#but the movie has got me in its clutches again and some of the fics I’ve read got me like shfjsvfisbdifh
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la-florecita · 22 days ago
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did i cave and started writing an encanto fic? Yes I did. I have ideas…probably been done before but idc hahaha
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oskea93 · 5 months ago
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Kansas Anymore: Drabble #1
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Tyler Owens x OC
Summary: In which Riley Owens, the ex-wife of the infamous Tornado Wrangler, has 36 hours to come to terms if moving to a whole new country with their small daughter is something she truly wants to do.
Warnings: Cursing, angst
✶ Chapter One ✶ Chapter Two ✶
■ Italics = Flashback
■ A/N: So this is just a little outtake update. These drabbles will be focused in the past and will spill the tea on Tyler and Riley's relationship - good and bad. I am gonna start writing chapter three in the coming days so be on the lookout for that... And I may have another fic on the brain... Stay tuned ❤️
■ Taglist is available - just drop a comment! Would love to hear your thoughts, questions, or maybe just drop by to say hello! Can’t wait to hear from y'all
TL:  @ellesmythe  @18lkpeters @hookslove1592  @djs8891 @smoothdogsgirl @queenslandlover-93 @imjustamehbleh @love2write2626 @lt-jakeseresin @starcrossedtrek
@lauraseresin @axolotllover225 @kmc1989
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“You can’t be serious right now!” My knuckles were white as my fingers curled tightly around the handle that sat above the window. “You’re gonna get us killed – fucking turn around!”
The car veered sharply around a corner, tires squealing against the asphalt. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing like a drum in my ears. The sky was pitch black, the only light coming from the dim glow of the dashboard and the constant flash of lightening high in the sky.
“Relax, I’ve got this!” Tyler’s voice was steady, but I could see the tension in his clenched jaw and the way his eyes darted to the rearview mirror as the funnel barreled closer.
“Relax? Are you kidding me?” I shouted over the roar of the engine. “We’re not in some action movie! You’re gonna get us both killed!”
He didn’t answer, just pressed harder on the gas pedal. The speedometer needle climbed higher, and I could feel the car vibrating with the effort. I glanced out the window, trees blurring into a dark smear as we raced past them.
“We can’t outrun a tornado, Tyler!” I yelled, the panic rising in my throat. “This is insane!”
Tyler glanced over, his hands reaching over, pulling the belt tighter across my chest. “Wanna bet?”
The wind howled outside, shaking the truck as if it were a toy. Debris flew past the windshield, some of it slamming against the car with loud thuds. I could barely see the road ahead; the rain was falling in sheets, and the wipers struggled to keep up.
“Tyler, please!” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it cracked with fear. “We need to find shelter, now!”
He ignored me, his eyes fixed on the road, his knuckles as white as mine on the steering wheel. The car hit a pothole, and we were jolted violently, my head smacking against the window despite the seatbelt. Pain shot through my skull, and I tasted blood.
“Damn it, Tyler!” I screamed, tears blurring my vision. “This isn’t worth it!”
In the distance, I could see the tornado’s massive funnel, an ominous silhouette against the flashes of lightning. It was like a monstrous black snake, twisting and writhing, consuming everything in its path. The sound was deafening, a constant roar that drowned out even our screaming.
“God dammit, Riley!” Tyler yelled. “I fucking got this!”
But the tornado was gaining on us, its monstrous form growing larger and more terrifying by the second. The air pressure dropped, my ears popping painfully. The car swerved again, narrowly missing a fallen tree branch.
“Tyler, we’re not gonna make it!” I sobbed, clutching the handle above the window as if it were a lifeline. My mind raced, picturing the car being lifted and tossed like a rag doll, the metal crumpling, the glass shattering. This couldn’t be how it ended.
With a final, desperate glance at the rearview mirror, Tyler seemed to make a decision. He yanked the wheel to the right, sending us skidding off the road and into a muddy field. The tires spun, struggling for traction, but Tyler kept the pedal to the metal, urging the car forward.
There wasn’t a house in sight – just an open field. I kept my eyes trained on the scene in front of us, glancing every other second to see how Tyler was reacting. His once cool and calm façade was now replaced by worry and fear – feelings that the so-called tornado wrangler never dared to show.
The car's headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the swirling chaos of wind and rain. The tornado’s monstrous form was a dark shadow against the flashes of lightning, growing larger and more menacing by the second. The air pressure dropped even further, making it hard to breathe, my ears popping painfully.
“Tyler, what are we going to do?” I cried, my voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. “There’s no place to hide!”
Tyler’s eyes darted around, searching for any sign of shelter, but the field stretched endlessly in every direction, offering no refuge. The car hit another bump, and I was thrown against the door, my heart racing faster than ever.
“Just hold on, Riley!” Tyler shouted; his voice tinged with desperation. The tires struggled to find traction in the muddy ground, the car fishtailing wildly.
I wasn’t the praying type – never having grown up going to church and all that, but at that moment I was desperate. “Please God – please God.” I whispered the words like a mantra, hoping some higher power would hear me, even if I had never believed before.
The wind howled around us, the noise deafening, as debris began to pelt the car. The windows rattled, threatening to shatter. The car lurched as it hit another rut, and I could hear Tyler cursing under his breath, fighting to keep control.
“Look!” Tyler yelled, pointing ahead. Through the sheets of rain, I could make out the faint outline of a small bridge, its weathered wood barely standing against the storm.
Tyler didn’t hesitate. He gunned the engine, aiming straight for the structure. The car bounced and jostled over the uneven ground, the structure growing larger and larger in our view. As we neared, Tyler slammed on the brakes, sending the car skidding to a halt against the side of the bridge. Without a word, we both threw open our doors and ran for cover, the wind nearly knocking us off our feet.
“Hold onto that pile!” Tyler’s voice was barely heard over the roar of the wind as I wrapped my arms around the wooden fixture. Tyler’s body hovered over mine as the rain pelted us sideways, mud and debris hitting us as the tornado approached. The red truck that Tyler treasured began to be pulled away only to be slammed back into the side of the bridge, my screams being overshadowed by the wind as nature’s force laid upon us. The wooden planks shuddered as the rusty nails began to give way, ripping off the top.
The bridge groaned and creaked, the old wood and metal straining under the sheer force of the tornado. Splinters flew through the air like missiles, and I pressed my face against the wooden pile, trying to shield myself from the onslaught. Tyler’s grip on me tightened, his body a protective barrier against the fury outside.
“We’re going to make it!” Tyler shouted, though his voice was filled with equal parts determination and fear. I held onto his words like a lifeline, my heart pounding in my chest.
The wind howled louder, and I could feel the bridge lifting slightly beneath us, threatening to be torn from its foundations. My mind raced with images of us being flung into the storm, the bridge collapsing, and Tyler’s truck being swallowed by the tornado. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying for the nightmare to end.
The noise was deafening, a relentless cacophony of wind, rain, and destruction. I felt like I was being pulled in every direction, the tornado’s force almost too much to bear. But Tyler’s presence kept me grounded, his unwavering strength giving me hope.
“Just a little longer!” Tyler yelled, his voice barely audible over the storm. “It’s almost over!”
A loud crack echoed through the air as one of the bridge’s support beams snapped, the structure shuddering violently. I tightened my grip on the pile, my knuckles white with the effort. The wind seemed to intensify, and I could feel my body being lifted slightly off the ground, the pull of the tornado almost irresistible.
And then, as suddenly as it began, the wind started to die down. The roar of the tornado faded, replaced by the steady patter of rain and the distant rumble of thunder. The pressure around us eased, and I dared to open my eyes.
The bridge was still standing, though barely. The top was partially ripped off, and debris was scattered everywhere, but we were alive. Tyler loosened his hold on me, glancing around to assess the damage.
“I think it’s moving away,” he said, his voice filled with cautious relief.
My eyes moved around, my body still shaking as tears started to prick against my eyes. The bridge was a tattered mess but for some reason we were still here – still alive. “You okay, baby?” Tyler’s hand caressed my arm, turning me to face him as he checked for any visible injuries. “Looks like everyth-“
“You stupid fucking asshole!” His body fell back at the force of my push.
Tyler's eyes widened in shock as he stumbled back, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in my demeanor. “What the hell, Riley!”
I could feel the anger boiling inside me, a mixture of fear, relief, and frustration. "You almost got us killed, Tyler! What were you thinking, driving straight into the storm like that?"
His eyes stayed connected with mine, searching for the right words but knowing they would still be wrong in my view. “Baby—” He sighed. “It’s a part of the job – tornadoes are my job.”
I stared at him, incredulous. "Your job? Your job is to drag me into life-and-death situations without even a warning? Without any regard for our safety?"
Tyler ran a hand through his hair, his face a mix of guilt and defensiveness. "I didn't expect it to get this bad. I thought we could get through it like we always do."
"Like we always do?" I echoed, my voice rising. "This isn't some routine storm chase, Tyler. This was a goddamn tornado! I could have died out there! We both could have!"
He took a step closer, his expression softening. "Riley, I know you're scared. I was scared too. But this is what I do. I study storms, I chase them. I can't just sit on the sidelines."
"But why drag me into it?" I asked, tears welling up in my eyes. "I didn't sign up for this."
Tyler took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. "Because I need you with me. You're my anchor, Riley. You keep me grounded. I thought... I thought having you there would make it easier."
I shook my head, the tears spilling over. "It's not easier, Tyler. It's terrifying. I can't go through that again."
He stayed silent for a moment, “Would this be a bad time to ask you to marry me?”
My head jerking up, meeting his gaze, “What?”
I watched as he slowly reached into his denim pocket, pulling out the diamond ring. “I’ve had it in my pocket for about a week now – lost the damn box – almost lost the fucking ring a time or two.”
The tension in the air was palpable as Tyler revealed the ring. Despite the fear and adrenaline coursing through me from the storm, my heart skipped a beat. His eyes were earnest, filled with a mix of hope and apprehension.
"Riley," he began, his voice trembling slightly. "I know this isn't the most romantic proposal, and I know I've put you through hell. But I love you. I want to spend my life with you, chasing storms or not."
I stared at the ring, sparkling even under the dim light, and then back at Tyler. The weight of the moment pressed down on me, the reality of our dangerous lives juxtaposed with the promise of a future together. It was as if the storm outside mirrored the turmoil within me.
"Tyler," I whispered, my voice breaking. "This is crazy. You’re crazy."
He nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. "Maybe I am. But I’m crazy about you, Riley."
A laugh bubbled up, mingling with my tears. Despite everything, despite the fear and the chaos, there was love. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
I took a deep breath, my hand reaching out to touch the ring. "Yes," I said, my voice steadying. "Yes, I'll marry you."
For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Tyler's face lit up with joy, and he slipped the ring onto my finger. It felt strange, comforting and surreal all at once. But in that instant, surrounded by the remnants of the storm, it felt right.
Tyler pulled me into an embrace, holding me tight as if he was afraid to let go. I could feel his heart pounding against mine, a rhythm that matched my own. The storm outside seemed to quiet, as if acknowledging the significance of our moment.
"I promise," Tyler murmured into my hair, "I'll do everything I can to keep you safe. I know it's dangerous out there, but I can't imagine facing it without you."
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little-bumblebeeee · 6 months ago
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heya, it's me again (you'll know who i am in the next few words) ...would you mind doing another dustin fic? sorry to keep bothering you lol (and if you don't mind I might keep on asking you as time goes on cause i just love him so much <3)
maybe dustin x a lab person (7 is my lucky number soo yk) where they've known each other for a while & dust just now finds out they have powers
its okay if not, & i hope you're having a wonderful day !!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY BBG SORRY IM LATE IM GOING THRU IT LOVE YOUUU
Speechless - Dustin x (intended to be fem but ended up gender neutral) reader - 690 words
You knew El back then, but you weren’t close with her and you asked her not to tell. Another reason nobody knew who you were before.
You got out around the same time as 011, what you knew her as, but you were found by the Munson’s and not poor Benny. The only reason the Munson’s survived is that Benny didn’t have a gun hidden behind the couch, Benny didn’t have a reputation as the freak and the failure, and Benny definitely didn’t have the goods to bribe the agents.
You always wore a watch, per Eddie’s instructions, as he gently told you when you met that maybe a kid with a shaved head and “007” on their wrist would be a little off-putting. He knows somewhat from experience, he had said to you.
They took care of you, sending you to school. You didn’t quite excel but you enjoyed it, especially science, always wanting to stay after class to peek into the microscope at the little wiggling bacteria that was usually there from the last class period. That’s when you met Dustin, when he was still small with a toothless smile and wild curls, when he was still staying after science class to see the updates Mr. Clark had with the AV club.
This is the first time Dustin has ever seen you without the watch Eddie gifted you. He hasn’t really seen anyone else with those perfectly inked numbers on their wrist, and it’s almost instant.
“What’s that?” Dustin ends up asking you, peering curiously at the small black sliver of ink he sees peeking out of your sleeve. He’d have to find out eventually, didn’t he? But you didn’t *want* it to be now, as you sat on the carpeted floor, eating greasy pizza and drinking sugary soda.
“It’s, uh… my number.” You answer simply, lifting your sleeve, setting down that flimsy paper plate that was barely holding your pizza slice on it. Dustin is… oddly quiet for a few moments. You stopped using your powers, hadn’t in so long that you don’t even think you can anymore, and you’d just end up embarrassing yourself if you tried.
Instead he simply looks… excited, a smile spreading on his face as a sort of glow seems to appear, that lightbulb moment he told you about ages ago that you for some reason kept in mind all this time. Next thing you know, there’s a flurry of questions invading your ears, but you can hardly hear them. You just see that smile.
You’ve always liked his smile, told him so millions of times when you didn’t know any better about social situations. Does he remember that? He had to have, you said it so many times over the years it’s impossible that he forgot it.
You’ve heard of the word speechless before. Yet you’ve never experienced it, always so excited to talk about new things you learned or things you saw that day, and now is the first time you’ve ever truly been speechless. This is a pretty boy. You’ve seen handsome boys, gorgeous boys, but this boy… your boy… is something different. Something special.
So you surge forward and slam your lips against Dustin’s like you’ve seen in all those movies Max made you and El watch. He clutches at you until his hands reach your shoulders, a motion you hope is a good thing.
He yanks you away, panting and blinking at you. His lips are parted and shiny, a new sort of blush dusting the apples of his cheeks as his chest rises and falls rapidly.
“You kissed me.” He says. You truly can’t tell if it’s a statement or a question, but you nod anyways. You can’t find shame in you in this moment, only that pure raw feeling of your heart thumping that you always get around him, that you never get around anybody else, that you just know is love. A love that cannot be compared to the love you hold for Max or Lucas or Wayne or Eddie, no, this is Dustin’s love.
And this time he kisses you.
Your boy.
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Iteration - a Malevolent fic, epilogue
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John has been poisoned. Who did it? Unknown. How can he be saved? If not for Arthur, he wouldn't.
The ripples from this event hit far distant shores, and no one will come out of it unchanged.
Part 100 of the Surrogate series.
AO3 - epilogue
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The poison was a mystery, and apparently, would always be. This… This would not do.
A spell to activate it was clever. The description of a sauce didn’t make sense, initially, but a magic surge to specifically catalyze the poison into its active form? Absolutely brilliant. Which made sense, given whom she thought had made it.
The Keeper had observed the tiny, frail, twitching piece of magic for hours, dissecting it thread by thread, vivisecting this unthinking, unfeeling living spell so she could see the ways each bit of magic interconnected. There, a specific intent to precipitate one ingredient into a solid from its dissolved state; there, a flash of energy directed just so to charge the particles in question, activating the magical cascade that chewed away at the injured fragments of gods and shunted them out, away, gone.
But fascinating as it was, she had pieces of a puzzle that were not complete. Dagon could not give her a name for the poison, and didn’t know how it was made. She’d paced, and brooded, and researched, and considered asking Dagon for every antidote he could cook up that might clue her in (damn the price!), but it wasn’t enough.
That’s when she heard the whistling.
Sharp, clever, perfectly on-pitch, yet absolutely chaotic in its purported melody. It was very clearly Kayne, in the Scriptorium, doing… something?
Whatever he was doing, he was bringing it her way.
And he was a mess.
Torn. Bloodied. He stopped whistling to grin at her like some rabid coyote, and then resumed, walking forward. His ichor was eating holes in the floor.
“Kayne!” She couldn’t quite keep herself from being bright and bubbly, the intrigue and the questions and the mystery and the need roiling together into a sound like teeth gnashing in delight upon seeing a meal. “Where are you going? What are you doing? Did you see what happened?”
“Heeeey, baby sis!” he said with a wave (flinging more ichor, which sizzled and spit as it ate into whatever it touched). “Got you a present! Oh wait, gotta finish my performance, ahem, ah… oooooooh!” He pressed the back of his ichor-dark hand to his forehead and threw his head back like some damsel in a movie. “Alas, I am done for!” And with all the drama of a thousand cats, he flopped onto his back on the floor.
She watched, silent and still, for a long second.
Wait. That was her cue!
“Oh no!” she cried, sweeping to his side, kneeling and pulling his limp form onto her lap. “My dearest brother, struck down but steadfast to return unto me! Pray tell, Kayne, speak softly to me; tell me your efforts were not in vain, so I may avenge thee!”
He gave her the most exaggerated wink. “No need, fair one, for I have avenged mineself!” He paused. “Myself? Mine… self? Well, either way, I actually didn’t do that, but I did getcha a present.” He held up a small, square crystal.
Inside, etched into the glass, was a recipe.
“I put on a show,” he said.
She gasped, soft, reverent, taking the crystal and rotating it in her hands to see every angle, the words trying to crawl from her sight but pinned in place. This was it. The poison. This was it! “Really? For me?”
“Well,” he said, and though he was grinning, his voice dropped into a terrible register. “I might’ve needed to remind someone not to fuck with my show, and also wanted them to think that they could fight me off.” He rolled his eyes back, and for a moment, aped dead, tongue improbably long and hanging out of his mouth. Then he grinned at her again. “I was just such a pain in the ass that he gave me the damned recipe to make me go away.” He cackled.
She grappled him within all four of her arms (and about five more for good measure), clutching him tight to her chest. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I need to tell Dagon right away. Everything was so muted and mixed with the interference I couldn’t tell—thank you!” And then she paused, hands ruffling his mussed and bloodied hair. “Do you need to be healed? A silly question, I know, but I can at least fix up your guise for you.”
“Weeeell…” Somehow, he did puppy eyes. “I can do it myself, buuuuut….” And he arched dramatically over her skirt-covered knees. “Oh, alas, I gots a owie…”
She pulled out a black silk handkerchief and tenderly daubed at his brow, power thrumming as his guise knit back together, leaving clean streaks of unblemished skin amidst the ichor that coated him. “But… why walk away?” She asked, torn flesh knitting back together under her ministrations. “This… you caught him, fair and square. He tried to kill your stars. Why let him go? Why not really make him suffer for it?”
That smile was worse, poisonous, dark, hungry. “Because it wouldn’t be enough, doll. There is a fucking reason no one has tried to go against me in millennia, and our brother… our fool of a sibling… thinks that reason doesn’t apply to him.” He stretched. “I mean, sure, he could quit now, but we both know he won’t. And sure, I could have called him on it now, but who the fuck cares? It’s just two gods squabbling over mortal toys. Nothing interesting about it. But.” He wriggled. “Oh, oh, oh, this? This is a fuckin’ guillotine of his own making. I’m not just gonna stop him. I’m not just gonna call him out. I am gonna humiliate him, hurt him, fucking castrate him, and do it all in such a way that he won’t stick his bleeding dicks out of his lab again for a million fuckin’ years. Even letting him pick me apart tonight was all steps on that road. I want him to think he can hurt me. When that axe falls, doll… it’s gonna be memorable.” He laughed, a sanity-shredding sound to match that smile. “They might even end up writing songs about it.” He suddenly drooped again. “Woe is me! I got bited. For He Was Just Too Much.”
“Oh nooooo,” the Keeper said, keeping up with the dramatics (if only just) while her mind clicked and whirred. “I… I see. It’s not about… them. It’s about making an impression.”
It did not feel good to say. She liked them. Her hearts hurt.
But that didn’t matter; her brother’s games were his own, and she could respect the main drive behind it. She was not his keeper (hehe), and neither was he hers. And wasn’t this a better solution, anyway? In the long run, this would keep him from sniffing at her door before long.
(She was, still, deeply angry about the incident at the House of the Worm. The servants of that awful sibling had stolen things right under her nose, and destroyed knowledge in the process. But that was her axe to grind, and she would not ask Kayne to heft it for her.)
“Humans have an expression I like,” he said. “‘An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.’ Teach a lesson good enough, you’ve only got to teach it once.” He wriggled again, settling on and in her lap like a cat. “I hope you like the recipe. Wasn’t why I went, but you know. Thought of you, and I was already there.”
“Don’t read my mind,” she huffed, but there was no force behind the words, merely a childish whine. “I really needed this. Both for your purposes, and… It doesn’t get much more rare than this.” Her voice was hushed. “I’ll get your show back on the road soon. Promise.”
“Aww, you don’t gotta, but thanks. They’ll manage.” He grinned. “So you like your present? Huh? Huh? Who’s the best older brother? I am!”
“You are!” She lifted him into the air, spun him, and brought him back into a crushing hug. “I love it, Kayne, I do. You’re the best. And, well, I will shortly be paid for the antidote, once I can confirm with Dagon. This is so helpful.”
“Ha,” Kayne said at her, at everybody, at nobody, and enjoyed being fussed over until he got bored.
#
Hastur tried to be a good god. Just. Right. According to his own code, anyway. But this…
This wasn’t the right thing to do. Yet… it was the right thing to do.
It was true that Bh’tnnkr’nuah would never leave those mines. He couldn’t; if anyone saw him again, it would be saying Hastur was weak, or hadn’t meant his word, or wouldn’t pursue suffering in exchange for wicked deeds.
But some part of Hastur understood. Understood this fool who’d thrown everything away for the sake of…
Of course he knew where the mate and daughter went. They weren’t hard to find. And he didn’t have to let them know he was the one who set up communications so these three could talk, see each other’s faces every night, even if they were separated by entire worlds.
The communication crystals were from his treasury, and marked when sent as final wages, paid in full, to be followed by no more. But this family could talk. See each other.
If, in time, that mate and child wanted to… visit him in the mines, Hastur would allow it—but that was far, far in the future. For now, this gut-wrenching mercy would have to do.
He understood Bh’tnnkr’nuah’s decision, but he could never forgive it. And as for whoever had pretended to be Gokar’luh…
The death of his son was out now, no way around it. Time for that part of the plan to slot into place—the pretended dismissal, the frustration that his banished child should have been so stupid, the laughter that Gokar’luh could ever have thought he’d succeed.
Tomorrow. The lies and sharp-toothed deceit, the pretense at the asbsence of grief… tomorrow.
Tonight, he sat alone in his room, and held Gokar’luh’s crown, and wept, for he understood the assassin he could never, ever forgive.
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Notes:
(Note from Trin: it's my birthday, and I am a hobbit, so... here's 21,000 words for you!)
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sequinsmile-x · 2 years ago
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Movie Night
It's Emily's turn to pick a movie, but Aaron doesn't think the one she has chosen is a good idea.
-x-
This is silly. Just really silly, but it's Wednesday. And I think we all deserve some silly, hopefully funny, fluff to get over the mid week slump
-x-
Words: 1.4k
Warnings: mentions of pregnancy. Spoilers for Alien, I guess? Although it came out in 1979 so...yeah.
Read over on Ao3, in my collection of mini-fics and one-shots, or below the cut
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” 
Emily glares at her husband from where she is sitting next to him on the couch, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“Aaron, it’s one of the best sci-fi movies of all time,” she says, a slight whine to her voice that she would deny if he pointed it out, “and you said it’s my turn to choose the movie.” 
Movie night had become a frequent feature of their lives together almost as soon as they started dating. It was something they both treasured, something simple just for them, and Jack on the occasions he joined them.
“I know, love,” he replies carefully, reaching out and placing his hand on her thigh, squeezing the muscle that laid beneath the soft material of her leggings, “just given the circumstances-”
“Get to the point, the hot chocolates are getting cold.” 
Aaron clears his throat as he chooses his following words carefully, “You do remember what happens part way through the movie right?” He asks, her only response a slight raising of her eyebrows, “The scene where the creature bursts out of that guy's chest.” 
“It’s Alien, Aaron. I’ve watched it dozens of times, of course I know that. What’s your point?”
“You’re pregnant.” 
“I know that too,” she says, her eyes narrowing further, her hand drifting to her slightly rounded stomach, her pregnancy finally visible to anyone who cared to look, “our daughter is living inside of me, it’s kind of hard to forget, what’s that got to do with anything?”
“I thought it might make you uncomfortable.”
She rolls her eyes at him, a hint of playfulness edging its way through her annoyance. 
“Honey, I don’t know if you know this, but the part of me that she’ll be bursting out of when she’s born isn’t my chest.” She smiles at him, a spark in it that came out every time they spoke about their future, the child they had found out only the day before would be a girl. 
Emily was 20 weeks along, halfway through the pregnancy it felt like they’d waited forever for. He could still picture the joy on her face when she told him, the pregnancy test still clutched in her hand as she hugged him tightly. The first trimester had been rough, morning sickness and exhaustion leaving her irritable and sad more often than not, anxiety living under her skin. Things had improved in the second trimester, her energy returning along with a shine to her skin that she said was sweat, but Aaron swore was a glow. As soon as she started to show he watched as her joy grew with her belly, the physical proof of their child something she enjoyed.
She still hadn’t felt much movement yet. Nothing sharper than what she described as bubbles in her stomach, and he knew she wanted it. He would watch as she lay with her hands on her bump as she spoke to the baby as if she could somehow convince her to kick. 
Aaron sighs at her sarcasm, unable to stop the smile he returns, “Fine,” he says as he stands up, walking over to grab the boxset of Alien movies, removing the first DVD from the case, “but if you want to stop-”
“Yes, I know,” she replies, cutting over him, “we can switch to something else, now come over here and cuddle us.” 
He can’t help but smile at his wife as he puts the DVD in the player, joining her on the couch again as he pulls her into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. 
He doesn’t say anything when she holds his hand a little tighter when the Chestburster makes its appearance on screen, and he simply pulls her closer to him, his lips against her temple. 
___
At first, Emily isn’t sure what has woken her up, her mind hazy as she blinks a few times, the bedroom still dark. She grumbles as she tries to get comfortable, her hand on her belly as she readjusts herself, Aaron fast asleep and pressed up against her back, his arm over what used to be her waist.
Pregnancy had made it even more difficult for her to sleep as the weeks went on, her insomnia returning in full force now the exhaustion of her first trimester was long gone. 
She’s about to close her eyes again, content to just rest in her husband’s embrace if she couldn't sleep when she feels it. A sharp movement in her stomach that makes her freeze. 
Later, she wasn’t sure to explain it, what had made her jump straight past logic into absurdity. Maybe it was the hormones, or lack of sleep, or the baby brain that occasionally had her losing track of her car keys. Or maybe, just maybe, her husband had been right about watching the damn movie in the first place. 
All she can think about as she feels another rolling motion in her belly is her insistence to watch it, the gruesome scenes playing over and over in her head as the movement happens again, something she refuses to call panic climbing up her throat. 
“Em? Are you ok?” 
Aaron’s voice makes her jump slightly, her already frayed nerves making her react more than she usually would, and it’s only then she realises how tightly she is clasping his hand, his knuckles almost pure white as she looks down. 
“I’m ok,” she chokes out, relinquishing her hold on his hand, “Go back to sleep.”
“Sweetheart,” he says, sitting up his now free hand falling to her belly, “What’s wrong…” his question drifts off as she feels the movement again, and she sighs as he presses his hand further into her skin, “Em, she’s kicking.” 
The awe in his voice makes her heart swell, the emotions meaning it takes a moment for his words to register, relief flooding through her even quicker than the needless fear had, a laugh catching in her throat as she nods. 
“Yeah, she is.” She turns, grateful for his help as she gets comfortable, immediately kissing him as she settles back down. “It feels so strange,” she says, her hand over his on her belly, “amazing, but strange.” 
“I love you,” Aaron says, kissing her as he moves his hand to her back, wordlessly rubbing circles over her sore muscles.
“I love you too,” she replies, overwhelmed by her love for him, for their daughter. For the life they had built in the ashes of their old ones. Aaron looks at her, curiosity in his eyes as he smiles. “What?” 
His smile slowly turns into a smirk, one of his dimples showing. “What did you think was happening when you woke up?” 
She swallows thickly, cursing him for knowing her so well. “Nothing.” She replies too quickly, and it makes him laugh at her, her eyes narrowing at him as he continues to do so. 
“You were thinking about Ali-”
“Aaron, shut up.” She warns, grateful when he concedes, his smile still present as he stops talking, keeping his ‘I told you so’ to himself. “Can we go back to sleep now?” She asks, yawning as she settles as close to him as she can, smiling as her belly presses against him, the baby kicking again, seemingly not stopping now she had started. 
