#because of their shifting nature i could never pin down the days they/their universe were created but i love an excuse to get emotional | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wh6res · 4 years ago

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three's a crowd | nomin

synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.

warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.

note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!

the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.

it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.

"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"

stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.

if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.

"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.

"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."

screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.

now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!

the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.

you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.

"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."

this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.

jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.

no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.

he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.

"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"

"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"

"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.

"convince me?"

you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.

it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.

and you weren't stupid.

you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.

"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"

the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.

if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.

you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.

that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.

while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.

it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.

you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.

you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.

but you've overestimated lee jeno.

"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."

"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"

you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.

how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.

"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."

you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?

you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.

you've never ran out as fast as you did.

and jeno swears it'll be the last.

you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.

although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.

and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.

but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.

jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.

you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.

although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.

it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.

one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.

so this was how he got them to bully you?

"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"

"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"

all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.

no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.

because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?

we lost :(

you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.

in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.

not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.

tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.

jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.

and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.

jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.

he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.

you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.

as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.

after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.

the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.

you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.

they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.

you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.

"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."

it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.

you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.

you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—

"what are you doing here?"

the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.

"i said, what are you doing here?"

their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.

particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.

particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.

this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.

"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."

coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.

you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.

"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.

fuck this.

"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"

originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.

everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.

you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—

"why are you in such a rush, pet?"

crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.

with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.

jaemin was right.

it was addicting to stare into them.

especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.

jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.

he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.

"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"

no. this can't be happening.

"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."

you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.

with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.

if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.

"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."

the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.

this is really happening.

you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.

"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"

you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.

"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"

his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.

with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.

you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.

"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.

you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.

until it slips and—

you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.

oh no.

"jeno—"

the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.

the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.

until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.

"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"

his patience is nonexistent.

jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.

"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"

the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.

your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.

"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.

"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."

with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.

you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.

the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.

"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."

his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.

jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.

the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.

"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"

someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.

you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.

you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.

in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.

it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.

the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.

in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.

you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.

“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.

jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.

while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.

he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.

you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."

you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.

"no—!"

your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.

"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"

you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.

it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.

the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.

you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.

it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.

jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.

you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.

"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.

"jeno, do you see this? fuck."

you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.

you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.

if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.

"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.

"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.

he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"

"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"

you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.

you felt… filthy.

his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.

you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.

"i'm the favorite!"

as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.

all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.

you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.

thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.

but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.

"who do you like best?"

you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.

jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?

but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.

because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.

#nct imagines #yandere nct #yandere kpop #nct smut #nct scenarios #yandere jaemin #yandere jeno #jaemin imagines #jeno imagines #jaemin scenarios #jeno scenarios #jaemin smut #jeno smut

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boytouya · 4 years ago

Text

𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 / 𝙇𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙎𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜

warning: short mention of t-shots/needles, slight angst

words: 1.1k

request: “Hi Cloud! I hope you’re having a great day :) Could i request Dabi with a black, transman boyfriend who is attempting to subtly ask Dabi to marry him and Dabi catches the hints but just… doesn’t want to be the one proposed to first (if that makes any sense) so he keeps acting oblivious for like months and eventually reader has had enough and just pins him down, slides to his knees and is like, “Dabi, I’m gonna die if you don’t marry me” and Dabi’s just a blushing mess because… why is reader on the floor crying with desperation for him? He didn’t think people could want him, let alone so badly. -🌨”

a/n: this has been sitting in my inbox for so long but i finally got to it! i’m so sorry for the long wait. still experimenting with my writing style... so i’m sorry if it’s wonky. i don’t proofread or have anyone to beta read my fics, so some words may be out of place. i’m sorry!

Dabi never considered himself unlovable, he was just unsure whether he had the potential to be loved. To cherish another being, nurture their soul and protect them from the raw, frostbitten anger of the world till his every last breath; he wondered if he had the ability to do that. So he continuously plays dumb, pretends to never fully understand what you’re asking because, quite frankly, he’s afraid. He’s afraid his love for you will overflow. Afraid the flames separating your bond from the cruelty of the universe will set the bond itself aflame and burn it into ashes and stardust. Then all he’d have left are the pieces of you, the ashes he can’t seem to wash off his skin.

Yet he holds your hand anyway. Admiring the contrast in your skin, pressing his hand into yours for as long as he can-to get as much contact as he can- feeling your thumb run over his knuckles and the tips of your ring finger tracing along his jagged skin. You hold his hand like it’s nothing. You know he could burn you whenever he pleases, if ever. But here you are. The sweat on his palm feels like thick layers upon layers of gasoline. But here you are.

You ask him again and again, with so much subtly it’s almost painfully obvious. Like clockwork, his mouth already on autopilot, Dabi’s lips part and his voice (which suddenly sounds so foreign to his own ears) escapes before he can actually consider it. He’s afraid he’d accept a million times over if he gave himself time to think. Truly, he does love you. His love for you has his heart full until it pops. And you see it every day, you hear it everyday. It explodes in the middle of the night, when even the stars expose their vulnerability, when he holds onto you and expresses his gratitude through whispers, dreams, and sleepless nights.

And maybe he wants to be in control of the situation. He wants to hear you say yes, watch you nod with stars in your eyes when finally feel how the universe revolves around you. How the Sun makes it its mission to land on you. And it does it so beautifully, the way highlights your skin just right, and browns your skin further.

“Dabi,” You begin, slotting your right hand above your boyfriend's shoulder and the other on its opposite. He has nowhere else to look but at you. He leans his head back against the wall, staring through the curtains of loose strands of jet black hair. Straight into your eyes and naturally curled eyelashes, nowhere for the eye to travel besides the expanse of skin, hair, and full lips. Those of which he’d kissed a million times before, and if it weren't for the thigh you had slotted between his own, he’d lean in to kiss you. An exasperated sigh sounds from that very area, making the villain snap his gaze back upward. “I’m begging you. If you don’t marry me right now, I’ll die.”

There’s so much desperation laced in your voice, and although Dabi is doing his best to mask the trembling deep within his bone marrow with a sly grin and lidded eyes, he can’t help but flush over the small amount of healthy skin on his cheeks. Cherry red and pairing with his purple scars beautifully, blending up and outward into small freckles and silver staples. He’s always been so beautiful.

He whistles, relaxing his shoulders so they melt into the wall and his body slumps against the thigh keeping him upright. In all honesty he doesn't know how to respond, opting for the safest sound he can make. Of all people, you want to be with him? He was never anything special. There would always be someone better than him. But you didn’t want someone better, you wanted Dabi.

You wanted to place a ring on his finger, you wanted to wipe the windows of his soul clean and use nothing but your blood sweat and tears to do so. You wanted to love him until separated by death, but you knew, even after that, you’d still be smitten. You wanted his everything. His heart, which had never belonged to anyone else. His lips, which you’d kissed a thousand times. His eyes, the same ones you often found yourself lost in, and mind. You never understood what was going on in that head of his, but it didn’t matter. Even if he was spiraling out of control, he’d always find a way to come back around to you.

His heart pounds against his chest, as if the adrenaline coursing through his veins sent his heart plummeting from a dangerous height into a field of flowers. Flowers bloomed because of you, flowers you planted and loved until they grew strong and stable. Stable enough to keep his heart from breaking on impact. Okay, shit. He really, truly does love you. And clearly you feel the same way toward him. He wanted to wake up and see you by his side, with a sleepy grin and disheveled head covering halfway off your head. He wanted to burn down cities with your hand in his, light up the sky with blue flames that burned ten times brighter around you. Of course, it would be an unconventional marriage with unconventional people and even weirder traditions. But that’s exactly what he wants, he wants to be with you.

He wanted to be with you when you’re sitting hunched over on the toilet, a needle in your hand as he helps you take your first T-shot. He wanted to be with you when you had bad days. He wanted to be with you when you had good ones. He wants to help you wash your hair, he wants to spend hours staring at you while you go about your daily life. You were his boyfriend, the light of his life, the one person he saw himself devoted to. You, you, you….

“Alright, you win,” Dabi says finally, shimmying through the confines of your arms and pulling something out of his back pocket. His lips stay pursed up into it’s finally out and on display. A ring, definitely stolen, with a custom band and large diamonds around its perimeter. The band was clear, but the ashes molded into it looked almost like marble. His lips twist into a sly grin, the dimples of his cheeks deepening as he slowly shifts the ring between three fingers. It’s beautiful, definitely worth more than your yearly salary, and you can tell Dabi asked for it to be made especially for you before stealing it. “I’ll marry you. But only if you marry me first.”

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littlemisspascal · 4 years ago

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Death and an Angel part 3

Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an unexpected heart-to-heart about what it means to be Death and a Cupid on route to a planet where Din’s potential soulmate lives.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,500

Warnings: Pining, smidge of angst, more plot development, Razor Crest (RIP I miss you darling!), a made-up home world for the reader (yes, yes, there’s like a million I could have picked but my brain said NOPE)

Author Note: Ahhhh, the comments are so amazing from you all! Thank you everyone out there sparing time to check out my little universe, it makes me sooo happy you have no idea! As always, I hope you enjoy this new segment as I try to plot this story out and get these two idiots to acknowledge there just might be something between them.

Also special thanks to @codenamewitcher for including the first two parts on Weekly Fanfic Recs. Be sure to go check out the list for a whole bunch of fantastic stories!

Links to Part 1, Part 2 and Part 4

Photo Inspiration: (What I imagine is beneath the armor in this scene...*dreamy sigh*)

There is a distinct silence that can only be found in hyperspace when the stars outside resemble sparkling streaks of silver tinsel and your breath is trapped within your lungs as you’re awestruck by the sheer beauty of it all. You experience this silence aboard the Razor Crest, sitting in the cockpit behind Din as he pilots his beloved gunship. It isn’t the first time you’ve been a passenger, having traveled with Din on two previous ventures where your Cupid services were required on planets far away from your home on Umbriel.

Off-world assignments for you were generally rare since your bosses were more inclined to choose Cupids of higher ranking to handle those clients, but sometimes you were the only available option left. Which, come to think of it, is exactly how you became the one roped into meeting with Death every full moon. Your bosses decided someone needed to check up on him to make sure he wasn’t reaping anyone before their fated time and thus messing with the natural order of things. You privately have reached the conclusion it was a decision made during a fit of paranoia as you had yet to find any evidence suggesting Din ever broke a single one of the universe’s rules, let alone even considered the mere possibility.

When you did travel for assignments, you never stopped feeling like a goldfish being dumped out of your familiar little bowl and into a massive ocean full of strange oddities. You would often find yourself wasting time trying to successfully navigate the unknown world when you should have been focused on tracking down your client’s soulmate.

That’s why Din had offered to start traveling with you. Actually, in his own words it was because, “You think about love so much you don’t see trouble until it’s an inch in front of you. Someone’s got to be there to look after you.”

You’d tried to argue, told him you had never experienced trouble and that if you did then you could handle it with your bow. All Cupid’s were required to master archery for self-defense purposes, though Din’s responding snort of derision made you suspect he wasn’t convinced of your skills. You wondered if he thought, just as humans incorrectly did, a Cupid only used their bow to spread love and lust. Or maybe he just thought you weren’t capable of such finesse. It was an insulting assumption, fueling you with the burning desire to prove him wrong. One day, you keep telling yourself, a repetitive chant. One day you’ll show him just how capable you are with your weapon and you imagine his look of shock, whether worn openly on his face or hidden beneath the visor of his helmet, will be utterly priceless.

But in the meantime, you’re in no hurry to encounter trouble. Finding enjoyment in taking these trips with him on his ship instead.

The Razor Crest had actually been a complete surprise to you when Din first welcomed you on it; primarily because the notion of him using such a primitive form of transportation despite the powers he possessed as Death was too outrageous to wrap your head around. However, it took less than ten minutes soaring through space for you to discover just how many details of the universe you were missing by relying on your Cupid abilities to teleport yourself between locations. Never would you have imagined Death to be the one to teach you to love the slowness of travel, to let your eyes linger on all the beautiful wonders along the way. But that’s exactly what happened.

You turn your head away from the window to look at Din. From your angle, all you glimpse is the back of his helmet, reflecting the passing starlight. Soon you’ll be introducing Din to the first immortal on your list of potential soulmates.

Death, you quickly correct yourself. He’s only Din when he’s around you.

You initially thought he elected to wear his armor because you told him he could to ease his comfort, but now you think it’s because this is him meeting his potential soulmate as himself. It is easy to forget sometimes this is the image of Death—a warrior enshrouded in beskar, cunning and ruthless—that is recognized throughout the universe. And feared.

If the handsome face he concealed was known instead, you wonder if mortals would readily choose to embrace the ending of their lifetime, rather than foolishly seek to run from its inevitability.

“What is it?” Din’s baritone voice startles you as it shatters the quietness. The modulator within his helmet gives his tone a low raspiness that never fails to send a chill down your spine when you hear it.

“Huh?” You respond ineloquently.

“You’ve been staring at the back of my head for the last five minutes, angel. I figured you had something worth saying.”

“Oh, no. I was just thinking about you.”

Immediately you wish a meteor would collide with the ship, providing you with the necessary distraction to escape and find somewhere you can hide until the end of time.

“...What about me were you thinking?” Din wonders after a solid thirty seconds of pure silence, voice somehow conveying an equally blended mixture of intrigue and wariness. He flips on the ship’s autopilot and turns in his seat to pin you with his gaze, apparently unwilling to let you try and weasel yourself out of the conversation.

You roll the question around in your mind, wanting to give an answer that satisfies him without it also embarrassing yourself further.

“I was thinking how much of an enigma you are,” you murmur at last, leaning back in the chair with your arms crossing over your stomach. “You wield such incredible powers and yet you choose to wear a human face, to call this man-made ship your home and to also spend your spare time living amongst those you will eventually reap. Why are these your choices?”

He tilts his head, and you just know there is a little crease of bewilderment appearing between his eyebrows right now even if you can’t see it. For as much as he is a puzzle you can’t put together, he is also at times an open book that you will never tire of reading.

“I would think you, more than most beings, would understand the discomfort that stems from loneliness and the lengths one will go to ease it,” he says, not unkindly. He mirrors your position, maneuvering himself until he’s comfortable in his seat and totally oblivious to the dilating of your pupils as you observe every subtle shift of his armor-clad body. “Isn’t that the true purpose of Cupids? To spare individuals the ache of living a life of solitude by introducing them to someone to love so they no longer feel it.”

“That’s a poetic way of putting it,” you answer, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders. “My superiors would just quote our mantra back at me when I used to ask. Amor vincit omnia.”

“Love conquers all.”

You shouldn’t be surprised he’s able to translate such an ancient and obscure language, but your eyes widen regardless. “That’s right.”

His voice is unusually soft when he asks, “Do you like being a Cupid?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by how easily he’s changed the topic of the conversation from himself to you. You’re used to taking orders and being thanked for your services, but no one has ever asked you if you liked doing any of it.

“I’m good at it,” you finally say, even though it’s not really an answer.

He nods his head still, as if he understands. A part of you thinks he actually does.

You lick your lips, eyeing him hesitantly. “Do you...like being Death?”

“I’m good at it,” he echoes, but your words sound somber coming from his lips.

The cockpit fills with hushed silence again, but there’s a unique tenderness unlike ever before. Minutes seem to stretch on for entire seasons as you watch one another, content to simply coexist and revel in each other’s presences.

It would be so easy to slip off his helmet and kiss him right now.

You stiffen, stunned at your own thought, but you aren’t given the chance to analyze it further as an alarm on the ship’s control panel announces with a resounding beep you’ve reached your destination.

Din spins in his seat, reclaiming control of the steering to begin the ship’s landing process. You look out the front window at the large green-blue planet drawing nearer with every anxious tick of your heartbeat.

“We’re here,” you say needlessly, forcing excitement into your voice. Fake it till you make it, isn’t that the human expression?

“Who is it we’re meeting on this backwater skug hole?” Din asks, pressing a series of buttons above his head.

You kick the back of his seat. “Be nice,” you scold when he shoots you a look. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath as he turns back around, prompting you to roll your eyes. “She’s a goddess of springtime and motherhood. The locals call her Omera.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @eleine-t1d, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee

#the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #Din Djarin #Mandalorian #soulmate au #my fic #my writing #death and an angel #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #din x you #din x reader

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disgruntledspacedad · 4 years ago

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The Rules of Engagement (3/5)

The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 3.4k

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, body horror, general trauma. Please, please heed the warnings on this chapter, guys. It gets pretty intense.

a/n: Unbeta’d. I know I said this was going to be three chapters, but I lied. Sorry, my dudes - this one got away from me. Inspo credit goes to @tiffdawg, as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Well, fuck. You bite back a massive sigh.

You really, really don’t want to walk through that door.

It’s been a month, and you life has changed profoundly.

For one, you’re not at the office as much anymore - Stechner had made good on his promise to consider you for more flyovers, and boy, has Centra Spike been busy. Some new vigilante group is terrorizing Medellín, and while it’s not Search Bloc’s priority to go after them, they’ve undeniably kept Pablo and his sicarios busy. The radio frequencies are hot right now, and you’ve been doing eight, sometimes ten flights a week.

You absolutely love it. The hours are less predictable and definitely more shitty, but listening to a radio from the cockpit of a plane is much more fun that listening to a radio in a stuffy basement office, so you consider it a fair trade.

It keeps your brain busy, too.

Your social life has taken a massive kick to the nuts. Ana is back at university, and you miss her more than you thought you would. You’ve reverted to communicating with Emilio with gestures and smiles more than words. It’s nice because he’s nice, but you miss actual conversation, stilted as it was. Ana wasn’t all that bad, either.

And then there’s Javi.

You haven’t spoken to him since That Morning, not even a polite 'how are you?' in the hallway. Granted, you’re not seeing him as often anymore, given your new position and hours, but then again, you haven’t exactly sought him out, either.

The memory claws at you every time you relive it - and you relive it often. That anger, that wounded expression. The slammed door, his retreating footsteps. Each time you’re in that building, the walls seem to close in on you, and you have to stop yourself from looking for him, actively keep your gaze from roaming straight to his desk.

God, as if you could make it more awkward.

