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p-antomime · 4 years ago

Text

just so fine.

— minors don’t interact

— wc: 4,7K

content + warnings: 18+, including: dilf!toji, manhandle, spitting, daddy kink, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, a bit of school girl!reader maybe, breeding kink, overstimulation, squirting, degradation, age gap, a bit of size kink, thigh riding

pairings: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

— note: this is a bit inspired by: Love Without Tragedy by Rihanna. — jjk masterlist.

Red lipstick and a broken heart trying to be concerted by the petals of your conscience and your friends who said that "he didn't deserve you anyway". And honestly, you didn't know where exactly you were getting the strength from to get out of bed that Monday and go take a shower before heading painfully to your first class in the morning.

He used to be the boy you loved with every cell of your body and soul, he stole the best years of your freshman life at the university, and now you were a senior who had neither the animation nor the patience to welcome the incoming freshmen that year. Despite having Kugisaki and Megumi fervently cheering you on while Itadori was too busy still dealing with the problem of sending documents to the college, your heart was still fatally wounded and your dignity no longer existed as your tears had wiped it off the face of the earth during that morning shower and you couldn't help but be tempted to put on makeup good enough to mask your dark circles under your eyes and downcast face.

"Are you coming today?", Nobara asked excitedly on the other end of the line as you were already leaving the house and taking the long way to college.

— Do I have the option of not going?

"No, of course not.", Nobara replied with a slight laugh that was well intended to cheer you up a bit, "We can have a movie night tonight, to cheer you up."

— At whose house? At mine that won't be, it's a mess. — You grumbled.

"At Megumi's or Itadori's, of course. During lunch I'll buy soda and food with Yuuji and you convince Megumi to let us break into his house today.”

— Why do I have to convince Megumi? You came up with the idea.

"Because I'll be busy, simple. And Fushiguro doesn't take me seriously.", and then you sighed heavily, already noticing that you were less than a block away from entering the college grounds.

— Okay, I see what I can do.

Kugisaki told you that she was waiting for you in the classroom, and you replied that you were already there. And then something distinctive caught your attention. It was strangely easy to spot something different in the landscape of the university entrance because usually it was always the same: university students rushing to settle personal matters or to classes they are late for, or also students who came to see what the college was like before the university application period.

But today was different. There was a tall man fully dressed in black and gray leaning against a motorcycle that looked as if it had been taken from an action movie because it was so well equipped and large. He looked relaxed, and yet he still possessed an aura that could kill you with a single punch. Attractive and devilishly dangerous with that leather jacket highlighting his strong arms and broad shoulders. Forcing your eyes a little, you could notice a scar close to one of the corners of his lips.

— What's the matter, little girl? — His deep voice reaches your ears, but your mind whispers to you that he probably wasn't talking to you at the same time that your heart starts to beat out of control and your head turns from side to side trying to check if there is someone behind you. — Yeah, I'm talking to you. — He smiled sideways.

— Uh... hmm... none, sorry. — Your cheeks started to heat up and you wanted to punch yourself in the stomach because usually a simple man couldn't disconcert you like that, and then your eyes fell on his collarbones, well marked by the black shirt he wore under his jacket, and your mouth suddenly felt too dry.

— What exactly are you apologizing for? — The man asked as he placed one of the helmets on the motorcycle seat, if there were two helmets maybe he brought some college girl? — For eating me with your eyes or staring at me? — And then you choked on your saliva and coughed desperately for air trying not to drop the folders in your hands and he seemed amused by your reaction.

— I-I... — Your fingers squeezed the folders and you had to look away to think straight. — I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I didn't mean to.

— I am not, it's great to be lusted after by younger girls. — He replied, but before he had a chance to continue his onslaught someone approached from the diagonal.

— Dad! — And then you choked again seeing that the one who was referring to the man in front of you as "dad" was Megumi. — Oh, Y/N? — He looked confused looking from you to his own father. — Anyway, they didn't have what you wanted at the pharmacy, next time you'll buy it yourself. — The young Fushiguro spoke to the older man, but seconds later, noticing the mortifying silence that settled over the place as you stared at his father, he spoke up: — And we are almost late already, let’s go, Y/N. — Megumi took one of your arms and started to guide you away from the motorcycle and closer to the interior of the college.

— You never told me you were interested in girls. — His father shouted more to embarrass his son than you, but the effect was the opposite, since you were the one with the burning cheeks.

— Shut up, Toji. — Megumi shouted back as he continued walking. — Did he say shit to you? — He asked you when the two of you were already walking down the halls to your classroom for the first class of the morning.

— Not really, no. He seems... fine. — You tried to talk as if you didn't have dirty thoughts running through your mind especially after remembering the older man's collarbones and scar, and still Megumi gave you an accusing look.

— Don't try to fuck my father, that's disgusting. - Your eyes widened.

— I wasn't thinking that, you idiot. — And then Megumi let out a loud laugh.

— I know, I was just trying to amuse you. — He shrugged and left you standing in front of the door. — See you at lunch?

— Yes, of course. — You answered, and then suddenly remembered Nobara's request on the phone earlier. Your hand held one of his arms so that he wouldn't walk away without listening to you. — Megumi, can we have a movie night at your place tonight? Nobara came up with the idea of doing this to cheer me up a bit. — He seemed to become suddenly tense.

— I'll have to at least let Toji know that there will be people coming home today. — Megumi answered vaguely and shrugged. — I'll send a message to Kugisaki and let her know if it's on or off.

Nodding your head positively, you gave your friend a slight smile, and then for the rest of the day your mind concentrated on paying attention to your classes, your scheduled seminars and the pile of work you still had to do. There was no time for your heart to pound with grief over the loss of your now ex-boyfriend, but there were several minutes when you had to chase away persistent thoughts of Megumi's dad. But looking at him wasn't enough, your hands wanted to explore his body and leave marks everywhere, that's what you thought until you felt ashamed, pushed the thoughts away for a few brief minutes and then thought about it again. In a vicious loop.

When you were having lunch with Itadori, Fushiguro and Kugisaki, your head tried to focus on their conversation as much as possible, but looking at the man with black hair and beautiful eyelashes reminded you of Toji and your hands started to break into a cold sweat. It had been a frustrating, tiring day, but secretly you were a little excited to see your friend's father again.

— Don't take too long, okay? — Nobara spoke after dropping you off and leaning against the hallway wall, and you nodded positively before going to your room to pack a backpack with some pajamas and an outfit in case you and the other two friends ended up falling asleep while you were at Megumi's house.

It didn't take long before you two were ringing the doorbell of the Fushiguro’s house and from the loud sound from inside the house you both could tell Yuuji had already arrived. Suddenly, Y/N felt nervous not knowing who would answer the door. Would it be Toji? "Damn", you thought as you saw exactly him calmly opening the door. This time he wasn't wearing very dark clothes, it was just gray sweatpants and a white v-neck shirt that still highlighted his beautiful collarbones.

— Is that them? — Itadori shouted from another room in the house.

— Yes. — Megumi, who was looking at the two girls standing in the doorway over Toji's shoulder, answered. — You may come in.

Toji moved to the side letting you two into the house and, using the personal excuse of being embarrassed, Y/N walked in with her head down. And partly, in fact, it was true that you were embarrassed, but your mind knew that your eyes wanted to take a good look at the older Fushiguro's thighs and cock. It was impossible not to look at those parts of his body, especially with that kind of pants.

But then Toji gave himself the right to go up the stairs to the upper floor of the house and out of your field of vision when Megumi asked you and Nobara which movie you wanted to watch and she answered that a drama movie. And then the four of you started to watch the movie comfortably, until you started to feel the straps of your own bra start to press painfully against the skin of your shoulders.

— Can I go to the bathroom? — Y/N asked Megumi, who pointed to the steps of the staircase diagonally across from the sofa.

— First door on the left. — You nodded and walked up the stairs carrying your backpack, intending to get rid of your bra and also put on the comfortable pajama top that had been brought.

From the hallway you could hear the low sound of another TV escaping through the gap in a tall door. It was probably Toji's room, such a thought raced through your mind, and you shrugged as you entered the bathroom, leaned against the door, and began to remove your bra and change into your shirt. It was inevitable to sigh in relief as you felt your shoulders less tense and sore and your hands groped your breasts just for the personal pleasure of feeling them free now.

— Hmm, may I come in? — A muffled voice was heard behind the door and instinctively you quickly removed your hands from your breasts.

— Just a minute. — Y/N answered, shoving the previously worn blouse into her backpack and almost running toward the door, slowly opening it.

You looked forward and found yourself facing a bare hard chest as you waited to see a long hallway with four different doors. Toji was now shirtless in front of you and your cheeks burned a little, which got a little worse when your brain short-circuited, your hand rested two fingers against the warm, somewhat soft skin of his chest, and you pulled away slightly so that you could look him in the eye.

— I'm sorry. — Your hand finished opening the door and there was again a sideways smile on Toji's lips

— Are you going to sleep here? — He asked, sliding his gaze over her shoulders, breasts and abdomen freely, without any embarrassment.

— No, actually. I just changed my shirt to be more comfortable.

— Got it. — Toji looked you straight in the eyes again, but yours were already gliding across his face until you found the scar close to his lips.

— How did you get this scar? — You felt the need to prolong the conversation just to get a better record of his face.

— You're pretty curious for someone apparently shy. — He remarked, his eyes sparkling with a gleam that you couldn't quite identify what it was. — When I was younger, we could say I wasn't the friendliest person in the whole world, so I got into a few fights. — Toji shrugged, as if this was not relevant information

How old are you? — A mischievous smile slowly drew on his lips.

— Old enough to be your dad.

"Then maybe I can call you Daddy", was the first thing you thought, but there wasn't enough courage in you to flirt shamelessly, especially with Megumi or the other two able to eavesdrop from downstairs.

— I think I've been here with you long enough. — Y/N answered, putting the backpack on her back and walking past Toji, but just as her feet were about to start down the steps, the older Fushiguro called her out.

— I think you forgot something, little girl. — You turned back in confusion, and in his hands was your bra. Toji threw the piece of clothing toward you through the air without much force to fall gently onto your palms that had opened toward him. — The next time you forget something like that inside my house, I'll keep it for myself. — You frowned, assuming that he was implying that there was possibly something between you and his son.

— Me and Megumi, we don't... — Your shoulders shook without your mouth finishing the sentence.

— I wasn't talking about him exactly, you're very naive, not that that's a problem for me. — He went into the bathroom and eventually you were alone again.

Feeling more embarrassed than the first time you had seen Toji earlier at the university entrance, you joined your friends again in the middle of the movie and were grateful that none of them had bothered to ask if anything had happened in the bathroom because of your delay. Eventually Nobara fell asleep on your shoulder after eating two pieces of the pizza Megumi had asked his father to buy, and Yuuji began to yawn almost pushing the son of the owner of the house off the couch.

— I knew they would both end up sleeping. — Megumi grumbled, pushing Itadori aside and getting up from the sofa. — There are two guest bedrooms upstairs, you and Nobara can use both of them and Yuuji sleeps with me, or one of you can sleep with me and the other and Itadori in the other bedrooms.

— I think it's better that Yuuji better sleep with you. — Y/N replied looking at Kugisaki, who was starting to fall off her shoulder.

And then Fushiguro woke the almost sleeping Itadori to go upstairs while he carried Nobara up the stairs and you accompanied him carrying both your and your friend's backpack. After tidying Kugisaki up in bed and getting Yuuji changed, Megumi spoke to you before leaving you alone in the guest room:

— If you feel hungry, you can go in the kitchen and get something to eat during the night. And, well, you already know where the bathroom is, and so does my room. If anything happens during the night, you can call me or him. — Megumi pointed to the door of Toji's bedroom, and you nodded positively.

And then you laid lazily on the slightly uncomfortable bed in the room and tried to relax. Almost, almost, sleep caught up with you, but your evil brain began to make you think about the fact that Toji was only a few miserable doors away, and the anxiety began to corrupt you rapidly, like a corrosive acid. But even though you wanted to go knock on his door, you forced yourself to sleep, especially since the day had been exhausting.

The next day, just like the rest of the week, Y/N didn't get to see Megumi's dad, and he didn't make much of a point of talking about his father either, after all, why would his friends be interested in him, right? All the other days of the week, her mind focused more on trying not to think about her ex-boyfriend and also not to think about Toji, just college business.... And then came the next Thursday of the successive week.

And there was Toji Fushiguro, leaning against his big motorcycle, but this time with only one helmet and different clothes. Honestly? You didn't know if you should go talk to him or not, if you should just walk right by or not. But, in the end, your mind tricked you into choosing the second option, and your feet awkwardly made their way to the college with your eyes struggling not to check the man's reactions.

— Can I have your number, little girl? — Toji asked in a tone loud enough for you to hear.

— What? — You looked away, wringing your hands nervously.

— I asked if I could have your number. — One of his hands swung his cell phone toward you.

The first thought that crossed your mind was, "What if someone sees us together and tells Megumi?", but honestly, Megumi probably wouldn't be interested in your sex or love life, even if it was with his father.

— Maybe, if you take me for a motorcycle ride today.

— You're wearing a skirt, are you sure you'd want to do that? — Toji suppressed a playful laugh. — You could have a ride somewhere more comfortable than my motorcycle today.

You narrowed your eyes and bit the inside of your cheek, realizing that you were entering dangerous territory in a game of seduction that Toji knew and played better than you.

— Will Megumi be at home?

— He has an internship today. — Toji replied, drumming his fingers on his helmet.

— Wait for me after four o'clock then. — You replied and walked back toward the college as you felt his eyes fixed on your ass.

Throughout the day you felt uncomfortably nervous and Nobara even asked you if everything was okay several times at different times. The only answer your mind formulated was a simple positive head movement, because honestly you felt embarrassed to be interested in a friend's dod, even though this father was extremely attractive and did not reject your shy and restrained advances. He was just so nice, fine.

Fine enough to make you press your thighs together to try to relieve the sexual tension as your legs walked towards the Fushiguro house. And when you got there, it didn't take long to see Toji opening the door wearing only black sweatpants. You went inside and closed the door, nervously watching the older man, who sat comfortably on the sofa in the living room and called out to you with his index finger. As you stopped in front of him, one hand patted his lap and the other was placed on your thigh covered by your skirt. Slowly, Y/N took her seat sitting on his covered cock.

— Why do you look so tense, hm? — Toji asked, squeezing your thigh without too much force and you moved slightly against his hip. — Are you a virgin by any chance? — Your cheeks heated up.

— N-No, you just make me nervous. — Y/N replied, shrugging slightly.

— Do I? — He pretended to be surprised as he slid his hand up her skirt and pushed his fingertips against her covered pussy. — Do I make you get your panties wet too? — Toji pressed his hips against hers and her hands rested on his shoulders for a few brief seconds.

— Fuck, yes. — You groaned, taking your fingers to the buttons of your shirt to undo them. — I've been thinking about you more than I should, I've been thinking about everything about you.

— So, why don't you show me how much you've been thinking about me, huh? — Fushiguro pulled her panties aside and stroked her pussy in slow circular motions while he brought his other hand to her face and pulled her closer to his. — Show me how much you want me and cum on my fingers like the dirty slut I know you can be. — His thumb slowly brushed over your lips and you opened them, your mouth filled by long fingers.

You grabbed his wrist close to your intimacy and guided two of his digits into your interior. And, fuck, they filled you so well. Toji's fingers were thicker and longer than yours, so the times he repeatedly curved them inside your cunt, their tips easily brushed and pressed that spot that made you roll your eyes having your body spasm with pleasure. "What a beautiful vision", the man would be thinking as he watched his beautiful college girl choking on his fingers while being fucked by the others.

However, he didn't move his hand against you much, meaning that he let you choose the pace and intensity, until you whimpered against his neck in a silent request for his fingers to move against you:

— Please, Toji, move your fingers. — Y/N said as she pulled away from Toji's digits that were preventing her from speaking and forced her hips against his hand.

— Can't you cum on your own? — He asked squeezing your chin to make you keep your mouth open. — Pathetic. — Toji spat on your tongue and closed your mouth to force you to swallow. — Pathetic slut. — And then he began to finger you in a relentless rhythm.

If Fushiguro wanted to make you cum in his hand, that's exactly what he got, and he even got a great view of your trembling body, your breasts rising and falling rapidly because of your rapid breathing and your head falling back in an intense pleasure you didn't know your body could achieve. While you were still clouded by ecstasy, his fingers snuck up to finish removing your panties and getting rid of your clothes covering your upper body. He wanted you only in your skirt.

— Look at my pet slut with her beautiful cunt leaking. — His fingers spread the folds of your pussy to see you twitching around just at his obscene words. — Just so nice. — Toji pressed the thumb against your sensitive clit and gave you a smirk before he sat you down on one of his thighs, began to move you there and also slowly stimulated your clit.

His body leaned down and his lips latched onto your breasts, sucking and licking them more intensely as your hips moved faster against his thigh. And occasionally Fushiguro would pull up her skirt and slap her ass hard enough to leave several finger marks across her skin; and it was on one of his slaps that a short, gasping, "Daddy" sneaked out from between your lips and hit Toji's mind as a twinge of intense pleasure coursed through his entire body.

— Say that again. — He ordered, grabbing her neck with the hand that had been slapping her ass before.

— Daddy... — Y/N groaned breathlessly as she continued to move her hips against Toji's thigh in a desperate attempt to cum again.

— Keep calling me that, be a good little whore for me. — His other hand continued to stimulate your clit, now at a more intense pace that managed to push you straight into the abyss of a orgasmic pleasure that you so desperately needed.

After that, Fushiguro held you still in place as he continued to press his fingers against your clit. He definitely wanted to bring you close to the level of almost passing out from so much lust running freely through your body, and so your legs instinctively closed around his hand. At the same time that you desperately needed to breathe because you felt like your lungs were burning from your intense panting, every fiber of your body was still clamoring for the stimulation that only Toji could give you at the moment, so it wasn't hard for him to force your legs open again with a sly smile on his lips:

— Come on, my pretty girl, give me everything you've got. — He made scissor-like movements against her walls and her hips automatically forced themselves against Toji's palm, even though her intimacy was already quite sensitive.

— Daddy, please... please, more, daddy... — Y/N sank her face into the curve of Toji's neck trying to stifle her own moans.

— What a great fuck toy you are. — His fingers curved and you gasped, feeling again that same pressure as before against your bottom that indicated that your third orgasm was approaching. — No matter how much I make you cum you keep asking for more.

And the more he moved his fingers frantically against your pussy, the more you felt your thoughts disappear completely and all that was left was only Toji Fushiguro, and his fingers, and the cocky smile he had no matter what the situation was. Those same fingers that made you squirt for the first time against his abdomen in a third, overwhelming orgasm and your cheeks heat up violently, especially after seeing Toji bring them to his lips looking more than just satisfied with his work with you. Fuck, you could fuck him several times, you could pass out from pleasure, and you still wouldn't ask him to stop or slow down with you.

— Think you can handle one more, pretty girl? — He asked, his hands reaching for his pants and underwear.

— Yes, Daddy. — Y/N tried to speak as firmly as possible with her heavy breathing.

Toji put one hand on your waist and the other on your chin and took the opportunity to pull you in for a kiss as he entered you slowly, which made you lose some focus on the kiss and moan against his mouth as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders. He didn't let you get too used to the recent intrusion and started thrusting himself against you hard.

After leaving yours, his mouth slid down your neck and shoulders to leave sucking and biting the area before placing the hand that was on your chin on your neck. Eventually yours moans went from simple gasps and sighs to little "Daddy" that made Fushiguro's dick twitch against yours insides several times and grunts escape his lips.

— I will breed you like the desperate little whore that you are. — Toji stroked hard against you while squeezing your neck a little harder. — I bet you're going to love this, aren't you?

— Y-Yes, daddy, breed me, please. — Y/N moved her hips against his while maintaining eye contact with the older man's predatory eyes. — Fill me up completely, until I'm leaking.

Toji squeezed your waist tightly, tilted your body slightly until your hips arched a bit, and started a rhythm of thrusts against you that as a result made your mind go blank and your nails leave scratches on his shoulders. And your fourth orgasm didn't even take long to hit you almost as hard as the third because your whole body had been extremely sensitive for a long time; after fucking that man incessantly you would definitely be addicted to him, to his touch, to his dick, to his lips. Everything about him was addictive.

After making you cum for the fourth time, Fushiguro kept thrusting inside you until his cock forcefully contracted against you and filled you full of cum. By that point you had definitely become just a bunch of holes for him to fuck, and if your body wasn't already so sensitive you might want him to actually fill every possible place in your body with cum. When he withdrew his dick from inside your pussy, Toji pulled your hips up to watch the white liquid escape your entrance and used his fingers to push it into you again.

— Come here. — He patted his chest lightly, and you leaned your sweaty body against his as you lifted your head to look at him. His hands caressed your body and soon you found yourself being carried up the stairs. — I'm going to give you a long shower, and then I'll take you home. — Toji left a gentle kiss against your forehead, and you felt more comfortable than you really should have in his arms.

— Thank you, daddy. — You replied, and he couldn't suppress a satisfied smile.

And maybe from then on you continued to take advantage of the times when Megumi wasn't home or you weren't so busy with college to spend hours together.

#toji fushiguro #toji smut #jjk toji #toji x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen toji #i4nanami #daddy toji #toji supremacy #tw.daddy kink

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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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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Twelve Days of Christmas - Day Eleven

Prompt: Christmas Eve.

Pairing: Yandere!Atsumu/Reader & Yandere!Osamu/Reader (Haikyuu!!).

TW: Nonconsensual Body-Modification, Nonconsensual Touching, Imprisonment, Mentions of Bondage, Marking, and Possessive Mindsets.

“Hold still, baby.”

You weren’t sure why Atsumu bothered. Even if you’d been stupid enough to move, if you’d been naive enough to fight back, you couldn’t have, not with Osamu’s fist clamped around your wrists, Atsumu straddling your thighs, the two keeping you pinned to the bed regardless of all your writhing and squirming and pointless struggling. They didn’t have to, not really. There were a dozen pairs of handcuffs they could’ve used, a handful of coiled ropes, a few well-worn leashes, but tonight, your captors seemed to want to take a more hands-on approach. You couldn’t say you didn’t see why, but somehow, understanding did little to make the situation any more bearable.

You knew better than to misbehave, but you still jolted as the needle made contact with your skin, piercing the flesh just below your collarbone and withdrawing just as quickly, leaving little more than a bead of ink and a throbbing sting in its place. Atsumu hummed, splaying his free hand over your shoulder, but the sound was lost under the soft, constant buzz of machinery. You almost wished he’d talk, for a moment, that he’d break the near-silence just to cover up that awful, artificial noise, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be thankful when he actually did. Not when his tone was too smug for his empathy to be believable. “Wouldn’t want to mess this up, right? Tell ‘em, Osamu.”

You tried to glance down, to get a better look at what he was doing, but Osamu only caught you by the jaw, tilting your head back and forcing you to stare up at him while Atsumu worked. He’d explained that earlier, how they both wanted this to be a surprise, how you shouldn’t be able to see your gift until midnight and it was finally, finally finished. You had to wonder if they were drawing it out on purpose, with that in mind. You had to wonder if either of them really cared enough to try, or if the sadism just came naturally. “If you’re gonna, it’d be better if you could wait another minute or two,” Osamu started, as Atsumu cursed under his breath. “He’s doin’ mine, right now, and I know I’m your favorite. You can ruin Atsumu’s, if you want to.”

