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hansolmates · 4 years

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busted in busan

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k a/n; for @suhdays holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

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“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.”

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh.

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans.

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea.

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease.

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile.

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head.

“Will the weather let up?” A frown.

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive.

“C’mon lady, you��re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him.

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment.

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter.

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first.

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.”

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.”

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down.

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care.

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.”

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him.

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.”

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.”

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?”

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.”

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?”

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.”

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line.

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot.

“Nah, been booked since last month.”

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?”

He pats his luggage as a response.

“That’s not fair!”

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.”

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.”

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face.

“You want my ticket,” he states.

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle.

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those!

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks.

“Who said I was offering?”

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?”

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides.

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake.

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.”

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate.

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10.

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy.

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes.

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes.

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.”

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?”

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.”

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—”

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain.

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard.

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not.

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good.

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell.

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things.

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer?

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price.

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice.

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.”

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?”

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution.

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.”

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.”

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.”

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.”

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks.

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.”

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut.

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty.

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh.

You huff, and shift in your seat.

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him.

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply.

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.”

“Why, I’m engaged!”

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.”

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind.

“Holy fuck, have you two not—”

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!”

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing.

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle.

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.”

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position.

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to.

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months.

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.”

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you.

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—”

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman.

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger.

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that.

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses.

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to.

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing.

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook.

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams.

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow.

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside.

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible.

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat.

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van.

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back.

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them.

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off.

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet.

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously.

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots.

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint.

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure.

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey.

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?”

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.”

“Do you drive around a lot?”

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.”

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach.

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain.

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.”

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.”

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute.

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening.

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!”

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.”

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.”

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose.

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?”

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.”

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like.

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize: are you flirting with Jungkook?

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell.

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind.

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.”

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?”

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.”

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—”

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.”

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air.

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car.

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt.

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.”

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?”

“Wait, you have a crush on me?”

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.”

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.”

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.”

That singular statement hits you, hard.

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs.

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.”

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself.

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable.

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow.

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route.

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.”

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath.

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer.

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours.

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours.

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?”

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.”

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook?

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk.

There’s no drugs.

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell.

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real.

Jungkook’s an artist.

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face.

“Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?”

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.”

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you.

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.”

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced.

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it.

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart.

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him.

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow.

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway.

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it.

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents.

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.”

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours.

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.”

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door.

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed.

It’s been a day.

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him.

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought.

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face.

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed.

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks.

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake.

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox.

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.”

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.”

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.”

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.”

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?”

“I mean, I think I’m in love.”

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask.

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.”

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.”

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.”

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble.

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin.

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you.

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back.

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.”

“Impossible!”

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family.

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.”

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door.

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers.

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him.

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window.

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him.

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you smile.

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.”

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.”

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself.

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—”

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.”

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible.

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.”

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.”

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.”

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch.

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking.

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown.

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.”

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.”

“Will you rile me up now?”

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.”

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell.

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath.

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—”

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.”

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner.

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #kwritersworldnet #btsghostie #btswritingcafe #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fic #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst

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sleepysnk · 4 years

Text

OOF OKAY, I GOT THIS IDEA FROM A FRIEND ON DISCORD. i hope you guys enjoy this horny piece of smut because it definitely made me feel some type of way 😏❤.

Sleepovers

Pairings: Jean Kirstein x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, fingering, praising, voyeruism.

It was a usual Friday night for (Y/N) and her friend group.

They were having one of their annual sleepovers that took place almost every other weekend. Of course everyone now being in college, things like this were more common as there was no parental guidance involved. (Y/N) loved the idea of sleeping over with her friends and she always came whenever it was planned.

The friend group consisted of Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Sasha, Connie, Reiner, Bertholdt, his girlfriend Annie, and Jean.

Jean had always had it out for (Y/N) ever since they met during her freshman year of college. He treated her differently from everyone else. (Y/N) couldn't lie and say she didn't have a crush on him, he was charming, tall, and such a huge flirt. He had everything she would have wanted in a guy.

He'd always throw a compliment her way or give her a sly smile that made her feel weak, Jean knew all the right things to do to make her feel special. He had a way with words that nobody else seemed to have.

(Y/N) always returned the favor, throwing a nice compliment his way or sending a cute flirt. Jean would always be absolutely surprised at her actions, he never took her as the type to flirt back. He always found himself winning during those flirts.

Sometimes their own friends would call them out on it, telling them to "get a room!" or "get together already!". Neither of them had the courage to confess any feelings because they were just too chicken shit for it.

The night started off fun, they picked Eren's place to spend the night which was decently cool. They all watched a movie, played games, had a bit of alcohol, and even built a pillow fort which was later destroyed by Connie and Sasha over a fight about snacks.

(Y/N) and Jean had their usual hinted comments thrown around. He didn't leave her side the whole night, he always found himself beside her or near her.

"Shit I am exhausted.." Eren said, yawning.

The night was finally dying down. Eren and Mikasa layed on the couches in the basement, Armin was already snoozing in his sleeping bag while Connie and Sasha were both knocked out. Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie were just laying down droopy eyed as the movie they watched played on the tv.

(Y/N) was next to Jean, both were wide awake.

Eren stood up, grabbing the remote from the table. "I'm hitting the hay, goodnight guys." he said, switching off the tv.

Darkness filled the room besides the small light coming from one of those scented wall plug-ins. The bathroom also had a small light which emitted from the darkness. (Y/N) heard shuffling, assuming it was Eren laying down on the couch.

The time on the small clock read 2:41 A.M.

(Y/N) tried her best to get comfortable, unlike everyone else she was struggling to fall asleep. She assumed it was because she had about three sodas and a ton of other sugar, her body was wide awake. She pulled the blanket over her body trying to at least get comfortable, but being on a floor was kind of an issue.

She opened one eye to look at the clock which now read 3:01 A.M.

She sighed, a whole 15 minutes had gone by and she still hadn't fallen asleep. She couldn't exactly go walk around Eren's place, that'd seem rude and she didn't want to wake anybody.

She shifted to the other side where Jean was, that's when her eyes were met with Jean's open ones. He was staring at the ceiling.

She blinked a bit, thinking he was sleeping with his eyes open until his gaze averted towards her.

"Can't sleep either huh..?" Jean asked, his voice low to prevent anyone from waking up.

A soft laugh came from her mouth. "No.. I blame it on all the sugar I had," she replied and looked at him.

A chuckle came from his throat. "You wanna get under the covers? We can talk until one of us falls asleep," he asked in a whisper.

She nodded and sat up, he pulled the blanket over their heads. (Y/N) used her phone flashlight to light up the blanket, her eyes squinted a bit from the bright light. Jean's hair was a bit messy from laying down, he still looked amazing.

A smile grew onto his lips seeing her. "You look pretty cute for being at a sleepover," he said, crossing his legs.

She felt heat rush onto her cheeks. "Not at all.. I feel messy and tired yet I can't sleep," she said, laughing a bit.

Jean admired her features in the lighting, he fingers slightly ghosted over her cheek. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as he touched her.

"You look adorable," Jean said, scooching his body closer towards hers. Their knees touched, making her skin tingle.

They sat there staring at each other for a few moments, suddenly they leaned into each other, their lips connecting into a warm passionate kiss. His tongue swiped along her bottom lip, asking for permission. She slightly moaned into the kiss, he took the opportunity to explore her mouth.

He cupped her cheek and brought her body closer to his. She felt heat forming in between her legs.

"You don't know what you do to me.." he whispered.

Anticipation bubbled in her stomach as he turned her flashlight off. She let out a shaky breath as her eyes closed, feeling his lips attack her neck. She felt his teeth grazing against the soft flesh of her neck, her breath hitched feeling him sucking her sweet spot.

"J-Jean.." she cried out, biting her lip trying to stay quiet.

He smirked against her skin. "Lay down for me (Y/N).." he whispered against her ear.

She lied down on her pillow, Jean's body spreading her legs apart. He put his hands on either side of her head, leaning down to engulf her into another kiss.

He began to kiss down her neck down towards her chest, then towards her belly. Goosebumps littered onto her skin feeling his wet lips against her skin, soft whimpers and moans escaped her lips.

Jean hooked his fingers around the hem of her shorts. "Can I?" he asked, raising his brows.

She couldn't faintly see the outline of his body in the darkness. "Yes.." she replied in a whisper.

He pulled her shorts down her legs, tossing them under the blanket next to them. She shuddered a bit as she felt the cooler air against her wet cunt. Jean maneuvered himself so he was now laying next to her with his head propped up by his arm.

A soft moan escaped her lips as she felt his fingers on her clit, he circled it slowly making her legs open a little wider for him. She felt jolts of pleasure shooting around her body, causing her to become a bit shaky.

They both stopped when they heard shifting coming a few feet away. Eren slightly groaned in his sleep. The two looked at each other before he continued to rub her clit.

"You gotta be quiet beautiful.. we don't need anyone hearing you," Jean whispered, nibbling at the shell of her ear. "But you're so wet.. is that what I do to you? I make your pussy soaked?"

She moved her hips upwards, biting her lip to prevent any moans from escaping her lips.

A low chuckle came from him. He slid one of his fingers into her hot core, a gasp escaped her lips feeling his finger inside of her. He covered her mouth instantly and looked around, making sure nobody got up.

He slowly pumped his finger into her, he felt the aching of his cock causing him to groan a bit as he fingered her. She dug her nails into the sheets below her, shaky breaths and small whimpers came from her mouth as he hit her g-spot.

"J-Jean.." she whimpered, moving her hips to feel more of his finger.

His finger stopped, causing her to look at him in annoyance.

"Be quiet.." he said, pressing his lips onto hers.

She moaned into the kiss when she felt two digits enter her again, the pace this time was a bit quicker.

Her velvety walls fluttered around his fingers, squelching noises came from her pussy from how wet she was.

"You're such a good girl (Y/N)... you take me so well," he whispered, his voice raspy and deep. "You want me to make you cum?"

She shook her head as she whimpered. "Y-Yes.." she replied.

He felt her walls tightening around his fingers, his pace quickened. He turned her head towards his, his eyes staring into hers.

The knot in her stomach came apart as her orgasm took over her body, she buried her face into his neck and let out a soft moan. Her legs felt shaky and her eyes saw white as she creamed around his fingers.

Jean removed his fingers which were coated in her slick arousal. He licked his fingers, savoring the taste.

"You're better than I ever imagined.." he said with a smirk on his face.

She panted a bit, pulling the covers over her body. "Jean.. will you.. cuddle up with me?" she asked, feeling heat rush onto her cheeks.

He smiled. "Of course.. who am I to deny you?" he replied and plopped down next to her.

He pulled her into his embrace, she felt exhausted after coming down from her high. Jean rubbed small circles into the flesh of her waist as he felt his eyes becoming droopy.

The next morning the two were awoken by everyone talking.

"I slept decent on the floor," Armin said and sat up.

Everyone's eyes averted towards (Y/N) and Jean who were cuddled up together, her head laying on his chest while his arms were wrapped around her waist.

Eren chuckled. "Well would you look at that? Look at that those two," he said and smirked.

"It was only a matter of time before this happened," Sasha said, yawning.

Eren laughed again before leaning back against the couch. "You should have heard them last night.. they had plenty of fun," he said as he remembered the events that occurred during the night.

(Y/N) sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Hmm?" she asked as she looked around at her friends.

"Oh nothing!" Eren replied, shaking his head.

Jean's eyes open, a slight blush formed onto his face seeing (Y/N) next to him this close.

"Ugh.. you guys are so loud," he said and groaned a bit.

Eren laughed again. "I'd like to say the same to you and (Y/N).." he said and grinned widely.

Their jaws dropped as Eren's words processed through their heads. "Ugh shit.." (Y/N) said as embarrassment rushed onto her face.

"Did you guys..?" Connie asked, furrowing his brows.

Jean snaked his arm around her waist. "None of your business," he replied.

"Look next time you guys wanna do the nasty just go upstairs," Eren said and rolled his eyes playfully.

Connie and Sasha bursted out laughing. "Ew! You guys did the nasty down here!?" Connie asked in between laughter.

(Y/N) covered her face with her hands. "Ugh Eren! You're an asshole," she said and shook her head.

"Connie stop acting like you didn't finger Sasha that one day.. I saw that," Jean said as a smirk formed onto his face.

The two both turned red. "U-Uh.. um.." Sasha said and looked away.

The conversation eventually ended and everyone went back to normal conversation. Jean and (Y/N) talked a bit longer.

"We should hangout later.. you know.. finish what we started," Jean whispered in her ear.

She smirked. "Most definitely.." she replied, kissing his cheek.

#anime #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot imagines #aot fanfiction #snk x y/n #snk x reader #snk imagines #snk fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #jean kirstein #jean x reader #jean kirstein x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #anime fanfic #aot smut

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foreverfamilyforevervongola · 3 years

Note

Hi, its me again. Its been a year since I requested a story from you. Hope u nd ur family is safe. I want to ask if u can write a story where its Ipins prom or have a date and her brothers are being protective. Or Mukuro is using his illusions to hide while watching ipin and her date. Please...

Since these asks were similar, the following scenario is in response to both of them. Hope you enjoy!

The conference room of the hotel was beautifully decorated, with shimmering blue tablecloths, twinkling aquamarine fairy lights were arranged to look like a waterfall at the front of the room, and hundreds of students were currently rocking out to a fast-paced song on the dance floor.

I-Pin sat at one of the small circular tables with her date. They were damp with sweat from constant dancing, and nibbled on the catered snack food as they made casual chatter. When the gold watch strapped around I-Pin's wrist indicated that two hours had passed, she politely excused herself.

Mukuro stood at the edge of the conference room, his eyes following I-Pin's every step. He lingered near the washrooms and I-Pin walked past him. She suddenly executed a graceful spin, her foot darting out to press hard against Mukuro's left toes.

The shock and pain very nearly caused Mukuro to break his illusion. He hissed between his teeth and seized an unrepentant I-Pin by the wrist before she could escape into the girls' restroom. "You little--"

He shifted them to the hotel lobby, which was significantly brighter than the dimly-lit conference room. He dropped the cloaking the illusion, revealing himself, and I-Pin crossed her arms over her chest.

"Lovely evening," she drawled.

"Don't get sassy," growled Mukuro, gingerly curling his throbbing toes. "I ought to take you home right this instant."

"I can't believe you're here in the first place," snapped I-Pin. "I thought you'd leave once you saw things were going well and that I'd be okay, but it's been two hours!"

"How did you even know I was here?" asked Mukuro, disgruntled.

"I'm a highly-trained assassin," said I-Pin primly. "Which I sometimes think you guys forget."

"Trust me, we don't," said Mukuro dryly. "We know you can take care of yourself."

"Then what is it? Do you not trust me?"

"Of course I trust you," said Mukuro sharply. He gripped I-Pin's chin, holding her gaze. "It's him I don't trust."

I-Pin sighed in exasperation, raising her fingers to touch the inside of Mukuro's wrist. "He passed the interrogation process, Mukuro-nii. You all said he was allowed to take me to his prom."

Mukuro's jaw twitched. "There's something suspicious about him. He's too...nice."

"There's no pleasing you, is there?" quipped I-Pin. She leaned forwards, wrapping her arms around her brother's waist. "You don't have to worry, Mukuro-nii. I'm not going to do anything stupid, and I won't let him try anything stupid, but he's not going to, because he's a gentleman."

Mukuro returned the hug, resting his chin against the top of I-Pin's head. "I'll always worry," he murmured. "But I suppose I'll have to learn to let go."

"Not completely, though," said I-Pin, nuzzling against his chest.

"Certainly not. You can't get rid of me that easy."

"Except for tonight," said I-Pin, stepping back and kissing Mukuro's cheek. "Seriously, you gotta go. I'm trying to have a date here."

"All right," said Mukuro in amusement.

"Does Tsu-nii even know you're here?"

"No," said Mukuro, unashamed. "He also doesn't know Kyoya is here."

"What?!"

"He's parked outside the hotel. I think he's gotten Verde to connect his laptop to the hotel's security camera feed."

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #mukuro rokudo #ipin #khr headcanons #forever family forever vongola

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beann-e · 3 years

Text

haikyu boys reacting to their crush saying their just a friend

Akaashi has had a crush on you for quite awhile now and like any guy he was very closed off about it.

