#i tortured my sleep pattern tonight for this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angelisverba · 1 year ago

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achilles heel

in which y/n gets herself into another precarious situation and wants her dealer to help her, and harry can’t help but feel conflicted about how much he wants her

read part one here

word count: 14k

pairing: plug!h and y/n

warning: bad trip! peer pressure, drug coercion, drugs, mentions of bullying, sexual content!

author’s note: there aren’t any facts to back up the use of any kind of sexual enhancers, so much of this experience is improvised and not actually something that would happen irl in terms of science. love you!

Two slow, torturously long weeks pass- one in which he was out of business entirely trying to stock his inventory up again- before he hears from her again. In the middle of the night, it’s beginning to become a pattern for them. He only hopes that this time, it’s not for an asshole group of people.

His bohemian dream of a room is upturned, messy, as he’s been a grump about not seeing her. There’s shirts strewn everywhere, his bed is a rumpled mess and he wishes that it were because he had sex in it instead of restlessly sleeping. He’s coming out of the shower with a white towel low on his hips. There are clouds of thick steam coming out from his open bathroom door and while a majority is from the hot water he hoped would soothe his tense body, there's a bit of thicker, headier smoke from the skinny spliff he hotboxed while in the tub.

And it hadn’t worked for shit. Because he was still cranky, still restless. His fingers were itching to do something, and if he hadn’t just smoked weed, he would be in his garage, throwing around weights like a madman to try and get himself tired. Sadly, he wasn’t even fucking horny, so jerking off wasn’t an option.

Sidestepping his sweatpants by the edge of his bed, Harry grips the thick of the fabric at his crotch and reaches for a pair of clean underwear from a drawer at his bedside table, furrows his eyebrows at the box of condoms stashed in there, and pull on white boxers. He throws the towel at the end of his bed and lays back with his arms splayed wide, sighing dramatically. He felt deeply sorry for himself.

Y/n was probably never going to talk to him again because the last few times they had seen each other, Harry was a complete dick to her, acting every bit like the asshole drug dealer that had a criminal reputation. God, the girl was probably scared of him. He fucked his all-

Ping!

This phone went off with a notification. The same tone he had assigned her, and Harry’s body lurched off the bed. His arms swept the expanse of his bed, ruffling his duvet in search of the device.

Ping!

It went off again, and the urgency in which he was searching increased. Where the fuck was his-

He found it when it thunked onto the floor, and with shaking hands, he unlocked it.

Y/n: Hi, Harry!

Are you available for delivery at the moment?

Of course he is. Always, for her. But he didn’t type that back, obviously. He had to be cool.

Harry: I am. What can I get you?

The gray dots appear instantly, and he gets another text shortly after.

Y/n: Do you have any brownies?

He had been to a frat party earlier in the day in which a group of senior guys had taken some pot brownies off his hands. Before confirming with her, he double-checks his inventory on the notes app folder he has just to keep track of stock.

Harry: I have half a dozen left tonight

Should he have added a smiley face? No, that would have been creepy right?....

Y/n: Perfect :D ! I’ll take five, please!

Harry: No problem. Can I have the address, please?

She sends it not even a minute later. All concerns regarding driving a vehicle while high unethically fly out of his mind because honestly, he wasn’t even high anymore. Not even feeling it. She was only twenty minutes away, ten if he didn’t pay attention to laws.

Harry: I’m On my way!

Y/n: See you soon!

Yeah, fuck the laws.

***

He makes it in 8 minutes.

And something about this house doesn’t feel right.

He didn’t realize it until the houses started looking nice and the parked cars on the side of the street started getting more expensive than the address she had provided him with was one on the wealthier side of town. He knew of a guy that lived here who everyone talked about because his method of acquiring money was sketchier than Harry’s, and well… that said a lot given that Harry sold drugs for a living.

The end of the driveway that he parks on is wide enough to be a two-way street. One of the lights flickered on by the motion sensor as Harry took his helmet out and shook his hair back. In his rush to get here, he hadn’t put on a shirt, and with his leather jacket left unzipped, his tattoos were on full display. The moonlight gleamed on the ridges of his abdomen, casting shadows across the markings on his skin. He was warm despite the chill in the air, and the cool drift of the night wind on his muscles was a welcome feeling.

Harry just didn’t realize how… devilish he looked. He appeared every bit the bad boy ready to sweep you off your feet in the summer, and the serious expression on his face added to the mystery. Wondering if this time she was able to hear his motorcycle from deep inside wherever she was in that mansion of the house, Harry kicked his stand down, hung his helmet on the handlebar, and took his phone out to let her know he was here.

Harry: I’m outside

Grey bubbles pop-up, squiggling like a little wave. And then…

Y/n: Be right there!

All of the breath in his lungs vacates his chest, and he gets warmer than he already was. Pacing the short lengths of his motorcycle, he wonders how he may get more nervous to see her every time he sees her. He never used to be this way, not even with a girl he wanted to talk up at a bar. There was a confidence within him, this shine that sprouted from knowing that he knew he was the shit, and he was going to use that to his advantage, to make a girl blush and stutter. Instead, she was the one to turn him inside out. He forgot all about basic manners around her. He forgot how to smile without questioning if his smile was wonky. He thought-

“Hi, Harry!”

He thought she looked so fucking sexy tonight.

Coming from the front door, y/n is a wispy, gauzy mirage. Her feet are wobbly, and there’s a glass tumbler in her hand with a toothpick-skewered olive. She’s smiling so brightly at him, and this unrestricted happiness at his appearance alarms him. Where is the timid girl who speaks to him with a voice barely above a whisper? She must be drunk he thinks.

An itchy feeling he can’t shake off overcomes him because the girl is wearing a lacy slip dress that is so sheer, he can see her pink undergarments underneath. A white cardigan slides off her shoulders and hangs on to her elbow like a satin bow slipping loosely from a gift. He can’t decide if he wants to tie her back up or unravel her.

She runs the last few steps to him, and either she miscalculates her stop, or trips on a pebble because suddenly, she’s in his arms and he’s holding her upright. And he’s also breathing heavily because a rush of blood has made its way down to his cock and he knows she can see it pressing through his jeans and against her belly if the way her eyes go round is any indication.

Her drink slips from her hand, and shatters at their feet. The loud scattering of glass makes her jump, and an apology is clumsily stumbling from her mouth while she tries to pull herself from his embrace. Harry, however, tightens his hold. His fingers squeeze at her waist, and through the lace of her dress, he can feel the overlapping fabric of her panties. Without saying anything, he lifts her and takes a few steps to the side before setting her down away from the hazard.

“What-” her brows furrow, and her head tilts to the side. She isn’t rushing out of his arms now.

Interrupting her, Harry explains, “y’were about to step on the glass.”

“Oh,” y/n is back to whispering as her eyes travel all over his face, “thank you.”

With her in his arms, Harry has forgotten how to act. His mind is blank as a sheet of paper, and his lungs are expanding and contracting but oxygen isn’t really reaching him because he smells something sweet combined with alcohol on her warm breath. He sees how y/n’s facial expressions resemble that of a guppy fish, and he realizes that maybe he should let her go but he can’t because… because her fingers are shifting around his arms and she’s kind of shifting her weight and writhing and Harry still has a fucking boner so this is all-

He steps back, observing her shiver, and clears his throat. “Of course. Are you…are you cold?”

“Cold?” she asks. Her voice is silvery like the incantation of a church bell and he wants to fall to his knees are revere her, to beg for forgiveness, for her to cleanse him of all his sins. The night air has turned him into some kind of animal, he decides. The moon has transformed him into the hungry, howling wolf who will only be silenced by knowing her in the most carnal way. Meeting under the blanket of darkness has decided their fate.

“You’re shivering,” he states, voices unwavering and factual. That confidence he was missing before has somehow found its way back. Like tectonic plates, the tension has shifted in his favor. Harry gathers the courage to fix the cardigan on her shoulders.

His hands graze the cool skin of her biceps, and he doesn’t miss the way she textures with evidence of her intimidation. The way her breath stops altogether and he mumbles under his breath, “Just fixing y’up, darling. Y’can breathe, m’not gonna bite,” and she drops her arms at her side to let him help her, and then…

He feels the thin, sharp glide of her fingernails at his sternum. How can a single touch be so erotic? His jeans are too tight over his bulge, and fighting a groan, he exhales deeply, looking up at her to find her eyes droopy, staring at his butterfly tattoo. Her mouth moves around the shape of pretty before her eyes flicker up at him. They both freeze. Prey and predator, caught before the deadly pounce.

But y/n breaks their eye contact.

Harry drags the fabric up so it sits properly on her shoulders, and slides his fingers down to the front, so he can begin with the first button. His fingers drag unnecessarily like syrup on the skin right above her slip, and her audible gulp along with her choked, thank you check him back into his manners. She might have toyed with him, albeit unknowingly, but he welcomed it. He doubted that she was 100% sure if she wanted that reciprocated, so he stopped. As much as it hurt him to do so, he stopped.

At the last button, he reluctantly steps back, “All done, don’t want to get sick now, do you?”

And he manages a smile. It’s small, with just a bit of a cocky gap between his lips to white teeth. His hands slip into his front pockets, pulling his jeans forward subtly to give his dick some breathing room. He feels branded where she touched him, that sliver of skin hot with burning desire. Visions of them together flash behind his eyes like bits of a dream he’s trying hard to remember.

“You’re right,” she mumbles, “thank you.” Y/n wraps her arm around herself and can't seem to make eye contact with him.

The rational side of him that’s drowning in his tunnel vision reminds him that he’s there to do something (deliver drugs), so he moves around to the compartment and pulls out the paper bag. This time, it’s decorated in a field of smiling, dancing daisies sprouting from the bottom of the bag. “Here are your brownies,” giving her the bag, he laments that he’s going to have to leave her soon.

“How much do I owe you?” Y/n blinks up at him like she’s just barely waking up. Like she’s trying hard to stay focused, just like him. But that would be silly, Harry thinks, because there’s no way they share the same feelings. She only touched him because she’s drunk, or tipsy, and he’s just a drug dealer, and no matter how much of a boner he has for her, his dreams of rutting over her like a dog in heat aren’t going to come true. She’s too delicate for him.

He feels shitty taking money from her, but that is his livelihood, and chances were the douchebags buying from her probably threw more money at her than necessary given how rich they were. So, he tells her the total, and he hands him- just like he expected- crisp bills.

“Thank you,” he says, taking the money from her and shoving it into his compartment. His legs make no move to straddle his bike, even though that’s what his brain tells them to do. They’re not really listening to him though. And y/n stands them holding the bag, staring at the shattered glass and worrying her lip between her teeth. She’s not in any rush to get back inside, so Harry asks her a question- something that’s been on his mind ever since he left her the last time- to keep her out a little longer, “h-how was it? Last time, I mean. Smoking with those people?”

The girl straightens at the memory, suddenly energized. “Oh! I didn’t actually do it. They tried to get me to, but I didn’t in the end.”

Jerking his chin towards the bag in her hand, “Do y’plan on eating some of these?”

Y/n shakes her head, “Not really, I have work tomorrow. So does everyone else but,” she shrugs, pursing her lips a little and looks over her shoulder at the house. The relatively quiet house. “I already drank a little more than I should have.”

“I see.” Nodding, he’s left with no other choice but to reach for his helmet to put it back on. It’s time to leave. For the life of him, he can’t seem to figure out why such a sweet girl would continue to choose to hang out with people like this. Who drink and do drugs recklessly. He was concerned for her safety, and he made a mental note to ask Mitch about it. He wasn’t anyone to tell her what to do.

He wishes he were, but he wasn’t.

“Well, be safe, okay? Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Harry. I’ll see you,” and she waves at him with a small, shy smile. The cardigan is already slipping off her shoulder even though it was buttoned up, and she turns around to walk back into the house.

Harry’s finally gotten to dozing off when his phone rings.

Blindly, he slaps his hand around and curses whoever is on the other end of the line for interrupting his maladaptive dreaming about y/n. He got home grumpy, slamming doors behind him and stomping around his own home. Feeling sorry for himself, he had turned on his Sade playlist and allowed her smoky voice to lull him to sleep. Creases had decorated the space between his thick brows, his pink lips literally turned upside down and occasionally he mumbled curse words at himself. In effort to relieve his own stress, he turned on a lavender candle, and it burned dimly on his bedside.

“Yeah?” He rasps sleepily into the phone, annoyance dripping from his voice.

There’s a couple of sniffles on the other end. This gets his attention, his eyes snapping open as his ears strain to listen, and then, “H-Harry?”

Was he still dreaming? Harry bolted upright from his bed, dragging a hand over his face. Was that actually y/n’s weepy, crying voice leaking through his speaker? He recognized the normally sweet voice, but instead of shy and timid, it was shaky and sad… maybe even a little panicked.

“Y/n?” Harry asked, spiking up in volume as a million-and-one scenario of her in danger played out in his mind. “What’s wrong?”

She hiccuped, “I-I was- Everyone was- They gave me a piece and said I should- But I didn’t want to and they- I don’t-” The poor girl was making no sense, and couldn’t seem to keep track of her thoughts, whether it be because she was too frazzled, or her irregular sobs stole the rest of her sentences and she would start new. The fact that he has just woken up, remnants of sleep leaving him more and more by the second, didn’t help either. He had to get her to calm down somehow.

“Sweetheart,” He interjected, repeating the endearment twice before she stopped talking long enough for him to get his word in. “ Listen to me… Take a deep breath, listen to my voice.”

Y/n made a long, keening noise, and something stirred his gut like the whirls of dark waters in turbulent seas. This wasn’t normal. She wasn’t herself, which only left one thing, “I’m trying but my skin feels weird and-”

She was having a bad trip.

Those fuckers have coerced her into taking something, whether it be the brownies he sold her, or some other drugs they had in the house. Y/n had taken drugs against her will, and she was stuck in a place where she didn’t feel entirely comfortable with anyone there because these were the same people that bullied her at her workplace. The situation she was in, and the simple fact that they did not respect when she said no made his blood boil. He felt like a caged cat, pacing back and forth, tail swiping low on the ground.

But his next thought cowed him.

If the drugs she had consumed were his brownies, did that mean he was partially to blame? He was responsible for there being something to press on her, to begin with, wasn’t he? He delivered them into her hands, which she then transferred to her party, and they turned it around on her. Harry was at the start of all of this.

He sat up, and ran his hand through his hair, swallowing back the sour taste that started at the back of his mouth and twisted his chest. Pushing all of it aside, he focused on her, “I know darling, I know. Close y’eyes. S’gonna be okay, y/n. Close your eyes.”

Rough, uneven breaths reverberated through his speaker, and he realized she was trying to calm herself. Harry wanted to scream and punch something. This is his fault. She was having a bad trip because of him. There were times when he was feeling generous and upped the milligram ingredient in his pastries, and he can’t remember if he did that this time but regardless, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt he’s ever felt this guilty. He could have said no, when she texted him. Or not respond at all. But he was selfish and wanted to see her. This is where his selfishness got him.

“M’kay.” She responds a little more sure, but it isn’t enough for him. He started this mess, now he has to fix it. He gets out of bed again, in such a rush that his duvet ends up strewn on the floor, and he reaches to tug his recklessly discarded jeans over his long legs. He yanks a burgundy knit sweater that he finds- also on the floor- but he’s not cold. He’s sweating with anxiety, and the sweater was just for her benefit. What if y/n is cold again? Harry has to be better not, he can’t fuck up with her anymore like this. He was going to take it off again as soon as he saw her and be shirtless again with his leather jacket.

With the device pressed between his shoulder and ear, he buttoned up his pants and shoves his feet into the first pair of shoes he found, “Y’got your eyes closed f’me?”

“Yes, Harry,” she whimpers again, sounding so unsure, so small, and fuck, the crack down the middle of his heart grows. Closing your eyes while high was scary, especially if you were having a bad trip, Harry knows that having a handful of negative experiences himself, but it was the one thing he could think of right now. To get her to focus on his voice rather than anything going on around her. Wherever she was.

“Good girl. Now just listen to me, okay,” walking out of his room, he swiped his keys off his kitchen counter, and snagged his leather jacket from -surprise, surprise- off the floor right before entering the garage, “Where are you right now?”

“I’m… I think I’m in a bathroom,” y/n peeps a response.

“Alright, good. Good, sweetheart. Now how much did you take?” Putting the jacket on, Harry turns the key in the ignition and straddles his bike. He presses the button he keeps on his keys for the garage door, and walks his bike out. The street lamps in his neighborhood are on, illuminating patches of the concrete like polka dots.

There’s some noise in the background. It sounds like knocking and the call of her name. “M’not sure… maybe… maybe half? They’re knocking on the door, Harry.”

She’s so scared. For the first time, he realizes that she doesn’t trust anyone there. That’s why she was calling him. If there was, she would be resting her head in their lap, and talking things out with them. That’s what you do when you’re high. And this was her first fucking time doing any kind of drug? They made her take more than what she was supposed to.

“All at once? Don’t listen to them, sweetheart, focus on me.” This time, the timbre of his voice is livid. He didn’t take kindly to these kinds of things, and he was going to find some way to get back at all of them.

“Yeah, I took a bite only but Alana said I would be a party pooper if I didn’t eat more, so I did because everyone was watching.” There’s more noise, yelling. The knocking gets louder.

“Fuck!” Slapping his hand against his helmet, Harry tilts his head back and wills himself to calm down. He couldn’t drive like this.

She gasps, startled, “Did I do something wrong? Oh my God, am I going to die? Harry, am I-”

“Shh, no. No, y/n. Everything is going to be fine. I’m on my way, okay. Everything is going to be fine. Can you set a timer for eight minutes on your phone, and walk outside when it rings?” He nears the end of his driveway, shaking his head at his lack of restraint. He had to hold it together for her.

“Yeah,” she responds.

“Perfect, I’ll be right there. I’m coming to get you, okay?” He’s firm in his delivery, so she doesn’t have any reason to doubt him.

“Okay…” her single-word answer drags out, and he waits for her to say more. “Do you have to hang up?”

“I do, darling. My motorcycle helmet doesn’t have a Bluetooth mouthpiece, so I won’t be able to hear you. It’s only eight minutes, I promise.” He decides not to pay attention to how easily the endearment terms are rolling off his tongue, and to the sure-ness in his sternum that was missing at the start of their meetings.

“Alright. Bye, Harry.”

He doesn’t say bye, because it isn’t one. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

***

On his five (FIVE!!!) minute drive to y/n, full of felonies and annoyed car horns, Harry decides two things. One, owning a motorcycle is probably the best decision he’s ever made because it allows him to do things like this, and two, he’s come to the conclusion that he no longer cares for social formalities, and he’s going to… honor his cravings as long as y/n lets him. He knows that the moment he gets there, he’s going to want to coddle her, tug her to his side, and hide her inside his jacket as much as he could, like a bear with food in the winter. Besides, it wouldn’t be so bad to provide the feeling of safety if she needed it. In fact, he was eager to. He decides that just for today, it’s okay.

Because he gets there three minutes earlier than the time he told her, so even though he doesn’t have to, he rushes to park his bike, swinging off of it before it’s even rolled to a complete stop and jogging up the long driveway to wait by some bushes near the window. He was partially obscured from the front door, and he wanted to stay that way in case Y/n wasn’t the first person to walk out.

Sweat coated the back of his neck while the rest of him was ice cold. Looking each and every way, he took off his jacket and slipped off the knit sweater to slip it over her head as soon as he could. Harry listened intently, the ragged sound of his own breathing filling his ears as he tried to pick up on any noise that might indicate trouble, but all he heard was faint chattering and the occasional bout of loud, loopy chortles.

Momentarily after, those voices get louder, some of them aggressive, and there are sounds of movement. The heavy pattern of feet moving quickly, the scratch of furniture on the floor. Someone- a female- is asking where someone is going, and Harry knows it’s y/n. Running to the door, he makes it just as it swings open, and a very red-eyed y/n stands there, one hand on the door with her eyes on the floor. She’s mumbling, something over and over, and he thinks one of those words is his name.

He’s reaching out to encase her in his arms when she blinks a few times, slowly, like she's just waking up, and her eyes are dragging up her body to register his face.

Tilting her head to the side confusedly, she steps out, closes the door behind her, and mumbles, “Harry’s waiting for me.”

His heart melts and he feels the bursting of a thousand suns in his chest. Smiling down at her invertebrate state, with his eyes softening and a gentle caramel-like baritone streaming through the rough in his voice, “I’m here, darling. Come with me.”

Poor thing is so out of it, her eyes start to water, her chin trembling and her shoulders beginning to shake with the rattles of oncoming sobs. Had he spooked her? Her eyes were puffy and hooded, but he knows that doesn’t mean she can’t see him. Y/n is probably just overwhelmed, he thinks. She’s out in the dark and cold, high, and he’s a tall, scary figure looming over her. Voices inside are getting closer, their sentences running over each other so that he can’t really understand what they’re saying, only that they sound upset.

Ignoring the rumble that is bound to get to them, Harry kneels down to her level and takes hold of her cold trembling hands in his large ones, bringing them to his chest to get her to focus on him, “lovie, s’me,” he pleads for her to recognize him, “I’m Harry, I came f’you like I said I would, y/n.”

“Y/n!” A man inside, short and skinny but snooty looking with a sharp, shark-like face stalks towards them. His parade of three- two blonde girls and a dark-haired guy- follow behind him. They all have glasses in their hands. One of them had a cigarette. “What are you doing?”

At the sound of her name, y/n’s eyes shut tightly, and her chest rises quickly with sharp breaths that escape her mouth. Dropping her head, a long whine seeps away from her like a sticky substance, and Harry wants to wipe it all away. He’s not sure why he’s reacting this way, or what he should do to help her, because he’s had bad trips but they’ve all been hallucinogen-based.

“Baby-”

“Y/n” the asshole with the dark hair calls her name so arrogantly, Harry can’t help but wonder what they’re like sober, “who is that? Will you come back inside? We’re about to start playing pass-blow.”

They’ve interrupted him twice now, and with every second that passes, he gets huffier. Frustrated. Angry. Because he’s just trying to talk to this angel and they’re overwhelming her. Y/n is whimpering now, her hands moist in his, and she’s sniffling every few seconds.

“Y/n,” he tries again to get her to look at him, to say something. He doesn’t want to act inappropriately, and with her consent already being disregarded once tonight, he’s doing everything in his power to get her to speak what she wants.

With glassy eyes, y/n dazedly stared at him for a moment. Her expression was stuck between confusion and sadness, her lips downturned and her brows furrowed, “Wanna leave, H.”

Harry nodded at her, “Okay, we can leave.” Then he stood up and grabbed the sweater over his shoulder, “Put this on first, lovie. It’s cold.” Slipping it over her head and helping her stick her arms through, he tugged it all the way down, near to her knees, all the while ignoring the group that started and whispered behind her. When he was done, he pulled her under his arm and walked in the direction of his bike.

All of two seconds passed before an agitating, grating voice interrupted them, “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

Harry can’t take it anymore. Placing his hand at the back of her head to cup her to his chest while he turns around to spit out a response at this douchebag, he takes deep breaths and tries to focus on her comfort. He tries to focus on the warmth of her breath against his chest and the way one hand is wrapped around his wrist, her fingers drawing loose circles on the tender skin, and the other is clutching his shirt tightly. But he feels that he has to say something, in some weird ‘marking my territory’ kind of way.

“Fuck off, asshole! You’re not getting shit from me anymore,” Y/n jumps in his arms at the tone and volume of his voice, and the wimp shrinks back, too. He mumbles something about it ‘not being fair’ like a whiny child and turns around. Harry gently removes her hand from his wrist so he can wrap it around her shoulders, and starts walking down the pathway back to his motorcycle, whispering, “C’mon baby, walk with me. Do you want me to take you somewhere? I can call an Uber? Sarah’s house? We can go back to my place, too. Y’name it, love, I’ll do it for you.”

“Okay.” If she’s surprised at his sudden softening, she doesn’t show it. Hell, she’s probably too out of it to do anything but appreciate anyone that is considerate to her current state, given that she was hanging around assholes who were making fun of her while she was having a bad trip.

They reach his bike, and Harry guides her by her shoulders to sit with her butt on the side of his seat. He crouches down in front of her, and wraps his hand on the back of her shins, grasping firmly to give her some kind of sensation to ground herself on. The loopy look in her eye that was there when he first arrived has drifted away like mist in a breeze, and she’s looking at him a bit more clearly.

“You still doing okay?” He asks, trying to catch her eyes but y/n is fiddling with her fingers and looks a little… frustrated? “Y/n? Can you tell me what you want to do, love?”

“M’sorry,” Her lower lip wobbles and there’s a small tremble in her chin. Her eyes, when she finally finds his, are watery, and it makes Harry’s heart pinch. He wants to hold her until she’s okay. “I know we don’t know each other that well, but can we... go back to your place?”

He rises then and cups her face in his hands to ensure that she’s looking at him. A little voice in his head is telling him that he’s being too touchy and needs to tone it down, but y/n can’t seem to keep her hands off him. His elbows are warmed through his jacket by her nimble fingers.

Cooing at her almost, “Hey, s’kay. Y/n okay. No crying, alright? I’m happy that I could be here to help you, okay? Of course, we can go back to my place, as long as you’re cool with it. Are you comfortable riding on my motorcycle right now? I can order an uber if you aren’t.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” Nodding, she sniffles and looks into his eyes finally. They sparkle underneath the light, like stars are trapped in her pupils, and the sight takes his breath away. She’s still whispering, but it’s no longer as panicked and short. It might just be the brownies wearing off, or her high calming down.

“Right, then.” Before letting go of her sweet face, he swipes his thumbs along the apples of her cheeks in a soothing motion. He walks around to the back of his bike and unlocks the compartment to take out a spare helmet. Holding it up, he gestures for her to tilt her head towards him, “safety first.”

“Your eyes are pretty. Like that thing that makes Superman weak.”

“Kryptonite, baby?” He secures the helmet on her head and makes sure it fits by tilting her head this way and that to check for wiggle room. When he’s satisfied, he raises the glass panel and murmurs, “and yours are prettier than mine.”

“Mhm,” she blinks blearily up at him, and his heart expands three times its size in his chest. “And you really think so?”

“I know so.” They share a small smile, and Harry’s nose is pink from the cold and the warmth of her gaze. He swings a leg over to straddle his bike, and scoots forward to make space for her, and pats the seat behind him. “Come sit behind me, love.”

Y/n grabs the hand that he holds out for her, and clumsily takes the seat.

“Now hold on to me. Hands around my waist,” There’s a strange pitch in his voice, and he has to clear his throat before speaking. Y/n listens to every word he says and places her hands on his waist so lightly, they might as well not even be there. The touch, as innocent as it might be, makes him squirm, and to hide it, he grabs them, and brings them around so she can splash her own fingers at his belly button. “Tighter, sweetheart. I don’t want you to slip off. If you don’t want to see, you can press your face into my neck, okay.”

“Okay,” she peeps. Harry pats her hands and turns his key in the ignition.

“Ready?” With his ankle, he kicks the stand up, and looks over his shoulder to check in on her. The muscles in his stomach are doing a strange tightening and flexing because they don’t know how to act normally under her touch.

“Yes.”

She squeezes her arms tightly around his waist, and she can feel her face pressing into his back as he starts his engine to take her home.

***

“Who were those people?”

It seemed as though removing her from the situation (Harry hates even thinking about the word because it wasn’t a situation, it was a fucking catastrophe that the poor little thing had to go through what she did) had been the best thing to do. From the looks of it, y/n was having a pretty normal high now, asking him if he had anything to snack on that was sweet and tart because she was hungry and her mouth was dry.

He kept himself well stocked on berries and fruit for this exact reason, so while he stood at the aisle in the middle of his kitchen cutting strawberries into nifty little hearts and tossing them into a bowl with freshly rinsed raspberries and blueberries, y/n sat on the barstool, watching him and humming a little tune. She was much different from the way she had been fifteen minutes ago, when they had just walked into his house, blubbering about how she was so sorry that he was losing sleep because of her, and how she still didn’t feel right. It took ten minutes of holding her in his lap on the couch (he still felt overly warm at having her so close to him), shushing and cooing at her, letting her know that everything was alright while stroking her hair, and another three before she stopped crying, and let him know he had a nice voice that tickled her spine and that she had the munchies.

Not that she called them that, of course. Harry doesn’t think she had ever heard the term, given how she knows fuck all about drugs and being high, just said “I’m hungry, h. Do you have anything tart and sweet? It feels like there’s a dragon in my belly.”

So he chucked, rubbed her back as he slipped her onto the spot next to him, and let her know that he had just the thing, and that he would be right back. But that didn’t stop her from trailing behind him like a duckling imprinted on her new human, pitter-pattering all over his tiled floor.

He hopes that she doesn’t feel like he’s prying, because while he was curious to know what compelled her to keep that kind of company, he wanted to know anything about her. This just seemed like a good segway into her.

Y/n is bobbing her head side to side to keep time with the cat clock he has up on the wall. She’s matching pace with its swinging tail, and clicking her tongue every second, pausing only briefly to say, “my co-workers,” in a chipper tone.

Casually, he hums, “The ones that bully you?”

“Yeah!” She’s quick to respond, and quick to realize what she confirmed. Meaning she also realized Harry knew something she had never told him about, and this confuses her. Snapping her head away from the clock, he watches as her shoulders droop and she takes in what he said. The gears were turning clearly on her face, when finally, she spits out her question warily, “Hey… how’d you know that?”

Harry froze mid-strawberry heart. He couldn’t exactly say that he had been asking Mitch about her, and that had told her about her relationship with everyone at work because then that would make him seem more like a creep and less like a love-struck infatuated fool, but he also didn’t want to lie to her completely. He had to stick with a little white lie, “umm, Sarah mentioned something about observing shitty things happening at work, and she mentioned your name.”

