood.

The tenderness in Jesse’s eyes cuts through the dark interior of the cab more brightly than any streetlamp could ever hope to, lips cocking into a half-smile as his attention shifts completely to you once more.

“You okay, mesh’la?” his voice is barely above a low purr as he finally speaks, but it vibrates down to your stomach as though he’d growled it in your ear, his thumb rubbing a mindless, but soothing pattern just above the joint of your knee all the while.

“Yeah... are you?” you shift slightly to face him better, the bottom half of your body twisting somewhat awkwardly against the grasp of the seatbelt clamped across your middle. You reach downwards to curl your own digits gently over his wrist, eyes momentarily darting back towards the driver’s mirror on instinct. There's a brief second where you’re certain you catch her tattooed brows furrowing further and those sharp eyes dart to catch yours in warning, but now at least, they remain focused on the busy road ahead, and you risk leaning over closer towards the trooper beside you. His smile gives way to a subtly weak grin in response.

“Just peachy.”

Half lies from both of you, but there's little time to dwell on them as the air taxi finally pulls into a stop outside your destination.

There's somewhat of an awkward pause as Jesse struggles to get the door open, the lock jamming with his first attempt and sending his shoulder barrelling against the window with an inelegant thump. You cringe a little at the sound, but the Twi’lek leaning over the shoulder of her seat seems unphased as she silently holds out her hand, stony face sporting the same cocked eyebrow and deadpan expression that you’ve become uncomfortably familiar with.

Your strained thank you is met with little more than a grunt of mild disapproval as she turns to fiddle with the radio embedded in her dashboard, effectively ending your transaction and ordering you from her car as she throws your handed credits into a worn-looking box perched on the passenger seat.

“Well she was cheerful.” Jesse’s voice is playful as he moves to grab your hand in earnest now as you approach the towering building in front of you. Despite the lightness of his tone and the way you exhale through your nose in mock-exasperation towards his joke, the air between you is more charged than ever now that you’re so close to finally being alone together for the first time in weeks.

Or was it months? Time had a funny way of twisting away from you as of late.

Nevertheless, all that stood in your way was a brief check in and elevator ride up towards the room you had hurriedly booked for the occasion.

The hotel itself was modest, sporting simple, clean architectural design and minimal decoration just short of clinical in nature. Not that you cared for the details, all that mattered to you was that it provided a temporary sanctuary for you and Jesse to retreat to for the night, far enough away from the pulsing heart of Coruscant that, for a short time at least, you could pretend there was no war, no constant presence of fear, pain and suffocating army regulations.

Just you and Jesse. Your Jesse.

His resolve winds and snaps the moment your feet cross the threshold of the elevator.

“Mesh’la,” his beloved nickname for you rolls off his tongue almost salaciously as he all but collapses against you, pinning you to the cold stretch of corridor with the press of his body. He groans it against your skin again as his lips meet with your pulse point, grinding against you with an overspill of passion that has you mewl and almost drop your keycard with the force of it. Through the building fog in your mind, you wonder if the fact he can finally announce his affections for you aloud and so openly here is what has finally pushed him over the edge.

Or perhaps it's the way you writhe and claw at him desperately in response, half of your mind seemingly determined to have him take you right here and now before you can even hope to complete the last few steps towards your awaiting hotel room.

“Jesse-” you’re not sure if the drawl of his name that slips from your tongue is meant to be in warning or wanting, but it's quickly swallowed up by the trooper as he finally kisses you.

Maker, does it feel good to taste him again. His unrelenting passion, his warmth, you can’t help but want it all, and he’s ever happy to give it to you - groaning into your open mouth, all teeth and tongue and heart as he hurriedly caresses your thighs, your hips, the back of your neck in turn - fingertips mapping out your body with an agonising familiarity that has your knees buckling and restraint crumbling even more.

Jesse practically growls as you break apart to gasp for air, though your panting does little to deter him from continuing his barrage of kisses, as he angles his head to trail them across your jaw and down the junction of your throat, mouthing his desire against the thrumming beat of your heart.

“Missed having you like this - in my arms - all to myself…”

Each part of his confession is broken apart by the scratch of his stubble and the nip of his teeth against your skin until he trails off into something intelligible - burying his face into the crook of your neck with a sigh that sings as much of exhaustion as it does longing.

It's the briefest moment of weakness amidst the suffocating heat of his passion towards you, but it's just enough to allow you to scrape back some semblance of clarity with a shuddering breath of your own.

Delicately, as though he was crafted from glass and not the corded muscle you knew to hide beneath his clothes, you run the fingers of your left hand down the length of his spine, relishing in the shudder that ripples through him in turn.

“Jesse,” your voice already sounds hoarse as you turn to place a kiss against his temple, “let’s get inside of our room and you can have all of me, all night.”

He almost wrestles the keycard from your hands at that.

---

The room itself is as modestly decorated as the rest of the hotel. A brief glance around tells you there’s a basic vanity, a desk, what appears to be the seam and switch of a built in wardrobe, and to the right of the doorway: the entrance to the refresher.

But what truly captures the attention of both of you is the king size bed in the very centre of the room, as well as the open stretch of Coruscant skyline that shines in through the expansive window to it’s left, dappling the navy-coloured sheets with milky diamonds of light.

Jesse grants you mere seconds to appreciate the view before he’s all over you once more.

You find yourself stumbling clumsily backwards against the newly closed door, attempting several times in vain to get the locking mechanism to work through Jesse’s onslaught of kisses. A gasp of what you’re not sure is relief or pleasure (or maybe both) leaves you when you hear it finally click into place just as his lips fasten themselves to suckle at a particularly sensitive spot just above your collarbone.

Each kiss unravels another layer of the Jesse you know and love, each desperate touch and whispered endearment only stoking the fire helping him flare to life in his full glory once more. It's intoxicating and overwhelming in the best way possible, and as he gifts you another taste of the sickly-sweet cocktail that still lingers on his tongue, you’re reminded of the very first time he’d kissed you:

It had been a night not too unlike this one, in which you had finally related to his begging for you to accompany him and the boys on a night on the town. He’d gathered you up in his arms the moment you’d finally relaxed enough to join him on the dancefloor of 79’s, and not long after, you’d backed each other into a corner of the dingy nightclub, with Jesse keening into your open mouth and rutting against you as though struck with the fear that he would never be given another chance to touch you, and the eager remorse of a man that wished he’d done this a long time ago.

Of course, the night had ended with you dragging the drunken tonne of him back to his bunk - though even through his stupor, he’d managed to drag you down after him before passing out at the snap of a finger, face buried securely in the crook of your shoulder the entire night.

And from that point, you couldn’t imagine a future without him at your side ever again.

