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justporo · 1 year ago

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A Night of Song and Laughter (Big Part 9!)

So, this is it - the main idea I had in mind when starting this story. You might've noticed it has taken me eight parts to get there, but yeah... There's just so much to explore. This is a really long part and I really poured my heart into this one and finished it in the middle of the night. So I really really hope you will love it (trying hard not to be desperate here, tbh). It's really quite a lot of romance for this part - Astarion deserves it and Tav too. There's seductive music casting a spell, Tav and Astarion dance, their hearts might feel closer than they've ever felt before - but they might be changed when they stop spinning around each other.

You can read this and the parts after it on AO3!

This was the song that inspired the idea: Satyros - Faun And the song that gave me the right mood for the end (only vibes, not the lyrics): Viva La Vida - Coldplay And just for the hell of it, take one of my all time favourite love songs: Muse - Neutron Star Collision

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You)

Phew, here we go - hope you'll enjoy!

(Gif from here!)

After that you all turned into a giggling mess from there on out. All the liquor you’d drunk was really making you light-headed. Even Astarion seemed a bit out of it even though you weren’t even sure if vampires could get drunk. But frankly – you really didn’t care.

You’d taken to tell Astarion about some of your collective memories of your adventures as thieves – but only ones that made you scream laughing when you thought about them. Like the time Eodin (“this goddamn prick”, Daegin offered) had hidden in someone’s closet and had only gotten off the hook as a thief because he had pretended to be the lover of the lady of the house – who had been 80 years old, seemingly senile and almost blind. Or the time Daegin and Lira had posed as a noble couple at a party to get to their target although they were the most terrible actors Faerun had ever seen and the dwarf didn’t seem to be able to shake the terrible practiced accent after that for months!

Astarion laughed openly at all your silly stories, asked questions about details, enjoying himself so much making friends with Lira and Daegin that your heart felt like it might burst any second. After another story about how Miyena (“Bitch”, Lira whispered, getting praised by Astarion for her efforts) had almost burned all her hair and her eyebrows off in a failed attempt to use explosives to get into a vault, you were just done wiping tears from your eyes while trying to avoid dying from laughter again, Astarion asked: “Now, come on, my friends, there must be a story about Tav completely embarrassing herself. I truly can’t believe she would never get herself into trouble. At least from my short time of enjoying her company my experience is that you can’t leave her for half an hour before she’ll run off to save some puppy or getting herself thrown into the deep end – always ending up in dire need of saving.” You pinched his side to which he reacted with a dramatic yelp. “You’re one to talk. Like it wasn’t always you having your hands in someone’s pocket who looked at you funny, trying to steal from then and then getting caught”, you spat back at him and stuck your tongue out at him making fart noises. Astarion grabbed your nose and softly shook your face. “Not you trying to sneak up on someone and knocking over the tallest candelabra around!”, he countered, his silly act making you break into giggles again. You pinched one of his pointy ears so he’d let go of your nose.

“Alright, you silly geese, rear it in”, Daegin began, rolling his eyes at the two of you. “There actually is a story.” “Oh, colour me intrigued!”, Astarion exclaimed and turned his attention towards the dwarf.

You drew your brows together because you actually had no memory of what that story could be. Then the dwarf began telling the story while Lira was already giggling: “One time, we actually hadn’t gotten lucky enough to talk ourselves out of a hairy situation. We were actually captured by the city guard and thrown into a cell, awaiting trial the next day. And we were all really panicking because we were sure that – for once – we’d all run out of luck. But” – and here he threw you a secretive glance – “Tav had a genius plan to get us out of there.” The dwarf kept smirking at you and that was, when you remembered how that story went down. Oh shit – just to be prepared you grabbed the almost empty bottle of liquor and poured yourself another generous shot. Astarion leaned back as if to signify how taken aback and interested he was in how the story would continue.

“The one thing we were actually lucky about, was, that we were guarded by a greenhorn. And so, Tav ruffled her hair a little bit, opened up the front of her shirt a little and went to press herself against the bars of the prison cell and started cooing at this boy guard. Telling him that she was actually a nymph, only captured by accident and promising him that she would gift him the most unforgettable night of his life if he let her and us others free.” You buried your face in your hands but this bastard elf grabbed your hands and held them tightly while already starting to laugh. “Don’t you dare cover your face, darling, I need to see your face for this”, Astarion laughed and raised his eyebrow at you – and was that a glint of mischief in his eyes? You were basically burning up with shame in the meantime.

Daegin continued: “Well, the boy was hesitant at first saying how he couldn’t do that since he was only a cadet and stuff but Tav layed it on so thick, sweet-talking him, telling him in incredible detail what she would do to him if only he let us free.” You tried to bury your face in your hands again, now remembering the whole scene in incredible detail as well. But Astarion just shook his head and pulled you close to his chest while holding your hands in his iron grip and raising his eyebrows at Daegin in anticipation.

“So, he finally let us free”, the dwarf continued ignoring you struggling with Astarion so he would just let you sink in the ground “and he made big happy puppy eyes at her when she was standing in front of him – absolutely bewitched by her. And Tav”, now Daegin started struggling with holding it together “just stepped close to him and told him to close his eyes to which he happily obliged and then”, Daegin and Lira could barely stop chuckeling, you winced “she kicked him so hard in the balls you could hear him howl through half the city probably. And dare I say it probably was the end for this young man’s family plans.” Lira started howling with laughter, Daegin had to bury his face in his hands and you could feel Astarion’s chest shake with hearty laughter. And then you couldn’t help but join in, your body shaking with fits of laughter although you couldn’t quite tell if it weren’t sobs after all. You felt delirious from the alcohol, from actually being alive and being so lucky to make memories with your friends again and of course with him – this elven vampire that might just had gone as insane as your two other friends.

“Oh, my little siren”, Astarion laughed while finally letting go of your wrists “please, never do that to me!” He kept chuckling: “If you ever feel the need to kick me in the balls, please just do it fair and square.” He lost it once more, his head lolling back while laughing. You didn’t think you ever saw him this relaxed before – never had he opened that much before with anyone else but you.

You hugged him and pursed your lips while everyone’s laughter was slowly reclining. “Don’t worry, darling, I will”, you promised him sweetly but mischievously to which he put a finger under your chin to make you meet his gaze. His chest was still shaking with silent laughter. You thought he was about to say something, but he just shook his head, kissed your forehead, and then leaned his own forehead to it.

You kept hugging him while the other two of your band of thieves recalled even more stories. Breathing deeply you could feel yourself getting a little tired. Your vampire rubbed circles on your back, listening to your companion’s stories but sometimes throwing a caring glance at you to check if you were still alright. He could seriously be so thoughtful and sweet – you’d never would have thought when he’d first held a knife at your throat upon meeting you.

As you were just resting your eyes a bit while leaning onto Astarion you heard a soft, seductive melody drifting up from downstairs. Single notes plucked on a lute, a deep, pleasant voice humming to it. It should have been impossible to make this out over the crowd, all the chatter and laughter, over couples snickering in the dark corners of the tavern, glasses and goblets being clinked, between threats being made and dice being rolled. But you heard it. The melody enchanting you and reminding you of more memories that had been buried deep down in your mind.

You untangled yourself from Astarion and slowly walked through the crowd to the railing of the gallery, ignoring your soulmate's and friends' questioning looks. You looked down at the band of elves. The drow bard had his head thrown back, his eyes closed while plucking on his lute and humming. You could see the sheen of sweat on his face and body – he was shirtless now. He was softly swaying from side to side while continuing his tune, his brows drawing together seemingly concentrating hard on his task. The female bard had put down her violin for the moment, putting her hands on his bare body from behind, openly touching him everywhere, her eyes also closed. Were they simply two artists bound by the magic of the moment or eternal, unyielding lovers? Who knew? The rest of their band just seemed as enchanted: slowly, almost silently playing their instruments.

It was like a spell started to work its sly magic on the crowd – not imprisoning it nor silencing it but making everyone hearing this wistful melody sway with its highs and lows. You felt your heart react to the song. You knew it, you’d heard it once before and had never forgotten about it – and you knew exactly what was about to happen. Your hands gripped the wood of the railing hard, your heart beating with anticipation.

Astarion stared at your back while you watched the band. He thought the song started to sound familiar – wasn’t it… elven? His brows furrowed, there was something about the tune but it was evading his mind. His eyes flicked from the back of your head to your two friends. Daegin seemed oblivious to what was happening around him, not yet captured by the spell that was being woven around everyone else. But Lira was looking at the vampire, a knowing glint in her eyes. “If I’m right about what’s happening, you’ll be in for the surprise of your life, Astarion.” His brows furrowed even more deeply. Where did he remember this tune from? It seemed impossible to wrap his head around it. Could it be… he read and heard about it from legends? He turned back to where you were still standing at the rim of the gallery.

You knew exactly what was going on and what would happen. You had seen it happen once already in your life, in what had felt a lifetime ago and on an entirely different plane of existence. Your hands clawed at the railing still, while the tune started to rise more and more.

Finally, the drow opened his eyes again, breathing deeply. He threw a soft, longing glance at his partner who continued to hug her body to his and letting her hands wander over his form. “For this next song”, he then spoke, his somber and seductive voice carrying easily through the space as if it had been amplified by magic “I will need all your help for it is not only a song, but a ritual.” He enunciated every word with care, the crowd hanging on his lips for every word. “An old elven ritual and a trial to test the strength of your earthly bonds – as old as legends, maybe as old as the Gods themselves.” The song became more intoxicating by the second, making your hairs stand on end, as you felt it’s hypnotizing pull.

“To those of you here, tonight, brave enough to undertake the ritual, I say, come and be tried”, the bard spoke, his voice rising and his eyes wandering over the crowd. “And to the rest, I say, make way for those fearless enough to put what they think of as undying love on trial.” While he spoke the last words, the drow’s eyes landed on yours. On his lips was a knowing smile when he looked up at you and you felt a shiver running down your spine. You knew what you had to do. This might just be a show, the drow’s pathos only a party trick and the ambience merely a collective delirium but you could feel somehow that there was more at work. A kind of primal and untamable sort of magic had found its way into this hellhole of a city. And as it was being summoned it demanded to be paid its due.

You threw a glance back at Astarion who looked confused and unsure about what was happening, but your decision was made. And somehow you felt it hadn’t been your choice at all; rather that it had been made for you, long before anything else, by powers beyond your understanding.

The space in front of the stage cleared slowly as being pushed back by invisible hands. You were still looking at Astarion, then mouthed “trust me” at him before you darted for the stairs to make your way to the front of the stage.

Astarion was suddenly very much on edge, the whole situation feeling unbearably and torturingly similar to one not so long ago. Although he could feel that this time around it wasn’t the same deep, dark and threatening magic at work but something much more benevolent, he couldn’t stop the freezing feeling of dread clawing its way up his spine. He started to run after you, when he felt Lira’s hand grab hold of his wrist. Her eyes were shining with anticipation and warmth. “Don’t worry, Astarion. Tav will be fine and so will you – maybe even more so”, the half-elf said ominously and knowingly. Surprisingly your friend’s words and reaction did calm him although they didn’t soothe all of his fear. Lira motioned for Astarion to walk over to the railing and watch what might happen next. The vampire stood at the railing of the gallery impatiently awaiting what would transpire.

The crowd was just as tense with anticipation. You made your way to the round space now cleared in front of the stage. You stepped past the line of the crowd, steeling yourself with a deep breath and throwing another glance over your shoulder to see Astarion stand on the gallery watching you with deep worry in his eyes. Lira was beside him, a hand on his arm in a soothing gesture. On his other side even Daegin had made his way over to watch the spectacle, climbing onto the stool he had moved over. You smiled at your lover, then turned around. Your heart had never been so sure.

With you there had been three others stepping up to take this seemingly ancient test of love: three other women, two elves and one half-elf. Of course, this all had appealed to draw those with elven heritage out of the crowd. The magic in your blood connected the four of you for as far as you might be in any other moment in your lives. The same was true for the elven musicians. The four of you eyed each other, then you looked at the drow bard who had started humming again while waiting for you to come down to the open space. The wood elf bard had picked up her violin again and begun to play slow soft chords on it.

“So, four of you, delightful”, the drow bard spoke, already speeding up the tune on his lute. “Let us begin!”, he exclaimed and threw his head back. And then they began to really play.

The four of you stepped closer to each other. You had only seen and heard the happenings of all this once, but you knew exactly what to do. And so did the others. An ancient form of magic guiding you.

The four of you grabbed each other’s elbows to start and slowly began to dance in a circle – first to your right side, then to the other. You started singing in elvish, not even remotely sure what words it were that left your mouth. Then you let go of each other and started twirling each on your own while singing and clapping your hands.

Slowly, one by one the bards and the rest of the elven musicians took up your chant and so did the crowd. As you turned and turned you could see Astarion whenever he came into your view. His eyes widening with every second, not in fear it seemed but in wonder.

You closed your eyes for a second, while still singing and dancing, magic steadying your feet. Then the first of you four women disappeared into the crowd and returning with a tiefling man in her arms. They twirled together for a few rounds while you others kept dancing and chanting. The pace and volume of the song slowly picking up speed. Then the tiefling man was twirled from his lover’s arms to each of you in turn until he was in his original lover’s arms once more.

That was the point for you and the other two lone dancers to break off into the crowd in search of your own soulmates. You threw a quick glance up to the gallery. You felt all flushed from the hypnotic dance and song. You smirked at Astarion and curled your fingers at him in a “come hither” motion before you sped towards the staircase up to the gallery. Pushing past a very confused Kirin you met Astarion, who had also rushed towards you, halfway up the stairs. He grabbed your face with both his hands, anger, worry, wonder and fear all battling in his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing? What the fuck is happening?”, he asked you desperately.

“Showing the whole world and the Gods that our love is unbreakable and that you’ll always belong to me and I to you”, you broke out breathlessly then grabbed his hands from your face and dragged him down the stairs, past a very confused Kirin – again. “Ye goddamn weirdo elves”, he shouted after you but you couldn’t care less right now.

You were the last to return with your partner to the circle of brave dancers. One other had grabbed another male elf and was already dancing and only mere moments before you the half-elf had dragged a human woman with her into the circle. As you entered the circular space you saw that Astarion could suddenly feel the pull as well of whatever it was exactly that was happening. His pupils widened, his mouth opened. You moved in close to him, grabbing his one hand and placing the other on his shoulder while he placed his other hand on the small part of your back pulling you even closer.

A slight moan left his lips when you started to move together. Not only had you never danced together – not that you even knew how to (although Astarion most certainly did) – but this suddenly felt incredibly intimate. The crowd had picked up the elvish chant even more enthusiastically than before. You heard them clapping and stomping which made everything even more ecstatic than before.

“Are you passing me on to the others as well or am I allowed to stay with you?”, Astarion asked breathlessly while twirling you, turning and turning. You let your head fall back for a moment while you laughed and shook your head no. “No, never! Now it is a competition, only one pair is actually chosen”, you explained quickly while taking quick gasps of fresh air in between. “Oh”, Astarion simply mouthed back at you.

You could feel sweat running down your face as you kept moving and turning around in circles at break-neck speed. Not sure how long it was physically possible to keep going without perishing on the spot you noticed how animated the vampire looked in your arms. All his fear was gone now, he had only eyes for you, making you almost forget that you were on display in front of a huge audience right now. If he had been able to flush and sweat you were sure he’d been just as agitated as you but even now it seemed a certain shimmer of liveliness had crept into the vampire’s face and body. Then you heard a scream coming from the crowd – it seemed one of the other couples had fallen. Shortly after you heard another shout of disappointment by the audience.

You concentrated only on Astarion now, on his piercing but soft red eyes, his loving smile, the way the wrinkles around his eyes creased when he laughed with you. How he held you steady against him to make sure you would never fall.

And he saw only you. How your face filled with warmth when you looked at him, how your eyes always openly showed your love for him, how your body felt against his, like you were made solely for him, to hold only you. How you were always the right thing he needed.

In this moment you were both completely sure of each other and each other’s love: that you would always walk by each other’s side and that no matter what might happen in this plane of existence, your souls would always find their way back to each other.

And as you were about to forget completely where you were, the world just rushing by in drifts of colours and snippets of sounds, you heard another scream coming from the crowd. The last other couple had not made it.

Realization only slowly dawned on the two of you. Astarion kept twirling you for a few more rounds but slowing down. When the vampire finally slowed you down completely, he suddenly dipped you impossibly deep down to give you the most pure kiss he’d ever given you, while the female bard dragged out one long and final note on her violin.

The spell was over, the crowd erupted, impossibly loud, stomping and cheering and clapping. People rushed to you to touch you and cheer you. You felt tears stream down your face and laughter bubble up your throat and you saw Astarion felt very much the same. Whatever had happened it had brought you together even closer. As Astarion lifted you up again, eyes blazing with love and passion, you let your eyes wander over the crowd. You saw that the wood elf had her arms around the drow again, standing behind him. And you were pretty sure now they were lovers by the knowing and appreciative smiles and nods they offered you. You saw Daegin and Lira cheer and clap up on the gallery.

Then you looked at Astarion again, tears still leaving wet trails down your face. He leaned in to kiss you again and you let him, wanting to be as close as possible to him.

The crowd broke into jubilant cries once more. But you didn't care, for you, there was only Astarion. And for him, there was only you.

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #a night of song and laughter #most romantic shit Ive ever written #this is not the end yet tho #I still have plans to keep you on this rollercoaster ride

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jamiesresources · 2 years ago

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shit my friends say on discord ––– rp meme ––– part 2. ( some nsfw –– most shits and giggles )

its not my fault i wanna suck on his nips okay

im thinking about that guy who said the lord was coming and that the american dollar is a distraction

its food if you suck hard enough

spicy coochie

my asshole puckered

no i will save england

guillotine can take away the head im about to give him

suck on my big fat man titties bitches

im gonna lick his stupid nose

he can call me a bitch and id spread my legs open

plus hes got the weird blood fetish thing going on and im on my period so win win

i read pussy

i lied its gay in my house

hes up there im just fucking stupid

sorry ladies and gentlemen but the snake stays during sex

go swimmin in that pussy

not in the pussy

still crying about vagina diagrams

instead of ‘there is a snake in my boot’ it is ‘there is a snake in my pussy’

it took me editing fourteen nipplies

it makes sense because they balance each others eyebrows out

i could snap him like a twig

i am naked and wet gimme a second

sometimes fingers just need to look like penises

ceiling vagina

its okay you can call me pissboi

if boobie good why men sexy?

thosewho shit together stay together

im the main character im the one who eats mango

and the person reviewing your application is shitting mangos

i cant you made me become illustrate

living rent free in peoples heads for sending nsfw spongebob i guess

what do actors do with the underwear they wear on stage?

dont strangle yourself ahaha your pussy’s so big

i keep autocorrecting personal messages to porn

it’s such an anthony –– anthony?? who’s anthony????

i was gonna be beeltejuice for christmas

the hoes gonna loooooove this

i love how im just eating a block of cheese right now

wasnt freud like ... a musician?

did you know that theres a different between coke and cocaine?

you know what man? fuck you! what’s with all the cats? why do you have a bunch of pussy? you got big pussy disorder?

can you please stop trying to touch my nipples

ill have a full break down if he eats my clothes, bro

me to my therapist: i think my friends are getting tired of me being sad

its like a lima bean thing that starts with an e

i thought you were gonna say ‘do you wanna see me fuck a mountain?’

why is justin bieber’s chin so long?

so they build the baby right?

please dont jump us into something disgusting

why is there ... seven oranges under the crib?

opening my legs is a lot easier than opening up about my life story

why do i have to chew with my hands

she wants a pet chicken ... i cant believe this

please for the love of god u cannot wear that dress to skateboard and i cannot stand and have a conversations here with you right now i need to take a massive shit

dont you dare make that face at linkin park

this is one of my favorite songs. if you shit on it, im shitting on your bed

french is like .... a deep throated language

#rp meme #role play meme

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parkersroses · 4 years ago

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it’s golden. | harry styles.

summary: Harry brings you to the Grammy’s and it all ends in a wonderful night.

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k words

warning(s): all fluff, small mentions of sensual stuff

a/n: (disclaimer: gif belongs to @hers <3) hello! been a while! i’ve been wanting to write something since harry won a grammy award, which i’m unbelievably proud of him. so enjoy this cloud of unedited fluff. reblog and comment if you liked this. buy me a coffee if you’d like to support me further <3

The Grammy Awards had been an anticipating event you both waited for. In your honest opinion, you thought Harry deserved a nomination way back during the success of his first album or even his later One Direction days.

Nevertheless, you couldn’t be more proud of your lover, having not been nominated once, but thrice. He himself couldn’t believe how Fine Line, a labour of his love and hardwork, was recognized on this scale. Luckily, you were both safely together in the comfort of your own home when the nominations were announced. That day was later filled with a lot of love and celebration for him, with you congratulating him as many times as you could, in many ways you could.

The buzz about Harry being a Grammy-nominated artist instantly filled the set of ‘Don’t Worry, Darling’, nearly everyone congratulating the supporting lead actor of their film. Although Harry gets very shy whenever someone compliments his success, he still took pride in how his effort and resilience got him to where he was.

The following weeks were filled with preparation and planning, with Harry being announced that he would be opening the event. It was only fitting that he would perform Watermelon Sugar, considering it is now a Grammy nominated single. He had some doubts with the choice of song though. He knew it was a big and popular summer song and it had been playing everywhere since he released the song. Harry knew there would be some people that are just bored and tired of the song already and opted to change it.

However, you managed to talk some sense in him, knowing how award seasons like this can be nerve wracking.

“I’m just saying, it’s been playing around for more than a year. People are probably bored of it,” Harry said as he laid on your shared bed, staring at the ceiling like it was the most fascinating thing ever.

Finishing up your skincare routine, you looked back at him. “And? If you want to perform it, it shouldn’t really matter if people got tired of it. I still love the song,” you reassured him.

He lifted his head slightly off his pillow to look at you. “Yeah, but still. Maybe if I performed other songs from the album, people might enjoy the performance more.” He sighed as he plopped his head back on the pillow.

You quickly climbed in the bed, plopping right next to him. Harry grunted as you put your head on his chest and intertwine your legs, instantly wrapping his arms around you. He turned his head to press small kisses on the crown of your head. “Don’t know why I’m worried about it. I’m sorry if I’m being over dramatic about it.” He apologised to you.

“You know I love your over-dramaticness nonetheless, bubs.” You comforted him, kissing above his heart as you looked up at him. “But you shouldn’t worry so much. If Watermelon Sugar is what you wanna perform, then you should go for it. It’s a Grammy-nominated song anyways. But just remember to have fun. It’s only your first time being nominated and performing there.”

Harry hummed in reply as he stared into your eyes. Often times, he still finds himself mesmerized by your eyes despite the long years of you being together. “Besides, I’ll be there, in the front row, where you can look at me when you’re nervous.” You smiled at him and he smiled back at the thought of you cheering on him in possibly one of the most important nights of his life.

