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aitarose · 4 years ago

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OUR LAST SUMMER (A.MIYA) —❥ pairing: miya atsumu x fem!reader

synopsis: one summer was all the time you had together—all the time you had to bask in the sun-kissed rays and sand-filled beaches, share soft butterfly kisses and feel the comfort of being wrapped in his arms—until his boat sailed off into the sea, forever.

word count: 3.0k

genre: mamma mia inspired, summer fling, somewhat stuck together, angst, fluff, casual/formal writing, second person

warnings: commitment issues, mentions of suggestive content, minor cursing, heartbreak?

notes: this was an impulse blurb because i haven’t posted any actual fics in nearly a month so here you go lol asdfjl IT’S A LITTLE ROUGH BUT I HOPE IT’S LEGIBLE LMAO AND ITS SHORT AS HELL SORRY JALSD MY BRAIN D!ED

—❥ DIRECTORY

You remembered the first time you’d seen him.

He was a stranger, a man that you’d never once met before—standing smack-dab in the middle of your dock, the place you’d always come to clear your thoughts after hours upon hours of work, though you didn’t technically own it. It was just tradition, an accustom that you’d grown so used to that it seemed like everyone’s daily—well, everyone but his.

There were few people you didn’t know on the island, having been a member of the local family business of hotels and inns. Your little paradise, the chains of suites and saunas that you liked to think were a hidden wonder of the world—hidden to only you and the reoccurring tourists that would stay on your infamous Greek Elysium.

The usual familiarity was scarce at the sight of his bright blonde hair and sun-kissed skin, light freckles peppered across the swells of his cheeks—no doubt caused by countless hours at sea as he stood beside a large sailboat. He appeared to be a free spirit, much different to all of the others that would find stay on the shores.

It was a common getaway, an escape from the reality of life and the troubles that came with emotional attachments and labor. Every personality was alike, each one masking the pain of all that tied them down—wishing that they’d ever have to board that boat back to the mainland, and just stay in a world without worries and never-ending surf.

But the way he was standing with his body language in reaction to the sea, made you think that perhaps he wasn’t like all of the other’s who came and went. That perhaps he was a free spirit entirely on his own, one that didn’t force the necessities of comfort and relaxation on his mind—it just came naturally.

“You lost?” Your voice called out, the sound ringing with the wind chimes against his sails—diverting his attention from the white peaked waves to your melodious sound. He gave you his full attention, immediately focusing on your approaching frame—a look of relief arising on his face.

He reached behind his neck, scratching the roots of his hair whilst a sheepish smile gleamed in the light. “Thank god, you found me!” He chuckled, the browns in his eyes sparkled with golds and copper, complimenting his overall look perfectly—in all honesty, you didn’t think you’d ever seen such a handsome man. “I docked around a half-an-hour ago, just didn’t know where I was supposed to head next.”

“Would a beautiful girl like yourself happen to have the time to help a poor sailor out?”

Shaking your head, you grinned, scoffing slightly at the obvious flirtation, before walking towards him. Your feet moved in small steps, thoughts dancing around the idea of a summer fling—after all, it wouldn’t be the first time something like this had happened. You, an eccentric woman, one with the island, always seeming to attract men of all natures with not a care in the world.

Maybe he would be your new conquest, your newest mark in the endless journey of love that you never wanted to conclude. Another man who’s mood would turn from complete adoration to disgust when you’d reject his love and send him off to sea—never to be met again. Simply a memory you’d look back on when your past ran wild and smile in nostalgia.

You plopped down on the end of the dock, head thrown back as your feet touched the water—a refreshing feeling taking over your entire body. The man watched in amusement at your obvious compatibility with the ocean currents and approached you as you patted the place beside you—an open seat reserved for him.

“So, sailor.” You mocked, swinging your jaw to face him with a sing-song tone. “Tell, me. What brings you to my island?”

He raised his eyebrows, creases appearing near his forehead with youthful wrinkles at their wits—not hiding how enamored he was at your playful tone. “Your island?” There was a matched mood in the both of your speech, potential feelings rising in the pits of your stomachs. “I’m sorry, gorgeous. Last I checked, you didn’t own all of Greece.”

You scoffed, kicking your feet up to splash his ankles—cold sprays of salt water hitting the skin of your shins up to your thighs. “Well, last I checked lonely sailors didn’t talk back to pretty women—or are you just an enigma Mr...”

“Miya.” He replied, concluding the sentence that you hadn’t been able to finish with ease—identity revealed to the girl he’d already festered a crush on, despite it only having been a mere twenty minutes since you’d first begun to speak. “Miya Atsumu.”

‘Y/N L/N.” You held out a hand with a shit-eating grin as he gripped it firmly, shaking your palm enthusiastically whilst your eyes held his—a silent stare down in the midst, the morning sunrise changing to one of noon, reminding you of the ticking time. “And how long did you say you’ll be staying here?”

“Well, I’m here for my brother’s wedding.” Atsumu shrugged, nudging your shoulder with his and gazing out to the countless other sailboats in the bay. “Technically, I’m only meant to be here for a few weeks...”

“...but I’m sure I’ll find something here to keep me longer.”

And that he did.

He’d managed to find a countless number of reasons to keep himself busy. Infinite excuses not to set his sail at sea—excuses that had nothing to do with the start of Osamu’s wedding festivities, or with the waning fear of his workplace calling him back to play, or even the worry of his heavy pockets running dry of cash.

Perhaps it had something to do with how his heart pounded whenever you were around. The artery nearly jumping out of his chest in the times you’d grab his hand and pull him along the stone-studded paths throughout the tropical trees, giving him tours of your favorite spots—laying picnic blankets under the shade and sharing piña coladas with pink straws.

Or the constant days at the beach. How you’d share an umbrella only for it to fly away in the wind—leaving the two of you out in the open rays of the sun, vulnerable to burns that Atsumu always managed to obtain. You later having to help him wash off in a cool shower—concern furrowing at your brows with every wince and whine he’d muster.

Treating him as your own personal island dweller, you’d become attached at the hip. Neither one of you wanting to be without the other for longer than a day—knowing that your time was limited, but ignoring it all the same. The summer was one of new opportunities and experiences, things that you had already set your mind to—only now having his name next to those goals.

Your first impressions had been correct, he was undoubtedly different from all of the other flings you’d had in the past—and you’d come to realize this on the day he’d asked you to be his date to his brother’s wedding. The brother that had no idea you existed, whom you hadn’t ever planned on meeting was inevitably getting an unexpected guest.

That unexpected guest being you, of course, arriving with Atsumu on your arm and wearing a beautiful shade of baby blue. Osamu and his bride had welcomed you with open arms, no suspicions at all when they’d noticed the genuine look of happiness in the blonde’s eyes��a look that they hadn’t seen come out of him in a very very long time.

“Was it everything you dreamed it would be?” He whispered, lips pressed against your hair—arms holding you close as the gentle orchestrals echoed in the night night breeze. The shadows of candle lit jars and paper lanterns covering your face in defined shades of grey—making you look all the more gorgeous.

You sighed into his chest, taking in his sweet scent, that of fresh oranges and salt—the smell of the ocean never truly washing away from his aura. “I loved it, actually.” An earnest tone spoke out from your mouth, sincere admissions flowing like waves, reaching his ears and giving him little dreams of the future—your future.

“It was one of the most beautiful ceremonies we’ve hosted, and I truly mean that.” Your voice was soft, quiet as to not disturb the calm mood in the moonlight—the stars shining down on every pair on the dance floor, even the young children blowing kisses in each other’s direction, not knowing the true feelings of love, yet wishing for them in their hearts.

Atsumu took a step back, holding your hand in his and spinning you beneath the stringed bulbs—smiling warmly as you let out an uncontrollable giggle—complaining how he was making you dizzy with glee. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so utterly full of admiration for a single person in the entirety of his life.

With a smirk at the corners of his cheeks he pulled you in, twirling you back around and into the safety of his tanned arms—the physical contact was nothing new to you, yet there was something in the way his palms held yours that made you feel like there were ulterior motives to his antics.

“Steady there, sailor.” You whispered, slightly out of breath—not only from the tireless dancing you’d endured all evening, but from the minimized distance between your bodies. His lips were a mere centimeters away from yours, so close and also so far. “Wouldn’t want you doing something you might regret.”

He shook his head, leaning in to commit to the thing he wanted most in the world—his fingers reaching up to guide your chin to his, the calloused skin of his thumbs tickling your sensitive nerves and setting free all of the festering butterflies in your chest.

“Trust me, gorgeous, when I say that I don’t have regrets.”

His words were quickly muffled as you pressed your lips against his, smothering any quips that could possibly arise and drowning them in an ocean of pure desire and infatuation. It felt like you were on ecstasy, the uncontrollable yearning for his intimacy finally being yours to have and to hold—all coming together in one innocent kiss in the middle of an almost empty wedding reception.

Your palms held his jawline, pulling him as close as possible whilst doing your best to convey your display of passion as small and intimate—not wanting to steal the celebrations of the day from the bride and groom—who’d in all honesty, disappeared themselves hours before, no one having seen them since then.

A quiet gasp rose from your throat as he bit your bottom lip, wanting more even though he knew that it wasn’t the time you could grant his wish—anticipation for the night to come, when you’d leave the party hand-in-hand, rushing from the back of his brain to the frontal lobe as he pulled away.

“’Tsumu.” You breathed out, eyes locked on his with giddiness underlying the tiredness in your voice. His expression matched yours, one of completion and success—patting himself on the back in imagination with the knowledge that he’d won your attention. “What was that?”

He stepped aside, still holding your hand in his, leading you off of the stone platform and into the gallery of cloth-lined tables with scattered guests—drunk in happiness and alcohol, blind to any real-world worries. The moment felt like a fever dream, an event that only occurred in film and television—nothing that you’d ever expected to experience yourself.

But with Atsumu, anything seemed to be possible. The slim probabilities becoming a zero percent error whenever he set his mind to a goal, bringing you along with him every step of the way. His calls out to you raspy from ahead, scratchy from the amount of hollering and applause he’d performed for his twin during speeches and vows.

“That,” he began, glancing back at you as you ran together towards his little villa, “that was only the beginning of the rest of our endless summer.”

And he was right, it certainly was the beginning of something. Something special and real—something that you’d never once felt in your life, right in your arms, right in front of you. He was your perfect match, you were tired of denying it—but there was one thing that the two of you had forgotten in the blissful montage of stolen kisses and sleepless nights.

Every beginning has an end.

All stories have a final chapter, one that no reader wanted to page through—but couldn’t resist knowing the final outcome of their two favorite characters, what could possibly happen to their relationship, their future, their unspoken and unequivocal love for one another that had manifested on the ink blotched pages.

Some had happy endings, epilogues in which the main love interests proceeded to get married, have a few kids that’d run around their fenced backyard with the sprinkler system running on overdrive. That was the dream, the dream that seemed so idealistic to most, the ideal life to live—to grow old holding hands against the oak wood of your rocking chairs as the sun set over the horizon.

But that wasn’t your ideal life, and neither was it Atsumu’s.

So, your story wasn’t one of those lucky fairy tales that had a happily ever after. It wasn’t a bedtime story that you’d read to your grandchildren or younger relatives, nor was it a time you’d try to forget as it ended right where it had initially begun—on the public docks of your inn house, in front of his weary sailboat.

The only differences being the setting sun rather than the rising dawn and the twinkling stars appearing in the dark sky in contrast to their disappearance in relation to the morning clouds. Perhaps it was the universe telling you that it was all coming to an end, shooting off into the darkness with the explosions of nebulas and constellations.

“So, this is it.” Atsumu spoke aloud, possibly to you or the emptiness of the sea. The usual warmth in his tone sounding robotic and unkept, unfamiliar to your heart, unfamiliar from the man you’d come to hold such strong feelings for in a mere three months. “This is our last night, our last minutes.”

He turned to face you, hands holding the limp ropes whilst pulling them tight and wrapping them in their holsters, billowing the sails in the strong night breezes—there was said to be a storm brewing, and it was ever so timely to have happened the same night a hurricane was forming in your blackened and broken heart.

You’d never seen such a sorrowful expression on his face, used to the typical dumbstruck happiness and easygoing nature that was void and lost, that absence setting in the reality of your relationship’s oblivion. He let go of his secured ties, elbows leaning against the railing and towards you as you stood at the edge of the doc.

“It doesn’t have to end here, you know.” He suggested, his voice shaky and unsure—not knowing what your response would be—not knowing that you loved him, too. “You could come with me, see a world that isn’t an isolated island—we could travel together, see all the other wonders—we could be happy, forever.”

Your breath hitched, chest airtight, all of the oxygen in your lungs at max capacity—catching in your lungs with no chance of getting out. His words had somehow managed to itch the hidden and sensitive regions of your heart—the ones that had always been guarded from others, the places that he’d been able to weasel his way into.

At the look on your face, he already knew your answer. An unspoken rejection standing stale in the humid air between you, the still distance growing further and further despite your motionless stances. Two broken hearts longing for one another with no resolution to be met.

He bit his lip, holding back tears in the nightly shadows and nodding his head—believing that he’d been right all along. That his presumptions about you had actually been correct, that he hadn’t been different, that he hadn’t been your person amidst the countless other personalities you’d fallen for over the summers—that he’d simply been another paradisiac fling that you’d thrown away.

But he’d never been so wrong.

You did love him, you loved him with your entire soul—your entire existence. There was no dream you wanted more than to be with him forever, to spend every single moment in his company of laughter and contagious smiles. To pepper him in kisses and take morning dips in the ocean as the sun rose over the horizon.

He was your soulmate, the other half that you never thought you would find—an egocentric and boastful man unlike any other you’d met before. Atsumu was your salvation, but with the fear of commitment and settled life at the back of your brain, you had no choice but to watch as his love faded into remorse. As his undying love was pulled beneath your currents of self-doubt.

“Thank you.” He spoke, words dull yet also meaningful—full of every last confessional emotion he had to make, full of all the lost ‘I love you’s’ and goodnight wishes in the past seventy-two days of being in each other’s arms. “Thank you for letting me love you.”

And with those words, your heart sailed into the vast horizon—through the swift currents and past the submerged rocks, peaking in the rising and falling black waves. The bright white sail of his stern shading into grey as he became nothing but a speck in the night—lost to the endless sea and unknown future, a future without you.

A future that you’d never know anything of, communication gone, forgotten between you and stripped away by the receding tides. The tides that had come just as fast as they’d gone—a physical representation of the whirlwind love story that you’d lived during the most memorable summer of your life. As you’d never be able to forget him.

You’d never be able to forget the first man you’d ever loved.

taglist of bestie boos <3:

@bokoutoebutmain @boba-duckie @ryuomen @sexy-bee-juice @nekomabvc @cambodianprincess6

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m3kuroshirt · 3 years ago

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Gay Thoughts; Head Full

A short GrimmIchi coffee-shop au based on prompt number 11: bookmark, from the September Prompt list by @creativepromptsforwriting

Word count: 1427

Warnings: mild language

He’d seen him a hundred times, and every time was different; the orange-haired man with brown eyes as warm as the embers of a dying fire. He had a gentle look to him, hair cut short and a tiredness in his gaze that only came from experiences better left unsaid. Grimmjow would know; he’d seen that same tiredness in his own eyes. But that was before. He was in a better place now.

Despite seeing the man so often (he came to the little coffee shop every Tuesday to read), Grimmjow couldn’t help but stare at him each time, sneaking glances in between filling orders. The man always ordered the same thing; a cup of Earl Grey and a chocolate muffin. Everyone behind the counter was aware of his infatuation at this point, and they all seemed to conveniently ‘disappear’ when the orange-haired customer was due to arrive, leaving Grimmjow to be the one to serve him. As a result, he’d memorized the man’s order quickly, and would start to make it without even thinking the minute he came up to the counter. The first time it happened, the man had been surprised. But then, then… then he gave the sweetest smile. It was like watching the sun rise or a flower bloom; slow, gentle, beautiful. Grimmjow almost dropped dead then and there. But he held it together. Barely.

Seeing the man come in so often, Grimmjow knew a handful of constants. The man always looked a little worn and tired, as if he’d had a really long day and needed to rest. Why he would choose a coffee shop to read in for that purpose baffled Grimmjow. The place was a mess of noisy, whiny customers, overly-pretentious teens, grumpy middle-aged women, men telling jokes much too loudly, and elderly couples shouting at each other across the table as their hearing was so bad they could barely hear themselves let alone the other person.

The next thing Grimmjow noticed was his outfits. The man always wore some sort of neutral-coloured long-sleeved t-shirt with a pair of jeans. He looked down-right cozy. With his book, sitting at the table, cup of tea in front of him, he was the picture-perfect poster-boy for cafés everywhere.

The third thing Grimmjow noticed was actually an inconsistent consistency. The man always had a book with him. But it was never the same one two weeks in a row. Various titles and covers passed before Grimmjow’s eyes, some he could read, others clearly in a different language. Some bright and vibrant, others darker. Some clearly brand new, some clearly well-used.

The final thing Grimmjow noted about the handsome customer was the bookmark. Regardless the book, it was always the same one. It was thick, clearly made of leather and painted a vibrant red. Detailing on the bookmark was painted in gold. The edges of the bookmark were worn, clearly it was not new, and it was definitely well-used. The man would hold it as he read, twiddling it with his fingers when he concentrated, tapping it against the table when he was at a particularly interesting part, eyes wide and focused. Sometimes, when he looked as though he was reading a really though-provoking chapter, he would brush it against his lips absentmindedly. Grimmjow’s eyes always followed the bookmark when he did this, and always lingered on his lips. Most days, they looked soft, gentle, kissable. Sometimes they were chapped, and once swollen, as if he’d been…kissed…Grimmjow couldn’t describe the weird feeling that had settled in his chest that day. He’d been relieved the man hadn’t come in looking like that again.

Grimmjow didn’t realize he’d been zoned out until a voice called to him. “Um, excuse me?” it was a pleasant voice, deep and rich, with a gentle politeness.

“Hmm?” Grimmjow blinked and focused back on reality. Only to find the orange-haired stranger standing right in front of him. The stranger looked…worried.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Grimmjow blinked again.

“Uhh,” he uttered so intelligently.

The stranger’s cheeks went pink. Grimmjow found that was a rather nice colour on him. “I just…well, initially I came over because I thought you were staring at me…but then you didn’t move at all and I got worried,” he admitted, eyes fixed firmly on the countertop. “I thought maybe you were unwell.”

Grimmjow didn’t have a filter in the best of times. And now was not the best of times. “I was.”

The stranger looked up sharply. “You’re unwell?” Concern tainted his tone and Grimmjow winced. He couldn’t think, so caught up in assuaging the worries of the man before him.

“No. I was staring at you.” Ah. Yes. Good job me. He won’t think that’s fucking weird at all.

The stranger narrowed his eyes. “Staring at me. Why?” he asked abruptly. Ok, maybe it’s not abrupt of him if I was the one to say I was staring in the first place, Grimmjow amended inwardly. The intensity of the stranger’s discerning stare wasn’t something he was used to having directed at him. His eyes weren’t warm now, but sharp, calculating, shining with a brightness that should have scared Grimmjow, but instead thrilled him.

Realizing the stranger was waiting for an answer, and that he had once again been caught staring, Grimmjow did what he did best in these situations. And that was to be the worst at communication and tact. “Because you’re really handsome.”

There was a pause after the words left his mouth.

“What?”

“What?” Grimmjow couldn’t help but echo the man’s own question. The stranger in front of him met his gaze with wide eyes, cheeks turning redder by the second. And Grimmjow could feel his own face on fire. “Uh. Have to go. Break time. Bye.” And he turned around and strode as quickly as possible to the staff room.

Grimmjow slammed the door to the staff room shut behind him, startling Nel and Ulquiorra. Nel opened her mouth, but Grimmjow cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t. Do not. Ok? I am a fucking idiot. Let me mope.” He sat at the table and put his head in his hands. “Fuuuuuck. I’m so stupid.” An awkward silence descended on the table. He heard the rustle of pages as Ulquiorra returned to his book. Somehow, reading was less attractive when his gloomy co-worker did it. He could hear Nel fidget, could sense her knee bouncing up and down, as it often did when she was trying not to speak but really wanted to. He did his best to ignore her.

The door burst open again, but Grimmjow didn’t look up. “Grimmjow.” He recognized that low melodic voice, smooth and sweet.

“Go away, Hallibel,” he muttered.

“Get up, it’s not your break time yet,” she replied. Grimmjow found himself bristling. She may be his manager, but he was so not in the mood to be bossed around.

“Can’t you just leave me alone and let me suffer?” he muttered, dragging himself up from the table with a glare. Hallibel rolled her eyes. She held out a white napkin to him.

“Here, take this and put it away before you go back out,” she ordered. Grimmjow glared at the napkin.

“I don’t want your trash.”

Hallibel sighed in exasperation and grabbed his hand. She shoved the napkin in it. “Just look at it.”

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, but he did look at it. The napkin had writing on it. A set of numbers. Specifically, a set of numbers that look suspiciously like a phone number. With a name underneath. Ichigo. He frowned. “This is…”

“Mr. Book-nerd gave it to me. Said to tell you he ‘thinks the same about you’. Then he rushed out the door like the place was on fire,” Hallibel explained briefly. Grimmjow’s eyes widened. He looked up at Hallibel. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Nel perk up and Ulquiorra doing a not-so-good job at pretending to read. He ignored them.

“He said…he really said that?”

“Yeah.” Hallibel folded her arms. “Now, put that somewhere safe and get back out there. It’s not your break time yet.” Grimmjow grinned.

“Fuck yeah!” he shouted as he turned to stuff the phone number in his bag.

“Language,” Hallibel reprimanded him.

“Aw, leave me alone Hal, this is the best day ever! Let me live a little,” Grimmjow replied with a smug grin as he brushed past her to leave the staff room. Hallibel sighed and fondly shook her head as she watched him exit the room.

#grimmichi #jaegerjaquez grimmjow #kurosaki ichigo #m34gswrites #fluff #grimmichi au #idiots in love

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jimlingss · 4 years ago

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Game of Temptation

➜ Words: 16k

➜ Genres: 60% Smut, 35% Angst, 5% Fluff, Succubus!AU

➜ Summary: As a succubus, your beauty is unrivaled and shaped to tempt mortals. But it's still hard to resist Taehyung, and there's little you can do once you've been coerced to do his bidding for him. This time, you find yourself entering the affluent Kim Household as a housemaid. And these poor humans don't know your intentions are far from being angelic.

➜ Warning: seduction, sex, homewrecking, infidelity, daddy kink, creampie, etc. There were no morals in the making of this fic. I do not subscribe to my characters’ beliefs, y'all. It's just some crazy fiction. Reader discretion advised.

