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xhopelesslyromanticx · 3 years ago

Text

Concussed Confession - Mason Mount / Dele Alli x Reader

Kinda sucks.

Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of blood, fainting

summary: In which the reader is happily dating Mason when she gets hit in the face with a door by her ex boyfriend.

Even during Chelseas warm up, you couldn’t help but notice the eyes of three Tottenham players on you. As they stood off pitch whispering and giggling like little kids.

You felt like you were back on the schoolyard as you buried your face in your jacket while sitting on the bench, swinging your legs. You couldn’t believe he was actually behaving like this. It was even worse than you had imagined.

„What is their fucking problem?“ Timo now said, his german accent as strong as ever.

Struggling with the aftermath of Covid he had to be benched again today. It wasn’t really a good time for the team. With many injured or sick. But as the sport psychologist on the team, you had tried your best to mentally prepare the guys for the game today.

Especially with Romelu back the tension was high but everyone was just trying to do their best including you. Although it was kind of hard as you were competing against your ex-club today.

Having left Tottenham a year ago to work at Chelsea, you and the opponent obviously had history. The reasoning for your departure from your hometowns club had never really been revealed and you were planning on that staying like that.

Especially now that you were dating Mason, who probably would flip out if he knew the truth. The whole club knew about your relationship, the world didn‘t though. You didn’t want to take away from your professionalism and neither did Mason.

Although you weren’t assigned as Masons psychologist, you still didn‘t want people to get the wrong idea and question you discretion as a therapist.

„No seriously.“ Timo groaned still focused on the three guys watching you „Can they go? It’s our time to train now!“

You chuckled, burying your hands in the pockets of your jacket „Just ignore them Timo.“

Admittedly that was easier said than done as Son, Lloris and well Dele weren’t being discreet about talking about you. You know Son wasn’t doing it on purpose, he had a way too pure soul for it. And Lloris probably only understood half of Deles stupid jokes.

But Dele. Oh, boy Dele. You knew first hand how mean he could be. For the longest time it you just believed it would never be targeted towards you but that‘s how easy it is for people to change.

„Y/n…“ you were ripped out your daydreaming by your boyfriend. Mason sprinted towards the benches, dressed in his training attire and his beanie that you always thought looked really cute.

When he arrived at the bench, he leaned himself over the railing to where Timo and you were seated. He bit his lips before grinning „Did you see me hit the crossbar baby?“

Before you could even say anything you were interrupted by Timo „No we didn’t man, we were annoyed by these three idiots watching us.“

„Who?“ your boyfriend furrowed his eyebrows, immediately looking around the pitch when his eyes landed on the Tottenham players.

Lloris and Son were still laughing about something as Dele had his hands buried in the pockets of his joggers while throwing daggers over at you. If looks could kill, you be plenty dead by now.

„What the fuck is up with him!“ Mason hissed immediately tensing up as he stared straight at the older guy.

„I don’t know…“ you lied as you grabbed Masons arm, trying to get him to stop staring „Just ignore him Mase.“

„Alright.“ Mason shook his head, putting his focus back on you „They can’t be mad you left over a year ago, can they?“

„I don’t know.“ you shrugged your shoulders.

But one thing you knew for sure was that Dele wasn’t mad because of that. He was mad because when you left Tottenham you also left him.

The day didn’t seem to want to pass. You wanted nothing more than for the match to finally be done with and it was a relief when the fans finally entered the stadium.

Around this time you were mostly there to keep the teams nerves calm as they got mentally ready for the game. But as they all got changed, you decided you’d go empty the wending machine out in the hall.

Stocked on snacks and drinks that keep you satisfied during the game you made your way back to the locker room. You must have overseen the door that was opening towards you but next thing you knew, your peanuts were splattered on the ground as you rubbed your forehead in agony.

„Ouch.“ you groaned, looking up and your mood immediately changed. Dele was standing there already in his jersey as he looked at you in total shook.

„Oh my god!“ he exclaimed, as you looked at your hand and saw what he was so shocked about. Blood.

„Am I bleeding?“ you asked, your head feeling drowsy. You didn’t react well to blood.

„No?“ Dele tried to lie, so you wouldn’t freak out. He took a step towards you, hesitantly putting his hands on your shoulder to make sure you wouldn’t fall. You looked at him, your vision already a little blurry. Your head hurt like a bitch and you even felt like you were starting to get nauseous.

„I think we need to get you to the medic.“ Dele said, trying to read your expression.

„Oh, I’m for sure not going to the medic with you.“ you scrunched up your face, looking at your ex boyfriend.

„Oh come on Y/n.“ he sighed, trying to get you to walk.

After a while you decided to just go with him. Really not feeling well. The fog in your brain getting heavier as you started rambling something to Dele.

„But my peanuts.“ you slurred, taking slow steps as Dele supported you by your waist.

„I’ll buy you new ones after.“ he chuckled, shaking his head. Never in a million years had he envisioned the day going like this.

„Alrighty.“ you sighed, closing your eyes to cope with the nausea „But I don’t think my boyfriend would like that very much.“

Dele swallowed dryly, he knew you were concussed and wouldn’t have actually told him this. But somehow he still had to know „Your boyfriend?“

„Yes, Mason? Duh!“

Mason immediately got worried when he walked on the pitch and didn’t see you on the benches. Asking around the team where you were and no one having seen you.

Of course he couldn’t concentrate on the game after that. He was to frustrated that no one was making any effort to look for you.

Timo having told him you had gone to get snacks and never came back. He truly hoped you were fine.

Inside at the medic, Dele sat as he watched the doctor exam you. His palms sweaty while he nervously bounced his leg. He looked at the clock, by now they had probably noticed he was gone. He just had to make it by the second half or else he’d have huge problems.

But Dele also knew he couldn’t leave you alone. Not after literally hitting the door in your face. He just couldn’t.

„So I had to do a couple of stitches for the wound on your forehead.“ the doctor said as he looked back and forth between you and Dele who just sighed „And as for the nausea and dizziness, I’m pretty sure that you might have a slight concussion. I can’t be sure though, you would have to go to the hospital for confirmation.“

„But I can’t go to hospital.“ you told the doctor, rolling your eyes „I had to be on that field over twenty minutes ago. There’s no way I’m gonna be able-“

„Y/N…“ Dele tried to calm you down as he put his hand on your shoulder.

„No, stop it Dele!“ you hissed, shrugging it off before getting up from the chair.

Immediately you felt dizzy but deciding to be strong you started making your way out the emergency room. Dele following behind you, cursing to himself.

„Y/n! For fucks sake!“ he yelled, as you walked all the way down the tunnel „You have to go to a freaking hospital.“

„I won’t.“ you tried to sound normal, but your head was spinning like crazy „I have to do my job Dele!“

„I’ve it had only been that hard for you to leave Tottenham.“ Dele whispered to himself, thinking you wouldn’t be able to hear. But you did. How dare he?

„What?“ you hissed, stopping in your tracks as you turned around looking at his cold expression.

„You know exactly what I mean.“ he whispered, sounding bitter as he stared you down.

„That wasn’t like that Dele.“ you shook your head, not believing he was actually doing this right now „You think it was easy for me to leave Tottenham? Turn my back on the club that I bascially grew up in? No it wasn’t Dele!“

„Then why did you do it!“ Dele yelled, sounding extremly frustrated „I mean I offered you everything. I even offered you to fucking marry me Y/n! And you just left without even saying goodbye!“

„Oh, I’m sorry Dele but offering someone to marry you after cheating on them is sort of severly messed up!“ you spat out before turning around and continuing your way down the hallway.

After all this time Dele still didn’t seem to understand that you weren’t able to forgive him for cheating on you. Probably still thinking his actions could somehow be justified. That he was in a whole other country and just needed someone to satisfy him and make him feel less alone.

You walked out the tunnel, overwhelmed by all the chanting fans. Showing your badge to one of the security guards. Feeling Dele follow closesly behind you, luckily having finally shut up.

Mason immediately noticed you walking out the tunnel. He squinted his eyes, trying to see what was going on. You were talking to the security guard and none other than Dele was standing just a few meters behind you.

Mason obviously was confused, he didn’t undertand what the hell had happened.

It was only when Tuchel started screaming at him to concentrate on the game that he got ripped out of his daydreaming. With a weird feeling in his stomach he continued to play, every once in a while looking over at you.

„God what the heck happened to you?“ Timo asked when you sat down next to him.

„Shh…“ you shushed him, not wanting to catch everybody's attention „I got hit in the face by Dele.“

„He hit you?“ Timo hissed, immediately looking like he was ready to fight.

„No Timo, Dele didn’t hit me!“ you rolled your eyes, looking at the german guy „He hit me in the face wit a door.“

„What?“ Timo asked and you just shook your head „Whatever Timo. It doesn’t matter let’s just watch the game.“

You noticed that Chelsea was already winning as you looked at the guys play under the night sky. Fans cheering them on proudly.

Mason looked a lot more nervous than normally even though they were winning. You just hoped he was fine. Feeling a little guilty for having completely forgot about him the past hour.

Your head still hurt a lot and the loud noise wasn’t helping. But as long as you were just sitting you figured you’d be fine. You tried to not think about Dele or the conversation you guys had. You shouldn’t even bother. After all he truly didn’t seem to have grown up one bit.

As the whistle blew, half time. All the players got off the field, fans cheering them on.

„I’m so hungry.“ Timo yawned, stretching himself as he walked next to you.

You tried your best to focus on your steps, feeling your head spin around again. Then as soon as you were in the tunnel, out of peoples and the cameras sight, Mason walked towards you.

Your boyfriend looked at you with furrowed brows, when he saw the stitches on your forehead his expression immediately changed to an extremely worried one.

„Oh my god.“ he grabbed your face, examining the stitched up wound „What happened?“

„I…got…“ you stuttered, trying to come up with an answer that didn’t involve Dele.

„She got hit in the face by this Dele guy.“ Timo now said. You had completely forgot he was still standing there.

„What he hit you?“ Mason hissed, tensing up and it almost made you chuckle.

„No it was just the door!“ you sighed but it didn’t seem to calm your boyfriend „He accidentaly hit me in the face with the door. So we went to the medic and they gave me stitches.“

„Why didn’t you come and get me!“ Mason exclaimed, holding you by your waist.

„Because I was too busy bleeding out plus you had the game.“ you sighed, not really thinking any of it.

„Well, I still want to be there for you…“ Mason practically whined, not caring that people where starting to stare.

„Mase…“ you sighed, trying to calm him down a little „It really isn’t that serious. Just focus on the game and forget about this!“

The second half of the match was just a tad uncomfortable. With Mason now being mad at you for not coming to him. What did he expect? You’d go get him off the field?

Things got a lot worse when Dele made his appearance on the field. Mason was throwing just daggers at the guy while Dele tried his best to get his team at least one score.

Mason could truly be petty sometimes. You knew that. But what happened next did suprise you, to say the least.

It was in the 85th minute when Mason was passed the ball by his teammate. He started sprinting across the midfield, being able to leave behind all his opponents. And then; it was obvious. There was no way around Dele. He was just standing there waiting to maybe steal the ball from Mason.

But he didn’t even get the chance because Mason lifted the ball off the ground as he shot it straight towards Deles face. There was justified uproar from the Tottenham fans as the referee immediately blew the whistle.

Dele covered his face with his hands in no time, clearly in pain as blood started dripping from his nose onto his jersey.

There was a small moment as Dele realized what had happened. He looked at Mason, pissed off to say the least as he walked over to him and pushed him back by his shoulders.

The two of them yelling at each other but you couldn’t quite make out the words. Instead of doing the decent thing and stopping, Mase also pushed Dele. All of this happened before all the guys started aquimilating.

You were so mad. Lately Mason could get so unnecessarily angry on the pitch. It was like he’d get ticked off by the smallest things. It was only a matter of time till he faced repercussions and it seemed like today was his due date.

Mason and Dele both faced a red card. The Tottenham fans were out of their minds, angry at the referees decision, so was the whole team as they all stood there watching their teammate walk off the pitch with a bloody nose. If only one of them had a little maturity. Then this all wouldn’t have happened.

There was a lot of chatter on the benches and you couldn’t handle it. This whole whirlwind was making you nauseous and your head hurt even more than it already did.

You walked into the tunnel, hearing some voices call your name. Your vision was blurry as you tried to make your way inside. When you spotted Mason about to go into the locker rooms.

„Mase!“ you yelled, making him stop in his tracks. He looked up at you with his head hanging low. Clearly disappointed. „What the hell just happened out there Mason?“

„When were you gonna tell me.“ Mason pressed his lips together, his expression blank.

„Tell you what?“ you asked, looking up at him with furrowed brows.

„About Dele.“ he stated, as you felt your blood leave your head.

He told him. For fucks sake.

„What did he tell you?“

„So it’s true?“ Mason chuckled, shaking his head „So he was right-“

„Right about what Mason?“ you asked, not understanding what he was trying to tell you but also fearing what Dele might have said to him.

„He said that this is what you do.“ Mason stated, crossing his arms „You know you get into peoples heads with your little psychology thing and then you drop them like cold meat.“

„Excuse me!“ you hissed, feeling deeply offended by his words.

„If that’s not your plan then why didn’t you tell me about him!“

You didn’t even say another word. Turning around, walking away from Mason. And then only a few meters away; Dele was standing. Trying to stop his bleeding nose with tissues as he stared at you and Mason.

„You!“ you yelled as you walked over to your ex boyfriend „What the fuck Dele!“

Dele muttered something, which you couldn’t make out. Because when you saw his blood that was basically your last straw. You felt your eyes flutter and next thing you knew you fell down to the ground. And then it was just all black.

„Dele you idiot! Watch the fucking monitors.“

You blinked, hearing voices and the sound of a beeping machine.

„Fuck off Mount!“ you slowly opened your eyes, seeing the shilouette of two guys in front of your bed.

„No you almost yanked them… Y/N!“ Mason rushed over to your side, still in his jersey „Are you okay honey?“

„Yes…“ you stuttered, trying to remember what happened. Looking around the room, seeing Dele stand there. It was clearly a hospital room „What happened?“

„You passed out in the tunnel.“ Mason stated, holding your hand gently „You didn’t tell me you had a concussion. I had to find out from Mister "I hit girls in the face with doors" over there.“

Dele rolled his eyes as you chuckled, looking at your boyfriend. Your head was still hurting but other than that you felt a lot better.

„You two brought me here?“ you furrowed your brows, looking back and forth between the two guys „Together?“

„Yes. unfortunately we’re both decent human beings.“ Dele sighed, looking at the floor „Well… I think I’ll leave you two to talk a little bit. Gotta make some calls anyways.“

Dele made his way over to the door and just before he left you called him „Dele. Wait.“

Your ex boyfriend turned around, looking at you expectantly. Maybe you were wrong about him. After all he did seem too have grown up quite a bit. Maybe it was time you forgive him for what he had done, so both of you could move on. He deserved an explanation and you'd definitely talk to him.

„Thank you.“ you smiled and he gave you a weak smile in return before leaving the hospital room.

There was a moment of silence before Mason cleared his throat.

„I’m sorry honey.“ he shook his head as you just caressed his cheek.

„It’s okay.“ you mumbled, biting your lips „I should have told you about Dele. It was just that no one knew and I was scared of what you might think of me if I told you. But you have to believe me when I say that what I have wit you Mason is a hundred percent different. What we have is actually real.“

„I know.“ he smiled, before placing his lips on yours softly as if he was scared to hurt you.

You smiled into the kiss, running your fingers through his hair „I love you Mase.“

„I love you too.“ he chuckled, pulling away a little „And I hope you’re not just saying that because of the concussion.“

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well-its-not-human-anymore · 4 years ago

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Hi! Could I get HC from the guys? 👀 How they would always react to catching the reader seeing them "badly", in addition to the fact that he usually avoids them, but with his brothers it is incredible and they feel bad because they think they do not like him. But she actually likes them and she looks at them like that because she "studies" them to draw them and she is too clumsy and shy to talk to them, that's why she ends up avoiding them. Until finally he catches her drawing them with lots of hearts or maybe they'll find her notebook with lots of portraits of them.

It's kind of funny because when I study people to draw them, they think that I look at them with hatred xd maybe I should increase my glasses prescription

God, glasses are such a pain in the ass but I have to wear them. If I don't anyone within my near vicinity doesn't have a face. But why they gotta get dirty so easily???? Makes me wanna explode or something

TMNT Headcanons

The boys w/ a quiet reader who is fine with his brothers but acts cold around him and stares a lot

Michaelangelo

mikey couldn't describe his disappointment upon realizing that you didn't want to be friends with him

well, you never actually said that to him

but he was pretty sure it was the case

you'd never made an effort to be friends with him

stared at him an awful lot though, but there was always something off about your gaze when you looked at him

like you were sizing him up, scrutinizing him, like he was an opponent

it kinda worried him

to add to that, you didn't even attempt to look embarrassed when he caught you staring

you'd just stare harder

on your end it was quite the opposite

you always found the brothers fascinating and you LOVED studying their anatomy, you'd confessed this to Donnie early on and he happily indulged in your questions

and you loved how easily you got along with the boys

well, except for Mikey

but it wasn't for a lack of trying

whenever the orange sporting turtle came around your normally flamboyant personality crept back into its little corner and hid

any words of excitement that had previously been with you died in your throat

for the longest time you didn't understand it

and you hated not understanding things, so you turned to your only outlet

that's how you ended up with an entire sketchbook full of the youngest brother in vastly different styles and poses

you had a separate book for the others, none of them as detailed as this

and when you stared to analyze you'd fallen into a habit of not looking away when caught

by your logic, if you stared back hard enough he'd look away first or just assume you'd zoned out

he didn't

and on one hectic day you'd left your sketchbook open on the kitchen table in your rush to get to work

you hadn't even noticed the slip up until Leo texted you to let you know during your shift

instant panic

in truth, Mikey was the one who discovered the book upon waking up from his nap and he'd spent the next three hours analyzing every drawing

when you finally dropped in after work to grab your book the turtle was waiting for you with it in hand

he'd asked you if you hated him

you told him no and accepted your sketchbook from him

he was relieved and screaming excitedly, just in his head

"Do you maybe wanna hang out sometime?"

You sighed in relief and nodded

"If you're cool with it- you don't think I'm weird do you?"

"I mean- you are talking to a turtle..."

you lightly shoved his chest and smiled, although it faded within a second

"Oh hush, 10 o'clock tomorrow? I'll bring snacks."

he was so stunned he could only shoot you finger guns in approval

Donatello

Donnie genuinely couldn't understand your unease around him

he'd followed all the proper expectations of holding a conversation

he was polite and engaging

so why wouldn't you talk to him?

this boy has read so many social blogs to try and figure out what he was doing wrong and he just couldn't put his finger on it

you were fine with the rest of his brothers, you'd stay up for hours laughing and gaming with them

you'd even sat still long enough to listen to Leo explain some old Japanese myth that he'd read about in a book

but with him it was always a quick, cordial greetings and farewells with bland small talk in between

Donnie had picked up pretty quickly that you weren't interested in any sort of interaction with him

and he convinced himself that that was okay

but that didn't explain the staring

he'd caught you in the act several times, eyes narrowed and locked on him

especially when you were alone with him in a room or just in the lair

the poor turtle just couldn't put his finger on it

then he caught you drawing, he noticed early on that you always carried a small sketchbook on your person but he didn't think much of it

and it wasn't so much that he caught you drawing, in fact, he wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't snapped at him while he was trying to do a sudoku puzzle

"Damn it Donnie! Stop moving! If I fuck this arm up one more time I'm gonna decompose!"

he'd quickly moved back into the position he was in prior

"sorry?"

but you'd gone silent again, occasionally glancing up from your work and running your eyes along his frame before looking down again

nearly twenty minutes later Donnie had finished the puzzle and it seemed as though you had finished your drawing

"Uh- can I ask what are you-"

"I'm drawing you but you kept moving your arm and making me mess up. You always do that when I draw you so every damn picture I have of you stays a sketch because you always come out looking like a fucking octopus."

He just stared

"Sorry, I uh- I didn't mean to explode on you like that. I'm just- I'm really bad at talking to you okay? It's so easy with everyone else but you've just gotta be so damn smart all the time and I worry that you'll think I'm boring so I just... don't talk to you?"

Donnie is stunned™

You refuse to show him the drawing until you can complete the line art and color it

But at least he knows that you don't hate him

Leonardo

To be completely honest Leo didn't mind that you were distant from him

You created an aura of calm when you were around and you always managed to distract his brothers while you were present

And he enjoyed the alone time

But after a few months that calm acceptance turned into jealousy

Not that he would ever admit it

He would just push it off and ignore it, that usually seemed to work

So why wasn't it?

And your obvious staring problem didn't help at all

Leo didn't spend much time considering his appearance but something about your gaze made him self conscious

And he hated that with a passion

Why was it that you could hold entire debates with his siblings? Even his dad for gods sake. You'd have hour long conversations on almost everything but whenever he tried to say hello you'd make up some lame ass excuse and scamper away

He just wanted an explanation

It appeared that the answer resided in your sketchbook

You'd left it open on the couch when Raph had called you away to spar with him

Leo very delicately flipped through the pages, careful not to disturb some of the polaroid pictures of his brothers

He was admittedly surprised to find pictures of himself among the pages

One of him in a handstand, another of him meditating, there was even one of him mid sneeze that you'd recreated with pencil and paper

The image of his eyes was the most startling, but the book held no polaroid of his eyes

You drew them from memory

And he was shocked when you returned to the room and didn't immediately panic

But that might have been because he didn't try to withhold your book from you

"It took me three months to color them, your eyes. I could never get the shade of blue just right."

"I'm gonna be honest with you y/n, I really thought you didn't like me."

You had the nerve to roll your eyes and follow it with a laugh

"I don't. I mean- I do but no, you just remind me a lot of myself and I haven't exactly figured out why yet. I thought that maybe if I drew you it'd be easier to figure you out..."

"Well did it help?"

You grinned

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Raphael

If there was one thing Raph hated it was not understanding something that was right in front of him

which is ironic, as a much younger version of himself probably couldn't care less

and a part of him wishes he didn't care about it so much

he wishes that your blatant avoidance of him didn't upset him

but shit, it got under his skin better than any needle ever could

was it too much to ask for you to just tell him what he said or did wrong?

was he asking too much of you?

but on the same scale you'd never shown obvious dislike towards him, you were never rude and you sure as hell didn't talk shit about him to his brothers

you got along great with them

in fact it was getting more difficult to remember a time before you became a part of his family

he'd become so used to your presence that it no longer put him off when he found you hanging around the lair

but in another sense he was certain that you hadn't spoken more than three sentences to him in your time knowing him or his family

so what was the reason

several months in he finally caught onto the staring, your narrow, glassy gaze locked onto his body and refusing to look away

he stared right back at you

this annoyed you for several reasons

because within five seconds your very peaceful drawing session had turned into a staring contest and your eyes were getting VERY dry

then you exhaled in a half-sigh and looked back down at your paper

"Huh, I guess your head is more of an oblong shape..."

he took offense to this

"What tha' hell is that supposed t'mean?"

now your eyes held more of an amused silent judgement, you begrudgingly held up your sketchbook

"I'm drawing you, you fucking walnut."

"Oh..."

now you rolled you eyes and tossed the book to him, he nearly dropped it and fumbled with the pages

your annoyance was quickly growing

"Careful with that."

He flipped through the pages at a snails pace, assumingly because he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing

you had some real talent

when he looked back up at you he was wearing that crooked smile

"and here I was thinkin' that my eyes were just green."

Hope I was able to get this down pretty well! I really enjoyed writing this one! Thanks for the patience!

