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nochuvalencia · 4 years ago

Text

𝐁 𝐁 𝐇 𝐌 𝐌 - jjk

I was basically inspired by these ^^^ pics of jk bc wow hot hi

⚠️ ALSO QUICK DISCLAIMER :: this is my first fanfic on here so it might be terrible but enjoy anyway. ⚠️

��𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 :: reader x crimeboss!jk

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 :: bitch you better have his money.

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 :: ABSOLUTE SMUTTY FILTH heh angst too ig

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 :: 11.9k

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 :: long haired tatted jk, that’s it, that’s the warning, uh kinda sketchy plot hsjsjsj, WOW ANGST ASF at the beginning tho, dub!con towards the middle don’t hurt me, fuck or die ig, gunplay????? yeah????? jks BLATANT OVERUSE of pet names, dacryphillia, major-ish character death, describing the injuries on a dead body, jk has a sir kink ig??? um excessive over exaggerated choking bc jks hands yum, explicit seggs, rough jk, he’s kinda mean, dom!jk, sub!reader, oral m&f receiving (facefucking on both ends), coochie sniff if you squint, coochie slaps if u squint too, spanking, OVERSTIMULATION, unprotected seggs, degradation, he calls her a bitch once idk, other bad names, praise too ig, jk gives an ultimatum, SLIGHT aftercare, he kinda like switches from flirty to murderous like a bunch of times it��s kinda weird, jk has an impossibly huge shlong obv, contemplating death, super mature themes, reader is a BIG fucking crybaby, overuse of the word fuck, corruption kink at the end if u squint super hard, also DUB!CON in case you didn’t see it, at this point I should just write what it doesn’t have

“If you’re not out of my house in 3.4 seconds, I'm dragging you out by the testicles” you uttered, your alarmingly calm voice laced with raw brutality as hot tears cascaded down your burning cheeks, your arm outstretched and pointed toward the blinding light of the hallway that contrasted with your dark bedroom. You said nothing more, with your eyes trained angrily at one of the four blank tan walls nearby, not possibly being able to bear speaking to or sparing a glance into the eyes of a cheating whore. The woman you had just caught him with scurried past you wearily, a terrified and confused glint in her eyes as she passed your frigid frame sans underwear, with her sparkly silver pumps dangling from her fingers and a wrinkly silver dress hanging limply from the clutches of her other hand. The man in question shuffled cautiously around the bed, clutching the exposed parts of his body and approaching you with extreme hesitation and outstretched hands, as if trying to calm the already blazing flames of your fury. He laid a cold, rough hand on your shoulder squeezing softly, a motion that once brought you comfort but only added the all consuming hatred that bubbled up inside you akin to ravenous bile filling up the pit of your belly. “Did you not hear what I said? Get out.” You spat, glossy eyes still pointed toward anything but him.

“____ please” he croaked, like the slimy frog he truly was, his voice dripping in false agony which only neared you closer to the brink of undoubtedly committing an act of extreme violence against that man. “Please baby it wasn’t-'' you blanked. He was about to make an excuse. A stupid, rediculous, horrible, completely false excuse which you had absolutely no patience to hear. So you snapped, harshly shrugging your shoulder and sending his arm flying back to his side. He stepped back, ceasing his incessant chatter as he stared at you, a surprised expression painting his “pained” features. He wasn’t accustomed to you acting like this, you were never one to raise your voice or act out in any sort of way so he stood there, eyes widened in dumbfounded silence and you took this chance, bending down, scooping up as much of his discarded clothing as you possibly could and throwing it in his face, your rage bubbling over into something much more carnal as you inhaled deeply through your nose.

“Shut the fuck up and leave!” He scrambled to catch as many clothes as he could and was taken aback by your abrupt outburst. He stood silent once again though this time, he was making the face he often made when forcing himself to cry. It was the face he made around his mother to get out of family responsibilities. The face he made around his friends when guilt tripping them into buying him drinks, and now he's using it for you. To guilt you into taking pity on his pathetic actions which merely was the catalyst for your unforgiving violence. In an instant you were behind him, heaving him out of the door with your bare hands, pushing with all your might, using the immense pain coursing through your limbs as motivation to drive his beefy frame further and further out of the bedroom, down the hallway, into the living room and closer to the door yelling “I said leave! Leave! Now!” Pushing harder and harder with every word you choked out. The tears began to flow faster, clouding and distorting your vision as your face contorted into an expression of pure anguish until finally, he was forced out of the open doorway and into the main hallway of your apartment building. You promptly slammed the door in his face and the only thought traveling though your mind was ‘thank god she left that door open’ because you wouldn’t have been able to force him through it otherwise.

You stood silently for a few seconds, back to the door, face still slick with tears as the cool wood on your back shook senselessly with every beat of his fist and muffled shout of his voice crying phrases like “____ open the fuking door!” , “this is my apartment too baby come on” and other variations of the sort. Your mind was empty while you remained there, letting the harsh reality sink in like the slowest molasses. You allowed that man, that pig, to take 10 years of your life. 10 years of your prime. 10 years that you'll never get back no matter how much you beg and plead for it. Come to think of it, you had shaped your entire life around him. His influence was there no matter how much you wished it wasn’t. His residue staining your life like the blackest ink of which you would never be able to rid yourself. At the surfacing of these thoughts, you’d finally broke down and cried, like ugly cried. Broken heaves and sobs escaped your throat until you felt like you were suffocating as you slid down the door, not caring if he heard your wails and whines of torment on the other side of the polished mahogany. You actually hoped he did hear, you wanted him to hear the anguish and grief he put you through. You wanted him to hear you cry out all of your attachment and love for him until there was none left, so he knows the tears flowing from your body hold all of the affection you harbor for him. All ten years of attraction flowing out in a gigantic tsunami of grief that can only end in a new start.

Your mind played through all the memories, and the small amount of good times you had with each other while you sobbed mercilessly, also coming to the realization that he never did anything for you. Ever since you were 14 you’d been changing everything about yourself for him, while he merely lived his life, dragging you along like a supportive little puppy and rewarding you with cheap token gifts and mediocre sex once in a blue moon.

He wanted to attend university in your hometown so you abandoned your dream school, which accepted you, to attend a closer college. He made the decision to study abroad, so you had to drop everything and move to Australia for him. He wanted to wait to have kids so you froze your fucking eggs for him. He got a great new job at a large company in Asia, so you dropped everything again and moved to South Korea. You learned Korean for him. You have the same friends as him. You even cut a few family members off because he was “uncomfy” around them. He wouldn’t even go down on you because it also made him ‘uncomfy’, which should’ve been a red flag from the start. You did all of this bullshit in the haze of love. The promise that he’d reciprocate all of it in affection and adoration, which he didn’t, and now you’re sitting in your living room bawling your brains out because you were too lovestruck to see the signs.

After sobbing hysterically for what seemed like hours, you’d sat limply in front of your door, slouching back onto it as if it were a plush armchair and staring blankly into space, your mind completely empty. Feeling overwhelmed and exhausted beyond belief, you leaned forward, groaning in anguish as your tired muscles cried out in distress after being immobile for more than four hours. Crawling over to the couch, you tiredly flung your nearly paralyzed body onto the soft cushions with a sigh, not even bothering to pull the fluffy throw blanket over your body as your entire frame began to steadily shut down. Before your eyes completely shut, you caught a glimpse of the clock perched on the wooden tv stand which read 11:11 and scoffing quietly as you thought to yourself, ‘I thought that was supposed to mean good luck’ and you gave in to the delicious expanse of slumber.

You were startled awake by the incessant pounding of your now ex-boyfriends fist on the door, again. For the past 4 days since you’d forced him out, he’d show up outside your door at the ass crack of dawn just banging on the door profusely, as if that would persuade you to open it an inch. He had a schedule, he’d come at 5am, before he went off to work, then at 12:30 on his lunch break, then again at 9:45 just to make you miserable before you went to bed. You’re actually surprised the neighbors haven’t complained to the landlords yet. You tossed the blanket off of your sticky body, kicking and thrashing wildly due to the annoyance caused by that nuisance.

You cried more times than you can count during these last 4 days, especially during the times he would attempt to win you over with sappy shit like “baby, you’re my everything, you’re all i’ve ever wanted”, the lyrics to one of your favorite songs or, “you’re my forever ____, you can’t just throw 10 years away babe” to which you cried about for 3 hours after he’d said it, after realizing that he actually wasted 10 fucking years of your life. Anger bubbled up in the pit of your stomach as you listened to the repetitive banging of his fist and at this point you had enough and came to the decision it was finally time to pack his shit. Stomping into the living room, you grabbed a necessary box of bags that sat on the coffee table in the center of the room, figuring you were ready to use it. With a final nod of your head, you marched into your shared bedroom and opened all of the cabinets and drawers that contained the plethora of his belongings and flinging them on the floor, grabbing the box of xl trash bags you’d snagged on your march in here and started tossing things in left and right, not caring about the brand name or the state of the fabric or anything for that matter. All you saw was red as your eyes welled up with tears for the first and probably not last time that day.

“I can’t do this” you sobbed out, voice hoarse as you fell to your knees, ignoring the rugburn that was soon to form on those areas as your shoulders shook with every harsh breath you took. You had been dreading this task. Dreading it only for its significance that once you packed all his things and tossed them out, your relationship would be truly over. You definitely didn’t want him back but this would be the first time you’ve been alone in 10+ years and you were not certain you were prepared for that let alone wanting it. Inhaling shakily, you sniffed, ridding your face of any moisture as you cleared your throat and walked back into the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of chardonnay from your anniversary that fell on the week prior and venturing back into the closet to resume your task. You weren’t much of a drinker but for this task, you’d need a bottle or two.

A few hours later, he’d finally went off to work and you sat in the doorway of the closet, drunkenly dressed in the wedding gown you were made to be wed in this summer still combing through all of his clothing and tossing them messily into a bag that laid open on the floor beside you. You took a swig from the bottle, hissing softly at the satisfying burn that seared it’s way down your throat and rubbing at your puffy eyes with the knuckle of your index finger. The closet was mostly bare, except for a rack with some of his clothes and one rack of semi-expensive clothing his cheap ass reluctantly purchased for you and you glanced around, catching a glimpse of some ugly floral fabric in the corner of the small space. Getting on your hands and knees you reached a limp hand out, taking hold of the horrendous fabric and dragging it out with a groan, eyes wide at the surprising heft of the object in your hand.

It was a pillowcase. A pillowcase full of something brick shaped. You raised an eyebrow quizzically before reaching into the bag and pulling out a fat stack of cash. Taking a sharp intake of breath you paused, staring blankly at the wrapped wad in your hand and cocking your head to the side. You peeked over into the bag after a few minutes, eyes popping out of your skull as they feasted on more huge stacks of money. It was Korean currency but there had to be at least 250k USD worth in the entire sack. You furrowed your brows, tossing the money back into the pillowcase forcefully as a tornado of thoughts whirled in your mind. Had he been saving behind your back? Was he planning on getting rich then eventually hanging you out to dry for some younger girl? How long has he had all of this? Where the fuck did it all come from?

You looked back at the money then back at the corner you found it in, squinting as you spotted some more ugly purple fabric. Crawling behind the clothing earnestly, you managed to fish out 4 more pillowcases full of money. You stifled a laugh, having never been in the presence of so much currency, you guessed it had to be more than 1 million dollars. You smiled for the first time in 4 days, lips curling up into a wide joy filled expression as you dumped all of the money onto the rugged floor of the closet. With all of the alcohol coursing through your veins, (almost a whole bottle) you didn’t hesitate to grab the biggest tote bag you own and stuff as much money as it could hold inside. You figured it was the least he could do after cheating on you.

He deserved to pay, and you obviously deserved a raise.

It was a full on shopping spree. After throwing all of his shit into bags, you tossed them outside your door and left with as much money as you could carry before he could come back on his lunch break. You even came back to get some more money, just to go out and spend it again. To say you splurged would be an understatement, you spent almost half of the money on clothes, shoes, a hair and makeup appointment, a manicure, a new car, and you even paid rent for six months after taking his name off the lease.

So here you were, struggling up the stairs as quick as you could, due to the fact that it was 9:30 and you were trying to avoid seeing him at his 9:45 visit. Your feet screamed in agony in your new jimmy choo pumps, because you’d been on them all day, and you had at least six shopping bags hanging from each arm, all full with an assortment of gaudy items such as shoe boxes, makeup products, and clothing. You had finally reached the door after a while, smiling at the absence of his bags which meant he took them and swiftly unlocked the door, clamoring in and tiredly dropping the bags in your hands. With a sigh, you locked the door, running a hand through your freshly styled hair as you rid your face of the designer sunglasses that shielded it. Kicking off your shoes, you hummed gratifyingly at the pleasurable feeling of bare feet and shuffled over to your couch, plopping down on the end cushion groggily.

A soft buzz in your back pocket caught your attention as you carefully fished out the new phone you purchased and unlocked it with your perfectly manicured fingers, raising an eyebrow quizzically as the texts rolled in, ‘i thought i blocked him’ you thought, preparing to do it a second time before a few texts caught your attention and you froze on the spot, chuckling heartlessly at his words.

+82 2 2263 5950 : whose car is in our parking spot?

+82 2 2263 5950 : did you already move on?

+82 2 2263 5950 : wow whore

You rolled your eyes, wondering where he attained the gaul to accuse you of a feat such as that. Calling you a whore as if that name isn’t suitable for himself. Even more so than you. You decided to text him back, feeding off of an unknown source of confidence as your fingers furiously tapped along the screen.

me : it’s my car asshole

me : bought it with the money u left me

me :thx baby <3

+82 2 2263 5950 : what money?

me : the money in the closet you didn’t bother telling me abt u dumb fuck

+82 2 2263 5950 : don’t use that money

me : why should i listen to you?

me : you aren’t my bf

+82 2 2263 5950 : no seriously ____ don’t use that money wtf is wrong with u

me : already did bye babe

You blocked him as quickly as you could, face burning with absolute anger as you tossed your phone on the cushion beside you. Who is he to tell you what you could or couldn’t do? You had come to the decision then and there that you wouldn't let him treat you like a child. He wasn’t your dad. Thanks to him you barely speak to your dad. The only thought going through your mind at the time was ‘fuck him.’ Before you could delve into your thoughts any further, it started. His incessant pounding on the door. Again. Although, this time it was much more frantic, desperate. He was much louder with his pathetic pleas and whines, crying out “please don’t use that money!”, “Listen to me god damn it!”, “___ open the fucking door now!” But you stood your ground, ignoring him once again as you did for the past few days.

Just to escape the racket of his wails of desperation, you retreated to your room, slipping on one of his expensive balenciaga sweatshirts you kept for yourself and climbing into the cool blankets, burying yourself under the plush fabric and folding your pillow over your ears. You knew this would be the longest night of your life..

And you were correct, It was the longest night of your life. He never truly got the memo that you would not be coming out to communicate with him so he finally left at around 1:30 in the morning. You had slept horribly, tossing and turning as the aftermath of his cries and pleads left a print on your mind and tormented you at all hours of the night, you didn’t manage to get any real sleep until around eight and woke up a mere five hours later in a state of confusion. It was well past noon and yet it was silent, you had woken up of your own volition, not because of some crazy man outside of your apartment screaming like a banshee. In due time, you had come to the conclusion that he had finally given up and gone about his day without banging on his ex-girlfriend's apartment door like an idiot at all hours of the day.

This theory was almost set in your mind until you heard a knock. Groaning violently, you stared up at your ceiling, eyebrows furrowed as you erased that theory from the whiteboard in your cortex. Fully prepared to ignore the person at the door, you rolled over to your side until another knock was heard. This wasn’t him. This couldn’t be him. The knocks were way too soft, they lacked an element of urgency, desperation. They were simply just way too calm. So, you sat up, swinging your legs over and reluctantly standing up, before making your way into the living room to be greeted with another knock and a smooth male voice calling out. “Miss ___ ___?”

You glanced wearily though your peep hole to be met with a tall male, dressed in a blue and white uniform. “Looks like a cop. He called the fucking cops on me, shit.” you whispered to yourself, voice small as you held onto the door handle. Figuring it’d be worse to make him wait, you opened the door, being met with the warm, dimpled smile, of the decorated individual. “Yes, i”m ____” you respond, shoving your hands into the pockets of your sweatshirt and looking everywhere but him, which probably seems more suspicious than anything but you were too riddled with anxiety to care. The officer clutched a navy blue manilla folder in his hand and opened it promptly in order to sift through its contents.

“Hi, i’m officer Kim.” he breathed out, calmly bowing and resuming his apparent spiel, “do you know this man?” he pondered, raising an eyebrow quizzically as he pulled a photo from his folder with calloused fingers and lifted it, spinning it around to face you. Your eyes widened slightly upon being shown a picture of your ex and you nodded hesitantly.

“He’s my ex boyfriend- well ex fiance I guess.” you responded, voice barely audible as your mind raced faster than the speed of sound. You asked yourself what he could’ve done that was bad enough for the police to show up at your door. Maybe you had been too harsh on him and he had gotten into one to many bar fights, maybe he robbed a bank at gunpoint, maybe he stole some old lady’s car and filled it with off brand mayonnaise before he returned it. All your questions- all your thoughts stopped as Officer Kim responded, running a tired hand through his hair.

“He passed, earlier today.” he paused, giving you time to digest things and you froze, staring at his face blankly as your mind processed what you had just been told and you hummed questioningly, your throat becoming tight with realization. “It happened around five this morning,” he paused again as you stood in complete silence. Sure you hated him but you’d never wish death upon another person, especially him. You hate him now but you were in love with him once too. You hate him now but, he was the closest person in your life. He was all of your firsts, your fiance, your best friend. You thought you wouldn’t be able to get all of that back because of the breakup but now you truly can never get any of it back, because he’s dead. Then, you started to cry, for the hundredth time this week but this one was different. You weren’t crying because you missed him, or wanted him to come back like all the other times, as horrible as it sounds. You were crying because you felt bad. Because of his short life that was ripped from him by the unforgiving hand of death. You weren’t crying because of him, you were crying for him. A hand on your shoulder interrupted your sobs and you wiped your face, glancing up at the culprit with glassy eyes. “I’m so sorry for your loss...” he paused, giving you a few moments to breathe as he rubbed your shoulder comfortingly before speaking again, “but we have an idea of who did it, it would be helpful if you just came down to the station with me for some questioning.” he asked softly as the shaking sobs and whimpers that came from your body slowed to a halt and you nodded.

“Yeah, uh. Let me just go get dressed.” You muttered, smiling up at him softly and shuffling back to your room to prepare. The longest night of your life was about to turn into the longest day.

And you were correct again as you stood in front of your apartment door after the absolute, and I cannot stress this enough, longest day of your life. Your ex was murdered, brutally, and they made sure to go over all of the gory details with you while you were at the precinct, they even took you to see his body, which made you cry because it was mangled almost beyond recognition and you were horrified. Apparently, he had been tortured for hours, which explained all the bruises, gashes, and burn marks on his body, strangled, thus the huge ring shaped mark around his neck, and dumped into a river, which made his body all pruny and wrinkled. You had spent 10 long hours at the police precinct and it was now nearing midnight as you fished your keys from your pocket in order to unlock the door. Inserting your key, you jiggle it around in the lock for a minute before realizing it was already unlocked initially. Figuring you had left it unlocked accidentally in your depressed haze, you pushed your way into your apartment and locked it promptly, pressing your forehead into the cool wood of the door. You sighed softly, relaxing only for a minute as you absorbed your surroundings before freezing as you heard the rhythmic tapping of someone's foot.

“Long day huh?” the voice was deep, one you hadn’t heard before as you remained facing the door, your grip of the handle tightening until your knuckles turned white. He spoke again, “you must be ____.” he murmured softly, sending a terrified shudder down your spine. “I’ve been wanting to meet you but he said you were off limits. You know, he talks about you a lot-...” he stopped himself as if realizing something, “well talked, I mean.” the man mused, an ominous chuckle flowing from his mouth.

“Who are you?” you rasped, attempting to conceal any cowardice but blinking your eyes harshly as your voice broke. You vaguely hoped this was one of your ex’s friends coming to visit, at an odd hour of the night, sitting ominously in the dark of your apartment waiting for you to come home just to say hi but the chances of that actuality was very slim.

“None of your business” the man retorted, a smirk evident in his ominous tone. “Now, let’s get down to business little dove,” you furrowed your brows at the nickname. You had never been called a nickname, especially by a man who randomly just snuck into your apartment one night. Your ex only ever called you baby or babe so little dove was different for you. It seemed endearing in the worst type of way. “I want the rest of my money.” he paused, “I found half of it in a closet here, and he said you might know where the rest is.” he paused again, only this time a sound is heard, a metal rattling of some sort that ricochets off of the walls of the apartment like a stray jumping bean in a pill case. Then it hits you, he has a gun, and he just shook it as if he intends to use it. . “Don’t make me ask again sweetheart.” Your eyes widen and well up as your head falls down, knowing you're going to die today and you take a deep breath, telling yourself you’d be ready for whatever happens so you decide, if you’re gonna die, you should at least know the name of the man that’s gonna kill you so you scrape together every last drop of confidence you can muster and ask once more.

“I said, w-who are yo-” you choked out, in an attempt to hold onto the last shred of your dignity as you blinked back the tears threatening to fall from your glassy eyes. However, your small shred of confidence is promptly ripped from your grasp as the man cuts you off mid sentence, slamming his gun down onto a hard surface with a loud clatter. You jolt, crying out softly as the tears you’d been holding back with all your might fall onto the ground before you.

“I said none of your fucking business bitch where’s my fucking money.” he spat, his sinister tone draing a choked sob from your thoat as you realized, you wouldn’t be getting anything you wanted today. “Answer me” he said, alarmingly calm as the sound of him cocking his gun travels directly to your mind.

“I spent it” you muttered between your soft hiccups and stiffened slightly upon hearing a heavy footstep approach you, then another footstep, and another, and another until they cease, and you can feel the man's warm breath raising the hair on the back of your neck. All your readiness for whatever happens and willingness to die flies out of the window as you lean your head on the door once more, taking a shaky breath as you begin to plead, aware of how pathetic you sound and part of the reason why you have such a strong urge to cry harder. “Please don’t kill me” you whined desperately as you feel the cold metal of the gun barrel resting on your shoulder.

“Relax little dove” he whispered, his lips brushing the back of your ear and sending a chill rushing through the entire expanse of your body. “Just find a way to pay me back and we’re even,” he continued calmly, his raspy voice reverberating in your eardrums as you think through what he just said carefully. You gasp and sniffle, shaking your head softly and lifting it slowly from the wooden door frame.

“I-” you stopped, taking a deep breath and preparing yourself as much as you could for his response then opened your mouth to continue. “I don’t have that kind of money” you whispered hesitantly, shutting your eyes tightly, allowing nothing to escape but the numerous tears that fell to the ground in anticipation of his actions. There was an eerie silence as he contemplated your words before he abruptly turned away, lifting the gun from your shoulder and holstering it in the waistband of his jeans, causing you to let out a wavering breath you’d been holding that entire time. His hand traveled back up, taking refuge on your left shoulder as the other hand made its way up your right arm, the warmth setting your skin aflame and sending a shockwave of warmth coursing through your body.

“There is another way you could pay me back.” his velvet voice rasped, stressing the word ‘another’ in a way that you immediately understood his insinuation and you took a sharp intake of air, bracing yourself for what he was about to say next. But he didn’t say anything for a moment, letting his hands do the talking for him as he gripped your arms softly, using his hands to spin you around and face him. You whirled around, yelping in surprise but stopping when you were met with the most exquisite, carnivorous brown eyes you had ever seen in your life that were accompanied by full pink lips and a tousled bunch of fluffy black hair you just wanted to run your hands through. Even in the darkness of night, the moonlight streaming through the kitchen window illuminated the room enough for you to trail your eyes down his face and get a vivid idea of what he’d look like with illumination.

Yummy as fuck.

Your eyes began to wander down to his exposed collarbone and before they could travel any lower, his fingers roughly grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze upward until you met his borderline cannibalistic gaze, which crushed you into nothing. He cocked his head to the side, a mischievous glint in his eyes as the corner of his lips turn upward slightly. “He was always bragging about you… saying,” he speaks, his sultry tone lulling you into a state of compliance as he spoke, “you’re such a good fuck,” he continues, placing his left hand gently on your waist and stepping even closer, if that’s possible, his soft breath hitting your face with every word as he speaks. “Your sweet little cunt is so tight” he glances down at your lips, running his thumb over your bottom lip “your mouth feels like heaven” he pauses again, running his hand down to hold the side of your neck softly to which you gasp “maybe i’d like a demonstration little dove.” he smiles, a twisted horrifying smile that snaps you out of his seductive trance and back to reality as your eyes widen and you pull yourself quickly out of his hold, running over to the couch and bracing yourself on it.

“No” you cry out, out of breath for some reason as you swallow thickly and shake your head. “No, I'll find a way to pay you back, I promise.” you plead, praying he wasn’t going to kill you on the spot and that he hadn’t noticed your blatant ogling. He probably did but at this point you didn’t care, you just wanted him gone.

“Whatever you say sweetheart” he replied, emitting a dark chuckle “call me if you change your mind, my number’s in your phone” he opened the front door and you glanced back at him, noticing the way his all black attire contrasts with his tan skin, and most of all, you notice the full sleeve of tattoos that ran down his right arm. Heat crawled up to your face as you realized you were gawking again and you nodded in response, feeling unable to form the words to respond with. He only uttered the words “you have a week.” before the door slammed and you were left alone in the dark.

You ran your fingers along the side of your neck where the aftermath of his touch lingered like a searing residue. No one had ever touched you like that, especially your ex. He was the man that took your virginity and was the man there for every time after so you’d become accustomed to his textbook missionary vanilla sex that left you touch starved and unfinished every. single. time. But you’d finish yourself off each time, feeling bad because you thought he was trying his hardest and truly didn’t understand how to please women. But as time went on, you realized he didn’t care about your pleasure and too enveloped in his own release to ever worry about your needs, but were too deep in love with him to care.

Your thoughts were interrupted when your phone went off to signal a text and upon picking it up there were two text messages from an unknown number that sent a shiver down your spine which read.

+82 2 5284 8735 : don’t try to run

+82 2 5284 8735 : we’ll hunt you down little dove

“Can’t you just take the shit back?” You questioned frantically, clutching the phone by your head until your knuckles turned white, rolling your eyes tiredly when you got no response. “They hung up, great” you deadpanned, plopping onto the couch you had been pacing in front of. It has been 6 days since the man showed up and you were running out of time and hadn’t slept in two days, your mind running frantically with the thought of him coming back to see you nearly empty handed. Well, not exactly empty handed. You had managed to get 253k of the whopping +400k dollars you had spent of his money and after not being able to return the car, manicure, hair appointment, rent, and a bunch of clothes and shoes, you were manic. Some might even say a bit crazy. Many of the stores and the dealership knew you by name because of the amount of times you called them. You dropped your phone into your lap, burying your face in your hands and wishing someone was here to console you through this but the only person you knew even remotely enough to offer any consolation was your ex. You wish he was alive so you could punch that bitch in the face and ask him what kind of shit he got himself into because the man that paid you a visit was most definitely not from corporate.

You sat for a silent minute deliberating if you should text the mystery man and take him up on his offer. You had asked yourself, is it really worth your life? Were you really going to die because you didn’t want to sleep with the hot guy you stole money from? The answer at first was yes because you still had your pride intact then but now, you had been starting to second guess your confidence in getting all the money back. After all, the deadline is tomorrow. You still had your hesitations, the only man who has ever seen you in such a lewd nature was your ex. You didn’t know if you were ready for sex with another person, even if he was the hottest man you’d ever seen. But, against your better nature, you convinced yourself that your ex was gone and this was bound to happen sooner or later, so why not sooner?

You grabbed your phone in earnest before anything inside you could convince you to stop and unlocked it, opening the messages for his number and typing out your text, hitting send before any sort of regret had the chance to sink in.

me : i’ll take your offer

me : this is ____ btw

You placed your phone down on the couch cushions beside you and chewed nervously on the not so fresh manicure that was still on your nails. To your surprise, his reply came in quickly and you frantically reached for your phone as the dings came rolling in.

+82 2 5284 8735 : i know who you are

+82 2 5284 8735 : i'll be there in 20

+82 2 5284 8735 : be ready sweetheart

Your heart thumped restlessly as you shot up from your seat shouting “twenty minutes?!” and you cried out nervously. You hadn’t even seen his face in good lighting and you didn't know his name so you’d basically be fucking a complete stranger which scared you enough as it is but the fact that that stranger held you at gunpoint merely a week prior is what scared you shitless.

In the limited time that he gave you, you decided to freshen up a bit so you hopped in the shower. Your first shower in a few days after your psychotic state worsened. Humming in bliss, you relished in the feeling of the scalding water flowing over your skin as you took your time washing , shaving, and singing, in an attempt to rid yourself of the horrendous nerves that overtook your senses. After reluctantly stepping out of the steamy oasis, you’d decided on a white lingerie set you had gotten yourself for christmas but never got to wear for anyone because your significant other was always “working” or too tired/busy to take the time of day for you. Pairing the set with a matching white silk robe and not bothering to wear any shoes because you’re in your own house, you slicked your lips in a thick coat of gloss and applied some mascara and eyeliner to your tired eyes just to spruce up a bit. You figured, if you put effort into your appearance, then maybe he’d spare your life after the sex. You stared at yourself in the mirror, tying your robe, smacking your glossed lips together and ogling your appearance before a soft knocking was heard from the living room. “He’s here” you told yourself with a deep shaky breath as you vacated the bathroom and slowly ventured toward the door.

You stood silently before the front door, contemplating whether this was a mistake or if it was too late to turn back. As much as you hated to admit, there was no logical solution to your problem that was in compliance with any standing laws. Heck, what you were doing was probably illegal in everywhere but Las Vegas so you had no other choice than to twist the handle, open the door and stare up at the most alluring man you had ever laid eyes on. You ran your eyes all over his body, studying him, his features, his gorgeous eyes, impeccable nose, plush lips, smooth hair, and strong arms that lead to a presumed strong chest hidden under his plain white tee. He noticed you blatantly checking him out to which he placed a finger on your chin, lifting your face up so your eyes met and making you watch as he rolled his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it for a moment. Oh how you wished that was your lip.

“You ready little dove?” he asked, his tone seductive and smooth like chocolate as he walked closer to you, closing the door behind him and backing you up until you stood patiently before the couch staring up at him, a wistful glint in your eyes as you nodded. He reached up, using a finger to push your robe off of your right shoulder and cocking his head quizzically. “All dressed up just for me?” he pondered, his eyes trained on the white lace peeking out from under the robe. You nodded, to which he gripped your chin roughly, furrowing his eyebrows at your response. “Use your words sweetheart” he warned, loosening his grip so you could speak in affirmation.

“Yes…” your voice trailed off, thinking of what to call him, as you still didn’t know his name, so you addressed him as you would any man you didn’t know, “yes, sir. I dressed up just for you” you concluded, your voice barely greater than a whisper as the corners of his lips turned up. He let out an animalistic growl at the name you gave for him, obviously satisfied and moved his hand from your chin to grip the back of your neck promptly.

“It’s Jungkook, but sir will do nicely” he basically growled before latching onto your lips with carnal aggressiveness. You whined heartily into his mouth as his tongue slipped deftly into yours and intertwined with yours, causing your mind to fall into a haze as he coiled his arm around your waist, bringing your body flush against his toned frame. You reached up with shaky hands, fumbling with his shirt, eager to get it off of him and gaze upon the expanse of his abdomen. His lips detached for a moment, giving you the chance to pull his shirt over his head, which he gladly obliged and lifted his hands over his head, swiftly resuming their positions when his shirt formed a pile on the floor beside you. You leaned back in, attempting to capture his lips in another phenomenal kiss but he pulled back, leaving you to chase him and whine when you ultimately lose, to which he laughs mischievously, taking his hands off of your body and toying with the silk tie on the front of your robe.

“How do you want it baby?” he pondered, the new nickname sending shivers down your spine as you glanced at him quizzically, as if asking what he meant. He chuckled softly, tugging at the ribbon and opening your robe as he brought his hands up, carefully sliding it down your arms and bending down so his face was level with your collarbone. He placed a gentle kiss there, leaving fire in the wake of his lips as he spoke, his breath cooling the seared flesh, “would you like me to be gentle?” he asked leaving more hot kisses along the expanse of your shoulder and neck, drawing salacious sounds from your parted lips as he brought his hand up to rest at the base of your neck. “Or…” he paused, sliding his hand up and increasing the intensity of his grip on your throat, restricting the blood flow to your brain as your mind became hazy and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. “Do you want me to be rough?” he continued, lifting his head to watch your face as he loosened his grip. “It’s your choice little dove.”

You were elated, ecstatic and a little disappointed when he loosened his grip on your neck. Your ex was always into sex that lindered toward the vanilla side, as mentioned before, so he would never think to try anything like choking, which always intrigued you just a little bit. You wished you would have experienced other styles of love before you met him but you didn't, and this was your chance to try them out now. Your fingers travelled up, lightly grazing over that hand that was tightly wrapped around your neck. Whining quietly you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, biting it softly as your other hand came up and wrapped around Jungkook’s forearm.

“I wanna try it rough” you mumbled, eyes closing as you relished in the hazy feeling this restriction gave you which only heightened as he tightened his grip.

“Perfect.” he groaned out almost inaudibly as he pulled your face to his, colliding your lips in the roughest, most passion filled kiss you’d ever experienced. He devoured your mouth with gluttonous amusement, his grip on your airway never wavering for a moment as he tongued you down, his carnal need prevalent and present in the thick air of the room. You reached up, completing a task you’d been wanting to do for days, tangling your hand in the messy black mass that fell upon his head, and relishing in the soft feeling of his waves. Then he detached from your lips and moved away, forcing your hands to fall from his hair and onto his broad shoulders, which, while pleasurable to touch, didn’t even come close to frolicking your fingers through his locks. He moved his hand from your neck to your shoulder, to which you whined with a small pout, missing the new contact as he chuckled at your eagerness. He stared at your lips, before leaning down and capturing your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down on it voraciously before he spoke. “Do you want me to put this slutty little mouth of yours to use little dove?” he asked, pulling back as if waiting for an answer, to which you obliged.

“Yes sir” You answered quite honestly in fact, as you felt all your hesitation and weariness about this task slip away. “Please put my mouth to use.” you pleaded, staring up at him, a wanton expression on your soft features.