“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he says, kissing the top of her head. She closes her eyes and sighs, relaxing in his embrace, “We should name her Ripley.” 
Emily opens her eyes and looks up at him, sighing as he continues to gently make fun of her. 
“Aaron.” 
“Or Sigourney, or even Ridley.” He continues, a lightness to his tone that made her stomach flip in a different way altogether, a part of him that was just for her. 
“Aaron, I swear to God.” 
He chuckles to himself, kissing her forehead as he apologises against her skin.
“Sorry, Em, you can sleep now.” 
She hums against him, and is slowly lulled to sleep by his warmth, his hand drifting up and down her back. 
The next morning, she says nothing as she watches him put the Alien box set in the box of things they were donating to the thrift store, a smile on his face that makes her want him just as much as she wants to kill him. 
She briefly considers fishing the DVDs back out of the box, hiding them somewhere until she felt able to watch the movies again, but then her daughter kicks, and the association with the sci-fi thriller makes Emily shiver. 
She’d never be able to watch Alien again, but it was a small price to pay for the life she had now. 
Her eyes drift over to the shelving unit where they kept the DVDs, organised by Aaron by genre, and her eyes fall to the horror section, her nose scrunching up in disgust.
It was probably best to leave it a few years before she watched Chucky again too.
-x-
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muffindaddystyles · 4 years ago
Text
DENTIST THE BAD BOI
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Word count: 7k
A/N: Heavily inspired from 90's rom-coms, so if your heart swoons out of loneliness it's not on me sistas -- doctor Harry my fav.
Summary: Harry's a med-student and Y/N's an art student, being neighbours with Y/N was already a living hell for Harry but when she fusses over his cat getting her cat pregnant -- he mighty looses it.
Pairing: Dentist Harry × Artist reader, Frenemies to bestfriends to lovers, platonic affection and loads of bestie fluff.
MASTERLIST, REQUEST FOR BLURBS FROM THIS FIC ARE OPEN || PART 2
“Harryyyyy!!!!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs staring at the small picture of ultrasound, blinking at it several times to vision herself back into reality because the more she does the more she becomes grumpy and fussy – cursing the beast of a neighbour who got her little innocent cat pregnant.
She pulled the strings of her pyjama shorts to tighten it around her and hastily towed her feet into fuzzy slippers, giving a stink of an eye to her cat “don't act so surprised you little ragamuffin!” She mouthed at her with venom (as if trippers her cat cares), stomping her way out and writes a whole book of judgements in her rattling brain upon hearing the loud music weeping through walls.
She knocks. Huffs when it goes unnoticed and this time pounds at the door, crossing her forearms infront of her chest. Not unaware and very accustomed; of happy chatter whirling around whenever she’s trying to focus how a certain recipe goes by, his mates chanting his name from outside when he’s too occupied in whatever he's sorting out inside for their arrival, clanking of beer bottles knowing they and her have a long time to go, the music dimming in the wee of night as the door closes after every fifteen minutes and it dawns at that time –-- she always get left with one option and that’s to curse him till she sleeps.
It’s every Friday and Saturday’s story.
“Max stop that before Ni asks fo’ a dummy —-,” His neck's craned to where his friends are sitting on one of the cosy spots. His jaw popping, dimples chasmic from the smirk he’s holding and Y/N gulps then arches her brow when his attention drops down at her, “Oh .... hi, could help ya?��� His cocky grin irks her – bubbling a fire in her pit and an urge to twinge his ear and drag him to her apartment, to show him what he did.
“Could you help me!?” She laughs ironically, chases her frowning gaze from the ripped patches of his jeans towards where his curls are brushing his earlobes and it kind of makes her gasp which she traps in fortunately because – he’s always wearing a hoodie, beanie or his hair up in a little fountain like bun rushing through the lobby with his thick books and laptop clutched in his arms, “Yes please .. y’could help me by transferring expenses of your cat's babies every month to me —-...um could simply have them in your apartment too if the first deal’s too bad.” She shrugs. Taking a glimpse from his shoulder of his friends bunched over eachother and he toys with his bottom wet lip, brows stringing into confusion and his bicep flexes making her flutter her eyes away as he grips the knob of the door and closes it behind him.
“What d'ya mean?”
“You’re doing it on purpose right? ‘cos there’s no way —--” He cuts her groans with a snap and runs a palm down his face, “I seriously don’t know what you’re talkin' ‘bout, Y/N.” His lips tinned into a flat line, his posture now resembling her's and she slaps her forehead with the heel of her palm.
“Then you should keep tabs of your beasty minx of a cat who got my cat pregnant!” She exclaims disbelievingly to which his eyes turns saucer and he throws his sinewy arms in between them, mimics her expressions comically, “Is that my fault? Did I get your cat prego?” She blinks up at him rapidly --- he’s such a nerve puller.
“Yes it is! You didn’t get your cat desexed —-,” She stuffs her pointer against his chest and twist it with a grit, “Now he’ll have babies left and right – like a catwhore he is!!” She aerials her hands in different directions rapidly and he takes a step closer kissing his teeth together to seethe his words.
“He’s not a catwhore!”
“Kay then take the responsibility of what he did.” She mutters tapping her foot onto the carpeted floor and guppies at him like a fish when he bursts into taunting cackles, leaning to catch the door-frame before he mushes her under his weight. ”
“Ye -‐..- you’re —- you aren’t serious are ya?” His rosy eyelids snib tightly forming crinkles to where his temples meet his cheeks and she almost pouts, how much she doesn’t want to she could never cascade her expressions.
“Oh my — .... Bambi eyed wouldn’t I’ave had free him of his ball’s heaviness –-- if I’d ‘ave enough money down me pocket?” He scrunches his nose to take a breather from laughing hard.
“Don’t call me that!” She bites at him.
“You’re cute when you’re angry.” He smirks gingerly – drums his fingers against his folded bicep and presses his back to the wall tipping his chin high.
Her blush eager to creep up her neck embarrasses her further more and she hides the softness in her voice, muttering gruffly, “Shut up.” Then turns to walk back into her apartment and to slam the door at his face -- but -- his whistle for her halts her in tracks.
“Hey – Bambi, we could sign the custody of kitties if that what ye'want.”
..
Three weeks after. There was another knock on Harry’s door, Niall's head perks up and bangs against the bookshelf –- he was trying to keep the furry cat in his lap, for a good warmer but its more enamoured with the ‘clucks' of his daddy’s boots than the soft flesh of Niall’s thigh as Harry chucks his wallet in the back-pocket of his jeans (he was about to go outside and bring some food) and opens the door slightly to see through the trapping chain, “who’s it?”
“Harry ‘s me ....” The voice mousey and worried. Niall recognizes it in a hot-second, frowns and tries to gain snowy’s attention, “What did y'do again? Did ya get the pretty neighbour's cat prego twice, you fat farts.” He chuckles when snowy meows at him innocently and Harry's brows skews together into a scowl.
“Call him fat farts another time —- I dare you —--,” He howls. Throwing angry upset glares towards Niall – their bickering gets interrupted when Y/N slips her hand from the crack of door, pinches Harry’s knuckles and he squeaks, “Ow —- what the fuck!”
“Harry.” Her tone threatening.
Harry puffs out a huge sigh and reveals himself infront of her, he's not in mood to fight with her over their cats, or the parcel Harry forgot to give her which got delivered to him on accident like one of the thousand times (he never found anything freakish until now .. not that he goes through what’s inside, but the labels tell they’re mostly her art supplies), or why he’s been showering for an hour because she now isn’t left with any warm water —- because he just came back from UNI and is dust bones from having two exams in a row.
“Y/N —-,” His face reeks with exhaustion. His curls drowsy, escaping from his knit beanie and his eyes glazed with sea-foam. She kinda feels bad for disturbing him -- but – it’s an emergency and she doesn’t know where to go, except him.
His weary vision falls upon trippers tucked beneath Y/N’s arm, “Is she alright?” He scratches behind her ear and trippers gives out a pained yowl.
“No –-.. that’s why ‘m here. She’s spotting blood everywhere and –-- and I don’t have enough money ...,” She’s embarrassed to say least. Not meeting Harry’s eyes and he gazes her sincerely –- belly doing weirdly funny somersaults. He clears his throat, grogs out gathering all the information in his head from the anatomy of humans and animals he studied till now.
“It’s okay for spotting in pregnancies – but ‐-.. she looks very much in pain s' we shouldn’t risk it. I’ve a friend. She’s practicing vet -- we could take her there.” He offers. Rubbing the back of his neck and Y/N bobs her head vigorously, anything to save her trippers baby.
“Fine –-- yeah, Iemme just wear my shoes ... then we're good to go.” She mumbles. Harry hasn’t seen her demeanour flatter like this ever before, whenever she’s banging and barging through his flat it’s always taut and cold banter.
He has never seen her this defenceless.
He drops his gaze down at her feet and finds that she’s wearing cute pizza slices socksies.
..
“Is this a clinic, or weed doing zone for animals?” She didn’t try to be mean. It just happened as she takes in the wearbouts of garage, stuffed with drums and musical instruments, spray paint on walls. Harry seems unfazed though, he could be shabbier than her if he wants to –- much fouler that could make her cry.
“Told you. She’s practicing not a vet yet.” She doesn’t question him further. Grateful enough for his help. She might not admit but he isn’t that bad of guy as she once imagined him in her head.
Y/N stifles a snort when a girl with mullet shag, having a stud in her brow and the corner of her lip, attired in all black greets Harry with a hip-check, “Vas’up booger.” She grins and Harry grumbles ruffling her hair with his knuckles.
It leaves Y/N in awe. This’s what group of friends look like -- so fun and annoying, she wanted to have this since when she’s small. Sadly, it’s just her and trippers in her friend group.
“Hi there!” She waves to Y/N trying to battle Harry’s tickles away. Takes trippers from Y/N's arms and coos up at her, “hiyaa baby .. oh, she’s having lil buns inside her.” She laughs and Y/N already likes her so much. As if, she’s the main character of any vintage styled movie.
“Rori here.” She introduces herself as Harry strolls inside her kitchen to rummage through her fridge, “Y/N.” Y/N smiles –-- eyeing Harry who’s whistling and tearing the crate of orange juice open.
When Trippers purrs from a cramp, Rori snuggles her closer to herself – “Her spotting is nothing to worry about –-- maybe she’s ready to give birth. If not I’ll take her to my hospital.”
“So Harry said...” Y/N nods.
“Oohh.” Rori exclaims, wiggling her brows curiously at Harry who’s gulping down juice hungrily, “Booger got normal friends too? Thought, those were all white lies.” He almost chokes at it – downing it cautiously and blinks vividly.
“No. Just neighbours.” Yeah, there’s nothing friendly between them –-- but how it’d be like to befriend Harry. The thought makes Y/N feel snoozy and warm.
“I see.”
“Okay then! ‘m gonna keep Trippers with me for two days –-- figure out what I could do to help her and if she heals I’ll drop her by, how that sounds?”
“Sounds good!” Both, Harry and Y/N chimes together heating their cheeks up. Harry wavers his gaze away, sulking a pouty mouth and turns all stoic again.
He doesn’t want to like, Y/N. Nope. Not at all. In any case.
She’s his bedevilling, bothersome and galling neighbour who just screams at him too much for his likening.
..
“Would you like something to eat?” She asks him while walking back home and he shakes his head, so she nudges him in ribs, “oh c'mon let it be a thank you, grumpy pants.”
“’M not –-,” He was about to snap at her. Instead, he groped her wrist tightly and tugged her to his side –-- she squeals into his chest as a car passes by them swiftly, honking at them in anger.
Her hair wisps from the friction of Harry’s hoodie as she pushes herself away from him, surprisingly he smells incredibly sweet – that of vanilla and citrus musk, something very cosy and like a morning breeze.
A jolt buzzes through her spine at the fact she was about to get crushed under a vehicle but she grins up at him awkwardly, “Tofu then?” His peepers widen in shock and he slaps his forehead.
“You’re mad, know that.”
..
Harry and Y/N. Sky and earth . She sprouts buds of irises and peonies when she speaks, her touch that shines away even an intimidating person as if they're mimosa plants, those eyes --- those eyes are itself sepia of grounds on which the tiny creatures celebrates by and Harry's well ... he’s the floss of clouds hidden behind sunshine, his rains would turn her into loam and his uppish thunder would make her loathe him.
Then some gods decided to break the needles and fix it in some other clock that rotates anti-clock wise.
Now, when she’s unable to nourish her flowers he's always there to rain and stroke a tender breeze against her that makes her lush grass snuggle the roots of who she’s.
They were enemies once. Opposite to eachother in many ways but couldn’t live without eachother despite of their distances. Just like sky's a hollow sheet of nothingness without it’s dear earth.
..
What blossomed their friendship was Y/N's date with this cute boy that is in her ceramic class, (not a date if you’d ask so –-- more like a meetup at this coffee house near her UNI).
Turns out he isn’t that cute. His blunt hands wandered up Y/N’s thigh without her consent and before she could know that, he was groping at it –-- making her gasp and hit her knee against the table. She struggles to writhe out of the chair but he stitches his nails in her skin, “I’m not liking it – you better stop.” She hisses, palms sweaty and slipping trying to remove his grip from around her.
“Don’t act all stupid .. you were hitting at me for hours, you want it but wouldn’t admit.” He groans, rolling his eyes and she feels like crying –-- teeth clanking letting out a shuddering breath.
“I’ll scream.” She warns him.
“You’re not that innocent, you act like.” He smirks, sliding his hand down her insides and before he could reach further Y/N sneaked a fork from the table and stabbed it in his knuckles.
“Fuck.” He shrieks, “Bitch.” He almost screams but stops when everyone stares at him as Y/N’s chair fell against the floor and she stumbles inside the bathroom.
Locking it behind her. Her chest burns with tears. Her vision spins and her fingers shakes as she dials one number she could reach for anytime, it rings then goes to voicemail so her bitten lip wobbles and eyes turn glossy.
She again dials it. There’re noises behind, that of someone instructing and Harry was in his lecture hall when she called .. his heart drops because all he could hear is quivering breath ... it shudders to tight painful gasps and he’s collecting his stuff leaving his seat immediately the doctor who's teaching them Apiceoctomy stares Harry while speaking.
Once he’s out in hallway, “Hey? Y/n are y’there? You okay? What happened?” She bolt her eyes close pressing her head to cold tiled wall and yawps outta fear when someone pounds at the door. Harry runs towards the exist, “Y/N where are you!? ‘m coming .. whatever it’s just --.. just ...” He gripes at his curls pushing them back – his heart beating loud, “ – just stay where you’re ‘n don’t panic .. yeah? It’s okay.” He mutters. Voice soft and assuring.
Her breathing patterns back to calmness – something about him so consoling, so warm and she nods. After some minutes she’s telling him the address and gladly it’s not that far away from Harry.
When he reaches. There are several people waiting at the bathrooms door and he’s knocking on it lightly, pressing his ear to it and grabs the knob (in case he’d have to break it).
When there’s no-response from inside he gets it something’s peculiar, “Bambi. ‘s me Harry.” It clicks and unlocks and he’s tumbling inside while the others groans and disperses knowing it’s invain waiting.
He’s dishevelled. His curls in moppy condition and his eyes full of concern and worry –-- she feels awful for doing this to him.
“Were you crying? Did somethin' happen?” He frowns. Ducking a bit to meet her gaze level and she clears the clump in her throat, “Can we just leave .. please?” He couldn’t believe it’s her voice – the bubbliness and chirpiness of it died to frightened meekness.
Harry takes her hand and walks them outside, Y/N sucks in squeak when the same guy rushes to confront them and when Harry sees his injured hand -- everything pieces together and fury spikes through his veins.
His brows pinches together into a frown, his lips lifting into a scowl and his eyes darkens pitch coal like.
He grips her dainty fingers and moves her behind him protectively and his chest buffs out as he takes a step forward towering the guy – “What d'ya want?” He kisses his teeth together to grit vehemence and that guy lift his trembling hand infront of Harry.
“Look what this bitch —-,” Ah –-- he really pushed Harry’s bad button didn’t he?
Harry grabs him from collar and Y/N squeals rubbing his wrist to pull him back, no-use.
“Badmouth her or anyone —-" Harry sneers and if he'd be a cartoon character – fume would have been coming out of his ears and nose.
“Else what!?” Harry’s more of a practical person -- so he did what he's been learning for years now and breaks his nose with such force it almost knocks him out.
Y/N's still in shock. Walking behind him on jelly toes and a shiver spirals in her bone marrow when her sweat dries from the wind that’s blowing and hitting them in faces.
They wait at bus shelter, sitting side by side –-- thighs brushing now and then flustering Y/N, Moreso when he apologizes everytime.
There’s silence. Harry’s irritated groan breaks it –- he clenches and unclenches his knuckles .. the thin skin a bit bruised.
“Are you okay? I’m so sorry –-- .. ‘s my fault.” She rambles. Taking his hand to inspect it, “I shouldn’t have called you at ---..” He frowns confused and pokes her in knee conveying her to stop worrying. Because if anyone needs to be taken care of is her and wish he could just hug her and tell her that it’s not her fault – not even a tad.
“Y/n...” He gains her attention and his gaze flickers from her snotty nose towards her soaky cheeks, “Shut up.” She chuckles at that putting his palm gently back on his thigh.
“Would you like to have, noodles? I know this incredible chinese place ...” He shakes his head. His smile small and kooky, nose scrunched up as he sniffs the air – predicting a rain coming soon.
“D'we have to eat after every tragedy that happens t’you?”
“Yup, tragedies makes me hungry.” It’s her coping mechanism if she'll be honest and that’s what she’s been doing for ages.
“Who are you, Y/N?
She jumps up. Wiggling her fingers for him to take and beams sweetly, “Bambi next door?”
..
“From when did ya become s' rich?” He giggles. He finds her fucking adorable as she drags him along herself excitedly – she halts infront of the expensive restaurant –- where people dressed in all kind of luxuries and bright pearls are dinning in and she arches her brow sceptically, “Did you really think –- I’ll be able to take us here?” He shoves his hands in his jeans pocket, elevates his shoulders and smiles bashfully.
“Maybe one day, who knows?” They walk towards the chinese take out and Y/N trots backwards –-- facing him all while and rolls her eyes, “’M an artist whose half of paintings goes to trash.” Harry’s eyeballs springs out of his sockets hearing her statement and he really wants to knock some senses into this silly girl.
“Oh my --.. jeez .. those paintings are ‘s good y'divvy. They're hanging onto my walls, been enjoying them fo' free —- what the actual fuck .. really your hands are magical.” He feels annoyed and sad that she felt a need to dump them, because those were some beautiful art pieces.
(“Hmm. It has some hidden meaning beneath it, H. I’m tellin' ya.” Ni would always say. Standing infront of it for hours and hours staring at it.
“Looks like a pussy to me.” Max would quip sipping his bevy and Harry would smack him in head, “Guys how ‘bout we just see it like a fuckin' painting.” He'd grumble focusing back on his books.)
“Really?” She asks shyly and he bobs his head, “Guess you could just keep them then ...” She grins up at him taking the boxes from the cashier.
“Where are we going?”
“You’d see yourself.” She sing-songs galloping over the muddy potholes and Harry looks funny doing it with his spider long legs. Their footsteps echoes in the empty warehouse and Harry didn’t expect her to be the person – that loves finding weird places and spend time there.
“Careful there.” He murmurs. Pressing a hand to her waist when she wobbles on her feet climbing the metal stairs and Harry thinks if she was this clumsy all along or it’s from what happened at the coffee house.
“Holy shit!” He cups a hand around his mouth as the traffic bustles down on the street, “You afraid of heights?” She glances back at him from where she’s standing on the cemented edge.
“Matters. If we're about to act silly and jump, then yes.”
Warmth worms up at his chest and his adam apple bobs, he barks out a laugh when she giggles demanding him to come closer to her, “Come here then you dentist the bad boi.” He tugs the fabric of his jeans from his crotch and hikes his one knee up sitting beside her, other leg swinging in air.
He listens to her hums and happy sounds as she slurps the long noodle inside her mouth, “What you’re afraid of then Harry?” Her question catches him off-guard. Nobody has ever asked what his fears are and he might be famous for an intimidating personality just because he speaks less and owns a roaring bullet –-- he’s still very nice to talk to, but he'd rather spend his time with snowy than waste his time on orgy parties.
“Snowy’s funky farts -- they're ‘orrible!! have to leave the flat fo’ a minute.” He grins when Y/N’s head lulls back and she laughs gleefully, rolling into his side to support herself, “Oh no!” She whines when her chopsticks falls and drops onto the road poorly.
“We can share mine.” He hands her his chopsticks and she thanks him timidly, “What d'you fear?” They pass it back and forth –- his lips wrapping around them as he takes a chunky bite.
Harry tries to down the food that got stuck in his throat when she said nonchalantly, “Dying alone I guess?” He chews the veggies, grimaces and shakes his head -- puts his hand over her knee squeezing it kind-heartedly.
“You’ll not.” She feels like every tulip of light around her’s sparkling – the buzz of having his company tingling her in good way, “Promise?” She asks and Harry lifts his pinky in between them encouraging her to bring her's.
She wasn’t serious about the promise thing it was more onto sarcastic side than to sincerity.
“Promise.” His dimples caters deep and his eyes crinkles when different golden lights dances against her skin making her look prettier than she’s.
He’s gonna fulfill his promise.
..
Y/N could be sentimental given on occasions and how bad the situation’s – but she bottles it up for good amount until later, it all crushes her completely and she’s unable to stand back.
Now, when there’s eerie quietness in the bus and the world infront of her fades behind in weird shapes and forms in her head because of the speed of vehicle – her mind thought it’d be best time to remorse over what happened to her and her eyes well up at that.
Harry plucks his headphones down upon hearing her soft sniffles and turns her towards him with her shoulder, “Y/N hey ....” His voice tender and dewy as he slides his palm under her jaw and cups her cheek to wipe out her tears with the mild stroke of his thumb.
His gentleness rakes out an agonising sob from inside her and she feels like her organs are clashing together.
“Shh. Bambi you’re okay now, ‘s alright you’re here with me -- shh, ‘m so sorry love —- but it’s over now, yeah? We're going home and I’ll make you chamomile tea, could ‘ve both snowy and trippers cuddle with you while I’ll get you all warm and nice inside this new fluffy blanket I just bought! – how does that sound?” He pets her hair. Brings her closer to his chest and she keeps her nose tucked against his clavicles to stop from crying and make a show.
When she nods, suckling a wet breath he swipes a loose errand of her hair behind, “Sounds good yeah?” She just hums snuggling into him.
Her arms slowly loops around his love-handles and he stows her head under his chin -- rubs her back in circles to soothe the stiff muscles, covers her ears with the headphones he was wearing before – plays acoustic version of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac and simpers when she hiccups his name, but doesn’t respond when he answers – his ears turns pink from fond and his belly overglows with butterflies as she babbles his name till she drops into peaceful sleep.
Y/N found herself in his bed with snowy and trippers ontop of her and Harry snoring on the couch – his gangly limbs not fitting at all.
She really wanted to call him and sleep on his bed, but she drowses back to slumber.
..
“Grumpy jerk and an actual ray of sunshine. Sorry, couldn’t process it – too much.” Rori teased Harry the last time they gathered and Y/N was there too! though the true statement was claimed after her departure.
Harry’s friends couldn’t believe that he stepped out of his comfort zone and made a new cute friend, now after one year of their friendship it doesn’t feel like they’re neighbours anymore –-- it's just one big home with an alleyway in between.
“What're y'doin', moppet?” Harry chuckles picking up the half eaten packet of crisps, chewy sour candies, wrappers of oreos and the romcom CDs they were playing before.
Y/N's sprawled on her tummy. Feetsie in air and her chin secured in her palm as she looks like she’s seriously about to take an admission in med school –-- she’s concentrating real hard on the thick book under her, eyes fixated on the diagrams of teeth – it makes Harry laugh like a maniac.
“Aish. Your books, gives me an ache.” She massages her forehead, shakes her head as if she tasted something icky and pushes his book away. Harry laughs harder at her antics wrappers flying away from his grasp and he flops onto couch –-- thighs spreading wide and back sinking into the cushions.
“Where?” His lips rumbles as he tries to hold back another fits of laughter when she gets his dirty joke and pouts, lips fluttering into a smile until she bursts into giggles joining him.
“Nope. My cookie doesn’t throb like it used to sneaking on reproduction chapters in biology.” Harry roars out a cackle at that and Y/N grins fiddling with the frizz of her socks, “Heyyyy it’s not funny –- very much sad.”
He suckles a breath in, their grins achy and big, “Stuff your cookie with some jam ‘n you'll be alright.”
“You’re gross!” She fake gags. Hunches over to exaggerate the severity and scares the shit out of Harry when she gasps loudly slapping his knee, “Harry! Harry! Oh my gosh.....ahhhh!” She gallops like a bunny towards the window and gazes up at the sky with glinting eyes, “Harry look! It’s snowing.” He trots behind her with a roll of eyes knowing what’s about to come next.
When she turns around with sparkly grin, hands clasped atop her chest and tippy-toes to beg him, Harry shuts his lids, “No Muffy.” Y/N loves eating chocolate muffins –-- eating them whenever she could possibly ... and that’s how the pet name Harry decided to call her was muffy.
“Please, it would be so fun .. we could have hot chocolate afterwards.” She mumbles tugging at the hem of his chunky yarn sweater.
“Nothing’s fun about snow angles, Muffyyyy!!” He whines. Squinting down at her with one eye and finds her all slumpy, head falling downwards.
“Okie then. ‘m going to sleep.” She mutters in a meek voice pushing past him –-- but he wraps his hand around her wrist and pulls her back to himself, chuckling with wide eyes, “You’re very dramatic and annoyin’ y’know that?”
Instead, she grins bobbing her head shamelessly, pats his chest and dashes to wear his warm jacket, “Biscuits on you -- hot chocolate on me.” She tells him slipping into her shoes with the support of doorframe.
He comes closer to her and her heart thuds into her tiny ribs as he zips his jacket she’s wearing up till her neck and warns her while pulling out her hair, “If I get sick – ‘m gettin'y sick too.”
..
Harry’s waiting outside the candy shop Y/N just barged in moments ago. He refused to step inside – knowing she’ll use him as a taste tester and at the end of the day his tongue would have a mountain sugar atop his taste buds.
The spring breeze flowery and warm. He shakes his head, smiles softly watching her switch aisles and guffaws loudly catching attention of an old couple siting on the bench behind -- at her eagerness when she started chomping onto the long chewy candy right after getting it from the cashier.
“That’s g'na rot your teeth even before your forties.” He tells her taking the small bag from her and walks beside her, “Your kids are gonna hate you ...” She tells him –- stretching out the candy with her teeth.
“You sure, y'were allowed colas and candies in childhood?” He teases her prodding her side so she throws it at his chest making him laugh and he bends down to pick it up and dump it in bin.
“You’ve got a cute bum.” She whistles and Harry’s cheeks bashes with blush – turns around and wiggles herself, “How's mine?” She hums glancing back at him with cheeky grin.
“Ten by two, I guess?” He bites down a smirk when she spins to face him a bit gobsmacked, “Not even five?” She grumps chin doubling as she tries to see her bum herself.
“Six then?” He giggles enjoying how she’s getting riled up out of nowhere and she stomps away from him so he jogs to catch her, “Bambi. Was kiddin'.”
“You owe me two muffins with the amount of insults you’ve caused my poor bum.” He knuckles at her hair and she slaps him away like a feisty kitten, “I take it back –-- you’re really ten by two.”
“Oi!!!” Now, she’s running behind him. His curls blowing away and his coat ruffling with the zephyr, his head falling back with the belly-ache laughter that bounces against the bricked walls of shops.
..
It’s Friday night. Y/N is doing her laundry. Plucking out Harry’s socks from Trippers furry ear, her kitties sleeping in bassinet. Harry and Y/N have named them Tum, Tug and Truggers –-- she sits back on her heels upon hearing her door closing and hikes the small basket on her hip trudging outside —-- she didn’t had any clothes that could make her feel warm during these days – even her socks were all soggy -- so was Harry’s, now all she’s gonna do is make a blanket fort and hide in it for hours.
She knuckles at her eyes, blinking the tiredness away to see properly who’s standing in the middle of room, “Harry?” He's wearing a graduation gown and tips his hat with a sheepish smile then waves his degree infront of her, “Guess who's a proper dentist now!?” She’s frozen to her spot –- jaw slacked and eyes blown away in surprise.
“Your bad boi!” The basket falls from her hip onto the floor scaring Trippers and she whispers an, “Oh my goodness.” Before, stumbling towards him and crashes in his arms giving him a tight loving hug. He slinks his forearms around her and squishes his face into the crook of her neck, lips tickling her skin and if it was possible for him to freeze the time and cherish it for some more he'd.
