#couldn’t pick it back up after the election

[theseinfernalangels]

Calm Before the Storm — Bodhi Durran

Synopsis: After being excluded from weapon-drops for reasons unknown, only one thing can give you solace: Bodhi. Sometimes, though, not even he can calm the swell of your storms alone.

Includes: Marked!Reader, more Freya lore, slooooow burn, my own interpretation of how Bodhi manifested, angst yet again, mentions of slight passive suicidal ideation, and lots of thunder. Italic font marks spoken Tyrrish. Takes place before Fourth Wing. 

Day 3 of Bodhi Week is the why of how Bodhi gets his signet — and I will be writing for that — but what about the when? What could have forced him to stop another person’s signet?

For you, it started small. Xaden didn’t want to have you to come along on his first weapon delivery — but that was just in case he got caught and executed. That was fine. Garrick wasn’t allowed to go, either, so it made sense. You laid in bed and prayed that no one would catch Xaden, and all would be well.

Then, after the first four drops, Garrick started to tag along. More hands, Xaden said, would get the Poromish army more weaponry. Only Garrick, though. You and Soleil didn’t come, since neither of you had manifested yet. That made sense, too. No use in going on missions when you couldn’t even wield yet. Spéir even agreed, so you stayed put. 

But then you manifested — quite powerfully. The storm-wielding signet was rare. So rare, actually, that only two living people had that signet: General Sorrengail, and you. That time, you elected to stay at Basgiath yourself. There was no way of telling how your signet worked, and with how tricky it was, you didn’t want to risk exposing the entire operation. You stared out the window as Sgaeyl and Chradh darted out under the cover of darkness. It would only be a matter of time, you told yourself. Once things finally got under control, you’d be flying and helping the movement in no time.

Finally, the year ended. You all moved up, your signet training continued, and more marked ones were added to Basgiath’s roster. More hands, when they were ready to wield. You were just glad that they didn’t make Bodhi go, since he was Xaden’s little right-hand man. The two of you laid in your respective beds before ultimately deciding to spend the nights with each other in your room, not enjoying the feeling of being left behind.

It was easy to cope with it all when Bodhi was there to hold you. Sure, you felt excluded, but you weren’t the only one that was left to watch. 

Until tonight.

Maybe it was just pure ignorance that led Imogen to spill that she and Bodhi would be doing deliveries today, despite the fact that they were newly-bonded and hadn’t manifested their signets yet. Maybe it was her way of boasting about her skills. That had hit home, though, to be the final straw with your patience. 

What was so bad about you that you couldn’t help?

You pace back and forth in your room, your shields fastened so tightly that it makes your head throb. If Spéir knew what was happening, you knew she’d take it up with Sgaeyl — and although you trusted your dragon more than you did yourself, you weren’t confident that she would make it out of a confrontation like that alive.

“Am I that weak?” You whisper, halting and staring down at your hands. A slight breeze brushes across your skin, rustling your hair a little. “It isn’t possible…”

Could you have done something to make Xaden lose faith in you? You’d gone along with his plans perfectly, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know you — you’d been sneaking around with each other since the ripe age of eight. Sure, there had been some time lost when you were separated, but that couldn’t mean anything, right?

You hardly notice the wind picking up outside, thick clouds rolling in and covering the bright September sun. Someone else does, however — or, rather, his dragon does — and the Green wastes no time in urging his rider to come find you.

You’re glaring down at yourself when a soft knock pulls you from your thoughts. Only one person would dare come for you on one of your days off. You flick your wrist, the lock on your door sliding out with a small click, and wait. 

Hesitantly, cautiously, the door slides open, and a familiar curl-clad head pops through the door. You’d finally gotten around to adjusting your wards so that he could enter without you, so he slides in and closes the door wordlessly before turning to you.

“Hey,” he greets you softly, his eyes meeting yours in concern. “You alright?”

No, actually. You’re far from alright.

“Yes?” You blink. “Why?”

Bodhi plops on your bed as if he belongs there. “Because the winds are going insane right now, and it just got so cloudy that it looks like it’s evening.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You move to the window and poke your head through the curtains; sure enough, it looks dark enough to be at least eight at night. 

“Oh,” is all you can say. You inhale a little and force the winds to die down a little. “My bad.”

Your body startles a bit as a gentle hand comes to grasp your shoulder. “A chara,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that you have to lean back a little to hear him. “You don’t have to give me details, but I’d really like to know what’s bothering you. I feel like you’ve been avoiding us a lot, and I miss you.”

A muscle in your jaw feathers. “I’m not avoiding anyone,” you huff, shoving your hands in your pockets as you try to quell the winds. “I just have things to do.”

Under your breath, you can’t help but add, “And clearly, everyone else does, too.”

Bodhi stills. Ah. It wasn’t that you were in pain or stressed out. You were…envious. Jealous, maybe? No, jealousy was too petty for you — right?

Ever so gently, he nudges you in the direction of your bed. “Is this because of that fight earlier?” He asks, tilting his head. “Because I totally agree—“

“No,” you snap, shaking your head. “I’m pissed off that I can’t do the dagger drops tonight. Riorson clearly doesn’t trust me to get the job done, or I’d be doing it every other time.”

His brow furrows. That couldn’t be possible. “Are you kidding?” He asks. “Of course he trusts you. You’re one of the only people he allows to see him when—“

“That’s not the same.” You cut him off harshly. ”You don’t get it, Bodhs. I understood the first few times. None of us went, and then I hadn’t manifested yet, which was fair enough, but then everyone is allowed to go except me?”

You scoff, throwing a lazy hand in his direction. “You haven’t even gotten your signet yet, and he’s sending you out. What a load of bullshit.”

Bodhi frowns, a little line dipping by his lip. In retrospect, it was pretty hypocritical of his cousin to keep you on a short leash while everyone else got to contribute to the revolution — but, on another, smaller hand, he was grateful. It kept you out of harm’s way and kept Bodhi’s heart from twisting in worry every time he thought about you.

“I guess,” he concedes. “But I don’t think it’s about my or Imogen’s signets. We’re bonded now—“

“That’s not it, either,” you groan. “Because that’s the excuse we had for why we couldn’t go last year.”

You shake your head. Excuses. So many damn excuses. You were done with them.

“I don’t think it stands as a testament to your character,” Bodhi says gently, touching two fingers to your elbow in a familiar, grounding gesture. “Maybe it’s because—“

“I don’t need an explanation,” you snap. “He doesn’t want to include me because he thinks I’m incapable. I’m too unpredictable. I’m weak, and if we get caught, it’ll be on me. He doesn’t have to say it, Bodhi. I get the idea pretty damn well.”

Your jaw clenches, and before you can quite comprehend it, a loud crack of thunder boomsfrom outside, rattling the windowpanes and sending a pleasant hum through your bones. You welcome the oncoming storm that will blow off some steam — but Bodhi clearly does not. 

He takes your wrists gently in his, squeezing over your relic as if to stop the flow of power surging from you. “Stop that,” he scolds softly. “Don’t talk about yourself that way. You’re far from weak, and you know it.”

You feel yourself stiffen a little before a dry scoff leaves you. “I’ll talk about myself any way I damn please,” you counter, snatching your hands away. “It’s true. Clearly, I’m not wanted. Why don’t you go run off to play shadow, huh? Leave me to get over it.”

The words that leave your mouth surprise you — but you don’t move to take them back. Bodhi’s mouth settles into a firm line before he shakes his head stubbornly. 

“What is this?” He demands, flinching as more thunder sounds from outside. “Are you serious? You can’t be. You can’t seriously believe that you’re incapable just because Xaden or Garrick won’t let you risk your life for a few dagger drops.”

You push yourself off your bed, beginning to pace back and forth. “Really?” You shoot back. “Then why is every other fucking marked kid in this gods-forsaken college running out every other night, while I’m holed away in here to watch, huh? I have one of the rarest signets in my year, but that obviously doesn’t mean anything, or else I’d be on Spéir’s back going gods-know-where right now.”

“He’s just protecting you!” Bodhi says, his eyes widened with something like pleading. “He doesn’t want you hurt, chara. It’s not an insult.”

“To you!” You whirl around, eyes blazing in anger. As if on cue, rain starts pouring from the sky, although it’d been nothing but sunny just an hour earlier. “It’s not an insult to you, Bodhi. But it is to me. I’d rather have someone try and assassinate me again than this. At least those people are honest with me.”

He stands, his irritation and anxiety cresting. You couldn’t possibly mean that, could you?

“Don’t say that,” he repeats insistently. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Oh,” you spit. “Really, now? Because I find it perfectly reasonable. I’m surprised you’re even here given the fact that the only person who even talks to me anymore is Cosette, and she doesn’t fucking know about what we’re doing yet. I wouldn’t be surprised if Garrick told her and got her to start soon.”

Bodhi had only paid about an eighth of his attention to the chaos outside, but his head instantly snaps to stare at the window as a streak of lightning lights up the darkened sky. Shit. He needs to stop this, and soon — before someone else shows up to deal with it.

“Easy,” he tries, showing you his hands placatingly. “He would never. Cosette knows a lot about a lot, but Garrick would never risk her like that. I think he’d have a heart attack.”

“Gee.” You snort. “I’d agree, but I wouldn’t know that, seeing as he hasn’t talked to me in almost two weeks.”

“That’s hardly on him,” Bodhi protests against his better judgement. The sight of the withering look you shoot him sends a chill down his back, as if you’d shot cold air down his shirt.

Actually, maybe you had. It wouldn’t take a genius to notice that the temperature in the room was dropping, which meant — Fuck. You’re losing control of yourself. His eyes dart around for any of those special little conduits he sees you carrying around all the time, but to no avail.

There is nothing standing in the way of you summoning a hurricane in this building right now besides him. 

“A thaisce,” he tries to reason with you. “Please. Breathe for a second, and we can talk about it. You gotta calm down, before—“

“Before what?” The laugh that leaves you is rough. “Before I tear this place apart? I’m too weak for that, Bodhs.”

Goosebumps appear on Bodhi’s arms. He tries to think: What could possibly keep you from breaking and having leadership come after you? He can’t even begin to count possibilities, because he can’t even think of one.

Desperately, he begins to plead. “Please,” he begs. “I can’t— They don’t think you’re weak, because we all know you’re not. You’re so responsible, and capable, and—“

More thunder.

Your eyes flash with something sadder this time, and you shake your head. “They don’t think so,” you say lowly, barely registering the cool air around you. “I just don’t get why.”

Bodhi opens his mouth to try and calm you, to list a thousand reasons why you’re perfectly responsible outside of the duty (why were you so obsessed with it, anyway?) before he freezes, Cuir’s low, raspy voice echoing through his mind.

“Gréine,” he warns. “There are whispers among leadership. Calm your girl before they find a reason to question her.”

Bodhi doesn’t even take the time to linger over the dragon’s words, his blood running cold at the mere thought of you being interrogated by anyone who’d love to take you out.

“Chara.” The endearing term comes out automatically. “Levine. Please. Breathe. Cuir says leadership is starting to notice the storm. I don’t want you to—“

“What,” you interrupt, “be killed? Maybe they should kill me; you know, get rid of the deadweight.”

The anxiety in Bodhi’s mind subsides into a solid, almost-tangible feeling of horror. Behind his eyes, he can see something glow. Something raw, something real. Something you need — or else you’ll be ripped away from him again.

“What?” He whispers, his gut sinking. “I—No. You don’t mean that.”

His chest starts to heave a little, and you halt with the realization that your apathetic attitude has Bodhi on the precipice of panic. Shit.

“You don’t mean that,” he repeats, glancing out the window at the torrential downpour that streams from the almost-black clouds. “No. I’m not letting you die. Not like that.”

Suddenly, the roles are reversed, and you’re suddenly hit with a clarity you haven’t felt in days — maybe even weeks.

“Bodhi,” you say softly, regret hitting you straight in the stomach. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to say that.”

You’re too late, though. Your words have done their damage, and Bodhi looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. No — he feels it. He needs to stop this now, but he can’t. He’s not strong enough. Not strong enough to stop your storms,

 or to protect you from the people who want you dead.

He can’t let that happen. He won’t.

“That’s the spirit,” Cuir says encouragingly, his tone lighter with excitement. “You see that light, Gréine? Reach down and grab that. It’s yours. Stop her. Make her see.”

You frown, more confused. “Bodhi?”

Instinctively, he imagines himself stretching, reaching like he does for his bond with Cuir and curling his fingers around that ball of power that shakes in his chest. He stares out the window for a second at the ongoing storm and grits his teeth, yanking the light to his chest and gasping when he feels it surge all the way through him, as if he himself had been struck by lightning.

He’s not alone in the feeling. The clouds and lightning that swirl in your stomach slow a little — like a physical, impossible barrier had separated the air and convinced it to quiet down. You stiffen a little as an unfamiliar sensation is draped upon you. It’s not uncomfortable; more than anything, it feels like someone has snuffed out a candle in you, leaving you with nothing but a gentle breeze and a summer rain in your veins.

Make her see. 

And, just like that, the storm outside lessens. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but the roaring thunder quiets to soft rumbles, and the pouring rain lets up to a light drizzle. You’re so caught off-guard that your shields slide down, and it’s only a matter of time before Spéir pokes into your mind. 

“Zephyr? Are you alright?”

You don’t acknowledge her, though. Instead, you just study Bodhi for a moment, who looks so confused that it’s almost comical. 

Did he just…

You take a step closer, testing to see if he’s still aware of himself. “Bodhi?”

He looks up, a tinge of fear sparking in his eyes. He holds his shaking hands out in front of him as if they were plagued.

“What did I just do?” He whispers frantically. “Is that…Was that normal?”

You shake your head and take another step closer, gently taking his hand and rubbing your fingers over his knuckles. Sure enough, his skin tingles, vibrating with a newfound sense of power that you’ve never seen before.

You observe him for a moment before you take a step back. “I…think that may be your signet, Bodhs.”

Bodhi looks so shaken that you barely even care about the fact that you’d been moments away from flooding the school. You reach out and test your power tentatively, finding it tucked away in that neat little box you keep it in. For some reason, though, you can only draw out a little. A light breeze brushes against Bodhi’s face, and you guide him to sit down.

He shakes himself from his stupor and grabs you by the hips, pulling you in between his legs and staring at you desperately.

“You didn’t mean that though, right?” He whispers. “You don’t actually…”

Your eyes soften, and you trace a gentle finger across his jaw before sinking it into his hair.

“No,” you reply quietly. “I don’t want to be killed. I just…It sucks, I guess. That Xaden doesn’t trust me to get the job done. You’d think he’d have more faith in me than that.”

Still fearful, the boy sinks his hands into your sheets and grips them tightly. “I don’t know why he won’t let you go,” he says quietly, “but let me say this: It’s not because you’re weak, or incapable, or irresponsible. If you were, you wouldn’t be in charge of training us on weekends, or you’d probably be dead right now.”

With a clearer mind, you can finally hear his reasoning. While you don’t exactly agree, you can accept it enough to lay the subject to rest.

“Well…” You suck in a deep breath. “Fair. It just hurts, you know? No one will even talk to me. It’s like I’m not even a Tyr anymore.”

A strong pair of arms wraps around you, pulling you into Bodhi’s warmth. 

“Not true,” he says, tucking his face into your neck. “You’ll always be a part of what we’re doing, whether Xaden allows you to come or not. I’ll always make sure of that.”

Absentmindedly, you run your hands over his shoulders, still tense with anxiety.

“Are you okay?” You prompt him. “Ease up. It’s just your signet working itself for the first time.”

You feel him press a tiny, almost unnoticeable little kiss to your neck before he draws away and shakes his head.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says, staring down at his hands. “I just know I wanted the storm to stop, and Cuir said to grab the little light…”

Well, there’s that. You’d helped Bodhi to wield for the first time, but out of pure necessity. Maybe that was better than it taking control of him on its own at any other given moment.

“Try relaxing it,” you suggest, smoothing your hand over him again. “You still see that light, m'eudail? You still have it in your hands?”

Bodhi closes his eyes. Sure enough, that green light is still there, pulsing and thrumming with all the power he has no idea how to use. “Yes?”

“Let it go,” you say carefully. “Not all at once, but try bringing yourself away from it.”

Straining, Bodhi moves his hands. It’s difficult, like that time he decided to stick his hand in a bucket of honey, but eventually he finds himself a good distance away from it. He opens his eyes wearily.

A triumphant little grin splays on your lips. “Good,” you praise, ruffling his hair a bit. “That was good.” You try sending out a smaller wind, and sure enough, it presses against his temple.

“You’re not a storm wielder.” You cock your head to the side in thought. “You can’t be. But I don’t understand…”

Where your voice trails off, Cuir’s picks up in the back of his head.

“The girl is correct. You are no storm wielder.”

“Okay,” he replies, dumbfounded, “but what does that mean?”

“It means,” the dragon says, “that you did not bend the storm. You bent your girl’s power, down at its core. You, Gréine, are a signet-blocker.”

He pauses and tilts his head. “A signet-blocker?”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. There was no way…

“Holy shit,” you breathe. “Are you serious?”

He meets your eyes and nods. “That’s what Cuir said.”

You stare at him for a moment before plopping down next to him. He blocked your signet. He didn’t will the storm away — he went down into you and countered the streams of your power like a human dam.

“That’s…unbelievable.” You shake your head. “I don’t think you get it, Bodhs. That power…”

He flexes his fingers subconsciously. “Is it…bad?”

“No!” You exclaim. “Bodhi, that signet…I‘ve never heard of it once. Give it a year or two, and you very well may be one of the most powerful people on The Continent.”

A signet-blocker. That means that no matter who he goes up against, no matter how rare or useful their signet is, Bodhi could disable them instantly. Maybe he doesn’t get it yet — you’ll save that talk for his cousin — but that’s impressive. Maybe also a bit intimidating, the way he stopped a whole downpour, but nonetheless impressive.

“You should go tell the others,” you say with a small nudge. “It’s exciting, but also really important.”

He frowns and shakes his head no. “I’m not leaving you. We still need to talk it out.”

You blink. “Did we not just do that?”

He catches your hand and lowers it to your lap. “No,” he says firmly. “You vented, and then I manifested. That’s not a conversation.”

As much as you’d like to argue with him (because seriously — you have a lot more to say), you can tell he’s serious. Bodhi never takes on that stern tone with you, which means that it would do you good to can it and listen.

He lifts your hands to his and presses his forehead to yours. “You are not weak,” he says fiercely. “You are not incapable, and you are more responsible than Xaden, Garrick, and me combined. They’re trying to keep you alive, and you’re not safe if you’re going out to do highly illegal shit that would absolutely have you killed.”

“I don’t want to be safe,” you huff. “I want to help. I made a promise, and I intend on keeping it.”

“…And I didn’t?” 

Silence.

And then…

“I’m sorry?”

Bodhi’s eyes sparkle with something a little deeper, something protective. “I made a promise, too, you know,” he murmurs. “Don’t you remember?”

You open your mouth to retort that, no, you don’t remember…And then it hits you.

Screams.

A hand on your shoulder. 

Bodhi, pulling you into his chest. 

Him shooting a small nod to your father right before he went up in flames.

He hadn’t been paying his respects to the commander. No — he’d been making a vow.

“I said I’d protect you,” he says quietly, “no matter the cost. I don’t plan on forsaking that promise, and I’m sorry that it makes you feel angry and insulted. I don’t care what else it is you do. You could get a second signet, secretly pick off military brats, or even kill someone in leadership, and I’d help you with everything. Just not this. I can’t risk putting you in danger, chara.”

 It’s stunning how easily a few sentences can shut you up. Bodhi’s eyes blaze with an onyx fire that you’ve only seen once or twice throughout your life — only when he felt determined, his endless drive pushing him to the limits to do the jobs he’s meant to do. 

That’s what this is. It’s not that they don’t value you — it’s quite the opposite. Bodhi values you too much, and this is the consequence of that.

You hold his gaze for a moment before you break it off, sighing quietly. “There’s no way to convince either of you to let up?”

He shakes his head. “Like I said; you could do literally anything else, and I would help you bury as many bodies as you needed me to. I would kill an army, and I’d burn a city. I just can’t let you fly out that far when people already have their eyes on you.”

His eyes search your face. “Is that enough?”

You bite down on your lip before reluctantly backing away. “Yeah,” you say quietly, averting your eyes. “I…Yeah. I still don’t like it, though.”

One of his softer smiles breaks onto his face, and he pinches your cheek gently. “I fucking despise it for you, personally,” he amends. “But I don’t break promises, and I won’t risk my best friend.”

You nod. “Fine. I’ll drop it for now.” Your eyes turn steely. “But don’t think that I won’t talk to Xaden about the same thing regarding you.”

He raises his hands innocently. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You allow him to pull you in for a tight hug before cuffing him on the shoulder. “Go see your cousin. He planned out a whole speech for when you finally manifested, and he’s been dying to give it.”

A snort leaves him. “No way.”

“Yes, way,” you deadpan. “Now shoo.”

You flop down on your back with a soft huff. Maybe you could live with the anger of not being allowed to go on weapon drops if it meant that Bodhi would rest easy for once. It wasn’t really what you preferred, but he said it himself — he made a promise to your father. You wouldn’t dare disappoint the man, even if he wasn’t alive to see the damage.

“Zephyr.”

Fuck. You curse under your breath. You’d forgotten about your little dilemma with Spéir.

“Yes?”

“Look at me, please.”

Stiffly, you sit up and make your way over to your armoire. Swinging it open, you lean against the side and face the little mirror. You stare into your own eyes, but you can easily picture her eyes spearing directly into your soul.

“I do not appreciate being blocked out like that.”

“I know,” you murmur. 

“And you are not sorry?”

You almost hesitate, but hesitation would only make Spéir more disappointed. 

“I regret not being honest with you,” you start slowly. “But I’m not sorry for taking time for myself.”

“Do you not think I would have helped you?” The dragon asks. “You could have blown the entire college away, had your mate not stepped in.”

“He isn’t my mate,” you remind her. “He’s my best friend. And…” You sigh. “Yeah. He got me to chill. But still, Spéir. I needed time.”

“I would have given you time,” she says gently, sending a small wave of pleasant peace down the little glowing bond. “And before you ask, I heard everything. I agree with him wholeheartedly. I will not risk having you killed for something as simple as weaponry. When you go down, I will follow with you — but that will be either in battle, or old age. Not a moment before.”

You cringe away from your reflection as your eyes take on that light violet hue for just a moment before dimming back into their natural color, Spéir making your connection more than just mental.

“Do I make myself clear, Zephyr?”

You grip the edge of the armoire door tightly. Well, now you have Bodhi and a dragon opposing you. You could kiss your determination to help goodbye.

“Crystal,” you manage, bringing a hand to cover your pounding heart. “Crystal clear, Spéir.”

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[lochlanratliff]

my three holdover books are so….

[porterdavis]

Read this again in a year or so...

So, you want me to believe that you voted for a racist, rapist, convicted felon, business fraud who incited a deadly attack on our Capitol after losing the last election because of the price of eggs? That you voted for the orange-dipped dude who ran with a different VP because the last one was nearly hanged for not breaking democracy, because you’ve been getting fewer hours at your job these days?

You want me to believe that you voted for someone who nearly every economist in the world has said will grow our debt (which he did by the third largest amount ever the last time), increase our costs, raise inflation and destroy our GDP because a burger and fries at Five Guys is more expensive than it used to be? You want me to believe that you voted for the drink bleach guy who golfed while thousands of Americans were dying a day because you had it so much better then, when you were stockpiling toilet paper, than you do now?

You want me to believe that you voted for the guy who had 4 years to pass an infrastructure bill and didn’t, the guy who promised Mexico would pay for the wall when they didn’t, the guy who promised to bring manufacturing back, lower the cost of prescription drugs and end the opioid crisis but didn’t, because you preferred his “policies”? You want me to believe you voted for the “grab em by the pussy” guy who wants to destroy the Department of Education and to repeal the ACA despite the fact that he has nothing more than “concepts of a plan” to replace it, the guy who will roll back environmental protections, strip women and minorities of more rights, the guy who will hand Ukraine to Putin and Gaza to Netanyahu, the guy who has said he will be a “dictator on day one”, because you’re worried about losing your gas stove? I’m sorry, but I don’t believe any of that, and frankly, I’m not sure you believe it either.

Because the truth is that your vote wasn’t about any of that. You voted for the traitorous embodiment of the 7 deadly sins because when it came to casting your ballot for a Black woman, you just couldn’t do it. And because you like getting away with being your worst self. And because life is a whole lot easier to stomach when all that has gone wrong for you, is someone else’s fault. Let’s be honest here, that is what it was.

So when the price of eggs is $18, and your Latino neighbors have been deported or moved to some f’d up “camp” to pick the strawberries none of you will pick, and your miscarrying wife has to contend with sepsis before she’s allowed to have an abortion, and your autistic child is unable to get the early intervention they desperately need, please remember what it really was that you voted for.

Because I promise you the rest of us will never, ever forget.

JoJo from Jerz

[blue-lights-to-dreams]

Golden Light (pt. 2) // H.S.

part 2 to Golden Light! please read that first if you haven't already!

synopsis: you and Harry go back to your apartment after your date, and learn a little more about each other in the process.

warnings: smut, kissing, fingering (f receiving), i think that's it?

wc: 3.6k

a/n: the (maybe) long-awaited sequel to Golden Light as so many of you requested! thank you all so much for all of the love on that work, i'm so happy you guys enjoyed it. let me know what you think of this and if you'd like to see a part 3! :)

----------

The crackle of the fireplace (and the wine you were drinking) was almost enough to soothe your nerves. Almost. 

You and Harry were sprawled on your living room floor, backs against the couch, enjoying the heat radiating from the fire as Harry described what he had gotten his family for Christmas this year. It was only the beginning of December, but he had everyone’s gifts already. He was so prepared, and the gifts he picked were so thoughtful. Each came with a backstory of exactly why he chose it, usually after the person mentioned something in passing once or twice. 

A vintage whale-shaped coffee mug for his sister, who’d talked about how much she enjoyed a documentary about them over brunch one day. A beautiful landscape by a local painter for his mother after she admired another of her works when they’d gone to the art museum. He’d even gotten a custom doll made for his goddaughter after she complained one day that none of the ones at the store looked like her.

You’d picked out a riesling from your small stash of wine when you two arrived at your flat, remembering that’s what Harry preferred. You’d quickly changed into soft shorts and a graphic t-shirt, needing out of your dress, before the two of you settled on the floor and fell back into comfortable chatter.

It was probably for the better that he was the one speaking at the moment, because you could feel your head get fuzzier with each sip from your glass. As much as you tried to stay focused, you couldn’t help but run your eyes up his frame. He’d draped his blazer over the back of one of your barstools as he’d come in, leaving him in just his slacks and half-unbuttoned dress shirt. He looked stunning.

Harry noticed the way you were looking at him but elected not to say anything as he continued his story. “I’m really hoping she’s going to like it. How about you? Anything special you’ve gotten for anyone?”

His question snapped you out of your mild stupor, and you racked your brain. “Not really – I’m not nearly as prepared as you are. I only need to get a couple of things, though. Just something for my mom and a few for my friends. Nothing major.”

“No siblings?” He asked.

“Nope. Well, I do have them, but they’re my step-siblings, and I don’t think I’ve seen them since I was like 14 or so. My dad kind of packed them up and ran for the hills with his new wife at that point.” Your statement was blunt, and you picked at the skin around your nails as you explained. It wasn’t anything you had a hard time discussing anymore, given it had been upwards of 10 years. 

“Wow, I’m sorry to hear that,” Harry looked like he didn’t know what to say. You probably should have said that differently, you thought, not wanting to overshare and make him uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, Harry. It was a long time ago, and probably for the better. My mom and I have only gotten closer since then, and I wouldn’t change it.” He nodded in understanding with a small smile but didn’t respond, letting his gaze drift to the artwork hung over the mantle of the fireplace.

A hush fell between the two of you, the noise of the fire and your creaky New York City radiator the only things audible. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, just calm and peaceful. You stood to open the window – the heat was getting to be too much. It was nearing midnight at this point, so there wasn’t much commotion on your street, but the sound of cars driving by now and then was familiar and soothing.

You returned to your seat, slightly closer to Harry than you had been previously. He seemed deep in thought, arm draped lazily over the seat of the couch behind him. His eyes hadn’t left the window after they followed your movement there.

“Whatcha thinking about?” You questioned softly, turning to face him and pulling your knees to your chest, leaning to rest your shoulder against the cushions. You didn’t mean to pry, but you wanted to know what was going on inside that pretty head of his.