It’s your chance to have a little fun, peach. The four wheels of the luggage roll against the smooth pavement, over the cracks and up the massive driveway. The sweltering sun isn’t a bother when the feeling of flames licking against your cheeks is such a familiarity. Yet, you still feel disgruntled as Taehyung’s words ring inside your head. I know you want to try your hand at it. And you’ve been telling me how much you want a little subordinate of your own. You could do whatever you want with them. There are no rules. He’s a bastard. If it wasn’t for you being so wrapped around his finger and dancing in the palm of his hand, you would never do something this ridiculous. But it’s not like you have much of a choice. Taehyung’s words of persuasion act like you do have a choice when in reality, he mocks. Yet, in spite of what you might really think, you continue on your way, lugging your heavy baggage up the stairs and steadying your breath. Feeling a sense of calmness, the pad of your index finger presses the doorbell. You listen to how the sound echoes inside the enormous manor. There’s shouting, footsteps, and a second later, the door swings open. There’s a plump woman with an apron tied over her body, her gray streaked hair pulled back into a bun. She’s out of breath as she is fatigued even though it’s only eight in the morning. But she still greets you with a smile that spreads into her chubby cheeks. “Hello! You must be the new live-in nanny and housemaid! Come in, come in. Don’t just stand out here! It’s so cold!” She helps drag in your luggage. The large foyer opens up to a grand staircase, two archways on both sides that allow you to peek into the chandeliered and golden curtain rooms. There’s antique china in a display case and vases on tables — more to paint a picture of wealth than for any actual purpose. But while one would expect a quiet and proper home, there’s chaos instead. Feet rumbling from upstairs. Sharp laughter and exhausted sighs. Noises of shouting and screaming. “You’re younger than I expected. What’s your name?” “Y/N, madam.” “Oh, I’m not the madam,” the woman giggles at the thought and bats the air with her hand. “The madam isn’t as old as I am. I’m the Kim’s housekeeper, Ms. Yoo. We’ll be working close together. Have you eaten yet? The trip must’ve been long and tiring. Would you like to rest?” The corner of your lips quirk. “I’m alright, thank you.” “I’ll give you a tour around then. The faster you can become accustomed to this home, the faster you can help out.” You nod, but before she can get in another word, there’s thundering stomps down the stairs. A boy’s face pokes through the banisters and he gives a toothless grin. Not more than five years old, he wears a blue, collared shirt and khaki shorts, one foot with a sock and the other without — he’s no doubt a spoiled, little brat. The kid makes a ruckus while running down the rest of the steps, jumping from the last three and he comes up to you, eyes wide and sparkling as he looks up. “Who’re you?” You lower yourself and offer a soft smile. “I’m going to be your daddy and mommy’s new little helper. We’re going to have lots of fun from now on.” “Jaesun! Jaesun, get back here! What did I say about slamming your bedroom door?!” A frail woman with grating vocal cords comes down the stairs as well. Her chest is rising and falling, evidently winded from her son but her eyes visibly light up when she sees you. “You must be Y/N, aren’t you?” She’s a pretty woman with few wrinkles even in her forties, dressed cleanly in a rosy blouse and white skirt. But her dark circles ruin the pristine image. “Yes, I am, madam.” She shakes your hand vigorously. She looks at you like you’re her guardian angel. An irony that tickles your senses. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re finally here. I’m Kim Yijin, my husband is Kim Namjoon, but we should head to the kitchen to talk. There’s not much time left.” The housekeeper smiles. “Yes, I was about to show her the way.” “Let’s go, Jaesun.” You offer your hand to the boy and he happily takes it, something that Yijin doesn’t miss and even grins at. The kitchen is twice the size of the foyer, two stove sets and two refrigerators side by side. The counter space is enough to stretch your entire body across and you can only marvel at the surroundings. “I hope you don’t get too overwhelmed,” Yijin says as she turns to get her coffee started and Ms. Yoo sets out breakfast for Jaesun at the table. “But I should tell you now before I forget to. My family eats a gluten-free diet. Our Jaesun is lactose and tolerant, so he’s only to have soy milk and calcium-fortified orange juice. My daughter has poor digestion, so try to avoid whole-grains when you’re preparing the meals.” She stops for a second, lamenting, “and she has such bad skin these days, so avoid milk and anything bad, like instant noodles, even if she begs for it. The girl doesn’t know what’s good and bad for her.” With her steaming coffee cup in hand, Yijin waltzes around the kitchen, forcing you to follow her whims. “Make sure the kids have at least three servings of fruits and vegetables. My husband doesn’t like eggs and Jaesun isn’t supposed to have candy. Also, this is less important, but I really like fried foods that aren’t too oily, so if you have anything you can make…” The corners of your lips lift. “I have a fried chicken recipe.” “I like you already.” She snaps her fingers, smile brightening. She looks over to the older lady, calling out to her, “Ms. Yoo, I can get breakfast ready for today. Would you like to continue showing Y/N around?” “Yes, I will.” Even when you could tell from the outside, the house is grand. It’s a closed concept, full of mahogany wood panels, twisting halls, oak doors and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. It looks like a place Taehyung would enjoy. “Every day, we meal prep breakfast, lunch and dinner. Typically only the master of the house is here for lunch, so we have to watch our portions. He works a lot from home. Oh, his younger brother is also living here for some time. He’s an editor, so he’s quite busy. I tend to deliver his meal to his room if he doesn’t come down for dinner.” You nod, entering the living room. There’s a giant family photo above the mantel that looks all too artificial — stiff smiles and pressed clothes with a white background. But the space is warmed with cedar bookshelves, a coffee table to match and perfectly positions cushion chairs. In one of them is a sleepy man with dark hair, sipping on a mug as he reads the newspaper. He looks up at you, features more tender than expected. “Hello.” You dip your head to the so-called younger brother, keeping your voice soft-spoken. “Mr. Kim, this is our new helper,” the housekeeper introduces. “Yes.” His voice is also surprisingly husky. “I’m Yoongi. It’s nice to meet you.” The two of you stare at one another until you dip your head as Mrs. Yoo keeps going and you leave the room, walking upstairs. “We dust every day and clean the kitchen each night. Every other day, we do laundry and vacuum the rooms. The living space and foyer get especially dirty, so we have to stay vigilant. If your back ever aches from hunching over so much, tell me and I’ll give you some cream and heated pads.” A door down the hall shuts and there’s an audible sigh. What follows are footsteps and a teenage girl in an ironed school uniform, backpack on her back. Her black hair is sleek, ending at her waist and in spite of puffy cheeks, her eyes are cat-like. “Good morning, Sohee. Sleep well?” “I guess.” As her pupils dart from the housekeeper to you, her steps slow and she halts altogether. You lock your gaze with her and smile. “Hello. I’m the new housemaid, Y/N.” You extend your arm, but she dwells — staring like a deer in headlights. It takes a moment for Sohee to come to her senses and she shakes your hand while brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She timidly murmurs, “O-oh. Nice to meet you.” “Sohee!” There’s a sudden screech of her name from downstairs, grating to the ears. Immediately, the young girl deflates. “Coming!” she shouts back to her mom with a groan, rolling her eyes before running down the stairs. The housekeeper smiles sympathetically. “Sohee’s going through a bit of a growth spurt, so she’s been a bit sensitive lately.” You nod and she continues, “We clean the bathrooms once a week and once a month, we wash the carpets. Your room is just this way.” Down the corridor is a small mahogany door. But there’s grandiose double doors with golden handles right where the hall begins from the open area. And your strides reduce. You linger from curiosity and peer through the crack with an eye. Vaguely, you’re able to make out bookshelves and an imposing desk. More importantly, there’s someone seated in the leather seat behind it. Mrs. Yoo notices. “Oh, that’s master Kim’s office, but there’s no need to bother him right now.” Your body moves a little too late. While you’re still peeping through, the man behind the desk raises his head. Your eyes meet, but you leave before either of you can get a good look at each other. The room you’re given is a meager space — more like a closet compared to the rest of the house. You hold in your scoff, looking around at the single bed. The empty desk. The tiny window with dead bugs on the sill. The wooden chair with splinters sticking out of it. It looks like antiques shoved in a shed. Not even Taehyung treats you this poorly. “The bathroom is across from your room, so it’s rather convenient!” You set your luggage down. “Also, you’ll be watching Jaesun when he comes home from kindergarten. You’ll wash him and put him to bed as well. I’ll help you out until you get the hang of things, so don’t worry too much.” You wonder if the old lady ever shuts up, but you keep your voice soft-spoken and your demeanour timid. “Thank you.” “It’s not an issue.” Ms. Yoo pats your shoulder. “Oh, you can get settled a little later on. We should help the madam with breakfast. She doesn’t cook very well.” It’s possible to get lost in this abyss of a house. There are endless halls and pompous rooms. You don’t understand the purpose of having a large music room next to a drawing room, but you suppose with this much money, it’s fun to throw it into a blazing fire. The housekeeper continues yapping away as you make it back downstairs. But on your way, you catch a different individual standing in the foyer. Someone in a black suit with doe eyes, boyish features that draw you in. He seems surprised to see you too. “Ah, Jungkook! Have you eaten yet? Would you like a coffee?” “I’m fine, Ms. Yoo.” He has a cute smile full of teeth and his eyes flicker to you. “This is...?” “Oh, it’s the new helper I was telling you about. Y/N, this is Jungkook, Mr. Kim’s personal chauffeur. He’s been working with this family for almost as long as I’ve been here.” “Not that long,” Jungkook retorts mischievously. “I only started here a few years ago after I finished school.” “Only? Oh my. Feels like you started here thirty years ago like I did! Time goes by so fast!” “Only when you’re having fun.” Jungkook grins and then redirects his attention towards you, clearing his throat. “I-It’s nice to meet you.” “Likewise.” You shake his hand and dip your head with a tiny smile. He averts his vision too, becoming shy. Yet, when you lift your head, your eyes meet each other’s. You can feel the way his hand is getting sweaty, but you let it linger for a longer amount of time than necessary. Until you’re the one to let go. He’s too cute. You catch the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. The tension between the pair of you is only broken when a voice coughs from the top of the staircase and Jungkook breaks apart from you, taking a step back. You look up at the master, Kim Namjoon. A man in his forties, tall with a commanding aura. His hair is styled neatly, thick glasses sitting on his face, sharply dressed in a tailored suit. Everything about him screams of new money. “Good morning, Mr. Kim.” He hums at the housekeeper. “Good morning, Ms. Yoo. This must be the new helper. It’s nice to meet you.” The man comes down and visibly inspects you, as if trying to figure you out and only looks away when he’s satisfied. “I hope you’ll do a good job.” “Yes, sir.” “Are you going already, daddy?” Sohee comes from the kitchen, crestfallen. The volume of her voice is quiet and tapers off, “You’re not going to have breakfast with us...?” “I don’t have time today.” The words tumble out and he looks at his phone. Ms. Yoo opens the door as he answers a call outside. You look over at Sohee who’s become dejected. Her shoulders have slumped and her hair falls in front of her face. She pouts and tries to hide it. But Jungkook smiles softly and ruffles her hair. “Don’t be so sad. I’ll have breakfast with you tomorrow, okay?” “Really?” Sohee looks up at him, eyes gradually brightening and her cheeks becoming rosy. He nods. “I’ll make sure to come early.” “I’ll have to cook more eggs then,” the housekeeper chortles and Jungkook grins until his eyes travel to you. The glance turns into a gaze and neither of you speak until Ms. Yoo turns. “Come on, Y/N! We can’t dawdle all day now.” “Yes,” you murmur and follow after her, all too aware of Jungkook’s stare on your backside as Sohee still talks without him really listening. Once you turn the corner, the older woman pauses and your brow cocks. “Is….there something the matter?” She smiles endearingly at you and shakes her head. “No, nothing’s wrong. You’re just very beautiful, that’s all.”