You’d had one nasty conversation with Murphy about a week after the incident - you’d told him in no uncertain terms that he could either mind his own business or fuck right off, you didn’t care which. He’d left you be, throwing his hands in the air and muttering something about how “you two deserve each other.”

Asshole.

Still, that aborted conversation haunts you - so many aborted conversations haunt you - and you wonder what would have happened if you’d just taken the bull by the horns and addressed the issue with Javi head on.

I’m sorry you caught me rubbing one off on the morning after you almost died, Peña. I can assure you, it won’t happen again. Your friendship means the world to me.

Yeah, right.

God, though, but you miss him.

You miss him so much it aches, a gaping hole that reaches right down to the core of you, but there’s nothing to be done about it. You’d fucked this one completely and thoroughly - any chance of restoring your friendship had drained away with the shower-water, and the more time you spend fretting over it, the more awkward - and pathetic - it would be to say anything.

So, you’d cut your losses, held your head high, and tried not to waste too much time wishing you’d have just kept your fucking fantasies to yourself.

Now, though, you’ve got no choice.

You’d been on Centra Spike’s early morning flight, just another routine scan over Medellín. The shift wasn’t intended to be more than a training run for you, but as luck would have it, the Medellín cartel’d had a busy night, and you’d been caught in the crossfire.

Your plane had just touched down half an hour ago, and now you’re standing on the front steps of the embassy building, fingering a shoebox cassette player loaded with a freshly taped recording full of juicy intel destined for the desk of DEA Agent Javier Peña - an entire, private conversation featuring none other than Verdugo himself.

You’d know that voice anywhere. You’ve studied it for hours, what few snatches you’d been able to glean from the embassy archives. It’s almost as if Verdugo is smart enough to steer clear of the city, or to just avoid phone conversations all together, the absolute fuckwad.

Until early this morning.

On the plane, you’d intercepted a new signal and tapped in on a whim, intending to practice your Spanish more than anything, but what you’d overheard was a fucking gold mine of information.

Verdugo is in Medellín. The sicarios are getting ready to move Escobar. He didn’t say where - fucking bastard knows not to spill all of the beans in one conversation - but apparently the plan requires a rendezvous in El Centro first. Verdugo is en route, and will be there until the next morning.

You’d worked frantically all night, tracing and retracing the signal, triangulating potential addresses, then back-tracking to account for environmental distortion. Each calculation had led you to the same place - an unassuming little house right smack in the middle of Medellín.

Bingo.

“You take it in, Aarons.” Torres had declined your offer to do the honors. “It’s your intel.”

So here you are, bleary-eyed and running on less than two hours of sleep, cassette player clenched tightly to your chest, summoning up all of your courage just to go speak with your ex... well, ex whatever-the-fuck Peña is.

‘This is your job,’ you remind yourself fiercely. ‘You can do this.’

As pep-talks go, it isn’t very effective.

Fuck it. You toss your head back, wishing you’d had time to at least grab a cup of coffee on the way in, and breeze around the corner.

“Agent Peña.”

He glances up lazily, thoroughly uninterested in whatever you have to say. When he realizes it’s you, he blinks once, dropping his cigarette in the ashtray and sitting up to eyeball you with a wary expression.

"What can I do for you?” he asks cooly.

You remember him saying that once before, but the context was totally different.

You shake it off. “Centra Spike has new intel that you’ll want to see right away.”

He purses his lips, tilting his head to indicate the growing pile of bullshit on his desk. “You can leave it here.”

Oh, so that’s how it is, then?

“I can’t.” You pin him with a stare, and he meets your gaze evenly, raising his eyebrows in silent challenge. You clear your throat and clarify. “I won’t.”

He scoffs as you carefully rest cassette tape on his desk, along with a map of El Centro. “We intercepted a four minute conversation with Verdugo this morning. He’s here.” You point to the safe house on the map, which you’ve already circled in red ink. “Feo and Limón are with him. They’re leaving early tomorrow.”

Peña frowns down at the spot where your finger rests. “And can you corroborate that information?”

Oh, the motherfucker. “I verified his voice personally, Peña,” you say carefully, doing your damndest to keep the annoyance from your tone. It’s well within his right to ask questions, after all. “It’s a direct match for the audio samples we have.” You tap the tape for emphasis. “You’re welcome to listen for yourself.”

He doesn’t make a move for a long time. Something hot and painful burns in your gut as you wait.

God, he knows you, knows you better than anybody else in on this goddamned continent. He knows that you know your shit, that you want to catch Escobar as desperately as he does. And this evidence that you have spread across his desk, recorded on tape and marked plainly in red ink, is irrefutable, undeniable - it’s a huge break. He knows that, too.

His apathy is palpable, and it’s driving you up the fucking wall.

When he finally glances up at you, it’s with a doubtful little smirk on his face. “Hmm.”

And oh, wow, you’re shocked by just how much that hurts.

All your life, from the moment you were born into a family of brothers, you’ve had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously. It was a fact of life as early as you can remember - ‘look after your sister,’ or, ’she’s just a girl,’ or ‘wow, you’re really great at math, for a woman!’ You’d settled on your career as an analyst because you’d wanted it, not because you’d had something to prove, but still, the military is a male-dominated field, and from the start, the odds had been stacked against you. Landing this CIA gig had been the achievement of a fucking lifetime. Still, the bar is set high in the Colombia, and it’s set that much higher for a woman. You’re well aware of this; you’re reminded every single day.

Point being, you’re used to defending yourself and your abilities; it comes as natural as breathing.

But until now, you’ve never had to fight this battle with Peña. He’d taken you at face value from the moment he'd laid eyes on you, treating you like just another operative. Sure, he might take a crack at you every now and again, but that's all in good fun, and you’ve never been one to shy away from a laugh.

Christ, you never realized just how much that respect meant to you until suddenly, it’s gone.

“If you have something to say about my skills and qualifications, Agent Peña, then I suggest you say it.” You lean over his desk, speaking quietly, enunciating each syllable with deadly precision. “Otherwise, I think we both know that it’s in the best interest of Search Bloc and the Colombian people that we collaborate quickly, so we can put boots on the ground and land this motherfucker behind bars where he belongs.”

Peña’s eyes narrow, and he cocks his head, studying you. You meet his gaze, biting back a snarl. You won’t back down. You won’t allow him to intimidate you.

When he nods sharply and reaches for his phone, you know you’ve won.

♠

Ten minutes later, you’re situated in a conference room with Peña, Steve Murphy, Martinez, and a couple of the other higher ups of Search Bloc whose names you haven’t memorized. Your maps are spread over the table, your tape displayed for all to see, and every eye is on you.

“Verdugo is here,” you say, leaning over the map to indicate the marked house. “He and his entourage arrived late last night, and they’re planning to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Plenty of time to get a team together.” Murphy interjects, glancing between you and Peña with open curiosity.

You narrow your gaze at him. Drama-mongering bastard.

Peña’s not moving. He’s standing with his hip cocked toward the desk, frowning down at the map with his fingers curled to his chin like he’s totally oblivious to everything happening around him.

You know he’s not, though. That’s Javi’s thinking face, the one he makes when he wants people to shut the fuck up and forget about him until he can work something out. You’re pretty familiar with that one.

The others are babbling in Spanish, discussing logistics and the likelihood of this being another trap.

It’s not. You know this deep in your bones. You’d heard that conversation in real time, had translated, triangulated it.

This is legit.

You’ve just decided to leave them to it when Javi snaps his eyes open.

“I agree with Aarons,” he announces out of nowhere. You’re startled by the confidence in his tone. Curious, you glance up, but it’s difficult to get a read on him. He’s pinning every person in the room except you with a hard stare. “We need to move out now.”

Several of the others make noises of protest, but Peña shuts them all down, one by one. Finally, his eyes flicker up to meet yours, just for a brief second, but there’s something different in his gaze, something new and heavily guarded.

You think it might be an apology.

“Let’s end this.”

♠

He’s on a plane to Medellín within an hour, wearing that stupid bullet proof vest. For just a split second, you wish that you were going, too. You don’t have enough experience, though - you’re not an agent; you haven’t handled a gun since basic. You’d be useless in a real fight, a liability, even.

Still, you feel some ownership in this operation, today more than ever. You don’t even try to kid yourself about Javi anymore, either. Those fucking feelings haven’t faded in a month, not a bit, not even after the awkward conversation you’d had in his office.

‘But he stood up for you, too, afterward,’ something whispers in the back of your mind. You replay that little glance in the conference room over and over as you watch Search Bloc board the plane.

He’s looking for you this time, standing on the ramp with his eyes shaded like he knows you’ll be waiting. He doesn’t nod and you don’t wave, but you make eye contact for a lingering moment, and again, there’s something in his expression that you don’t recognize.

Then the plane takes off down the runway, and you feel as if your heart is swooping away with it.

♠

You volunteer for the late shift at work, monitoring the radio lines in case something comes up. It’s an unusually quiet night, as if all of Bogotá collectively holds its breath, and you mostly spend it watching the clock, calculating the hours in your head.

One to land in Medellín. Two more to mobilize the men. Another half to get in location.

From there, your speculation gets fuzzy. There’s no way to predict the outcome once Verdugo is engaged. Javi’s told you a million stories, each more unbelievable than the last - car chases and rooftop shootouts, standoffs in the street, a fistfight in a church sanctuary, bodies of children littering dark alleyways… you cut off the recollections. They aren’t doing you any favors.

Verdugo is a dangerous man. Anything could happen.

By seven am, your brain is mush and your eyes are hyper-focused in that bleary way that happens when you’ve gone too long without sleep. Your third cup of coffee has gone cold, and people are starting to trickle in. You wave half-heartedly to Torres as you slip out of your headset, rubbing your fingers over your scalp to ease the tension that comes from wearing heavy earphones all night. A shower sounds nice, you decide, and maybe a quick nap afterward.

Somebody will page you with news.

Getting out of the building does a lot to wake you up. There’s something oppressive about the CNP headquarters that seems to abate when you step into the streets of Bogotá. The city buzzes with life even in the early morning, and air is warm in a way that seems to energize rather than sedate. Optimism is easier to invoke as you walk down the street in broad daylight.

Javi had looked at you, at least. He’d listened. He’ll call in to the office as soon as he can. Your intel was good, and they’ve flushed out the rat, he’d promised you that.

Everything will be okay.

You round the corner of CRA 70 and Circular, waving to Emilio, who is working the register of the pharmacy today.

“Orejas!” He shouts, reaching below the counter to hold aloft another bottle of aguardiente. “¡Mira! Solo para ti!”

You grin back at him, raising your voice to shout a greeting, and then, with absolutely no warning, the store explodes.

A loud boom.

A whoosh of impossible heat.

A massive orange fireball billowing from the windows.

Your body flying, flying through the air.

Bright blue sky, and then darkness.

♠

You find yourself lying flat on your back in the middle of the street. Your ears are ringing. There’s a pat-pattering in the air, soft like falling rain.

You blink hard.

It’s not rain, you realize dizzily.

It’s fucking ash.

The air is dark with it, hot and heavy. It coats your tongue and stings your eyes. It’s hard to catch a breath. Your throat hurts, your chest aches. You cough weakly. The smell is terrible, acrid and bitter like burned metal. You can taste it on your tongue.

Slowly, you tense your muscles. Your chest is still burning, but there’s nothing sharp to suggest a serious injury. Your back is sore, your head fuzzy.

You sit up, wincing a little, relieved to realize that you’ve just had the wind knocked from you. You’ll have some bruises tomorrow, but that’s all.

Sound slowly filters in. The hiss and crackle of flame. A shout in the distance. Further away, a wailing siren.

Reality slams into you all at once.

Emilio!

You stand, wobbling more than you think you should, but you push past it. Reality seems to pitch and roil, as if the ground is hitching its breath beneath you. Rubble coats the street, dust clouds the air.

Oh god.

A gaping, smoking crater is all that’s left of Emilio’s pharmacy. The windows are blown out of the businesses on either side, their outer walls bowing under the pressure. Your apartment on the top floor is demolished, the roof caving in, flames licking at the the collapsed floors.

You gasp one long, shuddering breath, taking it all in, and then you’re running, sort of, picking your way through hunks of concrete and twisted metal.

“Emilio! Emilio!”

Your voice is hoarse, the world hushed. Nothing sounds quite right. Your legs are shaking and you can’t catch your breath. Some of the rubble is hot to the touch, and you feel like you’re moving underwater, slow and awkward and stupid.

You approach what’s left of the store, and the smell hits you first. Like cooked meat - charred, greasy, heavy.

You press your hand to your mouth to stifle a scream.

You found Emilio. He’s pinned beneath part of the collapsed roof. You look away quickly, but not before you catch a glimpse of blackened flesh, of bone, blood, and pink frothy tissue.

Acid rises in your throat, and you stumble to your knees, stomach clenching painfully into your ribs as you vomit onto the street. It goes on and on, over and over for an eternity, tears and snot and bile and ash leaking mingled down your face until there is nothing left in you to expel.

The encroaching wail of a siren draws you to your senses. You glance up, suddenly painfully aware of your situation. The ceiling is arching above you, just to your right, and it’s creaking ominously. The fires are still burning, and your shirt is clinging painfully hot against your back. You stagger to your feet once again, dizzy, almost drunkenly. A small crowd has gathered, pointing and gawking, calling out to you in Spanish that you are far, far too overwhelmed to translate.

Gasping, you raise your hands and side-step away, careful of the debris that litters the street around you.

A firetruck arrives on the scene, squalling to a stop between you and the onlookers, and you leap at the opportunity, ducking down the nearest alleyway before anybody can follow.

♠

You aren’t sure how much time you waste in the alleyways of Bogotá.

Seconds?

Minutes?

The time after the explosion is all a blur, and you run until you literally can’t anymore, until you’re doubled over and wheezing, coughing, hacking, panting.

Some primal survival instinct clicks in your brain then, and suddenly, your mind is clear. You glance around, swiping at your cheeks and brushing the ash from your shirt.

Now what?

You take a shaking breath and think.

Okay, first order of business, you’re absolutely disgusting. You need a shower before you can even think about doing anything productive.

Your bathroom just went up in flames, along with all of your clothes. Your heart clenches as you think of Ana - she’s at university, so that’s out. The embassy has a nice bathroom, but no showers that you’re aware of.

There’s only one place you know to go, and that’s Javi’s apartment.

You glance up at the sky. The sun is still pretty low - it can’t have been more than an hour since you’d left work, and that was around seven am. Javi obviously isn’t home, and you don’t have a key, but if you hurry, there’s still a chance that you could catch Murphy before he leaves his flat.

It’s a long shot, but you decide there’s nothing to lose for trying.

#Javier Peña x reader #javier peña #narcos #javi x you #javi x reader #javier pena x reader #narcos netflix #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña imagine #pedro fandom #the rules of engagement #better love #angst #slow burn #friends to lovers #hurt/comfort #smut

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holycatsandrabbits · 3 years ago

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Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 1

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

Chapter 1

1993

Professor Liam Beyer was born a decade after the deaths of the last soldiers to fight in the US Civil War. Thus, he was not expecting to meet a Union Army veteran in his 4 o’clock symposium on the Battle of Antietam.

Liam noticed the man as soon as he walked in, and not just because it was odd for a member of the public to show up for a faculty lecture at the university. No, the man caught Liam’s attention because he was distractingly handsome. Literally, Liam was distracted enough to drop his pen onto the overhead projector, causing a giant shadow to loom over the map of Maryland on the screen behind him, as if a third army had materialized there in a dense offensive line.

The man was of average height, with a slender build. He had dark hair in a short, modern cut and wore a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with a faded label. He looked like he might be thirty, which was about the age Liam was, and so Liam did not immediately assume that the man had seen action in the Civil War. But there was something faintly strange about him, just in the way that he walked, light on his feet like a dancer, but stepping firmly, without a dancer’s well-practiced grace.

“General Lee,” Liam continued, in a slightly strangled voice, “of the Confederate Army, was, of course, outnumbered, but the battle was Union General McClellan’s to lose. Had he understood how superior his force was, had he taken more risks, he might have been able to deal a decisive blow to Lee’s army as it retreated. In fact, McClellan’s performance at Antietam was part of the reason that President Lincoln later removed him from duty.”

Liam put up a transparency of a white church with peeling paint, standing alone on a grassy rise. “On September 17, 1862, 7,650 soldiers died at Antietam, making it the bloodiest day for Americans in history. Two days later, a man named Alexander Gardner took some of the first widely-seen battlefield photographs of dead soldiers. Some were awaiting burial, and some were still lying where they fell. It was very difficult at the time to take photographs of battles themselves, as the technology involved careful treatment of glass negatives, and that was nearly impossible under battlefield conditions. But the dead do not move, and these photographs were so clear that when displayed in New York, family members recognized their fallen sons.”

Liam put up a transparency of one of Gardner’s photographs, young men lying on the ground in an oddly perfect line. The unknown man looked away.

oOo

Liam had grading to do after his symposium, but he walked to the campus union to grab a sandwich first. He was definitely not expecting Handsome Unknown Lecture Man to appear out of the crowd and drop into the seat opposite him. Liam was very proud that he did not choke on his bite of ham and swiss.

“I hope you don’t mind,” said the man. “I enjoyed your lecture. My name is Kurt.”

Liam put his hand out to shake. Kurt’s touch was faintly cold. “Liam,” he said.

Kurt cocked his head slightly to the side, as if assessing him. “I know. Liam Beyer, 27, assistant professor of history, specializing in battles. Is Antietam your favorite?”

“Um— one of them. I did my dissertation on it. On McClellan, specifically.” Liam felt slightly odd about the fact that this stranger knew who he was, but of course, it was all publicly accessible information. “Are you a Civil War buff?”

“Somewhat.” Kurt leaned back in his chair. “Antietam, god. I remember Bloody Lane— that’s what they called it after. The road was sunken in because so many wagons had gone by over the years. It was like trying to fight your way out of your own grave trench.” Kurt spoke with a faint accent that Liam could not place, something that seemed to shift from one place to another.

“You talk like you were there,” Liam said, smiling. “Are you a reenactor?”

Kurt gave a sharp laugh. “No. You?”

“I’ve been a technical advisor. It’s nice to meet other people who share my strange obsession.”

