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chiwhorei · 4 years ago

Text

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭

cross-posted to Ao3!

pairing: issei “horse cock” matsukawa x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~4.4k

tags: stripper!issei, stripper!seijoh, roommate!oikawa, tendoukawa (bc @heauxzenji said it an it’s now the only ship in my head) dry humping, lap dance, a little corruption, spitting, public, alcohol and recreational drug consumption (weed and coke), spanking, degradation, hardly edited

a/n: howdy! this is my contribution to the smut pile’s western collab and it is so incredibly late but what the hell else is new. the masterlist for the collab can be found here! @messwriting and myself, in true chaotic duo fashion, built an absolutely depraved multiverse of seijoh strippers: the lawbreakers. lee, i love you so much. this journey we’ve been on the past few months has been chaotic and beautiful, and there’s plenty more to come.

the multiverse: hanamaki || iwaizumi || kyoutani

hymn: save a horse (ride a cowboy) by big & rich

and all the girls say— save a horse, ride a cowboy

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash.

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills.

It feels like observing an exhibit at a museum, or a zoo. Lines of coke, random dustings of pot and discarded swisher tobacco, too many open handles of liquor. Sitting on an end table is a bright pink teddy bear with a cowboy hat on it’s head.

How the fuck did you get here?

***

You shift your weight on either foot, arches aching already. The pair of jeans and top you had planned on wearing tonight were all but ripped off of your body, casual boots thrown down the hallway with sadistic glee and replaced with heels that are taller and a dress much too short.

“Damnit, you’re walking too fast.” Your appointed captor turns around dramatically, stopping in his tracks to watch you catch up. The cigarette pressed into his mouth cards in two fingers and extended towards you as a peace offering. You take the half gone stick and bring it to your lips.

Tendou’s mission was simple, drag his boyfriends roommate and best friend-- possibly kicking and screaming-- out for a night she won’t soon forget.

“Were those really necessary, Satori?” You point with the remnants of his cigarette and he feigns a kicked-puppy expression, looking down dramatically at his all black outfit contrasting drastically with a flashy pair of brownish-red cowboy boots.

“I am being a supportive partner. Plus Tooru and I wear the same shoe size.” His hair is bright outlined by the neon sign above the building.

You inhale smoke and nicotine, eying him over once again before continuing.

“Does it bother you when he’s dancing on all of those horny women?” The cigarette butt falls to the ground, you snuff it out while exhaling remnant smoke from your nose, the bachelorette party walking towards the door in a parade screaming emphasizes your question.

Tendou pulls you close, mouth pressing against your neck to bite against the skin. You jerk away from his embrace, with a feeble push against his chest to match the scoff scratching against your throat. The tall red head above you, currently leaned into the dip on your neck, always has an air of vulgar humor and zero personal space.

“Watching my pretty little boyfriend grinding on women that would never stand a chance with him,” he pulls away just in time to catch another eye roll before grabbing your wrist to pull you inside, “I think it’s hot as fuck.”

You stumble behind him, the doorman recognizing your friend immediately and lets the pair of you through tacky saloon doors. You catch a glimpse of the tattered sign standing right next to the entrance.

Lawbreaker’s Presents: The Guys of the Wild West

The club is drastically warmer than outside, the chill in your barely covered limbs thaws in a mixture of stage lights and body heat.

You sigh deeply as the sound of country music fills your ears, seemingly in rhythm with the squawking of drunken hens sipping on tall flutes of champagne. Thinking back briefly to when you first signed the lease with Oikawa, you remember he wore glasses and a sweater vest.

He said he worked as a “fitness instructor.”

“Ah, my two favorite people in the whole world,” Tooru’s ears just have been burning at your recollection, as your roommate appears in front of you in nothing but white spandex shorts and a pair of shiny boots to match, a tray of drinks is placed to the side on an unoccupied table. The white cowboy hat on his head gleamed in the low light of the club, rhinestone star shimmers-- you want to shy away from the bright refraction hitting your eyes.

He looks in his element, completely confident and cocksure as he walks around in only underwear and body oil.

“Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.” Oikawa melts into Tendou’s side, he looks just as content in the current atmosphere. Tendou seems at home in any ecosystem he wanders into.

“The show starts in 15, go get yourself a drink and try to pull the stick out of your ass. I’m going to, uhm, wish Tooru an extra special good luck.”

“I really didn’t need to know that, thanks. Tooru, break a leg.” You turn around at the sight of the wandering, tattooed hand on it’s journey south on Oikawa’s abdomen and retreat to the bar. You aren’t shocked by the display, not hardly, not with the two of them using almost every surface in your apartment as a debauched playground.

The space around you is emptier than you imagined it would be, but there is still time before the night actually starts. The bartender approaches just as you sit down on one of the wooden stools, every fixture around you is designed to look like an old saloon-- save for the strobing lights and dj booth.

You order something strong and amber, partially to stay in-theme, partially for the nerves settled in your stomach that draft beer wouldn’t be able to curb.

The woman smiles brightly and turns to pour your liquor, leaving you to pick at a cocktail napkin and await your friend’s return.

“You’re Shittykawa’s roommate.” A stranger's voice is deep and bellowing, sounding high above your ear. You swivel in your seat, gaze meeting a tanned chest instead of a set of eyes. Trailing upwards past thick black tattoos and an unavoidable pair of silver nipple rings.

You can feel the muscles in the back of your neck as they strain to meet his chocolate brown stare, he looks amused as you all but gawk at him.

“Yes, uh, I am. And you’re, uhm--” the train of thought you try to hang onto derailed completely by a devastating smile, “one of Tooru’s co-workers?”

If his smile wasn’t enough, his laugh could level the building around you. Your new friend taps the black Stetson against the bar top before putting it back on his head. He gestures broadly to his attire, or lack thereof, with another disarming and smooth chuckle.

“What gave that one away, darlin’?” You realize how stupid your question sounded, mentally kicking yourself but trying desperately not to show it on your face.

Long, thick legs are wrapped in a pair of leather chaps, the tight fabric hides nothing even if it covers most of his lower half. A matching vest hangs open on his chest, the muscles in his arms look bigger than your head. He seems huge in presence and physique, your own form is a shrinking violet below him.

“Your drink, dear. Double Jack n’ Coke.” The bartender slides a glass towards you, and you accept it with a gracious smile. The distraction is definitely appreciated, any excuse to break the eye contact that has you dissolving like lye.

“Jack n’ Coke, a gal after my own heart.” You choke, a coupling of small coughs break out of your chest. You curse your bodies reaction, you don’t even know--

“You’re name, uh, w-what’s your name.” Casual conversation seems like the best option, because it’s only been two minutes with the almost-naked Casanova and there’s a gnawing feeling that you don’t want him to walk away.

You blame it on the alcohol not yet even running through your veins.

“Call me anything you want, pretty girl, but my name’s Issei.”

A smile creeps from one end of your mouth to the other. His presence is jarring to say the least, but there’s something about the way his teeth peek out past curled lips that makes you want to lean in instead of away.

Tendou calls your name, effectively pulling you out of Issei’s orbit and reminding you where you are. Heat flushes in waves on your face as Tendou wraps his long arms around your shoulders from behind. Acknowledging your new friend with a pointed, “Howdy partner,” before turning to order his own drink.

“Something sweet please, and strong.” You hear his voice singing to the bartender but still face Issei, having his attention is more intoxicating than whiskey. You want him to talk to you, to ask you questions, to grace you with that smile over again.

You feel the ability to breathe escaping when Issei leans into you impossibly close, his hand enclosing around your back and pulling you in so slightly you could swear you imagined it.

“It was nice to meet you. Make sure I hear ya’ out there, darlin.”

You’re left almost falling from the bar stool, watching as Issei strides toward the back. The way his hips sway is unfair in every--

“Hey,” Tendou’s fingers come up to snap in front of your face, “Didya hear me? Let’s go take our seats.”

That’s right; you feel like you’ve just run a marathon, heart beating erratically at the briefest interaction, your night hasn’t even started yet.

You’re dragged directly towards the front of the stage and sat in a small two person table. You agreed to the night out between gritted teeth, hauled to the uber with absolute defiance; but most of your protest has fizzled away-- definitely not due to a pair of deep brown eyes and planes of perfectly tanned skin-- as you get comfortable next to the boisterous bridal party. You can hear their idle, drunken chatter at your back.

“I heard they call one of the dancers ‘Mad Dog’. Apparently he’s totally feral.”

“One of them is nicknamed the ‘Big Tease’, he really likes the pretty little brides~”

“Oh yeah? Well there’s one dancer called ‘Horse Cock’. I’m going to go home with him.”

The women behind you howl with laughter, enjoying their friend’s last night of freedom. The straw in your drink twirls idly, thoughts drifting with each turn of the plastic against your liquor. Surely, Issei had just intended a friendly introduction, he wouldn’t be raking in tips by being unapproachable.

Friendly, you decide, repeating it to yourself until the lights drop and a black curtain is pulled up, he was just being nice.

* * *

The show starts out mostly how you would expect. Through a few sets, toned, beautiful guys take their clothes off and fling articles at the screaming, panting crowd. The table next to you gets the most attention, bridal parties, you assume, would be the prized cash cow.

Oikawa comes out in the most obnoxious, white and teal outfit and strips into nothing but a thong and boots. Every inch of his skin sparkles, the cause becoming obvious when he jumps down to the audience and swivels his hips and ass right into your lap. Your hand comes up to his hip reflexively to brace yourself-- of course, body glitter.

You watch on at the sweaty writhing of the most beautiful men you have ever seen in real life. The atmosphere around you is absolutely contagious, it’s impossible not to fall into the rhythm, losing inhibitions with every stray piece of fabric as it’s tossed into the sea of women.

Just as you lean over to Tendou to admit that you’re enjoying yourself, the next song blasts loudly from the speakers. The beat vibrates your table, soaking into every nerve, but is almost drowned out completely by the shrieking from every patron around you. They must know what’s coming.

Looking back up front, you realize why the crowd is losing their minds. The man that commanded your attention at the bar is even more alluring now. His strut to center stage is deliberate, flashing smiles and winks to no one in particular and hypnotizing every person in his reach.

Issei is stunning in his element, soaking in the reaction with a humble tip of his hat. You could swear, though you’re sure that it’s just your imagination, that he’s looking right at you.

His performance starts out like the rest of them, but each movement of his tattooed hands as they travel over his chest is spellbinding.

Issei discards his leather vest and tosses it to the side, it feels like you’re watching him in slow motion. He’s gorgeous, skin tanned and tight over thick muscle, arms wrapped in black ink and shining with sweat.

His chaps are next, ripped from his legs just as music behind him picks up. The wedding party next to you so loud you swear the laundromat next door can hear.

All that’s left is a thong that’s barely covering his cock. You try desperately not to, but all your eyes can focus on is the bulge under a tiny piece of black leather. Your thighs rub together in search of any relief to the feeling growing hot and slick in your stomach.

He moves like liquid platinum, every long, deliberate swivel of his hips and overt palming over his crotch is enough to cause delirium. He soaks in every whistle and shriek of his name, vibrating on the high of squelching attention.

Issei is a natural. He’s a wild animal, and, along with every other woman there, you wish he would tear you apart with his canines.

He descends the short staircase with a quick stomp of his boots, now making rounds through the crowd. He stops in front of tables at random, invading the space between strangers and collecting wrinkled one dollar bills.

Why does something so blatantly performative feel voyeurous?

All you can do is gawk, ignoring how every time another woman’s hand runs down his abdomen you heat with envy. As he turns away from the bridal party neighboring you, your blood turns ice cold.

Issei has you, unmistakably, in his sights. His eyes pin you, holding you down tightly in your chair as he struts forward. Tendou whistles loudly as the brunette approaches your table. You wonder, in your last moment of cognizance, if Saroti and Tooru had planned your evening in more detail that you originally thought.

“Long time no see, darlin’,” Issei stands over you, and all you can do is stare dumbly up at him, “do ya trust me?”

You don’t answer, not with words, not like he would even hear your quiver over Big & Rich booming through the speakers. His question is stupid, to trust someone you just met so vaguely?

You do. Against any better judgement, you do.

He doesn't give you the chance to ask what he means, stuck in the gooey feeling of his attention. Issei reaches behind you, picking up your half empty glass. He swirls the drink with an almost evil smile before bringing it up to his lips and draining the last bits of whiskey and coke.

Your face reads confused, not putting his intentions together until you feel his thumb pressed against your chin. Issei’s eyebrow quirks, eyes trained on your reaction. You’re options are to shy away, turning back in your seat, running for escape in the bathroom, or--

The gloss on your mouth is sticky as your lips part in obedience. Issei tries to hide his elation, but it’s difficult to remain aloof as your tongue lulls out and your eyes beg him.

Issei’s hold on your chin tightens, nudging you to lean in so he’s only inches away. Your eyes shut lightly, the shouting surrounding you sounds little more than a whisper with the blood rushing in your ears.

You swear you can hear him groan above you as the sharp taste of liquor hits your tongue. Willing your body to cooperate, you swallow the drink with only a small cough.

His face dips down, it seems like a habit now, to brush his promises against the shell of your ear once again.

“You’re an agreeable little thing, I think you can take it.”

His hands are on either side of your chair in a flash, lifting you up with trained, bulging muscles. You fall forward in your seat, bracing against Issei’s chest. Every cell in your body is tight with tension, if you lift your head up to meet the audience’s eyes, you’re sure you’ll crack like glass.

He steals you from relative comfort, shifting your weight in his arms as he ascends back onto stage. You’ve gone limp in his hold, pliant to his will. The unfamiliar presence at a dusty bar top has turned into more than a front row seat to depravity.

You’re thrown off balance as he sets you down, eyes adjusting to the white hot stage lights. You’re exposed to every set of eyes in the building, even if you can’t see him-- you know Satori is smiling from one sharp cheek to the other. Wherever Tooru is, he’s most likely sitting in the same satisfaction.

Aren’t you glad you came out tonight? I promise, you’re going to have a great time.

Issei rounds the back of your chair so his actions are hidden from your view. The brim of a leather cowboy hat breaches your field of vision, much too big for your head.

His hands come down onto your shoulders, snaking down your bare arms. His touch leaves a scorching fleet of chills. Issei runs his finger tips upwards, tracing against your collarbone before wrapping his grip lightly around your neck.

He can feel it, he has to, the racing pulse right under the surface of your skin.

The music transitions effortlessly, going almost unnoticed. The next song, still sharp with a cheesy country twang, is slower, deeper.

Issei’s thumb brushes against your cheek, your body wants to relax into the touch before it remembers how public the gesture is.

You hold in a shaky breath as he comes to stand in your eyeline again, you might as well be bound to your chair with rope. He looks larger than life-- in both stature and presence-- in front of you. His skin is glistening, refracting from the harsh lights with sweat and oil.

He is an unstoppable force against your will. Your desire to hide from the blinding attention is nothing compared to the desire to please. To please a stranger, to please the man you met only an hour ago.

To please Issei.

He flashes you another wink, taking a moment to rake his stair down your body. He memorizes the outline of your cute little dress, red is definitely your color.

Issei slides across the smooth surface of the stage to meet where you’re perched. The barreling, almost naked body now impossibly close to where your knees are pressed together.

He starts at your ankles, tracing the soft skin of your legs until his palms press flatly against your lower thigh. Issei savors the moment for a beat longer before prying your legs apart.

The crowd below you is loud and hollow in your ears, the shame bubbling up against your cheeks and nose is nothing compared to the pressure between your legs.

Issei’s hands wander up and under the hem of your skirt, scratching his nails on the vulnerable skin before they find his prize in the form of thin lace.

The “Wait” and “Stop” sitting on your lips shrivels up and dies as your panties are ripped off. You see the bright color, the last remnants of opposition twirling around his pointer and middle finger.

The crowd goes wild, watching as your body is made a fantasy that they can all live vicariously by. all you can do is watch as the fabric is stuffed into the side of his thong to accompany fistfuls of singles.

* * *

You’re still in shock by the final dance, still under a trance as Tendou pulls you towards the back. Stumbling behind him to catch up, you’re given no time to think about what you’re about to walk into.

A fog of smoke burns in your eyes. The room around you feels like it could curl in on itself, four walls marked sparsely with dusty furniture, the smell of weed and cash.

You fix your gaze onto a long, diagonal tear in the leather couch across the must and g-strings, the rip in upholstery is stuffed with wrinkled one dollar bills.

“I didn’t go too far did I?” Snapping back into reality, you hear Issei call to you. You’re vaguely comforted by a familiar voice before remembering the man attached had spat whiskey into your mouth and stolen your panties just 30 minutes prior. You heat up at the tips of your ears at the recollection of two things you had let him do, that you had wanted him to do.

Your eyes find Issei sitting on the couch on the opposite end of your freshly showered roommate, seemingly unbothered as Tendou flops down against the middle cushion and drapes both arms across the back.

“Don’t worry partner, our girl doesn’t startle easy.” Oikawa laughs, adjusting to sit across his boyfriend’s lap. Issei’s all leather outfit is replaced with a pair of grey sweats. He looks relaxed, effortlessly handsome.

What was it like, you wonder, before you knew how it felt to look at him? Life past the single night feels grey around the edges.

When was the last time you felt this alive?

He takes a sip of a water bottle, wiping off his chin with the large rose tattooed on his hand. You can’t stop staring at them-- the ones that roamed your body in front of a club full of drunk bachelorettes, the ones that traced your skin like he already had the map.

And now you watch those same hands, so new but so inviting, as two fingers curl inward. They pull you as if tightening a rope around your waist. You wade past tall sweaty men and freshly caught audience members as they tangle across dusty furniture.

You scoot by your best friends from where they sit next to Issei, ignoring the slap to your ass and the following laugh from Oikawa in between loud, sloshing kisses.

“Well, little one,” He pats his thigh, inviting you to the spot on his lap rather than the empty seat next to him, “you’re not gonna run away are ya?”

Every nerve in your body is twitching, you’re not sure if you could run if you wanted to.

You don’t.

Issei takes in your small nod of confirmation, pulling you into his hold. The position is awkward at first, perching on his knee as you try to keep your balance. He laughs, his arm snaking around your back so you relax into him. You fidget with your fingers as they lie against your lap, watching the bustling around you. A cloud of smoke settles in the air, you wonder if it’s a permanent haze of tobacco and pot-- the scent is probably painted into the walls.

“Is this what you expected?” Issei’s voice is low and close to your ear, you can feel the smile curled into his question. Your eyes are fixed forward, watching as Tendou pours a small white line into Oikawa’s collarbone and dives in nose first.

“Honestly,” you adjust, kicking your legs up over his other knee, “I’m pretty used to this kind of stuff.”

Even if your usual scene doesn't include a drug filled almost-orgy, you can’t say you’re fazed much. Not with the company you keep.

Even with the circus revolving around you, Issei is the only thing you can see. Everything else falls away but the smell of his body wash and the soft material of his sweats where they meet your naked legs.

His hand rests against your thigh, fingers just above then short hem of your party dress. The metal rings on each digit are cool against your burning skin. You’re sure Issei can feel the heat rising in your stomach as it spreads through your blood.

You feel him lean back, fishing something out of his pocket to set in your hands. You feel every hair stand on edge as the thin cotton drops into your grip, heavy as an anchor.

“You know what I think, darlin’?” Your breath hitches, the room around you squeezing tight against your shoulders, “I think you’re a natural on stage. I bet you would have let me do anything up there.”

A hand wanders down the path of your spine, rough fingerprints stroke past each vertebrae. You arch at the feeling, his skin is like a narcotic. The liquor still swimming in your mind is no match to this, to the heady smell of sex and sweat as it cuts through your senses.

Issei’s right, you’ll let him do anything to you. You’ll beg for it like you’re trying to pass the gates of heaven.

Your body moves of its own volition, legs swinging to straddle his waist. The material of your dress bunches over the curve of your ass, completely exposed to the room around you before being eclipsed by steady palms.

You would be, should be, embarrassed by the display of public depravity. No one around seems to notice, half naked is still more modest than most everyone else. Tendou and Oikawa have dissolved into a pile of spit and clashing teeth next to you, saving you from any snide quips. There’s nothing but Issei, face an inch away from you and lips tempting you to lean forward.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I don’t usually do this?”

Glassy eyes flick dumbly at the man below you. He sees the wobble of your lip, the glaze in your stare as you memorize every feature on his face. Any reassurance sitting on his tongue dies when you crash your lips against his, hips rolling down into him and knocking him off guard.

Your kiss is searing and drips with finality. You’ve decided what bed you’ll wake up in the morning with your tongue tracing against his molars.

“No, not really.” Foreheads pressed together, it’s your turn to laugh. If you’re honest, you probably made this decision while still sitting at the bar.

You dip back in, emboldened with the bruising fingers digging against the fat of your hips. The feeling of your cunt pressed against his crotch could bring a man to his knees.

He’s not opposed, he’s just gotta get you home first.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#issei matsukawa x reader #issei matsukawa smut #mattsun smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #the smut pile collab #the smut pile western collab #the lawbreakers: multiverse #tw: drugs #tw: voyeurism #sin.drugs #sin.voyeurism

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fruitcoops · 3 years ago

Note

Hi, Eve

Rose here from yesterday, thank you very much for the Birthday message, I wasn't expecting you to read it let alone reply but I was looking for Coops kids Birthday fluff specifically. It doesn't matter if you don't have time however as I don't want to be a bother.

Hello Rose, and happy (belated) 20th birthday! Sorry for the wait--I really wanted to get this one right to celebrate such an important number. I hope your day was absolutely fantastic! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Stella is an OC

Combined with asks for Sirius lightly making fun of Remus' accent and Remus yelling at a game show (@nazar4114)

“Medusa!” Stella shouted with all the force in her thirteen-year-old lungs. Remus leaned forward on the couch. “Medusa!”

The front door opened with a creak. “I’m h—”

“Yes!” they cheered in unison as Nicole answered correctly. Remus turned and gave Stella a double high-five, feeling his heart squeeze at the vivid joy on her round face. “Good guess.”

“I knew she was gonna get it,” Stella said with a pump of her fist as she turned back to the show and folded her legs underneath her.

“Gonna,” a familiar deep voice mimicked from the doorway. Paper bags rustled before footsteps stopped behind the couch; Remus tilted his chin up without sparing a glance, and Sirius pressed a laugh-laced kiss to his cheek before dropping one on Stella’s head as well. “You sound too much like your dad.”

“Love you, too,” Remus said wryly.

“I’ll take ‘Myths and Moths’ for 400, please.” Nicole’s voice snapped his attention back to the screen, and Stella narrowed her eyes.

“Daily Double!” the automated voice announced. Stella gasped; Remus bit his lower lip. “This mythical shield was wielded by Athena, and is sometimes said to be made of goat skin.”

“Aegis,” Stella whispered, then raised her voice. “It’s the Aegis, Nicole. You know this.”

“We know you do,” Remus said, scooting forward. “You just guessed whose head is on it.”

Nicole’s buzzer went off with two seconds to spare. “What is the Aegis?”

“Hell yeah!” Stella whooped.

Remus turned to her and raised his eyebrows. “Excuse you.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you two going to do this the whole afternoon?” Sirius asked from the kitchen, obviously amused. “We might need to get the neighbors some noise-cancelling headphones.”

Stella blew a dark lock of hair out of her eyes as she flopped her head back. “It’s almost final Jeopardy, papa. We have, like, ten minutes.”

Sirius blinked at her, then shook his head. “I swear you two share genes.”

“Ope, you caught me,” Remus said over the noise of the commercial break. “When I was 20 and had literally never left Wisconsin, I went and had a secret kid in Maine who looks terribly like you just so that someone would watch Jeopardy reruns with me thirteen years later. Oops.”

“It’s the truth,” Stella said with great gravity. “I remember.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius muttered, though he couldn’t keep a smile down. He had never been able to hide around Stella, not once in the three years since they had adopted her. It was one of the things Remus loved most about him. “By the way, nobody under the age of fourteen is allowed in the kitchen for the next…hour. Ish.”

Stella squirmed around until she could rest her arms on the back of the couch. “What if I get thirsty?”

“I’m sure you can invoke birthday privileges and ask your dad to get something for you.”

“Birthday privileges?” Remus scoffed. “Nobody in this house has a birthday today. Yours was last month, and mine’s in March.”

“It’s my birthday,” Stella said.

“What? No, it’s not.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Your birthday is in June.”

“It’s today.”

“Or maybe July?”

“It’s today, in December, when there’s snow,” she insisted, throwing herself back against the pillows. “Come on, dad, that’s not funny anymore.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Is somebody too old to find their poor old dad amusing now? Can you go back to being twelve so somebody will laugh at my jokes again? I know, I know, we're super lame compared to all your friends’ parents—”

“So lame,” Sirius agreed from the kitchen.

“—but I like to think we get one more year of pre-teen cuteness before the teen angst takes over.”

Stella sat up again with a groan. Looking at her, Remus saw a mix of himself and Sirius that had always baffled him, considering they had adopted her comparatively late in her life; beneath it was something uniquely Stella. Maybe it was her double-jointed elbows, or the board-straightness of her hair next to their curls, but there was no mistaking that she was her own person through and through. He loved that about her. “I’m not going to be a terrible teenager.”

Sirius poked his head around the edge of the kitchen—his nose was adorned with a smudge of flour. “Can I record that for future use?”

“Non.”

“Ooo, using the French,” Remus hissed. “That transformation is already beginning.”

“It’s not like you were bad teenagers, right?” She settled upside-down on the couch with her flamingo-patterned socks high in the air.

“I almost convinced Grandma to let me dye my hair blue, but otherwise I was pretty good.”

“I was terrible,” Sirius laughed. “I didn’t talk to anybody for a solid three years.”

Stella frowned. “How? I think I’d die if I did that.”

“He’s stubborn,” Remus stage-whispered.

“I heard that.”

Stella suppressed her laughter as best she could, but she was about as good at hiding her emotions around them as Sirius was. She didn’t really giggle—the amount her voice had deepened over the past three years always gave Remus whiplash—but her laugh had the same cadence as it did the first day they heard it. While Stella had been quiet at first, it only took love and time to bring her out of her shell. Within a year she settled into their lives like she was always meant to be there.

A thoughtful look crossed her face. “This is my last year before high school.”

“Does it feel different?”

“Not really.” She paused, then shrugged. “And a little. I don’t feel older. It just feels like there’s stuff I won’t get to do anymore.”

“And a lot more you will get to do.” Sirius left his dishtowel on the counter before joining them on Stella’s other side. “You can drive soon, you’ll get a longer curfew, you get more freedom…”

“I guess.”

“What are you going to miss?” Remus asked as she toyed with the hem of her shirt. It was a basic Lions FAN jersey; he was fairly sure she bought it to be ironic. That, and she only wore one of theirs if she was upset with the other, or if one needed a boost at a game.

“I dunno.” A few beats of silence passed. “My classmates. My team. It feels like everything’s going to turn upside down.”

“You can still keep in touch with your friends, and I bet your team won’t be too different,” Sirius said quietly. “Even if it does, that doesn’t mean you have to give all of them up. People change in different ways. They come and go on their own time.”