“Honestly,” he exhaled, brows furrowing slightly, “you.”

“Me?” Not the answer you’d expected.

“Yes, you,” he spoke with a hint of teasing, flashing a quick smile at you before glancing away. “I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve enjoyed myself this much on a date. I really like you, Y/N.” His eyes returned to yours like they were searching for your response.

His earnestness left you speechless for a moment. You stared back at him - his eyes were so green, so beautiful, like waves were crashing against white sand just behind his pupils.

“I like you too, Harry.” He relaxed slightly, shifting his position a hair. “This is definitely the best date I’ve been on in a long time.” You weren’t always great at expressing emotion, but it was only fair for him to know how you felt too.

He grinned, then, and pushed himself up to slide closer to you on the floor. His eyes were still locked on yours, both of you smiling at each other like giddy teenagers. His arm was almost around you now but remained on the couch as you lowered your legs, returning them to a cross-legged position. Harry reached forward, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear before allowing his hand to rest gently on the side of your neck, thumb caressing your jawbone slowly. He looked you up and down, again admiring how gorgeous you looked before flitting his eyes to your lips. 

He inhaled briskly, hand not halting its movements on your face. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, of course. You don’t have to ask, but I appreciate it.” As much as you liked Harry being a gentleman, right now, you honestly just wanted him to be anything but.

He nodded quickly before pulling you forward, pressing his lips to yours. It started with slow, gentle movements of your lips together, but quickly became much more desperate. His hands roamed your face before moving to your waist, gripping the skin above your hips just firmly enough to drive you crazy. Your hands were pressed to his chest over his thin silk shirt, and you could feel the muscles there flex as he moved his hands around your body. You weren’t normally one to care about muscles, but something about his drove you crazy.

Harry’s thumbs brushed your lower ribs as he deepened the kiss, stealing your breath for a moment. Your hands instinctively moved to his hair, fingers knotting through and gently gripping his short curls. A small groan left his throat, shooting straight to your core. His hands suddenly gripped your hips harshly, lifting you to pull you into his lap. He swallowed the small gasp you let out as he did so, flattening his hands on your back to pull you against him as you settled on his thighs. The kiss was sloppy, now, almost depraved, as he tried to pull you as close as physically possible. The way you were tugging his hair was driving him wild, you could tell, and it only encouraged you.

You pulled away from his mouth for just a second as your fingers moved to toy with the small buttons of his shirt. “Can I take this off?”

“Please,” Harry sighed, loosening his grip on you so you had the space to work. As you undid the last button, he pulled away from the couch and shrugged the shirt off, allowing it to fall onto the floor behind him.

He was breathtaking. At dinner, you could see the tattooed heads of what you assumed to be two small birds peeking out from under his shirt, but you weren’t expecting him to have so many more. Those swallows sat just underneath his collarbone, above a large butterfly on his stomach that almost appeared lifelike, the ink stretching and compressing as he breathed. His left arm was nearly covered in various small symbols and words, and you made a mental note to ask about them later. 

Your hands returned to his chest, this time without barriers. The skin there was soft to the touch but you could feel the firm muscle underneath. It was warm. Hot.

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched as he tried to suppress a smirk at your wide-eyed gaze. After a few seconds of letting you stare, he pulled your lips back to his, unable to wait. It was just as desperate as before.

His large hands slowly slid down your back as your mouths moved together, finding the hem of your shirt before reaching underneath it to grab your hips. The feeling of his warm hands contrasted with the cold metal of the rings he wore, pulling a small gasp from you.

His firm grip on your hips was short-lived as his hands quickly began drifting upwards, thumbs slightly massaging your lower ribs. Fingers splayed on your back, Harry felt you pant into the kiss, unable to catch your breath.

He pulled away for a second, removing his hands from your skin. A small groan escaped you at the loss of warmth, which you hoped Harry didn’t notice. One hand moved to hold your face and the other bunched the hem of your shirt and tugged on it slightly. 

“Can I take this off?” He asked, not breaking eye contact. He needed to make sure you were okay with it, just like he would with whatever else ended up happening that night.

You nodded quickly, helping him lift the shirt over your head and toss it onto the floor beside you. He gripped your shoulders and pushed you away slightly so he could see you.

Harry thought you were stunning. His eyes raked longingly over every inch of you - shoulders, arms, breasts, and stomach, taking it all in. His hands slid off your shoulders to press against your ribs again, thumbs brushing the skin just under your bra. He tore his eyes away from the fabric and skin, gazing at you slack-jawed with blown-out pupils.

“Y’so beautiful, Y/N,” he panted, words slurred slightly from the breathlessness, and your heart just about burst in your chest. You weren’t used to being looked at like this, and it made you nervous, but the look in Harry’s eyes told you there was nothing to be afraid of. He didn’t look like he just wanted to fuck you – he looked like he wanted to worship you.

Instead of a response, you smashed your lips back to his. One of the hands gripping your ribs shifted to cup you over your bra, and you couldn’t help the moan that you let out. This only spurred Harry on as he followed suit, groaning into your mouth. The noise was divine – a low, throaty rumble that went straight to your core.

You needed more of his skin on you. Now. 

You reached behind yourself and unhooked your bra, shaking it off your shoulders until it dropped to the floor on top of your shirt. While you appreciated Harry asking for permission to continue with everything, you couldn’t wait until he worked up the nerve to ask you before feeling his bare hands on your chest.

He took your invitation to continue grasping at your breast, this time with no barrier. A louder moan left you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, electricity pulsing through your veins. Harry groaned into your mouth again, his other hand resting on your ass and bringing it forward until you sat directly on top of his length. It pressed deliciously against you, pulling another gasp from your throat. He was hard beneath you as you ground back on him, hips rocking in sync with the kiss.

You broke away for a moment to catch your breath, continuing to move against him. Your head fell back until you were panting up at the ceiling. Harry wasted no time in connecting his lips with your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, licks, and soft bites along it and down to your shoulder blades. The room was quiet apart from the symphony of both of your breathing, the crackle of the fire, and the odd car passing by.

He continued to kiss down your body to the soft tissue of your breast, capturing your nipple in his mouth. The feeling was heaven as his tongue flicked the bud before moving to the other side, his thumb replacing it. His other hand was reaching down your stomach to the button of your shorts, toying with the seams of the fabric. He removed his mouth from you, and you had to hold back a whine of disappointment.

“Is it alright if we get these off of you?” he asked tenderly, staring into you again. You nodded hastily, helping him unbutton them and lifting your hips so he could pull the fabric down your legs and over your knees. You kicked them off, leaving you in just your underwear as he looked you up and down again.

With the layer of fabric gone, your center met his again. You could feel the warmth radiating from his shaft as you pressed onto him, the two of you both groaning in pleasure. The rigid zipper of his pants rubbed firmly against your clit addictively.

A sudden wave of insecurity rushed over you as you realized the situation you’d put yourself in. Here you were, on a blind date with a near stranger, and you were already sitting on top of him in just your underwear while he was still in his pants. It wasn’t like you to give in to a man this quickly, but Harry’s face and smile and body and charm had gotten into your head and pushed away your ability to reason. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be doing this - it was quite the opposite, you were having a lovely time. You just didn’t want Harry to think you were easy, or that this was your plan.

You didn’t realize your movements against Harry had stilled until he was holding your face again, forcing you to look at him. He knew you were in your head about something, and he needed to find out what before taking things any further.

“Y/N, hey, what’s wrong? Do y’need to stop?” His voice was thick with concern as he searched your eyes for discomfort. You shook your head hurriedly, not wanting him to think you weren’t enjoying yourself.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you sighed, face flushing in embarrassment. “I’m just– I’m not usually the type to fuck on the first date. I don’t want you to think that was all I wanted from you.”

“Well, ‘f it helps, I wasn’t planning on having sex with you tonight.” Before you could react negatively (as you were about to) he quickly continued, “I just want to make you feel good tonight. You said you’ve been stressed out all week about work, and I just want to make that go away for you for a while. S’that okay, baby?”

Of course, he knew the perfect thing to say. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head at how considerate he was, and the pet name at the end was the cherry on top. “That sounds really nice. Thank you, Harry.”

He chuckled before lifting your hips off of his and setting you on the floor next to him, making sure you were close to the fireplace so you didn’t get cold. His hands prompted you to turn your body so you were parallel to the couch. One hand took root in your hair while the other caressed the bare skin on your hip as he kissed you again, slower this time. Harry used your hair as leverage to slowly pull you down until you were on your back on the floor, him slotted between your open legs.

“I want to take care of you, sweetheart, is that okay?” As if you would say no.

Your whiny ‘yes’ was rewarded with his hands caressing your inner thighs slowly, teasingly. You assumed you were noticeably soaked, the baby pink cotton of your underwear unforgiving when it came to hiding your arousal. He massaged the soft skin, moving upwards until his thumb brushed over the fabric’s seam nestled in the crease of your thigh. Your hips moved of their own accord, lifting in search of any friction they could find. Harry tsked quietly, securing a hand on your hip and pushing it back down on the floor.

He rolled onto his side from between your legs, supporting himself on an elbow with his hand cradling your head and wrapping an ankle around your leg to keep them open. His other hand traced a soft line over the wet patch between your legs, fingers brushing your clit with a feather-light touch. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Harry, please,” you whined, trying to regulate your breathing. 

He chuckled teasingly. “What d’you need, baby? Use your words.”

“I need –” you cut yourself off, unsure of why you were embarrassed to say it when you knew he already knew what you wanted. “I need you to touch me, please.”

That was all he needed before he slipped his fingers underneath your underwear and swiped them through your wet folds. The contact was heavenly, forcing a choked moan from your throat as he drew circles around your clit in a precise rhythm. He was obviously experienced, building that warm feeling in your stomach faster than even you could yourself.

“Need these off,” he ordered, tugging your underwear down your legs and helping you kick them off before he hooked an ankle around your knee and spread your legs again. His hand returned to your core, this time with his thumb pressing on your clit and his middle finger teasing your entrance. Your soft groan encouraged him to slide it into you, pulling a myriad of lush sounds from your mouth as he pumped in and out. When he curled his fingers into you and brushed against the spongy patch that felt so good, you thought you were a goner. That was until he slipped his ring finger in alongside his middle and picked up his motions on your clit once more. It didn’t take long at all for you to reach the edge, the feeling building in your insides until you felt like a rubber band about to snap.

“Harry, I’m gonna –” a prolonged moan interrupted your statement.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he spoke softly in your ear, leaving a small kiss on your cheekbone. “Let it go for me.”

That was all you needed. The rubber band inside you snapped, and your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami. You clenched tightly around Harry’s fingers, hips writhing, as he worked you through your release. He whispered praises in your ear but you could barely hear them as the room seemed to disappear, leaving just you and the feeling of Harry’s touch. You had to grip his wrist to remove his hand from you after a few seconds, the continued motion turning overstimulating quickly. 

After taking a moment to catch your breath, you rolled onto your side to throw an arm around Harry’s neck and pull him closer to you. Your nakedness was catching up to you as not even the warmth from the fireplace was enough.

Harry quickly realized how cold you were and turned to grab the throw blanket off of the couch, draping it over both of you. That was something you were quickly learning about Harry – he was very attentive, and he seemed to be able to anticipate your needs before you even realized them yourself.

After a few moments of quiet, the sounds of your breathing mixing with the other ambient noises, you spoke. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything for you? I feel bad leaving you, you know, high and dry.”

He laughed, leaning down to press a kiss against your hair. “I promise m’okay, Y/N. What you can do for me, though, is let me clean you up and get you in bed. Our backs are going to kill us tomorrow if we stay on this floor any longer.”

----------

After Harry helped you clean up and change into a fresh pair of pajamas, he slipped out of his trousers, leaving him in just his boxers. You’d both crawled into your bed, and you rested your head against his bare chest as his arm stroked small circles on your shoulder. It took everything in you not to fall asleep, but you didn’t want this night with him to end quite yet.

“Harry?” you whispered, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere in the room with your words.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thank you for everything tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed myself this much, and I just want you to know how much I appreciate that.”

“Y’ don’t have to thank me – I had just as good of a time. You’re really special, Y/N. I’d love to do this again, if you’d let me?”

“Which part?” you laughed, “the dinner part or the after-dinner part?”

“Well, honestly, preferably both.” You were both laughing now, his stomach muscles tensing under your hand. 

“I think I’d be okay with that,” you agreed, knowing deep down you’d probably beg on your hands and knees for him to let you see him again.

“Thank you, baby. Now get some sleep.” He pressed another kiss to your hair and pulled you tighter to his chest, his other hand ensuring the blankets were tucked snugly around your shoulders before he allowed his body to sink back against the pillows. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” You drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a certain brown-haired boy that you knew wouldn’t be leaving your mind anytime soon.

[evergone]

Hey!! Idk know if you are taking requests right now but can you write a Theo x Hufflepuff reader imagine where the reader is always telling him to make friends from other houses. He finally does make friends but with a beautiful Ravenclaw and starts spending more time with her. The reader starts feeling insecure and ignores Theo. He soon realises that she is ignoring him and talks to her.

Btw I love your writing and can you please tag me if you do write it?

Too Friendly

Theodore Nott x reader

Warnings: Swearing, allusions to sex but no sex.

Description: The reader wants Theo to make more friends but when he does, she becomes insecure about their bond.

Sorry this took so long to get out, I'm in the middle of my final exams of high school so I don't have much time. I enjoyed writing this one. Thanks for the request @orphicmortala

“It’s sad, Theo, you’ve got, like, no friends!” You said as you tried your best to remember how to tie your yellow tie.

“What do you call Malfoy, then?” Theo asked from the bed.

“An accomplice,” you replied with that unique snark that Theo loved about you, “You need friends from other houses— Friends that aren’t just me.” You added those final words hastily before he could open his mouth in protest.

Theo rolled his eyes and beckoned you over. His hands glided over the folds of your tie with expertise, undoing the mess of a knot you’d created in order to do it up properly and perfectly. When he was done, he looked up at you with his gorgeous, oceanic eyes and the corners of his mouth where both his beautiful lips connected turned upwards. You uttered your thanks quietly as you resisted the primal urge to just not go to class at all and instead spend the whole day with him. Your mind wandered off to imagine being stuck between Theo’s checkered emerald sheets, but you brought it back to reality.

Fending off your lustful desires as well as a nun would, you bid adieu to Theo and hurried out of his room and the Slytherin common room. On your way out, you dodged the teasingly crude jokes and names that Theo’s friends tossed towards you and told Pansy that she was no better than yourself (you’d seen the way she snuck out of that empty classroom after Draco a couple days earlier, her hair and clothes all dishevelled and her thighs rubbing together uncomfortably).

The whole day, Theo dwelled on your words. While you weren’t exactly dating or in a relationship, he always found himself bound to your every word and every whim. You seemed to dictate his life in a way that you certainly shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but listen to you. So, in Arithmancy, he didn’t sit next to Blaise as he usually did, instead electing to sit with Lisa Turpin, a Ravenclaw girl he’d seen you talk to a few times.

She looked at him in confusion, “Did you need something?”

He withheld the instinct to say some snide remark and instead replied, “I thought I’d make a new friend today.”

“On some random Tuesday… in our Sixth year?” Her face contorted to expose her obvious disgust.

“Merlin’s cock and balls, I’m trying to be nice, Turpin!” Theo frowned and picked up his bag to go sit elsewhere.

Turpin grabbed his wrist as he stood up and her lips made a thin line as she pulled him back down to the seat. Her brows knitted together like a homemade sweater and she breathed out a sigh of defeat.

“No, it’s okay, sorry,” she said, “Sit here if you’d like.”

Over the next week, Theo made some serious efforts to get to know Turpin despite his friends’ obvious, loud verbal opposition. After that first Arithmancy class, Blaise had practically torn him to shreds with his massive speech on house loyalty and the horrible impact that you were clearly having on him. Daphne had recited the same speech her mother had given to her on her first day of her first year at school about how interrelations with students from the lesser houses was a gateway drug to blood sympathy (she’d given him the same speech when he started his little thing with you). And Pansy, Merlin’s beard, Pansy was furious.

Pansy had constructed this whole idea in her mind that you hated that Theo was talking to Turpin. She called it “cheating” which Theo had adamantly disagreed with. He wasn’t having sex with Turpin, in fact, he had absolutely zero romantic interest in her. He barely even liked her. The only thing the two had in common was Arithmancy and every time they hung out they talked about it until there was no more Arithmancy to talk about. It was, quite frankly, boring. Turpin was boring.

“It’s emotional cheating,” said Pansy in a huff as she and the others started towards the Great Hall for Monday breakfast.

“Emotional cheating?” Theo asked skeptically.

“Yes, Nott, emotional cheating,” she nodded, “And it’s hurting Y/n’s feelings. That’s why she hasn’t spoken to you all week.”

His gaze snapped to focus on Pansy whose black eyes were ablaze with the feminine rage of a girl’s best friend, “How do you know she hasn’t spoken to me all week?”

Pansy smirked, her honey red lipstick bright against her pale skin, and shrugged. She knew you hadn’t spoken to him all week because you wouldn’t shut up about it. In Divination on Wednesday afternoon, you’d all but assaulted Pansy with questions about Theo’s newfound interest in Turpin. All of which Pansy had no helpful responses to.

“Is he flirting with her?” You asked.

“Maybe, I don’t know, it’s not like they sit with us,” said Pansy, struggling to focus on the crystal ball with all your chatter.

“Why not? Why don’t they sit with you? Are they trying to be private?” You pushed almost frantically.

“Uh, possibly? Honestly, I just think he knows we don’t like her,” she explained.

“Why don’t you like her? Is she a bitch?” You frowned and then quickly added in a judgmental tone, “Or are you just being blood supremacists?”

“Is she a mudblood?” Pansy stopped working to stare at you.

You smacked her hand and she hissed, “I don’t know her that well. Don’t say that.”

When Theo and his friends finally arrived at the Great Hall, he searched the tables for your face. While most people usually stuck to their house’s table, you were a social butterfly and loved to flutter from table-to-table to talk to all of your many friends. Sometimes he wondered how you weren’t a prefect despite your popularity and the respect the younger years gave you. His eyes found Turpin first and she beamed and waved him over, but he blatantly ignored her. Pansy and Daphne watched on with delight as the girl cringed with embarrassment and turned back to her meal with bright red ears.

A spot of h/c hair floated above a robe lined with yellow and he abandoned his friends to go to you. You were standing at the end of the Hufflepuff table (not an unusual place to find you, but your favourite table was always the Slytherin one), and you were utterly consumed by a tale you were sewing for your housemates Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley.

“Y/n,” Theo spoke and his deep, smokey voice tore you straight out of your conversation, “Can we talk?”

Your eyebrows quivered and your blinking sped up as you took his appearance in for the first time all week. You hadn’t gone so long without speaking to him in at least three years (you got into an argument in your third year about the petrifications) and hearing his voice and seeing him so close was like throwing a former alcoholic into a sea of wine. There was nothing you wanted more than to indulge in him. But Hannah and Justin were glaring at him like hawks, or guard dogs, whichever was more intimidating.

“Um,” you glanced back at your friends and Hannah shook her head slightly, she’d never much liked Theo, “Sure.”

Hannah rolled her eyes and whispered something barely audible to Justin. Something about a “love-fucked pushover.” You ignored her. Theo took you to a pair of seats far from any prying ears and held your hands in his.

“You know I don’t like Turpin, right?” He said quietly.

You scoffed, “Yeah, right. And that’s why you spent all week with her.”

“I spent all week with her because you told me to!” He laughed with salt that spread itself over your wounded heart.

“Did I just? Because I really don’t remember saying ‘Hey, Theo, you know how I like you so much? I actually want you to go talk to another girl,’” you said sarcastically.

He held back a grin as best he could but the amusement glistened in his eyes and on his rosy, mole-spotted cheeks. His hand came up to your brow and massaged the frown out from between your eyebrows as you fluttered your eyelashes at him in the way you knew made him melt inside.

“I wanted to make friends for you,” he told you with that soft, romantic tone he used in bed.

“Don’t,” you ordered, “You’re Theodore Nott, you aren’t supposed to be friendly.”

For the first time in a week, he got a good look at you. He hadn’t realised how much he missed the sight of your h/l h/c hair and the way it framed your stunning face so perfectly that you appeared to have stepped right out of a portrait. He hadn’t realised how much he missed how your eyes, an elegant e/c and perpetually glossy as if always on the verge of tears, examined every centimetre of his face. He hadn’t realised how much he missed doing your tie up for you until he saw it tied like a bow around your neck.

“I’m friendly to you,” he said as his hands pulled at the end of the tie and it fell apart over your chest.

“And that’s all you need, I think,” you whispered pleasantly and pressed a loving kiss to his lips as he looped the tie around itself twice and pushed the end through the gap, tying it perfectly.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Platonic Yandere Kitsune + Child Reader Part II

Part 1

Usually the morning is spent waiting for the head maid to feed you your breakfast after they wake you up

But they aren’t there instead you’re struggling to put a shirt on yourself and it’s not the nice ones you usually have

He sees you drag a stool around as you grab food and different tools around the house

And then with unknown urgency, he goes to meet you as you struggle to crawl over the wall of your home

“I’m on a journey. My parents have been taken and I have to get them back.”

“Oh, really by who?”

“I don’t know but I only have a month so I have to get started.”

He’ll join you on your journey 

Both at your side and away from you

Watching in the trees

He likes getting to watch up close now

Without the reflection of a crystal ball or the pane of glass in the way

That and he can pull on your cheeks however many times he likes

He can also see how cute your fingers are in comparison to his

How did he not notice before

How cute it is to watch you hop on rocks to cross the stream 

Or how you have to argue with adults who get in your way

It isn’t until you get nearly finished in your journey that he actually begins to intervene

The obstacles have gotten harder

He had to carry you over the ravine with an unstable rock passage 

it is only then he stops messing around and investigates without you

Specifically after making a hearty meal for you

He puts a protective seal and a tracking seal on you while he goes ahead 

At a kitsune’s speed

He finds out quickly that your parents are alive but they have much less than a month

He doesn’t know why he searches with such speed

Finding the culprit to be none other than another kitsune 

an older one

A stronger one

She claims it was all a game citing specific moments of the journey he endured with you

Full on belly laughing as she recalls when you almost fell into a pit of spikes

He really doesn’t like this

But he pretends to not be disgusted asking for the parents she confiscated

Come to find out the souls were carefully picked out leaving them lifeless husks

She laughs about the futility 

Saying she’ll be gentle when she eats your soul

He kills her without restraint

Something snaps like he’s never known before 

Ravishing her body with a force he didn’t know he had he leaves nothing

Only really snapping out of it when you meekly call him by the fake name he’s given you

Turns out you did trick him 

Encouraging a tanuki to take your place

He’s impressed but he’s horrified

You know everything asking that he put them out of their misery and help you bury them

He does so 

Finding that he has to encourage you to grieve

You’ve worked so hard

 overcome so much

 grown-up despite still being the same little one who liked to play

You do cry 

Crying into his yukata as you both prepare to set out lanterns

After some more crying-induced nights he elects to take you home

To his home

Which you struggle against

Despite you being a child you feel like you can take on the world now understanding the adults' job so much better

But Ryo, the kitsune won’t have it

When you passionately argue your point he only sighs

Before wrapping you up in silk and tying to his chest

He takes you back to his shrine where he makes some big changes

Less parties, less friends, and more research

Now he only focuses on extending your life specifically your childhood

You're a clever kid

He doesn’t know if he can handle a clever teen let alone an adult

So that’s his goal 

Searching relentlessly for 'a cure' before your childhood runs out

But when he’s not doing that he dotes on you

Settling into this way of life he finds that Yuki Ona’s words to be quite true

He couldn’t imagine ever caring so deeply for anyone let alone a child 

but he does

And he’d give the world to keep it this way

[schlatt-love-bot]

yuck! - schlatt x reader

now listening: yuck - charli xcx 0:01❍─────── 2:19 ↻ ⊲  Ⅱ  ⊳  ↺

[part one (currently reading), part 1.5, part two, part three]

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Schlatt was never fond of “love,” the idea of falling in love or being in love with another person quite literally made him feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t like the commitment—it upheld a standard within his mind that he felt he would never be able to reach, like he wasn’t a good enough person to be ‘boyfriend’ material. Thinking about the pressure of a relationship, needing to be a support for another person other than himself, the planning of dates, the pressure to get married…it had put his stomach in knots regularly. He did, however, crave the physical aspects of being in love, the tender touches, light kisses…especially the sex aspect of it all. That’s how he got himself wrapped up in hookup culture, needing a sexual release without the expectation of flowers and dinner afterwards. 

When he was young and made this decision, he didn’t really care who he was hooking up with, his numbers weren’t that big on YouTube quite yet, and so he wasn’t really afraid of a subscriber meeting him off Tinder or Bumble and trying to expose him for his personal life online. As his numbers grew, though, his anxiety about being exposed as a one night stand man began to go through the roof. That’s where you enter the picture. You and Schlatt met each other during a particularly boring elective class you both needed to take to get your degrees in college, being partnered for a group project where you learned you both had the same outlook on the class and had similar hobbies. Having met Schlatt during his brief college days, you knew of his commitment issues and never judged him for his one night stand escapades. Schlatt appreciated the fact that you respected him and his lifestyle choices, most people (especially his mother) never understood why he couldn’t find it in himself to settle down. You, however, understood the inner fear he felt towards love and relationships, and you got why he relied so heavily on casual flings to meet his needs and desires.

When he started making it big as a streamer and on YouTube, it just so happened to line up with a time in your life when you became single, after a two-year long relationship you thought had good prospects of being together forever. Distraught, you came to Schlatt, who told you he knew that relationships were a bad idea, and that he tried to warn you about all that before you committed to that “dickwad”. 

“See, this is what’m talking about! Relationships are so fucking stupid…now you’re sittin’ ‘ere sobbing on my couch, for what?” He said, gesturing a hand towards you before bringing his glass of whisky up to his lips, rolling his eyes as he took a sip. You were laying on his couch, tears slowly rolling down your cheeks, glaring at him as you knew he knew you came over for comfort, not judgement. 

“Jesus…shut up, dude! I get you’re not into all that stuff…but I thought we had something real. He seemed so genuine…” You croaked, throwing a pillow at Schlatt as he raised his hands to defend himself. 

“Yeah, yeah…he was a real genuine guy..especially when he was genuinely between that other chick’s legs…” he laughed, picking up the pillow to place it back beside you, as he leaned down to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You huffed, crossing your arms as you looked away from him. 

“Not. Funny.” 

“I know it’s not. It’s seriously fucked up.” He said, continuing to wipe away the tears that came, rubbing small circles through your hair in an attempt to calm you down. “I told you, you should just do what I do. There’s no pressure..” 

He left it at that, letting you ever so slowly get over your ex with his care and support. The entire time, though, you thought about what he had mentioned—to partake in his lifestyle, how there was no pressure. Soon enough, he came to you with his own proposition. 

“Listen…you don’t have to say yes. I know we’re friends, and I don’t want this to twist that all up…but…I can’t keep seeing randos on these dating apps…the last one started talkin’ to me about L’Manberg after I came on her stomach…” he said, his hand snaking around to his neck as he looked down at the floor, hearing you chuckle at his experiences. “Are you..asking me to be your hookup partner?” 

“If that’s whatcha wanna call it, toots…” 

“No strings attached, right? Just…meeting each other’s physical needs?” You asked, contemplating the idea in your mind. You would admit, you had always wondered how Schlatt was in bed, with the amount of times he had gone out and slept with someone, coming back to you with new stories of positions and other levels of spice you had never considered taking into the bedroom ever before. Not to mention, he wasn’t a bad looking guy, either. There was always a small voice in the back of your head telling you that he was attractive, and that you could change his ways. Plus…you needed your own distraction and to have your needs met while you got over your ex, so what better way than doing that with your good friend, Schlatt?

“Exactly. We still remain good friends…but when we have needs…we meet them, together.” He said, laying out an exact plan that would include rules and consent. 

“Oh, and of course. Not falling in love. Sorry, sweetcheeks, I’m not gonna be interested.” He laughed, writing down the last rule on this makeshift contract he began writing before scribbling his name at the bottom. 

“Of course…of course. Are you seriously making me sign this thing? It means nothing, legally…” You laughed, picking up the pen he slowly pushed towards you.

“Yeah, I mean it’s not gonna legally mean anything, but it’ll show us if things get…tricky…that we started things with the same intentions, right?” He had no idea why he felt the need to draft up this contract of sorts—he was firm in his belief that he would never, genuinely fall in love with someone, but there was a fear about this in the back of his mind. He had himself convinced that it would be you falling for him and ruining this whole ordeal. 