-Mars 🌠

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt headcanons #tmnt x reader #writing blog #writing requests #askbox #ask response #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donatello #tmnt raphael #tmnt michelangelo

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rotshop · 3 years ago

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Heyo ✌🏻! ik know this request can be kinda wierd but...How would the madcom main trio + (anyone you'd like to add) react to a Half-dragon!reader who can actually transforms into a dragon when angry? thx! ~🦉anon

dw its not weird!!! /gen its a rlly neat idea and i am looking so intently,,,also i hope u dont mind i just went w/ tha main trio wyduesdc,,

theres a good title right here i promise

Hank

-this man is so so curious about you its insane. the amount of time you'll just be sitting down reading or watching something and he'll just. come up behind you and quietly ask permission before he jut like. traces your wings / horns really carefully

-he still wont ever like. FIGHT fight with you but he kinda likes to just see what you can do??? if you seem kinda clueless or lost in that field then he definitely tries to help (please consider ; his calloused hands over your own while he readjusts your grip on some weapon, the little pleased hum and quick compliment he gives when you get it right) you out. also if you ever kinda like. headbutt him or something bc of your horns during these he just laughs and its rlly nice :]

-messes with ur claws a lot too, whenever u guys hold hands its a guarantee that he's gonna fidget with them a little. he just thinks they are Neat. also he's like sheriff (/derogatory) in the way that he kinda blanks whenever he sees your sharp teeth. if you ever kind of. use them in fights against grunts or agents he just stares. it makes him go head empty no thoughts

-unfortunately it is VERY hard to carry him when flying so you don't really get that option unless ur pissed :[

-SPEAKING OF, whenever he sees you shift during missions or something he does his best to give you a little space so you don't have to worry abt accidentally hitting him. also he thinks you're fucking legendary with how you can rip and tear through enemies

-after the fights over tho he'll usually just kinda place his hands on either side of your face and lean his forehead against you to try and calm you back down

Deimos

-fire starter x fire starter what could go wrong!!! <33333 you breathe little huffs of smoke whenever you're upset and sometimes he'll just imitate you with his own smoke lmao

-also very very curious about all ur nonhuman features !! he likes messing with your wings a lot whenever you two cuddle and he'll just kinda. 'does this hurt / can you feel it???' as he messes w/ em. does the same thing with ur horns too (if urs are able to like. shed and regrow then mercy on him because he'll just be like. pulling on em a lil out of curiousity when its around shedding time and they'll just. snap off. you can see all the blood leave his face. IMMEDIATELY starts panicking and freaking out,,,pls reassure him you aren't in pain and that this is normal he's GOING To start crying if you dont)

-luckily for u!! it's a little easier for you to carry him around than with hank. really loves it when you do it even tho he was super scared at first you were gonna drop him. sometimes u'll just kinda be. flying home from a mission or sumn and he'll just fall asleep laying on ur back because he feels so at peace,,

-ur claws scare him a little bit tbh BUT,,he relates to the sharp teeth thing, you shake hands on it :] . but also he kind of. chuckles a little when you guys kiss sometimes because he's still not super used to someone other than him having sharp teeth like him

-n e ways!! whnever you shift he admittedly gets pretty nervous abt it,,he'll steer clear too just to be sure but the entire time he's fighting other agents his gaze keeps flicking over to you. he just!! really worries abt u :[ but also he is impressed by ur ability to turn agents to dust and stains in seconds it makes him go 'awooga' under his concerns lol

-whenever its over he always just come over to you and does that gentle little 'hey, hey' before holding ur face in his hands. most times it ends with you resting your head on his lap while he kinda. pets you and reassures you everythings alright and that ur both safe and fine until you feel properly calm enough to go back to ur normal form. he gets a little emo abt it because he genuinely does worry so much abt u pushing yourself too far or someone doing serious damage to you that you couldn't take if you were to shift back

Sanford

-he gets deimos' and sheriff's 'people who can crush me' thing a lot more after he meets you lol. like. at first you might not be super intimidating but after the first few times he sees you fight?? he's gone. done for. 110%.

-admires u all the time, you'll just be chilling or maybe you're talking to deimos about something and the entire time he's jut off to the side with a little smile on his face. if someone points it out to him he just kinda goes blank and gives some really weak excuse, awkwardly stuck between his normal tough facade and relaxing a little.

-you two are a fucking MENACE when you're put together on missions. you both clear through rooms way too fast its crazy, what the fuck is an agent supposed to do when some half-dragon is charging at it with bared teeth and claws while their boyfriend chokes out one of his co-workers while shooting another. what the fuck.

-also traces ur features a lot but he usually only really does it when he thinks ur asleep. he's a little too embarassed to ask if he can touch them when ur awake so he resigns to very carefully brushing his hands over your tail and horns. (if you have any scratches or dents in your horns though he totally asks about them and the stories behind em, he's just rlly curious abt you in general and like. who in their right mind would pass up an opportunity to hear abt their sick-ass dragon s/o about a possible fight they won???)

-but also he gets nervous whenever you shift too. he's afraid of you getting hurt or the possible emotional tolls that it has on you mentally and he brings it up to you sometime after the first few shifts he sees. he's just real concerned about you :[

-very similar to deimos in how he comforts you, he doesn't like leaving unless you've calmed back down, both because he wants to make sure there's no real wounds on you and because he doesn't wanna risk any other agents seeing you and trying their luck. if you're exhausted afterwards then he'll usually carry you, mumbles little words of assurance and praise to you while he does so

#sanford x reader #deimos x reader #hank j wimbleton x reader #hank x reader #madcom imagines #madcom x reader #madness combat x reader #madness combat imagines #rot writes

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ff-imagines · 3 years ago

Note

uhm this is embarrassing thing to request but,,,,,,, how bout u know,,,,,, nsfw alphabet/scenario/hcs with blobster. 👁️👄👁️. I'm sorry.

Boston lobster: nsfw alphabet

Minors dni xoxo

A - aftercare

Admittedly kinda sloppy, it doesn’t occur to him that he should probably check up on you till he’s like “oh shit humans need water” and he suddenly shoots up to grab some and come back to you lmao

If you explicitly ask you get no back talk from him, he just carries you where you need to be and makes sure you’re feeling alright.

Will be endlessly prideful if u say you can’t walk, express your soreness at your sanities risk bc he’ll bring it up for ages

B- body parts

Oh he’s got no shame to tell you he loves your ass and thighs. The type to walk by you and give you a tap on the ass while smirking to himself. Doesn't matter how much or how little you've got he’ll still ask at least once if he can fuck your thighs lmao

Does his height count? He loves how he towers over most humans and food souls alike, chances are he’s probably taller than you, and he really likes that. Sulks a bit if you’re actually taller than him lmao.

They aren’t his favourite part of him but I gotta talk about the antennae. They’re weirdly sensitive, pulling him makes him squeak, which ends with him chasing you or with him chasing you, take your pick. When he catches you he makes it his goal to find a weirdly sensitive part of your body and to tease that spot endlessly. Tickle fight ensues but it’s more like you’re suffering while he’s maniacally laughing above you.

C - cum

It’s thick as fuck and very salty, rip lmao

He likes to cum inside or on your thighs, look they’re very squishy and nice ok he can’t help it </3

He’s also obsessed with not only making you cum, but just… your cum. Amab or afab readers, he will delight in making you watch him swallow. Would also bring his hand up to make you taste yourself, grinning the whole damn way.

D - dirty secret

He’s really affected by scents. If you have a signature perfume or cologne you wear all the time it can make him unbearably horny, since the smell lingers on his sheets and on his clothes long after you’re gone.

E - experience

A fair amount, out of curiosity. Not too many times as he’s spent a lot of years in total isolation. His curiosity is a more recent development, he finds he likes the feeling but something is just missing from his hookups. Then he meets you and is like “ohhhh a relationship is what it was, damn.” Once he realizes that, and even a little bit before when he first starts noticing his internal unease, the hookups stop so he can figure out how to swallow his pride and try and ask a human out lmao

F - favorite position

He loves doggy style because it’s just so so easy to control you that way. He loves to pull you back by your arms, spearing inside you at a punishing pace.

He also would love if you were flexible enough to push into a mating press, getting right next to your ear, whispering about how close he is.

G - goofy

Surprisingly, yea! He’s actually pretty good at making fun of himself, he just doesn’t do it often and doesn’t like it when someone he’s not close to does it. He gives little teases here and there, it eases tension quite a lot.

H- hair

He doesn’t shave for shit lmao. Intense happy trail, intense amount of body hair over all, he actually prefers it that way.

He keeps the same energy with your body hair and will come out and tell you he kinda likes it if you don’t shave. Ultimately he doesn’t think on it too hard, it doesn’t bother him in the end, whatever you want, he wants too!

I- intimacy

He’s not so good at being truly intimate, it’s just not something he’s used to being. If you ever, by some miracle, convince him to let you top him, he’s actually a lot softer and it’s easier to let his feelings speak for him. He also discovers he likes getting dommed a lot but he won’t tell you that lmao

J- jerk off

Not too often, he’s either super busy or he could just find you and solve the problem in an even more satisfying way.

If he ever can’t, expect him to grab one of your shirts to press to his nose as he fists his cock, the feeling of being surrounded by you is enough to help him finish when he desperately needs it.

K- Kinks

Well, the scent thing ofc.

He’s really into risky sex, a true exhibitionist. He’s hot, you’re hot, who wouldn’t want to see you both put on a show? If it gets it into their heads that no matter how bad they want you, you belong to him, your place is right here, getting split apart on his cock, he’ll make sure the message gets across.

Huge breeding kink. Hates the idea of kids but really likes the idea of claiming your insides. He’d love to push you into the mattress and release as deep as he can go.

He’s into humiliation as well, let him tease you while calling you his sweet little whore, he'll make it worth your while.

He’d love if you let him tie you up, he’d probably get into doing fancy designs that accentuates your body in the best way. A pretty rope to tie up and dick down a pretty s/o.

Also I can’t look at his skin where he’s got that suit on and not know he’s got a daddy kink, I just can’t. He doesn’t care for anything other than the title, it’s more about power than anything else. Call him daddy in public and watch how fast you get taken to a more private area. Or, maybe a less than private area, if you’d let him.

He’s got a thing for size difference as well, he loves to loom over you, even if he isn’t actually bigger than you.

L- location

Anywhere, anytime. He’s a prideful bastard, he’ll show off his ability to get you drunk off his cock any way he can. Not only isn’t there a spot in your house he hasn’t fucked you on, there probably isn’t a place on your street either.

M- motivation

What really gets him going is seeing you when you're at your most confident. If you come to him beaming about winning an award, wearing an outfit you feel great in, even if you just say something cocky, it just makes him so proud and eager to share that confidence with you. He doesn’t want to break you down, he wants to prop you up! Tell him about how good you feel, he’ll make you feel even better <3

N- no

As much as he likes to show you off, he doesn’t actually like the thought of a third party joining in. He might be swayed if it’s someone he really trusts. He also doesn't like receiving humiliation, he’s much too prideful lmao

O- oral

Please suck him off, he’ll be kinda rough with you but he’ll be nicer if you ask. He prefers to be mean though lmao. He likes ordering you around on what to do when you’ve got his dick in your mouth, his words get more incoherent the closer he is, though.

He’s just as eager to give you head too, he treats you like a whole 7 course meal. He loves biting around your thighs before ever touching where you're desperate for him to.

P- pace

Oh he’s punishingly hard. Loves to have a fast steady pace then stop as deep as he can and roll his hips a bit to make sure you feel just how deep his dick is inside you.

There are rare days when he’s feeling soft, those days he’s slow and methodical, gripping into your hips to make sure you can’t wiggle to increase your own pleasure, he wants you to savour the high he gives you.

Q- quickies

Well, why not! So what if you’re in an alleyway near a busy street, and anyone can walk by and see you getting pounded? You’re feeling heated aren’t you? Don't kid yourself, just turn around and let him take care of you.

R- risk

He lives for it. If you’d let him he’d bounce you on his cock in a plainly public place, like a subway car.

It’s a big fantasy of his for someone who absolutely pines for you to flirt just a little too hard, you coming to him and letting him fuck your right in front of them. It fuels his pride beyond belief to show you off.

S- stamina

His refractory time is fairly low. Even if he...can? doesn't really mean he wants to. He prefers either one drawn out, long round where you’ve both been edged to the point of desperation, or a few quick rounds throughout the day.

T- toys

At first they kinda hurt his pride but then he’s like “wait I can strap them on a vibrator and just sit back and watch” and then he’s totally on board lmao.

Forcing you to sit on a chair with a vibrator he had the remote to, keeping you on the edge and smirking while you beg and snivel, having no actual plans to give into your pleading.

U- unfair

Oh fuck yea, strap in babes.

He loves loves to edge the fuck out of you, he’d drag it out for hours if you’d let him. Even better if he can tie you down so you can’t squirm away from what he’s giving you.

Overstimulation is just as exciting to him, but he actually loves it more on himself. Sometimes he’ll overstimulate himself on purpose by still continuing to buck into you even after he’s already cum, determined to chase a second high no matter how painful it feels.

V- volume

Loud groans, and he won’t stop talking. Loves to ask you questions when you’re clearly way too blissed out to answer in any sort of coherent way.

He gets a lot louder near his release, he loves to bite into your shoulder to try and muffle himself. If he decides to be bold and let you hear him, he grabs your jaw and brings his face right next to your ear. What a show off.

W- wild card

He kidnaps small items that remind him of you, not just things that smell like you. That one earring you always wear, a glove, a necklace, picks flowers that remind him of you for whatever reason, he might even go out of his way to buy things that remind him of you, keep them to himself for a while, then give it to you when he’s sure it smells enough like him. He gives your stuff back… eventually.

X- X Ray

Oh please… he spits, sweats, and bleeds big dick energy. I refuse to believe his dick isn’t big enough to make you nervous. Would have you sit on his lap and track a finger up your stomach to measure how deep his cock can go.

Y- yearning

He’s pretty likely to mold to your sexual drive. However often you need him, he’s at your beck and call. He likes to keep it closer to 2-3 times a week if he can.

Z- zzz

He doesn’t sleep all that easily at all, but it gets a little easier when he’s got you in his arms. Prefers to be big spoon, and as much as he hates getting overheated, he just can’t will himself to let go of you. It’s ironically one of the most peaceful sleeps he’s ever had.

#food fantasy #food fantasy x reader #ff boston lobster #ff boston lobster x reader

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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years ago

Text

Not as Bad as You Think

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: After a bad grade on a test, Peter is being very hard on himself. Loki helps you cheer him up. Warnings: none A/N: Enjoy :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart @marvelouslovely

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” you comforted Peter, patting his back.

“You’re right,” he replied, voice muffled by the pillow he was hiding his face in. “It’s probably worse.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

The disgruntled teenager rolled over onto his back and gave you a look somewhere between annoyed and upset. He’d come home to the Tower saying he failed a big History test he’d had. Despite him saying he failed, you were pretty sure he was just over-exaggerating. The boy kept up a nearly perfect gpa and was an Avenger. It was no easy feat, and you knew how much pressure he put on himself to keep up his good grades. You wished he’d go a little easier on himself.

“Besides,” you continued when he said nothing, “even if it is bad, everyone’s allowed one not so great grade every once in a while. You’re still doing great, kid.”

“I guess,” he mumbled halfheartedly, smooshing his face against the pillow again.

You frowned. During the time Peter had been on the team, he’d become something of a little brother to you. You hated to see him down like this. It was easy to remember all the normal pressures of being a teen, and he had the pressures of being a superhero on top of that. Sometimes you wished he took a day just to be a kid. Though, when you said that, you meant more of him taking some time off to have fun, not stress about his grades.

“I know what will fix this,” you said with a smile.

“Cookies?” he said, peeking up at you again.

“Yup. And hot chocolate. How does that sound, Petey?”

“Well, I don’t know I deserve it,” he started before seeing the stern look on your face, telling him to ease up himself. “But yeah, I want some.”

You stood and ruffled his hair. “Coming right up.”

Taking your frustrations out on the cookie dough you were mixing and cocoa you were whisking, you tried to figure out a way to get Peter to enjoy his youth. You were so focused, you didn’t notice when Loki came in, and he was able to snag one of the freshly baked treats before you could smack his hand away.

“Naughty Loki. Those are for Peter,” you giggled, poking him in the side.

“And you can’t spare just this one for me, darling?”

“I suppose you can be my taste-tester,” you grinned, giving him a kiss before he could take another bite.

“Thank you, my love.” You smiled at your boyfriend as he polished off his treat and licked his lips in delight. He pulled you into a hug and rested his head on yours. “Delicious as always, darling.”

“Thank you, Loki, but I have to keep my eye on the hot chocolate.”

“Allow me to guess, that is for the spiderling, too?” he inquired, grabbing a mug out of the cabinet for you to pour the warm liquid into.

“Mhm,” you replied. “He had a bad day, and I was trying to cheer him up. Nothing was working, though, so I’m hoping these treats will.”

Loki knew how close you were with Peter, and he loved seeing your older sibling instincts take over, despite not actually being related to the boy. Admittedly, he was glad Thor didn’t act the way you did. If that was in his nature, Loki was sure the God of Thunder would be entirely overbearing. He had started acting a bit more brotherly recently, however, which was nice. Of course, all that just meant Loki wasn’t exactly the best equipped to help sibling problems.

Loki frowned as he wiped a few spilt drops of hot chocolate from the counter. Your brow was furrowed in concentration and thought, and he pulled you back to kiss the lines of worry away. He hated seeing you upset or distraught in any way. After all you’d done for him in showing him he was worthy for love, he never wanted you to experience a single bad emotion. He knew it was part of being human, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. And he could do everything in his power to keep those negative feelings at a minimum.

“Darling, why don’t you just take it easy. I will go take these things to the spiderling and have a chat to cheer him up,” he told you, rubbing up and down your arms. “I will take care of it.”

“I don’t know, Loki. Nothing I was saying was working. And I feel kinda bad to let you take care of this while I put my feet up.”

“Well then, allow me to handle this, and you can make me some of that delicious hot chocolate.”

“Fine.” You smiled at the way he was so concerned, not just for you, but for Peter, too. And of course you’d be more than happy to make him some cocoa, even if he was just suggesting that so you would take it a bit easier. “Just tell me if he’s still feeling down, alright?”

“We have a deal, darling. Leave it to me.”

And so, the trickster god found himself outside Peter’s door, trying to figure out what exactly to say to him. Before the drink could get cold, he just knocked and hoped the right words would come to him. Peter beckoned him in, and Loki walked inside, cookies and cocoa in hand.

“Oh, hey Loki,” Peter said, sounding sad. Though, he did perk up when he saw the snacks.

“Greetings, spiderling. I hear you are having some troubles. Perhaps I could help?”

“I dunno.” He took a cookie off the plate and dunked it into his drink. Then he offered Loki one, which he gladly accepted. “There’s not much that can be done. Unless...”

“Unless?”

“Can your magic turn back time?”

“Sadly, no,” he laughed. “But maybe you’d just like to talk about what it is that is plaguing you?”

“I guess,” he sighed. “I got a bad grade on a test. And I studied so, so hard. I thought I did way better, but I just didn’t. I’m supposed to be able to handle all the pressure and stress, but I just don’t think I can. I need to try harder, do better.”

“Come now, spiderling. From what I hear, you are doing wonderful in your classes.” Loki hesitantly pat the boy on his back. “There is only one life to live, and it is not very long. You should be enjoying each minute to its fullest.”

“Haven’t you resurrected like three times, though? And aren’t you thousands of years old?”

“Regardless,” Loki waved the comment off, “none of it is worth it if you are not enjoying life. You are doing wonderful, we could not be more proud of you. Just be proud of yourself and a little kinder to yourself, too.”

“You really think so?”

“I may be the God of Lies,” Loki chuckled, “but I assure you, I could not be more honest in this moment.”

“Well then, if I’m supposed to be doing stuff I enjoy, do you maybe want to do a movie marathon?”

“That sounds absolutely perfect. You may pick what we watch, too.”

“Yes!” he cheered. “I hardly ever get to pick!”

As Peter set off to grab pillows and blankets and set up the movie, after finishing his treats of course, Loki waltzed into the kitchen with a sly grin on his face. He walked up behind you and hugged you. You jumped a little at first, but quickly recognized the arms encircling your waist. You leaned back into his chest and smiled up at him.

“It went well, I take it,” you said.

“Indeed it did. In fact, we are having a movie marathon. You are, of course, welcome to join.”

You decided to take him up on that offer and handed him his hot chocolate. You made some popcorn, too, and put it into two bowls; one for Peter, and one for you and Loki to share. Peter sat on the floor by the TV where he’d set up the original Star Wars trilogy to play, and you and your boyfriend snuggled together on the couch. About halfway through the second movie, a thought occurred to you.

“Hey, Petey,” you said. “What grade exactly did you get on that test.”

“Oh, uh, that? Who cares,” he scoffed, though he’d gone bright red and wouldn’t meet your eye. “You wouldn’t want to hear about that.”

“Peter.”

“Fine,” he sighed. He ducked his head and mumbled his grade. “I got an 85.”

“Peter! That’s amazing!” You didn’t know whether to cheer for him or strangle him. You decided playfully hitting him with a pillow was the way to go.

“Loki! Help!” he laughed as he tried to block your attacks.

“Coming to your rescue, spiderling!”

The three of you ended up in a pillow fight, and eventually collapsed in a pile on the floor, out of breath from laughing. You smiled at your boys and realized that even if things were difficult sometimes, you always had each other’s backs. It was more than just Peter being like your little brother, or Loki being your boyfriend. You were a whole little family, and really, who could ask for more than that?

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stevenbasic · 4 years ago

Photo

Melissa Monroe, new Office Manager at Far Horizons Medical Associates, was back in the office after one day away. She’d taken the time off to settle herself, to get her thoughts straight, to wrap her head around - god! - just how fucking exciting it all was, now that he was...omigosh...becoming smaller.

And she was bigger every day...

She had summoned him - summoned him! - to her office, on this cold, rainy October morning. She’d told her girls to call him to her and he had come, without complaint. Her boss...or, haha, her ‘boss’...at her beck and call. Nnngh it made her squirmy. He had the title, but they..oh god...they both knew who was in charge where it counted. It made her feel every ounce a woman, dominating a man like this. It was early Friday and it was time for their weekly coffee date. Coffee, haha! She’d be feeding him more milk than ever, she thought with a laugh to herself - haha haha, it’s so funny! - and making sure he took off his jacket so she could see his thin, weak shoulders.

God!!!

It had been pointless, she thought to herself, as she sat up on her knees next to him on her office couch. She’d been calm when she asked him to sit. She’d been professional when she’d given him the tablet, pre-loaded with the new application photos and videos of a bevy of girls ripe for her team. She’d been dutiful, as she helped him out of his jacket, fed him his warm milk, and straightened his hair, set pillows behind him. But now, as she slowly rose up next to where he sat, she knew her “mental health day” had been a joke. She knew, no matter how conservatively she’d forced herself to dress this morning - in this vest, blouse, these pants - it was all for naught. In fact, the day away - instead of calming her - had made her jittery, like she was jonesing for a hit. She needed to see him, be in the same room as him, breathe air that had him in it. And, when she finally had him sat down next to her, as she felt herself slowly towering over him more and more, she knew she really had no control over these new urges she’d been having. Get a grip Missy, haha! she scolded herself, He’s still your boss!!

She straightened his funny little shirt collar for him. He’s just so small!!

”M-m-Melissa..?” Dr. J finally peeped. He’d been feeling it himself, secretly, this urge to see her. What was wrong with him?? It had gone way beyond just surreptitiously wanting to ogle her huge tits, her powerful legs. Admittedly it had started that way but now it was more than just looking for any chance to marvel at that god-given ass. He felt like he physically needed to be near her, and now after a day away he’d come to her when she called, obediently taken her directions, and had sat in relative silence. He felt cowed, and ashamed of himself. She works for you!! he told himself, Get a grip, man!!

“I’m sorry...just so excited to see y-...to be back,” she giggled, straightening up next to him just so, to get her breasts just under his eye level, “we have so much work to do, with these applicants, and I thought it’d be better if we do this together. Is it okay?”

“y-yeah, sure,” he replied, trying to focus his attention on the ‘applications’, on the images of these young, healthy, pretty women on the tablet she’d handed him, and not on the J-cups stretching the business blouse right next to him.

“I always get just so excited for our Friday coffee dates,” Melissa added, straightening her shoulders, “And you all dressed up for me...in a, is this a tuxedo shirt? You look so nice...”

It’s all I had that fit me; I wore this back in high school. ”Th-thanks,” he stammered, “and they’re, uh…’meetings’, not ‘dates’...” He was flailing, grasping for any semblance of authority. “...and I-I usually like to do these outside the office…”

“Oh, but why would you want to be anywhere else for our Friday coffee date?” Melissa cooed, scooting in closer to him, “It’s so cozy here, just the two of us. And it’s cold outside, rainy. So nice in here…”

She watched him shiver, even as he pretended to still be focused on the applicants. She could tell he needed her, needed her warmth. His little body was aching for it. It drove her nuts. ”But maybe we can do our dates at night…like, I could take you out to dinner…”

That got his attention!

Haha! Look at his face! Maybe, she thought, maybe she did just overstep there a teeny bit haha. But she was getting to the point where she couldn’t help herself. She felt reckless, she felt drunk on him and the idea of smothering him with her size. And she loved how nervous he just got. She just asked him out! And, she noticed...he didn’t say ‘no’.

Melissa laughed quietly, knowing his little personality was having trouble handling everything she was throwing at him right now. Realizing just how very much the alpha she was in this moment, she knew she needed to treat him gently, and couldn’t be too aggressive. “We can talk about that another time,” she said, making sure her voice sounded warm with understanding...and patient. She pet his shoulder, rubbed the back of his neck as she sensed his tension relaxing. “Now,” she began again, “it's been four days. We have, omigod, more than a hundred applications and we need to make some decisions.” She watched him nod, turn back to the screen in his hand. “I’ve put aside 20 that look good…”

With him still holding the tablet, she began to swipe through pictures of girls. Videos of girls. Resumes of girls. She would watch his face as a particularly pretty one from Hooters appeared, or a tall one from Evolution. “Ooo, look at her!” she would coo. She saw his eyes dart when the cleavage got too aggressive, and it would make her giggle. It was obviously - haha - making him uncomfortable, looking at these girls with his female Office Manager at his side. He was trying to hold it together, sound and appear relaxed, but his comments were becoming confused, his speech devolving to incoherent mumbles.

She swiped out of the applications. She knew what she should do.

”It’s hard to focus, with all this going on, isn’t it?” she enjoined, dropping her voice low, compassionate, suddenly tender.

”It...it is, kinda,” he answered. She watched as he turned back up to her, looking for some relief from the onslaught of cheesecake from the screen. Looking to her for comfort, guidance.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” she asked, words dripping with concern, empathy. She knew she could, if she wanted, flood him with her pheromones, make him feel the way she wanted. They were so close, though; she might kill him haha.