Harry leaned up and pressed a kiss on your lips, sighing at mere taste and softness of it. “I’d really love that. Thank you, lovie.” He mumbled into the kiss, breaking away as he smiled gleefully at you. He truly did adore you and the little things you would do for him. You pressed another kiss on his lips, Harry was quick enough to return the action. “Anytime, bubs.” You said.

The week of the Grammys came by quickly, which meant Harry’s nerves only escalated from the day he found out he was performing. He had some costume fittings for the event to do and planning for how the set is going to look. He kept some secrets from you about what he was going to wear for his performance and you were initially upset about it because you enjoy getting a sneak peek into his fashion sense for these types of situations. But Harry constantly assured you that you’ll love it when you see it, although you always love whatever he decides to wear.

For all you know, he’d be wearing a trash bag and you’ll still think he is the sexiest man you ever laid eyes on.

Eventually, the day of the Grammys finally came. Harry was almost certain that he was going to throw up in his room. He paces back and forth, trying to ease down his nerves. You told him you’d be running a bit late but promised him that you’ll be there before he could sing the first word of the song. Soon enough, it was time to go. He meets up with his band and they all huddle together to say some words of encouragement. It was a big night for all of them.

About five minutes before he’s supposed to go on stage, he hears a familiar voice calling out to him. He turns around and sees his love running up to him, apologising profusely to those she bumped into. He grins widely and opens his arms wide for you to run into them. He hugs you tight, swaying you both from side to side as his hands feel the satin pink dress you wore.

You both pull away with wide grins on your faces and you let your hands rest on his bare chest. “Bold choice of the outfit, Mr. Styles,” you tease him. Harry chuckles at you as he presses his forehead against yours. “Told ye you’ll love it, didn’t I?” he says and you hummed in reply.

“I do. I really love it. Y’look like a rockstar,” you admit as you fix the leather jacket. Someone calls for Harry and it’s time for his time to shine. You pull his face down to your level and give a couple of good luck kisses, not that he needed any luck because he’ll do great no matter what.

“I love you,” you said lovingly. Harry steals another kiss from you before he parts away. “I love you, too,” He says and winks at you, making your cheeks turn red as you put on your mask.

Just as you said before, you stay through the whole performance, your eyes always focused on him with the energy and charm he always brings into every show. You have to admit that his outfit was really doing things to you. You love how fitting the pants were on Harry’s legs, not to mention how great his ass looks as he danced around on stage. You did not miss the times where his jacket opened slightly and exposed more of his bare chest. Your eyes linger on the chest littered with tattoos you love to trace and give kisses and hickies on it.

Similarly, Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. The way the pink satin dress you wore hugged every inch of your body. Even behind the mask you were wearing, he knew you were smiling underneath it as you watched him sing. Admittedly, he wasn’t even looking at you because he was nervous; he simply was just admiring how absolutely ravishing you were looking. But that’s a thought he’ll get back to when the night is done.

As the performance ended, the people around the set applauded. Harry bows down, humbly thanking them and a big smile breaks on his face when he hears your cheers. And it was moments like this where he loves the fact that you are his biggest fan.

The both of you meet back in his designated room where he is supposed to change his outfit for the main event. He pushes your body gently against the wall as he desperately kisses you. Your arms are around his shoulder as you weave your fingers through his hair. He’s definitely going to get in trouble for that mess soon. His hands travel slowly down your body and stops on your behind, cheekily grabbing a handful. You moan into the kiss and Harry lets his tongue into your mouth.

“Baby,” you say in between the kisses. “Gotta get you changed,” you giggle as he kisses you; he swears his heart flutters whenever you laugh. “Yeah? Did ya like my performance out there, lovie?” he asks as he lips travel to your cheek and down your neck.

Harry feels you shiver and you could feel his smirk against your skin. You pull his face away from you and he pouts. “I love it. But you have to change for the main event,” you say and smile at his childish pout. You kiss the tip of his nose which makes him scrunch his face up. “Promise we’ll do this again later,”

And his eyes widen at the suggestion and he steals a peck from you. “I’m looking forward to that, lovie,” he smirks.

━

The event was definitely something you didn’t think you’d get to experience. You honestly had to pinch yourself, hoping that was actually Dua Lipa and Taylor Swift that were sitting a few tables away from you. With every category leading up to the ones Harry was nominated, you could feel his hands sweating as they’re intertwined with yours. Harry didn’t mind if he didn’t win, but the thought of actually winning was definitely there in his mind.

You lift your hands, pull down your mask and press small kisses on the back of his hand, reassuring him always. And he smiles in gratitude at you.

As they are announcing the nominees for Best Pop Solo Performance, Harry’s hand grips yours tighter and you rub his arm in hopes to ease his nerves. The moment you hear the words ‘Watermelon Sugar’, you jump up from your chair and scream through your mask just as everyone else in the room stands and applaud him. Harry, for one, is in complete utter disbelief that he is the winner.

He stands from his chair, removing his mask, and gives you the biggest smile and tightest hug. “You did it, baby,” he hears you say in his ear amidst the applause, cheers and his song playing in the background. After giving Jeff a hug, he makes his way towards the stage. He picks up the shiny golden gramophone for a moment and sets it down before giving his speech. As he expresses his thanks and gratitude, you sit there looking up at him with the proudest face. Your heart feels warm knowing how this dream of his was finally a reality.

His speech nears its end when he makes one last thank you. “And to my love, for always believing in me and always telling me to strive for greatness. You were the first person I shared this album in its entirety and you’ve given me the love and support that is beyond what I deserve. I love you endlessly and this wouldn’t have been possible without you. I feel very honoured to be standing here with all of you so thank you so much,” He thanks the audience again before leaving the stage so he could sit next to you again, completely forgetting about his award on stage which made you giggle.

The night goes on and the both of you continue to soak in the magical night. At one point, you manage to have a conversation with Taylor Swift and you are surprised that you didn’t pass out. While Harry didn’t win in the other categories he was in, he was still grateful for the achievement and recognition he got. It was a marvelous night, he admits.

It was very late when you got home. You chuck your shoes away as you enter and quickly make your way to the couch where you could rest for a bit. Harry chuckles at you as he closes the door. He leans over you, smiling at your tired state and admiring your figure as your dress rises to your mid-thighs when you lie down.

“Scoot over, bubs,” he says as he takes off his orange blazer and black boa. He squeezes in beside you, resting his face on your chest while holding you close so you don’t fall off the edge of the couch. He hums as he feels your fingers running through his hair, pressing soft kisses on his head.

For a moment, he slowly feels himself falling asleep before he hears you gasp from above. “I forgot something!” you exclaim as you pull yourself off from under and rush to the kitchen. You hear Harry whine in protest as you leave him on the couch. “Bubs, I wanna cuddle,” he whines, his face smushed up against the couch as he misses your warmth.

“One second, H!” you say back to him. He hears you rummaging through something and for a second, he is intrigued by what you have up your sleeve. Harry hears your footsteps coming back and hears you setting down something as it clinks on the coffee table.

“Bubs, open your eyes!”

Harry is tempted to just fall asleep right then and there, but he hears the excitement in your voice and sighs against the couch as he opens his eyes. There you are, with the sweetest smile on your face next to a small round chocolate cake on a cake stand. Next to it are some plates, forks and a knife. Harry gets up and sits down next to you. “W-What? Where did you get this?” he says as he smiles at you.

“I made it for you. Today right before I went to see you. It’s why I was running late before your performance,” you beam at him and Harry looks at you in pure adoration. “I would’ve written something, like ‘Grammy Winner’ or something but that would be mocking you, you know, in case you didn’t win. But now you won and I kinda feel bad tha-”

Your words are cut off as Harry smashes his lips against yours. You hum in delight as your lips move against each other. Harry breaks away and cups your face in his large hands. They may be rough due to the guitar scars he gets, but they’re where yours belong.

“I love it, baby. Thank you,” he says sincerely and both of you smile, your eyes and heart holding all the love you had for each other. “I love you too. Anything for my Grammy-winner love,” you say softly as you peck his lips again. “Shall we?” you motion your head towards the cake. Harry agrees as he watches you cutting the cake for the both of you, his smile filled with love and adoration for you.

And he admits that you are simply the most amazing person he has ever loved. He had the most marvelous and golden night with you.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles oneshot #parkersroses masterlist #parkersroses writing

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1kook · 4 years ago

Text

imax & climax

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags; jk is an avid history channel viewer, jk hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, jk goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

notes; there is no rest for the wicked, aka miss 1kook writes another part for this fic i swore wasn't gonna be a series except this time we ditch the gentlemen persona and go into maximum overdrive. its not proofread bc i wrote this entire thing at 4 am last night after inhaled a whole bucket of spicy popcorn

[ part 1 ; netflix & chill ] [ part 2 ; hulu & wohoo ]

Jungkook sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Jungkook’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

“You wanted it,” you announce rather pointedly in the car. He’s backing out of the parking space now, one hand on the wheel the other pressed to the side of your seat. His jaw twitches as he tries to maneuver around a stray shopping cart someone didn’t return to the retrieval area. He’s wearing that dark jumper you like, with the high collar that covers all of last night’s bruises up wonderfully.

Jungkook scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Jungkook greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” he laughs, pulling to a stop at the next red light. He turns to level you with an easygoing grin, sparkly anime girl eyes extra shiny under the red glow. “Only want you to tickle my pickle.”

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Doyeon swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Doyeon, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Jungkook picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Jungkook’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Jungkook invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Jungkook not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Jungkook is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Jungkookie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Jungkook was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Jungkook rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Jungkook, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Jungkook’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Jungkook apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

She leaves a little after sunset, kissing and hugging the both of you on the doorstep like she’s going off to war and will never return. She’ll be back by the weekend, desperate to check on her baby boy, but you let her have her moment. It’s weird seeing how dramatic the Jeons are compared to how reserved Jungkook is.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Jungkook’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Jungkook laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

“Give it a rest,” he says, shifting you until he’s got you hugged between those stupidly strong arms of his. His pecs feel strong and comforting beneath your cheek, and the feeling makes your tiny pouting session end earlier than usual. “Come on,” he mumbles as he manhandles you around, until your back is pressed against his chest and you’re sitting between his legs. “Let’s watch this film on Mesopotamian folklore and its overall significance to the nations it birthed after its downfall.”

——

You rarely use the key Jungkook gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Jungkook’s house were either the result of Jungkook picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Jungkook inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

Today you’re alone, juggling two boxes of takeout and some cheap wine in one hand as you fight to unlock his door. He hadn’t answered his phone, which leads you to believe he’s holed himself up again in that damn study. He likes to do that sometimes, lock himself away like some modern day Rapunzel until he finishes whatever project he has this time around. When he gets like this, it’s like all other body functions are forgotten, his brain zeroed in on the lines of code you barely understand.

Just as you suspect, the house is too dark when you finally break in. The hall light is off, which isn’t out of the norm, but so are the kitchen and living room lights. You pad down the hall, flicking on the light to the living room to set down your offerings onto the edge of the coffee table. There’s a scrambled pile of notes on top that seem too disorderly to disregard. You whirl around, making to head back out into the hall and down to the study, when you see it.

A good 90 inches mounted on his wall. It’s a monstrosity of a screen, devouring nearly the entire surface of the wall, from stainless end to stainless end. It’s ridiculously thin in the way all modern TVs are, but this one is even more so given the fact you hadn’t registered it in your peripheral when you walked in. It’s just barely short of a Jumbotron, the kind they have at baseball games to make sure you can see every nose hair on the pitcher.

His mom was going to kill him.

“Jungkook?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Jungkook had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

There’s a soft hum down the hall, the sound slipping beneath the bottom gap in the door frame. You make a beeline for the room, oddly unsettled with the huge screen. The door gives way, exposing your boyfriend’s hunched back and the blue light from his monitors that highlights his frame. “Hi, sweetie,” you begin, inching over to him.

“Hi,” he sighs, leaning back into your touch when you step behind him. His dark eyes are weary from staring at his tablet for too long, his usual tender expression melted into one of mild irritation. “Can’t figure this out,” he says, tapping his stylus against one line of absolute nerd gibberish you don’t bother trying to decipher. Maybe another day you would have entertained him, but today you cherish this moment with him knowing it might be his last before his mom comes over and kills him.

“Sounds like break time to me!” Your proclamation makes him frown, a frustrated groan pulling itself from his lips. His head droops forward again, chin touching his chest. But there’s a hint of relief in his groan that tells you all you need to know. “Baby needs a break,” you smile, pressing a peck against the back of his head.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, Kook, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Namjoon would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Jungkook goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Jungkook doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

He stretches his arms out, moaning something sinful at the way his bones pop. “It adds to the experience,” he says. “Movies are more enjoyable when the pictures are bigger; a tall aspect ratio and stadium seating really add to the experience.” He was such a nerd.

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Jungkook doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “Kook, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Jungkook’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Too bad you’re evil and determined. “No! We are watching the Princess and the Pauper and that’s final,” you exclaim, scrambling for the movie before he can hurl it out the window. He catches you by the waist, your fingers just an inch away from the pink case. “Babe!” you cry, but his fingerprints are bruising their way into your skin.

“No more Barbie movies,” he begs, yanking you back onto his lap. He does so with so much force that it makes the two of you tumble to the side, your head bouncing on the cushions as he catches himself over you. “Please.”

“I hate you,” you fuss, pointedly ignoring the tiny mole beneath his lip that drove you crazy. “We’ve seen every single thing on the History Channel this week, but we can’t watch one Barbie movie?”

Jungkook sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

“First of all, her name is Annaleise in this movie,” you correct, squirming beneath him to no avail. “Secondly, how do you think I feel when you’re eating me out while some old British dude narrates the creation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?”

Jungkook scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Jungkook sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Jungkook crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

He doesn’t move, and you’re about to begin another tirade against his snobby movie critiquing habits when he procures a sleek, tiny remote that you would honestly mistake for an iPhone from a distance. It has, no joke, about seven buttons max, four of which are just the up and down, left and right arrows. You let out a low whistle at that. Wow. Technology sure was advancing.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Jungkook’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Jungkook quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Jungkook clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Jungkook will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Jungkook is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Jungkook has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Jungkook scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

He doesn’t let you argue, which is good, because you could make a thirty five slide PowerPoint presentation on the advantages of watching movies like this. One, your boyfriend was warm. Two, your boyfriend smelt good. Three, your boyfriend’s ripped body awoke some ancient being inside of you that would not rest until his cock was halfway down your thro—

He hauls you into his lap. The angle forces you to let him go, instead met with the jarring nothingness of having his hot body ripped away. Meanwhile he gets to wrap you up in his arms, hold you like a teddy bear to his chest. “I hate this,” you huff, but the movie is already starting, the beautiful blonde Anneliese appearing on screen. You lean back against his chest, pout still evident. “This is ridiculous,” you snort, her face blown up on this jumbo screen.

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Jungkook falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

As much as you hate to admit it, the huge screen does incite quite a thrill in you. There’s something so nostalgic about watching one of your favorite childhood movies on a screen this huge. The size showcases the sheer perfection that is every single Barbie movie. You lose yourself in the movie, singing along to the opening song and growing agitated when the antagonist appears.

Jungkook says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He lets out an indignant noise, a puff of air running along the side of your face. You ease his hands back over your stomach, taking extra care to knot your fingers with his. “We’re supposed to be breaking in your new screen,” you remind him, glancing up to catch his unimpressed expression.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Jungkook sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

The back of your mind registers the fact he was apparently trying to get a TV even bigger than this. You tuck it away for later to snitch to his mom. For now, you’d very much appreciate it if he could make you cum before the two girls perform the iconic “I Am a Girl Like You” song.

His hands are so smooth, soft skin tracing over your body like you were nothing but a slab of clay ready to be molded under his touch. He abandons your thighs to creep them under your shirt, where he wastes no time tugging the cups of your bra down to fondle your breasts.

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Jungkook laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away. His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Jungkook teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Jungkook has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

“Where do you think it should go?” he asks, the low hum of his voice snapping you out or your thoughts. There was no need to daydream about a cock that was right in front of you. His hands slow their gentle caress over you, fingers closing in on your nipples.

A sharp hiss pulls itself from your throat, chest arching as he tugs and toys with your hardened nipples. “Wh-Wherever,” you pant, reaching your own hands down back between your thighs. The phantom of his palms linger, making your hands feel sorely inadequate. “Wherever Daddy wants,” you purr, swallowing harshly when he twists a nipple.

Jungkook groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

He lifts his head to watch you play with yourself. His hands grow tight around your waist, labored breath filling the air to harmonize with your breathy moans. You’re absolutely soaking your panties, sticky arousal making the fabric stick to your folds. “You know I do,” he murmurs, watching the outline of your knuckles through the fabric of your shorts. “Thought you wanted to play nice today.” He takes in a sharp inhale when you ease your finger into yourself, a breathy moan escaping from your lips.

You were already so wet, and you’re really not surprised this is how the two of you would break in his new IMAX, high definition flatscreen. Your pussy tightens around your finger, thigh muscles jumping at the intrusion. Fuck, you needed him so bad.

You smirk, drawing your hands out from their hiding spot. The television is the only thing lighting the room, the two of you shrouded in relative darkness. At first, your hand is shadowed by the glow of the screen, nothing more than an outline. But when you turn it just right, the light catches, highlighting the glistening skin of your fingers. It makes Jungkook shudder.

Ever so slowly, you bring your fingers up to his face. The tip of your middle finger runs teasingly against his plump lower lip, his shaky exhales sending a cool breath over your knuckles. “Open, Daddy,” you encourage, watching with rapt attention as he envelopes your fingers between his lips. He sucks, tongue dancing between each digit to slurp off your juices. “Do I taste good? Do you like it?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Jungkook preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Jungkook, you always came first. Jungkook’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Jungkook was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

It was only a few weeks ago that you discovered your shared daddy kink, him obsessed with the idea of shoving you around, something he would otherwise never do. You, on the other hand, found a pleasant satisfaction from being good for him, a stark contrast from your usual sharp tongue and nonexistent filter.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Jungkook grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Jungkook’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Jungkook kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Jungkook was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Jungkook rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

“Inside please,” you whimper, knees moving back and forth, only stopping when he helps you out of your bottoms. He places his free hand on one of them, stilling your writhing to fully focus on pleasing the burning fire inside of you. “Jungkook—“

A slap against your cunt that makes you squeal. “Ah ah,” he warns, voice a low tenor against your skin. If you focus hard enough, you can feel the faint brush of a smirk against your neck. “We’re playing a different game right now, pretty girl.”

On screen, your favorite childhood movie is bearing witness to the sinful acts at your boyfriend’s hands. It shouldn’t be surprising how easily you fall into his arms, onto his lap, especially with your history of movie watching with Jungkook.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Jungkook’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

These days he was growing out of that mature persona, and you like to think it’s thanks to you. Your wildness rubbed off on him, made him confident enough to geek out in public, or be adventurous in private. It helped nourish his impulsivity, which led to things like the Super Bowl Jumbotron watching you fuck now.

Despite knowing all this, knowing the way he is, the slow grind against your ass sends a thrill of arousal up your limbs, sensations converging just beneath your mound. “Yes, Daddy,” you mewl accordingly.

Pleased with your obedience, he rewards you by circling your throbbing clit with his thumb. It’s a terribly slow motion, pad of his finger easing over your engorged bud every other second. You wanted more, needed more. You squirm beneath him, attempting to push your clit against his palm. Your efforts are in vain when he clamps a hand down on your waist. “Sit still,” he growls.

You whimper. “Need more,” you rasp out. Your whole body is acting out now, shifting and turning as you try to wiggle closer. Your mouth brushes against his jawline. The sharp angle is the first thing your muddled thoughts focus on, lips hungrily latching onto his porcelain skin to suck a purple blossom onto it.

Any other day Jungkook would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today... well.

You were playing a different game.

The hand that had been exploring your nether regions suddenly snaps up, catching your chin between his fingers. The wetness that has coated his digits smears messily across your skin, and you whimper when he squishes your cheeks beneath his fingers.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

Dark chocolate eyes you’ve come to associate with love and adoration stare back at you unimpressed. His pronounced brow bone twitches, like he’s holding the true intensity of his glare back for your own sake. He slots his mouth against yours with no warning, tongue pushing its way past your lips. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth like you’re nothing but a lollipop for him to suck on. It pulls a surprised moan from your lips that he swallows quickly enough, biting down on your lower lip harshly. When he pulls away, he’s got that same bored look on his face. You feel small under such a cold look, shoulders scrunching up damn near your ears in a subtle attempt to hide from him.

The action makes Jungkook scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Jungkook, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Your heart falls out of your chest. “Huh?” you whisper hoarsely, wide eyes taking in his unimpressed expression. “Knees? But Daddy,” you whine, lower lip quivering as you glance down at the hardwood floor.

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Jungkook never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Jungkook had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Jungkook gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

You look back again, eye the dark wood planks beneath you, glossed over enough to make them shine even in this weak light. “No,” you belatedly respond, slowly pushing yourself off his lap and onto your feet. Your big shirt falls back down, covers the tops of your thighs as you stand nude from the waist down. You’re tempted to just yank it down even more, hide beneath the cloth so he doesn’t have to see you whine and bitch about your knees aching.

Jungkook was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Jungkook leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Jungkook smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

A hearty sigh escapes his lips as he settles back onto the couch cushions. “Keep me entertained, will you?” You gawk, but you know it’s not a question. He reaches over for the remote to turn the volume up on the Barbie movie.

Your favorite song on the entire soundtrack is playing, almost mocking you as you shuffle closer to him. Two hands tentatively placed on his thighs as the two animated maidens flounce around the screen. He doesn’t bat a single lash your way, eyes focused on the huge screen behind you instead.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Jungkook sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Jungkook hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Jungkook doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Jungkook adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

It’ll haunt you for weeks. The image of such unimpressed eyes leveled your way because you couldn’t handle his dick will stain the insides of your eyelids. Even though he’ll brush it off, kiss you and tell you it’s fine, the inner conceited hoe in you will never let it go, will recall the memory every time your hand is under your panties.

Still, you’re terribly desperate to impress him. He was your other half, your lover, your sweetheart, your goddamn king; he deserved only the best— not some half-assed, scaredy-cat blowjob that would leave him reeling back afterwards.

With that belief and a sticky blob of spit later, you’re pushing him into your throat. It’s the first reaction you get since he’d started feeling you up, a deep, raspy groan straight from the pits of hell, that has you working even harder to swallow his cock down. “That’s it,” he pants, carding his fingers through your hair. “Good girl.”

You positively mewl under the praise, tongue growing heavy in your mouth as you swallow more and more of him down. The hard tip of his cock pulses inside, rubbing against your palate and then your throat. A gag catches in your throat, one you quickly subdue by shifting your hips.

