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hikarimiyanaga · 4 years ago

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Loving You (Part 2)

Part 1

Because I just realized how short the first part was... and despite being hell week for me I'm going to give an update because I expected this fic to be just under 10,000 words but now it's double that amount... I did not plan nor expect this... so here we are! I had a solid plotline... and everything just kinda derived off that.

Oh well, I love Wanda anyways.

Warning: Omegaverse. Beta!Reader x Omega!Wanda Maximoff. Curse Words.

Taglist : @mitchiesdungeon

You yawn as you read the last chapter of your latest novel. Your phone pings and you furrow your eyebrows… Who knows your number? You haven’t given it to anyone ove-

“The goddamn bookmark.” You groan as you remember. Right. That bookmark was pretty important to you until high school that you’ve written your number on it. You finish your novel before getting your phone. It was an unknown number.

Unknown: Pretty smooth.

You: I forgot that my number was there.

You save her number nonetheless.

Wanda: Oh. Still. This works out for me.

You: Why?

Wanda: I get to talk to you even if you avoid me.

You sigh.

You: You still want to hang out with me?

Wanda: Desperately. I love talking to you.

You blush and gulp. You decide to tell her the truth.

You: I love talking to you too.

Wanda: *Heart eyes*

Wanda: See? Let’s eat lunch tomorrow.

You: No.

Wanda: Why not?

You: People will avoid you.

Wanda: Don’t care.

You: You should.

Wanda: Why should I?

Wanda groans in frustration. Why were you so stubborn? Why can’t you just fall for her charms?

You: Just because.

You: Don’t try to eat with me tomorrow.

You: I won’t be in the cafeteria.

You: Goodnight.

You charge your phone and sigh. You like her. You really do but you can’t drag her into the shitty treatment of a Beta. Moreover, she was an Omega. Omegas tended to treat Betas more harshly than Alphas did. You shudder as you think of last year. You clutch your chest as you cry silently. Never again.

You yawn as you trudge through the halls again… maybe reading a long novel into the night wasn’t such a good idea. You go to your locker and get your books for the day.

“You still haven’t told me why.” You close your locker in shock and flinch as Wanda frowns at you. You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “Did I wake you up last night?”

“No. I was reading a novel.” You answer quickly and walk away.

“Come on, tell me.” She follows you and you groan as you drag her into a bathroom.

“It’s because you’re an Omega!” You shout and grit your teeth. “The people here will eat you alive if you hang out with me.” You say more softly and run a hand through your hair. “The Omegas will think that you’ve betrayed them and settled with a lowly Beta.”

“I don-“ She reasons but you glare at her.

“Stop being a stubborn idiot! Do you want to get bullied!?” She stops as she sees the sadness in your eyes.

“They bullied you?” She whispers and reach out to you but you pull away as if she’s too hot and you just got burned. You take a deep breath and hide your trembling hand.

“Just stop trying to hang out with me. It won’t do you any good.” You leave her and she clutches her chest. What have they done to you?

You eat alone on the bleachers and read.

“Here you are.” You flinch and look down on the voice. It was Pietro. What could he possibly want? Wanda was the only one wanting to hang out with you. The only one trying to be your friend. What was her twin brother doing here? At your hiding place that you chose so she would finally get the clue and leave you alone.

“Wha-“ He hops on and sits besides you. What’s with the Maximoff siblings and never bothering to ask for permission? You glare at him and stop reading. Damn it, you were at a really good part too.

“You’re the Beta that my sister wants to hang out with.” You gulp and nod in confirmation. “She’s avoiding me and was trying to find you earlier.”

“Did she eat yet?” You ask, worry settling in your stomach. Where is she? He sighs and settles in besides you.

“I don’t know.” You stand and get your bag. You stand and jump down from the bleachers. “Where are you-“

“I’ll find her!” You shout and run away from him. What the hell was she thinking?

It took at least 15 minutes but you found her reading on a secluded bench. You sigh as you approach her.

“Why are you so stubborn?” You ask and she closes her book.

“I’m not stubborn, I just don’t want to be with Pietro and his new friends.” She looks at you and your ragged appearance. Did you come looking for her? She smiles at the thought of you running around everywhere just for her.

“Aren’t they your friends too?”

“No. Not when they judge someone based on their second gender.” You sigh and sit besides her. You hold out a sandwich. She smiles then takes it. She takes a bite of it and beams. You get your book from your bag and read.

“We can hang out.” She turns to you with shining eyes. You sigh. “Only in places like this or the-“

“Library.” You both say and you hum. You notice that there were some sauce on the corner of her lips so you wipe it with your thumb. Wanda gulps as you lick it up. She blushes even more when you look at her.

“Stop being a messy eater.” You settle in the seat. Wanda just stares for a few more seconds before eating again.

You were in your last AP Class when Wanda texts you. You sigh in relief as you don’t hear your phone ping. Thank god, you remembered to turn it into silent mode earlier. You discreetly open it.

Wanda: I’m in the library, where are you?

You discreetly reply to her.

You: Still in class. Syl.

You hide your phone in your bag quickly when you saw the teacher glance at your direction.

“Miss Y/LN?” You answer the question of the teacher and she nods as you gave the correct one.

It took at least half an hour more before the class ended. You were packing up your things when someone hovers over you.

“So you really do take all of the AP Classes.” You look up and gulp. It was Angel. “You have more than me too.” You nod.

“I-I have to go.” You quickly leave and go to the library. You go to the table that you occupied yesterday and Wanda was there. She was reading again and you sit besides her.

“Hey.” She greets and you hum.

“What are you reading?”

“One of your recommendations from the bookmark.”

“Which one?”

“Digital Fortress.”

“Ah. Dan Brown.”

“Yeah. Most of his works are in here.”

“That’s because I got addicted to his works at one point.”

“So what’s your favorite genre?”

“Definitely mystery and thriller. I read most investigation cases.”

“True crime?”

“Yep. I love watching their documentaries too.” She smiles and you get a book from your backpack.

“How about you? What’s your favorite genre?”

“Definitely Sci-fi.”

“Ah. Then you’ve read The Giver?”

“Yeah. You have?”

“Yep.” Before you knew it, the two of you have a two-hour discussion on the book.

You were laughing with Wanda when you notice the clock on the wall and pale.

“Shit.” You quickly stuff your novel into your bag.

“What’s wrong?”

“Come on.” You both get outside and you sigh. “Mom is going to get angry if I’m late.”

“Oh. Okay. Sorr-“

“Don’t be, It was fun hanging out with you.” Wanda beams at that and you give her a smile. “Do you have any ride? Or should I walk you home?” Wanda crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at you.

“What? Because I’m an Omega?” You roll your eyes and huff.

“No. Because you’re my friend, you idiot. I worry if I leave you here alone and your house is too far away.”

“What if my house is close?” You smirk and turn away from her.

“Then I’ll be goi-“ She grabs your bag and pulls you. You turn to her with a smile and she flicks your forehead.

“Idiot.” You rub your forehead.

“So what is it?”

“I’m waiting for Pietro to finish his Track and Field training. He’s my ride.”

“Oh yeah. Your twin is an omega too, right?”

“Yep.”

“Any other siblings then?”

“No. Just us two.”

“How do you handle heats then?”

“Why?”

“Just curious. Both of my older sisters are Alphas and Mom always take care of Ma so I-“ You blush and look away. “I don’t know that much about Omegas.”

“Ah. We typically use a jacket of dad’s and drink suppressants.” You scrunch your face at that.

“How many times do you take it?”

“Typically, twice a day but if it gets bad then thrice, if it’s really bad we double the amount.”

“Damn, that’s a lot of chemicals in your body.” She shrugs.

“The price of a heat.”

“What about your scent?”

“My dad’s clothing.”

“Ah. That’s it?”

“Typically, yeah. Why?”

“Nothing. Just sometimes I can smell some Omegas that have heat even though they’re already wearing an Alpha’s clothing.”

“Whoa. Betas can’t usually smell them.” You shrug.

“Wanda!” Pietro calls out and you two turn at him.

“And that’s my cue.”

“See you again tomorrow?” You smile at her and nod.

“Send me a text again.” You wave her goodbye then leave.

When you get home, your mom is waiting with her arms crossed and you gave a nervous laugh.

“I’m home?”

“Where have you been? It’s-“

“Zale.” You Ma calls out and both you and your mom turns to her. “Don’t pressure Y/N.”

“I was hanging out with a friend and lost track of time. Sorry.”

“A friend?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Alright, then. Go get changed and come back in fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks, Ma.” You quickly go upstairs, and Dahlia sits beside Zale. They look at each other and sigh in relief.

“She’s making friends.”

“Thank god, I thought she would be a loner for all of her high school days.”

You sit down beside Zale and Dahlia gives you a plate of food.

“Thanks, Ma.” You smile at her and she gives you a pat on the head.

“So, who’s your friend?” Your mom asks after a few minutes and you stop. Dahlia hits Zale but Zale just shushes her.

“What?”

“You’re friend that you hung out with?”

“Ah. Her name’s Wanda. She’s new in town and a sophomore just like me.”

“That’s good, Y/N.” You nod and Zale pats your head.

“She sounds like a nice friend.” You grin at them.

“She is!”

You’ve been watching a docuseries again when your phone rings.

“Y/N?” You sit and furrow your brows.

“Val? Why are-“

“Can you come pick me up? Please?” You assure her that you will and you wear your jacket. You can’t help but worry, why was she there? What happened? Why did she want you to pick her up?

“Where are you?”

“Club Prestige.” The defeat in her voice only makes you quicken your actions.

“Okay. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Thank you.” You hang up and get your mom’s car keys. Both of your parents are watching a movie and looks at you. You inform them before leaving.

“I’m picking Val up.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I don’t know either. I’ll go to her.”

“Drive safely, Y/N, please.”

“Okay. Thanks!” You quickly go to the garage and open the gate. You get inside of your mom’s car and drive after the gate opens up. You got to Club Prestige in under 8 minutes.

“Val? Whe-“ You hear soft sobbing from an alley and see your sister sitting on the ground while hugging her knees. “Val?” She looks up to you and sniffles.

“Y/N?” You kneel besides her and nod.

“It’s me.” She hugs you and wails.

“S-she was kissing another girl, Y/N. I-I thought she wa-was my soulmate.” She stutters and you rub her back to comfort her.

You drive your sister back home after calming her down. Your parents, thankfully, have gone to bed already. And even though, you technically still have school tomorrow, you decide to stay up late to comfort Valerie.

“You want anything? Ice cream? Cake?”

“Oreos and strawberry ice cream? Do we have them?”

“I’ll look and even if we don’t I’ll bike to get some.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” You smirk at her. “You’re my sister, Val and I happen to take broken heart seriously.” She gives you a smile and a nod.

“Thank you.” You go to the refrigerator and sigh in relief. The two things she wanted are both there and while you really would ride your bike to get them, you preferred to just stay inside. You get them and two spoons. You give her them and get the remote.

“The Owl House?”

“Please.” She gives you a grateful smile then turns to the tv. You spend all night marathoning the series.

“Y/N.” Zale shakes you to no avail. Both you and Valerie slept on the living room. “Little one! You still have school in an hour.” That woke you up and you look around, confused at your surroundings. This isn’t your room.

“Honey, you’re in the living room. You slept here with Val.” Dahlia fixes Valerie’s position on the couch and you stretch your body.

“What time is it?”

“6 am.”

“Okay. I’ll take a shower then.” You get up and Dahlia goes to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Zale cleans up the mess that you and Valerie left on the coffee table.

“Morning, little one.” You give a kiss to Dahlia’s cheek as you move pass her and sit on the chair besides Zale. She gives you a plate of pancakes and you thank her before eating.

“Sis still isn’t awake?” You look at the living room and can faintly see her arm.

“Afraid not. She’s going to miss her classes.” You scrunch up your face.

“It’s Thursday, Ma, she doesn’t have classes today.” Your parents look at you and you raise an eyebrow at them. “Did you two forget?” They look away and blush while you smirk at them. Dahlia sits beside you and pat your head. You finish eating breakfast and get your jacket.

“Bye, Mom, Ma!”

“Bye, Y/N!” Your sister stirs but stay asleep. You leave your house and go to school.

You were getting books from your locker when a voice interrupts you.

“Whoa! You smell like an Alpha!” You glare at Jason, one of the Betas who are friendly with you and would sometimes talk to you. “Good for you, Y/LN!” Wanda frowns at that. You really do smell like an Alpha. You did spend the whole night wearing it while you were with Valerie.

“Asshole. It’s my sister’s scent.” You close your locker and Wanda sighs in relief at your words.

“But we don’t get heats?”

“So? Can’t I spend time with my sister without it being her protecting my scent?” Jason holds up his hands in surrender and you roll your eyes. You get to your first class.

Lunch rolls around and you buy some breads and a couple of juices before going into the courtyard. You head to the secluded bench and she was there reading.

“Have you eaten yet?” Wanda looks at you and smiles. She shakes her head and you sigh. You give her half of the things you bought. She thanks you and she puts her book in her bag before getting her wallet.

“How much do I owe you?” You raise an eyebrow as you open up the bread you bought.

“For what?”

“Lunch?” You give her a flick to the forehead and sigh. She rubs the spot you flicked before hiding her wallet.

“Nothing. Go buy tomorrow.”

“And you’ll wait here?” She asks with shining eyes and you sigh.

“Yes.” You eat with her and she smiles.

Classes pass by and you meet Wanda again in the library.

“Hey.” You greet as you sit on the chair besides her. She looks at you and catches your sister’s scent… how long will it last?

“How long does an Alpha’s scent last?” She asks and you shrug.

“No idea but as long as someone’s scent isn’t too overbearing or too much then it can last long.” You see her look at your jacket. “Can you still smell my sis?”

“Yes. It’s faint now, unlike this morning.” You hum.

“Betas’ scents are like that. Not overbearing or too much.” She nods.

“I like yours much better though.” You gulp and blush at her words.

“What?”

“Your scent? It’s more calming and soothing to me.” You get even redder. Nobody has ever told you that. Hell, most Omegas and Alphas ignore you because your scent is just average. Nothing special like theirs. Wanda is the first one to ever compliment it.

“T-thanks.” She smiles as you clear your throat and read your book. You really are falling for her charms.

A/N:

Hell week is coming after me. Send help.

After I die from my finals maybe someone can summon my soul to hopefully finish this.

Jokes aside... I had another motivation to post this... since one of my favorite authors just followed me and... my heart died? I just really love their stories then they followed and I just.

Thank you, really.

#Wanda Maximoff x reader #Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader #Omegaverse #Omegaverse fic #Marvel #Marvel Fanfic #Scarlet Witch x reader #Wanda x you #wanda x y/n

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buckyownsmylife · 4 years ago

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daddy issues - chapter xv

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

A/N for this chapter: this is 3.2k of unedited drama and I am so fucking proud of it. I wrote this entire thing today, and it’s easily one of the pieces I’m most proud of. So I haven’t been able to fit a proper conversation between the reader and Harlan - I couldn’t make the scene justified if his presence was there, since he does seem to be the one thing that keeps the family on the line - but that means I had some ideas of how I can make up for it in the future! Extra chapter? Perhaps. We are approaching the end though. I only have two more chapter planned for this fic and an epilogue. We’ll see how that goes!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Hey!” I got into the car excited to see him again, but I tried to reason with myself that it was all because of his visit to his grandfather’s publishing company, of course. I wanted to know how that went and I was curious as to what Harlan’s plans were, that was mostly it.

The fact that I had genuinely missed the man by my side after spending just four hours away from him had very little to do with it, or so I tried to tell myself. I didn’t know how to deal with depending so much on someone yet.

But I was trying to.

Ransom’s silence alerted me that something was different. I stopped trying to fix myself to look to the side and find him staring out the window, face expressionless and eyes void of any sentiment.

“Ransom, what’s wrong?” Reaching over, I squeezed his thigh to get his attention, and he jerked as if he was genuinely surprise by my presence in the small vehicle. “You look stressed,” I clarified, eyebrows furrowed in worry as I reached over to push away a strand of hair that had fallen out of place.

He just stared at me for a while and still I couldn’t read what he was thinking. Was he mad at me? Had I done something wrong? After what felt like eternity, he sighed, gripping the steering wheel as he looked on his lap and admitted, “I’m gonna have to go to this family dinner on Friday.”

Immediately, I breathed deeply in relief, suddenly realizing just how worried I actually was that his mood had something to do with me. But then I was reminded of the little that Ransom had told me about this family - even that little felt like too much.

I could only imagine the anxiety he was feeling, and my heart ached to soothe him as best as I could. “Do you want me to go with you?” I asked, running my digits over his nape calmly, keeping my voice as soft as possible to help him relax.

Still, his head snapped up so he could meet my eyes, his wide as two saucers as he struggled to process what I’d said. “… You’d do that?” He sounded so surprised, so genuinely shocked by my offer, that I couldn’t stop myself from giggling, taking both of his hands on mine and squeezing them gently.

“Of course I would, honey.” Ransom’s eyes were so soft as they stared into mine, even as my heart doubled its size in its effort to reach out for his, I found myself justifying, “You went with me to see my parents!”

The way his smile dropped at my explanation had me feeling cold and empty, desperate to see him look at me the same way he was doing only seconds ago.

“Besides,” I forced myself to admit it, trying not to sound as breathless as I felt while I opened my heart to him. “I-I don’t want you to go through that alone. I wanna be there for you, like you were for me.”

Immediately, I felt rewarded on my effort to open up by the smile he gave me. “Thank you, baby.” He squeezed my hand this time, and when he leaned over and connected our lips on a quick peck, my heart skipped a beat.

I was in love with this man.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

I sighed as we stood in front of my grandfather’s front door, trying to adjust my sweater that suddenly felt uncomfortable. Beside me, she seemed to be doing the exact same thing, fingers pulling on the end of the dress she was wearing, making me smile.

The dress highlighted her bump - it was now undeniable that she was pregnant and even if I’d never been particularly attracted to women in this stage of life, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her now.

It was like she shined from within. Her beauty amazed me, and so when she noticed me staring and stopped fiddling with her clothes, straightening herself up to ask, “Do I look okay?” I had to stop myself from laughing.

“Yes.” More than okay. “But are you sure you won’t be cold?” We’d gone through this argument before leaving the house, so I was prepared to see her rolling her eyes as she reached out to take my hand in hers.

“Unless your family has the habit of dining outdoors regardless of the weather, I think we’ll be alright.” I chuckled, rubbing my thumb on the back of her hand, but it sounded nervous even to my own ears. It didn’t surprise me that she noticed it. “Are you ready?” She questioned, voice in that soothing tone she used whenever she noticed my stress.

“Not at all,” I admitted, but in all honesty, the prospect of joining my family for dinner didn’t seem as bad as it usually did. Not with her by my side.

“I’m here for you.” Hearing her say those words meant more to me than I was able to properly express at that moment so I just stared at her, taking in the fact that this incredible person actually cared about me.

“Just… don’t leave me alone, okay?” Her immediate nod had me smiling. It prompted me to once again lean over and connect our lips, only this time, when I tried to pull away, she kept me close with her hand on the back of my neck.

Who knows where this kiss might have led us if the door hadn’t open right at that moment, revealing my lousy uncle who stared from me to her with wide eyes?

“… She’s pregnant? With your baby?” A groan was all I could muster as a response, tugging her into the house with me. “When were you going to tell your family?”

“For fuck’s sake,” I cursed, looking around the living room for the bar. “Where’s the goddamn alcohol?” There was no way I’d be able to survive this night without it, as much as I wanted to be supportive of Y/N.

“I think that’s a bottle of scotch,” I heard her whispering next to me, pointing towards a corner of the room, and I sighed in relief at her understanding.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

An hour into the evening and I had already understood why Ransom was the way that he was - and why he liked his grandfather so much, despite how he felt about the rest of the family.

Harlan was gentle where all of his children were… prickly. In fact, he was the only one who addressed me at all, but I found myself feeling grateful for it, since when the dinner actually started, I wanted the rest of the family to forget about me completely.

“I am so sorry,” Harlan apologized, rubbing his hands nervously as he stared at the rest of the family who was walking towards the dining room. “I sleep early, everyone knows that, but this is the only time they could all gather and since they didn’t know you were coming…”

I waved away his apologies, offering him a hug as I wished him good night. “Just as long as you’ve had your dinner, Harlan. Thanks for welcoming me into your home.”

He accepted my embrace easily, taking advantage of the proximity to whisper in my ear, “Just hang on to him, dear. I promise it’ll be worth it.” I smiled when we parted, nodding in confirmation to his words.

“It already is,” I assured him, but he only sighed.

“Make sure to remember that during dinner…” Now I understood why. It started with a simple question, one of the maids offered me some meat, and when I hesitated to answer…

“God, are you daft, girl? Have you never eaten lamb?” My eyes widened in surprise, but before Ransom could have the chance to throw himself at his mother, I just squeezed his thigh.

“I was going to ask her if there was any oregano in the sauce. It’s been making me feel sick.” I didn’t need to add why - the reminder of my situation, of what led me to be there with them in this dining room was very clear in me.

And still, that didn’t stop them.

“That’s a pretty necklace…” Ransom’s father commented before we could even grab a bite. I chuckled to myself, immediately catching onto what he wasn’t saying.

“Thanks, I got it at a little boutique back home. It was a gift for myself after I got my first paycheck.” I could feel Ransom’s gaze on me, the waves of pride rolling from him in waves. It made me smile, but it was just the calm before the storm.

“Ransom, have you contacted a lawyer?” This question came from his uncle’s wife, Donna - I think that’s what she was called. Not that she tried to introduce herself to me or anything, but Harlan made sure I knew everyone’s name as soon as I stepped inside the house.

“Why?” Ransom’s tone was vicious and his squinted eyes alerted everyone that he was prepared for a strike, but the fact that he still hadn’t anticipated what was coming almost made me laugh.

Even Donna herself hesitated, unbelieving that he was going to make her say it. “There’s no way you’re that stupid.” And just like that, the doors to hell were opened up.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but then again, was I really surprised?

“You should make sure to draw a prenup,” Donna insisted, while the rest of the family pretended not to hear, undoubtedly coming up with their own ways to insult Y/N. “Something that will assure only your kid has access to your money.”

I could hear Y/N quietly laughing to herself next to me, but while she was able to find the irony in the situation amusing, all I felt was blinding rage.

“God, do you even hear the shit you say? I never asked for your input, this, right here, is precisely why I didn’t tell any of you all about my baby.” I saw Y/N flinch from the corner of my eyes before I heard my mother’s fork drop against the precious porcelain dish she was pretending to eat from. I knew this was the sorest topic of discussion for her. I knew this was why she had been pretending Y/N wasn’t even there, hadn’t even been invited to dinner with me.

“Fair enough,” she spoke, lying back against her chair as she finally raised her eyes to meet mine. “I don’t know if we even should learn anything about this child, considering it most likely isn’t even yours.”

It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice over me. Y/N was oddly quiet now, seemingly as frozen as me - and when I realized that, my anger returned with twice its power.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I warned, just as my mother retorted, “Don’t you talk like that to me.” I didn’t even have the chance to talk back when she stroke again. “You fuck so many ransom desperate chicks, I’m surprised this is the first you knocked up.”

This was as insulting to her as it was to me, and it also struck a chord in me because of how I feared this was just reinforcing Y/N’s views of me. “Don’t say shit like that,” I threatened, to no avail. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Ransom…” Her sweet voice tried to intervene, but I was too far gone to hold myself back now. I couldn’t stand the thought that I was hurting her because I was the reason she was here in the first place.

“You know nothing about her, and yet you feel comfortable judging her,” I continued, ignoring her completely. “She’s a lawyer, actually. You would know it if you had even bothered to talk to her. If there was ever the need for a prenup, I’d have her draw it.”

Maybe they thought I’d stop at that - I thought so myself, until I realized there was still so much I wanted to get out, and I was going to do that now.

“And you know what? I trust her more than I trust you, and I came out of you. So maybe you should consider that before you attack the one person I try to introduce to my family.” I hated everything about this. I hated how they still managed to get to me, how the fact that my own mother, who I didn’t even respect, still managed to make me feel inadequate about the one thing in my life that made me excited.

I knew I’d always lose with them. They just had this way of inciting the beast in me - they brought out the worst in me, and I felt helpless to fight it.

“Okay, so she’s not some random skank,” my uncle oh-so-helplessly interrupted, immediately making me want to punch him in his stupid face. “But this just means she’s the one playing you.”

“Oh, shut up!” I threw my hands up, pushing my chair away from the table, fully intended to storm out of the room until Meg was the one who stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Did you even get a paternity test, Ransom?” She seemed almost uncomfortable to voice it, eyes darting from me to Y/N, but I could read her apologetic smile perfectly.

She just didn’t want someone else to get Harlan’s attention and interest because that would potentially mean less money to each and everyone of the people in this room, as he’d add one more person to his aid list.

My father took advantage of what Meg said, waving in her direction. “Don’t you know how important this family is? How quickly she could rise in any job because of a connection to us?”

My mother scoffed, finally ready to interfere again. “Knowing she’s actually smart leaves me even more surprised that you’ve relented and decided to become someone’s little plaything until this baby pops out. I’m assuming a few months with a screaming kid and you’re just gonna abandon her anyway. Which is fine by me, I won’t have to pretend to be a grandmother for long.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

All I could think was how grateful I was that I had accompanied him to this dinner tonight. As I watched his chest heaving with fury, I could not imagine how he would have felt having to deal with all of this on his own.

“Ransom,” I tried to catch his attention, pulling him back to his seat. “Ransom, it’s okay,” I tried to appease him, but he was too fucking gone to care.

“No, it’s not okay, he pushed my hand away, getting up from his chair to lean over the table, both hands on top of it as he stared at his mother. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He yelled, making me flinch, although Linda hardly seemed bothered by it.

Then, much to my surprise, Ransom straightened up, running a hand through his hair as an emotionless chuckle escaped him. “No, you know what? You’re right. You’re not gonna be a grandmother. I’m gonna be a father, Harlan’s gonna be a great-grandfather, but that’s it. I’m not gonna keep taking your shit anymore, Linda, you know why? Even if this child wasn’t mine, I’d still want her and this kid.”

My heartbeat pumped out of control as he continued, “She’s not just someone who’s carrying my child. I care about her. And if you can’t respect her, than I guess I was right in keeping this pregnancy from you.”

I held my breath as Ransom apparently caught his, my head swirling with the different emotions running through me - my infatuation for this man, who had so fiercely defended me from his entire family, the adrenaline from witnessing such a vicious argument.

I truly believed this would be the end of it. I didn’t know where they could go from here - that was, of course, until Linda decided to attack him.

“Oh, and you think you’re going to be so great with it?” My blood boiled when her words turned against her own son so easily. Attack me and my dignity? That was okay, these people didn’t know me.

But seeing her attack Ransom was just too much for me.

“Do you think she’ll want to keep you around once she realizes she’ll be raising two children with you to weigh her down?” Ransom visibly faltered, like she had slapped him, and that’s when I had enough. “You’ll never be able to give her the emotional support that she needs and you know that.”

I rose to my feet at that, holding onto my lower back as I softly slapped Ransom’s back in an attempt to calm him down. “I got this, babe.” He was so surprised - and still so hurt by his mother’s statements - that he didn’t even try to stop me. In fact, I think he didn’t even realize what was going on until I turned to Linda and started talking.

“Do you really think that poorly of your son that you can’t believe he has anything to offer in a relationship?” Now she was the one who looked up at me with an expression that looked like I had physically hurt her.

“Is it that unbelievable to you, that someone would be able to like him for him?” She didn’t seem to be able to find anything to answer to me, and when I turned to Richard, I was also met with silence.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

“Well, I do,” she announced, like it was the single most obvious thing, the simplest fact to deduce in the world, while I stood back watching her with my mouth hanging open. “I like him enough to be willing to open up to him even if one day he might leave me because to me, he is worth any possibility of future pain.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d never had anyone defend me like this, not even Harlan - not even my parents, when I was a kid and the bigger children decided to bully me.

No, back then all I got was a talk about how “real men don’t cry” and if my father ever caught me cowering from someone else again he’d give me a real reason to be afraid.

“And I do say possibility,” she continued, not having raised her voice for even a second and still to effortlessly able to catch the attention of everyone in the room, assure herself the ground to speak her mind without the fear of interruptions. “Because Ransom’s actions have never given me any reason to think that outcome is even remotely probable.”

“So maybe you think about your own opinions of your son’s character and see if they don’t reflect your own more than they reflect his actions.” She turned around after that, tiny hand encircling my wrist as she began to yank me in the direction of the front door.

“Let’s go.”

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rouiyan · 4 years ago

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𝘗𝘜𝘓𝘓 𝘔𝘌 𝘜𝘕𝘋𝘌𝘙 [ 𝘯.𝘫𝘮 ]

⧏ jaemin’s installment of the undone at twenty-one collective ⧐

synopsis: one estranged at the hands of love and the other tethered to his reputation. it's no wonder they find solace within each other.