He didn’t see a need to answer any of the million questions bokuto asked him and he didn’t see a reason to explain why he had one on you.

He left it at the fact that he liked you with the only person knowing being his best friend and In this moment right now he was thankful that he hadn’t told anyone else

“ y/n anyone on the team you’d ever date “

you smiled widely laughing at the boys theyd been asking you this since practice started “ you guys have practice go “

“ just once —just once answer me “ bokuto’s voice came out as he followed you around the gym everybody trailing behind him honestly a little interested in your answer

“ fine “ you huffed “ no one “

everyones eyebrows furrowed except for bokuto’s whos body fell “ no one “

“ no one “

“ no one? “

“ bokuto “ you laughed “ no one— you are all very good looking yes but I — I don’t feel a connection with anyone on the team “

The grey haired male in front of you sighed out in disbelief and his body dropped even harder as he went stoic you would’ve thought you were his crush with the way his heart flatlined. His eyes fell from yours to the unchanged face of his best friend.

Even though akaashi hadn’t moved he knew the boy was hurting and he had to fix it or at least give him hope “ well y/n what about akaashi —akaashi is one of those communicator people you like— you two would work good together“ bokutos smile grew when your eyebrows perked up akaashi’s body feeling light again ‘ I got a chance ‘

you shook your head before laughing “ no akaashi knows we’re just friends we wouldnt get anywhere—he’s a bit too quiet—closed off really and i’d never know what he was thinking“

his heart broke and his outside expression shattered those had to be the harsher words he’d ever heard spoken in his life “ excuse—excuse me I am actually needed home my uh—my mother told me she wants to pray for our game tonight before I travel “

yeah, he was beating himself up not only for how he was seen to you as ‘ closed off’ but hating how he couldn’t be more open about his crush on you in the first place his mind raced to his only thought that maybe it would’ve worked out differently if he were like bokutou

━❍────────

Hinata liked you duh how dumb was someone not to notice. Almost everyone knew including yourself but, you had no interest in the boy you knew you two would go absolutely nowhere since he only ever focused on volleyball he had no time for anything else and you were not going to put yourself through that pain.

It also didn’t help that you had a crush on kageyama. Hinata wasn’t clueless he knew already—you’d told him yourself by asking if he could help you out with the boy but, that didn’t mean he would stop pursuing you. You hated how you always ended up the butt of hinata’s jokes or comments.You knew kageyama would never date you or give you the time of day but, to have someone ruining your chances even more thats what hurt

You watched as kageyamas loud voice swirled through the gym in waves “YOU STUPID IMBECILE Y/N’S NOT EVEN YOUR S/O YET- “

“ ah — your so mean kageyama-kun they’ll be soon because y/n’s my cru—“

“ friend ! “ you yelled swinging your hands in awkwardness eyes immediately landing on kageyamas confused but interested ones

“ y/n is your friend “ you laughed awkwardly clasping your sweaty hands together as everyone in the gym stared at you “ just a friend “ you said again staring dead into your crush’s eyes that looked you up and down. Hed never really paid much attention to you before even if you were a manager. He couldn’t tell if he was interested in you or if you simply just pissed him off

“ right hinata? “ you nibbled at your lip begging the boy to answer his eyes going downcast before he smiled widely eyebrows twitching in sadness

“ yeah — yeah no — me and y/n are just friends good ones actually — really I uh I gotta go — um kageyama throw some sets up for me yeah ? “ and for the first time kageyama showed no hesitation in following the shorter male his eyes only sparring you a glance smiling softly before he ran off maybe he would pay more attention to you

━❍────────

oikawa was entitled and who were you to not fuel his ego even more who told you this was ok

“ excuse me what do you mean no?“ his face was twisted in disgust “ I just asked you out—you should be on your knees thanking me “

you smiled at your best friend “ yeah I know—iwa told me you did it as a dare right“ you laughed his eyes quickly shooting to the boy across from you.

That was the original plan no one knew he liked you so they dared him to ask you out iwazumi told you in advance because he didn’t want you to get hurt “ it’s because we’re friends right oikawa —that’s why we mess around like this it’s fine I forgive you“

he shook his head “ no I was “ you turned to iwaizumi continuing your conversation as oikawa moved to make eye contact with his best friend again who honestly felt bad for the male since he’d never been rejected before “ I was really asking you out y/n“

━❍────────

“ Bokuto please i’ve told you too many times it won’t work “

“ BUT WE COULD “

“ bo we wouldnt “

“ why y/n we’re already doing couple things like laughing 24/7 , I walk you home , you buy me lunch , you do my homework for me sometimes because practice goes too long, you go to every game why else would you do that if you didn’t lov— “

your eyes saddened at the boy why did he think everything you did was all out of love just because you weren’t the same sex “ bokuto no — I do that stuff because we’re friends “

his heart cracked “ that’s what friends do bo “ it broke into two pieces “ now come on get back to practice so we can win the game my mom wants to meet you guys tonight —said she wants to know if my best friend’s any good at his sport because i’m always talking about you “

yeah, he didn’t play in the game at all that night and your mom threatened punishment for you lying to her about having a volleyball prodigy as a friend

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hops-hunny · 3 years

Text

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 5

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: Slightly suggestive flirting, fluff

A/N: This chapter is so cute omg I hope you guys like it <3

“Oh come on (Y/n)! It could be fun!” Twyla called after the girl, who she was currently chasing around the halls of the manors. The tall men in suits watched them but didn’t interact, not sure of what to do in the situation. The (h/c) haired girl ignored her, making lala noises with her fingers in her ear. “Real mature, babes, real mature!” When they got back to the girl’s room, Twyla closed the door, locking it so her friend couldn’t escape. She got on her knees, pleading and begging the girl.

“Twyla I can’t just pick up and go on a trip to Italy!” she shouted, forcing the girl to stand up. The tall girl grabbed her shoulders, shaking her shorter friend in her arms.

“Why nottt?” she whined out. (Y/n) smacked her hands from her shoulders growling some at her.

“A multitude of reasons, Twy! The main one being oh I don’t know, who’s gonna look after my damn bakery!” she hissed out the last part, throwing herself on the large bed, the blonde joining her shortly after. “I’ve got no one to watch the bakery, I don’t have any clothes nice enough to take and even if I did I’d have to travel by floo back home to get them! Also, who’s gonna water my plants? I love my plants, Twyla!” she ranted causing the girl to shush her.

“Relax, you worry too much and there’s a simple fix to all these so-called ‘problems’ you have.” she sat up, pulling the girl up with her. “Let’s start with problem one. You said you have to run the bakery, right?” (Y/n) nodded, curious of where the girl was going with this. “Easy, ask Tiana to run it for a while. She’s been looking to get more hours in since she just bought a house.”

“I can’t ask that of her! Plus, she can’t do all of that with the staff we have now, she’d be understaffed!” she said, watching the girl type away on her phone. She was always so amazed by Twyla’s ability to use muggle technology.

“Well lucky for you, you won’t have to ask her. I just did!” her boss gawked at her, going to tell her off but she continued speaking. “And plus, it’s summer. Do you know how many culinary art students are looking to get hands-on learning in an actual bakery? You don’t handle the application process anyways, Tiana does that. Remember, you stopped doing that because you’d cry any time you had to reject an application.” she made many valid points, slowly pulling her over to the side that wanted to go, wanting to be on a trip with Neville. “Also you’re the only owner who spends so much time working. Isn’t the point of owning a business to make people do shit for you?”

“That’s true.” she sighed, picking at the skin around her cuticles. “But what about my apartment? And my clothes?”

“Don’t you still talk to that old couple that sold the bakery building to you? Ask them to watch your plants!” she retorted, smirking triumphantly. Slowly but surely her reasons for not being able to go were dwindling. (Y/n) sighed before shrugging.

“You know what? Screw it, I’ll go.” Twyla squealed, grabbing the girl’s hand as she dragged her out the door.

“Hey tall man, where’s Neville?” she asked the guard who was posted outside. He cleared his throat, adjusting his sunglasses.

“In his office. Downstairs and to the left, miss. He’s currently in a me-” without another word she grabbed the girl, dragging her downstairs. They reached the large wooden doors that had two large men standing there causing the shorter girl to cower in fear. Their glares were intense as they stood up straighter.

“Can we help you?” one of them asked, his rough voice booming. The other one nodded along, leaning down to her height as he gave her a strong glare, vein on his forehead popping out.

“The boss is in a meeting so unless you’re someone special, get lost.” (Y/n) felt her lip quivering, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Oh you’re fucked buddy, that’s the boss’s girl. Come on, I’ll let you guys in.” an unfamiliar voice said from behind her. Turning around she saw two identical men, quite lanky and tall in stature. She couldn’t help but notice how they favored another certain Ginger she knew.

The one on the left pressed on the small earpiece in his ear, clearing his throat. “Hey boss, your lady friend is out here crying. You should get more observant guards.” he said giggling as a shout could be heard from beyond the large door. The men visibly paled but kept their composure. The door swung open revealing Neville, who adorned a white button up and black trousers, a pair of suspenders connecting the two together.

“I-I’m sorry boss, I didn’t know.” one of them stuttered out, sweat building up on his bald head. Neville gripped his shirt tightly pinning him to the wall causing the man’s feet to lift from the ground. (Y/n)’s eyes widened at the sight. The man he was lifting had a large, muscular build making her wonder just how strong Neville really was.

“If you think that’s something, you should've seen him last night.” Twyla whispered out the corner of her mouth, the twins nodding along in agreement.

“You better listen because I’m gonna say this once.” Neville said, a calm tone which was somehow scary if he was to yell. The man nodded along frantically, wide eyes trained on the man. “That girl right there? She’s my flower. Let it be known that if she sheds a tear caused by any of you, you’re dead and what I’ll do will be worse than anything the Weasley twins could do combined.” and with that he dropped him, walking over to the girl. Weasley twins? So they were related to Ron! She felt her face flush as Neville leaned down, brushing away the tears that had threatened to fall from her eyes. “You alright, love?”

“Yeah I was just coming to tell you that I’ve made a decision. I’ll be joining you in Italy.” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He grinned at her lifting her up in a hug as he spun her around, laughing some. “B-but I don’t have any clothes so I still have to figure that out.” he sat her down, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Just buy new ones when we land.” he declared. She froze, scratching the back of her neck. That would be an easy solution if she hadn’t spent any extra savings she had on the night before.

“I don’t really have the money to do that..”she trailed off. Neville put something in her hands causing her to look down confused. In her hands was a black card, his name engraved in the front of it. “Is this...is this a black card?! I can’t take this. Plus what about you know, “ she cleared her throat, blood rushing to her cheeks and ears. “My undergarments. I don’t have any on me for before we go shopping.” Neville smirked at her words, feeling particularly confident from her flustered expression. She was so soft, so...pure. Anytime he neared her she’d get all warm in the face and anytime he kissed her that same look would double. Temptation was his flower and he was tempted. Hearing her inquire about something that had innocent intent behind it had him thinking about anything but.

“Nonsense, pretty girl. Take my card and for your undergarments..” he trailed off, leaning down next to her ear. He placed his hand around her neck, gently squeezing it as he chuckled. “Let me take care of that. Better yet, let me buy the ones for the trip as well.” he whispered, nibbling the shell of her ear. (Y/n) squeaked, looking at him with wide eyes. Was he doing this on purpose or was it a simple misunderstanding? Either way, she couldn’t stop the heat pooling between her legs. “I’m only messing with you cutie. However I wasn’t kidding, leave that to me.” with a final peck to her lips he stood up straight, adjusting his tie before heading back through the wooden doors, the twins following behind him.

“Nice meeting you (Y/n)!” they said in unison, offering her a smile before they closed the door after themselves.

“You know he totally wants to bang you, right?” Twyla said, causing the girl to glare at her. She held her hands up in defense, looking back at the girl as she began to walk off. “I’m just saying! It’s obvious. You should share a room with him when you go to Italy.”

“Do you..do you think he’d want that? I don’t wanna get in the way of-”

“Are you kidding me?! The man practically worships the very earth you walk on, why wouldn’t he?” Twyla exclaimed as the girl followed her blindly. (Y/n) gasped, looking up at where they were. Around them were large counters on the floor and ceiling. Marble countertops with a matching marble floor along with two large fridges and a state of the art oven. Ignoring Twyla’s rambling, she began to walk through the kitchen, inspecting and exploring every part of it. Her eyes landed on the pantry to which she opened, letting out another surprised noise. It was massive, food lining the walls, all organized to perfection. There was even a walk-in freezer and fridge down the hall!

“Twyla, I’ve gotta use this kitchen. If I don’t bake something in here I’m going to die.” she said, running out to the girl as she began to shake her back and forth. “Quick! Give me an excuse to so I don’t feel bad about messing things up!”

“Ooh! I love excuses! I mean, Neville’s having a meeting so you co-” before she could finish the girl put the kettle on before beginning to pull out various different bowls and ingredients.

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

“Well, do you have security plans?” Neville asked from the end of the table, quirking a brow at the italian man at the end of the table. He noticed even through the man’s fear that he probably didn’t understand what Neville had said fully. “Sorry, um, avete piani di sicurezza?” he asked, causing Blaise to quirk a brow at the man’s fluent italian. Neville rolled his eyes at him before turning his attention back to the man. He nodded, sliding back a file folder filled with papers.

“How long are we going to be there for?” Seamus asked.

“Does it matter? Money is money. Plus it’s not like you have anything important going on in your life, Finnegan.” Draco retorted which resulted in the shorter man growling as he grew red in the face.

“Don’t you dare fucking start. If you’re going to act like fools I’ll replace you with two lower levels in a heartbeat.” Neville gritted, not even looking up from the plans. He looked at the other man next to the italian man. “And you, what’s the exhibit worth exactly? If there’s no high hitting items we can already consider this a dud.”

“U-um. It’s estimated that it’s worth over 1.5 million, sir.” he responded, gulping as he reached for the water they had given him with a shaky hand. However, Neville wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

“Listen, did I ask you what it’s estimated to be? I asked for the exact cost. If you only have estimates then how bout I est-” he was interrupted by light knocking on the door. “Who is it now?! J-just come in.” he said, huffing out. The door opened followed by a quiet set of footsteps causing the inner circle of men to smile, giggling some. Curiosity got him, causing him to turn around, his expression instantly softening. “Petal? What are you doing here, angel girl?” he asked, pulling her closer but being careful of the large tray in her hand.

“I thought you might want some snacks for your little meeting. I hope there’s enough for everyone.” she said, setting the tray down on the table. It was funny really, comical, the way the doily and flower covered tray contrasted with all the men in the room. On the tray was a large array of different foods. Scones, tea biscuits, even tea sandwiches. In the center was a beautiful antique floral teapot along with matching cups.

“This looks amazing, princess!” he exclaimed, his stomach grumbling in agreement. She giggled at that, causing his ears to tint pink. “There’s most certainly enough. Go on fellas, don’t be-” before he could continue the men began to grab at the food, swooping in like vultures.

“Oh my god, this is like heaven!” Seamus moaned out, bits of sandwich falling from his mouth. Ron nodded along in agreement, a bunch of unintelligible words leaving his mouth. Even Blaise was wide eyed as he sipped at the tea, taking a bite of his tea biscuit.

“Yeah, is there any more of this? What kind of tea is this? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of having it before.” he said, taking another sip. She looked at them sheepishly, leaning into Neville’s embrace.

“It’s butterfly pea tea infused with strawberry and honey. Also there’s more of everything! I kinda went overboard.” she responded. Neville smiled, grabbing her hand before placing a kiss on top of it.

“Well thank you, I really appreciate it. You’re so lovely.” he muttered, turning her hand to place a kiss on her palm before proceeding to do the same all up her arm. She giggled some at the action, looking away from him shyly.

“Well I better get going before Twyla buys more stupid things with Draco’s black card.” she turned once as she got to the door. “Good luck with your meeting!”

Neville sighed happily before turning back around, looking at the men at the table before them. He grabbed whatever scraps the ravegers had left, eyeing everyone intensely. “What?” he spat out angrily.

“Mate you are so whipped!”

