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radiosandrecordings · 3 years ago

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Crossposting my @summer-in-the-archives-event fic here too. [AO3] [Accompanying beautiful art]

He’d never get used to the rolling fields of quiet.

Miles behind and miles to go, not that he could see any of it through the thick blanket of fog that clung to his ankles, and his wrists, and his eyes. Miles to go before I sleep…

It was hard to describe the rain that fell, because even ‘fell’ felt like too active a descriptor. It didn’t pour, it didn’t ‘beat down’, it didn’t pelt, because those all required a sense of agency that the landscape just felt too apathetic to muster. It simply existed, and just happened to be moving downwards by coincidence.

Jon wasn’t sure if he knew or Knew that it seeped into his clothes, coating his skin, but he couldn’t even feel the droplets landing, even pinpricks of touch creating too much of a sensation for this place. He briefly wondered that, if he still had need for his glasses, would the rain even make the effort to trickle down and cloud the lenses.

The last Lonely domain he’d passed through, he’d never seen the avatar that lorded over it. He didn’t have any real interest in finding out, not like the personal vendettas that lead him to seeking out Jude, or Jared. Because with Peter dead he wasn’t left with any Lonely avatars left to chase, save the vague notions of the Lukas extended family. He was simply going to keep his head down and keep trudging, hopefully emerging through the thick banks of mist before he lost his mind to the monotony. If there was ever something to make you miss muffled cries from beneath the earth…

“Why are you here?”

The sound was accusatory, and may as well have been a shotgun in the silence. The damped chill was nothing in comparison to the ice that shot up his spine. The voice had no clear origin, no figures even silhouetted in shadow against the overgrown grass, but it came in close, delivered on the gentle, numbing breeze. Despite this, though, never in a thousand domains could he forget the sound of it. Of course it was his. Of course. Of course. “Martin?”

“No! ”

The voice sounded… Angry. But hurt, like it flinched away from the word. Like something that had been left to sit in the dark too long, that recoiled back from a stinging source of light.

“... I’m going to assume no one has called you that in a long time.” He tried to keep his voice light, as much as the stifling atmosphere would allow it.

“No one is anything here. It’s easier that way. If you’re somebody, you can be hurt. If you have too much personality, too many little facets and cracks, things start to snag and catch on it, and it drags you down to where things ache. But if you’re nothing, then they don’t have anything to cling onto. You can just slip away unharmed.” The voice sounded like it was moving, curling around him and moving from ear to ear, forward and back as it droned on in that echoing monotone that Jon had hoped he would never hear again, and at the same time, had longed to.

“And what about the good things?”

“There isn’t anything good, not anymore. You saw to that.”

Jon snorted. “Low blow, but fair.” He hesitated for a moment, trying to summon the words.

He’d had time, after he left the Lonely, to consider his actions. Regret pooled like acid in his stomach at the memory, and somehow it hurt more than ending the world. He wouldn’t say it was more important. He knew whatever he felt, and moreso, knew that one human life, was not paramount to the suffering of every creature great and small, but it felt more tangible. When he walked through the hellscapes, they were dreamlike, hazy, information in such clarity but to an extreme where it still felt nonsensical to perceive it as reality. He knew the fundamental truths that surrounded him but it still felt hard to accept them even as he lived them.

Yet despite having lived without it for eight months prior, the space beside him that failed to solidify into Martin still stung with his absence. And Jon regretted it every not-day he spent walking the hellscape, both in knowing he doomed a good man to suffering, or worse, revelry, in this new world, and in the far more personal, and far more selfish, part of him that missed him so goddamn much.

“But- But Martin, I think I made a mistake.”

“Obviously.”

“Not- Not that. I mean, when we were in the Lonely. The- The first time. With Peter Lukas.” The silence droned on, and Jon took that as his cue to continue. “Do you remember what I said? That maybe you were safer here? And that’s… That’s why I let you stay. I didn’t push you to, to leave with me because I thought you wanted to be here, that you’d be safer here than you’d be with me. But I don’t think that was entirely true.”

“I am safe here.”

“Maybe so. It doesn’t mean it’s better though, does it. Martin, I saw those people, in the last Lonely domain. I know it’s different, they were victims and you’re… You’re an avatar, here, you’re feeding off of all of this, but I promise you they were not happy. They were so alone and it didn’t protect them, it just made it worse. Think about it, the logic of this world. There are threats out there of unimaginable horror, and yet they were still assigned here, it’s their worst nightmare. And you were assigned here too. You’re all suffering, just in different ways, but all calculated to be your personal worst.”

“The Martin Blackwood you thought you knew doesn’t exist anymore. He had to be filed down, too many breaks and tears in him that grew and grew, any time someone raised a harsh word. The best way for him to be protected, is for him to go away entirely. You cannot hurt something that doesn’t exist.”

“Are you sure about that? Because you just said ‘I’.”

“What? ” That anger reemerged again, and as staunched as it was it was beautiful, a return to form amongst the dull monotone, reminiscent of the few times Jon had been privileged enough to witness a truly pissed off Martin Blackwood.

Jon found himself grinning. “You said ‘I am safe here’. Emphasis on the ‘I’. Ergo, you still have some form of identity left, and thus I would wager that the part of you left is Martin. Unless I’ve wandered across some other avatar of the Lonely who sounds like him, of course.”

“You’re always so fucking smug, you know that?”

The voice is coming from behind him. Actually, physically, presently behind him and Jon spins around so fast he’s almost dizzy.

And as much as it made his heart soar, and much as he was glad to finally, finally , see him again when he’d thought he never would, Martin looked… Bad.

His skin had darkened, mottled and blotchy with large swathes of a bruise-like blue or sickly green cropping up across his face and neck, or the parts of his forearms visible where his cable knit sleeves rolled back. It was like frostbite from the cold, or some disturbing onset of trench-foot from the damp, corpselike and unsettling. What was worse, though, were the parts that simply ceased. His hair didn’t even reach the tips, simply fading out into a grey static that merged with the mist, and it consumed his eyes whole, tear tracks streaking down his face in patterns of fuzzy, crackling grey that snapped and popped in the silence, far too reminiscent of a tape.

The sight made Jon’s heart clench like a fist, the combination of relief and horror, and in that moment he understood Jane Prentiss more completely than he ever had before. It would’ve felt like a rude comparison to consciously make, the person he cared for most equated to a pulped and writhing mass that churned out creatures that made your skin crawl before tearing into it. But he knew what she had seen in it, that call towards the thing that fascinated you, despite the turning it causes in your stomach.

Despite this, however, Jon steeled himself. This was rapidly becoming a battle, and he couldn’t afford the cost of emotions. He had to keep Martin, well… Martin. Draw out the emotion. In short, be a bit of a bastard. So instead, he cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you liked that about me?”

He could see Martin’s fists clench, the colour of his extremities dyed black from frostbite. The irritation was still clear as he started into “Fucking hell J-” but they both appeared taken aback as he dissolved into a choking, hacking cough.

It took everything in him for Jon to tamp down the need to surge forward, put a hand on his back and ask if he was okay. It was a strangely mundane thing; the man was made out of static and fog and despite seeming to have an on-and-off-again relationship with his corporeal form, this was the first recognisably human thing to adversely affect him. Why, though? What had Martin done to trigger- Oh. Oh .

“That- That priest from the statement… 0113005? Father Burroughs. He couldn’t say the name of god. Anything related to it, really. And you… You couldn’t say my…”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Martin spat. “You’re not a god or thee god, whatever your new eye magic might imply. It’s just…” He let out a breath that turned into a grumble. While his eyes had always been cloudy, he was now refusing to meet Jon’s gaze.

Regardless, it still drew a breathy laugh out of him. “No, I’m not that far gone into my own self importance yet. But… It’s about the connection, isn’t it?” Something in the conversation had changed, it’s tone or it’s flow, that felt contradicting. Tension coiling up to spring, or they’re barrelling towards a culmination, but at the same time, Jon felt like the wind had been kicked right out of him. He lowered himself to the ground, slowly, settling among the grass and trying to ignore the unpleasant dampness under him. Hey, he could feel the damp again. That was something.

“That’s more flattering, actually, I would say… The Lonely, it thinks if you acknowledge me directly, that would loosen it’s hold on you.” Jon huffed out a breath. “You know I listened to all the tapes. What was it that Daisy said to you, when I was on the run? ‘People say you two are close’? Well, the Lonely appears to agree.” He took a minute before adding, “I would, as well. And, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was too… Too in my own head, before, to admit it. Too much of a coward to do it before that, even. But you need to know I love you. And I know that you… Cared for me, at least? Even if I stuck my head in the sand to ignore it. But the Lonely seems to think you do, still. So will you please come back to me? I know it’s not- I know it won’t be much better, travelling through the domains, but it’s all I can offer and it has to be better than this. I can’t promise anything kind will be waiting for us in London, but you’d be yourself again, and I can’t… Martin, I can’t lose you again. To leave here, again, without you, I’d be losing you. Please.”

“No.”

There wasn’t even a delay to his response, stating it in monotone the second Jon had finished speaking. It felt like ice, lancing through his heart.

“Martin. Martin, please -”

“I said no. I thought you would’ve learned by now; I’m not exactly amenable when you come crawling to me with half baked plans of escape. Because you don’t love me, you love the idea of me. You are quite literally the only free man left in the world and you’re lonely . So you’re looking for a familiar face. Kind Martin, caring Martin, always there with tea and taking your side in every argument. Defending you to Tim when you’d just as soon slag him off behind his back, or on tape. Pretty appealing when everyone else is trying to kill you. At least he treated you like a god before this even started.”

Each sentence felt like another dagger to the chest, and it took him a moment to compose himself, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Eventually, though, Jon spoke. “That’s not true, though. I- Martin I can’t apologise enough that that’s what it’s felt like, for you. But I need you to know, that isn’t true. A-At the start, maybe, I can’t deny I was stupid and spiteful, but you didn’t deserve any of it. And after that… I didn’t do a one-eighty and decide you were a doormat. I liked you because you were secretly enough of a prick as well. Any time you’d pull me out for lunch when I dragged my heels, or argued back when I said something shitty, that was… It felt like I was seeing the real you. The one you didn’t want to let people think of you as, but the one you were, because despite wanting to appear like the picture of innocence, you are a bitch, Martin Blackwood. And that’s my favourite thing about you. Maybe time is sweetening my memory, slightly, but I truly don’t believe there’s rose coloured glasses here. If we walk out of here, I’m not under any sort of illusion that it’ll be a honeymoon. We will doubtless find something to argue over, if not several, but I want that. I want you at my side to, to disagree and point out all my blind spots. We’re both stubborn bastards but I’m stupidly fallible, and I need you to keep me balanced. I don’t want a yes-man, I want you, Martin, and I’m asking for that knowing full well what it entails.”

When the words stopped flowing, he found himself gasping for breath, sobs building in his chest and threatening to spill over. But Martin was standing closer.

“That’s- I don’t- Fuck.” As Jon looked up, wiping at his own eyes, he could see fog starting to trickle from Martin’s mouth, coming in short bursts as his nostrils flared and chest rose and fell noticeably for the first time that Jon had seen since he stepped foot onto the moors. This caused a conflict of emotion in Jon, because while it seemed to be another step towards humanity, Martin letting the Lonely fall to the wayside in favour of reclaiming himself, it also looked far too close to a panic attack to be something worth celebrating.

“I don’t understand,” he finally settled on, voice cracking on the words. He slowly let himself sink to the ground opposite Jon, knees pulled up to his chest. “I left you. Time and again I left you. I left you to work with Lukas, and I left you when you tried to get me to run away, and I left you when I stayed on the beach.” His palms were pressed into his eyes, mist seeping from between his knuckles as he dragged them across his face, though Jon couldn’t be sure if he was attempting to wipe the fog away, or if he was stalling while he faltered, trying to summon the words. Both, maybe. Jon took the silence from him.

“You didn’t really choose that, though. You didn’t feel like you even had a choice. So Martin if… If you’re worried that I think badly of you for that, I don’t. Martin, I’ve done so many terrible things, so to- No, no, actually I don’t mean it like that. I don’t mean that you’re a good person, compared with me. I think you’re a good person full stop. And I just want you to be able to see that. I know the Lonely is quite literally clouding your judgement right now but… Please, just, just make me a deal?”

Martin’s palms were resting on his chin now, cupping his cheeks and curving around his neck. He nodded once, wearily, for Jon to continue.

Jon drew in a breath “I think I’m in some sort of… Bubble. Like a miniature domain, when I’m travelling. I think, if you agree to come with me, even for a little bit, that might dissolve some of the Lonely’s more adverse effects. Make it easier to think, to, to be yourself without its influence. If that is what happens, and you want to return… I’ll bring you back. But please, just… Try? For me?”

Martin sighed, hands dropping from his face. “...Fine.”

“You- Really?”

“Yes. I… Look, J-” Martin bit back another coughing fit. “Look. I am… There is a lot of me right now that wants to leave. The fog is… It’s in my head, figuratively, probably even literally, but… I remember something Basira said. When she got back, from, from The Unknowing . Melanie wanted to know how she got out, when the other three… When you, and Daisy, and Tim, didn’t. She said she reasoned her way out. So I’m going to listen to reason for a minute, as much as it’s paining me.”

Despite those final words, Jon felt his face crack into a smile. “That’s… Yes, you’re right. Well that’s… That’s a very reasonable connection to make.”

And for the first time in a long time, Martin smiled.

“Uhm, so how does this work then?” He eventually said, hand coming up again to scratch the back of his neck in an old nervous habit Jon could not be more happy to see.

“Well”, Jon said, taking a moment to brush sodden grass from his trousers as he got to his feet, “I would say, based on the dream logic that everything here seems to run on here, it should be rather simple.” He held out a hand to tug Martin up after him.

Martin took it.

It was almost cliché, how the Lonely fell away from him. It only took a few seconds, all in all, for the bruising to fade, receding their colourful splotches until his skin lay clear again. His frostbitten fingers healing themselves, sewing broken skin back together and returning to a healthy colour. His face, too, was returning to its original pallor, the change creeping up his neck and across his cheeks and leaving rich brown in its wake. Dark eyes stared down at Jon from behind long lashes, blinking away the last of the fog. He was beautiful.

“Hi,” Jon managed to choke out.

“Hi,” Martin said, and pulled him into his arms.

Jon just let himself be held in the pressure of the embrace for a moment, before bringing a hand up to card his fingers through Martin’s hair. While it had solidified into soft curls, the colour had stayed the same, bleaching it white under his fingertips. He wasn’t sure if Martin had noticed or not, but that was a conversation for another time. They were both a little preoccupied for the moment.

“How do you feel?” Jon eventually said, words pressed into the side of Martin’s neck.

“Uhm. Strange?” Martin eventually settled on. “It’s… I can remember what my thought process was, what the Lonely was pushing me to believe, but it’s like… It’s like the camera panned out, and now I can see it all clearly, and it looks… It looks stupid. Thank you, Jon. For coming to get me.”

“Of course,” Jon whispered, “Of course.”

Another moment passed before Martin spoke up again. “...Did you mean what you said, though? Or was that… Was that just to try and get me to leave? I- I won’t be angry, if it was, that- that’s very clever, I just want to know.”

Jon furrowed his brow. “Which part do you mean?”

Martin let out an agitated sigh. “You- You know which one I mean, Jon. The- The part where that you said that you…”

“That I love you?” Jon said, picking up where Martin trailed off.

Martin’s face flushed, and just the sight of colour spreading across it made Jon’s heart soar, let alone the implications of why . “Of course I did. I- I’m sorry that you would think I would lie about that, even for something like this. No, Martin, I love you. So very much. And I know you might not feel that way anymore, in which case I am very much embarrassing myself here, but I know that you did at one stage so I hope it won’t make things too awkward between us.” “I do, Jon.”

“What?”

“I do. Still feel that way. I love you too, of course I do. My hero.”

It was Jon’s turn to feel his face flush, pleasant warmth bubbling to the surface. “Oh,” was all he managed to stutter out.

“Can I- Jon do you mind if I…” Martin trailed off again, and Jon began to think this might be a recurring theme between them. He’d make it work. He was pretty good at reading Martin, and the eyeline pointed directly at his lips made intentions quite clear.

“Is- Would just the cheek be okay?” He replied. It didn’t really feel like the time for a full run down on where boundaries lay, but he figured it was a start.

“More than,” Martin said, leaning down to press his lips softly against Jon’s cheek. He lingered for a few seconds, skin largely healed but still chapped from the cold, and it was one of the most beautiful things Jon had ever felt. He slipped one hand into Martin’s, and he felt their fingers twine together.

Martin leaned back, clearly trying to calm his grin into something more close-lipped and calm. “Where to now then?”

“Uhm. Forward, really, is just how I’ve been going. There isn’t any real sense of geography to it, we’ll just…. Get there when we get there.”

“Right. Because nothing can be simple these days.”

Jon missed this. He missed him. But he didn’t have to miss him anymore, did he? He was right there.

He squeezed his hand once, and started leading the way.

#My Post #Jonmartin #The Magnus Archives #I'm maybe pushing this one a little hard but I just. crave validation okay #And I want to see what the difference is between how a fic does as a tumblr post vs ao3 #lets call it science #My Writing #Martin Blackwood #Jonathan Sims

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deepseavibez · 3 years ago

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Blindspot || KTH

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-> Picture Source - Pinterest

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Blindspot [Taehyung x Reader]

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Genre - Best Friend; Fear of the Future; Nighttime Memories; Mixed Feelings;

Summary - She believed in more. In better. In bigger. That life was out there waiting to be grabbed with both hands. He's made it his sole purpose to remind her that simple moments were beautiful and meant to be enjoyed... and maybe, she would realize he was one of them.

Warning - (Slight) Angst; Anxiety; Unsure feelings; Fear of the Future; Fluff; Comfort;

Word Count - 4.7k

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🎶 - I'm Fine - BTS

TAE

‘Tae.’

‘Y/n?’ He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the time, ‘it’s 3am babe.’

‘... I'm sorry for waking you. Sorry. Go back to sleep, it's okay.’

‘Hey, no, no, I'm awake.’ Sitting up, he switched the phone to his other hand and rubbed at his eyes, ‘What's going on.’

‘It’s not important, I swear,’ he could hear her trying to mask her shakiness over the phone. ‘You can go back to sleep.’

He wouldn’t call her out on lying. He knew better than anyone when y/n was in a bad way. Once he asked her, specifically him, what was wrong, she would crumble and he wasn’t there to catch her right now. ‘Y/n. Come on, talk to me.’

‘I can't sleep.’

‘Yeah, no shit,’ he yawned back.

‘I'm so sorry for waking you.’ He could hear the trepidation in her voice.

‘You know better than to apologize for something like that, ‘ he chastised. ‘Babe, tell me about it. Was it a bad dream? Something keeping you up?’

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Y/N

You could hear shuffling over the phone as you searched for an answer. It was hard to put certain emotions into words. You only knew you needed to phone Tae, regretting it too late, when he actually answered. ‘I'm not sure,’ you started awkwardly, ‘I guess. I just don't know where I'm going.’

‘Do you plan on leaving me anytime soon?’ Already pulling your leg, he got you to roll your eyes.

‘No, of course not. I just mean, like, metaphorically.’

Things were a bit...confusing right now.

It had been a long time since you last had to deal with emotions this strong. The voices, getting harder to ignore. You had enough outside negativity to deal with, like family and some friends, all having this certain expectation from you.

It was new for you to rebel, to be who you wanted to be and feel how you wanted to feel without consequences. Choosing a life you solely strived toward, negating the tiny voice in your head saying you were wasting time and you were running out of time and you were not enough.

‘I don't know what I want to do, Tae!’ You burst out, the build up too long, the burden too heavy. ‘I don't have plans. I have a great job, I do. But I don't want to be a PA for the rest of my life and I don't know where to start, where to look, how to choose what I want to do.

I don’t have it figured out, it hasn’t fallen onto my lap, and when I look, I feel like I’m going to waste even more time looking.’

‘Y/n, you know you have a lot more figured out than you give yourself credit for.’ The huskiness of his sleep-leaden voice, comforted you. ‘You have money, a routine stable job, you've worked you way through university and graduated with honors.’ Taehyung did it without effort and he knew you would hear his gruff tone above all others, in a crowd, in a panic, as a voice of reason.

‘I know, and I keep trying to remind myself of that, but it’s just become unbearable. I am running out of time.’ Struggling to remain composed you spoke into the phone as if he was right here, ‘What if I'm still here in ten years, Tae? What if I don't ever figure out my purpose? What if I'm meant to just work and then die? I haven't lived! I haven’t seen the world. I’ve made everyone proud and now I’m the black sheep. I prefer it, It's just-,’

The sound of keys jangling cut you off.

‘Tae,’ you asked tentatively, confusion evident.

‘Hmm.’

‘What are you doing?’ You asked when he provided no further explanation.

‘Are you in pj's right now?’

‘Uh,’ you looked down at your white vest and underwear, just to make sure, ‘yeah, why?’

‘Miss y/n, I didn't know you slept in the nude.’

The protests left you immediately at his teasing, slithering heat under your skin at the very notion. ‘Tae! I am not sleeping in the nude, I have underwear on.’

‘Uh huh, what color are they?’ Your cheeks flamed in embarrassment. You could imagine his smirk, that dumb cocky, arrogant smirk.

He laughed, the sound gruff, infuriating you more, and causing you to giggle back. Because you were the butt of the joke, and you liked his laugh too much. Trying to be mad at him, even when play-fighting or harmless bantering, Taehyung, not a chance.

‘Listen,’ a seriousness settling between you, ‘get dressed, just sweatpants, and a shirt.’

‘Wait, what, why,’

‘Baby, listen for once. Just get dressed and give me five minutes.’

You looked at the blank screen, stunned. Your brain stuck at the word baby, and the effect it had. Your insides were mush, anxiety mollified, despite not knowing what he was about to do next.

‘Babe’, you knew, ‘babe’, you understood, that was normal, routine, best friend. But Baby?

You mulled over it as you discarded your vest, and threw on a loose Celine shirt. Pulling on your black sweats, a pair of socks and air force ones because who knows what this boy was up to, you stopped. You sniffed, once, twice, yep, that was Taehyung’s body wash, but what - oh, you tugged the loose collar toward your nose, yep, this was Tae’s shirt.

You composed yourself, almost deadpan at the small realization. When had he even stripped in your room and why weren’t you there.

Wrapping your messy hair into a bun, you restrained your mind from wandering further.

Your phone beeped from the bed and the screen lit up, a message popping up. ‘Look out your window.’

Peeping out you saw his black Jeep in your driveway. He popped his head out of the driver’s side window and did a two finger salute.

Shaking your head with a smile, you grabbed your phone and made your way downstairs through the house and out the front door.

‘What are you doing here,’ you asked as soon as he came into view. He looked good, white tee, black sweatpants, you matched, except for his leather jacket and red bandana.

He opened the passenger door on your side and leaned back, giving you a once over. His lips twitched as he rested his eyes on the shirt you wore. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wanted you in his shirt. You raised your eyebrow playfully, refusing to give life to something like butterflies and heart-eyes when your best friend stood in front of you. Life was complicated enough.

‘You needed me to show up.’ He said it a matter-of-factly, but you knew he wanted to be there for you and you couldn’t, not feel grateful, and a little warm, that he would get into his car drive to you, all because you needed him to.

Not waiting for you to reply, he threw a jersey at you. ‘Its cold,’ his tone left no room for protest and he cocked his head toward the jeep, a sign to get in.

You wrapped it around you silently, not moving, not yet.

‘Well,’ his thumb curled around the top of the steering wheel as the rest of his fingers straightened out, his freehand rising to follow his question, ’Come on, get in.’

‘Where are we going?’ You would have gotten in, you would probably end up wherever he was going to take you anyway, but where was the fun in doing everything obediently. Even puppies had wild streaks.

He raised his eyebrow this time, a smirk teasing his cheek, 'You're brave every night, y/n. But not tonight, not while you're with me, come, trust me, wherever we go I'll keep you safe.'

You turned to close and lock the front door, breathing out slowly, as slow and low as you could, doing your best to work on the constriction around your heart; his words too wiry, too strong, too genuine to forget, too deep to ignore. It made you so... agreeable.

Getting into the Jeep, you felt different as you sat here now, in a seat you had been in too many times to count. It was probably the time and the circumstances. Yeah, some shifts were just because of the time, and the air and because it was silent and the dead of night.

You said nothing more, even though a few minutes earlier you spoke into the phone like you would explode if you couldn’t get the words out fast enough, you would be alone in your head, if you weren’t able to make him understand.

You jumped slightly, as you felt his hand close over yours, and pull it toward him to brush his lips along your knuckles. It was an absent action, maybe, because he stared straight ahead, didn’t spare a glance at you as you stared at the side of his head, making it look like he wasn’t even aware he was doing what he was doing.

Swallowing against the pounding of your heart, you chalked this up too. Night time was vulnerable, everyone was just a little more sensitive, you didn’t have to make it more than it needed to be.

Looking out the window you noted the lights and dark windows, empty parks and streets, doing your best to ignore the heat against your hand, the breath against your knuckles, lips not very far away, that were capable of a lot more.

With some effort, you faded out the intensity of his actions, and as your eyes adjusted you saw familiar figures, and buildings you had driven past numerous times. You knew where you were going.

He pulled up in the parking lot of his safe haven. In retrospect, your safe place should be entirely different, but you were safe with Tae, that said, his peace was where you found yours.

Jumping out of the Jeep, you noted how dark and looming the two story building looked. A huge sign reading 'Blindspot' the only posh part about this place, black metal roller doors, spray painted names across the walls, some of the neon colors standing luminescent against the moonless night.

One would think it was graffiti, but the community knew better, the ones that came and went, some that stopped and never left, knew having your name on the wall was a privilege.

He jumped out too, after grabbing something from the back. Carrying it toward you, you noted his knapsack, and a box of some sort.

Handing it over to you to hold, you took hold of them silently, as he pulled out the keys to open the locks and deadbolt.

You watched him, his actions purposeful but he was at home, knowing which way the locks turned, the catch on the bolt needing to be kicked out a certain way before opening fully; he'd done this a thousand times before.

Lifting up the shutters, the noise too loud for the silent night, he opened the door and guided you in, making you all too aware of his palm in the small of your back. Taking the stuff from your hand and throwing it onto the edge of the ring and he lifted up to close the shutters behind you.

You took notice of the extra shirt that falls out of the pile on the ring, one of your favorites of his actually, grey with black spots, sort of like a giant cookies and cream oreo mix.

The empty gym in front of you was a contrast to the busy days it had. There was a weight section, the bags lined up against the far wall hanging still, having no impact thrown at it to sway the dead weight, and the machines had their own floor upstairs, treadmills overlooking the balustrades to the floor below, by the ring where you stood.

The pool area, directly below you, in the basements where the changing rooms and showers could be found.

It looked small on the outside, but inside there were stories to be told, motivation, encouragement, brotherhood, friendships solidified in stone and a fair share of violent memories with broken bones, broken bonds and broken hearts.

Walls were packed with quotes, anatomy teachings and pictures, schedules, a dedicated to growing trophy case with medals and newspaper clippings, and pictures of staff, members, and the boss, with his best friend.

What Tae didn't continue, was the stereotype of the grunge masculine look that came with gyms. Outside may be black as night, but inside there was color everywhere - a world within.

The punching bags were each a different shade, green, red, yellow and blue. The ring bottom was black, neon orange ropes running along the sides in three consecutive lines, and your personal favorite, a giant pride flag hung on a hook outside his office door.

Toxic masculinity wasn't allowed in Taehyung's gym. You could be yourself, make your own lifestyle choices and still be a good fighter or just work-out. He took it upon himself to punch the teeth out of anyone that thought otherwise. This was what he'd always wanted to do and he made it more than just a place to get healthy.

There were four hours, two for the morning, two for the afternoon, catered only to women. Tae understood that men will be men, no matter how much you tried to change it. And comfort mattered.

Working out and exercising, as much as it seemed, like a chore, it could be enjoyable. It could be a social setting, helping people to open up, and cope, providing the best way for them to be themselves.

You helped him find a premises, helped him choose color schemes, and sat in on interviews. For legal purposes you were an advisor and owned a small share percentage. You didn't want it, but Tae insisted, you were especially grateful when the gym grew into more than you both had expected it to become.

'Y/n,' he waved his hand in front of your face, the action snapping you out of your thoughts.

'Huh, sorry, did you say something?'

He smiled comfortingly, 'Take the jacket off and your shoes.'

Scrunching your eyebrows, you finally asked, 'Tae, what are we doing here?'

'We are,' he started explaining as he ripped open a box in his hand, 'doing something I feel you need.'

Looking at you pointedly, he motioned his eyes to the jacket.

Shucking it off, you took off your shoes and redid your bun for good measure.

'It's strange isn't it,' you voiced out loud. He perked up at your food for thought, fingers fiddling with white tape. 'It's strange, that I know every corner of this place, but I haven't ever put a pair of gloves on.'

He raised his hand absently, a student raising his hand to give an answer, his gaze focused on yours as he did. 'That's because you've never had the need to, I'm here to protect you.'

Turning away, you caught yourself, before you let your heart show in your eyes. You've known Tae for so long, been his best friend for years, why now, why this feeling, this tightness in your chest.

You played it off, and walked over to him, socked feet padding against the wooden floor boards.

Taehyung clicking his tongue startled you out of your effort to feel normal; you found him staring at your socks.

'Y/n, I've told the guys this numerous times, you can't spar in the boxing section with socks. It's a slipping hazard.' No trace of the out of the blue romantic words, he bent down easily removing them from your feet one after the other.