✧ bartender!na jaemin x (fem.) reader (ft. ex!mark) ✧ college au, almost fwb au

✧ genres : fluff, angst, slight comedy ✧ word count : 15.5k ✧ disclaimers : swearing, alcohol consumption, insecurities, anxiety attacks, mentions of sex (no explicit smut, as per usual)

✧ author’s note — i'm so sorry to do this to you guys on a weekly, i swear, dropping double digit k fics is not normal and has definitely fucked with my sleep schedule ++ i hit 127 followers on thursday! for a total of four minutes but it was cool while it lasted! thank you!

maybe it all started when na jaemin got the job at the bar. it certainly didn't suit him, not the sweet boy he was, keyword on 'was.' he'd taken a course on bartending over the summer between senior year high school and his first year of college, just for fun until he realized he could actually use his license to get a job that paid slightly above minimum wage. maybe, it all started when he'd seen a classmate at the bar, a pretty girl at that, who'd smiled in a way that could only be classified as flirtatiously. maybe that's what had jaemin winking back, for the first time in his life. maybe that's what got him laid later that night. and maybe that's how he started to identify as more of a fuckboy than a heartthrob. it was a far out though new feeling, he thought. high school jaemin could never, he thought.

but maybe it all started to come to an end when you walked into the bar for the fourth time that week, eyes rimmed red and breath already tinged with alcohol. you ordered a draft beer from him, something light to keep you slightly buzzed but not completely knocked out. the hands of the clock were nearing two in the morning and the bar, especially the area of the counter he was tending, was beginning to empty out. jaemin struck conversation once you were the only one left and seven minutes before his shift ended.

he realizes, again, that you have zero recollection of him though he'd also struck conversation for the three nights before.

"how was your day, miss?"

you look up, head propped on your right hand, hand propped up with your elbow. "me?" slightly wary, you sit upright in front of the guy behind the counter. his smile never falters when he nods. you blink twice before remembering to respond, "i- no, i mean, today was okay," you slouch back into yourself, "a little less than okay, actually." the bartender's eyes widen in consideration, remembering that you had stopped at just 'okay' for the past days he'd asked you. he takes from this to offer politely, "do you mind if i ask what happened?"

your eyes are focused on the sink behind him, distractedly. almost forgetting to reply, you gather your thoughts by clearing your throat and pondering for a few moments before beginning to speak, hesitantly, "well it's like when you just know something bad's gonna happen, and you know for awhile. then it does happen and you don't get to be surprised or shocked because you already knew. so all you're left to feel is just," you heave a sigh, "sadness, or maybe even regret."

the metal nametag pinned to his chest glints in the lights above as he moves forward to place his elbows on the counter, leaning casually. you notice it to spell out 'jaemin' and a part of your subconsciousness is trying to make you remember that you know this guy. you know him from school, from rumors, from your gossiping friends, you know him from the bar even. but all you're able to process is that he is one hell of a good-looking specimen.

jaemin's eyes glint in the light as well when he poorly guesses, "did bad on a test? late homework assignment?" laughing and completely missing the fact that this 'stranger' had correctly assumed you to be a college student, you shake your head, "if it were either of those, i'd be awfully dramatic for coming to a bar and drinking my days away instead of studying." he's laughing as well and you can't help but think that his smile, straight pearly whites and all, is probably the most welcoming sight your eyes have laid upon the whole day. picking the conversation back up, you decide that it probably wouldn't do much harm to indulge jaemin in the latest and breaking news of your life. "actually, i was dumped today."

he sucks in a long breath in understanding, licking his lips, "so, a bad breakup. those aren't too fun." agreeing, you shake your head. the atmosphere is good-natured when you quip, "would it be worse to say that it was the eighth time too?" jaemin's brows shoot up in surprise and he pushes himself off his elbows, shifting his weight onto his hands. "eighth? as in eighth breakup or eighth time you've been dumped?" a chuckle escapes your complexion, giving way to how vulnerable you were feeling, vulnerable to a laughable extent. your eyes are cast downward when you respond, "the second."

jaemin pries in a way that doesn't seem like prying, you wonder how he does so. "care to share?" it's possible his range of bartender-ly duties extends to the likes of a therapist, "i mean, i don't see why not." you quirk your lips, the only thought coursing through your mind consisting of how the bridge of his nose was so carefully structured and how oversharing with this man didn't seem so much of a bad idea. you were, after all, far too caught up in your drunken stupor to think anything otherwise.

"let's see, i was ghosted by my first boyfriend in ninth grade, cheated on by my second, figured out that my third was only dating me for a bet, fourth just straight up stopped liking me, fifth lied to me about his age, objectified by my sixth, thought i was dating my seventh but turns out he forgot he asked me out, and my eighth...well, that one's a bit different."

he's back on his elbows, in intriguement and also due to the new song that began to play from the speakers above, louder than the last, "how so?" you're afraid the feelings are going to pour back within your forefront thoughts so you keep your answer short, "we dated for two years."

"and?"

you're quiet for a few moments. those moments are taken to mull over the exact reasonings behind your shitty day, almost as if you had forgotten. blinking slowly, the dryness of your contact lenses becoming apparent, you respond hesitantly, "and, he said he didn't see a future with me. that i could only ever be his first love."

jaemin seems to mull over this as well, "and did you see a future with him?"

you haven't looked up at him in a while, instead, focusing your sights on the way you've let your acrylics grow out far too long, how the skin around your nails is peeling, and how your palms are also creased with dry lines. using the same hand to lift the bottle from its handle, you toss the rest of its contents down your throat, swallowing in one motion. setting it back down, tongue grazing over your lips to catch the spilt extras, you look jaemin in the eye.

"yeah," you move to collect your things, "i guess i did." you pay. you take your leave.

he sees you again the following day, for the fifth time in that single week and he's led to wonder if there is a reason you seem frequent this one bar. the atmosphere possibly, the customer service maybe, or even him, though he's doubtful.

this time you're accompanied by two friends, one he knows to be jeno's best friend, eunmi, and the other, the crush of that same friend, jaein. jaemin's known eunmi for as long as jeno has, since the beginning of high school. jaemin also knows that eunmi, as of the late, doesn't like himself all that much. he figures it has something to do with the bit of a reputation his name now carries.

jaemin thinks the girls are by your side for emotional support. perhaps, today proved even shittier than yesterday, but he's thwarted a few moments after when the three of you seem to be lost in the depths of interesting conversation, light-hearted laughter, and glasses that can't seem to fill themselves as fast as they empty into your stomachs, except for jaein, that is, but especially for you.

it's 12:48 in the morning when he's thrown off guard for the first time that night, in the midst of whipping up a whiskey for the grumpy man down the counter, eunmi falls asleep, literal in the sense that she really does fall and would've completely sagged into the ground if the table had not been in gravity's way. jaemin watches as jaein lifts the poor girl's head off the surface, revealing an angry red splotch, and transfers eunmi's weight onto her lap.

he's thrown off guard for a second time at 1:22, watching you stand straight from your seat, swaying a tad bit, but brows creased in strong will and determination. you're walking towards him, steps that would be quick if only you were even mildly aware of sidestepping the paths of others. you pant as you reach the table, head feeling a little too hot and too heavy to aid in clear thinking. squinting at him, though you were but a few feet away, "your name. what's your name again?"

jaemin repeats the actions you'd done yesterday, slightly wary in expression and checking his posture, "me?" you don't reply but continue to scrutinize the way he looks. he supposes that's just as much of an answer, "it's jaemin, i believe we talked yesterday." your mouth parts in recognition and moves as if to form a word or two in response. jaemin watches as it opens and closes again and, even after much deliberation, the only thing you can find to say is, "well, you're fucking hot."

"oh-"

"shit, didn't mean to say that aloud." your lips smack in embarrassment, shifting your weight to your left foot. your mind is yelling at you to sober up, to save your face.

a smile adorns the man's features as he bemusedly remarks, "i'm sure you didn't." there's a silence that hangs between the two of you, and you're on the cusp of excusing yourself from further embarrassment when jaemin blurts out, "if it helps, i think you're fucking hot too." it might just be the alcohol in your system that's making the heat rise in your countenance but you swear you blush, and you never blush!

fingering the lobe of your right ear, you fumble with your thoughts until settling on a quiet, "thanks." jaemin busies himself with swiping a rag across the counter, unaware of the awkwardness on your end. looking up, he offers, "would you like a drink?" nodding, you take a seat at the bar in front of him, eyes slipping back to the girls for a split second, only to see jaein on her phone and eunmi still asleep. returning your sights, you're met with a slight humor traced in jaemin's expression, "what?"

he lets out the smallest of chuckles, mouth moving but lacking words, sentences starting but never ending, until he finally makes himself clear. "you- would you mind ordering a drink then?" your hand comes up, as if you had a point to make, but returns into your lap as you realize you'd never elaborated. "oh," your hand resurfaces to massage your temples, "same as yesterday then."

jaemin doubts you even remembered what you'd gotten yesterday but goes on to fill a bottle of beer from the kegs behind him. you're staring at his back in wonderment at how lackluster in...social interactions you'd become, how lackluster in flirting you were. you guess two years of being cuffed would render anyone a little rusty. hell, it wasn't as if you were keen on flirting with every hot guy you saw but jaemin, not that you remember much, gave off the right feeling after a wrong relationship. that was surely a green light, right?

"here," he slides it across the counter with a wink, entirely out of habit. you wince at that, "ew no, don't do that around me, i'm not one of your fuckbuddies." retying his black waist apron, he replies with a, "right, you're not." he pulls a neat bow in place and sets his hands back on the counter, there's a lilt to his voice when he speaks, "but, if you ever feel like you need-"

you wave him off, "i'm good, thanks for the offer though."

he watches you chug the draft beer. nodding, he replies under his breath, more to himself than anything, "i see." you finish the bottle in no time but it looks as if you were to vomit, or pass out, or maybe even black out, or all three at once. jaemin really does not mean to spur your flirtatious gene as much as his own but seeing you like this he offers, "it's on the house." you're definitely surprised for a good half of a second but in the other half, you drunkenly lean across the table, so far so that jaemin's nose is but a few inches away from yours.

something in jaemin stirs. the stench of your breath, your hardened eyes, the delicate lines of your lips. jaemin finds that it isn't lust that rumbles beneath his carefully built expression. and though it might as well be some form of pity, he doesn't hesitate to take your phone from you when you ask, "can i have your number?" he doesn't mind the smile that graces your face as you take your phone back, as you turn around to head back with your friends, not even in the right mind to say a goodbye, and even as you exclaim, rather loudly, to jaein, "i got his number," a smile of his own is quick to light up his face. but na jaemin hides his silly smile and even himself a little later when jeno appears to drive the three of you home. he even goes so far as to hide the smile and the meanings behind the smile from himself, afraid that he'd uncover something that was very un-bartender-ly of him to feel for a customer. at least, that's what happens before he ends his shift.

when you first wake up, it's at the sound of the door of your room clicking shut. jaein, you suppose, you'll thank her later. the ceiling is oddly comforting after a week that just didn’t start well, go well, end well. love isn’t your forte, loving yourself, loving others, anything to do with love. you supposed that getting dumped the seventh time would have made that quite obvious but you just had to throw yourself out there again, just to make sure. you fall once again to sleep that night with nothing on your mind other than the thought that you might as well be single for the rest of your life.

but you wake up in the love, not of a lover per se, but of a best friend. the post-it note on your bedside reads, text me when you wake up!, and the smile that lifts your face is instantaneous. jaein has never failed to care for you, despite being almost a year younger, and in that way and many others, you feel indebted to her.

you fail to recall any of the events of the night prior, though if anything horrendous happened you knew jaein would be more delighted to share. you stumble across your phone somewhere in the sheets after searching aimlessly and you decide that making a call would perhaps be more thoughtful than a measly text. but as you scroll through the names in your phone, upset that you didn't have jaein's contact pinned in your favorites, you stop, well, your heart stops because right below her contact is listed na jaemin.

you are two thoughts away from crossing over to tap the shoulder of the girl a little ways in front of you, her silhouette a great deal similar to jaein's, when a hand is placed on your own shoulder. you don't have a chance to turn and see who it is because that hand has traveled a little ways across your front, latching from one shoulder to another and bringing your body flush with his. you tilt your head to get a glance, only to find jaemin smiling down at you, the strobe lights glaring a brief red across his features. "been avoiding me?"

yeah no shit you've been avoiding him, suddenly nowhere to be found at the bar you used to appear at every single day of the week. and though the two of you attended the same college, you made extra sure to-

"jeno told me eunmi asked him for my lecture schedule for you, wonder why." a smirk grazes his lips, playfully. he’s grinding on your ass now, slow compared to the music blasting from overhead. taking your shoulder in his hands, he spins you to face him, "why are you avoiding me? tell me." jaemin places a hand on the curve of your neck, brings you closer to him, either so that he could hear your response better or because of whatever lust was running through his eyes. somehow, even with the minuscule amount of alcohol in your system, you can’t bring yourself to mind that he’s looking at you like some starved animal.

"what do you want, jaemin?" he doesn't hesitate to show you, a lazy kissed pressed to your lips before leaning in towards your ear, "i want you in my bed."

no objections are made when the arm around your shoulder tightens its hold, so as not to loose you in such a crowd. nothing is said in opposition when he ushers you towards the stairwell, brushing past people left and right. no sign of reluctance is apparent when you cross the threshold of his room, shutting the door behind you. and not a trace of hesitance is found as you find a spot beside the man who's already placing a strand of wide kisses onto your neck.

"what'd you say about not being one of my fuckbuddies the other day?"

"well," you hastily move to straddle him, allowing him to a wider expanse of your chest, "i was drunk, fuck whatever i said." you lean back for the slightest of seconds to catch his expression, lust lined his eyes. certainly, you felt like one of his fuckbuddies now but maybe this is what you need, a distraction. just one thing in your life, one time, one moment in time where it wasn't so frustratingly shoved up in your face that your world, your one love, hadn't been torn down right before your eyes. maybe kissing jaemin with such raw desire would finally give you the reigns over your goddamned emotions. his lips on your collarbone, tracing down slower and slower onto your breasts, his hands guiding you lower and lower into his bed, it felt exhilarating. in that one second, when his fingers moved to the hem of your dress, eyes shifting to meet yours in question, you nod fervently because really, you want to let him in, you feel safe letting him in.

but it only lasts for that one second because the door is burst open in the next, and a tipsy man and a wasted woman are storming on inside, eyes raking the place until they land on you and yours land on theirs, on his. mark lee. it's mark lee's eyes and as you take in the sight of the rest of him, the familiar him, and the girl by his side, suddenly nothing has ever felt more wrong. jaemin's lips, his hard on pressing against your core, nothing has ever felt more wrong when mark lee is staring right at you. why is it that you feel like you've cheated on him?

he leaves, pulling the woman behind him.

the party is alive, it's at its height, it's roaring and it's ravaging fun. the party is in full swing yet, for once, you're not partaking in it. "are you okay? do you need some water?" you lick your lips and decide, "some water would be nice, thank you." jaemin leaves the room, door clicking shut behind him and signaling your immediate breakdown.

a shudder passes your lips, reverberates down your spine, curls your toes. you draw into yourself, bringing with you jaemin's blankets on which you were sat. there is nothing more that leaks from your countenance than bouts of undisturbed anxiety that you let wrack your walls of understanding and awareness. you don't bother to fight back with distractions, no alcohol this time, no quick fucks, nothing to ease the weight that settles in your gut, presses down your heart and blurs the visions of jaemin's room.

he returns in seven minutes, promptly enough, for you're just about to wither in the confines of loneliness. the blankets are pulled taut around your figure and your head is in between your knees, mind flitting between images of mark and images of the darkness that threatens to envelop you whole. jaemin places the cup of warm water on the nightstand and dips the bed to your right though you barely register his presence until his hand begins kneading lines down your back.

the feeling returns. the one you know all too well by now. the one where the skin on your forehead feels too tight from being scrunched in frustration for too long, when your brain feels like it doesn't belong in your skull, when you feel ruptures in your heart, aches in your soul, as if you were to combust if you so much as moved in the slightest. your ragged breaths echo in your head, over and over, as if to remind you that you aren't okay, that nothing is real, that the only thing keeping you alive are your breaths, the only thing between life and death.

your breaths are also what grounds you, focusing on the in and out, the way the air fills your lungs, the way it exits. your hands begin to mellow their shake and you begin to gain some semblance of your being. you feel that jaemin is all around you. he's everything you smell, his breaths are all you hear, his lean body and arms are all you feel, and though you can't see him, you know he's there.

he's there when you turn in his embrace, looking up at him with eyes that tell age-long tales of hurt from delivering too much passion whilst receiving near to none. he's there when you wrap your arms around him, head tucking into his chest. he's there when your breaths even and he's there when you tell him you can't fall asleep.

jaemin hands you a set of his clothes, a light shirt and sweatpants, and ushers you gently into the bathroom. you change without looking in the mirror, afraid of what you'll see. he tugs you by the hand, once you're out, to the car. you only question him thirty minutes into the ride, "where are we going?"

he doesn't quite answer you, "if i'm right, we should be just in time." scrunching your nose in the darkness, "just in time for…?"

it's then that he turns into a dim parking lot and suddenly everything becomes clear when the wide screen comes into view, "jaemin...you 50's romanticist." the time is almost four in the morning, you didn't know the local drive-in theater had screenings that early and you're surprised that the man in the driver's seat knows. he offers you a hand and you take it, absentmindedly.

the movie is interesting enough to keep your begrudging thoughts away until an hour or so passes and you're beginning to teeter from exhaustion. before you have a chance to pass out, jaemin gives your fingers a little squeeze, alerting you, and then slowly tugging you over the middle console of his car and into his lap while lowering his seat. again, you comply absentmindedly, you're in no mindset to be complaining.

straddling him for the second time that night, you sigh into his chest. your eyes are fluttering closed when you begin to trace back the moments that brought you to this mess in the first place, the events that led to you in na jaemin's lap, the boy renowned in bed. you're a conscious thought away from voicing aloud your hatred of love. fucking love.

the prospect of love is addicting to you, like a drug in many more ways than one. you want to get lost in someone's eyes, you want to swim in the embrace of your other half, you want to be able to romanticize every aspect of your life, to be able to attribute your everything to one single person who would do the exact same for you. you can't part with the thought that love isn't for you.

and you know that there really are people who live just fine being single, people who don't feel the need to share their every joy and letdown with a special someone, people who feel enough just being in their own company. you know that yet, you're fully convinced you just aren't one of those people. because no matter how hard you want to say that getting left in the dust for the eighth time became the turning point in this endless chase, you can't see yourself ever stopping. there is not a single part of you that wishes to stop.

your breaths are shallow and brimmed with sobs as you drift into rest. above all that's been said, the least you can admit is that love is only a feeling. just like any other.

✧ ONE (01) YEAR AGO

"mark, what the fuck, we never go on actual dates." you complain, though you really don't mind all that much. the car pulls into a parking spot in front of the library, "and who's to say study dates aren't actual dates?" he opens the door for you and you roll your eyes graciously.

the two of you take your usual spots, the two at the end of the long row in the central area. it's halfway secluded, one side shoved against the wall, but still enough in the open to keep you guys from entirely ditching school work and talking until shushed by a librarian.

he's about to say something when a librarian appears just around the corner, pushing a cart of books. so instead, mark takes a piece of lined paper from his notebook, gently ripping it at the edge, taking his pen out and writing a line and passing the note to you. i'll take you somewhere nice next time. sorry babe, i just happened to have a lot of work today.

you press your lips together, eyeing the man that was eyeing you back, okay, my love. you pass it back, shooting him the most playful of smiles. he writes quickly and when he slides the paper back to you, you read his words quickly. sure thing, my world.

you giggle, the sound eliciting a glare from the stressed schoolmate beside you. quickly you jot down the words you've been wanting to say to him. fine by me, my future. you shuffle the paper towards the man across from you, unwilling to hide yet another smile that spreads across your face. you watch as mark takes the paper in his hands, skims the words you've carefully penned and then, he puts it away, tucks it into the front of his backpack. you smile fondly at him for safekeeping the paper, thinking he'd want to keep it as a little memento, a token of your love for him.

perhaps you should've thought a little more about it, the action, because in that moment it never occurred to you that he only put it away because he didn't want to respond, he had nothing in his heart that he could say to top that, and he most certainly did not see you as anything more, much less his future.

that lined piece of paper has long been discarded by now, in the most literal and figurative sense. mark could chalk it up to the possibility that it was just the right person at the wrong time but he knows there's absolutely nothing wrong with the time. college was going to zip by quickly for the two of you, you guys could move in together maybe, tell each other about your new jobs, every pay raise you got, and when you guys begin to settle down, a house would be bought and a ring would be proposed, and kids and old age would follow. somehow, mark can't help but acknowledge the fact that it simply was the wrong person at the right time. deep down, he knows it's always been that way for him. not for you. and he could only hope to turn back time and tell you a little sooner, maybe lessen the pain he knew he was to eventually inflict upon you. two years was two years too long. mark’s a nice guy and the weight of being your eighth breakup had a tough hold on him, it really did.

✧ PRESENT

you lift your feet up onto the other side of the booth, back against the window and your arrangement of your textbooks and computer to your left. jaein, studious as ever, looks up at you for a brief moment, "break? already?"

it's only been thirty minutes since the two of you arrived with the set intentions to study. "yup, already." you sigh, with everything going on, it's hard to pay attention to just one thing. especially something that seems so insignificant in the whole scheme of things. "y/n, are you getting enough sleep these days?"

you look over at her, her hair swept into a small ponytail, eyes holding the stars. jaein had her own fair share of problems, especially when it came to boys, but she never halted to care for herself. you wish you could be like her. "enough, yeah i'm getting enough." she puts down her pen, wrinkling her nose, "well then, make sure to get more than enough, yeah?" you only nod in response.

jaein's eyes rome until they settle upon a girl a few tables down, also studying. she cocks her head in inquisition, "hey, isn't that minyoung?" you wait for jaein to look away before you take a peek behind you, not wanting to seem conspicuous. you know her, you share some of your professors with her, you see her almost everyday, but you've never been riled up by just her presence being in the same room as yours. you look back at jaein, "yeah, that's minyoung."

"minyoung as in the girl that jaemin's datin-"

"they're not dating," you intercept. sighing in distaste, you follow up to cover your evident aversion of the girl, "just fucking around." jaein only nods, eyes wide in worry.

a few minutes pass and you're already sinking back into your workload when she speaks, "does it bother you? that they- they're fucking around?" now, you're sinking into yourself because you really have no idea what you're supposed to be feeling, how you're supposed to be feeling, or even if you're supposed to be feeling anything for this boy who you know little to nothing about.

but you guess it's because of what you do know about him that throws you off. na jaemin, the campus fuckboy, heart throb, and whatever other name that makes his image sound as vile as it is enticing. in some other universe, you're sure to have already let him eat you out over the course of the few weeks you've known him but somehow, you're glad that you reside in the universe where your head seems to be more securely fastened above your heart. you lick your lips in consideration but nothing comes to mind.

it's frustrating because as much as you hate to admit it, na jaemin makes you feel something. he stirs up something within you, something that hasn't been there in a long time. maybe not since your first crush or when mark first asked you out or even in the heights of your relationship with him when you felt like you could feel nothing more than love for the wretched boy.

you tell her, "it bothers me. it shouldn't, but it does." because though you don't know why. why you're feeling so strongly, or feeling at all, for a man so far from what you need after the end of a long-winded and committed relationship. you don't know why you even care, if anything, him fucking around with a handful of girls served even more as a sign for you to just stay away. getting invested in his small, thoughtful actions and his intense, loving stares is just asking for a ninth breakup. you don't know why but the idea of him being in bed with another girl, bothers you. it shouldn't, but it does.

jaemin isn't ever invited to these types of outings. usually, on a weeks basis, he's invited to quite the number of houses instead. houses of girls and houses that housed parties. never a restaurant, and never in the middle of the day. jeno had let that he was invited because eunmi had some 'investigation' to do, so naturally, he'd expect you to be there as well. turns out this investigation was set up for himself only, seeing as he was now sitting at the far edge of the table, to the left of renjun, whom he had never personally met, and across eunmi, who seems to spend most the time scrutinizing him instead of eating.

the purpose of his presence is made clear as eunmi sits up straight, gaze still fixed on him, and asks straight to the point, "what do you want with y/n?"

jaemin places his fork down calmly but his voice is anything but that, surprised, "i- what do i- what do you mean?" his hands are folded in his lap now, he wonders if this was the reason you didn't come, he wonders if eunmi asked him to come just to interrogate him in front of all your friends. she's still staring at him and though he's taller, he feels a great deal smaller when everyone's eyes are turned to him. hell, even jeno stopped ogling at jaein to give his attention to the scene on the other side of him.

he clears his throat and reiterates, now with a sense of the atmosphere, "what do you mean?" jaemin blinks rapidly as eunmi heaves a sigh, placing two folded hands on the table and pushing her point to light, "why are you messing with her? you wanna fuck her? you know she's off limits for you." jaemin asks the two question he knows he'll end up regretting, he can't help the spite that curls at the edge of his mind for the girl who so fervently despises him, "why is she off limits for me, huh? got something against me?"

"yeah, yeah i do. you go around sleeping with every other girl you see, you, jaemin, you are the last thing she needs right now."

"who are you to decide what she needs-"

"i'm just looking out for her, okay? and, shit, i know she has every right to, i don't know, fuck around with you too, but i can't sit here and watch as she falls for someone that doesn't give two shits about how she feels."

jaemin finds that he has nothing to say. the words echo around in his head, fall for someone, fall for him. he stares down at his food, takes a sip of his water, wipes his clammy hands on a napkin. when he looks up again, eunmi's expression is a tenfold softer than it was before.

"i'm sorry, jaem. it's just- i don't trust you anymore. you've changed a lot since, since…high school." jaemin only nods.

revolutions are held within him as he drives home that day. jaemin notes that the feelings are nothing new, he thinks it has something to do with the little churns in his stomach on the fifth night of your week of 'get drunk, get wasted.' he doesn't bother to suppress the feelings this time, it's been too long, he thinks.

it's been too long since he's liked someone for who they really are instead of just their pussy, he thinks. he, and his loving self, welcomes the feeling with open arms. it's been years since the giddy persona of a lovesick jaemin resurfaced. he's glad it's because of you.

"jaemin, hey, do you need anything?" you remove your eyes from your computer screen for the first time in a few hours, you barely register the strain when his voice is quick to respond from the other end of the line, "can you come down? i'm outside, got a lil something for you." eyes almost ejecting out of their sockets, you quickly mutter a, "sure, i'll be down in two," before hanging up, slamming your computer shut, throwing on a hoodie over your lazy study-day outfit, and grabbing your keys after almost forgetting them entirely.

straightening down the stray strands of your hair as you tread down the steps of the stairwell, you take a minute to breathe, a minute to yourself, before exiting the building. the sky is dark, the time being a little after dinner, but the lamplight that falls onto the man's face makes your heart swoon at the sight. dangerous territory.

"hey," you voice as he meets you in the middle. "what are you-"

"here," he holds out a teddy bear, medium in size, brown and fuzzy. you take it from him graciously and he tucks his hands into his jeans pocket, "i was just-i just thought that you'd...yeah." chuckling, you notice the hues of warmth rise in his cheeks. "wow, didn't think you were one to blush." he's laughing as well, from the embarrassment, hand coming up to cover his cheeks, to cover his smile, his stupid smile.

his smile never falters when he asks, "may i ask you something?" you nod, unassumingly.

"can i take you out on a date? next week maybe?"

breathless and eyes sparkling, you look up at him as if he were the one who put the sparkles in your eyes. he really was. now, it's you that blushes, hands coming up to cover your own cheeks, "yeah, i'd- i would like that." you almost want to coo at him when you see the relief that washes over his expression.

"you would?"

"yes, jaemin," you give a breathy laugh, "i'd like that very much."

fucking love. that one stupid feeling that could get you so emotionally intoxicated in ways no substance ever could. the kind of love that made you want to scream into the void, to exclaim your sheer and utter elatedness to the world. fucking love that you could never not chase, especially if it was jaemin.

mark never took pictures of you. not that you expected him to by default, he just never did. jaemin, however, shows up right outside your dorms, a camera hanging down from his neck. you can't say it doesn't charm your heart.

"what's that for?" you eye the camera as you slip into the passenger seat. you already know, you just love it when he says, "for you, of course." his hand holds yours as he drives and it stays that way until the two of you arrive.

the botanical gardens are, for the most part, empty on the weekdays, working wonderfully in your favor as jaemin leads you, also by the hand, through the forests of greenery, the air so crisp that it fills your mind with clarity after a week of muddled studying. jaemin compares you to the likes of several flowers, all of which he implores for you to pose next to for a picture. he especially finds the daphne odora, the winter flowering of daphnes, to hold the highest esteem in regards to you. you have not the slightest idea why.

the two of you are strolling under the glass-covered conservatory when light conversation turns heavy. confusion lines your face as you look over at him, "jaem?"

"yes?" he takes an extra step or two to match your pace. you stare at his feet as you speak, "what's...what's different about me?"