“You’re so good for me .” he whispered, his soft breath fanning your face as you nodded in agreement, “such an obedient little dove, hmm?” he asked, to which you nodded once again, a bit more frantically this time as you awaited his cue. He used the hand on your shoulder to abruptly push you down with a small yelp so you were seated on the black leather couch behind you, the colder leather contrasting the burning lust in your entire body as you looked up at him. “Get to work slut.” Your eyes widened at the name. Maybe it was supposed to be an insult or he just liked calling you that but you couldn’t help the gargantuan wave of slick that coated your panties at the moment.

You looked down, a bit above eye level with his crotch as you reached up to palm him through his faded blue jeans. His scent was tantalizing, musky, and you couldn't get enough as you stared up at him through your eyelashes, your lips slightly parted as you gazed in awe. He gave you a warning glance, as if scolding you for teasing him for this long and you unzipped his pants. He held out his hand, as if to stop you before reaching behind his pants and pulling his gun from the back of his jeans. Your eyes widened, gaze now trained on the firearm in his hand, a horrified expression on your face as you ceased all actions. Which he noticed, peering down at you, a horrifying smile etched on his godlike features as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Relax darling, I won’t kill you,” he purred, reaching down and weaving the fingers of his free hand into the roots of your hair, grabbing and pulling back roughly so you have no other choice but to meet his dark eyes. “We’re only just getting started.” he lowered the gun, pressing the muzzle into the underside of your jaw, the cold metal like ice against your scalding skin. However, you felt no need to cry, felt no need to fear for your life even as this gun was pressed to your neck, aimed to kill, because you knew he wouldn’t do it. Through the dark facade and ominous gaze in his eyes there was something else that made you trust his inability to kill you. You realized you were enjoying the thrill, the excitement of putting your life in his hands. So, you did what any crazy bitch would do in this situation, you breathed out deeply, relaxing your shoulders and slouching yourself down to push your neck further onto the tip of the gun with a mischievous smile. Jungkook stared down at you in awe, running his tongue on the inside of his cheek and taking his gun off of your neck before tossing it over to the end of the couch behind you.

Resuming your actions with a shaky breath, you tugged his pants down until they fell to his ankles and placed your hands on the sides of his underwear clad hips. You might’ve been inexperienced in his style of fucking but you sure knew how to give a good blowjob, so you got to work, placing open mouthed kisses to his clothed appendage. You looked up at him once more seeing the lust clouded haze that filled his deep brown eyes. After a bit of teasing, you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his underwear, pulling it down in a seductively slow manner as you allowed his needy cock to spring free, and you stared up at it with a gasp.

It was huge.

You didn’t really know what qualifies as huge because the only dick you’ve ever had was around 6 inches on a good day but this alluring appendage swinging before your face had to be at least 9 inches long and you wondered how the fuck you were going to fit it all in your mouth let alone your pussy, which was already aching for it. Your mouth involuntarily opened wider in anticipation of his delicious dick inside and you grabbed the base, with two hands, drawing a hiss from the man that stood over you as he kicked off his shoes and the rest of the clothing that pooled around his feet. You licked teasingly up the sides of his dick, stopping at the tip to swirl your tongue around it, and catching some salty precum when you did. You glanced up at him and he looked absolutely furious in the best sort of way. Frustrated to the max as you teased him mercilessly, only spending meere fleeting moments at the spots which needed the most attention.

Then he snapped, taking you by surprise and using his hand that was still tangled in your hair to hold you still while he shoved his cock in your mouth. You tried to gasp but it merely came out as a small strangled whimper that was cut off as his length reached that back of your throat. You moved your hands to the sides of his hips once again, bracing yourself as he slowly pulled his member out of your mouth, most likely winding up for another thrust. He propelled his hips forward once again, stuffing not nearly all of his cock into your mouth, as his tip grazed the back of your throat. The feeling of him completely filling your mouth had you livid, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you moaned, the vibrations reverberating onto his appendage which drew a salacious moan from his plush parted pink lips.

“Fuck, your mouth feels like heaven.” he moaned out, then he started to fuck your face, tears pooling in your eyes while his dick basically hit the back of your throat with every harsh stroke of his hips as he gripped on your hair tighter. After one particularly hard thrust, he held his length down your throat as tears rolled down your cheeks and you gagged around him. He took his cock out of your mouth, to which you gasped, swallowing the spit that pooled in your mouth with an aroused groan.

“Tastes so good.” you mumbled, not possibly being able to get enough as he shoved his cock back into your mouth and fucked your throat relentlessly. The tension building in you was too much to bear and your need to cum only heightened as his actions resumed. You arched your back slightly, pushing your clothed clit into the black leather cushions of the couch as you gyrated into it slowly, praying he wouldn’t notice and would be too invested in fucking your throat to realize.

You were wrong. He noticed immediately.

He halted all movements, taking his cock from your throat and grabbing your neck harshly, to which you gasped, whimpering as he pulled you up to stand in front of him, cock slapping the front of your body as you stared at his face in anticipation of his actions. You could imagine what you looked like right now swollen glossy lips, and tear stains running down your face because you didn’t bother to wear your waterproof mascara. You never needed it any other time so you figured why would you need it now. Oh how wrong you were.

“Dirty little dove, trying to get off on the couch because you want me that bad?” he rasped, nearing closer to your face with each word and you nodded frantically, basically begging him to do something, anything. “Words” he barked, drawing a cry from your lips as you thought of what to say.

“I want your cock, please sir.” you begged, before he groaned hungrily and captured your lips in a ravenous kiss, taking you by surprise. No one had ever kissed you after they’d fucked your throat before so why would he do it. You didn’t dwell on that thought for too long before melting into his touch and wrapping your arms around his neck. Jungkook took his free hand, trailing it around your body to unclasp the back of your bra, your eyes going wide at the skillful ease of his fingers. He snatched the white lace clothing off of your frame, tossing it to the other side of the room and reaching back up to cup one of your soft breasts in his hand, flicking the nipple with his index finger and making you sigh satisfactorily into his mouth. He leaned forward, taking you with him as he lowered both of you back onto the couch, settling himself between your newly opened legs and never breaking the kiss. He unlatched his hand from your neck, trailing it down your body as the other hand continued to knead your breast skillfully. His burning touch slowly ventured further and further down your abdomen until he reached the band of your panties and abruptly tore the thin while lace from your body to your dismay and discarding it on the floor beside him. You whined sadly, as those had been your favorite pair of underwear but barely had any sort of time to grieve as you felt two rough fingers dip into the wetness of your slit, trailing them up and stopping right over the spot you needed him to be at, pulling a moan from your still swollen lips.

He began kissing a trail down your body, stopping for a mere moment to suck on the pert bud of your free breast before resuming his path of destruction. He moved his hands to settle on the inner sides of your thighs, spreading them apart and sighing as he got a glimpse of the treasure between them. Your eyes widened upon realizing his destination as you scooched away, holding a handful of his tousled black hair in an attempt to grab his attention.

“I-…” you paused, chewing on your bottom lip and thinking of how to word your statement. “i’ve never asked anyone to do that for me before, so y- you don’t have to do it.” you stuttered wearily as the nerves set in. No one’s face had ever been remotely close to your womanhood and the thought of it sent a chill down your spine as you released his hair from your grasp. You wondered what it would even be like. He glanced up at you, eyes dilated as he chuckled, a dark chuckle that made you shiver as he tightened his grip on your thighs, yanking you closer to his face and taking a deep drag of your scent once you were close enough.

“Oh baby I want to” he basically moaned out, licking his lips and glancing down at your glistening slit, the corners of his lips turning up in a hungry smile. You raised an eyebrow, asking yourself ‘why the fuck would he want to do that?’, and ‘isn’t this for my pleasure?’, but all your concerns were answered once he spoke again. “I can’t wait to make you writhe on my tongue little dove” he muttered, causing your cheeks to burn with the intensity of a thousand suns as he talked into your soaking entrance. “... make you beg and cry without even using my cock.” he continued, releasing your left thigh from his grip as he placed a hand on your pubic mound, lowering his thumb and slowly beginning to circle your clit eliciting a loud wail from you. “You think, if I had the power to turn you into a messy little whore all for me just by using my mouth, I wouldn’t use it at any chance I could?” He asked and you whined, nodding as your hips stuttered up in desperate need of more friction. “It’s all about power baby, and I have it all here” he groaned, watching you clench pathetic around nothing.

Then, he finally gave you what you wanted. His hand resumed its grip on your thigh, forcing it away from the other as his thumb was swiftly replaced by his warm tongue licking up and down your wet sex. You moaned, placing your shaky hands on the mounds of your chest, toying with your nipples just to add to the pleasurable sensations he was creating with his tongue. This feeling was unlike any ecstasy you had ever felt and you never wanted it to stop. His tongue slipped deftly into your soaked entrance twisting and turning skillfully as you keened loudly. His warm wet appendage swirling around your wet cavern was the best feeling in the entire world and you knew if he continued ravaging you at this pace, you’d cum in no time. But, you needed this release. You needed to let go of all this pent up sexual frustration you didn’t even know you harbored. You needed to experience your first orgasm in months, if not years, that wasn’t self inflicted and you hoped and prayed with all your heart that it would come soon.

He switched his focus,, moving his tongue up to play with your aching clit and slipping two fingers into your formerly empty hole with a deep groan that reverberated through your core like a powerful vibrator which only intensified your moans and cries of pleasure. You looked down on yourself to see the delicious sight of him devouring your cunt ruthlessly, the sight alone almost tipping you over the edge as you brought your hands up, covering your eyes while you neared completion.

“Jungkook you’re gonna make me cum.” you called out, an exasperated cry leaving your lips when your impending orgasm was painfully ripped away from you as all his motion stopped. You uncovered your eyes, about to stare down when your body jolted, a harsh sting being felt directly on your clit, sending a wave of warmth barreling through your entire body. Then you understood, he slapped you, and you peered down at him, your eyes glassy due to the orgasm that was ripped from your grasp.

“Who? said you can cum.” he deadpanned menacingly, staring up at you through hooded eyes as you leaned your head back tiredly, realizing the error in your words and prepared to beg, just like he said you would.

“Sir” you cried, holding your arms limply over your head as you continued to plead. “Sir please, please make me cum.” you begged mercilessly, a tear of relief sliding down your cheek as he resumed his assault on your core, attacking at a steady pace and retrieving the all too familiar knot that formed in the pit of your stomach. You reached up, grabbing the edge of the couch with an iron grip, your knuckles turning white as your hips began circling on his face, your clit rubbing against his tongue with every movement and venturing you closer to your sweet release.”Please don’t stop sir, oh my god” you whined loudly, fucking his face relentlessly as you chased your high, nearing it more and more with each thrust of your hips until he finally pushed you off the brink of ecstasy, a scream leaving your lips as Jungkook continued his unrelenting attack on your pained pussy.

You rode out your high, writhing and panting before him, his pace never faltering, his fingers never slowing, his tongue never relenting and it soon became too much. The euphoric delirium quickly turned into madness as you barreled down the path into overstimulation. You wailed pathetically, thrashing under his hold as the pleasurable pain consumed your body and you could barely form a coherent sentence but you persevered, scraping all the coherent thoughts you could muster and turning them into tangible words that sat on the tip of your tongue, ready to be spoken. “Sir please, it's too much!” you cried to which Jungkook finally let up, slowing his pace to a halt and sitting back.

“Oh my god that was so fucking hot” he growled before sucking on his glossy fingers and cleaning around his mouth with his skilled tongue as he gazed amusedly upon your exhausted body. But he was nowhere near done with you. This fact made apparent when he stood and wrapped an arm around your hip, lifting your limp body and turning you over with ease, positioning you so your face was pressed into the now warm couch cushion and your ass was raised high into the air before him. His eyes rolled at the view of your swollen cunt bent over for him and he gave it a light smack, eliciting a pained, but tired yelp from you as he chuckled muttering “you’re going to drive me crazy little dove.” under his breath.

He crouched down, coming face to lips with your abused cunt as he wrapped his arms around your bent bottom, lacing his fingers together as they rested at the arch of your back and dragging his nose up the tortured path of your slit, drawing whines and cries of overstimulation from your wiggling frame as you tried to get away from the punishing menace that was his face. “No, please. I can't take anymore, it's too much.” You whimpered, your voice muffled as you leaned your face into the couch tiredly to which he obliged, reluctantly, as he stood, grabbing his neglected dick in hand and pointing it toward your pink entrance.

“I can’t wait to stretch your pretty little pussy ____.” he purred and you moaned at the sound of your name slipping off of his tongue like the creamiest butter. He dragged his tip along your swollen clit, abusing it again for what seemed like the millionth time that day as he covered his girth in your slick, a guttural groan emitting from the back of his throat. Then, abruptly, he sunk into your slippery cavern, barely all the way in but you’d never felt so full in your entire life as he pushed forward slowly, filling you up and providing you with the most delicious stretch you’d ever felt. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you whined, a desperate whine that you could barely register was your own voice as he pushed his length completely inside of you, his head falling back and your name, rolling off of his tongue once again.

After barely giving you time to adjust to his alarming size, he reeled his hips back before slamming into you again, and again, and again, over and over again until he was fucking you at an unrelenting speed you barely knew was possible to achieve. Suffering from the overwhelming pleasure he forced you to endure, you shut your eyes tight, crying out in strangled indulgence as you grasped onto the fluffy throw blanket strewn lazily over the couch in front of you. You relished in the sting of his girth, staring ahead blankly with glassy eyes as he rammed into you with a punishing speed and black mascara filled tears streamed down your cheeks.

You knew you were about to cum soon, again, only due to the all too familiar feeling accumulating in the pit of your belly. Jungkook reached down, placing a hand on your shoulder blade and pressing your chest further into the couch while he drilled into you, moaning and cursing at the feeling of you flexing deliciously around his cock. He felt you were close, so he moved his hand, snaking it around your waist and trailing his other hand to assume its position around your neck, hoisting you up so your back was arched against his abdomen and you had no choice but to stare up at him as he talked down on you, never slowing the snapping of his hips for a wavering moment.

“You’ve never been fucked this good have you?” he teased through clenched teeth as he leaned down, sucking and marking all over the expanse of your neck with grunts and growls of pleasure. You were way too fucked out to even think about the words to form a coherent sentence, barely being able to form whimpered versions of ‘mhm’ after he questioned you but he was having none of that. He unraveled his hand from your waist, tightening his grip on your throat and landing a hard slap to your left asscheek, drawing a shrill shriek from the depths of your throat as he warned in your ear. “Words little dove” he slapped you again, “how many times do I have to fucking warn you.” he concluded, landing another harsh smack to your abused flesh as you whimpered.

“You’re the best I’ve ever had, I’m such a slut for you sir.” You sobbed out, “please let me cum, please fuck” you whined, drawing out your words and you reached back, tangling both hands in his unruly mop of hair as he split you open, moaning directly in your ear which in itself, was a thing that could make you cum on the spot.

“Cum then.” He said obviously, as if it was the most simple response, only it was this simple command that shoved you off the precipice of ecstasy for a second time. The feeling that bloomed deep in your stomach soon blossomed into a full blown orgasm that racked through your body quickly, leaving nothing but white hot pleasure in its wake as your legs trembled viciously, with one last loud cry of Jungkook’s name. But, he still did not falter, his pace quickening as he neared his own climax, the speed both too much and not nearly enough at the same time. You reached back, attempting to push him and escape the all consuming pleasure torturing your body like a blazing fire but your hands were caught quickly by Jungkook’s hands which crossed them tightly and held them behind your back, resuming his attack.

You shook your head, letting it hang as your tears fell freely onto the couch before you, his moans and groans of ecstasy increasing in volume and frequency as he neared his own climax, his hips faltering in their pace for the first time in a while as he worked to his own release. In what seemed like an instant, he released the most beautiful, salacious, strangled moan you had ever heard, pulling himself out of your soaked cunt, and painting the surface of your ass with his white hot ropes of cum. He finally let you go after a moment, watching as you fell limply to the couch, laying face down, panting exhaustively, your arms still crossed limply behind your back as he smirked down at your fucked out frame. He left you alone for just a bit, coming back but a few moments later before you felt the sore skin of your asscheeks being wiped off with what felt like a warm hand towel. You were relieved he had the respect to clean his mess, it made you respect him just a little bit more as a person but you were way too tired to dwell on the subject any longer.

“You did so good for me little dove” he cooed, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it as he placed a sweet chaste kiss on your lower back, caressing his hand up the side of your body. A simple touch that lacked any sort of sexual aspects, it felt comforting and you sighed, leaning further into the soft couch as you heard him begin to put his clothing on. You felt a pang of distress, seeing as you were more of a fuck and cuddle kind of girl, but you really hadn’t expected him to stay so why’d you feel the need to ask him to. Pushing the feeling deep inside your gut, you sighed deeply as he walked in front of you to bend forward and grab his gun that laid discarded on the opposite side of your couch, also grabbing the throw blanket beside it and tossing it over your naked frame before thinking about something. “So,” he started, tucking his gun in the back of his pants and humming, “I’m thinking that was worth about, hmm 50k” he started. You vaguely understood what he was saying and knew you’d flip out once you were conscious enough to truly comprehend his words. “I’ll keep in touch.” He said, pulling his shirt down and smiling deviously at you as you uttered a hoarse ‘huh?’ To which he answered simply, “if I wanna come collect some more money” and he spun on his heels, opening your door and sauntering out of the threshold.

When he got into the hallway, Jungkook burst into a wide smile, satisfied with the encounter he made today. He entered this agreement fully prepared to either fuck you once and take the money you’d earned back or just fuck you and kill you, but once he’d had a taste, he was insatiable. You were flawless, your compliance was impeccable. The way you obeyed him, begged for him, the way you tasted, the way you felt, the way you looked. There was no way he could ever get enough and is probably the reason he kept overstimulating you like a frat boy with a bruised ego. There was no way he was gonna just let go of an absolute gem like you, so he made his excuse, a plan. Everytime you fuck him, you pay back a portion of the money. He was so tempted to tell you this session was only worth $100 just as an excuse to come back over and over and over until he had his fill, but he kept his composure, giving you hope that you’d ever be free of his grasp. Jungkook for once was extremely ecstatic, elated, excited to ruin you even more than he already had and he was dead set on making you want him just as much as he craved you no matter what it took. Though he was pretty sure you already did.

#bts #bts smut #bts fic #jeon jungguk #jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #oneshot #mafia!bts #mafia!jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #bts angst #mafia au #GUNPLAYHAHAHA #IM SUPER EFFED UP #this took sooooo long

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deniigi · 4 years ago

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So @petrichordiam and I are menaces and giggled over our ideal dinluke flower shop AU for like 4 hrs and then I wrote this.

Title: murderer next door

Summary: Din works as a florist and Luke works as a bookseller and they’re both assassins trying to keep the other off their turf.

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Two times now, Luke had crashed past that flower shop, and two times now, the fucker inside had taken out his mark. Now all Luke had to say about the whole thing was that it was too bad that he was going to have to kill the guy.

Han told him not to turn back. The mark was dead; the mark was gone. They weren’t fast enough this time, but there would be others.

Luke just couldn’t let it go, though. He had rent to pay, and McFloristApron over there was smashing through all his targets and making that nigh impossible—regardless of how many marks there were in the area.

Luke waited until Han had closed up shop for the night and remained there in the dark with his arm slung over the back of the chair in the backroom, surrounded by books. He rolled his shot of whiskey in its tumbler. The sound against the old wood table offered no comfort.

He stood up and left the glass to get his laptop.

He wasn’t losing to some florist, Han, sorry. Only one family could take innocuous cover on this street, and it was them.

---

McFlorist’s name wasn’t listed on the florist’s staff page, but then again, none of the people on that page had names. In fact, the website’s whole vibe was all wedding-chic until you clicked on the ‘staff and contacts’ tab. Then, it may as well have been a line of mugshots.

Luke squinted along the row of increasingly involved headgear until he got to someone with a reasonably-sized neck with no tats. The ladies on either side of him appeared to have sapped all the ink out of McFloristApron. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and gave a stoic thumbs up to the camera.

Under his picture was the number fifteen.

Damn.

Luke was only making eight per pop. Who the hell was this guy eating up all the feeder fish, huh? Them lower division folks had to eat too, you know.

Well.

‘Lower division’ in a sense of the word. Being two times undercover wasn’t super glamorous, Luke had to say. But when your dad fucked it up for the first family, sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Luke pointed at Fifteen on the screen.

“You and me, pal,” he said. “You and me.”

Step one was to get paid first.

Luke chased down three marks on the other side of town to pay the rent and the medical bills for now. His hand’s new sleeve felt like a dream. It didn’t overheat like the nylon black one did, and the hand was far less shiny now as a bonus. That had certainly reduced the number of people catching something move out of the corner of their eye.

Was it worth fifty grand?

No.

Was it worth the last nine that Luke had left to pay on it?

Yeah. It was definitely worth the nine.

------

Step two was to go make it clear to Fifteen McFlorist that he and his folks needed to back down in the face of the established guard.

Luke put on his biggest sweater and the thickest glasses he could find. He stole Chewie’s messenger bag with all the pins on it. He slung it over his shoulder and rolled the hems of his jeans up just a smidge too much, then scurried over to the florist’s across the way.

Fifteen was off to the side of the register, fucking around with something in the refrigerator. Luke busily and noisily looked through the wall of foliage on the side of the shop nearest the window. He hummed. He hawed. He made anxious nerd-sounds until a voice asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

Luke glanced out of the corner of his eye and found that Fifteen was standing facing his way now. His mask was gray this time. His apron was orange. His boots were too heavy-looking for florist work.

“I’d love that,” Luke gushed breathlessly. “See, my mom just got engaged and I’m on the way to her house.”

Fifteen lifted his chin slightly.

“What’re her favorites?” he asked tonelessly.

Terrible customer service skills, dude.

“Roses,” Luke said.

“Ours are shit today,” Fifteen said. “How about dahlias?”

Luke didn’t know what those were but sure.

“That sounds great,” he said. “You have any in pink?”

--------

He watched Fifteen brutalize some pink, orange, and white flowers into a bouquet wrapped with a silver bow and was sure to smile every time the guy looked up.

“That’ll be $37.59.”

Sir, these are dead flowers. There is no need for that price.

“Can I put it on card?” Luke asked. “How long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking? I work just across the way is all.”

Fifteen’s dark gaze flicked up. His hair was covered by a gray beanie two shades darker than the mask.

“At the club?” he asked.

“The bookshop,” Luke corrected him with a shy, but widening smile.

Please be gay. Please be gay. Please be gay. Leia wasn’t going to want to cooperate. She thought it was beneath her to establish boundaries like this.

“Blue paint,” Fifteen said. “Yeah, that place. How long have you been there?”

“My brother-in-law’s place, actually,” Luke said. “I started there last year after I finished college.”

Or, you know, maybe even eight years ago when he’d finished college. No one had to know. Baby faces don’t kiss and tell after all.

“Huh. You must like it there,” Fifteen said.

“It’s fine,” Luke hummed. “You like it here?”

“The kid does.”

“Oh, you’re a father?” Luke asked. “How old?”

“He’s three,” Fifteen said. “Godson. His folks were in an accident; didn’t make it.”

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Luke said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Fifteen handed him his card back. Luke’s hand didn’t close in time to catch it and it fell onto to the wooden counter.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said, reaching for it with the other hand. His knuckles bumped into Fifteen’s when he went for the card at the same time. They both paused and went for the card again with the same result. Luke laughed.

“Slippery, am I right?” he asked, flattening his fingers on top of the piece of plastic and snatching it away.

“Very,” Fifteen said. “I hope your mom likes them.”

“Me too,” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you around—What was your name?”

“You can call me Armando,” Fifteen said.

“Armando,” Luke sounded out. “It suits you.”

It was a falsie.

“And yours?”

“James.”

“It suits you.”

It didn’t.

“Bye now,” Luke said. “Thanks for your help.”

He let the door fall closed behind him with the tinkle of the bell.

--------

He informed Han that “Armando” had a toddler and received only a warning look and a scolding for all his effort. Han told him not to get jealous. If there was a kid in the balance, then Fifteen, for better or worse, was going to have to see each day after the next until there was no longer a kid in the balance.

Luke offered to call CPS and report “Armando” as an assassin.

“You do that and those folks across the street are gonna call the VA and tell them I’m an assassin,” Han said. “Lay low, Luke. Lay low.”

Never.

“Christ. At least until that thing’s yours then.”

Luke glared at his right hand.

“Gimme a double,” he told Han without looking away from it.

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

It was never easy to hunt in the daylight, but Luke wasn’t here to do easy things. He needed to get Mark No. 1 alone. The man took the train once a week to a gentleman’s club on his lunch break. Luke needed a change of clothes.

He had a rainbow windbreaker, white boots, and fishnets all ready to go.

He got on the same train as the mark and dropped his phone nearby. It clattered loudly and the case came off. Luke swore and squatted to drop it at the same time that two girls next to him decided to become good Samaritans. They crouched with him and one of them caught the phone first. They handed it back with a smile.

“I like your jacket,” she said.

Luke let his face struggle to find a smile at her kindness to him, a sweet little twink trying to find the pride parade that happened two weeks ago.

“Thanks,” he said. “I like your bracelet.”

He stood up. The girls were pleased with themselves. Luke glanced back to find Mark No. 1 turn his head abruptly away.

Come here, Markie.

Do you like what you see?

Mark No. 1 didn’t make it out of his hotel room. A pity. Luke took the elevator down and huffed and puffed about a cheap date when he passed the front desk. He stopped abruptly and went back to ask the receptionist what the cross street was. She judged his go-go boots.

He told her she wasn’t his type. Her manager gave him the cross street.

Mark No. 2 had different parameters.

----------

Mark No. 2’s parameters involved chasing him through a maze of boiler rooms and dumpsters. He was chump change towards a hand that Luke hadn’t wanted in the first place, but alas. The anger still roared.

Luke cornered him, still in go-go boots—no need to sacrifice style for speed—and watched those pale eyes look every which way as Mark No. 2 realized that there was no getting out of this.

“You got options, friend,” Luke said. “I can bring you in hot or I can bring you in—”

“—cold.”

His head snapped up and he lurched out of the way just as the crack of a bullet exploded in the alley. A car backfired around the corner in a sympathetic cough. Luke stared at the body then twisted around just in time for a thick glove to latch onto the back of his neck.

“Well, look who it is,” Fifteen drawled.

Luke glared out of the corner of his eye.

“Hands off, Armando,” he warned.

“I like your boots.”

“You’re gonna love ‘em when they’re on your dick,” Luke warned.

“Back off, Nayberry.”

Fucking hell, Han. This is why they should have set up boundaries weeks ago.

“I prefer ‘James,’” Luke said sweetly.

The glock levelled at his face didn’t care.

“You took my mark,” Fifteen said.

“Aw, poor baby,” Luke pouted. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you took mine.”

Fifteen’s orange apron was gone. He’d swapped it for an old leather jacket—something he could more easily wipe clean. He should’ve gone for patent leather. The brown really wasn’t working with his grey mask-beanie situation.

“Stay in your lane,” Fifteen warned.

“Only if you stay in yours,” Luke beamed.

Fifteen huffed.

“Bookstore,” he scoffed. “Who’d you give the flowers to?”

Luke tsked.

“Myself, jackass,” he said.

“Do you even have a mom?”

“What the fuck business is that of yours? You even got a kid?”

Fifteen’s stare was deadly—the cooling body before them notwithstanding.

“Take one step near him and we won’t be talkin’ so friendly, yeah?”

Mm. Yeah.

“You owe me four grand,” Luke informed Fifteen as the glock went down and Fifteen left him to go take a pulse.

The man’s back stiffened.

“Four?” he asked. “You took this job for four?”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“I got bills, Armando,” he drawled.

“How do you keep that shed open? Have you sold even one book?”

Rude. Luke was a great sales associate. If he actually cared to put his mind to it, he’d be worthy of a promotion to manager.

He pulled the rising legs of his shorts down and adjusted the weapon in his windbreaker. He couldn’t leave the alley the way he’d gone into it. Someone might have seen. He was going to have to take a side street. Hmmm, which one? Choices, choices.

“I’ll give you a Dad’s discount. Gimme two grand, and you can have him,” Luke negotiated as he thought.

“Two.”

Hey, no need for that tone. This was a great deal.

“What’re you gonna do with two?” Fifteen asked, already knelling down to heft the body over his shoulder as proof for payment.

“Buy some more tights,” Luke deadpanned. “Two, final offer.”

Fifteen stood up all the way and gave him a weird look. A long look. His beanie was pulled down low, but Luke got the impression that he was frowning at him.

“Take the four,” he said out of nowhere. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Luke recoiled a step at first, then recoiled another when the reality of the situation hit him full in the chest.

“Forget it,” he snapped.

He spun around and started to leave.

“Wh—hey. HEY. Where are you goin’?”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ pity,” Luke called ahead of him as he set to climbing the chainlink fence separating him from the adjacent dead-end alley.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Luke said.

He jumped down. His left hand found his right wrist and squeezed as he walked.

-------

The phantom pains kept him up all night, and it was definitely that and not the humiliation that made him call in sick. Han told him to answer his therapist’s emails. Luke told him to go do something useful and hung up. He rolled onto his back on his bed and focused on letting his body relax, his jaw unclench, his joints go limp.

There was sunlight finally streaming through his apartment windows again. It had been months.

Spring was almost here. He just had to hold out a little longer.

--------

He came in to work the next day and found an envelope on his chair in the backroom. It was thick.

“McFlorist dropped it off,” he said between aggravated sounds at his spreadsheets.

“Is it tax season already?” Luke asked him as he tried to burn a whole in the center of the envelope with his mind.

“Sure fuckin’ is.”

He stepped forward and snatched up the envelope, then deposited it squarely in Han’s lap. He made an unattractive noise of confusion and alarm.

“For the taxes,” Luke called as he went out to grab his lanyard and name tag. “Gotta keep this place open for another six months at least.”

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

There were new books in. A new shipment to shelve. Two kids’ displays to set up. And Luke was actually good at this stuff, thanks; he started stacking.

He got peace until he nearly got to the end of the second display, and then what he had was a heart attack. Two liquid brown eyes surrounded by an ocean of ringlets stared up at him from between his knees. The child curled a hand in and out in hello.

Luke jerked himself up to locate the thing’s parents immediately, and promptly found himself in deadly eye-contact with Fifteen.

Armando.

“You were gone yesterday,” Fifteen said flatly.

Luke looked between him and the kid. He was pinned between two enemy parties. How to escape, how to escape.

“Are you sick?”

How to escape. How to escape. How to escape.

“Are you hurt?”

H—what?

“I’m fine, stalker,” Luke snapped with more heat than this present cover allowed. He caught himself and pulled it back. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Thank you for asking. Is this…?”

Fifteen blinked once. The child blinked once as well. It was creepy.

“He’s mine,” Fifteen said. “And apparently the only thing that will get us through the next two hours is a book.”

Dude.

“Kids are kids,” Fifteen said. “You got any books?”

Luke stared at him, then checked the shelves to make sure he hadn’t teleported into another dimension.

You always had to check.

“We’re in a bookstore,” he said.

“He can’t read,” Fifteen said, pointing.

The kid grinned. His teeth were gapped in that toddler sort of way. He was kind of cute.

“You can’t read?” Luke asked him.

“Hi,” Baby said.

Oh no.

Luke loved him.

“How much?” he asked Fifteen.

“Touch him and you’ll be permanently comatose,” Fifteen said.

“Not if I died out of spite,” Luke said.

There was a long pause. Then Fifteen started laughing? Kind of hard?

“Oh my god, that was so unprofessional. I am so sorry,” Luke blurted out.

Fifteen collected himself and shook his head. His little one giggled and reached for Luke’s fingers.

“Boo,” he said.

Luke couldn’t feel the hand, but he could feel all the heart.

“Book?” he asked, crouching down. “Do you want a story?”

“Mmmm.”

“I have the perfect one,” Luke told him. “It’s about a caterpillar. Do you know what a caterpillar is?”

He got a slow, exaggerated head shake back and forth, back and forth. He stood up straight.

“I’m conducting a temporary kidnapping,” he informed Fifteen. “Do I have consent?”

Fifteen looked from him towards the front entrance and mulled over the merits of leaving his kid with his rival assassin. Then he shrugged.

“Consent granted,” he said. “Luke.”

Luke’s heart stopped.

“James,” he said.

“Your name tag says ‘Luke.’”

Well, fuck.

“Luke Nayberry. It suits you.”

Hhhhhhh. This was karma, wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” he gritted out. “And yourself, Armando?”

“Din.”

Woah, look out. Mr. One-Syllable-Cool-Man had entered the building.

“Din, what?” Luke asked as his arm registered tension. Din’s kid had latched onto his fingers and started pulling incessantly with a chubby hand gesturing in the direction of the wall of children’s books.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Din said.

“Fine, go trip then,” Luke said.

He swore that there was a smile under that mask.

----------

#dinluke #luke skywalker #ficlet #fic #I can't take any trope seriously it turns out #perhaps I am simply too old now to appreciate them #the mandalorian

124 notes · View notes

childrenofthenightt · 4 years ago

Text

That’s The Way (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 5.7k

Warning(s): Jimmy and Y/N falling in love at first sight🥺, nsfw insinuations in the beginning but nothing bad, language

Author’s notes: It’s Jimmy time, mates! I’m so sorry for making you wait so long! Slow burns can suck like that sometimes. I hope you’re enjoying the plot so far, and that it wasn’t what you expected! There’s so much more drama to come, though, so I hope you’re excited for that😂 As usual, please enjoy, happy reading, and send us messages if you have theories, comments, music recommendations for the playlist, or if you want to be added to the tag list :)

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

------

Y/N’s train ride home from The Yardbirds’ hotel was a constant swirl of what the fucks booming in her mind: what the fuck just happened, what the fuck does this mean, what the fuck am I doing, what the fuck is Jim doing, what the fuck will this become?

Out of all the things on God’s good, green earth he could have wanted, he wanted her to kiss him. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Y/N thought when she initially heard the request. Then, when she questioned it, he escalated it to a blowjob since she thought a kiss was “too tame.” Y/N eventually did kiss Jim, as he wished. She was pretty sure that he still wanted her to kiss him after his little upgrade, and boy, was she right. ‘He called me a princess’, she remembered...what the hell was that supposed to mean?

As contradictory as it was, her mind was racing with so many thoughts, yet, at the same time, none at all. She was in overdrive, unable to think straight. Y/N forced herself to come to her senses as the train neared her stop, since her parents could not see the sheer bewilderment in her eyes and facial expression as she walked into her home. They would ask question after question, interrogating her as if she had committed a crime they had to get to the bottom of. She had to admit, reluctantly, that this was exciting. The star-studded aspect of it, the secrecy… It was a rollercoaster ride, yet Y/N wasn’t sure she wanted to get off anytime soon. In the back of her mind, though, she knew this little dalliance wasn’t going to lead to anything serious.