“I’m so proud of you.” She mumbles into him with a grin. He feels so worthy and every hardship he faced now feels like nothing, this's how life supposed be throughout –- but best things always bores fruit for the right time.
“How about we celebrate? Just you and me.” Just you and me. It feels nice to just her and him. Makes her heart swoon. Makes her feel like skies outside are wet and pink, “Umm .. can we celebrate here? It’s okay .... “ She shifts on her feet and he furrows his brows in confusion, lips ticked up as if he’s scrutinizing her.
“You and not goin' nutters for an outing .. seems odd —-,” Then his eyes falls over the surrounding, a heating pad beside his feet – aloe fused socks hanging to get dry, a tray of chocolate muffins, kettle on the coffee table so he puts one and one together himself.
“Oh muffy —-... pizza and cuddles then?” If he wouldn’t be aware of how first few days of her period are hell for her then who would? He’s always making her pot meals and curry rice – feeds her and gets all strict when she refuses to eat anything. She looses her appetite and transforms into something ‘if zombie had a baby with vampire -- it sure looked like you’ he'd always scold her.
Even bribe her with candies. Once they were awfully painful and Y/N really didn’t want to be all dramatic not when their friends were having a good time, she doesn’t like to be a party pooper.
But, when a stinging cramp cut through her pelvis and thighs she was hunching forward with a jolt -- all teary eyes and wobbly lips. Harry left everything and rushed towards her, sitting on his knees on the floor and cupped her throat to make her look at him when she refused to, “Y/N ‘m serious -- you rather tell me what’s happening with ye’ or ‘m throwin' you at my shoulder and takin’ you hospital —... cause fuck look at you been like this since morning ....” He was rambling and Y/N felt like drilling a hole into floor and hide herself there forever.
She was mortified and embarrassed, a terrible combination.
She wasn’t able to tell him infront of all of their friends even though it’s something very normal, so everyone stared and nodded when they left they for Harry’s room.
“Bambi are you okay? I’m not even kidding something’s not —-..” She wipes her nose and tugs at his wrist trying to shush him, when he doesn’t pushes a fingers against his lips.
“Don’t worry. ‘m good --- just —-... umm I’m on my periods.” She rubs her one feet on another and his mouth fall into an ‘o' when realization hit him and his brows clinches together sternly.
He sighs running his fingers through his hair, something he does when frustrated and whumpy.
“Should’ve told me. We could have done this later ... do you want anything? I’ve got pain —--,” His words swells on his tongue when her head bumps against his chest and her hands locks around his neck, hugging him with all her gentle will because nobody has ever cared for her –-- him being so tentative to her makes her want to sob into his chest.
He warms her in all the right places.
..
“How’re you feeling on scale of one to ten?” He speaks while chewing onto the stuffed crust of pizza. They’re cosied up on the sofa while Mama Mia plays on the telly and she’s cuddled up into him, he's holding her heat pad with the grip of his forearm and she lifts her head mousey-ly from his bicep and whispers – “Eightish...? Now, you’re Dr.Styles.” He giggles at her and pushes her head back against him with his finger.
“What does my being dentist has a connection to your periods?” He dips the pads of his fingers into her pudgy love handles and squeezes them -- she giggles thinking about the joke she’s about to crack.
“You pull teeth, it’s blood and I pull out tampon so it’s —...” Harry chuckles gruntly at her and tickles her more, “Oh no. I know where it’s goin'....”
“You asked for it!” She pouts at him and he squishes her lips together as if she’s a duck toy.
Then they flump back into their cuddling position and Harry rubs her tummy in tender soothing circles, it helps her relax and his breath syncs with her and she really tries not to pay attention to her bratty screaming hormones heating her skin up – her thighs experiencing a quiver and she squeaks down a huffy whimper.
“You okay?” Harry asks. When she squirms against him and she gulps -- they don’t hide stuff from eachother so she tells him honestly, “You’re really turning me on.” Harry’s heart hiccups at that and his palms still over her thighs.
“Is that so?”
He pets her hair and tries to make her stand, “Just go to washroom and jizz one out.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t? Why?”
“Promise me you wouldn’t make fun....” He frowns and nods bringing his pinky to make the deal.
She clutches her sweater down to her knees, cheeks rosy and mutters out in one breath – “I’ve specific days for that....” Harry really tires to. He locks up his laughs in his lungs and it aches his chest, his cheeks balloons up but at last he rolls onto floor and guffaws into his elbow.
“You said you wouldn’t make fun!!!” She whines kicking his side lightly and he grabs her ankle, “This means all those times you’d be all locked up –- oh my god, you were playing with yourself.” She folds her arms. Her nostrils flares with irritation and she doesn’t even spare him a glance.
“Pet, waiting so long .. it’s a torture to yourself.” He tells her genuinely sitting up with crossed legs and she mumbles knuckling at her eyes, “just some reasons ... horny is bad.” Now, Harry feels kind of terrible pushy person and he really wants to help her out but he’s walking on egg shells here. So, he stops asking anything.
“Rori's girlfriend is a sex therapist —-“ She becomes all fidgety at that and Harry takes in her nervousness, “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to.” He exclaims waving his hands and she gulps giving him a small nod.
“Night time fo' some grumpy muffy!” He coos, brings the blanket to her chin and his pupils dilate adorningly when she asks him, “Could I snuggle you?”
“Ofcourse.” He pecks her temple and tells her to budge over before sandwiching her between him and the sofa.
That whole night all his mind could think was why horny is bad for her?
..
Y/N was feeling overly warm and heated, a tad achy between her thighs. She vigorously tries to focus on something else but her chest is heaving at this point, even opens the windows and let the cool air hit her but no use –- so she does what have to be done in order to get rid of the throb.
She cosies herself on the bed, switches onto hentai and throws her legs in air to shimmy her sheer white panty down.
“Oh ...” Whimpers teeny-ly when her fingers brushing up her soaking pussyfolds provides her a bit relief – her soft hands wanders beneath her flimsy shirt and touches her skin in the most arousing way possible –-- tweaks her nipples and jerks up, oozing more wetness.
“Ah! Fuck.” She moans easing in two fingers at once and cramps down at them watching the hentai porn –- but it’s not enough, she’s been pushing her fingers in and out for ten minutes now—she’s unable to get to climax.
So she groans sits up and switches to domineering audios, listens to it while fingering herself hard and she has no idea from where her mind gathered these images from -- but -- soon she’s thinking about Harry’s husky rasp, his sea-foam beautiful eyes and those rosy knuckles ring clad hands —-- imagining him holding her down into mattress and pounding into her at a brutal pace, making her sit on his cock and not letting her move –-- his fingers down her petty throat —-- him spanking her ass if she let’s out any voice out and he'd roar at her beg as she'd be lurking at her tenth orgasm –---- every plausible dirty stuff with him.
She was so engulfed into making herself feel good, lost in her own headspace and imaginations that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching and it’s like she manifested him as he stands at the door-frame with blown away pupils –-- guppy mouth and she’s squealing feeling dizzy upon sitting up this quick.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck —-... sorry sorry ... “ He covers his eyes and turns to walk away but bumps his head with a thud into doorframe.
She gasps, knees up and almost shouts, “No!” making him halt mid-track and she’s on the verge of tears, red face and shaky fingers.
“Please ....”
“Stay.”
Harry’s eyes turns soft at that and he walks towards bed, licks his lips wet and brushes the loose tress of her hair away.
“You want me to stay, muffy?” He asks to make sure – she isn’t in haze and all fog minded.
“Yes. I want you to stay.” She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her words honest and full of plead, she needs him, she wants him, she wants to have him.
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1kook · 4 years ago
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kissanime & foreplay
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this is part of my netflix & chill collection !
summary; You get a glimpse of the KissAnime screen for a good two seconds before about seven ads pop up. Another tab to a raunchy hentai website opens, and Jungkook groans. warnings; mentions of hentai yes u read right, kook leads most of it, cunnilingus, masturbation (f), oral (f), use of a sex toy, fingering, nipple play, face sitting/fucking/riding idk (f), praise kink, hints of dumbification, cum eating, jk is like passive aggressive in this one, 4 (f) orgasms, this is the kicker: sub kook at the end😳, like 2 sec of dom yn lol, & u get 0.002 sec of adams apple kink misc; more dumb story lines, made up sex stores bc my creativity knows no bounds, Jungkook plays nice but is actually mean for the majority of it, once again doyeon plays a pivotal role in the furthering of women empowerment, internal love monologues about jk best boy<3 wc; 8.2k
notes; back when kissanime was offed I remember looking at this fic in the drafts like what the hell we gone do now.. n almost deleting it but I was like yknow what this isn’t a 1kook fic unless there’s smthn weird going on so here we are. also yes I know ohshc is on Netflix shut up!!!!! 
HAPPY BDAY MY LOVE AND MUSE JEON JUNGKOOK !!!! 🥺💜
The good thing about getting your own apartment is that you finally have a place to call your own. There’s no limit on how many potted plants you can squeeze into a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment, and if there was one, you’re twelve in and no one has said anything to you yet. You don’t have to share the shower space with anyone, label all your products with a hastily scribbled name. There’s a bathtub—something you haven’t had the pleasure of using during college—and a fairly open living space. There’s so many empty spots to fill with useless decorations and family heirlooms and that ugly plastic rooster Jungkook won you at the summer kick-off fair last month.
The bad thing about having your own place is that the entire world and their mothers seem to know now. Despite graduating from college, you still keep in touch with your trusted graduate mentor Kim Namjoon, who is still very much in school, and has made it his mission to bring you a new plant every week, hence your growing collection. Your childhood friend comes over every Saturday morning to lounge around after her Friday nights out. Jungkook, although the only one who is ever actually invited, runs through your strawberry scented body wash like a madman.
And of course, Doyeon.
Your beloved college roommate of four years, Kim Doyeon, has been the bane of your apartment experience so far. Unlike you, who had slaved away for four years, saving every penny you made during college for this moment, Doyeon was a big spender. She blew every dollar she ever came across, which is why she’s going to be stuck living at her parent’s house for at least a couple more years.
Nothing wrong with that, of course, if she wasn’t the most maniac online shopper in existence. It hadn’t been a problem in college because she was always good old pals with the students who worked the mailroom. If they saw something questionable, they’d let it slide as long as it was under Miss Kim Doyeon, Room 229.
The reason it became an issue for her now is because it’s poor Mrs. Kim who signs over the package from Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide! one Tuesday afternoon as it is delivered to their suburban home.
So now she’s taken to ordering all her freaky stuff to your new apartment, where the small cabinet by the door has quickly become home to her impulsive shopping habits. Truthfully, you don’t mind accepting Doyeon’s weird packages, and have long since grown used to the uncomfortable looks the mail carrier gives you.
Jungkook’s supposed to come over today and you really hope he doesn’t ask about the state of your hall cabinet. Now that you work at a small company outside of your degree to make ends meet, time with Jungkook has been significantly decreased. You weren’t in college anymore, so you didn’t have the luxury of dropping by his house whenever you wanted to in between classes. Of course, it’s mostly your schedule that conflicts with your planned hangouts, because Jungkook is still working his dream job from home.
However, because Jungkook is quite possibly the most amazing person on this planet, he’s started coming over every Saturday night to make sure you’re still alive and not dying. And so weekly media binges are a thing, and it’s currently week four.
He gave up on showing you the Marvel movie franchise last week, after you had asked where Wonder Woman was three times in a row. Since the Barbie Movie Debacle of last month, you’ve found a nice medium between who picks when. Jungkook picks most of the time, because most of the time you don’t really care. It’s become a running joke between the two of you that movie binges are usually just terribly masked excuses to go to town on each other, so you don’t mind missing an entire 15th Century French Revolution documentary if it means Jungkook is deep in your guts by the time King Louis XIV gets beheaded or whatever they did to him. Is it too obvious you didn’t watch the documentary?
Occasionally, there are instances where one of you genuinely does want to watch something, in which case you have an intense match of rock-paper-scissors to decide who’s picking that night. Most of the time, Jungkook wins. But for every match Jungkook wins, he promises you’ll pick the next one so you’ve long since stopped trying to actually beat him.
Long story short, last weekend you sat through a two part Ancient Aliens episode on the connection between aliens and American presidents.
It was the most god-awful conspiracy theory you’ve ever heard of, but Jungkook ate up every minute of it. By the time the two hosts announced their conclusion you were just about ready to rip your own ears off and single-handedly fist fight every producer on the channel for allowing the production of such an atrocious show.
Anyway, because you had so bravely sat through the entire evening without complaints— well, no complaints towards Jungkook’s terrible taste; the show, however, was not safe from your wicked tongue —Jungkook has so graciously allowed you to pick the media for this weekend.
You’ve been telling him for the longest time that you were going to hook him on anime. It was one of the few interests you always believed Jungkook should possess, being a weeb and all, because it was only fair that he had one questionable trait to balance out the rest of his perfection. Liking anime isn’t bad— if a hottie like you enjoyed it, then it obviously had its perks. However, you know a lot of other people are turned off by anime-enthusiasts due to preconceived notions of the genre and the viewer-base.
Now, it was a widely known fact that you always had ulterior motives. So maybe turning Jungkook into a weeb was just a ploy to turn other women off from him and keep your jealousy at bay. Sue you, your boyfriend was a walking wet dream, and you’d do anything to keep him to yourself.
After long deliberation, you’ve decided on introducing Jungkook to anime with a classic: Ouran High School Host Club, a god among anime, a true Beyonce among shoujos. The only problem was that you absolutely refused to pay Crunchyroll or Funimation when you could so easily find the entire show on KissAnime.com, home to only the finest of hentai ads and Are You a Robot? questions.
He sends you a text when he’s outside your building, and five minutes later there’s a rap against your door.
“Hi,” you smile up at him, heart fluttering in that same trademark way it did whenever Jungkook was within a five foot radius. He smiles back softly, leaning down to peck your lips as you step aside for him to enter. He’s got on those cotton sweats that you love, the ones that send your brain into a censored frenzy. But he’s also got that soft curl to his hair that lets you know he came here straight out of the shower in his hurry to see you. How you managed to bag a dream boyfriend like him was beyond you.
You bask in the overwhelming feeling of unannounced love for all of ten seconds before Jungkook is lifting up a square package you hadn’t seen at his hip. “Mailman gave me this,” he says, waving around the signature bright pink packaging of Sexuality Unleashed. Jungkook, for all his politeness and respect, seemed to falter in those categories when it came to you. He turns the box over, reading the big fat name of the company on the side. “Since when did you start buying sex toys?” he asks rather loudly in the hallway.
You yank him inside, hurriedly slamming the door shut before any of your neighbors can come out into the hallway and get a peek of this avid sex toy consumer. “They’re not mine!” you hiss, standing still when he uses you to balance himself as he tugs off his shoes. You snatch the box out of his hands, turning it around to make sure it is actually addressed to your home. Sure enough, it’s for you. Couldn’t there have been some other sex toy fanatic on this floor?
With his shoes off, Jungkook wastes no time enveloping you in a hug, the Sexuality Unleashed box tumbling to the ground. “It’s okay, baby, no need to be embarrassed.”
You groan, leaning your forehead against his shoulder as he continues to pat your back like you’re actually embarrassed to be caught buying toys— you’re not. You’re embarrassed he caught you with a sex toy you simply can’t put to use. “Whatever,” you sigh, “your gross popcorn is in my bedroom and it’s probably stale.”
He releases you, not before pulling you into a slow and languid kiss that has you clutching tightly at the front of his shirt. He pulls away with a soft smooch, right eye falling into a wink. “Bring the box, gorgeous,” he teases, before sauntering off in the direction of your bedroom.
You groan loudly. “It’s not mine!” you repeat, but for some reason do as he says.
Not only do you have no idea what’s in this package, but you’re frankly not too keen on finding out. You’re more interested in Jungkook’s reaction to one of your favorite animes of all time. The package is tossed onto the end of the bed, where Jungkook has already stripped himself of his socks and cuddled beneath your covers.
Your laptop has gone dark from inactivity so you slam down on the space bar to bring it back to life. Your first mistake was pressing anything at all. It flickers back on alright, but you forget that you are working with a minefield of ads ready to explode. You get a glimpse of the KissAnime screen for a good two seconds before about seven ads pop up. Another tab to a raunchy hentai website opens, and Jungkook groans.
“What the hell is this?” he asks in a tone that screams he has never had to fight viruses off his computer just to watch something at two in the morning.
You ignore him, cuddling into his side as you hurriedly type in the title of the anime before another annoying ad can intercept you. “KissAnime,” you answer for now, accidentally clicking down on the mousepad with the heel of your palm. Another tab opens up to some sketchy credit site. You huff.
“Baby, I swear I just saw like twelve viruses,” he says. “And what even are these?” he scoffs, jabbing a finger at one of the many ads that lines the perimeter of the website. “Animated teacher porn?”
By the grace of god, you somehow manage to get onto the episode selection screen without having another tab open on you. You smile in relief, turning the power of your excitement onto Jungkook… only to find his eyes narrowed in on the square advertisement for some hentai website. “What? You wanna watch hentai now?” you snort, placing the laptop on his legs as you cuddle into his side.
Jungkook sputters, cheeks tinting red at the mere insinuation he would ever consume such media. “No,” he glares, releasing the arm around your shoulders to huffily cross them over his chest. “I am not going to watch anatomically incorrect illustrations of a woman teacher relieving herself, ___,” he says rather matter-of-factly.
You snort, repeating, “a woman teacher,” mockingly and in a high pitched voice that, honestly, doesn't sound anything like him. You click play on the video box that appears after only about twenty more pop-up ads. “Silence, you nymphomaniac, the episode is starting.” Jungkook pulls you close with a displeased expression, finally quieting down when you put it on full screen and the ads disappear from his view.
You’re beginning to wonder if Jungkook really is the script and plot dissector he claims to be, or if he just lives to get under your skin. He doesn’t make it three minutes without finding something to critique. First it’s the quality of the frames, and then it’s the characterization of the lead character. He nitpicks everything about the best anime in existence, and by the end of the first episode you’re considering breaking up with him.
“Oh my god,” you groan, tearing yourself away from him. He’s all laid up against your mountain of pillows, tongue prodding at the insides of his mouth in that ridiculously attractive habit of his. Usually, you’d be tripping over yourself to kiss him, but you’re about two seconds from ripping his head off. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, baby,” you sigh, picking up his hand in yours. “You gotta shut up.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I have to shut up?” he asks in a scandalized tone. “You sang through the entire intro, off tune may I add.”
At this rate you’re getting nowhere, so you just snatch the laptop back up before you actually hurt his feelings. You escape the full screen, met with those hentai ads that are slowly becoming the bane of Jungkook’s existence.
“Who actually watches those anyway?” he mumbles, covering the sidebar full of naked cartoon ladies with his palm for you, a real gentleman if you ever saw one. “Really?” he says, knocking his pointer finger against a particularly raunchy ad with the caption Be a Good Boy and Let her Play beneath it.
You snort. “You are such a baby,” you tease, pinching his cheek much to his annoyance. “What? Can’t handle seeing some anime titties?”
Jungkook shoves your hand away, leaning back to become one with the pillows as you continue onto the next episode. “They’re just weird,” he admits. “And make unrealistic faces.”
“Unrealistic,” you repeat, finally giving one of the ads the time of day. There’s an adorably drawn character making the most perverted expression, knees hiked up to her chest. Her face is twisted up, drooling like a dog and with her eyes crossed in ecstasy. You shrug. “Just because you can’t get those faces out of me doesn’t mean they’re unreal.”
The second the words leave your mouth Jungkook is letting out a scandalized scoff, sitting up to level you with another glare. “First of all, I can get you like that,” he defends, tapping his finger against the ad on screen. “In fact, I can get you like that without even trying, so let’s not say anything too drastic now, okay?”
His sudden bout of defensiveness makes something playful in you switch on, laying back down beside him with a smirk. “Oh, you can make me all stupid like this?”
Jungkook scoffs. “Yes.”
“Uh huh,” you drawl, tracing a finger up his chest teasingly; Jungkook knocks your knuckles away, obviously still butt hurt about your comment. That’s fine, because a slightly riled up Jungkook was always the best Jungkook. You sit up and lean in close, letting your hand slip beneath his hoodie, palm running over his bare shoulder and around the top of his back. You give his nape a light squeeze, lips pressed against the shell of his ear. “Why don’t you prove it to me, Jungkookie?” you purr, before pulling away.
His jaw twitches at the nickname, one shapely brow unconsciously arching as he regards you with a calculative expression.
The thing about Jungkook was that, after almost a year of dating, you know just how to push his buttons. He has a rather calm and collected exterior to him, the same one he’s had since the day you met him, but beneath it all was a childish competitiveness that raged with the heat of ten suns. He disliked being taunted like you were doing now, especially when his credibility was at stake.
Honestly speaking, you don’t doubt Jungkook can make you look as goofy and messy as those hentai ads. In fact you’re rather confident he can. Either way, him being right or you being right, you would still get some fun out of it.
“Hm?” you add, tracing your hand up to dance over the skin of his cheek, pads of your fingers running over that stiff jaw. “Are you scared I’m right and you’re wrong?”
A hand snaps up to catch your wrist, fingers tight around your skin until you’re shivering against him. “Oh baby, I can make you cum until you cry,” he murmurs, his usual sweet and lilting tone dropping to a low vibration that makes your pussy throb beneath your panties. Your heart leaps in your chest, lips falling open when he ducks down to brush them against yours. It’s too light, just a simple touch that makes you follow his mouth when he pulls back.
With one firm shove, the laptop is tumbling off the bed, thudding loudly against your bedside rug. Jungkook leans over you, his usual trademark doe eyes zeroed in on you with the focus of a laser. “Have a little faith in me,” he teases, and when he presses close you can feel his fattening cock flush against your thigh. Your body is begging to be touched, every brush of his fingers against your skin searing trails in their wake.
Suddenly, he’s drawing back. “Kook?” you frown, barely biting down on a childish whimper when he snuggles back into your mountain of pillows, one arm stretched behind his head.
He flashes you a smile. “Go on,” he says, arms behind his head. “Show me how to get you like that.”
“By myself?” you ask, shifting onto your knees anyway. Jungkook nods, a soft jut of his chin as he gives you another one of those easy going smiles of his. His goal seems a little unclear, but you had a ridiculous amount of trust in your boyfriend that whatever he had planned was certain to be good. With one final skeptical glance his way, you sink down onto your bum, knees spreading and giving him a clear view of your little pink boy shorts, elastic band hugging your waist.
The material of your t-shirt is guided away, held to your chest by the hand currently not traversing the length of your stomach, gliding across soft skin, over your belly button and past that band until it slips beneath. You chance another look Jungkook’s way, only to find his eyes wonderfully downcast in the direction of your core. That smile is gone now, replaced with a somber look as he watches your hand move mysteriously beneath the fabric of your undergarments.
The first brush of your forefinger against your swollen button makes you twitch, back arching at the sensation that is magnified by his watchful gaze. “Mmh,” you bite down, hand twisting in the material of your shirt. Jungkook’s eyes glare a molten path across your skin, from the comfy bra that peeks out from beneath your rumpled shirt to the wrist slowly working beneath your panties.
A hand falls over your thigh, tattooed fingers giving the skin a light squeeze as you get to work swirling your bud around. The sight of his inked skin on yours makes something warm blossom in your lower abdomen, your eyes following the inky swirls up, up, up. They lead you to the face of your very handsome boyfriend, long lashes fanning across his cheekbones as he watches you play with yourself. “Wanna take these off for me?” he says, the tip of his pointer finger wiggling beneath the fabric of your shorts.
You nod hurriedly, wiggling around on the bed until you’re on your back, legs bent in front of you. The shorts come down your legs; the simplest press of your thighs makes something quiver in your abdomen. You toss them off to the side, and just as you go to sit back up, Jungkook places a hand on your knee. “Stay like this for me,” he says, sitting up from his mountain of pillows to glance down at you. You melt into the plush mattress beneath you, staring down at him between your legs. He’s got that adoring look in his eyes, the one that makes you feel so warm and in love, it’s only natural your hand slips down to play with your bare clit again. “That’s my girl,” he smiles, rubbing a hand down the outside of your thigh, urging your legs to fall open.
There’s this overflowing vat of arousal that builds up inside of you everytime Jungkook is around, like the moment your eyes land on him you’re reminded of every position he’s ever had you in. You remember the soft brush of his hands on your body, the way his lips feel on yours, the soft tickle of his hair when he gets too close. It makes your heart lurch in your chest, like if you don’t grab onto him tightly this feeling will slip through your fingers and out of your life. So you were crazily in love with your boyfriend— now what?
A puckered set of lips meets the inside of your thigh, the action ripping you from your overly gooey, overly soft inner rambling. Your hand trails down your quivering pussy lips, collecting your dripping wetness as you go. At the same time, Jungkook kisses down the inside of your thigh, soft smacks of his lips against your skin filling the air with an emotion that makes you bite down a whimper. Your hole puckers at the brush of your fingers, anticipating an entrance that you yearn to give into soon.
His mouth is on you before your finger can go deeper than a centimeter in. But Jungkook doesn’t brush your hand off, doesn’t shove you away to prove his mouth was undoubtedly better. He places a kiss over your knuckles, before swallowing up your significantly smaller hand with his, that of which he clasps together over your navel.
You groan, head rolling from side to side. “Don’t be so soft with me,” you whine, leg twitching when he presses a kiss against your engorged bundle of nerves. “Push me around like that one time, you know I like it.”
Jungkook grins, mouthing over your clit with practiced ease that has you releasing all kinds of whimpers and sighs. He’s got his other hand wrapped around your thigh, strong arm pulling you closer to that devious mouth and tongue that lavished attention on your clit. “Need me to be mean to you, baby?” he purrs, curling his tongue in such a way that it makes your entire body tense up, muscles pulled tight. “Want me to push you around like the stupid little girl you are?” You moan, head bobbing up and down at the ideas he stuffs in your mind. As he moves down the length of your cunt, that round nose you love brushes against your bud, and the cheeky shit takes an obnoxiously loud sniff of it, a soft groan breathed against your lower lips. “But isn’t this better?” he hums, languidly molding his lips against your lower ones, much in the same way he does with the ones on your face; he moves slowly, slips his tongue in every few seconds before eventually diving in head on. “Slow... and so easy.”
“Kook,” you mewl, getting this overwhelming urge to cover your face with your hands. But you can’t, because he’s knotted one hand with yours and his fingers only tighten when you try to yank them apart. Instead you’re left pressing one knuckle against your mouth, brows pinching as he begins slowly fucking his tongue into your cunt. “F-Faster,” you beg. He, of course, ignores your plea.
The wet mass moves past the clenched muscles around your hole, nose brushing against your lips with every intrusion. Every few cycles he stops to press a kiss against your pussy, so hard and wet that it hurts when he pulls off. You’re left writhing and moaning, your heel knocking against his shoulder when he pushes your leg up closer to your chest. “It’s enough,” you cry, your entire body shivering.
Jungkook pulls off with a loud pop, lips glistening with your arousal. He’s got this glint on his eyes, like he’s thoroughly entertained by your reactions. He shuffles around to get comfortable, finally releasing that grip on your hand. Immediately, your newly freed hand jumps forward to tangle in the hair above his ear, tracing down the delicate curve of his cheekbone. Jungkook turns his head, pressing a soft peck against your open palm that makes your heartbeat thunder in your ears.
As he moves around, his leg bumps against something that has both of you pausing. It sounds out of place next to your shallow breaths, and both of you glance down only to catch sight of that stupid package from Sexuality Unleashed teetering on the edge of the bed.
The moment you see it, it’s like you’re transported into an omnipresent view of the scene, the next few hours flashing before your eyes as Jungkook snorts. You know he’s going to reach for it in two seconds, and you know he’s going to tear the hot pink packaging apart with his bare hands. He does so with a scary amount of power, the industrial tape not standing a chance against him. A box roughly the same size as the package falls out, and before you can kick it away and save yourself from suffering beneath Jungkook’s teasing antics, he’s snatching up the box.
“The Bullet Bestie,” he reads aloud, dark eyes flying across the text with lightning speed before that box is also being ripped open. (Briefly, there’s a voice in your head that thinks of Doyeon, but you’re not sure why.) Out tumbles a little pink bullet with a strap on one end that bounces against your thigh and an even smaller remote.
“Baby,” you rush out, the sight of the tiny toy making your heart thunder in your chest. “We can look at it another time,” you try, hands coming up to brush against his face again. “Why don’t you finish off here?” you ask, a sickeningly sweet politeness dripping off your tongue as the knot in your tummy fades into the background of his attention.
Jungkook ignores you, picking up the remote with a wondrous look in his eyes. Before you can try to persuade him back between your legs, a quiet click cuts you off and the little bullet whirls to life. You yelp at the sudden vibrations against the inside of your thigh, so close to your throbbing core. The jump of your thighs has it falling onto the mattress below you, wide eyes snapping back to the smirk that grows on his face.