“There’s going to be a lot of upside-downs over the next couple years, kid.” Remus offered her a smile. “But you’re going to be just fine.”

“You two sound like such dads right now.”

“This might shock you, but that’s because we are.”

The corner of her mouth tugged up and she lolled her head to the side to look at Sirius. “Is the cake done?”

“Fifteen more minutes.”

“Will you watch final Jeopardy with us?”

“What’s the category?”

“US Presidents.”

Sirius exhaled through his nose, but nodded. She grinned and turned herself upright to snuggle against his arm. “You just enjoy watching me lose.”

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

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Sirius called from the kitchen.

“On three,” Remus said, raising his phone camera. “One, two, three!”

“Happy birthday to you,” over a dozen voices sang. They were off-tempo and so out of key the composer was probably spinning in his grave, but Stella’s clear joy didn’t waver for a millisecond even as her cheeks reddened. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Stella, happy birthday to you!”

Finn, of course, dragged out the last note. So did Leo, Logan, Kasey, James, Lily, and Talker in varying degrees of awful harmony attempts. It was terrible, and beautiful. “Make a wish,” Sirius said softly as he set the cake down and stepped back. His eyes were the brightest quicksilver Remus had seen in many moons.

Stella closed her eyes, took a breath, and blew as hard as she could—the entire room erupted into cheers when all the candles went out. She was laughing and blushing at the same time when Remus turned the lights back on, though the humor won out in the end and she helped pass plates of cake to her many aunts and uncles. Like every year prior, Regulus managed to smear a bit of frosting on her chin, only to immediately deny it with great offense when she noticed. It was becoming a bit of a tradition—one that Remus never grew tired of.

I know what I would wish for, Remus thought as he looked around the table at their patchwork family. Celeste, Dumo, and his own parents had no doubt spoiled their first grandchild with ‘cusp of adulthood’ gifts, and Natalie and Lily would certainly steal her away after cake for some girl time. Finn and Logan would remain the fun uncles while Leo and Regulus kept their thrones as the cool uncles; Stella would interrogate Jules on the intricacies of high school for at least an hour before they destroyed everyone in a snowball fight. The world they built together had a place for everyone.

I would wish for this. This, for us, forever. It wasn’t a bad eternity to imagine.

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #coops kid #stella #lions #regulus black #my fic #fanfic #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #birthday party

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 4 years ago

Text

Touch it for Real, Final (Part 10.5)

Genre: Humor / Fluff / Angst / (Eventual) Smut 18+

Warnings: OMG they were roommates / slice of life / slow burn / mutual pining / crude humor / cursing / virgin!baek / idiots to lovers / unresolved sexual tension / penetrative sex / handjob / a mercy nut / oral sex / unprotected sex

Characters: Baekhyun X You/Female Reader

Description: You teach Baekhyun how to date. (Basically the Get You Alone M/V)

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9 , Part 10 , FINAL Part 10.5

“Hi Bug,” he said.

“Did you eat?” He was speaking before his eyes made it back up into your face and it took you five whole seconds before your brain processed his question enough for you to manage a meager back and forth head shake as a response.

“We should eat.” Baekhyun stood up and walked the long way around the coffee table toward the kitchen, avoiding the space you occupied as he moved.

Eating was a good idea. It was getting late. Eating would give you something to do that wasn’t daydream about the way his thighs filled out his jeans and how strong his lap must feel to sit on top of.

You followed behind him into the kitchen. The wide galley layout afforded you with plenty of space to pass behind him without actually having to touch him but the urge was just too strong to resist. The cat was already out of the bag.

He was pulling out a frying pan, a cutting board and a knife as you passed behind him to move toward the fridge and you reached for him with your fingertips as you moved, trailing lightly over the wide expanse of his back from one broad shoulder to the other.

You looked back at him when your hand ran out of his back to touch and you caught the focus of his brown eyes that glanced up at yours and the smile on his face that he didn't try to hide. Cute. Oh god. Cute.

“What are we having, Peanut?”

You were standing in front of the open fridge and you wondered how unfair it would be to bend over to reach into the bottom vegetable drawer with him watching you like you knew he was. You pulled the drawer open and grabbed a few things trying not to think too much as you did it. If he looked, he looked. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you at home wearing not nearly enough clothing.

When you looked back at him, Baekhyun’s eyes were, impossibly, focused up high, on the contents of the fridge. He hadn’t been staring at your ass as you bent over, imaging taking you here in this kitchen in front of the open refrigerator. Of course he wouldn't. Baekhyun would never waste that much electricity. The fridge was fancy and had an alarm that rang when the door was left open for too long and the one time — the one(!!) time you’d let the door stay open long enough for the alarm to ring was because you’d dropped a sauce bottle on the floor and had been cleaning up the mess. The alarm started to ring and the man rushed into the kitchen just to shoot you a look so dirty you felt as if you were the mess that needed cleaning up; as if you had personally been the one holding the baseball bat and had been caught clubbing the baby seals. He was insane. He was crazy. God, you loved him.

He lifted a finger to point to something on the top shelf and you reached for the container you saw there. You felt the cool air of the fridge along the bare skin of your stomach when you reached up high and you remembered why you rarely wore this shirt. It was just too flowy and too prone to malfunctions such as this. Your eyes searched for his again and the man had turned around to mess with his stupid cutting board. He wasn't human.

Your mood and your desperation were mounting. You weren’t going to make it. You were going to do something stupid like take your clothes off in this kitchen. How much self control did he have? Why was he so annoyingly good at it? You could feel a buzzing in the base of your skull as you looked at him and you wondered if anyone had ever died from sexual frustration before.

You did not take off your clothes. Instead, you gave in to his agenda. As if anyone in their right mind could eat right now. You loaded your arms with various ingredients, figuring he was making some sort of stir fry and quietly dropped everything off beside his cutting board.

He was working quietly and not paying any attention to you at all. Were you the crazy one here? When did you turn into such a desperate woman? You were beginning to feel a little bit pathetic. Your skirt was so short. Your entire shoulder had been out this whole time and he hadn’t touched you once since you’d come out of that bedroom.

You grabbed a glass of cold water to drink. It didn't help but at least it was something to do. Your desperation was beginning to change into a numb sort of acceptance. Maybe this was just your life now. Perpetually turned on with no release. You’d have to buy more panties and change them often. Your usefulness in this kitchen was quickly coming to an end. You were out of things to do since the rice maker was still full of plenty of warm rice to eat and all of the dishes had already been cleaned and put away.

Baekhyun was busy cleaning and slicing vegetables and you’d grown tired of standing around not doing anything productive at all so you backed up against the counter beside where he worked and hopped up to sit and watch him work from this slightly elevated angle. If you didn't have anything to do, you would simply entertain yourself inside your own head as you watched the man you loved work on making you something to eat.

You were only a tiny bit irked that he seemed to be paying such close attention to these boring vegetables and not at all looking at your bare thighs that could be well within his line of sight if he would only look. You watched his brown eyes. They stayed fixed on the countertop below him.

His hair was drying, but was still a bit damp and you reached a hand forward to touch the softness of it and to feel the waves between your fingers. When you pushed the waves back away from his forehead he blinked and again his lips pulled into a smile. Even though he refused to look at you, he was still quite aware of you here. He hadn’t flinched when you touched his hair and the smile was definitely for you. It warmed you all over. He was so pretty. He was looking down and his eyelashes were dark and spread over his cheeks. His cheeks popped up when he smiled. You were pretty sure you were obsessed with the shape of this man’s face and when you could see his forehead he was nearly impossible to resist. You saw him bite down on the inside of his bottom lip. He scraped a pile of veggies off to the side and grabbed a carrot.

“LoveBug,” he said between chops. A smile formed on your lips and you tensed your smile to control it before you spoke out your soft reply to him.

“Yes Peanut?”

His forearm muscles flexed as he chopped and his lips pursed forward into a tiny pout. His face was a bit flushed for just chopping veggies and you noticed the tips of his ears were also pink.

“Can I be your boyfriend?”

His knife stopped moving and he was stuck looking down at the board without any actual focus in his eyes at all as he waited for you to hear his question and answer him. It didn't look like he was breathing either. You hadn’t quite expected this question. Sure, it was kind of a given if the two of you were in love, but still, hearing him work up the courage to ask you this question out loud made your stomach do flips.

Your face was so hot. Your heart was pounding too loud again. Was that why he hadn't been looking at you all this time? Was he working up the courage for this? You swallowed and you had to lick your lips because they’d grown too dry from all the biting you’d been doing. You were biting because otherwise you would be screaming and he was holding a knife. It was a recipe for disaster. You couldn't go to a hospital right now, there was a global pandemic going on. Those resources were precious.

“Yes,” you said with your eyes on his face. He moved. His face lifted and his pink cheeks and pink lips and warm eyes were a gift to your soul. Baekhyun looked at you at last — at last, he looked up into your eyes. You’d been staring at him so openly all this time. You were intimately familiar with the shape of him. The angle of his pretty eyes; the layout of the moles on his face; the curve of his little nose that begged to be kissed; the pointed tips of his upper lip and the soft downturn of his bottom lip. You knew his face. You knew everything about it, but when he was actually looking at you, now that you had his focus and his attention on you, you suddenly found it very hard to breathe.

He was looking into your eyes and he’d gone completely still. The eye contact that he maintained, it seemed to build onto itself and you could not look away. You did not even want to. You felt positively trapped in his eyes and despite the fact that neither of you moved at all apart from the occasional blinking in his eyes and steady in and out of his lungs you still felt the pressure building the longer he stared into your face and the less in control of yourself you felt in his presence.

His muscles tensed all over and when his grip hardened around his knife, you heard a loud sound as the knife pressed through the thick carrot in his hand. The sound it made jolted through your entire body. The sound of the thick fibrous vegetable resisting just enough for the knife to struggle against it and then, just when it seemed like it might not, the blade won with a pop. It made it through, the loud chop as the strong high carbon steel hit the wooden board below it when the weaker gave under the pressure; it echoed out inside of your head and his lips parted and his eyelids sank halfway into a blink as he exhaled a held breath.

Baekhyun looked down at his board and then he came to life, suddenly grabbing the carefully sliced and obsessively separated piles all in different shades and colors and he abruptly piled the whole mess of it into the center of the board; he started rapidly chopping everything all together in smaller pieces. It was frantic. The change in his behavior was jarring. What had gotten into him? Was it the same thing that had gotten into you?

“What are you doing? I thought you were doing stir fry,” you recognized the odd behavior and abrupt change of plans based on what he was doing with his ingredients.

“Fuck it. Fried rice. It’s fast. You'll eat it.”

You let your surprised laugh escape and his brows were furrowed with the effort as he chopped everything all together.

“Why are you just trying to feed me? You haven't eaten anything either.”

“Yeah but you were too upset to eat this morning. You can’t skip meals because it makes you feel bad. You’ll eat this and—”

He was turning around, away from you and away from every bit of temptation you waved in front of him, with all of his haphazardly chopped ‘stir fry demoted to fried rice’ ingredients and you heard the click of the stove as he turned the flame on.

“I’ll eat this and what?” You asked over his shoulder and you let your eyes wander down the curve of his spine down to his narrow waist.

“And calm down?” You mumbled to yourself, “the cold shower didn’t work.”

You hadn’t quite so openly ogled him before and you decided that you had simply been insane before. How could you have possibly lived with this man for two years and not thrown yourself at him before? How in the hell was he still a virgin with a face like that? You tossed your head to one side and tried to remember the last time he left the house. Even before 2020, the year from hell, the man simply didn't like to go out. He didn't like meeting new people and he definitely didn't like situations that involved many of those new people. That didn't mean he didn't try in the past. He’d mentioned being stood up before so that meant he had made an attempt to date, right? God, he was gorgeous. You could see the back of his neck as he worked and when he moved the pan around over the burner to spread the oil his arm muscles flexed.

He was adding things to his pan. Cooking and frying noises and smells were building surprisingly quickly and before you could even move from your perch on the counter he was scooping rice into a bowl that he stuck a spoon in from the drawer and he turned back around and returned to you holding the bowl in his hand. He was back now. You had him back.

“The shower didn’t work for me either,” he said honestly and you dropped your hands to brace on the countertop beside your bare thighs to keep yourself from losing your balance. It felt like a confession. He’d tried the shower to calm down too. He was affected by you and was struggling with his control too. Only from the way he was keeping his hands off of you right now, it was clear who was doing a better job with their self control. You wondered about the kinds of fantasies that played out in his head.

Baekhyun was holding a spoon full of rice up to your face and he inhaled a deep breath of air into his lungs that stuttered on the way in. The stutter in his breath had you swimming inside your own head.

“How am I supposed to eat right now?” It was a genuine question. The man was driving you insane, you could feel the effects of his looks, his words, his kisses from earlier, and the maddening way he hadn’t touched you once since you’d come out of your bedroom. What did you have to do to get just one more kiss; just one hand on your thigh; just one more; just one more — you were ready to bargain or beg even.

“Three bites,” he said and he was breathing heavily when he did it. “Ahh,” he followed up with opening his mouth wide just like he wanted you to do for him.

You leaned forward then; bypassing the waiting spoon of rice. He was so close. You leaned and you pressed your lips against his lips. It was a tiny kiss and you heard the low grunt that left the back of his throat when you did it. His lips molded into yours and he pursed them, returning the kiss; giving into you so easily. When you pulled back his eyes were closed and he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down.

Everything about him was pretty. His teeth were pretty. His tongue was pretty. His nose and his chin and his eyes were pretty. You felt drunk.

“Three bites and you can have anything you want, my love, I promise.”

Oh, he was playing a dangerous game with you. Calling you something like this when all of your skin felt like it was on fire. It was too much. It was all too much. You felt the blush heat your skin from your cheekbones down past your chest plate and you closed your eyes to try and keep some sort of semblance of sanity and you opened your mouth.

You felt the spoon push inside and it met your tongue. You closed your mouth around the food and chewed carefully. You tasted nothing. You ate it just to get the food inside of you so you wouldn't feel lightheaded later or gross for having skipped too many meals. He was right. You needed to eat something. He was taking care of you again and you felt one more drop of love splash against the inside of your heart walls. If he kept this up, it might just overflow and then what would become of you? You could hear the spoon scraping in the bowl he held and you heard the blowing sounds coming from his lips as he cooled the next spoonful to keep the hot temperature from burning your tongue. Another drop; another splash. You were screwed.

You’d swallowed it down and quickly opened your mouth for the next spoon, getting it over with to placate him.

The last spoonful went down easily and you opened your eyes when you felt a glass with cool water pushed into your hand which you drank down as well watching in amusement as Baekhyun also seemed to be chewing and swallowing rice he’d taken from the same bowl with the same spoon. His cheeks were puffed and you offered the rest of the water which he accepted and drained quickly.

“So you tried a shower too?”

He choked on his water when you said it and you adjusted the way you sat on the countertop, slipping forward a little so you could lean back on your hands as he was coughing. Your short skirt rode up a little more and you looked down to see most of your thighs bare. You let your knees open more. It felt like an invitation. He could touch you if he wanted to. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to this. Your wardrobe didn’t usually leave all that much to the imagination when you were relaxing at home.

“Cold one?” You asked. You weren’t usually so brazen. But this was Baekhyun and he was your boyfriend now. You wanted to scream from the pent up excitement sat inside of your belly when you thought about it.

“Freezing,” he said and he’d abandoned the food and water on the counter in front of him. His eyes were squeezed shut and he leaned forward with both of his hands resting on the countertop beside where you sat. You watched the side profile of his face and you waited for him. You did not move or touch him in any way at all. You held your breath and you held your tongue and you waited.

Baekhyun pulled himself up and he took a step to the side so that he now stood directly in front of you. His slim hips fit between your parted knees and you could feel the rough fabric of his denim jeans scratch against the inside of your upper thighs. You did not move at all. You just watched his face as he oh so carefully placed himself between your parted legs and you felt the first light pass of his fingertips as he touched your knee.

That first touch, that gentle tickle from his slim fingers that moved over the round hill of your kneecap and then, with barely there pressure, slipped up the outside of your bare thigh and did not stop at the fabric of your skirt but kept moving along your bare skin, just the tips of his fingers, just the tips of him that you loved the most; he kept touching and you could hardly contain it. The touch was so light, so fucking delicate you wanted to cry. He took your sanity and your breath and tossed them both far away from you.

When you lost your breath it left your lips in a quiet moan and your eyes closed on their own.

You moved your hands. They ached to hold him. You reached around his waist and pulled him toward you and he fit inside well when you moved your hips forward off the edge of the counter and when you slipped your face into the space below his chin where you could smell the skin of his neck, the smell of him overloaded your senses. It was just soap. He was just clean smelling but he smelled so unbelievably comfortable and familiar you inhaled deeply with your lips parted just over the surface of his skin.

The closer proximity gave you another sensation. You could feel the heat and stiffness between his legs that fit so perfectly between your own. You wanted to wrap around him. You wanted him closer. The desire was powerful and you felt the grip of his hand as he squeezed high on your thighs and his hips pushed forward for the sake of the friction itself.

“I promised,” you felt the vibration of his voice in your lips that you pressed against the side of his neck, “anything you want — you can have anything.”

It wasn’t quite a question. His statement was fractured and you could hear the trembling in his voice that made his thoughts as unstable as you felt inside of yourself right now.

“What is it you want to do? Do you want to watch a movie? Hmm? Do you want to go for a walk? Is there something else you want?”

You felt his words vibrating though his chest. You loved the sound of his voice but feeling it echoing against your own skin brought a warm comfort into your soul.

“I,” you had to keep your eyes closed and you pulled your lips away from his skin for a second. “I don't want you to do anything you aren’t ready for.”

As flimsy as you felt inside you knew you would never forgive yourself for pressuring him. You knew you needed to hear it from his own lips that he wanted more before you would let anything happen. You’d take 10 more frozen showers if you had to; just to hold yourself back.

You could feel it in that moment. You had a lifetime only for him. You could wait a lifetime for him.

“Bug, what are you doing? I feel like I’m losing my mind.” He was speaking just above your head and despite the pressure inside your heart to stop, to wait, to keep yourself under control you still gave into the urge to tighten your thighs around his hips and push your pelvis forward against him. You still pulled him into you with the arms you’d wrapped around him and you heard the trembling moan that vibrated through his chest wall.

“I can stop if you want. Peanut, tell me to stop and I will stop.”

His hands left your hips and you loosened your hold around his body when he moved. When you pulled your face back his hands were in his own hair and he was scratching roughly at his scalp with his fingers and his face was screwed together in a tight scrunch of all of his features. It was a look of confusion. It was uncertain and unsure and you looked at his face with your head cocked to the side when it dawned on you that he wasn’t picking up on the many many obvious clues you were putting down. Was he just so used to you cuddling and touching him that he really did not know what you wanted from him? Did he not watch you rip down the sign from your door and sit down here on this counter with your skirt hiked up so far he could probably see your panties if he just dropped his chin a few inches. Did he really have no idea?

“Stop what? What are you stopping? What is happening right now? I don't understand. You never told me what you wanted. And I can't think straight with you touching me so much. I’m going crazy. Tell me what to do.”

Was this real? You looked into the pained expression on his face and you lifted your eyebrows in surprise at what you saw. You saw him holding back. You saw him suffering through it. You saw confusion and uncertainty in his brown eyes and you realized that you had to be very blunt with him for him to get it. He’d been so conditioned to hide his attraction for you that this was completely new and uncharted territory for him. Despite the fact that you’d removed the stupid sign from your door and could feel the frustration all over your body from holding yourself back and the man was very clearly extremely aroused right now; you could feel how ready his body was for this, it was driving you crazy to have to stop this and tell him in plain words exactly what you wanted from him.

“Sex, Baekhyun. I am talking about sex. I want to have sex with you.”

As quickly as you’d said it, you inhaled to speak again. To clarify. To add important parameters that protected his heart.

“But, when you are ready. I absolutely don't want you doing anything you don't want to do, just because I ate three stupid bites of food. That’s actually not how this works. We have to both be ready. I will be okay no matter what we do or don't do. Please tell me you understand this is just me telling you that whenever you want to, I am ready. I want to do this with you.”

Baekhyun had removed his hands from your skin and he was still standing with his hands raised above his head. You’d pulled your legs away from his warmth and had dropped your hands to rest over your own knees as you spoke to him and he was looking into your face, watching you very carefully as you spoke with his lips parted and an indecipherable expression in his face. His eyes ticked around your features. He closed his mouth and then opened it again and you watched the words you had told him in earnest sink in deep.

When you stopped talking there was a moment when neither of you moved at all until you heard him inhale a quick breath.

“Yes,” he said and his eyebrows lifted briefly as his eyelids closed halfway, “yes,” he whispered again and his head was nodding up and down in quick shallow bursts, “yes,” he said a third time and he licked his lips quickly.

“Yes, I want to. I want to.”

His lips hung open when he quit speaking and he pushed the tip of his tongue along the edge of his front teeth. He looked into your eyes and you looked into his and you could feel the understanding coat you from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. With his eyes on you; with his love in his heart; with the furrow of his eyebrows and the quiet way his head sunk to the side and the push of air from deep within his lungs; he wanted you. He wanted you to be his first.

You watched him change before your eyes. The look in his eyes darkened when the minutes passed and the desire he’d expressed out loud sat in the space between your faces and inflated and swelled until you reached out and touched it with your careful fingertips. You absorbed it and he watched you do it. You would accept his consent, this precious thing. His tongue vanished somewhere inside of his mouth and he was breathing through his parted lips as his eyes roamed over your face.

The quiet understanding moved your body and you used the small space he’d given you to hop down off of the kitchen counter. When you moved you felt him take a step back and you pivoted on your feet, brushing your shoulder over his broad warm chest in the tiny space that you and he occupied in this kitchen.

As you moved you felt the back of your hand brush against his and you reached for his fingers with your own and when you took your first steps out of the kitchen you pulled his hand and he followed you where you moved past the dining table, past the living room and the light changed when you reached the darkened hallway that led to your bedroom.

Your bedroom was dimly lit. Your table lamp sat illuminated in the corner beside your bed and the sheer curtains let in enough light for you to see the nervous expression on his face and the way he licked his lips and swallowed away the moisture in his mouth.

Baekhyun came into your bedroom after you did and you saw him turn around and close your door behind him. The action made you feel tense. The intimacy of this small space made you feel very warm. Your bedroom was smaller than his and it hadn’t occurred to you until he did it that he had never closed himself up entirely in here with you before. In all of your experiences with him coming into your room in the past he always left your door open and something about him closing it behind him made this feel all the more real. You had sudden butterflies bumping around inside your stomach.

When he turned back around to face you he ran one trembling hand through his hair and his steps paused halfway through the room as he seemed to second guess his destination mid journey. He recovered though and pushed through it, coming to stop in front of your bed and turning around to sit down on the edge of it with his hands on his knees.

He was acting so nervous that it was making you feel nervous too. In fact, now that he was in here with you he seemed to be more nervous than he was excited about this. It made you pause.

“Are you okay?” You sat down beside him on your bed with your small question and you felt the warmth of his arm as you leaned against him.

Baekhyun closed his eyes and he inhaled a breath. You felt him exhale slowly and with it he leaned against you, slumping hard against your arm and he was warm and he was everywhere. The connection, that contact was powerful with how quickly you were overcome with the warmth and the feeling of him.

“I’m just anxious...I don't really know what I’m doing. What if I’m bad at it?”

He wasn’t second guessing doing this with you. He was naturally unsure of how things might go and was probably putting way too much pressure on himself to live up to some made up standard he’d set in his own head.

You stood up suddenly, feeling very in love with this man and feeling a strong need to protect him from everything, even from his own self doubts. He was brilliant. He was a good person. He was good at everything he did. He was already so good at loving you. You could see it in everything he did for you.

Your movement pulled his focus and his eyes followed when you moved to stand in front of him. You took a step closer to him, and your legs landed between his parted knees. His hands remained fisted stubbornly on his own knees but his eyes were open and he was looking at you standing in front of him.

“Baekhyun, do you trust me?”

He didn’t hesitate. He nodded his head up and down and you smiled down at him as he looked up at you. You lifted a hand and ran it over the back of his head and you saw the blink of his eyes when you slipped your fingers into his hair and scraped them against the back of his scalp. His lips parted and his eyes rolled.

“And do you love me?”

Your other hand cupped his pretty face and his eyes opened back up as he looked at you again. He nodded his head again, slower this time.

“Then that’s all it takes to be good at it. I’ll help you with the details. You just do what feels good.”

“Just do what feels good? I can do that.” He whispered into the quiet space of your dark bedroom and you felt the heat flooding along the surface cells of your skin. He had been sitting when he reached for you as he stood and placed his hands on the sides of your face.

“Kissing you feels good,” he said and the warmth of his breath could not prepare you for him. You felt his mouth cover yours. You felt his tongue and his teeth biting lightly as he pulled your bottom lip inside of his mouth.

“Touching you feels good,” he whispered into your open mouth. You felt his hands then and he was everywhere. You were unprepared. This was not something you would survive with your sanity intact. You’d wanted so much. You’d waited for so long that the first real kiss, the first real touches from his hands rendered you nearly completely incapacitated.

The short skirt afforded him an expansive lot of skin to explore with his wandering hands. He gripped and he squeezed behind you, you felt the tips of his fingers squeeze your ass roughly and his hips were pushing into you. As convenient as these clothes were, they quickly lost their charm. You needed more skin. You needed to be done with them. You lifted both of your hands and you placed them on his shoulders and you firmly pushed him down to sit on the bed in front of you. He complied instantly and his eyes opened to look into your face as his heavy breaths flew through his parted lips.

You reached for the bottom of your shirt and you lifted straight up, pulling it over your head in a single smooth motion and before you lost the nerve you reached for the side zipper of your skirt and pushed it down, letting it fall to the floor you stepped out of it.

A burst of pride filled your chest. You’d made a good decision with the matching bra and panties set.

His eyes were on you and you saw a spark in them. This was a new expression on him that you hadn’t seen, although something in his eyes as he looked at you brought along a wave of deja vu. Something you’d only seen as quick as a lightning flash in his eyes as he kneeled before your naked body that night, the night of the storm.

He was looking at you and then he was touching you. You felt his warm hands slip a slow pathway along your hips.

“God, Bug. You’re so fucking pretty, I’m not going to make it.” When he leaned into you, you felt his mouth, the softness of his lips and the warm puff of air from his breathing as he inhaled his oxygen from the bare skin the space just below your breasts. His hands traveled now, with firmer pressure as he moved, you felt slim fingertips move higher and slip below the back strap of your bra.

You promised you’d help with the details. You reached behind and unclasped your bra hooks and the elastic gave. You pulled the garment down your arms and Baekhyun was leaning back onto your bed, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist as he leaned, he pulled you with him. His mouth was on your skin, he tasted and he when he pulled your hardened nipple into his mouth and sucked you nearly lost your mind. Your back arched and you moaned, closing your eyes tightly as his mouth worked on the sensitive nub. He moved like a fire and his hands touched you everywhere. Absolutely nothing about the way he touched you felt like he had any capacity in his whole body to be bad at this.

