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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

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can i get uhUhHHhhH more jason momoa smut headcanons

You got it Anon.

Warning: Language, SMUTTT

Words: 1.8k

~~~~~~~~

You’re in Hawaii with Jason enjoying some much needed time away from LA, the land of dreams and fakeness. When you’re in Hawaii with him things make sense. They’re normal, routine and so humbling.

Yeah, people recognize him and he’s such a sweetheart that he always stops for autographs and photos but on the island of chill, everyone lives by going with the flow and taking it easy. This means that he’s never hounded for long. Secretly he still loves it.

Jason’s idea for the day was the beach. The man loved the beach. He didn’t do normal things people did like relaxed. No Jason was always active. He was surfing, boogie boarding, even snorkeling. You name it and he’s probably done it.

You didn’t mind. If you weren’t out there with him snorkeling or swimming you were watching his incredible athleticism in action. The man was built to be shirtless and in the water. Hell, even the water loved his body. Your mouth always watered as you watched the droplets slide down his body and drip from the ends of his long hair that he always left loose. He knew he was a Hawaiian God and that you loved to watch him and he used it as a weapon. Today was no different.

You were sitting on the blanket watching him dominate every wave that came in. You loved seeing him like this. There was nothing like his smile when he was doing something he truly loved. He zipped over the water and cut it with ease and expertise. He looked like he was going to make it. You leaped to your feet and rushed to the shore then squat down to the sand and watched as he barely made it out the tunnel before it crashed.

Jason threw his hands up and looked for you at the spot he left you and when he saw you at the shore, he looked like the epitome of joy. you jumped up and down cheering him on. Your mother always said to be your man’s biggest cheerleader and the way everyone was looking at you said you’d accomplished it.

You watched him dive off the board into the water knowing he was going to be swimming in. You ran into the water ready for when he got to the shore. As he approached you went deeper until the water caught you a little above your waist. Once he got there you bounced into his arms.

“You looked so good out there baby,” you compliment. Jason’s chuckle was adorable.

“I looked good out here and you looked incredible over there. So damn distracting.”

“Oh yeah? How distracting because you sure rode that wave like I was nothing but a blip in the landscape.”

As if to dissuade you Jason kissed you stopping whatever words that were coming next. His tongue curled around yours before he sucked it. He tasted like sea salt, beer, and pineapples. It was your favorite taste thanks to him.

The way he kissed you said he was hungry. Pulling away from him you shake your head.

“Nope.”

“What?” His wide guilty smile was all the evidence you needed to his train of thought.

“Nope. You know what. There’s no way,” you reiterated.

Jason continues to chuckle. It was like he knew you were going to be whistling a different tune in a few minutes. You were such a weak woman when it came to him.

“Come on. You can’t let me walk out there with this.” Jason allows your body to slip a little lower so you could feel the weapon of uterus destruction he was barely concealing in those swim trunks.

You gasped. “Jason. Oh my god. How?”

“How? You’re kidding. All I have to do is look at you and this is the end result,” Jason confessed before he kissed your neck and trailed those kisses down to your shoulder only to bring his lips back up to suck your skin into his mouth. He knew what he was doing where he was doing it.

You got lost in his kisses in seconds. The way his wet beard tickled your face only enhanced how badly you wanted him. You could also feel him growing even bigger. Moaning you tore your lips away.

“Jason, we’re on the beach. There are people everywhere. Kids.”

“They’re not my kids. I’m trying to plant some.”

You couldn’t not laugh as you looked at him incredulously. You thought he couldn’t be serious but you had a sneaking feeling he was dead serious.

“Jason,” you whined again. He turned your body so your back was out greeting the ocean before you knew it he’d placed you on his surfboard and was standing between your spread legs. “We can’t do this here.”

“No one will know. Trust me.”

“I trust you with everything, but baby everyone will know.”

He wasn’t hearing any of your protests. His large hands slowly slid across your wet thighs until they made it to the ties of your bathing suit bottom. He didn’t untie them he simply toyed with the dangling strings.

“I can read your mind Jason,” you informed. Jason smiled then yanked you off the board and to him. His lips were pressed to your a second later and again he kissed you dizzy.

You don’t even realize when he turned you so you were looking at the ocean horizon. For as far as the eye could see it was all blue water and blue sky. “Watch that horizon, Ko’u aloha,” Jason whispered. You loved it when he spoke Hawaiian to you. You’d gotten better at understanding some of it. Every time he called you my love it made your belly do backflips.

Jason’s hands caressed your stomach before his hand dipped into your bikini bottom. Your head dropped back to rest on his chest giving him full access to your neck which he took full advantage of. He licked and sucked a hypnotizing pattern that distracted you from what he was about to do but when you felt his fingers swirl around your clit you sank back onto him. Jason’s arms were there to hold you.

You couldn’t stop any of your moans. He knew just what to do to make your body ebb on the edge of complete hysteria. After a few swirls, he dipped two digits into your channel making you take a deep breath, emitting an audible hiss.

Jason slowly dipped and retreated his fingers stating a slow pace then he added a third finger which had a grunt strangled in your throat.

“Jesus Y/N, you’re so tight. I need you.”

“Right--here?”

“Right here,” he repeated.

“Right--right--now?”

“Now!” It was gruff and filled with urgency. You couldn’t stop yourself from rubbing against his hard length that was poking into your back. When you tipped your head back even more Jason dipped his down to meet your lips for an upside-down kiss.

Not noticing the water height raise you focused on his lips and the sinful things his fingers were doing to you under the water. When he tore his lips from yours he gently pushed your back down so you were resting over the surfboard that was in front of you. The water had your body like a buoy, Jason’s hand gripped your hip keeping your lower half submerged so the beach patrons would be none the wiser.

In seconds he’d pulled your bikini to the side and slammed his hips forward sending his solid, thick love into you. A wave of water washed over your back from the force of his thrust. To prevent yourself from shrieking out you clamped your hand over your mouth. It barely contained it. Jason continued his thrusts never missing a beat. Every connection had you whimpering and panting his name.

Soon his hand replaced yours while the other remained squeezing your hop keeping you from floating to the surface. The sheer strength he possessed in his body only turned you on even more. Jason thrust forward filling you completely then rotated his hips. His hand contained your muffled curse.

“Just watch that horizon. Watch it as I make your body feel good baby.”

Jason’s thrusts sped and not even his hand could stop a moan from escaping. You couldn’t be bothered to look around everything he was doing felt so good--too good.

Jason’s hand moved from your mouth to over your chest right above your breasts. He lifted you and pulled your back against his chest and changed the angle to which he plunged into you.

“Be quiet for me, Ko’u aloha.”

The man had to be crazy, you thought. There was no way and he knew it. With every connection, you whimpered and with every whimper, he heard he rotated his hips so you felt every single inch of him.

“Fuck me, Ko’u aloha,” you breathlessly murmured.

Just as you loved hearing it, he loved it even more. The force of his movements increased and that delicious pressure that signified your oncoming release buzzed through you. His pants brushed against your ear making you clench him tighter.

Jason grunted and tightened his grip right before he fucked you as if you weren’t in the middle of the ocean with the beach filled.

“Jason.”

“I fucking love you so much!” His voice was impossibly deep and just like that, you were coming. The tightness of your drenched cavern had him grunting and staggering his thrusts until you felt his release.

It took a few moments for both of you to come down enough for either of you to move. You just stayed still staring at the horizon at the sun that was beginning to set. It was beautiful and made even more perfect by Jason behind you nestled tightly between your folds.

“Mmmm,” Jason began as he pulled from you and turned you in his arms so you were facing him. You wrapped your legs back around him as you scoped out around you to see if you’d been caught. Thankfully you didn’t have an audience.

“I can’t believe we just did that here,” you whispered.

“I’m sure countless have done the same.” His voice was lethargic. It was the voice of a sated man.

“Glad that you’re no longer hungry, Ko’u aloha,” you said before you kissed his shoulder and neck.

“I wasn’t until you said that. It’s time to go,” Jason abruptly announced as he turned you both and headed back to shore with you giggling. The man was insatiable.

Hawaii would forever hold a special place in your heart.

Glossary: According to Google Translate

Ko’u aloha: My Love.

~~~~~~~~

Hey Anon, I hope you liked this!

I’m so sorry it’s so late.

#ask lee #lee answers #jason momoa request

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dickgraysonisnothereforthis · 4 years

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I Didn’t Mistake Your Finger for the Moon, I Just Chose to Look at You Instead

Tim Drake x Reader Oneshot

The title comes from zen buddhism (maybe chinese? i’m sorry I don’t know), the idea is I am pointing my finger at the moon to show you the moon don’t look at my pointed finger, look where I’m pointing.

Heavily inspired by the play Frankie and Johnnie in the Claire de Lune

***

You can’t believe it’s only 8:30pm, just two hours into the night and you’re already bored out of your skull. Around you, the huge ballroom swirls with sparkling socialites keeping themselves busy by incessantly talking shit and guzzling Bruce Wayne’s alcohol. Everybody has their lips to someone’s ear and a glass in their hand, except for you, which is quite stupid on your part. But that’s why you’re at the bar.

Behind you, the positively charming laughs of the Wayne Gala’s guests dot the conversations that spill out through the room in concentric circles, rippling over each other in waves that ebb and flow right up until they reach you. Then they stop short, leaving you alone and trying to order a drink from a bartender who seems to be too busy to chat you up out of pity.

Not that you’d do anything with her, obviously. But still. Some attention would be nice.

Christ, you were so shit at knowing what to do with yourself at these parties. You’d think you’d have them figured out by now, but no such luck. Your funeral.

“Hey, have you seen Tim?”

You turn to face the speaker and your eyes fall on Dick Grayson, dressed gorgeous in a sharp suit complete with a dark blue bow tie. He looks incredible, but then again, he usually does. And miracle of miracles, the folks around you are now eyeing you up, trying to figure out if it’s worth skydiving into your conversation to get in a word with Bruce Wayne’s heir. Dick does that to people, has the sort of happy, positive demeanor that makes folks want desperately to talk to him, to be part of his group. You’ll probably never get used to it. Or to how beautiful he is.

“Yeah.” Yeah, you know where Tim is. You resist the urge to point across the ballroom, motioning with your chin instead. “He’s over there, schmoozing with some LexCorp folks.”

“Schmoozing? With LexCorp?” Dick’s face takes on a slightly disgusted hue in the light of the chandeliers.

You shrug. “Schmoozing, making thinly veiled threats, planting the seeds for some light corporate espionage, but not the sort anyone can prove. You know Tim.”

Dick chuckles at that. “I guess I do.” He takes a step away from you, then doubles back. “Are you all right, over here? You look a bit...”

“You can say lonely, Dick, it’s okay,” you say with a bit of bite, too many teeth in your voice, but he’s not wrong. “I’m fine, you don’t need to babysit me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Jeez, y/n, I didn’t mean--”

You cut him off. “No, it’s fine Dick, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.” You press a hand to the bridge of your nose and try to take deep breaths. Starting a fight with your boyfriend’s oldest brother is not exactly on your to-do list for the evening. “I am a bit lonely, but it’s cool, I get Tim back in...” you check your watch, a cheap analogue that clashes something awful with your cheesed-up attire. “Eight in a half minutes. Then he’s mine for at least an hour.”

Dick quirks his lips in a half-smile. “You guys time how long he spends doing W.E. business at these galas? That’s--”

“Adorable? Or just anal?” Try as you might, you can’t keep the cynicism from spreading thick over your tone.

“I was actually going to say very Tim,” he says back warmly. You grin at him, bad mood abandoning you for the moment. “It was his idea. Wouldn’t be much of a date if we didn’t spend any time together.”

Dick laughs again. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” Across the room, Tim turns away from the circle of business harpies and shoots you an apologetic smile. Dick must’ve clocked it as well. “Maybe Tim’ll turn knight-in-shining-armor and rescue you,” he suggests.

You wrinkle your nose. “I doubt it. As much as I don’t like it, the business stuff needs to get done.”

Dick eyes Tim’s back. “Yeah, something tells me you’d be the one doing the rescuing.” He clears his throat. “Well, I hate to be rude, but I gotta skip out on you.” Dick’s down-to-earth manner of speaking always surprises you, especially because he manages to get away with it at these swanky events. When you do it everyone seems to look at you sideways. “Need to go find Damian,” Dick explains further. “If he’s not antagonizing your boyfriend, he may be up to something worse.”

You nod in agreement. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

He sighs. “Yeah, wish me luck.” And then Dick makes his exit, leaving you with seven and a half minutes to wallow before Tim comes back.

You chide yourself a bit, picking up the Gin and Tonic that the bartender had just placed in front of you. Were you seriously going to wallow in self pity at a gala half of Gotham would kill to attend? With Tim Drake as your date? Hundreds of girls and quite a few boys probably daydream about being in your place, especially after he made the Forbes Thirty under Thirty list last month. Still, his spot on the list doesn’t change the fact that exactly no one at this party, striking Dick and the bartender, has said a single word to you.

You stifle a sigh. It isn’t your fault Gotham’s socialites always prove to be uninterested in Timothy Drake’s thoroughly middle-class girlfriend. They had found you just fascinating when the relationship was new and Tim’s move of dating so far below his class had actually made headlines. But, six months later, your novelty had worn clean off. God, you wished you had someone to talk to. You were feeling so small.

Swallowing a sip of G&T, you think back to your first gala at the Manor. The glitter and glamour of the evening had left you breathless, whereas now it’s making you sick. Some parts of the evening never seem to go stale, though. You still love playing dress up in gorgeous clothes and parading around with your boyfriend, who was also dressed up in gorgeous clothes. Tim usually bought your dresses for these events, since there was no way on the planet you could afford them. You’d gotten used to Tim being stupid rich early in your relationship, and it doesn’t bother you that you can never match him in the money department.

Occasionally, Tim likes to spoil you, although neither of you are too keen on outrageous gifts that are ultimately useless. He tends to avoid getting you things that are overpriced and unnecessary. (Cheap and unnecessary is where you operate. The two of you are currently having a competition over who could get the other the smallest, most useless gift for under two dollars. Your last gift to him had been a yellow plastic shovel that fits in the palm of your hand)

Tim doesn’t like buying expensive, frivolous things on principle, and you don’t like receiving them, also on principle. But if you’re going to attend these galas, you need an expensive dress point-blank, otherwise you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. And you want to attend, you want to be Tim’s girlfriend, public appearances and all. So Tim just has to buy you the dresses, which you secretly love because they’re gorgeous, and you have to accept them, because you can’t attend the gala without them. It’s a neat way for Tim to give you something expensive and make sure you’ll have a need for it. Plus, you know he loves seeing you wear the clothes he’s bought you.

Tonight, however, you’re not wearing one of Tim’s Vera Wang’s or Alexander McQueen’s. You’ve opted instead on something you’d bought yourself, a bridesmaid’s dress you’d worn to a friend’s wedding earlier this year. It just about fits in with everyone else’s attire, and besides, the dress was expensive. You wanted to wear it at least twice. A great plan, except it isn’t as beautiful as some of the other dresses in the room tonight. You’ve recognized more than one from a runway fashion account you follow on Instagram. Nice as your dress may be, it can’t compare with any of those, and every time you see an exceptionally beautiful gown you wonder what you were thinking, wearing a dress like this.

The negative buzzing in your ears dissipates as you catch Tim’s eye again. He’s got the same stupid look on his face he’d worn when he picked you up this evening. Like he’d been punched but he didn’t exactly mind.

“Are you sure you’re my date for tonight?” he’d whispered, after doing a cartoonish double-take at the door of your apartment, because he really is a good boyfriend. “I’m not sure other people will believe it.”

“Of course they will,” you’d scoffed, cheeks glowing at the compliment. “We look good together. You’re pretty stunning yourself.”

He’d look down at his own clothes with a worried expression. “Really?” Following your advice and urging, Tim had stepped out of his comfort zone tonight and was sporting a patterned tux. It’s a dark blue checked with thin black stripes, waistcoat and bow-tie to match. “I think I look like Al Capone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you look very dapper.” You had taken his hand, then, smiling up at him and leading him out of your apartment. “Charming, even.”

“If Jason’s there he’ll make fun of me. Damian definitely will.”

“They were going to do that anyway. And besides, who cares? I think you look great.”

“I guess you’re the only one that matters.”

“Damn straight.”

He really does look incredible tonight, you think to yourself as you check him out from your position at the bar. Nothing short of beautiful, with the long lines of the tux sitting pretty on his sinuous, willowy limbs and gorgeous frame. His shoulders are holding strong under the fine material of his jacket, and presiding over everything are his sharp cheekbones and even sharper eyes. Which, you note in satisfaction, are now fixed on you as Tim extricates himself from the suits and makes his way to the bar.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks, plopping down next to you and casually hooking a foot around your ankle.

“Nope,” you smile happily, thrilled to be spending time with him again. “I was saving it for you, and as you can see, I had to really fight to keep it free.” You motion around yourself to the people ignoring you.

Tim winces. “I’m sorry, y/n, if I could do anything--”

“Stop, stop,” you wave him silent. “Don’t worry about it. You’re here now, it’s okay,” you reassure him.

“I don’t like that you end up spending so much time alone at these things,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “If you even think I’m going to let you come to this thing by yourself,” you say, shaking your head. “Some of the other ones, maybe, but if I don’t make an appearance at The Wayne Gala, capital T, W, and G, the public will think I’m out of the picture.”

“Defending your territory, huh?” Tim grins sidelong at you. “Keeping the society pages off my back, more like.” You shift in your seat, sensing an opportunity. “But maybe I am defending my territory, hmm?” You give him an obvious once over, let lust show in your gaze. “Maybe you’re too pretty to let out of my sight.”

He flushes, color overrunning his cheeks and spilling down his neck and making him look even more edible. You let out a breath. “God, Tim, I could just...” you lean over, easily catching his lips with yours. Holding him there for a just a second, you run your tongue quick over his bottom lip and then pull back, spending a few moments just looking at him, with him looking back.

You wait for some of the sparkling energy to fade before you speak again. “It’s important to me that you know I’m here to support you as acting CEO.”

He laughs at that, spell broken. “I know sweetheart.” He turns from you to order a drink. “I’m very proud of you,” you say to his back. He rolls his eyes at you over his shoulder.

The bartender makes the drink inside of twenty seconds, because Tim Drake asked for it, and then your boyfriend spends a few more moments staring at you, taking the glass in his hand and eyeing you over the rim.

You meet his gaze. “What are you thinking?” He presses a finger to his ear. “Going off comms,” he murmurs, then surreptitiously fishes the device out of his ear and stows it in his pocket. If you hadn’t known what to look for you would swear he was just running his fingers through his hair and then brushing some lint off of his suit.

“If I’m honest, I’ve spent the last twenty minutes fantasizing about eating you out.”

...what?

It takes a moment for his words to connect to your brain. Then--

“Tim!” you squawk, eyes darting around to make sure no one had overheard you. “You can’t just say that to me in public!”

His eyes meet yours, he looks unimpressed. Tim never has any patience for your prudishness whenever he brings up sex with other people around. “What can I say? The LexCorp people were boring,” and now he’s the one looking you over, eyes slowly working up and down your form. You shiver under his attention. “That’s a very pretty dress you’re wearing, y/n, I think it would look great bunched up around your hips.”

God, confidence is such an irresistible look on him. Despite your better judgment, you decide to play along. Leaning closer, you let one hand ghost over his crotch, cupping him for half a moment as you say “and how do you think the dress will look on your bedroom floor?”

He gasps when you touch him, then smiles brilliantly, eyes shining. You really, really shouldn’t be encouraging him, but you can’t help it. You love him like this, you love the unrelenting force of his desire. You love how much he wants you.

With Tim, you’ve found that once the idea of sex gets into his head and he sees that you’re game, he’s like a dog with a bone, gnawing and gnawing at you. There’s no stopping him in pursuit to get you into his bed, or car, or the nearest supply closet. And you always find yourself indulging him, because the sex is usually good, but the man himself is even better. You delight in seeing Tim aroused, because as soon as that switch is flipped, the self-control that Tim rigidly keeps in place disappears, and he becomes hypnotically impulsive with his emotions. It took some time for him to get the barriers down, for him to let loose around you, but now he allows himself to be everything all at once. An aroused Tim is playful, awkward, confident, shy, ridiculous, and enthusiastic. You never know what you’re going to get with him, and sometimes he flits from one affect to the other between moments, leaving you breathless.