“Oh,” y/n’s lips form a little pout, “Are you mad?” When those words come out of her mouth, the possibility of him seemingly being mad at her starts overwhelming her senses, and she starts sputtering again, “I’m sorry- I’m just- I feel off, I-I shouldn’t have eaten that brownie. I’m sorry. You probably think I’m a wimp.”

With sympathetically pursed lips, Harry shakes his head and gently soothes her worries, “I’m not mad. Y’just having a bad trip, sweetheart. It happens sometimes, even to me. When you’re not in a comfortable environment, it happens.” He finishes with the final strawberry slice, and slides the bowl across the way for her, “this is for you, should help with the munchies. Want some water?”

“Please and thank you,” she mumbles around a bite of pink fruit. Sliding a glass across the table, Harry stands across the island to watch her. Y/n hand one hand wrapped around the small bowl, and the other holds fruit to her pouty red lips, swollen by the assault of her teeth. A trail of juice glistens down the side of her finger, and he watches, transfixed, as a pink tongue flicks out to lap up the mess in one, two, or three, tiny licks. A thick glob of saliva collects at the back of his throat because she's moaning, too. Little satisfied hums of pleasure and barely audible sounds of suction don’t escape him.

Blood rushes to the center of him, tenting his pants and he has to go somewhere because fuck she might see it if he has to get close to her.

Clearing his throat, Harry averts his eyes and tries to find somewhere else to set his eyes. Anywhere else because it’s so easy to picture his the ruddy mushroomed head of his cock pressed against her mouth like the tip of the strawberry heart, glistening with the moisture of precum and strings of her saliva as she wipes away his mess with her tongue like an eager little puppy.

What was wrong with him? She needed his help, and had turned to him when she needed him. She had already had people pouncing on her, she didn’t need someone else chasing her skirts.

“S’good, Harry,” y/n gulped down the last few pieces, and Harry blinked. Hard. “Can I have some more?”

There was a wide, lazy feline smile on her mouth. She looked… hazy. A bit sweaty. Disheveled. Y/n looked freshly fucked, and stray drops of fruit around her mouth were making it so incredible hard for him to breathe, “no more lovie,” he managed to say, “or you’ll get a stomachache.”

“Okay, H,” y/n yawned, unfazed by his rejection. Unaware of how crazy Harry was about her right now. His composure was fraying by the second. His mind played visions of them together like little prophecies, his tongue licking a stripe across the side of her face as he pounded her from behind so hard her eyes teared up. Her nails left little marks on his back from where she tried to grab leverage to bounce faster in his lap. Her skin dipping where Harry pawed at her to bring back against his dick. Fuck, he had to go into the restroom and tuck his boner into his pants.

“Sleepy?” He rasped, voice trembling, eyes glued to her glassy doe eyes, “come, I’ll show you to your bed.” It was easier to be quiet and gentle with her. A calm version of him meant a restrained version of him. Clean as opposed to filthy. Good instead of bad.

Her bed was really his bed. In his hurry to angle himself in such a way that she won’t see his raging erection, she forgets the state of disarray his bedroom is in. He walks slowly so he can hear the pitter-patter of her feet trailing after him, and stops at his door. Opening it, he inwardly cringes at everything inside. Blankets strewn all over the expanse of his mattress. Untucked and unaligned. One of his pillows on the floor instead of on the bed, and a rolling tray with crumbles of weed and baked mango bits on his bedside table.

Harry rushed to that first, not wanting her to see anything else related to drugs. So much for a first impression. What a way to enforce the bum-drug dealer stereotype.

“Promise m’not this messy,” he grumbles, picking up loose t-shirts and sweaters off the floor as he goes to turn on the lamp (swipe the tray away before she has a chance to see it), “it was a rough night. Was having a hard time sleeping.”

Y/n squeaks behind him and he turns. She’s still standing by the doorway, “t-this is your bed?”

Oh, God, she hates it. Harry starts swiping blankets off the bed to remake it for her. What was thinking, giving the sweet girl a messy bed?.“Yeah. I know it’s a little messy but I promise the mattress is comfortable. I bought it last year because I was having back problems a-”

“Where will you sleep?”

He starts tucking cover on the edges of his mattress, trying to be quick about it so she can see it’ll be neat for her. “On the couch, lovie.”

“B-but… this is your bed?” y/n poses it like a question, but Harry can hear the guilt in her voice because she would be taking his bed.

“I know that,” smiling softly at her, he shakes out and fluffs the pillows. “But I want you to sleep here instead. It’s much better than the couch.”

“Are you sure?” Her fingers tangle at her navel.m

He nods and tucks the used blanket under his arm to take to the couch with him. “More than, sweetheart,” Looking at her attire, he pulls open his drawer and grabs some items for him and a few for her, “want to change into something else or is that okay for you? Can give you a sweater or a t-shirt.”

Eyes lighting up at the large black shirt, y/n reaches out and points to it, “Can I have a shirt, please?”

“When you ask so nicely, how can I say no?” Harry doesn’t mean for it to come out the way it does. But it happens, low and gravelly like the drag of a big cat’s tail on a cave floor. He sees the way her cheeks burn with his effect, and his cock throbs in his pants. He needs to get out of the room. “There’s a restroom down the hall if you have to go, and an extra toothbrush in the cabinet. I’m gonna sleep right outside, so let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Y/n nods, “Okay.”

The moment he closes the door slightly behind him, his hand clutches his ground, shifting it sideways so he’s not pressing up against the zipper.

It was going to be a long night.

***

Harry wakes up to the sound of mewling.

Which is strange because he doesn’t own a cat, and high-pitched whimpering sounds are coming from… his bedroom? They’re muffled because his door is half closed. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes- if you can even call it that, he was tossing and turning because he couldn’t focus on sleeping knowing the object of his main thoughts is only a few strides away- Harry swings his feet off the side of the couch and pushes off with his knuckles. The sweatpants he had on dragged down low on his hips, the slant of his Adonis belt, and the thin skin right above the base of his cock visible. Sleepily, he tugged them higher and pressed the door open to check in on y/n.

And he felt his heart stop in his chest at what he saw.

Y/n was writhing in his bed, the sheet tangled between her legs and she was naked. Her face was flushed with tears, her chest choked up with sobs she was trying to keep down by biting on his pillow. Her hair was wild from her erratic movements caused by… well Harry didn’t know what.

He rushed to her side, “Y/n! Y/n, baby.”

A gasp wrenched itself from her chest, eyes were blown wide so that he could see how red they were, swollen at the waterline. She yelped like just his touch hurt him, and after removing his hands to ease her pain, Harry frantically ran his gaze all over her body, looking for anywhere she might be hurt. To see if maybe she had had some kind of reaction to the drugs she had taken.

“What is it, love? Talk to me,” he whispers, not wanting to scare her even more. His thick brows are furrowed heavily, eyes heavy with concern and a touch of sleep. He had never felt so helpless before, at a loss for what to do. He wanted to cradle her close to his chest and rock her sweetly until her crying stopped.

Y/n keened, whiny and long, “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Why are you sorry, lovie? Tell me what’s wrong so I can make it all okay,” he rubs a hand across her head, featherlight but enough to brush the hair away so he could see her clearly. She turned to him, following his touch with her nose like an animal searching for the warmth of touch, and then curled deeper into herself, hands clutching at her navel, “do we have to go to the hospital, y/n?”

“I was hungry, H,” y/n shuts her eyes tightly and gulps a breath of air, “but you said no more.. and there were brownies in the drawer.”

Harry rubs her back, transfixed by y/n’s bizarre actions as she moans at his touch. Cocking his head to the side, he mumbles what she said, “brownies in the…”

Realization dawned on in.

No, no, no, no. Looking at the bedside table that previously housed his rolling tray, it now was covered with two, blood-red pieces of crumpled foil crumbs of chocolate dotted around the trash. The words Kitty-kat Brat in a sensual, curly font stamped on the side. A script of warning on the side said that each partner should only consume a fourth of the brownie every hour as desired and that after consumption, the effect would only be sated by the exhaustion of endorphins. And at the top, in a glitter color: aphrodisiac.

Y/n had consumed two aphrodisiacs that Harry kept for himself on the occasion that a partner might want to experiment with them. The poor girl was hurting because she was… so fucking horny.

“Oh, lovie,” Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. What the fuck was he going to do? Leave her? No, he couldn’t do that when… when her pussy was weeping for attention. Call someone else to help? When help meant she would get fucked so hard she’d be cock-dumb? Absolutely not. But also, Harry didn’t feel right touching her when she was clearly under another influence. And if he didn’t feel right doing it himself, why the fuck would he let someone else do it? With a curled knuckle, he hooks her chin and forces her to look at him, “can you tell me exactly what it is you’re feeling? S’okay, don’t be embarrassed.”

Y/n shuts her eyes and tries to yank her chin away, but Harry tightens his grip, pinching the sides of her mouth so she can’t move, “can’t do that, H.”

It’s laughable really, he thinks. How whiny she’s being when her actions are the reason she was in this position. He had told her no more, and did she listen to him? No. In fact, she went looking through his drawers and ate his brownies, which he did not give permission for her to do.

If there was one thing that got him riled up, it was girls who didn’t listen and then cried at the consequences of their own actions.

He chuckled at her, even though he was surprised at the change in his feelings about the situation, but he couldn’t find it in him to care anymore. Here he was, thinking she was this innocent little thing. And she eats his fucking sex brownies. Shaking his head, he taps her cheek with his finger to get her to pay attention to him, “I need to know what’s happening so I can find some way to help. Aren’t you hurting, baby?”

Keening, back arching off the bed, she cries, “So badly, Harry. My… pussy hurts. I’ve already cum so many times but nothing I do is working!” Blood rushes to his dick at the lewd confession. How long she has been in here with her fingers rubbing her cunt with him just outside the door. Muffling her moans so he doesn’t hear them. The thought makes him groan internally. “It doesn’t feel right.”

His voice is low and gravelly, filled with a hunger that was kindling in his loins in preparation to spread like wildfire. “What doesn’t feel right?” He asked.

“Me doing it myself,” she swallows wetly, and her hand comes up to grip his wrist, Her thighs are chafed from how urgently she keeps rubbing them together, and through the lace of her bralette he can see how hard her nipples are. The glassy look in her eyes isn’t just from tears, it’s a reflection of how deep her need goes. “I-I… I want someone else to do it. I want you to do it.”

Little crescents of broken skin are left in her wake, and he lets her. The sting of pain is keeping him centered at the moment. The sound of her harsh breathing, rustling of the mattress springs from all her movement, and the bursts of circling motion at her hips are testing him. He wants to squeeze the tip of his dick to alleviate some of the aches that are settling there. “You want me to do what, sweet thing?”

“I want you to help me, H. Please?” Blinking at him blearily, y/n pouts. She was begging him.

Crooning to her with a condescending pout of his own, Harry cups the side of her face and runs a thumb under her eyes were tears have started falling once more, “help you what? Use your words.”

Y/n huffs and sobs, her heels sliding against the mattress, “help me cum! Please, I can’t take it anymore.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Look at me, y/n. I said look at me,” he shakes her by the grip he has on her face gently to get her to snap out of the whining and whimpering. Needing her eyes on him so that he could read her, he asks “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, yes. I am. Please do something.”

“Ask nicely.”

The girl is back to mewling, taking the hand on her face and moving it down to her legs so that Harry would get the hint, “please touch me, H.”

Y/n pulls him down onto the bed by his hand, and Harry lets her tug at him until he’s sitting down next to her before he pulls out of her grip and grabs both of her hands in one. Placing them above her head, he looks at her pointedly, eyes dark, so she doesn’t move her hands from where he leaves them. Big hands splayed wide across her trailed down the sides of her waist and stopped at her hips, rubbing gentle circles, “Open y’legs, don’t be shy now. M’just gonna help, and I need to see what I’m working with.”

Briefly, she mumbles some kind of complaint, the remnants of any modesty making themselves known, but Harry wasn’t having any of it. He waited, glaring at her almost, until she allowed her thighs to fall open freely, and he hummed low at the back of his throat. Sliding his palms up the inside of her thigh, he began to talk to her in a tone that many didn’t get to hear, “want my fingers, lovie? Or my mouth? Don’t think you deserve my cock for being naughty and touching something that wasn’t yours. Only good girls get my cock.”

“Everything, H. I’m sorry, won’t do it again. Give me anything you want,” y/n weeps, her hands in a fist above her head digging into the pillow that is halfway out of its case from all her moving around.

“Think I’ll pet y’weepy cunt first, hmm? How does that sound?” Harry bites back a moan and feels the tip of his dick rubbing against the inside of his sweatpants. Reaching down to adjust himself doesn’t seem like a priority when his girl is beneath him with her legs wide open and pleas are falling from her lips for him to touch her. The inside of her thighs are irritated, the black gusset of her thin underwear stained white with the cream of her pussy. He wants to press his nose against her and lick her clean. His mouth is watering for him to do something of the sort but instead, he hooks her underwear aside and…

And his own hips buck forward against his will. She’s so slick, it's running down the seam of her ass and onto his bedsheets. Drops of her creamy cut sit on the edge of her hole, accumulated from her previous orgasms. Y/n twists uncomfortably and pants. Harry, wanting to hear her cries again, smears her cum with two fingers around her entrance, and slides them into her pussy.

“Perfe- oh, God.” She clenches around him, and he can feel that spongy place brush against the tip of his finger the second before she starts twitching from an orgasm. Her mouth drops open in a silent scream and her head tilts back into the mattress. Harry smirks as she cums from one touch, and his own jaw drops at the amount of moisture that comes out of her, dripping onto his knuckles.

Guiding her through it, Harry continues moving his fingers at a steady pace, bringing his thumb up to the hood of her mound to press against her clit, “Oh, y’poor thing. Just a touch and y’already gushing on m’hand? Thought I was gonna have to try for it. Y’cum this easy for everyone, lovie, or jus’ me?” He leans over her with a hand braced beside her head and whispers into her ear, “how ‘bout I work f’the next one?”

Ripples of need were running down his spine and to his groin but he focused all of his energy into paying attention to what made her react the most. Listening for the hitch in her breath. He dragged his fingers out slowly, curling them on the inside of her wall as he did so where was persistent pressure leading up to her g-spot, and y/n made an animalistic noise mixed between a whine and cry. His tongue lolled against the side of her ear, the skin hot and flushed from the heat of her body. Harry nipped the tender flesh of her neck and waited to hear her yelp to soothe the sting with his tongue. Kissing his way down to her throat, he presses his fingers into her as far as they go and runs circles around her clit while keeping steady pressure on the bundle of nerves inside of her. He’s rubbing her inside and outside, slowly, slowly, and then starts picking up the pace.

Y/n is mewling, her tits in the air as her back lifts up in a hold. Her moans are becoming louder, her pussy tightening around his fingers and he knows she’s going to orgasm again. He’s mumbling how good she is being for him against the side of her breast, his nose holding back the flimsy lace as he leaves the plush skin and fights the urge to cant his hips into the bed like a dog in heat. He feels hot everywhere, like the heat turned on by itself in his room, and when y/n’s fingers curl into his hair and pull as she cums again and screams his name he can’t find it in him to reprimand her. Harry just talks her through it.

“Good girl, y/n. Y’being so good for me. Think you can give me another, lovie? Because I want one more. Y’gonna give me one more, okay?” Cooing at the way she digs her head back into the pillows and shakes her head, Harry increases his rhythm so that the muscles in his bicep flex with every move. She’s still spasming around him from the orgasm she’s riding, but he doesn’t let it end, “ah, you’re so cute, saying no but this little cunt is weeping yes. Who am I to deny her, hmm?”

She’s adamantly shaking her head no, eyes lulling shut and her mouth slacks with a cry, “too much… too much, h. Sensitive, please-”

“Weren’t you begging for it earlier, y/n? M’only giving you what you asked for,” Harry thinks he could cum just from watching her body tense with unyielding pleasure. Her eyes are rolling into the back of her head and Harry is back to fucking her fast and hard with his fingers while licking and sucking on her nipple, “that’s it. That’s it right there isn’t it, baby? Abusing y’special spot so it’s too much for you, hmm?”

He’s muffled against her skin and the sound of her wet pussy being penetrated by his fingers is so filthy, his own eyes roll into the back of his head. He takes a deep breath and smells the sex on her, the tanginess of her juices zinging his tastebuds, and god he has to taste her.

“Yes, yes, please, Harry,” y/n is anguished, heels set firmly so she can meet his hand halfway, and she's so erratic he can’t focus on anything else but the furious pace she’s set.

“Gonna cum, baby?” Harry groans, moving one of his legs so one of hers is in between his, and the movement of her shin against his crotch makes him pant. Every muscle is tense with a restraint that is slowly melting away. With every rub of her against him- she’s doing it unknowingly, and he’s rutting against her- he’s closer to spurting in his sweatpants.

“Mhm,” her affirmation drags out into breathless gasps as the weak squeeze unclenches and clenches all over again as another orgasm rolls through her.

He can’t take it anymore. He removes his hand to give her a chance to recover, takes the hand covered in her cum, and sticks it down his pants. Hissing at the relief he gets from squeezing himself from base to tip has him seeing white.

“Good girl, baby,” stroking himself, he nuzzles against her chin. He wants to kiss her but he wants to talk them both up into a frenzy. “Took it so well, let me treat y’little pussy right. Does she still want more?” y/n nods, sniffling and scrunching her nose, “you do? Want my mouth or my fingers next, lovie?”

“I want more than that. It’s not… not enough,” she whimpers.

Harry cocks his head to the side and thrusts into his hand once more before going to touch her again. He’s painfully hard, and the catch of his tip against the terrycloth fabric inside is overstimulating him. “Not enough? I made you come three times and it wasn’t enough?”

“Give me more, Harry, please I-I need it,” y/n angles her hips in his direction again. A thin film of sweat coats her skin, and the baby hairs at her temple are sticking to the skin. Her eyes are red, but she’s not crying anymore, and a line of clear snot trails into her upper lip that she keeps sniffling. She looks thoroughly fucked now before Harry’s even stuck his cock in her. He cleans her face with the edge of a blanket and kisses her under each eye. Before he can right himself again, she pulls him back down by his hair and presses her mouth against his. Little pecks at first, and then she’s licking at the seam of his mouth, all the while Harry just smirks. He doesn’t kiss her back at first, and when she starts to cry about it, he leans in and devours her mouth.

He’s brutal in his kiss, sticking his tongue in his mouth and knocking his teeth against hers. She tastes sweet, like chocolate and strawberries and weed. Y/n melts against him, opening up her lips to him and licking back like a cat. When they separate, a string of saliva connects their mouths.

“What do you need? Hmm? Want my mouth and my fingers, too? No?” He hums low, pretending to think of naughty ways to get her off, when in reality, he’s already thought of a million and one, “want to ride one off on my thigh? Rub that wet thing between y’legs all over mine and leave a sticky mess behind? Y’might give y’self a burn, but that’s what you get for poking into something y’should have.”

“No. I’m sorry, H, just please- help me-” she pleads meekly.

“I want to help y’lovie, but y’gotta tell me because I’m running out of ideas here,” before he can finish her sentence, she makes a frustrated huff and buries her head into his neck. Y/n wraps her leg around his, trying to pull him on her but all she manages is to lift herself up and grind her molten core on the hard ridges of his abs. An absurdly loud moan resonates throughout the room, and Harry groans at the way she ruts into the air, a pull in his abdomen demanding his dick makes contact with something. Her hands find purchase on his shoulders, and Harry has to remain tense while she uses him as leverage to push her hips up so her clit drags against the ridge just below his belly button. He’s being mean, watching her struggle and pant, sweat gathering at her temples and between her tits, but he can’t help but watch her use him. She’s so focused on trying to get herself off, it’s almost like he’s not even there as long as he isn’t moving.

The way he watches her is so nonchalant, it’s almost as if he’s not a few touches away from cumming himself. He merely smiles lazily at her efforts, mumbling lame encouragement and telling her she was so cute while she puffed and struggled to get herself off. She couldn’t keep herself touching his abdomen for long enough to pick up a pace. When she starts to tire out, her pants turn into frustrated huffs, and her thighs quake from exertion.

Harry chuckles, “y’need help, baby? Y’were doing just fine before. Didn’t seem to need me then.”

She sulked, and the expression on her face was only missing the stomping of feet to resemble a tantrum, “You’re being mean!”

“Oh, darling,” he soothed, licking the salty drop of moisture that fell from the side of her eye in frustration. He wanted to keep toying with her until the only word she knew was his name in different volumes and tones, but if his own dick was hurting this badly without an added stimulant, he can’t imagine what she was feeling. He gently kissed her lips and pulled away before her eager tongue made an earnest effort to deepen their connection. “don’t cry.”

“It hurts,” y/n turned her head to the side, into the pillow to cover her face, and mindlessly ran her hands across his shoulders. A smattering of gooseflesh covered her, and for some reason, it softened him.

“Here, why don’t we try this,” he moves them so swiftly, so she’s on top, her legs on either side of him, her center sitting atop his belly button. Harry decides that he’s going to let her have her fun for a while before taking control. “Better, lovie? Like this?” Her jaw is slack from the contact of the muscular ridges, her clit grazing against the indent of his abs as guided by his hands on her hips, dragging her back and force to set a rhythm. Hurried ah-ah-ah’s are choked out from her, and y/n tries to go faster, her thigh muscles straining against Harry’s grip. And he lets her go.

With his elbows planted on the bed to support himself, he flexed his core and smirked in satisfaction when she mewled and humped him erratically, muttering that it felt so good, how she was so close. There had never been a time like this before, in which he practiced such restraint, but just gazing at her was enough. He began to pant with a savage abandon, entranced by the bouncing of her tits, the little huffs of breath that interrupted her cries. Precum leaked out of his dick and made a dark sport on the gray fabric of his pants at the feeling of her wet pussy rubbing against him. Using him to get off. This sweet angel who had been scared to look him in the eye at one point, who didn’t know shit about drugs, who had captivated him before he knew her name, was using him to get off. He had never felt so lucky.

“Go on then, use me,” Harry canted his hips up to press against her as she came down on him, and groaned when the tip of his dick touched her ass. “Give this pussy what it needs, baby. Whatever she wants,” grabbing her thigh, he stroked her, swiping up and down and skating his thumb on the tender skin that wasn’t touching.“Can I rub you right here? She wants me to touch her, will y’let me?”

Nodding fervently, so eager, “Yes, please. Anything you want Harry, need to going to-”

“Cum all over my belly?” Harry suggested, his palm stopping where her thigh meets her hip so that his thumb could reach her clit and swipe against it as she moved. Her hole fluttered against him, and then he felt her start to clench, grasping around nothing as the beginnings of another burst build inside her. His thumb flicked her bundle of nerves faster, rolling longer in bursts of two or three, and then she stilled, her thighs spasming from an orgasm announced by the shout of his name. “Look at you, y’shaking,” he whispered in awe, his hips stuttering when she feebly tried to rock against him while still cumming, “and you still fucking want more.”

“Make it go way, H,” y/n pleaded, her shoulders twitching from the continuation of the orgasm she had previously. The dim lighting in the room makes it hard to see but he doesn’t miss the way she arches her back and pushes her tits out. His mouth waters at the thought of sucking them again, but he wants her to be filthy. As filthy as his thoughts were getting.

“No.” He says, taking his hand away and watching her pussy shudder against him as he cuts her orgasm short.

Y/n whines low in her throat and lets her body fall forward. She rests on top of him now, her head by his ear. Her mouth is hot against his ear when she mutters wetly, “please.”

“You’re gonna do what I just did again, and again until it stops,” Harry rubs a hand up her back, through her shoulderblades and up the nape of her neck until his fingers are deep in her hair, and tightens his grip to keep her still from licking his jaw. He yanks her back so her face is a hair away from him, their noses a centimeter from touching, “or until you tell me exactly what you want”

Gulping, her head bobs up and down and her tone becomes pitiful, “Kay. Please.. can you… unbutton your jeans, please?”

“I said y’ have to tell me, not take what you want, y/n.” He feels try to slowly inch forward to kiss him.

“I know! I know!” Shutting her eyes tightly and whimpering when Harry pulls her back to stop her movements again, her high-pitched tone of voice sounds like music to his ears, “m’gonna go again, I promise, but your buttons are hurting my… butt.”

There's a beat of silence, and then he kisses her nose. Let's go of her hair, and tucks his hands behind his head like he's kicking back for a fucking vacation and not like if she accidentally touched his cock one more time he would cum. “Y’cute, lovie, go ahead, then. M’only watching this time.”

“S’not fair!” Y/n complained but reluctantly started moving over her own lubrication. Harry was so wet with her arousal that the filthiest suction noises were coming from where their skin touched. The insides of her thighs were hot against him, and he imagined it was from the irritation. Later, he would have to apply the cream to them. But he wasn’t going to touch her then. Not when she was being so bratty after he made her cum several times.

Cocking an eyebrow, Harry growled “what’s not fair is you ate my sex brownie, y/n, but I’m not complaining, am I? What if I wanted to fuck someone else senseless, eat out their sopping cunt, and have them beg me ‘more, h, s’not enough’? Have them mark me with their cum like you’re doing right now, and play with their clit till they can’t talk properly?” She didn’t like what he had to say“Oh, I see, y’don’t like that, do you, baby? I’m doin’ these things with you, s’not enough?”

“No!” A warmth spread in Harry’s chest at her disapproval of him doing things to someone else, at the thought that they shared the same possessiveness.

“What more do you-” she lifts her hip and inches back, and then she pulled his sweatpants down and come down in such a way that her folds were fit snugly against the angry red tip of his cock. He hissed and stilled, “Y/n, what-”

“Want this, h,” y/n whispered and rolled her hips against him. That was all it took. One touch of her pussy on him and hot, thick white ropes of his cum were spurting between them. A long animalistic groan thrummed in his chest, the tightness in his core snapped and so did he. He grabbed her with a curse and held her still as he fucked out his orgasm, his dick sliding between her folds furiously as the orgasm continued like it would never end. Moaning as he watches her bite down on her lip, climbing up on another climax as moisture burst on the length of his cock. She was quivering, grinding against him as much as she could so prettily. His blood was boiling at it felt like he was going to have heatstroke from how warm he was everywhere, but the pleasure was lighting up each of his nerves and he could care less if he died right after.

“My cock?” He snarled, his lips pulled back so he looked like the animal he was being. Puffs of air were sifting through his nostrils harshly, but he kept dirty talking her. “Y’naughty little thing, lookin’ like a fucking wreck with me sliding in between you like this, fuck, sucking me right in.”

“Feels so good,” y/n panted, her hands on his wrists at her hips. Her touch was featherlight on him, and Harry knew she was getting to the end of the brownies.

“Does it, baby?”

“Yeah, you’re so warm, it-it feels really really good,” bits of her words disappeared with gasps that took her oxygen away. She was so flushed, her skin damp with sweat.

“Is that all you know how to say?” He slows his movements, and instead of moving her over him, Harry thrusts. His member setting a harsh, punishing pace that would have him reaching her g-spot repeatedly if he was inside her.“Or are you just not thinking right because you want me to fuck you so badly?”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Say it,” snarling, he pistoned up into her, the familiar sensation of a coiling rope building in him once more. The tip of his cock between them was leaking precum, y/n’s pussy dripping creamy slick on him so there was a sopping mess between them.

“I want you to fuck me, h,” on his name, y/n starts shaking uncontrollably, another orgasm running through her and this one renders her into a sobbing mess. Harry… well he’s moaning without reserve, eyes shut as pleasure overtakes him again. This time he savors it, slowing their bodies down so their sensual touches drag out longer. Low sobs shakes her, and she collapses beside him and starts to curl in on herself from the overwhelming sensations. Harry follows, climbing over her and turning her so she’s facing him and looking her right in the eyes.

“I’m not gonna fuck you dumb, tonight, sweetheart. Not when you’re already stupid horny from a brownie y’took without permission. Remember what I said? Only good girls get me between their legs. And you were so, so, naughty.” He was pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses below her breasts, peppering them both and tweaking her nipples when they weren’t in his mouth.

Y/n begins to cry, tears immediately falling at his rejection. Her beginning is desperate, “No. No, h. Please, I’ll do anything. Please, I want-”

“I know you want to cum. So that’s what I’ll give you. But not with my dick. Gonna eat up all the honey that comes out of this puffy little hole and I don’t care if y’cum so much y’crying because your slit is numb. I’m gonna stop when I want to, understand? Nod if you understand.” She does as he asks, and sniffles. “Good. Now lay down and let me eat.”

Her back has barely touched the mattress before his mouth is on her, devouring her like it's both the first and last meal he’s ever had. His tongue is hot on her already creamy pussy, and the taste of her has him rutting into the mattress like a fucking animal, fucking down on it like it’s her. He laps at her desperately, ears keenly aware of every moan, squeak, whimper that comes out of her. He fucks into her hole with his tongue, licking her cream before it's even fully out of her, and spitting it back out on her clit. The action makes y/n freeze, and he looks up, momentarily confused thinking that he’s crossed a boundary but…

But y/n’s head is thrown so far back he can count the veins in her neck, and her body is trembling, a restrained garble of words incoherently coming out of her in pants and Harry knows she’s coming. He blows on her clit, allowing his spit and her cum to drip before going back down to slurp at it. He focuses on that little button, suckling at it and flicking it with his tongue. Soon enough, y/n is yelping, her hands in his hair as she tried to wretch him away. It’s finally become too much.

“Don’t you fucking pull me off, I’m not finished yet,” he momentarily takes his hands off of her thighs and wraps them around her wrist, pressing down on the tendon at the center to wiggle her fingers off his head. He tucks them under her back, and places his mouth on her once more, dark eyes threatening her as he mouths his words on cunt, “Lay down and don’t pull again or I’ll tie y’up.”

