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hongjoongspoetry · 15 days ago

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Sparks and Bruises | Song Mingi

🥊 Summary: In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.

🥊 Pairing(s): Underground boxer!Mingi x Real estate agent!Reader, brief Hongjoong x Seonghwa

🥊 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, second chance AU, fluff, exes to friends to lovers, angst (more than what I planned on)

🥊 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), reader is allergic to peanuts so go with it for the plot, brief description of bruises and cuts, explicit language, crying, kissing, car accident, pet names (love, sugar, sweets), mentioned hospital, flashbacks, not beta read

🥊 Wordcount: 12.5K

🥊 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). I just got off work (it's like 10 pm here), so I'm super tired and can barely keep my eyes open. Anyway, this is the last instalment of the Cherry Blossom March Event and while I'm sad it's over, I'm also happy because now I can focus on finishing my other stories!! A big thank you to everyone who took the time out of their day to read, leave notes and comments on my works <3 Btw I am no real estate agent and everything you read in this fic is based on excessive research (which could very well be wrong).

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains explicit scenes, not sexual content but descriptions of minor injuries as well as matures themes. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard

The arrow inside the plate on your wrist, no bigger than a lighter, irregularly traveled back and forth, going from one end of the meter to the other. For some, it would be worrisome and concerning, but for you, it was the opposite. You had yet to meet your soulmate. The person responsible for the occasional spike in your soulometer — the metal chip showing how much danger your soulmate was in. A mandatory procedure ordered by the government a couple of decades ago, probably one of the dumbest things the rulers of the world ever implemented into society.

“We have thought it over and… We’ll sign the contract!”

You were startled as the couple attending your showing returned from their not-so-private discussion on the other side of the kitchen. The faceless person you were supposedly destined to be with — as much as a machine could decide your destiny — occupied your thoughts more often than not, even while at work.

You put on your million-dollar smile and clasped your hands together. “Perfect. Shall we set a date for you to sign the papers then?”

The couple was expecting and in need of a bigger place than their flat, which could barely fit the two of them. After many buts and ifs, the newly wed pair eagerly agreed and a date was set. You didn’t usually have showings late into the night, but considering the husband worked early mornings until late evenings, and the wife wanted him to be present, you made an exception. Money was money, after all, and you were always in need of it.

Declining their offer to drive you home, you bid the happy couple goodbye and locked up after yourself. The apartment wasn’t too far from your place and you didn't think it would be necessary to order a cab for a ten minute walk despite it being quite late. The stiletto heels you decided to wear that morning made it feel like thirty instead and you quickly regretted being a cheapskate. Why did you have to make your life more insufferable than it already was? You only needed the sky to open up and let a waterfall of rain seep down on Seoul. At least you were smart enough to wear pants and a turtleneck instead of a dress or skirt. Despite it being late March where flowers decorated the bland parks and the trees grew out their long-awaited hair again, it felt like the start of winter.

“This is what you get for listening to Iggy Azalea,” you hissed to yourself as a familiar burn spread through your pinky toes and the back of your feet.

A crazed laughter cut through the chilly air and you automatically reached for the phone in your purse. Setting the ringtone as your best friend’s giggle was a good idea when you were still in high school and just recently turned eighteen. It wasn’t as fun when you were a woman of twenty-something-something years old with an image to uphold and your face plastered on a few boards all through town with your phone number scribbled beneath in big, bold font followed by a text literally begging people to reach out. You swore to change it every time someone called, but the thought always got lost in the shuffle of your other hundred tasks waiting to be done.

You braced yourself for it to be another client calling in the dead of night, but it turned out to be one of your saved contacts. Swiping right and putting the phone up to your ear, you answered with a tired, “Hello.”

“Finally! She answers!”

“Some of us still have work, Hongjoong. Do you know how many times I had to apologize for my ringtone?”

The identical maniac laugh recorded into your phone years ago, erupted from the device and you rolled your eyes.

“And yet you never change it. After all these years, you still have my voice as your ringtone… That’s quite romantic.”

“Watch it or I’ll have a wild Park come for my head.”

“Seonghwa would never do that.” You let the line fall silent and Hongjoong could hear your pointed look on the other side. “Okay, he probably would. Where are you anyways?! I can hear cars in the background.”

So the bass boosted headphones hadn’t ruined his hearing yet. All those times he ignored you were on purpose then. Good to know.

“I’m on my way home from work. Had a showing a few minutes ago and it went well actually.”

Another voice accompanied Hongjoong on the other line, but you couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Seonghwa is scolding you for not calling one of us to drive you home and I have to agree with him, sprout. It’s not safe to be out this late.”

The nickname sent you down memory lane dating all the way back to middle school, when you and Hongjoong were the shortest kids in class but didn’t let that hinder you from showing off your talents and wits. Hongjoong a smart kid who excelled in everything from math to musical history while you burned everyone in debates, presentations, speeches, basically anything relate to public speaking. Hence your choice of profession.

“I know, but it really slipped my mind and it’s not even that far from my flat, I promise. Like I’m almost there, just a few more minutes. I can practically see the building lights from here.”

“Good. Stay with me on the call until you enter though. Now, let me tell you about this guy who tried to steal my laptop…”

If he could, Hongjoong would have talked for hours which was quite rare. The man was usually drained from being cooped up in his studio all day, running on zero sleep and five iced coffees. It was in fact how you became friends.

The kid with round chipmunk cheeks and a menacing smile approached the girl sitting in the back of the class, not making a peep. Hongjoong kicked up a conversation by complimenting the pink bows in your hair — a little detail none of your other classmates had noticed, let alone found them pretty — and offering you a peanut butter cookie that you sadly had to decline because of your allergies. Instead of ending the interaction at your meek thank you, Hongjoong took it as an official proposition of becoming friends. Seven year old Hongjong refused to go back to his seat and even nearly threw a tantrum in class, leaving the homeroom teacher with no other choice than to make you seatmates.

You and Hongjoong quickly became a duo. Wherever you went, he followed. It marked the start of a long lasting friendship you wouldn’t trade for the world.

“...Can you imagine that?! He grabbed my stuff and proceeded to lie straight to my face!”

You hummed into the phone at his rambling. A smile graced your face as you neared your apartment building, but disappeared quickly. Hongjoong’s voice became background noise as you slowed down. A figure dressed in all black and a hood thrown over their head sat at the doorsteps. Both arms planted on their knees and head shoved into the palms of their hands. The person was on the taller side and looked quite buff beneath the baggy clothes. You didn’t recognize them as one of your neighbours, but the swooping feeling in your stomach hinted on something else.

Not heeding Hongjoong’s previous warning of being cautious, you decided to approach the stranger. The clicking of your heels interrupted the peaceful silence of the night and the person immediately looked in your direction. Sharp and angry eyes met yours, and the furious spark swirling in them morphed into surprise. Your heart jumped in your throat as you recognized the person. Of all the people in the world, you certainly didn’t expect to find him at your doorstep.

“Hongjoong? I’ll have to call you back.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Nothing– Or well, something, but nothing dangerous– I’ll just call you back okay?”

“...You sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“Okay. Talk to you later then.”

You quickly pressed the red button and lowered your phone. The man was still staring at you, the fear that his imagination was playing a trick on him lingering. That if he looked away, you’d disappear from his line of sight.

Sweat spread along your palms and your pulse was loud in your ears as you walked up to the man.

“Mingi?”

He scrambled up to his feet and took hold of the railing with one hand while the other pressed against his left rib and a surprised wince slipped through his lips.

“Long time no see, huh?”

Your eyes darted all over him. Red and blue blemishes covered almost the entire surface of his face and trickles of sweat ran down the side of his face. You didn’t want to think what hid beneath his clothes.

The last time you saw him was all the way back in high school. A scrawny boy with legs for days, but the coordination of a newborn foal and a smile that lit up your world. The man before you grew into his big features and lost the youthful look. The pointy nose and plump lips were still there, but accompanied by prominent cheekbones, a sharp jaw, a piercing gaze and a chiseled face that wasn’t the shape of a triangle. His hair, once black and short, was now a dark shade of brown and longer than ever, reaching below his nape and bangs falling over his brows. A lot in his appearance changed, but the cuts and bruises remained, pouring acid on your tongue.

Ignoring the bitterness pooling in your stomach, you decided to keep the conversation civil. A stark contrast to how your last encounter went.

”Are you… alright?”

“Yeah, no, I was on my way home, but just needed to sit down…”

You weren’t going to pry despite clearly seeing he was anything but alright. If he didn’t want to tell you, who were you to force him?

Offering him a light smile, you tried keeping the tone light. “What are the odds of you sitting on my doorstep, huh?”

“Yeah… How long has it been since…”

“Four? Five? Five years.”

Mingi whistled lowly and a silence occupied the street. Everyone decided to stay in as no cars or other people lingered around. You wouldn’t say it was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t pleasant either and you didn’t know what to do. Leaving him out in the cold wasn’t an option, but inviting him didn’t sound right either. After a long fight between your brain and heart, you decided to listen to the beating organ in your chest.

“Wanna… come up? To my apartment.”

Mingi looked up at you through his fringe and the soft roundness to his eyes teleported you back to high school. Keeping your composure, you hastily added on to the sentence.

“T-To, to clean up and maybe have something to eat?”

Had someone asked you five years ago what you’d say to Mingi if the opportunity presented itself, you surely wouldn’t have invited him to your home or offered him a free meal. The most he’d get out of you would be a one-finger salute. Fast forward one thousand eight hundred and twenty five days and Mingi was lent a helping hand instead. It was enough time for you to mature into a more rational woman who could, for better or for worse, put her feelings aside and think with her brain.

Mirrors surrounded the entire inside of the elevator, even on the doors, and you held back from laughing at the reflection. There couldn’t have been an odder pair than you two. Mingi, dressed in all black with colorful blotches decorating his intimidating face, and you, wearing designer from head to toe. Even your bags were opposites — his a dingy gym bag that was a thread away from falling apart and yours from the recent Louis Vuitton collection. It was quite a funny look, but not a bone in your body vibrated with glee.

As the elevator doors closed and the mechanism carried you up the many flights of stairs, the reality dawned upon you. A multitude of questions you hadn’t thought of before inviting Mingi inside popped up like mosquitoes during summer nights — annoying, but unavoidable. The poor attempt of convincing yourself it was just a kind gesture, a friend helping a friend, you couldn’t shoo away the nagging fact that nothing of your and Mingi’s past was platonic. Shame and guilt curled in the pit of your stomach. Knowing your soulmate was out there somewhere, probably waiting for you, while you were cozying up to a man who wasn’t meant to be yours in the first place was sickening.

The ding of your arrival sounded through the speakers and you quickly went first with Mingi hot on your heels. Unlocking your front door, you threw the keys in a bowl the shape of a fish — a housewarming gift from Hongjoong — and stripped your outerwear. It was first when you put your stuff aside that you realized Mingi was still standing by the door and hadn’t moved since crossing the threshold. The man was shamelessly taking in his surroundings and you wondered what he thought of your apartment. Was it to his liking? Did it suit you? Did he like it? Why did you care?

“Uhm, you can just hang your stuff here,” you gestured to the coat rack mounted to the wall, “while I get dinner ready.”

You didn’t wait around to see him subtly nod, instead you made an escape to the safety of your kitchen. It was weird having Mingi over. It was weird being civil to one another. The tension was still there since your last encounter, like static in the air that wouldn’t really go away. The soft pad of feet grew louder and you threw a look over your shoulder to see Mingi in the doorway, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and eyes darting all over the place. Aside from his appearance, it seemed that his habits hadn’t changed — good as bad — but it wasn’t your place to pry. Not anymore.

“Is it alright if I… wash up now?”

A heat crawled up your neck and attacked your cheeks. “Y–Yeah, of course!” You cleared your throat and continued, “The bathroom is on the left of the hallway and there are towels in the cupboard above the washing machine.”

Mingi nodded, but didn’t budge from his spot. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and leaned against the doorframe to take on a relaxed posture, yet he looked anything but relaxed.

“I… I– Uhm, don’t… I kinda don’t have a spare set of clothes to change into…”

“Oh… Oh!”

“Yeah,” he inhaled sharply through his teeth, a low hiss escaping as he tried to ignore the stiff atmosphere.

“That’s alright! I think I have something you can use. Uhm, you can start washing up while I see what I can do.”

Rummaging through your closet for your brother’s clothes to lend Mingi wasn’t something you ever imagined doing in all your years of living, but here you were. Hunched over, searching like a madwoman for an extra hoodie and some basketball shorts or a pair of sweatpants that wouldn’t be too small on the giant currently occupying your bathroom. Your brother had been in your apartment a grand total of three times and by some stroke of luck, he’d left behind clothes he thought might come in handy for his next visit. Who knew they’d be useful for more than just that?

You didn’t find a hoodie, but you did spot a black compression shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants that would have to do. You just hoped they wouldn’t be too tight. To be on the safe side, you even snagged one of your brother’s boxers. It was one thing to share clothes and another thing to share underwear, but if you got to choose, you’d happily accept the fresh pair instead of reusing your sweaty undies. The choice was up to Mingi in the end. With the clothes neatly folded in your hands, you marched toward the bathroom and triple knocked on the door.

“Uh, I found some clothes you can use!”

The harsh drops of the shower abruptly stopped and you patiently waited for a response, but nothing came. You raised your hand, fingers balled into a fist, and as you swung it forward to knock again, the door suddenly opened. A cloud of steam escaped from the hot bathroom and Mingi’s very naked body appeared in the slight opening. His stomach was a perfect display of muscle, each of the six abs sculpted like marble. You would’ve ogled longer hadn’t the raspberry and plum colored blemishes covered a huge part of his toned skin. His hair dripped on the tiled floor and a white towel hung dangerously low on his hips. The warmth tickling your whole body evaporated into a numbing cold at the bruises. Swallowing nervously, you forced your eyes back up.

Mingi flicked his head sideways to move the wet strands from his face and his tongue darted out to lap at his dry lips, a motion you followed attentively. The raise of his brow, a silent question urging you to speak up, had you stumbling over your words.

“S–So, I... I, uh, found something you can… change into!”

The clothes were thrust harshly into his bare chest, and Mingi nearly dropped the towel in order to catch them. Before he could utter so much as a "thanks," you bolted back to the kitchen and whipped out leftovers from last night. Anything to keep you busy and distracted from the jaw-dropping image that refused to leave you alone. Mingi eventually joined you in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter beside the stove, where you guarded the kimchi stew from overheating, and crossed his arms over his chest. The already prominent muscles grew more defined beneath the tight fabric. It was difficult to ignore his gaze peering down at you, and you couldn’t decide if your cheeks flared from a natural bodily reaction or from the heat of the stove.

The circular table behind you was already set, with a pair of utensils and plates aligned opposite each other. You removed the pot and placed it in the center of the table, silently beckoning Mingi to take a seat. His hair was still wet, but not dripping and despite wearing clothes, you couldn’t muster up the courage to look him in the eyes. The late dinner was done in a deafening silence interrupted by the clink of utensils and lip smacking. Not able to bear the thickness in the air, you cleared your throat and asked the first thing to pop up in your mind.

“Um… do you... want me to treat your bruises?”

The confidence you spent years mastering and using in your daily life deflated like a dramatic balloon flying around the room until it fell limply on the floor. Mingi was mid shoving food into his mouth and froze as soon as the words reached his ears. His lips were parted enough for you to catch a glimpse of his slightly crooked front tooth and a wave of nostalgia hit you square in the nose. The man before you had changed so much, yet not at all.

Mingi took a bite of the kimchi and rice to buy himself time to think your proposal over. It wasn’t a bad shout as you did have experience treating his wounds considering you were the one tending to him back in high school. He slowly chewed and swallowed, and you were starting to regret ever opening your mouth.

“Sure,” he answered while giving his full attention to the bowl of stew before him and you couldn’t have been more relieved. He didn’t have to see the way you bit the inside of your cheek, tightly gripped your spoon or raised your brows to your hairline.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence and for once, you didn’t care if it wrapped around your throat and suppressed the air from entering your lungs. This was all so surreal. There wasn’t a day where you thought you’d be eating left-over kimchi stew with your ex-boyfriend and then agree to treat his wounds — the thing that drove you apart all those years ago. The universe worked in a funny way. Instead of bringing you closer to your soulmate, it led you straight to the past.

Putting the bowls in the sink, you gestured for Mingi to return to the bathroom while you put away the dishes. It hadn’t dawned on you that by helping Mingi treat his wounds, you’d have to merge your personal bubbles into one and actually touch him, even if it was as much as a graze of your fingertips along his skin.

Rounding the corner of the hallway and stopping before the entrance to the bathroom with a medkit in your hands, you were caught off guard by the image before you. Mingi was seated on the toilet lid, hunched over with his forearms resting on his thighs. You could see the top of his head — something you rarely did back in high school — as he faced the tiled floor. A swoop in your stomach urged you to run your fingers through his strands, but the impulse was quickly shut down. You stepped into the bathroom with feigned confidence. Mingi looked up as your sock-clad feet came into view, your big toes wiggling nervously. You placed the kit on the sink and grabbed the things you needed, starting with alcohol wipes. There wasn’t much you could do about the colored bruises already turning an ugly shade of yellow and purple, but the few cuts — like the one on his bottom lip and around his eyebrows — were easier to treat.

“This may sting,” you whispered, shuffling closer to him.

Mingi parted his legs to give you better access to his face. You put a finger beneath his chin and tilted it upward before gently dabbing the wipe against his brow ridge. A hiss filled the bathroom, but you didn’t stop cleaning the wound. Despite not being in this situation since high school, when Mingi would get his ass beat in the boxing ring and show up at your door with new cuts adorning his face every other weekend, you still remembered all the steps of the treatment. They were etched into your spine and controlled your limbs without a strain.

Your lips were pressed into a thin line, your brows almost touching from how deeply furrowed they were and Mingi wanted to smooth out the skin between them, but did no such thing. Instead, he diverted his attention elsewhere and focused on your lips, which he’d argue was the worse choice of the two. Scooping a generous amount of ointment on a Q-tip, you dabbed it on the cut and finished it off with a small band-aid that smoothly blended in with his hue. You tried to put off treating his lips, but apparently even Mingi had a limit to how many punches to the face he could take, and you eventually had to bite the sour apple and just get it over with.

It had been silent since you warned him about the sting from the alcohol wipes, broken only by a few of his grunts and hisses. Yet, the silence never felt as loud as it did in that moment when you cupped his chin in your left hand and stared intently at his plump lips. A determined heat swirled in your eyes and Mingi couldn’t look away. It took everything in him not to instinctively bite down on his bottom lip or run his tongue over it.

“Relax your lips,” you said, brushing your thumb along the bottom row.

You didn’t realize what you had done until a second later and Mingi couldn’t chuckle at your appalled expression, as he was equally frozen in place. Both of you were left wide-eyed, mouths hanging open and brains going haywire. A pleading sparkle glimmered in his dark eyes, but you refused to give in, keeping your focus on his lips — lips that were so kissable. Warmth washed over you and there was nothing you wanted more than for the ground to swallow you whole. The weight of his burning eyes was too heavy for you to bear, so you tried to redirect the attention by doing the one thing you did best — talking.

“Are you still fighting?”

It seemed to do the trick as Mingi broke out of the captivating spell. In an exhausted tone, the one you’d hear between a couple constantly bickering and reaching their end, he breathed out your name.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

You hastily applied the ointment and retracted your hand, but Mingi was faster. He grabbed your wrist, his thumb landing on the soulometer in the quick act and an electric crackle burst where your skin connected. A beat or two passed before he decided to speak up.

“I am fighting, just not as much… I kinda feel bad for my soulmate.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a faint smirk and a chuckle followed at his poor attempt of easing the awkward air.

Your heart dropped into your stomach and you didn’t think it was possible for it to go any further from there, but hearing the rest of his sentence proved you wrong. Before the hollow feeling could reflect on your face, you forced the corners of your lips up in a fabricated smile. An identical smile to the one caught in a multiple of billboards all over Seoul.

“I wish mine would do the same. They always seem to find themselves in some trouble.”

A thick gulp ventured down his throat and the shaking panic in his eyes morphed into a forced calm. “I’m sure if they knew you were this worried, they’d stop running headfirst into danger.”

Five years had passed since the soulometer was injected into your wrist, enough time for your soulmate to change their ways, to stop giving their other half constant fear every night. Yet, it wasn’t the distance or the lack of knowledge about each other’s lives that weighed on your heart. The true reason lay deeper — your soulmate simply didn’t care enough to stop or perhaps they lacked the means to break free from the dangerous path they’d chosen. It was never about being physically apart, but about the emotional distance — the helplessness of knowing that, despite everything, they continued to surround themselves with danger. You didn’t have the heart to confide in Mingi about it, to express the quiet ache you carried, because saying it aloud would mean admitting that the person you loved was still caught in a cycle they couldn’t escape, or didn’t want to.

Truthfully, Mingi was also the last person you wanted to confide in about the matter.

“I guess so.”

The brief and accidental encounter with Mingi was supposed to stay a long lost media in your brain, cluttered together with other minor memories. That was what you told yourself as Mingi left your apartment, sweaty clothes in a trash bag and belly full of warm leftovers. The version of him you remembered from all those years ago still lived on in your imagination, the bitter note of how everything ended, a constant reminder as to why the encounter should just be that — short, consistent and insignificant. As the morning sun peeked from between the high buildings and the dark sky bleed out to a baby blue hue, you’d return to your everyday life of selling apartments while the dishwasher rinsed the memory of what occurred in the space of your four walls.

The open PDF on the computer screen illuminated your face and the bazillion numbers would’ve been overwhelming if your mind wasn’t occupied by the thoughts of a certain man with feline-shaped eyes and annoyingly juicy lips. Whatever you did — drown yourself in work, spend time with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, try out the new restaurant in town — nothing was good enough to forget Song Mingi and that night. The situation just felt so right. A domestic reality you yearned for since you graduated high school and moved into your own flat. The wish to have someone by your side, to stuff your face in greasy food, stay up late at night and watch a plethora of rom-coms while cuddled up to them, and sleep until the sun was high in the sky. Mingi re-awakened those feelings you locked away in a chamber behind your heart.

A stack of papers fell on your desk with a thud and pulled you out of your wishful thinking. Jongho, your freakishly strong colleague, plopped down on a vacant plush sofa that was mainly there for clients to use while discussing potential deals.

“You excited to get drinks after work?” He asked, tugging on his perfectly made necktie.

You massaged your forehead, completely having forgotten about the collective outing you and your co-workers had every month. “Is that today?”

“Whoa, don’t tell me you, the most unforgettable person I know, forgot about our end-of-the-month-party!? Woo is gonna have a blast when I tell him!”

Jongho didn’t question your sudden loss of memory at first. The younger agent found the situation perfect for a round of teasing or perhaps even as future blackmail material. Concern flashed in his eyes when you made no attempt to defend your honor and instead buried the rest of your face in the palms of your hands.

“Hey… is everything… alright?”

“Yeah… No? I don’t know.”

