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agent-whiskeys-sweetheart · 2 years ago

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Tail Between My Legs (ii)

Pairing: Curtis Everett x F!Reader

Summary: After growing up in the front section, you meet a man from the tail section when he sneaks into your room to hide from the guards after him. He defies all your preconceptions. And yet, the heart wants what it wants. In this case, it wants Curtis Everett.

Warnings: SMUT, breast worship, oral (f receiving), fingering, deep unprotected sex, creampie, some impreg if you squint.

When you wake up the sun is shining through the open window, blinding you as you turn away from the beams of light. As soon as you flip over you realize that Curtis is not in bed beside you. Sitting up quickly, you rush down the ladder in a state of panic. As soon as you step onto the ground you see him reclined in the leather chair that he had occupied the night before, watching you peacefully.

“Did I scare you?” He asked, leaning forward.

“Quite frankly. Yes.” You fold your arms over your chest. “I was afraid someone had carried you off in the middle of the night.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easy.” He says, eyes finding his feet. By this point he’s already covered back up, having gotten dressed while you were asleep. You hate to admit that you wish you had gotten a chance to see his muscled flesh in the glow of the sun.

“How did you sleep?” You ask, brushing away your thoughts.

“I forgot what it was like to sleep that good.”

“How long have you been up?”

“Only a few hours.” He says with a small smile.

“A few hours? You should have woken me up.” You scold.

“You just looked so nice while you were sleeping. I didn’t want to bother you.” The man has softened up considerably from when you first met him and you loved seeing this side of him. “Sorry, I know that’s cheesy.” He adds with a soft chuckle, eyes searching yours. For what, you weren’t sure but you never wanted him to stop looking.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” You say, eyes trailing down to the floor. You suddenly felt incredibly ridiculous, like a schoolgirl flirting with her little crush. You were both adults yet here you were blushing and struggling to maintain eye contact as you both beat around the bush about what you really want. Not to mention that you’d only known this man for one day and this is the effect that he has on you? It all felt terribly childish to you and yet you couldn’t help but react this way to the grumpy man who seemed to have a soft spot for you.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Curtis asked and you silently thanked him for drawing you out of the awkward hole you were stuck in.

“Well, I’ve got games, books, films. But I figured you’d want to do something a little more useful.” With that, you open up a small chest at the end of the beds before pulling out a stack of notebooks and a handful of pens. Curtis shoots you a confused glance as you throw them down on the small tabletop beside the chair he still occupies. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re going to need a plan.”

“We?” He inquires, sitting back and shooting you a skeptical look.

“Yes. We.” The man’s gaze doesn’t falter, his lips pursed as he crosses his arms. “Look, you need someone that knows this part of the train and can get you past the guards. You can’t do this on your own. This is the kind of mission that’s far too important to take risks. Do you want to risk going alone and messing this up for everyone?” Curtis takes a deep sigh, looking between you and the notebooks.

“What do you have in mind?” He asks, leaning forward to pick up one of the notebooks and flipping through the empty pages.

“Well I haven’t had the chance to put a lot of thought into it but I’ve got some ideas. I figured, since we’ve got plenty of time, we can brainstorm together.” The man picks up a pen from the table.

“I’m all ears.” As he says this he smiles, eyes focusing in on yours. With his attention focused solely on you, you pick up a notebook and pen as well. The two of you begin to swap ideas, writing down frantically as you formulate a plan to get Curtis to the front of the train. The guards would be around for a few more days. You would keep an eye out. The moment they were gone, you would find him a change of clothes and sneak him out of the room in plain sight. So long as he was cleaned up and dressed right, no one would question him if he was with you. That would be enough to get him through the rest of the way. It wasn’t foolproof by any means but it was a start.

You both sat there discussing for hours, never running out of things to talk about as you shared one idea after another before settling on a rough plan. You stopped every so often to find food before continuing your conversation. It wasn’t long before the sun was setting again. The two of you decided to turn it in pretty early, knowing that you needed your rest if you were going to be carrying out this plan in the following days. Already the two of you had settled into a nightly routine. He got undressed to his comfort level and climbed into bed, allowing you to change just out of sight before heading up to join him. You both told one another good night before turning in opposite directions. The only thing that was different about tonight was that as soon as you were facing away from him you could feel his back pressed up against your own, like he couldn’t help but drift closer to you. His skin was warm through the thin fabric of your shirt and you held in a shudder at the tantalizing way he pushed into you.

The next day started the same as the one before, with Curtis in the chair dressed and waiting for you to wake up. It was strange to you how quickly the two of you had fallen into this comfortable pattern. It wasn’t anything like the routine you had before you met him. Before, every day was a relentless repeat of the one previous. Now, it was like everything was fresh and exciting and you were comforted by the repetition. Something about this man had set your world on fire and as much as you could tell, you were keen to let it burn.

Every day you made at least one trip out to the hallway, checking to see how many guards were stationed there. And each day the number got smaller. In the meantime, you continued to live in your little world with Curtis. That next day he was eager to continue your conversation, pulling out the notebooks you had hidden under the bed the night before. He scribbled out notes rapidly as you two cleaned up your plan, making sure that everything was airtight.

You decided to finish up early that night, before the sun had gone down. Once everything was put away you pulled out a stack of your favorite books, sitting on the floor beside his leg. You showed them all to him and picked one to read as his eyes gently closed, getting lost in your sweet voice. After a while you felt your eyelids began to get heavy and you realized it was almost your favorite time of the day. When you would climb into bed with Curtis, feeling your bodies pressing progressively closer together. That night you found yourself grow bold as you turned to face him, letting your hands find his chest as you moved impossibly near to him. He didn’t stop you, closing his eyes even tighter as he fights the urge to envelop you in his arms.

As the guards began to disperse, the two of you only grew closer. You woke up to the familiar sight of Curtis waiting for you each day, his green eyes shining like emeralds in the sunlight as he watched you intensely. Always the intensity in those eyes. Once your plan was in order you set about showing him things that he hadn’t seen in a long time. You showed him your top movies, continued to read to him, played games with him, sung him some of your special songs. That was one of his favorite things. Laying back in the bed as you laid beside him, absentmindedly singing in that soft low voice that made his heart thrum with love. As the days went by you each got bolder in showing your affections to one another. A brush of his hand on your knee, the way he stroked your hair at night, holding hands while you conversed, completely care free in your expressions of love.

At the end of the week you made your final trip into the hallway. There was one guard at each end but no one else was to be found. It was time. One more night and the path would be clear to the engine room. As you returned with a warm plate of food for Curtis you nodded a greeting to the guard as you passed him by. It was the man who had come to search your room that first day that you had met your precious grumpy tail sectioner. Giving him one last glance you slip into your room, offering Curtis the food which he happily takes.

“Tomorrow is the day,” You begin. “There’s only two guards left. By tomorrow morning I guarantee they’ll be gone. They think they’ve lost you.” You add with a chuckle, feeling your heart pound in excitement knowing that you were able to fool all of Wilford’s men.

“Good. I’m going crazy cooped up in here.” He says. The statement strikes you. You had been under the impression that he was enjoying his time with you. He seemed happy here. Had you been boring him? Were you not entertainment enough to keep him in good spirits? Was he really going crazy alone here with you? The past few days had been absolutely heavenly for you. They had been a solace in the never ending bore that was your life. It broke your heart that he didn’t feel the same. You fought back the urge to crawl into the bed and hide.

“Well. Only one more night and then you’ll be out of here. I’m sorry that I couldn’t make your stay more enjoyable.” The apology was genuine as you crossed your arms over your chest. Curtis looked up at you, eyes flashing with regret as he realized what he had said.

“I didn’t mean it that way, Y/N.”

“No, it’s okay. I understand. I would be bored too.”

“I’m not bored.”

“You don’t have to spare my feelings. I understand.”

“Y/N, please.”

“Curtis, it’s alright. I know I’m nobody’s ideal girl. I just thought you were happy with me, that’s all.” When you say this Curtis’ eyes darken as he stands, setting down the food on the nearby table. The man moves until he’s in front of you. Without hesitation he grabs both of your arms so that you are trapped in his grip.

“I am happy with you. God, I’m happier here than I’ve ever been.”

“Curtis, don’t lie--” Your statement is quickly cut off as his lips press warmly against your own. The action causes your eyes to widen before you instinctively close them gently, letting him hold you in his arms as he kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before. When he finally pulls away his eyes never leave yours, boring into you.

“I only meant that I’m anxious to finish carrying out my mission. It’s been a long time in the making and I’m so close to the finish line. It has nothing to do with you. If I could stay here with you forever, I would. But there’s so much at stake. I can’t jeopardize the future of my people.” As you listen to his words a blush springs to your cheeks. You feel terribly foolish not realizing that he’s only thinking of his people. Your nerves and your insecurities had simply gotten the best of you. Curtis watches the thoughts fly around your troubled mind and he pulls you closer, gently kissing you once again. When he pulls back he caresses a tender hand over the side of your face. “Y/N?”

“Yes, Curtis?” You ask, voice wavering.

“You’re my ideal girl.”

“Curtis?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me since the first moment I met you.” Curtis gives you a beautiful crooked smile before pulling you in for kiss after kiss, not being able to get enough of you.

You both know as your lips meet again and again that you won’t be able to hold back. That this is the moment you’ve been craving the entire week. His hands travel from your face down your body, grazing over your breasts to find your hips. His hold on you is inescapable as he draws you in with the way that he kisses you. He kisses you like he’s loved you for a thousand years. It melts your heart at the same time as his firm grip on your flesh makes your pussy throb.

“I want you Curtis.” You moan against his lips.

“You have me baby.” With that, the two of you unleash your lust upon each other. His fingers pull at the hem of your shirt until he’s yanking it off. Your bra comes off next and the sight of your bare tits makes him grunt. His mouth attaches to your nipple, his fingers tweaking the other. You whimper as he uses his teeth to pull at your sensitive buds, making them hard in his mouth. Massaging your soft breasts he bites and sucks at you like a starving man. Curtis had never seen a more beautiful pair of tits in his entire life. He swore to worship them accordingly, sucking hickey marks into your tender skin. His eyes trail up to meet yours as he releases your nipple with a pop.

Without warning he tugs at your pants, pulling them down your legs as he lowers himself to his knees. The sight of your clothed pussy only inches from his face made him salivate. Burying his face in the front of your panties, he uses his tongue on your covered clit. The feeling of that delicious friction makes you moan loudly and you cover your mouth, trying to keep the two of you from being discovered. This doesn’t slow Curtis’ attack on your sensitive rosebud, his teeth grazing over you there as his eyes stare up into yours.

“God I fucking need you.” He says in a growl, jerking your panties down until they join your pants on the floor. He immediately continues his ambush on your clit, pulling your leg up over his shoulder so you’re open and exposed for him. His fingers dig into your thigh as he sucks your clit into his mouth. Tears spring to the corners of your eyes as you grind against his face, taking his hair firmly in your grip and guiding him right where you want him. His tongue trails down, prodding at your entrance. He pushes it inside, enjoying the taste of your juices. Your sweetness covers his chin as his nose nudges against your clit while he tongue fucks your precious cunt. “Jesus, you taste so good.” He says, returning to your clit. Once he does he replaces his tongue with a finger, fucking it up into you. His grunts vibrate against you as he curls his finger against your g-spot. His touch has you desperate and squirming, causing a coil to build in your stomach. No one has ever given you that feeling but yourself. Now, Curtis has you on the edge with hardly any effort.

He wasn’t your first but by god, you wanted him to be your last. The way he makes you feel has you biting into your own hand, trying to hold back your pretty little sobs. “Oh god, I’m gonna cum.” You gasp out. In response he adds another finger, brushing them both against that special spot until you’re begging him for more.

“Cum for me. Please cum for me.” He says in a harsh whisper, speeding up his movements. That’s all the encouragement you need to ride the wave until you’re falling apart against his mouth. He sucks your clit harder, making you spasm until you’re panting heavily. Once he feels that you’ve come down from your high he pulls off of you and stands back up, taking a good long look at your flushed naked body.

“Get in the bed.” He orders you and you happily do so. He watches you climb up, admiring your ass along the way. Once you’re in the bunk you lean over the side to watch him undress. He peels off every layer impatiently, trying to hurry so that he can be with you again. As soon as he’s naked you sigh deeply, taking in his beautiful form. He’s absolutely gorgeous with toned muscle in all the right places. His chest is smooth but there’s a light dusting of hair making a path down his pelvis right to where his thick cock is standing at attention. He’s girthy, sure to fill you up perfectly. The sight of him makes you swallow thickly as he starts to climb the ladder, joining you in the bed. You’re already on your back with your legs spread wide for him. All he has to do when he gets up there is nestle himself right between your thighs, the tip of his cock kissing your sensitive cunt.

As soon as he’s comfortably on top of you he leans down to press his lips to yours once more. “God, I can’t get enough of your mouth.” He says, pulling you in as close as he can. His hand runs down the side of your body, holding onto your hip as his tongue slides over your own. With his hand so close to where you need him he can’t help but dip a finger between your legs, circling your clit relentlessly as he continues to mold your mouths together. You whimper against him as he pinches your sensitive bud between his fingers.

“Are you ready?” He asks, unable to hold himself back anymore.

“Yes. I want you so bad. Please.”

“Yes, Y/N. I fucking need you.” He utters, pressing his cock right up to your entrance. He presses his forehead to yours as he begins nudging the head inside of you. Even just the tip is stretching you impossibly wide and your mouth gapes open in a silent cry as he pushes a little harder, urging more of his cock into your sweet pussy. He holds himself up on his arm, his other hand holding the side of your face. “That’s a good girl. You can take it.” He whispers as he gives one last thrust, sheathing himself all the way inside.

“Curtis!” You whimper, holding onto both his biceps. You’re already arching your back, pressing your body against his as it hovers over you. Gently he pulls out of you before sliding his hips back against yours, pressing as deeply into you as he can. His balls feel heavy pressed into your ass as he grinds down into you. He stays like that for a moment, letting you adjust to his thickness stretching you wide open. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix as he stays buried inside of you for a good long minute. Once he sees you relaxing again he pulls back out and pushes in again, slowly picking up speed. It isn’t long before he’s fucking you, pumping his dick in and out of you properly. The sounds of your wetness engulfing him are pornographic, his cock sliding easily against your velvety walls. You’re like heaven incarnate wrapped around him.

“Oh god, I’m not gonna last long.” He mutters, eyes shut tightly and his teeth clenched as he fights off his orgasm. It’s been over seventeen years since he’s been inside of a woman, especially one as soft and tender and loving and delicious as you. It was like torture not being able to cum the moment he entered you.

“It’s okay. You can cum baby. I want you to cum for me.” You say, caressing his cheek softly. The gentle touch makes his cock twitch and it’s impossible for him to stave off his impending high. Before he can even think about pulling out you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. As you do so he looks into your eyes and finds the love there, swallowing him whole as he begins to pump his seed into you. Thick hot ropes of cum shoot deep into your womb and you cry out softly, loving the way he feels in you. He grits his teeth, cumming as hard as he’s ever cum. It’s almost painful as he bites his knuckle hard, fighting the instinct to grunt loudly. The two of you pant and heave as he falls against your body.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters into your chest.

“For what?” You ask, utterly confused as to why he’s apologizing.

“I didn’t last very long. I’ve never made love to such a gorgeous woman before. It was almost over before it started.”

“Please don’t apologize. That was intense and hot and emotional and everything I wanted. No matter how long you lasted.” The man simply holds you tighter at your words, kissing your shoulder then up the side of your neck to your jaw and finally to your plush lips. The two of you stay entangled for a while before switching to a more comfortable position to sleep in. His arm is draped over you as the two of you continue to breathe, enjoying every second of this beautiful moment. It’s not long before the two of you are drifting off to sleep in one another’s arms and when you did, something miraculous happened. For the first time in years, you dreamed. Such glorious, mesmerizing dreams of the slumbering man in your bed.

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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years ago

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Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective

A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.

Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.

Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...

TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway?

“You are absolutely unbelievable!”

“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid.

“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”

“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” He mimics.

John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face.

“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”

As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs.

Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded.

“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.”

With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open.

“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake.

John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.

Can you come over? Please? SH

It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now.

Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.

He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door.

Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body.

“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.

The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek.

It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together.

That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.

“I’m here, bud.”

Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there.

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too.

His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker.

His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.

“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows.

“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.

Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”

“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.”

He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.”

And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-

Oh.

The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory.

Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face.

His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?

Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down… then again, what does Sherlock know?

Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.”

She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”

“Hmm, same difference.”

Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.”

He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive.

“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”

“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise.

Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces.

As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep.

For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him.

Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone.

“May I take your shirt off?” he asks.

“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”

“Be my guest.”

In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.

His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets.

“Never undone a bra before?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”

“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”

“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling.

She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck.

“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine.

“N- fuck, no.”

“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”

“I know you will.”

She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years.

“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”

“That depends what you want to do.”

“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”

She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”

“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”

“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”

“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again.

They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little.

He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name.

“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”

“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words.

“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”

“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”

He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”

And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort.

Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off.

“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”

“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. “We can make this work.”

“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”

She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees.

“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”

Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…

“You sure you wanna go this far?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.”

He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-

“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”

“Hmm, anything, you say?”

Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”

Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.

This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.

Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane.

Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.

“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.

A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away.

“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”

“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”

She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up.

“Touch yourself f- for me.”

“What? Why?”

Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on.

“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”

She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there.

“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”

She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers.

“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air.

She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair.

His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen…

He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him.

“Do you have a condom?” he asks.

“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”

“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”

“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”

“You have a considerably good point.”

With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.

“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”

“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”

He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Can I…”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”

Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had.

His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before.

“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another.

“Please.” She all but begs.

Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.

“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing.

“Hmm, not quite.”

The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?

“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.

“So good.”

She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame.

“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns.

He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly.

The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.

“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”

He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”

Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other.

His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her.

“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him. “Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely.

Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another.

He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight.

“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”

His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them.

“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before…

She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?”

He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body.

“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.”

Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering.

“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”

He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.”

A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom.

“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”

He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner.

“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”

He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”

“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs.

He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”

As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs.

“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”

Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse.

“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks.

“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.”

He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything.

“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.”

She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly.

“Look at you now.”

After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain…

With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.

In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly.

His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?

The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton.

“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.

Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way.

“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...”

She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”

He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.

“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”

He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”

Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier.

“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”

He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”

“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles.

He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.

“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”

“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”

“No, I don’t think I ever can.”

The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’

“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs.

And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.

“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.

John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…

He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock.

It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag.

She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that .

This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet.

One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”

How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of…

Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.

John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple.

The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone.

She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”

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rubysunnday · 3 years ago

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stupid in love

request by anon: hey congrats for 2.6k followers, that's so cool!!! I don't know if i'm too late but can i request jesper from shadow and bone x reader with prompt 5? would love for it to be romantic :) congrats again and thank you if you decide to write it!! <3

A/N: is this romantic? no idea but I've been writing this for like a month and I'm beyond done with it so have whatever the fuck this is

warnings: six of crows stuff, blood, swearing, alludes to suicide throughout

"I threw myself out a window for you! What more do you want from me?"

Y/N almost punched him. Him throwing himself out the window was the entire reason she was annoyed at him. It had been terrifying and Y/N had thought Jesper was dead. But Jesper had taken it as another fable to tell the punters - hadn't realised how lucky he was. Y/N glowered at Jesper from across the bar as she poured him another shot.

"Maybe for you to actually pay for these shots?" Y/N asked, sliding the shot glass along the bar top to Jesper.

Jesper picked it up and downed it with one smooth movement. "Ah, it's fine, put it on my tab."

Y/N rolled her eyes but obliged, scribbling down the rapidly growing cost of Jesper's evening. He'd actually only had three shots - the rest had been spread around the entire club in celebration of something or other.

Their last job had been chaotic as usual. Jesper had thrown himself out a window, Kaz had almost gotten shot and they'd blown a few things up. But the image of Jesper falling through a window had stuck with Y/N all night.

The entire reason Y/N had ended up in the Dregs was because of her sister. Her sister, who had gone insane, and leapt off a roof, plummeting to her death in front of Y/N. Every time Y/N relived Jesper falling, she saw him in her sister's place. She saw his body instead of hers.

Which was why, Jesper making jokes about his window-smashing exploits wasn't appreciated at that moment.

"'ello, Y/N," Rotty said jogging up to the bar with a beaming smile, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Evening, Rotty," Y/N called, setting the cleaned glasses on the side. "What can I do for you?"

"Boss wants you," Rotty replied. He gestured over his shoulder at Jesper who was singing a rowdy sea shanty with an arm around a red-haired woman who looked like an actual mermaid. "And him."

"Have you told him?"

"I did."

"And?"

"He said 'in a moment'."

"Oh for -" Y/N bought her fingers to her lips and whistled. Loudly.

The entire bar fell silent and everyone turned to stare at her. She pointed at Jesper and then up at Kaz's office door.

"You, upstairs, now," Y/N demanded.

Jesper sighed, grumbling to himself as he slid off the redhead's lap and practically stomped after Y/N as she walked up the stairs.

She paused at the top and looked down at the still silent bar. "Carry on."

The chatter and sound of money being lost quickly restarted. Y/N shut the office door behind her, the noise from downstairs all but disappearing behind the thick, iron door.

Inej was, unsurprisingly, already there. She stood near to Kaz, her hands clasped behind her back with her hood up. As Y/N approached Kaz, he looked up at her and then at Jesper who'd flopped down in a plush armchair near the window.

"Is he drunk?"

"No," Y/N replied, sitting down in the chair Kaz had in front of his desk and crossing her legs. She fanned out her skirt and clasped her hands together in her lap. "He bought shots for everyone in the club but he's only had three."

"Good, I need him sober," Kaz replied. He gave Jesper a cursory glance over his shoulder. "Jesper, come here."

Jesper stood up and skulked over to the desk, leaning over Y/N's head to see what was on the desk. "Is that -"

"Yes."

"And are we -"

"Yes."

Y/N frowned and sat forward, looking at the plans laid out on Kaz's desk. She raised her eyebrows. "The Geldrenner Hotel? Really? What's there."

"You mean who is there," Kaz corrected. He handed Y/N a newspaper cut out featuring a grainy print of a member of the Merchant Council.

"Is that Van Halla?" Y/N asked, squinting at the print. "Isn't he meant to be in Os Alta?"

"He's on holiday and is staying at the Geldrenner with his wife and entourage or fifty," Kaz replied. "And whilst he is here, he's attending the extravagant birthday of Van Eck."

"Oh, I see where this is going," Y/N said, nodding. "I saw the Van Eck birthday present list - what did Halla get?"

"The Millenium Watch."

Three pairs of eyes looked at Kaz with surprise and shock.

"I'm sorry, you want us to steal the Millenium Watch?" Jesper asked, gaping. "One of the most expensive watches in history?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I need a new pocket watch," Kaz said with a shrug.

"And the real reason?" Inej asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I've made a deal with someone - in exchange for the Millenium Watch we get the plans to the Boeksplein."

"And what's there?"

"Need to know."

The three of them scoffed but weren't entirely surprised.

"Now, are you done interrogating me?" Kaz asked. "Because I would like to get on with the job."

'So, here's the plan.'

The hotel was ridiculous grand for the streets of Ketterdam. Granted, it did sit in the middle of the Financial District and was within view of the Stadwatch barracks to avoid any burglaries, heists or assassinations.

It was strictly reserved for the rich and wealthy and the majority of Ketterdam knew they would never be privileged enough to see inside the marbled walls.

And up until now, Y/N had thought herself one of those people.

'Jesper, Y/N, you two will go in disguised as staff. Inej will be on the roof and sneak in through the skylight.'

'And what about you, Kaz?"

"I, darling, Y/N, will be causing a distraction.'

"What do you mean there's no reservation for me?!"

Y/N looked up from the bin she was emptying. Kaz was standing at the front desk, dressed in a - quite frankly ridiculous - outfit, waving his arms around and swearing. A lot. Y/N glanced over at Jesper, a smile pulling on her lips. "I take it that that's the distraction," she whispered.

As Kaz continued to flap his arms like a bird, Y/N and Jesper headed over to the hand-operated elevator. The two of them nodded at the elevator operator.

"Seventh floor, please," Jesper said, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Oh, oh, wait, please!"

A woman, dressed in the ridiculous fashions of the wealthy, bustled into the elevator, dragging about eight different cases and hat boxes with her.