His playful lilt was obvious, accompanied by a lazy, careless smirk, but Atsumu still took a moment to glare, letting his needle plunge just a little too deep and leaving you jerking against Osamu, a stifled whimper forcing itself through your lips at the abrupt (albeit mild) pain. The sting seemed to get worse, too, turning from a jittery awareness to an incessant burn, but if Atsumu cared about the way you shrunk into yourself, he didn’t bother pausing, only hushing you as he worked on the next intricate, swirling line. “Your favorite’s distractin’ me,'' He grunted, choosing to ignore Osamu’s snicker. “Take it out on him if anything goes wrong. I don’t want to spend Christmas with a sulkin’ brat.”

“I don’t--” You tried to speak, only to be cut off by your own choked breath, the air hitching in your throat. Osamu clicked his tongue, drawing slow, deep circles into your cheek as a gesture he must’ve thought was comforting, but Atsumu didn’t seem affected. Or, he didn’t let your implied opposition get in his way, at least. “It’s starting to hurt--”

“Obviously,” Atsumu scoffed, pulling his needle away, the machine attached to it clicking off. You allowed yourself a sigh, but the relief was short lived, ending as soon as you felt him shifting backwards, a hand slipping under the waistline of your shorts. Your heart skipped a beat, dread forming a tight ball in your chest, but luckily, he only tugged at the fabric, edging it down just enough to uncover his next target. “But, I know my sweetheart can handle a little tattoo. Osamu fucks you up worse than this ever could whenever I leave the two of you alone.”

Your hipbone. You could feel it, Atsumu moving diagonally, just a little more eager than he was, before. Half-heartedly, you tried to thrash, aiming to buck him away or twist out of Osamu’s grip, but there wasn’t much you could do, not when all it took was a low growl on Osamu’s part to free you from that small bit of faith. He didn’t bare his teeth, but he didn’t have to, not when the threat was already familiar, not when you already knew what would happen if you ruined his brother’s fun. This wasn’t the worst option. This would stop hurting, eventually. You couldn’t say the same for all the scars he’d already left, the ones that seemed to smolder every time you got on his bad side. “We’re only gonna make you look a little prettier,” He mumbled, when you’d calmed down, as if that’d do anything to soothe your nerves. “Plus, we’ll never have to hear ‘stumu whine about it again. He might finally stop leavin’ all those ugly marks on ya.”

“Look at that jerk, pretendin’ he ain’t twice as bad.” Atsumu was laughing, again, but he didn’t let it disturb him. He’d gotten the hang of it now, moving quickly, daring to add an extra swirl, there, another loop, some embellishment that only worked to prolong the grueling process. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just as excited to have you all marked up as I am, and once I’m done, he’s not gonna be able to keep his hands to himself. You’re just gonna look that cute, when you’re all mine.”

“All ours,” Osamu corrected, squeezing your wrists absent-mindedly. He moved to go on, but he was interrupted by the chime of an alarm, too loud to be missed and too sudden not to catch all of you off-guard. Fishing his phone off the nightstand, Osamu waited for Atsumu to nod before he switched it off, Atsumu’s kit following shortly after. The buzzing died out, but Atsumu took a spare moment to lean down, pressing a fleeting kiss into the raw skin he’d just finished dying.

He didn’t pull away, as he spoke. “Show ‘em, ‘samu.”

You almost wished they hadn’t, that they’d kept it from you for just another hour, that they’d let you live in the hopeful delusion that it was anything but what you already knew it was. You didn’t have to search, not with Osamu’s hand still clamped around your chin, guiding you to the line of stark, bold text engraved in your collarbone, pitch back and just as eye-catching it’s twin at your hip. Just as unignorable. Just as terrible. Just as monstrous.

Osamu and Atsumu. One written across your collar, the other at your hip.

Their names, tattooed onto your skin. A display of ownership as permanent as it was sickening.

You felt light-headed. You felt like you were going to collapse. You might’ve, if Osamu hadn’t taken the opportunity to let go of your wrists and run his fingers over his name, salt poured into an open wound. A sob racked through your chest, tears beginning to blur your vision, but he only smiled. “Don’t be shy. Tell us what you think, angel.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an order, and there was only one right answer.

“It’s perfect.”

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passable-talent · 5 years ago

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hi! may i request an alta scenario with zuko where the reader (female or non-binary, if that works) is an earth bender who was injured by the fire nation and is found by iroh and zuko in the woods, who helps them heal, and they begin to travel with iroh and zuko to ba sing se and zuko and the reader fall in love? i’m not being super specific so u can have creative freedom to do what u want, i can’t wait to see what you write :) thank you!

cute!!! their adventures through the earth kingdom always entertained me. esp Iroh and his need for tea

Zuko was growing more and more frustrated with his uncle’s complaisance. He just couldn’t understand it- they were royalty! Both he and Iroh had been raised as heirs to the throne of the Fire Lord, so if their current situation bothered Zuko, why didn’t it bother his uncle?

He took up the mask of the blue spirit once again to begin alleviating these troubles. They were getting food, they were regaining some of their luxury. Frequent firebending patrols, especially around villages, made things harder, but that had never stopped Zuko before. He left at night, when Iroh was fast asleep, and was usually back by midnight. Nothing could stop him- not firebending patrols, not walls, nothing.

Except when the ground moved under him and he lost his footing in the middle of the woods. That stopped him. He paused, and tried to get up, but felt the ground roll underneath him again. For a moment he resigned himself to the dirt, watching the dirt floor of the forest roll with the stones underneath as waves, radiating from one spot.

Through the trees, he caught a glimpse of a small, pointed rock structure. He narrowed his eyes and crawled backwards to put distance between himself and it, and went back to the camp he’d left his uncle in.

“Uncle,” he said the next morning, “I think there’s something I want you to see.” Iroh nodded and allowed Zuko to lead him back to the spot in the forest where he’d fallen last night, and as soon as their footsteps approached, the ground began tremoring again. Zuko pointed to the rock structure, which now it was clear to see had been made by an earth bender. It was a tent-like shape, with two diagonal roof pieces and triangular sides sealed up, all with stone.

There were scorch marks covering the rock, and all the grass around it was scarred with fire.

“What do you think it is?” Zuko asked, and Iroh studied the ground a bit more before leveling his gaze toward the stones.

“I think it’s a very scared earth bender.”

“Hello in there!” He called, and the tremors in the earth stopped. “My name is Mushi, I’m a refugee from the war heading to Ba Sing Se with my nephew. Do you need any help?” For a moment only silence answered him, until one of the triangular sides of the rock tent slid back into the earth.

Inside the tent you were buried up to your neck in dirt, using the cool soil to soothe your burns. You’d received some fierce ones on your shoulder and ribcage after you dared fight back against a firebending patrol, and when you tried to escape the battle, they’d cornered you. Your tent had been an effort to escape the skirmish by waiting it out, and it had worked, after a while. But for hours you merely sat inside your stone tent while they blasted it with flames, heating it up and nearly cooking you, if it hadnt been for the cool soil you submerged yourself in. At the very least, it made your burns much worse. At the worst, you scorched your leg when the flesh brushed too close to the heated rock.

“Are there any firebenders around?” You asked, voice quiet, and not quite timid. Zuko and Iroh shared a look for a brief moment.

“No,” Iroh answered. “Can I come closer?” You nodded and took your arm over your chest, trying to keep any of your body from touching the burns that were all too warm. You sat up slowly from the soil, revealing burnt and tattered clothes barely covering your three major burns. Iroh’s eyes widened and he stepped closer.

“You need help for those burns,” Iroh said, “we’ve got a camp we can take you back to, and help. Can you stand?”

“No,” you said, “it’ll hurt too much.” Iroh looked over his shoulder at Zuko, who was standing in shock, looking at you.

He’d been burnt, and it had left a scar. But at least it was only the one- you’d been treated so cruelly, and if all of your burns scarred, it would cover near a third of your body. He couldn’t stop the adrenaline coursing through him. It would’ve been so painful, and he couldn’t comprehend who would’ve been so cruel enough to do to you what had been done.

“Can you carry them?” Iroh asked Zuko, and he swallowed hard to break himself from his stare. He nodded slightly, hesitantly, and Iroh looked back to you.

“Just take down your shelter, and we’ll help you.” You lifted your right arm, the one whose shoulder hadn’t been burnt, and used it for a quick motion that sent the stone back into the ground. Zuko walked closer, and was about to kneel down, but paused.

If he picked you up on your left side, it would press your burnt shoulder and ribs into him. But if he did so on your left, it was your leg burn that would get too warm.

“Which side do you want me to lift you on?” He asked, and you took a moment to consider.

“Left,” you said, and he nodded. It was somber, as he lifted you up underneath your knees and shoulders. Upon Iroh’s instruction your threaded your fingers together behind Zuko’s neck, and tried to keep your leg extended so that it wouldn’t brush against Zuko’s clothes.

“As I said, I’m Mushi,” Iroh said, trying to make conversation through your light, subconscious whimpering. “My nephew is Lee. What’s your name?” You gave him a small smile, to show that you appreciated his kindness, even as it was tinged by your pain. You couldn’t help it- it had been days of boiling, sweltering flesh that you couldn’t get a reprieve from.

“Y/N,” you told him, and his bright smile answered you.

“What a lovely name.”

Iroh found a plant or two in the wilderness that helped with the burn, and slowly you began to heal. You were kept awake, though, sometimes, and watched as Lee left with nothing and came back with something. You knew something fishy was going on, but you didn’t push it, because you didn’t feel it was your place.

“Are you awake, Y/N?” Zuko asked one night when he returned. You grunted and affirmation and he sat down in front of where you were laying.

“I got this for you,” he said, and handed you a small tin. When you opened it, you found within it an artisan burn suave, made in the nearby earth kingdom village by one or two of the wives of soldiers.

“Thank you,” you said, giving him a smile in the dwindling firelight. He was a tough nut to crack, but you knew he cared for you- he showed his love through listening, and gifting. You noticed it first when he gave his uncle a teapot, and this gift to you only confirmed your suspicion.

Time went on, and they packed up camp to move closer to Ba Sing Se. You came with, holding tight to Zuko’s waist so that there was enough room for the three of you on the ostrich horse. You felt bad for the poor thing, carrying so much weight, but you were in pain and couldn’t walk for long periods of time. Even if you could, you likely wouldn’t have passed up and oppurtunity to hug Lee around the waist for hours while you travelled.

You knew that Mushi had figured you out- there was no way he hadn’t. You weren’t exactly very subtle as you tried to grab Lee’s attention with your laugh or a joke or an earthbending trick. He began doing his part to nudge Lee toward you, which you were appreciative of, especially since it worked.

Or so you thought.

Zuko had scooped you up one evening, when Iroh was already asleep. He hugged you tightly before setting you back down onto your feet, leaving you confused.

“What is it?” You asked, and he shook his head, brooding as always.

“Let me sleep beside you tonight?” He asked, and you were quick to accept, even if you were confused. You fell asleep that night with his arms wrapped around your waist and his nose pressed to the back of your head.

When you blinked your eyes open, you caught a glimpse of the ostrich horse riding away, Lee on its back.

“Mushi? What’s going on?” You asked, sitting up slowly.

“Lee’s got to find his own way. Come, help me pack. We’re going to move to the next village.”

Your alliance was to Mushi, but you did miss Lee. You wondered what he had been thinking that night, when he chose to lay with you before he left. The two of you had barely talked about romance or anything of the like, but he’d done this- how much had it meant to him?

“My nephew is a complicated man,” Mushi said, walking beside you. “Sometimes, his actions are quite peculiar. But he will find his destiny. And somehow, I believe it will lead him back to us.” You looked sideways at Mushi, and smiled.

“You think so?” He nod was all the affirmation you needed.

And he was right- Lee did come back. He came back to reveal himself as brother to the Fire Princess, which made him... the prince of the Fire Nation?

Now the whole ‘running from the fire nation at all costs’ thing made sense.

You didn’t really mind. You offered unconditional forgiveness to the prince, and showed the same medicinal care to Iroh’s wounds that he had once shown to yours.

Zuko was having a hard time, but you were fascinated in watching his training en route to Ba Sing Se. Just as Iroh wanted, the two of you learned from each other, and soon the style of earthbending you practiced looked similar in some aspects to firebending. He, through training with you, became more rooted, and his balance improved further.

But training aside, the two of you started talking. You sat under the stars and began to be honest with each other, now that he had nothing to hide. You shared what had happened to you in that forest for the first time, and he shared the story behind his scar.

Sleeping side by side became as common a practice as eating breakfast.

Iroh couldn’t have been happier, especially as you seemed to bring Zuko out of his shell. He smiled a slight bit more, and laughed a little easier. Even when the three of you made it to Ba Sing Se, Iroh could feel the difference in his nephew’s attitude.

You hated firebenders- they’d left you with course, scarred skin on the outside of your left calf, with dark scars under the skin of your shoulder and ribcage. You hated firebenders- all but two. One, who took you in, and the other, who you loved deeply.

Because someone who’d felt scar tissue for years wouldn’t hesitate to touch it when you wanted him to.

-🦌 Roe

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be11atrixthestrange · 4 years ago

Text

Mischief Managed

TW: Smut

*******

Mischief Managed

I solemnly swear I am up to no good.

Hermione always valued law and order. She was Head Girl after all, it was her job to enforce the rules. She knew them well, she understood them, and she believed in their importance… most of the time.

I solemnly swear I am up to no good.

She resisted the appeal of rebellion for years, always staying in line and trying to keep her friends there too. But Ron must be rubbing off on her, because the allure was back, and she suddenly found comfort in the mantra of the Marauders Map.

I solemnly swear I am up to no good.

She paced quickly down the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, repeating the words that validated her choice to break school rules. The fact that the map only worked with the promise of mischief reassured her that sometimes rules were meant to be broken.

Hermione wasn't technically supposed to leave school grounds, but McGonagall granted her special permission this time. As far as McGonagall knew, she was visiting with her parents, who had returned from Australia for the week. Last time she got special permission to leave, she said she had to attend a funeral for a great-uncle. And the time before that, she was— allegedly— in her cousin's wedding. Hermione could only imagine the repercussions if McGonagall ever found out all of those had been shameless lies.

She reached her destination, and knocked loudly on the door. Her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed when he approached. She probably looked like she was angry at him— Which would have been an easy mistake to make. For Hermione, anger and attraction had always been closely linked, and Ron was finally beginning to understand the differences between the expression she wore when she wanted to punch him, and the one she made when she wanted to shag him. There is something about a man that didn't back down from a screaming match— Ron was never afraid to stand up to her. He challenged her.

"Hello?" he asked when the door cracked open.

"Hello," she said, leaning against the door frame. "Fancy seeing you here."

He was smiling now. "We're closed."

She couldn't help but crack a grin upon seeing him smile. "I know."

"And," he continued, "we're not supposed to let customers in after hours."

Hermione shrugged playfully. "You've never been one for following rules."

With his signature lopsided smile, Ron opened the door to let her into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It was true— Ron had never been keen on rules, and it was one of the many ways he challenged her.

"I suppose you're here for a different kind of service, then?" he asked, eyebrows raised imploringly.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her around so her back was to him. Then he gently slipped off her jacket to hang it up. Even though it was just a jacket, the effortless way he hooked his fingers into the collar and slid it down her arms made her shudder. It was the same easy way he would unhook her bra, or guide her knickers down her thighs. It seemed almost like he was ignoring another rule— one that said undressing someone should be a big deal.

The way he did it was entirely non-sexual, like he was simply opening a door, or pouring her a glass of wine. The casual manner in which he could take her clothes off drove her absolutely insane. Whether he was intentionally evading the eroticism of the act or not, all it did was inject sexual tension into every other mundane thing he did.

After he hung up her jacket, he placed his hand on her lower back to lead her to the lounge in the back room. That simple act made her mouth water.

There was an alcohol cabinet in the lounge, and the way he poured her a glass of red wine made her breath hitch.

And when he handed her the glass, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, all it was to Hermione was foreplay.

He could tease her by turning off a light, opening a drawer, or reading a book. It wasn't fair.

"So," he said, letting his hand linger for a moment behind her ear. "You must have missed me."

Hermione cleared her throat, trying to keep her expression neutral. "A little bit."

Thankfully, Ron removed his hand— if he had kept it there longer, it might have left a burn mark. He smiled that goofy grin, took a sip of wine, and interlaced his fingers with hers to guide her to a sofa in the corner of the room.

She winced— it was another broken rule— red wine on a white sofa. But she couldn't help but admire the way he expertly balanced his glass as he sank into the couch without so much as a drop spilled. She was about to sit next to him, but he placed a hand in front of her to stop her, and shook his head.

Hermione smiled— all while groaning internally— when he nodded toward his lap. She bit her lip, balanced the wine in her hand, and sat down facing him, one leg on either side of his.

His calm, nonchalant expression broke for a moment, and she could see a flash of desire in his eyes. It took just a few seconds for him to scan her body. His gaze lingered on her breasts, before moving to her thigh, where his hand was resting. He let his hand slide up her thigh, ever so minutely, so that his fingertips slipped underneath her skirt. Then, just as suddenly, his expression turned neutral again and he met her gaze.

His eye contact burned right through her, taunting her even more than his hand on her thigh. She quickly buried another sip of her wine.

"How's school?" he asked, inching his fingers further under the hem of her skirt. His expression was still frustratingly neutral.

"I hate not having you there." She reached a hand toward his face, gently brushing her fingers across the stubble of his chin. He was a little scruffier than she remembered, and she realized she had no idea what a few days unshaven would feel like against her neck, or her breast, or her inner thigh.

"Stressed?" he asked, pulling her out of her reverie. His fingers were slightly— she might have imagined it— stroking her thigh, but he maintained his curious gaze on her eyes.

Hermione nodded. "That's why I'm here," she said, letting her hand move from his stubble to his hair, which was longer and messier than the last time she saw him.

He removed his hand from under her skirt. She frowned, as the space on her thigh now felt cold and empty. It was only for a moment, to swiftly take her wine glass from her hand and place it on the coffee table. Then he pulled her a little closer to him and leaned back against the couch. His hand found it's home back underneath her skirt, and she tangled her fingers further into his hair. She leaned forward to place a kiss against his head, fully aware that the v-neck shirt she had strategically worn hung wide open for him.

Maybe she could tease him as much as he was teasing her. She shifted forward on her hips, sliding her leg against his hand, so that his fingers brushed the tip of her knickers. He responded by clenching her shirt into a fist at her lower back. Her lips moved down to the side of his head, and she slipped the tip of his ear between her teeth. A muffled groan escaped his throat, his stubble brushed against her neck, and his fingers dug into her thigh.

She released his ear from her grasp to move her mouth to his neck, biting down and sucking his skin into her mouth. He took in a sharp breath, and she paused, waiting for his signal to continue.

"You can bite harder," he said, tilting his head aside to give her better access. So she did. "Leave a mark," he added, and the thought of it— of marking him— just made her want him more. It was like writing her name on her homework, the only way to get full credit.

She could tell he wanted her too when his fingers slid to her knickers, and he dipped his thumbs underneath the fabric. He ran them along the edges, toward her center, until they met one another in the middle. She automatically leaned back slightly to allow him access, and he rightfully interpreted her shift in posture as permission to slip his thumbs down to her clit and caress her.

She moaned and bit his neck harder, and he responded with more pressure from his fingers.

"Do you care about these knickers?" he asked her.

She didn't care— just like her loose blouse, her knickers were a strategic choice. Their transparency made them fragile enough to rip, and assured that her warm, wet response to his touch wouldn't go unnoticed.

She shook her head without removing her mouth from his neck. He firmly gripped the fragile lace and ripped them apart. She lifted her hips so he could tear them fully off, and he discarded them on the floor below the sofa.

Her hips sank back down to his lap, his fingers edged back to her center, and he slipped his thumbs between her lips to spread them apart, giving himself the access he needed to stroke her.

She detached from his neck so she could press herself more firmly into his hand, and smiled at the mark she had left. She lifted onto her knees so her breasts hung dangerously close to his face.

"No bra," he mumbled, starting to trail kisses from her collarbone to her chest. "I love that." Another strategic choice. It didn't take much to push her blouse out of the way so he could cover her breast with his mouth. She felt his tongue run across her nipple, bit her lip, and let out a soft moan.

He increased the pressure of his fingers. One hand continued stroking her, while the other gently spread her, exposing more sensitive skin for him to touch. When her thighs clenched and buckled from the pressure, it was his expertly placed fingers that overrode them, their caresses simply suggesting that she open her legs wider for him. So she did, letting herself get lost in the moment. Then she felt one finger slip inside her, and her breath caught in her throat while her hands gripped his scruffy hair. One finger became two, and her breathing grew louder, a breathy whine escaping with every exhale. She knew he liked that sound. The vibration of his appreciative hum was rattling against her breast, his thumbs confidently massaging her most sensitive places, and she felt his teeth caress her nipple.

Then he released her from his mouth and buried his face into her chest. His hands kept moving on her, in her, and his unshaven chin against her breasts caused her whole body to quiver. "You're so fucking wet" came his muffled voice, and she could almost feel the corners of his mouth turning up into a satisfied smile. "Can't wait to fuck you...Hear you come…"

As a general rule, Hermione didn't love dirty talk. But when it was Ron...

She pressed into his hand while her fingers tugged at his hair. He increased the pressure of his strokes again, and she shut her mouth tight to muffle her growing moans.

"Let it out, Hermione," he whispered into her ear. "We're alone, you can be loud. Scream for me."

Ron was definitely an exception to the rule.

She obliged, letting the sound of her pleasure escape her lips. Ron pressed his lips against the front of her neck, letting a kiss linger there, and he kept his hands moving determinedly, teasingly.

The tension was about to peak, and she felt herself involuntarily clench down on his hand.

"That's right—" he said against the front of her neck, centering his thumb directly on the mound of nerves, pressing, and driving her mad. It was almost like he had studied her body, learned the rules, and knew exactly how to please her.

She felt heat rising between her legs, her breath deepening, and almost let out a moan of satisfaction—

But he swiftly removed his hand from between her legs, seconds before she would have unraveled completely. She groaned, now simply in frustration— he was an expert at pleasing her, and knowing exactly when to pull back to drive her mad. She should have expected this— they could go on all night. Half of her hoped they would.

"I'm not ready to be done with you," he said mischievously, before shifting her off of his lap and onto her back. He climbed on top of her, but just before she captured his lips with hers, he ducked away, landing on her neck.

"Tease," she sighed, while he chuckled. His hand slid up her shirt and cupped her breast, while he kissed his way to her ear.

"Takes one to know one," he whispered, and his hand progressed down her stomach, shortly followed by his head, lifting her skirt up when he got there. He kissed her inner thigh, and trailed his lips to her center. Finding her clit, he ran his tongue across her and it didn't take long for her to feel the build up again.

This time she wrapped a leg around his head to hold him in place, just in case he decided to tease her again. He smiled against her and stopped the motion of his tongue. When she loosened the grip of her leg, he slowly nodded, and resumed. She tried it one another time, pressing her leg into his head, forcing his lips against her, and he paused. She could tell he was smirking even though his face was obscured by her bunched up skirt.

"I hate you," she said, in a tone that implied the opposite.

He removed his lips from her for a brief, tantalizing moment, and locked eyes with her. "I love you."

He might have reached up and literally turned the corners of her mouth up in a smile, it was that automatic. She both loved, and despised, how effectively his words could make her melt.

She let her head relax against the couch cushion and her knees opened wide. He dove right back in, covering her with his tongue, and now that she understood the rules of his little game, she submitted.

Her breath picked up again and the muscles in her legs spasmed as she quickly approached her edge again, but she made every effort not to show it by muffling her voice into the couch cushion, steadying her breath, forcing her legs to relax…

But he didn't buy it. This time, he slowed his tongue and steadied his mouth on her milliseconds before she screamed his name, and broke contact right before she reached her hand to his head to try to keep him in place. What would have been a sound of satisfaction came out as a frustrated groan. With that same infuriating smirk he kissed his way back up to her neck, all while undoing the buttons on his jeans and pulling his erection free.