Holding her down firmly, Harry splayed his tongue flat on her and sucks, surprised and pleased by the shriek that escaped her. Y/n is crying, saying she can’t take it, that it was enough, but Harry isn’t listening. He’s so lost in his own pleasure, the arousal he gets from her taste, the sounds she makes because of him, that he’s chasing after his own orgasm by rubbing his cock against the bed. He’s getting frustrated because he wants to get there as soon as she does, and he knows it's gonna be soon with the way she’s throbbing against his lips.

So he reaches down and squeezes himself in a tight fist, lubrication not necessary because of how slippery he was already. The moment he does, his vision goes white, and there's a spurt of heat below his belly button, and moisture drenching the lower half of his face.

They lay there heaving briefly, and he becomes aware that she’s no longer awake. Her breathing is stinted with hiccups from leftover sobs, but she’s asleep. The tip of her nose is red, her eyes red-rimmed. He knows she’s going to wake up tired and with a headache tomorrow, but he’ll be there with her. With the corner of a blanket, he cleans them up as much as he can and tosses that soiled sheet away, grabbing a much more clean one and throwing it over them.

“Night, baby.” He kissed her forehead and tucked his Achilles heel close to his chest, the girl sleeping like a rock in his arms.

#harry styles blurbs #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction

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jennay · 5 months ago

Text

my best friend (2)

Noah sebastianx reader

1/2/3/4/5

Two weeks had slipped through your fingers like sand, and still, you hadn’t retrieved all your belongings from Michael’s place. The apartment, once a sanctuary of shared laughter and whispered secrets, now loomed like a haunted chamber. Each visit was a walk between nostalgia and heartache.

Tonight, Noah accompanied you. His presence amplified your emptiness. It felt like an invisible audience watched your unraveling, their collective breath held as you traced the stain on the carpet, the wine spill from that picnic-turned-moment-of-bliss. Forest green turned to murky gray, just like your world.

“I love you,” Michael’s voice echoed in your mind, a bittersweet refrain. You’d smiled then, as if love alone could defy the gravity of your situation.

Noah’s touch on your shoulder was soothing, “Last box,” he said, his words a lifeboat in a storm. Snapping you from memories that were torturing your brain.

You nodded, tears threatening to spill. “Ok.” A whisper so soft that not even Noah heard you.

At the door, you hesitate. The whiteboard showed Michael’s farewell: “I’m Sorry :(”—a cryptic apology etched in marker. You added your own message, a silent plea: “I love you, you’ll be okay.”

The door closes behind you, sealing memories and pain.

In Noah’s car, you stared at the ceiling, willing your emotions to freeze. You couldn’t break down now, not in front of him. Home awaited—where you could shatter, piece by fragile piece, away from prying eyes. Maybe there, in the quiet of your room.

Noah’s touch on your leg is gentle, a silent reassurance that lingers. “You’re going to do good things,” he says, his voice steady. “Heal from this, feel it.” His thumb traces a soothing pattern on your skin. “Take a break from dating for a while, find yourself.” The car hums along, the world outside shrinking as you peer through the window. “You’ll find him when the time is right.” he adds softly.

Breakups aren’t easy, especially when they coincide with Father’s Day—the day your own father left this world.

Noah’s unspoken anger mirrors your own; he’d gladly give Michael a piece of his mind. Maybe even a few choice words about being a dumbass. He didn’t understand, to Noah you were amazing, sure you were rough around the edges but nonetheless pretty close to perfect.

He wanted to ask you more questions about Michael, but for now, he drives, and you both share the quiet, intertwined in this moment of vulnerability that made you feel defenseless.

Noah’s grin widens, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Let’s go to the beach,” he declares, glancing over at you.

You raise an eyebrow, skepticism etching your features. “We’ve got a car full of stuff, and it’s like an hour’s drive,” you protest. “I’m not exactly in the mood.”

His laughter bubbles up, infectious. “You’ve been home sulking for two weeks straight. It’s time for a change. You can’t live off working, sleeping, and sulking. You need some fun in between.” His fingers drum on the steering wheel, enthusiasm radiating. “Sun, water, sand—let’s build a damn sandcastle!”

The traffic light turns red, and he tilts his head, locking eyes with you. His happiness is contagious, and your resistance crumbles. “Okay,” you acknowledge, a smile tugging at your lips. “Let’s hit the beach.”

As soon as you step onto the beach, you kick off your shoes, feeling the hot sand between your toes. The warm breeze caresses your skin, and you feel your worries begin to dissolve, bringing a sense of calm you haven’t felt in what seems to be ages.

Noah’s smile broadens as he notices the change in you, clearly pleased that his plan is working. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him peeling off his shirt.

You can’t help but glance over, intrigued by the intricate tattoos that cover his well-toned body.

Quickly, you look away, not wanting to be caught staring. You know he’d have a sassy remark ready, so instead, you slip off your tank top, leaving you in your sports bra and shorts.

“The sun feels so good,” you say excitedly, feeling the warmth on your skin. “I needed this.”

Noah nods in agreement as the two of you continue to walk toward the water. The birds seem louder than usual, their songs mingling with the gentle sound of the waves. The sun catches perfectly on the water, creating a sparkling effect that adds to the serene atmosphere.

Noah’s hand catches the back of his neck, and he lightly rubs it, a telltale sign of his nervousness. He stares off into the distance, avoiding eye contact with you. He’s not one to delve into emotional conversations, but part of him feels compelled to. He pretends to admire the sea, the waves gently lapping at the shore.

He wants you to know you can talk to him about anything and everything. “You know…” he begins, dropping his hand to his side and tilting his face to look at you. His brown eyes are full of kindness as he speaks, “You can talk to me about how you’re feeling if you want. I didn’t mean that you couldn’t talk about things. I just wanted you to feel better.”

You smile sheepishly, appreciating his effort. You know he’s doing his best to be there for you. You want to share the thoughts swirling in your mind, but you hesitate, not wanting to burden him with your current mind-state

The breakup still feels fresh, and you’re not ready to open up about the pain just yet. “I know,” you quietly say. “Right now I just want to forget about it.”

“Good,” he says with a sneaky grin as the two of you wade shin-deep into the water. Suddenly, he kicks his foot, sending a splash of water your way. You gasp, momentarily stunned by the cold water hitting your skin.

“Oh, you’re going to regret that!” you laugh, scooping up a handful of water and flinging it back at him.

Noah dodges, but not quickly enough, and the water splashes across his chest.

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischievousness. “Is that all you’ve got?” he teases, before launching a full-on splash attack.

Water flies everywhere as the two of you engage in a playful battle, laughing and shrieking with each splash.

For a moment, all your worries are forgotten. The sound of your laughter brings warmth to Noah.

Finally, breathless and soaked, you both call a truce. “Okay, okay, you win,” you say, holding up your hands in surrender.

Noah grins triumphantly, water dripping from his hair. “See? I told you I’d make you feel better,” he says, his voice warm and full of affection.

You smile, feeling a genuine sense of happiness. “You did,” you admit.

He steps closer noticing the chills on your arms, he wraps his lanky arms around your cold body, pulling you close to his chest in an attempt to warm you. Your body clenches tight, recoiling from his touch, as memories of the last person who held you with such love and care flood back—memories of betrayal and heartbreak. You awkwardly wiggle out of his grasp, your movements jerky and desperate. He looks at you with genuine concern, his eyes wide with worry, clearly afraid he did something wrong. When your eyes meet his, you see the confusion engraved on his face, but you can’t bring yourself to explain the turmoil raging inside you.

You know he wouldn’t understand. He’d say something like, “I’m your best friend. Let me love you,” or, “What do you mean? I’m just showing you how you should be loved.”

You blink, and without warning, you turn and start back for the shore, leaving Noah standing in the wake of the waves. Your only thought is to get back to the car, to escape.

“Y/n?” he yells, but you keep going, your pace quickening. It doesn’t take long for him to catch up to you; his long strides easily match two of yours. “Hey…” he says, reaching out to touch your shoulder. His hand lightly grazes your skin, and you stop, turning around to face him.

He’s greeted by a tear-streaked face, a sobbing girl who can no longer hold herself together. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, each one a struggle. You snivel and try to wipe your eyes, but the tears keep coming, blurring your vision. Your hands shake uncontrollably as you try to expel the negative energy, but it’s no use.

The panic grips you tighter, your chest constricting as if a vice is closing around your heart. You feel like you’re drowning, the weight of your emotions pulling you under, and all you can do is stand there, trembling and broken, in front of the one person who wants nothing more than to help you.

His eyes widen with shock as he processes your distress. Noah quickly points to the car, showing you how close it is, and gently places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you there with a firm but tender touch.

You fling the door open and collapse onto the seat, your legs dangling out as you struggle to catch your breath. Noah crouches down beside you, his face etched with concern.

“Look at me,” he says softly, taking your trembling hands in his. “Deep breaths.” He demonstrates, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, and you begin to follow his lead, matching your breathing to his. “What’s five things you can see?”

“You… sand… the car… my shirt… the sky,” you say, closing your eyes and trying to focus on your breathing.

“Four things you can touch…” His brows knitted together as he watched your hands move from his.

“Seat, shorts… fingernails… your hands,” you say, placing your palms on top of his. Your breathing starts to soften, the panic slowly ebbing away.

“Three things you can hear,” he continues, his grip on your hands tightening slightly, grounding you.

“Birds, the ocean… your voice.” You take a deep breath, grateful as the noise in your brain begins to quiet.

“Hey, look at us, almost done. Two things you can smell.”

“Salt and your shitty cologne,” you joke with a weak smile.

“Ahhhh,” Noah says, standing up with a relieved grin. “There she is!” He gently squeezes your shoulders. “Just for good measure, what’s one thing you can taste?”

You glance around the car and spot your Red Bull. Cracking it open, you take a sip. “Liquid cocaine,” you joke, a hint of your usual humor returning.

Noah laughs, happy to see you coming back to yourself. He watches as you swing your legs into the car and buckle up. Shutting the car door, he jogs around to the driver’s seat, still chuckling. “Probably shouldn’t drink all that if your nerves are acting up.”

“I needed something to taste,” you say, handing it to him. “Here, you drink it.”

The car ride is enveloped in a heavy silence, broken only by the soft hum of the radio. You sit there, unsure of what to say after everything that happened. The weight of your gratitude for Noah’s presence presses down on you, you feel relief that the panic attack is over. Noah’s eyes are fixed on the road, his focus unwavering, unaware of your gaze lingering on him. You silently admire how he turned out to be such a good healer, despite his own struggles and hard times.

Your fingers reach for the volume knob on the radio, turning it down. The sudden quiet catches Noah’s attention, and he glances from the road to your hand and back again.

“It feels like someone died,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not ever seeing him again, and you can’t just be friends after you’ve dated. I lost the bond I was trying to make with the kids as well. I messed up, he messed up, and I just wish we could’ve changed it, but there wasn’t anything I could do anymore.”

Noah nods, his silence a signal that he’s listening, truly listening. “And we talked last week, but we were at a friend’s house, and he was getting this tattoo. He had the audacity to say he’ll always think of me when he looks at it because I was there… Anyway, we didn’t talk about anything because I’m not airing that out in front of a stranger.” You pause, but the words keep spilling out, your hands now resting in your lap, fingers twisting together. “I’m still waiting for his texts… I’m still hoping we can talk. I’m desperate for his attention, but I don’t even want him.”

Noah’s grip on the steering wheel tightens slightly, his knuckles turning white. He glances at you again, his eyes filled with a mix of empathy and frustration, not at you, but at the situation. He wants to say something, to offer words of comfort, but he knows that sometimes, just being there is enough. His presence is a silent promise that you’re not alone, that he’s there to help you pick up the pieces, no matter how long it takes.

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x y/n #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian oneshot #noah sebastian x you #noah sebastian fic #jolly karlsson x reader

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no-name-blu · 2 months ago

Text

GAMESHOW HOST WALLY FIC:

First Punishment

This was supposed to be a comic but then I didn't finish it.

Have it in written format instead :D

Trigger Warnings: Gore, Torture, Manipulation, Abuse, unreliable narrator

Context: This is way back in the show's early days, Wally trusts home and follows his orders without a question. Until this day when he starts thinking about it.

"What a shame! What a thrill! I hope everyone at home enjoyed watching this man perish!" Wally smiles at the camera, while the live audience cheers at his words, he gestures his hand to tone down their voice, and they obey. "Well that's it for our show tonight. My name is Wally, and I'm here to remind you that for every second you sleep at night, you're feeding the spider that lives inside of your ears. Goodni-"

He stopped his closure when he felt a tug on the hems of his pants. With the sound of his neck cracking he spins his head backwards and looks down. A man, who has crawled towards him with only his arms, his bottom half has been torn apart. This bleeding man looks up at Wally with what's left of his eyes, or face. Safe to say he did not look good.

"I'm so sorry... Please let me live." Surprisingly, with his throat accidentally stepped on earlier, this man can speak.

"Wow! And you're also still alive!"

I was about to say that Wally.

"But you're too slow"

"What?" The bleeding, faceless man talks again.

"Oh right, you're still here" Wally looks back at him. "But why would I let you live? You lost!"

"I know that... But, I need to go home. I still have that I love." There's tears coming out, but it only burns on his faceless face. "I did horrible things. But, it's all for them. A father makes sacrifices. I don't deserve this, everything I did is for them, I NEED TO GO HOME"

"...H-Hey... I've seen you on my daughter's-"

With every strength he has left, he raises his voice but Wally didn't say anything, he retracts his head back to normal.

STOMP

With brute force, Wally steps on him as his head explodes. There are chunks that splattered across the floor while his shoes are now stained red.

"Eugh, that's gross" Wally looks down at the mess he made. He calls two of the audience member to dispose the body. While a couple others clean up the studio. It's just another night at work, and Wally can finally wind down after doing a great job.

He walks through the hallways. The wallpaper is patterned with eye designs. Every step he takes feels like the pupils are watching him passing by, Wally is always under his presence at all times.

The moment he enters his dressing room, he can hear the sounds of knocks in the walls.

"Thank you Home. I think I did well today too."

He sits down in front of his mirror, an apple on the table caught his attention. "For me? Thank you Home," Wally takes a bite into the meaty apple. Usually he'd happily enjoy this well-deserved meal but something makes Wally feel confused.

A long concerned creak came out from Home. "Oh, it's nothing. I was just thinking," Wally says, but now there's an insistent knocking.

"Okay, okay. I'll tell you."

He didn't say anything for the first couple of seconds.

"Hey, don't rush me! I'm thinking!"

And then he goes back to "thinking". Which is more on, hesitating.

"Fine... I was just thinking about our contestant earlier."

Now the knocking turned curious.

"He was just supporting his family. Even though harvesting bodies is also not good. I do think he deserves bad things. It's just, all of this is just sad."

Home replies with sounds of agreement, although they are also a bit dismissive to his feelings.

"Am I doing the same thing?"

Wally looks around the dressing room, but Home did not say anything. He looks back at his mirror.

"I found these people just for you. I supported you with these sacrifices. So, if we say that people like that contestant deserved to die, what about me?"

There are creaks trying to reassure him.

"But that doesn't make any sense"

Now there's an impatient creek.

"But, what if we were wrong.."

One. Aggressive. Knock.

"Maybe we could've find a different way to..."

Wally gets lost in his sentence when he notices his reflection turned dark. He leans to take a closer peak at it until something reaches out of the mirror.

He pulled himself away from the mirror, stumbling backwards from his chair and landed on the floor. Wally can't see anything at all, he reaches up to his face where he can feel a persistent piercing pain coming from his face.

"Wh-What did you do?!" He gasps for air frantically when all he sees is nothing. But Wally has no reason to panic, he can't die.

"But it hurts" his voice shakes as he weeps. He reaches out an arm to find his eyes until he feels something grab his shirt and suspends him above the ground.

"Home?"

Wally can feel a huge force at him until his back slams against the wall with a loud thud. The impact shook his whole body, but it also knocked his head so badly that it was nauseating.

I didn't want to hurt you Wally.

But I don't like my temper being tested.

I can do so much torture upon you, but I won't.

You have to understand, we are different from those contestants, the people above.

You're never going to be like them.

The voice makes Wally tremble in fear, Home wasn't like this before. Wally must have pushed it too far, he's lucky Home is being merciful right now.

"I'm sorry."

Home lowers him back to the ground, but Wally didn't have the strength to stand up, he fell to his knees.

"I will stop thinking about this then."

He mutters. Then he felt something bump against his knee, Wally reaches down to grab them.

"Oh, my eyes. Thank you Home"

As long as he does his work, he will be good friends with Home. Maybe Wally is different from that contestant, it's just a dead man in the end. Nothing more.

#Guys I'm sorry if the writing is bad 😭#But anyways I've been wanting to make short stories of this AU as comics. But I don't have the time and energy. So fanfics yipeeee #welcome home #gameshow host wally #game show host wally #welcome home arg #welcome home fandom #welcome home puppet show #welcome home au #wally darling #welcome home wally #wally darling welcome home #welcome home wally darling #welcome home fanfic

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frostironfudge · 2 years ago

Text

I Should Have Stayed - Bucky Barnes

Summary: When Bucky's distance with you causes your safety to be compromised, he will do anything to get you to back. Even if it means awakening the Soldat he fears looms at the periphery of his mind. Part of my This Feeling I've Got (Bucky Barnes AU). This piece can be read as a standalone.

Pairings: FATWS!Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized! Fem!Reader (established relationship)

Warnings: angst, whump, reader is injured, reader and bucky argue, bucky is an idiot (at the start), hydra mess, torture, angst, some fluff, mild mention of smut (nothing described), mentions of bucky's time as soldat, feels, emotional hurt comfort, reader feels neglected, making out, caring of wounds, emotional messes?, crying.

AN: i started writing this months ago and finally had the inspo to complete it, i hope you enjoy reading it

Word Count: 8981 || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Masterlist // AO3 // This Feeling I've Got AU Masterlist

It started slowly. Unseen texts. Ignored calls. Softly his footsteps felt foreign on the worn flooring of the home the two of you shared. Touches that lingered across dawn, warmth that shielded you from a new day gone even before it enveloped you.

You stare at the device almost hating it. It had been two days of radio silence. The device chimes just as you’re halfway putting away the untouched food. Your appetite is gone.

Bucky: hey kitten, the mission ran longer, we needed wheels up swiftly so I couldn't let you know earlier, the extension led into another mission. I’ll be home soon.

Scoffing, you place the device upside down. You’d believe him when he stayed home or should you call it that anymore? Alpine curls around your feet, her meow making you look at her.

“Yeah Al, he isn’t coming home tonight, said soon.” You tell her, the chirp from her sounds disappointed as well. Sitting on the dining chair you stare at the wooden pattern. It begins to blur, Alpine rubs her head against your arm,

“I just miss him.”. The sob is a quiet echo through the empty house.

The day comes in, along with the headache your crying caused. When you shift a weight pulls you back. Panic sets into your bones before a sleep laced voice grumbles,

“Kitten, go back to sleep, it's too early.” Bucky pulls you closer with his vibranium arm, his thumb stroking the skin of your stomach.

“Need to go to the bathroom…” You trail, shifting away from him. His grip loosens, you don’t look back at him as you make your way over. Shutting the door, your eyes lace with more tears. Not one ‘i missed you’, ‘i love you’.

Wiping your eyes, splashing cold water on your face. It does little to help the puffy appearance of your face. The pain medication sits on the counter. Sighing you grab two, placing the bottle back.

You needed something to stomach the medication. Bucky sits up on the bed rubbing his eyes as you head out, the blanket bunched around his waist. Your eyes move over him, no visible injuries, relief floods you. Alpine clambers onto the bed, nuzzling into his side and purring.

“Hi pretty girl, I missed you.” He coos.

Wordlessly you head to the kitchen. Swallowing down, if you got time with him you wouldn’t argue. If he didn't, maybe you would ask if he even wants to be together anymore. You knew missions would come and go. He would update you before leaving. Now it was after the fact.

“What hurts?” Bucky’s arms move around your waist, chest warming your back. Chin resting on your shoulder. Lips press to your cheek, “Heard the bottle.”

“Just my head.” You take a bite of the toast.

“Did you sleep late? You didn’t reply…” He kisses your temple.

Were you naive to want to melt into his affections? You take another bite of toast. Bucky kisses along your hairline. Palm moving over your back, soft touches. You lean against him, resolve breaking.

You shake your head, “Just, feeling off, I guess.”

“Come back to bed then.” He coaxes, “Let me cuddle the headache away.”

You chuckle, looking up at him, his brows furrow.

“Kitten,” he turns to you, cupping your face in his hands, “What made you cry?”

“Nothing–,”

He gives you a look that oozes disbelief.

“Just a movie, you know how I get.” you lie, “I was assured of healing cuddles?” you raise your brow.

Bucky says nothing for a beat, then leads you back to bed after you take the medicine. Tucked against his side, head on his chest. Fingertips softly running over your scalp.

“Did you miss me?” You ask on the precipice of sleep, you don’t look up. What if he lies?

“Every minute I’m away I miss you, Kitten.” his index finger tucks under your chin, titling your head back to look into his blue eyes.

“Couldn’t wait to come back to you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I had to leave for another one right after.” Sincerity shines in his voice and eyes.

You swallow the lump in your throat, your palm moves from his chest to his jaw. His stubble grew out further. Pushing yourself closer, Bucky meets your lips half way. The bed is soft as he turns, pressing you against it. Your legs wrapped around his waist. Your back arches when his hips rut against you.

Bucky moans against your throat as he marks your skin, his scent envelopes you further, pine, bergamot, your own little concoction of heaven.

“Missed you so much, my pretty little kitten.” He tugs on your earlobe.

“Bucky,” You call out, your hands roaming on his back needing him closer.

“Need you too baby.” He assures, kissing along your shoulder, back up and meeting your lips again, tugging on your lip.

“I love you.”

“Mine, as I am yours.”

“Yours.”

You feel his presence over you, on every part of your skin. Basking in the afterglow. Softly Bucky traces his own written memories across your back. Humming when you nuzzle closer. He presses kisses to your skin, forehead, temple.

You don’t know why the tears reappear, maybe the intensity of his love, the love you can finally feel surrounding you. You press further into the crook of his skin. Bucky’s hand pauses on your mid back.

“Kitten?” He feels the warm tears over his chest.

You shake your head when he tries to pull away to look at you, your arms tighten around him, keeping yourself flush against him and hidden away.

“It’s okay, I’m here, let it out. I’ve got you.” He runs a hand over your head, free hand running over your back.

Even as the sobs shake you, he doesn’t let go. He keeps you protected.

Minutes pass as you calm down, sniffling intermittently. Bucky waits till you stop crying completely. He sits the two of you up, pulling you into his lap. Grabbing the tissues from the side table. He wipes the remnants of the breakdown from your face.

“You want to talk about it?” His question is met by silence and your nervous fiddling.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” he assures, pressing kisses to your forehead.

Bucky wraps his arms around you again, worry laces his heart. What had made you this upset?

Your eyes close, exhaustion seeping in, Bucky feels your breathing even out. He counts your heartbeats, then your breaths. After a few minutes, he gently shifts allowing the two of you to lay on the bed.

On instinct you reach out to him, he keeps you close. Thumb tracing your cheek wiping away the tear tracks. Maybe he could plan a date later today. It felt far too long that you and he went anywhere.

He watches the dawn turn into morning daylight, before sleep finds him. He falls asleep with his lips pressed to your forehead.

When you both wake up close to lunch time.

Neither of you bring up your crying spell.

Take out is delivered.

Clothes are changed, it’s after lunch when a show is playing in the background and Bucky returns from the kitchen with your cat ear mug filled and his own mug filled with coffee.

“I was thinking,” he sets his mug down as you sip from yours then look at him, “We should go out tonight, on a date.”

“A date?” you sound more surprised than you intend to, Bucky catches it but says nothing.

“Yes, well, we haven’t in a long time and I found a place where I can take you dancing with dinner.” He smiles showing his little dimple.

“Dancing, Mr. Barnes?” You raise a brow, a smile on your lips, “Alright, take me dancing.”

His smile turns brighter, a fist pump and a yes, have the house fill with laughter, Alpine meows.

“Yes, treats, yes.” Bucky chuckles heading towards her.

Hours later, smoothening your dress, Bucky admires you from the mirror.

“You look gorgeous, Kitten.” He winks at you, your cheeks heat.

“You’re looking dapper as well.” You compliment, Bucky’s lips part to say something and then his phone rings.

“I promise it's nothing.” he says taking the call, you try not to dampen your mood.

Slipping on your shoes, setting up Alpine’s auto feeder and the camera to keep an eye on her. Bucky meets you at the door helping you wear your jacket.

Taking his bike isn’t unusual, you’ve gotten used to it. Plus Bucky pressing the breaks and speeding just to feel your hold on him tighten makes you laugh. Just as you wait for him to take off his helmet his phone rings again.

“Take it…” You urge, hands tucked into your jacket pockets.

“Sit inside? I don’t want you getting cold.” He gives you an apologetic smile, the call is answered as you walk to the establishment, the interior is cosy, soft lighting and there is a dance floor in the middle but it isn’t a club-esque place. You smile already excited.

The hostess leads you to the table Bucky had reserved, she places the menus and two waters. You look towards the door, then to the menu. Ten minutes pass, the waiter looks at you hoping you would signal him.

You look at your phone texting Bucky.

You: Is everything okay?

You: Bucky where are you?

You: Do you want me to place the order? It would be here in a few minutes

At the twenty minute mark, you move across the now occupied dancefloor, outside Bucky is still on the phone, an argument going on with Sam.

“Sam, don’t be fucking reckless going in alone. We’ve been going over this.” Bucky glares at the ground, “No I can make it, nothing important is going on.”

You scoff, he looks up at you, then closes his eyes.

“I’ll call you back, give me half an hour.” He looks up at you from the phone.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” He says, you shake your head.

“No you meant it correctly. There isn’t anything important. There hasn’t been in the last few months. Do you know how many days you were home just last month?” You ask, waiting for a response.

“I–,”

“Ten. Not even together, I’m stringing together your hour based sporadic returns and giving you these ten days.”

“Kitten…”

“Please, just, save it, yesterday as well, you were supposed to be home for dinner as you promised on that five minute phone call.”

“The mission–,”

“Went on longer, thanks for telling me after the fact.”

“You knew what I did, I will have to go for missions, like tonight.”

“Thanks for telling me beforehand, how long is this one going to last? Answer me?” You step closer to him, “You want to know why I was crying?”

Bucky’s breath shudders, guessing your answer. You nod.

“I don’t feel prioritised anymore by you. Now I know a date with me is nothing important. I know you’re needed, you fight for keeping people safe and I am proud of you for doing that, I always will be, but Bucky this is the longest time we’ve spent together in the past months.” You wait for him to say something, do something.

He studies you for a few moments.

“I need to leave. I’m leaving you home.” He holds the helmet out towards you, you wear it.

The journey back seemingly shorter, he says nothing even as the door unlocks, heading to pack his duffle. You wait in the living room.

“We will discuss this once I come home.” he stands at the entrance of the living room. You look up from where you were playing with the hem of your dress. Nodding you walk towards him.

“I really am sorry I have made you feel this way. I know what I put you through is difficult as is, I wish I had realised on my own rather than pushing you to be this upset and feeling neglected. You are my priority, I know it doesn’t seem that way as I am leaving again, but I’m going to improve and show you just how much you mean to me.” He steps closer, his adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

You stand on your tiptoes, kissing his cheek.

“Take care of yourself for me.” You request as you always did, “You come back and we’ll talk about this…”

He nods, his chest tightening as he turns to the door, you follow behind him, Alpine curled near your feet as you both watch him leave.

Bucky texts you when he reaches the compound. You just read the message, curled up on the sofa under the blanket with your tub of ‘soothe the heartache’ ice cream, even your favourite show doesn’t prove to be the salve to the wounds you didn’t realise had formed upon your heart.

Bucky fairs no better staring at the mission docket blankly, he requests FRIDAY to provide him with his off time list in the past months, you were right. He had hardly been home. Extended missions, new missions right after primary ones ended.

The group pauses when Bucky stands dismissing the hologram.

“I’m not going.” he announces.

“What?” Sam questions, “You were just on my ass about going in alone.”

“That was before, priorities change.” He glares at Sam, “Also we have an entire team here.” he points at the fellow avengers.

Sam looks around and back at Bucky, “Alright.”

“Good, now if there is an emergency then let me know.” Bucky pushes the docket to the centre of the table, grabbing the duffle he heads to the parking lot of the tower. He had to work towards his relationship with you. Missions would come and go. You are his constant, his future.

The incessant knocking on the door has you pause, Alpine looks up at you from her perch near the window. The wood rattles again at the louder knocks. Tiptoeing your way to the peephole you do not recognise the people.

The man standing in front turns, you cover your mouth to prevent the gasp. The logo on his jacket chills your bones. You pad across the room, grasping Alpine and heading to your bedroom, placing her in the carrier Tony had come up with, you grasp the little clip on her collar shoving it into your pocket.

Her meows are frantic and her claws rake across the carrier wanting to be let out,

“Alpine no, be quiet.” The search for your phone takes you back out to the living room, you stay close to the ground crawling.

When you reach the living room, dread fills the entire house. Your hair is yanked upon strands tearing making you cry out.

“Where were you hiding, hm?” The man chuckles, lifting you up causing more strain on your hair roots, “Where is Soldat? Leaving you all alone?”

You don’t answer, legs kicking around as you’re lifted upwards. Your hands move to his, there is a sting across your cheek before you roll across the floor, your back meeting the table.

“Check the apartment.” The same man looms over you, his foot on your palm, pain blooms with another cry from your lips.

All the defence moves Bucky taught you, yet none seemingly making their way to your body and mind.

“Nothing, only their cat’s in the cage.” Another voice adds.