“It...it is, with...with…” she listened to him stammer, watching the little wheels and gears fit and start in his face. He was flailing, the poor thing, clueless and impotent, so adorable. He needed a woman.

”...with the divorce, hm?” she offered.

”y-yeah”

”shhhh, I know,” she consoled him, “it must be scary, huh? Life might get hard for men, without a woman, a wife. You’re all a mess, confused.” Her heart was beating in her chest so hard; he wasn’t even trying to argue, to be ‘strong’. She knew she could take him another step. “Here, I know what’ll help,” she said, “You need something to focus on...now, I want you to relax…”

With that, she sat up straight, sliding her hand from behind him, and began to unbutton her vest.

”m-Melissa?” he peeped, just the meager sound of his voice making her chest swell with pride, knowing how she was affecting him. He could do nothing but watch as she peeled the vest away from her chest and slide it off her shoulders.

In a moment it was laid, forgotten, on the couch behind her, and her hand was back behind his head. He was staring, she saw, right at her tits.

“shhhh…I know, sweetie, I know. It’s all so confusing, so hard,” she purred, “But relax...I’m here.”

He reeled inside when he heard himself moan, a weak little whine. He knew he should pull back, step away, recover whatever dignity he had left, but the sight of her mammoth bosom, stretching tautly at her sheer-thin, snap-up blouse, held him rapt. She was just so...big. So big and soft. Her chest in that moment was a safe refuge, magnetic and majestic, a sanctuary.

“Sheryl’s divorcing you, sweetie, it’s a hard fact to face but it’s true,” Melissa continued, “She’s leaving you with nothing, no money, just this job. And, really, she owns the practice, and the building, doesn’t she? So she’s really your boss. But she’s letting you stay, in the job, in the apartment she owns upstairs, right? She’s being very kind, really…”

She saw him glance down at the envelope of papers on the low table in front of them.

“...and she doesn’t need to be. She doesn’t have to be so patient. She just wants you to sign those papers, sweetie. Before she has to make things hard for you.”

She heard him whine again, and smiled as his eyes came back to her breasts.

“I’ll keep the papers here,” she consoled him, petting his hair and fighting the urge to just ease his face straight into her tits, “When you’re ready you come to me, I’ll help you sign.”

Her heart nearly broke in two when his sweet brown eyes then rose to meet hers, pleadingly. His lip quivered, he looked so distraught, so at a loss. “M-Melissa, I…” he began, trying to find his words, “I...I can’t…”

“Shhhhh…” she hushed him, “I’m here. We’re here. You need to let us help you through this. And the more of us there are, the easier it’ll be for you”

”m-m-more?” he stammered, obviously still confused as his eyes glanced down again into her bountiful cleavage.

Melissa giggled. “Haha yes, sweetie, more of me but also more of them,” she said, as she redirected his attention back to the tablet, opened up the images, “Look at all these girls that want to work for you…help you...be there for you...”

“Shanette, Katrina, Sammi,” she began, “Emily, Lexi, Bianca…”

His eyes goggled again at the barrage of women across the screen, all the legs, all the tits, all the hips. He had actually gradually started, in recent days, to allow himself to enjoy being surrounded by pretty employees. His business was suffering, the quality of care to his patients had plummeted, and his self-esteem had crumbled. This journey he was passively letting himself being taken on was - in more ways than one - sure to ruin him, but at least the view along the way was nice. Having his staff be made mostly of unqualified bimbettes, all high heels, lipstick and push-up bras, had its few perks. But what she was suggesting, bringing in all these...so many...it was like...like...

It was like an army. A swarm.

He needed to say something. “M-Melissa, I, uh, have to admit,” he began, the worry on his face plain to see, “I’m a little scared...bringing in all these girls…”

Melissa had, as she’d been watching him look through the portfolios of all the new girls, slowly been getting even more aroused, picturing him surrounded by all this estrogen, drowning in it. But hearing him say it? She nearly groaned.

“Y-you’re...scared?” she asked, husky voice betraying her excitement, “Of hiring women? Girls that are too attractive?” As she spoke, she’d been unable to help herself, and had inched in closer to him, gently turned his head back to her, back towards her breasts. “You think they’ll be a...distraction?”

Dr. J was struck speechless again, for the moment, knowing he shouldn’t be ogling the tits of his Office Manager. But, he was encouraged by her, and urged to reply as he felt her massaging the nape of his neck. “Uhhh...well, it’s not that,” he managed, catching himself staring at the outline of what looked like a black bra under her blouse, ”but more like, uh..uh, like, it’s a lot. C-can we afford it?”

Smiling under the attention, his obvious dumbstruck awe, Melissa continued. “Remember the Lean In grant...it’s so much money. Supporting female-oriented business, supporting women, giving them jobs,” she explained, “ And the more we hire, the more we get. The ladies at Lean In are going to take care of it all for you…”

Oh, uh, yeah, right. He knew all this. “B-but...where will we put everybody?”

“Oh, sweetie, didn’t you hear?” she purred, “Construction on the expansion starts on Monday. I have the company all set up, plans are made….here, I put a picture of the blueprints on here too…”

”wait what?” he sputtered, suddenly even more confused, more agitated.

Omigod how delicious is this?? Melissa thought to herself, relishing the astonishment in his voice. She remembered her last conversation with Sheryl, on the Zoom call along with Abby and Wendy from Evolution. They were about to show him, in spades, what women were capable of. ”Sheryl said to go ahead with it,” she began, trying to keep her voice measured, not betray just how fucking sexy this was, “tenants from the other suites are gone, we’re going to have whole bottom floor…” She’d already pulled up the image of the blueprint, and started him scrolling through the mock-ups, the digital models, the drawings of the new wings. They were beautiful, really. “The practice is expanding,” she continued, “offices for the new providers…” She flipped through digital images of modern, sleek medical areas, new hallways, big conference rooms, all stunningly more sleek and state-of-the-art than his current office. “There’ll be a whole suite, separate desks, just for the Evolution Study…”

“oh my god…!” he finally blurted, seeing one last image, a huge, classically majestic statue of a woman, set in a fountain, looming over an enormous new atrium. A statue that looked - jesus christ is this a joke?? - all-too strikingly like Melissa. This had become too much for him, this was too overwhelming. His brain, his sense of ego, were becoming fried. He knew it, and so did she.

She turned his head back to her chest, watched his eyes go wide again as she pulled him closer, diverting him effectively away from what was upsetting him.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Melissa purred, “my blouse is pretty see-through, isn't it?” She drew a deep breath, allowed him to stare again at her chest. ”...and you’re looking at my bra, aren’t you?”

”n-no, s-sorry, I…” he stammered, face flushing.

”shhhhh...here, you need more help…” she said.

“oh my god Melissa!!” Dr. J blurted, his voice louder, more emphatic than it had been all morning as he watched - in a swift, immediate motion, Melissa ripped open the snaps of her blouse, pulled it away, exposing her huge, newly-burgeoned chest.

“O shush…!” she laughed, tickled to amusement by his panicked consternation, dropping her blouse in a crumple behind herself, “You’ve seen me in my bikini, it’s the same thing.” She sat up straight, posed her shoulders, and let him stare at the huge breasts she’d grown. “My door is locked, it’s just you and me,” she assured him, her left hand finding its way back to its place behind his head, keeping his focus where she wanted it, “It’s okay, it’s alright. I know it helps…

The two sat there, for a long moment, with Melissa idly brushing fingers through his thick hair and allowing him to stare at her big, big breasts. She was supported heroically in a black satin bra that was huge but obviously still too small for her, and she watched as his eyes found the bulges of her that escaped the bottoms of her bra cups. He seemed helpless to do anything else but gape, and looked down into the flesh of it all. She was letting off just enough perfume now to relax him, help him settle his thoughts. By the end of this meeting, she wanted him to have come to terms with everythingl. She knew he was close.

”Looking at a woman’s breasts is just so relaxing, isn’t it?” she purred, indulging him with a voice she knew would be calming to him, “Helps you forget all your troubles…”

She was happy with his response, and knew she couldn’t expect much more. He’d nodded, grunted something affirmative.

Melissa giggled. The poor thing probably felt all of two inches tall right now. But she had eased him into a nice enough place, and - if he actually was two inches tall - they both knew where else she could ease him.

She knew the time was right, and pulled up the pictures of the applicants for him again. “Imagine, sweetie, if we had allllll these girls here for you, too,” she proposed, putting forward her picture of what she wanted the practice to be, “imagine all these girls, providing for you, taking care of what you need. imagine how you could relax then, with all of us around…”

“oh Jesus...Melissa,” he muttered, still lost in her cleavage. He was disbelieving, incredulous on how far he’d let things go, how much he'd let her rise, how far he’d let himself sink. He was lost in her cleavage and felt helpless to pull himself out.

“You missed me yesterday, didn’t you?” she asked, giggling a bit and scuffing his hair.

He’ll do anything I want, she marveled.

I’ll do anything she wants, he realized.

”w-w-we’re hiring them all, aren’t we?” he asked, finally, resigned to his new fate.

”Mmhm,” she answered, and felt the world opening up for her...

================================================

Thank you loads to DragoonGTS for his renders. I've (awkwardly) photoshopped/faceswapped a few of them, but he did most all the heavy lifting for this post's imagery. Check out his Patreon and DeviantArt and let's hope he'll be able to contribute more awesomeness in the future.

More images, more storylines, and more more more Melissa at my Patreon

#Growing Into the Job

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dameronology · 4 years ago

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tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 2

part two: a comprehensive study of how far you can push a cowboy before he breaks

summary: you continue to try and break jack’s ego, but nothing seems to be working - especially when you have to play a married couple, and his observant tendencies begin to break your confident facade instead

song for this chapter: my friend by hayley williams

ok so this wasn’t gonna be out until december 1st but someone who donated to my ko-fi asked for part 2 and...i couldn’t resist. this also touches a little more on the reader + eggsy’s relationship and it’s background. enjoy!

- jamie

series masterlist

You had to give to the the Statesmen - the apartment they had leased you was fucking nice.

It struck the balance between modern and homely, complete with a bath tub big enough for the whole damn agency and a bed to match. You knew that they had money, but not this much. The Kingsmen were wealthy but the Statesman put them to shame. It was a lifestyle you were happy to get used to, especially on the first morning. You’d woken up not long after 6AM - your body was still working on British time, after all - when it was still dark outside. The navy blue of the sky was pouring through the large windows, and paired with the remaining city lights, it lit up the bedroom in a cerulean glow.

Blinking under the distant blue smoulder, you rubbed your eyes and sat up in bed. The bedroom itself was about the same size as your apartment back home and man, it was something you could have easily gotten used to. A bathtub the size of a swimming pool? Don’t mind if I do. A bed big enough to roll to your heart's content and not fall out? Fuck yeah. It made you wonder how rich some of your new colleagues were. You had noticed that Tequila drove an unusually expensive sports car.

You frowned when you noticed that there was something heavy sprawled across your feet. It wasn’t necessarily in the bed, but rather strewn across the duvet. You rolled your eyes, letting out a sigh.

‘Fuck’s sake, Eggsy!’ you raised your leg, kicking him front under the covers. ‘Why the bloody hell are you in here?’

Your friend suddenly jumped awake, almost falling off the mattress as you kicked him again. ‘Ow! Ribs!’

‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘You haven’t tried to share a bed with me since we were ten!’ You tossed a pillow at him. ‘So I’ll ask again - why the bloody hell are you in here?’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’ He grumbled.

Your frown softened, and you let out a sigh. ‘Have you been having nightmares about Galahad again? Because Merlin said he was making strides towards getting better-’

‘- That day from the church is still ingrained in my head.’ Eggsy cut you off, tucking his knees into his chest and under his chin. ‘It keeps playing over and over.’

It was something you sympathised with. Working as a Kingsman brought good days and bad days, but the latter would stick in your mind a thousand times more. You’d learnt to live with it by that point but then again, you were easier at separating your emotions from your professional life. You had a good rapport with your colleagues - minus the doofus at the foot of your bed, who might as well have been an annoying brother - but you tried not to become attached. It only made it harder when you lost them,

‘Time, Eggsy.’ You leant over the bed to give his arm a squeeze. ‘You need time.’

‘It’s been almost a year-’

‘- recovery isn’t a race.’ You firmly interrupted. ‘And healing isn’t linear, for you or for Gala - for Harry.’

You’d become so accustomed to codenames that they felt personal. Harry was Galahad, and Amish was Merlin. You’d never called Roxy anything other than Lancelot. It just didn’t feel right.

‘I hate when you make sense-’

Eggy’s rumbling was cut off by the sound of the front door and the fall of footsteps. You immediately leapt out of bed, tearing your gun from the bedside table. Pointing it out in front of you, you slowly kicked open the door and crept out in the hallway, weapon leading the way.

‘Morning sunshine-’ Whiskey stopped in his tracks when he saw the pistol aimed in his direction. ‘Well that ain’t a very warm welcome is it, Percy?’

‘Percy?’ The words rolled off of your tongue with a tone of disbelief. Admittedly, the new nickname shouldn’t have been your first concern when you were a) wearing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas and b) pointing a gun at your new colleague, but priorities didn’t apply in this situation.

‘Short for Percival!’ Eggsy called from the bedroom.

‘Oh, I do apologise.’ He held his hands up in surrender. ‘Was I interrupting something-’

‘- Gross!’ You exclaimed. ‘No!’

‘Hey!’ Another call from the bedroom. ‘You would be lucky-’

You cut your friend off by slamming the bedroom door. ‘What do you want, Whiskey? It’s six in the fucking morning.’

‘And yet you’re up and pointing a gun at my head.’ The cowboy reasoned, complete with a small shrug. ‘Want to put the weapon down, pretty lady?’

Growling at the use of another nickname, you threw the gun onto one of the side-tables. That was when you realised you’d sprinted out the bedroom in cartoon pajamas, only to come face-to-face with Whiskey, who was in his usual leather jacket and hat. Frankly, you should have slapped it right off his head. That would have taught him to come bursting into your apartment at the crack of dawn.

‘Maybe knock next time?’ You suggested, stalking through to the kitchen. ‘Especially considering that it’s not even light outside. A little bit predatorial, don’t you think?’

‘If you’d checked the schedule I emailed you, you would know that we have to be in the field in forty-five minutes.’ Jack shot back, leaning against the counter. ‘You should check your phone more often. I thought that most of your generation had their cell-phones glued to their hands.’

‘Okay, grandad.’ You snorted. His dark eyes followed you as you darted around the kitchen, piling together a cup of coffee on autopilot. ‘What’re we doing in the field?’

‘Recon.’ He said. ‘One of Calahan’s contacts has been spotted working a jewellery stand down at 30 Rock.’

‘Okay, give me thirty minutes.’ You tossed a piece of bread into the toaster.

‘Dress...touristy.’

‘That is not touristy.’

Usually, Jack Daniels would have been the last person to object to a woman wearing a dress and heels, but you were supposed to be blending in with crowds, not standing out. He clearly hadn’t got the memo that you didn’t do casual - not in a professional sense, at least. In some way, you were matching, because you too were wearing a leather jacket. It was a staple in your wardrobe.

‘Would you rather I have stayed in the turtle pajamas?’ You glanced across the table at him, thinning your eyes.

‘Tourists don’t wear Christian Louboutins.’ The cowboy muttered.

‘I wear Christian Louboutins.’ You shot back. ‘But points for recognizing the brand.’

‘Here.’ Jack swiped a t-shirt off of a cart as they passed by, thrusting a fifty in the vendor’s hand. ‘Wear this.’

He shoved a t-shirt into your hand; it was about ten sizes too big for you with ‘I ❤️ NY’ blazoned across the front. For a minute, you thought he was kidding, but Jack’s serious expression barely faltered. You tried to counter the look, quirking your brow as if to say yeah, good one.

‘I’m serious, Agent. We can’t blow our cover.’

‘What cover?’ You frowned. ‘You never said anything about a cover.’

‘Our guy works for a jewelry vendor.’ Jack flashed a grin at you, before pulling a pair of glasses out of his pocket. ‘We need to get inside and get footage of the shop for the agents coming in tonight. These babies will live stream it right back to Ginger HQ.’

‘So I have to go jewelry shopping?’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘We are going ring shopping, Mrs Daniels.’

‘You’re not serious.’ Your eyebrows shot up.

‘I think we would make a very attractive couple.’ He retorted. ‘A bright-eyed Brit falling in love with a cowboy, their feelings for each other spanning the Pacific-’

‘- Atlantic-’

‘- ocean.’

‘Whatever.’ You pulled off your jacket, yanking the t-shirt from his hands and tugging it over your head. The shirt ended up being longer than your dress, and with your tights and heels it worked in a way that it definitely shouldn’t have. ‘Let’s just get this over and done with. I’m tired.’

‘Incidentally, that’s something you would also say if you were my wife.’

You responded again with a groan, elongating it slightly when Jack wound an arm around your waist, as though somebody had just yelled action!

How hard could it be? You’d been undercover as part of a couple before - admittedly, that had been with people you’d already had a rapport with, and ones who didn’t drive you up the wall as much as Whiskey. Eggsy was a close call, but having been your best friend for the better part of twenty years, it was easy to convince people you were a real couple. It had been a little awkward with Merlin and you had almost flat out refused to do it with Galahad, but there hadn’t been so much at risk then. If this recon went well, it could lead to leaps and strides in your bigger mission. Finding Calahan, proving yourself worthy of a promotion and eventual world domination (in a hero kinda way).

‘Let’s go over the fine details.’ You murmured to him, glancing around as you entered the shopping strip inside 30 Rock. ‘Where did we meet?’

‘London. I was on a business trip.’ Whiskey quickly replied. ‘How did I propose?’

‘In front of the Eiffel Tower.’ You said. ‘And where do we live now?’

‘Kentucky, but we’re in New York because we plan on getting married here.’ He said. ‘You ready?’

‘Let’s go.’ You linked your arms with his, plastering on a fake grin as you entered the jewelry store. ‘My glasses are recording this straight back to HQ.’

‘Hey there, cowboy!’ Calahan’s contact greeted you immediately. He wasn’t what you’d expected - the man was decked out in a suit and tie, complete with a dodgy looking spray tan and teeth so white they could probably reflect the fucking sun. ‘And pretty lady.’

It had been bad enough when Whiskey called you that. But this guy? Gross - and Jack couldn’t help but notice how you tensed up at the nickname.

‘Watch it, pal.’ Jack joked. ‘That’s my fiancee you’re talking to.’

‘And I assume that’s what brings you in today?’ He flashed a grin at you. ‘I couldn’t help but notice she doesn’t have a ring.’

‘See if you can move closer to the case by the fire exit.’ Ginger’s voice came over your earpiece.

‘These ones here look pretty!’ You suddenly exclaimed, grabbing Jack by the arm and yanking him in the direction that Ginger had requested. The cowboy let out a surprised yelp as you did, stumbling slightly as you dragged him across the store.

‘Perfect. Thank you.’ She quietly said over the line.

‘Any in particular catch your eye, Miss…’

‘It will be Mrs Jones when we get married.’ You plastered on the biggest shit-eating grin that you could muster. ‘And that one in the top corner is very pretty.’

‘That’s one of our most expensive rings.’ The jeweler’s grin was bigger than yours. ‘Is your event going to be as big? You know...price wise?’

‘Oh yeah!’ You chimed in, barely giving Jack a chance to think. ‘We’re renting out the Plaza Hotel. I’m wearing a vintage Emanuel dress inspired by the Princess of Wales and our honeymoon is three weeks in the Bahamas.’

You just had to ramble for a little bit longer whilst Jack looked around to get the footage. Luckily, it was something you were good at. You could talk somebody’s ear off if you had to and bullshit to the next degree; it had saved your ass on missions more times than you’d care to admit. If you ever retired from the Kingsman, you probably had a promising career as an actress.

‘All this before you’ve chosen a ring?’ He raised his eyebrows at you. You’d been quick on your feet - so much so that you’d tripped and fallen.

‘My baby’s been planning this thing since was a little girl.’ Whiskey quickly stepped in. ‘And it’s my job to make sure she gets it.’

‘He’s a lawyer.’ You went up on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to Jack’s cheek. ‘I’m marrying good.’

‘Oh!’ The jeweler glanced between the two of you. ‘This makes more sense now.’

‘Right, we’ve got enough footage.’ Merlin said. ‘You two can get the bloody hell out of there before I puke.’

After making an appointment to return the following day - which neither of you planned on going to, obviously - Jack took your hand and led you out the store. To keep up appearances, you kept your fingers intertwined as you walked back through the shopping mall. The fact you had managed to play a believable couple on such short notice was almost astounding.

‘Oh my god.’ You murmured, glancing over your shoulder as you exited the mall and turned the corner. You pulled your hand back from Jack’s, stifling a laugh. ‘I can’t believe we actually managed to do it.’

‘Why are you so shocked?’ Whiskey peered down at you, a grin playing on his lips. ‘Like I said - we would make a very attractive couple, sugar.’

‘In your dreams, Daniels.’ You shot back. ‘But if I ever do end up in a relationship like that? Shoot me. I beg you.’

You kept strolling together, slowly heading for the Statesman headquarters - but neither of you were in a rush. Whatever the hell that was had just broken the initial tension between you, and you were actually enjoying one another’s company for the moment.

‘What’s wrong with it?’ He asked. ‘Ain’t nothing bad about a man looking after his woman.’

‘That’s so outdated.’ You groaned.

‘It’s not!’ Jack protested. ‘A man looks after his girl and his girl looks after him. Or a husband and husband, or wife and wife-’

‘- how progressive of you.’ You cut him off, rolling your eyes. ‘I don’t rely on anyone. Ever. I look after myself.’

It was probably a cultural difference. Jack had grown up in the south, in a household where his dad worked and his mum looked after the house. It had been the same with his late wife; had things not gone the way they had, he’d probably be the breadwinner whilst she stayed home with the kids. You, meanwhile, had grown up in a working class area of London where a majority of the households were headed by women - and most of the time, single women. If there was some unheard of future where you got married and had kids, like hell would you give up your career. Your job was your baby.

‘We all need people to look after us sometimes.’ Jack nudged you with his elbow.

You shook your head. ‘Not me.’

‘Well you sound like a real heart-breaker, Miss Independent.’

‘It’s my speciality.’

Once you’d handed over the footage from your glasses to Ginger, you and Whiskey headed to the office. There was a comfortable silence between you - pretending to be a married couple had been one hell of an ice breaker. At least it was proof that you and Jack could work well together. You’d stayed on the same page for the entirety of your little improv love story, and it meant your first mission, however minor, had been a success. If working with him was going to like that for the rest of your time in New York, you might have been able to tolerate him and his ridiculous Southern drawl.

(Not to mention the nicknames. It left you wondering if Jack had forgotten your actual name and was too afraid to ask.)

Eggsy was waiting for you in the lobby outside the lift. He was leant against the wall, feet crossed in front of him as he tapped away on his phone. A frown came over your face when you realised that he had a bag beside him. He was scheduled to stay in the city with you until at least the following weekend. You had plans for a few days time to try and use your contacts to sneak into a filming of Saturday Night Live.

‘Hey!’ Your best friend brightly greeted you. ‘Guess what? Tilde called!’

‘That’s great!’ You forced a smile. ‘So you’re heading back to London tonight?’

‘Yeah.’ His grin didn’t falter. ‘I figured since you two played a married couple successfully, you didn’t need me to stick around to babysit you and make sure you didn’t eat him alive.’

‘It’s still early days.’ You reasoned. ‘Are you sure you don’t wanna stay a couple more days? Adam Driver’s the guest on SNL this weekend.’

‘I gotta get back and fix things, man.’ Eggsy said. ‘I just wanted to say goodbye before I left.’

‘Right, of course.’ You held your arms out to him.

He stepped forward and wrapped his own around you, lifting you off the ground and giving you a tight squeeze. If you had to choose one of your favourite things about Eggsy, it would have to be his hugs. The only reason you’d stopped calling him Hugsy was because he’d threatened to take them away entirely. They were far and few, usually when you were going to spend time apart, but you always appreciated them.

‘I’ll see you in a few weeks, tops.’ He said, placing you back on the ground. ‘And I promise we’ll get into SNL then.’

‘You better.’ You poked his chest. ‘I’ll miss you, Egghead.’

‘I’ll miss you more.’

You let out a tiny sigh as Eggsy picked up his bags and headed for the lift. You weren’t mad at him for going home early - just disappointed. And not at him, just at the situation, It had been a long time since you’d got to properly spend time together outside of work. Above all, however, you knew you had to respect his relationship. What kind of friend would you be to stand in the way of him and love?

Once he was out of sight, you regathered yourself and headed to the office. Jack was already inside, his feet propped up on the desk and a glass of his namesake whiskey in hand. It was the first time he’d taken off his hat in front of you, and his hair was a little ruffled from it.

‘Don’t need anyone my ass’ was the greeting he offered you.

‘What?’ You furrowed your brow.

Jack pushed his feet back to the floor, handing you your own glass of...well, Jack. ‘I saw the way you looked at your boy, Percy.’

‘I told you before!’ You snatched the glass from his hand, dropping into your chair. ‘Eggsy is not my boyfriend.’

‘Doesn’t have to be’.’ He shrugged. ‘You looked like you were losing your brother. Tweedle Dum ain’t nothing without Tweedle Dee.’