The house is chaotic. Before going to bed, Ms. Yoo gave you one piece of furniture to add to the sad collection — an alarm clock. And it blares with red digits reading that it’s five in the morning. Lugging yourself up, you’re bombarded with chores. From laundry to wiping down windows and making the bed. “Excuse me.” You knock against the door and there’s a muffled ‘come in’. Yoongi sits at his desk with a stack of papers in front of him and a red pen in his hand. His room is similar to yours, cramped and modest, but with a larger window and mattress, and a proper wardrobe and closet. The man in his pajamas doesn’t look at you. “You can leave it there,” he mumbles and you set his tray of breakfast food on his nightstand. Your eyes linger on his slouching form. But he never turns around, so you leave. The noise and bickering from the kitchen can already be heard from the stair landing. The stove top fan is blasted while Ms. Yoo fries eggs, Jaesun sitting at the table with his legs swinging and spitting his cereal all over the place as he plays make-belief with his robot, but most of all— “Why won’t you let me go?” Sohee is standing by her mother, exasperation and the furrow of her brows ruining her otherwise innocent exterior. “It’s only Yeeun’s house! And you already know her mom!” “I already said that she isn’t a good influence on you!” “We’re only studying! I don’t get why you don’t like her!” “Her family is lower than ours.” Yijin forces herself to become calmer and feeds Jaesun a spoonful of yogurt as he plays. She glances at her daughter after a moment. “If you know what’s good for you, you’d become friends with Lee Sunmi. At least they have something to offer us. And are you going to eat that bagel? It’s filled with cream cheese. We have to watch your weight, remember?” “Why are you always picking on me?” The girl drops her choice of breakfast and cries, “What about Jaesun?!” “Are you going to compare yourself to your brother?” She gives her an astonished look full of disbelief, tinged with disappointment. “He’s only five.” Sohee is frustrated to no end. “I hate you all!” She screams and stomps away as you resume slicing the strawberries, eyes lifting every so often. You watch as Jungkook enters the kitchen at the same time Sohee’s leaving. She pauses for a second but then pushes past him. Her mother screams after her. “Sohee! Are you not going to eat at all?! That girl! So rude.” In the meanwhile, Ms. Yoo reads the expression on your face and smiles. “Don’t worry. They never argue for too long.” “Shouldn’t we at least say something?” She shakes her head. “I’ve tried to get involved a few times, but it never helped much. Better to keep quiet. Every family argues.” The housekeeper finishes up in the kitchen while Yijin settles down and sips on her coffee as she scrolls through her phone. She asks for a plate of fruits from Ms. Yoo and at the same time, you notice Jaesun scooping his cereal and purposely spilling it on the ground. No one notices. It sloshes into a pile. You hold in your cusses and grab a rag. The five year old realizes he’s been caught in the act and grins like a little shit. You get on the floor, scrubbing the mess. But the moment the floorboards are back to brown again, there’s another splatter of milk by your hand and a spoonful of cereal flakes that follow. It splashes on your hair and apron and you raise your head to find the little shit plastered with a ginormous smile. “Done eatin’!” He announces, scooting back his chair before running off in giggles. May Satan have mercy on the child before you tear his limbs apart. The minute you’re finished scrubbing the floor and clearing the table, you go off to find the brat. Because god forbid there’s a scratch on him. You find him in the hallway between the laundry room and garage. “What do you think you’re doing?!” There’s a bright red crayon in his tight fist. And he’s scribbling all across the wall while laughing at a piercing volume. At the sight of you, Jaesun draws a line as hard as he can until his knuckles are white, bits of wax are sprinkling and the crayon is a half the size it used to be. The kid runs away before you can snatch him. Much to your dismay, Ms. Yoo merely smiles in endearment when you tell her. “Kids like to have so much fun, don’t they? I remember when my son was at that age, he was such a troublemaker too. But it’s nothing a little baking soda can’t fix!” You end up on your knees, scrubbing the wall with a damp rag dipped in the white powder. You’re humiliating and exhausted. Taehyung was wrong — there’s nothing fun about this whatsoever. You swear to God you’re going to murder someone. “How are you doing?” You look up, discovering doe eyes and pink lips quirked at you. Jungkook is dressed in his suit that’s a bit too big for him, hands dug into the pants pockets as he glances at the wall. You smile at him, brushing away the strand of your hair that came loose from your bun. It’s not too bad of a time to be sweating. To allow the beads to roll down the nape of your neck. “It’s tiresome, but nothing I can’t do.” “I’m assuming this is Jaesun’s little artwork project.” “Who else could it be?” Jungkook grins boyishly. “Once he decided to paint the inside the car using the leather seats as his canvas.” “Why don’t they ever discipline him?” you ask genuinely, tilting your head up at him and he matches the playful glint in your eyes before shrugging. “Probably because he’s the youngest and the only son, so it’s natural they spoil him.” “But this is a bit much, isn’t it?” You shake your head, voice pitching upwards into a whine. The irritation was leaking through the facade you’ve created, but all it does is make Jungkook’s grin widen. “It is. You know—” “Y/N!” There’s a call of your name in a screeching voice. “Can you come here for a second?” “Yes!” For the most part, the crayon is taken off and you breathe a sigh of relief. You look over to Jungkook as a tiny smile appears on your features. “See you.” “Y-Yeah.” His eyes linger on you as you leave. “I’m about to be late for work, so can you please bring this up to my husband?” Yijin hands you a wooden tray with a tall glass of some sort of sludgy green liquid filled to the rim. The drink stinks of kale and lettuce. You wonder if she’s trying to poison him. “He hasn’t gotten anything to eat yet and I’m worried. That man never takes care of himself properly. Oh, and I’d really appreciate it if you could Jaesun dressed. Don’t know where he’s run off to.” You nod and balance the drink up the stairs before coming to the familiar grandiose doors. You knock timidly. There’s a disgruntled noise of acknowledgment, one that signifies he’s inside but preoccupied. Still, you push the parted doors open and come forward with the tray. Namjoon never looks up at you, busy studying the files of documents. The room is warmer than expected, oaks and mahogany, paintings and bookshelves, a large desk that reminds you of a judge’s bench — imposing, commanding. Not unlike him. There’s a fireplace, two leather sofas facing each other and a coffee table in between, and above the mantle is another family portrait that exudes a kind of stiff perfection. You place the glass down on his disorganized desk, eyes peering up at the man. As you retract your arm, your skin brushes against a stack of papers and they’re knocked to the ground. He whips his head over, brow cocked. “I’m so sorry, sir,” you whimper. As you frantically pick them up, you bend over in front of him. “It’s fine.” You feel his eyes linger on your rounded behind before he looks at his document again. You mask a smirk. Namjoon mutters from the corner of his mouth, “Where are you from?” You purposely pause so he directs his attention to you again. “I grew up in the countryside not far from here, sir.” You hold the tray to your stomach, presenting a timid disposition as if his gaze weighs heavily on you. “And what did you do before you took this job?” “I was in university, sir, but I’m taking a break to save some money.” The man gives a pleasant nod. “What was your major?” “Education, sir.” You divert your vision elsewhere, but a sweet smile pulls on your lips. “I would love to become a teacher someday.” He hums in approval, “I could see you doing that.” “Daddy?” The conversation is interrupted by Sohee at the door. She’s dressed in her school uniform, but is nowhere near ready to step into a classroom with the way she’s teary-eyed and her voice croaks with a lump in her throat. “Mom’s not letting me study with Yeeun!” Namjoon exhales exhaustingly. He sits back in his leather chair, looking at the ceiling. Sohee’s eyes stings at how she’s evidently annoying her father. But you don’t dwell, bowing your head and dismissing yourself. // You would’ve never picked up this job unless you had to. Not even for the useless money. You detest education. Never did well, never had fun, never got along with anyone. Be a teacher? You could scoff ten times over. You hate children. You hate kids. They’re absolute brats. Noisy at their best and tormentors at their worst. There’s only a few perks to this job. Like right now. “I’m glad to be of service,” Jungkook breathlessly laughs. His hot breath ghosts along your cheek while your legs wrap and lock around his waist. A comfortable darkness surrounds you. The moonlight cascades through the small window, enough that you can see his handsome profile. And the slick, obscene sounds are covered by the dryer machine still rumbling underneath you. It has the last load of towels the housekeeper wanted to get done tonight — and it’s also helping Jungkook release his load into you. The vibrations of the dryer flow through your body, adding to his raw strokes and the moans choking out of you. It didn’t take much to convince him to sneak away. The one-dimensional family is completely oblivious too, sleeping upstairs in their warm beds. You’re tempted to whine Jungkook’s name louder and make one of them investigate. You wonder what the look on their face would be if they found their little maid and chauffeur fucking in the laundry room. Jungkook tugs down your dress further and gently noses your hardened nipple before his mouth travels upwards to the juncture of your neck. You feel his lips suck into your soft skin, but the fingers sunk into his dark hair tightens and you pull his head back. He gives a throaty groan, half-lidded eyes pinned on your face. You writhe against his hard chest every time his thick cock drags out of your walls. He’s bigger than you expected. Eager too. Jungkook is a healthy and young one, hips and strokes fluid albeit a bit fast and excited. You can tell he likes you a lot. “I-I would’ve never guessed you hated kids.” The boy watches how his cock enters you and disappears. Your pussy clenches around him and he sweats at his hairline, trying to hold back from cumming so soon. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you sing-song cutely and roughly pull him in by his shoulders, batting your lashes. “Can you kiss me, please, Jungkookie?” He nods enthusiastically and leans in to nose your cheek. Then, he tilts his head and your mouth meets his. Your lips immediately part to welcome him deeper and his hands force your thighs farther apart, fingers digging into your flesh. Jungkook’s tongue licks into your hot mouth, making you moan. Yet, the kiss is somehow sweet. Much too pure for someone like you. The two of you break apart, lips wet with his spit. “I-I’m close.” Jungkook’s strokes start to lose their rhythm. They become frantic. Frenzied. He can feel the shaking of the dryer jumping beneath you, how tight and wet you are around him. You watch him through hooded eyes, tempted to coo at him and tell him that he can do it — encourage him that he can release his load right into your womb. But not wanting to ruin his fun moment, you instead squeeze as tight as you can. Jungkook groans, hips jerking and he plunges deep inside your cunt to cum. He gives two more thrusts. His entire body trembles and he realizes you’re still unfinished. Even with half a mind, he has the courtesy to lick his thumb and rub at your clit. You writhe with moans of his name, holding him close and a few seconds later, you get to where you want to be. As you come down from your high, you pet him. “Good boy. Thanks for that.” “Y-You’re so pretty.” “Am I?” you hum and he nods madly. Jungkook’s sticky breath heaves, chest rising and falling and you wrap your arms possessively around his shoulders. Whining incoherently, he understands that you’re pleading for another kiss. He happily obliges and you angle your head to deepen it. The kiss is lazier. Languid. Giving you a chance to taste him properly. Jungkook starts to groan when you don’t pull away after thirty seconds. He tries to part, losing oxygen. But you keep him in your tight grip. And you inhale. It’s delicious. It fills you with a sense of euphoria, making goosebumps raise all over the back of your arms. It’s been a while since you’ve had a soul for yourself. And as it leaves his body, you feel him go limp around you. Jungkook falls to the tiled floor, leaving a sopping mess at your center. “Would you look at that?” A deep timbre sounds. He appears, manifesting himself across from you with the corpse in between. The corner of his thin lip is curled as if he’s impressed. His blonde hair looks white in the milky moonlight and the darkness causes his piercing brown eyes to glow. “Not too bad, peach.” “It’s so easy, it’s not even fun.” You hop down from the dryer machine. Taehyung’s devilish smirk grows. “That’s because you’re so naturally enticing.” You roll your eyes. He comes close, large hands lifting to cradle your cheeks. Taehyung kisses you without much warning — not that you need it — and he licks into your mouth, inhaling deep. He retrieves the soul you took, taking it right from your parted lips. The two of you part and the thin strand of saliva breaks. Taehyung boops your nose. “I always knew my succubus was a talented one.” You scoff. “Don’t act like you came here to praise me. You just wanted to collect the soul.” “Can’t I come here for both?” He lolls his head, another smirk gracing his perfect visage that’s been sculpted by porcelain angel tears. “But it looks like you don’t need my help, so I’ll be on my way.” Taehyung winks and takes the discarded body on the ground, disappearing with it. He vanishes as quickly as he came. After he’s gone, you dip your hand between your messy legs. It’s the last remnants of Jungkook and it’s salty on your palette when you lick your fingers. // The mattress is soft against your knees. It cushions and molds against you each time you push down. But still, your wrists strain against the hardened muscles and knots. Yijin hums, a pleased smile on her face. “A little harder please. And oh, up there. Yes, yes. That’s the spot.” You continue to massage her, making sure to knead your thumbs into the sweet spots. The madam of the house moans in satisfaction. If she wasn’t so annoying and if her soul wasn’t so bland to you — you would’ve taken it long ago. But well, she might be fun to have around a little longer when you start messing with her family more. “You’re good,” she hums. “Where did you learn?” “Here and there. My grandma had a lot of sore muscles, so naturally, I kind of picked it up.” In reality, Taehyung makes you rub his shoulders all the time. She looks like she’s enjoying herself, head placed to the side, eyes closed and the corners of her mouth raises. She’s melting under your touch. But even when she’s this relaxed, she still manages to yap. “It’s been so long since I’ve been treated like this at home. I used to go to the spa often but there’s nothing like a home massage,” Yijin mumbles, “Namjoon used to do it for me all the time before we had kids and then he got busy with work, and well, it’s the reason we have this big house.” She flips her head to the other side and you rub between her shoulder blades. “I used to be as pretty as you are.” You keep your voice quiet and meek. “Pardon? You’re still pretty, madam.” “You don’t need to flatter me.” “But it’s true…?” Your voice pitches upwards as if you’re incredulous as to how she could think otherwise. “You have a maternal aura about you that I don’t have and you’re an established professional. Women can only dream of having that.” Peering at her, you catch the way her smile sweetens. At the same time, her husband enters the bedroom. Sighing and pulling off his tie, he places his briefcase down and moves to the minibar. Namjoon pours himself a glass of whisky and collapses into the white armchair beside the modern standing lamp, thighs spread wide and rather inviting. You look up at him, lashes fluttering in curiosity. “What’s wrong?” Yijin opens one eye, clearly catching how stressed Namjoon is. “I found that damn punk’s resignation letter on my desk. He’s gone.” He lifts his glass, taking a long sip of the amber liquid and letting the glass rest between his fingertips. “Who?” “Jungkook.” “What?” Both of Yijin’s eyes peel back, pupils widening in shock. “How could that brat leave without warning?” “I don’t know.” Namjoon looks to the whiskey, exhaling yet again. “After years of working for us, he upped and disappeared. I guess workers are always like that. Sohee’s been crying and throwing a tantrum. But anyway, I need to hire someone new. I don’t know who’s going to work this far from the city though.” You continue rubbing Yijin’s back and you feel Namjoon’s gaze traveling to you from his place on the armchair. From the profile of your face, the nape of your neck, to the skin of your thighs that’s exposed from your dress being hiked up so you’re able to kneel on his mattress. Yijin makes a noise. “Well, there’s nothing we can do. Do you want a massage too? Y/N’s really amazing.” Namjoon looks away, tearing his eyes from you. “No. I’m fine. I only need to rest a bit before I have to go back to work.” His wife opens her eyes again and this time, she gets up. You lean back, allowing her to do so. “Oh my goodness! Your associate is coming for dinner tonight, isn’t he? I almost forgot!” She snaps her fingers and looks at you. “Can you please draw me a bath, Y/N? I have to look presentable.” // The business associate is Taehyung. You couldn’t roll your eyes any harder when you see the blonde seated on the leather sofa as if he owns the place, suit and tie crisp, shoes polished. You don’t know what he’s doing or how he even set himself in their lives, but you suppose you had planted yourself in this household in dubious ways too — with his help, of course. So you don’t question it too much. “I must say, this house is much more beautiful than I thought it was going to be.” “That’s all thanks to my wife,” Namjoon chuckles, hands clasped together. “She has a better sense of aesthetics than I do.” Yijin smiles. She’s dressed in another one of her rosy blouses and white skirts, polished without a hair out of place — to both play the role of the perfect wife and appeal to the handsome stranger. “Thank you. I wanted to be an interior designer a long time ago, so it was really fun to try my hand at it even if it’s not much.” “Nonsense. It’s wonderful. Do you still want to be an interior designer now? You certainly have the skills for it.” “Oh, no.” She bats the air with her hand. “I lost the dream when I got married and had kids. Plus, I don’t think I could ever work for anyone. It doesn’t really suit me.” “Ah.” Taehyung leans back, all too comfortable as he is playful. “You prefer reaping the benefits of your husband and enjoying yourself? Can’t say I blame you.” The corner of Namjoon’s mouth tilts while you approach with a bottle of wine, setting the crystal glasses down for them. “You know how women are.” “On the contrary, they’re the more intelligent ones for letting us do all the work while they take pleasure,” Taehyung says, causing the other man to laugh and agree. You round the table to pour him a glass of wine and Taehyung looks at you with that infamous smirk, but you try to not make eye contact for long. “Thank you.” You dip your head wordlessly. “Oh yes.” Yijin perks up. “Thank you for recommending the company that you did. If not, we wouldn’t have been able to hire Y/N.” “It’s not a problem at all. I’m always happy to help.” He smiles, taking the stem of the wine glass and rotating it to slosh the ruby liquid inside. “I take it she’s a good addition to the house?” “Yes, she is.” Taehyung exhales through his nostrils, lips adorned with a devilish smile. “I’m glad.” You return to the kitchen unscathed, but damning Taehyung in your head for messing with your game. Though your irritation can’t last for long when Ms. Yoo hands you a wooden tray heavy with bowls and dishes. “Can you bring this up to the master’s younger brother? He’ll be having dinner in his room today.” “Okay.” You knock on the door. There’s a pause and after a moment, you open it. Yoongi is in the same spot he was this morning, crouched over his desk with a red pen in hand, papers in front of him and round reading glasses perched on his nose. The curtains are drawn but the glow of the lamp gives him enough luminescence to work. “You can leave it over there,” he mumbles and you place it on the usual spot. The man never raises his head or pays any attention to you. Your brow cocks and you take the tall glass, deciding to bring it to him. “Here’s some water, sir.” And you purposely waver. The liquid sloshing on the sides and unceremoniously spills onto his lap. Yoongi jolts, arms lifting to save his papers while you sharply gasp. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry!” You fall onto your knees and begin dabbing all over his lap and crotch with your apron. Yet your antics doesn’t last for a few seconds before he’s brushing your hand away. “It’s fine. It’s just water.” You peer up at him through your lashes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kim.” “I told you to leave it over there,” he grunts, casting a measly glance at you. “But it’s fine. If you have nothing else to do, please leave. I have a lot of work to get done.” You rise to your feet and exit. He’s a harder one to crack. Those little tactics might not be enough, but you’ll get there soon enough. You’re certain of it. “Y/N?” There’s a strangled whimper and you turn around in the dark corridor to see Sohee emerge from her room. The area underneath her eyes are reddened, nose raw. Her whole body trembles as she sniffles. The girl looks small and vulnerable, almost like a puppy. “Is there something wrong?” you ask gently, akin to a mother cooing at her child. Sohee’s eyes flicker up to you. “Did...Jungkook ever tell you anything before he left?” You shake your head. “No. We were never that close. I’ve only spoken to him a few times.” She nods. There’s a beat of silence and you lift your hand to caress her hair. The girl is startled but then eases, even leaning into your tender touch. You draw your fingers through her long, straight strands, petting her gently. “I’m sure he left for good reason. Maybe something happened or it was a family emergency. He was always close to you, right?” Sohee nods again while choked cries come from her. “W-We were family.” You embrace her, patting her back and she leans on your chest. “You’re not alone, Sohee. You have me now and I won’t ever leave like Jungkook did.” She squeezes you back. But the moment is shattered by a grating voice of her mother. “Sohee! Where are you?! Get down here and greet your dad’s friend!” Her jaw clamps. She parts from you, rubbing her eyes. You watch her go and she turns around to look at you. You smile at her. // “Your maid outfit’s cute.” He appears. A creeping shadow casted against the wall first, then flesh that stitches into the room. You’re resting on your bed, leaning against the headboard and filing your nails one at a time — the yellow glow of the desk lamp giving you barely enough light. “I didn’t get a good look last time.” “What are you doing, Taehyung?” You blow against your index finger and finally ascend your gaze. “Just having a little fun,” he chimes and muses that— “You’re taking a lot longer than usual.” “Well, I’m just having some fun.” Taehyung scoffs. “Don’t take too long.” “You shouldn’t act like you’re busy when you’re not,” you bite back without missing a beat. His brow cocks, smirk playing on his lips. “I think it’s been too long since I’ve disciplined you.” Before you can react, he ambushes and pins you flat onto the bed. Taehyung hovers over you with a glint in his eyes, heavy body on top of yours, hips pressed together. He holds your wrists above your head, preventing you from squirming. But you make no attempts to do so, simply glaring at him like a petulant child. You’re neither surprised nor caught off guard. Taehyung always likes to be the one on top, in a literal and figurative sense. And truth be told, you don’t particularly mind. His pink lips are curled and he leans down to your neck. He starts to suck into your skin, rough enough to break through and your pathetic cries only spur him on. Making him smirk against you. But your fingers find their way into his hair and you yank his head back. Flesh coated in his saliva, a giant purple bruise is left blooming on your supple skin as the redness fades. “I told you no marks.” “You’re going to need it, peach,” he says with a mischievous grin and then vanishes. You’re left rolling your eyes. // The grandiose double doors have never been intimidating. Even when Ms. Yoo has warned you on your first day to not disturb the master working and to not approach unless necessary. As much of a brat as the five year old is, even he doesn’t come close to his father’s office. But to you, those doors have always signified that a very fun game is waiting behind them. Your knuckles rap against the wooden surface and you pull the golden handles without waiting for confirmation. Kim Namjoon’s seated in his leather chair behind the imposing desk, eyes flickering upwards and you smile, holding your tray higher. “It’s fruit, sir.” “That isn’t necessary,” he says and you feign dejection, downcast eyes, shoulder slumping. He swallows hard and then beckons you over. “You can bring it here.” You come forward and place the plate on a single empty spot on the desk not coated in file folders. You’re close enough that he catches a whiff of your scent and the hickey on your neck. A scoff spills from Namjoon’s chest. “You’re doing a lot of unnecessary things in my home,” he comments offhandedly, perhaps not for your ears to hear. It’s passive aggressive and you mask your smile. Namjoon looks at you. “I would prefer if you would work properly and complete your duties without doing much else.” You feign confusion. Wide-eyed blinking. Lashes batting. As if giving you the reason for his mention, his eyes linger at the hickey. In a delayed manner, your hand raises to the juncture of your neck, covering the spot Taehyung made like that alone could remove it. And then, you immediately drop to the ground on your knees. “I-I’m so sorry, sir. It...it wasn’t my fault,” you cry out, searching the floor as the volume of your voice becomes timid and shy. It isn’t hard to come up with an excuse. “J-Jungkook did it. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he cornered me in the laundry room and I..told him to stop...but…” He slams his desk. Hand curled into a tight fist. Making the pens on the surface jump. It’s startling and you look up at him, viewing just how upset he is. “He left the next morning and hasn’t been back…” “So that’s why he left. Why didn’t you tell me?” Namjoon stares at you in distress. “This is very serious.” You shake your head. “I was afraid of saying anything. I know Jungkook’s been here longer than I have, so I didn’t think anyone would believe me and I can’t lose this job, sir.” Your head tilts to look up at him, eyes gleaming through your lashes, lips pouted, still on your knees. “I’m sorry.” The man sighs. “There’s no reason to apologize. If he ever comes back, I’ll call the police immediately. No one in this household should ever feel unsafe. I’ll promise you that.” You nod and he helps pull you up by your arm. You stagger upwards and on weakened knees, you stumble. With agile skills Taehyung would be proud of, you land on the man’s lap. Perched on his spread thighs, your legs placed along one side, and hands securely on his shoulders. Namjoon’s steadied you as well with his own palms sprawled on the small of your waist. And your parted lips are gasping mere millimeters away from his. It’s an intimate moment. One where your gazes lock. One where you make sure lasts three seconds to imprint into his mind. And then true to the character you’ve created, you pull yourself away. You grab your chair and dip your head. “I’m so sorry, sir.” Before the master of the house can get another word out, you run out the room. The minute you’re outside, you run into Yoongi. Passing by, he cocks a brow at the way you frantically shut the doors and your breathing is laboured as if you ran a marathon. “Something wrong?” Your head shakes and you devilishly smile at him. “It’s nothing at all.” // It’s a game with these mortal men. You know they want you — that they helplessly dream about you at night. Your words, your lips, you crawling over to them and doing whatever they ask. Showing what reality could be. But the more you let them peek without giving it to them, the deeper they fall into your trap of honey. “What do you think?” You place the papers down, a tender smile placed on your features. “Shouldn’t you ask your uncle who’s an editor to look over your essay instead of me?” Sohee playfully sulks. “Yeah, but he’s always busy. I don’t want to bother him.” “You made a few errors here and the conclusion isn’t as strong as the introduction. I think you should expand on this point into one or two more sentences. But overall it’s very well written, Sohee. You might even have a knack for writing.” The girl nods with a grin and when you stroke her hair while telling her how proud you are, she looks up at you and leans into your touch. Ms. Yoo enters the dining room, endeared at the sight of you and Sohee sitting together at the table and working on her homework. She’s reluctant to interrupt but does so anyways. “Y/N, the master is calling for you.” The housekeeper never tells you for what purpose, but you have an inkling sprouted from your intuition. Swiftly, you leave and Ms. Yoo takes your place as Sohee continues on other assignments she’s able to do on her own. The pair of them are equally unsuspecting. It’s evening and long after dinner. The sun is dipping over the horizon, crimson shades fuzzy in the sky. Everyone is preoccupied and there’s no real reason why he should be calling you. But you don’t hesitate. Your knuckles rap against the grandiose doors. There’s a pause and you push it open. Inside, there’s a fire roaring in the fireplace — above the mantle is the family portrait — and the man is standing and staring at the flickering flames. His face casted by the warm glow and he’s nursing a glass of whiskey. Namjoon raises his head as you push the door back to where it was, leaving it slightly parted. “Good evening.” “Is there something wrong, sir?” He shakes his head. “Not at all. I’ve just been thinking and I...realized I haven’t been as kind to you as I should’ve been. It didn’t occur to me that this wasn’t a safe place for you and I want to change that. I don’t want anyone in this house to be afraid.” You know he’s referring to what you’ve accused Jungkook of doing and promptly you close the distance. Your steps are slow as your hips sway and you look at him through lidded eyes. “Sir.” You keep your voice low. “This has always been a safe place to me, because I know you’re here.” Your eyes locked into one another and a tense silence lingers. Finally, Namjoon swallows hard and diverts his vision. “Would you like a drink?” “I-Is that allowed, sir?” “I’ll allow it.” The suited man smiles and moves to sit on his dark leather couch. There are two couches facing one another by the fireplace with a coffee table in between, opposite of his desk and the bookshelves. A once private sanctuary meant for no one but him, yet you have an exclusive invitation. His thighs spread as he gets comfortable and he reaches for the fancy bottle of whiskey. Namjoon pours a glass of the amber liquid. It sloshes on the side and he extends his arm. You take it nervously as if you’ve never drank much before. “You don’t have to drink it all if you don’t want to.” “It’s not that.” You smile at him through your lashes. “I’m just wondering how expensive it is.” Namjoon scoffs lightly, but not out of malice or annoyance. It’s from endearment. “You don’t need to worry about that.” The rim of the glass is placed between your plush lips and you take a sip. It’s bitter, but slides smoothly down. He watches you and in the meanwhile, your eyes flicker away from him. Something catches your attention on a mahogany bookshelf, so you cross the room. You allow your knees to brush against his, the loose strands of your hair nearly skimming along his nose. Namjoon clears his throat, holding the crystal glass casually between his fingertips. “Can I ask what kind of perfume you use?” You twist around with another easy smile. “I don’t really use any, sir.” Bending over in his line of vision, you look at his stacks of books and other knick-knacks on his shelf. “You have chess?” “I do.” He places his glass down. “Do you want to play?” You turn around with another coy smile. “Can we really?” The darkness of the room thickens, fire crackling and sputtering in the background. The glow is dim against your profiles and casts your shadows along the wall. The game of chess has been set on the small table. You tell him you barely know how to play to which he replied he’d go easy on you. A few minutes have passed and you’ve moved a few pawns around. Yet, it’s intimate and quiet as if the room is hidden away from the rest of the house. Something you’re sure isn’t too far off. “Are you alright, sir?” you ask in a husky murmur, pupils flickering up to him as he’s mid-way from taking another sip of his whisky. “You seemed pretty stressed a few days ago.” Namjoon leans back into the seat. It sinks underneath his weight. His thighs are spread as you hold your knight, still debating on where to place it on the board. “I still am, but it's just the usual business stress.” “Your wife worries a lot.” You place the chess piece down and he leans forward again, capturing your pawn with one smooth move of his rook. “You don’t need to try to make me feel better. I know she doesn’t care.” “That’s not true,” you refute half-heartedly. “Why do you feel that way?” “It’s obvious,” he mumbles and takes another pawn of yours when you move it. “My wife is more preoccupied with using my credit card and all she does all day is nag which makes it worse.” You move your bishop across the board. “Because of her, we have to have two live-in maids in the house at all times,” Namjoon continues. The liquor makes it easy for him to relax and let the truth spill. He’s defenseless. “Sohee doesn’t get along with her at all and Jaesun isn’t disciplined whatsoever. Sometimes I wonder why my family is like this and where it went wrong.” The older man exhales and slides his king forward. He waits for your next move, but you don’t go. Your gaze is pinned on him and his eyes travel upwards to connect with yours. “It doesn’t need to be that way, sir,” you whisper. It’s your moment. You can feel it. And you disregard the game in favour of crawling towards him. The chess pieces knock over, some to the table and the others collide to the ground. He has no idea you were two moves away from checkmate. In seconds, you straddle his thighs. Namjoon’s at a loss, arms not yet touching you, but hands never pushing you off of him. His eyes have gone hazy. He’s completely entranced by you, bewitched under your spell. Vulnerable to your seduction and the wicked temptation you offer. “What are you doing?” His breath laboured and he tries to muster sternness to no avail, as if you shouldn’t entice him with such a dangerous game. The corner of your lip pulls into a devilish smile. “I’m doing to fulfill every single one of your fantasies, daddy.” And you kiss him. Slotting your soft lips against his chapped ones, letting them move gently. It’s a brief moment before Namjoon surges forward like a man possessed. Namjoon’s hands grab your ass and he pushes you forward until you’re sitting directly sitting above his crotch. You whimper, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His brows furrow, mouth parting from the pain and you steal the chance to deepen the kiss. He struggles for control but you ultimately give it to him, feigning submission. It’s too easy. You roll your hips over his hardened crotch, feeling how your panties stick to your slick folds, and he grabs hold of your waist. The pair of you break away from the kiss with your arms wrapped possessively around his shoulders. “God, you knew what you were doing this entire time, weren’t you?” Namjoon’s chest heaves against yours. “Every time you fucking bent over. Every time you tried to play coy. Such a goddamn tease.” His fingers rub over your wet lips then down to your neck and collarbones. His hands travel to the low collar of your dress and then he tears it. The fabric rips against the threads and you whine in shock. But Namjoon never halts, undoing your bra and tossing it aside. He grabs a handful of your soft breast and pinches your nipples roughly until the bud hardens against the pad of his fingers. You sob out as he watches you through lidded eyes, mesmerized by the way your expression contorts into pleasure. “I can see why Jeon liked you so much.” “But I didn’t want him to touch me, daddy.” You pout at him. The thin layer of your panties and his slacks prevents you from feeling it completely, but it’s still dry fucking. “I-I only wanted you.” “And you’re going to have me,” the man grunts and pulls aside the skirt of your uniform. His hand dips past your thin, white underwear and his fingers feel against your folds. “Fuck,” he hotly exhales, “you’re soaked. Do you really want me that badly?” “Yes, daddy.” Without warning, Namjoon’s index and middle finger plunges into your cunt until he’s knuckle deep. You cry out, hugging him tighter to you and he pants, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Your cunt is so tight.” You squeeze around his prodding fingers. “Tighter than your wife’s?” Before he can answer, you kiss him again. Your sticky tongues interlace, sloppy and obscene. You taste his spit at the back of your throat — and it’s just the way you like it. The kiss lasts long enough that you can swallow his groan and you pull off his suit jacket. The rest of your dress pools around your hips. It becomes frantic after that, breaking apart just to rid of your clothes. He tosses your ruined underwear aside, but keeps the rest of his own attire on. It’s some kind of power play as if you should be the only one naked and vulnerable. Yet he’s oblivious to how you have him wrapped around your finger. “Tell daddy.” The older man’s hand wraps around your throat gently. “Have you ever been fucked properly before?” His slacks have been tugged down enough that his cock has sprung free and his other hand grips the base of it. The reddened tip leaks with a bead of precum and you eye how big he really is. It’s more than Jungkook’s but less than Taehyung’s. You shake your head and lie. “No.” Namjoon cusses. “Is that okay?” you timidly whimper and he smirks. “More than okay, baby. It won’t hurt too bad.” He guides his shaft to your pulsing cunt and runs the head of his cock along the collected wetness that has stained his pants and dripped to his leather couch. Both of you lower your heads, watching as he starts pushing through your folds. Immediately, your fingers tighten on his shoulders, wrinkling his expensive white shirt that was ironed by his wife. Namjoon shushes you. “Relax. It’s okay.” “I-It’s too much, daddy,” you complain in a pitched voice. “It’s too big.” His jaw ticks, fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of your parted thighs. “You can take it.” You nod and sink down on him slowly, making sure to draw it out as long as you can. And Namjoon’s head falls back. He groans and makes it balls deep inside of you. You make sure to tremble and squeeze around him, keeping his cock at a vice grip. “Is this okay?” “Uh-huh, sweetheart. It’s great.” With his eyes closed, he misses your smirk. You begin to fuck yourself onto him, feeling the pull and thrust of his big shaft dragging along your wet walls. The way your cunt stretches deliciously. Namjoon meets you half-way, hips thrusting upwards while you rock yourself against him. Your nipples are hardened and your breasts bounce in front of him. Tying the sight all together, you reach behind and pull the pins from your hair, letting it cascade down. You know it must be a sight for sore eyes. While you’ve never flaunted your appearance, you know you’ve been subtly altered to lure mortal men in. Your face and body are the accumulation of their fantasies. And it’s effortless to tempt them. To captivate their attention with a simple smile. You’ve looked at yourself enough times in the mirror to know that you aren't shabby too. “Daddy, it f-feels...so good,” the words are choked out of you, sobbed as you bat your lashes. Jungkook, the poor boy, was much more eager and sweeter. But with Namjoon, his experience is evident in his strokes. He’s rougher with the way he squeezes your ass until a handprint is left. There’s less regard with how he treats you, as if you’re just a pretty placeholder merely giving pleasure. His hard thrusts against your cervix would hurt if not for how the pleasure overtakes you. “You have to pull out, daddy,” you stutter. “I-I can’t get pregnant.” Your kind can’t carry children from mortals but he doesn’t need to know that. “I’ll do whatever I want,” Namjoon grunts, jaw clamped and brows furrowed. He sweats at his hairline. “I’ll cum where I want.” You give a loud and exasperated moan that you hope he enjoys. “B-But it’s not right.” “Shush. I’ll take care of you.” You squeeze around him again, hands tight on his shoulders. Namjoon’s eyes are shut as he revels in the feeling of you rocking against him and you smirk, looking down at him. At how pathetic he’s gotten. Just sitting on his lap and giving a simple kiss was enough to reduce him to this mess. From an established mogul in his forties into a helpless, hormonal teenage boy. In a few minutes, he’s thrown away years of marriage and loyalty for his wife for some maid’s cunt. A measly housemaid who’s supposed to be only a few years older than his own daughter. Taehyung was right — this is fun. At the same time, Sohee walks up the stairs while humming, hugging her textbooks to her body. She beelines straight to your room at the end of the other hall, wanting to show off how she’s finished everything and secretly hoping that you’ll gently stroke her hair like you always do. But as she passes by her father’s office, her ears catch a high-pitched whine. She stops. On sheer instincts, her head swivels over. And through the crack, she finds her dad’s backside. She sees the way you’re on top of him, naked, riding her father. Your eyes flicker to her through the gap. She gasps. Sohee backs away into the darkness. She turns around, a thick lump forming in her throat, her brows knitted together. But she doesn’t watch where she’s going and her mother meets her in the corridor. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be in bed, Sohee.” Yijin’s voice is grating to the ears and she frowns at her daughter’s disposition. The way her downcast head and eyes search the ground. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. “What’s wrong with you?” She doesn’t mean to — but Sohee’s eyes incidentally travel back to the grandiose double doors. And Yijin follows her line of sight. // “I can’t believe you’ve done this!” Her screeches fill the manor. It’s always been noisy, but never solely because of an individual and certainly never at this ear screeching pitch. “How could you do this to me?!” Yijin’s absolutely deranged. She’s throwing a fuss early morning after what she saw last night and retreated to her bedroom. She waited for him to return. Yet Namjoon never came to join her. Now she stands at the foyer with a suitcase that Ms. Yoo packed, but she has no plans of leaving. Instead, she’s tossing porcelain vases on the ground and tugging the tablecloth off of the table. The display case is open and fragments of antiquities litter the marble floor. Jaesun is crying hysterically at the staircase while rubbing his eyes with two tight fists. Sohee remains silent, standing at the top and looking down at her mother. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” The woman shrieks at Namjoon who stands there motionlessly, expression blank and impassive. It doesn’t seem like she’ll be satisfied until she gets a remorseful reaction from him or tears this entire house apart. Either of which you’d be amused to see. “You selfish bastard!” Although this was entertaining in itself. You’ve never seen her like this before. The once polished and poised woman has been diminished to this vengeful bitch that’s about to pop a vein — a version of herself that you always knew was hidden deep inside. Ms. Yoo is the only one who comes forward and tries to put a stop to it. “Please, madam. Don’t do this,” she pleads softly, tears streaking down her own face. Jaesun weeps. “Mommy!” “Madam, please,” Ms. Yoo begs as if she’s trying to placate a child throwing a temper tantrum. “You’re only going to hurt yourself.” “You can’t do this to me, Namjoon!” Yijin’s hair is all in front of her face in a tangled mess. Her dress is wrinkled and she’s bare feet. Crazed — just like her husband was last night….except in different contexts. Ms. Yoo starts to guide her away from the foyer to the front door, dragging the suitcase with her. “Even if you divorce me, I could still get the house! Get our kids! Namjoon! Fuckin— Namjoon!” Ms. Yoo pulls her out the door while crying and Yijin collapses at the steps as violent sobs wrack through her. The housekeeper sets the suitcase outside and looks down, hesitating. Namjoon deadpans, “Close the door, Ms. Yoo.” She shuts it. Fists bang against the surface for a moment before it stops, being replaced by the noise of wails. Instantly, Sohee runs upstairs, disappearing from sight. Namjoon turns away. Ms. Yoo sighs, taking Jaesun’s hand and comforting him. The only other person is Yoongi. His gaze is darkened and he leans against the wall with arms crossed. You turn and his eyes pierce into yours. But wordlessly, you bow your head to him and go on about your day. // The house is finally quiet. Just the way you like it. But it brews with a sort of intensity, a tension that doesn’t let you breathe easy. It was the calm before the final storm and your guard wasn’t going to be put down just yet. You knock against Sohee’s bedroom door and after hearing no protests, you open it. She’s laying on her bed, covers over her head, having skipped school today which no one blamed her for. You clear your throat, speaking gently as if you were cooing a puppy, “You didn’t have any breakfast, so I brought you hot chocolate, Sohee. I’ll leave it on your nightstand.” The mug is placed down and as you turn away, the sound of rustling slows your steps. She’s come up for air, hair in a disarray and covering her face, and she calls for you, “Y/N.” “Hmm?” “Are…..” She hesitates and you take the invitation to sit at the edge of her bed. The girl looks up at you after a moment. “Are you going to become my new mom?” The pause is purposeful. It makes it seem as if you’re considering it. Makes it seem as if you’re staring at her because you’re wholeheartedly endeared by her. And that nothing else matters. To top it off, your arms reach out and you hug her. Sohee is vulnerable, small against you and she eases in your secure embrace, allowing you to hold her. You even run your fingers through her hair, caressing her gently and she softly sighs, relishing in the comfort she never received from her own mother. In a lot of ways, you share many similarities with her. “I’m sorry, Sohee,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean you to see that. For all this to happen. I adore you and if you want me to be your new mom, I will, but it’ll be a decision made with you.” She nods against your shoulder and the corner of your mouth pulls into a subtle smirk. To think she would ask such a question merely hours after her biological mother was booted out the house is both astounding and unsurprising. It’s partly from her poor relationship with the woman and how she was charmed by you moments after your first encounter. A kind of love at first sight. Not unlike how most men succumb to your allure — yet differing from lust. Instead, Sohee has developed a familial affection towards you. But not everyone is as welcome as she is to the new change. “Did you have anything to do with this?” Yoongi asks you. A surprise that he’s stepped out of his bedroom for some sunlight. Or perhaps to find answers. You hum, continuing to place the stack of books back onto the shelf in the living room. “Maybe.” His cat-like eyes are focused, pierced into you with a kind of intensity that would make anyone sweat. But you aren’t anyone. “What are your plans? Is it the inheritance? The status? Namjoon’s money—” “Neither.” Finished with your task, you move to the kitchen. But Yoongi blocks the doorway, leaning against it and never moving away. You stop, allowing your bodies to press together, testing as to who will give in first. Yet, he never once yields. Wavers. You’re close enough that he can feel your hot breath against his skin and as his jaw clamps, your pupils flicker down to his pouty mouth. Against his own will, his eyes mimic yours. They follow to your own lips. And you smirk. It’s a heated moment and then you brush away from the sharp-witted man. // For a short while, there’s a mirage that the game has several winners. But the instant gratification comes with consequences and there is only one ultimate victor. “I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t work in these conditions. With the madam gone, it’s just too hard for me. I…” Ms. Yoo shakes her head tearfully, a wrinkled hand placed over her chest where her heart is. “I’ve spent decades working in this house, master Kim, and I think it’s time I retire and spend some time with my grandchildren.” Namjoon stares out the window, unable to work, unable to move. His frustration overwhelms him. “I won’t force you to stay, Ms. Yoo. Sohee and Jaesun will miss you, but you’ve done a lot for my family and I. We couldn’t thank you enough for your dedication and hard work over the years.” He is calm and she bows her head before retreating. You catch her in the corridor and she takes your hands, squeezing them and wishing you the best of luck with a sweet smile. After Ms. Yoo leaves, you wipe your hands against your collared dress. You knock on the grandiose doors. “Get out.” Disregarding his command, you enter anyway. Namjoon is disgruntled, seated behind his desk in his leather chair, a finished glass of whiskey discarded on the side. His hands are clasped together, elbows propped on the surface and he leans his head on his fingers. “What don’t you understand? Leave!” But you approach him until you can press your hands on the edge of his desk and lean forward. The once powerful man established in his wealth looks up at you, dark circles deepening, the wrinkle between his brows made permanent. He stares at you as if you’re a fearsome curse, a bothersome pest, a fiend. And you have to resist the delicious smirk that tickles your lips. “You did this to me,” he mutters, simmering in animosity. “You destroyed me.” You round the oak furniture and plop down onto his lap. Before he can shove you off, you grab his hair from the back of his head, letting the strands thread through your fingers, and you pull. He groans, chin lifting up. “You were the one who made the decision,” you tell him. “It’s you who became weak. You thought about me and even now, you still want me.” The edge of your mouth tilts and you watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat before you lean in, whispering in his ear, “You can’t stop thinking about me, can you, Namjoon?” “You’re a vixen.” “Oh, I’m much more than that.” You end up sinking to your knees and taking him to the back of your throat. He cums there, the taste salty and consistency thick — a kind of bitterness that you’ve learnt to find savoury. And Namjoon cums again in your tight cunt when you’re bent over his desk and he’s pounding into you, fucking you hard enough to feel his anger and for your ass to bruise against his pelvis. “N-Namjoon, it feels so good.” “Shut the fuck up, slut.” He sweats at his hairline, holding your hips and jostling you around as he chases his own release. You look across the room to the family portrait above the mantle and smirk to yourself. “I-I’ll spank your cunt again.” He couldn’t even scold you. He couldn’t blame you for ruining his marriage. You have him wrapped around your finger. // The photograph captured a moment of Namjoon holding newborn Jaesun, Yijin smiling with her arm looped around Sohee who was only eleven at the time. They’re in front of the house with Ms. Yoo beside them wearing a grin. She remembers that day, the family barbecue outside, the laughter and joyous atmosphere. Yet now, Ms. Yoo only sighs to herself and packs the framed picture into her duffle bag. “You’re still here?” Your voice nearly startles the old woman to death. She jumps and turns around, finding you at the doorway. “Yes, I was just finishing up. I didn’t realize I had so many belongings. I guess this is what thirty years gives you.” Ms. Yoo takes a gander around the room, what was her home, then to you. She never once notices Namjoon’s cum dripping down your thigh from your messy and puffed center that still delightfully aches. “I’m going to miss this place.” “Or you could always stay.” Not wanting to waste any more time, you take three strides and your mouth presses against hers. The older woman is shocked, eyes widened at your kiss, but you inhale. She goes limp against you. Her soul taken right from her. And Ms. Yoo collapses to the ground. You shudder at the taste, at how your guts coil inwards. It’s terribly bland. Her soul isn’t half of what it takes to satisfy you. Not like you’re surprised. As a succubus who’s meant to entice mortal men, male souls are the desirable ones. You wait for Taehyung to come pick up the corpse, but he never shows up and you curse him. He always finds a way to show his face and steal the good souls away from you, satisfying his own appetite and leaving the scraps left for you. But when it comes to souls that are bland to you and therefore bland to him, suddenly he has no business manifesting himself. You kick Ms. Yoo’s lifeless body and having no other options, you roll her heavy body with the rectangular carpet. You start sweating as you heave her up. But with enough effort, you manage to stuff her in the closet and shut the doors. Someone will deal with that later. // It’s amusing. Namjoon does everything within his power to act like nothing’s changed. That nothing’s happened and he isn’t missing his wife or housekeeper in his home. He grabs onto any semblance of normalcy, perhaps to cope with the changes of the past twenty four hours. He calls for dinner to be set at the usual time and you’re thankful Ms. Yoo made sure the fridge was stocked up before she was to leave. All you do is slap the container food into bowls and heat them in the microwave before setting the table as you usually do. The entire family gathers around the table — Sohee, Jaesun, Namjoon and even Yoongi. “Y/N will be joining us for dinner,” Namjoon suddenly announces as you set down the last bowl. Your brow raises and Yoongi’s eyes round but no one questions it. Not even Jaesun who often throws tantrums. The kid merely pouts. Never once lifting his spoon of rice into his mouth, putting on a defiant act, but you don’t care. If the brat wants to starve, he can starve. You sit down beside Namjoon, across from Yoongi and diagonal to Sohee. It’s tense at the table, the silence suffocating those around it. But you settle in comfortably and even pass some side dishes directly into Sohee’s bowl that you know she likes. Her eyes flicker up to you and a tiny smile tugs on her face. “Thank you.” Namjoon clears his throat and looks to his brother. “You were working on editing a science textbook, right?” “Biology,” Yoongi answers shortly. “For grade eight students.” “And how is that coming along?” They continue their conversation, making some small talk and you chew in your cheek while your foot lifts underneath the table. Your leg stretches and it grazes along the leg of the man across from you. Yoongi immediately freezes. His brown eyes pool close to black and he glares. But you don’t let up, stroking the inside of his leg as you eat and look away from him. Yoongi pushes away. You scoot yourself forward. He tries not to draw attention to himself. Asked another question, he gives half a mind to responding. Your toes slowly travel up to his thighs and then they tickle and twitch against his crotch. Yoongi’s breath staccatos. No one knows that you’re playing footsies with Yoongi underneath the table. That you can feel the way he hardens against his sweatpants. “What game do you think you’re playing?!” he harshly whispers after dinner when the two of you are away from the others. Yoongi corners you, his good looks sadly marred by his twisted expression. You blink, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?” But the little act doesn’t faze him. You knew it wouldn’t work the second you met the man. “I know you have something to do with Yijin leaving.” “I didn’t do anything, Yoongi.” You grab his shoulders, pulling him closer until his body is pressed against yours and you grin, breath skimming along his neck. “The dominoes were already in place long before I came here. You know that too. I just needed to give it a little push,” you exhale the word and he can’t stop himself from swallowing hard. From staring at you. He eventually musters enough self-control to push you away and leave. You turn the corner, the darkness enveloping the corridor and bringing a sort of eeriness. But it might just be from Taehyung who you find leaning against the wall. His arms are crossed and he’s smirking. “Aren’t you having a little too much fun, peach?” “This is the best part.” You loll your head to one side. “Sometimes playing with your food before you eat it makes it much more appetizing.” He laughs, chuckling from his chest and the sound tinkles. “I taught you well.” Taehyung pushes himself off the surface and as he passes by you, he taps your butt. He disappears seconds later, leaving you on your lonesome to keep playing. // Everything is falling into place. It’s like you’re playing chess without an opponent, simply arranging your pawns as you’d like on the board. But because of how effortless and simple it is, it’s easy to get bored. One day you’re waking up to a blaring alarm clock and slaving after the whims of humans as their servant and the next, you wake beside Namjoon in the master bedroom, having taken the madam’s place. You slept on her sheets, on her pillow, beside her husband. There’s nothing fun about it anymore once you’ve won. You roll over to straddle Namjoon’s hips, placing his morning wood right under your center. He’s shaken awake by the movement and groans, rough hands instinctively coming to grab your ass. “W-What time is it?” his voice is still thick with sleep and you smile devilishly, rubbing your clit through your silk slip that barely covers your nipples. Your pink cunt is still swollen from last night’s endeavours, but you think one last one ought to be enough. You won’t miss his cock after this. “You were dreaming about me, weren’t you, Namjoon?” you whisper and before he can respond, your hands reach out, wrapping around his neck. He’s completely at your mercy. The man slowly blinks awake, coming to consciousness and a staggering exhale leaves his mouth as you position the bulborous head of his shaft to your folds. He mumbles something about how insatiable you are and lightly chuckles. But Namjoon should consider himself lucky. It’s not often you let the same human fuck you three times. He pounds into you, hips lifting off the mattress. The stretch of your pussy is rather pleasing, but with the repetitiveness, your mind wanders and your hands around his neck tighten. You cut off Namjoon’s airway and his eyes slam shut with a loud groan. You can practically feel his cock twitch inside of you. Unfortunately, the man loses it all too soon. It’s a bit amateurish for someone as experienced and punishing as he is, but you don’t blame him. Well...only a little as you lean down and capture your mouth with Namjoon’s before inhaling sharply. Out of the three times you spread your legs for him and the numerous times you let his cum leak out of your pussy and drip down your thighs, he only made you cum once. It’s kind of sad. Selfish. Once you’re done with him, he falls back. You hum to yourself as you climb off the man’s used dick and move to the vanity across the luxurious bedroom. You freshen up and pin up your hair, allowing a few strands to frame your face. After you’re satisfied, you grab Yijin’s shawl to cover your top half and you stride down the hall to Yoongi’s door. He’s at his desk as usual, red pen in hand, crouched over a stack of papers. But the curtains aren’t drawn, allowing the bright sunlight through his modest room. “Mornin’.” He turns around, brow raised, eyeing how you’re leaning against the door frame, casually greeting him in spite of being dressed in a measly scrap of fabric. “What are you doing?” You quirk your head. “Something we should’ve done a long time ago.” “And what is that?” “Hmmm, I think you know, Yoongi.” You flick a piece of dirt from underneath your fingernail. “Let’s not drag this on for any longer than we have to.” You stay ambiguous and he maintains an impassive expression. But his stoicness has no effect to deter you when you smile and approach him slowly. “You know, I was once like you. Complacent. Quiet. A little like Sohee too, maybe even more naive than she is right now.” “Once?” “A long time ago,” you hum. “I was going to get married to a bad, bad man until I became liberated.” You come close enough to grab a fistful of his hair at the back of his head. His head tilts upwards when you tug, powerless to your enchantment. “It’s okay to give in, Yoongi,” you whisper against his skin. “It’s okay to be selfish and indulgent. You’ve done so well up to now.” “What makes you think I’ll sleep with my brother’s mistress?” he asks in a harsher tone. “The whore that ruined his entire family.” You laugh. “That’s not very nice.” “But isn’t it the truth?” “It is. But I’m supposed to be irresistible to men. Your restraint is impressive, Yoongi, but it’s only natural that you give into your primitive needs or at least be honest with yourself. You dream about me, don’t you?” The ongoing silence makes your grin widen and your eyes glimmer in the morning sunlight. “You’ve fantasized about me a lot. You want me.” You lower yourself, hooded eyes connected with his. Your hair is messy, yet not in a disoriented way from sleeping. Yoongi smell it on you too — the sweat and musty scent. “You fucked my brother.” “And I can fuck you too.” You surge forward, capturing his mouth with your own. It’s different. Languid with the soft caresses of tongue, his lips not chapped but puffy. The kiss is slow and lazy. Not eager like Jungkook but not as rough as Namjoon. Yoongi sighs, savouring and truly enjoying it, and it’s something you lean into. You match his speed and rhythm and once you pull away, his eyes are hazy. Yoongi pants, swallowing hard. “Who...are you?” “Secret,” you sing-song and pull him towards you. The two of you nearly fall to the floor, though his bed is close enough in his small room that you collide against the mattress. The man hovers over you and you hold his arms in a vice grip. Cocking your head to the side, you giggle. “This is fun, isn’t it?” “You’re a heathen.” “Not quite, but close enough.” You grin and kiss him again. It feels good to. Not long after that, you’re beneath him and he’s bare, quiet without a single moan. His cock draws deep into you leisurely, languid rolls that’s not necessarily chasing for an end but relishing in the pleasure. “I was never going to fuck you,” Yoongi murmurs. “Even if I wanted to.” You pout. “Why not?” “Because I have dignity and respect for myself.” You scoff. “Guess you lost all that.” “No. I still do.” His voice is husky around the edges. “But if I give you what you want, maybe I’ll understand your intentions better.” The corner of your mouth curls and your hips lift to meet Yoongi’s. You squeeze around him just to tease. “And what do you think my intentions are?” “I-I still don’t know yet.” He sweats, hips sped up and then keeps a constant rhythm. “Why do you do the things that you do? Why did you try to tear this house apart? Gain Sohee’s favour.” Yoongi’s brown eyes pierce into you. He’s a perceptive man. “You don’t love Namjoon. I don’t think you loved Jungkook either.” “Jungkook?” “He would’ve never left like that out of his own free will.” “You’re smart,” you coo affectionately and run your hands through his fluffy hair. It’s such a shame he’s just a mortal. “I promise you’ll know by the end of this, Yoongi.” Another minute passes and Yoongi pulls out. You watch as he pumps himself thrice and finishes on your stomach with a quiet grunt, cum painting all over your flesh. You’re about to grab his shoulder to kiss him, but he parts your thighs and lowers himself. His mouth attaches to your cunt, forcing his wet tongue inside your used hole and he eats you out, licking at the juices that leak out of you. But he remains meticulous and careful, drawing unrestrained moans from your lungs. “S-So good…” Yoongi works you up until you feel hot all over your body and your hands have sunk into his head of hair, threading through the strands. As if that wasn’t enough, he sucks on your clit and inserts his index into your walls. He sinks deep and curls the finger against the perfect spot. Your back arches and you cum all over his tongue. He lets you ride it out against the stiff muscle and his plush lips before he’s lifting himself up, revealing all of your slick that’s coated his mouth and chin. “Thank you,” you pant, chest heaving. You gaze at Yoongi with heavy lids and you sit up. “I’ll give you the answer to your questions. Who I am. Why I’m here.” You cradle his cheeks in your palms and you lean forward. Yoongi’s eyes droop and he kisses you back, softly and deeply. You keep it slow too, savouring the taste of yourself on his palette and then, when the moment is right, you inhale. His lids open slightly, feeling himself weaken. Yoongi’s not sure if it’s from exhaustion, but as your kiss continues, his surroundings blurs more. He groans at the back of his throat, wanting to pull away, but without having the strength to. The world around him darkens. His consciousness lasts three seconds afterwards. Enough to realize you’re a monster. Yoongi’s body falls back onto the mattress. His soul has been consumed by you and as tasty as it was, you’re a bit regretful. You pull the plush blanket up to give him some modesty and you ruffle your fingers through his bangs. “Truthfully, I liked you the best in this house.” The sadness lasts another second before you’re humming and climbing off the bed. The job is finally done and you roll your shoulders, walking out the room. As you do so, your exterior finally sheds of your human disguise into your true form. While your face remains the same, your lips redden and your hair becomes luscious and longer, draping your backside. The white, silk slip morphs to a dress in the blinding shade of crimson. It hugs your body, from the dip of your waist to the swell of your breasts. And at the crown of your head, two small horns manifest. Downstairs, Taehyung is standing on the porch. He turns as you join his side and smirks. “About time you finished, peach.” He’s been watching Jaesun. The five year old is running around the backyard underneath the sun and flinging around the toys his wealthy parents got for him. He’s completely oblivious to the situation and unquestioning to Taehyung’s presence. Taehyung is the tamer of all brats after all. “Didn’t you say I could take my time to have fun?” “I think you’ve been having too much fun.” The corner of your reddened lips pull. “I don’t think so.” “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself though.” He lolls his head over and grabs a hold of your chin. Taehyung leans himself down to your height and comes forward for an invasive kiss. Without warning, he licks into your mouth and you moan helplessly, completely at his mercy. Taehyung’s tongue is sticky as he tastes you, calm yet impatient. It’s a pleasant kind of intimacy as he steals your breath. But when he starts to inhale deep, you bite him. Taehyung pulls back with a grin, the bottom of his lip split slightly. You pout. “You should at least give me some. I worked hard for those souls, you know.” He gives you a look. “Did you really?” “More work than usual,” you bite back. A black cat mewls at Jaesun. The kid swivels his head over, fascination growing as the feline hops from the fence to the grass gracefully as if inviting him to play. The cat has a short but luscious coat and its tail curls, green eyes wide. Jaesun instantly drops the ball he’s holding. His greedy hands extend and he follows the cat behind some bushes. There’s a flash of bright light and Jimin stretches himself out from his feline form. He cracks his bones and leans over, interrupting your conversation. “Thanks for the kid, Tae.” Taehyung waves. “No problem, Chim.”