Jim, however, currently sitting at the foot of his bed in an empty hotel room, was in a complete daze. He couldn’t comprehend that this was reality. The most beautiful girl in the whole world had just sucked him off, and then kissed him! She was completely obedient yet willing, and adorably shy, blushing every two seconds. But the kiss. It was dizzyingly soft, sweet, and passionate on her part. To Jim, this meeting of lips was perfect. Addictive. Devastatingly addictive, like a drug. He wanted more. Her lips were something else to taste and feel. He wondered if she would ever come back to him with intimate intentions. Perhaps even to spend the night, or something even more serious. By the way she so often smiled in a bright and enthusiastic way, Jim thought she just might. He had come to the conclusion, after continuously replaying what had happened just minutes ago in his head, that he was falling hopelessly in love with this girl. His Y/N.

Jim had never felt like this before.

And he didn’t know what to do about it.

~~~~~~~~

A few weeks later...

Y/N’s mum had sent her and her brother Charlie by train into London to go grocery shopping, and perhaps to visit Carnaby Street, Portobello Market, and the Oxfam charity shops to get some new clothes for themselves. Pushing the cart around the supermarket, Y/N and Charlie looked intently at the handwritten list their mum had given them.

“Alright, what do we need next?” Y/N asked, her head tilted to see the small piece of paper.

“Uh, we still have to get oatmeal, eggs, and some fruits and vegetables,” Charlie replied, mirroring Y/N’s position as he gazed down at the list in his hands, which was slowly being painted with black ink. They were making good time, all things considered.

“Let’s go to the produce section then, so we can get everything all in one go,” Y/N decided, starting to push the cart in that direction.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Charlie’s nod served as confirmation, and the two walked on, gazes captured every-so-often by the gaggle of people passing by.

Once the two siblings reached their desired destination, Y/N began inspecting the clear clamshell containers of assorted berries as Charlie went to fetch a bag of broccoli florets and a variety of potatoes. As Y/N began placing the fruit in the cart, she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

She turned around to see a very domestic-looking Jeff Beck, pushing around a grocery cart, just like she was. It was odd to see him going about his life as though he was just an ordinary working-class man, especially being the revered guitar god he was. Y/N laughed at the sight as he came over towards her.

“Hi Jeff,” Y/N greeted, walking over to give him a hug.

“Hello darling,” he responded, tilting the girl back and forth in the hug, long arms cradling her against his chest. “How are you doing?”

Y/N looked at him with a small grin after pulling away. An exhale passes through pursed lips as she replies. “As well as I can be, I guess. How ‘bout you?”

“Can’t complain,” he smiled, which then turned a little more solemn. He reached out a hand to place on her upper arm in solace. “I’m still really sorry about Sam, love. I wish I could’ve told you, but he swore me to secrecy… and I don’t want to lose my job just yet.”

“Don’t worry about it, I completely understand. It’s not your fault.” Y/N’s chuckle chimed through the air, much like the birdsongs that seemed to fill the space around them, and she paused, “I’ve done quite a bit of soul-searching recently, and I don’t think I truly loved him...the situation was all so new and exciting, that it made me believe I did. But now, I realize I didn’t.”

“I’m glad you found the light at the end of the tunnel, kid. But that’s life, Y/N. You win some and you lose some.”

“Thank you, Jeff. Really. For being so supportive,” Y/N said in gratitude, as Jeff flashed her a toothy smile.

“Ah, don’t mention it...actually, it’s funny I ran into you because I was actually going to call you, but I… may have lost your number.” A sheepish hand ran through the short hair at the nape of his neck, and Y/N giggles at the man’s hesitancy.

“That’s okay. Here, I’ll write it down for you,” Y/N grinned as she took out a spare piece of paper and a pen from her bag, “what did you need to call me for?”

Jeff watched Y/N’s hands as she scribbled down her number. Her handwriting was neat, soft spirals decorating the ends of her letters. Playful, yet full of grace. Just like her, Jeff thought. “There’s a May Ball at Queen’s College in Oxford on the 18th, and I was wondering if you’d like to come. It’s outdoors, and it should be a nice day.”

As Y/N handed Jeff the piece of paper, he continued. “More importantly, a good friend of mine is attending, and I thought you would like to meet him. You two are pretty similar, so I think you’ll hit it off really well.”

“Do you mean that this meeting is supposed to be a sort of… romantic proposition?” Y/N tilted her head in playful confusion.

Jeff smirked. “Not necessarily. He’s friends with the rest of the guys, so it’s only fair that you meet him, since we consider you a part of our inner circle.”

Y/N grinned at his statement, shaking her head, a chuckle tumbling past her lips. “Well, for the record, Jeff, I’m retired from dating for a while,” she admitted, “the whole thing with Paul shook me up a bit, and I need time to trust again, y’know?”

“Yeah, I understand. But my friend is a nice bloke, so I don’t think you’ll have to worry too much, or put up a front. If you’re uncomfortable, of course we can—”

Charlie came running up to Y/N’s cart and placed the bags of broccoli and potatoes inside. He then stood next to Y/N to see this stranger that she was talking to. Jeff noticed the little boy who suddenly appeared next to Y/N, and smiled warmly. Pointing to the boy, and changing his voice to be a bit gentler than usual, he asked, “Who’s this, Y/N?”

“This is my little brother Charlie,” Y/N said, softly putting her hand on her brother’s back, bringing him to the forefront. Charlie widely smiled at Jeff, baring his childish grin that was missing a couple teeth. Charlie couldn't wait until they grew in, because it would “finally make him look like a real man”, as he exclaimed so often at home.

Jeff crouched down to Charlie’s level and stuck out his hand to shake Charlie’s. “Nice to meet ya, mate. I’m Jeff, a friend of your sister’s.”

Charlie’s eyes widened as he recognized who this man was. “Jeff Beck?” Charlie asked hopefully, “as in the guitar god, Jeff Beck?”

Jeff chuckled as he looked up at Y/N. “Is this the shit you’ve been feeding him?” Y/N nodded and laughed.

“There’s an ounce of truth in that statement, isn't there, Beck?”

“Yes, I’m Jeff Beck, but I’m just the lead guitarist for The Yardbirds. The guitar god title goes to Hendrix, or Scotty Moore,” Jeff explained. What a humble change of pace for Jeff, Y/N thought.

Jeff stood back up and walked with Y/N and her brother throughout the store, pushing their carts in sync and grabbing food as they went. He asked her about what she was up to musically, and she talked about how she was polishing up some Debussy and Rachmaninoff pieces, as well as fiddling around with some old Fats Domino and Everly Brothers records. Charlie and Jeff bonded over their love of cars, which made Y/N very happy.

~~~~~~~~

18th June 1966

The day of the May Ball came. Y/N was excited for the show, but she didn’t want a sour encounter with Paul to ruin her good time. Jeff had called her earlier in the week to give her instructions on what to do upon arrival, and how to access the backstage area safely.

The backstage area was a white tent with the sides covered. Inside, there were multiple long tables of different distinguished people, such as Mama Cass and Graham Nash. Alcohol and little finger foods littered the tables, served in such abundance that it seemed no one was going to see tomorrow.

Y/N walked over to where she saw her friends, and upon spotting the girl, they all waved and said their cheerful hellos. Y/N walked over to sit with them, and ended up taking a seat between Chris and Jeff, crossing her legs and folding her hands in a sophisticated manner, always the lady she was taught to be. She chose her seat at the table very carefully, sitting very far away from Paul Samwell-Smith.

As everyone chatted away, she noticed there was a tall, thin young man with short, dark wavy hair who sat down in a seat between Jeff and Keith, delicately holding a flute of champagne. He was looped back into the conversation immediately, as if he had known the band his whole life. When Y/N saw him, her heart stopped.

This new boy was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He looked like an English James Dean; with the kind of attractiveness that anyone, male or female, completely swooned over with a single glance. This stranger could get anything he wanted at the drop of a hat, with his gorgeous looks and his graceful countenance. He had a sullen, mysterious edge to him, but he also looked gentle and sweet at the same time. He had eyes as green as a forest full of lush deciduous trees, flawlessly framed by dark, bushy eyebrows and accented by long, thick eyelashes. His nose was adorable, petite as it was, and his lips were full and pouty. His smile and laugh made Y/N melt on the inside, his perfectly straight teeth illuminating his porcelain face.

For a moment, Y/N thought she was in love. She was pulled back from her daydream quickly, though, because Jeff realized that now was the perfect opportunity to introduce his two friends.

“Y/N, this is my friend Jimmy, who I was telling you about,” Jeff said, getting Y/N’s attention. Y/N grinned as she refocused on the situation.

Jimmy turned towards Jeff when he heard his name, and that’s when he saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, sitting right next to Jeff. Lucky bastard.

His breath hitched in his throat upon sight of this girl. She was perfect; she looked like an actual angel. The way her hair, soft-looking and slightly wispy in the light summer wind, cascaded down her shoulders; her doe-eyes seemed to twinkle in the dimming light of day, pulling him in like the strongest of currents. Her pillowy, supple lips encased a perfect smile, slightly crooked. It was, like the rest of her, completely endearing.

It was then, looking at this beautiful woman, (Y/N… Jeff had said her name, hadn't he?) that Jimmy remembers he was taken. His girlfriend, Jackie DeShannon, was waiting for him at home, but he only had eyes for the girl in front of him, and it would stay that way, it seemed.. He had to get to know her.

Jimmy snapped out of his hypnosis in the nick of time. He softly smiled at Y/N, a smile that made Y/N’s insides lurch, holding out his hand for her to shake as he turned on the charm. “Jimmy Page,” he initiated, his voice being softer and more calming than Y/N expected.

Y/N shyly smiled at him, a dark pink flush gracing her natural complexion, as she reached out to grasp his hand. “Y/N Y/L/N. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Jeff has told me about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Jimmy chuckled.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Y/N beamed, a feigned contemplative look on her face.

“How do you know Jeff?” Jimmy asked, turning his body towards her, now fully invested in getting to know Y/N.

“I met him...a year ago I wanna say? Is that right, Jeff? At a Yardbirds gig at the Marquee,” Y/N asked for clarification. The last thing she wanted to do is lie about Jeff to Jimmy, even if it was something as insignificant as this. In addition, she wanted to use Jeff as a temporary crutch in the conversation. Jimmy’s beauty was making her feel shyer than she already was; she felt as if she was curling into herself.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Jeff intervened, “but she didn’t just meet me, she met the whole band.”

Jeff immediately noticed that the band was leaving the table to get ready to go on stage. Jimmy and Y/N didn’t even notice the table’s departure because they were so wrapped up in each other’s presence and words. Jimmy even moved a seat over to get closer to Y/N, although he said it was an attempt to “hear her better since the room was so loud of drunken buffoons”. Y/N had giggled at that, and it had sounded like music to the man’s ears. Jimmy was completely taken with her, as easy as it was to see.

“Wait, so how do you know Jeff?” Y/N asked curiously.

“I've known him since I was… gosh… thirteen or fourteen? We bonded over the guitar and blues. Indian music, too,” Jimmy grinned, taking a sip of his warming champagne.

“You play the guitar too?” Y/N gasped. Jimmy nodded his head enthusiastically.

“Oh jeez, I should’ve known! No wonder you’re tight with the Yardbirds,” she giggled.

Jimmy’s eyes twinkled at her now-flustered demeanor. “You’re okay, Y/N,” he chuckled, placing a hand gently on her forearm. Y/N felt her entire body break out into chills.

“I’m a session musician, actually,” he began, his hand lingering on the girl’s arm, for what seemed like a millennium to Y/N. “I’d hate to simplistically explain what a session musician is to someone like you if you already know what it is.” It sounded like he was holding back a bout of embarrassed laughter. “You must be quite intelligent, especially in matters of music, if Jeff has stuck by you for all this time.”

Y/N smiled bashfully. He’s so sensitive, she thought dreamily. “Yes, I know what a session musician is,” she giggled, “I’ve been a piano player all my life, so I know a thing or two about what you blokes are talking about when it comes to music.”

Jimmy’s heart began to thump a little faster as his smile widened. “Wow! That’s brilliant. Are you classically trained then?”

“Yes, but I do know quite a bit of blues numbers.”

“Oh, so you really know what you’re talking about! I have to admit, although I am a session musician, I’m not particularly good at reading music. Maybe you could teach me a few things about sight reading and we can jam some time?”

Y/N blushed as her lips pursed together in a grin. “I would love that. We’d have so much fun!” The way that Y/N’s full lips twisted together in a smile looked so damn kissable to Jimmy.

“My girlfriend was actually supposed to teach me music theory, but we never got around to it, unfortunately,” Jimmy continued.

“Ah, okay. Well, if you give me a time, date, and place, we can definitely make it work,” Y/N beamed.

“Wonderful!” An awkward, pregnant pause filled the space, and Y/N cleared her throat, unconsciously sliding closer to Jimmy. There was almost a magnetic pull to him, and Y/N was caught up in it.

“So, what’s it like being a session musician? I’m sure you get asked that all the time,” Y/N laughed.

Jimmy smiled. “It’s quite grueling, brutal at times, but I find it fulfilling. One mistake, and you’re fired, so it’s a lot of pressure.”

“Oh wow! That must be horrible to deal with.”

“Yeah, sometimes the pressure can really settle into you, but for me it dissipates once I’m in the booth. There’s three sessions a day, five days a week, so I don’t have much time for leisure. It’s been getting really dry lately since all I’m playing is rhythm guitar. I love experimentation and stretching out on lead guitar, so constant rhythm is getting quite annoying.”

“I understand where you’re coming from then, from a creative standpoint. How long have you been a session player?”

“Four years, roughly.”

“You must be quite dedicated then!” Y/N exclaimed, “who have you played with?”

“Oh gosh,” Jimmy exhaled deeply, calloused fingers raising to land on his chin. Slight stubble shadows it, and the sharp scent of aftershave wafted towards the girl. Lost in the scent, Y/N nearly missed his reply. “The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, Donovan, The Who, Petula Clark, Jackie DeShannon, Carter Lewis and the Southerners, Neil Christian and the Crusaders, Herman’s Hermits, Marianne Faithfull… just to name a few.”

“Wow! What a resumé!” she gushed, “That’s incredible. You should be so proud, Jimmy.”

“Thank you very much, love, I appreciate it.”

Suddenly, an announcer’s booming voice cut through Jimmy and Y/N’s conversation as he introduced the Yardbirds to the stage. As the five men walked on, Jimmy stood up from his chair.

“Come with me to the wings so we can see and hear them better,” he smiled, holding out his arm for Y/N to take. Y/N agreed, standing up and linking her arm with Jimmy’s as they walked in sync to the side of the stage.

The first few numbers were played perfectly, and it was clear that the audience (and even the road crew) were enchanted by the spectacle. Y/N knew from past shows that the next song would be “Train Kept A-Rollin’,” and she knew that they always knocked that one out of the park. It was always stimulating and explosive.

Jeff and Chris began the opening riff, the low E, G, and A notes thundering out of the monitors melodically. Just as Keith sang “got a train” on his cue, he fell straight backward and hit his head off Jim’s bass drum. Jimmy and Y/N’s jaws dropped in shock as a loud gasp echoed through the air from the audience. The music abruptly stopped as the rest of the band crowded around Keith’s fallen figure to see if he was alright. Murmurings of “fucking hells” were all that were spoken from the road crew as they tried to redeem the concert.

“He was drunk,” Jimmy whispered to Y/N giddily, “he was completely out to lunch and wobbling as he walked onstage.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Y/N replied quietly with a grin, “that definitely explains all the empty bottles and glasses on the table.”

Momentarily, Keith got back up and motioned for the band to restart “Train Kept A-Rollin’” and they finished the song without another mishap. The rest of the set was completed smoothly, and everything sounded sonically incredible. Jimmy and Y/N stood close together the entire time, Jimmy sneaking glances at Y/N from time to time. He lost his breath with the way her eyes were almost aglow in the fading light, and her soft-looking lips parted in childlike wonder as she watched the live music.

The Yardbirds came off the stage, begrudgingly making their way into the backstage tent, where Jimmy and Y/N had situated themselves. No one looked happy, especially Paul. Jeff had his usual stoic look, but he was rushing around for any alcoholic beverage he could find to ease his nerves after what could have been the worst possible scenario.

Everyone took a seat at the table where they were before the show. Jimmy and Y/N sat next to each other as they took in the distressed expressions of the five other men. Jeff was slumped in his chair, next to Jimmy, taking swigs of a beer he’d found. Jim and Chris just stared at the ground, drink in hand. Paul just looked royally pissed off, to the point that it almost scared Y/N. Keith, however, was still totally out of it in his drunken stupor.

“Hey, Jim,” Jeff said quietly to Jimmy, “look, you know, I’m really sorry about the gig. I’m sure you aren’t interested in joining the band now…”

“Oh no,” Jimmy chuckled, “that was amazing! Absolutely brilliant! I loved it.”

Y/N’s interest piqued as she heard their whispers of new information. “Wait! Jimmy’s joining the band? I thought there were only supposed to be five live Yardbirds,” she whispered.

Jeff leaned over Jimmy to whisper back to Y/N. “Oh yeah! I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this already. Paul is probably going to leave the group...and I think it might be sooner than we thought, especially after the whole Keith fiasco...Jimmy is going to take his place on bass, and hopefully he’ll take on dual lead guitar at some point. Then Chris will do bass,” Jeff’s eyes diverted to Paul, who was sitting with his arms crossed and face angry, staring off into space. Jimmy and Y/N followed Jeff’s line of sight mischievously.

“Oooh! Great plan,” Y/N smiled.

A little smirk creeped across Jeff’s face as he quietly counted down, “3...2...1…”

At the very prompt “1,” Paul abruptly stood up from his chair very loudly, capturing everyone’s attention.

“You know what? I’m done,” Paul exclaimed, stepping away from the chair as he pushed it in under the table.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Jim began, standing up from his own chair, “what do you mean ‘you’re done’? What the hell does that mean?”

Paul sneered at Jim. “What do you think I mean? I mean I’m done with this bullshit. I’ve had enough of the horrid travelling, not being noticed, and this drunk-off-his-ass bastard,” he exclaimed angrily, pointing at Keith.

“You need to relax, Sam,” Chris said gently, “look at everything we’ve accomplished over the last three years. You want to give that up? You’re losing your shit over one bad performance.”

“It’s been on my mind for a long time now, Chris. I fucking hate it,” Paul continued, anxiously running his hands through his hair, “and you know what? Y/N hanging around all the time has made it worse. She’s just here to be our fucking groupie. She’s only eating off our clout to be friends with famous people.” The entire table went silent, looking around nervously.

Y/N’s eyes widened at Paul’s awful accusation. “Are you serious?” she shot back coldly, “I knew you were an asshole, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“Oh what, you think I don’t recognize that that’s your motive?” Paul said condescendingly.

“If you think that being absolutely obsessed with you all is my sole hobby, my motive, whatever that means... you are sadly mistaken,” Y/N responded, her eyes closing to slits and her lips pressed together in disgust.

“You’re probably sleeping with Jim or Chris now for all I know!” he shouted, arms flailing in the air.

Y/N was fuming now, standing up from her own chair facing Paul. “How dare you make me seem like I’m a whore for the Yardbirds! Even if I was sleeping with Jim or Chris, that would be none of your business because you pursued me when you were fucking married, you dipshit.”

Paul’s maddening countenance grew. “You’re just an insecure little girl who needs famous musicians around her to validate her and make feel better about herself. You’re a fucking nuisance, like a gnat that just won’t fly away even when you swat at it again and again.”

Y/N gasped, the sound drowned out by the screech of metal against tile, as Jimmy stood up from his chair. He was distraught, upset at the antics between the two bitter exes, and stepped in front of Y/N to protect her from the horrible verbal blows served by Paul Samwell-Smith. Jeff beat him by a second, as he started to berate Sam for his little episode.

“You listen up, you wanker,” Jeff started, wagging his index finger in front of Sam’s face, “you’re just being a butthurt little bitch because Y/N found out that you were married. If anyone’s the whore here, it’s you. Y/N is our friend, even Jimmy’s now, and she takes care of us and makes us happy. She’s not just some whimsy, disposable groupie like the way you used her; she’s an intelligent, sweet, pretty girl who has our best interest at heart. And we have hers. You have to be a fucking idiot not to see that.”

Paul was taken aback. “I write, produce, and play bass for this group. All you do is play lead guitar. Trust me, Beck, I’m not the idiot here.”

“Well, your goddamn head isn’t screwed on straight, then,” Jimmy added, “I’ll be taking your place, thank you very much. And you will never mistreat Y/N on my watch. Ever. I’ve known her for about an hour, and she’s already absolutely magnificent.”

Y/N’s throat felt clenched, but some of the tension was relieved when she realized how protective Jimmy was being over her. As mad as she was, butterflies filled her stomach at his warm ways.

“I’m out of here! You all suck anyway. Have a nice trip to hell, all of you,” Paul said as he walked away to the road crew to get his belongings, flipping the people at the table off.

Y/N sat back down in her chair once Paul was out of sight, slouching and holding her cheeks with her hands as she blankly stared at the edge of the table. Jimmy and the four Yardbirds dragged their chairs closer to a saddened Y/N, who was determined to fight off the tears that threatened to roll down her fury-flush cheeks.

Jeff frowned at the state of his friend, starting to softly rub her cardigan-clothed back to console her. “I’m so sorry about Sam, Y/N. His behaviour was absolutely horrendous, and I can assure you, none of the things he said about you were even close to being true.”

Keith, still a bit drunk, stood up and walked over to Y/N, planting a peck on her cheek. “We’re so glad you’re here, dear. Truly. That belligerent little asshole can suck a fat one.”

A close-lipped smile found its way on Y/N’s lips. “Thanks Keith,” she chuckled.

“I’m going to go get you a cup of water, alright love?” Chris said as he stood up to walk over towards the bar.

“Thank you so much Chris,” she called after him. Chris flashed her a kind smile as he walked away.

I guess Mum and Dad were wrong...they really do care about me, Y/N thought happily, they really, truly do.

~~~~~~~~

After the May Ball was over, and the sky was growing darker with the coming evening, Jimmy and Y/N walked around the grounds of the venue together, talking about anything and everything and sharing laughs.

The lighthearted mood took a drastic shift at one of Jimmy’s followup questions.

“So, Y/N, if you don’t mind me asking, what was the whole row between you and Sam about?”

Y/N flashed a sad smile, but it quickly faded as she took a deep exhale. “Well—”

Panicked, Jimmy took this as a cue that she didn’t want to talk about it. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I get it because of how heated it was. I’m just worried about you, is all,” he interrupted.

“No, it’s okay. Really. I trust you,” she replied with a pursed lip-smile. Jimmy returned the sentiment, internally relieved that Y/N had already seemed to take a liking to him.

“Alright, so about a year or so ago, I went to a Yardbirds gig at the Crawdaddy Club, a few months after I met the band for the first time. Paul asked me out after that show, and nobody told me he was married, so naturally, I accepted.”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, love. What a shitty thing to do, especially to someone as wonderful as you,” Jimmy replied with a little flush, giving the girl a little rub on the small of her back.

Heat rippled throughout Y/N’s body at his touch. Regaining her composure, she sighed. “Thank you Jimmy. That means a lot. More than you know, actually.”

After a short silence, Y/N continued. “We went out for about eight months...and in retrospect, it now makes sense why I could never go over to his place. But anyway, I found out about it before the band played on Ready, Steady, Go in February. Keith, Jeff, Jim, and I were all talking at the front of the stage before rehearsals and it slipped.”

“Who ended up telling you?”

“Jim, but it was purely an accident.” Suddenly, all of the events that had happened between her and Jim guiltily flooded her mind. Now with Jimmy beginning to infiltrate her mind and cloud her vision, how was she supposed to genuinely enjoy the secrecy? Ah shit, she thought, here we go again.

“After the show, I confronted him about it,” Y/N continued, “and he was blaming me for our time together, a-and for ‘tempting’ him into asking me out just by being… me?”

“He seems like a right wanker, I can tell you that for sure,” Jimmy muttered, sliding his hand from its resting place on her back, to her shoulder, squeezing it lightly in solidarity. Y/N met his eyes then, tears filling her gaze, and Jimmy frowns. No one as lovely as her should be feeling this way. He smiles at her, and to Y/N, it is filled with comfort and appreciation. Some emotion… something akin to love, perhaps, lit a fire in her chest, and she looks away. The evening ambience does nothing to hide the traitorous blush that painted her cheeks.

“It’s getting quite dark out, love. How did you get here?” Jimmy asked, stealing another glance at a girl as she looked down at her ballet flats once more.

“I took the train, actually,” Y/N replied.

“Oh, so did I! Here, I’ll walk with you over to the station then.”

Y/N grinned at him. “That’s so kind of you, Jimmy. Thank you.”

“No problem, love. What’s your stop?” Jimmy asked as they began to make their way over to the station.

“St. Alban’s. How about you?”

“Epsom. I still live with my parents, I’m afraid,” he chuckled sheepishly.

“Oh, it’s okay!” she laughed with him, “so do I. It’s nice though, to still live with your parents… home-cooked meals and laundry and all. Plus sleeping in your own bed, and using your own bathroom, of course.”

“Those are very good points,” Jimmy agreed with a chuckle.

The two boarded the train once they got to the station, only waiting on the platform for a few minutes. They continued to talk all the way to St. Albans, where Y/N got off to walk home.

“Say you’ll see me again sometime soon, Y/N,” Jimmy half-asked, half-declared as she stood up to get off the train.

Y/N grinned at him. “I definitely will, Jimmy. It was so nice meeting you tonight...I loved getting to know you.”

“The feeling is mutual, love. Please stay safe and take care of yourself, okay?” he reached out his hand to grab Y/N’s, shaking it a little and smiling at her. Y/N nearly swooned at the gesture.

“I’ll try my best. You do the same as well. Have a good night!”

“Thank you, you too!” Jimmy waved as Y/N walked out the train’s doors. Her scent, a delicious mixture of vanilla with a hint of laundry detergent, lingered in the air as she passed by, weakening him both physically and his rational judgment.

He had a lot of thinking to do on the ride home.

————

Taglist: @blood-on-blood @reincarnated70sbaby

#that's the way #jimmy page #the yardbirds #led zeppelin #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #led zeppelin fanfic #classic rock fanfic

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static-fanatic-1 · 5 years ago

Text

Tattooed-Uvogin

(Tattoo Soulmate AU- Where tattoos are shared by soulmates, if a soulmate dies then the other looses their ability to have nen and the tattoo disappears. I love soulmate AU's, they're fun. Also when Uvogin gets the spider tattoo he will be 24.)

(Female Reader)

College is usually portrayed in two ways, absolutely fantastic where breaking into song is the norm, or a horrid experience akin to horny Lovecraftian creatures. In this case the song song type of college is the norm.

Most individuals in college receive a tattoo, whether it be their own or their soulmates. Usually it is a happy occasion when that happens. Most would flaunt their new mark and spit out how much they wanted to meet their soulmate, but (y/n) was an exception.

Junior year, the hope of a new age of adulthood quickly coming up. The twenty-two old started to strip. Why strip? Well because she had decided to wait her junior year to get her athletic credit, and because she wanted to see a tattoo if she were to get one. But the first reason is what people think. Practically tearing off the jacket she wore and tossing it onto a bench, (y/n) jumped at the sudden shrieks and hollers from across the room.

"Lilith! Holy shit look!" Deciding to see what the commotion was about, (y/n) leaned over to watch the event unfold. On her lower back, almost covered by her shoulder length blonde hair, was a beautiful koi tattoo. As if swimming the splash of blue, orange and cream colors contrasted beautifully with her deep skin tone.

"What?! Oh my god show me!" Lilith squealed, pushing away girls to get to the nearest mirror. The brightest smile decorated her pink lips and when she finally saw the new mark on her shoulder, she waved around her hands and jumped with unrivaled joy. "I can't fucking believe it!"

"Do you think he just turned 21? Like today's his birthday or something?" Another girl exclaimed, staring at the inked shin with awe.

"Probably! Most people get them when they turn 21. God I'm so excited! I'm posting this everywhere to see if someone answers."

More girls crowded around Lilith, the light tapping of gentle fingers bringing (y/n) back to her senses. Turning around the female met with her dearest friend. "What?"

"Ms. Venal will snap at us if we aren't ready, best not to get on her bad side again. She might make us do push-ups for a warm up again." The soft voice and her light brown hair and eyes pairing nicely with her shy personality.

"Oh shit you're right." Swiftly (y/n) moved back to the back of the locker room, pulling off her pants at the same time. Replacing them with gym shorts with the school logo she quickly followed by her favorite shirt.

Grabbing the school shirt she jumped when someone grabbed her shoulders from behind. "(Y/n)! Your back!"

Before (y/n) could protest she was pulled to her friends locker with a hand mirror shoved in her face. Hesitantly she grabbed it and moved it around her face, trying to see what Jessy was talking about. Finally, a large dark tattoo revealed itself on her lower back, spider legs and a white eleven in the center.

"Looks like a spider, but with twelve legs? Weird." Jessy replied, lightly tracing the many legs now inked into her friend's skin. "You seem... disappointed? (Y/n) you good?"

(Y/n) shrugged, surprisingly it was underwhelming compared to what she thought it would be like. I mean the weird spider on her back was the key to finding her soulmate right? Yet it still felt like a normal school day. "Kinda underwhelming I guess."

"Hey (y/n), you got one too? I honestly thought you wouldn't get one." The snarky voice of Lilith echoed in the locker room, a new hand placing itself on (y/n)'s shoulder. "A spider, really?"

(Y/n) gritted her teeth, Jessy moving to put on the last of her clothes. "They probably just like spiders, so what?"

"Looks like they don't know how to count, that's sad." Lilith remarked, poking at the inked flesh. "Didn't you get a tattoo not too long ago, what was it again?"

"A (favorite animal)." (Y/n) mumbled grabbing her school shirt and putting it on.

"Wow, classic."

(Y/n) pretty much had enough of this and turned to the blonde with vigor. Placing a figure on the new koi fish tattoo. "Wow, classic cunt."

The blonde scoffed, but was quickly interrupted when the teacher called out. "Girls, hurry up or you all are going to do more push-ups!"

Lilith mumbles underneath her breath, venomous words that didn't pass (y/n). "Go fuck yourself." She had said.

In a last ditch effort to get some satisfaction, the (h/c) haired girl turned to the blonde and smiled. "After you."

Man school was just dandy.

~~~

For some reason the drive home felt longer than usual, the songs uninteresting and slow. But that didn't stop the sigh of relief when entering her home. Maybe telling her parents about the tattoo would bring up her spirits? They always wanted to see what it would end up being.

"Momma! I'm home!" (Y/n) yelled, letting the fact sink in to any occupants.

She walked into the kitchen, grabbed a snack, and paused. Her dad, usually sitting with his back straight and glasses on, now held his lenses with his face in his hand. "Hey dad, you're home early. Everything alright?"

Swiftly his head shot up, (h/c) hair messy unlike usual. "Huh? Oh, yeah yeah I'm fine, just a lot of work is all. We're still trying to find who stole Ruby Red, that jewel is worth a few billion Jenny."

The man's daughter pulled a chair and sat down across from him, opening her snack to start eating it. "I still can't believe someone was able to take it, isn't the security pretty high?"

"Yup, and Ruby Red wasn't the only thing they took. They took a few other gems too." Her mother butted in, placing a kiss upon her husband's cheek. "Whoever did it defiantly had help, you're dad placed too many security guards for it to have been one guy."

(Y/n) furrowed her brows, the fact it was more than one person sans all too surprising, but how did they get past the armed guards in the first place? "So what exactly happened? Like to the guards I mean."

"Well... that's just it. We don't know." The dad rubbed the back of his neck, trying to relieve the tension that had built. "They just vanished... poof, gone. No sign of a struggle, no blood, all of it gone."

The mother removed her hand and pulled up a chair, sitting down and taking a sip of whatever is in her mug. "Yeah, pretty crazy stuff. I've been looking through the cameras and I think they have been tampered with. Whoever took the merchandise wasn't a rookie. They knew what they were doing."

"Who do you guys think did it? The mafia?" The daughter asked, looking at both her parents.

"A new group has been floating around, something called the Phantom Troupe. They are pretty much the worst of the worst." The brunette mother replied, placing her cup down and getting more comfortable.

"Worse than the mafia?" (Y/n) questioned.

"Pretty much, this gang took out the entire Kurta clan just a few months ago. They took their eyes and everything." There was a pause, easily taken up by the gravity of the situation her parents were in.

Her father butted in. "Anyway, anything happened at school? How's Jessy doing, she can come over for dinner tonight too. Martha said she was making lobster claws and steak."

"Ah, well, Jessy's doing fine and I'm sure she'd love to come over again. I'll go ahead and text her." (Y/n) pulled out her phone and did just that, asking if her friend wanted to come over again.

"What else, I feel like your hiding something." Martha asked, leaning closer to her daughter with a sly smile.

Small bits of sweat started to form on her brow, right now didn't exactly seem like a good time to talk about an odd tattoo. "Well I cursed someone out, that was fun."

Her dad groaned and rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh my god was it that Lilith bitch again?"

"Edgar!" Martha snapped, slapping the man on his shoulder and she lightly scolded him. The both of them knew their daughters relationship with that girl. All they had to say is if the coward ever threw a punch, to lay her ass on that ground. (Y/n) was still waiting for her to throw it.

A small ping from a phone ringed, the daughter pulling hers out and slightly smiling. At least when Jessy comes over she would have emotional support over the weird tattoo. "Yeah, it was her again. Anyway, mom do you want any help, Jessy said she would come over."

"Sure, honey. I'd like that."

~~~

The air was tense, sweat slowly forming on (y/n)'s brows as her dearest friend babbled on and on about her early day bravery. "Lilith couldn't say a word to us for the rest of the day! It was hilarious." Jessy boasted, laughing at the sense painted in her head.

Though Martha and Edgar looked at their daughter dumbfounded. "Sooo, is there a reason why you didn't tell us about your new tattoo?" The mother asked, leaning on her elbow with her head in her hand.

"Ah, well you know, it's kinda embarrassing."

"Seriously, you didn't tell them?!"

"I said it's embarrassing!" (Y/n) reinstated, moving her hands in front of her face to attempt stopping the forming blush.

"So! Show us!" Martha exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

(Y/n) grumbled a bit and stood up from her chair, lightly pulling up the back of her shirt. On her lower back the sideways spider laid, twelve legs spread out for the world to see.

Silence followed, the air thicker than it once was. "Yeah, it's a little weird. Honestly it was underwhelming getting it." (Y/n) tried to release the growing tension with a light laugh, though it didn't do much.

"Y-Yeah, it is a little weird isn't it?" Edgar had replied, moving to lightly trace his fingers on the inked skin. "Well I don't think most people have twelve-legged spiders on their backs so it shouldn't be too difficult to find out who this guy is."