“This is too much,” he complained into your skin. You felt it too, but you craved even more.

You needed his skin. You wanted to feel it under your fingertips and with your lips. You wanted to kiss him and taste him and smell him as he was doing to you.

When you reached for his shirt, he left you pull it off him and when your hands flew to the button of his jeans he sat up on his knees to let you unzip him.

You felt that your own breathing was frantic. You felt too out of control. You wanted too much too fast to stand this.

Baekhyun stood to push himself out of his jeans and he joined you again with thin boxers straining against his hard erection. Your legs parted and you pulled him into you, still clothed in your panties and he landed perfectly in between your parted legs on the bed. His breathing was too fast and he whined out loud when you reached for him and palmed his hardness over his underwear. With every touch you could see him teetering on the edge. He would not last this way. You didn't really want him to.

“Too much. It’s too much. Fuck.” His self control was shaky. He was already a mess. You felt drunk on the sight of him. The sounds he made, trembling, whining with his eyes closed and with your hands on him, those noisy sounds hit you like heroin, you wanted him to come. You wanted to hear it and you watched to watch his face as he did it.

“I’m not going to make it. It’s too much already, I can’t,” he was whining again and his mouth was on yours as he kissed you, pulling your tongue into his mouth when you gave it to him. He was shaking already. You could see him losing control. If you kept touching him he would come in his boxers.

“You can come first,” you whispered into his ear before you bit down on the smooth skin of his neck. His breaths came out in jagged bursts.

“But, too soon,” he complained with closed eyes. Your hand rubbed over him again and his hips pushed forward into the feeling as you squeezed and pulled with your palm around the cloth covered head of his dick.

“I want you to come first. You feel so good in my hand like this. I want to hear you come for me Baekhyun and then I’ll show you how you can touch me until you’re ready again.”

Your fingers slipped under the elastic of his waistband as you spoke and you felt him stiffen on top of you when you wrapped your hand around the smooth skin of his shaft.

“Oh God, Oh God,” he called out in his beautiful voice once you’d gotten him inside of your hand. You could feel the drops of wetness that had already collected at his tip and you used your thumb to spread the wetness over him and he let out a loud whine from the back of his throat as you did it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t — I have to —” he complained and you felt his muscles contract as he stiffened on top of you, he pushed again with his hips and with his mouth open and his eyes screwed shut you felt the first pulses along the length of him followed by the rush of warm liquid that flooded the palm of your hand and seeped through the thin fabric of his boxers. He trembled all over as he came and he went motionless save for the occasional satisfying twitch.

You felt positively possessed by the arousal. You pulled your hand out from his boxers and much of his mess had quickly soaked his underwear and even the panties you still wore and the bed sheets below you both felt sticky and moist. Still you saw the shine of wetness on your fingertips and his eyes followed you as you stuck your fingertips into your mouth and sucked off the taste of him, swallowing down the taste of his cum.

He reeled from it. He breathed heavily and his mouth hung open, the evidence of just how much all of this affected him written as plain as day all over his face. His eyebrows screwed together and then he moved a hand down the inside of your thigh, running his fingertips lightly over the soaked fabric of the lace panties you wore. Most of it was from you.

“Take them off,” you said. His fingers pulled at the sides and you lifted your hips as he rolled them off your legs.

When he came back his eyes feasted and his hands moved slowly, reaching forward for you, cautious yet desperate to touch everywhere. The first touches were light and you moved your hand down to place your warm palm over his hand between your legs. The details; the right place to touch you and the right amount of pressure. He was paying close attention to your fingers and you could feel his hand following your lead. He was driving you crazy. You were so desperate for him.

“Do you feel how wet you made me?”

You knew how wet you were. You were dealing with it for a significant amount of time already but something about guiding his fingers and slipping them between your folds as you taught him the movements; the way to make you come. He was directing his fingers and moving them over you in a way that felt amazing, you felt quickly undone with the rhythmic passes over your clit. You were so turned on even this amount of touch from him had you squirming in place almost immediately.

“I did this?” He had a spark in his eyes as he asked and you saw the small grin that took over his face. His eyes were on your face as he moved and you pulled your hand away when you noticed he caught on instantly to the kinds of movements that could drive you crazy. Every sound you made had him chasing the same sound and every time you flinched his eyes would fly up to your face as if you were a puzzle he had to solve and he was determined to get it right. You felt his fingers moving over your clit, pulling between digits and adding pressure when he abruptly pulled his hand away you opened your eyes and gasped at the sudden loss. He had dropped his shoulders and you saw the top of his head with his fluffy hair buried between your legs a split second before you felt the softness of the tip of his wet tongue slip between your folds and bump against the already swollen and oversensitive spot.

The man was an overachiever. You gasped out loud when his mouth opened and the suction of his mouth pulled hard enough to send a jolt of electric pleasure through your nervous system. You cried out and squirmed below his mouth and he pushed his fingers inside of you as he did it again. The room spun. You had to close your eyes and your hands reached down to touch his head. You threaded your fingers into his hair and when he did it again you gripped around the brown strands, you pulled his hair as he pulled hard with his mouth. He moved his tongue at the same time and you could not contain the trembling or the strong wave you gave into as you came. Your legs were shaking and he was still pulling. It was quickly becoming too much to take. You squeezed your thighs and reached for him, pushing him firmly away, he quickly pulled his face up from between your legs and the man was soaked. You were trying to breath and he was smiling his wide and blinding smile at you.

“Baekhyun, how?” You couldn't get the words out. You felt too out of breath from the orgasm and his smile was so lovely he lit up the room with it. You shook your head back and forth and exhaled the first breath that wasn’t shaking since he’d gotten his mouth on you.

“Did I do it right?” He was fishing. He sat there on his ankles and the moisture on his chin and neck reflected the dim lighting from your lamp.

“So good, Baekhyun. It was so fucking good. You’re amazing.” His nose scrunched and his eyes blinked when you said it. It was the truth. You hadn’t imagined that he could learn so quickly and perform so well. You could see the puff of his chest with your honest compliments and his hands were touching you again— light, absentminded touches; you felt him move again. The fire felt somewhat quenched for now as he moved and he blinked slowly at you as he dipped and he shifted in place. He was pushing his boxers off as he moved and you could see from the light in the window the beautiful shape of him completely bare before you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you said in awe at the sight of him. He licked his lips and glowed in the dim lighting. His smile pulled at his lips and you swooned to see him. You could also see that he was hard again.

You reached for him when he dropped to you and you met in the middle, reaching for his face as he reached for yours and his lips and tongue tasted like your arousal for a moment before you swallowed the taste away and found that familiar taste of him. The undeniable and addictive smell of the air that came from his lungs. The scent of the thin layer of sweat that sat over his skin and the heat that mingled and mixed with the smell of your own skin as he pressed himself against you.

Baekhyun was situated with his hips between your legs and you held your breath when you felt the first bump of his hardness as he slipped around within your wetness.

He pushed himself up on his knees and his eyes looked into yours. He didn’t move right away but you felt him reaching down between where you were separated and his eyes were down on his hand as he positioned himself at your entrance.

Baekhyun was looking into your eyes when you felt the tip of him and he pushed himself inside. He pushed forward with his hips; you felt the stretch; the pressure of it. A gasp escaped your lips and his eyes were on you when his mouth fell open. He pushed further and his eyes rolled back into his head, closing up as he filled you completely. You were filled. It stole your oxygen. You were overwhelmed by everything.

He went completely motionless when he got inside of you. When he was finally inside of you.

“Oh my god,” he said with his eyes closed up. His head was moving and small whimpers came from his throat when he pulled out and he pushed in again. You were transfixed by watching his face. “Holy fuck,” he spoke freely and noisily and when he wasn’t whining he was moaning out loud. When he wasn’t moaning he was cursing and you were lost under the spell of him. He quickly found a rhythm as he chased the need to move, pulling out and pushing in again and his movements grew more confident.

You were getting lost in him. You could feel the way your body clung to him tightly and you pulled him into you when he pulled away. Your mouth found his as he dropped down to you and pushed inside roughly and you wrapped around him when you felt him rolling. You found yourself surrounding him and surrounded by him at the same time. You were on top of his lap and the dizziness of the movement made your head spin. His arms wrapped around your waist and he sat up with you on him and still inside of you and he wrapped his strong arms around your waist and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and you held on to him so tightly. Tight enough that the movements of your body slowed and you felt him push deep inside of you again and again. His mouth was on yours and you shared the same air just as completely as you shared the same space.

Your heart was raging inside of your chest and the ache to get closer to him pulsed with it. The need for closeness was overwhelming. Your nails dug into the skin on his back and you bit down on his shoulder with your teeth. The need was too deep. Your mind was lost to it and you whimpered into the skin of his neck when you felt the wave overtake you again.

You were lost.

You could feel yourself shaking all over and you squeezed tightly around him when you felt the flood of his heat inside of you and the heavy breathing in your own chest mirrored his own as he gripped your body tightly and held you so close to him.

The spell took ages to break. You held onto each other for too many heavy breaths to count and when you lifted your head from where you were buried in his neck his hands lifted to cradle the back of your head.

Baekhyun’s lips were back. He kissed you deeply and slowly and you melted into him, feeling the fatigue in your limbs nagging you.

You were laid down and the substantial messes were ignored for now. You were kissed again and again and when those kisses turned quicker and sloppier you felt your own lips pulling into a smile.

Your body was nagging you though. You felt the need to clean yourself up. You knew you’d have clean your bed too and when you’d finally managed to extract yourself from his arms and his lips you made your way into your bathroom. It was your second shower of the day only this time you turned on the hot water to heat up.

A quick peek into your bedroom gave you a glimpse of him. Baekhyun was laying on your bed, still naked and laying flat on his back. After a few moments he moved and sat up, pulling the sheet below his body with the tips of his fingers. He was making a face to himself, scrunching up his nose and sticking his tongue out as he pulled on the wet fabric of your bed sheets and it made you laugh out loud.

“Is it always this messy? Bug—” he was calling out to you from the bed. He looked a little like he might be trapped there. “Bug? Bug, help. It’s all over my stomach. What do I do with it?”

His hands were reaching out and you saw him grab the first soft thing he touched. It was pink and it was fluffy and it had been sitting in the corner of your bed. Your temper flashed hot. He was not about to use your cutest most innocent stuffed animal for this.

“Peanut, if you wipe up your cum with Mr. Nibbles, I’ll never, ever forgive you. Put him down.”

His hand opened and the pink fluff fell to the floor below. Safe for now. Baekhyun was sitting up on the side of your bed and he was mumbling to himself. “It’s not just mine, LoveBug. We made this mess together.”

“Well let’s clean up together then,” you said, with a few steps in his direction and reached for his arm, pulling him up from the bed toward your bathroom where the hot water was steaming up the mirror and calling out to you. The building hunger pangs in your stomach called to you as well. All at once, the needs came at you one by one.

You heard a low stomach rumble coming from the beautiful naked man whose arm you pulled through the doorway of your bathroom.

“And then we can eat together,” you sing-songed and you heard the small huff of a laugh that came from his nose. His smile was wide and he looked at you with so much affection in his eyes.

“And then we can take a walk together and hold hands, and watch a movie together and we can wash the bed sheets together and play a game together. An easy game though. Not one of those hard ones where I just die and die. We can play a nice game together and you can let me win at least one time. Not every time, just once is fine. I can’t win every time, it’s just not realistic. I will understand. I am a very understanding person.”

You weren't done. Once you’d gotten going you really couldn't help the excitement that took you over when you imagined all of the things you wanted to do with him. You had a list in your head of all of the things you wanted and you could hear the quiet giggles from Baekhyun that were nearly drowned out by the running water that you were about to step inside.

“Oh! And then we can delete your dating profile together and you can tell me how long you’ve been in love with me and I will tell you about all of the sex dreams I’ve had about you. And then—”

His hand pulled you back. The warm water had been so close you could already feel the refreshing cleanliness that was just within your grasp. The frown that formed on your lips was short lived because you felt his warm arms encircle your shoulders and he pulled you into his chest.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” he was saying it again and again. You could hear the smile on his lips as he said it and his love declarations coated you completely both inside and out and you wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him into your arms as you squeezed him tightly.

“We have so much to do together,” he said softly into your hair after the truth of the love declarations had settled and you ran your hand through the back of his head, pulling his hair through your fingertips with each pass.

“A lifetime of them,” you said. Your heart felt so full and somehow you couldn’t find it in you to feel anxious about saying this to him. It was the truth that you felt inside of your heart, you felt it so completely.

He pulled his face back to look into your face and you saw a remarkable serenity in his warm brown eyes. His lips pulled into an easy smile and he inhaled a breath to respond to you.

“A lifetime, Bug,” he said with a nod of his head and a spark in his eyes, “together.”

[The End]

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8 , Part 9 , Part 10 , FINAL Part 10.5

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dreamwritesimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Twisted 16 - Bloody City [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, blood.

Word Count: 3000

Summary: Threats come closer.

The room was so silent that you could swear even your heartbeat was audible. You tried to think through the panic running through your veins, but it was nearly impossible.

He wasn’t supposed to find out about that.

You weren’t a profiler, but you didn’t need to be one to understand how betrayed he felt at the moment. He looked completely frozen, his sharp glare giving you goosebumps.

He had never looked at you like that before, and the anger in his eyes was more than enough to pin you to your spot.

“Spencer,” you managed you say, your voice way too weak, “I can explain.”

Silence.

“I didn’t—“ you stammered, “I didn’t read it. I would never.”

He just kept his gaze on you, raising his brows as if he didn’t believe a word you said and you wetted your lips.

“Where did you find it?”

That managed to draw a reaction from him, at least. He scoffed a dry laugh, shaking his head.

“That’s what you’re asking me right now?” he asked, “It was under the magazines on the coffee table, I thought it was one of mine.”

You cursed under your breath, closing your eyes for a moment. Of course your mother would put it there for you to take a look at it in case you wanted to.

“So?” he said, nodding at the folder lying on the kitchen island, “Do you want to tell me why you have a file on me?”

“It’s not mine.”

The bitter smile on his face was almost amused at your pathetic attempt, and it hit you right at that moment, there was no way you could talk your way out of this. This was what he did for a living, and he could tear your whole list of excuses apart, picking holes in it one by one.

“Try again.”

So people felt exactly like this when he was interrogating them. It was like his whole personality had just changed right in front of your eyes, and you weren’t even sure that you knew this person standing in front of you.

“I mean,” you swallowed thickly, “Okay, it’s technically mine. But I can explain why I have it.”

“You can?”

You pushed your hair behind your ear, your hands restless for some reason.

“The other day,” you started, “After we…. Well, when you were in Ohio, my mom dropped by. She already has a key and well, you’ve met her, she comes and goes as she pleases. I told her not to numerous times, but—“

“That’s not what I asked.”

You nodded, clearing your throat.

“Right, yeah,” you said, wringing your hands, “Um, she has this P.I.”

“You mean your family has a P.I.?” he corrected you, “Philip, you said? It’s not just your mother who uses him, you told me so yourself.”

You cussed at yourself in your head and bit on your lip, “Yeah. Yeah but he—he usually works for my mother. She’s overprotective, especially after my dad she became quite paranoid with the type of people me and Mina date. Anyways, she came here that morning, and she had this file but I didn’t read it,” you shook your head fervently, “I would never.”

He tilted his head, humoring you, “Oh you didn’t read it?”

“No, of course not—“

“Why did you keep it then?”

“I didn’t keep it,” you said, “I had to leave in a hurry so I left my mom here and I swear to you I told her to throw it away. I thought she did, I didn’t see it before just now. I wouldn’t keep it if I knew—“

“Did you know she was going to do it?” he cut you off as if he wasn’t in the mood to listen to your excuses, “Put a P.I. on me?”

You opened your mouth to say no, then the memory of her saying that at the brunch flashed in your mind, making you shut your eyes for a second before looking up at him.

That was enough of an answer for him.

“You knew?” he asked, barely controlling the fury in his voice, “You knew but you didn’t tell me?”

“She mentioned it in passing but I didn’t take her seriously,” you said quickly, “I didn’t think she would actually do it, that’s why I didn’t tell you!”

He let out a humorless laugh and walked to grab his satchel while you stood there, unable to even breathe right as your heart pounded in your ears.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” he said curtly, “I’ll break your heart if I stay here any longer.”

“Spencer please, we need to talk about it—”

“Talk about it?” he repeated, “Why? So that you can give me more bullshit excuses?”

To that, you honestly had nothing to say.

“I would’ve told you whatever you wanted to know about me,” he said through his teeth, his eyes narrowed, “Because I trust you. That’s the difference between you and me.”

You blinked back the tears, digging your fingernails into your clenched fists.

“Have fun reading that,” he motioned at the file in front of you, then walked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Your hand shot up to wipe at your eyes and tugged at the roots of your hair as you slouched against the kitchen island.

“Fuck.”

***

The next three days were an absolute disaster. You couldn’t focus on anything, you checked your phone every minute to see whether he had texted you or called you, but there was nothing. You had no idea what you could do to explain yourself, or at least convince him to hear you out, but you decided to wait until he wasn’t as angry. Maybe then, he would be more willing to listen to you and you would have gathered your thoughts together.

That was the logical thing to do and you knew that, but it didn’t help with the situation at all. You had already missed him way too much and the guilt was basically eating you alive.

You should’ve been more careful. You should’ve checked everywhere, you should’ve at least called your mother to make sure if she had thrown it away but you had done none of that because of multiple distractions. Spencer had a point, you knew it was possible, you even knew your mother had done the same thing with Kenzie and yet you had told him nothing about that.

Until it blew up on your face.

There was absolutely no way he would ever trust you again, and you had no one to blame but yourself.

Your fingers were itching to text him, but you every time the urge hit you, you tried to do anything else but that. You concentrated on work, you accepted a new client, you did anything and everything that could stop yourself from thinking about him, but all of that was in vain.

Mina and Kenzie had invited you for dinner and you had accepted it just so that you could distract yourself and feel less terrible. Around nine, Lily had insisted you to be the one to read her a bedtime story, and that kid could ask for a freaking castle and you would get her that, so of course you had said yes.

“And they lived happily ever after,” you finished the story and pressed a kiss into her hair as she snuggled closer to you. “Time to sleep, bug.”

“I have a question.”

“Hm?” you asked, “What is it?”

“Will we all live happily ever after?”

“Oh yeah,” you nodded, “Certainly.”

“Here?”

You tilted your head, “Here? What does that mean?”

“I heard mommy talking to grandma on the phone about you moving to—“ she scrunched up her nose, trying to find the right word, “Ven…?”

“Venice?” you asked and shook your head, “No sweetheart, I’m not moving anywhere.”

“It’s just that,” she looked up at you, “In the stories, they go away sometimes right? I thought since you found your prince—“

“You don’t need someone to live happily ever after Lily,” you said, “And in this case, I don’t need to move somewhere else to live happily ever after. Besides, things are complicated with my prince nowadays.”

“So you’re not moving away?”

“I’m not.”

She gave you a toothless smile, “Yay!” she said, “I would miss you.”

“I’d miss you too bug,” you kissed her hair, “So much. But now that we both know I’m staying here, you need to go to sleep, we had a deal.”

“Fine, fine…” she heaved a dramatic sight and you turned off the lamp by her bed, getting up from the bed. “Good night!”

“Sweet dreams, bug,” you closed the door behind you and made your way to the living room where Mina and Kenzie were still sitting by the table, drinking wine.

“Thank you so much,” Kenzie said and you waved a hand in the air as you sat down.

“Of course,” you said, grabbing your wine glass, “Mina, she asked me if I was moving to Venice.”

Mina frowned, “What?”

“Yeah, she heard you talk to mom on the phone,” you muttered, “Is that still going on? I thought we put that behind us, I’m not leaving.”

She heaved a sigh, “You know how mom gets, she’s just worried.”

“Have you talked to Spencer yet?” Kenzie asked and you took a huge sip of your wine, shrugging your shoulders.

“He knows where I am.”

“I take that as a no.” Kenzie said and you scoffed a bitter laugh.

“If he wants to break up with me, he can pick the time.”

Mina’s head shot up, “Y/N…”

“Come on,” you forced yourself to say and downed your wine before tilting your glass towards Kenzie, “You guys know how it goes. Experience talking.”

Kenzie filled your glass, “Listen, I can tell you right now that finding that out was a shock, yes. I felt betrayed, also yes. But after a couple of days, the anger subsided. When we broke up, it was— it was just my anger calling the shots.”

Mina nodded slowly, “Yeah, and then we talked and solved it.”

“Exactly!” Kenzie snapped her fingers, “Besides, after the first argument… I went to my apartment and after I calmed down I had to question whether I wanted to lose Mina over that.”

You shook your head, “It’s different.”

“How?”

“You weren’t there,” you lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke, “You didn’t see the way how he looked at me after that. Something inside him shifted and I don’t know how to change that, or fix that.”

Mina and Kenzie exchanged glances.

“I don’t think he will ever trust me again,” you managed to say, turning the cigarette between your fingers, “That is if he talks to me again. I think he might just call it quits over the phone to be honest. He doesn’t owe me anything after this point, after what happened.”

“Y/N, I saw you two together even before you started dating,” Mina said, “This is not the end. It’s just some stupid obstacle in the way, that’s it.”

You could feel the tears burning your eyes but you blinked them back.

“I’ve never-” you trailed off, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone, you know? And if I lose this, lose him, I don’t know…” your voice cracked but you cleared your throat and took a sip of your wine again, “I have no idea what to do.”

Kenzie nibbled on her lip,

“You won’t have to, just—“ she started but was cut off when your phone started vibrating on the table. You lowered your glances to check the caller I.D flashing on the screen, then gasped, jumping on your feet.

Spencer.

“Excuse me,” you said and snatched the phone off the table to walk to Mina’s study, your heart slamming against your ribcage. You hoped that it was a good sign that he was calling you, instead of just ending your relationship via text and you closed the door behind you, then answered the phone.

“Hi,” your voice sounded way too squeaky even to your own ears and you shut your eyes for a moment, making a face.

“Hey,” he greeted you and you bit down on your lip, pushing your hair behind your ear as you walked in the study.

“How—um, how are you?”

“I’m good,” he said slowly, “How about you?”

“About the same,” you answered, “I was just thinking about you actually. I wanted to call you, but…”

“But you didn’t?” he asked and you shrugged your shoulders,

“I figured you might need some time away from,” you thought for a moment, trying to smile, “Well, away from me, I guess.”

He fell silent for a moment before he cleared his throat,

“Listen,” he said, “I just called to let you know that we— the team and I, I mean, we’re flying to Illinois in fifteen.”

Your head shot up, “Oh? There’s a new case?”

“Might be related to this one, we will see when we get there,” he said, “I just figured you’d…I don’t know, you’d want to know where I was.”

Even when you were quite possibly in the worst terms, he still wanted to make sure you knew about what was happening and that thought alone was enough to make you smile.

“Yeah absolutely,” you said, “That’s very thoughtful of you. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Sure thing.”

There was a pause before he took a deep breath.

“Anyway, yeah. That’s why I called. I’ll see you later—“

“Spencer,” you interrupted him, “Before you hang up, I want to say that I get why you’re upset, I really do. You have every right to be, but I was hoping…” you bit at your fingernail, “Maybe we can talk after you come back? Would that be possible?”

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, “Sure, that sounds good.”

“Yeah?” you let out a relieved breath, “Okay, great. Be careful out there, please?”

You could almost hear his small smile, “You too,” he said and hung up, making you let out a squeal and you sat down on the couch, pressing a hand over your chest.

You didn’t know it back then, but the next time you would see Spencer, it would be under very, very different circumstances.

And it definitely would not look like what you hoped it would.

***

Even though Mina and Kenzie insisted you to stay over for the night, you told them you had an important appointment the next morning. It wasn’t a lie either, you had been handling Vincent’s wedding’s possible venues since last week and finally you had narrowed it down to three, so you would be visiting those venues with him and his husband.

But that whole morning started very strange.

For starters, you hadn’t even heard your alarm go off, which was unusual, because that had never happened to you before. By the time you woke up, you had a terrible headache as if someone had hit your head with a baseball bat but you hadn’t even drunk that much last night. It felt way too difficult to even open your eyes, and your limbs felt like they were made of jelly as you forced yourself to sit up in the bed.

Where was your phone?

The wind coming from the open window moved the curtain and you frowned, trying to remember when you had opened the window before a shudder ran down your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck rising.

Spencer would’ve had some scientific explanation for it you were sure, but for you, it went deeper than that. It was your instincts, warning you that something was wrong.

Something in here didn’t feel right.

And every single cell in your body made sure you knew that.

Trying to make as little noise as you could, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, blinking to get rid of the blurriness in your sight and looked around in the room for any potential weapons, then grabbed the nail file on the vanity before you opened the door. You peeked around the hall, but as soon as your gaze fell on the front door, you felt the goosebumps rising on your arms.

The front door wasn’t closed properly, and you were sure that you had closed it last night.

Your heart started pounding in your head but you stepped out of your room, still holding the nail file tightly just in case there was a sudden movement. You took another step, trying to fix your breathing but you happened to inhale deeply for a second, and that’s when you took the scent.

You smelt it before you could even see it, the bile climbing up your throat almost automatically.

Metallic and sweet.

Blood and jasmines.

You slowly lowered your glances to the floor connecting the hall to the living room to follow the small flowers of jasmines soaked in the red river of blood, leading behind the kitchen island. There were sirens going off in your head, screaming at you to run away but you took a deep breath, your whole body shaking as you stepped around the kitchen island, the warm blood soaking your feet before your eyes found the body lying completely still on the floor.

The nail file slipped from your closed fist as you stared at your ex-boyfriend Anthony, his eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling, his hair and clothes drenched in his own blood.

The shock only lasted for one second.

Then a scream ripped itself from your throat.

Chapter 17

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer imagine #spencer imagines #spencer #reid #reid imagine #reid x you #dr spencer reid #reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #twisted

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sslow-dancer · 3 years ago

Note

heyy may I request a family fluff modren au oneshots with jonathan joestar? ty!

A/N: Since you said family... I thought I’d add the rest of Jonathan’s (and Dio’s bleh) kids with George II AND Danny! :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank You For This.” (Jonathan Joestar x Reader)

Warnings: none!

Description: On the Saturday after the last day of school for your eldest boys, you invite the entire family to a picnic at the local park. Though you face some challenges before getting to that first…

NOTE: P/P/T stands for “preferred parent title.” This one-shot is gender-neutral, I want all to be comfortable! 💙

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Boyyys! Shoes. We’re leaving soon. We need to get a good spot to eat at the park so get ‘em on.” you call out from the kitchen.

It’s a Saturday afternoon, the sun is extra bright out in your beloved city of New York and summer is the season many students have waited for. Your sons just as excited.

George has just finished up his 8th year in middle school, Giorno’s 3rd in elementary and Donatello’s 2nd in elementary. Rikiel and Ungalo are yet to start. They’ll be going once the breezy fall/autumn season is back.

It takes a lot to take care of 5 boys in one household. Though luckily your job becomes a bit easier when your archaeologist husband, Jonathan Joestar, gets a few days off. And thus, you plan out family hang outs here and there. This time, spending a day at the park to celebrate your boys’ achievements.