Sohee wakes up to a silent house. There’s a strangeness in the air, a certain uneasy feeling in her body, but she dresses herself and continues her morning. It’s when the peace is ongoing that she searches for people, for her father first. She screams when she discovers Namjoon on the bed lifeless. No matter how much she shakes him or calls out his name, he never moves or twitches. He doesn’t breathe. The girl cries and runs to her uncle for help. But he, too, isn’t sleeping and isn’t resting like he appears to be. The man’s skin has gone cold, eyes shut tight, his lips pale. She cups a hand over her mouth, silencing a sob in the eerie house and she stumbles down the steps. There’s only one person left. One person to help her. And she sees you through the back door on the porch. Standing next to a tall man. Sohee’s confusion stops her tears while hiccups continue to wrack through her body. “W-Who are you?” The two of you turn at the sound of her voice. Taehyung grins. “Oh. Nice to see you again, little girl. Remember me?” Sohee’s eyes are swollen, cheeks stained with saltwater. Her body trembles as she grips the door frame. You coo at her, stepping forward with your arms open but she flinches. “W-What did you do to them?” You sigh, arms dropping to your side, yet your voice remains tender. “They got what they deserved, Sohee.” “W-W...h..at?” “They succumbed to their primitive desires and suffered the punishment for it.” “This is what you wanted, didn’t you?” Taehyung’s brow cocks and he smiles at her. “You were the one who summoned me here in the first place.” Confusion is marked across her visage — brows furrowed, mouth lopsided. But it was Sohee that called out to you and Taehyung. She was the one who began your assignment. She was the one who invited the pair of you into her home. Practically opened the door and ushered you in desperately. “All those nights of prayer, did you really think God would grant you such evil wishes to get rid of your family? You were praying to the devil, little girl.” Incubi and succubi like you and Taehyung need invitations to enter an abode. Yet Sohee handed the both of you that on a silver platter. Taehyung might’ve assigned the task to you, but it was a win-win. Not only could you grant her wish, but you could reap all the benefits by stealing the souls of her family members and indulging in their lust. “All those nights of wishing your mother would get hit by a car. That your brother would cease to exist. That your father would fail his business….” It was a victory from the start. You give Sohee a moment since it looks like she needs it. It’s understandably shocking. You were once in her position after all and just as surprised. But the realization seems to sink into her with the way her eyes widen. “I-I didn’t know this is what would happen!” “You wanted an escape from your life,” you say to her in excitement. There was one more benefit to this ordeal too — just as Taehyung has you, Sohee will become yours. “This is it, sweetheart.” If you didn’t know you would get such an endearing subordinate from all this, you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of it all. But ‘subordinate’ and ‘underling’ are such unpleasant words Taehyung uses. Sohee’s more like a little puppy for you to love, mentor and show around. “Come with us.” You extend your hand, palm open to the sky. “We came all the way here for you.” Sohee looks at both you and him, brows furrowed, hesitation evident. “What will happen to me?” “You want to be like me, don’t you?” You smile at her along with Taehyung who remains patient. “I’ll take care of you and so will Taehyung. What else does this place have to offer you?” This is the true game of temptation. No one is ever forced into making a deal with the devil. It’s a choice. And one she takes. The girl lifts her arm, taking your hand. A bigger smile pulls on your features. And just like that, the three of you vanish together.

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calamitykaty · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t Forget

CHARLIE X READER

WORD COUNT: 2399

WARNINGS: SOME SWEARING...LOTS OF ANGST, SOME FLUFF

REQUESTED: NO

“Promise you won’t forget about me when you make your dreams come true?” Her fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt as she clung to him desperately.

Charlie’s thumbs swiftly swiped the tears that gathered under her eyes.

“I would never forget you, couldn’t even if I tried, love.” He promised and gently stepped out of her embrace as his flight was called for boarding.

She wrapped her arms around her body, her knuckles white as they dug into her ribs. A quiet sob escaped as she watched her best friend disappear into the airport crowd.

She had been friends with Charlie since they were practically in diapers. She was there for every major milestone of his and he was there for all of hers. She was there when Charlie played his first open mic and he was there for her first dance recital. He held her when she went through her first heartbreak, the same way she held him when he got his first “no” after a huge audition. If you asked Charlie, they went together like Peanut Butter and Eggs.

She remembered crying for what felt like weeks when Charlie broke the news that he was moving to California to chase his dreams of acting. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the day would eventually come but she expected to be right there with him, along for the ride. Life didn’t work out that way for her though. She had suffered a career ending knee injury that took her from the largest stages in Canada to the sidelines of helping other dancers into costume changes backstage.