Jesse’s passion for all he does burns hot, but it's in stolen moments like these, that his touch seems to burn hotter than anything else.

You feel it now as his hands begin to wander once again, tugging at your clothing and gripping at the skin beneath with such a need that it borders on bruising - though you struggle to shrug off how his fingers carry a gnawing tiredness beneath their eager twitching.

The revelation causes a different kind of pang in your stomach, but you force it down and away.

This man deserves to be spoiled.

Shoving half-heartedly at his broad chest, your command only wavers slightly with the struggle to catch your breath as your lips break apart with an audible pop.

“Strip.”

Your head feels light as you step backwards and straighten up your posture as best you can, dishevelled clothing and panting aside. You attempt to give him your sternest face as you issue the demand, but you’re certain you hardly look the part with what you know to be kiss-swollen lips and a chain of love bites adorning your neck.

Jesse hardly fares any better, face ruddy with a blush that creeps down past the high collar of his undershirt, and pupils blown so wide and glassy that they resemble the depths of space itself. His eyes had always stood out to you, even long before the two of you became an item. Though he and his brothers may share the same eye colour, the fire in Jesse’s was everything, it was something you never, ever wanted to see fade.

Those same eyes blink owlishly at you now as you stand firm in front of him, his hands still comically half-raised as though frozen mid-caress. It doesn't take longer than a second for him to whir back into action, however.

His movements are inelegant and rushed as he begins to tear away his shirt from his heaving chest. There's no overt striptease like he’s performed for you before, just pure, unfiltered desperation to feel your bare skin against his own. But even through the clumsiness, you catch the way the muscles in his arms and shoulders flex with thinly-veiled intention - a reminder to you of the strength he possesses - as well as just how easily the role of dominant could be flipped against you with his slightest change of whim.

The knowledge of this only excites you more.

You decide to follow his example and quickly shed your own garments until you’re both down to your underwear. The walls of the room are practically sweating with the desire that thrums between you now, and you both take a shared moment to admire the other in the dimmed glow of the lighting. Your mouth waters involuntarily as you sink into the sight of him, the reality of finally getting your lover alone and bare after so long settling warmly into your core, twisting delightfully tighter with each second that ticks by.

Jesse can’t help but glow with an obvious pride under your hungry gaze. A familiar smirk blooms across his face, spreading in a way that warms his expression further until the mirth crinkles at the very corners of his eyes. You can't help but smile right back despite the distraction of thrumming in your ears and the slickness that's gathering between your thighs.

It's a sensation that's only amplified when his eyes stop raking over your body to lock with your own, staring you down with an energy that's so charged that the breath skips in your throat.

“Shocked you speechless?” his voice sings with a smile as he taunts you, head tilted in a way that highlights the juncture of his throat.

You scoff in response, but step even closer all the same, noses practically touching now as your lips brush together.

“In your dreams, lover boy.”

He raises a thick brow at the cheesy nickname, but you note how his breath catches as you reach out to push lightly at his chest, palm spreading warmly across his pectoral.

“I dream about you a lot, actually,” Jesse’s long eyelashes tickle the apple of your cheekbones as he lightly presses his mouth against yours in a chaste kiss, “in fact, I had an especially lovely dream about you last night.”

Your stomach flutters a little more at the implication, but you press on, edging him gently further towards the bed until the back of his calves hit the edge.

“Yeah?” your fingernails claw down the ladder of his abs, marvelling in the way the muscles flex and tense with your caresses, “why don’t you tell me about it?”

You kiss him again, catching his bottom lip between your teeth with a tug that leaves him melting against you, the heat of his arousal peaking past the waistband of his underwear to graze your stomach as you press even closer.

“Well,” his voice is as strained as his breathing now, strong hands moving to stroke gently over your upper arms before his grip suddenly tightens, “I think it's better if I show you.”

The sound of surprise that leaves you as your back hits the mattress is more of a squeak. In the briefest of moments, Jesse has successfully managed to flip the situation to place himself in control once more. A heavy, yet careful weight pins you atop the silken blue sheets by your hips, a reignited, boyish gleam twinkling in his eyes as he grins up at you from the lower half of your body.

That cocky, gorgeous, bastard.

It's frustrating, but you can’t deny he looks good between your thighs.

“Ah, ah, ah~” he tuts at you, effectively cutting off any grumble of annoyance before it can leave your lips, “it isn't polite to cut someone off mid demonstration, mesh’la.”

Maker, give you strength.

His mouth and tongue are dangerously hot as he trails a haphazard stream of kisses over your hips, the sensation is at once too much and not quite enough, leaving you panting and bucking towards the smirking lot of him to no avail. When he begins to all but purr in contentment as he mouthes over your clothed sex, you have to quite literally bite back a scream of frustration.

“Jesse-”

“Shhhhhh…”

You let out a sob as your head falls back to hit the pillow, the hot rush of air against the dampness of your underwear too much to bear. Jesse chuckles in response, thoroughly enjoying inflicting such a sweet agony on you.

“Don't act so mad at me, cyar’ika,” Jesse pouts as he bats those dark lashes up at you, intent on sucking a bruise into your inner thigh as he does, “just tryin’ to appreciate how gorgeous you are.”

There's no sign of joviality in his confession this time, and your heart warms at the sincerity that glows in those heavy-lidded eyes of his.

A quick snap to the band of your underwear parts the lovesick fog accumulating in your head, forcing your attention back to the man currently toying with the elastic of your undergarments once more.

“Focus, mesh’la~,” his tone is purposefully playful, but his eyes dark with challenge as he flashes you another winning grin, “I need your full attention to tell this story, you want to hear how it ends, right?”

Another kiss, this time placed just against where you ache for him most, the fabric posing as the final barrier to your hard-won reward. Fuck, this man was going to kill you.

You’re torn between searching the fog of your brain for another retort, or giving in and letting him wreck you completely and honestly. Jesse doesn't seem too keen to grant you the time to weigh your options, fingers tapping impatiently against the curve of your hip with an inquisitive hum as you agonise over your choices.

The throb in your core wins out, and you relent, albeit a little bitterly,

“I want to know-” you cut off with strangled gasp as he lathes his tongue against the very inner pocket of your thigh, “please Jesse - fuck - please I want you, I need you.”

The man in question stares down at you with satisfied affection as you buck up to chase a phantom touch once again, groaning in annoyance when you find nothing but the weighted press of his forearms caging your thighs open to his mercy.

“...All right.”

A sigh of relief leaves you at that before you can reign it back, and he chuckles warmly at the sound, stroking tiny circles across your flesh.