Something was really wrong because you were never tired. In fact, Jongho had never seen you without a smile or a spring in your step. You were always collected, whether it was your clothes, hair or mood. Fire alarms went off in his head and plans be damned if he didn’t at least try to figure out what was going on. It was easier said than done, though, because he didn’t know how to approach the topic and ended up sitting there with his mouth parted like a fish out of water. The overthinking was starting to trigger a headache, so he settled on the simplest, but hopefully, most effective question he could think of.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Your reply was instantaneous. “I need to not think about it.”

A mischievous gummy smile spread across his face. “You just signed yourself up for regret, my dear friend.”

As you were about to ask to elaborate, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out for the biggest menace in the company.

“Wooyoung-ya!”

Albeit curious, the pair didn’t try to fish out context clues or the story behind your emotional state. Wooyoung lived up to Jongho’s promise of making you regret joining them for drinks and it didn't stop there. They both continuously visited your office throughout the rest of the shift. Wooyoung would nonchalantly enter the room as if he didn’t have anything up his sleeve, step up to the window and inspect the wilted plant burning up from being in the sunlight for too long, when he was actually throwing you curious glances from the corner of his eye. Then, before quickly taking his leave, he’d subtly slide you a packet of gummies and run as if his life depended on it. One would believe you were engaging in some shady transaction that would definitely make you both lose your real estate license.

Jongho was a different story. The youngest of the trio wasn’t good with his words, but the affection could be read through his actions. Although they were questionable. He, too, invaded your room in subtle fashion and touched everything that didn’t require human contact — your Sanrio figurines, picture frames, ornaments still up from Christmas. While it was annoying in the moment, their antics kept you from circling back to the one person who had made his grand return after five years of radio silence. Good thing you hadn’t planned on rekindling that flame ever again. But what was written in your calendar didn’t align with the universe.

The happy hour had ended a while ago, and while Jongho and Wooyoung made sure to get you home first, your stomach rumbled the second you stepped foot into the apartment. What better meal to have in a tipsy state than some ramen?

The trip to the corner shop was supposed to be quick and relaxing — a weak attempt to distract yourself from the headache blooming at the back of your head. Perhaps that was why you weren’t fully aware of your surroundings, stumbling into racks displaying different flavors of chips and accidentally knocking things out of place. You purposefully ignored the scorching gaze of the cashier and hastily moved to hide between the aisles. But what you didn’t expect was for another figure to round the opposite corner, causing you to bump headfirst into them. The ramen cups and energy drinks piled up in their basket tumbled to the floor, and you quickly crouched down to gather as many things as your arms would allow.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

The person didn’t say anything and you expected them to be very annoyed, but that wasn’t the case. The familiar face looking down at you with a tight-lipped smile caused you to freeze on the spot.

“Hey.” Mingi flared his fingers in what was supposed to resemble a wave, but it came off more awkward than intended.

A painful cramp fluttered at the back of your neck as the position wasn’t the most comfortable, your head craned uncomfortably as you looked up at him, the strain making it feel like it might snap at any moment. Yeah, the university wasn’t on your side.

“Here.”

He knelt down to be at your level, though it would never really match, and urged you to place the belongings in the basket. It was impossible to tear your eyes from him, but Mingi didn’t notice your stare as he gathered the unscattered snacks and drinks in the carrier. Once was a coincidence, twice is a pattern, you thought and swallowed thickly.

“Alright, let’s stand up.”

He rested his arm on his propped-up knee, while the other hand was held out for you to take. On a count of three, you both stood up simultaneously and your hand immediately returned to your side.

“What are you doing here?”

The question came off more like an interrogation than a casual inquiry and you winced at your loose tongue. Mingi didn’t seem to care though.

“Nothing much, just wanted a late night snack.” As if you didn’t understand, he grabbed one of the ten ramen cups in his basket and gently shook it. The contents rattling together and overpowering the whirring sound of the freezers. “What about you?”

“Ah, same here…”

Mingi glanced down at your empty hands and smacked his lips together, “Cool.”

“Yeah…”

The young cashier who couldn’t be older than a high school graduate nearly suffocated from the sudden thickness in the convenience store.

“Uhm, you gonna get anything?”

“What? Oh! Right! Let me just…” You trailed off and darted over to the refrigerators, grabbing the first thing that came into view.

You snagged a bag of shrimp chips on your way back too. Banana milk and shrimp chips, what a combination! The reasons for your late-night adventure had started with the craving for ramen, but somewhere between the aisle mishap and the distraction of other snacks, the noodles had been completely forgotten. In the meantime, Mingi moved over to the cashier register and patiently waited for the kid to scan his items.

You shuffled behind him and Mingi turned sideways, one of his brows cocked up. “Here, give me that.”

Before you could protest or dodge his advances, the items in your hands were stolen from beneath your nose and placed on the counter.

“Hey, no, I can pay for that.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Mingi–”

“I said don’t worry about it.” There was a certain finality to his tone that told you there was no point in further arguing. Mingi swiped his card as the cashier packed your things in two separate plastic bags.

Standing outside the Seven-Eleven, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your coat, the handles of the bag clinging to your wrist. “You didn’t have to do that. I can pay for myself.”

Mingi’s breath escaped in a cloud of vapor, lingering in the cold air before it dissolved into the sky. The corner of his mouth lifted into a one-sided grin.

“I know.”

Never letting you pay for anything was just another addition to the long list of habits he still clung to since high school. Mingi really hadn’t changed, and you couldn’t deny the disappointment that settled in as you witnessed it.

“Good. Then I’m leaving now. Good night.” You turned on your heel and began walking in the direction of your home.

“W–Wait! Let me walk you home.”

You didn’t spare him a glance. “No need for that. This is one of the safest neighborhoods in Seoul, actually.”

Another ‘I know’ died on his lips. If anyone on this earth knew how out of danger you were, it would be Mingi.

“T–That’s good, but... it would help me sleep at night if I knew you got home safely.”

After all this time, you still had a hard time telling him no. Sighing, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat, your resistance crumbling despite yourself. “Fine, you can walk me home.”

The walk was short, but lasted longer than ever and you were regretting your choices of not standing your ground against him. You would never admit it out loud, but his dimpled smile and two moles were your greatest weakness and there was no way you’d ever win against them.

Mingi cleared his throat. “What have you been up to? You know, since high school.”

“Have you thought about what college to apply for?” Mingi asked and intertwined his fingers across his abdomen.

“I don’t know,” you told him truthfully.

You lay on the grass, staring up at the night sky. The black canvas was dotted with a million, billion stars, leaving no space untouched. It had been Mingi’s idea to go stargazing, but considering neither of you had a driver’s license or the energy to trek up a mountain in the middle of the night, you figured the view wouldn’t be any different from your backyard.

He turned to you and followed the outline of your profile. God, you were beautiful. “Really? How come?”

“I don’t know. I feel like there are so many options, like how will I know what’s good for me.”

“Whatever you choose, sugar, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Now it was your turn to face him and he flashed you a reassuring smile.“Sometimes, the best choice is the one that feels right in the moment.”

“...Being with you feels right.”

Nothing could compare to back then. Sure, you experienced fleeting moments of happiness, but they didn’t last longer than the life of a snowflake. Did Mingi ask that to see if you were still stuck in the past? If your time together was the peak of your happiness? He didn’t get to do that. To slither his way into your heart and admire everything you had been through without him by your side.

“Nothing special. I’m a real estate agent, so I’ve been busy selling houses and apartments.”

“Nothing special my ass. That’s amazing. But what is expected of the smartest girl in our high school, huh? I always knew you’d achieve great things.”

Blood pooled beneath your cheeks, burning hotter than a fever of thirty-nine degrees, and you hated how, despite everything, he still turned you into a giddy high school girl who made eye contact with her crush. To be fair, it wasn’t too far from the truth and that was a scary realization on its own. All it took was a measly compliment and you turned to mush.

“What about you? What are you doing these days?”

A silence stretched between you far heavier than anything you had ever felt before. It was as if the question had torn through some fragile barrier, leaving him exposed. His eyes, once sharp and filled with glee, now seemed distant, as though searching for something lost. You could feel the weight of the pause, like a storm brewing in the space between you. What was he really doing these days? More importantly, what had he been doing all this time out of your reach?

“A little bit of everything. Anything I can get my hands on, really.”

“You didn’t study after high school?”

“You know school wasn’t my strongest suit. Stuffy classrooms and obnoxious teachers talking my ear off never got me anywhere, I mean, I barely passed high school. I was more comfortable with my hands in motion and figuring things out as I went. School was ever it for me. It always felt like I was waiting for something that never came.”

Mingi wasn’t wrong. Although he was a smart kid, staying awake studying until the dead of night and then working an underpaid nine-to-five job wasn’t for him. But you couldn’t shake away the bitterness of how he threw away the opportunity of a normal life with you for a bloody ring and a life of unpredictability. The punches he took in that world weren’t just physical — they hit somewhere deeper, somewhere you couldn’t reach. You had always wanted something more stable, something real to hold on to, but Mingi had chosen the chaos, the fight, over everything else. Perhaps that was why the universe decided not to tie your red string to his pinky, knowing it would hurt you more than his decision.

Coming to a stop outside your apartment, the memory of your first encounter after a few years still fresh in your mind.

“Like boxing?”

Mingi’s eyes softened, but he didn’t speak, his mouth pressing into a thin line. The silence between you both was heavy, filled with things unsaid. It was the kind of silence that made your heart ache, knowing that there was so much left unresolved between you, yet you couldn’t find the words to fix it.

“Good night, Mingi,” you finally said, taking a shaky breath as you turned back to your door again.

The finality in your tone hung in the air like a weight neither of you could lift. You didn’t look back as you reached for the door handle, but you knew Mingi was still there, standing in the same place, holding onto the same regrets.

Reaching your apartment, you flicked on the lights and quickly discarded your outerwear. You turned on the switches in every room and placed the bag of goods on the kitchen table.

Disappointment fueled every movement. Grabbing a pot from the lower cupboard, you filled it with water, not caring as it splashed everywhere. When you set it down on the stove, you didn’t bother being careful, letting it thud onto the surface. You waited — oh-so-patiently — for the water to reach its boiling point and shoved a hand into the plastic bag. The expected rustling of plastic and cold drinks didn’t come. Instead, you felt the hard, smooth texture of something else. Knitting your brows together, you took hold of the square object, no bigger than a container of pudding.

In your palm was a plastic box of peeled and cut oranges.

Your head rested on your folded arms, eyes cast on the baby-blue sky taunting you from behind the windows. It was a beautiful day. What a shame you were stuck in a room with thirty other kids and no air conditioning. Your homeroom teacher was late — an uncanny occurrence, considering she always emphasized the importance of being on time and never failed to follow through. Until today.

The door to the classroom slid open with a thud, but the class had yet to quiet down, and by that single reaction, you knew it wasn’t Ms. Choi who had entered. The previously loud chatter of your friend group turned into hushed whispers and skittish snickers that reached your ears, but you didn’t bother to see what had gotten them so giggly. It was probably Jihoon, the new boy in class, who effortlessly managed to twirl every girl around his finger with just a look. He wasn’t your type — you preferred them tall, lanky, and clumsy. Jihoon was on the shorter side and had muscles that seemed unnatural for a sixteen-year-old. Plus, you weren’t into soccer boys. No, your style was more martial arts.

A hand, twice the size of yours, appeared out of nowhere and placed a clementine — your favorite fruit — on your desk, just inches from your face. Your eyes widened, staring at the bright fruit in disbelief. Groggily, you pushed away from the comfortable spot against the desk, only to quickly notice the figure looming over you.

Song Mingi.

“You skipped lunch,” he stated nonchalantly, offering an explanation for the sudden appearance of the fruit.

The muffled squeals of your friends, combined with Mingi’s unexpected act of chivalry, sent heat rushing to your cheeks, leaving you flustered and unsure of how to react. Gift-giving and small acts of service weren’t foreign between you and Mingi. He always seemed to know your cravings, bringing you peeled fruit and sugary snacks without you ever having to ask. In return, you tended to his cuts, massaged the tension from his neck and shoulders after heavy training, and always seemed to find ways to care for him without words. But that was done in private, never in public. Especially not in front of your friends who were having a field day with his new revelation.

“Ah,” Mingi breathed out, picking up the orange once more.

Silently, he peeled off the thin skin, revealing the vibrant fruit hidden beneath. But he wasn’t done yet. With a casual movement, he stuffed the citrus-scented rind into the pocket of his school uniform before carefully removing the white pith wedged between the clementine’s segments. You didn’t like the white parts. His towering form caught the attention of the rest of the class and by now everyone intently watched the exchange.

The clementine looked bare now. He held out the fruit again, waiting for you to extend your hand, careful not to let it touch the surface of your desk. A yellowish stain colored his nails, a discoloration that wouldn't fade with just one wash, and the acidic smell lingered, even stronger now. It was the main reason you didn’t like peeling them in the first place.

Mingi, having heard your confession a few weeks ago, made it his mission to always give you peeled oranges. It warmed your chest to know he was keeping that promise.

Apparently, the universe wasn’t satisfied with your first and second encounters because the third one happened just a little less than a week later. You were meeting up with Hongjoong and Seonghwa at a nearby cafe to catch up on the hecticness of your lives — also known as gossip about your workplaces and bonding over the latest episode of When Life Gives You Tangerines. The name of the drama threw you down a steep hill of memories, but you stood up, dusted off your knees and trekked back up. You didn’t want to associate him with the family of fruit anymore.

The clock had just passed five-thirty AM and you were supposed to be there ten minutes ago. It didn’t help that you hit every red light possible. At least the weather was nice. Not a single cloud occupied the baby-blue sky and the spring breeze scattered butterfly kisses along your body. It could’ve been worse. You thought of gloomy clouds and cold rain, and immediately shuddered. Yeah, it definitely could’ve been worse.

The breath caught in your throat as a bus sped by, just a little over the limit. You exhaled in relief as it passed, but that relief was short-lived when you locked eyes with none other than Mingi on the other end of the sidewalk. It felt as if the universe were laughing in your face, throwing everything you didn’t want right at you. You’d take gloomy clouds and rainy weather over seeing Mingi again. The worst part was that it was a lie because even in the stormiest times, he managed to light up your surroundings, and the erratically beating heart in your chest served as your witness.

A black hoodie swallowed his towering frame and a pair of chunky headphones covered his head. You couldn’t see him that well, but you assumed the shining reflection around his collar was from his stacked necklaces. The cuts along his face had healed nicely — in fact, they were completely gone — and you wondered if your last encounter had anything to do with it or if he had just gotten better at dodging flying fists.

You always seemed to end things on a bitter note, yet you ignored the sourness on your taste buds and raised your hand in a small wave. He returned it with a tight-lipped smile and a subtle tug of his headphones, letting them rest around his neck instead. Mingi bit down on his bottom lip, seemingly contemplating something. Coming to terms with his thoughts, he raised a finger, wordlessly telling you to wait and threw a quick glance at the red light as if it would hurry up from a single look. Although you had every right to ignore him, you just couldn’t. You had always been weak when it came to him, never really able to tell him no and it appeared some things just never changed.

Mingi’s face lit up as the light turned to green. The man was so eager to cross the street — to get to you — that he didn’t bother checking both sides before walking out. Unlike the others, he missed the speeding vehicle zooming through multiple red lights and showing no signs of stopping. You felt it before you saw it. The spike in your left wrist, the rush of the arrow sky rocketing from zero to a hundred. Your legs moved on their own before you could form the first letter of his name. One moment you were rooted to the ground, eyes wide and mouth parted, and in the next you harshly collided with Mingi, hoping your spurt of strength was enough to knock him off balance and away from the dangerous metal chunk on wheels.

The world didn’t stop spinning, but time slowed down as Mingi fell backward. His hand came up to cradle your head, while the other slithered around your waist. Your own arms were pressed against his chest from the push you gave him. The landing was harsh, but Mingi took most of it as his back slammed against the pavement and your face became buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder. The passersby approached you with questions of worry and concern, their faces etched with confusion and anxiety at the entire situation. Everyone was a bit shaken up at the tragedy that could’ve been. Your body refused to cooperate and the only thing you could do was tangle your fingers into the material of his hoodie, clinging to it for dear life, trying to distinguish reality from imagination. How cruel — he had just returned to your life, only to almost be taken out of it again, permanently.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his fingers massaging your scalp as the other hand scrunched up the back of your shirt.

A stutter of words slipped out, none of which Mingi could make sense of. He sat up, trying to get a better look at you, but you refused to part from the comfort of his chest. You didn’t need to see it to know your soulometer had calmed down — you felt it in every fiber of your being. Your soulmate was safe, and you were too, now that you were in the arms of a living, breathing Mingi.

“Please, sweets, I need to know if you’re alright.”

Desperation dripped from his voice like sticky honey falling from a dipper and it struck sharply in your core, bringing you back to the present.

“Okay,” you mumbled against his clothes, just loud enough for it to reach his ears and Mingi exhaled in relief. He pressed a kiss on your hairline and your heart fluttered at the domestic gesture.

A couple of strangers offered to call an ambulance, but Mingi waved them off, saying it wasn’t necessary and that no one was harmed — just a bit shaken up. He thanked them nonetheless and it did the trick as the crowd dissolved, the people returning to their everyday life, but with a story to slap down on the dinner table.

Mingi placed a palm beneath your left thigh as the other went around your waist to keep you sturdy as he got up from the pavement. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

It didn’t matter how much you wanted to tell him to let you down, that you could walk on your own and didn’t need a chaperone — the words wouldn’t roll off your paralyzed tongue. Feeling the stares of strangers burn into you, you hid your face in the crook of his neck and didn’t pull away until you were safely in your apartment. The entire journey home, you tried to wrap your head around the event: the near-death experience, your body taking over while your mind went slack, the sudden spike in your soulometer. You didn’t dare think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t reached Mingi in time — if you were just a second too late, if you hadn’t noticed the car. A shiver ran down your spine, and you pressed your lips together to distract yourself from the tears threatening to soak Mingi’s hoodie.

You needed a distraction from the what-ifs, and you needed one pronto. Trying to focus on something other than Mingi being flattened by that stupid car, you racked your brain for something, anything else, when it suddenly hit you. In all the seven years you had your soulometer, it had never even grazed, let alone pushed hard against the other end of the scale.

Back inside your apartment, you plopped down on the sofa and dropped your head into your hands. A throbbing ache pulsed through every part of your head, and the constant buzzing of your phone wasn’t helping. You had an inkling of who it could’ve been, and as you fished it out of your bag, the hundreds of messages and missed calls from both Seonghwa and Hongjoong confirmed your suspicion. You sent them a reassuring text, apologizing for bailing on them and blaming it on your headache. Mingi was leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, and his feet crossed at the ankles. His eyes never left your hunched form. He was waiting — for a call, a sign, something that would tell him when to reach your side and offer his help.

In another life, you’d be flustered — happy, ecstatic that he was there, worried for your well-being, wanting to make you feel better. But the nagging thought of the situation — too perfect to be a coincidence — wouldn’t let you go. What were the odds of your soulmate and Mingi both being exposed to danger at the same time? How was it that Mingi’s body was void of bruises just as your soulometer stopped acting up?

Licking your lips, you inhaled shakily and found Mingi’s gaze. The pull to be wrapped in his arms was strong, almost unbearable and you wondered if he felt it too. The need to run your fingers through his hair, to rest your forehead at the junction of his neck and shoulder while he soothingly rubbed circles in your back. The feelings were more intense than back in high school, now full of want and need that you couldn’t satisfy by being in his mere presence. However, you were willing to put it aside in exchange for your question marks to disappear and there was only one person who could give it to you.

Your voice was raspy and weak, breaking mid-sentence as the words struggled to escape. With every ounce of vulnerability, you asked him, “Are we soulmates?”

Mingi didn’t move for a moment. He looked to the side, his jaw clenching as he uncrossed his arms and gripped the edge of the counter. It was inevitable, really. The question was bound to come up sooner or later, and he wasn’t a fool. Mingi didn’t live in a bubble separate from his worries. They were woven into his everyday life, especially since you’d crossed paths again after all these years, with you at the center of them. The anxiety hovered around you like planets orbiting the sun — always there, needing you to survive, but never able to get too close. Mingi never stopped thinking about you. Since your high school graduation, he’d found himself more often than not lying awake in the dead of night, thoughts circling back to you — wondering how you were, what you were doing, if you were happy. You had to be. Mingi only ever brought you pain and hurt, something he loathed himself for. The lies and secrets were the main reason behind it all, but the icing on the cake was his devotion to boxing, which had long surpassed his love for you. At least, in your eyes, because that was what he had allowed you to see — what he wanted you to think. It would make the end of your relationship easier, giving him a lie to hold onto instead of the truth.

But Mingi was tired of lying. He didn’t plan to re-enter your life to keep the same pattern in motion. He wanted to start a-new and whether he deserved it or not was up for debate, but he was going to try. For you. For himself. For your relationship.

“Yes.”

Then it all just stopped. The beat of your heart filled the silence of the world. The flicker of emotions was instant and irregular — shifting from relief and happiness to disbelief and anger. You couldn’t form a single thought, much less say anything. What could one say in such a moment? Realising your first and only love was more than that and had slipped away. The never ending fear and regret of losing the sole good thing in your life washing out to nothing, leaving you empty. It was good and bad. A war broke out in your head, scrambling to come to an understanding, but the tear between the two sides was so grave it was starting to hurt. The relief of finding your soulmate clashed with the idea that he was right beneath your nose this entire time, purposefully avoiding you for who knows how long.

A sting burned behind your eyes followed by a heavy pressure. Your throat closed up and yet you managed to get your question out.

“How… How long have you known?”

Mingi heaved in a breath. The weight of the situation pressed harshly against his chest as he realized the bear trap he set up years ago was beneath his foot.

“A little after the start of our third year in high school… When you were rushed to the hospital.”

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Someone thought it would be a funny prank to leave an opened peanut-chocolate bar in your locker, completely disregarding the gravity of the situation. That was almost a month after his eighteenth birthday — the day his soulometer was permanently injected into his body. Out of those three years, you dated for one and a half, and the last stretch of your relationship was apparently built on secrets and lies because he knew.

He knew and didn’t tell you.

You rose from your seat, your expression shifting from disbelief to frustration. Your brows furrowed, and your lips were pressed tightly together in fury. Mingi had never seen you so angry — not even when some older kids were making fun of Hongjoong for his height or liking boys.

“Why? Why wouldn’t you tell me about it? Mingi, we broke up and you didn’t think to tell me we were, are soulmates?!”

Your voice jumped from a whisper to full-out yelling, loud enough for your neighbors above and below to indulge in the dramatics, and Mingi flinched at the sudden rise in volume. A fire spread from his core to the rest of his body, growing hotter and more intense with each passing second. Despite how familiar the sensation was, it wasn’t his. You were angry beyond salvaging and no amount of water could douse the flames.

Mingi’s chest tightened as the answer to your long-awaited question tumbled out of him. “Because you deserved a better soulmate!”