And you’re more than happy to provide an arena for Tim to let loose, because the only time your boyfriend allows himself to be anything less than perfect is when he’s in your arms. Control rules Tim’s life in the form of some probably unhealthy idolatrous god. As he’s explained to you several times, yes, he actually does need to be this tightly wound, because if he makes a mistake he’ll lose clout at WE. Or he’ll be too slow at night. People will die (he will die.) Insert answer here.

Which is all true, but it doesn’t mean Tim can’t take a fucking break once in a while. And that’s where you come in. Your boyfriend spends his whole life striving for perfection and punishing himself when he doesn’t reach it, but when he’s with you, he can be anything he wants.

And one of the wonderful things about sleeping with Tim is so often you get to see everything he wants. Once he’s finally lost control, once you’ve convinced him to put the walls down, he’s like a kid in a candy store. He can do anything, and so he usually does everything.

“Christ,” he breathes in your ear, head still in your fleeting touch, one arm coming to rest on your back. “I think you’ve given me a semi.”

“That,” you say in a sing-song voice, absolutely delighted, “sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” You turn and pretend to walk away, but Tim catches hold of your arm, reeling you back towards him. “You can’t leave now, y/n,” he pleads, eyes dancing. “People are going to look at my crotch and see I’ve got a hard-on, and I can’t endure Cass making fun of me again. C’mon, y/n,” he pouts at you. “I’m your damsel in distress. Save me from the bullies. Dance with me so no one will see.”

You roll your eyes, but come to stand in front of him nonetheless, letting him lead you to the center for the room with his hands on your waist. This isn’t the first time a gala has bored Tim to sexual frustration. “People will still be able to see your crotch,” you argue. “We’ll just dance really, really close together.” As if to prove his point, he suddenly jerks your hips to his, and you all but fall against him. “The song is too fast for this kind of slow-dancing,” you say into his neck, false protests muffled by his suit.

He leans back to make eye contact with you as the two of you start swaying. “That doesn’t matter. We’re young lovers, y/n,” he reminds you seriously. “They’ll forgive us.”

“Young lovers, hmm?” You’re struck again by his confidence tonight, how alluring it is. It’s rare that he’s this sure of himself, but he wears it so well when he is.

“That’s right.” The two of you are silent for a moment, and you contemplate leaning your head against his chest. “You really do look beautiful in that dress, y/n,” Tim says quietly, all joking gone from his tone.

Your cheeks heat at the compliment. “Thank you.” And then, because you’re immature, too, and because Tim isn’t the only one who can flash his sex drive in public, you impulsively say “I bet you can’t guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

This is probably a mistake, but what the hell. You want your boyfriend just as much as he wants you, maybe more.

Tim doesn’t even wait two full seconds before responding. “See, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I bet I can.” You weren’t expecting him to be so quick on the uptake, your mistake for thinking his boredom hadn’t already driven him to tackle this particular problem.

“It’s warm enough out that you’re not wearing any tights or pantyhose, so the suspender sets are out.”

“The suspender sets are out,” you repeat solemnly, already excited by this new game you’re playing. “Well, hang on, maybe I just wore a set without the suspenders.”

Tim is quick to shake his head. “No, you hate doing that, you’d rather just wear separate set altogether. It’s a set without the suspenders.”

You let out a low whistle. “Got me pegged there, detective.” You see an opportunity, and waggle your eyebrows. “Maybe I’ll have you pegged, later.”

He falters in the slow waltz he’s leading you through. “Really not helping with the semi here, y/n” he complains, and he’s right, you can feel it pressing lightly against you. You roll your eyes. “Fine, let’s go back to you guessing what lingerie I’m wearing.”

He nods, only half joking. Tim loves a puzzle. “Thank you. So none of the suspenders.”

“So none of the suspenders,” you repeat again, and offer him a winning smile when he glares at you over it.

Explanatory monologue in full swing, he says “You normally like to match your dress, but this one’s black, which isn’t very helpful.” All of a sudden his attention shifts and comes to rest on your face. “Are you going to tell me if I get it right, or will I just have to wait and see?”

“What would make it better for you, baby?” you ask, voice sultry as you slide your hips against his.

“I have absolutely no idea. Is it the red one?”

“Nope!”

“Damn. I love the red one.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.”

He pouts at you, but quickly perks up again. “Here, hang on, I’m going to risk exposing my erection so I can get a better view of your back,” and suddenly you’re spinning, once, twice, three times, before Tim pulls you back to his chest and dips you as the song ends. You’re panting a bit in surprise, and from your position suspended in his strong arms, you can feel one of his hands pawing around at your hip, smoothing over the fabric of your dress.

He pulls you upright as another song begins, a grimace on his handsome face. You reach up to brush some of his hair out of his eyes. “That was inconclusive,” he mutters.

You glance over his shoulder. “I think Bruce definitely got a good look at what’s going on down south.” Your boyfriend’s father is looking rather pointedly at the ground, a pained look on his face.

“I could barely see the lines of the set through your dress,” Tim complains, and then adds “Bruce’ll get over it. Or he won’t. Whatever,” he says dismissively. “Last week I walked in on Selina blowing him under his desk, so now we’re even. What’s way more important is that I couldn’t see anything, why couldn’t I see anything?”

“Aww, poor baby,” you tease.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, before brightening a bit. “I mean, it wasn’t a total loss. I did get a great view of your ass. It still looks fantastic, by the way.”

“Thanks for the update.”

He keeps going. “I didn’t see the lines, but I did get a good feel of your underwear at your hip.” He plants his tongue between his teeth, eyes closed in concentration as you sway delicately to the new song. “I didn’t feel a strap, so I can rule out some of the thongs.” You hum in agreement, arms coming up to wrap securely around his torso in an extended embrace. “It isn’t either of the black ones, or the nice blue one, is it?”

“No, sweetheart, it’s not.”

“Hn.” He shifts his arms, and you feel his slight hand flitting about at your hip again. He soon gives up, discouraged. “The material of your dress is too thick, I can’t feel anything through it.”

You decide to throw him a bone. “I’ll give you a hint: I’m actually wearing another color besides black, and the set matches it.”

Tim frowns, stepping back from you for a moment to look down at your feet. “Your shoes are black too, what are you talking about?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you want me to ruin it for you?”

“No, let me think,” Tim says, and goes silent, eyes shut. You study him as the actual detective comes out to play. His eyes snap open again, and you clock his gaze going for your throat and ears. No necklace, but you are wearing gold earrings. Tim ignores them and takes your hand in his, examining your rings. He knows you too well to ask whether the set is gold or silver, that isn’t your style. He’s getting much closer with the rings though, and then his sharp exhale is ghosting through your fingers and his eyes are meeting yours again. You give him a proud smile.

“Good solve, Timmy.” He kisses the pad of your index finger. “Nail polish, y/n?”

“Nail polish,” you confirm.

“Why?”

You pretend to think it over, letting your eyes go wide. “Well, I just thought it would look nice, you know? My hand right over the panties, maybe even inside them, if you wanted me to do any of the work on my own.”

His eyes just about bug out of his head at that, and then he shakes his smile back and forth, impressed. Your answering grin is knife sharp. “You’ve got me right where you want me, don’t you, y/n? What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want,” you whisper, winding your arms around his neck. “That’s sort of the point. We can get out of here right now.”

“You know I would love, love, to do that,” Tim says, running his hands down your back, “but there’s supposedly a deal going down at 9:30 that I kind of need to be there for.”

“Well, then,” you murmur, “you’ll just have to suffer for another twenty minutes.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he says drily. The two of you sway in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. “Hold on, y/n, something just occurred to me.”

“Yes, Tim?”

“Your nail polish is purple, but you don’t own any sets that color. What gives?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. He looks at you for a few moments before his face smooths out again. “You really have it in for me tonight, don’t you? It’s a new set?”

“It’s a new set,” you confirm.

“And I bet you look just stellar in purple,” he says to himself, a desperate edge to his voice.

“You know very well I look good in everything.” You glance downwards. “How are you doing there, Timmy?”

“Fuck off,” he says happily. “Is it lace?”

“Tim, sweetheart, of course it’s lace.”

Your boyfriend groans, then freezes in place. You look at him questioningly. “I’m running a cost/benefit analysis on me skipping out on this deal.”

“Give it to Tam,” you suggest.

“Give it to Tam,” he agrees. “Yeah, alright, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You let out a delighted laugh, following him in the direction of his old bedroom in the manor. Behind you, you dimly hear the orchestra finish their song. There are a few moments of silence while you make your way to the exit, and then you hear a few forlorn notes on the piano that have you turning around and calling out “Tim!”

“Whoa, y/n, where are you--”

“Tim! Tim it’s Claire de Lune, they’re playing Claire de Lune, we have to stay!” You drag him back to the dance floor.

“But,” he tries to argue, “but y/n, we were going to--”

“Tim.” You stand your ground. “It’s Claire de Lune. Please?”

He mumbles under his breath but takes you back into his arms regardless, like the good boyfriend that he is. You adore the Claire de Lune, and he’s probably reasoned to himself that no amount of arguing or pleading could tear you from the melody spinning lazily through the room.

He’s still going to complain about it, though. “Claire de Lune, huh? I can’t believe I lived to see Twilight cock-blocking me again.”

You poke him in the side. “Some of us first heard Debussy at the Gotham Philharmonic and some of us read about him in Stephanie Meyers’ blockbuster paranormal romance and googled Claire de Lune on the family computer in their Dad’s office, okay? The important thing is we’re both here, and we can both appreciate it, so shut up.”

Tim shuts up. You smile at him, and let your eyes fall closed. The slow melody envelops you like mist and settles on your skin, resting easy in your inner ear. A small part of you anticipates the notes before the pianist actually plays them, and you find yourself nodding when they finally escape from her fingers. Her performance is perfect, she isn’t messing around trying to improve Debussy’s masterwork, just picking her way through it, measure by measure. You take deep, even breaths as a sense of calm permeates your system. Eyes still closed, you let the music relax you, content to wade dreamily in its cool comfort.

After about a minute, Tim clears his throat. “Y/n,” he says gently, “look.” You open your eyes and follow Tim’s pointed finger to one of the floor-length windows, gasping out loud when you see the stunning full moon. It sits in an overcast sky, fog and smog and clouds pressing against it like an embrace. The thin ropey clouds that drift across its slouched figure are reflecting its yellow light and giving it a warm, pearly corona, a halo. You stare at it openly for a few seconds, admiring the bone moon in its sky armchair.

Your attention drifts back to Tim’s finger, arm still hanging loosely in front of you, and then to the man himself. The ballroom lights are low enough that you can imagine the moonlight reflecting off of Tim, too, that he too is catching some of its cotton shine on his face. You’re awfully lucky to be with someone who takes the time to point out a particular moon among of a string of nights with particular moons, and you tell him so. Tim’s smile is quiet, but he presses his forehead to yours, where it stays for the rest of the song.

When it ends Tim leans back to smile at you again. You smile back, feeling filled up with the moon and the music and him. Catching his hand in your own, you start in the direction of the grand staircase that leads up to his old bedroom. Tim stops you by pulling on your arm lightly, before turning and walking towards the doors that will take you outside.

You look at him quizzically. “Can we go to your apartment?” he murmurs. “We’ve been in my world this whole night, now I want to be in yours.”

You smile softly before leaning up to kiss him, quick and light. He squeezes your hand as he leads you through the room, and then suddenly you’re outside, breathing cool, almost autumn air while you wait for Tim to get a car sorted out. You turn your eyes upward to meet the moon again, the ghost of Claire de Lune still drifting through your head.

Tim breaks your reverie by calling your name, and you follow him into the back of a car. After directing the driver to your apartment, Tim hands you an earbud. You put it in your left ear while Tim puts the other in his right, and together you listen to Claire de Lune again as the car makes it’s way through a Gotham that’s soft and shiny with moonlight. Three repetitions of Debussy later you’re standing in front of your apartment, Tim wrapping his arms around you as you fiddle with your keys, unlock your door, and lead him to your bedroom.

Later, after you’re spent twice over and Tim has made good on his fantasy of opening you up with his mouth, Tim shifts in the bed and slides himself around you, lips at your ear.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You sigh happily. “Mmm.”

“I asked the orchestra to play Clair de Lune.”

You raise yourself up on your elbows at that, leaning over him with a meaningful look into his starry eyes. You’re sure there are stars in yours, too.

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

You lie back down. “Thank you.”

His hand comes up to stroke your hair. “Mmm.”

#tim drake x reader #batboy imagines #tim drake imagine #dc imagine #batboy x reader #kira writes #tim drake

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lia-writes · 5 years

Text

rose water & cherry lips

pairing: jaskier x reader

a/n: buckle up, because it’s rose water part two. but also, i rewrote this a couple of times and am nervous as heck to post it so hopefully, this sweet little love is enough to satisfy you!

;

Winter brings about a sense of stillness and the cobbled streets of Novigrad slowly become your home. The life you share with Jaskier becomes quiet – routine, even.

With the snow, comes new feelings. Foreign in the way they settle in your chest, nestled right up next to your heart.

He plays for the crowds at a few inns and taverns. Mostly, you join him. His popularity seems to grow larger by the week. The doting women, sniffing into their sleeves or handkerchiefs watch him play with love in their eyes. It makes your heart thumpthump a little harder from across the room each time.

Stolen kisses and chaste touches at your waist had woven itself between you, comfortably. Never any less, but neither of you seemed quite brave enough to take it that one step further. In your head, perhaps. His weight on top of you, beneath the bed covers. A dream that’s woken you in a slight sweat and the need for your hand to dip between your thighs on more than one occasion.

You’re in awfully deep, looking up at him with rose-tinted glasses.

This time, as the sun begins to sink behind Novigrad’s buildings, Jaskier heads down the street alone toward a large tavern called The Hearthstone. You’re left next to the fire, a new book in one hand and a cup of fine wine in the other.

It’s late when he finishes his performance, plays a round of Gwent and heads home to you.

Despite the frosted touch to the air, drunk men stumble down the street past him and a pair of ladies' whistle at him from the torch-lit doorway of a brothel.

He ignores them and presses forward, adjusting the lute’s case on his shoulder and his grip on the bottle of wine he won... or was gifted.

When he arrives back at your door, cheeks flushed and fingers stiff with cold he expects you to be sleeping. So, when he finds you in the bathtub, back to him and the rising steam making your hair curl, the wine bottle almost slips from his hand.

You throw a glance over your shoulder, cheeks rosy from the bathwater and offer a smile. He tells himself that it’s his return that’s brought the color to your face.

Placing the bottle of wine on the desk, he sets his lute down and wrings his hands together.

In a good way, you have the ability to make him nervous. You’re the blood within his veins. The ebb and flow of his life force and he, yours. Looking at you then from across the room, his words die in his throat. His complimentary half that makes his love feel whole and needed.

The gentle splishsplash of the water beneath your dancing fingertips draws him closer to you, body lowering to sit on the floor next to the bathtub.

He reaches out to let his fingertips skim across your arm, up and down and up and down as he gazes at you. “What’s keeping you up?” he asks softly.

“Nothing... Honestly.”

A head tilt and pointed stare from him makes you sigh.

“Okay,” you relent, “I was out at the market earlier today, while you were still sleeping and... I ran into an old friend.”

“Oh?” He expects you to tell him a tale of an old lover from younger years – after all, there was once a time where the two of you were mere strangers.

You shake your head knowingly, “A female friend. We grew up together and when I saw her... On the arm of her husband... she really did seem grown-up.”

He leans forward with his elbow resting on his knee and his chin falling into his palm.

“It made you feel like you were missing something?”

“Yes.” Your stare hits him like a sucker punch to the gut.

A gulp.

The pulse in your neck jumps.

“I can’t imagine my life without you,” he begins, eyelashes fluttering with each blink until you reach out to place a finger over his lips. He thinks about letting his tongue dart out to taste you then, the light scent of rose-scented soap on your skin.

“Please, don’t. If this is what you want, then it must be sincere, Jaskier.”

“Well, you certainly make a desperate fool feel loved.”

He doesn’t understand how this isn’t sincere, surrounded by the entirety of all the love he could possibly offer you.

This is your chance. This is your chance. This is your chance.

“The water’s still warm,” you say after a beat of silence.

“Changing the subject with your... Temptation?” His eyes drag up your body, mostly hidden beneath the water, cloudy from the soaps you’d used earlier.

Your laughter is soft. The affection that warms his grey eyes darkens with something a little more lustful and you chew at your lower lip.

His hand leaves your arm to pull his boots off – chucking them across the room toward the door. The jacket he wears follows quickly.

“My wife...” it’s whispered as he stands to undo his trousers and tug his shirt over his head.

“Mmmm.” You sigh, quite content with watching him undress.

The curve of your spine, and the damp tendrils of hair that spill over your shoulders makes him hold his breath as he climbs into the bath to sit behind you.

It’s easy to settle back against his chest and feel like you’re finally home.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he says, breath warm and tickling against the back of your neck.

Letting your fingertips intertwine, you pull his arms from where they rest against the sides of the bath to wrap around your waist beneath the water.

“Just hold me,” you mumble and he tightens his grip on you, heartbeat thumping against your back. He wonders if you can feel it – skin to skin.

The water cools as the silence between you grows, comfortably.

"I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. It was entirely accidental.”

He chuckles softly, “you did try and fight it, huh?”

“I was tired of being lonely I guess.”

“Is that all?”

“You were it all, what life had promised me as a young girl, dreaming of her future wedding with her friends.”

A kiss pressed at the side of your neck.

“You’re too good for me,” between kisses that duck to your shoulder.

“I want you... More than anything I’ve ever wanted,” your head tucks against his chest, eyes gazing up to lock with his.

Suddenly, the water is boiling.

His hands trail up your sides as he stands then, pulling you to your feet with his grip under your arms.

Laughter. Loud and filled with the hope that love exists.

You exist.

And you’re the best life he could ever imagine.

This entire thing feels so under-rehearsed and your laughter reduces to soft breaths, letting him help you out of the bath, bodies silken from the soapy water and flush against one another.

“Tell me you want this,” he fumbles to find his voice, breath stolen by the look you keep giving him.

“I want more than this,” a quirk of your eyebrow, urges him onward.

“You kill me, you know that?”

The anticipation fucking kills you, slowly stealing your breath and making your heart jump all at once. Your desire for him is painful, both lodged in your chest and pooling between your legs.

It's you that kisses him first, lips meeting his with foolish energy.

Jaskier’s hands dance down the length of your spine, nails making your body curve against his. When they round your bottom, you jump and he catches you.

With legs wrapped around his waist, you’re hungry for his touch until he nips at your lower lip.

“Please don’t rush this, this is something I never get to relive.”

His next kiss is against your smile and you notice him stumble in the direction of the neatly made bed.

Your feet touch the ground as he reaches the side, hands remaining around his neck to kiss him again.

“Are you... begging me to be patient... Jaskier?”

The weight of his body against yours throws you back onto the bed. When he straddles your thighs, you’re painfully aware of his arousal and you jerk your hips up into him – his groan reverberates against your lips

His hands grasp yours at either side of your head and you swear your knuckles whiten when he rocks himself back against you

“Two can play that game, my dear,”

You’re about to pull your hands from his to let your nails rake up his back but he holds fast, palms melding to one another.

“Apparently not,” his lips travel downward, along the edge of your jaw and pause to suck a bruise at your pulse point.

Another impatient buck of your hips has him growl lightly against your skin.

“Jaskier,” a whine, the throb between your legs winding you higher and he shifts to rest his weight between your thighs, knees nudging at the soft skin.

Your legs are quick to wrap around his waist and his eyes draw up to meet you.

Red marks trailed along your collarbone. Another jerk of your hips and the heat coils firmly in your abdomen.