Fuck, he was so big. Just the feeling of his cock brashly rubbing against the corners of your lips has you fantasizing about how he’ll undoubtedly stretch your pussy apart later. You moan, letting your eyes flutter shut as you try to wave those images away.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Jungkook‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Jungkook, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Jungkook finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

“Fuck,” he growls, pushing you away as he sinks back into the cushions. His chest heaves beneath the material of his t-shirt, sweat dripping down from his hairline. Normally, you’d take this opportunity to crawl back onto his lap, lick and kiss away at his body while he recovered. But truthfully, you were both still new to this whole experience so there were still the occasional lulls between actions.

Sensing your uncertainty, Jungkook tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Jungkook kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Jungkook takes your wrists in his hands.

One shapely brow is raised in your direction. “Did I say you could touch?” he murmurs, pinning your hands above your head. A gasp catches in your throat from his close proximity. You subconsciously tilt your head up, try to brush your mouth against his, only to be denied with a subtle turn of his face. “How do you want it, pretty?” he asks, releasing the tight grip around your wrists.

Immediately, you latch around his broad shoulders, fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms until they meet at the base of his neck. “However you want,” you purr, pulling him closer until your bodies are aligned, the warm heat of his frame over yours. You kiss the spot beneath his ear once before he trails his lips down.

Jungkook mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

His proposal is followed by a slow roll of his hips against your throbbing core, the same dick you had just choked on gliding along your folds. You whimper, toes curling as the pleasure washes over you. Every ridge, ever vein of his hardened cock runs along your sensitive folds, reminding you of the aching flame inside of you. “Th-That’s fine,” you pant, leg lazily thrown over his hip. His hands trail over your waist, collecting your t-shirt as they move up your body until it’s pushed over the swell of your breasts.

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Jungkook that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Jungkook smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “Kook!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

Two hands grab onto your biceps, tugging you up forcefully until your back arches, leaving you bent at a ninety degree angle before him. “Look, sweetheart,” he coos against your ear, voice deep enough that it vibrates through every bone in your body. Your breath stutters in your throat, exhilaration blossoming in your chest. “It’s your favorite movie.”

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Jungkook’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Jungkook either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “Jungkook, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Jungkook wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, chest heaving with every slow roll of his hips. Your pussy was sopping, desperate to be filled with something. It was even worse knowing his dick was right there, just inches outside of where you need him most. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you repeat.

Jungkook chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

When he finally pops past that initial tightness, you swear you could transcend into another dimension from the absolute feeling of euphoria that washes over you. “Fuck,” you mewl, fighting against his tight hold. Your efforts are in vain, ultimately choosing to drop your head down as the ecstasy continues to wash over you with each inch he offers you.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Jungkook reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

He gives until there’s nothing left, the soft hairs around his dick tickling your lips as he reaches the hilt. “There we go,” he grunts, giving you one final tug to make sure this is as far as he can go. You squeal, the brush against your walls making you ridiculously high. “That’s my girl.”

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Jungkook’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

“Ohhh,” you whimper, muscles going slack for the briefest moment. The only thing that saves you from falling over is the killer grip on your forearms; when he tugs you up his cock runs along your pulsing walls. “Please, Daddy,” you beg, mouth feeling a thousand times heavier.

“The movie,” he repeats, slowly beginning to pull away from your clenching heat. You moan. “Tell me what it’s about,” he husks, punctuating his seemingly innocent statement with a harsh snap of his hips.

You wail, stumbling forward at the intensity. Still, it’s just a taste of what he has in store for you. He soon picks a pace, not too rushed or slow, as you struggle to keep your eyes open. “I-I don’t know,” you choke out, the images flashing across the gigantic screen practically unrecognizable to your muddled thoughts.

Behind you Jungkook tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

His hips are moving fast now, every piston into your warm heat making you tremble. “Fffuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues ramming his cock into your pulsing hole. You’re met with a harsh yank that pulls you snugly onto his cock, your entire body screaming at the way he nudges against your cervix. Despite the pleasure it gives you, Jungkook seems anything but pleased.

“C’mon,” he huffs, twisting your arms painfully behind your back. “What did we say about that dirty mouth?” His question is followed with a snap of his hips that makes you choke on your spit. “Need you to be good for me, baby,” he groans.

“I-I am good,” you weakly defend, head hanging down limply as you fight to regain some semblance of your senses. But everything feels too much, from the rough push of his hips to the tight grip on your arms. His cock pulls out nearly all the way each time, swollen tip the only thing stopping him. Every thrust makes you quiver, every touch makes you melt.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Jungkook scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

A hand clamps around your throat suddenly, yanking you up right until his breath fans across your ear. You’re not sure when your eyes had become so teary, but the images flickering across the screen are a foggy mess you couldn’t decipher even if you tried. “__,” he rasps against your ear, his voice scratchy. “Tell me. Now.”

You whimper as he shoves his way back inside, the angry head of his cock testing you. “T-Two girls, one’s a princess,” you cry, knees wobbling as the feeling in your core grows. “They look alike, and-and…”

“And?” Jungkook asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Jungkook snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Jungkook barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “Kook— Jungkook!”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you, fingers holding you tight around the waist. The coffee table you had feared cracking your skull on finally comes to use as you press your hands onto the surface in a feeble attempt to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Jungkook nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Jeon Jungkook, maybe Doyeon was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Jungkook is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Jungkook responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your Kook now.”

“My… Kook,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Jungkook chases both your second orgasms.

“Mhmm,” he groans, jostling you over his lap with no rhythm whatsoever. “Yours, baby.” You stretch your hands back, carding one set of fingers through the hair above his ear, pushing the strands away from his face. “Just like you’re mine.”

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Jungkook hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Jungkook catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

When all is said and done and you’re both basking in a post-orgasmic make-out, you realize how sweaty and icky you are. “Ugh, this is gross,” you pout as he wiggles you off his lap. He pushes you beside him, letting you flop over the length of the couch as he reaches for something to clean you up with.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

You nudge him with your foot. “I’m not the one who wanted to fuck during a Barbie movie,” you scoff, pinching the skin on his forearm when his gaze lingers a second too long on your creamy pussy. “Look somewhere else, weirdo.”

Jungkook laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don't wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

He cackles loudly now, in that evil witch way it took him a while to show you, and you know he’s got that big silly grin on his face now. . “The IMAX screen? The same one that made you,” a pause, “climax?”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Jungkook’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

What you’re not expecting is for her anger to shift to you as she scolds you for letting her idiotic son make such purchases. She gets one playful thwack against your side with the leek before your charming idiotic boyfriend swoops in to save you.

——

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #mine

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

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Prompt: Geraskier modern au. Jaskier bringing Geralt home on holiday. They’re pretending to date so Jaskier’s parents won’t bombard him asking when he’ll find someone and when they’ll have grandkids. Maybe even a fake engagement? They’re both pining without even realizing and maybe a mistletoe kiss on Christmas Eve will open their eyes. (geraskier-trashh)

Dani <3 I always seem to vibe with your prompts! Once again this is 2.3k. I didn’t get the mistletoe in but... well. I’m pretty happy with it. Fake dating at Christmas!! 💖

Warnings: Some hurt/comfort feels, I’m pretty sure everyone cries at one point or another, lots of pining. ______________

Jaskier and Geralt stood in the doorway to Jaskier’s old childhood room. One single bed was pushed up against the wall, posters of Jaskier’s old favourite bands plastered around the room. Jaskier was gripping Geralt’s hand too tightly, having not let go from when he’d dragged Geralt upstairs to get away from the interrogation of his family. Geralt let out a long sigh and pulled them both into the room, dumping his rucksack on the ground in the corner.

“Ah, I. umm…. I seem to have miscalculated,” Jaskier stammered.

“No shit.”

“I thought, you know. Huge mansion!” He flung his arms out as if to make a point. “I didn’t expect that we’d have to… you know.”

“It didn’t occur to you that it might look strange if we don’t share?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jaskier huffed and put his hands on his hips, tossing his fringe from his eyes. Geralt was moving around the tiny room, his banged up bass case finding space next to Jaskier’s violin, his black hoody thrown over the old desk chair in the corner. Jaskier felt a tug at his heartstrings as he watched Geralt carve out a space for himself in Jaskier’s old bedroom, just like he’d carved out a Geralt sized space in Jaskier’s hearts oh so many years ago. Jaskier flexed his fingers and pulled his necklace pendant into his mouth, this was such a bad idea. What had he been thinking?

It was own bloody fault for lying to his parents for years behind Geralt’s back. It had just been so hard with their constant pressure to find a partner whilst he was pining helplessly over his best friend, so he’d lied and for five years he’d managed to find excuses for avoiding the family Christmas meet up. This year his luck had run out and he’d had to come clean to his friend. He’d thought Geralt was going to murder him at first, his face had gone bright red with rage and he’d not said a bloody word, which was just Geralt all over. Over a tense dinner of instant noodles and boxed wine, Geralt had muttered that he’d do it… and so, here they were.

“Yeah, well, I forgot.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You forgot? That you’d told your parents that we’ve been dating for five years?”

“Six years… Our anniversary was two weeks ago,” Jaskier muttered, shuffling awkwardly on his feet and giving Geralt a sheepish smile.

“Our anniversary? For fuck’s sake, Jask.”

“I’m sorry! I meant to tell them we’d broken up but—”

“But what?”

“—but they always seemed so happy that I wasn’t alone, and to be honest it was nice.”

Geralt scoffed. “Nice?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I. I didn’t feel so alone.”

Geralt sighed and pulled him into a hug. Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s chest and whined. “You’re my best friend, Jask.”

Jaskier closed his eyes, grateful that Geralt couldn’t see his face. He could feel the lump in his throat, a dull never-ending ache in his chest. Best friend. That’s what they were, he should be thankful that Geralt allowed him that much, but fuck he loved him so damn much. No matter how much Jaskier flirted with Geralt, called him cute little nicknames, and practically admitted his love for his friend on a daily basis… Geralt never saw him as anything more than a friend, but god he drove Jaskier mad. He was always so damned thoughtful all the time, cooking dinner when Jaskier was at work even though Jaskier could never return the favour, hence the instant noodles for dinner, or letting Jaskier choose the film when he’d had a bad anxiety day, which happened more often than he liked to admit.

Geralt was his best friend, he was the bestest friend that anyone could ask for so really Jaskier couldn’t complain. He was just… hopelessly in love.

He laughed and pulled back from the hug. “Don’t you mean boyfriend?” He waggled his eyebrows and bopped Geralt’s nose.

“Hmm, fine, but we have got to break up by next year.”

Jaskier’s hand flew to his heart, gasping as he totally pretended to be completely heartbroken. There wasn’t an ounce of reality in the way his heart literally felt like it was shattering in a million pieces. He scoffed, covering up the way his hands were shaking by tugging at the edge of his jumper. “Fine, but I get to dump you.”

“Nope, it’s your mess. I’m breaking up with you,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and glared at Geralt. “As if you would break up with this arse!” He laughed and turned to wiggle his butt at Geralt.

“I’ve seen better.”

Jaskier gasped and turned to poke Geralt in the chest. “Take that back!”

“Not going to happen.”

“Geralt!” Jaskier flung himself dramatically into Geralt’s arms, Geralt caught him as he always did, and Jaskier pouted up at him. “You’re mean.”

“Are you boys fighting already?”

Jaskier squeaked as Geralt dropped him to the floor. His mother was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed in front of her chest, a smirk on her face. “No. No no no. Of course not, nope. Geralt?”

“No, Mrs Pankratz.” Geralt pulled him to his feet and Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist, placing a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“All good here, mother!”

“Dinner’s ready, hurry up.”

“We’ll be there in just a jiffy!” Jaskier sang as he leant into Geralt’s side. As his mother’s footsteps faded off down the hall he reached up to whisper in Geralt’s ear, “Showtime, darling.”

Geralt groaned. “Fuck.” ________________

Dinner wasn’t going too badly. Luckily Geralt and Jaskier had been best friends for most of their lives so there wasn’t much they didn’t know about each other. Honestly the only thing really missing from their friendship to make it more of a traditionally romantic one was the snogging. They went out of friend dates all the time, they lived together, and in all honesty they loved each other. Jaskier just made sure to double the use of pet names in front of his family, and he allowed himself to touch Geralt as much as he wanted, which was pretty much always. They held hands on top of the table, awkwardly eating one handed. Jaskier brought Geralt’s knuckles to his lips in between main and dessert, winking at his friend. It was so fucking easy to believe this was real. For two days he was getting everything he ever wanted. He was going to be heartbroken when this was over.

Geralt flushed and growled under his breath before kissing Jaskier’s cheek, much to delight of Jaskier’s parents.

“Julian, you know we won’t be offended if you want to kiss your boyfriend properly?”

Jaskier’s heart sank and he gripped Geralt’s hand tighter. They hadn’t discussed this. They really should have discussed this, but Jaskier had assumed two days without kissing in front of his parents would have been fine. Of course, his mother would decide to be cool. “Mother, really?” He groaned and hid his face in Geralt’s arm.

“You’ve been dating for six years, Julian. Your father had proposed by then when we were dating,” his mother sighed and smiled ever so sweetly at his father. “Don’t be shy, honey.”

“Mother!” Jaskier whined.

Geralt cleared his throat and Jaskier gazed up at his friend. There was a mischievous glint in Geralt’s eyes that Jaskier did not like the look of. He shook his head slowly at Geralt but it was too late. “Actually, Mrs Pankratz. I umm… I did have something to ask Jaskier,”

“Geralt…”

“The umm… well I wrapped it, but I guess now is as good as ever,” Geralt stood up and pulled Jaskier into the living room, ignoring his protests. Geralt pulled a small wrapped box from the tree, kneeling at Jaskier’s feet as he hand him the box.

Jaskier’s eyes went wide… what the actual fuck was happening? Jaskier thought back to his Christmas list. It was mostly nerdy shit and stuff for his instruments… nerdy shit. “Oh bollocks!” He yelled as he remembered a very specific piece of costume jewellery he’d asked for.

Was Geralt about to fake propose using the ring… like… the ring… from Lord of the Rings? Oh god, he was going to die from embarrassment. Jaskier’s hands shook as he tore at the wrapping paper. The velvety box fell into his hands, the familiar Elvish inscription was pressed into the black velvet. He hid a laugh behind his hand as Geralt gently took the box and opened it. Jaskier barely heard the shrieks from his mother as Geralt winked at him.

“Jask, the last,” Geralt paused and scowled “six years of my life have been the happiest of my life.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined, his heart thumping in his chest despite the fact he knew it wasn’t real.

“I’m thankful that I finally stopped being afraid of what I felt, feel, for you, and umm, well asked you out,” Geralt licked his lips, he actually seemed nervous, which was utterly ridiculous. He was a better actor than Jaskier had anticipated. “Can’t imagine how different today would have been if I hadn’t made the choice that day, the choice to be brave instead of a coward.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but reach forward to cup Geralt’s cheek, his hand moving on its own accord. “You’re the bravest man I know.”

Geralt laughed bitterly. “Not always, but ah fuck, you distracted me.”

“Sorry?” Jaskier giggled. “Would it help if I said yes?”

“Yes,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier knelt down opposite Geralt. “Yes.”

And then they were kissing, because that was what you did when you got engaged, wasn’t it? Only they weren’t really engaged, they weren’t even dating. Tears streamed down Jaskier’s cheeks as he kissed his friend with all the feelings that he could never admit, holding Geralt’s face in his hands. They were both panting by the time they pulled apart. “I love you, dear heart.”

Geralt, to Jaskier’s surprise, was also crying. He smiled sadly back at Jaskier as he brushed the tears from Jaskier’s cheek. “I love you too, Jask.” And then he slipped the ring onto Jaskier’s finger.

Jaskier swallowed and bit back a sob. “Fuck.”

Geralt tilted his head and glanced towards the ceiling. Jaskier nodded, hugging his arms around his chest. “I think we need a moment alone,” Geralt muttered and scooped Jaskier up into his arms.

Jaskier mother, also crying because apparently Christmas Eve dinner was a disaster, nodded. “Take all the time you need, darlings."

Geralt nodded and Jaskier hummed pressing his face into Geralt’s neck, desperately trying not to lose his grip on reality. They weren’t engaged. The mantra ran through his head obsessively. One more day, they would exchange presents, maybe a standard kiss under the mistletoe and then by next year’s Christmas Geralt would have broken up with him, and Jaskier’s parents would be none the wiser that it had all been a ruse.

A ruse, an pretence, an act.

Only it wasn’t an act, not for him.

“Fucking shit balls,” He mumbled into Geralt’s shirt as his bedroom door was kicked open. Jaskier practically leapt from Geralt’s arms and into the mess of bedsheets, hiding from the love of his life and pseudo fiancé.

“Jaskier, I’m sorry. I took it too far.” Geralt mumbled, sitting down on the bed next to where Jaskier was curled into a ball.

“No,” Jaskier mumbled. “I just overreacted, I… ah fuck it. I wanted it to be real. I’m sorry!”

“You,” Geralt stammered. “You wanted it to be real?”

Jaskier laughed haughtily and threw off the covers, wiping his eyes and glaring at Geralt. “Of course I fucking did. I told my parents we were dating… for six fucking years!”

“And you never once mentioned any of this to me?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Because I couldn’t lose you!”

“I didn’t want to lose you either.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide as he gaped at Geralt. “Hang on what? What does that mean? Geralt? Please do not tell me that means what I think it means!”

“I love you,” Geralt whispered “always have.”

“No, no no no!” Jaskier whined as his head hit the headboard. “Fuck.”

“Sorry.”

Jaskier laughed, the disbelief and sheer happiness in his heart overwhelming him. “Oh my fucking god, Geralt!” Geralt growled and stood up but Jaskier caught his hand. “Don’t you see?”

“No, care to let me into the joke?”

“We could have been dating for years!” Jaskier cried and then slapped a hand over his mouth, not wanting his parents to hear their argument. “This,” he waved his left hand at Geralt. “could have been real?”

Geralt frowned, his gaze flickering between Jaskier’s hand and his eyes. He sighed and a faint smiled graced his lips. “Maybe we should try dating first? Proposing on the first date is a bit much.”

Jaskier laughed and pulled Geralt into another kiss, his tears ones of happiness this time. He stroked Geralt’s cheek as they pulled apart. “What about the second date?”

“Jask,” Geralt groaned.

“Ok, the third date,” He laughed and Geralt shut him up with another quick kiss.”

“Your turn to propose,” Geralt mumbled against his lips as Jaskier slipped his hand up Geralt’s shirt.

“I don’t think I can beat proposing with the ring, dearest,” He giggled as Geralt pushed him back against the mattress, his nose running along Jaskier’s jaw.

“You’ll think of something.”

Jaskier grinned as Geralt’s lips crashed against his. He would think of something, something spectacular, but for now he was too busy kissing his boyfriend, grand marriage proposals would have to wait until next Christmas. They could make it a tradition. ________________ Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @electricrituals @geralt-of-riviass @00qtee @kittynannygaming @stinastar @scribblesonmapleleaves @thecomfortofoldstorries @fontegagrilledcheese @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67 @nonegenderleftpain @ohheytheremiss @kueble @love-more-today-than-yesterday @kozkaboi @llamasdumpsterfire @skai6

#the witcher #modern au #geraskier #fake dating #christmas prompts #winter prompt #wolfie's witcher writing #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #suddenly-a-twilight-blog

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thedistantdusk · 3 years ago

Text

Arcadia, Chapter 1

My submission for the 2021 Hinny birthday challenge for the HG discord! Thanks to Liza for organizing, to @accio-broom for the Brit-pick, to @secretkeeper13 for the beta, and to anyone else who helped (I'm probably forgetting a few folks, apologies).

The challenge theme this year was content based on TV! This is an (extremely loose) X-Files AU, but you absolutely don’t need to be familiar with X-Files to understand this :D

TW (spoilers): swearing, references to (severe) mental health concerns, (eventual) consensual relations

___________________________________________________________

D A Y + O N E

The woman probably finds herself charming as she stands in their driveway, her hands clasped in frozen excitement.

But Ginny just finds her creepy.

Really fucking creepy.

Harry drops hired car into first gear as they pull in. This woman— the head of the village council, Ginny reckons, the one she spoke to on the phone— wears perfectly-pleated Chino pants with a lavender jumper draped across her shoulders.

Her attire is standard for a posh village… especially a new-build village, one with a covenant and loads of stupid rules. It’s the woman’s eerie, opened-mouthed grin that shoots a chill up Ginny’s spine.

Her stark white teeth glint in the sun, but her smile doesn’t move an inch… and the longer Ginny stares, the more unsettled she grows. The only thing larger than her grin is the mane of yellow hair that surrounds her face like an ersatz halo.

Harry clears his throat as he turns off the car; Ginny realizes this is the first sound either of them has made since leaving London.

Awkward.

She reaches for her door handle, but the random woman gets to it first.

“You must be Jenny and Henry!” she shrieks, yanking on Ginny’s shoulders before she’s even unbuckled. “Oh, sorry! Love, do let me get the strap!”

Ginny’s on her feet and pressed to the stranger’s perfumed bosom before she has a chance to tell her she can manage just fine herself, thanks.

“Lovely to meet you in person!” the woman cries, nearly shaking with enthusiasm. It’s not until Ginny’s returned a weak squeeze that the vice-like grip around her middle weakens.

Rubbing her aching shoulder, she sneaks a glimpse at Harry; while she fought for air, he apparently climbed out of the car, only to stare at the two of them like a deer in the headlights. Now his elbow’s at an awkward angle, his hand behind his back, which could only mean one thing: he’s reaching for the wand in his back pocket.

Shit.

Ginny shakes her head and hopes her eyes convey what her lips can’t: She’s just a standard Muggle weirdo. Relax.

“I’m Jane. Jane Connors. In the flesh!” The woman (whose voice Ginny now finds painfully familiar) throws her hands in the air and twirls on the spot. “I take it you’re Jenny and Henry Petri!”

Harry interrupts with a booming chuckle before Ginny says a word; in three quick steps, he’s wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “That’s Pee-tri, actually. Like the dish,” Harry— Henry— adds with a wink. “And speaking of dish…” His eyes travel over Ginny, his voice going all deep and silky.

She bites back a shudder, hating the way her stomach drops as his fingers graze her arm. All that keeps her grounded is knowing the truth: Harry’s good at his job, nothing more. The only reason he’s suddenly become a skilled actor is that his career demands it.

Hers does too, she reminds herself firmly. And if she has any intention of successfully completing her first solo mission, she needs to get her shit together. Now.

Ginny blinks up at Harry, appropriately sobered; his eyes glimmer with mirth. As suspected, he’s only doing his job. Touch is just part of the assignment description. He has no way of knowing what it does to her— because really, truly, it shouldn’t.