"You," she said, snapping her fingers at Jesper, "take these up to my room - number 754b." The woman turned to Y/N. "Be a dear and take these."

Before Y/N could protest, a black, leather briefcase was pushed into her arms as Jesper was pushed out the door. The elevator operator sighed and began working the elevator up to floor 7.

"I like your dress, ma'am," Y/N said, attempting to break the awkward elevator music.

"Oh, aren't you a dear!" The women cooed. "My husband - Van Halla - bought it for me."

Y/N almost dropped the briefcase.

'What floor is Van Halla staying on?'

'Seventh floor, room 54b, Inej. It's the penthouse and the only room with a skylight.'

'Which is how Inej is getting in. But how are we getting out?'

'Front door, Y/N. If this goes to plan, we'll walk out that hotel through the front door with the watch.'

'And if something goes wrong?'

'Well, then, Jesper, I guess you'd better get acquainted with Hellgate.'

The elevator trundled up to the seventh floor and Y/N traipsed after the woman - who was, apparently, Van Halla's wife - to the penthouse.

As Y/N stepped into the penthouse, one thing went through her mind.

Money does not buy you taste.

And that was coming from someone who lived in the Slat which was, to be fair, held up by sheer terror at what Kaz may do should it collapse.

"Just leave the bags in the bedroom, darling," the woman called, waving a hand to the right.

Y/N hovered awkwardly for a moment, trying to work out where exactly in the cavernous, garishly white and orange room she was pointing to. Eventually, Y/N spotted a double door - bright orange like the cushions on the sofa - and assumed that was the bedroom.

She opened the doors and almost dropped the bags.

The 'bedroom' was bigger than her room. In fact, it was probably bigger than her room, Jesper's room, Kaz's room and Inej's room combined.

"Damn," Y/N muttered, her eyes wide. "What it is to have money, huh?"

Y/N dumped the bags on the floor near the wardrobe and turned to go when a small, black velvet box sat on a table. She paused.

"Do you want me to unpack the bags, ma'am?" Y/N called, quietly approaching the table, trying to get a closer look at the engraved plaque on the top of the box.

"No, no, you're fine!"

Y/N stood in front of the table, her heart pounding. Happy birthday, Van Eck was engraved on the top of the box. Y/N reached into her pocket and pulled out an identical box.

'So, we switch the boxes?'

'Thanks to Jesper's hidden talent - no need to roll your eyes, Jesper - we have an exact replica of the watch. Minus a few details, obviously, drawings and sketches only give so much detail.'

'And if we get caught with the watch? Because either way, they'll know something's up.'

'Best not to get caught then, Y/N. However, if for whatever someone isn't at the rendevous, we'll plan something.'

'So reassuring, Kaz.'

'Oh, good, I'm glad, I was concerned I my tone wasn't coming across.'

Y/N glanced out into the main room of the penthouse and quickly switched the boxes, making sure the fake was in the exact same position as the original. She slipped the original into her pocket and stepped out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

"If that's all then, ma'am," Y/N said, bowing to the woman.

"Yes, yes, thank you," she said, nodding.

Y/N headed towards the front door when it swung open and a large man, with a red face and a huge moustache, stormed in.

"Excuse me, sir," Y/N said, pressing herself to the wall as he marched past.

The man barely looked at her - he just sniffed.

"Victoria! Why did you not wait for me?" He called.

"You were busy having a go at some man, darling," the woman - Victoria - replied. "Feel better for yelling?"

"Oh, wife, you know me too well."

Y/N quickly left the room before Van Halla started kissing his wife. They were only some things she could cope with.

With the watch secure in her pocket, Y/N made her way back down to the elevator. She spotted Jesper on her way - struggling with the numerous bags Van Halla had apparently abandoned.

Y/N whistled at him and gestured her head, tapping her wrist. Jesper dropped the bags - Y/N was certain she heard something smash - and jogged up to her side.

"You got it?"

"It was surprisingly easy," Y/N whispered as they headed to the elevator. "It was lying there."

The music in the elevator played joyfully as they rode down - Y/N was trying not to bop to the light plinking piano music.

'So, once we've got the watch. How do we get out?'

'No need to point between you and Jesper, Y/N, I knew who you meant. You two will go out the servant's entrance here and meet Inej and I where the carriages are stored.'

'And if things go to shit?'

'Luckily for you, Jesper, I have plans ranging from A all the way to T.'

'What happens if we get to S? Damn, Kaz, no need to glare at me like that, Saints. You could set me on fire!'

'Shut up, Y/N.'

"Never, boss.'

The servant's entrance was quiet and empty which was a blessing for Jesper and Y/N - especially since Y/N could feel the watch box beginning to metaphorically burn a hole in her coat.

A guard was sat in the chair by the door, intently reading a book. He looked up as they approached and smiled.

"Ah, hello!" He said, standing up. "Right, let's do this quickly, shall we? I'm at a good point in my book. So, you know and I know this but I have to state it again for rules - I have to search you as you come in and out the building since we have numerous Merchants staying here. We don't want anything expensive to get stolen since we can't afford a lawsuit!" He clapped his hands. "So, which one of you wants to get searched first?"

Y/N and Jesper shared a look.

"I'll go first," Y/N volunteered, stepping forward and holding her arms out.

The guard patted her down, humming joyfully as he did so. "Perfect! And you, sir?"

Jesper stepped forward but tripped over the leg of the chair, knocking the chair over and jogging the table and knocking a vase over.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Jesper exclaimed, kneeling down to pick up the vase.

"Oh, it's fine, I do it all the time," the guard said, smiling. "Anyhoo."

Jesper set the vase on the table and lifted his arms. "You know, this isn't usually how I like to begin."

The guard looked up at him and raised his eyebrows, smiling. "No?"

"No. I prefer a more intimate setting."

Y/N rolled her eyes and sighed. She cleared her throat pointedly and Jesper winked at the guard, stepping aside.

"Seriously?" Y/N hissed as they walked down the side street to the garage at the back.

"It worked, didn't it?" Jesper replied.

"Oi!"

Jesper turned with a smile on his face, fully expecting it to be the previous guard. Except it wasn't. A sterner looking guard was marching towards them both with a glare in his eyes.

"The idiot back there forgot to ask for your papers," he snapped. "Papers. Now."

'What happens if we need papers to get in and out?'

'I've thought about that.'

'And?'

'Well, best get running. And try to avoid bullets.'

'Why did I expect anything else from you, Kaz?'

Jesper's hand brushed against Y/N's as he stepped forward, communicating silently the plan.

Which consisted of nothing more than run.

"We forgot our papers," YN said smoothly.

The guard raised his eyebrows. "Well, then I can't let you leave until I've contacted your supervisor. You'll have to come with me."

As the man reached out to grab Y/N's wrist, she grabbed his arm, and using all her strength, flipped him over her back and into the floor.

"Go!" Y/N yelled, shoving Jesper up the hill as she ran down it.

Y/N leapt over the guard and ran down the street, the steep gradient speeding her up. The garage was at the other end of the street - up the hill where Jesper had gone - but Y/N knew the guard would be chasing after her.

For a moment, all Y/N could hear was her pounding heartbeat, her vision bouncing up and down as she ran. And then a gunshot cracked out.

Y/N stumbled forward and then darted to the right, hiding in a bush in someone's garden as she panted. She kept quiet as she heard the guard stop right in front of her bush. Y/N didn't allow herself to relax until the guard swore loudly and jogged back up the hill.

Y/N leant her head back against the wall behind her and felt tears well in her eyes as she pressed a hand to her stomach. The bullet had gone through her back and out through her stomach. There was so much blood and the pain was overwhelming - almost blinding.

But, Y/N forced herself out of the bush and to her feet. There was a back alley with a set of stairs leading up to the garage - a very steep set of stairs, mind.

Step by step, Y/N climbed up the stairs, tightly holding onto the handrail as she climbed. Thankfully, the row of expensive-looking carriages was at the top of the stairs and Y/N's knees nearly buckled with relief when she saw the familiar slim shape of Inej.

"Inej," Y/N gasped, falling forwards onto her knees.

Inej ran over to Y/N, her feet silent on the cobbles. She knelt down next to her and held Y/N up with a hand on her uninjured side. "What happened?"

"Oh, turns out we need papers to get out," Y/N grunted, hissing with pain as Inej pressed a black handkerchief - that looked suspiciously like the one Kaz carried - against her front wound.

"Where's Jesper?"

"No idea. Where's Kaz?"

"No idea."

"Excellent, at least we're on the same - ow - page," Y/N inhaled sharply, her hand flying to grab Inej's arm as a wave of pain tossed her into a rock. "Saints."

"It went straight through, thankfully, so I think if we stitch it when we get back and keep it clean -"

"I'll live to get shot another day?" Y/N quipped, smiling despite the sheer amount of pain she was in. "I hope one of them appears with a carriage soon."

Inej kept a steady hand on Y/N's side, keeping her propped up on her knees as she tied a scarf around her waist, covering both wounds.

"Thank you," Y/N said softly, her head resting against Inej's shoulder.

"For what?" Inej asked, frowning. "For saving your life? Again? Because I'd do that even if you'd pissed me off."

A breath of laughter escaped Y/N's lips as she lifted her head. "No. Just for being here. Jesper and I..."

"I know," Inej said quietly. "Does he know?"

"About what? About how I had to watch him fall out a third storey window, not knowing if he was alive or dead? To have to cope with the mental images I have of his broken, bleeding body lying in the streets only to be thrown onto the Reaper's Barge? To know that every time I close my eyes I see Jesper where my sister was? I see Jesper jumping off the roof and plummeting instead of her? I see him staring back at me with glassy eyes and a broken neck and bleeding and -"

"Ok, ok, calm down," Inej shushed, putting a hand on the back of Y/N's head. Y/N sobbed, burying her face into the crook of Inej's neck. She cried for her dead sister, for the fact Jesper was at times an oblivious idiot and for the fact her side really fucking hurt.

"Inej I just keep seeing him lying there," Y/N sobbed. "I know he's fine but I -"

"I know, Y/N, I know," Inej said softly, stroking her hair back. She gently took her face between her hands. "But he is not your sister. Ok? Now, come on we need to get you standing."

Y/N managed to get her feet underneath her and with help from Inej, she was soon standing up - albeit a bit wobbly. Inej kept a hand on Y/N's arm, the physical contact keeping them both going as they waited for Kaz and Jesper.

Not even a minute later, a carriage rolled down the street with Kaz and Jesper in the driver's seat.

"Don't tell Jesper," Y/N said suddenly, panic in her voice.

Inej nodded. "I won't."

Kaz's dark eyes looked Y/N up and down as Jespe halted the horses to a stop. "Trouble?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Y/N replied, trying to hide her wince of pain as she tried to stand straighter.

"Inej?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. Kaz had quickly caught on to the fact she often downplayed her pain when injured, so he often asked literally anyone else.

"Through and through - she'll be fine if get back soon," Inej replied.

"Good, on you get."

Y/N climbed inside the carriage, sinking into the velvet green seat with a sigh of relief. Inej hovered by the open door before eventually coming to a decision.

"I'll be up front if you need me," she said softly, knowing that Y/N needed a moment alone.

Y/N had never been so grateful that Inej was her best friend. The carriage doors shut, and with the curtains pulled over the windows, it was blissfully dark. Y/N closed her eyes and relaxed as best she could - she kept a hand tightly pressed over Inej's scarf and her wound.

She didn't realise she'd fallen asleep until someone tapped her knee. Y/N jumped and opened her eyes to Jesper staring at her with eyes full of concern.

"You alright?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Y/N... why are you acting strange?"

"I'm not."

Jesper sat down opposite her as the carriage resumed moving. "You are. Ever since the last job you've been acting weird."

Y/N shrugged. "Sorry."

Jesper frowned. "Is this about the last job? Look, I didn't actually fall out a window for you..."

Jesper's words faded away as Y/N's mind was filled with the memory of Jesper falling. And then it wasn't Jesper it was her sister again. And then it was Inej. And even Kaz. Over and over again they were falling and falling and falling.

"Stop the carriage!"

The carriage had barely stopped before Y/N practically threw herself outside, her side screaming in protest at the sudden movement. She didn't give anyone a second glance as she moved off the open road and down into the hedgerow. There was a small river running through the field near them - one that leads into the Ketterdam canals - and Y/N fell to her knees on the banks of it, plunging her hands into the water.

Stupid, so, so stupid. It had been years since her sister had died and just when Y/N thought she'd moved on, Jesper pushed her back miles and miles.

Y/N leant forward, leaning on her hands as she stared down at the water, her knees getting wet as she knelt in the wet grass. She heard a twig snap and sighed. "I'm fine, Jesper, just leave me alone."

"Flattered that you thought I was Jesper, but alas," Kaz said, standing behind her.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder at Kaz. "Sorry, I'll be back in a minute."

Kaz was silent for a minute. "When the memory overwhelms you, find something to ground you. The feeling of something, the sound of something, even. It helps drown it out."

Y/N nodded, sniffing softly. She grunted as she got to her feet, her hand pressed to her side. A quick glance down and she saw red but not too much. "Sorry."

"Trauma doesn't apologise," Kaz said roughly, turning around and heading back up the hill. "So why should you?"

Y/N chuckled to herself. She spotted Jesper at the top of the hill, pacing nervously as Inej tried to calm him down. It took Y/N only a few seconds to decided what to do.

"Jesper, come here," Y/N called, waving him over.

He jogged over to her and his hands were instantly on her shoulders - almost as if he was holding her together. "I'm sorry -"

"Don't be, Jesper," Y/N said softly. She placed her hand over his and rubbed a circle on the back of his hand. "My sister went insane and jumped off a roof when I was fourteen. When I saw you fall out the window... I saw her. She landed in front of me and I stared at her dead, broken body, unable to comprehend what had happened. So, when you fell... I felt like I was fourteen again. And the fact you kept joking about it didn't help. It was nothing you did, Jesper. It's my own trauma rearing its head and wanting to take me down again. I just..."

"I understand," Jesper said softly, his eyes gentle and caring as he looked at her. "And I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. Trauma doesn't apologise so why should we?"

Kaz, who was trying not to listen, smirked to himself. He tapped the side of the carriage with the head of his cane. "Come on, lovebirds, we need to move."

Y/N turned back to Jesper and smile, despite her heart aching. "All I ask, Jesper, is if you could maybe carry me back to the carriage because I really hurt right now."

Jesper laughed. "Of course I can, love."

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone x reader #six of crows imagine #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagines #jesper fahey #jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey imagine #jesper fahey imagines #jesper fahey x fem!reader

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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years ago

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All I Need is You

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: You do so much for everyone else and so little for yourself that when you almost collapse, Loki finally gets you to agree to let him take care of you. Warnings: the reader skips some meals; a lot of fluff A/N: Its really just Loki taking care of you. But please remember to take care of yourselves too everyone!! Hope you enjoy :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedficrecs @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart @marvelouslovely @laurenandloki @fallinallinmendes @sophlubbwriting @mooncat163 @lokislittlesigyn @wolfish-trickster

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki was watching you even more carefully than normal these days. Yes, you’d caught his eye even on your first day in the Tower back when you were just a new recruit, a SHIELD agent with some kind of sixth sense that let you anticipate things, recently transferred to the Avengers Tower. Even now no one was entirely sure if it was a power or just an uncanny knack you had that made you extremely good at your job. Regardless, the trickster god could see how the ability had shaped you.

You’d only been in the Tower a week when you’d started running errands all over the city, offering things to people before they could even think they needed it themselves, then going to pick it up for them. Loki had declined the offer after hearing all the places you were already going. He’d hoped it was a fluke, that you wouldn’t make it a habit of taking care of everyone. Not that it was inherently bad, he just knew how tiring it could be to please everyone, worried that you would burn out. Of course, you had kept doing it, and his worries turned out to be justified.

“Darling, are you going out again?” Loki asked as you passed his seat in the common room on your way to the elevator. He set his book down, frowning. “Did you not just go yesterday? Unless, of course, this time it is for you. Then by all means, please be on your way.”

“No... It’s just Steve and Bucky were talking about some cereals they used to like and we don’t have any in the Tower so...” you trailed off, shuffling your feet.

“And can they not wait for it until the next scheduled trip to the supermarket?”

“Well, yeah, they said they could. But I don’t mind.”

Loki stood and sighed, walking over to you. Gently, so you didn’t have to comply if you didn’t want to, Loki lifted your chin to look at him. You looked tired. Admirable as it was that you wanted to do things for others, you needed a rest day.

“And tell me, darling, when was the last time you did something for yourself?” He waited a moment for an answer, but was met with silence. “What about that drawing you started two months ago? Have you worked on that more?”

“It wasn’t any good, anyway,” you shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

“It was wonderful,” he reassured you. “What about eating, though? Have you eaten today?”

“I... I had a mint.”

“That does not count.” Now he was outright worried. You did this every once in a while, saying you just got so caught up in other things, you forgot to eat. Whatever the reason, it troubled Loki. “You have had some water at least? You know what, do not answer. I am sure I know already. Just wait here a moment.”

You waited by the lift as Loki padded to the kitchen, searching for a water bottle. The problem went beyond just these shopping trips. Sometimes when Tony or Bruce got stuck on one of their projects, you’d pore over books and blueprints for hours, searching for the answer, losing sleep. Then other times, you took it upon yourself to plan events for the team. It was more than a simple, casual invitation. No, it usually involved at least three days of extensive planning. Everyone enjoyed them and was appreciative, needing a break from their day-to-day lives, but it just took up more of your time and brainpower. Pile that onto your own training and missions, it was enough to wear anyone out.

But what he both loved and hated the most was how you’d always be there to talk. Not just for him, but for everyone. And not merely a laid-back chat, either. No, they were practically therapy sessions. Again, just like all the other things you did, that would be all fine and good, except for the fact you never talked about your own issues. You just did so much for everyone else and practically nothing for yourself, even something so basic as remembering to eat, that it broke Loki’s heart a little more every day.

“Here,” he said, handing you the plastic bottle. “But I am coming with you.”

Smiling brightly, you led the way out into the city streets. You chatted as you went about your task, and Loki was yet to take his eyes off of you. It wasn’t until you started the journey back, however, that he began to grow worried. You hadn’t taken even the smallest sip of the water he’d fetched for you, and on this hot day, it was clearly taking its toll. You stumbled a little, suddenly looking more out of it than Loki could stand. He gently gripped your arm to steady you and led you to a bench. Grabbing the water out of your backpack, Loki uncapped it and held the bottle to your lips.

“Drink,” he ordered, but with kindness in his tone.

One of your hands that was gripping the bench a bit too tightly in an attempt to ground your dizzy mind came up to take the bottle from him. Complying, you downed nearly half the bottle in one gulp. It seemed that was a mistake as your empty stomach gargled, rebelling against the sudden intake. Loki rubbed large circles on your back while you scrunched your eyes closed, breathing deeply as you tried to force yourself to feel better.

“Are you alright, darling?” Loki asked when you felt well enough to take another few small sips. You nodded your head, eyes still closed. “Now do you see why it is important to take care of yourself? Will you please get some rest this afternoon?”

“I’m fine, really. Don’t worry, I-”

“That is madness!” Both Loki and you flinched at his sudden increase in volume. He removed his hand from your back, feeling unworthy to make contact with you after snapping like that. You were his friend, and he was yelling at you for something like this? It made him disappointed in himself. He sighed. “Listen, I am sorry. All I mean is I care about you. I do not like to see you like this. It is not healthy, and I believe you know that.”

You opened your eyes, blinking at him. “You-you care about me?”

Loki felt heat flood to his cheeks as he realized that he had, in fact, said that. “I do. So will you please let me take care of you?”

You bit your lip for a minute. “I will,” you sighed, giving in.

Satisfied, Loki coaxed you into accepting a piggyback ride the rest of the way home. You placed your forehead in the crook of his neck, enjoying his cool skin against yours, which was noticeably overheating. He quickly tossed the grocery bags of cereal onto the counter and brought you to your room, your own little pocket of the world that you trusted Loki enough to share with him if even for a moment. Laying you down on your bed, he told you to rest for a minute, lips placing a ghost of a kiss on your forehead.

The god moved to your bathroom, looking for what he needed. After preparing a bubble bath with nice, cool water, Loki left you to sink into it with only the order to relax. While you did, he hurried to prepare you a light meal, something that wouldn’t upset your stomach. When you padded out of the bathroom in the soft pajamas Loki had left for you and saw the meal on a tray on your bedside table, a smile tugged at your lips.

Loki peeled back the silken sheets he’d put on your bed so you could get under them. With a little bit of difficulty—Loki never had gotten a firm grasp on understanding Midgardian technology—he flipped through the channels on your TV until you found something you wanted to watch while you ate.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked once you were done eating, before leaving you to your own devices.

You bit your lip as you thought before ultimately shaking your head no. “I’m good thanks.”

“Please, darling, be honest with me,” he pleaded. “Anything you want. Name it, and it is yours.”

“Will you stay with me?” you blurted out. “No, I’m sorry, that’s ridiculous. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“Darling,” he tsked. “The only thing on my schedule today is taking care of you.”

You smiled as he slid under the sheets next to you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you onto his lap. You twisted your body so you could look at him and tuck a few locks of his raven hair behind his ear. You were living in your own place in time, the two of you finding a safe haven in each other’s arms.

“You know what would make me really happy, Loki?” you began. “If I got to give you a little, thank you. Would that be alright?”

The god hesitated for a moment. “I suppose. Depending on what it is.”

“Can I... Would it be alright if I kissed you?”

“Well, that depends, again.”

“On?”

“On whether or not we can make it a regular occurrence,” Loki replied with a playful grin.

“You know, you are always saying I should do things that make me happy. So yes, yes we absolutely can.”

“In that case,” he said, already leaning in, “what are you waiting for?”

Giggling, you bridged the gap between you. As Loki smiled against your lips, he realized something. No matter how stubborn either of you were when it came to accepting help for yourselves, you’d always have the other to take care of you. And even more importantly, Loki thought, you’d have each other to love.

504 notes · View notes

mochegato · 3 years ago

Text

Even the Losers

Chapter 12

Chapter 1 Chapter 11

The dining room was only slightly less formal than the entry way. It was decorated in deep tones and dark wood meant to evoke grandeur and pageantry. It still spoke of old money and cold families. There was no evidence of laughter over inside jokes, gasping at stories about someone’s day, discussions of dreams, or fatherly advice doled out over a lovingly cooked dinner that everyone worked on together.

Marinette held back as everyone made their way into the dining room, letting them claim their usual seats, prepared to take whatever seat was left. She was hoping to cause as little upset and disturbance as possible. Her plan was foiled when Duke jumped up from his seat and moved down one spot. “Hey, Marinette. Take this seat.”

Marinette opened her mouth to object but stopped when Jason put his hand on her back to guide her to the seat. “Lost cause. Don’t even bother,” he muttered low enough for her to hear. Marinette looked back at him uncertainly but nodded in understanding. She breathed a small sigh of relief when Jason took the other seat next to her.

Dick pouted at the seating, but took the seat across from her instead, grabbing the seat quickly from the right as Tim was just about to drop into it from the left. Tim grumbled something about annoying puppies and took the next seat over, causing Damian to scowl and redirect himself to a different seat. “Damian!” Dick called out to him. He patted the seat next to him.

Damian huffed and sent Marinette a glare as he took his not normal seat beside Dick. He squirmed in the seat. It wasn’t his usual seat and he could feel the difference. It felt off. It felt wrong. He didn’t like it at all. This was not his routine. This was not what he was comfortable with and it was all her fault. They were playing a charade for her. They were making themselves uncomfortable for her.

Marinette watched politely as M. Pennyworth set the plates down in front of everyone. When he was done, he exited quietly. Marinette watched him leave the room as the rest of the family took bites of their food. M. Wayne had called M. Pennyworth a father and Jason had called him a grandfather, but he didn’t eat with them? And addressed them all as Master or Miss? Did none of them know what family was supposed to be? What it was supposed to mean? Because that, wasn’t it. And honestly, if that’s what they thought it was, she had serious concerns about joining their ‘family’.

She looked back to Jason and tried to send him a message with her eyes to ask him about it without having to say it out loud and draw attention to herself. She cleared her throat quietly, hoping it was quiet enough that just Jason would hear but everyone looked at her. She looked at their eyes before returning hers to her plate. “Sorry,” she said quietly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bruce said kindly. His eyes were filled with concern and a touch of worry. He wanted her to eventually feel like this was her home too and if he wanted that to happen, she needed to feel comfortable here. “Did you need anything?”