“You really love me,” he says between kisses at the top of the swell of your chest. Your breath heaves. His lips ghost across your breast, tongue darting out to swirl around your nipple, skin hot beneath his mouth.

“The anticipation is building.” you chuckle softly, hands tightening their hold.

“I can tell.” He glances at you again, distracted by the adoration in your eyes when you look at him. “Good.”

He kisses down your sternum before untangling one of your hands, letting his hand skim against the dip of your waist.

You make use of your free hand, nails scraping up his back to make him hum against your other nipple.

“Pretty please?” yeah, you’re begging now.

His hand reaches between the two of you, fingertips smoothing the skin of your inner thigh.

“Stop... teasing.” you eventually gasp, hand following his, to guide it firmly to the heat of your center.

“For me, sweetheart?” Jaskier’s eyes meet yours, the look within them a mix between humor and kindness.

“That’s what you do to me,” you give a crooked smile and he moves back to kiss you. He strokes his finger between your folds, a boyish grin on his face, before settling his thumb at your clit.

You’re whining against his lips between kisses. He swallows your moans and pitched cries with an eagerness you welcome, hand clutching his desperately

“Gods, I love you,” your chest heaves and he savors the neediness you have for him, dropping his head to lick a bead of sweat from your sternum, “cheeky,” you swat at the back of his head with a giggle.

After a moment, your hips twitch against his and your eyes flicker to meet his, pupils blown and dark with want.

A violently passionate kiss later and he drags his hand away from your heat to himself.

His first thrust is daringly slow and his lips roll into his mouth at the feeling of finally being able to love you so completely.

When your hand comes up to card through his hair, nails light against his scalp he buries his head at your shoulder.

But still, with your hips rocking to meet his, you’re holding hands. His name on your breath makes him groan into the crook of your neck.

“I’m yours,” Jaskier’s words, sweet like honey at the side of your mouth make your breath hitch. Another rolls of his hips, “...and I love you,”

The air between you thins, his scent mixing with yours like morning fog.

Your name, sung like a prayer on repeat when he hits that spot and you tighten around him. Throwing your head back against the pillows, he drops to kiss you hotly down your neck.

His hand drifts to brush over your clit between thrusts. You’re very much out of your head when your toes curl and your hand grips at his like a lifeline.

It’s a plummet to the high heavens when you finally peak, eyes shut tightly and the taste of him on your lips. Your shuddering pleasure coaxes the height of his own, a choked gasp breaking through a kiss and blood rushing through his head to render him senseless.

“Iloveyou,Iloveyou,Iloveyou,” over and over with the beat of Jaskier’s heart, his lips at your ear.

After a moment, he kisses your forehead and slips from between your thighs. The smile on your face comes naturally when he rolls onto his side to face you.

Your tongue darts out to savor the aftertaste of him upon your lips and you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to pull yourself from his hold.

A shared glance has you both giving a light laugh and he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face -

“Is it fair if I ask you to wed me now?”

#jaskier x reader #jaskier reader imagine #jaskier imagine #the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher imagine #jaskier x you #jaskier romance #jaskier smut #lia-writes #lia also sins #and is going to bed straight after posting this so I don't die

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shitpostsfromtheinvisiblelibrary · 4 years

Text

Day two: anniversairy

Tags: fluff, implied sex

Rating: T

Pairing(s): Kai x Irene, implied one-sided Silver x Vale

The speech droned on and on, Irene knew that they would, everyone who was anyone would want to make one. She’d been asked if she would have a few words to say and she immediately shot down that line of thought, there was no way that she was getting up and speaking to a several dozen dragons, Fae and Librarians. That wouldn't happen except perhaps in her nightmares.

“Well, thank god that is over.” She sighed as soon as idle chatter began to fill the room again.

“I thought that you would have started to like these things a bit more,” Vale remarked as they began to circle the room again, Irene searching through the throngs to try and find Kai again, who had made a speech and was likely somewhere nearby his father. “Plenty of practice over the last year.”

Irene shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye before accepting a glass of wine off a waiters tray. “I have been far more worried about the security of this whole thing than the speeches and partying. Kai has taken to it like…”

“A fish in water?”

“I was trying to think of a better metaphor, but yes. Exactly like that.” She said. She had been very worried about security when it had been suggested that they host a party for the one year anniversary of the Paris treaty. His majesty Ao Guang had volunteered a location, a quite modern mansion on a solitary island just off the coast of Japan. Kai had jumped at that suggestion and started making arrangements as soon as Sterrington voiced her approval.

Leaving Irene to worry about the things such as assassins, poisoners and outright assaults. She had barely relaxed all evening.

The stilettos were not helping. Sure she could probably keep pace with Kai in them, but her toes were hurting and it was a distraction.

Kai was with his father, stood a little way off as Ao Guang and the Cardinal were engaged in a discussion about some minute detail, something about the architecture of the home. Nice and bland, much to Irene’s relief.

She dipped into a curtsey and Vale bowed. Ao Guang signalled for them to rise with an idle wave of his hand. “You have managed to put together quite the celebration, madame Winters.” He said Irene ducked her head.

“That was mainly your son, your majesty, I have no mind for such things.” Ao Guang looked to Kai, who shrugged.

“Madame Winters did have some input toward the party planning, but she mainly focused on making sure that this event was secure, efforts that I believe to be necessary as it has given everyone chance to enjoy themselves.” He paused. “She helped pick out some of the wine.” Irene looked down at her glass.

“I will admit that I do have good taste in that.” She said, looking to Kai. “There is nothing wrong with sweet wines.”

“No, I didn’t say that there was. I just wouldn't pick it.” He toasted to her with his glass. “I am grateful that you changed my mind. It is rather good.” The conversation drifted off after that, Kai waited a few minutes more before slowly and quietly making his exit. They slowly circled the room until nearby a balcony where the smell of the sea swept into the room and Kai smiled, deeply inhaling it.

“May I steal Irene?” Kai asked Vale. Vale shrugged.

“I think I will retire for the night,” Vale said, glancing over to where Silver was quite clearly attempting to seduce two dragons, and his shoulders slumped. “I may break into Silver’s rooms, just because.” Irene touched his elbow.

“Thank you for your company this evening.” She looked over to Silver too. “Maybe he’ll have something that interests you in there, and if he doesn’t, maybe you can have some fun messing with him.”

“Maybe.”

They both took the time to kick their shoes off and leave them by one of the side doors into the house before making their way across the sand. They waited until far enough away from the house before Kai reached over and laced their fingers together, pulling her closer toward the ebb and flow of rising tides.

“I haven't been back here in years,” Kai said. “We used to come here for a few weeks every year when I was a child.” He looked back up at the house, and then to her. “Did you always live in the Library as a child?”

“My parents had a few long term assignments,” Irene said, the foam from the sea was cold on her toes, almost a relief after high heels and hours walking around. “I think my favourite was in Prague. It’s a beautiful city. We had a tiny little flat. Nothing like this. I can’t even begin to imagine what it would have been like to grow up somewhere like this.”

“I want to say that it was good.” He shrugged. “And it was. Just lonely sometimes.”

“I could see why.” He walked out into the water until it was a few inches up his legs. “A midnight swim?”

“Why not? I can show you somewhere that no one else has ever seen. Where I used to go.” He held a hand out to her. “Don’t worry. I won't let you sink.”

“Swimming, in this dress?” Well, it couldn’t be any worse than that dip in the Neva, she thought as she took his hand.

“I thought you’d say no to skinny dipping. Or accuse me of being tipsy.”

“Both.” She said. The sea was surprisingly warm once she got used to the temperature, as the water kept climbing up her legs until it was waist-deep. “Is it a long swim?” She nervously looked back to the beach.

“Trust me, Irene.” He smiled. “I’ll keep you safe.” She took a deep breath and nodded. It wasn't that Irene was scared of deep water, but she knew well enough that her own ‘swimming’ abilities were not up to scratch for it, especially if there was a current. Kai must have sensed her nerves because he stopped and wrapped an arm around her waist.

He rested his forehead against hers. “I can’t believe that we have made it over a year now.” He said softly and she knew that he wasn't talking about the treaty. She wondered if he had wanted to do something for their anniversary, but Irene had never been a romantic or the sentimental type and hadn't suggested anything. Kai hadn't either and she thought that maybe he had been waiting to see what she had wanted to do, what she would have been comfortable with since she was much more private than he was.

“Me neither.” She breathed. The waves seemed to be slowing around them, only around them. “I…” She didn’t have the words for how she felt, Irene and emotions was not a good combination, at least not when she tried to talk about them. It was easier to shut them away and not open her mouth.

So, instead, she kissed him.

Kai’s hands moved to cup her face as she clung to his spray soaked shirt, pressing themselves together. She loved it when Kai made soft sounds, almost like he was purring, before parting his lips against hers and sliding deeper into a kiss that was a rush of passion and adoration and everything between them that went unspoken and likely always would.

A wave hit Kai’s back and they went down, but Kai never let go of her, keeping his lips against hers as they were swept away by a hidden current that was only half natural.

Blind, unable to open her eyes under the water, but luckily still able to find air thanks to Kai, Irene rid him of his suit jacket and it was quickly swept away from them. He was fumbling with the fiddly buttons down the back of her dress when they broke the surface. Irene tilted her head back to gasp for air, more on instinct than a necessity, and Kai took the opportunity to press his lips to the side of her throat, nipping at her soft skin with sharp teeth and making her gasp for another reason.

She felt rock against her back and opened her eyes. It was dark, almost pitch black, she could see Kai, almost luminescent in the dark, watching her with lidded eyes and a smirk on his lips. He was flushed.

“What do you think?” He asked and Irene looked around. “I don’t think anyone else ever comes down here, I don’t know if they know it exists.” It was a small cave, the seawater had created a pool in the centre of it but there was a rocky ledge maybe two metres wide and Kai helped her out onto it.

He started looking around for something whilst she tried to get up in a sodden and unwieldy mess of silk. “Care to let me a hand?” She asked, thinking that he’d just use that nifty trick of forcing the water from the fabric, but he kept his back to her.

“Ah-ha! Here we go, they are still here.” He said, turning back to her with a small box. “Oh right, your dress, give me two minutes.” The box contained candles and he set some of them out before lighting them, the cave was small so it only took a few of them to be able to fill the place with the flickering glow. “That’s better.”

Irene held her hand out and he helped her to her feet. “This is probably the most private place on the entire island. And it is all for us.” He smiled. “Just for you.” He kissed her again. One of his hands was on her hip and the other returned to the buttons of her dress. It became a rush of kisses and gasps and wet clothes being dropped to the floor as she discarded his tie and then shirt and he finally worked her dress undone.

“Kai.” His name was a breathless gasp as he carefully lowered her to the floor. She twisted her fingers into his hair and pulled him into a rough kiss, bruising hard, rushed and messy. They knew that no one would find them here so they had all of the time in the world but that didn’t slow them down.

“Kai.” She spoke almost against his lips. “I…”

“You don’t have to say it.” He said. “I know.” He ran his hand up her thigh, hooking her leg around his hip as he leant closer and kissed her much softly this time. “I know.”

#The Invisible Library #Fanfiction #Ilshipweek

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jokerownsmysoul · 4 years

Text

A gentle reminder.

Angel, take all the time you need to write! There's no rush, pressure or obligation to write within a certain time line or to get your WIPS out by a set date - my sweet winter child, you do this for free in your own time. You don't owe any of us anything so please, please take your time. Creativity ebbs and flows, it comes in like the tide and leaves just as quickly, so take all the time you need and want to write. Do this for you primarily, and for Arthur, and your tags - darling, all of us want to read your writing. It's poetic and just and right, and it flows so beautifully and naturally, like cool spring water. You and your writing are both ethereal, just like Arthur, and you hold up a mirror to his soul so naturally. You know him and you see him and you love him so deeply and it's inspiring. Take all the time you need, there's never any need to apologise for not writing or for taking care of yourself. We see you and we love you!💕💕💕

Erika omgggg I dont know when you send me this? I'm only noticing it now by chance omg tumblr didn't send me the notif I suppose, it's so annoying these days 😩

Thank you so, so much darling. 😭💙 This is giving me so much comfort and makes me feel better already. And "sweet winter child" omggg this made me so softtt it's so freaking cute 🥺💙♥️💜 what you're saying is so true and you're right, we write for free in our own time and we don't have to write within a certain time line, but it’s hard not to listen to the little voice in my head telling me otherwise when the one pressuring myself it's me lmaoo sksk. It's just, I want to make all of you happy and post the request people sent me to make them feel better, I want to write them all at once and post them immediately, but I recognize that it's impossible and that if I really want to make y'all happy I've to be less hard on myself. I get easily overwhelmed and anxious, and I've so many things I want to write and so little energy to do so, and eventually I get insecure about my skills and this makes me even more overwhelmed, my brain is so annoying 😂 but thank you, your words are so helpful and I'll definitely come back to them in the rougher times. 🥺💙

Thank you for reaching out omg I don't know what I did to deserve all of you, you're always so kind and understanding 😭😭😭 and??? I'm so honored you see my writing that way angel. I can't explain through words what this means to me, I really mean it. Someone who loves my writing is the best compliment I could ever receive and I can't thank you enough nor describe how bright my smile is while reading your beautiful words. Thank you for saying that you all want to read my writing, I've been soaked with self doubt more than normal lately ngl sksksk, this means the world to me. 😭💙

The very same goes to you, you and your writing are ethereal just as much and you love Arthur like he deserves 🥺💙 your writing is always filled with so much love, adoration and I know that you're making him happy with everything you ever written for him. 💙💛 I'm so honored to be able to read and to know both you and your writing. And please, what you said to me goes to you, don't pressure yourself or apologize for the lack of contents in your blog because people loves you and understand that we're human and not writing machines. 💙❤️💜 Sometimes the worst enemies of us are ourselves, and God knows how many times I've been the enemy of myself, we should be more understanding with ourselves like we are for others writers. It's easier said than done, but we can try and thank you again for this message, me and Arthur love you so much and I hope you're having a good day 💙💛❤️

#ajokeformur ray #Submit #submission

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lightlorn · 5 years

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ABC- For Everyone

late festivities. ll accepting.

A : AFFECTION. how does your muse show affection?

Aerith: See, Aerith is a bit odd. She’s ultimately a good person, and a fantastic friend, but she’s very out of practice in letting others in and demonstrating her feelings. Part of this is her backstory, part of this is just the hard knock life she’s led. For the most part in canon, her affection is a little mischievous, a little chaotic, being the one that goes along with your wild ideas and giving her all to your aims. But it’s also thought, letters written and wishes made, the same care and attention she would give her garden. Aerith is not a woman that shows her affections easily, but is no less devoted once you get around her rougher edges.

Albel: He doesn’t. For the last nine years, Albel has not had a speck of affection in him for anything, living or dead or self. Even his once close bond to his deceased father has soured in his heart to a further reflection of his failures. Tenderness or adoration are beyond him. That said... I think he would display it in respect, or in curiosity. For a wicked man such as himself, simply taking the time to listen to another’s opinion or invest himself in their affairs is a great show of trust. I also think he would, over time, get more physical without getting violent, like a child just learning how to navigate the world. There is something simultaneously mature and overall boyish about this, which is why he does not let such sentiments rise to the surface.

Angela: She’s a healer, so it falls on her to want to take care of those she feels strongly for. Besides this, Angela is a taciturn woman, and I think she uses her words to great effect if someone can coax them from her. Whether she’s singing praises or taking someone to task, her voice will be used to demonstrate just what someone means to her. There’s also the possibility she will geek out about her hobbies and interests with someone who has won her affections, all too eager to get them up to speed so they can keep up with her interests. The act is repaid in kind, as she looks into her loved one’s interests and gains at least a rudimentary understanding of how it works or what it’s about. Catch her with lots of useless video game trivia to keep up with Hana, for example, or basic knowledge of bike maintenance for Mako.

Aria: A more in-depth answer can be found here.

Aqua: Oh my God Aqua is such a giver. It’s in her nature to mother others, to show her affection in gifts and in tender care for them. She’s all handmade gifts and homecooked food, deep concern tempered with constant support, the peak of team mom. While this is sometimes tempered by her self-righteousness, such as her worry for others manifesting as nagging, her heart is as ever in the right place. Her affections are also very self sacrificing, as she will take the fall for her loved ones without fail and try to take their burdens on as her own. At her best, her love is a gentle and homely thing, and at worst she will let it take everything she has so long as the object of her affection is alright.

Braska: Actions. Above all else, Braska is a man who acts. While his tongue is silvery and his heart too big for his own good, he is more of a doer than a talker. This is a man who turned his back on the church and his own lifelong training for the love of a foreign woman, and who later decided to lay down his own life to try and spare his daughter some pain. He spares Auron, in my telling, by leaving him behind out of love, though it does nothing to spare Auron in the long run. Even his taking a chance on Jecht is a leap of faith that pays off in the long run, and shows the depth of their bond. Even if he ought to think things out a little more thoroughly, he puts his money where his mouth is every time he feels strongly for someone.

Eraqus: Stern as he is, Eraqus has always shown his affection recklessly and sometimes in a very troublesome way. He is always willing to forgive and grant second chances, whether romantically as seen with Xehanort or as a matter of familial affinity, as seen with Terra. He puts care into everything he does for those who have won his loyalty, and works to show it in his own ways -- the time he offers others, and the encouragement he shows them. As a younger man, I think he was far more open about his affection, and more physical about it as well. He was less judgmental then, too, and as part of his adulthood affection he is at least willing to hear out those who disagree with him rather than shutting them down completely.

Gwynevere: Honesty and physical affection are the cornerstones of Gwynevere’s genuine affections. She puts forth the face of the all loving goddess, but her real love is shown in simply being herself around another person. She won’t beat around the bush or try to trick others, only show them how she really feels for them and those around them. She is also liberal with physical affection, anything from a touch of the hand to an embrace, and for lovers there is an ever-present sensual element from a woman who must always be above such things in the public eye.

Inessa: Inessa is actions and giving, to be honest. She shows affection for her community by being an ever present sentinel in Lowtown, ready to help as she is needed or sees need. Diligence is what makes affection in her eyes, the time and effort put into others sure to be repaid even if she does not work for that reason. Faithful as she is, she puts goodwill and prayers without actual attempts to see your desires made reality in low regard, something that has led to a lot of her friction with the Chantry of late.

Invi: Reserved as she is, Invi’s presence alone is one way she shows her affections. If she likes you, she will tolerate being around you for longer than is strictly necessary, and without any ulterior motives to boot. Being observant, she might also ensure little tokens or treats are left where the person she cares for can access them, never owning up to these things but responsible all the same. There’s also the chance she invite someone into her personal space or day and that is when you know you have made it with her.

Isa: This is actually very hard to answer because in canon, we see his affection as a child manifesting in ‘I am going to roast you alive but also I will go along with your dumbass idea because I love you’ and as a Nobody in displays of great possessiveness and rage. His actions towards Lea/Axel have always been a little antagonistic, but to what degree varies between his state of being. I think he might be the kind of person who shows his affinity in time spent together and being easily compelled into whatever the other person wants. Given my take on his backstory, I think he’s emotionally stunted even putting aside his inhuman rage issues, and so he’s not entirely sure what to do to show how he feels about others on any positive level.

Kokoro: Local Blue Blood Lets Down Her Defenses In Show of Trust, Lets Herself Be Human and Make Mistakes. But seriously, Kokoro is a person who is all about appearances and keeping up a front, so her affection comes more in letting others see her be more down to earth and laid back. I have said before that she shows her love in being able to admit she doesn’t know something, but it’s also in admitting she’s wrong or made some mistake. The sins of the father have definitely influenced her to channel her affections in a more healthy way, and acknowledge those moments where she lets the people she cares for down.

Roxas: Ice cream and fighting a cult. No literally. The boy is a trained child soldier whose only brushes with softness involve eating sweet snacks with other child soldiers, former or otherwise. This is what he was taught friendship is. He’s got to figure out for himself the shape his affection takes when he’s not fighting a war.