And maybe if she keeps telling herself that, it’ll eventually come true.

Harry winks at Jane, tugging Ginny against his side. “My new wife and I had a long journey from the city! We were hoping to get some alone-time before tucking in, I’m sure you understand.”

Jane looks puzzled. “You— but it’s 5:43!” An uncomfortable giggle burbles from her lips. “You must be moved in by 6. Surely you’ve read the covenant rules?”

“Erm… may have missed that one,” Ginny lies. “There’s quite a few, see. We’re used to—”

But Jane shoves her fingers into her mouth, cutting her off with an ear-piercing whistle. Just as quickly, another chill races up Ginny’s spine. People up and down the street emerge from their semi-detached homes and race towards them, their faces in downcast unison.

They’ve all been watching. Waiting for the signal. Ready.

Ginny’s not sure how long ago the Department of Mysteries delivered the moving van and left it on the street, but the horde of random people aren’t fussed with the details, either. Within five seconds of Jane’s whistle, the strangers throw open the back door and begin an unloading process that reeks of military precision.

“Here’s the house key!” trills Jane, pulling it from her pocket. “Oh, and Petris!” She turns to Harry and Ginny, wagging her finger. “I’ll also need a copy of your car key, ASAP. We’re firm believers in the buddy system here in Arcadia.” She returns her attention to the stone-faced neighbors, who are now scurrying to the door. “This way, friends— right this way!”

“I— that’s really unnecessary,” Ginny says, bewildered, as people rush inside their new house, boxes in arms. “We’re perfectly able to—”

“Nonsense!” cries a man with grey sideburns as he takes a box from the back. “We’re neighborly here. You’d better get used to it.”

“Yes!” chimes another voice. A chubby man wearing a Polo and a golden necklace emerges from behind the lorry, hurrying up the walk. “We’re like a family here. We all— oh no!” He lets out a startled cry as a box labeled FINE CHINA topples from his arms and lands on the pavement with a thump.

He rushes towards it, face falling, but Ginny’s main concern is the box’s silent descent; she runs over, making a mental note to have a word with the designer of these props. Would something noisy and fragile have killed them? For fuck’s sake...

“Sorry,” the man says with a pained wince. “I’m just so clumsy. I-I promise, I’ll—”

“It’s fine,” Ginny soothes, dropping to her knees. “Don’t worry, really. We aren’t too big on dishes.”

Maybe if she keeps him talking, he won’t realize it’s bloody empty. Seriously, this is amateur shit. Luckily, he’s too distracted to notice.

The man offers a sheepish smile. “I’m Mike. Mike Snodgrass. You may have seen Mike and Jess in the resident guide, but erm…” He trails off, sadness in his voice.

Ginny cocks her head to feign confusion, but of course she’s familiar with Jess Snodgrass, 25, reported missing last November. Her photo’s been on Ginny’s desk for almost as long. Even now, Jess appears in Ginny’s mind with such startling clarity that she can almost see her beside Mike... all 5 feet of her, with curly red hair, bright blue eyes, and a lopsided grin.

Jess Snodgrass… Arcadia’s third missing person. The first to disrupt the couples-only disappearance pattern.

Mike shrugs. “But erm… it’s just me now,” he repeats. “I’m a primary teacher at Saint Julian’s, just up the road.” He nods to his left. “So if you’ve got any homework or school questions, give me a ring!” He pastes on a smile that doesn’t match his eyes; it’s an expression with which Ginny’s well-acquainted.

“I’ll have to remember that, Mike Snodgrass,” Ginny says, shaking his hand.

She immediately regrets it.

Seeing Mike Snodgrass on paper is one thing, but touch makes him human. His hand feels big and warm, his smile earnest and sweet; he reminds her so strongly of Neville that her stomach aches. Ginny breathes through her nose and focuses on the way his necklace — a medallion of Saint Julian, appropriately enough — sparkles in the sun.

“Like I said, I’m all alone,” Mike repeats, offering his hand to help her up. “If you ever need anything, Jenny, don’t hesitate to ask!”

Ginny taps her chin. “Actually, I do have a question! I reckon it’s just a rumor, though. You don’t have to confirm or deny.” She winks at him and leans in as a woman in a fleece jumper rushes past.

Mike’s smile widens, his face brightening… and ah fuck, that one hurts, because she’s about to break his heart.

“Mike…” Ginny murmurs, studying his expression. The more she says his name, the less he reminds her of Neville; she wants to keep it that way. “With everyone being so bloody hospitable here, how come there are so many disappearances?”

Mike stops bobbing. His smile vanishes as quickly as the former occupants of Jenny and Henry’s new home. When Ginny looks back into his eyes, her gut plummets with a sensation of wretched familiarity.

Because she expected sadness on his face… the same type she saw when he mentioned Jess’ name. Sadness she can deal with; sadness is painful, but she sees it all the time.

She sees something worse, though.

Fear.

And not day-to-day fear. This isn’t like hating needles or avoiding clown movies. Mike’s face is filled with the sort of wide-eyed, gripping, primal terror that seizes your insides in a vice. This is how you’d feel if your entire family were held captive in a dungeon, and a single word to the wrong person would spell their deaths.

Or how you’d feel if your ex-boyfriend were the corrupt government’s most desired fugitive… and you still fancied him very much, indeed.

“I… n-no idea,” Mike finally stutters, blinking. Then he sucks in a deep breath through his nose, his expression brightening again.

“So what do you and Henry do for work?” he asks in a booming voice, his grin now unnaturally wide. “We’ve got a carpool to the city if you’re interested. Reducing our carbon footprint is of utmost importance here in Arcadia!” He finishes by spreading his hands in each direction before placing them on his hips, that shit-eating grin still plastered across his face.

In another life, Ginny might’ve laughed. There certainly would have been a lot to cackle over, if she had the luxury of easy laughter. After all, she may as well be living in an am-dram nativity performance, complete with an overeager Joseph beckoning her to the stables after her harrowing desert journey.

Now, though, his reply only fills her with sad, professional detachment. Because fucking hell, how much did this poor man rehearse to get that line right?

She takes pity on him and snaps the bait. “My husband and I work from home,” she says, matching his volume. Someone’s clearly listening; it’s the least she can do. “You won’t see us out much.” Ginny brings the box to her hip. “And seriously, don’t worry about replacing the dishes, either. We mostly do takeaway.”

“No, let me bring you new ones,” Mike insists, his eyes pleading. “Tomorrow? Would that be—”

“What is this?” a voice demands from the back of the truck. Ginny peers around Mike’s shoulder. The man with the gray sideburns stares inside the lorry with a look of disgust.

“A trampoline!” Harry says, stepping aside as another neighbor races past. “We’re thrilled to put it in the garden, aren’t we, Jenny Cakes?”

Jenny Cakes. Is he fucking serious? Two can play at this game, prat.

“Indeed we are, Hen,” she croons, leaning into his side. “Jen and Hen.” She heaves a dreamy sigh and stares into his eyes. “We even rhyme!”

“Rhyming or not, this isn’t allowed,” the man barks, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’d have to apply for a special exemption with Mr Gogolak, but in the meantime…” He checks his watch. “5:53. Seven minutes. It’ll have to go in the garage tonight. I’m Oliver, by the way— Oliver Skinner.”

Harry gives him a theatrical scowl. “I’d say nice to meet you, but those who are enemies of trampolines are generally enemies of mine.”

Ginny bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, but Oliver remains unamused. He raises his pointer finger as if to say something, but Harry gets there first.

“Onnnnly kidding!” Harry winks and claps his shoulder. “Hope we can be fast friends, Oliver.”

Oliver just glares back. “Count on it.”

_______________________________________________________

Ginny’s taking this whole thing very seriously. Not that Harry blames her.

Her voice echoes against the walls of the empty home as she paces around the sitting room, her camera flipped outward to record.

Despite his five-year Auror career, Harry has no real concept of what Unspeakables do. Which, he supposes, is by design. He knows they… know things. Secret things. Things you’d be happier not knowing. He also knows that Kingsley isn’t fond of them. Or perhaps it’s Attica Monkstanley, Ginny’s boss, who King dislikes in particular. Attica’s famous for her refusal to disclose anything — ever. This ranges from potential terrorist plots to her favorite type of sandwich. Thus, Attica isn’t particularly popular. After a career built on helping absolutely no one outside her department, the request for Auror backup on an undisclosed, top-secret endeavor went over about as well as a hippogriff stampede in a posh tea room.

Harry sighs at the blank walls of their would-be living room. King’s in charge now. Big in charge. He or Robards were the obvious choices to accompany Ginny — sorry, Unspeakable GW — on this mission, but when you’re Big In Charge, you call the shots. The shot King called was to pass the assignment to Robards, who in turn passed it to Harry; Robards decided he didn’t need to (direct quote) “take off a week from pre-existing assignments for some fake marriage, new-build village bullshit in the arse-end of Muggle nowhere.”

Admittedly, Harry’s in a bit of a lull at the moment. He’d been assigned to track and recover Yaxley, but that trail went cold on the border of Romania. Harry’s certain he’s just beyond their reach, maybe hiding in a cave, but seeing as how Harry’s not Big In Charge, his opinion doesn’t exactly matter.

Which is precisely how he’s found himself in this bland house in the village of Arcadia, pretending to be married to his ex-girlfriend… who, incidentally, he’s still hopelessly infatuated with, even five years after he ended things.

Because Harry Potter is nothing if not pathetic.

There’d been no realistic way to decline the assignment, though. Not that he’d tried. Seriously, imagine explaining that to your boss: “Mm yeah, sorry King, I can’t do my job because I still wank to the memory of Unspeakable GW riding my—”

Ginny’s narration jerks him from his thoughts. “It’s 6:15 PM on our first day of the assignment,” she dictates into her phone. “Auror Potter and I are secured in the home, posing as Muggle couple Jenny and Henry Petri.”

“Pee-tri!” Harry corrects, throwing his voice across the room.

He hopes he’s loud enough for the camera to detect, but he isn’t exactly brave enough to find out. Harry picks up their empty curry boxes and scampers into the kitchen without so much as a backward glimpse. He may have been forced into this assignment, but he’ll be damned if he can't have a bit of fun.

Her narration stops as he dips out of sight; if Harry were the gambling sort, he’d bet all the gold in Gringotts that she shot him a two-fingered salute away from the camera.

For some fucked up reason, the thought stirs something warm and exciting that lies dormant in his stomach. What’s worse is this feeling almost makes him smile.

No.

Harry draws a breath as he enters the kitchen.

As Kingsley’s told him several times, this arrangement is strictly business— regardless of his past with her. And in retrospect, yeah, the whole setup is an easy way for King to A) refuse responsibility himself, and B) put Monkstanley in a tough spot if it goes pear-shaped.

Harry pops open the rubbish bin. This is just the sort of liability King’s always looking to avoid, really, but— wait. He blinks down into the bin to make sure he’s not just seeing things, but nope… for some reason, the interior is divided into three sections, each in a different color.

Huh! Harry mulls this over before picking the blue bin at random and tossing the containers in. Maybe he’d know what each color meant if he bothered to read the covenant rules. Fortunately, he had much more exciting plans that particular evening involving Ron, loads of butterbeer, and a Canons/Falcons match from hell.

Whatever. Surely Arcadia would make an effort to clearly explain their recycling system if they really cared about the planet.

He returns to the living room just as Ginny’s providing a more in-depth introduction. “Right. I’m Unspeakable GW, badge number”— her voice becomes garbled gibberish, an extra level of concealment, before slipping back to normal speech— “and we’re here to investigate the series of unexplained Muggle disappearances in the village of Arcadia. As this may involve a potential escapee from the Thought Chamber, the Department thought it best for me to investigate. The Thought Chamber’s been my area of expertise for four years…”

Harry sinks into the sofa as she continues; he’s unsure if he should be sad or impressed that this is teaching him more about her job than she ever shared. Not that she did this for long while they were actually together, mind. Nonetheless, his chest flutters again with that stupid bittersweet pride as Ginny scans the room with the phone camera. All of this pageantry is necessary for her job, he knows. Careful documentation. Detailed recordings.

But for fuck’s sake, look at how much she’s done! She’s the youngest Junior Unspeakable in history, soon to become Senior, if this mission works out. She’s composed, she’s eloquent, she’s graceful. Another smile threatens to break through before Harry suppresses it; he just hopes that there’s someone in her life to remind her of how special she is.

She’s really dressed for the part, too. Harry’s certain that none of this is actually in her wardrobe. Seeing her out of jeans and a jumper is off-putting, but she’s done it so damn well. She once told him that most of her clothing choices were based on how easily she could wear them flying.

He swallows the sadness creeping up his throat. He doesn’t even know if she still flies, but she doesn’t in this outfit, that’s for damn sure. Her trainers are impeccably white, with a floral button-up blouse done up to her neck. She’s a bit like a young, beautiful Aunt Petunia; Harry reckons this is more or less the goal, but when she turns around to describe the stairwell, his eyes drop to her arse.

Shit.

He glances away as quickly, but he got a good look. Her casual trousers are rolled at the ankles, but they’ve done nothing to make her look… plain. Harry shuffles on the sofa, desperate for anything else to think about. Somehow, Aunt Petunia’s face still puckers in his mind’s eye, but now he can’t escape the mental image of her bent over the oven of 4 Privet Drive, only this time sporting a round, perfect—

“Potter’s here for backup,” Ginny says, returning to the sitting room. “I’m on primary investigation.”

Thank God; he sighs at the welcome distraction before remembering that bantering with her has always been an effective palate cleanser. So he does that, instead.

“Well, you know what they say,” Harry calls, leaning back against the cushions. “There’s nothing less interesting than the suburbs. Which is why I could never do your job, Jen.” He ends with a wink, resting his hands behind his head.

Ginny arches a brow, holding the camera in front of her. “And please take note, Attica, that the next time this happens, I’ll be the one to choose the names.”

She means it casually… he knows she means it casually. But something in her words pricks him. Irritates him. Wedges beneath his skin.

“Quite an assumption I’ll ever spend this much time with you again,” Harry mutters under his breath.

Shit.

He freezes. He didn’t mean to say that out loud, at least not so… bitterly. Once upon a time, he possessed the social graces to think before replying like that— but days of interpersonal nuance are long gone. They belonged to a carefree teenager with few thoughts aside from the next time he’d run his fingers through the thick, red hair that currently swayed in a long ponytail.

By the time he looks back up at her, Ginny’s face is filled with disappointment. And she’s closed her phone.

“I’ll have to redo that last bit of filming,” she says with a sniff. “But for what it’s worth?” She raises her chin. “You didn’t mind spending time with me in the distant, distant past, Auror Potter.”

Ha!

That was a tremendous understatement.

He’d been in love with her. Stupidly. Disgustingly. The first six months after the war were a blur of sex and mourning. They’d been so punch drunk and delirious that they probably used each other’s bodies more than either of them knew. He really thought they’d have a future, though… that they’d end up getting married and buying a house. Except theirs would have been different than this one. Filled with far more character and history and warmth. Their home would have smelled like baking bread and sounded like kids giggling and felt like a soft blanket on a cold night.

But none of that had anything to do with the way he snapped. So why bring it up, really?

“Sorry,” Harry whispers, tucking his hands beneath his bum. “That… I didn’t mean. I’m sorry. I just meant that we don’t see each other much, and…” He lets out a slow breath. Best to stop talking before he digs himself deeper.

“I forgive you,” Ginny says quietly. A full second passes before she offers him a smirk. “As long as I can still call you Pookie Pie in front of the neighbors.”

Harry blinks at the carpet with a sad smile. “Deal.”

#harry/ginny #harry/ginny fanfic #fanfic #x-files #harry potter fanfiction

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tennessoui · 4 years ago

Note

oh my god literally every single prompt on that list is gold and i'd love to see your obikin take for all of them. hmmm... if i had to choose i guess first 13. co-stars au?? thank you lots of love !!!

ah bless!! thank you so much!! i'm slowly working my way through most of the prompts on that list so you might see many many more before I'm done with my ask box. I think after two more, I'll put em on ao3 to keep em more organized too. this has been soooo fun!!

13. Co-Stars AU(/7. Fake Relationship AU)(2.5 k)

“No.”

“Ani, darling, you can’t say no.”

“Don’t call me that. And secondly, I can. I just did. This is my personal life, the company has no control over that.”

“While you’re filming its movie and it’s giving you money, you’ll actually find that it does, Anakin.”

Anakin sits down heavily on the bench outside his trailer, leaning forward until he can put his head in his hands. He wants to run his fingers through the mess on his head, but they’re in between takes right now and the make-up department will definitely kill him if they have to fix him up again.

“Asajj, please. You know how hard it was to get to come out as bisexual. If the first person I date after that is a woman, no one will remember! It’ll just be completely erased, and I’ll be Anakin Skywalker, Playboy Actor again.”

“But you do like women,” Asajj points out. “So either way, you’d be confirming your sexuality.”

Anakin sighs and leans his head back against the metal of the trailer. “And it would be different if I was actually in love with Padme, but she’s just my co-star and--”

“Anakin, she’s your co-star. You’re in a blockbuster movie where you dramatically save her life and then kiss her as the credits roll. This is just business. You like her. You’re friends. Think of it less like dating, and more like going to grab lunch together. And coffee. Maybe a fancy dinner. Several times a week.”

“For how long?” Anakin asks, resigned and despairing and hating the fact that he ever got into acting.

Asajj sounds relieved. “Just until the movie’s out and sales are doing well.”

That could be months. That would be months. “And I have to?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Anakin doesn’t say it’s fine. It doesn’t feel like it is fine.

“They’re not looking for anything to be confirmed. If asked about your relationship with Padme, tell them you think she’s a great woman and you’re enjoying spending time with her. No comment on any sort of serious relationship.”

“Because a break-up afterwards might hurt the chances for a sequel?” Anakin asks drily.

“Exactly! We’ll get you a head for the business yet, Anakin. Okay, I have to go, but I’ll send you the information now, just so you know what you’ll be expected to do. We’re thinking a dinner tomorrow to start things off strong, and then slow afterwards!”

She hangs up before he can say anything else and he slumps back boneless against the metal trailer. God.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Padme. Ventress is right. They were friends before this project and Anakin knows they’ll be friends after as well. They genuinely get along, and it’s probably one of the reasons Anakin was cast in such a big name production: the chemistry between them when they’re acting is undeniable. She’s one of his favorite people in the entire industry.

“Anakin?” One of his other favorite people in the entire industry asks hesitantly from in front of him. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he says.

“May I sit?”

“Yeah,” he says.

Like he’d ever turn Obi-Wan Kenobi away.

“Are you wearing your costume?” he asks, without opening his eyes. Obi-Wan’s playing the villain of the movie, and Anakin has a hard time focusing on anything else when Obi-Wan’s around him wearing that skin-tight white turtleneck and cape combination, with his hair slicked back and fake glasses perched on his nose.

Obi-Wan sounds amused. “No, I’m finished for the day. Heading home now. You don’t have to see how silly I look today.”

Anakin smiles slightly, despite everything. In one of his better acting moments, he’d told Obi-Wan that his costume was distracting because it looked so funny on him. Really, it was just hot.

(Of course, Obi-Wan had taken his criticism seriously and gone to the director and the costume department. They had decided that it would make Obi-Wan’s character more threatening if he pushed up his sleeves in almost every scene to reveal heavily tattooed forearms. Anakin had hated himself and his big stupid mouth for days afterwards.)

“Is...there anything I can do to help, Anakin? I hate to see you like this,” Obi-Wan places a hand gently on Anakin’s knee, and Anakin has to fight a shiver at the touch.

They’d met at the script-reading for the movie, a handful of months ago. Anakin had set two clocks in his head the moment their hands grasped each other and Obi-Wan smiled charmingly up at him. “So you’re the one to kill me?” He’d winked. “Tall order.”

One clock signified the weeks it would take for him to fall in love with the older man. The starting number was pitifully small, but Anakin had been watching Obi-Wan’s movies and interviews for years before meeting him. He’d known something about the man, which of course had paled in comparison to knowing the man himself. They’d spent two weeks choreographing the steps of the final fight scene, just the two of them in a repurposed ballet studio.

Looking back, Anakin isn’t sure how he’d survived. And he had never wanted it to end.

Which is the other clock, still ticking down in his head. The moment filming ends, and they go their separate ways. They’ll probably keep in touch, but Anakin won’t see him constantly, won’t be able to lean into the weight of Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder, his knee, sometimes even on his cheek when he leans down in between takes to tell him how good of a job he’s done.

“Anakin?”

“Sorry,” Anakin snaps to the present. “Sorry. I was in my head. I. I don’t think so, no.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, tensing his hand as if he’s planning to remove it, which Anakin wouldn’t appreciate in the slightest.

“My agent says that the executives want me to date Padme. To drum up hype for the movie. Because I guess people will think it must be good if the co-stars start fucking each other?” He runs a hand across his face. “Um. Sorry, excuse my language.”

“Anakin, I’m forty-one, I think I’ve heard someone say fuck before,” Obi-Wan sounds amused again.

“Yeah, I just. Don’t want to? I guess maybe--I mean you probably didn’t see, but I came out as bisexual a year ago, and I haven’t dated anyone since, and I just know the way the rags will write about me and Padme if we’re seen together. And it’ll be like I just. Never came out.”

Obi-Wan makes a sympathetic noise but doesn’t interrupt. It’s one of the reasons Anakin loves talking to him.

“And my agent just sent me this contract, or I don’t know, list of things I have to do because there’s no way for me to get out of this and it just makes me feel trapped. But they don’t even want me to confirm if we're dating or not dating, they just want to create rumors about it, but it’s my life. I want to do what I want to do with my life, date who I want to date.”

“Do you...have anyone you want to date?” Obi-Wan asks, hand stilling from where he’s been casually rubbing circles on Anakin’s knee.

“No,” Anakin says too quickly and then grimaces. Does he really get paid for acting? He’s always so terrible at lying.

Obi-Wan hums. “I could...take a look at whatever papers your agent sent you?” He suggests. “I’m obviously not really an expert, but I have been in the business a fair bit longer than you.”

“You’re not that old,” Anakin responds by rote, but hesitates, curious despite himself. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“I’ve nothing planned tonight except to have a glass of wine and pet my cat, Anakin. It would be a pleasure to help you any way I could.”

“Okay,” Anakin says, reaching out to lay his hand gently on top of Obi-Wan’s. He’s never done that before, never responded so openly to Obi-Wan’s touches. It’s an amazing thrill.

Obi-Wan flips his hand around until they’re holding hands, basically. In the middle of a public area. God, Anakin’s letting his crush get the best of him when Obi-Wan isn’t even gay. “Thank you,” he says, standing up and pulling away from the older man. It’s the right thing to do. The last thing he wants is for Obi-Wan to think he’s...predatory.

A harried looking crew member spots him as he stands and gestures to him to get back to the set. He smiles ruefully at Obi-Wan who gives him an unreadable expression but also a soft goodbye.