"what do you mean by that?" hesitance sits in your every word, "you don't treat me like...one of them, like one of you're fuckbuddies."

"because you're not," he replies simply. in all honesty, there's something you're looking for, something you just need to know, though you are lost in how to phrase it. shaking your head a bit, to wrack the insides for an answer, you end up regurgitating the same question, "yeah but, what makes me different?"

jaemin doesn't seem to mind and answers to his best ability, "well, for one, we're not fucking. and then there's the fact that i- that…" he trails off, the words are right there at the tip of his tongue, waiting to jump out at you, to allow you to revel in his love. he doesn't dare voice them aloud, the threat of rejection is stemming and rooting itself in his bloodstream. unaware, you urge him on, "that…"

your date is lost in thought, eyes seeming to be particularly interested in a bloom of camellias. you suppose they're plenty interesting but you wonder how he'd lost the interest in speaking with you so quickly. was it something that you said? maybe asking him so upfront like that wasn't the best choice. jaemin, meanwhile, is panicking. sure, the camellias look beautiful but the millions of thoughts that course through his mind are each occupying too much space for his mouth to actually form a string of words that make coherent sense.

jaemin finally, finally settles on something to say, just as the two of you are rounding upon the exit. he subtly wishes he'd gotten a picture of you by the camellias. turning his sights back in your direction, he verbalizes, "are you going home for winter break?"

lips pursed, you shake your head, "no, i was just planning on staying at school-"

"do you wanna come with me? back home?"

you stop in your tracks. jaemin walks on until the hand that's carrying yours is tugged to a stop. he looks back at you and sees the way you gulp, the way you refuse to return his gaze. he makes his way back to you, closing the distance he's created. jaemin is a few seconds, a few thoughts, away from recollecting his propositions with a 'nevermind' and a quick brush of a hand but you beat him to it, voice small, but instead of hesitance, it's laced in full conviction.

"yeah okay, i can do that."

it isn't until you're back in your dorms later that night, going over a couple of review sheets for your upcoming exam, that you think to do a little research. a new tab is opened, a few words are typed, and you're floored with what you're met with.

the daphne odora (winter daphne), where 'odora' is latin for fragrant, is most noted, though not often, to be a symbol of doting love, as if to say 'i would not have you otherwise." it flowers in the winter and is primarily prone to wilting in hard soil and low sunlight…

✧ SIX (06) MONTHS AGO

mark's parents give you a once-over before letting you in. just the way they look at you speaks volumes. you can only hope they don't treat you any different. for some reason, his house feels cold, unpleasant, unwelcoming. and though you thought any homemade meal should bring about a sense of warmth, dinner is passed in tight-lipped smiles and the worst type of small talk, small talk about the weather.

retreating into his room after dinner, you decide to bring to light your worries, "mark, i don't think they really-" evident, he's already two steps ahead of you, "it's fine, y/n, they just haven't seen me date someone in awhile."

treading carefully over to his bed and placing a knee upon the sheets, you offer, "so...overly critical?"

he gives you a look, one that opposes your quavering brows and reverts your worries, "exactly."

"right," you huff a sigh of relief, as far as you know, you're convinced but the underlying layer of disbelief still holds true, "i'm gonna go get changed, okay?" you hear a mumbled, "okay" in response as you reopen the door, sights already on the bathroom at the end of the hall. it's when you're at the top of the stairwell, just before your destination, that you hear the conversation from down below, his parents you suppose.

"i'm just saying we shouldn't take this too seriously," by the pitch, you tell it's mark's mom. you move for the bathroom, uninterested, until his dad speaks up as well, "i know, especially with how she looks, exactly like her don't you think?"

"it's the eyes, they have the same eyes," your hand, just above the doorknob, is held in place. your face, expressions of the shock and concern that comes with the revelation, is unmoved. and your breath is no longer coursing air through your lungs.

"mark must still be really hung up on her if he's stuck with that replacement for so long," your hands being to shake and you're afraid that whimpers will arise in their wake, you make haste into the room, closing the door after enduring one last sentence. his mom chuckles, "poor soul, i hope he tells her soon."

you can't find the light switch but you're trembling fingers are quick to latch onto what you assume to be the shower dial, turning on the water to mask your loud sobs. you lock the door behind you, sliding down the back of it while letting out the briniest of tears. the rubber bathroom mat underneath you squeaks and your feet hit the vanity across from you. hands in your hair you can only pull at the strands, the strings of curse words and pain that emit from your figure more mental than physical.

you've never wondered what it would be like to be filed under 'replacement,' or to have a spot in someone's life as merely a disposable placeholder, someone whose presence was dictated solely by how well you satisfied the other's needs for closure, or lack thereof. now you're wondering if that is really all there is to love, satisfying each other's self-serving desires. you wonder if mark served some sort of purpose to you. but you could not, for the life of you, think of one. never in your life as now have you wanted so badly to see the good in a person you swore to love for perhaps the rest of your life.

you want to look him in the eye and tell him that you can't take it anymore, the disrespect, the mistreatment. maybe you could be dramatic and throw a hand across his face, a cup of water to douse his senses. you'd think that a man so kind would be the epitome of committed lover, never one to be agenda-oriented, not that the mark you now pictured was some scheming wretch, but you had to keep in mind that even going as far back as when he first laid his eyes on you, the interest you saw in them was in reality just familiarity. somewhere in you, something about you, maybe not even your looks, resonated with the memory of someone that was already held close to his heart, long before you came along. you were just there so he could relive his past, relish in his memories, prolong the inevitable.

but more than everything, you despise yourself. it's because of who you are, your willingness to be unfalteringly loyal even in the face of something so wrong, that makes it so you are always the backup plan, the last resort, the dumped and not the dumper. it's who you are that keeps you silent till the very moment he ends the whole damned relationship, till the very moment when there's no point in speaking out anymore, so that all that's left to do is to cry out.

✧ PRESENT

the sky is vast out in the countryside. the wind pays no mind to ruffling the leaves on the trees, branches already bare in the wake of autumn. you wished it could snow, just a little, though you doubt the early december rains would be so willing to fall into harsh winter so soon. jaemin ushers you to close the window your finger are flitting out of, he keeps ushering you, but you give him a shake of your head each time, you like the cool air. as he exits the highway, you finally slip them back in, tips of your fingers numbed raw, and jaemin looks at you in an 'i told you so' fashion before rolling the window up to keep the heated air within.

as so many times before, he takes your hand in his while he drives. fussing, his own fingers now encasing and rubbing yours to build the warmth back up. you perk up as the surroundings start to speak more 'countryside' than 'middle of nowhere.' a gas station, diner, couple of shopping plaza are passed, "how much longer?" jaemin pulls to a stop at a red light, "four, maybe five." eyes sparkling, you turn towards him, bringing your legs up on the seat and pulling his hand in yours to your lap, "ooh, so we're close. really close."

the light turns green and jaemin waits for the car in front of him to move, "why? you nervous?" you squirm in your spot, under his gaze, "i mean, n- no," rubbing the back of your neck, "yeah, a little i guess."

"and why is that?"

your hand is still on the back of your neck, fumbling with your words, "well, i mean, your parents. and we're not even- yeah, i don't know."

you say you don't know, yet, both of you know exactly what you're trying to say.

jaemin's childhood home is quaint, with a big front and backyard, and the only house on his street that has offwhite siding paint and soft blue shutters. you'd never pegged him to be a countryside kind of boy.

you've only known jaemin for the better part of two months, yet, the first thing his mom does is hold you in her warm, welcoming embrace. "y/n, dear! such a pleasure to have you here, you're all jaemin talks about over the phone." you blush at that, pulling away from her to give your most sincere smile. you wonder since when blushing was your thing.

his mother does her absolute best to learn your whole life story over the course of one single meal and his father is gruff but fails to hide a smile at your small attempts at anecdotes while jaemin full on chortles on his food. you're glad that not once do they bring up the questionings of your and jaemin's relationship because frankly, you have no idea what the whole deal with it is yourself.

even after dinner, his mother is quick to pull you into the living room, tightly bound photo albums stacked high in her hands. as the two of you coo over two-year-old jaemin taking a bath, four-year-old jaemin at his first piano recital, seven-year-old jaemin's face smushed in his birthday cake, the actual jaemin finishes up washing the dishes and makes his way to his packed bags, unveiling a pack of...you're not sure.

he sits to your right, setting the paper envelope on the table. you pick it up just as he puts it down. peering in, you pull out a bundle of photos strapped together with a measly rubber band. slipping it off, your eyes soften when you realize that almost two thirds of the stack is just you, and then a flower or two, and then some more of you.

jaemin and his mother are hovering over your shoulders on both sides when you reveal the last picture, one of you and jaemin that he had so kindly asked another visitor to take, the daphnes in the back. he had said something funny, you wish you remembered what it was, and in the moment you were looking up at him with your face scrunched in amusement, but it was too late, the picture had been taken. the man on your right takes the laminated photo from you, "i think," he starts, hands navigating the photo albums to find the most recent one. flipping it open, he slides it into the slot underneath a picture of him at his high school graduation, "i think it goes here."

jaemin gives his mother a look, unbeknownst to you, and she dismisses the two of you hurriedly to go off to bed, to get some rest after a long car ride. jaemin doesn't think much of that, apparent in how he does urge you to shower, unpack, and get comfy in his bed but also keeps you up, talking into the depths of the night.

he explains to you, later after you had asked, why his albums only went up until the end of his high school days. his head is propped up on the pillow, body strewn on the thin mattress of his bedroom floor, but both upturned to you perched on his bed. his room is a showcase of his younger years, far before you knew him, and even farther before you heard rumors of him. the walls are littered with certificates of merit, ribbons of academic excellence and his shelves, instead of books, have been cleared out for an abundance of trophies, for innumerable instruments, for perfect attendance, for anything and everything a person under eighteen could be awarded for. you'd never pegged jaemin to be a countryside boy, and added on to that, you'd never have pegged him to be the goody-two-shoes his childhood home so plainly made him out to be.

he tells you, himself, how college had changed him, how freedom had changed him, how being admitted into the fraternity changed him, how parties, underage drinking, sex, how it all rewrote the person he used to be. he looks you in the eye and tells you how much he loved the thrill, the adrenaline, the popularity, the sheer magnitude of people he had swooning over him, at his feet, on their knees. he tells you he loved it and that he's not so sure if he loves it now.

"why the sudden change?"

jaemin could tell you that he doesn't know, really, that maybe he just grew up a little and saw his time wasted, that perhaps he realized all the fights he had with his parents were simply not worth it. or, he could tell you the truth.

"because of you."

"what do you mean?"

"i mean," he's scrambling to sit up straight now, so he can look you in the eyes. if he's going to do this, he's going to do it properly. his eyes level with yours, lips freshly licked, he dives in the deep end. "i think i just- i met you at your worst. and we talked, and we, i don't know, flirted, and everything was supposed to just pan out how it usually does. you know, in bed. but it didn't." you've sat up as well, feet hanging over the edge of his bed and barely scraping the floor. you reach to hold both his hands in yours, though you have not the slightest clue where he is going with this tangent. "it didn't, but even then, i- i never-" it seems that even he doesn't know.

jaemin's hands start to clam in yours but there's an underlying determination that still holds strong, he's nowhere near done. "i never stopped going after you, and not at all for the sex. i- it was really just for you."

your jaw unhinges itself, hand not bothering to cover, thoughts elsewhere. what you thought might've been his life-changing, inspirational, heart-spurring tale, is turning out to be something you were inexplicably unprepared for. your newly sprouted tears are at the brink of overflowing as you try to make sense of the mess your mind has already made for itself. the questions are almost pushed over the precipice of your tongue before jaemin clears the air with finality and a handful, of in-the-moment confidence.

"y/n," jaemin's fingers glide over your knuckles in half the rhythm of your heartbeat, "i met you at your worst and i think that somehow it made me realize that i was also at my worst. and i don't know what people have to say about two sad people falling in love, all i really know is that i like you. i really fucking like you."

as if on cue, you start crying right then. "fuck, jaem," you pull your hands from him to swipe at your face and he's moving onto the bed as he speaks, dumbfounded, "why are you crying, y/n? is this like a 'i like you back and i'm happy' or 'i don't like you back' kinda cry?" you throw your head back in unprecedented laughter as he takes you in his embrace. your head rocks back and rests on his shoulders, arms coming up to encase them. "it's a 'relieved that i'm not the only one' cry."

he draws back, hands still holding you at the waist, "so, i'm taking that to mean you like me back?" you lick your lips, "maybe...possibly, you'll have to find out on your own." jaemin shakes his head, the back of his right hand coming up to caress the apples of your cheek. chuckling he retorts, "you're saying that like i don't already know. eunmi kinda let it slip a few weeks ago."

"she what?!"

"well, she kinda said that you were falling for me or something like that."

"well," you stop, in confoundment of being left in utter betrayal, "well, she's wrong. tell her that i said she's wrong."

"but you-"

"no, fuck what i just said, she's wrong."

"i- okay," jaemin watches you fall back onto your back with a huff, he follows shortly. the ceiling the both of you stare at and beyond is rightfully comforting after a week that just happened to start well, go well, end well. maybe love is your forte, after all, loving yourself after all that's happened, loving others despite all that might go wrong, anything to do with love. you suppose the getting dumped the eighth time would have made that quite obvious but you just had to throw yourself out there again, just to make sure. and boy were you glad you did just that.

jaemin is cutting fruit when it first begins to snow. apples are especially delectable in the winter, he knows he's bound to love them even more after this one winter. you're on the couch when it begins to snow, just shy of beating your long-withstanding high score on some game you were admittedly terrible at. jaemin joins you on the couch with the plate of apples, moments after it beings to snow.

"jaem," your lay a hand on his thigh, your sights elsewhere, "look, it's snowing."

you're scrambling to get a scarf around your neck, your boots zipped, the turtleneck underneath your coat pulled to your chin. the sky is almost dark, sunset not entirely visible under the veil of clouds. jaemin can't decide what is more enlightening, the snow or you and the ear-splitting grin that takes up half your expression. he decides that it's you.

you aren't even allotted the time to make snow angels before his lips are on yours. it's not the first time the two of you have kissed but neither of you will deny how different it feels. jaemin guesses it's because the way his lips move against your is fueled by untainted adoration and he suspects the same from you. he molds them steadily, wanting to take delight in the feeling for as long as hig lungs would permit. specks of snow dust the crests of your cheeks and the tail ends of his eyelashes. they heat in contact with your skin and begin their descent, deliquescing as they stray down the curves of your cheeks, meeting at your mouth that so fervently moving again jaemin's. it's where the cold melts of snow meet the warm mix of salivation.

you wield all the experience you will ever need, yet, it feels like it's your very first kiss, butterflies stirring down in your tummy and all. it never ends, it really doesn't. not when he first parts for air, or when you part the time after that, or even when you notice his mom, hands on her hips, from the window, or when the snow begins to clot at your feet.

you think you love him.

despite all the thoughts that tell you it's cheesy, it's boring, it's lame and conventional, you tell him on valentine's day.

the party is alive, it's at its height, it's roaring and it's ravaging fun. the party is in full swing and as what is now considered usual, neither you nor jaemin are eager in partaking in it, opting to simply hang out in his room, above the loud music and the moans from the opposite ends of all four walls. the door is locked this time and instead of joining the crowd in the main event of fucking each other senseless, the two of you have a small setup on his bed, littered with textbooks, previous exam papers, a fancy charcuterie board, courtesy of the dedicated chef, jaemin himself. you're on your back, feet hitched upon the headboard and laptop positioned at a ninety degree angle on your ninety degree angled legs. jaemin is on the floor rather, using the bed as a makeshift table even though he has an actual table not two feet away.

"i wish we could go to your dorms, it's loud as fuck." in response, you heave a sigh, mind now sidetracked from your work, "a pity i live on the fifth floor, we have no chance in sneaking you in." a thought dawns on him and he wonders why neither of you thought of it before, "let's go to the car."

it's quite the sight and you're sure anyone who's actively paying attention would laugh. jaemin's arms are locked straight up, supporting yours, his computer, and three textbooks, as he navigates the swarm of people to the exit. you're, following in tow, arms held up in similar fashion but instead of a stack of books, you're hoisting the charcuterie board, still abundant with cheese and grapes and a dip of honey. the threat of everything toppling over is very much apparent.

he'd driven a little ways down his street so that the buzz of the party could be left fully behind. the only thing aiding your studying is now the low-grade yellow lights that come with the fold down mirrors. "holy shit, jaem," your mouth waters even as it anticipates its next bite. "what?" he glances over at you. the charcuterie board is hiked on your knees that are drawn to your chest, makeshift tables are all too common today it seems. all the cheese on the board have an identical bite on them, a result of your taste testing but it seems that only one has drawn your liking so much so that you have eaten most the portion provided. "this- the- what's this one?"

"petite jalapeño, why?"

you cover your mouth as you chew hurriedly, "it's so fucking good, babe, with the honey. oh my god, i love you." you've finished chewing but you don't notice what's left your mouth, definitely not food.

"you what?"

you're thoughtlessly thrown into his trap, "i love- fuck."

"you love fuck."

"wait no."

you put the plate on the dashboard, dusting off your hands while your cheeks dust rose under the dingy lights. "i- wait, yeah i," you shift a leg under you, turning to your boyfriend but refusing to look him in the eye. you speak to the outlines of the house two down from his, "i guess i do love you."

"y/n, look at me."

you shy away from him, embarrassed yet overcome with the sudden wash of feelings. you knew this, you do love him, so why is it so hard to voice aloud? he brings his hand to your chin, leans it towards him until you have no choice but to gaze into his loving stare. truth be told, you wouldn't have it any other way.

"i love you too."

your fingers play with your bottom lip, thrusting it up and down, left and right as you mull over which picture to post. "bummer, i look great in this one but you're blinking. ugh." swiping to the next one, you find that it's the last. "here," jaemin unlocks his phone with one hand, holds it out for you, "i think i have some that jaein took, she's better at taking pictures than jeno anyways." taking the device from him, you click into his photos and find the last two hundred or so to be just of you and the lavender fields, he hasn't changed a bit.

jaein does have a lot more sense, "wow my legs look so long in this one," and "geez, that hair flip was entirely unintentional, i must be a natural." jaemin rolls his eyes at that, one hand of his on the wheel while the other makes its way over to your thigh, rubbing a soft, distracted massage.

the first red flag that draws your attention. you're airdropping a cumulative 54 photos to your own phone when you see a name that you had long forgotten in his top three message chats, minyoung. you ignore it. you post the picture. you edit the caption seven times, each time becoming more indecisive than the last while jaemin gives you the incredulest of looks.

you decide to stay at his place for the night, not that it's an inconvenience to drive the extra two minutes back to your place, but just because he wants to spend the night with you. there's no objections, why would there be?

the second red flag that draws your attention. jaemin's showing you something on his phone, a video of a dog maybe, you've forgotten. the text that drops down while the two of you huddle over the screen holds your interest far longer. it's minyoung and she's telling him to come over. you're slightly alarmed, you're boyfriend even more so. he draws his phone back instantly, to your dismay, and you almost want to snatch it from him, to delve into the depths of the chat. you really almost do.

"jaem, what did i just see?"

"y/n, it's not what you think," it irks you that he's so quick to defend. you keep your head on cool for now, "okay, then what was it about?" his eyes shift from yours to the wall behind you, you're surprised they're lined with annoyance. he shakes his head, "nothing."

you're thinking it's all the more reasonable for you to be the one who's annoyed. you bit down harsh on your lip, refusing to give way to any of your many impulses, "if it's nothing then why can't you tell me?"

jaemin glances over at you, fleetingly, "i- it's not something you should be worried about. just, trust me, will you?" rubbing your hands down the fabric of your- his sweatpants, you utter a sigh, not sure of how much longer, how many more times you have to be left in the dark, for you to snap at him. you hope it isn't soon. "jaem, i trust you, i do. but that doesn't mean i'll believe everything you say blindly." you note that, for whatever reason, his pupils are shaking. "at least, not after what i just saw."

"then i don't know what to say. you have to trust me on this."

na jaemin has never been stubborn, or, he's never had a reason to be. everything goes accordingly to the way he wants to, that's how it's always been. maybe it's because of his endearing charms that teachers can never fail him, that compliments are always showered upon him. perhaps it's the way he flatters that makes him so likeable, befriending people is as easy as reciting the alphabet when you've frequented too many parties and met too many people. he knows that when he kisses up, people will bow down, he's never been rejected. it's definitely because of his good looks that girls always spilt their legs open for him, they never say no.

na jaemin gets what he wants, except when he doesn't.

"no."

you leave because you have trust issues, sure, who doesn't, who cares. who cares if there are tears streaming down your face for seemingly stupid reasons? it isn't the first time, it's nowhere near the first time. it's the same feeling you had when you realized your first boyfriend wasn't going to reply back, there's still a read seven years ago below your text. the same feeling when you saw your second kissing your 'best friend.' still all those years ago, when you were two steps away to the lunch table when you heard your third whisper to his friends, "just a stupid bet with a stupid girl." when your fourth told you he lost feelings for you when you were still madly in love with him and when you had to found out from your oldest sister that your fifth was her classmate, in grad school, while you were still in your last year of high school, not even old enough to vote. your sixth trying to strip you of your virginity right after you agreed to be his girlfriend and your seventh basically forgetting you existed. you were getting the same fucking feeling all those months ago when you finally realized your rightful position as 'replacement,' as 'number 2,' as 'poor soul.' maybe distrust is simply inbred in you and though you know the prospects of yours and jaemin's relationship are far from over, you can't deny the gut feeling that your bad luck in men is coming back to haunt you, that it's never left in the first place.

na jaemin forgets that he has a past he can't erase, just like you. the girls he's fucked over the past three years have hearts and they have reasons they began to fuck him in the first place. he couldn't heal their hearts, nor his, but sex did a great deal, made a great deal of people jealous, gave him all he needed at the time. he never expected them to simply go away when he decided to settle down but it seems that his reputation holds so much worth that it's proving hard to overcome it himself. jaemin hates that you date the campus fuckboy, he hates that people still whisper in your ear that he's fucking so-and-so in the dead of night. he hates that he can't get rid of the stigma around his name, even though you know, through and through, that he can't nearly live up to it anymore. you know yet, you leave because of it. his reputation. na jaemin, certified eye candy and delectable dick, wishes he was anyone but himself.

her bare feet shuffling down the hall is the only thing she hears. she wishes they let people wear shoes on the second floor so she could've busted her heels out and clacked her way to his room. she needs the rush of empowerment right now. she needs it.

the next thing she hears is the sound of raised voices right as she is about to shove the door open, the door fifth on the left of the hall to the right of the stairwell, exactly where you'd told her he'd be, albeit reluctantly.

eunmi is taken aback now that she recognizes one of the voices behind the door. minyoung. gritting her teeth, she presses her ear to the wood, careful to keep quiet.

"so you're fucking her now? is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"minyoung, i'm not fucking her. we're dating, it's been that way for awhile," he sounds exasperated, maybe, eunmi can almost see the crease in his brows.

"why didn't you bother to ask me if i was fine with it? we had a thing going, you can't just bail on me like that."

"the only thing we had going was quick fucks every thursday. i'm sorry, but i don't think that's much of a relationship."

her voice is growing impatient, in desperation like she's grasping at loose strings, hanging on to whatever she can find, "this little bitch- does she even know? how much of a dick you are? are you just going to leave her like you did me?"

"stop, minyoung, please,"

but eunmi guesses her point is valid nonetheless, she herself doesn't think very highly of him. "how would she feel if i told her that? that leaving is your specialty? you can fuck me, and all my friends and leave, thinking that we'd never know, but we know, okay? and if you- if you ever think that you'll be satisfied with settling down for this chick, think again jaemin."

eunmi backs into the restroom across the door, for good measure and good sense because minyoung is storming out the second after, unaware of her eavesdropper. a minute and a glimpse later, she knows that jaemin is crouched by the foot of his bed, though she's unsure why.

she braves herself because she's here for answers. reappearing at his door, she calls softly as if raising a white flag, "hey there." jaemin's head snaps up instantaneously in surprise. "oh, hi, what're you doing here?" he lowers himself to sit on the floor and eunmi takes the spot in front of him, wariness in her movements.

"well, i came here for y/n, obviously, but um, i just happened to hear-" she's cut off when jaemin lets out a low groan into his hands. eunmi makes her stance a little clearer now that she has a better feel of the situation, "i'm not here to break up with you for her or anything. she didn't really want me to come, but i guess, i guess i came because we've also had our fair share of...disagreements that i think we should set straight," she pauses, hands fiddling with her thumbs in her lap, "i'm sorry if this is too much after, all that."

he looks relieved at that, "no, it's fine. i- i'm glad you want to, i don't know, make up. i haven't really been all that great of a friend these past years anyway."

eunmi lets a smile slip at that, what an interesting turn of events, "so...friends?"

"friends."

"and just to set the record straight, you're not still fucking minyoung right?"

jaemin rolls his eyes, shakes his head, gesticulates with his hands, "no, i got y/n. she's all i really need." eunmi nods to fill the awkward silence that follows. she's reminded of another inquiry, "so why didn't you just tell her that?"

"i guess i just didn't want her to worry or like- or get involved with my past, stuff like that. i kinda hated how it's dredged up all the time, especially now that i've, i don't know, settled down, committed."

"should've just told her," eunmi deadpans.

"i really should've," jaemin agrees.

"need me to drive you?" jaemin's extra careful with his words today, post-arguments can be fickle, particularly if they're only halfway resolved. your voice is muffled on the other end, "no, i'll walk." jaemin's wishes he'd insisted it instead of simply offering, late spring rains weren't all that uncommon, and even more so when the skies are darkening as they are on this specific day. "it might rain though," he tries again. you decline again, "i'll manage, thank you."

he sees you in ten, fifteen minutes or so, and sure enough, you're drenched head to toe, staring up at him with eyes that bear in mind the tension that hangs in between you and also border the bounds of laughter at how you're dripping wet with no one to blame but yourself. jaemin bites back the 'i told you so' and hurries to get you dried off with a towel, changed, and under the sheets. by then, the tension has subsided considerably.

"you wanna talk about it?"

you're tired, though it hasn't even struck five on the clock, "i thought that's what i'm here for."

"so, i'm not fucking her-"

"nice to know-"

"-just had some loose ends to tie up-"

"-and did you?" jaemin supposes you're far too tired to be emitting the same, resolute aggressions as a few days prior seeing as you're keeping your voice to a minimum and the words that come out are straight to the point, blunt. he does his best to reflect the same straightforwardness.

"i did, she's...off my back, our back...our backs."

you give him a look, scrunch your nose, and tug him by the arms into you. there's a blanket separating you two but he fits exactly against you anyways. you wonder how anyone could ever get in between the two of you if you so perfectly mold alongside him. the bridge of his nose nuzzles down your neck and you're laughing because it doesn't get any better than this, really.

he shuts the light on the bedside table off with an inattentive hand, the blankets are drawn back and he's pulled flush into you. his body heat is welcome on a frigid night and the blanket that falls back on top of him seals the both of you within the confines of his bed for the hours to come. you're starting to think that coming here was more just to cuddle than it was to make up with him.

"i can't get enough of you," his face is in your neck.

"and why is that?"

"because- because everything about you- i feel like i'd be missing out if i never tried to start something with you," he buries himself further in your scent, "it's like i emptied my heart out just so you could fill it back up."

your chin rests on the crown of his head, it tickles him when you speak, now in half wakefulness, "could say the same for you."

jaemin whispers into your ear, breath fanning down onto your neck, words that will only ever be for you, "i would not have you otherwise."

jaemin spent your spring break at your hometown, to meet your parents, both of which loved him dearly. he wouldn't dare voice it aloud but he thinks it's the sweetest that your mother holds you, her youngest daughter, in such high-esteem after bringing home who she thinks to be the 'most gorgeous man alive,' an utterance he was sure was not meant for him to hear.

he likes being the 'most gorgeous man alive,' especially if you were the one who thought so, but as he watches you stare intently at the flynn rider's jawline, his own jaw clenches. tangled is playing as the pre-movie for movie night, the movie that plays before people actually start to arrive since, donghyuck and eunmi are always destined to be at least an hour late. but it's not that that gets him the most riled up that night, riled up isn't even the right word. maybe agitation, at whoever thought it was a good idea to invite mark lee. mark fucking lee, the grad student. the whoever turns out to be chenle and although jaemin does not have it in him to beat the kid up, he is sure as hell watching over the dude from the moment he walks in to the moment he leaves.

more than that, he also keeps his eyes on you as well, tracing your expression with every word his goddamned senior ought to speak. "hey, y/n, how have you been?" jaemin glares. as far as his detective senses go, he figures that marks target for the night isn't you, but rather eunmi. he hopes he can get over this as quickly and neatly as possible. your face twitches into a smile, uncomfortable, he thinks. "fine, i've been fine. you?" jaemin wants to draw you back and tell you that you had no obligation to be so polite, that the 'fine' would have done its job splendidly on its own.