Eggsy was your brother, by all intents and purposes. Heck, he might as well have been your twin. Your fathers had been best friends when they were in Kingsman, and you and him were reflections of that. You’d gone through every high and low of your teenage years together, and eventually adulthood. As previously established, he often came to you and he often needed you, but you hated to consider how it might have gone the other way. He was the only exception to your needing no one rule. And, considering that not even your own mother had made the cut, it was actually quite complimentary.

‘I don’t need Eggsy.’ You insisted.

‘How long have you known each other?’ Jack ignored your statement, instead posing a question. ‘Since school?’

‘No. He’s six months older than me, so...my whole life.’

‘I rest my case.’

‘You know nothing, Whiskey!’ You exclaimed. ‘You can’t make massive assumptions about me when you’ve known me for two days.’

‘I’ve met a woman like you before.’ He replied. He pondered for a moment, and his eyes were almost...vacant. ‘She pretended she didn’t need a damn person either, but she did.’

‘And who was that?’ You thinned your eyes at me. ‘Because I can’t think of a single person who I need.’

‘She needed me.’ He casually shrugged. ‘And I needed her.’

‘Right. Naturally.’ You murmured. ‘It’s too early for this, Whiskey.’

‘Got too deep for you, Tea?’

‘The hell did you just call me?’

‘Tea.’ He offered you a shit eat grin. ‘Get it? Because you’re British-’

‘- this face isn’t because I didn’t get it.’ You cut him off. ‘And on that note, I am done here. I shall be working from home this evening and possibly for the rest of eternity.’

Swiping your glass up, you poured the entirety of its contents down your throat in one swig, before slamming it back on the table. The whiskey burnt for a split second, but it felt good - and you didn’t need to be skidding down that slippery slope at two in the afternoon. Gathering up your bag, you swung it over your shoulder and stood up.

‘Oh, c’mon!’ Jack protested. ‘We were just starting to get along, sugar!’

‘We were!’ You shot back, pausing when you were half-way out the door. ‘Then you started therapising me.’

He grinned at you. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Maybe.’

‘You’re contractually obliged!’

‘Fuuuck off!’

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x you #kingsman x you #kingsman x reader #kingsman imagine #pedro pascal characters

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op-peccatori · 4 years ago

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Hopefully, Yours (part 2) | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 8326

Summary: It took some cake, a friend, and some impulsive behaviour, but they got there. (part 2 of Hopefully, Yours)

Warnings/Tags: making out, language, my cheeseball antics

a/n: I was afraid of opening this doc at one point because every time I did I added more words to it ;; Also accidentally deleted the first draft, so I hope I didn’t leave anything out for this one.

[video]

After Hours | Victor and Y/n

200, 280 views • Feb 8th, 2020

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JTV ✓

1.19M subscribers

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5100 comments

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somsom 5 minutes ago

They’re both so nice. Victor’s always made out to be this heartless CEO, so it’s nice to see this side of him :)

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tooktiktook 7 minutes ago

hmmmMMM

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cheribb 15 minutes ago

their eyes said more than enough <3 <3

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saltqueen 16 minutes ago

what i wouldn’t give to have someone look that soft over me

⌨⌨⌨

Victor eyed the cheerful grin splitting Jason’s face, just a little uneasy in his seat.

While having eager eyes on him was not an unfamiliar experience, he’d never been in a position where he was expected to talk about his feelings on camera. Not that he was about to confess in front of the entire crew of the show, but when it came to you the lines always got a little too blurry for his comfort.

He got a little too eager.

“Just be nice,” Jason had instructed gently, and Victor steeled himself.

They started, quite predictably, by asking him about his ideal type. Resisting the urge to scoff, he tried to stick to the script he’d worked on with Goldman, who had insisted on being present for today’s shoot. Not that Victor was complaining; it wasn’t exactly part of the job description, but Goldman had been enthusiastic, which Victor could appreciate and would certainly reward.

Goldman had also spent most of yesterday handling the public relations department in his absence, preparing them for his appearance on the show. A tentative plan would be sent to him by tomorrow morning. He had faith in them, believing that they would be able to make this look good for him.

“Someone who works hard,” he answered, knowing you would laugh at that. “Who can be themselves around me, someone I can be myself around. Someone...kind.”

The times you’ve spent in Souvenir flit through his mind, some quiet and some full of bright-eyed chatter.

“You’ve known Y/n for some time, right?” the interviewer asked. She looked nice, but he’d been on the block long enough to know that even the kindest faces can often hide the sharpest teeth.

“Yes.”

“What do you think of her?”

“She’s a very kind person,” he said easily. “One of the most hard-working and inspiring people I’ve ever met.”

You would surely gape like a fool after seeing this. It was a little embarrassing, but Victor was determined to leave your image shiny after this. He would not have any words of his twisted to give you a bad name. If it got even a fraction of his feelings across, well, that was a bonus he wouldn’t mind having. The intimate setting of the ferris wheel had seemed to help some, but his admittedly indirect confession didn’t reach you as he had hoped.

God, but his father would love this.

“Did you have fun on your date?”

“It was lovely.” They tacked on another question and he nodded. “I...yes, I’d love to do it again.”

It was a little curt, but he didn’t really get what Goldman had meant by ‘nod tenderly with a far-off look.’

What would you think of that?

The interviewer raised a brow, her smile widening. “Let’s get to it, then. How do you feel about her?”

For some bizarre reason, the first thing that had come to his mind at this question was his inexplicable need to check your social idea every day. And the way his heart beats just a little faster when you’ve posted a new picture. How, in moments of weakness, he’d given in and saved a few to his phone. Even a mental reminder of it made him a little hot under the collar.

There were many things he couldn’t even begin to try and explain when it came to you.

Really, the list is endless.

Victor’s current favourite was the video you’d uploaded of eating the tiramisu he’d cooked. He watches it at the end of a bad day and just like that, he feels a little better.

“I think anyone who ends up with her would be the luckiest person in the world,” he said honestly. “She’s beautiful in every single way.”

The last three words were supposed to have stayed in his head, but saying them felt natural. Goldman seemed to approve, shooting him a discreet thumbs up.

When you walk in, sleep-deprived and grumpy but trying to hide it, thinking he won’t catch on as if he isn’t running sharp eyes over every inch of your face. When the first sip of your coffee is too eager, leaving your tongue burnt and him with a pressing need to soothe it with his own. When you eat too much sugar and complain about a stomach-ache; he scolds you for it, but his arms are left straining with the need to wrap themselves around you.

He cherished these moments and wanted every single one all to himself.

She makes me greedy.

“Would you want to be that person?”

Victor laughed, light and incredulous.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

“I guess time will have to answer that question for us,” he said, the ghost of a smile on his lips, leaving it at just the right note to keep viewers hanging—right along with him.

lightscameranaps ✓ @jasonp

Hope y’all enjoyed the episode! #HopefullyYours

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bandanaman @headaccs

@jasonp sooo really sorry about this but we’re kinda dying over here

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@headaccs Victor’s acc is still private. Maybe there’s something there?

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@berryberry But Y/n’s isn’t private, and there’s nothing there. Give it up guys, they’re just friends.

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bandanaman @headaccs

@hotsauce bruh that look?? was not friendship

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@hotsauce those words?? were not friendship

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@headaccs @berryberry you two?? are hopeless romantics

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lightscameranaps ✓ @jasonp

@headaccs honestly? me too D:

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bandanaman @headaccs

@jasonp !!!!!! asdfgdvsd

Closing your Moments and the entire thread discussing the episode, you flop back down onto your mattress. Reaching for your newest plushy, you hug it tight, perhaps a tad too aggressively.

It’s odd. You struggle between the visceral sort of pleasure that comes from a job well done—because the response is terrific—and the trembling nerves that come from watching yourself on a date with Victor.

Watching the episode had been harder than you had expected; you hadn’t quite been expecting the way Victor was looking at you—the intense gaze was a little too convincing, and watching it from the audience’s perspective was flustering.

You spent most of it trying to suppress the inconvenient surges of hope, telling yourself it wasn’t real.

There really was nothing to know. The ferris wheel shot had ended there because you had nothing to say to Victor’s answer. You don’t know if he was referring to his past or his present, but the look in his eyes made it clear: his feelings were still there. Instead of pressing him, you chose to stay quiet, exhaustion clear in your face and sinking deep into your bones.

Victor had seemed to understand and maybe even appreciate it, probably not wanting to discuss it either, and only insisted on dropping you home. The ride to your place had been mostly silent, but you had tried to ask him his thoughts on the day and the shoot. He kept his answers concise, appearing a little distracted, which was so unlike him it made you wonder if he regretted opening up.

You’d spent the entire ride trying to quell the delicate little thing trembling in your chest.

The next video started while you were lost in your thoughts, and it happens to be your individual parts. Curious, you lean in, wincing slightly at the way you were fidgeting.

And then they switch to Victor. You both had to wear the outfits from the date for these, but you still weren't quite expecting the impact his voice alone would have on you.

And as always, those fierce eyes have you freezing in place.

“Let’s get to it, then. How do you feel about her?”

He looks unfazed by the question. Of course, they go over the questions with you beforehand, but you still remember how nervous you’d felt when asked how you felt about him; Victor’s eyes flick towards the camera, filled with intent, as if addressing you—and you close the laptop with a snap, your throat tight.

You don’t have to watch that right away.

You had been very careful about what to say, how to act, channeling your inner-Victor to adopt a marble-smooth expression. Say nice things about him? Easy, you didn’t even have to make anything up. Imply just enough to keep people guessing.

Keep your unwanted feelings to yourself.

Palm coming to rest over your heart, pressing down as if it would alleviate the ache there, you try to sort through your thoughts. You never really thought there was a chance, but to hear it confirmed was a blow you weren’t prepared for.

It’s ridiculous to feel so insecure, you think. You feel like you lost a competition you had never even had the chance to compete in. And over an unnamed, mysterious figure? So silly!

But another part of your mind says it’s okay to feel this way, that it’s only natural. You’ve had such strong feelings for Victor for so long. And all of these feelings, the good and the bad, are yours; the wounds of your heart, the light in your laughter. Fighting them would only make you suffer. The love and the hurt are part of you, both important in their own right.

Knowing all of that doesn’t make it easier, though.

After all, Victor had alluded to his feelings on camera, to your face. Knowing him, he would never do that unless he was sure about the person.

“This fucking sucks,” you admit out loud, and at the heels of your words come the tears. Because, to make it even worse, people really seem to think it’s you.

You can’t blame them, because even you had been taken in by his soft looks. Anyone watching would believe he’s smitten with you. Good for the show, terrible for you.

You’re not strong enough to reply to them, to tell them you aren’t that fortunate, and have been hoping Victor, or someone from his team, would put a stop to it.

But there hasn’t been any word from them and you curse out loud at the fact that he expects you to do something about it. As if there’s any more emphasis needed, your phone vibrates. Unlocking it with a miserable sigh, you scroll down quickly.

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Minor [19:40]: am I watching this right? Boss, are you dating the CEO? PLS SAY NO

Chik [20:21]: You bitch. When were you going to tell me you snagged THAT? So I was right back then, ha! Anyway, you two are adorbs. The puppy eyes are disgusting. I’m proud of you.

Chik [20:22]: also...deets. Now. I’ll even throw in a please!!!

Lucien [20:40]: Well, now. I seem to have missed out on quite the opportunity.

Kiro [20:45]: I wish you’d invited me. But I guess it wouldn’t have mattered. I hope he makes you happy, Miss Chips! He better, or else ;P

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Frowning at the texts you scroll back up, hoping, hoping, hoping, and at the sight of the name that always sits at the tip of your tongue, you curl up tighter.

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Victor [21: 05]: Are you okay?

Y/N [21:20]: I’m fine. Moments seems to be blowing up, haha. Did you watch the episode?

Victor [21: 20]: Yes.

Victor [21: 21]: Did you?

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You pause at that, looking guiltily at your laptop. You had, sort of. Fighting off your own thoughts had taken up most of your attention. Resolving to watch it again—a clear display of previously dormant masochistic tendencies, roused by Victor— and actually pay attention this time, you turn back to the screen.

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Y/N [21:22]: Yeah, but not the individual parts. It was nice, they made it seem so real! But we’re going to have to say something to let them know there’s nothing like that.

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You wait anxiously for a reply, a part of you clearly suffering from delusion hoping he’d oppose that. When there’s no text from him for a few minutes, you plug your phone in to charge and get out of bed, heading for a quick shower before you get something to eat.

Heartbreak hasn't been enough to curb your appetite, and you feel more than ready to let dessert have the chance to make you feel better.

Who needs Victor when you have cake, right?

Just as you’re halfway through cutting a slice of the cake Jason—well, his team—had sent as thanks, trying to keep your thoughts away from the bottle of wine you‘ve got tucked away, your doorbell rings, breaking the melancholic silence of your apartment. A part of you wants to roll your eyes at your dramatics, while the other feels you have the right to wallow for as long as you need to.

The irrational side of you stirs once more, conjuring thoughts of Victor rushing over, and you peep through the hole with a wildly thumping heart.

Lucien’s serene smile chases those thoughts away, and you open the door with a sheepish grin.

He looks a little tired, his dark bangs ruffled; unlike his usual sharp appearance, he looks impossibly soft in his barn red sweater and comfortable looking track pants. He’s also got a folder tucked under one arm.

“Hi!”

“Sorry to drop by so late,” he greets you, his warm eyes bringing you a little comfort instantly. “But you mentioned you’d be working on Miracle Finder tomorrow and I wanted you to have the chance to go over my remarks before that.”

“Lucien! Thank you,” you insist, waving away his apology. “Would you like to come in? I’ve got cake.”

He searches your face for a moment, and his eyes narrow the slightest bit. You feel a little self-conscious in your over-sized sweatshirt and shorts, but it’s not like he hasn’t seen you in various states of disarray before.

“Can’t really say no to that. Let me get my laptop,” he finally agrees. You wait at the door as he gets it, before leading him in. But you notice his curious, inquisitive looks, so subtle and so Lucien, as he toes off his shoes.

“Everything okay?” You reach for another plate, cutting a second slice as Lucien takes a seat at the table.

“Yes, of course. It’s just,” he hesitates, and there’s that odd scrutiny again. “I wasn’t expecting you to be alone.”

“On a Sunday evening?” The first bite of the cake tastes like sweet comfort over the taste of despondency, and you send a silent thanks to Jason. “I spent the day napping.”

“Well, after the show I just watched,” he says, quite slyly in your opinion. “I wasn’t even sure if you’d be home.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in dating shows.” You’re aware your tone is more than a little petulant, but Lucien only laughs around a mouthful of the cake.

“I am if you’re in one,” he retorts. “This is quite nice, by the way.”

“The director, Jason sent it. And, honestly, it wasn’t planned. We were supposed to have Kai and Hollow on, but they ended up clashing horribly. Jason asked me and Victor was around, so…” you trail off, uncomfortable.

“Is that why you texted me that day?” He seems to have remembered your message, and you wince slightly. You had texted him later with an apology, but hadn’t really expected him to cotton on. He doesn't look mad, just expectant.

“Well, yes, but Jason wanted, he wanted Victor.” Stumbling over your words, heat suffuses your skin as you flounder for a moment.

Lucien watches you with the eyes of a fox and the understanding of a good friend. “Just Jason?”

“Huh?”

“Was it just Jason who wanted Victor?” he asks, tilting his head as your mouth purses.

No, no, of course it wasn’t. You stare down at your half-eaten cake, the other half of it beginning to churn in your stomach. His small, soft smiles. His scent. His rants on street food and the way he dragged you away from food that would ‘absolutely make you ill, you absolute dummy’ as Jason resigned himself to having to cut all of that out. It all comes back in a rush, your head left feeling heavy.

And then it feels the weight of a hand, as Lucien reaches over to pat it gently. “Never mind. Why don’t you get your organizer and we can go over tomorrow’s episode?”

Relieved, grateful and slightly emotional over his silent acceptance, you rush to your bedroom to find your notebook and laptop, barely catching the light of your phone screen before it went black. Unplugging and checking it as you exited the room with your materials in hand, your train of thought comes to a screeching halt.

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Victor [21:59]: Do you really believe that?

Victor (2 missed calls)

Victor [22:15]: Y/n.

Victor [22:16]: ...Did you fall asleep?

Victor [22:18]: Dummy. Goodnight.

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Unwilling to delve into what his first text means, you shift your thick planner in your arms and type a quick reply.

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Y/N [22:19]: Hi! Sorry. I went to get something to eat and then Lucien dropped by. We’re going to get to work haha ^^

Victor [22:19]: …

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You wait for a whole minute before Lucien calls for you, and let your hand fall, phone locked, with a sigh.

Well, at least he’ll be happy to hear you’re working hard.

Sinking into familiar, engaging discussions with Lucien is easy. Even with the thoughts of Victor looming at the back of your mind, you straighten out a plan for the shoot. Lucien listens to your input carefully, adding his own notes as you squint at yours. His voice, familiar and soothing, lulls you, distracting you from yourself for a short while.

Before you know it, it’s eleven and you’ve got a fantastic plan in hand.

“I’m sorry I kept you so late,” you say for the second time in a minute, and he gives you an exasperated look. “And thank you.”

“I’ve told you, there’s no need for all that between us,” Lucien repeats, crossing one long leg over the other as he adopts a thoughtful look. “However, perhaps you could satisfy my curiosity regarding one thing.”

“What is it?”

You were prepared for a philosophical question. What he comes up with is, in your opinion, way more difficult to answer.

“Why aren’t you with Victor?” he asks seriously. You blink, uncomprehending.

“Like, right now?”

“Right now, or in general. I didn’t think he would just...let you be,” Lucien mutters the last part under his breath, but you still catch it. He continues to say something about possessive bastards, but you’re not touching that.

“I think you’ve misunderstood,” you say, slowly, with a nervous laugh, shoulders hunching a little. “All of that was just for the camera. Victor and I aren’t like that.”

“But you have feelings for him,” Lucien points out, cutting straight to the heart of the matter and yours. Really, this is almost cruel. Lucien turns to face you fully as you sigh and sink back into the couch.

“I do.” It’s the first time you’ve admitted it out loud. Sure, some of the people in your life have had an idea, but you’ve never said it. Lucien seems like a good person to start with. “But he doesn’t feel the same way, so.”

And you’ve never said that out loud either. It hurts, as you put it out into the universe. As if shying away from it before would have increased your chances.

Lucien looks at you oddly. “Did he say that? Because the way he looks at you says otherwise. It’s quite embarrassing.”

You feel heat creeping up the back of your neck.

“I’ve never told him how I feel,” you mumble, pressing the side of your cheek into the soft fabric, hoping it would swallow you up.

“Then how do you know how he feels?” Lucien continues to probe, and you exhale forcefully because it’s so clear to you; why isn’t it ever as clear to everyone else?

And Lucien is supposed to be your smart friend!

‘Well, there’s also someone else in his life but I can’t exactly say that.’

“Because it’s Victor,” you declare with an emphatic sweep of your hands, hoping it would somehow get your point across, that it would explain how unattainable he is. Just as you do, two things happen successively.

One: Lucien looks at you as if he wants to boink you on the head or laugh really loudly. He does neither, but his mouth twitches violently.

And two: there’s a series of loud, heavy knocks on your door, before the culprit seems to remember you have a doorbell and rings that instead. It only rings once, but you can sense that the person is still there.

Exchanging alarmed looks with Lucien, you rise to your feet and shuffle towards the door.

“Let me,” Lucien murmurs, stopping you before you can reach the entrance, and steps forward to look through the peephole. His only reaction is a quick, sharp exhale before he steps back to unlock the door.

Without telling you who was just knocking at your door like a maniac.

“Wait, who i-” the words fall away with your panicked thoughts, as Lucien opens the door to reveal your uninvited visitor.

It really is Victor this time, with his chest heaving as if he’d run up the stairs. Victor, with his inky hair pushed back carelessly, in dark grey sweats and a light grey t-shirt and indoor slippers.

Victor, with a furious look in his eyes as he pushes past Lucien, who looks a little too entertained in the face of such ire.

“Sorry to intrude on your cosy evening,” he says, after a short pause, through clenched teeth. You stare at him in disbelief, unable to form actual words at the moment. It feels as if a concentrated storm itself has swept into your living room, ready to swallow you up.

Of course, a part of you would be more than okay with that. Even with that knife-sharp glint in his eyes, you can’t help but want to throw yourself at it, let it graze the softest parts of you, in an emotional variation of bloodletting.

Sometimes you surprise yourself with the things you think.

Maybe you should’ve changed into nicer pyjamas after all, damn it.

“Victor? What-is everything okay?” You look him over carefully, seeing no visible signs of injury. The stony look on his face, however, keeps you from coming too close. What could you possibly have done now?

Swiftly, you run through a list of work-related tasks. Nope. Nothing. You’ve been sure to give it your all this week just so Victor wouldn’t feel the need to call you.

Even now, though, something under your skin starts buzzing, as it always does when his entire attention is on you.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t everything be okay?” he says mutinously, crossing his arms over his chest. Okay, you’re sensing more than a little hostility here.

And, because life is unfair, bitchy is also a good look on Victor.

“Well,” you draw out, looking past him at Lucien, who shrugs lightly. Victor frowns at the exchange. He levels a downright lethal glare at Lucien, who tilts his head in clear interest. Kinda hot, but you should probably keep that to yourself lest you push Victor to the point of spitting fire. “It’s...late...and you’re here…?”

That has his mouth doing that little spasm it does when he’s pissed. “And I notice I’m not the only one. What, is it just me who’s barred from coming to your place this late?”

“Well, n-no,” you stammer, looking once more at Lucien who seems content to watch and be unhelpful. “But Lucien was just here to talk about tomorrow’s episode.”

Why are you here?

The question seems to hang in the air, unsaid yet clear.

Victor says nothing, standing tall in your living room like an indignant matron. You feel helpless, confused, elated and increasingly offended because of the implication in his words that only catches up to you now.

You pick the path of offense.

“But what, exactly, did you think Lucien was doing here?” you ask, your tone turning decidedly cooler. He returns your glare. Behind him, you see Lucien trying to hide a smile. “You seem to be under the impression that I make it a habit of entertaining people in my evenings?”

Victor blinks at that, arms coming loose, and you hold up a hand.

“And even if I did want to have friends over at night,” you say loudly, through gritted teeth. “What business is it of yours?”

“It’s inappropriate,” he insists.

“No, what’s inappropriate is you coming into my house and telling me who I should, or should not, be spending time with, regardless of the time.” Much to your frustration, you find yourself blinking back tears as your voice cracks towards the end.

Victor deflates at that, the ice in his expression melting in the face of your furious tears; Lucien, concern clear on his face, takes a step towards you. Your eyes squeeze shut, as if that would hide you from them; anger and embarrassment war within you at not only crying in front of Victor, but to have a quiet Lucien witnessing this ridiculous drama.

Where did your peaceful day go?

You hear footsteps, hesitant and barely audible, come closer, feel the heat from a body as it nears yours.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” It’s Victor.

Your eyes snap open to the sight of his back, your feet carrying you forward without the aid of your thoughts, a hand curling loosely into his t-shirt.

Leave? Just like that?

He stops in his tracks, looking back down at you in surprise. You’re not sure what he sees as you keep your eyes fixed on his shoulder, but it makes him sigh softly.

A thumb wipes under your eyes, gentle, and strong arms wrap around you carefully, pulling you into an—unreasonably broad, you think—chest; his comforting scent envelopes you, pulling you back from the edge.

It’s frustrating. You want to yell at him for barging in like a lunatic. But you don’t want him to leave. You want to sink into his steady embrace and allow the solace it brings.

With your face pressed to his t-shirt, you miss the way he looks back at Lucien, who nods and turns to leave, but not before holding Victor’s gaze for a moment longer—you don’t see the warmth drain from his face, the vicious warning warning clear in his eyes.

Victor pulls you closer, nodding once.

If Lucien’s answering smile is a touch more resigned than amused, neither of them can really acknowledge it.

You try to pull back when you hear the door close gently, but Victor cards a hand through your hair and you slump back into his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, stroking your hair, with a gentle hesitance uncharacteristic for the decisive man. “That was...extremely inappropriate of me. I should not have done that. I can leave. I should.”

He should. But neither of you move. His heart beats a little faster, the sound clearer the longer your ear remains pressed into his chest.

With cotton in your mouth, your mind totally mush with the knowledge that Victor’s hugging you, and with the little voice yelling that he does not get to hold you after driving you to tears—it takes you a moment to form a response.

But you can’t resist. “So what you’re saying is you made an impulsive decision.”

The soft motions of his hand pause before he huffs into your hair. There’s no other response, and it makes you smile a little.

“Why did you?” you finally ask. Victor quite visibly lost his cool. While he did seem to have something against Lucien, this was a bit much. You hadn’t been aware that the hostility ran this deep.

He tucks your head under his chin, the arm around your waist tightening, and as the anger subsides, your face begins to heat up as you realize how intimate this is. But Victor seems content to stay like this, and your heart hammers when you feel something brush the crown of your head.

“Dummy,” he mutters, and yes, his words are slightly muffled by your hair, and you feel the urge to stick your head in the refrigerator. “You had that guy over this late at night. Do you really need to ask?”

“It’s just Lucien,” you respond, and this time he lets you pull your head away to look at you with abject disbelief.

“Just? There’s no just with that guy.” He seems serious, so you swallow the laughter bubbling up.

“Lucien is a dear friend,” you assure him. “You were really that worried about it?”