“You’ll always have me, mesh’la,” the sincerity in Jesse’s tone makes your breath hitch further as he edges towards where the seam of your underwear meets your left hip, his hot breath causing yet another flurry of goosebumps to rise in its wake, “but let me show you how much it means to me to have you.”

Keeping his eyes locked onto yours, Jesse ducks to catch the side of your underwear in his teeth before dragging it slowly downwards. The material tickles slightly as it catches over your thighs, though it's a mere whisper of a sensation compared to the throb that hits you as your dripping core finally is bared to the chill of the air.

Jesse hums appreciatively at the sight of you spread out beneath him as he leans back to finish pulling away your underwear, haphazardly throwing away the offending garment to join the other scattering of clothing that now decorates the carpet. You bite your lip and raise your eyebrows in response, taking advantage of his momentary lapse in focus to nudge your knee against his hip.

“You too, mesh’la.” You roll the nickname over your tongue, delighting in how the blood rushes to his cheeks with a fervour at having his nickname for you thrown right back at himself.

He scoffs a little at your cheekiness, but indulges your command all the same, practically leaping from the edge of the bed to stand and unceremoniously yank down his boxer briefs. You attempt to hook your legs around his midsection as he rejoins you atop the bed, but he stops you with a slow shake of his head, caging your thighs open with his arms once more.

“So eager!” he sighs in mock-annoyance as you huff and roll your eyes beneath him, simply chuckling as you edge further into frantic desperation.

Little do you know it's taking every ounce of his own willpower to stop from delving into your cunt like it's his last meal.

Though the groan that leaves him as his eyes flicker down once more gives you an indication of how he's really feeling beneath the bravado. In that moment, the sight and sound of him has you feeling on top of the world despite being pinned from the hips down.

You’ve little time to bask in this feeling for long though, as in a moment, Jesse dives forward like a man starved. You throw your head back with a cry as the hot, wet push of his tongue hits the sensitive folds of your pussy, lapping open-mouthed kisses across the seam of your opening as his nose grazes your clit. Stars above, your head feels heavy as you buck shamelessly, chasing the heat of his mouth as he tilts his head to tongue-fuck you deeper, the burn of his flesh against yours as he holds you down the only thing truly grounding you at this point.

To his credit, Jesse takes your writhing in stride, accommodating the frantic movements of your hips with firm, but loving caresses as he places a particularly heavy kiss right against your clit that leaves you breathily calling out his name. He lets out a particularly needy groan at the sound, one that vibrates directly across your thrumming bundle of nerves and hits you like a shock of cold water to the face.

You shudder back to reality, head still spinning with the promise of a quickly approaching orgasm, but enough renewed sense to prop yourself up onto shaking elbows to take in the sight of him. Jesse looks just as wrecked as you feel, eyes closed as he revels in the taste and feel of you beneath his tongue and fingers. A single jewel of sweat beads down the prong of his tattoo that reaches his temple in what you're not sure is overexertion, or the strain of keeping his own pursuit of pleasure in check to focus on yours.

He’s all but thrusting desperately into the air as you reach forward to gently grasp his jaw with shaking digits.

“Jesse…” you trail off as you catch the way his chin glistens with what you’re not sure is saliva, your essence, or a lewd concoction of both, “let me make you feel good too.”

He’s slack jawed and glossy-eyed, but his body is oddly pliable as you tug him up towards your face for a sloppy kiss that leaves you both moaning and grasping for the other. You’re the one to break away first, shooting him a wobbly grin as you pant to regain your breath. His fingers find your face this time, cupping your cheek as he gazes at you with such wonder that it leaves you blushing once more. He remains speechless even as you break apart with a kiss to his open palm, positioning your body to crawl down his torso until you’re face-to-head with his arousal. Jesse seems to catch on quickly to your intentions, grasping hold of your hips to position your lower half over his face - even gracing your backside with a light slap that causes you to jolt in surprise. You attempt to flash him a glare, but the feeling of his broad palm soothing over the swell of your ass reduces you to hissing in pleasure instead, spine dipping before you can stop yourself from sinking lower towards his waiting lips.

Determined not to be so easily outdone, you move to flatten the length of your tongue against the head of his cock, delighting in the broken groan that shakes his chest as the taste of precum hits your taste buds. You let a moan of your own vibrate against the length of his cock as you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper into your mouth, the feeling of his hot, panting breath against your cunt spurring you on. Jesse indulges in the feeling of you for a few moments longer before delving right back into eating you out. You can feel his smirk at the squeak of surprise that leaves you as he roughly pulls you back down to sit on his face, tongue lashing skilfully against your clit in a way that forces you to pull him from your mouth with a gasp for air.

It all falls away from you quickly after that, even as you pump at the slick length of his cock and attempt to focus on the way he twitches against your lips. In mere moments, your vision is stolen from you in a sudden rush of pure pleasure that has you half aware that you’re screaming Jesse’s name towards the ceiling. The trooper continues to lavish attention on you through the waves of your orgasm, tongue firmly lathing against the most agonisingly sensitive part of you as he holds you against him with a determinedly steady hand.

He gently drags the grip of his right hand to pet your thigh as you come down in shuddering gasps, the white slowly ebbing from your vision with the effort of a few slow blinks.

“Welcome back.”

Even in such a compromising position as this, he still has the gall to run his mouth.

A calculated squeeze to the base of his cock has that taunt trail off into a hiss.

“You’re unbelievable.” Despite the impassive tone of voice you attempt to force out, you still curl into his touch as he slowly maneuvers your spent body to rest against the pillows once more.

“Yep, but you love it.” He winks as he shifts to support himself above you, those powerful forearms of his now caging your shoulders at each side as he places a chaste kiss against your clammy forehead. You can't help the laughter that spills from you as he moves to suddenly nuzzle into the crook of your neck, stubble tickling your already oversensitive nerves until you're pushing at his chest for him to release you.

“Because I love you, Jess.”

His expression melts at your confession, chest rising and falling in time with your own as he stares at you with such a tender longing that part of you almost feels like crying.

If you could block out the world and just stay like this with him, forever, then you would in a heartbeat. You'd tear down every star in the sky a million times over if it meant keeping him safe and loved.

If only you could.

“I love you, so much, cyare.” The sunny warmth of his grin spreads across the entirety of his face then. It's contagious, and instantly lifts you into giggling alongside him as he nuzzles the tip of his nose against your own.

“...Is this how things went in your dream?” Your heart turns to honey as you reach up to trace the lines of his tattoo where they drape over his cheek.

“This is even better.” He whispers the affirmation against your lips before stealing them in another deep kiss.

He grinds lazily against you as the kiss deepens, threading you ever closer together with a moan that has your hand frantically searching to loop your fingers through his own.