“Those pictures you showed,” Kurt said. “Photography is such a bewitching art. Those boys are long gone, but remain ever present in death.”

“You know, the war helped make Spiritualism popular,” Liam said. “It was so hard on the families back home to lose contact with their soldiers, not knowing what happened to them, or when, or where. They couldn’t bear it, and turned to mediums.”

Kurt smiled, and it made his bright green eyes sparkle with amusement. “Have you ever been to a seance?” he asked. Liam shook his head. “Most I’ve been to were quite boring,” Kurt said. “But every once in awhile—”

“That sounds like a good story.”

“I’ll tell you sometime.” Liam’s brain was already far too occupied with how attractive he found this poor man, and that was probably why the sentence sounded more like a salacious promise than it really was.

“So what do you do?” Liam asked faintly, crumpling his empty sandwich wrapper. “Are you a student?”

“Not at the moment. Just a fan of history. Of battles, actually.” Kurt leaned forward a little. “Liam, would you mind if I came to your office tomorrow to talk more? I have some questions and I think you might be the one to help me answer them.”

“I— of course.” Liam told himself that he agreed solely because he liked to talk about history with people, and that it didn’t matter whether or not said people were ridiculously attractive.

Kurt smiled at him again. “Until tomorrow then.”

On his way out of the dining hall, Liam was stopped by a student with a question about an assignment on Gettysburg. “I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner,” she said.

“Oh, it would have been fine,” Liam told her. “We were talking about the Civil War ourselves.”

The student gave him a confused look. “Dr. Beyer— weren’t you eating alone?”

oOo

In the end, Liam decided that as he’d never dreamed up a handsome man in quite so much detail before, that the student had been mistaken and simply had not noticed Kurt’s presence at Liam’s table.

And yet. There really was something very strange about the man. Liam couldn’t quite pin it down, just that there was a disconnect between what Liam was seeing and what he was feeling about him. For example, Kurt appeared to be thirty, but Liam would swear he was older. Kurt had looked perfectly natural at dinner, but it had also seemed like he didn’t quite fit in with his surroundings. Like if you’d taken a photograph of him at the table, he would have been slightly too bright, out of focus, or without a shadow.

Kurt’s knock on Liam’s office door finally came around eleven, and Liam was, he realized, far too happy to see him again. At first, nothing about the visit seemed terribly odd. They discussed Antietam again, then traveled forward to the Somme, and then much farther back, Megiddo and Kadesh. Kurt seemed to know less about those battles, Liam noted, but he was quite familiar with things taking place after Thermopylae in the 5th century BC.

It was easy to talk to Kurt, especially about interests they had in common, and as the conversation went on, Kurt seemed to relax a bit, which made Liam do the same. The day before, Liam had thought Kurt moved without grace, but that wasn’t exactly right. Kurt had a different kind of grace, a fluidity of small movements instead of large ones, an artistry shown in the fluttering of fingers while the rest of the man kept entirely still. The emphasis on such small motions seemed to draw Liam in, narrowing his focus away from his surroundings and onto his visitor. But at the same time, Kurt had such an air of other about him, that it was almost like Liam was looking at him through beveled glass, never quite getting the whole image at once.

However, Liam’s sense of ease around Kurt vanished entirely when another student knocked on Liam’s door with a question about an assignment. That in itself was perfectly normal, but during the whole time that the student was in Liam’s office, she didn’t speak to Kurt or apologize for interrupting their conversation. She didn’t give a single look to the chair that Kurt occupied beside Liam’s desk.

When the student had left, Liam leaned back in his chair, trying to fake the calmness that he no longer felt. “All right,” he said, watching his visitor carefully. “You want to tell me why I’m the only person who can see you?”

********

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and DannyeChase.com (rated E), and Tumblr (rated T)

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

#Dannye writes #original fiction #serial fiction #tollense #vampires #romance

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itscalledreadingdarling · 4 years ago

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No One Survives A Night In The Maze - Newt Imagine

The lines seperate points of view, though it doesn’t mention who (you should be able to figure that part out yourself :)

*Differs from both books and movies

No one survives a night in the maze.

It was the first thing I was told when I entered the glade.

It’s the only thing I can hear apart from my feet coming down on the concrete floor and my heavy breathing.

I stayed out to late.

I wasn’t paying attention.

For this I will die.

There is a sharp corner that I manage to turn smoothly and take off, knowing where I am now.

I am close to the doors.

I must get there before they close.

I have to succeed or I will die.

A large boom echos through the maze and a large gust of wind flows past me.

The doors are closing.

I have run out of time.

I will die.

It is over the screeching of the doors that I hear yelling.

And when I turn the last corner I see its source.

The other gladers have spotted me.

They know I will die if I don’t make it to them.

I must make it to them.

I full out sprint, pooling every last bit of energy I have into this last distance.

As I get closer I can see their faces more clearly.

Chuck, screaming at me so much the his face has gone red.

Gally, who is telling me to push harder, run faster.

Minho who is yelling at me to move my ass, I’m not dying on his watch.

Thomas, the greenie, looking concerned, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he wants to run into the maze, to help me. It’s the same move I tried to make when I was a greenie. When someone else was in my situation.

They didn’t make it.

I need too.

It’s Newt’s face that I focus on though. He isn’t screaming at me. He looks calm. It is because of this that I instantly know he isn’t.

He wants to run to me.

He has his limp.

We would both die.

He would tell me that it would be for the best, going together rather than separately.

He is scared.

He can’t show it.

As second in command he must be put together, just as Alby is next to him.

He is going to cry.

I can tell by the way his jaw is clenched, the way his shifts is weight from foot to foot - not favoring his good one like normal. I can tell by the way his stare at me is unwavering. The way he runs his fingers over his lips, like he always does when stressed.

In these last moments I find myself wondering why I know this.

I’ve never seen Newt cry.

It’s the fact that I know he will, that scares me.

Perhaps even more than being stuck in here overnight.

I push harder, until I cant feel my legs.

It’s not enough.

I see the doors shut.

I feel their boom.

It goes silent.

I am dead.

———

The girl does not see it but all the gladers have gone quiet.

Chuck doesn’t believe it. He doesn’t want to. He stares as the rest walk away.

Gally never cared much. But he did for her. She understood him. She was his friend. She is dead now.

Minho knows there is no survival in the maze, just as everyone else does. As much as he believes in the girl, as many races as she has beaten him in, he knows she will not be fast enough. No one ever is.

Thomas has heard what the gladers have told him, over and over. No one survives a night in the maze. But he holds hope. She will survive. She has too.

But mainly, they worry for Newt. There is no worry to spare for the girl, she is as good as dead. But Newt. Newt is alive. And she will not be.

They know that will break him.

Newts chest heaves.

Everyone knows how much the girl means to him.

No matter how much he has told them that they are just ‘best friends’ they all know he cares for her more than that.

They look to the second in command.

They pity him. The girl will never know how Newt felt about her. They don’t know how it feels, but they still sympathize.

It is only Minho who knows how Newt got his limp.

They never told anyone, and Newt said not to worry, that he wouldn’t try again, but still Minho watches over him.

His friend was empty.

He wasn’t like that anymore, not since she arrived.

For the first time it wasn’t just about making it through every day for him.

It was about living.

Something he hadn’t done in forever.

It looks as though Newt has died rather than her.

Minho knows that this is likely possible.

Newt has lost his life.

Minho knows Newt will make sure he won’t fail the next time he try’s.

Minho will do his best. He don’t know if it will be enough.

Newt turns away.

And when he walks away, the others follow.

If Newt has given up, there is no hope for the girl.

None at all.

———

I have failed.

I will be dead by morning.

I belong to the maze now.

But because I am human, I have a natural instinct to survive.

To try my best even though there is no hope.

This instinct tells me to run.

So I run.

It is not long before my breath gets heavy once more.

I was running all day. Now I will be running all night.

If I pass out from exhaustion, maybe death will come more painlessly.

It isn’t long before I hear the first griever.

The metallic whirrs send chills down my spine. I know that if I make it out alive, this moment will haunt me.

I pause to evaluate. I don’t see the grevier but I hear it coming closer.

Its too late when I realize it’s above me.

Jumping down, it pins me and I have nowhere to move.

I scream.

It’s painful. It holds fear and terror and in some way, it’s my final words.

My journey ends here.

———

No one returns to work in the glade.

No one wants to carve her name off of the wall.

No one is brave enough.

But they must.

Alby doesn’t make them go back to work.

He liked the girl. She was kind, hardworking, and made people laugh.

He morns for her.

It is Gally who scratches her name off the wall.

Gally is halfway through when Thomas speaks up.

“What if she survives?”

It’s as if the universe has some terrible, divine timing, for at that moment the girl’s scream pierces through the air.

It is a scream of death.

Gally continues scratching.

———

My throat hurts because I screamed.

By stomach hurts because I was clawed by a griever.

My lungs hurt because I have been running for too long.

My legs ache.

My head pounds.

And yet my heart beats. And for that I am grateful.

I don’t know how I am alive.

It all happened to quickly.

But I got out from under the griever.

I run still, because that same griever is still chasing me.

I run because I forgot one crucial element.

At night, the maze changes.

I feel I am doomed.

Instead, I use it.

Walls move, and sections change and I maneuver - loosing griever after griever.

Killing, griever after griever.

5 of them are dead when the sun peaks through.

I should be overrun with joy.

I have made it through the night.

Instead I collapse on the ground next to my newest kill.

I have ran too long.

I have lost to much blood.

I am alive.

But I feel I won’t be for long.

———

No one can find Newt when the sun peaks through.

No one would normally wake up this early.

No has had to.

No one has slept.

Death was no stranger to the glade.

There were dark days, in the beginning. There were banishments. And there were those who had gotten trapped overnight in the maze.

Yet somehow, this one hit harder.

It was strange, having a girl come up in the box.

Different.

Confusing.

But she had quickly proved herself, fitting right in with the glade, becoming one of the strongest.

If they were not friends with her they held high respect for her, as they did with Alby, and as they did with Newt.

She brought laughter to the glade.

All traces of said laughter was gone.

And no one could find Newt.

———

I had laid one whole hour.

I had expected death to come, take me into it’s cold hands. My destiny was sealed the moment the doors closed, locking me in the maze.

No one survives a night in the maze.

Yet I seem to have stayed alive through it all.

And all I feel is the cold concrete on my skin, the sting of my injury, and the ache in both my lungs and my legs.

I am tired, yes, but I am not dead.

I have done it.

I imagine what it will be like when I walk through the maze doors when they open.

They will all be there, lined up and they will all cheer for me. We will all hug and I will get asked millions of questions. The night will be worth surviving.

I look at my watch again.

The doors will open soon.

I want to be there when they do.

I pick myself up, wincing as I do, but standing none the less, and break out into a run.

This time I do not run for fear of life, but rather for the sake and hope of returning.

The feeling brings a new kind of energy into my body, and I pick up my pace.

I have survived a night in the maze.

I have done the impossible.

———

The doors open.

No one looks at them.

No one wants to work.

Alby makes them.

“We cannot survive if we don’t do our jobs.” He says.

There are no more runners left. Only Thomas and Minho remain. The rest have quit.

The two know they should go out.

They don’t.

Alby looks mad about it.

Neither care.

Alby understands.

Chuck runs up to the maze entrance and waits.

No one has the heart to tell him that she will not be coming through that door.

30 minutes later Thomas joins Chuck.

They sit side by side.

They know it’s hopeless.

They still wait.

No one can find Newt.

———

I have not memorized the way I ran.

It takes me longer to get back then I had thought.

It has been 47 minutes since the doors opened for the morning when I turn a familiar sharp corner.

It’s been 48 when I see these doors, open wide.

I pause.

There are only two figures sitting by the maze door.

I already know who they are.

“CHUCK!” I call out. “THOMAS!”

I can hear the pure relief in my voice, and I can see them look up and I will forever remember the way their faces light up.

Thomas gets to me first, running straight at me, and picking me up, spinning me around. Chuck arrives right after Thomas sets me down, giving me a big hug of his own.

It is then I realize I am crying. For my survival, for my pain, and for my joy.

“GUYS SHE DID IT. SHES ALIVE!”

Chuck runs around the glade screaming at everyone that I have made it.

And just as I suspected there are hugs and so many questions.

But there is no Newt.

I tell them there are 5 dead grievers, that I used the changing walls to kill them. I tell them about my injury, Cliff and Jeff immediately patching me up. I answer each and every question. I never ask any of my own.

I only have one anyway.

And when I do ask, I get silence and the sharing of looks between gladers.

“We can’t find him.”

———

I am mad at myself.

For failing.

I was stupid enough to get caught up in the ivy.

If I had succeeded I wouldn’t have my limp.

If I had succeeded I wouldn’t have met her.

If I had succeeded I wouldn’t feel so useless, standing by and watching the door close.

If I had succeeded I wouldn’t have had to hear her scream.

If I had succeeded I wouldn’t have to live with her death.

I feel dead.

I want to die.

And that’s the truth.

No one will find me.

And when they do,

They won’t find me alive.

———

I find him right away.

It was a spot I had found when I had just come up in the box.

There were too many eyes, too many boys, too much confusion.

I needed quiet to think.

So I found a small clearing, hidden by an unusually placed willow tree.

It had seemed obvious enough to me, but I liked how it was tucked away, hidden from the world.

Newt was the only one who was able to find me.

And when we became friends, it became our spot.

He came here when he felt empty.

It was here he told me his story.

It was here I told him I would always be around to help.

It was here he morned for me.

It was here he found out I wasn’t dead.

———

I heard the footsteps.

I didn’t bother wiping away my tears.

I was angered that someone found this place.

I knew they were looking for me.

I knew I should’ve been angry because I couldn’t carry out with my plan.

I was instead angry that someone had found this place. It was only supposed to be hers and mine. Us only.

I turned to scream, something I rarely did, but it was too much, there was just too much.

And there she was.

Bloody bandage around her abdomen, dark circles under her eyes, and her legs shaky.

But it was her.

This I knew.

We didn’t say anything. We didn’t have too.

Rather, she just walked forwards and kneeled down next to me, wrapping her delicate arms around me, burying her face in my neck.

She was alive.

She had done it.

I was proud, no one had ever done such a thing, but oh god all I could focus on was the fact that she was here, with me, in my arms.

In turn, I wrapped mine around her frame and pulled her closer, holding her tight, without hurting her.

“Hi love.” I whispered, my voice cracking. It was how I woke her up, an accidental slip one morning that became a word of comfort and playfulness between us. I never thought I would get to say those words again, to have to the chance to wake her up again, to hold her to my chest like I do now.

It began quietly, her tears, but they soon escalated, and all I could do was hold her and never let her go.

Her broken sobs finally broke me down, wearing down the wall that was already crumbling, and we sat there crying, holding each other.

I didn’t know how she had done it.

I didn’t know how she had gotten hurt.

I didn’t know what had happened to her.

And yet, for this moment, holding her in my arms was enough.

No one survives a night in the maze.

Except for her.

#maze runner #tmr #the maze runner #newt #newt imagine #maze runner imagine

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seancekitsch · 4 years ago

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You Need Hands: Part of the Prize Buck Series

Warnings: smut, talking about abusive relationships, talking about drug use, unsafe bondage practices bc i am not a sex guru i am a writer of two flawed people, codependancy, praising

Klaus is surprised, to say the least when you come into the apartment raging, fingernails chewed off and eyes red as if you'd been crying on your walk home from work. Work was your only place, save for home, where you seemed truly happy. He notices your shaking and the barely contained rage behind the clench of your jaw.

“Hey! Hey, is everything alright?” he puts a hand out to stop you from pacing, and you turn on him, eyes glassy and red.

“Do you know what she said about us?”

What the fuck? Who would have said that? You talk to his siblings. Your boss. And. Oh. Okay, you talk to Gwen, your roommate from your University days that you recently gotten in touch with again. Klaus doesn't like her. It’s hard to get on Klaus’ bad side, but she seemed… pushy. Not pushy. What's the word he’s trying to use? Controlling? Scheming? Yeah, those are the ones. Accuracy cuts deeper, you always tell him. He pets your arm, feeble in trying to calm you down but after a few ragged open-mouthed breaths, you’re ready.

“She called us Sid and Nancy,” you continue, “She said we live in a sex den above a bodega slowly killing each other, if not outright doing it. She thinks you’re gonna get me high again. She basically met up with me up to judge me and tell me everything I’m doing wrong. I didn't even get to tell her about that paella we made last week for your whole family.”

“Oh, she’s kidding right? I’d make a terrible Nancy.” That makes you pause in your tracks, confusion lighting up your features.

“No- Klaus she thinks you’re Sid.”

“I’m not Sid.” He reaffirms, pulling you in and wrapping his arms around your frame. Noticing how the candlelight catches on your hair, making you look like a biblical angel, one of those terrifying fiery things, hard to look at but you’re all his. He knows how you feel right now, better than anyone. He’s used to being the one discounted and lectured. His own siblings, as much as he loves them dearly, only just started trusting him in the span of the past two years. It felt like something divine, that despite how mean and secluded you were at first, how you trusted him so deeply so quickly. He’d known you for almost a year, and in that year dragged you to another century, gotten you involved in a cult, exposed you to his family, ghosts, challenging and difficult situations other people could have easily cracked under without disease plaguing their mind. Klaus is capable of great cruelty and recklessness, he knows it. He knows you shouldn't trust someone who has seen and done the frankly fucked up shit he has, but you do. And he trusts you fully in turn, if not more. Even when you refused to be open with him, pushed him away; the days when you would have rather stuck pins in your hand than speak to him because he was loud and you were too weak to handle it.

He exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding when he feels your head dip and fall against his chest.

“Is she right?” your voice is far away, empty. Needing some empty comfort. “Are we killing each other? Do we suck?”

“Hey, c’mon, don't be upset,” he shushes you, “We’re good for each other. We have jobs! No relapses! Bet your ex could never say that.” He couldn't, your ex was part of the reason you were here, which Klaus wasn't exactly upset about because it meant he had you and no one else did, but you probably could have benefitted from years free from an active addiction that was more or less funded by the competitive nature of your work and home life.

“I’m not upset. I’m pissed.”