Later, in between takes, he forwards Obi-Wan the emails Asajj sent him, both the papers and the message at the top that says “dress nice for tomorrow at Delfino’s!” followed by a little smiley face he can’t believe she’d ever mean.

He knows nothing’s going to come of it, but. But he has to try.

----

Padme’s dressed to the nines in front of him. He’d compliment her outfit, but he’s already complimented her hair and her make-up, and he thinks she’ll scream if he continues to act as stilted as he’s being now.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly after the waiter leaves with their drink orders. “I know I’m being--awkward. I just.”

They’re seated in the middle of the restaurant, and Anakin knows there’s two paps already outside, taking pictures through the windows. The rest will have arrived by the time they pay the bill and leave. It’s a circus and he’s the main event.

“I understand,” Padme responds, the angel that she is. “I don’t particularly want to be doing this either.”

Anakin presses his hand to his chest, jokingly wounded. “What are you trying to say, Padme, my beloved, my dearest?”

She laughs and he does too, but in the back of his head he can hear the sound of a camera’s shutter clicking. Everything feels fake, and he feels like he’s about to crawl out of his skin.

A hand lands on his shoulder with startling familiarity and for a second he thinks it’s a very brave member of the wait-staff, before Obi-Wan Kenobi is swinging into his field of vision, pulling up a chair from god knows where and sitting right in between Anakin and Padme, never once removing his hand from Anakin’s jacket.

“Sir--” someone says in distress, “This is a two-person table.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and looks down at the table. “Well it certainly can fit three, so I would go as far as to say that tonight it can be a three-person table. Anakin, what did you order to drink?”

“The house white,” Padme supplies when Anakin makes no move to respond, instead choosing to gape at Obi-Wan like a fish out of water.

“Excellent choice, darling,” Obi-Wan says, rubbing at his upper arm absent-mindedly. “I’ve never been here, tell me. Do you serve a good seafood dish?”

The waiter stammers. “We have an acclaimed oyster platter, sir--”

“Oysters?” Obi-Wan smiles at the man, all teeth. “The aphrodisiac? What are you trying to get these kids in the mood for?”

Anakin blushes. “Obi-Wan!” He hisses, aghast. Obi-Wan’s eyes cut to him for a second before he smirks back at the waiter.

“I’ll take the oysters for the main course,” he says dismissively.

Somehow it’s that sentence that tips Anakin off, more than anything else he’s done tonight. Obi-Wan spends hours talking to the people that run the crafts table. He would never be so cold or rude naturally. He’s...playing a character, one that Anakin recognizes as being the villain from their movie (although without all the blood and murder).

Anakin only recedes into personas when he’s nervous about something. Can the same be said for Obi-Wan?

Padme, at least, looks amused. “Hello, Obi-Wan,” she says. “I see you’ve decided to crash our very romantic date.”

“Well that’s interesting, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan replies, turning to face her but keeping his hand on Anakin, although it slides down to rest on the crook of his arm. “I had Anakin send me the paperwork, mild curiosity, you know how it is, and I realized the strangest thing while I was reading over it.”

“Oh?” Padme asks.

“It never states which co-star Anakin should be seen with, just that he must be seen with a leading actor. And I don’t want to focus on the numbers here, of course, but in the rough-cut of the movie, I have thirty-four minutes of screentime. And you, my dear, have thirty-two and fifteen seconds.”

“Tragic,” Padme says, taking a sip of her water. "You may be considered more of a leading actor than I am."

“Certainly,” Obi-Wan gives her a friendly smile. Anakin is still stuck on the fact that Obi-Wan is here, that he read the paperwork, that he’s arguing semantics for the purpose of--of--

“And I suppose you’re here to offer yourself as a replacement?” Padme asks, leaning her head on her hand as she watches the two of them.

“Only if Anakin wouldn’t mind,” Obi-Wan says, turning to face him.

Anakin isn’t sure what he’s thinking right now. “But you’re not interested in men.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan says.

“But...you’re not interested in me.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan says.

“You are?”

“Excuse me,” Padme says. “I’m going to go to the restroom.”

“We’ll wait to order until you come back,” Obi-Wan reassures her, without taking his eyes off of Anakin.

Anakin bites his lip and hesitantly brings his hand up to sit palm up on the table. Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate to intertwine their fingers again, like they had been just yesterday.

“I’m a very private person, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says quietly, all traces of any sort of persona dropped from his voice. “I’ve never come out, never wanted to. But I was so proud that you had when you did. And I--well. I suppose. You already get to fake-kiss Padme on screen, I thought that perhaps you’d like to try to fake-kiss someone else for a change.”

Anakin ducks his head and gathers his courage. He can’t not ask. A fake relationship with Padme would be awful, but one with Obi-Wan? That would be torture. Cruel and unusual punishment. He’s still reeling from the information that apparently Obi-Wan does like men and apparently he likes Anakin enough to come out for him.

But does he like Anakin enough to touch him and mean it? He has to know. He looks up at Obi-Wan’s earnest face from beneath his eyelashes. “What if I want to real-kiss you?”

Obi-Wan blinks, and a smile breaks out across his face. “Then you don’t even need to have to ask, darling. Kiss me all you want, if you’re okay with a clingy old man in your bed.”

“Not that old,” Anakin argues, smiling so hard he’s afraid his face will crack in two. “But I don’t want to kiss you tonight.”

Obi-Wan turns solemn, although his grip on Anakin remains tight. “We can go as slow as you’re comfortable with.”

“Oh, you can have me later,” Anakin says, waving his free hand in the air. “I just don’t want our first kiss to be for the cameras.”

Obi-Wan catches Anakin’s palm and brings it up to kiss lightly. “You’re right, Anakin. That should just be for you and me.”

The rough brush of his lips over his skin causes Anakin to shiver. He’s never felt so on edge, as if his body is a live-wire. “Good thing you ordered the oysters,” he mumbles, blushing bright red as Obi-Wan laughs loud enough to fill the whole restaurant with its sound.

#asks #my fics #obikin #the next prompt is gonna be wayyyy more angsty so enjoy the fluff rn is all im saying #prompt fill

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 4 years ago

Text

Happiness Continues

Part 8: 27 Weeks Pregnant

Summary: The guys and their wives take a drive up to Dallas for a Creation convention. The weekend goes great until an uninvited guest shows up.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 6.4K+

Warnings: Language, angst, stalker scenarios, psuedo-kidnapping

Author’s Note: I know this was uber delayed, but school... anyway I hope it lives up to your expectations. Congrats to @waywardbeanie @jensengirl83 and @akshi8278 on getting your questions into the fic and a huge thank you to everyone that participated. I wish I could have put all the questions in but it would have just been too long of a chapter. But please know I really do appreciate you all. The song sung in this chapter is by The Highwomen called Crowded Table, check it out if you’ve not heard it before. And of course many thank you’s to @emoryhemsworth for being the best beta xo Alex

Catch up with the series masterlist and then check out Alexandra’s Library for more by yours truly!

The sound of ice dropping from the refrigerator and into the metal thermos clanged around the kitchen. Once she was satisfied with the amount in her water bottle, she topped it off with water. As she turned around, screwing the lid into place, the soft hums of her husband could be heard as he came out of their bedroom, their suitcases trailing behind him.

“You know,” she started, the humming coming from her partner reminding her of something, “you still haven’t told me what song you chose to sing tonight.”

“And you know I told you it was a surprise,” he replied, placing the luggage out of the way and coming to stand next to her at the island.

“I hate surprises.”

“No, you don’t.” Dimples formed on his cheeks as he kept his smile tight-lipped, his wife rolling his eyes at her.

“Please! Just tell me,” she jutted out her lower lip in a vain attempt at mocking her brother’s puppy-eyed look.

“Fine, I chose “Having My Baby,’” Jensen sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“You did not! Please tell me you are kidding.”

“What’s wrong with Paul Anka? That song is a classic.” The actor stood up taller, his voice growing defensive.

“I hope to god you are kidding because believe me when I say that if you so much as mention your ‘seed’ in front of hundreds of fans, I’m taking this baby and I’m leaving.” Y/n pointed to the still-growing bump attached to her abdomen before flicking it towards the door, the most serious expression written on her face.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be? Fine,” Jensen cleared his throat, and she knew it was coming before he even had the chance to open his mouth again. “The need inside you, I see it showin’, oh, the seed inside you, baby, do you feel it growin’—”

Y/n’s hands flew to her ears, the ‘la, la, la’ falling from her lips in an attempt to drown him out. His face split into a wide grin as he snatched her wrists and pulled his wife into his chest, placing a soft kiss to her nose before her lips.

“You’d be so lucky, baby, but no, it’s a surprise. You will find out tonight, so let it go.” Jensen released her from his grip as the security system chimed. It noted movement near the garage door just before the couple heard the voice of her brother coming from the other end of the house.

“Let’s go, Ackles, we’ve got three antsy kids in the car and need to hit the road pronto!” Y/n snatched her backpack and water bottle from the counter as Jensen grabbed their bags and headed towards the garage. The guys took the bags to stuff them in the trunk as Y/n set the house alarm.

Jensen pulled open the passenger side rear door to the Padalecki’s SUV, helping his wife into her seat before climbing in the front passenger seat. They greeted Jared’s kids as the family set out on the road towards Dallas and the Supernatural convention.

****

The sign that flew by on the side of the highway indicated that Dallas was about eighty miles out still, giving them at least another hour until they made it. The kids had long since fallen asleep in the backseat, their bellies full of snacks and their distractions in hand. Y/n glanced back at them before digging out the bag of Goldfish she had packed for her snack. Before she could even get it completely open, her husband’s hand appeared between the side of the vehicle and the seat, palm up. The woman chuckled before dumping a handful into his hand. He transferred the crackers to his left hand before returning his right to its original place to rest it on her calf. Jensen ran his fingers up and down her leg, the action soothing to both of them.

From the seat next to her, Y/n could see her sister-in-law turned to her, a knowing grin on her face. For being an actress, Gen sure did have an awful poker face.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just really happy you two found each other,” the smile on Gen’s face growing wider as she spoke, the eyes of the men in the front seats flickering back to her. Jared glanced over from the driver’s seat just quick enough to see what Gen was referring to. There was a twitch of a smile on his face too before he covered it up to fake a gag. “Speaking of, how was Toronto?”

“Oh, I’m in love with Toronto!” Y/n gushed, her mind going back to the trip she made to visit her husband on set. Because of the break-in, they were making up filming days and he couldn’t get away, so the couple decided to celebrate their first anniversary together with her going to visit him. “The city is so beautiful, albeit not as beautiful as Vancouver, but there is just something about it. It reminds me of New York a lot, but like, cleaner.”

“You two had a good weekend?”

“We did. Jensen took me to Alo for dinner, and I know I’m pregnant, but it was the best food I’ve ever had in my life. I wanted to take the chef home with me.” Thinking back to the dish she had, Y/n ran a hand across her abdomen, the memory of her baby coming to life after the meal making her smile to herself.

“I believe you, even if there is something about being pregnant that just makes everything taste better,” Gen giggled along with her sister-in-law, the two of them sharing a secret that their husbands would never understand. “I’m glad you had a good time with what you had.”

“Well, either way, I was going into my third trimester. I was not up for some extravagant trip across the globe. My back hurts too much to pretend to be relaxed.” As she thought about the way her body had continued to change as the finish line came onto the horizon, it was like her body throbbed in response. The makeup artist flexed her limbs, rolling out the kinks from sitting for too long in one position.

“I’m sorry girl, but it only gets worse from here,” Gen scrunched her nose, wishing she could tell her anything but the truth.

Y/n sighed, the action rolling through her whole body, “I was afraid of that.”

****

Clif was waiting at the back doors to the convention center of the Hilton where Creation was hosting their convention this weekend. He was there to escort them all inside as well as stay with Gen and Y/n during the show. Creation provided their own security for Jensen and Jared, so Clif was more than happy to spend time with his favorite girls. They were running a tad late, having hit traffic after dropping the kids off with Jensen’s parents who had graciously offered to babysit.

“Hey, kid,” Clif greeted Y/n with a bear hug once they were inside, his large arms engulfing her and squeezing tight. “Let me look at ya.”

Y/n stepped back as he released her, running a hand over her now unmistakable bump to emphasize it underneath her maternity clothes. “Not much of a kid anymore.”

“No, you aren’t, are ya? Went and let this idiot over here corrupt you.” Clif locked his arm around Jensen’s neck, bringing him into his chest to ruffle his hair with the opposite hand. The group laughed and Jensen struggled to get out of his hold, his hands immediately flying to fix his hair once Clif relented.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Jared,” Jensen scowled at his friends, who shared a look and a shrug. He took his wife’s hand and moved to continue down the hall before pausing to turn back. “And I’ll have you know, she was already corrupted when I got ahold of her. All I had to do was sit back and enjoy the ride.”

A gasp of her husband’s name fell from her open mouth as he tossed everyone a wink and pulled Y/n deeper into the hotel. Her surprise morphed into a giggle as he pulled her along, her cheeks flaring with residual embarrassment. Her family was bound to push him too far one of these days, and she was just waiting for him to drop some sort of bomb on their unsuspecting ears. She just hadn’t anticipated it would be today.

Jensen had been in a particularly good mood since that morning. Y/n couldn’t place whether it was the excitement of being at a convention again or if it was being home, but whatever had him smiling like an idiot she was thankful for. Jensen’s attitude had always been infectious, and right now she was thriving off of it, the joy of being able to make her forget about her swollen ankles and face. It was nice to be in the moment for once.

Louden Swain was already starting their soundcheck on the main stage as she and Jensen entered the hall. Y/n let Jensen go and went to sit in the chairs in the front row to watch them busy themselves around the stage. She was alone until Clif, Jared, and Gen caught up and joined her in the seats. It didn’t take long for the band to run through everything with all their guest stars who would be performing with them. Jensen did a quick verse from “Like A Wrecking Ball” before also joining those that were in the audience.

The fans could be heard already outside the doors to the hall, their excitement palpable even from a couple of hundred feet away. Not that she blamed them, Louden Swain always put on an amazing show, as did the rest of the cast who chose to join them. Her husband was obviously her favorite to watch; the rough honey trickle of his voice had a way of splitting her soul in half. After that, she was obsessed with watching Briana. The woman was a powerhouse and had a way of captivating everyone watching her. It was no secret that she often found herself on YouTube watching Bri and her husband dueting “Shallow,” making it her most-watched video by far.

Everyone was escorted to the green room while fans filled the hall, then Clif escorted them back to watch from the sidelines once the lights went down. They took a seat in the chairs that had been put aside for them against the wall, joining in the squeals of the audience when the guys took the stage.

Louden Swain captivated everyone with their songs and stage presence, as per usual, but when Rob introduced Jensen onto the stage, it was like a train had just rammed into the wall of the hotel. She could feel the floor shaking underneath the insanity that ripped through his fans in the seats of the audience.

“Well, good evening Dallas!” Jensen bounded on the stage, the leather jacket he was wearing somehow looking that much better in the lights of the stage. The Texan pulled Rob into a tight hug before taking his place in front of the microphone stand. The stubble that had arrived in just a few days of not shaving was more evident on his jaw and neck as he craned it sideways to work the stand up to his height. Y/n had to admit he looked absolutely scrumptious.

“I’ve got a new song for you guys tonight that the guys have been so gracious to learn for me.” Jensen paused for the screams from the crowd before continuing his introduction. “This one is for my wife. I love you, honey.” He cast his eyes to where she was seated, watching the smile that spread across his features and letting it calm her anxious heart.

You can hold my hand

When you need to let go

I can be your mountain

When you're feeling valley-low

I can be your streetlight

Showing you the way home

You can hold my hand

When you need to let go

I want a house with a crowded table

And a place by the fire for everyone

Let us take on the world while we’re young and able

And bring us back together when the day is done

Jensen’s foot tapped against the stage as he found his groove in the first verse. Almost instantly, Y/n recognized the opening chords to the song making her heart flutter in her chest. She’d first discovered this song before they’d even found out they were expecting. There was an instant connection to the lyrics, and in typical Y/n fashion, she had played the song on repeat until she knew the lyrics backward and forwards. She really couldn’t believe he’d remembered it.

If we want a garden

We’re gonna have to sow the seed

Plant a little happiness

Let the roots run deep

If it’s love that we give

Then it’s love that we reap

If we want a garden

We're gonna have to sow the seed

After everything the two of them had been through the past few months, the lyrics falling from his lips brought tears to her eyes. She chose to completely ignore the fact that she was pregnant. This was his way of reminding her of that night and the promise he’d made. The actor was more than ready to start a family with her, and he would keep reminding her until he ran out of breath.

The door is always open

Your picture’s on my wall

Everyone’s a little broken

And everyone belongs

Yeah, everyone belongs

I want a house with a crowded table

And a place by the fire for everyone

Let us take on the world while we’re young and able

And bring us back together when the day is done

If Y/n thought that the screams that greeted Jensen on the stage were deafening, it had nothing on the roar that now filled the hall, never mind the thrumming of her heart in her chest. She was sure time had stopped. Her husband blew a kiss to the audience before bowing off stage. It was his disappearance from before the mic that had on her feet without a second thought, chasing after him behind the stage and to the green room.

She burst through the doors, her eyes meeting his as he turned to the sound of the latch. Without a second thought to the others in the room, the pregnant woman launched herself into her husband’s arms. Both of them dug their faces into the embrace, knowing just what the other needed at that moment.

“You’re right, I did love this surprise,” she mumbled against his neck. Jensen ran a hand down her hair, his arms instinctively squeezing her tighter to him as she spoke.

“Anything for you, babe.”

****

Behind the scenes of conventions was far less exhilarating for the guests than it was for the fans attending. It was quiet in the green room, most people eating or napping in between events they were to attend, which was why Y/n and Gen chose to stay behind the next morning and let the kids sleep in as much as possible. The guys were up at the crack of dawn to get to the hotel in time for the gold panel, and neither wanted to deal with pulling three little ones out of bed that early.

It was nearly midday by the time the girls had wrangled the kids into the car and to the hotel. Clif met them at the back door much like he had done the night before, ready to escort them wherever they wanted to go. When they arrived in the green room, the guys were off to their respective photo op rooms.

The kids took center stage when they got there, livening up the room in an instant. Odette fed off the attention far more than her brothers did but being the youngest, that didn’t come as a shock to anyone. Y/n wanted to hit the vendor’s room before her husband got back and they had to be on stage for the main panel. There were often hidden gems at some of the booths and she wanted to support the small business that set up there. She invited Gen to join her, and naturally, Odette wanted to tag along. The two of them left the boys in the capable hands of Kim and Briana before grabbing Clif and heading out.

The room was bustling with people who were in between activities when they entered. Y/n picked up the small girl and put her on her hip so she could keep better track of her, not that Odette protested. They made their way to a booth surrounded by original artwork. Most of the displayed pieces were Supernatural related, but there were a few other pieces that encompassed other shows and movies, as well as art that encompassed just about anything else. Y/n got the artist’s information, intending to order an original piece from her.

From there, it didn’t take long for the room to realize who had joined them. The hushed whispers of the con attendees could be heard as they moved on to a shop that sold handmade jewelry. Luckily the looming presence of Clif was enough to keep people at bay. He was very good at subtly guiding those who dared to walk up to them away from the scene. Right now they preferred peace and would greet some people once they were finished looking.

Gen bought something from the jeweler for Odette, seeing as once the toddler set her mind to something, she was relentless. Then the trio moved on to a few more booths before acknowledging the fans in the room. Clif took Odette from Y/n while the wives talked with some people in the room. There were many congratulations and asks for photos which Y/n politely declined while Gen agreed.

With a glance at her watch, Y/n signaled to Gen it was time to head back. They said goodbye to the fans and headed back to the green room. Jared and Jensen were back already when they entered, eating a quick snack before they had to go back on stage.

Jensen pushed his chair back from the table when he spotted his wife. He patted his thigh as she made her way towards him and she took a tentative seat in his lap. The actor placed a kiss on the underside of her jaw before offering her the food on his plate. She decided on a carrot, biting into the hard vegetable as her husband spoke.

“I missed you this morning.”

“I know, I missed you too. Still hate waking up to an empty bed,” she frowned, tossing the other half of the carrot in her mouth.

“Just a few more weeks, then I’m done and it’s just you, me, and this baby,” Jensen promised, resting his large hand over her growing abdomen. He ran his thumb over the swell of her stomach as she contemplated his words.

“Promise?” She cocked her head, knowing full well he intended every word. Before he could answer, the Creation handlers appeared to grab the boys and bring them to the stage.

“Promise,” he kissed her again before urging her off his lap so they could head out. Gen rounded up the kids to go and Jared picked up his daughter to carry her out to the show. Jensen and Y/n walked hand in hand down the back hallway until they had to go separate ways. Jared handed Odette over to his wife and they were off to get show-ready.

The girls and the kids followed behind Clif and took the empty seats in the front row far off on the right side of the stage, the lights lowering just as they were getting settled. Rob and Rich appeared and did their usual bit before introducing the boys onto the stage.

Watching them together was something Y/n always enjoyed. The two actors played off of each other so well and never failed to make her chuckle. Especially now, she loved that after everything that had happened, their relationship was not hindered. They were truly brothers on and off camera, and Y/n couldn’t ask for anything better.

Jensen went to his usual chair on the right side of the stage, pulling it more forward and center before sitting down as the crowd continued to cheer for them. Jared followed suit, spinning his chair around and putting as close to Jensen’s as was humanly possible. Her husband frowned and leaned away from Jared, who only played along and leaned into his best friend.

Jensen brought the mic to his lips and scowled, “Dude, why are you so close to me?”

“Cause we’re family now, officially bonded by blood,” Jared retorted, still trying to lean into Jensen as he continued to pull away. The older man rolled his eyes at his brother-in-law’s antics but couldn’t fight the smile on his face as the crowd cheered at Jared’s words.

“Don’t remind me.” Jared leaned into Jensen, whispering something in his ear before the pair shared another laugh. Jared spun around and started the questioning. They got a few typical questions about Supernatural and the final season, nothing too crazy, but one specifically piqued Y/n’s interest.

The girl asking the question stood not even twenty feet from her at the mic on the right side of the room. “My question is for Jensen.” Her voice was steady, but she was looking at her feet as she spoke. “Now that you are on The Boys, the show has far more carnage than Supernatural, and you have said in the past that you dislike being covered in fake blood, so I was wondering if you have come to terms with it, or has your hatred only grown?”

Jensen threw his head back in laughter at her question, surprised that he hadn’t been asked it before today. “Well, you are right, I have not been shy about my contempt of stage blood, but nowadays I do find it far less annoying than I once did. I think I got over it filming season fifteen. There is nothing like staring at a beautiful woman to take your mind off of the stickiness. Y/n was a great distraction.”