You use a rolling pin to knead at the cookie dough on the counter. You had already baked up some double chocolate chip cookies but decided to make some sugar cookies as well as George, Girono and Donatello prefer them. The two youngest of the 5 having a sweeter tooth. And your husband of course not caring, the large man will eat everything his sons leave over.

You sigh as you don’t hear any noise from the top floor. You stop your kneading and go to wash your hands under the faucet. You dry them off on your apron and walk up the steps. Your ears are filled with loud noise and your eyes widen. You just walked into a chaotic scene.

There in the room in full view from the stairs lays a sleeping Donatello under a large pile of blankets. Giorno is in the bathroom brushing his teeth while Jonathan attempts to fix his messy hair. George’s door is closed and loud with the sound of video games inside. And the sight that has confused you the most- a naked Ungalo getting chased around by a Rikiel in pull ups with a towel. Danny barks behind the toddlers, Ungalo giggles as Danny reaches his side.

“Hey, what-“

You’re cut off when George exits his room and brushes past you with his face glued to his phone. You question your oldest as he approaches the stairs, texting god knows who.

“George, what the hell happened-“

“Don’t ask me. Dad only told me to get ready and I did that.” George replies in a blunt tone. He puts his phone in his pocket and pats the side of his leg, he mouthes a “come on” to Danny. The dog runs over and heaves happily as George pats his head. They both rush down to the first floor.

You place your hands on your hips and huff in disbelief. The youngest run past you, your face scrunching up as you grumble lowly. You manage to catch Ungalo by grabbing him by the shoulders and picking him up by the waist. You grab the towel from a dazed Rikiel and wrap it around your naked son. Ungalo wraps his little legs and arms around you as you direct Rikiel to go to his room and wait for you. The 3 year old pouts as he pads his way down. You sigh shaking your head as you approach Donatello’s room and knock on his opened door multiple times.

“Come on! Wake up, wake up. I told you to get enough sleep last night. And get those blankets off of you, you’ll overheat.” you exclaim aggressively. Your middle child groans, his arm reaches out as if there’s an alarm clock next to him. Ungalo giggles as he pulls at your apron and points over at a now ready Giorno walking down to join his older brother. ‘At least 2 of the 5 are ready’ you think ‘and the dog…” you add on humorously.

Half of your husband’s stature appears from outside the bathroom. He dries his hands with a small towel and walks out. He closes the door and looks at you. You lift an eyebrow.

“Jonathan…” you mutter frustratedly. A clueless Jonathan looks up.

“Yes, my love?”

You point at the naked boy in your arms, the boy sleeping under piles of blankets and the half-naked boy sitting on the bed carelessly swinging his feet. You place a hand on your hip.

“What is the meaning behind all this? Our youngest are practically naked-“ you lock eyes with Ungalo, you sigh “well…one is naked. And one is still asleep. Only 2 are ready! What’s going on? I thought you were good at controlling them while I’m busy…”

Jonathan laughs soundlessly, taking Ungalo from your arms and placing a kiss on your forehead. You groan.

“It’s no time to be lovey dovey here… I’m yet to prepare the sandwiches for everyone.”

“And I’m not trying to be, it’s just who I am. I want you to be calm. Let me explain.” he says with a sweet voice. You frown as you cross your arms and look down at your feet.

He walks over to Ungalo’s and Rikiel’s shared bedroom. He places Ungalo on the bed as he goes into their closet and picks out outfits for them. You stand at the doorway and watch him get your sons dressed.

“I was going to dress these boys first but Giorno told me he wanted to try a new hairstyle as he’s grown it out and plans to dye it blonde. So I helped him out with that. Donatello had already gotten up-“ he laughs a little, your mind wondering how he’s able to keep so positive as you’re worried that you won’t get the best spot at the park. “But he somehow fell asleep again after he played with Ungalo and Rikiel. He actually helped me shower them too so he must’ve fallen asleep before he dressed them fully.”

Ungalo happily runs out with his shoes in hand, telling his father that he can tie them himself. Jonathan nods in response and finishes tying Rikiel’s shoes. Rikiel giggles following after Ungalo. He smiles lovingly, you blink, a blank expression on your face. Your gaze going from Donatello finally standing up to get ready and back to him innocently smiling. You exhale through your nose.

“Okay, I believe you. Your story sounds- fine. But I’m still confused as to why you didn’t do anything about the boys and Danny chasing each other.” you ask with genuine uncertainty. Jonathan shakes his head.

“Well, that one’s on me. Which I apologize for. Even though I asked Donatello to dress them, I don’t blame him. All I did was tell them to go to their room while I helped Giorno. In truth, I feel Girono could’ve done everything himself but I wanted to bond with each of our sons before I go to work again. George and I even spoke before you were awake. I come home late often and don’t get to see all unless one or more of them are awake.” he places a hand over his heart “I swear an event like this will never happen again. Please do not stress, you know I don’t like seeing you that way.”

You hum, uncrossing your arms as you think. Well he only is one person, what do you expect? Your boys just got done with school too, they must be tired and desiring to sleep in most days.

Jonathan nears you and wraps his arms around your waist, he pecks the side of your mouth. You hum again, embarrassed at how angry you got. He knows you well, so he goes on to say,

“Don’t be embarrassed. You deal with them more than me. So it’s understandable that you got upset. Go downstairs and finish up. I’ll deal with Donatello, okay?” he caresses your cheek, his touch always soothes you. You hesitantly remove his hand and nod. You go down and become content when all your boys offer to help.

~Time Skip~

An hour later, you all arrive at the park. Lucky for you, a grassy area near a playground is open.

Jonathan lays out a large blanket for you all to sit on. You set down the two baskets of food and goodies and let your family get comfortable in their own seats.

“I call the PBJ!” Giorno calls out. Ungalo pouts and crosses his arm, he nudges at your sleeve.

“But I want that…” he says sadly. You laugh, searching through one of the baskets.

“Oh honey, don’t worry. I’m sure we have one more…”

You give him one and smile when he hugs your side. All the others ask of you and Jonathan for things and activities as the day goes on.

“Dad, can I go for a quick walk around the park?” George asks.

“P/P/T, may I have a cookie?” Rikiel asks shyly.

“Can I go play fetch with Danny? I’ll stay near, I promise.” Donatello asks.

“I want to look at the garden- can we go after they’re done playing?” Giorno asks as he points at Ungalo and Rikiel playing tag with the other kids at the playground.

You and Jonathan never said no to their questions. You love and trust them with all your being- them going against you is low in chances.

You collect your belongings and go to the garden Giorno asked to go to. You hold a basket in front of you as you watch Giorno educate his brothers about the different plants and insects. Your heart melts as George picks up Rikiel and Donatello pick ups Ungalo to help them inspect the taller plants.

Jonathan removes the basket from your hands and places them in front of you both. You look at him confused. He smiles as he takes your hand and kisses the back of it.

“Thank you for this.” he whispers. You rolls your eyes playfully as you mindlessly ask,

“For what?”

“For giving me a family… I wouldn’t ask for anything in this world aside from pure happiness for you and our boys. You all keep me going and I appreciate you the most for that.”

You’re a blushing mess as he leans in and kisses you. You kiss back, true love can be seen by outsiders. You locks arms with him and place your head on his shoulder.

You and your husband resume to watching your sons bond and blossom.

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stufftippywrote · 4 years ago

Text

a suggestion

For @anonprecious on Twitter, who requested a Nielan kiss "as a suggestion" many moons ago. This takes place during the Sunshot campaign, so Mingjue is not yet Xichen's "da-ge."

The Sunshot Campaign has been hard on him.

This Lan Xichen can tell in a single glance. Even if he were meeting Nie Mingjue for the first time and not another in a series of a thousand strategy meetings, he’d be able to tell. The others, maybe not, because Nie Mingjue holds himself so upright, conducts his affairs with a practiced stiffness that discourages anyone from looking deeper. But the signs are there, as he leads the meeting, even if Lan Xichen is the only one who can see them - an exhalation, the grip of his hand on the table loosening, the circles of grey under his eyes.

The strategy session mercifully ends, and the other young military leaders make their way out of the room with all the tireless enthusiasm of youth. Lan Xichen remains. Nie Mingjue sits on a bench with his head low, propped up on one weary palm. He lets out a heavy breath. Lan Xichen approaches him carefully, as though he was a cobra that might strike if disturbed. But Nie Mingjue only looks up at him, and if anything there's relief in his eyes when he sees who's there.

"Xichen," he says, the name breaking halfway through as his voice gives.

"Mingjue-xiong," Lan Xichen returns. Nie Mingjue's shoulders slump. He would never slouch like this in front of his soldiers. It gladdens Lan Xichen's heart to know that this upright general can relax in front of him. He drives himself hard, and he deserves to be able to relax somewhere, with someone. Luckier still that Lan Xichen is that someone.

He steps forward and eases himself onto the bench next to Nie Mingjue. "When was the last time you slept?" he asks.

Nie Mingjue shakes his head and mumbles.

"How about your last meal?" Lan Xichen prods gently.

"I ate." Nie Mingjue evades his gaze.

"When?"

"This morning."

Lan Xichen wants to laugh. This serious, justice-minded man can be as stubborn as a toddler. "Well, you're eating again tonight," he says. “Come to my room, I’ll have dinner brought in for us.”

Nie Mingjue shakes his head, but there’s no conviction in it. “I need to look at these maps,” he says, even as he lets Lan Xichen pull him up and away.

He follows Lan Xichen through the passageways and tents like a guilty schoolboy, and they come at last to Lan Xichen’s quarters, a remarkably lovely room for the temporary nature of it. There’s a low table, some ornaments, an incense holder. Lan Xichen finds a stick and lights it, letting the soft perfume disperse into the room. “Sit,” he urges, and Nie Mingjue follows. “And remove your armor. We won’t be attacked tonight.”

Nie Mingjue grumbles a little at this, but he pulls off the heavy breastplate and belt, letting them sit unceremoniously beside the cushion where he sits. As he does, he can’t help letting out a little groan of relief. Lan Xichen hears it and tries not to smile.

He has food brought; the two eat in relative silence, though Lan Xichen tries to lighten the mood with a few observations about the state of the camp, the little dramas by the younger soldiers that play out under his nose. Nie Mingjue is not really listening, or at least he has nothing to say in response. He just eats -- trying not to appear rushed, though his bites are ravenous -- and “mm”s an assent once in a while. It’s fine. Lan Xichen is just happy to have him there, not behind his desk or hunched over a scroll, peering at faded characters in dim light.

When he’s finished, Nie Mingjue of course tries to get up and go. Lan Xichen is there, with a hand on his arm, tugging him back down. Nie Mingjue glares at him, taken aback. Lan Xichen scoots closer to him, pulling his cushion to sit side-by-side with him, and lets his hand wander down from arm to weathered hand. “Stay for a while,” he urges.

“I have things to do,” Nie Mingjue protests, but Lan Xichen shakes his head gravely. He’s learned from years with his brother that sometimes a protest is also an admission. Nie Mingjue wants to stay. He just needs Lan Xichen to insist.

So he does. “I told you, no one will attack us tonight,” Lan Xichen tells him. “You might as well stay and put your worries aside for a time. I can play for you if it will help ease your mind.” He conjures the silver-blue xiao into being in one hand.

Nie Mingjue looks at it, then at him, and shakes his head firmly. “I don’t need music,” he says.

“A game, then?” Lan Xichen gazes at the shelf, where a worn go board and two pots of stones sit. “Or would you prefer a drink? I can fetch some wine for you…”

“No, no.” Nie Mingjue waves a hand, dismissing both the suggestions. “I need--”

“--to go back to work?” Lan Xichen finishes. “Don’t you think you’ve worked enough for one day?”

“People are fighting and dying while I--” But Nie Mingjue doesn’t have the strength to continue the sentence. He pulls his hand out from under Lan Xichen’s and hides his face in it. “I have to carry on,” he says, his voice muffled. “I have to be strong.”

It’s almost comical. This man, who is the essence of strength to so many people, worrying he cannot be strong. Lan Xichen, not for the first time, envisions taking him in his arms and allowing him to rest there. He wants to be that haven for him. But this moment isn’t about him, and hope is a dangerous creature. He lifts his hand to Nie Mingjue’s back, just daring to stroke it gently, and shakes his head.

“What you have to be is healthy,” he corrects. “What good is a Mingjue-xiong who can barely read a map because he hasn’t slept in days? Without eating, will you have the strength to carry your sword?”

“I’ve eaten,” Nie Mingjue says. “And I can’t sleep.” He sounds weak. Defeated. Lan Xichen’s heart aches.

“Then release your tension,” he advises. “Surely you have a preferred way to do that.”

Nie Mingjue pauses, looks up. “Yes,” he says cautiously, “Battle.”

Lan Xichen almost wants to laugh. “Not battle. Something to calm the spirit and release the resentment. Meditation.” Nie Mingjue scoffs. “Or take to the woods and hunt game. Challenge one of the soldiers at camp to wrestle you. Whatever it is. Do what you need to do so you can return to that war table with your mind and body whole. But leave that saber alone for the night.”

How Lan Xichen despises that saber. It’s a priceless, high-level spiritual weapon, but every time Nie Mingjue wields it, it takes a piece of his soul. Lan Xichen remembers, long ago, a gentle, serious boy who nonetheless loved fiercely -- loved his brother, loved his friends, loved the trees and the sky. Loved justice, and he still does, but his love used to come with a brash grin and a light in his eyes. That saber, and this war, have crushed that.

There are several long seconds of silence. Nie Mingjue appears to be thinking. Lan Xichen can usually tolerate extended silence, but now, the quiet unnerves him. He has no idea how Nie Mingjue will respond. He sits as one would sit upon a cushion of pins, uncomfortable and itching to move.

But eventually Nie Mingjue seems to shake himself out of it, and catches Lan Xichen’s gaze with his own. There’s something soft in his eyes, and also something like interest. It’s a rare, unguarded look -- and it makes Lan Xichen catch his breath. “Do you have any other suggestions?” Nie Mingjue asks, and there’s something in his voice not unlike humor.

“Women?” Lan Xichen is hardly the person to suggest it, but he knows that’s a preferred tactic for many a soldier. “We could ride to the nearest town. Find a girl who’s willing.” Or for sale. Lan Xichen isn’t about to cast aspersions in the heat of war.

“Not interested.”

NIe Mingjue looks ready to check out again. Lan Xichen stumbles over himself in an effort to keep his attention. “Then -- then men, if that’s your preference,” he says.

But he gets a glare in return. “I’m not taking a stranger to bed.”

The words strike Lan Xichen funny. There’s nothing odd about them, surely, but between the lines there’s something to discover. First, that he didn’t immediately say he wasn’t interested in men, which is the reaction that question would get from many a soldier. And he made it sound like there was someone he’d consider -- someone he already knows. A bright spark of hope lights up in his chest. Is it possible? “Then--” he says. Carefully.

Nie Mingjue eyes him. This time it isn’t the angry glare, but a sort of caution -- as though he half-expects Lan Xichen to make some move. Again, that spark of optimism catches in Lan Xichen’s chest. Perhaps it would be okay if…

He leans in, lifts his hand to that weathered face. “If that’s how you feel,” he says, leaning closer to Nie Mingjue than he’s ever been, “then…”

He’s very careful as he presses his lips to Nie Mingjue’s closed mouth. Afraid to drive him away.

He isn’t driven away. Paralyzed, perhaps, as Lan Xichen pulls back again and gazes at him as beatifically as he can muster. Shocked, if the wide eyes and the slight part of his lips are anything to go by. But he doesn’t flee. Or pull back, or get up. He just stares, and slowly lifts a hand to his own lips.

“If you are interested,” Lan Xichen says, barely above a whisper.

And then Nie Mingjue lifts an eyebrow, and the corners of his lips twitch. “Really?” he asks, sounding incredulous.

Lan Xichen shrugs. “It’s just a suggestion.”

“A suggestion--” The words echoed back at him are devoid of any artifice. The Nie Mingjue before him is the boy Lan Xichen knew all those years ago. The one capable of so much love. Any shame or trepidation that Lan Xichen felt at offering that kiss vanishes. What he wanted to communicate, he has. Be the consequences what they may.

“Or we could play go,” he says, truly meaning it. Whatever he needs, Lan Xichen is willing and happy to give.

“Let’s do that.” Nie Mingjue says with some determination. Lan Xichen nods. Perhaps he feels a bit of disappointment, but not enough to regret what he’s done.

As he rises to bring the board and stones to the table, Nie Mingjue surprises him once more.

“Make your suggestion again afterwards,” he says.

#nielan #nie mingjuexlan xichen #stuff tippy wrote #mdzs fic #cql fic #nielan fic

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jeonqqin · 4 years ago

Text

man up. [m] | pt. 6

h. jisung x reader | netflix rom-com au

— ❝Even with classes, annoying brothers, and an unrequited crush, you still figured your first year of college was going pretty well. Until you managed to get your first boyfriend, and suddenly your brother and his stupidly attractive best friend were attached to your hip for the whole damn ride.

or alternatively;

Why did Jisung care about you so much, and had his eyes always been that pretty?❞

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

CONTAINS: brothers best friend au, teen rom-com au, sorta crack fic, love triangle au, college au

WARNING: language, eventual smut, heated kissing, minor groping, a wee bit of angst

A/N: sorry this one was late... like all the others. but hey you can’t blame me for trying lmao

▸ request

CHAPTERS: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 +

blog masterlist | ⟲ fic song

—UNEDITED

Your head began to spin as your eyes dropped to the text sent to you, the number attached to a name that you least expected. You would never admit to how fast your heart pulsed in your chest as you skimmed the words over and over. Had Jisung said anything to her about what happened?

Was she upset with you for sending her precious boyfriend into a panic attack?

Maybe you were walking straight into a bear trap but you couldn’t bring yourself to decline or ignore her message. The guilt of hurting Jisung was too fresh, so you had a hard time doing anything against him—and in a way, ignoring Hyunae’s messages was just that. You just hoped it wasn’t an elaborate set up where she jumped you and scratched your throat out with her excessively polished fingernails. But even if she did, it was pretty fair to say that you deserved it.

So after your first class, you were able to hop on the bus for a quick trip to Haven, the thought of your next class lodged in the back of your mind. After the incident in Minho’s apartment, you hadn’t stepped a foot back inside. Granted it had only been twelve hours at the most, but it felt like days when it seemed like everyone was mad at you. Word of what happened traveled fast, and despite no one in your group of friends asking you about it specifically, you knew that they knew. You suspected that Changbin was the culprit, but you really couldn’t blame him. He didn’t exactly know the extent of the situation.

But it was hard when even Felix seemed hesitant to talk to you.

Chan was still there to text you every hour, even after you explained most of the situation to him. But he remained understanding and sweet.

As he was all the time.

When you walked into the diner, a burst of warmth enveloped you and your nose turned up at the scent of comfort food and coffee. It was nice, and eased some of the tension in your muscles.

Hyunae sat along the inside booths where most of the diners traffic was, close enough to the door that you could run if you needed to. She had her eyes cast down on her phone and your arrival hadn’t been noticed—you could’ve turned around and left then and there, ending all of your messy doubts and fears for the day. But you couldn’t. Your feet continued forward without your consent, dragging you those last final inches to her table.

With the new presence, she looked up.

Hyunae’s eyes widened for a second, darting over your form as if to double check that you were really there.

“I kind of didn’t think you were going to come.” She exhaled a small laugh, motioning towards the other side of the table where a still hot cup of coffee sat.

You took the cup in your cold hands, “Thanks…”

You didn’t know what to say—the ball was in her park and she was in control of where things headed.

She sighed, leaning back against the booth, her pretty skin flushed with the nip of the air. “I’ll just cut to the chase… I wanted to apologize for what I did—for everything that I did. I’ve been a bitch for a while, and I only realized it now.”

With her avoiding eye contact, you could openly gape at her confession, because—what?

The Hyunae was apologizing to you?

“I don’t—I don’t really understand why you’re suddenly apologizing.” You said, voice hoarse.

Hyunae tugged her sweater closer to her form, arms curling around her waist as someone else walked through the door, sending a blast of cold air through the diner.

“You know, for being a complete bitch to you while Ji and I were dating. It was all a jealousy thing to be completely honest. I didn’t actually—”

You blinked, waving your hand out to stop her rambling. You weren’t sure that you could process the first half of her words, let alone the endless ramble that she was capable of spewing.

“Are…” you swallowed. “Are you guys not together?”

She frowned, brows furrowed.

“Jisung broke up with me, Y/n. Did he not tell you?”

The scratch of a broken record echoed through your head as you nearly dropped the ceramic cup of coffee all over yourself.

“What?”

She nodded slowly, “I thought you would be the first person he told, considering…”

“Considering what?”

Her briefness and dodging was only making you frustrated, your hand waving in front of her face to finally gain her eyes. You had no idea that Jisung broke up with her, and you had no idea why. Some part of you hoped that the reason had something to do with you, but you just pushed that load of feelings away. It wasn’t fair to think of such things while the girl who had recently been broken up with sat directly in front of you.

You really were a god awful person.

She laughed a little, her eyes taking in your complete disbelief.

“Well I’ll be damned. You two really are perfect for each other, huh?”

Before you could ask exactly what that was supposed to mean, you watched as her cheeks flushed a bright red—this time not at the fault of the air. Again she laughed, all humor aside, and her hands lifted to her face as tears leaked from her eyes.

“God,” she sniffed, frantically moving to wipe her face with her sleeve. “You both really suck.”

You leaned forward awkwardly, passing her a napkin from the holder with a small tilt of your head. “I’ve come to realize that recently.”

She gave you a look that read, “don’t agree with me” and it managed to pull a laugh from your own throat. Hyunae might’ve been a little bit of a bitch, but it wasn’t without reason. She was insecure and jealous and those two things are away at someone like a virus. It was almost impossible to not feel such things at your age.

You always forgot that you were barely out of high school, the years of petty emotions and fake relationships hadn’t quite yet been erased from your minds. You were all in the same boat.

Just trying to learn along the way.

“You know what’s funny…” Hyunae smiled, her eyes wet. “I always kind of routed for you two. I didn’t really know it, but it was always in the back of my head.”

You felt your lip wobble, but you bit it down, clenching your jaw. There was no way in hell that you were going to cry. You weren’t going to do that—you had no reason to. Hyunae was the one who just lost her boyfriend, and she was the only one who was supposed to be sad.

“Every time you and him were together it just looked so right. I don’t know…” She swiped her hair over her shoulder with a sigh. “I honestly couldn’t believe it when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I thought you two had been a thing for a while—” right, you nearly forgot about the time when Hyunae was simply a friend. “—but then he came bounding up with a goofy smile on his face and that was it. It was over.”

Hyunae and Jisung had some math class together back in high school, he didn’t tell you much about her, but you knew enough to think she was a decent person. Back in those days, Hyunae was much different; sporting a thick pair of glasses and dark hair. But still just as gorgeous, as everyone with two eyes could see.

She followed Jisung around like a lost puppy, and even had to be shooed away by Minho a few times. You were just glad that she listened, since Minho’s temper had been much worse then. You didn’t remember the details but you did remember the day that Jisung jumped back to your house with a big smile and flushed cheeks. It was a time when you were still an angsty teenager and listened to terrible love songs when you were in emotional distress. So that news was a real punch in the face.

“I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what else to say, she wasn’t exactly your friend, so you didn’t know how to take in and process the information that she just threw at you.

Hyunae shook her head.

“Don’t be sorry. I had a feeling before that it was going to happen sooner or later. Who knew it was going to be so much later?”

You sent her a small smile. She wasn’t half bad when she wasn’t completely ignoring your existence and sending murderous glances your way.

The waiter rounded up to your table—unfortunately, not Jeongin—and proceeded to ask you what you wanted to order. After Hyunae promised to pay for your meal as well, the two of you talked for what seemed to be hours. You didn’t talk about anything at all—going on about classes and professors that you couldn’t stand. Your mind was clear for the first time in weeks and it was beyond refreshing to talk to her about things that only another girl would understand. Being around boys every day of your life had taken a toll on you and you hadn’t realized it until you were laughing as Hyunae ranted about how obviously sexist your communications professor was.

You could be yourself around the boys, of course. But with her, you could be someone you hadn’t been in a long time.

With a fry between her fingers, she hummed, leaning her chin on her hand.

It was only a matter of time before she reverted to what she came to talk to you about, and you tried your hardest to redirect the conversation each time it looked like it was going to be lead down that spiral of absolute hell—

“I think you guys would be cute together.”

You deadpanned, flicking your empty straw wrapper in her direction.

“Are we really talking about He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named right now?” You quirked a brow, not at all happy with the way she snickered at your question.

“If it makes you feel better, Y/n… I think I’ve had feelings for Hyunjin for a long time as well.”

“Oh yeah, my guilt is cured.”

She nearly snorted her water, sputtering a little bit around her mouthful. You took a bit of pride in that.

“I actually missed your sarcasm, believe it or not.”

Sighing, you threw all of your remaining trash onto one plate, your belly finally full and happy. “Wow, you actually remember when we didn’t hate each other?”

“You really hated me?”

“A little bit. Your whole lovey-dovey act was a bit sickening.” You shrugged.

“Because you’re in love with Ji?”

You froze immediately.

Hyunae couldn’t just drop it? Her constant mention of Jisung was really putting a damper on your mood, and the itch of fight or flight was really beginning to kick in once again.

And to think things were going so well.

“No,” you said, shaking your head quickly. “No no, I have a boyfriend. Sort of... I’m not in love with anyone—”

“Y/n, look at me. Please,” she reached over the table to tap your chin with her pretty manicured finger, her face pulling into a soft smile. “Darling, it’s been almost two years since we graduated high school, and nothing has changed between the two of you since then. Even while you were dating other people. He still looks at you like you hung the damn stars and you still blush whenever he calls you those stupid little pet names he has for you. You’re both whipped.”

Your face softened under her stare. Her words hit a cord inside of your chest, but it was just something that made your head hurt when you thought about it. You didn’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it.

“Jisung and I have only ever been friends. Yes, we’ve been good friends for a long time, but he has never told me anything about liking me. If he can’t tell me something as simple as this then I don’t think I can—”

Suddenly her eyes were hard set, piecing fiercely into yours. It stopped you in your tracks immediately.

“Don’t make me get any more upset with you, okay?”

Hyunae was definitely a force to be reckoned with.

“Listen,” She sighed, her eyes fluttering shut. “Jisung is the best guy I’ve ever dated and that probably won’t ever change. I want him to be happy, and I want you to be happy too. So please just think about things. I’m here telling you that this boy is head over heels in love with you—that he has been for years. His fault here is the fact that he’s so oblivious to his own feelings that he can’t see yours. He just—” her hands flailed in front of her, searching for her next words. “—doesn’t know how.”

You sighed. “I always liked Jisung when I was a kid. Hell, even earlier this year I could turn to you and say—yes, I am in love with Han Jisung.”

Hyunae blinked.