That solves it for Klaus. When you're pissed, you clam up. He doesn't want to emotionally lose you for the rest of the day, or worse, the whole weekend.

“We’re not killing each other,” he confirms, “Pretty sure you can't kill me anyway.”

You snort and swat at his ribs, but then your hand doesn't leave him after the hit, instead slinking from his side to his back, coming to rest on his shoulder blade. You're holding him, which means he hasn't lost you.

“Oh, wicked thing, I’ll show you how good I am for you.”

You sigh, and feeling the pricking of your nails on his back, he takes that as permission. His hand begins roaming your body, groping at your chest, squeezing at your ass as you grab onto him, holding him for stability as he keeps moving, his large hands making you moan.

“Klaus…” you trail off. What are you trying to say? What are you asking for? You don't know.

“How many days have you been clean?” He whispers against your skin.

“One hundred and ninety three.” You know it exactly.

“See? She’s wrong,” and he goes back to peppering your face with kisses as his hands work to pull your skirt out of the way. Its dirty the way he pulls your clothes out of the way to fondle at you, to rub against your cunt through your underwear, to pull that underwear aside and find you wet and waiting. His other arm wrapped around the small of your back, holding your rumpled skirt gathered in his hand.

“I’ll be real good for you,” he affirms, slipping a finger into you, and then another. You grip onto his shoulders now, enough to keep you standing when your legs want to crumble under his thrusting. He pushes in with ease, like you were made to take his fingers, your breath hitching and tiny whines falling from your lips. His forehead dips to press against yours, sweat beginning to form on his brow. Its dizzying, how deep his long fingers can be inside you, how full and whole you feel as he holds you against him, making you shake and moan as he props you up, letting you feel like a ragdoll at his mercy.

“Hey,” he nudges you with his nose, “Hey, Lover, look over there.”

He shifts his head to the left, and your head follows. You're face to face with the image of yourself in the cheap and grimy thrift shop mirror you had bought. You see how strong his lean muscles are, how they move against you, hold you close and safe.

“Look how fuckin’ good you look.” You nod, you have to agree, heavy bedroom eyes stare back at you, your lips parted almost pornographically. Is this how Klaus sees you all the time? He picks up the pace, eagerly moving his hips along with his hand, needing to feel some release and friction himself as he works you over, your voice raising an octave as he gets rougher, until your eyes close tightly; your body stiffens, shakes, and you can hear him praising you. You're doing so well, that's it, all for me, right on my hand, you're so sexy. Your voice comes out in a shudder. Trying to thank him as your muscles twitch and you look into his beautiful green eyes.

“No, no, no, shhhh,” he hushes you again, smoothing your hair down as he leads you to walk on wobbly legs over to the bed to sit, not bothering to fix your skirt. Your eyebrow quirks as he moves to remove his belt fully, not just unbuckle it to remove his pants.

But you wise up quickly, watching him grab your hands and start to wrap the belt around your wrists. You have bondage rope somewhere around here, but this is hot, and he told you to be quiet, so you don’t make a sound. He moves your hands at the wrist, checking for you to make sure the belt won't hurt you, then pushes you back onto the bed, staring at invisible patterns on the ceiling as you lift your hand for them, belted wrists landing at the other edge of the bed. You can feel him push your skirt up even more, then you feel his skin on yours, his bare thighs rubbing against the inside of yours, then the sensation of Klaus rubbing his cock against you. Fuck, you love his cock. You love him. He watches your expression, your gasps, your sighs from lips plumped by bruising, your eyes fluttering shut as he rubs against you. You're a fucking goddess. He doesn't deserve you, despite trying to carnally prove that he does. Youre so fucking good, you’ve helped better each other. Fuck what anyone says. He just hopes you believe it too.

“So fuckin’ good, Lover. Oh, I’m gonna worship this cunt,” he sighs, more to himself than you.

“Don’t make me wait, Klaus,” you command, but then whine as he enters you. Everything feels like so much, so much.

“Sensitive, Fraulein?”

“I can handle it.”

“Of course you can,” he agrees, setting his pace

He hikes one of your legs up onto his hip, then hikes his leg up onto the bed, getting a better angle to fuck you, but also to lean in and kiss you, his mustache brushing your chin, lips attaching themselves to the underside of your jaw as he kisses you fully, pressing his love into your skin.

He covers your body with his own, protective, possessive, and devoted; he fucks you through another high, making you scream into his mouth as he doesn’t slow his pace, once again shushing you and singing your praises. I love you, you look so good like this, let me live the rest of my life like this between your thighs. You want to let him take, and take, and take. Such a thoughtful, loving, loyal person. He gives. You want him to give.

“Klaus,” you sound breathless, “Klaus, come inside me, please.”

You beg, wanting him completely. He lifts your other leg, before climbing completely on the bed with you, his sweaty chest dropping against yours, palming at your breast as he buries his head into the crook of your neck, needing to feel the closeness of you as he comes.

He comes quietly, with a staggered gasp and your lips kissing his hair. One of his hands finds yours bound above your head, and grasps them both in his. He kisses your neck as he stills, body relaxing as he comes down.

You stay like that for almost a half hour before the phone on the wall rings and snaps you out of your loving haze.

#klaus hargreeves x reader #prize buck series

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years ago

Text

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

Cheerful mess was the understated way of putting the current scene. Tonight was the first evening of a long sleepover at the farmhouse. It was a holiday weekend which meant you had unlimited access to Minseok for three whole days.

The two of you had been "together" for about a few weeks but it felt more like a lifetime. You and him fit together like puzzle pieces, like that Greek myth of the origins of people and soulmates. Both of you had walked the earth for years, not even realizing what you could have been missing. You didn't feel complete, necessarily, but… more.

"You're going to run out of battery here soon," Minseok teased.

You were sitting up on your knees clicking picture after picture of your favorite subject. How could you stop when nearly every angle of his face was so fascinating? He looked sharp then soft then older then younger. You wanted to capture every possibility.

"It's not going to die," you said as you checked the focus. "It's still on full battery. You're stuck with this for a while."

"I'll endure it. Only because it's you."

"Are you camera shy, wolf boy?"

Minseok's answer was a low growl. He reached out and pulled you down for a kiss, careful to not crush your camera. Somehow he managed to pry the device from your hand and place it on the floor while keeping you occupied.

"(Y/n)?"

"Hm?"

With soft eyes, he caressed your cheek. His lips were taunt, tension creating the tiniest lines around his pink mouth.

You propped yourself up on your elbows. "What is it?"

"There's… something we need to talk about."

"Okay?" Sitting up all the way, you braced yourself for whatever he was about to expose.

Minseok kept his eyes down, fidgeting with the sheets between his fingers. "I'm sure you've noticed how… protective I've been lately?"

Protective was probably the soft way of putting it. Since you and Minseok officially accepted the bond between the two of you, you'd spent nearly every day up here at the house, soaking all the time with him that you could. It was impossible to ignore the way he shifted closer to you when one of his brothers walked into the room or the subtle growls if they said something cheeky. While it took time to get used to, you'd shrugged it aside, owing it up to his supernatural nature. It had never gotten too much out of hand or uncomfortable for you. Apparently, there was much more to it than a simple instinct.

"The reason I've been like that is because you're my mate."

You snorted. "Yeah, I kind of figured that."

"But not just my mate." He let out an elongated sigh. "My unmarked mate."

You held up a hand, palm facing out. "Okay, hold up. Unmarked? Like… I have to get a tattoo?"

Minseok snickered. "No. There's no ink involved." He sat up. Fingers soft and tender, he traced the outline of your neck and shoulder. "When a wolf finds their mate, they are protective. And… we need a way to tell other wolves that their mate is under that protection and not to… touch them… for a lack of a better explanation. So, we mark our mates. Once that happens, our instincts calm down a bit. Or so I've been told."

"Okay." You clicked your tongue a few times, processing this new information. "You're asking to mark me? Is that it?"

Minseok chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Okay," you said. Nerves were brewing in your stomach. Though the answer seemed obvious once ink was ruled out, you still asked, "What does that entail?"

Scooting closer to you, Minseok kept eye contact. "I have to…." Blush exploded on his cheeks. He scratched the hairline behind his ear.

"To do what?"

"I have to bite you."

"BITE ME!"

"Shshshsh." Minseok pounced on you, covering your mouth as he pinned you to the bed. He cocked his head to the side as if listening for additional noise. Right. Supernatural hearing. The house was full of extraordinary ears. When no one came, he eased off. "It won't hurt. I'd make sure of it."

"But you have to bite hard enough to leave a scar," you said.

Minseok nodded. "I'd… distract you."

You started to imagine what he meant by that. You cleared your throat. "I guess I can go along with that."

Those were the magic words, apparently. He grabbed your face like he did that night downtown and kissed you deeply. A rush of giggles bubbled in your throat. They grew louder and louder until-

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Can you guys keep it down? Its getting annoying!"

Minseok half-groaned, half-sighed. "Jongdae."

"Just let him be," you said, though you were feeling a little embarrassed yourself. "Some people just don't like being around couples."

"You're right." A mischievous smirk pulled at his lips. "But I still hope that he's next. It would help loosen him up."

"Maybe."

"Until then, we'll just wait until the house is empty."

You smiled. "Sounds like a plan."

On the morning of the last day of the holiday weekend, you were a little sad. The nonstop Minseok time was coming to an end. But alas, it was inevitable so you rolled with the punches.

Minseok was already downstairs when you woke up. You freshened up before deciding to join him.

Several of the boys were sitting around the table eating breakfast as they chatted happily. Minseok had a full plate in front of him waiting for you before the others could shovel it down. When he saw you enter the kitchen, he waved you over. You took the empty seat next to him.

"Hungry?" he asked. You nodded. He slid the plate over to you along with eating utensils.

Junmyeon walked in then, a newspaper in his hand. He must have run to town early this morning. Tossing the newspaper down on the table, he sighed.

"What is it?" Sehun asked.

"There was another death on Saturday," Junmyeon announced.

"What? Why are we just hearing about it?" Minseok asked.

"The police kept it quiet. Its just now hitting the newspapers. I got an email last night from the university."

Baekhyun frowned. "Why did you get an email?"

"The hiker was a pre-med professor from the University. The board wanted to prepare the rest of us."

Yixing reached for the newspaper and scanned through the article.

“We need to find this guy and stop him," Chanyeol said worriedly.

Kyungsoo nodded in agreement. “He’s bringing too much attention.”

“The last thing we need is for some vigilante hunter coming into the woods,” Jongin added.

You swallowed, unable to keep eating. The image of a hunter with a gun was making your stomach churn. “That won’t happen, right? Minseok?”

“Everything will be alright.” Minseok reached over and squeezed your hand reassuringly. Rolling his eyes, Jongdae stood up and left the room.

“He just doesn’t like me, does he?” you asked quietly. Though the two of you would joke about Jongdae needing a mate of his own to loosen him up, you couldn’t help but feel it was more personal than that.

“Jongdae takes a long time to warm up to anyone," Junmyeon said. "Don’t stress about it.”

You pursed your lips. “Easy for you to say.”

“Don’t worry, the rest of us like you.” Baekhyun said happily as he munched on a cookie. “Especially if you keep making goodies like this.”

You had gotten a little bored last night while the pack went on a run, so you went through the cabinets and found ingredients to bake a few… dozen cookies. There were approximately three left at this point and you were worried that it might become an outright war for the morsels.

Minseok starred at Yixing, who was lost deep in thought, reading the article over and over again. “Yixing? Is something wrong?”

“This hiker was my professor," he explained. "I’m just worried about what the consequences of another death could be.”

“You sound so morbid,” Sehun complained.

“Campus will be in an uproar tomorrow when we get back,” Minseok commented. To Yixing, he asked, “Do you think they’ll cancel your class?”

Junmyeon answered instead. “No. In the memo we got they said they would combine her classes with others.”

“Seems a bit weird,” Baekhyun said.

Junmyeon shrugged. “It's the option they went with. Yixing, you should be getting an updated schedule and syllabus in a day or so. As for us, we're going to up our presence in the woods. Take shifts running perimeters."

"Is that safe?" you asked. The last thing you wanted was for Minseok to get hurt. Or any of them, really. You were growing attached to the pack as a whole.

"We're supernatural creatures," Minseok smirked. "There's more of us than of him. If anything, its him to be worried about."

You nodded, but your concern didn't ease up. Your own instincts told you this wouldn't be as cut and dry as the pack was making it sound. They may know what they were capable of, but they weren’t invincible. You had to agree with Yixing. There were to be consequences of this new death. But that was the thing about consequences: they could be either good or bad. Only time would tell what they would be.

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #minseok x reader #kim minseok #xiumin #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #exo supernatural au #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #exo series #The Untamed Universe #Catching Rain

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breakyeol · 5 years ago

Text

read my lips

one shot

┗ pairing: kyungsoo x reader

word count: 4k

warnings: making out, light groping, mild language, poor description the shout into silence game, the reader is head over heels folks buckle up

a/n; I am so in love with him plz help and this was NOT supposed to be this long oh my gosh, I have zero self control

You were in love with Do Kyungsoo. Head over heels, madly, incredibly, uncontrollably in love with Do Kyungsoo.

You were in love with his big, beautiful eyes, with his perfectly heart shaped lips, with his heart stopping smile, with his deep goofy laugh, with his smooth rich singing voice, with his thick booty, with his soft spoken nature, with his chilling glare, with his ridiculously amazing cooking skills, with his low key sense of humor that always managed to have you splitting your sides laughing, with how easy it was to get under his skin, with how shy he gets whenever someone complimented him, with his existence as a whole.

In your eyes, Do Kyungsoo was perfect. From head to toe. Every flaw, every imperfection, every ‘shortcoming’ just made him all the more amazing. You absolutely adored and respected him with every last inch of your soul. You were simply in love with him. And you’d told him that, more times than you can count on both hands, you’d told him that you love him.

The only problem was— he didn’t realize that you meant it.

It wasn’t his fault by any means, he wasn’t oblivious or slow witted. The only reason he didn’t understand that every time you told him you loved you that you actually meant it was because you had a nasty habit of making it into a big joke.

Every ‘I love you’ was followed by laughter and a sarcastic comment that made him roll his eyes and push you away. Every confession falsified by a teasing tone or playful grin. Your genuineness was masked by your humor, formed from your uncertainty.

But today, you were determined to bare your heart to him, and tell him that you were genuinely in love with him and not flip it into some kind of joke. You were tired of being a coward and covering up your feelings with humor. The longer you kept it inside, the more frustrating it became. You needed to tell him. Genuinely. Honestly. Whether he felt the same way or not, he needed to know your true, unfiltered feelings.

And so, you concocted a plan.

A stupid plan that would probably get you absolutely nowhere, but a plan nonetheless.

“Y/n,” Kyungsoo’s brows lifted in surprise as he opened the door to his dorm to find you standing on the other side, “what’re you doing here?”

You’d convinced – ahem, bribed – the boys to go out tonight without Kyungsoo (they didn’t need much explanation as they knew all about your secret love and wanted to stay clear of your gross sappy feelings).

“I was bored,” was your vague explanation, an innocent smile drawn across your lips. Lifting the back of snacks and supplies you’d brought along, you continued, “plus I got this weird sudden urge for a game night. Mind if I come in?”

“Not at all.” He chuckled lightly, moving aside to let you step inside. You smiled happily as you all but skipped into the boys’ shared home, immediately being greeted by the mouthwatering scent of whatever five star worthy food he must have been whipping up before you arrived.

“It’s smells good, Soo! What are you making?” You asked curiously, trotting after him diligently as he made his way towards the kitchen. You slipped into one of the stools at the island as he made his way behind the counter, picking up where he left off.

“Nothing special, just spaghetti,” he shrugged nonchalantly, though the upward twitch of his lips gave him away, “it’s finished, actually. Would you like any?”

“Of course! Everything you make is delicious, how could I say no?” You agreed eagerly, shifting forward excitedly in your seat as he spooned some in a separate bowl.

He smiled shyly at the praise, and you couldn’t help the way your heart swooned at how adorable he looked.

You wanted to pinch those precious round his cheeks and kiss those heart–shaped lips and praise him until he was bursting at the seams. Because that’s the only thing that he deserves: all the love and praises and goodness in all of the universe. You’d gift wrap happiness itself if you could and would gladly hand it over to your lovely Soo.

“The place is oddly quiet… any of the other guys around?” You asked, despite already knowing the answer, looking around exaggeratedly. He shook his head with a soft sigh, lips puffing out slightly.

“No. I think they all took off while I was showering earlier. Didn’t even give me a heads up, those bastards.” He muttered sourly, thick brows curling inwards as the corners of his lips down turned.

You gasped dramatically, as if you were the one that had been deeply wronged. “What assholes!” You exclaimed, and Kyungsoo laughed that deep bubbling laugh that made you just want to go lay down in the corner and cry because you’d be more than content if that was the only sound you were blessed enough to hear for the rest of your natural life. “How could they just leave behind my lovely Soo, hm? How cold hearted. Then I suppose it’s just the two of us for the night? What a shame…”

Your playful cooing was met with a heavy eye roll. “Shut up and eat your pasta, yeah?”

The second he slid the bowl across the counter you were immediately digging in, shoving forkfuls of the delicious meal mouth. You moaned loudly as the flavor hit your tastebuds, eyes rolling in bliss.

He laughed, big, beautiful eyes turning into crescents at your emphatic reaction to his food. “Good?”

“Fucking exquisite, Kyungsoo, Jesus Christ.” You corrected, quickly shoveling in another mouthful.

“Can pasta be exquisite?” He asked skeptically, raising a thick brow.

“Yours sure as hell can! I’m pretty sure you could cook a cockroach and it’d still be delicious. Actually, you know what? You should open your own restaurant. It’s borderline criminal that me and the guys are the only people blessed enough to be eating your food. I’d go there for every meal of the day, every day, for the rest of my life.” You declared firmly, slamming your hand down on the countertop with a sense of finality.

“Every day for the rest of your life?” He repeated, brows lifting in playful amazement, “You wouldn’t get bored of my cooking?”

“Hah! Never.” Your face dropped into a deadly serious stare. He burst into a fit of giggles, nose scrunching in the most adorable way imaginable as his shoulders jolted upwards, head bobbing forward as he leaned against the counter for balance.