It would be weird, if you weren't already so used to his skinship, his cuddling when he slept over, his hand straying over your shoulder on the couch, or brushing against your waist when he passed you. Yet, his thumb, on your ankle, his hand as he circled and held it, even for just the moment that he laid your foot down after taking off the sock, you felt… taken.

You wanted to snort, the wording completely off, I mean, he had a right over you, always had but-

He came into focus, looking up at you from where he sat, and asked lightly,' Do you wash these.'

Your mouth dropped open, as you watched him hold your purple socks in between two fingers, like it would bite him, or the smell would.

Your knee nudged at the side of his face playfully as you reached to pull him up. He took your socks, holding them properly now and put them in his bag, picking up the white tape he was fidgeting with earlier.

'So, will I be sparring with you today?' You were excited now. You had watched people vent and let themselves be free as they learned technique, let themselves be violent without consequences, the satisfaction on their faces after their sessions.

When he finally reaches you again he finds the catch and opens it out. White athletic tape, used to make arms and wrists stiffer, and to provide better grip, even with sweat and slick.

'No, not today. Let's focus on getting you worked up and tired. If you enjoy it, I'll gladly let you go toe to toe with me.' His eyes held a challenge, an underlying meaning evident.

Offering your hands up freely, he taped your wrists and fingers, you've seen him do it many times, just never on your wrists. Experimentally you shook out your fingers and bent and scrunched your wrist to allow for the right amount of tightness.

'Cocky, aren't you, Mr. Kim,' you side-eyed him.

He leaned into you, his breath teasing yours, 'I am the Coach here, y/n.' You blinked at the nervous fluttering in your chest, his intimidation, usually not directed so closely to you, doing something you couldn't explain, couldn't quite grasp.

Somehow, you should be scared, but it was, hot.

Leaning into him, breath for breath, you matched up, 'Then teach me.'

A slow smile broke out over his lips, playful Tae was back, it let you navigate things easier, you knew what to expect.

'So, I'm boxing the bag,' you deduced. 'I don't see why I need to tire myself out. I don't know how to do this.'

His palms closed over your cheeks, puffing your face up, emphasizing your pout. 'You are frustrated. You can't do anything about any of your emotions tomorrow, y/n. You have to be patient. You have to remind yourself it's a day at a time that gets you to your future. It will always be about patience.'

'Unfortunately, patience is overrated at something to 4am,’ you complained as he let go of your face and bent down to produce a new set of gloves from under the ring. Opening the zip of the bag, he pushed one toward you.

Shaking his head at your antics, not even phased, he strapped the gloves to both your hands and walked toward a bag. 'Come on, try it.'

'Color?'

'The yellow one.' He made to stand behind the bag you chose, and held either side of it, knees bent slightly in a defensive stance.

Feeling slightly out of place, and awkward, you huffed and punched the bag just to humor him.

You stared at it. The fucking thing didn't even move.

He burst out laughing at the comical look on your face.

'Okay, wait no,' he composed himself and came around you. His breath fanned your neck, giving you goosebumps, as he held your wrists and showed you how to punch. 'So straighten your elbow, like this, and pull it back in and see how the gloves are shaped, your forefingers curl above your thumb, so inside your glove your thumb shouldn't be in the fist.'

Nodding as you took in the new information, you did your best not to get distracted as he continued, all too comfortable in his element.

'When your wrist hits the bag don't curl it, let it face the impact head on. See, this is how you do it, so you don't break your wrist.' He made you punch the bag and showed you where your wrist was bending and how to keep it tight.

'Alright, baby,' that word, that goddamn word, 'you good to try again?'

Closing your eyes and swallowing hard, you nodded in answer and shook your head out of the Tae trance.

'Start with a simple combo this time, Jab, Jab, Uppercut, Hook.' You knew the names and their directions. Jab was straight forward, twice fast on the submissive hand as a set-up, the uppercut from downward into the abdomen or chin, depending, and the hook, from the dominant hand rounding off on the face.

'Think of it all y/n,' he encouraged, as he walked to his original position, 'the people, the words, the expectations, the beating up of yourself you do on a daily basis, and just go for it.'

Spreading your legs in a stance, aiming at the bag on his command, you clenched your fists and focused.

'Go'

----

'And breathe.'

Breathing heavily you fell flat to the floor, and stared up at the ceiling.

Sweat was in your eyes and your hair, but despite being in dire need of a shower, you felt oddly at ease. Tiny zings of exertion shot through your body as your lungs begged for air and you heard your blood rushing.

The roof was really pretty you thought, the wood positioned in long blocks to form and hold up the gable, grabbing your attention for the first time ever.

You blinked as Tae's face came into view, his hands resting on his knees.

He smirked cutely as he brushed your sweat slicked hair out of your eyes and off your face before reaching down to pick you up off the floor.

Handing you a water bottle, you let him manhandle you as he lifted your form to sit on the edge of the ring, launching himself up to sit next to, a second later.

'How do you feel?' He was proud of himself no doubt, after all, his plan did succeed.

You made a face at him, anyway.

'Hey,' he put both his hands up in mock surrender. 'It worked, didn't it.'

You cut him some slack, this time. 'Yeah, I feel icky, but definitely less worked up.'

---------

🎶 - Black Swan - BTS

TAE

Taking a swig of the water you had opened in your hand, he looks at the top of your head as he closes it and puts it away.

'Hey.'

She looks up at him, eyes hooded in exhaustion.

He smiles at her. Despite how much he loved her spitfire, she's adorable when she's not talking back.

He knew of the thoughts that crawled up her spine on a daily basis. He knew she had no plan, and it made her hyper that she didn't have one, but she couldn't make one because, what if she chose wrong.

He wanted to take care of her. He wanted to tell her that she could be whatever she wanted to be, and he would fly her across the ocean if she really wanted it; that she didn't need to worry about life so much because he would always take care of her.

'You're too sad.'

She scrunched her eyebrows at him.

'You have the whole weight of the world on your shoulders and you can't do anything about it.' He chose his next words carefully. 'I wish you could take a breather, and let a thought be a thought instead of picking it apart.'

He held up his hand to her when she made to protest.

'You know, things may not feel okay right now, with work, or at home, and in your head. But I've never seen someone adapt like you have. You bounce back, despite how much grit it takes.'

He took the gloves off her hand and carefully unwinded the tape on her fingers.

'I don't have answers y/n. But I do know you have me for a long time and I'm going to be here as you do your thing.'

Placing pressure on each finger he massaged the tightness out of it and flexed it for her.

'I don't know where you're supposed to go, if you were meant to leave and give me a round-the-world heartbreak, I'm not sure who you're supposed to be, I don't even know if you have a higher purpose, it wouldn't surprise me if you did, but you, y/n,' he heaved a sigh as he faced her, his gaze meeting hers, his next words the most important thing she'd need to remember,' you're a good you.'

As he met her eyes, her breath hitched. He heard it. He could see the flush in her face. He knew he was being honest. He knew he meant every word.

A half smile, a heavy acceptance, hands that were so easy to hold, eyes that were never anything but honest, a bond that all but forced a person to keep swimming. That was Taehyung to y/n. And that was y/n to Taehyung.

'You're a really, good you,' he reinforced. 'Right now, it works. I have a feeling it will work for a very long time.'

'I'm scared.' He could hear it in her voice. He heard it back when she was in her room too.

'Nothing is really set in stone, babe. And even though it does feel like you're running out of time, it's something you can't help. It's not what you want to hear but it's true.'

'How do I stop being sad?'

She was deflecting. But he had said it before, it wouldn't be gone tomorrow. Her anxiety and her fears, they will probably never go away.

She had the right way to go about it though. You get through it. Somehow. Some days it's a good cry, some days it's with a punching bag, and some days, it was with a best friend.

'See, now that's why you have me.' He answered confidently, as he put his chest out, his need to have her be okay, her smile, her laugh, his only intentions, his favorite thing these days.

'Oh really, you, why, because you're a clown.'

He feigned offense at the statement. 'Excuse me, I am not a clown, ask anyone that comes in for the 5am rush.'

She looked up at the clock in shock, it was really going half-four. She turned back to him sadly, 'I kept you up all night.'

'It was a fun night,' he replied, the teasing of many other ways to keep him up on the tip of this tongue, deciding against it, he looked away from her. 'You needed me, no amount of sleep is worth that.'

He didn't explain himself, he really didn't mind the lack of sleep. He could easily catch a nap in his office, or head home after half a day. But this, this moment with his best friend, that he wanted to be more, he knew he wouldn't choose to be anywhere else. He knew he'd do it over again too.

Pushing off the ring he grabbed the knapsack and handed her his shirt. 'Change out of that shirt, and use this one, you'll catch a cold, because of the sweat. And let's get you home, you need a hot shower, and sleep. I'll drop by for dinner after work too.'

Finally turning to her, he found she hadn't moved an inch, unshed tears in her eyes. Before he knew what he was doing, he pulled her toward him, sweat and all, and held her in his arms. 'You're first y/n, you'll always be first.'

A tender kiss on her head, his words rendering her speechless, and he knew uncharted waters were on the horizon.

This night, things that he'd said, the ways in which she responded, it was going to shift things for them.

But silence was comfortable for them. And she drank his share of coffee while he ate her share of pineapple, because he couldn't stand coffee and she hated pineapple. And he could hold her in his arms and she'd use his shirt while they slept.

It would start small, but he'd show her, the future was bright, she was deserving of more than she understood, she would be protected from her family and expectations and she would learn to remember, purpose or no purpose she wasn't alone, she never would be again.

#kim taehyung x you #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung #taehyung au #taehyung fic #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts fics #bts aus #bts oneshot

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myhockeyworld87 · 3 years ago

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Not So Dangerous Liaison - Sidney Crosby - Part 25

Word Count: 2,751

POV: Reader

Warngings: Language, NSFW, Smut

Notes: Thank you anon for holding me accountable on getting this out. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to do this last night, but here it is. When last we saw these two, (Y/N) had gotten called into a meeting with GM from the Capitals. Wonder what he wants? Let’s find out. As always love your feedback and Happy Reading! Let me know what you guys think.

Not So Dangerous Liaison Masterlist

You sat at your desk across from the Capitals General Manager, wondering if he was going to pull the rug out from underneath your relationship with Sidney. He said that your name had kept coming up in conversation and you knew that couldn’t be a good thing. Though why the league had chosen him to be the bearer of bad news to you, you weren’t sure.

Your stomach churned as thoughts of having to make a choice between Sidney and your job crept in. If MacLellan asked you point blank to make a decision right then you didn’t know what you’d say. “Don’t look so distraught, Ms. (Y/LN). I’ve only heard good things about you.” Well, at least that was something, though it didn’t make you feel any better at the moment. “It’s actually the reason why I’m here. I want you to come work for us.”

You couldn’t have heard him right. Was he actually offering you a job? “I’ve heard the players and staff talk about how much you’re making their life easier. I need that in the Capitals organization. If we’re going to make a run for the cup, I want our players to have the best of everything, and that includes you, Ms. (Y/LN).”

“I’m flattered, truly, but…”

The GM didn’t let you finish. “I realize I’m asking a lot. Name your price. I’m sure Mario is paying you well. We can offer you more.”

“It’s not about that.” For it really wasn’t.

“I understand Ms. (Y/LN), you don’t want to give any numbers away.” Again, he didn’t let you finish talking. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen off your desk and you knew he was writing down a salary figure for you; one you weren’t sure you wanted to look at. “Let’s start here and you tell me if I need to go higher.” He slid the paper across to you. “Go ahead take a look,” he insisted when you didn’t open it right away.

The amount was generous, more than generous really. It wasn’t that you weren’t being paid well by the Pens organization, you were, but this, well this was an amount that would buy you a Chanel bag every month along with matching shoes and still have plenty left over for anything else you wanted to buy. “It’s…well…”

“Say no more.” He wrote down another number and you knew it was more.

“Mr. MacLellan, this is a generous offer, but I’m going to…”

“I get it, I get it.” He said waving his hand to stave off anything more you wanted to say. “You need time to think about.” He stood up then. “Go home, take a couple nights to mull it over. I think you’d be an excellent addition to the Capitals organization Ms. (Y/LN). I’ll be in touch.” He reached over and you shook his hand.

You stood there speechless, as the GM was leaving your office. He turned though right before he exited. “I look forward to working with you Ms. (Y/LN).”

Stunned, that’s what you were when he finally left your office. What had actually just happened? The man did not let you get a word in at all, and now he was going to be calling you in a few days. You felt completely dumbfounded, both by the man and his offer. There was no time to think about that now though, you had a job to do.

What you didn’t know was that as you stood there collecting your thoughts, Sid was standing outside your office. Dana had mentioned that MacLellan was waiting for you in your office and he was curious what the GM wanted with you. Unfortunately for you, he’d only heard the last part of the conversation, the part where MacLellan said that you’d be a great part of the Caps organization and that he looked forward to working with you. Those words echoed in his ears. Were you really going to take a job with one of the Penguins' most hated rivalries? Better yet, were you going to be leaving him? That last part didn’t sit well with Sid at all. His stomach was in knots.

He walked back to the locker room dazed, going through his pregame rituals without any thought. Sid had done them so many times they were almost like a mechanical reflex. It was easy for him to avoid you, as you tended to give him space before a game, though he was having trouble getting you off his mind.

Sid put every effort into the game, ignoring that pit in his gut that said you were going to leave him. The game was high scoring and saw the Pens and Caps going into overtime, but the Pens were victorious. When you found Sid after the game, he was in a lousy mood despite the victory. You chalked it up to not winning in regulation and just remained silent as the two of you made your way to the car. The only thing that bothered you was that he didn’t try to hold your hand or give you a kiss as he did after every game, no matter if they won or lost. “Everything alright?” you finally asked once you were ensconced inside the vehicle. Sid didn’t answer right away. “I know it sucks giving up that point, but at least Shears was able to get the goal in OT to give us the extra one.”

Sid simply grunted in acknowledgment. You knew then that there was definitely something more than the game going on with him, but decided to wait until you were home to talk about it. The minute you pulled in the drive you couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Sid, is something wrong? Are you upset with me?” You were both out of the car by then, and Sid definitely slammed the door with more force than necessary. “Sidney,” you yelled chasing after him as he entered the house through the garage. He was halfway in the kitchen before you got a chance to speak again. “Sidney Patrick Crosby, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Me! There’s nothing wrong with me!” His voice was raised and you could practically see the anger radiating off him. He dropped his bag in the kitchen not even turning around to look at you.

“Sidney!” you shouted, in hopes that he would at least stop. When he didn’t you turned on your heel and headed back towards the garage. “When you’re ready to talk to me, I think you know where you can find me.” This was the exact reason that you hadn’t given up your place yet, because you knew there would be a time just like this that he would shut you out.

“Do I?” Sid yelled back, finally stopping when he’d almost crossed the threshold of the kitchen. “Maybe I’ll check for you in DC.” His anger was rising more with each passing second and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to just throw something

“What did you say?” You didn’t turn around as you tried to absorb Sid’s words.

“You heard me, (Y/N). I know you’re going to work for the Capitals.” He stomped back into the kitchen, while your hand remained on the doorknob to the garage. “How could you (Y/N)? How can you take a job with one of our rivals? How could you turn on our team like that? Or the organization?” It was then that you turned around and look at Sid. The anger that was once written all over his face gradually fading away to hurt. “How could you leave me?”

You were trying to keep up with all his questions, but that last one broke your heart. It was at that moment, that you realized that had the Capitals GM been there to make you choose between Sid and your job, you’d choose Sid every time. Sure, MacLellan had offered you a job, one that you knew the moment it was made, you’d turn down, but you weren’t turning it down because for any other reason than the man standing right in front of you. “Sid, I’m not leaving.”

He shook his head as if he didn’t believe you. You weren’t sure what he’d heard, or how he’d heard it, but he needed to know that you weren’t walking away from him. “I’m not taking the job with the Capitals.”

“But I heard him, (Y/N). I heard him say that he looked forward to working with you.”

It took exactly three steps for you to erase the distance between yourself and Sid, and though you took your hand and raised it to his cheek, to be even just a bit closer; he still distanced himself from you emotionally. “Yes, he said that, and if he would’ve let me say a word, I would’ve told him that there was nothing that could make me leave this team or you.” The dead look that had taken over his usual smiling hazel eyes finally lifted at your words. “I love you, Sid, and yes this job is important to me, but I realized tonight, that you’re more important than all of it.” That earned you a smile, as his hands finally came up to rest on your waist. “When I came to Mario with this idea, I had no idea if it would work or even be needed. He and I agreed we’d try it out for a year. I don’t even know if come March, he’ll want to keep me around.” Sid gave you that look, the one that said that the great Mario Lemieux would be a fool to let you go. He even made an attempt to tell you that, but you stopped him. “But what I do know, is that I want to stay here with you. If that means that in a couple months I’m out of work and job hunting, so be it; because the only thing that matters is that I get to be with you.”

Sid’s lips came down on yours in a bruising kiss. One that stole not only your breath but your senses away as well. It was minutes before either of you were coming up for air. “God, I love you,” Sid breathed out as his hazel eyes locked with yours. “I never should’ve believed for a second that you would take a job with the Capitals. It’s just when I heard MacLellan, my mind went into overdrive.”

“Your mind is always in that mode.” He laughed but it was true. Sid processed things so fast from years of playing hockey that when it came to your relationship, he forgot that there were two of you in it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his puppy dog eyes making you melt. “I need to learn to stop doubting you.”

“Yes, you do, but you’re forgiven. Just don’t shut down on me again.”

He hauled you in closer so that not even a centimeter separated the two of you. “I’ll try not to.” Sid dropped his forehead to yours as he continued to hold you in his arms.

“That’s all I can ask. Though if you have any tips on how to deal with the Caps GM, I’ll take it. The man literally would not let me get a word in.”

“I’ll call him right now and tell him your answer’s no.”

He started to walk away, but it was your turn to pull him into you. “Don’t you dare. I can tell him that myself when he calls.”

“Fine,” Sid reluctantly agreed. “I know you can handle him, but if he tries to steal my girl again, I make no promises.”

You sweetly pecked his lips, for it was adorable of him to stand up for you. “Deal. Now that that’s settled let’s call it a night. It’s been a long day.”

Sid had other ideas though as his hands slid down your waist and he grabbed your ass. “Mmm, not just yet.” His hands were gathering your skirt and hiking it up. “I feel like I should make a proper apology.” He dropped to his knees then, taking your panties with him. Once you stepped out of them, he glided his hands up your inner thighs, parting them to give himself better access to your core. Taking his index finger, Sid slowly dragged it through your folds. “Fuck baby, I’ve barely touched you and you’re wet.”

Sid just had that effect on you and you knew he loved it. “I thought you were apologizing,” you teased, while he just grinned up at you.

“Oh, baby it’s on now.” There was a wicked glint in his eye right before he spread your pussy lips and took his tongue licking a stripe up to your clit. You were able to suppress the shiver that wracked your body but not the moan that came from your lips. When Sid put his mind to something there was no stopping him and you had a feeling you were in for it, as his tongue flicked over your little nub. It was exquisite torture and had you leaning back against the kitchen island for support.

Sid lifted your one leg, placing it easily over his shoulder to give him greater access to you. His tongue found its way inside your pussy, pushing you close to the brink, as his nose nudged at your clit. He took his time, building you up and backing off when he felt you nearing that point of no return. You groaned in frustration every time. “Sid!” You growled, sifting your fingers through his locks, in hopes to get him to tip you over the edge.

You felt him smirk against you but he still didn’t relent. Your hips pushed against his face seeking the release he wasn’t ready to give. They only stopped when his hands gripped them, keeping you still while practically lifting you in the air. It was only then that he decided to be merciful. Giving it his all, as he ate your pussy with renewed vigor. When you finally hit that high, it felt as if you were flying and you screamed out his name as your body shook with pleasure.

Sid set you back on the ground but still held on to your hips. Knowing that you’d be a bit wobbly after the earth shattering orgasm he gave you. “You are definitely forgiven,” you breathed out when he finally stood up. He kissed your lips and you could taste your essence on him. You pushed his pants and boxers down, while your tongues entwined. It was only once his cock was free that you turned and bent over the island.

“Fuck (Y/N),” Sid hissed as you presented yourself to him. He entered you in one swift motion, both of you groaning as he filled you. There wouldn’t be a day that you would tire of this; feeling his cock inside you was like your piece of heaven on earth. One hand gripped your hip, while Sid’s other came around and played with your still clothed breasts. “So fucking good,” he moaned, thrusting just a bit so he was buried balls deep in you.

When he didn’t move, you did; fucking yourself on his cock. “Jesus (Y/N).” You felt his cock twitch inside you and you sped up the pace. The sound of your ass slapping against him and your moans were the only things filling the kitchen air. As you pushed back against him this time, you felt him snap. His grip on your hip tightening as he took control, slamming into your pussy. The hand on your breasts snuck down to your clit to rub it furiously. Sid was an unselfish lover, just as he was an unselfish player on the ice. Always wanting you to reach that pinnacle of release before he did, even when you’d already reached it once. It didn’t take much for the climax to hit you, as your pussy quivered around his cock, and with a few erratic thrusts, he came with you.

Both of you were breathing harshly, as Sid brought your body up flush against his chest. He dropped a few kisses to your neck, then tilted your head so that your mouths could meet. “I love you, (Y/N) and I really am sorry for doubting you.”

You twisted in his embrace so that you were face to face. “I love you too, Sid.”

#not so dangerous liaison series #sidney crosby #sidney crosby smut #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby imagines #nhl smut #nhl fan fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey smut #hockey fanfiction #hockey imagine #hockey imagines

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juleswolverton-hyde · 4 years ago

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Not by the Moon | 07

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: A philosophical slant, (heavy) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom being absolute hubby material, Werewolf!Jaebeom being awkward and (a bit of a) pervert, domestic fluff, talk of medication, apparently werewolves don’t like to wear clothes (what is my canon...), talk of life and death, mention of blood, mild swearing

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Jaebeom’s POV.

Well, here it is, earlier and much longer than originally planned. It’s also a lot more tragic and philosophical than I intended it to be, but then again, what else can you expect from a tragedian fascinated by the human condition even as it is translated into the realm of the magical?

I think I just thought of the modern literary movement I might belong to: magic realism.

It’s a crying shame the Decadent Movement isn’t active anymore, though, because that one truly feels like a good fit for me both as an author and an individual. Ah well, c’est la vie.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

There is nothing better for a wolf than being with its mate.

Well, there is one thing.

Having them completely at your mercy as you’re inside them.

I still don’t understand what the plastic wrapping is good for, but Jinyoung was very insistent on using it while we drove to the airport. And Y/N seemed glad I had whatever it is, her scent even betraying a hint of relief. However, one day, I hope she’ll tell me not to use it.

No, that’s not right. There’s a word for the… whatever it is.

A condom.

That’s the word.

I hope she’ll tell me not to use a condom. It doesn’t matter whether I’m in season or not, although the chances she’ll pup are higher if I am. I want pups with her, a little pack of our own. I want it to be our toddler running around the park, chasing its sibling. Then again, will I remain human long enough to see them grow up?

Will I even remember their birth on the day they’re born?

Will I still be here?

Or remain without a family, a proud bloodline?

I slowly open my eyes, blinking a few times to get used to the sunlight bathing the room in a warm golden hue, swallow hard and force myself to calm down. There is no use in contemplating this now, not this early in the day nor in our time together. What counts is that I’m here now with Y/N in my arms and we’re in her apartment somewhere.

A faint whiff of brine seeps in through the air cleaner filter above the window overlooking the city. A gull flies by and lands on the roof of the building opposite ours.

Sea. Rusted metal. Right, the old harbour.

A high-pitched noise, a disquiet hum followed by a sigh, makes my ears perk up. I look down at the lady sleeping on my chest, curled up and fingers balled into small fists similar to a bunny’s paws. More importantly, however, she’s perfectly alright and was only unconsciously trying to get more comfortable.

A breathless chuckle rises in my throat at the display. Y/N’s adorable even when she’s fast asleep, her lips parted yet not enough to allow drooling.

I, on the other hand, am another story. I don’t do it often, but I must have been so tired last night I triggered the habit. The finger I swipe over the corners of my mouth comes away wet both times.

Oh no, I didn’t drool on her, did I? Would she mind, though, if I explained it’s a sign I’m comfortable with her?

It isn’t hard to guess the answer to the question. She would beat me over the head, likely with a shoe, and say I’m not allowed to bite her at all anymore. Not even in the future.

In a hurry to discover whether I made the fatal mistake, I check her messy hair but keeping my movements controlled to not wake her up. Fortunately, there are no locks sticking together nor a trail running down over the side of her face.

With a deep sigh, I slump further down into the bed again and kiss her crown. However, I don’t go back to sleep despite the comfort of the sheets. Instead, I lift the lady’s head and gently put her down on the pillow as I get up, carefully calculating every movement like I do when hunting to make sure she won’t wake up or notice my absence in her unconscious state.

The faint smell of burned iron comes from somewhere when I rearrange the sheets to bundle Y/N up. My mouth dries up, throat blocked by something I can’t swallow as a familiar stench disturbs the morning happiness. Former intentions abandoned, I claw through the sheets to try and discover where the rank odour comes from.

Did I hurt her? Is she bleeding? Why is she bleeding? Where is it? Where’s the blood?

As suspected, the frantic search wakes the pretty lady. Propped up on an elbow, eyes half-closed and brows furrowed, she turns to me. “Jae, what-’’ she yawns, “What’re you doing?”

Barely has she asked the question or I find what I’ve been looking for.

On her side of the bed, between her thighs, is a puddle of dried blood.

Where did it come from? Did I… Did I do this?

I grab her by the shoulders and pull her close to check her condition, turning her this way and that as each thought grows more troubled. “Are you okay?” There’s nothing to see on the bare skin of her upper body. “Are you hurt?”

Maybe the wound is somewhere lower, on her hip or leg. I didn’t bite her last night. Right? I didn’t hurt her. At least, I don’t think I did. No. Surely the wolf- I wouldn’t harm her. I had enough control to prevent that from happening. Yes, that’s the case.

But then, with a fading mind, how much can I trust myself?

“Jaebeom, I’m fine. What are you- ah.” Y/N notices the spot of dark crimson when I pull the sheets completely off the bed and toss them aside. She lets out an incomprehensibly careless chuckle, evidently oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

“What are you giggling about? Y/N, you’re bleeding!” I bark, lost.

A small paw cups my cheek, her thumb caressing the skin in an attempt to calm me down. “You took my virginity. It’s natural to bleed a little when that happens.”

“Are you still in pain?” Even though it’s natural, surely it’s not without repercussions. Otherwise, the stain wouldn’t be there.

“No, I’m not, silly. I’m okay.” She kisses the tip of my nose when I let out a whine, unhappy with the response. Withal, a curious tone in her voice overtakes my own displeasure. “Are you?”

Why do you say it like that?

She sounds weird, hinting at something I’m supposed to find as obvious as she. Yet, I have no clue about what it can be. So, I tilt my head and stare blankly at her, waiting for an explanation. “I’m fine.”

My choice of words makes her visibly flinch despite the effort to hide it. The sleepiness which glazed her eyes evaporated, leaving them devoid of the amusement at my failure as a human. The recognizable sour note of anxiety creeps back into her scent, setting off alarm bells in my mind. “I’m alright. No pain. Happy to be here. Happy to wake up next to you.”

I rub her arms in a poor attempt to make her calm down, have her scent return to its spring-like fruitiness. She is supposed to smell like fresh fruit still hanging from the trees, yet to ripen. Not like fallen fruit beginning to decay in the summer sun.

“Okay,” is all she says in response before she pulls away, the absence of the warmth of her palm sending a cold shiver throughout my body.

The world always seems a little colder without her.

“Want breakfast?” A low grumble pierces the silence following the question, giving me enough of a response. And a reason to get my head, no, that’s not the idiom. To get my thoughts ordered. Organized. To get my thoughts in order? To think about… stuff. Last night. This. Everything. “Never mind. I’m making you breakfast. You have to eat.”

I stand up and head for the bathroom to first get rid of the weird plastic wrapping she put on me last night. Having thrown it in the bin there after a bit of an awkward struggle removing it, I move to the kitchen. Nevertheless, I don’t start preparing food right away. Instead, I pick up the grey hoodie I gave her from the bag between the sofa and chair facing the kitchen. I remember how she held it up to her nose, breathed in and basked in the scent.

My scent.

A fragment of last night’s memory.

I remember we had sex and that she told me I’m her first, but afterwards things are blurry.

Smell. I said something about how nicely she smells. Not really an original compliment since I’ve said it a lot already, but I can’t help but focus on it.

And then…

Then…

Then instinct took over because I let it, thinking I’d remain in control even though I let go a little. After all, I’ve learned enough to know how to deal with the wolf inside thanks to the rehabilitation procedure Jinyoung put me through and supervised. Since then, there’s been a healthy balance between human and beast in my mind.

Or, rather, there was one.

I think.

Another boundary to watch out for. I have to keep myself in check. No more experimenting.

Because to do so is to forget.

And I want to remember.

I stop absent-mindedly thumbing the piece of clothing, drape it over the armrest of the sofa and head into the kitchen to make breakfast. Unfortunately, the fridge quickly brings my plan to a halt, empty except for a pack of soy milk and a tray of eggs. The groceries Jinyoung and I got were only enough for dinner last night and there are no leftovers.

To be fair, she did just come back from a trip abroad. But still, is there really nothing to work with?

I sigh in defeat and grab the plant-based milk to pour it over the apple and cinnamon granola I find in the cupboard above the sink. At least it’s food and drink in one meal.

From the drawer next to the oven, I grab two spoons which I put into the bowls, grab the hoodie from the couch and return to the bedroom.

Y/N sits with her back turned to me, but flips around a little too fast for my liking once she hears my paws approaching. “Jaebeom?”