"pretty good myself, looks like things have been happening around here, huh," jaemin hates the way he wriggles his eyebrows, "hyuck and eunmi, you and him." jaemin hates how he just referred to him as 'him,' surely, there was a lot more due respect than that. "yeah, and jeno and jaein but that's-"

"oh psh, old news," the two of you laugh, you laugh with him, with him. jaemin is just about ready to throw hands when mark excuses himself to get a seat on the floor, serves him right, he thinks. you look comparatively calm next to the raging boy. why is he the only one bothered by this?

"you good there? didn't even say a word to him."

he gulps, "yeah, i'm great. just didn't feel like talking."

you're staring at him like you can see right through him, that's exactly the case, "i'm over him, you know?" jaemin scratches at his neck, "yeah, i know." head on his shoulder as the first official movie of the night plays, you sigh, "no need to get all worked up, i'm all yours."

the twentieth century fox theme plays in the background of the romance novel you live in. na jaemin makes you feel that way, unfailingly, every single day. it's written in the ways he kisses you, lovemarks blooming under your skin. it's written in the way he stares at you, with nothing else except pure, unadulterated love. it's written in between the lines, his actions, his thoughts, everything that amounts to so much more than the past years of deprivation you've had to endure. it's written in the stars, out in the countryside where jaemin could never fake a smile, not in the presence of you. with you by his side, not in a million years.

it's here. summer fucking break is finally here. and if there's anything to prove that, it's the way you're currently sitting in a car with all your friends. taking a short little road trip out to the beach. now, mind you, these are the same friends that were there on your drunkest nights, slumped over bar counters and blatantly asking for any hot guy's number. the same friends that accompanied you on your most sober nights, holed up in your single-person dorm room, trying to study for an exam for a class you could never wake up in time for. and among those friends is one who has an added prefix, your boyfriend, na jaemin, who's in the driver's seat per your request since your carsickness prevented you from any other seats and you really wanted him by your side. jaemin didn't seem to mind driving, after all, he was next to you.

the sun is setting too fast and eunmi, sitting in the seat in the far back, complains that they'd have to set up the bonfire right away instead of getting to play in the warm water while it's warm. donghyuck, beside her, is complaining too, but not about the bonfire or even the trip in general, but about eunmi and her legs which are hoisted on his lap, something about how his dingaling needs to breath. jaein, in the seat right behind you is musing on about how she thinks it'll be funny when they arrive and see yeseul and renjun's car torn up in two, neither of them could ever get along. jeno, to her left, is fussing with rubbing sunblock on her, getting angry at how her hair could never stay out of his way.

you glance over at jaemin who has this smile on his face. this smile that makes it seem like he's in adoration of the whole scene panning out in the rearview mirror. he takes a glance over at you too and, if even possible, his smile beams wider, straight pearly whites and all. his hand finds yours.

it's already dark when the eight of you arrive but eunmi isn't complaining anymore since the boys make quick work in getting the bonfire set up while letting the girls play in the water. the ocean water licks at your feet as you watch eunmi and yeseul duel in how much water they could spray at each other, jaein sitting on the shore off to the side, watching as well. you're pondering going over to accompany her when eunmi's hand latches on your left arm and tugs the whole of you into the water with her. it's warm and wouldn't have been entirely unwelcoming had you gotten a notice in advance.

you make fun in chasing them around, kicking up water in eunmi's face one too many times that she begins to choke on the saltiness. yeseul is now on the shore yelling at renjun. and jaein is doing her best with a tent. eunmi, who's back you were currently rubbing, is almost through with her fit and you think the mischievous face she's pulling means another round but she brings up a question instead, "how's he in bed?"

she's right if she assumed you'd chuck another armful of water in her face.

you sigh in annoyance as jaemin tosses the towel over your head once again, unsatisfied with how the tips of your hair were still wet. his fingers are ruffling fast and making quick work to dry the strands but you're upset. "jaemin, babe, we've been standing here for ten minutes, can i go now?" your head resurfaces as he gives the towel one more tug, smiling, "just making sure you don't get sick." he follows as you duck into your shared tent to get ready for the bonfire. "shit, jaem. i didn't bring an extra top," you frown but he only smiles wider and grabs his hoodie from the ground beside the sleeping bags. "lucky for you, then," he tugs the article of clothing over your head, only speaking again once your eyes peek out, "because i love seeing you wear my clothes."

you give him a nose scrunch in return but every word of his, every single word that comes from his mouth is enough to get you swooning. you follow him out the tent.

"so," donghyuck's eyes are playful in the light of the fire, "what game are we playing today?" jeno groans, "do we always have to play some sort of game? why can't we just like…" even he's unsure of what to do. the eight of you are situated around the blazing fire that's, not quite large enough to be a bonfire, but does its job in keeping you warm. jaein perks up after much deliberation, "how about...we go around and each make a wish?"

donghyuck huffs, "fine by me." it starts with jeno, and though you truly value each and every one of your friends' wishes, there's only one that you really remember for the rest of the night, the day, the week, the month, and the years to come. jaemin clears his throat, the rest of the group watching him including you, the you he turns to. you're huddled over on the log beside him, wrapped up in his hoodie and hair an absolute mess. your eyes are heavy and he already knows that once everyone decides to call it a night, you will be the first to leave. you're looking at him in tired anticipation and mild interest, he hopes what he has to say tells you all he needs you to know.

"i already have you, so there's nothing left to wish for."

the rest of the group breaks off into 'oohs' and 'ewws' but you swear that you and jaemin, jaemin and you are stuck in your own little world. his gaze is incredibly soft and endearing, you scoot closer and place a head on his shoulder, his hand coming around your frame in automatic response. leaning into his warmth, you feel closest to home than you ever have before.

jaemin carries you to sleep later that night. and even later that night, or rather early in the morning, when you rustle awake, he's aroused by you as well. the two of you sit on a towel atop the dry sand, right before where the tides ride up the shore. basked in the moonlight, jaemin's skin beams a pale sheen and his eyes are cast over darkly, ethereally, divinely. your head is still on his shoulder and you feel the words vibrate through you when he speaks, "did you have fun today?"

you tuck a lip under your front teeth and nod for him to feel. he asks another question, "how are you feeling?" this time, you aren't able to part with just a shake of your head so you sit up, eyes never leaving the push and pull of the sunless ocean, "i feel...happy."

he looks over at you, not in surprise but in interest, "happy? why do you feel happy?" you shrug almost, musing off whatever comes to mind first, "i don't know, school just ended, this trip, summer break. i have a lot of reasons to be happy." jaemin isn't sulky at that but he does his best to pull his name from you, "and what about me?"

you dare a glance over at the man next to you, his eyes already boring into yours, "well, you too, of course." looking away as quickly as you'd looked over, you mumble quietly, "actually, more because of you than anything." in your peripheries, you see him give you a look that speak 'that's what i thought' and you clip down your smile in favor of a shake of your head.

moving from your spot, you surprise jaemin when you block his view of the seaside. he settles you down into his lap with familiar control, arms cradling you tight to his chest. hand on his neck, you trace it up to his cheek and guide his head down to face yours. jaemin leans in for a soft kiss, lips suckling at your bottom as your teeth tug on his top, slow but sensual, tired but sweet. you pull away for a breath but it's as if he doesn't need to breathe anymore because he chases after your lips almost instinctively. soft kiss after soft kiss is all that's needed for you to pluck up your courage and look him in the eyes, lips detached, and speak the truth your heart has been singing in your ears all along. "jaem," his eyes are hazy as they find yours in the dim light. somewhere in the back, the sun is peeking over the horizon in all its glory but neither of you pay it any mind. "yes, love?" he brushes the hairs from your face, fingers gliding across your cheeks and then fumbling with your bottom lip with his thumb. you blink and you speak.

"i've been waiting for you all my life."

you think back over the past seven months, a little over half a year, that you've had this man in your life, five months of which he was your boyfriend. you wonder how you could've fallen so fast in such a short amount of time. then again, love is rarely ever about how short or how long. it's more about the timing in which everything falls into place, the intensity by which each person loves, their pasts and how willing they are to erase it. falling in love is not about getting it right the first time, to find someone to be your first and last. for you particularly, jaemin is your ninth, and though the prospects of him being your last are still far from true, you know in your heart and in your mind and in every part of your living being that with each coming second, he's a second closer to becoming your last.

✧ end note — if my ex ever sees this, though i truly doubt he will, he gon know i stole one of his lines for jaemin. the wish one. yeah...he always had his way with words, that's about all he had though. but hey, it makes a hell of a good line in this story. i hope you had a good time reading this piece, it was such a pleasure to write. i will see you guys when i wake up for class in three hours hehe. with all the love in the world, rouiyan

#nct jaemin #jaemin fluff #jaemin x reader #neo-constellations #neothestars #nct scenarios #nct fics #nct jaemin fluff #jaemin fics #jaemin angst #na jaemin #nct jaemin fics #maxed the shit out of that 15k #very lightly proofread #will go over later #enjoy for now #<3 #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

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my-writings-and-musings · 3 years ago

Text

TFA Bulkhead/Bumblebee

Bulkhead, hoping to paint Bumblebee, finds a number of unexpected hurdles in the form of a willing but very fidgety model.

Got a lovely commission that the commissioner was okay with me sharing, so here it is! I had so much fun writing this, and remember, I'm always open if you'd like a fic for yourself.

Working up courage wasn't something one had to do often when they were as big and strong as Bulkhead, but he'd needed every bit he could spare to approach Bumblebee with what he'd feared was a ridiculous request. The fact he could expect his friend to say yes had brought him little comfort, because being rejected just scared him too much. He didn't want to admit how long it had taken him to prepare…

But finally, the day had come, and he approached the little bot as one might an armed explosive.

"Uh… Bumblebee?" he spoke softly, tapping his big servos together to try and call himself down. Bumblebee was relaxing and watching something on TV, and Bulkhead was so nervous he couldn't even tell what. Primus, he was just grateful they were alone, or else this would have been impossible! Bumblebee thankfully noticed him right away, lifting his helm to look at his friend with a smile.

"What's up, Bulk?" he said in greeting, half turning back to the television before doing an actual double take back to the big bot. Concern crossed his features, and he raised a curious brow ridge before he spoke again. "You feeling okay?"

Bulkhead realized just then that his nervousness was probably showing through like a beacon, and he gulped in embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to disappear on the spot. Just his luck that things would already be going poorly… Steeling himself, he took a deep vent and put on the biggest smile he could manage. "Yeah, f-fine!" he gasped out, trying not to tremble. Wishing he'd written down what he wanted to say, he just managed to put some words together and speak, hoping he didn't look as ridiculous as he felt. "I just wanted… wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah?" Bumblebee asked, expression not changing once. Near to collapsing, Bulkhead soldiered on, wondering with every word if he'd made a huge mistake.

"Well you… you know I've been painting a lot lately, and I was wondering…" he gulped again, closing in on the final thing he'd come to ask and hoping he wasn't making a huge mistake in the process. If this worked, it might just be the happiest day of his life…

"I'm kind of tired of painting trees and flowers… could I paint… you?" he asked, not even waiting for a reply before he clarified extensively. "Paint a picture of you, I mean! Like… would you want to model for a painting? That's… what I meant…"

"Oh, model?" Bumblebee repeated, optics lighting up like a supernova as he repeated the word. Bulkhead felt relief like nothing he'd ever experienced wash over him as the question got exactly the answer he hadn't dared to hope for, enough so that he struggled to stay standing as he sighed. Bumblebee hopped upright and stretched, lean little frame already eager to get moving as he stepped beside his much larger friend. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

"Yeah, sure!" Bulkhead said with enthusiasm, trying his hardest not to cry a few happy tears at the turn of events. Moving as fast as he could, he followed Bee to his room, where all of his supplies were waiting for them in the unlikely event this worked out. The big bot had done everything in his power to get all the paint and brushes he would need if Bee said yes, so hopefully he did indeed have enough, or at least what he'd require to get started. He'd gotten so many shades of yellow…

When they arrived to his room, he briefly scolded himself for not fixing it up better, not that Bumblebee ever bothered to clean his own room, but he wanted to be a good host.

Pointing to the smushed couch he sometimes liked to relax on, which was also in a good spot for lighting, he tried to ensure he was calm despite his still fluttering nerves. "You can, uh, pose however you like. How about there?"

"Sure, sounds fun!" Bumblebee replied, quite enthusiastic as he hopped on over. Not minding that the furniture was beyond lumpy, he began finding a comfortable way for his frame to lay, moving his tiny self about as Bulkhead got everything ready. Trying not to blush at how happy he was, the big bot grabbed a spare canvas and his favorite cans of paint, along with a few brushes in his size. Someday he'd have to properly thank Sari for introducing him to art, and being kind enough to provide tools in his size as well. When his easel was in place, he looked up to see Numb laying himself over the couch and grinning in his usual goofy way. "Paint me like one of your French bots, Bulkhead…"

Even if he hadn't been so distracted by what he was feeling, the big bot would have had no ability to make sense of what he'd just heard. All he could manage was a one word reply of total bafflement. "...What?"

"It's a… a human quote. I don't get it either." Bumblebee mumbled in reply, likely referencing some movie he and Sari had watched together at some point. Not wanting his friend to feel awkward, Bulkhead happily helped the conversation continue, smiling as he grabbed a brush.

"Oh, well um… how about we start small? Just sketches and stuff, you know?" he offered, trying to think of the best way to proceed. It was hard to plan much of anything when he was this happy, especially because he didn't want Bee to know how he felt, in more ways than one. He had to keep going as if this was just a casual thing, and not something that really meant the world to him.

"Works for me, just don't forget to get my good side… which is all of me." Bee said proudly, striking a pose and grinning as he did so. It was a perfectly in character position, so Bulkhead got to work right away, carefully articulating his large digits to control the brush. While small mistakes were just part of the process for painting, he didn't want to make one here. This piece was going to be perfect, so every stroke had to be the same, and thus his digits had an almost vice-like grip. It didn't escape his attention how few bots got to pursue their greatest wish like he was doing now. Keeping his smile to himself, he cast his optics to Bumblebee and back to the canvas, wanting to have the perfect grasp of scale before he began. Having a friend with such particular proportions wasn't going to make this any easier.

Sticking with the core of his muse, he made a few careful strokes to get the basic gist of his friend's pose, hoping to capture both his sense of excitability and his current relaxed mood. It would be hard, but he was more than up for the challenge. This would be worth every last second of work...

"Actually, hang on, my arm looks better like this."

Bumblebee surprised him with the words and the sudden movement he made to match, his arm swinging about to rest almost opposite to its original pose. As he hadn't yet started drawing that particular spot, Bulkhead let it go, having expected a little bit of restlessness. It was also only fair that Bee liked the final result and was comfortable with the process. Getting back to work, the big bot wondered if his friend's face might be a good place to start. His horns certainly added an additional detail for him to take into consideration… Perhaps he'd ask if Bee wanted his face to be more in profile or at an angle. All he wanted was to capture the essence of the bot he was so close to.

Bumblebee coughed, optics looking about bashfully as he blushed and shifted on the couch to move his other arm. It wasn't a big move, but the small bit clearly realized it was inconvenient, and looked guilty for the move. "Need to change this too, it's not working. This look better?"

"Oh uh… yeah!" Bulkhead replied quickly, uncertain how he should respond beyond acceptance as the last thing he wanted was for this to be uncomfortable for either of them. Some small changes would need to be made to what was already on the canvas, but that was hardly a bother. Getting more paint on his brush, he tried to work a little faster as he got the bottom layer established. Not that he didn't trust Bee to keep his word, but the little bot often fidgeted without even meaning to. Sticking out his glossa in concentration, Bulkhead worked fast, using up a fair amount of paint as he got what he presumed to be the core of the piece. Next would come the much tricker details…

Or at least they would have, if he hadn't glanced up to see Bumblebee in a completely different pose and half asleep...

"Bumblebee?" he said on reflex, coughing to try and gain his friend's attention. Startling awake, the little bot looked around in surprise, seeming to have forgotten exactly where he was and what was going on. When recognition dawned on his features, embarrassment wasn't far behind. A light blush lit up his cheeks as he shrunk down on the couch.

"Scrap, sorry, wasn't thinking." he apologized, trying to remember how he had originally been posed and failing to do so. Bulkhead felt a bit of frustration stirring, but he kept it well under wraps. Just because this wasn't going according to plan, didn't mean he was going to give up.

"That's okay! Just… need a new canvas." he said, keeping his smile even if he was a little more flustered. With a little bit of white paint he could salvage the canvas and use it later for something else, plus it wasn't like Sari didn't provide him with plenty of supplies. Getting set up all over again, he looked back to Bumblebee, who was once again settled in what appeared to be his position of choice. Hoping to begin in earnest, he was careful as could be when he broached the question on his mind. "Is that the pose you want?"

"Definitely!" Bumblebee said enthusiastically, giving him hope that he'd be able to paint for real this time. Not wasting even a moment, he painted as fast as he could, glancing back and forth between the painting and his subject to make the process as smooth as possible. It was an effective strategy, as it allowed him to get the outline twice as fast. This time he wanted to fully capture his friend in the picture as he'd been trying from the start. Some part of him just knew it would be worth it, and that they'd both be thankful he put in all this effort.

Or, at least, he thought he knew...

"Actually, sorry about this, but…" Bumblebee was bashful but not especially hesitant as he moved to lay on his side, stretching as he moved into an entirely different position. The poor artist felt his spark drop at the loss of progress all over again, even as his friend tried to cheer them both up by looking as chipper as possible. "That was so much more uncomfortable than I was expecting. Go on!"

Bulkhead didn't say a word as he grabbed another canvas, and did his very best not to look as discouraged as he felt. It didn't seem like this was going to stop any time soon, as much as he wished it would, and that didn't bode well for his wish to get this done. Perhaps he'd been far too hopeful…

Still, he did everything in his power to stay positive and make the painting he'd dreamed of become a reality.

Painting faster than he ever had in his entire life, the big bot ignored the imperfections that came from moving so rapidly, setting his jaw tight as little flecks of paint spattered across the canvas. At this point, such little things hardly seemed to mind. What really mattered was getting this done. A familiar form began to take recognizable shape on the canvas, and the artist started to plan ahead for his next move from then on. Shading would come after these little details, which he'd be able to put together thanks to having a lot of his friend's appearance memorized. Hope blossomed in his spark as he finally saw Bumblebee in the picture he was painting.

Getting so close to what he wanted made seeing a repeat of what had happened before hurt more than it should have.

Catching himself, Bumblebee blushed and shrunk down on the spot, smiling bashfully in apology for his unintentional movement. It really wasn't something he was doing on purpose; he wanted to see his friend happy! Sitting still just didn't work for him. Seeing Bulkhead look hurt, however, made him feel especially bad for the mistake.

"I don't think this is a good idea." Bulkhead said with a sigh, putting yet another canvas to the side and looking quite deflated as he did so. There wasn't anything he could think to do that might change this, and he was ready to just throw in the towel. Perhaps this was just the one thing he wasn't meant to paint.

"Aw come on, why not?" Bumblebee pressed, aware of the answer but hoping there was something he could do to fix it. Staying still just wasn't in his programming, but perhaps… he could get some tape? That wasn't realistic, but he wanted to try something to make up for this. Bulkhead only sighed again.

"You won't stay still?" he said simply, frustrated but not antagonistic in his summation. It was something neither of them could change, and that left both more than a little helpless.

"I…" Bumblebee stuttered off, tapping his digits together as he saw his friend get even more sad. Unable to help getting a little defensive, he got up from the couch, throwing up his arms as the big bot cleaned up some of the mess. "Come on, Bulk! You know me! Staying still isn't my thing, and I can't force that!"

"Well yeah, but… couldn't you just stay mostly still?" Bulkhead asked, still not ready to just give up all at once. Even if he had no idea how to fix things or make it work, he wanted this painting too much to just give up, no matter how many canvases it took. All he needed was a little bit more time than he had been getting. His determination must have shown, because Bumblebee furrowed his brow ridges in consideration.

"I… I can try! I…" he faded off as the pressure weighed on him, and thankfully his friend caught that quickly. To be clear; he wanted this a lot, but he could never want anything badly enough to make Bumblebee uncomfortable. Perhaps it was best they rested a bit, to restore their patience and approach this with clearer heads. He certainly needed a minute to relax from all this frustration...

"How about a break? We've been trying for a while, maybe a bit of down time will help." he proposed, already feeling a little better at the prospect of cooling down. Bumblebee shared the sentiment straight away, visibly relaxing on the spot and letting out a tiny sigh of his own.

"Great idea Bulk! Let me just grab something…" he said happily, darting off and leaving the big bot alone with his supplies. Deciding to clean a bit to ease his mind, Bulkhead sorted the discarded canvases, hoping that he could paint over the unusable pictures with some white and reuse them. Seeing how much and how little progress he'd made at the same time made him wonder how he might improve on their next attempt. Nothing was coming to mind just yet, but that didn't mean he had lost hope. There had to be something on this planet that would motivate Bee to stay still, and by Primus he would find it!

As he was wiping up some paint that had managed to drip onto the floor, Bumblebee quite literally skidded back into the room, coming to a dead stop after running at full tilt.

"I'm back! Just wanted to grab my game!" the little bot declared happily, waving the device about as he went to sit back on the smushed couch. The game had been a gift from Sari as well; some kind of earth console that had been sized up a few times over to better fit the servos of a Cybertronian. Smiling in acknowledgement, the big bot nodded as he went back to cleaning. Digital music met his audials as his friend started up the system and began to play, reclining on the couch as he settled in for a much needed break. Bulkhead had only had middling success with the games popular on earth, owed in large part to his size, but he was at least happy his friend could have some much needed fun with them.

When the floor was finally cleaned up, he took stock of his slightly diminished inventory. There was still plenty of paint, and more than a few canvases, but if they continued at their current pace… He'd have to figure out a strategy before they tried this again, because otherwise this just wasn't going to work. Looking up at Bumblebee, he briefly considered proposing that they try this another day before his thoughts were systematically interrupted.

Laying on his back over the pile of stuffing that had once been a couch, the small mech was entirely engrossed in his digital world, optics focused only on the screen as his digits rapidly tapped away on the controls. Other than the occasional shift of his expression, he was entirely motionless. It took Bulkhead a moment to process what he was seeing. Bumblebee was so rarely still, and never for this length of time… He didn't need to think much before he was reacting the only way he could.

Moving as silently as a mech of his size was able to, he grabbed what he needed, gathering his paints around himself as he got a fresh canvas and sat down before his easel. He couldn't have asked for a better setup; the pose, the lighting, it was all perfect. It was almost too much to hope this was real. Considering how many false starts he'd had, most could probably understand why he felt that way.

Daring to take his time, the big bot made every brush stroke count, trying to think of all the reasons he liked Bee so much as he made each one. His friend was confident, energetic, brave… All those thoughts motivated him every second he worked, and the results were soon apparent. The form of Bumblebee began to take shape rather quickly, coming together far more smoothly thanks to how relaxed he was. A base layer was ready to go in what felt like only a few minutes.

Oblivious to everything, Bumblebee kept right on playing, occasionally sticking his glossa out as he did so. Bulkhead contemplated including that detail in the piece, but ultimately decided against it. This was going to be a somewhat more dignified painting than that.

When the time came to add lighting, he was almost over the moon, but he kept all the excitement to himself. Colors mixed together beautifully on his palette, forming the light and dark shades to the vibrant yellows and deep blacks that made up his friend's paint job. It was far more satisfying than painting even the most beautiful landscape he'd ever seen. Perhaps he was just a little biased on that front, but he did believe that painting things you truly cared about just brought them to life. One only had to glance at this piece to understand how much this bot meant to him.

It almost seemed like he was dreaming when each and every glance revealed Bumblebee to be sitting perfectly still, without a hint of movement beyond the minor. If this did turn out to be a dream, he'd at least be happy it was going so well. Fate had truly designed the perfect setup for them to finally get this done without any stress for either individual.

Everything came together with what felt like only a few of the most well done strokes he'd ever painted. At long last, the bot he'd wanted to paint so badly had been captured on canvas! It was so exciting he couldn't hold back an exclamation as he set his brush down theatrically.

"Done!"

"Huh?!" Bumblebee gasped, half jumping on the spot as his game nearly flew from his servos. Looking about in a daze, he put the pieces together when he saw his friend, at which point guilt crossed his features. Time had slipped away from him even more so than it had for the very busy Bulkhead. "What? I… oh, Bulk! I didn't mean to get distracted! You could have stopped me earlier, I wouldn't have minded."

Waving off the appreciated but unnecessary apology, the big bot only smiled and wiped some paint from his servos, rising from his chair to puff his chest out with pride. "That's okay, I'm already finished."

"How?" the little bot gasped in awe, checking his internal chronometer to see just how long he'd been wrapped up in his game. It had only felt like a few minutes, but this wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten lost in a video game.

"Well, you were pretty content playing your game, so…" Bulkhead allowed his friend to put the rest of the pieces together, and in no time understanding dawned on the little mech.

"Oh, I gotcha!" Bumblebee replied happily, quite relieved to have not held them up. If playing video games was what it had taken to make his friend happy, then he was quite fine with that. All he wanted was to get a look at the results, which he was certain would be incredible. "Here, let me see!"

Feeling a bit of shyness amongst his pride, Bulkhead handed over the canvas, careful to avoid the still drying paint.

"This is amazing!" Bumblebee proclaimed without hesitation, trying to be delicate even as he felt a surge of excitement upon beholding the painting. Of course he knew his friend had talent, but this was incredible! "Look at me, I look even better than usual!"

Bulkhead looked down to the floor and shuffled his pedes, doing his best to hide the blush creeping along his cheeks. "Well, I had a pretty great model."

"That's gonna sell fast, Bulkhead. No doubt about it." Bumblebee praised as he gave the painting back, confident in what he was saying. It didn't hurt that he was a good looking bot, but his friend had really done an especially good job on this one, and he was sure it would be bought up in no time. Taking the piece, the big bot smiled softly as he beheld it again. It had taken a lot of courage for him to get this, and he was quite proud of himself for that. As such, he held the painting very near and dear to his spark.

"Maybe, but… I think I'm gonna keep it, actually." he said softly, wanting to see it every day. There was a perfect place for it where he could do just that, not that he would say where that was. Bumblebee didn't mind the decision in the slightest.

However, when the little bot ducked in his friend's room later to pick up a borrowed item, he learned the true value of the painting to Bulkhead. On a wall reserved for only his most precious of works, the portrait sat high in a position of honor. Usually unable to say everything that came to mind due to overwhelming volume, Bee had been rendered speechless by the sight. Only a soft smile revealed how touched he was by the gesture.

#transformers animated #tfa #bumblebee #bulkhead #commission #my writing #my commissions #fluff

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getdownkyh · 4 years ago

Text

In case you missed it, this short series was inspired by @darkcompass‘ work, which you can read here : (001) and (003). As usual all my fics are fictional.

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Extra Credit (m) | Young K | smut, Professor!Kang

01 . 02 . 03 . 04 . 05 . 06 . 07

Proposal.

To be frank, you couldn’t put your fingers on what gave you the courage. The fact that you were the type of person who wouldn’t stop until you got your hands on what you wanted, the sheer attractiveness of your new professor, or the way you could see the attraction between the two of you went both ways. Or maybe all factors combined.

It was kind of expected. You liked smart guys and he liked hot women.

So that was how you found yourself standing in front of Professor Kang’s door, that fateful Friday evening. Double checking to ensure the top buttons of your blouse were loosened, you took a deep breath, and knocked. “Come in,” was heard and you pushed the door open, walking in and closing it behind you. He was working on some paperwork, his eyesight fixed towards his table, not even paying attention to you.

You cleared your throat and locked the door, the click of the door lock catching his attention as he finally looked up.

You walked up to him as he asked, “Anything I can help you with?”

You looked at him and his perfectly parted hair, the ones that had you wondering how they would feel under your fingers. His glasses sat pretty on his nose bridge, sharp jawline slightly flexing as his gaze shifted to you walking closer.

“Hi, Professor. I’m from your Marketing class?” Vague. Even though you knew he needed no introductions. You chewed on your bottom lip subconsciously as you tried to compose yourself.

“I have a proposal. You know, for extra credit?”

You weren’t exactly being subtle, and you were certain that he got the idea.

He twirled the pen in his hand, eyebrow cocked as his eyes travelled from your face, to your slightly exposed chest. Not subtle. Kang Younghyun wasn’t stupid, the flirtatious gazes you were giving him in classes didn’t go unnoticed, and right now you were literally standing in front of him with an unbuttoned blouse. Even a stupid person could decipher the situation.

And he wasn’t complaining. He definitely wasn’t. But it didn’t mean he would give in easily.

“Hmm, it’s still quite early in the semester, you’re very enthusiastic, eh?”

“I just like to be prepared.”

He chuckled at you, leaning back in his seat. Inviting.

You walked closer to him, now standing next to his table, “I’m also struggling to focus in class.”

Younghyun placed his pen down, putting the cap on, “And why is that exactly?”

“I think of the things I want you to do to me.”