“No, no, no,” Marinette insisted, shaking her head and sending him a weak smile. “It’s nothing. The dinner looks amazing.”

“If there’s anything you don’t like…” Bruce started.

“No! Of course not,” Marinette exclaimed. “This looks really delicious.” She was waving her hands frantically. It was all going wrong already. She was causing a commotion. From the moment she’d walked into his life, she’d caused nothing but commotion. She was really hoping to break the cycle tonight and get closer to the kids in the family.

Bruce watched her uncertainly, but nodded. “Because if you want anything else, we have a huge kitchen and pantry,” Bruce tried to assure her.

Marinette’s eyes grew even bigger and her movements more frantic. “Jesus, B. Lay off her. She already said she was fine,” Jason grumbled. “You’re going to give her a complex.”

Somehow, Marinette’s eyes got wider and her face went slack. “No, no. It’s fine.” She turned to Bruce with a desperate look. “I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Marinette,” Bruce stated with a touch of exasperation. He didn’t know what he had to do to get her relax, to get her to believe she wasn’t going to make him not want her. “Just let me know.”

Marinette nodded rapidly. “Of course.” She looked around the room taking note of the pasted on, polite smiles while they took silent bites. She could feel her shoulders curling in on her as the quiet continued.

“How was your day today?” Bruce prompted Marinette after the first few bites in uncomfortable silence.

She nearly dropped her fork in surprise. “Oh, it was pretty good,” she answered with a polite smile. And oh God, this was the most awkward thing she had ever done. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a breath. It wasn’t going to change unless she did something to change it. “I’m glad you had a meeting this morning so we missed out on the Penguin. I mean sorry about the meeting, but I think it worked out for the best.”

She fought the urge to openly examine the people around the table. They had all frozen at her mention of the Penguin, but all seemed to be trying to pretend like they hadn’t. Their smiles became forced. She wasn’t sure if it brought back bad memories or scared them how close M. Wayne had been to getting taken by the Penguin. If they had stuck to their original plan, he could have been able to take him.

Bruce chuckled politely, tightly. “Definitely a better result. I would still like to go to the art museum with you though.”

“Do you have room for someone else?” Dick asked perking up. “I’d like to get in on that. Cass?” He looked over to Cass to see how she felt. When she nodded excitedly he looked over to Damian. “Damian would love to go to, right Damian?” Damian leaned back in his chair and focused on the food, refusing to look at Dick. “Damian’s in,” Dick enthused.

Tim snorted but realized his mistake as soon as the sound came out. He looked warily over at Dick who was giving him an overly wide smile. Tim turned to Marinette with an artificial smile. “I’d love to.” Duke shaking his head caught his eyes and he grinned maliciously. “Duke loves the art museum. We can’t go without him too.”

Duke froze and narrowed his eyes at Tim for a fraction of a second before smiling at Marinette. “If you don’t mind the company.”

Marinette looked between them. The only one who seemed to actually be happy about it was Dick. Everyone else seemed like this was the last possible thing they’d ever want to do. She plastered on a smile, unwilling to be the cause of discord in the family. “No. Yeah. That sounds… fun.”

Damian narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re being insincere,” he accused harshly.

“Damian!” Bruce scolded loudly. “That was uncalled for.”

Dick looked at him with disappointment. “Damian. It is not okay to treat a guest… your sister like that,” he added after Bruce finished.

Jason was tense, preparing to step in if Damian said even one more word to Marinette. He knew she already didn’t feel welcome in Bruce’s life, let alone his home. He sure as Hell wasn’t going to let Damian solidify that belief.

Marinette stared at Damian wide eyed. He wasn’t wrong, but she thought everyone kind of understood the reasoning behind it. It wasn’t ideal, but it was expected. Not to mention she wasn’t the only one. She looked around the room and finding varying levels of disappointment, concern for her, and annoyance with Damian. She looked over at Damian trying to gauge his goal.

Roy and Jason had warned her that he would try to intimidate her, likely attack her. And she guessed she should have expected to defend herself. But again, he wasn’t wrong. What he was accusing her of; not being entirely honest, she wasn’t. None of them were. But when she looked in his eyes, it wasn’t hostility she saw, not completely. It was confusion, uncertainty, unease, and yes, a fair amount of hostility. And wasn’t that the issue she was having with them too? That they didn’t seem to be sincere with her? But while she curled in, he lashed out.

“You’re not wrong,” she admitted quietly. The room fell silent again and Damian looked up at her with a confused scowl. She met Damian’s gaze and gave him a small smile. “We’re all being varying levels of insincere. This is an awkward, uncomfortable, scary situation. For all of us, I imagine. Again varying levels of that. Maybe for you and me more than the rest. You’re the baby and I’m…” She let it trail off leaving ‘unwanted’ unsaid, hoping they would fill in the sentence with a more palatable adjective. One she wouldn’t have to discuss with concerned looks and sympathetic smiles.

“You guys don’t want to offend me and I’m trying desperately not to offend you, but we don’t know each other well enough to know how to do that or what we need to do to ease the tension. We’re trying to figure each other out, so nobody gets hurt. You or me.” She knew she was rambling but it was honest, coherent rambling at least. Maybe not completely, but it was the truth. And Damian was right. They weren’t being themselves and they weren’t going to get to know each other until they were.

“I don’t want to expose too much and scare you away or give you the ammunition to really hurt me, if that’s what you’re going to do. And I imagine you guys are afraid of driving me away by saying the wrong thing. And how do you know what the wrong thing is until you know someone? So we’re all on edge. Not ourselves. We don’t feel safe to be ourselves yet. And how can you be sincere when you’re not yourself?”

Cass smiled warmly at her and nodded in agreement. Jason wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Except me. She’s herself around me, so suck it.” He stuck his tongue out at the rest of the family, like the mature, tough, dangerous, vigilante he was.

“Oh my God, Jason.” Marinette shook her head and dropped it in her hands. “That’s because I was drunk off my ass and didn’t have the ability to pretend when we met.”

“That’s French for ‘because you’re the best’,” Jason assured them with a completely straight face.

“It definitely isn’t,” Dick rolled his eyes, but his lips were turned up in a smile. “If you want to talk about him behind his back in front of his face in French, let me know,” Dick winked at her. “I haven’t gotten to practice my French in a while.”

“It sounds like Jason took advantage of you in a weakened state. Terrible brother behavior,” Tim insisted. He shook his head in mock disappointment. “You deserve better.”

“Who? You?” Jason squawked, affronted at the suggestion.

“I was going to say Duke, but if I’m the first one that comes to mind when you think of best brother, I mean, I’m not going to argue,” Tim shrugged with a smirk.

“You say Jason is always wrong and you’re always right, so…” Duke added with a grin. He turned to Marinette. “Sounds like you and me are going to form an alliance. New Kids Club.” He turned his head slightly when Cass made a noise. “And Cass.” He smiled when Marinette giggled.

“Let’s not form alliances and cliques or hog Marinette, please?” Bruce asked, the resignation clear in his voice but affection clear in his eyes.

Marinette nodded and turned serious. “Absolutely. I will not form any kind of pact with Duke and Cass over lunch next week?” She looked between the two of them for confirmation. Duke and Cass nodded back at her and Marinette grinned. “Monday?”

“Hey!” Dick objected.

Jason gasped at her and dropped his arm from around her shoulder. “This feels like a betrayal. I’m betrayed.” He shook his head and took a bite of food. “You’ll fit right in.”

Duke shook his head. “Can’t Monday. I have a poetry thing.”

Marinette’s eyes brightened. “Are you presenting or watching?”

Duke looked down shyly and rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t even told the rest of the family about it. It didn’t occur to him that they would be interested. “Presenting actually.”

“Would you mind if I came too? Or do you not like people you know being there?”

Duke shrugged. “No, I don’t mind, but…” he cringed slightly, “it isn’t in the best part of town. It’s kind of dangerous.”

“Don’t worry, I can protect you,” Marinette winked at him. She ignored Damian’s scoff and Bruce’s choke.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll go too. I’ve never heard the kid read.”

“I’d like to come too,” Dick looked at them hopefully, “if you don’t mind.”

Duke made a noise that sounded like some combination of happy and resigned and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

“You okay with Adrien and Max coming too?” Marinette asked.

“Yeah, bring them. It’ll be nice to meet them.” He waved off her concern. “Okay, that’s fun and all but we still need to decide when to not meet for the New Kids Club. And I’m not putting that in my nonexistent calendar for,” Duke looked up questioningly, “Thursday lunch?”

Marinette looked over to Cass who nodded excitedly at her. Marinette smiled back at her and Duke. “Sounds good.” She pulled out her phone and handed it to him. “Want to put your number in so we can coordinate?”

“Absolutely!” He took her unlocked phone and put his number in.

“Can I put my number in too?” Tim asked

“And me!” Dick exclaimed.

“Yeah, of course,” Marinette smiled at both of them. A real smile. Thank God Adrien was right. She kind of liked the kids… even though most weren’t kids and most of them were actually older than her.

“Why don’t you put all our numbers in there, Tim,” Dick suggested.

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “There’s no reason she would need my number.”

Bruce gave him a disappointed look, but Marinette shrugged. “Please, don’t put it in if he isn’t comfortable with it.”

Tim pursed his lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. What if she finds a cute animal? How’s she supposed to send you the picture?” Damian scowled but didn’t say more. Tim finished and handed the phone back to Marinette.

Marinette took it back with a thank you and scrolled through her contacts. “Huh… he didn’t put you in,” she assured Damian.

“What?” Tim looked at her confused then looked at her phone again. “Oh, it’s under Demon Spawn.”

Marinette gaped at him. “It’s under what?”

“Dem…”

“Yeah, no,” she cut him off. She pushed a few buttons and looked back at Damian. “Not anymore. It’s gone. You can give me your number when and if you’re ready.” Damian didn’t acknowledge her, but he did nod curtly at his plate and Marinette was taking that as a win.

She tucked her phone away and looked around the room. “Okay, so, Duke does poetry, I heard Damian does art, and I heard Dick likes to swing, what does everyone else like to do?” Marinette asked with a bright smile.

Jason and Tim burst out laughing. “Your reputation proceeds you, Lover Boy,” Jason managed to get out between gasps.

Marinette frowned and looked between them in confusion. “Did I say something wrong?”

Dick smiled warmly at her. He kept his eye contact with her as he threw a roll at Jason’s head. “Ignore them. Their minds are in the gutter. For clarification, I like gymnastics. I was a trapeze artist in a Haley’s Circus when I was a kid.”

“Oh that sounds fun!” Marinette almost squealed in excitement. “You must have loved flying through the air. That was always the best feeling.”

“It was. I loved it. The freedom of soaring before gravity took over was amazing,” Dick nodded in agreement. His eyes took on a distant look as he talked about it and a smile curled on his lips. “Did you do trapeze work in Paris?” Marinette froze momentarily. “You mentioned you liked the feeling. Is that how you know it?” he prompted gently.

“Oh… um… no.” She looked down at the napkin on her lap for a second, pretending to readjust it. “I was friends with a few of our local heroes. One of them, Ladybug swung around the city on a yoyo that worked kind of like a magic rope. That feeling of swinging up and breaking gravity was always heart racing. And the feeling of falling until the string caught.” She looked away with a smile. “Yeah, I understand what you’re talking about.”

“We have a trapeze in the manor. Did you want to try it out sometime?” Dick asked excitedly.

Marinette grinned. “That sounds like fun. I’d love to.”

“How about tomorrow?”

Marinette blinked. The Waynes definitely moved fast. There was no time to breathe. Just moving from one thing directly into the next. She needed time to think, time to process that they apparently didn’t require. “I can’t. Sorry.” Dick’s face fell immediately. If she didn’t have a legitimate excuse, she’d feel guilty. “I’ll be in New York tomorrow for business and I’m meeting with Lucius Friday.”

“Saturday then,” Dick offered. Marinette smiled and nodded causing Dick to almost vibrate in his seat. None of the other siblings ever wanted to go on the trapeze with him and he was beyond excited to connect with Marinette.

“Did they take you around often?” Bruce asked with forced calmness. “The heroes,” he explained when she scrunched her face in confusion. “You said they took you around often enough for you to know what it felt like… where Hawkmoth could see.” Spending time with civilians in suit was dangerous, incredibly so, even more so doing it in full view of the public. Something like that could have resulted in Marinette getting targeted. It was irresponsible and negligent. He should have never trusted the Parisian heroes or Diana that the heroes could handle Paris without him.

“No,” Marinette said as nonchalantly as she could manage, trying to pretend like she didn’t notice the tightness in his voice. “They rescued me a few times and once things were resolved they would sometimes take people who had gotten caught up in the attacks for short rides like that to bring up morality. To make them feel better. It wasn’t unusual or noteworthy, just a public service.”

Bruce relaxed minutely, but the tension in his frame was still clear. Marinette watched him carefully, trying to gauge if she’d used the right words to calm him. She could feel her body tensing at exponential rates the longer he was silent, the longer it took him to relax or smile. Marinette looked down at her plate and pushed her food around with tight lips.

“I like unsolved mysteries,” Tim threw in. Eyes around the table turned to him, most of them incredulous and tense that he would take the conversation there. She heard a whispered “Dude,” from somewhere around the table.

Marinette let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding and started laughing. The eyes that had been on Tim turned to her, making her laugh even harder at the awkwardness of it until another voice joined hers in laughter, followed by another, until most of the table was at least chuckling.

“My best friend gets into that too,” Marinette nodded with a grateful smile. She narrowed her eyes playfully at him. “Do you end up in all night benders following the trail of a mystery down incalculable rabbit holes until you get crazed and someone has to come and force you to sleep too?”

Tim looked shocked and slowly looked around the room before returning his gaze to Marinette. “No,” he said tentatively.

“Yes,” Cass, Dick, Jason, Duke, and Bruce all chorused at the same time.

“Oooohhh, remind me some time to talk about the Impossible Murder,” Marinette offered. Her eyes lit up with excitement. Unsolved mysteries and conspiracy theories she could do. This was her comfort zone. Not that she got into it, but years with Alya had taught her the rhythm of inquiry and questions. She took comfort in that rhythm. It was something familiar she could lean into.

“Yes!” Tim exclaimed, an inquisitive glint in his eyes.

“No,” Cass, Dick, Jason, Duke, and Bruce all chorused at the same time.

Marinette giggled and winked at Tim. “We’ll talk later,” she stage whispered to him. She grinned at the groans she heard around the table.

Tim turned to Duke and stuck his tongue out at him. “Sounds like we get our own club, just for Marinette and me. The Investigator’s Club.”

Jason scoffed and took a bite. “Like I’d want to be part of a club with that name.”

Cass cleared her throat lightly, drawing some attention to her. “And Cass,” Tim amended. Cass nodded happily.

“How about you, Cass?”

“Ballet,” Cass answered with a smile.

“Oh, I wish I could do ballet. Are you in a class or do you do it on your own? Or are you a professional?” Marinette asked trying to keep her voice from getting too excited or invested. Bruce had mentioned she didn’t talk a lot and Marinette didn’t want to pressure her to talk if she didn’t want to, but she also didn’t want to make her feel like she was ignoring her.

“Fun.”

Marinette nodded. “I bet it’s a nice way to relax.”

“Not as good as shooting guns though,” Jason grinned. “Or blowing things up.”

Bruce sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. “Jason…” he started, not even bothering to try to finish the sentence.

Marinette blinked a few times then nodded. “Uh huh. I like sewing,” she responded dryly. Jason laughed and shook his head at her. He took a bite of his food and looked back at her appraisingly, a happy glint in his eye.

“Right, B mentioned you’re a designer. Just graduated right?” Dick prompted.

“Yes. My final project was a few weeks ago. Now I’m figuring out my next steps.”

“Is that related to your trip to New York?” Duke asked.

Marinette nodded and swallowed the bite she’d just taken. “I’m meeting a few friends and someone at Style Queen to talk about styling a shoot. And Adrien has a job interview.” She took a quick bite of her dinner before continuing. “We’re also trying to get a feel for New York, see if that’s somewhere we would want to move.”

“Wow, Style Queen is really big!” Duke nodded. “That’s awesome!”

Marinette smiled at him. “Getting on her good side is definitely good for your career. Luckily, I’ve been able to impress her over the years.”

“Along those lines,” Bruce cut in, “I’ve commissioned her to create clothes for us. We were planning on her coming over to start on Tuesday, so I expect everyone to be here for it.”

Dick beamed at her but Damian grunted loud enough for everyone to hear. He had absolutely no interest in wearing something purely because ‘his sister’ designed it. He had a style and level of craft he required in the clothes he wore and he was not about to sit or stand around uncomfortably all day long purely out of some misplaced obligation.

He narrowed his eyes at Marinette. It still didn’t make sense. Why would she have come to Gotham if she was looking to break into fashion? She had to have had an ulterior motive. “So you just happened to consider Gotham as a place to reconsider?”

Marinette cocked her head to the side. “No…” she scrunched her face in a bit of confusion. “I never even considered it. Gotham was a side trip. I had no intention of staying past earlier this week. But things… changed,” she looked around sheepishly before looking back at him. “I was considering New York or Metropolis in America. Also Shanghai, I have family there; London, Adrien has family there; Milan, my… grandmother grew up there.”

“Is Adrien your boyfriend?” Tim asked.

“No. My... brother,” her voice petered out as she called the word and she looked down guiltily.

“Will he be part of your business?” Bruce asked, pretending like he hadn’t registered her discomfort, hoping that if they moved past it, she would too.

“Yes. No. Maybe.” Marinette grimaced as she went through all the options. She shrugged. “Whatever he wants. He wasn’t allowed to make choices growing up so now that his father,” she spit the word out with disgust, “is gone, I’m going to let him decide his next move. He wants to help, but he’s looking for a teaching job. He’s thinking of doing both for a while. I’m hoping I can convince him it’ll be okay for him to focus on him. It isn’t ‘abandoning’ me if he does.

“But, that's what's taking so long. I can work from almost anywhere. I’d prefer to be near a big city, but really, it isn’t necessary. It’s harder to find a place he'd like to teach and we want to live.”

“If he isn't part of your business...” Dick started, trying to figure out her motivation.

“We come as a set,” she said definitively and took a bite, staring him down as if daring him to challenge her. “He’s my emotional support grimalkin.”

“Will your future romantic partner, if you want one, be okay with that?” Damian demanded.

Marinette shrugged. She could feel Jason tensing next to her at Damian’s tone, but she wasn’t too bothered by it. “They will be or they won't be.”

“Those are the options, yes,” Damian deadpanned.

“Demon Spawn…” Jason hissed.

“I meant,” Marinette cut in before Jason could continue the fight he wanted to start, “they will be okay with it or they won't be my romantic partner. Adrien and I have been through a lot. We feel safest when the other is near, at least close enough to come running if there’s a problem. If someone can’t understand that about me, then I don’t need them in my life.”

Bruce nodded and gave her an understanding smile. “We should invite him next time.”

Marinette nodded in agreement. “He’d love that. He’s dying to meet you all.”

Bruce took another bite before coming up with an idea. “If he’s thinking of being part of your business anyway, why don’t you bring him with you when you do the commission? We can have a family dinner afterword.”

“That’s a great idea. I’ll check with him,” Marinette nodded. “And apparently, as long as he doesn’t talk about pineapples with you guys,” she gave Jason a pointed look, “it should be fine.”

Tim groaned. “No. No! I’m not having this conversation again.” He glared at Dick. “Pineapple is the most disgusting topping to put on a pizza.”

Dick gasped dramatically. “You take that back!”

“It’s worse than sardines,” Tim hissed. “It’s an abomination. It’s an insult to pizzas.”

“How dare you! Pineapple is amazing. It adds a sweetness that perfectly contrasts the saltiness you get from other ingredients!” Dick defended.

Marinette blinked a few times as Dick continued to sing the praises of pineapple on pizza before she leaned over and whispered to Jason. “You weren’t joking.”

“Nope,” he said popping the p. “Told you it always finds a way to come up.”

“It came up because you mentioned it,” Marinette deadpanned. “Literally you’re the reason it came up.”

He shook his head as if he didn’t hear her. “It always finds a way. It’s like sorcery.”

Chapter 13

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger @frieddonutsweets @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @toodaloo-kangaroo @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @iloontjeboontje @wolf-for-life @maribatserver @aespades @prettylittlebutterflie @imarivers8 @ certainmuffinbagelcalzone @ritacrow-blog @unoriginalmess @demonicbusiness @kking13 @lady-bee-fechin @blur-of-colours @kittenmywaythrulife @kashlyn @loysydark

#maribat #bio!dad bruce #bio dad bruce wayne #roynette #Even the Losers #mbdbwm2021 #prompt - siblings #It's canon that dick loves pineapple on pizza and tim does not

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itsthewritergal · 3 years ago

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I need to know you’re safe - D.M x Weasley!Reader (Odd One Out)

PART 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

I can’t believe we’re so far in already!! I hope everyone enjoys this part :) Let me know xx

The Quidditch world cup was a spectacle to say the least. Y/N was secretly pleased that Harry, Hermione and Cedric would be joining them. She knew that Draco would be there, but it comforted her to know that she wouldn’t be alone in facing him. Draco had written Y/N letters over the summer, apologising for his behaviour, he had even sent one to Hagrid apologising; which resulted in Y/N getting a stream of letters from Hagrid stating how sorry Draco was. Y/N knew that Draco felt bad but it didn’t excuse his behaviour, especially with something he knew Y/N was so upset about.

“Whatcha thinking bout?” Cedric asked,

“nothing important” Y/N replied as they walked past the rows of tents,

“So definitely not about that Slytherin Boyfriend of yours?” Cedric teased

“He’s not my boyfriend” She said

“But you are thinking about him?” He smirked, Y/N rolled her eyes. Wishing that she wasn’t so easy to be read by Cedric.

“He’s been writing to me all summer” Y/N explained

“Saying what?” Cedric asked her gently.

“He said he was sorry” She said “Quite a few times actually” Y/N chuckled slightly, Draco was never known for apologising

“Well I didn’t expect that” Cedric said, he slung his arm over her shoulders “You know what I think?” He started “I know you’re about to tell me” Y/n mused

“I think he likes you, but he’s been so used to putting on this mean slytherin facade that the moment you showed up, you scared him”

“I scared him?” Y/N repeated with a laugh. The thought itself was ridiculous to her, Draco would never be scared of her.

“In a good way, like in a I’m so in love she can break my heart way”

“You really think that?” she said, there was a small part of her which wished that it were true, but that had been buried deep down under the voice that told her she was being ridiculous to think he could fall in love with her

“I know he’s in love with you. All you have to do is look at him when you walk in a room” Cedric said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. But Y/N couldn’t see it, thinking back to all the times she had spent with Draco he just acted as though they were friends; just how he acted with Blaise and Pansy. Except he was a little more protective of Y/N and he always had to have his arm around her but that was just because they were friends. Shaking her head and letting out a laugh to mask her confusion

“You’re wrong Cedric. We’re just friends” She said

“Right, and I’m dumbledore” He mused, “You’ll see” He said

— — — — — — —

“Weasley” Lucius Malfoy’s voice cut through the stands,

“Malfoy” Arthur said plastering a fake smile across his face “How are you?” “We’re doing well aren’t we Draco?” Lucius said lifting his cane and tapping Draco on the stomach, he winced a little, Y/N caught the way his hand lingered over his middle as if he was already hurt

“Yes we are doing well” Draco nodded, his eyes never once leaving Y/N’s

“Well I hope you enjoy the match” Arthur said

“Oh we will,” Lucius smirked “We’re sitting in the ministers box you know! Invitation of Fudge himself” He added

“Lucius, no need to boast” Narcissa cut him off

“We should go” Y/N said to her father, hoping to cut the hostile conversation short

“Yes you wouldn’t want to miss the match, although from where you are sitting I doubt you’ll be able to see a thing” Lucius said with a laugh, Draco barely cracked a smile

“Y/N” He said “I’ll see you on the train Draco” Y/N replied, a ghost of a smile crossing over her face “Bloody morons” Ron muttered as they began climbing yet another metal staircase

“He’s a git” Fred chimed in

“The whole family are gits” George added

“Draco didn’t seem too bad today” Ginny said, “Perhaps he’s changing” She said hopefully

“Draco’s never been like his family. You all just don’t want to see it” Y/N snapped,

“That’s rich coming from the girl who won’t answer his letters” Fred said with a laugh

“Shove off” Y/N fired back

— — — — — —

“Draco? What are you doing here?” Arthur asked, ushering Draco into their tent

“I should have said something before” He said quickly

“Before what?” Amos questioned, drawing the attention of the rest of the Weasleys, Cedric, Harry and Hermione

“There’s something happening tonight. Something about You Know Who, you didn’t hear this from me. I could get killed if anyone finds out I told you” He said hurriedly, his eyes locked on Y/N “I need to know you’re safe. I need to know you’re all safe” He said

“I don’t understand” Arthur said “How do you know all this?”