“Worried,” Victor repeats, staring at you. Your confusion is clear in your face, as the feeling that you’re missing something creeps in. “Worried. Yes. I was worried.”

You nod encouragingly, and take a quick step back when he laughs. It isn’t one of his airy laughs, that escapes him when he finds something funny. It’s low, almost strangled—and then he steps forward, expression melting into sheer intent.

When he speaks, his voice is a full octave lower and it scrambles your brains with shameful ease.

“Since he was the one you considered over me for our date that day. Yes, I suppose I was worried,” he muses, matching every unsteady step you take backwards with one towards you. You refrain from pointing out that it was for a show, and all too soon, the back of the sofa hits your hips and Victor looms over you.

You tuck the part about him knowing you wanted to ask Lucien first away for later. Victor, his soothing scent, the heat from his breath, his tempestuous gaze—your senses flood with him.

“Y-yeah. But you didn’t need to be, he always helps us out,” you point out confusedly, and he gives you a familiar, unimpressed look that brings a small, and odd, measure of relief.

“What kind of a person would I be,” he says, and your stomach swoops as he leans over you, hands resting on the top of the sofa as you lean back. “If I let dangerous men like him think they have a chance with you?”

“Dangerous? He’s…” The rest of his words catch up and you can’t think, tongue struggling to form coherent speech. “Not...dangerous?”

“Too dangerous,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your temple. Something in the back of your throat trembles. “Even if I don’t have the right, I…”

He doesn’t continue.

Holding your breath, you count to five before releasing it, pulse beating an anticipatory beat in your veins. “Why should anyone think they don’t have a chance with me?”

You know he hasn’t, but with how everything in you stills after asking that question, you wonder if he stopped time.

You’re not sure if it’s the right question to have asked, or the worst.

But it gives him pause, and when the tip of your tongue slips out to wet your lips, his eyes slide down to your mouth. A large hand slides up your spine to rest at the back of your head, your skin erupting with goosebumps at the touch.

Your lips part on the softest sound and it makes something rumble in his chest, quiet but clear with how close he is.

It gives you what you’ve been dreaming of—Victor’s lips falling over yours, soft, with a rushed breath and fervent eyes, something desperate at the edge of it. Everything goes quiet, with only your blood pounding in your ears. It feels as if every inch of you is awake in a tingly sort of way, your thoughts deserting you at the way he looks at you, ready to devour.

There’s hunger in his eyes, and you feel faint when it hits you.

It’s also his answer, you realize, mouth opening to say something, anything, and he pulls you back, kissing you fiercely. Something in you caves, spilling into your blood, setting it alight with a burst of sparking desire.

Victor kisses with his entire body, like he does everything else: controlling every inch of it, sweeping your mind clean, licking into your mouth with the determination that drives his every action, to conquer.

But you’ve been determined to match him since the day you first met him, all too eager to push back and clash. You don’t mind the clack of teeth, the lack of rhythm, and Victor only presses in harder as your arms slide over his shoulders, fingers weaving into his hair. Your tongue is a sly thing that licks along his, your mouth a clever warm weapon that sucks at it, and he unravels.

Hands that were so careful lose their caution as they dig into the sides of your hips, slinking down and hooking around your thighs as he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“You’re not stopping me,” he rasps against your lips, almost questioning, pupils blown wide. He looks so good you might just lose your mind, and this is after a kiss.

Taking a page out of his book, you kiss him again.

He carries you around the sofa—with a strength you’ll be sure to admire deeply once you’ve regained the ability to form thoughts—even as he sucks bruises into the delicate skin of your neck, sitting down with you sinking into his lap.

You’re shivering, you realize, at this sudden fulfilment of a desperate, impossible wish. Your knees press into the sides of his thighs as Victor kisses the corners of your mouth, the curve of your upper lip, the plush, swollen jut of your lower lip—and you feel deliriously drunk.

He watches you carefully.

“Oh,” you say, half-slurring, kissed stupid. “That’s why.”

“Hm,” he agrees, nuzzling the side of your face. His eyes are bright, his arms a grounding touch around your back. “No one should think they get to have this.”

“No one but you?” It’s meant to be clever, sharper, but it comes out shy instead. He nips at the shell of your ear, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad about it.

“If you allow it,” he confirms. He presses his lips to the soft skin behind your ear.

Something swells within you, sweet, sudden and threatening to dissolve you into tears. It breaks open, everything you’ve worked so hard to suppress spilling out like hoarded treasure out of a box now too small to hold it.

“I like you.” It comes out in a rush, and you slap your hands over your face. This time, his low chuckle rings clear in your ears. But when your breath hitches on a sob, his grip on you tightens, lips finding your forehead. “I really like you. So much. I have for a while. At the fair, all of it, I wasn’t...wasn’t acting.”

“What, and you thought I was?” He looks a little offended when you take a peek at his face. But the sight of his ruffled hair and kissed-puffy lips sends a hot, thrilled jolt through you, and you have to restrain yourself from pouncing. “I have many skills. Acting, admittedly, is not one of them.”

“I thought maybe it was a hidden passion or something,” you mutter, trying to repress a wet laugh at the withering look he gives you, gentle hands wiping at your eyes. “What, you were great!”

“Nope. That was all real,” he declares, pulling you in to rest against him, your head on his shoulder. You feel a little awkward, but that’s mostly outweighed by how much you want to stay here. “...well, maybe I was a little…”

“Nicer than usual?” you offer, and he huffs into your hair. “Cheesy, like you binge-read several romance novels the night before?”

“Cheesy?” He protests, and you laugh with warmth building and rushing through you. “I thought you liked all that.”

“I do.” This time, the kiss he presses into the crown of your head is firmer.

“Then I’ll do it.” You look up at him, a little enchanted, a little bewildered, but the former wins out as the corners of his mouth curl up. “Every silly thing you want to do. Oh, and I really like you too.” It’s almost a scoff, but the tremor in his voice and the flush that spreads across his skin speaks his truth.

“Really?” you ask, your grin a little mad and ridiculously beatific. It feels unreal, the joy and relief spreading through you; he pecks the tip of your nose.

“Have I ever given you reason to doubt me?” Victor asks, and the solemn sincerity in his voice prompts you to deliver a loud, smacking kiss to his cheek, just because you can. To your unending joy, the lobes of his ears are almost impossibly red.

“Never,” you assure him, peppering more kisses over his skin, fascinating by the sight of him pinkening. A thought strikes you, dampening your rising spirits. “I thought...thought there was someone else.”

He makes a soft, surprised noise in his throat, disbelief winning out over the tenderness for a moment. “Who?”

“I don’t know!” You press your face into the side of his neck, inhaling his comforting scent, hoping it would help with the remnants of hurt. “Some mystery goddess.”

He’s quiet as you nuzzle his rapidly warming skin, feeling the first hints of sheer mortification settle in at the way your voice just cracked. He whispers something.

“Sorry?”

Victor clears his throat. “Just you.” He buries his nose in your hair before you have the chance to lean back like you want to. “It’s only ever been you.”

Not expecting the sincere confession, it feels as if the breath was punched out of you. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

He toys with a strand of your hair, curling it absently around a finger. “I didn’t want to overstep. And to make you feel like you had to reciprocate.”

You stay silent, sensing that he has more to say, even though you want nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

“I’ll admit that I feared you would feel pressured to be with me. And that would...I would rather see you happy with someone else, than see you miserable with me.”

“I could never be miserable with you,” you protest at once, feeling almost offended by the mere suggestion.

“I’m not...I know I can be difficult.” The words fall out in a rushed exhale, as if he wants to get them out before they can be swallowed; you feel weak with the force of your emotions. “But I can try for you. I did that day. I wanted you to relax, to have fun, like you do with your friends. I didn’t want you to be so...cautious.”

It’s true, you realize guiltily, that there are times where you can’t completely relax in Victor’s company. Those are the days where your feelings sit a little heavier in your stomach, when his words strike a little sharper. The thought of disappointing him, of doing something not to his taste, of judgment, held you back.

But the day of the fair had been different. He met you halfway, maybe even more than that, and never said a word of complaint. You’d assumed that had been for the camera, though.

“Please,” he says with a roll of his eyes, and you realize you’d said that out loud. “No, that was…” He lowers his gaze, long lashes fanning over the tops of his cheekbones. “That was to show you that you can have fun with me too. I...like you. The way you are. Every bit. The determined, unyielding parts.”

You stare at him.

“The hurting, unsure parts,” he says, a little quieter. “The silly, ridiculously cute parts—don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what,” you ask, your overworked mind trying to process his words, knowing your smile is probably embarrassingly dopey.

He scowls at you. “Just be yourself with me. Dummy is fine.”

“Victor,” you exclaim all of a sudden, startling him. “How am I supposed to stay standing in the face of you saying things like that?”

He rolls his eyes again. “First of all, you’re sitting right now, and I don’t plan to let you move for a while.” Predictably, you feel a little lightheaded at that. “And as for the future...then don’t try to stand, dummy. You can just rest here.” He pulls your head to rest on his shoulder, patting it firmly.

“I’m going to die,” you say with absolute certainty into his shoulder. “I can’t survive this.”

“You have to,” he mutters dryly, tucking you more firmly against him. “Haven’t you seen the discussions? Our ‘love story’ can’t end in your death, too many would be left devastated.”

“Including you?” The look you direct at him is positively vulpine, and he snorts, pushing your head back down. Bully.

The titillated fluttering in your stomach makes you smile.

“...I can’t become a widower before we even get married,” he says solemnly, and you can nearly feel the blood drain from your face as you rear back.

The corners of his mouth twitch with something like mischief, and the smack you deliver to his bicep is perfectly justified.

The undoubtedly chiselled muscle you feel very briefly will also require further rumination once you’re alone.

He’s cracking marriage jokes, no doubt referring to the few comments gushing about a secret wedding. An hour ago, you had been under the impression that he was madly in love with some mystery figure.

Like a bird just freed, your heart flutters at the thought of him having feelings for you.

“Say it again.”

To his credit, he doesn’t do you the disservice of pretending he doesn’t know what you’re asking for. He clears his throat, eyes flicking to the side before finding their way back to yours.

“I like you,” he says, a little lower, a lot deeper. “Dummy.”

You wish you could see what your face was doing, because it makes his eyes go really, really soft. Now that you aren’t weighed down by the frantic need to hide your feelings from one of the most astute people you’ve ever met, you feel like you could float away the way you’ve seen Gavin do, just from how free and happy you feel.

“Just for the record,” you say quietly. “I like you the way you are too.”

“Hm?”

“Even when you’re being a jerk.” He tweaks your ear lightly, rolling his eyes when you giggle. Your heart beats a harsh beat as you try to come up with the right words. “But you’re also the best man I know. When you have it together, and when you don’t—I’ll be there for you. Always.” The way he’s always been there for you.

He kisses the tip of your nose, his pretty eyes a little shinier than before.

“We should aim for a real date first.” He sounds decisive, and a little hoarse.

“...I have a list of places I thought would be good for our first date,” you admit, eyes still locked with his despite your shy admission. He looks pleased, always happy when you take the initiative, and you watch his mouth do that tender thing for a second before leaning in for a swift kiss, catching his lower lip between your teeth as you pull away.

“Good.” His head falls back onto the sofa as your lips trail down his neck curiously, mouthing at the slope of his adam’s apple. Just because you can. “Send it to me.”

“Good,” you murmur, breath hitching in your throat as his hands curl over your waist, skimming the hem of your sweatshirt. “We’re doing this, then.”

“Most definitely.” With how throaty his voice has gotten as you reach his clavicle, a gentle explorer, you’re not sure words will be your allies for much longer.

“Will you be my boyfriend then, Mr. CEO?” you ask playfully, tasting the words in your mouth. Victor makes a soft, content sound in his throat.

“I’m all yours,” he affirms, relishing the words in his mouth, raising his head to look at you through hooded eyes. You both know it, just a little, but saying the words brings a giddy, vulnerable sort of feeling with them. “And you…”

With no need for hope, just certainty, you rise up to kiss him softly.

“I’m yours.”

BTS:

Goldman stares at Jason in horrified disbelief, shocked by the words that had just left the director’s mouth. He glances at his boss, whose only reaction had been to cock a brow.

“Would you be open to replacing Kai?”

“I’m...not really one for such shows,” Victor says, quite delicately in Goldman’s opinion, knowing the man usually has no qualms about being savagely blunt.

“I’m aware. I just thought it would be something different, something that would let people see a different side of you,” Jason explains, still completely at ease.

Victor’s expression makes it quite clear he doesn’t care about people seeing other sides of him.

“Who’s the other participant? Did Hollow come back?” Goldman asks, curious despite himself. In his very personal opinion, which he will definitely be keeping to himself, it might be nice for Victor’s image if people saw he isn’t always heartless.

“Oh, no. She didn’t,” Jason says pleasantly. But the look in his eyes is almost hawklike as he keeps them locked on Victor. “I asked Y/n to do it instead. She agreed.”

Now, to the untrained eye, Victor gives no outward reaction to that statement.

But Goldman sees the way his brow twitches, the way his lips purse the slightest bit. He wonders if Jason, as a director with many years of experience under his belt, caught it too.

“She agreed?” Victor asks, sounding as if he doesn’t quite believe it.

“Yes,” Jason answers, suddenly distracted as he glances at his wristwatch. He sighs, a touch too dramatic to be convincing, but Goldman doesn’t think Victor cares about that. “But I understand. We wouldn’t want you to do something you’re not interested in. I have to go check on her, we’ll keep you updated.”

Something is happening here, Goldman realizes. Jason isn’t rushing out, but seems to be waiting for something.

Victor, staring at the surface of the coffee table, is struggling.

Goldman struggles too. He struggles not to roll his eyes in abject exasperation, to pray for divine patience. Why is he like this? Of course, to step into such an obvious trap surely goes against all the instincts he’s honed over the years, but none of that matters when it comes to the delicate matters of the heart!

Instead, he catches Jason’s eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose, eyes glinting.

“But who else would you ask to step in on such short notice?” Goldman asks, pointedly.

And finally, Goldman holds his breath as the ghost of a smirk passes over Jason’s mouth.

This is it.

“Oh, it shouldn’t be a problem. Y/n said she could call Professor Lucien, having already guessed Victor wouldn’t be, um, up for it. She really knows you well, huh?” Jason informs them cheerfully, and even Goldman isn’t expecting that. He thought Jason would go for the ‘who will help poor y/n’ route.

It’s obvious manipulation, and they all know it. Knowing Victor, he will stubbornly refuse to give in and suffer for it. At least, the way he’s glaring at Jason seems to indicate that.

Goldman rushes through several justifications in his head, forming a rapidly coherent argument as to why he should do it, carefully keeping ‘if you don’t want to see her with someone else, suck it up’ and ‘please, please, watching you sulk is really sad I can’t do it’ off the list.

Surely, Victor wouldn’t let the sexy professor sweep you off your feet? He’s heard the man talk, that kind of smooth talk should not be allowed and holy hell, Jason has played this really well.

“They do get along well, so it should work,” Jason muses, slathering a little more icing on his three-tier cake of clear-cut manipulation, drama, and subterfuge.

“I’ll do it.” It’s said through a tightened jaw, but it rings clear in the silence of the room. Goldman abandons his mental speech, head whipping around to stare at Victor.

“Oh?” Jason sounds genuinely surprised, as if he hadn’t been aiming for this from the start.

“Yes,” comes the answer, leaving no room for argument.

“Are you sure?” Jason asks, oddly somber, finally abandoning the pretense. So he is in possession of some morals, who would have thought?

“Give me the briefing,” Victor says, shoulders set in a firm, determined line Goldman is all too familiar with.

Jason relaxes into his seat, relief clear in his face.

And as Victor turns to him, giving him specific instructions about his outfit, cologne and flowers, determined to do this right with that familiar, besotted spark in his eye, Goldman feels warm pride trickle in.

‘We’re gonna get you the girl, boss.’

Aaaaaaand...CUT.

I know the last behind the scenes thing wasn’t really needed but I had to

Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it!

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc fanfic #mr love li zeyan #mlqc li zeyan #mr love queen's choice #mr love: queen's choice #my writing #tag yourselves im lucien

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shadowling-guistical · 4 years ago

Text

Sit and Bleed.

Roman asks Remus for advice, and Remus delivers. In his own, mildly disturbing way. Somehow, bonding ensues.

Yeah idk either. I shared this to one of my friends and they said, and I quote, "Hey mishi i love you but wtf? Did remus posess you?"

So like, enjoy?

WARNING: Extensive blood talk, period talk, mild injury, mild gore, and generally just canon typical Remus shenanigans.

---

"Do you think that it's true?" Roman had asked him one day, "That writing is easy? That you could just sit at a typewriter and… And bleed?"

It had been dusk, and somehow, Roman had Imaginationed the setting sun to send it's final rays streaking across his room. From where Remus had been lying, splayed out on Roman's carpet like a human sacrifice waiting for a malevolent god, it looked sickeningly beautiful. The gold that bathed the room, the warmth and splendour, he thought it was just saccharinely horrid.

Roman turned his chair to face him. Remus turned his head. A heartbeat turned into two before he scoffed.

"Please," Remus idly picked his nose, rolling the products he found jammed up in his sniffer into a small hard ball and flicked it off to god knows where. He hoped it landed on Roman's pillow. "If writing were that easy, I'd twist my foot off and feed it to Virgil's tarantula,"

"It used to be,"

Remus sighed, swinging his legs up before he leapt onto his feet with a soft oof. Roman went back to his writing, ignoring the sound of Remus' spine popping when he straightened himself. The Duke sauntered to Roman's desk, looking over his shoulder to see…

Nothing.

Well, nothing substantial .

Bits of writing here, a doodle there, scratched out ideas at the corner, angry scribbles at another…Oof.

His twin must have noticed, because Roman’s tone was bitter.

“Not anymore,”

"Yeah well," Remus muttered, thinking of glittering yellow eyes filled with mischief and a sly smirk underneath a shadowy hood, "A lot of other things used to be easy too,"

"Well? What do you think?"

Riiiiight, typewriting and bleeding. Remus scoffed, "Well willya lookit that. You never asked me before, why start now?"

Roman groaned, "... Remus I’m serious here,"

"Hey! It's true," Remus swiped the paper and crumpled it into a ball. Without looking, he threw it over the shoulder. Roman scowled when he sees it bounce onto his bed, "What's up, Prince stink-a-lot? You ask me to come hang out. You didn't kick me out when I wiped boogers onto that skinned angora cat you call a carpet, and now you're asking me questions? What gives?"

"...it's just…"

God, it’s just this and it’s just that , Remus wanted to pull his hair out already. He wished Roman would just spit it out. Just vomit it out and get this over with. Really, getting his stupid twin to just spew whatever was rattling in that noggin if his was worse than pulling teeth out of a gator. And Remus would know, he tried it a lot over the years.

"I just wanted to be like you,"

And there it was, whatever thing that had been sitting in his twin’s gut like a 5 foot long tapeworm.

…

Like him.

Like Remus.

The Duke of Dastardly Deeds.

Mr. Dark and Disgusting himself.

Roman "Pretty Boy" Sanders wanted to be like him?

Remus leaned forward, far more amused than shocked.

"...You're fucking with me,"

"No, I am not," Roman was looking at him with those intense green eyes of his and woah… the guy really was serious, wasn't he?

Huh.

Curiosity reared it's head, familiar and cloying somewhere inside of Remus' stomach. Then again, it could have been the extra potent shaving cream he had over his deodorant earlier today. Who fucking knows.

"Why?" He finally asked.

"Because… You've always made it look so… easy," Shaking hands ran through unruly curls, "It comes easier for you than it did for me. Always did. Just— How do you do it, Remus?"

The other twin considered it for a moment.

Had it really? Admittedly, Remus didn’t really notice it. He hummed. Sit on a typewriter and let yourself bleed , huh?

Well. He apparently had a crisis to handle.

Remus leaned against Roman's desk. Lightly, he ran rough, clumsy fingers on a splotch of dried ink absorbed into wood.

The tone that his Other Half (Don't make it weird Tumblr, he didn't mean that way. So put those pitchforks down and back away. Thanks.) had used while gesturing to the stack of papers and feather quills on his desk now morphed into disgust, "it feels like I just don't have any flowing in me anymore,"

"Well duh," long, dirty fingernails tapped against polished wood, "It's because bleeding isn't supposed to be easy, you doofus," He sighed, and Roman’s expression caused him to nearly want to groan and drape himself over the table. God, it was so fucking obvious that Roman really had no idea, did he? "You know, If you wanna go all gross metaphor with me, you gotta at least not half ass it,"

"Okay, but half ass it how? That how the saying goes,"

With all the tact and delicacy of a blunt axe, Roman’s words were cut off.

"Then it's a shit saying,"Before Roman could protest, "Look do you want me to help or not? Yeah? Then good. Just shut up for a sec and spill the juicy details," Pause, "Okay, what do you know about periods?"

Roman stiffened, obviously beginning to not like where the conversation was steered to. Because not even Jesus could take the wheel when Remus was behind it. However, Roman reluctantly let his shoulders relax when his twin brushed him off with an eye roll. Cautiously, because Remus still needs to be handled much like a skunk would.

"Remus— “

"Oh just relax. This is going somewhere. Trust me. And I won't do any shit I can't clean up. Just answer the question,"

Roman looked queasy, but swallowed heavily. He supposed he did ask, "I guess, just what Thomas learned in Sex Ed,"

Hm, he could work with that.

"So absolutely shit! Great! I just love the educational system in Florida. Wonderful. Wish the Nerdy Wolverine was here to tell you. But you only got me so it'll have to do— Should've prepared a whole musical number about it too—"

Remus held out his palms, and Roman sees the skin tighten. It strained and stretched before it ripped into a bloody gash. Roman grimaced, the other unperturbed. In fact, he daresay Remus looked curious. Like he was mulling over what to say.

"Eh, Follow up— Have" Remus let the blood pool into his cupped hands. A tablespoonful turned into a cupful and soon it was overflowing. He tipped his hand so that the blood dribbled down. Drip drip drip, a small stream of blood hit the floor in splatters, "Have you seen it before? Period blood?"

"What?” Oh god, he feels like he could gag, “Gross—! No of course not,"

Remus rolled his eyes.

"Unfeminist much?" The dry tone was met with protest.

"I'm not!—" Roman spluttered, "I don't go around looking for what comes out of people's pants, Remus!"

"Yeah yeah, but did you know they're chunky though?"

"I— What the fuck Remus?"

"Just...humour me for a sec. So they're chunky," Remus sort of flicked his hand, sending smaller droplets flying. A particularly large droplet streaked across Roman’s floor, "Thick goopy, disgusting— Hey, think of that the next time you scoop out some Crofters eh?"

Well, there nearly goes Roman's lunch.

"Oh god.” He pushed down the tickle at the back of his throat, “Please don't— Just, get to the point,"

"Okay okay. Jeez. The point is," two scarred, calloused hands rubbed together, letting the blood smear, "Is that even blood flows differently,"

The hands raised up, tinged red and both of them marred with an angry, red, jagged tear.

"Look at this shit. See? Not everything that comes out is the same. Some places will drip. Others flow and some? They're chunky. That's just how it is. you can't expect chunky blood to flow as easily as fresh blood,"

Without letting Roman mull on the morbid metaphor, he ploughed on.

"Oh yeah— And blood coagulates. It dries up and turns to scab. It won't stay bleeding forever. It's not supposed to. And expecting it to is just stupid, so write that down with your fancy quill,"

Blinking, Roman's mind slowly caught up with him.

Flowing blood and drying and scabbing— He soon deflated.

Oh.

Oh…

He just watched wordlessly as Remus wiped his hand against the fabric of his outfit. Flakes of dried blood sprinkled down joining the droplets on the ground like some sort of morbid snow.

" And just in case you forget, because of course you do. Scabbing is good. Personal experience guaranteed. It heals things. Plus…" the hand with the cut waved again. Exaggeratedly, mockingly, and even Roman couldn't help but to crack a smile, "You gotta make a pretty deep cut if you wanna bleed a lot,"

Maybe Roman was imagining the softer tone that Remus had let bleed into his voice.

"And if you bleed a lot, you gotta let yourself scab,"

A long, slow exhale.

He had to let himself scab.

"And… You've kinda been bleeding a lot, didn’tcha?"

"I…" Roman swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, "...Yeah...I think so,"

"Been making some huge cut lately to get it flowing?…"

"...Mmmm…" Shaking breaths, fragile and soft. Okay… okay… "Remus?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you… do you think I can… I should—"

Should he stop?

"... Course you could, you stupid bleeding heart…" a hand found itself in Roman's hair, gently carding it. Really, almost petting it, "...But fuck Ro, if that isn't the thing we all love about you, you doof. Of course you can. And you should. In fact, I am telling you to,"

Hesitantly, a pair of arms circled themselves over Roman's shoulder, pulling him close.

Remus didn't mention it when he saw broad shoulders decorated in tassels begin to shake. He didn't pay attention to the soft sobs that sent a Prince, unwavering and strong, shaking. He didn't care about the way Roman's face had crumpled.

"It's time to let it scab, Roman. And try not to pick at it too much,”

Outside, the figure that had been leaning against the door for the better part of the last 10 minutes smiled.

Heh… Credit where credit's due, he supposed.

He tilted his bowler hat forward and began walking down the hallway. No need to worry.