“No,” you say slowly, sitting back up, “no, no,” you try, your usual assertiveness melting into a whiny cry as you try to wiggle away from him and the nefarious ideas infesting his lust-addled mind. You’re barely turning, ready to make a run for it and hand him his victory by forfeit, when Jungkook is catching you by the waist. Your hips get pulled up, arms clawing uselessly at the sheets beneath you as he drags you close to him. He’s fast, already having moved onto his knees behind you, and when he yanks you up, you can feel every hot plane of his body aligned with your backside. “Kook, please just make me cum,” you gasp.
There’s a smile pressed against your shoulder, lips still wet from before, kissing along the side of your neck. “Look at my girl,” he murmurs, and you nearly jump out of your skin when something smooth is traced along your thigh. One hand slips beneath the material of your shirt, soothingly rubbing circled against your skin. This hand also holds the tiny remote between two fingers, and every nerve in your body is on edge waiting for it to be used. “Where’s that smartmouth now?”
“Jungkook,” you try to warn. But there’s no bite to your words, only an anticipation that grows the closer he moves that damned toy between your thighs. “Baby, we-we can play another time, okay? Just please—“
A soft click, and suddenly your spine is giving out on you, upper body flopping forward as Jungkook runs the vibrations over your clit. Of course Jungkook follows, never letting you slip far from his reach. A loud moan spills from your lips, lower lip wobbling at the unreal amounts of pleasure he bestows upon you with such a small toy. “W-Wait,” you sob, the coil from before suddenly magnified tenfold. It makes your orgasm loom over you bigger than ever, a wave that threatens to spill over and drown you in one go. “No-please.”
His mouth presses against your ear, hot breaths fanning against the skin there. “Hey pretty girl, does it feel good?” he husks out, kissing just below your ear. “Aw fuck,” he groans, something stiff pressing against the cleft between your cheeks, “can’t even see if you’re making that stupid face right now.”
You are, but you don’t even have the words to tell him that. The moment the vibrator had made contact with your already ravished clit, your eyes had rolled into the back of your head. You don’t doubt you look like those silly ads you’d laughed at earlier, mouth opening and closing every few seconds as he circles the toy around your bud. You settle on a high-pitched whimper that has Jungkook laughing meanly against your ear.
It ends too soon, the stimulation from Jungkook eating you out for a few minutes combining with the bullet to form a powerful duo that swallows you whole. An embarrassingly loud moan rips itself from your throat, hands twisting in the sheets beneath you as it washes over you. It’s so powerful, it blinds you, pussy spasming. Jungkook’s name is repeated about a thousand times in between, your body eventually melting back into the mattress as the final shocks run through you.
The vibrator clicks off just as quietly as it turned on, your harsh breaths filling the room in its place. “Good girl,” Jungkook praises, raining down a parade of kisses against your shoulder. You mewl in appreciation, still awkwardly shoving your face into the mattress, and your hips in the air. From the corner of your eyes, you watch him set the glistening toy off to the side, and you’re just about ready to thank the heavens for such an experience with your boyfriend, when said boyfriend hits you with a curveball.
The gentle pecks against yours shoulder dissolve into harsh kisses, rough hands trailing up your waist. The t-shirt gathers around his knuckles, pushed and pushed until he’s got those same hands cupping your breasts. “Did you like that?” he asks, biting down against your shoulder; the sensation is dulled by your shirt being in the way but it still makes you whine. You moan softly, nodding against the mattress as he gets to kneading your breasts over your bra. “Mm,” Jungkook sighs, “my pretty girl was so good for me, wasn’t she?”
Those deft fingers run back down, crawl beneath the elastic of your lounge bra and push it away until your breasts are bouncing out of their cage. “Kook,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut as he traces circles around your nipples. “W-Wait,” you whimper, suddenly reminded of the swollen cock pressed against your backside when he leans closer.
“Shhh,” he soothes, tweaking your nipples. “Relax for me, sweetheart,” he coos, flicking your hardened nipples with his fingers. You can’t relax, not with your body still so sensitive and him playing with you. Still, the low intonation makes something soft and warm settle in your chest, the kisses against your jaw making your eyes fall shut. “That’s it,” he says, giving one nipple a playful twist that draws a high-pitched moan from you.
Just as you’re beginning to fall into the rhythm of Jungkook’s caresses and voice, he releases one breast to traverse his hand down and over your tummy, to your sensitive pussy. You gasp, biting down on your lip as he teasingly flicks your clit with his fingers. “Bet you could come again now,” he murmurs, taking the tip of your earlobe into his mouth and nibbling softly. You groan, shoving your face into the sheets as if that will save you from your doom. “Bet your pretty little pussy can cream itself just like this, isn’t that right, sweet girl?”
You whimper, hips bucking back against him when he begins nudging your bud, lewd sounds reaching your ears. His other hand remains on your breast, no longer toying with your nipple but simply holding it almost comfortingly. There’s a smirk pressed against your skin, that pearly white smile you usually adore so much teasing you as he circles your nub.
“Come on,” he encourages quietly, kissing up the column of your neck again. You moan, thighs quivering as he strokes a second orgasm out of you with no struggle. Your eyes and throat burn at the heat that washes over you, and you release a hoarse scream into the mattress— Jungkook chuckles at the sound, egging you on with that low voice until your muscles go limp a second time.
When he rolls you onto your stomach again, you try desperately to cover the tears that blur your vision, turning away from him like a child when he tries to look. “Crybaby, crybaby,” he sings teasingly, prying your hands away to capture your mouth with his for the first time that night. “Lemme see those tears, baby,” he purrs.
He tastes like you, tongue dripping with that sweet tang of your pussy, and he smells like you too. It strokes the flames of you ego, arms eventually wrapping around his shoulders as he settles above you. He pulls off with a curl of his tongue against your swollen lips, brown eyes lazily staring down at you. It’s embarrassing how well kept he still was compared to your half-nude state of dress. His skin is all glowy and pretty, not a single tear track in sight, and his grin is still too relaxed for your liking.
Jungkook’s body feels so warm and comforting against yours, muscles keeping the heat trapped between your bodies. You go to brush a hand through his hair, needing to feel the familiarity of those silky locks, before he’s suddenly leaning away. He shuffles onto his knees again, glancing down at your thoroughly abused cunt with a quirk in his brows.
“God,” you groan, knocking your foot against his side. “Just fuck me already,” you huff despite your earlier fatigue. You could only go so long without feeling Jungkook’s fat demon cock inside of you.
He snorts at your snappy tone, cutely tilting his head to the side to move his hair out of his face. His jaw looks sharp from this angle, facial features covered in shadows the lamplight behind him can’t touch. “Can’t,” he announces, and you could pull your hair out from all this unnecessary build up.
Truth to be told, you and Jungkook were both equally as unrestrained when it came to each other. Most of the time, the lead up to actual, penetrative, key-in-lock sex included a couple minutes of heavy petting from his end, and maybe a half assed handjob from you. Sometimes if you felt extra attentive, he’d eat you out and you'd him off. But for the most part, the two of you jumped straight into it after an orgasm, like horny teenagers despite the two of you being twenty-three now.
The most adventurous you’d ever gotten up until the point was maybe two orgasms bestowed upon you by a crazed Jungkook. And, well. You had hit two orgasms now. You were ready for his monster cock.
“Kook,” you whine childishly.
Jungkook shakes you off, placing a palm on both your knees. Slowly, he spreads your thighs apart again, eyes zeroed in on the glossy folds that come into view, the sparkling pearly cum that leaks out of your hole. “I can’t, baby,” he says, almost pained. “I gotta clean you up first,” he insists, and before you can tell him how counterproductive it is to lick you clean of your arousal before fucking you, he’s diving face first into your cunt.
But the biggest surprise doesn’t come from Jungkook going in for thirds, but from the hands he clasps around your thighs, the sheer strength he uses to roll you over (ignoring the shriek you let out) to sit you on his face. “No, no,” you yelp immediately, “I-I‘ll break you,” you cry, trying to escape from his hold.
From beneath your thighs, dark eyes peering up at you daringly, you can see the clear warning on Jungkook’s face. It’s a look that loudly says don’t you dare fucking move, shapely brows sending a jolt of genuine fear down your spine for a moment. “Jungkook,” you fret, trying to ignore the arousal that only continues to blossom as his tongue laps against your folds for the second time that night. “I’m, I’m,” you stammer, hands burying themselves in his hair as he ignores your cries. “I’ll break you,” you try again, spine arching when he slurps your clit into his mouth. “I-I’ll—“
He pulls off with a pop. “Fuck my face, baby,” he says, as if he hadn’t heard a single of your concerns at all. His nose nudges against your clit, a whimper catching in your throat. Briefly, his hand disappears from around your thigh, and when it returns, that tiny bullet vibrator from earlier is pressed against your thigh. “You got that?”
You nod, internally torn apart by your fear of crushing him and your need to drag your cunt all over your boyfriend’s handsome face. You glance down at him, watch him slip that vibrator into his mouth for just a second and lewdly coat it in his saliva, before he’s reaching around to shove it past your pussy lips. They’re still swollen and puffy, but have long since relaxed enough for him to slip it in. “B-But what if—“
“You won’t,” he cuts off, readjusting himself closer to your cunt again, “come on, pretty girl.”
The reason you think you and Jungkook click so well was because he was able to bring that vulnerable side out of you every now and then. He knew you liked to parade around with that huge superiority complex, and he loved it. But he also knew there were things you liked and disliked, and sometimes it took a little pushing for you to reveal them.
For a second, that horny cloud over his irises lifts, and he gives you one of those cute, sloppy winks as he taps your thigh gently. “Fuck my face, sweetheart,” he whispers, “drag that pretty cunt all over me until I can’t breathe.” A gasp catches in your throat, hands unconsciously curling against his scalp. He notices, and flashes you a lazy smirk. “You can do that, can’t you?”
Something akin to adoration blooms in your chest, and before you can blurt out something embarrassing—like I love you—there’s a soft click that has The Bullet Bestie revving up inside of you. You gasp, the sudden vibrations deep inside your pussy making your hips snap forward, clit rubbing against Jungkook’s nose.
“O-Oh,” you cry, and that’s all it takes for you to lose it. Your hips start off slow, at first just savoring the wet drag of his tongue against your lips, his nose against your clit. He sticks his tongue out for you, and part of you wants to tell him he’s a good boy, that corny hentai ad flashing in your mind, but you doubt you’ll survive the aftermath of that. Once you find that perfect pace, your hands are practically yanking at his hair, pushing him further into the mattress as you ride his face like he’s nothing but a toy. “Kook, Jungkook,” you pant, grinding your lower lips against his all too eager mouth.
It feels oddly weird being over him like this, using him like this. You like to think you and Jungkook have equal power in the bedroom, but you will admit that more often than not, he assumes control by default. You’re not particularly bothered by that, because you doubt you’d ever come up with the crazy ideas Jungkook did when he was horny (okay, a lie, because you definitely have thought of crazy sex schemes before).
But, this moment…
The power was quickly going to your head. “Fuck,” you sob, roughly dragging the length of your pussy over and over his face. The hands around your thighs are pressing against your skin with a strength that would hurt were you not blinded by arousal. His eyes are shut, lids fluttering open every now and then as he watches you buck wildly over his face like he was a pillow in high school and your parents were gone for the weekend.
It doesn’t help that the rhythmic pulses of the vibrator inside of you are doing their job well, the tongue that slips into your pussy joining together to form a powerful combination. It’s ultimately what has you halting your manic thrusts, instead falling into a slow grind over him. Your hips circle, eyes squeezed shut as you lose yourself in the lapping of his tongue against your dripping hole. “Mmmf,” you mewl, biting down on your lower lip as the wet muscle prods against a delicate spot within you. You hear feels light, view of the gorgeous man beneath you obstructed by the eyelids that can't seem to stay open. “N-No,” you cry, pulling his hair more roughly than you intended to in order to redirect him. “There, there,” you whimper, holding him tight against your pussy.
Beneath you, Jungkook exhales harshly against your lips, hands moving frantically over your thighs as he works his tongue inside of you alongside the bullet vibrator. If you weren’t so caught up in your own pleasure, all kinds of sounds spilling from your lips, you would have heard the quiet moans that fall from his. Alas.
It takes a few more pulses from the toy and a few more licks from Jungkook until you’re coming for the third time that night, features twisting up as your pussy clenches around his tongue before spilling down his mouth. Your back arches, a defeated moan escaping you as you release the same mess he’d claimed to clean up onto his lovely face. You can barely breathe afterwards, mouth dry and head dizzy when Jungkook finally pops back out from between your thighs. You barely have enough time to lift yourself up, pussy lightly brushing across his Adam’s apple as you stop yourself from crushing his windpipe. It makes you twitch.
“Good girl,” Jungkook praises with a cheeky smile that distracts you from the bullet toy he retrieves from your quivering cunt. His face is absolutely glistening from your arousal, skin warm and flush. He’s looking up at you like you’re some mythical goddess and he’s but a humble villager coming to pay his respects at the temple that is your body. Fuck, were you okay? You don’t think you’ve ever felt this good in your entire life, and Jungkook’s mushy gaze was doing things to your heart.
He presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh before helping you off of him, laughing meanly when you flop limply down beside him. He’s still fully clothed, a fact that irks you when he leans over to kiss you with that glossy face of his. “D’you like it?” he mumbles, kissing softly down your face. You nod, legs twitching from the aftermath of that wild ride. “I saw it, y’know,” he says suddenly.
“Saw what?” you mumble, mindlessly rolling your head to the side and exposing more skin when he begins kissing along your neck.
Jungkook says nothing, just rolls over you. Part of you thinks he’s crazy, but you’re suddenly hit with the realization that while Jungkook’s drawn three orgasms out of you in the course of an hour, you hadn’t done anything for him. Before you can dive head first into swallowing his cock, he’s kissing you softly. “That stupid face,” he smirks, slotting his mouth against yours. “That weird, now realistic face,” he tacks on.
You huff out a laugh, throwing your leg around his waist comfortably. Jungkook smiles, kisses you one last time before settling in your arms, face cutely pressed in between your boobs. “Hey,” you call, “don't you wanna cum too?”
He shakes his head, a soft sigh filling the air. “Nah,” he says, cuddles closer into you. “Rest now, baby.”
You roll your eyes. “I can feel your dick against my thigh,” you point out, wiggling your pelvis upward to brush against his throbbing erection. Jungkook holds you down in an effort to stop you. “Fuck me.”
He groans against your collarbone. “No, you’re tired,” he tries to convince you, but his skin is warm and flushed in the way it always gets when he’s riled up. “Sleep.”
With the leg around his hip, you pull him closer. “Fuck me, Jungkookie,” you purr, using the hands in his hair to turn his face up towards yours. His dark eyes are drawn down cutely, pouty lips too. “Use my body,” you suggest, “I’m yours anyway.”
His eyes flutter shut, a quiet whimper falling from his lips. “Don’t say that,” he sighs, “makes me wanna do very mean things to you.”
You smile. “You can do whatever you want to me, don’t you know that?” Another groan, his head falling forward until he’s hiding in your neck. Still, there’s movement from below, he sweats slipping down at his hips until that throbbing cock is pressed into the tiny crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. There’s a moment of hesitation, and you wonder if this is what he felt like earlier when he’d managed to get you to sit on his face. “Inside, Jungkookie,” you murmur, reaching down to line him up with your sensitive entrance. He whines softly, arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close. “Good boy.”
Despite your earlier belief that you’d never survive an encounter with Jungkook after using such a term on him, the result is much different from what you had anticipated. He visibly melts into your arms, cock slipping past your folds easily. “No,” he says, his voice feathery and whiny against your ear. “I can’t.”
You soothe a hand down his back, eyes fluttering shut as he begins slowly rutting against your swollen lips. “That’s it,” you encourage, tugging softly at his wavy hair. Jungkook moans wantonly against your neck, rolling his hips harshly against you until his arms are the only things keeping you from jostling out of his hold. “Do you like this pussy?” you ask, purposefully clenching around him, tummy tightening at the stimulation you keep packing on.
Jungkook shudders, pace growing slipping inside of you. “Yes,” he pants, “s-so wet… creamy.”
“Yeah?” you huff, pressing a smiley kiss against his forehead. “It’s yours.”
“Ffffuck,” Jungkook chokes, picking up his pace as his well-deserved orgasm reaches its peak. He’s breathing harshly now, and it’s taking everything in you to keep your pussy tight around him. But after the night he’d given you, the sounds and faces he pulled from you, it’s the least you can do. Besides, your body, after being so thoroughly pleased, still rears up for one final orgasm with him. “Mine,” he growls, bucking his hips into you. “You’re mine, baby, mine,” he seethes, ending his little tryst with a piston of his hips that makes you gasp, body almost unconsciously spasming around him. It’s painful, but so, so delicious how he manages to pull this last orgasm from you as he finally busts inside of you.
He comes with a stuttering garble of words, none of which you catch as he collapses into your hold for the final time that night. “Fuck,” he pants afterwards, leaning into your touch when he finally registers the soft combing of fingers through his hair. “That was evil.”
You laugh, pulling him closer. “As evil as you making me suffer through three orgasms before putting your dick in me?” you tease. Jungkook slips out of you, and you know it’ll be a hassle to clean your sheets tomorrow but it’s worth it.
“It’s called building the scene,” he weakly defends, blindly tugging the puffy blanket over the two of you. “I was gonna rhyme it with that horrible website you made me use but I already forgot it’s name.”
“Rude,” you snap, “it’s called KissAnime.”
“And fore-play,” he suddenly says, and you almost yank his eyeballs out of their sockets for doing that stupid thing again.
epilogue 
Two weeks later, your favorite website and home to hentai ads is shut down after years of piracy. Jungkook laughs at your demise, sits and actually cackles at your heartbreak, until he eventually comforts you with his flaming demon cock and a subscription to both Crunchyroll and Funimation. Doyeon spends weeks tracking down a missing package, apparently some freebie she’d gotten for being such an avid customer on Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide! before eventually finding it in your drawer. And because her and Jungkook have some awkward life-long rivalry for your attention, he doesn’t pay for that. 
Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.
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thefanficmonster · 3 years ago
Text
Angel With A Shotgun
Rick Flag (The Suicide Squad) x Reader (Female)
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE NEW SUICIDE SQUAD MOVIE, Death, Blood and Gore, Swearing
Summary: Being Christopher Smith’s best friend since the early days of army training camps Y/N is more than honored to be going on a mission with him. Little does she know, there are more secrets at play than she could ever imagine. Good thing the girl’s always prepared.
Requested by no one, I’m just PISSED!!! The writers did us dirty AS FUCK and I’m not gonna stay quiet about it so please enjoy this fic and let’s pretend it’s canon. Cool? Cool.
“Careful up there, ok?“ That’s the last thing he said to me before we went our separate ways, following the plan we had conjured up earlier. I knew he wasn’t referring to the bombs I was supposed to plant or the ‘always watch your back, even around allies’ rule. He meant it genuinely. And he meant it for me. That sentence coupled with the look in his eyes when they met mine was enough for me to read between the words and grasp the true message.
And all I could do was offer him a small nod and an even smaller smile.
A smile he vaguely returned before turning and walking off with Cleo and Grieves. And that’s how I remembered him, wishing for that picture to be the one I remember of him in case I die.
In case I die.  I never considered the other possibility.
“Listen, Y/N. I’m gonna do something bad. Something really horrible. But it’s the right thing to do. I must do it. You know I only do things I must, right? You know me.“ He pleaded with me, eyes begging me to trust him as he basically told me he was derailing from the plan we had constructed down to the tiniest detail. 
My hands shook as I adjusted the bomb to the wall, my eyes widening and any words I wanted to tell him dying in my throat, leaving me speechless before him. As if automatically, my head moved on its own, nodding. It’s the only thing I’ve known I guess. Chris says something and I automatically agree cause I trust him limitlessly. Isn’t that how it always is with best friends after all? Can anyone blame me really?
But can anyone also blame me for my gut screaming not to let it go so easily?
There’s no real friends in the field, Y/N. He’s got a mission, you’ve got one of your own. You shouldn’t even be here, goddamn it! Go! GO, right this instant!
Gut feelings, the closest thing to being psychic. And boy does Flag owe my gut feeling his life.
But heroism always comes at a price, doesn’t it? There’s always a reward and a price that you never saw coming in the first place.
The reward is easy to guess, but the price can vary so drastically it can never be measured or foreseen.
That’s what happened to me when I decided to follow Chris.
The task I gave myself upon boarding the aircraft was simple, and the biggest price in my eyes was losing my life but I was already prepared for that when Waller recruited me on the very first mission.
Little did I know the price of saving Rick would be the look of utter betrayal in my best friend’s eyes, looking at me with the same intensity as a hundred voices screaming ‘TRAITOR’ at me.
“I’m sorry, Chris.“ I managed to say, my hands gripping the shotgun with all my might just so I don’t drop it. “You were sent here to cover up Waller’s dirty laundry, and I came here to protect Flag.” I cock my gun upwards, praying Chris doesn’t notice how shaky my hands are. “So keep your hands off him!“
He shakes his head, “You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, Y/N! Him over me?! Some fucking nobody over someone who’s been by your side for a whole fucking decade?!“
I gulp, my resolve only strengthening as a result of his guilt tripping. “You heard me. Friends or family, you don’t get a second chance for being a traitor.”
“Me?! I’M the traitor here?! He just threatened to send our country into chaos because of his righteousness!“ He roared, his gun clutched just as tightly. It may be the tension suggesting it but eventually, I know it’ll come down to who’ll pull the trigger first.
And that realization has cold sweat running down my body.
“Fake peace built atop lies is worse than a war!“ I snap, now aiming my gun at him, determined to be the first to send a bullet flying across the room. Not cause I want to survive for myself. But for Rick. If I die, so will he. Chris doesn’t play fair. Rick is knocked out and Chris won’t even think before turning his body into a bag of bullets. 
I won’t let that happen.
A gun’s pointed at me now too, sending my heart beating louder.
“Then you’ve picked the wrong side.“ He mutters with despise, “If you see me as no friend, I have no reason to hold back either.“
And that’s the last push I needed to send those three bullets I had with his name on them straight into his chest, at least one undoubtedly hitting his heart.
Did it hurt with all the memories we have made together in mind? Of course it fucking did. I may be a soldier/criminal but I’m not made out of stone, damn it.
But did it feel relieving knowing what he was seconds away from doing? Pains me to admit but yes.
With a heavy sigh I sling my shotgun over my shoulder and carefully walk over to Rick’s still unconscious form laying on the tiled floor.
“Colonel?“ I whisper, ducking down to give his shoulder a slight shake, “Flag, please don’t do me like this, wake up. Please wake up, Rick.“ I jump, almost losing my balance when I hear what sounds to be Harley screaming for a brief second before a loud crash echoes above.
I can’t stay here with whatever hell my teammates are going through going on above my head, threatening to wipe them all out and them Rick and me too. So, I make a quick and a rather stupid decision. Slinging one of Rick’s arms over my shoulders I wrap an arm around his waist and somehow manage to hoist him up, bringing him weakly to his feet and earning a small groan from him as if reaching me from the other side of a wall of fog.
“There you are, Colonel. Let’s go, the team’s counting on us.“ I say, desperately trying to push forward with the weight of my shotgun and Rick pushing my already exhausted and weak body down.
“Y/N...that you?“ He asks, his voice groggy, “Or am I dead? Are you an angel? Where am I?“ 
Damn Chris must’ve knocked his head pretty hard, I think to myself.
Just as I’m about to answer, Rick lifts up his hand to run it over his face to help himself wake up fully but he accidentally hits the handle of my shotgun, causing him to let out a chuckle. “Angel with a shotgun, I see. Then it must be you, Y/N.”
“Bet on it, Flag.“ I reply with a chuckle, almost sighing with relief when he manages to hold some of his weight up by himself, “Not gonna lie, you gave me quite the scare.“
“Never gonna happen again. That’s a promise, doll.“ He drawls, his head resting against my shoulder more as an endearing gesture than need for support.
“Better keep it. Not looking forward to finding you actually dead one day.“
“No worries, angel. No such thing will happen.“
“Good.“
He knows better than to disobey an angel with a shotgun. Smart man.
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aliensunflower-fics · 4 years ago
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‘Akumatized Marinette’ A funny prompt!
So ive seen a few different fics and posts where Lila convinces the class that Marinette is in fact Mayura and/or is working in some way for Hawkmoth, using such evidence as ‘Marinette’s never been akumatized’ and citing how sometimes Marinette’s attempts to be helpful or friendly or yes her mistakes have resulted in an akuma going after her classmates. Also other evidence like how many akumas the class has had total. But what if Lila could not convince class that Marinette was working with Hawkmoth, desperate to connect Marinette to the supervillain in hopes of plummeting her reputation Lila claims that Marinette is in fact AKUMATIZED hence her villainous actions towards Lila!
Now just follow me here:
What if the class don't believe Lila THAT MUCH. Sure Lila has them convinced that she’s a diplomats daughter and that shes got a million illnesses and physical problems and yes she even has everyone believing that she’s famous and that her and Adrien are a secret item [how scandalous!]. But no one in the class will for a SECOND believe that Marinette is working with Hawkmoth. Lila has tried broaching the subject several times, shes tried leaving ‘hints’ and pointing things out that seem ‘incriminating’ but each and every time she does the class scoff and each of them begin listing a 100 reasons why Marinette is definitely NOT a fan of Hawkmoth and would never work with him.
Frustrated but determined to connect the super villain to Marinette and alienate the girl further Lila seethes and plots. Getting more frustrated each failed attempt and trying to chew off her own sausage hair when people talk about how Marinette would definitely kick Hawkmoth’s ass. Then one day Marinette walks in with a totally new look, she’s cut her hair into a messy pixie cut and is going for a pink punk look. The look gets everyone's attention and the day is spent with everyone complimenting the baker girl [she even gets asked out by a few of the guys in the other classes] frustrated that everyone is paying attention to Marinette instead of herself Lila cant help but make up some big lie about how Marinette assaulted her and stole her money.
The class is justifiably shocked! They have been especially protective of Marinette and her reputation ever since she was expelled and nearly akumatized so more then a few of them start yelling at Lila even Alya who normally sides with Lila due to her belief that her designer friend is jealous is furious at Lila for making an accusation like that! Desperate to recover from the poorly timed and worded lie she’s made Lila thinks fast and comes up with a scheme just crazy enough to work! She claims that obviously it wasn’t ACTUALLY Marinette, no it was the horrible akuma MARIONETTE! The class blinks taken aback but they can’t help but ask what Lila is talking about.
The italian smirks feeling sinister pleasure course through her. She begins weaving her sob story tale! About how Marinette had snuck into one of Adrien and Lila’s photoshoots! Where the poor baker girl saw them *gasp* KISSING! Poor Marinette heartbroken and distraught was akumatized into the horrible monster Marionette! Who stalked Lila home and attacked her! She goes on to claim that the Marinette who was in class today was NOT in fact their good friend rocking a new style and haircut but was instead a vicious akuma after all why do you think Lila was keeping so far away from Marinette all day? She’s TRAUMATIZED after her ordeal and now Marionette the akuma is attending class as if she were Marinette! How terrible could Hawkmoth be to be using their heartbroken friend like this!
The class doesn’t want to believe it, but it makes such perfect sense Marinette WOULD be heartbroken by seeing Adrien the ‘love of her life’ kissing Lila her main rival! And just yesterday Marinette looked completely normal with her cute little pigtails and her signature outfit! She never told any of them she was even GOING to get a haircut! And surely if Marinette was going to make such a big change in her appearance she would have told her bestie Alya right?
But now what is the class to do? Poor Marinette is akumatized and they have no idea what to do or what her object could possibly be! Max, always the logical one concludes that they should simply contact Ladybug and have her help poor Marinette! Lila quickly jumps in claiming she already tried contacting Ladybug OBVIOUSLY since the pair are besties! But that Marionette tricked Ladybug into believing she wasn’t akumatized at all! “No!” Lila laments, “were going to need to take care of this ourselves!”
The class is resolute determined to help poor Marinette without the help of Ladybug who has fallen for Hawkmoth’s most clever trick yet. But Lila is quick to warn them that they MUST be careful after all Marionette is a VERY powerful akuma, they cant know for sure the true extent of her terrible powers or when or WHO she might attack next! Lila fears that it will be poor Adrien or perhaps herself again! Insert fake sobs here. The class vow to protect Lila and Adrien from Marionette, and Alya who believes she’s best equipped for this situation since she IS Rena Rouge takes charge of the situation, they decide that no one is allowed to be alone with Marionette and NONE of them are to let the akuma know that they are on to her! They need to play the long game and figure out what her akumatized object is so that they can snatch it and free Marinette from Hawkmoth’s dastardly clutches!