Charlie kept his promise for the most part, at first, anyways. But then the first year had flown by like nothing and their daily video chats slowly turned into weekly calls before calls turned into texts every now and then until texts turned into instagram comments and occasional likes. It wasn’t long before her calls were sent straight to voicemail by the boy and she felt her world slowly slipping away from her. She couldn’t blame him for living his life. Mostly, she just blamed herself for investing so much of her life into him.

“Y/N!!!” Charlie's voice echoed through the phone, a large smile plastered on his face before he turned the camera around “Look! Palm trees...PALM TREES!” the boy yelled with giddy excitement.

Her laughter filled the air in response. She missed him already but wouldn’t let him know that.

“God, I can’t wait until you come visit. You’re going to love it here! The people...the food...the atmosphere...it’s just so electric here”

“I can’t wait, Char”

The boy turned the camera back around so it was facing him “I miss you” he spoke softly and there it was, the words she was dying to hear.

“You and me against the world, eh?”

“Always, Y/N, Always.”

“Hey, Y/N, we're gonna grab some lunch,.You want something?” She was pulled back to reality by her supervisor.

She shook her head and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. The last show of the season had just wrapped the day prior and she was tasked with organizing all of the costumes and getting them back into storage. She quickly got back to work, pulling dresses from the rack and placing them in dress bags, making sure each was labeled correctly before putting them in order on the storage rack. She did this for each costume before moving to jewelry, shoes and other accessories. She pulled her phone from her pocket at the feeling of it vibrating.

“Did you hear Charlie landed a netflix series?” Her sister, Lane, texted her.

The corners of her lips tugged up into an involuntary smile and she sent back a simple thumbs up emoji before stuffing the phone back into her back pocket.

She could feel angry tears welling up in her eyes and bit her lip trying to keep them at bay. She was happy for Charlie, truly. But the hurt she felt from finding out that he finally got his big break, a potentially life altering role, from her sister instead of from him was almost unbearable. Y/N wiped the tears from her eyes and grabbed her purse from the desk across the room, fishing her car keys out of the side pocket. She silently made her way across the parking lot to her baby blue Subaru Outback, the car that Charlie had convinced her to buy just so her car would match his orange one.

Y/N quietly sang along to the song on the radio as muscle memory guided her to the local market where she needed to buy a few necessities. She clicked the little lock on her key fob twice, the car beeping to signal the doors had locked. She grabbed a cart and pulled her shopping list out of her purse, though she had every intention of just wandering around aimlessly and grabbing things as she saw fit anyways. She grabbed a box of tampons, some body care essentials and turned down the next aisle, her eyes looking down at the list,

“Granola..” she muttered to herself and let her eyes wander down the aisle until she found what she was looking for. She tossed a canister bag of honey and vanilla granola into her cart before turning down the next aisle.

“Y/N, is that you honey?”

She looked up to find Charlie’s mother standing at the opposite end of the aisle. A smile broke out onto her face as she pushed her cart to the blonde haired woman. “Hi, Mrs. Gillespie” she pulled her into a hug. Charlie’s mom squeezed the breath out of her, the type of hug that only mothers give.

“How have you been, dear? We haven’t seen you around lately.”

She looked away, a tinge of guilt on her stomach. Part of Charlie being her person for so long was his family being like a second family to her, but it also meant that when Charlie disappeared from her life, she too disappeared from theirs.

“Just been busy, I guess” She lied. “I should get going, it was nice seeing you Mrs. G”

Mrs. Gillespie gently squeezed her shoulder “Well, don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

Y/N mustered a smile and nodded her head though her smile just as quickly fell when her ears picked up on a familiar laugh coming from behind her. Y/N hurriedly turned the aisle and let out a breath that she hadn’t realized she had been holding. She felt her hands shaking and contemplated just abandoning her cart and coming back to the market another time.

She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and clicked on the instagram app and searched for Charlie’s page. He had posted a picture two days prior of him hiking the Fundy, the caption read Good to be back home. Missed my people and my favorite place to hike. Y/N clicked on the picture, bringing up all of the people he tagged on the post, a mixture of family and friends, but most notably not her.

“Hey, stranger…” Y/N muttered through the phone, the first time Charlie had answered her call in nearly three weeks.

“Hey…” Y/N could hear loud music in the background

“Is this a bad time?” she asked nervously.

“No...I mean...w-well, kinda…” Charlie admitted. “I’ll call you tomorrow?” He offered in exchange.

“Y-yeah, ok.” Y/N sighed, the phone disconnecting before she could say anything else. She had kept her phone next to her at work the entire today the next day waiting for a phone call that never came.

She pushed on through the rest of the market and grabbed all of the items that were on her list before heading to the self check-out. She could see the two Gillespies at the other side of the store, benign checked out by a teenage cashier. She quickly scanned her items and bagged them up before placing her debit card in the card reader and punched her code in before grabbing her receipt and making a hasty beeline for the exit, trying her hardest not to be stopped by Charlie's mother again.

Her plan worked and she made it to her car without being stopped. She clicked the unlock button on her key fob before opening the hatch on the back and began loading her groceries into the back. She had almost escaped scot-free but when she closed the hatch her eyes landed on the boy, leaning against her car with a smile plastered on his face.

“Charles.” She nodded curtly and turned around to take her cart back to the coral. She could hear his footsteps chasing behind her as she pushed the cart where it belonged. She felt the boy tug at her waist, turning her around to face him.

“Hey, stranger” Charlie whispered down to her.

She gently pushed against his chest, creating space between them and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Don’t touch me, Charlie.” She meant it to come out of her mouth with venom, for it to sound hateful, and mean but instead it came out as a scared plea.

Charlie frowned, his eyebrows knitted down in confusion. He reached out a hand again but dropped it back down to his side when Y/N stepped further back from him again. She could feel the sting of tears start to prick at the back of her eyes and cursed herself, the last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of the boy.

“Y/N…” Charlie begged as she walked away from him and quickly got into her car. She placed the key into the ignition and pulled out of the parking space, leaving the confused boy behind in her rear view mirror. When she got home, Y/N, abandoned her groceries in the car and headed straight to her room when she crawled under the covers and let her body finally feel all of the emotions that she had held in, her body shook with each hiccup caused by her sobs. Her phone quietly dinged next to her every 30 seconds for a few minutes until the texts turned to phone calls that she let go to voicemail.

She woke up to a weight shifting on her bed, her eyes slowly fluttered open and landed on the boy laying next to her with worry in his eyes. She had forgotten that she had given him a key to her apartment the year before he left.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice quivered.

Charlie reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, the pad of his thumb lightly running from side to side against her soft skin. Y/N flinched at his touch causing him to remove his hand.She wanted to yell out to him, to push him away and tell him that she never wanted to see him again but she just didn’t have the energy to fight him.

“Why was I so easy to forget?” she settled on, her voice raspy and broken.

He knew he had hurt her but had spent the last year pushing it to the back of his mind, reassuring himself that when he got back to town that everything would just fall back into place. He never took into account the magnitude of pain that he had caused his person.

“Y/N...I-i’m sorry” Charlie blinked back his own tears “y-you’re not forgettable--you’re everything to me, you’re my person.”

“I’m not” Y/N whispered, “not anymore, Charlie.” Her eyes avoided his as she turned onto her back to stare at the stark white ceiling.

“Congrats on the netflix role”

‘I was going to tell you” Charlie sighed.

She could feel his eyes burning into the side of her cheek. Y/N pursed her lips “sure.” She could feel the anger in chest start to ignite again and tuned so her back was facing him.

“You don’t get to come back, Charlie, and act like you didn’t erase me from your life over the past year.”

‘That’s not true, Y/N, I didn’t--”

“It is! And you know it!” She cut him off, her voice growing louder. She swung her legs to the edge of the bed and stood up, Charlie following suit.

“It’s not like you ever came to visit me in California, this isn’t all on me, Y/N” Charlie argued.

Y/N shot daggers at the boy, her hands raked through her hair. “Are you fucking kidding me, Charlie?” She spit with venom “You NEVER invited me! YOU stopped taking my calls, YOU stopped answering my texts, YOU decided you didn’t want me anymore.”

Charlie's face softened “T-that isn’t true.”

“Isn’t it though?” She hissed in response with a bitter laugh.

“It was too hard” Charlie admitted selfishly “I couldn’t get you out of my head a-and I was blowing auditions because of it. I--I was really homesick..for you…” He closed the distance between them and pulled Y/N into his arms despite her pushing against his chest, he held tighter until her arms wrapped around his waist.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” Charlie whispered over and over and kissed the top of her head. The pair clung together for what seemed like an eternity before Charlie pulled back and cupped her face with both of his hands, the pads of his thumbs wiping away her tears.

“Come to Vancouver with me?” His eyes searched hers.

“Vancouver?”

Charlie let his lips curl up “It’s where the series is getting filmed, come with me...I don’t want to lose you again” he pleaded, his eyes flicking down from her eyes to her lips and back up again.

“Yeah..ok” Y/N hesitantly agreed as she leaned in meeting Charlie halfway, their lips connected. Charlie dropped his right hand from her cheek and grabbed her hip, pulling her closer to him. Her hands weaved around his neck as her mouth opened, inviting Charlie in to explore before she pulled back and rested her forehead against his, her eyes closed and a small smile on her face.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time,” Charlie admitted sheepishly. Y/N rocked up on her toes, her lips ghosting across his “next time don’t wait so long” she responded before connecting their lips again.

Let me know if you wan to be added to my taglist!

@crybabyddl @straywonpil @siennanoelle01 @choppedhoundsludgeclod @cool-ultra-nerd @hxney-bunches-x @sorryyoureoutofmyleague @angryknightstatesmantrash @onlygetaway @iainttakingshitfromnobody

#charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie one shot #jatp #jatp fanfic #luke patterson #luke patterson fanfiction #charlie gillespie fic #charlie gillespie imagine #julie and the phantoms #I cried twice while writing this #that is what happens when you get too invested in your made up character #my dog stared at me like damn bitch again??

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euphoricdumpsterfire · 4 years ago

Text

It Was Enchanting To Meet You (Edmund Pevensie x Mutant! Fem Reader)

Chapter VI: Winter Strikes

Summary: Agatha Harkness reveals more about Y/N's past, and snow starts falling in the middle of summer which brings a huge concern for the Narnians.

Masterlist

Word Count: 1323

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any real warnings except for maybe an animal turning into an inanimate object. However if I’m forgetting anything, feel free to let me know.

A/N: I’m sorry I couldn’t upload last week, I had a bunch of school work to do and I still do lol. This will be the only chapter for this week, and the next one will be uploaded next week. Enjoy! :)

"Wha- How?!"

"I'll explain everything once you and your prince charming come in." Agatha said, moving out of the doorway to make room.

"It's king." Edmund said,

"I'm sorry?" Agatha raised an eyebrow,

"I'm not a prince. I'm a king." He replied,

Agatha cackled once more, "My apologies... Your highness. But please do come in, I have a lot of explaining to do." She said. Edmund turned his head to look at Y/N, she nods as a go sign and the both of them went inside.

The cottage was dark, the purple wallpaper was worn out and pieces of it were sticking out. Then there was a small table with a purple tablecloth over it and what sat on top was a crystal ball. “So how exactly do you know me?” Y/N asked,

“Well," Agatha grabbed two teacups and poured hot tea, "I had always looked after you ever since you were a young child. I even had to pretend to be a babysitter so I can watch you up close until you were three years old!" She chuckled as she served the tea to Y/N and Edmund.

“Then how come I don’t remember you?” Y/N asked, not accepting the tea,

“Your parents grew suspicious of me so I had to do a little spell to make them forget everything, including you. Now drink up, you two must’ve been exhausted fighting off those mermaids.” Agatha gestured her hand towards the tea, Edmund hesitantly took a sip however Y/N still refused and continued to ask her more questions.

“Why did you do all of that in the first place?” She asked. Agatha sighed and sat down on a purple velvet chair that matched her dress.

“Aslan isn’t the only one who knows all of the prophecies.” She said, she flicked her wrist and a purple light lingered across the room and summoned a book.

“How’d you know about Aslan?” Edmund asked,

“I know every single magical person across the multiverse. Thanks to this book.” Agatha replied and pointed at the book that seemed to glow with orange light. “This…” She paused to open up the book, “Is the Darkhold. It contains every spell, charm, and prophecy beyond every normal witch or wizard’s knowledge.” She explained as she flipped through the pages. “One prophecy stated that a young witch capable of great power will travel across different worlds to take down an evil witch.”

“The White Witch..” Y/N muttered, her eyebrows furrowed and looked back at Agatha, “Great power sounds like it’s over exaggerated.” She said,

“Oh, but it’s not,” Agatha stood up and walked towards Y/N, “You are a nexus being Y/N.”

"What's that?" Y/N asked

"A being capable of seeing and traveling into other realities. Each world has their own nexus being, and if there's two in one world," Agatha scoffed, "Well that's a problem."

"Then who's the nexus being in our world?" Edmund asked,

"Look at you prince charming! Asking the right questions,"

"It's king." Edmund repeated, but Agatha simply rolled her eyes.

"As I was about to explain... Jadis or the White Witch is the nexus being of this world,and the moment she rises again she’ll come back stronger than ever so you must prepare.” Agatha warned,

“But how? I literally don’t know magic or spells! I just know how to move things with my mind and attack without touching a person!” Y/N exclaimed, now realizing how much bigger this prophecy was.

“That’s why I’m here dear!” Agatha said as she tucked a loose hair behind Y/N’s ear, “I’m here to help you hone this great power you’re destined to have.” She smiled, Y/N smiled back now convinced that Agatha seemed to have good intentions. The moment was interrupted by a gust of cold wind that came from the window. Edmund stood up and went to the window as he stuck his hand out, snow fell to his fingertips and his face shriveled in worry.

He looked up at the two ladies and said, “It’s snowing…”

“Wait, I thought it was currently summer?” Y/N questioned, Agatha’s face was now covered in fear.

“She’s almost here.” Agatha said.

Y/N’s eyes widened, Agatha’s statement shook her to the core. The White Witch was coming, and soon enough, she’ll have to face her biggest nightmare.

“We need to go back to the castle and inform everyone.” Edmund said, Y/N stood up and was ready to leave.

“Agatha you should come with us.” She said, Agatha slightly shook her head,

“I can’t. The White Witch must not find out about me.” She answered,

“But I thought you’re supposed to help me? She could be looking for me now and I’m still not prepared!” Y/N’s voice was shaking in fear, she wished this was only a dream, another terrible nightmare.

“I might not be physically with you to help but,” Agatha grabbed a book from the bookshelf and handed it to her, “This grimoire will help you learn everything that you need to learn.” Y/N ran her fingers across the cover and looked back up to Agatha,

“Will I ever see you again?” She asked,

“Only time will tell, now go.” Agatha said. Edmund and Y/N made their way out of the cottage, but before she could leave, Y/N looked back and mouthed ‘thank you’. The two of them ran quickly to find their horses and rode back to the castle as Agatha’s cottage slowly faded away into purple dust.

Once they had arrived at the castle, the two ran to the throne room and saw Susan having a conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Beaver.

“Ed, Y/N, any news about the cottage?” She asked,

“Forget the cottage, it started snowing.” Edmund replied, still panting and trying to catch his breath. Susan stood up, confused with what her brother had said, she looked at Y/N.

“It’s true, she’s coming.” Y/N said. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver gasped, seconds later Mrs. Beaver fainted due to shock and fear. Susan immediately ordered someone to aid Mrs. Beaver, and asked another guard to spread an announcement for the people of Narnia.

“Tell the people to stock up on food and resources, after that, tell them to not get out of their homes until the winter is gone for good.” The guard immediately did Susan’s orders while Lucy eventually caught up with everything that had happened so far.

“We should all rest right now, tomorrow we start preparing.” Susan said and everyone went to their own chambers to get rest.

Later that night, Y/N sat on her bed flipping through the grimoire and practicing spells. While she was reading, a ladybug crawling on the canopy curtain caught her eye. She looked back on the page and then back again at the ladybug that was now staying still. With a twirl of her fingers, blue light swirled around the air as it approached the ladybug. Suddenly, it turned into a red feather, with black spots resembling the ladybug. Y/N let it fall to the ground as she continued to learn more spells.

Time passed by, and Y/N’s eyes felt heavier and heavier. She yawned and read through one more paragraph before she closed the book and wrapped herself up in her blanket and closed her eyes. She then heard a faint voice humming the lullaby that she always sung, a smile formed on her lips knowing who it was and eventually fell into a deep sleep.

Meanwhile, deep into the forest, everything was already covered in snow. A mist of cold air danced into the night sky and formed a large castle made of ice. Inside, by the throne made of ice, there stood a woman dressed in white fur and flurries of snow formed into a crown on her head. The white witch was finally back.

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scentedsongrebel · 4 years ago

Text

Decisions (2/2)

Pairings: Bucky Barnes × Fem! Reader

Summary: The aftermath.

Warnings: Language, fluff, angst, so many feels, extra drama, in accurate descriptions of airport and flights... tell if I miss any.

Word Count: 6021

Written for @anika-ann‘s #challenge500ann

PART 1

SERIES MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

My love,

I would start by saying I'm sorry. I am really sorry that I am running away from fulfilling my side of the deal but after months of trying even if it was just to piss you off and in a way make you come back to me I have realized something. After having hated every thing that I loved about you, after hating myself for loving you like I do, I have realized something.

I have seen the power of unrequited love, I have watched it in the cheesy movies we watched together in the darkness of my living room couch. I have seen one person chase after their love who does not return their feelings until a single situation forces them to confront feelings that existed but they just couldn't see. I have watched as at the end our protagonist takes his lover’s hand and rides off into the sunset. And somewhere, I have tried to do the same thing. I thought that making you jealous, pushing your decisions in your face, taking Nat to the places you wanted to go, do things with her that were ours, will give rise to the big realization on your part and you would come running into my arms.

But ours isn't that love is it? Ours isn't unrequited. I'm not the only one in love am I? For us as I now realize is that I have always loved you more. From the day I saw you steal fruits off Mrs. White's tree to the day Nat finally introduced us and I accidentally spilled orange juice all over your pretty green flower dress, I have always inevitably been attracted to you and while you were not to me. While I watched you join the drama club and never missed a show that you were a part of, even the time when you became a tree in the background of some show I don't remember because all my attention was caught by the tree trying and failing to keeps its branches straight, you were never pulled towards me like that.

You didn't run the short distance between us to jump into my arms when I returned from my short stint at the army.You didn’t miss my smile when I remembered home in the middle of a battle field. I did not join your mind alongside your family as the reason you held onto life after an explosion in your car.

You did not spend sleepless nights wondering about what the hell was going on with you.

The problem never was that my love was not reciprocated, it was in fact reciprocated but the reciprocation was never strong enough. You never loved me as much as I did. You never felt the need to fight for me. And maybe I would have lived with it because I would have never understood what that even meant.

But now? Now I don't think I can. I don't think I can be near you and not see the love of my life, not loving me enough to want me no matter what. I can't be with Nat. Not because I love you and it hurts to be with anyone else, which of course is a factor. But because I don't think I can let myself love someone after realizing the harsh reality about reciprocation.

I can't be the one to dive in nose deep and realize the other was just taking a dip. I can't love someone because I have already drowned and I don't think there is any saving left for me.

So I am done chasing you. I can't do that to myself anymore. Don't worry about Nat, I have instructed Steve to take her in with him and Peggy and help her heal from the pain I have inevitably caused her. Steve would do that for me.

For you my love, I do not blame you. Nat is your sister, she is your family and I know how important she is to you. But I hope you will understand why I did what I did. I hope someday when we meet again down the road, you will see why I couldn't do it.

I’m gonna go stay with my Mother and Becca in Chicago for a while. Maybe find a job there, a new house? Start over.

I hope you find happiness in your life even if its with someone else. Us was just not meant to be.

Best wishes,

Your James.

----------

Tears freely fall down your eyes as you read the letter and sobs take over your lips.

Bucky left. You pushed him so much that he couldn't take it anymore and he left. Left all the madness, all the pain. He left thinking that you never loved him enough, that you never felt the pull.

In your effort not to hurt your sister you had done something else. You had hurt the love of your life. Pushed him away, forced him to leave the city and start over.

You can't blame him can you? After all it was all your fault-

"Will you stop it" Nat pinches the skin on your arm and you wince

"What?"

"I know the self hatred going on in your brain" She crumbles the letter Bucky wrote for her after having gone through its contents "We need to get to the airport as fast as we can"

"But Nat-"

"Shut up and get your phone. I'm driving you to the airport"

She runs towards the table you grab her car keys and cell phone as you stay glued to you position

"What is happening?" Steve looks around at the two of you, his eyebrows knit together

"We're taking Y/n to the airport so she can propose to Bucky"

"What?" You and Steve ask at the same time and Nat rolls her eyes, ignoring Steve and turning towards you

"He already did his proposing, we can't expect him to do it again when you are the one that said yes and then bailed. You gotta show him you are serious about him"

"Nat-"

"You wanna marry him or not?"

"Yes"

"Then you gotta propose and apologize" she pulls of her coat off the hanger and runs out the door before screaming behind her

"Y/n get your ass over here quick and Steve I will leave you behind if you don't hurry"

You and Steve stare at each other before something in you snaps as you finally realize the situation you were in.

You grab your phone and coat and rush out the door, Steve following close behind, grabbing the house keys and running after the car, screaming for Nat to just wait for a second for him as she starts the car the moment you get in.

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

"Wow. This is so exciting" Steve is typing on his phone in the back seat as Nat speeds through the traffic.

"Steve" you whine "Can you not. I'm really nervous"

"I'm sorry. Its just" Steve grins at you through the front mirror "Bucky has no idea what's coming for him."

"You think he'll like it?" You ask biting your lips nervously

"Like it? He loves you Y/n. He's gonna cry right in front of all those people. He's been dying for you to come to your senses"

You wince as Steve goes on about how Bucky has been so depressed and irritated lately. How every time he opened his mouth which was very rare it was to curse you for stealing his heart, for doing whatever the hell you were doing to him.

Nat notices how uncomfortable you get as Steve goes on not realizing that he may be saying a little too much before Nat shoots him a look and he suddenly stops

"Oh no no" he tries to go for a save "No Y/n I didn't mean it like that-"

"Stop"

"Thank you" he sighs in relief, looking at his phone "I'm gonna shut up now"

"That's good" Nat says as she taps her hands on the steering wheel and waiting for the traffic to clear out "Who are you texting any way"

"Peggy" he replies, looking at her through the front mirror "She's very invested in this story"

"What?" You look at him with your eyebrows knitted together

"Well she cares about Bucky too"

You nod your head and look ahead as the traffic stats to clear out and Nat takes the turn towards the airport.

"5 minutes out" she announces, trying really hard to stay within the speed limit

You take several deep breaths as you decide on the right course to take. Should you just get down on one knee and propose without a ring? Should you pull him aside and just talk to him? Should you run to him and just kiss him senseless?

The questions fly around in your head and maybe that is why you don't realize when Nat pulls over in the airport parking area and shakes you by the shoulders to catch your attention.

"Y/n we're here" she says and you look at her fearfully

"What am I gonna say to him?"

"Whatever is in your heart when you see him" She pats your shoulder in reassurance "Now come, lets move"

All three of you quickly make your way towards the main entrance of the airport before a thought pops up in your brain

"Wait, I need a ticket to get in"

"Okay, I will just get to the cheapest ticket" Nat says but before she can run to buy a ticket Steve stops her

"He may have already gone through the security check. The check-in closes in five minutes"

"Yeah so Y/n will check-in for her flight and meet him"

"No, you need to board the flight"

"What Steve are you really that stupid?"

"You think she will just show up and he won't go to Chicago" Steve glares at Nat "If you don't know, he is really angry. I think he would not listen to you and leave regardless. You need to get a seat on the plane right with him and convince him. And also its a huge airport, how long do you plan on looking around for him?"

"Steve is right" You nod your head "I need to go to Chicago with him"

Nat shakes her head as she sighs

"How the hell are we gonna procure a ticket to a flight 5 minutes before check-in is over?"

You take a deep breath and.close your eyes, trying to run the different scenarios through brain.

Maybe buying the cheap ticket to somewhere else is the best plan here? You would have to run as hell and find him and make him stay. Or you would have a follow him to Chicago on the next flight.

But how were you gonna find him in that city. Maybe Steve could give you his mother's address and-

"Peggy got you a ticket"

Steve says, pulling you out of your thoughts

"What?"

"Peggy booked a ticket when we were in the car. Here."

Your phone beeps and you pull it out to find a message from Steve and you look up at him

"Its the ticket" Steve says and then screams "NOW GO. WHY ARE YOU STANDING HERE"

You blink before taking Steve in a soul crashing hug and kiss his cheek.