He pressed his tip against her opening, raising his eyebrows for permission. She nodded and wrapped her legs around his waist as he pushed in.

They'd gotten quite comfortable being with each other this way. This was a far cry from the clumsy, self-conscious Ron of last summer. There were no awkward position shifts, mumbled apologies, nervous fumbles— this was a Ron who knew what she liked. He knew exactly where to touch her, how fast to thrust, how to angle her hips against her to make her bite her lip, close her eyes, and come undone. She was quite proud of how quickly he had learned the rules of her body.

But of course, it was his mischievous side that made him a Weasley, and breaking the rules was his ultimate motivation for learning them. It was his style as a quidditch keeper, a chess player, a prefect, and as it turns out, a lover.

So this time she didn't get her hopes up. She let him snake his arm around her lower back, lift her hips, press his thumb to her clit while she clutched blindly at the couch cushions, exhaling his name with every breath. He continued to pump into her with finesse, his own breath pace was picking up, and a rosy color creeping up his neck. He must have felt her tightening around him as she approached climax again, because he slowed his pace, removed his hand from her, and withdrew. He exhaled a stiff, cooling breath like it had taken incredible self-restraint to pull away.

"Turn around?" he said.

Was it a question? A command? As a rule, she didn't love being told what to do, but when it was Ron...

He didn't have to say it twice. She flipped over, balancing on her forearms while he gripped her hips and pulled her back to her knees. He held her steady and pressed himself into her for the second time, and her name escaped his lips as a moan when he started to pump.

Yes, Ron was an exception to the rule.

His fingers wandered underneath her, found her center, and began to stroke her, keeping pace with his thrusts. Like no time had passed, she was approaching the cliff again— it always happened more quickly the longer he teased her. Her legs buckled, she felt herself clenching down on his cock, and dug her fingers into the couch cushion.

He picked up his pace and pumped into her faster and harder until the couch was shifting with each thrust. She could sense that he was almost over the edge, and she was right there with him. She buried her face into the throw pillow to muffle the high pitched scream of his name, just as he pressed himself powerfully into her and let himself unravel, moaning expletives that that would have offended her if she heard them from anyone else.

He collapsed onto her, his fingers in her hair, but she still felt light under his weight, floating on the euphoria of their joint orgasm.

Well damn. Dirty talk, telling her what to do, swearing, and teasing her— none of that was in the rulebook. Leave it to Ron to make the wrong things feel so right.

They recovered, and Hermione turned back around to face him. He lowered his body back to hers, and captured her lips in a kiss. This time, when he tried to pull away, she pressed her hand to the back of his head to keep them connected. He didn't tease or resist, but melted into her and deepened the kiss, breaking the rules of his own game.

Mischief Managed.

#ROMIONE #romione smut #hp fanfic #hpromione #hp ficlet #hp fandom #ronweasley #ron and hermione #Hermione Granger #ron x hermione #romione fanfic

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koko-bopp · 4 years ago

Text

Sexiled

jeon jungkook x male!reader

word count - 1.9K

genre - SMUT! fluff, soft-angst

contains - virgin!submissive-top!jungkook (he eventually becomes more dominant), calling jungkook ‘bunny’, no penetration; just grinding, dominant-bottom!reader, No mentions of the reader's genitalia, reader is really affectionate, talks of consent.

synopsis - you’re roomates with Jungkook’s friend, when your roomate kicks you out of the apartment to do the deed with his boyfriend, you go to Jungkook’s in hopes he’ll give you some shelter for a few hours.

"Kookie! Hi!" You smile brightly at the younger male, standing at the door of his apartment, looking over his shoulder to see if there was anyone else in the house; and holding a takeaway container of pork belly in one hand and a small carton of banana milk in the other. You look back at Jungkook before speaking, "Is Taehyung home too or are you alone?"

Jungkook was a little confused, he glanced at the contents in your hand, his hand at the doorknob even though the door was wide open. What's Y/N L/N doing at his apartment? His cheeks must be burning red, his bestfriend's friend is at the door, "Er, Tae moved out last week, he's a few streets down–"

"Ah! Good, so it's just you!" You exclaim in relief, "Can I come in?"

Jungkoom was a little surprised at the request, considering the only time you came over was as a plus-one for Hoseok at every event Taehyung was hosting at the apartment or somewhere else, you were close with his Hyungs then you were with him. But Jungkook nodded anyway, naturally not being one to turn someone away.

The two of you went to different universities, opposite ends of the city, actually; but only lived in apartments opposite from each other. Jungkook isn't very discreet with his crush on you, people usually don't spontaneously turn red upon seeing you, or fiddle with their fingers, or stutter two times too many. You were better at hiding it, however.

You had placed yourself in the centre of the living room, between the television sitting on a platform and the coffee table in front of the couch, before facing Jungkook with a grin, "Could I stay the night?"

"What?" Jungkook almost didn't believe what he heard. The question was clear and direct but yet he still struggled to comprehend it. He coughed at the surprise, it was like a punch in the throat, but he managed to compose himself better to answer your question, "I mean, sure, I guess. But what's wrong with your place?"

"Hoseok has his boyfriend over, and he very politely asked him to leave because he and Yoongi had talked about fucking in the kitchen and obviously, me being a good friend, I decided to give him that privacy, but I forgot as I was leaving that I literally wouldn't have a place to sleep, so I realised that your living quarters are the closest–"

"[Y/N]. You can stay, it's fine.. I'm just surprised, that's all," Jungkook mumbles a bit. The world works in mysterious ways, bringing you here was certainly an interesting choice.

"I bought you pork belly with rice, and banana milk as an offering," you smile, placing the meal and drinks on the dining table after walking over to it. The table only having two chairs, which is understandable considering Jungkook lives alone now, "We can watch a movie! And I'm more than happy to sleep on the couch!" You chime, trying your best to make the moment less awkward for him, since, to be fair, you did come rather unannounced..

"Taehyung actually hadn't taken his bed, he let me keep it," Jungkook explained, avoiding your gaze in an attempt to hide his reddened cheeks, "You're welcome to sleep there, I actually just changed the bedsheets– and, thank you for the food, you really didn't have to."

You were grateful as to how selfless Jungkook is, he's younger than you but provides all the boyfriend and friendship material. "Awe, thank you!" You gush, gleely heading towards Jungkook to give him a hug, wrapping your arms around the brunet.

You felt him hesitantly place his hands on your hips, then carefully lacing his arms so that his fingers were holding his elbows as he hugged you back; a warm feeling, and you were always so affectionate. Jungkook almost pouted when you let go of him, but your hand now upon his cheek so you could look at him properly, and it made him freeze. You spoke with concern, your eyebrows furrowed as you assessed the younger, "Are you okay? Are you sick, Bunny?"

"B-bunny?"

You giggle, "Yeah, you know, you look like a bunny; cute, witty, I don't know why you're so shy, I've never seen you like this."

"I guess I'm just... A lot more outgoing in front of my Hyungs.." He forces out a snicker, your thumb now caressing his cheek, not intending for the action to further make his face hot. He really likes the feeling of your skin on his, he just has no idea how to react like a normal human, and it's making him when more embarrassed. Why can't he be like Jin-Hyung and flirt back? Or be more confident like Tae? It was difficult to express the way he wanted without fearing his actions.

"Ah, you're so cute," You say, bopping his nose then fully releasing him from your confining space. "So, about the movie, you can pick. And, you know, you can have your pork belly while we watch and I promise not to disturb."

-`•. ♘

"Why this one, though?"

"It's my favourite movie," he hid his face in a pillow, you two were sitting next to each other; you were sitting with your legs diagonally tucked away from your chest while Jungkook sat upright with his feet on the floor and back against the couch and a pillow hugging his chest.

"Huh," you shrug, chuckling a little before throwing a pretzel from the bowl that was sitting on the coffee table in your mouth, "Didn't take you as the romance buff type."

"I actually really like this movie, Taehyung was watching vintage romance movies once and he suggested this one to me," Jungkook explains, the movie carefully reaching the halfway point as his eyes were glued to the loose thread on the pillowcase, "And I've watched it fourteen times."

"Fourteen?!"

"Fifteen if you count this one," Jungkook laughs softly, "Or maybe not, I haven't really been paying attention..."

You reached for the remote sitting in between the two of you, then pointing the device at the television to close the sound down to a 2. Jungkook was confused. Even more confused when you shifted your body to face Jungkook, placing your palm on your cheekbone and your elbow on the neck of the couch, "Okay. Bunny. What's wrong?"

"I-" He stopped, not being able to avert his eyes from you from the sudden call-out, "What are you talking about?"

"C'mon, are you sick? Is there something on your mind? Is it uni? Because if you have work to do you're no way obliged to be spending time with–"

"No, it's not uni," Jungkook sighs, finally moving his eyes away from you but still picking at the loose thread. "It's– it's hard to explain..."

"I'm waiting, Bunny. Please?" You beg, asserting your bother, "Seeing you nervous when I've seen you drown shots like water makes me feel weird too."

Jungkook thought for a moment, he heard his own heart beating through his chest, and the sound was rapid. "Could I show you instead?"

You nodded.

Jungkook leaned in close, “I like you,” he whispered, placing a hand on your cheek with his fingers touching softly, letting his breathing and closeness longer for a moment to let you know what he was going to do, but also out of the hesitation himself.

So, you placed a peck on his lips first, just a small and quick one, and it didn't seem to catch Jungkook by suprise, because he leaned back in to kiss you properly. Lips dancing with yours gently yet still wanting to convey his answer.

He brings you closer and you place your hand on his shoulder, still wanting to be sure that you can touch him properly, but enjoying the privileges that Jungkook was giving you.

"Mhm," Jungkook hums, pulling away for a second and looking down at the space between the two of you; his lips more crimson and his breathing more uneven, "I've never... you know–"

"Oh," you stop, "Do you want to? You know if you're not comfortable we don't have to do anything–"

"I want you to..." His words came out more firm, brining his hand down to yours, lacing them so he could guide you to sit on top of his lap. He smiled at your little giggle at his action, watching you lower yourself over his thighs and either leg beside his as he placed one of your hands on his shoulder. He moved his other hand up your back with the back of his index finger, tracing the over the clothes, "If you're willing as well."

You nodded softly, shivering under his touch, "I really like you too, Jungkook.."

He chuckled s little, "Since when?" He asked, thumbing his thumb over your hips.

"Jennie's 20th... On the yatch.." You admitted, clenching a fist over his black hoodie, grinding down against him gently, becoming more impatient, careful enough to ignite arousal, and just enough too have Jungkook's breath more breathy in the slightest. "You said that confident guys made you nervous, they're your type; I've been seizing my opportunity ever since."

Jungkook held a firm grip on your hips, watching your breath hitch when he forced you down to grind into him harder, "That– fuck– that was two years ago. You really liked me this long?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding while avoiding his gaze. A moan left your lips when he leaned forward, deciding to kiss your neck the way he see fit as he silently guided you in a way to grind on him through clothes, feeling his bulge growing the more you continued your actions and getting more horny with his licking and sucking your neck to leave deeper shades of colours and bite marks. "J-Jungkook, oh my god."

A small chuckle left the other's lips, looking at you with lust-driven eyes as he rocked his hips upwards, pulling you down so to feel how hard he was. Hearing you moan because of him was such a euphoric feeling, "You sound so pretty, [Y/N].."

You grind down harder, holding his shoulders as moans and grunts have started erupting from Jungkook too, "You sure you haven't done this before, Bunny? You certainly know how to please people," you tease, placing a kiss on his lips as he gripped your his with rough hands.

"Hmm," he hummed, his eyebrows furrowing in pleasure at the darkened spot on his dark blue shorts due ot the precum leaking from his cock, "I’ve messed around with people... but haven’t fucked anyone..”

“I’m impressed, Bunny,” you bite you lip, rolling down harder and it resulted in Jungkook throwing his dead back with a loud moan, watching his neck muscles clench as you look the opportunity to paint kisses along his gold skin, and his grip on your hips tight with the intention of having something to hold onto as you moved so sinfully. Pressing a final kiss on Jungkook’s neck before you reached up close to his ear, your voice drops to a whisper, “Can I suck you, Jungkook?”

#wow #i willingly made kook a top?#i think i might be a lil sick wow #jeongguk x male reader #jungkook x male reader #jeon jungkook x male reader #jungkook x reader #x male reader #male reader #jungkook bts #bts #bts x male reader #male reader smut #jungkook x male reader smut #x male reader smut #kpop x male reader smut #bts smut #jungkook smut #mlm

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taendrils · 5 years ago

Text

industrial (m.)

― ❝there are lines you shouldn’t cross, things you shouldn’t touch and skin you shouldn’t mark when your hands are missing your gloves.❞

• genre: fluff, smut • tags: piercer!reader, client!jungkook, smitten!jungkook, mentions of needles, inappropriate things you shouldn’t do with your piercer LMAO, koko is subby AND needy AND a sweetheart, also a bit of a brat, teasing, sexual tension, praise kink, dirty talk, messy handjob, grinding, aftercare • pairing: jungkook/female reader • wordcount: 8.1k words

PIERCER AU.

It’s human nature. Not having a care in the world for picture sceneries in favour of the mundane you’ve grown to adore—fixating on a sight, a scent, a story so much that is unnatural to go a day without it. Missing a sensation to the point it buries so deep behind your chest you can’t reach through your ribs anymore to prod at it. No, no, no. You have to be indulgent. Bad human nature. You have to relieve it.

Guilt about indulgence doesn’t pack the same punch when it comes to you. It’s easy to sink when you get to relieve it every day—ripping the seal to get your hands on the metal, taking your time presenting the needles, inhaling more of the isopropyl that lingers in the air when you pop open the disinfectant. Even from down low, the vapors float in tendril motions, enter deep only to sting right after. They are consistent—they move the same when you’re close to someone and you get to inhale again before piercing.

It’s pleasant, it makes you focus. It also should say something about you—whatever it might, you don’t blame yourself too much. Rubber feels good on your hand. It’s human nature.

People like things they shouldn’t. People like things that hurt.

The act itself reaches in a place that’s personal, and so does the background. It’s perfect, and it’s silent, and yet it keeps going. There’s music you don’t mind when the place fills out too much—you get restless when there’s a heavy break between people, like it is now. You love calming them down since the act mirrors the effect on you. It has been so long you assume it would create a crack in your persona if you voiced the restlessness out, if your tone reached any frequency other than that of relaxed. The tattoo place, along with your platinum piercer on the other side would eat you dare you break your composure—Yoongi would give the process the same attention he gives to his skin in ink. His tattoos speak for him more than the metal on his tongue dares, touching up to his neck and disappearing under his sleeves, and so does the dove under his ear.

You’re less marked, so people find fascination in other parts of you. Jungkook thinks he doesn’t have to dig deep, he sees their surface as soon as he walks into the parlour. He notices how each element of the hall is in harmony with another, the designs on the walls modern enough to light up innovation, the wood they’re framed by sculpted so they pay tribute to old school. The details hit him all at once, and a beat too late he realises he would have got lost in them, delayed his appointment in favour of marvelling, weren’t it for you waiting at the reception.

You’re leaning against the wall fit between two pictures in asymmetry, watching Yoongi who sits near the said desk with a girl. The piercer gestures towards the jewelry displayed, and Jungkook can make out a few bits of their conversation before his eyes drift towards you again. Soft classics play on the speakers, supported by the tap of your fingers on your thigh. A passive action, and then another.

The bell tingling doesn’t steal your attention from the focal point, instead walking up to join the pair at the desk, but Jungkook catches the black-haired man behind the counter turning in his direction and offering a warm smile.

“This yours?” you tilt your head towards the tattooed man.

Yoongi doesn’t take his eyes off the jewelry, just makes a noncommittal noise from the back of his throat.

“What’s she getting?”

“Two flats, opals.”

“Mm. Pretty stones for pretty girls,” you acknowledge with a smile the girl mirrors. “He has a lot of opinions, but don’t listen to him. If he’s one hair away from the place you suggest, tell me after and I’ll file a complaint, ok?”

The tension in her body eases, and you don’t miss the hints of the grin Yoongi suppresses as he shakes his head. “You need to stop before all my clients leave.”

“Rich from the guy who keeps telling them he’s a master of stabbing with pointy objects,” the same guy who noticed Jungkook tuts as he fixes Yoongi with an eyebrow.

“Jimin has a point. No one else at this hour for him to scare?”

“None for him. None for you either until one hour before closing–you have three then.” He fidgets a bit before the calm smile he’s been sporting turns devious. “Well, none except for him.”

Your eyes settle on him at last, and funny fact it is, how the brain gives so many commands to the muscles faster than the hundredth part of a millisecond, yet Jungkook’s body cannot form a single reaction.

“So you’re mine then, aren’t you?” You nod in appraisal before Jungkook can even stutter, bottom lip jutting out. He’s rendered speechless at the exchange since words weigh heavier on Jungkook’s tongue, and the process takes longer to finish. With strangers he’s careful, he pauses and drags out the sound long enough to avoid mistakes, similar to what you’re doing now when you are analysing him. He’s confident enough to guess how for you they seem easier–you speak as each sound floats on water, weightless before it drifts away.

The heaviness lies buried in how you watch, the same way an audience would as a play begins, attentive and searching for meaning in the deeper crevices of him. He regains access to his breath the moment you step away, hands working behind your back and words neutering some of the acid burning his loins.

“Unless you’re here for a tattoo. None of our artists can talk to you at the moment, they’re all caught up with appointments.”

You’re the only one to come closer to him, and that triggers Jungkook’s sense of self to search for an answer. He fights with it at the tip of his tongue, and he sees the way you’re waiting, staring. He pictures you hanging onto the silence, waiting for his words to continue the thread.

“Uh, no, I–I’m here for you. For the piercing.”

And his words, supposed to be picked with care, crumble under power that’s passive, getting Jungkook tangled in their meaning.

You’re dressed casually, the clothes loose enough for the fit not to disturb you. He focuses on the smooth curve of your shoulder that has yet to be marked, the smallest trace of a collarbone hidden in the depths of your dark turtleneck. He’s gliding up without meaning to, so lost in details he doesn’t know where to look anymore.

“Alright. And you know what you want?” You don’t react until he nods and satisfaction seeps through the corners of the smile you’ve been fighting, his gaze the same level as the lifted corners that lead his gaze to your ears.

Maybe to the three hoops decorating your lobes, complemented by the little heart on the inside of your ear, or higher, where he sees the object of his desire in your right ear, a long silver bar that sits high on your ear, length pressed diagonally and ends adorned with metal spikes.

“Industrial,” he breathes out.

It’s hard to say what defines the pause taken.

“Great. Please take your time and complete the form, okay?” Your hair is pulled up, revealing more hoops stacked on top of the other ear he gets to look better at as you turn around. “I’ll wait for you inside.”

Jungkook finds said form on Jimin’s desk. Less flustered, he listens to Jimin filling in the blanks. “We have a machine for sterilising jewelry. Takes around fifteen minutes, long enough for you to read through this and ask questions.”

Now that he has nothing to dote on, despite the sight Jimin is, Jungkook feels weirdly self-conscious as he waits, the reminder that you would have started by now if he made a move when he should have a constant in his mind. He fidgets, thighs squeezing together to distract his mind before the thought spills out, “Did I keep you guys for too long?”

“The appointment’s yours.” Jimin shrugs as he passes the papers. “First time at a studio?”

Jungkook thinks in retrospect at the lobes he did by himself when he was younger and still wearing his emo bangs–half rebellion, half need to appear cooler to his peers. He nods with his lips pursed tightly enough so they contain his embarrassment.

“There are lots to come by nowadays. You shouldn’t be worried, she’s very lithe and quick. Patient too.”

His heartbeat finds its steady rhythm and doesn’t suffocate him like it did before. It calms before it takes the leap into his stomach, when Jimin, whose gestures lack the innocence his face suggests, forgets to add:

“Talks like that to cute little things.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Good, he swallows. You’re patient. He’ll keep that in mind.

A boy true to his word, a boy that keeps to his promises, Jungkook’s mind wraps up on the idea after signing the ink into the paper and as soon as he is near you.

“All done?” you ask with no hurry, and Jungkook hums as he sits on the piercing table, careful so he does not move the sheets of paper. “Good. Let me look at you?”

The coil in his stomach tightens so easily, he’s so easy to rile up and you’re not even doing anything. You’re not trying to. And that drives him a little crazy. Fantasies Jungkook has never dared to imagine with anyone he kept a professional relationship with stretch his mind open, and he’s open to them when more enter through the cracks he created.

“I need to see your ear, see if the fold’s right.”

He swallows as you come close, hands already gloved. Without missing a beat, he tilts his head to give you better access and doesn’t quite realise how long his hair got until you brush it away from his ear, fingers holding the strands in place. His lungs are still from the proximity, inhaling as much as they can take after you voice your approval. And the more he tries to detach from the situation, the more he dives headfirst into the fantasy. Jungkook feels you twist the ends and pin his hair aside.

The mind is a strange place.

“Don’t want you to get scared, alright?” you coo and this careful treading around him makes him dizzy, stirs in his loins, and the feeling presses deeper there, deeper and hotter than it should from the heat brought by Jimin’s words. “I’ll explain everything to you as we work, hmm?”

“Yeah, sure,” he speaks and is reminded this is his first attempt at conversation in a while. “I’d like that.”

It dawns upon him how to you he sounds willing, much too willing, and he blames it on eagerness. Besides willing, he’s much too aware of everything surrounding him, of every little sound in the quiet room. The tick of the clock is a nice diffused background noise as you check the form to the last detail. “Who did those then, Jungkook?”

Your prying is gentle, a puzzle piece taken from a waiting game that coaxes him out until his answer rises naturally. Of course you’d feel better if he talked. That much is obvious, and he is a fool, but that obvious matters less to him when he sees how pleased you are with your question. A look which he aspires to cause, which pulls his want deeper–a look he needs to see again.

“Uh, another studio. But I didn’t like it.” The explanation that follows comes out of his mouth at once.

“I had a friend, Namjoon,” he begins and takes note how your eyebrows raise and your gaze turns playful at his word choice. “I mean, have. He had his tongue pierced here, and I bugged him about it until he told me.”

The first truth.

“Was it recent?” you ask as you change the pair of gloves, tossing the used pair away.

“He got it done after his girlfriend, but he refused to tell me. I asked for a while.” His shame drifts away in tone with his ramble and he is bold enough to let his gaze fall down the curve of your waist.

“Namjoon, you said? Doesn’t ring a bell. Wish it did by your reaction though.” You turn back to him and his gaze snaps back up.

“Ah, he’s kinda hard to miss though.” His lips remain sealed, but the corners of his mouth rise as high as they can go. Jungkook doesn’t know how or why he’s still talking, but he can distinguish a tender amusement. “Tall, huge dimples and smiles like this.” He keeps the same smile until you acknowledge it, cheeks puffed up and lash lines surrounded by endearing creases.

You shake your head in endearment. “Stubborn, are you?”

“Texted him about it for weeks. Pestered him to tell me. Threatened to do them myself.” Half a truth. Sure, he did that too, but for the most part he whined about it, rattled him to Seokjin and sent messages with questionable emojis. Seeing his friends take the leap for an interest Jungkook spent days looking up, it flickered light back into Jungkook–a passion for something he thought he buried long ago. “I even unmuted the groupchat.”

He sees the effect of those texts in real time. All those ‘joonie hyungg 😊😊~’s were worth it because he earns a laugh from you.