~~~

Those words meant so much now, after seeing the news talk about Ruby Red's disappearance and how it was linked to a group of mass murderers, the words felt heavy.

Changing to homeschooling was the first thing to happen, as having people see such a dangerous tattoo could endanger your family. Hunters would travel far and wide to catch the soulmate of a Phantom Troupe member, to sell or kill them for the highest price tag. So being around other reckless students was a big no-no.

Next was their home, moving to the outskirts of York New city to start fresh, where no one would know who they were. Getting a new job wasn't too difficult for Martha and Edgar, as security personnel was important everywhere.

Though (y/n) herself wasn't allowed a job, too risky they would say. And Jessy, well at least she was still there. The friend would visit every so often to catch up, and texting each other became an everyday occurrence.

It had been five years since that dinner, and now fear and anxiety ruled over (y/n)'s life. Walking on the streets it seemed every passerby was a possible hunter, just waiting to catch her and slit her throat.

(Y/n) could only trust Jessy and her parents.

The ringing of a phone smacked the female from her train of thoughts, papers she was once working on discarded. Picking up the device and placing it on her ear, a sweet voice rang with an excited undertone. "Yo, (y/n). Whatcha up to?"

A delicate smile pulled at the (h/c) haired lips. "Fine, just doing mom and dads paperwork. Kinda the only job they'll let me have."

There a was a light hearted laugh on the other side of the phone. "Well I'm going to have a few days off of work it you want to meet up and have a few drinks. I'll be coming in sometime tomorrow evening if you want to meet up then?"

"I'd love to, I'll just have to ask mom and dad, you know how they are."

"Yeah, can't blame them though. I mean it's scary."

"Yeah... I'll call you a little later with an answer okay? See you later Jessy, tell me when you get here and I'll pick you up from the airport."

"Alright, sounds good to me! Bye-bye!"

"Bye." Her smile faded when the phone call ended, at least it wouldn't be too bad. Now she just had to get on her knees and beg her parents.

Searching through the apps on the phone she ended up on the calling one, but paused. 'I'll just ask them when they get home, I'll drive over there soon.' Tossing the electronic on her bed (y/n) sighed and leaned back in her seat.

~~~

After plenty of begging and a semi-long drive to the airport, the now ecstatic girls drove around the city to wherever this bar was.

"Okay okay, (y/n), don't get mad at me but I invited a few other friends." Jessy timidly said, scrunching her body as close as possible to her seat.

"Who?" Was all said, making the other girl all the more afraid of an anxious outburst.

"Just a girl I met the bar once, her name is Shizuku. She said she's bringing another friend over, another girl. Don't worry though she's a bit of an airhead, an absolute sweetheart once you get to know her." Jessy relaxed, not noticing any changes with her friend's behavior. "Sorry I wanted to tell you but if you told Edgar and Martha they probably wouldn't have let you go! I just really wanted to hang out with you."

"Don't worry, mom and dad don't have to know." (Y/n) turned and gave a small wink before turning back to the road.

Jessy sighed, relieved to finally have some fun without much worry. "Oh oh! Right here!" The car slowly drove into the parking lot, the two searching for a spot to park. "Oh! They're over there." The two girls exited and quickly made their way to another pair.

The first girl Jessy walked to and hugged had shoulder length black hair and large round glasses. Large, plum doe like eyes gazed at (y/n) with innocent intrigue. Her casual wear consisting of a long black sleeved shirt and black shorts complimented her hourglass body type. She honestly looked adorable.

The other was a blonde clearly taller than her ravenette friend. Calculating eyes, short hair in a bob and a hooked nose gave her a demanding audience. The woman wore a red, low cut baby doll dress that ended on her mid thigh, and black heels making her even taller.

"Okay guys, this is (y/n), she's been my friend ever since middle school." Jessy placed her hand on the girl's shoulder, (y/n) shyly waving and saying hello. "And (y/n) this is Shizuku and her number two, Pakunoda." They too did the same thing.

"Alrighty! Now that we have all the introductions out of the way!" Exclaimed Jessy, grabbing (y/n)'s hand and waving for the other two to follow. "Let's get absolutely trashed!"

Pakunoda snorted and followed, all four of them entering the not-so-much-a-bar-as-it-is-a-club building.

Jessy grabbed a table, putting some of her things down to mark it as her own. "I'll go ahead and get something to get this party started! Anything in particular you guys want?"

Shizuku places a finger on her chin, deep in thought. Pakunoda wrapped an arm around the ravenette and shook her head. "Surprise us."

(Y/n) quickly waved her hands. "Don't get me something strong, I'll be the designated driver." She laughed, Shizuku finally making up her mind.

"Something fruity!"

She did somewhat seem like an airhead.

After plenty of drinks for the four, and pleasant conversation between the girls, Jessy was finally breaking under the alcohol. Her slim build swaying even when she sat in the booth's chair. "Y'all wanna hear a funny story? Or at least its funny to me." She slurred.

Pakunoda, sitting on the outside of the curved booth, leaned in. "Sure." Elbow now on the table and head in her hand. A delicate smile etched onto her lips, her eyes calculating as an extra hand served her drink.

(Y/n) listened to her start talking about Lilith, the old school bully having many stories about her. "I'm going to go to the restroom." She tapped Jessy's shoulders and moved over and out of the conversation.

Shizuku listened carefully to the slurring female, Pakunoda doing the same. Slowly the story became interesting, talking about receiving tattoos and snapping at the girl named Lilith.

But more importantly, a tattoo received on a lower back. (Y/n)'s lower back.

By the time said female returned all had paused, both Shizuku and Pakunoda silent but attentive. Jessy moved over to let her friend back in the booth they had claimed, Pakunoda placing a slender arm across her shoulders. "You have quite the temper don't you?"

Remembering what they had been talking about, the comment didn't surprise (y/n) all that much. "Lilith? Haha, yeah I hated her. She was difficult to deal with, always trying to one up everyone." (Y/n) waved her hand around to dismiss her temper, truly she couldn't stand people like Lilith. "Don't worry I'm much better now." Again she lightly laughed.

"You seem like it, you're so shy. I honestly didn't expect a story like that." Paku replied, leaning in a little closer.

"Which one was it? I've kinda snapped at her a lot."

"The one where ya' finally got yer tattoo~!" Jessy replied, sandwiching the poor girl between the two.

(Y/n)'s entire body went rigid, her breathing slightly labored by her hammering heartbeat. 'No, no, no Jessy couldn't have told that story, she wouldn't. She knows how dangerous it is for me already, telling people would make it worse!'

She would be hunted by hunters and the Phantom Troupe alike if the wrong people were to find out.

Doing her best to relax, her shoulders not so tense anymore. "Ye-Yeah, it's a bit of a strange one but I don't mind it too much. What time is it?"

Shizuku looked at her phone, her mouth wishing to yap about how Uvogin would love the girl. Or how Uvogin is just a call away from finding his soulmate. OR ANYTHING RELATED! But alas, the bone crushing grip placed on her thigh along with straight up saying it earlier, told her to shut it.

Now with a pouting face she checked the time. "It's 12:48."

Mumbling a short 'shit', (y/n) grabbed her purse and stood up. "Sorry! I was supposed to go home an hour ago!" She examined her phone with a pale face, not just from her tattoo being revealed, but the endless messages from her parents. "Does anyone need a ride?"

Jessy leaned in more, her lips ghosting (y/n)'s ear. "I would love to ride."

Pushing her drunk friend off, (y/n) made her way out of the booth, Jessy wrapped in her arms as the girl stumbled. "You two?"

Shizuku lifted her finger, her mouth opening to speak, but was quickly stopped when a hand smacked itself on her lips. "Don't worry about us." Paku replied, waving a dismissive hand.

"Al-alright. Well we'll be off then, take care!" Quickly grabbing her things, and Jessy, the two slipped out of the club.

Shizuku smacked Paku's hand away and pushed up her glasses. "What was that for?!"

Pakunoda shifted out of her seat, looking around at the other inhabitants of the establishment. "You were going to say something about Uvo, weren't you?"

The ravenette pursed her lips and turned away, scooting out of the booth as well. "So what if I was? It wouldn't stop us from getting her anyway." Whined the girl.

"It would have made getting her harder, she's already cautious of everyone." The two girls exited the bar, stopping to watch (y/n)'s car drive away. "Besides it won't be too difficult for Shalnark to find her."

"Didn't you touch her?" Shizuku pushed her glasses up once more, turning to wonder off to home base.

"Of course, she was very anxious the entire time, and she was weary of us from the beginning."

The ravenette hummed, both wondering through the lit up city. Smoke polluted the air of the alleyways they traveled through, the moonlight basking the criminals in an ethereal glow. The alleyway became too quiet, the once light sounds of buzzing insects feasting on the dumpsters silenced.

The girls stopped, looking at the empty sidewalk in front of them. They could sense two individuals, on in front of them and the other behind. Were the stalkers going to try and jump them? Did they know who they are? Well it doesn't matter, the stalkers will be dead soon.

"Well well well," A gruff voice echoed from behind. "Looks like the butterflies flew into the spider's web. How about you two be sweethearts and tell me about that friend of yours? The one with the (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes."

Shizuku turned around to face the man, noting the switch blade open and poised in his hands. "He has a knife, Paku."

The man 'tsk'ed slowly walking closer to the girls. Paku stared straight ahead, the other stalker finally revealing himself, a scrawny man with a baggy shirt and large knife.

Pakunoda sighed and pulled out her revolver, aiming straight between the scrawny man's eyes. "Never bring a knife to a gun fight." A quick pull of the trigger and a loud bang caused the man to fall over, a small hole oozing blood and smoke between his glossy orbs.

Shizuku summoned Blinky and with a quick bonk on his head, the gruff voiced man collapsed to the ground.

"Shizuku, is he dead?"

"I didn't hit him that hard." With a hum and a finger on his neck. "Nope, he's alive."

"Good." She swayed over to the man and placed a hand upon his cheek. A rush of memories and emotions entered her mind, like the ripples in water. "They weren't alone, they called others before following us. We should hurry before they find her first."

"They'll kill her won't they?"

"Probably."

"Uvogin would loose his nen if that happened, hmm, we can't let that happen."

Nothing new happened after their encounter, the dark streets now baron by the late night and the rundown buildings. Turning the corner to enter the hideout, a face revealed itself, young and distressed, their thin black brows furrowed.

No words were exchanged, the girls entering without a care. A sigh left the short man's lips as he walked with them into the church. "Machi had a feeling again. What happened?"

Shizuku hopped her way onto a pile of rubble and sat down with an impassive expression. "We were attacked by some thugs on our way back. Though, it was more like a one-way-massacre."

The entire Troupe was in the broken down office building, there were preparing to infiltrate a museum filled with priceless artifacts, but it might have to be postponed.

Feitan didn't look at Shizuku, already knowing her information may very well be useless. "Paku?"

"Shizuku's friend brought a number two as well, she just so happened to be a soulmate." Pakunoda teased, crossing her arms.

The small group playing cards stopped, even Chrollo averted his eyes from his book of interest. Feitan's brows lifted slightly, probably in surprise.

"Ah! That happened too."

Franklin snorted, placing down his cards and shifting to face Paku. Shalnark, Nodunaga, Machi, Kortopi, Bonolenov, and Franklin were huddled up in a small circle playing cards, though the game was now paused. Uvogin, the secret star of the show, was rooting for Nodu to finally win a game. "Who?"

A delicate smirk etched itself on her features, a slender finger pointing to the bear-like man sitting behind Nobunaga.

With that action taken, the bear-like man grabbed Nobunaga and wrapped his arm around his head. The other hand pulling out the ponytail and messing up his hair as a boisterous laughs echoed throughout the building.

Franklin smacked a hand on Uvogin's shoulder and congratulated them, Nobu yelling for Uvo to let go. Once he finally let him go, the shorter man smacked Uvo.

Uvogin didn't exactly care, all he knew is that his soulmate was found and that she was his next target. "Keep talking Paku." Uvo kindly ordered, curiosity taking hold.

"Well she's pretty cute, (h/l) (h/c) hair, bright (e/c) eyes. She's pretty attentive." Pakunoda waved her hands around, finding a seat on the opposite side of the large room.

Another hearty laugh escaped the bellows of his chest. "Finally! Took her long enough." He exclaimed, clapping and rubbing hands together. "Where is she?"

Pakunoda shrugged. "Her name is (y/n) (l/n), Shal will have to figure that out."

Chrollo hummed, grabbing the attention of the room. "Uvo, once you find out where she lives I want you to get her, it would be a shame if you lost your nen." He paused and placed a bookmark in his spot. "Paku does anyone else know?"

The blonde nodded her head. "Yes, the thugs overheard and called a few of their friends. I don't know how many."

Chrollo hummed once more, leaning in a bit closer to the group. "Once Shal figures out her whereabouts I want you and Nabu to go with Uvo. And be cautious, we don't know how strong the hunters will be."

Uvogin laughed, hands on his hips as he threw his head back. "I will."

"Found her!" Shalnark yelped, a bright smile stretched across his cheeks. "(Y/n) (l/n), lives in the New Found Apartment Complex about three blocks from her parents. Oh! Edgar and Martha (l/n), they work as security managers for the museum we were targeting." Shalnark excitedly exclaimed, waving his phone around in the air. "I'll send you the address, Uvo."

Feitan quirked an eyebrow. "She might know which hunters were hired to protect the exhibit."

Chrollo hummed once more, returning to his book with a calm expression. "That might be the case, if so then there we could be better prepared." The sultry voice of the boss explained further her use, not just for Uvogin but the entire team.

Uvogin cracked his knuckles, waving to Nobunaga and Pakunoda to follow. "Consider it done."

~~~

(Thats it everyone! Sadly Wattpad allows for larger chapters so this will be put into two parts to accomadate.)

#yandere uvogin #uvogin x reader #uvogin #yandere phantom troupe #yandere uvogin x reader #tattooed part one #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh

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yeojaa · 5 years ago

Text

( SWEET MAGNOLIAS. )

He was your unlikely muse; you were the weird girl in the park. Could you make it any more obvious?

pairing. myg x named f!reader. s2l.

genre + rating. college!au. fluff, angst, smut. explicit.

tags / warnings. light cussing, yoongi being rightfully weirded out, a whole lotta softness, sadness if you squint at the right times, body painting, and then, of course, the most tender, dumbest lovemaking (unprotected but don’t be silly like them!). there’s also a really bad callback to the titanic. i’m not sorry. lol.

wc. 8.2k

You try not to stare for too long, sweeping your gaze in wide circles so as to be as inconspicuous as possible. You try not to let your eyes linger, follow the contours of his cheeks - soft, pronounced when he smiles - or the shape of his mouth - delicate, petal pink. You try not to make it weird - but it’s decidedly, very weird.

You just can’t help yourself.

He’s always here around this time, laid out on a worn red blanket. Sometimes, he reads. Books like The Alchemist and the Stranger and once, Dante’s Inferno. Other times, he pops a pair of headphones on - oversized, intimidatingly large over his ears - and closes his eyes. Most rare of all, is when he’s not alone, joined at the hip by at least one other boy and on occasion, an entire group of six.

They’re all interesting in their own ways.

There’s one with shoulders the size of boulders, a mountain range situated beneath his shirts. He has a weird laugh that sounds like windshield wipers and your mother’s spring cleaning routine. He yells a lot and even across the lawn, you can sometimes make out his voice.

There’s the tallest one, with kind eyes and dimples so deep you question if there’s treasure buried in them. He reads a lot, too. You’ve seen him in the library more times than you can count, always dutifully tucked away in a back corner surrounded by scattered looseleaf. Despite the course load he seems to have taken on, you’ve never seen him lose his cool. You have seen him lose his phone, though, and pencils and textbooks and AirPods.

There’s Hoseok, whose name you only know because he held your hair once at a fall sorority party. You hadn’t been drinking but somehow, somehow, your roommate had convinced you to apple bob with her. He’d been gracious enough to help you out, fisting your hair in a gentle grip. It’s what spurred you to now always have an elastic on your wrist.

There’s the dancer. He’s slight and even in stillness, far more graceful than you’ll ever be. He’s got pillowy lips and hair that gleams like silk. You’ve sketched him too, once or twice, but never more. It just didn’t feel right - as if you’d never be able to translate that sort of beauty onto paper.

There’s the one from your Art 340 Drawing II class. You’ve wondered, on more than one occasion, how come he isn’t the model. He’s got perfect proportions - defined jaw, strong nose, cheekbones carved from marble. It’s almost off-putting seeing him in person; it feels far more fitting for him to be displayed in a museum, with a plaque that reads Perfection, Mixed Media.

There’s the youngest one, Jungkook. They call him maknae despite the fact that he dwarfs nearly all of them. Maybe it’s just the clothes he wears: boots that look like they’d break your neck and everything in slightly darker shades of black. You run into him at least four times a week - trading greetings at the campus coffee shop and at the library. You’re practically best pals by college standards.

And then, of course, there’s him. Your muse. The one you can’t help but stare at - even when you’re trying your hardest not to. The one who wears glasses though you’re almost certain he doesn’t need them. The one whose smile is more gums than teeth, who looks unassuming and yet often breaks out into the strangest, most inspired dance moves you’ve ever seen. The one who plays recreational basketball on Tuesday nights and who drinks more coffee than you think should be humanly possible.

Min Yoongi.

You sketch him like you’ll never see him again, dragging charcoal strokes across paper until your hand is muddied and the curve of his ear is looking worse for wear. You repeat lines over and over, turning the mop of his hair into ringlets and waves, weaving dimension through the india ink that spills over his eyes. You sometimes add his glasses; you’re quite fond of the look on him.

You paint him sometimes, too, imagining how he’d look with periwinkle blue hair, or maybe dressed in shades of maroon. You swath him in textured fabrics and lovely watercolours, turning him into a fantasy that’ll never see the light of day. Pretty little daydreams with him fixed at the centre.

You fill your pages with his figure, the way he smiles when Hoseok does something silly or how he joins in when Jungkook laughs. You study every bit and piece, learning him in every admiring way you can - despite the fact that you don’t really know him at all.

It’s a staggering lesson in futility but one you take almost daily, armed with pencil and paper and not a single ounce of common sense.

That is, until you’ve done the stupidest thing imaginable.

No, not getting caught. Not in the traditional sense, at least. He hasn’t realised you sit on your bench - yes, your bench, with the sticky metal arm rest and illegible initials scratched into the back - and watch him almost every day. You thank your lucky stars for that.

What you’ve done is much worse - punishable by death by embarrassment.

You have no fucking clue where your sketchbook is.

You could’ve sworn you had it in your bag when you’d returned to your room last night. You can’t imagine you would’ve left it anywhere in the open, orphaning it on a campus full of idiots. You were always so careful. You don’t just lose things.

“I think it’s gone, girl.” You’ve never wanted to yell at your roommate more - not even when you’d caught her and her boyfriend banging in your bed after you’d come home early on the long weekend or when she’d eaten all of your Cherry Garcia ice cream. The desire bubbles about in your chest, fizzing angrily like an agitated soda bottle.

“It’s here somewhere.” The words grit between your teeth, insistent as can be.

“You’ve been looking for like, twenty minutes.”

“It’s here.”

“I really don’t think it is…” Jisoo doesn’t quite deserve how you explode, rounding on her with hands flying and eyes wild. “You’re also going to be late for your class.”

Your words falter with the verbalisation of hers.

Lucky for her; unlucky for you.

The hands of the clock above your desk wave at you mockingly. You are, indeed, going to be late for your class.

“Shit! Shit!” Everything you’d torn out gets shoved back into your tote bag. Band-Aids, mints, too many wayward pencils and pens. You almost forget your phone, attention only drawn to it when Jisoo catches the strap of your backpack and yanks you back.

“Don’t forget,” she hums, far more kindly than your harebrained self deserves.

You forget all the reasons you’re upset with her. “Thanks, Ji.” You force a kiss on her cheek before you’re darting out of your room and sprinting across campus to Art 340.

“Nice of you to join us, Miru.” It’s your professor greeting you as you run in fifteen minutes late, weaving through other students to find your seat near the far wall. Laughter follows you, coiling around your ankles and over your shoulders as you settle into your seat, fully hidden behind the oversized easel.

You can’t help the scarlet that paints your cheeks, creeping high across your temples. You know no one cares - that Professor Kinsella is probably the most laidback professor you’ve had in your four semesters - but it can’t be stopped. You’re already flustered from temporarily misplacing your sketchbook that everything else just feels like shit icing on your garbage cake.

“Sorry!” It squeaks out - a mouse, eaten up wholly by cat-ate-the-canary laughter that sounds over your shoulder and not very quietly.

“Having a bad day?”

You’ve heard the voice a handful of times so it shouldn’t shock you the way it does, nearly knocking the graphite from your hand.

“What?”

Kim Taehyung’s on the edge of his chair, one long leg stretched toward you, the other balanced across his knee. You’re not sure how that’s meant to be comfortable but he makes it look effortless. Then again, looking like him, living probably was effortlessly. You can’t deny you’re a little envious.

“Your face is all red. You’re out of breath. Feels like a bad day to me.”

You try not to dwell on the fact that, apparently, you look like an absolute mess. “No, I’m good.” It sounds fake even to your ears, tinny and wrought with anxiety.

“You sure?” He’s not really paying attention to you as he speaks, tracing the contours of the model across his canvas. He begins where you’d never think to, framing the main masses with a languid twist of his wrist. Unlike you, he doesn’t get caught up in the detail; he sees the bigger picture for all it is, building from the outside in.

You’re watching him for longer than you realise, whipping back around once it dawns on you. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“Who knows.” There’s a playfulness in his tone that sets you on edge. You’ve never heard it before, all rounded vowels and molasses laughter. You mean to work as you listen, waiting for some indication of whatever lies just beneath the surface.

It’s a mistake. Your stick of charcoal snaps in half when he continues, low and slow as if he’s dragging it out.

“—maybe you lost a sketchbook?”

“Did you say…” You can’t finish the sentence. You feel like you’re about to be sick.

The amount of mischief in his expression should be illegal. It’s dancing in his eyes, curling wide and unabashed over his lips. It’s practically radiating off of him.

“So, bad day?”

He waits for you to pack up, hands tucked into the endless pockets of his black slacks. At any other time, in any other universe, you’d be giddy. Girls on campus would kill for even a second of Taehyung’s attention.

(It’s true - you’d heard a group of them talking about it one time.)

Here and now, you want to sink six feet under.

“They’re really good, you know.” As if the compliment will dull the mortification that threatens to cleave you in half. “You’re really good at capturing his boredom. That’s not easy.”

“Thanks.” You should make conversation; it’s the polite thing to do.

After all, he was kind enough to find and return your sketchbook. Better him than someone else, right? Better him than Yoongi himself? That’s what you tell yourself, at least.

Yoongi doesn’t know and therefore, it’s okay. Semi okay. Distantly related to the idea of okay.

As if he can read your mind, Taehyung speaks gently, with a hand that burns through the linen of your blouse. You know he means well but it sears white hot, eviscerating your nerve endings. “You have nothing to worry about. I didn’t tell him.”

You don’t answer him. There’s nothing to say - not really. You’re far too lost in your own thoughts to acknowledge the effort he’s making. Maybe this was life’s way of telling you to back off - to find another person to paint.

Or maybe it’s brought you two together, says the silly, naive angel on your shoulder.

You’re ready to flick her off - launch her like some kind of poor Tinkerbell - when your name catches your attention. It’s announced so dramatically that you double take, making sure you haven’t completely run through a picnic or accidentally slammed into someone.

“This is Miru.”

Cognisance comes slow and unhurried, even as your stare swivels wildly in search of context clues.

Laid out before you, right under that familiar magnolia tree, is one blanket, three bodies, and enough takeout to last you an entire week.

“Ohf, phey!” With cheeks stuffed full, it’s hard to make out the two syllables. They crowd against each other, offered in a garbled mess that has you regarding Jungkook with a mixture of concern and confusion. He’s swallowing thickly before he rises far too quickly; you watch a forgotten piece of kimbap go flying, lost to the dirt and bugs. “Sorry. Hi.”

“Do you want to join us?” It’s the angelic one, fitted with cherubic cheeks and a rounded Cupid’s bow. “I’m Jimin, by the way.” He pats the empty space beside him, eyes waning into crescents with the force of his friendliness.

Taehyung had asked if you wanted to grab dinner but you’d never imagined he meant this.

You’ve never been subtle but you try your damnedest to peek at him from your periphery. Unfortunately for you, he’s already sat down, fully made himself comfortable beside the last member of the group.

The one who, for all intents and purposes, appears as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. If looks could kill, you think.

“Don’t worry about him,” Jimin says, so sweetly, with a small bento lid held towards you. It’s already stacked with goodies - a selection of banchan and homemade-looking meatballs sitting alongside a poorly-shaped mound of rice. “Sometimes, he gets like this.”

You want to believe it. Really, you do, but by the way Yoongi’s mouth curls in distaste, all signs point to it being a matter of you rather than a mood.

“Maybe if she respected peoples’ privacy, I wouldn’t have an issue.”

It’s a single sentence quietly spoken and yet it feels like an open-palm slap to the face. Heat radiates over every visible inch, starkly coloured in contrast to the white of your top. It burns as it licks over your cheeks and past your temples, tipping your ears.

“I’m so sorry.” It isn’t clear who you’re apologizing to, the words tumbling wet off your tongue like a waterfall.

You’re gone before anyone can ask.

“That was a dick move.” Jungkook is the first to break the silence, levelling his friend with a disapproving stare. He’s not used to this side of him - the one that can tear a person apart with just a few words. It’s not the Yoongi he knows. It’s not really Yoongi at all.

“Yeah, hyung.” It’s thinner, but just as reproachful. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

Yoongi’s laugh is dismissive but he won’t meet anyone’s stare - a tell-tale sign that he’s just a little affected by their words - choosing instead to shovel bites of soondae into his mouth. “Mean what? Invading my privacy?”

“She’s an artist.” Taehyung doesn’t mean it as an excuse but by how Yoongi bristles, he’s certain the senior takes it as such. Before the argument can begin, he continues, all while wrapping a piece of samgyupsal in lettuce. “I doubt she meant any harm, so just cut her some slack.” Fringe is flicked away from his eyes, something sparkling in the pretty brown of his irises. “I’d actually be flattered, if I were you.”

“Then you be her model.”

You haven’t drawn in four days. Well, not really.

You’ve completed what you need for classes, filling your books with mandatory figures and notes on colour theory. You’ve diligently mapped out proportions and brought to life sunsets and sceneries. You’ve done everything you should be doing but nothing that you want to be.

It just doesn’t feel right. Not anymore.

“I hear he’s a really nice guy.” You can’t count how many times Jisoo has tried to cheer you up. From picking up your favourite ice cream (the one she tends to devour anyway) to ordering in fried chicken, she’s been the picture perfect roommate. It only makes you feel that much worse.

You were moping over something that was your fault. And she had to pick up the pieces! It seemed wildly unfair but when you’d told her to stop - insisted upon it with a wail into your pillow - she’d simply shook her head and wrapped you in her arms.

For all of your stupid, silly little rows, Kang Jisoo was the best roommate you’d had in your entire university career.

“Just go outside.” She’s perched on the edge of her bed, painting her toes a brilliant shade of neon green. She’d offered to do yours too, but you’ve more or less refused to leave the comfort of your burrito blanket for anything beyond classes or food. “You can’t avoid him forever.”

“I can try,” you mumble, words lost to the cotton of your sheets.

Try - and fail, it seemed. You’d already run into him twice. Twice! Even after you’d started taking absurdly long roundabout routes to your classes, the universe had conspired against you.

The first time he’d been walking out of the gym, shoulder to shoulder with another upperclassmen you didn’t recognize. You’d seen him coming from a mile away thanks to his obnoxiously bright Lakers jersey and you’d booked it back the way you’d come, nearly mowing down a couple making kissy faces at each other in front of the lecture hall.

The second time was yesterday afternoon. You’d thought he’d be in his usual spot - so close to your usual spot - that you’d gone to the coffee shop for a midday pick-me-up. Even embarrassed, you weren’t about to suffer a caffeine deficiency. You’d rounded the corner in the same instance he had and you’d sworn he’d seen you, recognition flickering across his face. Fortunately, there’d been a door directly to your right and you’d all but thrown yourself inside.

It was the first and hopefully last time you’d be in a men’s washroom.

“I thought you were tougher than this,” Jisoo hums, equal parts disapproval and kindness. She levels you with a stare - you can feel it burning into your fortress of blankets - and sighs. It’s a bit dramatic, you think.

“Tell me you wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing!”

Then again, she’d probably never be stupid enough to lose something so important nor would she fixate so heavily on one person. Your point still stands.

“Seriously, girl.”

Her nail polish bottle bounces off your bed, tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump. You look up in time to see her staring at you imploringly, so wide-eyed and innocent you can’t help but be a little suspicious. “What?”

“I wanted to have Andy over.”

It all falls into place then. Her boyfriend’s in a frat and your (poor) dorm room is the only place they have any sort of privacy. It makes you want to gag but you can’t blame her. You’ve always had an unspoken agreement; you’d just tossed it out the window the past few days.

Guilt prompts you to extract yourself from your duvet, though you don’t stop the chorus of gross, gross, gross! as you begin gathering your things. You almost leave your sketchbook, only opting to tuck it under your arm at the last minute.

“Please, please, don’t use my bed this time.”

“We love you!” She sing-songs as you tug your sneakers on and slip into the hallway.

You’re at a different bench across campus when you hear the voice. It comes from behind you and to your left, accusatory and sharp. You nearly jump out of your own skin, toppling over your water bottle and plastic paint palette. Orange watercolour soaks into the material on your thigh. Dammit.

“Are you following me?”

Min Yoongi stands not three feet from you, arms folded over his chest.

Your heart stutters at the sight of him. It’s hard to speak when it feels like it’s leapt into your throat.

“What?” You hate how you sound - a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You have nothing to be ashamed of. At least, not right now. You’d come all the way here, as far from the magnolia tree and red blanket as you could.

“I said—” His words are glacial and biting. It’s suddenly winter, far chillier than spring should be. You wish you’d brought a sweater or maybe, that the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You can’t be cold when you’re dead. “—are you following me?”

“Of course not!”

There’s nothing but disbelief in his expression. It paints itself in broad strokes, prominent in the shadows beneath his eyes and the curl of his mouth. He says nothing.

“Really. I’m not.” You’re insistent, apologetic. Every nerve ending is shot, going haywire beneath your skin and lighting you up in shades of red. The tips of your fingers are tingling. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You wonder if he’s baiting you now.

“For…” Words are cherry-picked and perfect, chosen with a shaking head and the utmost care. “I shouldn’t have drawn you without asking.”

“No shit,” he returns, completely deadpan. He’s really not making this any easier.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” you continue, a little hopeful and a lot bashful. “I just— I don’t get inspiration like this that often. So I couldn’t let it go.” You don’t need to add what you do, but you do so anyway, because you’ve never been great at making good choices. “Your face is really unique and when you’re happy, it’s just so expressive and your smile is—”

There’s a siren blaring in your ears. A red alert going off so loudly you almost miss the way he laughs.

It’s not the same one he offers to his best friends - far more reserved, exceedingly softer - but it’s there and it’s real and you don’t think you’ll ever forget this moment.

“You’re laughing.”

He stops immediately. Fair.

“I’m sorry.” Again. More. Draped in apology and optimism that peeks out between your teeth and shines in the dark of your stare. “Even though I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I did, and for that I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

It’s hard to read him, even after you’ve spent hours studying his face. There’s a distinct difference between seeing someone and knowing them, you realize. You might be able to map out every wrinkle of his eyes - replicate every dot and freckle - but you have no idea what it all means or how it comes together to create something more.

Silence fits between the two of you for what feels like a long time. It’s not uncomfortable, though, so you allow it to settle. You figure it’s better than his anger, in any case.

“You could’ve just asked me.”

You can’t wipe the disbelief from your face. “Would you have said yes?”

Yoongi shrugs, a small roll of his shoulders beneath the oversized sweater that dwarfs his frame. “Don’t know, but I would’ve appreciated it.”

Because that’s really what it came down to - the thought, not the action. He’s not entirely sure you understand that yet but he’s willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Blame his softening on the steady repetitions Taehyung and Jungkook have made the past few days. You were lucky to have them in your corner - even if that meant they’d been a thorn in his side.

“Then… can I sketch you?” You’re probably (read: definitely) pushing it. You can’t help it.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or scoff at your audacity. He decides on the former, with a shake of his head that swings his bangs across his forehead and a small, private smile. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” You imagine he can’t hear you as he’s backing away and disappearing the way he came.

“See you tomorrow.”

True to his word, Yoongi lets you draw him the next time you see him (and the next time and the time after that).

It’s different - working off someone who knows they’re being studied. He holds himself a little more stiffly, a little more carefully. His laughter isn’t quite as loud, his smiles more forced. He apologises, even though he doesn’t need to.

Even his untrained eye can see how you struggle to bring life to a robot.

Over time, though, it comes - comfort.

Like the quietly burning coals that melt him down from the inside out, he begins to warm up to you. It comes slowly but it comes nonetheless, as steady as the sun. You appreciate his effort - his patience - more than you can ever say.

You know he gets it, though. He always does. It’s a Yoongi thing.

“You can relax.”

It’s just the two of you, swathed in sweat and waning light that casts shadows across his cheeks. The days are longer than they’ve ever been and the both of you tend to lose track of time, spending hours under that magnolia tree.

“I am relaxed,” he returns, sinking further onto his back, elbows hardly acting to prop him up. He’d been engrossed in a novel for the first half of the afternoon. Another book you’d never bothered to read outside of high school English class. You never really understood it - you much preferred to watch than read - but you loved when he’d recite the words to you, clear and bright and better than any melody.

“You’re trying to stay awake.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No. You’re just as good of a model when you’re sleeping.”

The smile is lazy, hazy like Sunday morning. It reveals his gums and ticks higher on the left side. It makes your heart skip a beat.

“Go ahead then,” he continues. The entirety of his body sags, drops onto the bag he likes to use as a makeshift pillow. You don’t imagine it’s all that comfortable but he never complains.

“If you’re tired, we can just head in, you know.”

You always offer. He never says yes.

A part of you thinks he likes the attention. It’s different from what he receives from anyone else - thoughtful and careful. You think he might like the quiet, too. The benefit of quality time without any of the effort.

So you push on, charcoal edge meeting paper once more. “Just another twenty minutes.”

“Why me?”

The enquiry comes one day, completely out of the blue. It skips your heart and breaks the pastel in your fingers, dust chalking them a lovely shade of lilac.