Your heart felt like it could just burst at the sight.

Were you swooning? You were definitely swooning. Not that it could be helped, because who wouldn’t melt into a puddle if they saw Do Kyungsoo laughing like that, looking so cute and squish-able that you could die—

“You’re ridiculous,” he managed when the fit of laughter eased.

“And you’re ridiculously cute.” You shot back with a flirty smile, resting your cheek on your knuckles as you watched him place some of the utensils he’d used in the sink.

He scoffed at that, so used to your teasing quips that they barely roused a blush anymore.

“Ah! That reminds me!”

He jumped slightly at your sudden outburst, looking at you with wide eyes as you suddenly leapt off the chair. Snatching the bag you’d brought, you rounded the counter before grabbing one of his hands and dragging him towards the living room. He let out a soft ‘oof’ as you pushed him onto the couch, before plopping down beside him, a bright smile staining your lips.

“I brought a game!”

Kyungsoo watched, blinking curiously as you dug through the bag, before yanking something out. His eyes widened upon realizing that they were a painfully familiar pair of pink, cat ear headphones.

“Y/n—”

You swiftly cut off his disapproving interjection by pulling the large headphones over his head and letting them snap into place over his ears. A grin twisted the corners of your lips upwards as you took in how adorable he looked, glaring at you with that dangerously endearing pout that you just wanted to kiss right off his perfect, handsome face.

“Don’t look at me like that, Soo. A few rounds won’t kill you,” you teased, flicking the tip of his nose, “Jongin isn’t even here to make inappropriate —yet hilarious— mistakes.”

He huffed at you, and you had to physically fight off the overwhelming urge to reach forward and pinch his cheeks. “Still,” he grumbled, but didn’t make any verbal disagreement as you plugged the cord into your phone, “I look stupid.”

“Stupid?! Puh–lease,” you scoffed in disbelief, “you’re the cutest pink eared kitty in the whole wide universe, Do Kyungsoo.”

He pinned you with a warning glare. “I will not hesitate to kick you out.”

Laughter bubbles at your lips (though you knew he was very, very serious). “You enjoy my company too much to do that,” you cooed teasingly, tapping the top of his nose and watching in wonder as it scrunched up.

“You wanna bet?”

Your laughter ceased and you pouted, looking down in surrender. “No…”

He scoffed, reaching over to flick your forehead as the ghost of a smile teased his lips. “Stop pouting and start the game, will ya?”

“Okay, so I’ll say three words or phrases and if you can guess all of them, then you get a point. Then we’ll switch, alright?” The directions were vague, but you didn’t plan to actually extend this game past those first three phrases. He understood nonetheless, nodding in agreement. “Okay…” you pulled up a random playlist on your phone, pressing shuffle, “start!”

Kyungsoo flinched just slightly as music blasted through the headphones. “It’s loud.” His voice was louder than usual and you laughed at how cute he looked with his eyes all big.

“It’s supposed to be!” You giggled, tossing your phone down onto the coffee table.

“What? I can’t hear you!”

“You’re not supposed to you, doofus.” You laughed loudly, and a smile stretched across Kyungsoo’s lips. Holding up a finger, you said, “first phrase!”

“First phrase!” He repeated, voice all but booming.

Stifling the grin that threatened to pull at your lips, you enunciated as clearly as possible, “Kyungsoo’s pasta is delicious.”

He shook his head, brows furrowing in confusion, “slow.”

“Kyungsoo’s,” you pronounced slowly.

“Kyungsoo,” he repeated back carefully.

“Pasta,” you continued.

“P—…,” he hesitated briefly before understanding, “pasta!”

“Is.”

“Is,” he purses his lips.

“Delicious.” You concluded.

“Del… Kyungsoo pasta is delicious!” He exclaimed, obviously very excited that he figured it out. You grinned in adoration, not bothering to correct the tiny mistake he’d made.

“That’s it! Okay, next phrase,” you clapped your hands together as a playful smile curled at the corners of your lips, “Chanyeol is a giraffe.”

He didn’t hesitate before repeating flawlessly, “Chanyeol is a giraffe.”

A loud laugh broke from your lips, your entire body doubling over. “How– how did you g–get that so f–fast?” You managed to get out between obnoxious cackles. He grinned lightly, though, you doubted he understood any of what you’d just said. “Okay— okay, last phrase.”

Right. Next phrase. Or rather— the phrase. The whole reason you’d come over in the first place. The one thing you needed to get off your chest more than anything in the world. You couldn’t help but to find yourself feeling a tad bit nervous. Understandably, you presume. You were about to profess your undying love to the one and only Do Kyungsoo. That task is bound to arise some buzzing nerves.

Now… if only you could just get those three little words to actually come out.

Taking in a deep breath in hopes of soothing your suddenly racing heart, a slightly more serious expression carved onto your features. He didn’t seem to take notice of your sudden change in persona, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Straightening and stealing your spine, you took in one last breath before carefully mouthing—

“I love you.”

He rolled his eyes with a soft scoff. “Y/n, that’s too easy,” and with an easy little grin he repeated, “I love you.”

“No, Kyungsoo, I—” a strangled groan worked its way up your throat.

Something akin to frustration bubbled to life in your gut. Not at him, but rather, yourself. He didn’t get it. But of course he didn’t get it. Why would he? You’d been too much of an insecure fool to be genuine about your feelings and instead covered them with sarcasm and stupid, childish humor. And now, because of that, he didn’t get it. So how could you possibly make him understand—

Oh. Now that’s an idea.

He must’ve taken notice of the strange contortion of your features, because his own brows furrowed in confusion as he blinked at you, pulling the headphones off of his head. “What? Was that wrong— oh!” He was barely able to get out the question before your hands were fisting in the collar of his shirt and yanking him forward, effectively slamming your lips into his.

It took a few moments for your mind to catch up with your actions. But once it did, all hell broke loose in your brain.

��Freaking out’ would be one hell of an understatement. Because… Oh god.

Oh god. You kissed Do Kyungsoo. Correction— you are currently kissing Do Kyungsoo. You are actually kissing him. On the mouth! With your mouth! Your lips are touching. So then why did you entire body feel like it had just been set on fire? Was it normal to feel this way? Definitely not. You’d kissed other people in your lifetime. But no kiss had ever felt like this.

This kiss— god, this kiss. Not only did it feel so incredibly right, it felt like the entire universe was falling into place. The planets were aligning. Fate had finally stepped into your corner.

Okay. So maybe you were being a tad bit over dramatic. But could anyone really blame you? How many nights had you spent dreaming of kissing him? How many hours had you daydreamed away fantasizing about his lips? How many years had you spent loving him?

Lost in your own mind, savoring finally getting to feel the softness of those perfect heart shaped lips against yours, it took you a few moments too long to realize that he had failed to kiss you back.

Shit.

You yanked yourself away from him so fast you damn near gave yourself whiplash. Hand flinging to cover your offending lips, you took in his stunned expression. Oh god. He hated it. He definitely hated it. No one has that kind of look on their face if they enjoyed a kiss.

“Jesus. Kyungsoo, I am so, so, so sorry. I didn’t even think—” you began to apologize profusely, humiliation and shame settling like a heavy stone in your gut, but the pathetic words suddenly came to an abrupt halt, silenced on the very tip of your tongue at the last second.

For whatever reason, your brain was running a few seconds behind the rest of your senses today. Because, you definitely saw Kyungsoo’s face coming towards yours, saw his eyes fall shut, saw his lips press out ever so slightly. And then you felt his hands on your skin, felt the gentleness of his warm palms cradling your jaw, felt him pulling you forward— pulling you towards him.

And yet… it still took your sorry excuse of a brain over ten whole wasted seconds to process that he was kissing you.

He was kissing you.

You immediately melted against him, hands flinging out to drape themselves around his neck, locking him in place against you. There was no way in holy hell that you were going to let him go this time. You’d –happily– die of suffocation before you’d willingly put an end to this ecstasy that was his kiss.

His lips were so soft, so gentle, it felt like you were kissing clouds. Was it humanly possible for someone’s lips to be so perfect? So thick and plush and silky that it could drive just about anyone mad. You’d imagined what they might feel like more times than you care to admit— but nothing in your wildest dreams could have lived up to the reality. It wasn’t often that real life outdid your expectations… but you couldn’t say you were surprised that Kyungsoo turned out to be an exception to that commonality.

You couldn’t hold in the light moan that made its way up your throat as his fingers drifted down to press into the curve of your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles over your clothed skin. His lips pressed hotly into yours, deep and slow, like he was taking his sweet time to feel you out, getting a physical sense of where you were with him. The tip of his patient tongue just barely grazed over your lower lip, and you were more than happy to allow him to gently nudge them apart.

Instinct took over at that point, your mind too hazy and muddled to make any real decisions. And the feeling of his tongue flicking over yours wasn’t doing your sanity any favors. You didn’t even notice, didn’t even realize that you were being pushed down until your back was flush against the couch. His body hovered over yours, toned arms caging your head in as the kiss grew deeper, greedier, hungrier, yet somehow remaining slow and controlled.

A low groan vibrated against your mouth, his hot breath searing your lips as he let out a sigh of your name. Your hands clutched at his back, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blades, desperately tugging him closer to you. You wanted to feel every inch of him, feel what you’ve been deprived of for far too long.

Tonight, you were feeling exceptionally greedy.

But every time you attempted to quicken the pace of the kiss, reach deeper into him, take in more— he was pulling back, denying you… fucking teasing you. And the low chuckle he let out against your greedy lips told you that he was enjoying it.

“Knock it off,” you whined impatiently, fingers reaching up to drag through his thick, dark locks. He grinned, one of his hands following the cut of your body line down to grip the side of your thigh, squeezing just tight enough to have your stomach twisting and burning in a whole new kind of way.

“You’re cute.” He murmured in that smooth, rich voice, nipping sweetly at your lip. Heat rose in your face, a smile curling at the corners of your mouth, warmth pooling in your chest.

“Kyungsoo,” you whispered breathlessly, fingers tracing delicately over the defined cut of his jawline, “I meant it. I really do love you. I’m… I’m in love with you.”

Your heart was a hummingbird as you spoke, voice dripping with more truth than you’d been brave enough to ever show to him in the past. Above you, Kyungsoo let out a soft breath, his forehead pressing lightly against yours as your noses bumped, lips just barely caressing. His cool touch soothed over your burning cheeks, gently coaxing your gaze to meet his. His eyes were dark and deep, deep enough to drown in. They completely sucked you in, swallowing you up in less then a moment. Under the intensity of his molten gaze, you found the racing of your thundering heart calming, the fierce burning of your skin cooling.

God that feeling. That feeling of indescribable, all encompassing, pure bliss. You could never grow tired of it, not in a million years.

“Y/n.” His voice was like honey, thick and sweet in your ears as he spoke the very words that you’d been dying to hear since the moment you first laid eyes on him. “I love you, too.”

“Shit,” you laughed shakily, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.” You didn’t offer him a moment to respond before you were dragging his perfect lip back down onto yours.

But, the moment that had encompassed the two of you shattered into tiny shards at the sound of the front door swinging open and booming voices filling the walls.

“I can’t believe you actually ate— oh shit!” Baekhyun yelped in shock, eyes bulging at the sight of Kyungsoo on top of you. Said man quickly pushed himself off of you, a hot blush flushing into his cheeks.

“Okay, Soo!” Chanyeol’s bellowing laughter boomed in your ears, hands clapping as he cheered. “Get some!”

“Not on my couch!” Junmyeon whined, foot stomping as he glared at your burning faces.

“I definitely could have lived my whole life not having seen that,” Sehun sighed, placing a hand over his eyes.

“Yo, your plan actually worked this time, y/n!” Jongin’s amazed giggles spilled into the sudden awkward air. “That’s a first!”

“Hey, Kyungsoo! Remember to wrap it before you tap it!” Chanyeol barked out, causing himself, Baekhyun, and Jongdae to double over in an obnoxious fit of laughter.

Kyungsoo glared darkly at his cackling friends, looking about ready to bash all of their heads as he reached over and snatched the first thing he could get his hands on— which just so happened to be the cat ear headphones. Still attached to your beloved phone, might you add.

“Chanyeol, why don’t you come over here for a second, yeah?” Kyungsoo hummed lightly, standing up from the couch and beginning to walk slowly towards the group by the door. The giant grinned widely, shuffling in the opposite direction.

“Ah— I’ll take my chances over here.” He chuckled, holding his hands out in front of him as he backed away slowly. Kyungsoo shook his head, crooking a finger dangerously in front of him as he took a few more steps forward.

“No, come here. I won’t you hurt. Promise.”

“I don’t trust— AH!” Chanyeol shrieked as the shorter man chucked the headphones across the room, just barely ducking out of the way before they collided with the wall next to his head. “Kyungsoo!”

“Oops.” He smiled innocently, rolling his eyes when Chanyeol began whining loudly. Disregarding his friends, he spun back around to face you, extending his hand for you to take. “Let’s go.”

You giggled, casting a brief glance in the direction of the eight other boys before looking back up at the one that had completely stolen your heart, sliding your palm into his.

“Where to?”

He crooked grin twirled at his kissed pink lips. “Away from these idiots.”

“Yah! Who are you calling an idiot!”

Ignoring Baekhyun’s exclamation, Kyungsoo pulled you upwards, tugging you along behind him as he made his way to the front door, nudging through the numerous bodies of his housemates.

“You, idiot.” He tossed over his shoulder at his younger friend, before gently guiding you into the cool night air.

#exo #exo scenarios #exo fic #exo fanfiction #exo kyungsoo #exo do #do #do kyungsoo #exo do kyungsoo #kyungsoo #kyungsoo fanfic #kyungsoo reaction #Kyungsoo Scenario #kyungsoo oneshot #kyungsoo fluff #kyungsoo drabble #kyungsoo fanfiction #kyungsoo smut #exo reaction

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imaginedhaven · 4 years ago

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Reluctantly Rooming: Part Two

Link to Masterpost

So I realized today I hit 50 followers! Wow. That’s amazing, and I love you all so much. Plus, it was so inspiring I got to work on some more prompts for this wonderful little AU. I combined two prompts in this part:

1. “Are those slippers?” / “Is that you being mean? AGAIN?”

-and-

2. “You don’t know how to change a tire?” / “Give it a rest, would you?”

As I mentioned last time, I am still taking prompts for this universe! It’s been a great time playing in this particular AU, and of course I have the rest of the story vaguely sketched out but it’s been way too much fun incorporating these prompts. Hope y’all enjoy!

~*~*~

Aelin was still marveling at the turn in her morning as she got dressed for work in the afternoon. She and Rowan had spent an hour or so finally getting to know each other a little like they probably should’ve when he first moved in, only stopping when he had to leave to go on a run with one of his coworkers. They still had quite a ways to go, but Aelin already felt more at ease than she had previously.

She still felt a twinge of embarrassment at how it had happened, but she had gotten herself into more awkward situations before and Rowan had seemed content to not bring it up further.

Aelin hummed along with the music playing on her phone as she wriggled into the dark pants that served as the bottom of her work outfit and then sat to braid her hair back. In her month and a half working behind the bar at her current job, she had learned in a single shift that leaving her hair down was absolutely not worth it; the golden waves that she was so proud of had an annoying tendency of getting in the way while shaking drinks, and choosing to tie them back instead left her hair much neater at the end of a long shift. Lately she had taken to braiding the long strands into a crown around her head, the style elegant enough to please her but practical enough to survive the night.

Smiling with satisfaction, Aelin pinned the last few strands in place and stood to leave. She took a few extra moments to glance in the mirror and make certain that her shirt was presentable enough for work before grabbing her keys and heading down the stairs.

She made it all the way to the driveway before her good mood evaporated.

“Fuck,” she whined as she stared at her car. It had been fine when she had gotten in, or she thought it had been. But now in the daylight the left rear tire was obviously flat, almost cartoonishly so. There was no way she would be getting in to work on time, not with her car out of commission.

If he had been home she would have asked Aedion for a ride, but he was absent and his car was garaged wherever it was he put it while away so that he could save on his insurance payments. That left trying to get in touch with her coworkers to see if they could pick her up.

Taking a deep breath and preparing to grovel, Aelin scrolled in her phone to Lysandra’s contact information and was about to press the call button when she heard a surprisingly welcome voice from the edge of the driveway.

While Rowan’s voice was a relief, his words certainly were not. “Are those… slippers?” he asked.

Aelin crossed her arms, not ready to deal with this kind of interaction when she was still trying to figure out how she was going to get to work. “Is that you being mean again?” she retorted, shuffling her feet. The motion only served to draw attention to her choice of footwear, however, and when she looked back up at him she was met with an expression she could only call amused exasperation. She sighed and decided to end this probable fight before it could begin, if only to preserve the remnants of her sanity after an already-stressful day. “I always wear slippers when I drive to work,” she admitted. “My work shoes are great when I’m actually on my feet, but I hate driving in them.”

“All right,” he allowed. “I can’t say I relate, but I suppose that makes more sense than anything else I was coming up with. Doesn’t explain why you’re staring at your phone like it’s your only lifeline instead of actually driving to work, though.”

At the reminder of exactly why she was stuck here and not at work, Aelin sighed and wordlessly gestured to her tire. He glanced down at it and then back at her, clearly confused, and began to laugh.

“Oh, what is it now?” she demanded, immediately on edge again.

He crouched beside the tire and braced his hands on his knees, inspecting it as he continued to chuckle. “You don’t know how to change a tire?”

Just as it had a few hours ago, Aelin felt heat flood her cheeks. “Give it a rest, would you? So what if I never learned, I didn’t exactly have anyone around to teach me.”

Aelin bit her lip to stop the words from coming out, though she had already revealed far too much. Even if it was true, and even though the theme of the day had been building some kind of camaraderie with her roommate, she firmly believed there was such a thing as oversharing and that had been it.

A small part of her brain noted that she felt more exposed now than she had been literally exposing her backside to him just that morning, but she carefully stifled that thought to be dealt with hopefully never. Instead, she blurted out, “And I’m not sure I have a spare anyway.”

Rowan gave her a skeptical glance. “Open your trunk.”