“Alright, that’s my baby sister you are talking about,” Jared faked a gag before dropping his mic in his usual fashion as the crowd let out a collective ‘awe.’ Jensen shrugged before moving on to the next question. He rounded to the next fan on the opposite side of the stage.

“Hi,” the boys said in unison, bright smiles on their faces for the girl.

“First of all, I want to congratulate Jensen on the pregnancy. So, my question is for Jensen and Jared. Jensen, since you learned about the pregnancy, has your perception of life and love changed, and if so, how? And for Jared, being a father yourself, what are some things or advice you would like to share with Jensen? How has becoming a dad changed you? Thank you!” The girl stuttered around her words, her nerves of having the guy’s undivided attention seeping through her voice.

“What?!” Jared dropped his jaw as he turned his head back to look at his brother in law in the seat next to him. “You’re pregnant?”

Jensen leaned back in his chair and ran a hand down his torso, “Do you think I’m showing yet?”

“No dude, you look good, women everywhere hate you.” The duo fell into a fit of laughter, their heads were thrown back in unison at their stupid joke. Naturally, the whole crowd joined in. How could one not when those two were cracking up? It was infectious.

“I’m sorry about my friend here. Thank you, we are very excited.” Jensen leaned around Jared to smile at the fan that stood with a Random Acts volunteer’s arm around her shoulders. “As for your question, it didn’t really hit me until we heard the baby’s heartbeat for the first time. Anyone who has kids knows how important that moment is. I never thought I could love my wife more than I already did, but there is something about looking at the woman you love carrying your child. It’s a completely different kind of connection to another human being. As for our baby, well, she was just a flicker on the screen then, but I knew there was nothing I wouldn’t do for that flicker.”

“Y/n is gonna kill you later for saying ‘she,’” Jared cut in, but Jensen just smirked knowingly. The man always had to cut the emotion with a joke, something the pair of them had in common. Life was too short to always be so serious anyway.

“Well, what about you dad?”

“What are you talking about?”

“She asked you a question too, so answer it,” Jensen reminded his costar, much to the amusement of everyone around them.

“Oh yeah. Well, I’ve given Jensen tons of advice. He’s constantly coming to me for my superior wisdom.” Jensen frowned behind him, his eye roll visible even from the back of the room. “Nah, but in all seriousness, the best piece of advice I could ever give him would be to just be there for your wife, whatever she needs. She just gave you a child, the least you could do is get her some water and snacks during feedings.”

In the shadows of the audience, Gen leaned over to Y/n, whispering in her ear, “I think he’s done that maybe twice.” Y/n laughed along with her friend, knowing full well that sounded just like Jared.

“Being a dad has taught me an abundance of patience and understanding. While they are your kids, they are also humans with real feelings and thoughts. It’s important to listen to your children, and I mean really listen to them. It’s not easy some days, but what they’ll remember in twenty years is whether mom and dad were there or not, so that’s what’s most important to me.” The girl whispered a shaky ‘thank you’ to the guys before they moved on. There were more questions about Supernatural, Walker, and The Boys, but what Y/n didn’t expect was another question regarding her, the words cutting her like ice as they left the fan’s mouth.

"Now that Y/N is pregnant, how hard is it being away from her while filming? How do you handle the emotions of being away from your wife in this kind of situation?" The fan had a bright smile on her face as she asked a question that was sure to have the fans falling even more in love with her husband and the amazing man he was.

Gen’s hand fell on her shoulder as she noticed her sister-in-law’s body tense, awaiting the answer from the actor on stage. Jensen turned his gaze to her, offering a small smile to her before turning back to the fan.

“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I feel like I’m dumping everything on her shoulders and leaving her to figure it out alone, and I hate that. You know, I made a promise to her on our wedding day that I would always be there for her, and I feel like I’m breaking that promise. On the nights that the baby is rolling around and not letting her get any sleep, she will FaceTime me to show me, and anyone who’s ever seen this knows it’s just as cool as it is creepy when it looks like the kid is trying to escape from her stomach.” Jared nodded in agreement alongside him as the audience laughed at his admission. “My heart clenches in those moments because I know there are a hundred other moments that I don’t get to be there for, but even more so that my wife doesn’t get to have me next to her for. I know it’s just as hard on her, experiencing all these new milestones alone. We are both just very lucky that she has Jared and Gen so close. Those two have been her rock through this whole thing.”

“If there is anyone who can handle it, it’s Y/n,” Jared cut in, sensing his friend’s growing discomfort. “My sister is one of the strongest women I know, so don’t worry about her too much, Jay.”

“Right, yes my mistake, what was I thinking worrying about my pregnant wife?” The shorter Texan played up his words with a stiff nod of his head, much to the enjoyment of the crowd. The guys thanked the fan for her question just as Rob and Rich came back on stage, starting up the last question song. Y/n excused herself then to go to the restroom, assuring Clif she’d be okay and she would be right back, imploring him to stay with Gen and the kids.

The pregnant woman slipped past Creation security near the stage to the hall that led to the bathrooms. She sped down the hall on her toes, the urgency not hitting her until she stood up. Her mind was focused on getting to the bathroom, unconcerned about anything else until she was inside the first open stall. Y/n took care of her business, coming out of the stall to a figure standing directly across from her at the sinks. Her eyes trailed up the broad person who had their back to her until she met their eyes in the mirror.

“No!” The gasp left her lips, her feet instinctively stepping backward until her back hit the stall.

“Hi, Y/n,” the man’s voice was rough, the sound of grating against every nerve in her body. It perfectly matched the smirk that he held as he turned to face her, the same smirk that had been haunting her dreams for weeks now. The woman swallowed around the lump in her throat as her pulse rose, the thrum of it beating behind her ears.

“How?” It was the only thing she could force past her lips as her mind raced through all the possible outcomes of this encounter. If anything, she was trying to buy time until someone came looking for her, but she had no idea how long that could be.

“I expected a hello, but I guess I can’t really blame you,” the guy shrugged, his nonchalance unsettling Y/n even more than she already was. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time now.”

“Waiting for me?”

“It was only a matter of time before we found our way to each other,” he took a step closer to Y/n, her heart skipping in her chest at the action. No matter how frightened she was at this moment, Y/n refused to back down. Instead, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin at the man.

“Wh-what do you want?” Her tongue tripped over her words and the woman fought to control her breaths, letting the air out slowly through her nose as she refused to look away from the stalker across from her.

“I want you. It’s always been you. For years I’ve waited for you to come to your senses about that actor you call your husband, but it seems you may need a little push,” he explained as his feet began to pace in a line, cutting off her only route to the door of the bathroom, to her freedom.

“Excuse me?” Y/n was genuinely confused now, her adrenaline-soaked brain struggling to comprehend what he was telling her.

“He’s all wrong for you. The bastard married you and ran off to Canada the second he could, leaving you to tend to his house, and now look at you, knocked up with his spawn and he still could give a rat’s ass about you.” The man’s voice was rising in tone as he became agitated, with what exactly she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want to stick around to find out.

“My husband loves me—”

“No!” He rounded on her, his pacing halted as he looked at her. “He’s poison. He doesn’t care about you or your career, he only cares about what you can do for him, but me? I’ve been your number one fan since the beginning. With me, your possibilities are limitless. Nobody could stop us.”

It was now even more apparent to her at that moment that this guy was far more unhinged than she had originally thought. He believed with every fiber of his being that what he was saying was the truth, she could see it in the fire raging behind his eyes. It was the same fire that had her biting her tongue from firing back. She had more than just herself to think about in this situation, and she had no one way of knowing how he would react, but she also knew that staying in that bathroom was not an option either.

It was now or never. He was no longer pacing across her escape route, and she wasn’t that far from the door. If she could at least get on the other side of it, she could create a commotion to draw attention. The second his eyes flickered from her own, she leaped into action, setting her focus on the door, and only the door. As her fingers wrapped around the handle, she felt his rough grip on her bicep. She was only able to get the door open a fraction of an inch, but it was enough. Her frantic eyes met with the shocked ones of Gen and Clif on the other side of the door.

“Damn it!” He hollered as he yanked her back. The door didn’t even have time to close before Clif was pushing his way into the bathroom after her, watching as Y/n stumbled and nearly fell on her ass from the force of the stranger’s pull.

“Alright, let her go,” Clif’s voice was calm and demanding as he assessed the scene in front of him. “Don’t make this worse for you than it already is.”

“You make it sound so easy,” the guy chuckled dryly, the sound of it finally breaking whatever false sense of confidence Y/n had created. Preparing for a struggle, she squeezed her eyes shut, the action sending the welled up tears cascading down her cheeks.

“It is that easy. Because trust me, if you hurt her, it will be the last thing you ever do.” The sound of the bathroom door opening again had her opening her eyes, a few of Creation’s security guards filing in to back up Clif. Knowing he was outnumbered, the man roughly released his grip on Y/n’s arm. The pregnant woman scrambled away from him, past security, and out into the hallway.

“Y/n...” The sudden grip around her wrist startled the traumatized woman, her body reacting against it until her gaze met the familiar green eyes of her husband. Her body relaxed in an instant, throwing her into his arms as a sob racked through her body. Jensen squeezed his wife in his arms, holding her shaking frame close to his chest as she let out all her emotions. He shared a look with Jared before burying himself into her as well, just as relieved to have her back as she was to be free.

It had only been about thirty seconds since Gen had come running back from checking on Y/n to tell them that something was wrong, but it was all it took. He felt his heart sink as he looked at the fear in Gen’s eyes. He and Jared were up from their chairs like lightning, allowing their long legs to get them to the bathroom with security hot on their tail. It killed him to have to wait outside, but he knew it was the best chance of getting her out of there safely, so he bit his tongue and did as he was told. None of that mattered now anyway, she was safe in his arms, and that was the most important thing.

It felt like an eternity later when the cops showed up, taking the place of the unarmed security detail. They emerged with the guy in cuffs, a deep scowl on his face as he was carted out of the hotel, Clif and the security following behind.

“Clif, what the fuck happened?!” Jensen growled, fury about the day’s events creeping upon him, seeing the guy that had his hands on his wife only fanning the fire in his belly.

“I’m sorry, Jensen—” Clif's words were cut off by the raging actor.

“You’re sorry? You were supposed to be protecting her!” Y/n lifted her head from her husband’s shoulder, using the back of her sleeve to wipe away the tears and snot from her face. The man’s whole body was tense, the anger rolling off of him of barely perceptible vibrations.

“Hey, Jay,” she put her hands on his face, making him look at her. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze from Clif to look at his wife, his face softening as he took in her fragile state. “It’s not his fault. I told him to stay with Gen.”

“Y/n/n...”

“No. Clif is not to blame right now and you know it,” Y/n lowered her voice, the little bit of sternness she was able to muster dissipating. “You’re scared and I am too, but don’t take that out on him.” Jensen nodded at her, leaning in to kiss her forehead with trembling lips.

“I’m sorry, Clif,” Jensen breathed, his eyes opening slowly to look back up at his long time friend. Still trying to come to his senses over what had just happened, he had one arm around his wife, refusing to break contact with her. The fear of being out of control was still too overpowering.

“It’s okay, I understand.” The two men shared a nod. Emotions were still on high, and everyone needed a moment to take in the events that had just transpired. Before anything else could be said, one of the cops cut through the tense scene playing out in the middle of the hotel hallway. He had a concerned look on his face, but he had a job to do too.

“Ma’am, can I ask you a couple of questions?”

Main Panel Timestamps x/x

Part 9: 35 Weeks Pregnant

Forevers: @22sarah08 @akshi8278 @anathewierdo @atc74 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @callmekda @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @janicho88 @jensengirl83 @katehuntington @lyarr24 @malfoysqueen14 @miss-nerd95 @mrsjenniferwinchester @msmarvelouswinchester @polina-93 @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @smol-and-grumpy @suckmyapplejacks @superfanficnatural @supraveng @talesmaniac89 @tranquility-or-chaos @waywardbeanie @winchest09

Happiness Continues: @afangirlreacts @anaelsbrunette @ashleyrose0117 @austin-winchester67 @deanbowlegsackles @deangirl93 @deans-baby-momma @death-unbecomes-you @dvnmbabe @fangirl199813 @harryhook-lover @hoboal87 @itsdesiree86 @jbsgirl4eber11 @let-me-luve-you @lunarmoon8 @neverland14353 @onethirstyunicorn @parinarain @rebeccathefangirl @rebelemilu @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @stoneyggirl @squirrelnotsam @traceyaudette @winchestergirl82 @winqhster @zpandaqueen

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fangirlandiknowit101 · 3 years ago

Text

Here's the sad pining sasuke i wrote last night... it's not finished and who knows when/if i'll finish it. university AU, not edited and there's some naru//hina and sasuke//OC bc i couldn't think of a canon character that fit. The texting part is also weird bc i wrote it all very fast lol. i'm sharing bc why not *shrugs*

xxx

It hurts, to look at them.

Sasuke can’t help himself. Naruto is his best friend, after all, and he’s not yet so desperate that he’ll avoid him. It’s worse, somehow, that he can’t even dislike her.

She’s good for him, he thinks, when he’s feeling particularly self-deprecating. Her hair is dark and her skin pale as porcelain, and that’s where the similarities end between him and Hinata.

Sweet, and so patient with Naruto. Soft-spoken, but not a pushover. Impeccably dressed, always, no make-up needed to outshine any girl beside her. A picture perfect couple, that’s what they are. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t have to watch it unfold from the front row.

How her shyness turned to surety, how her eyes would catch on Naruto and look away before, but now – now she looks at him like he belongs to her, soft smile on her plump lips.

Sasuke can’t even hate her, and he wishes he could.

It’s not her fault that Sasuke is the way he is. She doesn’t know, isn’t doing it on purpose. And yet, there’s a stab to Sasuke’s chest every time she takes his hand, every time Naruto tucks her silky hair behind her perfect ear.

Naruto will kiss her cheek and Sasuke will be looking, always looking. His face devoid of emotion, his voice carefully neutral. He can’t be mean to Naruto’s girlfriend, though he wishes he could. Maybe if Naruto got mad at him and pushed him away, Sasuke would be free to move on.

It’s more likely that Sasuke would apologize and do better, and he’d rather spare himself the embarrassment.

Sometimes he imagines that Hinata will find out, that she’ll start treating him with suspicion, watch his every move with her wide eyes. Feel threatened by him. But Sasuke is no threat. He’s tired and hurting, but he’s not a homewrecker. It would be a lot easier if Naruto didn’t keep nudging him in Sakura’s direction.

It’s not Sakura’s fault, either. She’s dreaming of something she can’t have, and the similarities make him sick to his stomach.

Sometimes he thinks he’ll date her, live the lie to the fullest. Give her what she wants, since he’s doomed anyway. He doubts he’d last long, though. If he had even the slightest bit of interest in women – but when he looks at her, there’s just no attraction. He’s not sure how no one’s noticed yet. It’s not like he’s that good of an actor. He thinks the only reason no one’s figured it out is because he’s so deep in the closet, and they’re all so heterosexual. Why would they suspect he’s gay? It suits them better if he isn’t.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was that late already,” Sakura says beside him, breaking him out of his thoughts.

The bar is lively around them, but the music is at a bearable noise level. She’s looking at her phone, frowning. On the other side of the small table, Naruto pouts.

“It’s not late!” he objects, the beer in his glass sloshing around as he waves his hands around. “We just got here!”

“We’ve been here for three hours, I think,” Hinata says, leaning her cheek on his shoulder.

Sasuke wonders how she manages, the way he moves around so much. Perhaps her body is as soft as her voice, easily following him.

“I told you I have to get up early tomorrow.” Sakura sighs, irritated. She fishes her bag up from the floor, putting her phone inside it. “I really have to get going.”

“I’ll walk you to the station,” Sasuke offers. Not because he particularly wants to, but he’s not in the mood to subject himself to third-wheeling Naruto and Hinata. “I should get going, anyway.”

“What?” Naruto looks disappointed, more disappointed than when Sakura announced her departure. “I thought you were free tomorrow.”

Rolling his eyes, Sasuke swallows down the last of his drink.

“Doesn’t mean I want to stay up all night,” he counters with, easing out of the booth. “I still have to study.”

“You study too much,” Naruto mutters, giving Hinata a smile like an afterthought when she squeezes his arm.

“Maybe if you studied at all you wouldn’t need to panic before every exam,” Sakura nags at him, coming around the table to wait next to Sasuke. “Some of us care about our grades.”

“Nerds.” At least Naruto looks a little happier, and Sasuke hates to think that it’s because he thinks anything’s going to happen between him and Sakura. “Don’t get lost, you two!”

They say their goodbyes, and Sasuke tries to pretend he doesn’t notice how Sakura’s cheeks fill with color when they step outside the bar. She’s put a jacket on, but Sasuke’s fine in his sweater. It’s not cold enough that her blush can be blamed on the weather.

“Thanks for walking me,” she says, hefting her bag higher up her shoulder. She’d joined them straight from the library, researching her latest paper. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s fine,” he tells her, hands tucked into his sleeves.

He doesn’t want to run the risk of her attempting to reach for his hand. As much as he dislikes her attention, it’s safer if she thinks he’s just playing hard to get. He won’t have to explain, then, why he hasn’t outright told her to give up. He should, he knows. But Naruto would just nudge him towards some other girl, would bother him about it until Sasuke started going on actual dates. It’s touching, how worried he is over Sasuke potentially being lonely.

Too bad Naruto himself is the cause of it.

“You’re not doing anything tomorrow, then?” Sakura asks, stepping aside as they meet a group of half-drunk businessmen. “I’m working until five…”

It would be so easy to invite her out. To suggest a movie, or trying out that new café near campus. To watch her eyes light up with hope, watch her mouth stretch into an excited smile.

“I really do need to study,” he says. “And I’m almost out of clean clothes.”

None of it is a lie, technically. He’s just not sure he’ll actually do either of those things tomorrow.

“Oh.”

She tries to hide her disappointment, and Sasuke is an expert by now at pretending he doesn’t notice. They walk the rest of the way in silence, waving a quick goodbye at the ticket gates as Sakura’s train is due to arrive in just two minutes. Sasuke buys a drink from a vending machine and takes small sips as he waits for his own, mindlessly scrolling through social media. He almost ignores the text Naruto sends.

> Wanna hang out tomorrow?

He contemplates it. On the one hand, yes, of course he wants to. On the other, having an entire day to himself has its appeal.

> I’ll be busy

> Ooh, with sakura?

The train arrives, and Sasuke snags a seat next to a couple too caught up with each other to pay attention to him.

> No

> Got studying and laundry to do

The reply is instant.

> That’s too boring!!! I’m coming over for lunch

> Whatever

He pockets his phone, and stares down at the bottle in his hands for the rest of the trip. It doesn’t help against the warmth rising in his chest. At least he doesn’t do this to Sakura – doesn’t invite himself into her space, ignorant of her feelings. It doesn’t make him feel better.

xxx

Sasuke doesn’t have a lot of friends. He’s got Naruto, and then there’s his small group of friends from high school. Naruto is the only one who still lives nearby. Rather, Sasuke had ended up staying in Konoha like him. It’s a big enough city that most of his classmates are strangers, although slightly less so in their second year. He stayed with his parents for his first year, but when one of his cousins moved abroad for work he took the opportunity to stay at her apartment instead. It’s closer to his university, and if he, potentially, wanted to bring a guy home then no one would know.

He doesn’t think his parents would mind, but there wouldn’t be any privacy. He relishes in it, and Naruto does, too.

“I should just move in with you,” Naruto groans, spread out on his couch. “You wouldn’t believe how annoying my mom was this morning.”

“I think I can believe it,” Sasuke tells him, cleaning up after their lunch. “And just to be clear, I’ve never said you’d be welcome to live here.”

“Stingy,” Naruto grumbles. “How long is your cousin gone, anyway?”

Shrugging, Sasuke dries off the counter just for something to do with his hands.

“A year at least. We’ll see. So it’s not like I’ll be living here forever.”

“But still!”

“Where would you even sleep?”

Naruto happily pats the couch. When Sasuke scowls at him, he simply grins.

“Come on,” Naruto says. “I want to watch a movie.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I need to study.”

Still, he gives in too easily. Naruto lifts his legs to give him room, dumping them all over Sasuke’s lap once he sits down. It’s things like this that makes Sasuke’s heart refuse to give up. He leans his elbow on the back of the couch, cheekbone pressed to his closed fist. He doesn’t say anything when Naruto picks a drama at random, letting him comment on the plot as much as he wants. Watching movies with Naruto is certainly never quiet, and he winces as Naruto kicks his legs as he shouts his anger at the main character.

When the movie ends, Naruto doesn’t start a new one. Instead he chews on his bottom lip, playing with the remote. Sasuke considers getting up to use the toilet, maybe suggesting going to the corner store for snacks, but then Naruto clears his throat suspiciously.

“What?” he asks, irritated when Naruto takes his time.

“So, how are things going with Sakura?”

He resists the urge to pinch his nose. He still lets out a heavy breath, not quite a sigh but close enough that Naruto frowns.

“I mean,” Naruto continues, “you could just ask her out. She’s definitely going to say yes.”

Sasuke shifts, uncomfortable. Naruto’s legs are still on top of his. His socks have little frogs on them.

“I’ve told you I’m not really into the idea of a relationship right now.”

“Uh-huh.” Naruto rolls his eyes, pushing himself up and finally removing his legs, crossing them at the ankles instead. “Sounds like excuses to me.”

“Just drop it, Naruto.”

“But if you get together things will be so much easier,” Naruto insists, poking at his arm. “We can go on double dates, and stuff.”

Sending him a glare, Sasuke pulls a leg up to his chest. It won’t prevent Naruto if he decides to get comfy on his lap again, but it might make him think twice at least. Naruto’s only wearing shorts, and all that naked skin isn’t good for his heart. It’s definitely too cold for it, but Naruto’s never been one to care about the weather.

“We already go places together.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same!”

Sasuke pinches his lips, looking away. If he’s not careful, those large blue eyes will convince him to cave in, and then he’ll find himself with a girlfriend. He does a lot for Naruto, but there are limits.

“I’m not going to ask her out,” he mutters, knowing it will only lead to more questioning.

Sure enough, Naruto makes a noise of protest.

“But you haven’t rejected her either!”

“She hasn’t asked me out either.”

“It’s obvious she likes you.”

“That’s her problem.”

Naruto kicks at his thigh, using his heel. He looks properly annoyed now, as if Sasuke is a petulant child, refusing to do what’s best for him.

“If you got over yourself for a minute, you’d realize what a catch she is!”

He doesn’t reply. Let Naruto think he’s just stubborn, or an asshole, or whatever. Let him think Sasuke’s just stringing her along, keeping her attention while refusing to commit. It’s better than the alternative.

“Leave it, Naruto,” he warns, getting up and moving to the kitchen. “We’re not talking about this.”