Lila rejoices believing that she’s finally achieved victory, the class now think that Marinette is a dangerous monster and will isolate her, not to mention Lila now believes she can make up any lie she wants about Marinette and that the class will unquestioningly believe her! She goes home with a pep in her step eagerly plotting for all the lies and perks she can get from this newest lie and decides to eat a whole tub of ice cream to celebrate her cleverness, unaware that she’s just signed the ticket for her defeat.
You see the class LOVE Marinette, she’s their friend, and ‘learning’ that she’s been turned into some sort of monstrous extremely clever akuma is both a suprise and none at all. Later on as they all chat in the newly made text group Max points out how it was obvious that Marinette would become the most dangerous and clever akuma shes the smartest person in class besides himself and extremely creative and resourceful. Rose laments about how hurt Marinette must be and how they simply MUST save her as soon as possible. Alix curses Hawkmoth out and claims that the sick freak was probably TARGETING Marinette for awhile now because of how awesome she is. Nino and Kim cry about how their childhood bff needs them now more then ever! And Alya tells them to get ready because they cant abandon Marinette now that she needs them most!
The next day Lila comes to class ready to spin another tale about how the vicious akuma Marionette destroyed her room last night! And while the class do listen and tell Lila that it sucks that happened they seem noticeably... Distracted. When Marinette walks into the room the class practically explodes, Rose and Juleka INSIST that Marinette sit behind them so they can talk! Everyone has some sweet compliment to give to the baker reminding her about how wonderful she is! Lila’s jaw drops open as her classmates practically rush to hug and touch and talk to what they believe is a horrible monstrous Akuma! And it doesnt end their.
Lila asks Alya to hang out at the mall? She cant her and Nino are going to be on ‘Marionette’ surveillance tracking the akuma to see what shes up to and if she might show her akumatized object! Lila decides to try woo Mylene and Ivan into letting her handle their charities ‘finances’? Mylene starts crying about how the charity was Marinette’s idea before she got akumatized and now she might not even remember how amazing it was when shes eventually de-akumatized Lila cant stand hearing them talk about her enemy and gives up her pursuit of the funds. Lila decides to hang out with Kitty Section? They invited Marionette to every show hoping Luka would notice that she’s an akuma and use his amazing intuition to help free poor poor Marinette!
Instead of ostracizing the girl Marinette is now invited to every big event, and is constantly being showered with compliments and love as if the class believes that just loving Marinette enough will be the thing that ‘de-akumatizes’ her. “At least they wont let her anywhere near myself or Adrien.” Lila thinks bitterly as she gets her 5th warning that day that Lila might want to sit out the class going to the movies together with MARIONETTE.
During this time the class has been pulling off various ‘heists’ slowly going through each and every one of Marinette’s belongings to check if its the akumatized object. And I do mean every single belonging. Her sketchbook was ruled out within the first few days same with her signature earrings it was Kim who checked those and it involved a complicated plan involving taking Marinette swimming and having Kim fake a drowning in order to get close enough to ‘Marionette’ to check the studs. Luckily for Tikki, Ondine who was also at the pool decided to save Kim instead and the poor jock got quite flustered when the swimmer performed CPR on him.
Nino and the rest of the boys are the ones tasked with breaking into Marinette’s room while the girl is away on a sleepover with the girls. In order to ‘test’ each object in her room for the source of the akuma. They got a bit too loud and had to make a last minute escape when they heard Tom and Sabine going into fight mode. Poor Nino wasn’t fast enough and was forced to lie through his teeth that he’d been trying to surprise Marinette with a hangout like when they were little kids. [poor kid ended up drinking hot cocoa with Tom and Sabine as they showed off embarrassing baby pictures of Nino and Marinette together]
After about a month or so of shenanigans including a very embarrassing incident involving the entire class accidentally spying on Marinette’s first big date with Luka/Kagami/Felix/Damian [just pick one they are all great ships] and them getting caught red handed thanks to Alix and Kim roughhousing and making a scene at the nice restaurant. And another incident that Alya refers to only as the ‘duck incident’ [Nino can no longer be around birds or feathers] the class is no closer to learning where Marionette’s akumatized object is. And Lila Rossi who thought she’d be bathing in her victory is on the verge of screaming if one more person ignores her!
How does it end? Well maybe the class stage an intervention hoping they can free Marinette with the power of love only for Marinette to fall off of something laughing when she learns what Lila’s big lie was. Maybe Lila finally snaps and screams when she hears the class lament about POOR Marinette for the billionth time. Maybe the class try breaking absolutely everything Marinette owns, Maybe Juleka points out that its kind of weird that Marionette the akuma doesn’t really do... anything? And can change clothes? Can akuma’s do that? No right??? Aren’t their clothes like melded to their body??? Maybe the class finally get Adrien thinking he can ‘fix’ Marinette only for him to very confusedly tell them hes not dating Lila and has never kissed her and what Marinette akumatized??? Maybe The class recruit Luka and Kagami, Marinette’s other friends only for them to have a great laugh at the class before pointing out the literal mountain of things wrong with everything they just said.
Just fun shenanigans and ‘akumatized’ Marinette.
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foli-vora · 4 years ago
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i’ve got you
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A/N: This fic is dedicated to @rise-my-angel and anyone else who has been stuck in a bad place mentally as of late, and is in need of a little bit of comfort & love. Frankie’s got you ❤️ I hope you enjoy. Love you, angels.
Another comforting Frankie fic if you need here.
Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x gn!reader
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings: insecurities, anxiety, depression, panic attack
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You wipe at your face, desperate to rid the evidence of your sadness before Frankie comes home from dropping Mena off at Santiago’s. It’s happening again, you can feel it. The shadow hanging in the back of your mind is growing, slowly eating away at everything in its path and you feel it now, scratching away at the back of your throat, desperate to get out. Push it down, push it away. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.
Tears return to your eyes and spill out before you can even think, cascading down your cheeks and leaving heated trails across your skin that chill instantly from the frigid air of the bathroom. Your chest tightens, and your hand flies to your chest, rubbing away at your skin like you could somehow rub the horrible constriction you feel wrapping around your lungs.
It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.
No, you know that’s not true.
But what if it is?
No. Frankie loves you.
Does he?
Breathing becomes harder, as if the oxygen in the room has vanished, leaving you standing at the sink gasping, fighting to fill your lungs with something that will keep you going. The porcelain is ice under your hands as you clutch it, curling over the sink to remain steady and keep from falling to the floor.
Your eyes flicker up and meet your reflection in the mirror, and shock rattles through you. That’s not you. It can’t be. You feel your face crumble and tear your eyes away from your reflection, unable to watch the wave of anguish flood your face.
Legs shaking, you slowly lower to the cool tiled floor and succumb completely to the feeling clawing at your insides, harsh sobs wracking your frame as you feel the last of your steeled composure fade. And once it starts, it doesn’t stop.
The tears come in vast, unforgiving waves; your lungs struggling to keep up with the strength at which your cries tear through your body.
It was scarily overwhelming. Soon your surroundings blurred into nothing, your eyes unable to focus on any single thing around you.
You’re vaguely aware of something dropping to the floor and clattering against the tiles behind you – the sound of it only just breaking through the overwhelming fog drowning your senses. Strong arms wrap tightly around your torso and then your back is meeting a firm chest. Your hands fly to the legs spreading out beside you, skin rubbing along the rough fabric and fingers digging into the muscle beneath.
A voice is echoing in your ears but you can’t hear what they’re saying, you can’t focus on their voice. The ringing’s too loud. There’s too much static, too much blood rushing through your ears. It hurts. Everything hurts. Why can’t it just stop? When will it stop?
“Breathe with me,” someone murmurs in your ear, breath fanning your skin. Frankie. Your Frankie. He’s home, he’s here. He moves your hand, resting it softly on your chest before he covers it with his own. Your heart is erratic under your touch, chest jolting uneasily with the intensity of your gasps.
“I’m here. I’ve got you. Breathe – nice and steady.”
You try to listen, try to let his deep voice soothe away the all-consuming panic you feel coursing through your system. He pulls you tighter against his frame, exaggerating his deep breathing so you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back.
It’s taking too long. You’re going to chase him away. He won’t want to be with someone with a screwed-up head – why are you the way you are? Why can’t you just be normal? He deserves someone better, someone who won’t have an attack in the middle of his bathroom.
This is his house. His house he shares with his daughter, and you’re ruining the warm loving atmosphere they created together with your stupid, stupid brain. You should leave. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t deserve to be here, in a place full of such love –
You don’t realise your breathing’s getting worse until he’s talking again; his words, by some miracle, melting through the dread pulling your body to the floor.
“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
He’s not? But why? He deserves better –
“I’m here.”
He’s here?
Yes, he is.
He’s here. With you.
You’re not alone.
“That’s it, baby. I’m here.”
He’s here, and he’s got you.
“You’re safe. I’ve got you. Keep breathing.”
You’re safe? Safe.
He’s got you.
Oxygen floods your lungs as you try to match the movement on him breathing behind you, and though it calms your mind somewhat to have someone speak so soothingly to you, it takes a while longer for your breathing to steady. He doesn’t move, keeping his arms locked firmly around you.
“I think we need to see someone about this, honey.” He mutters quietly, carefully; thumb rubbing along your cheek soothingly. “There’s no shame in it, okay? I want you to know that. There’s no shame in seeing someone about this.”
You sniffle as you nod, eyes scrunching closed as the last of the gasps settle into something a little less harsh and finally, finally, your body releases the last of its rigidity and you melt into his embrace, exhaustion weighing your movements.
“What do you need, baby? Let me help you.”
“You.” You whimper, turning further into his hold and inhaling his familiar scent. “I just need you.”
He loosens his hold for only a moment, leaning to hook a hand under your ankles and then he’s bringing you across his lap to tuck you deeper into his arms. Heat seeps through your clothes and pierces through the chill covering your body as warm hands slowly, soothingly, rub up and down your back.
You stay like for what feels like hours, cuddled tightly and comfortingly in his embrace. You’re not too sure when you fall asleep, exhausted from your episode and wrapped tightly in Frankie’s arms, but it’s not until you feel a slight movement under you that has your eyes are blinking open, taking in the familiar surrounds of Frankie’s bathroom.
Your head moves from its resting place on Frankie’s firm chest, the arms wrapped around you relaxing as you shift. It’s dark beyond the bathroom window, and a quick check of your watch shows you’ve been in here for just shy of two hours.
“Morning sunshine,” he murmurs light-heartedly, eyes blinking tiredly at you as you sit up. He winces as he moves, the aftermath of sitting in one position so long on an unforgiving surface now rearing its ugly head. But he’d do it again in a heartbeat, over and over. For you, only for you. “How do you feel?”
“Tired,” you admit quietly, eyes downcast and unable to meet his. You were ashamed. He shouldn’t have had to see that. You should’ve been able to bury it. You were weak –
His reassuring touch has that thought being shoved to the back of your mind as he helps you up from the floor, hands guiding your sides as you stand on unsteady feet. Fingers pinch your chin and gently tilt your face up, his gaze flickering across your face.
“Do I look ugly?” You deadpan, eyes feeling incredibly raw and swollen. You definitely look like a mess – no doubt about it. How could you not, after something like that?
His smile grows, fingers moving, trailing across your cheekbones and along your jaw tenderly. “Never.”
You smile before you can help it, the stretch of it pulling at your tight cheeks. His heart warms as you grin shyly.
“Shall we have dinner? Watch a movie? Whatever you want…”
“That sounds good.” You agree quietly, unable to keep the smile from falling as he pecks your nose playfully.
He stays close, standing right by you as you wash your face, the cool water shocking to your skin but surprisingly pleasant, and cleansing away the leftover mess of dried tears. He’s ready with a soft towel when you straighten, dabbing it gently over your face before he’s whisking you away and leading you downstairs. His hand doesn’t leave yours until you’re both in the kitchen.
Automatically you move for the cooking utensils and start to prepare, but are stopped in place when he steps in front of you, a small frown of disapproval pinching his brows.
“No.” He takes the chopping board from your hands and nods to the counter, raising his brows when you don’t move. “I’m cooking, and you’re staying there. Now up.” His hands fly to your waist, helping you slide onto the surface and then he’s moving about the kitchen, turning the oven on and grabbing ingredients from the fridge.
You watch him fondly, chest tightening every now and then when he would catch your eyes and send you a little smile.
“I love you, Frankie.” You say softly, watching him pause and gaze at you, your chest so full of gratitude and love you feel it could burst at any moment.
He drops what’s in his hands and comes to stand in front of you, slotting himself between your legs and cupping his hands gently below your jaw. His warm brown eyes burn directly into your soul, your heart picking up as he leans in to kiss you gently.
“I love you.” He mutters against your lips, sealing his tenderly spoken promise with one more sweet press of his lips. You melt into him, lashes fluttering as he pulls back. “Forever. Do you hear me?” He watches a smile curl at your lips, stomach turning pleasantly as it brightens your features. “No matter what that says–” he pokes a gentle finger against your forehead, “–I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”
You don’t shy away from the tears that build in your eyes this time, instead thankful they came from a place of love rather than pain. His thumb smooths the one lone tear that had escaped away, and kisses where it had fallen on your cheek.
“Go and pick something to watch while I plate up.”
You do as instructed, picking a random movie from Netflix before snuggling under a blanket and smiling when Frankie comes in soon after balancing two plates in his hands. Everything’s quiet as the movie starts in the background, Frankie snuggling close to your side as you both half pay attention to the screen while you eat.
Once finished, the plates are moved to the small coffee table and you both wind around each other under the blanket, arms and legs intertwining, and Frankie’s fingers always somewhere on your body tracing soothing circles or lightly tickling any skin that peaks out from between your clothes and relishing in your quiet giggles.
It’s when the movie finishes, the room plunging into darkness, and when Frankie’s breathing deepens to an almost snore, that you finally feel the remaining fog lurking at the back of your mind dissolve. You stay awake, long after Frankie dozes off, basking in the love and affection that still pours from him even when sleeping.
Things would get better.
It would take time, of course, but the storm would clear.
Everything would be alright, especially with Frankie by your side.
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Tags: @anu-simps​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @withasideofmeg​ @you-got-me-starry-eyed​
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slashersgostabbystabstab · 3 years ago
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Life in the Shadows (Michael Myers x Reader)
I know I never really got back into writing because I never really got back the motivation after certain things happened. But hey, I started this fic who knows when ago and actually got the motivation to finish it. Hopefully it’s good, I kinda just skimmed thorugh it because I have a hard time reading my own writings and like I said, a good portion of this was written a good while ago and the rest is what I wrote recently. Anyways, have some Michael Myers
Plot: Michael Myers has his eye set on a person he met during his time at Smith’s Grove. Takes place after the second Halloween movie, with a fewe things changed to fit the narrative.
Word Count: 4,866
Warnings: Not much really, mentions of n*dity but nothing explicit. The usual stalking from Michael, mentions of killing obviously. Loomis being Loomis.
The face of Halloween was now nothing more than a white veneer, a haunting sight to any that lay eyes upon it.
Fifteen years ago, not very many felt the terror they started to feel just a week ago. Fifteen years ago, it was nothing but a young boy and his deceased sister. Fifteen years ago, nobody would have expected such a Halloween.
“Thirteen murders in two days. On Halloween night, twenty-one year old Michael Myers escaped from Smiths Grove Sanitarium before stealing from a local hardware store in quiet Haddonfield.”
Michael Myers, that was the name that escaped so many fifteen years ago but ceased soon after when nobody no longer cared.
“At just six years old Michael Myers murdered his elder sister Judith Myers in cold blood, his lust for blood growing the following fifteen years. This past Halloween, only a single of the escapee’s victims survived the attack. Seventeen year old Laurie Strode remains in Haddonfield Memorial Hospital, nearly recovered from the physical and emotional trauma the so-called ‘Boogeyman’ inflicted on her.”
And even this time, their fear grew into a void once a secret was revealed to the public. Nobody feared the Boogeyman; what was there to worry about when they were not who he was after?
“After having survived the home invasion, Strode had to endure yet another attack from the masked fiend who followed her to the hospital the same night. Whilst there, Myers murdered nine people in the hospital, adding on to the previous four. In the end, Strode survived the massacre when Myers’ psychologist arrived to shoot him down and burn him in the hospital’s oxygen room.”
Word spread around. Word that there was another member in the Myers’ family, that only she was the one the murderer was after.
“But in the end, no charred body was recovered.”
Little had the people known, the Shape had his eye on more than one.
“Only a week has gone by but Haddonfield still asks, what could have happened to this malicious hunter?”
Void-like eyes stared through the open window, standing in place with hands laying at each side. Heavy breathing was heard behind the mask, only coming near would allow people to hear such breaths.
Eyes cared not for those that sat on the other side of the glass, sitting on their  couch ever so…vulnerable.
Oblivious.
Helpless.
Naive.
The shape stood in place, eyes staring into the television set in front of them. On it, the picture of a young blonde, the picture taken after the second attack.
Head soon turned before its body followed, calmly striding down a self-made path through the backyard of these unknowing residents who never realized there was someone watching their  every move for more than a few minutes.
The streets of Orange Grove Avenue was nothing but an empty street, nobody in sight unless it was very necessary to go out. Even without the lack of fear, most preferred that their  children would remain at home. Adults thought the same for themselves, thoughts plagued with the idea of accidentally coming across a bloody sight that would end with them as a murdered witness.
Through hedges and trees strolled the figure, never noticed by those who peeked through their closed curtains. The voids of his mask stared straight ahead, eventually looking to the side when their  head finally turned.
From behind a tree, the shape stalked the source from whence a sound was heard.
A door opened to reveal another shape, one whose hand tightly clutched onto a worn out satchel before she gently set it on the ground. Hand now reached into the pocket of her  jacket, making sure that nothing was forgotten back inside her  home, nodding in satisfaction once she pulled out her keys.
The shape stood in the distance, keeping a calm yet very attentive stance as he concealed himself with a tree across the street from the home he watched. He saw the person fumble a bit with her  pocket, shaking soon ceasing before she lifted her head ever so slowly.
Eyes glanced to the left and then the right, head now being the one to move while an uneasy feeling overcame her. A deep feeling of trepidation soon hit when her  eyes landed on the tree standing in the distance, half of a man’s body revealed with a face so pale it looked unreal in her  perspective.
Once again, a shock came when she felt a vibration and heard a jingle, making her look down at her  jacket where her  phone rang.
She pulled out the phone before answering it, placing it against her  ear while looking back up at the tree. Nothing nor anybody stood there, leaving that uneasy feeling while she now shut and locked the door to then make her  way to her  car.
Before actually starting it, she turned to look behind, seeing nothing again. So, with her  phone on its holder, she started the car and drove away, never realizing that darkened eyes were watching from a distance.
_____________
In an isolated property where only light hit stood the shape, behind a fence that no longer proved to serve its purpose. Through it he watched an empty field with nothing but tables for those cursed inside to sit whenever breaks were given. Beyond this empty space was the large building that could have never contained him.
He walked alongside the fence, turning to the right when he reached the building’s other perimeter. From his location, he saw her again.
This time, the person wore a badge on her  jacket as she got out of her car. With her satchel once again in her  hand, she locked the car before making her way through the parking lot until reaching the sidewalk that would lead her to the front entrance of the building. Before continuing, however, she paused her   walking to look at the sign reading a damaged “Smith’s Grove   Sanitarium”. With a shake of her  head, she followed the path before finally walking into the building.
Behind some bushes, the shape watched it all until the person was no more behind darkened glass. He stood there, breaths now soft as she allowed the sound of his heart pumping hard with adrenaline. It was always said that the shape felt nothing, he was but a vessel containing evil alone. But somehow, there was something in him that not even the “best” of psychologists could discover in such a being.
“Looking into those eyes alone is dangerous enough.”
“Why is that?”
“They are the devil’s eyes. There is nothing but evil behind them.”
Such words were enough to make one turn, though the sound of voices coming from outside were also sufficient.
In a room deep inside the corridors of Smith’s Grove was a bed. To the surprise of many it proved to be one of the tidiest beds ever; sheets never undone save for a few wrinkles every now and then.
On the bed sat the patient not many dared near, the story of what he did years back sending chills down the staff’s spines.
“D…devil’s eyes? Dr. Loomis, you can’t be serious. I’ve heard all kinds of things from you, but this is new.”
From the bed, the patient listened ever so attentively, yet he did so without a care in the world. Eyes stared into the nothingness of the white wall before him while his body remained still and hunched over.
The jingling of keys sounded outside of the room, the sound loud enough to echo through the ever so silent hallways of the sanitarium. Soon enough the creaking of the room’s door followed; in the doorway stood two figures who silently peered inside.
One remained on the spot while the other immediately strode in without a care, ignoring the slight worry he had inside. A worry not about him necessarily, but more like the one he had for others such as the person who had accompanied him, and the ones who ran the sanitarium without any concern.
“Michael.” The man now stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the patient sitting on the bed.
The patient never bothered to look any other way, eyes fixated on the wall . Almost as if he wasn’t seeing it…instead, looking past it.
Even then, the man knew that he was aware of his guests.
“Maybe you should leave.”
“Excuse me?” the doctor turned to the doorway, still keeping his distance from the patient who, in the slightest and unnoticable bit, turned his head to the side.
“I’m just saying, I’ve seen that Michael doesn’t exactly…” the other person took a step inside, glancing over at the patient. “React when you’re around.”
“I am the only one in this sanitarium who can approach Michael without being injured.” Loomis now stepped towards her, once again not realizing that the patient’s head had turned even more. “I am his doctor and you are nothing but a temporary transfer.”
“I know-”
“You are in no place to be telling me what to do with Myers.” Loomis sternly spoke, then reaching a hand out to the other individual who turned away with a sigh. “Where are the others?”
“They’re on their   way.” she spoke as she handed a clipboard over to the psychiatrist that immediately looked over the papers in hand.
“Once they’re here, you may excuse yourself.”
“What?”
“Did I stutter?” Loomis’  frown deepened.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Is that so?”
“My purpose is to examine Michael because your incompetent ass can’t do so.”
Now this had noticeably riled up Loomis who had unconsciously turned his back on his patient, the latter still ever so slightly paying attention to the conversation.
“I know you don’t like working with me Loomis, I learned that along the way. I point out the reality while you continue to insist on foolish tales only a man like you can spin.” the person spat at the elderly man who could not believe the way he was being spoken to. “My tasks threaten your job, even if I only do the medical work. A man like you deserves and could land a spot in an institution such as this one with your lunatic rambles. So either step down and let me do my job, or I’ll have a chat of my own with the administration.”
Loomis could only eye this…unfortunate individual. Examining the as if he were examining a patient of his, looking for any flaws he could spur into a tale of demons and evil. To him, this temporary associate was no more than a burden in between him and Michael. Him and the Devil himself, waiting to unleash hell.
He began making his way out of the room, but not before he glanced back at Michael who had clearly been staring at the white of his room’s walls this entire time. Not a single care or thought in the world.
“I’ll have you packing your things before you even know it.” he promised while slamming the clipboard onto the nurse’s chest, lips near her  ear as she stepped away from him, realizing that the other staff had come by. For the first time since Michael had been incarcerated, Loomis didn’t bother to remain in the room.
“Alright Mikey,” one of the two guards that arrived spoke out. “You know how this goes.”
The apparent leader of the pair had handcuffs ready, these being placed on Michael’s wrists as he made it seem like he still stared at the wall.
Michael ignored every word and action that came from the guards, eyes instead focused on the staff member who was still in the room. Brown locks concealed his dark gaze, eyes following her  fingers that reached into the pocket of her  uniform trousers. From it, a pen was pulled out.
Pen and paper now connected as the nurse wrote notes, or perhaps random scribbles due to her  not being much to report at the moment.
It was a rather funny pen. A fountain pen is what it was. Somewhat girthy, made out of cheap plastic. Pink.
One of the only pieces of color Michael ever really saw inside the sanatorium, the only other times being when Loomis conducted certain examinations or when Michael was fed.
Black ink spilled from the pen and onto the paper, nothing more than a tool to further his years in this building. Black ink that came from this funny little pen, providing the only tint of life in the darkness of these white walls that caged Michael.
Black ink…spilling…merging with the warm crimson from inside the skin. It was almost lovely, the thought of a brightly colored tool, impaling the soft skin of this particular caretaker.
“You ready, doc?”
“It’s nurse.” Michael’s staring was interrupted as he felt hands grab onto his arms, hoisting him up from the bed before he nearly came face to face with his nurse. “And yes, we can take him now. Loomis should be waiting for us, if he hasn’t decided to throw a fit in his office.”
“You and the old guy don’t care much for each other, huh?” a guard spoke up as she followed behind the nurse, Michael sandwiched between the men who led him through the halls.
“I don’t care for any so-called psychologist who runs his mouth like a madman. I don’t think he’s qualified to be a psychologist.”
“Uh huh.” one of the guards replied, the words not having gone through his head properly, as he was another one of the many members who worked without giving a damn about the environment they surrounded themselves in.
“Loomis is a bitch, to put it simple.” the nurse rolled her  eyes, hearing the jingling of keys that came from the guards as well as the cuffs that contained Michael. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing, can’t properly care for a patient. I don’t know how he even takes care of himself.”
No more words came from any of the staff as her and Michael’s footsteps echoed through the empty hallways she walked through. Were it not for the continuous jingling, one could have even come to hear Michael’s breaths.
“What now?”
“Michael takes a seat, and we wait for Loomis. You two can leave once he’s here, unless he instructs otherwise.” the nurse scanned the empty room where only a metallic table and two chairs sat in the middle. Behind one of the chairs was a large mirror, one that obviously served for watching whatever interaction occurred inside. It only showed how not-so credible Loomis’ objections were.
“Actually,” a new voice sounded, making everyone but Michael look to the open door, for another nurse had come by.  “I will be staying in your place for a moment. You’re needed elsewhere.”
“Where, exactly? I can’t leave Michael alone with a nurse he’s not used to seeing.”
“I doubt he’ll care much about the change.” this other nurse stated as she made her way into the room, reaching out to grab the clipboard. “The higher ups just want to have a quick conversation.”
“It’s because of Loomis, isn’t it? That bastard.”
“Just deal with it quickly, I have other patients that actually need attending.”
“Alright, just…”
Michael had been seated in the chair opposite from the mirror on the wall, cuffed hands forcibly placed on the table in front of him as his head remained lowered.
“Just treat him right. Please.”
“Sure thing.” the nurse uttered, watching the other walk out of the room.
“What, is someone catching feelings for little ol’ Mikey?” one of the guards snickered once she was out of sight, the two guards chuckling among themselves while the remaining nurse rolled her eyes.
“Hope not, could send her back to the hospital she came from. Even then, dunno what anyone would see in a crazy like Myers.”
And all the while the staff paid no mind to the patient, Michael had actually turned his head.
Eyes looked to the empty and open doorway, almost as if waiting for his nurse to return.
With eyes fixated on the building, the shape now watched as the main doors opened once more. From the doors came the nurse, not having spent much time inside. If she had spent this little in the building on a night she were meant to work, something had changed.
He watched from a distance, taking notice of the lack of Smith’s Grove badge. He didn’t have to eavesdrop on any conversation to know what had gone on.
There was no intention of hiding himself this time, but he also didn’t care if his presence was made known. All that mattered was her, watching every move as she trudged down the sidewalk with her  satchel tightly grasped into.
Despite the distance between the two, it was almost as if this nurse- former nurse could feel him breathing right behind her  neck.
She ceased her walking, nails now digging into her  bag as she scanned her  surroundings, feeling eyes on her…
Beyond the yards of Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, beyond the fence surrounding the perimeter, her  eyes met with the darkest eyes, ever so slightly shaded from the light. Or at least, that was what her  eyes saw, somehow being able to make out…
“The Devil’s Eyes.” he read her  lips murmur, spoken in complete disbelief.
He remained in place, body as stiff as ever as he only…examined, just like she did to him many times.
Was it a figment of her  imagination? Was Michael Myers, the now so-called Boogeyman, really just…watching?
Whatever the answer, he saw her hurriedly threading to the parking lot, immediately finding her  vehicle which she hopped into after struggling to find her  keys. Once inside, she wasted no more time, her  next destination being home.
_____________
She wasn’t up to very much. She was merely…sitting.
Eating.
Thinking.
Thinking more than him no doubt, especially as he stood by the window that led into the brightly lit kitchen. Eyes stared into the glass, watching the individual who did nothing but sit with a slice of bread in hand. In the other, a rather large kitchen knife, the first one that she had pulled out from her  knife block.
She was clearly unbothered by things, but there was still a sort of affliction present on her  features.
He watched her bite into the piece of bread she had cut for herself, ever so slowly chewing the bit. her  lips, moisturized with a lick of her   lips that rid of all the tiny crumbs that even he was able to perceive from the distance he stood at.
He never blinked, merely watched with an intensity that brought a chill down her  spine.