“I guess you’re right…” You said, your voice quiet as you scribbled your name on the bottom of the paper, before meeting his gaze. 

“So…when did you wanna start all this?” 

“Hmm, no moment quite like now, right, toots?” He laughed, scooting closer to you as he placed a hand on your cheek, “If that’s alright with you, of course…” 

His voice trailed off as you let out a giggle, rolling your eyes. You leaned in, kissing him on the lips, leaving him shocked that you initiated without hesitation. 

That was about 2 years ago now, and since then you and Schlatt had come nearly inseparable. The contract still stood—neither of you were to have feelings for one another, but were to support one another platonically other than in the bedroom. The only recent amendment to the contract was when Schlatt decided that the two of you should move in together, so that your hookups could be done on a more frequent basis, as it’s what he “needed.” You were already on the hunt for a new place to live, your old apartment becoming too expensive to live on your own in, so you agreed. 

As time went on, you felt yourself wanting more. Wanting the simple, quiet moments with Schlatt something more than just a fuck buddy. Wishing that when you were in the kitchen cooking dinner that Schlatt would walk by, wrap his arms around your waist, and whisper something nice in your ear. Instead, you were met with the occasional slap on the ass, and a joke about how you’d make a nice housewife, but not for him. 

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when you find a husband, toots.” He would always joke, showing you that he knew you needed something more, something concrete and committed, but also communicating that he knew he wasn’t capable of providing you with those experiences. 

You hit a point where you couldn’t take it anymore, though, taking matters in your own hands. You knew the root of the problem was internal fear Schlatt felt, that he wasn’t a good enough person to be able to be committed to someone, and that he needed to improve himself before being able to commit to anyone. He had gotten so used to his hookup lifestyle, though, he felt no pressure to “improve himself” like he had explained to you years ago, though, and so you knew you needed to start adding that pressure on him. 

“Flowers? Who bought you those?” He said, seeing an arrangement in a vase on the kitchen counter as you were making something at the stove. 

“Oh, no one bought me those. I bought those for you.” You said, nonchalantly, putting down the spoon you were using to look over at his reaction. One of his eyebrows began to raise, as he inspected the flowers once more. 

“Respectfully, I don’t need any flowers, sweetheart, but I appreciate the sentiment. What’s with them?” You shrugged your shoulders, leaning against the stove with crossed arms. 

“No particular reason…just saw ‘em at the store and thought of you. That’s all.” You say, seeing a slight pink tint come across his cheeks. You could tell the gears in his brain were turning, he was trying to think of a logical, platonic reason for why you would do this, but he wasn’t able to come up with one. You returned your focus to the stove, your pot nearly boiling over now from being neglected. 

“Well…thanks, sweetcheeks. Guess ‘m gonna have to repay you for these later, hmm?” He growled, slapping your bottom before going into the fridge to pull out a drink, disappearing back into his office. You sighed, knowing you were going to have to try harder.

“C’mon, don’t you think it would be fun? We live by the mountains, afterall…”

“Stargazing? The fuck do I look like…your boyfriend?” He scoffed, pushing around the pasta you made on his plate, as you sighed, putting your head in your hands. 

“No! God, you’re taking it out of context,” you sighed, shaking your head, “Friends do this type of shit, too, idiot. I just thought it would be nice to get away for a weekend, away from your 17,000 different channels and business ventures, let you clear your head for a day or two before coming back to the chaos.” 

He began to think silently, leaving you hanging. He was trying to figure out your motive, slowly over the last few months he had noticed your attempts to break down his tough, outer shell, trying to get under his skin and grow closer to him. First, he thought you were trying to be a better friend, but now the line between friend and lover was getting blurred, and the more he thought about it, the sicker he began to feel. He was confused, himself, never quite feeling the way he felt about you with any other person before, none of the women he would see quite regularly made him feel this way, either. When he was around you, he felt…domestic. An urge to protect you, keep you safe, and he had no real clue as to why. The feeling in his chest as of late was so foreign, he often wondered if something was seriously wrong with him—he mentioned in passing the other day that he thought he needed to see a doctor, something about having a heart arrhythmia or something. Was it you blurring this line, or was he unconsciously blurring it himself? The idea made him sweat, and so he once again swallowed all the thoughts and tried his best to press forward. 

“Mmm, well..when you put it that way…it does sound kind of nice.” He refused to look up and make eye contact with you as he confirmed plans. You smirked to yourself, feeling as though your intentions were finally setting on him, and that soon enough you could, maybe, call him yours for real. 

“Good, cause I already booked a stay at a nice cabin, ‘bout 15 minutes from here. Go pack your bags and let’s get going!” You say, clapping your hands together excitedly, your things already packed since you were going, regardless of his decision. He began to laugh, shaking his head as he stood up, heading to his room. 

“What the fuck is up with them…” he muttered under his breath, going through his dressers to find a few t-shirts to throw in his bag. 

“Really tryna ruin a good fuckin’ thing, aren’t they…” he couldn’t help himself from feeling a bit angry. He was slowly beginning to realize that you were wanting more, you were getting yourself attached to him not only physically, but emotionally as well, and that you were trying to coax him into believing he was becoming emotionally invested in you as well. It was confusing, to say the least, because on one hand he truly felt as though he was turning a new, uncomfortable leaf—he found himself caring about you, how your day was, how you were feeling, and wanting to connect with you on a level he hadn’t ever connected with someone before, but at the same time he was so stuck in his ways that he didn’t want to think about you as anything more than friends with benefits. His confusion has now shifted to anger, anger that you were trying to get more out of this than he was willing to give, and anger at himself that he was even considering changing his ways for someone other than himself. He finally got his bag all packed, trying to think of this little get away as a break from work, rather than stressing himself out over his feelings and your own. 

He rejoined you in the living room, seeing you checking your phone, keys in hand and your own bag placed on the ground at your feet. You hadn’t noticed him standing there quite yet, rather engrossed in something you were reading on your phone. It was at that moment Schlatt realized his heartbeat was getting quicker once again, feeling butterflies beginning to stir within his stomach. 

Ugh, he thought to himself, I feel like I’m going to be sick…what the fuck is happening to me?

Almost as if you could hear his inner dialogue, you looked up from your phone, smiling at him standing there looking dumbfounded with his bag in his hands. You slid your phone in your back pocket as you picked up your own bag. 

“Ready to go? Let’s enjoy this weekend, hmm?” 

“Let’s get this show on the road…” his voice droned on, trying his best to make it seem as though he wasn’t looking forward to spending a weekend alone with you, not having to worry about anything else. 

Night began to paint the sky full of stars, as Schlatt fed the woodfire heater inside the cabin to keep you both warm overnight. You sat, wrapped loosely in a blanket on the couch watching him, a mug of hot chocolate sitting nicely in your hands. Since arriving at the cabin, you both already had a few rounds of slow fucking on almost every surface you could find available inside. It was an attempt in Schlatt’s mind to solidify that the only connect you two shared was sexual, not romantic in any way, but after the last round when you glanced up at him with a twinkle in your eye, he began to think it was game over—something in his perspective was shifting. You could tell he was working through something internally, usually after a round he would be a gentleman and help clean you up, make sure you’re comfortable before going back to whatever it was he was doing before, but after your last round, he stared you in the eyes for what felt like forever, his eyes widened before he shook his head, grumbling something about feeling disgusted, leaving you alone on the bed you had finally made your way to in the end. You sighed, running your hands through your hair, unsure of whether or not this trip away was going to work or end up in the way you were anticipating in your mind. With the way he was acting, you’d think you did something seriously sinister to him, and he wanted to get away from you forever. Getting yourself cleaned up, you now found yourself on the couch watching him from afar. 

He finally was satisfied with how the fire was going, enjoying the sounds of the crackling wood in the somewhat uncomfortable silence he had created between the two of you. He turned around to see you comfortably watching him, wondering what his next move was going to be. 

“You mentioned stargazing, didn’t ya?” He said, sitting gently next to you, afraid if he came on too strong he might say something he regretted, or you would do something that would solidify the change he was terrified of. 

“Mhm, wasn’t sure if you remembered, honestly…” your voice trailed off, sounding a bit hurt from having your pride bruised back in the bedroom. Him leaving you like that filled you with doubt—maybe he didn’t want to be more than friends with benefits, afterall, and you’ve just been living in a big bubble of delusion. 

“Of course I remembered…c’mon now.” He said, standing up as he gestured a hand to you, offering to pull you up from the couch. You placed your mug to the side, reaching up to grab his hand and stand up yourself. Silently, you followed him as you both adorned your jackets back on, slipping on some boots as Schlatt reached over and grabbed the blanket you were once wrapped up in. You both walked out of the cabin in silence, finding a secluded spot a little bit away from the cabin, but in a clearing large enough that you could make out the stars and their constellations from underneath the trees. Schlatt laid the blanket down on the grass, sitting down before looking back up at you. 

“Are you gonna come down here and join me, or are you just gonna stand there, toots?” He chuckled, patting the spot next to him on the blanket. You let out a breathy laugh, sitting next to him before glancing up at the sky. Admiring the stars together, the silence quickly became comfortable, not tense as it was a few minutes ago. When Schlatt laid down on his back, he tugged at your jacket, signalling you to join him, to which you quickly obliged. Your head on his chest, you could ever so softly hear his heart beating intensely, making a smile creep up on your face. 

“What’s that one called…?”

“Hmm…maybe Ursa Major? Kinda looks like a bear…doesn’t it?” He hummed, his arm wrapped around your shoulder as his other hand continued to point out different constellations above you. You couldn’t help yourself from looking up at him, seeing how the stars reflected in his eyes caused you to fall deeper than you ever thought possible. 

“What’cha lookin’ at?” He said, confused why your gaze wasn’t directed at the stars any longer. 

“Have I ever told you just how…handsome you really are, Schlatt?” You said, seeing his eyes grow a bit wider than before. He felt a now familiar heat creep across his cheeks, as he said a silent prayer that you couldn’t tell just how rosy his cheeks have now become. 

Fuck. Not this lovey dovey shit…

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EDIT: Part 1.5 is out now! Smut, and smut only, so reader discretion is advised! Enjoy~ AND PART TWO! READ IT HERE :)

ANOTHER NOTE: FINAL PART OUT NOW!! Thanks for your love & support!!

[house-of-lovin]

legally binded - 9

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. | prev. part | next part

Chapter 9 : Grand Prix and Grand Gestures

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: famous!reader, actress!reader, mentions of substances, intoxication, mature language, real people. (do not read if any of these make you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: sorry for the long wait for this new chapter, just enjoying my summer yk! anyways, thanks for your guys' continued support and patience! much love!!

Word Count: 5.6k+

When Jenna stepped out of her room at precisely 4:45 AM, with the early morning sun yet to rise, the last thing she expected to find was the shared kitchen to be a mess. 

Courtesy of you, of course. ‘Cause who else?

“What the hell are you doing to our kitchen?” Jenna croaked out, running a hand against the plastered wall as a guide as she tiredly rubbed her sleep-filled eyes with the other. When the blurring in her vision goes away, they settle on you looking… wired, like you’d had three cups of espresso already. 

“Good morning!” You whispered, admiring her messy bedhead with a large toothy smile. “I’m making you breakfast.”

“Why?” She asked, voice hoarse. You rolled your eyes as you passed her a steaming mug of coffee without a word causing her to flick a brow up, opting to take a sip instead of questioning it. 

“I’m making you breakfast so you don’t go to work hungry, again.” You explained matter-of-factly, turning your back to check on the stove. The younger actress couldn’t stave off her surprise that you’ve noticed her skipping the most important meal of the day. “Now I’m not the best cook. But, I learned a thing or two about making a mean avocado toast, and since you’re vegetarian… it’s really the only thing I can make you.”

Jenna didn’t expect her heart to be racing so early in the morning. Since your talk, the two of you have been more at ease around the other; falling back into that natural banter, every once in a while. But she can’t lie… the friends' agreement has been difficult to follow through with, especially since you’ve started with gestures such as this. 

The younger actress finds she’s started to… allow herself to enjoy these domestic moments with you, knowing that now, feelings are very much reciprocated — just, without a label yet. 

Placing the steaming mug down on the kitchen island, she chose not to comment on how her coffee was made exactly how she liked it. “I appreciate the gesture, Y/N. I hope you didn’t wake up early just to make me breakfast.”

You turned off the stove, took the pan off the burner, and rolled your eyes. “Get off your high horse, I was already up.” Turning around with the pan still in your hand. 

“You were already up or you didn’t go to sleep?” She countered, expression flat.

You smiled sheepishly, “Jet lag is kicking my ass.”

Jenna snorted and watched as you plated the perfectly-browned toast on a dish and spread some avocados on top; garnishing it with the utmost (adorable) concentration on your face before sliding the plate across the island with a small but proud grin. 

“Consider it compliments of the chef,” you send her a playful wink, glancing down. Jenna follows your line of sight, reading the printed words on the apron. 

Kiss the Chef.

She tried to fight the smile creeping on her face but it proved futile when she felt the familiar warmth enveloping her pale morning cheeks. 

“You’re not as smooth as you think you are…” Was the best response the younger actress could trust herself to utter. “When did you even buy that?”

You laughed, picking up your own cup of coffee. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Jenna ignored you, electing to take a bite of the toast. She almost felt bad for eating something that you put so much effort towards. But when she takes a bite, she finds herself letting out a muffled moan, making you flush red at the sound. “Holy shit, what did you put in this?”

Plastering a smile, you teased, “it’s a secret.”

“You’re annoying…” Jenna covered her mouth, as she ate. 

“Finish eating or you’ll be late.” You reminded, taking off the apron. The time zone change still messed with your internal body clock, meaning at times, you’d still be up when Jenna awoke for a day of work.

You noted the times she got up and at which of those mornings she managed to eat. After the third day of her waking up late, you decided that the next day you’d be kind and make her a healthy breakfast, knowing it’s often difficult to find time to eat during a busy day of filming. 

“Wait…” Jenna called out before you could leave the kitchen. “What are you doing today?”

You racked your brain; thinking for a moment. “I gotta start packing for Monaco, I leave this Wednesday.”

Jenna remembered you telling her that you’ve been invited to the F1 Grand Prix. She doesn’t really understand the race, but she found your childlike glee over a bunch of cars… endearing. It’s slightly childish that she feels a bit upset by you leaving so suddenly, but these last few weeks have felt blissful ever since your confession. She finds herself wanting to stay in this bubble the two of you have created for as long as she can. “Oh, right…”

“Why, what’s up?”

“Nothing… just wondering ‘cause my family’s actually flying in this weekend,” Jenna admitted, gauging your reaction, noting the way you stood straighter on your feet.

“They are?” 

Jenna hummed. “Yeah, they’re here for a week. They were gonna stay at a hotel but if you’re going to Monaco then…”

You blinked, unsure if you should ask why she didn’t tell you her family was flying in sooner. “Oh yeah, no problem. Listen, it’s your apartment.” 

Jenna rolled her eyes, correcting you, “It’s our apartment. You’re living here too.”

Chuckling, you averted your eyes. “Well, in that case. Mi casa es su casa.”

“Your Spanish needs a bit of work...” But Jenna can’t fight her smile.

“Rude,” laughing, you added, “it’s probably best to skip town though— your family’s probably still mad at me.”

Jenna immediately rounds the counter to stand in front of you, shaking her head in denial. “They’re not mad, Y/N. I already told you.”

You shoot her a grimaced smile, “I know, I’m just joking, but I’m still scared of your sisters… Also, your mom may or may not have texted me about that paparazzi pic of you smoking cigarettes.”

Her brows raised, as her jaw dropped, “she did?”

You hummed in response.

“Fuck…” She grumbled, causing you to laugh. “What did she say?”

“Nothing you haven’t already heard from her Instagram stories…” You smirked, enjoying her annoyed scowl. 

“Shut up.”

“Hey, it’ll be alright.” You placed a hand on her shoulder, lightly rubbing it. Ignoring the way she straightened her posture at your touch. “A scolding is probably the most you’ll get out of her.”

“I’m 20 years old, I can do whatever I want.” Dropping your hand, you laughed again.

“You may think you’re grown but she’s always going to be your mom. She’s just looking out for you. Not to mention, she’s a nurse, what'd you expect?” You jest but she rolled her eyes, staring up at you with a slight pout in her frown causing your heart to stop dead in its tracks; desperately trying to stare at her lips for too long. 

Maybe it was the confession, or the ‘clearing the air’ that you two have done. But every touch and look from Jenna feels weighted — in a pleasant way, this time.

She sighed heavily, leaning her hip on the kitchen island. “I know… it’s just embarrassing.”

“At least you know she cares.” You chuckled, patting her shoulder reassuringly before walking off to the living room. 

She ignored the possible meaning behind your words. Although she’d love to dive into the story of your mom and hear it from your account, maybe having that conversation at five o’clock in the morning isn’t the best idea.

“Come on, finish up and go shower. You’re gonna be late.” You called out behind you before plopping on the couch.

“You better wash those dishes…”

“Ugh, later.” You groaned. “I need a nap.”

—

Jenna (2:35 PM): hope you’re having a great time in Monaco 🖤

“Get off your phone…” Tom said before snatching the device right from your hand. 

“Dude…”

“You’re in Monaco with the best cars and drivers in the entire world and you’re glued to your phone – what’re you looking at anyway.” the Brit commented, reading the text before you could stop him. “Aw… how cute, she sent a heart.”

“Shut up. You literally made us late ‘cause you spent all night talking to Z.” Attempting to grab your phone back was futile when he held it out of reach, tossing it to Link who was enjoying this interaction judging by the large grin smacked on his face. 

“She’s my girlfriend.” Tom defended but it fell on deaf ears as soon as you saw Link begin to scroll through your past messages with Jenna.

“Link… give it back, I need to respond!” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll text her back.” Link winked before typing a response. You immediately leapt out of your seat, plucking your phone out of his grasp but it was too late, he’d already sent the message.

“Thinking about you? Really?” You deadpanned despite the warmth coursing fervently through your cheeks. “You’re such an ass…”

“You’re just mad that I finally said what you were really thinking.” He called out as you walked away, fingers slightly trembling as you hit the call button. You wait a few (agonizingly long) seconds, listening to the line ring.

“Hey…” 

“Oh, hey,” there was some shuffling on the other line, “I was just about to text you back.” 

“About that… sorry about that text, Link was being an asshole and took my phone.” You muttered sheepishly; trembling fingers picking at your trousers to counter the nerves that suddenly overcame you.

“Oh? So you weren’t thinking about me?” Her tone is light and teasing. You paint a mental image of her bright, wide smile that usually accompanied her playful taunts; it sent a flurry of butterflies swarming around in your belly.

You pass it off as a stomach ache from your breakfast this morning.

“Come on…” You trail off, not wanting to admit it.

“Wow, I see how it is…”

“Jenna…” You sighed, dropping your fiddling fingers. “Of course, I was thinking about you.”

The line is silent as Jenna doesn’t respond and suddenly you feel embarrassed at your school-girl-like confession. Though it’s technically only been two days since you left London for Monaco, you’d be lying straight through your teeth if you were to deny the fact that you’ve been thinking about the younger actress since the moment you stepped out of the shared apartment.

“I’ve been thinking about you too.” Jenna replied in a small voice. Her admittance causes your heart to stop momentarily but what you couldn’t stop, however, was the satisfied smile creeping on your lips.

Was it pathetic that all Jenna had to do was say a simple, cliché sentence to you and you were practically a puddle on the floor? Maybe, but you couldn’t care less about that right now.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” 

“Glad we’re on the same page then…” You uttered, glancing around, hoping no one could see your Cheshire grin. Immediately catching Tom and Link at the other end of the balcony making kissing faces at you. You stick up the not-so-nice finger at them before turning your back on the two men, ignoring their blatant and obnoxious laughter, “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything when I called.”

Jenna was supposed to be on set working today, you’d hate to interrupt a busy day’s work…. That’s a lie, this phone call was totally worth it.

“Oh no, you didn’t. I’m actually at the apartment.”

“I thought you’d still be on set?”

“Um, about that…” She trails off in a sheepish tone.

“Jen? What’s wrong?” You asked, panic evident.

“I might’ve—uh—injured myself at work today.” She admitted.

“What?! Are you okay? How? Do you need me to come ba—“

“Y/N… breathe.” She interjects your nervous questioning but it merely goes over your head. Your nerves sky-rocketing the longer she doesn’t answer your questions.

“Are you okay?” You repeated what you really needed to know first.

“I’m fine, I promise,” she chuckled, “just a sprained ankle. I twisted it during rehearsal. It’s not a big deal but they sent me home early to rest.”

“Are you icing it? Keeping it elevated? You know what, send me a picture I wanna see if the swelling is bad.” 

Jenna’s laughter doubles. “I’m okay. I promise. Yes, I'm icing it and yes I’m keeping it elevated. You don't have to play doctor. I’ll even send you a picture, just relax.”

“I’m just worried.”

“I know you are.” She said, almost like she was endeared. “But like I said, it’s just a sprained ankle. They gave me crutches, so I’m good.”

“Crutches?! Do I need to come back home?”

Jenna ignored how her heart swooped at the word: home.

“No,” she laughed, “enjoy your time with the boys and your cars. You looked good on that racetrack, you sure being an actress is your calling?”

You rolled your eyes at her choice of timing for a joke, “You know I’ll leave them in a heartbeat. Just say the word and I’ll be on the first flight back.”

On the other end of the line, Jenna is torn between swooning and mentally cursing you for being so sweet. She bit her lip to subdue the smile creeping in, “that’s very sweet, Y/N, but I promise. I’ll be okay, my family’s flying in on Sunday anyway. I’ll be fine until then.”

You sighed unsurely, “Are you sure?” That’s still a few days where she’d have to be alone until someone could help her around the house.

“Yes! Now go, enjoy Monaco. Maybe I’ll even turn on the racing channel or whatever and get a glimpse of you.”

“You did not just say the racing channel…”

“Go!” She laughed and this time, you relent at her assured tone. 

“Fine… but if anything else happens, call me, please?”

“You’ll be the first one to know, I promise.”

“Okay…” You take a deep breath hoping to calm your nerves. If Jenna says she’s okay, then you have no reason to go against her wishes. “I’ll text you?”

“Mhmm. Bye, be safe.”

“Bye…” You hang up, dropping the phone from your ear, anxiously tapping it against your other hand as you contemplate your options.

“That was a long call,” Link swung his arm over your shoulder, leaning into your side. “You already miss your girl? It’s only been a day.”

“Quit it. She’s not my girl.” You back-hand him squarely on the stomach causing him to heave out a rough, pained puff. The satisfaction of seeing your best friend in pain was a dull noise in the background of your restless thoughts. “She injured herself on set, I was just making sure she’s okay.”

You chewed on your lip nervously, ignoring Link’s probing eyes as he scanned your faraway look.

“Is it serious?”

“No, just a sprained ankle.”

Link continued to observe you; seeing straight through you. An amused smile painted itself squarely on his lips. “... you’re gonna leave, aren’t you?” 

—

“What the— I told you to stay. What are you doing here?”

“And I told you to send me a picture of your sprain.”

Jenna frowned, closely watching as you slipped the duffle bag off your shoulders; landing on the hardwood with a loud thud. 

“Get back on the couch. You shouldn’t be walking.” You ordered, briefly scanning her head-to-toe and letting out a concealed sigh of relief that her ankle didn’t seem too bad. 

“I’m injured, not crippled.” She replied unamused. You meet her eyes, mimicking her expression until the brunette realized you’re not backing down. “Fine…”

“Let me help you.” You stepped forward, taking a closer look at her injury. Her left ankle was covered in a compression wrap as she hobbled around with a single crutch. 

“I’m fine.”

“Jenna, let me help.” You said in a serious tone, not backing down.

She rolled her eyes, slowly turning around with her crutch to walk back to the living room, hoping you missed her rosy cheeks. She ignored the intense thudding in her chest as you walked together. The thought of you leaving a trip that obviously meant a lot to you, sent the younger actress’ heart into a frenzy. 

“What are you doing here?” The younger actress asked again once she was comfortably seated on the sofa.

You took a seat beside her, “I was worried.”

“I told you I was fine, you’re acting like I’m on my deathbed.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the pillow behind you and placed it between you and Jenna. Scooting back to gesture for her to rest the injured ankle on the pillow. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed the race knowing that you’re back in London with an injury… so, I left.”

Jenna stayed silent, not trusting herself to say what she was really feeling. So she opted to stare as you examined her wrapped ankle, seemingly satisfied that her injury wasn’t as bad as you had thought.

“I’m just trying to be a good friend… and roommate.” You joked, grabbing the discarded remote off the coffee table. Ignoring the way your skin burned the longer she stared at you unspeaking.

Jenna snorted at your words, grabbing the pillow behind her and playfully lunging it at you. You caught the feeble attempt. “Right, roommate.”

You laughed at the tone that accompanied her words, “how did you hurt yourself anyway?”

If Jenna’s cheeks turned any rosier, she’d be the human embodiment of a tomato. It was embarrassing, really and she blames Aliyah for sending that video. 

She might’ve been too distracted watching a clip of you and Tom walking along the racetrack, waving to the crowd. As luck would have it, she was supposed to be rehearsing for a scene, walking over to her next marking. However, one misstep over a wire sent her ankle twisting in an abnormal way. “I wasn’t paying attention to the marking on the floor and I tripped over a loose wire.”

Jenna was definitely not going to tell you the truth. You’d never let her hear the end of it.

You sent her a questioning look, “I don’t know whether to laugh or feel bad.”

“Is it too late for you to go back to Monaco?” She joked, straight-faced.

“I’m kidding, of course, I feel bad.“ You settled back into a comfortable position.

“How did you get back so fast?” She inquired.

“It’s only a two-hour flight.”

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Jenna noted that you were on the phone merely two and a half hours ago. “You got through security that fast?”

You blush red.

As soon as the jet landed on the tarmac and the seatbelt lights turned off, you were posted by the doors; impatiently tapping your foot on the floor.

“Miss L/N, your driver is waiting just outside.” The flight attendant alerted you. You nodded, sending a tight-lipped smile.

“Thank you.”

When the doors opened and the stairs hit the pavement, you were already rushing down the steps, making eye contact with the driver.

“Miss, I can take your bags.”

“That’s alright.” You tossed them in the back seat before shutting the doors. “How fast can you get back to the apartment?”

“GPS says 45 minutes but there is heavy traffic on the highway.” 

“I’ll drive.” You held your hand out. He looked unsure before seeing that you were not playing around, swiftly handing the keys over.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You made sure to tip the man handsomely after noticing his white-knuckle grip on the grab handles as you maneuvered through said traffic.

“Uh yeah and I got lucky, no traffic. Anyways….wanna watch Breaking Bad? Unless you finished it already, in that case, we can watch something else.” You changed the subject, Jenna didn’t need to know how you drove that SUV like it was a race car and broke multiple speeding laws just to get here.

“No, Breaking Bad is good. I haven’t watched it since we were at my parents' house.”

You turn, evidently surprised that she kept your unspoken promise. Trying to hide your growing smile, you face the TV again before the staring becomes too obvious.

“Me too.”

—

“Are you sure you’re fine to go to work today? It’s only been like, a day.”

It’s Sunday morning, too early for anyone to be awake. With the sky still covered in a blanket of darkness, you tiredly lean against the wall, trying your best to string coherent words together as you reason with Jenna, who lightly limped around the large room as she gets ready for work.

“Technically, it’s been two.” She glanced at you momentarily. “I don’t want to delay production.” 

“Jenna, you're injured. They can get a stand-in or just not film your scenes today.” You argued. Having had your fair share of on-set injuries, you knew that a major film could afford to delay filming for the sake of an injury. This was merely Jenna’s workaholic tendencies making her feel that she couldn’t stop working. “They can and should accommodate for you, Jenna.”

At your gruffed tone, Jenna dropped what she was looking for, walking over to stand in front of you. “Hey…”

You glanced at your hands, ignoring her soft tone. “Look at me, please?”

Jenna grabbed your hand, drawing your attention to her. “I’ll be okay. If my ankle starts to bother me, I’ll let the director know.”

“You promise?” You asked, glancing down when she started rubbing soft lines against your skin.

“I promise.” She squeezed for good measure.

You studied her soft gaze, attentive to the assured glimmer behind them. Letting out a sigh, you pushed your worries aside. “Okay.”

She smiled at your obvious concern, dropping your hand to walk back to the living room. 