“Jesse,” your voice is strained with desire as the tip of his cock grazes against your entrance once again, “as wonderful as this is, I really want you inside me now.”

That pulls a genuine splutter of laughter from him, but he slips his free hand down to wrap one of your thighs around his waist all the same, shifting to his knees to brace himself against you whilst simultaneously keeping you pinned to the pillow with one hand gripping your own.

“Your wish is my command, my needy little love.”

Your breath leaves you with a sudden yelp as he finally snaps his hips forward and eases into you with a deep thrust, his public bone nestling against the swell of your clit as he buries himself to the hilt in your warmth. You catch his smile split even wider at your reaction before he begins to fuck you in earnest, never one to hold back for too long. The stretch of his cock has your eyes rolling and your free hand clawing at his shoulder for something to grip on to, but your body opens up to him effortlessly.

You’ve danced with him like this so many times now that being connected to him feels as natural as breathing, despite the rolling cries that drip from your parted lips. Jesse drinks them down greedily with a barrage of kisses and growled praise between each thrust.

“That's it baby - keep making those pretty sounds for me.”

He's making plenty of pretty noises of his own, each of them peppered with sigh-like breaths that catch in his throat every time his hips stutter with the threat of losing his last semblance of control.

Hot tears of pleasure begin to gather behind your lashes as you fight to keep your eyes trained on the sight of him pounding into you. Even with the way your mind spins with pleasure, and how the light spilling from the window appears to cling and dance across the deep bronze of his skin in an ever shifting pattern, the thick lines of his tattoo, and the burn of his eyes remain steadfast - streamlining your focus towards the feeling of him grinding upwards against the sweetest spot inside of you again and again until all you can do is babble his name incoherently.

The sight of you coming apart beneath him only pushes him further, though you’re so overwhelmed at this point that you fail to notice how his fingers release your own to dip down between your bodies until the rough pad of his thumb collides with your clit once more.

A second orgasm rips through you with little extra warning - the coil in your stomach snapping so violently that it robs you of any remaining coherency and has you tightening around Jesse’s cock with a silent scream. You hear and feel him hit his peak right behind your own as he tenses with a shout of your name, barely catching himself as he folds over you and buries his cock as deep as he can reach.

And then, warmth: one that spreads across your insides before spilling down the innermost part of your thighs and onto the sheets below.

For a moment, there is only heavy panting as you both struggle to come back down to the present. Jesse breaks whatever silence has crawled between you with a dry-throated chuckle. The hand that had been twisted in the bedsheets beside your head moments before now moves to stroke the back of your head with a clumsy kind of care only Jesse could deliver.

You're still stuffed full of him even as he lifts himself to avoid crushing you, his thumb dipping across the apples of your cheeks to wipe away the loose trails of tears that streak your skin. He clears his throat before speaking, voice tired, but clear enough to reach you.

“You okay?”

You nod in reply, limbs heavy as you raise your arms to loop around his neck and bring him close for a prolonged kiss.

“Need anything?”

You hum in acknowledgment of his concern, but only snuggle closer in response before whispering against the thump of his pulse.

“Only you.”

He chuckles at that before chastely kissing the top of your head and slowly lifting to withdraw from you. You both groan at the loss of contact, but Jesse’s quick to flop down beside you and gather your body up in his arms once more.

“I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me, cyar’ika.” He traces over the marks left on your skin with an air of sentimentality, dipping his head to kiss over the particularly dark ones left across your neck and collarbone. They're reminders you’ll grumble about when you’re back in the right frame of mind, but you’ll find yourself cherishing them all the same for as long as they decorate your skin.

“Forever then.” You mumble sleepily against the protection his body extends to you, thoroughly spent in every way.

“Forever it is.”

He’d already made that promise to himself long ago.

#jesse x reader #Jesse x you #arc trooper jesse x reader #clone wars reader insert #clone wars imagine #jesse #mine #cheeky

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

slow blink | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: He asked for the ring back and left you there. Had a wedding and invited all your friends, but not you, because you were his ex-fiancé. The only person who didn’t attend was Min Yoongi. Years passed. Time kept going, but you and Yoongi were stuck in time.

warnings: angst; language; non-idol!AU

–

"I hate this.”

You pushed the small carved wooden turtle across the coffee table with tiny jerks of your index finger, sighing.

"I hate that I keep thinking about him."

You placed your fingertip on the turtle's shell.

"I hate that it's been years and I'm still sitting here thinking about how he sat me down at that restaurant and told me to give back the engagement ring because he had met someone else."

You flipped the turtle over unceremoniously. Unlike a real turtle, this one did not complain.

You closed your eyes.

"I can still see him smiling at me."

"Breakups happen every day."

You didn't open your eyes. The voice was speaking to you, but your mind was imagining a different time, a different place, when life was different, but now the man you once loved was probably celebrating holidays with his wife and kids, holding her hand, not yours, not yours, but at one time he did.

He did.

Did.

"Did you come over to sulk?"

"I fixed your sink."

"Thanks."

You opened your eyes to see Min Yoongi sitting on his sofa, wearing a blue and white button-up shirt and white t-shirt under it. Blue jeans with paint stains and rips, probably not all done by a factory. You reached over and re-flipped the turtle so it was on its legs again.

"Where'd you get the turtle?"

Yoongi shrugged, black hair sliding over his brown, cat-like eyes. "Friend brought back a souvenir when he went somewhere. I don't really remember where." He had a calm, unassuming voice.

You exhaled and stood up from his coffee table. "Alright, I'll begone now."

You began to turn, but Yoongi spoke again.

"You know, he was my friend too," Yoongi said, almost dismissively. "I thought it was so stupid, the way he did it. He should have known it would scar you like this."

You didn't move, frozen in time. It was part of the reason you were still friends with Yoongi. Everyone said they wouldn't choose sides, but, ultimately, they did, attending his wedding that you weren't invited to, every one of them but Yoongi. Everyone had worn pretty dresses and nice suits, everyone but Yoongi, saying he needed to finish a production and couldn't make it. The deadline was too important for his career.

"I'm not scarred."

"You started harassing my wooden turtle after fixing my fucking sink. That's not normal behavior."

You wanted a drink. Wanted to drown everything out once more, but you told yourself no more, no more drunken nights alone crying over nothing, because it was nothing, it really was, it was just some guy who didn't deserve you because he thought you were expendable and nobody wants that, right?

Crying on the phone, calling up Yoongi at two in the morning, asking what was wrong with you, asking why you couldn't get better, asking why you couldn't let it go.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he had said calmly, clicking away at his computer as he spoke. "It's how life is. You think it should be easy, but that's not how human brains work."

"I want it to be over," you had mumbled. "Want myself to be over."

The clicking at his computer stopped. Silence.