Her eyes widened at the strange feeling of being watched, whipping her   head around as she searched for a possible answer. But just like every other time, there was nothing or nobody that could have been keeping an eye on her.
“I’m going insane…” she mumbled to herself, setting down her  piece of bread before pushing her  seat out to stand and approach the kitchen sink. In her  hand was the knife, this being washed up immediately, ever so carefully.
It gleamed under the kitchen’s light, almost making a sound as if it were a sword drawn from its scabbard.
“This was all it took.”
A kitchen knife was all it took to take the many lives of many innocents. A kitchen knife that glinted under almost anything. A kitchen knife that reflected dark pools of that made one stare into oblivion.
Once again, she spun around, this time in a panic. Through the knife she had seen the white veneer, staring right back at her with such vehemence. But alas, just like every time, nothing stood at the window, it was clearly only a figment of her  imagination. Nothing but an apparition.
“I’ve heard wondrous things about you.”
“Oh, I doubt that. I’m just like any other nurse. I’m sure anyone else could do this job.”
“You’re too humble. I’ve heard about your handling of Billy and, it’s impressed me and other nurses.”
Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, you weren’t sure why an institution such as this one specifically requested someone with your expertise. Someone apparently “perfectly skilled” as a nurse, whatever that meant. It was one of the staff members who had desired a nurse such as yourself, a nurse who would be personally assigned to Michael Audrey Myers.
“And…what is so, special, about this patient?”
“If I’m being honest, I’m not entirely sure.” your new but temporary supervisor, Dr. Wynn,  admitted as he walked you down the corridors of the sanitarium. “Myers’ primary psychologist, Dr. Samuel Loomis, is particularly…wary.”
“Of his own patient? I mean, I can understand but, aren’t patients like Michael restrained?”
“That’s not it. Samuel apparently sees something in Michael. Believes there is no redeeming, that Michael is only…waiting.”
“For…?”
“I don’t know, Samuel’s lectures tend to disturb me and some of the other staff at times. We don’t always pay much attention to his rants.” the man gave a shrug, turning on his heel as he and you made it to a door that was marked with a sign reading “M. MYERS”. “We worry that because of this apprehension, that he doesn’t properly care for Michael. We can’t exactly have a patient pass due to lack of care.”
“Of course.”
“You see,” he held his breath for a moment, soon enough releasing it. “Samuel doesn’t view Michael as a human being. Has made many suggestions already, but we don’t see Michael posing as the threat he believes he is.”
You nodded at these words, having seen similar stories as you grew up.
“Anyways, I’d formally like to introduce you to Michael.”
The white door disappeared from your view after being unlocked and opened, revealing a young male who was merely…sitting.
“Michael, I’d like you to meet your new, personal nurse…”
Words became nothing as your eyes landed on this man who sat at the edge of his bed, back curved as he leaned and looked forwards. Thick, chocolate curls hid the eyes that peered at the empty wall, almost as if they examined every inch of paint.
Hands were placed on his knees as the tips of his fingers dug into the cloth of his ivory pants. He seemed so tense, yet so calm somehow. There was no change in his staring as he never lifted his gaze, only listening to the words that spewed from the staff’s lips.
“Every day from now on, you will be seeing her. She is here for your every need.”
You snapped back to your senses after feeling a hand clasp onto your shoulder, making you turn to Dr. Wynn who gave you a comforting smile.
“Right,” you offered a minimal smile before turning back to Michael who had still not moved. Not a single bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Michael. I look forward to helping you as best as I can.”
“I’ll make sure to have you introduced to Samuel after I chat with you in my office.”
“Sounds good.” you slightly nodded, giving Michael one last look before finally stepping out of the room. “See you soon.”
Dr. Wynn followed suit, closing the door the moment he had stepped out as well. Had he taken even the quickest peek into the miniature window that was on the door, he would have noticed the glance Michael had given you.
Nobody ever noticed these small things. Not even you.
Coming back to reality, she shook her head just a bit. Perhaps it was the sleep that was getting to her.
Putting out of mind the slight scare she had just experienced, she turned her attention back to the empty kitchen sink. There were no more dishes, all wet and clean on the drying rack. All but…the kitchen knife.
Had she misplaced it? No, how could she have so easily lost a knife while lost in her own thoughts?
“Weird,” she spoke to herself, now realizing that the large knife lay at the end of the counter. “I don’t remember leaving it there.”
All the doors and windows were locked, she made sure to check every single thing more than once if there really was a danger lurking around. Perhaps she did leave the knife at the end of the counter, perhaps it was during her slight moment of remembering.
He saw her shake her head, putting aside her thoughts and worries after taking the knife and placing it inside its appropriate spot. Soon after, she removed her top and made her way out of the kitchen, the shape following suit as best as he could-
-inside the home.
After the top was removed, her jeans were next once she was in the bathroom of her house.
A heat formed in the room as she turned the knob of her shower, warm water raining over the empty floor of the bathtub. The sound of the water hitting the floor sufficed in hiding his footsteps, his deep breathing.
He easily went unnoticed, dark eyes fixated on the woman as she removed the rest of her clothing.  Eyes admired every curve of her now bare body, taking notes of every bit and piece of skin. So soft. So warm. So…exposed and unguarded.
There was nothing more than glass doors that divided him and her; a pair of doors being the only thing standing between him and his prey. His head became tilted at the sound of her voice, a song from another time escaping her lips as she sang to herself, never realizing that she had an uninvited audience.
Her body in full view through the glass, only slightly distorted by the glass’ design.
His fists clenched as he was filled with an impulse, an unwavering ardor as he studied her every move.
She ran her hands over her body, almost as if caressing herself, massaging her own knots out. Hands dragged themselves over her thighs, fingers digging into them as she squeezed to provide comfort and relief. The warm, hot water almost provided a feeling of…safety.
A safety that could be interrupted at any moment by anything.
Her fingers were entangled in her locks of hair, soap threatening to fall into her eyes that she immediately shut.
It was almost as if he sensed this, stepping towards the glass doors as his heavy breaths created a foggy effect, breathing almost becoming desperate at the proximity between the two figures. His own clothed skin, so near her nude form; almost touching. Sultry flesh that he had all to himself. Flesh who’s scent he inhaled deeply, registering the smell into his system.
It was just the two of them, and that was how he desired it.
The shower knob was soon turned as the water turned off, the only sound in the entire house being the droplets from her hair and chin dripping onto the wet flooring. Once she wiped the remaining water from her face, she properly opened her eyes to look into the emptiness of her bathroom. The scathing water had fogged up all the glass inside the bathroom, hiding the fading imprint of large hands that had been placed on the glass doors.
_____________
Hours had gone by as he remained inside the house, haunting the halls like a phantom with no trace. It was almost ridiculous, foolish even, that the man was not once noticed.
Not even as he stood at her bedside.
A slumber befell the woman not too long after she lay in bed. Once changed into a set of comfortable nightwear, she promptly brought her exhausted form into bed. In front of her was a television, still powered on after hours of watching the leftover Halloween specials.
Her body was curled up against her pillow, eyes softly shut as her chest moved with every breath.
The vulnerability present was ever so tantalizing.
Large, strong hands were slowly lifted, inching closer and closer to the woman’s unsuspecting figure. His hands moved on impulse, wanting to latch onto her neck. Wanting to squeeze her throat awake. Wanting to have her eyes shoot open as she reacted too late. Wanting to have the life drained out of her body with every squeeze.
How quick and easy it would have been to overpower her. Suffocate her. Slice her. Thrust her own gleaming blade into her chest to spill the crimson liquid he had come to see so often.
“Michael…”
His breathing deepened even more at the sound of his name, lips breathing out the name of the Devil himself without realizing the consequence. Out of instinct, almost, one of his large hands brought itself onto her exposed leg, stroking the skin with an unexpected gentleness.
Immediately removing his hand, his head gave one final tilt before he took his time spinning around. His eyes landed on the television set that only presented its viewers with nothing but static.
Something had told him it was best to switch it off before officially making his way out.
56 notes · View notes
ladyartemesia · 5 years ago
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Fic recs for taehyung? I love your stuff btw I’ve read them all uwu
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As a beacon of extra-ness in an already extra world, I am entirely incapable of just recommending fics like a normal blog. No. I’ve got to wax on like a bloomin connoisseur. I have compiled some (but not all) of my favorite works in several different categories and sorted them accordingly. This crazy list is so long I had to add a “keep reading”... but I simply couldn’t bear to leave any of these off the list. They are all so good!
Fics have been divided into 8 categories. Some are under the cut. 
 ▨ FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS and FRIENDS TO LOVERS ▨  ▨ ARRANGED MARRIAGE ▨ ▨ FANTASY ▨ ▨ ANGST WITH A HAPPY ENDING ▨ ▨ HYBRID and ABO (alpha/omega) ▨ ▨ MULTIPLE PARTNERS ▨ ▨ NEIGHBORS AND ROOMMATES ▨ ▨ TABOO THEMES and DARK FIC (Sex Work/Power Imbalance/Very Unsafe Sex) ▨ ▨
▨ FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS and FRIENDS TO LOVERS ▨
Insomnia by @hobiwonder
This is one of those fics I read and literally could not stop thinking about. It is wildly hot and honestly hilarious. Poor reader cannot sleep and the beautiful bro she’s tutoring offers a rather unconventional solution.
(Ego) Hoe Chronicles: KTH by @suga-kookiemonster
Listen. If you find a niche fan blog devoted entirely to Ego Tae... I’m not gonna say it’s mine. But it’s probably mine. I once told suga-kookiemonster that I would literally read a story about Ego Tae going grocery shopping on a Wednesday night and I stand by that. In this lurid romp, the reader falls into the clutches of everyone’s favorite bohemian sex lord and he rails her into another dimension.
Falling, Falling, Gone by @johobi
Pining (mutual or otherwise) is not really my thing, but I would straight up read Jo’s laundry list if she posted it. As usual I was blown away by how everything she does seems somehow better than any other version of it. This reader is really unique as well, and her relationship with the wildly popular soccer star Tae comes to a sexy and hilarious head at a sort of bachelor auction. With sharp dialogue, delightful subtext, and fantastic side characters, you really shouldn’t miss it. It’s pretty much perfect.
A Friendly Favor by @baeseoul
This is the classic “teach me some sex for another woman” trope and it is done so well. Sweet best friend Tae is looking to benefit from your experience, but his is not the only world about to be thouroughly rocked.
Officer Kim and the Criminal Crush by @ddaengyoonmin
This is one of the best twists on childhood friends to lovers I have ever seen. Tae grows up to become a cop and reader grows up to be a societal menace. I won’t spoil it, but it’s the perfect blend of nostalgia, tenderness, and smut. This fic technically doesn’t have a name so I had to give it one to link it. It’s part of an AMAZING series Zoe did that I also highly recommend.
Out of the Blue by @jimlingss
This is one of those stories that blooms throughout the narrative until you are left with this gorgeous flower at the end. I loved the journey of these two characters. It was real and it perfectly captures the experience of finding your soulmate in the person you least expect.
Sin Pijama by @brilliantlybasicb
This fic is a switch culture fic. It is wild wicked hot and this Tae is unreal. I love the way he lets the reader think she is in control just long enough. It is a wild romp with an adorable sequel and honestly you should read it.
Girls Like You by @jjiminah
I was in jjiminah’s asks IMMEDIATELY about this fic because I had FEELINGS. The reader begins wordlessly teasing and tempting Tae on their morning bus ride every day until he is literally losing his mind. Everything that follows is fire. Jjiminah has hinted she will wrote more for these two and I NEED IT.
Sighs and Sonnets by @btsaudge
This fic is beautiful. Like it’s basically art. This is a bad boy who is bad for you. But he has the soul of a poet and the stroke game of a renaissance master. Bittersweet and seductive, this fic is a full experience.
The Text by @taetaesbaebaepsae
Tae is your friend with benefits but it looks like feeling may have been caught by one or more parties. When you attempt to soothe your aching heart with another pretty boy, Tae decides to stake his claim. This was very sexy. The whole fic was sexy.
▨ ARRANGED MARRIAGE ▨
Monster by @neonlights92
Monster and all of its companion series about each of the boys is one of those fics that I reread constantly and also just think about constantly. This is one of the best mafia AUs out there and it’s characters are vivid and unforgettable. Tae’s stubborn resistance to his lovely new wife in contrast with her quiet, clever strength really brings this story to life. A word of warning. The masterlist links are a bit messed up. To read part two you must click on part three. And to read part three must click on part four. The link to part four is at the bottom of part three (or you can just search it on her site. It is definitely all there though).
Dichotomy by @kpopfanfictrash
There is a reason the incomparable Shanna is on this list three times. She is truly incomparable. This is childhood friends-to enemies-to spouses and it is wonderful. I adore this Tae. He is sharp and vulnerable and occasionally heavy handed, but truly a gem. This fic also features one of the best angry sex scenes I’ve ever run my eyeballs across.
▨ FANTASY ▨
Chism by @kpopfanfictrash
The world-building in this story is genuinely awe inspiring. You could write series upon series within this vivid universe. The god of Winter is missing and Summer’s heat burns unchecked for many years. The reader is a warrior with a unique ability tasked with guarding a very interesting prisoner. This story is so good. I mean it is really bloomin incredible. It’s hard to say what I liked best about it, because it was stellar across the board.
Obsidian by @kpopfanfictrash
In the pantheon of delicious Tae incarnations, Obsidian Taehyung is essentially unrivaled as a grey witch who moonlights as a sexy rock star. His extremely erotic clash with a white witch detective plays out as the two of them track down a sinister killer (with the help of some truly memorable side characters).
Out of this World by @ddaengyoonmin
This one is really unique. Tae is a merman scientist on the water planet of Neptune and when the reader and her misguided crew crash into his sea, he takes it upon himself to improve inter-species relations. This fic features excellent world building alongside several twists and surprises. Clever scientist Tae is downright irresistible.
▨ ANGST WITH A HAPPY ENDING ▨
Picking Flowers by @jamaisjoons
So this story is a journey - truly a beautiful one and it’s a gorgeous addition to the hanahaki genre. There is real pain and I cried real tears, but gosh it was so sexy and so worth it. I was surprised by how truly immersed I ended up in this piece. I lost track of everything else. The end is insanely satisfying, but the journey is really what makes this fic unmissable.
Until Yesterday by @jimlingss
This fic destroyed me slowly then slowly put me together again piece by piece. When I say I went through it - I WENT THROUGH IT. The story is loosely based on the movie “The Vow” and it is just fantastic. Beautiful and tender till the last word.
The Foolish Muse by @bibbykins
This is the story of someone who is deeply in love, but knows they deserve better. It is a sexy and evocative work with allusions to mythology that fit seamlessly into the narrative. I think my favorite part is Tae discovering how much the reader meant to him and what choices ultimately lead them to a really delicious conclusion.
Back to You by @ladyartemesia
The last time I did a fic rec list, it got like 700 notes. Ya girl is not makin the same mistake again. I spent hours on this list. My work is comin along for the ride. Kim Taehyung is the love of your life, until one day he disappears without a trace.
Vacancy by @ppersonna
This one is the only idol AU on the list and I normally don’t read those, but Lindy’s work is too good to miss in any setting. I am thrilled I took a look because what I found was a glimpse into a beautiful relationship that weathers and eventually overcomes the challenges of loving in the limelight. There is a LOT of emotional depth and symbolism which really elevates everything about this lovely story. The reader’s internal struggles in the face of her lover’s fame are extremely well done.
▨ HYBRID and ABO ▨ (alpha/omega)
Eye of the Tiger by @opaljm
I am beyond hype about this story which is (very) loosely inspired by Zootopia and features a cocky tiger Taehyung and a fiesty prey hybrid he needs to fake date in order to keep panther Jimin from murdering him. (Tiger Tae got a tad too frisky around Jimin’s mate and now things are dangerously awkward.) This story is already so freakin good. I cannot wait for the rest.
Silver and Blue by @taetaewonderland
What happens when you get on the wrong side of the right werewolf? Very sexy - very crazy times. Chronologically this is the first of the Silver and Blue series which follows barely civilized were-Tae through his courtship and eventually his relationship with the spunky reader. Holla to all my impreg kink homies. This is the fic for you.
Heat Run by @ladyartemesia
As I said before, the last time I did a fic rec list, it got like 700 notes. Ya girl is not makin the same mistake twice. I spent hours on this list. My work is comin along for the ride. Alpha lawyer V is a man of many secrets, but his well ordered reality spirals wildly out of control when he crosses paths with a fiery omega set on saving the world from his wicked ways.
Beautiful Stranger by @interludemoonchild
This was a wild ride from start to finish. Taehyung is a tiger hybrid shifter who escapes from the circus to be close to a veterinary student he bonded with. There is a lot of interesting twists and surprises in this one. I was definitely screaming at the end.
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell by @jingabitch
A very young wolf hybrid Taehyung adopts you as his pet human when you are just a kid. After Tae leaves to serve in the military he returns to an adult version of his sweet little princess and chaos ensues. Mind the tags for this one folks. It’s excellent, but there are very triggering themes throughout.
▨ MULTIPLE PARTNERS ▨
Level of Restraint by @lemonjoonah
This is not strictly a Tae fic in that he is only one of three major players in this twisted masterpiece. Lemon is the undisputed queen of the surprise twist and this one is truly brilliant. People dropped this fic in the discord calling it the best fan fiction they had ever read and I am not here to argue with them at all. Fair warning, every word - every inch of this fic is sexy and it’s delicious brand of titillation is wrapped around your psyche good and tight by the end.
Four by @luxekook
The quadruplets next door are fueling your very lurid fantasies. It turns out they have some fantasies of their own... You will need water if you read this fic. This is the original patented Kim Taehyung Horny Hive Mind 4D Experience™
▨ NEIGHBORS AND ROOMMATES ▨
The Heat Wave Series by @curly-bangtan
The original story (chapter 1) in this series is definitely famous, but I don’t know how many people have read all 9 chapters and if you haven’t, you are really missing the incredible journey of two very horny idiots stumbling recklessly towards real and amazing love. Everything is set off when the air conditioner breaks and a pair of wild roommates shed their inhibitions along with their clothes.
Flicker by @chimoona
So this fic started out with adorable neighbor dynamics and ended with erotic rope tying. Baby I was ABOUT IT. This was so bloomin hot and also like sweet and tender. Really a sexy and sentimental treasure.
Not Your Typical Flower Shop Story by @jungtaeyoongles
This story goes from “aww” to “WHAT THE-” real quick. Fast paced plot and twist after twist turn the whole flower shop au upside down and then inside out. I can’t say more because spoilers but like - WOW.
▨ TABOO THEMES and DARK FIC ▨ (Sex Work/Power Imbalance/Very Unsafe Sex)
Extracurricular by @ppersonna
One of my favorite professor-student AUs. The reader writes her gorgeous professor a borderline erotic analysis of several major works of art and he feels compelled to discuss it with her privately. Lindy really outdid herself on this one. It is scorchin. Professor Tae is actually really sweet and somehow that just makes the whole thing hotter.
Akrasia by @nitaescence
This is insanely hot. Emphasis on the insane because it’s basically a super erotic romp where you have sex with a man you don’t know (Taehyung) on a crowded public bus. I literally felt my blood pressure going up the longer I read. Whew.
The Client by @jungkookiebus
This one hit me right in the feels. Taehyung is a sweet and lonely man who has a standing Wednesday appointment with an upscale sex worker. As the story progresses, feelings become involved on both sides. When I say I am checking her page thrice daily for part three... This is so engrossing. And this Tae. I just want to hold him.
Daffodil Dreams by @sombreboy
Tread carefully ladies and gents. This story is excellent, but it is easily the darkest fic on the list and, if you choose to read it, please read the trigger warnings carefully. The reader is a psychologist called in to analyze a very dangerous criminal. As their sessions progress, however, several boundaries are crossed.
Obey by @jjkfire
Taehyung is the most feared and ruthless member of the local mafia and you are the world’s most inept escort. You needed a job, but had no real interest in sex work and you’ve managed to fly under the radar as a glorified waitress until Kim Taehyung himself walks into your agency and decides that you’re the only girl he wants. Oh my gosh I loved this story so much. It was downright amazing and there is a surprise at the end that makes everything even sweeter.
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guardianofrivendell · 4 years ago
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Stranger Danger
Modern!Kíli x reader
Requested: Yes! @roosliefje asked "Can you maybe write a modern Kíli story, with you being friends but there might be something more?”
Warnings: nothing much, miscommunication maybe and oh yeah... an unwanted guest! I feel like this trope has been used a lot but who cares :)
A/N: Oh my God, @roosliefje I am SO SORRY! You requested this months ago and I seriously thought I posted it, I had this written for you and everything. It was when I was editing my masterlist that a little voice in my head asked where the ‘unwanted guest’ fic was... So here you go! I didn’t check it - might do that later - and it’s probably not as well written as my current work (oh look at me being modest) because I wrote this in september (I like to think I grew a lot as a writer since then)
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Kíli sighed while wiping the sweat of his forehead with the hem of his shirt. 
He really needed to clean his apartment more often, so he wouldn’t have this much work when he finally did it. He groaned, realizing he sounded just like his brother. And no, that wasn’t a good thing.  
Of course, he hadn’t done this just because he felt like cleaning. No, Kíli wasn’t that responsible. If he did something, it was because he had a good reason. And that reason happened to be you, the friend he might have had a little crush on. A tiny little, barely existing one.  
You had made countless remarks about the state of his apartment and how messy he was. But what can he say? Kíli just wasn’t the domestic type. He could live perfectly fine and content between piles of laundry and dirty dishes. Why wash a shirt or clean a plate when you still had other shirts and plates left to use?  
But since you were that type of person that had everything in its place and cleaned almost every day, he was willing to do a little more effort. Maybe that way you would visit him more often... 
He tossed his dirty shirt into the laundry basket - See? He could do this! - and walked to his bathroom to take a well-deserved shower. 
When he turned on the water, he heard his phone ping. Realizing he had left it on the dinner table, he shrugged his shoulders and stepped into the shower. It probably was his brother Fíli. It could wait until after his shower.  
When he walked into the living room ten minutes later, rubbing his wet hair with a towel and wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, he heard his phone ping again. 
He unlocked the screen and saw 4 messages and one missed call from you, the tone of every message growing more desperate. 
9:23 pm – Kee, are you home?
9:24 pm – Could you come over?
9:27 pm – PLEASE COME OVER
9:30 pm – You have 1 missed call from Y/N
9:32 pm – HELP! 
He immediately dialed your number. 
Please be okay, please be okay, he thought while hearing the familiar beeping. He cursed heavily when it turned on voicemail.  
He dialed your number again and sprinted to his bedroom to get dressed. He put his phone on speaker and tossed it on his bed, so he could dig through his drawers in search of a clean shirt.
To his relief, you answered this time. Great, he thought, at least you weren’t dead. But what he heard, didn’t put his mind at ease. On the contrary… 
“Kíli?”
“Y/N? Oh thank God, are you okay? What’s wrong?” he asked while pulling his shirt over his head.
“Shhh! Stop yelling, he might hear you,” you whispered.  
He? He grabbed his phone and held it to his ear. 
“Is there someone with you? Is it your ex?” he whispered, the color slowly draining from his face at the thought of you being alone with your aggressive ex. 
“He came out of nowhere! I thought I knocked him out with my frying pan but a couple of minutes later he was gone. He’s somewhere here, but I don’t know where. I’m scared, Kee!”
Your voice broke in the last sentence and so did Kíli.  
“I’m on my way,” he said, determined to end whoever had the guts to break into your apartment and scare you to death. 
Sure, it would’ve been smart if he had alerted the police or even his brother Fíli instead, but that thought didn’t even cross Kíli’s mind.
Kíli halted mid-step when it hit him. You called him. 
You were in danger and the first one you called was him. His chest swelled at the thought.   You called him for help and he was going to be your knight in shining armor. 
He ran through the streets and reached your building in record time. Taking the stairs two at a time he bolted to the second floor.
He stood in front of your door, panting like crazy.  From inside the apartment he could hear shouting and the clattering of kitchenware being thrown around.  He took the plate with the house number and turned it sideways, so he could take the spare key out of the hole in the wall.  He’d made fun of you when you had shown him your hiding spot, but now he praised whoever was in charge up there that you had.
When he entered the apartment, he closed the door and quickly scanned the hallway and living room.  You were in your kitchen, he could hear your yelling. 
“Take this!”
The sound of a plate being thrown to the ground echoed through the apartment. 
“GET AWAY FROM ME!” 
A chair fell over, and Kíli could hear you whimpering in fear. He looked around for something he could use as a weapon. Grabbing a small bronze statue, he silently walked towards the open kitchen door. 
“Get away from her!” he yelled, raising the statue above his head, ready to throw it at whoever was threatening you. 
He widened his eyes at the sight before him.  
Several chairs were toppled over, there were shards scattered over the floor together with some various kitchen items you’d clearly used as ammo. And then there was you, crouched down on your kitchen table.
But to his surprise you were alone.  
“Kíli? Oh thank God you’re here,” you sighed in relief.
He lowered the statue, slowly walking towards the table.  
“Where did he go?” he asked you, still clutching the statue. You pointed towards your stove.
“There!”
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Come again?” 
At that moment, a huge wolf spider crawled from underneath the stove and made his way to the kitchen door.
You screamed. “Kill it! KILL IT!” 
When Kíli realized you were talking about a spider all along, he roared with laughter. 
“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Kíli! Please just kill the damn thi-aaaaaah!”  
You screamed again when the wolf spider decided to go in the direction of the kitchen table. Kíli took a glass out of the cupboard and used it to catch the spider. He went to the living room and took a magazine, shoved it under the glass and took the spider outside to set it free.  
When he returned to the kitchen, he took your hand and helped you get off the table, his signature grin still plastered on his face. 
“It’s gone now, you’re safe,” he smirked. 
“Don’t look at me like that. You’ve seen it yourself, he was huge!”
“First of all, it’s an ‘it’, not a ‘he’-”
“You don’t know that,” you interrupted him. 
“Let me finish,” he continued, picking up the chairs and he pushed at your shoulders to make you sit down. “Secondly, don’t you ever scare me like that again okay?”
“Scare you? I thought I was the one being scared?”
“I thought your ex or some other criminal had broken into your home. You really made it sound like that, Y/N…” Kíli rubbed his face with his hands. “God, I was so worried.”
“You were worried about me?” you repeated, eyes wide. 
“Of course I was, you’re my friend aren’t you?” Kíli noticed your cheeks flush. You looked adorable.
“Yeah… friends. Of course!” you murmured softly. 
“Friends come to each other’s rescue,” he smiled, flexing his muscles. 
“Ah yes, my knight in shining armor… but without the armor.” You rolled your eyes. “So, since you came all the way here and acted all heroic, I need to thank you with… pizza?”
“Only if we’re watching a movie. My choice!”
“Deal!” You got up from your chair and ordered two pizzas.
When you sat together on the couch half an hour later, with your pizza between you, you leaned towards Kíli and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. 
Kíli immediately went red, his hand brushing over the spot where you kissed him.  
“What was that for?” 
Not that he complained, but he didn’t want to read too much into it. 
“Saving me,” you answered, eyes locked on the tv screen.
“Anytime Y/N…” He rubbed his cheek softly, the place where you kissed him still tingling. “Anytime…”
Kíli taglist: @elles-writing 
Permanent taglist: @roosliefje @kata1803 @entishramblings @artsywaterlily @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose @marvelschriss @kumqu4t @myrin1234 @dark-angel-is-back @the-fandoms-georgie @lathalea @xxbyimm​ @sokkasdarling​ @katethewriter​
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Two Shorten the Road
part 1
joel dawson x reader
warnings: cussing? idk, bad writing.....fluff, cuteness, monsters(is this a warning), mentions of death, SPOILERS
word count: 2154
prompt: when your best friend decides to leave your colony to go find the love of his life, you decide to join him on his journey even if you aren’t so happy about where this journey is going
Welp I did it, I took it into my own hands. I am writing a joel dawson series. Because we👏need 👏more👏joel👏fics👏 it’s basically the movie, almost the same script but obviously slightly different…ENJOY! <3
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No one in my generation or later had a typical upbringing, I mean some of us did but then the world ended. This type of thing sounds straight out of some apocalyptic movie, but we basically live in one now. Agatha 616, an asteroid heading straight for earth, I know, so original. So we all came together and did what we do best, blow things up. Yup, we blew up teh asteroid, and humanity was saved! We thought. But here’s the thing about rockets, they are made of a bunch of chemical compounds which eventually rained back down on earth. Suddenly there were these Aileen creatures that mutated and started eating us. Ants, lizards, roaches, crocodiles, you name it. Our president was even killed by a giant moth. Ya….not so original now huh? We suddenly need tanks to kill ants, oh man I remember the good old days when a shoe would do just fine. Sometimes even the tanks didn’t work. Eventually the really big ones and our military took each other out and we lost 95% of the human population in a year! Those of us who survived hid, bunkers, caves, panic rooms, all around the world. So for the last seven years I’ve been hiding in an underground bunker. It’s really not as bad as it sounds, and it’s better than getting eaten alive. It’s a great group of people and we all love each other.