“Glad you let me do my job. I will mark you now, okay?” There’s so much comfort in your conversation he almost forgets what he came here for. As the realisation comes, a sigh threatens to leave his lips. He’s not as worried about the pain as he is worried he’ll embarrass himself somehow. Jungkook is strong now, can handle pain better than the bunch of his hyungs combined, but it doesn’t make him any less self-conscious.

“You have to lie down for it.” You guide him through it, Jungkook lowering his body slowly after the lead of your palm. Maybe he did it wrong?

One dot, two dots. The time to obsess over it passes. On his left, the paper crumples under his fist and he hates the way it sounds, yet he grips the sheet like it is a lever holding him to reality.

“Everything okay?”

“Mhm,” he says, breathing out his bravery and focus. You mention something about titanium and how good it is for piercings in passing, or maybe you linger on it more. He retains nothing, just breathes in the alcohol. Your hands are delicate, and no matter how light your grip is, it seems assured.

Rubber feels good, so does your touch.

“Breathe in for me.” Eyes glossy and mind hazy, he tries his best to listen– “One, two, three, and out. You’re doing well.”

The sting is a lot more than he expected, and he feels the blood rushing to his ear, warm and muted. Everything is more. Its pain lingers, but so does the ghost of your touch, balancing the pleasure. Your voice is breathier, and it sounds closer than comfortable, so close that the warmth of your breath spreads across his skin and a tremor follows it along his spine. When his ear reddens, he hopes you assume it’s because of the piercing.

“There we go,” you whisper. “Halfway done. How’s that?”

“It’s good.” The lump in his throat doesn’t budge. If you notice how his voice trembles, you don’t mention it, and neither do you give him space to think. Your thumb and index massage circles over hard tissue, and he braces for what’s coming next. The fact that your movements do not change pushes against his wish to stay composed, and Jungkook barely suppresses the soft sighs tickling the roof of his mouth.

“Tell me when you’re ready.”

Jungkook sinks into it and nods in rhythm complimentary to your touch. “Read–oh.”

The sound he lets out you take in with a sharp inhale. Despite it, your next steps are smooth, bar settling in cozy in the tight space, but there’s a pause that extends past a few heartbeats where he grows more aware, more sensitive to the tips of your fingers. He feels them tremble as they screw in the ball–feels it tingle on his skin and past his gut.

“Don’t get up so fast,” Jungkook tries to listen, but he’s also impatient. It never dawns on him how close you might be until he’s half-up, propped on his elbows and overwhelmed by the clarity of your features. He is hung on the line that defines your cupid’s bow, and how foul his cravings are. He could run his finger across it–has a feeling you wouldn’t stop him. Driven by his boldness, he’s thinking of dropping his gaze lower. When he does, his heart pummels and a surge of anxiety has his eyes dart back to yours. The effect is cathartic, bits of his rationality falling down in chains.

His mouth drops open at what he finds, the pair of pupils dark and blown out. Less professional. More like you want to cross a line.

The reaction for when you break away is much slower, and your intention misses the mark as Jungkook teeth lightly scrape his lip. “Have you thought about more places?” you blurt out.

Jungkook’s mind goes to the place you’re staring. “My mouth.”

And he swears by anything he has you leave a shard of your composure right there and cut him open with it, reach into his flesh and tug. It’s bad, he shouldn’t let you, but he is good at observing. He has the experience, sees his own behaviours as patterns he’s picked from others. He is right about this. He is sure.

Yet he never expects you to confirm it, reaching out to drag your thumb across his bottom lip, moving in circles to trace the top as well before you come down again and press.

“It’s soft. Gentle.” you breathe out. “I like it.”

It’s gentle and it’s pliant cause his mouth opens more under the weight, and you’re reaching a tint deeper, nail getting dangerously close to his tongue.

“Makes–makes a good fit.”

Rubber feels good there too. He doesn’t mind the taste either.

“But your piercing–” you stutter and his eyebrows shoot up at how you get up all of a sudden only to return with a mirror, grip tight around its rim. Less relaxed. “Here. You should see it.”

You end up passing him the mirror and he gasps at the image, at the bar that’s sitting on his ear. Even with your previous position, excitement is impossible to contain. “I love it.”

“Please tell your groupchat too,” you tease, part of the tension eased from your shoulders, obvious in the delight that surges through you at his words. He’s still peeking in the mirror, yet the reflection that steals his attention is the one of satisfaction in your smile. His satisfaction.

“I will. It’s amazing, really. I like it a lot,” he adds as if he hasn’t said enough.

“I’m glad. Can’t wait till Yoongi hears about this.” You’re busy with a Q-Tip he braces for a second too late, yet does nothing but obey when you ask him to stay still, then clean the piercing for the last time. The story continues. “He missed the angle last time. He’s gonna be so threatened.”

“Why did he miss?” Jungkook says, curiosity making him lean closer. His height was not something you cared for when he walked in, you note, but he’s hard to ignore now that he’s standing up. You give up trying to organise the items scattered on your table and wipe a hand across your forehead.

“Ah, well. He’s a bit... unorthodox, but gets the job done.”

“And what about you?”

You purse your lips as you muster the answer, unsure of the letters pouring out. “I... I like to play it safe.”

And safe you played, a bitter part of Jungkook would retort. But now that he’s opened the can, the curiosity about you reigns beyond his pettiness. His mind, an ocean on the road to regaining tranquility, has its waters disrupted when he poses questions about parts of you that interested him.

“Is it like that with the tattoos?”

“I do keep them safe.” By the speed of your reply, this is a frequent topic of conversation. Your words, however, match two puzzle pieces that share the same colour, but they don’t fit near the other. They’re jumbled together, corners forced and unnatural. His stomach burns regardless. So they’re hidden from display, bordering on personal.

Like him, you’re responding to questions reserved for people you have some sort of a relation with. The one with Jungkook is supposed to be inexistent. He’s a client, you’re a piercer, he remembers, as he fears to call you his piercer yet. Places where you might have ink pop up in his mind and replace the guidance of his conscience: neck, chest, stomach, thighs.

“Didn’t do the same for this one.” You point to the ear with the bar matching his. “Toughest to heal. Got it when I barely knew anything.”

The angle is not perfect like his, he can now see after the first glance.

“You like it a lot though.” He pouts, and it’s a statement he tests under his confusion.

“It’s one of my weaknesses. A fun memory.”

“So you didn’t do that always?”

Jungkook is a boy true to himself, but much too proud to admit things often. He has a goal, has found more means to the end he chases. Out of the possibilities, there are fairer choices, but all of those lead towards a path with chances and time he doesn’t have. Guilt eats at him about pressing, but his heart speaks over his brain.

“Didn’t do what?”

Jeon Jungkook doesn’t do things in halves–does his best and sweats hard for his aspiration. Thus, he’ll find time later to appeal to his conscience. The distance between you clears the fog out of his mind, his need clear. He cannot leave it like that, not with knowing you never attempted to shut him out.

“Play it safe?”

“No. But you… you shouldn’t.” You’re frowning, deep in thought, every second spent waiting pressing layers into both his hope and uncertainty–fighting a battle that your hesitation wins over whatever desire he thought you may have.“Here’s my number. Call me if you’re experiencing any troubles during the healing process and we’ll see what we can do.”

Distracted, you pass him a card he puts in his pocket. You continue on about the cleaning process and offer him options for where to buy them from as the part of him full of hope deflates, hates the reversion to nothing, hates it more than is considered normal. Whatever this was, he doesn’t want to lose it, but he respects you, sits and accepts. “Of course. Will I have to answer as many questions?”

“Ah–no, not really. I wanted you to be comfortable. I just saw...” There’s breath caught in your throat, lodged between the cracks in your calamity and assurance. You pant to let it out. “You’ve been looking at me.”

Hope is fragile yet devious. A parasitic entity that leads and bites off however much it likes from whoever it pleases. Even as he meant to give up, its last particle was left to grow.

“Yeah?” Jungkook is scared yet bold, the step he takes placing his boot on the line you’ve never dared to cross before. His eyes are big and there’s a glint that’s pleading to be noticed. “And if I call… you’ll take care of it?” He fears your answer, he fears how rushed he is, how much it means.

“I will. We’ll look at it once you come back to downsize the bar.” You try to soothe him, reaching to squeeze his shoulder. His shirt gets pulled a tint, and what you meant to do renders forgotten. The tips of your fingers are lured towards warm skin. Weak and indulgent, they dip under the cotton.

A brief contact and the intent changes. Your touch borders everywhere–a slow drag up the nape of his neck and down his front, fingers splaying out to cover more surface.

“Anything else?” he gulps, lost in the sight of your mouth.

“Don’t touch it. Don’t sleep on it.” Your hand rests over his throat, thumb brushing up and down his pulse point. “Promise you’ll listen?”

“Yeah, I’ll listen.” The admission is quiet, not risking to tear apart at the tension. With close he is to you, the words are breathy with his whisper. “I’ll listen to you.”

The mind is a very strange place. Curls around the impossible and tortures until you do something about it. It’s human nature.

Jungkook’s voice breaks with the last bit of bravery he has.

“I’ll do how you ask.”

“Fuck, Jungkook–” You leave your sentence unfinished because you’re way too busy with your lips on his, you’re kissing him, tongue licking into his mouth before you turn aggressive. There’s no second to wait, no moment to take for breath, his senses are overwhelmed from you gripping his jaw to bring him to your level. Jungkook can’t think, he just touches, makes it clear how much he likes it, nails digging into your sides. He brings you closer, tattooed hand fitting how you like it over your waist, needy and hurting your ribs from how tight you’re pressed against him, while the other slots over the nape of your neck, big enough to cover it whole.

He clutches you as if you’re a silver lining in an open space, and there’s so much Jungkook all at once and everywhere around you. There’s electricity buzzing under your skin at the way he moans into the kiss when you bite his lip, pulling you back with him as leans against the drawer, thighs spreading for you to fit until you’re pressed flush against him. Your skin is so hot and you’re so drunk on need you’d peel the layers off and fit yourself into a piece of him, feel his moan reverberate through your being. You would, and you do.

When you break away, you don’t care, that’s what Jungkook registers. You’re nosing his neck, lips closing around a sweet spot under his ear. He winces from the sting, though it is short-lived. Another wave of arousal hits you exhale over the raw skin like the breath has been fucked out of you. He’s so sensitive there, and you don’t care to be gentle, don’t care to soothe the ache—you’re taking for yourself. It’s you being selfish.

His head spins so hard around the idea he has to hold onto you to stay on his feet.

Jungkook wants that, wants you to take. To ask. It thrills him how dangerous that notion is, what he would do.

There’s a soft sound you make right after you bite, a sigh that drips into his blood and travels straight to his dick. Faint cries of his name echo in an empty head, shake him to a blurry reality, paired with kisses under his jaw, on the mole that’s so close to his lip. “Jungkook, we can’t.”

With his inner voice gone, his head is empty and a beat too late he registers you’re speaking to him. He nods into your hair, chest rising and falling shallowly, again and again until he’s able to speak. He swears. Swears he understands but no part of him can do so, if you tell him to stop and yet coax him into giving in.

His neck is wet with traces of your lip balm. “Okay, okay, just—give me a second,”

“No, no—” Frantic, you cup his cheek and without thinking he leans into it, expression softening. Your thumb rubs circles onto the bone, caress it until you pry his eyes open, until he can look at you. “Not here.”

Before he can act, you lace his fingers with yours and lead him towards your bathroom, pull hard on the handle, and in your rush, you use the same force to press him into the door as it closes. Jungkook whines, shameless, hips bucking into you. In his high pitch you can capture the exact moment his last thread of sanity bids its goodbye, leaving him with putrid needs that shudder out of him like they do whenever he is close.

“God, look at you,” you whisper in wonder, latching to his mouth.

Cold runs up his arm and to his sides when you pin his wrist away, knuckles brushing against the tiles. The room’s dense, its width a fraction of the main hall. Its monochrome walls are closing in on the both of you, two specks of colour squeezed together in the tight space.

All at once, he’s hit with how good you smell, tinges of his cologne having rubbed off on you. A different aroma, one that’s sweet and masculine, pierces his senses with the same strength of an alcohol, but instead of focusing, it makes him hazy—hazy and restless. Even in his current state, he can more or less see the same effect on you.

Jungkook looks at you through strands of hair and dropped eyelids, head thrown against the door. “You like it?”

You grin, fingers hooking in the belt loops on his sides and use them to move his hips so his cock drags right into the space between your thighs. “Should I show you or let you guess?”

His hips work with more vigour, coil in his belly pulled too tight while you take your time reciprocating. The softest friction you give back is enough to have him gasping, dick hardening against you.

“You’re the one who seems to like this quite a lot,” You reach under his shirt to stress your point, molding your palms in the deep lines that define his abdomen. They explore, trailing higher until they brush against a nipple, the image of how a bar would fit there a dangerous addition in your head.

“Yeah,” He bites his lip, no point in not being honest now that you have him like this. “I do.”

Once you hear him, you grow more determined, hand closing high around his side and on his ribs. Next thing he knows you're back to his nipple, rolling your thumb over it, the stimulation too much too soon. Jungkook seeks to take your focus from it, but you don't relent.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he pouts before biting back a moan, “I wouldn't want to keep you.”

The moment you hear him, you laugh, fond and delirious—and press harder when you touch. “Yes, Jungkook, I do.”

If he had any walls left, he's sure you would have them crumble when you ask with your other hand hovering on the elastic of his boxers, “Do you?”

He nods, speaks from under his breath, “You have no idea.”

Mischief and anticipation dance in your irises, and when you smile, you do it with full teeth, every bit the bad wolf who's waiting to eat him up. You've chosen to prolong the said wait because instead of gripping, your finger branches out to trace the underside of his dick.

“You can’t do that to me,” he whines, soft voice murmuring pleas.

Jungkook’s torso, yet to be marked, is a pleasant path, one you’d cross again and again, warm and smooth and addicting—it takes most of your willpower to stop, staring him right in the eye with an eyebrow raised. “Can’t do what?”

“You shouldn’t touch me,” Meek and sincere, he lifts your chin and you freeze with your chest pressed against his. “Not if you want to tease.”

It’s a silent beg, because even if he missed being teased, he needs you. He’s so wound up he doesn’t think he can stand it, but he's still proud. Somewhat.

Your expression remains unreadable, but your actions speak loudest when you touch him skin on skin, hand sneaking under his boxers, and—oh.

He restrained himself the best he could when he had close to nothing, but now, with his head fallen back, he moans for you like he’s singing. The more you tighten your grip, the more his octave jumps over the classics you’d been so fond of.

“Careful, baby,” you tut as you spread the precum over his tip and use your body weight to still his shaking thighs. “You could hurt yourself.”

“S-sorry, ah—” he stutters, hand caught between the both of you, squeezing yours over the cotton of his sweatpants. “Feels good.”

He's not used to it, being the centre of attention, people putting lights too bright on him. Can't decide if he likes it or not, though it has him weak. His mind is on you, your time, your pleasure. On how he craves for you to feel him, needs you to feel good. On how he is going to make use of the semblance of control he hasn't given up yet to show you what you're doing to him.

So he does. He walks you back until your hips knock against the sink, pins you the side that is closest to him. Eagerness overcomes him at the impact, pulling at the hem of your shirt, and you cater to his wishes, letting him remove your top. With the layer peeled off, the scene is rougher and more intimate, secrets shared by the two of you tangled in this background, he sees them, lets them drive him crazy.

“How about this?”

It's such a delicate thing, how your bare shoulder connects with its reflection in the mirror. His gaze explores your body, landing on the upper parts covered in ink. Beginning at your sternum, a young lotus connects to a larger piece spread on the top of your torso, adorned with leaves and petals that bloom from its center. The thread between the flower and the full piece is so thin, his tongue would cover it whole.

It's the swell of your breasts that has him distracted and split between choices. But there’s something so primal about the object of his desire in front of him, and his made-up mind can't wait for encouragement, cupping them in wonder under your bra. Your gasp when he brushes against a nipple is so delicious he's the one who can't help himself, dipping his head to get a taste. He sucks like he's expecting praise, grinds more into you and he can't decide if the action is for you or himself.

“Jungkook, ah—” you groan, and the reaction stirs him up further. That mind of his which has been empty is quick to fill out with more than he can handle.

He'd drop down to his knees and crawl as long as you moaned and waited for him like that. He'd kiss and lick up the thigh that's pushing against his dick, hold it as he spread you open with his tongue. By nature, he's a pleaser, and thoughts like these are natural—as natural as those that keep coming, those about himself. They retell how easy it was for him to lose himself, far to the point of no return. A sweetheart in the face of sin.

It's almost laughable how gone he is and what it might say about him, about how down below he really belongs. Well, it's comfortable. He likes it down there.

Lower places are for those who lose, and Jungkook wouldn't mind losing to you, as long as he has a place down and a fighting chance.

He drops to his knees slowly, tongue dragging through the middle of your tattoo and down, kissing his way to the button of your jeans. In a snap, he pops them open, considers letting go, all doe eyes and messy waves that cover folded cartilage and stop right before a lobe marked by matching silver hoops, and now an industrial. Without thought, he catches the flimsy zipper in his mouth then drags it down where he said he belonged, holding onto the metal until the end. His arms flex under your thighs, gripping you tighter as he drops the zipper but not the eye contact. He has to be sure your eyes are on him when that playful glint takes over and his tongue flattens against the front of your jeans.

He's not bad for wanting it, is he?

Your fingers in his hair yank his head back, and oh, this one's different from the sting before—it spreads tingles across his scalp. “But I liked you this way…” He sulks, soft hair putty in your hand.

And he did, still does. Thighs on either side of his head, your face, breathless and grinning above, there's nothing wrong with this angle. “And here I was trying to take it slow.”

On his knees for you, it seems that now he finds the time to be a brat. “Your hands down my pants is slow now?”

You arch an eyebrow. “Lots of things you want to do, hm?”

Equal parts eager and shy, Jungkook nods, moving to lean on your thigh. You're fast to react, hand in his hair coming in between to protect his piercing. He nods with his head in your palm, noses along the inseam of your jeans.

“You just need to...let me.” His hand slithers under the soft flesh and splay on your ass to make his point. For the final dot, he feels for your back pockets, uses them as support to drag down the material until he can see your underwear.

“What about what I want?” you scoff when he's midway through pulling your pants down. “Aren't you being a little selfish?”

He's taken aback by your pout, your always-tender touch. “Uh—”

“You didn't sit to think about it, did you baby?” Wide eyes look up at you, a pang of strange guilt overcoming him. “Whether I want you like this?”

Jungkook wonders about the game you're playing. “I'm sorry—”

Habits force him to be polite, guide you to be patient.

“Poor little heart.” You caress his jaw, his mouth, and this time, his lips close around your finger. “Get up.”

He obeys but not without a fight inside him. Body to body, you soothe the frown off his face with kisses up his neck, paying attention to the noises he makes when you tug at his hair again.

“You looked so good before. Right here,” you whisper when he drops into the touch.

Praise relaxes him, opens up his every pore, pours heat straight to his gut. He knows. Yet part of him has yet to get over how you denied him, occurrence too rare for him to get used to it.

“It's less fun like that.” Jungkook's aware of how he sounds: like a little brat, petulant. As good as he is, it thrills him when he gets to act this way.

“Is it? Baby got a taste and now he can't get enough?” You're mocking but gentle, how he likes to be teased.

He did miss it: missed being teased, missed tearing up a bit.

“I didn't even have to ask to bring you to your knees.” You grip his hair tighter and he moves to the direction your reins are pulling. Ah, missed having his senses tortured. “So willing. So easy.”

“Yes—” he babbles, doesn't care for much when you handle him like that. Neither can he speak much, yet he is aware of everything, is sensitive to everything—shivers as your heel nudges his calf.

“I think it's more fun when you work for it, don't you agree,” You motion at his pants, and he scrambles to drop them to his knees for you stroke his cock, “there's thrill in the chase.”

How true that is. Jungkook aches for a chance to show to you how he is when there's chase involved.

“For you,” he says, tone flat and tired.

“Then it's not the case?”

He shakes his head, now bordering on a dangerous edge. Competition never hurt him. Neither did playing it safe, but he doesn't care to play it safe now that it's about you.

“For you, all for you—” he grabs your wrists and brings them down until you cup him with both hands, rocks his hips into the loose space. “Please let me do something.”

Or make me, is the sentence he leaves buried. More important for him is to hang tight onto your permission, yet hatred over not feeling needed threatens to swallow down his arousal and purge back anger. It's a twisted game he often plays, how long he can deny himself, how much he can hold before he snaps.

He's been close to snapping from the beginning, so out of his mind, he'd do anything you asked. Why weren't you asking? Jungkook would love for you to tell him how to make you a mess, say the word and he would be on his feet, down on his knees. He’s aware it paints a pretty picture when he does it.

Taking pity on him, you bring his hands down to your underwear and remove it together. It flies right past his ego—the immediate reaction is to reach for his own, but you stop him by shaking your head.

You peek down, shudder when you see how hard he is. “Leave them on. It's not safe.”

“Like this then?” Jungkook holds you spread for him as he drags his clothed cock over your clit. He's moving so slow he's shaking. There's so much desire which had to be buried down for him to keep to his word, to respect the promise that he'd listen. “Good?”

“Mm, good.” His chest swells with pride, and he gasps when he feels how wet you are, staining the material. Tentatively, he slides a finger in, then another, scissoring them inside. He goes deeper until he's sure they're coated, gathers the strings of arousal and brings them back to your clit. “That's it—”

The pressure is built with his thumb over your clit, careful and decisive the more you pick the volume. He'd muffle those noises with his mouth or make them louder with his tongue, yet he doesn't have the courage, thus he settles for your neck. It's a welcome distraction, a purpose that's holding him to earth when you're rocking back against him, the sight of you so desperate doing things to him.

“Fuck, you're leaving marks,” you whisper to yourself. It sounds holier, more like a revelation you have bare for him, with your hair messy and neck bit.

“I just. Need something to do, with—with my mouth.” He hurts through the seconds he takes to explain. Exists through his need. “Don't like it empty.”

A call of his name breaks the hold he had.

“If you want to be rough, you can.”

“What?” His head shoots up, confusion written across unfocused eyes. “W-Why?”

“I see you.” You swipe at hair matted over his forehead, mold your print in the drops of sweat laid over the veins in his neck. “And I want you to have it.”

Best case, Jungkook would need a few moments to process this, but you don't give him the pleasure. Every word is a shot fired on his self-control.

“I need you to feel good.” your voice is saccharine, its echo dripping in pleas through his bones. “That's what will make it better.”

“But then...” You're wrapping your thighs around his waist, letting him in. He has no idea what he's protesting.

That urge to suppress, that need, their noise is not yet muted—he hates how he's not done enough. Almost feels useless. But you need him for something else. Proof to his statement is the conviction attached to your request.

“You said you'll listen.” Although you don't mention his behaviour until now, implications hang heavy. “Why aren't you doing that when I tell you to do as you please?”

He's still lost, but now a new desire creeps up, whispering to him how nice it would be to obey. To stomp on his previous effort.

Too many sounds ring in his head, like radio static that shuts off when you press your forehead against his. “Be good, baby. Let go on me.”

Nice and sweet.

Jungkook listens and unravels before you. With rough drags of his cock against your pussy, you can't differentiate whether the mess on his boxers comes from you or him. He's messy yet mindful, angling up his thrusts, making the hit land right onto your clit, deep like he wants to fuck into you.

“Yes, yes—ngh—” This time it comes from him, but you're not far, with how you dig your nails into his muscles. Memories he'll feel for days, along with the strain it takes to keep the both of you upright. He speeds up as soon as you urge him to go faster, a toy on arches, flared up because of your request. Drifting away with the sensation, he almost loses footing when you whisper you're close.

Instead of hazy, the words are electric—he's more awake than he's ever been. Puts in so much work his bones rattle and lids screw shut when you cum, sounds so pretty and long they stretch out to rip his orgasm out of him.