“What?” You’re not ready for how close Yoongi is - much closer than he ever is - and you shift back, away from the face you’ve spent months filling your sketchbooks with. “Why you what?”

He’s completely nonchalant as he moves even closer.

You can smell his cologne - a distinctly masculine fragrance that’s musk and cedar - and the coffee he’s been nursing for the last hour. It fills your senses, recentring all of your focus so intensely that you don’t immediately recognise he’s continued speaking.

“Why’d you choose to draw me? Why not someone else?” He seems genuinely curious, even though it feels dangerous - a dangling string that’s meant to unravel you.

The answer doesn’t come easily, despite the fact it’s something you’ve asked yourself.

Why him? Why Min Yoongi?

“I don’t know,” you answer, perhaps too honestly. “I saw you and it sort of… just clicked.” How it sounds doesn’t escape you - like something plucked out of a bad romance novel. “I didn’t expect it to be you. I thought I’d draw you once - okay, twice - and then I’d move onto another subject. But I just… couldn’t?”

“So, what you’re telling me is it was love at first sight?” It’s glaringly obvious he’s teasing you. He’s got that grin of his, sly and feline as it creeps across his mouth.

You don’t bristle, instead painted bright red like the sunset that streaks across the sky.

“I— I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, you didn’t say otherwise.”

It’s an uncomfortable line of questioning. You’re not used to it and certainly not from him. You hesitate to speak, turning words over and over on your tongue in an effort to make yourself clear.

You’re not weird. You don’t want this to be weird. But you can’t deny - it’s, decidedly, still very weird.

He tries again - a different tactic this time. One that surprises you, despite the unique friendship you’ve forged over the past few months. “What if I told you I was glad?”

“Glad?” It feels like an echo chamber. Repetition. As if you’re going in circles, chasing a tail that remains just out of reach. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What if I told you I’m happy we met?”

Your blink is owlish, fully caught off-guard. “I’d say the same thing. I’m happy we’re friends.”

Amusement rolls off him in waves, evidenced by the laugh that curls into the afternoon. He shimmies closer and closer until there’s barely three inches between you. His knee knocks against yours, bony and denim-clad. You try to ignore the way it burns through your own jeans, sparking heat all the way up to the tips of your ears and down into the soles of your feet.

“What if I told you I don’t want to be just friends anymore?”

It’s not a surprise, really. It’s something that’s been on your mind the past few weeks, sown by offhand comments and little gestures you haven’t been able to ignore. Jungkook had even practically shouted it at you just the other night.

“I’d say…” You trail off, lost somewhere among the constellations in his eyes.

“You’d say?” The words are parroted back at you, threaded together by gossamer thin hope.

“I’d say you’re welcome. For choosing you.” The confidence isn’t your own. It comes from him, crafted by the support he offers easily, hands out like keys. Keys to his heart, you realise belatedly, with a sudden bashfulness. Of course.

He can’t wipe the smile from his face. It eats up every inch, dominating even the playfulness that shines through, turning it the prettiest shade. It stands bright against his cheeks, staining the pale apples red. “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say?”

You’re suddenly very determined - because you want to give this to him. Just as he’s given you everything you wanted, you want to do the same. In this little cut-out piece of paradise, there’s nothing quite as important.

The one word isn’t much but it feels like a turning point. “Yes.”

“You want me to say ‘yes’?”

He nods, just once. There’s so much certainty you can’t doubt him.

“Then yes—”

It doesn’t matter what you’ve just said yes to. It doesn’t even matter that it could be something awful or really, anything under the sun. All that matters is the feeling of his lips, soft and warm and dry on yours. It’s better than any painting you’ve ever seen, any song you’ve ever heard. It fills you wholly, stuttering your heart and bubbling giddiness in the pit of your stomach.

You probably sound a little silly, surprisingly breathless from such a little thing. “Wow.”

“Good things happen when you ask,” he states, solemnly. You’d take him more seriously if he weren’t so dopey, grinning at you like he never has before.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope.”

Luckily, you don’t mind. Not if it gets you another kiss.

You tell him as much and he happily obliges, stealing your breath and replacing it with sugar-coated stardust. You ponder whether you might be able to create with those same particles, turning them into colourful streaks to paint his cheeks. You’d like to find out.

You want a lot of things with Min Yoongi, you decide.

You don’t know how you ended up here.

Actually, that’s a lie. You do. All because of a dumb joke, uttered in passing by Taehyung and now ingrained so deeply in your psyche that you haven’t gone a single day without thinking about it.

“Get out of there,” he whispers right against your temple, lips following to soothe whatever’s got you preoccupied.

“Where?”

“Right there, idiot.” Fingers tap twice, a quick one-two against the side of your head.

You can’t help but grimace, a wrinkling of your nose that your boyfriend chuckles at, pressing kisses across the bridge and over your cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry - just come back to me.” To this moment, he means.

This strange little scene, with his fingers dressed in non-toxic paint and you stripped down to nothing but a flimsy cotton bra and thong.

Have him paint you like one of his French girls, Taehyung had said. It’ll be fun, he’d said.

You think it might be - if you weren’t bouncing with nerves, all five feet three inches of you fizzling with anticipation. Yoongi was only painting you. This was a bonding exercise. Something to bring you closer, to breach the gap between lovestruck artist and inspired musician. Nothing more.

“You’re beautiful, you know.” It’s not meant to be a reassurance but simply a passing comment, like looking at the sky or seeing it snow. So straightforward it makes you laugh, the sound bubbling about in your throat.

“Thanks, Yoongi.”

“No, seriously.” He levels you with a look. You know the one - a touch stern but ultimately playful. “I wanted to make something beautiful but…” Digits wiggle, Atlantic blue sweeping over the tips and up his knuckles like the sea. “I can’t really improve on something that’s already perfect.”

Your cheeks light on fire, as brilliantly coloured as the red in his - your - palette.

He thinks it looks pretty against his hands. The same ones that cradle your cheek, so precisely you want to remind him you’re a canvas and not clay.

“You’re silly.”

“ You’re silly,” he returns, as if that’ll somehow win him this battle of wits.

The roll of your eyes is undeniable. “Good one.”

“You know, I’ve got a ton of paint, right? Not your best choice, making fun of me.” He punctuates each word with passes of his fingers. Colour appears wherever he travels, dragged over your skin with dreamy twists of his wrist. A line here, a circle there. Goosebumps follow in their wake despite the fact that his touch is like candle wax - soothing and deliberate.

You wonder, idly, whether he can feel you burning up beneath him.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs again, almost to himself as he dips his fingers into another dot of paint. Pink this time - in the same shade as the magnolias outside. He spreads the colour over your chest, right where your heart beats an erratic rhythm.

He takes his time in admiring his handiwork, swirling the two shades together until it’s the most flattering shade of purple.

You try - and fail - to ignore the way it stirs something behind your ribs. A need that flickers to life without any sort of warning and has you pressing your thighs together.

“Can I take this off?” It comes abruptly, with eyes that snap up to yours. There’s already a hand tucked beneath the small of your back, right under your shoulders. He already knows your answer - can see it in the blown out pupils that reflect his entire world back at him. He still wants to hear it.

You’re unable to find your voice. It’s gone, stolen by the way he ghosts his fingers up and down the sensitive notches of your spine. You could get lost in this feeling, if he let you. You almost do, only nodding when he moves no further, flat of his palm a solid weight right against the clasp of your bra.

You don’t mind that the band is coloured pink and blue when he tosses it aside. You don’t have it in you to focus on anything but how he studies you now. Openly admires you, like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.

“What?” Mellifluous and adoring. Music to his ears.

“I think I’m getting distracted.”

“I think so, too.”

“Is that okay?” He speaks more to your boobs than you, single stained hand coming to rest across your ribs. The pad of his thumb swipes over a single bud, perked and already far too sensitive. He’d put his mouth on it, if not for the fact it’s now covered in paint.

Fortunately, there’s still so much of you - places he hasn’t explored but suddenly, desperately needs to.

From the column of your throat and all the way down to the valley of your breasts, he offers sweet kisses. Open-mouthed adoration that leaves you needy and breathless and writing. He catches your untouched nipple between his teeth, gently working it into the same state as its tinted twin.

You shift beneath him, unable to stop the bolt of electricity that rips through you like a thousand volts. It cracks your composure like lightning and sends your pulse racing like thunder. “Of course.”

He hums, content, and nearly falls, dropping his cheek fully against your chest. You’re so soft beneath him, velvet and pliant under his tongue.

“I think I love you.” It’s his voice but your words, spoken so faintly you almost miss it against the roaring in your ears.

“I think I love you, too.”

Yoongi stares up at you then, so full of wonder that you can’t help but look away. It’s an incredibly intimate moment - so much emotion carried in one simple look that you’re not quite sure how to process it. He’d been your inspiration and now you were his. The realisation is almost too much, filling you until you feel like you might float away.

His hands act as an anchor, keeping you here with him.

“You don’t have to say it back.” It’s careful, loaded with his heart and every key to open it.

“I know - I want to.”

He grins so breathlessly handsome that you can’t help but return it, rubied cheeks crystallised with delight. Those same paint-stained hands of his find their newly discovered favourite home of your chest and he sounds like sin when he speaks. “I want you.”

“You can have me.”

It’s all he needs before he’s ducking down and smothering every uncovered inch of you in sweetness. His mouth burns hot but he’s unbearably gentle, searing the shape of his mouth over your breasts and across your collarbone. He licks and sucks as he goes, soothing any ache left behind by the edge of his teeth.

You’re not quite sure where the bites end and the paint begins. It’s all so pretty you don’t mind either way.

But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough, you think, even as you whine airily, words stuttering out in a half-formed breath. “Please touch me.”

“Where?” He’s hardly given you room to answer, crowded so closely against you that you can feel his heartbeat all the way through to your own. He’s so warm - so solid - upon you that you almost want to tell him that here, just as he is, is perfect.

A momentary lapse in lust before rational judgment is clouded yet again.

Instead - and with more demand than you mean - you grind purposefully against him. A benefit to having him sitting how he is, knees hooked on either side of your hips. He can’t pretend like he doesn’t feel it, cock twitching beneath the constraints of his boxer-briefs.

Your eyes meet and he chuckles, nuzzling his head back into that spot between your neck and shoulder that has you whimpering. The sound alone drives him crazy.

“You’ll be the death of me.” Yoongi knows this like he knows the sky is blue or your smile is his favourite sight.

You’re teasing him when you catch his face, palms cradling the shape of his jaw. “Then it’ll be a good death.”

He doesn’t disagree - especially when he slips his clean hand along the length of your body. He tweaks your nipple on its descent, tickles the underside of your ribs, and then finds the band of your underwear, all in one fell swoop. A digit dips below the elastic, neatly clipped nail grazing the jut of your hip before shifting and dropping further.

You keen when the pad of his finger grazes your clit.

“Do that again.” He doesn’t need to tell you twice. When he repeats the motion, the sound spills off your tongue without restraint.

He slips further down, pressing his hand to gently part your folds. Digits glide easily, coated in slick that drips between your legs and sorely tests his patience. Yoongi’s not sure what he’d expected but this is so much better it’s making his head spin - and he hasn’t even felt you yet.

“You’re so wet, love.” Shame would swallow you whole if not for the way he speaks with reverence. “How badly do you want this?”

“Don’t tease,” you huff, rutting uselessly against the fingers that tease your centre, barely slipping in before resuming a lazy, leisurely path back up to the bundle of nerves that throbs at the contact. He’s hardly touched you and you’re already at a six, entire body alight with need that thrums heavy in your veins.

“Just tell me.”

“I want this. I need this.” You hope he believes you. You’re not sure what you’ll do if he doesn’t. “I need to feel you - please.”

His entire world is spinning, kicked on its axis by the way your tone pitches, demands and begs in the same lilting voice he so adores but has never quite heard like this. He loves it. “I need to stretch you out. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You whine so prettily he almost cracks. It’s enough to have him choking on his own words, not that he’s saying anything. He’s too focused on how he sinks into you - a single digit but so tightly it feels like there’s no way he’ll survive his cock buried inside.

You’re a dream come true. He never wants to wake up.

“More. Please.” You’re so polite, he almost laughs. You’d really taken his words to heart - always asking for what you wanted now. He can’t deny how proud he is. It blossoms in his chest, juxtaposed greatly against the salaciousness that drives him to do exactly as you ask.

His index finger slips in alongside the other. You make that noise he loves, grinding your core against the flat of his palm as he curls his knuckles and seeks out that spot. He knows he’s struck gold when he taps it experimentally, pressure turning light but unrelenting when a choked cry ricochets off your tongue and onto his sweat-slicked shoulder.

“Right there?”

Your nod is enough of an answer.

He redoubles his efforts, fucking you with measured glides of his fingers and precise presses against your g-spot. In no time at all, you’re barely coherent, mumbling his name in a slew of breaths that has him grinning. You’re a sight to behold, moaning so obscenely you’d be ashamed you weren’t so preoccupied by the fact that every part of you feels as if it’s about to splinter.

“Miru— Princess—” Your clit aches and you nearly shriek when he applies pressure against it with the pad of his thumb, swiping your cum over it in slow circles. He wants you so badly - just as bad as you want him- but he’s torn halfway between watching you unravel by his hand and wanting that same euphoria when he’s buried home in your dripping pussy.

“Please, please, please.” There are tears in your eyes. You’re so close you can practically taste it, entire body shaking with the effort of keeping the coil from snapping. “Yoongi, please.”

He’s a fucking goner then, filling you with a third finger and grinding his palm against your clit as you come apart beneath him.

It starts in your toes, stealing feeling all the way up your calves and over your thighs. You’re only aware you’re trembling because it vibrates through Yoongi’s body, looped back to yours when he mouths across your shoulders, sucking memories into your heated, sweat-sweet skin. The stimulation is what keeps you from floating off on a cloud of bliss, the warmth in the pit of your stomach liquifying your bones.

“Are you tired?” Because you certainly look tired - too fucked out to properly meet his stare as he looms over you, both hands adjusted to rest comfortably over your hips.

You are, but it doesn't matter. You haven’t gotten what you wanted - not really - and you aren’t about to let it go without asking.

He’d taught you that.

You smile up at him, doe-eyed and alluring. A hand reaches for his, curls around the fingers still glossy with your slick, and squeezes. “I still need you.”

They’re words he’ll never tire of - also words that have him kicking out of his briefs and rolling your thong down your legs, all too eager. He’s painfully hard, leaking pre-cum and purple at the tip, but he fists himself in slow, measured pumps regardless. It’s a show for you, more than anything.

“ Please.” So pretty, so ready. He can’t resist.

Yoongi sinks against you, the head of his cock brushing through your folds as he slots himself into place with his paint-free hand. The other, still coloured garishly bright, brushes the curve of your lip, the delicate skin beneath your eye. It’s so tender you can’t help but blink, caught off-guard.

“I love you,” you say, though you’re sure he’s meant to, too. You can read it in his eyes - brilliant and bright like a beacon in the night.

He speaks with a roguish grin and a fluid press of his hips. “I know.”

You fit like two puzzle pieces, the stretch perfect as he sinks deeper, a low groan sounding from somewhere deep in his chest. You’re so tight around him but he glides in easily, coaxed to fill you by your wetness and the soft, whiny noises you make.

“Holy shit,” he manages once he’s buried as deep as he can go, head spinning with the way you clench around him, nearly stealing the words off his tongue. “Am I dreaming?”

Laughter is a salve - a catch-all remedy for anything that ails him. It pulls him to the here and now, drawing his attention from the overwhelming bliss that creeps up his spine and recentring it on you, beautiful and bashful beneath him.

“No, you’re not.” It’s a caricature of your voice but he doesn’t mind. He loves that he can bring you to this.

“Thank God.”

Except it’s not God you’re thanking when Yoongi begins to move against you, dragging his cock through your walls with such slow, measured strokes you think you might combust. It’s his name when he pulls almost fully out of you, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock, before snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt. It’s his name that rolls off your tongue like a mantra, hoping and praying and begging for more as he consumes you wholly, in no half measures.

It’s him - Min Yoongi, your muse, your love - that has you crying out, pleasure coursing through your veins as he adjusts and fills you at a completely new angle, brushing against your g-spot with every thrust of his hips.

“Yoongi - please.” You’re chanting the two words again, turning them into a song he’ll never get out of his head, when you spasm around him. His eyes nearly roll back into his head, the sensation turning his rhythm sloppy as he chases the same high. The hand that had previously been propping him up falls, thumb seeking out your clit as he charges toward the precipice.

“One more, love. Once more for me, okay? I want you to come with me.”

He asks so nicely you can’t deny him - even as the overstimulation takes over. You’re shaking so badly you’re not sure how he keeps you in place; it’s a tremor that won’t stop, traipsing over every limb until you’re sobbing.

“I love you,” he chokes out as he tumbles over the edge, falling headlong into climax with you in tow. It’s so strong it feels like it blinds you, spotting your vision with white as he fills you with his cum and continues to fuck you through it, milking every last moment just like you were his slowly softening cock.

You don’t have it in you to answer, far too exhausted by the last orgasm that has your limbs turned to jelly. Yoongi doesn’t mind though; he likes the just-fucked afterglow and how you sink into his arms when he slips out of you and onto his side.

He eyes the cum that spills onto your thighs, pearlescent and going to waste. He has half a mind to push it back where it belongs.

He only doesn’t because of the words you speak next, hardly above a whisper but loud enough that he groans, burying his face into your hair. “So, thanks, Taehyung?”

“Can you not?” It’s a playful response, with teeth bared against the sweat-slicked nape of your neck.

“Sorry.” A beat. He wonders if you’ve fallen asleep suddenly. “I meant thanks, Titanic.”

author note. this was a drabble prompt i got from the lovely @hecticwonderer and i kind of just... ran with it. oops.

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commonwealthoccurences · 4 years ago

Text

Such Good Friends

Prompt: Fake Dating Turns Real

Day: 3

Word Count: 2,298

It had started out as a joke.

A prank on Desdemona, really, as Deacon and Sole often pulled, considering it was the most entertainment they could get, staying underground with the Railroad for months at a time. Tinker Tom had made a light comment about the fact that he thought Sole and Deacon were together, and, well, with the way Deacon’s eyes lit up with an idea, Sole knew there was no easy way for them to get out of it.

If they tried to brush off one of his pranks he would often turn to them with pouting eyes, disappointed and whiny, and they didn’t have the energy to deal with that at the moment. So they gave in and casually confirmed that they were together. Deacon sat back and rested an arm on the back of his chair, grinning in satisfaction. He had a new way to torture the rest of the Railroad while they were waiting for the Institute to get off their backs.

And then it just… kept going. Sole fell into such a routine after a month or so that even after they could leave the Railroad HQ, they automatically responded to the questions about them and Deacon being together without question. Of course, they knew internally that Deacon wasn’t with them. He didn’t care for them like that, they were just really good friends that had bonded over some terrible shit that had happened. They were playing a practical joke, that’s all.

Deacon often would sling his arm over their shoulders, both as a way to sell the joke and to tease Sole, who he knew was much more reluctant to be part of this than he was. Sole would wind an arm around him and lean into him, partly playing along with the joke, and another part finding themself craving his company, though they told themself they would never admit that. If they did he’d never drop it.

It was easy to find themself back in this rhythm, sharing the weight of their steps with him as they walked through Goodneighbor, raising a hand to acknowledge the drifters they saw all the time when they were around for work. Deacon didn't say a word about the way they sought out contact first, and simply hooked an arm around their shoulders and smiled. They were a little too good at playing the happy couple sometimes, Sole thought.

They felt empty as soon as they stepped through the gates that led them out of Goodneighbor, Deacon’s arm falling away from them, his form leaving theirs. The distance was ridiculous in their mind, an expanding void that left them cold. God, they felt dramatic. With a subtle shake of their head, they readied their weapon in preparation for returning to the wildness of the Wasteland, and pushed away any thoughts of Deacon. They were friends. That was all they were allowed to be.

When they finally found a place to rest, halfway back to Sanctuary as they needed to speak to Preston, it was in an abandoned house. Sole found themself brushing their fingers against the deteriorating walls decorated with crumbling wallpaper, ash staining the tips of their fingers as they moved through the rooms. Deacon allowed himself to watch them through his sunglasses, head tilted in a way that made him look like he was simply examining his weapon, as they stepped through the house.

They looked like a ghost. He could imagine them, in their past life, walking through a clean, pristine environment, the house warm and bright without the traces of the wasteland. He wondered quite often if they missed it. Who was he kidding, of course they did. But he had to ask himself if they would trade the life here for their life before the war. Sacrifice everything they'd gone through for another few days somewhere else. Without him.

Maybe that was one of his biggest insecurities, maybe not. Deacon would never let himself dwell on it long enough to consider it seriously, but it popped into his mind at the most inconvenient of times. When they were wrapped around him at the Third Rail. When they threw their head back and laughed at a joke he made, clinging to him to avoid falling out of their chair. Is it worth it? He would think. To stay here, with me? Would you give anything to leave? Would you miss me if you woke up tomorrow and it was all a dream?

He swallowed the bitter taste that flooded his mouth and watched as they stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by broken glass, dirt smudged against their cheek, their eyes catching the light as they got lost in their thoughts. The way the setting sun filtered through the broken walls made them look like a painting, something you’d see in a museum of beauty persevering through the ugliest of environments. Like the flowers that grew through the cracked concrete of the broken roads from another time, another world he wasn’t part of.

They looked up through the remains of the ceiling and tilted their head, looking at the dancing colors of the sky that shifted as the sun continued to set. After a moment, they closed their eyes and imagined having peace with Deacon. Finding somewhere they’d never have to worry about raiders or the other horrors of the wasteland and could simply exist with him. They wondered if there was another time where they were happy. Where their biggest worry was the bills and what to have for dinner when they could never agree.

Later that night, when they had started a fire to fix some meat over and sat down for one of their many late night discussions, Deacon indulged himself. He asked what it was like, before the war. Before they found themself frozen and thawed in a time period no one would want to wake up in, before they had to fight for every breath they took and defend everything they owned with a ferocity they could’ve never imagined before. Before.

Sole sighed and paused to think, slowly shifting around the beans in their can with their fork. He let himself watch them again, watch the gears turn in their head as they dug up memories from their other life. They hummed. “It was… simple. Boring, actually, some days, despite the war. It was a privilege to be bored back then. It was hard to work as a librarian when something so significant was happening elsewhere.”

Deacon nodded, encouraging them to continue. “But it was a nice kind of monotony most days. I liked working somewhere quiet, where people could escape from what was going on. I was lucky since I got to shut out the shitty things and focus on books for a while.”

“What was it like? Working there. What did you do?”

He was fascinated. He could never imagine a world like theirs, where they could just work with books, something considered a rare resource nowadays, and go home to something clean and neat and do it as much as they wanted, over and over again. “It was nice. It was always quiet as a general rule, so people could read in peace. My job was to deal with the shelves, so I would take books on a cart out to the shelves in different sections and put them where they belonged. I spent a lot of time organizing, too. It was nice, straightforward. Everything had a place, including me.”

Their smile was sad as they looked at him. He almost found himself craving more information, needing to know more about something he’d never be a part of. They sighed and put their food down next to their boot and leaned forward, elbows resting on their knees, hands clasped in front of them loosely. “Sometimes we’d have kids who came in and I’d ask them to tell me about the stories they’d chosen. The way they lit up and got lost in these fictional worlds… it was something special.”

The wind whistled through the broken slats and Deacon could almost imagine the carefree laughter of kids carried with it from ghosts of the past, much like the one sitting before him. It was easy to imagine Sole carefree, as well; it was all he wanted for them. “I always walked the same way home, which now I realize was stupid as hell. A great way to get stalked, or worse. But I walked the same way home in the evening and made dinner when I got home. I’d feed my cat. His name was Muffins.” They laughed at this and Deacon smiled. “And then I’d tidy and sit down at the terminal and email some friends I had to move away from when I graduated college.”

“Tell me about them?”

The night continued as Sole talked themself hoarse. They drew laughter out of Deacon easily with silly stories of their college antics, tales of being late to classes they didn’t want to take, rushing through campus like they had mutants on their heels. They described their favorite coffee shop in detail to the point where Deacon could almost smell the coffee permeating the air.

It was an accomplishment, Sole thought, when Deacon sunk down in his seat and slowly eased off to sleep. They struggled not to laugh when they noticed him getting sleepy, his head nodding forward as he fought to stay awake and keep listening. Instead, they kept their voice level and continued speaking about their past life, a life they missed, but not as much as they missed Deacon when he was away, and watched him sink right into the grip of sleep. As soon as his breaths were even for a while, they eased their speaking off, careful to make sure he wouldn’t wake, and sat back in their chair. They guessed they had first watch.

It was nearly a week later when Sole was relaxing on a chair in their house in Sanctuary, legs thrown over one of the arms, torso crooked as they squinted at the book they held. The ink was smudged from the wear and tear that came with existing in the Commonwealth, dirt staining the pages. The writing was barely legible and it was a fight with every word to understand the writing, but they would get there through sheer determination alone.

Deacon knocked his specific pattern on their door and they looked up expectantly; not many settlers knocked and they knew that rhythm anywhere. “Deac!” They called out as the door opened.

A familiar face poked through the door and they smiled, putting down their book and looking up at him expectantly. “What’s up?”

“I have something for you.”

Their smile dropped slightly. It was a toss up with surprises from Deacon, whether or not they’d be pleasant. To his credit most of them had been very nice as of late, which was simultaneously wonderful and suspicious. “Should I be scared?” They asked.

Deacon shook his head and stepped through the door, his hands behind his back. They leaned in an attempt to get a look at what he was hiding, though they nearly tumbled off of their chair. With a huff they straightened themself up; they had to return to work in a few minutes, there was no way they could afford to get injured, especially in such a dumb way.

Deacon approached slowly, purposefully trying to make things look more ominous, a wide grin on his face. Once he stood in front of them he brought his hands out from behind his back and watched their jaw drop. “Deacon.” Their voice was a light gasp as they looked from his hands to his face in wonder.

In his hands was a tiny, black kitten. It mewled pitifully at Sole and they felt their heart jump. With careful motions they reached forward and Deacon handed it to them, revelling in the way they sucked in a breath and let out a quiet “Oh, precious” and brought the kitten to their chest, cradling it like it was made of glass. After a moment of stroking it’s tiny head they looked up at him as if he held the world in his hands, their eyes brimming with tears. “Was this because…?”

“Muffins? Yeah. I heard about one of the settlements having a litter of barn kittens and had to take a chance. I remember you said you missed him the most from before and, well, here we are. I know this kitten won’t replace him and that wasn’t my intention-”

Deacon was cut off by Sole unfolding themself from the chair, still holding the kitten protectively, and kissing him. They pulled away after a moment, suddenly awkward. Deacon found it hard to look at them despite the fact that they couldn’t see past his dark sunglasses. “Uhm.” Sole opened their mouth, fighting to find the words to explain their actions.

Deacon paused. “Damn, if I knew that was how you would say thank you I would’ve brought the whole litter.”

Sole looked at him with a relieved grin and shook their head, leaning into him in a way that was all too familiar. They turned sideways, making room for the kitten, their shoulder blade against his chest as they brought the kitten up to eye level. “What do you think their name should be?” Sole asked.

“Missile launcher.” He replied automatically.

“Deacon we’re not naming the cat Missile Launcher.” Sole looked at him in mild disappointment, unsurprised.

Less than a month later, it wasn’t uncommon to see Deacon and Sole walking through the paths of Sanctuary, lost in conversation with each other, Missile Launcher trotting eagerly between them, tail swaying contentedly.

#Fallout 4 #fo4 #Deacon #fluff #friends to lovers #oneshot #imagine #fake dating #au

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decayandfanfics · 4 years ago

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The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

As always, let me know what you think!

_____________________________________________________

Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Out of sight, out of mind (interlude)

They disappear one night the same way they appeared.

Without a word.

It feels like waking up after a long dream. The way the sunrays enter your little kitchen, splashing your space in golden light looks almost ethereal, no longer their figures staining your white walls, standing out of place in the middle of your living room.

It feels a lot like the mornings after some heavy rainstorm.

It’s over. You think, breathing heavy and tired.

The apartment is quiet and cold, foreign to you. It reminds you a little they way you feel in hospitals. Places without personality, places without any personal touch. Even when everything is in place; the blankets are neatly folded in the closet and your toothbrush is the only one in the bathroom (Toga surely took her time tiding everything up) but you cannot feel at ease in it.

Maybe you are no longer the same person that use to live alone in this place, because it doesn’t feel like you belong inside the four walls that began to close too tight around you now, and even when you know you should run to the next police station and ask for help and protection because you’ve been hostage in your own home for weeks, you can’t get yourself to do it. It feels like a betrayal, somehow. Even when they held you captive, even when they’ve threat you and berated you. Even when there is no guarantee they would not be back to end the job after what you did to Dabi, after what happen with Shigaraki.

He looked like he wanted to hurt you last time.

Sorrow soft and silent start to rise, your heart breaking slowly with realization, smothering you, drowning you gently as you stand alone in the middle of your home, because they will never be back.

He will never be back.

It’s fine…I’m…safe. I’m safe.

You feel the jarring stab of grief, your heart cracking open under the pressure and the loneliness you’ve been trying to keep under control all this time, so you let out a shaking sob, finally admitting to yourself the ugly truth.

This is more than a little crush.

More like falling in love.

And your sweetheart has red eyes like jewels and a starved need for ruin.

So, you curl in a corner of your couch, hugging a pillow that smells way too much like soap and leather, finally allowing yourself to cry because this is painful, the kind of infatuation that can get you killed, that can destroy your life and ruin you. Him never coming back is a gift made of grief and poison, but you’ll take it because you know this is what you get in exchange of an attachment like this for a man who does nothing but harbor resentment inside the dark pit that is his chest.

You cry your eyes out, you cry desperate and lonely, holding tight to the pillow that still smells like him, no longer trying to suppress the nasty wound his gaze carved into your heart the moment his eyes met yours.

You cry because you think he hates you, because he didn’t just decide to go. Shigaraki choose to run away from this just to spite you and your infatuation because he wanted to stab you back. Because that’s the kind of man he is, that’s the kind of man that you allowed to hold grip onto your heart.

So, you stay curled in the corner of your little couch, sobbing and weeping over the painful mess you’ve made, wishing for the kiss you didn’t get the chance to steal and swearing that if you ever see him again, you’ll squeeze that devious grin out of his sharp face with your bare hands because if he wanted to hurt you by leaving without a word, then he should be fucking proud.

_____________________

He wasn’t joking when he asked her if she could handle rough.

“Oh my god” she sobs, inked tears staining her cheeks.

She looks like a mess, but he prefers it that way. He favors that she’s different, a complete opposite with her heavy makeup and revealing clothes, her smudged lipstick painting her chin and her breasts bouncing heavy, scaping her torn little dress. A perfect depiction of ruined and lewd.

She gags when he squeezes her neck hard, his index fingers curled as he yanks her body against the brick wall, too angry to care for his companion. No. He just wants to thrust into her as fast and rough as he can so he can get off the soon.

“Oh my-” she pants trying to hold herself against the wall, but he pulls her neck to him, pressing her back to his chest and then he yanks forward and bites her hard in the shoulder, his teeth leaving a purple mark on her skin.

“Shut up.” He grunts maddened when she sobs and squirms against his body, her smell entering his nostrils, making him gag instantly because he cannot stand the cheap perfume mixed with cigarettes, sweat and sex.

He cannot stand the smell of her hair, nor the shape of her body, or the height difference.

He cannot stand her lewd screaming.

So, he covers her mouth with his hand and shut his eyes tightly closed before resuming his brutal animalistic pacing, trying not to think in the salty flavor of her skin in his mouth. He just needs his release; it’s been a while since he gave himself to this kind of pleasure and for all things he’s ever done, he never fucked this angry before.

Tomura thinks he’s not particularly sexual on a daily basis. He doesn’t go walking around thinking about the next time he gets laid, not when he’s never been that interested in girls anyway, because he just…doesn’t like things nor people. So, his approach on sex is more like a task to be filled if anything else (like eating), rarely relying on another body since he doesn’t want to be touched at all. Now, of course he’s done it now and then, sometimes paying for it, sometimes a nightstand after some vodka in a seedy bar, but always quick to dispatch the person involved.

For Tomura, sex is about him wanting something and obtaining it the easiest way possible to just keep on with his life.

Or at least that’s how it was, but some reason he’s been feeling incredibly starved for it lately, and after being in a heck of a terrible mood and some heated lash out at his crew out of nowhere, he decided to pick his anger and put it somewhere else before killing one of his comrades.

Now, the woman is drooling all over his hand with all the choking, making him feel nauseous so he lets go of her and just digs his fingers on her hip keeping his index up, his long nails clawing at her skin, making her whine, squeezing him tight in reflex.

She tries to catch his wrist to move one of his hands to her breast, but he yanks away to pull her hair, growling a curse against her ear, swallowing hard.

This feels so wrong.

It’s not the right cup size.

It’s not the right smell.

It’s not the right height.

It’s not the right woman.

The mechanic friction is finally working its wonders because Tomura feels his low abdomen tighten before finally getting off.

No, he doesn’t see stars, nor grunts in feverish pleasure. He doesn’t taste her neck nor smiles when he cums. As soon as he releases, he shoves the woman as far away from him, removing the condom with disgust and decaying it (the thought of feeling her bare wet cunt against his naked skin revolving his guts).

He adjusts his clothes before throwing the woman some cash and just walks away, concluding that this was the most unsatisfying fuck in world’s history.

Tomura looks at his hands, feeling the sticky sensation of her saliva and her sweat, troubled because his face it’s super itchy but he feels so disgustingly dirty, that he doesn’t even need to smell them to know that her musky tacky perfume now lingers on his palms.

Maybe if I rub my hands, I can decay it away. He thinks, trying his hypothesis to no avail. ‘kay, that was pointless.

He manages to rub the fabric of his sleeve against his brow until the skin begins to show red dots of blood as he thinks seriously that he could kill for a hot shower, even when he’s not the cleanest guy around (he showers when he can. If he can’t do it, then he just doesn’t think about it), but he can’t stand the way the prostitute’s scent remains on him like a sin, and the thought is so ridiculous, because he’s done plenty of horrible disturbing shit in his life to now feel all guilty and nasty for a “less-than-mediocre” fuck.

So, he walks away, utterly unsatisfied. His anger dragging behind him, leaving a bloodied mess of chaos and longing for something far brighter than a rough fuck behind some lost alley, because he wants more than that. He wants the name, the body and the holy spirit that inhabits the girl with dangerous gaze and healer hands. He wants her violence, her anger and wild bravado, all for him to feaster and be consumed by it.