“What?” Aelin asked, stunned. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

Deciding to humor him, she did, and in less than five seconds he had opened a compartment and revealed exactly what he had been looking for, a spare tire as well as a few tools. “Oh.”

Rowan shook his head. “Most cars have the essentials in case this happens on the road. The replacement isn’t meant to be driven long-distance, it’ll only get you to the nearest repair shop. I’m assuming you don’t have time for that.”

Aelin nodded. “I’ve only got about an hour before I’m supposed to be at work.”

“All right. You have tomorrow off?”

Aelin checked the picture of the schedule she’d saved to her phone. “Yeah, tomorrow and Monday are my ‘weekend’,” she replied.

Rowan pulled the tools out of the compartment and straightened. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to put the replacement on now, because that tire’s flat enough that you’re risking damage to the rim if we let it sit and that gets expensive fast. I can drive you to work tonight, and tomorrow we can take it to someone to see if you can get away with patching the tire or if you need new ones.”

Aelin stared at him, surprised. “Wait, you’d drive me to work?”

“Would I say I’d do it if I wouldn’t?” he retorted.

Before today, she would’ve bristled at that comment and perhaps even snapped back at him. However, through their talks after his aunt had left she’d learned that he had an incredibly dry sense of humor bordering on outright sass. With that knowledge in mind, she bit back her immediate urge to fight back and instead simply said, “Thank you.”

Rowan’s head spun around to stare at her, and she shrugged, uncomfortable under the intense focus of his gaze. “What?” she asked. “You didn’t have to offer, but I appreciate that you did. Honestly, before you got here I was running down my list of coworkers, trying to decide who was most likely to pick up.”

“You may still want to see if one of them can bring you home,” he cautioned. “I’m not saying I won’t do it, but I’m not exactly used to staying up that late and I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep.”

Aelin laughed at the admission. “And here I thought you were the life of the party. Have you ever done something just because it was fun?”

“Says someone who is currently reaping the advantages of my lack of a social life,” he snorted. “I thought you were supposed to be grateful.”

“I can be grateful and still comment on your life choices.”

Rowan carefully set one of the tools next to the tire and got to work, pointedly ignoring her and leaving her with nothing to do but watch him.

Even before today she’d noticed in a distant kind of way that her roommate was unfairly attractive, for all that he didn’t seem to do himself any favors. That recognition was only affirmed as she watched the muscles of his shoulders and back while he worked to change her tire. He hadn’t even had the time to change out of his running clothes, and sweat lingered at the back of his neck, darkening the short strands of his hair.

She’d never bothered to ask if he’d naturally gone completely grey at a strangely young age or if he simply dyed his hair that color, but either way she could admit it suited him in a way she wasn’t sure would work on anyone else. Paired with piercing green eyes and angular features, what would have been a noteworthy feature on anyone else was a stunning combination on him.

It was really too bad that they barely tolerated each other. And now that they were roommates, she knew too much about him to be swayed by looks alone. All it took was one recollection of him reorganizing their living space and those thoughts retreated to the back of her mind where they belonged.

It was just in time, too, because she realized belatedly he was speaking to her. “—got lucky,” he was saying. “I’m no expert, but I think they should be able to just patch this and you won’t have to get new tires.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked, curious.

Wordlessly, he rotated her tire—which she noticed was now freed from her car—and pointed at a large nail driven right through the rubber.

“Oh.”

“Here, stuff this into your trunk while I get the spare on and then we’ll get you to work,” he said, rolling the tire in her direction. She rushed to comply, and by the time she had tucked it away as neatly as she could manage he had finished his part of the job as well. “All right, get what you need and we’ll go.”

“I already have what I need,” she replied.

He looked at her, gaze moving from her braided hair down to her slippered feet, and said, “Your work shoes?”

“At work,” she said.

“And you’re not bringing food when you’re working a full shift?”

“Rowan, I work in a bar. They have food there.”

Her statement granted her a withering look that promised a painful end to her admittedly-unhealthy usual diet. “Do you even have food in the house?”

“If you’re going to judge me, I’m not going to answer that,” she evaded.

“Fine. We don’t have time to fix that right now anyway,” he muttered. “Get in my car, and I’ll get you to work.”

They drove in silence the entire way to the bar, but it was somehow less uncomfortable than Aelin would’ve expected. Maybe there was something to be said for utterly humiliating yourself in front of your roommate, after all. She could only go up from here.

As they arrived, before she could slip out of his car she turned to face him. “Hey, thank you,” she said. “I mean it. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

He waved off her thanks with a single gesture. “I know you have my number. Just text me if you need me to pick you up as well.”

As it turned out, Lysandra was able to get her back home after her shift and she texted Rowan about a half an hour before her shift ended, receiving no reply. But as she crept into the house, she noticed a sight that made her freeze and then smile. Rowan was passed out on their couch fully clothed, phone prominently placed on the coffee table as though he’d fallen asleep waiting for her message.

Not willing to risk waking him, she quietly crept up the stairs to her room, but the image lingered for quite some time as she prepared for sleep herself.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows

#rowaelin #haven writes #reluctantly rooming

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ckneal · 4 years ago

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So, I’ve had this idea kicking around in my head for a little while now, based on this premise: What if, due to some wire crossing that Chuck never anticipated, because he never anticipated Jack, or his powers, or that Jack might use his powers to tear open a portal to one of his cast off-worlds, allowing a scrapped draft of Michael to waltz over into the main canon universe, the OG Michael experiences some side effects? Such as, perhaps, his grace syncing up with the AU’s, causing his appearance to change for seemingly no reason, unaware that it’s corresponding with the other Michael changing vessels?

And as this is going on, Michael and Adam are at different stages in processing how they view one another. Adam’s just at the tail end of digesting the fact that he might be bisexual. Sure, there might be times when he and Michael are talking, and Michael says something, or—god forbid—laughs, and Adam feels this warm rush of affection, but that could just be something that happens when you’re part of a friendship that’s gotten this close. And, so what if he occasionally thinks about what might happen if they kissed, doesn’t everyone have that thought from time to time? That’s probably normal. And anyway, Michael looks just like him. Maybe he’s just getting vain.

But then, right in the middle of a conversation one day, Michael’s grace suddenly goes haywire. There’s this blinding flash, and Michael’s human form changes to that of the AU Michael’s apocalypse vessel. Dark hair, long coat, delicious beard, and neither of them have any idea why.

And this change is jarring for Adam. But it’s even more so for Michael, because, firstly, why did this happen? But also because, when he separated himself from Adam in the cage, for the sake of “privacy,” which Adam had made a big to-do about, Michael might have glossed over the fact that he couldn’t actually separate their minds completely. And, to a certain degree, a large part of maintaining their agreement, unbeknownst to Adam, involves Michael pretending that he doesn’t hear the odd fragment of a thought trickle over from Adam’s head. So, when Michael looks down at himself, at his hands and his new clothes, and then asks Adam what he looks like, he hears:

Holy shit—gorgeous—fucking hell—take me now. . .

“. . .Different.”

And with time moving more slowly in Hell than it does on earth, even though AU Michael only briefly wore this vessel after he crossed over, this new look sticks around for a little while for OG Michael and Adam. Which initially changes their dynamic a bit. Michael begins to wonder if he should tell Adam that his thoughts are not as infallibly private as Adam had been led to believe. However, there’s only so much entertainment in the cage, and there is something unspeakably gratifying about the fact that now, when he and Adam get into a debate, and Adam has a really solid argument going, Michael can stretch his neck like he’s trying to work out a kink, and hear Adam’s train of thought come to a screeching halt as he helplessly imagines what it would feel like to nuzzle into the expose skin. The thought generally only lasts a second or so, but inevitably costs Adam his footing the conversation every time, as it’s usually followed by Adam chastising himself for upwards of twenty minutes.

On one occasion, while discussing something called Kohlberg’s stages of morality, Michael evidently said Adam’s name in such a way that made him excuse himself to the far side of the cage, where Michael knew for a fact Adam spent the entire time scowling at the ceiling and thinking:

Creep—Stop staring at him—Not his fault he looks—sexy—gorgeous—fucking get it together. . .

Michael is aware that he has no business finding the whole situation as amusing as he does. After all, if Adam were to ever act on his errant thoughts, Michael would have to tell him that, as an angel of the Lord, entertaining any kind of relationship with a human would be utterly inappropriate. Angels simply didn’t do that sort of thing. . .

That said, a week or so later, Michael can hear Adam telling himself not to look at the dip in the V created by Michael’s new button-down shirt (it had arrived with the top two buttons undone, and Michael had refrained from altering it). Michael is getting ready to throw Adam off his game, again, when his grace flares. When the light subsides, Michael looks down at himself and sees that his human form has changed again. He looks up at Adam to ask what he looks like now, and Adam says. . .

Like an asshole.

“You look like Dean now. What happened?”

“I don’t know. . .”

Sadly, this change lasts significantly longer than the last one, and the awkward shift it causes in their dynamic is a lot less fun (for Michael). The second Michael’s face changes, Adam’s inner turmoil shifts from untoward appreciation, to a running loop of reminders that he’s looking at his brother’s face, which does not have nice eyes, and even if it did have nice eyes, the person looking out of them is a divine being with no interest in—in anything, and that the whole train of thought was sick, and redundant, and Michael didn’t mean to listen in, but he was already in the habit by this point.

Nor could Michael contradict Adam’s inner monologue, because of course Adam was right. Michael certainly wasn’t interested in—well, if anything, Michael was relieved that temptation had been taken out of Adam’s path. If Michael excused himself at one point to quietly explore the possibility of snapping himself back to the mysterious form from before, it was purely out of curiosity about the strange glitch in his powers, not for any other reason.

And, finding that, having never possessed or even seen the body in question, his attempts to revert to past vessels only brought up John Winchester’s form, Michael certainly didn’t feel disappointed. Nor did he spend the better part of an hour contemplating whether Adam’s father’s face would be an improvement over his brother’s, before remembering that he is not supposed to know or care about whether Adam is repulsed by his appearance.

Their rapport recovers, but nonetheless, they are both secretly relieved when Michael’s grace flares of its own volition once again. This time Michael is standing when the change happens, and the first thing he notices after is his height. This vessel was taller than Adam, or so it initially seemed, until Michael realized it was equipped with footwear that bolstered its natural height by a few inches. It was wearing fewer layers, and accessories securing its hair and dangling from its ears. Michael studied them with his hands.

“You look great,” Adam says before Michael has a chance to ask.

Obviously, Michael doesn’t care. By this point, Adam’s rush of lustful imaginings has become a relatively distant memory. Which made it all the more surprising when Michael was teaching Adam to speak Enochian sometime after the newest change. Michael was leaning forward, speaking slowly to show Adam precisely how he moved his lips and tongue around the syllables, but Adam’s accent was abysmal and distorted one word so badly that it threw off the entire sentence he was trying to say, and Michael briefly forgot himself to the point of actually laughing out loud—at which point, he heard the word Beautiful resonate through Adam’s mind.

Adam seemed to like this face. Words like “regal” and “stunning” crossed over from time to time, but, more significantly, Michael feels a surge of warmth come from him whenever Michael smiles—sometimes so intensely that the affection takes up residence in Adam’s eyes while they’re talking, and Michael can’t seem to look away.

After experiencing that, feeling his grace billow out of his control once again filled him with dread. Michael struggles to resist the change this time, but the flash of light comes nonetheless. Running his hands over his jaw afterward, and noting the familiar set of his legs, Michael knows before Adam says anything that he has changed into Dean Winchester again.

Adam chuckled when he saw Michael’s face. “You almost look disappointed.”

“Of course I’m not. I. . .I just wish I knew what was causing this.”

Once again, Dean’s face stays longer than it had any right to. To himself, Michael carefully thinks back over what he had been doing at the time of each change, wondering if he could possibly trigger another randomization. He had been talking each time—could it have been a key word or phrase, perhaps even a gesture or. . .thought?

Adam humors every experiment that Michael suggests, always with the same amused expression on his face. After the fourth or fifth failure, he says, gently, “You know, Dean’s face kind of suits you. Is it that bad?”

Michael retorts that this was not about vanity.

After all, Dean’s face is a reminder of their abandonment in the cage, and precisely what turn of events had led to Adam’s residency in particular. Michael would not force Adam to live with it peaceably when he should be capable of less offputting alternatives.

He’s overjoyed when the the now familiar surge of power finally courses through him again, and Adam has to bite his lip to stop his grin when Michael immediately begins running his hands over his new face. This vessel is the shortest to date; even with heels, Michael only stands as tall as Adam’s shoulder. This one also came with the most elaborate accessories. One of Michael’s new rings catches in the pins restraining his hair, necessitating the removal of both, and releasing a mane of shining red curls.

Adam helps him with the hair pins. And promptly grins when Michael’s thanks comes out in the cadence of a lilting Scottish accent.

Adam’s reaction to this one is easily the loudest since the first change. However, the words that Michael overhears run the gambit of Spitfire, Adorable, and Spritely—words that Michael is not accustomed to hearing in relation to himself, and not certain if he approves. He finally takes offense at the term pixie, and in the midst of a conversation about Purgatory, detours into a tangent about how angels and pixies are in no way similar to one another, regardless of humanity’s affinity for portraying the two specifies as humanoid beings with wings.

During this spiel, Michael fails to notice Adam raising an eyebrow at the abrupt segeway. He spends a minute, leaning against the side of the cage, half listening to Michael, while also trying to deduce how pixies came into the conversation. Then suddenly realization hits, and the fact that he is able to keep his face completely neutral is nothing short of a miracle.

Adam’s rather proud of the fact that he’s managed to get himself under control since coming to terms with his attraction toward Michael. Being around Michael after the first body swap had been difficult, and then confusing, after the second change put Michael in the shape of a blood relative, and not exactly a fondly remembered one at that. Self-control had become a matter of sanity for Adam, and, once he’d acknowledged his feelings to himself, vital for maintaining their friendship as it was. He hadn’t imagined making out with Michael against the side of the cage in ages. But now, with Michael’s tangent, with his fussing after each vessel change in mind, he had a hypothesis to test.

Michael was still talking when Adam’s fantasy hit him: Adam pushing away from the wall, three steps to close the distance between them, and then tilting Michael’s pixie-esque face upward to kiss him breathless. It was. . .very vivid. Michael could almost feel Adam’s arm slip around his waist, and the ghost-like caress of his tongue along his lips, requesting admittance. The fantasy cut short before request could be answered.

Adam bit back a grin watching Michael trip over his consonants. Even before he walked over, he could see the blush spreading out on Michael’s face. Michael doesn’t move back as Adam approaches him, coming in closer than he would normal go. Instead, Michael seems to lean into the closeness, tilting his own head back as his lips parted, eyes on Adam’s face. Adam’s tempted to run a hand along Michael’s jaw.

Then. . .

“.. .I’m sorry, I got distracted thinking about something. Can you repeat that last part?”

“W—Yes, of course.” Michael practically flies three steps back. “As I was saying—”

“Wait, Michael. . .”

“Yes?” When Michael, flustered, finally looks at Adam again, Adam is giving him a look that normally means a joke has gone over his head—though what the joke could be is beyond him. Michael tries to listen into Adam’s mind, but all he can detect is vague confusion.

Meanwhile, Adam is not sure whether he’s being rejected, or if Michael had honestly just missed the part where Adam caught him listening in on his thoughts red handed, and maybe caught him in something else too. Judging by the look on Michael’s face though, Adam was going to have to ask the question outright. . .

“You know, I think we got off topic. Let’s take it back to Purgatory.”

. . .But he cops out.

Shortly after the pixie incident, Michael experiences the opposite of the power surge that marks the onset of a change. His grace seems to short circuit for a moment, and when the riotous flickering subsides, he’s reverted to Adam’s form. What this means, neither of them know. They carry on, neither of them saying it, but both secretly braced for the next change. Instead, the next time Michael senses an unexplainable rush of power, the cage door swings open, and the two of them sit there gaping at their freedom for an embarrassingly long amount of time before either moves to step outside.

When they do, Michael is wary. He doesn’t know of many beings that could simply open the cage, and he can’t dismiss the thought that this might be a trap of some sort. He pulls the two of them back into one being and ventures out cautiously. He knows where the doorway to earth is, and can get there as easily on foot as by wing. . .but then they happen to pass by the new queen of Hell, seemingly out on some kind of procession. Which is unusual enough for Hell, since festivities are not typically done there, but more importantly, Michael gets caught on the queen’s appearance.

“Michael? Why are we stopping?”

“That woman.”

“Yes?”

“Doesn’t she look familiar?”

“Um. . .I don’t know? Why, is she some important bible-y character?”

“First, we are not characters, Adam, but also—” Michael struggles to articulate his thoughts. He’d seen that woman in Adam’s fantasy! She was attired differently, in red and gold, with her hair arranged in waves woven through with braids, but it was her. He knew for a fact that Adam had once gazed at her in amazement that he could find anyone so unreservedly endearing while they were in a “mood,” as Adam had put it, yet now he hardly seemed to notice her. To think that Adam could be so offhanded with his affections was disconcerting.

Michael sets it aside, but the thought cycles back when he and Adam are at the diner later.

“You really didn’t recognize that redhead?”

“Jeez, Michael, did you?” Adam shoots him a look as he takes a bite of his pizza. It’s the one that usually meant there was something humorous going on that Michael didn’t see.

One thing that had slipped Michael’s mind when he bound Adam and himself back together in Hell, was that their proximity would make Adam’s thoughts significantly easier to overhear. As Adam chews, Michael distinctly hears:

Go on, say it—You’re not going to say it—Say it, I dare you. . .

“What’s with the frown?” Adam says after swallowing and wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

“I’m still figuring that out.”

Adam chuckles as he picks a french fry off the plate of his first entrée. . . .Yeah, you’ll get there. . .

#the himbo and the coward: a cage story #Adam would think AU Michael's a reprehensible person #but those vessels are fine af #midam #this was not supposed to be this long when i started typing #my thoughts #if you think this is long you should see what happens when i’m TRYING to write a fic #adam milligan #supernatural michael

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im-moreofa-dogperson · 3 years ago

Text

Killing Me Slowly - Part 1

Featuring: Female Reader

Set In: Percy Jackson Universe (only name mentions: Nico Di Angelo and Will Solace)

Summary: Having resided at Camp Half-Blood for going on 3 months now, y/n is still unclaimed, and wishes she were never a demigod in the first place. Upon meeting a mysterious young man at camp, however, she grows suspicious that there is more to her story – and his - than meets the eye.