“I heard my father, please we don’t have time for questions. You need to get out of here” He said,

“He’s right” Fred said pocking his head out the tent, “There’s tents being lit on fire over there” He said hurriedly

“Right” Amos said with a nod

“Harry, Hermione, Ron stay together” Arthur instructed “Cedric, Fred George you must look after Y/N and Ginny. Draco stay with them too, you can come back to ours. I’ll tell your parents we found you on your own when we were getting to the portkey” Draco nodded gratefully.

Fred grasped Ginny’s hand and George grabbed Y/N’s.

“Thanks” George said quietly before they left the tent.

Y/N was dragged out of the tent sandwiched between George and Draco. Smoke billowed up into the sky, flames licked around the tents hungrily. Y/N tripped on a tent pole, Fred, George, Ginny, Draco were swept away with the rest of the crowd. Y/N shouted for Draco but there was no reply. Her ankle was burning in pain, nevertheless she picked herself and began to run towards where she thought the portkey was. Cursing herself for not paying more attention to her surroundings.

“Y/N!” Draco’s voice cut through the crowd

“Draco?” She called, her eyes scanning the crowd hoping that she’d catch sight of Draco somewhere but she had no kind of luck.

“Y/N” The voice called again,

Y/N continued running. Her ankle threatening to give out with every step, she knew she had to keep running. Slowing down for a split second Y/N tensed as a hand wrapped around her wrist. She screamed an attempted to throw off her attacker

“It’s me darling, it’s only me” Draco said gently engulfing her in a hug. Y/N calmed down instantly as the smell of his cologne filled her head. “We need to get to the portkey” he said, she nodded and began hobbling after him, Draco slowed for a moment once he realised how badly Y/N was running “You’re hurt?” He asked

“It’s fine, we need to keep going” She said

“You sure?” He asked, she nodded. Fearful that if she responded with words then she might start crying. Draco gave her a wary look before taking her hand and running again with her.

— — — — —

“Y/N!” Cedric beamed once her and Draco appeared on the other side of the portkey

“What happened?” Ginny asked running up to her

“I tripped, hurt my ankle then got lost. Draco helped me” She said

“Come on, let me have a look at your ankle” Draco said gently, scooping Y/N up so that she didn’t have to walk towards the Burrow. Y/N started to protest for Draco not letting her walk but he shushed her quickly.

“Y/N? What happened?” Molly asked

“She tripped over, I think she may have hurt her ankle, Could I sit her on the sofa?” Draco said.

“Of course” Molly said,

Y/N sat where Draco placed her, he held her ankle in his hand. It was bruising swiftly, the once clear skin was now mottled with purple patches.

“It looks like it’s broken to me” Draco said

“You aren’t a healer” Molly said in a tone much harsher than both Draco and Y/N were expecting

“I know I’m not, but I’m a quidditch player and I know what broken bones look like” Draco said

“Thank you for your help but I think we’ve got this” Arthur said

“You better be getting home then” Molly added

“You’re right, I’ve overstayed my welcome” Draco said with a curt nod to Molly, “I’ll see you soon” he said to Y/N gently,

“You are always welcome here” Arthur said “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Draco paused but after seeing Molly’s scowling face “I better get home” “Would you like me to come and explain things to your father?” Arthur asked “Better if I do it myself. You know what he can get like”

Taglist :) @whitewineandpizzapuffs @planet-naptune @thefandomplace @sebby-staan @witch-and-a-half @nojamsonmytoast @seanh-boredom @wanniiieeee @louweasleymalfoy @missryerye

Odd One Out Taglist :) @loxbbg @haroldpotterson @isabellamur @hellion-writes

#draco angst #draco malfoy fic #draco lucius malfoy #Draco #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy x reader #draco x weasley #draco x reader angst #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco x reader

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intheticklecloset · 3 years ago

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Some Kind of Way (My Hero Academia)

ShinDeku AU

Summary: Shinsou begins to realize he may have feelings for Deku, and it makes him act so out of the ordinary that his crush decides the best way to help him relax is the very thing that kickstarted his feelings in the first place.

A/N: I am so unbelievably excited to finally share this with you! This one has been waiting in the wings for quite a while! Welcome to the first fic in my official ShinDeku AU! This story takes place after the events of "Say Mercy" and creates an entirely new storyline. While these two remain good friends in the Primary Universe, in this AU, things go a little differently.

I will admit this is pretty self-indulgent, but I know I'll want to keep writing for these boys, and what better excuse than to create an alternate reality in which they get together? Cute boyfriends and lots of tickling - what more could you want? I hope you enjoy! <3 <3