Who knew that the Duke had it in him.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #creativitwins #remus sanders #roman sanders #ts remus #ts roman #tw blood #tw periods #tw mild gore

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sup-hoes-its-me · 4 years ago

Text

A Hero III (Shinsou x Reader)

A/N: okay, so this is definitely the last part. I had so much fun writing this tbh, i really hope you guys enjoy it. I love love love writing jealousy. This chapter is all fluff, so sweet it’ll give you cavities. God, the thought of seeing shinsou smile and be happy, wow. im in love with him. Have fun reading and comment if you want more shinsou in the future

word count: 5200

Part One/Part Two/Part Three

“Shinsou, what do you think of this?” she held up a dress on the hanger. The price wasn’t nearly as bad as the other things in here, and it wasn’t in an ugly color. It was purple, of course. She loved purple ever since she met her friend. Her notebooks were purple and so was her new bedspread. It was nice to curl up in a cave of violet each night, almost like a night-long hug from him.

Gosh, she felt herself becoming flustered just thinking about it. You’re friends, Y/N. just because someone is nice to you does not mean they want to go out with you, seriously. She kept telling herself over and over in her head to focus on the task at hand.

They were shopping, specifically for her uncle’s wedding. She had literally nothing that looked mildly appropriate, her closet just stuff to the brim with uniforms and jeans and sweaters, nothing fancy. Two days before the actual ceremony, her mother woke her up early on a Sunday. “Go out and get yourself something nice to wear. I seriously cannot believe both of my children dress like complete slobs everyday.” Y/N heard her hothead mother say in her head once more. Did she really dress like a slob? She didn’t think so. Her clothes weren’t in fashion but also weren’t ugly.

Shinsou peered up from his phone where he sat on the bench. He didn’t necessarily plan on going out to the mall that day, he was actually going to sleep for most of it. He was quite surprised when he woke up at 10a.m. to his phone ringing and vibrating on the bedside table. Without putting in much thought, he suddenly found himself dressed and walking down the road to her house.

“It looks fine.”

“Just fine? If it’s ugly, you have to tell me because mom will make me return it and get something else,” she complained.

“In that case, probably not. It’s kinda plain, don’t you think?” he commented. He stood from the bench. “Although, I do appreciate you only looking at purple dresses, let’s try something else.” He hummed to himself, as he walked past her. He didn’t really have an eye for women’s clothes, not at all. He just looked at them and tried to imagine Y/N wearing it. How the colors would look against her skin, and how it would flatter her shape. He tried not to think about her body too much, it would fluster him and he wouldn’t be able to look her in the eyes, he was sure of it.

“Let’s try red.”

“Red? Like blood?” she asked. He turned to look at her with a raised brow before he remembered she spent her days surrounded by her own blood, as that’s what he quirk entailed. Of course she would associate the color with it. Scrap that idea.

“Okay then, let’s try blue.” She nodded, agreeing with him. She never wore too much color, but that one wasn’t too bad. “Your budget is what? 100 dollars, right?” he asked as his eyes skimmed the racks in the area. Now that he looked at it, dresses really didn’t look that great when they just hung there.

She stepped up to walk at his side. “Yes. Do you see anything you like?”

“Not really. I have to see them on you to know if they’re good or not,” he told her. His eyes trailed down to a modest blue dress, okay for a party with family members. “Try this one. And then,” he scanned the room once more before walking over and grabbing another one. “Try this one. I’ll wait outside until you’re done.”

She took the dresses from his hands and pressed them to her chest. She would have never picked either of these dresses as they weren’t her style. She was self conscious in the first place, so she tended to avoid wearing anything that would draw attention to her. Just the thought of walking around in a nice dress, eyes turning to stare, it made her feel anxious.

Still, she was only with Shinsou. She didn’t have to worry about him seeing her. He wouldn’t judge or stare if she asked him not to. That’s the whole reason she brought him, because she wanted company and she trusted his opinion. If she looked bad, she was sure he would tell her to keep her from embarrassment.

In the dressing room, she slipped out of her casual clothes and threw the dress over her head, letting it fall down to rest against her body. The fabric was soft against her skin, and she felt herself running her fingers along the fabric, sighing at how delicate the material was. There wasn’t a design really, it was a pretty plain dress, but it fit perfectly. Usually clothes on fit right in one place and wrong in another, but this one wasn’t like that. She would have to see what it looked like with the zipper up.

“Hitoshi, can you come in?”

“What?”

“I need your help. My arms aren’t long enough to pull up the zipper,” she called to him again. Hesitantly, he stood from the little viewing bench and knocked on the door, which she had locked from the inside. She unlatched the little hook and cracked it open enough for him to slip in.

Admittedly, he felt weird, being in the dressing room with her; it felt so foreign to him. He kept his eyes trailed on the wall, not daring to look at her incase she was at all indecent. If Shinsou Hitoshi knew how to do anything, it was respecting women. “So what did you need?”

“Just do the zipper the rest of the way. I only got it halfway up,” she told him, and he looked down at her. She stood facing away from him, and indeed half the zipper was open. Carefully, with as much finesse as he could muster, he pulled up the zipper without touching much of her bare skin. He did rest a hand on her shoulder though to hold the dress in place.

You’re just friends. This shouldn’t even be a problem for you, he thought. But it was a problem. He felt flustered and a bit bothered, if he were being completely honest. He was so distracted he didn’t even hear what she was saying until she shook his arm.

“Yeah?”

“I said, how does this one look? It’s super comfortable, I have to say that.” First, she smoothed down the skirt and then she raised her arms slightly to her sides so he could see the whole thing.

He almost choked. She looked amazing. He loved seeing her in whatever clothes she wanted to wear. Uniform, big sweaters, jeans, pyjamas, it didn’t matter, she looked equally amazing in everything. It’s just something about seeing someone you care about so much in fancy clothes that leaves you shocked and mouth agape.

Subtly, he cleared his throat, and looked away from her. “Well, that’s settled. You’re gonna leave with that one.”

Y/N turned a bit in the mirror, checking herself and the dress out. It did look awfully nice on her, but she just couldn’t see herself wearing something so nice. She would probably think that about any dress she put on, and since Shinsou said he liked this one, it must be good. “Are you sure?”

He looked at her again, standing beside her so he could see her in the mirror as well. He ran a hand through his hair, and nodded. “Definitely. I don’t think you’ll find anything better than that one.”

“Really? What about this exact dress but in purple?” she laughed.

“Okay, maybe.”

He turned to leave, so she could get dressed but she stopped him. “Wait, you gotta unzip it too.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He walked up to stand behind her, his hands shaking only a little. He was surprised he wasn’t about to pass out. He rest one hand on her shoulder once again and the other pulled down the zipper slowly. It probably would have made it a lot easier on him if he just did it swiftly and then evaded the room immediately. Once it was down though, he was extremely quick to leave the room, undoing the latch, and sliding out of the room.

“Are you okay, Hitoshi?” the girl asked, and from outside the room, he could hear her slipping the dress off and the cloth hitting the floor.

Jesus Christ.

After a minute, the door unlatched and she walked out, carrying both the dresses on her arm. “Just have to put this one back and then we can get out of here,” she said, walking through the racks to hang up the second dress which she never even got the chance to try on. He was glad for that, as he didn’t have to go through that process again. He almost felt out of breath.

Why was he so immature? They weren’t little kids. She was his friend, and helping her put on her dress wasn’t anything to get worked up over. She was acting like everything was fine and nothing intimate just happened at all. It left him feeling almost ashamed with himself for overreacting. Clearly, she thought it was a normal thing.

As she bought her stuff at the counter, he shuffled awkwardly to the side. “Y/N, you wanna get something to eat after this?” Food would make him feel better. Carbs can do magic in almost all situations.

“Yes. Did you have anything in mind?”

“No, I thought I’d let you pick.” For a moment, she paused to exchange money with the lady at the counter. She hung the bag with her dress inside on her arm and turned to walk out of the store with her friend, who had his hands now shoved deep in his jacket pockets.

“Fried chicken,” she asked hopefully, looking up to him.

“Sure. You find us a table while I go and get the food,” he told her, and she could only nod in agreement. It was fucking hard to find a table in these crowded malls. Slowly, her eyes scanned the room and the dozens of people gathered around the tables eating their meals of choice. Finally, out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted a table with only one chair and some trash sitting on it, but that was as good as they were gonna get. She walked over and picked up the leftover tray and tossed it in the trash a couple feet away.

“Excuse me, can I borrow one of these chairs?” she asked the table beside them with a couple extra chairs around, and they nodded, but their subtle glares told her she was bothering them. She cringed, but still dragged the chair over and took a seat. Her eyes wandered back over to Shinsou, who was waiting in line, but surprisingly, there was a girl standing right beside him. She was way too far away to hear what they were speaking about, but the girl seemed to be talking up a storm.

Maybe he knew her.

Damn, she sure is pretty, Y/N thought. Why did Shinsou know such a beautiful lady? He could talk to whoever he wanted, it wasn’t her place to say anything, she was just curious. Really, really, curious. So, she buried her nose in her phone to avoid those thoughts. Shinsou was free to talk to whoever he wanted.

It was fine, whatever.

Really.

Y/N couldn’t care less.

...

Okay, so (not) secretly, she cared a fuck ton.

After a while, she heard the chair across from her scratch against the floor and a tray be placed in the middle of the table. “Y/N, what are you looking at so angrily over there?” he asked, and she looked up from her phone, bewildered. Was she glaring at her own phone, where she was just looking at memes?

“Oh, uh, nothing. Thanks for the food. I could have paid my share.”

He raised a brow, clearly confused. She never turned down free food. Not once. Who does that? “Why? I offered anyway.”

“I know, but like...Well, I don’t know. I guess you’re right.” She took a bite of her food, but it didn’t taste very good. Instead, it just tasted bitter, like how she was feeling.

“Seriously, what’s up with you?”

“It’s nothing,” Y/N said calmly, adding, “I’m just curious who that girl was you were talking to.”

He thought for a moment before remembering. He’d completely forgotten that some lady tried talking to him. She was so insignificant that he just pushed it from his mind. He had better things to think about. He replied casually, “Oh, her? I don’t even know. She just came up to me and started talking to me.”

“About what?”

He shrugged. He didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t even think Y/N noticed her come up to him, nor did he think she would care. “Well, quite frankly, she was flirting with me, I think. She asked for my phone number and stuff…” Really, he didn’t think it was that big of a deal.

She felt her skin turn hot with anger, and even some embarrassment. Anyone could flirt with him, it didn’t matter to her how many girls he had on his phone. It wasn’t even her business. He could have a girlfriend and she couldn’t do shit about it. He was her friend, and she had to support him.

Only, that was easier said than done.

“Did you give her your number?”

“No, actually I told her to fuck off and leave me alone,” he answered, very bluntly at that. “Are you okay? You sound like you’re mad with me now.”

She shook her head, frustrated that she let her emotions show through so much. She was never good at that kind of thing, but she wished she could have avoided this entire conversation all together. “I’m fine. It doesn’t even matter, let's just eat.”

“Are you...Shit, are you jealous?” he asked. His lips turned up in a grin, seeing her face morph into one of a person who has been caught red handed. Deer in the headlights sort of expression. He found it funny. He didn’t really care if she was jealous, of what exactly, he didn’t know. He just thought it was so incredibly hilarious that she was.

“N-No!”

“You definitely are.”

“And so what if I am?” she huffed, shoving a couple french fries into her mouth angrily.

“Nothing really. I’m just surprised,” he teased, “Are you not getting enough attention, Y/N?”

“Shinsou, shut up! Now you’re just making fun of me!” she cried, covering her face with her hands.

He smiled, watching as he squirmed in her seat. She was so cute. He was having fun, just sitting here in this food court was actually a ton of fun for him, and for him any kind of fun was pretty rare. She kept putting french fries in her mouth to hide how she was pouting and how she couldn’t even look him in the eye. He noticed, and it only made his smile last longer.

Dammit, he loved her.

________________________________

Y/N sat at her desk, packing up her books and pens into her book bag. Class was over for the day, which meant she would go to the dorms and do her homework. A few days out of the week, Shinsou would go to train with his mentor, and today just happened to be that day.

“So, you have training today with Aizawa-sensei?” she asked.

He shook his head as he leant against her desk, waiting for her to be done. “Not today, he’s out sick.”

“Oh, good. You can help me with my homework then.” She stood up from her desk and slung her bag over her shoulder. “You’re so smart, I’m jealous. I wish it was that easy for me.”

“You’re smart, just in a different way, Y/N.”

“Oh, yeah? What way? I’m stupid at everything.”

“You’re really good at picking friends.”

She laughed, pushing on his shoulder. Of course he would say that. He was never confident, in fact, he kinda hated himself. Most high schoolers do. But it was easy to crack jokes like that, and she always enjoyed them. It made him feel better about himself at the same time. To affirm time and time again that he was a good friend, good for her at least. Other friends he’d had before just ditched him because they didn’t like him.

Just as she walked out the door into the hall, the purple haired boy following closely behind, another student from their class approached them, his hand tucked behind his back. She didn’t really know him all that much. His quirk was very insignificant, and he didn’t have much of a personality either.

Truly though, when she was in class, she didn’t see anyone but the professor and Shinsou. It was pretty simple.

“Bakugo-chan, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Um, sure, Tanaka. Is there something you needed?”

His eyes slid over to the tall, brooding figure behind her, who just stared off into space pretty mindlessly. She noticed the boy looking, but didn’t think much of it. Shinsou was fine there.

“Go ahead,” she said, and he snapped out of his daze.

“You see, I’ve been watching you since the beginning of the school year. I think you are the most beautiful and kind person I’ve ever met,” he confessed, his words nearly slurring together as he spoke so fast. She blinked, not expecting a confession from the boy, or anyone for that matter. She swore they had only spoken maybe two times, maximum. Why would he like her?

Shinsou looked over now from the corner of his eye. He didn’t want to make the kid uncomfortable. He wasn’t a bad guy, just another student trying to become the best they could be. Yet, he really, really hated hearing someone else talk that way about her. He was almost sure only he thought those things about Y/N; how beautiful she was, kind, strong, smart, and perfect. Now it seemed other people did as well? The thought of other people...fantasizing about his sweet friend made him feel sick to his stomach.

Then, much to her displeasure, the boy pulled out a small bouquet of flowers that were obviously picked from outside in the courtyard as they were mostly a mix of weeds and leaves. He shoved them in her direction, urging her to take them. Reluctantly, the plants found their way into her hands. “I really hope you like the flowers. I tried to pick the colors that would compliment your eyes.”

Wow, okay.

“Thank you, Tanaka-kun. They sure are pretty,” she said. Desperately, she wanted to just run away and pretend this encounter never happened. She never thought this would happen to her of all people. A loser like her.

“If you aren’t dating anyone else, I would like to take you on a date this weekend. We can go anywhere you want,” he asked hopefully, his eyes full of anticipation and yearning. “Please, you won’t regret it. I’ll make you so happy, Bakugo-chan. Please.”

Oh, God, he was begging.

“I’m sorry, but you should take these flowers back and give them to some other girl,” Y/N said as gently as she could, taking the boy’s hand to place the flowers into his palm. Immediately, the boy’s face crumbled, and his cheeks turned a bright shade of red. She felt so terrible for embarrassing him this way. “I’m really not the girl for you. My heart belongs to someone else, so I could never feel the same way for you.”

“I see,” he sighed. The boy’s eyes slid up to enviously glare at Shinsou, who looked right back with a vengeance. Everyone knew who Y/N really wanted. Maybe just maybe, the pair were only friends like they claimed. Tanaka was praying the entire day that she would accept his offer and leave Shinsou behind. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you? I just can’t understand why you’d fall in love with a villain like him.”

Shinsou felt his heart fall to the bottom of his stomach at those words. He closed his eyes and tried not to think much about it, but memories of those bullies in middle school just came back into his mind in full color. He felt that sense of dread hang over his head.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s a monster! All he does is manipulate people to do what he wants. The only reason you love him is because he brainwashed you!”

Shinsou rarely felt like he might cry, but this was one of those moments. It was one thing for people to call him a monster in front of strangers, but he felt worse knowing that he was saying this to Y/N. She somehow avoided hearing all those insults and accusations until now, and suddenly he felt like his head was benign held under water, completely hopeless and weak. Y/N wouldn’t just betray him like that, trust this guys word over his own, he knew that for sure. He just felt so overwhelmed with shame. It made him feel terrible that people actually believed the only reason she was friends with him was because he brainwashed her. Couldn’t he have nice things as well?

He never wanted her to see this side of him, the side people perceived him as. He wanted to run away to his dorm and never leave the room again. What was the point now that he knew people thought of him like that still.

Y/N, much to everyone’s surprise, raised her hand and slapped their fellow student right across the face. “Fuck you!”

“Y/N-”

“Shut up, Shinsou.”

The boy who was slapped put his hand on his cheek and stared up at her in shock. She was so gentle and sweet most of the time. How could she slap him like that, enough to leave a mark? His precious and sweet crush.

“You call this boy a monster again, and I will beat your ass, do you hear me?” she commanded, and when he didn’t reply, she shoved on his shoulder. He stumbled back, nearly falling into the wall on the other side of the hall. “I said, did you hear me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Shinsou Hitoshi is more of a man than you will ever be. Men don’t stoop to insulting others insecurities just because a pretty girl rejected him. Boo hoo, get a grip. You will never be half the hero Shinsou is,” she told him bitterly, glaring through narrowed eyes. Maybe she was being a bit harsh, she didn’t care. If it was one thing she learned from Katsuki, it was how to defend the people you love (even if it’s unnecessarily mean). Perhaps, she learned a bit too much from the blond...

She stepped back, letting her arms fall to her sides. “If I ever hear my name or Shinsou’s come out of your mouth again, I will not hesitate.”

He nodded, grabbing his bag off the floor and turning to run down the hall in the other direction. She brushed a few loose strands of hair from her eyes and sighed, letting her shoulders finally sink into a relaxed state again. It had been a long time since she felt such pure rage burn in her heart. Normally, there was rarely a time someone bothered her enough to make her angry. It just wasn’t who she was.

Hearing those words about Shinsou sent her over the edge. No one would talk about him that way. Nobody, and she would make sure of it.

“Let’s go.” Her footsteps were practically stomps as she walked down the hall, her friend following close behind. “I can’t believe someone would have the nerve to say something like that to me about you? Like, who does he think he is?” Y/N grumbled, clenching and unclenching her fists by her side.

“Really, Y/N, you didn’t have to do that. I used to hear that stuff all the time.”

“Exactly! No one deserves to be treated like that, and you’ve already experienced far more than anyone should,” she told him. “He really tried to ask me out and then right after tried to talk shit about you. What an ass. Some boys just can’t take rejection, can they?.”

He only watched as she kept walking, but he didn’t feel like saying much. She was in too bad of a mood to reason with. He never imagined her acting like that. Even when they were training, she never got angry or even frustrated. She was so calm and gentle. For a moment there, she sounded exactly like her brother. It scared him, to be honest.

He appreciated her defending him though. It was the most anyone had done to stand up for him.

Worrying about her and his quirk completely washed away the fact that she admitted to loving him. It seemed that would be the topic of discussion another day.

________________________________

“Come on, come on. It’s almost starting!” Y/N rushed up the stairs, tugging Shinsou by the hand up . He was tired. He didn’t really have the time or energy to watch this firework show she was so excited to see. Still, he did it for her since she’d been waiting for weeks for it.

No U.A. students were allowed to dress up in their formal wear and go to the shrines like everyone else on New Years, since big crowds could pose a danger to the students' safety. Instead, groups of students from different classes gathered up some snacks on the roofs of their own family houses to watch the fireworks at the shrine a mile or so away. She had a bag full of her favorite drink, fruit milk, on her arm, eager to binge and drink it all. She would probably make herself sick, but it's like that sometimes..

“Five minutes until midnight,” she muttered. She pushed open the attic window and slid through onto the roof, and was met with emptiness. Only a few small groups of friends were spaced out pretty far and few in between on their class building. She walked over to the side in the direction of the shrine, and sat down on the bench. Her milk plopped down onto the spot beside her.

Shinsou silently took a seat beside her. He checked his phone. Only a couple more minutes. He couldn’t understand for the life of him why she was so excited just for time to pass and some colored lights to go off in the distance. The noise was so loud though, he realized he wouldn’t have gotten much sleep that night anyway.

Happily, she popped the cap off a banana milk and took a long sip. He took one from the bag as well, strawberry, and popped the cap. “Why are you so excited for this anyway, Y/N?”

“I-I don’t know. I just wanted to spend the holiday with you, and since we aren’t allowed back home for the holiday due to all those villain threats, I thought it would be a fun thing for the two of us to do together,” she told him. Honestly, she was just happy to spend more time with him. It felt so good, the cold air on her skin and the crickets chirping from the ground below. People around talked and laughed amongst their own groups.

It was the perfect moment.

Shinsou knew about this tradition some people had on New Years. He was sure it was probably an American thing since All Might and Midoriya were talking about it. Apparently, you are supposed to kiss someone when the clock strikes midnight, and it grants you good luck for the rest of the year.

He wouldn’t even attempt it. That was a complete invasion of her space. He just wanted her to enjoy the fireworks and her milk without any drama. Things had gotten a bit weird between them over the time they’d known each other. They were close, almost too close to be friendly. Other people clearly noticed; Bakugo, Aizawa, that boy from their class. Neither of them knew what to do about those feelings, so they just pretended they weren’t there, he supposed. It was easier that way.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to kiss her. He definitely did 100 percent want that kiss. He just couldn’t take the risk. What if everyone was wrong this whole time? What if she only thought of him as a very close friend this whole time and he got the wrong idea. He didn’t know enough girls to know how they acted with their guy friends.

He knew he was hopelessly in love. It used to scare him, the thought of being so attached to someone like that. Now, he just felt happy to have someone to hold in his heart. It didn’t matter much if she ever accepted his love. As long as he could hold her and see her smile, that was enough.

Soon enough, dozens of rainbow colored fireworks lit up the sky. The sound was dulled by the distance between them and the shrine, but it was still loud enough to dull Shinsou’s thoughts. He leaned back on the roof on one hand and the other lifted the strawberry milk to his lips, taking a sip.

Another year flew by faster than he thought. It was no doubt the best year of his life so far.

He didn’t even notice her begin to speak until she said his name.

“Shinsou,” she exhaled. “I really wouldn’t mind spending every year with you.”

He looked over to her. Her face was illuminated in bright pinks and blues, and she had that ever present smile on her lips. How could one person look like that? All he ever wanted and more, the girl of his dreams?

“I think I’d like that, too.”

“Would you really?”

“If I got to spend every single day with you for the rest of my life, it still wouldn’t be enough for me.”

She took a deep breath, tilting her head back to stare up at the deep blue night sky above, only a couple shining stars to be seen. For a long time, she felt like it was inevitable that he would find out, and now seemed just as good as any.

“You know, Hitoshi, I think I’m in love with you.”

His lips curled up into a smile. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, Y/N,” he confessed, “They say love at first sight isn’t real, but damn, it sure feels like it is.”

“God, why do you always know exactly what to say to make me feel like this,” she asked, placing her hand over her head and laughing. “Why are you so perfect?”

“I’m not. I’m perfect, but only for you.”

They sat beside each other in silence for a moment, taking in each other’s feelings. Her hand wormed over to rest on his, and he quickly intertwined their fingers. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. He could feel how warm her skin felt, and the smile on his face only grew. He would always remember this moment.

“Do you mind if I kiss you?”

“Please.”

And so, he got that kiss he wanted all along. Along with many, many more to follow.

For the first time ever, he felt like he made the right choice. He’d finally done something worthwhile with his life. He met his Y/N.

Thank you for supporting me and have a lovely day.

#bnha shinsou #shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi #mha #mha x reader #mha imagine #mha oneshot #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #bnha oneshot #shinsou oneshot #shinsou imagine #x reader #shinsou x you #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

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moony-meadow · 3 years ago

Text

The Very Hungry Beelzebub (4)

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“What took you so long?” Beelzebub asked Mammon the moment the bedroom door had been shut.

At the time, I had been distracted by talking to Beel, but now that I thought about it, I realized Mammon had been gone for a while considering he was just supposed to be finding a string.

“Well I didn’t really have anythin’ in my room that woulda worked for pullin’ Y/N out, so I went to look in the library and ran into Satan,” Mammon explained quickly. That information was immediately alarming to me. If Mammon had run into Satan, that meant he would’ve been required to lie to explain what he was doing in the library. And Mammon wasn’t often a very talented liar.

Beel seemed to have been thinking along the same lines as me considering his next question was, “And what did you say to him?”

“I told him I was lookin’ for a long, sturdy string to use for an art project that I hoped to enter in a competition that awarded cash prizes,” Mammon announced proudly.

“Hmm, that’s almost a believable lie,” I thought. His brothers were typically of the opinion that Mammon didn’t do anything unless he saw some kind of monetary gain in it. Satan wouldn’t have believed he was making an art project unless there was some money to be gained from doing so. The lie was solid, but the question was, how well did Mammon sell it?

“Did he believe you?” Beel inquired, a nervous note in his voice. He seemed as eager as I was to keep our situation as secret as possible.

“Ugh, yes,” Mammon replied dismissively. “He even helped me find this,” Of course I couldn’t see what he was referring to from inside Beel’s stomach, but I imagined it was some kind of string that could be used to pull me out.