Hearing that, he took your hand and pulled you towards him, your body now bent forward towards his sitting figure. He held your chin in his hand as his eyes looked deep into yours, before travelling down to your lips, and then your exposed cleavage. He ran his index finger alongside your neck, travelling down to trace your breasts that were peeking out of your barely-hanging blouse.

You closed your eyes as you reveled in his touch, so light and modest yet was anything but innocent.

He placed his finger underneath your chin again, applying pressure, making you tilt your head upwards. He inched closer to your face, stopping when he was barely centimetres away from your lips. You let out a whine and the corner of his lips hitched upwards.

You took the chance and kissed him first, closing the gap as you placed your hands on his shoulder. His hands gripped harder on your blouse, draggin you towards closer, making you straddle him as he tilt his head to the side, allowing you to deepen the kiss.

He nibbled on your bottom lip, tugging them between his teeth slightly and licking at them. You whined at the sensation, your open mouth inviting his tongue inside.

He noticed that you were trying to pull away as you were running out of breath yet his hands were holding onto you so firmly, you were forced to be held in palce. You dug your nails into his shoulder, and he hissed into the kiss, feeling the sharp edges stinging his skin. He let go of you, but held your bottom lip between his teeth as you pulled back your air.

You rested your forehead on his as you panted, “You’re a good kisser.”

You were brushing his ego, effectively so, making him stand up, placing you on his table. His hands travelled underneath your blouse as he unclasped your bra, yanking it off and putting it in his drawers, nonchalantly. “Keep the blouse on, I like the look.” He said as he ran his hands across your chest, your blouse crinkling underneath his touch, you involuntarily arching towards him.

When he let go of you, both of your gazes fell towards you nipples, all perked up, the slight tent obvious on the chiffon blouse.

He clutched your blouse with his hands, yanking them downwards in one strong motion, your breasts spilling out from the modestly unbuttoned top part. Taking hold of them, a grunt escaped his mouth, liking the way they fit in his hands, giving you soft squeezes, enjoying the way you were holding back and clearly struggling to keep yourself composed.

Younghyun lowered his head and started kissing the pair of flesh. You felt his teeth grazing the soft skin and your hands instinctively tangled in his hair. He started sucking on them, making purplish hickeys bloom on your skin, and your body arched towards him, your breaths hitching until you let out a whine. He stopped moving.

His face buried in your chest, he grumbled, “You gotta keep quiet, love. Or else everyone’s gonna know about your extracurricular proposal.”

You stammered, “Y-yes Professor,”

He let go of you and stood back up, unbuttoning the cuffs on his wrist, and folding his sleeves up, “I can’t get my shirt dirty, or else everyone’s gonna notice aren’t they?”

You swallowed at the implications, struggling to steady your breath. Younghyun pushed your skirt up, and clucked his tongue as he yanked your panties down, the flimsy fabric soaked through by your wet core.

Without warning, he touched your folds and you brought your hand to your mouth to suppress your moans.

Using two fingers, he spread your arousal, opening up the lips, gauging your reaction. The cold air of his room hit your warmth every time he spread them open, the contrast making you feeling more and more needy. He pressed his palm to your core and started pulsing his hand, causing you to fall forward into his shoulder, your arm slung around his neck.

He pressed his thumb to your clit and moved in slow circles while inserting two fingers into your throbbing hole. Just like the speed of his thumb on your clit, his fingers were pumping in and out of you slowly, stretching you open deliciously.

He grunted, “Fuck, you’re tight.”

He started moving his fingers faster, as he pushed you down onto his table to see your face. The change of angle caused his fingers to penetrate you deeper, and as your back laid flat on the table, you felt his fingers brush across that one euphoric spot, forcing a sharp moan out of your mouth.

Almost instantaneously he pulled his fingers out of you, and you whined, frustrated at the lost of touch right when you needed it the most. He looked at his glistening fingers, soaked in you and hovered over you, bringing them to your mouth, “I need you to be quiet.”

You held his wrist with your hands and pushed his fingers inside your mouth, sucking, swirling your tongue around the digits, maintaining eye contact, silently apologizing and hoping he would give you another chance.

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and spoke, “Touch yourself.”

Your eyes widened a bit, “W-what?”

“Make yourself cum here, on my table. Pleasure yourself. I won’t stop you until you cum but if you don’t keep quiet, it will be your first and last time coming here.”

You froze as you sat up, in a haze and a bit taken aback.

He chuckled, running his thumb over your cheek before taking your hand in his and guiding your fingers to your core, “Surely a girl like you who is daring enough to ask her own professor to fuck her would have had experiences touching herself right?”

Younghyun pushed your thighs open and then sat in his chair, positioning himself exactly as when you first came into the room. “Don’t fake your orgasm though, I would know.”

You bit your lip as you cautiously ran your fingers up and down your folds. When your fingers were covered in your arousal, you gently pushed one finger in, focusing on the feeling, as you clench around your own finger. You let out a sigh, eyebrows knit together in concentration.

You pumped your middle finger in and out a few times, yet failing to make yourself feel as good as he did. You looked at him, trying to coax him to take over, your expression desperate.

He tilted his head and gave you a sarcastic smile, “Rules are rules. Come on, push one more finger in, or even two more, how are you gonna take me if you can’t even take more than one finger?”

His words spurred you on and you teased your entrance with two fingers, adding your ring finger alongside your middle one. You pushed slowly and felt the initial stretch, threatening a moan to spill out.

“Don’t be shy, rub your clit, it will help ease the pain.”

You complied as you used your thumb to gently circle your nub. You took deep breaths as you pumped out two fingers in and out. Not that you needed to be taught how to please yourself, but the way he was guiding you step by step lit a fire inside you.

After all, he was your Professor.

“Another one now.”

You held three fingers in front of your entrance and tried to push them in but it felt too tight, your brain telling you they wouldn’t fit. Looking at him, you whined, shaking your head slowly.

Younghyun leaned back in his seat, “My terms remain unchanged.”

You continued rubbing your clit as you mustered up the courage, croaking out. “Can you assist me, Professor?”

“What kind of assistance?” He replied, amused.

“Cover my mouth so I don’t make a sound.”

Something flipped inside Younghyun when you asked him that, catching him off guard. His dick was twitching, having been hard for a while now. But he was good at holding himself back, like the saying good things come to those who wait, he decided to not pounce on you straightaway, playing it out to see you become more and more desperate for him. Plus, he was having fun watching your eyes, begging for him, and he knew at the end of it all he would still get to fuck you.

He stood up and held his palm to your mouth, while his other hand held your neck to keep you in place.

You took a deep breath and pushed three fingers in, your screams muffled into his hand, you knew this was your last chance so you gathered all your strength and pumped in and out as fast as you can, your thumb busily flicking your clit. Your other hand held your own boob as you squeezed and toyed with your nipple, trying to push yourself over the edge from every nerve you could stimulate. It was borderline painful, your wrist tense and cramping, your hips bucking up to match the rhythm.

Your other senses felt numb but you were pretty sure you heard Younghyun grunting and groaning, the squelching sounds from your fingers getting to him and it helped pushed you over the edge. The sole thought that you were turning him on, making him hard made you came on your own fingers, your juice spilling out onto his table as your cunt fluttered, and you stumbled forward, Younghyun holding you close as you trembled, panting open mouthed into his chest. The intense, desperate orgasm temporarily blinding you.

Pulling your fingers out, you watched the string of liquid connected to it, as you rested comfortably in his embrace, evening out your breaths. Your lids felt heavy as he stroked your hair, muttering, "You’re good. You’re really good.”

#day6 smut #youngk smut #young k smut #youngk au #youngk scenarios #day6 #young k au #youngk #young k #fic:extracredit

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starker-eternity · 5 years ago

Text

Taken

A little fic Drabble surrounding an idea that won’t get out of my head...

Warnings: Starker, societally accepted kidnapping, ABO

*****

Pepper Potts knocked on the ornate mahogany doors that protected her boss’ private office, waiting for permission to enter before pushing open said door. As she strode to the desk where her boss sat, she noticed his attention was focused intensely on the holographic and touch screen surface of his desk. Several windows were open and he was switching amongst them with sharp waves of his hand.

Pepper came to a stop right before his desk and waited for Tony Stark, genius and billionaire philanthropist, to acknowledge her presence. As she waited, she took note that the Alpha was lingering on an image of a young man with a mop of chestnut curls. She couldn’t clearly see the picture from her angle and she knew better than to let her attention linger. If it was a matter that concerned her, she’d know it soon enough.

“Ah, Ms. Potts, right on time.”

Pepper nodded her head once, a professional smile on her face. “Of course, Mr. Stark. You needed to see me? What can I do for you today?”

Tony traced one finger down the digitally imaged cheek of the young man’s face before his gaze snapped up to look at his Beta assistant. Piercing dark eyes held her gaze as a smirk spread across his face. “We need to plan a party. A celebration, in fact!”

Pepper raised one eyebrow even as she opened her tablet to start taking notes. “What kind of party, sir? Small or large guest list? Time frame?” She was not prepared for his answers.

“Large party I think. Invite the elite of society. And it needs to be as soon as possible... this weekend.”

Pepper was startled and it showed on her face. “This weekend? It’s Thursday, Mr. Stark. That’s not a lot of notice. Venues alone will take time to be vetted and booked -.”

Tony cut Pepper off with an impatient slash of his hand through the air. “I don’t have the luxury of time, Ms. Potts. He’s legal now and I need to act before someone else does. The party is only a courtesy to let society know I’ve made my claim.”

Pepper’s eyes narrowed as she asked, “Exactly what kind of party is this, Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s face broke out in a smug smirk. “Why Ms. Potts, it’s a wedding party. I’m getting married, now that my chosen Omega has come of age.”

****

Peter finished setting his text books neatly on the provided shelf above the desk and took a step back. As he looked around the single dorm room, he gave a small pleased sigh. A typical dorm room for an Omega, it was more like a small studio apartment as it had its own bathroom and small kitchen space. All meant to give unclaimed Omegas a safe haven for their quarterly heats, away from their Alpha and Beta classmates. Claimed Omegas either lived with their mates and commuted to and from campus, or if both were students then they lived in the provided campus housing suites.

Peter flopped down on his bed, attention turned to the television that was blaring some news story. The commentator was one of those reporters with a bubbling personality, enthusiastically reporting on some societal event.

“And I’m here live, at Stark Towers, where the party of the decade is happening! As you can see, everyone who is anyone is here to celebrate one of the world’s wealthiest Alphas bidding a fond farewell to his bachelorhood!”

The bubbling reporter turned to observe the crowd before her eyes widened in surprise. “And here he is! The Alpha of the hour himself! Tony Stark, how does it feel to be celebrating your pending nuptials?”

The man in question turned to the reporter, his eyes covered in a pair of red tinted shades, a smoldering grin on his lips. As he removed his shades, he answered, “It’s great to see so many people celebrating with me. Really, it is!”

The reporter gave him another blinding smile even as she shot another question at him. “And the question on everyone’s mind - who is the lucky bride or groom? Are they even aware of their impending wedding?”

Tony smirk grew wider as something dark flashed through his eyes. “Well to answer that question, I’d have to say no. In one of the only few times in my life, I’ll be following in my father’s footsteps and kidnapping my groom. So I’m afraid you’ll have to wait with everyone else for an identity reveal, my dear.”

As the reporter tried to weasel more details out of the billionaire Alpha, Peter angrily turned off the television. Grabbing his pillow, he hugged it closely to himself, sulking at life. Tony Stark was a major icon of the world and one of Peter’s secret role models. Peter never would have believed he supported what he had just revealed. Personally, he was disgusted at what Tony Stark had just casually admitted.

Spouse kidnapping.

A disgusting, archaic tradition where the dominant partner, usually an Alpha, kidnapped their spouse to be. First, the dominant partner had to announce to the public their intentions to kidnap their bride or groom. After the public announcement, he or she had 48 hours to actually kidnap their chosen. Once taken, the kidnapper had one week to secure the union, usually by successfully mating with the victim.

There weren’t very many unsuccessful kidnappings throughout history, most victims giving in to society’s view of normal behavior. Sometimes there was outrage, but usually quieted down by the kidnapper later through gifts. In these modern times, most of the victims knew their abductor beforehand, so it wasn’t really a surprise.

Peter objected to the practice in theory. No one he knew personally had been the subject of an unwilling spousal kidnapping. His Uncle Ben had courted his Aunt May and had proposed to her. He then had a mock kidnapping to satisfy societal norms. Peter wasn’t sure how his parents’ union was, but he had been told it was mutual.

If Peter’s future spouse wanted to have a mock kidnapping, he supposed he’d go along with it. However, if he was kidnapped by a complete stranger? Peter shuddered to even think of it. Maybe Tony Stark’s groom to be knew about all of this and the couple was just portraying the societal expectation that being a celebrity entailed.

A notification coming through his phone distracted him from his stormy thoughts. Unlocking the device, he read a text from his best friend Ned, asking if he wanted to grab some dinner. Sending a confirmation back, Peter resolutely shifted all thoughts about Tony Stark and his situation out of his mind.

After all, what did any of it have to do with him?

*****

Tony looked at his extraction team with a shrewd eye. Every single member had been hand picked for this operation. He wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

He turned to his best friend, James Rhodes. “Honey bear, everything’s set up at the Compound for my week of isolation with my groom?”

He received a nod of affirmation so Tony turned his attention to Steve Rogers. “All right, Captain. You have the details - this needs to go smoothly. I don’t want a single bruise on my mate.”

The blond man rolled his eyes even as he said, “We know, Tony. We’ve only gone over this a million times.”

“Then once more for luck,” came the sharp demand.

“Fine. Clint will be on high, keeping an eye on the target and anyone in the surrounding area, notifying the group when the target is alone. Natasha will be tailing the target from behind. Thor and I will be lying in wait to ambush the target. And Happy will be driving the car, ready to transport the target to the Compound. So the target won’t be spooked, Tony will be waiting in the car. He might have seen the earlier declaration and seeing Tony may cause him to bolt.”

“And Sam will be driving the other car that’ll take us all back to the Tower, where we will wait for the news your groom has accepted your suit,” finished Rhodey.

Sam shook his head as he spoke up, “Man, I don’t know about all of this. Wouldn’t it be easier just to talk to the boy?”

Tony glared at man even as he gritted out, “No, I can’t take the risk. His Aunt prevented me from interacting with him when he was underage.”

“Well, you are much older than he is, Tony.”

The Alpha ignored the comment from the only female in the room. “And now that he is of age, I can’t take the risk someone else might snap him up. I knew he was meant to be mine the first time I saw him years ago. I will not be denied my mate any longer!”

“Okay, okay Tony. Calm down, man! It’s not us you have to convince anyway.”

“That part I’m not worried about,” joked the billionaire.

Natasha rolled her eyes and then looked to the group. “All right, everyone try to keep a low profile. The paparazzi are literally foaming at the mouth because it’s been 24 hours since Tony’s declaration and they haven’t seen movement. They know his time limit like we do. Tony, is your body double ready to occupy the media?”

“Yup, he’s all ready out there leading them in the opposite direction of where we’re going.”

“Good. Then let’s go.”

*****

They came out of nowhere.

Peter had been walking back to his campus dorm from the dining hall, after parting ways with Ned and MJ. The Omega dorms were on the opposite side of campus from the other student dorms and he’d waved off Ned’s offer to walk him to his dorm. In hindsight, he should have taken Ned up on the offer, but at the time he was thinking that there was no need for Ned to have to walk the campus and back.

As he walked along, he noticed that the campus was pretty empty. He didn’t think too much on it though as school wasn’t officially starting for another week or so, and the students were sure to be flooding in over the week. As he was crossing through a parking lot of one of the class buildings, a strong voice called out to him.

“Excuse me, son, but do you happen to have the time?”

Peter stopped to look toward the voice and saw a rather intimidating blond Alpha standing there. Although his hands were nonchalantly tucked into his jeans pockets, he still radiated strength and authority.

Nervously shuffling his feet, some inner sense telling him to keep his distance, Peter glanced at his phone and answered, “Um, it’s almost 8pm.”

The blond man gave him an earnest grin and said, “Thanks son. Thor?”

Just then Peter felt two strong arms clamp around his upper body, keeping his arms pinned to the side. As he gasped and looked over his shoulder, he saw his assailant was another blond man. Peter tried to struggle against the hold, but the other man rushed in and grabbed his legs, lifting his body completely off the ground.

Peter let loose with a yell, even as he futilely attempted to wiggle out of their hold. He barely heard the screeching of tires as a car pulled up beside the three, the door being flung open. Hands grabbed for him as the other two men pushed him into the waiting vehicle.

Peter was shoved into the backseat of a luxury car, the door slamming shut as soon as his feet were clear. He was thrown off balance against the seat as the car peeled away with a screech of tires. As soon as he managed to right himself, he tried to open the door to possibly escape the moving vehicle, but the door wouldn’t open.

Peter pounded on the window, yelling, “Let me out!”

That’s when he felt the prick in his neck.

Whipping around, one of his hands going to his neck automatically, he was just in time to see a man capping a syringe. He gaped at the man, even as his blurring vision recognized him.

“Tony Stark?!”

The man in question gave him a large smile and reached a hand out to card some of Peter’s curls away from his sweaty forehead. He ignored Peter’s flinch backwards as the young man tried to plaster himself against the car door, out of Tony’s reach.

“That’s right, sweetheart. You can call me Tony.”

Peter’s vision swam and the inside of the car began to spin. He realized he was losing consciousness as black spots appeared in his vision and he felt his eyes close. As Peter’s body fell forward, he was caught by a strong pair of arms and held in a loose embrace.

Peter felt his body being moved into a more comfortable position, hands carding through his hair. As he fell asleep, the last thing he heard was, “Sweet dreams, love. When you wake up, we’ll have much to talk about.”

*****

Maybe a part two later.

#starker fanfic #starker #au #fic drabble #abo

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loneveenas · 4 years ago

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event: 31 days of haikyuu!!

pairing: ukai keishin x reader genre: fluff summary: this blond barista can’t stop leaving bad pick up lines on your cup with every order, that it starts bothering you when you can’t find one... words: 1111

note: ENJOY MY FIRST EVER WRITTEN UKAI FIC!!!!!!

| mlist (not updated) | tag |

day fifteen — favorite coach

Carefully opening the door to the shop, you peaked a glance inside. He wasn’t there. Phew.

You strutted inside, walking up to the counter and having to wait in line before being able to make your order. Thank god he wasn’t here in today, you just wanted your caffeine and make your way back to the campus. The last thing you wanted to deal with was…

The door to the back opened and out walked the one person you wanted to avoid. That barista who always left cheesy pick up lines on your order. The last person you wanted to deal with today.

You sighed and closed your eyes for a second to let the feeling of disappointment sink in. When you open your eyes again, you see him lining up next to the other barista, taking on the next customer. You count down the line and, if they each take the other customer, you’d be up with his colleague. Nice.

But of course fate didn’t stop playing it’s part. He was a slower worker — you should have known this by now — and it just so turned out that he was next up to take your order.

You threw back your neck and decide to let it slide and you find yourself wondering what kind of lame and cheesy pick up line he would be coming up with this time around.

“Hi, what can I get you?” He asked you, putting on a wide grin. “I missed you the other day,” he slipped in before you even had the chance to make your order.

“Double caramel Frappuccino, please,” you asked of him and decide to pay attention to the menu behind him, ignoring his previous made statement. No way that he needed to know you were too busy with your university work.

“Coming right up,” he told you and went on to prepare your order for you. You were actually surprised that he went on to make it as soon as you had given him your order, which wasn’t the usual way he would operate.

Hm.

You waited your time and when he was finally done with your order, he had already placed it on the counter before you could register, sealed in a bag, completely done with a ticket of receipt already. It actually made you wonder whether or not he had added on one of his pick up lines that he was so keen on adding all the time.

“Thanks,” you said, softly.

For the first time in maybe forever he granted you one of his softest smiles in return. Only this time you were able to catch his name on his name plate.

Keishin.

After paying him the amount of money your order cost, you picked up your order from the counter and decided to stay in the shop for the first time in a long time. You were curious what he had done with your order this time.

Would it be a classic “If you were a Transformer you'd be Optimus Fine,” or “I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours,” or something like last week’s classic: “Your eyes are bluer than the Atlantic ocean. And I don't mind being lost at sea”? Please, it nearly seemed like the cringe fest had opened up from the first time he decided to gift you these.

You could wonder all you want but opening that paper bag that held your order would give you the quickest answer. Holding it in two hands, trying not to look too eager, you ripped open the bag. A plastic see-through cup revealed your order with your name written to the side. You realized you didn’t even tell him your name before he got to work on your order — but it also would have sounded illogical had he asked for it yet again while you had already come to the shop multiple times before.

Placing the cup on the table in front of you, you twirl it around to find the text.

There was none.

Maybe on the bottom?

Still no text..

With your brows furrowed, you wonder to yourself: had he really not given you anything to read?

You move your hands over to the paper bag and rummage through it. Still nothing. The receipt didn’t show you anything either.

Stings shot through your heart with disbelief. Had he really taken your silence as a sign for him to stop? You were certain you hadn’t been that repulsive… Brows still furrowed, you decided to drink your Frappuccino. How could it be that he hadn’t given you anything at all. What had that soft smile meant then? You were confused, to say in the slightest.

With your drink nearly finished, you found yourself feeling done with today and not even motivated to get back to campus. You tried looking not overtly disappointed but couldn’t help but think about it.

In a slump, you left the shop, not even looking behind you.

Why had he not left anything for you? Not even a note? You were confused and couldn’t manage to focus while on your way back to campus. You tried tracing everything back: from the moment the two of you had noticed each other, to when you had given your order and him preparing it and giving it to you, to when you left the shop. It, of course, should have happened right in between you arriving and him giving you your order, but you just couldn’t pin point what or where it went wrong.

You also couldn’t figure out why you were so bothered with this to the point that it was just gnawing on your insides. What or how…

Your coffee had reached it lasts sips and you decided to down everything at once. That shot of coffee couldn’t be as bad as your brains experiencing total damage right now.

And then you suddenly stopped walking. In the middle of the street. Five hundred meters away from your building entrance.

“Oh, my god,” you whisper. “What the fuck?”

You flipped over your cup. There it was, in super small, tiny lettering.

“something must be wrong with your phone: it doesn’t have my number yet” with a ten-digit number in even smaller lettering pushed in below the text.

You snorted it out. You had been so worried that he hadn’t left anything and now he had given you his best: a stupid text with his own phone number instead of constantly asking for yours. You laughed loudly and took out your phone.

“Alright then, mister,” you mumbled, typing the number into you phone. “You win this one, Keishin.”

#haikyuucreations #ukai x reader #ukai keishin #ukai keishin fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #ukai scenarios #ukai imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagine #31 days of haikyuu #dyo's fic

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bjy-on-ao3 · 4 years ago

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Fic Friday: Shadow Play, Part 1

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

This came out of some discussion I’d had talking about Izaya either pretending to drink with someone and them getting inadvertently wasted while was fine or having super high alcohol tolerance despite being so lean/slim. Originally it had a darker tone to it, but evolved into this. Oh well, I still like it.Broken into two chapters. Technically, you’ll miss some explanation/lead-up if you skip this first part, but you can skip it if you want just the sex/teasing. PART TWO

Summary Reader - an info broker from another city - arranges a meeting with Ikebukuro's infamous human-loving informant to discuss a truce to do some business in the area. Izaya invites them to share a drink with him to lighten the atmosphere. They soon discover the informant is very skilled at playing pretend, as well as getting more than he was first offered.

Tags/Warnings

Consensual Sex, Creampie, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Fingerfucking, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex

Shadow Play, Part 1: Dangerous Game (F! Reader/Izaya Orihara)

You took a deep breath, punching in the digits of the phone number you had acquired. Working yourself up to call the number had been more of an effort than getting it. Ordinarily calling some stranger you had never spoken to for business was a simple task, if inconvenient, thanks to having to learn someone new and their unique behaviors. With as infamous as the owner of the phone number was, and as widespread as his business was, getting the number had been easy, only requiring persuading the right person.

Speaking with the owner would be an entirely different ordeal, though, because of that same notoriety. You would need to tread carefully. A text might have been an easier method, sure. But you were going to have to speak with him face-to-face later, one way or another, so you may as well get it over with and pick up on any extra pieces of useful information you could.

You tapped the ‘call’ button and waited, tapping a finger impatiently on the side of the cellphone pressed to your ear. The line rang once, twice, three times. By the time someone picked up the phone on the fourth ring, accompanied by a vague pop of static, you were frowning. “Yes?” A pleasant sounding voice floated out from the cellphone’s speak and you reminded yourself to relax. This was nothing but more business.

“Izaya Orihara?” You asked briefly.

“You’re speaking to him.” The answer was smooth, confident. You imagined he was used to random people calling him. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?” There was something mischievous in his tone, light and cheery, but warning one to proceed cautiously all the same.

You answered, trying to reflect his carefree manner, providing him with the pseudonym you preferred to use. As far as you knew, with clients, he proudly used his real name, something that to you sounded rather careless. Most you would have labeled foolish for such a choice, but in this case, it was obvious it was confidence. His reputation cast a wide net, and he had made enemies in addition to those people who used his services. If he was truly a fool, some accident would surely have happened to him by now. The fact he was still alive and well was evidence enough he wasn’t no fool.

Izaya paused, then repeated the name as if to better store away the new information. The sudden intrusive thought of what your actual name would sound like in his dulcet rudely interrupted your focus. You held back the urge to physically shake the thought away, settling for crinkling your nose at the absurd idea. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about something like that. You doubted you would have been the first lulled and lured in by his pleasant voice. Mentally scolding yourself, you were reminded you couldn’t afford to fall to someone else’s charms when it was supposed to be your job to do just the same.

“And what can I do for you?”

The question drew you from your unwelcome reverie, forcing you to recall the reason you had chanced to call someone like Izaya Orihara while knowing of his reputation for having a rather devious silver tongue. “I’m new in town and we’re in the same line of word,” you stared, successfully sounding level and confident. “I’d like to sit down and have a, ah, heart-to-heart. Make sure I’m not stepping on any toes.” You tried to make it sound as if you were granting him some favor or courtesy, hoping he was unaware of just how easily he could any hopes for the intentions you had of doing business in the area. “You can choose the time and place, it’s only fair.”

There was another pause, and you almost swore you heard a pensive hum from the other side of the call. “Alright. I’ll text you the information this call is over,” he decided, sound still as if he hadn’t a care in the world, casual and a little smug.

“Good. I think it’s done now then.” You drew the phone away, snapping it shut and ending the call. Maybe it had been rude, but you had said all that was needed without a face-to-face meeting. You didn’t think he would take it personally.

Slipping your phone into your pocket while you waited for his text, you grimaced. Only then were you allowed to notice how your heart pounded against your chest. You clenched a fist, cursing these new nerves. It was your job to remain cool and collected under a variety of circumstances, even when dealing with those of widely hailed infamy and menace. That was how the underground worked. Yet just speaking with Izaya Orihara over the phone had made you unsure and uneasy. Maybe his reputation of being so skillfully able to manipulate others was what rattled you.

Whatever the reasons were, it frustrated you all the same. Your heart jumped more forcefully when your pocket buzzed loudly. You withdrew the cellphone again, flipping it open. You took in the address and time printed boldly on the bright screen, accompanied by some trite remark about how he ‘couldn’t wait’.

You sighed heavily. You had until tomorrow morning to bolster your nerve and get your thumping heart under control.

When you arrived at the apartment door in the high-class building in Shinjuku, you ensured it was precisely the time in the text. Your punctuality alone likely told Orihara more than he needed to know to begin with. Though you hardly wanted to seem over eager by showing up earlier, or disrespectful by wasting his time being late. Rapping firmly, but calmly on the door in the unassuming, empty hallway, you waited.

It was only a minute before the door swung open, a slender man filling the doorway. Izaya Orihara looked even more pleasant than he sounded. He possessed a face and frame somewhere between handsome and pretty, and already you were warning yourself not to let your eyes drift from the over-confident grin on his face. Seeing him, you were fully convinced part of Izaya’s charm was based on his good looks alone.

After all, people were much happier being tricked by beautiful people than the alternative. If he had the sharp tongue and wit to match his good looks, he well-deserved his infamy.

“Ah, right on time. I appreciate someone punctual,” he greeted cheerily. He moved to the side, gesturing inward to the apartment, which even from the doorway you noted was as lavish as expected from the building exterior. “Come right in, make yourself at home.”

You wonder if he treated all of his business like this. His air was more of one welcoming a friend than the cordial sort reserved for work. Was he always so warm and casual? Or was he putting on on a show to convince you to like him more and let down your guard? It was hard to say for sure, given you had spoken to him only once before, and beyond that all you had was research and hearsay. That research had taught you plenty, but there was no finer research than studying someone in person up close. But that knowledge was a double-edged sword, and a razor sharp one at that. You were on display for Izaya to learn about and analyze, maybe even more so than he was for you.