At least Naruto doesn’t follow him, though it doesn’t make much of a difference. The apartment is small, no wall separating the kitchen from the living room. He searches through his cabinets, locating a forgotten bag of wasabi peas. He throws them at Naruto’s head.

“Eat these and shut up,” he says.

To his relief, Naruto does as told.

xxx

He picks up the call from Karin half-distracted, mind still stuck on a question for tomorrow’s seminar. As usual, she doesn’t wait for him to say hi, making her wince with the volume of her voice.

“Do you have any idea how tiring it is to listen to Naruto whine about you?” she starts with, the background noise suggesting she’s outdoors. “Can’t you just tell him you’re gay and put me out of my misery.”

“No thanks.” He drops his pen on his desk, rubbing at his eyes. He regrets not going to the university library, at least then he wouldn’t have been able to pick up the call. “Was that all? I’m kind of busy.”

“You know, this is exactly why I moved away,” she continues, ignoring him. “I thought I could get away from all the high school-level drama. Just get yourself a boyfriend, and go on those stupid double dates my cousin is so desperately yearning for. How hard can it be?!”

He can feel a headache incoming, and he rubs his fingertips between his brows. Naruto had sulked for hours the day before, until Sasuke got sick of it and threw him out. It was definitely backhanded of him to call Karin and complain.

“If you really wanted to be left out of it, why are you calling me? That’s the opposite of not getting involved.”

“Because it’s really painful and I’m morally obligated as the only person with functional brain cells to tell you to move on. Juugo’s too nice to say it and Suigetsu would give you terrible advice and sit back and watch. I’m being nicer to you than you deserve.”

“By telling me to move on,” Sasuke deadpans, wondering why his parents couldn’t have settled down somewhere else.

“Well, someone has to do it! Clearly I’m the gay cousin in the family, so you’re screwed. Might as well get over it and get laid.”

“I really hate you sometimes, you know that?”

She huffs at him, traffic and broken conversations filtering through the phone. There’s the jingle of a shop’s door, and the noise cuts off.

“Your pining is just getting sad,” she eventually replies, distractedly. “Trust me, I know my cousin. He’s not worth it.”

Something unpleasant churns in Sasuke’s stomach. He wants to argue with her that he is worth it, but he doesn’t want to land himself in an hour-long lecture if he can help it. He rolls his neck, making a face. She’s got a point, but he doesn’t enjoy hearing it. His life would be a lot simpler if he could find someone who made him forget about Naruto. He’s just not sure it’s fair to expect someone to instantly replace a lifetime of friendship.

“I don’t think I should have to come out just because Naruto irritates you,” is what he says instead, leaning back in his chair. “What if my parents find out and disown me? You want to be responsible for that?”

“Sasuke,” she sighs, “your brother is literally gay and your parents love his boyfriend.”

“So?”

“Stop. Making. Excuses.”

He bites his cheek, holding back a denial. He’s not worried about his parents, he’s worried about Naruto’s reaction. That things will change between them. That he’ll think Sasuke has feelings for him, which would be correct but would also ruin absolutely everything.

“I’ll… consider it,” he concedes, after a long silence, during which Karin has finished buying whatever it was she needed.

“Really? Because I’m going to hold you to that.”

He sighs.

“Next time I’m not picking up when you call me.”

xxx

A few weeks pass, and not much changes. Naruto still takes up too much space in his head and life, Sakura continues to drop hints but refuses to make the first move, and Hinata is still as lovely as ever. She doesn’t seem to have much of a personality other than being Naruto’s girlfriend, but to be fair Sasuke hasn’t precisely paid attention or tried to get to know her. Naruto’s birthday is drawing closer, and he can’t bring himself to do anything to break the status quo before then.

He’s been considering it, though. It would be a relief to stop pretending. He can’t imagine himself finding a boyfriend, though, because where would he even meet someone? It’s too awkward to use a dating app, and he’s not precisely social. He doesn’t have any experience, either, if you don’t count those childish games they played sometimes when they were younger. And that one time Naruto kissed him by accident when they were twelve.

Because of this, he’s really not expecting it when one day in class, just as the lecture ends, his eyes fall on the messenger bag that the guy next to him has just finished packing. There’s a rainbow pin on it, and Sasuke blurts out his question before he can stop to think about it.

“Are you gay?”

He only lifts his eyes from the pin when the surprised silence stretches out a bit too long. Their eyes meet, and the other boy is staring at him like he’s not sure how to react.

“Uh,” he says eventually, fingers clenching around the bag’s strap. “I mean, yes? But if you’re thinking about the pin it’s just a regular rainbow…”

He trails off, and Sasuke feels his cheeks heat up a bit. He can’t believe he just asked, when he himself has gone to such lengths to make sure no one made such assumptions about him.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine.”

Maybe he should know the guy’s name, but he doesn’t. He’s pretty short, hair dyed a light brown and glasses perched on his nose. Cute, but Sasuke’s not sure he’s his type. He’s not sure he has a type, other than Naruto.

“Are you gay?” the guy asks him, eyebrows rising above the frame of his glasses.

Sasuke licks his lips. He could say no, but to what end?

“I am,” he forces out, breathing in a deep breath.

“Oh.” There’s red color blooming on the other boy’s face, his eyes flickering to the side for a moment. “I was kind of hoping, but, um… I mean, hoping sounds weird! Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask outright.”

When Sasuke stands up, he realizes he’s almost a head taller than him.

“I’m Sasuke,” he offers, clicking his laptop shut and slowly sliding it into his bag.

“I know. I mean! I’m Hiroshi. Nice to meet you.”

Sasuke nods, and awkwardly turns to leave. Hiroshi stops him with a hand to his arm, though, and Sasuke swallows nervously as the turns back. He’s not interested in Hiroshi, not really, but he’s never been asked out by a boy before and the novelty of the situation is getting to him.

“Do you, um, are you busy right now? We could have lunch?”

He weighs the pros and cons in his mind. As nervous as Hiroshi looks, there’s a determined glint in his eyes that sways Sasuke over.

“Okay,” he says, and just like that he’s doing what Karin told him to do.

He’s trying, at least.

xxx

Over the course of a week, including having coffee together and a visit to the aquarium, Sasuke learns a lot about Hiroshi. Or Hiro, as he likes his friends to call him. They don’t have too much in common, but they’re both gay and studying agricultural economics. Once Hiro gets over his initial shyness, Sasuke finds he’s got a great sense of humor and won’t hesitate to poke fun at him.

It’s a breath of relief, to spend time with someone who doesn’t know him from before. He didn’t realize how much he needed it – just being able to be himself, without constantly keeping himself in check.

He can’t fool himself to think it’s enough to replace Naruto, but maybe he doesn’t need to replace him. Maybe it’s enough that Hiro seems to like him. He doesn’t really think about it, when he invites Hiro over on a Saturday night, after they’d had dinner at a nice udon place.

“Oh, wow,” Hiro says as he steps into Sasuke’s apartment, making an impressed face. “Nice place.”

“It’s my cousin’s, so no need to sound so impressed.”

Hiro rolls his eyes, taking off his shoes and jacket and following Sasuke inside.

“Alright, I’ll try to keep it in,” he teases, sitting on the couch when Sasuke motions him towards it. “But it must be nice, to have your own place like this. The dorms are fine, but I can’t exactly bring guys there.”

Humming his agreement, Sasuke grabs two cans of soda from the fridge, handing one of them to Hiro when he sinks down on the couch next to him.

“Want to watch something?”

Hiro nods, and Sasuke brings the TV to life. He’s not expecting anything to happen – they’ve only known each other a week. He’s still coming to terms with having a friend other than Karin he can talk to like this, and she doesn’t really count since there was never the potential for anything to happen between them. Hiro is… potentially someone Sasuke could date. At least there’s nothing wrong with him, not yet, and Sasuke’s easing himself into the idea of getting to know him better.

He finds a movie at random, some sci-fi that doesn’t look terrible. The movie turns into background noise as they talk, Hiro’s eyes watching his face more than the screen. It’s nice, in a new, exhilarating way, to have a guy’s attention on him like this. He’s not sure what to do with it. When Hiro moves closer, knee touching Sasuke’s thigh, hand resting on the back of the couch and occasionally touching his neck, Sasuke can’t find it in him to move away.

It feels like a secret, shared between the two of them. He thinks of Naruto for a long moment, allows himself the pain lacing through his chest as he imagines light brown hair replaced with blond, dark eyes replaced with blue. Then, he pushes it away, tells himself he can have this. The emotions are only his own.

It’s all happening too fast when Hiro grows bold, leaning in to press their mouths together, but he doesn’t care. It’s no one’s business if he spends the evening on his couch with a boy in his lap, a boy who isn’t his best friend.

The pain is easier to swallow if he tells himself that he’s the only one hurt.

#at this point i'm just writing whatever's in my head #something is better than nothing #i hate tumblr's formatting

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spockandawe · 4 years ago

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So this morning, I tripped across this excellent post about Xue Yang and classism, and it shook something loose in my head. Specifically, it got me thinking about the idea of Xue Yang taking revenge for ‘only’ losing a finger. Xiao Xingchen doesn’t say anything as directly dismissive as saying he only lost a finger, but I do think that is at least partially the way that Xue Yang takes the argument.

And I’ve thought a lot and said a lot of words about the way Xue Yang feels hurt and betrayed and frustrated as he tries to explain himself to someone, for once, and that person completely misses his point. And I’ve said words about how in the three years in Yi City, Xue Yang gets hooked on the quiet comfort of domesticity, even if he and Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing are still, objectively, poor. But I’d never thought about this particular angle of their last argument before now.

This is going to be long, I can tell, so let’s throw a spoiler cut in here

Now, I do think it’s important that Xiao Xingchen doesn’t say directly that it was only a finger. I think it would have been cruel of him to say that. But I also think that his upbringing and position in the world make him a bit… oblivious to the implications of Xue Yang’s story, and what he’s trying to communicate, and that leads to him saying some things that are more insensitive than he would have chosen to if he’d realized.

From a very early point, he knew that Xue Yang grew up without parents or money.

Unhurried, Xue Yang began, “Once upon a time, there was a child.”

“The child really liked eating sweet things. But because he had no parents or money, he could rarely eat them.”

And he was told how that child was exploited, and how hard he was beat up and used even before things reached the point where he lost a finger

[The huge, brawny man] took over the paper and looked at it, and he gave the child a slap so hard that his nose started bleeding. The man pulled the child’s hair and asked, ‘Who told you to take such a thing over?’”

[…]

“[seven-year-old Xue Yang] felt scared and pointed the direction. The man went to the liquor shop, carrying the child by pulling his hair.”

[…]

“The store was in a mess and the waiter was feeling quite cross. He slapped the child a few times, so hard that his ears were even buzzing, and chased him out the door. He crawled up and walked for a while.”

[…]

What do you think happened? Just a few more slaps and a few more kicks.”

(It’s interesting to me that he dodges even mentioning his hand being run over in this version of the story, but later goes into a lot of detail about his hand later with Xiao Xingchen, even though Xiao Xingchen has completely turned against him)

And, something that I hadn’t really noticed until I went to collect these quotes, is how Xiao Xingchen reacts to this story.

After Xiao XingChen tucked her, he walked a few steps, then asked, “What happened afterward?”

Xue Yang, “Guess. There was no afterward. You didn’t continue telling your story either, did you?”

Xiao XingChen, “No matter what happened afterward, since right now your life is fairly adequate, there’s no need for you to dwell too much on the past.”

That’s… a very high-minded approach to take, where I can see the good intentions, but I’m also kind of wincing at the accidental implications.

And then, to mix it up, let’s have some screencaps for the second half of the story, because these actors seriously knocked this scene out of the park

“The wheels of the cart milled over the child’s hand, one finger at a time. He was seven!”

And then another book quote, because it’s fascinating to me how directly he begs Xiao Xingchen to empathize with the child who was used so poorly and lost a finger in the process.

“Is it that, since the fingers weren’t yours, you guys were incapable of feeling the pain?! You guys didn’t know how horrifying screams sounded like out of your own mouths? Why didn’t you ask him why he decided to amuse himself with me without a single reason?!”

Only, right after he does this, Xiao Xingchen talks about how disproportionate Xue Yang’s revenge was. This really kills me, honestly, because this is the point where Xue Yang stops trying to appeal to him and explain himself, and takes a sharp turn towards losing control over his emotions instead.

Xiao XingChen spoke as though he couldn’t believe Xue Yang’s words, “Chang Ci’An broke one of your fingers in the past. If you sought revenge, you could’ve simply broken one of his fingers as well. If you really took the matter to heart, you could’ve broken two, or even all ten! Even if you had cut off an entire arm of his, things wouldn’t have been like this. Why did you have to kill his entire clan? Don’t tell me that a single finger of yours was equal to more than fifty human lives!”

I always just accepted that this was enough to hurt Xue Yang that much. But also… Xiao Xingchen knows that Xue Yang was a poor, parentless child, and he’s heard about how this child was callously exploited and mistreated by three separate adults. And there’s a couple class-related details in here that I want to touch on.

One, Xue Yang was again, a poor, parentless child, and I imagine he was living on the streets in a situation like that. Chang Ci’an broke (amputated) one of his fingers. And ran over the whole rest of his hand, which I have to imagine did other significant damage. Okay, so he wrecked this seven-year-old child’s hand. Now…. how much did this child have? What did he have besides his body? Did he even have a home to retreat to and recover? Because I have to imagine he didn’t. He didn’t have money for medical treatment, it’s not even clear if he knew anyone he could go to for basic medical help. Let’s not even talk about setting the bones in a shattered hand, did he even have access to anything to prevent infection? If he had any means of making a living (at age, again, seven), it would almost have had to be either begging or stealing. Having one ruined hand would have done awful things to this parentless child’s ability to survive. He made it through, clearly, but god.

And Xiao Xingchen isn’t approaching this from a position like most of our main characters, who grew up wealthy and privileged. He’s not approaching this in a way like how Jiang Cheng scolded Wei Wuxian for breaking his arm, because he had to get it all plastered up and spend weeks recovering, and that was super inconvenient. Xiao Xingchen was never wealthy, and he grew up as a feral mountain child with Baoshan Sanren. But that means that he wasn’t subject to the same social forces as a city child like Xue Yang. Even if he was injured as a child, even if he was badly injured, it wasn’t probably an act of cruelty or callousness on the part of an adult. And if he was injured, he might not have had access to formally trained doctors, but he had a teacher who was highly trained spiritually, and who would at least care for him.

In a way, I think that makes it all hurt… more for Xue Yang. Because Xiao Xingchen isn’t gentry, he never was affiliated with the great cultivation sects, and he and Xue Yang and A-Qing have been living together in a city in fairly poor circumstances for three years now. But Xiao Xingchen is an adult, and one who’s used to making his own way in the world. He has no personal understanding of what it’s like to be a powerless child in similar circumstances, without anyone. And in this moment, he’s not able to understand how awful and how serious this was for a child like Xue Yang to experience.

Like, compare and contrast. When the Wens are starting to move against Lotus Pier, there’s half a moment where Wei Wuxian makes his peace with losing a hand. He’s like ‘yeah, that sucks, but i’ll deal. i’ll just learn to fight with my other hand, whatever!’ But just imagine how serious that would have been before Jiang Fengmian found him. Without money, without a home, without anyone to care for you, without access to any real medical care, how dire an injury would that have been? Xue Yang might not have lost his hand altogether, but the cart ran over his whole hand, and hands are just full o’ bones. The consequences of that injury were significant.

And Xiao Xingchen’s initial reaction is ‘okay, so this wealthy cultivator broke your finger. why didn’t you just break his finger?’ and then he manages to escalate his way up to ‘idk, you could have even cut off his arm???’

In retrospect, it’s completely unsurprising to me that this is the moment where Xue Yang totally shuts down and starts asking why Xiao Xingchen even got involved, if he wasn’t capable of understanding.

“You shouldn’t have meddled in other people’s business. Right or wrong, kindness or hatred are not clearly distinguished, so how could an outsider possibly understand?”

“Your martial mentor, Baoshan Sanren, was indeed insightful. Why didn’t you listen to her and obediently cultivate in the mountain? If you couldn’t understand the human affairs and this world, then you shouldn’t have come!”

It makes me wonder what would have happened, if Xue Yang had leaned harder into what kind of suffering and hardship an injury like that meant for a street child, but considering how reluctant he was to share in the first place, I’m not exactly surprised he didn’t go there.

Incidentally, it’s interesting to me that when Xiao Xingchen calls Xue Yang ‘disgusting’, that’s when Xue Yang pivots into really trying to hurt him. I think it would hurt, coming from Xiao Xingchen, no matter what, but I have to wonder if he takes it extra hard in light of the way he’s just been trying to explain his history as a mistreated street child.

I’d been idly wondering if I was reading too far into this dynamic (not that that was going to stop me, but still, wondering :P), but this last addition to the conversation really caught my attention

“The people I hate the most are ones like you who say they’re righteous, who think they’re virtuous. Stupid, naive, dumb idiots like you who think the world’s better just because you did something good!”

And then I was like no, I’ve been right this whole time, haha :V

Xue Yang’s anger and hurt sense on a purely personal level, especially with the extra pain of trying to explain himself, for once, and Xiao Xingchen missing the point. But the extra frustration on behalf of his younger self makes so much additional sense.

Xue Yang likes Xiao Xingchen, he likes living with Xiao Xingchen, or he wouldn’t still be there three years after a chance encounter. It would be a whole other meta to source this claim, but it very much feels like there are things he admires about Xiao Xingchen, even if it’s kind of a condescending, indulgent fondness for his foolish, naive innocence instead of a straightforward admiration. Until it tips over here, and becomes personal.

And I think there were a lot of ways where he was prepared to disagree with Xiao Xingchen on a deep, fundamental level. They have very different values. But I don’t think he was prepared for Xiao Xingchen to be so oblivious to the class-based aspect of Xue Yang’s history. I don’t think Xiao Xingchen intended to be cruel, and I also think he had other significant things on his mind, but the seriousness of this incident doesn’t seem to occur to him. For someone with money, for someone with a skilled martial family, for even someone with a family, period, this would have been a traumatic experience, but one that could be dealt with. But then Xiao Xingchen equates the finger of this wealthy, purposefully cruel cultivator to the finger of a poor, parentless street child, and Xue Yang begins to lose control.

I already didn’t blame him for how upset he gets in this conversation, but now, even more than before, I find his reaction incredibly understandable. I mean, yes, their whole relationship is built on a foundation of sand, but he thought that he and Xiao Xingchen… supported each other, at least. They mattered to each other. And when Xiao Xingchen rejects him in the present, well, sure, that was going to happen if anyone was stupid enough to tell Xiao Xingchen the truth, that was understandable. But when Xiao Xingchen casually brushes aside the suffering of little innocent seven-year-old Xue Yang, that hurts Xue Yang more than he could have ever anticipated.

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #xue yang #xiao xingchen #long post/#meta #xue yang: is it that since the fingers weren't yours you were incapable of feeling the pain?!#further speculation: xiao xingchen and lack of experience with *untreated* injuries #i really want to do something more with xue yang and bones that didn't heal right and an amputated finger that got infected #but heck if i know what

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dailylangdon · 4 years ago

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If I Die, I Die // Xavier Plympton

Warnings: Oral sex (fem receiving), face sitting, blow job (implied), mommy kink (Very lightly implied)

Word Count: 1.6k

“Babe, hurry! My scene’s about to start!”

You pulled another can of Diet Coke out of the fridge and hurried back to the living room. Xavier beamed at you from the couch and outstretched an arm. You snuggled into his chest and popped open your soda.

Xavier was a struggling actor and your boyfriend of 3 months. Sometimes he was picky about his roles. But other times, he knew he had to go for whatever was available. He worked at an aerobics studio to pay the bills and hopefully save up enough to get an agent.

It was a fickle career, and of course you had concerns. Not with Xavier. He was very talented and passionate. You worried sometimes that the fact that he wasn’t shooting to the top immediately was discouraging him. But you saw his excitement when he talked about acting. He was born to do it, and you believed in him.

It was your idea to make such a big deal out of his bit part on the new “Facts of Life” episode. Xavier sheepishly told you he was nothing more than a featured extra. But you assured him that any work is better than no work. And you were gonna help him celebrate any victory he made. No matter how small.

Your roommates were on vacation, so you invited him to your place. You popped popcorn and had plenty of sodas. The two of you huddled up on the couch in your pajamas. The only light in the living room was the glow of the television. You wanted to make an event of it, and you’d succeeded.

“Okay, here it is!” he said.

As he’d told you, he was barely in the scene at all. He was in the background of a shot in the park. But you could see his face for three whole seconds. You squeezed his thigh and gave him an encouraging smile.

The episode finished. Xavier turned off the TV and you clicked on the lamp beside the couch. When you looked up at him, you noticed a frown. But he plastered on a smile a millisecond later when his eyes met yours.

“Hey. What’s wrong?” You poked the side of his face.

He shrugged and grabbed your hand, kissing your palm. “Nothing, babe.”

“Xav, you seem totally bummed out.”

“(Y/N), do you think I’m actually meant to be an actor?”

“Of course you are. Why? Are you worried? Babe, you were just on an episode of a primetime TV show!”

He frowned. “Yeah, for like half a second. What if that’s all I ever get?”

You took his face in your hands, thumbs rubbing down the planes of his gorgeous cheekbones. “Everyone has to start somewhere, babe. You’re putting in the hard work, and it’s gonna lead to something great.”

“You really think so?” A small grin played at his full lips.

You planted a soft kiss on his mouth. “I know so.”

The two of you sat in silence, just looking at each moment before Xavier piped up again.

“But what if I get too old before I get my big break and I lose my good looks? Like when I’m...40?”

You laughed at the way he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the prospect of turning 40.

“You’re so much more than your good looks, Xav. You’re so talented. And caring. And you’ve got great instincts,” you leaned your forehead to his. “But between you and me, I don’t think you’re ever gonna grow out of your looks. You’re just gonna get sexier and sexier.”

The tenderness and compliments really struck a chord with him. He closed the gap between you, his lips caressing yours. He coaxed your mouth open, slipping his tongue inside. The kiss, as always, was warm and electrifying. The boy was so good at kissing. The first time you’d kissed, you couldn’t believe how lucky you were. You could honestly spend hours kissing him.

But you had him all to yourself tonight. You wanted to do more than kiss. You pulled away long enough to straddle him on the couch. His blue eyes widened in bewilderment and awe before you kissed him again. His hairsprayed and teased hair was soft beneath your fingers. (Luckily it was nighttime, or he would have whined about you messing it up).

He pulled away, gasping for air. “You are so hot, babe.”

Your face warmed. You rode the high of his admiration by peeling your pajama shirt off. You were left in your sports bra. You felt a bit insecure for not having on something cuter, but Xavier’s dumbstruck face assured you all was well.