The terrible mixture of barely suppressed horror and genuine concern in her gaze has translated into her voice, which is cold and calculating. The sour note of anxiety hasn’t faded from her scent, creating a stone to sink to the bottom of my stomach because there’s only one thing that can be a distressing factor this early in the day.

Me.

Withal, the reason why she’s scared puzzles me since I haven’t done anything out of the ordinary. I’ve simply been me since I woke up.

Human.

Although, that’s me now.

Last night, I don’t know who or what I was though it isn’t hard to guess.

The pretty lady traces the deep indentation in the headboard of the bed with her fingers bent to resemble a claw. “Did you do this?”

Did- Did I? No. I- I don’t know. I was less strict with myself last night and don’t remember much, but surely I wasn’t gone enough to do this.

I hope.

I think.

I’m not sure.

But the reality provides the necessary evidence to repute any kind of denial I can offer.

I set the bowls down on the nightstand and crawl back on the bed to sit next to her. Gently, I nudge her hand aside to mimic her action, my own fingers perfectly fitting into the large gash. “I don’t know.”

A surge of violence shoots throughout my body, triggering the nagging feeling of a forgotten memory strong enough to knock the air out the lungs and split my skull with flashes of a memory. Nevertheless, the fragments pass by too fast to make sense of them and the mere attempt to do so worsens the headache. I flinch and scramble backwards with a paw- a hand pressed to my head as if I can thus suppress the pain. Yet, I remain unable to look at anything but the damage.

“I don’t know,” I repeat, my voice hardly louder than a scared whisper.

“I felt your skin move beneath my fingers last night,” Y/N starts, catching my attention with the timid response suggestive of requiring more explanation.

Exactly what I don’t have since I can’t even explain it myself.

This shouldn’t be happening.

“I think I did, at least,” she adds doubtfully on a shivery breath. The sourness sweetens to doubt instead of anxiety. Nonetheless, it’s still worrying she’s ill… uncomfortable.

“Did I-“ I swallow hard, forcing out the words describing my worst nightmare. “Did I transform?”

“Transform?’’ She briefly turns her gaze from me to the indentation, lips parted in an attempt to articulate a thought that’s dismissed with a headshake the second thereafter. Her attention returns to me, her expression slackened. ‘’What are you- What… No, you didn’t, but you looked far away. Retreated further into your own world, more so than you normally are.”

“That’s good,” I mumble, nodding as I, too, briefly return my attention to the claw mark. “Was human. Good.”

Still, need to talk to the weird-smelling intruder. Doctor. Friend. Name, his name. Jinyoung. Jesus, man, get yourself together. Your name is Im Jaebeom. You’re a twenty-eight old werewolf that- no, who runs a bookshop called Paper Souls. Jinyoung is your friend, doctor and supervisor appointed to you by... by... some organization.

“Jaebeom,” the pretty lady puts her hand on my shoulder, features softened instead of frozen and marred by fear, “have you taken your medication yet?”

The natural fruity undertone seems forced to be stronger.

You should be scared. I might have- I made that claw mark. Why treat me like a human? I’m a wolf.

“Me- Med-“ The strange word barely registers until a spark of humanity recalls its definition. “Medication. Pills. No, I- I haven’t.”

“Let me grab a glass of water and get them.”

She ruffles my hair, jumps off the bed and rushes out of the room. I listen to her bare feet lightly treading the floor as she moves on the other side of the wall, hurried steps going from the hallway, where she rummages in my coat for the rattling bottle of pills, to the kitchen. There, she opens a cupboard to grab a glass. The loud clinking of glass alongside the sour undertone in her scent indicates she almost accidentally caused several to fall out and break on the tiles. Fortunately, judging by the deep sigh of relief, Y/N could prevent it from happening.

She turns on the tab, fills the glass with water, turns the tab off and walks back into the room.

“There you go,” she says, handing me the small brown bottle and water.

The mattress dips a bit when she sits down next to me with one of the bowls filled with cereal in her hands. After stirring the spoon around like she is trying to evade something, Y/N finally takes a first careful bite. Nevertheless, she starts eating properly after I kiss her temple, which is an apparently effective form of encouragement. I have to remember that.

Quietly seated in the golden sunlight, we have our first breakfast together. I don’t mind her watching me as I’m taking my medication, measuring out the amount Jinyoung told me to take. Or, rather, as much as the label notes I should. Immediately my gag reflex is triggered when I put them in my mouth, the taste of bitter metal extremer than before so it’s like licking one of the rusted over buoys drifting in the harbour.

He’s increased the nightshade and silver. Damn, I think even the worst coffee tastes better than this.

“That bad?”

“Yep.” I open and close my mouth, nauseous due to the sickening taste lingering on my tongue. To prevent the bile rising in my throat from escaping, I gulp down the water. Unfortunately, it only washes down part of the bitterness.

She holds up a spoon with milk-soaked granola to feed to me, but I turn it down and shake my head. I might actually throw up if I eat anything right now.

Disappointment flashes across her face, though it’s gone in an instant as she puts her bowl down and stands up. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

“But... food,” I meekly offer and point at the half-empty bowl on the nightstand. She should put herself before me.

Because I’ll be fine.

“We’re missing something important. Coffee,” the bunny-like lady playfully responds before she bounces off again to the kitchen.

The pleasant and slightly sweet scent of instant cappuccino warms the apartment, replacing the sharp scent of frozen water alluding to hail later on in the day. It’s a little early in the year, but soon the first snows will fall.

Hopefully, she’ll move before then so we can spend Christmas in her cottage. Although, it doesn’t even have to be the holidays. I’d light a fire, drape a blanket over our shoulders and keep Y/N close to warm her with mine as we read and look at the snowfall.

Like a snowflake falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling before our eyes, so we pass through life. At this rate, I think the next snowfall might be the last I’ll see.

Consciously.

Meaningfully.

Like a human.

The snowflake will faintly fall on the man I am, descend on the husk I’m becoming, while she will continue living.

Without me.

The living and the dead.

I smile wistfully until the same shot of pain treks through me as when I tried to fill in the gaps of the fragmented memory. Folded in on myself, cold sweat on my skin and short of breath, I press my palms against my snout to push the agony away.

The pained groaning must have alarmed the pretty lady because she rushes to my side and pushes one of the mugs in her little paws… hands in mine. “Here, take a sip. The caffeine will help.”

As told, I nip at the hot beverage. Indeed, the cappuccino lessens the headache and cold shivers that ran down my spine and threatened to spread. Though I dislike instant coffee, it actually tastes good when she prepares it. I sigh in relief, blow on the coffee to cool it down, and slowly drink it while Y/N caresses my jaw and ear just the way I like it. At the same time, she comforts me with her soothing voice, murmuring words of solace and assurance as she sits down next to me again.

I could listen to you all day. Maybe I should ask you to read to me sometime. Although, not maybe. I’ll ask it later. Note to self, write a note on your phone to ask her to read to you. Also, make note of kissing her temple.

My reverie is broken up by a comment which rubs me the wrong way. “I have to go to the office later today-’’

“Already? You just got home.”

“They’re counting on me, Jae. Besides, I’m not that jet-lagged.”

“It’s not healthy. You should stay home. Rest,” I bark. Her eyes widen, taken aback by my bluntness.

She opens and closes her mouth, planning to say something yet deciding against it. Instead, she tugs my ear. “I’ll be fine. And you have your shop to look after, so let’s both work hard today.”

“Still,” I take another sip, “I don’t think you should go.”

“As long as I have caffeine, I should be able to manage. How about this? I’ll come to your shop as soon as I’m done with work and cook for us. We’ll have a cosy night in like we had last night.”

“Last night was ‘cosy’ indeed,” I murmur, hoping she catches on to what I’m alluding to.

“It was. I really liked it.” Her lashes flutter with the memories of last night, cheeks tinged pink. Unfortunately, the heartstopping girlish giggle is short-lived and becomes serious too soon. “But while I did, I think we shouldn’t do it again so soon.”

“Agreed,” I respond, mind occupied by the ripples of transformation and the splashes of pain wanting to remember something significant only communicated in incomprehensible flashes.

Distorted.

Like the memories of the forest.

I need to call Jinyoung. He needs to know.

“What shall we eat tonight?”

The change in subject is welcome, but also a confusing bridge to cross. How can humans go from severe to casual without a care? The aspect of communication has me furrow my brows as I try to work out the mech… work… nuts and bolts behind it. Nevertheless, I answer the question. “I thought you had a plan already.”

The corners of her mouth curl up into a cat-like grin. “I have no idea, so that’s why I’m asking you. You’re a better chef than I am.”

“I’m not that good,” I murmur, my ears lowered like a shy pup. “But I’d like something we can make together.”

“Pancakes?”

“Yes!’’ I bark, leaning in and grabbing the sheets to contain the excitement at cooking together. ‘’Yes, I’d like that!”

A flicker of doubt passes over her face, hesitant in the way she tends to be when it concerns food. However, a second later, she taps me on the nose with a content hum. “Pancakes it is.”

While Y/N showers, I clean the dishes and pull the sheets off of the bed so she can bring them to the laundry. Although, maybe I could do it myself. I’d have to text Jinyoung for instructions since he always does mine, but even then it shouldn’t be too difficult. Humans do laundry all the time. It’s part of their routine and if they can do it, so can I.

I hope.

As I’m making the bed and contemplating the process to get at least the blood stain out of the fabric, my mate walks back into the room. Her wet hair is bundled up in a towel that’s smaller than the one wrapped around her body. The addition of the scents of cherry blossoms and matcha to the blend of summer fruits drives me dizzy as she moves to the wardrobe.

I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help looking as the towel falls to the floor to reveal her naked body. An appreciative growl unconsciously rises from my throat, a surge of heat culminating between my legs.

Just one more time. I’ll keep myself in check. Behave. I’ll behave.

“Jaebeom,” cheeks flushed, Y/N glances over her shoulder, “don’t even think about it.”

“Sorry,” I mumble as I shuffle to her side to help her put on her bra by closing the clasps. When they click in place, I place a kiss between her shoulder blades, feeling her shiver against my lips. “I know what we agreed on.”

I wrap my arms around her waist and let my head rest on her shoulder. Eyes closed, I try to keep a clear mind as she scratches me behind the ear.

“It’s not necessarily... that.” Her voice is light, wanting to move past the concerns of last night with humour. “It’s rather the thought I wouldn’t get to leave for the office at all if we go back to bed.”

“You’re right.” I decide to play along, if only to give us both some peace of mind. So, I bury my nose in the side of her neck, nuzzling her and earning myself a bird-like giggle that spreads a nice fuzzy feeling inside. “I wouldn’t let you go. We’d read the day away with coffee.”

“Tea, in your case. Doctor’s orders. I don’t want you bouncing around the place. You’re my calm, well, sort of calm bookish wolf. Not a supercharged husky.”

It’s a lame joke, but nevertheless makes me laugh.

“What will you wear today?” I ask, glancing at the clothes on the hangers.

Here and there, there’s a colourful item in the collection. Withal, the majority of the items are mono… one-toned... black and white items to be switched up with a dark-shaded checkered blouse.

My attention drifts to the long white dress with lemons. The fabric is on the thin side, which makes it suitable for summer or a warm spring.

I’d love to see you in that dress, if only just once.

She pouts her lips. “I was thinking about grey high-waisted jeans with a black button-up shirt and ankle boots.”

“Wear my hoodie,” I whine, upset my… my girlfriend. That sounds nice. My girlfriend. It makes me upset that my girlfriend doesn’t plan on wearing one of the things I gave her. “You like the grey one, right?”

“I do, but-’’

“Then wear it.”

She sighs, shakes her head and turns around to look up at me. “There’s something like a dress code at the office.”

“Don’t care.” I nudge her nose with mine, bark lowered to a woof to persuade her to go with my choice. “You’ll look better. More pretty.”

“If you put a pair of boxers on, I’ll wear the hoodie. Deal?”

“But they’re uncomfortable. I only wore them because Jinyoung told me to.”

“Then I won’t wear the hoodie.” Little devilish will-o’-the-wisps light up her eyes as the corners of her mouth curl up into a taunting grin. “Shame. Now my colleagues won’t get to see I have a boyfriend.”

The tables have flipped since I’m apparently not the only one who’s good at using their charms.

Nevertheless, reluctant to start a fight over this, I let out a compromising chuff. “Okay, fine.”

Humans and their clothes. I like yours, but you’d look even better in mine. Still, I’m only doing this because I want every male at your office and in the city to know you’re mine.

No matter what size they are, clothing is a thing I absolutely haven’t missed. Notwithstanding, to please my mate, I wriggle myself back into the tight short trousers and the loose pants to wear over them. Y/N gives me a warning look when she sees me fumbling with my shirt, hopefully missing out on the obvious clue I secretly hope she’ll let me off easy.

Of course she doesn’t.

“Yes, Jae, also the shirt,” she chastises me like a mother disciplines a rebellious pup. “And the shoes. You don’t want other people to call the cops after seeing a naked man in the streets.” Unaware of the fact I can hear her perfectly even as she mutters under her breath, she adds. ‘’Or me to pick you up at the police station because of it.’’

Amused by the funny image the fantastical scenario creates in my mind, I relent. “Yes, ma’am.”

Once we’re both dressed, Y/N makes way for the bathroom to do her makeup. Ignoring my protests it’s unnecessary since there’s nothing to hide or improve to make me love her more, she closes the door behind her and locks it.

There goes the plan of dragging her out of there by the collar to have her scratch my jaw and ear again instead. A much better way to pass the time, if you ask me.

In the meanwhile, I return to the bedroom to take a picture of the damage with my phone and send it to Jinyoung.

Jaebeom: We need to talk.

Immediately, I get a response.

Jinyoung: Yes, we absolutely do. Everything OK?

Jaebeom: Yes, Y/N is fine. Alive. A little shaken, but so am I. Well, we’re more than a little shaken. Fuck, Jinyoung, I don’t know what happened.

Jinyoung: I’ll drop by later today. I have to give a lecture in a bit and have to see a new patient afterwards. He’s going through the reintegration program right now and needs a little extra help.

Jaebeom: Help with what? What is he?

Jinyoung: A wolf. Not a standard case.

Jaebeom: Anything I can help with?

Jinyoung: I think you need to focus on yourself right now. I’ll be at the shop around two.

Footsteps disturb the silence, going from the bathroom to the hallway.

That was quick. Are females always this fast with applying their face?

It’s a funny phrase, ‘applying my face’. Also, it’s the argument the pretty lady used as the final word on the matter. But she already has a face so there’s no need to apply a second like some Greek god.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Ears perked, I glance around the corner into the living room and in Y/N’s direction.

“Work?” she answers sheepishly, looking back at me with her head slightly tilted to the side. In her hands is the black trench coat she was about to put on.

Fortunately, she’s kept her makeup natural with a golden brown eyeshadow, a bit of a black line to accentuate her eyes and something to enhance her lashes. It’s a natural look which some of the female customers could learn from with their fake lips or chest that makes them reek of silicone and plastic. Their makeup, often overemphasizing their fake features, doesn’t add to their supposed charm. In fact, it makes me turn my snout away even faster if their attitude already hasn’t.

I’d never offer them coffee or want them around more than once.

But not her.

Not Y/N.

I can’t remember if she wore the same makeup when we met, but I vaguely recall a sense of calm and need for protection alongside a strange recognition. A connection that would make all the puzzle pieces of my life fit together.

The missing last piece.

“Not so fast.” I swiftly move to her side to kiss her forehead. No way I’m letting her go without giving her at least one more.

“There,” I pet her head, griggling and sweeping my tail triumphantly, “now you’re free to go.”

“I wouldn’t have gone without telling you, you know?” She stands on the tip of her toes to peck me on the lips, slightly swaying side to side to keep her balance.

So I lean forward to make it easier for her and chuckle against her lips. “Have a good day at work, Y/N.”

“You too, Jae.”

And with that, she puts on her coat, grabs her bag and opens the front door. She lingers in the doorway, waving half-heartedly as a final word of goodbye.

I wave back, faking a smile to see her off without worry.

Being human again isn’t so bad.

However, the deadline is another story.

The shop is as tranquil as it is on any other day. The quietness of unread words hangs between the shelves, the only noise to disrupt the silence being the rustle of a page being turned. Seated by the window as per usual, listening to the hail in the dim light, I read the time away, but whereas it’s normally a form of amusement and pleasure, it now functions in part to forget this morning’s discovery.

I didn’t mean to pry, but I inspected Y/N’s bookshelves before I left her apartment. There was the usual assortment of classics, but also a lot of Asian fiction, a genre I haven’t delved into too much yet. So, of course with the intention of returning it, I took Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami with me.

She must have read it recently because her fruity scent still lingers on the paper. The summer blend distracts me to the point that the movement of the hands of the clock pass unnoticed in the background.

Regardless of the appointed time, it’s half past two instead of two o’clock that Jinyoung comes in. In his one hand he holds a carrier with two paper cups, the sleeves on them decorated with the silhouette of a black wolf and the name of the café printed in vintage letters beneath the design, the letters spelling out Wolf’s. Judging by the scent, it’s tea the doctor has brought with him. Apple cinnamon for me, since that’s the only one I like, and rooibos for himself.

In his other hand, he holds his bag. One of the claps has either not been fastened before he left or came undone along the way. Whatever the reason, it’s clear he came here in a hurry.

“Sorry I’m late. Christian and I had a lot more to discuss than we thought.” Jinyoung stumbles inside, puts the tea and his bag on the counter, and turns around to lock the door and flip the sign so we can talk in private.

A hint of leather mixed with coffee and wood is mixed in with his own.

Male.

Threat.

Teeth gritted and jaw clenched, I make a mental note to myself to keep this scent away from Y/N. To keep this Christian away from her.

“Jaebeom,” the other male sighs. His tone holds a silent warning of being close to breaking some kind of boundary.

“What?” The answer rolls off the tongue as a growl rather than an actual question. Not that it matters since he must have had a lot worse to endure from me. Besides, it’s not him I’m pissed at so he’s safe.

Although, the wild undertone in his already peculiar personal blend alludes to the opposite.

Has he always smelled like this or is this new? He is human, but then why does my instinct tell me to watch out for him, that there’s more than to him? Strange.

“He’s no competition. I think he might have imprinted with my colleague, although neither he nor she might be aware of it.” He rolls his eyes. “The gods know whether Gráinne will do anything with it. I wonder if... no, I don’t think either of them told her anything.”

A grim wistfulness stains his voice, which ignites a curiosity about his colleague’s circumstances. Notwithstanding, that story will have to wait until another day and his willingness to tell me.

Still, I quickly fish my phone out of my pocket, open the notes app, and jot down a short reminder to ask about it at a later date.

“Anyway,” Jinyoung steps away from the door, hands me the cup with apple cinnamon tea, and gestures at the worn couch by the window overlooking the west side of the neighbourhood, “we’re here to talk about you. About the picture you sent.”

We move away from the counter to the sofa. A burst of hail spatters against the glass as we sit down.

I’m glad to have something to hold to conceal the shivers running through my body at the image of the claw mark mixed with the memory of what Y/N told me she felt. Or, rather, thought she felt although I’m certain she actually did feel the first ripples of transformation.

For a moment, we sit in silence as I mentally prepare myself for the conversation. Nipping on the tea with my shoulders curled over my chest, I try to reconstruct last night as best I can.

As much as my memory lets me.

To break the... something. There’s an idiom, no, a phrase? A saying.

I don’t know.

Not anymore.

To make it easier, likely noticing the struggle to say anything, Jinyoung speaks up. “There’s more than the photo. You’re leaving things out, things I need to know to help. What aren’t you telling me, Jaebeom?”

“Y/N-” I begin, my breath unsteady as I restart the sentence, “Y/N said she felt my skin move and if I try to remember last night, I can only recall fragments that give me a headache when I try to string them together. Which I can’t.”

He pales, frozen in place as the weird briny scent sours. “That shouldn’t-’’

“Shouldn’t happen,” I finish the remark.

A horrifying idea arises that sets the hairs on the back of my neck on end and has me nervously tapping my thumbs together as I try not to squeeze the cup in my paws. Nonetheless, voice a low woof bordering on a melancholic whine, I tell the doctor what’s on my mind. “I think the pills stopped working. Completely. I- I don’t think-’’

The world stops, shrinks, and strings my chest as tight as a string as I shrink within myself. Each thought evaporates as fast as the flashes in the wolf’s memory, incoherent if meant to be sensible at all.

The snow hasn’t even come.

I can’t leave her alone.

I don’t want to leave this life.

I don’t want to go just when being human again starts to get good.

I don’t want to be the old me again.

“I think so too,” Jinyoung agrees grimly. “If I increase the silver and nightshade or the doses it will kill you.”

He tilts his head to the side, eyes sharp with focus as he poses the question I’ve been wondering about myself. “Does she know what you are?”

I shake my head. I might be her weirdo wolf guy, but she’d never believe me if I told her what I really am. Besides, werewolves are the stuff of fiction these days.

We’re no longer seen as a real threat nor have the power and status we used to have in the days of yore. We are devoid of an identity acknowledged by humans.

But, if I don’t possess an identity, am I really here?

Alive?

Or dead like the wolf inside?

Paradise is calling, the song of the forest playing like a red thread through my broken memory.

Beckoning me home.

The woods are calling.

And I must not go.

Jinyoung’s new question pulls me out of my reverie, just in time before the train of thought would crash and burn. “Are you going to tell her?”

“No.” I take a sip of the sweet tea, to have a second of bliss and enjoy a new human pleasure.

Another happiness I discovered a little too late.

“Will you at least tell her about your meds?” Even though she’s seen me take them, Y/N doesn’t know what they’re for. But, then again, did she look at the label?

Regardless of whether she did or not, she’s perhaps not truly ignorant to the reason I have to take them. After all, she thinks they combat my amnesia, which is partially true. It’s a half-truth.

But the real reason is a secret I intend to keep.

“No,” I repeat, determined in my answer regardless of the world spinning out of control. “I won’t tell her.”

“She deserves that much, doesn’t she? She’s your girlfriend, Jay.’’ Although his features have softened, the doctor’s voice rises to a fierce bark as he reinforces his point. ‘’Your mate.”

“I can’t tell her,’’ I retort, my bark closer to a growl than a civilized answer. Tears brim on the edge of my lashes, obscuring my vision in spite of my attempts to blink them away. The vision of Y/N by herself in the snow, on her knees in the middle of the orchard, blocks my throat and makes breathing harder than it already was.

The vision changes to the image of a spring day close to summer, warm enough for her to wear the dress with the lemons. She’s seated in the same position between the trees which are now white and pink with blossom. However, whereas her belly was flat before, it’s now swollen, pregnant with pups.

My pups?

No, I have to stay here.

I have to survive the winter.

I have to be here if I ever change my mind and want to start a pack with her.

I must be here.

But the question is whether I actually can.

At this rate, I’m not sure.

I don’t know.

But I know enough to explain why I’m reluctant to tell my pretty lady anything. ‘’I can’t tell her, because the news will hurt her and I don’t want that. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Plus, what am I supposed to say? I’m a wolf that turned into a man and is slowly dying, going back to his old form in which it... he. Am human. In which he’ll be stuck until it- He! Am human! Until he dies?

“Y/N has to know about this, Jaebeom.’’ A hand on my shoulder makes me look up from the floor to the man next to me. ‘’How about I talk to her, tell her what you told me and discuss what our options are as well as a plan for the future?”

“You’re right.” I let out a mirthless griggle. “Fuck, I hate it when you are. But… But how will you… explain, uhm, explain… this- me! How will you explain me? What I am? For all she cares, werewolves are my- myth- fic-’’ I throw my head back, frustrated I can’t find the right word or properly speak.

Jinyoung gives me an encouraging squeeze, kindheartedly chuckling at my failure. “I know what you mean. Nobody comes into our world willingly or at least without a good reason. I think your... situation is enough of the latter for her to get involved too. She doesn’t have to join the branch, I’ll leave that up to her. But, if Y/N decides to believe me, or us for that matter, she’ll at least have a community to rely on when you, you know, you’re...”

“When I’m gone.’’ The hesitance to state the facts makes me grimace and my tone sharper than intended. ‘’We both know where this is heading so just say it.”

“Fine,’’ the doctor puts his hands up as if he’s at the risk of being shot ‘’when you’re gone.”

“What’ll happen to the shop?” I gesture around the paper paradise, changing the topic slightly. Books have been another treasure of humanity I will forever be grateful for, especially since I hopefully have created a legacy with them that’s worth keeping.

The doctor glances around, a somber expression on his face. “Either the university will keep it and maintain it as a potential workplace in the reintegration program or sell it off. I don’t know, real estate doesn’t fall within my jurisdiction.”

“Ah, I see.” I lower my head, gaze averted to the half-empty cup in my paws.

Funny how I once thought of making this a family business or to have at least my pup’s name on the spine of one of these books. If I ever had them, would they like to be a writer? Would Y/N tell them their absent father, I... I love... loved to read?

I force myself to forget the thought, swallow despite having a dry mouth, and shake my head. “Thank you. For wanting to tell her. She’ll come over tonight, so-’’

He holds up his hand to stop me. “I’ll text her so we can meet at a later date. She just returned from a business trip and had quite the evening with you. You two deserve a bit of rest.”

“But what if...”

It’s unlikely, but what if it happens again? What if I spin out of control tonight?

“Keep your temper in check and try to suppress your instinct,” Jinyoung answers matter-of-factly.

So, no sex.

Although the unspoken implication doesn’t come as a surprise, I can’t help but feel disappointed even though Y/N and I agreed on not doing it again so soon. Notwithstanding, it would be a lie to say I didn’t want to do it again this morning. But then there was the pool of blood and the amnesia that ruined our morning bliss.

All the same, flashes of what I do remember from last night replay in my mind.

They say once you’ve had a wolf, you never go back. Maybe because I won’t let you.

She looked beautiful, tears glistening in her eyes, equally as beautiful as her meek whimpers. She’s so small and fragile, easy to overpower.

To conquer.

“Your mind’s…. gutter again, isn’t it?” A groan sounds from somewhere on the side, distant like a faint echo

I was inside her.

In spite of the weird plastic, she felt nice.

Warm.

Wet.

I replay the image of her whimpering on the sheets as I looked down at her over and over. My hand on her cheek and Y/N keeping it in place. I should have used that second to dive down and worship her soft breasts more.

I could have bitten her there. Just a small bite on the side.

The snapping of a pair of fingers before my eyes interrupts the pleasant reverie. A bit offended, I snap around to growl at whoever took the pleasure of a cherished memory away.

Only to face Jinyoung, who sighs and looks down at the bulge in my pants before pursing his lips with an exasperated knowing expression as he looks up.

Scrambling to regain my composure and hardly remembering what he said, I answer as best I can. “No!”

“Then why are you drooling?”

#JB #Jaebeom #GOT7 #GOT7 smut #JB smut #GOT7 x Reader #Jaebeom x Reader #Jaebeom fanfiction #Jaebeom smut #GOT7 Werewolf AU #Werewolf AU #Werewolf!Jaebeom #Werewolf!JB

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writerwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Yuánfèn | 02

Ch. 2: Retrouvailles: “An overwhelming feeling of happiness caused by seeing someone after a long separation.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 3.3k Chapter Warnings: Smut - 18+ Only - Minors DNI, male masturbation, one night stand mentioned but not detailed, slow burn, grief, fluff

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The first week Steve took it slow, only texting you when you texted first or if he hadn’t heard from you at all. He’d taken your advice, balancing his time between preparing the team for another altercation with the Maximoff twins and finding out as much as he could about them. It was a welcome distraction from the lack of news on his hunt for the Winter Soldier. Natasha was the only one that seemed to notice that he would periodically glance at his watch or his phone and go quiet for a moment before getting back to work. When she finally cornered him, he felt like he should have seen it coming. Arms akimbo and eyebrow quirked, she called him out with no hesitation, “You’ve got a secret.”

“Don’t we all?” Steve could immediately feel the regret in challenging her, busying himself with packing up his bag to head to his room and shower after a long morning of training. Nat didn’t hesitate to follow suit, tagging along with her own bag as she took long strides to keep up with him, even slipping into the elevator before he could. “How’s the search for the Maximoff twins going?”

Nat stood in front of the panel before he could select a floor. “Who have you been texting? Finally ask that SHIELD agent out, Sharon, or is the moping about a certain fossil?” She raised an eyebrow, her fingers tapping her arm impatiently.

Sighing, Steve reached behind her and hit the button. “Neither. I’ve just got a lot on my plate.” Before she could make another snarky comment, he asked. “Clint went home. Did you check in on him?” Though he didn’t use the tone of encouraging her to mind her own business, as he respected the effort she was putting in to build their friendship, he couldn’t help but hope she’d drop the subject.

“Yeah, I’ve checked in. Clint’s good, just like Doc said he’d be. Cho’s kind of a genius and it’s a relief to know that there’s someone that can piece us mere mortals back together when we’re out there saving the world with you.” Steve nodded as he listened, like a captain listening to a report on one of his troops, but his shoulders went ridged with her comment about Dr. Cho. She reminded him too much of Tony and not enough of Dr. Erskine. Luckily, it went unnoticed as she stepped out of the elevator with him and they walked toward their rooms.

There weren’t many memories in Steve’s life, even before the serum, where things simply went black. Taking a beating from his brainwashed best friend was one of them. Steve could picture the metal arm pulling back, the sting of pain as the bones in his face shattered over and over, and could even recall the conversation between swings, but he knew there were moments that were just blank from the concussion- especially after Bucky pulled him from the water. The fading image of him walking away, the ache of being put onto a stretcher, the gentle touch of small hands on his swollen face as the hum of medical machinery tried to pull him back to reality. It didn’t happen for days, but there were moments when he could still hear her talking to him or someone else in the room and always gave his hand three small squeezes before saying her goodbyes.