You gave your thanks and stepped inside the apartment, following him after he shut the door and swept past the entry to a black leather sectional surrounding a coffee table in the center.At first, you studied the apartment interior as surreptitiously as possible, searching for any information that might make your meeting more beneficial to you. But bookshelves and potted plants told you nothing, save that he enjoyed psychology and anthropology. That was a given for someone in a line of work so closely tied to people, though. The long ‘S’-shaped desk with several computers atop it told you nothing as well, as did the floor-to-ceiling glass windows offering a breathtaking view to the city below.

“Seems business treats you well,” you commented absently.

Izaya sounded amused by your rather obvious insight. “Oh, what makes you say that?: He asked playfully, feigning naivety.

“Call it a hunch,” you answered, continuing the game of pretend.

Face still plastered with the same self-satisfied, close-lipped smile, Izaya gestured to the leather sectional. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

You looked for a second over at his desk, stopping on the chairs on either side of it, obviously the typical setting for a business meeting. But you didn’t protest, moving to one of the cushions and sitting down, folding your hands in your lap primly.

Expecting Izaya to sit across from you, leaving the coffee table between you as a comfortable buffer, you were thrown off when he sat down on the cushion beside you. One hand lay on the armrest, while the other draped across the back of the couch, fingertips hanging down the back. Your brows knit for a moment at just how absurdly casual the man next to behaved, before reminding yourself to wipe your internal train of thought from your face. You didn’t need to give him any handicaps in the mental game you knew the two of you were already playing.

“Comfortable?” He asked.

“Yes?” You cursed the questioning tone that came out in your answer. Why did it matter if you were comfortable? It wasn’t as if this was some pleasure trip.

Izaya eased back into his seat, crossing one leg over the other, clearly unthreatened by your presence and very in his element. You told yourself again to keep your eyes level with his sharp brown gaze. To not dip lower and follow the curve of his arm slung over the couch or the hard, yet delicate lines of his collarbone peeking out of his neckline. ‘No respect for personal space, I see,’ you wondered silently. ‘Or is he doing it on purpose to put me off?’

“Now, what was it you wanted to discuss? Something about ‘not stepping on toes’?” His tone gave you pause. Once more you had to wonder if he all business like this. Polite, but not seeming very serious or interested by the idea.

“I, uh, yes,” you confirmed dumbly, wincing on the inside at the stumble in speech. He seemed to wait for you to continue, so you carried on. “I heard Ikebukuro was a very exciting place to be,” you explained, trying to shake off the air of awkwardness. “Things were getting boring at home, so I thought I’d take a trip and try my luck elsewhere a bit more… interesting. But then your name started coming an awful lot.” You weren’t being completely straight with him, of course. Business had come up in the area that had drawn your attention to Ikebukuro, but the last thing you needed was Izaya knowing you already had something riding on the meetings outcome to give him more leverage.

“Did it? And what did you learn? All good things, I hope?” Izaya sounded far too please, and you were positive he knew what his reputation looked like and how many thought of him as rather dangerous.

“That doesn’t matter, does it?” You deflected. You would not give him any extra information if you could help it. “What matters is I know you’re the man to see when it comes to intel in this area. S-so it seemed only polite to have a little chat before I made any plans,” you finished with a shrug, trying again to give the sense this was all a formality or courtesy to him. You could only hope he missed the way some of your words wavered.

Izaya considered you with a narrow, hawk-like gaze as you spoke, perfectly content to listen as you went on. Here and there you thought you saw his lips quirk up a hair. “How thoughtful of you.” There was a vague condescension in his voice that you resented immediately. “And what were you planning on doing if I didn’t like the idea of you intruding on my stage?” He asked lightly, the condescension vanishing.

“Well, to s-start, I--,” you began, but Izaya stopped you.

What’s the problem? You seem nervous,” he noted, and this time you saw his grin grow for sure.

“N-no, just a bit tired, that’s all,” you quickly lied. “You of all people should understand how exhausting this line of work can be,” you added.

“Exhausting? Oh, no,” he denied happily, “I find it invigorating,” he countered. “Why don’t you excuse me for a minute, I’ve got just the thing to help,” Izaya offered, getting to his feet without waiting for a response.

“Oh, no, no need to go to trouble for me. Let’s just get back to our talk, alright?” You tried to convince him. The quicker everything was settled, the better. You hadn’t need for more of his ‘hospitality’.

But he seemed dead set on the idea. “Can’t talk business if you’re too tired to pay attention, can we? Wouldn’t want to misunderstand anything,” Izaya argued.

”Alright,” you conceded.

He left for a moment, leaving you to sit in awkward silence on the sectional, waiting for him to return. In the meantime, you intended to collect yourself, unhappy to find your heart was thundering in your chest again like a stampeding beast, and your throat was dry. You hated that one man had somehow uprooted your typically collected facade - without hardly trying even. It frustrated you more not being able to put a finger on why either. Was it his looks? No, you had done business with attractive people before. The soothing sound of his voice? His reputation? None of those alone should have caused so much distress. Was it simply the perfect storm once it was all put together?

When Izaya returned, he carried two opaque mugs of something steaming. He passed one to you before making himself comfortable on the cushion beside you once more. You offered him a quick ‘thank you’ before taking the mug, but couldn’t help eyeing the warm liquid inside suspiciously. It seemed to be the same as whatever you had glimpsed in Izaya’s, but was it safe?

“Don’t worry, it’s not poison or anything,” Izaya reassured you, though there was something about his smile now that had the opposite effect. “Something like that would any fun, would it?” He added, his smile wider, showing a hint of teeth.

You lifted your eyes to meet his, still skeptical as he raised his own mug to his lips and took a sip. “Besides, if I wanted to get rid of you, don’t you think I’d have arranged for us to meet somewhere that isn’t where I live? Clean up is such a pain, you know.” You suppressed a shudder at how carefree he sounded talking about getting rid of someone, as if the only regret in the process was how tedious the aftermath was.

He was right, though. If he wanted you dead, you imagined you would have already been six feet under before the morning of the meeting. Giving the drink in your hand a final glance and, wrinkling your nose at the bitter scent wafting off it, you raised it to your lips. This time full-bodied and it burned vaguely, more than from the temperature. The smell of green tea blended with the undertone of some alcohol - whiskey or bourbon, you thought - and the taste was much the same. It was stronger than it smelled though. You tried to play off your expression of distaste for the drink. “Now can we get back to the point, please?” You insisted prettily.

Izaya nodding, raising his drink again and tipping the mug toward his lips. You mirrored the motion, but took a smaller drink than the first. “Gladly. But you never said what it was you were after,” he reminded you.

“Ah, r-right.” Your short explanation before hadn’t been enough. “I want to set up some business in Ikebukuro for a little while,” you declared.

“And?” He raised his mug again, and again you followed suit.

“I want your word you won’t butt into any of it, if I don’t butt into yours,” Your words came out more clipped than intended.

“I’m not seeing how that arrangement benefits me at all,” he mused. “This is my playground, after all, so tell me what I get in return. Promising not to meddle in my affairs isn’t enough when you’re already intruding,” Izaya insisted. “Not that I’d let you butt in anyway,” he added, and the smile he gave you then was no longer warm and welcoming, but cold and empty.

You made a show of considering what you could offer him. “A favor, anything you liked,” you announced finally. “I may not be infamous here, but I’ve got my own connections elsewhere I’m sure you’d find useful,” you boasted, trying to sound smug.

“Oh? Anything? Are you sure you want to give some infamous like me such an open-ended promise?” You didn’t miss the emphasis in the sentence.

You raised an eyebrow. “I trust whatever favor is most beneficial to you, I can manage,” you claimed. You knew the dangers of such a vague promise, sure, but you knew the game as well. Secrets and connections were almost always more valuable than physical debts or favors. “So, I get to do what I want, and I owe you one favor. Deal?” You pressed, feeling more confident, even if your heart was still thudding too wildly for your liking.

Perhaps the drink was more helpful than you thought. You took another sip at the thought, and this time Izaya raised his own in reflection. You told yourself the warmth blossoming in your chest was the fault of the drink as well.

“Deal.” You didn’t like the sense of no going back that came with the way Izaya said that single word. But there was no regretting your choices now. You had the distinct feeling Izaya wasn’t the type who appreciated someone backing out of an agreement. “You can do whatever it is you came to Ikebukuro to do.” Izaya was silent for a moment, the atmosphere feeling strangely heavy. “But do be careful,” he warned, tone almost musical, “I can’t have you showing me up when it comes to my little humans.”

His humans? What did he mean by that? “Ah, sure, I’ll keep that in mind,” you agreed hesitantly, confused. You took another drink from the mug to distract you.

“Anything else you need to discuss while you’ve got my attention?” Izaya asked brightly.

“N-no, I… I’ve got everything under control,” you said, though you found the words came out slower, heavier, as if your tongue was half made of lead.

“Take care then. Maybe get some rest; you don’t sound so good, my dear,” Izaya observed, standing once more and looking down at you.

You shook your head stubbornly, placing your nearly empty mug on the coffee table beside you and moving to stand as well. To your dismay, when you stood, your legs wobbled, dizziness seizing you, and you lurched forward. Instead of crashing headfirst into the table or the floor, a solid warmth and the soft touch of fabric met you. A warm pressure rested over your shoulders on either side. Your lips stretching in an uneasy expression, you redirected your eyes from the floor with a shaky breath.

They landed on Izaya’s mug, sitting on the table alongside yours. It was still full to just below the rim, untouched, and a queasy feeling flickered through your gut.

#izaya orihara #durarara!!#writing #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #fic friday #weekly fic #update #nsft #n/s/f/w #tw: alcohol

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someonefantastic · 4 years ago

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They Look So Pretty When They Bleed

I had fun interpreting this prompt :) This was gonna be my longest fic so far but tomorrows fic actually is longer so look forward to that. Anyways yay for making it to double digits! Also this is set ambiguously in s8 cause I love me some established shules. Summary: Shawn and Juliet are having a nice date night, what could go wrong? Warnings: stabbing, blood loss, passing out, some innuendos but nothing too outside of the show also on ao3 (this gets kinda long so it’d be better accessed on ao3 tbh) ___ “So Mr. Spencer,” Juliet started as they exited the restaurant and turned on to the boardwalk, “Where to now?”

Shawn grinned and grabbed her hand, a bounce in his step. “Well Detective O’Hara, I was thinking we’d go back home and pop in a movie. Maybe a little Netflix and chill action hmm?” He waggled his eyebrows.

She threw her head back, her laughter only causing his grin to widen. “You have a one-track mind sometimes.”

“Oh, I always have a one-track mind when it comes to you,” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “You know, that would be almost romantic if we weren’t just talking about sex.”

He gave a half shrug. “Tomato, cucumber.”

As her laughter subsided, he caught her looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

She gave him a soft smile, “Nothing. I just like looking.”

Even after almost three years of dating, his cheeks still flushed at the compliment. “Thanks. I like your face too.”

“Thanks, Shawn.”

“Anytime babe.”

It was a beautiful night. A warm, salty breeze came off of the ocean, turning the sticky humidity of the day into a gentle glow. Music faded in and out, as they passed restaurants and clubs, a chaotic symphony of noise. Waves crashed in the distance and the wooden slats creaked beneath their feet.

Shawn tugged on her hand, leading her towards the parking lot. Underneath a streetlight sat her green VW beetle, the interior illuminated. A tall man, clad in jeans and a hoodie stood by the front door, patting his pockets with fervor.

They exchanged looks.

“Is he trying to steal my car?” Juliet whispered, eyes darting from him to the guy.

He shook his head, “I doubt it. He doesn’t seem like the type. Look at him, he seems like he’s looking for his keys. Probably got your car mistaken for his own.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “You think he drives a green beetle?”

“Gus drives a blue echo.”

Pursing her lips, she bopped her head from side to side. “You’ve got a point.”

He turned his attention to the man who was still frantically searching his pockets. “Hey man, lost your keys?”

The guy jumped, whirling around, his eyes wide. Actually, he was more like a boy, had to be in his early twenties at least.

“Uh, yeah. I can’t seem to figure out where I put them.” His voice wobbled as he spoke.

He shifted his feet and Shawn noticed something glint in the corner of his sweatshirt pocket. Subtly, he took a small step forward, making sure he was closer to the guy than Juliet.

“Dang man, I hate when that happens. I lose everything. Last week I lost half a ham sandwich in my best friend’s desk. Boy was he not happy about that.” He chuckled.

The guy didn’t laugh, his eyes darting around the parking lot.

“Well anyway, I think I know one problem here.” The man’s eyes snapped to his face. “This isn’t your car.”

Shawn saw the muscles in his arms tense before he moved. His hand shifted inside his pocket, eyes wild and scared.

There was no time, he had to protect Jules.

The second he stepped in front of her, it seemed like the whole world slowed down. He saw the guy pull out a knife, the streetlights glinting off of the patches of metal that weren’t rusted. He watched as the knife was jabbed into his stomach, cutting through his grey button-up shirt and piercing his skin.

His vision blurred, a dull ringing beginning to creep into his ears. He was frozen, unable to move or speak in a mix of shock and something he couldn’t quite place. All he could do was watch as the guy moved towards Juliet. And as much as he wanted to tackle the guy or do something to protect her, he knew she could take care of herself.

His point was made as the assailant was met with a swift punch to the nose. That was his Jules.

Clutching his bruised, if not broken, appendage in his hand, she took advantage of the situation. Pulling up her dress’ skirt- if he was in his right mind he may have commented on that being incredibly sexy- and unholstering her gun.

“SBPD. Drop the knife.” Her voice was even and her eyes icy.

Blood was now running down the guy’s hand and his eyes were unfocused but he complied. The knife clattered to the ground. Not wasting any time she shoved him up against the side of the car, detaching handcuffs from her other thigh and clasping them around his wrists. At this point in their relationship, Shawn wasn’t even surprised that she had brought handcuffs on their date night, though he was a little disappointed that they weren’t going to be used on him.

Eventually- he couldn’t be sure when Juliet in cop mode was very distracting (also the knife wound but mostly Juliet)- he had wound up on the ground, leaning heavily against the rear tire. The area under his hand was wet and he could feel his heartbeat through his stomach. That wasn’t normal.

He heard the car door slam and Juliet knelt next to him, her eyes wide, breathing heavily.

“I called for backup, they should be here in ten.” She gingerly picked up his hand, gasping as she inspected the wound. “Shawn you’re losing a lot of blood.”

“Oh is that why I feel so lightheaded?”

“Might’ve hit an artery. Gosh, I hope not.” She muttered more to herself. Gripping the bottom of her light blue sundress, she tore the fabric.

His words were starting to slur together, but he couldn’t resist making a joke. “Wow Jules as much as I enjoy you undressing, I don’t think now is the time.”

Shaking her head, she wrapped one arm around his back and gently eased him away from her car and to the ground. “You’re losing too much blood, I gotta try to stop it somehow.”

As much as he’d usually love her touch, this time he wasn’t a fan. He bit back a scream, the pressure on the cut sending fire throughout his stomach. Her face twisted into a mix of sympathy and concern and she grabbed one of his hands.

Raising their joined hands, she pressed her lips against the back of his. “I’m sorry sweetheart.”

“So much for Netflix and chill.” He chuckled weakly.

He watched her apply pressure to the wound for some time. Even given their undesired circumstances, she was still beautiful. Her hair was down, it’s length and style reminding him of the time when she went undercover at a sorority house. He had been so enamored with her. Her quick wit, her sharp investigative skills, her empathy, the way she always kept him guessing, not to mention those great outfits. If someone had told him then, that he’d wind up in a committed relationship with her, even considering marriage, he would have simply laughed and told them to stop messing with him.

But even then he had been in love with her, though he didn’t realize it until much much later and admitted it later still. He loved her. Simple as that.

His vision blurred and his eyelids felt so heavy. It was getting harder to pay attention now. He was shaking, feeling so cold and yet sweating all the same. All he could feel was the pain. He didn’t want to close his eyes, to lose the vision before him, but he didn’t want to stay awake either. Maybe if he just slept for a bit, he’d have lovely dreams of Jules.

She felt his hand go limp. Whipping her head around, she watched helplessly as his eyes slid closed.

“No, no, no... Shawn!” Letting go of his hand, she gently patted the side of his face. His skin was cold. “Shawn, I need you to stay awake.”

When he didn’t respond she swore loudly. Of course, he passed out. He was losing blood- a lot of it.

Picking up her hand, she cursed again at the sight of crimson soaking through her torn dress fabric. Without hesitation, she tore again at her dress, replacing the bloody scrap with a fresh one. Applying even more pressure, she watched his face, looking for any response. She was met with none.

His skin was pale, an odd contrast to the dark stubble around his cheeks. Breathing too shallow for her liking but she could only focus on one thing at a time. Right now stopping- or at least slowing- the bleeding was the priority.

She ran a hand through her hair and then down her face. He couldn’t die. She wouldn’t let him. They still had their whole lives in front of them. Sure it had only been a few months since they got back together but marriage talks were already becoming more and more frequent. Late one night, he told her that their breakup had shown him that he didn’t want to live life without her. She had nearly proposed to him on the spot. But they were still getting back in their groove and engagement was a big step. She wanted him- both of them- to be absolutely sure about their decision before taking that step. Now she just hoped they’d make it that far.

“Shawn Spencer, if we get out of this, I’m gonna kiss you for all you’re worth. Or kill you. I haven’t decided yet.”

Hunched over him, her hair fell around her like a curtain. Brushing it behind her ear she slightly scolded herself for not wearing it up today. Curse Shawn and his love for her hair being down.

She tore again at her dress, scowling at the now mid-thigh length. If he kept bleeding like that, he’d get his wish about seeing her undressed.

As if sensing an opportunity to make a joke, he stirred. His eyes flickered open. Unfocused but still open.

“Shawn,” She gasped, feeling tears start to pool in her eyes. In the distance, sirens blared. There was hope for them yet.

The corner of his mouth turned upwards. Hand reaching out, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re so beautiful.”

Later at the hospital, she would look in the mirror and laugh, much to the disturbed looks of the people around her. Leave it to Shawn to compliment her while her dress is half torn and her face is streaked with blood. Boy did she love him.

She'd tell him such as soon as he woke up.

#whumptober2020 #no. 10 #they look so pretty when they bleed #blood loss #juliet o'hara #shawn spencer #shules #blood tw #knife tw #violence tw #angst #shawn whump #skipps writes #psych fanfic

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the-odd-job · 4 years ago

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Harem AU - First time Sideswipe meets Megatron

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Megatron, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Unnamed Characters Relationships: Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Sticky, Throatfuck/Deepthroat, Purging, Referenced Gangrape, Humiliation, Size Difference Words: 2841

A certain someone shared their harem AU yesterday, which made me go like “???? WHY DON’T I HAVE A HAREM AU THIS IS A TRAVESTY”

Now I have a harem AU.

Snippets of this ‘verse will probably get posted intermittently and wildly out of order as I get inspired to write them. Maybe one day there’ll be enough to compile and fill in the gaps for a full fic. We’ll live in hope!

In the meantime, please enjoy.

And heed the warnings. Plz.

His valve throbbed, and not in the good way.

Sideswipe struggled to swallow through the aching in his throat, staring up at the ceiling and trying so hard to ignore the talk and laughter around him.

Laughter. The bastards were seriously laughing while raping the wits out of them.

And Sideswipe was honestly coming to his wit’s end. There was no end to the spikes they’d shove up his valve or down his throat. He wasn’t sure how long this had lasted already, or how much longer it would last still.

How much he’d endured already, and how much more he would still need to endure.

If there even would be an end to it. What did he know, maybe they’d keep raping them until they died from it. He felt pretty ready to die from it, at least. They’d hit and beat him enough times that he felt more than a little dinged. His throat was raw, stretched past capacity by spikes far too large for him. His jaw ached. He couldn’t get the taste of transfluid off his glossa. His valve burned from being penetrated time and time again without there ever being enough lubricant for even the first one.

At least all the transfluid had started to ease the way after a while. It was seeping out of him now, where he lay spread on one of the tables, unable to quite scrounge up the will to move. It was no use anyway. No matter which way he moved, they’d just manhandle him into the position they wanted him in.

He’d tried running enough times to know it would only elicit uproarious laughter before they’d grab him and throw him back to the center of the room.

Running was a little silly, he had to admit that much even to himself. He had no idea where he was or which door would’ve led to somewhere he wanted to be in—if those doors would’ve even been open. It wasn’t much of a wonder they laughed.

But what else was he supposed to do? Fighting hadn’t worked. He was so vastly outnumbered they had no issues whatsoever just pinning him down until he couldn’t fight anymore, and that was if they didn’t alone already mass so much more than him that they could pin him without any help.

Those spikes hurt the worst.

He could hear Sunstreaker’s ragged ventilations off to the side where they’d dumped his brother onto the floor. Sunstreaker hadn’t tried getting up again, and Sideswipe wasn’t sure if that was because he was too hurt to, or because he had similarly come to the conclusion that it really wouldn’t have done any good.

Endure. That was all they could do at this point.

His ventilations hitched, but Sideswipe continued to ignore the tears that streamed from his optics. They’d made fun of those too, when he’d first started crying. By now it was old news and they only laughed if they got him to cry harder with something they did.

But for the moment there was no one touching him beyond the grip that kept his wrists pinned together on the surface of the table—mech wasn’t even paying attention to him anymore—and Sideswipe took the second’s respite it was to pick the pieces of his pride and dignity off the metaphorical floors, dust them off, and store them for a later moment when he might have a chance to try to put them back together.

Now if they’d just let him pick up the physical pieces of himself too. They hadn’t given him the time to retract his valve cover, doubtful as it was that he would’ve done that voluntarily. And maybe that was what they’d figured, that he might not even do it anyway, so just cut the chase and tear it off completely!

What did he even need it for, amirite?

Sideswipe couldn’t quite contain his sob this time around, but luckily no one took notice of it, because one of the doors opened just then. Sideswipe turned his helm to look, and his spark sank at the sight of the massive grey mech even he, a certified street urchin, could recognize.

Megatron. The tyrant of Kaon, dictator of the city-state.

Unquestioned ruler of the whole damn place.

Megatron asked something from the room at large in a tongue Sideswipe couldn’t understand—Kaonite—his red optics passing between Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Sideswipe couldn’t see Sunstreaker himself, but he heard his twin growl. Down but not out.

One of the beatifically grinning lackeys at Sideswipe’s feet responded in the same language. Sideswipe growled too now, to the tune of more laughter around him.

Megatron was smiling right along with the rest of the room, a genuinely amused expression at complete odds with the usual furious scowl he was depicted with in all the images Sideswipe had seen of him.

Megatron walked into the room like he owned the place, as he did, with mecha moving from his way as surely as if he had had a physical barrier around him keeping everyone at a respectful distance. He walked all the way to where Sideswipe judged Sunstreaker to be laying, then nudged something—Sunstreaker—with his pede.

Like he was shocked, Sunstreaker lunged to his pedes with another reverberating snarl. Everyone laughed again, barring Megatron who merely cocked an optical ridge in amusement. The noise only doubled when Sunstreaker stumbled and fell back into the waiting arms of their rapists.

He only growled harder when he was harmlessly caught, but when he tried to jerk away, they wouldn’t let him.

Sideswipe could see him ventilating hard, before his attention was stolen by Megatron again. He was approaching, and with a wave of his servo the mecha scattered from around Sideswipe.

He shot into a sitting position, a sinking feeling in his spark warning him he likely wouldn’t like whatever was going to come next.

Megatron was next to him before he had the time to force his numb limbs into further cooperation. “Let’s see what you have, little one, hmm?” Megatron asked from him in perfect standard, freezing Sideswipe in place with the weight of his red gaze. His spark was spinning in his chest like a mad thing, and he couldn’t but squeak when Megatron grabbed him by the throat in one sudden motion, forcing him back against the table and spinning him in place until his helm faced Megatron’s crotch.

He knew exactly what was going to come next. “NO!” Sideswipe flailed hard, trying to pull and twist himself free from Megatron’s hold, but it was like Megatron didn’t even feel his struggles with how easily he kept his grip. Sideswipe’s servos shot to the wrist of the hand holding his throat, digging his claws on, but if looks were anything to go by, Megatron’s armor was beyond thick.

He probably didn’t even feel it.

But Sideswipe would feel this. His mouth started aching all over again when Megatron retracted his upper modesty panel and let his spike pressurize.

It was just as big as a mech his size should have, which meant nothing short of colossal next to Sideswipe.

And he didn’t want it anywhere near him, not his mouth, not his valve. Desperate, Sideswipe bent his body in half to kick at Megatron with all the force he could muster—what good could that possibly do for him? Primus, he had no idea—but Megatron merely stepped to the side, his grip on Sideswipe’s throat tightening to a threatening degree.

There was no anger, not even annoyance when Megatron said something to his peers. At once Sideswipe’s legs were grabbed and brought back to the table, and pinned there. He tried to kick free, but it did nothing. “Get the frag away from me!” he barked at Megatron, glaring with undisguised hatred and fear at the mech easily more than twice his mass.

This would hurt so, so bad. Tears were streaming from his optics unbidden again and his throat was constricting from more than just Megatron’s hold on it.

There was an uptick at the corner of Megatron’s serene mouth, but that was all. “Enough of that, now. Open.”

Like hell.

Sideswipe bared clenched denta and growled.

There was more laughter from all around him, but no sound from Megatron. He made up for his silence with action, bringing his free servo around and slipping one of his massive digits past Sideswipe’s lips, all the way to the farthest reach of his mouth where he could jab it in the empty area behind his denta and force his mouth open.

He did it with swiftness and familiarity that made Sideswipe think he’d repeated that same move far too many times before.

Thick digits were shoved into his mouth the moment there was a gap between his denta, and pushed far enough that Sideswipe gagged on them, his back arching off the table. Megatron kept them there for one torturous moment before replacing them with his spike in a move that was similarly so practiced Sideswipe couldn’t help but despair.

And the spike was so much worse. It instantly forced his jaw open wide enough that his faceplates stung from the stretch and Sideswipe screamed as it was rammed straight to the back of his mouth, hitting his throat and making him gag all over again. Except this time it didn’t end there, like it hadn’t any of the times the others had decided to use his mouth.

Megatron pulled him forward enough for his helm to fall off the edge of the table, straightening his throat so that he could shove his spike down it with a jab of his hips. Sideswipe’s servos tightened around the wrist steadily holding him when his throat was stretched far enough that he was surprised it didn’t rupture right away.

It hurt so much, and none of the other spikes had adequately prepared him to take it. Sideswipe cried out, or tried to, but his vocalizer was all but crushed and nothing but a garbled little peal of static came out.

Then Megatron pulled back until only the tip of his spike was still in Sideswipe’s mouth, leaving his throat a gaping hole, only for him to push back in again in the next moment.

On the next withdrawal, Sideswipe managed a scream, and he could hear a cheer rise in the room. Celebrating his pain.

And Sunstreaker was yelling above it all. “Let the frag go of him you slagger! Leave him be! Fragging– Take me instead, just leave him alone!”

Megatron had to hear, but he paid it no mind. There was no time for Sideswipe to adjust to any of it, if he even physically could have ever, before Megatron had already increased his pace, pulling almost all the way out of his mouth before thrusting back down his throat.

Sideswipe struggled. There was nothing left of conscious effort in his motions, just the primal need to get away from the abuse, from having his burning throat opened up over and over again by something that was never intended to go down it. He flailed, but they had his legs, and Megatron ignored anything his arms did, whether it was hitting, scratching, or gripping.

Eventually it was just gripping, his servos having landed back on Megatron’s arm to do no more than hold on.

Megatron kept fragging his mouth. His gag reflex could only take it for so long before his frame heaved and expelled the contents of his tanks—what little there was left from the past times this had already happened.

Megatron just ignored it, even as Sideswipe’s regurgitation bubbled past the spike stretching his mouth open and streamed down his face. It mixed with tears and oral lubricant, and the old messes of energon and transfluid already painting his face.

There was more casual chatter and laughter in the room, Sideswipe could hear it dimly past the wet sound of having his throat ravaged, past the pain that kept trying to steal all of his focus.

It hurt. It wouldn’t stop hurting, and Megatron wouldn’t stop thrusting in and out, stretching the pain filled moments just as his throat was being stretched.

He screamed again in another brief moment his throat was temporarily abandoned by Megatron’s spike, and this time he could both hear and feel Megatron rumble, the vibrations traveling down his spike and touching his sore lips. “That’s it, you little bitch,” Megatron growled at him, lowly, quietly, as if only he was supposed to hear. “Cry for me.”

And Sideswipe did, yelling weakly again only for the sound to get distorted into a bleat of static when Megatron pushed back in. There was no sense to this. No one gave one single damn about his comfort, his pain, his anything, just as long as they could use his body and whatever hole they pleased to take their pleasure.

Megatron was no different from the rest, and his words were no different from the abuse already hurled at him, but he was the leader. He was the only one who could’ve made this stop, but instead he sanctioned all of it and partook in it himself.

And took pleasure in it. Sideswipe could feel that much in the way Megatron’s thrusts began to eventually stammer and lose their rhythm. He pushed in deep only to grind his hips against Sideswipe’s face in circular motions that brought a new fresh hell of hurt to his stretched throat.