Shizuka: Flashing cash and offered favors. Shizuka’s got shaky identity and self-worth ideals, so they fall back on using their resources to reward those who get close to them sincerely. Some who are very close to them get more genuine shows of affection, the ability to hold them or be held, and heart to heart conversations, but for the most part Shizuka is the kind to pull strings rather than get into any ‘sappy shit.’

Zevran: I swear I am not shitposting, flanderizing, or making fun of him, but how doesn’t Zevran show affection? Realistically, though, he’s very protective with those he cares for, and tends to let them in a little deeper to see the mess he is under the ladykiller facade. He can be something of a good person for them, and that’s the most he can give. He’s still a little too broken to fully form an idea of how to show affection that isn’t saccharine or bombastic.

B : BOUQUET. does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

Aerith: She absolutely adores flowers. Her people are tied to the planet itself, and the ebb and flow of life is shown so beautifully in flowers. She tends to some both as a hobby and to make some money, and so she’s very attached to them. She adores lilies best of all.

Albel: Once given a flower by a female peer of his fathers, immediately bit it off of the stem. He’s from a harsh winter environment backed up against desolate flatland and mountain ranges, so he is unused to them in any capacity. Still mesmerized by the red spider lily.

Angela: They’re alright, but not really a priority. She’s so used to hospital flowers that the appeal is kind of lost, though she might still hang a few cheaper bouquets on her desk to try and spruce the area up. Show her a proper Alpine bellflower and you might get a nostalgic smile out of her.

Aria: Like might not be the right word, but Aria is certainly aware of various herbs and flowers from the Koccari Wilds to the edge of the Free Marches. She appreciates them as tools, but is not much of an aesthetic admirer. Is fascinated by the vandal aria for which she was named.

Aqua: The land varieties are just fine, but her love for flowers lies in the watery blossoms. She studied them extensively as a child and knows basically everything there is to know about them. Unsurprisingly, she loves the lotuses that grow on the Land of Departure.

Braska: He was never much of a man to stop and smell the roses before his Pilgrimage, so he often overlooked flowers. He’s not very well educated on the different types, but they’re pretty enough.

Eraqus: Coming from a world that was a winter wonderland, Eraqus is absolutely enamored with flowers. His master’s daughter had a balcony garden that was his favorite place to go and decompress after a long day. He is fond of morning glories above all.

Gwynevere: The princess oversees the maintenance of Anor Londo’s vast garden during its glory days. She is a friend to every flower she meets and knows how to care for any variety. Scandalously, her heart belongs to the moonflower for deeply personal reasons.

Inessa: Good flowers are hard to come by Kirkwall, at least for women of her station. The most she has seen of them has come through her work as an apothecary. For this reason, she has decided the marigold is her favorite.

Invi: As the local font of mystical and magical wisdom, Invi is well acquainted with many different plants. The language of flowers is one in which she is fluent, though it has little bearing in her choice of favorite. It’s the water hyacinth, for those interested.

Isa: The man is a Radiant Garden native. There is no conceivable way he escaped being a fan of flowers. Of the many species found on his homeworld, he just had to be enchanted by a dangerous one -- wolf’s bane.

Kokoro: Her mother is aforementioned master’s daughter from Eraqus’ answer. She could never have escaped being educated and invested in flowers. Of the many that her mother grew in her garden, Kokoro gained an affinity for foxglove.

Roxas: He doesn’t know a lot about flowers, admittedly. There wasn’t a lot of time to stop and smell them during his missions, and Marluxia was unbearable even on his best behavior. He feels drawn towards the forget-me-not for reasons he cannot immediately pinpoint.

Zevran: If a poison can be made from it or a message conveyed with it, Zevran is aware of it. He’s learning how to appreciate flowers for just being flowers the longer he’s a free agent. And he’s a cliche who just adores a red rose.

C : CHOCOLATE. does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

Aerith: It’s ok, but a little out of her budget. Whatever is cheapest gets her vote.

Albel: First had chocolate on the Diplo. It churned his stomach. Disgusting.

Angela: Yes, but only a rich European style or she’s not touching it.

Aria: Humans are out of their gods damned minds thinking this tastes good.

Aqua: As a connoisseur of desserts, absolutely. Loves a good white chocolate.

Braska: Has never heard of chocolate in his life.

Eraqus: Patron saint of sweet teeth. Milk chocolate or don’t talk to him.

Gwynevere: It’s human food and she’s not a plebeian.

Inessa: Had some once as a child. It’s now way out of her budget but she dreams.

Invi: More fond of chocolate products. Loves hot chocolate.

Isa: His body is a temple and only cheat days permit a chocolate/nuts candy bar.

Kokoro: Eh. Not a huge sweets person, but a rich chocolate cake has her number.

Roxas: If it’s not sea salt ice cream don’t fuckin talk to him.

Zevran: Thinks Aria is fucking crazy and any chocolate is good chocolate.

#OH GOD I'LL TAG IT ALL LATER. JESUS. I AM LACKING SO MANY TAGS.#withinycu

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blossommarvelmuses · 4 years

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“you want me to rub your back ’til you fall asleep?”

Bucky didn’t mean to cause trouble. -- But his ma just didn’t get it, she didn’t understand his relationship with Steve and she’s accused him time and time again of caring for the Rogers’ more than he cares his about his own family. That’s far from the truth, Bucky loves his family, he just doesn’t want to be a father. They’ve got a goddamn father, he just works all the damn time so when he is home he’s absent. He truly just can’t win, either he’s underfoot when he’s trying to help or he’s picking Sarah and Steve over his own family. Tonight isn’t an unusual night, Bucky gets home late -- knuckles cleaned but bruised, nose a little sore with a busted lip. He and Steve got into another fight with some group of rowdy boys who were bothering a few innocent girls. They stepped in and did what was right. Afterwards they both had shuffled home to Steve’s so they could clean each other up. With school in the morning and Bucky spending most of the weekend at Steve’s, Bucky had decided it would be best if he at least spent one night at home and help with breakfast in the morning.

He’s confronted with questions the moment he walks in through the front door. The two littlest Barnes’ greet Bucky with excitement in the pjs. He’s scolded when he sweeps them into a hug that he’s upset bedtime. Bucky hums at his mother, tells her that he’ll get him settled. She seems to like the idea enough for her to return the kitchen and finish ironing the kids’ school clothing. He scoops the two kids up, causing them both to giggle and Rebecca isn’t far behind to help Bucky wrangle the kids into bed. The two littlest siblings share a room, so its easy for Bucky and Rebecca to put on their own little play -- telling the kids some silly dramatic bed time stories with so much adventure that the story itself wears the kids out. They’re out like a light and Bucky’s pleased with their work. Tired feet drag on the floor as he shuts the door behind him only to be met with Rebecca pushing up on her toes to inspect Bucky’s bruising face. “Just a little tussle, you shoulda seen the other guys.” Before Rebecca can scold Buck -- it seems his mother heard his voice. She grabs his face roughly and inspects it. Then the lecture starts. She’s reminding him how scummy she thinks Steve and his mother are, how they do nothing but get Bucky into trouble and that Bucky’s turning into a menace of a child. “If I ain’t protecting Steve then nobody is.” He tells his mother, voice low. The grip on his jaw tightens a bit more as he’s reminded that his job is to be here for his family. “They are my family.”

The noise rings loudly in the house, Bucky’s cheek stings with the strength of the hit. The boy stumbles backwards, and he stares wide eyed at his mother. She doesn’t seem all that remorseful for her actions, in fact she points her finger in his face telling him to watch his mouth if he wants to keep living under her roof. Rebecca stands motionless, it’s clear this is the first time their mother has ever raised a hand to her children but its apparent that it wasn’t her first time thinking about doing such a thing. His sister, the wonderful girl goes in to come to his aid but his mother’s arm reaches out to stop Rebecca. She tells her daughter to go to her room, that Bucky earned the punishment for talking back. In a moment, the hallway is empty, his sister scurried off and his mother back to the kitchen. He doesn’t think, he doesn’t care enough to think. He’s leaving for the night, he can’t be dammed to stay here. Bucky ducks into his room, locking the door behind him. He doesn’t care if his mother gets any angrier at him than she is now. Bucky at the Rogers’ home so often, he knows he doesn’t need to pack a bag. He’s left countless objects of clothing at their home, so all Bucky needs to do is climb out the window and he’s off to a place where he knows he’ll be taken care of.

It’s far too late now in his mind to walk through the front door despite knowing where the key is. The last time he came in this late he almost go knocked out by a frying pan -- so instead he climbs up the fire escape, sliding Steve’s window open. He wonders idly if the boy leaves it unlocked just in case Bucky comes by and if he does he’s thankful for it in this moment. He slips into the room, landing on his feet heavily. The weight hadn’t hit him until he’s standing here in Steve’s room. His legs feel like lead and he doesn’t even feel like he can cross the short length of the room to get to Steve’s bed. Thankfully, the boy in question sits up slow and blinks at him blearily calling out his nickname into the dark. “’s me Stevie.” He tells the other, voice shaking much more than he’d like it to be. Even in his tired state, Steve seems to know that something is wrong. And god he needs that, he needs someone who knows him. The blonde shifts, there’s barely enough room for Steve on the small mattress but yet here he is still offering space to Bucky.

That’s all that it takes for the floodgates to open. Bucky’s shoulders sag heavily, a hiccuped sob leaves his lips and it causes Steve to nearly stumbled out of bed to get to his side. He knows he can’t throw all of his weight into Steve’s arms like he wishes he could, but the warmth of Steve’s hand guiding him on the small of his back is enough in this moment to get him to stumble towards the other side of the room. Bucky all but collapses onto the bed, his forehead easily finding Steve’s shoulder as one of the smaller man’s hand comes to rest on the back of his neck while the other takes a few tries to flick on a lamp. “-- Told you it needs a new bulb.” He tells Steve, trying to force himself to tease. It falls flat in his ears and no doubt in Steve’s ears too. The other male asks him softly what happened, because it’s not often that Bucky is like this. He much prefers to be the one caring for Steve -- but when the tables are turned Steve’s filling in the caring roll more than perfectly. Steve’s gentle with him in his sensitive state, letting him take his time with explaining.

“Ma and I got in a fight.” And he knows Steve is waiting for more information. Bucky hardly ever gets this upset when he and his mother fight, in fact he gets more upset when he and Steve have stupid fights usually. But right now the word sits heavy on his shoulders.. because no one gets it. No one gets how much he adores Steve and Sarah, carrying them both so close to his heart. The anger he feels when his own mother spits ignorant words about the two of them, brushing them off because they don’t have much money -- calling Sarah a bad mother because Steve’s so frail and skinny, calling Steve a bad influence for getting him in fights when everything Steve does is good and brave. No one gets how in love with Steve he is, how he’d give this boy the entire world if he asked because he deserves everything and more. “She kept sayin’ awful things about you and mama. -- Told me I treat you better than my own family. I said you were family...” He trails off then. His face still feels raw from where her bare hand hit so hard he’s sure a mark still sits on his cheek. “She hit me.” He says finally and he can feel Steve shift. Soon small hands move to cup Bucky’s face, they are far gentler than his own mother’s. His head is lifted up so that Steve can now inspect Bucky’s face. By the look on the other’s face he can tells that Steve sees the fading mark on his face, his brow furrowing in a way that’s angry for a moment before those big sad eyes are looking at him. “Don’t. -- I know that stupid look on your face. I don’t want to hear you say you aren’t worth is, ‘cause you are to me. Both of you..” The two sit in silence for a bit longer. Steve replaces the harsh touch with his own gentle one until the other seems satisfied that the mark has finally disappeared from Bucky’s face.

“Can I stay in here with you?” He’s feeling fragile and vulnerable, while in the back of his mind he already knows the answer he still asks, he needs the reassurance that he’s wanted here. There is no hesitation in the other’s face when he nods, already moving to flick off the lamp while they get comfortable. Despite himself, Bucky is still trembling from the whole ordeal. “You want me to rub your back ’til you fall asleep?” Steve’s gentle voice asks. There is no mockery between the two of them, no poking fun that this is silly or childish. No instead there is nothing but understanding and the need for comfort. “Please.” The words are choked through another soft cry and Steve presses firmly up against his back as his hand meets the curve of his spine -- rubbing in easy slow circles. Steve’s voice is soothing as he tells Bucky that he’s safe here now and Bucky trusts him.

He doesn’t fall asleep for awhile, his emotions ebb and flow but the entire time Steve soothes him. It’s really because of moments like these that Bucky doesn’t regret his words, not even a little bit.

#meme: bucky #otp: so you were never a saint and i've loved in shades of wrong (bucky and steve)#missamericanawrites

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wiggly-blue-shite · 5 years

Text

Tedgens Grow as We Go one-shot for the lovely @notthe-latte-hottay

(All my one shots are so music centric. I could have made it much more serious but yknow hindsight’s 20/20)

It wasn’t an argument, really. We we’re just a little heated. I can barely remember what it was about really. I probably upset Henry, which was not my intention. Emma just got on my nerves. We’ve been locked in this house for too long. It’s been four weeks since the last time I went outside! We are never getting out of here.

I was at the window in the kitchen watching the infected outside. It’s kind of like fucked Up birdwatching! I just wait to see if I can recognize anyone and then get really sad when I realize that means they’re dead. Infected Melissa from work walked by today.

“Watching the infected?” Henry was sitting on a stool at one of the counters. I didn’t even hear him walk in.

Henry and I are kind of at a stand still right now. We both know we are attracted to each other. (Thanks for that Paul) But y’know the fucking apocalypse isn’t a great time to start a new budding romance.

“It’s just interesting.” I wasn’t going to bring up the argument. It wasn’t even at him, it was more with Bill and Emma.

“So,” Henry stood up and walked next to me. I don’t know what he’s expecting me to say.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Looking Henry in the eyes was always a bad idea. I just fall again, and I can’t look away and anything he says goes.

“That’s fine, Ted.” Henry was picking at his nail. I wish he wouldn’t do that, it can cause bleeding and blisters.

“So then what’s the So” that was ruder than I meant it to be. Being an asshole is difficult.

“I want to talk about,” Henry paused, “us?” He phrased it like a question. I mean I don’t know if there really is an “us.” Henry was still picking at his fucking nail.

“Oh ok.” I didn’t know what to do in this situation! I like him but it’s kind of a really shitty time to start something.

“We’ve established that, I am attracted to you and you are attracted to me. Where do we go from here?” Henry looked nervous, which is absolutely in-fucking-sane. I am the thing that makes him nervous when there are hordes of singing zombies on the other side of the fence.

“I don’t think we go anywhere. The world’s ending and I’m a dick.” Again way harsher than I was intending.

“The world isn’t ending, Ted.” Henry was very serious. That’s what the argument was about. Emma, Bill, and Hidgens with their optimistic outlook while I was the only one to argue the fact that we’re all fucked.

“Well it isn’t starting either.” God hes being such a dick isn’t he. Henry didn’t look hurt though so that’s good.

“Ted, I care about you.” Henry put his hand lightly on my shoulder. It was nice to here Henry say that. I almost melted at his touch. Henry really is a dream isn’t he.

“Don’t waste your time on a mess like me.”

“You say that like I’m not a mess.” Henry chuckled a little which definitely didn’t help. He has an adorable laugh, really adorable.

“Life is to short, Henry.” I want to be with him but it’s really not a great idea.

“Precisely.” Henry’s moves his hand and caressed my cheek. Oh god. This is difficult.

“I’m a dumb asshole and I’m better off alone. Trust me, you’d be better off without me.” I took Henry’s had off my cheek. It’s really hard to focus like that.

Henry started humming. If he sings I’m going to be putty in Henry’s hand. He had that look in his eyes

“You say there’s so much you don’t know,

You need to go and find yourself.” Of course he’s singing. What did I expect. His voice is so pretty.

“Hen-“ I was going to start talking but Henry put his finger to my lips shutting me up.

“You say you’d rather be alone

‘Cause you think you won’t find it tied to someone else.” Henry’s hand found its way back to my face. Henry’s singing at me. Ok ok ok.

“How do you know all of these songs?” I sat on the counter next to me. There was no stopping him from singing so I might as well enjoy it.

Henry chuckled a little. He’s adorable. He sat next to me on the counter.

“Ooo, who said it’s true

That the growing only happens on your own?

They don't know me and you.” Henry grabbed my hand. There were butterflies in my stomach.

“I don't think you have to leave

If to change is what you need

You can change right next to me.” Henry squeezed my hand. He so fucking extra.

“When you're high, I'll take the lows

You can ebb and I can flow

And we'll take it slow

And grow as we go

Grow as we go” ok maybe he’ll stop at the chorus.

“Ok I get it.” I mean I’m not going to put up a fight.

“No I’m finishing the song.” Henry chuckled a little. I couldn’t help but laugh. What a dork.

“You won't be the only one

I am unfinished, I've got so much left to learn

I don't know how this river runs

But I'd like the company through every twist and turn.” Henry turned and looked me in the eyes. He has such beautiful eyes. Really.

“You’re really committed to this song aren’t you?”

Henry nods. He’s still holding my hand. I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t avoid how I feel about him.

“Ooh, who said it's true

That the growing only happens on your own?

They don't know me and you” His voice is so nice. I could listen to him sing all day.

“You’re really talented, you know that right?” I mean he has to know. There’s no way he doesn’t know.

Henry smiled that adorable smile of his.

“I don't know who we'll become

I can't promise it's not written in the stars

But I believe that when it's done

We're gonna see that it was better

That we grew up together” He was trying to keep from smiling to much. That’s so sweet really.

“Tell me you don't wanna leave

'Cause if change is what you need

You can change right next to me”

He really knew how to make a point didn’t he.

“When you're high, I'll take the lows

You can ebb and I can flow

We'll take it slow

And grow as we go

Grow as we go

Grow as we go” He smiled. What’s sweetheart. I clapped lightly. He’s to talented to be a biology professor. He should be performing.

Henry put his forehead on mine. He’s so close. I forgot how to breath.

“Ok your turn.” Henry laughed. His laugh is so contagious.

“Ha ha ha very funny.” Henry’s hand moved back to my cheek. Henry pulled my face closer. My heart rate went all over the fucking place.

“Can I kiss you?” The fact that he though he need to ask was adorable. I kissed him because I mean he asked to kiss me. Wow.

His lips were so soft. My heart felt like it was exploding. This is heaven. Holy shit. I’m kissing Henry fucking Hidgens. When the kiss ended the look in Henry’s eye was just, wow.

“So you make a strong argument.” I smirked a little. Henry giggled a little. Wow.

“Oh shut up.” Henry grabbed my shirt and pulled me into another kiss. Wow this can’t be real. Holy shit.

“So where do we go from here?” Henry smiled that adorable smile.

#starkid #tgwdlm #tedgens #fanfic #i could have gone another direction but i like this direction #oneshot

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lazulifoster · 6 years

Text

An Unexpected Visitor (Loki X Reader) Part 2

Prompt: Sex by The 1975, Million Dollar Man by Lana Del Rey, and If I Never See Your Face Again by Maroon 5 feat Rihanna

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Swearing; angst; arguing; mild sexual content

Word Count: 3k+

A/N: Inspiration from my Spotify Playlist again lol I think I say this every time I post something but sorry if its a slow burn, I actually have a lot of ideas for this fic but I like a slow build ;) Hope you enjoy part 2 if there are typos, from the bottom of my heart, my bad :)

Brief Summary: Loki and you dated back in college before he up and vanished. You have moved on with your life, even started a family, but an unexpected visitor makes his way back into your life.

||5 years earlier||

“Shall I compare thee to a summers day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.” “Loki…” “Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out, even to the edge of doom.”

Loki.” “…by heaven, I think my love as rare as any she belied with false compare.” “LOKI! I’m going to fail this quiz if you don’t shut up and quit reciting Shakespeare!” “Oh, hush, love. There is no reason to study, anyway. You know all the answers already.”

“I just want to double check and make sure. Because last time this happened, I practically failed my quiz.” “I seriously doubt you’re capable of failure, Y/N. Besides, your beauty alone deserves to be glorified at every waking moment.” “ Oh pleeease, your flattery won't work this time.” “Won’t it?” Loki leaned in close to me, placing gentle kisses along my neck, causing my will to study to wane dramatically.