You try not to draw attention to the way your fingers twitched at the loss of contact. “By the way, my family will be here at noon. Are you good to be alone with them while I’m at work?”

“Yeah… I think I’ll be fine.” To distract yourself, you walked off to the kitchen, grabbing a mug for your morning coffee; allowing a gentle silence to envelop the room as Jenna hobbled around and gathered her things.

“Crap!” Jenna suddenly said, emerging out of her room.

“What?” You turned, slightly startled. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to set up the guest bedroom for them.”

“Oh.” Your shoulders dropped. “I already did it, don’t worry.”

Her brows raised, “you called the housekeeper already?”

“No. I did it myself. We don’t need him.”

Jenna seemed surprised if the raised brows were anything to go by. It was amusing truly, but you elected to stay silent, turning back to make your coffee.

“Thank you…” She finally said.

“Don’t mention it.” You shrugged, “If you want, I can pick up your family at the airport too. Heathrow is a bitch to navigate.”

Jenna didn’t respond, just staring at your back from her spot in the living room. You were unaware of her internal turmoil.

“Jen?” You turned around when you realized she didn’t reply; just staring at you with an unwavering intensity. “Jenna?”

“What?” She blinked a couple of times. “What did you say?”

“I said I can pick up your family from the airport.” You sipped on the steaming mug, a single brow flicking upright in question.

“Oh–uh, no. T-That’s alright, I’m sending a car over to pick them up.” She stuttered pathetically; grateful that the dim lights from the lamp in the corner of the room did well to hide the crimson rising over her neck. “You shouldn’t be seen at Heathrow. You might get spotted.”

“I can wear a disguise.” You thought out loud.

Jenna snorted, pushing away her inner strife. “Oh yeah? Like what, a baseball hat and sunglasses?”

“Hey, it works!” You defended. “Not everyone can just blend in with their height.”

“Was that a short joke?” Jenna arched a sharp brow.

“Nope.” You stood wide-eyed. “Oh hey, I just remembered I left something in my room. Okay. Bye. Have a good day at work.”

Jenna laughed as you scurried off to your bedroom, glad that she hasn’t lost her edge with you.

—

“I can’t believe you cancelled on the driver.” 

The younger actress said as soon as you swung the front door open. Faintly, she can hear the familiar sounds of laughter farther into the apartment. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You act like that’s a new fact.” You snicker, a pleased smile plastered on your lips. “I’d like an apology by the way. The disguise worked perfectly — just like I said it would.”

“You’re too much sometimes.” She shook her head, stepping into the hall. 

“In the best way, though. Right?” You asked, letting her in.

“If it helps you sleep better.” Jenna shrugged, chucking her work bag on the side table.

“Now look who’s being stubborn.” You replied with a knowing smile.  “Go say hi and then wash up. Natalie and I are making dinner.”

She raised her brows in surprise as you walked away. Her footsteps faltering when she walks into the living room. Gaze instantly landing on her sisters and Dad lounging on the couch, in the corner of her eyes she finds her mom who was chopping up vegetables on the kitchen island. 

“Hey, guys…” She said slowly, still taking the scene in front of her.

“Jen!” Mia sprung up from her seat and tugged her sister into a tight hug. 

One by one, Aliyah, her dad and her mom sauntered over to greet and fret over her. Sentiments of I miss you, echoing in the vast apartment.

“It’s good to see you, honey.” Her mom said with a smile. “I hope you’ve been taking care of that ankle.”

Jenna rolled her eyes at her Mom’s fretting but nodded reassuringly. “I’m okay, Mom. Y/N’s been helping me.”

“So I’ve heard.” She winked, walking away.

“Uh– you guys made yourselves comfortable…” Jenna cleared her throat as she watched how her mom swiftly walked back to the kitchen where you were leaning against the island, observing her family with a small smile.

“Y/N said to make yourselves at home. Blame her.” Aliyah said, tugging her onto the couch. “How’s filming been? How’s working with Winona Ryder, tell me everything!”

“Great uh–what’s for dinner?” Was the first question the actress asked, too distracted by watching your concentrated expression. The slight scrunch in your forehead as you closely listened to her mom’s instructions was more interesting than what her sister was asking her.

“Mom’s teaching her how to make frijoles.” Mia smirked at her sister’s doe-eyed look. 

“Oh…” Jenna replied with a vacant tone. “Sounds good.”

“Do you have any pictures in your wardrobe—“

“Why frijoles?” She added, interrupting Aliyah when she tried to spark another series of questions.

“Y/N heard it was one of your favourites, said she wanted to learn how to make it for you.” Mia replied, her tone smug.

“She did?” Jenna’s brow raised, still unable to look away from you. 

“I think we lost her,” Aliyah sighed to Mia, giving up on having her questions answered.

Jenna rolled her eyes when her sisters burst into laughter, blinking back to reality. “Shut up. What were you saying?” 

She forced herself to look away and give her undivided attention to her sisters. Pretending not to notice as you kept glancing at her from the kitchen.

—

“Wow this looks amazing, are you sure you helped, Y/N?” Aliyah teased from the dining table.

“Ha-ha, you’re hilarious.” You mocked, walking over with a bowl of guacamole, placing it at the centre of the table. “Wait ‘till you try my guac.”

“I always make the that.” Jenna trailed off, sneaking a peek at the bowl.

“I know.” You took your seat beside her. “Your mom showed me how you like to make it. I hope it’s close.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that…” She reached for a chip and dipped a large chunk into the green goodness. You watched intently for a reaction but she gave you none; continuing to chew on. 

“It’s good.” She finally says.

“That’s it?”

“What? I said it’s good.” Jenna laughed at your sullen expression; almost feeling bad. Once your bottom lip popped out in disappointment, she dropped her act, reaching for your arm and squeezing it. “I’m kidding. It’s great, it tastes exactly how I make it back home… but you know, you can’t beat the original.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.” You repeated her words.

Before Jenna can reply with a quip, her mom walked over with the last bowl of food, disrupting your conversation. But it was all forgotten when the younger actress’ nose welcomed the familiar scent of all of her favourite dishes. She enthusiastically eyed the various dishes scattered on the table, not having had her family’s cooking in what felt like forever. Living with you wasn’t bad – actually, it’s been more than great, but you were serious when you said you lacked skills in the kitchen. That resulted in dinners mostly being take-out these days.

“Have you tried frijoles before?” Jenna asked you. 

“Uh–no.” You blushed. “I actually didn’t even know they were beans until today.”

“You’ll love it.” She grinned, reaching over to plate you a generous helping. You refused to tell her that you didn’t necessarily love beans because her excited expression overpowered any dislike you had for the legume.

—

“You’re still up?” You called out after a brief glance, the pitter-patter of light footsteps coming down the hall, alerting you of her presence.

“Mhm, I heard the clanking of dishes from my room.” She replied, leaning against the counter, watching as you dried off the dishes one by one. “What’re you doing?”

“Sorry. I’ll keep it down.” You grimaced apologetically. “I couldn’t sleep so I figured I’d unload the dishes.”

“It’s okay, I’m actually not too tired too.” She stepped forward, only an arm’s length away from you. “Can I help?”

Wordlessly, you passed her a dry cloth and a bowl from the dishwasher. For a while, silence enveloped the room. You were grateful that you and the brunette can exist in silence, sometimes. Her mere presence provided a certain level of comfort that you’re still trying to get used to.

“So…” She spoke up after a few minutes, gaining your attention. “You’re really pulling out all the stops, huh.”

You raise an amused brow at the baiting look in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jenna would’ve believed that statement if it weren’t for the small smile at the corner of your lips telling her otherwise.

“Right… so, you just pick up all your friends’ parents from the airport and do chores, willingly.”

“I’m turning over a new leaf.” You shrugged, continuing to wipe away remnants of water from the plate. Hoping the mundane action hid your trembling fingers well.

“Oh, are you?”

“Yup.”

“So this isn’t you trying to win me over?”

“Me try to win you over? Whaaat?” You puffed out an airy scoff, “that’s ridiculous. I would never. I wholeheartedly respect your decision.” 

But the crinkle in your eyes told her that you were enjoying this way too much.

“Sure…” Jenna rolled her eyes, “even if you are just doing this out of the kindness of your own heart—“

“Which, I am.”

Jenna sends a playful glower at your interruption. 

“Just wanted to put that on record.” You added.

“Thank you.” Jenna declared, her tone soft yet serious. “You’ve been incredible these last few days.”

“Oh.” You blink, a pleased smile plastered on your face. “You’re welcome, Jen. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me.” The bowl and cloth in her hands were long forgotten on the counter as she closed the distance between you. “No one’s ever done any of… this, for me—thank you.”

The air feels charged as she suddenly looks at you with that doe-eyed stare. Feeling like your heart rate instantly doubles, the longer she stares at you like that.

“What? Be nice?” You said evenly, “You need to set your standards higher.”

She huffed at your antics. “I’m being serious.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” you laughed shakily, trying to gather some semblance of control over your racing pulse. “Like I said, it’s not a big deal, Jen… cause I’d do anything for you.”

She blinked, voice caught in her throat she took in the serious glint in your eyes; voice dripping with conviction 

“And this isn’t me trying to win you over. You’ll know when I do.”

The younger actress’ body feels like it’s on fire the longer she listens to your words. 

“Uh, sorry, too much?” You said apologetically when she remained unspeaking. 

But Jenna was already shaking her head, a faraway look in her eyes that you couldn’t quite decipher. 

“No…” She murmured, her sight drifting down to your lips before they flicker back up to your eyes. “Not at all.”

“Okay…” Your gaze bore intently into hers, waiting to see if she’ll make the first move. “Good.”

For a brief moment, her eyes flicker back down for a second time but then she’s blinking out of her self-induced stupor, “um–I should go to sleep. I need to be up early.” Jenna hoped her ogling on your soft lips wasn’t too obvious. 

She steps back and almost instantaneously, the tension in the room dissipates with each movement she takes. 

You nod, smiling softly despite the slight tinge of disappointment you felt; knowing that you shouldn’t rush into this with her. “Good idea, you should rest your ankle… good night, Jenna.”

Just before you turned back to grab the discarded dry cloth, Jenna takes a hesitant step—before she can lose her nerve and leaned up to plant her lips on the pad of your cheek.

Your brain felt like it short-circuited; not having felt her lips in forever as your skin burned against the delicate contact.

“Good night, Y/N.” She whispered, her soft lips grazing your cheek in a way that drove you crazy.

Before your brain could rewire itself well enough to form a response, Jenna was already turning around to retreat back to her room.

Biting your lip to contain the growing smile, you couldn’t look away from her figure until she disappeared behind the door.

Shit…

You’re in deeper than you thought.

——

if there was any mistakes… look away (i tried my best 🧍‍♀️)

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[sc0tters]

Long Time Coming | Jeremy Swayman

summary: you’ve been in love with each other for years, so surely you guys have picked up on it by now

request: yes/no

warnings: mild swearing?

word count: 2.21k

authors note: this is my first time writing for any of the bruins players and I have to say that this is really one of my favourites that I have written in a while. This is the softness we all deserved before I get to something a little more fiery tomorrow for valentines day!

It was a friendship that was never meant to work. 

Jeremy was a popular hockey player and you were a journalism major who preferred spending her time in the library as opposed to the dorms. You swore that the hockey team on campus was bound to all be irritating but when you ended up in a class with Jeremy. Surprised to say that you were paired up with a hockey player for your pottery course was an understatement. 

But three weeks in to your first semester and you found your random elective quickly becoming your favorite class. The goalie made you feel alive as he brought this spark to your life. His teammates started seeing less of him at parties and they were confused until they finally met you. 

Jeremy spent weeks convincing you to finally come to his game. Of course the tale went that when you showed up it was his first shut out game of his college career. Even as the crowd chanted his name, all he wanted was to look for you. It was like clockwork when the boys saw Jeremy lock eyes with you. 

That was the first time that the boys realized Jeremy was in love. The way he spun you around, gushing about how you were his lucky charm. It was also the night that seemed to be the turning point in your relationship with Jeremy. He was no longer your classmate, he was your friend and soon to be your best friend. 

Years had gone by, Jeremy had made his way to the NHL and you had finally graduated. It was funny how you had grown attached to each other, like the moment you left college you were in Boston. Jeremy had you in the guest bedroom of his apartment which made life tougher than ever. 

It was Valentine’s Day and you ended up in his dorm after he revealed that his girlfriend was cheating on him. 

Jeremy swore you had never shown up as fast as you did there. The boy didn’t even time to fully open his door before you were in his arms  “hey Jer.” You sighed as his body clung to yours “she left me.” Jeremy sobbed as tears streamed down his cheeks. 

You rubbed his back desperate to ease his pain “you are better without her.” You mumbled kissing his shoulder as you raked your fingers through his hair “you know I’m not.” Jeremy had spoken to you of how he loved her like she was his world. 

The boy huffed into your neck “I brought everything we need tonight.” Your words made him furrow his eyebrows as he pulled away from you “for what?” Jeremy saw the plastic bag in your hand that had a mixed bunch of goods. 

You took the opportunity to walk into his room as you shut the door behind you “because we are going to eat our feelings away tonight.” You smiled pulling out two tubs of ice cream knowing that neither one of you were about to share. 

Jeremy couldn’t help but smile as he ran his fingers over his jaw “I can’t ask you to stay with me on Valentine’s Day.” He shook his head as it made your lips curl upright “then it’s a good thing that I’m insisting.” You shot back as you held the pint out in his direction. 

It was your kindness that Jeremy first fell in love with. The way you would think about giving someone the shirt off of your back if it could help them. Jeremy felt his heart grow full at the way you were always in the TD Garden with young fans helping them get his attention during warm ups and at the end of games. 

He had grown so comfortable with you and maybe that was his fault. Everyone treated you like you were his girlfriend because you were his partner. You might not have been his romantically but in life you were clearly his. 

That’s why it was so surprising to see you in your room getting ready for a date “you look nice.” Jeremy let his bag drop to the floor as he had come home from practice “thank you.” You smiled plumping your lips together as it coated your lipstick around your lips. 

The hockey player had to admit that he was confused as he leaned against the wall “do you think that he will like it?” You asked as you did a little spin letting him see your outfit in full. It was a blue dress that looked perfect on your skin as the springtime came in “you look perfect.” Jeremy nodded as he felt his chest pang “he?” The boy repeated your words as he froze. 

Watching you grab your phone from your table you rolled your eyes “remember when I told you I was going out with Taylor for lunch.” You motioned to the calendar that had the date and time that you were meant to see him “I didn’t know that Taylor was a dude!” Jeremy’s words brought a scoff to your lips as you crossed your arms. 

He was quick to mentally curse himself as he saw you furrow your eyebrows “why does the gender of my date matter to you?” You cocked your head pressing your finger against his chest “because.” It seemed that in that moment all Jeremy wanted was to tell you that he loved you yet he had all but forgotten how to talk. 

Your foot tapped against the wooden flooring as you awaited an answer “you want to give me an answer?” You watched him practically crawl back into himself as he sighed “have a nice night Jeremy.” He gasped at the feeling of your shoulder hitting his as you walked straight to the front door not giving him a chance to talk.

Jeremy was left wallowing in his emotions as he stared at the different pictures of you two that lived in his phone. The time he surprised you by making it to your graduation, the time you were there for his NHL debut. Even the picture of you two at one of his teammates weddings when Jeremy was caught staring at you. 

That was the day when his current teammates realised that Jeremy was in love with you “you will not believe it!” You groaned as you slammed the door behind you “you’re home early.” The boy mumbled going quiet as he was met with a glare.

Jeremy frowned as he watched you collapse onto the couch next to him “think he wanted to go on a date with you before me.” You complained resting your head on his shoulder “I’m sorry you had a bad date.” The hockey player was quick to wrap his arm around you.

Like always you melted into his touch “no you’re not.” You mumbled feeing him kiss your head “just like that I was right.” Jeremy could have lied but you knew him far too well for the chance to go unnoticed. 

You couldn’t help but laugh “you’re such an ass.” A giggle left your lips as Jeremy turned to look at you “sorry you let this outfit go to waste on him.” His hand ran along your cheek “you like my outfit.” You batted your eyelashes as you smiled. 

Jeremy nodded enjoying the feeling of your soft skin against his thumb “like anything you wear.” He mumbled beginning to turn his head to yours. Like clockwork his eyes shut and just as yours did your phone began to ring “shoot.” You groaned seeing your mom’s contact appear on the screen. 

It hit the boy like a cold shower as he watched you get up grabbing your phone “hey mom.” You tan your fingers through your hair as you sent Jeremy a sorry look “yeah I can talk.” You nodded along walking back into your room as you began catching her up on the events of your day. 

As the evening turned into night and the hours went on, Jeremy didn’t see you again as he had gone to bed. Whilst the lights in the apartment were off both of your minds were active. Truthfully neither one of you remembered what it was like to have your minds this full. 

Jeremy stared at the pictures on his phone of you two and he couldn’t help but curse your mom for calling. Especially after you called your mom this cool woman who was your best friend, that was a far cry from what he would have described as a cock block. 

What he didn’t know was that you were pacing outside of his door. You hadn’t even noticed but halfway through your phone call with your mom you were bringing up how you wanted kiss your roommate. Because of course you had been in love with him since your college days too. Yet yours came from your time in class together. 

You had been in the lecture hall for five minutes as you set yourself up in the middle of the rows. Whilst students came flooding into the cramped room, you were too focused on your phone to notice how Jeremy walked right to you “this seat taken?” The question was innocently asked with a voice barely above a whisper that you didn’t even care to look up as you instead opted to nod. 

It gave Jeremy the chance to settle in next to you “I’m Jeremy.” Even as you two had been in classes together, he had never gotten the chance to see you, especially not like this “Y/n.” You took his hand that he held out for you to shake. 

A smile formed on his lips as he couldn’t help but study your facial features that stood before him in all their glory as you woke up late with little to no time for make up that morning “I know.” Jeremy grinned seeing your lips curve upward “you know?” Your words were playful as you didn’t believe him.

The boy laughed as he nodded “think you’re real pretty y/n.” Your name sounded like honey as it rolled off of his tongue “think that’s enough flirting from you for one day Swayman.” You tucked your hair behind your ear avoiding how wide your smile had grown as you avoided his stare when your cheeks turned red. 

The memories of that day made you smile as you never thought you would fall in love with him. But you couldn’t help but come back to your dorm to gush to your mom about how different your expectations of him were. Yet all of those thoughts were pushed to the back of your mind as the boys door opened letting you be met by his chest. 

You almost fell back as Jeremy’s quick reaction time pulled you closer to him as he steadied your feet “what are you doing awake?” His voice was low as he watched you gulp “couldn’t sleep.” Your fingers ran over his bare chest as you looked up at him. 

If eyes were the key to the soul then the two of you were currently open books “you?” Your lips pursed together as the tension between you both could have been cut by a knife “couldn’t sleep.” He shrugged as he reached behind your head tucking your hair behind your ear.

Jeremy loved how you smiled up at him “what’s on your mind?” He asked noting how your eyebrow arched like something was on your mind “you.” The word came from your lips like it word vomit. 

But as his expression turned surprised it made you go quiet “me?” You nodded letting out a sigh “I try to ignore it but god I’m in love with you.” You ran your fingers through your hair as Jeremy just stared at you.

Maybe it was the shock of hearing you say that but he swore he was dreaming “and I don’t want to lose you but I can’t.” Your chest heaved “I can’t keep on going on these dates hoping it might get you to say something to me.” Tears formed in your waterline as you chewed at the inside of your cheek. 

Jeremy finally opted to put you out of your misery when he smiled “you love me?” His voice was shaky as he squeezed your hips “you’re being mean Jer.” You nodded feeling like you were on the edge of your seat waiting to hear what he would say.

A laugh left his lips “think you can answer my question f’me pretty girl?” Jeremy taunted as he smirked “I’m in love with you.” Your voice was barely a whisper as he shut the gap between you both.

The air was palpable as your heart pounded “I love you too.” Your hair wrapped around his finger as he smiled “can I kiss you?” Jeremy let his lips hover over yours “please.” You nodded letting your eyes shut when he kissed you. 

The kiss made you melt as his lips swiped across yours. Jeremy let his hands travel through your hair settling at the nape of your neck refusing to let you go. Only when you both needed air did you pull apart “wow.” Jeremy groaned running his thumb over your lower lip. 

It made you laugh “yeah.” You nodded sending him a smile “think we should do that more often.” Your words had the boy pulling you into his room “why wait?” The hockey player asked picking you up as your legs wrapped around his waist as he picked you up.

Whilst the city might have been colder as the rain came in that night with a spring storm but what nobody would know was how hot the activities were in his room. You were left twisted in his sheets as your hearts intertwined and life began to show that the only way possible for you both was together. 

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (02)

chapter two: in plain sight

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut warnings: cursing, drinking, suggestive content at the end, could've been edited more but oh well lol word count: 4.9k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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Damn baby, I'm a train wreck, too I lose my mind when it comes to you I take time with the ones I choose And I don't want to smile if it ain't from you

boyfriend - Ariana Grande ft. Social House

You end up not seeing Minho, nor any of your other friends, at all in the few days leading up to Yeonjun’s party.

True to your words, you were mostly holed up in your place, running on nothing but caffeine and sheer frustration, trying to finish your elective class’ final paper on the differences between the views of Greek philosophers. Time really flies when you wish it would slow down, because you could've used a couple more days to perfect the godforsaken thing.

You’ve been texting Minho though, and honestly, the man is practically a saint. You barely even talked about anything besides your stupid paper and your high maintenance perfectionist professor, and yet, he still listened to you yap away. He even offered to help you with your footnotes and citations, which you didn’t need, but the gesture was nice. If you had turned to Seungmin with your whining, he probably would've muted your notifications after three messages.

Regardless, all complaining aside, you did manage to pull through and finish the paper in the end, letting out a big sigh of relief the very second you clicked on the Send button on yours and your professor’s email thread just five minutes before the deadline.

Before you know it, it's already Saturday and Minho should be here any minute now so you two could go to the party. You’ve been working hard. You deserve to let a little loose tonight.

Even though a college party isn’t exactly your top choice of ways to wind down from stress, the mention of free and unlimited booze sure does sound alluring.

When your phone lights up with a simple i’m here from Minho, you quickly throw on a cardigan over a simple black camisole and denim shorts and check your makeup in the mirror one last time before heading downstairs. He texted you a couple hours ago, saying he had some stuff to pick up near your place and asking if you wanted to walk to Yeonjun’s together. You sent him back an enthusiastic yes!!! in a matter of seconds, because lord knows you’d rather not enter the front door of that house unaccompanied. 

You opted for a simple fit tonight, mostly because you couldn’t be bothered to put on anything more decent only to go to the equivalent of a frat party.

“Hey, Min.” Your voice pulls him away from scrolling through his phone, diverting his attention to you instead.

“Hey,” he says, tucking the device into the pocket of his jeans. When he gives you a once-over, you do a little twirl for him, finishing off with an exaggerated kick of your foot at the end. “You look nice.”

“Just ‘nice’? I’m trying to get laid tonight. ‘Nice’ isn’t gonna cut it,” you joke.

He stares at you, a bashful expression befalling his features, the corner of his mouth lifted upward as he smiles in hubris. “You’re trying to get laid by whom?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “You tell me.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately before throwing an arm around your shoulders to pull you close. One of his hands musses up your hair that you spent twenty minutes trying to make look perfect, prompting you to poke him in the side so he would let go of you.

“Hey!” you scowl, smoothing over the strands that he flicked out of place. “I worked hard on that!”

“Sorry,” he chuckles, clearly amused by the temporarily sulky look on your face. “Didn’t want you to look too pretty. Can’t have all of the attention on you. Someone might try to steal you away from me.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe I want some attention tonight? I’ve been a hermit all week, I deserve a little something.”

“Is my attention not enough for you?”

You squint at him for a second. Then, you start walking in the direction of Yeonjun’s house without waiting for him. You hear Minho launch a laugh your way, and the scuffling of his shoes on the concrete pavement as he easily catches up with you in a few strides.

He leans down to whisper directly into your ear, making your cheeks heat up but you’re glad that they’re partially masked by the poorly lit street. “You know you never have to try.”

The walk to the party takes about fifteen minutes. When you’re rounding the street corner that leads to Yeonjun’s place, you can already hear the booming music coming from the biggest house on the block. Even from a distance, you can see people on the lawn and the two balconies on the second floor. You gotta give it to the guy - he sure knows how to throw a party.

The second you enter the premises, you’re almost taken aback by how crowded it actually is even though you expected this. A typical Yeonjun party.

You tug on Minho’s shirt, beckoning him to bend down so you could talk into his ear over the sounds of bad EDM and people basically having to scream in each other’s faces. “Are Hyunjin and the others here yet?” you ask.

“They got here right before us. I think they’re in-”

“Y/N!” The two of you whip around at the sound of a shrill voice calling out your name. Yeonjun practically shoves his way through the crowd of people when he spots you, bounding up to you and Minho with a bright grin on his face. “Glad you could make it!” he says, paying no mind to the man next to you at all. He eyes you up and down, shamelessly tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “Damn, you look really good tonight.”

You give him a playful eye roll. Nonetheless, you still tell him, “Thanks.”

“You look that good to come to my party?”

You don’t mind at all the fact that Yeonjun is a natural flirt. That’s just a part of his personality, he’s inherently charming like that. It’s harmless and it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Everything is all in good fun.

“Would you believe me if I said this is what I’d wear on a midnight convenience store run?”

“Ouch, you wound me.” Yeonjun says, holding a hand over his heart to emphasize his point. “C’mon, you can admit it.”

You open your mouth, a quick comeback about to be thrown his way but Minho chimes in from beside you.

“You should believe her,” he deadpans, stepping closer to you, one of his hands grazing your back. He's even standing straighter, with his chest all puffed out. “She even dresses like that when she takes out the trash.”

You turn to gasp at him before punching him right in the pec. “Hey!” Yeonjun is all but forgotten in a blink of an eye, because you have to defend your honor first.

“What? I’ve seen you do it wearing this exact same outfit.”

“Stop lying. It’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? I distinctly remember you wearing this when you went to take out the trash that night a couple of weeks ago while we were hanging out at your place.”

“Nuh uh. I didn’t take out the trash that night,” you protest, frowning. “I made you throw it out for me on your way-”

Yeonjun interrupts you with a chuckle, glancing between you and Minho as he gives your friend's shoulder an awkward pat. They share a look that you don’t quite understand. “Alright, duly noted. I’m gonna make myself scarce,” he says. “Help yourselves. Booze is in the kitchen!”

After you’ve finally squeezed your way into the kitchen that’s overflowing with people, you narrow your eyes at Minho. “What was that about?”

“What?” He scans the selection of liquor bottles on the kitchen island before asking you, “Rum and Coke?”

Your favorite.

You nod eagerly, momentarily distracted before you have to circle back to your question.

“What was all that back there with Yeonjun, Mr. Grumpy Cat?”

“What was what?” He pulls out two solo cups from a nearby stack, along with some napkins, and meticulously wipes the plastic cups even though they look pretty clean to you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You raise a disbelieving eyebrow. He shrugs.

“I didn’t know you and Yeonjun were that close.” Minho seems casual as he tells you this, not looking at you as he fetches the necessary liquor and soda from the sea of glass and plastic bottles in front of you.

“We’re not. I’m kinda friends with him because Jess is friends with him.”

“Okay,” he acknowledges, though he doesn’t seem entirely pleased with… you don’t even know what. “I don’t like him. He’s loud.”

“That’s not a reason. Aren’t you friends with him too?”

You watch as he mixes your drinks, a sight you’re familiar with whenever you attend house parties together. He’s always your designated bartender.

One for you, one for him.

One part rum, two and a half parts coke.

“It is a reason. And ‘friends’ is a stretch,” he says, handing you your cup before he tends to his own. His has less liquor in it, because you both know you like yours stronger. “We’re acquaintances at best.”

“You’re loud too.”

“My brand of loud is different.”

“Is it?”

He gives you a look. An offended cat, if you’ve ever seen one.

“Well, Yeonjun’s not bad,” you tell him. You take a sip of the drink, then give him a subsequent thumbs-up. “He can be a bit much for some people, but I don’t really mind it.”

When he’s done, you both try to navigate the battlefield that is Yeonjun’s extremely cramped abode. You try to stay as close to him as possible, meaning away from the loud boys that are either trying to get shitfaced as quickly as possible, or trying to suck faces with any girl they could find as quickly as possible.

“Still. You don’t think the flirting was a bit much?”