Like that, a weight lifted off his shoulders. There was a very long pause where you just stared at each other, both waiting for the other to speak.

“Excuse me?” It was meek, barely above a whisper as you spoke and a sharp, breaking sound echoed in Mingi’s heart, like porcelain shattering. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Mingi hesitated, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. You seized the opportunity to step in front of him. Unshed tears lined your waterline, one blink away from spilling over and kissing your burning cheeks. Mingi wasn’t any better. His eyes were glossed over and throat was dry. His fingers turned an alarming shade of white from gripping the counter, the veins in his hands more defined than ever.

“Why?”

“You weren’t happy with me…” Mingi’s voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes as he struggled to continue. “W–with me boxing… and I… I wasn’t ready to give up on that. I thought you d–deserved some happiness before you realized you were stuck with me f–forever.” His words came out choked, his chest heaving as the tears finally spilled over.

The salty tears extinguished the fire that had been brewing in you. What had felt like flames of hell now shrunk to nothing more than a spark, ready to fade. You reached out, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face, gently wiping away the tears that had fallen.

“You thought I wouldn’t choose you? Mingi, I was never asking you to give up on what you love. I just couldn’t stand seeing you put yourself in danger, not knowing if you’d come back to me… alive.” Your heart ached as the soulometer inside you throbbed painfully, a constant reminder of how deeply connected you two were.

Mingi had grown up in a boxing family. His father was a boxer, and his grandfathers on both sides were boxers too. It was only natural for the only child of the Song family to step into his relatives’ shoes and fall in love with the gruesome sport. However, it wasn’t the officiated matches or light sparring during training that had you worrying for Mingi. A little after Mingi turned eighteen, he realized that his talent could not only bring him medals, but money. A great sum of money, actually.

As the fortune started to come his way, you began to notice the change in him. He wasn’t just fighting for the thrill or the legacy anymore — it had become a business. The sport he had once loved, the sport that had connected him to his family, was now something more — something dangerous, something that had started to consume him. You watched as he took on bigger opponents, harsher training regimens and increasingly dangerous matches, all in pursuit of a prize that was slowly tearing away at the person you once knew.

You didn’t mean to put him in a tight spot, to choose between his first serious girlfriend and the illegal business that kept him independent. You also didn’t expect him to choose the latter. The decision stung more than you anticipated, the weight of it sinking in as you realized what it said about his priorities.

You were both young and foolish back then, believing the world was beneath your feet and that one wrong decision could crumble it all. Had you known you were bonded, tied together for all eternity, you would’ve approached him differently and you certainly never would’ve let him go.

“I didn’t know about the soulmate bond. I didn’t know you knew... and you still let me walk away. You were willing to let me go without telling me the truth? How could you think I’d leave you forever, knowing we were meant to be?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I–I swear, I wanted to tell you. So many times. Every time I’d walk past your posters or hear about you from our mutual friends, I’d be one click away from calling you, but…”

The apology hung in the air like a weight, thick with guilt and regret. His voice trembled, each word choked back by the raw emotion clawing at him. The tears streamed down his face, unchecked. He turned his face slightly, the side of his cheek brushing against your palm, as if trying to hide from the pain, but your touch remained steady. You held him there, gently, as his sorrow poured out.

“Don’t hold back, Mingi. I’m not going anywhere, not now, not tomorrow, not ever… So please, talk to me.”

His chest hitched as he struggled to breathe, the weight of the words, the silence and the years of unsaid things crashing over him. Mingi knew he owed you this. An explanation, a reason for his sudden pull back all those years ago. He heaved in a breath and allowed the truth to spill.

“I just… I couldn’t,” he whispered. “Every time, I’d think about it and then–then I’d back out. I thought it was better this way. I thought maybe you’d be better off without knowing… that I wasn’t good enough, that I’d only mess things up. Jongho said you were ha–happy and I didn’t want to ruh–ruin that. ”

“You could never–”

“But I would!” He didn’t mean to shout, but the frustration and sadness, locked up for so long, didn’t hesitate to seize the first opening it saw. “I was still fighting… I never stopped. It only got worse after… after we broke up. The money was good, but the loneliness,” his voice wavered, “the loneliness was unbearable. The only time I ever felt anything was when I saw your face... or when I got beaten to hell.”

Your eyes darted around his face. Jumping from his eyes and lips to his nose and cheeks as if seeking a pressure point that would make all of his suffering evaporate into thin air. Mingi avoided your gaze and you massaged the apple of his cheek to catch his attention again. You never intended for the downfall of your relationship to put its claws in his back and leave a wound so grave it couldn’t heal on its own. In fact, you were so caught up in your own emotions that you didn’t think to take a moment and wonder how it would affect him. The guilt festered in your bones like a leech refusing to let go.

“I never realized how much you were carrying… I thought I was the one who was struggling, but maybe we both were. I’m sorry, Mings.”

“No.”

He shook his head in disagreement and your hand fell from his face. The loss of warmth was close to painful and Mingi, not wanting to be apart from you any more than necessary, grabbed your hand and guided it down to his chest, placing your palm above his beating heart — the organ that pulsed in rhythm to your own. Your fingers twitch to grab his shirt, to claw out his heart and keep it in the safety of your hands. To shield it from hurt and pain and agony. You never wanted him to feel such anguish again and you certainly didn’t want to be the reason behind it either. It tore you from within and the emotion wasn’t even yours to begin with.

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”

“Mingi–”

“Stop it. You know if I’d just listened to you, if I’d stopped getting involved in stupid shit, none of this would’ve happened. There’s no one to blame but me.”

Tears still rolled down his cheeks and clung onto his lashes, though his eyes were sharp and firm as if daring you to challenge his words. If there was one thing you’d learned during the few years you dated Mingi, it was that once his mind was made up, nothing could change it.

“We are both at fault, love.”

The pinched expression on his face crumbled at the familiar call of endearment. His mouth parted slightly, and a constellation twinkled in his eyes — a sight you had missed incredibly. A twinge of hope flickered to life — hope that you could once be again, despite his careless acts of selflessness. His focus shifted between your eyes and with shaking hands he gently cradled your face, his touch not lighter than a ticklish flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Your own hands found purchase on his waist, fingers looping through the pouch of his hoodie as you instinctively leaned into the gentle pressure of his caress.

Mingi wetted his lips and brows scrunched together in a pleading demeanor. Something was plaguing his mind again and you could feel the train of thought reach out and graze your own, as if wanting you to get a glimpse. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t pleasant either. It felt full, crowded.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Mings?”

“…You.” He took another breath, steadying himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I… May I… I want to kiss you.”

Perhaps you should’ve said no. Perhaps you should’ve ignored him sitting on the steps of your apartment. Perhaps you shouldn’t have let him back into your life at all. But the thought of telling him no — robbing yourself of the feel of Mingi’s lips against yours — burned like hot acid in your stomach. So you did the one thing you were best at when it came to him, you gave in to your heart's desire.

“Then kiss me.”

Mingi didn’t need to hear you say it twice before he pulled your face up to his, lips smashing together as a flood of emotions erupted with the kiss — the kind of feeling only a romantic gesture like this could bring. You rose onto your toes, your hands gripping his wrists as if to anchor yourself in the moment. A low rumble vibrated from the back of his throat and you pushed harder against him. The kiss was intoxicating, yet liberating at the same time. You swiped your tongue along his bottom lip and he wasted no time parting them for you. The heat between you both deepened and each moment felt like it stretched on forever, the world around you fading into the background. His fingers grazing the side of your face, pulled you impossibly closer, as if there was no space left for anything but this shared intimacy.

The pounding of your heart filled your ears, a frantic rhythm that matched the urgency of his touch. You were caught in the gravity of the moment, caught between the need for air and the undeniable pull to stay, to keep kissing him like nothing else mattered and nothing mattered. Just you and him.

You felt one of his hands slither down your spine, a trail of firecrackers following the wake of his fingertips and sending shivers down your body. You couldn’t pull away — not yet. Not when everything inside you was screaming for more. Mingi pushed you closer to him, chests touching and hips meeting in a delicious press, that radiated between you both, causing every nerve in your body to hum with anticipation.

It was the need for oxygen that eventually broke you apart before the heated situation could be taken to the bedroom, with you pushed against the soft sheets and your legs tangling together. Your chests rose and fell in synchrony, trying to steady the breath that had been stolen in the heat of the moment. A crackle of electricity snapped around the room, the atmosphere still charged with the energy of your kiss, but both of you knew you couldn’t rush past this — there was so much more to say, the fact that you were soulmates, for one.

Mingi rested his forehead against yours, his breath was warm against your skin, quick and shallow, mirroring your own racing pulse. His eyes searched yours with a mix of intensity and vulnerability. He whispered your name, as if unsure how to bridge the distance between the desire in his chest and the emotions that were beginning to surface.

“We are soulmates,” you whispered before he could say anything else. It was more of a statement, a wake-up call for you than a fact. Your gaze dropped to the strings of his hoodie, the intensity of his stare made your knees feel weak.

Mingi didn’t reply. He rubbed gentle circles over your blouse on your lower back, a relaxing motion. You didn’t need to hear him say the two worded apology, you felt it in his soft touches.

“It was you… every time my meter went up… it was you fighting.”

He nodded, a solemn smile gracing his swollen lips. “Yes.”

“...But it hasn’t… gone up since–”

“Since you found me outside your apartment,” he finished for you. “I stopped shortly after that. I– uh, I realized that I wanted you. Or, well, I always knew, but that… that confirmed it. Mmm, I knew, though, that if I wanted us to be together, I’d have to change– stop! I’d have to stop doing the thing that made me lose you in the first place.”

“So… what does that mean for us?”

“It means… that if you want me to, I’ll peel your oranges for the rest of our lives.”

You wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “Even the white bits?”

The corner of his lips curled up in a grin, giving a glimpse of his crooked front teeth, and his eyes lit up like the night sky in the countryside.

“Especially the white bits.”

#[🌸] cherry blossom march event #cromernet #song mingi x reader #song mingi #ateez x reader #ateez #song mingi fluff #song mingi fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #soulmates #soulmate au #boxer mingi #fluff #romance #angst

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likea-silhouette · 3 months ago

Text

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

rating: mature

word count: 3k

summary: Harry was once the boy you loved and wanted to spend your life with. The funny thing is that addiction is something that is never predicted. What happens when you run into your ex-boyfriend years after your breakup that was due to his vices?

*based on the song Complex by Katie Gregson-MacLeod* Read Part Two

30-year-old me could've never fathomed life would've looked like this.

The 21-year-old pictured it a million times—a future with him and me, maybe children, maybe a flat.

Our love was solidified in my mind as if something like ours would never change or dwindle. How could it?

But that's what love feels like at that age—until reality sets in, and those dreams and visions of future eternal love begin to fade. Then, the reality of adulthood kicks in.

Harry started going out—a lot.

It was not unusual for a man at an age that was just beginning to kiss their 20s, but then it changed. It evolved into this dark cloud that hovered over he and I until it intermingled with every feeling I held towards him.

I could tell he had a problem. The drugs, the drinking-all of it had turned into something far from a normal night of fun. Before I knew it, the Harry I once knew and adored more than anything had evaporated into an air drenched in dismay, regret, and questioning.

Until our early 20s, our shared friends watched me sling Harry’s arm around my shoulder each time we went out together. Their sets of eyes always preached sympathy, yet their tongues must’ve been cut off-or at least that’s what I assumed due to their lack of actual words.

Each one of those frequently occurring nights where I struggled to move his flimsy legs out of a bar as his larger, drunk stature slurred words that only made sense to him, I could feel myself hating him a little more.

Eventually, I was questioning it all. Why wasn’t I enough? Why wasn’t his music and his family enough? Why did it have to be substances that turned him into a human that I never met nor signed up to be so deeply in love with?

I began to opt-out anytime Harry said we were invited for a night out with others. I could tell his disappointment the first couple of times I declined. Still, eventually, he stopped letting me know of these invitations altogether, with me only finding out about them as I watched him slip on his coat near the front door and tell me not to wait up for him.

At the tip of our shriveling iceberg, I became so numb that it rarely bothered me anymore. Those first nights when this was more of a rare occurrence, I would find myself crying into a pillow as Harry’s passed-out body lay in a corpse-like pose on our couch. Now, I felt nothing. Everything that once annoyed and worried me had turned into just another item on my checklist that I needed to be bothered with at 3 a.m. on a Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday…

His drunkenness had not only made Harry a completely different person but also made me a person I didn't recognize. It had me questioning whether I was even happy in our relationship, something I had never felt or imagined would happen to two people who were as deeply in love as we once were.

I wasn’t a total novacained creature; even if that’s what I wished I could be. Eventually, those feelings would bubble up and I would find my pot simmering over its edge. Tears would leak and leak from my eyes as I’d pace both metaphorically and physically while I tried to process how this had become what my life with Harry was. My throat would scratch and rub raw as I cried out into our empty apartment until my eyes were so tired and swollen that the nothingness of sleep was the only thing that sounded appealing and worth succumbing to.

___

One night, Harry managed to make his way back home from the bar on his own. How? I wasn’t sure and truthfully, I didn’t care anymore.

Even if that meant he recklessly got in a car while inebriated beyond belief or if he paid for an overpriced cab he’d never have to worry about the price of thanks to fame, riches, and loss of reality.

I nearly jumped off of the couch in surprise as his heavy hand slammed our front door closed.

Little did I know, that very evening, when I was adorned in a pair of Harry’s boxers and an oversized t-shirt, would be the last night I would spend in this living room that we shared. “How did you get home?” I said with my palm lying flat over my heart. “What are you-my mum?” Harry scoffed with a smirk, a clumsy tongue, and a stench of vodka that clung to the fabric of his clothes.

I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to continue a conversation that would never move anywhere except to a space where Harry made rude comments and insults at me. He always got this way when he was gone beyond belief and choosing silence seemed like the best option from my point of view.

“Oh, now you can’t speak, huh?” Harry spat as he took a swig out of the quarter-gone wine bottle that sat on the coffee table next to the glass I had been nursing all evening. Quickly, I stood to my feet. My chest puffed in and out rapidly as I snatched the bottle out of his hands. Harry looked at me in disbelief. “This is the last thing you need right now Harry!” “Oh come on! You really are acting like my mum now,” he said with a joking tone despite my tense face sending him very real daggers.

“I’m not fucking kidding Harry! You’re already far gone as it is.” Our chests brushed as I attempted to grab the bottle out of his hands. It gave me butterflies.

I hated how touching him in any form still gave me a euphoric feeling despite the less-than-enthused circumstance we were currently in and had been in for the last couple of years. With a smirk, Harry held the bottle of wine above his head, extending it beyond my reach. I groaned, not wanting to play his little game tonight. “You know what-fine.” I raised my hands in front of my chest in surrender, “You get even more shit-faced than you are now and I’ll go to Nadia’s place so I can have some fucking peace”.

I couldn’t lie that it stung watching Harry’s mouth downturn at my words, but I wouldn’t allow it to change my mind again as it had so many times in the past. “Babe, c’mon”, Harry whined as he lowered the bottle to waist height. “Don’t be such a prude just because I like having a good time.” “A good time? You getting trashed and then coming home to drink yourself to sleep before you eventually wake up in the morning, puking up everything in your stomach and having the worst migraine of your life-that’s a good time? Meanwhile, I’m the one who brings you food! I’m the one who cleans up the vomit! I’m the one who has to leave early to get your drunk ass home! I’m not your goddamn mother Harry and that’s how you’re treating me and I’m sick of it.”

Suddenly, Harry’s voice rose and his nostrils began to flare-he morphed into a creature that only appeared when mixed with inebriation and anger. “Fucking sue me for going out and having a drink every once in a while!” Once in a while? As if this wasn’t happening multiple times a week. “But that’s the point! It’s not once and a while H, it’s several times a week that this happens.” Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes as he took another sip out of the open bottle. That rapidly beating heart of mine somehow increased even more as my hands acted before my brain could rationalize. Before I knew it, I was smacking the glass bottle out of Harry’s hand, sending glass and poignant, fruity liquid to the ground and on mine and his clothes.

I watched in horror as Harry took a step back and lifted his hands in front of his chest with wide eyes as he examined the evidence of my aggravation and utter exhaustion. Immediately I felt shame and disbelief towards myself and the person I had become. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I was being pushed to my very brink, all while living constantly on edge and mourning the loss of who my boyfriend once was. Harry was turning me into someone I didn’t recognize anymore. Quickly, my feet darted between pieces of shattered glass, as I ran to the bathroom and let my ass meet the cold tiled floor. My knees hugged into my chest as I rocked back and forth with gasping breaths and eyes freely sobbing. Harry was mumbling something on the other side of the door, but my state of panic and disbelief shielded me from comprehending a word he was saying. Eventually, he went silent. I wasn’t sure how long I sat on that bathroom floor before I heard the light wrap of a fist against the door. I didn’t look at him as his head peaked around the now open door, but I knew his eyes would be soft and sorrowful. This was the hardest part.

He always looked sorry-so deeply sorry, and I didn’t doubt that he was genuine in that feeling. Harry was a good guy before and I knew that person was still inside of him somewhere, except he was buried six feet under and suffocating underneath the dirt and grime.

Harry proceeded to stare at me and I could tell his mind was going through some sort of internal conflict. Maybe he was regretful? Ashamed? Sorry? Hurt? I didn’t know and I was much too numb to even begin to care now. The damage was already done. Eventually, Harry gave up with his silent ‘I’m sorry’ and retreated to the couch where he drunkenly slipped into a state of slumber.

Meanwhile, I packed a large duffle bag with as many of my necessities as I could fit, and I left. —---

The months following my sudden departure were filled with texts, phone calls, and voicemails from Harry. I never answered any of them, but that never stopped him from trying to reach me. “Babe, I’m sorry. Can we talk? x ”

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted you know? I love you.”

“I’ll quit drinking. I promise this time.”

“Please don’t do this. I can’t do this without you in my life.”“You’re so perfect,” Harry sobbed into the phone with drunken speech, “how could I fuck this up so badly. I’m sorry.” When those methods of communication were not satisfying enough for Harry, he resorted to sending me DM’s on social media to confirm I was receiving his calls and texts.

I left him on read each and every time. When Harry finally let himself believe that my silence was something I was looking to make permanent and not just some sort of other excuse, his calls became more spread out and his texts sparse, until nearly six months after our final dispute, he fell silent and not only from me, but from the rest of the world as well.

—----

Two full years had passed since we split up and I hadn’t heard a single word from Harry since he gave in and granted me the space I silently requested. However, something I wasn’t expecting was that little part of me that felt sad once those calls and messages stopped rolling in. Had he really given up on me after only trying for a few months? I knew it was dumb and selfish to be upset about someone's sudden cutting off of communication when that was the very thing I had done and initiated, yet I felt that silence so cripplingly.

On the night of my 22nd Valentine's Day, I sat on my couch with a joint and a large to-go container of veggie fried rice as I tried to appease my melancholy of the evening, as many others were on this night. Eventually, the drugs kicked in and the TV couldn’t hold my attention long enough, so I found my thumb lazily pressing the letter ‘H’ on the keyboard of my phone as I hovered in the open tab of the browser. I knew I shouldn’t. I had blocked him on anything and everything for a reason, but it had been a few years, and, sue me for being naturally curious…especially on a fateful night such as this.

So pathetic-i’m aware, but somehow I convinced myself that it was okay and that maybe, just maybe, this would somehow bring me comfort or peace. Others were able to look their ex up on social media to get a peak into a life they were no longer a part of, so why couldn’t I google my ex and look for his name in headlines on major press websites? That’s what I told myself as I typed out the rest of his name and hit enter.

Several items popped up, but none were too terribly personal. It seemed that even to the public eye, Harry was nowhere to be found unless it was a promotional photoshoot, tour photos with One Direction, or blurred candids that were taken in secret. There was zero gossip around those stereotypical things you would think a single man would experience; women, getting kicked out of various bars, etc. The only headlines I was consistently seeing were ones questioning Harry’s absence from the public eye. I guess we both had that question in common. However, I at least had images that I could look at.

His face looked slightly more grown up and chiseled. His green eyes that once glimmered still looked nearly the same, minus the deep set purple circles underneath his waterline that were something I couldn’t remember seeing before. His hair was even longer than before and his body had a more athletic build and was filled up with several more tattoos.

He looked good. I wouldn’t deny that. Several minutes-hell, maybe even an hour-went by of examining images of a man who looked like the person you had thought was your soulmate. When you were finally able to pull yourself out of the trance, you threw your phone down on the coffee table in frustration. Your heart was swelling and you hated it. You were smiling as you looked at those images, admiring how handsome Harry still was and that much more as he grew further into adulthood- you hated that even more. You hated that you still adored him. Fucking hated it. —----

Six years later

“Fucking Idiot”, you mumbled as your hand slammed down on the horn button set dead center on your steering wheel. The traffic was horrendous and your patience was naturally always thin, but today made you that much more intolerant of any sort of inconvenience. Your best friend, Nadia, was throwing a surprise birthday party for her husband that would be filled with top-notch cuisines, free booze, and many of his close friends and family members. However, the party wasn’t the cause of your irritability. It’s who you knew could potentially be there that was causing a disturbance within your mind and body. When Nadia met her now husband, you and Harry, who you had just started dating at the time, naturally went out on double dates often, thus, forming a close friendship between the four of you. When you and Harry parted ways, your friendship with Nadia and her partner remained, but Harry was never spoken of. You weren’t sure of the exact reason-maybe it was out of fear of disturbing your peace or maybe they both cut him of-you weren’t sure. Either way, you were grateful that it was an unspoken condition that your friends caught on to naturally. Except for today, you were far from grateful for it; to say it would be helpful to know if your ex-boyfriend would be making an appearance at the same party you would be attending, thus, the both of you having to be in the same room together again after several years, is an understatement.

Sure, you could’ve asked your friend if Harry would be making an appearance today in case you needed to mentally prepare, but you also didn’t want to give off the vibe that you cared about his whereabouts, despite you very very much caring. Especially if it meant you and him being within the same realm again.

Before you could psych yourself into any more made-up horror-filled scenarios of your and Harry’s potential reunion, Nadia’s home came into view as your car rolled into an open parking space.

The area around their home was packed with various cars and people exiting their vehicles with gift bags and envelopes in hand.

As soon as your hand puts the car in park, you are pulling the mirror down and wiping away any concept of imperfection on your face or in your hair. Once finished with your final touches to your appearance, you took a deep breath-in and then out-before grasping the giftbag in your hand and stepping out of the confines of your car and into the crisp air.

Immediately, you are greeted by familiar faces of acquaintances you couldn’t put a face to the name of. Regardless, you smiled politely and spoke the standard conversation starters, such as, “How’ve you been?” or, “I haven’t seen you in ages!”. All paired with a masked smile, of course.

You found yourself scanning your perimeter as you walked to Nadia’s front door and twisted your hand on the unlocked door knob. One last deep, deep breath was sucked in between your teeth and out through your nose as you stepped into the unknown.