Solemnly, his world quiets.

“You good, baby?” Serene, you massage the nape of his neck and let him cling to you until he can breathe again, “Gave me plenty to clean.”

Jungkook stares at the mess between your bodies before he's puffing out a laugh, “I could be better.”

You sit with him until he parts from you, then put your clothes back on. “Wait here, there's stuff in the cabinet that can help.”

“Hey...” you turn to him in question and he kisses you again. “Thank you.”

You return with the necessary supplies, handing him some wipes as you bend down to disinfect the sink. “It's not much, but it's not like I expected guys throwing themselves at me in my own shop.”

“I did not!” he puffs as he cleans himself up, winces from the sensitivity. “You just... well. Did that!”

“My job?” His eyes are wide and accusing, full of indignation. When you look back, he stares back as if challenged, ready to debate you. “I won't repeat the offense.”

Jungkook steps in front of you, confident and looming. “I'm not leaving until you admit.”

“I'll admit.” You nod, face brightening up as you tease him. “I was too good at my job and made you starstruck.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I'll be here all day.”

“There's security.”

“I'm strong.” His arms wrap around your waist for emphasis. You relax in his hold.

“I saw, big boy.” He's about to say something else but you're quick to cup his face and steal the words off his lips, tap at his pocket. “Hold onto this, okay? And call me if there's any trouble.”

Minutes after exiting, he has the gall to unmute his phone and sees the notifications pop; the top being a text from Namjoon in the groupchat sent over 20 minutes ago.

that guy [4:16 p.m]: jsyk i respect your opinion but i'm putting this shit on mute if you mention anything about the PC version being better again

joonie hyung [4:50 p.m]: Jungkook? joonie hyung [4:50 p.m]: Well? How did it go?

Jungkook chuckles to himself, sitting on a nearby bench, mindful to the saline solution he bought from the front desk that’s now in his lap. Further contemplates the message as his fingers brush over the bobby pin still in his hair as a distraction from the piercing.

There is a bunch of nonsense that follows in the chat from Taehyung and Hoseok, but that's always easy to ignore–he blames it on the force of habit. The parlour's sign is a clear view diagonal from his position, background he sees fit for him at the moment. Jungkook angles his body so he's facing the opposite direction and snaps a picture of his reddened ear, careless to the rosy marks blooming right under. Your contact details are secure in his pocket, printed over the card you gave him, and despite how light they are, they bear the force to keep him grounded.

Tapping the screen to quote Namjoon's reply, Jungkook keeps to his fashion: he's not the one for many words when it isn't needed.

He breaks into giggles. Thumbs up and peace sign emojis suffice.

a/n: namjoon getting his tongue pierced is actually a reference to emma @.personawife’s fic piercings and piercer!yoongi is available over at @.yuengi in bad boys bring it to you which you should totally check out if u want more pierceverse! major thanks to lo for listening to me ramble about this cutie and helping me with the last bits of his character! • remember don’t get pierced with a gun OR a hoop and if you enjoyed please consider leaving a comment i’m starving and koko is not showing sleeve

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timextoxhajima · 4 years ago

Text

GEN Z SERIES, HYUNJAE: The Third Eye

"Will you choose to believe what you see or what you feel?”

Member: Hyunjae

Genre: Fantasy / Slice of Life / Supernatural / Angst / TW

Trigger Warnings: Rape, Self-Harm

Word Count: 5.8k

Taglist: @yn-am-pm @fleurseoul @sunwoowuvbot

The first time I knew I saw something that wasn't there, I was scared. How was an eight-year-old supposed to treat an elderly man who looked closer to a skeleton than a human being standing in the corner of the room... of an elderly's home?

I remember my mother combing my grandmother's hair while my father was helping me pick up my crayons off the floor when I saw him. Nurses were walking down the corridors in a hurry. I remember nobody noticed -- or at least, unlike the conventional way of death that has been portrayed in movies and books by the very cliché usage of the flatlining on the monitor. He had a good amount of hair for an old man in his nineties.

Then again, it might've been his deteriorating health that made him look older than he actually was when he died. Time seemed to pass a lot slower when they let me see them. Unlike the way his skin seemed to sink in between his ribs and wrap around the bones of his arms, his eyes were full of light. The kind that I recognised when I was at school. I didn't know then, because I was just a child he realised could see his soul. But I will never forget the blessing he placed on the top of my head. Every single word etched into my mind like carved into stone.

I told my grandmother about the man I saw earlier that day when my parents went to talk to the nurses of the elderly home. She was scared at first, when she realised her grandchild had abilities that not many had. Yet, she never told my parents, because she knew they would convince themselves that they could do something about it -- as if one could really remove the powers of a third eye all so easily.

Angels are not beings with wings or halos but instead, a bright orb of gold and white. The old man waved so dearly to me, after giving his children and grandchildren a kiss atop their heads though they couldn't feel it. He was 88, auspicious numbers in many cultures. Then when the orb of light drifted in through the window, I remember I could almost hear the sounds of kittens and puppies. But just as it neared him, I heard the familiar sounds of laughter from his children and grandchildren, then static sounds of radio and music I didn't recognise. I will later find out that the music belonged in the 40s.

The orb presents you with everything you've loved and enjoyed and held close to your heart in your life, and should you be content with what the orb has to offer you, then it must be time for you to go.

But where there is light, there is darkness. Where there are orbs of smiles and flowers, there are daggers of blood and evil lurking in the shadows. I was 13 when I saw evil in one of its many forms. I had a headache the entire day, a sign to tell me that my third eye is in close proximity with something that did not align with my believes and morals.

I had expected something to jump out at me through the reflection off the mirror, or a hand to burst through the ground and grab me by the ankle. But no, evil in one of its many forms does not need it to be horrifying and scary.

Her hair was long, and her face was covered in what looked like burn marks.

Does Hell burn through you so quickly?

She looks human, but her fingers were split down the middle, thorns sticking out every finger, in which on each hand she has ten.

As she graced the corridors of school, she sheds these thorns that drop like nails to the floor, waiting for someone to step on those facing upwards. Have you ever gotten a sharp ache or pinch in the soles of your feet when you're walking sometimes?

If you have, then you would've probably stepped on a Hell's Thorn, or at least, that's what I called it. I never found out if she could see me, but when I realised I could touch the thorns and kick them out of sight, they'd roll off into some corner before dissolving into red ash.

Over a decade of being stuck between two worlds. I've done enough reading to understand the dangers of prancing along this line, not being able to shut one side off completely. So, when the ghosts, demons and spirits hide in the shadows of my room, or stare at me point-blank in the middle of the day like a normal human being would, it becomes normal.

They are everywhere, even when you cannot feel them. It gets confusing, when they look more human than some human beings.

Just how much longer... or how much more can I stay like this?

"I don't know where your diary is. If you're telling me it's here, then I'm telling you it's gone."

You are standing right smack in the middle of the school field, afternoon sun beaming down onto your hair. Squinting your eyes, you look around the large space of artificial grass and beyond that, the tracks, where students were finding some fun in running laps in the summer heat.

"But..."

"Lee Eun," Your heart breaks, more than necessary, because this is not the first time you've done it. "What you're looking for isn't here. The building your locker was in was torn down 20 years ago and if it was there, it's gone now. Or at least..." She watches you turn around and stare at the ground beneath your feet. "It's not here anymore."

Lee Eun was a student from your school that graduated in 2000. But she lost her life the day she graduated, only because she hadn't seen the brick falling from the nearby construction site where the school building you attended now was being built.

The silence becomes unbearable so you look up, but you only see the two male students jogging along the track and nobody else in sight. The orb did not come to collect Lee Eun's soul; this is not over.

The sweat has stuck your uniform to your back when you return to class, and it becomes apparent to you that a particular shadow has not shifted an inch since you've stepped into the classroom. You weren't in pain, so this entity is not a demon. Yet, you cannot identify its gender. It had no face, no hair, just... a volume of shadow and darkness and if the girls sitting before it knew it was there, they'd probably scream their head off.

You know its staring at you with every intention in its spirit, though you cannot see its eyes. And it stays when the teacher enters the classroom with a new student trailing behind him. For a moment, your attention is diverted to Jang Jun Hyuk, hair brown and skin fair. The girls in the class were already ogling over him, it's not a surprise anymore. But the shadow turns to look at him, then at you, and the darkness dissolves into the beige wall behind it, vanishing as Jang Jun Hyuk bows and introduces himself.

Then the king of the class speaks at a volume you know you weren't supposed to hear, but consider it a special talent now that you've honed the skills of your third eye.

"Strange vibes," Lee Hyunjae was probably talking to Younghoon. "Don't you think there's something off about him?"

"Are you sure you're not just threatened that there's someone who rivals our popularity?"

Jang Jun Hyuk bows to the class, then is instructed by the teacher to take a seat diagonally behind you, right in front of Lee Hyunjae.

"Hey, new kid."

A frown gently presses itself into your forehead when you can hear Younghoon give Hyunjae a gentle whack on his shoulder.

"Where did you move from?"

"Ah, I moved from another city. My father was transferred."

The shadow was now standing by the door of the classroom, watching the teacher scribble on the whiteboard.

"Cool," Hyunjae offers a friendly laugh. That's more like him. "Join us at lunch, provided you don't have a crowd to hang out with yet."

“Uh, sure.”

The shadow turns to look at you -- even without eyes, you know it’s watching you.

By the time you have been dragged to the cafeteria by your friends (though most people tend to think you’re weird for talking to yourself sometimes), Hyunjae has doubled over on some bench cracking up at a joke Jun Hyuk made.

Your friends can’t help but to draw your attention to the new addition to the group of popular males.

“Man fits right in, doesn’t he?”

“At least he looks like one of them.”

“y/n,” One of the two call out to you. “What happened to... what was her name?”

“Lee Eun.”

“Right, the ghost from twenty years ago. How is she?”

The two look at you with wide, glistening eyes. Most people aren’t as accommodating to your abilities, so it’s a blessing to have them by your side.

“I haven’t seen her since earlier today. She said she had a diary in school but she never found it.”

“Well, maybe it is still in school somewhere, locked up in some lost and found box or lost in some locker. Why else would she still be here and can’t... you know, move on?”

You shrug. I wish I knew.

The library was always comforting. The silence, the sound of pages being flipped and the occasional clicking of someone’s keyboard. And strangely enough, the library’s never really a hotspot for other beings except humans.

The peace was, unfortunately, disrupted though, when Jun Hyuk shows up with his backpack and tie neat around his collar. You greet him subtly before returning to your notes, but he sits down opposite you and renders your desire to be alone useless.

“Hyunjae and Younghoon told me you would be here.”

The pen in your grip gets lowered into the ivory sheets, gaze travelling up to look at him through your lashes. “Lee Hyunjae and Kim Younghoon? Why would they tell you where I am?”

Jun Hyuk offers a shy smile, diverting his brown irises away from you for a second. “Because I asked.”

The cold air stings your nose when you suck in a deep breath. “Why, do you need help with work? Because I’m literally the worst person to ask--”

“No, I just needed to know where I could find you so I could spend time with you.”

Your heart begins to thump madly, because it’s not everyday that a guy is so straightforward with his intentions to someone he just met.

“Uh--” You purse your lips in a bid to form a coherent sentence. “That’s really... honest of you.”

Jun Hyuk grins sweetly, eyes halving into crescents and creasing his skin around his lids. He has a dimple in his left cheek, a detail that you wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t sitting directly opposite you.

“So, can I?”

Confusion strikes you, only because assumption is a dangerous thing we like to do.

“Can you... what?”

“Hang out with you.”

The whir of the air-conditioner in the library becomes a little louder alongside the thumping that was now difficult to ignore in your head.

The blood rushes up to your cheeks and you can feel your face catching fire, so Jun Hyuk eases it by restarting a conversation.

“Anyway, have you done the work from today?”

“I--” You look down at the worksheet he was taking out from his bag. It’s barely filled. “I’ve been staring at it for awhile now--”

“Not good at Math?”

“I’m better at...” Jun Hyuk takes the worksheet and gets up, scooting over to the seat next to you. A gulp finds a way down your throat. “...English and Literature...”

“Well, it’s your lucky day because I’m great at Math.”

Up close, Jin Hyuk smells like fresh linen.

Not a great sign. He knows what makes a girl tick.

Jun Hyuk spends the rest of the afternoon helping you with the worksheet, and the glimmer in his eyes...

“Are you listening?”

Your jaw slacks in surprise, blinking your attention away from staring at him. A chuckle sounds from Jun Hyuk, who looks away with the slightest hint of pride.

Jun Hyuk makes you feel like you are prancing on clouds for the next few weeks. The little notes he passed in class that earned the attention of his new friends, Younghoon and Hyunjae. The sweets and treats that he’d leave on your desk before school and the after-school study sessions were your favourite part of the day.

He’d expected you to be calm and collected when he took the initiative to hold your hand under the table, but he could read how nervous and anxious you got, so he thinks it’s a good idea to ease that anxiety with a kiss on your cheek.

Lee Eun was no longer around to ask you for her diary, but the faceless shadow was still tailing you when you were in the classroom. It’s never interfered with your daily routine though, thus you choose to leave it be and enjoy being a normal teenager for once.

Three months after you met Jun Hyuk though, you could tell Hyunjae was deliberately steering away from him, dragging Younghoon along with him. You can’t help but wonder if it was because you and Jun Hyuk were now romantically involved and that Hyunjae had probably caught wind of the fact that you could see things that weren’t there, leading him to ostracise Jun Hyuk.

Not that it had that much effect anyway, Jun Hyuk was a charming boy on his own; he didn’t need Hyunjae’s help to ‘make it’ in school.

The day carries on as per usual with Jun Hyuk staying in school to study with you. Hands busy scribbling away and eyes darting across worksheets, you’ve always admired how focussed he gets when he does his work.

In attempt to pull him out of his stress-bubble, you cap on your pen and lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder after making sure there was nobody else left in the library.

“Do you want to take a break? You’ve been going at it for quite some time now.”

“I’m just about there, just hold on a minute, would you?”

A pout surfaces on your lips. “I know. I just... do you ever feel bad that Hyunjae and Younghoon aren’t as close to you as before?”

Jun Hyuk finishes the line he’s writing and looks up at you. “Why would I?”

“I don’t know, I just... you must’ve heard the rumor that I can see ghosts. Aren’t you upset that they might be leaving you out because of that?”

“You can see ghosts?” He scoffs. His attitude feels strange today, though he hasn’t said anything wrong. “That’s just stupid. And no, I don’t really care.”

“Oh,” A pause halts you, so you can think of an appropriate response. “You don’t... believe in ghosts or spirits?”

“No, that stuff is for kids.”

The thought of Jun Hyuk not believing in something you were known to be able to see was strangely more discomforting than not.

“Why’d you ask about Hyunjae and Younghoon? I thought you weren’t close with those guys?” He’s placing his pens into his pencil case and keeping his worksheets in his file. You start doing the same.

“I-- I’m not, I’m just asking for your sake.”

“My sake?” He clears the table of his items and leans back in his seat. “Why would it bother me? Is it because you don’t get to talk to them anymore?”

“What? Why would that matter to me?”

“I don’t know, you were pretty smitten with Hyunjae just a few weeks ago.”

“Since when?”

“You think I didn’t notice when you were smiling at him when he was making those jokes-- they weren’t even that funny?”

A frown has finally cemented itself between your brows. “I’m sorry, where is this jealousy even coming from? Why didn’t you just tell me when you saw it?”

Jun Hyuk goes silent, and you can tell he’s upset just by thinking about it. Sighing, you rest your head on his shoulder again in a bid to appease his anger.

“Alright, I’m sorry, okay? I was just concerned that you might feel left out or anything. And rest assured, I wasn’t flirting with Hyunjae.”

Jun Hyuk hums in response, reaching your chin to pull you closer. Your heart starts to pound in your ear when he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips against yours, the sudden intimacy catching you off-guard and sending chills down your spine.

Something doesn’t feel right.

“Jun--” You manage to cough out, just as he starts to bury his nose and lips into your neck. “Jun Hyuk, not here.”

“Come on, there’s nobody here. Isn’t it exciting?” He smirks into your skin but it makes you feel dirty.

“Jun, we really shouldn’t. I’m tired today so...” Gently pushing him off, his eyes are now filled with the ache of rejection. Somewhere inside you, you hope that he understands. But you also hope he knows he’s being an asshole.

“I... I think I’m going to go,” Backing away, you can hear your heart in your ears as you reverse, returning to the table to clear your stationery. His footsteps come dangerously close behind you before you are yanked around violently, each of your elbows coming into tight restraint in his palms.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going home,” When your eyes meet his, they are dark under the lighting. And even then, it seems like the man you trusted had turned to dust and blown away in the wind. “Please, let me go.”

“But don’t you trust me? Didn’t you say that you didn’t know what you’d do without me?” It’s horrifying when his nose comes dangerously closely to yours, his lips that were once part of a daydream now slowly being torn to shreds, forming an idea of a nightmare in your mind.

If you could feel darkness, you were sure you could hurl out nothing but black masses, when he aggressively pastes his lips to yours. There’s a stark difference being in love and being trustworthy... and being this person who was cutting off the blood supply from your face to your mouth now.

“Let me go, please!” Your strength is rendered useless in his tight grip around your wrists, and now he decides to shift his tongue to your neck, harshly sucking on the skin and flesh and making you want to hurl and sob instead. The struggle you offered was of no use to Jun Hyuk, not when he is able to shove you backwards and plaster your back to the study desk with all your pens and pencils under your back.

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?!”

“You should’ve thought about that before you kissed me first in the garden the other day, no?”

The tears finally stream when the betrayal sets in. Not even prayers would work anymore, would they?

Using his upper body weight to hold you to the table, the metal clinking of his belt comes like a warning when you can feel the tears wetting the strands of your hair.

“Jun Hyuk, please...”

“Shut up,” Ice cold fingers run up the length of your thighs and around your hips under your skirt, scratching your skin as he removes your underwear. “Isn’t this how much you trust me?”

Sobs run through gritted teeth as your chin tilts to the ceiling, his body absorbing every ounce of struggle and force you were exerting on him. But, it was so easily drained into him that you were gradually turning limp and lifeless. Hearing him undo his zipper while he wets and marks your skin with his tongue and teeth shuts off all your senses. Your eyes flutter shut with resignation, the shivering and trembling seeping away with your need to escape.

Help me.

Something fuses loudly. The lights go off.

“Who’s there?! Motherfucker!”

The zip goes back up, and the weight on you shifts away.

“I’m going to kill you!”

His voice wears away, getting softer with his footsteps.

Still crying, you pull up your underwear that was dangling at your ankles and push yourself off the surface of the table. Everything on the desk gets swept into your back before you stumble out of the secluded study area, the light of the late sunset greeting your tear stained face.

Reaching home feels like reaching the end point in a marathon, just that instead of feeling pride and glory, you were feeling nothing but worthlessness.

The lukewarm water feels like a gentle hug around your body when you sink into the cold marble, knees propped up and surfaced with your feet flat against the base of the bathtub.

Swollen eyes from crying but too tired to cry somemore, and you find difficulty in even remembering why you even fell for Jun Hyuk in the first place.

It was my fault for bringing it up. I shouldn’t have brought it up.

Maybe if I didn’t have this gift then I didn’t need to ask or worry about Jun Hyuk being ostracised. Maybe it shouldn’t be called a gift after all.

This pain is temporary, right? This small blade can do more than ease the pain. This blood that colors the water can do more than dry the tears from my eyes.

I wish I wasn’t born with this gift.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into the tub, under the surface of the water. The water starts to feel thicker, and before you can count to five, it starts going up your nose.

But then it feels like you’ve been sucked into another dimension and thrown back onto your bed when you gasp, sitting up and choking out what feels like water in your throat.

Your hands fumble around yourself, and you wince when you look down at your wrists. The vertical cut looked more like a scar that’s already healed, rather than an injury you had chosen to inflict on yourself just hours before.

The clock strikes 3.33am, and while you would usually be kind of freaked out because 3 is not an auspicious number, you can’t help but to feel some kind of relief when you realised you were still alive.

The next few days you spend in the shadows. Jun Hyuk tries to apologise to you on more than one occasion, but when you glitch and nearly break down when he gets anywhere near you, your friends start to understand that something had happened.

Why would you want to take your life all of a sudden?

Mr. Shadowman doesn’t leave you alone though. Instead, it starts following you more aggressively, showing up in the strangest of places and in the most horrendous positions. You had seen it standing with its feet planted to the ceiling of the cafeteria, then again standing perfectly still behind the classroom door when the teacher closed it.

Then it finally follows you into the bathroom after school. You’ve changed your studying location to your classroom, so you wouldn’t need to worry about being alone.

But no matter how many times you see this shadow, seeing it curled up under the sink in the female’s toilet makes you yelp and jump backwards, not even enticing a reaction from it.

“You...” Gripping the edge of the sink, you squat and stare at it. “What do you need from me?”

“I wouldn’t go anywhere nearer to it if I were you.” Your eyes dart up into the broken glass above the sink. Seeing Hyunjae staring at you through the reflection, with the pillar hiding the rest of his body was surprising.

It dawns on you that whatever you were seeing, Hyunjae could see it too.

The shadow remained still under the sink, crouched into a mass like someone holding its knees to its chest. The water dripping from under the sink slips through the mass like it wasn’t there. Hyunjae spares you a few seconds to stare at it some more until he grabs your arm and pulls you out of the toilet.

“What the-- don’t touch me--” Yanking your wrist out of his hands, you jerk away from him. The impact pulls your sleeves upwards, revealing the bruises that Jun Hyuk had left on you just a few days ago -- and the scar of the cut down your forearm.

His attention is stolen by the marks, cuing you to nervously pull your sleeves back down as you steal a glance at Hyunjae’s face.

“Don’t interact with that thing,” He advises after a few moments of silence. “It’s been following you.”

Looking up with a harsh frown on your face, confusion and anger starts to seep through your bones.

“You mean to tell me you could see these things all this while?”

Hyunjae’s eyes fill with a tiny pinch of guilt, but he doesn’t look away.

“That thing is harmless,” Your thumb brushes across the area where the bruise was hidden under the material of your sleeve. “It saved me.”

“If it’s harmless or any bit human then why doesn’t it have a face? Or eyes or hair or a mouth?”

“So, you can’t see what it is either. Have you seen others? Ghosts, the angel orbs, demons--”

“Get this clear in your head, I am not here to discuss what you can see,” Hyunjae takes a step closer and looks at you with an expression you can’t read. Was he angry? Frustrated? Worried? Concerned?

“But do not engage with whatever that is. They only stick around if you entertain it, and right now, you are just short of becoming friends with it.”

“You make it sound like you know everything about that other world.”

“And you make it sound like you haven’t seen a demon and that there are no dangers of it.”

The proximity starts to make you anxious; his build is similar to Jun Hyuk’s and the physical confrontation starts to knock on your skull is all the ways possible. Hyunjae retreats when he notices your eyes are unable to meet his now, and he walks away with his fists clenched.

That night, you are unable to fall asleep. Not with the new revelation that Hyunjae can see the same things you do. Or was it just the shadow that he can see?

Has he seen the orbs or angels or demons?

You sit up in your bed, eyes adjusting to the darkness when a thud wakes you up. The crickets outside are loud in the silent night, but it takes you just a split second to recognise the shadow standing in the corner where the door meets the corner of the room.

Keeping your eyes peeled, you fumble around at your nightstand, searching for the button of the lamp. It doesn’t disappear though, when the amber light illuminates the cream-pink room.

“What do you need?” The query comes out more like a whisper, because most spirits you meet are ghosts who need your help or are willing to talk to you -- most of them have faces and eyes and have some resemblance to being human at some point of time in their life.