Minho pulls you to him by your elbow when some guy - probably a little more than tipsy, judging by the unsteadiness of the legs that carry him - tries to bulldoze his way through the crowd behind you.

“He’s always like that. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s harmless.”

“If he asks you out, would you say yes?”

You blink at him in surprise, feeling like the question came out of nowhere. “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s just a question,” he says, then repeats himself. “So, if he asks you out, would you say yes?”

You let him guide you to a spot that’s more breathable, where people aren’t practically on top of each other trying to weave their way through. You think about it for a second, then realize that there isn’t much to think about. “No,” you say decisively.

Because it doesn’t make sense to envision you and Yeonjun together. You practically sit on two opposing ends of the same spectrum. People often say that opposites attract, but this isn’t one of those cases.

And… because you simply feel strange thinking about yourself and someone else. Like it's something you shouldn't do.

Minho gives you a hum in acknowledgment of your answer, which you barely catch over the loudness of the party. You do catch the hint of a smile that tugs at the corner of his lip though, before he cranes his neck to scan the room for any trace of your gang of thieves.

“If I didn’t know any better,” you run the words over in your head before you decide to utter them out loud. Like you told him just now, harmless, right? “I’d say you’re jealous of Yeonjun.”

He turns, stares at you for a moment with unreadable eyes. 

“And what if I am?”

There’s something incredulous in the way you look at him. You think he would just wave you off or roll his eyes and move onto a new topic, not expecting him to fire back with a question you can’t really answer.

Or maybe he’s just playing along. You can’t tell.

“Am I that good in bed?” you chuckle, hoping he doesn’t notice the inkling of nervousness in your voice. “Did I do a number on you?”

He raises both eyebrows, pursing his lips as if in thought. Then, he answers, “Something like that.”

There’s a part of you that wants to dig deeper, to get him to say what he really means because there’s something in his eyes and there’s something in the way that his hand has moved to its designated place on the small of your back that makes your stomach roll with anticipation.

Once again, you don’t like that he keeps getting harder for you to read.

You try to think of words to say, of questions to ask, though you know this party isn’t the best place to voice them. “What d-”

“There you are!” Hyunjin pops up from behind Minho, practically jumping onto his back like a jumpscare ghost in a horror game, startling the both of you and almost making the grumpy cat spill his drink. Minho groans as he tries to shove his friend off, before sending Hyunjin a glare that makes the man bow his head in apology. He promptly drags you to where your friends are gathered on a big couch near the back of the room - Chan and his girlfriend Jess, Seungmin, Changbin, along with a distinct absence of a few more faces.

“Where are the others?” you ask, plopping down next to Changbin, followed suit by Minho.

“Jisung is stuck finishing a project,” Chan informs you. “And Jeongin is taking his girl to that new drive-in movie place.”

“They’re still in their honeymoon phase?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Ah yes, young love. Good for them.”

You catch up with everyone about your week, about their week; gossip about how much Yeonjun might’ve spent on this party and where his family’s downright insane wealth actually comes from, about Seungmin’s on-and-off situationship (which might be more interesting than all of the above).

Minho remains seated next to you the entire time you’re all drinking and laughing with each other. He keeps subtly touching you one way or another - a hand on your back because no one’s really noticing, a shoulder brushing yours, a thigh touching yours, a knee nudging your own every now and then.

It’s not until you finish your drink that Minho asks if you want another one, then stands up to head to the kitchen when you say Yes, please.

The second he’s out of earshot, Hyunjin jumps into action, motioning for everyone to huddle together, like he’s about to share classified information.

“Minho is seeing someone,” he says immediately. 

“What?” Changbin asks. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your body immediately stiffens at the conversation’s sudden turn. You try to look as nonchalant and quiet as possible, as if this is just a talk about the weather, missing the way a pair of eyes flits to you outside of your peripheral vision.

Hyunjin purses his lips, before clarifying, “I went through his phone last week.”

“You went through his phone?” Chan frowns, shaking his head disapprovingly. “That’s not cool, dude.”

“He was in the bathroom and his phone was just sitting there unlocked. Then he got a text and I had to!” Hyunjin holds up his hands defensively. “Anyway, I don’t know if they’re dating or if they’re just fooling around, but there is someone! He’s simping hard.”

“How do you know that?” Seungmin chimes in. “Do you even know who it is?”

“I don’t know who it is. That’s what I need you guys to help me find out. There wasn’t a name name. He just calls her his-”

“What on earth are you guys doing?” Minho’s voice makes everyone disperse, leaning back into their respective seats like they were caught doing something they shouldn’t. He sits down beside you again, handing you your cup back. You give him an appreciative but awkward smile. “What is Hyunjin blabbing about this time?”

“Nothing!” Hyunjin practically squeaks. The poor guy can’t spin a little white lie to save his life. Then he has the audacity to look offended as he gapes, “Also, why did you automatically assume it was me?”

“Because it’s always you at the scene of the crime.”

“It happened one time! No, twice. It was only those two ti-!”

Seungmin cuts in flatly. “He said you’re whipped for a girl you’re seeing.”

Everyone stops to stare at Minho. Even you turn your head to look at him, trying to gauge how he’ll respond to this. It makes you a little guilty, seeing that you’re part of the secret too, and yet he has to shoulder the lies by himself.

Well, technically, there hasn’t been any lying involved up until now. Just a simple withholding of the truth.

His face hardens for a brief moment, and you think he lets it show on purpose - his way of telling Hyunjin that he’s annoyed - because Minho can put on a flawless poker face when he wants to. There’s a couple of seconds where he clenches his jaw before he relaxes, the sharpness of his features softening as he shrugs off the accusation. “I am most certainly not whipped for anyone,” he says. “It’s just a casual thing.”

“If it’s just casual, why were you being so secretive about it, huh?” Hyunjin prods. 

“I wasn’t being secretive. I just didn’t think it was anybody’s business,” Minho answers coolly. 

“We’re your best friends! I tell you guys everything.”

“You sure do. Even things I’d rather not hear about.”

Jess and Changbin burst into light laughter, and you chuckle along with them but you don’t really find it that funny. You’re just trying to blend into the background, be a fly on the wall and observe how things unfold. Minho has assured you that there’s nothing for you to worry about, that there’s no way they could find out about the secret, but still.

Hyunjin groans exasperatedly. The nosiest drama queen you know. “Seriously, who’s the girl? I’m dying of curiosity here!”

“Drop it.” Minho glares at him.

“Just give me a hint! Is it someone we know?”

“You haven’t eaten tissues in a while, have you?”

“Try me. I’m not scared of you anymore.”

“Hyunjin, I swear to-”

“Okay!” Chan claps his hands together suddenly. “Let’s just all agree that we are all entitled to our privacy and people can share whatever they want with whoever they want when they’re comfortable, yeah?”

Everyone nods in agreement, except for Hyunjin who narrows his eyes petulantly at Minho as if to say This isn’t over. No one wants to poke a disgruntled tiger, let alone about something he seems so disinterested in sharing. Minho has always been a notoriously private person, even with the rest of the group.

Changbin shuffles a new topic into the mix to move things along, which you aren’t very keen on contributing to at the moment. When no one seems to be looking, Minho places a hand on your knee, rubbing it soothingly as if he can sense the unease that you’re feeling. It makes you glance at him, though neither of you says anything. You just look at each other for a moment, then turn back to the group when someone calls your name.

Two hours and three rum and coke’s later, you were coming down from a good high when someone suggested ditching Yeonjun’s party to go to a club.

Normally, you would say no. You could only do one social event at a time, needing to recharge your metaphorical battery before you let yourself be dragged into the next one.

But you decided to make an exception for tonight.

Though, you promptly realized that it was probably a mistake.

You prefer the loudness of Yeonjun’s party than here. It’s loud and crowded, since it’s a Saturday night, and since it’s a club. The air is sticky and stuffy. The lights are perpetually blinding and headache-inducing. You’re not even on the dancefloor; you’re just hovering near the entrance and the bar, and there’s still barely any room to move. People keep trying to shove you out of their way, even with Minho attempting to act as your human shield. 

You let your displeasure be known through a deep frown.

Minho catches onto your chagrin almost immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asks, leaning close to your ear to make sure you hear him over the music.

“Too many people,” you try to raise your voice so the booming noises don’t drown you out. “Can we go somewhere over there?”

He turns around, taps on Chan’s shoulder to get his attention before gesturing vaguely to that spot near the back that you just pointed out to him, presumably to let the others know that you’ll be wandering over there.

He takes your hand and leads the way. In the back, it’s still loud but less deafening than before, and much less crowded compared to the areas surrounding the dance floor.

“Better?” he asks.

You lean against the wall though you probably shouldn’t. The ick is apparent, but at this point in the night, you yourself are already feeling pretty gross anyway.

“A little bit,” you say. “Thanks.”

“You wanna go home? We can leave if you want.”

“Without saying goodbye?”

“Did you know that people who leave parties without saying goodbye save two days a year? It’s been researched.”

You rephrase your words so Minho would understand better. “Without Hyunjin’s permission?”

“Hyunjin has been pissing me off plenty all week. I can play my card for you.”

“What card?”

“The ‘I don’t give a fuck’ card.”

You tilt your head, clearly amused. “And how does that usually work out for you?”

“I don’t care how it works out because Hyunjin is not gonna do anything to me.” He shrugs. “Besides, I can always just throw him in the airfryer when he gets too annoying.”

This makes you laugh, recalling the exact moment Minho brought up the legendary instructions on how to cook Hyunjin.

“How violent,” you comment with a snort.

“He deserves it.”

“You know you still have a soft spot for him,” you say.

“I have a soft spot for you,” he replies.

“Now look who’s trying to get laid.”

He grins. “Could you blame me?”

Some drunk girls stumble into your space on their way to the bathroom, bumping into you, pushing you into Minho’s body where he instinctively puts a hand on your back to keep you steady. You glance up at him after the girls have safely arrived at the bathroom, only to find him already staring down at you. His back is turned toward where the lights are coming from and the angle shrouds his face in darkness, but you can still make out the stars twinkling in his eyes.

The sudden lack of space between your bodies makes your breath hitch.

“Are you still drunk?” he asks.

“No. Not really.” You don’t like the way your voice comes out small, vulnerable.

“I…” he starts, hesitating for a moment before he continues. His eyes flicker to your lips, and the breath that was previously caught in your throat further thickens. “Fuck, I really want to kiss you right now.”

For some reason, your heart leaps to your throat. It’s probably because of the remnants of alcohol refusing to leave your system, because how else would you explain the way your pulse quickens just from hearing those words coming from him?

He bites his lip, similar to how Yeonjun did it just a few hours ago, but seeing Minho do it is at least a hundred times more enticing.

You want him to kiss you too. You really do.

“What if the others see?” you protest meekly, but you’re already staring at his mouth, finding yourself gravitating toward him like he’s got you hypnotized.

“We’re all the way back here,” he tells you. “They won’t see anything.”

He leans closer until his lips are brushing yours. With a hand on your hip and the other on the back of your head, he meets your mouth in a soft kiss, which is a stark contrast to the upbeat and booming music blasting all around you. Some guy drunkenly gives you two a sleazy whistle, the sound coming from somewhere on your right, but neither of you pays it any attention.

Your hands come to clutch at the collar of his shirt like a lifeline. He’s never kissed you outside of the comfort of your bedroom before, let alone amidst a sea of people like this. It feels strange to be intimate with him in public, but at the same time, it excites you. There’s still a sense of anonymity because you’re camouflaged by the lights, masked by the darkness, hiding in plain sight.

The kiss gets more heated. He guides you a step back until you’re all pressed up against the wall, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging on it the way he likes that makes him groan against your mouth. He sucks on your bottom lip before shoving his tongue into your mouth, the wet muscle dancing with yours, making your knees buckle. It’s dizzying. It makes your head spin, and you don’t know if it’s because there’s still enough residual alcohol in your system to knock your world off its axis, or if it’s just him.

The hand previously on your hips sneaks underneath your shirt to rub at your bare skin. He gropes your breasts over the bralette you chose to wear tonight, squeezing the soft flesh in his palm, all the while slotting one of his legs between yours to help you grind on him. Your clothed cunt rolls over the denim of his jeans, and even though the friction is coarse and your movements are limited in this crowded space, the pleasure still sets your entire body alight. Minho spreads all over you like wildfire, and Minho consumes you like a hurricane.

You moan into his mouth when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, over the flimsy material of your undergarment. “Min,” you whimper desperately. You don’t know if he can hear you over the obnoxiously loud sounds coming from the speakers littered all over the place, but he groans against your mouth regardless. Almost like the nickname is driving him crazy.

He pulls back just slightly, to let the both of you catch your breath. “Should we go back to yours?” he asks, eyes still focused on your mouth.

You nod eagerly. You know you must be wet as hell right now, and if you have to wait any longer, you will probably explode from frustration. You might just drag him into that disgusting bathroom over there and let him have his way with you, but you will definitely regret it afterward because it’s a bathroom in a nightclub. It’s beyond revolting.

He helps you smooth out your hair, gentle and tender. In turn, you wipe your lipstick smudges on his face. Instead of taking you by the hand like he did earlier, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and navigates the two of you through the crowd, shielding you from anyone who might bump into you. You lean into the touch; it’s just comforting.

As you make your way back to the group - or what’s left of the group at the moment - his hand drops to his side again. There’s an inkling of disappointment that blossoms in you, but it dissipates quickly when Hyunjin spots you and lights up. Him and Seungmin are at the bar, seemingly trying to get the bartender’s attention. Changbin is next to them, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything other than the girl he’s chatting with. You try to scan the crowd for Chan and Jess, and find them a couple minutes later, standing in a corner, pressed up against each other just like you and Minho moments ago.

“Where did you run off to?” Hyunjin asks. Clearly Chan was too preoccupied with his girlfriend to relay the information.

“It’s too loud in here, I was getting a headache,” you say, only half a lie. You know your face must still be flushed from your impromptu makeout session, but you hope your friend can’t see the rosy shade painting your skin under all the flashing lights. “Min and I just went back there to see if it was quieter.”

“Okay.” He seems to believe you. “We’re trying to get drinks! You want anything?”

“I think I’m gonna just go home. You guys stay and have fun though.”

Hyunjin looks at you like he’s so flabbergasted. “It’s not even 3AM yet!”

“Headache,” you say, pointing to your temple with an exaggeratedly pained expression on your face. “I’ll stay out all night with you next time.”

“But-!” The second he opens his mouth to protest, Minho cuts in sharply, his tone leaving no room for anyone to argue despite the gigantic pout on Hyunjin’s face.

“I’m gonna take her home and call it a night too,” he simply says.

Hyunjin groans, but he relents in the end, muttering to you something that sounds like “You owe me one,” when you go to hug him goodbye. Before you and Minho can reach the door, you hear your man child of a friend call after you two in his pterodactyl voice, “Don’t make Minho’s girl jealous!”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 04.01.2024]

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Marked (MOC Dean x female reader)

Chapter 3 - Man walks into a bar

CWs Attempted sexual assault (brief). Explicit sexual content. Some graphic violence. Dubious consent. Unhealthy relationships. Age gap. 18+. 10.9k words.

Mark of Dean series master list ⏐ SPN masterlist

You’re pretty sure you’re going crazy. No, that’s not an overstatement. You actually are.

It’s late morning when you walk into the library. You slept in, which you don’t do usually, but you just couldn’t get up once your alarm rang. There’s a cup of coffee in your hand, and Sam and Dean are at the table. Sam leaned forward over a book, Dean with his own cup, feet resting on the table, long legs stretched out. Both greet you when you come in and you greet them back with a smile.

Last night, Dean found you in the kitchen. It was late and you were doing the dishes, feeling like you’d slouched around all day. You’ve been having those kinds of days lately, where you can’t seem to get anything done, because every second is occupied with thoughts of Dean.

He came up behind you, your hands still in the soapy, warm water, his running over your hips.

“Not here,” you said without turning to him, without making any move to stop him. It’s become how you do things.

Dean didn’t stop. He never stops. It’s not like you’re really trying to get him to stop. He knows you want him to keep going. So he does.

His hands wandered over your sides for a few minutes, just long enough to get you antsy for him to really start touching you. Your hair was up and your neck exposed, and you could feel his hot breath on your skin. You couldn’t help but shift around as your breathing started picking up. You could hear a low chuckle leave Dean. So far you haven’t begged him to keep going. It feels like the last thing you’re not willing to give to him, your last hold-out. So you wait him out, wait until he can’t stop himself.

That’s what happened this time as well. Soon his hands were running over your stomach, then higher, just teasing at your breasts. Already you were pressing yourself back against him. When his hands wandered to the waistband of your pants, he started grinding himself against your ass. It never takes long.

He doesn’t undress you, and you think you’re grateful for that. Someone walking in on you stark naked would be impossible to explain. Instead, one hand down your jeans, two strong fingers pressed into you, your head leaned back against Dean’s shoulder, his other hand finger-fucking your mouth in a mirror image of what is going on below - would that be easier to explain? No. But the illusion is part of it. 

Because if Dean took you to his room, or yours, if he undressed you and himself, if you did anything but steal quick fucks in any of the common rooms of the bunker or his car or a few days ago a bathroom stall at a diner - then you would have to admit what you’re doing. What is really going on.

And that’s impossible, because sometimes you can barely believe it’s true. You walk in on a morning like this and Dean acts so casual and normal that you’ve almost convinced yourself you are, actually, going crazy and imagining this all. That this is some kind of obsession, your masturbatory fantasies seeming so real that your brain can no longer tell them apart from reality.

Except you’re almost sure you can still feel how Dean pulled his fingers from your mouth when he could feel you were getting closed, and instead wrapped them around your throat. You still remember the small thrill of fear, like it’s still sitting in your spine, as his hand tightened there. Only a little. Only giving you that slight, tight high. Only letting you know he was there. And then when he breathed into your ear: so fucking beautiful. All mine.

You were done for shortly after. 

And now you’re here, sitting in the morning hours with the two people you’ve elected to spend your life with, and looking at Dean you wouldn’t know that anything’s happened at all. You wonder if you seem different, if anyone else can tell that something is going on with you, even though if you had to explain what exactly is different about you, you’re not sure you could name it. You have a secret, yes, but more than that, it’s like someone opened a door inside you to a dark, magical, terrifying room and all you’ve wanted from the first second you stepped into it is to move in and never leave again.

You clear your throat, involuntarily, focus on the laptop in front of you. Scrolling through news articles, trying to find anything relevant at all. Sam’s phone rings, and he looks at the screen, smiles, then gets up and walks a few steps away before he answers. 

Dean doesn't speak, but you can't help throw him a quick glance. He's just taking a sip from his cup, brow slightly furrowed but then his gaze snaps to you. As if he's able to feel you on his skin. He puts the cup down, briefly licks his lips, his eyes both leaving you.

“How did you sleep?” he asks.

I didn't, you want to say. I was thinking about you. I thought I could escape the constant fantasizing but when I closed my eyes, there you were. You're everywhere.

Instead, you smile a little.

“Good,” you reply and Dean nods. “And you?”

Dean purses his lips a little, looks at the table, like he's thinking of something amusing to say.

“I dreamed about you,” he says, and your heartbeat picks up immediately. The thought that you are real to him, a thing his brain occupies itself with, even in sleep…

“Oh yeah?” you ask, trying not to sound too curious but burning with the need to know.

“I dreamed,” Dean says as his hand runs over a nearby notepad, his skin against the paper sounding just like skin on skin. “I dreamed that there was this huge field. All yellow. Pretty sure it was barley or wheat or something.” 

Dean shifts where he sits, his hand still going over the notepad, the movement and sounds hypnotic.

“And I knew you were somewhere in the field,” he continues, “and I kept trying to find you. I called your name and I heard you answer but I couldn't tell where your voice was coming from. And then I did and you were…”

He looks up at you and he almost seems… shy? It gives you whiplash. How can he be this one thing and then this other thing immediately after? He shrugs, a boyish gesture.

“You were there and you… smiled at me. Not particularly deep I guess,” he says, making it sound almost like an apology. You can't help the blushing smile that you know appears on your face.

“No, I–I like it,” you reply. “Sounds like that scene from Gladiator. ” Dean looks up, almost surprised, then chuckles, while he looks to the side again. You keep looking at him. The way he becomes right then - that’s exactly how you were imagining him, before all of this started, how you wanted him. Could you have him, like this? This darker side of him, the one that feels constantly hungry and restless, is that only the Mark? Is it part of Dean amplified? Is it that part that drives him to you, and is this version, this side of the coin, the one who has to live with the consequences, like some sort of Jekyll and Hyde situation?

You’re interrupted when Sam walks back to the table, having finished his call. Dean turns his head to him.

“Who was it?” he asks, just as Sam sits down again. 

“Charlie,” Sam says, putting his phone on the table. Dean widens his arms.

“Why the hell is she calling you?” he asks. “Lemme guess, something nerdy?” You chuckle and Dean throws you an amused look - you and him, teasing Sam. It almost feels like before. Sam just raises his eyebrows in the way he does.

“Yeah,” he says, tone sarcastic, “ super nerdy.” Dean nods, like his suspicions are confirmed, but then he looks back at Sam, obviously expecting an honest answer now. Sam gets comfortable in his seat, turns back at his laptop, and only looks back at Dean a few seconds later when he notices his brother has been staring at him.

“What?” Sam asks, face suspicious.

“Why did she call?” Dean asks. “I’m gonna guess she didn’t just want to chat.” Sam shifts around, suddenly looking uncomfortable. He throws you a brief look, then looks back at Dean.

“It’s about the Mark,” he finally says. 

Dean’s expression doesn’t change much, but the difference is obvious to anyone who knows him intimately. It slackens, then takes on a different kind of tension. 

“What about it?” Dean asks. He moves his arm, the thick scar visible under the end of his sleeve. He blinks twice, his expression changing again into something more challenging. You can see the change in Sam immediately. He becomes careful around Dean when he’s like this. Cautious, doesn’t want to upset him. It breaks your heart to see the tall man shrink like this.

“Well,” Sam says, trying to sound casual, “Abaddon’s dead. That was the whole point of you getting the thing, right?” Dean shrugs, his expression becoming dismissive.

“Yeah,” he says, “and we know that that just means the next mean son of a bitch is right around the corner.” Sam flexes his hand, presses his tongue into the inside of his cheek.

“We agreed, Dean,” he says, keeping his gaze..

You keep looking between the two, suddenly becoming aware of your own nerves. It’s funny - for as long as you’ve known the two, Sam and Dean have always had their strange tensions, the decades of history building up around them like sedimentary rock. You can only see the top layers, but there is so much beyond it that you might never understand, despite having used both hands to dig deep into them.

Sam’s the one to break the staring contest.

“Charlie’s on a case nearby,” he says, eyes flicking across the table, “the least we can do is meet her down there and hear what she found.” He looks up again, eyebrows moving closer together, creases forming on his forehead. You look at Dean as well, unwillingly holding your breath.You can see Dean clench his jaw, and then suddenly he stops.

“Sure,” he says, sounding friendlier again. “Would be good to see her.” 

With that, Dean gets up and walks towards the hallway, looking back at neither of you. Sam takes a deep breath, and just before he turns back to his laptop, your gaze meets his. There’s worry in his eyes, but you don’t know what is in yours.

The drive is quiet, the awkward tension thick in the air still. It makes your stomach churn, and you don’t understand how Sam and Dean do it - to keep up this tension. You’re not the type. You would be searching resolution already. Absolution, maybe. Even if you didn’t do anything. It’s an uncomfortable knowledge.

What Charlie’s working on might be ghouls or a shapeshifter, it seems weirdly unclear. It’s neither here nor there for you - you simply look forward to seeing her. Someone else to split up the intense strain between Sam and Dean - and also, potentially, the strain on all of you - seems like exactly the right thing right now. 

“It’s called the Book of the Damned,” Sam is just saying from the passenger seat. “It was written by a nun who had so-called visions of darkness. She locked herself away, and– oh.”

“What?” Dean asks, not taking his eyes off the road in front of him. Sam lowers his laptop, sets it on his lap.

“Apparently the pages are made from her own skin and it’s written in her own blood,” he continues, making a face.

“Well, that’s just lovely,” Dean says under his breath. You lean forward.

“Did Charlie say where she found it?” you ask. Sam throws a look back at you, then closes the laptop. The corners of his mouth twitch.

“A monastery in Spain,” Sam explains. You huff, drop back in your seat.

“Why don’t we ever get to go to Spain?” you ask. “Instead we just get to go through Wisconsin for the seventieth time in a row.” Dean raises one hand.

“Hey,” he says, “there will be no badmouthing the state that invented cheese curds in my car.” He throws you a grinning look in the rearview mirror. It nearly makes your heart burst out of your chest. You return the smile. Dean looks out front again and you take the moment to let out a slow breath.

“So this book, it can, what,” he asks, throwing a look at Sam, “it can get rid of the Mark?”

“It looks like it,” Sam says, seeming a little surprised at Dean’s casual tone. “There is one issue, though.” Dean chuckles.

“I would have been disappointed if there wasn’t,” he says. Sam shifts in his seat, turns a little bit towards Dean.

“The Mark might not want to be close to the book,” he explains.

“What does that mean?” you ask. Sam turns, looks at you, thinks about his reply for a second.

“It looks like the book is the only thing that can destroy the Mark,” he explains, “and the Mark… knows that. Being in the book’s proximity might make it act out… or, Dean, in this case.” Dean raises his eyebrows.

“Act out?” he asks. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” Sam shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he says. 

Dean blinks, looks back at the road. You see his hand go up, scratch at his lower arm. Sam sees the same and when Dean notices his gaze, quickly looks away. There it is again. The air so thick you could cut it with a knife.

The three of you get to the motel, but Charlie’s still talking to some witnesses on the case she’s working. While you unpack the basics, such as your FBI get-up, Dean speaks up. 

He needs to blow off some steam, is all he knows. His skin feels itchy. Maybe it’s the closeness of this Book of the Damned business. Maybe it’s being cooped up in the car with you for hours. All he knows is that there’s a deep empty pit in his stomach and he needs for it to not be there.

“So if Charlie’s got this thing on her, this book,” he says, trying to make his voice sound casual, “I guess it’s best that I keep some distance, at least until we know what it really does. Would be a shame for my head to explode.” He grins a half-hearted grin. He’s sick of trying to make everyone feel at ease.

Sam’s just kneeling to take something out of his duffel, but straightens with a concentrated look. 

“Yeah,” he says, stumbling over the word a little. “I mean, I guess you’re right.” Dean nods, and then pretends he’s coming up with what he’s saying right there on the spot.

“So how about you go meet her,” he says, and then motions to you where you’re standing, “and we hang back, do some research on the case?”

Sam plays over it well, but Dean sees the moment of doubt. He’s not sure if his brother suspects what is going on between you and him, and if he does, he hasn’t said anything. But Sam’s smart, observant. Maybe the only thing stopping him from guessing what is really going on is his lack of imagination. Or perversion, Dean’s mind unhelpfully comments.

“Why don’t the three of us take a look at the book,” Sam says, trying to sound equally casual about his suggestion, “and you hang back?” Dean widens his arms.

“And do research all by myself?” he says, making his face twist into a mask of desperation. “Come on, man, don’t be evil. Besides, you and Charlie are the book nerds, if you two can’t figure it out by yourselves, there’s no hope anyway.” Sam huffs, but he still looks worried.

“Dean’s not wrong,” you pipe up suddenly, and Dean turns to you, trying to hide his surprise. “At least one person should be on research duty that can actually, you know, read.” He tilts his head.

“You’re a comedian, you know that?” he asks and you grin a small grin that makes a tight fist of tension build in him immediately. To distract himself, he looks back at Sam. His little brother shifts around for a moment, but he knows there’s no solid reason he shouldn’t agree to it.

“Fine,” he says and Dean needs to suck in his cheeks to hide his intense grin.

The reason he’s surprised at you speaking up in favor of staying with him is that what you have been doing is you pretending you don’t want him - at least to a certain point - and then him convincing you that you do. 

He likes it - he’s not gonna pretend he doesn’t. Watching your resolve, no matter how fake it is, slowly break down under his hands sends him into a frenzy that it takes every single molecule of self-control he possesses not to give into. Once he draws that first moan from you, feels your muscles twitch, sees your forehead crease in pleasure - it’s intoxicating. 

He understands, to a degree. He’s been with other women who feel wrong about asking for things, wanting to be fucked hard and rough and taken by him like he’s some kind of animal, but felt shame about asking for it. So he’s not new to this game, although it’s never been as exquisite as with you. The forbiddenness of it all adds to his, and he assumes, your pleasure. You’re not allowed to get caught. He’s just a dirty old man taking advantage of you, and you love it.