Word Count: 2,275

~~~

Midoriya: Video games at my place! Kaminari and Todoroki are coming – do you wanna join??

Shinsou stared at his phone screen for so long it went dark on him three times. He’d nearly forgotten that at some point he and Deku had exchanged numbers. Their spring break had just started; today was Monday, which meant that Deku’s mom was probably at work right now, as it was just after ten in the morning.

It really shouldn’t have been this hard to reply to a text. Yet here he sat, struggling to do just that.

It’s video games, Shinsou berated himself. You’ve played video games with him before. That’s what you were doing the last time you hung out. Just answer his text!

Shinsou: Yes. I don’t know where you live, though.

Midoriya: I’ll send you the details! Can’t wait!! :D

Shinsou set his phone aside, heart racing. This is ridiculous. What’s happening to me? He rubbed his eyes tiredly, his mind flashing back to the last time he’d hung out with Deku. They’d gotten into a tickle fight, which he’d ultimately won, but there had been a…a moment. When he’d pinned Deku for the last time and ordered him to beg for mercy. The way Deku had screamed the word over and over through hysterical fits of laughter…

He swallowed. It had been so satisfying, but more than that, it had been…cute. No, adorable. Completely, utterly adorable. Deku was adorable. And for the first time, Shinsou was noticing.

He tried not to think about it as he gathered up his things and walked out the door, heading to the destination the green-haired boy had provided him with.

Seeing him in person was so much worse.

Deku opened up the door with a bright smile and an invitation to come inside. It was the first time Shinsou had seen him without his school uniform or hero costume on. He wore a bright yellow All Might t-shirt and blue shorts, and he was barefoot. Shinsou awkwardly took his own shoes off in the entryway and followed him into the small living room, where Todoroki was already seated on the floor.

The icy-hot hero raised a hand in greeting. Shinsou nodded at him, then took a seat as well.

“Kaminari should be here any minute,” Deku said, pulling out his phone to check for a text from the blonde. “It’s so cool to finally have friends over at my place! Make yourselves at home. We’ve got juice and soda in the fridge if you want some, and later we can have lunch together, too.” Deku smiled so brightly it lit up the whole block. “Plus I’ll get to introduce you to a racing game that’s not Mario Kart for once!”

Shinsou couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He found himself noticing things more and more. The particular shade of green that his eyes were. The spattering of freckles across his face and arms. How scarred his right arm was. How muscular he was despite his smaller stature. Shinsou noticed all of it, and it made his heart beat faster and faster. Crap, crap, crap, he thought frantically. I…I’ve got a—

Someone knocked on the door, Deku hurried to answer it, and the spell was broken. Shinsou blinked several times. Seriously, what was happening to him?

“Heyyy, it’s my man Shinsou!” Kaminari greeted enthusiastically, slapping him on the back. “And Todoroki, of course. Ready to lose some video games?”

Shinsou let out a sigh of relief, then smirked up at him. “The joke’s on you, Kaminari. Midoriya says we’re not playing Mario Kart.”

“Dude, what?” Kaminari whipped around to face Deku. It was so much easier to look at him with Kaminari in the room as well. “You can’t take my crown away like that!”

Deku grinned. “I’m introducing you to a different racing game. Kacchan and I play it sometimes – Team Sonic Racing!”

“Sonic has a racing game?” Kaminari asked, then hummed. “Well, he is a speedy little guy. I guess it makes sense.”

“Team racing?” Todoroki asked. “What does that mean?”

Deku lit up at the question, then launched into a long, rambling explanation of all the ways it differed from Mario Kart, and why it was superior, as well. After a little while they finally got to the actual playing part of it, and before they knew it, the morning hours were long gone.

Getting lost in the world of Team Sonic Racing did wonders for Shinsou’s mind. He was able to focus on something that wasn’t Deku, for once – even if Deku’s character of choice did cause him a lot of trouble during the races. It gave him a chance to calm down, clear his head, and get back to his normal self. At least, until a couple of hours later when it was lunchtime.

Kaminari had announced early on that he had lunch plans with some others from their class, so it was expected that he’d leave after a couple of hours. But it was a surprise to both Shinsou and Deku when Todoroki announced he was also leaving.

“My apologies,” he said, “but I got a text from my sister that asked me to meet her downtown for lunch with her and my brother. I’m…trying to get back in touch with them, as it were. I can’t really do that while I’m at the dorms.”

“That’s okay,” Deku said, sounding sincere. “I understand. Go have fun with your family.” Then he turned to Shinsou. “Do you want to stay, or do you have somewhere to be?”

Shinsou’s heart was racing again. He was about to be alone with Midoriya again.

“I…I can stay,” he said, nodding. “If that’s all right with you.”

“Of course!”

After bidding farewell to their other friends, Deku led Shinsou back into the kitchen and opened up the fridge, pulling out various things they could use to make sandwiches. Shinsou got the bread out of the pantry (after struggling for a few moments to even find the pantry), and soon they were both at work making lunch for themselves.

“How’s your spring break so far?” Deku asked.

“It’s…fine,” Shinsou murmured. He didn’t really have anything exciting to report on. “You?”

“Great! I kind of took it easy this weekend because All Might insisted I actually rest, but we trained together this morning before I invited you over for video games. We’ll train again tomorrow, too.”

Shinsou glanced at him. “It’s spring break.”

“I know, but I don’t want to stop training. I’ve got to work as hard as I can to get even stronger.”

“Rest is important, too, you know.”

Deku smiled. “You sound just like everyone else.”

“Because we’re right.”

“I’m resting more than I’m training this week. Don’t worry, Shinsou. I won’t burn myself out.”

Shinsou nodded. “Good.”

“So,” Deku continued, expertly changing the topic as he finished up his sandwich, “want to play some more after lunch? Or we could watch a movie or something instead. What do you want to do?”

“Um…” Shinsou hesitated. Again that image of Deku laughing and begging entered his mind. He shoved it away. “I…I don’t know. Midoriya,” he added quickly, before he lost his nerve, “why do you want to hang out with me so much?”

Deku went silent for a moment. “Because you’re my friend? And you’re really cool! I think it’s so awesome that you want to join the hero course, and your quirk is so useful, especially with that voice changer thing you have now, and—”

“Useful?” Shinsou turned to look at him, surprised. “No one’s ever called my quirk useful before.”

“Then no one’s really known you before,” Deku replied confidently, taking his first bite of his lunch. “Mmm, this is good! What’d you make?”

Shinsou glanced down at his half-finished sandwich and reached for some lunch meat. “To be determined.”

When they’d finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen, Shinsou and Deku went back into the living room, where Team Sonic Racing sat waiting for them on the screen, should they continue to play it.

“Are you okay, Shinsou?” Deku asked, his voice gentler now. “You seem bothered about something.”

Dear god, was he really so easy to read? Shinsou cleared his throat. “No, I’m fine. I’m just…” He searched for the words. How could he explain to Deku that he was pretty sure he had a crush…on Deku? “I’m just…I don’t know. Fine.”

“You know, if you’re not up for video games anymore, we could play a different game,” Deku said. Shinsou glanced up at him, hearing the teasing tone in his voice, and his eyes widened when he saw the green-haired boy wiggling his fingers and smiling wide.

Instant. Blush.

“Uh, I-I mean…I mean, i-if you…want to, then…” Shinsou stammered, hating every word he tripped over. It had never been difficult for him to speak to Midoriya before. Why was it suddenly the hardest thing he’d ever done?

“Actually, maybe we shouldn’t have a tickle fight,” Deku announced even as he lunged for Shinsou and tackled him to the floor. “Maybe I should just tickle you! You really need to relax, Shinsou. You act like I’m about to bite you or something.”

“I d-dohohohohon’t – I cahahahahan’t help it!” he giggled, the light pinches along his sides and ribs enough to help him loosen up a little, but not enough to really make him panic just yet. He fell onto his back on the floor, letting Deku tickle all over his torso, drawing giggle after much-needed giggle out of him.

“You don’t have to be nervous around me,” Deku continued, oblivious to Shinsou’s struggle. “We’re friends! If you want to talk about something, I’m happy to listen.”

Crap, crap, crap! Shinsou brought his hands up to cover his face, growing really, truly flustered now. “I’m sohohohohohohorry, I cahahahahan’t – I cahahahaHAHAHAHAN’T!! NAHAHAHAHAHA!!” The violet-haired boy shot his arms down to try and shove Deku away when he reached his hips, squeezing with a wicked smirk on his face. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHO!! MIDORYA!!”

“Relax, Shinsou~” Deku teased, swinging a leg over to straddle his friend and pin him more firmly in place, still squeezing his hips. “Sometimes it’s best to just laugh it all out, right?”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! GOD, MIHIHIHIHIDORIYA!! NOT THEHEHEHEHERE!!” Shinsou cackled, twisting and writhing on the ground. “YOU KNOHOHOHOHOHOW IT’S BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAD THEHEHEHERE!!”

“Why do you think I’m tickling you there?” Deku laughed, too, finding his hip bones and pressing in deeply. “Tickle, tickle, tickle~”

“DOHOHOHOHOHOHOHON’T!!” Shinsou cried, flustered and embarrassed but also having a lot of fun despite himself. He let out a loud shriek and kicked his legs when Deku focused on that one spot that drove him absolutely crazy. “NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! MIDORIYAHAHAHAHA!!”

Deku chuckled. “Feeling better? Feeling relaxed yet, Shinsou?”

Shinsou squealed, prying his eyes open just enough to see Deku’s huge smile, his bright eyes, his looming form over him, and the boy from 1-C simply could not take it anymore. “PLEHEHEHEASE!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP IT!! MIDORIYA, PLEHEHEHEHEASE!! MERCY!! MERCY MERCY MERCYEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!”

Deku stopped, but didn’t climb off of him. Shinsou gasped for breath and looked up at him, still giggling, surprised to see a tiny blush on the boy’s freckled cheeks. He blinked a few times. “M-Midoriya?”

“I…I’m s-sorry, I, uh…” Deku stammered, blinking as well. His cheeks got even pinker. “Oh! I’ll let you go—”

Shinsou reached up faster than either of them could think and grabbed onto Deku’s arms, stopping him from climbing off just yet. He forced himself to make eye contact with the smaller boy, and when he did, what he saw there gave him the encouragement he needed to finally get this off of his chest.

“Midoriya,” he said quietly, “I think I need to tell you something.”

Deku swallowed. He suddenly seemed nervous, too. “Y-Yeah?”

Shinsou’s heart was pounding against his ribcage. “I…I kind of…like you. Like…you know. That way.”

Deku let out a little gasp in response, but he never broke eye contact. His cheeks went from pink to red. “I…I t-think I like you, too, Shinsou…”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Shinsou finally moved to sit up, wrapping an arm around Deku’s back to keep him from falling over as he did so, and when he was upright again the two of them were face-to-face. Shinsou’s eyes flicked all over Deku’s blushing features, from his shining eyes down to his lips and back up again. Then he brought his free hand up to scribble against the smaller boy’s side.

Deku immediately smiled wide, giggling slightly, and Shinsou’s suspicions were confirmed. “Ugh, you’re adorable,” he muttered, pulling him into a bear hug and burying his face in his shoulder. “You know that? Adorable, Midoriya.”

“I-I think you’re cute, too,” Deku stammered, sounding incredibly flustered.

“Only cute?” Shinsou teased, digging his fingertips into the boy’s ribs, feeling him jolt in his arms but holding him tightly all the same. “Wow, and after I just poured my heart out to you.”

“Ahahahahaha nohohohohohoho! I’m sohohohohohorry!” Deku squealed, giggling and squirming but unable to go anywhere or protect himself. He tossed his head back and laughed freely. “You’re adohohohohohorable, too! Plehehehehehease, Shinsou!”

“Too late, Midoriya,” Shinsou replied, grinning into his shoulder, feeling more confident now. He slid one tickling hand down to Deku’s hip and laughed with him when he spasmed so hard they both fell to the floor. “You said I was just cute. Now you’ll have to face the wrath of the tickle monster!”

“Nohohohohohohohoho!” Deku cried, giggling hysterically, but it was obvious to both of them that he didn’t really want any of this to stop, and neither did Shinsou.

So it didn’t.

#fanfiction #tickle fic #boku no hero #my hero academia #bnha #mha #hitoshi #shinsou #izuku #midoriya #deku #shindeku #shindeku au #crushes #cute #confession #tickling #ticklish #tickle

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cuttoothed · 4 years ago

Text

For the second day of @jonmartinweek, mostly for the prompt "injury", though also a little bit "love confession" (by omission).

Set directly after episode 92. Content warnings for mild descriptions of Jon’s canonical injuries (blood, burns).

Things are...tense, when they go back down to the Archives. Actually, “tense” is probably an understatement, after finding out that Elias murdered not only Gertrude Robinson, but also the unknown man in Document Storage—who as it turned out was none other than Juergen bloody Leitner.

A lot to take on board, all in all.

Basira seems to have accepted her new employment status with eerie calm, and starts setting up at Sasha’s old desk (oh god, Sasha’s dead, has been for months), fetching notebooks and folders from the stationery cupboard and arranging pens and highlighters in a desk tidy. Daisy is nowhere to be seen—thankfully, Martin thinks, because she was even scarier than usual in Elias’ office. Melanie storms off into the stacks and there are sounds of shouting and things hitting the floor, which Martin is in no hurry to investigate. Tim sits at his desk with his feet propped up for about five minutes, then stands up and says: “Fuck this, I’m off to the pub.” He doesn’t invite anyone else to go with him, and Martin thinks their presence probably wouldn’t be welcome.

Jon arrives in about half an hour later, smelling of fresh cigarette smoke. Normally Martin would disapprove, but the way things are right now he’s tempted to take up a few bad habits himself. Jon looks...exhausted, defeated, his shoulders slumped wearily. His clothes are smudged with dirt, and there’s drying blood crusted around the injury on his neck; the bandages on his hand are starting to slip, revealing the angry, raw burns beneath.

Martin’s not sure he’s ever been so happy to see someone in his life.

Jon gives him a small, tired smile as he passes, then heads into his office and shuts the door. Martin knows that no sane person would try to go straight back to work looking like they’d just been through a war zone and still with an open wound; he is also aware that Jonathan Sims is the sort of person to do precisely that. He hesitates for a few moments, then makes a decision.

He fetches the first aid kit from the break room, and goes and knocks on Jon’s door. It’s a firm knock, a knock that he hopes says “I’m coming in whether you like it or not”, because it’s not beyond Jon to try to avoid them all for an extended period.

“Come in,” Jon calls, and even his voice sounds exhausted. When he sees Martin enter the room, his expression softens in a way that’s difficult to parse. Is he just relieved that it isn’t one of the others? Or is he actually pleased that it’s Martin?

It’s been two months since Jon went into hiding while suspected of murder, and the last time Martin saw him he had been quite sure Jon was planning to—to hurt himself, somehow. Before that, though, there had been a time when they were...well, close, in a way. Jon had let his guard down around Martin, in the midst of being so suspicious and afraid. He had trusted Martin, when he didn’t trust anyone else, had eaten lunch with him and talked about boring, ordinary things, the tight set of his shoulders relaxing just a little. He had even laughed, sometimes. It had been, despite everything, one of the happier times in Martin’s life, and if that’s not pathetic he doesn’t know what is.

“Hi, Jon,” he says.

“Martin,” says Jon, his tone soft. “It’s so—ahh, how are you?”

“How am I? You’re the one with a bloody great gash in your neck and looking like you put your hand in a fire.” Martin brandishes the first aid kit. “You really should go to the hospital, but I know it would be a waste of my time suggesting it.”

“Thank you for bringing that,” Jon says. “I appreciate it. You can just leave it on the desk.”

“Nope,” Martin tells him cheerily, setting the kit down and opening it. “I know you, Jon. If I leave it with you it’ll still be sitting here untouched tomorrow. Plus, I got my first aid certification when I was working in the library. It’s probably expired now, but I think it still counts.”

Jon looks as if he’s about to protest, but then he huffs a breath that might be a laugh, and nods in concession.

“All right then,” he says.

Martin snaps on a pair of disposable gloves and directs Jon to sit on the desk and undo the top two buttons on his shirt, so Martin can examine the wound on his neck. It’s shallow, fortunately, and the bleeding seems to have already stopped. Martin cleans away the crusted blood as gently as he can, though Jon still winces a few times.

“What happened?” Martin asks, as he smears on antibiotic cream.

“Daisy. She, ah, she decided that I was dangerous. Needed to be dealt with. Fortunately Basira was able to convince her otherwise.”

“Bloody hell,” Martin mutters. He’s not sure why he’s surprised; he’s always felt afraid around Daisy, like a rabbit being in the same room with a fox. But he just sort of assumed it was typical Martin fear of, well, everything. He never thought Daisy would actually hurt any of them. He applies a bandage carefully over the wound, and then turns his attention to Jon’s hand. Unwrapping the bandages reveals the red, blistered mess beneath, and Martin hisses in sympathy.

“Please tell me you went to the hospital for this.”

“I went to a walk-in clinic,” Jon says. “They cleaned it up, gave me some antibiotics and painkillers. They, uh, they did recommend I see my GP for follow up monitoring, and that I should get a referral to a physiotherapist, but, well, it’s been a busy few days.”

“Jon,” Martin sighs, exasperated, and Jon smiles a bit shakily.

“I know,” he says. “I will go to a GP, I promise. It’s just a bit tricky when you’re wanted for murder. Anyway, it seems to be healing rather well, all things considered.”

Martin considers whether to apply antibiotic cream, but the skin doesn’t seem to be broken, and he knows it’s best not to touch the area more than needed. Instead, he rewraps it with clean, dry bandages, being sure to keep them loose.

“How did this happen?” he asks, to distract himself from the fact that he is, technically, holding Jon’s hand. Jon gives a self-deprecating laugh.

“I, uh, I was trying to get information from a devotee of the Lightless Flame. This was her price.”

“The Lightless Flame? That cult—from the statements?”

“The same. As it turns out, a—a lot of things from the statements are real. Unpleasantly so.”

“I—yeah, I sort of figured that out when Tim and I got trapped in these weird corridors for days by that Michael...thing.”

Jon’s face blanches, his brows furrowing.

“You—god, Martin, I didn’t know. Are you—I mean, you’re okay, obviously, but— Have you seen Michael since?”

“No, and I hope I don’t.” Martin feels faintly nauseous at the memory. He doesn’t realize his hands are trembling slightly until the fingers of Jon’s hand, the unburned one, touch his wrist.

“I’m so sorry, Martin,” he says. “When I realized a-about Sasha, about that thing, I hoped I could take care of it myself, spare you and Tim. I never wanted to drag you into all this.”

“I don’t think there’s much avoiding it,” Martin mutters miserably. “And you didn’t seem to mind dragging Melanie into it, while you were on the lam.”

“I shouldn’t have asked her for help either. It wasn’t fair to put any of you in the position of aiding a suspected murderer.”

“I never believed you did it,” Martin tells him fiercely. “It just would have been nice to know you were okay, you know?”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I—I wanted to contact you, but it seemed too risky. I knew the police would be watching you, since we’re friends. Or—or at least friendly.”

Everyone I’ve talked to says you and him were close. Martin had been ridiculously pleased by the accusation at the time, and he feels the same now, with Jon’s injured hand cradled in both of his. Jon trusts Martin with his wounds, his vulnerability. Jon wanted to contact him; Jon thinks they’re friends.

“I—” Martin starts to say, and he doesn’t know if his next words will be I missed you or I worry about you or some humiliating romantic confession blurted out and impossible to take back. He draws a deep breath, and instead says: “I’m glad you’re back, and that you’re okay. I don’t have that many friends, I can’t afford to lose one.”

He says it like a joke, and mercifully, Jon takes it as one, and gives a relieved laugh. Martin realizes he’s long since finished bandaging the burn and is now just sort of...holding Jon’s hand; he releases it, reluctantly, and Jon smiles, lifting his other hand to touch the bandage on his throat.

“Thank you, Martin,” he says, hopping down from the desk. “I appreciate it, really.”

“As a token of your appreciation, you can go ahead and make a doctor’s appointment for that hand,” says Martin firmly, closing up the first aid kit.

“I will,” Jon says solemnly, and Martin believes him, but he’s also going to check in and remind him at the end of the day because Jon has a tendency to forget about trivial things like his own wellbeing. It’s just who he is, and Martin’s made his peace with it, like he’s made his peace with being utterly, hopelessly gone for Jonathan Sims.

“I was going to make some tea, if you fancy,” he says as he opens the door. “You look like you could use a cup.”

“Oh, yes, that would be lovely, thank you. Oh, and Martin?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I’m back as well. I—” Jon hesitates a moment, then says: “I missed your tea.”

It’s not much of a declaration, but Martin understands what Jon means by it; for the two of them, it means a lot.

#the magnus archives #jonmartinweek2021 #tma #my fic #jonmartin #cw injury

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hes-the-muse · 3 years ago

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Muse: Homelander/Antony Starr | Pairing: Naval Commander!John x female reader Prompt: 'Dance with me under the moon.' Notes: None Artwork: This amazing Homelander artwork is by @scadarts. It inspired our AU so we wanted to use it here as the background for our banners. Photo prompts (moonlit lake) source: x Warnings: none Words: 663 Author: @madhatter2727

“Oh no!” I utter once we’ve made it to my room.

“What?” My sister can hardly contain herself.

“I called him ridiculous.” I groan, my hands cradling my head.

“You said what?” she can’t believe it.

“Well I didn’t know who he was, did I?” I say in my defense but my sister is not impressed.

“Honestly, Y/N! Only you could manage to insult the man before you’ve even been properly introduced.” She gives me a look, that softens, before she continues “You’ll have a chance to make a good impression tomorrow night.” She seems confident in this, but I’m not so sure.

The ball is spectacular. The decorations are immaculate. The food, delicious. The music, divine. The guests dressed in their best. And I am spending the evening avoiding Lord John.

I find myself outside the castle yet again in an attempt to calm my nerves. The moon is full and reflecting off the small lake. The light is illuminating the flowers and trees, making for a beautiful evening.

“Where have you been hiding? I’ve been looking for you all night?”

I turn at the sound of his voice and I see Lord John standing in his full naval dress uniform, standing two paces behind me, his hands clasped behind his back. His head is tilted to the side and he’s observing my reaction.

“I haven’t been hiding my lord.” I lie.

“Oh? I don’t remember introducing myself to you.” he joked. Before I had a chance to respond, he continued, “I was about to last night before all the ruckus.”

“I am sorry! My mother worries and that in turn makes everyone else worry…” I start.

He shakes his head, “No need to apologize.”

“Well actually I should. I didn’t mean to call you ridiculous.”

He chucked. “On the contrary, I found your candor refreshing.”

“Oh? Well, that’s a relief.” I had heard the rumors of how cruel he could be, but I had yet to see it myself.

His eyes darken at my response as if he knows my thoughts and the things I’ve heard. He doesn’t mention it though. Instead he asks, “May I have the honor of knowing your name, milady?”

“Oh yes, I’m sorry, it’s Y/N, my lord.” He winces at his title.

“What a beautiful name, for a beautiful lady.” he compliments sincerely.

“Thank you, Lord John.” I blush.

“You can just call me John.”

“But…” I begin as I know it’s improper to address him without his title.

He holds up a hand to stop me, “I wish for you to call me John. Just John. No lord.”

“Very well. As you wish…John.” His name sounds right on my lips.

He smiles at his name and holds his hand out to me, “Dance with me under the moon?” How could I say no to that?

We can hear the music from inside the castle as it wafts through the crisp night air. He takes my hand in his and draws me near.

The dance is slow and intimate, our cheeks pressed together, his body flush with mine. He moves with such grace, in perfect time to the music.

When the music stops, he pulls away slightly to look directly into my eyes. I start to turn my head away, unable to bear his intense gaze and the feeling he is provoking deep within me. He gently grabs my chin with his thumb and forefinger and turns me to face him again.

“I’m glad I was able to be your first dance of the night. I would not have been able to see you dancing with anyone else. I am a very jealous man.” he confesses.

I was not expecting a confession of that magnitude from him and I’m sure my surprise is written all over my face.

“I’m going to kiss you now, Y/N, if that’s alright.” It’s a statement more than a question. His soft lips gently touch mine, causing my heart to flutter.

Credit: Uniformed Homelander, blue and red, artwork by @scadarts on instagram. Dividers by @firefly-graphics x. feedback/18+ banners by @maysdigitalarts. Moonlit lake image (photo prompt) source: x

#homelander x reader #homelander fanfic #homelander au #antony starr fanfic #historical au #collab au #homelander fanfiction #Naval!Commander!John

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marvelmusing · 4 years ago

Text

Making Time

Mobius M Mobius x Reader

Part 1

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist

A/N: Not sure if many people want this but I like the idea of working for the TVA & Mobius is kinda funny and charming. I really hope I don’t start to regret this once the rest of Loki comes out

Whilst all the desks at the TVA were practically identical in the impersonal corporate sense, Mobius’s desk was a lot nicer than yours. Having been at the TVA for longer than you, he’d gotten everything sorted into a comfortable space, whereas your desk was scattered with papers and mugs you’d always forgotten about. There’s a incessant knocking against wood nearby. Your head perks up from where you’ve been sorting through files on the floor beside Mobius’s chair. You spot Ravi, a fellow assistant, leaning over the top of the cubicle.

“Hey [Y/N].”

“Hi Ravi.” You reply, returning to your sorting.

“Where’s Mobius?”

“Erm, France, 1549.”

“There’s been a development in the Loki Variant case.” You nod,

“That’s why he’s in France.”

“This is a new development.” He hands a file to you, and you skim over it quickly. Laufeyson. Variant L1130, AKA Loki Laufeyson, is charged with sequence violation 7-20-89. You look up at him.

“Thanks, Ravi.” He smiles at you,

“No problem.” You stand up from the floor quickly. You pass through the TVA corridor’s before opening a Timedoor. You step into it, emerging in 16th Century France. Mobius is stood nearby, he looks up at you in surprise.

“Mobius. You might want to take a look at this.” You hand him the file. He looks over the front page, before nodding.

“Thank you, [Y/N].” He says, stepping forward, and placing a hand on your arm. “Let’s go, we need to hurry.” You both pass through the Timedoor.

You both rush through the corridors of the TVA. You skid to a stop at the reception desk, a smile brightening your face when you recognise the receptionist.

“Hey Casey!” He looks up at you in surprise.

“[Y/N], hi!”

“We’re in a bit of a rush. Has there been a variant brought in? Tall, dark hair, most likely carrying a sparkly, blue cube?” Casey picks up the Tesseract from a drawer beside him.

“This?”

“Yes! Where is he?”

“They just took him into the courtroom.” You both set off running, and you call out,

“Thank you, Casey!”

You open the door to the courtroom, and Mobius hurries inside, taking tentative steps so as to not draw attention to the the two of you. You follow closely behind him. He slides onto a bench, with you taking the seat beside him. You’re knees bump together slightly, but he pays it no mind as his focus remains on Renslayer.

“We're not here to talk about the Avengers.” She says, looking down at Loki.

“Oh, no?” He asks her.

“No.”

“What they did was supposed to happen. You escaping was not.” Loki laughs at this,

“Right. Not supposed to happen? According to whom?”

“The Time-Keepers?” She offers.

“Oh, the Time-Keepers. Right.” He scoffs. “Well, perhaps I should speak to these Time-Keepers, gods to gods.”

“I'm sorry, but they're quite busy.”

“Oh, they are? What are they doing?”

“Dictating the proper flow of time.”

“I see. Right. And then what do you do?”

“Dictate the proper flow of time according to their dictations. How do you plead?” You watch Loki as he smirks, holding his hands out.

“Guilty, of this.” He grasps his fists a few times, confusion clear in his actions.

“What’s going on?” Renslayer asks, looking for side to side.

“Hang on. Everyone quiet.” Loki reasons. Hunter B-15 laughs,

“He's trying to use his powers, ma'am.” He slams his hands down on the podium in front of him,

“Damn it! Why won’t it work?”

“Magic powers? They're no good in the TVA, Mr Laufeyson.” Renslayer tells him. “The court finds you guilty, and I sentence you to be reset. Next case, please!” She calls out, as is there’s a colossal queue waiting.

“Reset? What does that mean? What, is it bad? What does it mean? You ridiculous bureaucrats will not dictate how my story ends!” Loki exclaims hurriedly, as the Hunters surrounding him begin to drag him away.

“It's not your story, Mr Laufeyson. It never was.” She tells him in a bored tone, a little harshly you think.

“You have no idea what I'm capable of!”

“I think I might.” Mobius stands quickly, making his way past you. “Have an idea of what he's capable of.” He adds. Renslayer considers him for a moment,

“Approach the bench.” He steps forward, and you hear him offer a soft,

“Hi.”

“If you're thinking what I think you are, it's a bad idea.” She hisses.

“Okay, I'm just chasing a hunch.”

“Anything goes sideways, it's on you.”

“Okay. I feel like I'm always looking up to you. I like it. It's appropriate.” You roll your eyes at him, as you stand and take your place beside him. Loki continues to struggle against the hunters. He looks Mobius up and down.

“And who are you?”

“I’m going to burn this place to the ground.” You hear Loki growl.

“I'll show you where my desk is, you can start there.” Mobius remarks, and you can’t help but smirk. He glances at you, sending you a winking once your eyes meet. You roll your eyes at him again. Loki slows his walk, looking across the railing out into the TVA. You and Mobius stop to look at him.

“Have a look.” Mobius tells him, gesturing towards the view. Loki approaches the railing, staring out at the city in front of you.

“I thought there was no magic here.” Loki asks, a frown of confusion on his face.

“There isn't.” Mobius replies.

“That's not real.” Loki decides.

“It is, and, unfortunately, so is all the paperwork. Good tinder for your fire, though. Come on.”

“This place is a nightmare.”

“That's another department. Now that department I'll help you burn down.” You shake your head at him, smiling. The three of you step into the elevator. You stand on one side of Mobius, with Loki on the other. You press the button for the appropriate department. The faint tune of elevator music fills the temporary silence, before Mobius turns to Loki,

“I’m Agent Mobius, by the way.” He holds his hand out for Loki to shake. Loki looks down at his hand, with no plan to shake it at all. “This is my associate, Agent [Y/N].” You offer him a small smile with a nod, as his eyes briefly acknowledge your presence. You’ve always liked how Mobius refers to you as his associate, rather than assistant. Unlike the majority of the TVA. Loki turns his attention back to Mobius,

“Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?”

“No. That's where you just were. I'm taking you some place to talk.”

“I don't like to talk.” Loki lies.

“But you do like to lie, which you just did.”

“Because we both know you love to talk. Talkie-talkie.”