“But who the hell am I to say that I’m in love with someone? I’m not—I’m definitely not.” You sighed, mind wandering back to when things barely crossed your mind for longer than a minute. Things had been tossed around so lightly. “It was frustrating because it was so easy to like him when I was young. There wasn’t this huge word hanging over my head like there is now.”

Hyunae pushes her empty plate to join yours, speaking without a care. “You know that you don’t have to love him, right? You could simply like him.”

You felt the weight behind what she was saying in your chest, you didn’t have to label what you felt for him if you still weren’t sure. The only problem with that was that you knew what you felt for Jisung, and it was stupid. Because how could you look at someone and know how you felt when you hadn’t even seen every side of them?

You couldn’t remember when he had last been serious with you. Never once had he looked at you with the eyes of an adult and told you about his inner thoughts. That wasn’t who Jisung was, he avoided those thoughts.

He was only ever happy around you, and whether that was a good or a bad thing, you had no idea.

“Was Jisung ever serious with you?”

Hyunae was momentarily stunned by your out of place question but she recovered with a small hum. “Well, a little bit. Whenever he was upset or tired he’d get a little snippy, but serious? I’m not really sure.”

That was just how Jisung was.

“Huh…”

“Oh,” she chirped suddenly, her lead raising as if she remembered something. “There was a moment when he was always serious.”

Your head quirked to the side in question, eyes wide with curiosity. Despite knowing him for years, there was still plenty of unknowns to Han Jisung, and you were curious to know more.

“What is it?”

Hyunae’s mouth opened for a moment, then closed. Many things flashed over her face at once, but it was safe to assume that she was rethinking her words. Your chest fell.

Her eyes darted away from yours, guilt flashing over her features. “I don’t think I can tell you that.”

“Not fair,” frowning, you pouted. “That’s the worst cliffhanger ever.”

She tisked, small smile pulling to her lips. “Well,” she shrugged. “You could always move forward to find out.”

She was right, you could.

There were many things you had to move forward with, many people you had to have a conversation with; Jisung definitely being one of them. With a mental list of all the people that you had questions and answers for, everything only just began to clear themselves up. It was small, but it was something. Your head was always busy anyway, having things clearing out was like a breath of fresh air that you could barely reach.

But it was still something.

“You’re right. I think I just have to start with someone else.”

Hyunae smiled, “Get on with it then. Hurry your ass out of here.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t expecting this,”

Maybe you shouldn’t have listened to Hyunae.

Your heart was pounding radically in your chest as you sat straight as a board on the spinning office chair of the notorious recording room. You hadn’t seen it since that day it all began—honestly it had seemed so long ago. The room was cleaned up and organized, all the wires neatly tucked into the back instead of sprawled all over the floor, and you found yourself focusing more on that than the person in front of you.

You almost had to force yourself to your chair, everything feeling way too heavy for your liking.

“What do you mean?”

Chan ran a hand through his messy curls. It was only a few days ago that you had wanted to run your own fingers through his dark hair.

“You and Jisung aren’t very subtle, but uh, I was just hoping you could like me—” he paused for a moment, filing through his mind for the right words. “—as well, I guess.”

“Oh…”

“Hey, it’s fine. Jisung’s a good guy, you guys will be good together.”

Had you stepped into a parallel universe where every ex was supportive instead of filled with rage?

“But—well, I don’t even know if we are going to end up together or anything like that. My head has just been all over the place lately and I definitely never intended to drag you into this mess. I feel awful, god I’m a terrible person, aren’t I—?”

“Y/n.” Chan said, voice firm.

Your cheeks heated at the realization of your otherwise embarrassing ramble.

“Sorry…” You squeaked.

Chan sighed, leaning more weight against his desk. “Don’t be sorry. I just don’t want you freaking out here. You need to know that I’m an adult too, none of this is all your fault.”

You froze for a moment—one stupid moment just looking into Chan’s pretty brown eyes and realizing how weak they made you feel.

Chan’s mouth curled into a sympathetic smile as a tear rolled down the apple of your cheek. His hand reached forward to swipe the intact droplet with his pointer finger, and a small giggle rippled through his chest.

“God—Don’t cry, stupid,” he suddenly brushed his hand over your face, an attempt to raise your spirits to the very end. “You’re making me feel bad.”

“I hate you…” You sniffed, swatting his hand away with a quiet sob.

As his finger ran over your wet cheek to collect the little drops that leaked down, you weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry so you did both, once again crumbling under his touch.

“Hey,” he smiled. “You can’t hate me. I should be the one hating you.”

Your lip jutted out into a pout, one that he wanted so badly to kiss from your lips.

“Then we can hate each other.”

Chan hummed, watching as your jaw clenched in an attempt to keep your emotions from falling down your cheeks. You didn’t want him to see just how conflicted you were, he knew that much.

“Okay. We can do that.”

And he leaned down to place a soft kiss to the top of your head, careful of the affection he gave you.

But it only made your stupid heart hiccup in your chest, opposed to the way it would’ve raced had it only been days prior.

With Jisung it was warmth that spread over your body, but with Chan it was like floating in a pool of water with all your clothes on; encasing and safe and just a little sticky.

You were sure if you wanted to chase after the brief relief that Chan brought to you, it was difficult to tell with the way you were trying to find your answers. Was one more chance unfair to Chan? Even after explaining your inner (and slightly unknown) thoughts and feelings to him about Jisung, could you still salvage anything if you tried one more time?

“Can I… kiss you please?” You asked, neither looking in his eyes or at his plump lips. You really liked his lips.

Chan smiled, eyes darting down to your little pout. He liked your lips too.

“You want to?”

You hummed, a small nod to tell him that you were too embarrassed to confirm his words with those of your own. But Chan was understanding and patient. He didn’t push you to do anything as Jisung did—Chan was so perfect, why the hell did you think about Han Jisung?

What was wrong with you?

You didn’t want to answer that question. You wanted it all to go away—the fear, the confusion, everything. And the way Chan was looking at you made you feel it all simmer down to nothing. His eyes were so soft.

You were backpedaling, you knew that. But it was hard not to when Chan felt so safe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” His lips quirked up.

You felt bad for not liking Chan the way you liked Jisung. He was better to love and he showed you everything you had missed before. He held you when you were sad, cooed into your ear that everything was going to be alright when it was him who was taking the loss. Why did he do that?

Leaning forward, you all but collapsed into his embrace, finally feeling his soft lips again.

One thing you loved about Chan was his arms. You loved how they felt around you, and how strong they were. A lot of people liked his arms for those reasons too, you supposed. He may have been your first, but you certainly weren’t his.

How long were you going to go back and forth?

Reassurance was what you had with Chan, but with Jisung there was time. You took your time with him unknowingly, watching him with your brother as they played video games in Minho’s room. You were yelled at, pushed, and locked out, but you still got back up and pushed back. As uncool of a sister you were back then, you persisted.

Minho and Jisung would tease you and pick on you all they wanted, but you were still there at the end of the day. Tear stained cheeks and dirty clothes, and you were still there carrying your silly crush on your big brother’s best friend.

There was time spent building something to stand on, years of pining and banter lead to a feeling that you couldn’t just replace with a kind heart and a kiss.

No matter how nice the lips you kissed were.

Chan knew this too. He knew you were thinking of so many different factors at once, and he was still pulling you tight to him, aware that your kiss would be his last from you. What he felt with you was terrifying.

You both meant to forget.

His arms held you tight, hands respectfully placed on your waist as you pushed and pushed into the embrace. The kiss was all new and too intense, but there was something screaming at you to just keep going.

It grew more heated and your emotions mingled as a small voice began chipping away at the back of your mind; telling you that you didn’t deserve it, that you didn’t deserve him. Even as you found yourself lifting to your knees and straddling his waist, the voice persisted, not even silenced by the soft words that Chan spoke.

“I feel like you’re going to break if I touch you.” He admitted, voice unstable.

You shook your head in a daze, “I won’t, I promise.”

You wanted the thought of Jisung out—the thought of him touching another girl the same way Chan was touching you. Did he hold Hyunae like this? Did he kiss her like she was the most precious thing to him? Was there a chance that he would with you? Did he even want to?

You wanted no part of that thought so you pushed further.

“I’ll be okay, Chan. If it’s you, I’ll be okay.” You murmured.

Chan’s heart thudded in his chest.

And in that moment, he almost forgot that you were in love with someone else.

“Okay, I’ll take care of you.”

You smiled, a small burst of heat running over your cheeks.

“Sap…”

Chan nearly responded with, “but I’m your sap” but he managed to bite his tongue, distracting himself by slipping one hand under the hem of your shirt. His hand was cold but not unwelcome as it felt along your stomach, and for the first time being with Chan your thoughts slipped—his hand was too strong, too rough. It wasn’t soft and pretty like Jisung’s, it wasn’t warm and comfortable like Jisung’s had been around your waist that morning. Chan’s hands were veiny and cold to the touch. Of course ther was nothing wrong with that. But they weren’t Jisung’s.

All it took was one hug from Jisung to stir up your head, huh?

But he had felt so nice against your back, his with but muscular build feeling like it was meant to be there all along. He had hugged you from behind back in high school many times, his chin resting on your shoulder and his breath fanning over your neck. It was hard to focus then, and it had been hard to focus that morning as well. How did you not know it was Jisung?

Sure, he and Chan were similar in height but Jisung just fit differently.

And when his eyes landed on your neck, it had been the feeling of panic that crossed you. You didn’t want Jisung to see you like that—with another man’s markings over your throat.

A sudden thought crossed your mind as Chan slowed his lips journey on your neck…

Was it really Minho that was preventing you from dating?

The look in your brother’s eyes had been one of disappointment, but he hadn’t done anything, and deep down you knew there was no way he would really hurt the person you were in a relationship with. Of course he would scare them away and make it clear that he wasn’t a fan of you dating, but there you were, watching him do it, barely giving your big brother a slap on the wrist—

“Y/n,” Chan called, and you hadn’t even realized that he had taken his mouth off of your shoulder. “Babygirl…”

He tested the name on his tongue.

But his doubts were confirmed as you frowned. The nickname would’ve once sounded like heaven leaving his lips, but now...

He sent you a small smile after studying your features for a moment.

“Do you miss him, right now?”

Your eyes widened at his words—you did.

“No. Of course not,” you said, shaking your head with shaky inhales. “Why are you asking me that?”

There was an internal battle behind Chan’s eyes as he watched your face morph into discomfort. He was a little frustrated.

Chan removed his hand from underneath your shirt.

“If we’re going to be friends, Y/n… I don’t want you to lie to me anymore, okay?”

The shock that his words gave you made your eyes well up. It was like a punch to the gut to hear Chan scold you. He had never done such a thing before and you knew—you knew for sure that you couldn’t keep lying.

When you cried, Chan didn’t wipe away your tears, he simply kept his eyes on yours as his hand rubbed small circles on your back. You needed to cry, and of course Chan knew that.

He was Chan after all.

“I’m so sorry—” you hiccuped, swallowing air as your palms lifted to cover your eyes. “—this sucks. This really really sucks.”

Chan sighed, feeling the sleepless nights catch up to him as he watched you break down. It was the worst feeling. It wasn’t that you were very obviously in love with someone else despite how his own chest aches for you to sink back into him and kiss the tiredness away, no—it was the fact that it was tearing you apart. That was what hurt him the most.

“Go see Ji.”

Chan topped your head up with his finger, leaving one last peck to your tear covered lips.

“He’s probably still upset.”

You nodded, laying your head down on his chest with a shaky sigh. “You’re a good guy, Chan…”

“Yeah, I know.”

688 notes · View notes

cherienymphe · 4 years ago

Text

Protect & Serve V (Steve Rogers x Reader)

WARNINGS: Cop!Steve, NON-CON, mentions of violence and murder and assault

IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DNI

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

summary: escaping an ugly past, you have no choice but to return home. While much has remained the same, Officer Rogers is a new addition who has won over the hearts of the town in your absence. And no one believes you when you start to see him for who he really is

When you woke up, you felt like you’d slept for days. Knowing Steve, and having no clue as to what he injected you with, that might be true. You had dry mouth, that much you could tell, and your head still felt like it weighed a ton. Peeling your eyes open was rather difficult, but when you did, you realized that you were in a different room from the one before.

You pushed yourself up to lean on your forearms, looking around and listening. The house was quiet, a far cry from the last time you were here. You guessed that all of Steve’s guests were gone, and you didn’t know if you should be relieved or not. You didn’t know why you thought their presence would protect you when it wouldn’t. They had literally helped Steve recapture you after also watching your unconscious form be carried into his house to begin with. Maybe it was better that they were gone…

Now you could start formulating another escape without them around to catch you.

A stabbing pain struck you behind your eyes, and you squinted, bringing your fingers up to pinch the bridge of your nose. You cursed Steve to hell and back. Why had he given you the option of walking back with him when he was going to do what he wanted anyway? Did he get some sick pleasure out of it all?

Speaking of pleasure, you noted the soreness in between your thighs and wondered if Steve had done a lot more to you while you were out. He’d said that it wasn’t his style, but he couldn’t be trusted. You pressed your thighs together and winced, sitting up. Just as you considered what to do next, the bedroom door opened.

You sharply inhaled as Steve filled the doorway, heart rate picking up at the sight of him. Was it crazy that you were more terrified of him than you had been of your ex-husband? At least with Killian, you had grown to know what to expect. Steve had shattered every one of your expectations.

“You’re awake,” he said, stepping further into the room.

You didn’t know what to do, so you just stared at him as he approached. For your own sake, you needed to keep your eyes on him at all times. Escape was your top priority, and you had to think smart about it. He gripped your chin, turning your head to the side to gaze at your eyes, and hummed, clearly satisfied.

“You’ve been asleep for almost an entire day,” he informed you, grabbing your arm.

He helped you out of bed, and you let him. Your body was still fighting off whatever he gave you, and you stumbled. Steve was more than happy to catch you though, arm thrown around you, hand digging into your shoulder as he leaned you into his side.

He was patient as he helped you out of the room and down the stairs. The smell of food hit you, and you sniffed, stomach grumbling. Steve heard it and chuckled.

“I made breakfast,” he said, leading you into the kitchen.

A modest dining table was on the far side, and your eyes fell to the food laid upon it. You couldn’t trust him, having no idea as to what he wanted from you, so there was no telling what was in the food. However, you couldn’t afford to not eat. Steve turned his back after helping you sit down, and you glanced through the living room to look at the lake on the other side of the window. Getting across that lake was your best chance…

Too busy staring, you didn’t notice him approach until your hands were being handcuffed to the arms of the chair. You gasped, and he did the same with your ankles. Forgetting about your injury, you jerked your legs, only to cry out at the pain that traveled through your ankle. Steve hummed at that, sitting next to you.

“You gave Bucky and Sam hell. Thor too,” he added.

You watched as he picked up some scrambled eggs on a fork before bringing it to your lips. Realizing that you didn’t have much of a choice, you reluctantly parted them. The food tasted good enough, and he fed you again.

You licked your lips.

“You sound surprised,” you whispered, eyes meeting his.

A faint smirk was on his lips, and he chuckled.

“Not surprised…impressed. I like a fighter,” he said, reaching out to grab his glass of water.

He never broke his gaze from over the rim of the glass, and you blinked.

“…but I could tell that from the first moment I met you. So reluctant to accept a ride from a nice small-town cop-.”

“There isn’t anything nice about you,” you sneered.

Steve chuckled, nodding fondly.

“I suppose you’re right about that,” he agreed. “Nevertheless, the average person doesn’t pick up on that. Of course…you would…”

You glanced away as he fed you again.

“…tell me about him,” he eventually said.

You looked back to him with a frown. You knew who he was talking about, and your heart clenched. He pressed his elbows into the wood of the table, hands clasped together as he eyed you.

“Your ex-husband,” he elaborated.

You heaved a deep sigh, frustration coloring your tone.

“Why?”

“Because I want to know,” was his simple response.

You swallowed, a shiver climbing up your spine as you thought about the other blond man in your life.

“What…what do you want to know?” you wondered with a shrug.

He reached out to brush a finger down the side of your face, running it over your bottom lip.

“Tell me why you stayed,” he quietly demanded.

Figuring there was no harm in humoring him, you answered.

“I…was afraid. I had nowhere to go and…part of me…felt like I was being punished. Like I deserved it…”

“For what?”

“For leaving my family and friends behind,” you murmured. “For ignoring them for years…”

Steve nodded at that, pulling his hand away.

“I am sorry about your family. I meant that when I told you that. They were good people,” he replied.

You blinked. Of course, he had known them. How could he not? It didn’t sit right with you that someone like him had interacted with your family…especially while you weren’t around. You wondered how he behaved towards them, if he ever made any of them feel as uncomfortable as he did with you.

“The funerals were lovely. Was he the reason you didn’t go?”

You suddenly found it hard to swallow, and tears kissed your eyes as he brought that up. He reached out to brush a rogue one away, and you jerked away from him. Missing the funerals of your family was definitely your biggest regret. Every time you thought about it, your hate for Killian grew.

You didn’t have to answer because Steve already knew.

“Bucky told me that you thought he was the one at your house every night. He said that you had feared he would find you,” he said, making you frown at the mention of the brunette.

You looked down when his hand found yours, brushing circles into the skin with his thumb.

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore,” he murmured, and your frown deepened.

You clenched your jaw, biting back what you wanted to say, and seeing the look on your face made Steve laugh. You looked up at him, gaze cold.

“I know what you must be thinking…that I won’t get away with this…”

He took another bite, leaning back in his chair as he eyed you smugly.

“…but I will. Hell, I’ve gotten away with worse,” he chuckled.

Your brow twitched, and you narrowed your eyes at him, recalling something that Wanda had said.

“Peggy?”

You watched the way his face fell, and you continued.

“Wanda said she’d just…left right after the breakup. I never thought that seemed her style…”

Your tone was accusatory, and apparently with good reason. Steve slowly exhaled, straightening up as he rubbed his hand over his chin, elbow pressed into the table as his eyes gazed at something you couldn’t see.

“Peggy…was an accident,” he admitted, and genuine remorse registered on his features.

Remorseful or not, your eyes still widened as he confirmed what you had initially suspected but brushed off, convinced that your paranoia was getting the best of you. Now, you knew the truth. You weren’t just sitting with a kidnapper, but you were sitting with a murderer too.

“You see, I started having my fun before I came here. I’d help out unsuspecting girls in need. Sometimes they were homeless…sometimes they just needed a ride home…to the store…”

Horror filled you as he spoke, and you started to realize that you weren’t dealing with an amateur.

“They’d get in, and I’d offer them a bottle of water I kept inside.”

Of course, they would. Steve Rogers looked like the poster boy for good Samaritans everywhere. Those soft blue eyes could convince anyone. Said eyes met yours, serious.

“They’d always accept. Either out of genuine thirst or just to avoid being rude, I don’t know. I didn’t care. They’d be knocked out within minutes…”

You felt like you were going to be sick.

“…when I was done, I’d park at wherever they had wanted me to take them to. They’d eventually arouse, and I’d convince them that they had nodded off. None of them ever suspected, and if they did, what could they say?”

He rose an eyebrow.

“The friendly neighborhood cop, Officer Rogers, drugged and raped me?”

He scoffed, and you blinked away tears.

“…and Peggy?” you forced out.

Steve sighed.

“I got tired of the coldness and casualness of it all,” he said with a shrug. “I realized that I wasn’t getting any younger, and Peggy… She was so sweet.”

He sadly shook his head.

“Like every other woman in this town, she was itching at the chance to have me. But unlike the rest, she wasn’t bold about it. She was coy, and I liked that. It wasn’t long before I had her in the palm of my hands,” he chuckled at that. “Literally.”

Disgust churned in your stomach.

“She was everything I thought she’d be. Except…she wasn’t.”

When he looked at you again, his eyes were hard, face taut with tension as he recalled whatever memory you hadn’t been privy to.

“Peggy had plans,” he dragged out, voice low as he took another sip. “She wanted to achieve all of these great things…see the world…leave me.”

He huffed.

“We fought. Things got…physical, and the next thing I know, my hands are around her neck.”

You swallowed, tears spilling over now.

“Jesus,” he quietly scoffed. “I didn’t even realize until I let her go and she just…dropped.”

More tears fell, and he finally took notice. He reached over to wipe them, and you flinched.

“That’s right,” he hummed. “You grew up with her.”

He moved to feed you some more, but you shook your head, appetite lost. He let the fork drop before leaning back in his seat. He turned to look though the living room, eyes roaming over the lake through the window.

“She’s in that lake, you know. I think about her every time I look out onto it,” he quietly said, more to himself than you.

You sniffed, throat tight and chest burning. Fear gripped you, and you wondered if that was going to be your fate. Steve suddenly moved his chair closer to you, and you cried harder. He shushed you, reaching for you to wipe your face with his thumbs.

“That won’t be you. I promise,” he said as if reading your mind, hands resting on the sides of your face.

You shook your head.

“Why me?” you quietly asked him, no longer able to keep it in.

You had to know.

“I could see how broken you were,” he hummed, eyes roaming over your face. “…and I thought that I could fix you. That maybe we could fix each other, hmm? I give you the safety and security and love you’ve been craving for years, and you give me what I want.”

You frantically blinked, eyes searching his face.

“I could see that you wanted me too. Deep down, anyway. After all, I was a good guy. I’m sure Wanda told you something like that, didn’t she? That I would be good for you…and you had thought about it, considered it. I could see it in your eyes that night,” he continued. “Wondering what it would be like to be with a genuinely good guy…”

“I wasn’t ready,” you mumbled.

He took a deep breath.

“I know, but unfortunately for you… I don’t have much patience. At least not when it comes to something I know I want.”

“What…what do you want from me?” you finally wondered.

He let out a breath, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip as he stood, towering over you.

“I want you to look at me with complete adoration as I come inside of you. I want to come inside of you every night, calling you wife while I fill you with my children. I want to make love to you when you’re glowing and round with my child, but…right now…”

He reached for your plate again, bringing some more eggs to your lips.

“I want you to finish your food.”

Too stunned by his admission, you allowed him to feed you, fear gripping your heart at what would happen if you didn’t escape.

When you weren’t locked away in the room, and when you weren’t handcuffed at the table, Steve pretty much allowed you free reign. He was at your side at all times, of course, closely hovering. You figured it was best to seem cooperative. Of course, you didn’t think Steve was gullible enough to believe that you had accepted your situation. You both knew that you were just biding your time. It was only a matter of thinking of a way to escape before he thought of a way to stop you before you even tried.

You feared what he would do to keep you here…feared what he would do if he caught you trying to leave. You thought of Peggy, of how she had simply brought up the idea of leaving and had died for it. Steve’s desires weighed on your mind, and you knew that you only had so much time before he started to go through with them.

That second morning, you had woken up to the feel of a hard chest pressed against your back, a thick arm curling over your waist. It had taken you a moment to understand that the second room you had woken up in was his room. You had jerked in his grip, attempting to get away from him, but your movements had aroused him…in more ways than one.

His hold tightened, pulling you closer, and he groaned as sleep began to leave him. You could feel him poking against you, hard and hot, and you had panicked. You fought to get away from him, and he swiftly pushed you to lie on your back, settling in between your legs. Your hands, having attempted to push him away, were pinned between your bodies as he kissed you.

You gasped against his mouth, and his tongue slipped past your lips, tasting the inside of your mouth. His arms were pressed down on either side of you, caging you in, and you felt like you were suffocating. Steve paid no mind to your aversion, moaning against your trembling lips. One of his hands reached down to wrap around your wrists, dragging them above you until they were pinned just below the headboard.

His other hand slid down your side, kneading your skin as it descended. He ground himself against you, his hardened member poking at you through his shorts. You only had on a nightgown that he’d left outside of the shower the night before. You had briefly wondered if it belonged to Peggy. This very thing was a pressing concern of yours when you noticed the absence of underwear.

His free hand moved to make a home in between your legs, fingers brushing against and poking at you. You bit his tongue, hard, and you tasted blood. He ripped his face away from you with a hiss, and your satisfaction was short lived when he shoved two fingers inside of you to the hilt.

Your chest arched, a choked sound escaping your lips as he roughly fingered you. You turned your head away when he leaned back down, and his lips met your cheek.

“Do that again,” he whispered, lips moving against your skin. “…and I’ll make you pay for it.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt his fingers glide within you more easily now. He hummed, mouth trailing down to your neck, sucking on the skin. You squirmed beneath him, trying to fight off the pleasure that was being forced on you. Your legs kicked around him, and he widened his, pushing his knees underneath your thighs to restrict your movement.

You pushed your wrists against his hands as he added a third finger, stretching you out. A moan threatened to bubble out of your throat, but you swallowed it down, whimpering instead. Steve wasn’t pleased with that. He continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, thumb coming up to brush against your swollen bud, and you whimpered again.

His hands tightened around your wrists as he sped up, almost painfully so, and he grinded against you. His lips attached themselves to your neck, pulling the skin in between his teeth, laving his tongue over you. He curled his fingers, and a broken moan finally slipped from your lips. He did it again and was met with the same result.

You turned your face as much into the pillow as you possible could, but Steve’s lips sought out your own, covering them in another kiss. He swallowed your moans, groaning into your mouth as your hips bucked against his hand. The hand that was holding your wrists down moved to intertwine with one of yours. You quickly pushed your free hand against his stomach, and when that didn’t work, you wrapped your hand around his wrist.

Your efforts were useless, Steve effortlessly working his fingers into you again and again.

“Stop,” you finally begged against his lips.

“Come for me, and I will,” he roughly replied.

He flicked his thumb over your bundle of nerves again, and you fell apart beneath him. He pulled back ever so slightly, your moans permeating through the air as he looked down at you. A few of his blond strands tickled your own forehead, and his nose kept brushing against yours as he worked you through your climax.

He looked down, eyes focused on the way you clenched around his fingers, hand a mess. Your chest heaved, breath shaky as he tightened his hold on your hand. You’d just woken up, but you felt tired all over again. He finally pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them to his lips and humming.

“Good girl,” he murmured as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

He rolled off of you, and you caught sight of the large tent in his shorts. You looked away, hurriedly pulling your nightgown back down, disgust coursing through you. You didn’t move as he strode into the bathroom and turned the shower on. You only did so when low moans reached you minutes later, and you moved to exit the room, but it was locked. You noticed what looked like a key pad on the wall next to the light switch. You hadn’t noticed it the day before.

Realizing that you’d have to sit here and listen to him get himself off, you sat back down, covering your ears. You were still in that position when he finally exited, a towel loosely hanging on his lips. You watched as he walked into the closet and came back out with clothes that were clearly meant for you. Again, you wondered if these belonged to Peggy. He ushered you into the bathroom before you could give it any more thought.

Your time in the bathroom was quick. Your quick search of the cabinets turned up nothing useful for you. No type of medication or sedatives or anything. You would have loved nothing more to spend all day in the bathroom, but you didn’t want to give Steve the opportunity to check on you and see you naked. The clothes fit perfectly, and it was then that you decided they weren’t Peggy’s.

The idea that Steve found clothes that were perfectly in your size made your stomach churn.

He was waiting for you when you got out, and he reached for you as soon as you were near. One hand went to the back of your neck, holding you beside him while the other went to what you thought was the keypad. You watched in awe as he pressed his thumb against it, and the pad flashed green just before he reached to open the door.