A violent delight that he can’t afford, not when he’s busy surviving until he finds the doctor or his master’s weapon, so he repeats himself that his infatuation, this sickness will disappear eventually, he just needs to get his priorities straight and focus.

He’ll do it, time will get everything in place again.

Cold creeps into him, the city lights filling the streets between car noises and people returning their homes. All of them busy minding their own lives, completely unaware of the hooded serial killer walking by, quietly sneaking into the fire escape of some old building.

_____________________

III

Internal medicine is one of those courses that drains every bit of life out of you. Arguably the hardest in a career full of hards, you now live under the constant threat of failure because this shit is a monster, and you know the statistics too well to not being aware that this course has the highest rate of reps in all the damn faculty.

So, you enter your uni mode; sugar-rush based diet and coffee like the world is ending to keep your brain functioning like is a nuclear reactor, sleeping four hours at nights and barely dreaming. Of course, it’s not just that class, is that you have three more besides that one, all of them of high difficulty for you to rejoice in your misery, so yeah. You live like a zombie.

I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich… You repeat to yourself every morning after showering, watching your body in front of the mirror, admiring the sharp angles and purple eyebags that already began to claim your face.

Oh, and the hair loss due to stress is just the cherry on top of the cake, really.

Yes, your brain is at the brim of collapse right now, but classes start again, and your friends are there to suffer with you and it makes you feel accompanied and secure. Is just another semester of tears, panic, pizza and everything that implies to be a twenty something student, so you are thankful nonetheless, because you don’t have the time to think about the other thing…

You don’t think about it.

You don’t really think about it.

You don’t even think about it.

And you don’t say the name either, you refuse because you’ll do anything to forget about him, anything to erase the memory of his dark figure like a shadow against your white kitchen, too clever and insolent for your own good.

But it’s okay, you don’t think of him, or his slender fingers taking the bishop to strike down your king, and the way his dry lips curve upward before some smartass remark. You don’t think of his lean body towering over you, touching yours in so many places but none at the same time.

No, you don’t think of him while awake, but sometimes he visits your dreams to terrify you with his cadaveric hands and his face hidden by his hair. Ready to strike you down, a hand extended in motion to decay you into oblivion.

Sometimes he hovers over you, kissing your neck while ravaging you, incredibly close and raw and intimate, his mouth snarling dirty words you’ll never dare to say out loud. Dreams where his warm chest press against your naked body and your lips sings lewd lullabies just for him, welcome him to feaster on your skin with your face nuzzling against his scarred cheek, covering your face with his silver hair.

Sometimes he just sits in your kitchen as the sunlight reflects over his milky locks. His hand holding his cheek over the table in serene expression, calling your name to play again as the black king spins between his delicate fingers.

___________________

Tomura has a meeting with this new allied Twice found, like three days from now.

He’s not particularly excited about it, surely, it’s just another capo wannabe with grandeur delusions, but it could be worth it. Maybe he could get some money out of it since the league is completely broken after his sensei’s incarceration. They are in desperate need of a hideout, now more than ever since Kurogiri vanished and he’s sure the heroes must have captured him. (Thinking about this is pointless anyway because he doesn’t have the means to get him back)

Minding his own business, he walks with his hoodie on, passing between civilians like he’s one of them, completely invisible when he sees her.

It catches him by surprise. His heart stopping dead on its tracks, wide eyes and tight lips, uncertainty filling him all of the sudden, but he’s accustomed to make hiding spots out of nowhere, so he gets behind some store sign where he can watch her safely.

She stands outside a coffee shop, animatedly talking with some guy who wears the same clinic uniform that she has on. A school mate maybe? She’s an intern in a hospital so, they are probably on shift. Another doctor like her.

She looks tired and paler, but beautiful, nonetheless. The way her lips move give away she’s talking about something clinic, because her face has that firm expression she always does when she’s being professional.

She already looks like a doctor and God knows he’d gladly be sick every day of his life if she’s the one to treat him.

His feelings betray him. He was sure after a month she would be completely out of his system by now, this stupid illness already cured, but shit just doesn’t go away. It pisses him off to no end because she’s not worth the aggravation. C’mon, she’s just another boring normal civilian, she doesn’t do anything important or interesting. She’s not remarkable in any way that serves him, because not even her quirk is truly useful. Not when it threatens to kill her every time she uses it.

And looking her objectively, she’s not even that pretty, but somehow, he’s torn between his desire to make her see him and get as far away from her he can.

Searing jealousy pierces him, hate raw and jarring dripping from between his ribs when the man leans over and whisper something that makes her laugh and for a moment, he seriously thinks he’s going to kill him right there, no quirk needed because he would just love to gut him out in plain view for her to see what he thinks of her stupid friend.

He hates the man, but he hates her more because she dares to laugh, she dares to enjoy life and people meanwhile he crawls hungry and cold between ruined places.

Like sensing his glare, she suddenly turns her head with her eyes directed to the spot where he hides, her expression changing from joyful to confused in seconds, making him laugh because even when he’s sure she cannot see him, she knows he’s there and it feels like she’s tied to him somehow.

Her face gives away disappoint when she fails to catch him and the thought of her grieving after he left delights him, but he’s sworn to let her behind, so he rejoices for a moment in this little victory of his pettiness over her charms, before turning away from her, fully believing that this is the last time he thinks of her.

Chapter 13

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Hey lovely readers! since English is not my native language and writing Shigaraki is kinda hard because he changes and grows, and because he usually says many things about himself, but then he goes and do completely different things (like when he says he hates everything, but CLEARLY he’s fond of twice and stuff like that) so much in manga, it would be lovely to know what you think of this! I think it’s the only way to be better at something really, So, any questions, comments and concerns, please feel free to comment!

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #bnha 306 #bnha fanfiction #the great book of sayings

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dickspeightjrs · 4 years ago

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Reading is Fundamental (au / 4.3k words / single parent!dean / librarian!cas)

ao3 link

“Daddy, can you read this book to me?” Emma’s voice squeaked up from next to Dean. He turned to see her scrambling to sit on the chair next to him, slapping the book she’d chosen on top of the table.

“Not right now, Em. I just need to finish these notes and then we can go home.” Dean tried to let her down gently, hoping somewhere in her little three year old brain she’d be able to understand.

Emma nodded obediently at her dad but Dean could see the sadness and disappointment in her eyes. It made Dean feel like shit. Maybe going back to college was a bad idea. He didn’t need a fancy college degree, he could always just rise up through the ranks at the auto shop the long way. He was stretched thin and he knew it.

Dean felt a little tug on his arm and his eyes met his daughter’s. “Daddy, please can I go look at more books?” Emma asked, so politely Dean could cry. She was so young, she wouldn’t understand all the stress Dean was under but her tiny smile and beautiful green eyes melted Dean’s heart every time.

“Of course, baby. But don’t go too far so I can’t see you, okay?”

Emma nodded enthusiastically and climbed down from her seat with a “Thanks, Daddy!” and she was gone, disappearing behind the bookshelves leading to the kids books.

Dean allowed himself to get lost in his notes and textbooks once again, hoping he’d be able to get a little more done before the library closed.

But it wasn’t even five minutes later when he looked up to check on Emma and saw her being carried towards him by one of the most beautiful people Dean had ever seen. But he couldn’t dwell too long on the man’s god-like looks because, as they got closer, Dean could see that Emma had tears in her eyes and blotchy red cheeks.

Notes forgotten, Dean leapt from his chair to see his daughter. “Emma, what happened?” He asked as the man approached.

Emma didn’t reply. Instead, she looked up at the sound of her dad’s voice and reached out to him. Dean accepted her into his arms and she immediately tucked her head into Dean’s neck. Dean stroked a comforting hand down his baby’s back and turned to the man still standing in front of him. He looked at him for an explanation. The man just had a warm look of fondness on his face and didn’t catch Dean’s questioning gaze straight away.

Eventually, he caught Dean’s eye and seemed to snap back into himself. “Sorry,” he said. “She tripped on one of the mats in the children’s area. I saw it happen from where I was stacking shelves.”

Now Dean looked properly he could actually see a name badge with the library logo on it. The badge said this guy was apparently called ‘Castiel’. Weird name.

“I checked she was alright.” Castiel continued. “She said her knees hurt but it looks like she got a little burn from the carpet. Just a bit of redness, no blood. After that she just asked for her dad.”

Castiel smiled again at Emma until it seemed that a thought occurred to him. “Oh, and I did ask her permission before I carried her but in hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have done because I don’t imagine she can give her own consent. And I am a stranger.” The guy was starting to look a little stressed. “I assure you my intentions were completely innocent, I just wanted her to be okay.”

Dean was quick to jump in then. “Woah, dude, don’t sweat it. Thanks for bringing her back over for me. It’s my fault anyway. I should’ve been keeping a better eye on her, but I’m revising for exams and it’s kicking my ass.” He wiped his free hand down his face in exhaustion. “Normally, I do my college work at home but my neighbours have builders in and it’s so noisy.”

Dean was fully aware he was giving the guy too much information. But he needed to make it clear that he wasn’t a shitty dad who let his kid run off on her own all the time. Plus, this guy seemed to have a kind face that made Dean want to spill all his darkest secrets and worries.

“Well, there’s around half an hour until we close. If you still need to work a little more I can take Emma to choose out some books?” Castiel asked, tentatively gaging both Dean and Emma’s reactions.

Dean jostled Emma slightly in his arms. “Would you like that, Em?” he murmured in a low voice.

Still seemingly a little shy, Emma nodded and Dean let her down carefully onto the floor to find her feet.

Castiel knelt down slowly in front of her. “Do you want to hold my hand, Emma?” he asked, holding a hand out for her to accept.

“Okay.” Emma muttered, timidly. She took Castiel’s hand and let him lead her back to the children’s area.

As they walked away, Dean could just hear Castiel whisper to her, “What kind of books do you like to read?” and Emma’s resulting shout of “Superheroes!” Dean winced at the volume of her voice, checking around to see if anyone was annoyed, but Castiel barely flinched. He just carried on talking to Emma and making her giggle.

Their voices drifted away behind one of the shelves and Dean smiled to himself a little before returning to his work.

Almost an hour later, Dean glanced at his watch and quickly began packing up his things. He hadn’t realised the time and was consciously aware of overstaying his welcome when the library should have closed already.

He strode across the floor towards the kids area but found it empty and dark, clearly having already been closed for the night. He frowned wondering where Emma and Castiel had got to when he heard a familiar bubble of laughter coming from the main entrance.

Sat behind the front desk, Castiel was showing Emma how to do something.

“So after we’ve done that, we have to put a stamp in each of the books so people know what day they have to bring it back.” Castiel explained, pointing out the stamp page of a book in front of him. “Do you want to stamp the books you’re taking home?”

Emma’s eyes lit up. Dean smiled affectionately at his daughter, she loved anything involving paint or ink.

“Yeah!”

Dean decided now would be the best time to come out of his hiding place. “What’s going on here then?” he asked, sauntering up to the desk with a grin on his face. It turned out Emma was sitting on an empty space on the desk, with Castiel perched on the chair.

Castiel and Emma looked up at Dean’s voice.

“Daddy!” Emma cheered. “I’m working at the library with Mr Cas!”

“That’s awesome, Em. But we gotta go now. The library is closing and we still haven’t had dinner.”

Emma pouted. Her bottom lip stuck out and Dean hated it. He could never say no to that face, but not even he had the power to keep the library open longer. Plus, Castiel, or ‘Cas’ it seemed, probably wanted to go home too.

“It’s okay, Emma. You can come back tomorrow and help me. You did such a good job, I’d love to have your help again.” Castiel jumped in to reassure Emma.

It definitely did the trick as Emma’s face immediately lit up and she leaned over to give Cas a hug. “Thank you, Mr Cas!”

Once she let go of Castiel, Dean lifted her off the desk and into his arms.

He made eye contact with Castiel and instantly felt awkward. This dude saved him from having a meltdown in the middle of the library. And his daughter seemed to have fallen in love with him. What’s Dean meant to say now? Castiel was just standing there with kindness glittering in his eyes.

Dean cleared his throat. “Thanks, man. Y’know for earlier. And for keeping Emma occupied. I swear I don’t normally let her run-”

Castiel raised his hand to stop Dean. “It was my pleasure.”

Dean just nodded awkwardly and moved towards the exit with Emma still wrapped around him, the excitement of the day seeping from her tiny body and leaving her slumped against her dad.

He spent the rest of the evening and much of the night thinking about dark hair and striking blue eyes.

* * *

It ended up being a few days later that Dean and Emma found themselves back at the library again.

Emma hadn’t stopped asking and talking about Mr Cas.

Mr freakin’ Perfect more like.

Dean was sure he’d see the man again and realise he’d just let himself build up how great the man seemed. That Cas was actually just a normal dude doing his job. In fact, he’d probably forgotten all about Dean and his mischievous little girl.

They walked through the main entrance hand in hand. Dean could feel Emma tug his hand slightly, trying to direct him over to the front desk but Dean wasn’t sure whether he wanted Castiel to be there or not. He’d spent the last few days letting himself think things about the man that he probably shouldn’t after having only met him once.

But his eyes betrayed him and they took a quick glance over to the desk. Castiel wasn’t there. Dean was only half relieved.

Once they reached a table in the work area, Dean set himself up with his notes and a couple books for Emma to occupy herself with.

A few minutes passed with Dean squinting at one of his textbooks and Emma flicking through the pages of her books, only really looking at the pictures and making up her own stories to go along with them whispered under her breath.

Eventually, Emma sighed and turned to Dean. “Daddy?”

The silence was good while it lasted. “Yeah, Em?”

“Can I go find Mr Cas?”

How did Dean know it would be about friggin’ Castiel?

“Not right now, baby. He’s probably working.”

Emma sank down in her seat, crossed her arms angrily and pouted.

Dean sighed to himself. He hoped this wasn’t the start of her having tantrums again. She was an angel now most of the time but all through the age of two she was a little demon.

However, Emma stayed quiet and just spent her time kicking her legs up and down from the side of the chair. She wasn’t causing any upset so Dean let it slide just to try and get on with some more work.

It was short lived, unfortunately, because mere minutes later Emma shot up from her seat and ran off. Dean was about to jump up to grab her and make her sit quietly until he saw what, or rather who, she was running to.

Dean looked up in time to see Emma leap into Castiel’s arms as he approached their table.

Okay, so he was wrong earlier. Castiel was every bit as beautiful as Dean remembered and more.

Today he was wearing a plain shirt with a form-fitting waistcoat that hugged him all the right places. And his hair, oh fuck, his hair. It looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, or maybe rolled around in bed. Was Castiel seriously trying to kill him?

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean blinked and realised he’d been staring at Castiel for longer than was probably socially acceptable. Emma was also watching her dad with a mischievous smile on her face.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to will away the embarrassment of being caught staring. “Hey, Castiel.”

“I was wondering if Emma could help me again today?” Castiel asked, before turning to the little girl. “Do you want to help me put some books back on the shelves that people have finished with?”

Emma nodded enthusiastically, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Is that okay, Dean?” Castiel asked, tentatively.

As much as Dean loved his daughter, it would be a welcome relief to have a little break, even if it was to do college work. “Sure, man,” he smiled, tiredly.

Castiel gave Dean a look that he couldn’t decipher. It wasn’t on his face for long before he turned his attention again to Emma and set her back on the floor. “Okay, Emma, can you wait for me at the front desk?”

“Yes, Mr Cas!”

“Good. Go straight there and sit on my big chair. Don’t go near the front doors okay? I’ll be there in a second.”

Emma didn’t waste another second before she was off across the library, skipping over to wait for Castiel.

Dean frowned, wondering why Castiel had remained with him at the table. The man had only moved enough so he could keep an eye on Emma sitting behind the desk and that was it.

“Dean-”

“Wait.” It had only just occurred to Dean. “How do you know my name?”

Dean hoped he wasn’t imagining the blush that spread across Castiel’s cheeks.

“I saw Mr D. Winchester on your library card that Emma used the other day. I admit I searched your name in our system to find your first name. I suppose I just wanted to put a name to the face.”

Castiel looked slightly guilty for looking up Dean’s private information. But Dean’s brain was stuck on Castiel wanting to know his name, and what that could mean.

Dean shook his head. “Oh that’s cool, man. I guess it’s only right as you keep saving me by occupying my kid.” He shrugged.

“Trust me, it’s no bother.” Castiel assured. “In fact, I missed you and Emma the other day when you said you’d come in.”

Dean didn’t want to think too much about Castiel’s choice of words. He was too stressed to risk his heart having too much hope.

“Yeah, sorry about that, Cas. Emma got sick at daycare so I had to leave work early and I didn’t have time to come study.”

Castiel’s eyes widened in alarm and he glanced back again at Emma, who was still sitting merrily looking at different things on Castiel’s desk. “Is she okay, now?”

“She’s all good. Just one of those 24 hour bugs that only three year olds seem to get.” Dean smiled, but thinking of those 24 hours made him feel tired again. There was nothing worse than your child being sick and not being able to do anything but try to comfort them and reassure them that it wouldn’t last forever.

Dean could feel the exhaustion seep into his bones as he talked with Castiel. His shoulders felt heavy and he knew he should sleep but he had another hour of revising to do before he had to take Emma home for dinner. And it was bath night too. God, it never seemed to end.

“Dean,” Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, making the man focus his tired eyes. “I know we’ve only met briefly before but could I ask you a personal question?”

At this point Dean is too tired to care. “Sure, man.”

“Is everything alright? Only, you’ve seemed incredibly exhausted both times I’ve seen you.”

Dean looked into Castiel’s warm, blue eyes and saw nothing but care and sincerity.

He could cry. He could bawl like a fucking baby right here in the middle of Lawerence City Library. It’s been a long, long time since somebody had asked him that and truly cared about the answer.

With tears building in his eyes, and taking a glimpse at his daughter smiling at customers as they walked by, Dean let out a choked sob. “I’m struggling, man. It’s so hard. And I’m so tired,” he admitted. “Between, work, college, and looking after Emma, it’s too much. I thought I could do it all. I thought I was ready but I’m not.”

Without taking his hand from Dean’s shoulder, Castiel pulled up a chair to perch on, moving closer into Dean’s space. “Do you have any family that can help you out?”

Dean let out a watery scoff. He knew Cas meant well but that was a loaded question with a long history.

“My mom’s dead. Dad is gone. And my brother is in California.” Dean replied, succinctly.

Castiel’s face filled with guilt again. “Oh goodness, I’m so sorry Dean, truly.” He moved his hand from Dean’s shoulder to rest gently on his clenched hand.

Dean sniffed and wiped the tears that had escaped from his eyes. “It’s fine, dude, don’t worry. It’s just always been me and Emma, y’know?”

“I assume her mother isn’t around either?” Castiel asked, carefully.

“Not even really sure who her mom is.” Dean said, bluntly. He prepared for the judgement to appear on Castiel’s face but it never did. So he carried on. “She was a one night stand. I didn’t know about Emma until she was left on my doorstep with just a little note with her date of birth. She didn’t even have a fucking name, Cas.” Dean wept. “She just got left there. I just happened to be home that day otherwise she could have been there for hours.”

“Dean, I-”

“Mr Cas!” Emma’s voice rang out from the desk. Dean turned his head to see his daughter smiling up at someone standing on the other side of the desk.

“I should go and help that lady. Could we finish this discussion another time? I feel like it would be good for you to have someone to talk to.”

Dean couldn’t believe how much he’d already shared with a near-stranger. But he couldn’t help but feel drawn to Castiel. And he had to admit, sharing this weight with someone had felt good.

“Sure, Cas. Go do your job. Just send Em back over here if she gets in the way.” Dean smiled, wiping the last of his tears away.

Castiel watched Emma sit safely behind the desk, babbling away to the lady waiting. He turned back and smiled softly at Dean. “She could never get in the way.”

At that Castiel gave Dean’s hand one last squeeze and headed off to greet the customer.

And Dean could swear he fell in love in that second.

* * *

Later, it was nearing closing time and Dean had managed to get a fair amount of work done much to his relief after having to take a few days off.

He’d glanced occasionally over his shoulder at Emma and Castiel, watching them do their jobs together. Both of them working with smiles on their faces. Every now and then Emma would say something that would make Castiel’s face scrunch up with laughter. Dean was glad to see someone else find his kid as funny as he did.

Okay, so maybe he’d spent more time watching Castiel with his daughter than doing work. Sue him.

In another life, Dean would have been all over Cas but, as much as he may have already fallen for the dorky, caring librarian, he barely had time to feed himself let alone have a relationship.

As much as he hated to separate the adorable picture in front of him, Dean knew he needed to get Emma home, fed and in bed. He gathered his things and made his way over to the front desk.

“Come on Em, time to go now.”

Both Castiel and Emma looked up at Dean with matching expressions of disappointment that it was time to leave already.

“But I don’t want to go.”

“We have to have dinner. And you need a bath tonight.” Dean reminded her.

“Can Mr Cas come for dinner?” Emma asked, giving Dean her best puppy dog eyes. She definitely had the Winchester genes. She looked exactly like his brother, Sam.

“You can’t just invite people to dinner at the last minute, Em. He’s probably busy and has someone waiting for him at home.”

So maybe Dean was trying to fish to see if Cas was single. At least then he’d know once and for all.

“Thank you for your concern, Dean. But I can assure you, it’s just me at home-” Bingo! “-and Emma was just telling me that you make the best mac and cheese with hot dogs ever.”

Dean couldn’t argue with that.

* * *

So that was how Dean found himself sitting opposite Castiel on his couch a couple hours later.

As soon as they’d walked through Dean’s front door, Dean had apologised for the mess. He was embarrassed by how bad it had got over the past few days. But with Emma sick and having to fit in extra shifts too, there hadn’t been much time to tidy.

They’d eaten dinner quickly. Emma held most of the conversation, telling Dean and Castiel about her day at daycare and how she was going to paint a picture for them both tomorrow.

Soon, Emma was tucked away in bed. She’d had her bath with little fuss. But she had demanded that Castiel read her a bedtime story. Both Dean and Castiel couldn’t help but snort with laughter at her serious grumpy face. Dean had left Castiel to sooth Emma to sleep with a story about two superheroes who fall in love. While Castiel was up with Emma, Dean was finally able to tidy up a bit around the kitchen and living room.

Now, Dean could feel himself getting lost in Castiel’s eyes, though that also could have been to do with the tiredness finally catching up with him now that he’d finally had a chance to relax a little.

The silence is soft between them, neither man pressing the other for conversation. Just happy to be in each other’s company. Dean didn’t know where Cas had come from but he knew he wasn’t letting him go. He’d have him in any way he could. Even if it meant only having him as a friend he saw when they took trips to the library.

Eventually, Castiel cracked the quiet. “So, Dean. What are you studying at college?”

Considering how their earlier conversation had gone, how much of a mess Dean had been, and his promise to continue the discussion later, Dean hadn’t expected that to be Castiel’s first question when they were finally alone.

“Um, business management. I work at an auto shop right now and I guess I wanna own my own garage one day. Maybe do some restoration too.” Dean shrugged. “But I’ll probably have to go the long way now. There’s no way I can carry on with college, work to pay the bills, and look after Emma on my own.”

“Dean! You can’t!” Castiel stressed.

“Cas, man, I know you mean well. But it ain’t that simple. I already have a deal with my boss to work through my lunch break so I can leave early to pick up Emma from daycare, which I can barely afford.” Dean shook his head. “Then I have to study with her around. This isn’t fair on her. At least without college I’d have more time for her.”

“Dean, do you enjoy being at college?” Castiel asked, squinting at the man in front of him.

“Besides the exams kicking my ass, yeah I kinda do.” Dean nodded. “Makes me feel like I’m actually achieving something y’know? Besides Em, of course, she’ll always be my best.”

“Okay, so you need to stay in college. It will benefit you and Emma more in the long run.” Castiel raised a hand to silence the protests Dean tried to make. “I will help you.”

“How’re you gonna do that, man?” Dean sighed. This sounded too good to be true.

“Well, if it’s okay with you, I could pick Emma up from daycare, and bring her to the library with me.”

“But what about your job?” Dean argued. “What would your boss say?”

Castiel just smiled. “Dean, I’m the manager. I am the boss.”

Dean couldn’t believe his ears. Could everything he needed actually be being handed to him on a silver platter?

“Cas, you gotta be sure about this. It would help me so fucking much but you need to be all in. Emma isn’t a phase that you can get bored with after a couple weeks.” Dean pleaded.

“I promise you, we may not have known each other for long at all but Emma has come to be very special to me and, well, so have you.” Castiel blushed.

And suddenly Dean could see himself sitting on this couch with Cas in the future with Emma squished between them, laughing at one of her cartoons. And boy does he want it. Badly.

If it went wrong Dean would blame what he did next on feeling tired down to his bones. Without thinking, he launched himself forward to capture Castiel’s lips in a kiss. It probably wasn’t a good idea to jump into something with a dude he’d known less than a week but sometimes the best things happen spontaneously. That’s how Emma came into his life after all.

As if reading Dean’s mind, Castiel deepened the kiss and pulled Dean even closer to himself.

* * *

From the very next day, it became routine for Castiel to pick Emma up from daycare on his afternoon break at the library. She’d keep him company and help him to tidy up as the library wound down for the day. Many of the customers were enamored with Castiel and his little helper.

Then, a couple hours before closing, Dean would come in. He’d find Cas and Emma wherever they were to let them know he was there and to give them both a peck on the cheek.

After Castiel had locked up, more often than not, he’d join Dean and Emma for dinner.

That first night together, they’d agreed through rushed kisses to take things slow and keep Emma in mind. But within a month, Castiel was spending most nights at Dean’s and had taken to dropping Emma off at daycare too, allowing Dean a little extra time in bed.

Perhaps their new dynamic was unusual but it worked for them. And it carried on working well when Castiel officially moved in, and when Dean graduated, and when he finally bought his own auto shop.

And when they adopted a little brother for Emma.

A/N: This one kinda got away from me but I love it! Definitely going to do more in this universe one day. Maybe Sam meeting Cas (and Emma?) for the first time? Who knows?

Hope you guys enjoyed!

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whumpingcrow · 4 years ago

Text

Ink Poisoning - Chapter 1

Introduction

Surprise! A new story, new characters, inspired by all the lovely authors of tumblr who do BBU or WRU writing :) enjoy!!

CW: BBU and everything in relation to that, drugs/alcohol, party themes/setting, plane mention, college setting, breakup mention, tattooing/tattoo shop mentions (let me know if I missed anything!)

Nicko and Salem had never really been too close. They lived a few houses away from each other in high school, had some of the same classes, and were tied in with the same friend groups. They were friends, as much as you could be friends with someone you only hang out with cause they’re close by, but not close by any means. Salem felt a certain way about Nicko, he always had, a way that told him to keep himself a safe distance from him. Maybe it was his recklessness, the way he did awful, often mean, things seemingly on impulse, just because it popped into his head and he wanted to follow through. He was unreasonably harsh and manipulative and just attractive and charismatic enough to not suffer the repercussions.

Because of this, Salem wasn’t really entirely sure how he had ended up living with the kid in his last two years of college. Both him and Nicko had gotten into the state college and were both art majors (Nicko was in visual arts and Salem in music), so they had been around each other since they both moved into the dorms as smooth faced freshmen. Nicko was on the football team for the first year and a half, then he got kicked from the team. At that point he hadn’t spoken to Salem for a while, so he never figured out the real reason why. He heard gossip, that Nicko was caught doing drugs, that he had slept with the coach’s daughter, that he’d been fighting, but it was impossible to know if it was the truth. On one hand, Salem wouldn’t exactly be surprised if it was something like that, but on the other hand he didn’t want to believe that he was that bad. After that, he focused on his studies. Salem saw him around campus working in sketch books or on a canvas, sometimes he would show up to a class covered in paint and tired, like he’d been working on something all night. He was also doing an internship at a tattoo shop, he got paid a lot to stab people with needles, and he genuinely enjoyed it. Plus, Salem had seen some of the stuff he’d made, and he certainly had talent, even though he was sort of a dick.

During that time, freshman and sophomore year, Salem was pretty preoccupied in his own respects, so these were the only things he really knew about Nicko. Those two years had been difficult, looking back on it he was surprised he was able to pass all of his classes with what he had going on. There was a messy relationship, horrible breakup, and he used it mostly to put into his music. He wrote some of his best pieces about it, so in a way he was thankful. He was better off now, anyway.

Now, he and Nicko lived together off-campus, along with three other art majors who neither of them knew too well, but rent was cheaper with more people and they were easy enough to get along with. School was almost over, it was their last stretch of their senior year, and things were good. Salem’s future was looking promising, he’d already been speaking to different producers and composers who he’d been set up with by his teachers, as soon as he graduated he would have enough saved up to buy his own place, closer to where he would work, on his own. Life was so simple, Salem was happy and hopeful and for once, things made sense. He just had to get through winter break, then the last few grueling months would crawl by, and then he would be free.

But then winter break came and went, Salem went back north to visit his parents, and when he got back things suddenly got...complicated.

Nicko would insist over and over again to Salem that they had “talked about this!” and he tried to persuade him by saying “you said it could be cool!” every time they talked about it afterwards. Salem told him that bringing it up as a concept while they were getting drunk after midterms was not talking about it.

What happened was someone had read an article somewhere, maybe it was from a click bait thing on Instagram or a frightening news article on facebook, and had brought it up while they were all throwing back beers before they went out to their own respective parties. It was about something Salem had only heard hushed whispers about online, he wasn’t even sure how legit it was because of how rarely he heard about it: boxies. The word made him cringe every time one of them threw it out drunkenly, like it was something cute. If what Salem had heard about it was true, they were essentially criminals who were brainwashed (or trained, as they liked to call it to sound more appealing) instead of taking another sentence. Box Boys, Box Babes, they had more gross marketing names, all involving a box. Supposedly it was because they were notoriously shipped to you conveniently in a box right to your front porch, as if they were an Amazon package. Yes, living human beings stuffed inside of a box and left on your porch, just waiting to be let out so they can start doing whatever it is they’ve been retrained to do. And somehow it was all completely legal, if you did it through certain companies.

So, that’s what they’d been talking about, when Salem looked back on it, all he remembered from the conversation was something like:

“Dude, how the fuck is owning a boxie legal at all? I was just reading this article and-”

"Those are like, those servant things you order online or whatever? I've heard about those, I think."

“That’s not the point, Nicko. I’m talking about how it’s fucking crazy this is allowed.”

“I think it’s cool. I mean if it were me I’d rather get to live in a house as like...a maid or whatever than go to jail. Jail sucks. I dunno, I think it’s cool. What about you, Cobain?”

Salem hated when Nicko called him that, he’d been doing it since freshman year, when one of Salem’s songs was suddenly being passed around the school in a youtube video he’d forgotten he’d posted. Nicko told him that it was edgy, that he sounded like Kurt Cobain. That would have been fine, Salem really wouldn’t have cared, if Nicko hadn’t personally told him before how much he hated Nirvana, how the music sucked. So every time he used the nickname it was patronizing, a little stab at him.

Still, Salem merely looked up from his laptop, he was probably checking back on his flight information for going back home, maybe checking to see if his test scores were posted yet, and scowled at him. “Yeah, Picasso, I think that owning a person is super cool.” He’d been sarcastic, obviously so, and Nicko knew that.

And still, here he was, telling Salem that he’d “agreed” to getting this boxie. Salem would disagree every time, and Nicko would just roll his eyes and shrug his shoulders and he would get away with it. He was always getting away with shit, it was really starting to piss Salem off.

The day Salem got back from break it had been snowing. The drive back from the airport was stressful, it was late, Salem just wanted to go home and sleep. Going back to the town he grew up in was draining, sometimes. It reminded him of complicated times and hopelessness. He wanted to forget all about those feelings, things were going good, he could be hopeful now, and going back home made those feelings a little...muted, for a while. So he figured he’d go home, get into bed, sleep it off, and get back to being hopeful in the morning.

Only he couldn’t do that, because of course Nicko was having a party. He usually called it “having people over”, because he was trying to be an adult now and that’s what adults usually said, but when it consisted of beer pong and body shots that didn’t seem like the right term. The lawn was covered in cars, so was the driveway, so were both sides of the street directly outside. Salem had to park halfway down the block, get his suitcase and guitar, and walk down the street. To his own house. He wanted to break Nicko’s face.

When he walked into the house, the air was thick with smoke and reeked of pot and sweat and booze. The living room was mostly empty, Salem could see from the front door that almost everyone was in the kitchen playing some sort of drinking game or outside. The house was a mess, almost all the lights were off so Salem couldn’t see the full damage yet, but he could tell that he wasn’t going to like it when he did. He shuffled into the house, kicking away cups and bottles as he walked past them. Part of him wanted to just turn around and get back in his car and drive far away, never come back and never see Nicko or this shitty house again. But he had to stick to his plan, he had to play it safe here.

“Salem!” He snapped his head up, in the direction of the voice, sighing when he saw it was Nicko’s girlfriend, Aurora. Or Rory, as most people called her. She had dyed her hair a bright, shocking blue since Salem had last seen her, if he remembered correctly she had it a pale pink before. Her makeup was dark and heavy, like it usually was, making her eyes look all that more intense and striking. Except for right then, because she was very obviously high, her eyes hooded and lazy. She was sitting on the couch, a boy who looked a lot younger than her on his knees right in between her legs. He looked even more fucked up than she did, glaring hard at the floor and swaying slightly as she raked her fingers through his messy, dark hair. As Salem approached them, the kid flinched away from him and snapped his eyes up to look at him. He didn’t pay too much attention to him, too distracted by his anger. Rory had to shout over the music just a little when she started talking again. “I was wondering when you were gonna be back! How was your tri-”

“Where the fuck is Nicko?” He interrupted. His hand was tight around the handle to his guitar case, he could feel his heartbeat in his closed fist.

Rory gawked at him, then her crimson painted lips turned up into a lazy smile and she laughed. “Wow, someone’s in a mood,” she teased, “why don’t you have a drink? Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Rory. Tell me where he fucking is!”

Rory turned her attention downwards, toward the rough looking boy on the floor in front of her. Salem followed her gaze, realizing that he was now shaking, pressing his thin frame against Rory’s leg like he couldn’t get close enough. He was looking at Salem’s shoes, his face twisted up in a nervous frown. Rory instantly leaned close to him, hands on his cheeks and lips against his jaw, saying something in a real low, soft voice. She was calming him down, soothing him, Salem noticed, because he had frightened him.

Salem realized, then, how angry he sounded, shouting and cursing, and he sighed to himself. He decided he’d be better off just going to bed, putting in earplugs and waiting until the morning to deal with the problem. It’s not like he’d really be able to fight Nicko anyway, he was so much taller and he’d been on the football team and honestly Salem just wasn’t equipped for fighting. So he turned away from both of them and made his way down the hallway, to his room. He locked his door and set his things down, then he promptly stripped down to his boxers and got into bed.