Words: 3184

masterlist

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The last thing you remember was being chased through the woods. Giggles ran rampant, but as you turned your head to look back you tripped over the tree roots and crashed into the hard earth.

You groaned and rolled onto your back seeing sun beams shining through the silk of white gowns surrounding you as you slowly slipped out of consciousness.

******

When you finally came to, you were back at camp. Lying atop white, cotton sheets in the Apollo cabin, and your friend Will sitting in the chair next to you reading from his novel.

Even though they were significantly younger than you, Will Solace and his boyfriend Nico Di Angelo were always looking out for you given that you’d made so few acquaintances since coming to camp about 3 months ago.

“What are you reading?” you ask in a low voice. He turns quickly, so engrossed in his book he hadn’t realized you’d awoken. He sets his book down on the nightstand and shifts his attention towards you.

“A Separate Peace by John Knowles. How are you feeling?” He inquires. You always admired his tenacity when it came to healing his patients, but now that you were the patient, it just came off as stubborn.

You still hadn’t been claimed, but you were sure your mother wasn’t a curative goddess of any sort. There was no way you possessed the patient nor diligent attributes that you saw in your friend Will.

“Fine. Just a small headache,” you admit. He shakes his head and sighs at that.

“How many times have I told you not to fraternize with the nature spirits? They’re unpredictable, Y/N.” You realize he’s just concerned for you, but you roll your eyes at that remark anyways.

“It was an accident! There was no foul play, alright? Just a few forest gals and their demi-goddess friend chasing each other around,” you teased.

He sighs again but nods his head. “Okay, just – promise me you’ll be more careful?”

“Sure.” Will knew, of course, that it was meaningless for a demigod to agree to such a promise, but you respected his efforts anyways.

Just then, Nico arrived in the doorway to notify the two of you that dinner had been called.

******

That night, you wasted no time settling into the bottom bunk bed in the Hermes cabin to fall asleep. Though it was common for demigods to have nightmares most nights, you considered yourself lucky for not having to worry about that too often.

You figured it was because you didn’t have enough real-world experience to provide the dark and foreboding content of a nightmare.

Before arriving at Camp Half-Blood, you had resided in a cramped apartment in Brooklyn, New York with your father.

The two of you had lived a quiet, relatively average life, undisturbed by monsters, so when a satyr finally discovered you it was thought that you’d quickly be claimed by a minor goddess of some sort; someone who doesn’t draw too much attention from malicious characters.

After the first month, however, and there still being no sign of who your godly parent could be, you began to accept your life as an honorary Hermes camper.

So, when you eventually fell asleep and your dream began, you were pleased once again to find yourself back in the oak woods you were in earlier that day. The only difference being that you were alone.

Your dream-self wandered around, leaves and sticks crinkling and snapping under your bare feet. You often dreamed of natural surroundings; it was where you felt most at home.

While your explored, you suddenly felt a cool chill tickle your arms, sending a shiver down your back. You turned to look around you but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. However, when you began walking again, you heard a second set of footsteps.

You stopped moving, and so did the mysterious steps behind you. Too afraid to look back again, you quickened your pace moving forward. You now distinctly heard someone lumbering after you, so you began to sprint.

While you were running, you noticed a subtle shift in the atmosphere; the sun no longer broke through the leaves, and a dense fog had begun to rise around your ankles, as if clinging to you in an effort to slow you down.

It wasn’t long until whoever was chasing you had apparently succumbed to the fear induced by the forest. You heard his laboring breaths and heavy feet begin to retreat away from you.

You sighed a breath of relief and slowed to a stop, though your small victory was short lived. For it was just then you heard the sound of an unmistakable hiss. The source of the hissing continued to do so as it began to encircle you.

You couldn’t pin down where the hissing was coming from, as whatever emitted it continued to move, and a feeling of doom soon crept its way through your body before settling in your chest.

When the hissing stopped, you looked to where you last heard it, and that’s when you saw the body of a 3-meter-long viper with a diamond pattern on its back slither out from behind the trees and into the clearing out of the fog. You instinctually took a step back, but you knew there was no escaping it.

It barred its fangs and hissed again as it snuck its way towards you. Your body shivered in terror when the viper suddenly launched itself at you, mouth wide open. You cried out, throwing your arms in front of your face and stumbling backwards.

When it became apparent the snake hadn’t bit you, you opened your eyes only to find yourself back in the Hermes cabin.

******

The next morning after breakfast, you slipped away from the Hermes cabin to avoid doing their daily activities and trainings for the day.

Being that you had remained unclaimed for so long, Travis and Connor Stoll, the head counselors of Hermes, notably felt guilty making you tag along with the group, so you were often able to get away with playing hooky.

You decided to head over to the lake to relax with the naiads and for some peace and quiet after the unsettling and ominous dream you’d just had.

The nature spirits at camp were naturally shy souls, rarely interacting with mortals of any sort, but they appreciated your company. You suspected they felt comfortable around you because you were just as shy and reserved as they were.

In fact, they enjoyed your company so much so that other campers often joked that the reason you hadn’t been claimed was because you were in fact a nature spirit of some sort yourself.

You’d usually scoff at these accusations and their irony, given how badly you wished for them to be true.

Plopping yourself down on the warm planks, you dip your toes in the water and gaze out across the lake.

The nightmare you’d had last night had left you feeling unnerved and anxious, so you were grateful for the tranquility that the warm, afternoon sun settling in the sky provided.

You soon noticed one of the naiads drifting up to where you sat. The greenish hue in her brown hair almost seemed to glow under the sun’s reflective beams.

When she broke the water, you smiled, but just as she opened her mouth to speak you heard yelling coming from Half-Blood Hill. You whipped your head around and noticed a few campers running to the source of the commotion.

Deciding it prudent to investigate, you begrudgingly bid your friend adieu and made your way over to the hill.

You immediately noticed the head counselor of Ares cabin, Sherman Yang, giving orders to the campers who had come to help to head back to their activities in reassurance that everything was under control.

Deciding it best not to argue with him, you began to turn away. However, it was just then you noticed what all the fuss was about. A young man with brunette, curly hair who was notably bloodied and bruised was being escorted by a few counselors towards the infirmary.

He had a busted lip, swelling around his left eye, and cuts all along his arms that made it look like he’d just lost a fight with a thorn bush.

He suddenly caught you staring, as you made eye contact with his light blue/green eyes. They were familiar to you, reminding you of the glimmering lake under a midday sun.

You quickly looked away, and your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. You chalked up your sudden infatuation and recognition of him to the probability that he’s a son of Aphrodite, but that excuse was short-lived.

As him and the two counselors walking with him passed you, your eyes caught the glint of a glowing sign above his head: a golden sun with rays made of arrows. The sign of Apollo.

******

After everyone’s initial shock and congratulations had been made, Will made his way over to the young man to introduce himself. You learned that the boy’s name was Thomas and that he’d just escaped from a hoard of dracaenas hence his injuries.

You didn’t stick around for long letting Will introduce him to camp, though you couldn’t help but wonder more about him. After making eye contact with him, however briefly it lasted, you felt struck with the feeling that you’d met before.

After pondering over this all day, Nico finally came to find you after dinner to walk with you to the bonfire.

“Let’s sit here,” he said, motioning to a couple empty spots near the front. The two of you were notoriously more comfortable sitting in the back, away from any sort of attention.

However, Nico once confided in you that ever since he began dating Will, he felt more self-assured in putting himself out there, and you couldn’t have related more, knowing that without the two of them by your side, you’d quickly have migrated to the back.

After a large congratulations to Thomas for being claimed and some recognitions to a few campers for various training achievements, the campfire songs were well underway.

After a few of the usual songs, one of the Apollo kids started urging Thomas to sing. A few of the others joined in chanting his name, and pretty soon the whole crowd is chanting him on, while a couple Athena kids grab his arms and gently toss him to the front.

You cringe and turn into Nico, worried about him embarrassing himself. You knew from Will that it was only a stereotype that every child of Apollo could sing.

The noise of the audience eventually dies down and Thomas picks up a lyre from the front bench. He takes a deep breath, and you tense up waiting for his inevitable demise.

He plucks a few of the strings, before falling into a song. When he begins to sing, all the muscles in you suddenly relax, and you gaze upon him eager to hear more:

‘All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own

But now I wanna hold you

Hold you close

I don’t ever wanna have to let you go

Now I wanna hold you, hold you tight

I don’t wanna go back to the lonely life’

While he sang, you found yourself lost in his eyes again. He gazed back on you and you felt as though his words had enveloped you in his embrace. You imagined you were the only two people there, and that his song was written for you.

‘I don’t know how or why

Or who am I that I should get to hold you?

But when I saw you all alone against

The skies like I’d known you all along

I knew you before we met

And I don’t even know you yet

All I know is you’re someone I have always known

Suddenly the sunlight

Bright and warm

Suddenly I’m holding the world in my arms’

When he plucked the last string, your eyes lingered on each other for a second longer before your cheeks flushed and you looked away. You noticed quickly that you weren’t the only one stricken by the beauty of Thomas’ singing.

The usually rowdy campers remained quiet, the nymphs had wandered out of their forest dwellings to listen in, and the usual scuttling, chirping, and tweeting of the animals had fallen to a hush and now remained that way; hungry for more.

After a moment, however, the crowd erupted in cheering and applause. You felt overwhelmed with the sudden switch in atmosphere, as if you’d been yanked out of a pleasant dream.

While Nico was distracted talking to Will, you slipped away and made your way to the forest.

******

You wandered off into the woods to catch your breath, eventually coming to a stop and resting your hand against the pale trunk of a large birch tree.

You couldn’t believe how engrossed you’d become listening to Thomas’ voice. You figured everyone was just enamored with his singing as strongly as they were because he’d been gifted by Apollo, but that didn’t explain why he’d seemingly only sung to you and why you’d welcomed it so given how aversive you were to attention.

You had closed your eyes for a moment, but now your head was starting to ache where you’d knocked it into the forest roots the day prior.

When you opened them again, however, it felt as though the usually welcoming ambience of the forest had shifted slightly to a more ominous tone.

The soft glow of the campfire had disappeared, the noise of the bonfire had quieted to a lull, the air had a sudden chill, but most disturbing was when you turned around, you couldn’t place where you had entered the woods.

A panic began to creep into your chest, so you started walking back the direction you’d come, hoping your mind was just playing tricks on you.

You quickened your pace until you were at a slow jog, but still hadn’t made it the edge of the trees. None of the nymphs had appeared to help either, further raising your suspicions that something was wrong.

Suddenly, you heard a feint hiss that stopped you dead in your tracks. It was just like the one you’d heard in your nightmare.

After hearing it again, this time closer and more distinct, you turned in the opposite way and booked it. You had no whereabouts as to what direction you were running, only that you had to get away from that awful sound.

You ran over tree roots, ducked under branches, got cut up from some twigs and leaves in the process, before your arm was grabbed, suddenly, pulling you to a halt.

You cried out and attempted to shove whoever had grabbed you away.

“Hey hey hey, you’re alright! It’s alright!” It was a familiar voice, urging you to slow down and focus. When you did you realized it was Thomas who not 5 minutes ago had almost melted you on the spot with just his voice. The same voice trying to calm you down now.

“What happened, what are you running from?” He inquired, still holding onto you as you were visibly shaking.

You knew you couldn’t tell him the truth, or he’d assume you’d lost your mind. Although you just may have but decided to keep that information to yourself for now. You forced a smile, and replied still out of breath, “Nothing. I just got lost and so I panicked and ran.”

He nodded. Though it wasn’t a total lie given that you had more or less gotten lost, it was still apparent that you weren’t sharing everything.

Deciding not to push you on it, he tentatively let go of you and chuckled politely before saying, “come on, let’s just get out of here, this part of the woods gives me the creeps.”

******

The bonfire had dispersed by the time the two of you came out, so no one but Thomas was made aware of your sudden disappearance. He’d been kind enough to walk you to your cabin without asking questions causing you to feel even guiltier about lying.

You were curious about him to say the least. You wish you knew why his singing had had such an oddly familiar hold on you, how he’d found you in the woods after the bonfire, and especially where you felt you knew him from.

All of this pondering over questions that you lacked the answers to, however, was exhausting and you soon turned over and shut your eyes.

As soon as you’d passed out in your small corner of the Hermes cabin, another nightmare began.

It started out the same as the last one did; heavy footsteps lumbering after you, shallow breathing, and foreboding hisses.

Though you’d experienced this dream before, the panic still rose quickly to your chest as you scrambled and raced to get away. Stumbling over roots and forest brush, the weakness of your dream body struggled to keep up with your mind’s urgency to evade danger.

Just as it was apparent the man chasing you had caught up to you, he slowed down, until you eventually heard his raspy breaths and heavy footsteps retreating.

You slowed to a stop as well knowing you still weren’t out of the woods yet – metaphorically speaking – but not knowing quite how to evade this next threat. The source of the hissing was almost taunting you as you heard it circling around you.

You felt yourself succumb to the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness as you saw the viper slither out from its hiding place and inch towards you. You held your breath in preparation for your enemy’s inevitable attack.

The snake launched itself at you snarling along the way causing you to cry out and turn away. You fell to the ground and closed your eyes, digging your nails into the dirt. You knew the viper had dissipated before it reached you, but you still shivered in fear.

You finally summed up the courage to open your eyes but instead of waking up back in the Hermes cabin, you found yourself in a different setting. A tunnel.

The tunnel’s dark and jagged passage filled you with cryptic doubt and dread. Nonetheless, it led up toward a feint light where, just at the threshold, you noticed the silhouette of a young man standing with his back to you.

Feeling as though you were being urged on by an external force, you pushed yourself off the ground and began approaching him.

Just as you reached out a hand close enough to touch his shoulder, he turned around, and you recognized him. It was Thomas, the son of Apollo whose presence hadn’t left your mind since he’d arrived.

Before you could form a second thought, you felt cold hands seize you by the waist and yank you back down the tunnel, away from the light, and away from Thomas.

You cried out, “Wait - !”

You woke up just then and as you opened your eyes there was one name left at the tip of your tongue: “Orpheus”.

__________________________________________

Song: “All I’ve Ever Known” included from Hadestown the Musical.

#percy jackson #nico di angelo #will solace #fic #pjoverse #pjo fic

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chocosvt · 5 years ago

Text

connect universe

⚬ pairing: cyborg!hansol x reader | future!au ⚬ word count: 4315 ⚬ warnings: alcohol consumption, violence ⚬ genres: angst, heavy fluff, elements of a futuristic/dystopian society.

✧✎ synopsis: hansol’s first time at an underground party isn’t what you expect it to be. you want to acquaint him with what it’s like to live normally, but the fabric of his past continues to control him.

✧✎ a/n: this is a side story to connect! i recommend you read the original fic first if you haven’t already (link is here) i rly luv this universe and i didn’t want to just stow it away!! i’ll expand on it more in the future (pun whoops)

You didn’t understand how anyone could look at Hansol and interpret him as someone malignant, someone evil. He was anything but a menace, and during the progression of your relationship you came to realize that his gentle nature was often a curse rather than a blessing. It brought you to ache, because he let people walk over him. Hansol had become so accustomed to brutal temperament that he rarely even lifted his finger to those who refused him and belittled him and reduced him to his bionic parts.

The worst part was, Hansol hated when you defended him. He would crinkle into himself like he’d just heard an ear-piercing scream and then grasp onto your wrist, shaking it, begging you to drop the argument because it was worthless. Even if you didn’t see it that way, his pleading was so genuine and desperate that you had no choice but to swallow the bullet on your tongue. Nonetheless, you practiced everything in your power to make him feel love, to understand love, that it wasn’t some weapon of faked promises but the deepest sentiment you had ever felt. “I know what love is because I have you, Hansol.”

When he first moved in with you, he experienced many nightmares, in which he’d slam awake in bed with his fists crumpling at the sheets, every circuit beneath his skin thundering in a bright, icy blue. His right leg would be jittering so quickly that you feared its bionics might burn out. But Hansol never dreamed of his chiefly horrendous past when you held him in your arms. And so every night you would press his head to your chest, feeling him squeeze around your waist while you stroked through the soft fibres of his hair until he fell asleep. Hansol thought he understood love a little more when you did that.

He was learning news joys and pleasures that he’d been reprieved of while contained in the laboratories. One evening you found a stray kitten stumbling around through some newspapers in an alley, and brought her home to clean up. But what was most shocking was when you placed the kitten in the sink.

Hansol peered over your shoulder, his eyes violet and beaming lowly. “What is that?” He then asked, flinching slightly when the kitten opened its tiny mouth to squeak.

It was an unprecedented type of astounding. How could Hansol not know what a kitten is? However, the more you spoke with Yoojung’s father (responsible for fixing much of the cyborg’s faulty wiring and circuits) you realized Hansol didn’t know much about being a person. What he did know was fear.

“That’s what happens when you grow up in a lab with a bunch of Metal Surgeons and Circuit Technicians. You never were a person, and you’re not yet a cyborg either. You’re an experiment.” He told you.

And with those chilling words chiseled to the underside of your flesh, you adapted an extra attentive level of care when it came to Hansol. You taught him how to handle the kitten without accidentally crushing it in his iron-reflexes, how to brush her fur and tease her with a small toy and give her baths once she’d roll around in the garden. After coming home from a tiresome day at work, almost nothing else could match the happiness you felt upon seeing Hansol asleep on the couch, the kitten curled in a fluffy ball against his chest. She liked to mush her face against his bicep whenever he cradled her in his firm arms.

“He’s so gentle,” you expressed to Yoojung’s father, “he won’t even kill a spider.”

The man flipped up his welding helmet. He gave you a stern look, as though you should know to speak better, and suddenly there was this sickly pounding of your heart.

“The boy is gentle, and you’re not incorrect to think that. But don’t curse yourself by being naïve. He has that switch in him.”

“So does everyone.” You had countered, a shiver tickling down your neck.