It’s a game, and it’s satisfying, but Dean keeps searching you, in those moments, for the reality behind it. When he had you in that bathroom stall a few days ago - his cock twitches and his balls ache at the memory - he looked deep into your eyes, or tried to. But you avoided him - closed your eyes, turned your head to the side. You held on to him just enough to keep yourself up, but in no way seemed to want him closer . That’s always his job.

So the fact that you’re now sitting across from him, actually doing research, when you should be taking apart this motel room, when you should be screaming and whining at the end of his cock, isn’t really surprising. But it’s still disappointing.

He keeps looking at you, for long stretches of time, but you pretend you don't notice. You go back between files and your laptop, tapping away. A big part of Dean wants to initiate, wants to do something - walk over, drag you out of your chair, flip you over and drive himself into you until his name is the only thing in the world you can think of. But part of him also just wants to see if you will let this opportunity to have him to yourself pass if he doesn’t do anything.

It seems to be heading that way - Sam’s been gone for an hour and Dean would like to crawl up the walls. Blood keeps leaving his head at the smallest things you do - hand going to your hair, roll of your shoulders, stretching, sighing, the fabric of your shirt moving over the globes of your breasts that he just wants to sink his teeth into. He has half a mind to go into the bathroom, make himself come, loud enough for you to hear him. Surely that way you would finally give in, right?

He looks at his watch, scratches at his skin. He feels so damn restless. One hand goes under the table, running over the outside of his jeans, at his half-hard dick there. How he would love to see his tip disappear between your kiss-swollen lips, eyes staring up at him and begging to give all of himself to you–

Dean clears his throat, shifts, trying to dislodge the fantasy, and you finally look up. Maybe accidentally, but you still do.

“I can’t focus on this stuff anymore,” he says. You frown at him.

“We’ve barely even started,” you say. Dean shrugs.

“It’s ghouls,” he says, “Charlie knows it’s ghouls, Sam knows it’s ghouls, you know it’s ghouls. It’s ghouls.” You nod.

“Yeah, but we should–” you start but Dean interrupts you.

“Let’s get a drink,” he says.

“Dean,” is all you reply. When you don’t continue, he raises his eyebrows at you.

“What?” he says. But then he decides he doesn’t care, and simply gets up. Reaches for his jacket slung over the back of his chair.

“I’m getting a drink,” he announces while he shrugs on his jacket and you stare up at him, unbelieving, not the way he wants you to stare up at him, not the way he knows you can stare up at him. “And you can stay here and read some more about ghouls, or you can come with me.”

He sees the brief battle raging in you. Sees you weighing the options. Sees you thinking about pretending you don’t want to come with him. He really does want a drink, and maybe he can get you back into a stall, back to your legs wrapped around him, back to his lips latched against your neck and you trying to be silent until you can't, maybe this wide open motel room where you wouldn’t have to be quiet and careful isn’t what you want anyway.

“Fine,” you say with a sigh. “One drink. Then back to work.”

The bar is seedy, as seedy as they come. Dark, smells of smoke. Dean seems to feel right at home, but you immediately tighten your jacket around yourself.

It’s strange, being alone like this with Dean. Not having sex, when you could be. You don’t know what to make of it - he didn’t initiate anything earlier, didn’t come on to you the way he usually does. It’s how you do things, the ritual you’ve developed, and the fact that he is going off-script confuses you.

Dean orders you two drinks, then comes to the table you’re already sitting at, looking around. He places it in front of you.

“Remember when I used to need to sneak you this stuff?” he says as he sits down with a nostalgic smile. “I’d get you a ginger ale and when Sam wasn’t looking, pour in some of my drink? Wasn’t that long ago.” He briefly inclines his head, then raises his drink to his lips, takes  a sip.

Why would he say that? Why would he point this out? Is he trying to tease you? 

“Yeah, I remember,” you say, reaching for your own, now legal drink, sip it, the burn pleasant and anchoring you in the moment.

“I used to think you were too young for all this,” Dean continues, and you focus on him, but he’s not looking at you, is also looking around. Despite it not being late in the day, the place is pretty full, rowdy loudness coming from several corners. “That it was my job to convince you to choose a different life.” He shakes his head at his own words.

“You don’t think that anymore?” you ask, immediately taking a sip to hide whatever expression your face is betraying. Dean looks back at you, thinks for a second.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know if I’m the best authority on this whole right and wrong thing.” His words are heavy with meaning, of course. You swallow.

“Because of the Mark?” you ask. Dean purses his lips, looks over your shoulder.

“Because of me,” he finally says, looks back at you, something like amusement on his face. “I don’t know that I’m the best person to be making those kinds of calls.”

Something strikes you then, something sudden. Is Dean breaking it off with you? Is this what this is? You shift around, suddenly nervous, no, terrified .

“I think you do a pretty good job,” you say, but your voice is quieter than you mean for it to be. Dean only scoffs.

“Is that what I’m doing?” he says. “A good job? ” His eyes go over you quickly, then land in your face. It’s clear what he means. You don’t know what to say, so you remain quiet.

“Truth is,” Dean says, after another sip, “ever since Sam first mentioned that book I’ve had half a mind to find that thing and burn it myself.” You blink in surprise, watch him. Dean’s back to looking around the place, the statement left there without further commentary.

“I just don’t understand,” you say, slowly shaking your head. “You know what the Mark is gonna do to you. What would happen if you were to die, and how it will… affect you in the long run.”

“I do,” Dean says, sighing, then taking another sip.

“So why don’t you want to get rid of it?” you continue. Dean puts the drink down, stares at where he runs his finger over the glass for a moment.

You can see from Dean’s face that he’s deep in thought. For some reason, it moves you to see him like this. To watch him reach into himself to find an answer to your question. 

“Nothing’s ever easy,” he says, his voice almost surprising you. “Nothing’s ever clear or straightforward.” Dean shakes his head.

He moves his jaw, and then it seems like he disappears somewhere for a moment. You use the opportunity to watch him - the way he gets when he forgets to worry that people are looking at him.

“The Mark makes things easy,” he suddenly continues. “It makes me feel like… like a drink does. Sure of myself, of the choices I have to make. I don’t… doubt myself as much.” His eyes flicker up to you, almost as if he’s embarrassed about what he just admitted. Embarrassed at his own simple humanity. 

“Well, that doesn’t sound horrible,” you say, trying to bring some humor into your voice. “I mean, I can see the appeal. But it’s not worth the damage it will do in the long run, Dean.” He chuckles in reply. A deep and erotic sound.

“Is it not?” he says, and suddenly his voice sounds harder, cold. He looks up and into your eyes. “Not like I was gearing for a steady job and mortgage anyway.” You take a slow breath, keep his gaze, even though it’s hard.

“This is what I’m good at,” he says. “Fighting, killing. Let’s not kid ourselves, okay?” You blink.

“I think you’re good at–” you start. Other things, you want to say. So, so many other things, but Dean interrupts you.

“Every shit thing that has ever happened,” he continues, his voice more intense, “everything that has gone wrong? It’s always been because I wasn’t able to make a decision. Or because my priorities were skewed. Because I couldn’t pull the trigger on some things I should have simply pulled the trigger on.” His jaw is clenched but his voice sounds sure.

“And this thing, ” he continues, vaguely motioning towards where the Mark is, “it makes me good, no, it makes me perfect at doing what I need to do. Why the hell would I want to get rid of that?” He takes another sip, some of the intensity disappearing off his face. You realize his glass is already near empty.

You’re both quiet for a moment. Dean staring at his drink, you staring at Dean. He felt so close a second ago, and now he feels as far away as he’s ever been. 

“Did you have doubts about…us? Before the Mark?”

You say it the moment the thought builds in your head. Dean blinks, looks back up at you. He keeps that hardened look for a moment longer, and then his face relaxes. It doesn’t make him look friendly, exactly - it makes him look like someone has pulled the plug.

“There was no us before the Mark,” he says, matter-of-factly. 

Something like a mental twitch goes through you, and you’re not sure it shows outwardly. 

“You never thought about me, that way? ” you ask. Dean looks down at the table again and you can see his tongue playing behind his teeth.

“Before the Mark,” he says, slowly, like he’s thinking about his words, “I probably would have thought that what I’m doing is… well, if some other guy was doing this to you, I would have told him to take a hike. Maybe given him a black eye to remember the message by.” You feel yourself frown.

“You mean fuck me?” you ask, making Dean look up at you again. “If some other guy was fucking me? Why, because you’d be jealous?” It sounds so desperate. Dean and you haven’t talked about what you’ve been doing at all, and now you’re asking him to reveal himself to you. It’s too quick, it's a childish wish and the worst part is you can see the answer on his face before he says it.

“Because I would have known that it’s wrong, that’s why,” he says, his tone like that of an adult trying to make a younger person see reason. Oh wait, you think, that’s exactly what it is. 

Something builds in you, something uncomfortable, something that is spreading outward from your heart and you don’t want to know what will happen if it hits your brain. It’s hurt and it’s anger, and the hurt is bigger but the anger is faster.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with that information?” you say through clenched teeth. “What am I supposed to do now? You can’t just…” You stop, swallow. Halt, for a moment, hoping the right words will come to you.

“I’ve never had something like this,” you say, not sure if you’re making sense, “with anyone. I don’t– You know what, fuck you, Dean, for saying that.” Dean watches you, calmly.

“I’ve never had this with anyone either,” he says. You take a sharp breath.

“Don’t lie,” you say. “Don’t make fun of me.” Dean shakes his head.

“I’m not,” he says. He’s not. He’s just told you he never really wanted you. Has he? Is that what he said? There’s a tornado in your brain, all words just whooshing around, and you’re not sure of anything anymore.

A group of people nearby that has been loud the whole time suddenly cheers, and then there’s the sound of glass breaking. Dean’s head snaps in the direction, a habit to assess the danger. 

You use the moment to stand up, quickly. You’ve grabbed your jacket with one hand by the time Dean turns back to you. You think you see him open his mouth to say something before you turn around and rush outside.

Tears are burning in your eyes before you even reach the door. You don’t know if you should look back, hope - dread? - that he is coming after you. You push past two men standing close to each other just outside of the door, no regard for how your shoulder connects with the arm of one of them. 

“Woah, easy there!” one of them says, but you just keep walking. It’s not like you, because you have manners. Because you would turn around, normally, apologize - or, no, you wouldn’t have run into them in the first place, because usually you’d be smarter than to bump into strange men in some seedy dive bar. But not today, apparently. 

You stop your stride for the first time when you’re outside, as you’re putting on your jacket. Look down the street, in the direction you came. Dean drove you both here, but it wasn’t a long drive from the motel and you’ll simply walk, which is what you start doing. You make it across the street, away from the busy bar, and no further.

“Hey!” you hear a voice behind you and, stupidly, you turn around. It’s a man you don’t know, walking towards you, a frown on his face. “You just spilled my friend’s drink.”

You narrow your eyes, take him in. He’s a head taller than you, but not built very broadly. Anger simmers in your blood, irritation, but you try to calm yourself. No point in picking a fight when you don’t have to.

“I’m sorry about that,” you say, trying to make your voice sound like you are. “It was an accident.” The man stops at about arm’s length from you. Maybe he was expecting more of a fight, because his features soften, then change, as he settles from one leg to the other. 

“All good,” he says, and you don’t miss the quick flick of his gaze over your body. A small smile appears on his face. “Why don’t you come back inside and buy him a new one?” 

The request takes you by surprise. Something tugs at you then, something you’ve never felt before. Maybe you should . Maybe you should go back inside with this stranger, buy him and his friend a drink, or better even, have them buy your drinks. Just enough of them that you can get up the courage to take one of them home, or both of them. Let them take turns on you or maybe both at the same time.

You blink yourself out of your thoughts. What in the world was that?

“No,” you say, breathing through your nose. 

“Come on,” he says, taking a step closer to you, still that smile there. “I swear we don’t bite.” 

The image flashes through you, is gone as quickly as it came. Your teeth, breaking the skin of his neck. Him trying to get you off him, but not succeeding. 

Without thinking about it, you take a step closer to him, tilt your head up so you can look at him.

“Get the fuck ,” you say, teeth clenched, skin prickling, “away from me.” With that, you turn around, start walking.

He pushes you before you’ve even taken a second step. You fly forward, hands going to catch yourself as you stumble, but you just manage to keep upright. 

“Fucking bitch, ” you hear him say and when you spin around, he’s already turning to walk away from you.

It’s not a conscious decision. You’ve never been this mad, this angry, this filled with seething hate that you have no idea where it comes from. You kick him in the back of the knee - a move you learned from Dean, coincidentally - and his leg buckles and he falls. He lands on his elbows with a grunt. You’re just looking up to see if anyone saw, when a closed fist hits you in the side of the head.

All lights go out for a second as your eyes flutter and a high wave of pain explodes in your skull, and then someone grabs your hair, a fistful of it, and shoves you to the side. Your shoulder meets a wall, or the ground, you’re not entirely sure for a second, before you’re shoved again.

“You okay, man?” you hear another voice, and then someone grunts something affirmatively. You finally manage to open your eyes, immediately opening your mouth, moving your jaw and then flinching as new pain floods you. It’s not like you’ve never been punched before - it kind of comes with the territory - but you’ve never been blindsided like this. It feels like something’s rattling in your brain.

Just as the world before you comes into focus, someone steps up to you and pushes you, your back meeting a wall behind you. This shouldn’t be happening, some part of you thinks. You’re in the middle of the street - except you’re not, or not anymore. The wall your back meets is that of a smaller alleyway just off the street you were just on, the one you were shoved away from.

You see him now, the second man, the one whose drink you spilled. He’s right in front of you, too close, your back to the wall, and it makes a red light in your head go off, a siren sound accompanying it. Whatever happens, you suddenly remember Sam teaching you, don’t let yourself get backed into a corner. Except he was talking about vampires.

You have training, but the panic in you is immediate. Still, you manage to get your hand up quickly, scratch at the man’s face. He roars back, flails his arms and in his effort to stop you from hurting him, manages to grab your wrist. There’s a bloody streak on his face, you see, from your nails, and then he squeezes the hand around your wrist and you cry out in pain. You bring your knee up, a good attempt, but completely miss his groin, instead getting a fleshy thigh. He leans his body in close to you to stop your thrashing.

It’s like someone laying a slab of marble over you. His sheer strength makes it completely impossible for you to move, except for one arm that you hit against him, form a fist and punch his side but you might as well be fighting him with words.

“What are you doing!? ” he grunts, and just when your panicked brain wonders if maybe you got it wrong, maybe this is all a big misunderstanding, he turns his head.

“We should teach this whore a lesson,” he says over his shoulder, and it all rushes into you again. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

But there’s no response to his statement. You notice just as the man notices, and he turns his head a little further, without letting go of you.

“Hey, where are you?” he says and then you see Dean over his other shoulder only a split second before he realizes someone’s standing behind him.

The good thing is that he gets his weight off you, steps to the side to face this new player, but he doesn’t let go of your wrist. He turns around, snarls at Dean. There is no expression on Dean’s face. It’s completely void of any emotion.

The man’s eyes flicker down and yours do too, as you see his friend, the one you kicked in the leg, lying on the ground. His eyes are closed. If your brain wasn’t still vibrating with panic and adrenaline, you would guess that he was choked out.

“Let go of her,” Dean says, completely monotonous, before he takes a step closer.

“Fuck you, dude,” the man holding your wrist says. “This is a private matter.”

To your surprise, Dean smiles then. A shiver goes over you. It’s a dangerous smile, but only if you know him - only if you don’t know what his real smiles are like, how genuine and full and unguarded. This one is forced. It makes you feel like you’re smelling gunpowder. It’s the smile that on the surface is placating, but really, it’s a challenge. Make your move , it says. Give me your worst . But the guy just barks at him.

“What are you, her dad or something?” he asks. 

Dean throws his head forward and you gasp, while the other guy’s head snaps backwards. You have no idea what happened for a second, but then his free hand, the one not grabbing you, goes to his face, and a second later blood is spurting out between his fingers.

He lets go of you, stumbles to the side, trying to get away from Dean. He doesn’t get far. 

Dean is on him immediately. One hand grabs his collar, while the other builds a fist, a fist that meets his face with a horrible sound. Dean’s arm moves back again, and the second sound is even worse. He’s not brawling. Not even fighting, really. What he does is meticulous, mechanical. He’s pulling back his arm for a third time when you shake yourself out of your stupor.

“Dean!” you call out, and for a second, you think he’ll stop. His arm remains there, stretched all the way back, caught between action and inaction. But then he does it again.

The other guy’s head is already lulling back and forth, and Dean lets go of him when his fist connects with his face, and he goes plummeting to the ground. He lies there, unmoving, face covered in blood. Dean straightens, flexes his shoulders, then he turns to you.

The look on his face confuses you. Not happy, not angry, none of the emotions you expect. He looks completely neutral again. 

When he moves, you just stand there for a second, and when you realize he’s moving towards you, you briefly imagine him holding your face, looking at you, looking for wounds. You’d tell him you’re okay and he’d say are you sure? Or he’d tell you it isn’t that bad, that you’ll be right as rain before you know it. That sweet, caring way he looks after others. But that’s not what he does.

He walks up to you, and you don’t stop him. One arm goes around your waist as he presses you back against the wall behind you, your back meeting the stone. He’s pressing his lips to yours, roughly, the next second. You make a sound, but he either misinterprets it as lust or doesn’t care. 

One hand, the one he held the man’s collar with, goes to your face, thumb on one side of your chin, the rest of his fingers splayed on the other. The hand he beat him with goes to your breast, squeezes it roughly through the fabric of your shirt. 

You freeze for a moment, too surprised to do anything. Dean is kissing you deeply, pushing his tongue into your mouth while your eyes are ripped open wide. Should you be enjoying this? Should this be what you want right now?

Then Dean’s hand leaves your breast and goes to his front, his fly and that makes you twist your face out of his grasp, take a loud, shuddering breath.

“No–!” you gasp, trying to pull yourself away from him, but there’s nowhere to go. “Dean, don’t! Stop!”

Dean stops. He pulls his head back, looks at you, a slight frown on his face. He studies you, eyes dead and mouth slack, for a second, and then he blinks. It’s as if he’s a husk filled with sudden life. He closes his mouth, swallows.

“I’m sorry, I thought…” he says, but he doesn’t say what he thought. He looks to the side, to the men still lying on the ground, both unconscious. Then he looks back at you, something dawning on his face.

He takes a step back, lets go of you. Involuntarily, you wrap your arms around yourself. You have a hard time meeting his gaze. And then you realize you’re trembling. 

“Can you take me back to the motel?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Dean says after a moment. 

You push yourself off the wall, start walking back towards the main street, not looking back to the men lying on the ground, not looking back to see if Dean is following you. 

Anxiety is thick inside of your veins on the way back to the motel. Dean isn't looking at you. He is staring straight ahead without so much as acknowledging your presence. You can't shake the feeling that you've done something wrong, and at the same time you are wildly pissed at him.

Kissing you like that, and the alleyway? He shouldn't have done that. You know that on some abstract level. That Dean should know that after being attacked, after walking away from him because of the things he said in the bar, that you wouldn't be in the mood . And yet his silence, the quiet with which he has decided to punish you, makes shame feel thick in your throat.

When you get back to the room, you walk inside ahead of him, stand in the middle of it. There’s no sign of anything having changed, so Sam and Charlie must not be back yet. You listen as the door falls shut behind you and only then you turn around to him. Your arms are crossed over your chest but you have a hard time looking at him.

“I want my own room tonight,” you say, your voice set and clear. Dean looks up, his expression unreadable.

“Okay,” he says finally, “I can move my stuff.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head slowly. You can't believe how fine he is with this, how easily he accepts your request. He must not want you anymore. He must not want you anymore? Is that your conclusion? Is that your biggest worry right now?

“I want the other room,” you say. “You can stay here.” Dean nods again, still a picture of neutrality. He looks at the keys to this room, still in his hand.

“I'll go up front and get your keys,” he says. He stands there another second, then moves back towards the door, opens it and without looking at you again, walks outside.

Deep, raw panic spreads in your chest. Discomfort, but worse. You shift from one leg to the other, arms tightening around you further. Something is building inside you, something that could be a scream or something else. Something that will rip you apart on its way up, cut you open.

You begin pacing. Forwards and backwards, left to right. Anything to get this energy out, but it’s not going, it’s not disappearing. You feel powerless, you realize. You could leave, walk out the door. But your legs refuse you.

Dean is back a few minutes later. He’s pocketing his phone when he comes in, and you turn back to him. It must look to him like you haven’t moved. He looks up at you and you can see a second set of keys in his hand.

“Sam just texted,” he says, like you’re in the middle of a conversation, and while his voice is still somewhat neutral, somewhat careful, it makes heat boil in you. “He and Charlie are heading to the graveyard, to burn some bones. Apparently it was ghosts, not… not ghouls.” 

Dean’s speech slows as he keeps looking at you, moving the keys around in his hand. Then he seems to snap himself out of his thoughts, clears his throat.

“He sent me the address, so we should probably drive there, help ‘em out,” he finishes. Both of you are quiet for a moment while Dean looks down at the floor in front of you. Something is building on his face, some kind of confusion or turmoil.

“Of course you don’t have to go,” he says, slowly nodding. “Not after– I can go by myself, if you want. Or I can stay. They’ll manage on their own.” He looks down for a little longer, then up at you, as if he’s expecting an answer.

“I don’t–” you start, unsure what to say. You shake your head, frowning. “Whatever you want to do.” Dean takes a deep breath. He’s beginning to look uncomfortable. Great. He probably wants to get out of here. He wants to get away from you. There’s that skin prickle again. Like you’re walking through a cloud of mysterious heat.

“I’ll stay here,” Dean says to your surprise. He takes his phone out of his pocket again, then looks at the keys in his hand, lays them down on the table, then uses his free hand to type out a few quick words. When he’s done, he lays the phone down on the table next to the keys. He looks at you, then briefly away, then back at you.

He’s nervous, you realize, as you narrow your eyes at him. All the neutrality, all the cold aggression, gone from him. All rueful. That switch again. It makes you furious.

He pushes his hands into his pockets while you just keep looking at him. He’s probably gonna ask if you don’t want to go to your spanking new room in a second. You flex your hands. There’s a violent sadness, under all the anger, but you hope you can keep it where it is.

“You know what,” you say, voice sounding venomous, “I’m tired. And you should probably go, maybe back to that bar.” Dean frowns at you.

“So you can, you know,” you continue, “maybe find someone else to fuck. Someone it’s not wrong to be with.” Dean looks down again, his features twisting briefly.

“I didn’t mean–” he says, but you interrupt him.

“No, that’s what you said,” you continue, then widen your arms before you let them drop at your sides. “I mean, why the fuck have you been pursuing me? What do you want from me, Dean?”

He looks up, drags his hands from his pockets, takes a careful step towards you.

“I want you, ” he says, shaking his head slightly, and you hate and love what it does to you to hear him say that. You take a sharp breath through your nose, forcing yourself to keep your defenses up.

“No, but that’s wrong, remember?” you say, tone almost mocking. “But poor you, you can’t tell the difference. Or you can and you don’t care. You sure didn’t seem to care every time you came after me.” Dean steps forward again.

“Please,” he says, but you shake your head.

“No,” you say, “no, it’s not fair. You act like nothing’s different when everything’s different. You act like everything’s still the same, but it’s not. It’s not!” You sniff. Dean takes another step forward.

“I thought you wouldn’t want anyone to know,” he says, then swallows. “I thought…” He stops, shakes his head.

“No, that’s not what I thought,” he corrects himself. “ I didn’t want anyone to know.” You laugh, humorless and Dean looks back at you, expression soft suddenly.

“I’m just a dirty fucking secret,” you say, waves of emotion making your skin feel like it’s boiling. You quickly try to rein yourself in. “You can just do all these things, and we can just do all these things, but you don’t actually have to act like it happened. Because it’s wrong! It’s bad, right!?”

You’re almost yelling on the last part, and suddenly Dean is closer than you expect him to be, he’s right in front of you, and just as a single tear falls from one of your eyes, his hands go up, both cupping your face as he drags you towards him, kisses you, uncoordinated.

His soft lips press against you, your tongue and his meeting as you press yourself against him, just try to be closer.

“It’s sick, it’s sick,” you moan and your hands are fisting the fabric of his shirt, and you don’t know how they got there, only that you’re tearing at him, blindly, pushing him away or pulling him towards you, you’re not sure.

“I don’t care,” Dean pants as he presses himself close to you, “I don’t give a shit, I fucking need you.” You gasp, eyes that at some point closed flying open.

“Dean, no! ” you say.

He stops immediately, or as immediately as possible with how entangled he is with you. It’s suddenly deadly quiet in the room as you watch him, seemingly in physical agony, as he leans away from you. His hands are still holding your face, but he distances himself.

He’s so beautiful. How can that be? How is this possible? You watch him as he blinks, as if he’s waking from deep sleep. He does want you. But he hates himself for it. You swallow, your mouth dry as he focuses on you, looks at your face. And stops.

His breathing slows, and yours does too. It’s the only sound in the room, and you’re pretty sure it’s the only sound in the world. It must be. It’s too loud for it not to be.

“Dean,” you say, your voice quiet but filling the universe. “Keep going.” 

He looks at you only for a second longer. Then he does.

He leans forward, his lips meet yours and he’s sucking on you, his nose pressed against you, breathing you in. Then his mouth leaves you and he moves one hand, wraps his arm around you to pull you in, while his mouth goes to your neck. Presses against the spot under your ear where you’re sure he must feel your pulse, but more than that, you’re sure you can absorb him best. The hand exploring you squeezes you so hard everywhere that it hurts, and you wish he would squeeze harder.

“Stop,” you say, but it’s more of a breath than a word. Dean tenses, stops kissing you. Holds his breath for a second, then almost grunts but finally moves away. He pulls back far enough to look into your eyes again. You look back, and then you know.

You step backwards and he lets go of you. You don’t break eye contact, and when you’re at what you roughly think is an arm’s length for him, you raise your hands to your jacket. 

Still looking at Dean, you pull it off your shoulders. Slowly, not sensually exactly, but as if there is no hurry in the world. He watches you, chest rising and falling. He looks rough, like he just ran or got out of a fight. Like his body is a wire of tension, and yet the only movement you see in him is a twitch of his fingers when your jacket hits the ground and you move on to the buttons of your shirt.

That’s how you undress - slow, torturously slow. Once your shirt is off, you kick off your shoes and socks, push down your jeans. Dean shifts where he stands when he sees your underwear, but remains where he is. You pull your t-shirt over your head and while you are blinded by the fabric going over your face, you half expect Dean to be right in front of you when it’s gone. But he’s not. He stays where he is. Because you told him to.

Your hands go behind your back, undo your bra and you let it slide off your arms. Dean stares at your breasts, breath stuttering. You begin peeling down the waistband of your panties, and he looks and sounds like he’s in physical pain. It’s beautiful.

You step out of them, closer to him. He looks into your face, pupils wide, lips slightly parted, and you slowly raise your hand, run it over the side of his face. He closes his eyes at the feeling.

But your hand continues, further down. Over his chest, down to his crotch. You lay your hand over him, feel him there, and for a second you’re sure you can feel him pulsing, straining. 

You undress him in almost the same order you did yourself - jacket, shirt, shoes and socks. His jeans don’t simply drop down despite the fly being undone, so you drag them lower, go to your knees. When they’re around his ankles, you look up at him, at his face. Then you lean forward, press your opened mouth against his clothed erection. Dean makes a strangled noise, twitches. You move your head so he runs along your cheek, your chin, moan at the feeling. It’s an involuntary sound, but at this point, you don’t care.

His t-shirt goes next. You run your hands along his arms, fingertips bumping over the smooth, raised skin of the Mark. Then to his front again, both pushing into his underwear. He’s rock hard. You drag the fabric down, then step back again.

You look at your work, admire it. He stands there unmoving, slave to your command. You walk to one of the beds. You turn, get on it, on all fours, at the edge of it. Remain like that, unable to see him anymore.

“Tell me you want me, Dean,” you say. This way, you don’t have to see his face. This way, you don’t have to know if he’s lying.

But instead, you hear him walk up to you. For just a second, you tense, but all he does is walk up to the bed, stand close behind you.

“Do you really think I don’t want you?” he asks and you press your lips together. It’s like he read your mind.

“Tell me,” you say, voice steady. He moves closer, you think, so close that you can feel his body heat. 

“I want you,” he says, and you need to take a breath. But then, to your surprise, he continues.