To be continued

#harry styles #harry styles fic #one direction #hslot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #my writing #one direction fanfic #one direction fanfiction #harrys house #fine line

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mytaegiheart · 2 months ago

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D-Day, Good Day: A Dirty Shorts Fic

Min Yoongi x Female Reader

Rating: Mature

Prompt: Him: You look good in my hoodie. || You: You know where else I'd look good? || Him: My bed.

Author Note: And so endeth "Dirty Shorts" - unless I think of some new ones.

Story notes: No idea where this was going. I got cavities. Yoongi's blunt as hell.

Is it possible to go through an entire day with a string of continuous bad luck?

If someone had asked you that question just now, you'd answer with a firm and decisive yes.

First – your alarm didn't go off that morning. By the time you woke, you were already an hour late for work.

Second – you forgot to charge your phone the night before and found a dead phone on your night table.

Third – by the time you showered, dressed and got ready for the day ahead, you found 10 phone calls on your home answering machine... all from your very angry boss.

Fourth – your car had 2 flat tires, forcing you to call a cab to get to work.

By the time you made it in, you were 3 and a half hours late.

Needless to say, everyone could hear your boss yelling at you through her closed office door. That was embarrassing.

As if your day couldn't get any worse, the coffee machine in the cafeteria decided to break down and explode coffee all over you, your computer crashed while you were working on an important design for an upcoming fashion show and you got a text message from your long-term boyfriend he was breaking up with you to date your best friend.

By them time you left work, you were ready to just give up and cry.

That was before you realized you didn't have any more money for a cab and the last bus already left.

It was going to be a long walk home.

An hour into your walk, the sky got steadily darker and you stopped dead with a sigh of absolute regret. You stared upwards as the first drops of rain started to fall. No coat, no umbrella.

“Why does the world hate me today?” you shouted out as the rain came down in freezing cold sheets.

You ran until you could duck under an awning in front of restaurant and with freezing cold hands retrieved your phone. Luckily there was enough battery left to make a phone call and you didn't hesitate to call the first person in your pinned contacts list.

“Please answer, please answer.” you mumbled over and over again as the phone continuously rang. You were about to give up at the twelfth ring when you heard the click.

“Hello.” came the deeply familiar voice.

“Can you pick me up?” you muttered, teeth chattering.

“I can't right now, I'm in the middle of a session.”

“Please, Yoongi!” you nearly sobbed in desperation, tears forming in your eyes. “Please?” you whispered.

There was silence for a long moment and you almost thought you got disconnected. But he must have heard something in your voice. “Where are you?”

You closed your eyes and burst into tears, unable to say a word.

“I'm coming, love. I have your location. Just stay there.”

You could only nod even though he couldn't see you as he disconnected the call.

By the time he got to you, you were curled up against the wall beside the restaurant, soaking wet and unable to feel any part of your body.

“Y/n! Oh my god!” you heard him call out to you. You couldn't feel him draping his jacket around you, nor scooping you up into his arms. He got you into his car and belted in before he went around to the driver's side, immediately turning up the heat as he grabbed your hands to rub some feeling back into them.

“Thanks, Yoongi.” you whispered, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“I'm going to want to hear about this later, but I need to get you warmed up first.” he mumbled, turning to put the car in gear. He pulled away from the restaurant as the warmth finally penetrated your cold extremities.

His apartment was closer so he headed there immediately. You were more awake by the time you got to his door but he hustled you into his bathroom, turning on the shower.

“You hop in there and get warm immediately. I'll leave some clothes on my bed for you to change into. I'm going to go make you some soup. I don't want you getting sick.” he ordered. You could only nod, waiting until he closed the door after leaving before getting out of your wet clothing.

You spent nearly 45 minutes in the shower until you felt warm and human again, and another 15 cleaning yourself up.

As promised, he had left a pair of his socks, sweatpants and hoodie on his bed. The sweatpants were slightly big on you but they were warm and that's all you cared about. You were surprised by the hoodie. It was his favorite, a black smiley face hoodie you saw him wear frequently.

Warm and dry, you left his bedroom, following the smells of food to the kitchen. He was at the stove stirring something in a sauce pan. He glanced up at you when he saw you.

“Feeling better?” he asked as you sat at the island.

“Yeah, thanks for the clothes. And thanks for picking me up. I'm sorry for pulling you away from work.”

“What happened today?” he wondered, pouring some soup into a mug before passing it to you. You took a small sip, relishing the taste. As he cleaned up, you told him everything that happened to you that day.

“Just one disaster after another. Like who did I piss off in a past life?” you complained. He had to turn away so you couldn't see him chuckling at you. “Are you laughing?”

“No!” he squeaked out, still not looking at you.

“You're laughing at me!” you complained, slapping his shoulder. He shook his head as he burst into full on laughter. “I hate you.” you complained, pouting and crossing your arms.

“Aw, come on. You don't hate me.” he smiled, looping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a warm hug.

“Sadly, I don't hate you.” you mumbled against his chest, relishing the feeling of his arms around you. You didn't want to admit to yourself that you may have had a crush on him all these years.

He drew back to look at you. “Hm... you look good in my hoodie by the way.”

“I do?” You stepped fully out of his arms and did a little twirl.

“You do.” he replied.

“Do you know where else I'd look good?” you asked.

“My bed.”

“In front of the TV with a – wait, what?” you stammered, his words finally penetrating your brain.

“Preferably naked beneath me, but we can work on that.” he shrugged. You stared at him in shock and not a little bit of desire.

“Yoongi!”

“What?”

“You can't say things like that!”

“Why not?”

“Because it's not true!”

“Who says?” he returned.

“What?”

“I'm in love with you.” he stated, making your jaw drop. One thing about Yoongi, he was always blunt and he never lies.

“I-I- how?” you exclaimed.

“No idea. Just looked at you one day and said that's the girl I'm going to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Oh my god!” You were stunned. He snagged you by the pocket of his hoodie and pulled you forward until you were back in his arms.

“Do you feel the same for me?” he asked.

“I-I mean I do, but-”

“Good.”

And then he kissed you, not even waiting until you could unscramble your brain as his tongue made a home in your mouth.

Turned out to be a good day after all.

#bts #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #min yoongi #park jimin #kim namjoon #jung hoseok #kim seokjin #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #Dirty Shorts #bangtan sonyeondan

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octuscle · 8 months ago

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Teens work out free all Summer

Jakob was done. The day had been exhausting. And somehow he couldn't cope with two or three exhausting days in a row as well as he used to. He was now 27 years old, his 28th birthday was only a few weeks away and the days when Jakob had been described as sporty were long gone. Even during his studies, he had spent less time at the gym or in the swimming pool than when he was at school and the slight tummy bulge with which he had accepted his master's degree and started his career had developed into a veritable paunch. Climbing stairs? Only in an emergency… Walking or cycling? What were cabs for… Jakob was done and he knew why.

It was trade fair in the city. The last one before the summer break. The hotels were full, you couldn't get a table in the restaurants and there were no cabs to be had either. So Jacob bit the bullet and walked to the nearest bus stop. Sweat was pouring down his forehead. And there he saw this sign: “Teens Workout Free All Summer”. Sure, he was no longer a teen. But he also earned enough money to afford a gym. All he had to do was sign up. Just for the summer. Since he didn't have any school-age children, he didn't have his vacation until mid-September. What was the worst that could happen? He could lose a few kilos and cut a better figure in the late summer sun on the Croatian coast. “I'll sign up first thing tomorrow,” Jacob thought to himself. And then it hit him. "Shit, don't keep putting it off, I'll sign up now. Now and immediately. And if they have a store for gym gear, I'll start training today."

It was hot in the gym. The place was obviously not air-conditioned. It smelled of sweat and sneakers. It smelled like the changing rooms in the schools gym earlier. Loud music blared from the speakers. The reception and training area merged seamlessly. The monotonous sound of people on treadmills and the groaning of people lifting iron was mixed into the booming music, occasionally interrupted by the sound of dumbbells falling into the rack or onto the floor. This was certainly not the kind of gym Jacob wanted to work out in. He was almost on his way out again when the lad behind the counter approached him. “Hi bro! Are you here for our summer offer?” Jacob said that he was here for a membership, yes. But not for the offer. ‘Why not, bro? My name is Liam, by the way. And you are?’ ‘Jacob,’ Jacob introduced himself. ‘Cool thing, bro! Don't worry, we'll get you in shape here.’ Jacob thought for a moment. Of course he would make a fool of himself here among all the beefcakes, but better here in front of people he didn't know than in some stylish gym where customers, colleagues or neighbors would make fun of him.

Liam was already hammering away at his keyboard. “So, your name is Jake. What's next?” “Jacob,” Jacob corrected. “Goldsmith” “Smith, Jake Smith. Your birthday?” Jacob wanted to correct Liam first, but maybe a pseudonym wasn't wrong. “August 12, 1996.” “Bro, I'll put in August 12, 2006,” Liam said with a wink. “Nobody checks here anyway. And I get a commission when I sign contracts for the summer offer.” Address? Jacob was just about to give his address when he thought to himself that he was here anonymously or under a pseudonym. So he gave the address of his parents' house, where they had all lived when he was at school. His parents had sold everything last year and moved to Provence, but as Liam said, no one would probably check it. “Please be so kind,” said Liam. Jacob looked surprised at a flash of light. And a few seconds later, a plastic card came out of the printer. His membership card, his ticket back to a life where climbing stairs wouldn't lead to panting and sweating. “Because it's your birthday in the summer, you get a water bottle and the water flat rate. Do you also want the protein shake flat rate? It's on special offer today. 20 pounds a month, 50 pounds for June, July and August together.” Jacob nodded and asked if he could also buy something to wear here. “That's my lad,” said Liam with a grin. “Get started right away, no hesitation, very good. No, you can't buy anything, but there's a treasure trove at the back. Just take what you need. I'll let Colin know in the meantime, he can show you around and show you everything.

Slightly disgusted, Jacob went to the corner with the lost-and-found treasure trove. It was obviously a source of odour. But it was surprisingly neat. Shoes, shorts, tank tops… Everything was neatly sorted by size. Only the socks were in a big box. It took Jacob a few minutes to find a pair. And while he was looking, he heard a throat clearing behind him. “So you're Jake, the new guy?” Jacob turned around, startled. Behind him stood a mountain of a man. Probably his age. Maybe a few years older. But someone who had never skipped chest or leg days. Never in his life. He obviously didn't take his personal hygiene that seriously. Colin was smelly. Jacob pulled himself together. “Jake, nice to meet you. You must be Colin.” “You can be sure of that! And now stop making a fashion show out of it.” Colin unerringly grabbed a tank top, shorts, shoes and even a matching pair of socks. And a jockstrap. He stuffed everything into a rucksack. Jacob shuddered. “The changing room is over there. Don't look for girls and boys, it's a lads only place here. Hurry up, we should allow two and a half hours for a training session." Jacob was beginning to feel sure he had made a mistake. Okay, at worst he had lost 50 pounds… But it was a mistake.

There were no cubicles in the changing room, no lockers. Things went on open racks. Shoes and bags on benches or on the floor. There was no one around. Only by the sinks was a lad, maybe 16 years old, showing off his enviably fit body in front of the mirror. Jacob sighed. He'd looked something like that when he was 16. He undressed and put on the unwashed clothes that Colin had stuffed into his bag. He looked in the mirror. He looked silly. He was wearing the washed-out clothes of an obviously much more muscular man… The shorts were too tight. The tank top too loose. The socks had holes in them. But at least the shoes fitted. Jacob sighed. And the torture on the dumbbells began.

Colin hadn't given him puppy protection. Colin had worked out with him as if they were training partners. Of course, he had reduced the weights for Jacob. But when Jacob couldn't do any more, he had shouted at him. Four more, three more, two more… Somehow Jacob had always managed the last repetition. The two of them were the last ones in the gym. Liam had already called it a day. Colin gave Jacob a fist bump. “Good training, mate! You've got bite and talent. You'll be something!“ Jacob would have blushed if his head hadn't been glowing anyway. ‘By the way,’ said Colin. ‘Hot water is turned off after 10 p.m. You can take a cold shower. Or…’ ‘I'll take the ’or',” Jacob chastised and grinned. He went into the changing room and packed his clothes from the office into his rucksack. He walked to the bus stop with the last of his strength. The city was full of fairgoers. Some raised their eyebrows in pique. Yes, he had to stink. But he had to get home now. He didn't care about anything else.

When the alarm clock woke him up at 06:00, he felt like everything was gone. He had fallen asleep sitting on his bed. He had just managed to undress. His office clothes were still in his rucksack. His sports kit was scattered on the floor. And he had slept half-sitting, half-asleep on his bed. In a puddle of sperm. Because he had obviously had at least one wet dream. And his morning wood was already standing at attention again. Jacob started to jerk himself off. Damn, did his cock feel good. Jacob smelled his own cold sweat. He smelled male. And he had a hard-on. He had smegma under his foreskin. Just like when he wasn't so serious about personal hygiene at school. He smelled his hand. Damn, that smelled like youth and manhood… And at that moment he came. He cummed all the way up to his chin, even though he had obviously emptied his balls at least once tonight. Shit, he thought to himself, breathing heavily… The training is paying off. As exhausted as I am, I'm more agile than I've been at any point in the last ten years.

Jacob went into the kitchen and stirred protein powder into his cottage cheese. He didn't question where the protein powder and cottage cheese came from. He drank two bottles of water because he felt completely dehydrated. He wolfed down his breakfast and made himself five more scrambled eggs. And another protein shake. Shit, he was starving. And late. He jumped into the shower. He didn't take a really thorough shower. He didn't shave either. He emptied out his rucksack on the floor and stuffed yesterday's clothes, which were still damp with sweat, into it. His bus was leaving in ten minutes. He had to walk. Cardio was never his thing. He was more of a weightlifting man.

He got lots of compliments in the office. He was told he looked fresh. He was told he'd lost weight. He looked younger. But he also got a few unpleasant questions. What was so smelly here. The old rucksack was standing next to his desk. And it stank. Jacob simply ignored the questions about the rucksack. He felt fit and full of energy. For lunch, he had a salad with three turkey breasts. His colleagues looked at him questioningly. “Mass phase,” he said apologetically, chewing with his mouth full.

Today was leg day. Colin had told him that he should allow three hours for warming up, stretching and maybe a bit of fitness training if he was serious. And Jacob was serious. He finished his work very punctually. Unusual for someone who was always the last one. Yes, he was on the verge of promotion, but his fitness was important to him. As soon as he entered, he pulled the access card out of his wallet. He looked at the photo with a grin. He was 23 on it, that was two years ago. What a slim man he had been then… Liam greeted him with a fist bump. Colin could be heard grunting from the chest press throughout the hall. Jacob greeted his bros as he entered the changing room. It was busy. Of course, most of the people here were still at university, unemployed or tradesmen who had already started work at 06:00 in the morning. There were few armchair farters like him here. But that didn't matter to him. Today, all that mattered was the weight on the leg press. And how much protein he could swallow from his flat rate. Protein and the leg press was a toxic combination. But protein farts didn't bother anyone here. They were part of the workout. And when he finally left the gym with Colin at around 11 p.m., there were a lot of protein farts in the air. Neither Colin nor Jacob had been bothered by that during the final cardio workout. Damn it, how could a beefcake like Colin be so limber!

His morning routine was well established. Alarm clock at 05:30. Sit-ups and press-ups. Breakfast, running gear on, run to the office, shower there, and be at his desk by 08:00. Sitting was the new smoking, he hated it. Jake was 22, he had just finished his bachelor's degree and as a trainee he couldn't afford to make any mistakes. His colleagues knew after a few days that he was a fitness junkie. The carefully labeled Tupperware containers spoke for themselves. Jake had to eat something every two hours. His trainer had told him to. Jake had been an ambitious bodybuilder since the age of 16. His tight ass and broad shoulders showed this even when he was wearing a suit. And many of his female colleagues and even some of his male colleagues appreciated the fact that Jake always wore tight and crisp-fitting suits.

This afternoon was going to be an ordeal for Jake. He had promised Liam that he would take over the shift from 21:00. If he wanted to work out properly before then, he had to get off work at 5:00 p.m., 5:30 p.m. at the latest. The meeting went on and on. Jake looked nervously at his mobile again and again. At 5:15 p.m., over an hour later than planned, it was finally over. Jake breathed a sigh of relief. And then his boss asked Jake and two colleagues to stay for the minutes and the upcoming tasks. FUCK! He should have accepted Colin's offer and taken over the management of the gym after graduation. But his tutor at university had convinced him that auditing was his future. Holy shit. Now he'd have to skip cardio training.

05:30. Damn, that was early. But Paul, his roommate, was obviously already awake and seemed to be making breakfast in the kitchen. Yes, Jake was actually disciplined. Otherwise you didn't stand a chance when studying at the sports college. But at least sleep until 06:00 for once, he thought to himself… While he did his burpees to wake up. Paul was Liam's little brother. The two had met at the gym last summer. And Liam and Paul had convinced Jake to study sports economics. He had never regretted his decision. If only because sharing a flat with Paul was a cool thing. The two of them constantly motivated each other. And they also fucked each other from time to time. Hey, tighter asses were hard to find on the whole campus! Today was mostly sports on the timetable. Just one statistics lecture. It wasn't worth changing for that. Jake enjoyed riding his road bike to campus in just shorts and a cut-off tank top. And if the clothes weren't freshly washed, they were at least aired out by the breeze. Of course, the business students sitting in the statistics lecture would get upset about the smelly sports economists again. But hey, Jake already knew the game. It wouldn't be the first time one of these Oxford-shirt-wearing snobs would follow him to the toilet after the lecture and lick his hairy armpits. And it wouldn't be the first time he'd take someone home for a shag or join the gym as a new member. The first was fun, the second earned him a small commission.

“Jake, my darling! It's time to get up!” His mother looked into Jake's teenage room. His bed had already been made. Jake stood behind his mother in sweaty running clothes and quietly went “Boo!” His mother winced. Jake deliberately hugged her tightly so that his sweat made her nightgown damp. “Honey, when did you get up? It's the middle of the night!” Jake replied that he still had body fat to lose before his first amateur competition this weekend. He pulled off his wet running jersey and did a double bicep pose. “Jake, more important than losing body fat would be a shower.” his mother laughed. “Fuck, mom, I'm late. And by the time I've ridden my bike to school, I'll be sweaty again anyway.” “Don't talk back, otherwise there'll be no breakfast.” The threat worked. Jake reluctantly trotted into the shower and his mother prepared his ten-egg omelette.

A poster announcing the national bodybuilding championship hung above the reception desk. With local hero Jake Smith as the favorite in the juniors. You could find those posters everywhere in the neighbourhood. Jake was somehow a local hero. Liam greeted the studio's up-and-coming star with a fist bump. Male rituals. Jake enjoyed that. He wasn't turning 18 for a few days, but here he felt like a full-fledged man. Liam said that ten new members had signed up to the teen-working-out-for-free-in-the-summer promotion last week alone. And eight said they had come to the gym because of Jake's fitness channel. Jake should get in touch with Colin and there would be a special bonus. Hehehe, thought Jake. That could be an extra 50 pounds. Or a shot of extra protein from Colin's cock. With a bit of luck, both. But Jake wasn't greedy. Either would be enough for him.

Inspiration by @olivierlefou, pic by @ki-kink

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #broification #bro tf #jock tf #age reduction

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ms-nesbit · 7 months ago

Text

Title: cosmic (a jason todd x reader fic)

Chapter II of ???

Rating: 18+ (eventual smut, language, violence i guess, and mention of past abuse)

Tw: abuse, violence, and smut.

Summary:

y/n meets dick and barbara, who try to set y/n up with dick’s big little brother.

ao3

note: i will be primarily posting on ao3 since tumblr is not working for me lol

The taxi stopped at the bottom of the hill before the great gates at Wayne Manor.

“I’m not allowed past this point, Miss.” the driver said. “Judge’s orders.”

Y/n nodded as she removed seventy dollars from her wallet and pushed it past the slot on the bottom of the glass divider, leaving the cab and shutting its door behind her.

Before entering the manor, y/n stuck out like a sore thumb: it wasn’t a black tie gala, but the attire was more formal than y/n was anticipating, with women wearing sumptuous dresses that complemented their bodies, and men wearing sharp suits. Y/n contemplated hailing the cab back down to return her back home, but decided against it when she locked eyes with Barbara, who was finished shaking hands with a political figure in Gotham. “Y/n!” she called, promptly walking toward y/n wearing a long, gold dress with a square neckline, and her copper hair down and flowing. “I’m so glad you can make it. I love the skirt you’re wearing!”

Y/n blushed as she looked down at her attire: a black button down tucked underneath a redwood pencil skirt. She reached out her arm for a handshake, but was taken by a hug from Barbara instead. “Thank you. You look incredible.” Y/n smiled. “Am I too late?”

Barbara shook her head. “Fashionably on time, I’ll say. Do you want me to introduce you to the criminologist? Or do you prefer a different sector of the department?” She glanced over her shoulder, as if to let y/n in on a secret. “Or do you want to meet Dick’s younger brother?”

This was the third time Barbara mentioned Dick’s brother to y/n, and although intrigued, y/n already had done her research: according to public records, Dick doesn’t technically have a brother, so who was this mystery man?

Yet y/n was hesitant, and instead wanted to meet the criminologist; after all, Gotham was a safe haven from her past, and all she wanted to do was gain speed on her career. “Let’s meet the criminologist.”

Barbara frowned, but respected y/n’s wishes, anyway, showing her to the inside of Wayne Manor. Inside, it was dimensionally transcendental - despite the exterior being over two acres, even the foyer itself was deemed bigger than y/n’s shared one bedroom flat. “So, y/n,” Barbara began, tossing her hair onto her other shoulder, “this is lead criminologist Dr. Ashanti Ludwis. Dr. Ludwis, this is y/n…”

“Y/n y/l/n, pleasure to meet you.” Y/n extended her hand to shake, which Dr. Ludwis took. “Commissioner Gordon has told me about you.”

“Yep! Y/n here is a graduate of NYU with a major in criminology, and she is eager to gain experience wherever it is needed, right, y/n?”

Y/n nodded, her hair bouncing. “Yes. I did not disclose this with Commissioner Gordon, but I did graduate with a double minor as well, and I am certified bilingual, if appropriate.”

Dr. Ludwis gave y/n an unreadable look. “Very well. If you would like to pursue this, you do know that this isn’t a fairytale, fiction-driven type of career, yes?” Her accent was thick, each word ending in an emphasis of its last sound. Y/n relished the information, nodding along as Dr. Ludwis informed her of the process. “Okay. If you would like to join my team, I do have an opening for apprenticeship; however, it is only paid at eighteen dollars an hour, and you do not have benefits until nine months, around when you will complete your examination to determine eligibility to become a member of the GPD. Is that understood?”

“Crystal clear.” Y/n nodded once, her hands folded in front of her. “If I have any questions about the apprenticeship, where should I direct them?”

“Commissioner Gordon has my contact information and will forward them to you, correct?”