You took his shirt off for him. His muscles were creamy and flawless in the lowlight of the lamp. His neck was soft beneath your lips. You nipped and sucked right above his chest. One of your hands reached for his sweatpants to feel his growing bulge in your palm.

A moan broke from his throat and you grinned.

“H-hey, babe?” he asked.

His nervous tone made you halt your movements and pull away. Had you done something wrong? “Yeah?”

He must have sensed your apprehension. He grabbed your hand and held it to his heart. “I wanted to know if we could try something...different.”

“Oh?”

“I want you to sit on my face.”

You blinked. His bluntness and lack of shame when it came to sex was refreshing but could take you aback at times. You still were reeling from the time you were out to dinner with friends when he said during the appetizers that he wanted to fuck you in the bathroom before the main course arrived.

“What?”

He smirked. “You heard me. I’ve wanted it for a while. But I really want it now.”

The idea made wetness pool in your panties. It was tantalizing, to say the least.

“I don’t know. What if I hurt you?”

“How would you hurt me?” He seemed truly perplexed.

“Shit, I don’t know, Xav. You’re pretty good with your tongue,” you chuckled. “What if you get me going so much that I break your nose?”

His eyes widened for a moment, but he shook his head. “Still would be worth it.”

“What if my thighs, like….Smother you to death,” you half-joked. Insecurity could get the best of you.

“Babe,” he murmured. His hands slid down to the aforementioned thighs that were straddling his lap. “It would be an honor to be killed by these babies.”

You laughed and playfully shoved his shoulder. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

His arms went around your waist, pulling you closer. His lips tickled the shell of your ear. “What do you say, babe? You gonna smother me with those thighs, or what?”

You shuddered as he nipped your earlobe with his teeth. It was hard to say no to that man. Even if you wanted to. But you never wanted to.

“Fuck, Xav, okay,” you gasped. “Let’s do it.”

He kissed you hard on the mouth. “You won’t regret it.”

You hopped off of him to let him get situated. He laid down on the powder blue carpet in front of the couch. He gestured for you with his fingers.

He put on an awful English accent, “Your throne awaits, madame.”

You laughed, nerves easing immediately. You stepped out of your sweatpants and panties. You straddled his torso first and put your hands on the couch cushions to brace yourself.

“Come on, babe,” he said. “Have a seat.”

Crawling up, you put your knees on either side of his head. Xavier’s hands went to your hips and he pulled you down to meet his face. His breath was hot on your dripping cunt.

He licked a broad stripe over your entire slit.

You moaned loudly, gripping the couch. God, you were thankful to have something to hold onto.

Xavier pulled away enough so he could speak. “Does it feel good, Mama?”

“Fuck yeah, it does, baby,” You said breathlessly.

“Good,” he said and got back to work.

His tongue explored inside of you, lapping up your juices. Savoring every inch of you. Then he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking like it was a piece of candy.

One hand remained on your hip, holding you in place. The other snuck between your legs. His middle and ring fingers slid inside you easily as he flicked your clit with his tongue.

“Xav-Xavier, I’m gonna--” you stammered.

He thrust his fingers at an even pace, curling them deep inside you, and that was all it took. You cried out, thighs shaking. You nearly collapsed, but he held you up. He gripped your hips then, continuing to lick and suck, sending you into complete overstimulation. By orgasm four or five, you had to tap out.

He released his hold and crawled down so you could face him. Your juices covered his chin. You’d feel embarrassed if you weren’t so completely fucked out. He pulled you in for a kiss and you tasted yourself on his tongue.

“That was even better than I thought it would be, babe,” he said against your mouth.

“Had a pretty good time myself,” you said. You laid your head on his chest, hearing his thundering heartbeat.

His hand rubbed absentminded circles on your back. “You’re the best girlfriend I’ve ever had, you know? And not just because you let me eat that amazing pussy of yours.”

You chuckled. “Thanks, baby.”

“I mean it. My exes never believed in me like you do. You’re amazing.”

“You’re definitely worth believing in, Xav.” You kissed his chest before pushing yourself up.

He looked at you, softness and adoration in his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “But, listen. Don’t get sleepy on me now.”

You crawled down, pulling at the waistband of his pants, and winked up at him. “I’m gonna give you the Hollywood treatment.”

He smiled down, and you knew that he’d always feel like a star when he was with you.

---------‐-‐-----------------------------

Taglist: @jimmlangdon @thewarriorprincessxo @prophecy-is-inevitable @sluttyyrose @michael-langdon-appreciation @bloodcoatedeclipse @matildaofoz @bigwolfjudgeshepherd @bowerskitten @blueboi-345

#xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton #ahs 1984 #ahs fanfiction #american horror story #my fics #mine

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imaginesmai · 4 years ago

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Tom Holland - Our fairytale

Is this another disney-Tom fic? Yes it it. I’m masking my inactivity with another piece of fluff in Disney World. If you like this one, make sure to check Lost kid and True love kiss.

Plot: that story where two characters of a movie fall in love, or in this case two actors portraying those characters fall in love, even if they don’t belong to the same fairy tale

Tom is prince Eric and you’re Belle, and he’s just a jealous bean.

“Mommy, mommy! It’s prince Eric!”

A little red haired girl, that was probably wearing a wig not that well put, pulled her mother’s hand behind her and gripped harder the drawings’ book she has been carrying around all day. Her objective had been clear since she had woken up that morning; to meet all the characters that appeared in her drawings and make them sign the pictures. She had too a purple princess dress with small seashells and a small purse that was all decoration.

Tom kneeled down just as the girl reached him. Her eyes looked as if they could burst out of their pockets, jumping up and down in the spot of excitement. The mother, a middle age woman that looked done with the whole park, gave Tom a side glance to check he was no depredator and took her phone with her free hand.

“Hi!” she screeched, loud even above all the noise of the park that day. “I’m Marleen!”

“Oh, what a beautiful name!” Tom said in a high-pitched voice. “And what a beautiful girl!”

“Thanks” she giggled and twisted her body around the mother’s hand. “This is not my real hair, my mommy bought it for me”

“Well, it’s really pretty” Tom smiled warmly. “Are you enjoying your day in the park?”

The question led to a monologue from the little girl about all the characters she had met so far, and a thoughtful look through her drawings. Her smile was easily contagious, and Tom didn’t mind staying 20 long minutes under the sun, crutched in front of that cute girl. He commented every drawing and even made up some stories about the characters in them. The mother kept herself to the phone, not listening to the conversation, and Tom felt himself traveling to a different world.

Every time a kid asked for him, he left the rest of his life aside and became Eric, the prince of the little mermaid that had a charming smile and lived with Ariel in a big palace. Tom had been working as that character for almost five months, and he never got tired. There were too many good things that came with it; the smiles, the excitement and the fantasy he got to live meanwhile.

He was in the middle of a story about Ursula when Marleen seemed to see something behind him, and before he got time to turn around, she had already recovered and emitted another loud screech.

“Belle!!”

Tom was suddenly pushed aside when Marleen rushed past him and attached herself to another person’s legs. He didn’t have to look up to know it was you who had stolen the attention of the girl, but he wasn’t at all afraid. Once more, the mother looked poorly interested in the situation, and went back to her previous business after checked who was her daughter talking to.

Again, Marleen presented herself and explained who she was dressed as. You looked as interested as Tom in the story, though Tom ignored it in favour of staring at you. You were wearing a beautiful pale yellow dress that fell down your legs, barely touching the ground. There was a flashy necklace on your chest and a pearly ring on your finger. You weren’t the princess that used more make-up, yet Tom thought the soft red lipstick and the barely there Rimmel was perfect.

“Can you sign my drawing too?” Marleen asked, already opening her book. She shoved it in front of you and turned to look at Tom. “My friends are going to be so envious! I’m gonna tell them I met Belle and prince Eric!”

“If you are quick, you can meet Cinderella in the main square” you said as you scribbled on the page. “I heard she has brought some special friends with her”

“Mommy did you hear that?!?”

Tom barely noticed her arms circling around his legs before she took off running again, her mother screaming behind her. He chuckled as the pair disappeared in the sea of the people. It was only mid-day, and if they were thinking about staying until close-up time, he doubted the mother would be able to keep up.

A soft hand made its way to his, sneaking as if it was a secret. And in part, it was; because prince Eric was supposed to be with Ariel, and you had strict orders about sticking to the characters until the end of the day. You rubbed your face against his blue jacket, half wishing you would be alone at the moment.

Finally, Tom intertwined your hands together and gave yours a small squeeze. Your break was close, and if you were lucky you could still find some spot in the shadow to hide from the torturous sun.

“I was watching you way before she noticed me, you know” you mumbled, pressing yourself even closer to him. “You’re so good with them, and you look so cute”

“I’m not cute, I’m carrying a sword and I’m a prince” Tom chuckled, not moving from his spot. “You’re amazing, too. And beautiful – god, I swear they might want to remake the film and change the ending, because I can’t take my eyes off you with that dress”

“Aren’t you a gentleman, my prince. Do you say that to every princess here?”

“Only you. And Cinderella, of course”

You smacked his arm playfully, and in return, you were met with his lips on you. If someone saw you, you would probably have a lot of problems with your boss. He was very, very strict on the no-dating policy, or at least not kissing in the park.

Instead of pushed him away, you put your other hand across his chest and started playing with the black buttons of the vest he was wearing. Both of you were sweaty and spending time of your break, that was already short. Yet Tom didn’t push you away either, just angled his head so that the kiss wasn’t that awkward. He resisted the urge to stretch himself on the tip toes because you were taller than him, wearing just a small heel.

You pulled back when oxygen became short, and Tom just leaned again to peck your lips, swallowing your giggled.

“What’s got you so clingy?” you managed to say between quick kisses. “Someone’s gonna see us”

“And they won’t care, they’ve have seen us before” Tom pressed his lips against you once more.

“No, really” you pushed him a little bit. “Everything good?”

“Yeah, everything good. Just missed you, darling”

“Since this morning?” you raised an eyebrow when you got the idea why Tom was that clingy. “Or since you learned that I have a show today?”

Tom scoffed for an answer and you knew you were right. You both had talked about it – that you had to kiss other people for the job, and even act romantic about them. While in a normal day you didn’t have to do much with your partner, every week a Disney movie would get a show in the main castle of the park, and that week was Beauty and the Beast. Dancing, singing, wearing costumes – and following the original story, that said that Belle and Beast kissed at the end of the show.

He wasn’t really angry, he never was. And neither was you when he had to swoop Ariel off her feet and kiss her while fireworks ran behind them. But you had your days where it was hard, and Tom had a hard time saying he was jealous of a man who wore the Beast costume.

“You can always fight him with that sword of yours” you smiled at the blush on his cheeks. “But it might turn out bad, since it’s made of plastic”

“Shut up” Tom croaked out, confidence gone. “I have every right to be jealous, you’re kissing him almost every day! And – he get to slow dance with you, and kiss you, and –“

“And you’re the one who goes back home with me when the show is over” you interrupted him before he got carried away. “We can slow dance in the living room, and we kiss all the time even if we can get in trouble for it. You don’t have to be jealous”

Tom didn’t say anything else, just looked away. He knew you were right, that he didn’t have any right to be jealous and that he was pushing it by kissing you in the park. But at the same time, his brain was having a hard time walking past the need of hugging you close and flipping it off in the distance to the guy who played the Beast.

“If you want to, after the show we can go out for dinner. Tomorrow is our free day” you wrapped yourself around Tom, noses touching again.

“As long as I get to pick you up from the dressing room”

“As long as you don’t glare too much at Michael and don’t flip him off again” you half joked, thinking about how in your last show Tom had been giving your partner the puppy, angry eyes the whole time.

“Then we’re getting pizza and we’re watching a movie” Tom finished, kissing you once more, quick, time. “And I’m choosing everything”

“You’re lucky I love you”

If Marleen, the little girl that had been talking to Tom, saw Belle and prince Eric kissing and holding hands, she didn’t say anything. She just watched with an excited smile how them both leaned for a kiss once more, truly believing that she was a princess and would find his own prince.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

Tom Holland and Peter Parker Taglist

@delicately-important-trash

@lexxxistrips

@smilexcaptainx

@aikaterrina

@zalladane

@gypsystuf (since you didn’t answer me, I just put you on the general taglist. Let me know if you want to change!)

@nikkixostan

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seijohsfairy · 4 years ago

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Anonymous

ahh!! all the nii-san posts are so good, but have you considered twin brother tobio who thinks your the only one for him

I have,, It has affected my sanity and rings in my head a hundred times a day. I hate it here. Truly. This became sorta really long? But I hope you enjoy (・´ｪ｀・)

tw incest, dubcon if you squint

The flashes of light are incessant, an obnoxious wave of noisy shutters filling the silence in between mutters and questions. Your fists around the bottom lining of your old jacket, denting the fabric under the light ministrations of your fingertips. It’s nerves, they still creep up from time to time when you feel the eyes. They linger, curious or accusatory ones alike. Another flash makes you blink, then it’s quiet. You take a breath at the same time he does, accidental, but of course you do. You’ve always mirrored him after all, even when you weren’t trying. Tobio holds the air until everything grows completely immovable, like still water in winter.

His eyebrows twitch slightly, before he speaks. “I am happy.” Simple, straightforward, you can’t help but let your smile shine through. He eyes the interviewer for a moment, before nodding. “We’ve all worked hard to prove we deserve a spot on the court, it was a good match and I’m happy with the outcome.” The interviewers quickly take notes, before another sea of flashes rains down on the curved panes of his face. It’s his standard post-match ramble, nothing new there, but you can see the spark of victory where it bends him in two and shatters at the fold. “And,” his eyes flick around across the small group of people.

They find yours. “My sister came to support us in the stands so I am very proud.” The deep blues rest on you like you’re the end of a war, his lips turning upwards at the sides. He is proud, of you, and you of him just as much. Or even more if possible, though you are quicker to lower your gaze at the attention. An interviewer to your side clears her voice, before clicking her pen a few times in rapid succession. The press irritates him, though he’s gotten very good at hiding it over the years. In this moment though, you can tell.

It’s written all over in the way he stands on balls of his feet, like he’s ready to sprint out. You wonder if he would reach for you before setting off, or if you’d have to chase him down the hall like another of the fans. Either way you wouldn’t be far behind, it’s just the nature of your relationship. The lads presses her ruby lips together. “When will you take another girlfriend to a game? You broke up with your last girlfriend in May, fans want to know if it is true that you are keeping your newest fling private.”

Ushijima gives you a little head tilt as he walks past, his cheeks coloured from exhaustion, towel still dangling around his neck. You return it. A few of the interviewers immediately turn their attention to him, snapping photos and calling out for him with an almost violent greediness, the small interaction not going unnoticed. You think you hear someone mention your name to him in the same line as ‘dating’, and Wakatoshi’s deep chuckle is comforting when he leads the bunch of them down the hall. Tobio is frowning when you turn back, at the woman with the high ponytail and red lips that shimmer under the artificial lighting.

“I would’ve kept all of it private if that could have been the end of it.” He raises a hand to brush some of his sweaty hair away from his face, before dropping his eyes to the floor. “I only bring the people precious to me to my games.” He does. He asks happily, over the phone like a giddy child, at the crack of dawn when he goes for his run. You’ve complained about it many times. He still does it though, because Tobio is nothing if not persistent. You only notice him moving because the people around you gasp and gawk, flinching away from him like he’s other. He is, too, a different breed entirely.

His long fingers are around your wrist, pulling you from behind the lenses to his side, tucked against his shoulder like a little parasite. That’s what you think you must look like when the flashing starts. Tobio’s arm wraps around your back and rests his chin on your head though, allowing you to fit right in his hold. Another one of his shiny trophies. His smile looks a little brighter from this angle. “My sister is the only one who has never missed a game of mine. If you want to report on anything, this is the person I am most grateful for in my life right now. I’m very lucky to have her support.”

It feels unreal. Someone calls out your name, the shutters get the noisiest they’ve been all day. It won’t be a headline in the making, you try to calm yourself, bowing at the same time Tobio does. He drops his hand to wrap around yours, and tugs you behind him. It’s straightforward, your brother always is. The violent banging against your rib cage is less so, but you’ve gotten used to it already.

///

“Why did you say all that stuff to those guys earlier? Were you not feeling too well?” Tobio looks up from where he’s putting his bag down, his eyes shooting up along your body. “You’re normally good at dealing with the press post-match.” You put the towel under the water, before turning back towards the main room of your apartment.

“What did I say that was wrong?” He tosses his sweaty shirt on the heap of jerseys and leggings to wash, picking up his towel and swinging it around his neck. You look down again, playing with the fluffy fabric as you approach.

“Nothing, Tobio. I just-” you linger at the couch, resting your hip against it, “you don’t normally egg on rumours about your dating life. It’ll be fine because it’s me, but if it were anyone else people might be cautious of your words. They really want a story on the details, you know. And I’m not really used to being next to you on pictures, it was a bit surprising, s’all.”

“I meant what I said.”

He closes the rest of the distance for you, standing toes to toes. You don’t look up until you can feel the soft puff of air on your head, where he lays a kiss. It feels warm, and good, and you bite your tongue when the pounding of your heart starts feeling painful against your chest. You duck away from it the second time, pushing his chin up with two fingers instead. Tobio smiles into his exhale, as you trace across his features with the wet towel. Brows, eyes, nose, under his chin and along the line of his throat. “Are you mad at me?” He drops his eyes back to yours when you frown, before tacking onto your slight frustration. “Or about the dating?”

“Tobio,” you mumble, pulling out of his vicinity too late. His hand is already on your forearm, tugging you right back in place. Face to his chest with barely enough space to look up all the way to his handsome face. You try to keep it out, but your tongue starts to feel a bit bitter anyway. “I really don’t want to-”

“Because we can stop doing that as soon as you say so. They get paid a lot of money, money I’d rather be using on us. I’m tired of doing it.”

Even now, still spent from the match, he smells like safety. Like home, perfectly familiar. You have to physically distance yourself from him by turning your eyes to the couch, not to melt right into him. “Then don’t,” you nod. “But then I have to stop being less… everywhere with you too, and I don’t think you want that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not a good actor, Tobio. I can’t pretend not to care and people will look at us, and see.”

“Then let them.”

You sigh, dropping the towel aside under the arm that he’s still holding. He draws gentle circles into the soft skin, like he’s trying to unpick the rips in every single fiber of your threaded sanity. “You’re impossible.” He bends his knees and drops to your level, kissing you. Softly, a few feather-light kisses that shut you up, and then one that breaks you open. He pulls you into him by the waist, the hard lines of his chest against your softer ones. The press of his lips to yours is sweet, though entirely guilty as he uses the leverage on your body to walk you back a little, melting into you.

He bites at your bottom lip and swipes his tongue at yours, sucking eagerly. You imagine his tongue to spell out ‘mine’ on the soft parts of your mouth a million times, because when he gives you a break to breathe you’re dizzy. “You said we weren’t going to do this again.”

“I‘ve been a better liar than you for a while, little sister,” he grins, though you can see the hesitation in his eyes too. This is such a bad thing, it’s wrong, you know it and Tobio must know too. It eats you up inside, but maybe that’s why it’s so easy to believe him. You let your face drop against his chest, letting the rise and fall of his chest dictate yours. “You were made for me, remember? And I for you. And I wished that we’d get married and you wished we’d always be together forever.”

“On our fifth birthday,” you remind him, ignoring his hand when it starts playing with the edge of your worn jacket. It’s his, you suddenly hate how obvious you are. Tobio hums softly at your frown.

“I never stopped meaning it.” He uses one of his long legs to hook around yours and pushes you over into the couch, though you land softly. And while you’re trying to catch your breath from the sudden tilt, he follows you down, coming to lift your knees open and upwards. He leans down on his forearms on top of you, and presses another kiss to your lips. This one is lazier, like he’s already won. He has. Because you shouldn’t be in this situation at all. “I love you,” he whispers, starting to kiss down your neck and zipping open his old jacket from your body.

His large body slotted in between your legs, he presses his hips into you just enough to drive you absolutely mad. “I can’t stay away from you, so stop pushing already,” he moans, reaching down to shift himself in his shorts. Your body, the traitorous thing, basically shudders in excitement when he pulls your top underneath your tits, leaning down to take a bud into his mouth. “Say it,” he ruts his hips into yours now, the friction making you whine. It feels so good, he feels so good.

“I- I love you,” you close your eyes when he smiles at you again, lifting himself from your body to drag your shorts and panties down your legs. “Ah- ‘want you, Tobio.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, sitting back in the couch, “want you too, been wanting you for so long. So long, you have no idea.” He pulls at you until you get up too, sitting you down on his lap, his hard cock slotted between your thighs with a his. “How did you expect me to fuck this perfect, little hole and forget about it, anyway? I belong in this tight cunny, it belongs to me.” He’s rambling, humping you in his lap with his head thrown back and his fingers digging so deep into the skin of your hips they might leave permanent indents.

You press a few kisses to his throat, which he grunts at, before lining up and sliding down the head. He’s already so big, that’s what you remember most. You twitch as you lower yourself on him, moaning through the deep breaths. He stretches you so wide it’s hard to think of anything else, just Tobio. Tobio, Tobio, your Tobio. He drops his forehead on your shoulder when you’re full, before thrusting up into you. You start moving up and down too fast for his liking but your patience has worn too thin for slow. “Wait, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Tobio chokes, shoving you back down in his lap. His cockhead is already at the very end of your sloppy cunt, pressing against every inch.

“Want your fat cock to break me open, please. I need it. I need you. Tobio, please.” He kisses down your face and neck to let you adjust a moment longer, before rolling his length deep inside you once, twice, filling you up over and over again. Mind blank, you lift yourself up a bit higher to drop down on him, his breathing getting shallower by the second. He mumbles out soft curses, and you cling to him. You won’t last. “T-Tobio,” you beg, and he slides his hand between your bodies to rub at your clit with precise movements. “Wanna cum on your cock. You too, cum into me, please.”

He only picks up the pace more when he flips you back over on your back, rutting his cock into you so deep it kisses your cervix with each thrust. Fingers sliding through the sticky mess with calculated precision. “Cum then, slutty girl. Cum on your brother’s cock, you deserve it. I’ll fuck you until you can’t ever think of what others think again.” His hips smack into your doughy skin with every pump, stretching you wide open for him. You can only hang onto him while you cum, moaning his name over and over. “Ahg— Tobio, fuck, holyfuckholyfuck I love you. Love you, Tobio!” Your arms around his shoulders, nails ruining his beautiful skin. “I’m sorry,” you breathe as he kisses you, never once stopping.

He doesn’t give you rest, can’t. But his lips are all over yours, comforting you even now. “I know, baby, I know.” He forces himself to slow down a little as you clamp around him so tight, not ready to let this end. His hips twitch, eyes sharpening on your fucked expression. The rush of love he feels should be illegal. “You’re mine. Don’t fucking forget it ever again. I’m going to fuck you limp.”

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