The next morning, Salem was surprised to wake up to a clean, quiet house. He walked down the hallway, expecting at any second to see all of the trash pushed into a corner somewhere, he didn’t think Nicko would have cleaned up himself, unprompted. But it was clean all the way through, and he was impressed when he walked into the living room and saw Nicko, decked out in all black clothes and black boots, relaxing on the couch with his keys clutched readily in his hands, like he was leaving. He was speechless, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he approached him.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Nicko teased, tilting his head back and looking him up and down, “how was your trip?”

“Uh...good.” Salem answered, voice still gruff from sleep.

“Morning, Salem!”

He turned to see Rory standing there in fishnets and an oversized hoodie, dramatically tall heels wrapped around her ankles, making Salem wonder how she was standing straight. One time, when Nicko was busy doing an art piece or working on school work, he couldn’t remember now, she and Salem had been in the kitchen alone and Rory told him that she liked to wear tall heels because Nicko likes when she’s short and it entertains her to bother him. She said the best part of her day sometimes is irritating Nicko.

Behind Rory, standing with his head dipped downwards and his shoulders slightly hunched, was the same scared looking kid from the night before. He was allowing Rory to pull him along by his wrist, focusing on his shiny black boots, ones that he looked rather unsteady in, like he wasn’t used to tall shoes. His thin, oversized black tee shirt hung off of one boney shoulder, showcasing a few tattoos up on his collar bone and neck. They looked fresh, like they were healing. After Salem scanned the rest of his body (why was he wearing shorts and a tee shirt!? It was snowing outside!), he had healing tattoos all over, scattered every few inches. Were they all new? Salem didn’t know much about tattooing, but he didn’t think that was safe.

Salem didn’t realize he’d been staring at him, silent, until Rory cleared her throat, redirecting his attention to her. “He’s cute, huh?” She smiled, smacking her gum at him. “Nicko picked out a good one.”

“I...What?” Salem muttered.

“Our boxie,” she explained, holding his limp arm up in the air and waving it a little, making the kid flinch hard, “You were looking at him. Isn’t he precious?”

Now, he was shrinking in on himself more, looking rather embarrassed and ashamed, his face hidden mostly by his floppy hair. Salem frowned at him, then at Rory, then at Nicko, who was smiling smugly.

“You didn’t.”

Nicko laughed at him, and thus began the famous “You said it would be cool” argument. Salem was so shocked in the moment he wasn’t able to form a proper argument, so Nicko took both Rory and the boxie out the door and into the snow with him.

So that’s when things got complicated. Well, not necessarily right away, but that was the thing that kickstarted it all. It was a total snowball effect, where one bad thing happens and it just gets worse and collects more velocity and severity the longer it goes on, until it’s huge and it can’t be stopped and it flattens a poor snowboarder or a small city. Salem had to finish school, he had to start living his life and building his career, he didn’t have time to worry about huge snowball problems. That could ruin everything, all of his hard work and pain would have been pointless. All because Nicko decided to get a fucking boxie.

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nalgenewhore · 5 years ago

Text

Too Late To Turn Back Now - Five

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter

an: everything will be fine! i promise, just to preface, that everything will be a-ok 😊

+*+*+*+*+*+*

The day was half over already as Lorcan lounged around in Sadirah’s garden with his sisters, him and Aneha doing their best to distract the youngest sister as she worked her garden, muttering in Ozuye about how they were both clod-footed brutes that would ruin all her hard work.

They just laughed and continued on with their shenanigans, sneaking the weeds she pulled from the soil into her hair and flicking dirt across her face. Sadirah had always been the calmest of the siblings, always there to soothe hurt feelings and calm worked-up emotions so no one was surprised that she didn’t react, merely stared at them with a patient look.

As far as things go, they all got on well, hardly ever fighting. With everyone having their own interest, there was no need to clash or compete to be the best. Sadirah was inclined to gardening and painting – most of the paintings in the house had been done by her, while Aneha was exceptional at music, specifically piano, and had a voice that could make the gods themselves weep.

Eventually, it became clear that Sadirah wouldn’t crack so Lorcan and Aneha gave up, choosing to lie on the soft grass beside the patch of sweetgrass and white sage, the fragrant air soothing all his worries for now.

The gate opened and Lorcan cracked an eye open, thinking it was his mother, but no. It was Maeve. His sisters remained oblivious as Aneha braided flowers into his hair and Sadirah harvested sage and sweetgrass to dry in bundles and braids. Lorcan sat up, already nudging Aneha behind him as Maeve curled her lip at her great-nieces and nephew. “Lorcan. I need to speak with you.”

Sadirah froze and glanced over her shoulder, wrapping an arm around Aneha as she moved over to her side. Lorcan sighed and stood, leaning down to kiss their heads before stalking out of the garden, leaving his sister’s handiwork alone even as Maeve gave it a disapproving look. She had never liked his hair, but Lorcan refused to cut it, it would go against his faith and people.

“What is it,” he asked once they were out of earshot from the garden.

His great-aunt sighed and picked at her nails, “How long will this continue?”

“What are you talking about.”

“You’ve been in Doranelle long enough. It’s time to come back home so I can show you how to run the business. You’re just a secretary.”

Lorcan curled his hands into fists and his nostrils flared in anger. “I have a law degree, Maeve. Articling is something every law graduate is required to do.”

“And you’ve had your fun. But the family needs you back home. There is no one for me to pass on my business—”

“I swear to the fucking Creator, don’t tell me that bullshit again. You were an investor, and your investment was paid in full a decade ago. Mom is the one who sacrificed everything for her empire and you have yet to release it. You know nothing about how to run the businesses, and I have no interest. Do you understand that I’m a lawyer? Like, I graduated law school. Like the way Elide is a lawyer.”

Maeve’s eyes flashed dangerously and Lorcan knew he would come to regret the words, but in the moment, he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to care. “That woman is no more fit to be a lawyer than you are. She—”

“Insult Elide to my face and we’ll see how that goes, Auntie.”

“She is handicapped—”

“The fuck did I just say? If you want me home, talk to me fairly and speak with your chest. Elide has worked harder than anyone I know to get to where she is, not that you would understand that. I have half a mind to uninvite you to the wedding, but I won’t. Stay away from my family, Maeve,” he spat. Lorcan looked her up and down with a disgusted expression and shook his head, scoffing as he stormed away, too angry to begin thinking of the consequences.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide had just come out of the house from the quiet greenhouse when she’d heard terse voices arguing around the corner. Not wanting to interrupt anything, Elide stayed still, close enough to hear everything Lorcan had said. Something in her chest had tightened to hear Maeve insult her like that and then to have Lorcan defend her like that.

She waited another minute before walking out, leveling Maeve with a cold stare as she moved to follow Lorcan.

Only, she couldn’t find him and settled on leaving him alone to cool off. Elide sat on a bench overlooking an ocean cove and opened her book again, wrapping her cardigan further around her without taking her eyes off the page.

Fifteen minutes later, someone cleared their throat and she looked up, seeing Vaughan standing a few metres away. “Oh. Hello, Vaughan.”

“Hi, Elide. I’m sorry that we weren’t more accommodating yesterday. I was wondering if you’d like to go on a quick hike – a forest walk, really.”

Elide internalized her hesitation and nodded, “Sure.”

Vaughan nodded once and they were off, strolling along the cliff’s edge until they reached the trees. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

The man shrugged, “I’d like to get to know you better. Lorcan and I grew up together.”

Elide nodded, “Aelin told me you were cousins. Did you two grow up here?”

He barked a laugh and shook his head, “Oh, lords above, no. No, um, my parents weren’t… the best of parents and Odette took me in as a toddler so I consider her to be my mom and she sees me as a son. We lived on the Ozuye reserve on the mainland. Did Lorcan not tell you?”

She shook her head, the sun flickering through the canopy of pine trees, “No, he doesn’t talk about his childhood often.”

“Ah, well. His father was abusive and hit us all regularly. Lorcan suffered the worst of it,” his voice hitched and he cleared his throat before continuing, “I was smaller than him, so he would take my beatings and he could never stay in place while watching our mother be hurt.”

Elide’s heart clenched and she found herself saying slowly: “My guardian beat me.”

“They did?”

She swallowed past her tight throat. She had never been more keenly aware of her ankle right now. “My uncle. My parents died when I was young and he was given full custody.” The words died on the tip of her tongue and she couldn’t share with him the story of her ankle, not now, not with Vaughan. “What happened to the father?”

“He left after Odette got pregnant with the girls. Never saw or heard from him again. Odette began her first business and then the next and soon enough we were moving.”

They fell quiet and walked in an eerie silence that Vaughan eventually broke. “I’ve never seen Lorcan with anyone other than Essar, so I’m sorry if any of us are being rude. How the two of you act is very different. We all thought he would marry her one day.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. He even proposed.”

“He did?”

“Yeah, but she said no. They were young and they thought they were in love. Essar just knew she wasn’t ready and couldn’t stay with him. So, they broke up a week before they left for college and hardly ever spoke again.”

“Oh. That’s…” Elide trailed off as the path took them to yet another cliff, the water blue and sparkling ten metres below. “It’s beautiful here.”

“We used to come up here and cliff jump all the time.”

Elide’s eyes widened and she peered over the edge, a shiver running through her at the menacing rocks that appeared beneath the surface and the waves that slammed themselves against the rock face. “How did you not die?”

Vaughan laughed, “Run and shoot for distance. Maybe throw up a prayer beforehand.”

Elide chuckled and they sat on the edge, watching a pod of orcas circling a rock island, hunting for food. Eagles circled above in the sky and swooped in to clean off whatever the killer whales had left after the frenzy.

Vaughan stood and helped her up, “I should probably get you back. Wouldn’t want to worry your betrothed.” He winked and smirked as she attempted to smile, hating the guilt coiling in her gut.

When they got back, they found Lorcan at the woodpile, wearing a precariously cut tank top as he aggressively chopped wood, earbuds in. Vaughan made a face, “I’ll let you handle that.”

Elide laughed, “So gracious.” With a little salute, Vaughan sauntered off and Elide turned back to Lorcan who hadn’t even noticed anyone. His long hair was twisted in a loose braid and with every fall of the axe, a flower fell from it. Elide was transfixed by the sight, a filling warmth pooling low in her belly as she watched the cotton material of his top stick to his chest, enjoying the sight far too much.

She was a busy woman and hardly had time for that but when Lorcan looked like… a god, she couldn’t help but entertain the idea before she felt her cheeks flush and she quickly walked away from the scene.

Elide wasn’t blind or stupid either, obviously she’d seen how good he looked over the past two years. It’s not your fault, she told herself, he wears all those… fitted suits and likes to roll up the sleeves of his shirts and he has all those tattoos… honestly, fuck him for having sexy forearms.

Her cheeks were still bright red as she slipped into their room, walking straight into the bathroom and turning on the shower. As she waited for the water to warm up, she walked to the window, opening them and pushing them as far out as they would go to cool her face.

There was a dull, repetitive chopping sound and she looked down to see that Lorcan was almost directly beneath her, the blade of the axe flashing in the sun as he raised it and brought it down again. She didn’t know that Maeve’s comments had angered him this much. The black ink on his arms that creeped under his top to cover his back seemed to capture the sunlight that made his copper skin glow.

Before she could get too distracted by the sight of him, again, Elide stood up straight and undressed to enter the shower, resting her forehead against the tiled wall as she cursed everything and everyone.

She was in such deep, unending shit.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Music set on the highest possible volume, Lorcan cut firewood until his shoulders burned and his chest heaved, his lungs greedily searching for air. He let the axe fall to the ground with a heavy thump and used the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow. The braid that Aneha had made was coming undone, flowers lying crushed on the ground around him and chunks of hair falling free from the constraints.

Lorcan didn’t bother to fix it as he stalked towards the house in need of a shower. Usually, he could exercise massive amounts of self restraint, but somehow Maeve pushed every button possible until he exploded. He didn’t see her as he moved through the house and figured she’d slinked back to the guesthouse she insisted on occupying every time she visited.

His earbuds were still in and he nodded in passing to the boys who were in the living room, playing some video game. Maybe he’d join them later.

Tapping his fingers against his thigh to the Dead Kennedys’ Too Drunk To Fuck, he entered his room, closing the door behind him and shucking his shirt off to the floor.

He went out to the balcony, flinging himself down on one of the chairs and slinging an arm over his eyes. Lorcan basked in the sun’s rays until it became too hot and he stood up, his music still playing far too loudly as he walked inside and dropped his shorts, tossing them onto the dresser as he turned to the bathroom, completely oblivious to everything. He could’ve sworn he heard something so he turned around, seeing nothing and walking backwards.

Suddenly, something rammed into his back and he whirled, catching whatever it was as they went down.

They fell to the floor and he looked down just as Elide, a very naked and wet Elide, looked up.

They both yelled and jumped away from each other as Elide held her arm over her chest and crossed her legs, “Why are you naked?!”

“Why are you wet?!” Lorcan yelled back, holding his hands in front of his groin.

“Don’t look at me,” she hissed, not moving until he turned and she hastily grabbed a towel from the armoire. Lorcan’s phone had fallen during their abrupt greeting and he bent down to get while Elide yelled again, “Anneith below, can you not?! I can see everything.”

He quickly changed positions and tugged his shorts on, his face bright red as he turned and she demanded, "Explain yourself.”

“I didn’t see you! I was outside chopping wood,” he said, looking anywhere but his boss in a towel, skin gleaming.

“You didn’t hear me?”

“I was listening to music, princess. Why did you jump me?”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, “I did not jump you. Well, I didn’t mean to. I forgot a towel after my shower and you were just there.”

Lorcan looked down at her suspiciously, “Were you trying to seduce me?”

She rolled her eyes, “Please. Don’t flatter yourself, it’s not cute.”

He smiled cockily, raising his hands, “It’s fine, you know. I get it, I’m sweaty, half-naked, you saw me chopping wood and it made you feel some type of way.”

“You stink. Go take a shower.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Elide just rolled her eyes again as he walked to the bathroom, stopping at the door and looking over his shoulder at her, “Don’t take this the wrong way…” her back was turned to him and he saw her tattoo, a delicate line of script written down her spine, with a mountain range on her right shoulder blade, a wyvern mid flight on her left. He fell silent, unable to form words.

“What?”

“You’re a very beautiful woman, Elide.”

“Shut up,” she said, though when she glanced back at him, her lips pulled into a small grin.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Aelin and Nehemia were near tears after Elide recounted an adjusted version of her and Lorcan’s sudden and wet incident. She got along really well with the both of them and once she remembered that this wasn’t supposed to last, her chest grew tight and she needed to have a drink.

Odette booted Rowan, Vaughan, Connall, and Fenrys from her living room to the patio. They all smiled at Aelin and Nehemia, the bright grins dampening as they saw Elide. “Oh. Hey, Elide.”

She pretended not to notice it and ignored the pang in her chest again. “Hey.”

Vaughan broke the awkward silence by sprawling on the couch next to her, practically crushing her into the cushion with his frame. “Gods, I rule at gaming. You guys wish you had my skills.” That seemed to do the trick and the boys were quick to argue, dissolving into petty bickering.

Nehemia helped Elide push Vaughan off and reassured her, “Don’t worry – they’re always like this.”

“The first few months were unbearable,” Aelin grumbled, scowling at her boyfriend who remained oblivious. “We were all in the same dorm and they fought constantly.”

“What changed?”

“Please, don’t tell the story,” came another voice, deep and rumbling, and Lorcan came strolling out, in a pair of shorts and a band tee. He shoved Vaughan from the couch and sat next to Elide, nodding to her drink as he stretched his arms around the back of the couch, “Whatcha got there, princess?”

Elide rolled her eyes at the nickname, “Gin and ice. What’s this story?”

He groaned, dropping his head back. “I hate this story.” The boys chorused their agreement as Aelin exclaimed, moving to seat herself in Rowan’s lap. Everyone exchanged looks and scooted away from the affectionate couple.

“But I love this story.” Aelin pouted at him and Lorcan caved, waving his hand.

“Let’s hear it then.”

The afternoon bled into evening and then night, the sun setting and bathing Lorcan in golden and orange light. His arm had fallen down around her shoulders and she was tucked up into his side, his arm a welcome weight around her.

They had talked about everything, exchanging stories about everyone in rounds. It was Lorcan’s turn and they turned to Elide, waiting for something. Lorcan nudged her when she didn’t say anything, staring up at him in a soft silence. “El. Your turn.”

“Oh,” she sat up straighter, her side prickling at the loss of contact. He laughed quietly and pressed a kiss to the side of her head, tugging her back down. “A couple months before we got together, I was on this case and I fell asleep in the middle of the night in my office. I don’t even know why Lorcan was still there, but he woke me up and carried me to my car and drove me home.” Elide tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, running her finger over the rim of her copper mug. “And then he carried me to my apartment and put me to bed. It was really sweet and… nice.”

Elide was sure her cheeks were flushed as she grew warm and hid her face in Lorcan’s side as they teased him for going ‘soft’.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

When Elide yawned yet again, Lorcan stood up and picked her up, “Night, guys. Gotta get my girl to bed.” She smiled sleepily at ‘my girl’ and nuzzled closer to him, softly sighing into his neck as they said goodnight and he carried her through the house to their room, gently putting her on the bed. “Princess, where’s your pj’s?”

She didn’t open her eyes, pointing randomly, “Bag. Big one.”

Huffing a laugh, Lorcan opened her bag, pulling out a pair of sweats and crewneck with the logo from her university. As he moved back to her side, he commented, “Always thought you were a satin and lace nightie type of gal.”

Elide cracked open an eye. “You think about what I sleep in? That’s not very professional,” she teased him, a cheeky glint in her eyes as she sat up and took the clothes from him, her movements stuttering as his smile dropped and he took a too-large step back.

“There’s a lot of not professional things about this, Elide.”

Her face fell and she nodded, standing and moving to the bathroom without another word.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Walking out, she found him shirtless, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. Elide padded over to him, hesitantly reaching out and resting her hand on his shoulder. “Are you ok?”

Lorcan laughed harshly and moved away from her hand, “Am I ok? What do you think, Elide? You’re blackmailing me and making me lie to my entire family.” He stood up and began pacing as she slowly sat, her hands in her lap. “And, the thing is, we aren’t even in the clear! I could go to fucking prison for you and ruin everything I’ve worked for.”

“I’m—”

“You don’t even seem to care,” he spat, glaring at her. “What, is this just another Monday for you? What is so bad in Terrasen that you can’t move back there?”

Her head was tilted down and she wiped her eyes, sniffling once. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Lorcan, but you’re not the only person who’s had a hard life.”

She felt so small sitting there, her vision blurring. So very small and alone.

The bed dipped as he sat down next to her and awkwardly wrapped an arm around her, nothing like when they were outside with his friends. Elide half-wondered what had changed and as reality crashed down around her, she stood like his touch burned her and moved without word to her side, crawling in and turning on her side away from him.

It had all been for show.

Gods, she was an idiot.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere e @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @superspiritfestival @yikesitsmaddie @flowerspringsea @queen-of-glass @sleeping-and-books s @b00kworm @bat-wing-rhys @poisonous00 @empress-ofbloodshed @feyrethedarklady @gorl-power @keshavomit @ifinallygavein let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tag list!

#too late to turn back now #tlttbn chapter five #the proposal au #elorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #isa writes #nalgenewhore

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anthonyed · 5 years ago

Text

color me you (stevetony college! au inspired by this scene from skam france) also on Ao3 rated M for sexual content

“This is stupid,” Tony sighs, pain brush dropping with a plop into the paint can. Dark blue mixing with bright yellow, Tony couldn’t give a fuck about them.

“Speak for yourself. Personally, I find this very soothing,” Clint shrugs, swirling white into pink and marvelling at the pastel.

Rhodey aims a kick at his side, ignoring Clint’s protest to address Tony, “What’s going on?” He asks.

Tony gives an abortive shrug, “Nothing, I just feel,” he pauses to pull in a breath and exhales it out loud, “You guys aren’t even responsible for this,” he waves at the pathetic mural that needs repainting.

Clint stands up from his crouching, going to paint a stroke of pastel pink over the faded black ink of ‘Work Hard Study Smart’. All three of them scrunch their noses in distaste.

“Lighter,” Clint decides.

“We told you we don’t mind,” Rhodey tells Tony.

“I’m having all the fun,” Clint dribbles more white, beaming up at them.

Tony rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant -,”

“What is it then?”

Tony tries to wave it off, but Rhodey’s stare means business so he caves in and admits, “Rogers’ supposed to do this.”

“What’s going on with you two?” Nat asks from her seat at the back of the room. She’s too cool to paint is her excuse.

Tony turns from her to find two more pairs of eyes on him. He shrugs, picking up his own paint brush, wishing they’d accept that for an answer and drop the topic. But they’re still looking when he glances up from the brush so he sighs, shrugging again.

It’s not like they don’t know the rest. He’s told them as much.

“We’re not talking,” he says.

“Talking, face to face or -,”

“Talking, in any way,” Tony tells Clint who purses his lips thoughtfully and says, “But those notes…,”

“He gives you notes?” Nat chirps in, having moved in closer in the span of last minute. Tony scowls at her.

“He draws comics on post-its and gives them to Tony,” Rhodey supplies.

“Tony’s a rat and Rogers’ a bunny. Real cute,” Clint grins, “Show her, Tones.”

Tony shuts him up with a glare but Natasha’s already holding out a hand, carefully plucked brow raised in challenge.

Giving up, Tony pulls out the folded collection of the longer sticky sticky-notes from his back pocket. “It's a mouse. Not a rat.”

He watches Natasha read through them, her face remaining stoic throughout until the end when she holds them out for his taking and remarks, “Cute.”

“Shut up,” Tony grumbles, pocketing them back.

“And you carry them with you all the time?”

“I thought you have an important assignment?” He scowls at her.

She levels him with her infamous no-shit stare. “Why are you not talking to him?”

Tony sees Rhodey and Clint share a look before busying themselves with the paints. He disregards them for Nat and answers her. After all, she’s the only one who’s yet to know about last weekend.

“He urm. He got back with his girlfriend.”

“He told you?”

“I saw him. They were kissing at Sharon’s party.”

“I thought you said they broke up?”

“That’s what he told me!” Tony loses his cool for a second, realises it and recollects himself. But Natasha’s face says it’s too late, she’s computed his reaction already.

“Did you ask him about it?”

“No. I told him to fuck off,” Tony grumps, scuffing the floor with his sneaker.

Natasha hums, leaning back against the desk, a pinched expression on her face. “But he still sends you those notes.”

“Slips ‘em in when I’m not looking.” Tony shakes his head, “Maybe he just wanted an out from this stupid project,” he sighs heavily, attempting a light hearted comment as he smirks at Nat.

But Natasha’s not listening, lost in her own thoughts which Tony leaves her to. He’s got tons of work to do anyway. Like a wall to paint.

They’re collectively scolding Clint for getting the pink to white ratio wrong when Natasha speaks again.

“Text him,” she says.

Rhodey and Tony fall silent, looking at each other and at Clint as well.

“What?” Tony laughs nervously. “I’m not doing that.”

“Gonna play collector to his comic till you die then?”

Tony bristles.

“Geez, Nat. No need to be so morbid all the time.”

She silences him with a stare, “Send him a text. Tell him, he either chooses you or he stops with those notes.”

Tony blinks, fingers immediately reaching for his back pocket but stops when Natasha’s gaze falls on them. She gives him a pointed look. “It’s not fair of him to lead you on.”

“He’s not leading me on,” Tony mumbles..

“Are you sure about that?” Rhodey bumps his shoulder lightly. An encouraging smile plays along his lips. Tony glances at Clint and sees the same look on his face.

“So, what do I write exactly,” he sighs, pulling out his phone.

Date me or quit sending those notes glares at him as he hesitates. “Do I add an angry emoji?” He looks up at the mastermind behind it; Nat.

“Are you five?” Clint cringes. Natasha tips her head in his direction, wordlessly executing what he said.

“Just send it,” Rhodey urges. Hunched next to Tony on top of a desk they share while Nat and Clint share another, paint drying on his brush’s bristle.

Tony taps the blue button. “There,” he announces. “I did it.”

Clint raises a hand for high-five which he meets weakly. Rhodey tousles his hair while Natasha silently glares at the phone until it beeps just a few seconds after he sent his text.

Tony stares at his phone and then looks at her.

“What? You need me to tell you how to open the text now?” She snipes at him.

“Dude, what does it say?” Clint bumps into his side, buzzing with excitement. Natasha rolls her eyes at him.

Tony glances at Rhodey and taps on the message at his silent nod. He’s not usually like this, but apparently, it’s what Steve Rogers has made of him.

“He says he wants to talk.” He reads the reply out loud. Another beep comes through; “He asks if I’m free.”

Clint begins to coo but a kick to his shin from Nat shuts him up.

“What’re you gonna say?” She asks.

Tony looks at her, confused. He was, after all, under the impression that she was dictating him throughout this process. But she raises her brows at him, following her question.

“Tell him you’re busy,” Rhodey quips helpfully.

Tony looks at him and thinks about it. “I’m gonna say I’m busy with this shitty mural he’d abandoned,” he decides.

He looks over at Nat who simply shrugs; your text, your words. He looks at Clint who tells him seriously, “No emoji please.”

Tony steps on his foot the moment he sends the text.

“Ow!”

This time, no reply comes.

Ten seconds.

A minute.

Five minutes.

“You think green will work?” Clint asks Rhodey who looks relieved to knuckle his shoulder and start a banter about Clint’s artistic skills with him.

“Forget about it.” Natasha tells Tony in the hum of the boys’ raising voice. “Take me for ice cream after this. I want mango and coffee.”

Tony blinks and blinks before he smiles up at her. “Two flavours that don’t mix,” he comments.

“Fuck you. Don’t judge,” Nat flicks at his nose, pecking his cheek before she returns to her seat at the back of the classroom.

Seven minutes.

“I want ice cream too!” Clint wines when Tony tells him about their plan.

Nine minutes.

“The football team requested to use the court for training this week,” Rhodey mentions conversationally, “I’m gonna tell them no.”

Tony’s hand pauses in its repetitive stroke against the wall. He gawks at his best friend, “You can’t do that.”

Rhodey shrugs, dipping his brush in the paint can. “You’ll hear about my power once the complaints start pouring in.” He tosses a devilish smile over his shoulder.

Tony shakes his head. Couldn’t help but snort at him. “Don’t,” he says. “He’s not even in the team.”

“His best friend is.”

“Yeah, but Barnes doesn’t deserve it.” Tony sighs, bending over to dip his own brush. “It’s not worth it,” he tells Rhodey. “Trust me,” he adds when Rhodey looks unconvinced.

10 minutes

“I can send him dead roaches.” Clint offers good naturedly.

“I’ll tell him it’s you and he’ll shove them down your throat,” Tony grunts at him. “Seriously. Stop.”

Clint pokes his tongue out at him in retaliation. Tony wonders who gave this guy permission to accuse other people of being five years old. He doesn’t vocalize it, but he sure does poke at Clint’s side just when he’s getting the straightest damned stroke of paint. The line wiggles out of track.

“Fuuuck! Tony you, fucking bastard!” Clint lunges for him, but Tony neatly steps aside, letting him catch the air.

A big grin breaks across his face at Clint’s second attempt, but before his third, someone knocks on the door.

All of them pause to look in its direction.

“Who is it?” Clint asks them dumbly. Rhodey rolls his eyes at him and Tony’s distracted by the beeping from his phone.

He pulls it out. Reads the text, looks up at his friends, reads a few times over just to be sure and his palms begin to get clammy.

“It’s Steve.” He tells them.

Clint’s jaw falls and so does Rhodey’s. Nat’s hand squeezes his shoulder, shocking him out of his skin. She orders, “Okay boys, time to pack up,” before Tony could express his surprise.

Another set of knocks, three quiet ones followed by a text; “Can I come in?”

“Get out!” Tony whisper-shouts at his friends who’re scrambling for their stuffs. “Through the back door!” he commands when Clint rushes to the front one.

The instant all three of them are huddled at the back door, Tony opens the front one, signalling them to spill out just as Steve steps in.

“Hey,” Steve greets, slightly breathless. He looks like he ran here; windblown hair and flushed cheeks.

“Hey,” Tony answers, taking a step back, making space for him.

Steve gaze stays fixed on Tony, drinking him in even as he shuts the door behind.

For a while, they don’t speak. Simply taking each other in; studying the other’s face and their body, missing the way Steve stands or fidgets because he can never stand still.

Tony blinks, telling himself to not to be so stupid when it comes to Steve Rogers, but fuck. He just cannot do it.

“What are you doing here?” Tony asks, swallowing down the strange lump in his throat. He steps away from Steve, back to the wall, where it still looks as horrible as it did yesterday.

“Looking for you,” Steve says, following him, and he too stands. Staring at the wall, marvelling at its ugliness. “I see you’ve started repainting.”

“Maria’s at my throat,” Tony shrugs. “Don’t think she will hesitate to knock on my apartment door demanding I get it done tonight.”

Steve snorts and when Tony looks, he’s sucking his lower lip in, seemingly thinking over his next words.

When he says, “Wanna Jackson Pollock it?” Tony blinks, confused. “What?”

“Jackson Pollock,” Steve turns to him. His backpack is slung over one shoulder, blonde hair sticking out haphazardly and he looks as breathtaking as he always does to Tony. “Want me to show you?”

“Sure,” Tony answers before he could think.

Steve grins at him, dropping his backpack fluidly onto a clean patch of the floor and taking off his jacket. He’s in a black t-shirt, matching Tony’s in tone and its simplicity.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Tony rasps out, working his throat. He feels slightly light-headed. The last time Steve had taken anything off of himself, they were tangled in a bed, kissing and kissing until the world disappeared around them.

Steve looks up from where he’s bent, picking at one of those brushes Rhodey and Clint had left behind. He's a few inches lowered from Tony’s standing height and when he looks up, his baby blue eyes shine from under his long lashes, stunning. Tony sucks a breath in to steady himself.

“How’s Peggy?” He asks Steve, careful to not let any distaste slip into his tone.

“Why are we talking about Peggy?” Steve stands up, forgoing the brushes to take a step towards Tony.

Tony huffs out a laugh, stepping back. “I don’t know. Maybe because she’s your girlfriend.”

“She’s not,” Steve denies.

“Don’t lie.” Tony snaps at him. “I saw you two kissing at Sharon’s party.”

“We’re over.” Steve takes another step towards Tony. Insistent.

This time Tony doesn’t step back. He simply looks Steve in the eyes and says, “You said the same thing the other day only to shove your tongue down her throat the very next day.”

Steve shakes his head, not moving anymore forward. “Not this time.” He says, “The last time I told you, I don’t know, I thought you looked shocked that I ended it. And Peggy – Peggy knows me too well for a very long time and I just –,” Steve stops, breathing in deep before he lets out, “Ever since I saw you, you’re the only one that matters. I want a relationship with you, Tony. But I thought you weren’t ready to commit -,”

“I am,” Tony cuts him off. Almost shouts it out aloud.

Steve blinks. “Yeah?” he asks, voice so soft like that Saturday afternoon when he’d cradled Tony’s face and told him he’d never felt this way ever before.

“I want to commit. To you,” Tony tells him truthfully.

Steve lashes flutter as if he’s trying hard not to blink. To not miss the way Tony looks right then.

“Me too,” he exhales before scooping Tony up in his arms, mouth meshing together in the warmest, wettest worshipful dance and he swings Tony around in the paint stinking classroom of their college.

Jackson Pollock.

Tony swears he’ll take that name to his grave.

“There,” Steve says, flicking the bristles of a freshly coated paint brush at the wall. Tony looks from the tasteless splatter of black paint to Steve. He’s met by an amused face; the afternoon sun lighting his full-blown grin so beautifully it twists something warm and tight in Tony.

Tony minces on his responding smile, pinches his thigh to stop being so smitten and he asks, “What is this?”

He watches as Steve takes another dip in a different paint can – green – and flicks it at the wall, some droplets overlapping, some not and he turns with that same full grin to Tony.

“Jackson Pollock,” he presents with a single-handed wave at the questionable result, “He usually splatters paints and pours them making a mess and calls it art. I thought we could try that.”

Tony would rather bite his tongue than say no to that face, so he dunks his brush and splatters a good amount of blood red onto the wall.

“Huh,” Steve cocks his head studying it. “You did it wrong.” He informs softly.

Tony gawks at him. “No, I did not. No one can do wrong with this. This is just flicking paint. You have to really suck to fail at it.”

“Yeah,” Steve turns to him, lips wobbling, “I just didn’t want to be the one to say that to you.”

Tony opens his mouth then snaps it shut and glares at the now laughing man. Going for a second dunk, this time, instead of flicking the paint at the wall, he flicks them at Steve. Covering him with dots of red that contrasts beautifully with his light toned-skin.

Steve recovers from his shock quickly, swiping a paint covered fingertip across Tony’s cheek.

It starts like that; paints and laughter all fully clothed. But somewhere along that line, Steve ducks and kisses Tony and the brushes fall.

Next, their t-shirts come off.

Then their pants with belts still looped in their buckles.

And then Steve pushes Tony up the wall, almost all of him now covered in paint and he kisses him, paint covered fingers dancing across warm skin, smudging more and more until only about five percent of Tony’s skin was untainted.

Tony doesn’t hold back either; dragging palms across Steve's face as he cups his cheeks and sucks on his tongue, trails red, blue and white coated fingers down Steve’s chest. Lower and lower, leaving not an inch unpainted.

Then he smacks a hand over Steve’s ass and squeezes as he pulls him closer. His cock throbbing from the friction; wedged between their warm bodies and every time it drags across Steve’s hard erection, he shivers.

“What if somebody walks in?” He pants as Steve takes his and Tony’s cock into his hand and starts a rhythm.

“No one will.” Steve nips under his jaw, teeth dragging down the column of his throat as he breathes; hot and wet across Tony’s skin.

“But -,” Tony pauses, unable to stop the shudder that wrecks down his spine. He clutches onto Steve and clings on. “What if?” He exhales a sigh as Steve swipes a thumb over his wet slit.

“I locked the door when I came in.” Steve kisses his shoulder, opens his mouth and bites; starting gently and he sinks his teeth harder and harder as he goes.

Tony whimpers into his neck, finding purchase in Steve’s naked ass. Now slippery from all the paint and good God, they’re both going to stain like hell after this.

But in that moment, nothing matters except for the way Steve sucks at his skin and marks him as his own. The way he strokes Tony into completion and stops in pursuit of his own just to marvel at the face Tony makes when he comes undone. And to kiss him. And gets distracted in kissing him that Tony bats his hand away and takes his cock into his own hand.