“Buck and Sam are coming by later,” he told as he guided you down the stairs. “I don’t think I need to remind you not to do anything stupid, do I?”

You shook your head.

“Anyway, just in case…”

He stopped before the door of the basement. Apprehension filled you as he opened it and guided you in, his chest brushing your back as you walked. You walked down some stairs, stopping at another door. This one was sturdier and had a bar that fell across it. You watched as Steve lifted the bar and pushed you in.

You stumbled, tripping over your feet before straightening yourself. You could feel Steve behind you as you looked around, and your heart dropped. It was a room, furnished with a single bed, a toilet, and a sink. You swallowed in fear, taking a step back, recoiling when you bumped into him.

Steve wrapped his arm around you, lips at your ear.

“I don’t want to have to put you in here, but I will if you force me to. Is that understood?”

You gave him a shaky nod. His hand closed around your throat, and you gasped, reaching up to grab his arm as he lifted you, your toes grazing the floor.

“I want to hear you say it,” he whispered.

“I understand,” you shakily replied, and satisfied, he let you go.

He spun you around, one hand on your jaw as he tilted your head, lips brushing your cheek and then your ear.

“Be good for me…and I’ll be good to you,” he quietly told you.

He didn’t wait for a response before guiding you up the stairs. You reached the hallway again just as a knock sounded on the front door. He pulled you along, keeping you at his side as he went to answer it.

Sam and Bucky had grins on their faces and greetings on their lips when Steve opened the door. However, Bucky’s face fell when his eyes met yours. You took in the red marks on the side of his face, and you couldn’t keep the smug expression off of yours even if you tried. He let them in, hand sliding around your waist as he closed the door.

You flinched, and he tightened his arm around you. Bucky looked over his shoulder at you, lips curled into a cruel smirk.

“Like the new look?” he wondered, gesturing to his face.

You simply looked at him, and both Sam and Steve chuckled.

“Maybe if you weren’t slacking…” Sam’s words trailed off as they entered the kitchen, but Steve pushed you towards the living room.

He pressed his lips to your forehead before pushing you down onto the couch. You swallowed, watching as he joined Sam and Bucky in the kitchen. Sam’s eyes were on you, and he turned to Steve.

“She’s quiet,” you heard him say.

“No. She’s not quiet,” Steve replied, calculating eyes meeting yours before he ran them over you.

He smirked.

“She’s smart,” he argued.

He looked away, and so did you, eyes looking through the backdoor to roam over the lake. If only you could get to the lake. When the time was right…

Sam and Bucky didn’t stay for long. Steve had waved them goodbye with one arm securely around your waist. You watched them get back into the car, the police cruiser, and your stomach churned, still in disbelief that the supposed good guys were nothing but scum.

You wanted to know how they could be okay with what Steve was doing. You wanted to know how they justified it, and unable to keep it in, you asked him. He didn’t respond right away, instead heaving a sigh as he pressed one hand into the wall beside your head, caging you in.

“After Peggy, I went back to my…casual encounters…”

You frowned at how he worded it, and he chuckled at that.

“…not often like I did before, but just enough to satisfy me… They caught me one day…”

He smiled as if he were thinking back on a fond memory, and you were almost sorry you’d asked.

“They wanted in on it too.”

Your eyes widened as they met his gaze, and your lips parted as you registered what he was saying. He reached up to brush his thumb over your trembling lips, his own parting.

“Eventually Thor got roped in too. His brother Loki prefers to sit out on the festivities, but he doesn’t mind. I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced to them,” he added. “Loki is a lawyer, and Thor is a cop in the next county over. They come over from time to time. Usually for a game.”

Now you were positive that you were going to be sick, and Steve continued.

“Thor wasn’t exactly the most inconspicuous about it when he’s here…and the boss caught on one day. We’re the best cops in town though. We keep these people safe and crime is practically nonexistent, so… So long as we’re discreet, he looks the other way,” he told you.

You turned away from him, tears in your eyes. He pressed his lips to your cheek, inhaling.

“Do you see, now? You have no one to run to. No one will help you,” he whispered darkly, hand landing on your shoulder, digging in, the other trailing to cup your ass. “We run this town…”

He pressed a leg in between yours, and you pushed against him, but he was faster. He grabbed your wrists, slamming them against the wall as he forced his mouth on yours. You kicked at his legs, but it was hard to do when one of his separated yours.

He pulled you away from the wall, lips never parting from yours as he turned and forced you back. You stumbled and tripped over your feet, trying to put as much distance between you two as possible. When that didn’t work, you brought your knee up, and Steve pulled back with a grunt.

Slipping out of his arms, you ran towards the backdoor, but his hands in your hair stopped you. You screamed as your scalp protested his tight hold, and he yanked you back into his chest, one hand closing around your throat. His chest heaved against your back, harsh breaths in your ear.

“Remember what I said,” he whispered, deep voice threatening. “Be good for me…and I’ll be good to you…”

You hadn’t realized you were crying until he walked you forward towards the couch. Your face crumbled as he pushed you down, one hand sliding up the thin dress he’d given you to wear. His hand grazed your bare slit, and you cried harder.

As awful as Killian had been, he’d never forced himself on you. It was crazy to think that in all the years you’d experienced violence at his hand, none of it had ever been sexual. That was a line that he had never crossed.

Steve flipped you, and you immediately fought against him as he ripped at your dress. He caught your wrists, holding them away as he dipped down to wrap his lips around one breast, bud hardened from the cool air in the house. He moved his head to give the other the same attention, and you cried out, pushing against him.

He suddenly jerked your wrist, and you cried out, pain traveling down your arm. He looked up at you, eyes cold as both desire and anger warred within them.

“I will break both of them,” he harshly said, making you freeze.

You couldn’t swim across the lake with a broken wrist, let alone two. He let you go, hands hovering over your own for a while to make sure you would behave. Pleased, he swiftly undressed, and you looked away from him, eyes on the ceiling. He tsk’d, reaching for your chin to turn your head.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered.

Too afraid to defy him, you watched as he grabbed your ankles, spreading and lifting your legs as he moved closer. He was hard and throbbing, bigger than Killian was, and you shook beneath him. There was no warning, no teasing… Steve slid into you with one thrust.

Having been wholly unprepared, you yelped in pain, head falling back on the arm of the couch. He rested your legs on his shoulders, leaning over you as he forced your knees to your shoulders. All of your movement was restricted, and the only thing you could do was press your hands into his waist. A few tears escaped your eyes, and Steve kissed them away.

His breath was shaky, blond hair hanging into his forehead as he savored the feel of you wrapped around him. He rested his forearms on the arm of the couch, caging you in, and you felt incredibly hot being surrounded by him. His lips brushed the corner of your mouth before moving them down to your jaw, nipping at the skin there.

He slowly pulled his hips back until nothing but the tip of him remained inside of you. He was slow to thrust too, and you squirmed, nails digging into his waist. The position you were in didn’t allow for you to do anything other than lay there and take it. Steve gradually began to pick up his pace, and the couch trembled from the force of his thrusts.

You wanted to close your eyes so badly, but you were afraid of what he’d do if you did. His lips never stayed in one place, kissing every part of your face that they could. Occasionally, his hand would brush over your cheek or shoulder. Sometimes he’d reach down and flick his fingers over you. Unable to do anything, you had no choice but to accept the pleasure he was forcing on you.

His skin slapped against yours in the quiet house, and you whimpered as he rested his forehead against yours, blue eyes boring into your own. As quiet as you tried to be, he could see the pleasure on your face, and the corner of his lips curved upwards. He kissed you, slow and soft, and you hated it. His lips didn’t part from yours as his thrusts grew erratic and choppy.

Too many things were happening at once, it was too intense for you, and you turned your head. Steve snarled at that and fisted his hand in your hair, yanking your head towards him again. He kissed you harder this time, slamming into you as he did so. Tears streamed down your face as you felt your stomach tightening, toes curling while you clenched around him.

“That’s it,” he murmured into your mouth. “Come for me…”

You pressed your nails harder into his skin, trying to fight it off, but it was no use. Steve didn’t relent in his movements, and soon, you were coming around him. Your climax struck you like a punch, stomach aching as it tightened, core fluttering around Steve’s unyielding cock. You slapped your hands against him as he fucked you through it, tears in your eyes again.

“Be good for me,” he reminded you, and you shook your head.

You reached in between you to press your hands to his stomach, turning your head away. Steve’s breathing was harsh above you, chest heaving as he thrust into your soaking core.

“Steve,” you begged, pushing against him.

“You’ve got another in you, I know you do.”

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before he threw you head first into another, and your mind spun as a choked moan slipped out of your mouth. You couldn’t swallow it down even if you tried, and Steve groaned. One of your hands was on his chest, the other on his shoulder, but he wouldn’t budge. Your legs trembled, and you involuntarily closed them as you tried to stem the oversensitivity, inadvertently locking them around his neck.

“Steve... Steve, please,” you begged, out of breath.

His lips found yours again, and he growled into your mouth.

“One more,” he whispered. “Give me one more.”

You tried to duck your head, but he followed, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

“Give me one more…”

Stars appeared behind your eyes as you came for a third time, choking his cock. Steve let out a low moan as you gripped him, the sound drawing out into a groan. You could feel the mess you were making, but Steve didn’t mind as he pressed kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your neck…

“Look how good you are for me. Such a good girl for me,” he mumbled, spilling into you.

You shuddered at the feel, and Steve fucked his cum into you, hissing. He sat up to move your legs off of him, and relief filled you as they fell limply around him. He pressed his chest against yours again, hands cupped underneath your thighs as he lazily moved within you.

“See how good I can make you feel…” he said, lips grazing yours. “…when you’re good for me.”

tags: @xoxabs88xox @darkficreposter @mcudarklibrary @captainchrisstan @nickyl316h @buckybarnesplumwhore @harryspet @readermia @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @opheliadawnwalker3 @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @stargazingfangirl18 @lou-la-lou @izzfizzh @thatgirly81 @autty0314 @hinata7346 @lokislastlove @honorarytenenbaum @void-hoechlin @autty0314

#dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #cop!au #cop au #cop!steve #dark fic #marvel fanfiction

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stillebesat · 4 years ago

Text

Be My Dad

Sanders Sides: Janus, Logan A Vague AU Writing Prompt: @wildhorsewolf asked: Guess I'm a parent now with Janus being the dad and Logan being the kid Blurb: Janus has no interest in being a parental figure to a kid, but trying to convince the universe of that is another thing entirely. Fic Type: Familial Soulmate!AU Overall Fic Warnings: Mentions of Scars Taglist in Reblog.

To most souls, a food court was a necessary evil. Loud. Lots of people. But plenty of food options all together in one place. Perfect for those who liked a variety of choices or those who had picky eaters in tow.

It was a place to meet up with friends, family, or business associates. A place where one could sit back and observe society at work. To see people at their best...and most definitely at their worst.

There was something soothing about the chaos that Janus enjoyed...as a spectator. He could never imagine being right in the middle of it.

Not unless he was doing what he was doing right now. Trying to hide in plain sight in the middle of a crowd.

After all. He was thirty now. Single. Childless.

Obviously a menace to society in a universe that seemed obsessed with everyone being part of a ‘family.’

A Universe that had decreed that all adults who remained childless by the age of thirty, would then be subjected to being bombarded with children in need of a proper parent figure to bond with in their lives.

He exhaled, absently brushing against the raised scar on his cheek, barely looking up as a child burst out wailing nearby.

He’d checked earlier. That particular wailer hadn’t had the golden sparks. It meant he was safe.

For now.

He ran a hand through his hair, flipping another page in his notebook before he continued scrawling on the page. Maybe Virgil had actually been onto something when he said he was vanishing into the wilderness of Europe for the rest of his life.

Sure, Janus had laughed six months ago when his best friend had turned thirty and begun complaining about all the kids coming out of the woodwork to ask him to be their Dad.

It’d seemed impossible at the time. To have children want to come up to Mr. Shadows Incarnate and expect Virgil to put them to bed and tell a bedtime story.

Now though, he understood why Vee had become more reluctant to leave his house as the year had worn on. Because the mini spawns really had come out of nowhere once his own thirtieth birthday hit.

And it was awful.

Wherever he went, it was inevitable that some child would approach him, shimmering golden sparks floating around them indicating that they were looking for a Parent Bond.

It was also as inevitable that he would scare them away just as quickly.

After all, his halfmoon scar and creepy yellow eyes had caused plenty of kids to scream and run with a single look years before his thirtieth birthday.

No, at least Virgil had a bit of that shy emo charm that made him more approachable, even if the merest appearance of anyone under four feet had his best friend going pale as a corpse and ducking out before the kid could take more than two steps towards him.

Privately he was certain Virgil would find a kid perfect for him before the year was out, despite his best friend’s attempt to avoid the inevitable.

He knew Virge would make a good dad. Compassionate. Protective. His best friend had a dozen other traits that would benefit him when the right child flared with him.

Unlike Janus.

Who could make a grown man cry with less than four words and a glower.

No. He couldn’t imagine having any child coming to him in the middle of the night expecting comfort.

He knew he was intimidating.

He knew he could be scary.

It wouldn’t be fair to subject a child to that on a daily basis.

Honestly, it felt like a slap to the face that no matter how much he achieved, how many degrees he got, or businesses he owned, or careers he pursued, or money he made…

The universe felt that one couldn’t be complete unless said person also had a screaming, slobbering, dirty child in tow.

Janus ran a hand through his hair, again brushing the crescent scar on his cheek as he looked up long enough to watch a cluster of mothers with their dozen and a half children in strollers rush by, seeking salvation at the nearest set of golden arches with at least four of the kids already screaming for their happy meal toy.

Even if he did make a connection with any kid brave enough to approach him...Janus could never imagine trying to coerce a screaming brat into eating their chicken nuggets all by himself. Could never stand to walk around with food, slobber or worse, vomit stains on his best suits like a badge of honor. Could never be patient enough to listen to the long and rambling and pointless stories he’d heard multiple parents suffer through while observing them here in the food court.

No. There was no way Janus would allow the universe a say in how he ran these next five years of his life.

He had goals.

Life plans.

And he didn’t need some interfering Being with an obviously unhealthy parent complex ruining that.

The scrapping of a chair being pulled back broke through the gentle hum the noise the chaos of the food court had receded to, causing Janus to look up from his paper in time to see a boy, wearing a faded black long sleeved shirt with matching glasses and thankfully older than the screaming toddler throwing french fries six tables over, plop down in the seat across from him.

A child. With golden sparks shimmering in the air around him.

Oh goodie.

Janus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. And here he’d thought that the fact that he’d caused a pair of twin girls, a baby, three boys, six preteens, and four other children under the age of five to scream in terror and/or burst into tears before the lunch rush had even started would have been enough for the universe to call it quits for the day on attempting a Parent Bond.

“I have a prospersition for you.” The boy said, making eye contact. Janus blinked, pen pausing mid stroke as he raised an eyebrow to the child. Prosper...prosper? Oh. “A prop-osition?” He asked, careful to pronounce the word correctly.

The boy nodded once, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Prop-osition” he repeated, saying it properly this time. “Will you listen to it? Please?”

Oh, now there was a please? The kid hadn’t even said hello. Janus exhaled, running a hand through his hair, again fingering the raised scar on his cheek, eyes darting about without much hope for any sign of a frantic adult looking for their wayward offspring as he sat back, tapping his pen on the table. “I’m busy.”

The boy’s eyes flashed. “No you’re not.”

Janus scoffed, gesturing to his papers. “I assure you that I a--”

“Are doing what you do every Friday. You’re not busy. You just sit here. All day. Reading. Writing.”

Observant. Janus frowned, again glancing around for a guardian figure. He didn’t think children thought much beyond eating, sleeping, and playing with their peers. “That is considered being busy by most people, I don’t have time to tal--”

The boy shifted to his knees, the golden sparks dancing around him as he carefully placed eight quarters on the table before pushing the pile over to him. “For your time.” He said, looking up to meet Jansus’s eyes once more.

Clever. Not quite the amount he usually took for a consultation, but he doubted a child could come up with that much cash. Still. It was the first time one of these golden sparked spawns of the devil decided to pay him instead of screaming bloody murder.

Janus exhaled, laying down his pen, sitting up as he clasped his fingers together, resting his chin on them. “I’m listening.” Though he doubted anything good would come from this proposition. He could already predict the direction this would go.

The boy relaxed, though he stayed half kneeling on his chair. “I need you,” his mouth twisted slightly, grey eyes glittering. “to pretend to be my Father.”

Father? Ha. Called it. “No.”

Golden sparks flared as the boy lifted his chin. “You didn’t even ask ‘Why.’”

He smirked, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach as he pushed the coins back. “I don’t need to.” It was obvious why the kid wanted to play pretend. After all, the sparks surrounding him were only visible to those like Janus. Single. Between the age of thirty and thirty-five. Childless. If the kid needed a fake dad...well this wasn’t his first rodeo with the concept. “You either need protection from some bullies, which--” He gestured to himself. “You think I look scary enough to intimidate them.” Though not scary enough to keep the kid from bugging him in the first place. “Or else you have lied to your friends about who your Dad is or what he does and so--”

“You’re wrong.”

Janus cut off, tilting his head. “Am I?” He was certain he wasn’t.

“You are.” The boy kept eye contact, grey blue eyes hard as stone.

It would be an intimidating gaze once he grew older, Janus was sure. “Enlighten me.”

The boy pushed the coins back across the table. “The Aquarium is having a Father/Son day today. I want to go.”

Not what he meant by enlighten, but he’d humor the kid. “So?”

The boy rolled his eyes, shifting to his knees so he could better rest his arms on the table. “I can’t exactly partisiis--partissee--par--”

“Participate?”

He nodded. “I can’t exactly participate if I go by myself, dummy.”

Dummy? Who just helped the kid pronounce ‘participate?’

Janus shoved the quarters back to the boy before picking up his pen, tapping it against the table. He could see the kid’s problem though. It made sense why the aquarium wouldn’t want to let hordes of little demon spawn run around tapping on the glass, licking the floors, and breaking things unsupervised. “I’m not spending fifty dollars to play your Dad, kid, just so you can look at some fish.”

A pet store would work just as well and wouldn’t cost a dime. If he was willing to go along with this.

Which he wasn’t.

He didn’t even like fish. Not since that stupid childhood fishing accident that had given him the lovely scar on his face in the first place.

No way would he willingly go along with some brat to a place filled to the brim with the creatures.

Despite how brilliant of a scheme it was. One Janus would have used himself though under different circumstances.

Though he supposed, if he felt like admitting it, which he didn’t, but he still---it….hurt in a way, that the kid, even having the sparks, just wanted to use him to get in to see some boring fish instead of trying out a real Trial with him to see if they had any sort of parental bond.

It was a stupid feeling.

He should be used to being used.

The boy adjusted his frames, barely blinking as he shoved the quarters back across the table, staring Janus down. “Adults get in for only ten dollars today. Kids get in free. If.” He emphasized the word. “Their Father brings them.” He shifted in his seat, pulling out a twenty and slid it across the table. “For your ticket.” He said simply, eyes flashing. “I’m only asking for your time. I don’t want to go on a Trial with you. I don’t need or want a Dad. I just need an adult with the time on his hands to pretend to be one and let me esplore the place for two measlely hours.”

Double ouch. At least some kids attempted to do an actual Trial Run with him to see if their sparks would Flare before being so blunt in telling him he wouldn’t be their Dad.

Janus frowned, already shaking his head. “Kid, I don’t--”

The boy pulled out another twenty, placing it on the table. “Two hours.” He said simply.

“You don’t even know me--” Sure, he knew the boy knew he was in the Trial stage of life since the stupid floating sparks thing, even if he couldn’t see his own, went both ways. But that didn’t mean that he should just shove--

The boy placed a third twenty on the table.

Janus exhaled, running a hand through his hair, again fingering his scar as he glared at the child. “You’re seriously bribing me? Where did you even get that much cash?” Hopefully it wasn’t stolen, but he’d applaud the boy for being so prolific in his thievery.

“Not important.” The boy stated, pulling out a fourth twenty without breaking eye contact.

Why was he being so persistent?! Any other child would have run away by now.

“Why me?” He demanded, leaning forward, sneering in a way he knew made his eyes look even more creepy. “Why not bribe some other--”

The boy hesitated, a fifth twenty already in his fingers as his steely gazed wavered. “If I tell you why, will you go with me to the Aquarium?”

That was hardly a fair exchange. The answer could be super simple and he’d be stuck with the kid for two hours. “I’m going to stick with my ‘I’m scary theory,’” Janus said instead, gesturing to his face. That was the usual reason kids gave in most circumstances.

The boy frowned, lifting his chin. “I can be scary enough on my own without your help.” He said shoving the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing an angry red corded scar that wrapped around his arm from wrist to shoulder. “We match, kinda. Your scar looks similar. Makes it easier to pretend that you’re my Dad. That we were in the same accident.” He pushed the pile of money towards him. “And if anyone suspects you aren’t my birth father, then the sparks will show them that we’re on a Trial and that our scars mean we’re meant to be.”

Meant to be.

It took a lot of effort to not touch the crescent mark on his cheek. To ignore the fluttering in his chest at those words.

They’re just pretty little lies.

Sure, there were ongoing theories that families all shared a similar trait that marked them. Whether that was having a mole on the same part of their stomach, sharing a taste in mustard, having an allergy to hay, hair having the same cowlick, or having similar looking scars--Janus kept his hands firmly on the table as he pulled his eyes back up to meet the kids.

It was hearsay though. Nothing had ever been proven. Not when the sparks flaring between parent and child was a far more accurate indicator that they were meant to be a family.

No, he highly doubted anyone would Flare with him during this five year tortrue period. Not even this kid despite the sparks dancing between them.

Janus took a steadying breath. It was fine. He didn’t need a family. Not even a pretend one for two hours. He was better off alone now that Virgil had harred off to who knew where. “How long do I have to wait before you run out of twenties and give up?” He said, keeping his voice cool. “Because I’m not taking your bribe, kid, regardless of the amount. You’d be better off hiring a nanny or something.”

Though he was curious just how much the boy thought it would take to convince him to go along with this farce.

The kid made a face. “I don’t want to be coddled the entire time.” He snapped, the fifth twenty vanishing as he shoved his sleeve down. “All anyone ever does is treat me like I’m breakable since--” he gestured to his arm, the scars once more hidden. “And I’m sick of it. You look like you’d happily let me fall off a bridge if I wasn’t careful and I just...I just--” He shook his head. “I need to not be cared about for a bit.”

Let him fall off a bridge? Ouch. Janus focused on relaxing his clenched hands, one finger at a time. “So you have a death wish? I’m not gonna be complacent to--”

The boy growled, slamming his hands on the table, steel grey eyes hardening even as they shimmered with unshed tears. “No. I just want to look at the fish.” He hissed. “I want to esplore. Learn. SEE. Without having a grown-up hovering over me like I’m freaking china. All you would have to do is stay near enough to keep any other metaling adults away. That’s all I want. For two hours. To be treated like a normal kid.” His hand clenched as he took a breath, bottom lip trembling. “I thought you of all people would understand that.” He whispered, eyes flickering to the scar and back.

It took a lot of effort to not touch his face. To maintain eye contact.

Sure.

He understood.

Janus had wasted years chasing that particular dream throughout high school and well into his first couple of years at college.

It had all been for nothing.

People judged the book by the cover. Few ever took the time to look deeper.

And it sucked that Janus was being forced to reckon with the fact that if he didn’t go with this kid and pretend to be his Dad, he’d be like every other adult unwilling to give the boy a chance to be ‘normal.’

…Great. Just. Great.

He’d just been guilted into spending two hours looking at the fish.

Janus broke eye contact, cursing under his breath as he shoved his papers into his book bag and stood, grabbing his jacket and hat off the chair.

Maybe he should follow Virgil’s lead and disappear into the wilderness for the next four and a half years if the kids were going to start pulling this type of act on him.

“You got a name, kid?” He asked, fishing out a single twenty from the stack before shoving the pile back at the boy. Enough for the ticket. That’s it.

The boy caught his breath, eyes going wide. “You mean--”

How could eyes hard as steel one second go so soft like freshly fallen ash the next?

You know what. He didn’t want to know. If the kid knew how to do puppy dog eyes, then he knew how. That was that, but after today Janus would not be falling for them again.

“Name.” He repeated, impatiently gesturing for the boy to follow him as he tugged his hat down over his eyes. “Else I’ll make one up and I guarantee you will not like it.”

The boy was by his side in a flash, golden sparks swirling. “Logan.” He said, adjusting his glasses with a small smile. “My name is Logan.”

#Be My Dad #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Janus #Logan #Deceit #Logic #Soulmate!AU #Familial Soulmates #Dad!Janus #Child!Logan #A Vague AU prompts

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qitwrites · 3 years ago

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⬅ Previous || 19 || Next ➡

It isn’t unusual to see Uraraka in the gym. It isn’t unusual at all to see her going at it against a punching bag, striking it with ferocious jabs and strong kicks, well-paced and well-timed. It isn’t unusual in the least to see her wearing sweatpants and a sports bra, hair pulled out of her face as she sweats it out alongside her classmates.

It is unusual to see her face scrunched up like she’s on the verge of tears though. It makes something in Midoriya’s gut clench unpleasantly.

‘Hi,’ Midoriya says, wiping away the sweat on his neck with the bottom of his tee shirt. Uraraka simply nods, but her eyes don’t leave the bag. She does a one-two combo move, the bag making a satisfying thump with every hit.

‘Are you ok?’ he ventures, crossing his hands over his chest. He keeps his eyes trained on her face, and his gut twists when he sees unshed tears brimming in her big, round eyes. Uraraka wipes at her face with the inside of her elbow before she goes back to the bag.

‘I’m fine,’ she bites out between clenched teeth, and Midoriya knows she’s not okay. He decides not to push it too much though, instead moving to stand behind the bag and hold it steady for her as she pummels it. He can feel the force of her punches through the material, and her face continues to twist and contort till there are tears running down her face.

‘Uraraka,’ Midoriya finally murmurs, voice low, ‘are you hurt?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re crying, you’re not fine-‘

‘I said I’m fine! Leave me alone Deku, just- I’m fine.’

The last time Midoriya had a gut feeling like this, he’d left Iida alone after his brother got hurt and nearly lost him. The last time he’d let his guard down, Bakugou had been kidnapped from right under their noses. And the last time he hadn’t fought to understand, he hadn’t persisted in his efforts, he’d let go of Eri and allowed her to be in harm’s way, an act he would never, ever forgive himself for. So now, Midoriya has a bit of an issue letting go.

‘We don’t have to talk about it right now,’ Midoriya grunts as Uraraka kicks the bag hard enough to jostle him. ‘But you have to talk to someone. Please don’t bottle it in, you know it’ll only get worse.’

Uraraka stops punching then, chest heaving as her eyes find Midoriya’s, and they’re filled with a plethora of emotions- pain, anger, embarrassment, rage, and so much sadness. They look defeated.