"My sink is broken. Can you come over this weekend and fix it?"

"... Y-Yeah."

No matter how many times you told yourself no more, old habits die hard.

You weren't even a plumber. Yoongi just didn't want to fix his own sink. He kept thinking he could shove random things in his garbage disposal to make them disappear from existence.

"Yoongi."

"Hm?" he replied, standing up.

You turned to look at him. "Why was your disposal stuffed with lemons?"

Yoongi shrugged. "I thought it would smell better."

His sink wasn't even broken. If he had pressed the button longer, he would have ground them, even if they were whole lemons. You had automatically unscrewed the garbage disposal because that was usually his problem. He usually made a face, disgusted. What a damn prince. You kept scolding him that he should watch you carefully and learn to fix it himself.

You looked into his eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking back at you. Blinking slowly, covering his dark brown eyes for almost a full second, his lashes brushing his cheeks, framed by dark brows and dark circles from long nights, working on music, so many long nights of him listening to your drunken rambles, and sometimes you would be so drunk that you wouldn't remember, but you would see your phone history and the two-hour long call to Min Yoongi.

"I'm sorry."

He raised his brows and tilted his head. "Hm?"

"I won't call you late and drunk anymore."

He shrugged his shoulders. "It's fine. I'm usually awake anyway."

You laughed and nothing was funny. "I mean I won't bother you anymore. Your future girlfriend probably wouldn't like me calling all the time."

Yoongi didn't say anything for five seconds. A long pause.

"Have I had a girlfriend the entire time you've known me?" Yoongi asked plainly.

You blinked, slow, looking into those cat-like eyes once more. An almost blank face. No. Yoongi had never had a girlfriend the entire time you had known him. Working on music. Always shrugging when asked what his type was. Doesn't really matter, does it? If I find someone I click with, that's enough for me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, opening it and turning it to you.

A picture where the ID card should be.

A picture you knew.

You, with your hands on your smiling lips, almost crying, staring down at what you knew was a ring and a man on one knee, sparkling eyes full of joy. It was cropped so it was only your face and your shoulders, the top of the white dress visible, a peter-pan collar with puff sleeves. You remembered that dress. You remembered thinking you would keep that dress forever.

You remembered donating it after he asked you to give the ring back.

Yoongi snapped his wallet closed.

"I'm not going to have a girlfriend until you no longer want to know me."

He placed his wallet back in his pocket.

"That... that photo is terrible." You were surprised to find your words small, weak.

Yoongi shrugged. "It was the happiest moment in your life, right? I like it."

You shifted your eyes, not quite looking at him. "I have tons of photos on social media of me smiling."

Out of your peripheral vison, Yoongi nodded, tucking his tongue in his cheek. "Mhm, tons of posed pictures of fake smiles and pretending you've moved on."

He wasn't wrong. You took a deep breath.

"What... What am I supposed to do?" you said quietly, voice nearly breaking.

"Stop thinking that you have to get over it."

Your eyes went up, up, to his. Slow blink, impassioned expression.

"Everyone thinks pain goes away," Yoongi muttered. "It doesn't. You just get used to it."

You tore yourself up with the what-ifs, the how-comes, the does--he-regret-anythings, thinking it would help to map out all the possibilities, thinking it would help if you pretended it didn't exist, thinking it would help if you wallowed in it, thinking it would help, and cursing it all, digging up your old wounds and cutting them deeper, instead of leaving it there and accepting that they existed and that they would be there forever, forever and ever, because he was your first love, the first one who smiled at you and made you smile hopelessly back, the first one that made you want to hold hands and do cheesy shit, and you kept thinking you wanted that back, instead of understanding that everything after would be different, would be something else.

Something like...

Dumping five shredded lemons into Min Yoongi's trash can and shaking your head at his foolishness.

And he had your picture in his wallet and said nothing until now, said nothing at all until you said you wanted yourself to be over and then he asked you to fix his sink and shoved it full of lemons and showed you your picture in his wallet, not saying anything else, not trying to change your mind, only telling you that he was waiting.

Waiting all this time.

Yoongi's hands were still in his pockets, his face expressionless, but he was watching you carefully, blinking slowly, not saying anything more.

Just waiting.

Waiting for you to say something.

You stepped up to him, closing the distance. Looking up at him, tilting your head, leaning in.

He placed his fingertips on your lips.

"Life isn't like the movies," Yoongi said quietly.

You backed up, but his fingers stayed on your lips. Cat-like eyes no longer expressionless, but sad.

Because he knew.

"In life, there is no happy ending."

Just because you knew about your picture in his wallet didn’t mean that you were suddenly cured. It didn’t mean that you were over your first love, it didn’t mean you were ready, and it did mean that if you kissed him right here, right now, you would hurt him. Hurt him because all your brain could think about was a memory from long ago when time was different and you were stuck in that time, trapped, rewinding from the moment that you sat down at that restaurant and handed over your previous engagement ring.

And you could have said so many things, but nothing was right. Nothing.

You pressed your lips to his fingertips, vision blurring.

Saying nothing, but a slow blink.

Yoongi slow-blinked back at you.

"You're in love with her because it's easier than falling in love with someone who will actually love you back."

Min Yoongi didn't say anything.

"This way you can have an excuse to feel like you're in love without the actual effort. Tell me I'm wrong."

Yoongi didn't say anything.

He just stood up and left.

"You're in love with the idea of him. The way he was then. The memory, not him now."

You didn't say anything.

"That's why you keep yourself from accepting anyone else. You've made a grandiose fantasy in your head. No one can measure up. Not even if he came back to you and proposed again. You're stuck in that time."

You couldn't say anything.

You just stood up and left.

“What would you like, miss?”

This was it. This was the exact table. The moment your life stopped. You looked up, but not at the waitress. You looked up at the seat that he occupied, the memory of a man who sat there long ago and asked you to give the engagement ring back because he was in love with someone else.

“Is it… Is it alright if I order a slice of your famous chocolate cake?”

“Just that?” The waitress sounded surprised.

You turned to face her. She wasn’t the waitress who served you that day. Of course, she wasn’t. The uniforms had changed too, black and white now instead of navy and white. You smiled at her, but you didn’t feel the smile in your soul. She blinked at you rapidly with her pen poised over her notepad.

“And a glass of champagne, please.”

She smiled back. “Oh? Celebrating something?”

You looked away, at the empty space in front of you. She looked too, as if there was someone there.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“… No. It’s just me. I just wanted some champagne to go with my cake, if that’s possible.”

“Yes, of course.”

Soon enough the slice of cake was placed in front of you with the flute of bubbly champagne. There was a truffle on top of the cake with gold flakes. Even now, you remembered the taste of this cake. It had been delicious on that day. Maybe the best chocolate cake you had ever tasted, just the right balance of sweet and bitter.