“I always wanted you,” Dean says, or pants, more like it, with how hard his breath is coming. “I always wanted you and it fucking killed me, the guilt, the disgust in myself. Is that what you want to hear? Is that what you needed to know? That you’ve fucking ruined me?” 

Your brows draw together, and a thick, viscous, bittersweet pain spreads through your chest.

“Dean,” you say, your body so heated and ready that it nearly kills you. “Touch me.” 

One of his hands lands on your hip and he leans over. He’s running so warm, like he has a fever, and then he’s kissing your shoulder. It surprises you since you were expecting something else, and you gasp, but it turns into a moan. His front, his strong chest, is pressed against your back, encompassing all of you, it feels, as he presses close to you. He breathes on the part he just kissed, then kisses again close to it, hard, needy, like he wants to burrow into you, needs to press himself through the outer layer first. 

He steps slightly to your side, one knee going on the bed for balance, and then the hand on your hip wanders over your front, spans over your breast, gently squeezing, then finding your nipple, runs dizzying circles around it. At the same time, his other hand runs over your ass cheek, grabbing it hard once. You’re distantly aware of his erection pressing somewhere against the outside of your thigh and then he’s pressing two fingers into you.

You moan, loudly, louder than you have ever been able to be, been allowed to be. Dean moans too, at your intense wetness, which you’re sure must be running over his hand. He pushes his fingers deeper, right where he knows they need to go, and you push yourself back against him, roll your hips.

“More,” you whine, balance on one arm and drag Dean’s arm from your chest up to over your throat, where he has you in a chokehold. At the same time, Dean presses a third finger into you.

You buck, but he holds you in place. His mouth is somewhere behind your ear and you can hear his panting, but only barely over your own crying out. You feel drunk. You feel high. You feel all of these things and a million more you could never name.

“H-harder,” you pant, only barely able to get the word out, but Dean hears you. His arm tightens around your neck and his finger keep pressing into you, fast, hard, deep, precise, your eyes rolling up. It’s so hard it’s painful, but you’re too close, you can’t stop now. You need to jump and Dean is the cliff.

Dean’s name comes out of you, and his grip on you tightens yet again. There’s heaviness all over you, you’ve never been so inside your body, and yet you’re about to float away. Dean’s hard breathing is all you can hear. And then his words.

“I want you,” he says. “I want you more than I ever fucking wanted anything in my life.”

You come, scream silent while your body contorts, fighting and twisting against Dean’s hold. Your brain is on fire and you will never return from this. At last, like your lungs bursting free, a cry tears from you, something that could be a scream for help or of ecstasy.

You drop forward, but Dean holds you, his arm back across your chest rather than your throat. You’re whimpering between breaths and feel him shift behind you. He pulls his fingers from you and then you feel something else press into you, briefly bumping into the crease of your thigh, searching, finding, smooth thickness pressing between your lips, promising to fill you up–

“Stop,” you gasp, lungs still begging for air. And Dean does.

His hand falls off your front, fist pushing into the mattress to steady himself. The head of his cock is inside of you. The hand he’s not holding himself up with is on your waist, squeezing your flesh while he drops his forehead between your shoulder blades.

He’s breathing so hard you’re sure he’s about to collapse, his chest and stomach pressing against your back in an unbalanced rhythm. He’s sucking in air through his teeth, and he almost vibrates with the strength it takes to not keep going. 

But he does stop. He stops, because you told him to.

You push forward a little, so that he drops out of you and then you turn yourself around.

He feels like a live wire and when you touch his face, he flinches, looks at you. A muscle under tension, a gun with the trigger half-squeezed. A leather belt snapped straight, in the split second before it makes that cracking sound. That’s what he is. And still he stopped.

You gently stroke his cheek, look into his eyes. Dean looks back, looks into you and through you.

“I want to see your face,” is all you can say and his eyebrows twitch. You press yourself up, kiss him as gently as you can.

“Fuck me, Dean,” you whisper against his lips, as quietly as you can say. He halts only for a second.

He grabs you, drags you further up the bed. Nowhere to go, nothing to do, no way to fight him if you tried. But he would stop if you told him. You know that now.

He kisses you again, roughly but you tear your lips away from him, move your face into the warmth of his neck and bite at the skin there. He grunts, grabs your shoulders and pushes them down against the bed. He’s breathing so hard you’re almost worried, but he’s too busy grabbing the insides of your knees, pushing your legs up until you are good and open. You use one hand to help guide him into you.

He thrusts forward, hard and sudden, and your head drops back with a sound as if someone punched the air out of you. There’s no time to adjust, no time to get used to him. It’s this or telling him to stop, and you don’t want him to stop - not for anything in the world.

Dean begins fucking you hard and fast immediately. You can do nothing but take it, this exquisite torture, can do nothing but moan and whine and nearly scream at what he does.

He drops forward, hooking your legs over his arms, holding himself over you, studying your face in sick fascination. Involuntary, helpless sounds are still leaving you, but you look up at him, keep his gaze as your hands grab his arms, trying to steady yourself..

“This is what you wanted to see?” he pants, and you’re not sure he’s making sense but then you’re not sure you would. “This is how you wanted me?” You barely manage to nod.

“Y-yes,” you groan. “Yes, just like that.” Your hands go up, grabbing his hair instead, fistfuls of it, and Dean groans loudly when you pull it, drag him towards you.

The kiss is all teeth and tongue while Dean keeps fucking you, his skin slapping against yours and you can feel him tense, can feel his intense twitching inside of you, so you lower your hands to his back and just as he squeezes his eyes shut, you drag your nails down his back, hard. You’re not sure if you split skin.

Dean groans loudly, the vibrations traveling through his body into yours. While he’s still coming, one of his hands grabs the back of your head, hair caught tight in his fist and he drags your head back, exposes your neck and bites hard into the soft skin over your clavicle. You cry out loudly, but it only makes him press his teeth harder against you. He must be drawing blood, you think. You couldn’t care less. It feels perfect.

Dean lets go, brings his mouth up to yours and there is blood on his lips. You lean up, kiss him, kiss it, anything to get to him. He grunts, then drags your head back again.

I’ll fuck you until it kills me, you think you hear him say, but his lips don’t move. I’ll fuck you til it kills us both.

It’s what he nearly does.

You both lose yourselves, somewhere in there, in that mess of skin and blood and come and slick and sweat. Dean feels like he has never felt before and, he thinks, never will again. Or maybe this is just the beginning.

At some point, many hours in, he drags your face close to his. You’re both bruised, slapped, bitten, squeezed. But he looks deep into your eyes.

I love you, he thinks he says. The Mark says it too, the scorching hot skin around it pressed against you. 

I love you, you say, and the Mark screams brighter, hotter, until it burns you both alive.

[count-thotticus]

Night Whispers

Pairing: Sylus x MC (she/her pronouns used)

Rating: G

Word count: 1k

Summary: Instead of a day at the park, MC takes Sylus out for a meteor shower for his birthday.

Hey everypony it's April again and that means it's Anime STL FicFest time. This year's theme was "anniversary", so since our boy's birthday just passed, I elected to write about him. It's my first time writing about sylus and tbh I'm not actually that far in the story so apologies if he's ooc.

“April 18th,” he’d said, when she had done little more prying than sit in his lap and bat her eyelashes. “That’s my birthday.”

Sylus, the big bad boss, untouchable dragon-hearted leader of Onychinus, had cracked and told MC information previously unknown to even those closest to him without her even finishing the question.

“My, my,” Luke and Kieran would say later, “Bossman must really like you. He doesn’t tell that sort of thing to anyone!” And she would blush and look away, but never tell them the date he’d given her. No, that tidbit of information would remain a whispered promise kept behind her sealed lips.

MC spent the next few days endlessly thinking about how best to celebrate this man who’d done so much for her. What did you even get a man who had everything he wanted at the snap of his fingers or a tap of his card? She couldn’t just get him a gift - no, it had to be something memorable, an experience maybe.

MC spent hours searching the internet for events coming up either in Linkon or in the N109 Zone, weighing the times, crowd levels, and Sylus’s potential enjoyment of the activity, and came up with nothing. Every time she would find something with potential, she remembered: one, Sylus is nocturnal and prefers to go out at night, and two, he’s a wanted criminal. This of course didn’t stop him from indulging her at the arcade once a week, but she didn’t want to be the one to put him in a risky situation.

It was on a sleepless night, just a couple days before his birthday, when inspiration struck her like a bolt of lightning. Or, well, more like a shooting star.

MC had tossed and turned so much that she finally decided to just get up and make a cup of tea. As she sipped, she gazed out the window of her apartment and a light in the sky caught her attention. Of course, she thought. Tara had sent her a link to the Deepspace Tunnel website announcing the meteor shower that was to take place this week. A quick search told her peak visibility was in just 2 days - April 18th, just after midnight.

How lucky.

MC stopped by his base that morning and dropped off a small note, detailing a time and place to meet her the following night. Sylus called her immediately, of course, but she refused to divulge any information. He did love the chase, after all.

~*~

The evening of the 17th came and MC packed a basket with all the supplies she'd gathered. Sylus, ever craving her nearness, insisted on picking her up on his motorcycle. Basket strapped behind her, she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist as he sped toward the park.

“So are you going to tell me what this mystery outing is all about, kitten?” Sylus asked as they walked off the path, deeper into the field of spring wildflowers. MC carried the cake, delicately packaged in the bakery box, but Sylus had insisted on carrying the heavier basket and rested his other hand lightly on the small of her back.

“Patience, Sy. We're almost there.”

They crested a small hill to see a soft glow emitting from the meadow clearing and MC said a silent thank you to Luke and Kieran who'd agreed to help her set up. They'd laid out an ornate blanket and weighed it down with protocore powered pillar candles at the corners. As an added touch, she noticed, they'd laid out a small radio already playing one of Sylus’s favorite albums. It was one that he'd gifted her shortly after they'd first met, and she was touched by the twins’ thoughtfulness.

Sylus’s hand snaked further around her waist and he pulled her close to his side when he saw the scene. “All this for me?”

MC turned to see him smiling tenderly at her, his eyes softening from his usual aloof demeanor. “I'd move the stars for you, Sylus,” she responded, shutting her eyes and leaning into him as he leaned down to kiss the crown of her head.

She stepped out of his hold and trailed her open hand along his to gently tug him to sit on the blanket. He let her unpack the basket and arrange the dishes how she liked before pouring them each a glass of wine. Just as they settled in, the first meteor shot across the sky, drawing both of their attention.

He let out a gravelly chuckle. “You weren't kidding about those stars, huh, kitten?”

“Anything for you, birthday boy.” Just then, MC’s watch dinged with the stroke of midnight. She held out her glass in front of her. Sylus’s eyes never left her as he tapped his glass to hers. “To you, on your birthday. Thank you for telling me so we could celebrate.”

He hummed in appreciation and added, “And to us. May this be only one of many celebrations we share.”

Without breaking eye contact, MC took a sip of the dry red and couldn't help but giggle at the love struck look Sylus was giving her.

“What's so funny, kitten?”

“Nothing, Sy. It's just silly to me how the walls of the big strong leader of Onychinus crumble at the smile of a pretty girl.”

He let out a deep chuckle of his own. “Not just any pretty girl,” he growled, “my pretty girl.”

He brought his hand to cup her cheek and pressed a kiss to her lips. His warmth melted her but as much as she wanted to give in immediately, she had one more surprise for him.

MC reached behind her for the bakery box and set it in Sylus’s lap. His large hands lifted the lid of the box to reveal the ornate cake within. He let out a surprised hum as she lit the candle and watched the flame dance in his garnet eyes with fondness.

“Happy birthday, Sylus.”

[sapphire-writes]

Just Friends ~ modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: You and Aemond are just friends.....right?

word count: 3.6k

note: a request for some friends to lovers 🩷

rating: Explicit (see more descriptive warnings under the cut)

warnings: fingering, titty sucking, slight praise, semi-public, language, alcohol use

A group project with Sara, Jace, and Aliandra was perfect. All three of you had chosen History of the First Men as an elective this term for that very reason. Professor Karstark was known for his heinous group project that ran the entire semester. The four of you were great friends already, so when Professor Karstark announced you’d be picking your own groups, your heart leaped with joy.

Until he mentioned needing groups of five. 

You had no choice but to add another person to your tight-knit group. Luckily, Jace’s cousin was also in the class. You’d seen him around campus before, but Aemond Targaryen often kept to himself. When he wasn’t studying in the library he could be found keeping his frat boy elder brother out of trouble.

The Targaryens shared a house on King’s Ave; a notorious strip of off-campus housing for those attending Westeros University. All four siblings attended currently, Daeron just starting his freshman year. You’d thought it was cute that they all lived together, and you’d told Aemond as much upon first meeting him.

After spending time together on the project, you and Aemond became fast friends. He now knew your coffee order by heart, often bringing you a steaming cup before class. You’d camp out with him in the library, show him new music, order your favorite takeaway and binge shows together. And when you couldn’t do that together, you’d be texting about it, like you were right now.

You giggle at your phone, and Ali lifts her head from her computer screen. 

You’d been in Jace’s apartment, waiting for him to return with coffee for your group to continue working on the project.

“Texting loverboy?” she teases, pulling her dark curls into a messy bun on top of her head. 

Sara walks into the room at that moment, a bowl of popcorn in her hands, her lips parting in shock.

“What did I miss?” she cries, hurrying forward. 

You place your phone down, rolling your eyes.

“Nothing! He’s just funny, that’s all,” you tell them, trying to ignore the blush you know is blooming on your cheeks. Maybe if you concentrate hard enough, it’ll go away.

“Nothing my ass,” Sara says with a smirk, “That boy is sooo into you.”

“Will you stop it,” you tell her, “We’re just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at friends the way Aemond looks at you,” Ali argues, as the door to the apartment opens.

You shush your two friends as Jace walks in, his younger brother Luke trailing behind him. Jace holds a tray of iced coffees in his hand, causing Sara to squeal and press a kiss to his cheek before taking one. 

“Sorry I’m late, had to pick Luke up from practice,” Jace says, throwing his bag down on the floor. 

“Sup ladies,” Luke says with a grin.

“You smell like a wet dog,” Sara accuses, wrinkling her nose.

“Lacrosse season, baby!” Luke says, holding his arms wide. You and Ali pretend to gag and he lowers them.

“You guys are mean,” he pouts, heading towards the bathroom. 

“Did you pick Aemond up too?” you ask, curious where the silver-haired boy is. Ali mouths the word subtle to you and you stick your tongue out. 

“Don’t think he’s coming,” Luke calls from the bathroom, “Looked pretty busy on his date!”

It’s like someone slapped you. Ali meets your eyes, her own wide with shock.

“Date?” you ask, mouth suddenly very dry.

“We don’t know-” Jace begins, but Luke cuts him off, running shirtless out of the bathroom.

“He was at Stormy’s,” Luke begins, referring to the local coffee shop, “In a corner booth. You don’t sit with just anyone in a corner booth.”

“Okay Mr. Never-Had-A-Girlfriend,” Jace scoffs, sitting on the couch.

“I know what’s up!” Luke insists, though the tips of his ears turn red, “You sit in the back corner, that way if you want to put your hand-”

“Ew ew ew!” Sara says, covering her ears as she sits next to Jace, “Future brother-in-law, I’m begging you to shut up!”

“I know what’s up!” Luke insists, again, “I do!”

“Go shower!” Jace tells him, tossing a pillow at him. Luke mumbles something under his breath before heading back down the hall toward the bathroom.

“Who was he with?” Ali asks, sparing you the embarrassment of asking. Jace is clueless about your innocent little crush.

“Maris Baratheon,” Jace tells you all. 

Shit. Maris Baratheon makes total sense. Another girl in your year who takes her studies very seriously, much like Aemond. It doesn’t ease your nerves knowing she’s stunning as well. Long dark curls, and sapphire blue eyes. It would only make sense that they get together.  

“There’s a party at the soccer house tomorrow night,” Jace says, suddenly changing the subject, “I think we should go.”

“I’m in,” you answer, causing Ali and Sara to exchange a look.

“Jacey boy!” Aegon says, throwing an arm around his nephew, “So glad you could make it.”

Jace pulls Aegon’s arm off of him as you enter the soccer house. The music is blasting through the speakers, some trashy remix of No Hands. Aegon hands you a cup which Sara snatches from your hands immediately. 

“First rule of uni, don’t accept a drink from Egg,” Sara says with a sneer. Aegon presses a hand to his chest pretending to be shocked.

“You’ve got me all wrong, love,” he teases, taking the cup back and taking a sip, “See? All clear.”

Sara takes it back, eying it suspiciously before taking a sip. You laugh and Aegon turns to you, a small smile on his face.

“My brother’s been waiting for you,” he tells you, fixing the backward baseball cap that rests on his head. 

Your stomach flip-flops, though you try to ignore it. Aegon hands you another drink, which you sip gratefully.

“Oh yeah?” you ask nonchalantly, and Aegon nods. 

“Haven’t seen you at the house in a while,” he says, as someone increases the volume of the music. 

“What?” you call but Aegon waves you off, before disappearing into the crowd. 

You take another sip from your drink, as Ali pulls you toward the center of the dancefloor. You don’t see Aemond, though Aegon said he must be here. You decide to spend some time dancing, trying to calm your nerves. You shouldn’t be feeling this way anyhow. Aemond is your friend.

Just friends.

You spot him across the room after a few songs play. He’s leaning against the doorframe talking to Cregan Stark. You can’t help the butterflies that fill your belly as he raises his eyes to meet yours. A soft smile appears on his handsome face at the sight of you, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up with attention. He looks good, though it's hard not to with that bone structure of his. Those pouty lips. 

“I’m going to go say hi!” you tell Ali, nodding towards Aemond.

She gives you a look of warning.

“You sure?” she asks and you nod, “Okay girl, I’ll be here!”

You move through the crowd of people making your way toward him. You smile politely at Cregan before hugging Aemond.

“Hey Aem,” you say, the scent of his cologne making you dizzy as you press your face against his firm chest.

“Hey,” he answers, the vibrations from his chest making you close your eyes. 

You wish you could just curl up with him here, leave the party and watch one of your shows together. You open your eyes. Can’t think like that, not if he’s seeing Maris. 

You pull away from him a little too quickly, the beer in your cup sloshing out the sides and onto your hand. You force a smile on your face.

“Where’s Maris?” you ask, making a point to look around.

“What?” Aemond asks with a chuckle.

“Maris! Your date!” you yell over the music. 

Aemond pouts, tilting his head to the side, confused at what you’ve just said.

“Maris is my mate!” Aemond calls over the pounding sound of the bass. 

You can barely hear him above the loud house music, the floor vibrates with how loud it is. The liquid in the red solo cup you hold wobblies, waves rippling across the surface. It’s so loud, you confuse about what Aemond has said, though you’re watching his lips carefully. 

“Maris is great!” is what you hear, causing your heart to drop slightly. 

You force a smile on your face, nodding at him. 

“I’m really happy for you two!” you yell back, taking a sip from the warming beer. Aemond’s eyebrows concave together in confusion and he shakes his head.

“Did you hear me?” he loudly asks, but of course, you can’t.

“What?” you yell, and Aemond sighs in frustration. 

Suddenly, he wraps his fingers around your wrist, gently directing you down the hallway. You let him guide you, careful not to spill your drink as you trail behind him. You catch Sara’s eye from across the room and she purses her lips at you. Whenever she does that you can’t help but think of Florence Pugh. 

He checks several doors until one to the bathroom opens, and pulls you inside with him. You enter the small space as he closes the door behind him. The music is muffled, making your ears ring as they adjust to the lower levels of sound. 

Aemond stands in front of the door momentarily, before moving further into the bathroom, as though not to make you uncomfortable by blocking it with his tall frame. You lean against the sink as he places one hand on his hip, dragging the other through his pale hair. 

“Why d’you think me and Maris are a thing?” he asks, faces scrunched in confusion. 

You can feel your heart beating frantically in your chest, and you try to ignore the nausea that churns in your stomach, the sour taste that fills your mouth at the thought of their date. 

“Um, Luke told me?” you tell him, as though it should be obvious, “Sorry if he put his foot in his mouth, but you were out in public! If you were trying to keep it on the low, you should’ve gone somewhere private.”

The corner of Aemond’s mouth ticks upwards into a slight smirk. 

“On the low?” he asks, standing up a little straighter. 

You place your cup on the edge of the sink. 

“Well, it sounds like you were surprised I knew,” you tell him, feeling your face flush. You hope Aemond can’t tell, and if he can, that he simply thinks it's because of your drinking, not the feelings you’re holding back. 

His eyes, blue and violet, roam your face, ceaselessly searching for any hint of jealousy or distaste. He’s been your friend for a while now, he can tell when you’re holding something in. 

“Maris and I are just mates,” he tells you so you can hear him this time, “She’s been thinking of studying in Oldtown next term. She wanted some advice.”

Your lips part, shocked at what he’s saying before you feel the fire return to your cheeks with a vengeance. Fucking Luke, starting drama for no reason. 

“Oh,” you say softly, curling your fingers against the lip of the counter, “Oh that makes sense.”

“Yeah, it does,” Aemond says, with a chuckle. He clears his throat suddenly, averting his eyes, “I um..sort of have a thing for someone else anyway.”

“Oh,” you repeat, “That’s cool.”

“But I’m kind of…nervous,” he admits, meeting your eyes once more, “I don’t want to ruin the friendship we have. But I can’t really ignore how I feel.”

You hold his gaze. He can’t be talking about you. Can he? 

“What should I do?” Aemond asks, “What do you think?”

“I think…well..” you nervously wet your lips, “I think….you should tell her.”

Aemond takes a step closer, placing one hand on the sink next to yours. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, his tall frame leaning towards you.

“Yeah?” he says in a gruff voice, “You really think so?”

You nod, and he brings his opposite hand to rest on the counter on the other side of you, caging you against it with his lean form. He’s so close you can almost feel his body pressing against you. You can smell his cologne, as he leans his face closer to your height. 

“I think you might be pleasantly surprised,” you tell him. 

Aemond’s eyes widen slightly before they fall to your lips. Pushing up onto your tiptoes, you bring your lips to his, kissing him gently. You pull away for a moment, gauging his reaction, but Aemond chases your lips with his own, capturing them in another kiss. His hands slide along the counter, finding purchase on your hips. He lets them rest there a moment, squeezing your hip bones before lifting underneath your ass to place you on the counter. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss with a slight turn of your head as Aemond strokes the sides of your thighs. You can feel your arousal pooling in your underwear, and you clench your thighs together to no avail. 

Aemond’s hands caress the skin of your hips that was exposed as your tank top rides up. His hands dance to your belt and you drop your hands to begin unbuckling it. Aemond’s eyes drop to your quickly working hands. 

“Holy fuck… can I?” Aemond says between a kiss, “Can I touch you, please?”

“Yes, please, fuck,” you nearly beg while unbuttoning your jeans, “Please touch me Aemond.”

You slide the zipper down and feel Aemond’s hands on yours, hastily moving them out of the way. You wrap them around his neck as his slender fingers dip below the hem of the lacey thong you’d decided to wear. Sara has a very strict policy on party panties and demanded you wear your sexiest set. 

“Just in case,” she’d told you with a wink.

You could kiss her, with the expression on Aemond’s face as he looks between your legs.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he whimpers, the pads of his fingers rubbing circles around your clit.

You bite your lip, holding back a whimper of your own as he dips his fingers lower, gathering your arousal on his fingertips before going back to circling your clit. 

“Fuck-” you cry out as he lowers his palm, slipping a finger inside your clenching hole. Aemond swallows your cry with a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth. 

He experimentally curls the long digit against your walls, preening with the sounds this elicits from you, and the way you claw at the back of his neck. His cock is straining against the confines of his jeans, but he can’t find it in him to care at the moment; completely focused on your pleasure. 

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmurs against your lips, kissing you hungrily. 

“Me too,” you whine, sucking on his lower lip. 

Aemond pulls away slightly, a half smile decorating his face.

“How long?” he asks, a second finger teasing at your entrance ready to join the first. You buck your hips, desperate for him to fill you up. 

“Since game night at Baela’s,” you gasp, as he sinks the second digit into your tight, wet heat. 

“I remember. You’re such a sore loser,” Aemond teases, curling his fingers against the rough patch of your walls that has you seeing stars.

Your head lolls, tapping against the mirror before Aemond brings his free hand to rest on the back of your neck, propping your head up.

“I’ve liked you, ever since you met Vhagar,” he tells you, letting his hand trail from the back of your neck to your shoulder.

Warmth floods your chest at the memory. It was one of the first times you’d hung out with Aemond actually. You’d come to the house after class and met the grumpy old tabby cat. Aemond had been thoroughly impressed at how you were able to coax her from her hiding place under the sofa.

She’d only hissed at you once, before sniffing the tips of your fingers and rubbing her head against them.

Aemond brings his thumb to rest on your clit, circling the button in tandem with the thrusts of his fingers, tearing you from the memory and bringing you back to the present. The added clit stimulation has you clenching around his fingers, the small bathroom filling with the squelching sounds of your soaked pussy. 

Your lower abdomen tenses, and you can feel the precipice of your orgasm creeping up on you, tingling up your spine. 

“God you’re so tight,” Aemond moans, and you grab the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging harshly. 

A whine leaves his lips as you do so, and you bring your lips to kiss his neck, sucking a purple lovebite onto the pale flesh. Aemond’s breathing is ragged as you do so, his fingers tugging at the spaghetti straps of your top, pulling it down to reveal your matching lace bralette. Aemond quickly works the front clip, letting your breasts spill free. Your nipples harden in the cool air.

He eyes them hungrily, as you pull away from kissing his neck, connecting your lips once more. Aemond’s hand moves to the side of your left breast, massaging the soft mound, just as someone knocks on the bathroom door. Aemond breaks away from your lips. 

“Just a second!” Aemond yells, before latching his mouth to your tender nipple and suckling harshly. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him against you as he swirls his hot tongue around the sensitive nub. Legs locked around his slender waist, you pull him closer to you, arching your back to press yourself harder against his mouth, against his fingers. 

“Aemond?” Aegon’s voice calls from outside the bathroom. The door handle jiggles. “You bastard open up!” 

Aemond releases your breast with a wet pop, dragging his lips up toward your neck to kiss the sensitive spot beneath your ear. His fingers never stop curling into you, the pads of his fingers dragging against your sweet spot while his thumb plays with your clit. He drags his teeth along your earlobe, biting down as Aegon knocks again.

“I have to piss!” Aegon yells, banging on the door causing it to shake on its hinges.

“He said just a second!” you snap, voice several pitches higher than normal as Aemond tugs harshly your slippery, wet nipple. 

“The fuck?” Aegon’s angry tone turns to one of confusion, “Yo is that Y/N?”

Aemond’s fingers slow as he pulls away from your neck, his hand still gripping your breast. The actions cause your imminent orgasm to begin to fizzle out and you whine in annoyance. You were so close. 

Aemond’s eyes meet yours, pupils dilated as yours must be. His jaw is slack, face flushed as Aegon laughs from outside the bathroom.

“I didn’t know you had it in you!” Aegon calls, “That’s my bro, finally getting the girl! Sara is going to lose her shit when she knows I found out first!”

You stifle a laugh, bringing your hand to cover your mouth at Aegon’s words. Aemond’s cheeks are red as he smiles bashfully, as though he’s not knuckle-deep in your pussy at the moment. 

“Have fun you lovebirds, I’ll piss outside,” Aegon calls, giving a final rapid fire of knocking before presumably leaving the door. 

“Do you think he’s really gone?” you ask through a giggle.

“Honestly, I don’t even care,” Aemond says, kissing you once more and resuming the movement of his fingers thrusting and curling in and out.

“Fuckfuckfuck!” you cry, as Aemond works you towards orgasm once more. Your legs shake around him and he brings his mouth to your opposite breast, lavishing it with the same attention he did the other. 

“Take my fingers so fucking well,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your breast, “Bet you’ll take my cock perfectly.”

“Yes-fuck yes!” you cry, nails digging into his shoulder blades through the soft fabric of his t-shirt. 

You can feel how hard he is, how big his cock is concealed under his jeans. Your mouth waters at the thought of it replacing his fingers, pussy tightly clenching around him. Aemond feels you tighten, a smug smile creeping onto his face.

“You like that idea? Want me to fill you with my cock?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you whine, looking up at him through your lashes, “Please I need it so bad.”

“You’ll get it, pretty girl,” he promises, “Come for me, darling, that’s it.”

“Oh oh- oh!”