PREVIOUS||NEXT

TAGSLIST: @vayeya11 @pink-hufflepuff @clancyscookies @elemental-of-magic @beewitchedlou @simpforremuslupin @mottergirl99 @princesslaiahg @nevillelongbottomsgirlfriend @redpanda-poetry @vibingaesthetically

#neville longbottom x you #neville x you #neville longbottom x reader #Neville Longbottom #neville x reader #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #mafia!neville #mafia!au #mafia

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teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 4 years

Text

a flower for a flower

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings: smut (i want to say pure smut, but i also ramble a lot, so it’s not just smut—close to it though), food innuendos and other cheesy things, fluff, harry in his pimp daddy outfit, oral (f & m receiving), exhibitionism (mentions of voyeurism), teasing, soft!dom feels, praising kink, a couple of good girls thrown in there

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: a walk on the beach leads to more

author’s note: hi, i hope you're doing well :) sorry the synopsis sucks, but you know what i mean! xx hope you enjoy

masterlist

—

She’d never been the type to like the beach.

Granted, she had never been to an actual beach, like the ocean kind of beach, until she was well into her twenties, but that’s beside the point.

Then, she met Harry.

Harry, someone who has nothing but kindness and love in his soul, open for anyone who’s willing to take him, scared her when they first met. She has always been anxious, riddled with insecurities and tension, and to meet someone who breathed and exuded nothing but unadulterated confidence was absolutely terrifying. At that moment in time, she thought she could never be with someone who was like that, thinking that it would be difficult to keep up with someone like him.

And she was never one to take risks.

She will be forever grateful for finding someone who is able to open her eyes and give her the opportunity to see and do things that she never even dreamed about. It definitely helps that he is the way he is. She doesn’t think she would have ever found the courage to be the woman she is today without him being just him, kind and patient.

Now, the beach is their safe place. The ocean is their escape from the world around them, a peaceful place for them to simply be with each other.

It’s a little past noon, the sun high in the clear sky, with only a couple of clouds shrouding the beautiful day. She’s been sitting on the sidelines underneath a fluttering umbrella, working on some unfinished assignments she has for her classes. She hasn’t gotten much work done, however, not only because she gets easily distracted in general but also because of the teasing looks Harry shoots her.

She watches him through large sunglasses, a chipping gold coloured wire surrounding fading pink lenses, as he sits at the table once again, setting down a plate of watermelon atop the terribly ugly tablecloth. He told her how important this shot was before when they were driving to the beach location. With jittery hands and giddy eyes, he told her about how it was going to be the teaser that would be posted a couple days before the big release. Getting the “perfect” shot hasn’t been going too well, especially since Harry knocked over the glass of orange juice in the very first take.

Despite his pleas and the biggest pair of puppy dog eyes, she declined his offer to be a part of the video, opting to sit and watch from afar. She has never been one to put herself into any situation that forced the attention more on herself than necessary. Besides, when their relationship is in the public eye (it’s, sadly, an inevitable part of their journey), she doesn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about their relationship, that she’s simply using him to better herself.

The director calls for a quick lunch break before the next couple of scenes, and Harry took it as an opportunity to spend some time with her, having been distracted and busy for the better part of the day. He tugs her up from the worn chair, a brittle little thing that had been sitting in the patio of her rental house for what looks like centuries (she was honestly surprised when it didn’t crumble beneath her). Watching their footprints spread and sink and die beneath merciless waves as the tide rolls further and further in, they walk to a more isolated part of the beach.

A pair of green sunglasses, large and shaped like hearts, are perched on his head, pulling back the stray curls that always seem to fall onto his forehead, and the necklace she gave him for their anniversary sticks to the skin of his chest, just barely tucked beneath low swooping neck of a dark orange tank amongst an array of dozens of dangling charms and shells.

His eyes are crinkled form the blaring sun, but he still doesn’t move the glasses from his hairline; they don’t cover much of anything anyhow. His feet are still bare as he kicks through the sand, swinging their connected hands between them. The sun beats down on his freckled shoulders, and he savors the warmth. She stops suddenly and turns to face him, a faint smile creeping over her features as her nails tease across the green stitching of the tank.

“Ya know,” she begins, making him turn to face her. He has such a sweet little grin on his face, and she can’t help but melt at the sight. It never gets tiring being able to see Harry in his element.

He’s been beaming since they woke up this morning, especially since she told him she would be joining him at today’s shoot. While his other songs are very dear to him, they don’t hold a candle to Watermelon Sugar because it was made because of her; it was a culmination of everything he’s been through in the past two years, the highs and the lows.

It signifies his new beginnings with her.

When he met her, on that dry summer night, she made everything seemingly fall into place. And later that night, after a couple bottles of wine and a riveting game of twenty questions, he kissed her, her lips, soft and supple, tasting like cheap moscato and strawberries, and he felt like he was breathing for the first time; it was all very new and exciting and dangerous. He knew, after having just gotten out of a relationship, he shouldn’t put his heart so entirely on his sleeve, for fear of having it absolutely shattered. He fell for her hard and fast, despite his reservations and fears and common sense.

Looking back on it now, he’s glad he didn’t listen to his common sense. Then, he wouldn’t be walking with his soulmate on a beach now.

“You look really hot in this,” she says, her hands smoothing along his hips before connecting right above the curve of his bum. He cups her cheek, thumb tracing along the heated skin.

“Yeah?” His lips curl into a teasing smirk.

“Oh, yeah,” she returns the light tone, her nose just barely grazing against his. When she catches his lips, they’re sweet and sticky. She holds him steady by the cheeks, feeling the slight stubble. Hands grasped tightly to her bunched dress, he backs her up against a rock as her hands travel toward any piece of open skin she can feel, from his biceps to the tips of his fingers digging into her waist. She feels a rush of anxiety settles in her stomach as he hikes up her dress around her waist, his crotch grinding into hers.

While they used to fill her with dread, these nerves leave her eager and wanton, and she wants so badly to melt into him and have him take her however he wants, but that little voice, the one that always reminded her of every little thing that could possibly go wrong, is screaming at her to stop him. Harry, ever the pusher, who holds her hand and guides her through the things that she never thought she would before, would tell her to shove those fears back, that this is their moment to just be and live, just him and her, together.

Through her inner turmoil, she still focuses on her sensible side, and she hesitates.

“H,” she moans, tugging on his hair. He presses his lips to her neck, tongue dipping out to wet her skin, tasting, savoring her.

“Not that I’m not… loving what you’re doing, but—” Her voice breaks a little as he nibbles and sucks just below her jaw. “We could get caught,” she says breathily, and he pulls back, his hands still tucked in the hollow of her neck and her waist.

Despite the beach being very private, she can’t help but be worried that someone would catch them in such an intimate way, but he just gives her a comforting smile, their fingers interlacing at her hip, and she can feel her worries melt away. She still can barely believe that he can make nearly all of her nerves dissipate with just a simple look or touch.

“Isn’t that a part of the fun?”

Her heart jumps into her throat. Now, all she can think about how someone could catch them at any moment; all she can think about is how stupid and reckless it is for them, especially for him. It’s risky and nerve wracking, but her pussy still throbs in her underwear, wetness seeping into the already stained fabric. She could only imagine the person’s surprise if they rounded the corner to see him on his knees before her, her fingers tracing through his still wet hair as he works his mouth on her.

They’re hidden behind a set of pale rocks, plentifully dotted with dark moss. He nearly covers her, his thick arms resting on the rocks behind her, blanketing her in his shadow. He grinds his hips into her. She tucks a hand beneath the dark orange top, her thumb running along the fleshy meat of his hips, his sun kissed skin smooth beneath her touch. He spreads kisses down to that same weak spot beneath her jaw, still tender from his earlier ministrations.

“Okay,” she hums, finally sinking into him. Despite the heat from the burning sun, she embraces him, tugging and pulling him closer until they’re nestled close, chest to chest, his knee settled between her spread thighs, against the rock behind her.

“You jus’ gotta be quiet,” he mumbles.

That makes her chuckle.

“Me? I’m the loud one?”

Compared ot beginning of their relationship, she has learned how to be more expressive and emotive and assertive when it comes to sex, often telling him exactly what she needs, how she needs it, and when, but she still isn’t near as loud or talkative as he is. He could chatter her ear off about any just anything while he’s fucking her. Initially, it was odd; sex was never an experience she considered to be something that was really open or comfortable, if that makes sense. She always saw it as something that was supposed to be taken very seriously, and it was somewhat of a personal experience, despite it being between two people.

But, perhaps, that was just her anxiety telling her that it’s not a good idea, or it was because of her innermost fear of embarrassing herself.

However, it’s moments like these, where she can barely comprehend the world around her, only being able to move her head slightly, the words completely caught in her throat, that she’s glad that he talks her through everything; she’s glad that she can bear witness to the filthy words that leave his lips, words that make her tremble and quake with anticipation.

He cups her through thin panties, his nails tracing her swollen lips. His rings offer a different kind of friction, one she yearns for, rigid and relentless. She hooks a knee around his waist, and he cups the back of her thigh, the cotton of her dress pooling around his elbow. He pushes the panties to the side with his free hand.

“Your poor little peach,” he pouts teasingly, voice soft. He pinches her puffy clit, and her hips buck against the sudden, harsh touch. “So wet and swollen. ‘M sorry, babylove. If I knew you were feelin’ tingly, would’ve taken this walk earlier.”

He kisses behind her ear, fingers spreading her wetness over her folds, paying special attention to her painfully hard button, throbbing and aching from his faint brushes across her sensitive skin. She whines, head sinking against the rocks, eyes fluttering closed. He pulls her lips apart, until she’s full open to him, her tight, clenching hole seeping with arousal.

“What got you this worked up, lovie?”

Her thighs tremble and shake, her knees threatening to give at any moment.

“Was thinking about… you,” she admits softly, sweetly, and she can feel his bulge thicken just a little more against her.

“Me?” He has an incredulous tone, but the darkening edge to the laughter that punctuates it makes her thighs close around his hand. “Little ol’ me?” A flare of pink has started to form on the rounds of his cheeks, probably from the sun, but it looks cute on him.

“What were you thinkin’ ‘bout?”

“This,” she chokes out. That’s all she can really say at this point. With the pressured circles he’s kneading into her poor, swollen clit, she can’t think coherently. It’s not enough to make her come yet, but it’s enough to keep her satiated, just enough for her to teeter on the brink of insanity.

“Dirty girl,” he says, “thinking ‘bout me eating your pretty little peach out here, where anyone could see, your honey drippin’ down your thighs.” She clenches, aching and throbbing at his words. She can feel her arousal slip down her thighs. “Anyone could see us out here, sweetness.” He tuts, tapping the tips of his fingers against her poor bud, her hips buck at the slight friction, and she whines pitifully.

“Or is that what you wanted?”

He cocks his brow. He strokes his fingers along her swollen lips, nails slightly grazing the tender, pink inside, which makes her hips jolt into his touch. Breathing ragged, the meat of her thighs tense from his gentle touches, teasing and fleeting.

“Maybe you wanted someone to see us. You wanted them to watch me make you come with my mouth. Maybe they’ll think about those pretty noises you make while they come. Is that what you wanted?”

He sinks two fingers into her sopping pussy, stretching and filling her, and she cries out at the sudden relief. The burning ache inside her is quelled just a little bit more as he curls his fingers into her little spot. She slips, the rough rocks grating against the skin of her bare back; the pain lingers and heightens her senses, the throbbing pleasure from his movements sinking deep into her bones. He catches her before she can fall, knee still holding her up.

“Yes,” she whines, grinding into him. He sinks to his knees.

“So pretty, babylove,” he praises as he pulls back the hood of her clit. “Such a perfect little peach.” Suckling and nibbling at her swollen bud, her hips buck in time with his lips. He runs the flat of his tongue along the underside of her clit, her taste making his cock stir in his pants. Her walls clench around his fingers, sucking and pulling him deeper inside her. He pulls his lips back, his thumb pressing harshly into her bud, a stark contrast to the warmth from his mouth. He kisses the inside of her trembling thigh.

“Can you take another?”

She nods desperately, her hips grinding against him. He easily slips another finger, and he smiles as more arousal seeps down to his wrist.

“Never taken three, have ya? My good girl, so fuckin’ wet f’me,” he says, pulling at her swollen button with his free hand.

“What else were you thinkin’ ‘bout?”

She struggles to speak, her world still spinning and blurred from her impending orgasm. Her pussy tightens near painfully around his ring-clad fingers.

“Tell me,” he coaxes her, fingers fucking into her at a brutal pace, leaving her breathless and incoherent. She mumbles something through broken whines, her heaving chest stuttering. She can’t even keep her eyes open as she chases her coming high, her wetness squelching between his fingers.

“What was that?”

“Wanna choke on your cock,” she says through ragged moans. He smirks against her thigh.

“You want me to pull your hair back and tell you how much of a good girl you are while you take my cock in your pretty little mouth?”

“Yes, please,” she whines. She can actually feel her mouth water at the thought of shoving his cock deep in her throat with him moaning and claiming her and taking what he wants.

“Come for me, babylove, and then, you can have my cock,” he coos.

Her high takes over her with a burning fire, igniting every vessel in her body with ecstasy, sending waves of tremors and chills through her muscles, until it settles to smoldering embers, leaving her hungry and eager for him. She tugs him into a biting kiss, teeth tugging at his teasing lips. She wants to rip that orange top from him to feel his glistening skin against her, from the hardness of his chest to the soft little pooch that settles around his hips and stomach. She can’t now, but she’ll definitely have to play out that fantasy some other time.

He sits on his bum, the burning sand shifting and settling up around his thick thighs, but he doesn’t take much notice in that as she pushes his thighs apart, eagerly tugging his pants down. There’s a pretty red, nearly purple, hue to the head of his cock, precum slipping from the slit.

The fabric of his pants bunch up tightly underneath his balls, but it offers the perfect amount of pressure whenever his hips buck up. Her tongue traces along her lips, bitten and puffy, her eager eyes taking in everything he has to offer. His cock jumps a little under her gaze.

“Take it, lovie,” he moans.

And take it she does.

She licks the little divot of his balls, wetting the pliable skin before massaging her thumb into him, the way she knows he likes it. His eyes roll back. She presses the head into the soft skin of her cheek, making them puffed and protrude. She sinks further and further down, her wet lips tight and absolutely perfect against him.

“So pretty, baby,” he sighs, eyes fluttering closed as her throat tightens around him. Her teeth just slightly graze the throbbing vein on the bottom part of his shaft, making him twitch.

She grips tightly onto his pleated pants, twisting the thin fabric in little fists as she takes him entirely this time, choking her. Saliva dribbles from her lips to the swell of his balls, and he cups them, spreading the wetness over his sensitive skin. When she lets up, a string trails from her lips to the throbbing head.

“Such a good girl f’me,” he moans, brushing some wetness from her chin. He can feel himself twitch again at the sight of her, lashes clinging together with unshed tears, lips soft and plump and wet—she looks ethereal, absolutely divine. Her breasts are pressed tightly together, shifting slightly with every move of her wrist.

“My best girl.”

She jerks him in quick, wet strokes, the obscene sounds nearly muffled by the crashing waves nearby. A swell of wind brushes through, rustling his hair, and it sends chills down his spine, leaving his thighs quivering.

“Gonna come?” His sweet’s voice is raw and wrecked, and it makes him throb. She breathes sharply through her teeth, wiping her lips crudely with the back of her hand. She lets a thick drop of saliva slip past puckered lips and onto his swollen cock, and his hips jolt up as it trails teasingly down the ridges until it stops in her hand at the base of his cock, nestled tightly against the fine curls. Her other hand teases along the tip, just barely slipping it through her loose fist.

“Please, wanna taste it,” she whimpers, and he swears he could black out. His body is overwhelmed by his racing heart; he can feel it everywhere, from his ears to the tips of his toes, blood rushes through him, heating his skin. She wraps her lips tightly around the head, her cheeks hollowed, and she looks at him with hooded eyes, begging, pleading with him.

Her tongue suckles at that special spot on the underside of the tip that makes him see stars. With trembling hands brushing back the flyaways from her forehead and his face scrunching up, eyes closed, a toe-curling, all-consuming orgasm rushes through him and leaves his hips bucking and skin sticky. She laps at his cum, her pretty, puffy lips still wrapped around him to coax him through his high.