“Not everyone is designed the way he is,” Yoojung’s father reasoned, setting down his torch, “no matter what, Hansol is not entirely human. He is devoid of feeling many emotions to their fullest extent. You can associate sunshine on a rainy day with happiness, but that doesn’t mean happiness is what you feel. A cyborg knows merely the word, not its sensation. I want you to think safe. Hansol knew anger and violence in that laboratory before he knew compassion. It’s wired into his mechanics.”

That day, you left the garage with Hansol as this enormous lump sat in your throat. You examined the chronicles of your relationship.

Not once had the boy ever gotten angry or displayed contempt. Even when your kitten gave Hansol his first scratch, he recoiled in sadness, confusion, rather than an immediate instinct to be forceful. He asked you what he did wrong, and you had to hug him tighter than ever before while he teared up, because he genuinely didn’t comprehend that it wasn’t his fault, that the kitten just didn’t want to be held at that time. You thought about when Hansol kissed you, how he’d always guide you to lay on your back, just his fingertips rubbing softly against your waist because he was so afraid that you might not want him closer. Of course, you always did, to which he would emanate pink at your encouragement.

“If there ever comes a time when you need to deescalate Hansol, I suggest you pin-jack him.” Yoojung’s father had cautioned just before you left the garage.

“Pin-jack?” You questioned. “What’s that?”

He searched his toolbox and picked up a screwdriver with a flat tip. “Anything that can be inserted into the sensory slot at the back of his neck. If you manage to touch his chip, it’ll momentarily reset his data board. He might be delirious coming to, so you must be careful.”

Pin-jack, you scoffed inside your head as you walked home with Hansol, I’ll never have to do that.

“I think we’re getting close. Yoojung said the portal should be under the Interstitial Bridge.”

Hansol followed you, trusting your judgement as you gleaned the instructions Yoojung had earlier sent in a text message. It was difficult to differentiate much in the nighttime, especially when the Interstitial Bridge was located more toward the outskirts of the Nexus. There was hardly any luminosity apart from the moon and the few blue lightning bugs that sparked between the dark seams. Furthermore, it was difficult for Hansol to understand much of your words when the floodgate had been opened, for the concrete trough that was usually dry and empty was now gushing with contaminated city water.

Just up ahead, you could detect the silhouette of the bridge.

The portal must be under it. You knew it was wise to act quickly considering the portal’s location switched every hour, a simple safety precaution in order to spurn the Stargazers. They always attempted to shut down much of the inconspicuous activity that took place outside the eyes of the Nexus. You were anxious, but excited to say the least. This would be Hansol’s first time attending an underground party. It was extremely difficult to receive an invitation let alone successfully pinpoint an entrance portal unless the host themselves gave you the instructions on how to discover it. Yoojung managed to secure herself an invite, and extended the text containing the portal’s location to you and Hansol.

“I think I see it!” You squeaked triumphantly and grabbed onto Hansol’s hand.

Together, you ran beneath the bridge. Embedded into the misty stone was an oval-shaped hole, outlined in a glowing hue of amethyst. The black centre of the portal seemed to ripple and convulse, and every so often there would be an orange flicker against the blackness. You weren’t sure how Hansol was going to respond to such an environment: loud music, dim, flashy lights, the suffocating closeness of unfamiliar bodies, air that constantly grew thicker with humidity, it definitely wasn’t to everyone’s liking. But you figured Hansol would appreciate your offer rather than insisting he stay boxed into your home, unable to experience anything which may help move him from his self-loathing.

“Have you ever been through a portal before?” You asked him.

Hansol shook his head. “No, never.”

There was a faint shimmer of worry in his eyes. You smoothed a hand down his neck and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his mouth, hoping to reassure him.

“I’m not going to let go of your hand, okay? I promise.”

You stepped into the portal first. It was much like shifting through quicksand, for it was something smooth yet heavy, and the further you pushed into the blackness the colder it felt. Eventually, the portal filled with a blinding white light that swallowed around you, yet you squeezed your eyes shut and persisted, your fingers still interlaced with Hansol’s. No more than a second later did you sense the brightness dissipate, and when you opened your eyes, you were met with the vivacious party. You had emerged underneath a metal staircase, to which there was the loud clattering of heels and shoes walking up and down. When you looked at Hansol, he appeared a bit disoriented, but smiled nonetheless.

“Let’s go find Yoojung.” You whispered into his ear.

The atmosphere was quite intense for Hansol. It seemed as though his mechanics were spinning on overdrive, attempting to process such an influx of sound and warm bodies and scents. He stuck close to you as best he could. He was able to relax upon reuniting with Yoojung, for your touches to his arm weren’t met with rigidity and he even accepted a pineapple cocktail from a whirring hover-disk.

Though that didn’t signify he was completely subdue. A few people had managed to note the code tattooed just in front of Hansol’s ear, and while no one pitched a concerning comment, you could tell the boy had felt uneasy from their blatant, often unconscious stares, how they probed every inch of his body attempting to discover all his bionic scarring and accessories. You tended to pull him away and keep him distracted by the other means pertaining to nightlife and underground partying. For a little while you danced undisturbed, which allowed you to discover Hansol’s great sense of rhythm as he twirled you around and guided your hips and swooped you in close against his chest.

“Are you having fun, Sollie?” You murmured, holding onto his shoulders.

He pressed his forehead to yours, kissed you with a zealous edge of roughness and a smirk. You took that as confirmation, and you danced until it became hard to breathe.

But then trouble seemed to take shape in a form you least expected: Changkyun.

Once you and Hansol rediscovered Yoojung near the bar where she had been sipping a brilliant, lime green beverage, you sensed a pair of fingertips slide up your back and turned around uncomfortably. Your expression quickly morphed into shock when you were greeted by Changkyun’s dreary, smiling face, a heavy stench of alcohol radiating from his clothing. You hadn’t been on the best terms with Changkyun. He was never able to adjust to your breakup very well, and there was a reason Yoojung had also begun to distance herself from him. He smiled at you, mumbled something you didn’t quite catch.

“Changkyun,” Yoojung cautioned, setting down her drink, “I think you should clean yourself up a bit and head home. Minghao can open a portal for you.”

He ignored her. Instead, his foggy gaze was allured to you. “So, I take it you’re still w’Hansol?” He slurred despite the boy standing right next to you.

You didn’t answer his question, repeating, “I think you should go.”

“If I had known you’d throw our whole relationship away just to end up w’someone whose half-metal,” Changkyun scoffed, “I never would’ve dated you.”

Hansol stiffened at your side, his eyes wide.

“Changkyun,” Yoojung snapped, “you need to go. Now.”

“What?” The boy persisted defensively, as though he were innocent, with not one inkling as to why he was being dealt this cold treatment. Changkyun approached Hansol and gave him a slight shove against his shoulders. “How come you’ve got nothing to say Bionic Brain? Did you short circuit?”

Something flickered in Hansol’s eyes, and yet he still didn’t crack, rather he merely swallowed and furrowed his brow. It boggled you that Hansol was able to control his temperament, because you were certainly fuming. You stepped in between them and tried maneuvering Changkyun to the side. He stumbled a bit since his coordination had been utterly shredded by the copious alcohol in his system, though his glare never separated from Hansol. Right when you believed the situation was deescalating, you sighed in relief and exchanged a tiresome glance with Yoojung; however, Changkyun had managed to once again press himself right next to the boy and your heart dropped.

“Y’know what they say,” Changkyun hissed between his teeth, “they made you a cyborg because you never would’ve been good enough as a human.”

And with that, Changkyun gave a rough bump to Hansol’s shoulder. The only difference was that he lost his opportunity to walk away unscathed. This shroud of fear gripped onto you tight, rendered you paralyzed, unable to even wriggle a finger as the indifferent light in Hansol’s eyes had been demolished. Instead, his gaze was blazing. It burst into a bloodied shade of red that you had never seen before. The usually invisible circuits lining his neck and cheek started to glow in the same colour, and as Hansol curled his fingers through the collar of Changkyun’s shirt, pinning him hard against the edge of the bar, you saw that the wires in his right forearm were transmitting signals at tenfold their regular speed.

“What did you just fucking say?” Hansol growled, though you could hardly recognize his voice. It had a metallic, almost vibrational undertone. It was sharper, completely stripped of its soft grit, rife with vitriol.

Changkyun squirmed helplessly, like fresh prey caught between its predator’s jaws. Not even Yoojung was able to move, for she was in the same boat as you, unbeknownst to Hansol’s aggression and the seething hatred that he maintained for Changkyun in his eyes. Somehow, you managed to snap from your trance when Changkyun tried to knock Hansol with a punch, though the cyborg easily grasped his wrist and began twisting his entire arm. You grabbed onto Hansol, attempting to push him away, battering against his side in desperation, begging him to stop with panicked tears glued against your cheeks.

Your ex-boyfriend released a horrible cry, as though Hansol were going to break his bone. No matter what you did, Hansol’s strength was akin to steel, it was unparalleled.

It forced you to confront your only option.

Digging into your pocket you retrieved a small nail file. You didn’t allow yourself to think, rather you braced a hand against the back of Hansol’s neck and dug the nail file deep into his sensory slot, as far as the blunt metal could reach until it touched his chip and there was a blipping spark. Yoojung gasped as the colour suddenly melted from Hansol’s gaze. Every circuit beneath his synthetic flesh dimmed and his arms dropped rather lifelessly to his sides. Changkyun didn’t hesitate. He scrambled his way out from underneath Hansol, his chest heaving, sweat glistening on his temples and fear engrained into his face.

It wasn’t until you pushed against Hansol’s neck in order to withdraw the nail file that you realized how terribly you were shaking. The boy’s grey eyes flickered, and you knew he was going to reboot.

“We need to get him out of here,” Yoojung said, wrapping an arm around his waist, “it’s not good for his database to restart in a setting like this.”

Dropping the nail file on the floor, the tears still wet against your cheeks, you assisted Yoojung in helping Hansol walk. Changkyun had disappeared into the shadows.

Yoojung was able to discover Minghao on the balcony that overlooked the dance floor. It was troublesome guiding Hansol up the staircase since his delirium was so thick. He kept mumbling these indiscernible fragments while odd clicks and beeps reverberated from inside his body. You could feel how hot the metal beneath his skin had become, for even just brushing against his forearm was akin to ghosting an iron skillet. Minghao was the party host, and he had been the one to rearrange the portal. Yet, he didn’t seem eager to reopen another gateway so abruptly.

“It’s dangerous,” he began, his black, smooth suit shining against the lights, “the Stargazers have been breathing down my neck ever since my last terra. I’m a sliver away from getting put back in the Void.”

“I know,” Yoojung huffed, adjusting her grip around Hansol’s waist, “I swear, you can set a time limit on the portal for just a minute. That’s all we need to get him out safe.”

With the long, dark fringe shielding Minghao’s eyes, it was impossible to decipher his thinking. However, you did note his foot tapping against the floor. You didn’t know much about Minghao, apart from the fact he lived sumptuously and had managed to become one of the most suspicious citizens within the Nexus. Yoojung said he would be empathetic. Apparently, Minghao sustained irreparable damage to his left eye while being contained in the Void and her father had to fabricate a robotic replacement.

At last, Minghao sighed, running a hand down his face. “Alright, alright, I’ll open one.” He pulled up the sleeve of his suit. “But—you better get in and get the fuck out. I’m not going back there.”

Locked around the boy’s wrist was a silver titanium band. When he pressed his thumb against a slight groove, a series of amber dots gradually lit up around the bracelet.

“Command: open exit portal at sector D4-East, Z-Underground,” Minghao spoke so naturally, as though he knew the coordinates like the back of his palm, “Command: release at sector B2-West, Z-positive, BR-ITS. Time limit is one minute, zero seconds. Force shutdown.”

Minghao then shone his bracelet at the wall, where an amber beam pierced against the brick and opened an exit portal. Yoojung thanked him at least four times, to which he simply nodded and wished you luck with managing Hansol home safely. You pushed through the portal, sensing the coldness unforgivingly squeeze around you.

You sat on your bed, plucking at the tassels of a pillow in your lap. It was almost three in the morning and this sickness had been harbouring in your lower-tummy ever since the dispute at the bar. A shiver traced like the point of a knife down your spine as you kept visualizing that striking redness in Hansol’s gaze, a redness so harrowing and tinged with rage that you hugged the pillow to your chest for measly comfort.

But you knew it wasn’t just anger: pain, betrayal, the exhaustion of having to lace one’s own wounds while knowing they were going to split wide open again, these sentiments too flashed in that redness. A tear rolled down your cheek and splashed onto the pillow.

Yet there was a timid knock on your door, and you quickly wiped your face. Hansol entered your room. He had been laying on your couch ever since he returned home, allowing his mechanics to completely reconnect with his sensory chip. When he sat uncertainly on the edge of your bed, his right knee was already bouncing and there was a pale blue colouring his eyes.

“Are you feeling better?” You hummed, tracing the pillow’s embroidery.

Hansol nodded, looking at you peripherally. “I’m fine.”

There was an unmistaken coarseness to your voice. It was taking all your strength to not erupt into tears like you had done at the party. The feeling of digging that nail file into Hansol’s neck, jamming it so hard into his slot that his chip had sparked and this lifeless aura overwhelmed him, it made you nauseous.

You sniffled, squeezing the pillow tighter. “H-Hansol,” he turned to you with such a concerned countenance that your chest ached, “I’m sorry for pin-jacking you. I’m really sorry.”

The manner in which your tone warbled was heartbreaking. Hansol shook his head. He etched closer to you and extended his hand toward your knee, but his touch immediately withered away the second you flinched ever so slightly. Hansol felt like he’d burned himself.

“No,” he pleaded, “no, no, no. Don’t be sorry. I’m not mad at you. I could never be.” The ice in his eyes had seldom shone this brightly, and it only seemed to disturb more emotions inside you.

Hansol peered into his lap, then licked his lips and murmured in a shaky voice, “are you afraid of me?”

The question stunned you as though it were a daunting flash of light. Consequently, your mind had become hazy, and you struggled to articulate the words that could capture your every feeling. Hansol spoke up again, to which his right leg had finally stopped bouncing.

“I would never hurt you.” He met your gaze with utmost clarity. “I-I can’t promise that I won’t hurt other people… Just… I would never hurt you, ever.”

Your fingertips curled far into the pillow and you could almost hear the blood pumping in your own veins. There was no doubt he was speaking truthfully. You knew Hansol wouldn’t harm you.

“If I had never used my nail file,” you gulped heavily and held eye contact, “would you have done it? Would you have broken his arm?” Somehow, you already suspected the answer.

Hansol nodded. “I wish I could tell you the answer that would make you happy, but I can’t lie to you. I know that makes you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

Tossing the pillow aside, you sat up straight and shook your head. “It’s not about me, Hansol,” you relayed with urgence, “everything about this night is a lot to process. I don’t know anything about your anger, or what being a cyborg entails. But what I know is that you’re hurting. You keep this darkness inside and you shouldn’t.”

“Because if I don’t people will get hurt!” He exclaimed, clenching his fists while the circuits beneath his forearm and cheek illuminated with lurid colour. “That switch is part of me. They designed me to have it and I can’t rid myself of it! ”

You were fortunate to have not one experience with the laboratories. And yet, Hansol had been tainted since he was a child. He experienced the forefront of their cruelty and their invasive experimenting. He was altered and tapered and tested on. Rinse, repeat. Rinse, repeat. Hansol was open about many things exempt from his time at the facilities. His journal was the precious tool that captured his every secret.

The boy then gripped onto his right knee, which started trembling once more, his eyes tenuously flickering into a rose shade. “Whenever I feel like I’m slipping… I think about you, and my anger goes away. But that club—it was so loud, so many distractions, so many people and conversations. My sensors haven’t been overwhelmed like that in ages.”

You leaned forward with a great exhale, your hand curling around the boy’s inner thigh to comfortingly squeeze. “Baby, if it was too much, then you should have said something to me.” Cupping his cheek and turning his head toward you, his eyes were rather glossy.

“I wanted to try it,” Hansol huffed, “I just want to be with you, and do things you like.”

Tracing your thumb below his eye, you couldn’t help but sigh again. For someone with an impressive installment of metal components, his heart couldn’t be any more tender than it already was. You swore that if you poked it, your finger might sink right through as though you touched something impossibly soft and squishy. A shy smile gradually danced to the corners of his mouth as you kissed him once, then twice, then wrapped your arms around his neck and suckled the remaining flavour of sweet pineapple from his tongue. You pressed your forehead against his, studying his face with such ardour.

“We can do things you like too, y’know.”

Hansol sniffled. “I like playing with Ppomo.”

Only a moment later, and your kitten was slipping between the thin gap in the doorway. She leapt onto the bed and mewled in her high-pitched tone, most likely imploring for someone to scratch the black and cream fur behind her ear. Ppomo’s favourite place seemed to be Hansol’s lap (you’d have to agree with her on that one) for she curled up in a small ball while he drew a gentle hand along her back. Resting your head against Hansol’s shoulder, you joined him in the petting until she fell asleep.

You thought about what Yoojung’s dad had drawled on that particular day you visited his garage, hoping to get some of Hansol’s mechanisms tweaked: a cyborg knows merely the word, not its sensation.

But you didn’t think that was necessarily true. Instead, you believed it was more accurate to say that Hansol could pinpoint many sensations, he just didn’t know what they were. He learned it was love when you held him and kissed him, happiness when he made Ppomo purr, excitement when he twirled your body in a breathtaking circle before pulling you into his chest on the dancefloor.

And you intended to teach him the name of every sensation that allowed him to feel so wonderful.

✧✎ a/n: awhile ago i answered an ask abt my expansion of the connect universe so if that lovely human reads this, i hope you liked it!! i’m not really sure where these fics into hansol’s attempts at human life will take me.

maybe i will write an entire fic that details his time at the laboratory... i’m not sure yet!! in the mean time i’m trying to write this mingyu summer fic which i wanted to write last year, but ya... dreams crushed didn’t happen :_) ANYWAYS I HOPE U LOVE CYBORG!SOL AS MUCH AS ME he just wants to pet his kitten!!!!

#seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #vernon scenarios #hansol scenarios #seventeen vernon #vernon angst #hansol angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #vernon fluff #svt x reader #vernon x reader

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