In what seemed almost like an unconscious movement, Beel placed a hand on his middle. “So you want me to swallow the end of that?”

“Yup! Then Y/N’ll tie it ‘round themself and I can pull ‘em up and out!” Mammon declared, his voice getting nearer as he spoke.

I doubted having something forcibly removed from his stomach was going to be particularly pleasant for Beel--I was sure it would be far from pleasant for me as well. However, the only other alternative I could imagine was cutting open the demon’s stomach and pulling me out, which would surely be infinitely worse.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” I had a feeling Beel meant safe for me. Knowing him, the last thing he was concerned about was himself.

“Quit your worryin’, as long as you’ve got the Great Mammon on your side, everythin’ will go perfectly,” Mammon proclaimed. I couldn’t help letting out a quiet chuckle. The guy was such a dork, and his blind confidence was making it hard to stress myself out too much.

Before standing up, Beel muttered a quiet warning to me, allowing me ample time to prepare myself. In a few moments, Beel was back on his feet and I had positioned myself in the center of his stomach. We were both as ready for the upcoming procedure as we were going to get.

“Alright, Beel. All you gotta do is swallow this and Y/N and I’ll do the rest,” Mammon announced.

There was a pause, and then I heard a distinct gulping sound from above that signalled Beel had swallowed the string. I waited as the esophagus did its work. I could faintly feel a finger on the outside tracing the string’s progress as it descended. Whether the finger belonged to Beel or Mammon, I didn’t know.

Several moments passed, and just when I began to wonder if something had gone wrong, I felt something touch my head. I reached up and grabbed a hold of what felt to me like a thick rope. Slowly, more and more of the thing entered the stomach, finally stopping once I had a small coil wrapped around one arm. The rest of the string trailed upwards, no doubt all the way up and out of Beel’s mouth.

“I got it!” I called as I already began to wrap the string around my middle.

“Good, now make sure ya tie it tight,” Mammon advised. “Lemme know when you’re ready for me to pull ya out.” It was unusual how calm and in control of the situation he seemed to be. I could almost mistake him for someone mature.

“Don’ tie i’ too tigh’ doh,” Beel’s words were barely understandable, probably due to the fact that he currently had a string coming out of his throat.

“Oi, don’t talk!” Mammon ordered. “Ya might move the string ‘round while Y/N’s tryna tie it.” He wasn’t wrong, the string had vibrated along with Beel’s voice. It hadn’t been enough to mess me up or anything, but it was probably for the best that the Avatar of Gluttony keep quiet for the time being.

After wrapping the rope around myself as many times as I could while still being able to tie it off at the end, I gave it a test tug to see how well it would hold. It seemed sturdy enough, but of course it would need to withstand the force of a giant hand pulling it as well as a battering from Beel’s esophageal muscles.

“Worst case scenario, I fall back down and just have to try again,” I muttered to myself, too quiet for the two demons to hear.

Once I had double and triple checked the tightness of the knot, I decided there was no more time to waste. “Okay, I-I’m ready!” I shouted, unable to keep all traces of nervousness out of my voice.

“Y/N, you hold on tight and try not to move ‘round too much. Beel, whatever ya do, don’t swallow,” Mammon commanded in an authoritative tone I’d never heard him take before; he actually sounded like an older brother.

In the next instant, I felt a tug on the string before suddenly I was being lifted up off the floor of the stomach. My hands itched to grab a hold of the rope, but I knew keeping my arms at my sides would make the trip through Beel’s throat much easier. And so I forced myself to stay stock still as I slowly ascended upwards.

As soon as the top of my head reached the opening to the esophagus, Mammon’s pulling became stronger and more persistent. The next thing I knew, I was back inside the cramped, pipe-shaped organ.

“Just hang in there,” I heard Mammon murmur softly.

Being forcibly dragged up someone’s esophagus was definitely not a pleasant experience. The muscles surrounding me seemed to protest the action; after all, their job was to carry food into the stomach, not out of it. Thankfully, I wasn’t in any serious pain, though I suspected I might be sporting some small bruises on my shoulders come morning.

After what felt like a half hour, but was probably no more than a few minutes, I popped out into a space that actually had light. I had to blink away spots as the back of my head brushed past Beel’s uvula. An involuntary gagging motion on Beel’s part juddered me slightly, but it wasn’t disruptive.

When my vision had cleared up, the first thing I saw was the bumpy, pink surface of a tongue coming right towards my face. I slammed my eyes shut to avoid getting saliva in them. All I could do was wince as I was dragged along Beel’s tongue on my journey to the outside world.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I was pulled free from the confines of the giant, wet cavern that was Beel’s mouth. On my hands and knees, I landed on a soft, fleshy (and thankfully dry) surface. With my eyes still shut, I had no way of knowing for sure, but I had to assume I was currently on Mammon’s palm. I must have looked totally pathetic to the two demons, but I was too drained to care.

Only once I had wiped away any remaining saliva did I open my eyes. I rolled over into a seated position and looked up to see two giant faces staring at me in concern. I was indeed in Mammon’s hand, who held me a little below face level. Beel was standing right beside his brother, his face hanging high above due to his great height.

“Are you okay?” the redhead asked tentatively.

I didn’t meet his gaze due to the fact that I was working on untying the string from around my middle, though I could still feel his and Mammon’s eyes watching me closely. “I’m about as good as can be expected,” I replied with a slight grunt of effort as I successfully pulled apart a stubborn knot.

As soon as I’d unraveled the string from around me, Mammon used his free hand to toss the thing aside. “I can’t let ya outta my sight for five minutes without ya gettin’ into some kinda trouble,” he muttered. I stiffened when I suddenly felt something large touch me from behind. A moment later I realized it was Mammon’s thumb, which was absentmindedly moving up and down my back. I immediately relaxed against the admittedly calming motion.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I can ever make it up to you” Beel breathed. His eyes wouldn’t meet mine and he was practically radiating guilt.

I let a soft smile form on my lips. “How about you take me out to dinner and we’ll be square?”

Mammon instantly let out a gasp of outrage. “Hey, no way! I’m still ‘spose to take ya out to dinner, remember?”

“Well great, I have two free dinners to look forward to.”

“No, no, no--” Mammon’s complaining was interrupted when Beel let out a low chuckle. Both Mammon’s and my eyes snapped to the Avatar of Gluttony, who was now wearing a small smile on his face. It seemed we’d somehow managed to snap him out of his remorse-fueled funk. I was sure he was still carrying that guilt, and probably would still no matter how many times I insisted I forgave him. However, at the very least, he was no longer allowing himself to be taken over by brooding.

Mammon shook his head. “Alright, enough of this crap. Let’s go get ya cleaned up, Y/N.”

#shall we vore #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t vore #soft vore

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hobiiwan · 4 years ago

Text

tethered • o.k

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x mechanic!reader

summary: obi-wan returns after too long spent on the battlefield, away from where he’s meant to be

warnings: kinda angsty, alcohol use @ new year’s, fluff mostly

word count: 6k

notes: happy secret santa! @starwarssecretsanta @stars-trash-18 i really hope you like your gift! this is the first time i’ve written anything this long so hopefully it turned out alright! biggest thanks to @lilhawkeye3 for organising this! have a safe holiday, no matter what you celebrate~

If there was one thing you would never understand, it would be why Coruscant was so damned cold. The Galactic City enjoyed warm, balmy weather all year long. The underworld, on the other hand, not so much. The morning chill was the type to seep into your bones, the sort that no amount of layers could shut out, even with the radiators turned to the max. Not that you had much chance to complain, especially not on the days, which were most, spent on a creeper, wrench in hand.

Working occupies your mind. You easily fall back into the same routine you’ve been following for as long as you can remember—replace, tighten, oil. It doesn’t hurt that it pays, nor the fact that it keeps your mind from drifting. To him.

A client pulls into the garage, speeder releasing a puff of ash-grey smoke. Your eyes linger on the doorway.

The underside of the standard speeder became your new sky, replacing the one you didn’t get many chances to see. It was easier not to venture to the upper levels, you learned, knowing the return to the chaos underneath was inevitable.

Still, you don’t spend years in the lower levels without learning a thing or two. It had its charms which, if you kept your valuables close, could be somewhat appreciated. Not much could be said about the sunrise, but watching the street vendors gradually open shop for the day, the glowing signs relighting after a night and the city waking—the underworld had its moments.

Though, it’s best not to overlook the obscure corners. The best thing about living in the underworld was the unpredictability. If you’re handy with a blaster and keep your head down, that is. It keeps things entertaining, on the days where you could afford time off.

Admittedly, a Jedi blasting open your garage door at the asscrack of dawn would definitely equate to ‘unpredictable’.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The man is midway through clambering out of the now-crashed speeder. He turns, only to meet the barrel of your blaster. A shit-eating smirk graces his lips as he brushes the auburn hair out of his eyes and regards you nonchalantly.

“My apologies, miss,” the man says, head lowered in a slight bow, “I must admit, though I do enjoy making an entrance, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Your eyes scan the man before you. The long, beige robes and the mechanical cylinder hanging at hip-level, clipped to his belt. It doesn’t take a genius to recognise a Jedi, especially when chaos follows. A handsome one, yet a Jedi nonetheless.

Your gaze narrows. “Do you have a reason for crashing into my shop, or is this just more ‘Jedi business’?” The venom laced in your tone is hard to miss. The message is clear - Jedi aren’t taken to well in the underworld.

He huffs, raising a hand to gesture to the steaming, sparking mess laying in the middle of your shop. “I’ve had an accident.”

Your eyes roll without a second thought, “I can see that.”

“I need transportation to get back to the Galactic City as quickly as possible,” he states, voice overtaken by a firm, well-versed timbre. “Would you happen to offer any of the sort?”

Your arms cross over your chest. There would be nothing more satisfying than throwing out a Jedi to the underworld streets with no way back to the surface. He can walk, for all you care, but fuck. You’re short on funds.

Your gaze drifts to your own speeder sitting proudly in the corner as you gnaw your lip hesitantly. The mangled mess he’s brought in is a lost cause—that much is certain. Your pit droid confirms this with a series of beeps, orbiting helplessly around the crash. There’s no way he’ll be getting out on that.

Begrudgingly, you stalk over to fetch the keys to your own vehicle. “It’ll cost you,” you grumble, tossing the keys to which the man catches with ease. “If there’s even a hair of a scratch, I’ll throttle you myself, Jedi.”

The man grins triumphantly, and slides into the driver’s seat. You instantly regret your decision when your eyes meet his. “My name is Obi-wan,” he hums, pulling the speeder out of the driveway, “your speeder is in good hands! We’ll be back in no time.”

Those credits better be worth it.

It’s a few days later, when the sensor over your doorway rings out in a chime you’ve memorised by now. Half of your torso is obscured by a banged-up thrust pod, but the droid at your feet is going crazy.

You hear it before you get to see it, but the spluttering of an engine is unmistakable and you perk up at the prospect of a new repair. That hope, however, is quickly shot out of the sky when you catch sight of the source of the noise.

The grip on the wrench in your hand tightens a noticeable notch as the Jedi brings your speeder to a halt. The layer of painted coating has been chipped away in a long streak along its side, revealing the steel underneath. The navcomp is long gone, a wide, burnt crack singeing across the controls.

Obi-wan grins a sheepish one when your eye twitches, surveying the faulty engine that makes the speeder tilt on its side.

“What am I looking at?” Your voice is disturbingly calm, not even an inkling of what he knows is rage in its purest form to be seen.

Obi-wan inhales as his gaze flickers to the wrench curled in your fist and chuckles hesitantly, “Your speeder, of course. I did say we’d be back.”

“No,” you snap, wrist raising so the wrench is inches from his chest, “my speeder was alive and well when it left my shop three days ago. So, do tell me, Jedi,” you hiss, “what have you brought back?”

The man, indifferent to the weapon directed at him, climbs out of the wreck gracefully to stand before you. “Unfortunately, we got into a bit of an accident,” he says, “but you’ll be happy to know your speeder greatly contributed to the capture of a fugitive of the Republic.”

It takes every fibre in your being to resist the urge to lunge when he nonchalantly reaches up to brush the strand of hair fallen across his forehead.

“I don’t give a damn about a fugitive,” you seethe, “you owe me a new speeder! And double the credits!”

Obi-wan’s mouth opens to bargain, but you cut him off before he even gets the chance to negotiate.

“You know what—triple it!” Your arms cross over your chest and the droid follows suit, ushering the Jedi in the direction of the exit. If looks could kill, Obi-wan Kenobi would be dead three times over in four different galaxies.

He bows his head, gaze sweeping across your garage, “I’m afraid I don’t currently have such funds—”

Your eyes roll in indignation.

“—perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?”

The wrench goes flying.

The holonews plays distantly in the background while you work, filling up the hollow silence in every nook of your mech shop. Silence is a killer in the underworld; it’s important to let people know there’s someone home—burglars not welcome.

You’re halfway through wiping your hands clean of grease when the blue Twi’lek reporter’s perky demeanor dissolves into a still of a battleground.

Felucia, the woman says, as more holos of piles upon piles of B-1 droids flash across the screen. Your breath catches in your throat and the air in the garage hangs heavy. That’s good news right? Droids in piles usually mean there aren’t as many troop casualties. There’s no mention of a General either, so you let out a breath of relief.

Celebrating early is a curse, because the reporter’s next words steal the air right out of your lungs.

“We have lost all contact with our journalist on the Felucia front, as last transmissions report a sudden aerial ambush. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.”

The report moves onto the next spectacle, but you’ve stopped listening. The holonews is wordlessly shut off, and you turn to working in silence, heart clenching painful in your chest, as if the very same battle droids had wrapped their cold, dead steel handpieces around it.

The reporter’s words don’t leave you easily. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.

Is threatening a Jedi Master a crime? Obi-wan isn’t sure, but he definitely thinks it should be. You’ve made your rage painstakingly clear and Maker, if he had a credit for every threat you spewed, he would have paid you back by now.

It’s late one night when Obi-wan finds himself in the underworld once more. It’s perpetually dark and most people have retired for the night, save the rowdy chaos stemming from the back-street cantinas.

The neon logo of your mechanic shop emerges as he rounds the corner and he winces at the singe marks on your driveway. He must get around to apologising for that. The sharp smell of paint makes him wrinkle his nose when he walks in, spotting you in the far corner.

“This, here, is R4,” the Jedi says, announcing his arrival, “I suspect she has some loose wiring.”

Obi-wan can’t pretend the way your jaw clenches at the sound of his voice isn’t the least bit amusing. Your turn to face him with an air of annoyance.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Kenobi?” You grumble, and his eyes drift from the bucket of silver paint by your boots, then over your shoulder to the refurbished speeder he had left behind the last time.

“I certainly do,” he hums, hand smoothing over his beard appreciatively, “it looks good as new.”

You scoff, arms crossing over your chest, “no thanks to you.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” he says, nodding to the astromech hovering at his side, who beeps in greeting, “to repay my debt.”

The side of your mouth quirks up as you move closer, regarding the droid, “Is this what you call repaying your debt? Giving me more work?”

Obi-wan’s jaw goes slack, eyebrows raising at the way you and R4 share the same expression, even with one having no facial indicators. Though, he catches himself before the stare you receive from him can be construed as anything other than bewildered. “That was not my intention—” He starts, but you cut him off with a wave and a gratified smirk.

“It was a joke, Obi-wan,” you sigh, leading R4 to the station on the opposite side of the room, leaving the man gaping after you. “Are all Jedi so gullible?”

He huffs and leans against the wall as you do a quick once-over of his droid. You flitter around R4, retrieving all the equipment you need for the impending checks. You look rightfully in your element.

“Were all the mechanics up in the Galactic City unavailable?” You question, eyes briefly flickering up to meet his before returning to unscrewing R4’s bolts. You miss the look Obi-wan shoots the droid who whirs in response.

“Not necessarily,” he coughs and suddenly, the gears hanging on your wall are the most interesting thing in the world, “I just haven’t gotten around to crashing their prized speeders yet.”

Your gaze narrows when you stand, but the menace is absent this time around. “I’ve replaced some of R4’s older wires. She was close to short-circuiting,” you remind sharply, contrasting your fond patting of R4, “and stars, Kenobi, it wouldn’t kill you to oil her joints once in a while.”

“Order received,” the man bows his head sheepishly, dropping the credits on your counter, “though for R4’s sake, you may consider teaching me how to.”

You see Obi-wan out, mostly to bid his droid farewell. “Don’t push it, Jedi,” you simper, “I could still cut your brakes.”

He chuckles at that, reaching a hand up to thread through his hair. Obi-wan grins with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, “then I’ll have no choice but to come back to repair it.”

Obi-wan Kenobi—master charmer of the Jedi Order.

The roof of your garage makes for a good stargazing spot. You use the term stargazing very loosely. The stars, in this case, are the blinking lights of the speeders hovering in the air.

It’s certainly not the nicest spot in all of Coruscant, but it’s yours. The whole building is, at that, which is saying something considering you live in the underworld.

You live close enough to the surface that sitting on your roof gives you a clear enough view of the portal leading to the Galactic City and the minuscule amount of light it brings. The starships lower and rise through the massive ventilation shaft and you catch yourself hoping to see a familiar one.

It’s hopeless, obviously, you’re too far away to see anything, anyway. Still, you can’t stop your eyes from flickering to the traffic leading into the underworld.

Maybe this time it’ll be his ship.

One last look. Your heart sinks. Turning back, you head down the ladder. Alone.

Obi-wan gauges that you don’t despise him as much as you let on about the umpteenth time he visits.

You regard him with a quirked eyebrow and arms crossed over your chest, your default stance whenever he’s around, which is becoming rather frequent, you notice.

“You want me to go up to the surface with you?”

The man nods, hands clasped dutifully behind him. “That is, in fact, what I said.”

He’s dressed, once again, in those beige Jedi robes. His beard’s gotten thicker, you note. It’s been a while.

“What for?” You question, intrigue piquing as you step closer to Obi-wan. It’s been even longer since you’ve been to the city. You tell yourself it’s because you have no reason to be up there anyway, but the thought lingers.

“To celebrate,” Obi-wan shrugs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the galaxy, “it’s a new cycle.”

You hum, turning back to rummage through your cabinets, the way you had been doing when he had first arrived. “I’m aware.”

Obi-wan remains silent behind you, but he’s relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as he leans against the wall agreeably. We can’t have that, you think.

“Don’t you have certain Jedi duties to attend to?” you hum, tossing an half-hearted glance over your shoulder, only to find his knowing smirk. Gods, he’s irritating. Yet, you let him be.

“According to the Chancellor, I’ve shaken enough hands for tonight,” he answers and his voice is laced with poorly-masked satisfaction, “my evening is open for meditation.”

“—unless you take me up on my offer, of course.”

You shouldn’t. There’s so much work to be done in the garage, but as you look around, everything’s been taken care of. Sometimes, you’re too efficient at what you do. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to spend the end of this cycle not alone, for once.

“That depends,” you chide, but Obi-wan sees through it clear as day. He raises a hand to brush over his chin, effectively masking the smile beneath his palm.

“-I wouldn’t want to keep a Jedi Master from his meditation.”

Hours later, the two of you find yourselves on the viewing deck of a skyscraper. The journey there is a blur, since you spent most of it up to this point marvelling at the city.

It’s so much brighter than you remember.

You can barely tell the time—the sky’s been completely lit up by miles of gleaming lights. The irony is not lost on you—how the Galactic City illuminated is one worthy of the stars while the underworld sees only darkness even on Coruscant’s sunniest days.

The buildings are denser, packed so tight you could easily cross over into the adjacent balcony. You consider it genuinely for a moment, though pressed so close to Obi-wan’s side, the thought dissolves just as quickly as it comes.

The viewing deck extends to a cantina, where you squeeze past the bodies pushing against you until you finally reach the bar.

Obi-wan watches pensively as you fall back against a stool and flag down the bartender. “So, Kenobi,” you swivel around to eye the man who has arrived to hover behind you, “how did a Jedi come to find this place?”

“Jedi business brings us to all reaches of the galaxy and this place happens to be one of them,” Obi-wan replies simply, as if dangling bait in front of you to ask more.Jedi business, he says.

Nevertheless, you take the bait. “What sort of Jedi business?”

Obi-wan’s eyes widen, taken aback. He’s never had to answer that question before— most people he came across were either Jedi themselves, or correspondents. He’s not sure what he’s even allowed to tell you.

“If you tell me, will you have to kill me?” You jest as he takes a generous gulp of his own drink. You don’t suppose Jedi business to be confidential, though with the current political climate, perhaps it has become just that.

It’s obvious he’s still contemplating your question, but you quickly steer him away from work.

“Where do you hope to be a year from now?” You ask, toying with the glass in hand, pondering your own answer while he does the same. Maker, hopefully not on this forsaken planet any longer.

Sure, you’ve been on Coruscant as long as you can remember and most of it has been spent in the underworld, but it stopped feeling like home even before that.

He hums thoughtfully and takes a sip of his own drink before responding. “Still serving the Order, of course,” he says. Obi-wan pauses and the air stills, as if the words unspoken in his throat have tainted it.

“—though I fear I sense impending conflict in our future.”

Your brows raise as his lips fall into a grim line. “Oh? Do tell.”

Obi-wan shakes his head, as if doing so will clear the atmosphere of the words he had spoken. Recently, he finds himself saying more than he means to.

“I just hope peace will be kept in our galaxy. But for now, I think we should celebrate a year gone by.”

A statement you can get behind.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” you grin, downing a generous swing of (what remains of) your drink. You wince at the burn, but stars, if that isn’t better than anything you’ve had in the underworld.

Obi-wan chuckles, a sound nearly drowned out by the crowd of cantina patrons. “You drink to everything.”

You nod, exuberant, before swiping another glass of deep blue liquid off a passing tray. “Cheers!”

Further into the night, your body start to heat up, the pleasant tingles crawling from your fingertips all the way to your chest.

In the dim lighting of the cantina, the edges of your vision go fuzzy and Obi-wan becomes just a bit more handsome, though it’s unclear how much of that is due to the alcohol.

The room begins to empty, most people pushing their way out to the balcony as time ticks closer to midnight.

“Would you like to watch the fireworks? I hear they’re known to be quite beautiful.” Obi-wan offers, gesturing to the gathering mass.

“I bet they are,” you murmur, chin propped loosely against your palm while your gaze never leaves him.

Amused, he offers an outstretched hand to help you off the stool that you had settled into so comfortably. He half expects you to slap him away and insist on standing on your own, but you take it instead.

Your palm finds his after a moment of contemplation, coming to the conclusion that it would not be fun to trip face-first.

His hand is warm against yours and you really hope he doesn’t feel the way you heat up beside him. This is really against your brand.

Obi-wan effortlessly weaves through the crowd and manages to secure a spot at the very end of the deck, where the bodies are dispersed more loosely.

You lean against the railing, peering over the railing, met with the sight of hundreds of floors below you with balconies overflowing with people.

The knowledge that you blend into the crowd is soothing. You don’t need to be anyone here. Not the grouchy mechanic, so you don’t get taken advantage of. Surrounded this way, you get to be faceless, and it’s something Obi-wan seems to enjoy too.

Coruscant, or as much of it as you can see, is plunged into darkness, save the hologram numbers projected against the walls that tick down with every passing second.

You blink in earnest as the people around you begin to shout. Ten seconds to midnight.

One last glance around you, and you’re really glad you took Obi-wan up on his offer.

You think to tell him, but then the crowd is chanting “one” and the entire balcony holds its breath before it erupts into deafening cheers of celebration.

The grin on your face is hard to erase when the first sparks of light illuminate the sky. All the colours you can think of burst in different patterns, sizzling into thin wisps of smoke—leaving the faintest ghost that they had been there in the first place.

You want to do that too.

Turning to Obi-wan, you find him already looking at you. You stumble impossibly closer towards him, hands landing on his chest as you teeter on wobbly legs.

A look of mild surprise graces his features, lips quirking into a smile as he looks down at you. “Hello there.”

Before you allow yourself to think twice, your fingers reach up to brush the strand of hair constantly falling against his forehead.

Obi-wan’s eyes widen minutely but he makes no move to recoil. You take that as a green light, but maybe that’s just the ongoing fireworks.

“Sorry,” you whisper, leaning just close enough so he hears, “your hair was in your face, thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

He huffs what would have been a laugh if he wasn’t so breathless all of a sudden. Only then, do you realise how close you’ve actually gotten, when the warm air brushes your cheeks.

Perhaps it’s the liquid courage, but something comes over you when your gaze lands on his mouth, so close but far from your own. “Can I kiss you, Obi-wan?”

Obi-wan stills. He knows he shouldn’t. His mind screams to walk away and meditate until you and your damned lips are no longer at the forefront.

Yet, his hesitation doesn’t go far. Blame it on the alcohol if you will, but all his reservations go out the window when you blink at him, waiting with bated breaths.

It’s a new year, he thinks, I’ll regret it tomorrow.

The man throws caution to the wind as he closes the distance.

Obi-wan tastes of sharp alcohol and comfort. Your lips press gently against his, as though your previous boldness had dissolved along with his resolve.

You smile into the kiss when his hand moves to pull you in by your waist. Then, he feels you relax against him when fingers thread through the hair at his nape.

Happy New Year, indeed.

Obi-wan recalls telling himself he’d find it to feel bad in the morning, but it wholly slips his mind when the time comes, not when you look so utterly breathtaking sitting across from him, two cups of caf sitting in the short distance between you both.