Steve had been in his head, remembering the music that woke him up and Sam waiting there for him. They’d stopped at Steve’s door, closest to the elevator, and Natasha pretended not to notice how quiet he’d been until she finally added, “Clint’s probably going to take another week before coming back to work, but we’re going out for drinks tonight. Are you thinking about coming with us this time? Might help you clear your head.”

“I’ll think about it.” It was a surprisingly genuine response. He didn’t need to get drunk to have a good time with friends and knew Sam could use the break from hunting a ghost and was itching to see Nat again. There was no doubt in Steve’s mind that if he said yes that Kristen from Statistics would be there and he wasn’t going to open that door, let alone walk through it.

“Aren’t you full of surprises today.” With a slight smirk she kept walking toward her room, calling back, “We’re heading out at eight. Take a nap old guy.”

By the time he was alone in the shower, the idea of going out with the team seemed all the more appealing. Regardless of Natasha still trying to set him up with random colleagues. He was lonely and reaching one of those breaking points of needing to find some comfort to balance out a minute sense of normalcy to his bizarre life, be it good conversation or bad sex. The water cascaded down his toned body and he brushed away the beads of dew and bubbles of soap that trailed down the lines of his muscles before reaching for himself. A part of him that was still very much stuck in the 1940’s hated this need, always feeling some level of shame in finding comfort in the palm of his hand. Typically, these moods resulted in an act of non-sexual frustration, a stress reliever that was easiest to address with his fist and a punching bag.

He told himself that he wasn’t the kind of person to think of someone in particular that way during the solitary act. When he did ‘indulge’, his thoughts had always trailed back to the singular heated kiss with Peggy Carter. But now, with one arm on the tiled wall and the other stroking his length, Steve took an uncommonly slow pace and his mind went to the little things that he’d thought about over and over throughout the week. Small warm hands on his skin, her hand in his. How small would her hands look wrapped around him? How soft would she feel? The smell of her hair and the way she clung to him in a simple hug. Did she know how warm she felt as she held on so tightly to him? Steve gripped himself more tightly, strokes still slow and steady, as he worked out the loneliness with a twist of his wrist. Thoughts passing from little moments and his own stolen glances. The sound of her little hums when she was thinking or satisfied with a solution she’d come up with, how she always bit her lip when she was in a room full of people. Then there was the way she held her breath every time she managed to make eye contact with him as his hands moved over the lace panties she'd passed him to pack. Was she always wearing something like that under her scrubs? Did she do this, think about him getting off to the thought of her in them? The thought of the doctor slipping her hand between her thighs while she wore nothing but lace, scrolling through their messages, and thinking of him finished the soldier off. A long deep groan of her name echoed in the bathroom as he made a mess of the shower wall and floor.

Steve was panting, exhausted but satisfied, as the water washed all evidence down the drain. Slowly, he started to realize what he’d done, but the familiar weight of guilt couldn’t settle in as he realized he wanted something other than a past he couldn’t have. As he dried off, Steve tried to rationalize the thought away, they’d had a nice moment between two colleagues and she was undeniably pretty. It was easy for his mind to drift there, he thought, to think about someone who was naturally beautiful and kind when they were so wholly unaware of it. As he got dressed, Steve put a pin in it, telling himself that even if there was a little spark, she needed a friend. That thought alone seemed to settle the decision to go out or not for him. He chose to drag Sam along for Nat’s sake and make the most of it all.

Sam and Nat were hitting it off well, making Steve wonder what was really going on between her and Clint. The pair of them together had been a force and, despite not feeling ready to date- especially someone as modern as Lilian-with-a-lip-piercing from Accounting, he found himself heading out with her for the night. She was chatty and outgoing, and he found some relief in her questions about his past or job. It stopped him from having to open up on a deeper level when that wasn’t what they were doing. What they were doing was rough and exhausting. She was vocal about what she wanted; hair pulled, ass spanked, fast thrusts, and a firm no kissing rule. He obliged, getting his pleasure from the sounds of her own and his name on her lips, but by the third round she was exhausted and he was left thinking about how he’d never made love to a woman.

Slipping out of Lilian’s place with less awkwardness than he’d expected, Steve checked his phone. He still hadn’t heard from you all day, and it was 2 am in New York, which meant a new morning for you in Spain. He wondered if he should’ve asked Sam for an update on Bucky at the bar, but hesitated to reach out and ask at this hour. Despite socializing and the workout he’d just had, he was too in his head to go to sleep. Spinning his keys around his finger he found himself riding his bike over to the small, quiet apartment with books and a hungry fish.

As if you knew he’d turned up in your space, he heard his text tone just as he was screwing the top back onto the fish food. “I know you said that if I needed anything, to just ask. Probably didn’t expect a text this early and I’m guessing you’re probably asleep… this is so dumb and a big ask, but…” Steve stared at the screen, eyebrows drawn together as he wondered if the smartphone had eaten a text or had some feature that shortened longer messages that he didn’t know how to open. He watched the typing bubbles pop up again and waited, taking a seat at one of the two bar stools at your kitchen counter, the other containing a pile of your neatly stacked mail from the week. “I know I didn’t think I’d get through the goodbyes alone, but I managed. Thanks for the encouragement. It's everything else that I realized I just can’t do alone. The packing… all the pictures. There’s so many memories and I can’t take everything back to my place in New York- my place is just too small.”

Steve clicked the ‘call’ icon and waited for you to pick up on the other end. He thought about his mother’s funeral and how Bucky had been there for him, told him he knew he could manage alone but didn’t have to. His stomach twisted with emotion and then the call went to voicemail.

You didn’t expect him to see your panicked messages until later in the morning. You sat there, runny nose and bleary eyed, staring at the name on your screen. Five minutes, just staring, no text response, no new call- and then he was back, a FaceTime call this time. Pulling your hood over your head so he couldn’t see how disheveled you were, wiping your face on your sleeve, you answered with your face hidden mostly between your knees where you rested your chin and the hood. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” The apology that excluded the ‘I’m sorry’ was still very obviously an apology.

“You didn’t.” You were unconvinced, his hair was a little mussed, clothes wrinkled. He could tell that it seemed like you hadn’t fully thought through what you were going to ask of him, so he offered up a different question.“What do you have left to do in Spain? We’ve managed to stay out of trouble over here, just for you.”

The soldier tried to study your expression, noticing the glimmer in your eyes that wasn’t just from the sunrise. “I have to pack up what I want to take home. I was thinking I could get a scanner and digitize the pictures, but I don’t know how long that will take.” You let out a puffed up sigh, “I don’t think I have the heart to sell the place, but I’m so bad at taking vacations that it seems like a waste to keep it.”

“Don’t sell it. If your gut is telling you to keep it, go with your gut. There are other options, AirBnB or renting it out.” You sniffled, burying your face further in your arms and legs, leaving Steve to stare at the view behind you. “I know I’m getting a sideways view here, but it looks really beautiful.”

That managed to squeeze a small smile out of you as you nodded and turned the phone toward the balcony to give yourself a moment to wipe away the tears and snot once more. “Yeah, under any other circumstances it would be a proverbial paradise. You probably need a vacation more than me.”

“You’re probably right.” Steve laughed softly, trying to coax you out of what looked like the tail end of a lot of crying. “Send me the location, I’m curious what’s around the place.”

With a long hum you sent him your location. “Not going to send Stark tech to stalk me, are you?”

“I’m sure if Tony wanted to keep tabs on you he was already doing it.” Steve clicked on the marker and looked around the place, its stone streets and little shops. “Doesn’t look like there’s any modern shops, as cute as all these little places are. Where are you going to find what you need to scan the pictures?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Just using my phone’s camera, I guess.” You looked at him as you watched the colors reflect off his face, blues and greens that mirrored the same flecks of color in his eyes. He probably didn’t even realize how beautiful he could look just staring at a phone. You relaxed a little, having someone to talk to for the first time in a week and let out a quiet yawn. “Is 8 am too early for a nap?”

Steve laughed and your face ached as you nearly smiled again. He bit his bottom lip, tempted to tell you that it was nice to see you smiling when he knew your heart was hurting, but he could already hear how cheesy it sounded and instead, chose banter. “Is 2 am too early to still be awake?”

“Go to bed. You know the second that you all even think you know where the twins are you’ll be on a Quinjet to find them. You can’t be pulling all nighters, even if you’re a super soldier. Doctor’s orders.” You added with a small smirk.

“Even if I headed back to the Tower this very minute, I bet I’d still beat Nat back. I think she left the bar with my friend, Sam.”

You knew Sam, just a little from one brief patch up. He had the same charm Steve had, clever and driven. “Nat and Sam? Good for her. He seems like a great guy and he could keep her on her toes.” With his phone so close to his face you couldn’t help but wonder, “Wait, it’s too quiet for you to be at a bar. Steven Grant Rogers, are you FaceTiming me from the bathroom of an O.N.S.?”

A part of you wanted to laugh, the thought of Steve just sleeping with some random person from a bar. Another part of you, the one that had a hint of a crush on the sweet guy who helped you when you were desperately in need of a friend, felt a pang of jealousy. “I’m not sure what an O.N.S. is, but I’m actually at yours feeding your nameless fish and named plants. You really got to figure out a name for him before I do.”

Somehow, a smile found your face, this big hero wanting to name a fish and zipping over to your place to feed him at 2 am. “If you’re too tired to head back to the tower, you can crash at my place. It’s late, you look like you could fall asleep at any moment. The bed’s clean, towels are in the bathroom cabinet, and coffee and it’s fixings are right over the pot. I’m not fancy enough for a Keurig, sorry.”

You watched him stop scrolling, his eyes meeting yours as you rambled. He didn’t look tired, he looked disheveled but perfect, as always, but it was cute to see him try to flatten out his hair nevertheless. “You forgot about the books.”

“I thought that was a given.” You stuck your tongue out before yawning one more time. “I’m serious though, best to stay off the road if you’re tired. Besides, the bills are paid even though no one’s there to use anything. I’ll probably be gone another week.”

Steve sighed, not in some defeatist way of you being right but, to your surprise at the mention of how much longer you would be gone, “One more week…”

“Feels like I’ve been gone for months.” You looked away, eyes stinging as the weight of your reality settled on your shoulders again. There was no one left in this world to actually miss you. The truth was that despite being in this beautiful place, you couldn’t help but feel all the more hollow and alone in it. If it wasn’t for the little check ins you would’ve never managed to drag yourself through the house, to the lawyers, or out to the shops to eat. “I’m not texting you too much am I?”

“Not at all.” He replied quickly, then worried it might have been too fast. He could tell you were off somewhere else, wondering if you heard him or if it even mattered. The way you clung to him just a few feet away from where he currently sat, a tight hug now in the forefront of his mind. Before he knew what he was saying, the thought spilled out. “I wish I could give you another hug. I know it’s not easy to do this alone.”

The confession choked you up, sniffling you nodded, “I wish you were here to give me a hug too. A1 hug game, big guy.” Despite the tacked on joke, tears silently spilled from your cheeks and you were eager to get off the phone so he didn’t have to hear the incoming wave of heavy breathless weeping. “Get some sleep, Steve. I’ll keep texting signs of life.”

He nodded, eyebrows knit together with concern and curiosity, “We’ll catch up soon, darling. Goodnight.”

Steve took you up on the offer, showering and climbing into your bed somewhere around 3 am with one of the other books that had been stacked on your bedside table. He hardly comprehended a single word, replaying the conversation as he drifted into a heavy sleep, overwhelmed by the sense of happiness in just seeing your face through a screen as he was surrounded by the comforting scent of you. For the first time since seeing Bucky, he didn’t dream of his best friend falling off the train or the dance he never had.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love feedback from you. Do you think these two miss each other? Are they crushing or just some horny adults? We shall see, we shall see!

Also, if it wasn’t obvious: In this house we stan bisexual Cap and ship Sam x Nat over Bruce x Nat.

As my followers know I have an obscenely demanding job, but I always try my best to keep you posted on if there will be a delay in a chapter posting. This series should be posting every Sunday until it finishes. Also, while I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina writer and I write fics I want to read.

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.

#fic: steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #writer: writerwrites

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years ago

Note

Can I request a Viv Tang fic or hc?

It's angst, where The Poppy leaves MC to take the blame on one of their heists, promising that they would break her out, but never did. Yet despite that she never sold them out.

Then Nadia was the one who broke her out, manipulating her and plotting lies in her head to make her join Flashpoint.

The Poppy did do their everything to break MC out but everytime Nadia intercepts them. So when they finally tracked down where MC and Nadia is, on the location of their latest operation, they tried to reason to her. But MC's loyalty was too deep for Nadia maybe because Nadia also made MC think that she loves her or something.

And maybe the last words could be:

"Next time I won't hesitate to tell them to pull the trigger, maybe I'll be the one to pull the trigger myself."

Make it as angsty as possible please and thank you in advance!

Warning: Mentions of murder.

...

Prison life was hell. Try as she might, MC couldn’t endure it as well as she thought she could. There was an enemy in every shadow, in every corner. There was no one to lean against, no support.

The days dragged on and on, virtually endless, no help in sight.

MC remembered the warmth of the Poppy, their joyous celebrations, the life in their eyes as they planned a heist that would ultimately unveil in failure. No one had known then that it would go wrong, and MC couldn’t help but wonder if they would have cared. If they would have changed anything in the plan.

There wasn’t a moment in this damn place where people didn’t shove it in her face—no doubt it was on purpose, why the heck would they want to drag a failure like you around? —and scoffed at her when they saw her, not believing for a second that this scared little kid could belong to such a famous group.

Two weeks in, MC had abandoned any hope that she would be rescued. She was stuck for fifteen years in this place. Investigators would come in periodically, their eyes stone cold as they probed her for answers, but MC kept her mouth shut and looked away. They would get physical sometimes, intent on getting answers, but MC say nothing.

The memory of a place she truly belonged in was still fresh in her mind. She had always been an emotional person… it was no surprise she had no desire to sell them out. At least not yet. Give her a couple of months, and maybe she’d be bitter enough to do it.

Three weeks in, a blast had knocked the whole prison into chaos. The sheer relief that flooded her was only slightly evaporated by the spark of anger and indignation in her chest, but she still hurried out, thirsty for freedom.

She expected to see Vivienne’s impish smirk, hand extended in her direction, no remorse in her eyes, but was surprised by golden hair and a tight, crisp suit that had once been white, now marred by dirt and smoke and blood.

“Oh good, I was wondering how much target practice I would have before you showed up,” the woman said, her grin as sharp as a knife’s edge even though she was standing so casually, as if they weren’t standing at the edge of a broken prison wall but in a café.

MC froze, caught off guard. Someone—another inmate—ran behind her, intent on reaching freedom, and the woman whipped a gun in his direction so fast he didn’t even have time to react. His body joined the pile of bodies by the side, momentum making it flop like a sad, broken doll. The woman hums to herself as she reloads the gun.

“Hurry up, MC, I don’t have all day.”

“Wha—? But you just shot—”

She shrugs, nonchalant. “Yeah, well, since they are no use to me… I might as well practice my aim, no?”

“…I—”

“Hurry up and come here, MC,” the woman says, impatience making her voice firmer and deadlier. Her arm snaps up, the sound of a gunshot making the air vibrate, and MC covers her ears and flinches. Someone lets out a pained gurgle and the thump right behind her makes MC shiver. A swift glance reveals it’s a guard. “The cavalry has arrived—next shot is at your feet if you don’t move. Right. Now.”

MC has never run so fast in her entire life. The woman’s grin returns, pleased, and after one last shot, she guides MC out into a waiting helicopter. They are out of the prison without much trouble. Still a bit anxious, MC takes one of the seats, stiffly. In contrast, the woman lets herself drop in the seat in front of her and all but beams at her.

“Sorry about that—I like to make things dramatic. Name’s Nadia.”

“That was… a tad more dramatic than I would have liked…”

“You’ll get used to it in no time,” she replies, waving her hand as if it’s no big deal. She smirks and lets the gun drop on MC’s lap, who goes very still, staring at the device in horror. “Safety’s on, chill. I’d never do anything to you, MC.”

“You literally threatened me like three seconds ago.”

“Because we were going to get caught otherwise! I wouldn’t have acted on it, promise.”

MC chances a look at her eyes—there’s a dangerous amusement dancing in them, like the light blue of a river that doesn’t seem to have a very strong current until you are swept off into a certain death. There are no second chances with this woman, no false appearances. MC doesn’t realize how reliving this raw honesty is until it washes over her, and she wonders if right now she’s at the edge of the river. One wrong move…

“Thank you for getting me out of there.”

“No big deal. I heard what happened with the Poppy—figures they aren’t as noble as they make everyone believe.”

Those words cut into MC like a frosty knife.

“I… I thought they sent you to break me out…”

Nadia scoffs. “Me, working with stuck-ups like them? Now that’s a good laugh.”

“Why did you bail me out, then?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She leans forward. “The Poppy threw away some very valuable talent. As any proper thief would do, I claimed it for myself.”

“…threw away, huh?”

“They were quite satisfied with themselves, too. Imagine the fit they’ll have when they know you’re with Flashpoint now.”

It’s hard to believe her words. The image of a joyous Poppy is still fresh in MC’s mind, but Nadia’s words tint it a dull reddish-brown, just like a faded photograph. She thinks about Vivienne’s words, about her promise to break her out, and frowns.

“You speak as though I’ve already joined your little group.”

“There’s no other option, MC. I’m not letting a talent like you slip away… plus, don’t you want to get back at them? Show them what a horrible mistake they did?”

“…”

“Or just let them seethe silently in rage, sure. Can’t say I love your approach, but eh.”

Her fingers curl around the grip of the gun. “What happens if I don’t want to work for you?”

Nadia looks at her with keen interest, still with a lazy smirk. “Then you’d be volunteering for target practice.”

“I thought you say you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I don’t hurt my coworkers, no, but if you cross me—whoever you are—then you seal your fate.”

MC hums, looking at the firearm in her lap, moving her thumb over the safety. After a small pause, in which she glances over at the pilot, she moves her hand away.

“Fine. I’ll join.”

“Great!”

Flashpoint, true to its name, prefers more flashy heists.

MC wasn’t too comfortable with their modus operandi at first, but got used to it soon enough.

Nadia was a strict leader. Every conversation with her was intense and dangerous, especially when she was in a bad mood, but she was thorough.

She didn’t mince her words. She was as honest as could be, and after months caught in Vivienne’s game, Nadia was a breath of fresh air. MC couldn’t be really blamed for falling in love with her, right? In the end, Nadia was the only one willing to support her.

That’s why it had been such a surprise when, in the middle of their latest heist, the Poppy had intervened.

They had been as organized as always—Flashpoint was completely caught off guard, the communication lost. MC could deal with not knowing what happened to the rest, so long as she had Nadia with her.

Nadia had been strangely amused when the Poppy crashed their heist, not worried at all, gripping her knife without a care in the world. That was reassuring… at least during this forced encounter, MC would have her by her side.

And it was comforting to see that Nadia hadn’t taken out her gun yet.

Vivienne is the one who speaks, voice as demanding as firewood smoke, and MC goes deadly still when the seductress goes straight to the point instead of dancing around the subject as she usually does. “Nadia prevented us from breaking you out.”

Her words ring hollow. Now that MC has been out of her influence long enough, it’s easy to ignore her words. They are fake, anyway. They must be.

Nadia scoffs, wolfish grin still in place. “Blaming me now, huh? That’s low. I thought you would have come up with a better excuse.”

Remy instantly starts to explain the foiled attempts, and their most recent efforts to find Flashpoint now that MC was with them, but MC can’t look at him without remembering her time in prison—dark, dark, not an ally in sight, contempt in every corner—and it’s enough to make her bristle.

How dare they? How dare they spill these lies after leaving her to rot in jail? After lying to her for months, making her believe she was one of them?

The fact that they had left her to take the fall was insulting. If it had been Nadia, she would have stayed with her. They would have gone down together, guns blazing. Nadia was the type of person that gave everything or nothing at all.

Vivienne tries to speak again, a desperation in her eyes MC had never seen before, but the sight is oddly satisfying.

Nadia catches it, because of course she does, her smirk softening as she reaches for her gun and aims casually. “Better beg for your lives now.”

And Nadia’s also a very dramatic person, that’s for sure. MC almost wants to laugh at their faces, eyes trained on the gun, expression tainted with disbelief, but MC sees no point in killing them. Not like this, at least.

“What? You still don’t want to get back at them?” But even then, even with how much she’s itching to pull the trigger, Nadia lowers the weapon and scowls. “Fine.”

“Don’t come back to me with this bullshit. Next time I won’t hesitate to tell Nadia to pull the trigger. Maybe I’ll even pull the trigger myself.”

Vivienne sets her jaw and stands still, and MC gives her a small, triumphant smile before she follows Nadia out of the museum.

#Anonymous #answered #lovestruck #lovestruck fanfiction #qot #queen of thieves #qot nadia #lovestruck nadia #queen of thieves nadia #nadia pshenichnikova #nadia x mc #angst

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waatermelon-sugaar · 4 years ago

Text

Cold

Pairing = Santiago x reader

Summary = You get too cold on a mission and there’s only one bed in the building where you have to camp out for a couple of days...

Warnings = Fluff, mutual pining, near death situation (??kinda - I mean there’s danger), partial nudity (non-sexual but with sexy pining), huddling for warmth, only one bed, many many compromising positions

Word count = 6458

A/N - so this is my first fic i’ve ever finished! Eeee!!! I’m quite pleased with it, but please let me know what you all think! Also it combines two of my favourite fic tropes ever because of course it does haha.

Edit = Now cross-posted to AO3!

Masterlist

You were in trouble. Feeling the chill setting in your bones, it was harder and harder to lift your legs. Your teeth were now only occasionally chattering, and it was only the shivers running up and down your body which reassured you that you didn’t have hypothermia. Yet.

The path you and Pope had found wound through the trees as you walked towards the setting sun. Despite the ferocious cold, you couldn’t help but admire the landscape you were in, the dark contrast of the tree bark offsetting the brillant, deadly white. Snow hung from every available surface, causing branches to hang low with the weight.

You were more used to the warm - it was weird completing a bust in Canada of all places. But it had been going so well, all the drugs and money accounted for, no surprises, all packed up to fly out when the surrounding forest became alive. The timing had been misjudged or miscounted, you had no idea, all you knew was that the 6 of you had to get out of the building as fast as possible.

You’d instinctively found Pope to your left when the first shot had rang out, and amid all the chaos and shouting the two of you were running outside, taking down anyone in your way, not stopping to see if the others had followed you.

Gradually the popping sounds of gunfire and hand grenades had become muffled as it began to snow. You waited as long and as close to the house as you dared, but hadn’t seen the others. Restraining Pope from running back inside to find Catfish and the others had broken your heart, all you’d wanted was to run back in with Pope and find them, but the logical side of your brain knew that you shouldn’t.

“Pope! No!” Your shouts were hushed as you pushed at Pope, you didn’t dare grab someone’s attention, but Pope needed to listen to you, he had a wild look in his eyes that you’d only seen once before. “If you go back you’re as good as dead and no use to anyone!”

You’d fought with Pope before, you’d fought against all the boys in training sessions and knew their moves almost as well as they did. You’d yet to fight against one of them in real life, and it shocked you that although Pope’s moves wouldn’t seriously hurt you, he still wasn’t listening.

You knocked behind his right knee, conscious that the left one had only just healed from the previous mission, causing Pope to fall to the floor. He was still struggling against you, all lithe hard muscle and intent. Holding one arm around his neck to gently constrict his airways, you pushed down on his shoulders, forcing him to remain kneeling on the ground, your body blocking his view of the house as he glared at your stomach.

“Listen!” He stopped struggling against you but his shoulders still held all his tension as you put your mouth next to his ear. “They’re good at what they do, they might have got out. We need to reach the rendezvous position - they’ll meet us there. They don’t need us killing ourselves when they might be fine.”

Deciding to risk letting go of you, you relaxed your hold, kneeling in front of him as you grasp his shoulders, Pope sinking back onto his heels, his eyes finally focusing on you, still agitated. “You think they’ve got out?”

“They’re good agents, I trust them. You have to as well.” Pope knew you were talking sense. He also knew that you were good at pushing emotion down on a mission, not feeling things until afterwards. The number of times he’d comforted you back home, the way you looked before you were about to cry, how you dealt with guilt, fingers picking at your nail beds… he shook his head, not wanting to think of that now.

Instead he focused on your face now, your mouth set in a line, eyes gazing into his, waiting for him to confirm the exit route. When he nodded, you exhaled, and the two of you stood, setting off to the east.

As the day had continued it had begun to snow, harder and harder, until you realised that you were lost. Ditching your heavier packs and only taking the bare minimum had made it easier to walk however the temperature continued to drop, and worry chewed in your mind as you kept going, unsure of where you were heading until Pope had spotted the small cabin across the way.

As the sun set further and further beyond the horizon, turning the sky a deep purple, making it harder and harder to see, although it had thankfully stopped snowing. “Pope,” God your voice was hoarse. Had it always been so hard to open your mouth? The air that hit the back of your throat was painful, but you tried again. “Santiago!” A couple of steps in front of you, Santi turned.

The bottom half of his face was covered by a balaclava, which only served to make his eyes more intense as they looked you over. He was cold too; you could see it in the way he held himself, shoulders lifted and bent knees. The little skin you could see had lost a lot of its warmth, and now you’d caught up to him you could see that ice crystals clung to his eyebrows and eyelashes.

“Santi, w-wh-where - how far is th-this house?” Your mouth was stiff and the effort it took to move your tongue had never been so immense. Your voice was quiet, and as the two of you continued moving, you missed the concerned look Pope shot at you, instead concentrating on one foot in front of the other, despite how fuzzy your brain felt. “It shouldn’t be long now. May-maybe half an hour?” Pope was trying as hard as you were to push down his shivers, but you merely nodded in reply, not trusting your voice.

You shifted the small pack on your back as something dug into you, and the lapse in concentration on where you were going caused you to stumble. Pope was talking to you again, warm words washing over you but not going in. You were too cold to concentrate, your steps becoming heavier, and you felt like you might fall forward into the snow and never get up again.

You’re glad the two of you had made the decision to ditch your heavier packs once it had started snowing, the weight would probably cause you to topple over. Both you and Pope had pulled the hood up of your dark jackets, but it didn’t help alleviate the fogginess that was growing in your mind.

A dull pressure from the cold had begun at the base of your head, sending a throbbing through your skull. You became aware that Santi was holding onto your elbow, supporting you, though when he had begun, you couldn’t have said. And then you were standing in front of a building as your teeth continued to chatter and violent shivers tore their way up and down your body. More like a shack, the building was small and made entirely of wood, a warm brown, that looked so inviting.

You didn’t notice much else as Pope led you inside, sitting you down on the bed before disappearing. You were sure you saw his lips move, but you couldn’t remember. Everything was such a big effort and if you lay down on this bed with its cool inviting sheets, everything would fade away. You knew it would. All you could think about was the thin, needle-like points of pain shooting through your head, eradicating anything else.

When Pope returned, he was carrying neatly chopped wood, which he dropped to one side as he began to clean up the fireplace, clearing out old ash, charcoal and dust, before placing the wood down and neatly arranging the twigs so that the whole thing would light. Careful not to disturb the small pile of ash he’d made on the hearth, Pope set light to the fire. Watching carefully for a minute to ensure it had caught, he turned back to you.

You were still sitting in the same place Pope had put you, and he couldn’t help the pang of worry over your core temperature. You had easily bypassed the mild stage of hypothermia, he knew that much, if your confusion and lack of motor control was anything to go by, but beyond that, he wasn’t sure of the symptoms.

Making his way over to you, he began to unwrap you from your coat, pulling down your hood and untucking your plaits, and if his fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary on your cold hair, you didn’t notice. Hanging your coat on the hook by the door, hoping it would dry by the time you needed it tomorrow, he picked his own coat from the floor and placed it next to yours.

Santi removed your boots, and outer trousers, deciding to leave you in your thermal underwear, as the fire had not yet fully warmed the room. He scooped snow outside into a pan, placing it on the stove above the fire and not trusting the rusty looking tap in the corner. Returning back to you, he wrapped the blanket that had been at the foot of the bed around your shoulders, tucking you in before leading you to the fire.

Pope could still see that your lips had lost their colour and the skin on your face was cool to the touch. Leaving you there, Pope busied himself making soup for the two of you, using the water created from the snow and stirring in soup from a packet. The water began to bubble, and gradually Pope found himself relaxing as the room began to warm up.

Dishing the soup into two bowls, he sat down in front of you noted with happiness that a bit of colour had come back into your cheeks. You were still shivering, but not so much, and your eyes seemed a fraction more alert. “Careful, it’s hot” he warns you, and is gratified to see a small smile, causing his heart to stutter in his chest. “Thanks Santi.” It’s easier to speak now, though your voice is still quiet from a lack of energy.

The pressure at the base of your neck had lifted slightly, but the headache was still present. As you sipped at the soup, you could feel it inside you, almost burning down your throat and gently warming your stomach. The fire was getting hotter, and almost burning your skin, yet you didn’t feel any warmer inside and kept shivering. Moving away slightly, the cool air in the rest of the room soothed you slightly, and you concentrated on not spilling any more of your soup.

Eventually you’d finished eating and it was all you could do to keep your eyes open. Pope tugged the bowl from your hands and helped you into the bed, tucking the duvet under you, reminiscent of how your parents had done to you as a child. You blearily watched through tired eyes as he loaded the fire with enough wood to last the night and turned the stove off. Before you knew it, the bed was dipping on the other side and Pope was taking his outer layer of jumpers off, leaving him in the same style thermals that you were wearing.