You grab the man’s ankle, trying to dig your nails into his flesh. It only makes him laugh.

“Put Soldat’s little kitten in a cage as well. She will help us revive him.”

You’re ripped from the man easily, the pain of your palm now dull. The man has you kneel right in front of the camera set up for Alpine.

“Go on, ask Soldat to come find you.” Cold metal kisses your temple. You stare into the camera. The blazing tears now manifest.

“Bucky, don’t try—,” Your hair is tugged back harshly, “Bucky!” You cry out for him.

“That is not right, call out to Soldat. Not Bucky.”

“No.” You seeth trying to twist away you manage to kick his leg he falls but before you can reach for the exit hatch where you placed Alpine.

You fall forward, crashing into the glass cabinet. It shatters and you feel yourself dragged by your foot where the man caught you.

Screaming, crying for help, you kick at his hand. It only angers him. Only Alpine’s distressed meows are your reply.

“Call to Soldat.” The sting of his palm causes a ringing in your ears.

“He isn’t your pawn anymore, you fucking asshole!” You yell, trying to get away yet again.

“Listen you little fucking bitch. You’re testing my fucking patience. Take her.” He backhands you again, the metallic taste on your tongue.

You thrash still in the next pair of arms, “Don’t fucking touch Alpine!”

“Shut up.” The former man, with a scar across his jaw yells, he places a muzzle on your mouth muffling your screams as you’re dragged out.

“We care scarcely for pets. You are the prize. You’re going to bring Soldat back to us.”

They don’t head towards the elevators, instead taking the stairs to the roof, a jet waits and you try with all your might to prevent them from taking you.

Yet you’re shoved between the men, the woman on the pilot seat looks back at you once then begins the pre-flight process.

You close your eyes as the restraints dig into your arms, twisting them back. Hoping Bucky or the team gets the distress signal from Alpine’s carrier that you activated.

A sinking feeling latches onto your stomach, what if he’s already long gone on the mission? In a way you were happy. He would not be captured by these assholes.

Tears anew gather along your eyes, pooling over the muzzle, lining it with salt instead of iron as it might have memorised.

The man speaks with others in annoyance, then you feel a pinch along your shoulder.

Slowly everything fades away.

When Bucky sits on his bike, all hell breaks loose. The alert system rings, his phone alert chimes and Sam runs out from the elevators.

“Bucky!” He calls out, but it sounds distant as Bucky reads the notification of the distress call from Alpine’s carrier. He had taught you how to use it and what situations would call for its usage.

Bucky can feel the adrenaline ripping through his blood, heading to every muscle with each cracked beating of his heart.

“Go, go, I’m right above.” Sam urges, red wing to follow Bucky as he drives off. Sam moves swiftly, suiting up and moving through the sky.

“The security has been tampered with at your building.” Sam speaks through the comms, Bucky doesn’t reply. He needs to make sure you’re okay, the calls to you go unanswered. He blinks back the tears, he should have stayed. He should have fucking stayed.

“Satellite footage shows a smaller quinjet landing on the roof. I’m trying to locate it.” Sam knows it isn’t of any use distracting Bucky but he knows this information may help put into perspective.

He should have stayed.

Bike haphazardly parked he rushes through the glass doors, this was supposed to be hidden away. Blue eyes trace the steps he had carried you through, soaking in the rain or blooming through the first spring, hot chocolates in hand during the snowy winter.

Memories of laughter in the hallway, why was his mind his worst enemy? The door is open, he can tell by the faint scent of those candles you love permeating through the hallway.

He should have stayed.

Alpine’s meows gives him hope, it sinks the second he assesses the damage in the living room. He heads on over to the carrier kept near the hidden exit hatch he had shown you.

Alpine paws at the cage, meowing louder as she recognizes Bucky, he opens it, she launches herself at him, he holds her unable to control the tears that soak her fur.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

As his vibranium fingers run over her fur he notices her bell isn’t sounding the same. Checking the collar he realises you took the pin that contained her tracker.

Oh he could kiss you. He will when he finds you.

“Sam?” Bucky stands holding his fur baby. Shielding her from the living room and walking out of the apartment. He was going to move you both to a better, secure location.

“What do you need?”

Bucky explains what you did, Sam smiles at your quick thinking. Bucky meets him on the roof. Red Wing loads the tracker information.

The moments are tense as it loads. Bucky only feels the knot tighten when he realises the course is set for Russia.

“We head back to the compound and you will need help.” Sam places a hand on his shoulder.

“I need to save her, Sam, I have to fix things. I promised her.” He stares at his friend, Alpine struggles in his hold.

Sam nods, “You will, now come on. Let's take care of her first, I know Y/N will be worried about Alpine more than herself.”

“Call out to Soldat.”

“No.”

Another hit, you close your eyes. Biting down on your tongue to stop the sound of distress.

“You’re testing my patience girl.”

You stay silent, the red light on the camera mocks you.

Give in.

It repeats.

You shake your head.

“We know the triggers don’t work.” The same man with the scar on his face tells you.

“We want to approach this differently.” He walks around you, pausing behind you.

“He was always an emotional fool when he would begin to remember. Right before we put him in that chair.” The light flickers on in the corner, Bucky’s memories come crashing down as you recall his ordeal spoken to you over his own tears.

“Should we give you a taste?” The man laughs, “You would beg for death. You would do anything I say for death.”

The ropes keep you in place, you’re hunched over. Silently letting the tears flow. How are you finding the strength to not cry out in pain, you don’t understand.

“Now call out to Soldat.” Your head is lifted to face upwards. The fucking red light mocks you, catching your moment of weakness.

“Bucky, it's them, they, they want you to lose your progress, don’t, don’t let it—,” Another slap cuts you off. You bite your tongue not willing to let any sound of distress make it to the video. You stare at the wet patch on the rough ground.

“Do you not understand? I said,”

Harshly the man grabs your jaw, squeezing till your lips form a pout, your head turned to face the camera.

“Call,”

His foot presses on your own leg,

“Soldat.”

You weakly shake your head, glaring at the man.

“You little bitch.”

Your head hits the ground as the chair topples over, your pained whimper makes the man smile.

“Soldat, we have your precious kitten, ah, yes we have been watching for a while. How you’ve been leaving her alone for more and more time.” The man chuckles, as you’re lifted to be righted by his subordinates,

“Poor thing had cooked for you, all that food left in the refrigerator. Now, you come to us alone, we exchange you for her.” He towers over you,

“She doesn’t scream for you Soldat, seems you have chosen a strong one for yourself. I’ll enjoy breaking her. Then she will sing for you.” He assures, you don’t look at him, staring at the ground instead.

The silence is deafening, roaring in your ears as they leave you alone for minutes or hours on end. The red dot in the corner indicating the camera isn’t there anymore, they got what they needed.

You will yourself not to cry, one motive was them exploiting you and your pain to bring out Soldat.

Bucky had confided in you about his past.

The dark embers that surrounded his mind. The night he spoke about the words and their consequences with a rasp you had sobbed in his arms.

Cradling him. Your arms ache in remembrance of Bucky. Your mind taking you to the first time cuddling with him, pressed against him on the cold day.

You couldn't allow them to take away his progress, to weaponize them again. You were hardly an enhanced being, just a civilian. A civilian who is endangering the man she loves.

Metal clangs, the ties to the chair are unravelled. Only footsteps echo when you’re dragged into the outer hallway, flickering lights make you wince. Keeping your gaze on the floor. The throbbing in your head dulls in the slightest.

When you’re pushed into the room on your knees, hands shackled above you. The people leave the room. Looking around there isn’t much, it’s cleaner and tilted a section to the side has a wide bed, another seems to harbour a two way glass.

You stare at your own reflection, red lines your forehead and temple. Splotches across your cheeks and arms. The full sleeved shirt you were wearing is in tatters.

The man enters, a scowl on his face. It tugs on his scar. His footsteps feel like pinpricks on your skin.

“Check her.” He orders the subordinate who steps closer to you. Her hair was cropped, she kneels her hands pat along your arms moving downward. You shift uncomfortably then her hands move to your pockets.

You feel her reach for the clip. You bite your tongue. Closing your eyes. The slap doesn’t sting this time, your bruised cheeks throb in numbing pain.

“Tracker.” She places the clip into the palm of the man’s hand.

“Hmm, it appears you have led Soldat right to us. He was to head to his old stomping grounds following our jet. Your smartness has led him right into our hold.” He grins, your heart sinks.

“Yes, you should feel guilty. However, you should feel pride. You will be the catalyst to return the fist of HYDRA.” His laugh echoes even after he leaves.

Your stomach cramps, not understanding how many hours has it been.

Your mind drifts to Bucky, guilt latches around you.

You should have kept quiet, what if he got hurt?

What if no one found Alpine?

What if you put him in more danger?

Tracing your location had been easy due to the tracker. However, HYDRA had been smart, constantly moving you. The cat and mouse game they were playing with him.

The video came in after three hours, your eyes glazed over filling Bucky’s with rage at the way they kept hurting you. Forcing you to call out to The Winter Soldier.

The video from Alpine’s camera had burned itself into his memory. He swore to cause all of them pain. Each one that hurt you.

Sam watches him through the video feed, the quinjet on the last leg of the journey.

“I need to ask you, not because I don’t trust you, but I am worried.”

Bucky turns away from the video, he was going to rip the man apart. Piece by fucking piece.

“I already told you, they won’t be able to trigger—,”

“You told me once, you feared he was still somewhere inside, waiting.” Sam cuts him off.

“Sam, I do know what I told you, I, I don’t want it to come down to that. But if it is the only way to protect her? Then I do not care, I’m giving myself up for her even if I have to pretend to be him.” Bucky looks back at the paused screen, on your features, he clenches his fists. The embers in his mind rattle, the part of him tucked away already trying to break free.

“And if he takes over? What will prevent her from getting hurt?” Sam didn’t want to think this could happen, but he had to have Bucky pause and run through the consequences.

The blue eyed man stays quiet, “I’d never let anything harm her, I’ve failed spectacularly but I plan to not let it happen ever again, from my own hands to anyone else’s.”

Sam nods, the jet lands on the outskirts. It doesn’t sit right letting Bucky go in alone. They couldn’t afford anything to happen to you. Stocking the jet with supplies, safe houses and trackers planted.

Bucky loads his weapons, heading out towards you. He jogs through the perimeter. Silently taking down the guards walking along. He pulls the bodies into the surrounding forest.

They don’t get a chance to touch him, not landing even a nick to his skin. Bucky traces the easiest exit path from his breach point back to the jet.

Breaching the facility walls and building, with each body on the floor it hardly satiates the anger within him. The room you were kept in was familiar. All facilities mimicked the same patterns. Same layout.

The room is empty, he traverses down the hallway when he hears your pained whimper. He doesn’t care if it is a trap.

“Y/N.” He whispers, limbs picking up pace, he kicks down the door, the room is empty. Save for the glass that shows him you, kneeling on the floor. Arms extended behind you in shackles.

His vibranium fist collides with the glass.

The man grins.

“Oh look, Soldat is here.” He announces.

You look up, glass trembles as his fist lands upon it.

“Bucky.” You say loudly still unable to see him.

The punching becomes frantic, Bucky looks around the room, then at the corner of the glass frame.

“Call out to Soldat.”

“Bucky!” You cry out as the hit lands to your side.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” He roars, hitting harder.

“Soldat.” The man seethes again. You don’t understand why your resolve to not cry or sob is breaking. Your eyes move towards the glass again. It shakes.

A crack forming at the bottom left, then right.

You cry out when your hair is pulled upon, “Bucky—,”

“Kitten!” He calls out, another hit to the top left corner, the satisfying crack pushes him forward. Using the table as leverage, he moves back holding it up.

The light flickers, your gaze finds Bucky moving back with the table, “Bucky.” You rasp finally seeing him. The weight on your chest shifts, tiny spikes of guilt press into your heart.

“Soldat, pay attention.” The voice cuts through his movements.

Bucky looks out the glass, the barrel of a gun is held against your temple.

“One more move and she doesn’t get to even reunite with you.” You whimper when the gun presses harder into your skin. The metal is warm as though recently used.

Bucky sets the table down, “Give her to me.” His voice is cold, the anger simmering through his veins.

“Now, now, ask her to call to Soldat.” The man tuts, “She seems hell bent on not wanting to help us. Help you in fact. You were at your greatest with us. It is your destiny to be HYDRA’s pawn to greatness.”

Bucky looks at you, even in a tight grip he knows defiance is on your tongue. You weren’t going to allow him to be subjected to those horrible times again.

He takes note of your visible injuries, the way your breathing is shallow he knows you’ve landed injuries to your chest too.

“She won’t because your precious Soldat is gone.” Bucky looks back at the man.

“Now I find that hard to believe.” The man hauls you up, your unsteady footing makes you stumble, Bucky moves forward, then there is a click.

“You remember this scent I presume? Locking down your body but keeps you conscious.” The man chuckles.

Bucky turns to the door, but the gas permeates through him his hand stays half raised, your hands slam on the glass as he falls to his knees.

“Bucky!” You cry out.

“Say it.” Bucky rasps coughing against the irritant fumes.

“No, Bucky I—,”

“Do it, don’t argue.” Blue eyes blazing, you gaze at him, tears stream down your face as the men filter into the room.

“S-Soldat.” You say as they pick him up, grabbing his head by his hair making him look at you.

“Louder, he needs to hear you.” The man taunts as the six men hold him up. Bucky’s eyes are trained on you. He wants to apologise for putting you through this, for hurting you, for not prioritising you. His throat is locked, the gas was enough for them to read the words to him, so he knows he has time.

“Soldat, please— Bucky.” Your voice breaks into a sob before your head is slammed against the glass. Bucky’s eyes shift to the man, he’d be creative in hurting this man. He’d make it hurt.

“You can’t do anything right can you?” The man taunts.

Another harsh tug and slam. Your vision blurs, “Soldat.” You cry out, “Soldat please, just,” your palms rest on the glass, eyes on Bucky as he blurs into smears of colour.

Bucky closes his eyes, your calls to the Soldat echoing around his mind. It isn’t dark embers that begin to shroud over him. There is red hot anger. A growl rumbles in his chest. His breathing is heavier.

Blinking away the tears, you feel the last of your resolve crumble when they press the barrel of a gun to his temple. His eyes are closed, you can’t see him like this, you need him to look at you.

“I need you, Soldat, help, please.” You begin to weep, your own eyes closed now, pressed against the glass, “Soldat, please, s-save, Sol-Soldat.”

The man drags you back to where the shackles were, and lets you go. You fall to the floor not able to hold yourself. Curling against the wall.

The men holding Bucky’s arms are pushed down by him, his hands on either of their necks. The two slump over in his grasp. He stares at the ground ahead. Turning he reaches for his guns before finishing them off.

The remaining four begin to scramble but Soldat doesn’t let them get away. Recognition of the ones who hurt you in your home and in the video. He makes sure their screams reach you in the room across.

They plead, beg, fight, all of it futile.

They lay on the ground.

He picks up the discarded table. The two way glass shatters, the man with scar on his face stumbles back towards you.

You look at Bucky leaping over the shattered glass, boots crunching the scattered pieces.

Your heart shatters like those pieces. You did this to him.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper, his gaze shifts to you. You sniffle, he makes his way over. Needing to protect you. He had to save you.

More men and women pour in from the broken doorway. The woman who found your clip raises her gun and shoots; the bullet ricochets off of his vibranium palm.

He moves swiftly, the movements natural to him. In a moment he has her on the ground moving to the next soldier. Gunmetal permeates the room, you watch as the cavalry trickles in, Soldat’s movements gain agility.

None of them a match for him, he keeps them away from you. One attacks him with a knife, he catches it turning it around and pressing it into his attacker.

His breathing is hard as he remains standing, you stare at him. He moves in and out of focus as he turns. Locking his eyes on you. The soldiers think his gaze on you is his distraction but it is his fuel. His sustenance. His revenge on them.

“Soldat, welcome back, Hail HYDRA.” The scarred man gleams.

Bucky pauses, turning to the man, he stands at ease as a soldier, hands folded behind his back. The smile of the man widens, you feel a fresh wave of tears.

“Would you like to keep her Soldat?” The man questions, “Isn’t anything special, but you may need something to blow off steam. We could even share—,”

“Kotenok (kitten).” His voice has a deeper timbre, eyes on you. You stare at the ground.

“You call her Kitten?” The man raises a brow, “You recognise her?”

This gives you hope, for what you don’t know. If even as Soldat he calls you by the endearment that only the two of you know the reason it fills you with hope.

“Kotenok.” He calls out again, when you look up at him, you don’t feel unease, “Close your eyes.”

You nod, turning away.

Soldat turns to the man again, lips stretched into a snarl. He lunges for the man, two bullets in his legs and the man cries out.

You curl further against the wall, his screams are hoarse, the crunching of bones should make you shudder but a fucked up part of you wants to celebrate as Bucky hurts the man as much as you’ve been hurt.

Soldat doesn’t stop, he lets the man think he has a chance at living. The rage drives him. He never knew he could decide who to harm, your voice calling for him, needing him. Awoke him from a slumber he knew he had to return back toward.

He didn’t need a finality moment to recognise you, it was in his being.

Who you are, what you mean to him.

Every part of him recognised you.

Knew you.

Knows you.

Protects you.

Loves you.

“We’ll get you Soldat.” The man warns in Russian, coughing up blood. Soldat drags him over the shattered glass.

“You won’t.” Soldat assures speaking the same tongue, “This is a warning, the last one. If you try to touch my Kotenok again, or even think of it. Any one little measly one of you, you have to go through me. It won’t end well. You trained me for this didn’t you? You will reap the consequences.”

His metal arm delivers the final blow. He stands making his way over to you. Kneeling, he checks on the surroundings, more people hadn’t come in, the facility was big but not too much man power. He had secured the perimeter.

“Kotenok.” He whispers, you turn, “Open your eyes.”

You follow his instructions, the first thing you see is his chest. You keep your eyes steady, you follow the movement of his breathing, trailing up to his neck then chin, jaw, lips, nose, eyes. You breathe.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumble out.

“You did nothing wrong. I am sorry.” He assures, flesh hand coming to touch your cheek with such tenderness, you lean into his palm.

“I feel safe with you.” You tell him, needing him to know this side of him does not scare you away.

“Kotenok.” He says as though he doesn’t believe your words.

“I do.” You shift to raise your hands to hug him and then wince as the pain manifests across your body.

“Don’t move, I’ll carry you out.” He says hands moving under your knees and around your back.

Without effort you’re lifted, you tuck your face against his chest not wanting to see the place. You feel the ghost of his lips along your crown. It’s so featherlite you think you made it up.

“You can open your eyes, Kotenok, we’re outside.” It’s dark out, you wonder how long it has been? The facility had no clock and they never told you anything beyond ordering you to be a catalyst.

“Is Alpine okay?” You feel bad for not asking till now, he nods.

“With Sam, the vet checked her, she’s healthy.” Something inside him warms, he holds you closer.

“Okay, that is, that's good.”

Soldat’s jog slows down as the quinjet nears. He asks you to slip in the comm into his ear from the upper flap in his jacket. .

“Bucky? Are you both okay?” Sam’s voice comes through.

“She’s hurt. Need the medical supplies.” His replies are curt.

“What about you?” Sam questions, having the quinjet open, he carries you up right to the first aid area.

Soldat keeps quiet, working on retrieving the first aid boxes, this felt different than before. It wasn’t just him in the forefront with everything else static, until one day his mission turned into his long lost best friend.

It's almost as if Bucky isn’t tucked away but present, just lingering.

“Bucky?” Sam questions again,

“Put the flight path to a safe house, I’ll be radio silent for twenty five minutes.” He says placing the comm back into the pocket.

“Kotenok.” He says you look up at him, the plinth wasn't uncomfortable but you felt better upright.

“Hey.” You greet, “You feeling okay? Are you hurt?”

“Still Soldat, no but I should be.” He says, lips curling in disgust at himself, as he reaches for the scissors taking in the blood coating your clothes.

“You’re still you, I’m glad you aren’t hurt.” You press, he looks down at you.

Nothing further is said, he uses the gauze and saline to wipe away the dried blood and wash the cuts on your forehead and face.

You realise lifting your hands is painful. He has the scissors and cuts through the material. His inhale is sharp as your skin is exposed.

Bruises litter your skin, “I went too easy on him.”

The scissors break in his vibranium arm.

“Bucky.” You swallow, “This is not your fault.”

“It is! He should not have left you alone and vulnerable, weeks on end!” He looks at you.

“They would have attacked and used me against you even if you were there all the time. That was their plan. I shouldn’t have argued with you right before a mission.”

“He could have protected you.”

“And he did. As did you.” You don’t want him to harbour guilt, you know this isn’t a conversation to be had when he’s not feeling like himself. While he’s vulnerable. You don’t know how to navigate this, you don’t know what he needs, it makes you feel helpless.

He says nothing, soaking more gauze to clean the blood from the cut on your side. You shiver at the cold sensation of the antiseptic.

You recognise his duffle bag as he pulls out a long sleeve black henley of his, helping you wear it, along with a pair of your leggings and shoes.

He inspects your lower limbs, small scrapes on the knees and nothing more. Carefully he makes you wear the clothes, easing them on you without triggering the pain.

The scent of the antiseptic mixes with the lingering cologne on his henley. You sigh at the small comfort. He watches your thumb tracing over the sleeves that are longer on you.

“Do you want to keep laying down?” He reaches forward when your face contorts into pain.

“I’d rather keep sitting.” You murmur, “Do, do you have water?”

He nods, moving to the other side and bringing you a bottle, gingerly holding it up to your lips as you drink small sips. He moves his vibranium hand to the back of your head holding you tenderly, fingertips softly tracing over your scalp.

Your eyes fall half mast, the gesture always comforting when Bucky did it, having you pressed against him, protected in his embrace. When he feels your head push into his hand the bottle is removed.

The stray drop of water wiped away by his flesh hand.

“Bucky,” your breath warm over his digit.

“Not him.” He corrects you, thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

“Do you want me to call you ‘Soldat’?” You wonder, trying to search his eyes for an answer as they trace your lips.

“No.” His lips press into a thin line.

The hum is of the quinjet, filling in the silence. You keep your breaths even, deeper ones trickle into pain. Exhaustion lingers in the periphery slowly gaining momentum as the adrenaline retreats. The aches now front and centre but you fight it all, begging yourself to stay awake for him.

“Call me yours, Kotenok.” Your eyes shift to his, there is a nervousness that is palpable within him. The Soldat never deemed himself worthy, he knew you didn’t blame his counterpart for the crimes that drench his palms in red.

You grasp his wrists gently, “You are mine, every part of you, every facet of you. Even the pieces of you that you think are too broken for me, too jagged, that it may hurt me, even the pieces of you that you deem pristine. That you think are worthy. You are mine.”

He closes his eyes, head dipping forward touching his forehead to yours, “You told him once, what he did was not him.” He whispers, “How will you tell me that it wasn’t me? When you know the hands you hold are guilty?”

“You did not do it out of your own accord, you were manipulated and forced.” You keep your eyes closed, the sickening image of the chair comes to life, “That man, he showed me the chair.”

He stiffens, “Did they—,”

“He threatened to, but he didn’t. They took away your free will.” You press a gentle kiss to his palms.

“What if, what if I told you some days I did it just to avoid the punishments? That I willingly shed blood.”

“You tried to protect yourself. They pushed you to it, I know you never wanted to hurt anyone, I know you wouldn’t do it without reason. You’ve suffered enough. It will take time to heal, I know. I don’t expect this conversation to make things okay in a giffy.” You open your eyes, his still closed, gently you press your lips to above his cupid’s bow.

His face contorts, red spreading along his cheeks as he tries to stop the tears. Eyes screwed shut tighter.

“It took too long for me to answer your call, Kotenok.”

“It’s okay. You have me, it’s okay. Let it out baby.” You assure him, “You answered my call. You rescued me. You took care of my wounds. You are taking care of me.”

He shifts, very careful of your injuries, nuzzled into the crook of your neck. He holds you, not letting you wrap your arms around him. You grasp onto his leather jacket. Then snake your palm towards his scalp knowing it soothes him when you run your fingers through his hair.

Tears coat his henley that you wear, your own eyes brim with your own tears. He cries, the sobs making his shoulders shake. You pull him closer when he tries to shift away to prevent jostling you.

“Stay.” You meant for the word to sound reassuring but the way it breaks on your tongue, giving away your own selfish need to have him close, “Please, stay. I’m here for you.”

Time trickles on by, his sobs turn softer, then breathing evened out. You keep running your fingers through his hair and along the nape of his neck. You press your face against his chest.

“I’m sorry I made you feel neglected.” His voice is softer, the slight hint of his accent gone, “I, I can’t believe I let you get hurt. Don’t, don’t try to make me feel better by excusing it onto them.”

“Bucky—,”

“I don’t want to hear it, Kitten. Blame me. Scream at me. Be angry with me.” He places a chaste kiss on your neck, “Tell me off, they hurt my kitten so badly.” His arms move gently over your back and then sides.

“They hurt me.” You try to reason.

“Because of me. Because they want him. If I was around I would have caught on.” He argues.

“Bucky—, just, why were you taking so many missions?” You ask, if this is how you would get him to stop trying to blame himself so be it.

He shifts, creating distance to look at you, eyes falling to the bruise. His lips purse as his thumb traces over your cheekbone. Reliving the way you were hurt in front of him.

“I, I began to feel the guilt again. Nightmares started intermittently. I thought that if I did more good, I could outweigh the bad.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Your hands rest on your thighs, the wave of dizziness hits you then, your eyes remain downcast. Bucky blurs in and out of view with black spots.

“I thought I could handle it better, I didn’t realise I’d ended up pushing the actual good in my life so far away. You’re so important to me. I fucked up, I’m so utterly sorry.” He grasps your chin making you look up at him.

You close your eyes, Bucky sighs when he doesn’t get to see your pretty eyes. The ones he would find first thing in the morning to be the last sight of beauty before he slept.

“I’m sorry.” He rests his forehead to yours again.

“Please don’t put me through that again, making me feel like I don’t matter.” You request.

“I’m never going to make you feel that way again, Kitten. I promise.” He opens his eyes, breath caught when they find yours looking right at him.

The quinjet lands, bringing on another wave of nausea and pain. Bucky holds you close, jogging the distance to the safe house. Carrying you across the threshold and locating the room, he places you on the bed.

The safe house has a lingering scent of pine and vanilla, the thought makes you laugh that it isn’t what you expected. Maybe hidden weapons and not as though a scented candle store.

Bucky sets the bags down next to the bed. With precise movements he goes through the house, gathering more medical supplies as he makes sure the location is safe. He connects to the communications system and updates Sam in writing instead of a call.

Although it seemed as if Sam knew what may have occurred. The HYDRA base was left finished by him, void of any manpower.

Sam sends in an update that the base is no longer standing. The intel was collected from devices they could garner.

The tucked away part of him smiles, it worries Bucky how there isn’t a barrier anymore between Soldat and him. The way Soldat defended you, took care of you. He knows your safety isn’t something he should be worried about.

“Bucky?” You rasp, he strides to the room.

“Kitten?” He tucks a strand of your hair back.

“Come lay down?” You request, he nods.

“Let me change out of these clothes.”

He walks to the ensuite clean clothes in hand, Bucky notices the way your fingers clutch the sheets as he’s about to close the door.

“I was thinking,” He leaves the door open, taking off his clothes. Your hands relax seeing him.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Alpine’s birthday next weekend, we should host a party, get her a party hat. Blue with frills?”

You stare at him for a moment, “You want to get Alpine a party hat?”

“Yeah.” He grins, taking off his pants.

“Okay for a minute I thought this concussion is making me imagine a white fluffy cat in a party hat.” You try not to giggle but the sound escapes you, making Bucky laugh.

The crinkles by his eyes gaining prominence, you want to reach for him.

“It would be cute.” He defends.

“She’s going to gauge our eyes out.” You chuckle.

“Nah we’ll get her nails clipped so she can’t.” He teases, putting on his shirt and making his way to bed.

As he settles in next to you, you shift despite his protest to have you lay to not aggravate any injuries. You shoot him a glare.

“Alright, alright.” He raises his palms facing you in defence, wrapping them around you when you cuddle against his chest.

You feel his steady heartbeat, the gradual rise and fall of his chest. The heavier dosed painkillers work wonderfully but the exhaustion pulls at you.

“I want to stay awake.” You whisper.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up.” Bucky presses a kiss to your forehead in promise.

“I’ve missed you.”

He stays quiet in the wake of your admission, “I’m sorry I made you miss me this much.”

“I meant what I said, about loving every part of you.” You remind him. The exhaustion lingers in and out.

Bucky presses his lips to your forehead again, Soldat shifts forward for a moment, fingers moving as he gently tilts your head back to meet your eyes, “Thank you for trusting me, Kotenok.”

His lips brush against yours, more hesitant, you shift closer.

The kiss is soft, Soldat learning the way your lips taste. He pulls away, taking you in for a moment, his muscles relax but not completely.

“I don’t know how to keep him tucked away again.” Bucky admits, “I knew he was there…”

“I’m sorry–,”

“Please don’t apologise, I’d rather have you being the one calling out to him rather than anyone else.” His thumb moves over your cheek.

“I won’t apologise if you don’t apologise about me getting hurt. I’m not talking about you taking missions, I’m talking about blaming yourself for what happened at the base.”

Bucky sighs, breath fanning across your lips, he contemplates your words. Mind reflecting on everything that happened.

“You have yourself a deal.” He says, you smile.

“Now about you being an idiot of a boyfriend. After we wake up you can grovel.” You poke his cheek, Bucky laughs.

“Alright, kitten. I’ll get on my knees too.” He teases admiring your smile then wraps the blanket better around the two of you. Your eyes slowly flutter close.