It was during dessert when he told you.

How cruel it was, after an entire meal. Even though he clearly must have not been in love with you during that whole meal, you still thought he was. In fact, you still believed that he was. In your eyes, all the way until that point, you were the only one.

You lifted the dessert fork. Cut into the cake, a small bite.

You remembered that you had been so shocked that you didn’t even cry. You had gone numb, handing over the ring, not understanding, but your mouth was saying that you did. Watched him stand up and leave, telling you he would pay the bill and you could finish your cake. Leaving you there, alone.

You lifted the fork. Placed it in your mouth. The flavor, sweet and bitter.

It tasted more bitter than you remembered.

You had never come back to this restaurant all this time. It was like you were in the memory once more. Listening to him say I’m sorry and not comprehending what was happening. You didn’t even ask what you did wrong. Handing over the ring, and you didn’t even remember what the ring looked like anymore, not really, some shiny gem on some glided band. You stared at the empty space in front of you.

Your face felt warm. Your vision blurred. You blinked, slowly. You looked down and you saw round drops of condensation all over the chocolate truffle and cake slice, dotting the plate. No. Not condensation.

You touched your face.

The space in front of you, empty.

Pulled your hand back. Fingers smeared with streams of glistening droplets.

And then suddenly the sound of the resultant rushed back, previously muted by your reminiscing, and now it came crashing down and you could finally hear your own hiccupping and sniffling, shivers shaking your whole body, crowded by glasses clinking, plates shuffling, loud conversation, and jovial laughing.

You closed your eyes and buried your face in your hands.

And cried.

Finally cried for that girl all those years ago, sitting in this seat, frozen after his declaration, at some point getting up and wandering outside, not realizing that just like that meant you were alone now. Now you could go anywhere, anywhere but home, because home stood up and walked away from you, taking the ring and the symbol of your happily ever after.

There was so much noise that it drowned out your sobbing, hidden behind your hoodie sleeves. You didn’t know how long you cried, but it was a long time, so long that when you finally looked up, still hiccupping and shivering, your champagne wasn’t bubbling anymore. Your eyes and cheeks burned from the tears.

There was a small stack of napkins by your plate. That wasn’t there before.

You reached out and took one, wiping your face. It took maybe three napkins for you to fully blow out your nose and, even then, your head felt stuffy and clogged. You picked up your fork. Ate slowly, in small bites, sniffing the entire time. Took small sips of champagne in between. The space in front of you, empty.

You tilted your head.

You used to imagine him so clearly, sitting there. You used to remember exactly wheat he’d worn, but… what had he worn? You couldn’t remember. What had you worn? You used to know that too.

You speared the gold-flecked truffle with your fork.

Stared at the gold glimmering in the dim mood lighting of the restaurant. It was a yellow gold, shiny and luxe. Your chest felt tight. You turned it slowly on the fork. The gold glimmered, looking bright yellow in some parts. A little shredded because of the nature of edible gold leaf.

Reminding you of lemons for some reason.

In life, there is no happy ending.

You looked up, seeing that blank space.

“Why are you banging at my door at two in the morning holding a paper bag full of lemons?”

Your whole body felt hot from running. You stared at Min Yoongi, slowly blinking. He was still wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt, so he hadn’t been sleeping. Working on music? His voice was calm and unassuming, even if his actual words had some bite to them.

“Yoongi.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Hm?”

“You said in life there’s no happy ending.”

Those cat-like eyes watching you carefully.

“My happy ending stood up and walked away from me,” you said, chest constricting. “And I don’t think I’m ever going to get it back or if I even want it back, because I don’t know if it’s even real.”

Yoongi lowered his gaze. He took a deep breath. You lifted the paper bag of lemons. Held it out to him. They jostled, rustling the brown paper loudly. Yoongi jerked back a little, eyes widening.

“Take them. Because last time they got mangled by your disposal.”

Those dark brown orbs looked almost scared.

“Because they fell in there, right?”

His lips parted. You noticed they were over-bitten, dry and with small flecks of blood.

“Falling in there would take some effort, wouldn’t it?” Yoongi whispered, looking at you guiltily.

You moved your hand and suddenly the bag split, the bottom flopping open, dropping the bushel of lemons to create a plummeting waterfall of yellow fruit, hitting the floor of Yoongi’s apartment and the porch, rolling in every direction. It was almost comical, but neither of you seemed to notice or care about the lemons.

Because it was never about the lemons.

“I… am really bad at putting effort in anything that isn’t music,” Yoongi said softly.

“I… have a really good memory,” you said softly. “Too good, I think.”

One of the lemons rolled by your feet. A small bump.

You swallowed. You dropped the paper bag onto the ground.

Lifted your hand. Placed your fingertips on his lips. Those dark brown eyes had watched you all these years. Seen your frozen state occupying space, autopiloting through life. You closed your eyes. Digging for the memory of the happiest moment of your life. Once, it was a park, a man on one knee, and a ring glimmering before you.

But now, there was only aching blackness.

You opened your eyes.

Yoongi smiled behind your fingertips, small and sad. You couldn’t see the smile because it was hidden behind your hand, but you could feel it. He pressed his lips against the pads of your fingers.

He didn’t say anything.

Only gave you a slow blink.

masterpost

inspired by right where you left me by taylor swift the slow-blink is how cats communicate affection/love yes, the lemon scene at the end is inspired by RM’s bag of lemons splitting and falling anywhere in that one commercial, lmao

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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crescentsteel · 4 years ago

Text

Keeping a Secret - Prologue

plot: ehehe lemme leave this blank for now as this is only a prologue genre: fluff, crack, slow burn, eventual smut, sexual tension, angst at some point wc: 2.7k

[a/n]

I am reeling just from finishing this one because Tsukki is my boy (Kuroo ily too i swear)

Who writes 2.7k words of prologue? lol me

I’ll set up the masterlist when I’m done with the 1st Chapter.

Thank you so much @oii-sugasan and @haikyuu-is-for-lovers for the betaread! :)

Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Chapter 1 || masterlist

You aren’t just annoying. You’re a fucking menace. Every time he goes to the gym, your presence is like a plague. You're just a manager, but sometimes he thinks that you think you’re the assistant coach. There’s nothing he’d love more than to shower you with the nastiest, most off-handed comments, just to shut you up and wipe the cheery grin that taunts him every time he sees you.

Seriously, you’re all over the place -- you talk to all members of the team as if you’re a player yourself, you nag everyone to take care of themselves outside training like you’re their older sister, you hand out self-gathered information on upcoming matches as soon as matchups are announced, you scamper around the gym tossing balls, assembling the net, doing whatever the hell you can get your hands on, all the while wearing those stupid shorts that distract the majority of the team, especially the new members.