‘I am fine!’ Uraraka growls, thumping both hands against the bag. ‘I am fine because I have no choice but to be fine! Because the moment I stop being fine, I will lose. So, all I can do is punch a bag, shed a tear or two in private, and move on with my life because this is a battle I cant lose.’

‘You don’t have to fight anything alone Uraraka, you have all of us.’ Midoriya gestures at the gym, littered with some of their classmates. It’s not packed to capacity, but there are people around, their good friends.

‘I do have to fight this alone though. And I certainly can’t fight this with you.’

‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Please talk to me Uraraka, tell me more.’

‘There’s no point Deku. It won’t change a damn thing.’

‘But I want to understand anyway! Just humor me.’

Uraraka barks out a laugh before staggering away from the bag, her body angled towards Midoriya.

‘Fine, you wanna know so bad? Ok, let’s talk.’

She starts unwrapping her left hand. ‘Did you know that for every article or piece of news that goes up about my heroic deeds or my fighting, there are 8 others that talk about my measurements, which colors suit my skin tone, why I am in desperate need of losing weight, or something along those lines?’

Her right hand continues to methodically unwrap the tape with trembling fingers. ‘Every news channel I go to, no matter where, I have to read about how a female heroes’ love handles were showing while she was taking down a villain. Or how someone’s hair wasn’t perfect while they put their life on the line to do their job. And do it damn well.’

She finally finishes unwrapping one hand. ‘And did you know, that for every article written about your heroics, or Bakugou’s, or Iida’s, of which there are so many more than our female classmates’ by the way, there’s maybe 3 articles about things that don’t concern heroics? And they’re always respectful, not too invasive, somewhat curious.’

Uraraka moves to unwrap her other hand, but her fingers are shaking so bad, she can’t even find the end. Midoriya finally stumbles forward and pulls her right hand into his own, unwrapping it gently. He gives it a firm squeeze, urging her to go on.

‘I know the advice- stop listening to the tabloids, let it roll off your back, it’s not important, it’s not relevant. And I get that Midoriya, I do. I will continue to do my job. I will continue working towards being a hero. I will always do my best to save lives and defeat villains and keep everyone safe. I will.’

Her voice cracks, ‘But I also get tired, you know? I get tired of seeing people talk about me like I’m not even a person. I am so tired of seeing the female heroes objectified all the time. For them to be glorified for their looks alone and not their skills. We’re saving lives too, we’re not here to look pretty. We’re here to kick ass.’

Midoriya finishes unwrapping her hand but doesn’t let go, holding it lightly between his own. Uraraka stares at their hands and continues, ‘I want to be taken seriously. I work just as hard as you guys, and I want to be awarded that same respect but I’m not. And I don’t get to say Hey I’m tired today, if someone is disrespectful or puts me down because I’m a female hero I’ll let it slide because every time I do that, we take 3 steps back. I have to fight this fight all day, every day.’

Uraraka pulls her hand away and sinks down, resting her head on her bent knees. She slowly turns to look to the side, and she has a faraway look in her eyes.

‘I have been stared at since I was maybe 10 years old. And it’s not just me, it’s all girls. All women. We’re just stared at. Doesn’t matter what we wear, what we’re doing, where we’re going. I’m stared at. I could be in uniform, could be dressed to go to the mall or enjoy a day at the beach- I will be stared at. People, and men especially, look at me like I’m a piece of meat. I can feel it on the back of my neck, and yes, I can protect myself, but that fact that I even need to, why is that ok?’

Uraraka finally pauses, inhales deeply and a few more tears slip out.

‘I am tired, Deku. I am so tired. And I will continue to fight this battle, I will continue to stand up for Momo and Tsuyu and Mina and Hagakure and Jirou. For all the female heroes. For all women, everywhere. But I am tired of having to fight that battle in the first place. I’m just a little tired today. That’s all.’

Uraraka exhales deeply, and her entire body deflates. ‘I want to be able to walk out on the streets without my guard up because I’m a woman. I want to walk around wearing what I want and not have to worry about catcalls and judgement. I want to exist without the need to be perfect because when I’m not, it feels like I’m letting so many people down. I just want the freedom to exist as a human being, the same freedom so many take for granted. I want to talk about it, I want all of us to fight for it, I want to achieve it so someday, a little 10 year old girl can walk to her convenience store and not worry about the old geysers around the corner leering at her.’

Midoriya doesn’t move to interrupt her, not once. He listens, he absorbs, he aches. Because he knows- everything she says is true, and he can’t relate. He doesn’t face the same treatment. Granted, he faces his fair share of criticism, but his hero persona Deku does. And it’s usually for the way he fights, how reckless he can be, or sometimes how silly his bunny ears look. But never about his body. Never about his personal life. Never about his measurements, at least not in a sexual way.

And Midoriya has never been stared at, especially in a way that makes him feel small or hunted.

When Uraraka makes no move to continue, Midoriya sits on the floor, legs crossed and hands resting in his lap.

‘What can I do? How can I help, if at all?’

Uraraka mirrors his position, and for the first time since he spoke to her that day, there’s a ghost of a smile on her face. It’s a genuine one too, soft and barely there, but honest.

‘You’re a good guy,’ she says, smiling a bit wider. ‘You’re kind, you’ve never made me feel small or objectified or anything. And you don’t speak that way about other people. You speak in terms of strength, and you acknowledge everyone, regardless of gender or other parameters. You’re doing good.’

Uraraka looks to the side, and Midoriya follows her line-of-sight to see Bakugou doing crunches while Kirishima shouts encouragements at him.

‘In an ideal world, people would think more like Bakugou did during the sports festival.’ When Uraraka sees the expression on Midoriya’s face, she bursts out laughing.

‘I’m not saying we need more Kacchans around Deku, don’t worry,’ she reassures him, still giggling. ‘I’m saying he didn’t hold back; despite the backlash he was receiving. He did his best against me because he knew I was strong, and he took me seriously. We need more of that, of being taken seriously, of being on the same ground as all of you. That’s what we crave- being acknowledged as equals.’

‘Uraraka, what’s wrong?’ Iida says from somewhere behind Midoriya. Uraraka quickly rubs at her eyes, trying to get rid of the tear stains.

‘Nothing, nothing,’ she murmurs, shooting Midoriya a look. ‘We were just talking about some stuff.’

Tsuyu sits down beside Uraraka and pulls her into her side. ‘You need anything?’

‘This is good,’ Uraraka says, leaning her weight into the frog hero. Tsuyu tightens her grip protectively, and the girls speak to one another in low voices.

‘She’s fine,’ Midoriya says to Iida as he stands up. ‘We were just talking about how differently we experience the world as male and female heroes.’

‘Ah,’ Iida says, voice subdued. He pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘I’ve read the statistics, it’s honestly disheartening. The number of female heroes ostracized from the hero community for absurd reasons, the number of hate crimes committed against them, it’s outrageous.’

Midoriya doesn’t even realize he’s gone into one of his mumbling rants as he says, ‘Is there anything we can do, like right now? How can we make a difference in the position that we’re in? We are still quite a while away from being pros. We do have licenses though, and we are known in the community. We also have students from affluent families that could help make a difference. But tackling the media is always a delicate matter and-‘

‘Start by taking steps yourselves,’ Jirou says, placing a hand on Midoriya’s shoulder. ‘Of course, all of what I’m about to say doesn’t really apply to you since you do it anyway but speak of us the way you speak about your male counterparts. Treat us with the same respect. Talk about us like we’re human beings with feelings. Just- it’s so systemic, all our biases and all our assumptions and how we treat and view women in society as a whole, so change will take time. We just have to take it one step at a time.’

Jirou takes her hand off Midoriya’s shoulder and shrugs, ‘We don’t want to be coddled, we don’t want special treatment, we don’t want any advantage or upper ground. We just want to level the playing field.’

‘In the meantime, when one of us is tired of fighting the system,’ Tsuyu says, getting Uraraka to her feet, ‘ice-cream and some queer-eye can’t hurt anyone, kero.’

That gets a smile out of Uraraka and Midoriya. The group slowly makes their way out the gym, nudging each other and cracking silly jokes. Jirou confirms that there’s 2 tubs of ice cream in the freezer, and Iida offers to make them popcorn even though he isn’t personally that fond of it.

There’s an unpleasant clench in Midoriya’s gut, but that’s ok- identifying the problem is the very first step towards fixing it.

And when he looks around him, he thinks they have a pretty good shot at getting it right.

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saebyeog-i · 4 years ago

Text

soft | njm (m)

genre | office romance au / slight humor, smut lol

rating/warnings | stream of consciousness bs / alcohol consumption / semi public sex {oral, m receiving; mentions of breathplay} / slightly unedited whoops

word count | drabble! 2.1k because I don’t know how to shut up

pairing | IT Worker!Jaemin x reader

—

When you start your new job, you realize pretty quickly that Jaemin from IT wears sweaters all the time in the office. Even in the summer. Even when it’s 95 degrees outside, because he gets cold easily and they always blast the AC too much indoors.

He’s a very soft and unassuming character, and he’s the youngest person on his team by at least ten years, and during your first meeting when he’s getting your work station set up in your office he tells you he just likes that he gets paid to play around with computers all day and that’s why he keeps the job.

“Couldn’t you be a software engineer or something? Make far more money and not have to answer dumb computer questions all the time?” You ask offhandedly, and then realize you’ve insinuated that he’s paid poorly. You attempt to back pedal your statement, but he’s not the least bit offended.

He chuckles, eyes crinkling and he shakes his head. “I get paid plenty well for this job, and besides, I never have any tight deadlines or work overtime. I don’t exactly dream of extra and strenuous labor.”

He wears sweaters that are two sizes too big for him, made up of bright obnoxious colors and gaudy patterns that would usually make you fake vomit at seeing them on a real life human. But he makes them look charming, somehow. Grandpa sweaters, you call them, even to his face, with patterns that just make you gag. Never a sweater vest, mind you, only ever a full pull over knit sweater, with the occasional cardigan over a long sleeve turtleneck. Over time, you see a variety of patterns and colors, and you think he must have an endless supply of them.

You’re not bad with computers by any means, but you do like to bat your eyelashes and have other people do things for you when you can. You’re admittedly a little bit lazy, not stupid, and besides, he’s much faster at fixing any issues than you are, why waste time trying to figure it out yourself?

You think it’s cute, the way he smiles with his eyes and chuckles quietly whenever he comes to your office to fulfill a help desk ticket. You like the way he smiles at you and the way he’ll compliment your outfits, how soft and unassuming his words always are, and never cringe worthy like that older man in marketing who thinks he’s being nice but is in fact just being slightly creepy. When you tell your roommate about Jaemin from IT complimenting your new dress in the kitchen as you made your morning coffee, she asks if you have a thing for him because of how often you bring him up in your stories from work.

“Oh, no, definitely not— he’s soft, but a little too soft, you know? Need me a bit of a freak, someone who wouldn’t be opposed to like, I dunno, choking me if I said I was into that,” you sigh, trying to imagine the soft and pixie-like Jaemin from IT with his hands around your neck. It doesn’t compute. “Besides, I think he puts like, eight shots of espresso in his coffee, his cum probably tastes like battery acid,” you sigh into your yogurt as your roommate crinkles her nose one morning before you both depart for work. You move on from the brief idea, and think you’ll stick to just enjoying sweet and innocent Jaemin that wears oversizes sweaters from afar instead.

On anyone else, the fashion sense would be annoying.

But not on Jaemin.

He’s soft and squishy and kind of adorable with the way he scrunches up his nose when he laughs, and the endearing way he explains to the older company employees how to run the Microsoft Office automatic software updates to get the latest version of Excel and PowerPoint. He does his best to teach them how to do it on their own to give them a sense of accomplishment and understanding of the technology they rely on but seem to have no hope at operating beyond the basic level needed for their jobs (but still doing it for them anyways, with patience and a smile and never a complaint).

It’s an attractive quality, you have to admit, and if he wasn’t the walking embodiment of marshmallow fluff you’d think more about him. But he is, so you don’t, and instead sigh out loud as you watch him huff and blow the fluffy bangs out of his eyes as he’s crouched under your desk, re-running the wires for your office phone.

You’ve always had a bad habit of mumbling your thoughts out loud when you’re distracted, and sometimes he’ll catch you cursing out the equipment or your supervisors for not knowing the difference between something you’d deem as basic for your department or field. He finds it charming, thinks it makes you more candid and honest and it’s a different side of you than the one who bats her eyelashes and files help desk tickets when she could easily do something herself. You’re taken aback by this comment, because you didn’t count him for someone that would keep track of something like that, which you admit to him in slight disbelief.

“Oh believe me, I’m more observant than you think I am,” he chimes mysteriously as his fingers glide across your keyboard, entering his admin password to run another round of program installations and software upgrades.

You don’t think much of it when he’s the only person who fulfills your tickets for six months straight.

Not until the holiday party, anyways.

At the holiday party, it’s an open bar and everyone is dressed UP up. You expect to see Jaemin in another grandpa print sweater two sizes too big for him— that is, if the soft boy shows at all. Company holiday parties like this don’t scream ‘Jaemin from IT’ at you, given that from what your more seasoned coworkers have told you about years past, after tonight you can expect at least one person to end up suspended or fired for behavior; that and the Company President gives everyone an Uber code for a free ride home since they already know how absolutely wasted everyone plans on getting.

To your surprise, Jaemin from IT does in fact show up at the holiday party. You spot him as soon as he enters, about an hour into the party itself, and he slips into the crowd and makes his way to the bar. You were expecting a tacky Christmas sweater on him, but instead, he’s dressed in the exact opposite.

Instead, he’s got his hair styled up (a first, and you never realized how badly you wanted to see his forehead before) and instead of a gaudy array of colors and patterns, he’s wearing a nicely tailored suit in a rich wine color with a black button down underneath.

When he waves from across the room and approaches you just to be friendly and say hi, you’re definitely caught off guard enough that you don’t realize you’ve mumbled out “How is that fair? How can he look like THAT outside of a sweater and then not let me just suck his dick right here?”

Jaemin blinks for a moment, taken by surprise, when he realizes it’s that same candid habit of yours and you haven’t realized you’ve said it out loud. His mouth curls into a smile and he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and gets nice and close, close enough to flirtatiously whisper “Well if you insist, though I’m sure we could find somewhere a bit more... private.”

And then you’re so caught off guard by confident sexy suit wearing Jaemin you think he’s read your mind for until you realize what you said out loud. But he’s into the idea given the fact that he doesn’t run in fear from your words and fuck it, so are you, and he’s not just cute and squishy anymore he’s fucking hot in that suit and with his dark hair styled just so, so you feel flirty and courageous when you say “You know I think I like the suit over the grandpa sweaters, but I think I’d like the suit even better on the floor.”

After the way his mouth ticks upward in a smile, the movements are all a blur that you can’t quite separate out into discrete events: downing you drink, linking hands with him, scurrying off towards the single occupancy restroom furthest from the dance floor and bolting the lock so you can be sure as shit that when your lips crash against his and then your knees hit the floor there will be no interruptions.

“Funny,” you say, trailing kisses down his throat after a moment, “Never thought I’d see you as anything but soft.” The admittance and double entendre are entirely intentional and you know that he knows.

“Seems like now’s a good as time as any to pay back all those superfluous ticket requests,” he breaths out, and your lips curl into a grin as your fingers find their way to his belt and tug his dress pants down.

“If you insist,” you tease back his words from earlier, sinking to your knees all too happily.

You take him into your mouth easily, relishing in the groans and shaky exhales that comes from his perfect lips as his fingers thread through your hair and his grip tightens. A fire deep in your belly ignites at the noises, enjoying how easily you can make the man you thought so soft and unassuming fall apart at just a run of your tongue and a hollowing of your cheeks.

“Fucking shit don’t do that unless—”

He’s cut off by his own groan as you run your tongue along his slit once before taking him as afar back in your throat as you can manage, then he’s cumming in your mouth with a high pitched shaky whine.

When he’s finished, you make an obscene show of his cum in your mouth for him and curl your tongue back as you swallow, wiping away the excess saliva with the heel of your palm. “Pay back enough?” You ask surreptitiously as you rise back to your feet, dusting off the skirt of your cocktail dress.

Jaemin from IT digs his fingers into your hips and pulls you close to him, a growl deep in the back of his throat before his lips clash against yours, “All that and then some.”

His fingers link with yours after as he hurriedly drags you from the bathroom to the exit of the venue, waving haphazardly at his team members before launching the ride share app and tapping in the provided code for that free ride. “I meant it when I said your wardrobe is both flattering and professional,” he hums, “But out of respect for your sense of style, I’ll refrain from tearing any garment off of you and provide a hangar for it instead. Deal?”

The words are so forward and presumptuous. You can’t help but feel a little turned on by the action, however, and find yourself scoffing as you smile and stick a hand out for him to shake, “Deal.”

So even though you’d maybe been hoping to get a bit more free alcohol out of the company holiday party, you’re celebrating some much better company some thirty, forty minutes later, once you’re out of the car and your bare back is pressed against the locked front door of his apartment as Jaemin from IT fucks into you in a way that is the absolute opposite from soft, just as he’d promised. And when you’d moaned it out and asked, he happily agreed to (delicately, tenderly) lay his hand on your throat and apply pressure.

Your expensive cocktail dress rests on a hanger on the coat rack in his living room, just like he’d promised. You don’t put it back on until the following afternoon. And then again a year later, when you enter the company holiday party arm in arm with Jaemin from IT— Na Jaemin, you’d finally learned and committed to memory his last name after that first night, who was now your boyfriend.

“You know I didn’t take you for an outfit repeater,” he teases, this year arriving on time (at your behest) and wearing an all black suit save for the glittering of the jeweled pinstripes on his jacket.

You roll your eyes and tug him towards you by his neck tie. “Who’s fault is it that not enough people got to appreciate this dress last year, hm?”

He looks up in thought playfully for a moment before answering, “The sweaters?”

You press another kiss to his lips, this one a little less aggressively and a little bit softer (like you liked him, you’d come to find out) and reply, “Yeah, definitely the sweaters.”

—

author’s note | I originally wrote this in my dm’s to Clover half asleep at 6:30 in the morning on a Saturday and she told me she’d sue if I didn’t post it, so, here, lol have the expanded version that I wrote after chugging a glass of Reisling and a shot of Jameson at 10pm last night.

#let's #try this #one more time sigh #get your shit together tumblr #fix your damn tags sigh #jaemin fanfic #jaemin fluff #jaemin smut #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct smut #-sighs- clover what have you done to me #swamp witch writes

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years ago

Text

autumn leaves | l.i.b. finale

→ summary: and in the end, we fall because we have no other choice. some get up easier than others, and we bury the ones who never do.

→ pairing: ??? x reader → genre: angst, humor, fluff, lib!au → warnings: tae gets hurt a little but its an accident (he’s fine dw), small blood mention (from aforementioned accident), rage moments (rip lol), heartbreak (yum!), a happy ending (?) → words: 7.7K → a/n: oh my god we’re at the end?? after two months of SUFFERING?? how can this be happening?? lol but seriously thank you to everyone for going on this journey with me. writing lib was honestly so much fun, and it’s been a while since i’ve been able to kinda go “all-out” or whatever. i’m kind of nervous with this ending, but hopefully it’s something everyone will be able to enjoy. peace!!

prev // part 38 of 38 masterlist here. [series completed]

October 1, 2020 — 6:18 PM

Min Yoongi’s phone feels like it's burning a hole into his back pocket. It’s a heavy presence, weighing like concrete enough to bend his spine. His hands itch to reach for it, to check for messages he knows he won’t receive. But in the back of his mind, he thinks—desperately and senselessly, that if he wishes hard enough, then maybe it’ll come true.

I should be glad that she isn’t calling me, he tries to convince himself. The itch continues to grow, licking at the back of his mind like a fire begging to be extinguished. I should trust her decision. I should be proud of her. But there’s always been a difference, after all, to what Yoongi should do and what he wants. It’s a difference that he has fought to ignore for years now.

“Hyung,” a soft voice calls out to him, a hand placed gently on his shoulder. Yoongi blinks slowly out of his trance, his eyes dry from staring out his car window for too long. He doesn’t turn in his seat, refusing to face his companion in the backseat. “Hyung,” the voice calls out again, this time shaking him vigorously enough that Yoongi has no other choice but to turn lest his shoulders get dislocated.

“What do you want, Jimin?” Yoongi growls, sneering at the boy. Jimin smiles sheepishly, but he doesn’t back down under his glare.

“Sorry. You were gripping the wheel so tightly that I was scared you were going to break it.” Jimin shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s an edge to his tone, betraying his worry. Yoongi releases the wheel at once, switching to picking at the rips in his jeans instead.

“Didn’t notice. Sorry for snapping at you, I was just…” Yoongi trails off, expression glazing over once more. What was he trying? What was he doing here?

Jimin’s pupils flit all over Yoongi’s face, searching for something. “We’re not going to bring her home anymore?” he asks, but there’s a note of finality there. He knows that they aren’t going home with them tonight, at least not right now. They’ve been parked a block away from Namjoon’s childhood home for a few hours now, sitting in Yoongi’s car and waiting to see if you needed them to help you escape. Jimin has been watching Yoongi all the while, keeping track of the small changes in his friend’s expression.

They are hard to pinpoint sometimes, but Jimin sees them all. He sees the way Yoongi’s brow furrows slightly, sees the way his teeth nibble on his lips in worry, sees the way his head jerks every time he hears a sound, thinking that it might be his phone about to ring. Yoongi is like a pot about to boil over, hardly keeping everything together.

To many people, Yoongi often appears to be as unmoving as a rock. He hardly allows his emotions to control him, and he has always been proud to call himself a level-headed person. And for the most part, Jimin agrees with that. Yoongi is and always will be someone who thrives in times of turmoil, someone who relies on his wit to get him through adversity. He seldom gets angry, rarely raises his voice, never acts cruelly. He’s the person that everyone in their friend group often comes to for advice and support, as he’s always the one who seems to have the right thing to say.

But all those things begin to crumble, however, when it comes to you.

Yoongi is still human, too. He bends, he breaks, he yields—and he does so, especially for you.

“No, we’re not bringing her home,” Yoongi replies. The admission is there, hidden in plain sight. His words are laced with defeat, but it is a defeat that has been accepted long ago. Long before his text conversation with you.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Jimin asks, not unkindly. Even still, Yoongi winces. Jimin’s real question is there, hidden in plain sight as well. What are you waiting for?

Yoongi sighs, resting his forehead against the wheel. He hears Jimin shift in his seat, feels his presence get closer as he leans forward to place a comforting hand on his back. “Nothing,” he says. He breathes deeply through his nose and counts to three. Releases it. “We are waiting for nothing.”

Jimin hums and says nothing more. They sit there in silence for a bit longer, watching the sun’s final moments in the sky before the moon takes its place. The street lamps turn on, bathing the streets in its dusty yellow luminescence. Under the lights, Yoongi’s skin looks tired and worn, like a paper that has been crumpled and smoothed over multiple times.

“I wonder if they’ve finished speaking by now,” Yoongi says suddenly. He still hasn’t moved from his position, his face hidden from view. It almost looks like he hadn’t spoken at all, but Jimin had heard him. He looks at Yoongi in surprise but keeps his silence. Jimin can feel the beginnings of something about to break, and he is afraid that if he makes a sound, it might stop. Even stones break in the end.

“I doubt it. They have a lot of shit to talk about. Too much, in fact.” Yoongi sounds exhausted, his words slurring together like he’s falling asleep. But he’s never been more wide awake. “I’d have a lot to say if I were them. But I’m not them, nor will I ever be.”

Yoongi tilts his head high enough that he can rest his chin on the wheel instead. He stares blankly at the quiet street, listens intently to the sound of the wind beating gently against his car. Parked out there, in the middle of a small neighborhood in Ilsan, far away from the bustling streets of the city, he can almost trick himself into thinking that he’s the only person in the world—

“You love her.”

—but he isn’t alone.

Jimin says it without a shade of doubt. He says it like it's a simple truth of life, like there is no other possible way Yoongi could feel otherwise. The sky is blue. The earth is round. Min Yoongi is in love with you.

“Yes,” Yoongi breathes it out, the confession tumbling through his lips with quiet ease. It does not struggle; it does not resist. It just is. “I’ve loved her before I even knew it myself, I think.”

“I never thought you’d be the type to fall in love at first sight,” Jimin says it lightly, teasingly. There’s a shrivel of truth to it though, but Yoongi will deny it to his dying day; it’ll hurt less if he does.

“I think it started a year ago. When I was preparing for my junior year exhibition.” Yoongi remembers the long nights working until his hands bled, the recurring nightmares eating at his mind, the fear climbing his spine like a tightrope pulled taut. It’s one of the only times when he had bitten more than he could chew, piling impossible expectations onto himself. In those long three weeks of constant anxiety nipping at his heels, he had almost forgotten what it was like to be human. That is, until…

“She saved me. She taught me to slow down, to be compassionate to myself. She didn’t judge me or scold me or hurt me. She just… cared.” Yoongi exhales, clenching his eyes shut. He can see it in his head: your soft hands carding through his hair, whispering assurances and praise into his ears, guiding him to his bed and staying with him until he’d fallen asleep soundly for the first time in days. “Slowly but surely, I started to fall for her. There was just no other way. My heart refused to have it any other way,” he says.

Jimin hums. “I’d always guessed, but I never thought it was that early. You do have an awful habit of staring, hyung. Sometimes I feel like you have to remind yourself to blink.”

Yoongi laughs, hollow sounding. “I suppose I do.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything about it then?”

Jimin’s question is expected. It should be an easy one to answer, but Yoongi doesn’t quite know what to say. It’s easy to say that he knew Jungkook and you already loved each other long before he realized his feelings, and Yoongi was the last person on earth who would do anything to hurt either of you to fulfill his desires. It’s true, but it’s not the whole truth.

So instead, Yoongi responds, “It’s because I’m a hypocrite.” When he doesn’t elaborate, he sees Jimin give him a confused look from the rearview mirror.

Yoongi chuckles sardonically, shaking his head. His mouth feels like acid, as if bile had risen up his throat. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, but it would hurt more later if he didn’t suck the poison out right here and now. “Nevermind about that. The point is, I lost my chance and I don’t regret it. Yeah, it fucking hurts like a bitch, but what am I going to do? Cry about it? We’ve all known since the beginning that if anyone is going to get a happy ending, it’s certainly not going to be me.”

“Don’t say that,” Jimin says, frowning slightly. He had spoken so sternly that it impelled Yoongi to straighten up in his seat and turn to stare at him. It’s quite unlike Jimin to be anything but friendly and kind, so seeing him so severe is disconcerting. Though, it did manage to shut Yoongi up immediately.

“This is not the end of the world. You are not going to end up unloved or forgotten. There are people who love you, people who will love you. Don’t you remember? Those were the same words you told me when I got my heart broken the first time,” Jimin says, his voice trembling ever so slightly. Yoongi’s gaze flies to Jimin’s fists, clenched tightly by his sides.

Of course, Yoongi remembers. It’s hard to forget the sight of Park Jimin sobbing relentlessly into his shoulder, fat tears falling like raindrops and down his flushed cheeks. He remembers saying the same words to you, too. He wonders, not for the first time, if his words are as ineffective to you as they are to him right now.