“Correct, Doctor.” Barbara agreed.

“Good. Well it was a pleasure meeting you, Miss y/n, and please, enjoy the party. Do not get wrapped up in the nonsense of the elites.” She directed her eyes to a gathering of people in a group, all wearing luxury brand articles of clothing. After motioning her salutation, Dr. Ludwis disappeared back into the crowd of lavish attendees, leaving y/n with Barbara, who was chatting with a police officer.

“I need to use the restroom, if it’s okay.” y/n whispered to Barbara.

“Oh yeah, there’s plenty if you go that way.” Barbara lifted her chin in the direction of one of the hallways, dimly lit and leading off into an unknown area. Nervous, y/n made her way toward the hallway, before being promptly stopped by Dick.

“Hey, y/n, party’s this way.” he grinned warmly.

“I just have to use the restroom…” y/n trailed sheepishly.

“Oh.” Dick blinked, as if he had never heard of a woman having to use the restroom before, “Y-yeah, of course, yeah. Uh, where’s he…Alfred! Excuse me, Alfred?” Dick began searching around, straightening his posture to overlook the crowd before spotting someone. “Excuse me, Alfred, could you please show Ms. y/n to the restroom?” he pointed to y/n. “Y/n, this is Alfred, Bruce Wayne’s personal assistant. He will direct you to the restroom safely, okay?” Dick patted y/n’s back before heading back to converse with Commissioner Gordon.

“Hi, Mr. Alfred, thank you.” y/n grinned as Alfred showed her away from the gala, the noise of chatter subsiding with each step.

“You can just call me Alfred, Miss. y/n, but thank you.” he replied, turning his head to meet y/n’s eyes with a friendly gaze. “Mr. Grayson thought it was best that you were directed to the lavatory, as this is your first time visiting Wayne Manor, yes?”

Y/n nodded. “That’s correct.”

She followed Alfred past the library and near the conservatory, where a bathroom was hidden as a cabinet. Alfred pushed into the center of the panel, which disengaged the lock and opened the hidden door. “There is a button on the underside of the toilet for emergencies,” Alfred informed. “Do you need me to stay nearby, or are you able to retrace your steps?”

“I can find my way back, Sir, thank you.” y/n replied before stepping into the bathroom and locking the door, amazed at the cleanliness of the unit, its bright color scheme a stark difference from the gothic theme just on the other side of the door. She looked around the corners of the room for security cameras, and placed her finger on the mirror to determine whether or not it was a two-way mirror, watching her reflection ‘touch’ the tip of her real finger.

After ending her security check of the bathroom, y/n used it, and remained in the bathroom for a few minutes after washing her hands to calm her nerves. Y/n wasn’t used to formal outings after her departure from New York; she felt disdain toward it, and wondered if her vocational future in Gotham would revolve around such pompous activities, or if it was less frequent.

Upon leaving the bathroom (and struggling to re-secure the hideaway part of the panel), y/n headed back up the corridor toward the commotion, but stopped at a pair of long, slim walnut doors with gold engraving similar to the walls beside them. Hoping it was a balcony, y/n quietly opened the door and stepped out, finding herself near a bronze guided ledge rail.

This was it: y/n made it outside past the noise of the elite, past the imminent danger she felt since her time in New York - it was almost as if she closed the door to it behind her, and all y/n was left with was her self and the outdoors, freedom from the pains of her youth.

She stared at the crash of the waves of water on the cliff below her, and breathed in sync with the waves: inhale, rise; exhale, crash. Y/n was encompassed by the sense of calm she felt, her guard down, completely unaware of the man now staring at her from inside the manor.

Finally, y/n let her shoulders slump, fixing her pencil skirt from any dirt or water debris collected from the cliffside. Before turning around to head back into the party, she said her goodbye to the cold night that accompanied her, wondering if it would be the last time she would hear the crashing waves.

Reaching for the door handle, y/n found that someone else already opened it for her, as her eyes met with the man’s chest, before looking up at his face. The man was staring at her with an intense gaze, impossible to detect what he was feeling about her, and it made y/n anxious.

“You know, there’s no way to get back in on your own.” He said, voice low and matter-of-fact. “I’d know - I’ve been here plenty of times.”

Opening her mouth, y/n wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t find herself to utter a single letter, let alone groups of them. “You know, a thank you would suffice.” the man added, tone almost combative, as a corner of his mouth turned up to a smirk.

It was the eyes. Y/n’s stare worked itself from the man’s red button up, to his long neck, all the way up to his chin, and the scar on his cheek, the tissue telling that the injury was clean like a blade or knife. Then, y/n’s gaze met the man’s, and she was locked in - his eyes were intense, of course, but there was the calling; the gray streaks in his irises were barbed wires, and the green was the earthy comfort he felt deep down.

Or maybe y/n was reading too much into a stranger. “Sorry, thanks. I didn’t mean to…excuse me, I must be going.” y/n focused her eyes onto the ground, avoiding eye contact with the man as she hurried past him and back up the corridor to the gathering, where she found Barbara and Dick talking together.

“Hey, Barbara, Dick, I really appreciate you two inviting me, but I think I should get going.”

“Get going?” Dick furrowed his brows. “What for? Are you okay? Something happen?”

Barbara gently placed her hand on Dick’s shoulder, stopping the ensemble of questions stumbling out of his mouth. “That’s fine, y/n. Thank you for coming. Did we forget to give you our contact info?”

“Yeah, I completely forgot about that.” y/n admitted.

Barbara reached into her clutch and pulled out a paper and pen, writing down her phone number, then Dick’s, before handing it to y/n. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. You could stop by the headquarters, but I doubt you want to be around the police that much.”

“That makes two of us.” A voice said behind y/n, slightly startling her.

#mine #my post #jason todd #robin #batfamily #red hood #dc #dcu #nightwing #jason todd x reader #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd smut

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writing-intheundercroft · 1 year ago

Text

Only You - S. Sallow

AO3 Link

Word Count: 5,034

Rating: E (Smut, Oral and Vaginal Sex, NSFW, MDNI)

Summary: You decide to surprise Sebastian with lunch at the auror office.

A/N: I said I'd do a smutty follow up to The Night Shift, and here it is!

“You didn’t have to come, you know.” Sebastian says, gently guiding you into the elevator.

“I wanted to,” you insist. “You’re always supporting everyone around here–someone has to support you.”

Sebastian gives you a soft, shy smile as the door shuts behind you both. He’s been utterly dedicated to helping you get adjusted to your new daytime schedule, his career taking the backseat in your daily conversations. The two of you were leaving the courtroom, where several surviving ashwinders were just sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. You knew he was nervous about the Wizengamot trial, having to confront the offenders who’d set up a surprise attack for the aurors all those months ago. Sebastian had recovered quite well in the months that followed, but you’d caught him trembling at the thought of sitting in the stands, identifying each one. Trials had always made Sebastian nervous, knowing deep down that Azkaban had almost been his fate, if not for you and Ominis.

You push that memory out of your mind. Sebastian is now an upstanding member of society, a decorated Auror who you’ve just found out is up for promotion thanks to his heroics.

“Dinner, tonight. You and me.” Sebastian declares, leaning against the wall. “I’ll pick you up straight from the hospital.”

“I’ll be disgusting.” you remind him. You’d taken a few hours off to attend the trial, and were already dressed in your uniform to go to St. Mungo’s. You wouldn’t be off until the late hours of the evening, but it didn’t seem like Sebastian cared.

The doors to the elevator opened and you politely stepped to the side, letting the woman who’d entered step into the center. As the doors shut, she turns to Sebastian, a saucy grin on her face.

“Sebastian Sallow, it’s good to see you.” she says sweetly.

You immediately frown, taking note of her casualness around him.

“Marlene, nice to see you again.” Sebastian is polite and gentlemanly, keeping his eyes glued to her face.

She steps towards him, completely ignoring you in the elevator with them. “Glad to have that trial over then?” she asks.

Sebastian lets out a puff of air, nodding gratefully. “Very glad. Was a nightmare to relive the whole situation.” he admits. His eyes flit over her shoulder to you, but you pay her no mind–she must be a coworker in the auror office.

To your shock, the woman steps forward towards Sebastian, placing a hand on his chest. “I was so sorry to hear about you and Rebecca. You know, I still haven’t forgotten about that night–”

Steam was about to pour out of your ears, no pepper-up potion needed. Mortified, Sebastian pushes her hand away, gesturing to you on the other side of the cab.

“Marlene, this is my…” Sebastian trails off. The two of you hadn’t quite put a label on your relationship yet. Despite the time that had passed since your reunion, and the fact that you’d all but moved into his tiny flat, you had yet to call him your boyfriend.

The woman jumps back, blushing. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Tony had said you were unattached at the moment.”

“It’s nice to see you, Marlene.” Sebastian says quickly, grabbing your hand as the door opens to the ground floor. “I’ll see you around the office.” he quickened his pace, tugging you out from the elevator.

You yank your hand out of his, brushing your now sweaty palms on the front of your dress.

“So, Marlene.” You seeth. “A friend of yours?”

Sebastian’s face turns scarlet red, scratching at the freckles trailing down his neck. “Come on, now.” he strains. “We both have histories, we know that. It was five years, we can’t pretend there wasn’t anyone in between.”

You feel guilt pooling in your stomach; Sebastian is right, after all. Up until a few months ago, you had an entire fiance–someone you were going to marry, raise children with, spend the rest of your life with. You also couldn’t lie that there had been men before him. Imelda Reyes had said it best–the only way to get over Sebastian Sallow was to get under someone else.

“I at least avoided anyone I worked with.” you grumble, crossing your arms.

Sebastian lets out a low sigh. “You’re right. It wasn’t the smartest move of mine, but I assure you–you’re the only woman for me.” he says gently, his hands finding your hips through your unflattering St. Mungo’s uniform. “Forgive me?” He pouts.

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. For as much as you want to be mad at Sebastian, you can’t resist the puppy dog eyes he gives you anytime you even remotely disagree. Not that there have been many disagreements lately anyways–Sebastian has been nothing but entirely amenable since you’ve returned to his life. There was only one time you thought you might actually fight over Sebastian littering used teaspoons all over the flat, but he’d more than made up for his behavior by spending the better half of an evening with his head between your thighs.

“Fine.” You purse your lips, hiding the smirk you know Sebastian is searching for. “I’ll meet you outside of the hospital at eight o’clock.”

Sebastian Sallow’s boyish grin will be the cause of your downfall someday, but not today. His beaming smile and flushed freckles makes your heart beat a little faster, and you feel completely alive.

You walk tentatively into the auror office, clutching the basket of lunch you’d just made for Sebastian. His favorite–a ham and pickle sandwich on sourdough bread, apples you’d picked up together at the market, and some homemade cookies (Anne’s recipe, obviously–you’re rubbish with baked goods). After feeling quite homely in your St. Mungo’s uniform, you decide to dress up today. The move is inspired completely by the way you’d caught Sebastian admiring the dresses you’d moved into his now fully stuffed wardrobe. You’re wearing one he spent a good minute looking over, likely imagining how low the neckline could possibly lay. You’d swatted him, scolding his cheeky glance, but had decided to wear it anyway after he’d left that morning.

You hear your name over your shoulder; turning around, it’s Everett Clopton, a big grin stretched across his face. His dark curls are tucked behind his ears, sporting his classic gold wire glasses.

“I was wondering when we’d see you here.” Everett bowed his head slightly, hands in his front pockets. “Bringing a snack for Sebastian?”

You blush, gesturing to the basket. “Where is he?” you crane your neck, looking over the office.

“Lucky bugger just got promoted after the trial,” Everett rolled his eyes. “Something about bravery or whatever. Got his own office and everything. I think he was moving his things in.”

Even more of a reason to celebrate, you think. Sebastian had been toiling over the prospect of the potential promotion over the last two weeks, and all of his hard work was starting to pay off. You thank Everett, sauntering your way over to the door at the end of the hall, a little gold plaque marked S. Sallow on the front.

“Surprise,” you call out cheerfully as you push the door open. Your smile fades into shock when you see a pretty woman perched on top of the desk, flicking through a box of Sebastian’s belongings.

Marlene, you remember. The woman from the elevator.

She smiles at you as she slides off the desk, pressing creases out of her dress. “I didn’t know Sebastian was expecting any visitors.” she says kindly. “And how sweet, you brought him lunch.”

You clear your throat. “I have. Do you know where he is?”

Marlene presses her lips firmly together. “Off to the loo.”

You fidget with the basket in hand. “Right.”

“You two haven’t been together long, have you?” Marlene asks, walking slowly towards you. “I would’ve heard about it, I should think. Sebastian and I do spend quite a bit of time together.”

You can feel your ancient magic bubbling over with your anger. “Do you?” you spit out.

“Working, of course. Amongst other things.” Marlene nods, patting your shoulder. “Sebastian can be such a sweetheart,” she purrs. “Yet such a fickle lover, don’t you think?”

You turn on your heel, bolting from the small office. Tears are pricking at the corner of your eyes; clearly, Sebastian hasn’t spoken about you to his colleagues yet. It makes you feel quite silly, considering all the other healers in your unit are constantly fawning over the daily flowers Sebastian sends. Yet you cease to exist in the auror office, with only his two partners and your former schoolmates knowing of your existence.

You could hear your name being called, but nothing could stop your feet from hitting the ground, nearly breaking into a sprint in your effort to remove yourself from the vicinity. Before long, you’re in the main lobby, heels clacking on the black tile as you make your way to the floo flames. Just as you’re about to floo to your own home for the first time in weeks, you run into a solid body.

“I’m so sorry–” you begin, blinking rapidly as you recognize the suit in front of you. Eyes trailing up, you see a familiar set of eyes, and a smile you thought you’d never see again.

“Hello you,” your former fiance proclaims, his hand on your elbow. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

If there could be awards for terrible days, this one would take the cake. Not only are you running from Sebastian’s former fling, you’re now faced with the man you utterly destroyed a few months ago. It isn’t a fond memory, but you can recall the distraught look in his eyes as you arrived at his flat in the wee hours of the morning, clutching his engagement ring. He still looks just as handsome as you remember him–dark hair, a well groomed mustache, and bright, sparkling blue eyes that could even rival Ominis Gaunt’s (not that you’d ever let Ominis hear that you’ve made a comparison).

For as handsome as you find him, his face is still not the one you crave the most.

“Pet,” you hear from behind, Sebastian gasping for air. “Did you not hear me?”

Great, you think. This makes your day even better.

“Who is this?” Your ex-fiance asks, a slight frown on his face.

You turn to look at Sebastian, who is slightly panting as he puts a hand on your shoulder. He looks slightly disheveled, his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows, the top unbuttoned. He looks at you, and then the man next to you, trying to put the pieces together.

“This is Sebastian Sallow,” you gulp. “He was my patient.”

Your ex-fiance gives him a full glance over. “You’re one of those aurors from the ambush, aren’t you?” his eyes narrow. “Freshly promoted by the minister himself.”

Sebastian frowns at him, eyes trailing down to the grip he has on your elbow. “And you are?” he sneers at the stranger.

Your ex-fiance keeps his hand on your elbow. “Eric McNair. Junior secretary to the minister.” he grits.

Sebastian stands tall. “A pleasure, Eric. If you don’t mind, the lady and I have somewhere to be.” his hand remains on your shoulder, and you find yourself sandwiched between two men you’ve loved–each for very different reasons, and in very different ways.

“This is him, isn’t it?” Your ex-fiance says flatly. His blue eyes pierce your soul, clearly in pain. It’s almost as bad as the way he looked at you when you shoved the pretty red velvet ring box back into the palm of his hand. You had lied that night, claiming there was no one else that had changed your feelings–it was your fault, not his. That had only been partly true, considering the freckled bastard beside you had planted the seed of doubt.

“I’m sorry,” You wince. There’s no dancing around the subject, especially with the way Sebastian has his hand curled around your shoulder.

Ever the gentleman, your ex-fiance lifts his grip on your elbow. Bowing his head slightly, he purses his lips as he backs towards the floo flames.

“I hope you two are happy together,” he says curtly, before disappearing into the green fire.

Taking in a sharp breath, you turn to Sebastian. He’s looking down at you, slightly stunned.

“Will you please come back with me?” Sebastian nearly wheezes. “You and I need to talk.”

You nod dumbly, letting him guide you back to the elevator. The two of you are silent, Sebastian’s hand lightly gripping your gloved hand. Once you’re back on the fifth floor, Sebastian guides you through the office to his. Larson is now sitting on Everett’s desk, giving you a goofy wink as Everett complains about his crumbs dusting the tabletop. You glance sideways, seeing Marlene looking quite frustrated, sitting at her own desk now.

Sebastian shuts the door behind you; the office is still empty, Sebastian’s meager belongings in boxes around the room. He mutters a quick locking and silencing spell, so that others might not hear you if you decide to argue.

“I wish you’d told me you were coming,” Sebastian huffs.

You set the basket down on an empty shelf, whipping the gloves off your hands as you rest them on your hips. “So you would know not to have a pretty little coworker sitting on your desk when I arrived?” you snip at him.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.” he says bitterly. “I just…I would have made things nicer for you, that’s all.” He’s fidgeting now, which is most unlike him.

“Do your friends know about me?” You snap at him.

“Everett and Andrew know, but it’s no one else's business. They’re not my friends, they’re my colleagues.” Sebastian argues.

“Colleagues you’ve slept with,” you retort.

“That’s ancient history, and you know it.” Sebastian declares. “Marlene is a colleague–she’s one of the secretaries in the office, we have to work together. Besides, it was over a year ago when it happened, and I’ve turned down every advance since.”

“Well, she clearly thinks she still has a chance.” you bite back.

“And what about that man in the lobby, then?” Sebastian argues. “Just a friend of yours? The two of you looked fairly chummy.”

A frown settles into your lips. “Really, Sebastian? Surely you’re more perceptive than this.”

Sebastian’s frown turns into confusion, and then clarity once he’s put it together.

“Your fiance?” His eyes widened. “The pencil pusher?”

“Ex-fiance, thanks to you.” you grumble. “And I told you not to call him that.”

Sebastian’s face turns red as he begins to pace around his office. Now that he knows, his head is surely filled with all the scenes of your past relationship. Eric was a man you’d known well–well enough that you’ve laughed with him, slept with him, even agreed to marry him.

Sebastian falls into his chair, blinking at you rapidly. “He looks nice,” he admits.

You are frozen in place, looking down at him and his sheepish face. “A perfectly nice man whose heart I broke.” You echo. “Because like the massive arse I am, I fell back in love with you within five days of seeing you.”

Sebastian holds a hand out to you, and your body reacts instantaneously, feet shuffling towards him. He hooks his hands behind your thighs, pulling your body close. Digging his face into your skirts, he grumbles his apology.

“I didn’t even mean for her to be in my office,” Sebastian strained. “She offered to help carry boxes.”

You know he’s telling the truth, but that’s not what’s really bugging you. “She didn’t even know who I was, Sebastian.” you bite your bottom lip. “I’ve told everyone who you are, how important you are to me. Yet she feels like she can put her hands on you.”

Sebastian looks up at you, his big brown eyes filled with remorse. “What can I do to fix this?” he asks, slightly panicked.

“Tell me what I am to you,” you ask gently, tipping his chin up towards you.

“You’re everything,” Sebastian breathes.

Ruffling his hair, you roll your eyes. “Be more specific.”

Sebastian wrinkles his nose. “Bit juvenile to call you my girlfriend, isn’t it?” He pulls you in tighter, pressing a long, languid kiss to the front of your bodice. It sends shivers up your spine, wishing there were several less layers of cloth between you two.

“You can call me that for now,” you murmur, nimble fingers moving towards his chest. You give him a coy smile as your fingers start playing with the buttons of his vest. “But I would much rather you change my title sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, madam.” Sebastian’s eyes start roving over your body. He leans back, letting you slip your knee between his legs. You plant your hands firmly on his shoulders, looking down at him.

“I was hoping to see this dress on you soon,” Sebastian licks his lips. “Bend over for me, will you?”

You roll your eyes, swatting at him. “You brute,” the laugh rolls off your tongue, but there is no hiding how badly you want him.

Sebastian pinches the fabric of your dress between his fingers, eyes dancing over your decolletage. “I’m the luckiest bastard in the world,” he murmurs. “A promotion, my own office, and my dream girl.” You feel his hands slide around, squeezing your bottom through the fabric. “I’m quite tempted to take you right here, right now.”

It’s indecent, you think. His coworkers are right behind the door. But your baser urges drive you to pull away, making quite a show of sitting on his brand new, empty desk. Sebastian watches you, slack jawed, as you cross your legs, pulling the fabric of your dress over your knees to expose your silk stockings.

“Tempting, you say?” you murmur, uncrossing your legs to show your body underneath the petticoats.

Sebastian launches himself off the desk chair, groaning as he tangles his hands in your hair. You laugh against his lips as one of his hands trails up your leg, stopping where the lacy edge of your stockings meet your soft thighs.

“You’re mad, woman.” Sebastian pants. “Only you could drive me to this.”

You bite back a moan as Sebastian’s fingers slide against you. He gives you the filthiest smile when he feels how wet you are for him–he knows no matter how mad you are, he can reduce you to a trembling mess with his hands. Always has been, you think.

“I want to hear you beg for it,” Sebastian urges you, curling his fingers inside. You gasp as he adds a third, clutching onto his shoulder while he gives you the cockiest look you’d ever seen on him. No, it’s Sebastian who should be begging. Sebastian who should be quaking beneath you, begging for your forgiveness after the conversation you’d just had.

Even though you whine at the loss of his fingers, you push him backwards. Sebastian is slightly shocked until he lands into his desk chair, bouncing into the leather seat. Again, he’s at a loss for words as you surge forward, one hand on the chair back, the other popping the buttons of his trousers.

“What would you call me?” you ask him innocently, brushing your fingers against his clothed cock.

“W-w-what?” Sebastian sputters, looking down at your hand.

You tilt his chin back up to look at you. “What would you say I am to you?” You murmur, sliding your hand under his undergarments, tightly gripping his length. He feels so soft and smooth, yet impossibly stiff at the same time. “Answer me, darling.”

Sebastian let out a stuttered groan, his head falling back against the chair. When he doesn’t answer, you lighten your touch; he whines in response.

“You’re my girlfriend,” he moans.

“Hmm, I thought you said that wasn’t good enough.” Your thumb swipes over the crown of his cock, spreading a glistening bead of precum against his skin.

“My lover then,” Sebastian pants, tilting his head down to look at you through darkened eyes.

You smile sweetly at him, slowly kneeling between his legs. “You’ll tell all of your colleagues I’m your lover?” You keep your eyes on his face as you press a sweet kiss to his tip, and Sebastian might just explode right then and there. “Seems like you’ve had quite a few.”

“The only one I’ve ever loved,” Sebastian moans, patting your hair as you slip your mouth around him, rolling your tongue against his cock. "Only you."

You hum in approval as he chokes out his praise for you, sweet names of endearment for you spilling out of his mouth as you hollow your cheeks.