“How long have you been here?” Mobius sighs,

“I don't know. It's hard to say, time passes differently here in the TVA.” Loki frowns at this,

“What does that mean?”

“You'll catch up.” The elevator door opens and the three of you step out. You remain close to Mobius’s side, with Loki trailing behind.

“So, you're part of the TVA's courageous and dedicated workforce?”

“Yes.”

“You were created by the Time-Keepers.”

“Yep.”

“To protect the Sacred Timeline.” You hear the mocking tone in his voice. He’s not believing a word of this.

“Correct.” Loki laughs.

“Is that funny?” Mobius asks him, as he heads down the steps towards the door. You both look back at Loki as he exclaims,

“The idea that your little club decides the fate of trillions of people across all of existence at the behest of three space lizards, yes, it's funny. It's absurd.” Mobius considers him for a moment before saying,

“I thought you didn't like to talk.” He opens the door, gesturing to Loki. “After you.” Loki passes you and walks into the room.

“I’ll wait until you’re done.” You say, meeting Mobius’s gaze.

“You don’t have to.” He insists.

“I’ll wait.” You’ve caught Loki’s attention, his head turning to examine you after hearing your voice for the first time. You watch as Mobius walks into the room, and you close the door behind him.

You’re not stood for long before Hunter B-15 approaches. She attempts to brush past you. You hold your arm out,

“Mobius is in the middle of an interrogation.” You protest. “You can’t just interrupt.”

“Stand aside, Variant.” You clench your jaw, a prickle of fear in your chest as she pushes the door open.

“What are you doing?” She calls out to Mobius.

“My job. Is it yours to interrupt?” He replies. His eyes fall on you as you give him an apologetic look. He shrugs lightly in response.

“We have a situation.” She tells him. He sighs,

“There's always a situation.” He turns to Loki,

“Don't go anywhere. It was just getting good. Spirited.”

You hover by the door, as Mobius and B-15 head further along the corridor to talk. You hear the two of them bickering momentarily before Mobius returns.

“We’ve lost another unit.” He tells you. You sigh,

“Are we going to wrap this up then?” You ask, he nods as you open the door. He steps inside and you follow him as he calls out,

“Okay, Loki, I think we can finish up tomorrow and just pick it...” He trails off, and you look around for Loki. The room’s empty. You watch Mobius slip his hand into his pocket, before leaning his head back with a sigh, “Mischievous scamp.” You both rush outside, Mobius calling B-15 back.

“Wish I could say I was surprised.” She retorts.

“Yeah, I wish you hadn't interrupted us.” Mobius adds, annoyance lacing this tone. The two of you jog alongside the Hunters she’s gathered.

“Me? It's my fault?” She exclaims.

“He can't have gotten very far.” You reason, attempting to prevent an argument.

“Split up. Prune on sight.” She orders.

“No, no pruning, no resetting. He can still help us!” Mobius argues. Your group splits up. You wander through the corridors for awhile before deciding to return to the projection room. Once Loki realised he can’t get far he might decide to hide in there. Turns out, you’re right. Loki is perched on the steps at one side of the room. You glance as the projector, the bold ‘End of File’ standing out from the screen. He holds the Tesseract in one hand, the blue glow casting a shadow across his face.

“I’m guessing you know that won’t work here.” You say, keeping a safe distance between the two of you. He nods,

“Not through a lack of trying.” You sit down on the steps, glancing at him for a moment before staring at the wall.

“Did he give you the: your only purpose is a side character to develop other people on their path to greatness, speech?” He looks up at you sharply. You meet his gaze, “I suppose that’s a yes.” He nods. You sigh, “I know it sucks, but I have to admit it does put things in perspective.”

“Perspective?” You nod,

“That the only reason why you did the things you’ve done, is because it was meant to happen. Because the all knowing space lizards decided it. But you’re out of the timeline now, Loki. You can do whatever you want.” You watch as he considers your words. “That’s not me giving you the okay to kill me. Or Mobius, don’t kill him. Anyone else, I’m not too fussed.” You joke. A small smile flits across his face. “I’m going to call Mobius now, he’s the better option over B-15.” Loki nods, and you retreat outside the room. You pull out your phone and dial for Mobius,

“Mobius, I’ve found him. He’s back at the projection room.”

“Do not approach him, [Y/N]. Do you hear me? I’m on my way now.” You agree, and wait outside the door. Mobius rushes down the corridor, grasping hold of you. “Are you okay?” You nod,

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He pauses, checking you over for a moment, before nodding and opening the door to reveal Loki. You wait outside as they presumably have a heart to heart. It’s not long before Mobius is back by your side, with Loki in tow.

“Say hello to our newest team member.”

If you’d like to be tagged for this series just let me know!

#mobius m mobius #mobius x reader #mobius m mobius x reader #mobius #mobius loki #loki 2021 #loki show #marvel au #agent mobius #tva loki #time variance authority

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dreamyjoons · 4 years ago

Text

Our ‘Get Along’ Shirt - pjm

⇢ another day, another endless round of you and Jimin bickering. It’s never ending, all-consuming, and your friends have had enough. Namjoon decides to end it once and for all - with help from a shirt for squabbling toddlers.

Genre/warnings: smut, 18+! ‘enemies’-to-lovers, swearing, semi-public smut, mutual masturbation, fingering, honestly at this point a sweat kink, multiple orgasms, light choking, some spitting, unprotected sex, creampie.

Words: 14.2k lol

A/N: well hello! I’m back baby, and to celebrate i had to exorcise some Jimin demons. Did i talk about him sweating a lot? Yes. Did i use my favourite pic of him for the header? Also yes. Don’t @ me, i already know. I hope you enjoy!!!

"You're so wrong about this, it's actually kind of embarrassing."

"No you're wrong, only an idiot would think the way you do."

"Guys, no one - and I really mean this - no one cares about what kind of cups you need for beer pong. You've been arguing this for like twenty minutes now." Hoseok huffs, sitting back into the couch.

"Eighteen minutes." Namjoon sighs, tipping back his cup and gulping down its contents.

"But solo cups are far superior-"

"Jimin, they aren't!" You snap, dragging your glare away from his rolling eyes, deciding you never wanna look at him ever again.

"Please stop." Jungkook sighs, slipping off the chair beside Hoseok. His eyes flick between you before scanning the rest of the people in the room, slowly moving to the thump of the music. "Gonna find Yoongi and Tae." He mumbles before disappearing through the mass of bodies.

You'd been at the house party for less than three minutes before you and Jimin found a reason to have an argument. At first, it was how late you were - even though you found out he only got there five minutes before you. Then when you commented on the music choices to Yoongi, he found a way to disagree - despite you both knowing he loved the artist. On and on it went. Now here you were; Namjoon and Hoseok on the couch watching you both with bored expressions, Jin tuned out and typing rapidly on his phone beside them. Jimin stood to your left, and you made sure to keep him totally out of your sight.

But it was getting harder to hear him, thankfully. And he was losing steam. The house was crowded and loud, lively dancers everywhere and the smell of alcohol rich in the air. It was already way too hot out, but being stuffed inside at this party was causing everyone to sweat. You could see condensation forming on the walls.

The house was huge and expensively decorated, belonging to some producer friend of Namjoon. Marbled floors met white walls, a rug carpet covering the floor that made you wince when you thought about the price. It was sprawling and full of a ridiculous number rooms. Yet still, people had to squeeze between the spaces, excuses and polite taps lost in the fury of heat and confinement.

You held your can to your forehead to cool yourself down but it had grown warm waiting for you and Jimin to finish your current spout. You grimace but take a sip anyway - at least if you get a buzz you can ignore him for a little. You felt a pit of guilt at making Jungkook leave. But you were riled up, and you couldn't back down. Not to Jimin.

You saw Jimin tip his head back to drink out of the corner of your eye, but you daren't look at him. He was as insufferable as he was hot as hell, and not just in temperature.

However, you had managed to take a better look at him earlier in the night. His beige silk shirt was already sticking to his skin, tucked into tight jeans blacker than you had ever seen. Who wears silk to a house party? The necklace that he always wore sat just below his collarbones, and you're reminded of all the times you've wanted to throttle him with that damn chain. He'd been pushing his dark hair back all night - you could tell by how it fell about his face, silky strands falling into his eyes. Was he wearing some kind of lipgloss too? You grumble into your drink. He was too pretty for his own good.

At first the sparring was fun. There was an attraction there, on your part at least. It was spicy, something hot and fast, a way to see how compatible you were. Maybe you had some feelings for him. Possibly, potentially.

But over time it devolved. It felt like he'd say things just to get a rise out of you, to draw your attention into a battle with him. And now here you were, bitterly avoiding the man's existence.

"God, why is it so hot here?" Jin gasps, blotting his face with his sleeve.

"Probably haven't got the air con on." Jimin shrugs, taking a swig from his glass.

"It's on-" You start, eyes flicking to where you thought you could see a vent in the ceiling. It was open, so you assumed it would be on - it had to be.

"I highly doubt that."

Jimin gives you the look he always does - where he tilts his head back and stares into your soul. His plump lips part, tongue pressed behind his teeth, goading you into his trap. He gets his way every time.

"Why would they not have it on? It's burning hot even without a house full of people."

"Then it's clearly a crappy unit." He shrugs, but his words are quick and his eyes are still intensely focused on you.

"Jimin have you seen the rest of this house? Don't be dumb-"

"Shut up!"

You and Jimin spin to your friends who had all shouted in unison. The ones who could still stand to be around you both arguing, anyway. Several of the dancers that were nearby stopped to look at the exclamation but slowly drifted back into the music - albeit before taking a step further away from your group.

"Enough. I'm gonna put an end to this once and for all." Namjoon gets to his feet and strides away with purpose, standing a head above nearly everyone in the crowd.

You shiftily look at Jimin before silently waiting for Namjoon to return, confusion thick in your brain. You awkwardly chewed on your lip as the seconds ticked by, before finally he stalks back, his bag under his arm.

He throws himself back into his seat, flips open the top of his bag and rifles through.

Finally he pulls out a heap of bright yellow material, and with a small noise, he dumps his bag beside him before bolting up. He unravels the material and holds it up to you, grin growing on his face.

It takes you a few seconds to focus on what he is holding out to you and Jimin - but when you realise, you gasp.

"'Our get along shirt'? Namjoon you've gotta be joking." you splutter, scanning the shirt.

It was a sickly yellow, 'our get along shirt' printed on it in what appeared to be black glitter. It could probably fit both you and Jimin in it, maybe Yoongi could slip in too. It looked somewhat roomy, but that was not the point.

"What?" Jimin asks, lips parted as he stares into the glitter.

"You're both gonna wear it and get over whatever bullshit is going on here." Namjoon says so casually, as if he was asking the time or giving directions. But you saw the seriousness in the minute movements of his face. The clench on his jaw, the hardiness of his eyes.

"We're adults Namjoon, you can't expect us to wear that." Jimin's face had gone into a full blush, but his frown was deep as he stared at Namjoon.

"You are both gonna wear it."

"No-" You shout, but Namjoon pointedly huffs at you, and you take the hint.

"Put the shirt on. By the end of the night, either one of you will have killed the other or you have this sorted out. Because if not, you'll end up pushing us all away. For good." Namjoon finishes with a sigh, the depth of his gaze so severe it confirms that he isn’t playing with you.

You look behind him at Jin and Hoseok, and the direction in which Jungkook had walked away. Jin and Hoseok looked deadly serious, no hint of a smile or a cackle of laughter like you'd expect.

He had a point. You knew it. But it was so hard - Jimin couldn't let things lie, and you couldn't back away from a fight when it was him you were fighting. But to see others dropping out from around you...

"Hand over the shirt."

You spin to stare at Jimin. His face was tight, jaw set and eyebrows drawn. It had dawned on him too, just how far this had gone. But he obviously didn't like the idea of it, and neither did you.

"Fine but if I do kill him I’m taking you all down with me as accessories." You sigh, reaching forward and taking the shirt from Namjoon.

“How long have you had this, Joon?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

“Long enough.”

You turn it in your hands and with a deep breath, you pull the shirt over your head, sticking your arm through the sleeve and head through the collar. Your left arm hangs loosely in the shirt, and you begin to fret about what you should do with it. Maybe you should just stick it in your pocket? You don't wanna brush anything-

Before you could follow that train of thought, Jimin tugs you and the shirt towards him. You follow, gulping thickly. He casts one last look at Namjoon before putting his head under the bottom of the shirt. within seconds his head is through the collar, his shoulder bumping yours as he tries to get comfortable.

The air is thick around you, the extra warmth of him being so close to you making the heat rise on your face. You were strongly aware of every microscopic move he makes, your senses keenly aware of his proximity. He lets out a harsh sigh, and you feel the breath ripple over the collar and down the shirt. A pout settles on his lips, glossy and wholly enticing - and entirely too close.

His face was inches from yours, shoulders stuck rigidly together as you subtly wrestle for space. The shirt was obviously made for kids, and much smaller than you had originally anticipated. Two kids would be able to almost comfortably stand side by side. You and Jimin had barely enough excess shirt, but the collar was far too small. His hand grazes mercilessly across your thigh, the hardness of his rings pressing into the material of your jeans.

You hear a click of a camera, and your attention snaps up to see Hoseok taking a photo of you both on his phone. With both you and Jimin glaring at him, he snaps another and giggles.

"One for Jungkook." He grins, before flipping his phone to you.

Instinctively you step forward to look, but the lack of space drags Jimin along with you. He crashes into your back, a steadying hand reaching out for your hip, a strangled grunt by your ear. You choke on your breath, and weakly tug at the collar as if it was the cause of your shock.

His hand is warm, the heat pulsating from his palm across your hip. If you weren't sweating before, you definitely were now. You shuffle back a little, easing the tension in the shirt that tugged tightly against you. Jimin brings up a hand and anxiously pushes his hair back from his face, his jaw set so sharply you could cut your finger on it.

"Well, there's bound to be a few teething problems but I'm sure you'll both work it out." Namjoon smiles, eyes bright and full of mischief. "Come on boys, let's give them some space."

You give Namjoon the fiercest glare you could muster before he walks away, but all he does is chuckle at you. Hoseok waves brightly whilst Jin merely winks - until soon all that remained was you and Jimin, hot, flustered and already tired of it all.

"Okay, now that they're gone-" Jimin mutters, twisting in the shirt so that his back was against you. You shuffle back as not to touch him, your mind a hazy hot mess.

Your hand dances threateningly close to his ass so you snatch it up to your chest, staring at the ceiling and holding back an agonised groan.

He brings his hands up and after a few seconds you hear a loud rip.

You snap your head to him to see that he'd ripped the collar almost to the end of the shoulder, giving you more space. You let out a breath and you both adapted to the space, but his shoulder was still brushing you. At least his face was at a less dangerous distance from yours now.

"Do... you wanna sit?" He asks quietly, A faint pinky blush crossing his cheeks. You forced your eyes away, determined not to be distracted.

"Jimin, Namjoon's gonna flip about the shirt."

"No he won't-"

"Yes, he will-"

"Ah, can we just sit?."

You huff, weighing his words before silently nodding, moving forward slowly to give him time to get his brain in gear. He stepped behind you and you shuffled around so that you wouldn't be sat under him.

"Okay sit." You order, and to your surprise he followed your words. You both crash back into the couch, his arms pressing back against you, his legs spread and pressed against yours.

You sit, the silence stretching. You finally get the smell of his cologne, the silk of his shirt sleeve brushing against your arm. It was filling your senses, and though it had only been seconds, this was stretching for an eternity.

And there were all those emotions you felt towards him, rushing to the surface, bubbling beneath your skin.

"Okay this is dumb, why are we doing this?" You grumble, slamming your head back against the cushions, desperate to be away from his heady scent.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes, so you pointedly avoid meeting his gaze.

"Because we don't want to lose our friends." His voice is low, the cogs turning in his head.

"Yes I know that, but why do we have to 'sort our problems' from inside the same damn t-shirt?" You snap.

"I... don't know. But I'm not gonna lose friends. Them or you - so get used to being stuck in this shirt with me."He purses his lips in thought, but you’re struck by his words.

"Well it's you who's stuck in here with me." You snark, unable to stop yourself before you say it.

He huffs out a laugh through his nose, and you can’t help but smile. You finally meet his eyes, and like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, he snaps his eyes away.

“So we have to like… work on our problems?”

“Apparently.” He murmurs, throwing himself back into the seat.

The temperature feels ten times hotter than when you weren’t sharing clothing. Your hair sticks to your skin and you shift uncomfortably. Everywhere you touched him felt like it was on fire, every sensor in your body and edge and firing. You force yourself to breathe, in and out. Park Jimin was not going to get the better of you.

But he seemed affected too.

His swallows are thick, adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp. You could see his ringed finger tapping in his leg whilst his other hand was pushing back his hair a little more aggressively than usual.

“So uh…” He starts, but tapers off when you look at him.

“Yeah?”

The seconds tick on, the gap between you non-existent. You avert your eyes and try to focus on the crowd that swirls around you.

You couldn’t help but notice the fact that things were going well. No issues were being resolved per se, but you hadn’t fought properly for a few minutes. And for you both, that was progress. Even if every word that comes to your mind flights away, leaving the silence to stretch.

“Maybe-”

“How about-”

You both blurt words at the same time, letting out an embarrassed laugh as you squarely avoid looking at each other. The music seems louder, making it harder to think about anything that wasn’t directly in your senses. Essentially you were stuck in a Jimin lockdown.

“You go.”

“Oh, I was just going to say I’m gonna need a drink or two for this.” you confess, heat burning across your face.

“That’s… Not a bad idea actually. Let’s go to the kitchen.” Jimin rushes, a little too enthusiastically. It seems like he’s a little on edge too.

Without thinking he tries to stand up, causing you to get ruffled inside the shirt as he staggers to his feet. You’re ripped through the collar of the shirt, your face getting knocked into his hip. Your eyes widen and your breath catches in your throat as he’s slingshotted back into the chair beside you. Your head reemerges through the hole, leaving your hair vigorously disheveled.

“I-, I’m sorry!” He grits, a reddish blush bursting across his cheeks.

You bring up your hand inside the shirt to touch it to your face whilst the other tries to right whatever mess your hair had become.

“It’s fine, just, we gotta move as one.” You mumble, flicking your gaze at him.

“Agh, this isn’t gonna be easy.” He sighs, shuffling to the edge of the chair.

You take a deep breath and follow his lead. You put a tentative hand on the couch to shuffle yourself to the edge, but jimin had the same idea. He puts his hands on top of yours, but instantly snatches it back. He mumbles to himself before turning and giving you a nod. With a steadying breath you both move, almost effortlessly getting off the couch together. It takes you by surprise at how straightforward that was, until the clatter of a noise reaches your ears over the din of the music.

Following the rattle of the noise you look down, only to watch your phone skittering across the floor.

“Oh, shit.” You murmur, watching it stop out of reach. “Jimin, my phone!”

He follows your gaze to where it lays on the floor, narrowly avoiding being stepped on by dancers. Your heart flutters as people step around it, totally unaware.

“Go, go!” He mutters, placing the palm of his hand at the bottom of your back, steering you towards it.

You flush as you’re pushed through, stopping just above it. You’re both jostled by the people around you as you stand guard above your phone. People were dancing dangerously close to it,and all it would take is one drunken fool to stamp on it or you for this to end in disaster.

“Okay let’s drop, carefully this time!” you order, but Jimin scoffs at you.

“I’m trying to be careful!”

“Just don't thrash me about again, that would be nice-”

“I’m not doing it on purpose! I can if you want me to-”

“Oh my god, stop, just bend over and help me!”

“That sounds dirt-”

He starts, but before you let him manifest that in your mind you start to crouch, the force pulling him down to bump his chest into your back. The heat of him crashing into you is instant, an insatiable warmth that spreads in contact. He puts a stabilising hand on your hips as his breath rolls across the back of your neck. A shiver trickles down your body despite trying to hold it back.

“What did you do that for?” He grunts, his mouth closer to your ear as he tries to rebalance himself.

“Y- you’re taking too long trying to argue!”

He presses himself off your back and shuffles down beside you. You finally get crouched on the floor, tentative hands placed on the sticky surface to stop you from toppling over. Jimin crouches next to you, his body facing yours with his leg behind you, tight against your back. It was hard to stay focused with him pressed against you like that, but you know he was just trying to stay stable. So why were you blushing so hard?

Carefully you reach out, your fingers just brushing the edge of the phone. You’re just able to get your fingers over the edge when you’re slammed from the side. Your phone is knocked out of your reach once more as you’re thrown onto Jimin, both of you landing in a tangled heap.

You let out a yelp as you’re falling, the impact to the side of you bristling with shock. His back hits the floor and you land awkwardly, right on top of him.

“Watch what you’re doing, you moron!” Jimin snaps after your head slaps onto his shoulder.

Your heart slams erratically against your chest, his words stinging. You’d come to blows many more times than you can imagine, but he’d never spoken to you in that way, not ever.

“God, I’m sorry.” you murmur, pressing yourself up off his chest, your face practically aflame.

“What? Oh, no no, not you! Whichever idiot smacked into you. Are you alright?“ He asks, his fingers gently gripping your chin and turning you gently in his hands.

Your eyes are wide as he stares at you, your fingers twitching on the silk covering his chest. Once he’s satisfied that you’re okay, he softly releases you. You bring your gaze back to his, beads of sweat rolling down your face.

Jimin looks down to his hand and back up to you after realising what he had just done, before he clenches his fist closed and puts it down to his side. His forehead is creased, his face burning bright.

“We should… ah, should get your phone.” His voice is low, barely audible above the music. But you hear him all the same, stealing your hand back from his chest.

You swallow thickly, stabilizing yourself as you crouched back on your own two feet. Your phone isn’t too far out of reach, but just beyond the touch of your fingertips. You strain, tugging Jimin along behind you. His throat is pulled against your shoulder, but it was no good, you still needed the stretch.

“Hold on.” You mumble, slipping your head out from underneath the collar.

You keep your arm inside the shirt sleeve for plausible deniability - you’d never be able to lie to Namjoon if he asks if you stayed in. But you pull your head out from the bottom of the shirt and reach out, gripping your phone and snatching it up. You shove it in your deepest pocket of your jeans and pat it, relieved.

You crawl back to Jimin and try to climb back into the shirt. He throws the bottom over your head and you push it through - only to slam your head into his arm.

“Ah, sorry!” You yelp, trying to push yourself past him.

He tries to guide your head back up through the collar but manages to get his rings caught in your hair. You yelp at the tug, your hands flying up to untangle him.

“Sorry, sorry!” He shouts, bringing his other hands up to slide his rings off altogether.

Once they’re off his fingers it’s easier to free your hair. With the rings tucked safely in his pocket and with gentle easing, Jimin moves your head up to the collar of the shirt. You rapidly brush your hair out of your face and look at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s flustered, roughly pushing the hair that sticks to his sweaty forehead back. His lips are parted and his eyes are fixed away from you.

Briefly, the thought of just running away from him crossed your mind. There’d be no more issues if you never saw his face again. No more embarrassment! Of course it was a silly idea, but it would be better than getting the opportunity to make yourself look like an idiot again.

You huff out a breath, blotting your damp forehead with the back of your hand. Your brush with the floor had left your clothes feeling sticky, and your brush against Jimin had set everything else on fire. You needed some fresh ai-

“It’s too hot for this, I need some air.” Jimin shifts in his spot, gesturing to the backdoor that was through the kitchen and blocked by a thick group of party goers. You follow the direction he points and nod enthusiastically.

“I wanna grab some water too.” You murmur. Ignoring his presence.

The people that stood between the cloying heat that you and Jimin were trapped in and the cooler climate outside were dense. You’d have to fight through, but the reward of fresher air to clear your head of Jimin was too tantalising.

With a look at Jimin, he motions with his hand for you to proceed. You roll your eyes at the gesture but you take a cautious step forward, slow and deliberate.

You started pushing your way through, bodies warm and fluid as you tried to champion the way. Jimin got ganged much closer to you, practically pressing into your back as you moved. You focus on finding a path ahead, ignoring the beads of sweat that form in your hairline.

Something had changed between you. This is the closest you had been together, the most you had touched, the longest you had been alone. And you wanted to hate it. You certainly hated how messy he must think you are. But you didn’t. A trickle of something different slides down your body, all your attention focused on his hand on you.

The music changes to something even louder and riles the crowd up. With a swell of movements in the dancers you’re sent flying, knocked by some erratic dancer’s elbow. With the force of the shirt Jimin is dragged with you, crashing into your back and pinballing you against another person.

Subconsciously you turn back to him - but as soon as you’re pressed together, you realise how big a mistake that was.

Stomach to stomach, his face is barely an inch or two from yours. His fingers wrap around your wrist, chest rising and falling as you stare at him.

The sweat that had rolled down his face had reached his throat, dropping down the column and hovering at his apple. The minutest of smirks pulls at his lips, and you realise you’ve been caught.

He swallows, purposely. The bead rolls the rest of the way down his throat, dropping below his necklace before disappearing down the neckline of his shirt. The silk was clinging to his skin in the heat, and it took every ounce of dignity you had not to look down. You could see in your periphery, and that was more than enough. The man was hot, in every sense.

Your eyes flick back up, a different kind of heat burning up your face. You anxiously lick your lips, eyes finally meeting his. He has an eyebrow propped, a smugness radiating that let your blood boil. But his gaze drops to your mouth, watching your tongue gloss across your lip before looking back up. You can feel his breath hit your chest as his cheeks flushed more than they ever had. Now you were the one to have an audience.

Maybe this was it - the answer. You just needed a moment for everything to click, you could reach an understanding! It had nothing to do with how his stare left you feeling like you could burst in every way possible. Or that his pupils seemed to be blown wide, big enough for you to swim in. His fingers were hot against your wrist, and it felt almost as if his pinky was tracing the tiniest circles into your skin-

“I need the bathroom.”

The words are blurted loudly in your face, and for a moment you forget what reality is.

“I- what?”

“Bathroom. Gotta go. Bathroom stuff.” Jimin splutters.

Before you can respond - not that you knew how to - he turns from you. His hand still holds your wrist as he pulls you through the crowd, uncaring as to who he pushes aside. All you can do is stare at the back of his hair and be lead.

“Jimin what the hell?!” You yell, ignoring the glares of the nosy partiers.

Your voice is lost, muffled by loud music and Jimin's deaf focus. You finally break free from the throng of people but your journey doesn't end. You're being whipped past busy rooms until you hit the staircase. The odd person watches you in fascination, some even snickering at what was written so plainly in glitter on the shirt. you felt your face burn, and make a silent note to fight Namjoon at the soonest opportunity.

He begins scurrying up the staircase, and with your wrist still firmly in his iron grip, you're soon flying up behind him. He casts a shifty look behind him to check you were still attached, his face flushed but his eyes focused. You have to remember to regulate your breathing.

"God, careful!" You snap, almost stumbling on the top step.

He doesn't acknowledge that he hears you, but then he slows for a second before darting down the winding corridor. He rushes into one of the rooms, a sprawling guest bedroom, before finally letting your wrist drop from his grip. It was almost bigger than your entire place, with an ensuite and even a door leading out to a balcony.

You close the door behind you before Jimin drags you towards the ensuite. Once he's at the open door he pulls his arms through the sleeve and slips out from the shirt. You know you're in the privacy of a bedroom but you suddenly get nervous, eyes turning to the bedroom door.

"We're gonna get in trouble." You murmur. Namjoon is a mind reader, you’d stake your life on it - he'll know you're separated and find you.

"You gotta relax. We're not gonna be spotted through floors and walls. Unless you wanna come in here with me?" He asks, that trademark smirk pulling at his lips. Your stomach flutters, but it is a relief to have a flash of the jimin who pushes your buttons back.

"I -wha- no! Just hurry up, god." You splutter, turning your back to him.

"I won't be long."

With that he saunters back, his cheeks blown out as he sighs, and finally closes the door for some sweet separation. You step back and move to the balcony - the door was unlocked so you push it open and finally breathe.

The air is still warm, but instant relief from being cooped up inside with Jimin washes over you. You close your eyes and soak up the moment of peace, the shirt hanging off your solitary frame.

Your brain was barely processing the situation you were both in. It was enough being stuck in the same item of clothing as someone, but with Jimin? It was hard.

But then again, it was also easy. It was too easy to get wrapped up in him, to be so close, to let yourself be taken with him. It was a place you had hoped to be before, and somewhere you couldn’t go.

You and Jimin were tumultuous. You weren’t sure why it had to be that way. It’s not like either of you were toxic or nasty people - so why did you have to make a stand on everything? Why does every time you stand off with him make the hairs on your neck stand up, make your heart beat so fast in your chest you swear he could hear it?