Closing your eyes, you tried to go to sleep, but it seems your body did not want to. Your feet felt like blocks of ice, and you tried to rub them together without annoying Pope. Placing your cool hands under your armpits you try to warm them that way but to little success. Maybe you should have some more soup...

“Hey,” you turn, opening your eyes to see Pope looking at you, and you shiver, unable to keep eye contact. Your legs are still cold, and you once again try and rub them together to warm them up. “Take your clothes off” he commands quietly. The words hang in the space between you, only interrupted by the occasional crack from the fire still burning behind you. You laugh lightly to try and dispel the tension. “You know, I thought you were a sw-sweet t-t-talker when-n it comes to the ladies” You’re desperately trying to ignore the chattering of your teeth as you talk, and in the dim orange lighting you merely see Pope raise a singular, very sexy, eyebrow.

And then he’s moving, sitting up as he pulls his top off and drops it somewhere behind him, causing you to swallow when he starts to remove his thermal trousers. And when he’s done, he turns to you and “Your turn. You’ll warm up faster. I’ll be a massive hot water bottle for you.”

And you nod, because there’s nothing else to do, and because of course that was why he wanted you to take your clothes off, and you sit up, trying to ignore the tiny pang of disappointment in your chest. As you’re pulling your top above your head you suddenly feel a little embarrassed about the sports bra you’re wearing, and although it would be uncomfortable, you kind of wish you had something a little nicer on.

You copy his previous movements as you take your leggings off, your movements as fast as you can as the air in the room is still cold, sending more shivers through you and causing your hands to tremble. And again, you try to ignore the feeling of disappointment as he resolutely doesn’t look at you until you’re safely under the covers again. You try to tell yourself that it’s good that he respects you enough to not take advantage of you while you're vulnerable, that it’s unfeminist of you to want him to, because he should respect you as a person, he should respect your privacy.

And by wanting him to look at you in a sexual way, despite this being a distinctly non-sexual situation, are you playing into rape culture? Or lad culture? Your brain hurts just thinking about it, and you try to push it out of your mind when Pope speaks again.

“Is this ok?” His words are only a little louder than a breath when the two of you face each other again. And again you can only nod as he opens his arms, and you move forward, trying to take a deep breath to calm yourself as your heart feels as though it will burst out of your chest.

You gently put your head in the space between his neck and the pillow, trying not to put too much weight on the arm underneath you. And you can smell his aftershave that he uses, still clinging to his skin, a pleasant contrast to the smoke from the fire. Your nose is buried in the crook of his neck, your lips nearly touching his skin and if you leaned forward just a centimetre more… But there’s more than that primal urge, his skin is so warm on your face, you can feel the heat transferred from his skin to your cool cheeks, relaxing you as you intermittently shake from the cold.

And then he brings his other arm around you, pulling you closer and closer, and all you can feel is Santi. His rough fingers curling into your back as he holds you as close as he can, and you can feel the muscle under his soft warm chest. You can feel how his heart beats, the steady thump calming you.

You bring your legs in, and nearly jump when they touch Santi’s, the hair tickling you a little. And your arm is over his side, and your fingers are dancing softly up and down his back, occasionally catching a scar as you stroke him. And if you apply a little more pressure, just so, he hums, low at the base of his throat, and you think you’d almost miss the sound if your ears weren’t so close to his vocal cords.

And he’s so warm, and so comfy, and god he smells so good, despite not having had a shower for 24 hours. And your breath begins to even out and your eyes start to droop, and Santi rests his chin delicately on the top of your head as your hand starts to slow. You’re both exhausted, the day has been longer than you’d anticipated and the two of you fall asleep curled together.

When you wake early in the morning, you realise that during the night the two of you had moved so that you were spooning, but you weren’t as close anymore. When you realised this, you began to carefully scoot backwards, not wanting to wake Santi, but wanting to feel his warmth again. As your back touches his chest he automatically moves, reaching his arm over so his hand is on the little pouch at the bottom of your stomach. The movement brings a small smile to your face, especially when you realise that you’re no longer shivering, and you feel warm again.

And you never want to move anywhere ever again. If this was how you died, you’d be happy. Lying in Santi’s arms after he’d warmed you up the night before, still too groggy to worry about the day ahead, you fell back asleep.

When you wake the second time, the sun has fully risen and is beaming through the gaps in the shutters which cover the small dusty windows. The light illuminates more dust notes floating in the air and for the first time you take note of your surroundings. You’ve clearly stumbled across a hunter’s cabin, if the numerous antlers and deer heads on the wall are anything to go by, and you’re surprised that you didn’t notice them last night. You can see the pile of blankets by the still-smouldering fire where you sat last night, the soup bowls abandoned haphazardly to one side.

The fireplace was split in two, one side for an open fire, and the other for a stove, where you could see Pope’s back as he busied himself and a rich smell of porridge filled the room. He hadn’t put his clothes back on, and your eyes unwillingly drop to admire his bum, encased in his boxers. Ripping your eyes away, you look instead at how the room itself was split into two, with the bed at the back, creating the illusion of a bedroom, while a kitchen style was created by the combination of the fire, stove, and table. The deer theme continued here, antlers extending from the tops of the chairs, creating what looked like many poor attempts to recreate the iron throne.

There’s a slight bite to the air, a kind of crisp chill that you only feel after it’s freshly snowed, and when you sit to get out of bed, you hiss sharply when your bare feet touch the cold floor. At the noise, Pope turns around, his hair still a little mussed from sleep. “Sleep alright?” He asks, and you suddenly feel exposed as his eyes look at you and then resolutely focus on a spot above your shoulder. “Yeah so much better. You’re the best hot water bottle I’ve ever had, can I take you home with me?” You’re only teasing and yet when Pope replies “I don’t go home with just anyone, you know,” you lean down as heat rushes through your body and you pull yesterday’s clothes on, trying not to show how hot under the collar Pope can make you. Especially when he’s basically naked.

Once your socks are on, you can just about bear to walk over the cold wooden floor and join Pope at the stove, watching him divide the porridge into two portions. On one he pours an extremely generous amount of honey, while the other he leaves plain. Giving you the one with the honey, he sits at the table. “Is there any reason you gave me more honey than porridge?” You ask as you stir it in, sitting opposite him, and trying not to think about his hands, clasped around his bowl, and how nice those hands felt on you last night.

He scoffs before he replies, “Because you need the sugar.” There’s a pregnant pause before he elaborates. “You were too cold last night. You need to get your energy back up.” And despite the excessive amounts of honey, the porridge is nice, warming you, and Pope’s right, you do feel better and more alert once you’ve finished it.

Not that you’d tell him as such. Although… “I actually wanted to say thanks for yesterday.” Pushing the bowl away, you lean on your elbows on the table and look at Santi, admiring the way his salt and pepper curls are in more disarray than usual. “You saved my life, thank you.” He looks back, his gaze steady. “You know I’ve got your six, however that might be.” You stand, collecting the breakfast bowls and leaning for the soup bowls too. “Well. Thanks anyway. And you know I’ve got yours too, right?”

He smiled in thanks, and you moved on. “What’s the plan? Do we know where we are?” Pope shook his head, “There’s a map next to the door, but it’s too old to see where we are.” He put his feet up onto the chair opposite him. “I’ve sent out a rescue signal on our trackers though so hopefully someone will come get us.”

You nod, and a sudden wave of tiredness over takes you, so instead of washing the bowls, you place them in the sink and sit back on the bed. You closed your eyes, only meaning to rest them for a minute, when you heard Santi begin to make a lot of noise. Frowning, you watch him as he puts his jacket, trousers and boots back on. “Where are you going?” You gesture out the window “It’s snowing again - I don’t think you’ll see much.”

“I know but I want to check the area. There must be a road or something nearby.” And with that he’s gone, shutting the door behind you and leaving you alone in a warm, if slightly creepy, house. Letting yourself have another second of rest, you forced yourself to get up and poke around. You knew it could easily be 2 hours until you were picked up but it could be 2 days or longer and you needed to know the food situation.

The cupboards were dusty but packed full of canned foods which didn’t go out of date for another year, causing your heart to relax a little and the ball of worry in your stomach to unknot a little. You made yourself a mug of watery hot chocolate to keep you going, adding a little powdered milk to create the illusion of decadence.

You knew it freaked Santi out, not knowing where you were or what to expect, so you didn’t worry too much while he took his time outside, knowing his need for control wouldn’t let him rest until he was 100% happy. That didn’t stop you from worrying about Santi though. He hadn’t been as bad as you yesterday but that didn’t mean he was invincible. When he came back, you’d make him a hot chocolate.

Before you knew it, slight shivers were running up and down your body again, and when you glanced at the fire you realised that it had gone out, so you set to work cleaning out the ash, and replacing the charcoaled wood. Your gloves were grey by the time you finished, but you kept them on. You’d need them when you went outside for more wood. The wood had been neatly chopped and piled into an outdoor shed, which involved pulling on your boots. Groaning at the thought of the effort involved ahead, you shut your eyes for the briefest second.

____________________

By the time the fire was built, you were sweating, but pleased. It had caught well, and although it wasn’t neat, you were proud of yourself. Dropping your gloves to the floor, you got to work on lunch, a stew with an assortment of vegetables from tins which hadn’t looked very appetising but once you’d added some spices the tomato base had started to smell better.

Stirring in water you left it to bubble a little while longer, picking up your gloves and stomping outside. Your breath came out shaky, considering you’d long taken your jacket off and were just wearing your thermals. Beating your gloves against the wall, you attempted to shake the ash off them. “What did those gloves do to you?”

You turned to see Santi approaching, his eyes crinkled from his grin, and glittering as he tried not to laugh. “Well if you must know, they didn’t keep my hands warm today. Or yesterday” you added as an afterthought, trying not to let it show how relieved you were to see him again. You were pouting as you grumbled, though the effect was ruined by a laugh that bubbled out of you after a second. Examining your gloves, you gave up, admitting defeat that they’ll have ash on them until you could get them in a washing machine.

“Did you find anything?” You were only brave enough to ask once the two of you were seated and eating. “Not really. A dirt track leading to a road leading to nowhere. The only signs were to places I’d never heard of.” You snorted, “As if you’ve heard of any towns in Canada.”

“I could name places in Canada.” He protested, but you shook your head. “Not a chance! Name one?” He was smirking now, leaning forwards slightly. “Vancouver.”

You shook your head. “Doesn’t count. That’s a city.” You could see the flicker of panic as he struggled to think of a town not a city. Finally he let out a growl, tugging on his hair in frustration, both of which sent a flood of heat to your stomach as you imagined your fingers in his salt and pepper curls, pulling that noise from him. “Fine! I can only think of Quebec, happy?” He took another spoonful of stew. “This is good by the way, what’s in it?” You opened your mouth to reply when he cut you off. “And anyway, I bet you can’t name a Canadian town.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Want to bet?”

Santi narrowed his eyes as he pointed his spoon at you. “What are we betting?” You grinned as you jumped up, opening the door to one of the cupboards where’d you found a delicious looking bag of marshmallows. His eyes widened greedily at the sight. “No way! We’re not betting those, you clearly know at least one town.”

“Ok let’s say we split these - what will you give me if I know a town?” His eyes flicked up and down you as he appraised you, giving you a pleasant thrill, liking the way he looked at you. “You don’t know a town.” He was drawing his words out slightly, elongating them to exaggerate, playing at sounding confident, trying to see if you were bluffing. “Ok, if I don’t know a town, you can have all these marshmallows. If I do, I get to have the bed to myself tonight.”

You weren’t quite sure why you said that, but the knowledge that Santi would be in the same bed as you again tonight, except this time you wouldn’t be able to touch him was looking to be more than you could bear. “And where will I sleep?” Santi was holding your gaze now, and you knew he was interested. “By the fire,” you shrugged, “Put a few blankets down…” Trailing off, you didn’t dare break eye contact, until Santi finally stuck his hand out. You grasped it, smirking, until he said “Three towns. And if I find out you made one up, 10,000 push ups.”

“You underestimate me Garcia.” Racking your brains for the best names, you began. “Number 1 - Witless Bay - maybe you should visit,” you teased as he scowled slightly. “Number 2 - Big Beaver and number 3 - Spuzzum!”

“No way are they real!” The two of you continued to lightly bicker, Santi swearing he was going to look them up the first chance he got as the afternoon continued and the fire once again beginning to burn itself out.

When you peer out the window, you can’t see further than 20 meters and deciding you didn’t fancy venturing outside, you asked Santi to go out for more wood, promising that you wouldn’t open the packet until he was in the room, that you would save the marshmallows for after dinner.

You had said that, but surely one marshmallow wouldn’t hurt? You had self control, you could stop after eating one. You were resolutely not looking at the packet at this point, as if turning your nose up wouldn’t make you want to break your promise.

Luckily at that moment Pope walked in, jacket bundled tight under his neck and stamping his boots in the doorway. “Ooh shut the door, all the warm air’s going out.” you hissed as a draft hit you and you crossed your arms. “Aww sorry, darling,” Santi teased you, “is it a waste of energy?” He laughed as you scowled slightly.

“Well actually, yes” you shivered, “and it’s making me cold Pope.” That last sentence was nearly a whine, and you gave him your best puppy dog eyes as you looked up at him. He was still smirking as he took his time piling up the wood and taking his jacket off before closing the door. The cheek of this man!

Huffing in indignation, you grabbed the packet of marshmallows and began to speak “Well if I’m going to get cold again, I may as well just eat all these marshmallows by myself. I don’t sha-” You shrieked as Pope whirled around at your words and began to chase towards you.

Scrabbling to get to your feet in time, you made a dash for the bed and yelped as Pope grabbed at the back of your shirt, struggling to get a hold. You tripped on one of your boots, stubbing your toe, causing you to curse and drop the bag on the floor. Pope was too fast for you, scooping to get a hold before you could react. He took a step backwards, holding the bag tauntingly below his face. “You” you growled, as Santi smirked, sure that he had the upper hand, “give them back now!” And with that you launched yourself at Pope, who definitely hadn’t been expecting that and stumbled back, falling atop the bed.

Straddling Pope’s waist, you leaned forward and grabbed the marshmallows easily, even as Santi attempted to hold the bag out of your reach. Grinning down at him, and holding the bag aloft, you suddenly realised the position the two of you were in, especially when Pope attempted to grab the bag back, and, failing that, rested his hand on your waist.

And, oh, how easy would it be to just move your hips down and grind a little. How easy would it be to lean forwards and kiss Santi on his plump lips. His dark eyes were watching you closely, and you swallowed at the sudden pressure of the situation. But if Pope could treat you with respect, then you could definitely respect him and the friendship the two of you had.

So you pushed yourself off him, looking at the fire as you awkwardly flicked your plaits away from your face. You bustle over to the stove, missing the disappointed look that flashes across his face. Pulling out a can of chopped tomatoes, you fiddle with the opener as you turn back around. “Should we eat dinner first?” Santi nods, sighing as he supposes that actual adults would eat dinner first. He has a strange look in his eyes as he watches you pour the tomatoes into a frying pan, switching the hob on and rooting through the cupboards as you try and think of a recipe with what’s available.

“What are you making?” Santi still hasn’t moved from the bed, propping himself up with his elbows as you pull out varying cans, each with their own unappetising label. “Dunno. Another stew type thing I guess. There’s some sweetcorn here, and some canned sausages, aanndd… ahaha! ‘New chopped and peeled potatoes in water’ Urgh” Placing the numerous tins on the floor next to you, you continue nosing around. “Doesn’t that sound disgusting?” Your voice is muffled somewhat when you put your head into the cupboard to look at products in the back but Pope wholeheartedly agrees.

After dinner, which had tasted better than it both sounded and looked, you’d toasted your marshmallows. You felt a bit cruel as you snuggled nicely into the big bed, starfishing as much as you could, while Santi lay out a small pile of blankets on the floor next to the fire.

Sleep would have come easily to you, exhausted as you were, but it seemed Santi couldn’t get comfortable, tossing and turning and huffing as he did so. “Santi, if you’re going to keep me awake on the floor I think I’d rather if you slept in the bed.” You rolled to the side of the bed, watching as Santi sat up so fast, you were worried he’d snap something. “Really?” His voice sounded so pathetic, you felt horribly mean for making him sleep on the floor.

Until he stood up and you saw that he wasn’t wearing any thermals. Again. And this time he was turned towards you and you could see the outline of everything, causing you to swallow heavily and look away, face feeling so hot you could have been burned. Just friends, you remind yourself, we’re just friends.

And when Santi got into bed next to you, you could feel him shift and relax into the mattress as it dipped under his weight. And why was this so much more awkward than it was last night? Maybe, a snide voice began, it’s because last night, you were on the brink of death. And tonight, you’re a sad, sad girl who has a crush on her best friend.

“Baby, come here.” Santiago’s husky voice seems like it comes out of nowhere, and you blink at the ceiling. Baby? Turning to face him again, you’re kind of surprised to see his arms open again like they were last night. He wants to cuddle? Again? Even though he doesn’t have to? Baby? And it’s so silent, the only sound the fire crackling behind you.

But you move forwards anyway because this is Santiago, who are you to say no? Maybe he’ll call me Baby again. Santi tugs you towards him, wrapping his arms around you, and you press your face into the crook of his neck again, clenching your eyes tightly shut, praying that this isn’t a dream. And then you lift your head because “How do you still smell so nice?” And you realise your mistake too late, because although the movement puts more space between you, you’re now because now your face is level with his, and far too little space between the two of you.

But then his eyes drop to your lips and suddenly everything falls neatly into place. Why you and Santi had been in so many compromising positions over the last couple of days. All those lingering touches and glances. How Santi would do anything for you. How he always told you the truth, even when you didn’t want to hear it. How he remembered details about you. How you made him laugh. How he made you laugh.

And so you leaned forwards and kissed him.

It’s a peck of a kiss, you’re not brave enough to do anything else, maybe lasting for a second before you’re pushing off from him, putting distance between your bodies, the voice in your head screaming ‘Idiot!’ at you over and over.

Until one of Santi’s hands are on the back of your head, pulling you back towards him and you let him, leaning forwards and you’re kissing again.

But properly this time. This isn’t some PG-rated, playground kiss that 12 year olds gave each other during a game of spin the bottle. This was a real kiss, your eyes are closed and your mouth is moving against Santi’s like it’s found its home.

Your mouths are open and his hands move to rest on your waist and yours are in his hair. And it’s too much. But not enough. Distantly a helicopter whirs overhead and you hook one leg over his waist, your foot pressing into his bum, pulling him closer to you. And you can feel him. All of him. He’s clearly just as into this as you are and the two of you keep kissing as you tug on his hair. He groans into your mouth before moving down your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin until he finds the spot which causes you to gasp out his name.

You keep moving against each other and it’s so good and the helicopter whirs overhead once more. You gasp as it clicks in your mind and you push at Santi’s shoulders as he keeps kissing your shoulders, “You’re so beautiful,” Santi groans and you want him to continue so badly, but if that helicopter is here for you, which it must be after two days of silence, you don’t want to found in this position.

“Santi, stop, we have to stop!” Santi immediately pulls away from you, his brow furrowing as he looks at your face. “What is it?”

You’re sure that the grin on your face is a dopey one but you can’t help it, he’s so cute. “There’s a chopper outside.” Santi sits up just as the door opens to reveal a grinning Frankie. “They’re in here!” he hollers behind him. “Cuddling and -” his gaze lands on you and his eyes drop a couple of inches below yours and he laughs a little, “Ironhead and Redfly, you owe me 15 big ones!”

Santi’s head snaps to look at you as well, and your hand flys up to touch the area he’d been kissing, which has the beginnings of a soreness that only comes from a hickey. You groan and let yourself fall back onto the pillows. The ride back was going to be hell.

Fin x

God this started as a comfort fic when the heating went out in my house - I didn’t think it’d get this far but I’m so pleased to have finished my first fic, please give me feedback good or bad I want to know! I know the ending was weak but didn’t know how to make it better so any tips would be appreciated! Also if anyone knows how to think of titles please please please help me

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@jura-moon

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#Santi x reader #Santiago x reader #santiago 'pope' garcia #Santiago garcia #triple frontier #my writing #fanfic #fic #Pope x reader

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dabis-57th-stitch · 4 years ago

Text

Not So Shy(Tamaki x Dom!Reader )

After at least 3 weeks working on this fic it’s finally done. Kinda fast paced, and really unrealistic, but oh well.

Mentions of: virginity, tentacles/quirk play

"Y-You know Tamaki if you don't want to see me anymore you-you don't have to! Your job is important, why don't you just go back and forget about hanging out tonight, okay?" You manage to choke out, trying desperately to sound confident in your words. Unfortunately, such strength was of no avail, and you storm out of the living room with pain so evidently bleeding through your anger. Truly, you'd never meant to get so spent with Tamaki, but you were at your wits end.

Recently, it seemed as though he'd become sick of you. Sure, his being shy was understandable, but over the last month of your relationship, between work and school, you hadn't gotten to see him at all. Each time you reached out it seemed as though he just couldn't connect. So now, as he stood before you with an exhausted expression adorning his beautiful features, it all came crashing down. You could no longer pretend, and you snapped at him.

The sound of your own voice scarred you. The melancholy mixture of anger and pure anguish was nearly too much, and you decided that to break down in front of him would simply be overkill. So in the fleeting moment you fled to your room in hopes of escape.

"W-wait (Y/N).." He trailed off, true to his shy self. Though he had endured all but hell within the past seven hours of patrol, Tamaki had been looking forward to seeing you. Now he couldn't decide whether it would be better to leave or stay. The searing pain in his stomach offered no help, and he was left to stand staring at the place you had been standing.

"Go talk to her, Tamaki." "Yeah, if you like looking at her so much why don't you try saying something?" The urges of his friends flashed through his mind. Not so long ago Mirio and Nejire had pushed him into introducing himself. Truly it had been the best decision of his life. Now he pondered what sort of nasty things they might say to him if they were to find out how he chickened out, especially after your relationship had been going so well. With such thoughts clouding his head, tears clouded his eyes. There was absolutely no way he could lose you, not after all the effort he had made, all the things he had told you. He had never let anyone else see so much of him, not even Mirio.

So, after many torturous minutes, he finally managed to take a step forward. "(Y/N)? I-I'm sorry," his voice was a meek whisper, barely breaking the silence. However, it's enough to catch your attention, and before he knows it you're staring right at him. The tears in his eyes match yours, and it makes the pain in his gut sharpen. He bows his head, navy locks covering his face as the first droplets fall. "I'm-I'm so sorry, I-I didn't mean to be-e so late, I-p-please, it's-it's my fault," He mumbles into his sleeve.

In his mind he knows you won't forgive him. Why would you? There is no possible way he could mean nearly as much to you as you do to him. with that in mind, he's ready to run.

However, before his feet can carry him far, far away you step forward and engulf him. Your arms wrap around him, and his wrap back around you all too eagerly. He's practically squeezing the life out of you. His tears stain your shirt, and he can't help but nuzzle his face closer to you. It's almost as though you've incapacitated him. He feels as though he could drown in you.

"It's okay, I-I just feel like you've been ignoring me." Your voice manages to hold out, yet it's still laced with a lethal amount of emotion.

"N-no! I really wanted to see you, it's just....well I don't have any time, but I've m-missed you so much, and-and I love you, (Y/N)." A pretty rose tint finds its way to his face, and yet he peers into your eyes.

The depth you find in his dark pupils is no less than astounding. He looks all kinds of things; impossibly sad, but somehow still incredibly happy. It's almost as if you're staring into his very soul, and you know his words are true. That despite his general lack of response, and his typical inability of reciprocation to just about anything, he does really love you.

Just like that your lips are on his. For once he does manage to reciprocate. Though it's short lived, the kiss, the first kiss, is so incredibly packed full of feeling that the timing is of little importance."I love you, too, Tamaki."

That's all the time you have before his petals are back on yours. You're shocked by his newfound bravery, but such surprise quickly fades, and you can't help yourself. Soon enough your hands are on his hips while your tongue explores the inside of his mouth. He doesn't protest at your taking the lead, instead he moans into your mouth, wordlessly begging for more. That's just what he'll get.

Nibbling his swollen bottom lip you pull him away from the door. All the while your hands never leave him, ever so slowly raking over his surprisingly muscular build. It seems anywhere you touch he's pushing back, hoping that you'll hold onto him just a second longer. Again, his overwhelming bravery, or maybe neediness is rather surprising. Though the thought of getting him into your bed had occurred plenty times before, never once had you imagined it would be happening under the current circumstances.

"T-Tamaki.." you stutter out in astonishment, a hand at his lower back and the other under his shirt. His usual blush still dots his face, however he is less than embarrassed. In fact he's enjoying himself. Though his lack of experience shows in how he shivers at the lightest teasing of your fingertips; how his body is constantly searching for more, and how he has thrown all caution to the wind.

"(Y/N)," he replies, voice just the slightest bit deeper than usual, with such a sultry edge it's almost pornographic. His tone matches the look in his eyes, though it's not ambitious, nor dominating, instead the look he's giving you is one of pure submission.

The thought of it, of Tamaki, brings a grin to your face. The desire to ruin him runs rapid, to the point that it's a necessity. He needs you to ruin him, wants you to. So when your hand wanders its way to the button of his jeans he's feverishly desperate. His pupils glued to your careful fingers as you take your time. You're making a show of stripping him, but he doesn't have the patience for it.

It takes all his god-given restraint to keep his hands on your shoulders where they belong, instead of on himself where he so desires them, but he manages. That's only because he's so very eager for you to touch him there. Though he hates to admit it, he's dreamt of feeling your fingers oh so many times; gotten off to the thought oh so many times. Now that you're so close to where he needs you, he can barely hold onto his crumbling composure.

"(Y-Y/n), please," he's not above begging for it, but he feels filthy when the words pass his lips. You flash him a knowing smile, or rather a smirk. You're well aware of his neediness for you, in fact you can see it in the wet spot peeking out of his jeans.

"Please, what, Darling?" you tease.

"T-touch me," though his voice is a nearly silent whisper it sends shivers down your spine. Just the idea of having your unusually shy boyfriend begging for you in such an explicit way is enough to turn you on, actually hearing him say those things is something else. This feeling only grows stronger as you make your first leap. He's completely hard under your touch, and you take note of the way his breath catches in his throat while your fingers dance over his clothed tip. You're going to hell for teasing him, but he just looks so adorably teasable; fuckable too. So, before he can protest(not that he would), he's shoved onto his back, a small gasp escaping his throat when the soft mattress catches him.

He turns away while you tug off his jeans, quietly humming at the feeling of being so exposed. His hard on is evident under the blue fabric of his boxers, and the embarrassment on his face shows just how aware of this he is. It's difficult to look away from him, utterly entranced by the sight of such a handsome boy all spread out and horny just for you. Ever so slowly your hands smooth up his soft thighs, thumbs pressing into the muscle beneath. He tenses at your ministrations, and you watch his cock twitch each time your hands come near.

"You're so sensitive, Tamaki," you remark, hands finding their way up his chest, pulling his shirt off in the process.

"It feels good," he groans, back arching to meet your touch.

He looks like an angel beneath you, bending and curving every which way to feel you where he wants. It would be a shame to mark up such a perfect canvas, but the more you look at him the more appealing the idea becomes. His skin is surprisingly smooth for a hero; pale as porcelain and softer than velvet. The way he moves to match you reflects his desperation, and it's evident that the moment you spoil him with the slightest hint of pain or pleasure he'll absolutely lose it.

The sounds that leave him as you scratch your way down to the waistband of his boxers are heavenly. Snapping the elastic against his stomach, you get him to lift his hips and in one swift motion pull off the last bit of his clothing. From the tint on his cheeks, to the the perkiness of his nipples, and the red lines leading down to the tops of his hips, everything about him is inviting.

As your palms play along the curvature of his waist, you watch his abs tense in expectancy. "Is this okay, honey?" you ask, even though you know he won't deny you now.

"Y-Yeah, it's nice," he mumbles out, lips soft and pouted. With his go-ahead, you wrap a hand around the base of his cock, giving him a gentle squeeze and watching his wide eyes get impossibly wider. He bucks against your hand impatiently, bringing an idea to mind.

Considering his sudden confidence boost since getting into your room, you decide maybe he'd like to show off his new found capabilities. "Tamaki," you call, making sure you have his attention.

"H-Hmm?" he hums back, lazily stretching his arms above his head.

"I want you to fuck my hand." Your order leaves him dumbfounded, peering down at you in question. Though it takes him a moment to process your words, he slowly, tentatively begins to rock his hips into your tight fist. While he starts off timid, it's evident the feeling of your fingers, now covered in his precum, are just a little too much for him; so much so that the squeaking of your mattress can only be overruled by the continuous mantra of whimpers spilling from his lips. Soon enough he'll be pushing himself over the edge, but you have no intention of letting him off so easy.

Pulling your hand away, he bucks up once, twice, three times more before letting out a sob so genuinely agonized it hurts even to hear. It doesn't take long for a few stray tears to cascade down his face.

"Why'd you st-stop?" he hiccups, oncoming orgasm gradually fading to nothing more than a gentle pulsating feeling. Disappointment is displayed on his features, brows furrowed and lips downturned in a frown. His displeasure is quickly replaced by lust as you tug your shirt off, followed by your bra, and so on until you're as bare as him.

"O-Oh," he mumbles, licking his lips after the word has left him. He props himself up one elbow, the other hand gingerly guiding your hips atop his. He gulps as you press him against your entrance, gaze flickering from your eyes to where you're touching. You catch him holding his breath, and you know, he's about to get so, so much louder.