Loki then pushed my notes and books of my bed, and we both rapidly undressed, making me completely forget about my upcoming quiz.

************************

“You better start fucking explaining yourself, Loki!”

I began a feeble attempt to reel in the myriad of thoughts flooding my mind. My emotions were a chaotic blend of utter confusion and absolute joy. Loki was here, in the flesh; holding me, kissing me, and telling me we belonged together.

I had pictured this moment so many times over the years, and nothing was happening like I had imagined it. But as much as I missed Loki and secretly yearned for his over the years, reality slowly crept in. Loki was gone far too long to go without explaining himself. I needed answers. Lots of answers.

“My love, I promise you, I will explain everything, but this is hardly the time or place—” “Oh no, no, I am not playing games with you Loki! The “time and place” is right now! You’re the one who left and decided to just randomly show up out of nowhere!” My voice cracked, and I forced myself to hold back more tears, annoyed at myself for getting emotional again.

“I need to know what happened to you, Loki. You owe me that much.”

I could see Loki felt guilty. I knew that behind his devil-may-care attitude and playful demeanor he felt awful for deserting me. I started to feel sorry for getting heated with him again. The Loki I knew would never just leave without a legitimate reason. But suspicious thoughts kept lurking in my head. He’s just trying to manipulate you. I shook the feeling aside, I already had too much to think about. I reached up and rubbed my hand through his beautiful black hair.

“I’m sorry, Loki. I’m just—I don’t know, there is a lot to take in.”

Loki gave a slight grin, placing both of his hands on my waist.

“As much as I’d love to chat with you about everything that's happened, darling, your mum has prepared something for dinner that smells absolutely delicious, and it would be a shame to let all her hard work go to waste.”

I gave a slight chuckle. Loki was right. If I wanted to know the full story, it would be best to wait till my parents and ex weren’t around. Also, I hadn’t eaten all my food at the restaurant with David, so I was actually quite hungry as well.

“Fine. But this isn’t over.” I reminded Loki. He nodded and leaned forward and gave me a soft peck on my forehead before both of us walked in the house. Neither my mom, dad, or David noticed Loki had ever left; still speaking with his illusion.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Mom asked suspiciously

“Oh yeah—um—no I didn’t.” I stumbled over my words like a nervous school girl. Keep it together.

Rachel waddled up to me babbling what sounded like, “Mama.” She wasn’t really speaking yet, but her little attempts always made me so proud. I picked her up off the floor, and she looked around at us five adults standing around talking. Rachel’s eyes met Loki’s, to which Loki made a silly face at Rachel, causing her to laugh loudly. The brief moment between them made me and my parents chuckle. Seeing Loki interact with Rachel made my heart melt; it was almost too adorable for me to handle. The sweet moment ended abruptly however when I looked over at David and saw an irritated scowl cross his face. Knowing David’s temper, I cleared my throat to break the building tension.

“So…what did you make for dinner, mom?” “Oh, just some roast chicken with mash potatoes and Brussel sprouts, nothing fancy.”

“A regular feast, I cannot wait to try, Mrs. Y/L/N.” Loki smiled

“Well, come on in the dining room then, we don’t want the food getting cold.” Mom began ushering us to the dinner table.

“I already ate,” David interjected.

Mom, still walking away, yelled behind her, “Well I guess you can go home then, David.”

My dad laughed from the dining room at my mom’s sassy comment, making David looked at me and whispered, “What the hell?”

"It’s ok, we’ll talk later. I’ll text you.”

David gave me an annoyed look but decided it would be better to leave before he left my parent's good graces entirely. David gave Rachel a quick kiss goodbye and made a quiet exit.

When David left, all of us inadvertently let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Finally got him out of here, goodness gracious,” Dad grumbled.

“Dad, can we not…”

“I just want a relaxing family dinner with all of, it’s been too long.” Mom was beaming. Sometimes I wondered if mom loved Loki more than I do.

Did.

My mind was still an absolute whirlwind. Barely an hour ago, David and I were at dinner, talking about our daughter’s future and reconsidering where our relationship stood. Then I see Loki’s car in my parent's driveway with his stupid “God of Mischief” vanity plates, next thing I know were kissing, uprooting so many feelings I had pushed down over the last 3 years; and now Loki was eating dinner at my house like we had years ago. My emotions were a constant ebb and flow or fury, and affection One moment, I suppressed every urge I had to cause a scene and demand answers from Loki. The next, I wanted Loki to take me in his arms again and to pick up where we had left off. I still couldn’t comprehend how someone who I spent almost every day with since I was 18 to just suddenly vanished. I mean, I knew about Loki being a god. I knew about his brother, Asgard, and the Avengers. I didn’t know everything, but he had told me bits and pieces and opened up to me over the years. I also knew he would have to leave occasionally concerning “family squabbles” and things concerning the Avengers, but he would always let me know ahead of time and would even send his illusion to check in on me.

The leading theory I had settled on for Loki leaving was I thought I scared him off because of the last conversation we had. Petty, I know, but I couldn’t think of anything else it could possibly be.

I remembered every detail about our last conversation, probably because I played the moment repeatedly, trying to figure out what went wrong.

It was almost the end of the semester. Loki and I were in a local coffee shop, close enough to the college to walk, but not close enough where it was bombarded by other collegians studying for finals. Loki was actually helping me study for my other classes besides literature. I was studying for a freshman world geography class, an easy elective I took to boost my GPA. We had both ordered our drinks (Loki drank an Italian roast, black, and I had a cortado.)

While he was helping me study the countries of the Eastern Hemisphere, I looked up at him.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married? Or have kids?”

While Loki took a sip of his coffee, his eyes quickly shifted to me.

“I mean, one day. I’m not saying to me—or anything—um, I was just curious. Plus I’m bored of studying.” I gave an awkward laugh, trying to hide my cheeks turning a bright shade of crimson.

Loki bit his lip and tilted his head up and looked off in the distance. I felt like I could actually see wheels turning in his head. Then he spoke.

“I honestly cannot answer that.”

“Oh…”

“Well, I don’t know, truthfully. Marriage seems so, arbitrary to me. Especially, as a god, time means nothing to me, but to Midgardians, time is so precious, so you decide one person to spend that time with until your dying breath. So if I were to marry an Asgardian, I would be tied to them for possibly, millennia. And if I was to marry a Midgardian, they will have already lived a quarter of their life. I’ve been alive far too long and have learned there is no point in getting attached to something I cannot keep.”

He spoke so matter-of-factly that it almost brought me to tears. Was that all I was to him? A mere mortal with 25% of my life over. I felt foolish for thinking I could be more to him than a Midgardian “friend with benefits.”

Pretending not to be hurt, however, I nodded nonchalantly as I listened to his rant and took a sip of my drink. He continued.

“I could see myself having children though, one day.”

“So you can’t see yourself getting married, but you can see yourself having children? Alrighty then.” I laughed, accidentally letting my hurt feelings slip into my reply.

“Do you see a problem with that, love?”

“No, not at all, to each his own. So kids huh?” He looked at me and gave me a rueful grin.

“I would love to give my children the childhood I always craved.”

I gave a sympathetic groan and reached out for his arm and gave him a gentle squeeze. I didn’t want to press the issue further. I knew how sensitive he was about the subject. After a few moments, Loki spoke again, looking directly into my eyes.

“Did you ask me that, because I am someone you would want to marry?”

My eyes inadvertently widened and swallowed a little harder than necessary. I felt a little uneasy because Loki refused to break eye contact with me.

“Honestly, Loki…” I felt instant nausea from my nerves.

“Yes?”

“You are someone I want to marry. Why wouldn’t I? You’re amazing, you’re well read, you’re kind, but more importantly, you’re my best friend, of course, you’re someone I would want to fucking marry! I don’t care if I’ve ‘lived a quarter of my life’ already if you love someone you choose to love them no matter what!” I spoke a little louder than I intended too because a few coffee shop patrons turned their heads toward our table.

Loki chuckled at my obvious embarrassment. I gave an awkward half-smile and placed my hands on my face as if trying to wipe away my blushing cheeks. Loki grinned at me and brushed a few strands of hair away from my face before he spoke again.

“Well, darling, I am very flattered.” He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Now how about we get back to studying? You need to do well on your exam.”

The quick change of subject confused me for a second before I agreed with him and I began to study for my exam again. After a while, I was ready to go call it a day. Loki offered to give me a ride home, but I initially declined and told him I’d walk; partly because that day was uncharacteristically mild for winter and I wanted to enjoy the lovely weather; also I was extremely embarrassed about the conversation we had inside the coffee shop. But Loki insisted that he take me home and I, not in a mood to argue, I caved. The car ride was awkward, neither of us said anything the whole trip which generally wouldn’t be all that unusual, but because the conversation did not go as planned on my part, I felt that maybe I had crossed the line. When Loki finally reached my driveway, he parked his car and looked at me.

“Y/n, I want to apologize if what I said hurt you. Please don’t misunderstand me, I care for you deeply. I may not know what the future holds but what I know for certain is that you belong to me, and I belong to you, no matter what happens.”

I smiled at him, exhaling a breath I held in the whole car ride; thankful for his reassurance. Loki and I never had any labels in our relationship which was alright for the most part because I knew he cared for me, but every once in a while it was nice to hear him tell me how he felt. Even if he did think marriage was just a quirky Midgardian tradition. But one part of what he said caught me off guard: ‘No matter what happens’”? What does that mean? Ultimately, I shook it off as me being too analytical and leaned in to kiss Loki.

“I love you too, Loki.”

I stepped out of his car and waved back at him, “See you tomorrow!”

He waved back at me and drove off. That was the last time I saw or spoke to Loki.

********************

Dinner with Loki and my parents went as well as expected. The meal mom prepared was delicious, Rachel only threw half of her food on the floor, and mom and dad bombarded Loki with questions.

“So where have you been, Loki? We were starting to worry about ya.” Dad said, giving Loki a pat on his back.

“I have been rather busy with work, I’ve done a little bit of traveling, and also spending time with my family.”

I rolled my eyes. I swear to god he better not lie to me like that when he accounts for the last few years.

“Well, it’s good to have you back, Sweetheart.” Mom cut in, “Will we see more of you?”

Loki looked over at me when he answered, “Yes indeed. I’m not going anywhere as long as I can help it.”

I rolled my eyes again, trying to hide the smile forming on my lips.

Once dinner was over, leftovers and dishes put away, My parents said their “goodnights” and left for bed. I also excused myself for a brief moment, needing to get Rachel ready for bed. Before I carried Rachel to her room, Loki reached for Rachel’s little hand, “Goodnight little love, thank you for showing me all your toys this evening.” Rachel babbled incoherently and gave Loki a smile showing all the teeth she had.

“I think somebody likes you” I smirked, “Say ‘thank you Loki for playing with me’”

Rachel babbled again while Loki lowered himself to her eye level, giving her his undivided attention.

“Well, it was my pleasure, Rachel. Have pleasant dreams.”

I left and tucked Rachel into her little bed, and she fell asleep shortly after. As she slept, I stared at her for a moment before heading back to the living room. I thought about how adorable Loki was with my daughter. Interacting with children seemingly came so naturally to him. I also wished that David would be the same way with Rachel. He was a great father in that he worked hard to provide for her, but that was the only way David showed he loved her, especially after we parted ways. David wouldn’t play with her, and would hardly make time to spend time alone with her. He blamed work for not being around Rachel as often as he should. David worked for his father’s law firm. Influential attorneys defending the most guilty and the richest. I know Rachel was far too young to understand the nuances of a father/daughter relationship, but whenever David would walk past her or halfheartedly acknowledge her, I could see in her little eyes, that it hurt her.

I made my way back to the living room and saw Loki sitting on the couch, waiting for me. He stood when I re-entered the room and made his way toward me.

“I should probably get going, I know we could all use a restful nights sleep.”

“We still need to talk—”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Loki gently interrupted, “Why don’t we meet in the morning for breakfast, we can go anywhere you want to go.”

“Well, my parents can’t watch Rachel tomorrow, they both have something they have to go to, so if we go anywhere, Rachel will have to come.”

Loki’s face lit up, “That sounds delightful! We shall make a day out of it then.” His hand reached down placed his palm on my face like he had earlier. This time I didn’t swat him away, instead, I wrapped my arms around him. I missed feeling his body against mine. Loki pulled me in closer and rested his chin on top of my head.

Sadly we were interrupted by my phone vibrating. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw a text from David reading: Hey, we need to finish talking when you get a chance. We couldn’t with that guy hanging around. Text me back ASAP.

I groaned. Loki peaked at David’s message and scoffed,“‘That guy’? Charming.”

“You have no idea,” I replied, more to myself than Loki.

Loki’s face turned concerned, “What do you mean?”

“Ugh, he’s just—sometimes he’s a dick, but otherwise he’s alright. He makes sure Rachel is taken care of, so that’s all I care about.” Giving me a dubious look, I reassured Loki that I was fine and that David was just annoying sometimes. Reaching for my hand, Loki made his way toward the front door.

“Well, I better go, love. I look forward to spending the day with you and Rachel.” Loki pulled me close and kissed me on the lips before closing the door behind him. I peeked out the front window and saw him stoop down into his car, rev his engine, and drive off. What have you been up to, Loki Odinson?

**************

David, back at his penthouse apartment, reclined in his Eames chair, sipping away at bourbon and fiddled with his phone. He had searched the name “Loki Odinson” over and over on Google but only found references to Norse Mythology.

Who the fuck is this guy?

David exited his Google Search and began scrolling through his contact list until he found the name, Darren. He pressed the call icon and waited for him to answer.

“Hey David, you’re up late.” “Darren. I have a favor to ask.” “Anything Chief, what do you need?” “I need you to look into someone for me, the name: ‘Loki Odinson.’”

“You got it, boss. I’ll see what I can find.”

Darren ended the call, and David went to his iPhone photo album. He scrolled through his pictures until he found an old picture of Y/N.

This stupid bitch better be careful. She’s gonna get her heart broken all over again.

Taglist:

@imasultforlokiandspencerreid

@crescent-night

@portietomednalynn

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson #loki friggason #loki laufeyson #marvel mcu #loki smut #marvel #loki #loki fandom #avengers #latenight #loki fanfic #tom hiddleston

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bnha-imagines-hcs · 6 years

Note

Hello! Could I please have a headcanon with Aizawa, Hizashi and Shinsou? How do they feel/react to an S/O who blushes absolutely bright red (like all the way to the tips of their ears) when given a compliment about something that matters to them? Like–"Thanks for helping out, I know I can count on you."=RED. "You've been working really hard on that skill and it shows."=RED "You're a great listener."=RED, and so on. Thank you so much!

( mmmmmm, that’s adorable y’know. ❤ they turned into drabbles! i hope you like them. | i… love this wtf. asd;fkjsdf this is the gooiest shit i’ve written in who knows how long. )

| shinsou; drabble.

oh, he knows. there’s this vain, incredible hope that perhaps the book promptly shoved into your own face or the scarf wound high around your neck might veil the evidence, but. he knows. he only smirks like that when he’s found another button.

“hitoshi, nooooooo…”

impossible, mouth’s corners curl up higher / lay dimples into his cheeks. “hitoshi, yes…”

“noooooooohh my god… nugh.”

the worst part is when he doesn’t capitalise on it at once. of course not, that would be lenient. instead, you spend the afternoon lounging together ( ever on the edge of tension of will he do it- ) before going your separate ways; each headed home for dinner and a truly obnoxious amount of homework. something of an hour past quesadillas, there’s a beep from your bag’s front pocket.

[ hito-tan ❤ uwuwuwu; text: babe, u on q24? pls… help ya homeboi out.. my familys dyin ]

pffft.

[ text: are u tellin me the geat shinsou hitoshi wrestled w/ adverbs an the adverbs came ou on top?? ]

[ hito-tan ❤ uwuwuwu; text: *great *out ]

[ text: YOUR* FAMILY’S* DYING* ]

fuckin’ grammar nazi. still, this desperate plea for aid doesn’t pass unanswered - via call will they resolve this business, because otherwise shinsou will keep sending back typos and drain your available texts. wouldn’t be the first time.

“–yeah! and that’s about it.”

“oh..?” it’s non-commital, introverted. “yeah– cool, thanks.”

“you’re welcome… y’little shit.”

“mmm, i love you.” not so absent now– “thanks for helping out,.. i like that i know i can count on you.”

“……….”

“see ya~”

[ text: YOUR FAMILY WONT BE THE ONLY THING DYING, SHINSOU HITOSHI ]

[ hito-tan ❤ uwuwuwu; text: so formal you wound me ][ hito-tan ❤ uwuwuwu; text: pics or it didn’t happen ]

[ text: EAT SHIT ]

you won’t know ‘til the next day how his eyes glow, little crinkles at their corners when your blush heats the very tips of your ears… and quite everything below them. whacking him (lightly) with your notebook does fuck all to thwart the growing smirk on his face (or the way his fingers itch to taste that blush, stroke lines across its curve).

( should you press your ruddy cheeks to his, you’ll find some common ground. )

| aizawa; drabble.

oh. ohoho.

he lets you think he doesn’t notice. ( that idea manages to stick through sheer desperation alone, because even your warped reflection in the windows is stained red. )

aizawa memorises what he said and did before the heat of your face warmed his across a full feet of empty space lmao – and from then on follow experiments; carefully, stealthily, he lets those span across a few weeks.

it’s very, very easy to determine the cause of your blush.and so very very easy to apply, too.

date night consists of a quiet night at your or his place; his, this time. warm blankets and shared body heat, mugs full of coffee and hot chocolate while he grades the odd paper he can’t resist, while you edit today’s entry into your diary. date night = snuggly naps, pretty much.

“…your handwriting looks pretty.”

doesn’t quite do it - you hum, finish your f with more of a flourish than you would without the weight of his gaze, but barely change colour. a little ruddier only if he squints.

“…dunno how you manage to keep that up,” writing a diary that actually gets a page for each day that is, “don’t think i’d have the patience…”

his shoulder’s nudged by the butt of your pen, your eyes on the page and attention divided. “you already have to write a lot with school and all, it’s no wonder.”

faint, domestic conversation ebbs and flows - nothing groundbreaking or of import to any of the scavengers that dig for news in roadkill reporters; just talk for the sake of hearing each other’s voice. eventually, though–

“thanks for making time for me in the evenings. my schedule’s unpredictable… i know it’s tough to work around it all the time.”

—yes ! bingo !!!

“it’s fine,” voice soft, “i like to– why the fuck are you smirking.”

the curve of his lips grows crooked, lop-sided as the honest to god wink sent across a steaming mug of coffee. it’s more like a spasm of the eyelid really, but it means the fucking same.

“aizawa shouta, you fiend–”

the pillow fight that ensues is of epic proportions ( and doesn’t even stop when the coco spills ).

| hizashi; drabble.

fuck, it’s cute. fuck fuck fuck, it’s cute. oh gosh. oh no. oh, probably you might be embarrassed?? maybe you don’t like for your feelings to show for all to see - perhaps courtesy would be the better method than curiosity. do you need a hug? do you want a hug; hugs are always available! do you– how can he make this happen again?

“hizashi, i swear to fuckin’ god. leave me be!”

his pout comes armed with mewls, little whines of plea and malcontent – all while wayward fingers find the heat in your cheeks and make it worse with curious touches, cool kisses. can this man stop- being that way for 5 seconds!! ( not that it’s bad, but Rebellion… Rebellion. )

“hizashi, for fuck’s sake.”

“but i love yooouuuuu.”

incoherent spluttering.

“i didn’t know you could get that red.” thumb’s broad pad chases down the line of your cheekbone, settles briefly at the corner of your mouth.

“yes, thanks, thanks, get over it.” and You Refuse To Kiss It.

“…” the quickest little peck nestles where his thumb did. “nope. never.”

“urggghhh.” you’re also Not Leaning Into That.

“you look so cute.”

“i know, stop it. god.”

“good, good-” and another smooch. a smorch, if you will. and another - the gentlest of line-ups across your brow, kissing across every dip in your fake-ass frown.

and so you sit there, suffering silently with a face uncomfortably hot ( mic’s kisses in soft cool contrast ) and a lover who’s discovered more to love.and has way more to give than outlets available, apparently.