Maybe it was because you did, after all this time, like him.

You're snapped out of your thoughts by an erratic knocking at the door. You dart your eyes to it as if you could see through the solid wood, your heart in your throat.

"Y/N? Jimin? You there?" Namjoon calls through the door, and you swear under your breath.

"One second!" You cry, scrambling back from the door and scurry to the ensuite.

"Jimin! Open up!" You whisper at him, your voice a hurried rasp.

"What?"

"I'm coming in!" You wait a few seconds just in case, and then finally throw the door open.

"Y?N!" Jimin yells, scrambling back against the basin.

He was standing with his silk shirt in his hands, His lips parted in shock as he stares at you. His chest was heaving, the faintest glimmer of abs visible behind the thin fabric. Your face was burning almost as much as his, your jaw dropping. His hair was tousled, strands covering his wide eyes as he stared at you.

"Wh... Why are you topless?" Your breath is barely above a whisper as you fight to keep your eyes on his face.

"It's so hot!”

“I’m hot! Do you see me taking my clothes off?” You rush, using every ounce of restraint in your body to not lick your lips.

The thought of you and Jimin taking your clothes off together flashed through your mind and you internally screamed at yourself. This was not the time to unpack that, though you’d be lying if you said the thought hadn’t crossed your mind before.

“Wah- uh, you... I was trying to cool dow- why are you barging in here?!" He rushes, taking a hasty step towards you. To have to sort through your frazzled thoughts before you remember why you were there in the first place.

"Namjoon! He's at the door!" As if to accentuate your point, Namjoon raps on the door again, calling out to you both.

"Agh!" Jimin cries, rushing forward and grabbing the hem of the shirt you still wore.

He begins to get into it as he pushes you towards the door. You could feel the horror fill your veins as the heat of his body slips in beside you, his hand at the small of your back as he guides you. Your arm brushes against his bare hip, the skin hot and smooth. You snatch your arm up and hold it against your chest as if burned and ignore the rapid change in your breathing.

"Why haven't you put your shirt on?!" You whisper, but he just huffs.

"To save time, Now show me your pretty smile and let's get rid of him so I can get dressed." Jimin's hand is on the door, and all you can do is stare at him, eyes wild.

"My wha-"

The door flies open, but you're still staring at Jimin. Pretty...?

"Well hello." Namjoon is leant against the doorframe, arms crossed as he gives you both a crooked grin. His eyes flicker to the room behind you, his eyes landing on the bed just beyond you both.

"Just needed the bathroom." Jimin rushes, hand once again settling in his hair.

"I didn't ask." His voice is light, but his eyes are fierce as he scans you both thoroughly.

"You were thinking about it, though." Jimin mutters. He tries to cross his arms at Namjoon, but with one arm under the shirt and one over he soon drops it. Your gaze was still stuck on him though. Pretty?

"How's the shirt working out, you both talking?" Namjoon asks, and you finally snap your attention to him. He's already watching you and raises an eyebrow. You scramble to stamp down your emotions, despite every nerve in your body sizzling.

"Oh yeah, we’re the best of friends now, right JimJam?" Your voice is bubblegum sweet, giving Jimin the goofiest smile you could muster.

"Totally! We've been braiding our hair and sharing juicy stories. We're basically besties."

Jimin beams at Namjoon, before stepping close and wrapping an arm around your waist to hug you. It was all part of the charade, of course. But as you're pulled back against his chest, you swear your heart could explode. His hand sits lightly on your hip, his every breath rolling down your neck. It didn’t matter that the move was practically hidden under the shirt.

"Yeah..." you laugh, but it's more of a choke as you pat his hand over the shirt and avoid meeting Namjoon's probing gaze.

Jimin clears his throat awkwardly behind you, his finger twitching on your hip. The heat between you swealters, every inch of your skin electric against his body.

Namjoon's eyes flick between you. You could see his thoughts brewing but they never pass his lips. Instead you and Jimin wait, his hands singeing your skin where they rested, his bare chest like fire against you.

"Well, I can see you're obviously working on something. But until you're actually convincing, you can stay in that shirt." He shrugs, grin widening across his face. With a final flick of his eyes, he pushes off the door frame and heads back towards the stairs.

"This is ridiculous Namjoon!" You yell at his back, crossing your arms across your stomach.

"Maybe - but you're both still wearing it." He smirks back over his shoulder.

You yell incoherent words at his back before huffing out a breath. Your fingers twitch in anger, putting a stubborn hand on your hip, the skin hot under your touch.

Faintly you realise the contact isn’t registering on your hip, and it isn’t until Jimin loosens his grip on you that you realise your hand had been resting on his. His hands fall from your body as he shuffles away, swallowing a throaty gulp.

You couldn’t look at him. It was all fun and games to begin with- oh, who were you kidding? This had been sucky, but something had shifted. You needed air, a chance to breathe, to not be tethered to the man that seems to haunt you.

“Need air.” Your voice a rasp as you step back into the room.

Jimin barely shuts the bedroom door before you’re marching to the balcony, not caring about whether you drag him along or not. Once you’re outside you heave in a breath, letting the air fill your lungs.

“That was too close.” You murmur, fiddling with the hem of the shirt.

“How was I supposed to know Namjoon would be keeping tabs?”

“I’m not blaming you Jimin! Why are you making this into an argument too?” You snap, your eyes fixed on the treeline on the edge of the property.

You feel him wriggling aggressively next to you, only to look back and see him climbing out of the shirt. You watch in horror as he slips out from under the sickly yellow material, keeping his bare back to you.

“What are you doing?” You yelp, scanning over the edge of the balcony for any sight of your friends. They couldn’t see you apart, they would never trust either of you again.

“What are we doing?”

“We’re meant to be working this out from inside the same ugly shirt-”

“No not right now. I mean, kind of. I just… Why did we let it get this far?”

You let his words hang in the air, your thoughts scattered. The thump of the music below drifts up to you, the mass of partygoers that stood out in the gardens laughing and chatting loudly. It seemed a world away from the tension that fills the air between you and Jimin.

He turns back to you with a look on his face so intense you can’t place it. But you could tell he was tightly wound - his shoulders were squared and his jaw was tight. He avoids making eye contact with you for as long as he can. But when he finally does, it was too easy to get lost in what you see there.

“We just argue, I guess.” you shrug, averting your eyes from his chest and stomach. This wasn’t the time to be fawning over him. It was hard - he was beautiful, there was no escape from that. It’s one of a million reasons you had liked him in the first place.

“You can't tell me you’re happy with that explanation.” He huffs, crossing his arms.

“Of course I’m not but what do you want me to say? You don’t like me, you’ve made that plain enough. Not everyone gets along.”

You bite your lip, admitting the words you’d been too scared to think out loud. But when you hear a faint gasp, your eyes shoot up to his face. His lips are parted, a look of abject shock written on his delicate features.

I d- I do like you.” His voice is so quiet you can barely hear him. But you do, and the words strike deep.

You can’t open yourself up to this right now. Namjoon will find a way to know that you’re both separated, and the rest of the guys will drift away. You want to be civil with Jimin, not have your entire soul bared open to him. You couldn’t survive that.

“Can you please put your shirt back on?” You mumble, your eyes laser-focused imploringly on his face, but he doesn't hear you, barrelling on.

“It’s not like I enjoy arguing with you!”

“Then why are you making it so difficult?” Your voice cracks, the hurt of your never ending battles threatening to surface.

“Do you know how hard it is to get your attention-“ he starts, his fast flow of words immediately cut off as he gawks at you, delicate fingers slamming over his lips.

“What?” You blurt, processing his words.

“No no, nothing! Forget it.” he shakes his hands at you, eyes wide and face blushing a deep pink.

“Jimin! What do you mean, get my attention?”

“I… yeah. We’re always with the guys, I guess I didn’t know how else to get you to focus on me.”

“Why?” Your voice is faint, a million thoughts crashing in your head.

“No, forget it!”

“Jimin!”

“Ah, I like you, okay?”

The air around you thickens, the distance between you a thousand miles yet still too close. Your heart thumps rapidly in your chest, your eyes wide as saucers and your skin prickled with goosebumps.

“You- huh?”

“I… like you. A lot. It happened pretty quickly.” He sighs, running a shaky hand through his hair.

"Why have you never told me?"

"Because it's humiliating as hell?" He laughs bitterly, his eyes darting to anywhere but you.

"Jimin..."

"No seriously. If I had told you, you'd reject me because why wouldn't you? All we do is argue."

"You think I'd reject you?" You ask, voice quiet as you step closer to him. His gaze finally snaps back to you at your movement.

"I mean, I... yeah?"

He runs a hand roughly over his face, turning his back to you. He looks so flawless in the moonlight. But he always looked flawless to you. Watching him fret like this was something so alien to you, but so human, so Jimin. You couldn’t let him suffer these feelings alone.

"Well, I wouldn't have." You mumble.

“You- what?”

Your brain scrambles, your heart hammering in your throat. He stares at you, wide eyes and chest heaving as if he was winded. Swallowing thickly you press on, despite the fear that churns in your gut.

“I wouldn’t reject you, Jimin. I… uh. I like you too.” You fiddle awkwardly with the hem of the stupid shirt.

The whole scenario had you feeling like a girl going through a childhood crush again. Though last time you had a crush on a boy who was fighting with you, you punched him in the nose. It was doubtful that would work this time around-

“Jimin?” You ask, watching as he shrinks back on himself.

You watch as he breathes, his chest rising and falling, the rapidly cooling night air raising goosebumps across his skin. It was hard to keep your brain on track.

After a moment he meets your gaze with a softness so potent it was enough to choke you.

In two steps he was on you, his lips crashing against yours. Your entire body threatens to shut down, the shock rippling through you. Before you even had a second to comprehend how good his lips felt against yours he pulls back, fear in his eyes as he worries.

You know then what you want. Who you want. You wondered why you wasted so long arguing to get it.

With your blood thrashing violently in your veins you reach your hands out to his face, caressing the smooth skin of his cheek before you surge forwards. The feel of the gloss on his lips smudges as you let yourself be consumed, the slightest hint of cherry seeping in.

Kissing Park Jimin. You. You’re kissing him. Your eyes slam shut as you sink into him, electricity crackling on your skin.

With no doubt in his mind at all Jimin slides his hands to your hips, fingers curling into the shirt as he moves you back, pushing you into the wall. You moan into his kiss, and he smirks against your lips. To trip him up you press the kiss deeper, letting the tip of your tongue dance at his pretty lips, wanting to taste him.

He does you one better, turning the tides and pressing the kiss back to you, tongue flicking to you.

Just like normal, you weren’t one to back down from Jimin.

Letting a hand move into his silken hair, you brush it back the way you’d seen him do a thousand times. But instead of letting your hands fall out of the soft locks, you let the strands wind around your fingers and give it a tug.

Jimin lets out a low groan, breaking the kiss to pant against your lips. Pride flows through you, but so did a sense of admiration - it was something you wanted to hear from that pretty mouth over and over.

“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Y/N.” He whispers, tugging sharply on the shirt so that your body was flat against his.

You try to not let the gasp from you come out too loud, the lines of his body startlingly apparent as you’re pressed together.

“You think that scares me?”

At your words he smiles. It spreads slowly, but soon his whole face is alight, brightness shining out of him. With his fingers at the hem of the massive shirt, he gives you a filthy giggle before kneeling and slipping himself inside of the material.

“What are you doing?” You yelp, feeling the familiar sensation of being stuck in the stupid shirt with him again. But it was different too, it wasn’t suffocating like before.

His head popped back up through the ripped collar, grin still annoyingly plastered across his face.

“Shouldn’t you be trying to get me out of this shirt, Park Jimin?” You whisper, breathless as he presses you back against the wall.

“I can’t deny that you have too many clothes on.” He smirks, delicate fingers sliding up your shirt to rest on your hot skin. “But there’s something… ah, satisfying about having you in this shirt.”

“Seriously?”

“What’s the matter Y/N, don’t think you can handle it?” His fingers circle agonisingly slow on your hips, a mischievous glint catching in his eye. He knows you so well.

“You’re gonna be the one who can’t handle it.”

“Prove it.”

You almost growl at him as he presses your buttons, but the burning in you meets the heat in your stomach. You need him more than ever.

You pull him back against you by the hair, crushing your lips together once more. He moans into you, nails pressing into your hips as your lips collide. You roll your hips against him, the fire in your veins white hot as he stutters against you. He breaks your kiss to gasp needily, eyes shut tight as your stomach brushes against the bulge in his tight jeans.

His eyes finally open, unfocused and swimming. But after a second he fixes his gaze on you, determined. A flicker of anticipation fills you, awaiting retribution.

His fingers move from your skin to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up until you have to help him. The shirt you were sharing was making it difficult, and you start to regret ever letting him get his way. But as soon as you are free he presses back into you, his hot skin flush against yours, his fingers idly tracing the straps of your bra.

Just with the gentle brush of his fingertips he nudges the straps down your arms, goosebumps rising along his trail. He presses his lips to your cheek, pecking slow, soft kisses across your cheekbone as he moves towards your ear. You sigh as his mouth moves lower, plump lips pressing dainty kisses down your neck. With you swept up, his hands move behind you and unclip your bra.

A gasp passes your lips while his own are still planted at your neck, sucking on a soft spot there. Your bra slides off your body, landing with a quiet thud on the floor of the balcony.

His fingers find their way back to your hips, slowly caressing their way up. An excited shiver catches you, and you feel him laugh against your skin. His warm hands find your breasts, thumbs rubbing over the soft skin before finding your nipples.

You suck in a breath as he kisses back up your neck. He pauses to capture your lips again, lulling you into him as his thumbs brush out across your nipples.

With your staccato breathing he smirks once more into your skin. Not one to ever be outmanoeuvred by Jimin, you decide it’s time to flip the switch.

You purposefully run your fingers down his stomach, featherlight and teasing. He hitches his breath, mouth detaching from your neck as he waits, anticipating your every move. His hot breath rolls down your neck, rippling off your chest. You hide a smirk in his hair and focus on your goal.

Letting your fingers rest on his belt buckle - no doubt something obnoxiously expensive - you begin to undo him as slow as you possibly could. You slide it off, inching it so little that you could feel him get restless against you.

“You’re a nightmare.” He whispers, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

“I’m just savouring the moment.” You offer softly, the soft clinks of the buckle resting against his thigh.

“You’ll pay if you tease me like this.” His voice is high, airy. The voice of a man in complete control - though you knew that was far from the truth.

“Mm, sure Jimin.” You smirk, bringing a hand up between you to his face.

You angle him back up to kiss you, which he does with ferocity. You smile into him, the power to provoke him rich in your veins.

Your hand sinks back to his belt, and with him distracted you pull it off him fast, dumping it somewhere on the floor and popping the button of his jeans. He gasps into your kiss, fingers automatically flexing across your breasts. You hold your reaction to yourself, intent on giving nothing away until you are ready.

You tug down his zipper, pressing it back onto him so he feels the teeth unclipping against his boxers. You knew they were gonna be some annoyingly expensive brand too, but the thought of getting him to ruin them for you was intoxicating. He leans his forehead against yours, the desperation rising his face palpable.

With a sharp tug you drop his jeans to his mid-thigh before moving your fingers back to him, running teasingly around his waistband. You didn’t have to look under the shirt to know his boxers were tented, his erection straining against the fabric. You dip a finger just below his waistband, tracing along the lines of his hips. He lets out a choked breath, hips subconsciously bucking into you.

“Y/N…”

“What?” You ask sweetly, moving your fingers to brush along his pubic bone. Your knuckles barely graze the base of his shaft, but he lets out a murmur of swear words as his eyes flicker.

Not one to be overshadowed for long, Jimin lets his hands drop to your hips and immediately flies to your zipper. He presses his crotch into you, and you feel just how hard he is for you. With a flapping mouth you watch him, challenging eyebrow raised.

Everything was a game. One that you were intent on winning.

Plucking at your courage, you slide a hand back down, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock. His hips stutter in your hand, a gush of air forcing out of his lungs.

He felt good in your hand - really good. Firm skin, warm and pulsing in your hand. You experimentally ran a finger along his underside, tracing the vein all the way to his tip. He lets himself go then, head thrown back, eyes tightly clasped. A low groan rumbles from his throat, his fingers stilling on your zip.

“Feel good?” You whisper, pressing your lips to his.

“Ah, mm…” Is all he can manage as his head falls back.

He’s totally lost in your touch, and you’d barely started. A ripple of excitement darts through you, the sight of having Park Jimin needy and in your hands was too powerful to overlook.

A small giggle falls from your lips, the tiniest of noises. But it’s enough to spur him back to reality with his dark eyes finally refocusing on you.

He takes a breath to center himself before pulling down your jeans slowly. You feel the material slide over your hips and sit above your knees. Your panties quickly follow, thrust down faster than you can blink.

He lets a hand drag back up your thigh, running across to where you want his hand the most. Your touch on him falters as anticipation runs through your body. Ever so slowly he lets a finger stroke across your slit, barely grazing your skin. You wrap your free arm over his shoulder, taking a grip of his soft hair.

He smiles at you, and you let your eyes drag across his face. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth at your scrutiny. You can’t help but admire him: the way his lipgloss is smudged up across his cupid’s bow, the sweat that seemed to be dribbling so aesthetically down his sharp jaw, the blown out pupils of his deep eyes. Your breath catches in your throat as you soak him in - and that’s when he decides to strike.

He slips his fingers between your folds, feeling how wet you are for him, before sliding his fingers up to your clit. He applies only the slightest bit of pressure but it’s enough to have you gasping at his touch. He lets out a soft moan as he feels you, letting his fingers move in the tiniest circles.

You slowly rock your hips on his fingers, knotting your own in his hair. You instinctively flex your hand only to have his hips instinctively thrust his cock into your hand.

Deciding to move things on just a little, you move back just enough to see his cock in your hand. His eyes flutter open at your movements, only to blow wide when he sees a trail of spit drop from your lips onto his tip. You catch it with your thumb and rub it into his tip, rolling it down his length.

A low moan leaves him, his free hand coming up to wipe your bottom lip ever so delicately. You meet his eyes, a fire burning there just for you. He drags you into a kiss, his hand scrunching in your hair.

His hand start to move again, circling you and getting into a slow rhythm on your clit. You moan into his kiss, starting your movements too until both of you were breathless messes.

The kisses became scattered and sloppier as you both let your hands work. The delicate touch of his fingers was enough to blur your vision, and your firm grip that was growing in speed on his length rendered him weak in your hands.

His own hand moves deftly, nimble fingers moving between circling your needy clit to running through your wetness. His jaw slackens each time he feels how wet you are for him, pride drifting somewhere in his lust-blown eyes.

Jimin is slick under your grasp, rock hard as you twist up and down his length. Staggered gasps fall from his lips, getting more and more careless as you drag him higher.

His circling gets a little more pressure, and it’s enough to send your head lulling back, barely able to focus on the task literally in hand. You returned his zeal, putting an extra squeeze on his length. The choke that passes his lips sends pride through your already thrashing veins. His face twitches; his forehead creases, pretty lips part slightly further, eyebrows jolt. You know he’s close, and you have the power in your hands.

But he has you, too. The pressure pulsing from your core builds, your eyes slamming shut as you're barely able to form words. You can feel it rising, teetering on the edge of something good-

-until he jerks his fingers from you. You whimper at the loss of his fingers, orgasms skittering disappointingly away from you. Your eyes open as you snap your bereft gaze to him.

“Fuck, Y/N, too quick-“ he murmurs, grabbing hold of your wrist and gently pulling your hand of his throbbing cock.

“Jimin?”

He’s fully flushed, strands of silken hair stuck to his forehead. His chest rises and falls rapidly with his chest, eyes wild.

“I don’t wanna cum just yet.”

“What if I wanted you to-“

“Don’t argue with me on this,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your lips. But then his voice drops low, lips pulled into a deadly smirk. “I have to make you cum first.”

You barely have a second to swallow down a gasp before you’re pulled from the wall to crash against his lips.

You hold him against you with the collar of the shirt you were still trapped in, matching his energy as he kisses you desperately. Your hands are held tight against his chest, his cock resting teasingly against your stomach.

His hands let go of you to grab your hips, steering your towards the edge of the balcony.

Once you're spun he pushes you gently, bending you over to lean against the railing. Forgetting that you’re stuck in the same damn shirt, he gets yanked down with you, body flush against your back. He lets out a tiny giggle into the back of your neck and it’s as if your heart could stop from the sound.

The cool of the metal railing presses into your chest, hands bracing it through the shirt. You look to the party happening below, guests hovering out in the garden to escape the heat of the sweaty party. You were pretty well out of sight - as long as nobody looked up.

“There’s quite a few people down there.” Jimin’s lips are by your ear, making the hairs on your neck stand on end.

“Don’t think you can make me loud enough? That’s a shame.” You smirk, unable to stop teasing him.

“You’re gonna regret those words baby.”

The pet name strikes deep within you. It’s perfect coming from Jimin, warmth radiating across your body. And you couldn’t blame that one on the heat.

Jimin presses his body onto your back, thick erection settling just above your cheeks. You feel the heat of his hand smooth from your thigh round to the front of you. He takes a few swipes across your clit to make you jerk beneath him before his fingers drift further back.

He swirls a finger around your waiting hole, agonizingly slow. You gasp at him, pushing your hips back into him. His shaft brushes against your cheeks and you can hear him suck in a desperate breath. Spurred on by his own need, he dips his finger gradually inside.

It’s slow, pushing past his knuckle until his finger sits inside you. You feel your walls pulse around him, desperate for more. His hand stills, taking his time to pepper kisses behind your ear. He nips playfully at your lobe, taking his sweet time with each movement.

You know he’s doing it to make you suffer. And god were you suffering, using every ounce of restraint to not whine for him.

Slowly he turns his finger so it sits better inside of you. The graze of his knuckle causes you to moan, and you feel him smirk into your skin.

“That’s what I was waiting for.”

He slowly begins to pump into you. It’s instantly better than his stationary finger, but still agonizingly slow. You needed him, harder and faster.

“Jimin…” you whine, pushing your rear back into him. He tuts into your ear, stilling his fingers.

“You need to let go, Y/N. I’ve got you.” He punctuates his point by kissing a trail along your shoulder.

You bite your lip, his words hitting a little deeper than just him getting you off. You always had to be in control of yourself around Jimin - you had to win, had to be alert. You couldn’t let your emotions get hold of you.

But it was all out in the open now. He knew how you felt - and he feels the same too. Maybe you can let go, just a little. It didn’t mean you had to start losing arguments any time soon, though.

You nod, turning your head to where he was pressing kisses into your skin. He beams at you, eyes scrunching as he surges up to catch your lips.

His movements cause his thumb to brush across your clit, and you moan wantonly into him. He pulls away to peer over the balcony, the loud noise escaping you both. You follow his gaze, but you’d drawn no attention. Not yet anyway-

He looks back at you and winks, the move cheeky and completely Jimin but he silences by pulling his finger almost completely out of you. Your jaw drops at the sensation, but just as quickly he pushes it back inside you, as far as he can go.

You bite the collar of the shirt to muffle your noise. His skin was still hot against yours, a sheen of sweat building on your forehead as you focused on him.

Mercifully he begins to fuck his finger in you, curling inside you. You inhale sharply through your nose, eyes shut tight as you let yourself go.

He carries on for a few more pups before he lets a second finger coat in your wetness. On the next thrust into you, he gently presses in a second finger, and you feel yourself clamp down at the stretch. Jimin keeps pressing kisses against your skin, but he gets breathless, his own erection pressing tauntingly at your back.

He sits his fingers for just a few seconds, letting you get used to him before he works them back out of you. In and out, in and out. He’s slow again, teasing you to the point of madness. You groan in frustration, but it was just what he was waiting for.

He thrusts his fingers deep into you, fucking you fast. Your hips roll to meet his pumps, the drag of him inside you delicious.

He brings up two fingers to your lips, and instinctively you take them into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digits. You make sure to meet his eye as you run your tip up the crack between his fingers, eliciting a groan from him and a buck of his hips against you.

He pulls them from your mouth and moves them between your legs. His fingers find your clit, and to match the rhythm that he was fingering into you, he begins to circle your needy bud.

It pushes you over the edge, almost literally. You cling onto the balcony as you’re thrust into it, Jimin sucking marks into your neck. You groan, the contact all over your body making you weak. The wet noises that surround you are pure sin, making you bite down on your lip. Jimin groans into your skin, teeth sinking softly into your shoulder as his fingers work fast.

“Fuck!” You yelp as his fingers brush your soft spot inside.

You slap a hand over your mouth as you stare down into the garden below, fear icy in your veins as you hope you’re not spotted.

Jimin doesn’t stop though. He hides his head in your neck, thrusting his fingers faster now that he knows your weak spot.

A few people below scan around them for the source of the swearing, but thankfully none of them think to look up. You bite your lip, eyes closing as you let yourself fall back into Jimin.

“That was a close one, huh?” He whispers, a lilt of a giggle in his voice.

“Shut up.” You murmur, voice cracking as he circles your clit so well you almost see stars.

“That’s no way to talk to the man who’s got two fingers deep in your-“

“Fuck, Jimin please!” You gasp, his next words dancing at the front of your mind.

The circles on your clit get defter, pressure hitting you just right as your hips start to roll uncontrollably. You grip tightly at the railing, unable to stop the flow of moans that echo from you. Being spotted from below is less important as you can feel your orgasm rising, your legs feeling weak underneath you.

Your skin prickles from the heat generating between your bodies, Jimin’s hot breath rolling across your neck as you flush harder.

“I’m gonna...” you whimper, your words lost to pleasure.

“Cum baby, all over my fingers.” His whisper sends shivers through you, a welcome change to the heat that dribbles down your temples.

He curls his fingers on every thrust to bring you closer to the precipice. You push back against him furiously, riding his fingers and your knuckles turn white on the railings. You feel it coil in your stomach, and you know you’re so close.

“Let go Y/N.” He whispers, breath ragged from exertion, but still peppering your marked skin with tiny kisses. You screw your eyes shut as you embody his words, letting yourself give in to the feeling.

“Jimin!”

Your orgasm crashes around you, a litany of swear words moan from your lips. Your walls clench down on Jimin’s fingers, twitching under his fingertips. You slam your hand over your mouth as your moans subside, wide eyes scanning the crowd below.

Heads turn in your direction, and before you can begin to scramble Jimin pulls you back from the balcony to stand flush against him. Your heart pounds in your chest, but the thrill that runs through your veins is undeniable.

He finally pulls his fingers out of you, the gush of wetness and noise make your face heat up. He wraps that arm across your chest and holds you against him, a wide grin wrinkling his eyes. You kiss him, soft and delicate, plump lips locking with yours.

Once you pull back he grins again, before moving the fingers that were in you towards his lips. your mouth parts as you watch him slip the digits inside, taking his time to suck off the taste of you. A light whimper leaves you as you watch him finally slide them out from between your lips with a pop, devilish glint in his eye.

Witha shiver you turn in his grip, pushing him firmly back against the wall.

He hisses lightly as his back hits it, and hisses louder as you're bungied in the shirt against him. He lets out a laugh and you do the same as you right yourself. But you can't keep yourself away from him as your lips are on his again. You flick your tongue at his, the taste of you on him.

“Wanna be inside you...” he whispers between kisses, his hot fingers idling their way up and down your sides. You groan at his words, nodding dreamily at him.

“God, yes please.” you sigh, feeling his lips trace kisses along your jaw.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” He smiles against your skin, grabbing you by the hips and spinning you both.

He pushes you back against the wall, the bite of the wood pressing into your skin.

“I’ve never heard you so passive.” He laughs, thumb and finger coming up to gently grip your chin. You grin at him, a flutter in your stomach.

“Don’t get used to it Park Jimin.”

He tips his head back to laugh, a pinky flush hot on his cheeks. All you can do is watch in awe, soak him in as he glows in the moonlight. But then he looks back down at you with the stars in his eyes and you realise that, yes - this is what you had wanted all along.

You bring his lips crashing back down to yours, letting your fingers knot in his dark hair and you touch him, drink him in. The silken strands flit through your fingers, and you idly think to yourself about him running his own hands through it. You can see why he does it now.

His thumb strokes across your chin, gently pulling your face from his. You open your eyes to look at him, the flush on his face even brighter.

“Ready?”

“Give it your best shot.” you smile, peppering his jaw with kisses.