You look like bantha shit, put simply. Having managed to lead the way back home, you don’t remember much after kicking your heels off and falling face-first into bed. You imagine you look a sight, though, you can’t muster up the will to care, since all your attention is skewered by the tight ache behind your eyes, narrowly beating out the man in your kitchen.

Squinting over the brim of your cup as you raise the caf to your lips, the heat that runs down your throat ironically soothes the burn left by the Alderaanian alcohol of the night before.

“Stop smiling at me,” you grumble, feigning a scowl at the man slumped so comfortably in his chair, “‘S too bright.”He chuckles at that, head tilting as he regards you, bathed in the warm light bleeding into the room.

His mind buzzes, recalling the feel of your lips pressed against his, but seeing as you haven’t shoved him out so far, he takes it as a good sign.

Your sharp gaze follows him as he tries to gauge your thoughts. Obi-wan is nervous, which isn’t something that can be said often. The man has been trained as the galaxy’s peacekeeper, yet meets his match at the hands of a pretty mechanic.

“I hope you had a good time,” Obi-wan says softly. It sounds as if he’s opening to a goodbye, and your heart twinges with something akin to disappointment. Apparently, it’s all too easy to forget the man you kissed last night is still a Jedi with very real Jedi duties.

You offer a light smile, “I did.” Fingers curling just that much tighter around the weight of your cup, pausing before you continue, mulling over your words, “--we should do it again.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows raise in amusement, a cheeky grin stretching across his lips. His hand finds his beard, sweeping over as a force of habit. “It, being celebrating New Year’s or--”

He doesn’t get far with his question as you cross over to him and then you’re doing it again.

Months pass. Obi-wan finds himself frequenting the underworld so much that most of his time on-planet is spent by your side, when he’s not occupied with his Jedi duties.

This time is no different. You’ve closed up shop for the day, the sign outside dim as he approaches. He’s been gone for longer than he’d like, sent on a diplomatic mission on behalf of the Republic. When Obi-wan knocks on your door, it’s clear he’s run-down.

His shoulders are slumped when he crosses the threshold, into your arms. You feel him breathe deeply as his fingers gather the fabric at your waist, anchoring himself to you.

Wordlessly, he allows you to steer him, coming to rest at the foot of your bed. His hand never leaves yours.

The air surrounding you is thick with concern as you sit beside him, unsure. You take the moment to give Obi-wan a once over, allowing yourself the sliver of what you had been missing since he had left.

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” you speak, raising his palm to dust a warm kiss against his knuckles, “look how it hangs in your eyes.”

Obi-wan smiles, leaning more of his weight against your side. “Couldn’t find the time to get it trimmed,” he mumbles, words laced heavy with fatigue.

You click your tongue as you tuck the auburn hair behind his ear. “Don’t need to,” you hum, eyes scanning over the thick expanse of hair gathered at his collar, “it suits you.”

It really does. The way the curls cascade down the back of his head, coming to rest atop his shoulders, the same way as the day you met him, makes it difficult to imagine anything else in place of his long hair.

He’s scolded you before for prodding him for a holo of himself with the padawan braid.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” You ask into the comfortable silence, voice gentle in case he’s fallen asleep against your shoulder. A Jedi skill, he tells you, to be able to rest wherever and whenever.

For a moment, you even believe he is—that is, until he lifts off of you with a nod. Your hand leaves his as you move behind him with excitement.

You kneel behind him as he comes to rest against your front. Your hands drape atop his shoulders, smoothing over the fabric there.“You can sleep,” you lean down, murmuring close enough he can feel your lips ghosting his cheek in a grin.

Obi-wan chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. “Not sleeping,” he corrects, “—meditating.”

As your fingers thread through his hair with practiced ease, you bite back a bemused snort. “Well, I’d hate to keep you from that, Jedi Master.”

Obi-wan sits obediently still as you deftly weave through the compliant strands. The pair of you sit in silence, quiet enough to hear your heartbeat even out with Obi-wan’s steady breathing. Stars, he has really nice hair. The envy is short lived, as you come to end the braid at his neck, admiring your handiwork.

His usual untampered locks now sit neatly in a braid running down the back of his head, a stark contrast to usual.

You don’t need to ask to know he’s long past being awake. Once more, craning over his shoulder, your lips brush against his face, bearded cheek tickling your skin.

“Rise and shine,” you laugh as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. Bleary-eyed, he offers no protest when you pull at his shoulders, shedding him of his outer robes so that he falls back on the bed wrapped in your covers.

Obi-wan goes out like a light. How could he not? If he hadn’t been so exhausted already the feeling of your hands against his scalp would’ve done the trick anyhow.

When he sleeps, you let yourself admire him. With his hair finally out of his face, you get to admire him in his entirety. If you had tried at any other time, he’d chide you for staring, catching you before you had even started.

Eyes shut, Obi-wan looks serene. The usually furrowed brows have relaxed now, making the man look years younger, or how he would look if he would stop working himself to the bone. For the Republic, he says.

Even now, in the relative safety (or whatever comes close in the underworld) of your home, he looks battle-ready. The realisation comes heavy as gravity—knowing this would always be Obi-wan’s normal.

Yet, warmth runs through your chest at the fact that even so weary, Obi-wan chose to come to you. Neither had seen it coming-- the mechanic he’d met after crashing into their shop would become a source of comfort in such turmoil.

Thank the Maker for crashed speeders.

You emerge from under what feels like the hundredth speeder of the day, grease smeared across your arms and sweat dotting your skin. You should really start charging more. Your droid whirs in delight, logging another successful transaction while you wipe off traces of work on a nearby grease rag.

The sun, or what light reaches down there has dimmed, signalling the end of another day. A heavy sigh racks your chest and you catch sight of your reflection in the deteriorating mirror across the room.

You look like a day of work—stained overalls and burnt fingertips, but one part stays the same as it had when the work started. As your eyes drift over the braids pulling your hair back, everything that you had been trying to push back by throwing yourself into hours of work bubbles to the surface.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you avert your eyes.

He’s probably dead. You wouldn’t necessarily call yourself a pessimist, but that’s most likely the case, and it would do you more good to accept it than what you’re doing now; tuning out the news until the briefest mention of the Grand Army of the Republic, dropping everything for the smallest sliver of news, for hope.

Obi-wan hadn’t told you about the clones. It had come as a surprise to most, word spreading that the Republic finally had its own army. You remember watching the new Chancellor Palpatine on the holonews, a pit of unease simmering in your stomach as his words rang.

A clone army.

You don’t see that everyday—or perhaps you will now.

It’s been near a full month of radio silence. If Obi-wan and his troops are alive, the news certainly doesn’t think so. There’s been no mention of any rescue mission from the Republic, which you believe to be rather telling. A clone army—expendable. Jedi, also expendable, apparently.

The best course of action would be business as usual. He has told you that this was his duty, that his loyalty would always lie with the Republic and his role as a Jedi. You understood, but certainly hadn’t expected that loyalty to lead him to his grave.

So, naturally, you close shop for the day. Your customers will survive. The sign on the outer wall remains dim all morning and the light outside doesn’t reach you, hidden away in your bed.

Again, Coruscant is fucking cold. There’s absolutely no rhyme or reason for it and just adds another point in your list of factors to leave the damned planet. No matter how many layers you huddle under, the cold manages to find you.

Most traces of him are gone. The spice that clings to his robes and lingers in the air long after he’s gone has dissipated and you start to wonder if he had ever been here at all.

The last thing you expect is to hear the rapping of knuckles against your front door.

The second the first knock comes, your heart stops, the briefest glimmer of hope wrestling its way up. Barrelling towards the door, it slides open to reveal the man previously presumed dead.

For a moment, you don’t think it’s real. Obi-wan stands in the doorway, robes singed to hell and back, a nasty cut running along his temple and looking like he’s aged ten years, yet you recognise him in a heartbeat.

He hears your breath hitch in your throat when you freeze. His expression is cautious, considering your reaction. He had found his way back to Coruscant all the way from Felucia, yet the distance separating you seems far too large.

“You cut your hair,” you finally say. Gone are the auburn curls that once brushed his collar which is now clipped short, baring his neck. Your shoulders slack before you’re pulling him in by the shoulders, sending him lurching into your chest.

Obi-wan laughs at that, engulfing you in his arms. His grasp winds tight around you and you stand there for what feels like hours but not enough, and all you can think is he’s here.

Obi-wan pulls back, eyes finding yours with a fond smile. “I’ll just have to learn to do your hair now.” He leans in, placing a kiss to the crown of your hair. “You don’t look very well, love.”

“—because of me?”

You huff indignantly at that, pulling out of his hold, “yes, I do have you to thank for a solid month of worrying.”

Obi-wan pauses, eyes flickering over your shoulder. You can tell he takes it to heart.

“Hey,” you murmur, lifting a palm to his cheek, “it would just really suck if you died, y’know?”

He sighs, “I’m sorry I worried you. I tried to find a working commlink but—” He stills once more, shaking his head in defeat. You fill the silence.

“But you were at war, Obi-wan. Commlinks can wait, I’m just happy you made it home in one piece. That’s all that matters.”

The man exhales once more but he concedes with a nod. Knowing he must feel like absolute bantha crap, you usher him to the worn sofa. He watches you flitter around the room, rummaging through cupboards and he can’t help but notice how normal this feels.

Eventually, you bring him a steaming cup of caf, something that seems to flow endlessly in your home and perch beside him on the armrest. The pair of you settle into a comfortable silence. As you lace your fingers between his, you can feel him formulating his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” You hum, tapping his wrist. Obi-wan is still, before he whips his head towards you.

“If you asked… I’d stay.” Obi-wan blurts.

The words make you gape and you’re speechless for a good amount of time. He watches you intently, serious as ever.

“Obi-wan,” you begin slowly, “you know I’d never ask that of you.”

“I know that,” he responds firmly, “I also know the Jedi way forbids attachment, that I’d have to let you go. Yet, on Felucia, I wasn’t fighting for the Republic. When we were surrounded by the Separatist droids, I was trying to get back to you.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest, pounding against your ribcage with such ferocity you wonder if even he can hear it. You don’t know what to say.

He leans closer earnestly as his grip on your hand tightens. “I can’t promise things won’t always be this way, but I will always find my way back to you.”

Words have never been your strong suit, this much is certain so you close the gap between you instead, hoping that your lips on his can convey all the emotions cresting from his promise.

When you pull away, it’s because he wipes a tear that escapes down your cheek. “I just hope I’m not the reason you’ll turn to the dark side,” you say with a soft laugh.

Obi-wan nudges your cheek bemusedly, “it’s more likely than you think.”

Bathed in the colourful lights seeping through the blinds, you savour the peace. The morning seems a little brighter and tucked into Obi-wan’s side, Coruscant doesn’t seem so cold anymore.

#editing this was a nightmaRe but i think it turned out okay!!#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obiwan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi oneshot #obi-wan kenobi imagine #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars oneshot #star wars headcanons

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meltwonu · 5 years ago

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s n a k e | e y e s [chapter 3]

pairing; snakehybrid!woozi x female!reader

this chapter’s notes; 🥺💕thank you for all the interest in snake eyes!! I can't believe it!! y’all don’t know how happy that makes me because I love this au!! 💕💕💕 in this chapter: jihoonie makes a small oopsies 🥴oral(female receiving), minor switch!woozi, hehehe... im sorry, im mean and u will know why 😭😭💕 also this chapter is long, strap in for the long ass ride!! yeehaw

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - x - x - x - x

It takes a week and a half for you and Jihoon to really fall into a rhythm that suits his and your needs.

Jihoon is still shy around you, only spending an hour or two with you while you work until he feels too awkward again, slinking away back into his room. You wonder, periodically, if he happened to hear what you were doing in your bedroom the night he came to stay with you and if that was the reason he’d been so shy and quiet around you. But you quickly shake the thoughts out of your head, preferring to believe that he hadn’t, for your sake and his. Jihoon had never mentioned anything to you anyway, so you had no reason to believe he’d heard anything.

But it’s a rainy Sunday afternoon that has you bundled up in an oversized sweater on the living room sofa, laptop haphazardly on a side table while you take a break from writing. A movie plays quietly on the tv in front of you, but you don’t really pay attention to it. Jihoon emerges from his room, covered up in a big sweater and his sweats as he takes a seat on the opposite end of the sofa.

“It’s… r-really cold today…” His voice is soft, almost a whisper, as he pulls his legs up onto the sofa, crossing them as he tries to cover his skin. “I… kinda had a h-hard time sleeping.”

“Did you need more heaters? The forecast said it’s supposed to rain for the next couple days, Jihoon…” You trail off, already sliding off of the sofa as you fetch a blanket for the cold male. “I can go pick you up another one tomorrow, if you’d like?” Draping the soft blanket over him, he thanks you, snuggling into the soft material. “If it’s okay… I don’t want you to go out of your way if it’s too much.” You chuckle, settling into your spot on the sofa again as you pick up your laptop to get a bit of work done.

“Nonsense, I want you to be comfortable here.”

Jihoon’s stomach grumbles 45 minutes later as he sinks deeper into the plush blanket, hiding the flush that covers his cheeks. You laugh slightly, already hopping off to make him and yourself a snack to eat.

“You’re more than welcome to rummage the kitchen whenever you want, y’kno. Or if you want me to make you something to eat, you can always ask.”

“Sorry I’m just… still getting used to it. You’re definitely nicer than my past owners.” You hum, curious about how his previous owners treated him for him to be this shy, or if he was just naturally always this timid. “It’s okay! Take your time. I know it’s weird but I’m… I’m still getting used to it too.” You feel your body heating up, suddenly reminded of a questionable dream you’d had the previous night; the cute snake hybrid invading even your mind when you slept recently. God I really need to get laid somehow, you think, maybe that cute barista from down the street would be interested? I think his name was Jun. Reminder to self to get his number next time.

You grab a pan, setting it onto the stove as you gather ingredients to make ddeokbokki; something that Jihoon really loved to snack on. “Hey, Jihoon? Did you wanna help me make this? I can teach you a bit!”

There’s a shuffling from the living room before the blonde haired male steps into the kitchen, a curious look on his face.

“I’ve never cooked before though…”

“It’ s okay! I can teach you. Just so that.. Um, just in case I’m not home or something and you get hungry?” He nods, stepping closer towards you as you set various ingredients onto the counter top. “Okay, I’ll just... Watch you.” You smile at him, urging him to come closer as you begin explaining what to do. But Jihoon’s mind fixates on something else, your voice getting drowned out when he feels the warmth radiating off of your body when he steps closer. Unbeknownst to you, Jihoon decides to stand almost directly behind you as you continue to explain how to cook to him.

When his hands start to slide up the hem of your sweater, you pause, setting the measuring cup back onto the counter top where it was before. Jihoon’s cold fingertips begin traveling up your sides, delicately caressing your skin under your sweater. Your breath is caught in your throat when he then leans his head over your shoulder, his tongue softly lapping at the exposed skin of your neck. A moan catches in your throat when you realize your body’s already rapidly heating up at his touch, the snake hybrid behind you also letting out a tiny moan of his own when he realizes how warm you’ve gotten.

But you snap back to reality, panic taking over when you let out a garbled noise, pushing back against Jihoon.

“Oh my g-god, wait--wh--”

Jihoon panics, pupils shaking as he pulls away completely, pressing himself into the fridge for a second before immediately bolting out of the kitchen without a word; only a door slam in the distance letting you know where he is.

A couple hours pass, the rain still pattering against the window as the moon rises beyond the clouds.

The ddeokbokki from earlier went unmade; ingredients going back to their original places as you decided to retreat to your own bedroom to catch your breath and cool yourself down. You really hadn’t hated what happened earlier, but it was quite the shock, and you could only imagine what Jihoon was feeling as well. But you set those feelings aside, making your way down the hallway to his bedroom to ask him about dinner. Fuck, he must be starving. He didn’t even eat earlier, you think.

You knock on his door, a muffled “yes?” coming from the other side.

“Jihoon did you want to eat dinner with me or will you eat later?”

“Uhm, hmm, I’m…um, I’ll.. I’ll eat with y-you.”

You set up the dinner table, setting Jihoon’s food across from you. You were glad that he just ate normal human food as it made it easier for you to take care of him; unsure if you could sit and watch him eat what snakes normally did. Hearing a door click, you break out of your thoughts, seeing him walk towards the dining table with a blush on his face.

“I… um…”

“Yes Jihoon?”

“I just… about earlier, I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have… um, stuck my hands in y-your shirt like that…”

The memory alone has you blushing, his delicate and cold fingertips brushing against your ribcage had a tingle traveling up your spine and down to your fingertips. You hadn’t hated it; just the shock from his touches had you initially recoiling, sending Jihoon running straight for his bedroom where he had holed up for hours.

“I… It was okay. I, um, didn’t hate it actually…”

“O-oh, uh, so… um, is it okay? If… If I do that sometimes? It’s… you feel nicer than, um, the h-heaters in my room so…”

“Y-yeah, I mean… y-yes, that would be… okay.” Shock momentarily flits over his features before a genuine smile etches onto his face. “Okay… U-um I mean, it---it won’t---I won’t, y’know, stick my hands in your shirt but maybe like---like we can, um, cuddle? Sometimes?” You almost choke on your food at his suggestion, suddenly too shy to make eye contact with him at how innocent it all sounded.

“Yeah that… that would be fine!”

The two of you have normal dinner conversations, you asking him about songs he’s been working on while he asks you about work. You remind him that you’ll pick up a new heater in the morning and begin clearing the table with his help.

When the dishes are cleared, you bid Jihoon a good night; thankful that the snake hybrid wasn’t too awkward after everything that had happened earlier in the day. He calls your name as you turn away from your doorway to face him again.

“Yes, Jihoon?”

“Um, I was wondering… If it’d be okay if I slept in your room? It’s just… Uh, it’s cold and raining and... yeah.”

You contemplate it for a second, wondering if that was really the best idea, all things considered. But you mentally shrug, thinking, it’s just sleep.

“Sure, why not. Why don’t you get ready for bed and just… come in when you’re ready?” He nods, thanking you before he slinks down the hallway to his bedroom to change. The entire thing feels a little questionable, but you shrug it off, getting ready for bed before Jihoon shows up.

Admittedly, you normally would sleep in a big shirt and panties since you slept alone. But since Jihoon would be joining you this time, you slip on a sweater and some pajama pants, opting to be completely covered in order to prevent any potential mishaps. You could only pray your dreams were normal.

There’s a knock on the door when you slide under the bed sheets, adjusting your pillows before you reply.

“Come in!”

Jihoon opens the door, shutting it behind him as he stands in front of it awkwardly. Much like yourself, he stands there in an oversized sweater and pajama pants, hands digging into the material of his sweater as he takes in the features of your bedroom. When his eyes finally land on you already under the sheets, you pat the side of the bed that’s empty, inviting him in.

“C’mon let’s sleep. I still need to go out tomorrow morning to get your things.”

The extra heater is forgotten the next morning when you wake up in his iron grip.

It’s not uncomfortable, but he’s only got one arm wrapped around your waist and you find it almost virtually impossible to escape his hold as he snores softly into your neck. So you lay there, listening to the pitter-patter of the non-stop rain and his soft breaths, thankful that the two of you had fallen asleep without a hitch and that your dreams were normal.

Jihoon had quietly slid into the large bed with you, muttering a ‘good night’ before your radiating warmth under the sheets had lulled him to sleep.

You don’t know how much time passes as you lay there, but eventually Jihoon decides to wake up, a yawn and a simple ‘good morning’ muffled into your skin before he pulls away, turning to face the opposite side. You sit up, rubbing your tired eyes as you check the clock. 11:09am.

“Did you want breakfast?”

You never buy the heater; Jihoon happily moving some of his personal items to your bedroom after that late morning breakfast. And you didn’t mind, as long as the snake hybrid was happy, so were you.

He had dragged in a heater, using it on nights when you came to bed late, only for you to shut it off when you finally slid underneath the covers. He would easily find your warmth, rolling over to lock you into his grasp as you fell asleep.

It became routine over the next couple of weeks, even when the clouds cleared and the days and nights were warm. Jihoon opened up to you more as well, dragging his keyboard into the living room to play you some of the songs he’d been working on in his old bedroom, now a work space. You’d often work in your spare room but recently you’d been spending more time in the living room with Jihoon, finding the space more comfortable to be in. Setting your work away, you lay down on the sofa, a yawn on your lips.

“Hey, can I, um, ask you something?”

His voice breaks you out of your train of thought as you adjust your body. Jihoon sits on the floor near the window, fingers tapping random keys on the keyboard as he avoids eye contact.

“Yeah, what’s up?” There’s hesitance written all over his face before he nods to himself, exhaling sharply before he replies.

“I… I know maybe I’m asking for a lot and, I mean, feel free to say no because I know you probably will! And that’s--that’s okay but I was wondering… if--if I…” Jihoon pauses for much too long as you raise a brow.

“If you what? Jihoon, is everything okay?”

“I, yeah, everything’s fine, I just.. I’m sorry, I… It’s okay if you think it’s weird and I’ve never really done it before either but I just, I noticed when… when I touch you, you get really, um, warm and I… I like it a lot so I was wondering if I could try something?”

A million different thoughts float through your head in a millisecond and you can’t stop the blush that creeps up your neck and paints your face red.

“Um, I guess… it would depend? What exactly… did you want to try?” You bite the inside of your cheek, already trying to keep yourself from squirming around.

“I… can I try… eating you out? I wanna see something.”

The formality of Jihoon asking so politely if he could go down on you sends your brain short circuiting quicker than lightning.

He’s convinced at this point you hate him and will probably send him back to the adoption home the next day when he sees the blank look on your face as you process.

“Shit, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked that, I---”

“Y-yes…”

“Wait, what, hold--” Jihoon turns into a sputtering mess, his palms clammy against his sweats as he squirms. “Wait, did you say… yes?” You nod, already feeling the heat pooling in your lower abdomen as you shift awkwardly on the sofa. “Yeah I… um, I’d… be okay with that…” Trailing off, you try to look at everything but Jihoon, mildly embarrassed at how increasingly wet you were already getting.

“O-okay, um, when should we… do it?” Jihoon’s voice is shaky and to anyone else he sounded nervous, but inside he could barely contain his new found excitement.

“Now is okay? I… I’m okay with right now.” You finally look at him, finding him already crawling over to you on the floor before moving the coffee table enough to sit on his knees in front of you. “I guess, let’s start…?” He trails off, the blush never leaving his face as he twiddles his thumbs. You nod, sitting up to slide your shorts off, shimmying to the edge of the sofa as you spread your legs for him.

“Interesting.”

“W-what?” You stare at him from between your legs as he slots himself in front of you, cold palms holding your thighs open as you shiver from his touch. “Nothing, just… you’re already wet.”

If there was a sinkhole underneath you, you’d like for it to take you right about now. The embarrassment sets your body on fire as Jihoon chuckles under his breath. “And now you’re really warm? Interesting.” You bite your lip as he leans in closer to your clothed mound, his tongue peeking out from between his lips.

“Ready to test my theory?”

Gulping, he doesn’t even give you a chance to reply before he’s licking you through your panties, his tongue adding pressure along the wet patch growing on the fabric. Your thighs threaten to clamp shut around his head but his grip on you is too tight, prying your legs wide open as he continues to lick at your clothed entrance.

Jihoon pauses for a second, a groan leaving his lips. “Fuck, you taste so good, I need to get these panties off of you now.” Agreeing, you hook your fingers into the band of your panties, ready to get them off.

“Ah, ah, not like that.” There’s a ghost of a smirk on his face before he lets go of your thighs, fingertips pushing your hands away and replacing them with his before he tears them in half, the soaked material sliding off of your body as you stare at him in shock.

“Jihoon, what th---”

“What? Didn’t think I was capable?” You’re at a loss for words; the sudden change in his demeanor from shy to slightly dominating, intoxicating. “I’m just… wow.” He laughs at your lack of response, gripping your thighs again as he leans back in, his tongue already on your slit as he licks up a stripe from your clit to your entrance. Your hands immediately tangle into his hair, moaning as his tongue laps at your wetness.

You feel like you’re floating on clouds, warm and dreamy while Jihoon eats you out. He hadn’t even used his fingers on you yet, only sliding his tongue through your folds and prodding at your entrance and you were sure you could cum just like this.

“Ngh, Jihoon… Can you… make me cum?”

The male between your legs hums in response before his tongue flicks at your clit, a groan leaving you when he draws harsh circles around the nub. You can feel the pressure in your body cresting as you try to grind down on his waiting tongue.

“Jihoon, I’m---”

When you wake up, Jihoon is still by the window, notebook full of music related jargon as he glances up at you. “Oh hey, I was wondering when you’d wake up. You fell asleep so fast after you laid down, I was gonna ask if you wanted to hear some of the stuff I was working on but you were out like a light.”

Your head is void of any thoughts as you stare blankly into Jihoon’s face; the entire thing had been a dream. A cold sweat coats your body as you sit up, the wetness between your legs insanely real.

“I… yeah, I guess I was tired… I--I didn’t say anything weird in my sleep, did I?”

Jihoon ponders for a moment, lips tilting cutely up into a pout.

“No, I mean, you made some weird little squeaky noises but… that was it. Why? Did you have a weird dream or something?”

“Uh… no, just… wondering.”

Fuck.

#snakehybrid!woozi #woozi smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios

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