"Ready?" you ask, watching his expressions change from nervous, to excited, to impateint and back again. He nods, gently squeezing your waist in reassurance, though it's more for his own sake. You try to be slow about it, ease him into you, but soon the desire, the need to feel him is too much and you find yourself rushing it. All to Tamaki's delight however, he groans, immediately babbling on about how wonderful you feel around him.

"S-S-so tight, g-god you're so tight, it feels so good, (Y/N)!" Soon enough both his hands are upon your thighs, while your's rest on his chest. He's nearly hyperventilating beneath your palms, so incredibly riled up that fresh tears dot his eyes. When you do finally move, he's eager to do the same, pushing his hips up to meet yours as you come back down.

Quickly the pace is set, and his hero work really shows in the strength of his grip. The way his fingers are digging into your skin it's sure there'll be bruises marking your thighs for weeks. However, the slightly painful sensation is soon replaced by cool tentacles wrapping up your body. He doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he has other intentions, because soon enough his slick appendages have found their way between your legs.

"Is-is it okay?" He gasps, though he's already gone to work on your clit.

"Yeah, it's good."

He moans at your confirmation, pressing a little harder on your sweet spot. He distracts you with the other hand fondling your breasts, long enough to slip a wet tentacle in alongside his cock. The slight stretch throws you off so much so that you almost relinquish control.

"T-Tamaki," you try to manage a commanding, or maybe strict tone, however your voice comes out as a belabored whisper.

"L-let me make you feel good, please."

You swallow hard, weighing your options, before ultimately giving into his offer. It was amazing, both how quickly he could get you worked up, and how long he manages to hold on. Despite his constant whining, he did, barely, keep his orgasm at bay. Like a good boy, he tried waiting for your's, even though the feeling of his tentacles swirling around inside you was enough to make both of you whimper in ecstasy.

"I-I, mhm, (Y/N) I'm g-gonna, a-ah, g-gonna.." his voice fades off into a low groan. Head thrown back in a halo of dark hair, mouth open in lovely "oh" shape, and he spills.

Watching him experience the delight of an orgasm from above would be thoroughly disappointing, save for the faces he makes. Once he's entirely finished you slowly get off of him, trying not to overstimulate him too much, though the idea is enticing. With the burning feeling of your own would've-been orgasm fading the slightest bit, you sigh and head for the shower let down at not being let off.

"U-Uhm did you c-cum?" His voice is gravely and low, yet somehow still meek after what you'd just done to him.

"No, it's fine though," you lie.

"Come back over here, I'll make you cum," he orders, and suddenly your wonderful night just got a whole lot better.~

#my hero academia #boku no hero #smut #fluff #angst #virginity #tentacles #tamaki x reader #bakugou #todoroki

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acid-hydrangea · 4 years ago

Text

“I”

There was a boy named Sig, who had many, many questions.

*Note: Sig uses he and they pronouns in this work interchangeably.

Sig awoke to the gentle, blue hues of his room flooding his vision. The quiet morning air tinged with the sounds of birdsong and the beaming of harsh sunlight. It was 5:32 AM. The Fever Bird month had just begun.

They hoisted themself out of bed and opened the window, breathing in the crisp morning air soaking in his surroundings, he’d neglected the rough, coarse sensation on--in--through? his shoulder... He moved to the other end of his room, and upon checking the mirror they discovered that the ‘totally not worrisome’ crimson growths had spread further, practically covering his whole left shoulder, almost touching his neck. The natural ringing in his ears felt louder than usual. He stared for a moment at his reflection, his thoughts clouding his mind like an intense thunderstorm. Eventually, he broke eye contact with his reflection and got dressed for the day.

He donned his typical shirt with the rest of his usual clothes, he went on his way, considering wearing their turtleneck sweater more often, despite the spring-summer heat.

Sig’s gaze was transfixed on the clouds moving across the clear sky, like a herd of lazy sheep. Their thoughts drifted in all sorts of directions, but he wasn’t able to attach any words to anything he felt... Not even one, this time. He looked down at his desk, Accord’s voice and the sound of chalk against the blackboard fading into white noise as they scratched one of his left claws upon the desk’s surface.

...What… was happening to him? Why didn’t anyone ever bother to tell him? He’s not a little kid, he could handle whatever they told him. Did he do something that scared everyone? Ever since he transferred to this class, his arm and eye suddenly changed. People gave him weird stares, and tried to avoid him. When his caretaker Akuma found out, he tried every single spell and magic seal he could, to reverse the process. None of it worked. Every now and then, he tried again, rinse and repeat every so often. Fast-forward to the 'incident' nobody wants to talk about, involving bookworm. Fast-forward again to that blonde witch's potion... Ever since that, no... Even before that, he swore he was--

His thoughts were disrupted by the sound of the school bell signalling the end to another day.

“... And that wraps up our lessons for the day! Be sure to review your notes, and do your homework, everyone. I will be here for the next hour if you need help.”

He just sat there, trying to think through his memories, to make sense of it. Most students dispersed, the sound of students’ papers rustling and bags being picked up off the floor slowly replaced the white noise in his head. Klug and Raffina probably left separately, Amitie rushed to Accord’s side for help with the homework, and Lidelle was off to do her observations on the moonsunflower this week.

Sig remained in his seat, having wordless conversations with his little bug friends, instead. Asking them about their days, as he always did, mostly oblivious to the events of his own. He’d have been last to leave if Amitie and Lidelle weren’t there. He did things at his own pace typically, leaving whenever his bug friend did.

...Today was different, though. Something felt different. A gnawing feeling that used to feel trivial had grown over time. The deformations from his left arm had been spreading constantly, no amount of Akuma’s rites, treatments, or spells slowed it down. It’d been a year since that incident happened, and a few months later, something else... Two incidents, and no answers. All he had were questions that were shunned away with words like “It’s nothing for you to worry about,” or “We’ll take care of it, so don’t ask too many questions.” All he could do was believe them, because they had his best interest in mind, right...?

Akuma never provided actual answers when asked, only empty words of... What felt like false reassurance,“Don’t worry your young head about it”, while chanting mysterious incantations with paper, “We’ll heal you someday”, casting archaic-sounding spells, handing him multiple charms,

“Don’t think about what scares you, only think happy thoughts, kuma.”

Scary? Was something wrong with him in the first place? Something that felt like a part of him, ingrained in him since birth, treated as a curse and a disease once his hand and eye turned that shade of crimson? It got him in trouble so many times, in ways he had no control, something he was forced to be at the center of. Fate was drawing chaos towards him, like a violent vortex. Was he never supposed to think about ‘himself’ ever again? What could he even do about the world revolving so sporadically around him?

The ladybug flew away, right out the window, to greener pastures.

Eventually, Amitie left the classroom. She waved goodbye to Sig, seemingly getting the sense that he wasn’t in the mood to walk home together that day. She flashed him a worried smile, and then disappeared out the door.

He wasn't feeling up to talking to his teacher in the first place, but... The nagging feeling wouldn't go away until he did. Sig stood up from the desk and walked over to Ms. Accord’s desk.

"Good afternoon, Sig. Do you need any help with what we learned today?"

"Something... else."

“Oh? What is it, is something troubling you?”

He... Didn't know how to ask, what to ask...? He was prepared to just be told nothing, anyways, but... They really wanted to know. They were feeling... Confusion, anger? Fear, sadness... Any mental script they had in mind was gone. He didn’t realize just how intense his fear of the unknown was.

"I.... Is there something wrong with me? Am I... going to become something bad... Do you know what's... Happening to me ...?"

They didn't realize how scared their expression was, like a deer in headlights.

"Sig...? Dear, are you alright? Did something happen?"

He was trying not to cry when he ended up thinking about everything he was told not to, gripping his arms tightly. Sometimes, it felt harder to breathe, or think... Was it just him, or something else? His vision grew blurry from held-back tears...

Sitting in a chair Ms. Accord pulled up, he didn't have it in him to look her in the eye. Everything was silent for some time...

"I'm... scared. You, Akuma, everyone... You all know things about me..."

He tried to make eye contact with her, if barely, only able to meet eyes with her puppet.

"Why don't you want me to know? Do I need to be fixed...? Is something bad going to happen with me...? To people around me? I've always... been like this... So I don't know. Everyone acts like it's forbidden stuff..."

Digging his fingers into his arm, he was shaking...

"I don't want to live like this. Knowing nothing about myself... It's so scary. No one likes scary people. No one wants to be around someone who hurts people. It makes me feel like I'm going to ruin everything, someday..."

"... I told you, you all shouldn't keep secrets from him, nya. Lookit what it did to the poor kid...", Popoi whispered to her. What could she say? The cat was right...

"Sig... I'm sorry, I truly am. It was never my intention to cause you such anxiety... Please, try to look at me..."

"I... can't..."

"Please know, then... You're not in any danger, and your friends aren't, either. No one's going to get hurt just because you're here... You said you've always been like this, right?"

Sig nodded, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"You've always been a prized pupil and friend to many, Sig... That won't change just because of your arm or eye... Those make you who you are, and you're a wonderful person."

"... Thanks... teacher..."

Taking some deep breaths, he sighed... He still had more questions. Many more.

"... I want to know... Something else..."

"You have my word that I'll answer to the best of my abilities, from now on."

Having wiped his tears away, putting faith in her words,

"... What made me like this? Does it have something to do with what happened a year ago...? I know... you know something... You were helping... him... Lemres."

Silence permeated through the room.

"Akuma informed me, when you enrolled, that your sudden changes were nothing to worry about. As far as my knowledge goes, there's nothing abnormal about your condition that would warrant any worry. As for the incident..."

"... Teacher?"

"I promise I'm being honest, my knowledge of what happened... Is very little. I only know what it is that Lemres told me about those 3... objects."

"Which... is...?"

" Those... The items, they are connected to a certain item of ill omens... I do not know anything more. He kept such details to himself..."

... Did she think he forgot about the bookworm's book? He wasn't clueless, he knew there was something weird about it. Bookworm always makes the effort to tuck it away specifically when he approaches. He almost seemed to prioritize making sure he never even so much as touched it. He got annoyed when others did, and downright terrified when he did. He wasn't fooling anyone, Sig simply didn't pay the thought any mind until now.

Having almost-fully regained his composure, he stood up,

"Teacher... If that really is all you know... I'm going to find out more, by myself.", making himself clear, he was finally able to project his voice a bit louder.

"... I'm sorry, that truly is the extent of my knowledge, but... Sometime soon, I could invite him over, and he could tell you what he knows...?"

... It was reassuring to see she actually parted with details. All it took was... Crying. Stressful. He just wanted to get out. He especially wanted nothing to do with that candy weirdo.

"I...don’t want that. See you next week, teach."

With that, he left.

Tomorrow, it would be time to visit the bookworm Klug, instead.

Ms. Accord, too, had her own plans for the weekend.

End Notes: surprise surprise i’m gonna be uploading fics up here from now on. this fic’s been in the works for awhile and it still is- but i’m really excited to show everyone it! if it’s possible, i’d like to affix art to every single chapter going forward. thank you for reading, and feel free to let me know what you think via. replies or asks. reblogs and likes are especially helpful for getting the word out! catch me on my main blog at @marxsoul, or my twitter at @marxsoui, and see you when the next chapter’s out~

#puyo puyo #sig #ms. accord #I #my works

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years ago

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.10}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.2k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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"Are you actually going to tell them the entire story?" Snape asked curiously once the girls' footsteps had faded entirely, turning to Robin with a not-smirk.

"Nah… I will tell them exactly what they expect to hear. Spells and plants and old castles and spooky dungeons. They have no use for anything that happened in between." Robin shrugged with a sigh, swinging her backpack back over her shoulders now that her jacket was gone.

"Clever."

"Did you expect anything else?" She smirked, giving him a smug look along with it.

"I wouldn't dare to."

"It seems I've taught you well after all."

"You're insufferable."

"Obviously." Robin laughed, leaning her head to the side and motioning down the hallway. "Let's get the Siazella to Professor Sprout, and the moss to the lab."

"Eager now, are we?" He smirked in return, without even attempting to hide his humor.

"Would be a true pity if I was eager only now." She teased right back, then sighed with a softening smile. "On a serious note, I actually can't wait to be back in our own dungeons. It's been a long day."

"In that case, lead the way."

To their luck, Professor Sprout was still in her office when they reached the greenhouse. It took a minute of explaining what exactly their matter was, but after that the herbology teacher was all smiles and excitement. Robin handed her the flowers, unshrinking them, and while she explained their specifics to the professor, Snape merely listened with a minorly amused and majorly proud expression on his face.

Robin for her part was surprised by how easily it came to her to talk to Sprout like an equal, which she probably shouldn't be doing, but the herbology professor didn't seem to mind, and actually took on a similarly proud expression to the one Snape displayed. Still, in an attempt not to completely overstep her boundaries, Robin merely stated the facts about the Siazella, carefully giving her own theory about how to best grow them as well, and then let Sprout take it from there. Shortly afterwards they bid their goodnights, agreeing that Robin would come back tomorrow afternoon to check up on the flowers.

When they finally made their way down into the dungeons and towards the lab, Robin felt like she hadn't been down here in ages. Like they had been gone for weeks. But it wasn't even ten o'clock in the evening when they finally entered the dark laboratory once again, and thus not even 24 hours since she'd last been in here.

The fire in the fireplace was lit in an instant, as were the candles spread around the room, and sooner rather than later, the room was filled with a soft comfortable light and a pleasant warmth. Robin sighed in contentment when she dropped her backpack onto one of the tables, summoning up the box with the moss while Snape threw his robes over the other table as he usually did.

"I suggest we do half and half." She mused, pushing the moss into the middle of the table before she also got out her notebook and a pen. "Gives us the widest range of possibilities to work with, in my opinion, but you'll probably know better."

"I agree, actually." He sighed, in tiredness not in annoyance, and went ahead to separate the moss into two piles. "Do you have a specific preserving technique in mind or may I suggest one?"

"No, go right ahead, the choice is all yours. I've done my part for today. The rest is up to you now." Robin smiled, and handed him one of the empty jars from one of the shelves even before he could ask for it. It was an every-day procedure to dry plants, and Robin knew enough about it to be one step ahead already. They would dry half of the moss, and then preserve the other half in whatever way he saw fit.

While Snape took care of the to be dried patch for now, Robin wrote a label for the jar and stuck it onto the glass, then a minute later sorted the finished thing with the moss in it into the shelves with the ingredients. Drying really was easy and fast, no thinking involved. The preservation process however took more effort.

The idea was to place the moss into a larger jar, which then they would fill up with a potion for long term storage. That potion however they needed to make first, and thus they both got started on cutting up the required ingredients. Before long the preparatory work was done however, and all that was left to do was waiting and adding things into the cauldron in the right order and at the right time. So far so good.

After a day out in the cold, the many flames' warmth that now filled the small room soon made Robin feel too warm for once, and she thanked herself for wearing layers that could be taken off individually. Sighing, she stepped over to the side where she wouldn't knock things off the tables, and grabbed the hem of her jumper to pull the thick fabric over her head at last. What she unfortunately hadn't considered was that the t-shirt she wore underneath was a loose fit. And that said t-shirt would ride up along with the jumper.

At first she didn't even take notice of the situation, but when she simultaneously heard a small gasp from off to the side and felt the direct heat of the fireplace in front of her brushing against the skin of her stomach, the situation became abundantly clear with a start. Her arms snapped back down to her sides in an instant, while an unstoppable heat rose to her face. Oh bloody hell… If anyone could be more awkward, she didn't know how. At least she was facing the fireplace, squeezing her eyes shut and clenching her jaw, and not looking at Snape who was standing a few steps to her side, and that was the only reason why she could suppress the burning embarrassment enough to make another attempt at shedding her jumper. Holding her t-shirt down, this time around.

Then she took a deep breath to fight the heat on her face, dropping the stupid piece of clothing into the corner she was facing, and finally turned around as if nothing at all had happened. That usually worked well with him, just pretending that certain things hadn't even happened. But as it seemed, she wasn't so lucky this time.

Snape stared at her in a mixture of embarrassment and discomfort, but mostly in concern and surprise. Definitely not what Robin had expected… annoyance, disgust, indifference perhaps… but why on earth did he look so worried?!

"Is, uh… Is everything alright?" She asked with a small frown and a slightly too high pitched voice while crossing her arms over her chest for a moment. But she just couldn't stop fidgeting and thus she went to trace the scar on her neck with her fingers once again. At least she was wearing a rather pretty lacy bra and not one of those granny ones… as if that would make it any better! She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at herself. Her brain did weird things when tired.

"Your side." He finally said with a very much concerned frown. "It seems that your fall did leave a mark after all."

"What?" Now Robin frowned as well, glad to abandon the awkward situation so very quickly even if in replacement for a confusing one.

"You promised you were fine, and yet your entire right side obviously is not." He explained pointedly, and Robin's eyebrows rose in surprise. Before she could think better of it, she took a glimpse at the damage, and indeed, her entire right rib cage as well as what she saw of her hip was starting to colour deep violet. Oh great…

"I promised that I believe I'm fine, which is the truth. I'm feeling perfectly alright, actually. This looks far worse than it really is." She said when she looked back up at Snape with a small shrug. "It doesn't even hurt. I wouldn't have noticed had you not pointed it out."

He kept frowning at her, but the look of betrayal vanished from his face at least, and Robin wondered once again if he had always been so very concerned about her wellbeing. Perhaps she was seeing more of it now because they actually were something like friends at this point. The thought made her smile, and her smile in return finally got him to stop frowning.

"If you say so." He mused, moving around the table in time to add the next ingredient to their potion. "You would tell me if you ever found yourself being any less than fine, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would." Robin replied sincerely, giving him another smile that hopefully didn't reveal just how touched she felt by his words. Maybe it was the overwhelming tiredness that was slowly taking a hold of not only her body but her mind as well, but she felt incredibly cared for in that moment. In a way she hadn't ever before, with no one else before.

"Good."

"I know you won't, but…" She said then, halting in her movement of picking up her notebook from the edge of the table, "Just know that it goes both ways, yes? You can talk to me about anything at all, should you ever find yourself not repelled by the idea. I'm right here."

He froze for a moment, in the same way he had back in the study when Robin had told him that his presence was comforting to her, but soon enough this tension melted away again and he returned her gaze in the same way as always. "I know. Thank you."

"Anytime."

Smiling, and perhaps a bit surprised at how easily he had accepted her words, Robin grabbed her notebook and then sat down on the ground by the fireplace, sighing deeply. Sitting at last; what a wonderful feeling. While waiting for the potion, she might as well start noting down the minor alterations she had to make to her theory after today's excursion. Five minutes of scribbling down quick notes and small reminders of what she would still need to look up later however, she started to yawn. Once, twice, five times, eight times… until the words on the parchment in front of her started swimming together suspiciously. Sighing, she placed the notebook down by her side. Geez, she was tired… the day truly had taken its toll. Her eyelids felt heavy as lead, and her head was almost too heavy to keep upright.

"Tell me something." She yawned again, looking over to Snape who had sat down at the table with an equally tired expression. "Anything. Please… I'm falling asleep."

"Perhaps you should retire to your room then."

"And leave you to do the work and suffer alone? Hell no!"

"You truly are too stubborn for your own good." He sighed, but quite obviously was too tired to argue with her. "Ask me something then, if you want me to talk."

"Alright…" Robin chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, trying to think of a question that would be appropriate and not all too teasing for once. They both were too tired for that. "Why do you always wear black? I mean… only black."

"Habit."

"And how did that habit develop?" She rolled her eyes, stifling another yawn.

"As a student, I eventually took to wearing black whenever I could because it was easier to hide the blood stains."

Now that got Robin's honest attention, and she frowned up at him in surprised concern. "What? Why on earth was that something you had to worry about?"

"I wasn't as fortunate as to get rid of my tormentors like you did, before… matters degenerated." He replied in a surprising amount of honesty, especially since it obviously wasn't an easy topic for him. "Perhaps I simply wasn't as adept back then as you have proven to be."

"I…" She didn't know what to say. Nothing she could say would change the past, nor would her pity do anything but embarrass them both. "Perhaps I was just lucky enough to have you to help me, that's more like it. I am everything but adept at dealing with people."

"You seem to be doing just fine with your roommates. They undoubtedly adore you."

"Yeah, but I'm their adult friend, as they like to call it. A big sister. Not an equal." She sighed, and rubbed her eyes to perhaps get her eyelids to stay open a little while longer. "It doesn't matter, I appreciate them and they appreciate me. We're good. Tell me something else. Something funny."

"I'm hardly the person to ask in that regard."

"I have absolutely no idea what you mean by that." Robin grinned to herself lazily. "You're the funniest person I know. Your humour just takes a while to understand."

"And you believe to understand it?" He quirked an eyebrow at her in amusement.

"Obviously." She replied with a smirk, upon which he just had to return the very same gesture. "You always tell me serious stories. Tell me a funny one for once."

"I would rather drown myself in a cauldron."

"Oh come on… I insist."

"Fine." He was surprisingly quick to give in and yield to her request, and Robin felt affirmed in her suspicion that he had never truly meant to decline her in the first place. A warm rush of pride welled up in her chest, and a smile came to her face as he spoke on. "What have you heard about the man who I superseded as potions professor at this school?"

"Not much. Actually, I don't even remember his name… something odd which reminded me of snails."

"Close enough; His name is Horace Slughorn. A peculiar man, with a rather twisted idea of making himself important in a carefully woven net of dependency and liabilities. Either way, he had a way of picking favorites. Students who excelled in classes, who had a promising future ahead of them in a field he deemed profitable for himself, or who simply were born into influential families. He hosted various festivities for those individuals, which I can assure you were dreadfully mindless and generally far more interesting for those not invited. Logically, the ones not in his favour did not take particularly well to the exclusivity of his attention and assistance. Which, precisely, is why at one point in my sixth year, a few students decided to mess with him. They brewed a decent enough Veritaserum after stumbling upon the recipe, and poured it into his tea just before potions class one day. It was pure chaos. He had to lock himself in his office until the effect had worn off, or he might just have spilled all of his plans and secrets to the prying ears and eyes of his students. I still remember the horrified look on his face when he realized he could speak nothing but the truth… I believe he always carried an antidote with him after that day."

"I can very well imagine. Just fabulous…" Robin chuckled, having closed her eyes halfway through the story when they had become too painful, too heavy to keep open. "I assume you were part of the group of students he favored?"

"Unfortunately. We weren't particularly fond of each other though."

"You were the one who gave those students who pranked him the recipe for the Veritaserum, weren't you?"

"I will never admit to such a thing." He replied after a second of silence, pointedly innocently, and Robin had to smirk. She'd definitely caught him right there.

"That was a fun story, by the way." She said instead, yawning again. "I enjoyed hearing it, thank you. Isn't it, the time for the… uh… next thing in the… in the potion now?"

"Indeed. Would you like to or shall I?"

"Feel free to. Don't even remember..." Robin mumbled, unable to open her eyes or lift a single finger at this point. Even talking seemed too much of a hassle now that her mind was barely still awake. The warmth of the fireplace to her right was making her drowsy more and more, and the soft bubbling of the potion, a comforting rhythmic pattern, was only adding to it.

And then there was Snape's voice, muttering under his breath about something she couldn't make out clearly, which was wrapping around her senses like a calming blanket of safety and comfort. Just like that, his voice was what finally pulled her over into the realm of sleep.

… … …

A soft rustling of fabrics, a quiet mewl. Warmth. Labored breathing. The sizzling of a dying fire. Movement.

Robin's eyes fluttered open for a broken second, lids still heavy and unwilling, and she dug her face deeper into the scratchy fabric balled up beneath her head. The sounds that had woken her up reached her ears again, and she shifted on the hard ground, hugging the fabrics wrapped around her even more tightly. That smell… it was so familiar. So comforting.

Her eyes fluttered open once more upon a new crackling close by, and they stayed open at last. The things she was feeling, was noticing, were starting to make sense at last, as her tired mind processed her surroundings. She was lying on the ground in the laboratory, close to the fireplace that was barely even lit at this point. Her jumper had been placed beneath her head as a pillow, and she found herself wrapped up in a cloud of black fabric. The colour, the smell… her mind filled with impressions of Snape. Her heart skipped a beat, and she couldn't help hugging his robes even more tightly around herself. Good gods… she felt overwhelmed with love and affection in an instant.

A sharp intake of breath, a barely audible whine. She wasn't alone.

Robin turned onto her other side upon the sound, urging her tried muscles to function for the small movement at least. The laboratory was mostly dark, filled with silver moonlight more than with the dying fire's golden glow. She first spotted the large jar high above her on the table further down in the room, filled to the brim with a bluish liquid and the almost black moss at the bottom. Her heart squeezed together for a second; he'd finished the potion, finished their work for her. Relief and thankfulness took over her mind for a moment, crawling through the tiredness into her cocktail of unsuppressed emotions.

Then her eyes fell onto something far more interesting, and she couldn't help but stare with every speckle of awe she found within herself. She really wasn't alone after all. Not far away from her, the faint light that had lingered illuminated the sleeping form of none other than the potions' master himself. Robin held her breath for a few long seconds, observing his distressed expression, the subtle movements of his closed eyes, the frown on his face.

He must've been leaning against the shelf on the wall behind him before falling asleep, just like she had hours ago… Now however he was lying on the ground as well, his head resting on his arm while the other was stretched out into the open space in front of him. His dark hair was splayed out on the stone beneath him like black rivers, always the contrast to his pale skin, especially in the soft silver moonlight. Robin couldn't help being inevitably and utterly mesmerized. This was the person she was in love with, the person she did love so very much, and she had never been prouder of her heart for that judgement.

And yet, when he made another heartbreaking sound that might be born of pain or fear alike, Robin found herself more lost than ever in return. He must be dreaming, tormented by his own mind, and as much as she yearned to, there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. At least nothing that he would not behead her for once he woke up. Well, that wasn't true… she could simply wake him up in this instant. She should wake him up, should return to her room and he to his. But what difference would it make if he was having nightmares here with her or alone in another place? The thought pained her no less, rather more even. No, she wouldn't wake him up, wouldn't leave him alone. But she also couldn't watch him suffering, not if there was a chance that she could –perhaps– make it better in another way.

Robin took a deep breath, pushing past her nerves and worries, and finally scooted herself closer to him. Not much, not enough to be next to him entirely… but enough so that when she stretched her arm out towards him as well, her fingertips touched his. She would never dare to be so bold as to hold his hand, not now, not like this, but the light touch of her fingers resting against his would be alright for the moment. For both their comfort.

For a moment, Robin focused on the lingering touch, focused on letting her own calm and comfort ebb through her and carry over to him from there. After a while, the frown on his face eased up and his breathing slowed down in accordance, to the point where he almost looked entirely at ease. Without the mountains of facades, Robin couldn't help marveling at how vulnerable he looked. Almost like that one time, that one moment a long time ago… she indeed had never forgotten that look of rawness and intensity on his face. Neither would she forget this one now.

Even though he looked so peaceful now, Robin kept her hand right where it was when she closed her eyes once more. They would both move away eventually, long before morning… he would never need to know. But she would grant herself this one dream, this one time of falling asleep next to him. Even if that happened to be two arms' length apart.

… … …

When the heavy cloud of sleep lifted from her mind again, and she slowly rose from the deepest unawareness, the first thing Robin noticed was something warm by her side. Without thinking, she instinctively tried to curl around it, savouring every bit of warmth she could gain.

"Robin…"

She hummed in return, smiling softly at the familiar voice, but didn't move in the slightest. Her mind was at perfect ease, telling her that she was right where she needed to be.

"Robin…" He repeated more loudly, and she did wake up just enough to notice that he couldn't make himself sound as annoyed as he was obviously trying to. "Wake up now, will you?"

Finally she opened her eyes, and once she realized that she had curled around Snape in her still half asleep state, she sat up immediately and pushed herself to an appropriate distance.

"I, uh… Sorry for… that." She croaked out, pushing her hair out of her face as she stifled a yawn.

"Good morning to you too." He merely replied, quirking an eyebrow at her in subtle amusement. "It really is ridiculously difficult to wake you up."

"Perhaps you're just doing it wrong." She replied before she could help it, but once the heat rose to her head half a second later, she hid her face in her hands. "Ugh, my brain isn't fully awake yet. I'm so sorry… again."

"Don't be. I find it rather amusing, to be honest."

"You do?" Robin frowned at him in mild doubt while he rose to his feet with a surprising grace for… whatever time it was. All she knew was that rays of sunshine were falling through the small window by now, creating soft illusions on the stones beneath her.

"Obviously." He answered with a small smirk, which Robin could barely see as he walked over to the other side of the small room.

"Thank you for finishing up the potion last night, by the way, even though I imagine you must've been rather tired as well. And thank you for staying, instead of just leaving me here. I hope you at least slept well, despite the cold floor, and, well, my presence." She finally said with a surprisingly insecure chuckle, while she also rose to her feet, picked up his robes that had slipped off her shoulders, and then straightened out her own clothes after placing the bunch of black fabric on the table.

"Indeed, unusually well even. The ground was a nuisance…" He mused, then added more quietly, "But your presence was not."

"That's… good." Robin found herself smiling down at the ground for a moment, then finally remembered how to human and moved to pick up her jumper. "I did sleep well too, actually, but I'm still way too tired."

"Likewise. However, we are already more than fashionably late for breakfast, and I believe you have made an appointment for after the meal."

"Right…" Robin sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, before she tied her jumper around her hips instead of putting it back on. "Perhaps I should just skip breakfast and go change before tutoring."

"I would prefer for you to have a decent meal for once. An apple and a candy bar hardly count in that regard."

"Well, you won't stand out negativity, looking just like any other day, with your same outfit as always! But people might actually notice that I didn't spend the night in my own room if I'm looking like yesterday's messier version." She protested, then tied her hair into a ponytail to give her fidgeting hands something to do. It would at least help with the mess her hair had turned into overnight.