With a strangled cry your orgasm crashes over you as you clench around his fingers. A rush of arousal drips down his fingers and between your thighs as he fucks you through it, prolonging your pleasure. As you come down from your high, Aemond’s mouth is on yours in another passionate kiss. You moan into his mouth, whimpering at the overstimulation. 

Your hands drop to his belt and he chuckles, placing kisses down your neck.

“Can we go back to mine?” he asks, as you attempt to do the first loop. You pause looking up at him. 

“I’d love to,” you tell him, as he kisses you again. 

You spend the next several minutes reclipping your bra and fixing yourselves before opening the door. Aegon nearly falls on top of you both as he tries to pretend he wasn’t listening. Aemond smacks him on the shoulder as he tries to run away. 

“Couldn’t hear anything over this fucking music!” Aegon calls, as he smiles cheekily and disappears down the hall. 

Covering your face with embarrassment, Aemond loops his arm around you, placing a kiss on top of your head and leading you out of the party.

note: hope you liked it!!

[mischiefmaker615]

Bang Bang

Requester: @Laer111ee (wattpad)

Rating: R

Summary: Enemies to Lovers

Inspiration: Bang Bang by K'NAAN

Loki’s POV

I’ve always known humans to be the weaker species, surely much lower than most of the nine realms of this universe. It wasn’t until I had really spent an.. annoyingly long amount of time on Midgard to realize I could still be surprised.

It was strange, how Midgardians have history books filled to the brim of war and chaos, caused by their own doing. Why is it that when I try to rule, they turn against the idea? They most certainly have no problems living with those elected to decide how they live; is it because I am the god of chaos that makes things different? That I am not human? All.. nuisance cast aside with how things went upon them sending their earth’s mightiest heroes, I did at least gain one positive aspect through it all.

Her.

Was wasn’t quite special, no powers running through her delicate yet capable feminine body. Just years, perhaps a great solid decade at most of hard-core training- that humans would consider hard core. Gods even I am picking up on their simpleton language. Nevertheless, whatever this woman has gone through to earn her spot amongst these Avengers, she was truly the first, pure human that could actually get my body to tense in battle, for me to actually have to concentrate, to be less.. cocky, as I’m told.

She keeps up.

“you have a nasty habit of running from the inevitable-‘’ she called, slowly walking through some abandoned building as I kept myself around the corner from her eye sight.

The SHIELD uniform hugged beautifully to her body, much more mesmerizing than The Widow. She quickly let her eyes flick down briefly to make sure she was carefully walking amongst the debris, going right back up to make sure I hadn’t appeared in sight yet. It was quite amusing, the serious in her face as she searched for me, this not even being the first time she’s sought me out.

Although this woman walked around half the time with a loaded shotgun, -though it was hardly enough to concern me, something about her seemed to make me feel like I could have no concern with whatever she would point at me. Like she wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger, though I wasn’t quite in the mood to test out the possible bluff. She seemed to shoot me straight in the heart anyway, and to my own surprise, it came with no pain..

Why they don’t send someone with heightened abilities, I am unsure. Yet she’s lasted this long, though most of our encounters I’ve held back a lot- and she knows it. I just tend to always look forward to our next encounter, and I can’t very much do that if she is in a recovery wing. I am not a fool though, and normally there is either one or two Avengers outside the building in which I sneak to, indicating that she is perhaps still being put to the test by going after me.

‘’and yet you still follow darling.’’ I chuckle, using the angles where my voice could echo rather than give away my location as I eye the gun clutched in her hands. ‘’tell me, how many times will your heroes send you before they finally think you’ll catch me?’’

Her E/C eyes narrow, her head moving to all directions as she pressed on, her nose twitched as she ignored the knocking feeling to sneeze with all the dust. Cute.

‘’perhaps I’ve been holding back as well, when are you going to have the balls to have a real fight with me?’’

I couldn’t help but smirk at her vulgar language, most likely using sarcasm to substitute her fear, though I did not smell any on her. I began moving myself through the halls, knowing from a birds eye view of the building, I was making my way around so I could be behind her. ‘’when I know you won’t break as soon as I touch you..’’ quite often, I’ve hinted at an inuendo. As I’ve pushed much of the thoughts down, it wasn’t new for the idea of perhaps laying down with her to cross my mind if even given the opportunity- though I do like my partners willing most of the time.

‘’how about you stop hiding like a coward then?’’

It was a weak answer, but I knew she just wanted me to keep talking to give away my position as I quietly turn the corner and was now getting an eye view of her backside- hips swaying with a sculpted rump. I have wondered if those heroes merely send her for me to be distracted in hopes that she could use that to defeat me.. it hasn’t quite worked yet.

“It could be fun if you stop holding back.’’

My brow raised at her last statement. Did she enjoy these pointless battles just as much as I did? I rather sought out her closeness, her sarcasm and fierceness though she was as harmless as a young mongrel. I could always smell her scent when we fought, almost seeing the oils and soaps she uses and there was only one time I could have sworn I could smell arousal. My cock twitched at the mere thought and brought me out of my thoughts as I slowed my pace behind her. Though this closeness now I just couldn’t resist.

‘’you want fun then? Let’s have fun..’’ I whisper in her ear, seeing her body tense at the realization of my whereabouts and I had just enough time to inhale, my eyes fluttering as I got what I wanted before I leaned back when she swung an elbow back.

She was quick, turning around and pointed her gun towards me in which I was quick to grab and yank free before I had to watch her other arm. Fighting Midgardians was almost like fighting something that moved in slow motion, and I was happy to play along as I let her hit my chest now and again though I could tell she had gotten stronger since the last time we’ve met.

‘’dare I say you also look forward to our little dance sweet Y/N?’’ I smirk, teasing her to throw off her concentration as she glares, increasing her speed as she keeps trying to find an opening.

‘’I look forward to finally seeing you behind glass again Loki’’ she snapped though I gathered no anger in her voice as she dropped down and I quickly stepped back from a leg swing.

‘’ah so you much prefer talking than our physical interactions out here?’’ I press before she humps back to her feet, ramming the top of her head into my jaw. It didn’t hurt but it was the force that had my eyes fly up and I had to regain my footing as she kept going at punching at my pressure points- trying through my armor at least.

‘’I prefer you putting your mouth to better use-‘’ she cut herself off, the surprise matching my own as her body stilled for a split second and she shook her head ‘’interrogation!’’ she added, trying to redirect her meaning as her mistaken inuendo had my humor triggers.

I laughed and something in my chest seemed to switch at how this woman made me feel in that moment where she was quick to try to correct herself by fighting harder. It worked.

For once she got the best of me, fighting rather dirty through her embarrassment and opted to quick me in the groin. My amusement was quickly replaced with pain and she had me on my back in an instant with her blade to my neck. My hands were up, palms towards her in a surrender position where we both caught our breath.

‘’let me know if the offer still stands,’’ I smirk, knowing any wrong moves she would press the blade deeper than it was as I felt the slight warm trickle of blood at my neck.

Her free hand moved to her thigh, my eyes watching rather mesmerized as my mind screamed to get me out of this situation. With her body on top of mine quick comfortably in a pin, my body had other plans and wished to remain as she pulled out her radio. Sound seemed to have left my ears, seeing her speak but I couldn’t hear anything as I watched her.

This woman was different..

That had been quite some time ago, perhaps a little bit over a year and It was only 3 months later of.. attempted interrogations, they even sent her, because they realized my “plans” haven’t been put into place yet, day saved if it hasn’t started yet. After those boring 3 months, I found out someone had requested and convinced me to remain house bound to the Avengers tower, participating in community service here and there if my magic needed to be put to use depending on the foe they were fighting that same day. Of course, they never let me out without a particular Asgardian bracelet my idiot brother brought back that would dull my abilities, ensuring my escape would not be easily attempted.

When I had arrived at the tower for my new living situation, I received the not-so-surprising welcome from those heroes, and I often wondered who convinced SHIELD to let me be housed here. When my eyes landed on Y/N, those features reddened and her eye contact wavered, I knew it was here. I never brought it up, but as we conversed here and there throughout my time, her kindness compared to the others was a define confirmation where I never really needed to ask.

And our friendship grew.

Reader’s POV

Loki and I were similar in many ways- not so much the fact that he killed people or tried to take over the world or that he was narssassistic.. okay perhaps not that similar. Though in many house-life ways we seemed to be two peas in a pod.

I knew from the start the Avengers had sent me first to try to take him down, to put me to the test, so to speak, during my training days. To everyones surprise, he and I weren’t the stereotypical enemies. I would never admit it, but Loki was right.. fighting him was almost something I would look forward to, because we knew we couldn’t bring ourselves to kil each other.

Weve grown in friendship since he’s arrived, I noticed long before there was something different about him.. so I spoke with Fury and although Loki hasn’t figured it out yet- to my knowledge, I was assigned to secretly ‘babysit him’.

Whenever he entered the room, I couldn’t help but look at him with the feeling that my lips wanted to curl into a smile. There was a strange flutter in my chest, almost a wanting that I hoped he would sit next to me, talk to me, anything where I was really in his attention. He strongly disliked everyone else, perhaps me a bit less so I hope that wasn’t the main reason why he would come over..

I don’t want him to hate me..

We sat across from each other in another meeting, hosted by Rogers as he yet again had to debrief us on how we could do better on the latest assignment. From the corner of my eye, I could tell Loki was staring and I shifted a little shyly by his intense gaze. Whenever I would move to look back at him, his eyes were quick to move on Rogers and sometimes I would question if he had really been looking over here or not.

Just to test that theory, I would sometimes lean forward against my forearms on the table, my clevage showing a bit more with whatever top I was wearing that day. From the corner of my eye I could see Loki seeming to study my skin, him taking a strained swallow as he shifted in his seat sutly. I couldn’t help but smirk as I ‘listened’ to Steve, loving to tease this man to get back at mild mischief he would throw around in the tower when he was bored.

I would only sit back in my chair when I notice Tony activitly leaning forward to stare down my chest, hearing a growl form Loki as he seemed to look jealous before I would roll my eyes at Stark.

He would after flirt, casually of course in a normal conversation and catch me off guard where he’d smirk at how red my cheeks would get. Often mentally preparing myself to see him every day I would usually beat him to it with a flirtation inundo where he then would either stutter or turn away to try to make sure I wouldn’t see his own cheeks redden.

Cat and mouse, taking turns on who would be played and the player.

That’s how our relationship was, flirting and conversing. The only one who could hold up an interesting conversation around here and get me to think. He had so many ideas, good ones, and thoughts where we’d lose track of time. Truth be told I think I have began to gain feelings for this god.. and it scared me to death but upon seeing how.. for lack of a better term, weak, I could make him, it also made me feel bold, powerful, and I liked the person I was when I was around him.

Yet it’s not like he felt the same.. I probably was just another weak mortal in his eyes, decent enough to kill time with if this was all the options he had..

Nobody’s POV

Loki’s footsteps slowed, moving with causton down the halls as soon as he heard slight sound coming from the kitchen down the hall. Exactly where he was heading to In the middle of the night, as one does.

He was bare chested, black boxers being the only article of clothing he had on and with a dagger formulating in his hand as he neared the corner. No one has been up this late, and judging the cercumstances of where they were, you could never be to sure with the enemies that could pop up. Yet when he peaked around the corner, there was no enemy..

Her.

She had on.. very short shorts, a tank top with no sign of bra on as she kept her back to him at the stove. The dim stove top light was the only lighting she gave herself as she stirred something in the pop while his body relaxed with the non-threat.

Why was she up at this hour? He was only fetching himself a glass of water..

The dagger slowly vanished within thin air, his eyes starting from her ankles and slowly working their way up as he leaned himself against the doorframe. He had seen her in varies outfits- from work, to casual but never sleep attire. His teeth captured his bottom lip, feeling like he hasn’t blinked as he shifted himself by the slight growing reminder at how he felt towards her. Upon pawing at his boxers, he exhaled in slight discomfort and as soon as he noticed her body tensed, his hand moved to his side as she turned.

‘’oh! Loki-‘’ she gasped, quickly hushing herself as she grabbed her heart from the surprise. Her eyes seemed to widen at the sight of him, not exactly having seen him in his own sleep attire before- let alone shirtless. ‘’what are you-‘’

Playing it off quickly as if he hadn’t been staring for long a moment ago, he casually shrugged and moved himself towards the fridge with his eyes forward. ‘’I am merley fetching a glass of water, I am more curious as to why you would be cooking yourself a meal this late in the night?’’ he asked, glancing over at the stove as she turned off the burner.

‘’sometimes I just wake up with cravings- I wasn’t to hungry at dinner time so I suppose my body makes up for it now’’ she smiled sheepishly and leaned herself against the counter, watching him.

Loki gave a mild hum and a nod, taking a glass and turning around to face her. ‘’well do not mind me, I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything’’ he smirked and slowly sauntered over to her.

He could notice her breathing picking up as he stood before he, having to tilt his head down a little to look at her as his height served as a reminder.

‘’n-not at all-‘’ she shook her head, sucking in a breath as he raised his arm while he held eye contact, their expressions steady at a stalemate before he reached around her, his arm gliding against her side before he pulled back with the water pitcher in hand. Looking embarrassed, her eyes moved over to the stove, checking on nothing which made him smirk.

‘’is there a problem?’’

‘’of course not- I’m just waiting for you to finish up.’’ She said with quick defense where he couldn’t help but chuckle, motioning around him as he poured into his glass.

‘’I am not in your way darling, unless of course you require things from the fridge but I do remember you favor that particular meal as is- plain package contents.’’ He said with no judgement- not anymore, he had wrinkled his nose the first time he had seem packaged ramen but held back his negative opinions when she had him try it one day.

‘’I know I just- am not used to working in the kitchen with someone around..’’ she said and rubbed her arm as she seemed to want to close in on herself.

‘’that is not try Y/N, I distinctly remember you having no issue working in the kitchen when one is present,’’ he corrects calmly and takes a sip of his drink, eyeing her before he sets down the glass beside him. ‘’I think you are merely just not used to one seeing you in quite the.. intimate attire..’’ he smirked and she picked up on his teasing, narrowing her eyes as she crossed her arms to seem stubborn but she really just tried covering herself.

‘’I am perfectly fine, Loki, with cooking in anything with anyone. I just enjoy my peace and quiet and wish to resume it as soon as you leave.’’

‘’quite the lie darling, how long will you be keeping it up until you remember what the god of I am?’’ he laughed, quickly lowering his voice as he leaned against the counter across from her, almost acting as a mirror as he rests his palms beside him on its edge just as she did.

He couldn’t help but notice her- not so subtle- eyes roaming over his chest in quick movements as if he wouldn’t notice. Did she admire him as much as he admired her?.. or wasn’t strictly just their forms they liked..

‘’..was it an innuendo?’’ he asked, seeming to surprise himself as the words came out.

‘’-what was?’’ she asked, raising a brow as she thought if she said anything right now that would make him think that but he clarified with a shake of his head.

‘’in our last fight.. when I was free.. before all,’’ he waved his hand around as his eyes slowly raised over to hers. ‘’this..’’ he cheeks reddened at the very pit he had dug himself but he had to ask. ‘’you told me.. that you would rather put my mouth to better use-‘’

‘’that was strictly involving interrogation-‘’ she said quickly, her cheeks heating up as she turned herself around, gripping the counter edge in her hands as she kept her back to him.

She was hiding, quite shy and although he was rather embarrassed himself upon asking the question, he quite liked the way he could make her squirm this was as she hid her face from him. ‘’all of it?’’ he asked slowly and she knew he was waiting to try to read on if she would lie to him.

Her eyes studied the countertop, her mouth searching for words while her mind raced before she closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘’no..’’

Loki’s heart seemed to jump in his chest, his eyes looking over her back.. backside to be exact while he listened to her answer. So she did want him.. he began to take a small step forward, watching how she stayed still as she kept her back to him but she was very much listening to his movement. ‘’as it may seem.. I want you to Y/N.. but not in just that way..’’ he took a breath, finding it easier to confess while she wasn’t piercing him with her eyes and he continued on.

‘’your not like the other mor- ..humans.. your strong, you help others, your not selfish and dare I say just as mischievious as me.. intreging.. I’ve often looked forward to the next time we got to fight if it so meant being just a little bit more close to you..’’

By now he was standing behind her, seeing how she kept her head low and her body began to shake as she drew in a breath. ‘’..i like you too Loki.. you make me feel like I’m alive.. you make me want to be better.. stronger.. free.. I knew since day one you were holding back in the fight for a reason..’’

He slowly rested his hands along hers, his body hovering just barely against hers as his chin almost rested against her shoulder. His eyes fluttered closed, taking an inhale of her sweet scent he loved so much while he shook his head. ‘’I couldn’t hurt a sweet thing like you.. it was you who told Fury to put me here, wasn’t it? Out of the cell?’’ he finally asked and she nodded a little, looking forward as she straightened a little, bringing her body up so her shoulder was resting now against his chin.

He took this as an okay to rest a little weight on her, his chin down on her shoulder while his hands moved to rest on top of hers. His body was so close to hers, he could feel her body heat radiating off of her skin and his cock throbbed as he could smell her arousal. Her sweet.. sweet scent..

‘’thank you Y/N..’’ he whispered, grateful every day to be stuck here if I meant being close to her like this. Glass between them didn’t cut it. His thumb gently stroked her smooth skin on her hand, his brows furrowing as the straining reminder and he took a shaky breath. ‘’..does the offer still stand?’’ he whispered, asking the same question he had asked a long time ago.

His body tensed, holding itself back to remain in control as she slowly nodded and whispered back, ‘’yes..’’

Moving ever so slowly, keeping in control and full prepared to stop himself if she would change her mind, he pressed himself up against her, his bulge resting against her ass while his chest pressed against her back. His hand slowly left her own and moved to her waist, his palm flat as it glided down her hip and moved so his fingers could dip under the edge of her shorts.

With one last hesitation as if she would change her mind, his hand moved into her shorts, dipping into her underwear and found out just how aroused she was. They both seemed to suck in a breath, her body beginning to shake as he buried his face against the side of her neck and hair.

‘’gods Y/N.. how long have you dripped for me..’’ he breathed and felt her body tense as she bit her lip.

‘’to long..’’ she whispered and felt the pads of his two finger tips began to rub lazy circles against her clit.

Her hips seemed to press forward into his hand, her head falling back to rest against his shoulder while his hand stroked through her folds. Her breathing was shallow and she arched her back a bit when he began slowly grinding his bulge against her ass, following the same rhythem of his hand.

His own body shook a bit, his breathing seeming to match hers as he nuzzled his cheek against hers, their eyes closed as they feel into the sensation of lust while Loki moved his hand so his thumb could take over her clit while a digit began ghosting her enterance, teasing her as he moved his finger barely in and out.

Her fists clenched as she bit her lip, the teasing slowly driving her made and she could almost see the smug look on his face as he waited for her to give him what she wanted. She wasn’t having that and instead, pushed her ass a bit into his crotch, pushing him a step back before pulling his hand out by her wrist before she turned herself around.

Loki smirked, following her intentions as his hands moved to her waist and helped her jump onto the counter, her legs spread while he made quick work to pull her shorts and panties off all in one go. He had to take a pause, the sight to beautiful to just admire as his hands gripped the counters edge alongside her spread legs while she rested back on her palms.

His mouth seemed to water at the sight of her cunt, ready and waiting while he sank to a knee. The care if someone would walk in was long gone for them both as Loki moved his hands to grip her hips before he dipped his head between her legs. The very taste of her had him pulling her forward so she was closer to the edge, her legs shaking to almost squeezing his head while her own rested back with her eyes up to the ceiling.

‘’fuckk..’’ she breathed, her fingers gripping the edge as he moaned, lapping her center while his vibrations helped her along to build her pleasure.

Silver tongue alright and he couldn’t get enough of her as he ate like a man starved. He lapped through her folds, taking turns suckling at her clit and tongue fucking into her center while her hand moved to his hair.

His locks were silky smooth, her fingers tangling themselves in his hair while she panted for her sweet release. His careful slow movements made her eyes flutter open, noticng how he slowed as soon as her cunt began clenching against his tongue and she bit her lip. Replaying his tongue with the pad of his finger, he kept her on that glorious edge while he rubbed into her clit, raising his head as he smirked up at her.

‘’say it.’’

She held her breath, cheeks heating up as her fingers gripped his hair, knowing he was to strong to pull him back down herself as his eyes pierced hers. With a shaky breath, she knew what he wanted.. she knew for so long what he wanted..

‘’please.. oh god please Loki.. please let me cum..’’ she begged, a whine in her tone as tears of sexual frustration build up pricked her eyes as he gave her that all to familiar smirk.

‘’as my lady commands,’’ he purred before moving his hand back to her hip and replaced it with his tongue, plunging it in and out of her center while the tip of his nose rubbed against her clit.

Her hips began bucking, her grip tightened in his hair before she threw her head back and moaned, shamelessly moaning his name as her eyes fluttered closed while she came. Loki wasted not a single drop as he drank her in, his hands rubbing up and down her thighs soothingly, almost like that alone was telling her good girl..

With shallow breaths, she felt his mouth slow its movements, helping her ride out her orgasm while her body shook. Pulling his body back slowly, he gave each inside of her thigh a kiss before he raised himself to be nose to nose with her, his palms resting beside her thighs as he smirked.

‘’how’s that for holding back?”

Her eyes widened as her hands moved to grip his shoulders. ‘’you were holding back??”

‘’do you think I hold back just in battle darling? I do not wish to break my fair mortal’’ he smirked and his eyes glanced over her before flicking back up. ‘’we are merely in the kitchen, if you wish for a proper.. fucking, then to the bedroom we go.’’

Her cheeks heated up and the realization that it gets 10000 times better- impossibly- made her eyes flick down to his raging erection. That piercing gaze of hers moved back up to his own and she mirrored his smirk as she moved a hand down to where he wanted her most.

‘’how about we put my mouth to use too..’’

Loki smirked and pulled her forward, her arms wrapped around his neck while her legs around his waist.

‘’..i will accept that offer in.. full.’’

DM a song for your very own Musical Mischief one shot :D

Tag List: @foxherder  @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz

[shanieveh]

REVERSE 07↺: this isn’t the end

wriothesley x fem!reader

Now playing: From the start — Laufey

“Dear Wriothesley,”

The letter was in his hand, like it was in yours before.

Your hand.

One that he used to touch, to feel, to hold.

“I’m leaving, I recently got the scholarship and I dont want anything to disturb me, not even you.”

At that time, he was filled with life, but he understood now. That life was always something he had to sacrifice so much for.

“Thank you for introducing me to your silly tea parties, as we delude ourselves to be the seven deadly sins.”

A breath, a tear, a memory.

“I know you’ll fill that party, the three of us will turn to seven. I would dearly miss being lust, and trying to kiss you.”

He continued reading it.

“So take risks okay! I know you wanted that basketball spot, so practice. Not to much tea now, will you.”

He looks back at his trophy room, one where you once lay with him as he tells you his dreams and aspirations.

“Election is coming up though, how about you start from the bottom and work your way up to the top! Maybe you can get representative of the batch now, oh I can’t wait to see you president!”

Laufey was always your favorite artist, he remembered memorizing a whole song to sing to you. He courted you for months, he loved you for years.

“But I reject you Rio, after all the flowers and songs, I realized this relationship was worthless.”

He was worthless.

He remembered being mad about everything, how can he not when he was the used to being alone in everything. He begged for you to notice him months prior, to just be in the same room as him.

Just a few months later, you came back a new person, a person he never knew. It was like you lost everything, with the brand new friends. But he will always keep his promise.

After all he knew why you had to leave, it was all his fault.

He rejected you, he ignored you, a bit of him loathe your whole existence. Wriothesley couldn’t bear even drinking tea, not until a purple haired girl told him he was allowed to be happy.

And that purple haired, turns to a whole circle of friends, one of his own.

But the duke remembers the clear words he said, running after you, the moment he read the whole letter.

“One day, if we no longer have burdens to deal with, can you finally pick me?”

One day, this isn’t the end.

Even if it meant just being friends, just seeing you from afar, he would do it all for your happiness.

He never understood why you changed, and he never understood why he still loved you anyway.

“So I’ll take my goodbyes. Thank you for the memories and I’m sorry for my rejection, I hope you find someone better.”

——————————[ 06 —↺— 08 ]——————————

the whole campus knows about your 3 year crush on the student body president and basketball captain wriothesley. you were fine with his constant ignoring and rejections until something happened, until you stopped, and a reverse took place... now he won't leave you alone.

TAGLIST I: @vash-yuu @nayukiyukihira @aethion @whodissbitj @astolary @ayayaaayyiirel @randomidk-123 @superdark-soul @sleepy-waffle @kittywagun @ceaether @ichorstainedskin @numwoon44 @eutopiastar @reni502 @fictionalfantasy17 @lucienbarkbark @kyon-cherri @huanator @jqnehr @yourlittlemissworld @zworllyx @unknownlololol @sara-midnight @jaguarthecat @we-wo-we-wo @duhsies @interstellar-equilibrium @ariparri @lolmeowing @aruatsu @k-cris @quacking-simp @vlamouren @semi-orangeapple @tamikahoshiko @imnotgoodwithnamessoidk @portgas459ace @r4yyyyy @vxnuslogy @kazuhasmaid @explosive-wuisa @falors @rirk-ke @shotovhs @aixaingela @ruhaxol @yelleloww @sc1twi @ash4ree

[marvelavengerspovs1]

Comfort

Pairing: Bucky x F!reader

Warnings: Light mention of politics, fluff

Length: 494

Summary: Bucky comforts you during your time in need.

A/N: Normally I’m not one to be overly vocal about my beliefs, but after the shit show that was the election, I can’t not be. If you know me, I believe that everyone deserves rights, no matter who they are, how they identify, who they love, etc. The type of hate that we see now is only going to increase and I cannot stand by and not say anything. My page will always be a safe space for everyone, no matter what. I wrote this partially to comfort myself, but now I am posting it for everyone else who also needs this. To my friends who are going to be affected by this, I am so sorry that this country has failed you. I am sorry that your rights will be affected by this. I am sorry that people carry this immense amount of hate and don’t know how to mind their own business. Know this; My page will be a safe space for you to be yourself, even in this horrible time. You have someone in your corner who will not judge you and cares for your overall well being. We may not know each other, but I support you.

This is not proofread, I just wanted to put this out.

I do not consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!

You lay in your bed, thinking about life. It’s a tough pill to swallow. There are no words to describe the devastation you feel for your friends and family. You continue to stare up at the ceiling, thinking about how much you wished Bucky was home.

Bucky had left a few days prior on a mission. While it shouldn’t be much longer, you still wished he was home. You wished that you could lay in his arms and cry while he held you, telling you that he would do everything in his power to try to help you.

You are so lost in thought, you don’t hear the front door to your apartment open. 

Bucky quietly opens the door, hoping to not disturb you. He gently locks the door and takes off his boots, leaving them by the front door. Alpine is the first to greet him, rubbing against his leg. 

Bucky picks her up to pet her, giving her a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Hey girl, is she still in bed?”

Alpine purrs to say yes and rubs herself on Bucky’s chest. Bucky frowns slightly but he knew you would be like this. He walks to your shared bedroom, knocking on the door.

“Doll?” He asks tentatively.

Your heart jumps before you turn your head. “Hey, Buck.” You whisper with a small smile and tears in your eyes.

Bucky gently puts Alpine on the bed and cuddles up right next to you. “I’m so sorry, Doll.”

You only nod your head and turn your body to be engulfed by him, wrapping your leg around his waist. “You just being here is helping.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, only rubbing your back and kissing your temple as you cry in his arms. If there was anything he could do, he would do it. But that’s not possible and he wants to destroy everything because of it.

“I got you, Doll. You can cry, scream, punch, do whatever you need to do.”

You shake your head. “I just need to be with you.”

Bucky nods. “Then we can lay here and waste the day away. Have you eaten?”

You shake your head once more. “No.”

Bucky frowns slightly. “Doll, you need to eat. It’s almost 3 pm.” Alpine meows in agreement.

“I know, I just couldn’t pull myself out of bed.” You reach for Alpine and she lays between you and Bucky, purring at her favorite humans.

“Ok, well do you want to order food?”

You shake your head and scrunch your face. “I feel like if I eat, I’m going to throw up.”

Bucky looks you in the eyes. “Baby, I know. But you have to eat. How about I make you some toast? It’ll fuel you and isn’t super heavy.”

You nod. “Yeah, ok.”

Bucky kisses your forehead. “I know Doll, but we’ll get through this. I will do everything in my power to make sure that you’ll be ok.”