As his eyes follow you, you suddenly turn around to face him, breaking him from his reverie. Even when you’re halfway across the gymnasium, he can see the sharp playfulness that you always exude whenever you talk to him.

“Tsukishima!” You wave at him with that disgustingly sweet grin. “If you’re done staring at my sexy back, you can start your blocking drills, okay?!” you shout with a voice loud enough for everyone else in the gym to hear. Tsukishima feels multiple sets of eyes glance towards his direction and he ‘tsks’ in annoyance under his breath.

He immediately walks away. He refuses to hear more of the unnecessary and untrue prattles directed at him by you.

He hears footsteps follow him. Judging from its pace and heavy strides, he already knows its Kogane without even looking

“Oi, Tsukki. Do you like our manager?”

He doesn’t understand why Kogane is whispering when you’re half a court away from them. More than that, he doesn’t understand why Kogane assumes he likes you. For one, you were wrong: he wasn’t even staring at you. He was staring randomly at nothing while thinking about how irritating you are and you just happened to be at his line of sight.

“I don’t see anything to like about her,” he replies passively.

“What? Why? She’s super helpful -- and pretty too.” Kogane, just like the rest of the team, believes so. Even Kyoutani is fond of you because of that one time you received his spike on full force. You rolled on your back from the sheer power of it but you were able to receive it perfectly, making the whole team go wild when you did, with him as the only exception as he found it inane.

“If you think so, go confess or something then.”

“You know we can’t!” Pink stains begin to surface on his teammate’s cheeks, obviously infatuated with you. Then again, this is not new to him. It was a basic reaction from anyone whose dick is more functional than their brain. Maybe it’s because you’re the only female so close to everyone else. Honestly, he really doesn’t know. But one thing’s for sure. Kogane has 0 chances with you, and neither does every player of Sendai Frogs.

He remembers the conceitedness you displayed even in your first year as a manager. You two became part of the team almost at the same time. He was two months in when the former manager introduced you to the team. As she finished introducing you, you whispered to her to add something. It went something like ‘oh, umm. y/n-chan also said that no one from the team can’t date her.’ Even the former manager looked at you weirdly but you were just there beaming as you bowed to everybody.

They thought it was a joke, but when you became a full-pledged manager in less than six months, you announced it yourself.

‘I know I’m kind of cute, but I won’t ever consider dating anyone from the team. Okay?’

You announce it with a sickening smile every time there are new members, reminding everyone else that you’re untouchable.

It’s fucking atrocious, to him at least. Unlike the other players from his team, he’s not shallow enough to fancy you just because you’re not disgusting to look at, or that you did your managerial duties so exceedingly well.

He grits his teeth. He hates it. How can someone so chaotic as you be so effective in managing the team. What grinds him even more is that you go to the same university he does, and even there, your presence stinks. He once had a class with you only to find out that you’re not as dumb as you make yourself out to be.

It’s infuriating. He can’t wait for the day you mess up -- only then would he finally get the chance to diss you. He’ll turn that shit-eating smile of yours upside down.

Man, nothing boosts your mood better than bugging Tsukishima. When you felt his sinister stare boring at your back earlier, you just couldn’t waste the opportunity to say something about it. He just ignored you, but the scowl on his face was enough response to satisfy you.

The truth is, you have nothing against Tsukishima. Yeah, he has a sharp tongue and a vile attitude, but hey, he’s a good team player. He doesn’t speak much, but he gets shit done in matches. Despite his foul personality, he’s actually manageable: he listens to you and he rarely shows up late. He’s not particularly motivating to look at, but he still does what’s asked of him. For some reason that you don’t know, he still hasn’t spat out his usual, rancid remarks towards you. You know he’s itching to, and honestly, you’re kind of curious of what he’ll throw your way.

Still, for the last three years he kept his mouth shut even though he looks at you like you’re the most unpleasant being he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Y/n!”

You jog towards the team coach, Coach Mira. “Yes, Coach?”

“Do you like Tsukishima?” she asks curiously. The question is funny to you but you hold back the laughter and smile instead.

You like Coach Mira a lot. She’s more like an older sister than a coach to you. You’re free to share a few laughs with her, and she values your input to the team. Maybe it’s because you’re both women drowned in a sea of male athletes that you sort of have that innate connection.

“No, Coach. Why?”

“Cause you pay attention to him the most.”

“I don’t see what’s to like about him,” you veer your gaze towards his direction, watching his scowling face as he walks away, Koganegawa following closely behind him. You can’t hear them, but the sight is already amusing as it is. “I just like putting him in place whenever he’s being extra nasty,” you add.

“If you say so, y/n. Honestly, I don’t really care if you go out with one of them.”

You wave your hand back and forth like you’re swatting a fly. “No way, Coach. They’re like little boys I’m taking care of.”

She sweeps her gaze behind you, scanning all the players present in the court. “Can’t say they feel the same way though.” Then she looks at the same person you’re looking at. “Well, maybe except for Tsukishima.”

“That’s why I like messing around with him the most,” you admit with mirth as you watch Tsukishima get away from Kogane.

Everyone in the gymnasium is staring as they enter the arena. If there’s one thing opposing teams remember about the Sendai Frogs, it’s their female tandem of a stone-cold coach and a ‘hot,’ bubbly manager who walk side by side in front of the whole team, not the players.

It’s not really an issue for Tsukishima. He doesn’t really care. Shimizu had the same reputation back in high school. But you? You’re not Shimizu. You aren’t even close.

And you, being the chaotic mess that you are, you milked the attention. Whenever someone blatantly gapes at you, you’d wave at them. You’d even entertain those who openly flirted with you. In retrospect, he should find it despicable. Rather finds it entertaining. So does the rest of the team.

When the Sendai Frogs reach their spot, a guy wearing a Tamaden Elephants jersey approaches you shamelessly. A brave (maybe a little bit foolish) act, considering you’re with the whole team.

“Hi!”

You turn around and greet him just as enthusiastically, maybe even more.

“I just want to say, great game from last season, he says as he scratches the back of his head.

Liar.

If the guy really wants to acknowledge the team’s play from last season, he’d approach one of the players. He also wouldn’t have that stupid blush on his awe-struck face.

“Thank you! Great game indeed,” you return the compliment.

As soon as the guy starts fidgeting, Tsukishima can already guess what comes next: it’s either a date or your number.

“If you don’t mind, can I get your number?”

Tsukishima sneers at how predictable the scene is, and he can’t wait to see what comes next.

You beam at the guy. “Sure! It’s number 1.”