“you look so cuuuuuuuute.”

“you’VE SAID THAT-”

despite protest’s climbing pitch, there’s not a single move made to halt mic’s tender advances and he knows it. you spend the entirety of his lunch break with a blush slowly dying and a wealth of sweetened love; that he goes to class on a stomach mostly empty is fine, butterflies keep him from going hungry.

#deliciousvulpana #basically they all want some more o' dat shit.#aizawa #bnha aizawa #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #bnha hizashi #shinsou hitoshi #bnha shinsou #shinso hitoshi #present mic #eraserhead #bnha #boku no hero #fluff #bnha scenarios #mha #personal fave

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goldenscript · 7 years

Text

requite

pairing: kim taehyung | reader genre: first date au / fluff word count: 4,465 description: To be clear, this is not an unrequited love. It is the gradual fall in which two best friends find themselves on a journey, navigating the waters of uncertainty on their very first, official date. author’s note: I dedicate this to my dearest @jungnoir -- happy holidays, my dear. Thank you for being a lovely human, and more importantly, for being my friend. You make everything just a little more bearable <3

It all begins when Taehyung decides to change everything.

He’s always been the proactive one between the two of you. The go-getter. The trendsetter. From starting the whole bandana epidemic in high school to fighting for a slot in the top fifteen percentile in high school and still aiming for it in college. He dreams big and loudly. His voice, an unabashed timber, steady as ever even in the face of adversity. It’s in this same voice that has almost always supported you and your endeavors, when your fears are taking hold and barring you from your own dreams like a dragon in front of the treasure, he imbues you with strength and gives you that push to defeat the doubts and take that leap of faith. And in many ways, being the basis of your strength has given you the drive to provide the stability that he needs. Where he is the sun shining optimism in his wake, you are the moon bringing things back into perspective.

Between the two of you, it has always been like the push and pull of the waters. Ebb and flow. A back and forth collaboration that can make not only wonderful outcomes but disastrous ones as well. Sometimes you just can’t keep up with him. The way he goes about life so quickly and so passionately. And yet between all his efforts to give himself a good life, he has never once forgotten about you and the help you’ve lended him. All the times you’ve imbued him with strength is everything that keeps him going, and he’s more than grateful for the time and effort you’ve both spent in late night studying sessions, phone calls when sleep eludes you both like a phantom confronted with reality, and every night since the end of high school, you’ve plagued his mind like a six-second video, only this time it doesn’t just play through your childhood. These videos show him the way the light hits you just right even with sleep threatening your half-lidded eyes, how the corners of your lips will curl even when he’s not doing anything at all, even how you feel from the moments he’ll wrap a lean arm around your shoulders, you’ll lean into him and the whiff of freesias and vanilla meet his senses, pressed so deep into his mind that you are the only thing that his mind will conjure up when faced with those two scents.

The beating of his heart augments fervently at your voice, the way his name falls off your lips far too beautiful for him to think clearly, and it takes everything in him not to come right out with the words that are constantly playing in his head when he sees you—I love you I love you God I love you so much—before you bring him back to reality with a small wave of your hand to remind him that your movie’s about to start. And all he can do is muster up a nod, gulping down the words caught in his throat as you lead him toward the third theater on your left with a huge bucket of popcorn in your other hand and that damn loose strand of hair that he’s always felt so inclined to tuck back behind your ear.

He can barely think as you both sit through Spiderman: Homecoming despite how badly he’s wanted to see it for the past few weeks, probably even longer since he heard about its upcoming release months beforehand, because all he can think about is how close you are and how much he wants to bare his heart to you as he always has. Although love or loving anyone has ever really passed his lips aside from his family, his other friends, and you, this is different. It’s a new caliber, a new level to this relationship that has taken more and more steps toward the platonic exit.

The beginning of his resolution came after a day of separation when his flight back home after your first year of finals is prolonged by a mishap that had him leaving almost too late to celebrate Christmas with you and the rest of your families. If only the news reports hadn’t been fuelling your anxieties for the welfare of your one and only best friend. But what came out of his worries for you and that sleepless night was his heart’s conclusion that he wanted to ease your anxieties over losing him. Because he knows you’ve equated the loss of him to losing your other half, a part of yourself that you don’t think anyone else could really replace, because he knew you like he knew the back of his hand, he felt what you felt when you were happy, sad, tired, and hungry, sometimes sharing them with you before pulling you out of your mood in the only way that he can. That following day, after the fog of the possible calamities could ensue, you clung to him with everything you could when you saw him. It eased his mind to see you, but the tumultuous rumbling in his chest made him reconsider the way he saw you, and with every passing day, every moment shared together, he has felt something bloom in him and flourished to its grandeur now.

The soft tufts of dark brunet locks that always falls into his eyes no matter what and still he can meet your eyes with the same soft chocolate-like effect, sweet and plush without an ounce of regret. His smile, toothy and all, always present even when you’re both fatigued with sleep and even now as you’re both readjusting to the shift in lighting of the theater. You know something’s up when he can’t even gush about the movie like you expected him to. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth and he can’t seem to stop fiddling with one of the three earrings dotting his earlobe. He’s handsome as ever even when nervous, and all you can think to do is ask him what’s going on in that broad and beautiful mind of his, always clouded with ideas far-fetched and thoughts abstract but witty and intelligent in ways that only a select few (read: you) can understand.

It is right then in this very moment where you two lock eyes and the rest of time slows down. His hand catches that loose tendril and finally tucks behind your ear, but instead of retracting away, it lingers a little longer on the side of your face. His heart is beating so hard in his chest, he’s almost afraid that it might fall out if he doesn’t pull back. But this is you. And you are the best thing that has ever happened to him, the most loving person, and the one that completes him without swallowing him whole.

That’s why he softly asks you, “Can I?”

And that’s why he does when you give a nod.

“Will you go out with me?”

Your mouth falls open, lips still tingling from the feeling of his chapped lips pressed against yours and reminding you that this actually happened. His cologne is muddled all over you and still fresh even with the two-feet distance, but it’s still a scent that rekindles familiarity in this sudden situation.

“W-What?” You blink, trying to register the moment for what it is, but the longer you try to wrap your head around this fact makes it still just as startling as it was when you felt his lips. “Are you serious?”

He laughs, placing his hands on your shoulders and nodding. “Of course I’m serious. I—I…” He runs a hand through his hair, though the stray locks do nothing to stay in place. But the sigh he releases is resounding and as exhilarated as he looked right then seems to fade back into the nerve-wracked boy you haven’t seen since elementary school. The same one who was too shy to even ask for a ball from the playground equipment monitor, so you stepped in to give him a hand, and inadvertently solidifying your friendship into what it is now. “I lo—I like you. A lot.”

You don’t even stop to think when you respond, heart still hammering because you’re not completely sure that you’ve heard him correctly. But you want to know. You need to know. “Were you going to say love?”

His mouth opens, falling close before he can get a word out as blood crawls up his cheekbones like vines. It’s suddenly much harder to be that shameless boy without a filter when he’s standing in front of the love of his life.

“I—uh—I…”

“You were… weren’t you?” You ask, feeling his hand slip away. The fading of warmth waking your own reflexes as you keep his hand in yours. It’s foreign now that you’ve both kissed and even more so as he seems to be baring his heart to you, but you can’t bear the loss of his comfort. “Taehyung. You love me?”

He’s willing the floor to swallow him whole. He wants the concrete to suddenly cave in beneath only his feet and close back up so he won’t face the rejection. He can’t bear it. And yet, when he nods, rejection does not come.

You give his hand a squeeze, feeling your heart flutter as you say, “Well, I’m glad this is mutual then.” You release an airy laugh, finding his beautiful eyes meeting yours like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Are you serious?”

Your brows screw together, almost offended that he’d even question you, of all people, who seldom throws the L-word around without necessary prompting. But then you see the way he lights up. His eyes flicker with relief, excitement, and adoration. The very familiarity of your reaction is probably everything he was hoping for, and the corner of your lip quirks involuntarily.

“Would I lie to you?” He shakes his head, letting out a shaky breath. “Then, I don’t have to repeat myself.”

He laughs, seeing your own cheeks flare up in a dance of rouge after a puff of smoke pushes through your lips. The cold is settling in beneath the canopy of the well-used movie theater. The warm undertones of light highlighting the scene without so much as a flicker, though it does nothing to maintain the warmth you’ve both built in your close proximities.

“So, w-will you then?” He asks, still hopeful and adorable as always.

You nod, smiling completely.

“Yes, Tae. I’ll go out with you.”

He picks you up on a Friday night. Six o’clock.

He’s nervous. You’re nervous. It’s the first official date. Not that it means the downfall of the relationship if it falls down the drain or anything, but you’re both met with anxieties and fears all over because this isn’t just anybody. It’s your best friend. But these are waters that have been teetering toward the edge of the sand dunes for as long as freshman year. Two years of falling in and out of almost-date’s and maybe-next-time’s, and the time is finally here. Of course, neither of you want to fuck to this up.

You’re dressed in a simple attire, more functionality for the biting cold than baring any skin anyway, but he thinks you look adorable bundled in the charcoal puffer jacket and slate grey turtleneck. While he dons something in similarity just because he’s always adored his own puffer and the way a heather grey sweater looks together. It’s kind of cute when it strikes him that you’ve both even chucked on your black Chucks. They’re not as scuffed as previous pairs, but it made you smile when you both exchanged these as Christmas gifts not too long ago and that’s been pressed so deep into his memory that seeing the matching pair bemuses him.

“Copying me?” He asks as you locks the door behind you. His brow quirked upward and a wide tight-lipped grin now spreading across his visage.

You scrunch your nose at the realization, immediately scoffing at him, “I’d say you copied me.”

He flashes a lopsided grin at you. “Ooh, defensive. I always knew you admired my fashion choices.”

“Please,” you say, walking side by side with him. Tonight’s venue is a venture into the city—it’s familiar and, well, comfortable. It’s perfect for the excursion and you most certainly don’t mind this mode of transportation. “Your taste is far too expensive for me, Tae.”

He pouts a little, “Hey, there’s a price to pay when you want to look good.”

“You always look good.” You admit in passing, “You could’ve worn a sweatsuit made of paper bags and I think you’d still amazing.”

“Really?” He turns to look at you with his brows raised.

“Really,” you laugh as your cheeks burning once more under his honey-like gaze. Like dropping the L-word, compliments are a rare occasion for you but tonight just felt right. “I don’t think you needed me to tell you that though.”

“It means more coming from you.” He glances down at your fiddling hands with uncertainty. He doesn’t know if you want to hold hands again or if he’s supposed to grab it, especially considering how easily you might slip through his fingertips if he is too abrupt. The fate of tonight feels so odd to him. Like he’s standing on wires with only his fingers crossed that he doesn’t dip down too low and ruin everything.

Your gaze flickers from his face and trails down to see what has his attention. Your heart thrums at the thought. Although holding his hand should be normal like it was last night, you know how vastly different it is now. This is the start of something new. An era that’s about to begin and open doors to a plane of hand-holding, kissing, and the companionship of not only a best friend but a significant other too.

He wants to hold hands, doesn’t he? Looking at him, you want to ask, Don’t you?

Instead you unhook your fingers from one another, slowly but surely allowing your left one to reside in the space between you and him. Despite the fears in the back of your mind telling you that venturing this far deep into uncharted territory could completely wreck a perfectly good relationship, you want to make this leap of faith—not only for him, but for yourself—because this is the very scenario you’ve had play over in your head during those nights where sleep eludes you and he’s the only thing that can seem to halt the anxieties with faint memories of childhood, adolescence, even last week when he made Hoseok shoot chocolate milk out of his nose.

You softly ask, “Really?”

“Really,” he says, punctuating his statement with a small nod. Looking back to you and raising a brow, he practically asks, Can I? Will you let me?

When his hand resides beside yours and it looks like his heart feels like it might fall out of his chest, he sees you give a small nod from the corner of his eye and even a smile curl on the corners of your lips.

His fingertips can practically feel the warmth you radiate, eliciting equal bouts of fluttering hearts and oh my god’s. He’s just about to close the distance and finally commemorate this moment in your newfound relationship, but before he can there’s a sudden rush and a slithering hiss of air signalling the arrival of the bus.

Instead of entwined fingers, you both dig for your IDs and show the bemused driver who doesn’t even pretend he didn’t see either of your pink cheeks and disappointed looks.

The bus flies past the restaurants of names neither of you can pronounce nor have you ever dreamt of going to. They’re beautiful in their own right. Filled to the brim with well-dressed people bustling in and out of the vicinity, many of which appear to be enjoying themselves in those milliseconds you get a gander of them. But that momentary happiness pales in comparison to the happiness that crosses your visage at the familiarity of warmth and pastel that takes place at the spot.

The bluish tint from the ceiling lights manages to give you an ethereal look. A sight to behold that makes him stop, practically frozen in time when you turn toward him and lean in close to pull for the stop. He wants to fumble through an apology but you flash him a smile and don’t even question his sudden pause. The two of you step out, feeling the sudden rush of nipping at your cheeks that gets minimally shielded with Taehyung’s shoulder in the way. And the next few moments seem to pass in seconds as he walks down the darkened steps with you right behind, toward the hidden away boba shop, until you’re both seated in front of one another with drinks of stark contrast to each of your likings.

Conversation passes easy as ever in that quaint shop, leaving nothing to chance as memories seem to pour out from the two of you. The time you and your shared group of friends ventured over here during Jimin’s shift, demanding for outrageous orders just to make the poor boy sweat. It was awful (for him mostly and for everyone else the next day), but at the same time, the cherub-faced boy has more dirt on you, Taehyung, Taeyong, and Siyeon than any of you like to admit which brings back more fond memories of that year. Nowadays if any of you come in during another (rare) drunken excursion, it’s met with ease and a crooked smile because that damn boy doesn’t forget anything. Then there are the other times where coming there were nothing but an excuse to forget about finals and midterms, debating on whether the college life was for either of you, and asking each other what they saw their future selves doing in all detail if anyone had it figured out that far ahead.

In a way, this feels like one of those days where you two come in with no plan at all. Just a just because. Not a this, this, and that. And that’s what he loves the most. He doesn’t have to think far ahead with you or worry about what comes next, because you can complete the equation with a simple answer. A grin curves on your lips while the light in your eyes shines brighter than the stars you’ve both admired for as long as either of you can remember, and suddenly, it’s another adventure, another memory. And when you two finish your drinks and the plethora of detours across memory lane, you both walk out together with the scarlet fluorescent lights shining “Arcade” in block letters beckoning you forth with the call of something new in this old-time relationship.

You turn to him at the entrance after halving the cost for tokens, “I’m not going on easy on you, y’know.”

He quirks a brow at you, almost tempted to pout at you despite knowing how fruitless that would be, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. I’m a pro.” He opts for his boxy grin. You’re too adorable when you get competitive. “Didn’t I show you how to play half these games anyway?”

You scoff, pausing at Terminator 2: Judgement Day, “And wasn’t I the one to tell you that Terminator’s a movie and not just a videogame, you nerd?”

“Hey,” he pouts. “It’s not that I didn’t know… I just found out late.”

“So… you didn’t know.” You laugh, shoving four tokens in and smashing the start button. “It’s okay. We learn new things everyday. You just happened to learn about a classic flick a little too late into your late teen’s.”

He responds by taking a good three shots at the T-1000. Not a single miss. Not that the bastard goes down immediately. He remembers how irritating it was when he first played, going down to the arcade everyday just to get a better understanding.

“Please tell me you haven’t forgotten the movies.” He hasn’t. Gaze flickering over to your screen as you empty out your magazine within moments. Of course, they deflect off the T-1000.

“Of course not,” he replies indignantly. “I wouldn’t mind doing it again, though.”

“Yeah?” He sees you smile, your eyes narrowing at the screen as you shoot other cyborgs.

He nods, grinning broadly as he manages a decent hit, “Yeah.”

“It’s a date then.”

Of course, it doesn’t end there. Not with you two.

Despite the significant loss at T2, you assure him that you’re winning at the next game. You do equate his win to the fact that he’s been playing much longer than you, probably more than a normal boy should, and of course, he agrees. He spent an entire month going there to learn the machine and the story behind the game, so he guides you to the viridescent neon table with two paddles.

“Well, I guess we don’t have to count that one against you,” he says, shoving in the necessary six tokens to relinquish the puck.

When it deposits out from your end, you frown a little at him. “Don’t reject your win for my sake. You did a decent job.” You mutter under your breath, “Even if you didn’t know those were based on an actual movie.”

“Hey!” He pouts, deflecting your offensive play with a simple flick of his wrist. “Lay off, Miss Movie Buff.”

“Never.” You grin, going in on the offensive again. It’s your favorite tactic, and although it seems predictable to just about anyone who plays against you, you still manage to surprise even him after scoring a good three consecutive points without letting him get a word in.

After getting you both to an equal four, a mere point away from deeming one of you the winner, he says, “All the more movies to watch together, right?” He laughs breathily, “Since you did say there’s still plenty I need to watch.”

You nod. “Who would I be if I didn’t educate you now that we’re dating?”

“It didn’t stop you as my best friend,” he points out, aiming for the blind spot by your wrist. He doesn’t linger too long as he gives a particularly powerful hit to the puck without thinking too much about it.

“Well, it’s different now—ow—!” Much to his displeasure (and obviously yours), the puck’s destination is your hand and not the goal. And from the velocity of the white blur, his fear of hurting you has come true, immediately drawing him to your side to the assaulted area.

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, his fingers already trying to soothe away the pain with simple, concentric circles. “Are you okay?”

Of course, you stiffen at the sudden attention. It’s not completely common for him to check on you when an incident like this takes place, but when he meets your lit-up eyes and the bemused grin on your lips, he can’t help but feel like he’s overreacted.

“You’re fine aren’t you?”

You nod, teasing, “Who knew you could be such a worry wart?”

He pouts, “Of course. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know you won’t,” you immediately try to reassure him. He feels it too. The trust you have in him, and that alone soothes his own doubts. “Anyway, this is nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“You could kiss it better if that’ll ease your worrisome heart.”

He knows you’re joking from your smile, but he can’t help himself.

“It will.”

So he does it.

It’s only ten when your time at the arcade comes to an end with wins for the both of you, which was soon followed by a succession of celebratory pizza at the small food court inside the well-worn gaming area, and now the prospect of a stroll around the city streets you’ve both grown so accustomed to thrown into the air. It’s become second nature to hit all the familiar corners just to see the aesthetics and the new places that have started to pop up in the past year and a half.

The change from the first time you two ventured these places together to now has been astronomical, a necessary growth that has led you both to look back on your former selves with fondness and amusement. You remember having so many questions and seldom answers to them, with dreams so far and wide that’ve finally shaped and formed themselves in a tangible way. You knew going into this new world would be hard. Probably the hardest and it’s meant to get harder, even more so with another investment alongside school in tow, but when you look at Taehyung, there’s love in your heart.

The feeling squeezes you and envelops you, and although entertaining the thought that you might love him that first year led you toward this moment felt like a mistake at times, you can’t help but say you won't regret choosing it. Not that morning when you squeezed him so tight to your heart just to stop the rumbling and most certainly not right now as you shrug on your jacket and wait for him to do the same so you can both take the scenic route to the bus stop before you return to your place to watch a movie or two.

Without a second thought, your heart stutters right as he reaches past you to push open the door. “Ready?”

The biting cold already nipping past Taehyung and the protection of his broad shoulders to your exposed cheeks, earning a mixture of a whine and an affirmation in response.

“As I’ll ever be.”

There’s a prospect of warmth and familiarity being by his side, with the world around you seemingly fading as you two lose yourself in your own innermost thoughts together as it always does. The deep timber of his chuckle travels alongside the sharp gusts on the crowded streets, but your attention falls away from the sound and the feeling of others around you two, and rather onto the sight of his hand as you walk beside him.

You lock eyes with him, rejoicing in the deep hickory and practically asking, Will you? Or should I? before ultimately settling on Why the fuck not?