He pulls her up, his hands cupping the back of her neck, and she straddles him, his softening prick lying between them, still twitching slightly. He tugs her lips onto his, molding them together with swollen lips, saliva, and sweetness, twinged with salt and sex. He pulls their lips apart to finally catch his breath, but she continues to press her lips to his tender skin, her comforting kisses bringing him out of his euphoria induced lull.

A cute little purple flower catches the corner of his eye. It’s the only one sprouting beneath a heavy layer of sand, just barely peeking beyond the surface. He picks it.

“A flower for my flower,” he says sweetly, and she takes it, her eyes soft. She looks it over.

“I’m pretty sure this is a weed,” she laughs, rolling the stem between her fingers, and his eyes widen in offence.

“No, it’s a native wildflower.” He tries to defend himself, but she isn’t having it, soft billows of laughter falling from her swollen, wet lips. He pouts. “Fine, then, jus’ take my gift and completely squander it.”

Ever the dramatic one.

She stands up, brushing the sand that accumulated in the folds of her dress.

“Put your cock away. We should head back before everyone gets suspicious,” she says.

“After everything I do for you, you still make me put my own cock away,” he scoffs, teasing smile still curled over his features. He shakes his head.

“Last time I did, you said I was bein’ too rough,” she says, brow cocked and hip jutted. He concedes to her and tucks himself back into his slacks. “C’mon, sugar butt,” she says, pulling him onto his feet. He stumbles, standing more onto the heels of his feet to get used to the heat of the sand. She has the flower tucked behind her ear.

If anyone noticed their beaming smiles or their rumbled clothes or the scratchiness to her voice, they don’t say anything. They don’t say anything then, or when Y/N parts from him with a quick peck on the cheek and a pinch to his bum. They don’t say anything when he gives her even more teasing glances when he’s in front of the camera or when he stops by her after a quick wardrobe change and gives her a deep kiss, followed by a whispered promise of more to come.

—

#such a pretty title for such a dirty fic lol #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #ellie writes #ellie writes fluff #ellie writes smut #gif not mine #credit to owner

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lokust · 3 years

Text

I AM GOING TO PREFACE THIS BY SEEING THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT TWO CHARACTERS FROM A VAMPIRE MOVIE. I AM NOT WRITING FANFIC ABOUT THE BIBLE

@pamcake21 sorry this took so long, I literally lost all motivation to write for like three months but I’m back and I’m better.

_________

Comforting.

________

“My darling…”, Eve sighed, finding her husband moping on the couch, again, “You’ve got to get up and do something other than sleep, feed, and pout”.

He looked up as she sat beside him and pulled him to her chest. He stayed silent, curling into her comfortably.

She ran her fingers through his rather unkempt hair, lying her cheek against the top of his head, “At least tell me what’s wrong, my love”.

He had been like this for days, probably a week at this point. She didn’t know what was wrong with him and she hadn’t asked yet, only for the sake of allowing him to gather his mind and his thoughts.

He sighed, letting out a small puff against her neck. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, trying to find the proper phrasing for his emotions, “I’m not sure. We’ve been on this earth together for hundreds of years. Sometimes I feel like it’s time for a break”.

Eve’s breath hitched in shock and fear, and Adam shot up, realizing what he’d said, “No. No, that is not what I meant. Not a break for us. I could never- I mean, you… you make my life worth living, and you have for hundreds of years. I could never ask for a break from you. I just…”, again, he had to think before he could speak on his feelings.

“I want a break from this life. We lived through the greatest eras of science and music, and the greatest evolutions of religion and art. We’ve watched the world grow, we’ve watched society progress. We lived through plagues and famines and hundreds of thousands of natural disasters”, Eve listened intently as he spoke, and she understood where he was coming from, “We’ve lived our lives, Eve. We’ve lived a hundred lives. I’m exhausted”.

Eve sighed, nodding as she pulled him back to her, rubbing his back soothingly in hopes he would relax, “I know. I know, my darling boy”, she cooed, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, “I understand, alright? But there are no breaks in life, as much as it pains me to say. We just have to live until we die, and there’s no telling when that could be for us”.

He nodded with a small hum, “I know, and honestly, I’m not ready for the end. At least not… not the end of this. Of us”, he whispered the last bit of it, just loud enough for her to hear.

She smiled, looking down at him with nothing but pure love, “Don’t you worry, love. There will be no end to us”.

He huffed out a small laugh, but the smile on his face was uncontainable.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, cuddling as per usual with Adam laying against Eve’s chest.

It was peaceful and they were happy… but Eve could only handle so much silence.

“You know what else will never end?”, she asked, a smile growing on her face as the tone in her voice put Adam on edge.

Oh he knew that tone and he knew it well.

“…What?”, he asked hesitantly, and he suddenly found himself lying on his back with Eve hovering over him.

“This”.

Before he could react, Eve pulled one of his hands up above his head and started pinching at his sides. He choked out a surprised squeal, biting his lip to conceal his smile and his bubbling laughter as she skittered her nails against his bare skin.

“You really should stop sauntering around shirtless all the time. You’re beautiful but you’re also dreadfully sensitive, sweetheart”, she teased, a taunting but warm smile on her face.

He reached for her wrist with his free hand but he found that one pinned above his head almost just as quickly.

“You’ve occupied both my hands. However do you expect me to tickle you now?”, she asked, a thoughtful expression on her face.

He just shook his head, tugging at his arms just to feel the weight keeping them in place. Slowly, a shy smile grew on his face as more giggles bubbled in his chest. He knew she was going to tickle him and the anticipation was killing him but he was so excited he was practically shaking.

“What are you laughing about? I’m not tickling you, dear~”, she sang, though she knew exactly why he was giggling. He knew it was coming.

She leaned down and nipped at his ear with her fangs, eliciting a small squeal as he tensed up tried to scrunch his neck to protect his ear, but she kept nibbling and nipping and he broke into helpless cackles as he tugged at his arms again.

“Eheheheve! Eve, wahahait!”, he giggled, curling his fists as she worked her way down behind his ear and against his neck, nibbling and peppering little kisses. He squirmed and writhed underneath her, attempting to turn his head to hide his neck, but she started nibbling at the other side.

“Why are you trying to hide from me? Don’t you like your tickles?”, she asked with a small hum, breathing in to blow a raspberry on his collarbone. He squeaked and shook his head frantically as he kicked out behind her.

“Nohohoho! Quihihihit it!”, he was at war with himself. She was kissing him and giving him sweet little raspberries, and he just wanted to cuddle up to her and let it happen, but the other part of him was screaming about how horribly ticklish it was.

The farther down she moved, the more nervous he got. He knew she’d attack his ribs with raspberries and she did just that, suddenly moving to nibble at the sensitive area before making a show of taking on large, deep breath.

He squealed and tensed every muscle in his body, bracing himself for what was coming, “Eve- Eve, nohohoho! No, plehehehease! PleheHEHEHEASE, FUHUHUCK!”.

She blew the longest raspberry she could muster, and he threw his head back in pure joyous laughter. He tried to pull his wrists out of her grip, but he knew she wouldn’t budge.

She blew raspberry after raspberry all over his rib cage, and she even alternated between raspberries and nibbles from time to time.

The raspberries elicited loud cackles, whereas the nibbling and kissing got snorty, squeaky, hiccupy laughter.

He tried to bring his knees to his chest in an attempt to protect himself but because of their position, it was impossible, so he lay there as curled up as he could get while he laughed his heart out from the tickles.

She slowed for a moment, placing small kisses in the spaces between his ribs and allowing him a moment to breathe.

“P-Plehehease”, he breathed out heavily, “Hahahave meheherc-eee! Nohoho!”, he squealed when her lips connected with a particularly sensitive spot near the very bottom of his rib cage on his right side.

“Are you done sulking, my love?”, she asked, giving him a warm smile as she spoke. He nodded in return and blushed when he made eye contact with her.

She let out a find huff of a laugh, “That’s good. I’m glad I could get you feeling better”.

He smiled as warmth spread throughout his chest and he relaxed in her arms.

“Now…”, she said, “Shall we get that smile back on your face?”

His eyes widened and he shook his head frantically, but it was too late. She took a deep breath and blew a raspberry on the same spot that had him squealing just moments before and he shrieked, arching his back as loud desperate cackles fell from his lips.

“NAHAHAHAT THEHEHERE! PLEHEHEHEASE! EHEHEHEVE, LET GOHOHO!”

She just shook her head, “I’m afraid I can’t, my darling. I’ve gotta tickle you until that smile is permanent”.

He squealed and shook with giggles as she blew multiple small raspberries around the area before she took a deep breath and blew another long one.

He knew he’d be there for a while, but he was okay with it.

#tickling #tickle community #tickle headcanons #sfw tickles #sfw tickling community #tickles #ticklish #lee!adam #tickle fic #tickle writing

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meanscarletdeceiver · 4 years

Note

Something I saw on a certain other person's tumblr made me think of something. Do you think anyone on Sodor (especially Gordon) knows about Tornado, the new Peppercorn A1 that was built recently? And if so, what do they think of them? (Side note, I view Tornado as a girl for...whatever reason. Not sure why.)

Oooh, I hope you asked that blog more about Tornado, too. <3 (I gotta assume it’s @joezworld and perhaps, in a way, you already did.)

Female Tornado headcanon accepted, btw!

Some bonus gender headcanon:

Identical members of a class are the same gender. Usually. There are certainly exceptions. These exceptions are typically built in a different batch and with modifications that result in an (unexpected) gender change. There are also some heterogeneous classes, but then they tend to be dominantly nonbinary… and it seems possible that in those class engines who are identifying as male or female are doing so under pressure. I’m not about to get too definite on that subject, just passing on some recent in-universe speculation...

What is known very well is that engineers can’t really decide an engine’s gender. Many of them, in the 'lead designing engineer’ era of historic names, did tend to skew towards often designing classes of the same gender. And sometimes they try to ‘aim’ for a certain gender by design, but, even when you are sure you have an intuitive handle on it, you can’t really be 100% sure how it will turn out until you fire them to life.

As far as post-awakening, usually humans get the accurate gender from the voice… but engines themselves are, of course, the best authority on the subject. They are usually much too in awe of their creators to correct them, but they may find their tongue loosened once they are sent off to their first assignment. Also, an engine can take a glance at a strange engine from a hundred paces and identify their (accurate) gender. They are completely at a loss as to explain how. They just can.

Anyhow, all this said: I’m theorizing almost all of Gordon’s family to be male… because even non-identical but related classes pretty often have the same gender… but I like the notion of girl!Tornado as the last, belated addition to the family tree.

So, let’s do this:

tl;dr: Hell yes, the North Western engines knew all about her building. Also yes, she has in fact spent some time on Sodor, and… well, [SPOILER REDACTED].

1) So, Sodor engines (well, more the North Western and Arlesdale engines than the Skarloey engines) have a… complicated relationship with preservation culture.

(Yes, Tornado is a new engine, not a preserved engine—but, bear with me, this is relevant.)

The North Western in particular has lots of connections to this world, for obvious reasons. But they are not exactly of it. (The Skarloey Railway is much more embedded due to its symbiotic relationship with the Tallylyn... and it shows in the relative lack of this drama.)

City of Truro, Stepney, and Flying Scotsman are far from the only famous visitors hosted on the NWR, and Thomas is far from the only one to have been sent off in return.

Why were are those visits the ones portrayed in the books?

Because they were by far the most pleasant all around.

And, even in those stories, you can see some of the drama threatening and nibbling ‘round the edges of what was otherwise ‘a splendid visit, everyone was friends, yay steam! 😃’.

Most of the visits to Sodor went more along the lines of ‘their guest left kind of annoyed by the chilly reception and did not ask to go back.’

So, why drama?

Like I said, complicated.

It certainly doesn’t help that Our Friends have, over the decades, developed what amounts to a goddamn complex about being ‘working engines.’ It’s a collective thing, a cultural thing, peculiar to the North Western, and probably directly traceable to FC1’s management style. Ages after his passing, it’s still going strong.

Doesn’t help that FC2 maintained his incredibly high standards for what makes a ‘useful engine’ for most of his tenure… but he'd started to question the wisdom of this by the end. Mainly because, while he had privately committed to a course of ‘I’m never going to scrap one of our engines,’ he certainly had not intended to commit to a course of ‘we will continue to operate all of our engines full-time, forever, on this same railway, no matter what, no matter how little financial sense that makes.’ But he and all future controllers have discovered that this was basically all that is now acceptable to their mildly-to-moderately traumatized fleet (they’ve pretty much all survived a genocide, you know. Plus, some of them survived FC1, to boot!) Their manifesto, rallying around which they are for once all of one mind, seems to be: We work full-time, and we stay together.

It basically always goes down something like:

* * *

FC: … look, James, now let’s just talk it through, what this could look like; I thought you hated goods work anyway—

James: You will make me part-time over someone’s dead body.

FC: …

James: *snatching up and hoarding every truck in the vicinity* And you’re more fragile than I am, sucker.

* * *

FC: Thomas, you complain about most of the other engines here like you get paid to do it anyway—

Thomas: I CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT MY DAILY DOSE OF THE ANNOYING GREEN CATERPILLAR, KNOW-IT-ALL SQUARE FIRETRAP, AND HIGH-MAINTENENCE DIESEL DIVA.

FC: *hopefully* You’d only be away six months out of the year?—

Thomas: I’d be away PERMANENTLY because the very first time in EXILE I’d OFF MYSELF, FATMAN.

FC: *sigh*

* * *

Okay, so I’m taking some artistic liberties here for the sake of comedy. But, seriously. This is an island-wide mental issue. And there is no voice of reason that management can lean on here to influence the others. Edward arguably established the dynamic… then sealed it in stone with an infamous freakout when the first preservation offer was sprung on him in the mid-‘60s. It is not an exaggeration when I assure you that he reacted with approximately the same grace and restraint that James would have if you suggested to him that he would make an excellent industrial engine in the salt mines, or if you questioned to Gordon’s face whether an engine as slow as him is really suited for passenger work. (Percy, incidentally, had miles of fun when, a few years after this kerfuffle died down, he got the second offer: “‘No, thank you.’ Three simple words, Edward. It wasn’t hard!” “Very droll, Percy.” “It never occurred to you to handle it that way? I am surprised!” “All right, that’s enough…”) As for Toby, FC3 felt personally betrayed when his old friend managed to smilingly and blandly psych three electric trams in a row right off the island… (it was very impressive, by the way, and even the other Ffarquhar engines have been a bit leery of him since)… but FC3 didn’t have a patch on how betrayed Toby—who had not seen any evidence that their workload was actually due to expand—felt.

Anyhow, this attitude all has its own roots and reasons behind it. Point it, it definitely colors their view of ‘showboat’ engines. Like, on the whole, they are for the heritage movement insofar as it’s sticking it to anyone who doubts steam… but they got considerably more ambivalent about it as time went on and the age of steam ended anyway. And, while they don’t actually begrudge anyone who was rescued from the modernization massacre… there is some baggage there, some long-standing issues that are embedded in the issue of Who Was Saved, and Who Was Not. Some of it is a perpetuation of age-old railway classism. But then, to tell you the truth, most of the engines have gradually figured out that it’s not so much the engines as the people involved in preservation that they have a problem with.

This—‘get mad at humans for their decisions, instead of feuding with other engines’—is kind of very new territory for them, and they’re still exploring it, and trying it on for size.

But it definitely spills over into their attitude about stuff like this. Did they know about Tornado being made? Hell yeah they did. They have become incredibly conscious and attentive to current events in their broader world since the days when so many of them were oblivious to the end of steam on the mainland. One of the reasons that the RWS books became so bland is because the engines are a hell of a lot less naive than they used to be… the books were always playing up their naivete anyway, but since the ‘60s the author has been afraid of alienating their original audience if he depicts just how skeptical and shrewd the children-on-wheels have grown. So we’ve gone from “a pretty unerring instinct for choosing the events that really did have the biggest effect on the railway as a whole” to “deliberately choosing incidents that were nothingburgers to begin with, because much of the Real news lately is too hot to handle.” (Prosper by the political sword, languish by the political sword!)

Anyway, the point people started fundraising to build replicas of ‘extinct’ engine classes was pretty much the turn where the Sodor engines went “what. the actual. fuck.” and decided that all their negative feelings about preservationist societies must have been valid all along.

Because this shit started in the ‘60s and 70s.

Like.

Did you guys not notice that there are living engines rotting in scrapyards? Still in restorable condition?? (FOR NOW???)