Bucky stares at the ceiling. Soldat allows himself to feel you in his arms.

Bucky closes his eyes, joining you in slumber.

bucky permanent tags: @slutforsexyseabass

permanent tags: @stevesmewmew @pandaxnienke

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morganwrites12672 · 2 years ago

Note

still feel like asking requests is weird but i rly like ur blog so🚶

Could you do a Finnick Odair x Reader were they meet/actually talk for the first time in that scene where Finnick talks to Katniss in that horrible bare-chested outfit that makes him look like a draft and then he eats pure sugar like ew 💀 after having that weird interaction with her he comes over to us and introduces himself and is all flirty with the Reader and the Reader actually flirts back what totally startles him but hes into it and Katniss is just like ???

Yes ofc! Tagging my daughter (Finnicks Whore 2) @sakuraazharuno

My requests are open! I write for a lot of people so check out my pinned post! And if you see someone not on a list that you want, from a fandom listed, feel free to ask!

Finnick Odair x Reader

"What happened to the little girl dresses?" Finnick Odair asked Katniss Everdeen. You were standing a bit far off as they chatted, you were now approaching.

Feeling the need to protect your younger friend you decided to say something, "I don't know Finn, maybe being tortured by the capitol makes some people grow up a bit faster, wouldn't you say?"

"Sugar Cube?" Finnick asks and you raise an eyebrow. Katniss walked off some time in the conversation and you decide to talk with him.

"Pure sugar?" You ask and he pops it in his mouth. Game on.

"Aren't you a little cold?" You tease and he glares at you. You smile and let out a little laugh.

"Aren't you a little warm?" He asks. You roll your eyes. Your dress was very warm, you were from district 8. Of course it was, damn textiles.

It could be worse. You had seen Johanna Mason, she was in a type of corset with a tree patterned body suit.

Finnick reapproved you and katniss shortly after. He had a smirk on his face. Not a smile, defiantly a smirk.

"I didn't introduce myself I'm Finnick," he says. You smile and give him yours. He already knew your name, and you already know his.

"So, do you have any, plans for tonight?" Finnick asks with a rather suggestive tone. Katniss fakes a gag and rolls her eyes.

"What if I don't?" You ask with pure sugar in your tone. You hear katniss groan and then footsteps grow quiet.

She left, all of the flirting was to much for the young girl.

"Then I'd say maybe we could enjoy each other's company," finnick says with a satisfied smirk. You lick your lips and wink at him.

You see he is caught off guard. He quickly recomposes his self and winks back at you.

"I would like that," you say and lean back against the wall of this hell you were all placed in. It was literally hell, only hell was far more pleasant.

"Well, we might as well have some conversations before we go at each other's throat," finnick states and you let out a little laugh.

"That won't be an issue," you say and finnick raises an eyebrow, "I have no intention of winning. The quicker I die, the better," you finish and you see concern on finnick's face.

"What? They say if we win we get life time protection. Know they want to kill me again," you say and finnick gives a sympathetic glance.

"I know what you do Odair. Snow will take everything you have if you don't sleep with half of the capitol. He really will," you state and think of your sister, "My sister, the girl I volunteered for, was shot in the head because I refused. That was all it took, he didn't even have to threaten, he killed her and I knew. I knew my parents couldn't lose both of their kids," you finish and finnick sighs.

"That is how it works," finnick says before you walk off. You stop.

"I could use some company." He smiles as you walk off.

#finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick smut #katniss x finnick #finnick x y/n #thg finnick #thg fanfiction

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snakeskins-world · 10 days ago

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This is a first draft, but I like this, sorry for any spelling mistakes, I'm trying to get back into writing again.

This was inspired by this image on Pinterest, I don't own it but don't know the original creator

Anyway, enjoy reading 🥰

Comfy now

Comfort was not a thing evil could expect. Being forced into roles of cruel, harsh being devoid of any positive interactions.

This was torture for good to imagine. How could someone deny themselves the basic comfort of a cozy blanket? The warmth the fire makes when it illuminates the living room on a rainy night with your was drink?

The answer is simple.

Evil never got that.

When Clarissa discovered this, she was a mere student at the school she was now dean over. Of wich, she may have snuck around, but she'd member admit to rule breaking, she wad a good, benevolent, sweet ex fairy godmother.

Clarissa sat in her office.the warmth of the fire wrapped around her like a blanket, and the light wich shone off gave her the ability to see her knitting pattern, she was making a blanket.

Yes, a blanket for the Dean Of Evil, lady lesso. The blanket was a deep, emerald green, for it suited her lover's eyes. The two colours paired well, and it was the only colour Lesso would accept, of course.

Speaking of Lesso, the evil dean was currently layed on the couch, her firey red curls a mess as her heels layed lopsided by the couch, her suit jacket hung upon the coat rack with her vest tossed onto the floor.

Her button up shirt had the top two buttons undon, as to allow the woman more movement, as her head lay in the Good Dean's lap.

Her eyes drifted shut a while ago, and her mind mostly wandered the boundaries between sleeping or consciousness, sometimes slipping but never properly settling down.

Clarissa was aware of her lover's inability to sleep. So she set her knitting aside with a soft, almost inaudible click of the needles as she looked down, her gaze meeting the side of her lover's head. She reached out a manicured hand and slowly ran it through the passionately red locks beneath her.

"Trouble sleeping?"Clarissa's voice echoed concern yet radiated with the love she felt for the woman with her. "You're usually asleep by now, it's just got ten." Her voice a soft murmur as to avoid disturbing the soft atmosphere surrounding them.

Lesso, being too tired to give a proper response, settled for a drowsy "hmm" as she nuzzled her face into the other Dean's lap, the feeling of her girlfriend's hand caressing her hair felt heavenly amongst her day, wich was plagued with piles of paperwork wich she swore stood mountain-high.

Clarissa let out a warm, amused chuckle. Her smile softening further. "Should we go to my room tonight?" She asked, wishing to provide comfort "I promise, it's nicer then the couch"

However, Lesso was content. She was warm, and her heart felt it too..her entire body engulfed the warmth she felt, not physically, she didn’t know how she felt it for she never felt such contentment before.

She let out a breathy sigh, closing her eyes and finally drifting off.

Comfortable now.

#lady lesso #school for good and evil #its all encanto btw #s.g.e #lesso #clarissa/leonora #clarissa dovey #professor dovey x lady lesso #lesso x dovey #professor dovey #Dovesso

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heisthetypeof · 2 years ago

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─•❥◆❥•──•❥◆❥•──•❥◆❥•──•❥◆❥•─

You have closed the door as quietly as possible, hoping that the sound of the lock would not echo throughout the apartment. The hallway was illuminated by the small lamp built into the shoe rack. It is Changkyun's habit to leave it on whenever you come home past midnight.

Tonight though, you came later than usual and there was no sound of footsteps padding your way. You were thankful for the silence. It was almost 5 AM and here you are standing in your hallway, exhausted beyond belief.

You took off your shoes with a hiss. Twelve hours on your feet with only one break is torture. Your back was killing you and there was still one thing you needed to do before you could hide in your bed.

The sun was slowly rising as you made your way to your bedroom. The curtains were slightly parted, thanks to the fact that you did not have to use your phone to help you find your pajamas. You took a moment to admire the sleeping boy.

His back was facing you, strong arms hugging the pillow that your head should be on. You could not tear your eyes away from his beautiful tattoo as memories of the day he got it flushed before your eyes. You snapped back into reality when he rolled onto his side, hiding his face under the pillow.

Cute.

You have reached into the wardrobe for one of Kyun's hoodies and into your drawer for underwear before you tiptoe to the bathroom.

─•❥◆❥•─

Muscles in your whole body tensed when you felt something wrapping itself around your waist. You have lifted your head from the wall and opened your eyes. How long have you been standing under the shower? You had no idea. The last thing you remember was that you just needed a second to let your eyes rest.

"It's been almost thirty minutes, babe." He whispered, pulling you into his body. Kyun's warm skin somehow worked better than hot water on your sore muscles. He tilted your head back, so you could rest it against his shoulders. "Did you manage to wash or did you just ..."

"I spaced out." You admitted, nuzzling your nose right under his jaw. He has not stepped under the stream of water, which right now was a whole step behind you, so his scent was not dimmed and you could bask in the comfort it provided you with. "Why are you up?" You mumbled and slowly turned around in his arms as you fought against the sleepiness to keep your eyes open.

"Cause you are tired and I am here to help you take a shower." He explained as he reached behind you for a soap. "You can rest, I will take care of everything," Changkyun whispered and started with your back, putting some pressure on the lower half so you would not wake up later because of the pain.

Your forehead was now pressed against his chest and you could not bring yourself to open your eyes. You have allowed him to do everything for you, staying half awake so you would move under the stream of water to wash off the soap and shampoo when Kyun ordered.

You did not even notice when he wrapped your hair in a towel and put you in the clothes you have picked earlier. You have dragged your feet across the room, eyes focused on the bed.

"Hop in. I will get you something to drink." Changkyun rubbed your back before disappearing behind the door you came through. You got comfortable as you waited for Kyun to come back. You thank him for the glass of water from which you took a few sips before laying back down with Kyun next to you.

He pulled you close to his body and covered you with the sheets. Kyun's arms were wrapped tightly around you, his chin resting on top of your head.

"Tom- it is my day off." You whispered, rubbing your cheek against his bare chest. Your body gradually started to relax when he began drawing patterns on your hip.

"Good. You work too hard. I am more than capable to provide for the two of us." Kyun's words were hushed. "You should take a break, angel. I am serious. What if next time you slip and fall under the shower, hit your head…" his heart picked up the pace as the image of you falling onto the ground triggered a panic attack. You sat up quickly, taking his face in your hands.

"Hey, hey, hey. Kyunie. Look at me." Your voice was soft as you continued talking to him. "I will take a few days off, okay? I don't want to be all alone in the flat. You spend most of the day in your studio and there is no chance for us to spend more time together than this so I prefer to keep myself busy. Plus I need a good reason to take more than a day off and I don't have such." You pressed your forehead against him, playing with the long strands of hair till he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I am worried." He admitted shyly, keeping his eyes closed. Changkyun was not the type of boyfriend to voice his feelings if they did not eat him alive, so whenever he did so you knew it was bothering him.

"I will take it easy, I promise." You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed the little scares above his eyebrow. "I miss the piercing here." You added, before laying your head back on his chest.

"Goodnight love."

─•❥◆❥•──•❥◆❥•──•❥◆❥•──•❥◆❥•─

Kihyun

Like, reblog and comment.

#he is the type of #heisthetypeof #monsta x #monbebe #changkyun #changkyun imagines #im changkyun #im images

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ruiniel · 2 years ago

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Endless - IV

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Rating: M

Relationships: Maedhros/fem!OC

Characters: Maedhros, Celegorm, Curufin, Maglor, Caranthir, Fingon, Fingolfin, Amrod, Amras, Original Elf Character(s), Sauron, more to be added

Tags and warnings: alternating POV, Recovery, Trauma, Beleriand, The Sindar, The Noldor, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dehumanization, Flashbacks, Past Torture, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Mental Anguish, Survivor Guilt, Past Abuse, Alternate Universe, Psychosis, Internalized ableism, POV Original Character, Maedhros POV, more tags coming

Also on AO3

IV. Before dawn

The night was cold and unyielding when Mithiel reached her tent, her mind afire over the first encounter with the king of these people.

I am not at my best.

She chewed her lip, placing the journal Maedhros had given her on the table in the corner and taking a seat. He wanted to learn their language, which would apparently become part of her responsibilities. In truth, having now seen more of his demeanor — vastly different from his earlier mood at dinner — the prospect was as good as the circumstance allowed and would suit her approach. She hoped.

And Mithiel had spoken true on the topic of escaped thralls. But what she had seen of them, what she’d dealt with treating the shells of the Elves they once were, the vacant gazes and broken wills… the scarred Elf sitting before her tonight had possessed none such traits. He was undoubtedly marked and maimed in more ways than one by his ordeal at the hands of the Enemy, but there was resilience, that same silver-gold hope brimming in the depths of a blue-grey stare, fuelling her own determination.

He was often in pain, that much was certain; both physical and otherwise, but still he’d tried his best with her and that had also been evident, apologies notwithstanding. Mithiel still recalled the jerk of his body and the brief look of caged despair when she leaned closer to touch him, to wipe his cheek.

What have you lived through? she wondered, opening the journal and skimming over the writings in the hand of one who, it is said, turned to ashes upon death, finally consumed by the fire of his willful fëa.

Undoubtedly, this was his son, Mithiel concluded with half a smile, long fingers trailing over the neat binding and crisp pages, the beauty of the flowing script.

She pored over the notes for some time, indeed finding nothing to correct: the observations were insightful and showed an unmistakable linguistic prowess. Mithiel read on, the soft light from the holders splashing over details on her people’s customs and language, all through the eyes of a newcomer.

Once the letters began twirling before her eyes, adding to a yawn’s overture, Mithiel closed the journal. She looked to her new bed with its welcoming folded arrangements. Despite the lateness of the hour, the prospect of sleep — or rather, of lying still — beckoned little. She felt like a seabird bound to a cliff, a wave seeking shores to crash against. Her limbs moved, set to remove her outer layers of clothing while her mind roamed far.

She did not pity him, no. She thought of the way the yellow lights gleamed on his auburn hair, a beautiful shade framing a face carved by wielders of woe and hatred. As she sat on the bed, undoing her plait, their conversation resurfaced like restless fireflies.

His questions, the cool assessment of her on his part Mithiel attributed to uncertainty. After all, this Elf had lived through the horrors of the mountain dungeons, had borne the yoke of slavery to the endless dark. His interest in her experience with the others was genuine, she could not fault him that.

She was pacing through the tent again before long, and since sleep eluded her and would do so for a while — since the first rising of the sun, parsing the waking hours from strips of night left erratic resting patterns — she donned her outer layers again and her cloak, then exited the tent. A little reconnaissance on her own away from the watchful eyes of princes would aid in obtaining a footing besides.

“What are… what are you doing here?” Maedhros asked, eyes still feverish as he took in Fingon’s windswept hair, the pronounced hollows and dips in his features, highlighted by the tall fires lit nearby. He was much thinner than in Valinor times, the struggles marked in his yet handsome face.

Fingon shrugged, glancing at his cousin with a kind smile, one of those crooked affairs leaving most people seeking more of it. “You might think me foolish.”

“Many already do, for your deliverance of me. Say on.”

His kinsman sighed. “I had strange, strange dreams as of late. One learns to discard some of Irmo’s nightly incursions into one’s mind, but I was restless during the day, moreso after sundown. I wanted to… I must return soon, I cannot stay. I will not linger on news, my cousins will no doubt relay all that business when they reach you,” he spoke as Maedhros regained himself.

Maedhros nodded. Fingolfin would not look kindly upon his son’s incursions into the Fëanorian camp, that much was plain, no matter the honor Fingon had gained among them, and irrespective of the few changes it brought. Thinking of current matters pacified his mind, and the cold bit into his cheek, seeped through his thought and quelled its feverish unrest. Fingon’s presence also aided though Maedhros could do little but pull at the loose threads of his own tunic until they unraveled completely, a ceaseless habit developed since his return to consciousness.

“Shall we go to your marquee to speak?” Fingon asked, looking this way and that, to the guards and other folk staring long at him — some with respect, some with awe, most with unease still.

Maedhros swallowed. Cowardly though it was, he could not return there, not now. “Or… or join me by the fires?” he asked, blinking away a flashing vision of sharp, white teeth. He gestured at the people already gathering to one side of the settlement.

Fingon acquiesced, “As you wish.”

They settled for a place farther from the others, sitting side by side down on a woodcrafted bench, watching the figures hallowed by flames and the sparks from the bonfires soaring up and dying in the night.

“Your people would rally to you,” Fingon spoke suddenly, and Maedhros knew why he had come.

He threw a stick into the nearest fire. “But yours would not.” He sighed. “Finno…”

Fingon gazed at him silently, urging Maedhros to continue with a dip of his chin.

“I have seen…” Again, his tongue was in knots though he wanted to speak of it, knowing Fingon would listen if it meant it brought him relief. But he could not. To this day, he could not even share with his brothers what squirmed and haunted his innermost burrows of the heart. He stared into his cousin's expectant, hopeful gaze. Yes, he wanted to speak of it, but each time he tried, the stench of decay stifled his thoughts, and shadows blurred his memory. And then, there was… there was…

Fingon shifted in his place, his speech low on the backdrop of other voices rising in soft humming a distance away. “Nelyo? I am here.”

Maedhros conjured his first memories of that lair, later proven to be only a skim of what followed. He closed his eyes at the unreal pressure of savage fingers wrapped around his throat, and turned his mind to the present, latching onto the sounds of a flute playing nearby. “I stood before the creatures he breeds; I knelt before his throne.” He glanced sideways at Fingon, catching the tremor of his clenched fists. “There are... no words, for the ways they seek to humiliate our people; for the torments they devise.”

Fingon peered at him with that cutting gaze and a calculating, righteous flare of ire Maedhros knew all too well. He burned with his own fire. It urged him to continue on the same spur that, in happier times, drove them together. Past the fires he looked, where his—their people gathered and mingled despite the foul-smelling fog, sharing in sweet-scented mead, their cloaks and shawls drawn tight about them. The words inched away from his scarred lips; the Silmarilli were bright in his mind. “The way we stand, now, will not avail us,” Maedhros said at last.

“Somehow, I knew you would say this... and then?”

“I have yet to find an answer to that. But…” Maedhros looked his cousin in the eye. He knew Fingon, like the rest of Fingolfin's people, had not wholly, if at all, forgiven the betrayal. He knew his cousin had sought to retrieve him, desperate and alone, mainly for the closeness they once shared and the love that still bound them. “We should act as one host, not two.”

His kinsman nodded, then his bright gaze sought the skies, perhaps for long lost stars.

“I will… try to speak with Ñolofinwë,” Maedhros added. “Many are still wary and resentful, as I know they have a right to be,” he looked in sorrow upon Fingon, who’d lost friends, whose brother had lost a wife to the Ice and more. “The odd fights and conflicts, while not as frequent as before, have not ceased, have they?”

Fingon shook his head.

“I know many of our own are remorseful,” Maedhros unraveled another thread from the sleeve of his right wrist. “Many had friends and kin among your host; many had looked in wonder upon you and saw crippled families, grief and a loss that is their own.”

“And yet.”

“And yet.” Maedhros clenched and unclenched his good hand. “Penance must be shown. Somehow.”

“Please tell me you do not speak of yourself, Maitimo,” Fingon murmured, shaking his head. “Even if it were so, your penance I have seen with my own eyes. You need not do more.”

Maedhros grit his teeth at the name, though coming from Fingon, it lost some of its acquired dread in the dungeons. “Dear Findekáno, you always thought too much of me.”

“One of us has to,” Fingon muttered, not unkindly. “Tell me, what are your thoughts?“

Maedhros nodded, looking blankly ahead. “It would be a start. It must be done. And then, our deeds should match our words.”

“Nelyo.” Fingon raised a hand, his hesitant palm close to Maedhros’ shoulder, the question in his eyes.

Maedhros could not blame his caution, for after all, he had scratched and torn at his cousin with wiry limbs before, first prey to a rabid confusion upon the eagle’s back; he remembered mighty wings spread like great sails, and a confusing warmth cocooning him after years being whipped bare by the elements. He lowered his head, swallowing at the slight pressure on his shoulder. “That is not all,” Maedhros said.

Fingon released him slowly. He curled a knowing brow. “No.”

“Even before we set out on the march, there was division, was there not? You remember; I stood by Father, I could do nothing else. I... we, loved and still love him fiercely, you know this truth though it must hurt. But it was impossible to ignore how many looked to Ñolofinwë, to you; how many refused to renounce him. Do you recall?”

Fingon let his head fall back, gazing through the mists. “I remember the arguments, the fights. I remember fearing you’d break with so much tension amid all that strife, which both troubled and drew me closer to it all. But even those who had no love for my uncle were moved by his words, and I was one of them.”

Maedhros stared ahead, then back down, noticing his restless fingers had unravelled the hem of his sleeve. “But you did not knowingly slay your own.”

“No,” Fingon gritted, his voice turned hoarse, “we did so unknowingly,” he added with bitterness. “Do you forget most of us carry the guilt for those same crimes? I have not, nor has Father. They changed us all.”

Maedhros said nothing, and Fingon sat and pondered for a while. The murders lay thick and heavy between them, in blood and saltwater. “How strange to look upon the past. We all saw untrodden lands before us, a return to an ancient homeland, to thrive with our knowledge and skill.”

“That may still come to be,” Maedhros spoke unto the flames, his voice flat and expression thoughtful.

Fingon hummed. “You know, Russo, there is aught I’ve come to know on these shores,” he glanced at his cousin, a glint in his eye reminding Maedhros of bygone Tirion. Fingon was much the same in spirit, he found, save for the sharper edge to his dusky features and the icy resolve in his eyes. “The shadows are deepest before dawn.”

Maedhros turned the words over in his head. He added, lighter of mood than he’d felt in weeks, with a shade of snark he used to wield well. “Then, we must be near to dawn.”

Fingon shook his head with barely a whiff of laughter. “This I will say. Father is of a like mind with you. But keep your own counsel on this, for now. Please.”

“Have I ever been loose-tongued?”

“No, indeed. My father’s always known division will cripple us after we met the Enemy on the field, faced his stronghold and leaguer. But he is loath to foster more conflict and bring forth more dissent from ones holding resentment against those who abandoned them. Some would still rather punish than forgive.”

Maedhros caught Fingon’s gaze, and with much difficulty, smiled his smile that hurt. The light of the flames danced crookedly upon his scars. “I am hoping my attempt will aid in that respect.”

“My cousins—” Fingon began.

“... are my subjects,” Maedhros countered, frowning as he stared ahead. “Leave that matter to me.” Surprising even himself, he found a strong belief in his own words.

Fingon sighed again, his dark brow lifting in tune with a pointed half-smile, both tender and sorrowful. He lowered his head in a nod. “Well. I, for one, trust you.”

The muscles in his jaw unwound into the broader likeness of a smile, and Maedhros nearly did not utter the words. “After everything.” Emotion wound about his inner being like stubborn weeds on barren mountain paths.

“Moreso, after everything.”

When done paying a short visit to see her horse, pleased at the care with which he’d been tended to and sheltered, Mithiel took to wandering aimlessly through the settlement. The chill brought a sprint to her step, her silver hair hallowed in the pale blue light shed over paths by those peculiar, captivating lamps hung throughout the wide campsite area. Soon, this will be as sturdy as a kingdom proper, since their builders I’m told are as gifted and speedy as their kin abiding on the opposite lakeside, she thought. Mithiel knew these same folk had already built stone dwellings there, which they abandoned upon the arrival of their bedraggled kindred who’d survived the Ice.

She walked, and walked, until the restless discord of thought within was somewhat abated, and her spirit was soothed by the stir of life around her. Already she missed her home, the small, warm cottage with its dark wood, its strong scents of herb and poultice. Already Mithiel missed her father, but steadied herself thinking of the duty promised to fulfil.

The night spread like a giant formless beast slumbering across the land, and somewhere not far, a flute was playing. The music soothed, and as drawn by a foreign spell, Mithiel neared, finding her way towards many tall, bright fires. They soared against the blackness as in defiance of the persistent fog, and the folk gathered round them seemed none too different to her own during such cold, endless a night as Mithrim had known, long before the rising of the Sun.

A flat, shining surface reflected back golden light not far to the right — the expanse of the great lake. Mithiel approached; by this time, it should be layered in ice, she thought, as happened already with many pools in the area at this time of year. She looked to the fires, but though their warmth teased her cheeks and the gathering seemed merry, her feet took her closer to the water’s edge.

Drawing nearer, she saw another standing there, alone, gazing out into the distance; she discerned a tall, lithe frame, a dash of auburn in the ever-dancing firelight. At first, she wavered. Had he not found rest yet, either?

Turning back would be cowardice, though she halted some distance away, thinking he might favor his solitude; all Mithiel truly wanted now was to look upon the great mirror.

She gazed into the murky darkness, unable to discern anything on the far opposite side due to the brume. But the stray light behind her glittered gold and orange over the glazed body of water, and though she missed the stars, this had a beauty all its own.

“Does rest elude you, Mistress?”

Mithiel started, not having expected him to recognize her, let alone speak. They parted amiably enough—considering the circumstances, and she wanted to keep it that way. After all, she had work to do.

“No more than it does you, my—lord,” she settled.

There was silence again, for a long time.

“Your people were the first to inhabit these lands, were they not?” came the question after a while.

“It is so,” Mithiel replied, still watching the lake, receiving a hum in response.

Though his manner was not light, the question had been merely that: a question. And so, Mithiel dared her own. “Is it true?” she asked. “That you looked upon the faces of the Ones of the West?” She knew the Ñoldor worshipped them, more than any of their kindred, and had heard they abided by their side and thrived in the kingdoms of that realm.

“I have,” came the answer, “Even as they cursed us, I have.”

Mithiel faltered, “I— I am not sure I understand,” she added, her damned curiosity getting the better of her; suddenly she fretted having upset him; from what she’d seen of his nerves, they were curled and strung to the point of snapping most of the time.

“No. But perhaps one day you will,” Maedhros said, and turned away even as Mithiel, out of instinct, neared to aid him; he stopped her with a sharp gesture of his left hand. “Good night once again, Mistress. I will see you on the morrow.”

“Rest well, king Nelyafinwë,” Mithiel spoke, and thought she heard a snort as she watched his retreat, and she wound her arms around herself tighter against the bitterness in his voice.

Part I

#maedhros x oc #ruiniel:fanfiction

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boombambaby · 1 year ago

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Drabble; The stars dance, and Kuzco reflects.

His fingers curl against the grass beneath them as a breeze passes over him, gentle enough to brush his hair away from his eyes, but not to disturb much else.

It’s balmy tonight, with a sky clear enough to trace the bright constellations that he had been taught are a direct effect of his lineage across the inky sky.

He’d only taken to noticing how peaceful it had felt recently. When his thoughts threatened to consume him, or when his emperor duties that he was finally taking seriously took over his every waking moment, and he needed an escape.

More often than not lately, he’s found himself here. An unmoving mass against the calm, dew covered grass of the hillside, staring up at the wide expanse of the sky while a solitary candle burns in the window of his vacation hut.

Sometimes, Pacha will join him.

If he notices the candle burning in the window after the kids are put to sleep, he’ll join him on the hillside— a silent, but comforting sentry that reminds him that there are people who care about him in this world.

‘Nobody really seems to care that he’s gone, do they?’

For as long as he can remember, Kuzco has been presented with everything and anything he could ever want on a golden platter. His parents, from what he could remember showered him in gifts of toys, fine jewelry and respondent clothing.

As a baby, all he had to do was cry and gifts were thrust at him from every angle— each one more entertaining than the last.

When his parents disappeared, that never changed. Yzma took over as a caregiver of sorts, and as long as he didn’t bother her too much, she gave him everything.

He tried to remember the songs his mother used to sing him to sleep with. The holiday traditions they celebrated as a family— and when he attempted to recreate it with Yzma, he was snubbed.

‘What need does the future emperor have for such immature behavior? You should be learning and remembering far more important things.’

Kuzco made a point to teach some of the songs to the palace servants, but would become furious with them when they would misremember a lyric, or get something wrong.

. . . He grew up a spoiled brat, surrounded by opulence and uncaring of how others saw him because he had never learned to behave any other way.

The soft caw of a bird on a nearby branch breaks his train of thought, and he tips his head backwards to try and place it amongst the trees. In his searching, he noticed Pacha’s darkened home, the candles blown out and the entry way door closed.

He wouldn’t be good company tonight, anyways. There’s too much on his mind.

Who knew righting your past wrongs and completely changing your groove— I.e. pattern of behavior— would be so difficult and time consuming?

This morning, he nearly snapped at one of the palace servants for bringing him cold atole. Everything else on his gold plated platter was warm with enough steam coming off of it to replicate a facial treatment.

“Hey! How hard actually is your job, huh? Less chat-ty and more following your duties to the Emperor, and maybe I’d be able to get to my first torture sea— I mean, meeting— on time!” He shouted at the startled woman. Nearly upending the tray onto the bed with the force he used to shove it off of his lap.

She stared at him unblinking, hands clenching and unclenching against her robes as she bowed her head and struggled to come up with a proper excuse.

It only took a moment, and the look in her eye for Kuzco to realize what he was doing, and he visibly recoiled, grimacing at his own lack of manners,

She was still babbling, struggling through her apology when Kuzco held up his hands to try and calm her.

“Hey— hey, woah. Slowly-o down.” A pause, and then. “What’s your name?”

The trembling female stopped, glancing up at him in surprise and muttered a very quiet “Inez, your highness.” In response.

“Inez. Listen— I’m sorry. I’m having a bad morning, didn’t mean to take my frustration out on you.” He tried, lowering his hands and shooting her his best conspiratorial grin. “Anyone would be mad if they woke up knowing they were going to be bored to death in back to back council meetings all day. Am I right?”

Inez just stared back at him blankly, before offering him a weary smile. “Of course, sir.”

After apologizing again and asking her to take the tray back to be remade and to bring it to the throne room next, Kuzco dismissed her and laid himself back against his silken pillows.

For as long as he could remember, that brash, arrogant persona he put on was all that he knew. It was a shield for him, against the world and those who saw him as a spoiled little child instead of the man in charge of their empire.

. . . He certainly wasn’t going to change in a days time, that was for certain. As he was certain it would take some time for the people of the empire to change their view of him.

It was just a matter of deciding what, exactly, that view should be. And if he would deserve it.