“Sweet little thing– fuck, the sexiest witch I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” Sebastian rasps, looking down at you with pupils blown out in pleasure. He chokes as he pushes you off of him, blinking while you wipe the saliva from your lips on the back of your hand.

“On the desk,” Sebastian’s voice falters. “Now.”

His mouth crashes against yours as you scoot your bottom onto the desk; Sebastian rucks your dress up to your waist, desperate to reach your hot skin underneath. Your hands tug his trousers down, palming his round bottom as he groans into your mouth. You can feel his cock pressed against your thigh, wet and throbbing. Teeth smashing, tongues tangling–you simply cannot get enough of one another.

You’ve had months of sweet love making since your reunion, you think. The urgent, feral fucking you’re about to receive is quite welcome.

Sebastian wastes no time sinking his length into you, pressing his forehead against you as his breath stutters. Looking up at you through his dark lashes, Sebastian has never looked more beautiful. You wrap your legs around him, allowing as little space possible between your bodies.

“I love you,” Sebastian grunts, thrusting his cock into you. “ Only you.” The sound of those words coming out of his mouth again has your head rolling backwards. You’re thankful for the silencing charm Sebastian has cast on the door; the sound of his skin slapping against yours fills the small office.

“Sebastian,” you moan, falling back against the mahogany desk. Your hands splay out against the surface, back arching as he rolls his hips just the way you like. You’re both moaning with every hurried thrust; Sebastian’s hands are wrapped around your thighs, nails digging into the lace edges of your stockings.

“I love the way you look sprawled on my desk,” Sebastian growls. He leans forward, kissing the tops of your breasts. “You’re a dream come true.”

“Am I?” You gasp, arms thrown around his neck. “Tell me more, Sebastian. Use your words.”

“Don’t think I haven’t been dreaming of this since the night you showed up at my bedside,” Sebastian warns, his sweaty forehead pressed against yours. “Merlin, I want to feel you come around me so badly.”

“What am I, Sebastian?” You murmur, fingers lightly wrapped around his neck. He’s broadened with age, your small hands barely fitting around his neck. But in this position, you can feel his quickened pulse, which makes your stomach flutter. You feel the coil inside of you tighten, waiting for him to say the magic words that will push you over the precipice.

“You’re the love of my life,” Sebastian rasps, eyes glued to yours. “Always have been. Gonna–I’m gonna make you my wife someday.” he whimpers.

You let out a satisfied cry as you finish around him, hands trailing up to grip his unruly hair at the root. Sebastian is not far behind you, cursing as he spills his seed inside of you. His hips stutter against you on the edge of the desk, whispering filthy promises alongside the sweet reassurances of your future together.

After a long, passionate kiss, Sebastian pulls away, tugging his pants back up. You blush, dropping your skirt hem back over your legs.

“Christened my desk,” Sebastian winks cheekily. “I was thinking we needed to, but I wasn’t quite expecting it to take place today.”

You roll your eyes, laughing as you slap his shoulder. You’ll never stop loving him for his attitude, you think. Sebastian can be so serious, chivalrous and determined. The next, utterly depraved and passionate. But underneath it all, Sebastian is filled with laughter and sweetness–something you’d forgotten after five years of trying to hate him. It’s a sweet reminder of the boy you met when you were fifteen, who’d raced you to Hogsmeade on your first day of classes. The boy who’d so bravely taken the fall for you when you’d snuck into the restricted section, and had swept you off your feet at sixteen.

He’s a grown man now, you think. But he’ll always be that Sebastian in your heart. And one day, he’ll be your husband–you’re positively sure of it this time.

“Ham and pickle, my favorite.” Sebastian smacks his lips.

You smile at Sebastian as you unpack another box. After your frenzied lovemaking, you actually started helping him with the task at hand. His files are now meticulously organized, and you were working on his box of desk trinkets while he sat against the door, tucking into the lunch you’d packed for him.

“Still your favorite,” you remind him, carefully taking out a wooden picture frame. You thumb over the glass; it’s of him and Anne as children with their parents. You set it on the corner of the desk, next to the lamp. There’s another small frame–Sebastian standing next to Ominis and Anne on their wedding day. It pangs your heart to realize that you missed it, and that you’ll forever be absent in their photos. In fact, there are no photos of you in the box to display on his desk.

“What can I say? I’m a creature of habit.” Sebastian says with his mouth full.

“Y’know, I rather think my picture belongs on this desk.” You say, putting your hands on your hips. “I should think I’d get top billing.”

He beckons you; you fall to your knees, shuffling towards him, and you snatch the sandwich out of his hands, taking a large bite for yourself. Surprisingly, Sebastian doesn’t protest–instead, he dips his hand into his trouser pockets.

“I keep a photo of you a little closer,” he confesses, digging out his wallet. You remain stunned as he fishes through it, pulling out a creased photograph. It’s the two of you on your graduation day from Hogwarts; you’re laughing at the camera, pointing at whoever was aiming it (it’s been so long, you can’t remember who). Sebastian’s eyes remain glued to you, completely ignoring the photographer. It’s the last time you’d ever worn your Hogwarts robes, pointy black hats adorning your head as you both clutched your diplomas.

You swallow thickly, taking the photo in hand. “I can’t believe you still have this,” you murmur.

“One of my favorites.” Sebastian gulps, pressing his lips in a tight line as he tucks you into his chest. “Fished it out of my memory box, right after we got back together. Should I find a frame for it?”

You feel silly for ever doubting him. Sebastian has always known what you are to him–no title needed. Blinking back tears, you look at the brunette, pressing your palm against his cheek.

“I want you to keep it on you at all times,” you declare. “Right in your pocket, you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am.” Sebastian purrs, kissing the top of your head. “Perhaps we’ll have a more formal occasion to take photos soon. Wedding photos, I think.” he teases.

The two of you finish unpacking his belongings, polishing off what remains in the lunch basket. The hem of your dress is torn from dragging against the splintered edge of his desk, so Sebastian casts a hasty reparo charm on it. You double check that you’re both decent before opening the door to his office, confidently striding out hand in hand.

It must be late afternoon already, as most of the desks are abandoned. Marlene’s eyes are glued to whatever file she’s reading, ignoring the two of you. You smile haughtily to yourself as Sebastian wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in tighter.

“You two are disgusting,” Everett rolls his eyes. “As if we didn’t know what you two were up to all afternoon.”

“I beg your pardon,” Sebastian scoffs. “The lovely lady was helping me unpack my office. And that’s no way to speak to your senior officer now, is it?”

Larson lets out a booming laugh as he pulls on his jacket. “Well, should we all hit the Leaky Cauldron then? Rest of the office is bound to be there already.”

Sebastian looks down at you proudly. “No, I think I’ll take the missus home.”

You can’t hide the blush on your face when Sebastian looks at you in such a way. The two of you bid a hasty goodbye to Everett and Andrew as you walk hand in hand to the elevators, swinging the wicker basket. When the elevator doors close, Sebastian pushes you up against the wall, putting a hand on your waist.

“Speaking of home, I think it’s time we start looking for a bigger one,” he announces. “I’ve found a few listings for new places, considering we’ll have to get a separate bedroom for your clothes. Plus, we should live a bit closer to the hospital for you.”

“Braving the London housing market together,” you sigh gloomily. “The next test of our relationship.”

Sebastian lets out a sparkling laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “Pet, after everything we’ve been through, I think this will be an easy task.”

You bite your lip, smiling up at him. He’s right, you think–nothing these days seems too difficult with Sebastian back at your side.

“I can’t wait.” You admit.

The doors open, and Sebastian pulls you out into the light.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x oc #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #auror sebastian sallow #auror sebastian #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fan fiction #this one is a reasonable 5k #sebastian sallow smut #writing-intheundercroft

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iboatedhere · 14 days ago

Note

👁️‍🗨️ I Woke Up In A Car

For wolfnichols (seems appropriate 🤭)

Pre-relationship Wolf/Nichols

—

Josh shifts in the passenger seat, again, his knees knocking against the dashboard of Wolf’s Honda. He heaves a sigh then shifts the other way, stretches one leg out then tucks it back before sighing again.

“There’s a lever on the side you can pull,” Wolf tells him. “You can move the seat back.”

Josh fishes around for it then sets his feet flat on the floor so he can push himself back.

It moves about two inches before it stops and Josh turns to glare.

“I said it would move back,” Wolf says, eyes fixed out the front window, “not that it would move back enough to accommodate you.”

“This is ridiculous,” Josh tells him, “we should’ve taken my car.”

Wolf scoffs. “A seventy thousand dollar car would stick out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. That would be ridiculous.”

“This whole thing is ridiculous,” Josh counters. “I can’t believe you dragged me out here—.”

“I didn’t drag you out here,” Wolf interrupts. “I didn’t even ask you to come out here. You invited yourself.”

Josh snaps his mouth shut because he can’t defend himself from that.

He’s known that this patient has been on Wolf’s mind. He can’t figure out what’s causing his seizures and memory loss and tremors. He’s run every test and Josh has studied MRI’s and CT scans until his vision blurred.

They’re missing something—which means maybe, possibly—their patient isn’t telling them everything. He’s keeping something embarrassing or illegal or something he deems irrelevant.

When one of Wolf’s interns let it slip that he would be tailing their patient to learn more about him, Josh really had no choice but to tag along.

So now they’re here, in a seedy neighborhood in Queens, parked just out of the glow from a flickering street lamp, on a street lined with bars and clubs that makes The Rock Pile look like a Michelin rated restaurant.

“Someone had to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed.”

“I’ve been taking care of myself for years,” Wolf tells him. “I don’t need you to look after me. This might be a long night, why don’t you call a cab and go home?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“So you’re okay with possibly spending the night in this car?”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

Wolf rolls his eyes. “Like where?”

“A ship in the middle of the Adriatic Sea with three hundred other men, all wondering if the civilians we’ll treat tomorrow will be mostly women or mostly children.”

“Oh,” Wolf says. “Okay.”

Josh hums then feels guilty for souring whatever mood they had going.

“I also went to Burning Man once.”

Wolf turns in his seat so abruptly the car rocks and his knees knock against the to-go coffee cup in the holder between the seats.

Josh picks it up and takes a sip even though it’s both Wolf’s and cold.

“I don’t beleive you,” Wolf says.

“Why would I lie about that?”

“I don’t know,” Wolf answers with a laugh. “I just can’t picture you there.”

“Good because you shouldn’t. I can’t even give a good reason why I was there except it was the nineties and I was on leave and my boy—.” He stops and shakes his head. “My friend wanted to go and I wanted to go with him.”

“So it wasn’t fun?”

“Not the parts that I can remember.”

Wolf nods. “I guess that makes sense for you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, it just checks out that you didn’t have fun. I have a hard time imagining you having fun.”

“I have fun,” Josh tells him. “I’m fun.”

“What exactly do you do for fun?”

Josh takes another sip and raises a brow. There’s just enough light coming through the windows for Josh to see Wolf’s cheeks stain pink.

“Well,” Wolf says, playing it off by clearing his throat and looking away. “I find people who base their entire personality around sex to be a little one dimensional.”

“It’s not my entire personality,” Josh defends. “I’m multifaceted. You just don’t know me very well.”

“Maybe I should.”

“Yeah, maybe you should,” Josh tells him and they lock eyes in the dim light until a group of people spill out of the bar halfway down the street. “Not our guy,” Josh says as he scans their faces and Wolf scrubs his hands over his face.

“Maybe this is ridiculous. We should call it.” He moves to start the car, metal key jingling in the dark. “Sorry I wasted your time.”

Josh puts his hand out to stop him. “Do you always give up so easily?”

“I’m not giving up. I don’t give up.”

“Guess I need to get to know you better, too.”

“Yeah,” Wolf says, a hint of a smile on his face as he drops the key on the dash. “I guess you do.”

#wolfnichols #wolfnichols fic #brilliant minds #brilliant minds fic #ask #Ficlet Friday

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zet-sway · 3 months ago

Text

Fanfic: Girasol

Or, Shepard and Thane get frisky over a crowded nightclub

[Read on AO3] - Rated E for SPICEEEY

Pairing: Thane/FShep | Rating: 18+ | Words: ~6400

“Imagine it, Siha,” he says, his chest flat against her back as he nips her jaw. “The dancers below are none the wiser, for a time. And then one looks up,” he gestures out over the dance floor and takes a deep, long breath. “And there you are. Bent over before me, colored lights sweeping across your skin, shaking as I take my fill of you.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thane smiles when he says “I know a place.”

A place for a night out - somewhere he promises will be both free of prying eyes and luxurious in its indulgence. A fancy dinner date that demands the kind of attire Shepard seldom gets to wear.

So it is that she finds herself leaning too close to her bathroom mirror, eyeliner pen in hand and its cap in her mouth as she draws out a black, knife-edged wing over each eye with practiced ease. Like riding a bike, she thinks, before she steps back to take one last look at her appearance, making last minute adjustments.

The dress is black, form-fitting, with a high collar hugging her neck to pronounce the defined angles of her jaw. Below, a diamond of exposed skin in the center of her dress reveals the shadow between her breasts. The garment ends a little more than halfway down her thighs, and she stands a few inches taller in her heels. She smirks to herself, heels clicking on the tile floor as she steps over to the sink and tidies her makeup bag.

Thane knocks softly at the bathroom door before sliding it open. She can hear the low purr of appreciation as he moves close.

“Siha,” he murmurs, low and reverent, subvocals thrumming with excitement and desire. “You look radiant.”

Shepard dips her head, booting up her omni-tool to check their reservation. It’s something she does to deflect his attention from her blushing cheeks. “What,” she says, giving her all to sound nonchalant. “Were you expecting sweatpants and a t-shirt?” The clock in the bottom corner of the mirror ticks up by one minute and turns red - time to leave.

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Thane turns her to face him, cupping her elbow as he slides an arm around her. As his lips ghost over hers, she clamps her hand around his bicep and pushes back. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

His dark eyes gleam at her from across the skycar cabin. They’re headed somewhere swanky, but he still hasn't told her exactly where. Shepard tugs the bunched up edge of her dress out from beneath her thigh and bites her tongue. He’s already called her impatient at least three times and she’ll be damned if she’ll give him reason to say it again. Assassins and their secrets.

Their vehicle whisks past the neon landscape of upper Tayseri Ward, the light of the nearby Widow Nebula casting facades and spires in bright lavenders and deep cobalts. The passing shadows gleam across the broad, deep V of scales at his chest, exposed between an immaculately trimmed double vest and pressed button-up with rolled sleeves.

He glances, a knowing look in his eye, looking for all the world like he’s about to make a smart remark about the way her foot taps rhythmically against the seat across from her. Whatever he’s thinking, he elects to keep it to himself as the cab finally slows.

They’re just meters from the bleeding edge of the ward, the furthest possible stretch from the Presidium. Before her, a golden glow emanates from the most expensive looking restaurant she’s ever seen in her life.

The cab VI pings softly and announces, “Now arriving at Girasol Restaurant, Tayseri Ward. Thank you for choosing Citicab.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

They’re seated beneath an infinite panorama of stars. Ships pass overhead, and far off, they can just barely make out the Widow relay, distant flashes of light reaching their eyes with the steady churn of the relay queue. They’re served what might be the first multi-course meal she’s ever had.

This far out on the Ward, simulated rotational gravity is more comfortable than she’s used to. Heavier, but far closer to the SR2’s environment than the Presidium has ever been. The station’s rotation is actually perceptible from here, with so many ships flying in and out.

“So, when were you going to tell me you were close friends with the owner of the most expensive restaurant on the Citadel?”

Thane actually laughs, his face cracking into a wide, amused smile.

“Serana is a known ally for someone of my employ. She’s more of a trusted business partner than a close friend.”

Shepard polishes off the rest of her drink and side-eyes him. “I’m not the jealous type, Thane. You don’t have to blow smoke.”

He pulls both elbows up on the table and loosely cups his hands together. “No smoke, Siha. Only the truth. I’ve only met her on one occasion. She owns multiple establishments on Tayseri ward, and has a reputation for the kind of… discretion that assassins and their clients are looking for.”

“So, a safe meeting place, then?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Ask for the right table, and it’s all taken care of from there.”

A teal-colored asari with golden tattoos collects their empty glasses as she passes by, and a set of refills is immediately behind. There’s one other drell dressed in neutral colored leathers conversing with a salarian at a nearby table, and another two across the restaurant engrossed in deep conversation with two hanar. It strikes her that this is more drell than Shepard has ever seen in one place before.

“So you brought me to the super secret assassin speakeasy. Very cool, Thane,” she smirks, “I can cross that one off the bucket list.”

He smiles at her, enormous dark eyes gleaming with admiration. “You're quite welcome. There are few perks associated with my profession. I'm glad to share this with you.”

Shepard leans back in her chair, thinking, one wrist resting on the table. “They probably think you’re here to kill for me.”

“Siha,” he says, closing his hand over hers, “The very reason we met is because you asked me to kill for you.”

Quirking a brow, she says, “You make it sound so romantic.”

“As I recall, it was you who initiated the romance.”

She shrugs. “What can I say? I have a weakness for moody, leather-clad aliens with plunging necklines.” Shepard nods in the direction of his buttondown, the first three buttons of which are undone, perhaps more than would be tasteful in polite company. She could say she's used to seeing him like this - it's how he's dressed from the moment they met. But sometimes…

Thane’s smile turns catlike, and he squeezes her hand. “Indeed, I feel the same.”

She gives him a playful nudge with her foot. “Damn, I walked right into that one.”

“In case I haven’t mentioned it already,” he says, leaning forward, voice low, “You look ravishing in that dress. Please, give Kelly my regards.”

Not unaffected by his lower vocal registers, Shepard offers a nonchalant rebuttal. “I think Kelly’s been chomping at the bit for your ‘regards’ since she first laid eyes on you.”

Thane smiles with a wave of his hand. “I’m spoken for, as you know.”

He relaxes back then, removing the napkin from his lap and folding it neatly before setting it on the table before him. The golden light above their table gleams off the deep V of exposed scales on his chest, and Shepard feels the not-so-distant rumbling of desire in her blood. She loves him like this - laid back, cocky, with a kind of easy bombast that he only brings out for her.

“Alright, Sere Spoken For,” She grips his hand, nails touching his palm in silent excitement. "Dinner was great. Why don't we get into some trouble?”

“I'd like that,” he says with a smile.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Lower Tayseri ward is wreathed in neon and shadow. They make their way to a nearby taxi pavilion and Thane casually slides a credit chit across the volus caretaker’s desk.

“Right this way,” he breathes heavily, leading them to a parked cab. The doors swing open and the seats slide back as they enter, revealing a wide hatch and ladder beneath. Thane descends first, Shepard close behind him. She's slower than she would like in these shoes, her mobility not improved by the tight confines of her dress.

“I know you’re getting an eyeful down there.”

Thane catches the sole of her foot as she very nearly plants her heel on his face, and he stops his descent, almost certainly to raise his eyes to the clear shot he must have between her thighs.

“I was not, until you suggested it,” he muses. “I love that color on you.”

Leaning to peer down the ladder at him, Shepard winks. “I know you do.”

They dismount the ladder one at a time, metal grating beneath their feet. They’ve arrived in some kind of tunnel system. Distantly, Shepard can hear the pounding bass of a nightclub.

“I’m relieved to hear the club is still operating,” Thane says, as though he were the type of guy to be pressed about a nightclub being closed down. They begin to make their way down the corridor. It’s too narrow to walk comfortably side by side. Shepard settles for admiring his ass as he leads ahead of her.

“You’re taking me to a nightclub?”

“It’s called Cernunnos. Their DJs are a crowd favorite.”

A keeper crosses their path ahead, and they pause to let it pass. Shepard takes the opportunity to pull herself in close, savoring the feel of his muscled frame beneath her hands. “You have a favorite DJ?”

He doesn't answer, offering that classic little smirk-smile he only shares with her. This man, she thinks.

“Come, Siha. It isn’t far.”

They traverse the winding network of grated catwalks, narrow corridors, and dusty passageways, lit by dim red wall panels reminiscent of a submarine and lined with a concerning number of locked, unlabeled doors without handles. It would be so easy to get lost down here, spend a few hours well and truly alone - a thought that’s becoming more and more interesting as she wonders what Thane plans on doing to her when he finally has her cornered.

At last, they come upon one large door with a glowing red lock. Thane presses a panel beside it, revealing a console so well hidden it may as well have not been there at all. Seconds later, the lock turns green, the doors open, and they're swept up in the colossal sound of pounding bass and dancing bodies.

“Holy shit,” she says under her breath, the sound of her voice lost to the music.

They arrive at a horizontal catwalk stretching along the curved wall of the club from one end of the dance hall to the other. There’s maybe 12 inches of space between their heads and the ventilation ductwork, and the guardrail is trussed with lights, circling in neon patterns over the dancers far below who frolic over a mirrored floor lined with still more lights that give the space an otherworldly feel. The bass shakes her bones, settles hard over the pounding of her heart. Incredible, what freedom a bit of loud music can bring.

She takes a step up to the railing, soaking in the energy of the crowd and the beat. Thane’s arms slide around her waist. It never gets old - the way he pulls her back into him, letting his breath wash over her neck. He presses close, giving a thoughtful hum as his lips ghost over her ear.

“I once chased a target to this very spot,” he says lowly, in a haze of memory. “A human woman. Red of hair.”

Shepard leans back into him, smirking. “You brought me all this way to tell me stories? I love that about you.”

He brushes his nose against her hairline, presses his cheek close. “She was a fierce combatant. Slipped through my fingers more times than I could count as I pursued her across systems, through relays, until at last I cornered her here, on the Citadel.”

Their current arrangement is not lost on her. Leaning against a narrow metal guardrail with the galaxy’s most feared assassin at her back, she can't help the excited jump in her pulse.

“Next you’re gonna tell me you prayed for her before you dropped her over the edge,” Shepard teases.

“You mistake me, Siha.” His hands wander to her hips. “My hunt had only just begun when we reached the Citadel. After I infiltrated her ship and earned her trust.”

That gets a genuine laugh out of her. “Mixing business with pleasure, Thane?”

“As all assassins do,” he agrees without a shred of shame or discomfort. “One might argue that by the time I caught her, she openly goaded me to chase her.” His lips touch her neck. “To claim her.”

“So you cornered her here,” Shepard replies, leaning her head back against his shoulder, inviting his wandering hands, his warm mouth on the curve of her neck.

“As I have cornered you, now,” he says, voice low. Seductive.

“How'd you do it? A quick snap of the neck? A knife? An unfortunate, ‘accidental’ fall?”

“I never said I killed her, Siha,” he says, with a playful lilt to his voice. His hands smooth down over her abdomen, over her thighs, fingertips pressing close to her apex. She knows this touch to be exploratory, communicative, a subtle ask from his body to hers. What a simple thing it is to respond in kind, pressing her backside against him.

He gives a quiet laugh, kissing the spot behind her ear.

“I see how it is,” she teases, arching her spine, pushing her backside into his hips. The unmistakable warmth of his arousal pushes back, and she feels her own desire begin to smolder. “You know all of my secrets but I can't know yours?"