"If I remember correctly, nobody saw you yesterday other than your roommates and Pomona. As for her, she usually cannot even remember having prepared herself a cup of tea five minutes after making it. And as for the former, I believe you have quite the authority over them. Simply do what you do best."

"Which would be?"

"Playing their game by your own rules. Outsmart them; you are quite brilliant at that."

"I don't know… doesn't change the fact that I probably look like a scarecrow." Robin sighed, but she had to agree that an actual meal sounded amazing right now. And she did see his point in it as well.

"You look perfectly fine, Robin. Stop worrying over nothing." He replied while he placed his robes back over his shoulders like he so often did, but this time it made Robin's heart skip a beat. How did he mind so ironically little that she'd been wrapped up in it all night?! It was as if he'd forgotten about it, or perhaps he simply didn't care. He didn't seem bothered by it in the slightest either way.

Thus she picked up her remaining things, stuffing the notebook and pen into her backpack, and then followed him out of the lab a moment later. They made their way up to the great hall quickly, in companionable and mostly tired silence, until they parted for the first time in over a day before entering the hall. Robin went in through the main doors, Snape through the one to the side that was closer to the head table.

The very moment Robin sat down next to Cas and across from Jorien, she knew that this conversation wouldn't be as easy as Snape had made it seem. She'd been gone the entire night… obviously they would be curious!

"Hey there, stranger." Jorien greeted her first, with a small smirk on her face. The girls had finished eating for the most part already, while Robin just now got started to pile foods onto her plate.

"Hey guys…" She sighed with a small smile she just couldn't get rid of. "Ready for some tutoring after breakfast?"

"Oh no, we're not doing that." Cas intervened immediately, staring at Robin with a smug smile on her face. "We are not talking about us until you spill where you've been all night. And don't even try to tell me you came back to our room in the meantime, because I know you didn't."

"No, you're absolutely right, I didn't come back to our room last night." Robin shrugged with feigned ease, taking a bite of her toast. "I was in the lab. We worked on a potion that felt like it might very well take forever, even though it wasn't particularly complex. When I think about the preparations, my legs hurt just from the memory of standing at that table for ages... But anyway, all is finished by now, and I'm left feeling very much tired."

Both girls seemed sincerely surprised by Robin's easy and honest reply, and that was exactly what Robin had counted on. If she just pretended that it wasn't a big deal, that she was happy to share all those irrelevant details, they would lose interest without realizing the extent of matters she wasn't telling them.

"So you were just in the lab with Snape all night?" Cas sighed, and once Robin nodded with an innocent expression, her sigh turned into a groan. "How boring is that! I was hoping for something unusual… a secretly passionate romance with a handsome prince, or seeing as it's you we're talking about, at least some kind of adventure. Not just an all-nighter, and the same old."

"I think both Snape and I had enough adventure throughout the day yesterday… We were glad to be back in the lab with the 'same old' as you call it." Robin shrugged it off, enjoying the scrambled eggs even though they had long gone cold and soggy. But any food was good food right now.

"I think you're the first person to ever spend more than 24 hours in a row with Snape, happily." Jorien snickered, and Robin let her eyes flicker to the head table for a second, only to see Snape looking as indifferent as ever while he was talking to McGonagall. Actually, McGonagall rather was talking to him for the majority of it. Robin smiled at the sight, and then turned her attention back to her roommates.

"I think she's the first person who survived more than 24 hours with him!" Cas snorted in return, lazily swirling pumpkin juice around her glass. "I don't know how you do it, Robin… Two hours per week is quite enough for me."

"You're getting it all wrong, guys… He survived 24 hours with me. That's the real challenge." Robin smirked at them with a wink, and both girls laughed.

"Well, there's no disagreeing with that. Especially when you're being so very strict about literally everything! Do you still insist on tutoring after breakfast?"

"Obviously."

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if-you-built-yourself-a-myth · 3 years ago

Text

Check Ignition: Sander Schmander

By popular request (*cough* everyone on ao3 and @art3misjade), here is Sander's perspective on events

This segment falls right before Chapter Four of Check Ignition

Sander Driesen was drunk. Honest-to-god, shitfaced drunk. And for the first time in forever, too—he’d laid off the stuff since his treatment plan made it difficult to handle, and since he wanted the meds to actually work. But tonight, he thought, I’ve earned this. Everyone else was drinking. It would be weird if he didn’t participate when his own boyfriend was halfway through his fifth cup of punch.

Fake boyfriend. That was a whole thing.

Now, he lay on the stairs leading upward to the boys’ dormitories. Hopefully those stairs. He didn’t make a habit of visiting the common rooms of other houses, and the layouts tended to differ from one another.

“Sorry,” he croaked to everyone who shimmied their way through. “My bad. Deepest apologies.”

This was why he needed Britt, he thought, to reign in this kind of impulse. Granted, she was the only one who knew about everything else thus far, but he wasn’t going to tell Robbe all that, not when it was already hard enough existing in a magical world with a mundane illness. He wanted to hold onto this last little dream.

Midnight was fast approaching and the bustle downstairs had yet to dispel. Sander tried to move his arms and found them unresponsive. Or rather, he could move them, but it required too much effort to be worth it. He slumped back. More people flooded up the stairs to sleep off whatever terrible concoction was in that punch bowl.

“Robbe has such stupid ideas, I swear,” said Moyo, cresting the staircase. Sander perked up at the sound of Robbe’s name. Probably Moyo. Sander struggled to think through the names of Robbe’s friends—he had them listed in his bedroom for continuity purposes.

He recognized Jens easily enough, because Jens was wherever Robbe was. And Sander watched Robbe a lot. Sander held his breath, as if being quiet could prevent them from seeing him sprawled across their path.

“Shut up,” Jens shot back.

The third boy with them—Alex? Adam?—pitched in, “It’s not Robbe’s fault you don’t get any.”

“He’s throwing away the chance of a lifetime.”

“Shut the fuck up. You sound like an incel.”

“But like, why do they kiss so much? It’s not like you have—” Moyo stopped short as he tripped over Sander’s leg. Despite their somewhat rational conversation, they weren’t any more sober than Sander himself. “Shit, speak of the devil.”

Jens leaned down to Sander’s eye level. “You alright?”

“Never better,” Sander slurred. It came out more like a groan.

Moyo approached to help Jens move Sander from the center of the stairs. They sat him up against the railing on his left side, which was not any more comfortable than the steps digging into his back. Jens was still in full Quidditch uniform (even the chest padding!), Moyo sported a Hufflepuff tie over a t-shirt and jeans, and Adam-or-whoever stood at a quiet distance in a pair of burgundy pajama pants and his Quidditch robes. Sander would have made note to write these in on his list—a good indicator of personality.

Too bad he didn’t have the sense to do so.

“Can’t handle your alcohol, huh?” Moyo asked. He didn’t seem very threatening, though the question was definitely a taunt. Sander’s brain felt like vanilla pudding. Moyo turned to the boys. “Should we wake Robbe?”

“Yes,” said Sander. Oh, hell yes. Robbe. He liked Robbe so much.

The story itself was long and antiquated, a love-at-first-sight kind of deal for Sander. He couldn’t think of one version where he wasn’t the bad guy. He went on a double-date with Britt and her friend, expecting one of Noor’s usual yuppies to show up and bore the whole table with pointless conversation. Then it was Robbe.

Do you ever just see someone, really see them, and—how could he phrase it—know? Or think you know. All things considered, it wasn’t the best sign in terms of his condition.

He had to walk all the way into the next town over to call his psychiatrist, only to realize there wasn’t much to tell her. Hey, I’m infatuated with this guy that my girlfriend’s friend is dating. What should I do? She’d give him some common-sense answer like, Break up with your girlfriend, which he didn’t want to do until he knew what he was feeling would last. So he said, These side effects are nasty, and she reevaluated his dose of Lexapro.

“Let the virgin sleep,” said Moyo.

Sander pitched forward to grab Moyo by the arm. “No, wake him up.”

Because the thing was, time passed, and the feelings didn’t fade. Britt could tell he wasn’t present anymore and said nothing. Maybe she thought it was the Depakote that his psychiatrist added to the cocktail when the antidepressant dangled him on the edge of hypomania. She was a good person. It really wasn’t fair when he told her it was over via owl, and it really wasn’t fair when he seized his opportunity to kiss Robbe in the astronomy tower. The argument in question was not so bad. He conflated it for an excuse to leave her.

“Where’s Robbe?” said Sander. “I have to see him.”

“He’s asleep, downstairs. We gave him a blanket and everything.” Jens passed over his own cup of water. “Drink this.”

“I have to see him,” Sander repeated.

“Yeah, you have to go to sleep. He’s going to be here tomorrow.”

“It won’t be the same tomorrow.”

The whole relationship wasn’t even meant to be a thing. It was a cheap kiss, really, in the astronomy tower. Sander just wanted to know what it would feel like, and he thought it might serve Robbe too, so he did it. Robbe’s appearance the next day was the most unexpected, thrilling twist he could have dreamed of. Except, in a dream, it wouldn’t be fake.

Robbe never missed a chance to restate that it was fake. That wasn’t the best sign, either.

“Aaron, don’t just stand there,” said Jens. “Help me out. Grab his arms, will you?”

“Aaron.” Sander tested out the name. “But you’re Adam!”

“How much have you had?” Aaron grabbed Sander’s arms and lifted. The boys got Sander up two stairs before deciding he was too heavy. They sat him back against the wall.

“Try again,” Jens instructed.

The second try went about as well as the first.

Jens crouched to Sander’s eye level. “Look, is there someone else we can get for you? Or are you cool with sleeping here?” He had to hold Sander’s shoulders in his hands to keep Sander from pitching forward and rolling all the way back downstairs.

“We can’t leave our friend’s boyfriend here!” said Aaron.

“Fake boyfriend,” Moyo added.

Sander groaned. Yes, remind him of that! It was fake! He knew it already! If his psychiatrist could see him now, she’d say—alright, she’d say that he wasn’t allowed to drink on his overly specific medication regimen. But if that weren’t a factor, she’d say some more common-sense things like, “Tell Robbe how you feel. Tell his friends, if you want.”

Fuck, he missed her. He could seek out the phone booth sometime this week and tell her all about it. She loved hearing from him.

“There’s no one,” he slurred. “I’m okay.”

“Fine, there’s us, then,” said Jens. He hefted one of Sander’s arms over his shoulder. “Moyo, take three.”

Moyo took the other arm. They dragged him up the rest of the way, bumping his head on every other stair. He felt like a snow globe in a tourist trap shop, all shaken up, no escape through the glass. Huh. Poetic. Where was Robbe?

“Wake up Robbe,” Sander requested. Jens and Moyo dropped him into the fourth bed in their room. Aaron, Jens, and Robbe lived here; Sander could deduce that from the eclectic assortment of things piled on every available surface. The blankets of the bed in which he lay were already rumpled, implying that someone else had slept here recently. He touched something sticky on the top sheet. Okay, maybe they didn’t sleep.

Jens looked back and forth between Moyo and Sander. “Why?” he asked.

There were plenty of replies Sander could give. We’re fake-dating, and I want it to be convincing.

We’re such good friends, and I want to tell him so.

I think he has my cell phone. Jens might not know what a cell phone was. Sander could never tell with those purebloods.

He and I have plans to smoke weed and throw rocks at pixies in the Forbidden Forest.

Sander said, “I misssssss him,” with the s pulled to the end of the world. Yeah, that would work, too.

“Um, okay,” said Jens. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Then he, Aaron, and Moyo started laughing, although Sander couldn’t tell just what they found so funny. Sander had an alarm on his cell phone to take his medication at eleven PM, since schedule was important to the efficacy of the active ingredients, or whatever it was his psychiatrist said when she adjusted his Lexapro to 15mg. It buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t have the pills. He was too tired, anyway. It wouldn’t matter if he skipped a dose or two; he’d done worse things than that with lesser consequences.

“You’re going to get Robbe, right?” he asked, and in a moment of clarity, he realized he was a needy boyfriend. He wasn’t a fan of needy Britt. You either die the hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

Jens yanked the curtains shut across the fourth bed and bound them with a spell. “You’re drunk, go to sleep. We’ll get Robbe.” The boys began another fit of giggling.

It didn’t bother Sander at all. He stared at the arcing pillars that held up the bedcurtains and hummed a David Bowie song into the darkness. He was young and drunk and in love, and anything could happen. So what if Robbe thought their relationship was fake for now? In a matter of time, it would be real.

#sobbe fanfic #sobbe #sander driesen #robbe ijzermans #wtfock #requested fic #sander POV #fake dating #Hogwarts au

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to-star-lake · 5 years ago

Text

re: untitled [ pt. 3 ]

pairing | jjk x reader genre | ceo!jk, arranged marriage word count | 4.5k rating | M, 18+ pt. 1, pt. 2, end

You opened your eyes to the blinding light of the sun shining high and bright in the sky, and blinked a few times to adjust yourself to the brightness, rubbing them with your fingertips.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes to go back to sleep when your brain began registering your surroundings. You shifted your legs under the sheets and noticed that this was not your bed, and opening your eyes wide, you looked around and realized this was not your room.

Images of the night before began flashing back to you and you felt your body tense up, remembering everything that happened. Under the sheets, you felt Jungkook shift beside you, and noticed his arm was around your waist and was pulling you backward, your bare skin pressing against his.

You waited until his movements stopped and turned very slowly, trying not to wake him. You turned to see him, still fast asleep, long strands of his hair falling down over his eyes, his shoulder and the dark patterns and lines of his tattoos exposed over the edge of the blanket.

Shit.

Despite the ringing hangover in your head, you were able to recollect everything that happened last night. How Jungkook burst into Taehyung’s apartment. How he cornered you in the elevator. How he pulled you into him to pose for photos at the benefit. How the two of you got into a drunken spat at an event full of your clients and colleagues. How Namjoon made both of you leave only for the two of you to continue the fight at home. The fight that led to this.

Your head spun with all of the thoughts swirling through your mind. You slept with him. Oh god, you slept with him. Was it because both of you were drunk, filled with adrenaline from fighting, and needed an outlet for the pent up frustration you both felt? How did this happen?

Jungkook shifted a little, snuggling his face into the pillow and you felt his arm around your waist pull you closer. You took a long breath in in an attempt to calm yourself, but the lingering scent of the cologne on his skin made your eyes heavy and you remembered in excruciating detail how he touched you, the way he held you, the way he made you feel. How good it felt.

You reached a hand out slowly, gently brushing a few strands of hair from his eyes. You’d never seen him this close before. Or maybe you have, but you weren’t really looking. You traced your fingertips softly over his brow bone, across his cheeks, your eyes catching the little moles on his nose, under his lower lip, and wondered how long he’s had these, why you’d never noticed them before.

He stirred at the movement and mumbled something into the pillow and you retracted your hand quickly, not wanting to wake him. Not wanting to face him.

Slowly and carefully, you slid your body out from under his arm, and slipped out from underneath the covers. You tiptoed quickly from his room, quietly picking up the pieces of your undergarments trailing to the living room. You moved quickly to your side of the penthouse and shut the door quietly behind you. Once the door was closed, you leaned your head back against it, feeling your tense muscles relax as you took a deep breath.

You stepped into the rain shower in your bathroom, turning the water on as hot as you could tolerate, hoping a little bit of pain might distract you from all the thoughts running through your head. You doused yourself in soap and shampoo, wanting to wash his scent from your body.

You felt ashamed. Not because you slept with him. You felt ashamed because you were finally registering the few words you exchanged before you drifted into the deepest sleep in his arms.

I’ve never slept with any of those girls, you know.

You put a hand up against the marble wall of the shower, trying to hold yourself up but your legs felt like they were giving out under you. You lowered your head and let the hot water spill over your body.

I haven’t slept with any other girl. Not after that night at dinner with our parents. The month before our wedding.

You felt your hand clench into a fist, your cheeks grew hot and you felt a warm liquid building along the bottom of your eyes.

Because I’ve only ever wanted you.

You slid down to the floor of the shower, curling into a ball, leaning against the marble, tears flying from your eyes. You held your legs close, head buried into your knees, making a concerted effort to focus on taking deep breaths to stop crying.

After a few moments, you were able to stop the tears flowing and the adrenaline seemed to fade. The steam from the shower helped clear your head, but when you stepped out and wiped the fog from the mirror, you saw how swollen your eyes were from crying. And you saw the darkened patches of clotted blood underneath the skin of your neck and shoulder. You wished you could wash these marks he made away too.

Think, you thought to yourself, closing your eyes and bracing yourself against the counter. Had he given you any indication that this was how he felt? Why didn’t he say anything earlier? Why didn’t he just tell you how he felt? Why didn’t he, at any point during the engagement, try to reach out and just talk to you? Or anytime during the last two years?

And how could he feel this way? How could he be like this? Sure, you were childhood friends, but you never saw him as more than that. In fact, although he liked to follow you around as a small child, when both of you grew to be teenagers he became increasingly distant and standoffish towards you.

You tried to shake your thoughts away, taking a seat at the vanity and began dabbing foundation over the marks on your neck. You got dressed, ultimately choosing to tie a silk scarf around your neck because no amount of foundation was going to do any good.

Carefully opening the door to your bedroom, you peaked out to make sure he hadn’t woken up. You heard no sounds in the living room or kitchen and you silently tiptoed back down the hall to his side of the penthouse and lingered in the open doorway to his room for a moment. He was still blissfully asleep, his dark hair a wavy mess on the pillows.

You thought of Taehyung on your drive to the office. You remembered that tonight was his art show. That about two months ago he told you that for the first time, he would actually open a gallery and exhibit his work for the public, something you’d been encouraging him to do for a long time. And he wanted you to attend.

You knew you needed the day to clear your head, and getting some things done at the office would be the perfect distraction. And then tonight, you would call Jungkook, and get to the bottom of how this happened. And you would text Taehyung, and inform him that you can’t make it to his art exhibit after all. You thought you didn’t want to see him, at least for a while, until you have everything figured out.

You heard a soft, wry laugh from yourself. There was a bit of poetic irony in the events of last night, you thought. That on the night you told your husband you wanted to divorce him (though you didn’t mean it), it was also the night the two of you finally consummated your marriage.

Miya, your secretary, greeted you at the elevator the way she does every morning with a latte and your calendar for the day to review with you. And as you made your way through the open floor space to your office, she sat down across from you and mentioned that the security team was doing a full sweep of everyone’s hardware storage, and that their remit to everyone in the company is to go through their cloud drive and emails and delete anything that was not needed or should not be saved, even the CEO needed to comply.

You glanced over your schedule and thanked Miya for the coffee, glad for the mindless task of deleting emails because it would make for a good distraction. As you were flipping through endless pages of emails in your various work and personal mailboxes, you came across one folder in the junk category you didn’t recognize.

The folder was labeled with only a single dash and you can’t remember if you created this, or if this was a standard folder that the email drive provided.

You clicked on it, and more than 50 unread emails loaded. You furrowed your brows, confused, but found your eyes opening wide in surprise and confusion when you read the ‘from’ column. The email address that sent you all of these messages was jjk1997, and every email had the same generic subject -

re: untitled.

You scrolled through the pages until you found the very first email from this address, simply denoted as ‘untitled.’ And this email had been opened, as opposed to all the others that came after. When the message itself loaded, you saw that it was a photo of Yoongi, your first crush from middle school, kissing one of your friends.

The memories of how this happened came crashing back to you.

Years ago, way back in middle school, when the two of you still attended school together, you remember there was an older boy that you had a crush on. You remember revealing who that was to Jungkook and a few of your friends during a game of truth or dare at one of your parents work events; one of those events where all the children of the executives in attendance banded together.

And you remembered that a week later, Jungkook sent you this photo, without a subject, without an explanation. And you remembered being furious with him for sending it. You didn’t understand it. You supposed his intention was to inform you that you should not go for this guy, because he was making out with one of your friends after school. But you felt so embarrassed that he’d taken action on this personal information he knew about you. You felt exploited.

And so you had clicked the filter messages like these button at the top of the page. The site had asked you to name the folder you wanted to filter these messages to and in the absence of wanting to give Jungkook’s emails any meaning, you simply typed -.

That’s why you never saw these, you thought to yourself. Upon receiving any correspondence from Jungkook, your email automatically filed them away into the folder nested under the Junk category. And he’d sent you so many. You scrolled back again through the pages and found that the latest email from him was sent over two years ago. In fact, the date on it was the date of that night with both of your parents when they announced your engagement.

You clicked on the email to open it, and realized it was part of the same chain that originated with the first message. You took a deep breath and read it.

‘You didn’t seem too happy about what happened tonight. I’ve known that we were betrothed for a long time, my parents told me about it when I was 7. You looked so taken aback, I can only assume your parents never told you about the arrangement.

You can tell me if you really don’t want to do this.

You should know, I’m okay with this. I’ve known about it for a long time. But I guess you must feel differently. If you don’t wanna go through with this, I’ll talk to my parents, I’ll make up something. Im not gonna let our parents to force you into this if it’s not what you want.

But before I do that, I want to see you. There are some things I want to say.

I’ll be at the cafe on 52nd, a couple blocks up from the restaurant tomorrow at noon.

- JK’

You sat frozen at your desk, eyes glued to the screen, unable to look away.

Finally, you were able to restore movement to your hand over the mouse and you frantically clicked through the rest of the emails from him and you found the contents to be very similar. They were all mostly photos from his travels.

Photos of a fishing boat, crossing a wide river in misting rain to a small island in the distance. Below those photos he wrote the word Patagonia. Photos of impressionist paintings from Monet to Seurat, old architecture and towers of petite cakes in candy shops, blue and white ocean waves crashing onto giant rocks, titled Cote d'Azur. Photos of vast, open fields of green, snow capped mountains in the distance, sheep grazing, titled Milford Sound. Aquamarine waters, sailboats, and an ivory city on a plateau that rose above the sea, titled Malta.

These weren’t just photos of all the places he’d gone. They were also all the places you have always dreamed of visiting if you weren’t so busy and stressed with school, with work.

You referenced the dates on these, and they began the summer after he was sent away to boarding school, extending through when both of you had gone away to college.

You leaned back in your chair, stunned.

He had tried to keep in contact with you all these years.

You sprung from your chair, grabbing your purse and turned to fly through the doors to your office when you saw Seokjin at Miya’s desk outside, a frantic look in his eye, a stack of papers in his arms.

He turned, making eye contact with you as you were walking out and you held a hand up, “Not today, Jin, I have to go-”

“Y/N, please, this is urgent,” he said. You examined the panicked expression on his face and turned back toward your office.

“Ok, let’s make this quick,” you said, holding the door open for Seokjin as he stumbled his way to the chair across from your desk, dropping the stack of papers down with a thud.

“Okay, well, um-” he mumbled.

“Jin, just, tell me what’s going on, succinctly please.”

“Well, ok, here,” Jin grabbed a manila folder that sat at the top of the stack and opened it to a long document with a table on it that looked like a bank statement. “Look at this,” he said.

You glanced through the line items, confirming that it was in fact a bank statement from your company’s corporate account, and all the deposits and withdrawals were from your clients, from investors, and out to all the vendors and expenses the company pays.

“This is just our bank statement, Jin, this is what you wanted me to look at?” you asked, impatient.

“No, this is what I want you to look at,” he responded, flipping through the pages until somewhere in the middle of the stack, and pointed to a single line item of a transfer of twenty thousand dollars from the company’s corporate account.

“I don’t recognize this vendor, do you?” he asked, “And I realized, I’ve seen this line item before. At first I thought it must’ve been something to do with when we moved to the new office, the admins might’ve contracted some designers or architects for the office. But transfers to this company have been made regularly, every month, for the same amount, for the last two years. I thought this couldn’t be right.” He looked at you intently, waiting for your response.

But you had none. You stared down at the line item he pointed to. And at the stack of other bank statements he brought in. The twenty thousand dollar transfer was made to a company called Vante Studios, LLC.

“Maybe I should bring this to Taehyung instead, surely the CFO knows what’s going with this-” he continued impatiently.

“No,” you stopped him abruptly. “No, I will look into this personally. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Jin, have you told anyone else about this?”

He shook his head, a confused expression manifesting on his face.

“Ok Jin, this is very important, this does not leave this room.”

“So you do know what this company is?” He inquired.

“No I don’t, so I will look into it.” you lied through your teeth and motioned for him to leave your office.

Once Jin left you just sat there, staring down at the sheet of paper. You knew exactly what this company was. Vante Studios was what you and Taehyung always joked he should name his art gallery if he ever opened his own. And now he has.

“Miya?” you called from your desk. She stood from her desk and poked her head through the opened glass door.

“Yes?”

“Please call down to the showroom and bring up that black dress and heels I’m wearing to the gallery opening tonight,” you said. Miya nodded and a short 30 minutes later, you had changed into the little silk slip dress and strappy heels, and you were on your way to the gallery.

You needed to confront Taehyung.

The gallery was packed when you arrived. Undoubtedly thanks to your contacting all the local journalists and photographers to cover the event ahead of time and help build anticipation for the gallery opening on Taehyung’s behalf.

Walking through the front door, you looked on in disbelief at the tall concrete walls of the gallery, the exposed piping and brick, the glazed marble floor, the gilded wallpaper accents, the waiters and mixologists in three piece Gucci suits, carrying endless glasses of Moet through the crowd. You knew the money was for this. Because in looking at the way this gallery was designed, there was no way Taehyung afforded this on his own.

You often wondered but never thought too much on how Taehyung was able to afford his lavish lifestyle - the first edition books on the mahogany bookshelf in his apartment, the authentic Marie Antoinette tea set in his china cabinet, the Van Goghs hanging from the walls.

You navigated your way through the crowd, finding Taehyung standing before a photograph he’d taken, printed in black and white. He was waving his hand around, steeped in drama, explaining the photo in artistic detail to his audience. You stood at the periphery of the room, observing him. At how he could act like everything was ok. At how he smiled, the smile you thought you adored but now revile.

You were about to make your way through the crowds to him when you saw a valet open the front door of the gallery and Jungkook walked in.

You tried to duck away, attempting to blend into the crowds but you couldn’t help glancing over at him as he looked around the groups of people, looking for you. You couldn’t help looking at the long strands of his dark hair, tucked behind one ear, the other side hanging over his cheeks. At his chest and shoulders under a pressed black shirt and black coat, stitched with silver tinsel. At his long legs in a pair of perfectly fitted black trousers. He looked in your direction and your eyes met for a moment.

You saw the corner of his lips lift in a soft smile, and he moved to walk towards you but you turned, averting his gaze and walked quickly towards the back of the venue, finding an empty storage closet. You quickly shut and locked the door behind you, hoping that in the midst of the crowds of people, he didn’t see where you went.

You weren’t ready to face him. Not yet. You still needed to confront Taehyung but you knew there would now be two confrontations if you let this go on. So you decided you needed to find a way to leave the venue, and save these confrontations for another day.

Taking a deep breath, you let out a sharp exhale and turned the doorknob to leave and as you stepped out, bumped directly into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that-”

An arm reached out and slid down around your waist, and he took a step forward, pushing you back into the supply closet, closing and locking the door behind him. You felt your own breathing become shallow and the air around you grow thin when you smelled the familiar scent of amber and patchouli radiating from the heat of the body in front of you.

In the dark, tiny, confined space, the only light source was a sliver of orange glow from the crack underneath the door. He pushed your back against the metal shelving on the wall and pushed his lips onto yours, his arm holding onto your waist tightly, crushing your body against his, his other hand gripping onto your jaw, refusing to allow you to move away.

“JK..” you mumbled weakly against his lips molding into yours, his tongue forcing your mouth open. You felt your cheeks growing flushed, a dull aching building in your core and his hand slid down to your hips, his fingertips digging into your skin.

You lifted your hands up into small fists against his chest, completely ineffectual in pushing him away with any meaningful force. You thought you couldn’t do this. Not again. Not here.

But your body refused to stop as his tongue glided over yours, his hands now sliding down to your legs, fingertips brushing softly at the exposed skin under the lace hem of your dress. He kissed at the corner of your mouth, your cheeks, and ducked his head under your chin, clamping down onto your neck, making you gasp as he pushed his thigh between your legs, the pressure making you feel like you would turn into a puddle, melting into him.

“You left me without a word this morning,” he whispered into your skin, hands brushing the straps of your dress from your shoulders.

“JK..I, wait..I need to..” you were struggling to obtain enough air to get the words out you needed to, and you could hear his breathing becoming more ragged as he bit at your ear, his breaths hot against your skin. “I need to talk to you,” you managed to choke out as his hand found the lace material of your panties under your dress, hooking his finger underneath the ribbons that held it up.

He pressed his lips to yours, “Ok, go ahead,” he moaned into you.

“No...no I can’t talk like this..” you panted.

“So tell me to stop,” he whined, his tongue rolling into your mouth.

“I..” you gasped. “I don’t want you to stop..” you reached down to his belt, hastily tugging at it, tearing the zipper open, gliding your fingers underneath the hem of his briefs.

He tugged at your hips roughly and spun you around, pushing you against the wall. His hands glided up the back of your thighs, and you could feel the soft silk material of the hem of your dress being pulled up over your hips. You arched your back, pressing your ass against him, feeling his hard cock pressing into your drenched panties.

You gasped, clawing your fingertips into the wall as he ran a finger down the soaked material on your clit, massaging you.

“JK..please..” you begged.

You felt his fingers pull your panties to the side, and felt the tip of him rubbing against your entrance and you felt like you were melting around him.

He slid a hand around your neck, pulling at your jaw, pulling your head back to lean against his shoulder. He leaned over and bit at the skin of your neck, and you whined to him, begging for more of him, and he gently pushed only a little more of himself inside you, denying you full satisfaction. You felt yourself trembling against him in need, your wetness dripping down all around him.