“Are you sure they’re asleep?”
“Who?”
“Y/N and joel!”
“Oh ya I’m sure”
“Joel? Y/n?”
“He’s asleep”
Actually we are both awake. Me and my best friend joel have kinda mastered faking being asleep. Our beds are right across from each other so we normally just lie there and make stupid faces at each other. We are the only two single people in our bunker. Nice huh? Joel is my best friend. I met him when I joined the colony. He’s the sweetest. It’s funny cause everyone thinks we should just have sex already because that’s literally all everyone else does. But we are way above that. Anyway, joel is in love with his girlfriend from before the colony, her name is Aimee. With one “I” and two “e”s. He loves to talk about her, he writes her letters. So in reality, I am the only one who is not in love in this bunker. I’ve never had a boyfriend, ever, even before the world ended.
We don’t really get any sleep. The moaning kinda keeps us awake. I got up and out of my bed and headed for the kitchen. I heard Joel’s bed creak and then his footsteps as he followed behind me. Another annoying thing about being down here is that to get to the kitchen from my room, you have to walk though other people’s bedrooms. Oh shit, they are busy, why would they leave their door open. Me and Joel stopped.
“Oh” joel and I said in unison
“Hey Y/N! Hey Joel!” Ava said
“Oh hey Ava” Joel said, we didn’t dare look over to our left.
“Y/N how’s it going?” Tim asked
“T-totally good tim, h-how are you doing” I asked
“Yeah, good” he responded
“I uh we couldn’t sleep” said Joel looking at the ceiling
“Ya we know the feeling” Ava said with a laugh
“Yeah probably not for the…..same reasons” joel said looking straight ahead
“Your guyses door was open, did you…did you know that?” I asked
“Yeah we know” they said
I shook my head and knitted my eyebrows together
“Okay” joel trailed off
Ever since Tim’s parents were eaten by a swarm of termites he and Ava have gotten really close, in every way.
“Okay, goodnight” joel said as we walked
Basically everyone is coupled up down here, a baby was born last winter! Welcome to the apocalypse kid. Ok if we ever get out of this, that would be an awesome story to tell your kids. “Oh ya I was born in an underground bunker doing a monster apocalypse” “yes exactly like World War Z but with bugs bigger than a 5 story building”. I mean come on.
So your probably wonder how the hell we get food, we’ll we have a cow. Gurdy. Gurdy is great. We also have a hunting party that brings back whatever they can from the surface. It’s gotten harder and harder, cause we ran out of bullets. And facing one of those things with a handmade weapon is just as hard as it sounds. It’s very very difficult. I go with them….sometimes. I still get scared. But I’ve been out quite a lot, especially compared to my man joel over here. I’ve been out maybe 30 times, he’s been out…maybe once, or not even. He’s the chef of the bunker. He makes super good Minestrone.
Me and joel like to hang out with Mavis. A robot. Yup. Not much for conversation, her batter is shot. Just like every other mavis I would imagine. When I’m not hunting we hang out with her. But sometimes I just go read. Reading and joel keep me sane. I mean sometimes joel drives me insane but I still love him. I have quite the collection of books too! I’ve got Emma by Jane Austen, a couple random ones that we found, all the hunger games and Harry Potter books, some mysteries that stopped being mysteries after a while, and then of course some smutty romance books for personal entertainment.
Joel likes to say that his thing is target practice. He has never hit the target but ya know, gotta entertain yourself. I think his thing is drawing though, he has this book that he draws in from Aimee. It’s really cool actually. He’s really good.
I sat watching Joel as he tried to hit the target, laughing a little every time he missed. It was cute how hard he tried.
“Shut up” he said shaking his laugh away
I laughed again, but then suddenly the lights started flickering. You could hear screeches and creeks echoing through the bunker. Joel turned to look at me. Worry and determination in his eyes. We both scrambled out of the room and into the kitchen where everyone was preparing.
“Hustle, hustle people we’ve gotta move”
I turned to look at Joel but then realized that he wasn’t next to me. Where did he go? Worry flooded through me. Suddenly the clanking of our weapon started behind me.
“Hey guys!” Joel said as he rammed into the railing, I shook my head. “Guys! I’ve got the weapons” he smiled at me
A few people walked over to him taking them out of his hands
“Stay” said Tim
“W-what?” Joel asked looking around in confusion
Everyone was talking and barking orders “grab what you need and let’s go! Y/N you coming?”
My eyes shot open “yes! Yup!” I jumped up and grabbed the bow and arrow from Joel.
“W-what's happening?” He asked innocently “what’s going on?”
“There’s a breach” said Tim
“What do you mean? Like inside the bunker breach?!” He asked
“Yes joel! Now come on!” I told him, patting him on the pack as I followed the others
He followed me and watched the plan get arranged
“Anna, Y/N and I will engage. Anderson and Tom plank him”
“Plank him, ya ok where do you guys need me? You want me to uh come through the rear or..?” Joel asked eagerly
“I don’t think your going to pass this joel” I told him
“Pass what? You guys need help, let me help” said clutching his crossbow
“You gonna make me say it?” said Sam
“Say what?!” God he was so adorably clueless
“You can’t handle it joel, your shook” said Sam, we all began getting into positions
“Ya ok, yes so you guys don’t get scared..ever?” He asked still getting ready to fight
“We get scared, we all get scared joel, but you get really scared” said Sam
“They are trying to make you feel bad joel” I said sweetly, trying to calm him down
“We love you joel”
“But your a liability”
“Ok why did that speech feel so rehearsed? And what about Y/N? She’s like…ya know?” He said bobbing his head
“Joel-“ suddenly the bunker shook and the lights flicked again
“Ok 30 meters out! Let’s move!” And we were off
Leaving joel and some others behind. You could hear the growling of whatever we were up against
I followed the others and listened carefully. I was freaking shaking. Don’t ask how I got sucked into becoming one the the hunters. Kinda just happened and I was just-
“OH SHIT!” I heard someone yell, it was too dark to see. Someone was gone, that thing took them. I couldn’t even see it. Oh fuck my life. Everyone began scattering, running away from the monster. I stopped running to take a breath, when I realized I was alone. Nicely done Y/N. The lights kept flickering. I heard something blow up in the distance.
“Conned? Conner?” I heard a whisper, one I knew all too well. Shit, joel. I ran toward the sound, and had no idea I was also running toward certain death. I stopped running. There it was, that thing. I’d never seen this before. I didn’t recognize it. I stayed silent, not moving at all. It slowly crawled over a shower curtain. Oh fuck. He was going toward joel! I quickly grabbed my bow and arrow and shot it. Right though the face. Next to its….eye I guess you could call it. Joel stood there, frozen.
I slowly walked over to him “Joel, hey are you ok?” I asked as I slipped my hand into his. He was trembling. Tears ran down his cheeks. He has a bad freezing problem, so I've been helping him work on it.
About an hour later I sat with Joel, still holding his hand as he stared out into space. We could hear everyone talking. How could this have happened?
“It ripped through steal”
“Anderson and I resealed the Breach point, nothings getting in that way again”
“But why did it happen?”
I tried to toon it out, and I hoped Joel did too.
“Joel, do you wanna talk about it?” I asked squeezing his hand, he looked so sad, which just crushed me
He shook his head
“Ok….” I nodded, I leaned into hug him but was interrupted by his voice
“How far away is Aimee's colony?” He asked
I pulled back, looking at him confused. The talking stopped and everyone look at him
“What?” Tim asked
“Aimee’s colony, how far away is it?” He repeated
“About 85 miles” he said as he furrowed his brows
“How long will it take to get there?”
“What do you mean joel?” I asked leaning closer to him
“Just humor me, how long?” He insisted
“7 days” said Tim
“Someone who’s armed and trained would hardly last 50miles, but you…joel” Ava said, I felt bad for him, he really didn’t deserve any of this
“Alright” Tim continued “now I need volunteers”
“I’m gonna go” joel said
No one said anything, they just stared
“It’s an impossible journey joel” said Tim, crossing his arms
Joel stood up, moving around my chair. “No im serious…I love you guys but there’s only one person in this world who ever truly made me happy and she’s only 85 miles away” he said strongly “I’m gonna go see her” I could see his mind was made up
God he was such a romantic, how could you not love this guy? Sure it hurts when your best friend tells you that you didn’t make him truly happy. Especially when you maybe sorta kinda have a crush on him.
He let out a breath “woah, that felt awesome” he said as he walked off to start packing
I stood there for a second processing and thinking, but then suddenly my mouth took over and well….
“I’m coming with you!” I said, he froze “I mean you can’t leave me here with these middle aged people, and your my best friend so” I shrugged
“I’ll come back for you I promise” he walked over to me “I can’t let you put yourself in even more danger” he said grabbing my arms
“I can’t let you put yourself in danger knowing that I could have helped protect you” I said, he stared blankly at me
I smiled “o-ohK…then I guess…” he trailed off
“Cool I’ll go pack” I skipped past him. Was I scared? Hell yes. But like I said, I needed to help joel and protect him in every way I can. And sure I wasn’t so happy that he was returning to his long lost love but if it made him happy then I would live. And anyway, two do shorten the road.
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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years ago
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72 Hours In Montreal [Part I]
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A/N: Many moons ago, the incomparably lovely @im-an-adult-ish​ pitched a Montreal concert fic idea (jokingly, I think), and quite a few of my followers fell in love with it. They were even kind enough to vote on which Queen member should be the love interest, and there was a clear winner: John! 
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I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and at last, here is the first of three chapters of this new mini-fic. I’m going to tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. 💜
Series Summary: John Deacon is a rock star at a crossroads. Y/N is a world-weary employee at a Yankee Candle shop. They’ll only ever have three short days in Montreal together...or will they??
Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (not graphic). 
Word Count: 6.8k.
Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE
Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @escabell​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​ @deacyblues​ @tensecondvacation​ @brianssixpence​ @some-major-ishues​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @youngpastafanmug​ @simonedk​ @rhapsodyrecs​ ​​​ @joemazzmatazz​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​​ @namelesslosers​​ @inthegardensofourminds​​ @sleepretreat​​ @hardyshoe​​​ @sevenseasofcats​​ @jennyggggrrr​​ @madeinheavxn​​ @whatgoeson-itslate​​​ @herewegoagainniall​​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​​ @pomjompish​​ @allauraleigh​​  @bluutac​​ @johndeaconshands​​ 
The obnoxious British men are still laughing. The one with the mustache, suspenders, and illogically tight red leather pants is standing on the tiptoes of his equally red Adidas shoes to paw candles off the top shelf so he can sniff them. The blond one has no less than eight jars balanced precariously in his wiry arms. Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing is billowing through the shop speakers.
“Oh my god, he’s gonna break something,” you moan in a whisper, covering your eyes but peeking through your fingers. Your apron is suddenly too tight around your waist; your cheeks are roaring with blood as you envision the inevitable confrontation: Sir, unfortunately you ruined some of our giant tacky overpriced candles and so now you have to pay for them. So sorry. Paper or plastic? We take Mastercard.
“Who?” Kevin asks. He’s holding a broom in one pudgy, pinkish hand and a dustpan in the other. He has surrendered.
“That one. Suspenders and moustache guy. Red shoes guy. Dorothy without Toto.”
Kevin cracks a smile. “That is frighteningly accurate. He is rather whimsical, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll click his heels and disappear back to London or wherever.”
“We aren’t in Kansas anymore,” you mutter in commiseration. Actually, to be perfectly literal, you’ve never been to Kansas in your life.
“Wait, I think I might have met that guy before somewhere.” Kevin squints with great concentration. “He looks oddly familiar…”
“Hm.” You check your eyeliner wings in your reflection in the cash register screen. From what you can tell, they’re every bit as tragically asymmetrical as you remembered. Spectacular.
“Staring won’t make it better,” Kevin notes, very unhelpfully.
“I know,” you reply, miserable, toying with your bangs so you can hide behind them.
“How does that even happen? The right one is practically a 90-degree angle. The left one looks like you drew it on with a Sharpie.”
You groan. “I’ll try to scrub them off during my break.”
“If you’re not too busy helping me sweep glass off the floor, sure,” Kevin says. “I told you, I took an electrical engineering class as an elective once. I could totally take a look at your bathroom.”
“I thought you said you failed that class.”
“No, I said I got a D in that class. Ds aren’t failing.”
“Well now you’ve convinced me.” You scrutinize your reflection again, frowning. You rent a rather dilapidated one-bedroom apartment above a bakery just a few blocks from the Yankee Candle shop. The apartment always smells like powdered sugar and baking bread, which you like. What you don’t like is everything else about it: the peeling paint, the low water pressure, the windows that you can’t wrestle open, the occasional mice, the shoddy electrical wiring. On any given day, there’s an approximately 27% chance that the bathroom light won’t turn on when you flip the switch. This morning you had been on the losing side of those odds, and with the only mirror in the apartment being the one mounted over the sink—and the overcast November skies outside offering painfully little natural light—you had haphazardly guesstimated your way through your makeup routine before dashing off to work. Your guesstimation skills, apparently, are not all that great.
“If he’s The Wizard of Oz...” Kevin points his broom handle from the snickering moustached man to the gangly, poodle-haired one who has been trying to decide between two candles—Christmas Cookie and Cinnamon Stick—for twelve uninterrupted minutes. He’s wearing a parka spotted with patches: a NASA emblem, a soaring rocket, a smiling green extraterrestrial face, Saturn and its rings. “That guy’s gotta be Star Wars.”
“Or Alien,” you suggest, clutching your chest and pretending to die melodramatically.
Kevin laughs. “2001: A Space Odyssey.”
“Close Encounters of The Third Kind.”
“What about that one?” Kevin nods to the guy who has large blue eyes and bleach-blond, fried tufts of hair sticking out in every direction and a grin that is simultaneously childish and foxlike. Under Pressure comes on the shop speakers, and the British men all start cheering and high-fiving each other, leaving their candles momentarily tucked under their arms or quivering precariously on the edges of wooden display tables. You are entirely mystified. “God, he’s gorgeous.”
“Bye Bye Birdie,” you decide. “Beautiful. Charming. Beloved by all. Perhaps a little dangerous. I can picture teenage girls sobbing themselves to sleep as he gallantly marches off to war.”
“You think he’s gay?” Kevin asks hopefully.
“I don’t think he’s dressed well enough for that.” The blond man is wearing a shapeless, polka-dotted sweater that has ‘NIVEA’ spelled across the front, for reasons that are difficult to fathom.
Kevin sighs, crestfallen. He suffered a nasty breakup with his boyfriend Patrick two weeks ago, and is enthusiastically on the hunt for a rebound to distract him. “You’re probably right. Okay, last but not least.” Kevin aims his broom handle at the fourth and final British stranger. “What shall we call him?”
You consider the man who has wandered away from the others. He’s wearing Levi’s, a black bomber jacket, aviator sunglasses, a mop of unwrangled auburn hair, thoughtful lines that break around the corners of his hidden eyes. He is browsing unhurriedly, perhaps even distractedly, through the fruit-scented candles. He picks up a jar of Macintosh Apple, sniffs a few times, then sets it back down precisely where he found it. He even spins the jar so it’s label-side-facing-outwards again. You warm to him immediately.  
“One of the James Bond movies?” Kevin offers. “He seems…enigmatic somehow. Esoteric. Yet still clearly leading man material.”
“Casablanca,” you say, not tearing your gaze from the stranger. “I can imagine him waving off some old flame on a foggy, night-draped airport runway, breaking hearts with sparse words of wisdom. Can’t you?”
“Oh, that’s exactly right!” Kevin sighs again, dreamily, yearningly. And whether he’s yearning for his ex-boyfriend Patrick or Bye Bye Birdie a.k.a. NIVEA-sweater man or passion or sex or love or maybe just the ineffable high that accompanies the beginnings of things, you couldn’t say.
You peer at your reflection in the cash register screen once again, feeling more self-conscious than ever. “Maybe if I—”
“Freddie!” Star Wars cries, and you whirl just in time to see The Wizard of Oz, whizzing around and giggling and preoccupied with teasing NIVEA-sweater man, stumble into the six-foot-tall tower of Christmas Tree-scented candles and send countless jars crashing to the tile floor.
“I knew it!” you unleash in a rush of misery and exasperation, the biting threat of tears in your eyes and the back of your throat. And of course, it isn’t just about the mess on the floor, it isn’t just about having to tell your manager and hoping to God he doesn’t fire you. It’s about your derelict apartment, it’s about your fucked up eyeliner, it’s about everything that’s happened in the past eighteen months; it’s about the never-ending feelings of helplessness and inertia and predestined ruin, it’s about not being able to get fifteen meters down the street before life throws up another red light, another jagged sinkhole gaping like ravenous jaws. And none of that is these ridiculous British men’s fault; yet still, in that moment the fury you feel towards them is overwhelming.
“Jesus christ,” Kevin mumbles, stepping out from behind the counter to survey the damage, his hands still clutching the broom and dustbin.
“You couldn’t just mosey around and ask which candles are on sale and maybe sniff one or two like a normal person?!” you explode. “You had to come in here acting like goddamn animals and destroy like a third of our inventory?!”
“I’m so sorry,” The Wizard of Oz sputters, looking at you and Kevin with wide, profusely apologetic dark eyes. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man are helping him to his feet, albeit with very spirited chidings. Kevin is grudgingly asking if he’s alright. Casablanca is already trying to sort through which candles are broken and putting those that survived aside. And when he casts furtive glances from behind his aviator sunglasses, they’re directed not at Kevin or The Wizard of Oz but at you.
“Freddie, bloody hell,” NIVEA-sweater man laments.
“I’ll pay for them all,” The Wizard of Oz tells you. “I’m so, so, so terribly sorry, you’re absolutely right to be cross with me, and I’ll pay for everything. Here, let me get my wallet…” He digs around in the pockets of his preposterously tight red leather pants.
“Uh…sir…” Kevin begins uncertainly, not wanting to break the bad news.
“It’s going to be hundreds of dollars,” you inform The Wizard of Oz. “Maybe over a thousand. You’re really going to pay that? Or are you just going to wait until we start sweeping up and then sprint out the front door the first chance you get?”
“Hey,” Kevin warns you quietly. He wants you to keep this job probably even more than you do. You are, by his own admission, far and away his favorite coworker.
“No, no, darling, please, let her scold me, I deserve it.” The Wizard of Oz at last locates his wallet. He sashays to the counter, brushing nuggets of glittering glass off his clothes, and counts out two thousand Canadian dollars in hundreds. “Will that do? You can keep the change as compensation for the inconvenience. And we’ll help clean up as well, has anyone got an extra broom?”
As you stare down at the money, shocked into speechlessness, three hulking men dressed in black come barreling into the shop.
“Lord in heaven, Freddie, what happened?!” one asks. He has a thick beard and an Irish accent and closely resembles a grizzly bear.
“I made a complete ass out of myself and am now trying to win the affections of this marvelous creature,” The Wizard of Oz replies, flourishing a hand towards you. “Is it working, dear?”
“Kind of,” you admit, still stunned.
“Oh my god.” The broom tumbles out of Kevin’s grasp and clatters on the floor. He points at The Wizard of Oz. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You…you…you’re Freddie Mercury, right?”
In reply, The Wizard of Oz only flashes an enormous, toothy, dazzling grin.
“Oh my god,” Kevin says again, a starry, awed smile rippling across his round face.
“Please don’t make his ego any bigger,” Star Wars pleads.
“And you’re Brian May!” Kevin replies. “And you’re…” He turns to NIVEA-sweater man, snapping his fingers, trying to remember. “Robbie…no, Ronnie…uh…Ricky…?”
“Roger Taylor.” But it comes out like ‘Rogah Taylah.’ NIVEA-sweater man extends a hand for Kevin to shake, not the least bit offended. “It’s a pleasure. Sorry about the candles.”
“No problem, sir!” Kevin squeaks as he takes Roger’s hand, beaming. The men in black—the band’s security, you’ve gathered—have descended upon the crime scene, confiscated Kevin’s broom and dustbin, and are rapidly clearing glass and chunks of candlewax from the floor and discarding the mess in a trash bin that usually collects only chewed gum and unwanted receipts.
“So I guess I probably shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you tell Freddie Mercury guiltily, all the venom in your voice evaporated. You’re no Queen superfan, true, but everyone knows the words to Bohemian Rhapsody and We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions. And Another One Bites The Dust. And Killer Queen. And Crazy Little Thing Called Love. And Somebody To Love. Your thoughts are suddenly a racing, indecipherable blur. Your knees are boneless. You’ve never met a celebrity before. Well, not unless you count professional hockey players, which you definitely don’t.
“No, you absolutely should have,” Freddie retorts. “I was dreadfully discourteous. I’m positively mortified about it. I should be punished severely. Have you got anything behind the counter to whip me with? A riding crop, perhaps?”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Not that I know of. I’m sorry I called you an animal.”
“I’m sorry about the candles. There, now we’re even. Wait, not quite yet.” He calls over to Kevin: “Darling, how would you and your friend like front row seats at our show tonight?”
The squeal that bursts out of Kevin is not human.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Freddie Mercury says, very pleased.
“This is really too generous of you,” you protest, although your heart isn’t in it; Kevin might legitimately strangle you if you screw this up, and you’re finding that you want to see Queen in concert too. It’s something to interrupt the powerless, unrelenting monotony; it’s like something that might happen in a movie or a dream.
“Nonsense!” Freddie announces cheerfully. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man—or, rather, Brian and Roger—are chatting with the security guys and nodding along as the bearlike Irishman reviews the day’s itinerary.
You peer over at Casablanca. Now that the floor is mostly clear, he’s migrating towards you and Freddie. You glance apprehensively down at your reflection. “Goddammit,” you mutter, manipulating your bangs again, wishing you could disappear. “I meet a rock star for the first time ever and I look like this.”
“It’s not that bad,” Kevin says, obviously lying.
“I like it,” Freddie tells you, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his knuckles. “It’s very goth raccoon chic.”
“My bathroom light wouldn’t turn on this morning and I was late for work and I guesstimated and that was clearly a poor decision.” Poor decisions are my expertise, you think instinctively, and feel a tug of something you don’t quite have the words for. Shame, grief, disappointment, a raw sting like a flame beneath your palm, a dread like a child who’s lost their mother’s hand.  
“I’ve offered to take a look at the wiring!” Kevin exclaims. “I told you, a D is passing!”
“Kev, babe,” you reply. “I really, truly appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ll probably just make it worse. And then my landlord will hate me and keep my security deposit and write me awful references and I’ll have to live in an endless string of ancient, hideous apartments until I die.”
“It’s an electrical problem?” Casablanca asks, pushing his aviator sunglasses up into his unruly hair. His unveiled eyes are a blueish grey—they remind you of one of the candles, maybe Beach Walk or Bahama Breeze—and very direct. He stares at you and you stare back, and at some point you realize that everyone is waiting for you to answer.
“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so. Sometimes nothing happens when I flip the switch. That’s the extent of my handyman knowledge, unfortunately.”
Casablanca nods. “I could take a look, if you like.”
Not Beach Walk. Not Bahama Breeze. Warm Luxe Cashmere, maybe. “Now that really is too generous. I couldn’t possibly put a rock star to work on my terrible apartment.”
“John’s got a degree in electrical engineering, that’s right in his wheelhouse,” Brian counters.
“Yes,” Roger says, grinning, teasing in a way that has absolutely no malice in it. “He’s more of an engineer than a rock star anyway, isn’t he?”
“Seriously?” Casablanca—John, you mentally correct yourself—doesn’t seem much like an electrical engineer. But Roger’s right: he doesn’t really seem like a rock star, either. What John seems like is steady and abiding and perceptive, attentive, unflinching. He studies you like some people study paintings, like you once studied paintings; not in a passing-by-in-a-crowded-hallway type way but in a patient way, a methodical way, with the quiet that comes from knowing that vision in the frame is older than you will ever be and will still be hanging on that wall when you’re bones in a box somewhere.
Freddie lights a cigarette and puffs on it decadently. Smoking definitely isn’t allowed inside the Yankee Candle shop, but you aren’t about to snap at Freddie Mercury for the second time today. “Oh, let him tinker around in your flat, darling. It’ll make his day.”
“Is it far?” John asks you.
“No, really, Casa…uh, I mean, John, I appreciate the offer more than I could possibly express but I—”
“It’s just a few blocks north,” Kevin says, and tosses you a wily smile.
“How convenient!” Freddie trills. “When does your shift end, dear?”
“Not until 5:30.”
“She can take a long lunch break.” Another smile from Kevin. “Honestly, there’s not much to do around here now that the Great Candle Massacre of 1981 has been remediated.”
“Splendid!” Freddie says, radiant.
You shake your head, very slowly. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”
“Then you clearly haven’t lived enough,” Freddie quips.
“Fred!” Roger presses. “Are we going to the bookstore down the street or not? That was the whole deal, we suffer through your candles, you suffer through our books.”
“You didn’t seem to be suffering,” Brian says.
“Of course I’m suffering. That cashier over there almost murdered me,” Roger slings back.  
Freddie sighs and rolls his large, dark, expressive eyes. “Yes, darling, of course, don’t give yourself an aneurism. We’ll go to the bookstore, John can rendezvous with us later.” Now he turns to you. “We’ll send a car to your flat at 7 to pick you and Kevin up for the show tonight. Don’t let John leave without knowing your address. Wear something deliciously opulent. Lots of sparkle. Maybe furs.”
“I make eight dollars an hour,” you tell him.  
“Or you could just wear nothing.”
“Sparkle and furs it is.”
Freddie chuckles and turns to the men in black. “Chubby, my dear?”
The towering bearlike Irishman replies: “Yeah, I’ll go with John. Don’t wreck anything else while I’m gone. Don’t get yourselves deported before the show. EMI will have your heads on spikes.”
Freddie pretends to be scandalized. “Causing destruction? We would never.” He saunters towards the shop door, jingling the bells as he swings it open, and waves like royalty. “See you tonight, darlings!”
“Bye!” Kevin shouts after him. And then, after Freddie, Roger, Brian, and the two non-bearlike men in black have departed: “Oh my god I just met Freddie Mercury and he’s amazing and he knows I exist and he spoke to me and tonight he’s sending a car to take me to a concert and I’m going to have front row seats and what if he invites me to have a drink afterwards oh my god.”
John, evidently unaffected, prompts you: “So your place is just a few blocks away?”
“Yeah. Just let me get my coat…”
The man in black—Chubby, as Freddie had introduced him—fetches your coat off the rack by the door and holds it up so you can slip inside it. No one has ever done that for you before.
“…Thanks…?” You button your coat, feeling a little like royalty yourself at the moment.
John pulls open the door, the tiny metal bells jangling, and gestures out into the streets of downtown Montreal. He’s wearing his aviator sunglasses again; the November wind gusts through his hair. You catch threadbare ghosts of cigarette smoke and cologne that the breeze lifts from his skin like pages of a book. And he smiles, just barely. “After you.”
You walk north together along the path of the sidewalk with your hands in your pockets, your breath fog in the cold, weaving through the bustling crowds of tourists and holiday shoppers, Chubby trailing not far behind and displaying his talent for keeping watch while not letting on that he is. To even your own horror, you can’t seem to shut up.
“John, this is so kind of you, this is completely unnecessary, you really shouldn’t feel like you owe me anything because Freddie already paid for the candles twice over and I was totally unprofessional for yelling at customers, even annoying customers, and Kevin and I are already getting a free concert tonight and so—”
“Okay,” John says firmly. “You have to talk about something else now.”
“I can’t talk about anything else. All I can think about is how ridiculous this is.”
“Have you lived in Montreal long?” he asks, very casually, as if you’re strangers in line next to each other at Starbucks.
“My whole life.” Minus a little over three years, but you don’t need to get into that. “My parents live over in Verdun, right on the St. Lawrence River.
“Sounds scenic.”
“It certainly is.” You’re trying not to look at John, because every time you do it’s hard to stop. You look at the cars rolling by instead. “This is super embarrassing, and I don’t mean to offend you, but what exactly do you do in Queen?”
He’s not offended; he thinks it’s hilarious. “I’m the bassist.”
“Oh, that makes sense.”
“Does it?”
“Yeah, bassists are quiet and reliable or whatever. Bassists don’t terrorize Yankee Candle employees.”
“You’re not a Queen fan?”
“I’m a casual and appreciative listener, but I wouldn’t call myself a fan. I couldn’t pick any of you out of a lineup, clearly. Roger is the drummer, right?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Drummers are feral, almost universally. Which means Brian must be lead guitar.”
“And what do you think of lead guitarists?”
“Word on the street is that they are brilliant yet micromanaging egomaniacs, but I don’t want to bash your friend or anything.”