The shadow pulls itself off the wall, and turns from a flat, regular shadow into a mass of darkness; the same way it was in the classroom when you first saw it, then later under the sink in the bathroom.

This is the first time this has happened -- a shadow that was very obviously a being and yet you cannot decide if it was something harmful or something that once walked the Earth.

By now, the shadow is just about two metres away from your bed, yet you find yourself inching backwards because you cannot predict what it would (or could) do to you.

Then it lifts an arm that reaches out to you, darkness flowing like steam off its limbs as it gets closer to you. But just before it can touch you, a flash of brightness interrupts your interaction.

“Stop.”

Your room is brightly lit up for a split second, blinding you from seeing the shadow. So when your eyes come back into focus, your eyes are about to fall out of your skull when you recognise the back of someone you know.

Hyunjae was standing right next to your bed, between you and the shadow, now visibly a physical blob of darkness.

“You have no business here with her. You don’t even need to be here.”

Silence.

Hyunjae looks at the shadow intently. He is listening to it talk to him, but you hear nothing but the crickets chirping outside.

“Jang Jun Hyuk will be mine to deal with, not yours. You do not need to be here.”

Lee Hyunjae... just what are you?

“Seer but is she a...”

“What did you just say?” You blurt out when the strange croak gets to your head. Hyunjae flinches and turns around to look at you, eyes flickering with worry before turning back to the shadow.

Now, you can see blue orbs for eyes and skin pulled and stretched like it had been worn out through hundreds of years. It was neither a ghost nor human.

It didn’t look like Lee Eun or the elderly man you saw when you were 8, nor did it look like the female demon you saw at 13.

“Leave, you do not belong here.”

“To deserves she know.”

“Know what?” Impatience and fear was getting the better of you, and if Hyunjae was more than human, he would know. “...That I can see you?”

“No, she cannot know!” Hyunjae tries to block you from the ghoul. “That is not your place to tell her!”

The ghoul proves more powerful than Hyunjae and reaches right through him, creating a bright outline of his limb through Hyunjae’s chest.

“No!”

That was the last thing you hear just as the shadow touches your forehead, snapping your neck backwards and sending your memory into a dimension you cannot recognise.

“You will be blessed with eternal protection.”

That was the blessing the elderly man offered you when you were eight. Little did you know that he was merely reading a blessing pinned to your existence on its own.

"The son of Saint Michael had fallen in love with the fairy of the mortals. Saint Michael hadn’t offered the tiniest bit of worry or concern over his son becoming star-crossed lovers. Angels were meant to be with angels and fairies with fairies... Granted that even if you did know about his son’s feelings, you would eventually realise that it was against the laws of the world, for you were a gateway for the Good to seep into the mortal world. But what Saint Michael did not know was that the fairy his son had fallen in love with had stored the same amount of love he had for her in his heart.”

“The Heavens forbid star-crossed lovers between the two breeds of beings. Saint Michael himself couldn’t believe it when his son caved into his feelings right after you did. Fairies were fickle-minded; the only beings of the world of immortals that once walked the Earth as human beings. It was expected that you would provide the same love to the Archangel’s son -- but when he decided to embrace you in his all-gold halo of light... Saint Michael knew he could not afford losing the bearings of his son. He had decided that mortalising you would be a smart decision; keeping you close by letting you protect your ability to connect with this world but restraining you from ever returning to Hyunjae’s side.”

“Yet, like mortals, even immortal beings are unable to fight the strength of love. Hyunjae had decided descend to the world of the Humans and Mortals... to protect you by your side in your second life, allowing you to see him, touch him.”

The day you were reborn was the day Hyunjae had decided to humanise himself, albeit the process was draining and set him on a ticking clock from returning to the other world.

The ghoul looks at you, his blue eyes now revealing himself as a fairy who had disguised himself, in a bid to warn you before you had sold your heart to Hyunjae, something you cannot be with.

“You are paying the price for a fault that was his, do you not bear any resentment?”

The memories return. Flashes of Hyunjae smiling at you because he knew you could see him. The kisses that stained his skin because you were a mere mortal with abilities, and he was a being that was meant for more.

“How is this his fault?”

The fairy is silent, thinking of the words to say.

“Had he lived up to the responsibilities of being the son of Saint Michael, he wouldn’t have caved in.”

Your hair feels light around your shoulders, watching the fairy slowly morph into something less ambiguous.

“What would have happened if we didn’t fall in love in my first life?”

The fairy had grown wings that looks like glass, reflecting light into seven colors into the abyss beyond you. He looks at you, blue eyes never faltering.

“You would’ve become an Undine Fairy, and Hyunjae would’ve had to return to the world of the Skies--”

“And I would never see him again.”

He can see that you’ve had a glimpse into your past life; the forbidden love you had for Hyunjae now buried deep inside you. It feels like someone had just stuck a shovel 6 feet into your heart and dug out every remnant he could find.

“Would you have let him go, had he been true to his existence and you had become an Undine?”

“There’s no way I can answer that, can I?”

The fairy blinks and starts walking backwards. “The rules between the two Worlds are forged in stone, but everybody knows that the matters of the spirit and soul cannot be bound by tangible logic. Your choice depends on what you believe: will you choose to believe what you see or what you feel?”

The question echoes inside your head, and the world around you flashes brightly like you had just died and walked into heaven.

Your consciousness returns to current time, eyes fluttering open as your alarm clock rings you awake. Sitting opposite you, eyes closed as you watch him snoozing lightly despite sitting in a chair, you feel a pinch in your chest.

It’s not his fault, and never will be.

#hyunjae imagines #the boyz #the boyz hyunjae #hyunjae #the boyz imagines #the boyz fanfic #the boyz scenario #tbz imagines

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accioxreparo · 5 years ago

Photo

light of my life

synopsis: All Fred wants to do is forget the war and everything that happened and he finds his perfect escape all the way in New York. In you.

pairing: Fred Weasley x american!reader

warnings: mentions of the war, angst with a happy ending cause I refuse to have it any other way, also a slightly racy scene, there isn’t too much detail, it’s more implied