"Thank you so so so much for marrying Peggy Steve. God I love her"

And then you pull away and dash towards the entrance missing Steve muttering something about thanking him for being a good friend too

"YOU GOT AN ID?" Nat screams after you and you pat your pocket, pulling out your driver's license

Nat sighs, moving to stand closer to Steve as the two of them watch you show the ticket on your phone to the guard and darting inside the airport

"You think it will work?"

"I hope so"

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

You bend down to rest your hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath. Running and finishing the check-in just seconds before it closes really does good in increasing the adrenaline supply in your blood stream.

You take a glance at the clock on the airport wall and sigh, after collecting your boarding pass and going through the security check, you had just a little more then 20 minutes to boarding.

Finding Bucky in this huge airport did seem like a child's play from the outside but now that you stand, looking at all the signs, even finding your gate seems like a chore.

You did forget the airports were the most stupidly complicated things in the world. You make a mental note to gift Peggy a very expensive birthday present for this. And also to thank Steve for bringing her in your life.

It takes you well over 10 minutes to understand where exactly was where you needed to go and another 10 before you do reach there and by that time, the flight is already linning passengers for boarding.

You look around, trying to locate your favorite mass of brown hair as the line starts moving forward.

And with your fast beating heart and cloudy vision, it was getting harder and harder to spot Bucky in the crowd, lining to board the plane. Seems like the plane was in full capacity.

You sigh. Why the fuck is everyone going to Chicago?

You move closer, deciding to joint he line yourself before the familiar beefy body catches your eye. Bucky stands at almost the front of the line with his shoulders slumped and a duffel back thrown over his shoulder. His eyes are in front of him and you just can't stop yourself from screaming his name

"BUCKY!!" You scream and immediately bring your hands to cover your mouth. What the hell was wrong with you?

The entire airport including Bucky turn to look your way but you keep your eyes on him as his meet yours.

His ocean blues widen to the size of saucers and you just know the speck of green has become more prominent.

His eyebrows furrow and his face scrunches like he wants to say something before he shakes his head and keeps looking your way, still confused.

You try to action for him to come to you could talk and for a minute there it seems like he would run out of the line and just take you in his arms before the passenger behind him reminds him to either move forward or get out of the line which seems to lift up his daze as he shakes his head.

He moves ahead in the kine, showing his ticket to the man at the front and then he looks back at you as he enters the boarding bridge. He gives you one last look before he’s walking towards his flight.

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

You sit on your seat watching Bucky as he sits on the window seat of his row which is two ahead of yours on the side of the plane.

Your wishes to every god you could think off for a seat next to Bucky unfortunately did not come true. Its like even the gods know how horribly you screwed up and want you to do it all by yourself.

The moment the seat belt sign is off, you pull yours off and make your way towards Bucky's seat, taking a deep breath.

"Umm Mam?" You ask the middle aged lady sitting on the middle seat of his row besides him

"Yes?" the woman pushes her specks closer to her eyes from where they had fallen to the bridge of her nose, her hair tied in a bun that rests on the base of her neck

"Umm would you mind if we trade places?" You ask, shooting her an apologetic look

She furrows her eyebrows together and looks over behind your back

"Which one?"

"The one there" you point at it "Its the corner seat, better than the middle one, am I right"

You try to laugh and she shoots you a suspicious look

"And why would you want to change places?" You sigh, taking a deep breath, trying to avoid eye contact with Bucky who now looks over at you in irritation, having pulled out his ear plugs but before you can answer the woman’s question Bucky interrupts

"Please please don't trade places with her" he begs the woman and she turns to him "She's been following me"

Your jaw touches the floor as you give Bucky a dirty look

"I'm not following you!"

"Then why do you want this seat?" Bucky glares back at you and you try to quell your anger. You are here to win him back, if he wants to call you a stalker then be it. At this point, with the amount of hurt you’ve caused him. He is allowed to call you whatever he wants. "Mam, if you want a good seat, I'll trade places with you but please don't let her sit besides me"

"James" you sigh

"That's enough mam" the young man on the corner seat in Bucky's row interrupts and with a jolt you realize that all the passengers were watching you and from the corner of your eye, you can make out the stewardess making her way towards you.

This is just great. You shoot a last glance at Bucky who looks away the moment your eyes meet

"Mam I would have to ask you to go back to your seat please" the stewardess calmly asks you and you close your eyes and nod your head

"James, can we please talk"

You try one last time and when there is no reply from him, the lady besides him asks you to leave him alone and you sigh and start moving towards your seat.

You still had 2 hours before landing time but all you could think about was what you can do next.

Bucky didn't want to talk to you. How in hell were you going to convince him to listen to what you had to say? Once you landed you knew he would run away and you would loose him in the crowds. This was your only chance.

Beg him, romance him, get your man Y/n.

A voice suspiciously sounding exactly like Nat rings in your ears and you sigh, closing your eyes

They can't throw you out of an air-borne plane. Maybe ban you for life but they can't throw you out of the plane while in the air. Maybe permanent road travel will be your punishment for what you did to Bucky.

You keep an eye on the back of his head, waiting for the perfect moment before fate seem to have taken pity on you and the woman besides him stands up to use the rest room.

Perfect

You discreetly stand up and quickly make your way towards his seat and try to get in when the man on the corner seat interrupts

"Excuse me, you can't come here" he starts to say and clicks the button to call the stewardess but this is your only chance and so you take a deep breath, keeping your eyes on Bucky's ocean blues that always calm you. Ocean blues that are narrowed right in this moment.

"I love you" You say and ignore the commotion that has inevitably started "I love you. And I made a mistake. The biggest one of my life"

A single tear falls down your left eye followed by one from the right as you continue

"Please forgive me. Please. I love you"

The stewardess has made her way towards you and is trying to pull you away from Bucky who looks at you with utter pain in his eyes but says nothing

"I promise I won't ask you to go to Nat" You try to rush the words out, ignoring the people and the air hostess warning you of consequences "I just wanna talk please just one conversation and I would leave"

He shakes his head and looks out of the window as you are pulled away

"I did think about you when you were gone. I did attend all your track events just secretly" you say, one last attempt to get a reaction and when he whips his head to look your way, you know you were successful

"I have been an idiot and I am responsible for every pain that you are going through. I am responsible for all this and I take the responsibility but please, please give me a chance. Please forgive me. Talk to me"

You realize every eyes are on you as the stewardess have stopped trying to pull you away as tears fall down Bucky's eyes.

"James Buchanan Barnes" You inhale, carefully stepping closer to him "I love you, I love you more than Tom loved Jerry, more than-than- I'm sorry I just- I can't remember any lovers, just a second"

You hold up your finger in panic and see a hint of a smile at the corner of Bucky's lips that is quick to go away as he sternly stares back at you.

"Romeo and Juliet" a young girl whispers in your ear from behind you and You thankfully nod your head

"Yes! i love you more than Romeo loved Juliet, and even though those two never got a forever, maybe we could. Maybe we could have our finite infinity together. Because I can't do this without you. Because since we were kids I have felt this pull too, this attraction that gave me sleepless nights"

"How do I know you won't run away the first chance you get?" he asks harshly and you move closer, getting in the row and seating yourself on the empty seat besides him, the man at the corner moving away to give you space to get in

"I don't know" you say, trying to stop the sobs that try to break free. Your face is caked with tears and Bucky brings his hand closer to your faces and wipes those tears with the sleeve of his shirt

"Y/n" he exhales your name in his deep hoarse voice and places his hand on your cheek "Why are you doing this?"

You close your eyes as a tear falls down Bucky's cheek. You've only ever seen him cry all of three times since the day you guys met. What did you do to him?

"I love you James. I want you. I'm so so sorry" you whisper, bringing you hand to his cheek and wiping away the tear. He gives in to your touch and closes his eyes

"You're not gonna ask me to get back with Nat?"

A sob breaks through your mouth and you shake your head "No"

"How can I trust you?" His deep blues now stare at you and you try not to blink as several more tears start forming in your eyes. "How do I know you won't run away the first chance you get. How do I know you won't break my heart again?"

"I don't know" You cry and he shakes his head "What do I do? How do I make you believe me?"

"I don't know" he sighs and takes a deep breath, pulling harshly at his hair "God Y/n what are you doing to me?"

His voice is frustrated and you wanna tell him that that's exactly what you've been thinking. What the hell were you doing?

"I was sure about my decision about leaving and starting over and I'm leaving you to be with Sam. He is perfect for you. He likes to read books, and he watches the same boring shows and the same boring documentaries with you and he hasn't spent his entire childhood in a rivalry with you. He is perfect for you"

"But I want you" You whisper and he closes his eyes

"God, I so wanna believe you right now" he whispers in pain

"Then believe me. I love you. Marry me"

"I-I can't just-" he shakes his head and takes hold of your shoulders "Why? Why now"

"I talked to Nat"

"And she said it was okay?"

You nod your head as he shakes his

"So you're not here because of your own self?"

"What, no James of course I am"

He shakes his head

"You are here because Nat told you it was fine. Not because you were ready to be here for me no matter what"

"James thats-"

"Y/n please just" he turns away from you and looks out his window "Just go home and leave me be"

"James" you whisper "I can't I love you"

He sighs and growls in irritation

"What if Nat comes to you tomorrow and says she changed her mind?"

"What-"

"What if she tells you she loves me and she wants me? what would you do?"

"I-I" you shake your head "She won't do that"

"I don't care what she would or would not do. Just freaking tell me what you would do?"

"I-I" you stutter, trying to think of what to say before he nods his head

"I have my answer, you can leave" he turns away

"James"

"I can't do this Y/n" he groans "I can't be with you because every second I would be afraid that you would leave me the moment you get the chance"

"I won't-"

"I can't possibly know that"

"I'm telling you that. I won't leave ever ever again"

"Y/n, my love. Our love was never strong enough if all it took was the fear that Nat would hate you to leave me. If it really was that strong then you would have told her about us and convinced her to accept it"

"James" he places his finger on your lips

"I love you" he whispers as fresh tears start to form in his eyes "I love you with everything I have my love but you don't. These past two months made me realize if it was that easy for you to let me go while I kept fighting that maybe your feelings were never strong enough. I can't live with the fear that you would just leave me again because you don't love me enough"

You openly cry as he touches your cheek one last time before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the window.

You turn to look around and find the eyes of every single passenger on you guys. The stewardess have started to wheel their food trolley but their eyes are on you too as they look at you with pity

So now they all know how big you screwed up too then?

You take a deep breath, looking towards your seat where the lady previously sitting besides Bucky sits. You decide to apologize to her and maybe to every passenger on the plane and get to stand.

This was over. Your love was over. You just lost one of the best things that happened to you because of your stupidity. You ruined everything.

Don’t let your love get away Y/n

You turn to look his way one last time and that is enough for your heart. For it decides this wasn’t it. He said he loved you right? Then you need to prove to him that you do to.

"Is anyone ordained here?"

You look around at the passengers of the flight as Bucky's head whips you look your way

"Y/n, what are you-"

"Proving to you how serious I am about this" You say resolutely and then look around the flight again "Is anyone ordained here?"

A young girl, seemingly in her late twenties raises her hand, wincing slightly

"I got ordained to marry my friends"

"Oh great" you clap your hands together as Bucky looks at you open mouthed "Will you be willing to Marry us if this Man answers my question"

She hesitantly nods her head before giving you a small smile

"Y/n what the hell? What question?"

"James Buchanan Barnes, ever since I met you for the first time when you spilled that stupid orange soda down my favorite dress, I have hated your guts. I have hated them more when despite your stupid teasing,I still found myself attending your games secretly because I was supposed to hate you.

I hated you when I missed you terribly and spent sleepless nights worrying about if you were safe in Afghanistan. I hated this invisible string that was pulling me to you.

And I made the biggest mistake of my life and I’m sorry. Maybe I would never be able to make up for what I did to you, the pain I caused but please please give me a chance.

I know I have never shown you but my love is not weak. Its strong enough for me get run over here just to get you back. For me to propose to you in the air and wanting nothing more than to be yours.

So please please give me a chance and Marry me”

You take a deep breath as you pull out a candy from your pocket and Bucky stares at it wide eyed.

"I don't have a ring currently but please accept this candy as a token of my love" you whisper and he keeps staring at the candy "This is me telling you that even though I don't need you like oxygen, I want you and I choose you"

Bucky closes his eyes as a single tear falls down one of his eyes. He shakes his head before opening his eyes and aiming the deep blue into yours. They shine as his lips take up a hint of a curve

"This is a forever thing Y/n" he says from his seat "You can't back out, I won't be able to handle it"

"Never in my wildest dreams will I back out" you whisper and bring the candy in front of his face.

He stares at it for a second before smiling and taking it from your hand and putting it in his mouth, sliding the wrapper in his pocket.

Rounds of applause fill up the plane as Bucky bites the things in his mouth, breaking it into pieces and then taking your lips in his, effectively sharing.

You laugh as he whispers yes against your mouth again and again.

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

We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January

This is our place, we make the rules

You rest your head against Bucky's shoulder as he holds your hand, the his other arm gently guiding your body along with the music.

The windows are tinted with the early January snow in your suburban New York city home. The little droplets of snow shine with the ferry lights that adorn the windows from the outside.

And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

The little wall behind your back, directly in Bucky's line of site is bejeweled with memories of your time together.

The little Y/n riding her bike without training wheels for the first time with Nat, Steve and a grumpy Bucky posing for the camera in the background.

The young Bucky in his ninja spy costume with his arms around Steve's shoulder who himself is dressed in his Captain America costume. Nat stands besides Steve with a toothy grin, showing off her rabbit teeth and her Black Widow costume, with you beside her, waving shyly at the camera with a smile, proudly showing off your Witch attire.

A candid of Bucky and you around the age of eleven, eating your pieces of cakes at Steve's birthday party, sitting on the opposite corners of the couch.

A picture of you from when you were dressed as a tree, holding branches in both your hands.

A picture of Bucky before his Trek meet.

A picture of you in the driver's seat of your mother’s car as Nat sat on the passenger seat, trying to teach you how to drive, taken from the outside by Bucky who had refused to come anywhere near the car you were driving.

A picture of Bucky in his uniform with his mother, sister and all of you along with Steve's Mom as you bid the two of them goodbye with pearls in your eyes that you had denied having when Bucky had teased you. All of you seeing Bucky and Steve off as they leave for service in the army.

A picture of you and Nat in your dorm room, with Nat pointing at the mess that was your side.

One of Bucky smiling for the camera as Steve clicks the first picture since he was discharged from the hospital after his arm injury. Nat and you standing to the side and watching him.

A picture of you and Bucky with his lips on your cheek as you smile for the camera, the Ferris wheel in your background. Taken by the old woman who offered to click your picture.

A selfie taken by Bucky as he sits on the edge of the bed, with you making faces from behind.

A picture taken by one of the fellow passengers on the airplane of your impromptu wedding. You two sitting on your seats, holding each other's hands and maintaining eye contact as the girl marries you, standing behind your seats.

Another one from the Chicago Marriage Registration office, taken just after you made it official.

One from the reception of your wedding you had to have after Bucky's mother freaked about not having gotten to see her son get married. And also because you both wanted to show each other off. And because Bucky wanted to see you in a dress as you walked down the aisle to him. And because you wanted to see him standing there waiting for you.

A picture of your honeymoon on Hawaii as you sat on the sand, your back against his bare chest and his legs opening to fit you in against him and his arms around your body, fingers playing with the strings of your bikini.

Another of the two of you bathed in sweat and breathing heavily while lying against the wall that read the top of the empire state building.

One of you hugging Steve from the side as the two of you look at the young boy in his arms, both with traces of salty streams down your cheeks, Peggy sleeping in her hospital bed in the background.

One of the two of you sitting down on the floor, leaning against the several boxes, completely exhausted on moving day.

A picture of Bucky sitting on your office desk, proudly showing your name stand to the camera.

And another of Bucky with tears streaming down his eyes as he shows Steve the ultra sound picture of your little girl.

One of Nat protectively holding your stomach and pushing Bucky away as he frowns at her, you laughing heartily.

One of your heavily pregnant self standing beside Nat in her wedding dress with you in your maid of honor dress, Bucky holding little Grant Rogers in his arms on your other side as Steve and Peggy stand besides Sam in his Groom outfit.

An empty frame waiting for the birth of you little princess to house the first family photo.

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home

You're my, my, my, my lover

A calendar is sitting on the kitchen counter behind you, a little heart on the date just 2 days from now when your little girl is due to join you.

Bucky slowly twirls you, staying mindful of your bump as he brings you back in his arms before carefully bending you just a little and placing a soft kiss against your lips before gently placing his hands on either side of your stomach and bending down to place a kiss right there as you smile and hum with the song playing in the background.

Life was good.

END

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #james barnes fanfic #james barnes × reader james barnes × you #james barnes angst #james barnes fluff #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel reader insert

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theydontknowaboutusimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Sunflower - Harry Styles AU Series (Volume 1)

The year is 1977 and it’s officially summertime. Y/N is spending it with her family at the Malibu Breeze Hotel, where she meets, aspiring musician, Harry Styles. The two clash in the beginning, but soon realize they may just need each other in the end. Find out just how life changing one summer can be in Sunflower, a Harry Styles AU.

I hope you enjoy! I will say there are mentions of drug use, so if that bothers you, I’m sorry. It isn’t super heavy, but it is mentioned. I also went with a first pov instead of the typical 2nd pov, but I did keep Y/N. This is also loosely based on Dirty Dancing... aka there will be a few similarities, but not many.. I don’t think.

Be sure to let me know what you think and if I should continue! :)

Word count: 3,402

Everyone always said Summer is the perfect time to find yourself, to live carefree and away from the everyday stresses life might bring. That all it takes is for one Summer to change your life. I never bought into any of that bullshit because how can one’s life change all that much in only a few short months.

But it can and it did.

It was the Summer of ‘77 for me, my family and I were headed to the beach for the summer holiday. My dad’s boss had invited him and our family to stay at his family’s hotel in Malibu. Apparently, it was only for those who were very high and mighty that were able to afford a stay at such a place. My father was hoping for big promotion on the next go around, and he believed accepting his boss’ invitation would just about snag it for him.

As soon as I could see the ocean, I rolled down the window of our station wagon to take in the salty air. I reached my arm out moving it along with the ocean breeze as ‘My Sweet Lord’ by George Harrison played on the radio, an old one, but a good one. My parents were in the front of the car, talking about what this vacation would entail and how my sister, Marianne, and I needed to be on our best behavior.

I knew they weren’t talking about me, exactly, but there would have been hell to pay had they only mentioned my sister. She was very much the troublemaker sibling, barely finishing school and had no desire to further her education. Whereas I finished at the top of my class and would be attending college in the fall. I was excited about the new chapter in my life, but it wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do.

If I had it my way, I would take a year off and give it a shot pursuing my dream of making music. I loved singing and people say I’m pretty good at it, but most of all, I love writing songs. I always have a little notebook with me and most of my time is spent writing in it. But I knew my father would never agree to me skipping out on college for an essentially unattainable goal. Especially, since going to college was still a little taboo for women.

When we arrived at the resort, my eyes widened at how large it was. Most of the time when we’ve stayed at the beach, it was a small motel across the street. It was such a pain having to carry all of our belongings across the road for a day at the beach, but we made due with what we had.

My family wasn’t exactly poor, but we weren’t exactly rich either. There were many times where we struggled choosing which bills to pay, but my parents always made sure we were taken care of. They tried their best to keep all financial situations hidden from my sister and I, but as we got older we could always read between the lines. Which is why I knew this promotion would be a great opportunity for my father and our family, especially with me heading into college in a few months.

My father pulled up to the main entrance, where a few men, around my age or a few years older, came over to the car. I peeked over the backseat where I was sitting and saw them talking to my father. He handed them the keys and nodded before heading inside. The short blonde haired one came to the trunk of the car and opened it.

“Welcome to The Malibu Breeze Hotel,” he nodded, forcing a smile. “We’ll be unloading your car and parking it for you, so if you would like to head on inside, they’ll get you to your room.”

He spoke in such a monotone voice it almost felt like a recording. I wonder how many times a day or even a week he had to say that.

“Thank you,” my mother said from the front. “Come on girls.”

I got out of the car, grabbing my own bag and walked around to the other side. Marrianne took her time getting out because she was more focused on the bell boys than her task at hand. I rolled my eyes swinging my brown, fringed bag over my shoulder before heading into the resort. I wasn’t sure what I expected the resort to look like when my father first told us about us spending our summer here, but the reality was nothing like what I would have expected.

The front desk was bigger than any desk I had ever seen. Two young women worked the desk, one helping my father check in, the other was on the phone. I stood with my mother and sister while we waited for my father. I looked around taking in the sights of the resort. The colors consisted mostly of black and white and were very elegant and shiny. I felt as if I were in more of a palace than a place at the beach.

It was the complete opposite of the motel’s we had stayed in previously. Those were brightly colored with beach themed decor and palm trees everywhere. From what I’ve seen so far, there weren’t many trees anywhere.

“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Y/last/n,” the dark brown haired woman said.

“Thank you,” my father nodded, taking two keys from her and walked over to us.

“We have two adjoining rooms,” he said. “Girls, I trust you two will make good decisions and will not be gatavantling in all hours of the night, yes?”

“Of course not, Daddy,” Marianne said, placing her hand over her heart.

I rolled my eyes discreetly before nodding my head, “Don’t worry, Daddy. We’ll be in by curfew,” I answered.

“Good,” he smiled, handing me the key. “Shall we head to our rooms?”

My mother followed my father and I turned to follow as well, when Marianne looked over at me, “You do know you only speak for yourself, right?”

“Always,” I mumbled.

Once we got up to our room, I quickly began unpacking my bags that were already waiting for us when we arrived. My sister, however, grabbed the rotary phone and jumped onto her bed. I unzipped my suitcase hearing her dialing the number of one of her annoying friends, I presumed. I put my clothes, folded nicely, into one of the chester drawers and hung up a few in the closet. I aligned my shoes near my bed and put my bathing suits in the top drawer of the dresser.

Next, I pulled out all of my albums I packed and placed the stack near the record player in the room. I wasn’t sure if this was standard for all rooms, but I had a feeling my father made sure we had one. I guess whoever my sister was trying to call didn’t answer because her voice brought me out of my thoughts as I searched through my records.

‘What?” I asked looking over at her.

“I said, since we’re sharing a room, there’s gonna be some rules,” she said flipping her long hair behind her shoulder. “Rule number one, if I’m in this room, you’re not playing your shitty music. That includes both your albums and you on your guitar. Rule number two, when I’m out past curfew or Daddy asks about what I’ve been up to, you’re not going to be a little tattle tale. You’re not eight anymore. Rule number three, don’t touch my shit and leave my side of the room alone. If the phone rings, don’t answer it and when we’re hanging out on the beach, I don’t know you.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you’re still the same despite the change of scenery,” I said. “Guess once you’re a bitch, it just sticks, right?”

“Fuck you,” she snapped. “Just because I’m not Daddy’s little girl and a miss goody fucking two shoes, doesn’t make me a bitch. Sorry, I rather live my life how I want and not how someone else wants me to.”

“Maybe some of us don’t want to live a life of fucking around and get high off our ass every night either,” I snappd back.

“You judge me all you want, Y/N, but until you live my life, you can’t really say a fucking thing,” she said before going into the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

Later that night, we headed down to the dining hall for dinner. Apparently, on the first night of the summer, the resort throws a big kickoff bash type thing where everyone enjoys a good meal along with some live music and fun games. I had changed into a simple yellow dress with flowers and a pair of orange wedges. When we arrived at the dining hall, a waiter brought us over to our table.

“This is your assigned table for your stay,” he said. “Here is the menu for this evening. I’ll give you a bit to look it over.”

“Thank you,” my father nodded.

“Is this place not lovely?” my mother swooned. “I am so looking forward to spending our day at the beach and pool area tomorrow.”

“As am I,” Marianne smiled.

She could maybe fool my parents, but I knew there was something more behind the smile. She was looking more forward to finding some friends, mostly boys, to hang out with during her time at the beach and pool.

“Y/N, what about you?” my mother asked, sipping her water.

“Yes, I can’t wait. I plan to take a walk in the morning, taking in the sunrise,” I told her.

Marianne brought her glass to her lips, mostly to disguise her eye roll.

About halfway through our meal, there was movement on the stage in the middle of the dining room. There were three men, and a girl from what I could see. They were all dressed in matching outfits, provided by the resort, most likely.