Tears were running from his optics despite how tightly he’d shut them. Megatron pulled out, did a few shallow humps that barely dipped into his throat, then thrust in deep again and circled his hips.

Endure.

That was all he could do, but Sideswipe doubted there would be an end to this. Now or ever. Was this what they’d been brought in for? Would death be his only way out?

He didn’t want to die.

But this didn’t exactly make him want to live either.

Megatron thrust as deep as he could get one more time before gripping Sideswipe’s throat tighter, squeezing him around his spike through one tiny thrust, then another, before Sideswipe could feel the hot pulses of his transfluid deep down his throat. Mistakenly he tried to swallow on reflex, which pulled a pleased rumble from his assailant. The last thing he had wanted, but it was too late by that point.

Megatron held him there for what felt like an eternity, rubbing his spike through Sideswipe’s throat and milking the last bits of transfluid out of it where Sideswipe refused to swallow again. His mouth twitched around the stretch his lips were forced into while he waited, and cried, and hurt, and silently prayed for it to stop already.

Panic nearly overtook him again when Megatron didn’t stop there but instead rocked his hips with the threat of just fragging continuing. He flailed, but his legs were still obediently pinned by Megatron’s followers, and this time Megatron struck him across the face for the way his arms hit him.

It wasn’t any small strike either. Sideswipe gasped through his vents at the additional pain in what was already a life of torture.

And Megatron continued rocking, moving his hips just so to slide his spike up and down in Sideswipe’s throat.

Sideswipe had already almost drowned in his pit of despair by the time Megatron pulled out and didn’t push back in again. Immediately the contents of Sideswipe’s tanks followed him all over again, though this time it was mostly Megatron’s own transfluid that came out. Some of it splattered into Megatron’s thighs from the force of its expulsion, but the tyrant utterly ignored it just as he went on to utterly ignore Sideswipe.

Crying, defiled Sideswipe with his face a mess of tears, lubricant, transfluid, and his own vomit. His legs were released, but he didn’t try to move beyond wiping one shaking servo across his sore mouth.

It wasn’t just his servo that was shaking, it was the whole rest of him too. Shivering, interrupted with larger jerks when his sobs took the better of him.

His throat hurt. He wasn’t sure it would ever return back to its normal size, it sure didn’t feel like it had yet. Maybe it would be better if it didn’t, if this was just going to repeat.

And Sideswipe feared this was going to repeat.

“You were so eager to have your turn. Now you’ll have it,” Sideswipe heard Megatron say, and looked past his veil of tears at him. Megatron had turned his attention to Sunstreaker, his spike still standing proudly between his legs, and Sideswipe thought he now knew the purpose of Megatron’s last little jerks: to keep his spike in pressurization so he could rape Sunstreaker next.

“Please,” Sideswipe whispered, but between the pain and fear robbing his voice and his vocalizer only barely functional from the abuse it had taken, he wasn’t sure if anyone even heard him.

Please, not Sunstreaker.

#transformers #maccadams #sideswipe #megatron #sunstreaker #harem au #fic #2020 #megaswipe

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outroshooky · 5 years ago

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my pretty sleeper | ksj

⇢ genre: series; part two (ghost!au; person b crying and screaming that they’re sorry, believing they caused person a’s death. person a’s ghost at their side, helplessly trying to comfort and hold someone they can no longer touch, or speak to, anymore.) (angst, fluff)

⇢ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇢ word count: 5.8k

⇢ warnings: major character death (reader insert); blood mention. there are darker themes here, please read with caution.

⇢ a/n: thank you for all of the positive feedback on part one!! this is a bit angstier than what i usually write but nonetheless, i’m proud of it. i hope you enjoy this winter-y fic; thank you to oh ms. believer for inspiring me all these years later (in the bleak bahamian summer, no less).

part two of the verses and vibes series. part three will be uploaded on wednesday, january 29, 2020.

“the woods are lovely, dark and deep, but i have promises to keep, and miles to go before i sleep, and miles to go before i sleep.”

⤷ stopping by woods on a snowy evening; robert frost

Never in your life had you seen a more beautiful snowstorm.

Soft flakes drifted through boughs hanging like some great Gothic arches above you, a chapel of nature’s own wonderful creation. They swept past birds fluffed to fend against the bitter cold, settled around you in drifts like a miniature mountain landscape. Ahead you, the path stretched in peaceful calm, the white blanket an insulation for the sounds that leapt and tumbled with the puffs of wind exhaled from some indeterminable heaven. Somewhere to your left, a finch trilled a cheery tune, and the boysenberry vines rasped in scratchy reply.

It was the picture-perfect scene to accompany what would, under all usual circumstances, be a nicely brisk walk in the chill of winter.

Unfortunately, these are not, by any standards, usual circumstances.

The snow falls delicately around your hustling figure, bound against the cold in nothing but the simple dress of a commoner and the jacket of a noble of the highest degree. Your outfit is completely contradicting, but it is not like you have a choice in the matter.

Because as hard as you try to will a speck of snow to settle gently in the crook of your palm, it does nothing but continue its downward descent, rocking to and fro hither and there. It passes through the translucent aura that is your hand, your arm, your entire body.

Perhaps the statement about how never in your life had you seen a more beautiful snowstorm needed to be amended to how never in your afterlife had you seen a more wonderful blizzard.

It is ever surprising to you how, though you are no longer made of tangible matter, the whistle of wind through endlessly tall trees will never cease to send a shiver down your transparent spine. The chill rests on your shoulders, curls around your neck with chilled lips; you know it must be cold, but you can’t for the life of you actually feel it. When you tread on the freshly-covered path, hurrying along in your urgency, the untouched pure white remains… untouched. When you glance behind you at the ringing of bells, no footsteps imprint on the finely frosted earth.

The horse is a dappled stallion, wide-eyed and foaming at the bit, hooves prancing high to escape the tug of the fallen snow. The gentleman sits, hands loose on the reins, comfortable in the saddle. He's handsome, with a jaw cut like glass and deep almond eyes peering out from a woolen scarf tucked beneath the folds of his jacket. As he passes by, wrapped deep in fur to fend off the chill, you step to the side of the path out of pure habit. It would take no effort at all to simply continue on your way, letting horse and rider barrel straight through your unseen figure, but you’ve learned by now that animals have a better sense of the preternatural and decided to spare the horse (and gentleman) undue panic.

The rider’s eyes never waver from the path ahead, confident and illustrious in his goings. He is bold and dashing and incredibly handsome, and you notice, too late, the scrawled insignia etched into the leather of the saddle, as refined yet regal as the very stranger who claims it.

The symbol of the nobility burns a brilliant gold against the black tanned skin, and your throat constricts with the pain of remembrance.

Eyes as warm as the heat of summer sunshine; brow regal, fit for a king; tawny hair artfully sweeping across the breadth of his forehead; lips as plush as fat grapes in the fall; jaw as defined as a blade through wa-

The horse nickers, ridding snow from its hooves in dirt-flecked clumps, sending them straight through the aura of your petticoats.

You sigh, ruffling the folds of your dress, tucking tighter the corners of your jacket out of reflex. There are, you suppose, some benefits to being a ghost, but the complete and utter loneliness does tend to be a drawback.

Indeed, the complete and utter loneliness makes you question whether your mission is even worth it in the first place. Is it worth trying to reconcile things with a lover when they can't even see you, hear you, feel you? You could caress their cheek with the most loving of touches, and yet they would guess it to be nothing but a passing breeze. The curse of eternity is one spent in solitude, a soul left to wander the earth with a purpose unfinished, aptly never to be ended. You watch as the horseman canters on, and something clenches in the space where your heart once nested, like the wrens that call the castle battlements home.

No. No. You cannot allow yourself to think like this. You cannot allow yourself to doubt, to assume that for a moment love is not a powerful enough force to wrest the bounds of time and shatter the fettered chains. Love is a blade more powerful than any forged sword, a fire more passionate than any raging mountain blaze. With love, one can mold a landscape to their liking, shift the sands of what is known into a brand new reality, a dawn previously inconceivable to any and all.

The thought of him fills your mind; the gap in your chest mends. Every step you take is one step closer to him.

With every rise and fall of your boots, your boots seem to land in the tracks of the horse and rider, their figures now only a mere shadow against the backdrop of nature’s finest woodland cathedral.

The more you push on, the more memories seem to unconsciously surface in your mind. When you came to in that field, your mind was as untouched as the fallen snow. However, it took merely a wobbly rise to your feet for you to notice the massive jacket that hugged your frame, permanently welded to your aura whether you wanted it to be or not. Simply put, whatever you wore at the time of your death became your spirit’s regalia, and you often thanked the stars that you hadn’t decided to go riding in the buff that day. Not that you would in the first place.

With that jacket came the flood, as you called it. The waves of memories that lapped at the shores of your consciousness, their chaotic dances spilling foam into the crevices of your mind. They came back to you in one fell swoop, overwhelming in their sights and sensations and feelings, and you wondered how you could have, even if just for a brief moment, forgotten it all.

Eventually, the mouth of the forest opens to a broad, rutted dirt road, which has turned to mud with the advent of the blizzard. At the mouth sits a thatched roof shack, cheery with the ice that dangles precariously from the thickets of straw. Beyond it, fields of grain- sorghum and wheat and barley, their stalks cut low to the base. In a single breath, curling in on itself in the chilled air, your senses are flooded with thought and sound and breath.

“Catch me if you can!” Seokjin’s fingers slap at your shoulder, tagging you plain as day. He is barely thirteen, still gangly and slender with youth, but experienced eyes can see his frame beginning to thicken. There's delight in his eyes, a mirth that sparks double when he sees the fiery temper in your own.

“Seokjin!” You hiss. He's playing a game of chance, egging you on as his father pauses at the edge of the forest to speak with the farmer who came bounding out of the newly-built barn. One of the things you loved about the king was his flexibility, his genuine interest in the lives of his subjects. He was willing to lend an ear to all, and it brought him a certain respect, from the lowest beggar to the highest knight. With that in mind, you dared not cross him. “Not now!”

“Papa’s not looking!” He teases, skipping backwards when you swing outwards with a well-timed smack. “Catch me if you ca-an!”

“Seokjin!” You hiss again with vigor, a concerned glance over your shoulder. “You’re not about to get us both in trouble!”

“You won't get in trouble.” He’s breathless, riled in his own games while his father talks business just beyond the magnolia bushes. “You're with me.”

“Just because you're the prince does not mean that I won't be sent to the gallows for participating in one of your stunts. This is an official business trip and I am thirteen and as so it happens your maid and I kind of need this jo-”

Without hesitation, the young prince saunters closer, leans in, and taps your nose lightly with a single digit. “I said,” Seokjin breathes, voice nearly a whisper. “Catch me if you can.”

In one fluid motion you lunge forward, your index finger landing squarely in the middle of his forehead.

A smile breaks across his visage, radiant and mischievous, the grin of madmen. Or young boys. “Game on.”

You blink and the scene clears. The horses’ reins in your grasp evaporate, leaving you in front of a crumbling stone wall falling apart at the seams.

Peering closer, you realize the house has aged fast, too fast to be natural. The straw has grown thin in some places, the roof sagging inward, spine exhausted. The windows are grimy and cracked with age, and the foundation settles crooked into the soft earth. Beside the chimney, a rabbit twitches, darting into the brush at the inkling of eyes watching from afar. Something isn't right here, you think. Something is different from before.

You turn towards the horizon, the spires of the castle piercing the far-away arch of the sky, and continue on towards him.

He had never cared that you were only his maid.

You had been in his life as long as you could remember, and he had been in yours much the same. Your mother having been attendant to the queen meant that you inherited the duties for her royal child, born in the frigid chill of December a year and two months after you. From a young age you learned how to reorganize his endless closets and dressers, to attend him in a court of nobility, to keep a pitcher of cold water and a bottle of lavender on his bedside table every night. The fair-minded, fair-haired prince had never understood how you were any different to him- you thanked the stars his parents taught him humility from an early age- and as a result, he treated you much the same as he treated any of the other young boys in the court. You had never been “merely a maid” to him- you were a playmate, confidant, best friend, and later- much, much later- a lover. The only lover, in fact, that ever mattered to him.

He had had suitors from when he was as young as ten years old, coming to seek his hand in uniting their great kingdoms. They pranced about him in grand dresses of silk and lace, curtseying and bowing and placating themselves for his eyes. More than once, they’d nearly popped out of his head at how tight their bodices were. And yet, he never took one to be his bride- never even expressed interest in having one as his bride.

You secretly pondered if he was the stuff of legend, Ancient Greek myths that whispered of men coming together in ways that male and female could not. Meanwhile, as the years passed, you grew all the more closer to him, and he all the more closer to you. Often he'd tug a sewing needle out of your hand to insist that you go riding together, pulling you away from mending the jacket he’d torn the last time you went riding with him. He would beg you to visit him in the sparring circle to show you some new masterful combination he’d learned with sword and shield, even taking such liberties to teach you yourself some swordplay techniques. He would even take you down to the market to buy fresh vegetables for your grandmother, or new silks for a coat. It was clear that he cared about you deeply, deeper than he’d ever admit to himself for a long, long time.

Your journey continues on mile after mile; the closer you get to the center of the kingdom, the more broken down it all feels. Granted, it is the dead of winter, but the world seems to have fallen into disrepair along with it, lulled by the hypnosis of the cold into a weary, uneasy slumber. Cattle shuffle stiffly along their paddock fences; dry tufts of grass poke through the chilled mud. Civilians too hustle, wrapped in rags without splendor or hint of grace, trying their hardest to protect against the frosty bite. So much has changed in the brief time you've been gone, and for the first time, worry begins to gnaw at your thoughts with true voracity. It doesn't feel right, none of this does; but you know in the core of your being, that this, somehow, is home.

With every landmark you pass, a new memory washes over you, scent and sight and feeling. You make a left at the second crossroads and continue on at the third, but your mind flashes back to the times you went right and then left to the beekeepers’ fields, or left and then right to the carpenter’s shack. Every memory rekindles a bit of something in you, something that you can name only as humanity, and you swear the chill’s begun to set in a little colder than it was before. You are more alive now than ever, you think.

It is as if in the brief time you slumbered, the world aged a hundred years without you. The miles to the city walls pass quickly, but not without mention. The closer you get, the more decrepit it all feels- richly constructed halls now ground to sawdust, fields of grain and vegetables now plains of snow and ice. The walls themselves are in poor shape, the dull stones lacking the regal glory they once held, and you ache at the sight. Once the pride and joy of the kingdom, now a sad hallmark- if there was anything left of the kingdom to begin with.

A mere trickle of people flows on either side of the gate, a much, much slower stream from the constant push-pull of the tides you’re used to. Here, the roar was once chaos- a wave of crowds jostling in, a tide of jovial citizens pouring out in a flood of color and sound and energy. But the banners flutter threadbare, flapping without statement in the wind, as if they have fallen asleep at the helm, in the bleak of midwinter, in the midst of it all.

You crane your neck to see the guards as you approach, careful to keep your space from the few stragglers limping up the path along with you. In your youth, you knew every castle employee, every knight and guard and maid. Now, you squint till the nearest stern face comes into view, and realize, with a jolt of clarity, you don't recognize him at all.

His face is cold-cut, molded from a block of iron. His lips are pressed tightly together, back as straight as a ramrod, mouth as firm as an oak tree. He is completely unfamiliar to you, and for some reason, trepidation begins to roll a metaphorically thrilling drum beat in your stomach.

The fear, which had numbed to a gentle stream in the back of your conscious (if you could call it that), rose to a fever pitch.

Something was horribly, horribly wrong, and you were absolutely determined to find out what.

You had a feeling that this is what you were brought back for, to get to the bottom of this horrid stunt, to find out why everything you knew had been thrown off its axis in one fell swoop. It thrummed in your silent pulse, lofted like owls’ wings through the quiet of the forest. No was simply not an answer, and when a renewed sense of determination beat in the space where your heart would have been, you touched your chest with a sudden burst of fondness. Seokjin was close, so close. It would be like old times; together, you would solve this, bring closure to this plague of wintertime. And you, his wonderful bride, reunited with him as if no time had ever been wasted in between. Not to mention you were home, back in your city, the place you had labored to visit for days, weeks, even months since you’d awoken in that godforsaken wheat field with a royal riding jacket wrapped around your shoulders.

Unassumingly, the guard turns his head and stares straight at you, gaze blank, numbly focused.

You hold your breath for one moment, two.

He blinks, stark eyes staring right through you, and thumbs the rutted shaft of his spear. You force yourself to tear your gaze away from his own, and, with only a moment’s hesitation, stride unfailing into the heart of the kingdom.

Your walk to the castle, at the very top of the city, is seemingly the longest, most arduous part of your journey by far.

Everywhere you look, in every corner seems to be darkness and despair. Shapeless forms, nameless figures cluster around pathetic fires, which sputter and lick with the will of the wind. Dead leaves tumble down the cobblestones to embed themselves in snowbanks, piled up high, effective barriers against the frost for the unlucky souls with no other place to go. Doors are wrenched shut but rattle every now and then, the muted glow under their edges a telltale indicator of the separation between poor and poorer. You hasten to avoid those clusters around the fires, god forbid a careless sweep of your petticoat extinguishes what little hope they have left. You pause for a moment when you see a mother clutching a child to her chest, wishing not for the first time you could simply reach out and make her problems melt away. If anything, you’d only make her feel worse, the lofty draft of your fingertips an added stress upon her already narrow shoulders.

With every step you take, you can feel the individual consciousnesses trapped here crying out for you, flocking to you, a bright burning candle flame against a backdrop of nighttime. There are so many souls beneath the ground, you wonder if there was some sort of famine. Does Seokjin see any of this? Where has he been? The questions plague you one after the other, much like the howling spirits that crowd the back of your mind, individually vying for your attention. No, you reassure yourself. I know him. Seokjin must have the situation under control, or if not, he's working to get it under control. The kingdom will be saved; happily-ever-after is just out of your reach, soon within. It simply cannot be any other way.

The higher and higher you climb, the more desolate the path becomes. It is clear that the only people who trek up here nowadays are the guards on their shift rotations, but even then, you’ve noticed less and less the closer you get to the castle. We had plenty of guards; I don't understand why the sudden lack, you think to yourself. Sooner or later you will have your answer, though, because you find yourself at the base of the castle, and your mouth drops open in some sickened form of awe.

Ah yes, what's the name of that feeling?

Horror.

Your home has fallen into disrepair, a state of shambles that never would have been allowed in the days of your lifetime.

There are cracks and crevices that fracture the bones of the grand hall, splits and nicks in the wood from years of neglect. There once perched gargoyles and flowers and creations atop the limestone columns, so wonderfully sculpted that they seem to leap from their very material constraints into living, breathing figures. Now, only shattered fragments of the beasts remain, flower petals chipped away to fall hundreds of feet to the stiff dead stalks of grass below. A castle, once inhibited with beauty and life, now lies dormant, sleeping, decaying. A single piece of limestone, the wing of a butterfly, shears off, rebounding off the gutter to tumble to the dirt. From dust it is made, and to dust it shall return, but if you had a heart, you swear you would have felt it break.

Once again, it is the thought of him that keeps you moving, pushing on, except the fear is all-consuming now, a snarling dog snapping at the heels of your fantasy. You can barely think as you approach those great dark oaken doors, palm flat against the decaying planks as you pause, your eyes fluttering shut.

You still, readying yourself for this. This, the thing you have been waiting for, the only thing to keep you going, demanding that day after day you push on. Anticipation of it has pulsed in your veins for days, weeks; the closer you got, the more anxious and excited you became, but it is here now. It is here; there is nothing you can do to stop the hands of fate, for she brought you here to reunite you with him, Seokjin, the prince of your land but the king of your heart.

The toe of your boot eases into the splintering wood, and in one beat, your entire body passes through into the grand entrance hall.

For all of your preparation, however, nothing could possibly steel you for what lay on the other side of those doors.

The grand hall looked like it had been ransacked by an army.

The stone arches above your head no longer bore their weight proudly, but drooped with depression suggesting hopelessness. A flurry of activity buzzed around you, a servant even stepping through you by pure mistake, but it was not the kind of bustling, cheery frenzy you were used to. This was a quiet kind of frenzy much like silent fury, the calm before the storm. Footsteps resonated against the grand ceilings flaked with paint, yet there was no exchange of greetings, no playful step of the servant children. It was an atmosphere so foreign it may as well have been a completely different house, rather than the home you knew so well as your own.

The throne room is many paces away from the entrance hall, but with your internalized map of the castle, it took a few mere passes through walls (and a left, another left, and a right) to land you in the hall of kings, or the waiting room outside of the throne room. There is a layer of dust that sits upon the artifacts, the Staff of Arrn’och, among others, nearly broken in two in its display case. Everywhere you looked, it seemed, was desolation. God forbid what the throne room itself would look like.

With a sudden bang!, the doors at the far end of the room were thrown open, a ragged, hunched figure stumbling through the open gap. Male or female you could not discern, matted strings of hair shielding its twisted visage, but the sobs its lungs produced pierced you to the core. The pair of guards at the opposite end of the room strode forward, collecting the pathetic creature by the underarms and practically dragging it down the muddy rug. Although you could pass through whatever surface you pleased, your instinct urged you through the gap in the closing doors, and you managed to slip past just as they slammed shut behind you.

In front of you lay a dias, fifty feet in diameter, upon which two thrones of the same size sat, both lonely, one bare. While large windows perched over the dias, casting blocks of light across the stone floor, any natural light that managed to filter into the high-ceilinged hall was dulled by grit and grime. Torches flickered low in their sconces, doing their best to compensate, but instead casting shadows across the walls that seemed to flinch at the quickest intake of breath. Indeed, the throne room had suffered much in your absence; it was as if you stepped into a nightmarish equivalent of your past life.

It was too dark to see the face of the king as you approached, his profile framed by shadow as he argued with an attendant.

“-can’t turn down every citizen who wants to make an audience with you and has good reason to do so,” The attendant insisted, his tone desperate. “The people are starving, but they haven't lost hope! They're looking to you, Your Majest-”

“And why would they look to me?” The king snapped, voice gravelly, a thickness there that you’d never heard before. “What good have I been to them? Haven't they seen enough of me yet? Every day, a miserable existence, and they seek to know my counsel on matters such as one calf between them?”

“One calf, my king, would provide food for their children for three days,” the attendant murmured gently. “Your people need you now, more than ever.”

But the king seemed not to hear, dismissing the attendant with a flick of his hand. “I can't hear any more.”

The attendant hesitated just a fraction, but bowed respectfully. “As you wish.”

It was at this moment you realized there were only two thrones, not the three you had been expecting. Although the queen had passed many years before, they had always kept a throne in its place for her, in her honor. You wondered now at this- where was Seokjin’s throne?

The king, bowed over with the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers, paid you no mind as you approached, dipping a respectful curtsy out of habit. He’d certainly gone grayer in these last few months, his shoulders having lost their proud touch, and he looked as if he was a completely different man, aging a hundred years in the mere two hundred hours it had taken you to get back to the place you so lovingly called home.

In your living days, you would not have dared step up the dias to look at the king eye-to-eye, god forbid he strike you down himself. But you were not alive, and these were desperate times, and desperate times called for desperate measures.

And so, with one fluid motion, you stepped atop the dias, skirt swirling around your ankles as you paused, waiting for something, but you did not know what.

The king lifted his head, and as your eyes met his, aged with the aches and pains of ruling, you felt as if someone had ripped the very carpet out from underneath your feet and cast you back to the underworld below.

Because these were not the clear eyes of the king, sparkling and gentle in their mirth. These were not the bright pupils that brought forth memories of afternoons spent on the lake, or crystal clear waterfalls that tumbled through mysterious glades.

No, these eyes were dark, once as rich as chocolate, but now as muddied as silt. Cataracts strung silky webs across the clag, weaving intricate patterns in the depths of emotion, rendering not only the viewer incapable of reading emotion, but the seer incapable of, well- doing just that. While crows’ feet stamped their corners and fine lines etched their lids, you would know those eyes even if you had seen them once in ten thousand years, for they stamped themselves onto your soul all that time ago, never to be undone by any mortal power.

“Seokjin?” You gasp, and at once, all of time seems to stand still.

For it is indeed Kim Seokjin who sits on the king’s throne, his beautiful features softened with age and the passage of time but still regal, ever unforgettable. He is enthrallingly handsome, but your heart aches evermore, because you have missed it all.

You have missed seeing the aches and pains of early, and then middle age set in. You have missed watching his child, the prince or princess (and surely more than one), stumble across the floor of the nursery for the first time. You have missed him sleeping in the early morning, worrying in the late evening; you have missed him in bed and in combat and all things in between. For it has been years, perhaps decades since your death, and in one horrifying moment, it clicks into perspective.

And then he tilts his head up at you and whispers your name, and it is as if every weight on your metaphysical shoulders has been lifted. “Is it really you?”

“Yes,” you warble; somehow tears streak your cheeks, pale in their sheen. “Yes, Seokjin, I'm so sorry; I'm here now, it's me-” you grab for his hand, but it passes right through, and he recoils at the draft. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

Flashes. A golden field, merry horses, a beautiful spring day. “Take my jacket, my darling. It will keep you warm.”

Hooves pounding, heart racing. The royal horses are afraid of practically nothing, their one fear far from your mind, unworthy of mention. Together you dash through the meadows, up and over hills and valleys. What you would give to run free with him forever.

“She's here,” Seokjin’s voice nearly breaks as he half-rises from his chair, extending an arm to brush his thumb along your cheek. “After so long waiting for my queen, she's finally here.”

“You can see me?” You beg for clarity, but alas, he does not reply.

You pause atop a hill crested with wildflowers, white and pink rivers that cascade down the landscape, tumbling, flowing unbridled and uninhibited. Seokjin is a mere few paces behind you, slowing to appreciate the beauty ahead of you.

“My lord?” The attendant steps forward

“Can you not see her?” Seokjin turns, gesturing to you. “She's right here. She's come back to me after so long,” and there's so much fondness, so much promise in his voice that you know, just know that things will be okay. You will right every wrong, fight every demon- “I have missed her dearly.”

“I've missed you too,” you choke. “With every bone in my body I have missed you; I have been walking for days, Seokjin, I'm so sorry-”

It is then that your horse nickers and tenses, rearing without warning and whinnying like the devil himself. He panics, lashing and whirling about, and you can only hold on for so long before you are thrown from his back like a rock from a slingshot.

Seokjin is screaming. You have never heard him scream like that before, a sound that seems to so purely channel fear and terror and anguish, all in one. He is a roaring fury, knife drawn from his belt, and he beheads the snake lying hidden in one fluid motion before dropping to his knees at your side. His shoulders shake as he weeps, cradling your body to his as your eyes roll back in your head and you cough, frame shuddering, barely conscious.

“Sire, there is nobody there,” The attendant says, as softly, carefully as he can.

“Don't leave me,” he’s sobbing, over and over. “This is all my fucking fault, I'm so sorry, so so sorry-”

“My love,” you whisper, fingers brushing the inside of his palm. It is all the strength you can muster. “I will have gone a thousand years, but to still find your eyes imprinted on the breath of my soul.”

He’s whimpering, blubbering, desperate, screaming for help. Screaming and screaming, but there is no one to stop the ceaseless flow of blood, and your final act of life is to stain the sleeves of his riding jacket crimson where it lies comfortable across the breadth of your shoulders.

“I have never forgotten you,” he exhales. “It has been sixty years and not one day have I gone without envisioning your face in my hands, beautiful.”

“I’ll fix this,” you promise, but it's starting to fall into place now, why everything around you is falling apart. “I'll help fix the kingdom if you would just tell me what's wrong, Seokjin. Please, I want to help. Tell me what I can do.”

“I have loved you perhaps too much,” his voice cracks, wobbles with ache. “I've neglected these people, our people. I say our people because you have always been my queen; I have never taken another; there is no one who is worthy of replacing you.”

“Perhaps you should retire for the night, my king. You've had a long and tiresome day,” The attendant tries to coax Seokjin, but he pays the servant no mind.

“You're here in this moment for a reason, my sweet. You're here and we will fix this, I promise you,” Seokjin is nearly begging, the urgency in his voice bleeding scarlet. He rushes forward towards you. “We will fix this together-”

“Seokjin, my love-” You rush towards him with the same intensity, but your hand passes through his chest, and suddenly you are staring up at him, and his eyes are blank, unseeing.

The attendant clears his throat. “Your Majesty, there is no one there, sir. It is merely a draft.”

“I want to help you,” you plead, fingers tracing his sternum, his ribs, his heart. “I'm here, Seokjin. I'm here, right in front of you; I'm here. Believe in me. Believe in us; believe in love as I have believed in love. Please.”

The once-legendary prince, now dishonorable king looks out over a barren, desolate throne room as a zephyr of cold brushes icy digits down his shoulder, along his chest. “Ah,” he utters, sounding exhausted all at once. “I believe you're right.” A small chuckle parses his lips. “What am I saying? Perhaps I shall retire for the night, yes.” He pauses. “Goodnight, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, my lord.”

“Yoongi?”

“Yes, my king?”

“Start keeping the fire burning in the hearth. It's too drafty in this hall in the evenings.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Sleep well.”