He smiles broadly at the tap from your hand before glancing down at the way you’ve extended it to his so subtly. The distance is only a hairsbreadth away, and all you want to do is close it once and for all, to finally feel what you’ve dreamt about time and time again. And thankfully, he does.

Though the feeling of his hand entwined in yours is new, you welcome its comfort.

#sfwbangtan #btswriters #bts writing squad #bangtan bookclub #btssunshinenet #ot7network #taehyung scenarios #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung scenario #taehyung fluff #taehyung au #bts au #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fluff #taehyung x reader #emswriting

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bonnieberries · 7 years

Text

lady and the guard

oneshot: where jon is sansa’s bodyguard in a modern au. feel free to send me prompts!

Sansa has never felt more uneasy dialing a number, as she has now, standing in a phone booth, in the middle of god knows where, using some spare change a waitress gave her. She stares at the 10 digits, triple-checking to make sure the numbers are correct, before gulping down a breath and pressing ‘SEND’.

It rings only once before she hears his voice. “This is Snow.” He sounds thoroughly exhausted, and the guilt hits her like a punch to the stomach.

She exhales hard, feeling the tears well up, but pulling herself together to reply, “Jon, it’s me.”

There’s a long pause on the other end, and she almost stops to check if the call has disconnected before she hears him swear. “Where the hell are you?” His voice is taut with tension, and she knows, if she could see him now, his knuckles would be white with frustration, and his forehead would be creased with worried wrinkles.

“I’m on Lombard Ave and 2nd.” Her voice is small, trying not to raise his hackles even more. “Can you get me? Don’t send Sandor. He reports everything to Dad and I can’t have-“

Jon cuts her off, “I’ll be there in fifteen. Find a well-lit area with people around, and don’t move.” With that, he hangs up and Sansa follows his instructions dutifully, sitting outside a nearby pub on a wooden bench. Plenty of people mill by, but none of them seem to notice Lord Eddard Stark’s daughter sitting by herself, instead of at home, like a proper Lord’s daughter should.

A gust of wind comes sweeping through, and Sansa’s choice in fashion seems especially poor at the moment. Her faux leather shorts and cropped shirt do nothing to shield her against the weather, and as she’s shivering on a wet bench at 2 AM in the morning, she hates herself more than anything.

Her little stint at the club, although hours ago, it seems like only seconds have passed, since she angrily stalked over to her ex, drunk off of 8 shots of bad vodka. Arya had pulled her away, but not before she’d recited every curse word from the Oxford dictionary and splashed a cocktail into Joffrey Baratheon’s smug face.

From there, Arya had taken her to the bathroom, patiently pulling back her hair, while she vomited all her sorrows down the toilet.

“I’m sorry, Arya.” Sansa had babbled. “We were supposed to be celebrating you! And I messed it all up, it’s all messed up and this is shit. This is the shittiest of the shit.”

Her little sister, scoffed. “Don’t be stupid, Sansa. That was the most excitement I’ve had in weeks. Granted, I don’t like this part-“she gestured to the vomit on the rim of the toilet, “But, you can’t have everything, can you?” she shrugged. “I’ll get Gendry and then we can leave, yeah? Stay here.”

Drunk Sansa did not listen, and drunk Sansa had proceeded to leave the club. She’d seen Jon hovering by the restroom door, as she exited, but she’d managed to slip away once he was looking in the opposite direction. It all felt very giddy and exhilarating, but as she sobered up, the feeling quickly left her. Now, all she felt was tired, achy, and her head was pounding as though someone had taken cymbals and was clashing them over and over above her head. She moaned into her hands, replaying every moment in excruciating detail. God, she had behaved like a reprobate! 'A perfect lady at three years old'. That was what her mother had always said of her, and if Catelyn Stark had seen how her perfect lady had behaved tonight, she would have fainted on sight.

Sansa wallows in her misery, and after a good ten minutes of internal loathing, she spots the Stark-issue, black, Range Rover in the distance. She doesn’t stand, just in case it isn’t Jon, because she knows Jon will be able to spot her either way. Sure enough, the car stops right in front of here, and an angry Jon Snow, comes out of the driver’s seat. He’s still dressed in his suit uniform, and she wonders if he’s been up all night, waiting to hear from her. Jon notices her shivering immediately and mutters a quiet ‘Jesus Christ’ under his breath before draping his suit jacket over her shoulders.

“Thanks, Jon.” She murmurs. Her throat gets thick, trying to issue an apology without crying. “Look, I’m really sorry I-“

“Get in the car, Sansa.” He says tersely, although he doesn’t look directly at her. In fact, it seems he’s trying to look anywhere but at her. She nods, and goes around the car, to get into the passenger seat, and just a few seconds later, he joins her in the driver’s seat.

They both stare straight ahead, before Sansa dares to peek over at her bodyguard. He’s texting somebody, and Sansa guesses that somebody to be the Stark’s head of security, Eddison Tollett. She can make out one of the messages, ‘Got her, heading back now.’

Jon heaves in a deep breath, “One of these days, I’m going to kill you, Sansa Stark.”

“That’s kind of the opposite of your job, isn’t it?” Sansa snarks back.

Immediately, Jon’s jaw tightens and he looks heavenward, as if trying to praying for some semblance of sanity. Sansa has never made Jon’s job easy. Lord knows Rickon and Bran’s guards don’t have to go through half the things she puts Jon through. Cleaning up after her drunken escapades, making sure she doesn’t get grabbed by press, and picking her up outside strange pubs, are just a few of Jon’s duties.

She’d had her doubts when they’d first met, scoffing to her father that she’d seen benched high-school football players bigger than Jon. However, Jon quickly proved her wrong that night, grabbing a photographer that had gotten too close to her and ushered her inside the paparazzi-swarmed limo, all without breaking a sweat. Even Sandor, had let out an impressed whistle at his display of strength. SInce then, he’d been with her for 2 years.

In a weird way, Jon’s moved from family employee to family friend in those 2 years. Robb loves the shit out of Jon, always inviting him out for drinks with Theon, despite their mother’s protests at the unprofessionalism of it all. Jon even goes to Arya’s fencing matches, and Rickon’s competition days when they match up with his days off.

He’s tried (and failed) to be the most distant with her, but for good reason. There’s a clear distinction of where they should stand. She’s his employer and he is her bodyguard, there’s no room for friendship or anything in between. That line has clear boundaries, but it hasn’t stopped Sansa and Jon from stepping over it on multiple occasions.

“Why did you run away?”

Sansa pulls his jacket closer to her body, feeling small underneath his stare. “You know why,” she replies, softly. “I see him, and all rationale leaves me. I become angry, irrational, and I just needed some space, so I left.”

His gray eyes soften imperceptibly, and she sees the anger ebb and flow out of his face. How could he be angry? Not when she had confided in him the things Joffrey had said and done to her. He was the only one she’d told, because she had wanted to tell somebody desperately, but couldn’t find the courage to tell one of her siblings, she was afraid of the disappointment, the ‘I-told-you-so’s and the judgement. Jon had given her none of that. That was the nice thing about Jon; there was never any expectations with him. He had only nodded after every sentence and when she was done, he let her soak the front of his crisp, white shirt in tears.

“My job is to protect you, remember?” His hand comes up to cradle her cheek, and she nods silently into his warm touch. At the back of her mind, she’s pretty sure that this has crossed another line somewhere, but she pushes that thought away. “Joffrey can’t do anything to you.” His tone is solemn and firm, and in that moment she truly does feel as though nothing can harm her.

“The next time, you need to run away-” He pauses, obviously searching for the right words. “Just tell me. I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go. We can even go egg the Lannister mansion if it makes you feel better.” He adds the last part with a boyish grin, as though it’s been something he’s been wanting to do as well.

A giggle escapes her lips, “Is it a deal?”

Jon extends his hand, “It’s a deal.”

It’s then that she notices a purplish bruise forming on the bridge of his knuckles. “Jon!” she gasps, “What happened?” He follows her eye-line and tries, stupidly, to hide his hand from her sight, as though it will make the discoloration fade.

“It’s nothing.” He shakes his head, hastily.

“Jon. What. Happened.” The words come out sharper than she intended, but the bruise is pretty ghastly, and she hopes to dear God that he’s not going to say what she thinks he’s going to say.

He clears his throat. “I punched Joffrey.” When Sansa only gapes at him, he continues sheepishly. “You disappeared, and I thought he’d done something! So I-”

“You punched him.” Sansa finishes, faintly. He looks so adorably embarrassed, his face a touch pink as he scrubs at his stubble. In this moment, she’s never been more glad that her father assigned Jon Snow to her. When she was little, he would always tease he’d find her a prince who was ‘brave, gentle, and strong’ and somehow, he’s managed to deliver on his promises, like always.

Jon turns to her and asks sheepishly, “Are you angry with me?”

Sansa laughs lightly, and leans forward to brush her lips against his cheek. He tenses, initially, as he always does, and then he melts into her touch, exhaling hard with a quiet swear.

“I could never be.” she promises.

#jonsa #fic #jon snow x sansa stark #got #jon snow #sansa stark #FEELINGS #SEND ME PROMPTS GUYS!!!

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yoongihime · 7 years

Text

Game On│01

Spy!AU Jungkook x Rivals!OC Length: 6.8K Type: Mindless Fluff aka my specialty hehe Warnings: May have angst in later parts; ments of weapons and violence, etc. Recommended OST: (x) ✎ (a/n): this wasn’t supposed to see the light of day until I finished all my other things but I figured I might as well post it because it’ll give me motivation to finish it T^T also... how long has it been since my pure pure fluff days? this part is realllyyyy just fluff hahah next part may have angst and action so stayed tuned bebs. As always comments and feedback is always appreciated. I must give credit where credit is due and say that this is loosely inspired by the Gallagher Girls academy, but mainly the concept of the academy and the mother as a headmistress, but other aspects are birthed from my fluffy ass imagination.

→Summary: “As the daughter of the headmistress, you’re not particularly impressed by the age old history of the academy, the stories turned bland since you spent most of your childhood hearing the tales as your bedtime story. In fact, you remain unfazed by most circumstances, but as luck would have it, these circumstances happened to exclude a certain golden boy named Jeon Jungkook.”

[11:07p.m.]

Aha, got him.

Trailing your eyes to from the receding figure to your cellphone, you can’t help but feel the corners of your lips tug themselves upwards.

Yes, this is how it should be. You had no reason to worry, even if it is a mission against his school today.

Rhythmic tapping of your fingers against the screen and your sneakers scratching against the pavement is all that is heard as you drift away from the scene, almost but not quite letting your guard down. You never let your guard down. Subtle vibration of the phone alerts you to the next step of the mission and you swipe your finger across the glass surface, expectant. A familiar robotic voice greets you,

“Hello, welcome to the final stage of your practical. Enclosed in locker 080604 between the intersection of 5th and 7th street you will find a package. Retrieve it. A carrier will arrive at exactly 12:00a.m. on Platform 4 from a train heading South. Deliver the package safely by 1:07a.m. and return to campus by the curfew of dawn. Best of luck.” by the time the voice is done speaking you’ve already thrown the device a few meters away from you where a tiny explosion can be heard.

Typical.

Sighing slightly, because you’re going to have to run this one, you’re sprinting towards the underground tunnels and away from the crowded streets of downtown, too preoccupied to notice the man in all black on your trail.

[11:45p.m.]

Package retrieved. You’re leaning against the concrete pole with a giant four painted on the top, all but casual as adrenaline continues to pump through your veins. Slight buzzing of people can be heard, but from your position, you can easily observe the ebbs and flow of the station without questioning eyes. Besides, considering the time, the crowd has subsided to a quiet trickle. This is too easy, a voice whispers in your subconscious causing your eyes to flicker left and right every few seconds and brush the little pest away, refusing to relax. That’s when you scan the reflective spherical globe sitting atop of the adjoining corners of the station and notice the man leaning on the other side of the pole, tense—too tense to be work related stress. A soft tsk leave your lips because dammit you didn’t stretch today, but nevertheless you reach for your white earphones, tapping the little tab as if to increase the volume.

“Yes, (y/n)?”

“Bora, I’m gonna have to ask you to clear out all the flies in our dorm.”

“Number?”

You scan for the hidden surveillance cameras before coming up with the number, “Four”

“Okay.. you’re clear in 3..2..1”

“Thanks love,” you murmur before reaching behind the pole and pulling the man down by his collar, the restraints of security cameras lifted off your shoulders thereby lifting your self-restraint as well.

“How classy,” you murmur as you observe the pressed suit and crisp tie around his neck with the man laying still on the ground, the air knocked out of his lungs, “last semester they came after me dressed in a black ski masks. Can you believe it?” you chuckle as he slowly regains his senses and tries to pull you down onto the floor with him, but you push the heel of your foot into his sternum before he could get anywhere. Landing a light jab against his side, you push his body towards the darker corners of the station as to not draw attention to your far-from-mundane activities.

“Shh, there are people!” you hush him with a slight jab when he finds his footing, his expression belligerent. His fists are not as fast as your kicks and it’s almost a sin but, you’re playing by this point. Searching for his pressure point on the junction of his neck and shoulders you quickly push firmly into the flesh and watch the man unfurl sloppily onto the floor. You’ve always preferred the finesse of pressure points and weak spots rather than punching someone to a pulp. Such was taught by the academy in their sad attempt to retain some sort of “ladylike” image for their students.

A hard blow to the back of your skull reminds you that these men always travel in packs and you turn around to be met with another man in a similar suit, clearly not as inexperienced. Cheshire cat grin on, you’re weaving your way through his blows, only avoiding his fists by a millimeter. Big targets are rather unfortunately slow, but damn they sure pack a punch you thought as you feel the dull pain on the back of your head radiate down your spine.

“Five minutes until arrival” the voice overhead announces, and you lean further away from the recovering man, the sounds of his pants harsh even in the buzzing station,

“That’s your cue buddy.” you smile before pushing two fingers deep into his throat and watch in perverse satisfaction as his eyes roll to the back of his head and his body crumple unceremoniously on top of his partner.

“(y/n) you really shouldn’t play like that” Bora chastises you from your right ear, but the amusement too thick in her voice to take seriously.

“Mute me for like five seconds” you murmur.

Breathing in deeply, you fake the most girlish, high pitched wail you could and watch as the initially annoyed looks of passerby's turn to shock then pure horror as they take in the men on the ground and rush over to shower you with oh honey are you okay’s and my god what happened’s. Turning their attention to your two unfortunate victims, you utilize the distraction to stroll towards the yellow line as the train comes humming by and stops right in front of you, unobstructed by the prying eyes and claustrophobic number of bodies found you. They never recognize you, those strangers. You’ve always thought there was nothing in particular that made you stand out in the crowd and it suits you just fine because it makes you good, if not great, at what you do.

“Profile?” you ask as you scan the crowd, waiting for the specs resting on the bridge of your nose to match the carrier on the train. Bora starts listing off the traits but her voice is all but heard when a familiar presence brushes up right next to you, soap and cotton topped with good looks and even better hair all wrapped nicely in a black suit.

“Good Evening, (y/n)” he greets you, friendly no less, as if you weren’t rivals, as if he wasn’t aiming for the same target as you—as if he can not feel the tension between the two of you right now.

“Jungkook.” you greet him as you look up towards the annoyingly handsome face, his shit eating grin in place, ebony hair mussed to perfection.

“I don’t suppose you’re looking for that man?” he points towards a particularly calm middle aged man in the middle of the train, his eyes trained on his newspaper, however when he looks up the green circle flashes in your vision. Bingo.

“It’d be rather unfortunate, if by chance, I’ve already delivered the package right (y/n)?” he smiles, his grossly adorable bunny-like smile. It makes you want to smack it off.

“You didn’t.”

He pushes closer, the heat tangible between the two you, “What if I did?” his smile stays in place, but it simmers into a smirk, his gaze boring into yours.

Pulling him in by the tie, you grasp the silky material as you whisper in his ear,

“Game on.”

[1:08a.m.]

“(y/n), what ever in the world were you thinking when you challenged Jeon Jungkook like that!” your best friend and current roommate Bora yells into the empty silence; not caring that it is, in fact, one in the morning. She’s running down to the foyer, her eyes clear and round as the goldfish bowl you had in third grade. Nonetheless, her presence eases you out of the vines of tension still tangled in every single one of your nerves. Making your way down the lavishly decorated hall, you keep moving until your arms crush her lithe form to yours, breathing in her peach scented shampoo.

“Now, now I passed didn’t I?” you greet her with the hug, effectively shutting her up and feeling her muscles loosen in your embrace. She’s tired too, her numerous devices still connected to her body and her bluetooth stuffed in her right ear, eyes droopy with fatigue but smile radiant nonetheless. Bora has been your best friend ever since the second grade; her love for technology earning her a place in this academy. Maybe love isn’t the right word but rather gift, considering that she broke the government’s firewall in fifteen minutes flat at the age of sixteen— let’s just say the FBI got a shock when they crashed into the apartment to discover a little girl writing pages and pages of codes while mindlessly listening to Today’s Top Hits. So it’s no surprise that there aren’t many systems that she cannot get her pretty little hands into, but even geniuses have their limits.

“The principle is not going to be pleased.” her muffled mumble can be heard from your shoulder, the cotton uniform absorbing her voice but not her unease. You tense once again, but for an entirely different reason, knowing full well you’re surely about to get an earful when she realizes you’re back, which can be any second now.

“Ahh my mother has had better days for sure.” you agree and before you could escape to a blissfully hot bath, a voice over the intercom summons you, echoing through the halls and shooting straight to your eardrums.

(y/n) you are requested to report to the principle’s office at your earliest convenience. And by earliest convenience I do mean NOW.

“Ah that woman, impatient as always” you groan as you reluctantly let Bora free from your constricting embrace, her shouts of encouragement fading as up make your way up the grand staircase. Portraits line the walls, the glints of light reflecting off the giant chandelier in the middle making the rustic design sparkle despite their age. The portraits of the founders tell the history of this mansion— an all girls academy known for producing the most well mannered ladies and even more lethal spies, but only among those who seek out the information, of course. Situated precariously close to the overlook into the ocean, the main entrance of the academy is designed to be look like any other stuck-up rich kid school that decorates the coast, however the mansion contains an infinite amount of quirks parallel to that of it’s inhabitants—quirks you’re still working to discover. As the daughter of the headmistress, you’re not particularly impressed by the age old history of the academy, the stories turned bland since you spent most of your childhood hearing the tales as your bedtime story. In fact, you remain unfazed by most circumstances, but as luck would have it, these circumstances happened to exclude a certain golden boy named Jeon Jungkook.

It’s the oldest story in the book, every good institution needs to have a rival and it just so happens that his school is yours. Behind these cobbled stones and ivy vines crawls deep ingrained secrets, the one in particular that your mother will kill to keep is the fact that—

“(y/n) for God’s sake why must you entertain your father like that!”

Her voice rings through the spacious room before your brain process the sound of the door closing, her frown visible and deeply engraved on her forehead due to the blazing fireplace to her left. Sighing, you prepare yourself for her usual lecture and clasp your hands together behind your back as a way to physically hold on to your temper. Your mother is one frightening woman who probably can talk her way and possibly even force her way out of thousands of situation. When she wants something she will reach for it no matter if it’s all the stars in the universe or, in this case, the ability to run her own academy. She always achieves what she wants.. and then some. Unfortunately, the “some” does not include your father’s agreement to divorce and she’s still fuming about the man to this day. In all technicality, you don’t count this as a divorce, but a rather intense fight between a married couple who happen to be extraordinary people and thus, the circumstances of their lover quarrel are also rather out of the ordinary. As part of their agreement, your father decides to open an all boys academy (haha very funny dad) and, well, surprise surprise a rival arises for your humble abode. Though it seems rather immature and extreme, nothing can deny the sparkle of life in your mother’s eyes when one of her girls beat the boys from his academy.

“I still passed the practical, mother,” you huff and decide to settle into the lumpy leather chair she brought from her last trip to the Middle East. That mission was her favorite. Apparently people are very generous when you take down their biggest crime organization— who would’ve thought?