His arms tighten around her and he lets out a low rasp.

"You offer your secrets to me voluntarily. Perhaps you would do well to watch your mouth."

"Oh?" she says, turning to face him, setting her elbows back on the railing and arching her neck in a silent invitation. In the low light, his eyes are hungry. "Say that again, to my face."

"I said, watch your mouth, Siha." He touches her chin. "If you prefer, I will find better use for it."

He kisses her, then. Pulls her body flush with his; the way that makes his mouth and tongue feel like a full-body experience. Heat flares beneath her skin, and she only gives fleeting consideration to their location as she considers all that she wants from him, wants to give him, right here and now.

"You really think that'll shut me up?"

"An untested theory," he says, nipping her bottom lip, one hand sliding down to cup her ass. “Perhaps if we...”

She gives his belt a quick tug and pulls it free, her eyes never leaving his. The sound he makes is deep and desirous as she pushes him up against a shadow-washed bulkhead. Eyes locked, she descends to her knees before him.

"I never feel more humbled than when you offer me your mouth," he whispers as she strokes him. He’s rock hard, pulsing in her hand. In the darkness, she counts the swirling lines that sweep along his length. They flank the coronal ridge of his head, flowing along the shape of him and meeting again just past his sheath.

"This mouth is famous," she reminds him, peering up to meet his eyes as she teases along the underside. "Some might even say infamous."

"And yet none have known it as I have." He relaxes against the wall and touches the side of her face, sliding his fingers into her hair. The intention in his grip is unmistakable, but he's so pretty when he begs. Gazing up at him, she flutters her lashes, swipes her tongue across his glans and hooks her fingers around his shaft. The colored, moving lights off the club sweep across his face.

"Please, Siha,” he says sweetly, tilting his hips to nudge his tip against her mouth.

She smiles, hand tightening around his length. And then he's sliding between her lips, venom burning on her tongue, sinking as far as she can manage into her throat.

He groans. His hips tense as she pulls off him, hollowing her cheeks as she goes, sucking hard and following with a soft tongue. For all his bluster, Thane is a man like any other - spellbound and lost in the heat of her mouth. He fists his hand in her hair, nails raking along her scalp, guiding her with steady strength. The base of him tingles with his natural lubricant, envenomed and leeching into her blood as she stretches her lips around him and swallows him to the hilt. Christ. She wants him so badly it aches.

He abruptly tightens his grip on her hair, stalling her.

“Siha,” he groans. “Siha.”

Shepard releases him with a pop, and he only takes a moment to sag against the wall before hauling her up against him, pressing his tongue against hers. His hands are on her thighs, gathering her short skirt, bunching up atop her hips. He backs her up, step by step, until the railing pushes into her back.

"Turn around,” he says with a rasp as he spins her, caging her between his arms against the guardrail.

The crowd of dancers below moves like an ocean, swelling and crashing between the mirrored floor and sweeping lights, tangled limbs and bodies lost in one another. She surveys the tables and bars ringing the dance floor, at once both curious and worried to know if they've been spotted. Her search is almost enough to distract her from Thane’s hands sliding beneath her bunched-up dress, scaled palms gliding with unmistakable intent across her skin.

“I want you,” he murmurs in her ear. “Right here, just like this.”

He rocks his hips against her, slow and firm.

“I thought you'd never ask,” she says breathily.

He nudges her legs apart with a booted foot. "Do we have an audience?"

She shakes her head. “Do you want an audience?”

He kisses her again behind the ear. "Perhaps you will give them due cause. You always make the most delicious sounds when I take you from behind."

Fuck. His voice vibrates between her ears, down her spine, and settles in her throbbing cunt. She aches, her blood pounding with the bass.

Thane pulls her hips back toward him, pulling her panties to the side. She breathes out a soft moan as traces her seam with just the tips of his fingers, sliding toward the top of her mound and back again before slipping with ease into her channel.

"Wet," he murmurs. "Does the taste of me arouse you so?"

Shepard bites her lip and whines, and he continues, fingers sliding in and out of her at a slow, dragging pace. There’s no doubt that this insufferable tease is avoiding her clit on purpose, and she reaches between her legs to pleasure herself. Thane intercepts her before she can make it there.

"Mind your hands, Siha,” he warns, placing and curling her fingers back around the metal. “We wouldn't want our hosts to get the wrong idea.” The low rasp in his voice is driving her mad. The moment he lets go, she reaches back behind his neck, arching herself toward him, intent on capturing his lips.

“Or what?” She rasps. “Go on, Krios. Threaten me with a good time.”

This time, his grip is firm. Just shy of bruising. He cinches her wrists together with one strong hand, as the other reaches between them to hook a finger around the crotch of her panties. He tugs at them, aggressive, urging them down her thighs until they fall to her knees at an angle, still hooked on his finger.

Shepard steps out of the garment one leg at a time. Heaven only knows what thoughts are locked in his fathomless mind, but she loves where this is going. Loves to egg him on, deny him just enough to leave him dangling on one, fragile thread of frustration and ever more eager to ravish her. Thane is never one to disappoint.

He lifts her damp panties to her wrists, and in a series of swift movements, binds her hands to the guardrail. Perfect. An excited chill races down her spine. No one plays dirty quite like he does.

He nips at her neck, and then her ear. “Shall I pardon myself, Shepard? Leave you here for a time, with nothing but the music and your desire to drive you to madness?”

“You wouldn't,” she taunts back, testing her makeshift restraint. The fabric isn't made for any sort of strength; it wouldn't take much to tear free, but she'll wait till the right moment for that.

“No. I am nothing if not generous, as you are aware.” His cock is a hard line against the crack of her ass, his hands returning to her body, feeling the contour of her breasts, her hips. He makes a low sound when he returns to the heat between her legs and effortlessly spears her with his fused fingers.

“Generous, my ass,” she taunts. “They teach you not to play with your food in the Compact?” Her gut clenches and she moans “Fuck” against gritted teeth as he curls into her walls, hitting her exactly where she likes it. When he withdraws, he wraps his arm around her shoulders.

"Taste, Siha," he whispers, fused fingers leaving a wet trail along her cheek as he pushes them inside her mouth. Flooded with lust, she accepts without a second thought. The salty flavor of her own arousal hits her tongue and she groans around his hand, sucking his fingers just like she’d sucked his cock.

At last, he adjusts himself, nestling his velvety tip against her opening.

Thane's fingers tear free of her lips and settle on her jaw, gripping tight, forcing her head to the side, pressing his face to hers so she can feel his breath coming hot and heavy against her cheek. Bound before him, all she can think about is his cock, his head hovering just inside her folds, thick and heavy and slick, primed to penetrate and fuck her right here and now on this dusty catwalk-

"Goddess preserve me," he breathes.

And then he's sliding home, the wide head of his cock prying her open inch by inch, every one of his ridges like fire licking the ring of her opening as she stretches and pulses around him.

There's no substitute for this - the deep throbbing heat, the pressure, the incredible stretch as her body conforms around his beautiful alien cock. She wishes she could bottle this feeling, inhale and relive it during her many sleepless nights aboard her ship - fuck, she’d never want for anyone ever again. It steals her breath. White knuckles on the railing, her head pitches forward with a long moan as their hips go flush.

His voice is shaky as he mutters her name like a prayer into her skin. Hard, unyielding, and sheathed to the hilt inside her, he kisses with unfocused, desperate lust against her mouth and cheek. It feels like he could swallow her whole, pulled flush against his chest with hands trembling.

Stars - she could grind herself to oblivion on him. It’s killing her that she can’t touch him.

"You will be the death of me, Siha. The things you let me do to you-” his hips abruptly snap into hers, followed by a few short, shaky thrusts before he settles into a heavy rhythm that makes her cunt throb.

“This turn you on, Krios?” She laughs, the sound ragged. “Fucking me over the dance floor of a crowded club?”

It's a struggle to keep her voice level, but it's worth it. His forehead briefly comes to rest between her shoulder blades and he tightens his fingers on her hips, pace unfaltering. These little tells, she knows, speak volumes of his control, his desire.

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you want them to watch.” She thrusts back against him, leveraging her hands on the guardrail.

His pace stutters. He gives a sudden, sharp thrust, swallowing before he manages, “If I wanted them to watch, I’d have stripped you bare.”

Shepard lets out a breathless chuckle. “I think I struck a nerve.”

Thane makes a low, desperate sound. “You are my savior and my tormentor,” he rasps.

He rocks back slowly, stroking her walls with every ridge until he comes free. Shepard chases him with her hips, empty and aching, until his hands close over hers and he begins to thrust wetly against her seam. She can feel every single contour of his cock dragging over her sensitive, swollen pearl, bringing her closer to the brink as he backs down from his.

“Imagine it, Siha,” he says, his chest flat against her back as he nips her jaw. “The dancers below are none the wiser, for a time. And then one looks up,” he gestures out over the dance floor and takes a deep, long breath. Two steps backward. Drags her hips with him until she's almost at chin level with the guardrail.

“And there you are. Bent over before me, colored lights sweeping across your skin, shaking as I take my fill of you.” His hands drag over her curves, lingering at her breasts, squeezing, flirting with roughness. “Whether they wish to be you or be inside you, they can only watch and wonder - what must it feel like to put one's hands on such a beautiful creature?"

Her cheeks are on fire. Yeah, she's struck a nerve alright. His fingers massage her nipple through the fabric of her dress, and she can tell by his uncharacteristically clumsy grip that he’s at least thinking about tearing holes in her dress.

A hand comes to rest on her belly, holding her tight against him as he eases the tip of his cock inside her again, pushing, seeking. He’s still maddeningly restrained. All he allows her is what remains of his patience: long, slow, deep thrusts. Her skin itches, body aching for the full, unleashed strength of him. He squeezes her breast again, pushing deeper into her cunt now, and all at once, the realization hits her.

"Are you-" she chokes, "Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

She can imagine it - the hands of a stranger freeing her from this damned dress, sliding over her skin, kneading her breasts - tongue drawing circles around the taut bud of her nipple - Thane fucking her all the while -

As though he can hear her thoughts, he pulls her hips sharply back into his, and she gasps. The fantasy takes her by surprise and her eyes squeeze shut, arousal boiling beneath her skin.

"Maybe we could try that sometime," she heaves, and she can tell by the way his body shudders that she’s under his skin now, too.

He pauses, slipping out of her, and for a moment she thinks he's actually going to make good on her suggestion. Instead he adjusts his stance, pushes her hips forward until they're flush against the railing bars and thrusts back inside her at an angle that leaves her gasping.

"Siha," he groans into her neck, "The mere thought of sharing your pleasure with another…" His voice is ragged as he begins to fuck her in earnest. "To imagine them… on their knees before you… tongue devoted to your pleasure as I move inside you. Merciful gods."

He grips her waist, pounding into her at an angle that makes heat flash along her spine like lightning. Shepard struggles to keep her eyes open, as though by watching the dance floor, she could somehow keep them from watching her. They’re in too deep now - but there’s something intensely arousing about being had in this state. About knowing any wandering eyes might catch the sight of Thane taking his pleasure from her. Knowing how, despite her (frankly excessive) state of dress, it would be immediately obvious what was happening.

His hands moves between her legs, sliding against wet, warm flesh, focused where she’s spread wide around his girth. He circles her clit in frantic, jerky circles that give away just how much his control is fraying at the seams. Shepard is on the edge before she even knows what’s happening, spellbound, vividly imagining Thane fucking her into oblivion beneath a stranger's hands and mouth.

"Thane-" she chokes, a lip between her teeth. Hands lock around the cold steel railing and she struggles to breathe, lurching forward, spine bowing, until she's truly hanging on for dear life while her climax shreds her nerves from the inside out. And he doesn't stop -

It feels like heaven. Glowing, white hot, and savage jabs of ecstacy ripping through her as he braces himself against her hips and fucks her for all he's worth. The force of him makes her stumble, the binds at her wrist tearing thread by thread until they unravel, torn elastic whipping away from her hands and falling uselessly into the crowd below. Whoever they land on is the furthest thing from her mind. He's deep, so impossibly, brilliantly, earth-shatteringly deep inside her, every thrust rocketing through her on forked flashes of lightning until her eyes roll back and she chokes out half-formed words in the vague shape of his name.

Swallowing a moan, she manages only a few clear words: "Fuck me, Thane."

He makes a low noise, something between a moan and a growl. Teeth drag against the curve of her shoulder, driving spike after spike of incandescent pleasure through her body. And then he shudders, gasps, and grips her hips to the point of pain as his cock pulses hard between her legs, and fuck -

She can feel it - the wet, warming gush of his release painting her deepest reaches. The feeling conjures new, unbidden fantasies in her mind - a body on its knees before her, mouthing at the wet heat of their joining, perhaps even daring to meet her eyes as they dragged their tongue between the swollen, blushing lips of her cunt to collect their mingled essence.

Her cheeks burn.

Yeah, she admits to herself. She wants that. A third partner.

Would they fuck her through the dregs of Thane's venom? Sliding between her legs to occupy the space he vacates as he finally separates from her with their hot mouth, their fingers, their cock, anything - pushing up into her channel with barely concealed lust, drinking from her; saliva and fingers and come dragging hot against oversensitive flesh. Her whole body feels heavy - drugged with a deep, buttery heat that’s slowly cooking her from within.

Who could they…?

She's running through the possibilities in her mind. Hiring someone feels too risky because her name is so well known. Someone closer to home, maybe? Someone they trust. And all at once, it's clear. There's one person on her ship that she trusts enough to either be discreet, or let her down easy.

Shepard turns to Thane and pushes her hands into the open collar of his shirt, dragging her nails against his chest and her tongue against his throat.

Fuck-drunk and breathless, she asks, “You’d go for a threeway with me?” She squeezes her thighs together, his release threatening to flow from her at any moment.

He blinks, and she’s sure he’s having some kind of post-climax revelation about what the hell they’ve just done - but fuck it. She’s unbuttoning his shirt, his sculpted chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of his exertion.

“Yes,” he says, pulling her flush against him. She bites her lip, feeling the wet drip of him between her legs. “Provided we agree on the partner.”

“Garrus,” she breathes. “What about Garrus?” and she can feel Thane’s sharp intake of breath beneath her wandering hands.

"You have bold tastes, Siha. Are you certain?"

Thane grips her ass, every mottled inch of his body pressed up against her, and raises her thigh with a guiding hand so he can slide his fingertips along her leaking seam.

"He wants me,” she says between fevered kisses. "He doesn't know how to say it, but he does."

“You've built a career on uniting the galaxy's various species,” he replies. “It's only fitting that you should do the same in your bed.”

Thane pushes his fingers up inside her and her lips rip from his as she gasps, feeling the bulk of his spend fall from her only for him to press it back into her mound, grinding his palm up against her clit. She releases a pathetic moan, buries her head in his shoulder, rolling her hips against his hand. His come feels so good, some bizarre quirk of biology giving it a warming quality when it comes in contact with her own wetness.

Blindly, she reaches for him, dragging her tongue along his neck when she finds him hard and ready.

“Is that a yes, then?”

He seems to consider her with a thoughtful hum, working his hand between her legs, infuriating in his unending patience. She tightens her palm around his cock, and his lips trace the shell of her ear.

“I'd like that, Siha.”

She moans, muffled against his neck, and sinks her teeth into the sensitive ruby flesh beneath her mouth. He growls in turn, winds his free hand into her hair to force her lips back onto his.

“We should return to the Normandy,” he murmurs, breath ragged.

He's right, of course. But she can taste the potent citric salt of his venom and she knows she's too far gone, by miles. She can't get enough of him, mind swimming in fantasies of him and Garrus taking turns with her, converging on her, filling her mouth, her cunt, her everything with brain-melting pleasure. She's sure of only one thing - they're not making it back to her ship.

“Negative, soldier,” she breathes. “How well traveled are these maintenance corridors?”

Suddenly she's in the air, legs clamping around his waist as he physically lifts her and carries her down the catwalk.

“Storage loft, on your left,” he manages. She reaches a hand blindly to the wall, releases an overloading charge from her omni-tool that singes both her palm and the lock’s control panel. There's a rush of cool air as the doors whiff open.

No sooner are they inside than she's wriggling free of his hold, pushing him down onto the nearest moderately flat surface, peeling her dress off, and mounting him. It's quieter here. She can hear the low catch of his breath as she takes him to the hilt.

He feels positively divine. Warmed from within by sex and venom, she begins to ride him. She rises until his tip rests at her entrance and plunges back down, the whole of his length rocketing through her like a thick, ridged bullet, over and over again, endless, perpetual, and fucking perfect.

Thane's eyes are fixated on her, reflecting the dim fluorescent lines that flicker above them in time with the bass of the club just outside the door. One hand splays itself over her belly as though to steady her, and then he licks his lips, fingertips sliding down, down, warm and rasping scales sliding over her slick pearl.

Wherever she's supposed to be right now, she only knows she's here, right on the edge of nonsense and drunken need, Thane rolling her again and again up the precipice of climax like Sisyphus and his stone. She falls over him, tongue wrapping around his, impaled on the burning tower of his desire, his hand curling around her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple, rutting up into her with equal vigor -

The first shock of her climax flashes like a spark between her hips. She clenches, involuntary, gasps against his mouth - tries in vain to hold back the tsunami that's already racing toward her, but it's too late. She shudders and gasps into him, and he's only seconds behind. He closes his teeth around her lower lip as he floods her, tip to root, warmth blooming along her spine.

She lays atop him, panting in the aftermath. Her forehead rests against his. His arms are trembling as they wind around her shoulders.

“Wow,” she breathes, after a long moment. Now that they're both still, she can feel how the floor - the crate - below them shakes with the club's bass.

He offers a sated “Mmm” in response, nuzzling her head, breathing hard.

“Have I ever told you that you're the best sex I've ever had?”

“You haven't, Siha,” he says, voice low. “But I inferred.”

She pushes a playful, weak palm against his arm. “Smartass.”

She moves to stand, but he seems loathe to release her. His hands trail down her shoulders and arms as she sets one shaky foot on the ground at a time, heels clanging on the dusty metal floor. Shakes the dust off her dress before sliding it back on with a wince.

“Were you serious, about Mr. Vakarian?”

Shepard wrinkles her nose. “He's going to say no if you call him that.”

Thane sits up on the edge of the crate, tucking himself back into his pants.

“You were serious, then?”

Shepard states at him, still moderately high, doing her best to seem coherent, as though his spend isn't rolling down her thigh.

“Yes,” she says, matter-of-factly.

He extends a hand, then, and pulls her by the arm to stand between his knees. With a deep inhale, he kisses her, sweet and tender. “I will approach him then, when the time is right.”

Shepard sighs with contentment, leaning against him for a moment, inhaling the clean, dry scent of him as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“Pretty sure my underwear fell onto some guy's head.”

“You'd have kept them if you had not challenged me, my Siha.”

“As though you wouldn't have torn them off me at some point,” she retorts.

“As though you wouldn't have begged me to do so,” he says with a smile.

Then he stands, removing his vest.

“A concession,” he offers, holding it out for her. “And, if you'll permit me, I will replace your lost garment. Perhaps a deep blue, if our turian friend should accept our invitation.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Shepard says as she bends gracelessly and uses the fabric to wipe the mess from between her thighs. He takes it back from her when she's finished, folding the soiled side of the material into itself and tucking it into his back pocket.

They step back onto the catwalk, the air heavy with sweat and sex and smoke. As Shepard twines her fingers with his, Thane takes a moment just to gaze at her, his enormous dark eyes catching the light of the club below. He places a soft kiss to the back of her hand.

“Come, Siha,” he smiles. “The night awaits.”

#zet writes things #shrios #thane krios #femshep #if you see any typos no you didnt lmao #i started this fic over two years ago #commander shepard #mass effect fanfiction

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sassenach77yle · 5 months ago

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||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 7 EPISODE 05 || SINGAPORE ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

She pressed her back against the tunnel wall, hands flat on the rough rock, and thought. That’s where they’d gone, then. It made no difference, but she closed her eyes to improve her concentration and summoned up the pages of the massive binder—presently on the seat of the vanished truck—that contained the structural and engineering details of all the hydroelectric stations under her purview.She’d looked at the diagrams for this one last night and again, hastily, while brushing her teeth this morning. The tunnel led to the dam, and had obviously been used in the construction of the lower levels of that dam. How low? If the tunnel joined at the level of the turbine chamber itself, it would have been walled off. But if it joined at the level of the servicing chamber above—a huge room equipped with the multi-ton ceiling cranes needed to lift the turbines from their nests—then there would still be a door; there would have been no need to seal it off, with no water on the other side.Try as she might, she couldn’t bring the diagrams to mind in sufficient detail to be sure there was an opening into the dam at the far end of the tunnel—but it would be simple enough to find out.

SHE’D SEEN THE TRAIN, in that brief moment before the doors closed; it didn’t take much fumbling round to get into the open cab of the tiny engine. Now, had those clowns taken the key to the engine, too? Ha. There was no key; it worked by a switch on the console. She flipped it, and a red button glowed with sudden triumph as she felt the hum of electricity run through the track beneath.The train couldn’t have been simpler to run. It had a single lever, which you pushed forward or back, depending on which direction you meant to go. She shoved it gently forward, and felt air move past her face as the train moved silently off into the bowels of the earth.She had to go slowly. The tiny red button shed a comforting glow over her hands, but did nothing to pierce the darkness ahead, and she had no idea where or how much the track curved. Neither did she want to hit the end of the track at a high rate of speed and derail the engine. It felt as though she was inching through the dark, but it was much better than walking, feeling her way over a mile of tunnel lined with high-voltage cables.It hit her in the dark.

For a split second, she thought someone had laid a live cable on the track. In the next instant, a sound that wasn’t a sound thrummed through her, plucking every nerve in her body, making her vision go white. And then her hand brushed rock and she realized that she had fallen across the console, was hanging halfway out of the tiny, trundling engine, was about to fall out into darkness.Head spinning, she managed to grab the edge of the console and pull herself back into the cab. Flipped the switch with one shaking hand and half-fell to the floor, where she curled up, gripping her knees, her breath a whimpering in the dark.

“Holy God,” she whispered. “Oh, Blessed Mother. Oh, Jesus.”

She could feel it out there. Still feel it. It didn’t make a sound now, but she felt its nearness and couldn’t stop trembling.She sat still for a long time, head on her knees, until rational thought began to come back.She couldn’t be mistaken. She’d passed through time twice, and knew the feeling. But this hadn’t been nearly so shocking. Her skin still prickled and her nerves jumped and her inner ears rang as though she’d thrust her head into a hive of hornets—but she felt solid. She felt as though a red-hot wire had sliced her in two, but she hadn’t had the horrible sense of being disassembled, turned physically inside out.

A terrible thought sent her surging to her feet, clinging to the console.

Had she jumped? Was she somewhere—somewhen—else?

But the metal console was cool and solid under her hands, the smell of damp rock and cable insulation unchanged.“No,” she whispered, and flicked the power light for reassurance. It came on, and the train, still in gear, gave a sudden lurch. Hastily, she throttled back the speed to less than a crawl.She couldn’t have jumped into the past.