The Sodor engines are collectively pretty bitter about this.

They can be relatively zen about engines being chosen over others because they are more useful. (I mean, they will fight to the death to make sure it doesn’t happen to them. But they accept this as a part of life.)

But what is the use of creating new steam engines to do the publicity circuit pony-show thing when you still have former hardworking engines in the clutches of the Woodham Brothers? ‘Friends of steam’ my arse.

Also, wtf humans, you took such great care of that family of engines the first time around, yeah, sure, you should definitely waste a ton of money and resources getting a second shot at it! /s

I’m saying all this from Our Friends’ point of view. There are some arguable answers to the above question. But they are not answers that hold any water for the Sodor lot. Basically, to them, creating replicas is a slap in the face to many of the neglected dead… and neglected not-yet-dead.

2. So, Gordon was really, really rocked when he heard about the creation of a new A1 in the early ‘90s.

Like, by this point, he’s long since grieved the Doncaster brothers and cousins he’s lost… but this certainly kicks it all up again.

And he knows that it doesn’t only kick up his grief again. Back in ’68-9—that eighteen-month period where steam came to an end, both he and BoCo lost almost all their families, and Oliver escaped to Sodor—Gordon processed a massive amount of emotion. Not only his own. He became acutely aware that, grieved though he was, he was far from the only one to have suffered, and that he was, in fact, by far one of the luckiest.

This was a major, emotional watershed for him.

There is a much gentler, more emotionally available side to Gordon these days, dating from this upheaval.

That wasn’t won easily.

And now… well, fuck, let’s stir that almost unbearable burden up again.

He wasn’t sure how to handle his own mixed feelings… let alone how to handle the knowledge that he and his would probably, again, be an object of bitter envy, for almost all the rest of the engines have their own losses.

So how does Gordon handle this impossible mess? How does he prepare himself to receive the new addition to his family?

In the most classically Gordonian way possible:

Reverted to bragging endlessly throughout the entire process of Tornado’s creation, testing, commissions, certifications, and tours.

He was an un-shuttuppable on this topic as he had been back in the ‘30s, during the Great Races and Flying Scotsman’s and Mallard’s triumphs.

Except that, at least back then, the topic had been rather entertaining. The rest would have followed the Races and record-setting with keen interest even without Gordon around to keep them so minutely apprised.

But Tornado’s early life is not half so intrinsically interesting.

Plus… while the engines aren’t quite as salty about this sort of thing these days (relatively few ‘unrestored’ engines are around, and the return of steam operations carries some of its own pride), again, this is a long sore subject. And not a dead letter, yet. Henry and BoCo both had a sibling that they knew personally who are waiting around in storage during this time, in miserable condition, for funds to be raised for their restoration. Duck doesn’t have one at that time, but only because one of his siblings sacrificed any real shot he had at moving again to donate parts to the others. What’s left of him is still conscious.

These are surely not the only examples on the NWR—just a sampling—of those who have engines they care about still waiting for some fraction the amount of money that is now being poured into making Gordon’s new sibling/cousin.

And, per the North Western usual, they are unimpressed by any appeals as to how this is ‘the resumption of steam!!!!!1!!!1!’ Excuse you? It never died, over here. They reckon the new engine is another high-priced, useless novelty, so our “working engines" don’t particularly see the value in all this.

To the degree that it is undeniably kinda exciting… yet again, of course it’s the bloody LNER Pacifics who get this privilege. It’s been half a century and still.

Then add to all their old longstanding issues Gordon being his old level of insufferable about the whole thing, and, well…

When Tornado is invited to Sodor in 2015 (as she inevitably is), the engines pretty much all go into top-gear “let's haze the hell out of Gordon’s baby sister!!!!” mode.

3) Here’s the good news.

Tornado? kind of? LOVES IT?

I mean, at first she ranges from intimidated—to cross—to furious.

But Tornado’s had a… a weird sort of life.

I’m not saying miserable or friendless. Far from it.

But.

Imagine a cross between being born a royal, and also being identified as the dalai lama, and also spending all your time around a) people who are not your kind or b) people who are great-grandparent-aged.

Throw on a liberal dose of “loads of people are interested in you as the representation of a ton of history that you yourself haven’t experienced.”

That’s Tornado’s world.

The A1 Society and National Railway Museum, of course, dote on her. She’s been showered with attention and care from the point of being a set of frames. She gets along decently well with the other engines of her generation.

They’re electric, of course, but most of them aren’t prejudiced. Most anyone who does have beef with her has it because of how “specially” she’s treated. But she does have a core group of UK network rail engines doing similar work who she’s cool with.

Of course, it always does sort of low-key suck, being the only one of your kind in a group.

And she’s far less intimate with them than the rest, since she does not stay regularly at their depots.

As far as Tornado being around other steam engines, and other famous engines… well, she has more in common with them. But it’s ssssssooooooooooo high-pressure! The expectations are so high during all of her appearances and her speed trials and during her many visits to heritage railways, which is what makes up much of her life. It’s all fun, in some ways! Like the rest of her family, Tornado loves admiration and excitement. But the expectations are a lot to keep up with. Just… a lot.

Besides, its not always so damn exciting, you know, to so often have the duty of listening politely when the hundredth person or engine just on this tour waxes on about how you remind them of this locomotive that yes, you are related to, but who was also cut up half a century before you were fired to life… Those bits are kind of the opposite of exciting, actually.

She knows Flying Scotsman and many of the remaining A4s. Honestly, the A4s haven’t been in steam in so long that they’ve gone a bit loony. (They’re sort of predisposed? There are plenty of other museum engines who haven’t been in steam for just as long, and they haven’t gone nearly so far round the twist.) And she and Scotsman got on very well. He’s supportive and sweet, and gets a kick out of her when they get a chance to catch up. But they haven’t actually met so very often, between ’08 and ’14.

When she goes on tour to Sodor.

She’s never had this sort of experience.

An experience where other engines were manifestly unimpressed with her.

Not hating her (she has experienced some of that, before), just… utterly… unimpressed.

Besides, the Sodor engines haven’t been able to properly screw with a new young engine in decades. They are spoiling for it.

With most guests, the Sodor engines have some manners. But, well, she’s Gordon’s family, isn’t she? So, treat her like it. Everyone enjoys screwing with Gordon, except that they hold back a bit because he’s intimidating. This one isn’t!!!!

Tornado’s never had the good old-fashioned “den of sharks” yard hazing experience.

She’s never gotten to snipe and prank and try to give as good as she gets.

She’s never had the hard-won “vitriolic best buds” dynamic before.

Yeah, yeah, I know in many ways this sort of “it’s not bullying! it’s toughening up!” line of thinking is bullshit.

But, in this particular case? With Tornado’s highly leonine personality?

Well. It totally works out. 4) Here’s just one sample of what goes down:

James. James is the one inclined to actually be jealous and resentful (how come I’m always the first to lose passenger trains around here???!?!?!1!? Which isn’t strictly true, but everyone else has long learned it’s a waste of breath to try and tell him this.) With most of the other engines, they rub Tornado in subtly the wrong way with their profound lack of awe. Like, Tornado doesn’t have an incredibly outsize ego… she’s certainly more grounded than a certain Gresley prototype Pacific was when he first arrived on Sodor almost a century earlier… but she has been treated like she’s special all her life, so it is a bit of a shock when she isn’t.

James, however, pays her the dubious compliment of being eaten alive with jealousy.

That much, Tornado can deal with easily. When James starts in with his “thinks she’s so special…” bitchery, she can just smile and say “I don’t think it. I know it!”

This doesn’t help her impression among the others as ’typical, given her lineage; should be taken down a few pegs, for her own good’… but it does shut James up for a while.

But James quickly adapts and changes tacks.

“Oh, no worries, I’ll take it!” James sweetly tells the Vicarstown shedmaster one fateful morning. “Those tankers are far too heavy for your lot. And, of course, Princess here can’t handle trucks!”

Tornado isn’t stupid. She knows she’s being baited.

But it’s not in her nature to back down from a dare.

(She may not have even realized it till this minute, because she’s never been casually dared in her ultra-managed VIP life before. But she is just a bull when a red flag—or a smarmy red engine—is waving at her.)

So, naturally, she snorts and says that she’ll take them, rather than have Granddad over there risk getting a frame bent.

She’s quite imperious, and James of course wants to offload the job on her, so she gets her way rather easily. (James doesn't even get worked up at the digs about his age. This could be a Really Useful dynamic and he's prepared to exploit 'avoid some crap work—with a bonus chance at Her Highness making a fool of herself' for as many times as she might let him!)

Her crew knows they’ll have to face some flack from the A1 Society for allowing this. But, truth is, Tornado is incredibly headstrong, and there are volunteers beating each other off with fire pokers for the privilege of working with her, so getting into a power struggle with her is definitely the end of the line. Basically, this is the one way in which Tornado is quite spoiled—she can practically get her crews switched out at will.

In other words, they’re running a risk to their jobs either way... so, hell, why not acquiesce and let the girl have a go.

Besides, what can go wrong?

As a matter of fact… nothing much does. Oh, of course she takes a few slams from her train—every single time she starts. And she has to start often, as she’s shunted aside more than once on the way. (WTH is this bullshit, and why does anyone ever put up with it? Like, seriously!) She also has to take a lot of backchat, as she bickers with the tankers half the way, until she has to give it up due to need to save her breath, and having to just take it from the little swine infuriates her.

Also—it takes over three and a half hours to get to Tidmouth.

The three and a half longest, hottest, bumpiest, most aggravating hours of her life… before she finally pulls into the harbor yard, and sinks into an exhausted cloud of steam, looking a proper thundercloud.

(She’s got the family-typical eyebrows, y’all. And they’re being put to max frowny-face use right now.)

Honestly, everything went just fine, but Tornado doesn’t know that, and she feels bitterly that she’s made a fool out of herself.

And, before she’s even quite recovered the ability to speak… she wants to go another round.

She’s still in the world’s biggest strop. But she is determined to try that again, and do better.

So she calls out to Henry, who is being coupled up to container freight, and demands to take his train.

He laughs at her.

Tornado takes being laughed at with the same grace that the rest of her family does. She offered to help. She, Tornado, the most magnificent steam engine currently on the rails. And he couldn’t even manage so much as a ‘no, thank you’?

Of all the goddamn nerve!

With the engine only fuming more than ever, now that she’s both caught her breath and been wound up all over again, they get turned round, with the idea of resting at Knapford. All a-glower as she takes on water, Tornado spots a shunter preparing a heavy train of collier wagons.

Collier wagons being pretty much the example of the classic ‘troublesome trucks,’ mind you. And, again, Tornado’s not dumb. She knows this.

But, like the rest of the LNER As, she’s competitive af. Hell, at least Gordon was helpfully saddled with a massive classist complex that prevented him from rising to every bait. The notion that there were things that were simply beneath him protected him from feeling the need to prove himself in this way.

It’s a testament to how well Tornado’s been raised… that she’s not too good to be determined to try another one. And probably another one, and another one, and another one...

She is not, however, above outright ordering the shunter engine to give her the coal train.

And the two are still arguing about the thing when Donald and Douglas arrive.

Tornado thinks she's being eminently reasonable and even manifestly generous with her offer to take over. It’s not like she’s causing any inconvenience! It's better all around. With her volunteering to do the dirty work, they'll only need to send one engine with the train instead of two!

Douglas is inclined to glower right back—and his eyebrow game is also on point, y'all—but Donald jumps in first, with an impossibly sweet voice that everyone present except Tornado knows to be profoundly unnatural on him. "Ay. Sae, it's a load off we twae wee feeble auld horses, ye'll be taking?"

Okay, this time, Tornado is being dumb. Her determination to win this power struggle blinds her to the obvious signs. "Like, exactly," she says, earnestly.

When Douglas chimes in, thanking Her Grace for the grand favor, Tornado does finally twig the sarcasm. But, whatever! She got her way!

She pulls away proudly with the coal trucks, extra pleased because this time she avoids wheelslip and pulls away far more smoothly than last round. (Donald and Douglas may or may not be affixing expressions of mock-awe on their faces. But they definitely burst into a good laugh, the second she's gone. They can practically count down the minutes till It Happens...)

Tornado has worked out a lot of her irritation wrestling the damn wagons and has found a rhythm that makes her start to feel quite confident. This stuff isn’t that hard!

That's when she encounters the steep side of a certain famous hill.

It's BoCo who is dispatched to go bank her when she inevitably stalls out. For a brief moment, he’s quite bemused by the situation—what is Tornado doing there?

But, when he hears that this was Donald and Douglas's train… he rolls his eyes so hard that they may actually be stuck there to this day.

At some point Tornado will appreciate that she's made a friend that she's not related to on this misbegotten hell of a railway. But first she will have to spend a solid three days seething her way through the fallout.

And, after three days of everyone getting their jokes out, she actually finds that, in a weird way, she really seems to be a part of things on the sheds and stations.

And it's kind of great.

The banter, gossip, pressure, zingers, challenges, and minimally supervised shenanigans suit her competitive streak perfectly. She likes being a part of the three-ring drama of the North Western.

She doesn't realize all this until after she leaves.

But almost as soon as she realizes that she misses it, she's campaigning to make Sodor her annual holiday. It's the perfect antidote to her usual schedule.

5) And indeed she's spent at least a week visiting, every year since.

The NWR is only allowed to publicize her visit and give her specials if they pay up. That they are not always willing to do so is fine by Tornado, who strong-arms her owners into letting her go and do some ‘normal,’ ‘quiet’ work anyway.

She and Gordon are your typical siblings. Like many humans who had mixed feelings about a new arrival but who after nine months of the pregnancy are totally ready to meet the baby when it comes, Gordon had something like eighteen years to work through his initial reservations, and so was prepared and thrilled when she was finally steamed to live. Tornado finds him a bit baffling in some ways once they meet, and not quite as understanding as Scot—but he’s certainly saner and more fun than the A4s! And they soon got the hang of being family. Gordon is immensely proud of her, would defend her with his life, and he bosses her around ‘advises’ her shamelessly. He has minimal idea of what her life is like, which naturally he thinks in no way disqualifies him from telling her how she ought to live it. You've probably read enough to imagine roughly how well she takes that.

She gets along with most of the fleet and they've also grown very fond of her. She has a few especially close friends among the newer engines (not yet named in canon), as well as BoCo (Gordon is rather jealous).

She and James are great frenemies. They love their snark-offs and stupid competitions. They also sometimes have moments where they generously soothe each other's egos. Honestly, they have a fair amount in common, and they understand just the sort of reassurance the other is always seeking—because they both want it.

She really doesn't care for the still-unrepentant Caledonians, though.

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kaimelia · 4 years

Text

Heartbeats (Ch 2)

a/n: ahhhh thank you for all of the love on ch 1! I have a bunch of this already written so updates will be pretty consistent for the next few chapters!

here’s a link to ch 1: https://afsalta.tumblr.com/post/646116480826654720/heartbeats-ch1

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"So, your tests showed that you have Stage 3 Metastatic Osteosarcoma, which has spread to your lungs. We're going to get you started on chemotherapy soon and make a surgical plan." He felt a squeeze on his hand yet continued to stare blankly ahead. If the oncologist was still talking, he couldn't hear anything.

"I thought osteosarcoma only occurred in young people," Amelia muttered, bringing Link out of his thoughts.

"It's definitely more common among young adults, but it still occurs among adults." Link stared at the nameplate on the desk in front of him, tracing the outline of each letter with his eyes. He could feel the oncologist's gaze on him. "We want to start chemo as soon as possible. I think that we start with four rounds of chemo and see what effect it has." He nodded slowly. "I know that this is scary, so I'll give you two some time. Come find me if you have any questions." She exited the room, leaving them alone. Amelia shifted uncomfortably, thinking about how this was their third time in this situation in the past week. Sitting in a doctor's office, faced with terrible news and neither one of them knowing what to say.

"Do you want to go home?" He shook his head.

"I can't go home. I can't look at Scout and smile like everything's okay."

"We have to tell him eventually," she whispered, watching as the orthopedic surgeon lifted himself out of the chair, taking an extra moment to gain his balance. He suddenly felt more uneasy than before, as if receiving a diagnosis had worsened his condition. She stood up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Where are you going?"