“Yes, but barely!” she explodes from her mahogany desk, her mannerism like that of a crazed bull, ready to charge for the red target that you’ve gone and recklessly strapped to the middle of your forehead.

“That boy could have easily won and you know that (y/n). He was toying with you.” She sighs when she sees that you will not be affected by her yelling; so she aims for your soft spot to level your anger with hers—Jeon Jungkook is that switch. Jumping up from your perch, you can feel your anger bubbling up, shattering your resolve to maintain any sort of ladylike manners in this conversation—if you can even call it that.

“Are you doubting my capabilities to carry out a mission? You are my headmistress, but you are also my mother first and foremost. I have been nothing but satisfactory in your eyes, mother. Are you mad that dad is keeping my brother hostage across the street?”

“(y/n)” she softens immediately at the mention of your older sibling, you always knew he was her favorite.

“No, mom,” you sneer the term, “you go and have my genius brother. Might as well send me over there if you miss him that much. I’m sure dad would not mind having me.”

“If you’ll excuse me, headmistress” you back out of the room, but not before giving her a stiff bow to show that you are thoroughly hurt and her gentle call of your name is cut off by the final thump of the double wood doors in their lock.

[2a.m.] (aka unholy time where you definitely should be in your bed)

The cool grass sinks a bit with each step, allowing your footprint to be impressed on the morning dew; it leaves you a bit uneasy because you hate leaving traces of yourself anywhere, but tonight is nothing important anyways. You’re half way to your destination when you pull the black cloth to cover your mouth and with a huff, you start on a steady run the rest of the way to your rival school.

Cool moonlight and thin fog shrouds you as you note the placement of the lasers and security cameras, easily skipping over them, crawling beneath the sensors and letting that sense of satisfaction hit you as you straighten next to one of the numerous back doors of the mansion.

“Top spy school my ass, I didn’t even—“ you murmur until a distinct click next to your head shuts you up and chills every nerve in your body to absolute zero.

“Don’t move.” he murmurs, the metal still pressed against your temple but his hand begins to turn your chin around, the pads of his fingers pulling the thin fabric down from your face—exposing your identity.

“Well, well to what do I owe the pleasure of your company right in my very own backyard today?”

You would know that voice anywhere, it’s the only one besides your mother’s that can get you this worked up.

“Jeon.”

sometime before dawn

Bang!

The gun shot echoes into the silent night, the explosive little blast also blowing your anger away with every press of the trigger against your right index finger.

“So you mean to tell me that your mom pissed you off so you purposely snuck out of one of the most secured places on Earth to break into another one of the most secured places on Earth, if not more secured,” you give him a look at that, “because you just wanted to rant to your dad?”

Bang!

Another shot slices through the empty shooting range, hitting a centimeter away from the center of your target, but you dare say most of your shots have been good if not perfect from this distance. Jungkook stands up from his sprawled out position on the grass, his loose cotton dress shirt a contrast against his crisp pressed uniform from a few hours before—it makes him look your age for once. He looks at your hand expectantly and your grip loosen to hand him the gun, nozzle still smoking and warm from your previous shots. He’s laughing, the rich sound surprisingly soothing in the misty night, like a gentle breeze to cool your temper.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you,” you grumble and hand him the gun, but not before the barest brush of your fingers sent sparks of electricity creeping up your spine,

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you though.” you hurriedly finish your sentence before the pesky sparks can travel to your brain. Settling on Jungkook’s previous perch on the cool grass, you allow the moisture to gather on your jeans and relax your tense muscles, watching intently as Jungkook spreads his legs a bit before looking down the range at the target. Under the dim light of the moon he looks lethal, like an angel of death sent with the sole purpose of prosecution; the white cotton pressing against the grooves of his back as his muscles underneath flexes and relaxes with each shot.

“I’m not too bad to talk to, (y/n)” he murmurs over a shot, the bullet still finding the dead center of his target despite the vocalization of his thoughts.

Hours of random questions, mindless questions that seem unimportant but crucial all at once flow by the ticks of time and Jungkook proves himself true to his previous statement. That didn’t come as a surprise to you, of course. You already knew he was charming from the moment he convinced you, with that smile and boyish chuckle, to follow him here—albeit he did have you at gunpoint— to his hideout.

Jungkook, you discover, is very much just like you and it’s in this similarity that allows you to you accept that he’s your better half—that’s why he’s someone worthy to be your rival. It makes you a bit disgruntled, how can someone so perfect be matched to you?

Changing the subject, you immediately steer it towards yet another tangent, one that doesn’t involve your cryptic feelings, but he takes it all with grace, savoring your endless attention,

“Say, why is this your favorite place?” you question, watching as he fires off another round, taking in the dewy grass field, moonlight making the water drops glitter like they we made form the stars themselves. He pauses at that, perhaps not expecting you to keep talking to him— you’ve never spent this much time with Jungkook, let alone held a conversation. The nature of your relationship is a role you picked up in your training, nothing more. He was father’s star pupil; you are your mother’s daughter and the rest was history. At times you wonder what would happen if you two were not rivals, but then again it’s not like he treats you like one in the first place.

“It’s because I spent the most time here in my first year,” he answers, his hands searching for the next batch of bullets, but comes up empty. He sheepishly walks towards you and you wordlessly hand him a loaded magazine from the strap on your thigh. Jungkook ducks the other way before you could see him swallow at the action.

“A genius like you? Practice?” you scoff, like he would need it.

“No (y/n), I’m serious. Most of my time is spent eating, sleeping, going on missions and practicing for missions.” he confesses, the bitterness unmistakable even under his smile like the taste of coffee under milk and sugar. Ah, the wasted hours and abandoned childhood to perfect your craft, you also know that feeling all too well.

“You’re already too good.” you blurt before the tiny voice in your head could shut your mouth up. Ah shit, you think when he whips around, his eyes doe-like in their innocence, their wonder and you know for a fact you’re inevitably screwed.

“Did you just compliment me?” he asks, his laughter blooming like a sapling basking in the sunlight for the first time.

“Well, yeah,” you shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny, “I might be proud, but I’m not blind.”

Jungkook pauses at that, his gaze landing on yours, the warm brown of his eyes a rich ebony in the darkness of night; it makes his gaze all the more smoldering.

“You’re even better (y/n).” he declares boldly as if it was a fact.

“Oh please, Jungkook I can’t even sneak into my own father’s place without getting caught, and today,” your voice shaking, “today you could’ve won.” you huff, the self pity melting into the mist in front of your face; your mother’s taunting words echoing from the recesses of your memories.

“It’s not your fault you happened to pick my favorite sneak out spot is it? And I would never let you win easily (y/n). If I do that then I won’t be worthy of being your rival and you see, I plan to keep you here for a very long time. Right by me and maybe one day not as my rival, but as my partner in crime,” he explains, his expression softer than you’ve seen him in ages, but it only lasts a millisecond before he beams up at you and suddenly your brain functions come to a halting stop and breathing becomes a foreign concept.

A slight twitch of the corner of his lips clearly displays his amusement and it only takes a cock of his head, a degree raise in the eyebrows to send your brain haywire and suddenly you’re very much aware that Jeon Jungkook is oh so painfully attractive and staring looking at you like you’re only thing that mattered in the thousands of galaxies and boundless cosmos that exists. Managing a little scoff you simply push him towards the range because what can you do when you’re a hopeless mess on the inside; feeling like you will spontaneously combust under his gaze. If there is one thing that your mother’s “well-rounded” and “utterly comprehensive” curriculum did not teach you, it would be what to do when you’re falling for your one and only rival; given the only male species you’ve had contact with is your father, your brother and your Self Defense 101 instructor, appropriately nicknamed One Punch Man. All factors of the mission screams ABORT but right when your back is turned-

Bang!

You hear the distinct sound in the peripheries of your mind. Only this time it’s not the target that is hit but your heart and the bullet that is buried deep within is nothing but the stupid cupid arrow, causing your heart to flutter frantically from the blow of Jungkook’s smile.

Dawn aka oh shit you’re way the hell past curfew

Purple fades into the stormy blues and the greets you with it’s warmth, making the features of the boy next to your clearer than ever. He looks pensive, his eyelashes kissing his cheeks gently as he observes the emptied magazines around you and the ragged target that used to be whole. You wait patiently for soft pink of the sunrise to fade into a clear blue however, it seems that your world is permanently dyed rose when Jungkook huffs to straighten his form and offers you his hand. Swallowing, you tentatively reach for it, disregarding the fact that you might have just fallen for your biggest rival—looks like the mansion will have another secret to swallow this morning.

“Give my greetings to my father for me.” you say as you brush off the last few blades of grass sticking to the denim on your legs. Jungkook looks down at you with a certain longing, as if you’re a puzzle he can’t quite solve, a problem he’s confronted with for the first time.

“Why don’t you just go say hi? I’m sure he misses you.” Jungkook suggests.

You merely raise you eyebrows in response, “And have my father interrogate you for the next 24 hours from behind the two way glass room six floors under about what his star pupil is doing with his only daughter in the darkest hours of the night and possibly waking up the entire school? I think you and me both would rather avoid that man’s rage right Jungkook?” you laugh at the thought. Jungkook simply chuckles nervously, not only because he knows that the situation is highly likely if not guaranteed and because he’s pretty sure that’s the first time you didn’t call him Jeon.

“I feel the need to say a farewell, so I suppose I’ll say Good Morning.” you say as you begin your trek towards your mansion,

“Oh and thank you!” you yell, a blush burning it’s way across your cheeks so you increase your speed before he can glimpse at your flustered state.

“I’ll see you soon.” Jungkook yells from the increasing distance, his confident smile making you want to question his plans for the imminent future but you brush it off with a thought of I hope not, despite your heart whispering between it’s thumps,

I hope so.

[5:19a.m.]

The slight squeak of the floor board betrays you when you slip into the room bright and early to only hear-

“Don’t even try it until you’ve spilled every word (y/n).”

“I was just—“

“Your phone GPS coordinate suggests otherwise.” Bora cuts you off before you could convince her that you were in the kitchen with the usual case of the munchies. She hops out of her bed, her iPad in hand, the red blinking dot of what assumes to be your satellite signal reflects of the sheer device and you sigh,

“Bora what did I say about sleeping with those things,” you hope to distract her but she isn’t up for your little chit-chats this morning.

“Correction: I was laying down with those things. Also, don’t call her a thing, my baby is precious.” she cuts you off and quirks an eyebrow at your lack of willingness to answer, all the while hugging the iPad to her chest.

“I may or may not have spent the last three hours with Jeon Jungkook.” you say in a hurry and dive towards the safety of your comforter.

“You wha—“ but before she can pester you with questions you dig your own grave and continue,

“I may or may not have a change of heart about the way I feel about him.”

The only sound you hear is the sound of her most prized iPad hitting the ground along with what was left of your sanity.

[7:00a.m.]

“What could he possibly mean by that?” Bora dramatically mimics your attempts at covering up the fact that Jungkook quite possibly likes you. And that you might, possibly, with the tiniest speck of hope, like him back, but of course you don’t want to get ahead of yourselves here. You shush her as you push into the dining room and greet your classmates or “sisters” as you speed walk towards the steaming cups of coffee.

“(y/n) he’s a dude, not Kryptos. He so obviously likes you— which by the way I’ve told you since the beginning, but you’re too stubborn to acknowledge and he was too stubborn to show it—wow you’re perfect for each other! You can’t possibly expect him to spell it out clearer than this, my dear.”

You groan in response and wait patiently for her to drain her self out with the subject, but her curiosity and enthusiasm of this little blossom of romance is infinite and vast as the horizons of the ocean. It’s not until she asks about your wedding plans that you decide to end this. You really didn’t want to pull this card but the only way you know how to shut her up is-

“Just like you and my brother?”

Bora snaps the crisp bacon in her hand into perfect halves, her fountain of words which were overflowing a few moments ago is suddenly barren.

“Th-That is not what we’re talking about right now.”

“Hmm I wonder if I should FaceTime him tonight.” you muse, watching from the rim of your coffee cup as she straightens in response.

“I’ll do it right after you get out of the shower, with that gorgeous face mask you plaster on every night, of course,” you giggle deviously as she completely drops her utensils and fumbles to collect her scattered thoughts enough to warn you,

“Do it and I swear to god you will be locked out of not only your phone but your laptop as well as that spare iPad you use for emergencies.”

“I love you best friend,” you coo and she finally lets go of the subject, for now.

[Two weeks or so later] exam season.

Apparently soon to Jungkook is fourteen days, two hours and approximately eight seconds later. You’re on your way to your weekly meetings when you run into Bora in the lush hallway and the first thing that comes out of her mouth is-

“Honestly you two just need to date, please. You’ll make the most grossly adorable and talented babies ever.” Bora startled you out of your own daydreams and she eyes you apprehensively when you jump at her remark—you’re usually difficult to surprise, let alone startle, but she lets it go as soon as you begin to protest.

You grumble after her down the hallway to the conference room, arguing that it’s impossible to which she turns around to reply you’re in a spy school, nothing is impossible. Well, she did fail to mention that it is also an all girls spy school and anything outside of it is excluded, meaning boys are excluded and by boys you strictly mean Jeon Jungkook.

Pushing the large doors open, you’re still arguing with Bora as you enter the vast space. The conference room is often used for official purposes and assignments since it’s arguably one of the most expensive room in the entire mansion. Your mother likes to meet with the partner of the joint mission here since it easily fits a crowd. You’re guessing your final for this semester will be a collaboration. It’s rare that your school will partner with another and the prospect of testing other colleagues sends tingles of excitement down your spine.

Heavy, thick velvet drapes lining the floor to ceiling window that expose the head of the room to sunlight and the rest of the walls only function as a screen for presentations. A giant roundtable sits in the center, lined with large leather chairs… chairs that are currently occupied. Words shrivel up and die on the tip of your tongue as you take in the seven boys sprawled in various positions on cushioned seats, their heads snapping up simultaneously as you and Bora stand rooted at the entrance. Immediately, you spot two familiar faces in the group, but the first completely captures your attention as a knowing smile spreads across his face-

“Jungkook.”

“You guys already know each other?” the redhead in the corner perks up from the mention of Jungkook from your lips, clearly not aware of the situation just yet.

“Dude, that’s obviously (y/n). Did you not remember the ass kicking she gave him on his first practical?” a bouncing brunette answers for you and smacks the former’s arm as emphasis.

“Wait, so she’s the one he snuck out to see the other night? Okay kid, maybe I’ll consider forgiving you for disturbing my sleep,” a particularly tired looking blonde peeks from under the cap on his face.

“She’s so cute! Don’t you think she’s cute Namjoon?” the slender, smiling boy pops up from his chair, his energy practically bouncing off the walls of the room like over charged particles.

Namjoon looks up from his phone, an amused smile on his face as he disregards the question entirely and greets you,

“Hey kiddo! Did you miss your big brother?”

In the next millisecond six pairs of eyes widen and you sigh as you hear their simultaneous,

“Brother?” yelled across the room.

You feel like you eliminated your self out of the picture when all eyes land on Namjoon and questions start to land down on him like rain pelting the roof. By this time, you and Bora are settled in the chairs opposite of the boys (despite Jungkook’s disapproving stare and Namjoon’s longing glance towards your roommate). Your brother simply chuckles at them and answers the scrutinizing questions calmly, but the consensus seems to be ‘you should have told us this not-so-little fact before’ and his answer to that is “It never came up.”

“So what you’re saying is, (y/n) is your sister and you just never happened to mention this fact because we didn’t ask?” says the puppy-like brunette and Jungkook simply shakes his head at the realization grumbling something along the lines of so much for respecting personal space, maybe he’ll finally stop flirting when he knows his team leader is your one and only brother.

“Well, no wonder you’re such a genius. It must run in the family.” the sleepy blonde chuckles, his smile gummy and amused.

“Damn, you guys look nothing alike.” the redhead whispers from his seat, scrutinizing every detail between you and your older brother.

“Thank God.” you and Namjoon murmur at the same time but it was loud enough for the entire room to hear because the next moment the six of them burst into laughter, the kind of mirth that only a group of life long friends can produce from each other.

“Wait,” the particularly pretty one speaks from beside Namjoon, “if you’re the headmaster’s son then that would make him (y/n)’s—“ he doesn’t get to finish his sentence because the next moment the doors open to reveal the man himself, looking like he’s attempting to evade a problem only to land himself into an ever bigger conflict.

“Dad!” you yell and launch yourself from your chair towards him. Perhaps what no one was expecting was the kick you placed a second too late towards the man’s head and his return that you dodge by a hair.

“You’re getting rusty old man.” you taunt and he grunts in return, your blows and blocks flowing like the push and pull of waves until air comes out in harsh puffs and both of your index and middle fingers are hovering over each other’s carotid artery, right where the shoulders meet the neck— a smile finally stretches your cheeks so much they hurt.

“You were going easy on me,” you sigh as you hug his form to yours, hearing his chuckle resonate through his entire body and you can almost imagine the crinkles that would appear by his eyes.

“No, you definitely improved. I haven’t seen you in months pumpkin!” he half shouts and squeezes you one last time to look at the stunned faces of his pupils. You soak in this embrace for what feels like seconds until you note the pin-drop silence that has settled in the room. Detangling yourself from your father, you catch Bora’s knowing smile and Namjoon’s slight giggle before taking in the six dazed boys in front of you.

“At ease gentleman, family tradition,” your father and their headmaster explains, straightening out his suit and watch the boys relax into their seat, except for Jungkook who looks at you with so much adoration that he earns a throat clearing from your dad and a warning look that have you stifling your laughter in your hand.

“Behave yourself, Jeon. This is official business.”

The blushing boy doesn’t get to retrieve this lost dignity because official business comes bustling into the room in the form of your mother, looking haggard as if she aged a decade in the span of weeks.

“Let’s just get this over with.” she grumbles without looking at the no doubt smug smile on your father, her ex-husband’s face. You watch as she situates herself at the head of the table, and immediately the curtains are drawn shut as the screens illuminate the faces of your potential targets.

“Ladies…” she begins and sweeps her eyes towards the seven boys across the table, “…and gentlemen. For your winter semester final, we will hold a collaboration between our academies.”

In the background, her voice continues to rattle off the details of the mission however, you only see the smiling boy across from you. Jungkook’s chocolate irises are alight with excitement, fixed right on yours and his slight smirk that can only be described as irritatingly handsome only serve to reignite the tingles down your spine— not only because of the mission, but rather one with your one and only rival.

The nine of you plus instructor are on the eighth basement of the academy. This floor is specifically for training purposes; the floors are lined with mats and walls plastered with nearly every weapon imaginable, hence the necessary presence of said instructor. You’re currently deciding partners, which would not have been such a grand affair if the boys did not decide to tease their youngest by fighting over you. Namjoon watches the “argument” unfurl with amusement which causes you to only roll your eyes, since he already dragged your roommate out of the picture and pulled her aside to god know where, but not before-

“Bora is my partner. You can fight over my little sister as you please, gentlemen.”

Thank you so much big brother, you mentally chastise him, but you bow your head in defeat as the five pair of eyes stare you down from across the table.

Headmistress (mom) wanted to keep the number low, but since BTS operates as a group she couldn’t argue with the clear unbalance in boy to girl ratio. Which is why you find yourself here, in the eighth basement, apprehension written all over your face as the boys bicker over the method to determine who should be your partner.

“Okay that’s enough,” you huff from your position on the mats, walking over to the boys, namely Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook who were still dead-set on making this as difficult as possible for you.

“I will decide, since you’re all fighting over me,” you sigh in defeat, “who ever beats me in a one-on-one will be my partner.”

There are groans, but Jungkook’s unmistakable smirk is the only thing that registers in your brain and it is in that exact moment that you feel the beginnings of regret tinging your decision.

Well, fuck.

#btswriters #bangtan bookclub #kkreationsnet #kreativewritersnet #bts scenarios #bts #Jeon Jungkook #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #kookie #wow how long has it been since I wrote stuff for kook???#IM SORRY FOR THE TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF BUT THERE WILL BE MORE ACTION NEXT CHAPTER HEHEHEHEH #yeah okay I'll just leave it here so I can go get ready and go out

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