“I know,” Yoongi says. He switches the engine on and watches his dashboard light up. The radio turns on, the last notes of a ballad playing through the speakers. Yoongi puts his hand on the wheel, carefully not to grip too tightly this time. It’s a start, he thinks.

They go home, leaving without looking back.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 9:20 PM

Kim Taehyung locks his bedroom door the moment he gets home, after casting a furtive glance at the closed door across from his. He does not know what he expects; the door across from him has been closed for almost a week now. The entire apartment is still, but he is not alone. The ghost who lives in the other bedroom still haunts him, in more ways than one.

He drops his bag to the floor, still cradling a small bouquet of camellias that was slightly crushed when he had bumped into someone in the elevator. He unpeels the plastic wrapping, gently placing them into the vase near his windowsill. He fingers the vibrant pink petals, but they don’t brighten his room the way they once did. It still feels dark, but he has a sinking suspicion that he had nothing to do with his lights.

It’s me. I’ve changed.

He shakes his head, banishing the thought. No, it’s okay. Everything is fine. You’ve done nothing wrong. And yet, the door across the hall begs to differ.

Typically, this shouldn’t be a problem for him. When everything is said and done, Taehyung is used to this happening. The closed doors, the unopened texts, the cold shoulders. It’s all a process that Taehyung has lived through for years.

Guilt: an emotion that Taehyung has become accustomed to. Abandonment: an action that Taehyung has learned to anticipate. Isolation: a lifestyle that Taehyung has mastered. Every relationship with Kim Taehyung will always lead to these three things, so it shouldn’t be affecting him the way that it is.

But over the last three years, he’d grown comfortable. The people around him had convinced him unknowingly, planting seeds of hope and optimism in a garden he had thought to be infertile. For once in his life, Taehyung had found a home in these people, and he’d do anything in his power to keep it safe.

Or at least, he thought he did.

His original intentions had been guileless; he wanted to help Jungkook because he was his friend. Jungkook had been his first friend in university—if he wanted to be honest, then Taehyung would even say that Jungkook was his first friend in his entire life. The boy was kind-hearted and supportive, wrapped perfectly with a goofy personality. Of course, Taehyung wasn’t blind to Jungkook’s faults, but he was sure that Jungkook didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He had decided back then that he could trust this one, and once he had allowed Jungkook into his life, the rest followed suit.

It was easy to empathize with Jungkook because he was just so… awkward. It was like watching a newborn fawn learning to walk for the first time, except Jungkook had long since outgrown his baby status and should have been independent long ago. Taehyung and everyone knew this about him, but they still gave him the benefit of the doubt. They mentored him, guided him, manipulated him in the wrong ways in hopes of hastening him to change. That was until…

Everything fell apart. Taehyung understood long before the fall that he had played a considerable part in Jungkook’s ruin. His negligence, his willful involvement in worsening the situation had exacerbated everything. He had ignored the signs, had barrelled through with his plans without another thought, all because he allowed himself to be blind to what he truly wanted out of this mess.

If he genuinely wanted to be a friend to Jungkook, he would’ve stopped interfering way before you had gone to Ilsan that one fateful weekend in August. He’d been aware he was doing more harm than good to everyone around him, including himself.

No, he stopped wanting to help Jungkook a long time ago. It had turned into his own personal agenda.

“Fuck!” Taehyung screams into the night sky, slamming his hands against the wall. He grabs the nearby vase, smashing it against the floor and scattering water, petals, and glass across the floor. The impact causes a few shards to imbed themselves into his shin, but he does not mind them, for he does not feel them.

He breathes heavily, gritting his teeth in unspeakable rage. He’s angry, so furious. This red hot searing rage builds up in his body until he starts to feel dizzy, his vision blurred with tinges of black. Why is he mad? Who is he mad at?

Is he mad at Jungkook? Yes, but that isn’t new. He’s been angry at Jungkook for a while now. It frustrates him to no end how lucky Jungkook is without even knowing. How easily love comes to him, how pain and misfortune had never been in his vocabulary until just recently. Jungkook had you, Yoongi, and Jimin for longer than he has. Jungkook has been swaddled in affection since the start but has always been too stupid to see. If he had just stopped being so cowardly, he could have easily gotten the person he loves without anyone’s help.

If he just learned to ask, if he just learned to stop fucking locking his goddamn door—

Just like Taehyung.

They are two sides of the same coin, and it scares him.

This raw, unadulterated rage is not about Jungkook, but himself. It was always about him.

He lets out one last defiant shout at the frigid sky before dropping to his bed in defeat. The fury subsides as quickly as it comes, but it only leaves a desolate landscape inside of him.

He does not know for how long he lies there. When he stands, he leaves bloody footprints in his wake. “Appropriate,” he mutters to himself. He limps over to his door, hobbling to the adjacent bathroom to retrieve a first-aid kit. When he opens the door, Taehyung does not notice the small white box placed in front of his doorway. He nearly trips over it, saving himself by latching onto the wooden frame. He glances down, picking up the box gingerly when he sees a small sticky note tacked on top of it.

If you need help, just knock.

Taehyung looks across the hall. The door is still closed, but the person behind it is not.

His grip on the first-aid kit tightens. The first step is always the hardest.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 1:03 PM

When you had run the moment you spotted Jungkook, Jung Hoseok had chosen to stay behind. He had pushed Jungkook to go after you, had yelled at him when Jungkook had hesitated for that one split second.

“Go!” he shouted, jolting Jungkook to his senses. He sprinted off, but not before giving Hoseok one last look back. Hoseok put on his bravest smile at him, throwing a thumbs up. “Don’t give up yet!”

Even now, ten minutes later, his throat still feels scratchy from how loud he had been.

He sits by the curb where he had parked his parents’ car. Namjoon sits beside him, a few inches apart. The autumn wind sends chills down his back, the afternoon sun doing its best to keep him warm. Though, he reckons that half the cold is because of the weather.

Hoseok clears his throat at the same moment Namjoon does. They share a glance, the beginnings of a smile playing on their lips. They look back to the ground, avoiding each other once more. Hoseok taps indiscernible beats with his feet while Namjoon draws shapes in the air with his fingers.

Hoseok tries again. “Umm. Namjoon,” he mumbles tentatively. He doesn’t know where to start.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, you know. I’ve known you since before you even learned how to walk.” Namjoon beats him to it, like always. “I can guess what you want to say.”

Hoseok hazards a glance at him. His friend is tanner than he remembers, the summer months having done well on his skin. He almost giggles when he notices the line where the edge of his shirt sleeve meets his bicep, the stark contrast of color evident whenever Namjoon moves his arm. It has been a while since he has seen Namjoon with a tan line, as Hoseok was usually there to remind him to put sunscreen on before leaving the house.

Usually.

Hoseok sobers up, the momentary amusement evaporating just like that. How is it that in only one month, so many things have changed between them?

“What do you think I want to say?” Hoseok responds. He tries to keep his voice level and cool, but he knows that Namjoon notices the small ways in which he falters. Namjoon knows how he rubs his neck when he’s nervous, how his ears get red when he’s embarrassed. He memorizes the exact time it takes for Hoseok’s mouth to downturn, forming into his signature pout.

He knows all these things and more. And yet, how could Namjoon possibly know the traitorous things that he has done?

“I think… you got sidetracked,” Namjoon says slowly, carefully. When Hoseok glances at him again, he finds that Namjoon is looking back. He has a contemplative expression on his face, his jaw clenched in the same way that it does when he’s solving a tough problem. “I think you wanted to help me get together with her, didn’t you? At least, in the beginning.”

“I still do,” Hoseok admits, breaking his gaze once more. He stares up ahead, where the park is bustling with children and their families. He watches a small boy swinging on a swing set, while another boy pushes him higher and higher. “Do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“When you texted me while you were freaking out over how you were falling in love with her?”

Namjoon huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Of course. How could I forget? I’m still freaking out about it now.”

“I was just… worried about you, you know? I’m always worried about you,” Hoseok says. The boy on the swing set is still going, but one extra strong push from his friend causes him to tumble, landing face-first into the ground. The nearby adults begin to panic, but the boy rises unsteadily, dirt caked onto his scratched up face. But when he faces his friend, he’s smiling and laughing like he has just won the lottery.

“Not an unfounded concern,” Namjoon chuckles, causing Hoseok to put on a small smile. His laughter dies as quickly as it comes. “Was that the time you decided to help me?”

“I’ve wanted to help you since the beginning, but that was the first time I actually did something about it.” Hoseok’s heart is beating a mile a minute, his palms sweaty despite the chilly weather. “I only wanted to find out if Jungkook really liked her or not. I wanted to know if you had a chance before you fell any deeper because I didn't want you to get hurt.”

When Namjoon doesn’t say anything, Hoseok continues. “Even when he admitted that he did love her, I could sense that there was a huge chance things weren’t going to work between them as long as if some things were just… pushed in the right direction.” His voice grows smaller the more and more he speaks, the guilt feeling heavy against his windpipe. But Hoseok is determined to tell him, no matter what happens. It’s the least that Namjoon deserves.

“I suppose, in this case, it would be the wrong direction,” Namjoon hums, but he doesn’t appear angry or upset. Not yet, at least. From the corner of Hoseok’s eye, he sees him nod for him to go on.

“Yeah. I could tell he was insecure, and that insecurity was prone to growing into jealousy,” Hoseok runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots just to give his hands something to do other than to quiver. “I noticed that he shuts down whenever he’s cornered, so that’s what I did. I kept pushing him, forcing him to admit his wrongdoings but never berating him for them. So, in turn, he began relying on me for comfort instead of his friends.”

He keeps going, “I didn’t feel bad for it at first. I kept telling myself, ‘It’s all for Namjoon in the long run.’ But it didn’t take long for me to realize that I couldn’t keep helping you without hurting Jungkook in the process. I was manipulating this poor boy, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late.”

Hoseok waits for Namjoon to react. He can’t bear to look at him, far too ashamed even to consider turning. He’s sure he’ll find disgust in his kind friend’s eyes, and he isn’t sure if he’d be able to stop himself from running if he saw it. But Namjoon refuses to speak, probably not until Hoseok finishes his piece.

“Jungkook didn’t deserve what I did to him. All the things he did is nothing in comparison to the punishment I inflicted on him, especially when it was never my place to do so. I fed the monster inside of him when he was nothing but a boy who was just scared. Then, just when he still had a shot at redemption, when she was still willing to listen to him, it was also me who ruined everything. I told her about all the bad things he had done. I told her about—”

“The thing about Jungkook paying to spread that rumor,” Namjoon speaks so suddenly that Hoseok nearly chokes in surprise. He had been so quiet that he scarcely even seemed to breathe. “You told her about it, didn’t you?”

“I… Yes, I did. She told you about it?”

“Yeah. She never informed me who told her, but I suppose it makes sense. But there was something else you said, wasn’t there? Something even she wouldn’t tell me.”

Hoseok nods his head sadly. “Yes. I think she was probably more hurt to find out that Jungkook had been ignoring her in favor of hanging out with me. Indirectly, I fed into her jealousy, but instead of comforting her, I intensified her guilt.”

Beside him, Namjoon releases a shaky breath. “You brought me up.”

“Yes.” There’s no use denying it; after all, Hoseok has always been a terrible liar.

“Did you tell her..?” The question hangs heavily in the air, but Namjoon doesn’t have to finish it for Hoseok to understand.

“No, I didn’t tell her you love her. I just mentioned how she was hurting you by loving Jungkook. That’s all. I don’t think she even had the chance to understand what I meant.”

There’s a moment of silence. The two boys sit side by side, looking to all the world like friends just enjoying an autumn afternoon together. The sounds of children singing, of parents chatting, of lovers laughing try their best to fill the space, but the gap is already too big to mend. At least, not immediately.

“Okay.”

Hoseok startles once more, this time managing to gather enough courage to take a peek at Namjoon. He keeps his eyes low, staring at the mole on his chin. “Okay?” he repeats.

Namjoon shrugs half-heartedly. “It’s done. All we can do now is wait, I guess.”

“But… you’re not..?”

“Mad at you? No, I’m not. Am I hurt? Incredibly so.” Namjoon swallows thickly, his chin wobbling as he finds the strength to keep his tears at bay. “But I can tell you found your way back to the light, and I’m more relieved that you realized your mistake more than anything. I forgive you, but just know that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.”

“That’s already more than I deserve, Joon,” he says shakily. He feels a hand snake around his own, and he looks down to find their fingers laced together. On Namjoon’s wrist, the bracelet he had made for him in the 7th grade is frayed and mangled, but still ever-present. “But… what now? If they truly end up fixing everything, will you be okay with it? If Jungkook is still fighting for her… why aren’t you?”

“Same goes for you, I suppose,” Namjoon says simply. He doesn’t explain what he means by that, but Hoseok is honestly too afraid to ask. He’s always felt like Namjoon knew a little bit too much about things that he shouldn’t. He smiles, but there is a tinge of melancholy there.

Just out of reach, the way Namjoon has always seemed to be.

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 5:12 PM

At first, Jeon Jungkook is surprised to find the park more empty than when he was here a few hours ago. He supposes it is only to be expected, as dinner time is fast approaching and all the families have returned to their homes, preparing for the festivities. In another life, he might have been one of those families, sitting around a table with his brother and parents and eating to his heart’s content. Perhaps he might’ve asked you to join him, just like you had in the past.

He finds you seated on one of the benches near the entrance, kicking away fallen leaves absentmindedly. He takes this moment to observe you from afar, his breath getting caught in his throat when he realizes how long it has been since he last saw you.

His heart aches, the constant heaviness that has made a home in his chest growing tenfold. There are no words to explain the plethora of emotions flying through his head, but all he knows is that at the root of it all, he simply just misses you.

You hear him approach him before you see him. When he looks at you, Jungkook doesn’t know how you’re feeling. He used to be so good at anticipating your mood, always the first one to sense when you were upset or annoyed. Now, you just looked… blank, and for some reason, that hurts to see more than if you had been angry.

Jungkook stops right in front of you, his black boots crunching on dead leaves. You motion for him to take a seat beside you, patting the bench lightly.

“Hi. It’s been a while,” you say softly. You aren’t looking at him, and your hair obstructs him from viewing your face.

“Hello,” he replies, feeling dumb. He can’t think of anything better to say, all the things he had prepared in his mind suddenly blown away with the wind. The sight of you alone makes his mouth go dry, his hands to grow cold and clammy. He realizes, not for the first time, how terribly out of his depth he is.

“This has certainly been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

“It has been,” he agrees. “It’s almost laughable how long it’s taken us to get to this moment.”

You bark out a laugh, the hoarse sound ringing in the air. “Laughable is certainly one way to put it, I guess.”

“Then why did you ignore me for so long? Why did you suddenly shut me out when you told me you wanted to talk? What happened?” He speaks without meaning to, the words flying out of his mouth before he can think of stopping. If his sudden inquiry startles you, you don’t show it.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You shrug, pushing back some of your hair behind your ear. He can see the slope of your nose, the outline of your lips, the shape of your eyes. He memorizes all these things about you, sees you in his dreams and nightmares, but nothing can ever beat real life.

“I’m sorry.” It’s a start: two words heavy with meaning. What does he apologize for first? The rumors? The jealousy? The betrayal? It wouldn’t matter which one he chooses to tackle first because he already knows sorry isn’t going to cut it, but he has to try at least. This isn’t really about him anymore or about asking for forgiveness. You deserve to know everything he’s done—if you wanted to know, that is.

You blink rapidly, but your eyes are dry. “I know.”

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to trust me.”

“I don’t,” you say, and it hurts the both of you when you do. Jungkook feels his insides clench, feels his heart collapse in his chest. “I don’t trust you, Jungkook,” you repeat.

“I…” Jungkook has to take a few shuddering breaths, his vision going blurry as he tries to keep it together. He waits for the pain to ebb, but it flows like a river down his veins. “I hurt you a lot. It’s only right that you don’t trust me.”

“I have a lot of regrets,” you say, sniffling. You still aren’t crying, but your nose is red from the cold. He wonders how long you had sat here waiting for him to arrive. How long have you been waiting for him in general?

“I have a lot of those, too,” he says. “I regret being unfair to you. For keeping people away from getting close to you, like a property meant to be hidden away. I tried to steal you for myself, but that’s not a very good thought, is it? I shouldn’t have thought that you were a thing to be kept. You should have been someone I treasured.”

“Then why didn’t you treasure me?” The question echoes loudly in Jungkook’s ears, as it’s the very same question that has weighed in his mind the moment he started to wonder where he’d gone wrong. Why hadn’t he loved you the way that he should have?

“Because I abused your love for me, even when I wasn’t aware of it,” he says plainly. He has known the answer for a while now but refused to accept it until this moment. It feels like a cork inside of him has burst, releasing all the foul, wretched things inside of him and out into the open. And once they start tumbling out, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop.

“I think we both knew we loved each other for as long as we can remember. We skirted around each other because we were scared of change, of losing the friendship we had built over the years. We purposefully ignored each other’s feelings and brushed off our friends’ attempts to help us realize something we already knew.”

“We did,” you say. “That was both our faults.”

“But I was never good at bottling up my feelings. It was only a matter of time before the love I had for you began to grow claws and fangs, and somehow along the way,” he pauses, a breath of sorrowful laughter escaping him, “I had gotten lost.”

Your expression morphs then, shifting from pain, to grief, to acceptance. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your eyes look glazed over, like your mind is somewhere else. When you come back down, you already have another question for him. “Why didn’t you ever ask me out?”

He should just say something else, but he can’t help but wonder—”Why didn’t you?”

“I tried—a couple of times. You never noticed they were dates,” you shrug. A leaf from one of the nearby trees gets caught in your hair, and Jungkook reflexively plucks it out. You both freeze when his fingers graze your nape, gazes locking with one another. He jerks his hand back, but doesn’t look away—doesn’t dare to.

(It might be his last chance.)

“I’m sorry for being dense. For resorting to buying rumors so that I could pretend to date you when I could have asked for the real thing. I’m sorry for setting you up with… Namjoon,” he hesitates on his name, and you notice. “It must have confused you greatly, only worsening the doubt you must’ve had for me.”

“It did.” The corners of your eyes look wetter than before, tears dangerously close to the surface. “When I asked you if I should go to Ilsan the first time... You told me to go, even though everyone told me you were jealous of Namjoon. I was starting to believe them, hoping that maybe it was a sign that everything before then had just been a misunderstanding. But that was all you, wasn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me to stay?”

“It was a mistake,” he mutters. He shakes his head at the memory: a frequent recurring nightmare of his as he is forced to remember the moment everything had started to go downhill. “I had realized I was being a jealous asshole far too late, and I was trying to clear my own conscience. I thought that… if I let you go, then you’d think better of me. That I might be absolved of my sins if I took your trip as my penance. I didn’t think you were trying to see if I would stop you,” he explains, but it sounds like an excuse even to his ears.

You sit together, watching the sun begin to set, bathing the world in its orange hues. Jungkook feels empty, wrung out like a towel left to dry. The wounds inside him ache and throb, but he knows they won’t last. As surely as the sun will rise, he will also relearn to feel whole again—even if it means you won’t be there to see it.

“I waited for so long, Koo.” You shake your head, allowing a few traitorous tears to fall. You let out a watery laugh. “ I waited for this moment for so long, but I never imagined it would be like this.”

Jungkook studies his hands. He desperately wants to hold you one more time, but the ship has already sailed. “We’ve already sailed past each other a long time ago.”

You nod your head sadly. “We have.”

“Is it bad that I wish that we hadn’t?” he whispers, but he doesn’t really expect a response from you. He rubs his face, covertly trying to wipe his tears away. “I guess there’s a reason why you called me number two, huh?”

You can’t even force out a laugh. You sob unabashedly, cupping your face in your hands. This is the end.

This is the end of a great long adventure between you and him—the time for your roads to diverge closes in, like a shadow looming over their heads.

Jungkook wraps you in an embrace for the last time. You shake like a leaf in his arms, clutching at his chest like you don’t want to let go. He drinks you in, tries to commit everything about you to his memory. “Thank you for loving me, even if it didn’t work out. Thank you for being my first love.”

x x x x x

October 1, 2020 — 7:07 PM

Kim Namjoon opens the door to his childhood home the moment he hears footsteps climbing up the stairs. He’d done so numerous times already, spooking one or two of his neighbors at his sudden appearance. This time, however, he finds the person he had been waiting for.

“Oh, Y/N. Thank god,” he sighs in relief when he sees you, rushing out the door just as you finish taking the last stairstep. You wobble in surprise when you notice him, nearly falling over with a scream before he catches you by the waist to keep you steady. He pulls you close, pressing your face gently into his chest.

“I’m so sorry for everything. I’m so sorry for bringing you to Ilsan even though Yoongi told us not to go. I’m sorry for not telling you that I knew Jungkook and Hoseok were coming here, too. I’m so sorry for—”

“Namjoon,” you try to interrupt him, but he keeps going.

“—wanting you and Jungkook to reconcile even if you didn’t want you to leave me. You just looked so sad all the time, and I knew you needed to speak to him at least one more time so that you could find closure, but I should have asked you first like a decent person—”

“Namjoon,” you repeat. Namjoon pauses long enough to see that our eyes are red-rimmed from crying, further increasing the panic rising in his body.

“Oh god, I didn’t want you to be sadder! I just… God! I just wanted to help you for once, because you always helped me with everything. I know you deserve to make your own decisions, to be your own person, but I ignored that in favor of following my stupid gut—”

“Joonie, the neighbors can hear you,” you hiss, furtively glancing at the doors opening around them. You can feel many eyes on you, watching curiously at the red-faced idiot babbling like a man possessed. You motion for him to stop, but he’s too caught up in the moment.

“For a while, I thought I could stop myself from falling in love with you, but it was so hard! You have to understand how impossible it is not to love you. Believe me, I tried!” Namjoon all but shouts the last part out, shaking you by the shoulders. “I don’t deserve you! I’m just not a good boyfriend! I’m insecure to a fault, I’m boring, I have mild sleep apnea, I forget to throw out the empty milk cartons—”

You yelp as he continues to shake you, gently having to pry his hands off of you to save yourself from being shaken like a bobblehead. “Joonie,” you say, firmer this time.

He rambles and rambles and rambles. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, hands gesticulating wildly like a human helicopter. He’s so wrapped up in his monologue that he doesn’t realize immediately when you take his hands in yours, forcing him to keep still.

“Joonie.”

“—and I’ve never been able to hold a relationship for longer than two months! My past girlfriend even left me after cheating on me the entire time—”

“Joonie.”

“I’ve never been good at being vulnerable and being myself, but you somehow managed to make me feel like I was worth something. You made me feel so so so incredibly loved. You made me feel important!”

“Kim Namjoon!” You shout, finally losing your temper and flicking him on the forehead. That finally manages to stop him, his eyes going cross-eyed like a cartoon character. You could almost see the flying stars orbiting his head. Properly silenced now, you push him back into his apartment, kicking the door with your foot before locking it for good measure.

When you turn back to face him, he’s still frozen where you left him. He stands in the middle of his living room like a robot, his mouth slightly agape as if his wires had been fried. Rolling your eyes goodnaturedly, you pull him to the couch, gently guiding him so that he doesn’t accidentally fall on his ass as he continues to short circuit in front of you. It takes him another whole minute to get his bearings together, but you’re a patient person. You sit in the adjacent armchair and wait for him to speak.

“Oh my god.” He swallows awkwardly, the color draining from his face. “What the hell did I do?”

“Welcome back to earth,” you smile, waving a hand in front of him. “Did you miss me?”

“I always miss you.” It seems as though Namjoon’s weird candor spell is still in effect. He has the presence of mind to be embarrassed this time, however, and you watch amusedly as his cheeks begin to redden. “I, umm…”

“Gave quite a show out there. I didn’t know you could rap,” you tease, your mouth curling up into a smile. The muscles in your cheeks feel sore, almost as if it has been ages since you last used them. This morning feels like it had happened eons ago.

“Sorry. I just… had a lot to say,” he replies lamely. He hangs his head, embarrassed to look you in the eye. “So… I’m guessing you spoke to Jungkook?”

He hears you hum in agreement, but you don’t say anything on the matter. Namjoon has never been one to pry, but his overactive brain can’t help but make connections out of nothing, trying to make sense of the world in desperation.

“I’m guessing you’re here to reject me, right? I’m sorry for confessing to you all of a sudden when you’re already spoken for. It was unfair of me, and you don’t need to try and spare my feelings at all. I’ve been prepared for this since August,” he speaks rapidly, nearly losing his breath in his haste. “It was my fault for thinking we could have happened. I mistook your kindness for reciprocation when I should have known better—”

“Joonie, my love. You’re rambling again.” Your voice snaps him back to reality. He turns redder somehow, sinking deep into his seat.

“S-sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you huff, pouting in annoyance, but Namjoon catches the fondness in your eyes. “You aren’t unfair at all.”

“E-even so,” he stutters, heart hammering in his chest. “I shouldn’t have expected anything to happen between us. We were only going to fake date until the end of Chuseok, so it was foolish of me to try and… replace Jungkook, somehow. But I suppose, in the grand scheme of things… he’s a tough act to follow up to, huh? Seven years of loving someone is a long time. I don’t hold a candle to that,” he says dejectedly.

“But you do.” The words slip out before you can stop them. Your eyes widen, shocked by your own admission. Even so, you know what you said is true, and you wouldn’t take it back even if you could.

For a moment, you think he doesn’t hear it when he doesn’t react. It takes a second for his brain to buffer, but Namjoon had heard you, loud and clear.

“What do you mean?” His tone is soft, hesitant. Afraid, but hopeful.

You shrug your shoulders. You want to tell him everything, but you are impossibly tired, your eyelids like sandbags just waiting to fall. Namjoon must have noticed because he stumbles out of his seat with his arms outstretched, ready to keep you from slumping over.

“Woah, there. I’m sorry for interrogating when you must be exhausted. Do you want to take my bed instead of the couch tonight?” he asks, kneeling in front of you.

You blink sleepily at him, nodding with a large yawn. “I wanna talk to you but I’m tired,” you say, before promptly toppling onto him. He doesn’t flinch at your weight, catching you in an instant. He lets you nestle your face into his neck, and he grabs your arms until they’re laced around his shoulders. Slowly, he gets up with you in his arms, a feeling of weightlessness filling your senses. Safe.

When he tucks you into his bed, the sheets smell familiar and homey. Namjoon sits by the edge, brushing a few strands of hair away from your forehead. “Namjoon?” Your voice sounds muted to your own ears, as if you were underwater. But you don’t feel like you’re drowning, not at all.

“Yes?” He watches you with kind eyes, the same ones he has always had. To you, he looks like a prayer come to life, a promise ready to be fulfilled.

“You’ll be here? When I wake up?”

Namjoon exhales out a laugh, smiling sweetly. I love your dimples, you want to say, but your body feels heavy. Tomorrow. You’ll tell him for sure.

“Yes, Y/N. I’ll always be here. For as long as you want.”

You close your eyes. Tomorrow.

It’s a promise.

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