"To find Jo. I need to drink." She sighed as he walked away, her hand falling to her side, and she whimpered softly to herself. Link made his way down the hall, hoping that his coworkers couldn't see the limp in his leg that was paining him more than before. "Jo," he muttered, tugging at her arm once he approached her. She turned around at the sound of his voice and smiled widely.

"Hey, what's going on with your face?"

"I need to drink." Jo pulled out her phone, clicking on the screen and showing it to him.

"It's not even noon." He raised his eyebrows, hoping that his best friend would understand the expression on his face. "Okay. Give me five minutes." He grudgingly followed her into the attendings' lounge, silently leaning against the counter while waiting for her to change out of her scrubs. They walked to the bar in silence, Link ordering a beer as she fell into a booth. "What's going on?" He took a sip of the beer, leaning back against the cushion behind him.

"I have cancer." Jo's face fell across from him, and he avoided her gaze. "I don't want to talk about it. I just want to get drunk and forget about the fact that I'm dying." She reached for his hand across the table, a motion of comfort.

"Alright."

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

Jo dropped him off a few hours later; her arm wrapped tightly around her friend's waist to steady him as they climbed the short walkway leading to the front door. Amelia opened it after Jo knocked. "He's drunk. Like, really drunk."

"I'm not that drunk," he interjected, his words slurring together. Jo could see the neurosurgeon's chin quiver slightly before she reached out for her husband's arm. "He told me. About the cancer. I'm really sorry, and if you guys need anything, I'm always here." Amelia nodded, thanking the woman for bringing Link home. He grinned at her widely after the door was closed.

"You look really pretty." She frowned at his words and dropped his wrist.

"Don't. Go to our bedroom and sleep. I have to go pick Scout up from school, and I don't want him seeing you like this." Link laughed at her, stumbling towards their bedroom and using the walls of the hallway for support. She bit her lip and turned around, quickly grabbing the car keys and slamming the door behind her. She connected her phone to the Bluetooth of the car, clicking the call button on Maggie's contact before starting the vehicle.

"Amelia?"

"Stage 3 metastatic osteosarcoma spread to his lungs. Feels like a fucking death sentence," she mumbled, backing out of the driveway. "And then Link goes out drinking and comes home slurring his speech, barely able to walk down the hallway. And now I have to pick my son up from school and pretend like nothing's wrong!" She could imagine Maggie's face on the other end of the phone; her lips pursed tightly and the corners of her eyes swollen with tears.

"Amelia, I'm so sorry-"

"I'm just so pissed off. Of course, this happens when our lives are finally settling down. I mean, we just got settled into the house, Scout's finally used to going to school, and now my husband's going to die!" Her voice grew increasingly loud as she spoke, stopping the car suddenly at a red light.

"Amelia, he's not going to-"

"Tell me something. Anything, please. I need to think about something else." The air was silent for a moment.

"Winston still wants to move to Boston. I told him I can't leave; you and Link need me, Mer needs me, but he's really insistent."

"Do you want to go?" Another moment of silence.

"I'm not sure. My family's here. I don't want to leave you all," Maggie spoke, her voice quieter than before. Amelia suddenly felt a bit of guilt, knowing that Maggie wouldn't leave with the knowledge of Link's cancer. "But, I also love Winston. He wants to be near his family."

"Sounds like you're going back to long-distance," Amelia mumbled, pulling into the school parking lot. "I gotta go. Come over for dinner sometime this week?"

"Of course." Amelia parked the car and disconnected her phone, bringing it up to her ear. "If you need anything, I'm here."

"Thank you." She shoved her phone into her pocket, joining the crowd of other parents waiting for their children. The school doors opened a minute later, and she immediately spotted her son running out with his bright blue backpack.

"Mamma!" he shouted, speeding forward into her arms. Amelia kneeled and embraced him tightly.

"Hi, buddy!" She smiled widely at him, glancing down at his hands. "What happened!" The boy grinned and held his hands out, his fingers covered in blue scribbles.

"I was showing Harrison the veins on his fingers, so we traced them with a marker!" Amelia cocked her head to the side and rustled her son's hair, waving to another parent walking by.

"Looks like someone's going to need some hand sanitizer." She took his hand, leading him to the car and helping him up into his car seat. He always complained about it, saying he was a big boy, and since Ellis didn't need her car seat anymore, he didn't need his. The mother chuckled at his claims, pretending to block her ears while moving into the driver's seat. He excitedly told her about his day and how his teacher let him lead the line because he finished his work first.

"Momma?" He eventually asked, kicking his legs out against the back of her seat.

"Mhm?"

"Can we have pizza for dinner?" Amelia smiled at him in the rearview window.

"Tonight is supposed to be mac and cheese."

"Daddy was sad yesterday, and Daddy loves pizza." She choked back a sob at her son's awareness, suddenly conscious of what her son didn't know. "And we can watch Toy Story!"

"I think that would be wonderful."

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

Amelia masked her annoyance when her husband came out into the living room later that evening, complaining about his headache. He'd slumped down onto the couch and pulled Scout into his embrace, acting as if he wasn't dying and as if he hadn't spent the day getting drunk like a stupid teenager. They'd both smiled widely as Toy Story began to play on the television, happily eating pizza and amusing their son with high-pitched voices and tickles on his stomach. After the movie, Amelia looked over at her husband. He nodded slowly, as if unsure of what he was saying himself, yet somehow understanding what she was asking.

"Scout, there's something we need to talk to you about." He perked up quickly, nibbling on a pizza crust, his toy Buzz resting in his lap. Link sat up behind him and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You know how Daddy and I have been going to a lot of appointments yesterday and today?"

"With Dr. Bailey!" Her eyes turned upwards in a smile.

"Some of them, yes." She took her son's hand in hers. "We have to go to the doctor's because Daddy is sick." Scout turned around to look up at his father.

"You're sick?" Link nodded at him, biting the inside of his cheek. "How?"

"Well, my body is sick. And I have to get medicine and maybe have surgery soon." Amelia frowned when his voice cracked.

"Like the flu?" She shook her head.

"No, Daddy has something called cancer. The doctors are going to do everything to make Daddy feel better. But, he's gonna be tired and feel sick a lot." Scout sniffled, a few tears escaping from his eyes. The neurosurgeon looked up to see the same look on Link's face, his own tears rolling down his cheeks. "And, if there's anything you want to know, you can ask us."

"Is Daddy going to die?" he cried, his tiny blue eyes pleading for an answer. Amelia took his hand.

"We don't know, Scout. We have to see if Daddy feels better when he gets the medicine." Scout fell against his father's chest, burying his face into the man's t-shirt. Link wrapped his arms around his son, leaning back into the couch.

"I'm right here, okay?" They remained in that position for some time until Scout had tired himself out from crying and fallen asleep in Link's arms. Amelia watched as her husband looked down at their son, his hand rubbing soothing patterns on the boy's forehead. He made eye contact with her. "I'm sorry. That I got drunk, I just needed to forget for a few hours."

"I'm not going to say it's okay, you know how I feel when you drink a lot, but I understand why." She sighed, pulling the knitted blanket off the back of the couch and tossing it over her husband and son. "You do realize that once you start chemo, you can't drink." He raised his eyebrows.

"I know." The air between them felt heavy. "He's already so sad. He doesn't even truly understand what's happening and he's terrified. He's only four," Link whispered, not looking away from their sleeping son.

"You're his dad. He practically worships you." They both breathed out soft laughs. "He wanted to get pizza for dinner because he noticed you looked sad." Link turned his head, making eye contact with her. "He's a lot more observant than we think. He just needs us to be with him." The father nodded in agreement. "Are we sleeping out here tonight?" she asked, adjusting a pillow behind her. Link laid down further into the couch.

"We should put him in his own bed," Link said softly, careful not to raise his voice too loudly. Amelia smirked, knowing that Scout wouldn't end up in his bed.

"I'll go get us some more blankets."

#amelia shepherd #amelink #atticus lincoln #amelia x link #amelink fanfic #amelink fanfiction #grey's anatomy #greys abc #greys fanfic #my fics

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drreidfics · 4 years

Text

Dr. Reid and the Broken Girl pt1.

DR. REID AND THE BROKEN GIRL (Working Title)

Characters : SpencerReid x FemReader

Warnings : Abuse, Hints of Self Harm.

CAUTION // TW // THIS BOOK DEALS WITH MATURE CONTENT SUCH AS PROFESSOR AND STUDENT RELATIONSHIP, SEXUAL ASSULT, SELF HARM, MENTAL ILLNESS AND SUBSTANCE ABUSE. IT ALSO INCLUDES A LOT OF RATED-R MATERIAL. IF THIS IS TRIGGERING OR MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE THEN PLEASE DON’T READ.

Here I am again, on the floor, begging him to stop. There he is again, laughing at my pleas and forcing himself inside of me. Almost every night he climbs into my bed, then in the morning, he pretends everything is normal. When anyone is around, he acts charming. He is able to trick everyone into thinking everything is fine. Well, it's not.

My phone buzzed to life at the side of me. The alarm was going off but I had been up for hours, staring at the flecks of dust dancing around the air. The sunlight streamed in through my thin, white drapes. It was beautiful out. It was the middle of May and bound to be hot out in Arizona. I could feel the warmth on my skin already. I needed to shower and get all this sticky sweat off my skin. It wasn't even mine. I felt disgusting. His touch lingered everywhere on me. The bruises he gave me stained my skin more than the self inflicted cuts.

'Morning Ms. y/l/n. Last night was lovely. See you at lunch?'. It was a text from Mr Reid. He was my psychology professor. Older than me, at thirty, he had long dark hair and deep brown eyes. His hair curled slightly at the end. He was tall and slim. Smart and nerdy, having two degrees and a doctorate, he left his job at the FBI for something less mentally draining. He had worked there since he was twenty-two. I was twenty-one making our age gap quite small. Look at me, trying to convince myself that it even mattered. He was a lovely guy. Friendly, and handsome. He wouldn't fall in love with a student, and if he did, that student would never be me. He was too smart for that.

"Morning Dr. Reid. Thank-you for taking me. It was a fun eve! Yes, see you at lunch. We can have a chat about the stuff we saw yesterday =)". I read the message over and over again before hitting send. I was nervous as I usually always say stupid things. My low self esteem affected me very much. I was twenty-one, already with one degree and going back to do another. I was still living at Sharon's and I haven't had a boyfriend. He texted me back instantly.

"Can't wait! Need a lift to school? =)" I smiled down at my battered iPhone 6. I couldn't afford a brand new phone. I was lucky in that I only had to work a few hours a week at the local book store and that it was something I enjoyed doing. Sharon was good to me. She helped me pay for and make my way through college. I don't know what or where I would be without her. On the other hand, she brought the human spawn of the devil into my life.

"No thnx, Luna is picking me up =)" I sent but then instantly regretted it. I love my best friend but I would have preferred a ride with Dr. Reid. Our conversations were always interesting and insightful. We could talk about a wide range of subjects for hours and it would only feel like minutes passed.

"Ok, see u soon Y/N"

I smiled, almost forgetting my problems before catching glimpse of myself in the mirror. My fragile, battered body stared back. I sighed. He could never find a girl like me attractive. Not that it mattered anyway. Silly little girl crush.

After debating whether it was best to just find the nearest bridge in town and throw my self off or get ready for school (I am very mentally unwell), I decided on the latter. Luna had already texted me to inform me that she was about to set off. Knowing Luna, which I have had the pleasure of knowing for fifteen years (no sarcasm in there), ten minutes would be ten years.

I staggered down the dreaded stairs, almost losing my footing a few times, feeling light headed. I entered the brightly lit kitchen. It was so bright that I could feel an aching behind my eyes. The decor was simplistic, all white with gold features. Classic business mom who is never home asthetic going on.

Sharon sat at the island, face absorbed in her laptop. She was in her late forties with short, mousey hair. I believe she would be referred to as a 'Karen'. She looked nothing like Dom. She was short, like me, and fairly slim. He was tall and muscular with broad shoulders. Quarterback star player with the strength to show for it. He could snap us both in half. Dominic is Sharon's only child. Yes, that is correct. She is not my mum. I lost her.

Sharon looked up at me, flashing me a warm smile, still bashing the keys to her MacBook. She took a sip of her black coffee, nibbling on some cold toast. "You look like shit" she stated; matter of factly, her face blank. '"Thanks?'" I answered with a raised eyebrow. I walked over to the coffee machine and put in a pod, sticking my travel cup underneath. 77Kcals of goodness. All the fuel I will need this morning. "Sweetheart, don't act like that. You know I'm just saying. You need to sleep more" '"I know" I sighed. It was true... "But that makes two of us" I retorted cheekily with a grin. "Oh sweetheart, don't I know it" she raised her cup as if toasting the comment before gulping the last bit of coffee.

Sharon was my guardian, though not anymore as I was an adult and of drinking age. She still cared for me though as if I were her own. My mom died when I was seven and my dad had a breakdown. He couldn't cope. One day I came home from school and he was gone. He didn't say a word to anyone. He packed up his stuff and left me. I hated him for a while. The anger within me burned to my core. After a while I felt sympathy. He didn't get the help that he needed. If he did then we both wouldn't be in this mess. We'd be happy - together. I doubt he would know how to contact me now.

Aunt Sharon took me in. She wasn't really my aunt, she was my mom's best friend. She was the only connection to my mother that I had left besides her wedding ring. She loved her dearly and I believe she loves me dearly too. It's not her fault she can't protect me. She works herself to death trying to help me live my dreams. Dom wasn't the child that she had always wanted. He is doing nothing with his life. That is something I will alway's respect of her, single mom raising her child and somebody else's.

I loved her, though she did have the tendency to dish out tough love which often was way - way too harsh. And she was always away leaving me with him. I knew that if I'd only just tell her what he was capable of... What he would do to me when she left... She'd have murdered him herself with her bare hands. But it would kill her. I couldn't do that to her. He was the only thing she had who was blood. Me, I had no-one.

"shit! Is that the time? I'm going to be late. I gotta go, honey. Say bye to Dom for me." she pleaded as she stuffed the last slice of toast in her mouth and gathered her briefcase and her keys. " ...And make sure you have something to eat. You're wasting away!" "Have a good day at work Shaz" I shouted after her. I doubt that she heard me. She was out the door in seconds, jangling her keys and fighting between speaking with me and the ringtone on her work mobile. I heard her professional, scripted 'Hello, Sharon Cormack speaking' as the door slammed behind her.

I made my way through the spotless kitchen Gina, Sharon's housekeeper, always did a good job. I grabbed a bottle of water out of the integrated refrigerator. I also grabbed my iced latte from the coffee machine. It was almost half eight. My first classes start at nine and Luna still wasn't anywhere in sight. I scrambled through my purse for my phone, ready to give her a piece of my mind. That girl would be late to her own funeral.

"You're up early" a voice from behind me sneered. It took all my might to not to curl up in a ball, trembling.

"I... I have school"

No reply. I felt him creeping up behind me, felt his breath against my neck.

"I can think of something much better to do with the day baby" he whispered as he planted acid kisses on my neck. It burned. I squeezed my eyes shut, putting my hands up defensively. He pushed my back into the counter. A sharp pain ran though me.

"Please stop. I have to go" I whispered as his hand snaked its way up my neck, fist knotting tightly in my hair.

'"Why do you think a whore like you has the right to tell me what to do, hm?"

'- Hello? Katy?' Luna's smooth voice called out in sing song.

Oh, thank god for her and her timing. He released me from his grasp and increased the distance between us. His eyes were clouded. I could tell he was pissed. I brushed passed him, running towards Luna, who was standing by the open door. I ran straight into her arms hugging her tightly.

"I thought you'd never show." I whispered. She rested her chin on my shoulder, stroking my hair. I could tell that she was staring daggers at Dom and I could tell he didn't care. Like I said, the same routine. Every morning.

By the time lunch rolled around I had had enough. had gotten into a lot of trouble with Ms. Hallows over an overdue assignment and I had spilt water all down the front of my jeans. It looked like I had pissed myself. My saving grace is that they were dark jeans and so it wasn't too noticable. That didn't stop Georgie from laughing and calling me pissy pants for half the day.

Georgie was the kind of girl that you would avoid in high school. Everybody wanted to be her but everyone hated her so bad. She had golden brunette locks, a slim face and a petite nose. Her friends Nova and Ari were just as bad. Everyone used to tell you that when you left high school things would be different. I am sorry to inform you that they don't. Bullies stay bullies forever.