He still smiles even though he’s obviously dumb-founded. “Sorry, what?”

“My number, right? It’s 1. Cause we’re number 1 in the district,” You say with that fake innocence that isn’t really fooling anyone.

“...Uhh.”

“Go Sendai Frogs!” You cheer out of the blue and as if an automated response, the rest of the team, even Tsukishima (though lifelessly), answers.

“Sendai Frogs fight!”

The loud baritone of deep male voices drew the attention of other people in the area, brightening your face up even more as you focus on the guy in front of you again. He looks scandalized by what just happened.

“How about you? What’s your number?” you ask, pushing the guy to a mental corner as Tsukishima and his team glares at him while waiting for how he’ll answer. An embarrassed blush replaces the previously infatuated one as he realizes that he shouldn’t have made the mistake of hitting on you.

“I-I’m not really sure,” his voice loses any shred of confidence it once had.

“Oh. That’s too bad,” you feign sympathy.

“Yeah.” The guy looks down. “Guess I’ll see you around,” he adds before retreating defeatedly.

“Bye! Nice to meet you,” you wave cordially. ‘Whoever you are, newbie elephant,’ you say to yourself as you watch the unfamiliar member of the Elephants go back to his team, a team you wiped the floor with last season.

Until now, you don’t understand why people still even bother. You welcomed the flirtations, but never really went out with anybody. You’re not really opposed to getting in a relationship, but like -- Gooood! They’re all so uninteresting. Rejecting them is more fun than the mere prospect of dating them.

You feel a familiar touch on your shoulder.

“Good job boosting the team morale,” Coach Mari says in a volume that only you can hear as she pats you.

“Thanks, Coach!” You grin at her praise.

You turn around to check your players and your eyes instantly land on Tsukishima who had just put on his white headphones and began scrolling at his phone. Around him, everyone else has already started stretching.

You bounce your way to him, knowing that you’d instantly get his attention even without saying anything. But even with you ogling when you stopped in front of him, he still doesn’t budge.

“Tsukishima.”

No response.

‘Heh,’ you snicker internally. He never fails to amuse you when he tries to ignore you.

“Tsu~ ki~ shi~ ma~” You bob your head sideways, popping at the opposing sides of his phone so he’ll notice you.

You don’t miss the minute twitch of his eyes as he drags his phone closer to him in an attempt to shut you out.

Tsk tsk. He should know better by now that you're not the type to back away.

You go beside him instead, tiptoeing so you can see what he’s so busy looking at. As soon as your arms touch his, he puts down his phone and irritatedly removes his headphones.

He’s shooting daggers at you, making you giddy with excitement as he looks like he’s about to say something you. You hold his gaze with a raised eyebrow and subtle smirk that you couldn’t suppress. Did he get fed up already? Is he finally going to say something?

‘Do it. Do it. Do it,’ you chant in your head.

He takes in a painful deep breath instead. “What?” The single word contains so much disdain that you want to cackle so bad.

“Shouldn’t you be stretching?” you query.

“In a bit.”

You leisurely shake your head with disapproval. “I know you’re a lazy ass fucker sometimes,” you begin. “But you always help us win. You’re our meanest, tallest, best blocker.” Your gaze drops down to his ankles and travels up.

“So,” you continue, dropping your voice amusedly, “stretch those gorgeous, God-given, legs you have.” Your eyes linger on his thighs before landing up to his face to smile sweetly at him. “Will you?”

This is one of the moments you’re pretty sure he won’t dare talk back at you. Why? Because you’re one hundred percent right, and he knows that too.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it.

He glares at you for one second and walks towards the rest of the team to join them.

Playing at the professional level, he always considers one match to be a big win already, even if it’s just the first match of the regular rounds. Ever since he became a starter for Sendai Frogs, he was not allowed to slack off even for one rally. He could take the lecture if it’s from Coach, but he couldn’t stomach it if it’s from you.

Even before the match started, you were already on his grill, pestering him just because he wasn’t warming up yet. He was pissed the whole game and put extra effort than usual to make sure that you won’t have anything to say after.

“Um, excuse me.” A girl from Red Rabbits blocks him on his way to the restroom. “Tsukishima, right?”

He can tell that she is trying her best to look nonchalant, but the familiar tint on her face is telling.

Tsukishima had never understood girls who approach him for anything remotely romantic. Does he look like he’s interested? It’s not that he’s not open to the idea of dating, but he finds it unpleasant when people go after him because they like how he plays. Worse, for some obtuse reason like him being ‘cute.’

“Yes. Why?”

She smiles at him bashfully with her arms crossed behind her. “I’m also a middle blocker. I was really inspired with how you read block so well. If it’s okay with you, can you teach me how you do it?”

Why would he do that? He’s already a senior college student who’s also a professional athlete. He has no reason to go out of his way to teach someone read blocking. Especially someone who’s already supposed to know it since (as she claims) she’s also a middle blocker. Judging from where they currently are, someone from Division 1 no less.

“Sorry. I’m really busy,” he says bluntly.

“Oh, okay. Sorry for bothering you.” She bows then takes off immediately.

He watches as the girl from Red Rabbits scampers off as quickly as humanly possible. Did she really think he’d agree to it?

He is too occupied to notice the faint sound of footsteps behind him, and only when you speak does he notice your presence.

“Aww, poor girl going out of her way to ask you out.”

He groans. Why are you even here? You’re supposed to be checking on the team since their match just ended.

You fall into step beside him as he brushes your comment off and continues heading for the rest rooms.

“I didn’t ask her to,” he calmly responds despite your irksome presence.

“How are you going to get a girlfriend like that?” you ask exaggeratedly as if not getting in a relationship will lead to his ruin.

“I don’t need one.”

You gasp. “Damn, Tsukishima. Men your age are all about raging hormones. Where do you put all that raging testosterone?”

He purses his lips in a corner, his jaw tensing at your remark. Men his age? You talk as if you’re older when you’re in the same year he is.

Also, what the fuck?

Now you’re nagging about his personal life too? You’re already aggravating as the team manager. Now you’re even sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.

His blatant irritation must have shown in his face because you suddenly let out a giggle. “My bad, my bad. Don’t look so scary. Geez. Where you get action is none of my business. I just followed you to let you know that we’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

You turn around, about to go back but stop before you make the first step. “Oh, and we have a meeting later. I did the stat sheets of the game and gave it to the coach already. Great blocking, Tsukishima!” You pat his shoulder twice with a proud smile, then saunter off back to the arena.

Damn it. If only you aren’t so good at being a manager, he would actually be able to dislike you to the fullest. Not only that, he wouldn’t feel that silly, tiny contentment he felt upon hearing you.

Chapter 1 || masterlist

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