“Good evening’. The Malibu Breeze Hotel welcomes you and are happy to have you spend your summer here. We are the house band and we’re here to play a few songs while you enjoy the rest of your meal. We do have a dance floor, so feel free to join in whenever you like,” a young man with brown hair said into the microphone.

From where we were sitting, I couldn’t see much, but I quickly noticed he British accent from the man speaking. He looked to be only a few years older than I, but could also be about my age. He appeared to be the lead singer, seeing as how he was standing in the middle and the others were holding instruments.

They started off playing an older song, one from the 60’s that I couldn’t quite put my finger on until I noticed my father smiling and nodding his head. It was one of his favorites, but it was honestly an awful song. I looked around the room, quickly noticing that other guests were enjoying it. Although, the ones who were nodding along were all the parents while us younger guests were practically wincing.

But I could admit that whoever this singer was made the song sound a lot better than the original. Between the arrangement and his voice, I found myself singing along softly and nodding my head to the melody. With each song the band played, more people gravitated to the dance floor, including my sister.

She had found a group of guests that seemed to be just the type she was looking for and headed straight over to them. My parents eventually joined everyone else on the dance floor, while I stayed where I was, picking at the rest of my dinner.

When it was time to call it a night, Marianne rushed over to me and my parents, “Daddy, my new friends invited me to a little get together in their room, can I go?”

“Mari, are you sure? It’s quite late already,” he said. “And we don’t know these people.”

“Daaddy,” she whined. “Please, I’ll only go for an hour and it’s right here at the resort.”

“I would feel better about saying yes, if you didn’t go alone,” he said. “If Y/N agrees to go with you, then you can go, but only for an hour.”

“What?” Both Marianne and I said together.

“Y/N will you go with your sister?” He asked.

Before I can answer, Marianne gives me the death glare. I knew if I saw no, she would make the rest of this vacation hell for me, so I reluctantly agreed.

Marianne and her group of friends were well off into the distance as I followed behind to wherever the party was being held. It seemed that once again my sister stretched the truth a bit because while we were still technically on the Malibu Ocean Breeze’s property, we were not anywhere near where we were staying.

When we finally arrived, I noticed several bungalows built side by side and people hanging out in the middle of them. It seemed the party wasn’t designated to just one room or house for that matter, but everyone was scattered out and helping themselves to whatever crib they wanted. I had lost Marianne briefly, before catching her standing near the bonfire with a few of the people she had met back in the dining hall.

Since partying isn’t really my thing, I decided to find a quiet corner or spot to sit at until Marianne was ready to leave. Daddy said one hour, but I knew Marianne would make us late, even if I told her it was time to go. I saw an unoccupied stool and made my way over to sit down. I smoothed the back of my dress before sitting down looking around at the scene around me.

I’ve been to parties before, I wasn’t fully a prude, but I had never been to one this large. People were making out half clothed and falling down the stairs of the front porches. Smoke filled the air from both the fire and the joints being passed around. The smell of alcohol was prevalent and I knew it would be hard to hide the smell of our clothes once we returned back to our room.

I sighed into my hands with my elbows on my knees as I waited and waited. Just like with most other things in my life, I was looked over and completely unnoticeable, until the same blonde hair BellHop made his way over.

“Brown Station Wagon, right?” He asked.

“Excuse me?” I asked looking up at him.

“Sorry, your car, you were in the brown station wagon.. Uh… y/last/name, right?” He asked.

“Uh, yeah,” I nodded. “And you are?”

“Jasper,” he said sitting down on the stool next to mine. “You?”

“Y/N,” I answered.

“Smoke?” He asked, holding a joint out to me.

I shook my head. He shrugged, taking a hit as the tip lit up in the slight darkness of the night.

“So, what’s the lowdown? You don’t seem to be vibing here,” he said.

“Not that it’s your business, but my sister is here,” I told him.

“The brunette foxy mama?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes, “That would be her.”

“Uh,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothin’” he said.

I glanced down at my watch on my wrist. We should be heading back now, but Marianne is currently swaying her hips to the music as she inhales on her own joint. I shook my head knowing it was going to be a pain in the ass trying to get her back to our room without waking up our parents.

“She’s a wild child, huh?” Jasper asked.

“Except she’s not a child anymore,” I said. “She needs to realize that.”

“Well, to me it looks like she’s have a groovy time and enjoyin’ life. We only got one, so why not?” He asked.

“You can keep on movin’ you know,” I said. “Why don’t you go enjoy life with someone else.”

“Chill, I’m just makin’ an observation,” he said, holding his hands up in defense. “How about you loosen up a bit, the house band’ll be playin’ here in a bit.”

“Wait.. the band from the dining hall?” I asked.

“Yes, and no,” he said, taking another hit and throwing the joint on the ground to put out. “Same group, but they play what they wanna play and it’s better than that shit they gotta play up there.”

“Wha-” I started to say, but was quickly interrupted by the same voice I heard just a few hours ago.

I looked over in the direction where the voice was coming from. It was, in fact, the same people from before, but now they looked like completely different people. The lead singer traded his previous outfit for a pair of bell bottoms and a striped tight fitting shirt. He had a guitar with him this time and one of his arms was covered in tattoos.

“And that would be Harry Styles,” Jasper said. “He’s the lead singer and that’s his band. He’s a looker and a bit of a casanova.”

“Aren’t they all,” I said.

“Wanna get closer for a better look? Acoustics’ll sound better, too,” he said.

“Uh, sure,” I nodded.

The two of us got up from our stools and headed into the crowd. Everyone had gathered in the middle and joined in the dancing and shouting the lyrics. I hadn’t recognized them, so I figured they must be originals. I searched the crowd looking for Marianne, she was currently sitting on some random dude’s lap with her arm around his shoulder. I glanced at my watch again, we were officially late now. I made a mental note we would only stay for ten more minutes before I would try my best to get Marianne to leave. Not sure what happened next, but Jasper and I had moved closer to the mock stage. I glanced up at the lead singer, Harry, was it, and quickly saw why Jasper had said what he did.

He was without a doubt good looking and I’m sure girls throw themselves at him all the time. In fact, I’m sure if Marianne hadn’t already found her one, she would be one of them. I felt my cheeks turning red when I saw Harry staring down at me. He gave me a bit of a smirk as he sang, strumming his guitar before moving across the stage.

Next thing, I knew a whole other hour had passed by the time Harry and his band had finished their set.

“Wanna meet ‘em?” Jasper asked.

“Who?” I asked stupidly.

“Harry, who else?” He laughed. “We stay in the same bungalow, so we’re pretty good mates.”

“I-uh.. sure?” I stated, not entirely sure if this was a good idea or not.

“Cool,” he said. “Come on.”

I glanced back looking for Marianne, who was still hanging out with her friends, before following Jasper. We approached Harry and his band, who were getting high fives and praises from others in the crowd. My palms were sweating and I felt sick to my stomach as I waited for Jasper to make the introduction.

I’m smarter than this, I should just walk away, find my sister and head back to our room. But instead I stand there, not moving, not even when Jasper walks back over.

“Harry, this is Y/N,” Jasper said. “She’s staying at the Malibu Breeze. Y/N, this is Harry.”

Harry looked me up and down with a smirk on his face, “Nice to meet ya,” he said holding out his hand.

“Uh, yeah,” I said awkwardly, grabbing his hand. “You uh… your band sounds real funky.”

I… what did I just say.

“Uh, thanks,” he laughed. “I don’t wanna be rude, but this doesn’t really seem to be your scene, love.”

“It’s not, she’s here with her sister,” Jasper said.

“Ah, well, maybe it’s best if you head on out now, wouldn’t want your Mummy and Daddy to worry,” Harry said before heading over to grab a beer from the cooler, ending the conversation and the night.

#One Direction Imagines #Harry Styles Imagines #Harry Styles AU Series #Harry Styles AU #harry styles fanfiction #Harry Styles Fanfic

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lupienne · 4 years ago

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The Reality - Negan and Lucille

Hey guys, here’s a little Halloween fic of Negan and Lucille. I started it like two years ago and never felt motivated to finish it. So I finally sat down today on Halloween and wrote the end of it, and while I’m not really happy with it... whatever. Here it is anyway! I think it’s kind of bittersweet, but that’s just me.

The Reality

Gourds were on porches, leaves on the ground, and the stores were filled with pumpkin-flavored everything. The crisp air was a slap to the lungs, in a good way.

I'd always loved Fall, and I'd always looked forward to Halloween. That night when reality wavered on the edge. When you could be dark or light, the opposite of yourself – when you could be anything for just a few hours.

I hadn't been a fan of the days passing by lately. Dread sat like a tumor in my stomach.

The reality was... that reality fucking sucked.

I watched my breath puff out white as I came home on Thursday. Maybe it wouldn't fucking rain this Halloween. We might get snow instead.

After dinner, I polished off a few apple cider donuts, then settled on the couch to watch TV with Lucille. She was quiet and sleepy-eyed as the clock ticked towards my bedtime. The holiday was days away, falling right splat on a Saturday.

“Tony said he found some fuckin' booze flavored like Candy Corn. I hope that's not all he's gonna have, because that's gross as fuck.” I yawned. “What do you think I should dress as? Fuck, I shouldn't have waited until the last minute.”

We always attended Tony Synder's party down the block. I wasn't really crazy about the guy, but I'm not gonna pass up free food or secretly laughing at the neighbor's costumes. (I always looked fucking amazing.) I liked to switch up my style, but Lucille usually dressed as a witch. And not some sloppy, warty green hag...but a hot fucking witch. Her slim figure in a black corset, her tits pushed up, her cascade of black curls falling over one eye. In years past, we'd come home from that party partly drunk and ripping each other's costumes off as we stumbled through the door. God damn. I was almost getting hard thinking of it.

Almost. The past few years, Lucille had me at arm's reach and I couldn't blame her. I was shit, I was an unfaithful piece of shit, but she-

That shit didn't matter anymore.

“He-Man,” she said with a chuckle. “I want to see you rocking that little leather harness.”

“Goddamn, that's right on the edge of indecent exposure. Isn't he practically naked?”

“Why do you think I suggested it?”

“I would make a hot blond.” I slid closer to her, and she nestled against my side. “You gonna be my Bewitching Beauty as always?”

She was quiet for so long I thought she'd fallen asleep.

“...think I'm gonna sit this one out.”

“But why?”

“I don't know. Just not up to it, I guess. But you go, have fun. Maybe you'll find a hot date.”

I swallowed hard. After everything....I couldn't laugh at those types of jokes.

“...Stop that shit. You're the only hot date I want. I don't wanna go alone. We don't have to stay long.”

“Look, Negan, they won't want me there.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Tony adores you, which is why I ain't his biggest fan, cause I know he's always wanted to stick his dick in you-”

She let out a laugh that was more of a scoff. “Doubt he feels that way now. Nobody wants a dying woman at their party, making things awkward.”

I felt like I'd been punched in the goddamn balls. My stomach went to my throat and I roiled with sudden nausea. Eyes burning with acid. I fought it, I fought it motherfuckin' hard . My jaw clenched like I was in rigor mortis, my body shuddering.

“Don't...don't say fucking shit like that.”

She nudged my ribs. “God, calm down, Negan. What about this, huh? I don't have any hair.”

“It's Hallo-fucking-ween. Everyone is wearing a motherfuckin' wig right now. You'll fit right in.”

She leaned her head on my arm. “I'm tired. I'll think about it. Ok?”

That meant no. But it wasn't official yet, so I was gonna stop at the party store and buy that fucking He-Man getup and the best witch wig I could find. She'd change her mind right quick once she saw me in that loincloth.

As she went to bed, I stared out the window at the orange light of our Jack-o-lantern. The nausea had settled back into my bones. A constant undercurrent, moving through my veins like poisoned blood.

Too many tricks, life. Not enough treats.

---

Friday night. I stopped at the party store. The cashier rung up my purchases, then looked me over with a twinkle in her eye. I refused to be flattered – ok, I was kind of fucking flattered. The wig for Lucille was the most expensive they had. If you squinted, it looked nearly like her natural spill of curls.

At home, I put my hand on the package, and felt a rush of fucking darkness come over me. I had to fucking sit there, like so many nights, fighting the thoughts that stung like needles. If I let them keep stinging, the tears would come – the fucking breakdown would follow.

So I fought it. I shut it down. I fucking locked it up, because Lucille doesn't like it when I fall apart – and why should she? I'm the man. I'm supposed to be her rock. She hates it when I cry. I hate it when I cry.

So I fucking smiled when I walked in the door. I smelled Chinese food. Lucille was already piling mine onto a plate – the sweet n' sour chicken I love. All she ordered was a tub of Wonton soup. I frowned, but said nothing. At least she's eating.

She looked at the bag in my hand, and she too, said nothing. “Dinner's ready. And I rented some Halloween movies.”

We ate and watched Child's Play and Micheal Myers and a leprechaun who makes bad jokes. I didn't mention the costume or the party, but I knew I'd be going alone. I spend the last movie wondering how I'll excuse my wife's absence, and how the fuck I'm gonna endure the pity in their eyes. It fucking pissed me off. That they're putting her in the ground already. That she's putting herself there.

“Honey,” she rubbed my tense arm. “You ok?”

“Yeah, babe. Just...indigestion.”

And damn this woman, she got up to make me a cup of peppermint tea. I sat there numb, wondering what the fuck I'm going to do without her.

----

“By the POWER OF GRAYSCALE, behold my glorious sword! ...and by sword, I mean dick.” I adjusted He-Man's fake-fur loincloth. Played with it, flipped it around. I wore some black boxers under it, but I was still worried about...slippage. I looked so fucking ridiculous.

I slid on the blond bob wig, examining the hot mess in the mirror. “Haha, oh yeah! What a fine motherfucker. Jesus H Christ. I am a glutton for punishment. Ok, babe. I'm decent! Come check me out before I head over there!”

“It's Grayskull, not Grayscale. Get it right, Negan.”

The bedroom door swung open and my mouth dropped. My Lucille stood there, the black wig cascading over her shoulders. Her body, slimmer than ever, hugged by a slinky black dress and purple corset. Glitter dusted her chest and cheeks.

“Goddamn, woman.”

“I couldn't miss out on that Candy Corn booze.”

I smiled, but we both knew she wouldn't be drinking that. She'd be spending the night over the toilet. I had to banish that thought fuckin' quick. She already spends too many nights over the toilet.

“I'll taste test it for you first. Let you know exactly how fucking disgusting it is.”

We headed down the block, passing early Trick-or-Treaters. The rain had come after all, but merely presented as a pathetic drizzle. The mist in the air diffused the street lamps into yellow balls of light. I wish I'd brought my coat to drape over Lucille's bare shoulders. Spooky music played from our elderly neighbor's house and he waved at us. Lucille waved back.

Tony's yard had become a graveyard of cardboard tombstones and dry ice. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lucy shiver.

“Want me to go back and grab a coat?”

“Don't be dumb. We're almost there.”

On the porch, Tony's tween kid sat in a lawn chair with a bowl of candy. No costume, how quaintly rebellious. She looked bored as fuck until we rolled up, and then she snickered openly. Dear fucking God. I hoped my loincloth was in place. My nipples were like fucking pebbles on either side of the plastic harness. I quickly banged on the door.

Tony opened it. “Negan! And Lucille! Very nice, very nice. Love the costume, although I'd never call you a witch. Or anything rhyming with it.”

We did an obligatory laugh. The tween rolled her eyes.

“You look cold, Negan. Better step inside. I got the lager ready to go.” Tony had the same damn smirk as his kid.

“Why did you pick this costume for me again?” I muttered. We passed through the entryway strung with a beaded curtain of bats and spiders. The living room was bathed in red light and Monster Mash blasted from the stereo. Tony's wife always went all-out with this shit. A skeleton sat in the armchair and fake cobwebs were every-fucking-where. I hoped the dry ice didn't affect Lucy's breathing.

Wifey Tanya came over, hugging Lucille and complimenting our costumes. I glanced down, wondering how they saw her. Did they know the shadowed eyes and gaunt cheeks weren't make-up? Did they notice the weight she'd lost?

I still saw beauty. The cut flower, vibrant and blooming –just don't think of the future, the withering-

Freeze that shit in time. I closed my ears to nothing but the soundtrack of screams and creaking doors, back-lit with the wailing of ghosts. Party guest voices blabbered over it all. We melted into the past. It was another party like the parties of years before. Slightly pathetic in that 'thirty-something's hanging out' kind of way. Laughing too loud. Secretly sizing each other up.

At least the lime green jello shots were good.

So yeah, it was just another lame party, and because of that, it wasn't. Because for a while...we were normal. Lucille laughed. I saw her smiling. Within her costume, she wasn't the Sick One. She was the mischievous witch, mingling with devils and cowboys and kitty cats.

Mrs Tillerman from school was there. She drank too much of that nasty Candy Corn atrocity. I caught her checking me out and I felt – for maybe the first time ever – ashamed. Other women looked at me too, making slightly-tipsy comments in my direction. I was glad Lucille was across the room, no doubt bored out of her mind listening to Ms Crouch talk about her fucking kids. And by kids, I mean her cats.

“Mmm, hello, He-Man. Nice sword. Remember that time after school?” Mrs Tillerman, winking and nudging.

“Sorry, He-Man has no fucking recollection of that.”

She'd sucked my dick once. Just once. That was really enough for me. I think I'd only allowed it because I could. Now, I saw what a fucking piece of trash I was. Hopefully, when she sobered up, she would too.

“You don't?” She took another swig from her solo cup and let out a burp. I quickly turned her in the direction of the bathroom. Just in time, because Lucille was drifting my way.

“Motherfuckin' crowd is getting drunk. There's probably going to be barf in the apple-bobbin' water. As if bobbing for apples isn't fucking gross enough.” I had to yell as The Addam's Family theme blasted from the speakers.

“Yeah.” She looked pale under the glitter.

“You had enough?”

I knew she had. We'd done it, we'd made our appearance, we'd given proof of life. I squeezed her hand, then found our host. I was tired, had papers to grade, been a great party...you know the bullshit, Tony.

We walked home silently. I wanted to ask how she was feeling. It was a lump in my throat. She'd probably just be annoyed. Say I was worrying too much. Say she was fine.

The warm glow of our porch washed over us. It sparkled the glitter on her cheeks, flushed pink from the cold. I wanted badly to kiss her. Instead, I fumbled in my He-Man boot for the house key.

Kids screamed and laughed on the street, swinging their bags of candy. It was just another Halloween in a long line of them, stretching out into our future. Maybe ten years from now, our kid would join the others.

Tomorrow, I wouldn't think like this. But tonight – fucking dammit, I was going to pretend we had years ahead of us.

I got the door open, got us in, shut it against the chill.

“Fuck. Don't know if that was worth going to. You have fun?”

The orange glow filtered in through the glass panel of our front door. Moonlight through the windows, silvering the interior. Everything was dark, but sharply edged with white. Lucille turned to face me. She discarded her witch's hat, the wig – no...her hair, looking real and soft and luscious, spilling onto her shoulders. She slowly drew one hand up my naked stomach and my skin shivered under the touch.

“He-Man,” she rasped. “I've put you under my spell.”

“Lucille...?”

“It's Lucianna. Maiden of the Night. And I've cast my spell upon you.”

I imagined she'd gotten that crap from those dumb novels she liked to read. The ones with guys who wished they were as hot as me on the cover. “Oh yeah? What spell is that?”

Her hand drifted under my loincloth. I let out a breath. Shit. I hadn't felt her touch me there for weeks.

“The spell of Lust. I'm irresistible to you.”

She didn't need a spell for that.

She rose to her tiptoes, her cold arms against my chest. “...Negan. Make love to me. “

“...but...Lucille...”

It's too strenuous for you. You'll be tired. I'm afraid I'll hurt you -

She didn't look tired. Her eyes were dark and wide, her skin sparkling. The chilled hands sliding under the plastic harness were strong and sure. Her lips hungrily pressed to my chin. “...Don't resist me, He-Man. Give me this night – a Halloween like we used to have.”

I fucking melted like the half-frozen rain under the burning Halloween moon. What could I do?

“By the power of Grayscale, I pull forth my sword, Lucianna!”

“That's Grayskull, He-man!” She laughed as I backed her to the couch, my hands fumbling at her corset. “Ooh, that's such a big sword you have. You sure you can lift that thing up?”

“Witch, I'm gonna impale you so fuckin' deep with my hard steel. You just fuckin' wait.”

“Oh, I'm waiting, but you still have your clothes on.”

Heh. Good thing He-Man was half-fucking-naked already. The witch was helpless to my brute strength as I lifted her and carried her into the bedroom.

To be honest, there wasn't anything rough or hard about it. Even on devil's night, I had to maintain some sense of restraint. My hands gently stroked ribs under frail skin, planted kisses onto delicate shoulders and licked along a ridge of collarbone. Lucianna, my withering flower, her beauty stretched across bones.

Her hands, digging hard into my shoulders, her legs, wrapping me like squeezing pythons – well, they felt anything but weak.

After, we lay breathing and nestled together. The light outside came and went, broken up by drifting clouds. Lucille's sharpened features were softened. Her wig was still on and still looked real as fuck – money well spent. Her eyes, half-lidded, were tired, but tired in a good fucking way.

“Not a bad fucking Halloween, huh, Lucy?”

“Pretty damn good fucking Halloween,” she whispered.

She closed her eyes, and I watched her, drowsing there in the dark. Her spell was slowly melting away; her magic could only veil the truth so long.

But for a few hours, reality shifted and wavered on the edge. She was alive, she was here, and we would spend our nights beside each other, just like this.

For just the brief span of our last Halloween night, I could have it. It was my reality.

And the reality was... that reality was fucking great.

#negan #comic negan #lucille #fanfic #fic #lup's writing #thanks for reading :)

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kelyon · 4 years ago

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Golden Rings Chapter 4: A Light

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Rumple meets his new wife

Read on AO3

Leaning on his cane, Rumpelstiltskin staggered away from Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. Orange electric lights cast dark shadows along the empty streets. The shadows hid him from view. No resident of Storybrooke, Maine noticed any unusual behavior from the man they all knew as Mr. Gold.

A bright yellow car was parked along the curb. When he had walked by, Gold had recognized it as a 1972 Volkswagen Beetle and had priced it at under ten thousand dollars. The license plate was from Massachusetts, and no one in Storybrooke had a vehicle so distinctive and colorful. A stranger had come to town. Gold had gone inside, to collect either the rent or Ruby Lucas. He would inquire about this new arrival.

But then he had heard the name Emma.

Snow White had told Rumpelstiltskin the name she would give to her unborn child. In exchange, he had told her that the child was the only one who could break the Queen’s curse. Emma, an infant princess, the product of True Love, would grow up to be the Savior of them all. On the child’s twenty-eighth birthday, she would be called to them. She would begin the battle that would break the curse, destroy the Evil Queen, and bring back the happy endings that were denied to them in this cruel land without magic.

Tonight, he had seen her.

Overwhelmed by the enormity of it all, Rumpelstiltskin braced himself on Gold’s cane. It had worked. All of it. Centuries of planning and manipulation. Failures and setbacks. Arranging everything and everyone into their proper places so that events led--slowly but surely--to one inevitable conclusion: True Love had triumphed in the old world, and a sorceress who was as full of power as she was of pain had destroyed that world and brought everyone to a place where they would all be loveless and miserable.

Exactly where he wanted to be.

His son was here. Somewhere in this world. Long ago, a Seer had told him that he would find Baelfire again. Now he was closer than he had ever been before. Somehow, even after centuries had passed in the old world, Bae was alive in this one. He could still be fourteen. Or he could be an old man. But he was out there. And Rumpelstiltskin would find him.

Turning the corner to where Gold had parked his Cadillac--five minutes and several lifetimes ago--Rumpelstiltskin stopped in his tracks. Feet were pressed up against the inside of the windshield on the passenger’s side of the car. Bare feet. Small, pale, women’s feet.

“Belle,” he whispered.

His heart didn’t know whether to lighten or sink.

He looked down at the fourth finger of his left hand. Gold had a lifelong habit of wearing a moonstone ring there. To the few brave souls who asked, he would say it was a symbol of his bachelorhood. He neither wanted nor needed to marry. Even after he had married Mrs. Gold, he had kept the moonstone ring--because he still didn’t want or need to shackle himself to her. But he also wore a plain gold band, nearly hidden by the more ostentatious ring. Only Mrs. Gold knew it was there.

And now Rumpelstiltskin knew too. That band was his wedding ring, not Gold’s. Belle had the other half of the matched set. Once, their rings had been the cuffs that had bound her to the Dark One’s will, forced her to obey his every word. By the time he had married Belle, the rings had no magic, but more power than ever before. Even across worlds, the rings connected them to each other. They had always been a sign that he belonged to Belle--as much as she had ever belonged to him. Rumpelstiltskin wanted to be bound to his wife. He could think of no greater delight.