a/n: basically I’ve been making my way through @ickle-ronniekins masterlist slowly but surely and I know we’re all in a mood tonight but this was stuck in my head and it’s now noon four in the afternoon and I haven’t slept all night cause I was so focused on this whoops

~~~~~~

Fred Weasley has always considered himself to be reckless.

As a kid he’d sneak into the shed behind the house and steal one of the brooms they kept in there. It took four falls, a sprained ankle, and broken arm until he taught himself how to fly.

When he and George started at Hogwarts he promised they’d make a name for themselves. One completely unlike their brothers. Only two days passed before they planted dungbombs all over the dungeons. The smell that lingered alone meant Potions was cancelled for the rest of the week. Sure they’d been given a month's worth of detention but they had people from every house congratulating and thanking them for just as long..

It was only their second year when they decided they were going to open their own joke shop after leaving Hogwarts. Despite all the setbacks they’d had over the years Fred had never been more sure of anything. Even his last year, as he and George sat in their dorm late the night before their escape, they were positive they were making the right choice.

Maybe running a joke shop in the middle of a war hadn’t been the safest thing. Especially not when they were using the basement level as a safehouse for members of the Order. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to provoke the Death Eaters wandering Diagon Alley. But it’d been five months since the attack at Bill’s wedding and Fred had been just so completely done with seeing their stupid faces parading around every day while he worried about whether or not his family was dead.

Finally he couldn’t help himself. A couple well placed tricks lured a fair bit of them to an ambush. Maybe if he’d thought it through a little, listened to the plan instead of going off on his own, their shop wouldn’t have been burned to the ground during the fight. He, George, Bill, and Charlie had taken out a dozen Death Eaters that day though so maybe, just maybe it had been worth it.

Except his only remaining safe haven was gone. The war he wanted no part in had taken too much from him. His shop he’d spent years building alongside George. His family home that he watched burn down. His youngest brother who he hadn’t heard from in months. So yeah, maybe it made him just a little more reckless. A little more desperate.

But he was Fred Weasley after all and things had a funny way of working out in his favor. He would go on raids and taunt the Death Eaters like there was no tomorrow, which he supposed in a way there wasn’t. He was on the run for months but never once had he even been close to getting caught.

There was a war raging and even though the life he’d always known had gotten ripped out from under him, there he was. And by Merlin did it make him feel unstoppable. When the Battle of Hogwarts came he stood tall and confident, a smirk gracing his face. He was Fred fucking Weasley. He was reckless and invincible.

But then he died.

Well, almost.

One moment he was laughing at whatever joke Percy of all people had made and the next...well he wasn’t too sure what happened the next. He remembered bricks, a lot of them, and the sound of people screaming his name. Flashes of black, emptiness mingled with...had those been fireworks going off above the school? They couldn’t have been. He remembered not being able to breathe, this crushing feeling surrounding him until suddenly...it wasn’t.

There was this strange gap in his memory before suddenly he was blinking his eyes open in the hospital wing. The tear stained face of his mother had been the first thing he saw. It was as each member of his family cried as they hugged him that he realized he may have been Fred Weasley but he was, in fact, not invincible.

It took two days until Madam Pomfrey even let him sit up in his hospital bed. Another week passed where all he could do was think. Think and watch the aftermath of a Battle he’d missed play out around him. It was during that time that he came to a conclusion.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?”

His mum wasn’t too happy about it. It had only been two days since he was discharged and she was smothering him senseless. Though he supposed he could understand where she was coming from, she’d almost lost a son after all. Nevertheless it was a reminder of just that. A well meaning, nagging reminder that he had almost died. And he would have absolutely none of that.

“I mean that as of tomorrow morning I will no longer be in this house,” Fred didn’t look away from where he was stuffing whatever useful items he could find laying around into a backpack. He wandered from the living room to the kitchen only to have his dad, Charlie, George, Ginny and Harry go uncharacteristically silent at his arrival.

“And just where do you think you’re going to go?” Molly followed him into the kitchen, hands on her hips as she watched Fred stick some bottled up potions ingredients into his bag.

“Anywhere,” Fred shot around, a grin on his face and a bottle of lavender sprigs in his hand. “Everywhere.”

“Sweetheart,” She didn’t notice the way he winced at the name. It was never a term he’d heard directed at him before. Dear, sure maybe every now and then. Troublemaker was usually the go to. But sweetheart? Never. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Especially after -”

“After what? After you thought I had died?” Fred purposely ignored the way each one of them grimaced at his words. “That’s exactly why I have to go!”

“Running off to who knows where? That’s your plan?”

“I don’t have a plan. I just know -”

“Oh, even better!” Molly threw the dish towel in her hand down on the floor and pointed an accusing finger between everyone for a few moments before finally focusing on Fred. “You’ve always been the most careless out of everyone, you know. I will not let you -”

“Will you just listen to me!” All it took was a shout and a stomp of his foot for Fred to feel like a child again. He needed to be heard, though, and nobody was listening. Everything came pouring out all at once without him meaning for it to.

“I’ve done nothing, mum! I can’t sit in this house, in this place, after being a breath away from dying and pretend like everything is okay! I’ve always thought I was daring and out there and sure, maybe a little careless but I’ve never even left this bloody town. I’ve gone from here, to the school, to the shop and back a thousand times over but never anywhere else. You know what that shop was? It was safe. It was what I knew. I loved it, of course I did. I still do and one day we’ll rebuild. But I can’t go back there after being at death’s door without leaving first because then there’s no point.”

The kitchen of the Weasley house had never been silent but it was now. Nobody dared to speak a word. The more silence that passed, the more Fred’s words sank in and the more everybody realized that maybe he had a point. Even if they didn’t agree with it all, who were they to tell him what to do? Who were they to tell him to stay put and do as he always had when he was clearly so desperate to go?

A few minutes of tense silence and awkward glances passed before Fred finally sighed to himself, stuffed the lavender sprigs in his bag, and muttered, “I’m leaving tomorrow morning from King’s Cross if any of you care to see me off.”

***

The war hadn’t been easy for you. It hadn’t been easy for anybody, especially for the people dealing with the brunt of Voldemort’s attacks in England, realistically you knew that. Still, it didn’t stop you from firmly believing that the world was conspiring against you for a time. Now that all was said and done you prided yourself on having bounced back quickly.

You’d been at the helm of several restoration projects at MACUSA and now just a short while later you walked through the streets of Mac Square with ease, a smile on your face. It felt normal. Traces of the battle that had happened there were nowhere to be found. There were no more piles of ashes. No more scorch marks and stains littering the sidewalks. No more ruins to clean up. It was as it had always been.

Well, almost.

Standing right in the middle of the Square was a giant display of dark granite blocks, names carved on every inch of the space. Wooden benches sat every couple of feet but hardly anyone sat on them. Everyone had been much too eager to get on with their lives, pretend the past had never happened. There you sat though, staring at the words etched at the head of the display. In memoriam.

“What do you do here everyday?” The voice startled you. A laugh rang in your ears as you held a hand to your chest, a hopeless attempt to slow your heart rate down again. “Sorry if I startled you.”

The person didn’t hesitate to sit beside you on the bench. He, like most people, paid no mind to the display. Instead he turned, placing one of his legs on the bench so he was facing you. It took a few moments for your breathing to return to normal and finally you looked at him. Quite frankly, he wasn't what you were expecting.

He was around your age, quite tall and well built. His bright red hair was an odd length between short and long and rather messy. He was donning jeans, worn white sneakers, a Weird Sisters t-shirt, and a windbreaker jacket whose sleeves were currently pushed up.

“Do you always sneak up on people like that?” You said after a few moments, not missing the smirk on the person's face.

“I’ve been told I’m usually rather loud,” He shrugged easily and settled further into the bench. “You were just very concentrated on your staring.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that maybe that was for a reason?” The faint smile on your face gave away how amused you really were.

“Well you’ve been sitting on this bench for the last ninety minutes and I simply figured you were either dead, asleep, or in desperate need of a distraction. Lucky for me, it was the last one.” The person reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch. He plucked one of whatever was in there out and tossed it into his mouth, grimacing as he bit into it.

“What you’re really getting at is that you've been watching me for the last hour and a half.” You gave in and turned so you were facing the person you had yet to learn the name of.

“No,” He shook his head and ate another one of whatever item was in the bag. Jellybeans, upon closer inspection. “I’ve been watching you for the past week.” Just as you were about to mention how bad that sounded he motioned towards the building behind you. “My flat is just over there and every day I can look out the window and see you sit on this very bench around lunchtime and stare at that wall. Why?”

His forwardness surprised you. For a brief moment you debated telling him. But he was a stranger, after all, so you decided against it. “Are you always this brash?”

The stranger didn’t hesitate. “Unfortunately for you, yes.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Then I’ll tell you,” He popped another jellybean in his mouth and nodded. “As long as you promise to tell me why you sit in front of this wall every day after.”

“I’m not promising you anything. Not without knowing your name.”

Your statement seemed to please the stranger and he smirked, offering you the pouch. You took a couple jellybeans but didn’t eat any just yet. Silence filled the air and for a moment this strange look flashed in the strangers eyes. It was gone as quick as it had appeared and soon he nodded. “I’ll make an exception but just this once.”

“Oh how kind of you.” You offered him a smile because you recognized the look all too well.

“Do I get to know your name at least?” He returned your smile, seemingly relieved to still have you as a distraction.

“Maybe,” You shrugged and ate one of the jellybeans. Blueberry. “If you’re lucky.”

“Fair enough,” The person grinned and ate another candy. He spit that one out quickly and made a disgusted face. “Liver.”

“That’s your name? Liver?” Your smirk quickly softened when he laughed again. It was a sound you would be happy to get used to.

“No,” He put away the pouch of jellybeans, having been put off by the last one he’d had the misfortune of biting into. “Though it’d be a fine name wouldn’t it?”

“If that’s your thing, sure.”

He studied you for a few moments, staring in a way that had you wishing you could peer into that mind of his. “Fred Weasley.”

The sudden beeping of your watch had you quickly standing up, pulling the bag at your feet onto your shoulder. “Well, Fred Weasley, it was nice talking to you but I have to get back to work. The members of the MACUSA Cabinet are sticklers for punctuality.”

“Wait,” He, Fred as you’d found out, sat up on the bench and you paused your movements easier than you normally would have. “What about your name?”

Something about him and the way he looked at you in that moment made you want to sit back down beside him, meetings be damned. You weren’t above toying with him a little though so you gave him another soft smile. “I said I’d tell you if you were lucky. Are you lucky, Fred Weasley?”

Fred thought about what you were asking him. He thought of the countless things he’d gotten away with at school. Of all the fights he walked out of without a scratch. Of the fact that he was sitting on that bench at that moment talking to you. He grinned and finally nodded once, “I’d say so, sure.”

“Well then,” You lifted your bag higher on your shoulder and slowly took a few steps backward. “If you’re so lucky then I’m sure you’ll find me soon and I’ll tell you then.”

You walked away in the direction of where the MACUSA offices were, a newfound ease to your every step. Meanwhile Fred watched you walk away, already wondering when he’d see you again, until you were just a blurry figure in the distance.

***

After five hours of running up and down to different meetings the only thing you wanted to do was go home and sit. The last thing you were expecting to find was Fred Weasley standing in the middle of the lobby. Though you had to admit, he as a welcome distraction. He looked out of place, the jacket he’d been wearing earlier a stark contrast to all the suits and dress robes.

“Told you I was lucky,” Fred pushed himself off of the pillar he’d been leaning on the moment he saw you step off one of the elevators.

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” You sighed as you approached him, the two of you already making your way out of the building side by side. “Maybe good listening and decent investigative skills is more accurate.”

“I’ll take it,” Fred laughed and held the door open for you as the two of you left the offices. He had no clue where he was going but he trusted that you did. “Now I believe the grand prize for my successfully locating the MACUSA offices was the pleasure of knowing your name.”

You didn’t say anything though, not right away. The two of you walked at least three blocks before you looked around to make sure no one was looking and took out your wand. Fred watched as you touched a series of bricks and a portion of the wall faded away to reveal a new alleyway. He followed you without hesitation.

The apartment buildings looked like every other complex he’d seen. Upon closer inspection though, they were each different. One had flowers painted all up and down the sides, enchanted so they were blooming. Another looked like a dozen single homes stacked on top of each other. Yet another had a phoenix watching over a playground, flying between a couple different buildings.

You watched Fred spin around a few times, taking in everything that now surrounded him. There was a light in his eyes that you’d seen only a glimpse of that morning, one that held wonder beyond belief. It was going at full force now and you felt a strange desire to keep it there. “You hungry, Fred Weasley?”

***

“Ever heard of twenty questions?”

“Can’t say I have, Y/N,” Fred answered through a mouthful of waffles. You’d told him your name on the way to the diner and he’d wasted no time in repeating it over and over to himself. He threw his head back against the vinyl booth the two of you were sitting in and made a satisfied noise. “Would you believe I’ve also never had breakfast for dinner. What do you think it is about nighttime that makes waffles so good?”

“Forbidden fruit I guess.”

“So how’s this game of yours work?”

“Pretty simple,” You drank the rest of your coffee and moments later a pitcher came floating from the counter to refill your cup. As the cream and sugar mixed themselves into the coffee you reached into your bag and pulled out a pen, placing it on top of a napkin. “I ask you a question, you answer. Then you ask me a question and I answer. We keep going until all twenty questions have been asked.”

“Where’d you learn this game?” Fred asked without thinking as he picked up his milkshake. The pen scribbled a single tally mark on the napkin and he quickly put down the large cup, shaking his head. “That doesn’t count!”

“Afraid it does,” You laughed when he glared at the pen before turning back to face you. “We played it at the beginning of every year at Ilvermorny to make the incoming first years feel more welcome.

“Ilvermorny.” Fred repeated what you’d told him, as if testing it to see if the word was real.

“You have heard of it, haven’t you?” It was your turn to frown when the pen scribbled down another tally mark.

“I have,” Fred nodded but avoided your gaze, instead focusing on digging the cherry out from under all the extra whipped cream he’d insisted on ordering with his milkshake. “I just don’t think I’ve ever really realized what was out there in the real world.”

“Well you’re here now,” The words left you without warning. They brought the smile back to Fred’s face though so you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. “Ask away.”

And he did. He asked you about Ilvermorny and you told him basic things like your house and what it was like. You, in return, asked him about Hogwarts and all he’d told you about was his own house and the dozens of situations that occurred while he was there. An hour passed and the two of you had made your way through almost the entire game. Fred had ordered another milkshake and you had had two more cups of coffee.

“Eighteen, what were you doing at the MACUSA offices earlier?” Fred leaned forward on the table, lowering his voice to a whisper as if you were swapping trade secrets back and forth. “You don’t seem like the government type. No offence.”

“None taken,” You smiled before following his movements, leaning forward and accidentally spilling a bit of your coffee. “And if you must know I was meeting with the officials who are in charge of the classes taught at Ilvermorny. Now that restoration is complete I’m supposed to start teaching there again.”

“So you’re a professor,” Fred’s response had come out as an observation instead of a question. He’d quickly mastered how to get around the pen marking every single thing he said as another tally.

“Of sorts,” You gave a shrug and pushed your coffee aside. “Despite what they’ll have everyone believe the curriculum is dated at best and incompetent at worst. I taught myself more than any of my professors did and since then I’ve been working on rewriting the teachings of a school hundreds of years old so you can only imagine how that’s going for me.”

For a very brief moment Fred thought of his last year at Hogwarts and all the times he’d snuck around for Dumbledore’s Army meetings. He thought of the fact that it was only the start of his career during the war. The lessons they’d worked on had come in more handy than anyone knew. He thought of...no. He refused to think about it any longer so instead he quickly shook his head and forced another smile onto his face. “I believe it’s your turn.”

“Nineteen,” You didn’t notice Fred’s break in his own composure and thought to yourself for a moment as you dug a pile of dragots out of your bag and set them on the table. “Why are you here, Fred Weasley?” You quickly continued when you saw the smirk cross his face. “Here meaning America, not the diner with me.”

He laughed at your clarification. The two of you had only known each other for a few hours at best and it already felt like you knew him inside and out. He liked the idea more than he cared to admit.

“I needed a change after everything,” Fred shrugged, watching your face carefully for any sign of disappointment in his answer. He never found one though. Instead you looked at him, a soft grin on your face and maybe it was the homey feel of the diner or the colored lighting that softened your every feature or maybe even just the ease he felt while talking to you but he knew exactly what his last question would be. “Twenty, would you consider doing this with me again tomorrow?”

Your answer came almost immediately. “Absolutely.”

***

Two months after that dinner at Red’s Diner, Fred was moving into your apartment in the Art District. Upon seeing the building that was yours, one with painted birds fluttering across the bricks, he’d told you it suited you with a smile. That night as the two of you were eating dinner at Red’s he kissed you for the first time, admitting to you in a quiet whisper that for the first time since he left home he felt okay.

As much as you wanted to, you didn’t press the topic any further. You were comfortable around Fred and yet everything he did was wildly unpredictable in the best ways. Life with him was never boring and it was exactly what you needed. It had been a long time since you yourself had felt fine with your own life but with Fred it was so much more than that. He was home and you didn’t hesitate to tell him that.

A month after he moved in you told him about the wall he’d first found you sitting in front of, the one meant to commemorate those who had died in the war. You told him about your own part in it, the fights that raged on for days in the biggest wizarding hubs in America. Despite what was believed, England wasn’t the only place invaded by Death Eaters. You told him about the names you stared at on the wall. Your best friend. Your little sister. Your father. Countless people you’d met at school.

Fred held you close as you told him everything. You spoke so easily about what you’d gone through while he didn’t even dare think about what he had lived through himself. He came to the realization then that maybe you were stronger than him in ways he couldn’t even begin to fathom. It was after realizing that when he came to the conclusion that he loved you, completely and wholeheartedly. And he told you so.

Three months after that was the first night you woke up to screaming. The moon was shining high in the sky and you’d been startled awake when Fred shot up in bed gasping for air, eyes wide and bloodshot. You were quick to reach for him but when the sound of your voice couldn’t bring him out of whatever trance he was stuck in you crawled into his lap. Your hands reached for his face, bringing his eyes to meet yours. The sight of tear stains on his flushed cheeks surprised you. So did the sudden realization that he was gripping his wand tightly in one of his hands.

“Hey,” You spoke gently, still cradling his face in your hands. “You’re okay, I’m right here.” It took a few minutes of your soft reassurances before he finally looked at you. He was brought back to reality and relief flooded his entire body. His wand fell out of his hand to the floor and he collapsed into you, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame as he buried his head in your chest. He shut his eyes and tried to keep his cries silent. “I’m right here.”

Two hours later Fred had managed to fall back asleep but he hadn’t let you go once. You were sitting against the headboard of the bed with his head in your lap, gently running a hand through his hair that had grown considerably longer. His breathing had evened out but you didn’t dare move him. A pain shot through you at the memory of him crying into your shoulder and you wanted more than anything to know how you could help him. Instead you were left wondering what it was that had woken him up and left him so scared.

You were brought out of your own sleep the next morning by the feeling of Fred aimlessly drawing random shapes on the bare skin of your thighs with his fingers. He was considerably calmer now but when he looked up at you you knew he was still thinking about the previous night.

“Did I wake you?” His voice was hoarse and the usual smile he wore every morning was nowhere to be seen.

“No,” You lied. Fred needed your reassurance and you were more than willing to give it to him. “Been awake for a while.”

Fred watched you for a moment as he tried to gauge how you were feeling. He hated being pitied more than anything else but there was no trace of the feeling on your face. A little bit of concern, sure, but that was to be expected after what he vaguely remembered putting you through. Mostly though you met his gaze with the same look of adoration you gave him every morning, one he usually returned. But at the moment his mind was hurtling out of control and never before had he had anybody at his side to deal with it alongside.

He shuffled a little on the bed until he was more comfortably curled up into you. You felt like peace and that was something he was currently craving. “Can I -” He bit his lip and went silent, suddenly not sure if it was okay. “Can I tell you about it?”

“Of course,” Your answer was automatic despite not knowing what ‘it’ was. You didn’t have to know, though. Nothing he could say, nothing that had happened, would ever change how you felt about Fred Weasley. You hugged him tighter to reassure him of that.

Several minutes of silence passed. The faint chatter coming from outside the window was the only noise that filled the room. It was almost cruel, Fred thought, the way everybody else went on with their Saturday morning while he sat there helplessly reliving that stupid war for the thousandth time. Finally with a shaky sigh he began telling you his story.

“I saw it all happen.” You knew what he meant the moment the words left his mouth.

“I can remember the night Harry yelled about you-know-who being back clear as day. I can remember him crying over Cedric Diggory’s body and the screams of his father when he saw that his son was dead. God, at the time I wanted nothing more than to be in that stupid tournament and I hate the fact that now I’m glad I wasn’t. I hated him, you know. Cedric. All because of a bloody game of Quidditch he beat us in. I’d give anything to take that back.”

You pretended not to notice the damp feeling soaking through your sleep shirt. Tears.

“Nobody believed him. A boy died and nobody believed Harry. Instead we were all tortured for a year. The ministry likes to pretend they didn’t make it happen but there’s no other word for it. She made us write lines in our own blood, what else do you call it? And my dad -” He stopped, a particularly loud and shaky exhale leaving his body as he gripped you tightly. “He almost died that year all because nobody wanted to believe it. And George and I we’d just had enough of it, you know? So we left. For just a day everyone in that school was a child again and we made it happen. I don’t regret it, not at all. But maybe if we had stayed, maybe if we had made just a little more of an effort...maybe then my brother and my sister and our friends wouldn’t have had to fight off Death Eaters alone. They shouldn’t have had to, they were children. We all were. But nobody believed them and they were children and they watched somebody we cared about die that night. Why didn’t anybody believe them!”

Everything you were hearing was new to you. Fred had told you about his family countless times, true, but never like this. He’d mentioned them by name a few times and told you stories about the summers they were all home but this? He had literally been in the middle of the war right alongside the Golden Trio you had heard so many rumors about. He was shaking, sobbing into your shoulder again and you had no idea what to say. So you settled for holding him, a silent promise that none of that would ever happen to him again, not if you had anything to say about it.

It wasn’t until his breathing had evened once more that he worked up the courage to speak again. He swallowed thickly and his voice cracked but he powered through. Oddly enough a small weight had lifted off of his shoulders but there was still something holding him down.

“I was never scared. I knew exactly what was coming. That’s why me and George opened the shop in the first place. Because people have to find hope somewhere after all. So we laughed and we made jokes and we made other people happy and that was enough. Death eaters burned down our house but we rebuilt it. Ron was poisoned by one of them but Harry saved him like always. Dumbledore was murdered by a professor at the school who we trusted but even then we were okay because we, the Order, knew exactly what to do. Not even at Bill’s wedding was I scared. They attacked and people were killed and others went missing but I wasn’t scared. I was furious. I was angry and I did everything I could to make sure those Death Eaters knew it. I was -”

Fred stops again. He’s not hesitant because of a bad memory this time, no. He remembers the day he and his brothers fought the Death Eaters in Diagon Alley and what happened as a result. Shame burns through him at that moment. At the reminder of what he did.

“I wanted them to go away, that’s all. It - It was war and you do desperate things and I didn’t mean to do it. But dark magic is hard to control, most of all a curse like fiendfyre. I’m the one who cast it and I put it out eventually but not before it reached the shop. I stood there and I watched it burn and I told George, Bill, and Charlie that it was the death eaters who cast the curse. They believed me. After that I fought and I ran and I laughed and fought some more and I was never scared, not once. Maybe that’s why.”

You couldn’t help yourself. Fred had stopped talking but he wasn’t done feeling. That you knew for a fact. It’s what prompted you to ask, “Why what?”

You didn’t even notice that you’d been crying yourself until Fred turned his head to look at you, frowned, and reached up to wipe away your tears. There was no hesitation in your movements as you leaned into his touch and gently placed your hand over his own. He looked only at you as he continued.

“Why I died.” He paused once more to reach for your other hand, intertwine it with his own, and press a soft kiss to it, reassuring you that despite his statement he was still there in your shared room right next to you.

“Madam Pomfrey told me after I was being particularly difficult one night. Percy had brought me to the hospital wing after the blast that knocked down that wall in the courtyard crushed me. She said she was the one who checked me herself. I was dead. She told my mum with tears in her eyes that I was gone and suddenly two minutes later I was opening my eyes again. I didn’t know why they were all crying. I didn’t know why they hugged me and kept repeating that I was alive. I didn’t process any of it until I woke up a couple nights later because I couldn’t breath. I was being crushed under the weight of a thousand bricks but I opened my eyes and there was nothing there. Only me and the dark room and flashes of every single thing that I had done during the war who’s ending I missed. That’s why I really left. Because that night was the first time I was scared. The worst part is that I wasn’t scared of the war that wasn’t even happening anymore. I was scared because I really thought I had accomplished a lot and it took dying to know that I really didn’t.”

“Look at me,” You said after only a few seconds, once it was clear that Fred had finished telling you his story. He listened to you, sitting up fully and watching as you turned to face him completely. “You are here and well and I could not love you more. What was that thing you said. You made other people happy and that was enough. I’ve heard your stories, each one you tell with the widest grin. I’ve seen you play with those kids from two floors down and the smile you put on their faces. I absolutely know that even when things were dark you did everything you could to bring a little light into the world. And listen to me, Fred Weasley, that is way more than enough and I never want to hear you say or even think otherwise. Okay?”

For a minute all he did was stare at you. He wasn’t quite sure what it was he was looking for but very slowly a soft smile grew on his face and he found himself nodding. Then without warning he launched himself forward, held your face in his hands, and kissed you. It was hard and passionate and filled with a thousand emotions. He was positive then, as the two of you moved together, wrapped in a blanket of love and reassurance, that he never wanted to leave your side. You were the one who made his world good. You were the one who made him feel better and loved beyond belief and that was really all he could ask for.

***

The door of your apartment slammed shut behind you and almost immediately you were pushed against the wall. Frantic, wandering hands quickly removed Fred’s jacket and unzipped the front of your dress. Even in between heated kisses you could still taste the chocolate malted milkshake he had drank at Red’s earlier. A laugh escaped you at the fact as you gripped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

“Why are you laughing, this is a very serious moment,” Fred asked, a smile playing on his lips as he slipped the dress off your shoulders.

“No reason,” You shook your head, kissing him once more as you unbuckled his jeans. Another laugh soon escaped you when he nearly fell over trying to get them off.

“You’re so mean,” He teased, pulling the long sleeve shirt you’d been wearing underneath the dress off. Then he glanced at the thigh high boots you were wearing and sighed. “Darling, I really do love the sight of you in those boots of yours but they are such a hassle to get off at times like this, you know.”

“Which is why last time I wore these,” You quickly moved to unzip them, taking them off one at a time with a smirk on your face. “You had me keep them on.”

Fred wasted no time in reaching for you again once the boots were off, lifting you off the floor and wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying you in the direction of the room. “You know,” He said once reaching the bed. “The lease on the apartment is ending soon.”

“What a -” You were cut off by your own moan as he sucked a mark on the skin of your neck. “An odd thing to bring up now of all times.”

“I just thought,” Satisfied with the mark left on your skin, he started peppering wet kisses down your body, stopping every now and then to bite softly and speak words in between. “Maybe we’d try living somewhere else. Like London.”

“Are you serious?” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face. There had only been a few times when the two of you discussed meeting Fred’s family and each time had ended in a firm ‘one day’. The statement surprised you but didn’t distract you from the feeling of your legs being pushed apart the farther down Fred went.

“Of course,” Even as he kissed the soft skin of your thighs you could feel the smirk playing on his lips as he heard your breathing quicken. “I’ve been dying to show my fiancée off to everyone, you know.”

“Maybe we should -” A sudden gasp escaped you at the feeling of the fabric of your underwear snapping against your skin. You glared a bit when Fred chuckled softly at your reaction. “We should discuss me meeting your family later. Maybe when we aren’t half naked?”

A real laugh escaped Fred at your words but he quickly smirked again and resumed his previous actions. “As you wish.”

***

Nervous was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. But it was all you felt now as you stared at the home you knew was the Burrow. The Weasley family home. An endless stream of butterflies fluttered in the pit of your stomach and you had to resist the urge to fiddle with the glittering ring on your finger to calm yourself. That was how you’d lost it only a few days ago in the middle of moving all the boxes around your new apartment in one of the wizarding boroughs in London, only a couple blocks from Diagon Alley.

The decision to move came easy for both you and Fred. He was confident that he could face everything and everyone again. The morning he’d told you everything was the morning he realized talking it through with you was more than helpful. And you had happily handed over the revised curriculums to the Headmistress of Ilvermorny only a day before leaving New York. From what you heard, there was another school who could do with the same treatment and you were eager to assist.

It’d been exactly eleven days since the two of you had moved to London. While Fred had seen his family a couple times now, he was insistent on wanting to give you a big reveal. The only person he’d let into the apartment was George, who upon meeting you loved you instantly. The three of you had spent all day talking, swapping stories usually at Fred’s expense.

Finally that morning he’d woken you up with a grin, had you get ready, and told you it was time for your first Weasley family dinner. Or lunch, technically.

“Hey,” Fred stepped in front of you and immediately saw the nervous look in your eyes. He held your face in his hands and kissed you softly, resting his forehead on yours right after. With that one small movement your nerves faded away and you visibly relaxed. “Everyone is going to love you. Promise.”

“I’m trusting you on that,” You spoke after a few seconds, a smile making its way onto your face. With a satisfied grin, Fred took your hand and pulled you in the direction of the house.

You were fully expecting to be ambushed the moment you walked through the door, you were prepared for it. Instead you were met with a silent house. Fred wasn’t phased though, he simply led you through the rooms. You walked through a living room whose walls were covered in moving pictures, the kitchen where a pile of pots and pans were washing themselves in the sin, and finally into the backyard. That’s where everyone was waiting.

“She’s real!”

“Shove off,” Fred rolled his eyes at the sudden exclamation as he finally stopped, still holding onto your hand to keep you comfortable. He looked at you, the look on his face softening when he did so. “This is everyone.”

“You aren’t going to introduce me?” You asked, a slight smirk making its way onto your face.

Fred laughed and glanced around at everyone else before matching the look on your face. “They’re going to ambush you one by one anyway. Figured I’d save at least one of us the trouble.”

That was all the confirmation anyone needed to hear. Before you knew it you were being pulled into a tight hug by the first person to reach you.

“We’ve heard so much about you, dear!” Molly was beaming as she held you at arms length. “Even prettier than he said. Told us about you in every letter he sent, you know.”

“Did not,” Fred, who’d taken a step back and was now standing beside George, met your eyes, saw your smirk widen, and immediately knew he was never going to hear the end of it.

“He did too,” Ginny walked up to you next and glanced between you and her brother. You recognized the familiar mischievous glint in her eyes and already knew you were going to love her. “Mum read them out loud and everything.”

“Mum!”

“Sorry, dear,” You could tell by the tone in her voice that Molly wasn’t sorry at all. She simply smiled, squeezed you once more, then walked over to Fred placing a hand on his cheek. “They were adorable.”

“I think she even has one framed,” You recognized Charlie by the dragon tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his shirt. He didn’t hesitate to throw his arm over your shoulders in greeting. “What was it you wrote? ‘Her smile shines brighter than the city lights, mum, I swear.’”

“Who knew you were so poetic?” Ron mimicked Charlie’s movements, leaning on your other shoulder. He looked at you with an amused smile. “You really bring out the best in our dear, Freddie, Y/N.”

For once Fred didn’t mind the teasing. It was worth seeing the way your eyes lit up, head tossed back in laughter alongside his family. He wondered as he watched Ginny pull you towards the table why he hadn’t introduced you sooner. You fit right in with everyone and he loved it. He loved you.