Small objects in direct contact with a traveler’s person seemed to move with them, but an entire train and its track was surely pushing it. “Besides,” she said out loud, “if you’d gone more than twenty-five years or so into the past, the tunnel wouldn’t be here. You’d be inside… solid rock.” Her gorge rose suddenly, and she threw up.The sense of… it… was receding, though. It—whatever it was—was behind her. Well, that settled it, she thought, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. There bloody well had to be a door at the far end, because there was no way she was going back the way she’d come.

There was a door. A plain, ordinary, industrial metal door. And a padlock, unlocked, hanging from an open hasp. She could smell WD-40; someone had oiled the hinges, very recently, and the door swung open easily when she turned the knob. She felt suddenly like Alice, after falling down the White Rabbit’s hole. A really mad Alice.A steep flight of steps lay on the other side of the door, dimly lit—and at the top was another metal door, edged with light. She could hear the rumble and the metallic whine of a ceiling crane in operation.Her breath was coming fast, and not from the effort of climbing the stairs. What would she find on the other side? It was the servicing chamber inside the dam; she knew that much. But would she find Thursday on the other side? The same Thursday she’d had when the tunnel doors had closed behind her?She gritted her teeth and opened the door. Rob Cameron was waiting, lounging back against the wall, lit cigarette in hand. He broke into an enormous grin at sight of her, dropped the butt, and stepped on it.

“Knew ye’d make it, hen,” he said. Across the room, Andy and Craig turned from their work and applauded.“Buy ye a pint after work, then, lass,” Andy called.“Two!” shouted Craig.She could still taste bile at the back of her throat. She gave Rob Cameron the sort of look she’d given Mr. Campbell.

“Don’t,” she said evenly, “call me hen.”

His good-looking face twitched and he tugged at his forelock with mock subservience.“Anything you say, boss,” he said.

Tunnel Tigers ~ An Echo in the Bone

#the frasers #outlander #outlander series #outlanderedit #outlander fanart #outlander starz #outlander book #outlander books #sophie skelton #brianna fraser #brianna mackenzie #outlander season 7 #outlander 7x05

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rare-clone-fic-exchange · 1 year ago

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Nine Lives for Sergeant O'Niner

A/N: This is a collaboration between @anxiouspineapple99 and @dystopicjumpsuit , written as a gift for @deewithani

Pairing: Sergeant O’Niner x Reader (GN)

Rating: M (minors DNI)

Wordcount: 1.5K

Warnings and tags: angst; fluff; little bit of smut (nipple play; implied oral sex); not canon compliant; everyone lives AU

Summary: Sergeant O’Niner must have nine lives. How else could he have survived the battle of Rishi Moon?

The Coruscanti rain pelted the window of your office, relentless as the ache in your chest as you sat sipping tea and flipping through the latest issue of the Bar’leth Journal of Galactic Archaeology. You normally loved the soothing pitter patter of water on transparisteel, and even now, you would have been relaxed by it if it weren't for the nagging anxiety that plagued your thoughts.

It had been one week since the news broke that the Separatists had attacked Rishi, and the outpost had been destroyed. One week of pure torture as you waited for word about O’Niner’s fate—all the while, keenly aware that the GAR would never notify you directly, given that your relationship with the sergeant was not only unsanctioned, but perilously close to forbidden. It felt unfair—even cruel—but there was no way you could discover what had happened to him through official channels.

As the days passed, your despair grew, until late one afternoon, your comlink chirped, and when you answered, you saw the beloved face you’d come to believe you might never see again. You tried to say his name, but all that came out of your mouth was a broken, hoarse croak as tears of relief stung your eyes.

“Ner cyare,” he murmured, holding the holo close enough that all you could see was his face.

You instinctively reached out to touch him, pulling back as your fingers encountered nothing but air and light as you whispered, “I thought you were…”

“I know,” he replied quietly. “I’m sorry; I commed as soon as I could.”

“Are you all right?” you asked, your voice finally coming back to you.

“I am,” he replied. “And so are all the men. I still can’t believe we all made it out alive.”

You let out a relieved laugh that sounded more like a sob. “I swear, you must be a loth-cat with nine lives.”

“You didn’t think my name came from my CT number, did you?” he grinned.

“What happened?” you asked. “How did you survive?”

He chuckled. “That’s a good story, and I can’t wait to tell you in person.”

Your heart began to pound. “In person? Are you coming back to Coruscant?”

“As soon as—” He cut off abruptly as he heard the approaching footsteps of a group of troopers. “Gotta go.”

The transmission cut off abruptly as O’Niner ended the comm. You waited for him to call back, staring at the chrono on your desk as minutes ticked by at an agonizing pace. The call never came, and you accepted that O’Niner might not be able to find an opportunity to call again.

The afternoon passed in excruciating slowness until at last, you decided you had suffered long enough and began to pack up to go home. The downpour had relented to a miserable drizzle by the time you made your way to the platform to hail a speeder-cab.

Your eyes fluttered shut as your head rested on the headrest. The anxiety that had swirled in your gut all week had now transformed into a dull, unyielding ache of longing and missing and wanting and needing. Your mind wandered, and you were so distracted that you missed the quiet ping of your datapad as your home security system alerted you that it had been turned off.

As the speeder-cab pulled up to your building, the rain began to fall in a torrent, and you darted through the downpour toward your door, hastily keying in your code and ducking inside your flat. You shook the water off and pulled off your raincoat, reaching to hang it up when you heard a soft sound from the other end of the flat. You froze, then turned around slowly.

A light was on in your refresher; you could see it shining from under the closed door. You crept down the hallway, and suddenly the refresher door opened. You shrieked with alarm and flailed your raincoat at the intruder, then whirled and fled down the hall, running for your life.

“Cyar’ika, wait!” a familiar voice called.

You skidded to a halt and turned around slowly. O’Niner stood just outside the refresher, wrapped in nothing but a towel as steam poured from the open door.

“O’Niner.” His name left your lips as a desperate whisper. “You’re home!”

A soft smile crossed his lips and slid up to his sparkling amber eyes. You bounded toward him without wasting another second, colliding with his body as you wrapped him in a tight embrace. A hiss of pain rushed through his clenched teeth.

Startled, you pulled back. “I’m so sorry!”

“Worth the pain, darling.” He chuckled, pulling you back into his arms as he pressed his forehead against yours. His velvety voice sent chills dancing down your spine. “Were you planning on beating me to death with your raincoat?”

“Maybe.” Your eyes flicked to the fresh bacta patch obscuring his abdomen. “You’re hurt. You said you were okay.”

Suddenly every new bruise and scrape was illuminated in the low light of your apartment. Your brow knit tightly in concern as you leaned back to inspect his injuries.

“I’m alive, little one,” he said softly. “That means I’m fine.”

“That’s why the holo was zoomed in on your face!” Your voice rose slightly, worry lending it an accusatory edge.

“I’m. Fine,” he enunciated firmly as he grasped your shoulders.“Don’t look at me like that. If I’d told you I’d been shot you would have panicked.”

“I do not panic!” you objected.

He chucked you under the chin, a soft smile crossed his lips. “You’re panicking right now.”

“No, I’m not—Fine. Yes. I might be panicking a little,” you pouted. He may have been right, but you didn’t have to be happy about it.

His other hand caressed and massaged your hip as he leaned closer to you. “You know, you still haven’t kissed me yet.”

You drew in a shuddering breath, pushing down your anxiety and irritation as you tried to focus on the present: he was home; he was alive; he was with you. You raised your fingers to his face and traced the lines at the corners of his eyes, then slid your fingertips into his dark hair that was flecked with gray as you drew his face closer to yours and pressed your lips against his forehead. You kissed a trail down the side of his face until you reached the corner of his lips, and then he wrapped you in his arms and pulled your body against him as his mouth captured yours in a heated, passionate kiss.

He was still soaking wet from his shower. The glistening water droplets sliding down his firm, brown chest and abdomen soaked your shirt, and you didn’t care a bit. It didn’t matter anyway, because his deft fingers were already undoing your buttons and pushing the shirt off your shoulders.

You kissed down his neck, and then down his chest, but you hesitated and pulled away, staring at him with troubled, anxious eyes.

“I promise, I’m all right,” he reassured you. “But if you’re so concerned, you could always kiss it better. One kiss for every injury, ner kar'ta?”

His heated smile reassured you more than anything else he could possibly have said, but you weren’t letting him off the hook so easily for trying to hide his injuries from you.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you pointed out.

“You would deny a dying man his final wish?” he teased, desire plain his eyes.

“You said you were fine.”

“Mmm,” he grunted softly as his gaze swept over your features wistfully while his hands lingered at your waist. “I may have spoken too soon. I’m suddenly feeling so… very… weak…”

“Incorrigible,” you muttered, peppering his chest with kisses, licking up the shimmering water droplets that still clung to his skin, scraping your teeth softly over his nipples in the way that you knew drove him wild.

He rumbled quietly as his fingers tangled in your hair, gently urging you to go lower. You glanced up at him with a mischievous light in your eyes as your tongue swirled over his nipple, refusing to continue your progress until his breath became ragged and he was starting to moan and whimper, just the way you liked. At last, you drew away.

“I think you’ve earned a real bed, don’t you?” you asked.

He nodded, his eyes dark with lust as you took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom. Your fingers trailed down his body until you reached his towel, and with a quick tug, it fell to the floor.

“As much as I’d love to tackle you onto that bed, I think it might be better if you just lie down,” you murmured. “I’d hate for the night to end with you in a hospital.”

“Might be worth it,” he smirked.

You traced over his shoulders, then gently pressed on them until he complied and lay down on his back.

“We can play rough some other time,” you whispered as you knelt between his thighs. “Tonight, I’m going to be very, very gentle.”

“Not too gentle, I hope,” he said before sucking in a loud breath as your tongue glided over the tip of his cock. “Holy Maker, cyare.”

“There’s nothing holy about what I’m going to do to you,” you promised. “But I have a feeling that won’t be the only time you pray to the Maker tonight.”

#sergeant o'niner

#rare clone fic exchange #rare clone fic submission #clone trooper o’niner #o’niner x reader #x reader #reader insert #clone wars fanfiction #clone wars #not safe for costco #not osha compliant #not osha approved

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dystopicjumpsuit · 2 years ago

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Tup à Trois

Happy Tup Tuesday! Inspired by this delicious (and NSFW) Tup Spicy Alphabet Headcanons post by @deejadabbles and the absolutely unhinged conversation that followed.

Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI

Pairing: Tup x Fem!Reader x Jesse

Wordcount: 2,519 words of filth

Warnings: SMUT; threesome; oral sex; femdom; lingerie/stocking fetish; exhibitionism; voyeurism; cum eating; PIV

A/N: this didn't seem that kinky when I was writing, but now that I see all the warnings written out, I'm starting to think I might be desensitized. There must be something in the water. Anyway, here's my beautiful boy.

Previously, on Tup Tuesday | Masterlist | Join my tag list here

“It’s just sex,” he says. “No reason to make it weird if everybody’s down.”

Your gaze drifts over Jesse’s body. You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t hotter than Mustafar, but his particular brand of arrogant swagger does nothing for you. You far prefer Tup’s sweet, quiet sincerity and understated confidence. But if it’s just sex? Jesse looks like a wild ride.

He stretches casually, showing off the muscles that bulge beneath his uniform, and when you look back up to his face, he has a smug expression that makes you want to throw something at him. Like a drink. Or your pussy.

“See something you like?” he asks insolently.

You dart a guilty look at Tup, realizing you’ve been ogling his brother right in front of him, but to your surprise, his eyes are trained intensely on your face, his pupils dilated so wide that you can barely make out the rich brown of his irises. You recognize the desire in his gaze, and you realize—Oh. He likes that idea.

You’ve learned that Tup likes to watch. He’ll lie in bed next to you, watching you play with yourself for hours as he whispers sweet words of lust and encouragement. In fact, he often brings new toys for you when he comes home on leave. This is the first time the toy he’s offering is one of his brothers, though. Your eyes dart between Jesse and Tup, and they watch you with the same expression: pure, unbridled craving.

“Want to get out of here?” Jesse asks.

You turn to Tup, and he nods. You slide out of the booth so fast you nearly pitch forward onto the floor, but Tup catches you, and the three of you stumble out of the club. As Tup hails a cab, Jesse pulls you back against him and slides his hands over your hips, dropping his mouth to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder and licking his way up to your earlobe. His facial hair is a little more prickly than Tup’s, and the unfamiliar rasp of it sends shivers through your body.

Distantly, you hear some jackass cat-calling the two of you, but you’re too aroused to care. Tup rejoins you, and he kisses you with a sweltering intensity before he tugs you across the landing platform and helps you into the waiting taxi. Jesse slides in next, and then Tup, and soon you are flying through the skylanes toward your flat.

Jesse, clearly not shy about performing in front of an audience, continues his exploration of your body, his mouth and hands roaming over your skin, sliding under your dress to tease you through your silky undergarments. Tup sits back and observes, his erection prominently tenting the front of his uniform. You meet his eyes, silently inviting him to join in, but he just murmurs words of lewd encouragement as Jesse redoubles his efforts.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” you ask as Jesse buries his face between your tits.

“I didn’t know if your mouth was off-limits,” he says. “Tup?”

Tup looks to you, and you give him a tiny smile.

“Give her what she wants,” Tup orders.

Jesse’s kiss is overpowering, breath-stealing, confident, assertive—just like the man. He ravages your mouth with tactical precision, all tongue and teeth and heat. When you reach your flat, the three of you crash through the door in a tangle of limbs and lips. Jesse kicks off his boots without ever pulling his mouth away from yours, even as you unfasten his uniform jacket and shove it down his arms. You fumble with his belt buckle, and his trousers are next to go, leaving him in only his boxers and undershirt.

You slide your hand inside the elastic waistband of his underwear and grasp the hot, rock-hard length of his cock, and you feel a sticky wetness on your wrist where his tip brushes against you. Reaching lower, you cup his balls.

“That all you got?” he asks with a cocky grin.

Raising an eyebrow, you take him in a firm hold, and a harsh groan wrenches from his throat as he thrusts against you. So he likes to play rough. Interesting.

“Enough,” Tup’s voice cuts through the need that clouds your brain, startling you with its harshness. “Jesse, strip. I want her to see you.”

You shoot an uncertain look at Tup, but Jesse only smirks.

“Enjoying being in command, little brother?” he asks, a taunt clear in his voice.

“Shut up and get naked, Jesse,” you order, and his eyes dart to yours in surprise, before darkening with arousal.

“Tup, you didn’t tell me she was so mean,” he says as he pulls off his shirt. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Nobody asked you to talk, pretty boy,” you reply.

“Shit,” he breathes, his movements slowing to a halt as he stares at you, his jaw slack.

You tilt your jaw imperiously, and he drops his boxers and steps out of them, and then he stands before you in full, glorious nudity. You try to maintain your bravado, but holy kriff, Jesse is something else. You know he’s older than Tup, and you can see it reflected in his body. Tup is strong and undeniably fit, but he’s leaner than Jesse, whose bulk is almost intimidating now that you can see the full extent of it. He has incredibly broad shoulders, a thick chest and solid core, and absolutely massive thighs. You reach a hand out to stroke down his abdominal muscles, and he shoots you a slow smirk that says he knows exactly how good he looks.

Undaunted, you make your way around him in a languid circle, stopping to admire his frankly incredible ass. He turns to watch you over his shoulder, and you notice that he subtly flexes his muscles as he does so.

“This isn’t a strip club, baby,” he says. “You can touch the goods.”

“I’m not your baby,” you say, but you slide your hand over his ass anyway, digging your nails in a bit as you squeeze the firm muscle.

As you circle back to stand in front of Jesse, Tup steps close behind you, hands drifting over your shoulders as he kisses your neck. You lean into him, and you hear the faint sound of a zipper lowering as your dress goes loose around you. He lets it drop to the ground, and you step out of it, still wearing your heels. Jesse hisses out a curse when he sees you standing in nothing but a sheer, lacy bra, matching panties, and thigh-high stockings held up by a flirty little garter belt.

“She isn’t mean to me,” Tup says with a smirk.

“Fuck me,” Jesse says, awed.

“That’s the plan,” you say.

“Do you think he’s earned it?” Tup asks.

You eye Jesse speculatively. His gaze is riveted to your tits, and you can tell how badly he wants to touch you by the way his hands clench and release. Tup sees it, too, and he torments his brother by stroking his big, calloused hands over your body, cupping your breasts and thumbing your nipples through the lace of your bra, then sliding a hand down to slip inside your underwear and caress your cunt. His fingers circle your clit and then slide inside, and your legs nearly buckle from pleasure.

“I’m not convinced,” you say, forcing yourself to keep a steady voice. “Maybe if he begs… On his knees.”

Jesse’s eyes snap to yours, and he gets that cocky look again—the one that says he’s not going down that easily, but Tup intervenes.

“God damn, you’re wet, baby,” he says, and you know he’s doing it on purpose to goad Jesse, because he never calls you that. “Sweetest little pussy in the galaxy. You should taste her, brother. I swear you’ll never want to eat anything else.”

He withdraws his fingers from you and brings his arm across your throat as he raises them to his mouth. You tilt your head back onto his shoulder and watch as he sucks your taste from his own hand. When you look at Jesse, he’s watching too, and he doesn’t say a word as he sinks to his knees.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you tease. “Unlike your cock. Maybe I’m not the only one who sees something to like.”

You step a foot between his knees and brush your leg against his erection. Fuck, he is absolutely rigid and dripping precum. He thrusts against your shin, smearing himself on your stocking.

“You’re making a mess,” you say.

“Clean her up, brother,” Tup commands.

Jesse wraps a hand around the back of your calf and slides it up to your knee, raising your leg to his mouth. Tup stabilizes you from behind, his strong arms holding you steady. He still has one hand on your breast while his other arm drapes across your throat, and the pressure is just enough to make you lightheaded. The coarse wool of his uniform scratches your skin, driving you wild with the thought of Tup, fully clothed, watching a fully nude Jesse explore your body. Jesse licks the sticky fluid off your leg, then begins working his way up, kissing and licking, and occasionally taking the sheer, delicate fabric of your stocking in his teeth and pulling it away from your skin, only to let it snap back against you. The pair will be ruined after tonight, but it’s worth it to see the frantic lust in Jesse’s eyes.

When he reaches the top of your thigh-high, he pauses his progress to slip his hand inside and stretch the fabric, eyes trained on the movement of his fingers beneath it. He spends so long admiring it that you nudge his cock with your high-heeled foot, just hard enough to pull another one of those delicious, ragged grunts from him.

“Pussy isn’t going to eat itself,” you say. “Be a good boy and get back to work.”

Tup makes a helpless sound in your ear, and Jesse takes a deep, shuddering breath. Obediently, he slides his hands up your thighs to squeeze your ass, brushing across the scrap of fabric covering your entrance, and then he tugs your panties down your legs.

“Clever girl, wearing them on top of the garter belt,” he murmurs.

“Fortune favors the prepared,” you smirk, but you don’t get to enjoy your victory for long, because Jesse hooks his shoulder under your thigh and plunges his tongue into you. “FUCK!”

Tup huffs a breath against your face as you scream out the curse, and you can feel his cock pressed against your ass. He stares down your body to where Jesse is joined to you, devouring your cunt with the ardor of a starving man.

“Can you hold her, brother?” he asks softly.

Jesse nods his head without ever pulling away from you, and without warning, Tup lifts you off the floor as Jesse pulls your other leg onto him so you’re seated fully on his shoulders, straddling his face.

Fuck, he’s strong, you marvel, as he supports your weight without difficulty. His hands grip your ass, angling you perfectly into his mouth, and within minutes, you feel your body tightening in on itself. You grab onto Jesse’s head as your hips instinctively begin to writhe, and when he scrapes his teeth across your clit, it shoves you violently over the precipice. You scream as you fly apart, but it isn’t Jesse’s name on your lips. Tup makes the sweetest sounds you’ve ever heard when he hears you chanting his name as he watches you come on his brother’s tongue.

“Can you take another, love?” he whispers hoarsely in your ear. “Will you let Jesse fuck you while I watch?”

Jesse is still working his tongue at a maddening pace, and your body jerks and thrashes between the two men. You’ve lost the capacity to speak, but you nod your head frantically, and Jesse finally withdraws from you. Tup lifts you off him and holds you, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your shoulders, as Jesse stands.

“Where?” Jesse asks.

“Sofa,” Tup says.

Jesse crosses to the couch, and Tup deposits you gently on his brother’s lap, then retrieves a chair from the kitchen table and sets it in front of you. He strips efficiently, and by the time Jesse has the two of you arranged, Tup is seated in front of you, legs spread wide as he lazily pumps his cock.

“Are you ready?” Jesse asks, his breath hot against the back of your neck.

“Yes,” you say, and you can’t quite keep your voice from shaking. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and you can tell without looking that he’s grinning against your shoulder.

He eases into you slowly, and once he’s fully seated, he starts to move. You hang on for dear life as he fucks into you, your legs straddling his, and your arms stretched over your head to hold onto his neck. He cups your tits roughly, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, and when he pinches your nipples, you know he’s getting revenge for your little stunt with the high heel.

“Don’t hurt her,” Tup warns.

“She can take it,” Jesse grunts, his voice strained. “Can’t you, darlin’?”

“That all you got?” you ask, parroting his earlier snark.

He reaches down to play with your clit, and as he does, he leans the two of you backward so you’re nearly lying flat on top of him, which has the happy effect of laying you open on full display for Tup to appreciate.

“Oh, shit,” Tup breathes, barely audible.

Jesse pounds into you until your legs cramp and your body slicks with sweat. You keep your eyes on Tup, watching as his hand moves faster and more deliberately, until at last he grips himself in a tight fist, and with three final, brutal thrusts, he comes, shooting thick spurts of sticky, white cum across his torso. That’s all you need, and you convulse around Jesse’s cock, crying out in bliss.

“Fuck!” Jesse pants in your ear. “Shit—You’re going to make me—where do you want me to—”

“Not inside,” you gasp. “Come on my ass.”

He pulls out of you, and you drop to your knees on the floor between Tup’s thighs. Jesse scoots forward, and you can feel the slap of his cock and fist as he jerks himself against your ass. Leaning forward, you lick the cum off of Tup’s skin, delicately lapping up every last drop as he watches you from under hooded, sleepy eyelids. Jesse lets out a rough groan, and you feel liquid heat splatter on your lower back and slide down your ass.

He flops backward with a whimper that almost makes you want to go for a third round, but Tup gazes down at you with adoration in his beautiful caramel eyes, and you snuggle against his torso as he wraps his arms around you.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

---

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul @secondaryrealm @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @goblininawig @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

#tupperware is for sharing #tup tuesday #clone trooper tup #arc trooper jesse #clone trooper tup x reader #sw tcw fanfic #tcw fanfic #dystopicjumpsuit writes #juicy jesse

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