#▒░ 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂' 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙼𝙴! ░▒ 👑[ drabbles ]#🦙 𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙶 ▒░ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝙶𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚟𝚎 ▒░#MENTIONS:#Pacha

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yaminerua · 1 year ago

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I'm thinking for much of the rest of smegtober I'll have to switch to drawings because the writing part of my brain is getting fatigued lol but I managed to churn this last one out tonight ahead of the other one I have ready for tomorrow;;

As always, prompts are by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

Today's prompt was Test, which of course immediately calls forth images of Rimmer and his many examination attempts;;

Words: 4137

****

Rimmer had done it again. He had smegging gone and done it again.

Somehow, despite all the meticulous planning and obsessive timetabling, despite having carefully mapped out every hour of every day for the last few months to optimise his revision and maximise his chances of success, here he was again on the last night before the exam feeling no better prepared than he had been before he’d even started.

It always ended up like this. Every time exam season came around he would work tirelessly, relentlessly, trying to find a study pattern that worked, subdividing his free time evenly into rest periods and study periods, allocating every subject and topic its own slot to prioritise information retention. It should have been a flawless method, workshopped to the nth degree, sharpened and improved to perfection after so many attempts and yet even after all this effort, after all this time, the result was always the same; complete and utter humiliating failure.

Of course, the fact that much of this revision time was usually eaten up by preparing the timetables themselves in the first place was an important part of why he always found himself in this situation but he was loathe to do anything to change the habit, somehow convincing himself that it had only failed because he hadn’t found the perfect routine yet and that once he figured that out and constructed the timetable to end all timetables he would be golden and he could finally kiss the lowly rank of Second Technician goodbye.

The definition of madness, as they say, is trying the same thing over and over expecting a different result.

Huffing out a distressed, agitated breath, Rimmer dug the heels of his palms roughly into his eyes, rubbing vigorously until he saw stars. He had no idea what time it was anymore. The concept of time itself seemed to have faded into the background of his mind, locked away in a box he didn’t want to have to open because at this point knowing just how long he had left was likely to do nothing more than send him tipping fully over the edge of anxiety and into a full-blown panic attack and he knew from past experience that if he let that happen his shot at success would be over then and there.

He was virtually running on fumes at this point, the last few nights a desperate haze of stressed, sleep-deprived revising – if staring manically at an open textbook and taking absolutely none of it in for hours could really be called revising – and his eyes were positively burning with the effort it was taking just to keep them open.

His head ached. It was as though his very brain itself had swollen up in his skull, pressing up against the insides and throbbing profusely from the exertion of trying to cram multiple textbooks’ worth of knowledge into it in the space of a few hours. The pressure alone made him thankful for the relative silence of the bunkroom.

Lister was out. Some time ago he had disappeared off with the rest of his brainless gang of hooligan friends to drink himself to unconsciousness and dance until the early hours of the morning with whoever could stand to be around him. With any luck he might hit it off with some desperate tart who would take him off to her quarters and spare Rimmer the trouble of having to put up with a drunken Lister staggering his way back and breaking his concentration.

It was the only silver lining this whole situation had at the moment. With Lister out and suitably occupied for the night Rimmer didn’t have to battle against his textbooks while enduring the torture of listening to Lister utterly murder a halfway decent song with his toneless singing or his even more unbearable guitar playing.

Aside from the background hum of Red Dwarf all around, there wasn’t a single other disruptive sound to complain about – which also meant there wasn’t an adequate distraction to blame his imminent failure on if it came down to it later.

Removing his hands from his face, he blinked the room slowly back into focus and hunched forwards over his textbook again, feeling the tension in his neck and the ache between his shoulder blades from too long spent in this exact position.

He felt as though he had been stuck trying to read the same sentence for hours, as though his brain had stalled and he couldn’t move past it until it started up again. Oh sure, his eyes would skim the letters and recognise the shapes and the words were certainly words he knew individually but as far as the meaning of the sentence as a whole and the information it held were concerned, Rimmer had absolutely no idea what he was reading.

It was as though the part of his brain that registered new information had gone on strike. Nothing was getting through and all that he seemed to be achieving by continuing to try to force it to was making his head and eyes hurt even more.

He needed to rest but there was no time for rest anymore. Frankly he was terrified that if he even so much as allowed himself the briefest moment to nap then he would sleep right through the exam and have to go through this whole nightmare all over again. He wasn’t prepared for that. Revision was key right now and sleep could wait. He would have plenty of time (not to mention peace of mind) to be able to catch up on the rest he’d missed once the exam was over and he’d passed the stupid smegging thing.

Frowning down at the page he blinked furiously, finding it more and more difficult to keep the lettering clear and sharp in his vision. Everything was starting to smudge at the edges, to bleed into the space around it as though there was something in his eye that wasn’t budging no matter how much he tried to blink or rub it away.

He shook his head, leaning further forwards towards the textbook, squinting to see if maybe that would help sharpen things by narrowing his field of view but it was no use.

The harder he stared at it, the more desperately he attempted to take in so much as a single solitary sentence, the more the words on the page swam dizzyingly just to spite him, rippling and distorting before his very eyes until they better resembled a particularly unappetising-looking kind of alphabet soup than anything comprehensible.

He dropped his forehead down to rest between the pages of the textbook, eyelids scrunching shut as he groaned plaintively into the quiet of the room. Why was his brain conspiring against him at this hour? He only had hours left and it was betraying him. Why was he wasting time wrestling with himself like this when he only had a limited window of opportunity to make some good, solid progress before Lister came back and crashed unceremoniously through his focus with all the grace of a hippo let loose on an ice rink? He didn’t have time for this!

Just to drive home exactly how much the universe had it in for Arnold J. Rimmer, the moment that desperate thought had so much as flitted miserably across his mind his ears picked up the tell-tale distant hollers of giddy, raucous laughter emanating from somewhere outside, growing steadily louder with every drunken, staggered step.

Pass by, don’t come in. Pass by, don’t come in… Rimmer thought fervently, repeating it over and over, beseechingly, in his head like some sort of desperate mantra, praying to whatever god might exist out there to take pity on him for just once in his smegging life but as had been well-established by now, if there was a god they certainly didn’t have a heart.

The door to the sleeping quarters slid open with a harsh, piercing hiss and in staggered one extremely wasted David Lister, an open can of Leopard Lager in his hand and a lit cigarette in the other.

With great difficulty he co-ordinated a clumsy wave to the retreating backs of Petersen and the others before he finally turned his attention to Rimmer, who had by this point straightened up stiffly at his desk and was doing his level best to try to pretend that he wasn’t secretly weighing up the pros and cons of throwing Lister out an airlock and blaming it on his own drink-addled mind. Unfortunately he didn’t think the ship’s CCTV would be on his side there so he begrudgingly had to shelf that idea.

As Lister stumbled his way towards him and leaned in far too close over his shoulder, the stench of beery breath and tobacco met his nostrils and he grimaced. “Lister, go away,” he hissed through tightly gritted teeth, every muscle in his body tightly clenched to resist the urge to swat at him and push him back. “I’m trying to revise.”

“Smeg, Rimmer, you’re such a bore!” Lister said, entirely too loud and entirely too close to his ear, his words slurring pathetically together. “You need to live more!”

Rimmer sniffed indignantly and finally deigned to press the back of his hand to Lister’s front and push him firmly away. “I’ll have plenty of time to do that once I’m an officer,” he said matter-of-factly, ignoring how hollow he felt inside as he said it. “For now my priorities lie elsewhere.”

Lister snorted and he took a long swig of his can of lager. “Yeah, bein’ a bore,” he muttered, staggering back over toward his bunk, humming tuneless snippets of Lunar City Seven as he went.

Rimmer could throttle him, honestly, but he bit back the impulse, however inviting it may have been. Instead he remained as he was, staring bitterly, contemptuously down at the infuriating textbook in front of him, taking nothing in while he listened to the rustling and shuffling of Lister moving about behind him, hopefully getting ready for bed.

He heard the discordant squeak of the ladder as Lister clambered his way up it and the tell-tale creak of the top bunk as it took the full weight of Lister’s body on it and he heaved a premature sigh of relief at this inconvenient interruption hopefully being only a brief one.

Before long, just like he hoped, the movement behind him stilled and Lister grew silent – or as silent as he could be given his tendency to snore – and Rimmer finally allowed himself to release some of the tension he had been holding. Maybe the brief distraction might have helped in a way, might have cleared his head enough for him to return his attention back to what was actually important.

He was mindful, agonisingly so, about how very little time he had left now. Since Lister had come back that meant that time had progressed considerably while he hadn’t been paying attention to it and he surely only had a measly handful of hours left at the most to fill his head with enough knowledge to pass. He flexed his fingers nervously, hyper-aware of the sweat beading on his brow as he considered opting for the last resort. It was the only hope he had left.

Glancing shiftily at the door and warily back over his shoulder, he watched Lister’s sleeping form for a good long moment, trying to ascertain for sure whether he was absolutely asleep and unaware of his surroundings. The last thing he needed was Lister of all people waking up and potentially ratting him out. That would be a fate worse than death.

Seeing that, for now, the coast was clear, he swallowed thickly and reached slowly, shakily, into the right hand pocket of his trousers, procuring from it a small, nondescript packet of little white pellets. Learning pills were strictly not allowed on board Red Dwarf. Rimmer knew that well. He had on numerous occasions in the past reprimanded countless other crewmates who he had spotted with the offending little things, scoffing obnoxiously at their pathetic need to rely on something illegal to help them succeed, all the while holding onto them himself instead of turning them in in case of a rainy day. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

He opened the cap quietly and, with a trembling hand, tipped two pills out onto his palm before hurriedly stowing the container away again. He stared down at them apprehensively, heart hammering in his chest and stomach churning at the sickening, depressing realisation that it really had come to this. If he wanted any chance of passing they were his only hope.

With one last quick, anxious glance back at Lister, he popped them in his mouth before he could change his mind and washed them down hastily with what was left of his almost-forgotten glass of water.

He waited a few moments for the panicked surge of nerves to subside, giving the drugs some time to hit his stomach and begin to make their way into his system. He wasn’t entirely sure quite how good an idea it had been to take them on an empty stomach when he was as sleep-deprived and physically exhausted as he was but he had done it now and his fate rested with them.

Lowering his gaze down to the Astro-Navigation textbook again, he sucked in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, trying to channel what little mental energy he was still clinging onto into focusing on the words in front of him, praying that the learning pills would aid him in retaining the information. Even if all they managed to do was hold the knowledge in his head long enough for him to regurgitate it all out during the exam and then forget all of it immediately afterwards that would be fine. He just needed it to last for a few hours.

Evidently he had left resorting to this final option a little too late. They ought to have invented pills that helped him focus as well.

Maybe it was the tiredness, maybe it was the stress, maybe it was a combination of both but it didn’t matter how hard he tried, how much he squinted and strained his eyes to try to make sense of any of the words in front of him. His mind had clearly shuttered itself off and was simply not allowing anything more in. He could stare at this page and all of the words written on it for the rest of the day and it would simply never make it through. He was doomed.

Raking his hands raggedly through his hair, Rimmer let out a low, tortured groan, dropping his head onto the table and clenching his eyes tight shut so he didn’t have to see the textbook anymore, didn’t have to look hopelessly down at the same stupid page he had spent most of the night so far stuck unable to get past. It was going to take a miracle to get anything of use to enter his brain now, even with the aid of learning pills.

He must have looked pathetic, sitting there slumped with his head on the desk and his hands in his hair. He had made an absolute mess of himself by now, his usually neat, severe side parting completely unravelling, the forcibly tamed curls freed from the submission they were usually brushed harshly into. He looked thoroughly dishevelled, as though he had been pulling his hair out all night. In many ways, that probably wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

Breathing out roughly, he let his head roll miserably to the side, sliding his eyes open to gaze dolefully, enviously, over at Lennon and McCartney, Lister’s stupid robotic goldfish that he’d brought back from his last shore leave trip. They were swimming slowly, mesmerisingly, around their bowl in repetitive, mindless little circles without a single care in the world, without a shred of responsibility or expectation or disappointment weighing down on them and as Rimmer watched them absently, dazedly, as though he were hypnotised, he felt something hollow and mournful settle unpleasantly behind his chest.

God, he wished he was a fish…

He remained like that, utterly entranced, his mind far away, for the next four hours and although he wasn’t exactly asleep, when the intercom finally sounded and Holly’s monotonous voice droned out the important morning announcements, it was as though he was dead to the world and he didn’t hear a word of it.

“Will all entrants for the Astro-Navigation exam please make their way to the teaching room. The exam will begin soon.”

On the top bunk, Lister stirred slightly, his face scrunching up as the loud chime of the intercom pierced through the deep veil of drunken sleep he had been nestled in and rudely stabbed his hung-over brain like an arrow.

Peeling a tired eye open, he squinted groggily over at the desk where Rimmer was still sat, hunched over and seemingly asleep. “Rimmer?” he called out, his throat hoarse after the night’s antics. “You awake?”

There came no response, which was an answer in and of itself. Lister groaned, rubbing his eyes vigorously before lifting his head with great difficulty up off the pillow. “Rimmer,” he said again, a little louder this time.

When Rimmer still failed to have any reaction at all, Lister rolled his eyes and with great effort, begrudgingly heaved his heavy aching body up into a sitting position, clutching his head momentarily as it swam dizzyingly from the change in posture. He didn’t want to have to be awake yet and would rather have slept off the rest of his night out until well into the afternoon but he knew that dealing with a hung-over headache from a premature wake-up call would be far more preferable to the absolute monster migraine Rimmer would give him for failing to wake him up in time for his exam.

Stumbling over towards him, Lister reached out to shake him by the shoulder and froze when he realised that Rimmer didn’t seem to be asleep after all. In any case he certainly had his eyes open though whether he was still conscious remained to be seen. For now he was staring unblinkingly over at the fish tank, his expression completely vacant like some kind of lifeless zombie. It was more than just a little bit disconcerting.

“Hey, Rimmer, man,” Lister said uncertainly, waving a hand tentatively in front of Rimmer’s face. “You okay?”

The reaction was almost instant. The moment Lister’s hands came into view, Rimmer’s expression crumpled like a tin can subjected to tremendous pressure, his eyes snapping shut as he brought a hand up to rub at his face. “Ugh,” he groaned, pulling himself stiffly back into an upright sitting position, his neck and shoulders aching.

Lister watched him warily, an eyebrow quirked with mild concern. He’d seen Rimmer work himself up into an exhausted wreck before but never quite like this. “You alright?” he asked again.

“Of course I’m alright, you gimboid!” Rimmer snapped irritably, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose tightly, wincing at the sound of his own voice in his ears. “What do you want?”

Lister’s face creased into a frown and he crossed his arms moodily over his chest. So much for a grateful morning greeting. “Just thought I’d wake you,” he said, glancing at the clock on the sink beside the bunks. “Since it’s exam o’clock now and all.”

Rimmer looked like he had just been force fed a particularly sour and putrid lemon.

“WHAT!?” he cried, horrified, leaping to his feet suddenly and nearly knocking the chair he had been sitting on over in the process. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I wasn’t awake!” Lister said, holding his hands up innocently. “I just woke up meself!”

Rimmer wasn’t paying any attention to him anymore. He was in an absolute panicked frenzy, scrambling for his comb and attempting to carve his forgotten side parting back into existence before gathering up the rest of his things.

Lister watched him, bemused, and had to stop him at one point when he spotted that Rimmer was about to squeeze foot cream onto his toothbrush. Handing him the correct tube, he fixed him with a dubious stare. “You sure you’re alright, man?” he asked. “You were starin’ at me fish all in a trance just there.”

“That was intentional, Lister!” Rimmer stated, but the projected confidence was an unconvincing façade. “I had finished revising everything and was simply taking a break to let the information settle in my brain!”

Lister wasn’t fooled in the slightest. “Uh huh,” he said flatly.

Rimmer clicked his tongue and curled his lip, fixing Lister’s reflection with a contemptuous, dark look. “You wouldn’t understand, Listy,” he sneered, straightening up his tie and giving his hair a final firm comb through. “You’ve never put the slightest bit of effort in in your entire life. As for me, the only way is up! Up, up—”

“Yeah, yeah, Rimmer,” Lister cut him off, waving a hand dismissively before transitioning it into a mocking impersonation of Rimmer’s usual elaborate salute. “Up, up the ziggurat lickety split.” He punctuated that last word with a sharp slap to his forehead. “I know.”

Rimmer shot him a look, cold and hard, and then turned back one last time to check his appearance over in the mirror. The intercom sound rang out hollow and daunting into the bunkroom again and Lister saw Rimmer’s entire body stiffen immediately.

“Last call for the Astro-Navigation exam. Will all entrants please make their way to the teaching room. The exam is about to begin.”

Rimmer swallowed thickly and flexed his fingers and for all the affected confidence and false bravado he put on, Lister could still see the petrified, haunted look behind his eyes that belied his true feelings on the matter.

“Listen, man,” he said gently, sincerely, feeling almost sympathetic towards the man all of a sudden, fighting the urge to reach out and give him an encouraging pat on the arm. “Good luck.”

Rimmer bristled and his expression creased into a forced, stretched smile. “Luck, Lister?” he echoed, rocking anxiously on the balls of his feet. “I don’t need luck. I’ve got everything I need to succeed right up” – he brought a hand up to tap a finger quickly to his temple – “here.”

“Yeah,” came Lister’s doubtful, sarcastic response. “Good luck.”

He raised his eyebrows, fixing Rimmer with a look that said “Trust me, you’re gonna need all the luck you can get.”

Rimmer seemed to pick up on it, the plastered smile on his face faltering slightly as his adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat. “Right,” he said stiffly, tensely, hands balled tightly into fists at his sides. “Well, then. Goodbye, Lister.”

There was a maddened look in his eyes, something wild and desperate and beseeching, as though he was almost begging Lister to do something to stop him from walking out there to his inevitable doom even if it meant he had to resort to knocking him unconscious.

He stood there awkwardly, frozen in fear for another uncomfortably long number of seconds, rocking back and forth on his feet before he finally accepted that no miraculous divine intervention was coming and he was going to have to just go for it.

Picking up his pens and popping them neatly in his pocket, he gave Lister one final, incredibly rigid nod of acknowledgement and strode swiftly, almost robotically out of the room with such a grave look of dread on his face he might as well have been on death row.

Lister watched him go with an almost pitying look of gentle compassion pulling on his face. He didn’t like Rimmer – no-one did – but he couldn’t help but feel just a little bit bad for the guy. He had been putting himself through these exams since long before Lister had ever even met him, driven by something he couldn’t relate to, a burning urge to make something of himself no matter how long it took even when it was probably pointless.

Maybe he didn’t deserve the power that advancement up the career ladder would give him, maybe it would turn him into even more of an insufferably unbearable smeghead, but if just so that Lister wouldn’t have to endure another night of Rimmer drowning his sorrows and cursing the universe for being out to get him, he hoped this time that something would go different.

Whatever he had been hoping, whatever he had been expecting, an exam paper scrawled with nothing but ‘I am a fish’ had absolutely not been it.

Oh well. There was always next time.

#smegtober2023 #Red dwarf #After tomorrow I’ll switch to drawing for the rest of the month I think!

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lexijaynex · 1 year ago

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🥹DAY 21 (10/10/23)🫡

Yeah I lost motivation. I haven’t even wanted to cam lately, Streamate has been like pulling teeth, but I told myself I’m going to try these few week days before I celebrate my bday this weekend.

Today is my bday btw and I didn’t even want to stay online to see if my regulars would show up. I’m NEVER camming 12a-4a again! I tried to do it to get the hours in, but screw that. I’m going to follow my 6-10a;6-10a at $93-$168 each shift and call it a damn day, until then, I’m done torturing myself with trying to make something work for me that’s not working.

I guess that’s the theme of my life so far, trying to end bad habits and harmful cycles. It’s not easy, but all I can do is keep trying. I’m not gonna beat myself up about it, I’ve done that before, I’m just trying to understand why I have these patterns that hold me back, and why I constantly feed into the same bad habits and frustrate myself with the same awful results!!

Anyways! I’m going to Applebees for $1 margaritas and then I’m getting online around 5a until 10a tomorrow morning. I’m probably only going to have 3 margaritas, that will put me to sleep good tonight!

Oh btw, dynamic pricing on Streamate, idk if it’s for me. Like I did grab a few newbies at newer prices, all lower than 8.99. I think I just need to set my minimum higher than 7.99, maybe 8.99, and then my maximum 11.99. We’ll see how it works in the morning! Until then here’s 4 sad hours of 12a-4a, and I’m never doing it again!!😂

Ttyl😂💕

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acheemient · 1 year ago

Note

So... I'm sorry for what is about to happen.

bent to the very earth by Ark:

Use me, please, Crowley had said, so Aziraphale takes him at his word.

the yet unknowing world by Ark

A half-step is all it takes to get Aziraphale close enough to murmur into Crowley’s ear, “Put the light out when you go to bed, and I’ll come to you.”

these furious passions, these chances by Ark (there may be a pattern here) - This is one of my favorite stories in the entire fandom. If you have not read it, do so IMMEDIATELY!

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s in love with Crowley.

Find Me There (Amongst Your Ruins) by hollybennett123

“Good heavens,” Aziraphale tuts. “Carnal temptations and a vulgar mouth. Whatever will I do with you, my dear?”

Crowley’s mouth opens, but no words come forth. “Absolutely anything you like,” he rasps at length, blinking up at Aziraphale in a wonderstruck sort of way.

The One in Which Crowley Discovers Wanking by for_autumn_i_am (one of my very favorites. It's extremely in character and fun and even charming! Also hot!)

It began, like most memorable events in Crowley’s life did, with a bad decision; like most bad decisions, it involved poor impulse control and copious amounts of alcohol. The Antichrist had been born, and he put on lipstick and kitten heels to deal with it, but knew that the clock was ticking, and at times when time was slipping away, it helped to hold onto a bottle of gin.

The Angel of My Dreams by IneffableToreshi

Crowley is blissfully unaware that he sometimes talks in his sleep. Aziraphale doesn't bother to bring it up until one night when the demon falls asleep in the bookshop and says some rather...interesting things.

Strange Flesh and All That by FortinbrasFTW

Crowley laughs. He can’t help it. And the wine is very good.

“What’s funny?” Aziraphale asks.

“Are you joking?” Crowley tilts his head to look at him over his glasses. “No, nothing at all, this is all perfectly normal. Very dull conversation really.”

Aziraphale smiles back. “What’s funnier, dear boy? That I’ve considered it or that you haven’t?”

Well Versed in Wanting by hollybennett123

Aziraphale has never met anyone else who can so eloquently convey the embodiment of a nonchalant shrug with a quirk of their mouth alone, but Crowley succeeds in doing just that before getting up and sauntering off into the sitting room. Goodness, the sway of his hips when he walks is so unnecessary. A distraction that frankly shouldn’t be allowed.

He lasts thirty-seven minutes before rescheduling their ‘evening’ appointment to ‘imminent’ and informing Crowley there’s been a change of plan.

(or: Crowley stumbles upon Aziraphale’s private book collection, and revelations are had of the non-biblical kind)

For the Longest Time by darlingred1 (locked)

“You…” Aziraphale sounded baffled, and suddenly quite sober. “You liked that? But, my dear, you said it was torturous. ‘Six thousand years of torture,’ as I recall.”

“Yeah. Yeah, but the anticipation, and the yearning, and…and how every moment with you was so maddeningly intense, and…”

And what else could Crowley say? How could he expect Aziraphale to understand that after six thousand years of torture he’d actually got a bit used to it? That he’d felt like a band strained further and further, and now he found himself permanently stretched, flopping about with too much slack and no way to hold on to what he’d been reaching towards for so long?

(Crowley kind of misses the pining when it's gone. Aziraphale comes up with a solution.)

let the rivers fill by focusfixated

Weakly, Crowley’s eyes flickered down, and he saw the angel blushing, as if now, suddenly, of all things, he had succumbed to reticence. He was sat back on his knees, and the soft accordion folds of him were dewy with sweat and moonlight.

Or: as in all things, Aziraphale indulges.

Can You Feel the Love Tonight? by snae_b

A bench. A handshake. Lingering fingers. A little shiver and an angel and a demon are returned to their proper bodies.

And that’s about where all hell broke loose. Metaphorically speaking, that is. Hell has, of course, been loose for quite some time.

"Just, you know…” Uncontrollable horniness? An erection you should probably consult a doctor about? “…feelings?"

"You don't, you know. Have any... after effects? From the swapping thing?"

"What kind of after effects?"

Crowley has some residual effects from his body swap with Aziraphale. Some very distracting residual effects.

Angelic Doesn't Mean Innocent by strummerjoe

“What do you think about sex?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley almost choked on his wine. In 6000 years of knowing each other, they’d never had THIS conversation

puttin’ on the ritz by moonyinpisces

Must he spell it out for him? “You could…” Aziraphale looks him up and down, then cocks his head towards the poncy fellow up on the balcony, raising his brows pointedly. “You know.”

Possess him? Crowley frowns and asks, “You think so?”

Aziraphale nods, eyes wide. The visual alone has instantly vaporized any alcohol content in his body.

“I—well.” Crowley considers it, then winces. “I haven’t actually poked inside someone since… oh, gotta be 71, I think. Antoine Gay. Bollocksed that one up.”

Aziraphale blinks, taken aback. In his (admittedly frequent) imaginings of Crowley in bed, he never envisioned him as the ‘poker’, necessarily. He seemed like he’d much rather enjoy getting poked instead. Repeatedly. Passionately. Perhaps up against an opulent pillar.

A Kind of Magic by equestrianstatue

The first time it happened was an accident. No, honestly. It really was.

Not a Mounted Dildo but a Fuck Machine by NaroMoreau and summerofspock (Human AU, but Jesus Christ, I had to include it!)

Aziraphale and Crowley have lived together for three years when lockdown goes into effect. When Aziraphale meets a nice girl on Tinder who he thinks is his perfect match, he's delighted. There's just one hurdle: that pesky virginity thing. Lucky for him, Crowley has always been there for him. He's helped Aziraphale with every other problem through the years, why not this one?

Earthly Pleasures by AstroGirl

Aziraphale has always thought that human sex looks like a great deal of fun. Perhaps now it's something he and Crowley can enjoy together.

Let Sleeping Demons Lie by chamyl and entanglednow (I'm gonna flag this one as dubious consent due to lack of communication and misunderstandings, so take heed)

The demon makes a long, pained noise, and Aziraphale makes his decision. He sinks hurriedly to his knees beside the sofa, oddly reluctant to move his hand from the well-loved, rarely touched warmth of Crowley's skin. But, if he’s going to do this, he needs his full concentration for it, he doesn't want to risk becoming distracted.

After an evening spent drinking together, Aziraphale is disturbed to realise that Crowley cannot be woken up from his nap.

He'll need to make a decision about how far he's willing to go to retrieve his best friend.

circumstance will decide by sabinelagrande

Crowley can resist anything but temptation. Aziraphale's temptation, to be specific.

Victori Spolia by chamyl and entanglednow

“You’re the nice one, obviously. You’re the one I’m supposed to menace, as a demon. You’re the one that’s supposed to be about peace and love and - and - heart-warming stories of animal friendship.”

“I believe I’m also the one that’s supposed to thwart your wiles, and I did a fine job of it too.”

“Yes, but we’re adversaries, aren’t we? Duality of nature and all that, opposite sides. I figure one of us has to be the predator. I know you’ve seen Hell, wouldn’t last there long if you were prey, angel.”

In which Aziraphale and Crowley try to settle an argument.

Come-Fuck-Me Hips by AgentStannerShipper

Crowley has had a fantasy about Aziraphale for centuries now. Too bad the angel would never take him up on it.

Except, as it turns out, he absolutely would.

Aaaand I'm done! Please heed all tags and warnings posted. Give kudos, and leave comments for all these lovely artists who didn't have to share their writing with us but do so for free. They are the backbone of fandom and deserve to be celebrated!

Okay, byeeee!

you can't find any good azcrow smut?? in THIS fandom???? do you want recs

Yes pleaseee I need recs🥲 im too dumb somehow to find the good stuff 🤣

#good omens #fic recs #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #fanfiction #*stalks out of the shadows wearing a long coat stuffed full of smut and porn*#can i interest you folks in some virgin!Crowley?#(btw i know i should be ashamed but I've honestly just accepted that this is who i am a a person - a slutty #slutty reader with too much time on their hands)#long post

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lokisprettygirl · 2 years ago

Text

The Bodyguard (Loki x Female reader) (Au) (18+)

Read Chapter 18 here// Series Masterlist

Chapter 19

Summary : The first kiss of love brings a new hope in your life.

Trigger Warning : 18+, Daddy kink, Suicide, Rape, abuse, sexual violence, Harsh language, bodyshaming, fatshaming, mention of neglect and abuse, emotional abuse, Unhealthy Eating Patterns, blackmail, starving and under eating, implied smut, mention of drug use, some weird feeding kink I'm (loki is) developing

You cupped his cheeks as his lips wrapped around yours, it felt like a dream because you couldn't believe life could get so kind to you so quickly. As your lips moved in sync you couldn't help but smile, you pulled away and looked at him, he leaned forward to kiss you again. To kiss you more, to kiss you plenty.

But as you kept him in hold he opened his eyes and looked at you. Your panting breaths, your teary eyes, your plumped lips, everything about you drove him crazy for you.

"Tell me you feel this too lokii..tell me you feel the spark, the electricity, the tingling..tell me I'm not the only one losing my mind here " you whispered against his mouth and he kissed you again as he pulled you closer,

"I feel it all my love, I feel everything and more, god you're perfect" he whispered between the kiss and he stood up, only to take you down on the bed, his body pressed against yours as your head touched the pillow beneath you. He however didn't like it, so he grabbed the pillow and threw it behind him so he could have better access to your neck, you moaned in his mouth as you felt his bulge over your torso.