John chuckles, like there’s some joke you aren’t in on yet. “No, please, bash away. So you prefer bassists.”
And finally you do look at him, and you regret it immediately; because now you’re caught in the thoughtful crinkles around his eyes and the barely-there stubble of his cheeks and the playful curve of his lips and how the wind ruffles his auburn hair the same way it steals leaves off of slumbering trees. You almost walk right past the bakery. “Oh, wait, we’re here.”
You lead John and Chubby upstairs to your chronically irritating apartment. John removes his sunglasses, inspects your bathroom light switch, then asks if you have a specific kind of screwdriver. You bring him the toolkit that has lived beneath the kitchen sink since before you moved in and he roots around, finds what he’s searching for, and unfastens the light switch plate from the wall.
“Please don’t electrocute yourself,” you fret, as Chubby meanders around in the living room and tries not to intrude. “If you die your groupies will never forgive me.”
“Who says I’ve got groupies?” John replies, amused.
“I just assumed all rock stars do.” Your eyes flick down to his hands as he fidgets with the wiring; and you notice randomly—or, maybe, not all that randomly—that he’s not wearing a ring. You’re still ruminating over that when he returns the light switch plate to the wall, secures each of the four screws with a few deft twists of his wrist, and performs a test flip. The light turns on immediately.
“Mission accomplished,” John says mildly.
“What?! No, no way, no freaking way.” You flip the switch again. The light turns off and on obediently. You try it at least five more times. Perfection. “…How?!”
“Just a few loose wires. No great hardship.” He tucks the screwdriver back into the toolkit.  
You gape at him. “That took you…like…two minutes.”
“Aren’t you glad my band wandered into your candle shop and almost demolished the place today?” He rests his hands on his waist; his sturdy, skillful, ringless hands. “Anything else I can fix for you?”
“Definitely not.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
He stares at you. You stare back.
“Stop looking at my fucked up eyeliner.”
John laughs. It’s a delightfully clear, disarming sound. “That’s not what I was doing.”  
“I should fix my makeup and go back to work now. And you should probably go help your friends burn down the bookstore or blow up a Starbucks or do whatever else is on your agenda for today.”
“Soundcheck and dinner, actually,” John says. He slides the toolkit back beneath your kitchen sink, meets Chubby by the front door, and pauses there to give you one last lingering, laden gaze. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“In my best furs,” you purr in your most convincing Freddie Mercury impression.
“Or nothing at all,” John suggests levelly. And then he’s gone.
~~~~~~~~~~
It turns out better than you thought it would. Your tan, knee-high suede boots are celebratory without being too uncomfortable. Kevin brings you a faux fur jacket that he stole from Patrick during the breakup. You find a glittery black dress in the back of your closet that you once loved, then couldn’t stand to look at, then forgot existed entirely; but tonight it’s like you’re seeing it with brand new eyes. It fits even better than you remember. In the mirror, you look like a stranger and a hauntingly familiar acquaintance and yourself all at once.
Chubby arrives in a black limousine at precisely 7pm, parks along the curb next to the bakery, and honks the horn twice. You and Kevin dash down the narrow steps and climb into the backseat, finding complimentary cigarettes and bottled water and chilled champagne. As the limo rolls though Montreal under changing traffic lights, Kevin prattles on about the band, their history, their albums, their tours…and John in particular. He tries to tempt you. You resist valiantly…for the first fifteen minutes, anyway.
Finally, you sigh in capitulation. “Okay. Fine. I get it. What do you know about him?”
“I know he’s divorced,” Kevin says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I saw it on the cover of a tabloid a while back. Very contentious, spicy stuff. He’s got like eight kids.”
“He does not have eight kids!”
“Okay, maybe not eight. But he has a lot,” Kevin insists.
You rearrange your hair with deliberate flippantness. “What do I care if he’s divorced?”
Kevin grins. “You know why you care.”
“Stop,” you plead.
“Look, all I’m saying is that he definitely likes you. And you like him. And I haven’t seen you like anybody, ever, in the…wait, let me count…the nine whole months that I’ve known you. When was the last time you even had a boyfriend? When was the last time you got laid? Oh my god, it hasn’t been nine months, has it?! That’s way too long to go without sex. No wonder you’re so serious all the time. It all makes sense now. You poor thing. You’re in dick withdrawal.”
“Assuming that’s my problem—which it isn’t, by the way—if I wanted to get laid there are far easier ways to accomplish that.”
“Sure,” Kevin says. “But you don’t want just any dick. You want British bassist dick. John Deacon dick. Casablanca dick.”
“This friendship is terminated.”
Kevin cackles, pouring himself a glass of champagne that bubbles over the top and spills onto the limo floor. “I’m really glad you’re here with me. I’m glad we can do this together.”
You fill a champagne flute with bottled water and clink your glass against his, smiling. The limo is turning into the parking lot of the Montreal Forum. “Me too.”
~~~~~~~~~~
The backstage room that Chubby escorts you and Kevin to after the show is full of chatter and heavy smoke and roadies and fans and musicians and journalists, trays of hors d'oeuvres, wine and Stella Artois and vodka and tequila and rum, the electric promise of things that will go unmentioned in the morning. There are stacks of stereo speakers in the corner rumbling out Another One Bites The Dust. You and Kevin camp out on a green velvet couch—making small talk with each other to avoid making it with anyone else—until the band arrives.
John is still wearing his concert outfit: blue pants, blue shirt, a black leather jacket that gives him an edge like a knife. He passes out a few polite nods; but Freddie and Roger are undeniably the suns in this room, and the guests their planets. Freddie is soon surrounded by a constellation of followers and whisks Kevin away with him. John, meanwhile, comes straight to where you’re sitting on the couch and stands in front of you with his messy hair and his veil of cologne and his mystery-candle-blue eyes.
“Can I get you anything?” he asks in that calm, measured way that you’ve learned he has. “Rum and Coke? Moscow Mule? Hurricane? I’ve been on a mojito kick recently.”
“I don’t drink.” And you wait for the inevitable awkwardness that usually follows that sentence, when he says why? or seriously? or maybe just oh in wilted disappointment.
Instead, what John says is this: “No problem. Rum minus the Coke?”
You smile up at him. You can’t help yourself. “That would be perfect.”
There are innumerable drinks already poured on a table, dark carbonated liquid trembling in red plastic cups as the bass from the stereo speakers quakes through the crowded, droning, smoke-hazed room. John moves from cup to cup, taking tentative sips before shaking his head and putting them back down on the table. After each attempt, he casts you a rueful smirk before continuing on to the next cup. At last, he finds two unadulterated Cokes and brings them to the couch: one for you, and one for him. He sits beside you with one of his legs crossed over the other, a lit cigarette in his right hand, a red plastic cup of Coke in his left, and his eyes on you in a way that isn’t hungry or arrogant or restless but merely, benignly contemplative. You find yourself thinking of paintings in museums again, you even start to feel a little like one; and you wonder what colors he sees in you, what types of brushstrokes, what signatures scribbled in the corners of the canvas, what shadows painstakingly penciled in to mimic the angles of the sun.
You tell John about growing up in Montreal, about autumn strolls along the St. Lawrence River, about snowfalls and Mont-Royal and Chinatown and the Notre-Dame Basilica, about the exhilarating turmoil of the Summer Olympics in 1976. You tell him about how Kevin is in his last year at Concordia University and works part-time at the Yankee Candle shop for money to invest in his hair gel and travel fund. You tell him so many things he doesn’t notice all the parts you leave out. In return, John tells you about himself; not about John Deacon the bassist of Queen, but about the understated man who likes cars and electronics and the Beatles and tea in the evenings beside a roaring fireplace. And when his arm comes to rest on the back of the green velvet couch, and then across your shoulders, and then around your waist, it doesn’t feel strange at all. You lean into him as you exchange stories and clandestine giggles until you’re nearly in his lap, and that doesn’t feel strange either. And you haven’t had a drop of alcohol—you haven’t in almost a full year, in fact—but you feel a little drunk tonight, because your cheeks are hot and the room is blurry and the world is brimming with a pure, rose-gold, uncomplicated happiness.
The other band members periodically stop by to say hello, clutching their drinks and making stilted pleasantries as you and John smile drowsily up at them, looking nothing like the soberest people in the room. Chubby and the rest of the men in black are simultaneously omnipresent and scarce, which you are beginning to think is a requirement inked into their job description. Kevin, having been fully absorbed into Freddie’s entourage, is beaming and flushed and extremely, blissfully tipsy. And they all watch you and John not with scandalized sideways glances but with warm approval swimming in their gleaming eyes.
“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you yet,” you tell John when you are alone again. “For improving my dreadful apartment. So thank you. You really didn’t have to do that. I hate that I marred your time in Montreal with unpaid labor.”
He shrugs it off. “I like fixing things. It’s what I’m best at.”
“Besides being an internationally acclaimed rock star, you mean.”
“I’m honestly not so sure I’m cut out for the rock star life.”
“You are, though. I saw you. I watched you all night.”
John just stares at you, and then he leans in even closer, inhaling deeply. You can feel the heat of his breath on your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck; goosebumps spring up across your skin like stars at twilight. “What the hell is that? Perfume? Lotion? Shampoo?”
“It’s probably sugar and baking bread, because I live on top of a bakery.”
“Does Yankee Candle make anything that smells like you?”
You laugh, shaking your head. “They definitely do not.”
“They should,” John murmurs. And with the rough whirlpools of his fingertips he turns your face to his so he can kiss you.
It should be kind of humiliating, right? Making out with some guy you just met on a green couch in front of thirty strangers, your hands getting tangled in each other’s hair, your lips meeting again and again, taunting darts of the tongue and quick painless bites and stifled moans and grasping tugs at clothes that you’re starting to wish weren’t there at all. It should feel embarrassing, you should feel overexposed, here in this land of unfamiliar expectations and accents and faces. But no one seems to be watching too closely. This must be so tame in the world of rock stars, it occurs to you; almost wholesome. And you can’t remember a time you’ve ever felt more at peace.
“There’s a pool table in the next room,” someone says, startling you, and you break away from John to discover Roger perched on the arm of the couch, grinning coyly as he sips his emerald glass bottle of Stella Artois. “I mean…you know. If you’re into that. John’s got all sorts of moves, we played for days at a time at Ridge Farm. You could challenge him to a round or two. Place bets. But be warned…he’s a total pool shark.”
“Is he?” you ask mischievously, clasping the lapel of John’s leather jacket. Even if you freed him, he shows no indication of retreating. He’s raking his knuckles back and forth along the length of your thigh that your little black dress leaves exposed, never venturing above the hem.  
Roger winks. “Just thought you might want to know.” Then he hops off the couch and disappears into the crowd again.
John is trying to keep his eyes locked on yours, and no lower. He’s trying to not be even vanishingly forceful. He’s trying not to sway you. But you know exactly what he wants. “Do you…?”
“Show me how to play pool,” you whisper. And you lead him through the shuffling bodies and boisterous, increasingly intoxicated laughter and cumulus clouds of cigarette smoke to the door on the other side of the room.
Beyond the threshold you find a pool table and not much else. It’s terribly unceremonious; it’s absolutely perfect. You can hear Blondie’s Call Me playing back in the packed room where the rest of the band is still reveling, the bass crawling through the walls to radiate in your eardrums, your bones. You lock the door and reach out to flick off the harsh florescent lights, but John stops you. You don’t have to ask him why. He wants to be able to see you. He asks if this is okay—again, wordlessly, with the forthright blue of his eyes—and you nod. And then he kisses you as you drag him in, breathing in his cologne and nicotine, tasting the virgin Coke on his lips that he drank just for you.
John tears off his leather jacket. You toss the faux fur that Kevin lent you to the floor. You climb up onto the pool table, and John follows you. You yank off his shirt, link your suede boots around him as he positions himself between your naked, down-soft thighs. And then John stops.
“Look, I have to be honest,” he says. His hands tremble as they cradle the small of your back, just barely. “I’m newly divorced, and I’m really out of practice, I mean really out of practice, and this is not at all my usual way of doing things, and if I’m total rubbish or only last like thirty seconds or something I just want to apologize in advance and swear that I’ll do absolutely everything I can to make this worth it for you. Because I like you. I really, really like you.”
“I’m a little rusty too,” you confess with a small, sheepish smile. But he doesn’t need to know exactly how rusty you are, or in how many ways, all those layers of blood-hued ruin that spin webs from the skin down to the marrow.
John seems relieved. “Then maybe we’re even.”
You’re not even, you’re nowhere close; but it’s comforting that he thinks you could be.
John kisses you again. His hands find the zipper on the back of your dress, and then the tiny metal clasp of your bra, and then the black lace of your panties…and then everything else as well.
~~~~~~~~~~
Afterwards, you return together to the green velvet couch in the next room, not with bashful swiftness but with your hands entwined, your eyes satiated and calm, your clothes unapologetically rumpled. The partying is winding down. The song pouring through the stereo speakers is In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. And now you and John don’t talk very much at all; you just sit there with fresh cups of Coke, your head resting against his chest, his left arm draped around you, watching the rest of the universe spin on like a carousel as your feet stay rooted to the earth.
“So you’re the smart one,” you say eventually. “You must be, with an electrical engineering degree.”
“You’d be surprised. We’re rather erudite, as far as rock stars go.” He smiles drowsily down at you. “Freddie’s got a degree in graphic art and design. Roger has one in biology. Brian has the better part of a PhD in astrophysics. He might even go back to finish it one day. He probably will, just to be able to lord it over us.”
“Wow,” you reply, distantly, suddenly feeling very small.
“What did you study?” he asks you.
In truth, you never finished college; but you aren’t going to tell John that. “Something useless.”
John is intrigued, and perhaps a little concerned as well. His brow furrows with grooves like lines of fortune in an open palm.
“I wanted to be a painter,” you explain, smirking at the absurdity. “But the world doesn’t need painters anymore. They have pictures and videos that are just as clear as real life. They don’t need my fantasies or interpretations. They have reality.”
“I think we still need painters,” John disagrees, his calloused fingertips tracing lazy circles around your bare shoulder.
“Really?”
“Yeah. For when reality requires improving.”
You let a few moments of silence tick by. And then you put on your faux fur jacket, finish the last of your Coke, stand and find your balance on the low heels of your boots with exhausted, shaky calves.
John jolts upright, somewhat alarmed. “Hey, you don’t have to—”
“This was great, John. This was the best night I’ve had in a long time. So thank you for that. But I have to go home now.”
“Okay.” He studies you, processing. “Okay, okay. I’ll have Chubby drive you.”
“That’s really not necessary, I can get a cab…”
But John has already waved Chubby over, and the massive man appears serendipitously with an impossible degree of stealth. Kevin finds you, staggering, babbling breathlessly about all of his adventures, showing you where Freddie and Roger and Brian signed his chest with a black Sharpie, repeating the same stories on an identical loop every few minutes. As you leave, you offer John a brief parting wave; and he returns it, like a reflection in a mirror, but he’s wearing a pensive frown and eyes dark with thought. Then again, maybe you are too.
Chubby leads you and Kevin outside to the waiting limousine. You slip into the backseat, ply Kevin with bottled water, open the sunroof so moonlight and cold, reviving November air can flood in like a river.
Kevin is coming down now from the high of the champagne and the concert and the carousing with Freddie Mercury. He blinks, soaking you in, really seeing you for the first time in hours. “Wow, you had a good night with Casablanca. You had a really good night.”
“Yeah,” you reply softly, resting your head against the window and watching the stars and streetlights pass by above like seasons. “And it will never happen again.”
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btxtreads · 4 years ago
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do you want to build a snowman? | yeonjun
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➳ He lost you on a winter’s day. He wanted you back on a winter’s day.
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↳ Pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Reader
↳ word count: 2.6k
↳ genre: fluff, angst, exes to lovers
↳prompt: You invite me over to babysit your baby brother/sister because I was the only one who managed to calm her down
↳event: This fic is written for Arcadia Winter Fair 2020 @txtarcadianet​ 
↳a/n: honestly have no clue what this is but it’s 3am, I just ordered a venti and I’m having an intense Yeonjun phase again. The title really has no correlation to the story tbh it’s just honestly a big mess,,,, dO YOU WANNA BUILD A SNOWMAAAAAAAN
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Yeonjun was having a normal day, his body lying haphazardly on the sofa and his eyes mindlessly watching some random movie he found on the Netflix. He didn’t want to admit it, but his mind was far from the hallmark film playing on the screen. Instead, he thought about the heavy sheet of white that was slowly starting to cover the entirety of the city. Then, he thought about her.
He thought about the first day he met her. It was also a winter’s day. He remembered her clutching a cup of coffee, sitting inside a crowded cafe and watching people pass by. He came over, asking to sit with her as he waited for his own coffee—the shop was full. She said yes. He asked her name, she said she was Y/N. He asked to meet her again at the same time and place the very next day. She said yes.
He remembered the first time he kissed her, around a year afterwards. It was a random thing—asking her to go with him to walk around the snowy park. He didn’t really plan on kissing her—he didn’t plan on anything, but the way she looked so beautiful as the two of them ran around the snowy park—making snowmen and throwing snowballs at one another. He often found her looking up at the sky, catching the snowflakes in her hands as her eyes sparkled. He was so drawn to her—he couldn’t help himself. He asked if he can kiss her—and she said yes. Him leaning down, lips locking on hers as she giggled against his, was the fondest memory he held.
Then, he remembered that one day one month ago. She asked him why he won’t tell her anything anymore, then he told her he didn’t feel the same anymore. He held her hand under the setting sun, whispering apologies to her hair as she pounded on his chest. He felt his heart pang as tears flowed out of her eyes, then he felt it break the moment she stepped into a cab and left him alone in the middle of the park where they first kissed.
Days after that, he realized the truth—he lied to himself. He still loved her, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back—not when he broke her first. He couldn’t find it in himself to call her, or go to her and ask for her back. Not when he promised himself he would never be the guy to make her cry, but he was the one that broke her heart in broad daylight. Maybe that’s why it was a surprise when his phone rang, her face flashing on the screen.
“Y/N?” Yeonjun asked confused as he brought the phone to his ears. “Why are you calling?”
Instead of an answer, all he got back was a loud sob. Yeonjun found himself springing up, bolting over to his shoe rack and grabbing the first pair of sneakers he could find.
“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
“Y-Yeonjun,” Y/N sobbed. “Jisu has been crying for an hour now, and I’ve been trying everything.”
“Okay, breathe.” Yeonjun soothed, his voice soft and gentle as he grabbed his car keys. “Just try your best to calm her down. I’m on my way.”
Jisu, Y/N’s little sister, was the light of her life. The child was born just over a year ago—a few months after they started dating—with her parents often giving the little girl to her for emergency babysitting when duty calls or when work has been overbearing, which was good—except Y/N has never been good with children.
Yeonjun, however, was. It helped that Yeonjun was over almost everyday, he loved Jisu and Jisu loved him a lot. What usually happened was that Yeonjun often entertained the girl—played with her, soothed her, held her as Y/N busied herself with making the girl’s food, cleaning her up and everything else. It was a dynamic they easily fell into.
Perhaps that’s why Y/N is so distraught now. The thought of her teary eyes and shking voice when she called him reminded Yeonjun of the day she left, and he didn’t like that. So, when Yeonjun arrived at her apartment complex, he didn’t hesitate to sprint over to the stairs—ignoring the elevator completely as he climbed over three steps at a time to get to her faster.
“Y/N, it’s Jun!” He said, knocking on the door fast.
The door sprang open and he was met with the sight of her for the first time in one whole month. Her eyes were red from all the crying. Her hair was messy from all the times she ran her hands through it in frustration, her figure swallowed by a loose hoodie that Yeonjun knew he left in the small section of her closet reserved just for him. He cracked a small smile at her choice of clothing before reaching out to grab her hand gently.
“Hey, calm down. I’m here.” Yeonjun whispered as fresh tears sprung up in Y/N’s eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She didn’t know if it was just because it was the first time she saw him again after he broke her heart, or the fact that her sister has been crying for an hour straight with no way of being consoled, or the fact that this is the first time she’s ever been asked if she was alright after losing Yeonjun—but she couldn’t help herself as she wrapped her arms around his torso, burying her face into his chest as she cried.
“I-I don’t know why she won’t stop. I tried everything and she just shoving her plushie in my face.” Y/N cried. “Please help me.”
Yeonjun’s hand brushed through her hair, a sigh of satisfaction as he wrapped his free arm around her waist. He placed a soft kiss on the crown of her head as he shushed her gently.
“It’s alright, where is she?”
“My room.”
Yeonjun pulled away, intertwining their hands as he locked the door behind them and gently led the girl over to her bedroom. The boy’s eyes fell on the young girl sobbing on the bed—hands clutching the Olaf plushie he gave her when she turned one a few months ago.
“Junie!” The small girl cheered, immediately stopping her sobs as she clambered off the bed and onto him. “Up!”
Yeonjun furrowed his eyebrows as the girl raised her hands, gathering her tiny form in his hands and raised her up.
“Hi, Jisu.” Yeonjun cooed, tucking a lock of the little child’s hair behind her ear. “Why were you crying?”
“Junie where?” the girl responded, pointing outside the window. “Junie, promise!”
Yeonjun turned over to Y/N in confusion, who leaned by the doorframe with a shocked expression.
“You… were waiting for Yeonjun?” Y/N asked as she walked closer, dumbfounded at the little girl’s sharp nod. “Jisu, we can’t call him anymore, okay?”
“What do you mean?” Yeonjun asked, frowning as the girl blinked over at him. “Yes, you can.”
“We’re not dating anymore, Yeonjun.” Y/N responded softly, eyes downcast as Jisu climbed out of Yeonjun’s arms. “She has to get used to you not being here.”
“About that, I wanted to talk to you, Y/N—“
“Anyway, what did she mean by promise?” Y/N asked, turning her back to him and changing the subject. “Maybe if you give it to her, she’ll stop looking for you.”
“Snow.”
“Hm?” Y/N asked, turning over to him. “What about it?”
“Junie! Olaf! Promise!” Jisu replied, coming back and offering a carrot to the two adults. “Olaf! Junie!”
Yeonjun crouched down, taking the carrot out of her hands.
“You remember?”
“Remember what?”
“I promised her a few months ago that I would bring her to the park the next time she comes over and its snowing—she wanted to make a snowman.” Yeonjun sighed, picking the girl up. “We were watching Frozen, remember?”
Y/N’s eyes fell onto the Olaf plushie left on the bed, mouth opening.
“Olaf.” She gasped in realization. “She wants to play outside.”
“Can we?”
“It’s 6PM.”
“No, not yet.” Yeonjun replied, mischief in his eyes as he pointed at the digital clock by the door. “It’s 5:53.”
Y/N sighed, wringing her hands as she bit her lip. Yeonjun promised to take Jisu to the park—the dreaded park where he he first kissed her, then told her he didn’t love her anymore a year later. She didn’t think she was ready to go back there—much more with him clutching onto her little sister looking he was a whole-ass father and her following behind them with a diaper bag like some kind of overbearing mother. Still, she couldn’t help but crack into bits as he shot her pleading eyes and a pout.
“Fine.”
Yeonjun cheered, a grin on his lips as he crouched down and took Jisu’s hand in his—voice hushed as he leaned close to the little with a smirk, whispering conspiratorially.
“Hey Jisu,” he giggled. “Do you want to build a snowman?”
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The Olaf he and Jisu made was, to be honest, looked more like a blob than a snowman—but the little girl didn’t know that, so it was fine. Yeonjun didn’t mind it—not when Y/N sat on a nearby bench, almost relieved at Jisu’s loud laughter. As he stuck the carrot on the snowman’s face, Yeonjun found the little girl gone from his side. Instead, she stood a few feet away—helping another child and their guardian build his own snowman.
“Soobin?” Yeonjun asked in surprise as his blue-haired best friend popped up from behind the snowman, shooting a grin at him.
“Oh, hi, hyung.” Soobin giggled, waving his hand as he pointed to the little girl patting the snowman next to him. “This kid yours?”
“Y/N’s sister.” Yeonjun nodded, eyes falling onto the girl watching him. “This is your nephew, right?”
“Yeah. My sister had a business meeting and asked me to come along and distract him. He was antsy so I just brought him here.” Soobin shared, pointing over to a cafe down the street. “I thought you said Y/N wouldn’t talk to you.“
“Well, she wasn’t—but here we are.” Yeonjun sighed.
“Back together?”
“Not yet,” Yeonjun frowned, hands falling onto Jisu’s hair with a skeptical look as he glanced back at the girl on the bench. “Hey, Bin, do you mind—“
“Watching the kid for a bit while you try and get Y/N back?” Soobin asked, lips tilting into a teasing smile as he giggled. “Of course not, go.”
“Thanks, man.” Yeonjun chuckled, not even attempting to deny Soobin’s words as he turned over to the little girl. “Hey Jisu, this is my best friend Soobin. I’m gonna talk to sissy for a bit while you play with them, okay?”
“Okay!” The little girl replied, not even sparing him a glance as she kept on adding layers and layers of snow onto the snowman.
“Go,” Soobin urged him, pushing him away.
Yeonjun shot the boy a grateful look before wandering back over to Y/N—sitting next to her. He watched as she stuck her hand out, lips pursed as she caught snowflakes on her palm.
“You know,” Yeonjun spoke up. “the first time I told you I loved you, you were catching snowflakes in your hands too.”
Y/N didn’t answer, eyes still fixed on the melting flakes of snow in her hands. Yeonjun sighed as he grabbed her hands, intertwining his fingers with hers.
“Hey, remember how we used to date?” Yeonjun asked, making the girl turn to him.
“Yes, until you decided to stop.” Y/N replied curtly, eyes turning back to her sister a few feet away. “Look, Yeonjun—thank you for helping me with Jisu, but please stop with—“
“With what?”
“This.” Y/N sighed, pulling her hands away as she gazed back at him. “I’m gonna be honest with you—I’m still not over you, and this really isn’t helping.”
“I’m sorry for what I did, but—“
“No buts,” Y/N closed her eyes. “I really don’t wanna hear the reason why you don’t love me anymore.”
“But I do.”
“Stop lying to me,” Y/N pleaded, turning back to him. “Stop making me believe this screwed-up fantasy about still having you—“
“but you do still have me—“
“Why did you even come?” Y/N asked, scooting away. “I mean, I called you at the spur of the moment, really. You could have said no.”
“You were crying—I hate it when you cry.”
“Is that why you left me?” Y/N wondered. “Is it because I looked ugly when I cried?”
“I think you look beautiful when you cry, Y/N.” Yeonjun replied. “You look beautiful all the time.”
“Then why?”
Yeonjun sighed, turning back to the little girl in the snow.
“Because I loved you too much, and you don’t deserve someone as crappy as I am.” Yeonjun replied. “So I convinced myself to believe I didn’t love you anymore, maybe it would hurt less when you leave.”
“Did it?”
“It was the worst mistake I’ve ever done.” Yeonjun sighed, turning back over to Y/N. “I still love you, Y/N.”
This time, her head was thrown back on the bench—eyes fixed at the cloudy sky. Her hands were outstretched once more, catching snowflakes in her hands. There were a few moments of silence before she sighed once more.
“I love winter.” She spoke. “I met you during winter, and you told me you loved me during winter.”
“I left you on winter too.”
Y/N turned over to him, a sad smile on her face.
“Maybe, and it hurt. That’s how I know that I loved you so much.” she said, free hand falling over his on the bench. “Besides, you’re coming back to me on a winter’s day too.”
Yeonjun slowly turned over to her, a grin on his lips as he leaned his forehead on hers.
“Can I kiss you?”
Her lips tilted to a smile, a soft giggle falling off her lips as he asked her the same question as the day he told her he loved her for the very first time.
“Yes.”
Yeonjun sighed in relief before crashing his lips against hers, hands delicately clutching her face as he savored the first taste of her in months. He pulled away softly, eyes closed.
“That was the worst month of my life.” Yeonjun said. “Don’t—I can’t lose you again.”
“Then don’t leave me again.” Y/N quipped back, hand slamming on his arm.
“I love you.” He giggled back, leaning down to place another kiss on her lips.
“I love you, too.”  Y/N smiled against his lips, uttering the words like it was her lifeline.
A snowball fell onto their laps, making Yeonjun flinch and almost bite Y/N’s lip as he pulled away. The couple looked over as Soobin stood up, hand still held out after throwing the ball.
“Save it for tonight, there are children here!” Soobin declared before plopping back down on the snowy ground next to the children.
Yeonjun rolled his eyes, sighing as Y/N giggled—face buried against his neck as she wrapped her arms around his arm. Yeonjun chuckled back, pressing a soft kiss against her temple before glancing back at the large blob of snow he created with Jisu. With a grin, he squeezed her hand and whispered in her ear.
“Do you want to build a snowman?”
Y/N smiled, looking back up at him and pressing a soft kiss against his lips before shaking her head with a chuckle.
“Yeah.”
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