But Mrs. Gold was not Belle.

As he approached the car, he saw more of her. Sitting low in the passenger’s seat, she sprawled her bare legs over the dashboard in a lascivious display. Her mustard-yellow shirtdress had the top several buttons open to expose the pale skin of her chest. The lingerie shop in town didn’t sell a brassiere to match the underpants Gold wanted her to wear today, so she had gone without. The dress mostly covered her breasts, but their shapes were clearly outlined to anyone close enough to see. Her skirt was bunched up around her hips and one hand was tucked inside those lacy, poison-green underpants.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t breathe.

Gold’s knowledge came to him then. Belle--Mrs. Gold--had been teasing herself since twelve o’clock that afternoon. It was one of the games they liked to play, particularly on rent day. On these days, Gold allowed her free access to her body, head to toe. While he collected other people’s money and misery, she would slowly work herself over. Hour by hour, Mrs. Gold would stroke and caress her legs, her neck, her chest. She would pinch and scratch and rub to her heart’s delight. About an hour before they were due to go home, Gold finally gave her permission to touch the sweet wetness between her legs. He allowed this so long as only teased and never gave in to full satisfaction. And Mrs. Gold knew better than to test her husband.

The end of the game, of course, was when all the rent was collected. That was when Gold finally deigned to touch her himself. With one hand on the steering wheel and one between her thighs, he reclaimed his control over his wife’s pleasure, forcing or denying her completion as it suited him. When he chose to let her come, he rolled down the windows and made her moans last for the entire drive back to his house.

Rumpelstiltskin opened the door and slid into the car. The dome light turned on when he put the key in the ignition. Mrs. Gold lit up just as much.

“Welcome back!” she smiled. She pulled her legs down from the dashboard and slipped her feet into her high-heeled shoes. Her hand remained up her skirt. “No waitress?”

“No.” He said what Gold would say. “Somehow the Lucas women were able to gather up the necessary funds.”

“Oh I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.” She lowered her eyes. “That was my fault.”

He glanced at her, but couldn’t bear to look for long.

Mrs. Gold kept apologizing. “I shouldn’t have visited the diner so early yesterday. If I had been later, they wouldn’t have had enough time to get the money.”

She paused, and by the time Rumpelstiltskin realized that she was waiting for a response, she had started again.

“My only excuse is that Ruby is always off on Saturday nights, and I wanted to make sure she got the message. I--I did do the best I could.”

Gold’s plan had been to coerce Ruby Lucas into offering to spend a night with them in exchange for a reprieve on her grandmother’s rent. It was the sort of scenario that amused him. Not only would he get to use the body of a beautiful young woman--in addition to the one he was already married to--but he would get to make Ruby feel cheap and helpless. Gold cared less about the sex than the selling. If he could get the girl to offer herself once, she would be more likely to try again the next time he arranged for her to be in a bind. Then she would be in his power. He could keep demanding more and more while providing less and less.

But then Emma Swan had entered the story.

Rumpelstiltskin knew Emma was responsible for the Lucases having enough cash to get through the month. Gold’s plan had been foolproof, but Emma was a new variable in the equation. She was the Savior, and she was already making this town a better place.

“Are you angry with me, Mr. Gold?”

Rumpelstiltskin blinked. He looked over at the woman in the seat next to him. The hand between her legs had stopped moving. Her body was perched on the edge of the seat, nervous. Expectant. She thought he was going to punish her.

He couldn’t look at her face.

“No,” he said at last. “I’m not angry with you, Mrs. Gold.”

He allowed the motions of driving a car to busy his hands. He focused on the road to keep himself from looking at his wife. Rumpelstiltskin could use Gold’s knowledge to do things he had never learned. Gold’s hands and feet worked the wheel and the pedals. Gold’s memory knew which streets to take, when to stop at different lights and signs.

It was lucky Rumpelstiltskin had practice with hosting a second consciousness in his head. Becoming the Dark One had also given him knowledge he had never learned, abilities he could not fathom. To a crippled, mud-poor spinner, an automobile was just as much magic as a transportation spell.

Once before, he had crafted a new identity out of disparate parts. He had decided how much of the Dark One he could bear to take on, how much of the spinner he couldn’t separate from. Now he would do the same with Gold.

Everyone else in Storybrooke was fully entrenched in their cursed lives. They had no idea that it was possible to be someone else. And that was for the best. If you weren’t used to it, having two realities in your head at the same time could drive you mad.

His wife was quiet on the drive back to the house. Despite what Rumpelstiltskin had said, she clearly still thought that she had disappointed Gold. If he was displeased with her, she knew better than to make matters worse with chit chat he would find tiresome.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled the car into the small garage that sat separate from the house. Mrs. Gold didn’t move. She didn’t unbuckle her safety belt or adjust her position on the seat. The woman stared at the darkness in front of her, her unmoving hand dutifully clasped between her thighs.

He had to act. He had to do something. What would Gold do, to comfort his wife? How would he assure her that she had done no wrong?

But then the answer came to him: Gold wouldn’t care that his wife had done nothing wrong. He benefited from her thinking that she had, that she was obligated to make it up to him. Gold would unzip his trousers, pull his wife down by her hair, and stuff her sweet mouth with the full length of his cock before he would say a single word to comfort her. The man wouldn’t even offer her a patronizing “Good girl,” until his seed dribbled out from between her lips. And even then, he would force her to walk outside to the front door with it on her face. He wouldn’t let her clean herself until he grew bored with the sight of his “decoration”.

Rumpelstiltskin had no stomach for that sort of thing. Not now.

So he decided to do what Gold would do if he was pleased with his wife. Taking his cane, he got out of the car and walked around the front to her side. Then, he opened Mrs. Gold’s door for her. In this world, that was an old-fashioned, gentlemanly gesture. When Gold was feeling his best, he considered himself an old-fashioned gentleman.

Mrs. Gold seemed to read the action in the way Rumpelstiltskin had intended it. She extended her free hand, and he helped her out of the car. Her smile was broad, and shaky with relief.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Gold. You’re too good to me.”

Rumpelstiltskin clenched his teeth and said nothing. He let go of her hand as soon as she was on her feet.

She walked ahead of him, as Gold had trained her to do. He liked to admire the view. And it gave him a thrill to know that he could see her when she couldn’t see him. Gold liked to imagine that he was stalking his pretty wife. He fancied himself a predator, choosing the right moment to lunge at his unsuspecting prey.

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head.

By the standards of Storybrooke, Gold’s house was a palace. It was three stories high, with balconies and porches and bay windows. The style was named after queens and the house lived up to its royal pedigree.

It was painted pink on the outside, which was unusual in this world. Once, some fool had questioned Gold about that. How could a real man bear to live in a pink house? Gold had quipped that yes, the house was the color of a woman--that was why he liked to go in and out as many times a day as possible.

When Mrs. Gold got to the front door, she stood to the side on the porch and waited. For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin puzzled at that. Why didn’t she open the door and go in? This was her home too, wasn’t it? But then the nasty fact came to him: Mrs. Gold didn’t have a key to the house where she lived. Gold had made it very clear to her that this was his house. Whether or not she was allowed inside was entirely based on his pleasure.

But she was smiling, when he came up to the door. She presented herself with her arms behind her back. The posture pushed out her chest and further exposed her open shirtfront and bare skin. A chill wind blew through the autumn night, but Mrs. Gold didn’t flinch. She didn’t make a move to cover herself from his sight.

Rumpelstiltskin unlocked the door and held it open.

She hurried in with an enthusiastic, “Thank you, Mr. Gold!”

He took a deep breath before he crossed the threshold into Gold’s mansion. Even once he was inside, Rumpelstiltskin kept his back to the interior for a moment. He took his time locking the double doors behind him. He pressed a button by the door and an electric light shone down through a crystal chandelier.

When he turned around, Mrs. Gold was kneeling on the wooden floor in front of him.

Her shoes were lined up neatly on a shoe rack. Her yellow dress was hanging from a coat hook on the wall. Her underpants were in her hands, offered up to him. The light green had become dark with the dampness of her pleasure.

Rumpelstiltskin froze. One hand gripped his cane. But his other hand didn’t hesitate to do what Gold would do. He took the underpants and brought them up to his nose.

Belle.

In that moment, it was her. He knew Belle’s scent, her taste. He knew the feeling of her wetness on his fingers. He knew her cunt, hot and slick and ready for him. He knew her breathing, her sighs, all those delectable noises she made as he pleasured her, over and over.

And now she was in front of him. Belle’s body, small and lovely. Belle’s skin, pale as cream and smooth as silk. Belle’s scars, scars he had inflicted in his passion and sewn up with golden thread. Belle’s hair, that wild tangle of brown curls he loved to tame. Belle’s eyes, crystalline blue, wide and pleading, yearning for him. She wanted his touch, his attention, even his cruelty. Whatever he chose to give her, she would take it gladly and hunger for more.

Belle’s pink lips parted. Belle’s voice spoke. But the words that came out of her mouth were things that Belle would never say.

“Well, Mr. Gold, you’ve got the rent money. Would you like to pour it out on the bed and rub my face in it while you fuck me from behind?”

Gold wanted very much to do that, and Rumpelstiltskin felt his body responding. Why not? This woman was as much his wife now as she had ever been. She was Belle! She was beautiful, and she wanted him. He held the evidence of her desire in the palm of his hand. There was nothing to stop him from taking her upstairs and pounding his cock into her until she forgot her own name.

But that was exactly the problem.

Mrs. Gold didn’t know her own name. She wasn’t Belle.

And Rumpelstiltskin was not Gold.

Then and there, he made the decision: He would never sleep with Mrs. Gold. She wanted someone he wasn’t, and he wanted someone she could never be. Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t married Belle for her body. It would be an insult to his true wife to use this woman for his pleasure just because the two shared a physical form.

But he couldn’t let Mrs. Gold know that. Not yet, and preferably not ever. He didn’t know if anyone else in Storybrooke was awake from the curse. He didn’t even know who had survived the journey from one world to the other. He didn’t know how much time it would take before Emma Swan broke the curse.

All Rumpelstiltskin knew was who he was, who his wife was, and how important it was to keep those facts a secret. Some might call it cowardice, but he knew it as wisdom. Just because he had made it to the new world, his work had not finished. He had to wait for the next phase of the plan. He had to lay low, he had to gather information, he had to appear as much like Gold as he could possibly stand.

He could not treat his wife the way Gold did. But nor could he let her know what he was doing. He’d be walking on a blade’s edge until the Savior broke the curse.

For the present, Mrs. Gold stared up at him. Belle’s eyes, rimmed with paint and wide with want. Belle’s shoulders, rising and falling as she breathed. Even Belle’s petite, perfect breasts, her nipples pointed and red from the cold and the teasing she had given them.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t let a muscle move on his face as he took the underpants in his hand and slid them into the pocket of his suit coat, right next to the bag of rent money. It was the sort of thing Gold would do.

“I’m not going to fuck you tonight,” he announced coldly.

Mrs. Gold’s face fell. “I--I said I was sorry, Mr. Gold.” She lowered her head down to the floor. “I know I should be punished. Please punish me, Mr. Gold. Please hurt me. But please don’t deny me yourself. Not on rent day.”

She turned her head in a motion Rumpelstiltskin knew too well. She was going to kiss his boots. She was going to grovel and beg for his affection, just like he used to order Belle to do. No. Never again!

He tried to dart away, but remembered his ankle--too late. Gold had a cane for a reason. He fell back against the door with a hard thud. Hands pressed against the wood, he just barely stopped himself from sliding down to the ground.

Mrs. Gold rose up on her knees, eyes wide with concern. Her hands were raised up, as if she thought she could catch him. There was a small scar on the same hand as her wedding band. Belle’s scar, Belle’s ring.

Rumpelstiltskin waved her away before he managed to stand. “Just go,” he snarled. The shock of the fall was giving way to embarrassment, but even that was less pressing than the aching throb in his ankle.

After all these years, he had almost forgotten that pain.

“Where should I go?” Mrs. Gold got to her feet. Her voice was timid, but she looked steadily at him. “May I dress first?”

Rumpelstiltskin took a deep breath. Then another. He had taught Belle to calm her fears with breathing. As long as you can breathe, you are alive, sweetheart. As long as you can breathe, you can think. He had to think.

Mrs. Gold had taken him literally when he had told her to go. She was ready to walk out the door and stay away until he summoned her back. She was only mildly concerned that she might be naked in public outside on a late autumn night.

“You’ll stay in the house,” he clarified. He tried to keep his composure, even though he was breathing more heavily than Gold would. “You can do whatever you like, within the usual parameters. I’m going to my study to take care of the accounts. I do not wish to be distrubed. Is that understood?”

She nodded, like an obedient child. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

“I may be up quite late,” he went on. “You are to be asleep by ten.”

At that, she looked askance. Normally rent day was when Gold kept his wife up late. He let his twin vices of greed and lust feed off of each other, with wrath often adding to the frenzy. It was the highlight of their month. But Mrs. Gold knew better than to question her husband when he gave her an order.

“I’ll be ready for you whenever you want me, Mr. Gold.”

Rumpelstiltskin made himself grin. “Yes, dearie, I know you will.”

Gold regularly called his wife dearie. It was a term he used when he knew he was cheating someone out of something. Rumpelstiltskin had stopped thinking of Belle as dearie within a week of knowing her.

Without another word, Mrs. Gold took her dress off the hook and went upstairs.

****

Even after Rumpelstiltskin turned on a desk lamp, Gold’s study remained dark and gloomy. Mahogany shelves full of thick books lined the walls, adding depth to the black shadows. A burgundy leather armchair and footstool lurked in the far corner. A matching couch stood in front of the fireplace, perpendicular to the large antique desk in front of the window.

Gold had many fond memories of having his wife bent over the arm of the couch while he worked at his desk. Sometimes he would spank her or fuck her. But just as often he would leave her for hours while she silently begged for his touch. Gold always made sure to angle her so that she couldn’t see him, or any other part of the room. She never knew where he was, if he was looking at her or ignoring her. He would keep her hands restrained behind her back and sometimes her ankles tied together so she was all but helpless. Naked and bound, with a ball gag in her mouth, her face pressed against a sheet of plastic to protect the leather and collect her tears and drool.

Shaking his head, Rumpelstiltskin looked away from the couch. He didn’t want to think about Mrs. Gold, about how cruelly her husband had treated her for twenty-eight years. He didn’t want to imagine Belle crying and pleading--or worse, falling silent because she knew better than to complain. Such images were too fresh in his mind. Before Belle had agreed to be his wife, he had made her cry far too many times. Was Gold the way he was because Rumpelstiltskin had been the way he was?

Sinking into the office chair, he rubbed his face. After a moment, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt. This was a truly hideous shirt. The pattern of black and white checks clashed with itself and did no favors for any suit that tried to match it. Did Gold think he looked handsome wearing this? Had he walked out of this house this morning confident that this was the best choice of wardrobe he could have made?

What a fool.

Oddly, the thought comforted Rumpelstiltskin. He liked judging Gold’s taste. It was proof that they were not the same. His other self didn’t know how to dress any more than he knew how to treat his wife well. But he knew better.

Rumpelstiltskin was a better man than Gold. That wasn’t saying much, but it was something. Some little spark of hope to cling to.

The shelf nearest the desk was covered by a panel of dark wood on a hinge. Curious, Rumpelstiltskin pulled down gently on the top of the panel. It folded down to reveal a single cut glass tumbler and several bottles of liquor. A bar. A much-needed amenity on a day like today.

He grabbed the first bottle he saw--it had a blue label that lay at an angle across the light blue glass--and poured a drink into the tumbler. The alcohol burned in his mouth like a cleansing fire.

He tried not to drink too quickly. What would his tolerance be in this new world? His body was what it had been as a spinner, just as lame, just as weak. In this world without magic, he had lost most of what made him the Dark One. The scales were gone. He couldn’t see without light anymore. He wouldn’t be able to go weeks without eating or sleeping any time soon. There was much that he would have to get used to again.

And there was his ankle.

Rumpelstiltskin leaned Gold’s cane against the desk. At least that looked less pathetic than the walking stick he’d relied on for fourteen years. Gods, was that really all it had been? He had been a cripple for the whole of Bae’s life--from the day Rumpelstiltskin had heard he would be a father until the moment he felt the old Dark One’s blood on his hands. One instant of cowardice had led to fourteen years of wretchedness, and even centuries later he was still branded by that choice.

Another swallow of liquor. Later, there would be time to wallow in self-pity over all the different ways he had ruined his own life. He knew from experience that such emotions never really went away. Regrets always lay dormant, like sleeping beasts waiting for the sound of a single wrong step in the forest to wake up and ravage the unsuspecting.

Only Belle had ever helped him, with her steadfast stubbornness and gentle strength. She had cut through his years of pain to expose his soul and center. And she had called it beautiful. He could come to her with his weakness, his fear, the most ugly and most evil parts of him, and she would only see how much he needed love.

And she would give him love. Even when he didn’t deserve it. And he loved her. He made her his wife and the mistress of his dagger. Everything he had, everything he was belonged to her. It wasn’t enough, but it was all he had to give.

Tears pricked at his eyes. He reached into his jacket pocket for a handkerchief. Instead, his fingers grasped upon Mrs. Gold’s underpants and a bag of money.

He tossed them both on the desk, quick to keep from touching either item. The whole of Gold’s life lay before him on the desk. No tears, no love. Just sex and money.

And power. A drawer in the desk opened up to reveal a leather-bound ledger book. This was where Gold’s power lay. This was the record of practically everyone in Storybrooke, everyone who was in his debt. In red and black ink, Gold had carefully written down all of their names, what they wanted, and how much they paid him every month to have it.

Rumpelstiltskin read over the list. Row upon row of names that meant nothing to him--yet. Marco Beginini. Janine Woolverton. Mary Margaret Blanchard. Ashley Boyd. Mara Trudine. Archibald Hopper. On and on it went. Gold owned their homes or their places of business. He had loaned money to pay for their cars or medical bills. And now he had them in his book. Month by month, he kept tabs on these people’s lives. Diligently, he recorded how much trouble they had in keeping up with the payments, using that as an indicator of whether or not they could be manipulated into offering him more than just cash.

Gold had more than enough cash. Rumpelstiltskin’s fingers set to work counting out the strips of colored paper that served as money in this world. There were coins as well, silver and copper. People in Storybrooke were so desperate to appease their landlord that they emptied their change jars and counted up nickels and pennies to make sure the rent was paid.

The money was grimy and sometimes sticky under his touch. Dirt-poor, Rumpelstiltskin thought. Desperate souls. The sort of people who would pick up a coin off a dirty sidewalk because you never knew if you might need it. Mr. Gold wouldn’t show mercy if you were even one penny short.

Rumpelstiltskin leaned back in the chair. How long would it have been before Gold started demanding fealty from these people? If he hadn’t woken up, how many more months would have passed before Gold started making people grovel in the streets and kiss his shiny black shoes? This world was supposed to have evolved beyond lords and peasants. There was a saying here that all men were created equal. How could anyone believe that, as long as men like Gold ruled over so many others?

Once the amounts were recorded--money counted, names amounts tidily written down--Rumpelstiltskin put the cash to rights. Gold had a system for this, as he did for everything in his life. The bills marked for one hundred dollars went into his safe. If anyone came to him for a loan, he would have the funds ready to disperse. Twenty dollar bills went to the bank, to be deposited in various bank accounts. Gold never deposited enough cash at one time to arouse suspicion--though of course there was nothing for anyone to suspect about his business interests, nothing at all. The coins and small bills went back to his pawn shop to fill out the cash register.

And the fifties went to Mrs. Gold.

As far as Gold was concerned, his wife existed for two reasons: To get fucked and to spend his money. He gave her at least a thousand dollars a week and expected her to show him the receipts of what she bought. Jewelry, clothes, useless gadgets that would get thrown away within a month. The most practical errand she ever ran was going to the grocer’s and buying whatever gourmet food they had to sell.

He liked her to go to as many places around Storybrooke as possible. Her mission was to flaunt his wealth and her sex. As many people as possible should see her, and they should all walk away knowing that she was nothing but a gold-digging fucktoy. That was what Gold wanted people to think about the woman he had married.

Rumpelstiltskin stood up from the desk with a heavy sigh. When was the last time he had been so tired? There was a watch in his trouser pocket. He pulled it out and saw that it was after midnight. Mrs. Gold would surely be asleep by now.

For a man who used a cane, Gold had an agonizing number of stairs in his house. Rumpelstiltskin made the climb with his free hand braced along the wall or the bannister. This house had been built in a time when guests and servants and large families were expected to take up space in a home. Perhaps that was why these dark halls and empty rooms felt more lonely than his castle in the old world ever had.

Belle had made that castle into a home for both of them. Even when she was his thing, she had explored and poked around. Her very presence had changed it, quite without her knowing what she was doing. She had made the place feel wanted, and by wanting it, she had made it her own.

Once she was his wife they had both been more deliberate about making the castle a place for her comfort. It had become a world of books and blankets, full of plush furniture big enough for them to snuggle up together. Heavy curtains had come down, and fires were always lit for warmth. Belle had brought light into his residence, and into his life.

Now, Rumpelstiltskin had to bring his own light into the gloom of Gold’s house. As he made his way to the master suite, he pushed buttons and switches to turn on the electric illumination.

But when he opened the door, a light was already lit for him. Adjoining Gold’s bedroom there was a separate sitting area, with a fireplace and a wardrobe and a set of cloth-upholstered chairs. Between the chairs, an antique table lamp gave off a red glow.

The lampshade was shaped like a crescent, with red beads dangling from the border on either side. The shade itself was covered with gold lace and embroidered silk roses. The light was dim and lurid. It was meant to be more alluring than illuminating. But it was better than the darkness in the hallway.

Mrs. Gold had left it on for when he came to bed. Gold never ordered her to do that. She had thought, she had planned. She wanted to welcome him, even in this small, silent way. She wanted to make him comfortable, in whatever way he allowed her.

“Are you awake?”

He gave the question softly to the darkness in the next room. All he got in answer was the sound of heavy breathing, a steady rhythm he knew so well. For a single, wonderful year, he and Belle had been together in their marriage. For so many nights, they had shared a bed. While she slept, he would stay awake beside her. Listening to her breathing had contented him as much as spinning.

He couldn’t look at the sleeping figure in Gold’s bed. Rumpelstiltskin went to the next room in this suite, the washroom. The light from the table lamp didn’t reach this far, so he shut the door to the bedroom before flipping the switch.

He scrubbed the filthy money off of his hands. He let his body go through a series of nighttime rituals he was too tired to try to understand. Without thought, took off his clothes and dressed in a pair of navy blue silk pajamas.

Gold’s side of the bed was near the wall. He would be able to get up without having to fumble for his cane. Rumpelstiltskin put the damn thing in the corner where it always went--where Gold’s body would know to find it at all hours of the day or night. Then he pulled back the blanket and got into bed with Mrs. Gold.

The movement didn’t wake her. Far too often, Rumpelstiltskin had only come to bed after Belle was already asleep, and he had learned how to keep from disturbing her. But even in sleep, Mrs. Gold was ready to welcome her husband. She scooted towards him without turning around and she wouldn’t stop until one of his legs was wrapped around her body, covering her, claiming her.

Exhausted beyond imagining and seeking any comfort he could find, Rumpelstiltskin didn’t pull away. He curled around her body and buried his face in her hair. He searched for the scent of Belle, underneath all of Mrs. Gold’s perfumes and products. His arm wrapped around her. She was so warm, so lovely. Her skin was smooth under his palms, soft as a rose petal. Half-asleep, Rumpelstiltskin stroked his wife’s arms, her sides. She felt so good to touch. And judging by her soft, slumbering noises, she enjoyed him touching her as well.

He wasn’t aware of how much skin he was touching until he felt the synthetic lace at her hip. Her underpants. Mrs. Gold had gone to bed wearing nothing but a pair of underpants. There was an obvious hole on the side. He remembered her words in the entryway. She had promised that she would be ready for him.

Ready for Gold.

Rumpelstiltskin’s hands balled into fists. He couldn’t bear to touch her anymore, but nor could he bear to let her go. Even as Mrs. Gold, she was too dear to him. In every other way, he was so far from Belle. He couldn’t allow even this scrap of her to slip through his fingers. In the dark of Gold’s bedroom, Rumpelstiltskin clung to his wife and wept.

#golden rings #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Rumpelstiltskin

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