His mouth latched onto your neck and he pressed several wet kisses all over, your fingers curled around his locks and you played with them. Soft as feathers, everything about him was soft except that hard rock body and even harder cock that you desperately needed inside you.

"Feed me" you whispered in his ear and his cock twitched in the confinement of his pants, he picked up a strawberry and swirled it around the chocolate but before you could take a bite, you made him take one, then you finished the rest and he wiped the remnant of the sweet liquid that dribbled on your skin with his tongue.

He left you breathless as he finally pulled away, as much as he didn't want to, he had to because he didn't want to lose control just yet.

He had sworn to himself that he'd only allow himself to make love to you once you are away from these monsters. He stood next to the edge of the bed, so you sat up, grabbed his hand and placed soft little kisses all over it. Thank the hand that feeds you right?

The long slender fingers of his other hand scratched your scalp softly, then he grabbed your chin and made you look at him, his thumb brushed over your lips so you closed your eyes at the feeling, the sensation felt unreal, everything felt so surreal. Until now physical intimacy was just a means to distract your mind from the troubles around you, the men you slept with although brought you to the edge, some even pushed you off it but none of them could touch your heart the way Loki did without even touching your skin.

He bent down to kiss you one more time, your arms instantly curled around his neck.

"Mmmhmm that's enough baby girl, I want to take this slow. But that's only if you want the same thing, I'll do whatever you desire so tell me what it is that you desire from me?"

He mumbled so you looked at him, as much as you wanted him and needed him to sleep with you tonight, you also wanted to enjoy this phase of a blooming relationship. You have never had it before. Not that sex would change anything but you did want to hold on and be good for him. You wanted to wait and torture yourself. You wanted to burn like a candle and melt slowly, more and more everyday until one day the flame would have no choice but to extinguish.

"I want to be your good girl Daddy"

"Fucking hell baby" he mumbled against your mouth as he laid you down on the bed again, carefully sliding the tray from behind you before your back would touch it. You had hoped that wouldn't weird him out and by the look of his reaction, you didn't think that it did, but the name wasn't because you had any issues regarding your dad, you didn't care. It was because of the way Loki treated you, the way he protected you, the way he took care of you, fed you, loved you, it was sexual and romantic, it was out of love, it was pure, it just fit to address him that way.

"Gods darling, as sexy as I find it because trust me I have pictured you calling me that, I just need to know if I should be worried?" He asked you softly as he kissed your forehead, there wasn't a sense of judgment in his voice, there was only concern and care. A girl like you must have fatherly issues and he didn't want to replace that void you had because of your father, the feeling of love and protection that he never gave you. He wanted to build his own place, the one filled with teeth rotting sweetness, he wanted to douse you in so much love that you'd never have to question his feelings for you.

"Mmmhm no please don't be worried, it's not because of my issues I promise, it's just.. you're soo…look at you, you're so protective, so caring, so sweet to me, you take care of me and feed me and I just, want to keep you calling you that, it fits, if I'm your baby girl that makes you my daddy right?"

"Yess baby, that's who I am to you then. I'm going to take care of you sweet sweet girl, I'll fulfill every need I promise" he whispered in your ears as his hips bucked against your core involuntarily. He wanted to stop but he was so hard. He was probably leaking in his briefs. One more kiss and he finally decided to control himself, he can't stay in your room for too long.

"Okay I need to get off you darling" he chuckled and kissed your forehead before he got up, he stood there breathing heavily for a moment as he thought about his dead mother to calm that horse raging in his pants. Once he calmed down he grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed while he sat down on the floor on his knees.

"Now listen to me carefully okay, as soon as Steve gets here, if he does, I need you to turn this on okay? It's a bluetooth recorder, it will record your conversations from several feet away" you sat up on the bed as he took out a cube like device and placed it under the edge of your bed

"Just casually walk here, sit down and turn it on, I'd keep it on all the time but that would drain the battery much faster and we don't want that" you nodded as he said that. He was talking too fast but you tried to grasp it as much as you could.

"I'll also be able to hear you through this if you need me, so just say a word and I'll come for you baby" your eyes teared up but you nodded furiously.

"Hey what is it.. hmm?" He asked you as he cupped your cheeks

"Nothing I just..I have never had anyone caring for me like this ..I only had mom and then she left and I just..I have been so lonely and scared since then and I.." you couldn't speak anymore as your sobs increased so he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

"Now hey..i'm here now my sweet girl, you never have to feel alone or scared again, I'll be right here with you I promise" you nodded as he comforted you, he didn't let go of you until you were done sobbing. Your cries wounded him but he knew that crying was still a better alternative than you keeping your feelings bottled up inside you.

"Now be a good girl, take your medicine and get sleep okay?" You nodded again and he tilted his head.

"Really?? Not even a smile? Fine I guess" he faked a mopey look on his face and that made you smile, his heart swelled and he wished he was able to cuddle you to sleep but he can't.

"Oh there's another one and I want you to keep it in your wallet or purse whenever you'll go out" He walked over to your closet, took out your purse and carefully stuck it at the bottom. He wished you a goodnight sleep before he opened the door and looked around carefully.

Next morning when he suited up, he stepped downstairs. Rocky was giving you yet another lecture about how this was your so and so trip to the hospital,

"Honestly you are so privileged what more do you want y/n? Just because we didn't take you to the trip, you had to create a scene?" Suzzanah smirked as Rocky said that. She had her arm wrapped around him while she sat on the arm of the couch he was sitting on

You kept your eyes on your phone as you weren't even listening to him, you stopped listening to what he had to say about you after your mom died, you just did whatever made him give you money.

Loki wanted to uplift your mood so he took out his phone and texted you,

He noticed a smile crept on the corner of your mouth so he kept going,

"Hey you?" Rocky called out to him so he kept his phone inside and walked towards the front of the couch to face him.

"Sir"

"She's seeing her designer for the wedding dress fitting, take her and be on the lookout, I received several threatening mails last night that they were going to target my Suzzanah and her" he pointed towards you and Loki nodded. Once Rocky left, Suzannah walked towards him while you made your way over to the dining area

"Mmm so once you come back I need you to go with me"

"Sure ma'am"

"Just call me Suzi"

"No ma'am, that's inappropriate" she glared at him as he said that.

"And the thing between you and y/n is appropriate?" She scooted closer to him and then pressed her mouth over his ears.

"You have no idea what Rocky and Steve will do with you" she whispered in his ears and chuckled so he smiled in response.

"Lucky for me I don't have to worry about that, your daughter is an arrogant snobbish spoiled princess that I get paid to protect" her eyes twinkled as he talked that way about you, and he knew he had done the right thing. As much as it hurt him to say that about you, he knew it was necessary.

"Ahhh what happened yesterday? You have got me curious now"

"Nothing happened Miss, I cared for her well being a time or two and she got too clingy for my liking, like a brat would, she thinks she owns me and that's simply not true. I work for her father, not her"

"I keep telling Rocky that she has got an attitude problem but he never listens to me" she rubbed his shoulder with her fingers and he smiled. Deep down all of this only made him want to kiss you even more passionately later on.

"Maybe he should be listening to you more"

"Well let me know if she bothers you sweetheart " she patted his cheeks and turned around to walk upstairs. He took a deep breath as she finally left. He looked around before he made his way to the dining area, he had to be careful of the security cams as well that he knew they must have hidden at several places, he had a camera detector and he knew the corridor upstairs was a safe zone and he won't get caught going into your room. He made himself a plate from the buffet and then sat down in front of you.

You both talked about it in the hospital , he told you that he'd keep the contact between you two at bare minimum in the mansion. You rubbed your toes over his shin and that made him smile but he didn't look at you.

Once out of the mansion and as soon as you both were on the road his lips latched onto yours again, he just had breakfast but he still felt as if he was starving.

"It's so hard for me to keep my hands off you when you look at me like that" he mumbled between the kiss and you cupped his bulge, he was thankful for the tinted glasses on the window.

"Fuck don't do that" he grabbed your hand and placed it around his neck instead, he clutched his fingers in the lock of your hair and pulled your head down gently to kiss your neck, the sound of your moans in his ears was driving him insane.

"Daddy"

"Yess baby" he whispered as quietly as he could, soundproof or not he was still being as careful as possible.

You wanted to tell him that you love him, but was it too soon? You didn't want to overwhelm him and drive him away again.

"Nothing I just..I love this" you mumbled softly and he cupped your cheeks with his large hands then he kissed you lovingly.

"I love this too darling, so much" I love you. He should have said it but he didn't know if it was the right time . He was scared.

You both scooted away from each other to fix yourself up when you reached your destination, watching you put your lipstick on again after he messed it up was something he could get used to.

He quickly barricaded himself around you and escorted you in safely. There were few press guys there, how do they always know? It's probably something your PR team does to keep you in the limelight.

Your assistant Wanda was waiting for you there and she handed you a drink. You took your glasses off as you sipped on your drink, your designer was making some changes to the dress before he put it on you.

That was your wedding dress, for your wedding with Steve.

He looked at you as you stood there in such a posh and elegant manner, when you dropped your handkerchief, not just Wanda but three other people from the boutique ran to pick it up for you.

His eyes teared up as a memory from his past hit him, he has been here before, with her, she was the same way, less broken but equally inefficient. He didn't blame you for not being able to do basic things, you were never taught to do it. Everything was served to you, you never had to cook or clean, or worry about paying your own bills.

Would you be able to handle the life he'd expect you to live with him? Would you be able to adjust to living in his world? There won't be servants, house help, room services, or people standing on your feet to aid you.

Only he would be there with you.

As you put on the wedding dress and looked at him from the mirror view with a loving look in your eyes. He only wished for one thing.

He wished that when he finally takes you away from here, your feet wouldn't crave to run back. And he wished that he would be enough for you.

💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚❤️💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤

#loki #loki x female reader #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x reader insert #loki x reader fic #loki x you #loki x reader angst #loki alternate universe #loki au #loki fics

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jungkxook · 4 years ago

Text

—backseat serenade. (m)

⟶ pairing: taehyung x reader

⟶ genre: punk!taehyung / band au / brother’s best friend au + smut

⟶ words: 10,790

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: falling in love and having weekly sex with kim taehyung is wrong for a number of reasons — and, no, that’s not including the whole other issue that he’s also your brother’s best friend

⟶ warnings: multiple sex scenes, slight exhibitionism if u look hard enough, wall sex, car sex, unprotected sex, all the sex (seriously), fingering, pussy slapping (also if u look hard enough), lots of teasing, doggy style, riding, creampie

⟶ disclaimer: this story is another repost of an old one (although it’s basically been entirely rewritten lol)!

⟶ this is part of the melodrama tour series!

“We have to hurry. I don’t have a lot of time.”

Taehyung says this with much difficulty, of course, especially when considering you’re currently pressed up against him, his fingers digging crescent-moons into your hips ━ but he knows you’re teasing him now.

You can’t help it, though; he just makes it so easy for you.

He can be so stubborn and impatient at times that poking fun at him brings you quite a bit of joy. Maybe not so much to him, as he often whines and complains that you like to torture him, but, really, how could you not? When you think about what he’s usually like in bed, away from prying eyes, it’s entirely different. So to see that dominance in him fade into nothing short of helpless is simply satisfying ━ even if you know you’ll pay for it at a later time. It doesn’t always happen either but when it does, you bask in it for as long as possible.

Which is why you seem to take the liberty of “torturing” him so sweetly now, just before the boys are about to play a gig at a bar late one night. Taehyung had found you the moment he and the boys had finished soundchecking for the evening, then had you pinned up against the brick wall of the dingy washroom, his hips digging harshly into yours, and his hand now gripping your thigh around his waist. It might have been you who instigated it, hooded eyes and fluttering lashes and shit-eating grins meeting him in secret from across the room as he stood on stage before you with his bass guitar in hand, but Taehyung was the one to put it into action just like he always does, pulling you in there even despite the fact that they were scheduled to play in twenty minutes.

But who could blame you? Taehyung is always so charming, and tonight he was looking extra irresistible. Maybe it was the silky blouse, the first few buttons left open so that the floral tattoo on his chest pokes through, leaving very little to the imagination, or maybe it was the way he had let his hair grow out a little longer than usual, soft dark curls pushed back by a single bandana.

“You’ll be late,” You warn him in between heated kisses as he pecks his way down to the underside of your jaw where he tongues a warm pattern there.

“Just a quickie,” Taehyung promises gruffly. His hips rut against yours again and you feel his straining erection against your inner thigh. Poor thing. “Been dying all day to feel you on my dick.”

You only hum in response, a small amused smirk plastered on your face. He’s sucking a hickey onto your neck when he speaks next.

“Had all these thoughts but I was all alone. It was terrible.”

“What kind of thoughts?” You pry, quirking a brow. Your fingers toy at the top of his belt buckle, pulling him towards you. “Let me guess. Were you thinking about what it feels like to have my mouth on you? All warm and wet.”

He doesn’t move a muscle when he feels your hand trail lower past his belt only to grab at his crotch through the rough material of his jeans. You press your palm against him and he hisses.

“Sucking you off nice and slow, just how you like it?” You probe, teeth tugging at his lower lip when he catches your mouth on his once more. Your voice is low and sultry and invokes something in him that has him tensing. “Or maybe the way it felt when you had me bent over your kitchen counter the other day. You know, you always make me feel so good, Tae━”

He growls against your mouth but the harsh sound dissolves into a strangled whine. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, love.”

“And I always love when you pull at my hair too━” But you continue on as if he hadn’t even spoken, the thrill of the moment coursing through your veins like crackling electricity. “And when you grip my thighs so tightly when your head’s between my legs━”

“Y/N,” he says your name in a strained warning, bordering on a desperate beg if you listen close enough. He gets distracted when you suck delicately on a spot on his jawline and has to take a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. “Please. I’ll do anything. Just let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours.”

“My mouth?” You ask, tantalizingly slowly. “Or me?”

“I’m a simple man, I just wanna cum,” he hums, earning a delighted snort from you. “I’ll take whatever you give me, Y/N, please.”

“Hmm…” You trail off. You press your palm a little harder against him, rubbing your hand across his length. “Think I want you inside me, Tae. Wanna be wrecked by you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Now, this seems to excite him to no end. He fumbles with his belt at once. A devious cackle meets his ears and he knows you’re purposely toying with him. The next few moments unfold in a blur as his eager hands join with your own nimble ones, having his belt undone in a matter of seconds and your skirt hitched up nearly to your waist. With one hand gripping his straining and leaking cock as he pulls himself free from his pants, the other hitches one of your thighs to his waist. He pushes into you at once, the familiar feeling of your wet walls coaxing him in further and further as he sinks against your chest entirely, a beautiful luscious moan falling from his lips and a hiss of glee from yours. And, then, all at once, it’s as if all the pressure that has been building up inside of him tumbles to the forefront to be released.

“Jesus, fuck,” he grunts. He buries his head against your chest, one hand feverishly grasping at your breasts from under your shirt, fortunate you chose to forgo a bra for the night.

“Ooh, Tae━” Your own arms wrap around his neck, holding him tightly to you, but you don’t think he’ll bother going very far when his own weight slumps against you entirely, pressing you against the wall roughly. And even though he’s quick to fuck himself into you, his hips hardly stray far from yours too, causing you to bob violently up and down the wall behind you, the rough brick structure scratching at your flesh paling in comparison to the cool metallic rings on his fingers holding you up and the burn between your legs as his cock stretches you open.

“Nice to know that’s all I am to you━” Your head falls back against the wall as he continues. “Something you can use to get off. Not that I mind.”

“Nah, that’s not all you are to me,” Taehyung sharply inhales, and then shudders. In the heat of the moment, you miss the sentiment in his voice. He lifts his head to yours finally, smothering your lips with his. “But your pretty little cunt sure is nice.”

A maniacal cackle bubbles at your throat as you nip at his lower lip. Before you can respond, outside the washroom Jimin’s voice can be heard calling out aimlessly for Taehyung as the boy most likely wanders by, oblivious to what’s unfolding only a few feet away from him. “Has anyone seen Tae? Taehyung! Get your ass back here or we’re gonna be late━”

Taehyung groans out of frustration and buries his face in the crook of your neck, grumbling angrily, “Fuckin’ hell.”

But despite the Jimin’s close proximity and despite Taehyung’s bitter resentment for it, his hips still continue to rut into yours. You do manage to pull apart from his mouth and giggle when he chases after your lips desperately. “Think that’s your cue, baby.”

“There’s no way you’d be that evil,” he protests like a whining child.

“But Jimin sounds pissed.”

Taehyung finds it hard to focus when your fingers tug at the collar of his shirt, absentmindedly (or so he thinks) running your hands under his shirt and over his chest. He cradles you close to him, following your every move. That, and the way your walls clench around him drives him wild. “Heaven forbid we let down Jimin.”

“Nnng━” You choke back a whimper. “He’ll be mad.”

“As if he wouldn’t already lose his shit if he found me here in such a compromising position with you being that you’re his sister.”

Compromising is certainly one word for it. So, maybe Taehyung had a point, but that never stopped him or you before. In fact, it only seemed to add to your lustful endeavours, as if you both enjoyed seeing how far you could push the boundaries before getting caught ━ or not.

It hadn’t always been like this. For a period of your life, you had somehow forced yourself to believe you had despised Taehyung as much as you claim, as much as you lie. You wondered just how Jimin could ever be friends with, or be as inseparable with, Taehyung as he was. Whereas Jimin is timid and shy, gentle and caring, like a soft breath of cool air on a hot summer’s day that sways the knee-high grass in meadows behind your house, Taehyung is energetic and effervescent, reckless and wild, akin to that of a sudden flash of lightning that breaks apart the calm sky, a clap of thunder that shakes even the very core of sleeping Gaia. Though, somehow, their two vastly different personalities come clashing together in a harmonious perfection and create something that is entirely too rambunctious for you to handle, even as a young child.

But now? Now you’re positive neither you nor Taehyung would stand a chance against Jimin’s wrath if he found out his best friend enjoyed weekly sex of all sorts with you, sometimes even when he’s asleep in the next room over in your shared apartment with him and Taehyung had somehow managed to sneak in during the night.

“You know he’s already suspicious,” You moan as his cock angles upward into you in such a way that makes your body tremble. You jut your hips forward, meeting his halfway. “Now━ Fuck, Tae━ you wanna… You wanna risk getting kicked from the band for not showing up to your set?”

“There’s still ten minutes,” he hisses hotly. “Ten minutes is more than enough time.”

“Then you’ll really be late.”

“It adds to the rockstar brand, doesn’t it?” he asks hastily. “Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking wet and you’re teasing me?”

He’s met with a roll of your eyes, and then a drunken snicker as you retort, “Maybe being fashionably late will be more acceptable when you’re a big celebrity.”

“Did you find him?” Another voice suddenly sounds from outside, this time resembling Hoseok’s. Taehyung wonders how they haven’t heard either of you yet, the lewd wet noises of his cock burrowing into your cunt seeming to grow louder each time. Surely, you would have been caught by now had it not been for the thudding bass of the music playing at the bar.

“No,” Jimin grumbles, closer this time.

A dangerously loud whimper tumbles from your lips and Taehyung hurries to clamp his hand over your mouth. You’re fortunate when he does, clinging to his hand as he pumps himself into you. At the very least, no matter how cocky Taehyung got with you or how many times he teased the thought of getting caught, he would never actually risk facing Jimin’s mighty wrath. Still, he finds a way to have fun with it.

“Uh oh.” Taehyung meets your darkened stare, lids heavy, as his other hand leaves your thigh to stick between your legs, fingers rubbing circles against your clit. You know he does it on purpose, judging by the broadening smirk on his face when the added stimulation makes your hips jerk instinctively beneath him. He’s surprised when you hardly let out a noise, safe for a sudden gasp for air. “Not even one tiny moan? Come on, baby.”

“Fuck it. Wherever he is, he better know we’re on in ten!” Jimin’s voice carries back to the two of you. Then, a little more faintly as he wanders off, you can hear him grumble, “I swear to God, this asshole━”

“Wait, wait━” You rasp suddenly, twisting and turning beneath Taehyung and the boy stops at once. You try not to let your heart swoon at the way his hands are all soft and gentle as they touch you now, sliding his palm off your mouth if only for it to fall to your hips where he rubs at comfortingly.

He tries to ignore the way his cock twitches, shoved so deep within your walls. “What’s wrong?”

You slither from his grasp, unraveling your leg from his waist and delicately pushing him away, trying not to focus on the way your pussy throbs at the sudden missing warmth of his length. Taehyung is suddenly even more concerned, the poor boy gawking at you helplessly, his swollen cock completely forgotten as he fixes himself back into his jeans, his attention solely focused on you and your wellbeing now.

“What happened? Did I hurt you━”

“No,” You promise. “No, I just━” You look sheepish, and he wonders why, up until he sees you fidgeting with your skirt in an attempt to fix it and the mischievous twinkle flashing in your eyes. “I just figured maybe we shouldn’t risk it tonight. I mean, you heard Jiminie.” You pat Taehyung’s chest once, smoothing out the material of his now crumpled shirt. “So, I’ll see you out there.”

Taehyung blinks once. “What the fuck.”

It doesn’t seem to hit him at first; not until he spots your wicked grin as you lean past him to look at your reflection in the mirror, fixing your clothes and hair. You wipe at a smudge of lipstick in the corner of your mouth, and Taehyung gaps.

“Y/N, what the fuck?” he whines. Needy and desperate hands try to grab at you on your way to the door, but he ultimately lets you weave your way out of his reach. “What are you, the antichrist? Don’t be such a tease. I’ve got a problem that you helped start. It’s only fair if you help finish it.”

Admittedly, it is cruel. He looks both shameless and shameful, an exasperated and flustered expression to match the helpless state he’s in. Shirt askew on his shoulders, hair a wild mess, and his painfully obvious boner struggling against his jeans. You almost feel bad, until you realize you shouldn’t be. Because this is all it’s ever been between the two of you ━ sex, and more sex, no feelings attached, but lately something seems off… Either way, Taehyung will get over it, and he’ll still come crawling back for more which is why you have no qualms when you leave. Just, maybe, not in the way you would like.

The last thing he sees of you before you flee the washroom for him to fend for himself is a seductive smirk and a wink being thrown over your shoulder as you remark innocently, prettily, “You have hands.”

And then you’re gone, leaving him alone in the dingy washroom. He doesn’t come out right away, though it leaves the restless boys that make his band awaiting him to speculate some more.

“He’s gonna totally screw us over if he doesn’t show up in the next two minutes,” Jimin is saying hotly to the boys behind the stage when you rejoin them. The bar is already filling up with partygoers but mostly fans of the band, eagerly anticipating the set.

“Relax, Jimin,” Namjoon says carelessly. “He’s probably getting blown in the washroom or something. Can’t rush a man through these things.”

Jimin rolls his eyes as the others snicker. When the others have distracted themselves by discussing other business, you approach your brother casually, saying as inconspicuous as possible yet reassuringly, “Everything will be fine. I’m sure he’ll be here any second.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he throws this all away for a girl,” Jimin shakes his head. “It’s a miracle he ━ or any of the guys, for that matter ━ hasn’t tried anything on you yet.”

You try to laugh, though the sound is more forced and strained than you would like. At least Jimin doesn’t seem to notice. “But he’s your friend. Don’t you trust him?”

“I do trust him,” Jimin replies. “He’s a good guy, he’s just too caught up in all this band life. We’ve both seen it with the guys, especially with Taehyung. They take advantage of this stuff in the early stages.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry,” You promise. “I’m not interested in your friends and never will be ━ especially not Taehyung.”

Fortunately, the dreaded conversation doesn’t last much longer. Taehyung does end up making it to his own set on time, and when he finds you out in the crowd, you’re smirking deviously up at him for a secret that never has to be told aloud to the world and certainly not to Jimin.

You don’t quite remember when you and Taehyung started hooking up behind your brother’s back or what exactly caused it.

If you think back long and hard enough, you’re positive it was the result of some sort of drunken one night stand that elapsed into sober days and conscious decision making, which then turned into weeks, then months, which leaves you to where you are now. Almost a year of sucking your brother’s best friend’s dick and you’ve somehow, miraculously, never been caught. But aside from occasionally sleeping with one another, there was nothing more to be exposed to Jimin in terms of romance. Because, as far as he was aware, you and Taehyung were still embroiled in your childhood rivalry with one another that was less violent now than when you were younger and more civil, aside from the offhanded jabs and retorts shot at one another. And, as far as Taehyung and you were aware, the charade and the hook-ups all resulted in a peculiar sort of friendship between the two of you that was certainly as far as either of you would take things. Supposedly.

But between sexual teasing and taunts, you sometimes wonder if the lines have begun to blur, and if you’ve gotten too comfortable with Taehyung asking to sleep in your bed. Which is why, maybe, you overcompensate by “torturing” him on the days that he really needs you, like the night before in the grimy washroom of the bar. He hadn’t joined the real world or the band until the very last second they were meant to go on stage, looking all the more discomposed and flushed in the face when he rushed out, though at least he had somehow managed to tame his raging boner.

Now you were certain the universe was toying with you, bittersweet payback coming to nip you in the ass.

You hadn’t been so bothered the night before, leaving with the boys when their set was done and returning to your home with Jimin, not a word being uttered between you and Taehyung, even up until the very next day where you find yourself now. Crammed in a local studio run by some friend Yoongi had known from college, you were quite used to watching the band brainstorm new lyrics and record songs in real time, all from the sofa shoved up against one wall of the small space. You had been there every step of the way ━ their first rehearsal as a formed band, the day they discovered the group’s name in almost a dreamlike epiphany, the release of their very first full-length album produced and recorded all by them and promoted all by them, their very first gig with a decent following and the jittery anxiety they had all been troubled by, and every gig following it in which their nerves subsided and their effervescent charm and credence began to finally show through. But they had never been as disconcerted as they had now ━ which, really, you don’t blame them.

“Bro, this is stressing me out.” This aggravated groan sounds from Jungkook, the band’s lead guitarist.

He’s currently splayed out on the ground of the sofa you’re seated on, head thrown back against the cushions. Every other boy in the studio bare a similar wearied look ━ even Jimin, as their usual spritely lead singer.

You suppose that’s just the inevitable stress bound to occur when a scout from the infamous Columbia Records had somehow found the band either in person at one of their gigs or online and taken an interest in them and were interested in signing them. After weeks of back and forth discussion, Jin had been fortunate enough to land a meeting with the label in New York City, looking promising enough to excite even the stoic Yoongi. And after a month of planning, their meeting was set to take place finally only a week from that day. The issue seemed to arise when the label claimed they wanted the band to bring a set of new songs to the table to discuss at the last possible moment, sending the boys into a chaotic frenzy as they had only just released their first album a few months back. You had come to help the boys, though they were lucky enough to have found a handful of pre-written songs from their repertoire that still, unfortunately, needed fine tuning, vocals, and melodies. After working meticulously all morning, they were only just now deciding to split for a much needed lunch break.

“Same here,” Jimin says glumly, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Can’t wait to get out of here. I feel like I’m going insane.”

As the boys begin to shift and move, Jin gets to his feet and clasps his hands onto Jimin’s shoulders, giving him a reassuring nudge. “Just think about it: international success and Grammys await.”

“If we don’t fall apart before then,” Namjoon stifles a yawn as he stretches out his arms. He tosses a glance at you and Taehyung. “You guys coming?”

“Yeah,” You say, though you hardly move from your seat. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute,” Taehyung nods. He’s sat across from you on the couch, journal propped on one knee as he scrawls away in it, a jarble of chord progressions and lyrics. “Just gonna finish cleaning up in here.”

It seems convincing enough to Namjoon and the rest of the boys, even Jimin who is already out the door, not in the least bit suspicious of you or Taehyung. Honestly, you’re sure not even Taehyung is suspicious of your unmoving presence beside him until the boys leave and suddenly the room falls silent.

“You’re stressed,” You point out in a gentle musing. Which is true. You don’t usually see Taehyung riddled with anxieties, typically keeping to himself and maintaining some sort of effortless and mysterious coolness around the others.

The boy quirks a brow as he lifts his gaze to look up at you, tossing the journal onto the ground. Whether or not he seems to catch the underlying suggestive and sultry tone in your voice, you’re not quite sure but could you really blame yourself? It was difficult having to watch Taehyung all morning in his element, gazing at him whenever he was in the recording booth, headphones dangling from his neck and bass guitar in his lap as his expert fingers thrummed away at the strings. He always looks most attractive to you when he’s so utterly consumed by his work and his art, whether it be on stage in front of hundreds of people or in a more intimate setting at recordings or practices.

“What happened to you not wanting to disappoint Jimin by getting caught or whatever it was?” he asks, waving his hand dismissively. “Staying back with me is definitely gonna catch his attention.”

“Maybe,” You shrug. You catch his hand as he brings it back down, raising it to your lips to kiss at the tips of his fingers slowly, one-by-one, never once breaking eye contact with him. “I was just thinking you could use some help. And an apology for yesterday.”

Despite the way Taehyung’s dark gaze scrutinizes you in a taunting manner, he still watches as you take his hand and place it between your thighs, over your core. At least today you chose to wear leggings, the smooth material allowing for very little obstacles standing in his way as you press his fingers against you. A wolfish smirk tugs at his lips. “You think your pussy’s gonna help me?”

“Yes, actually, I do,” You say, matter-of-fact. “And I don’t think it will; I know. If I remember correctly, you were begging to use me as a stress-reliever before your set yesterday.”

Taehyung clucks his tongue. “Sounds a lot to me like you just want my fingers in you. Not so nice now being the needy one, huh?”

“I want you to do a lot of things to me, Tae.”

“Careful, baby. You’re playing a dangerous game,” Taehyung says. Still, he entertains the idea. Pressing his thumb harder against you, he rubs leisurely at the sensitive part of your clit over your clothes and the sudden feeling makes you pur with glee. “Besides, why should I be so nice and help you after what you did to me?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re still on about that? You’re a grown man, you can pleasure yourself.”