“Did you come here to see him tonight?” he growled into your ear.

“I..” you were completely out of breath, seeing stars behind your closed eyes.

“You still want him after last night?” he tilted your head back with his hand, forcing his tongue into your mouth.

“Mmm, no...that’s not..” you couldn’t breathe. “Fuck..JK..what are you doing to me...” you begged as he was grinding against you at an agonizingly slow pace, continuing to deny you the full length of his cock.

He bit at your lower lip, pushing a little more of himself into you.

“I’m making sure you never even think about another man again.” And with that, he thrust all of himself deep inside you, his hand moving swiftly over your mouth, covering the scream that escaped your lungs as he pushed into you.

“No one else can ever make you feel like this, do you understand,” he whispered into your ear, thrusting into you harder, filling you to the absolute brim. He slid a hand over your neck, closing around your throat with the gentlest force and you felt all the muscles in your body begin to tense.

“JK..I..” you were losing all control as he pushed you to the edge.

“Go ahead, love,” he commanded, his hot breath against your ear, sliding his arm around you, bracing you tightly against him. “Show me how good I make you feel.”

“Fuck, JK-”

Your body shook against him, in little waves at first, then violently as he held you tightly against him, burying himself deep inside you and you could feel his own climax pooling warmly in your core, his hand pressed firmly over your mouth to cover your gasps and screams, and you reached back to cover his.

His head collapsed onto your shoulder and you fell against the wall, both of you fighting for the little bit of oxygen in the room. He waited for your body to find stillness and pulled himself away gently. He tugged the hem of your dress down, and with gentle hands, guided you to turn to face him.

He planted soft kisses on your lips and cheeks and your forehead, his hands cupped around your flushed cheeks.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered, leaning his forehead down to yours.

You closed your eyes, and as the little stars started fading, you were again being hit by reality. You remembered Taehyung. You remembered you were still at his gallery.

Jungkook could sense this chaos in your mind and pulled his head back to study you for a moment. But his lips curled into a smile, a little scrunch forming on the bridge of his nose, little lines appearing at the corners of his eyes. You’d never seen him like this before.

“Come home with me,” he said.

You took a deep breath in. “I will,” you answered. “Just, not yet. There’s something I have to do first.”

He looked into your eyes for a moment, confused, but nodded. He leaned down and gave you a long kiss, breathing you in. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook scenario #jungkook series #jungkook angst #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts scenario #bts series #bts angst #ceo!jungkook #jungkook arranged marriage #arranged marriage au #phew! part three already #yall know 190811 lotte family concert jk was the insp here #hope you like it!#part 4 sooon

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ajokeformur-ray · 5 years ago

Note

Arthur Fleck is like super super handsome so I really need a rough, spicy and sweet smut. Reader walks around the house in a long shirt and panties cus it's super comfortable and Arthur keeps imagining this possibly uh ahem touching himself, but yeah smut it's hot and reader is preferably chubby

OMG I do this all the time in the summer so this is a mood. This one is a female reader smut piece but I do have some male!reader x Arthur smut in my inbox too, so keep an eye out for that. I’ll also do some gender neutral smut for our boi too, so there’s hopefully something for everyone.

NSFW. Hidden from those in Safe Mode. Don’t read unless you’re over 18.

Features: protected sex, oral sex (female reader receiving), lots of fluff, aftercare. Some angst sorry I can’t help myself lmao I love angst/smut/fluff all put together.

Contains swearing and mentions of smoking.

This literally took me three hours to write. I started at 7 AM this morning after that smutty dream and now it’s 10:06 AM and I’ve just stopped so please let me know what you think!

Word count: 3, 608 (my longest one yet)

Oh, help you, it was so hot.

The air conditioning in the apartment building hadn’t worked for more than a decade, and those who were responsible for maintaining the building hadn’t so much as glanced at it for just as long. Why would they care? They had new cars every six months and didn’t even live in the fucking city in the first place. The stench of rubbish that littered the overcrowded streets filtered in through the dirty windows of the apartment you shared with Arthur; you had moved in with him some months ago when you realised that your two incomes could be better used split between just one home. Yours. With any luck, you would get out of Gotham quicker that way, with both of you sharing the bills (though you always paid a larger portion without saying anything to Arthur; you both knew you did it, but out of embarrassment did he stay silent. He paid you back in other ways, anyway) and doing half of everything else together.

With no air conditioning and no breeze to aid you in any way, you had had to resort to desperate measures. With an equally suffering Arthur already at work, you had stayed home in one of his long sleeved t-shirts. It came down to your mid-thigh and just covered your bum. You wore underwear, too, and that was it. Nothing else. You were still too hot, but with the windows open you didn’t want to inadvertently flash any pedestrian who happened to glance upwards as they walked past the neglected apartment building. You would have to deal with it the best you could. Thoughts of Arthur always made you feel warm from the inside, so with him in your head it wasn’t too hard to grin and bear even the worst of circumstances.

All day did you stay home, letting your body run on auto pilot while you cleaned the apartment. You hadn’t needed to clean the apartment, you and Arthur did incredibly well keeping it clean given your economical situations, but you also needed something to do; anything to distract you from the way that Arthur’s shirt, baggy on you, was clinging to your damp skin. While you worked, not moving so fast that you made yourself even hotter, you found yourself thinking of Arthur. His intense green eyes hidden underneath those thick, dark eyebrows. The way his eyes glittered with innocent mischief when he told you his newest jokes. The way his hands dangled a cigarette elegantly between them. The way he looked when he danced; his lithe form easily moving to a beat that only he could hear. The way he danced with you with no music playing. The way he kissed you the way a drowning person would hold onto their last breath; desperately and with a sense of urgency which only increased. The way he used his entire hand to trace parts of your body, his fingers gripping at your thighs…

You spent the entire day growing increasingly hot and bothered, flustered by all the memories of things that Arthur had done to you, and even things that you had done together. You so loved loving him. You loved the way he moaned, the way he gasped, the way he murmured his love for you against your skin like a prayer. You loved the way he shifted closer to you in his sleep; even if you went to sleep on separate sides of the bed, you would wake up and he would be clinging to you like a koala; his legs wrapped around you and his nose breathing you in. Arthur loved with his whole being, and you wanted to protect him, love him and keep him safe for the rest of your lives together.

So lost were you in your arousal, which stayed pooled in your panties because despite being an adult, you had no real idea about how to adequately take care of yourself when tensions within you grew high, that you didn’t notice Arthur come home. You didn’t notice the way he dropped his bag in shock at the sight of you laying on the sofa, one leg dangling off the side, the other crooked at an angle and resting against the back of the sofa. Your hair dropped over the edge of the sofa, too, such was the angle of your head… your legs were parted, your eyes were closed and all Arthur could think about was fucking you into the worn springs of that old sofa.

His throat was as dry as the day outside, and he couldn’t help the way he just had to palm himself through his trousers. His resounding guttural groan wrenched you out of your thoughts, and you shot upright, standing up so fast you felt dizzy.

“A-Arthur! Hi!” You walked to his still frozen form to give him a hug, and he melted into your touch, his hands staying high on your back. He kept his hips away from you. It wasn’t your fault that he was aroused, and he wouldn’t force you into anything. Really, the issue wasn’t that he didn’t want to touch you, but rather he inherently felt that he shouldn’t. He didn’t deserve such a gorgeous woman to be waiting for him at home, he didn’t deserve to be able to show you how much he loved you.

Now that he was home with you did you become aware of just how aroused you truly were. You could feel it sticking to your inner thighs and you knew if you didn’t do something soon, you would spend the rest of the afternoon suffering. Would Arthur want to? Truly, he was keeping his eyes firmly planted on your face, his hands high on your body and he kept his lower half angled away from you. If you didn’t know any better, you would think that he just wasn’t sexually attracted to you. But you did know better. You felt the way his fingers were tightly gripping you as he kept himself in place, kept himself from touching you. You could see the dilation of his pupils, blown wide. You could see Arthur just as you always had, and you couldn’t help the smirk that formed on your face as you moved to nibble upon his neck.

“How was your day, honey?”

Despite the innocence of your words, what you were doing to the column of his neck with your lips and tongue was positively sinful and Arthur found himself having to make a concerted effort to keep himself still.

“I-it was g-good, it was, uhh, so good,” His words faded into a moan as he tipped his head back, allowing you full access to his throat. His Adam’s apple was exposed and you kissed it, sucking gently as your hand came up to thread your fingers through his dark hair, tugging gently at the tangled strands. Arthur whimpered as his hands slid down your body to grip your hips. “Y-Y/N, p-please - “

“It’s okay,” You smiled as you let him go, pressing your lips against his. You kissed him sweetly, letting him feel how much you loved him. You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, and Arthur copied you. He was a fast learner, and what he lacked in experience he more than made up for in how passionate his every encounter with you was. “You can touch me. I want you to.”

“No,” Arthur’s voice was so soft you had to strain your ears above the pounding of your heart just to hear him, “If I start I don’t know i-if I’ll be able to - “

“Then don’t,” You cupped his face in your hands and looked him full in the face. You made no attempt to hide anything; your lust, your love, your adoration, your trust and your want. You showed him everything. Eye contact was so important to Arthur because he could read you like a book, and he liked to see you. So many people saw through you, but Arthur could almost gaze into your soul when he looked at you, and you treasured him above all else for it. “Don’t think about it. Don’t worry about anything. Just feel.” To emphasis your point, one of your hands slid down his back to cup his bum, and you squeezed, pushing yourself into him at the same time.

Arthur groaned, as did you, and his head dropped forward to rest in the space between your neck and shoulder. His lips moved to explore your neck, a shaking hand moving the collar of his shirt out of his way so he could better reach the exposed flesh. You shivered, but not because you were cold. No, your every nerve was on fire, and Arthur’s touch left goosebumps in his wake as you desperately sought more contact.

You pulled Arthur’s head up from your neck and pressed your lips to his, kissing him with as much desire as you felt swirling through your heated veins, your blood singing as it pulsed through your body. You walked backwards with him, relying solely on muscle memory to safely get you to the sofa, and you fell backwards, taking Arthur with you. He landed on you easily but you barely felt it; too lost in your arousal to notice the way his sharp pelvic bones were digging into you, the way his elbows were digging into your ribs. You parted your legs and immediately did Arthur make himself at home, a delicious blush on his face. His hair was hanging about his face, some curls sticking to his forehead. It was hot outside. It was one of the hottest days on record and you weren’t helping yourselves, but you didn’t care. You wanted each other, and you wanted it now.

You cupped his face in your hands once more, using your fingers to brush his hair away where it clung to him. Arthur leaned into your touch, looking at you like you were an actual angel. He looked at you the way you felt when you had that first cup of coffee in the morning, and it was enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“I love you so fucking much.” You whispered, your voice hushed with awe at the celestial being hovering above you.

It only served to deepen Arthur’s blush and he leant down to kiss you sweetly. “I love you too. You have no idea how much.”

Your lips twitched mischievously and Arthur’s eyes followed the movement. “Show me, then.”

Immediately did his eyes darken and you shivered once more, suddenly aware again of the fact that something was changing in him. You couldn’t deny that you liked the change that you glimpsed in him sometimes, though. He was confident in those moments and aware of what he did to you with a mere look. It was maddening and sometimes did you wish to tap into that new part of him, to see it in all its glory. You had no way of knowing that you wouldn’t have to wait too long at all… all it would take was one bad day for your sweet Arthur to snap and succumb to all that he had spent his life fighting against. You would stay, though, no matter what - you felt an inexplicable connection to Arthur Fleck and all that he was. You had sworn yourself to him. You couldn’t have known how much this promise would be tested and run through the mill just as much as Arthur had, in the future.

“You might regret saying that.” His voice was soft but raspy now.

You shrugged, still smirking. “Is that a promise?” It was a challenge and you both knew it. If anything, it only fuelled the rising flames within your bodies; the room temperature was now as hot as you were both feeling, and it would only be relieved by each other; acting on your lust and love, desire and passions would douse the tensions that were coiled within yourselves.

Arthur dipped his head down towards you once more, lavishing kisses upon your neck. “Off.” He tugged at the shirt you were wearing with a short, sharp tug and you arched your back on purpose, pressing yourself against him as you shed yourself of his shirt.

You felt a single second of insecurity - you had never been fully confident with your soft curves - and Arthur saw it. He had kept his eyes on yours this entire time, and he saw it all.

“Don’t do that, sweetheart. You’re beautiful.” Arthur shuffled down your body to press kisses all over your stomach. He traced your stretch marks with a single finger and you put your hands over your face to hide the tears. How was this man real? He was the personification of all that was pure and good in this world, and you loved him so much it felt like your heart would burst.

A hand tugged at your wrist and you pulled your hands away from your face. It was a silent, gentle admonishment and you wisely took it for what it was. Arthur was quite sensitive on your behalf and the last time you had ranted to him about the way you felt about your body, he had grown angry on your behalf and had spent the rest of the night showing you how much he loved you; holding you so gently that it had made you cry. Arthur smiled as your eyes were revealed to him, and he saw the tears. He let your wrist go once you lowered your hands. He saw your embarrassment but he also saw your trust, and his smile for once met his eyes as he ducked his head back down to carry on with his actions.

That same finger which had traced your stretch marks reverently was now hooking into the waistband of your panties, which he slid slowly down your legs. You hissed as you were exposed fully to the room - Arthur was fully dressed still and it was unfair - and helped him to shed your underwear from you. They landed somewhere on the floor but neither of you cared where. You had no doubt that you would find them tomorrow in an obscure place, somehow still standing on shaky legs.

You thought you heard Arthur murmur something that sounded like, “I’m so hungry” before he ducked his head down between your legs. His nose was buried against your folds as he lapped at you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. He really went to town on you, and you couldn’t help your hand sliding down your body, your fingers grabbing a handful of his curly hair, your body writhing against him. You made some noises but you weren’t entirely sure, so lost in the feeling of what he was doing to you. Arthur moaned against you. If there was one thing you hadn’t expected from Arthur, it was that he derived just as much pleasure from going down on you, if not more, than you did. He truly enjoyed the feeling of his tongue inside you, of the taste of you. It was enough to drive him crazy in the best way. He would never get enough of you.

You felt that coil of tension in your stomach wind even tighter, and hurriedly did you use your grip on Arthur’s hair to pull him up to face you, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. "Please fuck me. Please.” You sat up to kiss him, tasting yourself on him. It only made you feel even more turned on than you already were. This was the most delicious torture you could think of, pulling him up to sitting with you as you desperately tried to undress him, your hands pawing at his clothes. Arthur huffed a laugh as he stood, undressing quicker than you had ever see him do before; your caring hands steadied him when he almost fell when removing his underwear, doing a funny one legged dance which could have caused him to hit his head on the living room table. Nothing would ruin the mood quite like a concussion.

Arthur laughed again, the sound quick and joyful as he swiftly rolled a condom onto his length and came back down onto the sofa, your legs parting without you even thinking about it. You could feel him lying hot and hard against your inner thigh. Both of you were panting, both of you were sweating both from how hot it was but also from your love, and you took a moment to just look at Arthur. His dark curls, his green eyes… that smile which was currently in the corner of his mouth. His eyebrows seemed to soften as he looked at you, and his eyes were roaming all over your face as he, too, took a moment to just look. You were so in love with each other that it hurt sometimes. But not in a bad way; you knew how lucky you were to be able to feel such a love, never mind actually receiving it in return. If you were less of a cynic, you would even call yourselves soulmates.

“I love you.”

Arthur shifted so that he was pressing against you. He sunk into you so easily, so wet were you, and you groaned together; you kept your eyes on Arthur. He kept looking at you, using his flattened palms to trace your body as he moved within you slowly, galaxies in his eyes and all the love in the world on his face.

“I love you so much,” He panted, leaning down to press kisses to your face, your neck, your chest… anywhere and everywhere did he rain attention down on you.

You hooked your legs around his hips, wanting to drive him even deeper into you, and you played with the curls at the nape of his neck, kissing his neck and shoulders. Sometimes would you gently bite, wanting a taste of that darker part of him that you saw sometimes, and you would soothe the area with your tongue. You found a rhythm that worked for you both pretty easily; you were Arthur’s whole experience and he was a fast learner. He knew your body better than you did, and often just as something occurred to you, would he already be doing it. You were perfect together and unstoppable as a result.

The music that resided within both of your souls quickly reached its crescendo, and with a shuddering moan did the coil within you snap. The feeling of your tight walls clenching around Arthur as you came drove him to his climax, too, and it was with heavy breathing and a feeling of dizziness that you rode out your highs. Arthur pulled out of you slowly and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his heart and eyes full of soft love. He stood carefully, and went quickly to the bathroom, grabbing some flannels to clean you up with.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

You smiled. You took one of the flannels from him and washed him over. He had already taken care of the condom, so it was easy for you to look after him as he stood naked before you. He wasn’t just physically naked, but also mentally, too, and it was this vulnerability that you were most interested in protecting. A fragile soul was he.

“No. You were perfect. Are you okay?”

Arthur nodded. “More than.” He smiled a real, genuine smile that spread across his face, taking years of hardship off his face. Your breath caught in your throat and you took the flannel from him, kissing the palm of his hand as you walked to the kitchen to dispose of the evidence of your coupling.

When all was cleaned and you were feeling a little less… ravenous, did you redress and make something light to eat; you had no appetite when it was hot outside, but it was important to refuel your bodies. Arthur smoked, you both ate, and together did you talk the remainder of the evening away, safe in the knowledge that to love and to be loved was one of the greatest treasures on this earth. How lucky you were to find each other.

You made a mental note to wear his shirts more often - if that was his reaction, then it was something you would do every day. You hoped that never would he tire of you, of your body, of what you had together. That darkness in him that was quickly rising could only come to the forefront of his mind one day, and you could only hope that he would still long for you in those unknown future days as he had since the day you had first met when it had been pouring down with rain and you were lost with no idea of where to go to find shelter. He had helped you then, and in return you had been the only light in his dark, cold world. He was your entire world and you would spend the rest of your life proving it to him, over and again, never faltering and never allowing him to doubt how very special he was to you.

To say that you and Arthur Fleck were in love was an understatement. It didn’t matter, though. As long as you both knew the other’s soul was tied to yours, the rest of the world ceased to matter.

The Arthur Fleck/Joker Defense Squad @writings-of-a-gen-z @x-avantgarde-x @mapreza1 @insomniabird @mavalenovaninagavi @itwasrealenough @morrisonmercurymalek @rand0ms-fand0ms @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing @rebs-doom @vivft @help-i-am-obssessed @autumnaffection @taintednihilist @vladtoly @mg-woolf99 @misstgrey92 @that-s-life @dopey-girl-blogs @seeking-dreamland @sweetheart-syndrome @heartxfdesire @xmusichealsthesoulx @0callmejude0 @the-one-that-likes-riddles @hannibalsslut @folliaght @freeeshavacadoo @bingewatchingmylifegoby @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything @okamiredfoxx @sp0okysp0oky @the-pandorabox @mardema @jibanyyan @honeyflvredcoughdrop @emissarydecksetter @jokerfleckk @epidendroideae @chuuntas @stillmabel @pumpkinpeyes@onehystericalqueenposts @the-jokers-wolf @nalsswa @justahyena @arianatheangelworld @soullessblondbitch @gothamslittlejester @twentyonestarrynights @sirianfromsixties @kissmeclownman @joker-is-my-hero @lazyloosah @lovesickkloxx @ladylovelyluna

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danger-xylophones · 4 years ago

Text

Family Reunion (Darth Maul x reader) Pt. 4: Madness of Maul

{masterlist}

Story summary: the reader reunites with Maul for the first time in twelve years and...the ex-sith lord gets a strange surprise

Warnings: none, canon-madness

Notes: female pronouns, an OC child

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, current read, Part 5, Part 6

...............................................................................................

You could feel yourself colliding with rogue bits of metal as he went, even though you could see where you were going, your own human legs could not keep up with Maul and his reckless running. The entire time, he continued to wail and mumble to himself with one hand covering his ear and the other steadily cutting into your arm. You could definitely feel blood beginning to flow out of the large punctures. But, that wasn’t what pained you the most. No, it was Maul and the state you had found him in. What had happened to your lover? What had done this to him? If you had known he was alive and you had been able to find him could you have prevented it? “NO, no, no…” Maul mumbled to himself. His voice was a growl and the noise of his metallic legs clicking against the metal walls mockingly echoed in your head, saying ‘you could have done something’.

Maul was dragging you further down into the tunnels and you could safely say that you were thoroughly lost. And, worryingly, the two of you were approaching a warm light. “Lost, she was, lost. Here she is....with me.” Maul muttered before falling into a cacophonous bout of unhinged laughter. You knew he was referring to you-had you been lost? Had he also fallen for the ruse that was your death? Guilt crashed down on you. What if that had pushed him even farther over the edge?

“Maul...Maul, I’m sorry.” You whimpered despite the niggling feeling that told you he wouldn’t understand what you were saying. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.” Maul hissed something garbled and incomprehensible. Soon, the source of light the two of you had been approaching was identified. In the center of a wide cavern was a pyre of burning garbage. Maul charged right towards it with another cry. Without warning, the demented zabrak scooped you up and deposited you in the corner of the clearing. “Maul?” you questioned quietly, staring up into the unfocused eyes of the man that was once your everything. The zabrak spat out a string of complete gibberish as he looked at you with his head tilted. “I-I don’t understand you!” You sobbed dryly and Maul’s face fell. He lowered himself to be closer, hands reaching out for you and, instinctively, you flinched away. But that only seemed to make his panic worse. Maul wailed at your fear and burst into his own sobs that mixed unsettlingly with high-pitched laughter. What had happened to him?

“No, no, no…” Maul heaved as he moved around his apparent new-home, swatting at invisible enemies. Your eyes stung at the sight. Slowly, you tried to get to your feet now that Maul wasn’t hovering over you. The zabrak watched your every move with a pain in his eyes that, for a second, might have convinced you that he was of sound mind. With palms raised in surrender, you dared to step closer to the man you had once described as the most cunning being in the universe. You opened your mouth to speak but, by now, Savage had caught up to the two of you.

“You are the brother I’ve been searching for.” The golden zabrak’s booming voice carried across the open area to steal Maul’s attention from you.

Immediately, Maul began to recoil. “No, no!” He shouted towards Savage as he backed away from you as you watched on completely at a loss.

“Yes, we are, we are brothers!” Savage continued despite his brother’s objections. “And look, Maul, your wife is here too. We’re here to help you, brother.”

“No!” Maul screamed again before falling into another round of demented chuckling. “You don’t know...you don’t know anything!” Maul seethed, swiftly throwing his arms out in punctuation as he clambered up what looked like a busted engine. “Never, never!”

Amidst his laughter, you looked at Savage through the flames of the pyre. Savage met your eyes and softly shook his head-he wasn’t sure how to help his brother either. Speaking of which, Maul was already on the move again. He had climbed back down the fallen engine and was now scurrying across a small ramp behind you. Maul’s brother was tracking his movement just as you were. In an effort not to anger the unstable zabrak, you stayed rooted to the spot he had left you in as Savage slowly worked his way towards you, talking all the while. “I know I am your blood.”

“Never!” Maul growled at Savage and came swooping down to place himself between you and his brother. “Never.” He groaned, head tilted back with his eyes pressed to his face. You carefully tried to move away from the zabrak in case he decided to do something rash. Your movements were forced to halt though when Maul brought his hands down and laughed once more. Again, you made eye contact with Savage. All three of you were at a crossroads, no one sure which direction to take.

But, suddenly, a familiar voice humming a foreign tune decided to interrupt the tension of the strange lair. “I’m ready for my leftovers!” Morley was back. His head popped up over the edge of the clearing with a smile on his face that soon fell into a look of pure shock upon spotting you and Savage. “Oh, you’re still alive?” He asked nervously. Savage took a step towards him and Morley fell back, trying to slither away as fast as he could but your zabrak companion was far quicker. In just a few strides, he had caught up with Morley and picked him up by the neck attached to the base of his head.

“Who did this to my brother?” Savage demanded as he marched back. You attempted to step around Maul to also interrogate Morley but his attention snapped to you in an instant and he was quick to block your way by caging you in his arms. “Are you part of this?”

Maul’s skin was searing against your own but it felt wrong. Your reunion was supposed to be warm and beautiful and sane. You struggled to get out of the zabrak’s grip, blindly kicking backward with the intent of finding purchase, but Maul held tight. One of his hands rested atop your head, nails slightly digging into your scalp as he muttered to himself and you were left suspended by his grip. “No, no,” Morley’s struggled confession took you away from the fact you were dangling like a ragdoll for a moment. “I-I found him this way.”

You were moving. Maul had lowered himself suddenly and thus, you went with him, face dangerously close to touching the rock below. You could feel Maul’s every shuddering inhale and his fingers mindlessly drummed atop your skull. Formless utterings fell from your once proud lover.

“I found him this way, I swear!” Morley still struggled to defend himself while you tried to wriggle free. But, your movement only made Maul’s grip tighten around your waist, ensuring your hands were completely useless from their position trapped against your hips. From your rather compromising position, you focused on the two other sane people in the room.

“You are a slithering liar, Morley!” You spat and the golden zabrak turned his hand so the snake was forced to look at you. “You can’t be trusted!”

“You should have been helping him!” Savage piled on, voice thundering.

“I-I didn’t know! I didn’t know!” Morley wheezed but his pleas fell on deaf ears as Savage crushed the uppermost part of his neck with a single squeeze. As the sounds of the snake’s bones cracking faded away and his body found a home on the pyre, Savage started to approach you and Maul, the latter pulling away with a hissed laugh and taking you along with him.

Not quite reading the room, Savage continued to step closer and closer. “This is where you live?” He addressed Maul who twisted his torso away from his brother. “How long have you been here?”

“Years and years and years.” Maul answered swiftly, finally letting go of you in the very corner of his home. You fell on your backside with a small huff as Maul remained hovering over you, hands making odd grabbing gestures in front of his face. “Through victory, my chains are broken. The chains, the chains are the easy part.” He took a deep breath in, “It’s what goes on in here that’s hard.” And let it out in a heart-wrenching wail as he tapped his temples.

“You have been lost, my brother.” Savage calmly explained over Maul’s sobs and you made eye contact with the golden zabrak under one of Maul’s legs. The crimson zabrak lowered himself further till his head was pressing into your shoulder and, unsteadily, you reached up to massage the back of his neck. In response to the ministration, Maul’s sobbing died down. It was strange. Your lover was not himself, not in any way, shape, or form but he responded to your touch the same way he always had. In fact, if his hovering was any indication, he still craved it. “Do you remember who you are, where you came from?”

Maul sat up, eyes glimmering as he looked past you. “Always remember I am fear.”

“Y/n, my love, my bright shining sun, how can you stand to be held by me?” Maul asked out of the blue, disrupting the still air of his ship. Confused, you pulled your face away from the juncture of his neck and shoulder where you had steadily been pressing whispering kisses against his skin.

“What do you mean?” You asked softly as one of your hands gently traced the tattoos on his chest. He didn’t answer until you looked up at him, glittering gold eyes meeting your shining (e/c).

“Always remember I am hunter.” Maul seethed, hands grasping at nothing.

“Look at me. I am Sith-a dark lord. I’m a trained killer.” Maul’s grip tightened around your waist, one hand ghosting over the steadily forming bruise on one of your hips. “I’m not meant to love or be loved-I am meant to destroy.”

“Always remember...I am filth.” Maul’s voice cracked.

“And you’re a...my light, you’re this beacon of good.” He sighed into your ear, breath ghosting over the side of your face. “You’re someone that knows how to heal and how to create. You deserve the universe, (Y/n).”

“Always remember, I am nothing.” Maul broke into sobs once more, his face falling to your shoulder as his hands wrapped around your arms.Helplessly, you looked at Savage who seemed to be contemplating his next move.

“Your legs…” he began with a vague gesture to Maul’s lower half.

“That scum!” Maul screamed into your shoulder, pulling away as he swatted at the air. “He took them from me! He took them!” His voice echoed around the chamber as you got to your feet to avoid being trampled by Maul’s spider legs.

“Who? Who took them?” Savage pressed.

“Jedi. Jedi!” Maul whispered, crouched so his torso was parallel with the floor.

“You remember?” You asked disbelievingly. If he did remember who had hurt him, then it was possible that his other memories were in there too. And maybe that meant that you could make him remember. You moved to be in Maul’s peripheral vision and Savage took a step forward to crouch in front of his brother.

“I must ask for mercy, Master. Mercy is a lie, a delusion of the weak to make themselves strong. I ask not for mercy…” Your love rambled on, moving back inch by inch as he struggled through the annals of his mind.

“What? What is it? Brother, what are you saying?” Savage yelled as he hoisted both himself and you to your feet.

“And through the filth,” Without warning, Maul charged at Savage. He picked the larger zabrak up and threw him against a wall, leaving you separated from your companion. “through the grief, Jedi!” You and Savage were struck silent as Maul’s voice bounced from wall to wall and seemed to resonate within your very bones. “Revenge. I must have my revenge.” He whispered, suddenly calm.

Quietly, you crept forward and gently placed a hand on Maul’s bicep, trying to coax him to let his brother go. “And you will have it, Maul, but first we must get out of here. Will you let Savage go and then come with us?” You squeezed his arm gently, boldly looking into Maul’s eyes which, for the first time since you’d found him, seemed focused. “My love, please.” Maul’s gold eyes flicked between you and Savage before he suddenly smiled and dropped his brother.

With an almost dopey smile, Maul clasped both of his hands around your arm and moved your hand to be cupping his cheek. “Anything...anything for my light.”

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#darth maul #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #danger-xylophones #Family Reunion series

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