I forced my way through the groups of students, crowded together in the corridors. The last thing I wanted was to be late for my chat with Mr. Reid

"Y/N" I heard Luna calling after me. I could tell that she was chasing me through the crowd of students. "Y/N. Look, Y/N stop." I rolled my eyes.

"What?" I snapped. I could see the hurt in her eyes. She leaned on the wall, panting. I sighed. "I'm sorry. What's wrong?" I asked. I felt bad for snapping at her. All she wanted was answers, like anyone would have after walking in on what she did. But I don't give answers. I shut down. I don't tell anyone anything. She tried talking once we got in the car. I ignored her and I ran once we'd arrived at school. She didn't even need to speak. I could just tell what she wanted to talk about from the look on her face. I sighed again.

"Luna, I can't talk about this right now." I saw the hurt in her eyes. If I kept pushing her away then eventually she wouldn't fight to stay. 'Good', a small voice whispered in my head. Maybe that would be for the best. She deserves better. Everyone does. I could just end my life today and nobody would care. I used to fight hard against the suicidal ideations that entered my mind but now I didn't see the point.

"I have my meeting and I can't be late. Taco Bell after classes?" I asked. To my relief, she smiled and nodded, that beautiful smile that I loved so much. She was so easy to please. I smiled and walked away towards room 1980. Dr. Reid's office.

"I love you!" she shouted after me smiling.

"I love you more!"

"Lesbians" Georgie mocked. She was stood near the bathrooms. I rolled my eyes.

"Grow up"

Luna was gay but we weren't together. We had been intimate a few times but nothing had come of it. But so what if it had? We both agreed it felt weird as we had known each other as friends for so long. We didn't want to ruin anything. Luna and I had been friends ever since she opened up my juice box for me in kindergarten and then hit the girl who had stolen my straw. We had been inseparable ever since. She's been with me through thick and thin. I'd hate to think where I'd have been if she hadn't been there when my mom had died. We are and will alway's be the best of friends. In another life I could see us growing old together, adopting puppies and children but sometimes, it doesn't work out. And if you love someone, you have to let them go.

I opened the door to 1980 and as soon as I did my heart fluttered in my chest. There he was, as beautiful as ever. He looked up from the book he was reading, glasses perched on his nose and smiled, he seemed glad to see me.

"Sweetie!" he said, a smile spreading across his gorgeous lips. He's the only person who calls me that.

"Dr. Reid" I smiled back. My smile was huge and I probably looked so dorky but I don't care. My day just got brighter. I pulled up a chair next to him and kicked my feet up onto his lap. He rested his hand on my calf.

"So what did you think to the book?"

#drreid #spencer x reader #spencerreid #spencer reid #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid story #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #mature #fic #reader x spencer reid #wattpad #wattpad fanfic #teacher x student #college professor smut #professor x student #professor x reader #teacher x reader

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 3 years

Text

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter XXX

A/n: Some unnecessary drama in this chapter, but I wanted to make it more interesting. Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis went their separate ways, wishing to not discuss their feelings on what happened at Zegnautus Keep and how Noctis was absorbed into the Crystal.

Instead of heading to Lestallum like his friends, Prompto departed for Hammerhead after they returned to Lucis. He figured Cindy would allow (Y/n) to stay there until she regained consciousness. The mechanic was more than happy to let the girl stay in the bed located in the back room connected to the garage.

But now, that was three months ago. Prompto spent most of his time in Hammerhead, taking up whatever hunts he could with fellow hunters. After a job was complete, he'd return to the outpost and visit (Y/n) in hopes to find her awake. Even Cindy would pay her visits from time to time.

Unfortunately, she remained in what was almost an eternal slumber. He had time to think about the words Brahma spoke to him and was able to understand why she was in such a state. She wouldn't awaken until Noctis returned.

Although she was perfectly safe and healthy, his heart ached. He wanted her to wake up and help him through the darkness that now engulfed every corner of Eos. He was beginning to lose his mind without her by his side.

Today, Prompto had finished slaying a horde of iron giants and imps with a few hunters. He returned to Hammerhead and ate a quick meal before going to see the slumbering (Y/n).

He entered the small room located in the back of the garage and sat down in the comfy chair beside the bed. He leant forward, reaching a hand out to take one of hers. He could still feel the warmth radiating from her body. It brought him a semblance of peace but also one of heartbreak. "Hey, (Y/n)." His thumb caressed her knuckles. "Guess what I did today? I took down two iron giants by myself! I'm getting pretty good at daemon hunting. I'm thinking about doing a hunt by myself." Prompto then told her about whatever came to mind. He wasn't sure if she could hear him, but he wanted to believe she could.

"Oh, hey." Prompto scooted closer to the edge of the seat. "Remember that one time Noct came over to study a few days before finals and he almost found you?"

•••••

"We're not seriously gonna sit here and study, are we?" A sixteen-year-old Noctis asked, throwing his head back. He stared up at the ceiling of Prompto's apartment, leaning back in the chair. He drummed his pencil against the kitchen table.

"Oh, c'mon, buddy!" A sixteen-year-old Prompto whined. "Let's do a few more math problems!"

"I suck at math," the prince groaned.

"So do I! That's why we're studying so we don't completely bomb the final. I don't care about getting an A or B, I just wanna pass..."

"Specs can help us with the math later." Noctis closes his math book and stood up, tossing his pencil down. "Let's order some pizza and play video games."

Prompto glances at the clock on the oven. "We've only beens studying for thirty minutes..." He followed his friend's actions and agreed. "Yeah, let's do it. I'll order the pizza while you pop in a game."

Noctis walked into the living room and grabbed Assassin's Creed II while Prompto pulled out his phone and ordered two large pizzas. Once their order was placed, he joined the prince on the couch and watched him play the game. They handed the controller back and forth whenever one of them died.

An hour later, their pizzas arrived. Prompto paid the delivery boy and thanked him before closing the door. He placed the pizza boxes on the coffee table before sitting back down to watch Noctis wander around the streets of Monteriggioni as Ezio. When he decided to return to the story, the raven-haired boy glanced over at the blonde. "So, you gonna tell me why you didn't wanna go out with that girl who asked you out today?"

Before Prompto could answer, a loud sound came from the bedroom. Both boys looked down the hallway when hearing the sound. Noctis' brows furrowed together. "The hell was that?"

Prompto knew it must've been (Y/n), who was hidden in the closet. "I-I didn't hear anything. Maybe you're just hearing things."

Noctis stood up, putting the controller on the coffee table. "No, I definitely heard something." He began wandering down the hallway towards the bedroom. Prompto was close behind him, hoping he wouldn't discover the girl hidden in the closet. He began nibbling his bottom lip nervously as they walked into the bedroom. He began tugging on the green and white tie of his school uniform as Noctis closed in on the closet.

When Noctis went to open the closet, Prompto acted quickly. He cleared his throat loudly and knocked off the picture frame of his adoptive parents off the nightstand beside the bed. He pointed at it and grabbed the prince's attention. "Hey, Noct! I think this is what we heard."

Noctis' hand froze on the handle to the closet door. He turned around and spotted the picture frame on the floor. He lowered his hand, walking away from the closet. "Guess so." He picked up the picture frame and put it back on the nightstand. At that exact moment, the prince's stomach grumbled. "Damn, I'm hungry. Let's dig into that pizza we bought."

"You go right ahead, buddy. I'll be back shortly. I've gotta go to the bathroom," Prompto said as Noctis left the room. Once the raven-haired boy was gone, he crept towards the closet. Before he could touch the handle, the door slid open slightly. From the small opening, he saw a single gold-slitted eye peek out from the darkness. He titled his head in confusion. "What're you doing in there, (Y/n)?"

The guardian opened the closet door more to show her entire face. She reached out a single arm and grabbed his tie, yanking him towards her. Their faces were mere inches from each other, resulting in a blush on Prompto's face. "Why didn't you tell me a girl asked you out?!" She whisper-yelled. "And you turned her down?!"

"Wh-Why does it sound like you're scolding me?" Prompto muttered. "And how in the world did you here that...?"

"You two aren't exactly quiet!" She pulled his face closer, their noses touching. "I can't believe you let the perfect opportunity for you to get a girlfriend slip!"

"I-I didn't like her like that!" Prompto protested. "Besides, I-I already have someone I really like..."

"Really?" (Y/n) gasped. "Who is it?"

"W-Well, it's..."

"Hey, Prompto!" Noctis shouted from the living room. "You fall in or something?"

"Be right there, buddy!" Prompto hollered back.

The spirit sighed begrudgingly and released him. "Go have fun. Just make sure to save me a couple of slices of pizza."

He nodded with a smile. "Will do, (Y/n)."

•••••

Prompto smiled at the fond memory. "The person I really liked was you, (Y/n). I was almost able to tell you, but Noct kinda ruined the moment."

He then went on to tell her about his recent visit to the chocobo farm in the Duscae region. After falling silent once going into great detail about his visit, Prompto squeezes her hand as the all-too-familiar sting of tears was felt in his eyes. His throat tightened painfully as he tried to keep from whimpering. "I...I hope you wake up soon, (Y/n). I really miss you." He lifted her hand, placing the back of it against his cheek. "Noct better hurry up and come back. I don't know how long I'll survive without either of you..."

<-----------<<<<<

Three excruciating long years passed by. Prompto, although still hopeful (Y/n) would wake up soon, was slowly losing that hope with each passing day. In order to distract himself, he kept busy by hunting any troublesome daemons and eventually was able to take up hunts all by himself. From time to time, he would join other groups of hunters, but most of the time he did hunts by himself to give him time to clear his head.

After he finished hunting down a necromancer, he found himself visiting Lestallum in hopes to see Gladio or Ignis. Instead of seeing his two friends, he found Iris. She waved at him as he walked over to her stall. "Hey, Prompto. I haven't seen you in a while."

"I've been pretty busy lately with hunting down some daemons. The gil's good and it lets me clear my head from time to time," he said.

Iris frowned melancholically. "Gladdy told me what happened to (Y/n). I'm so sorry."

Prompto smiled sorrowfully at the mention of the girl. "I try to visit her everyday, but...it's getting more difficult to see her like that."

"I can't even imagine how you feel," she mumbled.

"Maybe you should get the hell over it," a voice growled.

Iris and Prompto turned around to see Gladio approaching them. The young Amicitia glared at her brother. "Gladdy, how could you say something like that?"

Prompto knew how tough it'd been for Gladio to accept Noctis' disappearance. It had caused him to become tougher on him and others. His temper was shorter than ever and he was easily angered. However, that didn't excuse him from talking in such a manner. The blonde casted a glare in the shield's direction. "The hell's your problem?"

"I've no problem. You're the one who's still crying about a girl who's dead," Gladio hissed.

"She's not dead!" Prompto bellowed at the top of his lungs in anger. It grabbed the attention of everyone in the main thoroughfare. He clenched his fists tightly by his sides. "Would you be saying that if the woman you loved was in (Y/n)'s place?!"

"I'd stop moping and do something about it," the brute growled.

"I've already tried! There's nothing I can do, dammit!" Prompto bunched his hands up in his hair and tugged at his golden locks. "Even after a damned god told me she wouldn't wake up until Noct returns, I still tried!"

Gladio's angered expression was now dabbed with bewilderment. "What's this shit about a god?"

He untangled his hands from his hair, realizing he didn't tell Gladio or Ignis of how Brahma spoke to him. He thought they heard the Astral, but he was wrong. The god's words were for his ears only. "Brahma spoke to me at the Keep. He wants me to protect (Y/n) while she slumbers until Noct comes back."

"You're telling me an Astral is the reason why (Y/n)'s like that?" Gladio crosses his arms with a huff of annoyance.

"Yes!" Prompto shouted, his anger returning. "How the hell is anybody supposed to break a magic spell casted by a damned god?!"

"Try harder then," he spat. "I would if (Y/n) was my woman."

Prompto snapped. He punched Gladio in the face as hard as he could, causing him to fall to the ground. Iris was in shock. Not once had she seen someone punch Gladio so hard that it knocked him over. What was even more shocking was that person was Prompto. She wasn't mad at the blonde for punching his brother. If he hadn't done it, she would've.

"You're an asshole," Prompto snarled. His fist hurt, but that didn't match how painful his heart ached for (Y/n). "If you really think I haven't tried my hardest to get her back, you don't know me at all." With those final words, Prompto walked away.

Iris sighed, shaking her head. "I'm not gonna lie: you deserved that."

"Damn... Pipsqueak's gotten a lot stronger these past three years." Gladio wiped the small amount of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. He then looked up at his sister. "You gonna help your big brother off the ground?"

"No way," she scoffed. "I've gotta find Prompto. There's something I want to give him." She turned around to the stall she was managing and grabbed a bouquet of (f/c) flowers.

"Hold the damn phone," Gladio said before Iris could walk off. "You're giving him flowers? Don't tell me..."

"No!" She sneered. "I know how much he loves (Y/n). There's no way I'd do that to them. Besides, these are for her, not him. I wanted to give them to her myself, but I've been too busy to visit Hammerhead. I thought he could take them with him once he leaves."

Iris sauntered off, leaving Gladio sprawled out on the ground. She searched Lestallum and found Prompto sitting by the fountain outside the Leville. Seeing he was staring down at the fist he used to punch her brother, she carefully approached him. Once she was close enough, she saw the bruises forming along his knuckles. "I always knew punching Gladdy was like punching a rock."

Prompto lifted his head, revealing his face. He was still clearly angry, but he tried to keep it hidden under a facade of calmness. "It really did felt like I punched a rock. My whole hand hurts..."

The girl giggled and sat down beside him. "If you hadn't punched him, I would've." She gazed down at the bouquet in her grasp. "I'm really sorry about the way he acted. Ever since you guys came back, he's changed. He's more...angry and doesn't know how to deal with his emotions."

"We're all on edge," he sighed. "Some more than others, of course..."

"Moving away from my brother's awful behavior..." Iris held out the (f/c) flowers towards him. "I was hoping you'd give these flowers to (Y/n). I'm a little busy with running the stall and haven't had time to stop by Hammerhead."

Prompto's eyes widen at seeing the color of the flowers. "How'd you know (Y/n)'s favorite color is (f/c)?"

"I...actually didn't," she confessed with a smile. "It was a lucky guess."

He took the bouquet with a grateful smile etched across his face. "I'll give them to her. Thanks, Iris."

After a brief conversation with the young Amicitia, Prompto decided to leave Lestallum. He headed to where he left the small car he used to get around Lucis and drove back to Hammerhead.

When he arrived, he entered Takka's diner and asked the man behind the counter if he had something to put flowers in. All he could offer was a white tea kettle that he no longer used. Taking it from him, the blonde filled it with water and placed the flowers inside. Taking a step back to look at the makeshift vase, he smiled when realizing it actually looked cute. "I think she'll like it," he whispered to himself.

Grabbing the white tea kettle, Prompto left the diner and headed to the garage. He entered the small room in the back, his smile faltering slightly when seeing (Y/n) was still asleep. One day, he prayed he would open the door and find her sitting up in bed with her eyes open, waiting for him. "Sorry I'm late today, (Y/n). I decided to visit Lestallum to see how Iggy and Gladio were doing, but... Well, it didn't end pretty." He sat down in the chair, placing the tea kettle in his lap. "Anyway, Iris got you some (f/c) flowers! I was surprised to see flowers after three years. I wonder where she got them from?"

He places the kettle on the small plastic table by the bed. He then proceeded to tell her about his accomplishment of slaying a necromancer by himself. He felt a sense of pride in how he was able to handle such a powerful daemon without the help of anyone else.

Finishing his story, Prompto leaned over and placed a kiss on (Y/n)'s cheek. He said his farewells for now and left the room. Deciding to take the caravan and rest for a couple of days, he searched for Cindy and paid her. She thanked him sweetly, giving him the keys to the caravan.

Inside the caravan, the blonde placed the key down by the stove and dragged his exhausted body towards the bed located in the back. He flopped down on the mattress, not even bothering to get under the sheets. Grabbing one of the pillows, he hugged it against his chest and buried his face into it with a sigh. He muttered a few colorful slurs directed towards Gladio. He wanted to say so much more to the shield, but held his tongue in the heat of the moment.

Eventually, Prompto ceased cursing the brute's name and closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall into a deep sleep.