It was Hermione who finally mentioned the ring you were wearing as you piled food onto your plate. She grinned, taking your left hand to examine it. “When’s the wedding, then?”

“The what?” Came chorused from no less than eight people.

“Don’t tell me none of you noticed,” Fleur said, suddenly appearing on the other side of Hermione to look at the ring.

“It was obvious,” Percy, who was already eating, shrugged. He’d been the only one to quietly give you his congratulations, smiling excitedly as he did so.

“Why didn’t you tell us!” Molly scolded, flinging one of the dish towels at Fred who quickly ducked out of the way.

“Why’d you think I wanted everyone here? Just for fun?” Fred defended, not moving fast enough to dodge the balled up napkin Bill threw at him.

“You could have at least said you had news or something,” Bill appeared behind you and Fred quickly, hugging you both at once. “This is huge.”

“It really is,” Harry agreed, placing a hand on Fred’s shoulder. “None of us thought you’d be next.”

“Well,” Fred only smiled, wrapping his free arm around your waist to pull you close and kissed your cheek softly. You looked up at him, practically beaming. “Only the best for my love.”

“You should’ve told us sooner,” Arthur happily smiled at the scene from where he was standing right beside Molly. “Your mother’s been waiting to plan another wedding since Bill and Fleur’s.”

It wasn’t a lie, as evidenced by the flurry of questions that were shot your way. How’s and when’s and everything in between. Needless to say as all of you sat around the table that summer afternoon several decisions were made. Upon being asked by Molly when you two wanted the wedding to be Fred had immediately told her as soon as possible. She smiled at the sight of him looking at you with pure adoration and pushed back the happy tears in her eyes.

The conversation finally changed topic as the afternoon went on. Night had fallen and everyone had drifted from the table to around a fire that had been enchanted to act more as decoration and less like a heat source. You sat on a blanket that had been laid on the grass, happily leaning against Fred who held you to him.

“We’re going to reopen the shop,” George announced with a smile when everyone started talking about what they were going to do now that the ministry was finished being rebuilt. Fred had been quick to tell him the truth about the fiendfyre incident after returning to which he only received a nod and an ‘it’s fine, I knew’. “We’ve already started building up our inventory again.”

“Really?” Everyone had been waiting for the day the two of them would decide to reopen the shop. The structure had been put up quickly after the end of the war. All that was left was the cosmetics on the outside and the matter of stocking everything.

“Besides,” Fred grinned as he glanced around at his family. “Everyone needs a little light in their life right?”

It was late at night, after Fred dragged you up to his childhood bedroom insisting that you needed to see it and sleep there at least one night to get the full experience, that he pressed his lips to yours in a way that left your head spinning wonderfully.

“You’re mine, you know,” He whispered the statement into the night, afraid that if he spoke too loud he would ruin the moment. “The light of my life.”

The words he said to you were soft and beautifully intimate and unlike anything you’d heard before. After everything, wars and trauma and so much else, you were there together in that moment in time. And you were ecstatic. You kissed him again, softly, and smiled as you spoke against his lips, “And you’re mine.”

#oof i have no idea how to tag things #here we go #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #harry potter one shot #harry potter imagine #hp #fred weasley imagine #hp fanfic #fix it fic #cause that's the only kind we know #c: fred weasley #my fics

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years ago

Text

just as much as all those years ago

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment over on Ao3!

This is for my ever wonderful girlfriend @spiky-lesbian who is just the Best and will always be the absolute Best and I love her very much. Returning to my favourite comfort AU and of course it’s angst I write.

Trigger warnings: descriptions of an injury, specifically a burn

--------

Memories were funny things for Juno Steel.

They came when he didn’t call them and hadn’t asked for them. When he needed them, he couldn’t find them, only the ragged edged gaps where they’d once been. And they were never whole either. They came as sounds, one random lyric from a song his brother used to warm up to or the sound of his mother’s footsteps in the hall or the way the coffee maker in the HCPD had always sputtered close to the end of its cycle. They came as smells, Buddy’s hairspray or the way the hallways had reeked in his old high school, the milky smell of when his babies had been brand new or Rita’s goddamn salmon things. They were fractured and jumbled and awkward to hold.

And they were so hard to tell from reality. One moment Juno was up to his elbows in soapy water, taking advantage of the boys actually going to bed at a reasonable time to get the dinner dishes done. He was whistling a song that had been on the radio as he’d driven back from the office, tapping the hell of his bare foot against the tiles in time with the beat that existed only in his head. He was tired, he had a few new aches to catalogue and he was perfectly happy.

And the next moment his nose was full of burning ozone, scorched fabric, heat and blood.

Juno froze, hands stilling and letting the plate he’d been soaping drop back into the water. Suddenly he was pulled into a handful of times and places at once. He was at the practise range at the academy, he was trying not to be sick the first time a perp had shot at him, he was pounding on his brother’s bedroom door and begging him to answer, he was lying on the floor of the Carte Blanche and seeing Sasha shake, he was a cop, he was a kid, he was a pirate, he was a twin without a brother. All because of a smell in the air.

And he might have shook himself, pushed it all away and told himself not to be an idiot if he hadn’t heard the voice and realised it wasn’t a memory.

“Mama? I...I’m sorry…”

It wasn’t a memory. Juno whirled, eye wide, heart no closer to restarting in his chest. His oldest daughter stood just behind him, holding her arm tightly with a hand that trembled, with skin that was ashen and a face wet with tears. His old coat was black from elbow to shoulder, one stripe of it completely gone and giving a glimpse of raw, red skin. A laser burn from a distance, it had just glanced off her but it was enough.

She looked so scared.

“Bianca?” he breathed, not really wanting to believe this was actually happening. His daughter was off on a job, of course she could never tell them much about it but she was meant to be off being young and reckless and having fun and swinging on starlight, just like her daddy did.

“I...I thought I got away but I missed one of the guards,” Bianca’s voice was tight, adrenaline clearly the only thing holding back the pain, “Mama…”

Juno swallowed hard, putting a firm, hard foot on his panic and shoving down hard. His baby girl needed him and when it was over he could go and find a quiet corner to scream and cry and rage about it. But for now he needed to get a goddamn grip.

“Bathroom,” he moved forward, sliding an arm to take her weight, just in time as her knees buckled.

Suddenly her free hand was bunched in his shirt tight enough to pinch his skin, his arms holding her as easily as if she was two instead of twenty two. As if she was as small and delicate as she had been then, when he’d first met her and realised just how much he’d be willing to give to keep her safe…

No. Not now.

He went to call for Nureyev, he was doing yoga in their bedroom, but Bianca’s hand tightened and she gave a strained, pained whine through her teeth.

“No,” she begged, breathing coming hard and shallow, the pain of her wound coming in through the cracks as she realised she was safe and didn’t need to run on sheer adrenaline, “Please don’t, not until...not until it’s covered up, I don’t want him to see…”

Juno went to protest but stopped himself, they didn’t have time and he couldn’t say she was wrong. Nureyev didn’t need to see this part, his husband’s field medicine skills weren’t as practised and when he saw the state their daughter was in, it wouldn’t even have mattered. He would freeze and he would break. Juno didn’t blame him in the slightest, he’d nearly gone himself, but he couldn’t hold both of them together.

So he kept quiet and carried his daughter to the poky bathroom of their apartment, moving quickly and quietly as he could past the twin’s bedroom.

“You need to keep talking for me, kiddo,” he said through gritted teeth, as soon as the door was shut behind them, “Tell me how you got in without any of us hearing you. Give me all the details.”

Bee Bee managed a weak chuckle as he sat her down against the edge of the bath, “I’m not giving you all my secrets, mama…”

Juno could dredge a smile for her, if she was going to make the effort, throwing it over his shoulder as he wrenched open the medicine cabinet and pulled out one of the many emergency first aid kits stowed around the apartment.

“Then give me all the moons of Jupiter in size order, biggest to smallest. I know your daddy made you memorise them.”

Bee Bee swallowed hard, shifting as she started to slump, “Um...Ganymede. Callisto…”

“Good, good girl,” Juno was more focused on pulling out the scissors and cutting away the ruins of the coat sleeve so he could start cleaning and dressing it, but as long as he could hear her talking he knew she was conscious.

“Io…oh mama, no, your coat…” Bianca tried to lean away from the blades.

“Bee Bee, I don’t know if you noticed but I care about you a little more than I care about some ratty old coat,” Juno sighed, ignoring her weak protests.

He couldn’t help but wince as he saw her arm, fully exposed. The bolt had only grazed her but clearly it had been set to kill, it had scorched a clean edged, diagonal path along the top of her arm. If she hadn’t been running away, if the person had fired a second before…

Juno shook himself and focused, it was clean and wouldn’t need more than a gentle dousing with cold water which he quickly set to. Don’t think about what could have happened, focus on what’s in front of you.

It broke his heart when she hissed in pain, the second where she clearly wanted to pull away from him, however much he could rationalise it. But he’d been doing some version of this for a long time, from the first time Bee had caught her tiny fingers in the door on the Carte Blanche.

“Hey,” he gently reached over and turned her face to him, “Just look at me, okay? You’re doing so well.”

His brave Bianca took a shaky breath and nodded, ‘Himalia is next. In the size order.”

Juno smiled with a soft, tired pride, motioning for her to go on as he applied a thin layer of salve and started to bind it with the smart tech bandages that wrapped tightly around her arm with no effort from him. They’d hold it fast and safe, healing the torn and blistering skin underneath until barely a trace remained.

But Bianca wouldn’t forget this. This would be another one of her memories, the ones that would come up when least welcome and stop her in her tracks when she thought she was safe.

Juno contented himself with doing what he could for her now. He helped her up, though her legs were still shaky, helping her take shuffling steps to her bedroom, the one they still kept exactly as she’d left it the last time she visited. Neither he nor his husband could ever bring themselves to move anything around, happy to admit to themselves that they were just waiting until their daughter came home again. So the old stuffed animals were still lining the bottom of the bed, the books were still piled on the nightstand, there were still soft blankets ready for her to sink down onto.

“Right,” Juno brushed a hand over her curls, “Now water, painkillers and lots of rest. Got it, kiddo?”

“Yes mama,” she sighed, leaning into his touch, “Um...I think I want to see daddy now.”

He saw the guilt flicker through her dark eyes and he softened it with a kiss to her forehead. He understood the instinct to protect people you cared about, feeling like you couldn’t let them see you cry or fall or hurt because you’d see just how much they cared about you and it could be so scary. Knowing so much of someone else’s happiness rested with you.

He left her to get settled, needing to take a few deep breaths as soon as the door closed. Just a little longer.

Nureyev was just stepping out of their room, his long hair pushed back from his face with a band that had probably once been Bianca’s. He looked calm, content, and his whole face lit up when he saw his wife walking towards him. Having to watch all that unravel, that would hurt Juno as much as any of it.

He tried to speak clearly, concisely, only repeating again and again that she was fine, that there would be no lasting damage or even a mark. But he wasn’t sure any of it actually got through after he finally said the words ‘Bianca’s been shot’. Because that was when he pushed past him and started running down the hall. Cursing under his breath, Juno took off but couldn’t hope to catch his husband on those legs, only getting there when the bedroom door was already open.

He was braced for tears, he was braced for the anger that sometimes came when Nureyev was feeling too much to hold within himself and had to lash out to try and grasp some control. He was braced to have to pull his husband out of there.

What he found was his husband and his daughter embracing as tightly as her wound would allow.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” Bianca was sniffling, har face pressed to his shoulder, where it had always fit so perfectly ever since she was small, “I know you said to check, you said and I thought I did but…”

Nureyev shook his head, his own voice thick but steady, “No, no, it’s okay. You did nothing wrong, as long as you’re okay.”

“Promise?” Bianca mumbled, still sounding a little like a child wondering what her punishment would be.

“Oh my treasure,” Nureyev drew back to hold her face in his hands, “I promise. All I care about is that you’re whole and well and...and next time, you will see it. You’ll get better and better every time, just like I did. I just couldn’t be more thankful it was no worse but...next time will be better.”

Bianca’s face flooded with obvious relief, she’d clearly been worried her daddy’s first response would have been to ground her. Juno had to admit, he’d expected it too.

Nureyev only touched her bandages lightly, checking everything was in place, “But...if you wanted to stay here for just a few days just while you healed? We could make room for you?”

Bianca gave a tired smile, rolling her eyes, “Only if you could make the room, of course.”

Juno leaned against the doorframe, giving them a few more moments together before joining them, giving Bianca some time before having to endure both of her parents fussing over her. As he watched Nureyev draw Bee Bee back in to hug her tightly and let her rest against him, he felt other times overlapping it, other times he’d seen that light in Nureyev’s eyes, the smile he saved only for their babies, the way they clung to him and looked to him for safety. He felt the years they’d spent together as parents, the memories sending warmth running through his chest, soothing the anxiety still gnawing there, giving him a few more hours before he’d need to release it. Hopefully Nureyev would be in his arms by then.

Memories were funny things for Juno Steel. But some were everything.

#jupeter #juno steel #Peter nureyev #Bianca nureyev #jupeter dads au #hurt/comfort #tpp #the penumbra podcast

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years ago

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my absolute favorite person, II

A/N: hiiii, thanks so much for all of the kind feedback on MAFP part i. i'm real sorry. part ii was supposed to be happy but i just had to give you her story from the engagement party, didn’t i? sorry in advance, also if you haven’t already guessed it, italics are her "speech”. if you’re new here and need part one, you can read it here loves x

pairing: george x reader

word count: 1.4k

tag list: tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @parker-potters @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle

other tags: @jenniweaslee @thelittlewritingcorner @siriusblackisme @they-reblog-once-in-a-blue-moon @chaoticgirl04 @mytreec @potterverseimagine @cryptid-troll @emcchi @godricsswords @tallyovie

Your flat, half unpacked with boxes on every part of open space, looked positively dismal. Grey. Colorless, even. You couldn’t bring yourself to continue to unload all of your belongings. You went to twist your wedding ring on your finger -- something you’ve always done whenever you felt nervous or unsteady -- and felt an all too familiar twang of uneasiness sift through you when you realized it was no longer there.

Right.

How dreadful would it look to outsiders? Twenty nine years young. Two years of marriage.

Divorced.

How would it look to him?

You pulled your hair back off of your neck, sat atop your coffee table that was only half assembled (probably not the brightest idea, but you didn’t even have the effort to bloody care) and pulled out the very soft, the very worn, the very faded piece of parchment you’d kept, all this time, in your pocket. In your wallet. In your bedside table.

You smoothed your fingers over the very faded name on the front of it. The name that now, brought nothing but an overwhelming sense of loneliness whenever you had the bravery to let it leave your lips.

Your absolute favorite person.

The truth was, that you took that parchment with you wherever you went. But you didn’t need to read it. The truth was, that you’d memorized it a long time ago, for it held the words you’d kept to yourself for far too long.

I won’t embarrass you as much as your twin has. I’ll embarrass you some, but not as much. What kind of best mate would that make me?

As you ripped open another box, you wondered if the imprint of the ring on your finger would ever fade. If you’d ever be able to forget the biggest mistake you’d ever made in your life.

Do you remember the time you’d stepped on my feet at the Yule Ball? Bloody horrendous, wasn’t it? I knew you were a bad dancer, but I never expected to be injured by you. Pretty sure my poor toes were bruised for days afterward, perhaps even weeks! You’re probably still a wicked awful dancer, but I do hope you’ll be able to prove me wrong at your wedding in a few weeks time. Okay, that’s enough teasing. Maybe. I suppose we’ll see where the night goes.

Had you been a horrible wife? A horrible friend? An even worse confidant for pretending all these years?

You have somehow brought even more colour into my life -- both literally and figuratively. Seriously, everyone, have you seen the latest Weasley invention? Their most updated version of their Wildfire Whizbangs? These boys have outdone themselves, I’m afraid. Have we reached our peak, d’you reckon?

Hot, fat tears were welling up in your eyes now, and you knew that the only way to make them disappear were to let them fall and evaporate into your raw skin as you idly worked. Raw from crying yourself to sleep every single bloody evening.

There is nothing, and no one, on this planet that colours my world the way you do. The vibrancy you bring to my everyday is something I never knew I needed until I met you. Did you know that? Just how much you’ve brightened up my life.

Somehow, the walls surrounding you seemed to be caving in. Whilst your new flat was large, and looked even larger due to the fact that absolutely nothing had been set up, you still felt like you were being squished. You felt claustrophobic being here as you angrily unpacked cutlery.

You’d told me one day -- or rather, you’d decided -- near the Black Lake, when we were sixteen and reckless and stupid, that you were my favorite person. And do you remember what I did after you’d said that? I’d actually laughed you off, hadn’t I? I’d laughed at you, because how could you have possibly known that? I’d made sure, every single day, to never, ever boost your ego.

Where was Fred? He was supposed to be bringing up the very heavy bedspring and headboard to set up, and he’d promptly told you to go and sit in your flat and he’d be up in just a moment or two.

However.. you were, and you are. I never wanted to tell you that you were right. What kind of best mate would I have been if I bloody agreed with you on absolutely everything, George? Had to keep you on your toes somehow, didn’t I?

The dull pain behind your ribs and in your throat became strong and sharp, the burn behind your eyes causing a stinging sensation as your tears fell.

But I suppose now that thirteen years have passed since that moment, I can say with utmost confidence that yes, George, you were right. And today, and for the rest of your lives, you will be someone else’s favorite, and she will be yours.

An involuntary, hoarse cry escaped your lips, and you quickly cupped your hand to your mouth to suppress it.

A groan echoed in from the hallway. Fred came stumbling in, dropping a box ironically labeled ‘delicates - handle with care’ scratched on the side of it. You furrowed your brows and he followed your stare down to the handwriting. When he looked back up and met your gaze, he instantly apologized and opened it quickly to make sure none of your valuables had broken.

Not that it really mattered to you. None of it did. He must’ve noticed.

“Y/N?”

You turned toward him -- his hair was disheveled and unkempt, and you noticed a thin line of sweat glistening down the middle of his shirt. Fred’s mouth went slack, his eyes went soft, his body limp, and suddenly his expression transitioned to the absolute carbon copy of George’s right after you’d finished your story at his engagement party.

All knowing. Understanding. With subtle tears glistening in his eyes.

Like realization had finally, ultimately hit.

So to you, my greatest confidant, the friend that ingests into my world the most vibrant of colours -- I wish you a lifetime of happiness. Of fondness. Of admiration. Of love. Take care of one another; you’re her headache now! But just know that no matter where our adventures take us -- whether it be across the world, to your vibrant little shop in the middle of Diagon Alley, or back to the Black Lake when you’d seemingly read my mind all those years ago... I will always love you.

You don’t know how exactly you’d wound up in Fred’s arms, but you did. He pulled you tight against him, let you sob violently and leave mascara marks and a puddle of tears all over his shirt. He even began to trace soft circles into your back, something he knew helped to calm you down, because George used to do it for you all of the time.

“What is it?” he whispered, even though he already knew the answer. He’d always known -- just as he did all those long years ago.

His voice was soft, like a distanced bell.

You willed yourself not to cry any longer, but your body seemed to have other ideas. More cries escaped your lips, and you tried to muffle them by pressing your mouth to Fred’s shoulder and shutting your eyes tight.

He threaded his fingers through your hair and cupped the back of your neck gently, as if to say, it’s alright. I’m here.

“It’s going to be alright, you know.”

But how could it? How could it ever possibly be alright? You were unable to tell if the pain in your chest was pure anxiety, regret, despondency, or perhaps just another piece of your heart slowly breaking off and melting away.

How could it be alright? How could it, when the man you were probably meant to spend the rest of your life with, was already spending his with somebody else?

“When we’re old and grey,” George had said that day near the lake, twiddling his thumbs and becoming sentimental, “we’ll come back here.”

You’d prodded him in the ribs, earning yourself a smile in return. It was his favorite spot on the castle grounds; it always had been. He’d always wanted to get married there, amongst the trees and the wildlife and the castle and the sunlight. The wind had ruffled his hair, and he looked twelve again. “Oh yeah? Reckon we’ll still be fond of one another then?”

He’d waved you off, as if to say, duh, Y/N. “Think? Darling, I know.” And as quickly as the sincerity had appeared on his face, it had disappeared into cheekiness. And then he’d splashed you a bit, and you’d gasped and immediately shoved him into the water. But not before he’d grabbed your hands and brought you into the cool reservoir with him.

And you will always be my absolute favorite person.

#george weasley #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley imagine #weasley twins imagine #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp imagine

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years ago

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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 34

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 34

The early morning sunlight shone diagonally into the room, casting a bright yellow glare onto the back of his eyelids. Lin Yan ripped off the blanket. He rolled out of bed in a daze, but his legs gave out and he fell. He sat on the bedside, taking deep breaths.

His whole body hurt like it had been run over by a cart. Every muscle was screaming. Lin Yan shook his head in an attempt to get rid of the hangover dizziness, tugging at the blanket that had half-fallen down. The place where Xiao Yu had slept was already empty, and a shallow depression in the bed reminded him of the absurdity of last night's drinking.

Lin Yan roughly tapped his temple. For the first time, he wanted to wipe away his drunken memory but the more he tried to forget, the more sober he became. Even the ghost's watching gaze was still present in his mind. His velvety black eyes looked lost while he whispered his name and slammed into him. It was like his body was still pressed against him, their hearts intertwining as one.

He slept with someone he has to spend 24 hours a day with. How is this going to end?

Idiot, Lin Yan cursed. He put on a long T-shirt meant for playing basketball and walked towards the wall. When he heard Xiao Yu calling him, Lin Yan didn't even have the courage to turn around and answer him. He stumbled into the bathroom with his head down and locked the door behind him.

The person looking back at him in the mirror had red eyes, swollen cheeks, and a series of blue and purple hickeys that stretched from the bottom of his neck to his collarbone. Lin Yan tugged the collar of his T-shirt down. When he saw the miserable state of his chest, he hastily turned his head. He turned on the shower to wash his body. The water rained onto his face. Everything he did, and didn't, want to see blurred. The sensitive parts of his body were stimulated by the hot water, causing the corner of Lin Yan's mouth to twitch in discomfort. Still gritting his teeth, he roughly scrubbed his body.

He couldn't wait for this layer of skin to eventually flake off.

Lin Yan dried his hair and wiped a hand across the foggy mirror. It still showed a beautiful and clean face. The stand-up collar T-shirt just covered the marks on the neck. Lin Yan propped himself up on the sink and smiled miserably at the man in the mirror.

Compared to love, carnal desire is much simpler. A meal, a bottle of wine, and anything can happen. You don’t even need to take off your clothes. Do the deed, forget about it, take a shower and continue on like nothing happened. Who needs to bring up the unpleasantness of last night anyway?

He can't succumb to a paranoid ghost. The street was full of decent people. Who knows what animal opened its thighs last night, and which corner it will live in the next night?

The tinkling sound of cups and plates came from the kitchen and passed through the messy living room. The moment the sliding door opened, Lin Yan was stunned by the sight in front of him, and he didn't move for a long time.

The light golden sunlight fell on the ground. The suave gentleman with messy sideburns and a pair of slender eyebrows carefully rinsed a frozen fish under the tap. Lin Yan bought it a few days ago and threw it in the freezer and forgot to take it out. It was freezer burnt. The fish's eyes were covered with a layer of frost, its mouth wide open, and the head that peeked out from his hands was a bit dull. The saucepan was placed on the burner, and the water was almost at a boil. Several pieces of ginger and green onions were diced into various-sized pieces on the chopping board. He had forgotten to peel the ginger, the clueless blockhead.

Hearing the movement at the door, Xiao Yu turned his head. A smile was hidden in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth were softly curved upwards: "You're awake. You're not going to sleep some more?"

". . . I'm too nauseous to sleep." Lin Yan's face burned. Avoiding his eyes, he walked over to turn off the tap. "What are you doing with this thing? Are you hungry?"

It took everything in him to pretend to stay calm: "I thought you didn't need to eat."

"I wanted to make breakfast for you." Xiao Yu pointed to the fish in the sink. "It's too frozen."

"You need to defrost it in the microwave, so it won't be melted in one day." Lin Yan glanced at the scattered green onion and ginger on the chopping board. "Besides, no one makes fish this early in the morning. It's too heavy."

Xiao Yu stood still in front of the sink, awkwardly holding the fish's tail: ". . . This is all I know how to make."

Lin Yan took out a frying pan and moved the saucepan off the burner: "I can't eat this stuff with an upset stomach. Don't worry about it. I'll just cook something myself to eat."

"What do you want to eat? Let me try." Xiao Yu said as he went to look through the refrigerator. He had just opened it slightly before Lin Yan shut it, his voice unconsciously raised: "I said don't worry about it. Don't act like this is your house. Look at what my living room already looks like. Who knows what might happen to the kitchen later on. Young Master Xiao has probably never had to lift a finger in his life. I don't need your help."

When he spoke, he unconsciously put more emphasis on the 'my', deliberately excluding him, leaving no room for argument.

A one-night stand or something seemed too far-fetched for him, but he couldn't have sex and expect to now be fully devoted to each other. The person opposite him was stunned. His eyes, full of expectation, darkened. He was a bit at a loss holding the fish, as if he had done something wrong, and didn't know what to do.

Lin Yan didn't dare to look at him. He struggled to take out the eggs and milk from the refrigerator. He poured the oil into the frying pan and cracked open the eggs with two clicks. Once he turned around, Xiao Yu was still standing in the same spot, the frozen fish turning his fingers red. He wasn't going to leave or stay. He lowered his eyes and glanced back at him occasionally as if he was afraid of getting in trouble.

Lin Yan didn't say anything. He took out a spatula and flipped the fried egg over. The pain in his back was still terrible. Every step he took was torturous. The ghost noticed his unnatural stance. After standing behind him for a while, he hesitantly put down the fish. He wrapped himself around him in an attempt at a comforting hug. He put his chin on Lin Yan's shoulder. He felt like a mass of cold air like he had forgotten to close the refrigerator door.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Xiao Yu's tone was softer than ever before. "I'll be gentler next time."

Lin Yan took a deep breath. Xiao Yu's touch brought back the memories of last night. He had fully submitted himself to the ghost. The uncontrollable debauchery and the sense of shame of being exposed on the spot made him antsy. He interrupted him, expressionless: "There won't be a next time. I was drunk last night. Let's pretend it never happened. What's done is done, okay?"

The person behind him trembled, and the arms around him loosened.

Lin Yan couldn't bear it and concealed it by fiddling with the fried egg in the pan: "You can't help with this. Find me some nausea medicine. It's in the bedroom drawer."

Xiao Yu pondered for a moment, then asked him in a low voice: "What does the nausea medicine . . . look like?"

"You don't know anything." Lin Yan sighed. He put the spatula down. He turned around, suppressing the evil fire in his heart: "Please leave. I'm in a bad mood. I don't have time to say something nice to make you happy."

Xiao Yu was silent and slowly let go of him. He raised a pair of dark eyes to stare at Lin Yan. Something he couldn't understand floated in his eyes, like sadness. He gave him a once-over from head to toe. He turned his head and gently saying: "Lin Yan, don't play with me."

When he turned around, the ghost had already disappeared. Lin Yan slowly put the fried egg on the plate. He pressed through the pain in his stomach and began to eat. The touch of the embrace seemed to linger on his body. He subconsciously shook his shoulders, his face wooden.

Don't play with me? Lin Yan recalled the ghost's words with a look in his eyes. This proud young man had rushed out of the unknown and forcibly occupied his home, his bed, his space, his time and his . . . his thigh muscles twitched. Lin Yan slowly rubbed his hands along his thighs. Finally, he put down his chopsticks and buried his face in the palms of his hands and rubbed hard, unconsciously turning his eyes red. In the end, who was playing with who?

Meat is most delicious with the blood. The more debaucherous the lust, the more enjoyable it'll be. Sex could be dirty, but love couldn't. Love was the purest thing, there was no room for filth. The ridiculous night was over. The unpredictable ghost could be forgotten, but the gentle side of the ghost forced him to remember some feelings that had nothing to do with lust. The softest corner of his heart was gently tugged. Lin took a bit of his egg, his throat choked up with inexplicable sorrow and grief.

Maybe he was disgusted with himself for losing himself last night, but what difference does it make? Lin Yan silently thought. Some things can't be taken back.

After washing the dishes, he called Professor Folder's secretary to confirm the meeting time. The secretary gave him the address of the institute, and, after finalizing the meeting, Lin Yan cleaned up the kitchen. A small pile of chopped green onions and ginger was still on the chopping board. The knifework was clumsy, but he had been serious about it. Lin Yan used a knife to brush them off the board. Just as he was about to throw them away, he suddenly hesitated. He found a small bowl and put it in the refrigerator freezer.

That guy should have found a place to get angry. Lin Yan sighed, limped and held the wall to walk outside. One thing after another left him completely exhausted. He knew it was wrong to take it out on him, but he just couldn't find the energy to comfort the stubborn ghost. It was almost time for his appointment. Lin Yan packed his pen and notebook into his sports bag. When he walked into the living room, he was shocked. Xiao Yu was picking up things on the floor with his back facing him. When he heard Lin Yan come in, he turned around, holding several girl's trinkets, hair clips, dolls, leather coin purses, and a few photos that could barely be seen.

"These can still be used. Take them." Xiao Yu hung his head cautiously: "I can't compensate you for the rest. I don't have the money you use, and you took everything I had."

The sunlight came in from the half-opened curtains. The ghost stood helplessly in the wind-swept living room, bowing his head as a peace offering, lowering his stature and waiting to be forgiven.

Lin Yan couldn't say a word. He stood there for a long time, and when he opened his mouth, his voice became mute: "What are you doing this early in the morning? Are you trying to make me feel bad?" He found a garbage bag to put them in, harshly tying the bag. "I don't even want them anymore."

He dragged Xiao Yu into the bedroom and opened the paper bags that were piled up in the corner. The clothes he bought in Shenjiayuan last time were hung in the closet. He had even kept the auspicious mortuary clothes, carefully ironed out and hung on clothing hangers. The full cabinet was stuffed with two people's things, almost giving a sense of 'home'.

"Satisfied? Come over and I'll help you comb your hair." Lin Yan tugged Xiao Yu's sleeve: "I made an appointment to ask about you at the research institute today. We're going to be late."

All the words in the world couldn’t compare to the warmth of "we". Lin Yan held Xiao Yu's long, silky hair. The two figures were reflected in the mirror. White fabric draped over the top. The pearwood dresser was decorated with gold inlay. The pearly surface was like the white of a flower. A screen behind them covered in peony flowers and birds was complex and magnificent; a dazzling sight

Lin Yan satisfactorily rolled a bun with a bone hairpin. The bangs on his forehead fell down. His features were as sharp as a knife, with sharp eyebrows and starry eyes. He couldn't help but squeeze his face jokingly: "Young Master looks really handsome. How are you going to pay for your manservant?" He muttered: "Without money, you have to sleep with me at night. What a shame."

As he spoke, he put his hand on Xiao Yu's shoulder. Cold fingers moved up to caress the back of his hand, carefully tracing the bones in his fingers, like dealing with a treasure made of jade.

"I know all that. I just can't bear to let you go." Xiao Yu spoke very lightly.

"What?" Lin Yan didn't hear him clearly.

"Nothing." Xiao Yu said softly.

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

The research institute where the professor worked was built inside a large complex. It took a long time to find the side road from the main road. The low bungalows were shaded by the century-old trees. There were round tables and wicker chairs on the open balcony of the building, and occasionally they could see gray-haired foreigners sitting together drinking tea.

After greeting the entrance guard, Lin Yan drove his car into the back parking lot with ease and stopped in front of a modest gray bungalow. The 90s-style office didn't have a separate door, two steps leading into the dark and dreary building. Standing in the yard was a middle-aged man in work clothes, holding a small piece of paper to double-check if it matched Lin Yan's car license plate. When he saw that everything matched, he smiled honestly and greeted Lin Yan and opened the door very courteously.

"Lin, welcome. My name is Chen." The middle-aged man shook enthusiastically shook Lin Yan's hand. "The professor has arranged everything."

"Brother Chen." Lin Yan said respectfully.

"Come, come. It's bright outside. Come inside and see. Two days ago, I was on a business trip. Hey, comrade, you know, we have to travel every day in this line of work. We started going through the files as soon as we got back. Come in and find out if we have what you need."

The middle-aged man said as he took Lin Yan into the building. He was actually very young when he looked at him up close. He had a rugged look because he worked in areas with harsh UV rays. His eyes were plain and his skin was tanned and blistered. A mouthful of white teeth was revealed when he spoke. This comrade reminded Lin Yan of the old leader with a ceramic vase in front of him in the "Reform and Opening*" poster. The person in front of him's appearance suddenly started to warp in his mind. His shirt was tucked in his black pants and a Zhongshan suit was draped over him. He was gesticulating towards the door. A pair of large hands with prominent knuckles and bones was a common characteristic of the working people.

*(T/N: "Reform and Opening" policy is the Chinese economic reforms that went into place after Mao Zedong's death in China and pursued by Deng Xiaoping)

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #danmei novel #danmei #english translation #chinese bl #chinese novel #bl novel #yaoi novel #yaoi

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