Then it’s all about working Steve until he comes and comes and sighs and smiles into Tony’s shoulder. Until he’s all limp and happy and honest to god, fucking shines when he blinks up at Tony.

And Tony falls in love with him.

As if he hasn’t already.

#stony #stevetony #steve x tony #superhusbands #mine

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jeonbots · 5 years ago

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dead end ⁑ jungkook

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: angst / drabble

words: 2.1k

contains: lots of angst lololol, one sided pining/love

warnings: mentions of sexual acts (very minimal), drinking, swearing, this is very sad i guess i'm sorry, a lot of crying

summary: to stop the constant hammering at your heart or to keep your friendship? you can choose only one and you can’t be selfish

notes: just a quick one shot that i wrote last week when i was bored uhhh enjoy i guess :))))

Reorganizing the shelves is one of the painful downsides of your job. You’d think after four months of working there you’d get used to it but it’s still a pain in the ass. Riele got you this job when you needed money badly for this internship you’ve been dying to do for years. Her mother’s boyfriend is the owner of the small shop and when she not-so-subtly slipped your name one evening during dinner, Ben only chuckled before asking her for your number under her mother’s amused stare. And here you are, replacing articles stupid teenagers seem to love misplacing for no reason. Dicks.

You sigh loudly.

“All good in there, Y/N?”

You turn around only to find Ben walking your way, his gentle smile only fuelling your annoyance. Even in his fifties, Ben is still a good-looking man, his wrinkles only proving that he’s growing old. You remember the first time you two were introduced; Victoria, Riele’s mother, had organized that charity cook-out, to collect money and clothes for the local orphanage. She had been divorced for two years and when your father introduced Ben to the three of you, she became instantly infatuated with the man, spending the whole day talking, eating and drinking until you received a text from Riele the next morning with written in capital letters ‘ma got her coochie wet last night!!!! beyond disgusted!!!’ followed by another one ‘ngl she getting more dick than i am’. You remember laughing as she told you the next time you had seen her how she found Ben asleep on her mother’s bed that morning, eyes bulging out of their socks at the sight of his naked body under the sheets, her mother walking out of the bathroom attached to the room with a towel wrapped around her body and another one in her hands, drying out her hair.

“Yeah, peachy.” You plainly state.

You wince at your tone as you put the Led Zeppelin vinyl back in the ‘rock n’ roll’ section and he raises a brow before walking around you, amusement painted all over his face. Maybe you should be more grateful. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright, kiddo,” he ruffles your hair and heads to the backdoor. “I’m just glad you’re not stealing from the cash register.”

“Davis was a wild one, huh.” You snicker as he laughs wholeheartedly.

“Yeah, little brat.” He mumbles as he disappears behind the door, closing it behind him and leaving you, once again, alone in the shop.

Your father and Ben have been best buddies ever since they were in college together, majoring in business studies. Even though they had lost touch at some point, they had found each other a few years later, working in the same marketing company. And they’ve been inseparable ever since. So naturally, your father thought it was time for his family and closest friends to meet his best friend. Ben has been treating you like his own daughter ever since.

He reappears a few minutes later, hands full with some colored files. “How’d it go last night?”

You shudder at the question, quietly rummaging through the album section to distract yourself as the frustration and sadness you’ve been feeling ever since you woke up with a hangover this morning creeps up in your stomach. Riele thought it was a good idea to get shit-faced with tequila and vodka in your shared dorm to celebrate the end of your exams, and it was one. Until you guys decided to go out to the nearest club and get even more fucked up, only for you to run out the entrance a few hours later, tears staining your dolled-up face and chest heavy with a broken heart. Riele had tried to catch up to you only to vomit all the food and alcohol she swallowed the whole day on the sidewalk.

“Routine, y’know.” You shrug and he eyes you worriedly as he caught onto your knowing silence.

“You guys had fun, right?”

“Yeah.” You swallow and blink back the tears threatening to come out. God, you really hate when you get all sensitive for shit.

“Y/N–”

“I’m done here,” you mumble before moving to another section, cutting him off swiftly. He sighs before walking to his office on the other side of the shop, deciding to leave you be. If you want to talk, you’ll talk. And he knows it too well.

Fifteen more minutes of rearranging the shelves and you’re back behind the counter. You lean on it with your elbows, chin propped on your palm as you glance aimlessly around the shop. You take a random key chain displayed on the counter and fiddle with it as you sigh softly, replaying the images of last night in your head. When you recall the way his lips peppered kisses onto your friend’s neck, her hands grabbing at his strong shoulders as his knee was nudged in between her legs, pressing his thigh against her most sensible spot, that sickening feeling settling in your belly makes you want to puke right here and there. You don’t remember much after, but you do remember the way your stomach had made flips and how you stumbled out of the club, almost collapsing on the sidewalk as your body felt too heavy and your head too light-headed. An almost deadly combo.

You’re too far lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice the tall figure hovering over the counter until you hear a distinguish cough, pulling you out of whatever state you were in. You jump slightly and mumble a ‘I’m so sorry!’ as you snap your head up, and your breath gets caught in your throat.

Fuck.

“So,” his familiar voice starts, an amused smile dancing on his lips, “slacking off at work?”

“I– uh, yeah I was just– you know,” you awkwardly laugh as you rub your arm. You mentally slap yourself at your idiotic behavior.

Jungkook chuckles before settling a basket filled with all sorts of stuff he found in the shop. “I’m gonna take that Malboro packet too,” he nods towards the shelves behind you and you turn around to retrieve the small box from the top shelf before putting it on the counter. By the time you turn back he’s focused on the tiny trinkets on sale right next to the key chains and it gives you the time to properly look at him. His black hair are messy around his head, he has a black shirt on that showcases his tattooed arms and collarbone with tight blue jeans that mould his godly thighs and your heart skips a beat when you take notice of the purple bruises adorning his inked neck, a result from the probable sex session he had last night. You swallow harshly before looking down at the basket as you count every product.

“It’ll be 26.72$,” he glances at you and raises an eyebrow.

“With the cigarettes it’s supposed to be more than that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you send him a small smile as he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Stop doing this, Y/N. You’re gonna get yourself in trouble.” He warns but you can see his playful smirk. He digs in his jeans pocket and gives you the money, pulling out another ten dollar bill and stuffing it in your other hand. “This is for the quality service,” he winks at you.

“Jungkook–” You start to protest but he tuts, wrapping his tattooed hand around yours and closing it in a fist, the bill warming up in between your palm and fingers. The touch sends electricity from your fingertips to your whole being, slightly shivering at his warmth.

You sigh. “I don’t need tips, Jungkook.”

“That’s not what that empty tip jar says,” he points at the jar placed right next to the cash register with your name written on it, empty and untouched for what seems like decades.

Your cheeks redden and he notices, a toothy smile taking place on his handsome face. The warmth of his hand is lost and you feel disappointment stir in your stomach. You look away from him and start putting his stuff in a plastic bag.

Silence engulfs the both of you. You cheeks feel too hot under his gaze and you force yourself to look down, not wanting to give away your flustered state. But something tells you he already noticed and it makes your face even warmer. As you put last of the products in the bag, your hear him shift a little before he clears his throat and you hesitantly raise your head, a brow cocked at his agitated form.

“You– uh, sorry about last night.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“I was supposed to bring you and the girls back home after the party but uh– I got a little carried away.” Your heart jumps at the sudden confession as he sheepishly scratches the back of neck. “I hope you got home safely. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

You plaster a small smile on your face, one he doesn’t know masks a broken one as the tears start to pool at the brim of your eyes after twelve hours of successfully holding them back. You try to blink them away but it doesn’t do much, your chest growing heavier by the second. “Oh, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

He exhales, almost relieved at your words. “Okay, good. Good.” He smiles softly and your heart clenches. You glance back down quickly, eager to finish your job and get him to leave before you break down, humiliating you in front of your long-time crush. A crush that bloomed in the most beautiful yet painful love you’ve ever experienced, crushing you under the heaviness of your heart every single day for five years.

The door's bell rings signalling that a customer came into the shop. You look up to give him the bag but when your eyes settle on the new customer, your stomach drops.

“Babe,” the brown-haired girl comes up from behind Jungkook and wraps her arms around his middle, tip-toeing to reach his height and whining the pet name into his ear. He turns his head sideway and pecks her lips, smiling into the kiss as he murmurs a ‘hey’ softly.

There it is. That sickening feeling again. You quickly look away, busying yourself with putting the cash in the register as you feel the tears coming back, your throat squeezing painfully.

“Hey Y/N,” she smiles at you and you glance up, swallowing before forcing a smile on your face. “Thea, hey.”

Jungkook looks back at you and down at the bag before you shove it in his arms, the weight in your chest becoming unbearable. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to throw up.

“See you around, yeah?” Jungkook grabs the bag and nods at you, not waiting for an answer before taking Thea’s hand into his and walking back to the shop’s entrance. Thea waves you goodbye and when they’re out of the shop, you eventually burst into tears. The salty water is streaming down your face as you sob loudly, clutching the counter tightly. When you collapse on the ground right behind the counter, head low and tears coating your chin, you don't hear the quick footsteps as everything around you is muffled and seconds later you are engulfed in strong arms. Your head instinctively lies on a shoulder, your eyes closed from all the crying.

Three years have passed and you still wish you had said something back then. You wish you hadn’t chickened out on prom night and maybe you would have been the one holding his hand, kissing him as he would make love to you every day, whispering sweet praises in your ear as his cock drags against your walls in the most pleasurable way. You would be the one his heart sings for, and not the friend who had been oblivious to your reddened cheeks and stuttering words whenever Jungkook was around. But the past is the past, what’s done is done. He will never be yours and you have to accept it, for the sake of your friendship with Thea.

Maybe it’s a sign to you don’t deserve good things in your life, after all.

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eugenesmorphine · 5 years ago

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hi lovely! could i request something maybe a little mix of angsty and cute with Tab or Nix! Dealers choice xx

Mail Call // Lewis Nixon Imagine

AN: I tried my best on this one and had a little trouble at the end, but I hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @hihosilvers @floydtab

Words: 2,319

There her and Nixon stood. Getting ready for the big jump into Normandy. Mail call was being issued, and Y/N stood along with her fellow officers. She was the only woman in the Paratroopers, also an officer. An outstanding act for the United States Of America. First woman in combat on the front lines, leading charge of entire company. And now, she made it through two years of training, and she was here making the big jump.

"L/N! Lieutenant L/N!" called Martin as he mad his way around the men with mail. Y/N's head popped up from putting on the black and dark green face paint. Closing her small pocket mirror quickly and looking over at Martin.

"Over here!" she called, smiling slightly. Her closest friend Nixon walked up from behind her. She walked over to Martin who handed her an envelope.

"Here you go ma'am," Martin spoke as he turned and walked off. Shouting off some other Paratrooper's name along with piece of mail in his hands. Y/N turned, looking down at the envelope that rested in her hands. A smile coming to her lips as she ran her fingertips over the name etched onto the paper with ink. It was a letter from her fiance all the way back home. The one she was fighting in all this shit for. Just as she was about to open it, Nixon came over and snatched it up right from her fingers.

"What do we have here my fellow commanding officer?" he cooed as he read the envelope's information on the front. Whilst Y/N struggled to retrieve her piece of mail from the taller man. Who just kept putting his back to her. And with all the gear that was strapped to their bodies, it wasn't really hard to block the woman. She huffed loudly as she punched the back of his shoulder lightly. "Hmm, Marcus Jacks. Who's this, Y/N?"

"Oh come on, Nix! Give it back! It's from my fiance! I haven't seen him in like two damn years, a letter is the only thing I get to enjoy from him!" she whined. Nixon froze for a second. 'Fiance? She has a fiance?' he thought. He turned and handed the letter back. A strange feeling in his chest, with a strange feeling of sadness. Watching her eyes beam as she snatched back the letter, smiling down at it like Liebgott does with a Hershey Bar. Just what he secretly wished that her eyes would light up that way when she saw him.

"Fiance? You never mentioned a Fiance! We've been best friends for like two years!" He asked, hiding the hurt and disappointment well. Y/N just glanced up for a second and shrugged, sort of putting of Nixon's question. Looking back down at the letter and tearing it open carefully. Being just as careful when pulling out the piece of paper that held the contents of the letter. Nixon pressed his lips in a thin line and looked down at her his jump boots, nodding. "Guess I'll leave you alone to that letter then," was all he said before turning around to go see Dick. Who was watching the events unravel whilst standing next to Welsh.

See, Winters knew about Nixon's feelings towards the lone female Paratrooper. The truth slipped out after Nixon drank a little too much and when Richard asked him about his feelings, poor Lewis Nixon poured his little drunken heart out. Lewis wasn't one of romance or anything like that. But, with this particular woman. He thought he had fallen in love. After days upon weeks, upon months, and going on years of being with the woman. Laughing, drinking, shooting the shit, runs up Currahee. Lewis slowly fell for the woman, deeper and deeper. And now here was. At his demise. And Richard Winters saw the look of heartbreak in his eyes. Something he was shocked to see in his best friend.

He gave a sincere look to the approaching officer. He just gave him one of those sad smiles as he pushed past the two officers. "What's with Nix?" asked Welsh. Winters just sighed heavily as he looked at his boots. He pulled his helmet off and looked at the shorter officer.

"It's a long story," he answered as Welsh just nodded. turning to walk off to wherever. Richard looked up at the woman about thirty feet in front of him. Her eyes focused on trailing over the letter. But the superior officer noticed the look on her face as her eyes traveled farther down the letter. Something changed. Something not good. Her smile quickly fell into look of confusion and sadness. Her eyebrows knotted as pressed his lips together tightly. She swallowed hard and just quickly folded up the letter quickly and shoving it into her jacket.

Her head popped back up, Y/N could feel Dick's eyes on her. She turned and met his eyes. Richard raised a brow at her, basically questioning what the roller coaster of emotions she had just experienced. Y/N sighed heavily and walked over, knowing that it wouldn't be helpful if it was kept silent. Her boots patted against the pavement of the runway that was filled with planes.

"You alright Lieutenant?" asked Richard. Trying to search for her gaze as she just kept avoiding it. Y/N chuckled, it sounded sad, making Winter's worry and questioning rise. She finally looked up at the redhead.

"I could be better. I- um," she stammered. She could feel that burning sensation in the back of her throat build along with a hard lump. She could feel the burn of tears well up in her tear ducts. Quickly the female officer looked down, trying to compose herself. "My.. My Fiance says I have to make a decision. That.. That it is either him or the Army. He says that he hasn't been able to properly see me in over two years. And he can't do it any longer. If I choose the Army, he is going to leave me," her voice broke slightly as she looked up at the officer. A sad smile on her face. It was her own way of trying to tell herself that she was fine. That this wasn't a big deal. But in reality, this was a huge deal. Marcus was the only man she had ever been with. High school sweethearts since Freshman year. The ring he gave her just about a month she had left for Paratrooper training rested on his right ring finger still to that day. For two years she remained faithful. In hopes to know what she was fighting for all the way back home. And with the Army, he just wanted to ditch all of the hard work she put in to be the first woman that was truly in combat. The first female Paratroop. The first female officer in the Army to have boots on the ground in the war. The blood, sweat, and tears to even get into the Paratroopers after she went to college. The pain she went through, the discrimination, the harassment Y/N endured for years and pushed aside just to get to the bigger picture of the process. What it would do for woman in the country. But he wanted to her to just throw it all away just to come home. Just to be his wife.

"So, are you leaving? Is that what you're telling me?" Y/N just sat there for a second. She didn't know what she was going to do. She just sat and pondered for a second. There was so much to consider. But, Marcus was the only man she has ever been with. For years they were together. He was the love of her life. But, if he was the love of her life, wouldn't he want to support her through anything and everything. For Christ' sake, she was volunteering to possibly die for her country! Y/N was ripped out of her thoughts by a voice that belonged to her closest friend.

"You're leaving?" Nixon asked, standing behind her. He was just walking back to grab some food for his fellow officers, hearing the entire conversation. He dropped the three tins on the ground. The loud clanks and clatters of the metal rattling of the pavement rang off for a short few seconds. His arms dropped to his sides. Lewis never thought a heart could break this much. Well, not until now.

"Nix, it isn't as easy as you think!" Y/N tried to start, but Nixon just scoffed slightly. Chuckling sarcastically and placing his hands on her hips. His head hanging low as he shook it.

"You are throwing all of this away, for a man that tells you two. Wasting two years of your life. It is fucking D-Day, about four hours before we make the fucking jump, Y/N! That could be a dishonorable discharge! All the shit that we talked about, all the hard work you've done, just to throw it away?" he seethed. he wasn't angry at her, he was just confused. I mean think about it! She is questioning throwing everything away in a heartbeat, because a man that was supposed to be Y/N's rock and stick with her, can't follow through with his promises. And makes her deal with it.

"You don't get it Nixon!" she tried again. A few tears slipped out. She could feel a few eyes land on her as she glanced around. "If we are going to talk about this, can we go somewhere more private?" her voice was weak. Her head drooping low in defeat.

"No! We are going to talk about it right here!" His voice was loud. But it was filled with every emotion he was building up for years now. "You made me fall so fucking in love with you and our friendship, and now to toss it away like nothing. Shows how you really care about this country, your men, and your friends," Y/N's head shot up after hearing the words. Feeling like a red hot dagger stabbed into her chest. Her lips quivered as she was struggling to keep her tears in.

"Lewis Nixon! You think I didn't fall in love with you! After all the drinking games we played, late night talks in the map rooms, walks up Currahee, after everything. It was impossible for me not to!" She spoke, walking up to him and pointing a finger at his chest that was covered in jump gear. Her voice coarse as she pushed down the hard lump within the back of her throat. Y/N dug out the letter from her jacket, have a tight grip on it and holding it in front of his face. "But I made a commitment before the Army. Before the Paratroopers. And I need to live by it. I made a promise. No matter if he breaks his, I can't break mine. If I do that, nothing in my life has purpose anymore."

After her final words, she threw her hands down at her sides and peeled off her helmet. Turning back around and marching straight towards where the Colonel was. Nixon stood there, left gobsmacked and at a loss for words. His mouth slightly ajar as he looked over at the redheaded officer. Who looked just as shocked and upset as he was. Nixon just sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. What the hell was he left to fight for now?

///

Finally the rest of Easy Company met up in Normandy. It was now light outside, all Paratroopers dropped into D-Day that was alive seemed to all make it to the rally point. Nixon sat on a rock, staring at his hands. Still feeling the heartbreak and sadness that he was feeling when Y/N marched away from him.

"Nix! Nixon! Has anyone seen Lewis Nixon!" Called the only woman. Now without her jump gear and rifle in her hand as she ran around the groups of Paratroopers scattered everywhere. Lewis' head popped up, her squinted his eyes in confusion. She left, she quit the Army, there was no way she was here. Was he going mad.

"Hey Nix, is that Y/N?" Asked a sleepy Buck who was slumped beside a rock. He stood up and his eyes met with hers. Clearly he wasn't going mad. Because there she was, running toward him full speed. A smile quickly spread on his lips as darted towards him.

"Holy shit, Y/N!" he called as she ran into him, dropping her weapon and wrapping her arms around his torso. Lewis' arms tangled round her, engulfing her tightly. "I thought you were leaving?" he questioned as he pulled away out of the hug. She smiled and just grabbed his collar, pulling him down and smashing his lips onto hers for a second. Nixon's eyes widened but he soon shimmied his hands down to her waist and just melted into it. It was probably the best feeling he felt in his life right about now. A few whistles and cheers could be heard from the men around them. Y/N pulled away and breathes heavily.

"Fuck Marcus, I took what you thought into consideration. Turned myself around and went to my plane and made the big jump. God, I am so happy you made it," she said breathlessly. "I'm sorry for what I said, I never wanted to push you away. I never knew you felt that way, I just.. Just," Nixon smiled down at her and pulled her closer to him. Placing a finger on her lils to shush her before dipping his head down to kiss her once more, he whispered:

"God, I'm so fucking happy you made it too. Now shut up and kiss me."

#lewis nixon #lewis nixon imagine #richard winters #band of brothers headcanon #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #hbo imagines #hbo headcanon #hbo imagine #hbo war #hbo #hbo series #hbo war imagine #eugene roe

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justalarryblog · 4 years ago

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🏵️ my youth is yours by @skarshes (6k) | Not Rated

"They shake hands and when they’re finished, Louis stands up to go shake Harry’s hand. He doesn’t understand why Harry is gawking at him until he realizes that he’s still dressed in a pair of blue lacy boyshorts. He blushes, but the response from Harry is the best, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wide. Louis shakes his hand and welcomes him before leaving to go finish his last part of the photoshoot. Harry is still standing there with his mouth wide open when Louis walks out.

Oh, this is going to be so much fun, Louis thinks to himself as he gets in position for the next photo set."

Or: Louis is a model and Harry is his assistant. Cue the instant attraction, flirting, a little bit of smut, a little bit of angst, but a happy ending.

🏵️And I know he’ll be the death of me, at least we’ll both be numb by @capturethesunset (3k) | Not Rated

Louis getting wrecked by jealous Harry.

🏵️hop hop hop by orphan_account (3k) | Explicit

Suddenly, Harry’s slipping down his jeans, and Louis gasps as he’s met with a very unexpected but delicious sight. A mass of fur nestles between Harry’s cheeks, matching with the pink of the inner part of his bunny ears.

Or, the one in which Harry wears bunny ears and a bunny butt plug and Louis proceeds to fuck him.

🏵️Got A Lot You Wanna Show Off Baby by @Phillipa19 (3k) | Explicit

Louis had been in meetings all day, he should have known that Harry wouldn’t be ignored for much longer.

-OR-

Louis is Harry’s sugardaddy and his younger boyfriend is definitely not happy being ignored whilst Louis holds meetings in his home office. There may also be Harry in lacy knickers involved.

Part 2 of When I Land, You’re Mine

🏵️St. Austin’s School for Boys by @domtommo, @winsomefreak (100k) | Explicit

St. Austin’s School for Boys is a correction school for young men that uses corporal punishment as their means of discipline. After one too many infractions, Harry Styles is sent there till graduation. Upon arriving Harry meets his dorm advisor who also happens to be the first year sex-education teacher and footie coach, Louis Tomlinson. Harry falls in absolute adoration for the teacher and is all too ready to drop down onto his knees for him. During his stay he learns some very interesting things about himself… Welcome to St. Austin’s School for Boys, where the hallways are filled with love, drama, and sex.

Part 1 of St. Austin’s School for Boys

🏵️hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss by @icedwaters (27k) | Explicit

Louis would like to know when his life became a huge romantic comedy, because he’s starting to get tired of being the butt of every joke. Harry’s already at the club when he, Zayn, and Liam arrive. He’s got on the tightest jeans Louis has ever seen in his life (including his own), and this flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, the buttons mostly undone to reveal the majority of his chest and a few tattoos. Louis’ eyes are first drawn to the big butterfly inked above his abs, then to black lines drawn on his shoulders, partly hidden by the edge of his shirt. He can’t help staring, his eyes clinging to Harry’s exposed skin.

(or louis is a 22 year old photographer in his third year of uni, and harry is his 19 year old cat-loving neighbor.)

🏵️I’m Gonna Love You (Until You Hate me) by @sweaterpawstyles (8k) | Explicit

As if reading his mind, Louis glanced over his glasses at Harry, presumably because Harry didn’t reply to his statement earlier.

“I decided to get my glasses out again,” he chuckled, winking at Harry. “Do you like them?“

Harry felt his face heat up. No, he didn’t just like them. He fucking loved them and wanted to ride Louis and call him daddy while he wore them. But he didn’t want to just tell Louis this.

Louis wears glasses and Harry doesn’t like to be teased

🏵️jump in the deep end by @istajmaal (4k) | Explicit

Louis’s stomach lurches as he closes the last bit of distance, Harry’s nose settling between his arse cheeks and pushing them apart. Harry’s lips brush against the puckered skin around Louis’s hole in a kiss and Louis lets out a whine so high-pitched he barely recognizes it as coming from himself—what if I’m not clean enough, what if Harry hates it, what if Harry pushes me away—but then Harry’s long, wet tongue swoops in a circle around Louis’s rim and Louis feels like all the breath is knocked out of him. He grabs for Harry’s hand, still digging into his thigh, and squeezes over it, until Harry releases his vice grip on Louis’s thigh and laces his fingers through Louis’s.

or, Louis’s arse is a sensitive subject, so Harry approaches it gently. With his tongue.

🏵️shit, i still love you (still see you in bed) by @Wankerville (10k) | General Audiences

Harry hums, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, “I want daddy to fuck me in the gold booties he got me for my birthday.”

or, it’s valentine’s day and harry wants to be fucked in his gold boots

🏵️daddy daddy cool by @sky_reid (6k) | Explicit

harry wakes up hard.

🏵️Yes Daddy, I Will by @recklessandbrave (9k) | Explicit

Louis smirks, arms crossed while admiring the scene in front of him. He had Harry exactly where he wanted him; desperate while blindfolded and tied up, and he was loving it. He feels drunk off the sight of his boyfriend spread out for him, naked, hard, and needy.

Or the one where Harry distracts Louis while he works and gets the punishment he deserves, and so badly wants.

Part 1 of Pastel

🏵️Thank You, Daddy by @recklessandbrave (10k) | Explicit

Harry’s hot, wet mouth is around him before Louis even has the chance to blink, and it feels so good, the icy sting of the frozen dessert disappearing as Harry’s soft tongue laps it up. After Harry swallows, he pulls off the head of Louis’ cock and then dips down to trail his tongue up the shaft, collecting the bits that dribbled down. “Yummy. Thank you, daddy.” He hums pleasantly.

Or the one where Louis gets an idea, and Harry wears panties

Part 2 of Pastel

🏵️strawberry milk fic by @Wankerville (158k) | Explicit

“So here’s the thing,” he starts. “I didn’t mean what I said a few weeks ago to like, hurt your feelings or anything. If you like painting your nails, then you should do that, and not like, care if anyone else doesn’t like it because their opinions shouldn’t matter, you know?” Louis takes a breath, finally glancing over to see the boy wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. On a whim, he adds, “And like, I noticed you scraping it off and you haven’t been wearing any and I think you should because that’s what you like.” or an au where harry paints his nails and drinks strawberry milk and is too nervous for it to be nothing and louis’ just trying to figure out whats wrong with him

🏵️The Night Sky is Changing Overhead orphan_account (124k) | Explicit

“Um, sorry, but I believe that’s actually mine,” Harry said a bit awkwardly, pointing at the cup.

The man huffed, slightly narrowing his blue eyes, “Nope, large Americano, dash of cream.” He held the coffee up closer to Harry and honestly, Harry knew exactly what was in the cup because it was his coffee.

“Right,” Harry slowly drawled out as if he was talking to a toddler, “Which would make that mine.”

“Look, I really don’t have time for this, I’m running late. And this,” he said before he took a sip from the cup, “Is mine.”

Harry’s jaw dropped and he held his hands out, failing them slightly, “Wha-you can’t just drink it!”

“Well I did, so, do you still want it or can I be on my way?” The man challenged.

Harry shook his head disbelievingly, “Take it, but for the record, it says Harry on it.”

The man turned the cup around and a sharp laugh came out of his mouth, “Well, shit.” He looked at Harry, a smile stretched across his face as crinkles formed next to his eyes. “Thanks, Harry.”

🏵️driving instructor fic by @LoadedGunn (104k) | Explicit

AU where Louis is a 25-year-old driving instructor and Harry is a 17-year-old virgin who’s really awful at seduction, except for the time he gets Louis to fall for him and fuck him senseless and take him on kinky adventures.

🏵️Loving You Is Free by @littlelouishiccups (91k) | Explicit

Louis is a workaholic record label CEO who hasn’t been on a date in nearly a year. Niall and Liam make an account for him on a sugar dating website as a joke. And then Louis meets Harry.

🏵️sex shop fic (dildornado ‘verse) by @istajmaal, @LoadedGunn (96k) | Explicit

AU where Louis is the most helpful sex shop salesperson in the history of sex shops, and Harry really was just looking for a vibrator with simple instructions (yet ended up getting a hands-on demonstration).

🏵️welcome to the mansion by @blankiehxrry (7k) | Explicit

Harry is a Playboy bunny.

🏵️Wild and Rain by @softandslow (45k) | Explicit

Louis has been looking after Tessa since he was sixteen. Harry’s a man in a business suit who has loved his daughter’s babysitter for three whole years.

🏵️But I’ll Still Take You Home by @LoadedGunn (9k) | Explicit

“So how old does that make you?”

It takes Harry a second. “Twenty.”

Louis arches an eyebrow. No matter how morally dubious that makes him, this boy is not twenty years old. “Bullshit.”

Harry pinches his bottom lip between two long fingers. “Eighteen.”

“What is this, a missile launch?”

Harry giggles. “Seventeen.”

Or, Harry is 17 at a college party, and Louis is not Brian Kinney.

🏵️can i stay the night by @frappeniall (3k) | Explicit

Louis pulled away and stood up, ‘This.. This is wrong. You’re 16.’

‘17 in 6 minutes,’ Harry interjected, ‘If that helps.’

[harry has a crush on his older neighbor, louis, and stays the night at his house when he gets in trouble with the police]

🏵️Can’t help but touch myself by @Tita (7k) | Explicit

“I asked what these were, love.” Harry gulps. “Panties,” he explains with heated cheeks, needing more than the light touches from Louis and getting nothing. “What did you get them for? Were they to impress someone else?” He asks, and Harry shakes his head fervently, stumbling over his words as he tries to get his tongue to cooperate. “No, no,” he emphasizes, arching his back to plaster himself to Louis. “For you, always for you, Daddy.”

🏵️Champagne by @fanshae (2k) | Explicit

“Look at how pretty you are,” Louis murmurs, Harry’s stockinged toes curling against the floor at the praise, “Give Daddy a twirl, baby.”

🏵️Give It Up To Me by @krisstylinson (8k) | Explicit

“You’re going to end up making me come with all the boys in our lounge,” he finished, his tone softening the longer he spoke.

“And?” Harry murmured, placing his palm over the crevice of Louis’ arse, keeping the plug nice and tight inside of him. “What if I wanted you to?”

Or the cliché where Louis isn’t supposed to come but he does, and that can’t go unpunished in Harry’s eyes.

🏵️I can feed your appetite by @dirrtylarry (5k) | Explicit

During a meal out with the other boys, Harry teases Louis to get what he wants.

🏵️I’m Tired Of Using Technology, I Need You Right In Front Of Me by @Phillipa19 (6k) | Explicit

Louis goes away on yet another business trip, but when he stops calling Harry to check in, Harry decides to take matters into his own hands.

OR- Louis is Harry’s sugardaddy who has gone away on business and Harry feels neglected. Louis is possessive and gets a camera installed in their bedroom so he can check up on Harry, so Harry decides to use the camera to his advantage.

🏵️it ain’t trickin’ if ya got it by @sarcasticfluentry (10k) | Explicit

Louis raises an eyebrow and smirks. “You have to ask nicely, Harry.”

They’ve never really played like this before, and Louis is a little out of his element but he finds that they’re both falling effortlessly into their roles (and not just because Louis is good at acting).

Harry’s too overwhelmed, though, to say anything without first gasping, “I c-can’t - god, I can’t believe you - please, Daddy, please put it inside?”

… or, 28-year-old blockbuster actor Louis Tomlinson rushes home to give his 20-year-old model boyfriend Harry a good seeing-to after a particularly provocative Instagram post and, in his excitement, alerts the entire world. Featuring daddy kink, anal beads, and feelings.

🏵️let’s talk about making love by @istajmaal (25k) | Explicit

“That’s my name, baby, I’m Louis.” The voice on the phone inhales sharply, then says, “Gonna take my cock now, princess?”

Harry lets out a high-pitched mhmm and shudders as he pulls his fingers out of his hole, groping for the vibrator. “Nice to meet you,” he says, feeling a bit dizzy with how hard his untouched cock is.

Louis is just a simple phone sex line operator, but to Harry, he’s Daddy.

🏵️nominae by @pressedpeachpits (2k) | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis is Harry’s beautiful acting professor, and Harry is an awkward college freshman with a crush on said teacher. After a slip up with what name to call him, Harry finds himself in a world of embarrassment, obsession, and lots of support from his roommate Niall.

Or, the one in which Harry calls his teacher Daddy, but it isn’t as bad as he expected

🏵️smile in slow motion by @istajmaal (24k) | Explicit

“It’s 2011, Niall. People can fuck their friends’ faces without it meaning anything more than that.”

or, Louis is Harry’s dom and maybe also his soulmate.

🏵️sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me by @moonlightlouis (4k) | Not Rated

harry’s been a naughty boy and needs to be punished and louis is there to do it

🏵️To Be Loved To Be In Love by @Angel_Dust (129k) | Mature

At 18, every Sub must take a Match Test to find their Dom.

Poor, Farm kid Louis Tomlinson is matched with Rich, Businessman Harry Styles.

Or, where Harry thinks giving Money, expensive presents and luxuries proves how much you love someone, but Louis is about to turn his world upside down.

🏵️Untitled sugardaddy fic by orphan_account (2k) | Explicit

Harry comes home from a long day at work and has his way with his baby. (That’s Louis.)

The one with all the daddy kink sex and spanking. It’s pure pwp

🏵️Wake Me Up by @larrystylins (2k) | Explicit

Harry stretches and accidentally pushes his bare bum into Louis’ crotch. Oh. That’s definitely Louis’ cock. Okay that’s definitely the outline of Louis’ hard cock pressing against him. “Lou?” he whispers. Of course Louis is fast asleep..

or Harry wakes up to Louis’ morning wood pressed against his bum. Harry gets needy. Louis wakes up and punishes him.

🏵️You Don’t Need Me To Show The Way by@LoadedGunn (6k) | Explicit

But right there, on Harry’s iPod, is a folder entitled Lou Sappy Sappy Long Indie Hipster 80’s Love Songs Mixtape.

Louis expects a sappy mix tape. He might even expect his own shitty versions of Foo Fighter songs. What he doesn’t expect is clicking on “AUD-20101223” and suddenly hearing loud moaning. He gasps and scrambles to pause it, so shocked the iPod drops right to Harry’s stomach. Harry looks absolutely mortified, even more than he did when Louis played High School Musical. He’s blushing so furiously his face bypassed rosy straight to flaming red, and his mouth is closing and opening like he can’t think of a single thing to say.

Then Louis starts laughing uproariously. “Hiiii, I’m Harry from Cheshire, when I’m on the road I like listening to indie music and gay porn.”

Or, 2011 fic where Harry rides dick for the first time and Louis appreciates technology.

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