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#ffxv #ffxv x reader #final fantasy xv x reader #final fantasy xv #prompto argentum #prompto x reader #prompto argentum x reader

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gifsbysimplysonia · 4 years

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Fleeting Connection

Pairing: Bisexual TJ Hammond (Political Animals) x Female

Word Count: 3,544

Warning(s): fingering (female receiving), hand job, oral sex (male receiving), t!tty f*cking, badly written smut (but yeah?)

Summary: She is on the hunt for some alcohol and stumbles onto so much more. If you've seen Political Animals, this story opens in a familiar scene from the series and I use a direct TJ quote in the story.

Author’s Notes: it's July 4th. This time last year I posted some smut so I wanted to do so again this year. Also available on AO3. Thanks to @jillybean1217 for always reading my stuff before anyone else, once again making me a graphic to go along with the story, and cuz she adores Teej.

I apologize for this mess 😋 Very unexpectedly, Hamilton brought up a lot of emotions in me. I was listening to songs about what a prolific writer he was and how he seemed to live to write. I remember that feeling and have been trying so hard to get back to it and I suspect the only way to do it is to post the stinkers too. Gotta stop being afraid!

She needed a drink. And when she heard the party raging across the hall, she figured there was no better place to get one since her supply was depleted. Plus, her neighbor wouldn't care if she issued her own invite, went over and helped herself. He was generous that way, although she supposed it probably helped that his parents footed his bills. That was how she found herself in her current predicament, quite literally caught by her neighbor whom she had not even seen as she was walking by the couch on the hunt for alcohol. But a hand grasped hers, stopping her in her tracks, drawing her attention to him where he was sat on the couch, another young man to his left.

His eyes pleaded with her as he pulled her onto his lap. As her knees framed his hips, she saw the sadness he tried so hard to hide with booze and drugs. Now he thought he would pull her into his tangled web. She would allow it, for the moment, only because his perfect rosy lips looked tastier than the cherry candy she had been sucking on.

She slipped that same candy out of her mouth and raised her eyebrows at him expectantly. His right hand cupped the back of her neck and pulled her forward. She opened her mouth to say something, exactly what she didn't know, but he took the opportunity to taste her. His tongue tangled with hers while his firm lips pressed up into her mouth. He tasted of cheap beer which she never had a problem with. But as his teeth bit at her bottom lip and she heard a little growl from him, she felt light headed. His kisses were big and wet and left her breathless.

She put her hand on his chest and pushed him away. She watched his closed eyes open in surprise and the way his swollen mouth gasped for air as he looked at her with longing made her want to rock her body against him. Just as she thought she might go in for a second helping, the hand at the nape of her neck tried to push her towards the man next to him on the couch. As the other man leaned in, she shoved her lollipop into his mouth. He didn't look pleased and neither did TJ as she climbed off of him.

"What the fuck?" Ah, there was the petulant spoiled young man she was familiar with. Immediately aggravated when he didn't get what he wanted. She tilted her head and looked down at him with a smirk she knew would piss him off more.

"Just because you two like to share doesn't mean I do," she answered with a shrug. His face screwed up and she knew he was upset, but that's how she felt when he tried to push her off on some strange dude. He owed her for that. So without warning she bent over, grabbed his head in her hands and made him motorboat her. She had heard jokes that he appreciated a good pair of breasts and her top tonight certainly left nothing to anyone's imagination. It was no doubt why he caught her hand and tried to pull her into his game. Well, too bad for him, when she decided to play with anyone it was only by her own rules. She pushed him away from her and she laughed out loud at his disheveled hair and dazed expression. Served him right.

"Y'all enjoy the rest of your evening." She tipped her imaginary hat to them before she turned and disappeared into the crowd. She grabbed a couple of those cheap beers before she found the door and took her leave. She walked straight across the hall to her place.

Before she closed the door, she took a pull off of one of the beers. Her eyes drifted shut as the taste invoked the memory of his kiss. It made her shudder. For his many many faults … at least she knew for sure now that he could kiss. When she opened her eyes, she saw him. He stood in his own doorway, forearm leaning on the doorframe. He stared at her, and the look in his eyes made her feel like prey, but she liked it. She swallowed slowly, not wanting to give herself away too quickly.

She calmed herself by taking another swig of beer. He stepped forward and closed the door behind him. Alright then. She moved to close the door but stopped short of closing it all the way. She made her way towards her bedroom, wondering if he would accept her silent invitation. Once in her bathroom, she heard the very deliberate slam of her front door and knew the answer.

She was just finishing her beer when he appeared in the doorway behind her. They locked eyes in the long rectangular mirror over her sink. He raised his arms over his head, grasping at the top of the door frame with his fingertips. He tilted his head and she saw the faintest of smirks appear on his lips. And he noticed when her eyes focused on his mouth because he tantalizingly licked at his upper lip with just the very tip of his tongue. Feeling her heartbeat jump, she broke the spell with a few fast blinks and a shake of her head. She focused on the act of dropping her now empty bottle into the waste basket to her left, wondering what she had gotten herself into. As if he heard her mind racing with the question, he spoke, his voice raspy.

“Take off your shirt,” he softly commanded. Her eyes widen at the demand and goosebumps popped up all over her skin. His lips slowly curved up into a smile and his teeth dug into his lower lip as he watched; as he waited. She crossed her arms in front of her, grasped the hem of her blouse, took a deep breath, and did as he told her.

She shivered at the feel of cool air on her newly exposed skin. Her nipples peaked at the rush of sensation, poking through her lacy bra. Daring a look at him in the mirror, she saw that one of his hands now palmed the front of his dark wash jeans. She nodded at his action.

"Does that mean that you like what you see?" Her voice came out breathier than she intended. She felt warmth crawl up her neck and into her cheeks as he answered by meeting her eyes in the mirror. With slow measured steps, he entered the bathroom and walked right up behind her. His presence behind her was teasingly close but he did not touch her.

"More," he demanded. His breath was so hot against the back of her neck and yet, she shivered at the feel of it. He was not looking at her now. She saw in the mirror that his head was bowed, his eyes glued to her back. When she made no move to acquiesce, it was a few quickened heartbeats before she felt the tips of his fingers on her skin. He started at her shoulder blades and ever-so-slowly dragged them downward. She tried so hard to remain still, her own head bowed so he couldn't see how she bit her own lip or the hunger reflected in her own gaze. But her skin once again erupted with anticipation and he noticed, humming his approval.

His fingers undid the clasp of her bra with one snap. The holder slipped forward, and she lowered her arms until it met her shirt at her feet. She raised her head to see him staring at her over her right shoulder. Her nipples puckered to hard nubs. She felt a heavy ache in her breasts under his gaze. His gaze, his expression was so eager it made her tremble.

Feeling bashful under the force of that look, she raised her arms to cover herself. His response was a pointed, "Tsk, tsk, tsk" as he repeatedly popped his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He swept her hair back and over her left shoulder so when he turned towards her, his breath tickled her right ear and side of her neck.

"Your tits are much too beautiful to hide, " he whispered. His whisper held a note of awe and he slowly circled her with his arms so his hands could carefully pry her cover away. When her arms hung at her sides again, his hands moved towards her breasts.

“Is this what you want?” he practically purred. She could feel the heat of his hands hovering near her tits. She tried to lean forward to force herself into his touch, but he pulled his hands back. When she groaned her frustration, she heard his low tone laugh. Her eyes snapped up at his reflection and the smile on his face was radiant, one of pure delight. How does he do that? she wondered.

"Use your words," he said, leaning his face toward her, using his teeth to nibble her earlobe. She inhaled sharply. "I don't move until I hear you say it." Her neck snapped forward so her head could hang. She did not want to have to voice her desire.

Suddenly, she felt whisper soft touches at her lower back. He had his knuckles barely brushing her skin, but just enough contact to tickle slightly as he dragged them upward. She swayed backward, wanting to lean into him. His hands turned and she felt the heat of them against her upper back, keeping her body from his.

"Tell me what you want," he said. She sighed heavily.

"I want you to touch me. Touch...my tits." He immediately molded himself to her, his hips against her ass, his chest to her back, and his arms hugging hers as his hands finally cupped her in the way she wanted.

His fingers curved around her breasts, weighing them then massaging them. His hands moved from underneath to over them, his slightly roughened palms rubbing against her stiff nipples. He moaned and the vibration against her back caused her eyes to drift shut. Her body arched, ass grinding against his crotch. The friction caused his hands to tighten around her tits; he abruptly squeezed.

"Mmm, fuck yes," she hissed, grinding harder, hands covering his to encourage him.

"Slow down," he whispered. Her head leaned back onto his left shoulder but she kept her eyes shut. He teased her with a hot, wet kiss at the junction of her neck and right shoulder. The warm suction was delicious, tingles raced up her spine. He continued the moist trail, lapping at her skin and sucking different spots into his mouth. She vaguely hoped he did so hard enough to leave some marks behind; arousing reminders that this actually happened.

She was torn from her thoughts by his fingers pinching at her stiff nipples. Her eyes flew open and met his in the mirror. His expression was one of wicked enjoyment as he played with her breasts. His lips were wet and parted as he watched himself tease her body, and she felt him press his erection against her, his body moving in a way that let her know he was just as affected as she was. He eased up the pressure on her tits before he palmed them and dug his fingers in. He pressed them together, all the while as she gasped and panted and moaned. She caught his gaze in the mirror.

"I think I wanna fuck them," he whispered into her ear. "Would you like that? Would you like it if I slid my cock between your lips, made you taste me, only so I could put you on your knees and I put my hard wet dick in between your tits?" She could not form coherent words; the best she could do was groan. He smirked in response. "You would let me do that?" She was nodding frantically without hesitation, surprised when his answer was a soft kiss against her cheek. "Well, then...if you're going to be so generous with me…"

One hand abandoned her chest to make its way down. He managed to get underneath her billowy skirt with ease. His dark chuckle in her ear as he found her panties soaked with arousal caused a whine to bubble up her throat and out of her mouth.

"Jesus, the sounds you make," he whispered, sounding wrecked. Her gaze cut to his quickly. The intensity of his stare shook her to her core, literally. He hugged her entire body tighter when he felt it. "I should be embarrassed that I'm so close to cumming just from those God damn sounds and how you're trembling in my arms."

"TJ…" His name was a desperate cry torn from her lungs and she punctuated it when she turned her head and captured his mouth. Teeth clashed as he stole her breath with the kiss; if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was kiss.

The moment his fingers worked their way past her panties and touched her slick flesh, her mouth was torn from his as her body pitched forward. She braced herself on her sink, and felt his teeth nip at the nape of her neck as he followed. His left arm moved between her breasts so his hand could lightly clasp the bottom of her neck. His other hand was busy, thumb circling but not touching her clit as two fingers penetrated her. There was a vague thought somewhere in her mind that she should be embarrassed at the wet sound of him fucking her with his fingers. Then he drew his fingers completely out of her and used them to finally touch her clit, and all thought vanished from her mind. Her body snapped back against his. Her hands went to his forearm, clinging, and his grip on her throat tightened just enough.

"I'm gonna...I'm gonna…" she tried to warn him but he knew.

"Look in the mirror," he growled. Their reflections were wild and crazy, him fully dressed with his hands on her half naked body, his hand furiously working under her clothes. Somehow not being able to see what he did but feeling it intensified the experience.

"I want you to watch me take you apart." With no warning, he plunged his fingers back into her and her pussy clenched as her orgasm crashed into her. The tension in her veins finally snapped, warmth spreading throughout her limbs, electricity racing up her spine. Her head fell back, face turned to him and he covered her mouth with his. His tongue mimicked what his fingers now did and all she could do was melt against him. She gasped when his thumb lightly teased her clit once, twice as she came back to herself. Her body was covered in a light sheen of sweat and there was still an energy that tickled the base of her neck.

She didn't want to lose her nerve so when her knees were solid again, she peeled his hands off of her and turned. He didn't give her a chance to act on her desires as he immediately began licking and sucking at her decolletage. His clever mouth moved lower as his hands cupped her breasts. He was generous with his wet and sloppy attention as he licked his way between her tits, sucking and teasing them, moving quickly from one to the other and back again.

After enough attention, she dropped to her knees. Beating her to the punch, his hands quickly undid his jeans. When he hesitated with the zipper in his fingers, she shifted her eyes to his face. His smirk made her throb and she could hear the slow descent of his zipper as he finally dragged it down. Eagerly, she grabbed his open jeans and the band of his boxer briefs and yanked them to his knees. His erection sprang free, and he wrapped his hand around it, fucking his fist.

"Play with your tits," he demanded. The broken low tone of his voice made her shiver as she tipped her head back to look up at him. She bit at her own lips as her fingers spread his spit around, tugged at her nipples, and pushed her tits together the way he seemed to like. When she did, he growled and positioned his dick between them. He moved his hips and fucked her tits, sliding easily between them as she kept the pressure surrounding his dick as tight as she could.

"Yes...YES…" he muttered. "I'm already…" she pulled herself away from him to take his cock into her hand, twisting as she stroked him firmly again and again. She licked at and around the head while maintaining eye contact.

"Let me have it," she pleaded, popping the tip in between her lips and sucking. Her name fell from his lips and she pulled back, aiming his dick at her chest and felt his hot cum paint her chest. His head was back and she watched the muscles in his neck work as the veins in his neck stood out, as if they wanted to break through the skin. TJ groaned in a way that made her want to get off all over again, knowing she made him make those sounds.

He panted and moaned until the very last drop had been drained from him, only to sigh at the very end. She watched his shoulders rise and fall on that sigh and found herself sighing too. She released him and he moved to lean back against her sink. His head fell forward and his whole body slumped. Seeing that, her own body finally released tension and she felt her own shoulders fall and her eyes drifted shut.

It was a while before there was anything but the sound of their own heavy breathing and her heartbeat in her ears. When she heard the water running, she opened her eyes to watch him clean up. When he had himself put away, he looked into the mirror and she watched his eyes roam over her own disheveled appearance.

"Breasts…" he paused to smirk at her in that way that set her on fire, "are awesome." She laughed at his declaration, looking down shyly, which was dumb after what they had just done. He surprised her by crouching down and wiping his mess off of her with a warm washcloth.

"YOUR breasts are particularly…" his sentence fell off and she looked up to see his gaze focused on where he was cleaning. The way his lips were parted and he looked almost...hungry...took her off guard. When he felt her heart thud harder in her chest, he looked back at her face and instead of a sexy smirk, it was an unexpectedly soft smile.

"It's already done, TJ, you don't have to compliment me now," she told him, taking the tiny towel from him and finishing what he started. He inhaled sharply, as if to say something in response, but the sound of heavy knocking interrupted.

"I know you're in there, TJ!" The male voice was muffled but they both heard it. She cocked an eyebrow at him as reached up to get a grip on the sink to help her stand. Her body protested but she managed to make it to her feet.

"Your date is mad," she told him. "You better go put a leash on him cuz it won't be pretty if I gotta deal with him doing any damage to my door." She threw the washcloth in the hamper and retrieved her clothes off the floor. She folded the bra up and put it on the sink but put her shirt back on. They both faced the mirror again.

"He's not my date," he explained. She was not sure why he felt the need to clarify, nor why she felt a tiny hint of satisfaction at the information. She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could at him. He walked up behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Later?" he asked. She lightly shrugged again, bouncing his chin off of her shoulder.

"Never can tell," she answered, hoping her tone was as noncommittal as the words she chose. That damn smile reappeared and he kissed her cheek before he departed.

She heard him trying to calm down whoever the guy was at her door before she heard it softly shut behind him. That sound was like a trigger and the night caught up with her all at once. She leaned heavily on her sink and stared at herself in the mirror. Everything about her reflection told the story of what had just happened.

When she caught the look in her own eyes, she snorted out loud. One part satisfaction, one part wanting more, and maybe another part… She rolled her eyes at herself and sighed. Where was that other beer she had swiped from his place? Cuz whatever she didn't know about what had just happened, the one thing she knew for sure? She needed a drink.

Author’s Notes Part 2: if you have not seen Political Animals before, HERE is the scene that inspired this story. Hopefully it is familiar now that you read the fic. If not, I did not paint as good of a picture as I wanted to!

As for the direct TJ quote I used:

By @bobbiemorley HERE

#tj hammond #tj hammond smut #tj hammond fan fiction #sebastian stan #my ff

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