You’re stopped in your tracks when he hoists one of your legs over his hip, a teasing eyebrow raised at you. Not to be bested, you hook your leg over his ass and pull him against you. You feel his erection sit against your stomach, hard and leaking onto your skin.

He takes hold of himself and strokes across your wet slit, coating himself. A withered sigh escapes your lips as you watch his frown deepen. His face contorts as he concentrates, teasing himself just as much as he was you. You lean forward to let a trail of spit fall from your lips and drip down onto him, coating his cock even more. You don’t know what possessed you to do it again, but the way he stuttered in a gasp made it well worth it.

Then with an agonisingly slow pace, he begins to press himself just inside you. Your mind clears, all that you can see and feel is Jimin. You had waited long enough.

A wimpery sigh strangles from you, Jimin pressing against your walls until he is fully seated in you. He was so warm, stretching you in all the right places, as close to you as he could physically be.

You give him an encouraging squeeze with your leg. He takes the hint and slowly starts to pull out of you, hair flopping in front of his eyes as he looks down to watch himself pull out of you. The drag of him is good, too good, as you let a warble of noises fall out of your mouth. He doesn't seem to mind though, his focus transfixed elsewhere.

"Jimin..." you whisper, fingers digging into his skin as he slowly begins to reach a rhythm.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, any mischievous glint in him gone. He was a man on a mission now, aiming to make you feel as good as possible. You could feel that in every stroke, the way he let you feel the length of him drag almost fully out before he pushes back inside you.

You start to roll your hips back at him, determined to not let him have all the fun. The tentative thrust of your hips had his head snap up to you, a fresh sheen of sweat glowing on his skin. You try to play it off coolly - another attempt to throw him off his game - but he squeezes your ass cheeks and holds himself deep in you, and your resolve melts away.

"Don't start something you can't finish." He smirks, and despite the need to fight him bubbling in you, you tip your head back and laugh.

"I guess that applies to both of us." You smile, pressing forward to kiss his lips softly. "Now fuck me Park Jimin, or we're really gonna have a fight on our hands."

He laughs against your lips, a gentle bubble that rises from his chest. But he takes on your words, pressing you hardest against the wall and hiking your leg higher.

He only goes slow for a few thrusts, getting a feel for you before he decides to ramp it up further. 'Typical Jimin' seems to float through your head, but you just grip him tighter, moving to meet his thrusts. You wanted to savour how full he made you feel for as long as possible.

His speed picks up, a hand moving to the underside of your raised legs and digs in deep. You let your own hands slide to his hair, keeping hold of the soft locks as he starts to hit harder inside you.

The sound of your skin making contact seems to echo loudly, and you barely spare a thought to people below working out what the noise was. You didn't care if they heard any more.

It was so hot inside the shirt together, and you could feel beads of sweat rolling down your chin and down your neck. This definitely wasn't helping the heat problem at all, but there was nothing on earth that would make you stop. The edges of Jimin's hair were getting damper, and with every tug of his hair he let his head fall back into your touch. His throat was bared to you, salty beads dribbling down his hot skin.

You murmur a series of curses as you watched him, the thrum of him being underneath you almost unbelievable.

But then he pulls out a power move.

With fast thrusts he rolls his hips, his cock dragging almost perfectly across your soft spot inside, and all your senses seem to leave you. He repeatedly manages to hit your spot and you are sure he is planning to end you, it was the only way to explain it. Death by good dick, you could see it now.

"Fuck fuck fuck." you repeat like a mantra, The wet slaps that echoes just adding to the sensation.

"Wanna turn you." He mutters breathlessly, and a part of you is glad he's also feeling so affected.

You can't seem to vocalise an answer so you nod emphatically, unhitching your leg from its vice-like grip around him. He pulls out of you and you almost complain, but then his hands are on your hips.

He spins you and presses you against the wall, lifting your leg up and lining himself back inside you again. You're practically dripping for him, so it doesn't take much for him to push back inside. You push your ass back into his thrusts making his movements stutter, and with a playful squeeze he whines behind you.

A small smirk picks up on your lips as you roll your hips back at him, starting him out of his stupor and back to where you need him.

He pounds his hips into you and you have to steady yourself against the wall. The shirt bunches awkwardly, caught in your grip as the rough wood of the wall digs into your skin. Jimin presses his front against your back, the hotness of his skin pricking against your own.

An arm slides around your waist, guiding you, holding you steady as he ferociously fucks into you. His other arm settles across your chest, his fingers clenching across your collarbone. His mouth is by your ear, ragged breaths blowing across the taut collar of the shirt and hitting the warmth of your body.

“Y/N.” Jimin groans, the lilt in his voice uneven as his hips crash into yours.

Your entire body was tingling, the pleasure from your core and the bite of the wall against your bare skin a fight for your senses. You could feel perspiration form on your forehead making your hair stick to you awkwardly but it didn't matter.

Jimin filled you in every way. The hot touch from his fingertips on your waist and across your chest, the heat of his stomach at the base of your back, the soft moans that he sings by your ears.

"That's it, baby." He groans, his fingers curling onto your skin.

The hand that he has sat on your waist slinks across your stomach to reach between your legs, letting his fingers circle your throbbing clit. The pressure makes your eyes slam shut, letting your head fall back onto Jimin's shoulder behind you.

A small single laugh falls from his lips, but your inevitable clench off your walls around him cuts it short. He thrusts a little harder, rocking you against the wall. You have to brace yourself as he fills you repeatedly, his athletic hips working overtime.

The hand that has been pressed to your chest finds its way to your throat, holding just below your jaw. You let out a moan as you cover his hand with yours, pressing his fingers into your throat.

"Shit..." He gasps, his hips stuttering.

"I bet you've been wanting to strangle me for ages." You rush, voice cracking as he circles your clit a little harder.

"Only when I've thought about fucking you."

The moan that leaves you is barely human. In fact, you were barely human any more. you were turning to putty on his cock and under his fingers. It wasn't going to be long until you reached your peak.

His fingers press into your throat under your guidance, the delicious bite making your vision slowly pool. You gasp, shivers tingling down your body. He lets up his grip a little to let your blood flow one more, your body practically vibrating from stimulation.

"Close, Jimin..." you whine, rocking your ass back into him.

"Let loose for me, Y/N." He whispers, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear.

He lets out one last surge of energy, fucking into you and rubbing your clit with a renewed vigour. you throw yourself back at him without care, chasing the high he was leading to you.

With a few more pumps and circles on your clit, you come undone.

Your body pulses on him, clenching down hard as your orgasm crashes through you. Your fingernails dig into his hand and the wall, a strangled cry of his name bursting from you. You cum hard on him, helping him finally reach his peak too - you could tell by the way his hips stuttered, the way he throbbed inside you.

"Cum, Jimin." you whimper, rocking your throbbing core on him.

He doesn't hold back, pumping a few stuttery thrusts into you as he cums. He fills you, gasping against your ear as your walls milk him dry. He thrusts until he can’t anymore, slowing his hips as the fullness inside of you trickles out past his length.

Both of your movements slowly lull to a stop. Jimin holds your body close against him, ragged breath hot against your ear. Your skin is prickled from the heat but you nestle into him anyway.

He finally pulls his softening length from inside you, a small dribble of your combined juices trickle down causing shivers to cover your body.

Turning your head you smile at him, slightly out of breath and dewy. The sight of him is godly: Messy hair sticking to his damp forehead, a pretty red blush spreading across his cheeks, plushy lips parted and sucking in breaths. He smirks back, a lazy grin growing. He moves closer and kisses you, gentle brushes of his lips against yours.

His hand that sat on your throat moved to stroke your cheek, and you let your hands thread in his hair as your kiss trails off into small pecks.

The air is different around you. It’s still hot, swirling close and untempered. But there’s something else too - a coolness, an understanding. A person behind the battle lines. Someone you could lean on, and someone who could keep up with you in an argument.

You pull back from him and look at him, his eyes slightly starry and his lips swollen from all they had been doing. With a soft smile you rub your thumb across his cupid’s bow, wiping off the last of his lipgloss.

“We should probably go downstairs, right? We don’t want Namjoon sticking that long neck of his out here.” Jimin whispers, his eyes finally focusing on you.

You nod, but not before pressing one last soft kiss to his lips. Now you’ve started, there was nothing in the world that could stop you from peppering him.

“Yeah.” You sigh, voice cracking slightly.

But neither of you move, both unwilling to be the first to break apart.

“I don’t want to leave here either.” He smirks, but it’s softer. Not the smirk he throws out to purposely disarm you, though it still has that effect on you.

“Where do we go from here though?”

“I guess we’ll have to work that out. Maybe we can discuss it if you let me take you out tomorrow?” He asks, eyes darting over your face for an answer.

Excitement crackles through you, electricity rippling through your head to the end of your fingertips. A smile rises on your face, and you can see the relief flow through Jimin.

“I’d love to.”

“Perfect. Now, let’s go and rub in the guy’s faces how well we’re getting on.” He laughs, his eyes crinkling.

He kisses you one last time, hard and fast, satiated for now. With that you finally separate, Pulling your clothes back on before facing each other again.

The shirt felt big now. Too big.

You couldn’t get close enough to him. You both head for the door when you feel Jimin’s fingers interlock with yours. Your entire body flushes as you open the door to the bedroom, the wall of heat from the house hitting you both.

You’re both undeterred though, determined to find your friends. You pull him down the stairs, not caring at who stares at you both in the sickly shirt. The house felt hotter, a visible mist descending over the sea of people.

You find them where they last left you, congregating around the couch. When you stop in front of them with Jimin in tow, they all take it upon themselves to scrutinise you. It was quiet for a long while, and you could feel your resolve buckling. You didn’t want them to see through you, see what happened. But you wanted them to know that things would be okay. For all of you.

You can only imagine how you looked. Out of breath and flustered, both of your hair messy and fully damp. They couldn’t see your hands knotted together inside the shirt, but they didn’t need to. The demeanor change between you both must have been glaringly obvious.

“How’s it going?” Namjoon asks, glaring between you.

“Good, we, uh. We’re getting on. Yeah.” you smile awkwardly, completely lost on why you were being so suspicious. You had more guts than that!

“That was smooth.” Jimin grins. He was worlds away from you, utterly content and calm.

“Oh my god, shut up.” You roll your eyes, but give his hands an extra squeeze under the shirt.

“Where have you guys been? I haven’t seen you all night.” Jungkook asks with wide innocent eyes, and for a moment you feel like if he knew what had just been happening he would have been tainted.

“Oh, just… exploring.” Jimin smirks, and you fight the urge to pinch him. Who knew this would go to his head?

Well, you knew. You shouldn’t be surprised at all.

“About time.” Jin sighs, eyes still glued to his phone. The others laugh and throw in their agreements.

“What?” you and Jimin both yell, eyes scanning your ‘friends’ suspiciously.

“We knew you both liked each other. It got a bit weird towards the end there but we knew you’d work it out - or Namjoon would.” Hoseok shrugs, but his face is bright as he grins at you both.

“The shirt was a bit of a, well… drastic option.” Namjoon's smile was crooked, but his eyes were bright as he grinned at you.

“Oh… I don’t know what to say.” You murmur, heat creeping across your face again.

Jimin, however, throws his head back and laughs, slapping a hand on his chest for good measure. You stare up at him in shock, but you can’t help the smile that grows on your face. He was infectious. And your friends understood. You feel a tightness unfurl in your stomach.

“Well, it worked out. It worked out really well. I mean just so so good-”

“Jimin, shut up!” You gasp, eyes wide as he winks at Namjoon.

Well, it’s good to know that the fire is still there between you. He was still impossibly infuriating and unendingly Jimin - but it was all for you. And it was only the start.

“Sorry baby.” He whispers as he lets go of your hand to wrap his arm around your waist pulling you into his side. You flush at the move in front of the others, but easily melt into his side. You had been waiting for this, after all.

“I’m glad.” smiles Namjoon, warm eyes flicking over you both in the stained and rumpled ugly item of clothing. “Maybe we should burn the shirt, though. Just for hygienic reasons.”

#ksmutclub #smutcentralnet #btswriterscollective #bts x reader #bts x you #bts reader insert #bts smut #jimin smut #jimin x reader #jimin x you #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #jimin fanfiction #jimin fanfic #my writing

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randomrosewrites · 3 years ago

Text

From the beginning to the very end.

Seeing the one you love fall for someone else hurts.

Pairing: Diluc X GN reader (unrequited), mentioned Kaeya x reader (not focused on) Words: 3.3K Warnings/ tags: Alcohol/ drinking mention, unrequited love, reader drinks to cope at one point, general angst. a/n: This was requested by anon. I’ve taken the prompt and altered it a bit, Kaeya and Diluc are both emotionally complicated men *sigh* Someone help them.

Your arrival into Diluc’s life is with all the grace of a baby fawn attempting to stand. Choppy. Awkward. A tad pitiable.

It’s a Friday night at Angel’s Share. The worst ones to be bartender, and precisely why Diluc always drags himself into town to suffer for a few hours. It’s the days where the knights, both seniors and new recruits, gather to spend their weekly wages of mora. He knows the tradition well, after his time with the knights. He used to always sit in the back corner with Kaeya, the two giggling as they drank non-alcoholic cider.

…but the past is the past, and he refuses to dwell on it any further.

They trickle in sometime around 9pm. They’re easy to spot. Uniforms too pristine, armor too shiny. He watches as wide-eyed recruits alongside experienced knights file into the reserved table at the back.

The brave one is sent from the flock to the bar, to order drinks for the table. Diluc gives you his best intimidating stare, arms crossed over his chest. You fiddle with the front of your uniform as you approach the bar, nervously shifting from foot to foot.

“Hello Sir, uh, could I have uhm…” you take a second to count on your fingers. “Ten drinks, please?”

Well, at least you can get your sentence out. (Sawyer, one of the new recruits from a few months back, mumbled everything. It took Diluc ten minutes to figure out what he wanted.) “What kind?”

“Oh…the regular kind?”

He could make this easier on you, but he decidedly doesn’t. “There is no regular kind. Dandelion wine? Lamp-Grass cider?”

“Uh, ten glasses of dandelion wine, please.”

He raises a brow. “Everyone is of age, even the recruits?”

“Oh, yes, the younger ones’ curfew ended an hour ago.”

One quick glance over proves your truth. Fine. He gets the drinks ready quite easily. It’s just pouring wine from the barrels into their tankers. Once he has them on a tray, he says, “Ten thousand Mora.”

“Oh…uh…” you stare at your feet in embarrassment, apparently just realizing that yes drinks cost mora. “I-“

“If you can’t pay,” he starts, annoyance seeping into his voice. “Then I suggest you get out.”

Maybe that was a bit too harsh. Your jaw clenches. Your hands tighten into fists. Diluc thinks you’re about to burst into tears or run out the front door when a hand lands on your shoulder.

“Not to worry, I’ll cover the costs for this.”

Of course. He’d be here, of all nights.

You look to your saviour, lighting up. “Oh, thank you, Captain Kaeya.”

Kaeya smiles amicably, patting your shoulder. “My pleasure. Join the others, I’ll carry the drinks there shortly.”

You hurry off to the table, not one to disobey your superior’s orders. Diluc and Kaeya are left alone at the bar, the former frowning, the later smiling.

Kaeya places a sack of mora on the counter. “Feel free to count it, every coin is in there.”

Diluc snatches it, tossing it under the cabinet. (Kaeya always pays in full. Either that or he purposely omits a single coin, just to fuck with him. But it’s not worth it for Diluc to count ten thousand coins individually.)

“Corrupting fresh recruits already, aren’t you?” Diluc says.

Kaeya chuckles dryly. “Why, Master Diluc, I’d never do such an atrocious thing.”

Kaeya picks up the tray before Diluc can make some sort of witty retort. “Now, I’ve got to amuse myself. Enjoy your night, Master Diluc.”

Kaeya remains out of his hair for the rest of the night. By all accounts, it’s a good thing, but tonight, it only makes Diluc moodier. Especially when he glances over at the knights table, spotting the captain’s arm strung over the back of your chair.

---

“What on earth are you doing?”

You jump, turning to face Diluc, leaning against the nearby tree. He’d been patrolling the area for threats when he’d noticed you, swinging your sword about in the middle of Windrise. The fact that he’d managed to catch you by surprise unnerved him. (You were a knight; you’d need to learn to be alert.)

“Practicing, Master Diluc.” You wipe the sweat from your face with your shirt and Diluc quickly averts his eyes to a group of slimes slugging around the Anemo Arcon Statue. He’d have to deal with them later.

“Don’t the knights have a dedicated training area?” They do. He knows this, outside the city walls or on the northern shores of Cider Lake, he used to go there and take recruits when he was a captain, make them run up and down the sloping hills all afternoon in full armour.

“Ah, they do, yes, but I mostly prefer to train alone.”

Diluc chews on your words for a moment, before pushing off from the tree and striding towards you. “Hold your sword again.”

You hesitate, drawing your sword and holding it like you were doing previously.

Diluc covers his hands with yours, moving them along the sword. “Adjust your hands like this. You’ll have more force when you swing and you’re less likely to hurt yourself if you hit something solid.”

He steps back, allowing you to swing a few times in the air. “Use your chest more, not just your arms – good. Again.”

About an hour passes, with Diluc giving instructions, doing a very bad job of hiding his stares, and with you doing as he says. He doesn’t realize how long it’s been until you sheath your sword, and the sun has set over the horizon.

“I apologize, Master Diluc, but I’ve got to get back to the headquarters now.”

“Oh.” He says, stupidly. Of course, you’d have to leave, to go back to the knights, but that thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “I see, yes. I suppose you should.”

You bow respectfully. “Thank you for your help, you really are as sweet as Captain Kaeya says.”

He suppresses the growl that rises from his throat. Figures, Kaeya would call him that. “Mhm.”

You salute him, the standard knight’s salute. He nods his head as you start back towards Mondstadt, pondering why he decided to help you, until you fade from sight.

---

He swears, he doesn’t mean to keep meeting you like this.

He had been exploring an abandoned domain north of Wolvendom, looking for any members of the abyss order. Fortunately – or unfortunately, there hadn’t been anything but slimes and old artifacts inside, and he’d come out soaked head to toe with water.

He was starting up the path when he saw you huddled by an electro crystal, poking it with your sword and jolting back when it shocked you.

“…you can’t break those with normal attacks,” he says. “They’re elemental crystals.”

You turn around, not surprised by his sudden presence (good, you’re learning.) “You can break them?”

Arcons, do they not teach the knights anything anymore?

Instead of arguing, he simply demonstrates, calling flames to his claymore and slicing the rock. An explosion of pyro and electro occurs, shattering the crystal into purple chunks.

You gape at the crystals. “Wow, you’re amazing, Master Diluc.”

He flushes at your praise, coughing and adjusting his tie. “It’s nothing. What are you interested in with the crystals anyways?”

“Captain Albedo requested them. I guess I’ll have to get outrider amber to gather them, or klee, perhaps…'' you collect the chunks into a small bag, standing up and brushing the dust from your pants. “Thank you again, Master Diluc. You always seem to be helping me out a lot.”

“It’s no trouble,” he says, swallowing for a moment. His throat feels tight and his palms are sweating in his gloves.

You salute him. He nods. They’re your usual goodbyes, nowadays. He watches you march off, the crystals clinking around in your bag.

“Wait,” he splutters, the objection coming from his throat without thinking.

You turn around, waiting expectantly. Diluc swallows, again. (When did he get so warm?)

“Next time, please just call me Diluc.”

You blink carefully, then smile. “Alright, Diluc.”

The sound of his name on your tongue makes his heart race and sends electricity through his stomach.

(And not just because of the nearby electro crystals.)

---

Two days later, a bag of purple electro crystals appears at your doorstep in the Knight’s headquarters. There is no name from the sender, but you suspect who it is from the emblem of the dawn winery logo upon the bag.

You smile to yourself, then hurry to deliver the goods to Captain Albedo.

---

“Do you have a crush on someone, Master Diluc?”

He nearly drops his teacup in his lap, sputtering into his drink. Adeline doesn’t even flinch, handing him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth with. His owl preens herself on its stand, indifferent to her master’s squabbling.

“P-pardon?”

“I asked if you had a crush on anyone.”

“…what would make you consider that?”

She clears the table swiftly, shrugging. “You seem to be in good spirits. You’ve been smiling more, and you’re more pleasant.”

He frowns. “Are you suggesting I’m usually moody?”

Adelinde’s face remains blank. “Not at all, sir.”

She bows and leaves him to his thoughts and paperwork.

A crush. Ridiculous…he’s not a schoolboy. And besides, he hasn’t been acting differently. Sure, he’s taken more shifts on Friday night, and he’s been visiting Windrise more often in hopes of maybe running into a certain knight, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s all justifiable.

…

His owl cocks her head at him, even she knows when he’s lying to himself.

“…don’t look at me like that.” He huffs, turning around in his desk, back facing the owl.

---

Once the thought is in Diluc’s head, he can’t get it out. It doesn’t help that over the next few months, your presence around him only amplifies his feelings.

Every breath you take, every little movement you make - it transfixes him. He feels drawn to you naturally, wanting to be closer to you, coming up with more and more ridiculous topic ideas just so he can hear you speak.

He feels happy. He begins looking forward to the next day and the next week, not apprehensive about what new problems might arise.

And just as soon as he’s settled into the norm, the world decides to rip it away from him.

---

The knights file into their usual spots on a friday night. Diluc greets them with the same, stiff nods, except this time, his scowl isn’t as deep, and the furrow in his brows is loose. For the knights coming to celebrate means that he might have a chance to see you.

And he does. Diluc can’t stop the way his lips turn upwards when the door swings open and you file in. You give a wave, he nods back.

He does his best to not stare as you socialize with the other knights - (there really are a lot of them here tonight. Even Captain Albedo is among them) - but he fails miserably. So much so that he forgets to serve the other patrons up front.

It’s a relief when you eventually wander over to the bar. You don’t even need to tell him your order anymore - he just gets to doing it immediately.

“Big celebration?” he asks.

You slide into the seat and smile. “I suppose you could say that.”

He raises a brow and pushes the drinks towards you, leaning on the bar. “Oh? Is it a knights secret I’m not privy to know about?”

You swat at him harmlessly and his breathing hitches at your chuckle. “No, not a secret. It’s just nice to celebrate for celebration's sake, you know?”

He does not, but nods anyways. “I suppose it is. In any case, you seem very happy.”

You cover your growing smile with your hand. “Do I?”

“Yes, did you get a promotion? Replace Kaeya as Cavalry Captain?”

“No! No, nothing like that…” you laugh and shake your head. “But Kaeya…”

He hadn’t expected his joke to actually hold some truth. He presses, “Kaeya?”

“Well, we -” you avert your gaze, eyes softening in bliss. “We’re um - a thing. Now.”

Diluc pales, nearly falling off the bar.

“Oh.”

“Yes...please keep it a secret, we don’t want anyone knowing just yet.”

Diluc’s head spins. It feels like a lump of coal is stuck in his throat. He swallows and tries to stop his breaths from becoming erratic.

“Congratulations… I hope-” his voice cracks and he clears his throat. “I wish the best for the both of you.”

“Thank you, Diluc.” you reach over and pat his hand. He barely conceals a flinch, wanting to rip it away. “

You walk back to the knights, and for the rest of the night, he operates on autopilot, picking at the remaining shattered pieces of his heart.

---

It hurts.

Rain and sweat get in his eyes. He ducks to avoid a swing of a club, swinging his fiery claymore in retaliation. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, only that his hands are numb from gripping his weapon for so long. A long gash runs up his side, stinging each time he moves.

The ache in his chest hurts more.

How naive, how silly, to entertain the idea that you’d ever like him back.

Diluc closes his eyes, and consumes himself in violence once more.

---

He doesn’t frequent the bar for the next week. Enough to collect his thoughts. Enough to smother the pang of hurt he feels whenever he gazes at you.

He’s above this, above being debilitated by his emotions.

(He knows he is not.)

---

Things get better, as they always do. Things always go back to a level of normal. He returns to work at the bar. He returns to looking forward to your visits.

The front door swings open. He expectantly turns, smile dying on his face when he sees who’s entered.

“Jeez. You think I’ve just murdered someone how you’re looking at me,” Kaeya sighs.

“What do you want?” Kaeya’s the last person he wants to see. Especially since - since -

“Can’t I just drop by for a drink?” Kaeya takes his seat at the corner of the bar. Diluc resists the urge to throw the glass in his hand. He never gets to the point, always meandering about the issue, chatting about this or that until the other party is exhausted trying to humour him.

Not Diluc.

“You’re never here to just drink. Out with it.”

“…I was just wondering how you feel about our newest knight.”

He inhales through his teeth and sets the glass he was polishing down. Fine, if that’s the game Kaeya was going to play, he’d play along. “I think it’s improper for you to be engaged in a relationship with your subordinates.”

Kaeya grimaces, keeping his eye on the wood counter. “Do you say that because you care for workplace standards, or are you perhaps-”

“No.”

“ - jealous?”

The towl ignites in his hands. “Fuck off. Get out of my bar. Now.”

Kaeya sighs, but gets up from his seat, hands raised. “Alright, fine...but If it’s any consultation, I understand how you feel.”

“You don’t get to know where I’m coming from,” each word feels like acid down Diluc’s throat. “You don’t ever get to understand how I feel.”

Kaeya smiles sadly. “I know. And because of that, I’m not gonna come in the way between you two.”

Kaeya opens the door and waves before Diluc can question him. “Good night, master Diluc.”

The door shuts behind him as he leaves. Diluc tosses the towel in the trash, blood boiling underneath his skin.

---

He doesn’t see much of you or Kaeya for a week. (Which he supposes is good. If he saw Kaeya now, Barbados wouldn’t be able to stop him from getting into a fight.)

The next time he sees you is late one night, when most of the patrons have left. You look a mess, hair disheveled, feet dragging against the floor. You mumble your order to him before dragging yourself upstairs, one foot at a time.

Diluc brings what you requested up – one of his strongest liquors – to find you staring off into space. He sets your glass down gently, and you snap from your reprieve.

“Here’s your order. If you need anything…just let me know.”

You nod, keeping your eyes focused downwards. “Thank you, Diluc.”

His heart breaks at how defeated you sound. He returns to his post for the remainder of the night.

Never once does the cavalry captain come in. Diluc has a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It’s many hours later when the tavern closes for the night. Diluc shucks on his coat and goes upstairs, finding you half-asleep on the table, empty glass clutched tight in your grasp.

He shakes you gently and you stir with a moan. “It��s closing time. Do you need help getting home?”

You laugh bitterly. “Where is ‘home’?”

Diluc wordlessly slips the glass from your hands. “Come on, let’s get you back to the knights headquarters.”

Exhausted, you relent, leaning on Diluc heavily as he escorts you out of Angel’s Share. The smell of alcohol is strong on both your breath and clothes. It makes Diluc’s nose wrinkle.

You stumble over stones and steps. The walk back to the knights headquarters takes twice as long as it normally would. Diluc doesn’t mind, instinctively activating his vision when he feels you shiver from the cold.

“I thought Kaeya loved me,” you say suddenly, resting your head on his shoulder. “He said he…”

Diluc doesn’t – can’t – say anything, not when the lump of guilt in his stomach threatens to tear him apart from the inside out.

---

Truthfully, he’d thought you would have left the Knights after that incident. It must have been beyond difficult - having to see the person who broke your heart every day.

But you don’t. Diluc already knew how determined and strong you are, and you prove to be stronger than he could have ever foresaw.

It’s rough. There are nights where you show up to the tavern, barely coherent and full of grief. But there are others where you show up with Albedo, or Amber, and he gets to see you smile again.

He observes you from afar, at windrise, training with Noelle, getting quicker and quicker with your sword each day.

The seasons come and go, snow falls and melts, and when the dandelions grow again, before he ever knows it, you’re a Captain yourself.

The tavern is full for your celebration. Wine flows freely - free of charge thanks to Diluc - and the air is abuzz with joyous conversation.

“My highest congratulations, Captain,” Diluc says, raising his own glass (non-alcoholic) in toast.

You clink cups with him, smiling in your new uniform. (You’re radiant, he thinks to himself). “I can’t thank you enough, Diluc...for everything. I’ve always seen you as one of my closest friends.”

Friends. The word cuts deeply into his heart. Yes, friends. But being friends is something that he is ok with. He can watch you thrive, watch you live your life, he can keep your presence in his life, a small candle flickering in the dead of winter.

He knows your heart is elsewhere, he sees it in your eyes whenever you see the colour blue, or whenever the scent of death-after-noon waffs through the air. Your grief isn’t as prominent, but still there.

He doesn’t know if your feelings for Kaeya, if you even have any after the breakup, will ever go away. Perhaps they’ll stay over you like a looming shadow for the rest of your life.

If only – he’ll think, on nights when you’ve fallen asleep on his couch, bottle of wine beside you – if only he hadn’t said anything, maybe you’d be happy with Kaeya.

But the past is the path, and he must look to the future. The future where he can stand by your side, in whatever way you’ll accept him.

(Alone from the beginning, alone in the end. Fitting, for someone like him.)

#i can't beleive this is 3.3k #*falls over*#diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc imagines #diluc fic #diluc fanfic #genshin impact fiction #diluc x y/n #diluc x you #my writing

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