“How mean.” He feigns a look of mock hurt. “It doesn’t feel as nice when it isn’t you.”

“Taehyung,” You scold his name in a warning, but it mostly comes out as a contented sigh. You know you’ve already won him over, though the impatient tug you give on his arm as you clutch at his wrist of the hand still between your legs is a wordless reminder. Your fingers flutter up to his face, pulling him down for a kiss which he gladly obliges to. “Think they’ll walk in?”

“Nah.” His voice is a throaty murmur. “We’ve got some time. The boys’ seem worried enough as is; think they’re already halfway to that pho place around the corner they wanted to try, and they’re probably not gonna wanna come back here for at least another hour. Plus, I think we’ve given the producers a raging headache with all our requests so they definitely won’t want to be back in here for a while.”

You snicker at the thought, humming into his mouth as you pull him down with you onto the sofa, bending your knee so as to let him slide into place between your legs more comfortably. He pulls his hand away from you only long enough to lick at his digits before slipping his hand past the waistband of your leggings this time. Nudging aside your underwear, he swipes his fingers at your clit, marveling at your stickiness.

Your breath hitches in your throat. “What do we say when they ask where we went?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he grunts into your mouth. “Fuck, tell them we were busy fucking for all I care.”

You swat at his chest playfully but lose your spirit when he presses his thumb against your clit, causing your hips to rut forward in a silent plea. Taehyung’s right, you think. Your excuse for the boys can be worried about later. Now, Taehyung slides a finger into you, then another, stretching you open experimentally, causing you to croon.

Face warm and head spinning, a sudden thought pops into your head that seems much more intimate than his fingers in you. “So━” You bite your lip to stop a moan. The question that forms on your tongue is timid despite the lewd things that threaten to run through your mind at his every touch, “S-So, what happens when you’re a big and famous rockstar, touring the world now?”

“I’ll take you with me.” Taehyung tongues a pattern down to the underside of your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. He curls his fingers upward, sinking further into you until he’s reached his knuckles, enjoying the way your hips twitch beneath him. “Fuck you in every city we go to, in every fancy, over-the-top hotel we stay in. New York, L.A., Paris, London, Rome…”

“Romantic,” You snort, although maybe it kind of is if you think about it long enough. He slides a third finger into you then, fucking his digits in and out of you at a gradual pace that has your core aching. You’re all warm and wet around him that it goes straight to his dick, the thought of him tearing you apart as he plunges his cock into you making him grow antsy. It does the same to you. “Nnngh, Taehyung━ We’ll see about that when you meet pretty girls thousands of miles away who can offer you so much more than me.”

“Hmm… Dunno about that,” he hums. “There’s only gonna be you.”

You wonder if he knows what he’s doing, the way his words make your heart stutter in your chest. But then you start to wonder why you’re even feeling such things for him. Pretty words promising you that you meant more to him than sex meant little to you in comparison when he never acted upon it ━ but could you blame him? Even you were apprehensive of ruining what you already had with him, his friendship with Jimin if you told him how you were feeling lately, and the integrity of the band.

Your legs tremble as your orgasm approaches. Taehyung busies himself by nipping and sucking at your neck and all you can do is puff and pant, the lewd wet noises of his fingers penetrating you filling your ears. “Taehyung━ God, I wanna feel your dick so badly.”

“Yeah?” he growls. “Gonna let me fuck you finally? You’re so wet right now, could slip right in. Fuck, look at what you do to yourself by being so mean to me.”

He twists his finger up into you in such a way that has you grinding against his knuckles. “Please, Tae━”

“Got you stretched so wide too,” Taehyung hums pensively. “Your pussy always takes me so well too, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm, Taehyung!”

“Look at you,” he hisses, quickening his pace. Your back arches until your chest is pressed flush against his, walls quivering around his fingers. You reach out desperately for his face, smoothing your lips over his but you fail to really make any sort of connection. Instead, your jaw unhinges in a breathless moan against his mouth as he rests his forehead against yours. “Wanna come around my fingers so badly, don’t you? So close too.”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m━” Your hands ball into fists around the collar of his shirt. Your eyes threaten to roll back as you get closer and closer, your aching pussy so close to feeling its much needed relief when━ “What the fuck, Taehyung?”

He pulls his hand from your core before you can cum, leaving you a sweating and panting mess. The sudden loss of contact leaves you dumbfounded, gawking at the boy who’s suddenly grinning in a similar ungodly manner to your selfish response to him the day before. Payback has never tasted so sweet before to him, and so bitter to you.

“You did that on purpose,” You whine, jutting your hips forward desperately to meet his hand again. Instead, he gives your leaking and sensitive pussy one slap, the pleasant jolt shooting up your spine making you moan. “You’re so mean. I thought you were over it.”

“Well, now I am.” He pulls his hand out from between your legs and licks at his fingers. “Have you had your fun?”

It takes you a moment to respond as you gather yourself. He finds your sulking a little hilarious, and maybe also feels a little bad. “For now.”

“That’s a good girl.” He leans down to kiss your mouth hungrily, enjoying when you suck eagerly at his lower lip. “Because I’ve had my fun.”

You open your mouth to say something more but are stopped shortly when, somewhere outside the recording room, you can hear the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching, followed by the sound of the doorknob turning and Jimin’s curious voice, “Tae?”

You and Taehyung have stumbled off of one another within seconds, listening to the way Taehyung curses under his breath as he flings himself off the couch and a few feet away as you sit upright on the sofa. You have to only pray and hope that you both don’t look too obvious, though you think it’s too late for that. Either way, you cross one thigh over the other, biting down harshly on your tongue as Jimin stumbles into the room. As his gaze sweeps fleetingly across the room, he hardly takes note of both you and Taehyung.

“There you two are,” he says. “Was wondering where you went off to. And━” His stare flutters over to Taehyung for a moment and you hold your breath, fearing he may know a little too much, when━ “There’s my wallet! I knew I forgot it here.”

He crosses the room swiftly and plucks his abandoned wallet from the desk, holding it up to show the two of you. You smile nervously and Taehyung takes it upon himself to answer, clearing his throat in the process. “We were just gonna catch up with you, actually. Y/N was just helping me finish up here.”

You’re fortunate that Jimin’s probable sudden panic of trying to find his wallet and the relief of realizing he hadn’t lost it to the ether is what distracts him. He seems hardly intrigued by your lack of presence or yours and Taehyung’s odd companionship without the other boys. Whatever the case, you both manage to make it out of the recording studio unscathed and Taehyung does a well enough job at deflecting from any further suspicions by talking as normally as he usually would with Jimin on your walk over to the restaurant the rest of the boys are at.

Well, as unscathed as you can be, the tragedy of your lost orgasm still haunting you even as you sit across from Taehyung at the table.

“Now you’ll really be late.”

You say this as a heedful warning, though you’re fortunate when you find that you’re both distracted this time.

You know you have Taehyung under your spell that morning when he catches you purposely wandering his apartment in nothing but a pair of your panties. It’s not as if it’s uncommon to see you naked in his kitchen, making breakfast. That morning, when you walk into the bedroom holding a cup of tea, Taehyung almost chokes at the sight of your bare chest. It’s early the day of the band’s flight to New York City for their meeting with Columbia Records, and though Taehyung has roughly an hour before he has to leave the apartment, you’re worried he might just miss the flight altogether when he pulls you onto his bed again after a night of fucking.

“Don’t care. Come here.” His large hands are on you in an instant, roaming your body as he kisses the underside of your jaw and pins you beneath him. You let him get carried away, let him leave a trail of sloppy kisses from your lips down to your collarbones and in between your breasts.

“What are you gonna tell the boys when they’re on a flight to New York and you’re still in your apartment?” You rasp, fingers threading in his hair.

“Was busy spending the last twenty-four hours making hot, passionate love to you.”

The wry grin on his face makes it come across as a joke and makes your heart skip a beat. Admittedly, that was partly the truth. He had invited you over the day before and you had spent the better part of it in his bed in every position imaginable. Have to make up for the three days we won’t see each other, he had said after your first round, head between your legs and mouth on your cunt.

You snicker now but the sound falls short when a moan replaces it. “Don’t think you can call it passionate love making when you gave up halfway and made me ride you like you always do.”

He gasps and bites down teasingly on your skin but not with enough pressure to hurt. “Was that a jab at my manhood?”

“Of course not.”

“Besides, I like it best when you’re in charge.”

You roll your eyes but pull him up to your face so that you can kiss him again. It’s an odd shift in atmosphere when you find him kissing you in a chaste manner, despite having marked you red all over and legs still shaking from how many times he’s made you come in the last twenty-four hours. But it wasn’t all sex for once. Falling asleep in his arms left you still dreaming even when you were long awake.

“Gonna miss you,” he whispers once he parts from you. He rubs soft circles against your hips, nuzzling his nose against your cheek.

“It’s only for three days,” You say.

“I know,” he sighs. “I just━ God, I’ve gotten so used to you being here. I’m just sick of sleeping alone all the time. Shit, I don’t think I’m making any sense anymore. All I know is you’re driving me crazy.”

“Taehyung…”

“Am I wrong to feel that way?” He lifts his head now to look at you, ardent sincerity glazing over his eyes as he gazes at you.

You’re too caught up in the moment, the lustful afterglow of sex and whatever else is starting to emerge however blurry it may be now, to not notice right away the sound of knocking on the front door. Instead, you reach out to push his hair out of his eyes. You think you know what he means; you just want to hear him say it aloud. Your question is a gentle probe. “What are you trying to say?”

“I━”

But Taehyung’s voice is cut short by the sound of Jin’s shouting from the front door. “Taehyung, you in here?”

Wide eyes meet with yours in the sudden alarming panic of Jin’s arrival. Taehyung grumbles mostly to himself, “God dammit, what’s he doing here?”

You can hear the band’s manager talking aloud, quite possibly to another one of the boys that he’s dragged with him, and you and Taehyung scramble to react. Taehyung only has enough time to clamber out of his bed and pull on a pair of discarded sweatpants from the floor as you pull on one of his sweaters and grab the bedsheet to cling to your chest if only so it can hide the rest of your bare legs.

“Are you alive?” Jin’s asking, closer this time.

“We had to come check on you━” You don’t register the second voice until it’s too late.

Because there, standing at the threshold of Taehyung’s door to his room, is not just Jin but your brother. Jimin’s familiar pop of bright blue hair and nonchalant smile are much too hard to forget. But, upon stumbling across Taehyung’s room, they each come to a stuttering halt. It doesn’t take long for the realization to dawn on them ━ and how could they not piece together the puzzles painting such a painfully obvious picture? The dishevelled bed, the clothes that litter his floor, your clothes that litter his floor, Taehyung’s shirtless and sloppy attire, your own half-hearted attempt at dressing yourself and the marks that riddle your body that you were banking on fading completely by the time you were reunited with Jimin after their return from their meeting.

“Uh…” Taehyung trails off awkwardly. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Oh shit,” Jin curses under his breath. Despite having no idea whatsoever about you or Taehyung (though maybe having a better inkling than the rest of the boys), he turns hastily towards Jimin. “Maybe now’s not a good time.”

But Jimin hardly budges. Instead, he looks enlivened, jaw setting harshly in place as his brows furrow into a scowl. “Jin knows I have a spare key to your place after that one time you locked yourself out and he wanted to make sure we all met up before getting to the airport. You weren’t answering our calls, thought you were dead. Guess now I know it’s because you were too busy fucking my sister.”

“Jimin,” You hiss sharply.

Taehyung shakes his head wildly. “It’s not like that.”

“Really?” Jimin retorts. “‘Cause it sure seems like it is.”

Taehyung grimaces. “Okay, yes, but not in the way you think. It’s not some meaningless fuck. I care about her.”

But that only seems to be the wrong answer. Would there ever be a right one? Taming Jimin’s stubborn anger and protectiveness over you was hard enough on any other day. Now that he knows you’ve slept with Taehyung, Taehyung felt as if he were a lost cause.

“How long has this been happening?” Jimin asks, tight-lipped.

You can’t bring yourself to answer, neither can Taehyung, and that seems to be enough to answer his worries. Maybe if you had acted faster, said it was only a one night stand, he wouldn’t have been able to read your mind so easily. Yet your silence was enough to make you guilty.

“Shit,” Jimin runs a hand through his hair. When he speaks next, he’s looking only at you. “Do you love him?”

“I━” You open your mouth, as if to explain yourself. This time, the answer came much easier. You know what you want to say, but voicing the truth out loud in front of your brother and Taehyung, who might not feel the same way, makes you clamp your mouth shut. Whatever your answer anyway should be for Taehyung only. Instead, you frown up at your brother. “I don’t get why you’re so upset anyway. Who cares if we’re in love? Who cares what we are? It’s not like you can control me. I can make these sorts of decisions myself, Jimin. This is ridiculous.”

“No. I get that,” Jimin says firmly. “But you’re my sister, and your wellbeing comes first to me. So, Tae━” Now, your brother turns to look at Taehyung. You’ve never seen him so furious before, disappointed even, and certainly not when it comes to Taehyung. “If you care about her so much, when were you gonna let her know?”

This seems to catch your attention, sending a curious gaze between Jimin and Taehyung. “Let me know what?”

“That he’s been screwing some other chick he met at the bar a while ago,” Jimin says. “Walked in on them once by accident and, after the fact, he said some similar bullshit about how it wasn’t meaningless or whatever.”

You blink.

The blow to your chest, and subsequently your heart, makes you teeter on your frail legs. Because if what Jimin was saying was true, then were all the sweet sentiments Taehyung whispered to you even yours to begin with? Did he care about you as much as you cared about him? But, the worst part of it all, is how utterly foolish you feel. Because when Taehyung doesn’t immediately answer, your question about whether or not Jimin was telling the truth was confirmed; and you had let yourself almost willingly fall for Taehyung despite all the warning signs. Despite the fact that you had both initiated your relationship on the basis that nothing would ever blossom from it.

“Is that true?” You ask Taehyung.

The boy hesitates. He meets your stare solemnly, flinching when he notes just how hurt you seem. “Partly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You demand. But before he can respond, you scoff under your breath as you begin to gather your belongings. “Oh my god. I’m so stupid━”

Taehyung starts. “Wait, Y/N━”

“Just leave her alone━” Jimin interrupts.

“Hey. Hey!” Jin snaps abruptly, the firm tone in his voice catching the boys’ attention. “We gotta go. Now. Taehyung, get yourself decent; Jimin, in the living room. We leave for the airport in five minutes.”

You decide you no longer want to wait for an answer. Your own embarrassment is far too much to handle for the moment being, and you favour the idea of fleeing from Taehyung’s sorrowful gaze, Jimin’s heated one, and Jin’s scrutinizing scowl.

You’re long gone before Taehyung can even think to stop you.

The three days in which the boys find themselves in New York City for their meeting with Columbia Records is the longest three days of your life.

Taehyung never bothers to call or text you ━ and the looming swell of concern of awaiting to hear his voice or your brother’s or any answer of how the meeting has gone fades in comparison. Because every sweet nothing he ever said to you suddenly means nothing, and you don’t know where that leaves you.

Just when you think you can take the torture no longer, the band returns. Jimin comes bounding into your shared apartment the moment his flight lands and the taxi has brought him home, greeting you with the wonderful news that the band’s been signed, and a celebration is in store consisting of their closest friends and family members. While you initially bask in Jimin’s excitement, mirroring your own, it quickly fades as you fear you’ve lost Taehyung for good.

“You’ll come to the party, won’t you?” Jimin asks hopefully at some point. “The boys will want you there.”

You shift warily in your seat on the sofa across from your brother who stands in the midst of the room after having animatedly relaying the story of the past three days to you. You shrug now, and when Jimin shoots you a quizzical look, you decide to approach the topic cautiously, dancing over your words slowly. “I dunno, Jimin. If he’s gonna be there… I don’t know if I can face him right now.”

Jimin comes to an immediate halt. His face falls and he sinks onto the seat beside you. “Y/N… Look, I was wrong, and I’m sorry. While we were away, Taehyung and I talked and he’s gutted about what happened. But that’s all I can say. I think you should talk to each other. No, I want you to talk to each other. I know now that you’re meant for one another.”

“Are you only telling me this because you’re being your best friend’s wingman, or because you’re being my brother?” You ask, a weak lighthearted attempt at a joke.

“Both,” Jimin says warmly. “Because I care about you both, and I don’t want to have to live with the regret of being the reason two people perfect for each other aren’t together.”

And when your brother says it with such earnestness, you have no choice but to believe him.

So, despite feeling like a fool for potentially crossing paths with Taehyung again, you muster the nerve and motivation to go, and arrive at the party with Jimin later that night. The impromptu last minute party itself is held at Namjoon’s home, filled to the brim with mostly familiar faces and a few unrecognizable ones that must be acquaintances of the boys you’ve never met before. You make your rounds and congratulate the boys one-by-one, being enveloped into a tight hug with each one, safe for Taehyung whom you don’t see at first.

You’re fortunate when mutual friends of yours and Jimin’s arrive, spending the majority of the night with them as your brother wanders off to get wasted. At some point, as the night drawls on, you catch sight of Taehyung and the presence of him is enough to dampen your mood entirely. You decide you’re no longer in the mood for a party, and make haste for the door, stumbling out onto the lawn. You only make it so far, coming to stop at the foot of the curb to breathe in the cool night air around you, before you notice Taehyung hurrying out after you, calling your name.

Almost as soon as he’s able to catch his breath and you lock gazes with the boy, he asks aloud, “Where are you going?”

You hadn’t expected him to follow you, nor the terrible nearly tangible awkwardness that hangs heavy in the air. Still, the concern in his voice and the corners of his eyes softening at the sight of you makes you want nothing more than to forget all the heartache. “Home.”

“Let me drive you?” he asks delicately.

You hesitate before responding. You know the simple offer of a drive is more than that. It’s an invitation to talk to him, sort things out. And you, of course, can’t possibly deny him. As soon as you’ve followed him to his car and he starts driving, everything goes silent. It’s almost unbearable as you shift uncomfortably in your seat and gaze out the window, hoping the long car ride will pass by rather quickly. You thwart his attempts at starting any conversation by turning the radio up and letting the music ━ a mix from Taehyung’s phone filled with pop-punk and indie classics ━ fill the emptiness but it doesn’t work with distracting you. He takes a detour from the path to your apartment, driving instead to a nearby lookout point of a hiking trail, now abandoned and desolate this late at night.

It’s quiet even long after he shifts the car into park, leaving only the sound of the stereo to fill the void. Then, at long last━

“You didn’t call,” You say.

Taehyung swallows thickly. “I know.”

“That’s all I wanted. An explanation.”

“I know,” Taehyung shifts in his seat to look at you. “I’m sorry. I messed up.”

“I know I have no right to feel like you’re mine when the reason we started seeing each other was casual, but everything you’ve been saying to me lately━” You rasp, “that I’m the only one for you and that you were gonna miss me because you were tired of being alone ━ did all of it mean nothing?”

The boy’s stare hardens. “No. I was never lying when I was with you. Everything I said, I meant.”

“Then why didn’t you call?”

“Because I was scared I had lost you,” Taehyung grovels all at once, silencing you. “Because things were starting to finally change between us ━ where it wasn’t just sex all the fucking time, but something genuine ━ and I didn’t want to face the reality that it could all be gone, just like that.”

“Well, what did Jimin mean, about that other girl? Was he telling the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Did you fuck her?”

“Yes.”

“And did you fuck her while you were still saying there was only me in your life and pretending you meant it?”

“I was never pretending,” Taehyung protests exasperatedly. “We had a fling, but that was months ago, when you and I first started whatever the hell this is. But Jimin was wrong. I never told him she was the one, or whatever. I said I didn’t want it to be meaningless anymore. That I want something more. I thought I had found it with that girl; but it was really with you.”

“Taehyung…” You whisper his name now, a delicate utterance.

“You can’t tell me I’m the only one feeling this way about us,” Taehyung beckons desperately. “I know you’ve been feeling it too.”

You purse your lips; then, you let out a small exhalation of air. “Tae… I think I’ve been in love with you ever since we were little kids.”

Now, Taehyung’s stare softens. He reaches out to grab at your face, gingerly pulling you into him, thumb caressing your cheek.

“I want you,” he promises. “God, I want you so bad. Do you really think I’d risk getting kicked from the band for anyone else but you? Or let anyone else tease me so bad but you?”

You can’t help but snicker. You shake your head at him as he pulls you into a kiss. He grins against your mouth and, this time when he kisses you, it’s hot and needy, a whole three day’s worth of pent up emotions and desires pouring into your every touch. Your hands fumble to undo your seatbelt and then you’re climbing over onto his lap and he’s welcoming you with open arms, the skirt of your dress hitching up higher on your thighs. Your knee, or maybe it was your foot or elbow, accidentally hits the horn of the steering wheel and startles the two of you, earning a squeak from you, before you both erupt into laughter. Taehyung reaches down to push the seat back a few inches to give you more space in the cramped driver’s seat and then he pauses to look up at you with mesmerized eyes. He kisses you again and again, as your hands come up to grasp at the sides of his neck.

“Had enough of the bullshit, have you?” he asks humorously. “Gonna take matters into your own hands?”

“I’m tired of all this teasing and chasing,” You pout. You’ve already begun grinding your hips against his, enjoying the way his face pinches in pure delight. He burrows his face into your chest, breasts soft against his head. A soft moan bubbles at your lips as you plant your own hands onto his chest. “I think so are you. We’ve both got a taste of it, haven’t we? We need to make up for lost time.”

“Fair enough,” he rasps. “What do you want from me, baby?”

“You, all of you,” You murmur. “Want your dick in me.”

“Gonna let me finish this time?” he tuts.

Your amused giggle meets his ears and he wonders how you can be both cute and sexy at the same time. “Mmm, I wanna be filled with your cum.”

“Oh, fuck,” Taehyung grunts. “Okay, okay. Here━”

Somehow, he’s able to gesture to the backseat and you and him clamber your way there until you’re finally both situated once more with you straddling his lap. There’s a mutual understanding that there’s no point, nor time, for foreplay but it’s not as if either of you mind. Taehyung’s surely had enough and so have you because while teasing him may be fun for a while, it certainly can feel like torture trying to stay away from him in the meantime. You help him fumble with the belt of his jeans so that he can unbuckle them and watch as he grasps at himself, pulling his cock free. Immediately, you’re lifting your hips to pull the skirt of your dress up higher and his hands help aid you clumsily, palms gliding up the smooth expanse of your thighs.

Then, fumbling to push you on your knees before him, with one hand on the small of your back, he pulls you towards him and gazes down between the two of you as he hooks a thumb over the material of your panties to push it to the side and teases the tip of himself over your slick folds. Your hands flail outward, palms pressing against the windowpane as he somehow situates himself behind you in the cramped space on his knees. He grunts from behind you at the feeling and then slowly and carefully guides you down onto him. It takes a moment to adjust but as you sink fully down until he’s balls deep, his cock coaxed easily by your leaking wetness, the both of you come to a halt, sputtering for air.

“Wait, wait,” he gasps. “Oh, fuck━ Stay put for a sec.”

“Why?” You ask, jutting your hips backwards teasingly. “Gonna cum already?”

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he mutters. He thrusts up into you without warning as payback, causing you to gasp out loud and flail forward. “No, you brat. I just want to enjoy it a little bit longer.”

He’s right. It does feel nice to finally feel some sort of friction after three days of nothing. To him, you just feel so nice and warm and snug and, to you, he fills you up so perfectly. So you stay put for a little bit, adjusting to the feeling as you kiss each other slow and steadily. His dick twitches inside you, warm and wet and so fucking hard. He’s just so big, your head is spinning. It’s almost as if you feel him in the pit of your stomach, legs trembling at the feeling. He yanks impatiently at the top of your dress, pulling it down so that the material pools at your waist now, reveling in the way your bare breasts spring free. At once, his hands are reaching around your front to palm at your breasts, grasping at your hips and navel.

“Wanna wreck you so bad,” Taehyung growls roughly against the shell of your ear as he presses his chest against your back. “Gonna fill you up so good, make your pussy all mine. How does that sound?”

“Want it so bad,” You whine, one arm hooking behind you so that your fingers can scratch at his hair. “F-fuck, Taehyung━”

When he tugs lightly at your hips, you take that as his gesture for you to move and start grinding your hips against his.

“Been waiting so long,” he hisses. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Don’t know why you always gotta tease me.”

“Taehyung,” You choke out. “Oh, f-fuck━”

“That’s it, baby girl. Doing so well,” Taehyung grunts as your walls quiver around him. He starts grinding into you, rough snaps of his hips sending you jolting forward each time. “Gonna take my dick like a good girl?”

“Y-Yes━ God, want it so bad,” You cry out. “Give it to me harder, please, Taehyung━”

He gladly obliges, quickening his pace until he’s slamming his hips into yours in thrusts that tremble you to the core. Tears begin to prick at your eyes at the glorious sensation, your cunt throbbing with each thrust. You’re so wet, he almost slips from your walls each time he rolls his hips into yours.

“Fuck━ Want you to ride me,” he rasps at some point. “Show me how your pussy belongs to me. Can you do that for me?”

You nod blindly. You try not to whine at the sudden loss of contact when he pulls out of you, the tip of his cock glistening with both of your leaking cum mingling together, the sticky strands pulling apart midair as he fumbles. Soon, he has you straddling his lap, sinking onto his dick once more. You grip his shoulders this time, bouncing on him as he buries his face in your chest.

A sudden thought has him groaning aloud. “Your brother’s gonna fucking hate me.”

“I thought he said you talked things over,” You gasp. “That everything’s okay.”

“I don’t mean that,” Taehyung’s head rolls back, eyes squeezing shut. “He’s gonna murder me if he ever catches us like this.”

“Think he knows it happens by now,” You giggle. You moan when you drop your hips on him completely, swiveling around his dick.

“Still don’t think that means he wants to see us making love on the couch in your apartment. Not gonna be able to keep my hands off of you,” Taehyung points out. Then, adding hastily, “Fuck it. Can we not talk about your brother? It’s killing the mood.”

Another delightful chuckle bubbles from your lips though it’s quick to dissolve into a splintered cry as his dick angles upwards into you.

Your back arches until your chest is pressed against his. It’s almost embarrassing how fast the two of you become complete shambles, a sticky mess forming between your legs. It comes to that point where you don’t care about being careful and where you decide to adopt such a reckless pace, fucking yourself on him, your breasts bouncing wildly before him. Taehyung moans and eagerly latches his mouth on one of your breasts, sucking hard.

“Taehyung,” You whine. “I’m not gonna last.”

He hums against you, pulling you closer to his mouth and chest and wrapping you in his heat, as if to urge you on. Your mewls and whimpers ring in Taehyung’s ears as beautiful sounding as the music that plays in the background. You begin to give out, your tiredness mingling with the intensity of pleasure, and you collapse against Taehyung’s chest, huffing for air. He quickly replaces your efforts, grabbing your hips tightly and plummeting his upwards into yours so hard that you feel each thrust shake you to the core. You know you’ll have bruises in the morning but you don’t mind. You’re leaning entirely against Taehyung now, your arms wrapping around his neck, as cries of his name and choked whimpers continue to tear from your throat and mouth.

“F-Fuck!” You cry. “Taehyung, faster━ oh my god, please━”

Your pleas drown out when one long moan escapes you. You can feel the muscles in your core tighten and loosen in a constant battle that has your head swimming in a good way, your heart pounding in your chest. Taehyung grits his teeth, focusing on bringing you to your high, and, before you are able to even comprehend what’s happening, you’re toppling over the edge. You’re still on top of Taehyung, whimpering profusely and crying his name in a beautiful mantra as your high shakes you from head to toe.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby,” Taehyung hisses. “Cum for me. Cream all over my dick. You love it, don’t you? Love having me fill you up like this?”

“Yes, oh my god, Tae, yes━ faster, please━”

Taehyung obliges, sweat forming on his forehead. He feels you squeeze around him so tight that he fumbles for a second, sputtering for air. Then, he feels your cum pulsate out of you, leaking down his length. You’re instantly floating up high with the stars, relishing in your high and the way Taehyung rides it out as he also fights for his own sweet release. As your hips come to a stutter, he grips at your waist and pummels his dick up into your aching pussy.

His tongue continues to lav lazily at your jawline and, by the time he reaches his own high, you are beginning to cringe from the sensitivity. Yet, you hold on, pushing away the slight sting as you help coax him to his high, squeezing your muscles around him. He cums moments later, releasing into you warm and wet, crying your name.

“Fuck, Y/N━ Gonna fill you up, baby, just how you like it━”

He rams his hips up into yours for one final effort, shuddering in elation as his cock twitches every last drop of cum from it. Then, both breathless and panting, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, you slump against his chest, resting your forehead against his. The car instantly goes silent and the foreground music that was the radio comes to once more. You listen to the soft lyrics as the two of you bask in the afterglow of sex and he kisses you all over.

You don’t know how much time passes as the two of you lay there, his hands rubbing comforting circles on your hips as your own fingers trace the tattoos that ink his skin.

“You know━” Taehyung speaks up eventually, his voice a low mumble. “Gonna be extra hard not to be late getting to gigs now.”

“Uh oh.” You roll your eyes. “Think we’ve got all the time in the world now for sex, Tae.”

Taehyung grins. “I was thinking more about the fact that I’m not gonna want to get out of bed in the morning, whenever you fall asleep beside me.”

Your heart swells at his confession and you peck his cheek quickly before burying your face in the crook of his neck. It’s his own serenade of sorts, his small promise in the backseat of his car, that makes it all okay in the end.

“And,” Taehyung admits cheekily this time, “knowing we don’t have to keep us a secret anymore, even to ourselves━ I'm definitely not gonna be able to keep my hands off of you now.”

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