“You as well, my faithful servant.”

#bts #bts angst #bts fluff #kpop angst #kpop fluff #seokjin angst #seokjin fluff #kpop fanfiction #bts au #verses and vibes #outroshooky

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greyias · 5 years ago

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FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 8

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

The strike team’s flight back from Korriban was just long enough to take a sizable break and get some rest. Theron had meant to leave the operations room that Darok had commandeered for their mission. Maybe stretch his legs and unwind a bit, but he’d gotten distracted with sorting through the data he’d absconded from the Sith Academy. He wasn’t really doing more than giving it a cursory look, just double and triple checking to make sure there were no nasty surprises in the code before he took any of it out of quarantine. It may have been paranoid to think that Sith would try and set a digital booby trap in their closed system — but better safe than sorry.

Darok had spent a majority of the time pacing, coordinating between the team left on Korriban and checking on the status of the package as it zipped its way across the galaxy. Theron had seemingly become invisible to him at this point, and hardly a word had passed between them since the strike team had entered hyperspace. It was just as well, since Theron preferred getting lost in the endless flow of data rather than having to listen to the strident tones of the colonel.

He hadn’t even really noticed the passage of time, until the door swished open, and Highwind strode in, cape fluttering behind her. Theron’s shoulders protested as he stood back up straight, a knot having formed from his hunched position. That round of celebration drinks was sounding really tempting right now — although it was difficult to tell if the guest-of-honor was still up for that. She had the carefully composed neutral facade typical of a Jedi in place as she met both his and Darok’s eye.

“Welcome back, Master Jedi,” Darok intoned, “I’ve heard congratulations are in order.”

“I don’t know about that, Colonel,” she said cautiously, pulling out a datacore, “but I retrieved the data from the Dark Council chambers as requested.”

“Excellent,” he accepted the item in question. “Do you realize that you just succeeded in a mission that many people never dared to dream was possible?”

A keen blue gaze studied the much larger man, although Theron wasn’t quite sure how to interpret the guarded expression. Whatever meditation she had done over the course of her flight, it was unclear if she had found the answers she’d been seeking.

“Anything is possible with the Force,” she said smoothly, and Theron quirked a brow. She glanced his way. From his position behind the console, it was impossible to read the expression. “But sometimes extra assistance goes a long way.”

He didn’t quite know what to make of that. “You’re welcome… I think.”

The neutral expression slipped for just a moment, and he thought he saw her lips twitch as if she were suppressing a smile.

Darok paid the silent byplay no mind, instead stowing away the datacore as he turned his full attention back to the Jedi. “Today we just proved that victory—true victory—is within our grasp. We’ve proven that Korriban is not an impenetrable fortress, and may have just retrieved the key to ending this war once and for all.”

“That is a nice thought,” Highwind said cautiously, “but the Sith have proven to be quite tenacious. It does not pay to underestimate them, despite whatever knowledge is contained within that datacore.”

“That’s very practical thinking, but it’s still a great day for the Republic nonetheless.”

A light on the console in front of Theron began to flash, pulling his attention from the conversation. It was from an auxiliary comm channel. He frowned. Usually those were reserved for emergency broadcasts and distress signals. It was odd for it to be routed to Carrick Station. He pulled up the feed and began to scan through it — and his stomach dropped.

It was from Tython. The message was short, and consisted only of several clipped phrases as if whoever had sent it had just barely had time to get their message through before it was cut off.

Iso-5 bombs — strike team — Jedi Temple under attack — need help

A face immediately flashed through Theron’s mind — an older woman valiantly trying to protect her home and students. That face shouldn’t have mattered to him, and yet still it felt as if someone had begun to tighten a vice around his chest. His mind should have immediately focused on the problem, but it took him a few more moments to process everything before his brain suddenly kicked back in. Without hesitation, he keyed in the code to sound the alarm.

“What the devil is that?” Darok demanded.

“It’s Tython,” Theron snapped, “they’re under attack!”

“They’re what?” Somehow the Jedi Master’s quiet voice cut through the loud whoop of the alarms, eyes wide with shock.

“Imperials forces just hit — they’re ransacking the temple.” Unbidden Satele’s image flashed through Theron’s mind again before he quickly banished it. “They need our support now.”

Darok gave a curt nod, immediately keying in his comm channel. “Blue Squadron, I need you to finish refueling and launch immediately with any troops not injured from Korriban.”

“How is this possible?” Highwind asked.

“We can find out when we get there,” Darok said, “if you and your team are still willing to help.”

“Of course we are, but I think we need to—”

“Shan,” he barked, “you gather whatever sensor data we can get and forward it to all forces. Everyone needs to be en route in five minutes. Now move!”

Theron gave a curt nod, fingers already dancing across the keys as he pulled in every node and scrap of data in. His brain was already racing, trying to map out what relays were available, what was compromised. Knowing Imperial protocols, they would have knocked out all communications. It was a miracle that someone had managed to get a distress signal out at all—

“Hold on, Colonel,” Highwind’s voice cut through tension in the room like a durasteel blade, “something about this isn’t right. We need to take a moment to think before rushing in.”

“Think? This is your home base being attacked, Master Jedi, and you want to sit around think? Let the Empire capture and ransack your people’s temple again?”

“We just attacked Korriban,” she shot back, “at the exact same time the Empire chooses to strike Tython?”

It was as if her words had thrown a bucket of cold water over Theron. His head snapped up and watched the byplay between the two commanding presences in the room. His fingers on the keys stilled as the panic that had been tightening around him dissipated. Now that it had been pointed out, Theron couldn’t not see the connection. This. This was what had been off about the whole mission — and he hadn’t figured it out until too late. He almost cursed aloud, but caught himself at the last moment.

“This cannot be a coincidence,” she insisted.

“You can meditate about coincidences later,” Darok snarled, “but my people and ships will be leaving in five minutes. That is, if you would like to join them.”

Her perfect mask of calm slipped, and for just a moment Theron caught a glimpse of the real woman underneath. Raw determination and anger bubbling just underneath the surface as she didn’t bother to hide her suspicion or indignation at the colonel’s words.

“I cannot stand by while others suffer,” she said firmly, meeting Darok’s eye, but there was an unspoken sentiment hanging in the air. Something else was going on here, and she wasn’t going to rest until she figured out what it was.

And she wasn’t the only one.

“I’ll pull up every scrap of data we’ve got,” Theron cut in, deliberately catching her eye and giving her just the barest of nods, “and talk you through the whole way.”

For a moment he wasn’t sure if she had caught his signal, but she paused, frowning ever-so-slightly before returning the tight nod. It was impossible to ignore the crisis at hand, and of the two of them she had the better chance at retaking Tython. But Theron could keep an eye on things here — especially the surly SpecOps officer shouting out orders over the comm.

“I will gather my crew and meet your men at the shuttle, Colonel,” she said tightly.

“Good. I’ll arrange for every available resource while you’re in transit.”

She let her gaze slip from Darok back to Theron, the severe expression lightening some. “I will be in touch.”

“I’ve sliced into every available sensor,” he said, not breaking eye contact with her as he added, “I should be able to keep an eye on everything from here.”

“We will get Tython back,” she promised, tone so fierce and filled with determination, that not even Theron could doubt that she meant it. “I promise.”

A brief thought of his mother flashed through his mind, but he quickly banished it. He had to focus right now, not get distracted by thoughts of his estranged family. Instead he gave her what he hoped was a confident smile, although it felt too tight and uncomfortable to be real. “Watch your back.”

#swtor fanfiction #theron shan x jedi knight #Theron Shan #Female Jedi Knight/Hero of Tython #oc: greyias highwind #otp: adorkable #smoke and mirrors #SoR Fic O Doom #swtor #fanfic #greyfic #it will probably take a lot longer to get the next three chapters out #since i'm still working on them #so update spam will slow for a little bit!

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ilovemygaydad · 6 years ago

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punk!patton is adopted by single parent logan part 1/?

short little backstory: this is something I planned up while going to sleep last night because I’d run out of fics to plan (because I haven’t actually wrote those things down... and need to not get too ahead....), but I actually got inspired to write it down and share it? also shout out to the fic miraculously their own because it made me think about adoption fics, and thus this idea

tl;dr: i made a fic about punk!patton being adopted. that’s it.

warnings: really awful people, bad parents, bullying, swearing, physical/verbal violence, homophobic slurs, homophobia, transphobia, sexual assault threat, patton’s honestly a bit of an asshole sometimes, fatalism, possibly something else?

pairings: eventual moxiety, maybe eventual logince

part two - part three - part four - part five - ao3 version - masterlist (includes asks)

patton is orphaned at three years old. he’s got fluffy brown curls, and these beautiful brown eyes, and a soft, round face, and so much soft pudge. he’s the cutest little thing. he seems like the kind of kid who would immediately be adopted

except he’s not

problem is, he’s just got so many emotions

and these prospective parents want the kids who are happy all the time, not the one who feels things so intensely

so he isn’t adopted

a few years later, he’s got these prospective parents who find him just precious. he’d been sitting in the corner of the playroom and reading winnie the pooh. the sweetest, quietest little boy.

and they set up a second time to come meet him

but when they arrive, he’s wrestling with the older kids and laughing and screaming and being a rambunctious child

those parents don’t come back after that...

fast forward to patton’s tenth birthday, and the older kids corner him after the celebration

“you know, once you hit double digits... it means you’re never going to be adopted.”

it just hits patton that no one wants a loud, excitable kid who’s over the age of ten, and he just kind of gives up

he loses himself in music and books and shuts himself off from the world

(the rest under the cut because this is obviously going to get long)

by sixteen, patton is dressing in all black and painting his nails and wearing dark eye makeup and lashing out at everyone

he’s the oldest at the orphanage by about four years

he also has his own room because he got in too many fights with the caretakers and other kids

he doesn’t mind. it gives him more privacy if anything

besides, it isn’t like he comes out of his room unless he’s forced

and when he’s forced, he absolutely fucking hates it

he sits in the corner of the playroom in a chair that isn’t comfortable for anyone over the age of five and stares at his phone, refusing to acknowledge anyone or anything

he’s so wrapped up in whatever’s on his phone that he doesn’t notice when someone comes up to him until they start talking

“hello. that chair seems rather uncomfortable.”

patton nearly falls right out of that damn chair at the sudden acknowledgement

he looks up and sees a man in his thirties sitting on an empty milk crate that previously had toys in it. the man looks like he stepped straight out of some stuffy office--tie and all

“yes, and?”

the man’s neutral expression doesn’t waver as he says “I’m Logan Summers. what’s your name?”

“nunya”

“nunya? that’s an interesti--”

“nunya business”

“oh...”

and they just kinda sit in awkward silence for a few seconds before logan speaks up again

“how much older are you than the other kids here?”

and patton just kinda stops because he thought that this dude would ditch when he gave him attitude, but he didn’t, and he doesn’t know what to do, so he just... answers honestly

“four,” he says

and logan gives him this knowing look and makes an offer that he can’t refuse:

“i’m sure that you’ve lost hope in being adopted, but i’d like to take you with me and at least give you some place to fall back on if you need it. i won’t try to be a martyr parent, but i’ll definitely try to make you feel accepted”

so he lets logan adopt him

summer passes, and it’s time for school to start up for the year

and it’s patton’s first school experience (he’d been homeschooled at the orphanage for his whole life), so logan gets really excited and takes him back to school shopping and buys him some new (all black) clothes and school supplies

logan even offers to drive him to school, even though the school that he teaches at is all the way across town

patton refuses and just takes public transport

he gets to school and absolutely hates how fucking busy it is, so he heads straight for his first class and sits in the back corner of the classroom and messes around on his phone until attendance is taken and his teacher starts talking

and the teacher is talking about the class, it’s american english, and they’re expected to try because they’re juniors, blah, blah, blah

but then

she tells them that they have to do a little ice breaker project with the person sitting next to them

so she explains it and tells everyone to go talk to their neighbor

patton being the edgy teenager that he is doesn’t move at all, letting his partner move their desk over to his

and they do

so patton looks over and finds this tiny boy in a soft lavender oversized jumper and translucent lavender glasses that take up half of his face. he has freckles dusting his rosy cheeks and nose, and he looks what patton imagined that he would’ve turned out like if he’d been adopted as a kid

“uh,” the boy says in a shy, sweet voice. “my name is virgil... you are...?”

patton really doesn’t want to have to deal with people, so he scowls and says “look, i’m not really here to make friends and exchange pleasantries, so let’s get this thing done and move on to never speaking again”

and the kid just deflates and nods, not speaking again for the rest of the class except to offer a few words here and there

patton’s fine with that

eventually, the class ends, and patton takes his sweet time getting to his second period class because--shocker--he still hates this damn school and the damn people

so the final bell has rung, and he’s walking in the empty hall

but, as per usual, there’s a catch

three jocks are trailing behind him, exchanging some quote-unquote witty banter

“ohhhhh, fresh meat! wonder what rock he crawled out from...” “who cares, have you seen him? he’s wearing all that makeup to pretend to be a girl!” “or he’s just gay! wouldn’t that just be hilarious” “wouldn’t he just love it if we took him to the locker rooms for some fun...”

patton ignores them in hopes that they’ll get bored and leave him alone

they don’t, and not a second later, he’s pinned against a locker by one of those jocks, and their wicked grins are almost enough to make him scared

luckily enough, he’s been in enough fights to know some self defense techniques

but he isn’t able to use them because he hears someone shout from a little down the hall

“hey! you leave him alone!”

and that voice is virgil’s for some godforsaken reason

and one of the jocks snarls and goes to take care of their interruption

a few moments later, patton sees virgil flung into the lockers by a punch to the face, followed by a few choice slurs, and something in him just fucking snaps

he sharply kicks up at the same time that he pushes forward, successfully dislodging the boy holding him to the lockers with a shout

one of the teachers finally comes out, but it just so happens that it’s at the same moment that patton breaks one of the jocks’ nose...

and they all get in so much trouble

logan scolds the hell out of patton when he arrives to pick him up because it’s only the first day of school, damn it!

but patton isn’t listening because he hears these adults--the parents of the jocks--screaming things like “how dare you do this to or baby boys!” and he sees them yelling these things at virgil and he does That Thing again

he storms up to them and just shouts at them

“listen here, you shit stains! virgil did absolutely nothing wrong! he was trying to protect me from those asshole sons of yours! they physically and verbally harassed me, and they threatened to sexually assault me! your ‘baby boys’ are nothing but menaces to society!”

and with that, he stomps out of the school, brushing past logan, who witnessed the whole rampage

to be continued....... IN PART TWO

@residentanchor, you wanted to hear this idea..... so!

#m speaks #m writes things #moxiety #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman shows up i PROMISE #punk!patton au

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karenninaaa · 5 years ago

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Chapter 11 of Across the Street

read entire fic on AO3.

The moment Tony stepped foot in his garage, Friday told him that he had 17 missed calls from his best friend.

“Boss, incoming call from Col. James Rhodes,” Friday said.

“Answer.” He sat on the worn-out swivel chair near the worktable.

“Why aren’t you answering my calls?!”

“Woah, woah, Yosemite Sam, what’s with the tone –what’s the matter-?”

“What’s the matter? I’ve been calling you for-”

“Yeah, this is like the 18th time to be exact. We’ve just talked 8 hours ago. Did you miss me already?”

“After hanging up on me and leaving some alarming message, how could I not call back? I was so close to calling out a SWAT team.”

Tony was confused. “Alarming message-?” Then it clicked. “Oh! The black car I told you about that was outside earlier.”

“Yeah,” Rhodes answered immediately. “What was that all about? Were they spying on you? Do you think they’re dangerous-?”

“He’s not spying on me. He was spying on my neighbor,” Tony explained. “Pepper’s the one who’s in danger. I was at her house earlier to help her out. That’s why I wasn’t able to answer your calls.”

There was a beat of silence. “This is the second time I’ve heard of Pepper. Who is she exactly?”

Tony leaned his head back on the headrest as he stared on the ceiling. He spun around in his chair. “Just a neighbor.”

“That you’re helping out?” Rhodes continued.

“Yeah, I told you she’s in danger. There’s a psycho stalker lurking around her.” He sat up straighter. “Wait you said you can call in SWAT?”

“Yeah, do you want me to make a call?”

Tony sagged into his seat as he waved his hand. “Forget about it. It would be hard to explain to her how I got a SWAT team on site. It might freak her out too.”

“Wait, doesn’t she know who you are?”

“She doesn’t know my surname and I have no plans on telling her just yet.” He reached for a small screw driver on the table and began to fidget with it.

“I’m a bit confused. Are we back to playing secret identity here? Does she look suspicious to you?”

Tony sighed. “It’s not that. She works at Stark Industries and it would be awkward if she knows who I am.”He was curious about her from the moment they had first met. So maybe he had done a bit of research about her way before. He paused and smiled. “Besides, I like that I’m just Tony to her, you know, just the neighborhood mechanic.”

“Now I want to go back to the States immediately,” Rhodes said.

“Why, because you miss me?”

“Cause things are starting to get interesting.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Are they?”

“This Pepper gal is making me curious, man. I want to know why you’d consider calling in a SWAT team, just for her.”

Tony sat up straighter once again. He waved the screwdriver in the air. “Tsk. You know how dangerous stalkers can be.”

“Since when did you start to care so much about your neighbors? All you cared about in the past was their car engines when they needed them fixed.”

“I. . .” Tony trailed off. He paused. He wasn’t quite sure how to phrase out loud the things that had been on his mind lately. “She’s like me ten years ago. She’s got her own Unknown too. She doesn’t know when the Unknown is going to come for her. And we both know how maddening that can be, right? And I . . .” He exhaled. “I can’t just turn my back on that. I’ve got you, Happy and Obie. You all had helped me to be where I am today. I would have gone crazy if it wasn’t for you guys. And she . . . She’s so stubborn to go through all of that alone because she doesn’t want to burden the people close to her. Someone has to volunteer and step up and help her, just like what you did for me back then.”

There was only silence on Rhodey’s end.

Tony blinked. “Hey, Rhodey, you still there?”

“Yeah, I am . . .”

Tony snorted in laughter. “What? Were you moved by my speech?”

“I’m so close to tears man.”

Tony snorted back a laugh.

“Thanks.”.

“And you know, just proud. . . “

“You should be. You’ve got a genius best friend after all.”

“And my best friend has come a long way.”

Tony smiled.

“I expect to meet Pepper when I come by there.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Is she pretty?”

“She’s okay.”

“She’s really pretty then.”

Friday voice suddenly echoed. “Another incoming call from Thomas Patel.”

“Hey, hate to interrupt our lovely conversation, but I’ve got another call coming,” Tony said.

“You’re always so eager to escape a conversation when you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t try to fool someone who has known you since you were fifteen. See you next week.” He hung up before Tony could protest.

Tony glared ahead. Sometimes, he wondered if it was really okay to have a friend who knew how to get to him. He ignored the warming of his cheeks as he answered Thomas’ call. He rubbed his neck.

“Why did you not tell me that Ms. Potts is also working at Stark Industries?”

“Why do people keep on yelling at me on the phone? Nobody has any phone manners today,” Tony griped. “Hello to you too.”

“Sorry. It’s just that, I’ve looked her up.” Thomas elaborated. “Miss Potts is working in the Accounting Department.”

“And?”

“Did you forget to tell me that?”

“Sort of.” Tony shrugged.

“Yep you forgot to tell me this tiny but very important detail. What if we meet in the hallways? What am I gonna tell her? You’re the one who’s so adamant about keeping everything a secret!”

“Then do your best to hide from her, I guess.”

“Wow, I really love my boss. . .”

“I’m detecting sarcasm. And aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting?”

“Should I just submit a resignation letter?”

“You’re not going to really do that.”

“You’re right. I can’t do it because I need this job to survive in this harsh world full of capitalism. How am I supposed to hide from her? We’re working on the same building!”

“Look, you two never crossed paths until now, so what are the chances that you’re going to see each other in the hallways like you said.”

“What if we do?”

“You figured out Poincaré Conjecture when you were ten. I’m sure you’ll figure something out. I’m hanging up. I’m gonna grab some lunch. Bye.” Tony hung up.

“I’m done installing the cams and they’re working just fine.” Tony gazed down at the tablet in his hand. Footage from every angle of the house were displayed on the screen.

He was back at Pepper’s house. Like he had promised, he went back to her house when her friends had left. He was standing in the living room. Meanwhile, Pepper was sitting down at the couch. The box containing the tech was opened next to her. Plastic and bubble wrap littered the floor. She tried to be helpful earlier, but after plugging in all the wrong cables one after another, Tony just made her sit down. Though, Pepper being the stubborn woman she was, refused to do nothing at all. She resorted to passing some screws and pliers to him and occasionally rebooting the system when needed to. Tony had learned that she was adept when it came to software.

“I am going to teach you how to work with the OS later.” Tony looked up at her.

Pepper was staring into space. She looked like she hadn’t heard any of what he had just said. Her forehead creased in a small frown.

He had the sudden urge to wrap his arms around her, and comfort her. He wished he could take his thumb and smooth the wrinkles out of her forehead. Instead, he awkwardly perched himself next to her on the couch.

Pepper blinked. She turned her head to look at Tony.

He picked up a white rectangular box on the coffee table, then peeled off the seal. He was aware that she was watching him, curious what might be inside of the box. He hadn’t told her yet what was inside the box, only that they would open it last.

Tony removed the lid. Inside was a digital wristwatch. A thick, black rubber strap was attached to both ends of a silver, square screen.

He plucked out the watch. “Give me your hand.”

“Huh?”

He glanced at her as he held out his hand. “Your hand, I need it.”

Reluctantly and slowly, she extended her right hand to him. Tony held her hand as he fastened the wristwatch around her wrist. He noticed how petite and pale her hand was and how soft her skin was under his rough fingers.

“This wristwatch needs to detect body heat signatures to turn on the system. It doesn’t have an on switch on it, that’s why.” Tony explained. He locked the wristwatch. “But don’t worry, you’ll only have to do that once. When the OS starts to work, you’ll only have your fingerprint to turn it back on. It will shift to sleep mode when not in use.” Moments later, the screen lit up. Several menus popped up.

“Oh! It already turned on.” He grinned at her and then looked back at the screen. He reached for her other hand as he settled down her right wrist on his lap. “Let me borrow your left thumb please.” He pressed her left thumb on the screen. The screen scanned her fingerprint. “It’s for identification. By default you’re the only one who can access this watch but you can always change it if you want. There, it’s done. I’ll tell you about the other features later. For now, you just need to know that it’s not just a watch.”

“How come . . .?”

His thumb caressed the back of her hand. Tony looked at her. “It’s also a panic button.”

“Panic button?” Pepper tilted her head.

He nodded. “If you’re in trouble or if you’re in danger or something, just press the screen really hard with your left thumb and I’ll get an alert and I’ll be there.”

“You?”

He nodded again.

“Why you?”

“Don’t you want me to be?”

“I mean it’s not that I don’t want to but with my anxiety I might press the panic button every minute-”

“Then I’ll be there.”

Pepper laughed.

“You can’t just be there every time I’m a little nervous, you have your own life I just can’t-”

“I told you, I’m the most reliable guy you could ever ask for. So I’ll be there.”

Pepper stared at him. Tony couldn’t gauge if it was because she doubted him. He was usually confident at reading body language and subtle gestures, but with Pepper he was always double guessing. Sure, sometimes, he could figure it out immediately. But there were times that Pepper was so composed and guarded, like right now. Most women wouldn’t hesitate to lay out their feelings for him. Why couldn’t Pepper be like that?

“Uhm, Tony . . .”

“Yeah?”

“My hands.”

Tony looked down. His face burned. He pulled his hands away immediately.

“Sorry,” Tony looked away.

“It’s okay. So uh, how are you going to know where I am if I pressed the panic button?”

“There’s a tracker-”

“Tracker?” She cut in. Her brows knitted together.

“Yeah.” It was his turn to frown. “Why? Do you feel uncomfortable-?”

“Killian put a tracker on me before.”

“Shit. I didn’t know you’ve got a peeve on it-if you don’t like it we can-“

“It’s alright.” She looked down at the wristwatch. She smiled at him. “Maybe it’s a good thing anyway. Like a reminder that trackers aren’t that bad.”

He’d known since the beginning that Pepper’s smiles were pretty. But now, Tony had realized that her smiles weren’t just pretty. Her smiles that came from her deepest fear and were drawn out by her unyielding courage made them extraordinary. Tony liked that even more.

Initially, Virginia thought that her heart was pounding out of fear.

And then, she realized that her heart felt like it was about to burst from her chest for another reason.

Was it because of the way he looked at her when he had said that he was the most reliable guy she could ask for? Or was it the way he smiled at her? At that moment, she felt like she had momentarily forgotten the existence of fear. The time around them had warped-- every second felt like a long time where she was free from the crushing anxiety that had been weighing her down. She was left free to breathe and all she could hear was the giddy pounding of her heart. Was it the excited look on his face when he explained the technicalities of the technologies she couldn’t understand? Was it the gleam in his eyes or the concentrated look on his face as his hands twisted and plugged the wires? Was it the hours that they spent together that told her that it was alright to trust this man, because unlike her who was light as a leaf that quakes under the influence of the slightest breeze, he was as steady as a boulder in a hurricane, as he confidently solved every problem he was faced with.

Or maybe, it was the way he held his hands oh so gently as if her hands were paper-thin porcelain. His hands that felt so warm in contrast to her hands that felt like ice because of the anxiousness that plagued her every moment.

In all those moments with him, her heart beat like it was scared, but she was sure didn’t feel scared. Contrary, it was those moments that she felt safest.

That night as she lay in her bed with her eyes closed, she could feel the coldness of the metal of the wristwatch against her skin. It was somewhat soothing. She thought about her day. She thought about how she was lying calmly in her bed instead of tossing and turning around, despite knowing that Killian knew where she lived. Perhaps, Tony was right. It was easier to go through the rough things with someone at your side, someone whom she could share her fears with and not worry that she was sharing her burdens with him as well.

She opened her eyes. She raised her arm and stared at the wristwatch.

In the end, her heart that was like a drum inside her ribcage was softly telling her that it was okay to believe in him, that he was going to be there when she called his name.

She was thankful though, through the years, she had mastered how to collect herself and hide her jittery heart. That no one but her who could see how fragile her heart was and listen to the agitated beating of her heart. And then, she had a fleeting thought. What if she let Tony listen and hear what her heart sounded like? Could he tame it and hold it like how he had gently held her hands before?

She drifted off to sleep with his name as her last thought and her first thought when she had woken up.

And funny, how she had woken up late in the morning on a weekend when she was always an early riser. Strangely, she’d had a goodnight’s sleep, which had become so rare.

She yawned as she climbed down the stairs tightly wrapping her silk robe around her. She was at the end of the stairs when her doorbell rang.

She froze.

Her first thought was Killian.

She swallowed. Her mind was suddenly on high alert. She wrapped her hand on her wristwatch. That was right. If it was Killian, she could easily call Tony. Might as well put the wristwatch into use and see if it truly worked. But then, knowing Tony it would definitely work.

She cautiously went to the door, gripping her wristwatch.

She opened it.

She blinked.

“Oh my . . .” Tony was standing at her door in his usual plaids. He looked at her from head to foot. “Don’t tell me you just woke?”

She nodded.

“It’s past 10 in the morning. You’re usually an early riser.”

“I thought so too.”

“I thought you were holing yourself up in here.” Then he smiled. “I’m glad you’re still getting sleep.”

There. That smile again. It wasn’t like he hadn’t smiled at her before. But what was different with his smile now that it was making her heart skip a beat? It was the kind of smile where the side of his eyes crinkled and showed all his perfect white teeth. It reminded her of the first time she saw him at Mayday and like that very first time, she couldn’t help but be drawn to that smile.

“So,” Tony spoke jolting her up from her thoughts. He rubbed his hands together. “I heard from my twins that you bake.”

“Yeah, and?”

“I was thinking of inviting you to join us. We are planning to bake some pastries for my twins’ bake sale at school. And they straight up told me that you’re a better baker than I will ever be.”

Virginia laughed then she tried to rein her laughter by pressing her lips together. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing.”

“No, it’s fine. I like that my kids were being honest with me actually.”

That made her laugh even more.

“So are you up for it or . . .?”

“Sure. Give me an hour and I’ll go to your house. I promised them that we would bake some time anyways.”

“Cool. Then we’ll prepare the ingredients. See you later.”

Tony went back to his house. Virginia smiled as she closed the door. It had been so long since she last baked and baking was something she liked doing the most. Lately, it felt like there was no place for her where she could do the things she loved without feeling suffocated and overwhelmed. She only had this house as her own safe haven, but now it felt threatening all of a sudden because of the thought that Killian could show up in any corner at the least expected moment.

She didn’t know that something fun could still be inserted in the midst of the chaos she was in. Tony, in his own way, had managed to provide a small refuge where she could breathe again, even if only temporarily.

#pepperony #pepperony fic #pepper potts #tony stark #harley keener #peter parker #au fic #single dad tony #peter and harley as twins #ao3 #karennina writes

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